Operation Catahoula Crunch: Feds Take Aim at Sanctuary City Crime Wave

Paul Riverbank, 12/4/2025Federal immigration raids spark tension in New Orleans, testing local trust and civil rights.

Tricia McLaughlin, the blunt-talking Assistant Secretary at DHS, didn't mince words in a press release: "It is asinine that these monsters were released back onto New Orleans streets to COMMIT MORE CRIMES and create more victims." Her use of capital letters was no accident. The individuals targeted under "Catahoula Crunch" include people from Honduras, Vietnam, Jordan, Mexico, Guatemala, and El Salvador—a mosaic of backgrounds, unified only by the seriousness of the crimes officials allege: rape, armed robbery, car theft, home invasion.

Secretary Kristi Noem doubled down. "LAW AND ORDER WILL PREVAIL," she declared, echoing a familiar mantra. Federal officials maintain that their operation zeroes in on violent offenders—the "worst of the worst." But within New Orleans, skepticism has already taken root.

Helena Moreno, soon to be mayor—a rarity, as she’s been unusually vocal before taking office—publicly called out the federal operation at a small community event. Moreno didn’t take issue with removing violent criminals from the streets. “I don’t think anyone’s going to object to that,” she said. Her concern ran elsewhere: reports from other cities of heavily armed agents, faces obscured, uniforms unmarked, moving through neighborhoods without warning. In a state where concealed carry is law and identification can be ambiguous at best, such tactics seem risky, if not downright reckless. “If you have men in masks, not clearly identified as law enforcement, suddenly grabbing individuals off the street—how could that possibly not escalate?” Moreno pointed out, the frustration clear in her voice.

Worse, she said, these federal sweeps disproportionately target individuals with brown skin. She stressed that some people swept up in these raids might not have had the chance to see a lawyer or properly challenge their cases. In response, Moreno’s office teamed up with a local law school, recruiting volunteers to offer free legal advice to anybody caught in the net. She encouraged neighbors to record what happens, arming themselves not just for protection, but for documentation. “These are rights people need to know, whether citizens or not.”

New Orleans Police Department, meanwhile, has been careful to keep its distance. Superintendent Anne Kirkpatrick emphasized in a recent interview that NOPD officers don’t ask about immigration status, nor do they assist in federal enforcement efforts. The department, Kirkpatrick said, aims to ensure that “our immigrant community does not fear us and sees us as part of the fabric of the city.” That’s a reassurance, albeit a conditional one.

This tension—federal agencies determined to restore what they call order, local leaders trying to tamp down chaos and preserve trust—echoes far beyond Louisiana. Minneapolis, for instance, is in the grip of its own standoff. With a Somali community more than 50,000 strong, the city received word of impending ICE raids focused on Somalis with final orders of removal. Mayor Jacob Frey didn’t just issue a statement; he spoke directly to the Somali community in their own language, promising: “We love you and we stand with you.”

The administration in Washington was undeterred, dispatching “strike teams” drawn from ICE offices nationwide. The New York Times reported that while the official target list included only those with final deportation orders, practically anyone could be swept in—collateral damage in a much broader campaign.

Minnesota’s Governor Tim Walz, for his part, described the raids as a “PR stunt,” arguing that “indiscriminately targeting immigrants is not a real solution.” Yet little suggested the federal government intended to pause, much less reconsider.

Back in New Orleans and Minneapolis alike, the basic lines are familiar: on one side, federal agents with a directive to enforce immigration laws; on the other, local leaders invoking the need for constitutional rights, community safety, and the restrained use of force.

What actually results from these encounters—beyond headlines and tense sound bites—is a matter of ongoing debate, colored by court challenges, evolving city policies, and the lived experiences of those caught in the middle. For now, both cities remain on edge, as debate around immigration enforcement, police practices, and local governance continues to simmer just beneath the surface, rarely offering clear answers in a nation struggling to define the scope and spirit of its laws.

