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South Dakota Gov. Kristi Noem is back in the national spotlight, this time not over book controversies or border photo-ops, but because of a detail in a federal court filing: according to the Department of Justice, Noem personally called to have two men—who had already been deported—turned over to El Salvadoran authorities rather than allowed back into the United States.
On its face, it’s a bureaucratic footnote in a complex case. Politically, it’s something else: a snapshot of how Republican governors are using immigration enforcement to build national brands, test the limits of state power, and speak to a restless conservative base heading into 2024 and beyond.
According to a Justice Department filing summarized by Politico and other national outlets, federal prosecutors say that Gov. Noem made a call advocating that two men—previously deported from the U.S. and in federal custody—be turned over to authorities in El Salvador rather than returned to American soil.
The men were reportedly connected to a broader federal case related to immigration enforcement. While specific identities and detailed case files were not fully disclosed in publicly available reporting at the time, DOJ’s description placed Noem directly in the decision-making orbit about what would happen to these individuals after deportation proceedings.
In plain terms, the allegation is not that Noem herself deported anyone—governors do not control federal immigration removals—but that she sought to influence what federal authorities did next. It is a subtle but important distinction that goes to the core of the separation of powers between state leaders and the federal government.
Noem has been widely discussed as a potential national figure in Republican politics, including as a vice-presidential contender and future presidential hopeful. Immigration and border policy are central to GOP voter priorities, particularly among primary voters. A story that most voters will never read in full may nonetheless shape how political insiders, donors and activists perceive her.
According to analyses from outlets like The Hill and CNN earlier this year, Republican governors have increasingly treated immigration as a proving ground for national ambitions. Texas Gov. Greg Abbott’s busing of migrants to New York, Chicago and Washington, D.C., and Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis’s high-profile migrant flights to Martha’s Vineyard are the most notable examples.
Noem’s alleged intervention with DOJ fits that pattern, even if it is more procedural and less theatrical: it presents her as someone willing to wade into federal decisions in order to appear tough on crime and immigration. For conservative primary voters, that is not a bug; it is the point.
Immigration enforcement—who gets detained, deported, or admitted—is formally a federal responsibility. The Supreme Court reaffirmed this in its 2012 decision in Arizona v. United States, striking down major elements of an Arizona law that attempted to give state officials broader immigration enforcement authority.
Noem’s reported call doesn’t rewrite that legal framework, but it illustrates a growing gray area: state leaders leveraging their platforms to shape federal outcomes case by case. In practice, that can look like:
Legal analysts speaking to outlets like Reuters and AP News in recent years have emphasized that while state officials cannot unilaterally set immigration law, they can influence how federal actors perceive political risk. When a governor personally weighs in, it sends a clear message about expectations and can complicate any decision that appears soft on enforcement.
That Noem’s request reportedly focused on El Salvador is not incidental. In American political discourse, El Salvador is frequently invoked in conversations about gangs, MS-13, and transnational crime. Over the last decade, U.S. politicians—particularly Republicans—have framed deportations to El Salvador as tough, crime-focused policy, emphasizing that violent actors should be sent back and kept out.
At the same time, El Salvador’s own politics have shifted dramatically. President Nayib Bukele has drawn international attention for his sweeping crackdown on gangs, mass arrests, and mega-prisons. Human rights organizations such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have raised concerns about due process and abuses, while many Salvadorans credit him with reducing visible gang violence.
In this context, a U.S. governor backing deportation or transfer to El Salvador can be read in two ways:
That duality is at the heart of the cultural and ethical tension here: is the U.S. using deportation and foreign justice systems as a way to distance itself from the rights and procedures it applies on its own soil?
Political reactions to the DOJ detail are predictably polarized, even if the story is still in an early, procedural reporting phase.
Conservative commentators and right-leaning social media users appear inclined to frame Noem’s reported actions as proof that she is serious about keeping dangerous individuals out of the U.S. Early chatter on Twitter/X from right-leaning accounts has framed the DOJ note as evidence that Noem “does what Biden won’t” on the border.
Under this framing, the key talking points are:
Republican strategists quoted in past coverage by The Hill have argued that primary voters reward visible confrontation with the federal bureaucracy, especially under a Democratic administration. Noem’s call fits neatly into that narrative.
