Lili Reinhart isn’t interested in being a celebrity… and the 30-year-old actress has proven this throughout her career. The moment her name started making headlines for her starring role as Betty Cooper in the TV series Riverdale (2017-2023), control over what she wanted (and didn’t want) in her life seemed to slip from her grasp. And, as her fame grew, she also had to confront her insecurities: subjected to constant media exposure, her life suddenly belonged to the public.

Perhaps that’s why the Cleveland-born actress spent the last three years building her career away from the media spotlight. But now, she’s made her return to center stage.

Reinhart is starring in The Love Hypothesis (2026), a romantic comedy that premiered last week. It’s based on the bestselling novel of the same name by Ali Hazelwood. The premise of this young adult novel is simple: a fake relationship ends up becoming something more.

“I was afraid that if I did either a horror movie or a romcom, I was going to be pigeonholed into those two things,” the actress explained back in July, in an interview with Cosmopolitan magazine. For that same reason, she turned down the first offer to play Olive Smith (the main character in The Love Hypothesis).

“Then,” she added, “I read [the novel] on my way to the Venice Film Festival. It was juicy and fun and I was like, ‘Okay, I understand why people love this book, the charm it has and the slow burn between these two people who are falling in love.’” Less than 48 hours after its release, The Love Hypothesis is already the most-watched film on Prime Video.

Reinhart’s experience has taught her that, one day, you’re on top of the world… and the next — even if it’s by choice — you vanish from the scene. “I would like to think that I can have a career where I can try to dodge those climbing ladder steps as much as possible. It’s time out of my life — weeks, months — time away from my home, time away from my partner and my family,” she told Marie Claire magazine in November of 2025.

Over the past decade, she has experienced a meteoric rise to stardom, a highly-publicized breakup — with Cole Sprouse, her co-star on Riverdale — the demands of her career, as well as personal and health issues that she’s been dealing with (while seemingly living a life straight out of a movie).

From a young age, she knew that she wanted to be an actress… but not at any cost. “I’m not here on this earth to collect accolades. I really love to act and to connect to my emotions […] and it just so happens to be on camera,” she told Cosmopolitan.

Those emotions she spoke of have shaped her life and career. At 14, she was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. And, rather than hide this condition, she chose to share it with her followers. “When I first started going to therapy, it was out of my incredible social anxiety. I was having trouble going to school every day. I was crying before school. I would fake being sick so my mom would let me stay home,” she explained to Glamour magazine, back in 2019. She added: “I am not crazy and I am not problematic. I am just a human who’s feeling something in a different way than some other people would.”

She moved to Los Angeles at the age of 18 to pursue her dream. However, this only exacerbated her anxiety. “I remember looking at my bank account and seeing all of this money that I had saved acting over the course of many years just gone. I had so much anxiety booking work […] I spent almost five months holed up in this bedroom in this house just feeling anxious, waiting for my next audition and not doing anything else. It was the most miserable time of my life,” she told W Magazine in 2017.

In 2020, she published Swimming Lessons, a book of poetry about her depression. She has also spoken about it on Instagram, where she currently has 23.7 million followers. “Some days I feel really defeated by my depression. It’s an exhausting battle that I’ve been fighting for 11 years. And some days, like today, it can feel intolerable. This is a reminder to my fellow warriors that it’s okay to have days where you don’t want to fight anymore. You don’t need to justify your mental health to anyone,” she wrote on Instagram, in 2021.

While dealing with fame and her diagnosis, she also had to recover from her breakup with Sprouse in 2020. Reinhart met him while filming Riverdale; they were in a relationship for three years.

In a 2023 interview, the actor revealed that they remained friends, despite having done “quite a bit of damage to each other.”

When asked how he navigated their breakup on Call Her Daddy — Alexandra Cooper’s hit podcast — Sprouse replied: “I think the work thing got difficult because it was hard to suspend [how] we felt about each other. It didn’t afford us the luxury of distance to really overcome that.”

Reinhart learned from her mistakes and, since then, keeps her relationships as private as possible. “I’m in my lover girl era right now,” she told Marie Claire. She’s currently in a relationship with actor and TikToker Jack Martin. She met him through social media… after he made a video making fun of Riverdale. “It’s deeply hard on me to be apart from the person I love. I’m a very domestic woman. I love to be at home and sit on my couch with my person and my dog; there’s nothing that brings me greater joy than that specifically. And, when I can’t do that, my mental health suffers,” she added.

