Photo: U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Public domain.
There’s a growing myth in America that the people enforcing immigration laws are heroes keeping us safe. But let’s be honest, becoming an ICE agent isn’t about bravery and it isn’t about public service.
It’s about power.
It’s about the kind of authority that doesn’t have to answer to anyone. And in too many cases, it’s about people who couldn’t make it into the military or the police, people who still want the uniform, the gun, the control.
It’s a form of stolen valor dressed up in federal insignia.
When we think of valor, we think of sacrifice. We think of courage in defense of others.
ICE agents are the opposite.
They are often armed with the arrogance of impunity, empowered by administrations that have turned cruelty into policy.
The Trump Administration took that to its fullest expression, transforming ICE from an obscure immigration enforcement body into a weapon of political fear. They have been enabled, even cheered, by members of Congress who have learned that fear wins votes faster than compassion.
The job of ICE, in theory, is law enforcement. But what we’re seeing on the ground, raids on churches, schools, and food distribution lines, isn’t law enforcement.
It’s intimidation.
It’s theater.
And the purpose of that theater is to send a message that there are people in this country who will never belong.
It’s not about who’s undocumented. It’s about who’s unwanted.
Many of these agents operate with a disturbing lack of accountability. They barge into homes without warrants, detain U.S. citizens by mistake, and brutalize people in public, knowing full well there will be no consequences.
They hide behind the claim that they are “just doing their jobs,” as if obedience to cruelty were a virtue. We have heard that excuse before in darker chapters of history.
ICE has become a safe haven for those who want the adrenaline of authority without the discipline of service. It attracts the kind of person who craves control, not justice, who wants to enforce power, not protect life.
And now, with the political green light from above, that mindset has metastasized into something even more dangerous, a culture of sanctioned bullying under the guise of national security.
This kind of movement doesn’t arise in a vacuum. History shows that authoritarian systems often grow by exploiting people’s fears and resentments.
They find recruits among those who feel powerless, ignored, or left behind, and then offer them purpose through the language of nationalism and purity.
They manufacture enemies to blame for complex social problems and build identity around that anger.
When a government teaches people to believe that their worth depends on who they can exclude or control, it is creating the same conditions that have fueled repression across the world.
In every era, demagogues have known how to weaponize fear. They claim to defend the nation while hollowing out its conscience. They speak of security while spreading division. The result is always the same: ordinary people persuaded to act against their own neighbors, convinced they are serving something noble while actually serving power.
This isn’t patriotism. It’s not even policing. It’s performative violence backed by propaganda. And when a government lets fear replace empathy, when cruelty is elevated as strength, what we get isn’t order.
It’s authoritarianism wrapped in a flag.
The people who show real valor aren’t the ones breaking down doors or detaining the vulnerable. They’re the ones standing up against this system. They’re the neighbors who organize food drives even under threat of raids, the churches that open their doors to families seeking safety, the lawyers and volunteers who show up to detention centers every morning because they refuse to let fear win.
Valor isn’t about a badge. It’s about conscience. And in this moment, the bravest thing we can do is to call ICE what it truly is, a machine of state-sanctioned cruelty powered by those who mistake domination for duty.
