The Immigrant Paradox: Why the Last One In Slams the Door Shut
I met an old friend for dinner last week. Like me, he’s an immigrant — came to the U.S. through legal channels, built a life from scratch, works hard, stays out of trouble, and pays his taxes. The classic bootstrap story. We used to be close, but our relationship frayed when Trump first got elected. Politics had quietly drawn a border between us, as it has for so many. But lately, we’ve reconnected.
We talked cars, work, travel. And then, like so many conversations these days, it took a turn.
“I don’t want to bring politics up,” he said, “but we’re so divided as a nation. The left is too far left, the right is too far right.”
So far, so common. But then came the gut punch:
“These people come into this country and just take, take, take. They don’t contribute. They commit crimes. They drain the system. I came here legally. I work. I pay my taxes. It’s not the same.”
I said nothing in the moment. I’ve learned that some truths require reflection before response.
But here’s my response now:
How does someone who once stood outside the gates become the one locking them behind him?
It’s a paradox that defines this country — and this moment. Immigrants who made it turning against those who haven’t. Survivors of a broken system now defending that system with fervor. Refugees from instability demanding stability at any cost — even if that cost is empathy.
It’s easy to chalk it up to rhetoric. And sure, my friend — like millions — has been shaped by a media diet heavy on fear, crime headlines, and border panic. But this goes deeper. This is a psychological mutation that happens when people move from margin to center. Once you’re finally let in, you’ll do anything to prove you belong there.
Belonging is a Fragile Drug
There’s no green card for dignity. No visa that guarantees belonging. So when someone finally earns their place, they cling to it — and resent anyone who might threaten it.
“I did it the right way” becomes not just a statement of fact, but a moral distinction.
It separates the “good” immigrant from the “bad.” The contributor from the parasite. The deserving from the desperate.
But this binary ignores the truth: Most people don’t flee their homes because they want to break your laws. They flee because those laws don’t protect them.
America’s immigration system isn’t just complex — it’s inhumane by design. Asylum seekers aren’t “cutting the line.” There is no line for most of them. There’s just a labyrinth of impossible paperwork, years-long waits, and arbitrary denials. And if you’re poor, uneducated, or fleeing violence? Good luck.
When we call these people “illegals,” we’re not describing their behavior — we’re describing our own refusal to build a system that sees them as human.
Five Reasons the Door Gets Slammed Shut
This isn’t just politics. It’s psychology, economics, and power. So why do so many immigrants turn on those who come after them?
1. Proximity to Power Creates Distance from Pain
The closer you get to acceptance, the more you want to forget how painful it was outside the gates. It’s easier to erase the trauma than sit with it.
2. Scarcity Mindset
We’ve been sold a lie: that opportunity is finite. That if others get in, we lose our place. This fear is weaponized. But it’s also internalized — especially by those who’ve had to fight for every inch.
3. The Badge of Suffering
“I suffered, so should they.”
It’s the immigrant version of hazing. A belief that hardship confers legitimacy, and anything easier is cheating. But pain isn’t a prerequisite for progress. It’s just what we normalized.
4. Selective Amnesia
We don’t remember our own contradictions. That we overstayed visas. Or relied on a cousin’s couch. Or took under-the-table jobs to survive. We edit our own stories to look cleaner — and judge others by the unedited footage.
5. Nationalism with a New Accent
To be fully American, some think they must adopt the most hardened, performative version of patriotism. “I’m not like them. I earned my spot.” That’s not pride. That’s fear dressed up as loyalty.
And Then There’s The Truth
America has always been a country of immigrants that hates immigrants.
Every wave — Irish, Italian, Jewish, Chinese, Mexican, Arab — faced the same pattern: welcomed when useful, vilified when convenient. What changes isn’t our tolerance. It’s our marketing. Thanksgiving is a sanitized fairytale built on land theft, disease, and genocide. And yet, we gather each year to reenact it — full of gratitude and amnesia.
The problem isn’t new. What’s new is the way we’re framing it: Illegal vs legal. Deserving vs criminal. Us vs them.
But the real border isn’t geographic. It’s moral.
It separates those who believe opportunity is a birthright — and those who believe it’s a zero-sum game. It separates those who see hope as a risk — and those who see it as an obligation.
And now, with Trump back in office, the war on immigrants isn’t subtle — it’s surgical. We’re watching policies resurrected that were designed to punish, not protect: mass deportations, family separations, Muslim bans rebranded, asylum gutted in real time. The cruelty isn’t a glitch — it’s the platform. And far too many are cheering it on, even those who once stood in that same immigration line.
This isn’t a dog whistle anymore. It’s a bullhorn. A full-blown return to America for some, signed into policy by a man who’s built his brand on dehumanizing anyone who wasn’t born into it.
So What Now?
You can build a wall, but it won’t stop desperation. You can shut down the border, but you can’t shut out global collapse. Climate refugees are coming. Conflict refugees are coming. Economic migrants are coming. Not because they hate America, but because they still believe in it — even when it gives them every reason not to.
If the American Dream is real, then we must stop treating it like private property.
That doesn’t mean we erase borders. It means we interrogate the values that define them. It means designing systems rooted in justice, not fear. In process, not punishment.
Because the only thing more dangerous than people crossing borders — is a country forgetting what it once was.
My Next Thought
This isn’t about being naive. It’s about being honest.
The immigrants you fear are often the same as the ones who built your schools, drove your Ubers, cleaned your hospitals, and stocked your grocery shelves. They’re the ones who, like your grandparents, wanted a shot — not a handout.
We can be a nation that manages risk. Or we can be a nation that multiplies hope.
But we can’t be both.
Not anymore.
So here’s what I’m asking — of myself, and of you:
The next time you hear someone say “those people,” ask who they’re really talking about.
The next time a headline screams about the border, ask what stories are being erased.
And the next time you feel tempted to say “I did it the right way” — pause, and remember who helped you get here, and who never had the option.
Keep the door open. Not out of pity. Not out of guilt. But because someone held it open for you — even if you didn’t realize it at the time.
Ex Cogitatione, Progressus
Girish
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