The morning coffee at the field office was more than a ritual; it was a prelude to the day’s hunt. Rick, a seasoned agent with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, listened as the new recruits buzzed with anticipation. They were ready to go after the “worst of the worst”—the murderers, the gang members, the violent offenders President Trump had so often decried. Rick had been there for a while, through different administrations and different mandates. He knew the rhetoric. He also knew the reality.
Publicly, the administration’s narrative was clear. The latest Department of Homeland Security press releases highlighted high-profile arrests of convicted criminals, touting a commitment to public safety. Yet, the data Rick saw on his screen told a different story. The increasing number of arrests under Trump’s second term were not overwhelmingly of violent felons. In fact, internal government data showed that a significant portion of those detained—nearly half, according to some reports—had no criminal record at all. Of those with convictions, a large majority were for low-level offenses like immigration, traffic, or nonviolent vice crimes. Less than 7% had been convicted of violent crimes.
The disconnect was a constant, low-level hum in Rick’s daily routine. He’d receive a tip on a violent drug trafficker, a case that would take weeks of surveillance, painstaking coordination with local law enforcement, and a high-risk operation. The chances of a raid going smoothly were slim, and the paperwork was a mountain. In contrast, the tips that came in on a family of farmworkers or a diligent restaurant employee were simple. They were easy marks. They were the kind of people who, when confronted, would comply. There was no resistance, no struggle, and the entire process, from arrest to processing, could be completed with efficiency.
Rick had come to a grim realization, a kind of unspoken understanding among the veterans in the office. The unofficial criteria for selecting targets wasn’t based on the severity of their alleged crimes, but on the ease of their apprehension. The “worst of the worst” were a political talking point, a justification for the surge in enforcement. The real operational priorities were to meet quotas and project an image of aggressive, successful enforcement. Going after the non-violent, hardworking individuals was simply good for the numbers. It was a dark, cynical trick of the trade, a shortcut to success measured in arrests and deportations. No one had ever told him this explicitly, and he knew they never would. It was an unwritten rule, a shared secret that everyone understood, but no one dared to acknowledge. And Rick, with the sour taste of his coffee on his tongue, knew he had no intention of being the first to break the silence.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms
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