When Trump's Immigration Team Wars Against Itself

The man who died in Minneapolis had a name: Alex Pretti. But when Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem faced the cameras on Saturday night, she didn't use it. Instead, she blamed the dead man for his own death, claiming without evidence that he had intended "to kill law enforcement." Behind her stood Rodney Scott, commissioner of Customs and Border Protection, projecting unity. The reality was far different.

Until minutes before that press conference, Noem and Scott hadn't spoken all day—even as she coordinated the federal response to the shooting with the White House and his own agency. This wasn't an oversight. It was a symptom of something deeper: Donald Trump's most important domestic policy initiative has become a battlefield where his own team fights itself as much as it fights immigration.

The Chaos Behind the Crackdown

Trump has deployed 3,000 federal agents to Minneapolis—the largest Homeland Security deployment in history. But the operation lacks something fundamental: a clear chain of command. Instead of institutional leadership, the president has allowed an improvisational approach where rivalries flourish and authority fragments.

At the center of this dysfunction sits Stephen Miller, the White House Deputy Chief of Staff who holds daily conference calls pressuring agencies to prioritize immigration arrests above everything else. His target: 1 million deportations a year, requiring 3,000 arrests daily. To meet these quotas, traditional roles have been scrambled beyond recognition.

Noem and her de facto chief of staff Corey Lewandowski—working as a "special government employee"—have aggressively pursued Miller's demands. They've diverted highly trained investigators from drug cartels and trafficking cases to make street arrests. They've put Border Patrol agents in charge of ICE offices. They've spent more than $200 million on advertising to promote the deportation campaign.

Meanwhile, Tom Homan, the official "border czar," has been largely sidelined from operations. Instead, Noem dispatched Gregory Bovino, a second-tier Border Patrol official, to sweep through Democratic cities with masked commandos rappelling from Black Hawks. Bovino reported directly to Noem, bypassing Scott entirely—a move that left the CBP commissioner struggling to control his own agency.

When the Strategy Backfired

The militarized approach that was supposed to showcase strength instead became a liability. The deaths of Alex Pretti and Renee Good this month turned Trump's best-polling issue into a political problem. Images of toddlers in custody, U.S. citizens yanked from cars, and helicopter raids on apartment buildings dominated headlines.

Frustrated by bipartisan backlash, Trump announced Monday that Homan would take over Minnesota operations. Bovino was stripped of his "commander" role and sent back to his old border job in California. The president, seemingly aware of the divisions around him, removed Noem from the Minnesota chain of command entirely.

"Tom is tough but fair, and will report directly to me," Trump said. Translation: the improvisational approach had failed.

The Institutional vs. Performative Split

The battle lines aren't ideological—both factions are equally hard-line on immigration. The split is methodological. Homan and Scott represent an institutional wing that wants to pursue deportations through existing command structures and conventional divisions of labor. Border Patrol guards borders; ICE handles interior arrests; minimize disruption where possible.

Noem's faction, with Lewandowski pulling strings, represents a performative approach focused on social media messaging and visible shows of force. At DHS headquarters, staffers call Lewandowski "chief" despite his lack of official title. Critics see this as ad hoc governance possibly motivated by Noem's political ambitions.

The dysfunction has real consequences. Career officials describe a department where memos get rescinded within hours, where the general counsel regularly intervenes to block directives, and where basic coordination breaks down. Scott sent an email Monday reminding CBP officials that he was in charge; by Tuesday, the DHS general counsel told employees to disregard it because it hadn't gone through legal review.

The Border Wall Bottleneck

Even Trump's signature border wall project has become entangled in the infighting. Despite nearly $50 billion in funding—ten times the amount that triggered the 2018 government shutdown—only about 24 miles have been built since Trump's second term began. Noem blames Scott; Scott's allies point to contracting rules imposed by Lewandowski that require Noem's signature on any contract exceeding $100,000.

The president is reportedly "pissed" about the slow progress. DHS officials have discussed hiring an outside management contractor to replace CBP leadership on wall construction—echoing a failed George W. Bush-era effort that ended in missed deadlines and cost overruns.

What Comes Next

Homan's arrival in Minnesota signals a tactical shift. He's meeting with Democratic leaders, trying diplomacy over confrontation. The administration is pulling some Border Patrol agents out of cities while pushing for greater ICE access to local jails. But the underlying tension remains: Miller's aggressive quotas versus operational realities.

The irony is stark. Noem has hired 12,000 new officers and staff, more than doubling ICE's workforce. Many aren't deployment-ready yet, but they could hit the streets in coming months—potentially enabling even more deportations than Bovino's theatrical raids. The question is whether institutional leadership can channel this expanded capacity more effectively than the performative approach that just collapsed in Minneapolis.