Trump Vindicated? Border Crossings Plunge as Democrats Forced to Admit Success

Paul Riverbank, 12/4/2025Border crossings drop, HUD cuts hit homeless, and a dual citizenship fight tests American identity.

CNN’s Pamela Brown, not known for pulling punches, put the question squarely in House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries’ lap. “Zero undocumented migrants released for six straight months,” she pointed out—by the numbers, a clear improvement from previous years. The Biden administration has grabbed this narrative with both hands, touting it as proof its strategies are working.

Jeffries wasn’t about to give Biden a blank check, but he also didn’t dodge the facts. “The border is secure. That’s a good thing,” he conceded, much to the chagrin of some in his own party. Yet, he quickly moved from numbers to nuance, expressing alarm about the personal toll: “they’re breaking up families… actually deporting citizen children.” Balancing security with justice is still—maybe always—a point of tension. Democrats may now be arguing from a position of strength, but not, Jeffries suggests, without cost.

The White House hardly let a positive moment pass without a dig for effect. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” one spokesperson shot back, dismissing Jeffries’ caution as political theater. The subtext: victory belongs to the administration, and the facts—however discouraging to partisan critics—do not lie.

But while policy-makers debate credit for a drop in border crossings, another, less noticed but equally consequential decision has hit home in the Deep South. In Birmingham, Gordon Sullivan from One Roof isn’t watching border statistics; he’s reeling from HUD’s abrupt $5.9 million cut to Central Alabama's longtime homeless housing program. “It feels like we’re tearing out the foundation we’ve spent a decade building,” Sullivan lamented in a recent call, stacks of paperwork beside him tracking families at risk.

The new federal approach moves money out of permanent housing, shifting back toward transitional programs. The math is brutal: Central Alabama goes from $8.9 million to just $3 million in housing support almost overnight. The human results? Local shelters—already at their limits—are fielding urgent pleas they lack the beds to answer. “You wonder, if people get pushed out of those apartments, are we the ones telling them to go back to the streets?” one exhausted caseworker asked.

It’s not only an Alabama story; more than 400 similar programs nationwide are facing sudden gaps and anxious clients. HUD’s planners have their logic, but on the ground, that logic collides with lives half-built, organizations just now finding their stride. “National priorities changed—fast,” says Sullivan, “but people don’t move that way.” The prospect that 170,000 people could be forced into homelessness again is more than a statistic in these local offices—it’s a daily emergency.

Just as the country is debating how to keep people in homes or out of the country, Congress is unraveling a third thread: what it means, exactly, to be “American.” Senator Bernie Moreno, Ohio’s steely freshman lawmaker, wants dual citizenship erased altogether. His pitch is clear enough: if you want the privileges of being an American, it’s time to pick your loyalty—no divided allegiances.

Moreno’s bill reads straightforwardly, but its implications are anything but simple. If you hold a second passport, you’d face a choice. Even some in Trump’s orbit could feel the squeeze, most notably Miriam Adelson, key donor and dual citizen, as well as First Lady Melania Trump, reportedly holding both American and Slovenian passports.

Critics in the legal academy, though, say Moreno’s ambition is, at best, wishful thinking. Peter Spiro, constitutional scholar, points to long-standing Supreme Court rulings: Congress can’t just strip citizenship away, absent someone’s consent. So while Moreno makes waves on cable news, and inflames Twitter arguments about “what it means to belong,” odds are slim the measure survives the Senate, let alone the courts.

Supporters argue it’s a call to unity, and in a time of global flux, an assertion about national identity. “All or nothing,” Moreno declared. But lawyers representing figures as prominent as Melania Trump counter, “There’s nothing un-American about holding dual nationality. The U.S. permits it, like plenty of other countries.”

With so many political fires burning, the American conversation about security—whether it’s border patrols, the right to a roof, or the definition of citizenship—feels more contested, and more personal, than ever. The data might offer snapshots: downward graphs at the border, dwindling dollars for housing, a bill at the edge of constitutionality. But for those wrestling with these policies daily—families on the edge, communities scrambling to adapt, lawmakers under the glare—the answers aren’t neat.

Making sense of these transformations means paying attention to the faces beneath the numbers, the priorities changing in real time, and the tension, always, between safety and compassion. In the politics of security, home, and belonging, it’s the unsettled stories—not just the scores—that set the terms of debate.

