The writ of habeas corpus, a fundamental legal protection against unlawful detention, has been suspended by U.S. presidents in rare historical instances, typically during times of significant national crisis. Abraham Lincoln suspended habeas corpus during the Civil War in 1861, initially without Congressional approval, to detain Confederate sympathizers like John Merryman, who was arrested for sabotage. The Supreme Court, led by Chief Justice Roger Taney, ruled Lincoln’s action unconstitutional in Ex Parte Merryman, arguing that only Congress could suspend the writ, but Lincoln persisted, and Congress later ratified the suspension in 1863. Another instance occurred during World War II when Franklin D. Roosevelt suspended habeas corpus in Hawaii following the 1941 Pearl Harbor attack, allowing martial law and detention without trial to maintain order. Additionally, Ulysses S. Grant suspended the writ in nine South Carolina counties in 1871 to combat Ku Klux Klan violence, a move authorized by Congress under the 1871 Ku Klux Klan Act. These suspensions, while controversial, were justified by presidents as necessary to address immediate threats to national security or public safety, often with eventual Congressional backing.
 

Fast forward to 2025, and Donald Trump, as the 47th president, faces a different but equally contentious challenge with what he and his administration describe as a “migrant invasion” at the U.S. southern border. Trump has invoked the 1798 Alien Enemies Act to detain and deport non-citizens without due process, a law historically used during wartime, such as the War of 1812 and both World Wars. His administration argues that the influx of migrants, including alleged members of groups like Tren de Aragua, constitutes an “invasion” under the Constitution, potentially justifying the suspension of habeas corpus as outlined in Article I, Section 9, which allows suspension “when in cases of rebellion or invasion the public safety may require it.” However, this interpretation is legally dubious—federal courts have consistently ruled that “invasion” refers to armed hostility from a foreign entity, not migration, as seen in cases from the Second, Third, Fifth, and Ninth Circuits. Trump’s actions, including the deportation of Kilmar Abrego Garcia to El Salvador in defiance of judicial orders, have sparked warnings of a constitutional crisis, with scholars like Praveen Fernandes noting the peril to due process. The judicial system’s resistance, through rulings blocking Trump’s revocation of legal status for migrants from countries like Cuba and Venezuela, has pushed him to consider more drastic measures.
 

The judicial system’s response to Trump’s policies, including injunctions against his mass deportation efforts and reaffirmations of habeas corpus rights in cases like Rasul v. Bush (2004), has constrained his executive actions, prompting him to explore suspending the writ to bypass these legal barriers. Right-wing voices, as reflected in posts on X, have urged Trump to suspend habeas corpus, citing historical precedents and arguing that the scale of illegal immigration—estimated at 11.7 million undocumented individuals in 2023—warrants such action. Critics, however, highlight that migration, even if unlawful, does not meet the constitutional threshold of “invasion,” and suspending habeas corpus would undermine core civil liberties, potentially enabling arbitrary detentions of citizens and non-citizens alike. Trump’s team, including Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt, has framed judicial pushback as overreach by “radical judges,” but the judiciary’s role is to uphold the rule of law, not to bend to executive overreach. This clash reveals a deeper tension: while past suspensions were tied to clear existential threats like war or rebellion, Trump’s rationale stretches constitutional intent, risking a dangerous precedent that could erode democratic safeguards far beyond the current immigration debate.