Op-Ed | Fake Photo Used to Justify Deportation of Maryland Father

In the midst of one of the most aggressive anti-immigrant campaigns of the modern era, President Donald Trump held up a photograph he claimed was damning proof: Kilmar Abrego Garcia, a Maryland father, was part of the violent MS-13 gang. The image—displayed in the Oval Office and amplified across conservative media—appeared to show Garcia’s fingers tattooed with gang symbols and the letters “M S 1 3.” The message was unmistakable: this man is not a father, not a worker, not a neighbor. He is a criminal. He is expendable.

But the photo was doctored.

Investigative scrutiny, including reporting from The Economic Times, has shown that the image Trump used to justify Garcia’s deportation was digitally altered. The original tattoos—real but unrelated to gang activity—consisted of a marijuana leaf, a smiley face, a cross, and a skull. The gang identifiers were later superimposed on the image to manufacture the appearance of MS-13 affiliation.

Despite the high-stakes implications, no verified court documents or Department of Homeland Security filings identify Garcia as a gang member. There was no credible evidence of MS-13 ties—only a narrative that fit the Trump administration’s political playbook.  There is only the thin gang identification that represents weak evidence at best.

Garcia had already been granted protection from deportation in 2019 by a federal court, which found that returning him to El Salvador would place him at risk. But the administration ignored the ruling. In April 2024, Garcia was deported anyway—ripped from his home, his wife, and his children. A fake photo helped justify it.

This is another example of Trump being Trump—facts are inconvenient at best.  Doctored evidence is par for the course.

This is more than a case of disinformation. This is a case of state deception—a president using manipulated evidence to override due process, inflame racial fear, and score political points. It’s authoritarianism cloaked in the language of public safety.

Even in the most generous interpretation, where one imagines that Trump or his team were simply misinformed, the consequences are staggering. A man’s life was permanently upended. His legal protections were ignored. And the broader public was fed a dangerous lie—one that reinforces the racist trope that Latinos are inherently criminal and that due process is a privilege, not a right.

But more likely, this wasn’t an accident. It was part of a calculated strategy.

We know this script.  How many times has he put forth demonstrably false information only to double down after it has been proven false?

For years, Trump’s messaging around immigration has relied on a simple formula: demonize, dehumanize, and disinform. MS-13 became a convenient symbol—a shorthand for chaos and violence that justified militarized raids, indefinite detention, and asylum restrictions. By linking all undocumented immigrants, or even just those with prior contact with the criminal legal system, to MS-13, the administration could cast an entire population as threats to national security. Whether the claims were true was beside the point.

In this case, the lie was visual. And that makes it more dangerous. A fake image is harder to refute in the public mind. It feels like proof. But when the government knowingly uses fabricated imagery to override a court order and justify deportation, it doesn’t just erode trust—it signals that truth is malleable, and justice is optional.

We’ve seen this before. Autocrats throughout history have used altered photographs, fake documents, and propagandistic visuals to criminalize dissenters and enemies of the state. What sets democracy apart is supposed to be our commitment to facts, to legal process, to the dignity of the individual. When a president violates all three, we are no longer just talking about immigration policy. We are talking about the collapse of constitutional order.

Garcia’s deportation is part of a larger pattern. In recent years, we’ve seen increased reliance on secretive gang databases, unverifiable allegations of affiliation, and “intelligence-driven” removals that often rely on rumors, associations, or tattoos misread by law enforcement. What this case makes clear is that the line between evidence and propaganda is no longer firm.

Even those who support stricter immigration enforcement should be alarmed. If a president can deport someone using a doctored photo today, what’s to stop the use of similar tactics against political opponents, whistleblowers, or protesters tomorrow? The precedent is chilling.

This is not just about one man. It’s about what kind of country we’re becoming. Do we believe in courts, or in spectacle? In facts, or in fear? In the rule of law, or in the rule of whoever holds the microphone?

Kilmar Abrego Garcia was deported not because of what he did, but because of what a president wanted people to believe he represented. A fabricated image told a false story. And a government that should have protected truth and justice instead chose deception and cruelty.

We must call this what it is: abuse of power. And if we fail to hold leaders accountable for this kind of manipulation, we invite worse. A country that permits lies in the service of punishment cannot call itself free.

We can—and must—do better.

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