ICE Strikes Back: Sanctuary Cities Harboring America’s Most Dangerous Illegals

Paul Riverbank, 1/15/2026ICE targets criminal undocumented immigrants, intensifying sanctuary city debates and sparking fierce political clashes.

Eduardo Salgado-Martinez’s name would hardly ring a bell outside law enforcement circles, but in Washington state, his 1995 conviction for the rape of two children left scars not so easily forgotten. Years spent on the run didn’t erase his record. And, chillingly, his brother’s court appearances echoed those same appalling allegations. Ask ICE what their work is about, and officials will point to Salgado-Martinez’s story as a grim justification.

New York saw a similar scene: Fermin Flores-Ramales, with a sexual assault conviction, found himself in ICE custody while news cameras hovered just out of sight. Down south, the trail led agents to Khanh Tuan Pham, a Vietnamese national whose rap sheet listed homicide and conspiracy among other charges—cases that remind you just how varied and complicated these stories can be. Then there’s Miguel Molina-Palacios, accused of setting fires in El Salvador; Everado Javier Sanchez-Rivera, facing burglary charges in Texas. The list, according to ICE, is seldom short.

Statistically, the agency insists 70 percent of its arrests target people with U.S. criminal charges or convictions. Tricia McLaughlin, now widely quoted in official statements, defends her officers’ role: “Our ICE law enforcement put their lives on the line every single day to arrest the worst of the worst criminal illegal aliens,” she told the press this week. She did not shy away from criticism either, pointing to a supposed disconnect between sanctuary city politicians and ICE priorities. “What the media and sanctuary politicians do not want the American public to know is 70% of ICE arrests are of criminal illegal aliens charged or convicted of a crime in the U.S. Despite comparisons to the Gestapo and an 8,000% increase in death threats, our officers show up every day and arrest heinous criminals from American communities.”

Controversy is hardly new to ICE. It grows louder when cities and states choose not to cooperate, often referring to themselves as “sanctuaries”—effectively drawing a line in the sand against federal intervention. In a recent on-air exchange, Joe Borelli explained why ICE has ramped up activity in these areas: where local police won’t hand offenders over, federal officers step in, sometimes with increased manpower. “Because there’s compliance [from] local law enforcement. You don’t have to have massive, you know, packs of ICE agents doing the job of local law enforcement in non-sanctuary jurisdictions,” he noted during a CNN segment.

The friction tends to fall along none-too-subtle political lines. Democrats like those in California or Minnesota, wary of what they see as politically motivated ICE operations, have tried to limit the agency’s reach—often vocally. On CNN, Ana Navarro accused federal authorities of targeting states run by political opponents. “He has absolutely targeted blue states, particularly of people he didn’t like—” she argued, before being interrupted. It’s become the sort of back-and-forth that fills panels and opinion columns on a near-weekly basis.

Yet, not long ago, the public tone toward ICE was markedly softer. Flip back to 2016, and TV news segments charted ICE’s pursuits with a matter-of-fact, occasionally sympathetic air. There were scenes of agents making workplace arrests, reserved commentary about the focus on felons and immediate border crossers, and an even-handed approach to the larger debate. “Gestapo” comparisons were rare, if they appeared at all.

The agency’s core directive—removing non-citizens with criminal records—has remained largely the same through changes in administration, even as the atmosphere around it has become more heated. It is a job that brims with peril on the ground and—now more than ever—mounting hostility in the public sphere. Federal data suggests threat levels against officers have rocketed, underscoring how personal this national argument has become.

At heart, these episodes are about more than simply law enforcement, or even immigration policy. They are a mirror held up to competing visions of America’s future: what public safety should look like, who is responsible for it, and how far the government should go to ensure it. So far, ICE is sticking to its blueprint—removing individuals who, at least by the letter of existing statutes, have broken the law.

But as the debate rages in city halls and cable studios, one thing is plain: arguments over ICE’s methods and priorities are not going quiet soon.

