In the week since the end of the 2024 presidential campaign, various experts, partisans, and pundits have been holding forth on the meaning of it all.
Well, with your indulgence, it’s my time for a little thumb-sucking. Really, I just wonder how this new order is supposed to work. The incoming Trump administration is pledged, as its first order of business, to expel somewhere between 2 and 20 million undocumented immigrants in what the president-elect has promised will be “the largest mass deportation in this nation’s history.”
Probably a majority of those being targeted are embedded to some degree in the fabric of society — as mothers and fathers and sons and daughters and students and toilers (significantly, in that last category, as taxpayers).
Those Haitians in Springfield, Ohio, who became the bane of Republican rhetoric during the campaign, were not here as scavengers of dogs and cats and geese, nor is there any reason to believe they performed as such. They were not border-jumpers, by the way, but nose-to-the-grindstone workers legally imported to do local infrastructure jobs that native-born sorts wouldn’t touch.
Remember all those new houses that went up during the building boom of the ’90s? To a substantial degree, the grunt work on them was done by Mexicans, most of them undocumented, to be sure.
After the deportation of all these willing hands, there is sure to be some serious attrition within a labor market that is arguably under-strength already.
And what about the sheer expense of such a massive operation, estimated to be as high as $315 billion, and the human costs of all this forced dislocation?
There are few parallels for mass deportations on such a formidable scale, most of them stained by controversy, disrepute, or worse — the Turkish expulsion of Armenians, the German boxcars of Jewish victims eastward to death camps in World War II (and the retributive exodus of that country’s own civilians, driven in the other direction by Russian tanks), the Nakba of Palestinians in 1948, the ethnic cleansings of Yugoslavia in 1992.
Hyperbole? Maybe. But that’s the name I myself would give to the whole imagined immigrant scare.
Compromise. Consensus. Those are indispensable qualities of the democratic process, indeed, of the human contract itself. And there is no sign of them as concepts of this plan — no indication even of a reliable means of distinguishing between the rank and file of the immigrant population and the relative few malefactors that may lurk within them. Nor of an inclination to apply such means.
No provision to earn future citizenship for the long-term residents whose worth as permanent members of the American body politic has already been demonstrated by their conduct and contributions to society. On top of it all is the expressed intent of the incoming administration to renounce that traditional birthright of citizenship that is automatically conferred on those born here.
And the most flagrant cheat of the whole thing? These all-too-disposable migrants are here by express invitation. Latinos in the main, they are — man, woman, and child — the blood brothers and sisters of all the upstart populations that have come to America before them — the Teutons and Anglo-Saxons and Jews and Italians and Slavs and Irish and Asians who, amid unimaginable hardship and life-and-death circumstance, answered the call of one Emma Lazarus, the poet whose words adorn the Statue of Liberty in the beckoning waters of New York harbor:
“… Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Keeping that lamp lit for others, not snuffing it out, should be the concern of those of us fortunate to find ourselves secure behind that door.
