Texas Mandates ICE Crackdown Statewide, Slams Door on Sanctuary Cities

Paul Riverbank, 1/2/2026Texas mandates statewide ICE partnerships, aiming to end sanctuary policies, while Minnesota expands benefits for undocumented immigrants—two divergent approaches underscoring America’s deepening divide over immigration, enforcement, and public welfare. The national spotlight now turns to these states as emblematic of the broader policy and societal debate.

Texas didn’t get here overnight. Until now, only eighty-five counties—barely a third—had formally coordinated with federal Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) under the 287(g) program. Starting this year, that’s set to jump dramatically. Suddenly, sheriffs in 234 counties are required to cooperate, regardless of whether their voters asked for it. What’s different is the scale and firmness; the law leaves no room for opt-outs or legal half-measures.

Consider the practical changes. In sprawling Harris County or bustling Dallas and Travis counties—urban hotbeds that have long resisted full-on cooperation—the new law means their sheriffs will be compelled to share jail resources and link up with ICE agents directly under the state mandate. They’d managed, until now, to sidestep 287(g) and instead tolerated ICE presence under older, less formal agreements. But the clock is ticking. By 2026, every county jail must comply, though the state will chip in cash to help offset costs, a nod to counties where budgets are already tight.

State Senator Charles Schwertner didn’t mince words about the law’s aim. “The most aggressive immigration enforcement measure” of the session, he said. The hope? Greater uniformity, with every jail in Texas a line of defense against what state leaders describe as criminal threats posed by undocumented residents. For Schwertner and backers of SB8, the bottom line is uncompromising: enforce immigration law everywhere, every time.

From the federal side, ICE’s acting director, Todd Lyons, has supported the effort. Lyons prefers working with local officers. “It’s safer for everyone—our agents, the local police, even the people in custody,” he explains. ICE points out that, without jail cooperation, their agents often wind up making risky neighborhood raids; it’s not a theoretical risk either—recent violence has meant team sizes have doubled, with half the officers there just to provide backup on a single arrest.

There’s no small amount of admiration from the federal agency for Texas’s approach. Lyons called it a model for the country. The message: strong partnerships mean fewer high-stakes encounters, more order, less mayhem on the street. Some of Texas’s urban jails, despite their previous reluctance, have already built relationships with ICE under previous programs—Lyons is quick to praise their willingness to hand over individuals “in a safe, humane way.” Still, he’s critical of other states: where sanctuary policies persist, officers are forced into less controlled settings, putting everyone at risk.

Meanwhile, the picture couldn’t be more different in Minnesota. There, Democratic lawmakers have charted nearly the inverse course. State leaders say paid family and medical leave is now available to thousands more—critics counter that even undocumented immigrants can tap into these benefits, even as the state faces a budget squeeze. By the end of the first year, officials expect roughly 132,000 applications, with the lion’s share of funding coming from higher payroll taxes.

It’s not just partisan squabbling. The state’s move to extend leave benefits to broader populations—regardless of status—has drawn the ire of business groups, particularly the Minnesota Chamber of Commerce. They point to staffing up a new agency with over 400 employees, and to provisions that guarantee ninety percent wage replacement for low-income workers. Some small business owners worry aloud about fraud, arguing the system is vulnerable—particularly if undocumented workers are covered.

Adding fuel to the fire are well-publicized federal crackdowns on fraudulent claims in Minnesota, including large-scale schemes in Medicaid and nutrition programs that federal agents, like ICE, say were abetted by sanctuary policies. Lyons, never one to sugarcoat, links these frauds directly to resistance to federal cooperation, using them to illustrate the larger point: “fraudsters” can exploit local reluctance to coordinate with immigration authorities.

Essentially, Texas and Minnesota are steering in opposite directions. For Texas, it’s about centralized, uniform enforcement—with local variation overridden. Minnesota, by contrast, leans further into safeguarding benefits and protecting the undocumented, even while controversies and oversight challenges swirl.

The chasm isn’t just about law or policy technicalities. At its core, it’s an argument about identity—what kinds of risks communities are willing to bear, who they’re willing to include, and the shape of government’s obligations. As other states watch these experiments, the debate over balance—between safety and opportunity, control and compassion—shows no sign of waning.

