The immigration debate in America is not really about immigration. It’s about fear, power, and a national identity crisis. The anti-immigrant playbook might have a fresh coat of paint, but its pages are filled with the same old narratives that have haunted this country for centuries. From the Puritans to the present-day protesters, the script rarely changes. It’s a tale of panic, projection, and political manoeuvring, where immigrants are cast as invaders, job thieves, and cultural eroders. But is this narrative grounded in reality? Or is it just a convenient scapegoat for deeper societal insecurities?
America’s anxiety about immigration dates back to the nation’s founding. The Founding Fathers, many of whom were themselves immigrants or the children of immigrants, quickly developed a selective memory about their origins. By the late 18th century, they were passing laws like the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798, which extended the residency requirement for citizenship from five to fourteen years and allowed the president to deport ‘dangerous’ aliens. It was a blunt instrument aimed at preserving a fledgling national identity. Over the next two centuries, this impulse to protect the ‘purity’ of American society would manifest in waves of xenophobia targeting every new group that arrived on its shores, from the Irish to the Italians and from the Chinese to the Mexicans.
Fast forward to the early 20th century, and the anxiety had become even more entrenched. The 1924 Immigration Act set strict quotas designed to preserve America’s racial makeup, effectively banning most Asian immigrants and severely limiting others. This was not just about protecting jobs or reducing crime but also about maintaining a cultural status quo. The message was clear: some people belonged in America, and others didn’t.
Today’s anti-immigrant groups, like the Federation for American Immigration Reform (FAIR) and the Center for Immigration Studies (CIS), have modernised the tactics of their predecessors. Founded by John Tanton, a figure with deep connections to eugenicist ideas, these organisations have built a polished façade. They present themselves as sober, policy-focused think tanks, even as they peddle fear about the ‘great replacement’, the idea that immigrants are eroding the cultural and racial fabric of America.
This narrative, once relegated to the fringes, has crept into the mainstream. In 2023, 34 members of Congress echoed this rhetoric during immigration hearings, framing migrants as an invading force. They leaned on the same tired tropes that have been used for centuries, i.e., the fear that ‘outsiders’ will overrun, outvote, and outbreed the so-called ‘native’ population. But is this really what’s happening, or is this just another chapter in America’s long history of scapegoating immigrants for its own social and economic anxieties?
As of his second term in office, President Donald Trump has doubled down on his hardline immigration stance, making it a cornerstone of his administration’s agenda. Project 2025, a comprehensive policy framework backed by a coalition of conservative think tanks, outlines sweeping changes to immigration policy. Trump has publicly supported the end of birthright citizenship, a move that would effectively overturn the 14th Amendment, requiring a constitutional change. Critics see this effort as part of a broader strategy to reshape the demographic landscape of the United States.
In addition to ending birthright citizenship, Trump has called for the mass deportation of undocumented immigrants, expanded use of E-Verify, and the reinstatement of the Migrant Protection Protocols (MPP), also known as the ‘Remain in Mexico’ policy. His administration has also floated the idea of denying automatic citizenship to children born to undocumented parents, a move that has sparked widespread legal and ethical debates.
In March 2025, the Trump administration expanded its immigration restrictions to include several countries, including Pakistan. This move followed the release of an internal memo dividing countries into three risk tiers based on their compliance with U.S. security and vetting standards. Pakistan, along with Nigeria and Bangladesh, has fallen into the third tier, meaning they have 60 days to improve their security processes or face partial visa suspensions. Critics argue that this approach disproportionately targets Muslim-majority nations and risks further isolating key U.S. allies.
Moreover, the Laken Riley Act, signed into law in February 2025, imposes stricter background checks and vetting processes for immigrants from these high-risk nations. The Act requires applicants from these countries to provide comprehensive biometric data, proof of financial stability, and verified employment offers before their visa applications can be considered. The administration claims these measures are necessary for national security, but human rights advocates have raised concerns about racial profiling and discriminatory practices.
Let’s tackle one of the biggest myths head-on: the idea that immigrants are a drain on the economy. It’s a tempting narrative, but it’s about as accurate as a pound-store crystal ball. The reality is that immigrants, both documented and undocumented, contribute far more to the economy than they take. They start businesses, create jobs, pay taxes, and fill critical labour gaps in industries that struggle to attract American workers.
Take the story of Hugo Ortega, a celebrated chef in Houston who came to the U.S. with nothing but a dream and a willingness to work. Today, he runs a culinary empire — providing jobs, paying taxes, and contributing to the very fabric of his community. Is the economy better off without him? Or consider the countless immigrants who filled the ranks of America’s essential workers during the pandemic, risking their lives while others worked from home. Are they the threat we should be worried about?
The ‘great replacement’ theory is perhaps the most insidious myth of all. It frames immigration as a zero-sum game, where every new arrival supposedly displaces a native-born American. However, the truth is that America’s demographic changes are not solely the result of immigration; they are the outcome of a complex interplay of social, economic, and political factors. Birth rates are declining, the population is ageing, and the economy is increasingly dependent on the very people some want to keep out.
Imagine a world where the United States had never opened its doors to immigrants. What kind of country would we be? Would Silicon Valley exist without its legions of Indian and Chinese engineers? Would the jazz clubs of New Orleans ever have found their sound without the influence of Haitian and Caribbean musicians? Would American cuisine be as diverse, its art as vibrant, or its economy as dynamic without the countless contributions of immigrants over the centuries?
Instead of clinging to a narrative of fear, perhaps it’s time to ask more profound questions. What does it say about a society that views new faces as threats rather than opportunities? Why do we reduce people to economic units, debating their worth solely based on tax contributions and job creation? Perhaps the real danger isn’t immigration itself but our failure to recognise its potential — to embrace the chaos, creativity, and challenges of diversity as strengths rather than weaknesses.
At its core, the immigration debate is not about numbers or borders; it is about human dignity. It’s about what kind of country we want to be. Do we want to be a nation that defines itself by fear and exclusion or one that draws strength from its diversity and openness? History has already given us the answer. The question is whether we dare to listen. After all, if we are truly a nation of immigrants, shouldn’t we act like it?