Trump Admin Investigating Omar For Allegedly Marrying Brother to Illegally Enter US
Trump administration border czar Tom Homan said this week that the Department of Homeland Security is reviewing allegations that Minnesota Democratic Rep. Ilhan Omar may have committed immigration fraud by entering into a marriage with a relative.
President Donald Trump and several of his allies have long asserted that Omar’s first husband, Ahmed Elmi, is her brother and that the marriage, which began in 2009 and ended in divorce in 2017, was arranged to facilitate immigration benefits.
No DNA evidence or official documentation has substantiated those claims, and Omar has consistently denied them.
In an interview with Newsmax, Homan said he is examining whether Omar violated immigration laws and whether her legal status could be affected. Omar’s congressional biography states that she arrived in the United States with her family in the 1990s after fleeing civil war in Somalia.
“We’re pulling the records, we’re pulling the files,” Homan said Monday. “We’re looking at it … I’m running that down this week.”
Homan stated that the DHS is conducting a thorough review of visa fraud within the Somali community in Minnesota, following the department’s claim that 50% of visas issued in Minnesota may be fraudulent.
“President Trump has instructed us to go down, and we’re going to deep dive all of this, and we’re going to hold people accountable,” he noted.
Trump accused the Somali-born congresswoman of marrying her brother to commit immigration fraud during a new interview with Politico released Tuesday.
“I don’t want to see a woman that, you know, marries her brother to get in and then becomes a congressman, does nothing but complain,” Trump said in the interview with Politico’s Dasha Burns, referring to Omar’s alleged 2009 marriage to Ahmed Elmi, who multiple reports and witnesses have claimed is her biological brother.
Trump made the remarks after Omar condemned recent Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) operations in Minneapolis targeting illegal Somali nationals—a crackdown that followed revelations of a $1 billion welfare fraud scheme in Minnesota, portions of which federal investigators say were funneled to the Somali terror group al-Shabaab.
“All she does is complain, complain, complain, and yet her country is a mess,” Trump continued. “Let her go back, fix up her own country. So no, Somalia—and I was right about it.”
The president also accused Minnesota’s Democratic Gov. Tim Walz of failing to address the crisis: “They have an incompetent governor there, too.”
Omar has previously called the allegations “baseless and absurd,” dismissing them as Islamophobic conspiracy theories.
But a 2019 Minneapolis Star-Tribune investigation found discrepancies in Omar’s marital and immigration records that she has never fully explained.
According to public records and Daily Mail reporting, Omar married Elmi in a civil ceremony in 2009 while still religiously married to her first husband, Ahmed Abdisalan Hirsi. She claimed to have separated from Elmi in 2011, yet did not file for divorce until 2017.
During that time, she and Hirsi had a third child together. Omar later divorced Hirsi again in 2019 after reports surfaced of her affair with political consultant Tim Mynett, whom she later married.
In February 2020, the Daily Mail published explosive testimony from Abdihakim Osman, a Somali community leader in Minneapolis, who said Omar openly told friends that Elmi was her brother and that she “needed to get papers for him to stay in the United States.”
Osman told the outlet, “No one knew there had been a wedding until the media turned up the certificate years later.”
Osman described Elmi as “very feminine in the way he dressed,” saying the Somali community was shocked to learn he had married Omar. “When Ilhan married Elmi, no one even knew about it,” Osman said. “She kept it quiet because an imam would have refused to marry them if he knew they were related.”
SHE THOUGHT KICKING A PREGNANT WIFE IN THE HOSPITAL WOULD END THE MARRIAGE — UNTIL THE BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND SAW THE TRUTH WITH HIS OWN EYES.
The low, vibrating chime of Marcus’s phone seemed to echo in the sudden, absolute silence of the VIP hospital suite. Outside the large glass windows, the distant murmur of the charity fundraiser gala continued, a stark contrast to the thick, suffocating tension that had gripped the room.
Marcus slowly pulled the phone from his tuxedo pocket. His eyes never left Isabella as his thumb swiped across the screen, playing the high-definition security footage sent directly by his head of security.
On the screen, there was no ambiguity. There was no "self-defense." The footage clearly showed Isabella lunging at me, her face twisted in a mask of pure malice as she shoved my seven-month-pregnant body into the side table. It showed the champagne glass shattering, and most horrifying of all, it captured the exact second her pointed red heel drove brutally into my abdomen while I lay helpless on the floor.
