Trump Escalates Criticism of Ilhan Omar While Aboard Air Force One
What began earlier this month as a viral White House jab at Rep. Ilhan Omar (D-MN) has now turned into a broader campaign offensive, with President Donald Trump doubling down on his criticism of the Somali-born congresswoman and the Somali refugee community in the United States.
Omar said during an October appearance on The Dean Obeidallah Show that she was not worried about losing her U.S. citizenship or being sent back to Somalia, where she was born.
“I have no worry, I don’t know how they’d take away my citizenship and like deport me,” Omar said. “But I don’t even know why that’s such a scary threat. I’m not the 8-year-old who escaped war anymore. I’m grown, my kids are grown. I could go live wherever I want.”
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On Nov. 10, the White House posted on X a 2024 photo of Trump waving from a McDonald’s drive-thru window, replying to a clip in which Omar said she was unconcerned about being deported.
The photo — taken during a campaign stop in Pennsylvania — quickly circulated online and was widely interpreted as a taunting “good-bye” message aimed at the Minnesota lawmaker.
Now, the feud has reignited. Speaking to reporters aboard Air Force One, Trump referenced the allegation that Omar had entered the U.S. through a fraudulent marriage.
“She supposedly came into our country by marrying her brother,” he said. “If that’s true, she shouldn’t be a congresswoman, and we should throw her the hell out of the country.”
The president also broadened his remarks to criticize Somali immigration overall.
“Somalis have caused us a lot of trouble, and they cost us a lot of money,” Trump said. “What the hell are we paying Somalia for? We have Ilhan Omar who does nothing but complain about our Constitution and our country! We’re not taking their people anymore — in fact, we’re sending them back.”
Trump has often accused Omar of being “anti-American,” previously telling her and other progressive “Squad” members to “go back” to their “broken and crime-infested countries.” Omar responded earlier this month by calling Trump a “lying buffoon” and saying his story about Somalia’s president refusing to take her back was fabricated.
The White House has signaled that it will not walk back the president’s latest statements. A senior aide said Trump was “reminding voters that America’s generosity should never be repaid with contempt.”
Omar’s family fled Somalia’s civil war in 1991 and spent several years in a Kenyan refugee camp before settling in the United States. She was elected to Congress in 2018, becoming one of the first Muslim women and the first Somali-American to serve in the U.S. House of Representatives.
The renewed confrontation underscores the political tension between Trump and radical members of the “Squad.” It comes amidst growing concerns about immigration policy and the vetting of immigrants in the aftermath of an Afghan refugee’s shooting of two National Guard members over the Thanksgiving holiday.
DHS Rips The Doxing Of Agents Involved In Alex Pretti Shooting
The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) issued a warning Monday, urging the public and media outlets not to publish personal identifying information in connection with the Alex Pretti shooting incident in Minneapolis, following concerns that the widespread dissemination of such data could put individuals at risk or interfere with ongoing investigations.
DHS officials said the release or circulation of personal information — including home addresses, phone numbers or other identifying details — can expose individuals to harassment, threats or criminal activity. The department emphasized that law-enforcement agencies involved in the case are working to ensure accurate information is released through official channels.
“DHS will never confirm or deny attempts to dox our law enforcement officers,” a spokesperson told Newsmax, following a report claiming to have identified the two CBP agents who fired on Pretti during a violent tussle on a Minneapolis street.
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“Doxing our officers put their lives and their families in serious danger.”
ProPublica, a left-leaning news outlet, reported that it has seen federal records identifying two agents, aged 43 and 35, from South Texas who were involved in the shooting of Pretti, 37. Newsmax could not independently verify the names mentioned and is choosing not to disclose them.
“Our law enforcement officers are on the frontlines arresting terrorists, gang members, murderers, pedophiles, and rapists,” the DHS statement added. “Now, thanks to the malicious rhetoric of sanctuary politicians, they are under constant threat from violent agitators.
“They are facing a 1,300% increase in assaults against them, a 3,200% increase in vehicular attacks against them, and an 8,000% increase in death threats against them. Publicizing their identities puts their lives and the lives of their families at serious risk.
“This matter remains under investigation,” the department added.
The warning comes amid intense public interest in the case after federal officers fatally shot Pretti on Jan. 24 during an enforcement action related to immigration operations. Video of the confrontation circulated widely online, prompting debate and increased coverage from news outlets and social media users.
In its statement, DHS said that sharing or “doxing” individuals connected to the incident — including private citizens, law-enforcement personnel or bystanders — can hinder investigative and legal processes. The department encouraged journalists and the public to rely on verified information from credible sources and refrain from posting unauthorized personal data.
