By Alexander Kinaj
A child pulled me aside recently, the usual cool optimism in his eyes replaced by something else—a quiet desperation. News of the Trump administration’s harsh crackdown on illegal immigration and the enforcement of those policies in his backyard of Westchester had reached him. He feared that his father would get swept up and taken away from him in an ICE raid.
Just this past summer, he came to me, bursting with joy, when his father bought him a new guitar and told me about his hopes of being able to emulate one of his favorite musical artists. Now, he feared his father wouldn’t be home when he returned from our program. I knew he was just looking for the support and reassurance I have tried to provide all my clients. And I tried to do just that, letting him know that he had people who cared for him–I being one of them–and that he was not alone in dealing with this fear.
And yet, I could not tell him that his fear was unjustified. Earlier last week, the President of Colombia, Gustavo Petro—before capitulating to President Trump’s demands of accepting migrants back to his nation—stated on X, “A migrant is not a criminal and must be treated with the dignity a human being deserves.” I don’t think the majority of this country would disagree with Petro’s sentiment–perhaps that makes me naive.
But the current rhetoric around immigration–legal or otherwise–is not just about policy, nor is the presence of ICE merely just an example of law enforcement performing its function as an agent of the state. They are signals, and their message is as clear as the fear in my client’s eyes: you are not welcome here, and you should be afraid.
What seems to be lost in these arguments about asylum, immigration, and border security are the people behind these debates. These are, by and large, God-fearing, hardworking, decent people who have laid down roots in this country, started families in this country, and contributed to the economy of this country. These are the people who construct those fancy, unaffordable high-rises in White Plains and New Rochelle; they are the nannies who take care of your children in Scarsdale and Harrison; they are the health aides who take care of your aging parents; they are the cooks and dishwashers at your favorite restaurant along the Hudson River; they are the parents of your child’s friend in school.
They are the invisible spokes in our community, our society, and their contributions largely go unnoticed and unappreciated. They don’t deserve our fear, contempt, or scapegoating for problems that were festering long before they arrived in this country.
I’m not suggesting that we be naive to the real-life impacts of immigration, nor am I suggesting we throw open the border and allow anyone to enter the country at any time without thinking of the consequences. We can have well-meaning disagreements on the merits of immigration: the effects on our economy, the already limited housing opportunities for citizens, concerns of social cohesion, etc. We can debate policy.
But what can’t get lost in the noise of these debates is my client, who just wants to learn to play a song on the guitar for his father–before he can’t.
