When the Rule of Law Becomes Optional

The Slow Motion Coup Continues in Broad Daylight

The administration's decision to deport hundreds of Venezuelan migrants despite an explicit federal court order represents more than just another norm violation or controversial policy choice. It marks a moment when the constitutional order itself has been directly and publicly challenged by the executive branch.

“I don't know. You have to speak to the lawyers about that,” Trump said when confronted with the fact that his administration had ignored Judge Boasberg's ruling. Then, dismissing the legal question entirely, he added: “I can tell you this. These were bad people.”

This casual disregard for judicial authority wasn't hidden or denied—it was celebrated. “Oopsie...Too late,” wrote Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele, whose message was promptly recirculated by White House communications director Steven Cheung. Secretary of State Marco Rubio joined in, boasting that “We sent over 250 alien enemy members of Tren de Aragua” to El Salvador.

There's no ambiguity here. No complex constitutional debate. No differing interpretations of a vague ruling. A federal judge explicitly ordered that deportations be halted. The administration proceeded anyway, then publicly gloated about it.

If this isn't a constitutional crisis, then I don't know what is. So many of the “anti-anti-Trump” voices saying to keep calm, everything is okay, because the courts will contain Trump's excesses, should hopefully be available to explain how this squares with their reassurances. The very containment mechanism they've pointed to—judicial review—has just been openly flouted, with the administration essentially saying, "What are you going to do about it?"

“This is a time of war,” Trump declared, justifying his invocation of the Alien Enemies Act of 1798—a law last used to imprison Japanese-Americans during World War II. But there is no war in the constitutional sense. Congress has not declared war. What Trump has done is unilaterally declare an "invasion" to grant himself extraordinary powers that exist only during actual wars declared by Congress.

The danger here extends far beyond immigration policy. When a president can simply ignore court orders he finds inconvenient, while declaring non-existent “wars” to access emergency powers, we have moved beyond constitutional governance entirely. We have entered a realm where the executive operates not within a system of checks and balances, but above it.

Most alarming is the administration's failure to provide any evidence that the deported individuals were actually members of the Tren de Aragua gang. As Adam Isacson of the Washington Office for Latin America warned: “Basically any Venezuelan citizen in the US may be removed on pretext of belonging to Tren de Aragua, with no chance at defense.”

This is the definition of arbitrary power—the ability to detain and deport people based on mere accusation, without evidence, without due process, and in direct violation of judicial orders meant to ensure basic rights.

Judge Boasberg's statement reveals the gravity of the situation: “Once they're out of the country, there's little I could do.” This is precisely why the administration rushed the deportations—to present the courts with a fait accompli, demonstrating that judicial power exists only insofar as the executive chooses to respect it.

When a government can designate any group as “enemies” during a self-declared “war,” then deny them all legal protections, the door to truly horrific abuses swings wide open.

The video released by El Salvador shows the deported men—their guilt never established in any court—being treated like convicted criminals: shackled, heads shaved, forced to kneel, and placed in a notorious prison facility. These images should shake us from complacency. This is what governance looks like when it's no longer constrained by law.

Two plus two equals four. There are twenty-four hours in a day. And when a president openly defies court orders while claiming wartime powers during peace, we've crossed a threshold that separates constitutional governance from something far darker.

This isn't about immigration policy or border security. It's about whether we still have a government of laws rather than men. It's about whether presidential power remains constrained by courts and Congress, or whether we've entered an era where such constraints exist only on paper.

The administration isn't hiding its contempt for legal limitations. They're not even pretending to respect judicial authority. They're openly celebrating their ability to act beyond the reach of courts, to implement policies that a federal judge explicitly prohibited. The brazenness isn't accidental—it's the point. It's a demonstration of power unconstrained, a message that the executive now considers itself above judicial review.

If a court order can be ignored today regarding Venezuelan migrants, it can be ignored tomorrow regarding any other matter the president deems important enough. If “war” can be declared unilaterally to access extraordinary powers, what prevents those powers from being used against any group labeled as “enemies”?

This is the moment when the abstract concerns about democratic erosion become concrete. When the theoretical worries about constitutional breakdown manifest in real deportations of real people in direct violation of real court orders. When the rule of law transforms from a fundamental principle into an optional guideline, observed only when convenient.

The administration's actions aren't just wrong—they're revealing. They show us exactly what governance looks like when constitutional constraints are treated as obstacles to be overcome rather than foundations to be preserved. They show us what happens when the executive branch decides that judicial orders are suggestions, not requirements.

This is not normal politics. This is not partisan disagreement. This is constitutional crisis in its most literal form—a situation where the basic functioning of our constitutional system has been directly challenged by the executive branch.

And the most disturbing part? The lack of consequences. The administration violated a court order and nothing happened. They bragged about it publicly and nothing happened. They've demonstrated that judicial power exists only at the executive's pleasure, and so far, they've been proven right.

This is how constitutional governance ends—not with a single dramatic swoop, but with the gradual, public demonstration that the constraints we thought were ironclad are actually gossamer thin, torn apart by anyone powerful enough to simply ignore them.

If we cannot recognize this moment for what it is—if we cannot respond to this direct challenge to constitutional governance with appropriate alarm and action—then we have already surrendered more than we realize.

“Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.” — Václav Havel