For years, the southern border of the United States has been the sort of issue politicians could lose sleep over—or build entire campaigns around. Lately, the temperature has changed, quite dramatically. Border patrol records point to a sharp downturn in crossings. The days of endlessly streaming headlines and nightly news footage from the Rio Grande have, at least for the moment, faded into something much quieter. There’s order now where there was once chaos. And that’s set off a new fight entirely: who deserves the credit?CNN’s Pamela Brown, not known for pulling punches, put the question squarely in House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries’ lap. “Zero undocumented migrants released for six straight months,” she pointed out—by the numbers, a clear improvement from previous years. The Biden administration has grabbed this narrative with both hands, touting it as proof its strategies are working.Jeffries wasn’t about to give Biden a blank check, but he also didn’t dodge the facts. “The border is secure. That’s a good thing,” he conceded, much to the chagrin of some in his own party. Yet, he quickly moved from numbers to nuance, expressing alarm about the personal toll: “they’re breaking up families… actually deporting citizen children.” Balancing security with justice is still—maybe always—a point of tension. Democrats may now be arguing from a position of strength, but not, Jeffries suggests, without cost.The White House hardly let a positive moment pass without a dig for effect. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” one spokesperson shot back, dismissing Jeffries’ caution as political theater. The subtext: victory belongs to the administration, and the facts—however discouraging to partisan critics—do not lie.But while policy-makers debate credit for a drop in border crossings, another, less noticed but equally consequential decision has hit home in the Deep South. In Birmingham, Gordon Sullivan from One Roof isn’t watching border statistics; he’s reeling from HUD’s abrupt $5.9 million cut to Central Alabama's longtime homeless housing program. “It feels like we’re tearing out the foundation we’ve spent a decade building,” Sullivan lamented in a recent call, stacks of paperwork beside him tracking families at risk.The new federal approach moves money out of permanent housing, shifting back toward transitional programs. The math is brutal: Central Alabama goes from $8.9 million to just $3 million in housing support almost overnight. The human results? Local shelters—already at their limits—are fielding urgent pleas they lack the beds to answer. “You wonder, if people get pushed out of those apartments, are we the ones telling them to go back to the streets?” one exhausted caseworker asked.It’s not only an Alabama story; more than 400 similar programs nationwide are facing sudden gaps and anxious clients. HUD’s planners have their logic, but on the ground, that logic collides with lives half-built, organizations just now finding their stride. “National priorities changed—fast,” says Sullivan, “but people don’t move that way.” The prospect that 170,000 people could be forced into homelessness again is more than a statistic in these local offices—it’s a daily emergency.Just as the country is debating how to keep people in homes or out of the country, Congress is unraveling a third thread: what it means, exactly, to be “American.” Senator Bernie Moreno, Ohio’s steely freshman lawmaker, wants dual citizenship erased altogether. His pitch is clear enough: if you want the privileges of being an American, it’s time to pick your loyalty—no divided allegiances.Moreno’s bill reads straightforwardly, but its implications are anything but simple. If you hold a second passport, you’d face a choice. Even some in Trump’s orbit could feel the squeeze, most notably Miriam Adelson, key donor and dual citizen, as well as First Lady Melania Trump, reportedly holding both American and Slovenian passports.Critics in the legal academy, though, say Moreno’s ambition is, at best, wishful thinking. Peter Spiro, constitutional scholar, points to long-standing Supreme Court rulings: Congress can’t just strip citizenship away, absent someone’s consent. So while Moreno makes waves on cable news, and inflames Twitter arguments about “what it means to belong,” odds are slim the measure survives the Senate, let alone the courts.Supporters argue it’s a call to unity, and in a time of global flux, an assertion about national identity. “All or nothing,” Moreno declared. But lawyers representing figures as prominent as Melania Trump counter, “There’s nothing un-American about holding dual nationality. The U.S. permits it, like plenty of other countries.”With so many political fires burning, the American conversation about security—whether it’s border patrols, the right to a roof, or the definition of citizenship—feels more contested, and more personal, than ever. The data might offer snapshots: downward graphs at the border, dwindling dollars for housing, a bill at the edge of constitutionality. But for those wrestling with these policies daily—families on the edge, communities scrambling to adapt, lawmakers under the glare—the answers aren’t neat.Making sense of these transformations means paying attention to the faces beneath the numbers, the priorities changing in real time, and the tension, always, between safety and compassion. In the politics of security, home, and belonging, it’s the unsettled stories—not just the scores—that set the terms of debate.