DHS's VOICE Office: Weaponizing Grief to Fuel Anti-Immigrant Agenda

The Department of Homeland Security’s announcement today hit like a gut punch to anyone who values unity over division. Secretary Kristi Noem stood before the nation, heralding the relaunch of the Victims of Immigration Crime Engagement (VOICE) Office, a program shuttered in 2021 and now dusted off under President Trump’s directive. It’s framed as a lifeline for families torn apart by crimes linked to undocumented immigrants, a noble cause on its face. Yet beneath the surface, this move reeks of a calculated play to amplify fear, not heal wounds.

Noem’s words painted a vivid picture of ‘Angel Families,’ those who’ve lost loved ones to what she calls ‘illegal alien crime.’ Her voice trembled with conviction as she promised resources, support, and a renewed focus on removing ‘criminal illegal aliens’ from our streets. It’s a narrative that tugs at heartstrings, and understandably so. No one disputes the agony of losing a child, a spouse, a sibling. But here’s where the story frays: this isn’t about justice for all victims, it’s about spotlighting a narrow slice of tragedy to justify a broader, harsher agenda.

The VOICE Office, first launched in 2017, promises practical help, automated updates on offenders’ custody status, and connections to social services. For families navigating grief, those tools sound like a godsend. But let’s not kid ourselves, this isn’t a good-faith effort to mend broken lives. It’s a megaphone for a policy that paints immigrants as ticking time bombs, a stance that flies in the face of decades of evidence and risks unraveling the fragile trust holding our communities together.

Dig into the numbers, and the foundation of this relaunch starts to crumble. Study after study, from the Cato Institute to the American Immigration Council, reveals a stubborn truth: immigrants, documented or not, are far less likely to commit crimes than people born on U.S. soil. Incarceration rates for immigrants have sat 60% lower than for native-born citizens since the 1960s. That’s not a fluke, it’s a pattern. Yet the Trump administration clings to a script that casts newcomers as the villains in our national story.

The VOICE Office leans heavily on the stories of Angel Families, and their pain is real. No one’s denying that. But using those losses to drive policy ignores the bigger picture. Research out of the University of California showed that programs like Secure Communities, which ramp up deportations, don’t just fail to cut crime, they often make things worse. Hispanic victims of violence, fearing deportation, stop reporting crimes altogether. The result? An 86% spike in their risk of violent victimization, according to a 2023 study. That’s not safety, that’s sabotage.

ICE Acting Director Todd Lyons called the harm caused by ‘criminal aliens’ unconscionable, and he’s not wrong about the devastation of crime. But the data tells a different tale about who’s really at risk. When immigrant communities retreat into the shadows, afraid to call the police, predators thrive. Policies tying local law enforcement to federal immigration crackdowns don’t protect Americans, they embolden the very threats we’re trying to stop. The VOICE Office might shine a light on a few victims, but it casts a long shadow over countless others.

Look back to 2017, when VOICE first rolled out. It produced one measly report before fizzling out in 2021, replaced by a broader victim services line under Biden. Critics at the time, from advocacy groups to researchers, pegged it as a political prop, not a solution. Its revival now feels like déjà vu, a shiny distraction from the real work of building safer streets for everyone, not just a select few waved as banners in a culture war.

Supporters might argue it’s about giving victims a voice, and that’s a sentiment worth wrestling with. But when the system prioritizes one group’s suffering to fuel mass deportations, it’s not justice, it’s theater. The Justice for Angel Families Act, floating around Congress, doubles down on this, pushing compensation and codifying VOICE into law. It’s a feel-good fix that sidesteps the hard truth: crime doesn’t spike because of immigrants, it spikes when trust in the system collapses.

There’s a path here that doesn’t pit victims against each other or sacrifice safety for political points. Programs like U visas and T visas already exist, offering immigrant victims of crime a chance to stay, work, and heal without the looming threat of deportation. These tools don’t just help survivors, they strengthen law enforcement’s hand by encouraging cooperation. Cases across the country prove it: when victims feel safe to speak, prosecutions succeed, and communities stabilize.

Contrast that with the VOICE Office’s narrow lens. It’s a Band-Aid on a broken system, one that ignores the chilling effect of tying victim support to immigration enforcement. Advocacy groups like the National Immigrant Justice Center have long warned that blending these roles drives vulnerable people underground. A woman battered by her partner, a trafficking survivor, a witness to a robbery, they all deserve help, not a one-way ticket out of the country. True victim support doesn’t discriminate by status, it lifts everyone up.

The relaunch of VOICE isn’t about fixing what’s broken, it’s about doubling down on a fractured vision of America. Secretary Noem and President Trump frame it as a stand for law and order, but it’s a hollow echo of policies that have failed before. We’ve seen this play out: aggressive enforcement breeds fear, not safety. The evidence is clear, from sanctuary cities with lower crime rates to immigrant neighborhoods that thrive when trust isn’t a casualty of politics.

Grieving families deserve every ounce of support we can muster, no question. But weaponizing their pain to push a narrative that’s been debunked time and again isn’t the answer. It’s time to ditch the fearmongering and build a system that protects all of us, not just the ones who fit a convenient storyline. The VOICE Office might scream for attention, but it’s the quiet strength of inclusive justice that will actually make us safer.