You can tell a lot about a country by the way it treats both its laws and those who enforce them. Take a look at what unfolded this week: across several American cities, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents tracked down and arrested five undocumented immigrants, each carrying a criminal history that critics argue can test one’s faith in the justice system itself. The charges? Everything from child rape to homicide and arson.Eduardo Salgado-Martinez’s name would hardly ring a bell outside law enforcement circles, but in Washington state, his 1995 conviction for the rape of two children left scars not so easily forgotten. Years spent on the run didn’t erase his record. And, chillingly, his brother’s court appearances echoed those same appalling allegations. Ask ICE what their work is about, and officials will point to Salgado-Martinez’s story as a grim justification.New York saw a similar scene: Fermin Flores-Ramales, with a sexual assault conviction, found himself in ICE custody while news cameras hovered just out of sight. Down south, the trail led agents to Khanh Tuan Pham, a Vietnamese national whose rap sheet listed homicide and conspiracy among other charges—cases that remind you just how varied and complicated these stories can be. Then there’s Miguel Molina-Palacios, accused of setting fires in El Salvador; Everado Javier Sanchez-Rivera, facing burglary charges in Texas. The list, according to ICE, is seldom short.Statistically, the agency insists 70 percent of its arrests target people with U.S. criminal charges or convictions. Tricia McLaughlin, now widely quoted in official statements, defends her officers’ role: “Our ICE law enforcement put their lives on the line every single day to arrest the worst of the worst criminal illegal aliens,” she told the press this week. She did not shy away from criticism either, pointing to a supposed disconnect between sanctuary city politicians and ICE priorities. “What the media and sanctuary politicians do not want the American public to know is 70% of ICE arrests are of criminal illegal aliens charged or convicted of a crime in the U.S. Despite comparisons to the Gestapo and an 8,000% increase in death threats, our officers show up every day and arrest heinous criminals from American communities.”Controversy is hardly new to ICE. It grows louder when cities and states choose not to cooperate, often referring to themselves as “sanctuaries”—effectively drawing a line in the sand against federal intervention. In a recent on-air exchange, Joe Borelli explained why ICE has ramped up activity in these areas: where local police won’t hand offenders over, federal officers step in, sometimes with increased manpower. “Because there’s compliance [from] local law enforcement. You don’t have to have massive, you know, packs of ICE agents doing the job of local law enforcement in non-sanctuary jurisdictions,” he noted during a CNN segment.The friction tends to fall along none-too-subtle political lines. Democrats like those in California or Minnesota, wary of what they see as politically motivated ICE operations, have tried to limit the agency’s reach—often vocally. On CNN, Ana Navarro accused federal authorities of targeting states run by political opponents. “He has absolutely targeted blue states, particularly of people he didn’t like—” she argued, before being interrupted. It’s become the sort of back-and-forth that fills panels and opinion columns on a near-weekly basis.Yet, not long ago, the public tone toward ICE was markedly softer. Flip back to 2016, and TV news segments charted ICE’s pursuits with a matter-of-fact, occasionally sympathetic air. There were scenes of agents making workplace arrests, reserved commentary about the focus on felons and immediate border crossers, and an even-handed approach to the larger debate. “Gestapo” comparisons were rare, if they appeared at all.The agency’s core directive—removing non-citizens with criminal records—has remained largely the same through changes in administration, even as the atmosphere around it has become more heated. It is a job that brims with peril on the ground and—now more than ever—mounting hostility in the public sphere. Federal data suggests threat levels against officers have rocketed, underscoring how personal this national argument has become.At heart, these episodes are about more than simply law enforcement, or even immigration policy. They are a mirror held up to competing visions of America’s future: what public safety should look like, who is responsible for it, and how far the government should go to ensure it. So far, ICE is sticking to its blueprint—removing individuals who, at least by the letter of existing statutes, have broken the law.But as the debate rages in city halls and cable studios, one thing is plain: arguments over ICE’s methods and priorities are not going quiet soon.