A Republic at the Crossroads – Part II

The Dangerous Expansion of Presidential Power Under the Alien Enemies Act

"The means of defense against foreign danger have always been the instruments of tyranny at home."
— James Madison

"The greatest danger to American freedom is a government that ignores the Constitution."
— Thomas Jefferson

In times of political upheaval, history offers us two choices: to either learn from the past or to repeat its darkest moments. This past week, the United States crossed a threshold that, until now, had only existed in the realm of speculation and legal theory. For the first time in American history, the President has invoked the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 against a non-state actor, marking a profound and unprecedented expansion of executive power.

The Alien Enemies Act has long been a dormant but deeply unsettling relic of America’s past. Passed during the Adams administration at the height of political paranoia and foreign intrigue, it was designed to give the president sweeping authority to apprehend, detain, and deport citizens of enemy nations during times of declared war. It was wielded against German nationals in World War I, used as justification for the mass internment of Japanese Americans in World War II, and whispered about in legal circles as one of the last remaining vestiges of unchecked presidential authority. But never before had it been used in the way that President Trump has now chosen: not against a sovereign nation’s citizens, but against individuals allegedly affiliated with a criminal organization—Tren de Aragua, a Venezuelan gang.

This decision is not merely a hardline stance on immigration. It is a fundamental shift in how executive power is used, a dangerous precedent that threatens both immigrants and American citizens alike. By extending a law intended for acts of war between nations to a non-state group, the Trump administration is creating a new category of enemy—one that is far less defined, far more susceptible to political manipulation, and far easier to expand in scope.

The justification given for this extraordinary action is national security. The administration claims that Tren de Aragua is not just a criminal syndicate, but a paramilitary force engaged in irregular warfare against the United States. The proclamation paints a picture of an organization operating at the behest of the Maduro regime in Venezuela, working in conjunction with narco-terrorists to destabilize American society. These claims may carry some truth—criminal networks do exploit migration routes, and governments like Venezuela’s have long used illicit activity as a means of retaining power. But this proclamation is not about cracking down on crime. If that were the goal, law enforcement would be employing traditional legal tools: criminal investigations, RICO prosecutions, intelligence-sharing agreements. Instead, the administration has chosen to invoke wartime powers against civilians living in the United States.

This decision carries staggering legal and moral implications. For one, it further erodes the distinction between military power and civilian law enforcement. The U.S. legal system has always drawn a sharp line between the rules of war and the rule of law, between how we treat enemy combatants on a battlefield and how we enforce laws within our own borders. The Alien Enemies Act was never meant to apply to individuals who were simply accused of being members of a criminal group. If membership in a gang or cartel is now enough to invoke wartime deportation powers, what is stopping the administration from extending this logic to other groups it deems undesirable?

For years, the United States government has argued in asylum cases that gangs like MS-13 and cartel groups do not qualify as state actors, and therefore do not meet the criteria for political persecution under international law. The standard legal position has been that only state-sponsored persecution can justify asylum protection; non-state violence is not enough. The Trump administration’s own Justice Department fought to keep this standard in place, arguing that individuals fleeing gang violence should be denied protection because criminal organizations do not exert governmental control.

And yet, with this proclamation, the President is contradicting that very argument. By declaring that Tren de Aragua operates as a paramilitary force engaged in an invasion of the United States, he is effectively acknowledging that some criminal organizations do, in fact, function as de facto governments. If that is the case, then asylum seekers from El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras—who have long argued that gang violence in their countries is tantamount to political persecution—now have a powerful new legal argument.

This is a clear example of overreach coming full circle. The administration’s eagerness to flex its executive power has unintentionally opened the door for immigration attorneys to use its own legal reasoning to help asylum seekers. If a gang can be classified as an enemy combatant under the Alien Enemies Act, then why can it not also be classified as a persecutor under asylum law? This shift may not have been what the administration intended, but it is now a precedent that attorneys should seize upon.

Beyond the legal contradictions, the larger danger here is one of precedent. It is easy to dismiss this as just another hardline immigration measure, another attempt to appear “tough on crime.” But history warns us against such complacency. Every expansion of government power—especially in the name of national security—has a way of growing beyond its original intent. Today, the justification is Tren de Aragua. Tomorrow, it could be any number of organizations or groups that an administration decides to label as a threat.

Consider the implications if this framework were applied elsewhere. Could a future president declare that environmental activists are engaging in economic warfare against the United States and subject them to detention? Could political dissidents be accused of aiding foreign adversaries and stripped of their rights? Once the executive branch claims a new power, it rarely relinquishes it.

Americans across the political spectrum should be alarmed. The invocation of wartime powers against civilians in peacetime is a bridge that, once crossed, is difficult to uncross. We have seen this before. The internment of Japanese Americans during World War II was justified as a wartime necessity. The surveillance of civil rights leaders in the 1960s was framed as a national security measure. The use of torture and indefinite detention after 9/11 was rationalized as an extraordinary response to extraordinary threats. In each case, history has judged these actions as shameful overreaches, and yet, we are watching it happen again.

The question is, what will we do about it?

This is not the moment to wait and see how things unfold. The groundwork is being laid for an even greater expansion of state power. Civil rights organizations, legal advocates, and everyday citizens must take action now. We must challenge this in the courts, demand congressional oversight, and refuse to accept this as the new normal.

America has always faced the tension between security and liberty, between the power of the state and the rights of the individual. Our history has been written by those who had the courage to stand on the right side of that divide.

But what happens when the government no longer stops at immigrants? If they can use the Alien Enemies Act to justify unchecked war powers over non-citizens today, what’s stopping them from using it against citizens tomorrow? If immigrants are always the testing ground for authoritarianism, at what point does it come for all of us?

That is the next step. And in my next article, I will examine how history shows us that every authoritarian regime has followed the same pattern: they start with the most vulnerable, then they expand their reach. We are standing on the edge of something far more dangerous than mass deportations—we are watching the government perfect the legal tools it may soon turn against its own citizens.

The time to stop this is now.

UPDATE: Late Saturday evening, U.S. District Judge James Boasberg of the federal district court in Washington, D.C., issued a Temporary Restraining Order (TRO) against the Trump Administration, blocking its use of the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 against Tren de Aragua for 14 days. The ACLU and Democracy Forward filed the lawsuit, arguing that the administration’s actions represent an unprecedented and unlawful expansion of executive power.

While this ruling is a temporary victory, the fight is far from over. The Trump Administration is expected to aggressively push the courts to allow its use of the Act, and multiple voices online are calling for the administration to ignore the judicial order altogether.

This is a critical moment. The administration’s intentions have been revealed and their playbook is now public. They are testing the boundaries of executive authority—seeing how far they can go before being stopped, and whether they can erode judicial oversight entirely.

The next 14 days are crucial. Pay attention. Stay informed. Remain vigilant.

I’ll be closely tracking the legal battle ahead, as well as the broader implications for immigrants, civil rights, and the rule of law itself.