TPS Termination Advances: Ninth Circuit Clears Trump Move to End Protections for Honduran and Nicaraguan Immigrants

Ninth Circuit lifts pause, clearing the way for TPS rollbacks

Tens of thousands of people who have lived and worked legally in the United States for more than two decades woke up to a hard reality: the protections that kept them here are now at risk. A three-judge panel of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit granted the Trump administration’s request to move forward with ending TPS for Honduran and Nicaraguan immigrants, reversing a lower court’s temporary shield and opening the door to a sweeping policy shift.

The move affects roughly 72,000 Hondurans and 4,000 Nicaraguans who have been living under Temporary Protected Status, a humanitarian program that lets people from countries hit by war, disaster, or crisis remain in the U.S. legally and work while conditions at home are unsafe. The termination was set to take effect on September 6, 2025. With the appellate stay in place, the Department of Homeland Security can proceed with unwinding protections unless a new court order stops it.

This wasn’t a long legal explanation. The Ninth Circuit acted without a detailed opinion, simply granting the government’s request and undoing the district court’s protective order. For families, though, the impact is anything but simple. Many have spent half their lives here—raising U.S. citizen children, buying homes, paying taxes, and building businesses. Now they’re being told those lives may no longer count.

Before the appellate decision, U.S. District Judge Trina Thompson in San Francisco had paused the termination while the courts weighed the merits. In a case titled National TPS Alliance v. Kristi Noem (also cited as NTPSA II v. Noem), she captured what was at stake for the plaintiffs: “The freedom to live fearlessly, the opportunity of liberty, and the American dream. That is all Plaintiffs seek.” A hearing on the merits is set for November 18, 2025, but the policy is no longer on hold in the meantime.

The administration framed the win as a return to the original purpose of the program. Assistant Secretary Tricia McLaughlin called the ruling “another huge legal victory,” arguing that prior administrations turned TPS into a backdoor asylum system and that restoring stricter limits is about public safety and the rule of law. Officials say the program was always meant to be temporary and warn that long renewals only invite more unauthorized migration.

Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem—who made the call to end the specific designations—has pressed that keeping the program in place is not in the national interest. The appellate order also allows DHS to move forward on ending protections tied to Nepal, signaling that the administration’s broader effort to roll back humanitarian carve-outs remains very much alive.

On the ground, the message lands like a shock. “I’ve lived in the U.S. for years, and my kids are U.S. citizens and have never even been to Nepal,” said Sandhya Lama, a TPS holder and plaintiff. “This ruling leaves us and thousands of other TPS families in fear and uncertainty. We are not an ‘emergency.’ We are families, workers, and neighbors who have built our lives here.”

Advocates and families are not giving up. Even amid setbacks, they point to moments when the courts have stepped in on TPS in the past. One TPS holder and mother described an earlier legal reprieve as “a powerful affirmation of our humanity and our right to live without fear,” saying the fight is about safety and the chance to keep building a life here. For now, that hope runs up against a hard timeline and a fresh court order.

What changes now, who’s at risk, and what’s next

Temporary Protected Status came out of a simple idea passed by Congress in 1990: when catastrophe strikes—civil war, a major hurricane, a deadly outbreak—the U.S. can protect people who are already here from being sent back into danger. The Secretary of Homeland Security makes those calls after consulting with other agencies, and designations are reviewed and extended in chunks, usually every 6 to 18 months. TPS never promised a green card. It offered stability while the crisis lasted.

For Hondurans and Nicaraguans, the story goes back to the late 1990s, when Hurricane Mitch devastated large parts of Central America. Renewals went on for years because conditions didn’t bounce back quickly. Over time, people built ties—families with mixed immigration statuses, mortgages, small companies, church communities, and long job histories. Employers came to depend on that labor in construction, home care, hospitality, food processing, child care, and agriculture. Ending protections now means real disruption, not just for the workers, but for the businesses and neighborhoods that rely on them.

