Addressing Our Border Crisis with Clarity and Conscience

(essay)

I believe we can hold two things at once: we need real border security, and we need to stop treating longtime residents like criminals for political purposes.

Let’s be honest—we have a border problem. People are entering the country illegally, and successive administrations—Republican and Democrat alike—have failed to manage it. President Obama—widely viewed as a progressive on immigration—actually oversaw nearly 3 million deportations, more than any other president in modern history. He wasn’t lenient—but neither was he effective at stemming illegal crossings. Donald Trump then prioritized a ‘Great Wall’—a massive symbolic gesture that fell far short of delivering real control, especially once construction plateaus and evasion methods proliferated.

Under President Biden, the situation only worsened. In 2021, border agents recorded 1.7 million encounters—the highest number ever at that point. In 2022, it jumped to 2.4 million, and in 2023, the figure stayed in that range. Now, “encounters” doesn’t mean that 2.4 million people successfully entered and stayed. It’s a broader term used by Border Patrol to count any interaction at the border—apprehensions, turn-backs, expulsions, and repeat crossers. But as a measure of pressure on the system, the numbers are staggering—and the message sent has been one of instability and overwhelm.

Now, with Trump’s second term underway, the immigration crisis has taken yet another troubling turn.

Blame whomever you like—but securing a vast, complex border has always been extraordinarily difficult.

Some argue that sealing borders is inhumane—that it’s unjust to prevent desperate people from entering a land of opportunity. On a visceral level, I understand that. Think of it this way: we lock our homes not because we lack compassion, but because we value the safety of our lives and our property. The same applies to nations. If you’re someone who lets everyone into your home at all times, without question or vetting, then yes—your moral framework might suggest that open borders make sense. But most people don’t feel that way. Even the most compassionate among us, understand the need for reasonable control.

We need to be more selective—and more serious about those who are actually causing harm. Anyone who crosses the border and commits serious crimes—rape, murder, gang activity, arson, rioting (as distinct from peaceful protest), drug and sex trafficking, terrorism, or material support for terror networks—needs to be removed immediately.

No dithering, no delays. Dozens of individuals on the federal terror watchlist have already been caught crossing, some with ties to ISIS and the IRGC. Incredibly, a few were even released due to vetting failures. Sleeper cells? We don’t know for sure, but the risk is no longer theoretical.

If you're here illegally and you harm others—or are planning to—you’re out. That’s not cruelty; that’s justice.

And yet—the overwhelming majority of undocumented immigrants are not criminals. They’re people who’ve built lives here—who work hard, pay taxes, raise children, send them to school. They’re not the problem. To round these people up, tear them from their families, and deport them en masse is not only inhumane, it’s also ineffective, and ultimately, disastrous political theater. It breeds the very unrest that opens the door for demagogues and ideologues from both the left and the right to gain power by offering false promises and dangerous solutions.

I have friends—legal residents—who are terrified to walk the streets, afraid they’ll be mistaken for undocumented immigrants and brutalized by authorities. That’s the atmosphere we’re creating. We’re criminalizing appearance. And in doing so, we erode the trust and safety of the entire society.

A man I know—call him Alejandro—has helped me with several projects in my studio and in our home. I don’t know if he’s “legal” or not. I don’t care. What I do know is, he’s a brilliant, hard-working man—a father to two great kids, and a person I trust and admire. The other day I told him that if it came down to it, he could stay at my place.

There’s a Jewish teaching—lifnei iver lo titen michshol (לִפְנֵי עִוֵּר לֹא תִתֵּן מִכְשׁוֹל): “Do not place a stumbling block before the blind.” In its literal sense, it means: don’t place stones on the steps to your door—someone who can’t see them might trip and fall. But it also means: don’t tempt someone who’s vulnerable into wrongdoing. If you’ve hired someone to work in your home and they’re struggling financially, don’t leave your valuables out in the open. Why? Because doing so isn’t just careless—it’s cruel. You’re setting them up to fail.

In the same way, an open, poorly managed border is a stumbling block. It tempts desperate people to risk everything for a chance at survival. Many of them are good, honest individuals. But when we make legal entry unreasonably complex, and then fault people for acting out of desperation, we create the very chaos we claim to oppose.

We need to do two things—and do them urgently. First, seal the borders with clarity and purpose. Not to punish, but to safeguard our nation’s sovereignty. Second, create more safe and accessible legal pathways for those who seek refuge or opportunity.

And third—yes, there’s a third—let’s stop rounding people up for political optics. If they’re already here, contributing, raising children, obeying the law, then let them live without fear. Masked agents—and now, according to some reports, even unhinged vigilantes posing as enforcement—chasing down decent people in the streets and in their homes is a surefire way to spread more fear, more chaos, and more distrust.

Let’s be honest: administration after administration—Republican and Democrat alike—has failed to secure our borders in a way that is both effective and humane. This isn’t just a policy failure; it’s a moral one. We cannot keep lurching from crisis to crisis, reacting with blunt force instead of thoughtful strategy. What’s needed now is not another cycle of political theater or scapegoating, but the courage to build something more credible, more durable, and more just.

There is a way to be strong and merciful at the same time. We should aspire to make that the American way.

Dedicated to my Grandma Rose, who, at age 12, came to America from a small shtetl in Romania—seeking asylum from pogromists—accompanied only by her nine-year-old brother.