TOM HOMAN’S HEART

An Autopsy in Real Time

Tom Homan’s heart is not a metaphor. It’s a swollen national tragedy, thudding out of sync beneath the starched uniform of a man who treats immigration like pest control and compassion like a foreign threat. You get the sense his blood isn’t flowing — it’s snarling. His circulatory system doesn’t circulate. It patrols.

Every time he speaks, he doesn’t so much talk as erupt — a geyser of bureaucratic rage spiked with adrenaline, Slim Jims, and Fox News graphics. His neck looks like it’s preparing to secede from the union. That infamous vein, the one that bulges like a snake mid-feeding, has done more work intimidating the public than most ICE field offices. It should be sanctioned by The Hague.

This is the man who designed the logic of family separation. Not just the face of it. The architect. The soft-spoken author of one of the most sadistic policies in modern U.S. history — pulling children from their parents’ arms, tossing them into cages, and then blaming the parents for crying. He called it deterrence. We call it what it is: state-sponsored child abuse.

Reanimated as Trump’s Border Czar, Homan has returned not to repair the system, but to finish the job — to erase due process, to deport millions, and to transform ICE from a fear-based agency into a full-blown paramilitary arm of the American right. And he’s doing it with the same sweaty fury he’s always had: screaming about law and order while looking like his aorta is drafting a resignation letter.

His heart, such as it is, beats for power, not justice. For obedience, not law. For revenge, not order. And every time it spasms beneath his tactical vest, the country inches closer to constitutional collapse by cardiac event.

Because this isn’t just about Tom’s rage. It’s about what that rage has built.

Let’s talk about CECOT — the Salvadoran megaprison where migrants are now disappeared offshore. No hearings. No lawyers. Just a cement box in a foreign country under U.S. authority but without U.S. rights. Homan defends it. Says the people sent there are criminals. But most of them? No charges. No convictions. Just names on a list. Just bodies in a cage. Just habeas corpus tossed in the garbage like an empty energy drink can.

And let’s talk about Alligator Alcatraz — the Everglades detention center so remote it might as well be Guantánamo with better humidity. It’s a swampy loophole in American law, a place where ICE can bury people in isolation and call it "processing." Homan didn’t build it, but spiritually? It’s his temple. A place where geography is weaponized, oversight is vaporized, and human beings become logistical challenges.

But the cruelty doesn’t stop with cages. Under Homan and Trump, ICE is going full-spectrum. They’re rolling out biometric dragnet systems, scanning faces, tracking phones, mining social media, and building a surveillance state powered by the trauma of brown families. Want to know where someone is? Ask the algorithm. Ask the camera. Ask the cop with a hunch and a federally subsidized tablet.

And who profits? Private prison giants like GEO Group and CoreCivic, who are raking in billions under new no-bid contracts to build the next wave of deportation dungeons. Homan himself once took a $5,000 consulting gig from GEO. Now he’s writing policy that directly fattens their margins. This isn’t enforcement. It’s a business model soaked in suffering.

And then come the militias. Yes — actual armed vigilante groups, now openly coordinating with ICE in some states, and even deputized under local "emergency powers." Armed white men in tactical gear are pulling over migrants in the desert while Tom Homan calls it “community engagement.” This is not border security. This is proto-fascism with a security badge.

And if you think having U.S. citizenship protects you? Think again. Trump and Homan have reactivated the Denaturalization Task Force, now scouring decades-old paperwork to strip Americans of their status retroactively. Get naturalized in 1982? Oops — typo on a form? Say goodbye to your passport. It’s citizenship by technicality now. And they’re the ones holding the erasers.

Meanwhile, the refugee cap has collapsed, the asylum pipeline has been torched, and Safe Third Country agreements are funneling desperate families into dangerous, corrupt regimes — all so the U.S. can pretend it's complying with international law while systematically gutting it from the inside.

And just in case you wanted to report on any of this? Good luck. Journalists are being barred, threatened, subpoenaed. Whistleblowers are disappearing. Lawsuits are sealed. This isn’t just state cruelty. It’s state secrecy — enforced at gunpoint and litigated into silence.

Tom Homan’s heart is the pulsing, authoritarian rhythm of a government losing its soul. It’s a glitching pressure valve pumping fear into federal policy. It’s the sound ICE makes when it wakes up in the morning and decides today is a good day to shatter another life and call it a metric.

He’s not a patriot. He’s not a lawman. He’s a warning. A red-faced emissary from a future where borders are policed by AI, children are evidence, and legal rights are conditional — on your accent, your zip code, your skin.

So keep yelling, Tom. Keep shaking with rage. Keep pretending you’re the victim while entire families vanish into concrete warehouses built by your friends and funded by your cruelty. Just please — do it near a hospital. One with a cardiologist. And maybe — just maybe — a chaplain.

Because if there’s a God watching this mess, He’s going to want a word.

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