DHS representatives also highlighted efforts to protect the safety and privacy of law-enforcement officers, their families and other individuals involved in sensitive cases, noting that unauthorized release of personal information has previously led to threats and targeted harassment.
Pretti’s death has drawn national attention and sparked protests and political debate over federal enforcement tactics and accountability. Authorities are continuing to review body-camera footage and other evidence as part of ongoing inquiries into the incident.
Federal and local officials have not yet released the full findings of those investigations. Law-enforcement spokespeople said they will provide updates through official statements as more information becomes available.
Senate Democrats instigated a government shutdown this weekend by pushing for legislation that mandates federal immigration officers to display visible identification during enforcement operations. They argue that masked agents without clear name tags diminish accountability and public trust.
Meanwhile, President Donald Trump and the White House are strongly defending Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem as Democrats intensify their calls for her removal over the handling of recent immigration enforcement operations and fatal shootings in Minneapolis.
“I think she’s doing a very good job,” Trump told reporters last week. “The border is totally secure. You forget, we had a border that I inherited where millions of people were coming through. Now, we have a border where no one is coming through.”
Administration officials confirmed that Trump personally assured Noem of his full confidence during a phone call ahead of Thursday’s Cabinet meeting.
I Tried to Stay Invisible While Cleaning His Mansion. Now, I'm the Only Weakness of a Ruthless Syndicate Boss.
“Don’t Get in the Car,” the Maid Warned While Fixing His Tie—The Mafia Boss Saw the Gun Too Late
Blood smelled like copper, but impending violence smelled like ozone and cold sweat.
Nora knew both intimately.
As she reached up to straighten Dominic’s silk tie, her knuckles brushed the steady pulse in his throat. He smelled of bergamot and bitter espresso.
Over his shoulder, through the glass double doors, she saw the driver.
His jacket hung incorrectly. A heavy metallic bulk ruined its bespoke lines.
Nora smoothed the silk.
“Your driver has a gun,” she whispered. “Don’t get in the car.”
Lemon oil and beeswax.
That was the scent of survival.
Nora moved the microfiber cloth in punishing concentric circles over the mahogany console table in the foyer. The wood was already immaculate, a dark mirror reflecting the cut-crystal chandelier overhead, but stillness inside the house was a liability.
If she stood still, she was listening.
If she was listening, she was a threat.
Nora kept her hands moving.
Her knuckles were raw, and harsh detergent had split the skin around her cuticles. Every flex of her fingers produced a mild sting.
It was a grounding pain.
It kept her awake.
Morning inside the Rossi estate was a sterile and muted affair. The walls were thick, and the carpets were plush enough to swallow the sound of a falling body.
Nora had worked there for 11 months, long enough to understand the architecture of power and the geometry of keeping her head down.
She was a maid, a ghost inside a gray uniform with white trim. Every Friday, she collected a cash envelope and deposited it directly into a checking account that was slowly and painfully building toward a 1-way ticket out of the state.
Footsteps sounded on the grand staircase.
They were not the hurried, heavy steps of the men guarding the perimeter. They were the measured, rhythmic clicks of leather against marble.
Dominic.
Nora did not look up immediately.
She moved to the side of the hall, lowered her head slightly, and blended into the damask wallpaper.
Dominic Rossi descended into the foyer, bringing a displacement of air that felt physically heavy.
He was not the hulking, scarred brute found in cheap films. He was lean, built with the coiled and wiry tension of a greyhound.
That morning, he wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Nora’s annual rent.
As he stepped from the final stair into the natural light coming through the frosted doors, Nora saw the frayed edges of his immaculate appearance.
His jaw was clenched.
Faint purple shadows beneath his dark eyes revealed nights spent staring at ceilings and calculating betrayals.
Dominic stopped beside the mirror above the console table.
He did not examine his reflection. He stared through the glass, his mind elsewhere, perhaps dissecting supply chains or arranging someone’s quiet disappearance.
Nora stood near the coat rack with his wool overcoat.
Her role was to hand it to him, open the door, and disappear.
Something was wrong.
Dominic’s tie was a heavy, woven midnight-blue silk. Its knot had been pulled slightly to the left, causing the collar of his white shirt to pinch awkwardly.
For anyone else, it would have meant nothing.
For Dominic Rossi, a man who controlled his surroundings with terrifying precision, it was an alarm.
He was distracted.
Dangerously so.
Nora stepped forward.
Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked softly against the marble.
Dominic’s eyes snapped toward her reflection.
They were cold and empty, the eyes of a predator registering movement.
Nora did not freeze.
Freezing was what prey did.
She kept her posture neutral and concentrated on his collar, ignoring the lethal weight of his attention.
