Imagine this: children confined in cages, sitting on cold concrete floors with nothing but flimsy aluminum blankets for warmth. Infants being torn from their mothers’ arms. A heartless zero-tolerance policy that dictates all children will be separated from their parents at the border—regardless of whether they are seeking asylum. These families are held in separate detention facilities, often forced to pay exorbitant fees for DNA tests just to prove their familial ties—fees that undocumented immigrants simply cannot afford.
Currently, there are nearly 3,000 children in U.S. detention facilities, ranging from ages 6 to 18. To accommodate these families crossing the border, the government is constructing tent cities on military bases—unairconditioned and exposed to the sweltering Texas heat. Can you even fathom that?
The government lacks a practical system to reunite these children with their parents in a timely manner. Former President Barack Obama addressed this crisis on Facebook, asking, “Are we a nation that tolerates the cruelty of separating children from their parents, or do we value families and work to keep them together? Do we turn a blind eye, or do we see a reflection of ourselves in this?”
As parents, this is the core question we must confront. Do we look at these migrant families and recognize a bit of our own experience? When we hear the cries of children separated from their parents, can we hear the echoes of our own children’s fears?
Choosing to ignore this crisis only fosters an “us versus them” mentality. If these families are not part of “us,” they become “them”—the other, the undeserving, the unwelcome. We may find ourselves muttering phrases like “learn English” while conveniently enjoying tacos for dinner.
This scenario is reminiscent of dark chapters in American history, such as the internment of Japanese Americans or the forced separation of Indigenous children from their families. The current situation, particularly involving children of indigenous descent, raises uncomfortable parallels with our past.
However, we have a choice in how we envision America. We can embrace the welcoming spirit of the Statue of Liberty, which proclaims, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…” Or we can adhere to the xenophobic views of groups like the Know-Nothing Party and the KKK, who believe that America’s culture must be preserved at all costs.
We cannot simply open the floodgates, but we can advocate for asylum seekers fleeing violence and abuse—something that Attorney General Jeff Sessions has recently sought to deny, reversing years of precedent. We could also create domestic worker programs to fill labor gaps in agriculture, especially as immigration crackdowns leave crops rotting in the fields. We must stop criminalizing those who seek a better life for their families.
As Waran Shire poignantly writes in her poem “Home,” “no one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark.” We often hesitate to say it, but it rings true: if you are not with us, you are against us.
If you can’t see a child in a cage and imagine your own child’s face, it’s time for some soul-searching. If you can’t empathize with a parent’s heartbreak, you need to examine your conscience. When you hear that parents must pay hundreds or thousands of dollars to reunite with their children, you should question what you want your tax dollars to support: family reunification or military expansion.
You have a choice: care for migrant children or remain in your own self-centered bubble. You can call yourself pro-life or simply support policies that prioritize the unborn. You can choose to love your neighbor or only yourself. You can shine your light or hide it away.
Fortunately, our collective outcry has led to the Trump administration claiming it would cease the separation of children from their parents. But this weak assurance offers little hope for real change. The injustices continue, with parents forced to pay for DNA tests and flights, while some children remain lost in the system. Reuniting families only to find them traumatized and unwell is simply unacceptable.
You will either stand with us or against us. As poet Elisa Chavez states, “And your swastikas will not save you… but rest assured, anxious America… We have always been what makes America great.”
Amen to that.
In conclusion, our response to the immigration crisis not only reveals our values but also defines who we are as a nation. We have the power to choose compassion over cruelty, understanding over ignorance, and unity over division.