From its founding, immigration policy in the United States has never been only about labor or borders. It has also been about race—who counted as “white,” who could become American, and who could not.
The 1790 Naturalization Act limited citizenship to “free white persons,” establishing a racial foundation for national belonging. Over time, the nation admitted millions of Europeans—Irish, Germans, and later Italians and Eastern Europeans—groups once viewed as outsiders but ultimately absorbed into an expanding definition of whiteness.
At the same time, immigration law drew hard racial boundaries. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 barred Asian laborers, and the 1924 National Origins Act established quotas designed to preserve a Northern and Western European character while sharply restricting others. These policies were explicit efforts to shape the nation’s racial composition.
The modern era began with the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act, which abolished the quota system and opened immigration to the world. Since then, most newcomers have come from Latin America, Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean. Today’s immigration debate reflects more than concerns about border control. It reflects unease about demographic change and what it means for American identity in a nation that is becoming increasingly multiracial.
Enforcement has always been part of immigration policy, and deportations themselves are not new. Republican President Dwight Eisenhower authorized large-scale removals in the 1950s, and Democratic President Barack Obama oversaw millions of deportations. What distinguishes the current approach under President Trump is not enforcement itself but its scale, tone, and strategic emphasis. The pursuit of mass deportations as a central policy has been widely criticized as cruel and counterproductive—separating families, disrupting industries, and creating fear without addressing the economic and humanitarian forces that drive migration. Public opinion consistently shows that large majorities of Americans favor border security combined with legal pathways and humane enforcement rather than sweeping removals.
The racial dimension of current policy is difficult to ignore. Trump has suggested that the United States should accept more immigrants from countries such as Norway while disparaging immigrants from predominantly Black and brown nations. His administration also signaled openness to prioritizing white Afrikaner refugees from South Africa. These messages echo earlier eras when immigration policy openly favored Europeans and reinforce the perception that the issue is not only legality, but which immigrants are seen as culturally and racially desirable.
Concerns about racialized enforcement have also grown. Rulings of the Supreme Court allow immigration authorities to rely on factors that critics argue can, in practice, lead to stops based on appearance, language, or perceived ethnicity. The result is an enforcement environment that risks blurring the line between lawful policing and racial profiling.
There is also a practical reality. Enforcement alone cannot meet labor needs, stabilize communities, or resolve the status of millions already living and working in the United States. A strategy centered on mass removal is a political posture, not a durable solution—a dead end that serves neither immigrants nor native-born workers.
A bipartisan alternative already exists. In 2013, the Senate’s Gang of Eight, including Republican Senator Marco Rubio, passed comprehensive reform that strengthened border security, modernized legal immigration, and created a structured path to legal status for undocumented immigrants already contributing to the economy. The legislation reflected broad bipartisan consensus. Yet the effort ultimately failed to become law. Trump later opposed bipartisan immigration compromises, arguing against proposals that would have reduced the political leverage of the issue and limited its usefulness as a campaign tool.
Beyond race itself, the current focus on immigration also serves a broader political logic. An authoritarian project depends on normalizing expansive state power and building enforcement institutions that operate with wide discretion and limited accountability. The expansion of a large, heavily empowered immigration apparatus moves in that direction, particularly when its authority is exercised primarily against a politically vulnerable nonwhite population.
At stake beyond policy is a moral question. The United States has long described itself as a nation grounded in Judeo-Christian principles—welcoming the stranger, respecting family unity, and balancing law with compassion. Policies defined by fear, mass removal, or broad suspicion raise difficult questions about whether national practice reflects national ideals.
Immigration policy ultimately reflects what kind of country Americans believe themselves to be. Periods of exclusion driven by racial anxiety have repeatedly been followed by renewal through expansion and integration. The American people will have an opportunity to weigh in during the mid-term elections. If voters support a pragmatic, bipartisan course—secure borders, legal pathways, and humane enforcement—they can send a clear message that the country is ready for a course correction and a more sustainable path forward.
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