Over the last 12 months, she’s been working on three movies: she was in the comedy horror film Forbidden Fruits, which premiered back in March, and starred in The Love Hypothesis. And the release date for her comedic thriller, The Very Best People, still hasn’t been announced. Reinhart was also in the series Hal & Harper, which was released last October.

“I feel like I could do anything because I had this seven-year runway of experience,” Reinhart explains in her Marie Claire interview, referring to Riverdale. “Anyone who bashes the work that got them to where they are is doing themselves a great disservice. Call the show crazy. It was. It gave me so much and I’m so thankful for it. I’m not delusional to the fact that I’m sitting in my house because of Riverdale. I’m not embarrassed of it.”

Since the series ended, she admits to being more selective about everything she does; not just the roles she accepts. She avoids Hollywood, movie premieres (unless they’re for a project that she’s in) and fashion shows.

“Suddenly you need to care about fashion, and you need to go to these fashion shows, and you’re an influencer for a brand, your goal is to get a beauty contract. Aren’t I just making art? Aren’t I just supposed to be an actor? Why am I trying to pursue this avenue or this project so that I can actually do what I want? And it’s like, oh, well, that’s because that’s how it fucking works: it becomes about climbing this impossible ladder and staying as famous as possible and as relevant as possible,” she reflected in Marie Claire.

“This industry is going to have its way with you if you let it,” she added. “And I very much try to be like, ‘No, I’m going to be over here enjoying my life and not letting you control my happiness.’”

That’s why she decided to take the reins and be the one to make her problems and achievements public. In 2025, she revealed that she was diagnosed with interstitial cystitis (also known as BPS, bladder pain syndrome), a chronic condition that causes pain, pressure and the urgent or frequent need to urinate. Reinhart also suffers from adenomyosis — a condition in which immune cells release too many chemicals — which intensifies inflammation and pain. She underwent surgery last December, after which she received a diagnosis of endometriosis.

“I feel like every year I get diagnosed with something else,” she lamented in Cosmopolitan. “I had these underlying issues that I didn’t know about. Now [that] I’ve been diagnosed, I know that I have inflammatory disorders. It makes sense that I was super inflamed in my body. My face was a completely different shape. I felt so deeply out of control of my own body.”

Given her history, she decided to take a business step in this direction. At the end of 2024, she launched the Personal Day skincare line, focused on products to address acne. “[Acne] is something I’ve dealt with since I was 12 and the problem only got worse as I got older,” she explained at the launch.

The brand doesn’t use her name in promotional materials. She prefers to work quietly, letting people talk about the products for what they are, not because of who’s behind them.

With The Love Hypothesis, Reinhart has clearly decided that it’s time to be in the spotlight again. Capitalizing on the film’s release and her television appearances, she’s paid homage to some of the most acclaimed romantic comedies of the 1990s and early 2000s. She’s turned the film’s promotional campaign into a love letter to the genre, recreating the iconic looks of its stars. Every dress she chooses ends up in the headlines and generates social media buzz. For example, she has worn a replica of the legendary yellow dress from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (2003), acquired the only copy of the coat that Jennifer Garner wore in 13 Going on 30 (2004) and paid homage to the dress that Brittany Murphy wore in Uptown Girls (2003). She’s also donned a custom recreation of the form-fitting purple dress Sandra Bullock wore in Miss Congeniality (2000) and commissioned a design similar to the one Drew Barrymore wore in Ever After (1998). Most recently, for her Los Angeles premiere on Wednesday, September 23, she debuted a Miu Miu dress inspired by a scene from My Date with the President’s Daughter (1998).

The actress still has dreams to fulfill: “I always just really love playing someone who’s gay or bi or any type of queer,” she told Cosmopolitan. “Because I am [too] and I would love to see bisexuality represented without it being made fun of. I do often think if you’re not lesbian, if you’re not gay and you’re anywhere else on the spectrum, you’re being seen as ‘other’ — a generic queer person being added for the plot.”

However, in her immediate future, she has two projects awaiting release: the comedy thriller The Very Best People and The Mannequin, both currently in post-production.

