Between Borders: Immigration in America

Before I was old enough to understand politics, I understood one thing: my family was “immigrants.” And in America, that single word changes everything.

 

My Family’s Story

I was born in the U.S., but everything about my life has been shaped by immigration. My parents immigrated to the United States from Ethiopia more than 20 years ago. They didn’t arrive with a green card or a fat savings account; they arrived with the hope of something better, even if it meant leaving everything behind. Their lives here were far from easy. They faced language barriers, racist microaggressions, and a dehumanizing immigration system. But still, they built a life. They raised my siblings. They worked jobs many Americans often think they’re too good for. My Father, a hard-working Taxi driver, spends hours on the road to provide for our family. My mother worked as a CNA in a nursing home and is now nearly finished with nursing school. They paid taxes. They voted. They gave back to a country that treated them like intruders.

And, through all of this, they held on to our culture.

In the Amharic language “Selam” translated to “peace” is a common phrase used to greet others. Often paired with a bow, or even a kiss on the cheek, a physical acknowledgement that the person in front of you matters.This warmth carries into the way we share meals. Food isn’t eaten alone; it’s shared from one large plate, and when someone eats, they invite others to join. There’s even a tradition called “Gursha”, where you place a bite of food directly into someone else’s mouth.

That sense of dignity and hospitality couldn’t be further from the way immigrants are treated in the U.S. today.

When I hear politicians toss around words like “illegal alien” or promise mass deportations to rile up voters, I take it personally. Because I know who gets hurt. It’s people like my parents. It’s people in the Ethiopian community who greet strangers with open hands and open hearts, yet are met with closed doors. People who carry peace in their language and generosity in their customs, but are treated as if their very presence is a threat.

 

The Broken System

There’s a sick irony in this country’s obsession with immigration control. The U.S. was built on stolen land, and stolen labor. The descendants of colonizers now build walls and cages to keep out those fleeing war, famine, and dictatorships that the U.S. often helped create or sustain. They call people “illegal” without asking why they had to leave home in the first place.

That cruelty isn’t just theoretical.

According to NBC News, under the Trump administration, over 100,000 people have been deported. But that number doesn’t capture the full impact. It’s not just 100,000 people; it’s their children and their communities. It’s families ripped apart in broad daylight.

ICE raids haven’t just targeted people with criminal records but those trying to do it “the right way,” too.

Through USCIS (U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services), the government is offering $1,000 to immigrants, many of whom are here legally, to voluntarily leave the country. Green card holders. Visa students. The same people the system is supposed to protect, the same type of people the system is claiming to want, are being pushed out.

 

The Cost of Legality: An Undocumented Immigrant’s Story

While writing this, I spoke with an undocumented immigrant about these policies:

“Crazy how, regardless of them having these things the government in the US wants them to deport themselves even though they have these things that are supposed to protect them,” they said. “So it’s no longer about doing it legally or not, because if we’re really thinking about it…why are they taking those resources that make someone legal?”

When my source came to the US, they said that the difference in culture stood out, but that for them, what mostly stood out was “the difference in empathy .”

 “I feel like when I got to the US, there was a lot of anti-immigrant sentiments…within xenophobia and racism,” they said, “and that was quite surprising for me because in my home country, there’s a lot of diversity.”

In the U.S., public discourse around immigration is often detached from the conditions that force people to leave.

“It’s not really like ‘oh, you wanted to be here, you wanted to do this,” they explained. “It’s more like you don’t have a choice… You don’t really have a future where I’m from.”

That reality isn’t rare. According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, over 110 million people globally have been forcibly displaced due to war, economic collapse, and climate disasters. Most don’t leave because they want to; they leave because they have to for survival.

“I wish they would just see that… people have to make these choices not because they necessarily want to but because they have to,” shared my anonymous source. “And there’s a big difference surrounding that.”

 That difference, between choice and necessity, is usually flattened in U.S. politics and media, which paint immigration as a reckless personal decision instead of the last resort that it often is.

When people say, “Why didn’t they just come here legally?” it’s clear they don’t understand how broken the system really is.

“It doesn’t really make sense to me when people say that because I feel like when they say that, it comes from a place of not knowing,” my anonymous source said. “It comes from a place of privilege. Because if you really knew what was going on, you would understand that coming here the legal way is actually more difficult than it really should be. It takes a lot of money, a lot of time, and effort. Even if you do have the money, it costs around $500 to renew [Temporary Protected Status], and $700 for other documents. Work cards are even more expensive, and you have to renew them every single year. How much does that cost? How much time does that take to arrive at all these different things? “

Temporary Protected Status, or TPS, is a government program that allows people from certain countries affected by war, natural disasters, or other crises to stay and work in the U.S. temporarily. It requires constant renewal every 6 to 18 months, depending on the country, and comes with hefty fees. That means people under TPS face ongoing uncertainty and financial strain just to keep their legal status.

 

Legal, Yet Alone in the System

Even those who immigrate “legally” get caught in a system that’s built to wear them down. A friend of mine who came to the U.S. from Ethiopia at the age of eight shared how that struggle shaped her:

“I was confused with the culture and just everything in general,” she said. “I wasn’t familiar with the system and how things worked,” she said. “During that time, it was just me and my family. I didn’t have much of a support system outside of that.”

When she immigrated to the U.S. as a child, she faced an unfamiliar country. Like many immigrant youth, she had to learn the rules on her own, from school expectations to cultural norms. The isolation she felt was also systematic. Without guidance or networks, navigating the system was a daily challenge.

But even now, after years in the country, she notes that legal status doesn’t guarantee safety or peace of mind.

“Especially now, it is very difficult,” said my friend. “You can be a citizen and still not be safe at the moment. So every moment and every conversation about immigration brings up the feeling of uneasiness.”

That uneasiness she describes is a shadow that follows so many immigrants, documented or not. And it’s why I hold on even tighter to the parts of my culture that remind me of our humanity.

For me, it always circles back to culture. To “Selam.” To the way my parents taught me that strangers deserve warmth, that you feed others before you feed yourself, that you offer peace before you ask for anything in return.

Immigrants are neighbors, classmates, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and children with the same hopes and ambitions as anyone else. And above all they are human. They don’t need to prove their productivity or economic value to deserve safety and dignity. Being human is enough. No matter what race, gender, or ethnicity, we all deserve the same rights.