By Inderjit Badhwar
When a nation that claims to champion democracy and human rights deports immigrants in shackles and celebrates their humiliation, it raises a disturbing question: Is this what greatness looks like?
The recent deportation of 104 Indian nationals from the United States in chains—25 of them women, 12 of them minors—is a stark and troubling reminder of how human dignity is often the first casualty of political posturing. The images and videos of these deportees, restrained like criminals, forced onto a military aircraft for a gruelling 34-hour journey, are both infuriating and heartbreaking. Even more alarming is the fact that these visuals were deliberately shared and celebrated by US authorities as a testament to their firm stance on illegal immigration.
This is not about the act of deportation itself. Every sovereign nation has the right to control its borders and enforce its immigration laws. But when enforcement is carried out with unnecessary cruelty, in a manner that strips individuals of their dignity, it ceases to be about law and order. Instead, it becomes an exercise in public humiliation, a performance designed to send a message not just to migrants, but to the world: “We are strong because we can be ruthless.”
This event is particularly significant because it exposes a glaring hypocrisy in the way the United States positions itself globally. For decades, America has presented itself as the moral compass of the world, a self-appointed guardian of democracy, human rights, and civil liberties. It has lectured nations on humanitarian principles, sanctioned governments that fail to meet these standards, and intervened—sometimes militarily—under the pretext of protecting freedoms. Yet, when its own institutions subject vulnerable migrants to degrading treatment, what credibility remains in those lofty ideals?
It is difficult to ignore the political undercurrents here. Immigration has been a deeply divisive issue in the United States, weaponized in election campaigns and framed as a crisis that demands extreme measures. Donald Trump’s “Make America Great Again” movement thrived on the rhetoric of exclusion, painting immigrants—especially those from non-Western nations—as threats to the American way of life. This ideology has not disappeared. If anything, it has been embraced by an even broader political spectrum, shaping policies that prioritize cruelty over compassion.
If shackling and publicly shaming migrants is the chosen path to “greatness,” then what exactly is being achieved? Is it a stronger America or a colder, more isolated one? History has shown that true strength is not demonstrated by how harshly a nation treats the most vulnerable, but by how fairly and humanely it upholds its laws.
This brings us to India’s muted response to the entire ordeal. The silence from the Indian government is as troubling as the act itself. These deportees, who endured 12,000 kilometres of humiliation, were not criminals—they were desperate individuals who sought better opportunities, even if through illegal means. That does not absolve them of wrongdoing, but it certainly does not justify their dehumanization. The fact that New Delhi has failed to strongly condemn this incident or demand accountability speaks volumes about its priorities.
India has, in the past, gone to great lengths to protect its citizens abroad. We have seen dramatic rescue operations from war zones, diplomatic efforts to free Indians imprisoned in foreign lands, and strong protests against racial violence. Why, then, does this particular issue fail to draw the same level of outrage? Is it because these individuals were undocumented migrants? Does their status make them unworthy of basic human dignity?
At the heart of this discussion lies a fundamental question that extends beyond borders: Do human rights apply selectively? The United States, with its policies, suggests that they do. India, with its silence, seems to agree. And this sets a dangerous precedent. Today, it is 104 Indian migrants. Tomorrow, it could be another group of vulnerable individuals—perhaps from a different nation, perhaps of a different background—treated with the same indifference.
As a global community, we cannot afford to be passive observers in such moments. The erosion of human rights does not happen overnight; it happens in increments, in the normalization of small injustices until they no longer shock or outrage us. And when we accept cruelty as a justified means to an end, we risk losing the very humanity that makes us strong.
America, in its pursuit of “greatness,” must decide what kind of nation it wants to be. India, in its response, must decide how fiercely it will protect its citizens’ dignity. And the rest of the world must ask itself whether it is willing to accept a future where human rights are mere slogans, abandoned when inconvenient.