Four years ago, Delmar Méndez and Doris Palada jumped on a motorcycle to vote on Election Day, celebrating when their candidate won.
They believed President Xiomara Castro would help other Hondurans like them: people worn down by organized crime, joblessness and rising prices. Even after threats from criminals drove them to seek asylum in the United States, they hoped Ms. Castro would stand up for Honduran migrants against President Trump.
It did not work out that way.
Ms. Castro started the year by threatening to oust the U.S. military from a base in Honduras, in response to Mr. Trump’s sweeping deportation plans. But she soon changed course, turning Honduras into a hub for those deportations, accepting military deportation flights and deportees bound for El Salvador and Venezuela.
“What she did was make an agreement with Trump,” Ms. Palada, 45, said of the president.
On Sunday, Hondurans head to the polls again. The contentious presidential election has pitted Ms. Castro’s left-wing party against two conservative rivals and has become a flashpoint in American politics, too: After endorsing one of the conservative candidates this week, Mr. Trump vowed to pardon a former Honduran president who was convicted in the United States on drug-trafficking charges.
The election has also drawn renewed attention to Ms. Castro’s cooperation with the Trump administration on deportations, reflecting a bind for politicians around Latin America in Mr. Trump’s second term.
On one side, they face the potential wrath of the U.S. president, who has shown he will punish resistance or even criticism of his plans, threatening tariffs and other penalties on leaders who do not cooperate.
On the other side, leaders face their citizens, including people who have migrated to the United States, newly deported voters and their families, many of whom rely heavily on money sent home.
Over a half-million Hondurans are believed to be living in the United States without legal status. By Nov. 20, nearly 30,000 Hondurans had been deported, about 13,000 more than in the same period last year, Honduran government data shows — a tiny fraction of the country’s roughly 10 million people, but a group with outsize sway. Remittances alone account for as much as a quarter of Honduras’s economy.
Sandra Sierra, an accounting student in Honduras, said that people resented Ms. Castro for supporting Mr. Trump’s aggressive agenda, especially because she knew that many had migrated seeking work and fleeing violence. (Honduras is among the region’s most dangerous countries.)
“That made us furious, that she was working with them,” said Ms. Sierra, 21. “Knowing that there are no opportunities here and people have to go looking for better options.”
Honduran officials said they agreed to cooperate with the Trump administration on deportations, but had set guardrails related to the conditions of detention and removal.
“What we are asking is that deportation processes not violate people’s dignity,” said Enrique Reina, the former foreign minister under Ms. Castro.
One factor in the government’s turnaround, according to Mauricio Claver-Carone, Mr. Trump’s special envoy to Latin America until June, was the tariffs and other penalties that Mr. Trump had threatened against governments that did not cooperate.
Wielding such threats, the Trump administration has asked leaders to participate in theatrical deportation operations, to take in shackled deportees or hundreds of migrants from distant places.
Leaders have responded differently to the pressure. President Gustavo Petro of Colombia has repeatedly clashed with Mr. Trump, who has threatened to cut off all aid. By contrast, President Nayib Bukele of El Salvador offered to jail deportees, reaping millions of dollars and other rewards from the White House.
Many leaders quietly fell into line.
In Honduras, Guatemala, Belize, Paraguay and elsewhere, leaders have made agreements that allow U.S. authorities to send them migrants from other countries who are seeking asylum in the United States.
The Department of Homeland Security has used the agreement with Honduras to deny, or “pretermit,” asylum claims, arguing in immigration court that applicants can go to Honduras if returning to their home country is unsafe.
The couple who voted for Ms. Castro said they would not vote for her handpicked successor, Rixi Moncada, because of what they considered Ms. Castro’s betrayal of migrants.
Their story resembles that of many Hondurans who joined a recent immigration surge.
Mr. Méndez said he had received threats after refusing to sell drugs from the roadside stands where he sold juice, hot meals and phone accessories. In 2022, he, his partner and their infant son headed north, crossing Mexico without smugglers. They then turned themselves over to U.S. authorities at the border, seeking asylum.
They went to Florida and, after getting work authorization, found jobs at a nursing home, they said.
The couple’s asylum claim was rejected because of a lack of evidence of the threats, they said. In February, they were planning a second appeal when Mr. Méndez was called in by immigration authorities.
He was joined by Ms. Palada and their son, now 3. They boarded a plane and were sent back to Honduras.
Jeff Ernst contributed reporting from Tegucigalpa, Honduras, Hamed Aleaziz from Washington, and Jack Nicas from Mexico City.
Annie Correal is a Times reporter covering Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean.
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