At the end of January, a Global Crossing Airlines plane carrying 158 Brazilian deportees from the United States landed in Manaus. It was the first deportation flight since Donald Trump’s inauguration. As has been the case since 2019, the plane was supposed to continue to Confins International Airport in Minas Gerais—the designated destination for all deportation flights from the U.S. However, due to an air conditioning failure, it stopped in the capital of Amazonas. From there, the deportees were transferred to a Brazilian Air Force (FAB) plane to complete their journey to Confins.

A video published by CNN captured a striking moment: as the deportees disembarked, struggling due to their handcuffs and shackles, laughter could be heard in the background. Moments later, an airport employee escorting them turned to the camera and smirked. It was subtle, but undeniable. Why were they laughing? What was so amusing about a process marked by the severe humanitarian violence of the United States, a practice that has persisted since 2019?

This is not an isolated case. Hateful and moralistic comments on news articles and social media—often made by Brazilians both inside and outside the country—frequently accompany similar expressions of mockery. Such laughter also appears in coverage of the U.S.’s contradictory migration policies, designed to expel “undesirable” migrants. So far, Brazil has received 121 chartered flights from the U.S., carrying 11,679 deported Brazilians. This marks five years and four months of a policy that had been abolished in 2008, during President Lula’s second term.

Global Crossing Airlines Is Not Alone

In 2019, just before the pandemic, this practice was reinstated. In a unilateral decision by the Trump administration, Bolsonaro compliantly accepted the deportation policy. Since then, regular flights have departed from seven U.S. cities to Confins. All 121 flights have been operated by five private airlines—Swift/iAero, Omni Air International, Eastern Airlines, Kaiser Air, and Global Crossing Airlines. Since September 2023, Global Crossing Airlines has been the sole carrier responsible, according to the concessionaire managing Confins airport.

A study by the Center for Human Rights at the University of Washington found that since the Obama administration, deportation flights have been operated by private companies with little oversight. The research highlights testimonies from Brazilian deportees who report physical and verbal abuse by untrained, outsourced agents. Companies such as Global Crossing Airlines, Omni Air International, and Swift/iAero have all been accused of mistreatment.

After Lula was elected in 2022, his administration cautiously suggested that it might reverse Bolsonaro’s diplomatic decisions. However, two years into his presidency, 33 deportation flights have already landed in Brazil, bringing back 3,818 Brazilians. Only now—after images of handcuffed Brazilians disembarking on home soil have gained international visibility—has the Brazilian government decided to make a public statement. Up until this point, all other instances of violence were ignored, or the Ministry of Foreign Affairs chose to remain silent.

The “kkkkkk” (LOL in English)

Beyond this broader scenario, which reveals the power and fear that the United States continues to impose on Latin American leadership, what stands out is the mix of moralism and ridicule many Brazilians express toward these deportees. This is particularly evident among those who, hidden behind the anonymity of social media, share their opinions—often accompanied by laughter. Yes, the infamous “kkkkkk”.  

The CNN video allows us to see and hear this laughter—mocking and punitive. It is a frequent reaction to news about Brazilian deportations.

On one side, there are those who label these deportees as criminals. In their view, being handcuffed is a justified consequence of violating the laws of a so-called “serious” country. These deportees, they argue, are troublemakers who encountered a government that enforces the law. Some internet users describe them as Brazilians who abandoned the “communist chaos” of the Workers’ Party (PT) only to cause disorder in another country. For this group, the fact that the U.S. has violated international agreements, ignored bilateral treaties with Brazil, or infringed on Brazilian sovereignty is irrelevant. Their unwavering support for American moralism prevails. The “kkkkkk” serves as the final verdict—a mocking laugh at their forced return.

On the other side, some people laugh at these deportees because they allegedly supported Trump’s candidacy. From this perspective, their deportation and the humiliation it entails are seen as a form of karmic retribution. Now, they are experiencing firsthand the weight of Trumpist xenophobia and the political alienation they once endorsed. As if the Democrats had implemented significantly more humane immigration policies. Let’s not forget that under Biden and Kamala Harris, nearly 10,000 Brazilians were deported under the same conditions as that ill-fated flight that didn’t even make it to Confins. In this case, the laughter is also a final act of ridicule.

We Laugh at Our Own Misfortune

In 1899, the French philosopher and diplomat Henri Bergson published a book exploring the meaning of laughter. He argued that laughter serves as a way to discipline those who, in some way, see themselves as above others or above collective values. We laugh at what defies norms, at the unexpected. Laughter has a social function: it reinforces order. It validates my judgment of those handcuffed in Manaus. I mock their “misconduct”—whether for illegally emigrating to the U.S. or for supporting Trump.

But in laughing, I avoid discussing the serious geopolitical issues at play—not only in those handcuffs but also in my own daily life. Instead of questioning the myth that migrants are responsible for increased “criminality” or exposing the ongoing human rights violations committed by the U.S., I choose to mock. Instead of debating the strange presence of the U.S. in shaping and enforcing migration policies within Latin America or questioning Brazil’s exclusionary economic model that has driven so many to leave for decades, I simply laugh.

The “kkkkkk” erases any urgent collective reflection we should be having about deportation.

In the end, this laughter only exposes our indifference to others’ suffering and our ignorance of the circumstances that led them to seek a life in the United States, to cross the Mexican border, or to endure a life without political existence. We laugh and condemn many of our fellow citizens—unjustly accused as criminals. We laugh at children and babies separated from their parents. We laugh at a false generalization that includes us all.

At its core, we are laughing at ourselves. A bitter, angry, and sad laugh. A foolish laugh.

Ultimately… pity the nation that laughs at its own social misery.