DHS Blasts CBS: Media 'Downplays' Dangerous Immigrant Offenders

Paul Riverbank, 2/10/2026CBS and DHS spar over immigrant crime data, revealing heated debates over definitions and public safety.

Take a step back: almost 400,000 people found themselves picked up by ICE in the last year, if DHS numbers are right. Look closer, though. More than half—around 60%—carried either criminal charges or prior convictions in the U.S. On the surface, the majority of those crimes weren't classified as violent. CBS made sure to underscore that point—legal definitions, after all, carry real weight. Almost 40% of those arrested, on paper, were only accused of immigration infractions, not criminal ones.

It didn’t take long for DHS and Trump administration officials to push back—hard. They went public, not just on policy, but with names and faces. At the center of their argument: the definition of “non-violent” crime, and what it leaves out.

Consider Antonio Israel Lazo-Quintanilla. Domestic records show him arrested for the relatively mundane—driving without a license. But DHS says that’s only half the story. In El Salvador, Lazo-Quintanilla is wanted for charges ranging from aggravated homicide to extortion, plus membership in the notorious 18th Street Gang, which Washington labels a Foreign Terrorist Organization. When officials circulated his mugshot—complete with a “666” tattoo across the forehead—the implication was crystal clear: don’t let paperwork blind you to the threat.

Another name surfaced almost instantly: Edward Hernandez, an MS-13 member with Virginia ties. By the book, he bears no U.S. criminal convictions—making him officially a “non-criminal” under CBS’s lens. DHS countered with stark allegations: in El Salvador, Hernandez supposedly confessed to dismembering five people. One victim was, by their account, still alive during the mutilation. For critics of the CBS framing, this case wasn’t just nuance; it was a glaring flaw.

DHS didn’t stop there. Mexican brothers with so-called “clean” American slates, yet wanted for murder back home, entered the discussion. The agency’s pitch: you can’t simply erase criminal histories at the border and call someone harmless.

ICE, not to be outdone, chimed in with its own parsing of the numbers. Their statement, equal parts pointed and exasperated, rattled off a list—drug trafficking, child pornography, burglary, fraud, DUI, embezzlement, solicitation of a minor, human smuggling. All “non-violent,” at least on paper. ICE’s question: who decided these crimes don’t threaten the public?

The deeper point, and the one that fuels so much disagreement, is about the public’s perception of safety and the reliability of numbers in painting a complete picture. Child exploitation, human smuggling, major narcotics operations—each can devastate communities, even if the violence lies beneath the surface or outside the technical definition.

CBS, for its part, included polling numbers. Once, a clear majority—59%—supported Trump’s immigration enforcement. Now, that share has slid to 46%. The interpretation, naturally, depends on whom you ask. Administration officials insist that focusing only on what’s on U.S. court records understates true risks, especially when some immigrants arrive with clean American files yet can be wanted for far more serious crimes in their countries of origin.

Take the killing of nursing student Laken Riley in Georgia—a case that horrified the public. The accused, Jose Ibarra, had no recorded history of violent crime stateside before his arrest, but that didn’t prevent tragedy.

So, where does this leave us? The debate isn’t just statistics or labels. It’s about what, and whom, you trust—numbers, legal definitions, or the stories behind them. There’s no easy calculus for who poses a true risk, or how to capture the complexities of immigration enforcement in the language of government reports.

But one thing is clear: as long as the gap remains between record and reality, so too will the arguments over what it truly means to keep America safe.

CBS News tossed a live wire into the center of America’s immigration debate this week, publishing findings that sliced straight through political talking points. According to an internal Homeland Security document they unearthed, fewer than 14% of immigrants arrested by ICE during President Trump’s return to office had violent criminal charges or convictions on their U.S. records. It’s a statistic that stirs as many questions as it answers.Take a step back: almost 400,000 people found themselves picked up by ICE in the last year, if DHS numbers are right. Look closer, though. More than half—around 60%—carried either criminal charges or prior convictions in the U.S. On the surface, the majority of those crimes weren't classified as violent. CBS made sure to underscore that point—legal definitions, after all, carry real weight. Almost 40% of those arrested, on paper, were only accused of immigration infractions, not criminal ones.It didn’t take long for DHS and Trump administration officials to push back—hard. They went public, not just on policy, but with names and faces. At the center of their argument: the definition of “non-violent” crime, and what it leaves out.Consider Antonio Israel Lazo-Quintanilla. Domestic records show him arrested for the relatively mundane—driving without a license. But DHS says that’s only half the story. In El Salvador, Lazo-Quintanilla is wanted for charges ranging from aggravated homicide to extortion, plus membership in the notorious 18th Street Gang, which Washington labels a Foreign Terrorist Organization. When officials circulated his mugshot—complete with a “666” tattoo across the forehead—the implication was crystal clear: don’t let paperwork blind you to the threat.Another name surfaced almost instantly: Edward Hernandez, an MS-13 member with Virginia ties. By the book, he bears no U.S. criminal convictions—making him officially a “non-criminal” under CBS’s lens. DHS countered with stark allegations: in El Salvador, Hernandez supposedly confessed to dismembering five people. One victim was, by their account, still alive during the mutilation. For critics of the CBS framing, this case wasn’t just nuance; it was a glaring flaw.DHS didn’t stop there. Mexican brothers with so-called “clean” American slates, yet wanted for murder back home, entered the discussion. The agency’s pitch: you can’t simply erase criminal histories at the border and call someone harmless.ICE, not to be outdone, chimed in with its own parsing of the numbers. Their statement, equal parts pointed and exasperated, rattled off a list—drug trafficking, child pornography, burglary, fraud, DUI, embezzlement, solicitation of a minor, human smuggling. All “non-violent,” at least on paper. ICE’s question: who decided these crimes don’t threaten the public?The deeper point, and the one that fuels so much disagreement, is about the public’s perception of safety and the reliability of numbers in painting a complete picture. Child exploitation, human smuggling, major narcotics operations—each can devastate communities, even if the violence lies beneath the surface or outside the technical definition.CBS, for its part, included polling numbers. Once, a clear majority—59%—supported Trump’s immigration enforcement. Now, that share has slid to 46%. The interpretation, naturally, depends on whom you ask. Administration officials insist that focusing only on what’s on U.S. court records understates true risks, especially when some immigrants arrive with clean American files yet can be wanted for far more serious crimes in their countries of origin.Take the killing of nursing student Laken Riley in Georgia—a case that horrified the public. The accused, Jose Ibarra, had no recorded history of violent crime stateside before his arrest, but that didn’t prevent tragedy.So, where does this leave us? The debate isn’t just statistics or labels. It’s about what, and whom, you trust—numbers, legal definitions, or the stories behind them. There’s no easy calculus for who poses a true risk, or how to capture the complexities of immigration enforcement in the language of government reports.But one thing is clear: as long as the gap remains between record and reality, so too will the arguments over what it truly means to keep America safe.