When he stepped out of a federal correctional facility last spring having completed a 10-year sentence, he expected to be released. Instead, immigration authorities moved quickly to remove him to the West African country where he was born, and within 48 hours of arrival he was taken into custody by local police on an outstanding charge that American prosecutors said had long been dormant.

The man, who appeared in U.S. immigration filings under his given name and whose lawyers have asked for privacy while they pursue appeals, had pleaded guilty more than a decade ago to a drug-related federal offense. U.S. officials maintain that under the Immigration and Nationality Act noncitizens convicted of certain crimes are removable after serving criminal sentences. His lawyers call what followed “de facto double jeopardy” — an effective second sentence administered not by U.S. courts but by his country of origin.

“This man paid his debt to the United States,” said Maria Alvarez, his U.S.-based attorney. “Instead of reintegrating him into society, the government’s removal placed him into immediate detention overseas on a file that was never litigated while he was in the United States. That’s a grave failure of due process and of basic humane policy.”

An Immigration and Customs Enforcement spokesperson defended the removal as lawful, saying the agency coordinates returns in line with domestic statutes and with the receiving government. “Individuals who are not U.S. citizens are subject to removal when they meet the criteria under federal immigration law,” the spokesperson said in a statement. They added that readmission and post-arrival processing are governed by bilateral arrangements the United States maintains with foreign governments.

Human rights advocates say the case is emblematic of a broader trend: increased use of deportation to remove noncitizen offenders after they complete prison terms, sometimes with limited transparency about whether they will face further legal jeopardy upon return. “We’re seeing deportations that do not account for how the receiving state treats returnees,” said Lydia Mensah, a senior researcher at Global Rights Watch. “For some men and women, removal is a continuation of punishment in a different courtroom.”

There are financial and economic stakes to the practice. Remittances from diaspora communities are a critical source of income for many African countries; World Bank data show remittance flows to Sub-Saharan Africa reached roughly $60 billion in recent years, supporting consumption and small businesses. Deportations that sever ties between migrants and host-country labor markets can reduce future remittance flows and impose adjustment costs on families and local economies.

The logistics and fiscal cost of deportation also draw scrutiny. Estimates suggest that arranging removals, including charter flights and secure transport, can run into several thousand dollars per person, expenses borne by taxpayers. Critics argue that those funds might be better invested in reentry programs that reduce recidivism and preserve economic connections.

Legal appeals are underway in U.S. immigration courts and through international advocates seeking assurances that the man will not be retried or punished anew without due process. Whatever the outcome for him will likely influence an unfolding policy debate about how to balance immigration enforcement with human rights, international coordination, and the economic implications for countries that both lose and receive migrants.