Sign up for our weekly newsletter to get more English-language news coverage from EL PAÍS USA Edition

If there is one thing no one can deny about Donald Trump it is that he is a lucky man. The president has beaten the odds more than once. Notably, when he left the presidency in January 2021 after the shameful assault on the Capitol, his political career seemed to have hit rock bottom. But not only was he acquitted in a second impeachment trial, and spared from an AR-15 rifle round that came within millimeters of blowing off his head (to name just two examples of his extreme luck); he also easily defeated Democratic candidate Kamala Harris in the presidential election.

But if 2024 was his annus mirabilis, everything indicates that 2026 will be his annus horribilis. Today Trump’s approval rating stands at just 32%, while disapproval of his administration sits at 66% — the worst figures of his political career. And more importantly: Latino voters, who helped seal his victory in 2024, have turned their backs on him and are likely to be the decisive factor in the Republican defeat in the midterm elections on November 3.

It’s natural for many to ask whether Trump’s luck has run out. But that is only half the story. A more useful question is why. Trump treated his promises to Latino voters as an electoral transaction. But Latinos don’t experience politics from the White House; they experience the effects of bad policies and the president’s mistakes firsthand, from the immigration raids to the cost of embarking on a war with Iran. That is why a punishment vote weighs more than a mere change of mood: it is a response to a deceptive electoral offer. And it also leaves an open question for Democrats, who could win that vote without having worked for it.

In 2016 Trump won 28% of the Latino vote, compared with 66% for Hillary Clinton. Eight years later he got 48%. That 20-point gain is explained by two promises. The first was law and order. Trump stoked fear of immigrants (those crossing the southern border were “poisoning the blood of our country,” he proclaimed), but he assured voters that ICE would go after only those with criminal records and not the “good people,” those with their papers in order who pay taxes. The second, perhaps the more important, was economic. Although the country had recovered from the pandemic, voters longed for the prices of his first term, and Trump did not miss the opportunity: “When I win, I will lower prices immediately, from day one.” Most voters, including nearly half of Latino voters, took the bait.

The realities of his second presidency have been the perverse opposite of those promises. The cost of living has been high for a long time. Just go to the supermarket, open an electricity bill, or stop at a gas station to feel it as a hit to the pocket and a pang in the gut. Despite Trump’s claims in every speech that the economy has never been better, the country is barely growing and is dangerously close to a recession, while the Federal Reserve has just raised interest rates for the first time since 2023 to prevent rising prices from turning into stagflation.

To summarize the changes in immigration policy, it is best to illustrate them with a handful of quick images: crops rotting in Oregon, classrooms with dozens of empty desks in border communities, masked agents terrorizing parents, children, uncles and grandparents everywhere; human beings kept in cages like animals and others who vanish and are held incommunicado until they are deported, sometimes to countries they have never even been to before; more people gunned down in their cars or on the street, churches closed, festivals canceled, many people confined to their homes as during the pandemic.

The common denominator of all those by-now-routine images is the terror inspired by ICE raids. The declared pretext is to control migration and clean the country of undesirables, but the real objective is to terrorize. That is Trump’s great achievement: having established across the country an ecology of fear through an army of hooded agents that keeps millions of immigrants and their communities in check.

Although polls show immigration ranks below economic concerns, the combination of both has shifted preference toward rejection. Today, 67% of Latinos disapprove of Trump, 65% disapprove of ICE and 72% want substantial changes to immigration policy.

A reliable indicator that Trump and his policies are already a burden is the recent campaign announcement by Representative María Elvira Salazar, who accuses the president of having gone too far in his targeting of immigrants. Salazar has represented a predominantly Hispanic, middle-class Miami district since 2021, one that also voted for Trump in 2024. “The same Hispanics who brought you to the White House feel betrayed today,” she told him.

The Latino shift has put Salazar’s reelection at risk and threatens to derail the Republican strategy of redistricting. Experts have read her announcement as a desperate attempt to distance herself from a president whose anti-immigrant policies she supported with her votes, and her Democratic challenger, Eliott Rodriguez, has not missed the chance to remind voters of that. But the most important point has been underplayed: a prominent Republican is campaigning against her own president to warn that the raids do not distinguish between migrants with legal papers and those without, and that Republicans need Latinos to keep winning elections.