A muscle ticked violently in Marcus’s jaw. The cold, calculated billionaire who ran Thorne Enterprises—the man who prided himself on being five steps ahead of every competitor, every investor, and every enemy—looked completely paralyzed by the sheer weight of his own blindness.
"Marcus, honey, you can't believe whatever she's trying to play at," Isabella stammered, her voice rising an octave as she took a tentative step toward him, her hands reaching out to touch his lapel. "Khloe has been unstable for weeks. She’s jealous because she knows you don't love her. She staged this! She threw herself into that table just to make me look like a monster!"
"Get away from her," Marcus whispered.
The words were so quiet, so devoid of emotion, that Isabella froze mid-step.
"What?" she blinked, her polished, glamorous facade cracking completely.
"I said," Marcus raised his head, his piercing dark eyes locking onto hers with a lethal, suffocating intensity that made the gala coordinator behind him take a step back into the hallway, "get your hands off me, and step away from my wife."
"Marcus—"
"Michael!" Marcus roared, his voice cutting through the room like a physical blow.
Instantly, three burly men in dark suits and communication earpieces pushed past the coordinator into the room. The leader, Michael, looked at the blood on the floor near my maternity gown and his expression hardened into stone.
"Sir?" Michael asked, his hand resting near his holster.
"Secure Isabella Rossi," Marcus commanded, his voice trembling with a terrifying blend of absolute authority and suffocating rage. "Take her to the holding room in the basement. If she attempts to leave, if she attempts to make a single phone call, use whatever force is necessary. Notify the Chief of Police that I am filing charges for attempted murder and felony assault on a pregnant woman."
"Attempted murder?!" Isabella shrieked as Michael and another guard gripped her upper arms, effortlessly pinning her arms behind her back. Her expensive red dress twisted around her frame as she struggled against their grip. "Marcus, you can't do this to me! My father is your primary investor! If you lock me up, the Rossi Group will liquidate every single share of Thorne Enterprises by midnight! You'll be ruined!"
Marcus didn't even look at her as she was dragged out of the room, her high heels scuffing loudly against the hardwood floor, her screams fading down the private VIP corridor.
The moment the doors hissed shut behind her, Marcus dropped to his knees on the carpet, completely ignoring the shards of broken glass that sliced into the expensive fabric of his tuxedo. His hands were shaking violently as he reached out toward me, but he stopped short of touching me, as if terrified that his very presence would cause me more pain.
"Khloe..." he breathed, his voice raw, stripped entirely of the smooth arrogance he usually carried. "Khloe, look at me. I’m here. I’m right here. Don't close your eyes."
A searing, blinding pain tore across my lower abdomen, making me gasp for air. I tightly curled into a ball on the floor, my fingers digging into my white maternity gown, which was rapidly staining with a terrifying, deep crimson hue.
"The... the baby," I choked out, a tear spilling over my eyelid and mixing with the sweat on my forehead. "Marcus... he’s not moving. Please... help him."
"Medical team!" Marcus screamed toward the door, his composure breaking entirely as he saw the blood. "Get the Chief of Obstetrics up here right now! If anyone hesitates, I will burn this entire hospital to the ground!"
Within seconds, the room was swarmed by medical staff in blue scrubs. A gurney was pushed to my side, and I was carefully lifted onto it. As the world began to blur around the edges from the sheer agony and blood loss, I felt a strong, calloused hand wrap tightly around mine.
Marcus was running alongside the gurney as they pushed me toward the emergency operating theater. His face was pale, his eyes wide with a horrific realization that had come far too late.
"I've got you, Khloe," he pleaded, his voice cracking as he squeezed my hand. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just hold on. Please, just hold on for our son."
I looked up at the harsh fluorescent lights of the ceiling as the heavy double doors of the operating room swung open. Our son, he had called him. For months, Marcus had treated this pregnancy like a corporate obligation, a cold arrangement to secure his family’s legacy while he allowed Isabella to whisper poison in his ear. But as the darkness finally rushed in to swallow me whole, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: if my baby didn't survive this night, there would be nothing left of Marcus Thorne’s world to salvage.