Federal immigration enforcement has returned to New Orleans, though not quietly or unnoticed. Early this week, DHS rolled out "Operation Catahoula Crunch," a title that—depending on who you ask—says as much about public relations as about policy. Agents descended on the city with a clear mission: track down and remove individuals described as "criminal illegal aliens," most of whom purportedly slipped through the cracks as a result of New Orleans' own sanctuary policies.Tricia McLaughlin, the blunt-talking Assistant Secretary at DHS, didn't mince words in a press release: "It is asinine that these monsters were released back onto New Orleans streets to COMMIT MORE CRIMES and create more victims." Her use of capital letters was no accident. The individuals targeted under "Catahoula Crunch" include people from Honduras, Vietnam, Jordan, Mexico, Guatemala, and El Salvador—a mosaic of backgrounds, unified only by the seriousness of the crimes officials allege: rape, armed robbery, car theft, home invasion.Secretary Kristi Noem doubled down. "LAW AND ORDER WILL PREVAIL," she declared, echoing a familiar mantra. Federal officials maintain that their operation zeroes in on violent offenders—the "worst of the worst." But within New Orleans, skepticism has already taken root.Helena Moreno, soon to be mayor—a rarity, as she’s been unusually vocal before taking office—publicly called out the federal operation at a small community event. Moreno didn’t take issue with removing violent criminals from the streets. “I don’t think anyone’s going to object to that,” she said. Her concern ran elsewhere: reports from other cities of heavily armed agents, faces obscured, uniforms unmarked, moving through neighborhoods without warning. In a state where concealed carry is law and identification can be ambiguous at best, such tactics seem risky, if not downright reckless. “If you have men in masks, not clearly identified as law enforcement, suddenly grabbing individuals off the street—how could that possibly not escalate?” Moreno pointed out, the frustration clear in her voice.Worse, she said, these federal sweeps disproportionately target individuals with brown skin. She stressed that some people swept up in these raids might not have had the chance to see a lawyer or properly challenge their cases. In response, Moreno’s office teamed up with a local law school, recruiting volunteers to offer free legal advice to anybody caught in the net. She encouraged neighbors to record what happens, arming themselves not just for protection, but for documentation. “These are rights people need to know, whether citizens or not.”New Orleans Police Department, meanwhile, has been careful to keep its distance. Superintendent Anne Kirkpatrick emphasized in a recent interview that NOPD officers don’t ask about immigration status, nor do they assist in federal enforcement efforts. The department, Kirkpatrick said, aims to ensure that “our immigrant community does not fear us and sees us as part of the fabric of the city.” That’s a reassurance, albeit a conditional one.This tension—federal agencies determined to restore what they call order, local leaders trying to tamp down chaos and preserve trust—echoes far beyond Louisiana. Minneapolis, for instance, is in the grip of its own standoff. With a Somali community more than 50,000 strong, the city received word of impending ICE raids focused on Somalis with final orders of removal. Mayor Jacob Frey didn’t just issue a statement; he spoke directly to the Somali community in their own language, promising: “We love you and we stand with you.”The administration in Washington was undeterred, dispatching “strike teams” drawn from ICE offices nationwide. The New York Times reported that while the official target list included only those with final deportation orders, practically anyone could be swept in—collateral damage in a much broader campaign.Minnesota’s Governor Tim Walz, for his part, described the raids as a “PR stunt,” arguing that “indiscriminately targeting immigrants is not a real solution.” Yet little suggested the federal government intended to pause, much less reconsider.Back in New Orleans and Minneapolis alike, the basic lines are familiar: on one side, federal agents with a directive to enforce immigration laws; on the other, local leaders invoking the need for constitutional rights, community safety, and the restrained use of force.What actually results from these encounters—beyond headlines and tense sound bites—is a matter of ongoing debate, colored by court challenges, evolving city policies, and the lived experiences of those caught in the middle. For now, both cities remain on edge, as debate around immigration enforcement, police practices, and local governance continues to simmer just beneath the surface, rarely offering clear answers in a nation struggling to define the scope and spirit of its laws.