Imagine migrant children confined in cages, sitting on cold concrete floors, wrapped in nothing more than flimsy aluminum space blankets. Picture breastfeeding infants being forcibly taken from their mothers. This is the grim reality of a zero-tolerance policy that mandates the separation of all children from their parents at the border, regardless of whether those parents are seeking asylum. Families are left in limbo, unable to reunite until parents can afford exorbitant fees, such as $700-$800 for a DNA test to prove their relationship to their own children—money that many undocumented immigrants simply do not have.
Currently, there are nearly 3,000 children in U.S. detention centers, aged 6 to 18. In response, America is constructing tent cities on military bases to house these families, in conditions that lack air conditioning and are exposed to the sweltering Texas heat. Can you even fathom this scenario? The government has no effective system in place to reunite these children with their parents in a timely manner.
Former President Barack Obama broke his silence on this issue, questioning our national identity: “Are we a nation that accepts the cruelty of tearing children from their parents, or do we value families and strive to keep them together? Do we turn a blind eye, or do we recognize our shared humanity?” This fundamental question resonates with us as parents. When we observe these migrant families, do we see ourselves in their plight? In the wails of these children, do we hear the echoes of our own kids?
Choosing to ignore this situation fosters an “us versus them” mentality. If they are not part of our group, they become “the others”—a derogatory term for perceived invaders with an inferior culture. We might find ourselves muttering phrases like “learn to speak English,” even as we enjoy our favorite taco spot.
This scenario doesn’t reflect the America we aspire to be. Instead, it evokes memories of Poland in 1943 or the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. The forced separation of families recalls the abhorrent practice of removing Indigenous children from their parents in an effort to “civilize” them. Perhaps this does resonate with the darker chapters of American history, but it certainly doesn’t align with the vision of a compassionate nation.
We can envision two distinct versions of America. One aligns with the words inscribed at the base of the Statue of Liberty, welcoming the tired, the poor, and the yearning masses. The other is steeped in xenophobia, echoing sentiments from disreputable groups that believe in preserving a so-called pure culture from those they deem “other.” While we cannot simply open our borders, we can offer asylum to those fleeing violence and abuse—issues that the current administration has chosen to disregard.
We could establish domestic worker programs to support the agricultural sector, especially now when immigration crackdowns threaten to leave crops unharvested. We should not criminalize those merely seeking a better life for their families. As poet Waran Shire poignantly states in her work “Home,” no one leaves home unless it is unbearable.
The harsh truth remains: if you do not empathize with a child in a cage, you need to look within yourself. If you cannot imagine your own child being torn from your arms, it’s time to examine your conscience. If statements like “The government requires families to spend hundreds for reunification flights” do not stir outrage within you, it’s time to reconsider your priorities—would you rather fund family reunification or military projects?
You can choose to care about migrant children or remain wrapped in your own selfish bubble. That’s the crux of the matter. You can advocate for life or merely seek to see children born without regard for their futures. You can love your neighbor or solely focus on self-interest. You can choose to shine a light or hide it away.
Fortunately, our collective outcry has prompted the administration to claim it will stop separating children from their parents, although this weak statement offers little hope for genuine change. The injustices persist: parents being forced to pay for DNA tests and flights, children lost in the system, and families reuniting only to find their children traumatized and unrecognizable. This is simply unacceptable.
You have a choice: to stand with us or against us. As poet Elisa Chavez expresses in her piece “Revenge,” your hate will not prevail. Remember, the true essence of America lies in compassion and unity.
In summary, our response to the immigration crisis reflects our humanity. It’s crucial to recognize the suffering of those seeking refuge and to advocate for humane treatment and policies. The choice is ours—compassion or indifference.