In Texas, the latest collision over immigration law is unfolding not just in political chambers, but in the hallways of every county jail across the state. With the sweep of Governor Greg Abbott’s pen, Senate Bill 8 has rewritten the rules: now, sheriffs from the piney woods to the far western prairies must ink formal partnerships with federal immigration officials—no more digging in heels by local leaders who once argued for “sanctuary” policies.Texas didn’t get here overnight. Until now, only eighty-five counties—barely a third—had formally coordinated with federal Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) under the 287(g) program. Starting this year, that’s set to jump dramatically. Suddenly, sheriffs in 234 counties are required to cooperate, regardless of whether their voters asked for it. What’s different is the scale and firmness; the law leaves no room for opt-outs or legal half-measures.Consider the practical changes. In sprawling Harris County or bustling Dallas and Travis counties—urban hotbeds that have long resisted full-on cooperation—the new law means their sheriffs will be compelled to share jail resources and link up with ICE agents directly under the state mandate. They’d managed, until now, to sidestep 287(g) and instead tolerated ICE presence under older, less formal agreements. But the clock is ticking. By 2026, every county jail must comply, though the state will chip in cash to help offset costs, a nod to counties where budgets are already tight.State Senator Charles Schwertner didn’t mince words about the law’s aim. “The most aggressive immigration enforcement measure” of the session, he said. The hope? Greater uniformity, with every jail in Texas a line of defense against what state leaders describe as criminal threats posed by undocumented residents. For Schwertner and backers of SB8, the bottom line is uncompromising: enforce immigration law everywhere, every time.From the federal side, ICE’s acting director, Todd Lyons, has supported the effort. Lyons prefers working with local officers. “It’s safer for everyone—our agents, the local police, even the people in custody,” he explains. ICE points out that, without jail cooperation, their agents often wind up making risky neighborhood raids; it’s not a theoretical risk either—recent violence has meant team sizes have doubled, with half the officers there just to provide backup on a single arrest.There’s no small amount of admiration from the federal agency for Texas’s approach. Lyons called it a model for the country. The message: strong partnerships mean fewer high-stakes encounters, more order, less mayhem on the street. Some of Texas’s urban jails, despite their previous reluctance, have already built relationships with ICE under previous programs—Lyons is quick to praise their willingness to hand over individuals “in a safe, humane way.” Still, he’s critical of other states: where sanctuary policies persist, officers are forced into less controlled settings, putting everyone at risk.Meanwhile, the picture couldn’t be more different in Minnesota. There, Democratic lawmakers have charted nearly the inverse course. State leaders say paid family and medical leave is now available to thousands more—critics counter that even undocumented immigrants can tap into these benefits, even as the state faces a budget squeeze. By the end of the first year, officials expect roughly 132,000 applications, with the lion’s share of funding coming from higher payroll taxes.It’s not just partisan squabbling. The state’s move to extend leave benefits to broader populations—regardless of status—has drawn the ire of business groups, particularly the Minnesota Chamber of Commerce. They point to staffing up a new agency with over 400 employees, and to provisions that guarantee ninety percent wage replacement for low-income workers. Some small business owners worry aloud about fraud, arguing the system is vulnerable—particularly if undocumented workers are covered.Adding fuel to the fire are well-publicized federal crackdowns on fraudulent claims in Minnesota, including large-scale schemes in Medicaid and nutrition programs that federal agents, like ICE, say were abetted by sanctuary policies. Lyons, never one to sugarcoat, links these frauds directly to resistance to federal cooperation, using them to illustrate the larger point: “fraudsters” can exploit local reluctance to coordinate with immigration authorities.Essentially, Texas and Minnesota are steering in opposite directions. For Texas, it’s about centralized, uniform enforcement—with local variation overridden. Minnesota, by contrast, leans further into safeguarding benefits and protecting the undocumented, even while controversies and oversight challenges swirl.The chasm isn’t just about law or policy technicalities. At its core, it’s an argument about identity—what kinds of risks communities are willing to bear, who they’re willing to include, and the shape of government’s obligations. As other states watch these experiments, the debate over balance—between safety and opportunity, control and compassion—shows no sign of waning.