A few weeks ago, I wrote: “Everyone in America has an opinion on what has gone right or wrong at the Department of Homeland Security and its component agencies, particularly Immigration and Customs Enforcement and Customs and Border Protection.” I added — a little too coyly — that I had “a pretty good sense of what happened.”

That restraint served a purpose at the time. It also left too much unsaid.

The mass deportation agenda remains central to Trump’s legacy. Markwayne Mullin has a chance to deliver what the last year only promised. We’re counting on him.

Now that President Trump has removed Kristi Noem as Homeland Security secretary and nominated Senator Markwayne Mullin (R-Okla.) to replace her, it’s worth putting real detail behind the diagnosis. Not to salt the wound, but to fix what needs fixing. Trump’s signature promise — “the largest deportation operation in American history” — matters too much for anyone to pretend the last year went smoothly.

Start with the numbers. They’re too low to fulfill the promise.

ICE stopped releasing deportation data. The congressionally mandated annual report still hasn’t arrived. In the vacuum, we’ve been left with third-party estimates — the New York Times put removals at about 230,000 in 2025 — and with shifting DHS press-shop claims that bounce between hundreds of thousands and “millions.” The Times figure sits closer to reality than the chest-thumping.

Instead of mass deportations, we got mass communications.

The department’s strategy leaned heavily on television ads, memes, charged language, and inflated-sounding claims meant to create the impression that deportations were happening at historic scale. The result landed in the worst possible place: It antagonized the left and the media without delivering results big enough to justify the noise. I don’t lose sleep over angry leftists. I do care when the administration absorbs political heat without gaining operational ground.

Trump World isn’t immune to polling, media narratives, and the feedback loop they create. A loud rollout without the matching numbers gave activists, consultants, and industry a pretext to flood weak-kneed Republican offices on Capitol Hill. Those calls turned into pressure on the administration. The incentive became delay, and delay followed.

Then came the optics problem.

Turning the DHS secretary role into a traveling cosplay routine didn’t land, and it didn’t project command. Instead, it projected awkwardness — and in a department built for seriousness, that matters.

The larger issue was always fit. Excitement around Trump’s cabinet picks made people charitable, and that’s understandable. The president earned that deference. But putting Noem in charge of DHS — the department most central to the core thesis of Trump’s campaign — never quite made sense. People in the enforcement world tried to build working relationships. Many got brushed off. Meanwhile, operational leaders inside DHS did what Noem didn’t: They cultivated the advocates who could help the mission move.

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Photo by Jacek Boczarski/Anadolu via Getty Images

The divide became public. Post-Minneapolis, Tom Homan’s profile rose quickly as Trump tapped him to manage the response. Inside DHS, the camps had already formed. Anyone in Washington with a foot in the enforcement world knew who was on “Team Kristi and Corey [Lewandowski]” and who wasn’t. Leaks followed. Finger-pointing followed. Journalists got fed a steady diet of dysfunction. Morale dropped as firings and reassignments became the department’s background music.

What drove most of the internal warfare was money — specifically, contracts — and the scramble to control tens of billions authorized through the One Big Beautiful Bill.

DHS adopted a policy requiring Noem personally to review and sign off on contracts over $100,000. Combined with stripping authority from agency heads, that amounted to centralized control in the secretary’s office.

In practice, the authority filtered through a small circle and ran through Corey Lewandowski in a “special government employee” capacity. The backlog became delay, and the delays hit the mission: Border wall contracts sat for months while steel prices rose. Detention capacity grew slowly because leadership chased flashy, low-capacity facilities with catchy names — Cornhusker Clink, Speedway Slammer, Louisiana Lockup — announced with social media fanfare but built at higher cost, higher litigation risk, and lower throughput than traditional providers.

It looked like a communications strategy pretending to be a detention strategy.

Personnel choices compounded the problem. Noem brought in people with little operational or policy experience in immigration enforcement. Her decision to install a late-20s former Wildlife and Fisheries official as deputy ICE director raised eyebrows. Outside the formal chain of command, an equally inexperienced cast appeared in spaces normally reserved for officials who have spent years in homeland security. Over time, allegations of self-dealing spread — and the pattern made it harder to dismiss them as rumor.

The best example was the $220 million ad campaign that prominently featured Noem. Reports of unusual processes and favored vendors circulated. When lawmakers — Republicans and Democrats — pressed for answers, Noem did little to restore confidence. Given the broader self-promotion pattern, any benefit of the doubt evaporated.

Then came the hearings. They were brutal.

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Before both the House and the Senate, Noem failed to convince members that she could lead the department, and she struggled to answer accusations of scandal and self-dealing. But the fatal error came when she violated the one rule for any Cabinet witness: Don’t drag the president into your mess.

Under questioning from Sen. John Kennedy about the ad campaign, Noem told him the president personally approved the spending. Kennedy looked stunned. Trump later denied it — and the claim never made much sense in the first place. That answer ended whatever internal support remained. In the middle of a sudden war, it still managed to blow up the news cycle. With few defenders inside the building or outside it, the wagons never circled.

So what now?

Markwayne Mullin has a massive job ahead of him. He inherits some real wins — especially the restored control of the southern border — but he also inherits a department bruised by internal warfare, low output numbers, and credibility damage.

A few suggestions, offered plainly:

First, “commas, not drama.” Let the mission speak louder than the messaging. Raise the deportation numbers. If the numbers move, everything else gets easier.

Second, cauterize the past. If Mullin doesn’t create distance from what happened before, he’ll spend the next year answering for it — including under subpoena if Democrats take the House.

Third, build a firewall through oversight. Let Trump-appointed Inspector General Joseph Cuffari review the controversies. Put the facts on paper, separate the department from the personalities, and move forward. Mullin needs the ability to say, credibly, that he’s fixing the mission, not protecting a mess he didn’t create.

Fourth, trust the serious people already inside DHS. The department has highly capable operators. Back them. Empower them. Leadership requires followers, and followers don’t materialize through threats, leaks, and infighting.

The mass deportation agenda remains central to Trump’s legacy. Mullin has a chance to deliver what the last year only promised.

We’re counting on him.