The Erosion of Justice: How Fear and Power Are Redefining America

As stories of deportation, political targeting, and rising authoritarian behavior mount, it is no longer hyperbole to ask if American democracy is in retreat. Behind the headlines and partisan noise lies a sobering truth: justice is being reshaped, not through law, but through fear.

During the Trump administration, the United States saw a significant shift in how power is used—and against whom. Immigration enforcement became a platform for that transformation. ICE, operating under new mandates, ramped up daily deportation quotas, reportedly aiming to remove 1,200 people per day. The pursuit of these numbers began to eclipse the pursuit of justice.

The human cost of these policies is difficult to ignore. They reach into homes, schools, workplaces, and courthouses—pulling individuals out of their lives and casting them into a system more concerned with performance metrics than fairness. Due process, once a cornerstone of American legal tradition, has been increasingly bypassed.

Take the case of Jersey Reyes Baros, a Venezuelan soccer player who came to the U.S. seeking asylum after enduring torture in his home country. Despite having no criminal record or evidence linking him to gang activity, Jersey was detained and eventually deported. He was sent back to a region where forced labor and abuse are commonplace. His story is not an outlier—it is a reflection of what happens when quotas replace justice and when fear trumps evidence.

Another disturbing example involves a French academic who entered the U.S. for a conference, only to be detained and deported after border agents examined his private messages critical of Trump’s policies. His critique of scientific funding cuts was interpreted as anti-American hostility. Devices were confiscated. Emails were reviewed. He was flagged and expelled—not for a crime, but for his beliefs.

These are not isolated misjudgments. They are symptoms of a government testing the boundaries of its authority, and in some cases, pushing far beyond them. The use of the 1798 Alien Enemies Act to justify such deportations reflects a deliberate effort to expand executive power. Originally written during a time of war and national paranoia, the act allows the president to deport individuals from hostile nations without trial. But in recent years, the definition of “hostile” has become alarmingly vague.

This legal maneuvering has raised alarm among historians and constitutional scholars. Heather Cox Richardson, one of the clearest voices on democratic backsliding, has called these moves “catastrophic” for civil rights. The essence of her warning is clear: what begins with immigrants and critics can—and often does—expand to broader targets. The tools of suppression rarely remain confined to their original use.

Families across the country are already experiencing the consequences. Parents are taken during ICE check-ins. Long-time residents are separated from their children. Spouses disappear overnight. The emotional damage is long-lasting. The trauma is generational. These are not theoretical debates—they are real lives, permanently altered.

Even more troubling is how many of these families followed every legal guideline. They submitted documents. They paid taxes. They built lives. And still, they were swept away—treated not as neighbors, but as statistics to be moved out and counted.

Amid this turmoil, we are also witnessing something remarkable: resistance.

In city after city, ordinary people are stepping forward. Rallies led by Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez have drawn tens of thousands. Their message is simple but powerful: we can’t fix a broken democracy by ignoring its cracks. We must address wealth inequality, authoritarian behavior, and media manipulation head-on.

In Phoenix, Arizona, more than 15,000 people showed up for a Sanders rally—a record turnout that dwarfs similar events from just a few years ago. The surge in participation speaks to a larger civic awakening. Americans are no longer just voting. They are organizing, protesting, writing, speaking, and connecting across class and cultural lines. The energy is not partisan—it is human.

Much of this awakening is rooted in the realization that power, when unchecked, does not fade. It grows. It extends from the border to the ballot box. It flows through legislation, public messaging, and executive orders. And it threatens not just immigrants or critics, but anyone outside the protective bubble of privilege.

Media plays a central role in shaping that bubble. Outlets like Fox News have provided consistent cover for executive overreach, framing oppressive policies as necessary security measures. This has created a permission structure for authoritarian tactics. When dissent is equated with danger, when protest is treated as subversion, and when criticism is labeled as terrorism, democracy suffers.

The rest of the world has taken notice. Countries like the U.K. and Germany have issued travel warnings, citing rising civil unrest and unpredictability in U.S. governance. The notion that America could be seen as unstable, even hostile, would have once seemed unthinkable. Today, it’s official policy abroad.

Still, we are not helpless.

Organizations like the ACLU, Human Rights Watch, and grassroots coalitions across the country are pushing back. They are filing lawsuits, providing legal aid, educating voters, and defending those caught in the machinery of fear. Local communities are refusing to comply with unjust detainers. Teachers are shielding their students. Cities are declaring themselves sanctuaries—not in defiance of law, but in defense of humanity.

And individuals are waking up. The idea that “someone else will fix this” is fading. People are realizing that democracy, like justice, is not self-sustaining. It must be defended—not just at elections, but every day.

If you feel overwhelmed, that’s understandable. The scale of change can be daunting. But there are ways forward.

Learn what’s happening in your community. Speak up when others are silenced. Vote in every election, not just the big ones. Challenge media narratives that dehumanize. Support those working on the frontlines of justice. And never forget: your voice is your power.

The erosion of justice is not just a legal issue—it is a moral crisis. One that affects us all. But history is not yet written. We can still choose what comes next.