The legal fight turns on a narrow but pivotal point: does the government have the discretion to end TPS when it decides the original crisis has eased, and did it follow the law in doing so? The plaintiffs argue the administration ignored evidence, cut corners, or acted with bias. The government counters that the statute gives it clear authority to revisit and end designations. The district court sided with the plaintiffs enough to pause the policy; the appeals court put that pause on ice. The November hearing will test the core claims, but with the stay granted, the wind-down can move ahead.

What does a stay mean in plain terms? It doesn’t decide who ultimately wins. It changes what happens while the case is being argued. Here, it lets DHS act now. That gives the administration leverage and a clock. Unless a court blocks the process again, people will hit hard deadlines to either leave, change status if they can, or risk sliding into the shadows.

Administration officials describe this as restoring integrity. They say long-running protections encourage new migration and strain vetting systems. Advocates call that a false choice. They point out that TPS holders are vetted regularly, pay taxes, undergo background checks, and have built decades of lawful presence. They argue that ripping away protection this late punishes stability and breaks families, especially where children are U.S. citizens. Both arguments will keep playing out—in courtrooms and on campaign stages.

The Ninth Circuit panel did not publish a detailed opinion, so legal analysts are left reading clues from the posture of the case. When a court grants a stay, it often signals that the judges think the government has at least a plausible legal path and that the balance of harms, in their view, doesn’t justify freezing policy. That’s not the same as a final ruling. The district court can still rule for the plaintiffs on the merits. Either side can appeal. This could run for months, even years, and still stop and start along the way.

Meanwhile, the government’s approach is broader than two countries. The administration has moved to end protections affecting people from Haiti, Venezuela, Afghanistan, and Cameroon and to push nearly 270,000 Venezuelans to depart on their own. It’s a single playbook: shrink humanitarian exceptions, tighten entry, and press for removals. To supporters, that’s long overdue. To critics, it’s a blunt instrument that ignores how long TPS families have been part of American life.

The numbers hide a lot of quiet detail. Many TPS holders are parents of U.S. citizens. Their teenagers are in local schools. Their families have mortgages and car loans. Their churches and soccer teams rely on them. Some have never been back to the countries they left. Others don’t have safe housing or steady work waiting if they return. For employers, losing experienced workers can mean delays, higher costs, and fewer services—especially in jobs that are already hard to fill.

What options do people have? It varies. Some may qualify for another immigration path—through a U.S. citizen spouse, a work petition, or a victim-based visa. Others won’t. Lawyers and community clinics are urging families to gather documents, check for any path that fits their facts, and avoid scams. The hardest cases involve mixed-status households, where parents face removal and children are citizens. Those choices are personal and often wrenching.

There’s also a political path. Congress could pass a law that gives longtime TPS holders a way to apply for permanent status. Bills along those lines have surfaced in past years but stalled. If lawmakers want a durable answer, that’s where it would come from. Without legislation, the policy can swing with whoever controls the White House and DHS—extend when they want to keep protections; end when they don’t.

For now, attention turns back to the courts. The November 18, 2025 hearing will probe whether the administration followed the law when it moved to end these protections. Between now and then, DHS can keep issuing directives, updating notices, and pressing ahead. Local governments, school districts, and employers are bracing for what a large loss of workers and families would look like if removals ramp up.

The people at the center of this don’t talk in legalese. They talk about carpools, rent, soccer practices, and shifts that start at 5 a.m. They defend the lives they’ve built, and they want certainty after decades of doing what the government asked them to do—register, renew, pay, wait. Whether the courts or Congress will give them that is the open question hanging over the next year.

Supporters of the phaseout repeat the same line: the word “temporary” matters. The law didn’t promise permanence. Opponents answer that time changes what “temporary” feels like after 20-plus years. Both can be true. But only one will set the rules people have to live by. With the Ninth Circuit’s stay, the administration has the green light it wanted. The families have less time than they hoped. And the country is once again arguing over what its promise means when it’s finally put to the test.