The administration’s response was swift. Salazar is pushing, together with Democratic Representative from Texas Verónica Escobar, the Dignity Act, an immigration reform that would grant a renewable legal status to millions of immigrants and protection to so-called “dreamers.” It is not an amnesty, but the MAGA government treats it as one. The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) replied to the congresswoman’s announcement with a blunt statement: “Under the leadership of President Trump and Secretary Mullin, THERE WILL BE NO amnesty for illegals. Not now, not ever. DHS is focused on carrying out the largest mass deportation in HISTORY [capitalization in the original].” Trump, for his part, moved from the predictable show of disdain (“She only won because of me”) to undercutting her days later (“We need a NEW Republican to replace Salazar”).

Salazar’s standoff with Trump is not an isolated case. Every day brings more evidence of a rift within Republican ranks between those who continue to support the president at all costs and those who seek to distance themselves, whether because they are personally affected like Salazar or because they genuinely want an end to the cruelty and ongoing violations of the human rights of hundreds of thousands of immigrants.

Latino civil society and the private sector are also mobilizing, and examples are popping up everywhere with a month to go before the elections. On September 29 a coalition of 270 Latino organizations and community, religious and business leaders — Democrats, Republicans, and independents — demanded that the White House and Congress enact immigration reform and protection for “dreamers” and TPS recipients. It is a sign that opposition to Trump transcends partisan politics. It also reflects the sentiment of communities that largely want to secure the border, but not at this cost.

The midterms are one month away; the countdown has begun. If trends continue as they have, Latino voters will be the spearhead of the Democrats’ reconquest of Congress. Trump has given them plenty of reasons to feel betrayed. Have the Democrats offered voters good reasons to turn a punishment vote against Trump and the Republicans into loyalty to their party? The answer is likely yes, but in a situational and insufficient way.

A few weeks ago the pollster Mike Madrid told EL PAÍS that Latinos, for historical, racial and cultural reasons, defy binary political categories in the United States. At the same time, he argued that the very diverse Latino experience offers the possibility of building a bridge to overcome the racial and political antagonisms that underlie American society. That bridge is cultural, but also economic, because Latinos are today the most dynamic ethnic group and aspire to the same things other immigrant groups in U.S. history have sought: family, education, employment and homeownership — that is, prosperity and a better future for their children.

Therein lies the trap for the Democrats. If they mistake a punishment vote for loyalty, they will commit the same error Trump is about to pay for: assuming that an electorate that does not fit binary categories can be taken for granted.

Sign up for our weekly newsletter to get more English-language news coverage from EL PAÍS USA Edition

A Spanish police patrol car passes through one of Valencia’s largest parks and Lorena López, a 29-year-old Colombian woman, freezes and completely loses focus in her boxing class. She remembers the U.S. agents who held her for a year and a half at the Eloy Detention Center in Arizona and the officers from the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) who deported her, handcuffed at hands and feet, to the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) on April 15, 2026. When she sees the officers, she also recalls the armed men she and 14 other Latin Americans encountered at the hotel where they were held in Kinshasa for two months. But then she immediately realizes that since she was able to leave that African country in June she is free and safe in Spain.

She knows that if the police ask her for documents she can take out her phone and show a photo of her receipt proving she applied for international protection in July. “Our lawyer has explained to us that they are denying asylum to Colombians,” she fears, “but we know a small percentage are approved. We cling to that hope.”

López agreed to speak to this newspaper about the ordeal she has endured as a result of the Trump administration’s policy of expelling migrants to third countries, but on the condition that her real name not be used. “Imagine always hiding from the police or immigration agents. There is this fear of being treated like cargo: ‘grab them and send them far away,’” says this woman, who says she was victim of gender-based violence. In 2025, Colombia recorded 118 femicides and more than 15,000 cases of domestic violence against women.

Sitting beside her, Carlos Rodelo, another Colombian national deported from the U.S. to the DRC, listens and nods. He gives his real name and agrees to be photographed because he is seeking help from Spain to have his international protection claim considered. “I want to make it clear that we are not here on a whim; it’s for our safety. We cannot return to Colombia,” says this 43-year-old from Barranquilla, who says he was a victim of extortion and death threats. Reports of extortion in Colombia rose 144% over the last decade to 13,417 cases in 2025.

