The ACLU’s Misguided Crusade Prioritizing Illegals and Terrorists Over American Safety

The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) has launched a relentless legal offensive against the Trump administration’s use of the Alien Enemies Act, a 1798 law designed to protect the nation during times of war or invasion. The administration invoked this act to expedite the deportation of individuals suspected of ties to dangerous groups like Tren de Aragua, a Venezuelan gang labeled a foreign terrorist organization. Yet, the ACLU’s lawsuits—filed with fervor in multiple courts—seem less about legal principle and more about obstructing efforts to secure our national security.

Why is the ACLU fighting so hard to shield illegal immigrants and potential terrorists from accountability? The answer lies in a troubling misalignment of priorities that puts ideology above the safety of American citizens.

First, let’s be clear: the Alien Enemies Act is not being used to target innocent immigrants seeking a better life. The Trump administration has focused on individuals allegedly linked to criminal organizations that pose a direct threat to public safety. Tren de Aragua, for instance, is not a group of misunderstood refugees—it’s a ruthless gang accused of extortion, trafficking, and violence across borders.

By invoking the Act, the administration aims to swiftly remove these bad actors, bypassing the bureaucratic quagmire of standard immigration processes. Yet, the ACLU cries foul, claiming the Act’s use is “unlawful” during peacetime. This argument ignores the reality that modern threats—like transnational gangs—don’t neatly fit into 18th-century definitions of war. Migration may not be an “invasion” in the military sense, but when criminal elements exploit porous borders to wreak havoc, it’s naive to pretend the threat isn’t real.

The ACLU’s lawsuits, including high-profile cases like J.G.G. v. Trump, lean heavily on the claim that deportations under the Act violate due process. They argue that individuals deserve notice and a chance to challenge their removal. Sounds reasonable—until you consider the context. We’re talking about non-citizens, often with no legal right to be here, who are suspected of ties to terrorism or organized crime. Should we really tie up our courts with lengthy hearings for every alleged gang member, giving them the same procedural protections as law-abiding citizens? The Supreme Court itself has signaled that due process in these cases doesn’t mean endless delays—it means a reasonable opportunity to contest deportation, not a free pass to stay. Yet, the ACLU demands the latter, clogging the system and delaying action that could save lives.

What’s driving this obsession? The ACLU’s rhetoric paints a picture of a heartless administration targeting vulnerable immigrants for no reason. But this narrative conveniently ignores the victims of unchecked illegal immigration—American families devastated by crime, communities overwhelmed by strained resources, and border agents risking their lives daily.

By framing every deportation as an assault on “civil liberties,” the ACLU elevates the rights of non-citizens above those of Americans. It’s a baffling choice, especially when the administration has made it clear that existing immigration laws are too slow to address urgent threats. The ACLU’s insistence on dragging out deportations through litigation only emboldens criminal networks, who thrive in the chaos of legal limbo.

Then there’s the question of optics. The ACLU’s legal battles generate headlines, rally their donor base, and cast them as champions of the oppressed. But at what cost? Their lawsuits don’t just challenge the Alien Enemies Act—they undermine the broader effort to restore order at the border. When federal judges issue temporary restraining orders, as they have in New York and Texas, it sends a signal to cartels and gangs that the U.S. is open for business.

The ACLU may claim they’re fighting for fairness, but their actions may embolden those who exploit our generosity. It’s no coincidence that deportations to places like El Salvador’s CECOT prison—a facility built to house the worst of the worst—have drawn the ACLU’s ire. They’d seemingly rather keep these individuals in the U.S., where they can blend into communities, than see them face justice abroad.

Critics might argue that the ACLU is simply upholding the rule of law, ensuring no one is deported without a fair shot. But this ignores the bigger picture. The law isn’t a suicide pact—it exists to protect the nation, not to handcuff it in the face of clear danger. The Alien Enemies Act, while old, was written for moments when swift action is needed to safeguard the country. By tying the administration’s hands, the ACLU risks turning our legal system into a weapon for those who mean us harm. Their lawsuits aren’t about protecting “immigrants” as a monolithic group—they’re about protecting a radical vision where borders are meaningless, and anyone, regardless of intent, can claim a stake in America.

The ACLU’s fight isn’t just misguided—it’s dangerous. Every day spent litigating is a day criminals can exploit, a day communities live in fear, a day our sovereignty erodes. Instead of championing the rights of illegals and suspected terrorists, the ACLU should redirect its energy toward supporting policies that prioritize Americans—our safety, our laws, our future.