She closed the distance between them.
“Your tie, sir,” she said without inflection.
He did not grant permission, but he did not step away.
That was enough.
Nora raised her hands.
The silk was cool beneath her rough fingertips.
She moved the knot precisely into the center of his throat, and the backs of her knuckles touched his skin.
He was burning.
Feverish heat radiated from his neck.
She smelled the clean citrus of his cologne. Beneath it was the acrid bitterness of old coffee and unrestrained stress.
He was a man holding a collapsing empire together with his bare hands.
As Nora smoothed his lapels, her eyes moved past his shoulder.
Through the reinforced glass of the front doors, she could see the circular driveway.
The armored black sedan was idling. Small clouds of white exhaust vanished into the cold morning air.
Arthur, the morning driver, stood beside the rear passenger door.
Nora had served him coffee many times.
He was a thickly built man who normally leaned against the fender, scrolling through his telephone with bored indifference.
That morning, Arthur was not leaning.
He stood rigidly upright.
His left hand was completely hidden behind his back.
It was the right side of his body that captured Nora’s attention.
His suit jacket hung incorrectly.
It did not drape. A bulge pulled the fabric tightly across his ribs, and the weight dragged the hem downward.
It was the unmistakable outline of a suppressed firearm inside a shoulder holster. The weapon sat higher and appeared bulkier than the standard sidearms carried by the estate guards.
Arthur was also sweating.
A thin layer of moisture reflected the sunlight across his forehead.
It was 40° outside.
His eyes repeatedly moved toward the front door.
He was not scanning the perimeter or waiting for his employer.
He was watching the glass.
Waiting for a target.
Nora’s hands remained on Dominic’s chest.
Her heart struck violently against her ribs.
If Dominic walked outside, Arthur would draw the gun.
There would be shouting, blood, and retaliation.
The estate would enter lockdown. No one would leave, and no one would be paid.
The fragile and quiet life Nora had constructed inside the shadows of the criminal organization would collapse.
She did not care about Dominic Rossi.
She cared about the Friday envelope.
She cared about routine.
Nora kept her expression completely blank.
She gave the silk tie 1 final and decisive adjustment.
Then she leaned forward by a fraction, her mouth near the lapel of Dominic’s suit.
“Your driver has a gun,” she whispered, barely audible over the grandfather clock ticking inside the hall. “Don’t get in the car.”
Dominic did not react.
That was the most frightening part.
A normal man would have jerked backward, looked through the doors, gasped, or demanded an explanation.
Dominic did nothing.
His breathing did not change.
His eyes remained fixed on Nora’s pale face without widening.
The coldness in his gaze seemed to deepen.
For 2 agonizing seconds, the foyer’s silence pressed against Nora’s ears.
Her hands still rested lightly against his chest.
She felt the calm and steady movement of his heart.
Then Dominic raised his hand.
His fingers closed around Nora’s wrist.
The grip was a steel vise, completely disproportionate to the elegance of his appearance. Pressure came immediately, grinding the delicate bones together.
A sharp gasp escaped her.
“You missed a spot,” Dominic said.
His low voice was pitched for ordinary conversation. It sounded casual and bored.
He did not look at the doors or Arthur.
Dominic pivoted smoothly and used his grip on her wrist to pull Nora with him.
He dragged her away from the glass and toward the interior of the estate, positioning her body between himself and the outside world.
A human shield.
The realization struck Nora with a wave of nausea.
If Arthur panicked and fired through the doors, the bullets would enter her spine first.
“Sir, my arm,” she said through clenched teeth.
She stumbled over the hem of her uniform skirt while trying to match Dominic’s long, unhurried strides.
“Quiet.”
The word carried the finality of a guillotine.
He pulled Nora past the dining room and toward the floor-to-ceiling oak doors of his private study.
She was permitted to clean that room only on Tuesdays and under a guard’s supervision.
It was Thursday.
Dominic opened the doors, pulled Nora inside, and kicked them closed.
The reinforced lock engaged with the sound of a vault sealing.
The study was dark and smelled of old paper, leather bindings, and faint cigar smoke. Heavy velvet drapes covered the windows.
The moment the lock engaged, Dominic’s facade disappeared.
He released Nora’s wrist.
She moved backward, rubbing the red marks already forming across her skin while her breath came in short, hard movements.
Dominic was already in motion.
The exhaustion was gone, replaced by kinetic violence.
He crossed the room in 3 steps and reached beneath the mahogany desk.
Metal scraped.
A slide moved with a heavy, oily clack.
When Dominic straightened, he held a black handgun.
He did not aim it at Nora. The barrel remained angled toward the Persian rug, but his body was coiled and ready.