By WhatsApp, Daniela, 31, born in Cúcuta, says she fled Colombia after being harassed and threatened by a police commander. “After everything that has happened to me, I have faith that things will get better and that someday I will be able to see my mother and my daughters again,” she says in a voice note from another city in the Valencia region. She asked that her surname be withheld for security reasons.

These three Colombians had received CAT protection in the U.S. (from the UN Convention Against Torture). But that protection was not a visa or a form of political asylum: it only prevented them from being returned to Colombia, but not to a third country. They ended up in the DRC against their will and are among more than 25,000 people Washington deported to third countries between January 20, 2025 and September 2026. According to data from Human Rights First and Refugees International, two NGOs that monitor these forced transfers, the U.S. government has signed agreements with more than 35 countries in Africa, Asia and the Americas. More than 300 detainees have been taken to 14 African countries, including the DRC, Eswatini, Liberia, the Central African Republic and South Sudan.

Among the group of 15 people who landed in Kinshasa on April 17 — after stopping in Senegal and Ghana — there were eight Colombian citizens. Three of them were able to leave the DRC by their own means and enter Spain, where the Spanish Commission for Refugee Aid (Comisión Española de Ayuda al Refugiado, CEAR) provides legal support for their international protection applications.

I want to make it clear that we are not here on a whim; it’s for our safety. We cannot return to Colombia

Carlos Rodelo

The process will not be easy, says Jaume Durà, head of CEAR’s legal team in Valencia. Of the 40,512 Colombian applications decided in Spain in 2025, only 3% obtained some form of protection, according to the organization’s data. A year ago, the European Union placed Colombia on its list of countries considered “safe” despite the fact that some areas remain threatened by armed actors, drug trafficking or criminal groups and despite being the country where the most environmental defenders are killed.

“Violence in Colombia continues to be very high, with a lack of protection from the state [for victims of various crimes]. Spain grants a very low recognition rate to protection claims from people fleeing the country. That should not be the case; each case must be examined individually,” he says in a telephone interview.

Getting out of the DRC

The U.S. and the DRC signed a bilateral agreement in December for the African country to receive deportees. The deal, made public in April, established that people would be admitted with a short-term permit. The first and only group sent to the DRC to date was housed at the Venus Village hotel, about 30 minutes from Kinshasa airport. There, the International Organization for Migration (IOM), at the request of the DRC government, provided assistance.

“Although it was a hotel, it felt like a prison because we couldn’t go out,” Rodelo says. If they needed to buy food or go to a phone center to receive money their families had sent, he says, they had to request accompaniment. They also suffered daily power cuts and frequently ran out of water. “The food was unpleasant and everything was full of mosquitoes. One bit me and I got malaria,” he adds.

When there was internet service, Rodelo searched for information about the country he was in. “I had never heard of that place in my life,” he says. Browsing Google, he learned that in the eastern DRC, since early 2025, the war between the state and the rebel group March 23 Movement (M23) had intensified and had left thousands dead and 6.1 million displaced. “I also learned there is illegal mining, mafias and poverty. Imagine: it was going from bad to worse—danger in Colombia, danger in the U.S. and now danger in the Congo,” he recalls. With his phone he also managed to communicate with the hotel staff, who spoke Lingala and French.

López, for her part, connected online to speak with her lawyer and to look for ways to leave. “She explained to me that I had the right to go to another country and to seek a nearby alternative,” she recalls. They chose Spain and declined the assisted voluntary return to their country of origin that the IOM offered. They then contacted the Colombian consulate in Kenya to help issue new passports. Her lawyer confirms ICE had confiscated hers.

Then a race against time began because in mid-May the WHO declared a ‘public health emergency of international concern’ over an Ebola outbreak in eastern DRC. They feared travel or migration restrictions. When they obtained passports, they managed to raise the money to buy tickets to Madrid through online fundraisers or support from family.

Daniela was able to leave the DRC on June 1 bound for France. López and Rodelo flew to Spain on June 8. “I don’t feel anger toward Congo. I just don’t feel it can give me the security I seek,” López says, adding: “I’m angrier with the U.S.”

Lorena* had the chance to get a passport, the money to travel and to enter a large number of countries without a visa. Most people are forced to choose between returning to their country, where they may suffer violence, or finding a way to stay in a place that is not safe and where the government does not offer them permanent status.

