Trump’s Office of Remigration: A Bureaucracy of Disappearance
They are laying the scaffolding of something terrible, again. Quietly. Meticulously. In conference rooms under fluorescent light, with forms and files and policy drafts. They are not goose-stepping in jackboots. They are wearing lanyards. But make no mistake; this is fascism with a swivel chair and a State Department letterhead.
Donald Trump’s plan to create an Office of Remigration is not just a policy proposal. It is a premonition. A dry-run for ethnic cleansing, dressed up in the language of administration. According to HuffPost’s detailed reporting, the proposal comes from an informal advisory group of far-right loyalists aiming to institutionalize the forcible removal of millions: immigrants, naturalized citizens, maybe even birthright citizens if they don’t “belong” enough. (HuffPost, May 2024)
And what name have they chosen for this horror? Remigration. A word imported from Europe’s fascist fringe, and specifically from Martin Sellner, the Austrian neo-Nazi who coined the term as a euphemism for racial expulsion. Sellner, who has called for the mass deportation of non-Europeans from Europe. Sellner, who inspired mass murderers. His vocabulary is now Trump’s vocabulary. His ideology is now being drafted into federal policy. (HuffPost, March 2024)
Let’s be clear. Remigration is not about immigration policy. It is about racial engineering. It is about purging the multiracial, pluralist experiment that is the United States and replacing it with a fantasy: white, Christian, obedient.
The architects of this plan understand what they’re doing. This is not bureaucratic negligence. This is bureaucratic malevolence. They’re drafting a blueprint for mass expulsion, legalizing cruelty through procedure. They’re creating a system that will not just remove people; it will erase them. From their jobs, from their homes, from their schools, from their lives. They will vanish, as so many before them have vanished: in the name of nationalism, purity, order.
The word “remigration” is meant to dull your senses. It sounds clinical. Reversible. As if people will simply go back to where they came from. As if that “back” is even a real place, a place where they are welcome, safe, whole. But what happens when that “back” doesn’t exist? When the children have never lived there? When the parents fled war, or hunger, or persecution? This is not relocation. This is exile.
And exile has a smell. Of charred documents, of emptied apartments, of spray-painted mosques and desecrated synagogues. Exile is not a policy. It is a wound.
To speak of this as a hypothetical is to lie to ourselves. Already, we’ve seen the dry runs. The Muslim ban. The camps at the border. The family separations. The ICE raids on hospitals and schools. This is not the beginning. This is the continuation. What changes now is the scale, the boldness, the ideological clarity.
And make no mistake: this will not stop with immigrants. Once the machinery of state is trained to dehumanize and expel, it will look for more targets. Trans people. Black radicals. Political dissenters. Jews. Muslims. The disabled. Anyone who does not fit the mold. Anyone who is inconvenient to empire.
The Office of Remigration is not a proposal. It is a warning flare in the dark. We must see it for what it is: the resurrection of blood-and-soil politics in an age of borderless cruelty. This is not about policy nuance. This is about survival.
Opposing this is not optional. It is not a matter of voting or not voting, of Democrat or Republican. It is a matter of standing between the people you love and a state that wants to disappear them. The only humane response is a categorical rejection; a resistance so loud, so vivid, so undeniable that it shatters the dull trance of normalcy.
We are not just resisting a government. We are resisting a future. One where citizenship becomes a trapdoor. Where a child in Portsmouth, or Omaha, or San Antonio can be told: pack your things, you no longer belong. Where the machinery of paperwork and policing becomes an apparatus of erasure.
We must call this what it is: a slow, legislative pogrom.
And then we must stop it before they give it a doorplate, a budget, and a morning briefing.
Right on, Lefty. This is called fascism.