Progressive advocates and civil liberties groups, meanwhile, see this as part of a worrisome pattern: elected officials using migrants and deportees as political props in a domestic power struggle.
On Reddit, users in political discussion subforums have raised several concerns:
Many liberal and left-leaning Twitter/X users have tied the episode to broader debates about governors using migrants as symbols rather than people, linking it rhetorically to Abbott’s and DeSantis’s stunts and, more broadly, to Trump-era rhetoric around MS-13.
It is tempting to read this as a purely Republican phenomenon, but the political use of deportation is more complicated. According to reporting from AP News and analysis by immigration scholars, Democratic administrations have also leaned into enforcement as a political signal.
Some context:
Noem’s case is distinctive not because deportation itself is controversial, but because of the combination of factors: a Republican governor, a direct line to DOJ, the El Salvador angle, and the larger 2024 narrative of state-versus-federal confrontation.
Legal and political analysts have noted for several years that immigration is becoming the next major flashpoint in state–federal relations, alongside abortion, environmental regulation and voting rules. Texas’ ongoing legal battles with the Biden administration over buoy barriers and razor wire at the Rio Grande are the most visible example.
Noem’s call, described in the DOJ filing, is less dramatic but may be symptomatic of the same trend:
Experts quoted in outlets such as The New York Times and NPR in related contexts have suggested that this kind of incremental norm-shifting may prove as significant as any single law passed by Congress. Over time, expectations change about what is appropriate for governors to do in individual criminal or immigration cases.
For readers in the U.S. and Canada, the Noem–El Salvador story is more than an American partisan skirmish. It also sheds light on diverging approaches to immigration and deportation across North America.
In the U.S., deportation policy is a proxy for multiple anxieties—economic insecurity, crime fears, cultural change—and is heavily weaponized in national politics. Governors like Noem are rewarded by key segments of their base for visible interventions, even when legal authority is murky.
Canada’s immigration conversation is less polarized but showing signs of strain. According to reporting from CBC and CTV News, debates over irregular border crossings at Roxham Road, as well as growing concerns about housing and affordability, have intensified scrutiny of immigration and refugee policy.
While Canadian provincial premiers do not typically intervene in individual deportation decisions, experts note a subtle increase in pressure on federal authorities to tighten controls. Observers in Canada watching the Noem story may see it as a warning of how quickly deportation and enforcement can become personal-brand politics if norms erode.
The DOJ remark about Noem has not yet exploded into a full-scale viral firestorm, but early online discussion gives clues to where the narrative may head.
On Reddit, particularly in U.S. politics and legal discussion forums, users have focused on process and precedent rather than personalities. Common themes include:
On Twitter/X, reactions are more partisan and punchy:
In Facebook comment threads under shared Politico, CNN and local South Dakota news links, the discussion appears less about legal nuance and more about fear and safety. Commenters commonly raise worries about crime, loosely tying the story to larger debates about the southern border, even though the underlying case involves already-deported individuals.
At the heart of the Noem story is a tension that runs through virtually all immigration debates in North America: the balance between due process and perceived public safety.
Key ethical questions include:
According to legal scholars interviewed in recent years by outlets like NPR and Vox, U.S. courts have generally given the political branches wide latitude on deportation policy. That latitude can allow for humane discretion—but also leaves room for politicized decision-making when norms break down.
There is no indication at this stage that the DOJ’s description of Noem’s call will evolve into a formal investigation targeting the governor herself. For now, it remains a revealing footnote in a broader case. But its political echo may reach much further.
For voters in the U.S. and Canada trying to make sense of a constant stream of immigration headlines, the detail about Kristi Noem’s call to DOJ may seem minor. But embedded in that detail are the larger currents reshaping North American politics: the personalization of law enforcement, the weaponization of deportation narratives, and the steady erosion of boundaries between campaigning and governing.
How those currents are navigated over the next few years—by Noem, by other governors, and by federal officials from Washington to Ottawa—will go a long way in determining whether immigration policy is treated as a matter of sober governance or perpetual partisan spectacle.