Why Deportation by Race, Ethnicity, or National Origin Never Works | Opinion


The immigrant gang member is back in the news—the boogeyman allegedly responsible for mass violence in the United States, the existential threat that must be deported. Or so we’re told.

Each semester, when we teach college courses on gangs, we start with a simple exercise. We ask our students to close their eyes and picture a gang member. When they open them, we ask what they saw. Their responses are predictable: a young man of color—tattoos, baggy clothes, a menacing expression, maybe holding a weapon.

The problem? That image is a myth, a social construction shaped by decades of media narratives, political rhetoric, and Hollywood tropes. And yet, this constructed image has real-world consequences. It dictates how we police neighborhoods, how we enforce immigration laws, and who we decide is irredeemable.

Looking for Justice
A woman in Maracaibo, Venezuela, holds a sign against the deportation of 238 Venezuelans from the United States to a jail in El Salvador jail, on March 18.

PEDRO MATTEY/AFP via Getty Images

Take the recent invocation of the Alien Enemies Act in response to Tren de Aragua, a Venezuelan gang now being used as the latest justification for mass deportations. The gang label has become a blunt instrument—an easy way to strip individuals of their rights. Simply being called a “gang member” can be enough to trigger deportation, no trial, no meaningful investigation, just an assumption of danger.

Who Gets Labelled a Gang Member?

But what does it really mean to be a gang member? And, more importantly, does this label accurately describe those being targeted by immigration enforcement?

We’ve studied gangs for decades and the reality about them diverges sharply from popular perception. Research consistently finds that only a small fraction—about 5 percent—of gang members commit most gang-related violence. The majority never engages in serious crimes. Many join for protection, community, or economic opportunity in environments where legitimate pathways are scarce.

And yet, the “existential threat” narrative persists. Tren de Aragua is the latest gang to be cast in this role, but just a few years ago, it was MS-13. At its height, MS-13 had fewer than 10,000 members in the U.S.—approximately 1 percent of the estimated 850,000 gang members nationwide. Between 2012 and 2017, the gang was linked to less than 2 percent of all gang homicides and approximately 0.3 percent of all homicides nationwide. Is MS-13 violent? Absolutely. But its impact on overall crime rates is far less dramatic than political rhetoric suggests.

This raises a crucial question: how are people being labeled as gang members? Research shows gang designations are already racially skewed within domestic law enforcement databases and in our work as expert witnesses, we’ve seen firsthand how arbitrary and unreliable these designations can be. Broad, flawed indicators like tattoos, clothing, neighborhood affiliations, and even social media photos are often used as evidence—regardless of whether the individual has committed any crime. Gang databases have long been criticized for civil liberties violations, lack of due process, and the collateral consequences of being labeled a gang member—concerns that only multiply when deportation is the result.

Consider a hypothetical teenage asylum seeker from El Salvador. He is detained at the border and immigration officials label him a gang member because of an old social media photo where he posed with friends who had loose gang associations. He has no criminal record and no documented gang ties—just one image, taken out of context. This might be enough to fast-track his deportation.

The problem isn’t just misidentification; it’s also about permanence. Gang involvement is not a life sentence. Research shows that most individuals disengage from gangs as they age, start families, and find stable employment. Yet immigration policies make no meaningful distinction between active gang members and those who left that life behind years ago.

The Long History of Criminalizing Immigrants

Using gang narratives to justify crackdowns on immigrants is nothing new. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Italian immigrants were demonized through their alleged ties to the mafia. Irish immigrants were cast as inherently violent. Today, Latino immigrants—especially those from Central America—are the target of the same fear-driven playbook.

This isn’t an argument against addressing real threats. Violent criminals should be held accountable. But fear-driven narratives and racialized stereotypes are a poor foundation for policy. When we allow the “gang member” label to become a shortcut for deportation, we erode due process, criminalize entire communities, and make immigration enforcement less about public safety and more about political theater.

If we’re serious about addressing gang violence, we need evidence-based strategies, not boogeyman stories.

John Leverso is an Assistant Professor of Criminal Justice at the University of Cincinnati. James Densley is a Professor and Department Chair of Criminology and Criminal Justice at Metropolitan State University. They are co-editors of The Oxford Handbook of Gangs and Society.

The views expressed in this article are the writers’ own.



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