Alma David, lawyer for Lorena López*

It is not easy for people deported by the Trump administration to leave these third countries. According to monitoring by Human Rights First and Refugees International, in addition to the DRC group, some deportees sent to Uganda have also managed to leave. Alma David, López’s lawyer, who handles other similar cases, says what happened to her client is “exceptional.” “She had the opportunity to get a passport, the money to travel and to enter many countries visa-free. Most people are forced to choose between returning to their country, where they may suffer violence, or finding a way to stay in an unsafe place where the government does not grant them permanent status,” she explains via WhatsApp messages.

In a press release, the IOM explains that since 2025 it has assisted and advised 800 people in this situation. “Some 300 of them later opted for voluntary return. The difference between that figure and the tens of thousands of people relocated is not an indicator of IOM’s effort but reflects the small number of governments that invited us to intervene or that met the conditions we demanded. Most relocated people have received no support.” If a person decides to leave on their own, the IOM supports them while they are in the country, but they do not receive the benefits of the assisted voluntary return program.

Others have been less fortunate. Some of those expelled to Eswatini more than a year ago remain confined in a maximum-security prison.

Starting over in Spain

López, Rodelo and Daniela reunited in Spain. They entered through Madrid as tourists because they feared applying for international protection at the border and being expelled or detained, as had already happened to them in the U.S. “We passed customs and we were so emotional we left a suitcase back at the airport,” López laughs. A few days later they went to Valencia. But no one would rent them a room and they couldn’t find beds in humanitarian shelters. “We slept in parks. But even so we were happy and free. Our lives depended on ourselves, not on other people,” she recalls.

One day they arrived at CEAR’s offices and received psychological and legal support to begin their international protection application. Once the process was underway, they obtained a Foreigner Identity Number (NIE) that allowed them to find rental housing, register their residency and access public healthcare. However, it does not grant work authorization. Rodelo, for example, is using the last of his U.S. savings to avoid asking his family in Colombia for help. He has not been able to send remittances for more than a year.

While their cases are being resolved, the three Colombians live with a mix of peace and fear. They have seen on the news that the new EU migration and asylum pact has come into force, speeding up but also tightening the procedures for resolving international protection claims. It also opens the door to creating deportation centers in third countries to expel migrants in an irregular situation. The Spanish government, however, has rejected that last measure. For that reason, despite everything, they say they have placed their hopes in Spain to regain the normality they lost in recent years.

López never managed to establish a life in the U.S. The first time she tried to enter and seek asylum, in January 2024, she was deported. After being threatened again by her ex-partner in Colombia, she tried again: she requested an appointment through CBP One, a U.S. government mobile app that allowed migrants to seek lawful entry or asylum. However, the day she was summoned to the checkpoint on the Mexico border, in September 2024, she was detained for a year and a half. Although she was released in February of this year, ICE detained her again in March and deported her to the DRC.

Rodelo, meanwhile, had arrived in the U.S. in May 2023 and obtained CAT protection in February 2025. With that document he obtained a work permit and made a living as a driver and courier until ICE detained him at its offices in August 2025 during a routine migration appointment. He spent eight months in a Louisiana correctional facility until, in mid-April, officers knocked on his cell. They took him to the airport and only there did he learn he was bound for the African continent.

Daniela crossed the Mexico border in December 2024 and surrendered to migration authorities. She was detained until February 2026 and after her release, with CAT protection and a work permit, she applied for authorization to settle in Dallas. “On April 2, ICE came to where I lived. They knocked on the door to verify my supervision order. They told me I had to accompany them. I agreed, they put me in handcuffs and once I was in their offices they told me they would send me to a third country,” she recounts.

The U.S. has defended its deportation policy despite criticism from international organizations and human rights NGOs. A Department of Homeland Security (DHS) document states that, before transfer, the government verifies whether the receiving country guarantees the person will not be sent to another destination where they could suffer torture. If the State Department deems those assurances credible, the deportation can proceed without additional procedures and without asking the person whether they fear for their safety in that country.

Nevertheless, the measure has been taken to several U.S. courts and is now in dispute. On September 18 a federal appeals court ruled that the expulsions were illegal and violated due process by failing to notify people with sufficient time of the decision to transfer them to a third country. Days later, the Trump administration filed an emergency appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court seeking to suspend that ruling and allow the procedures to continue.

Sign up for our weekly newsletter to get more English-language news coverage from EL PAÍS USA Edition