Modern U.S. immigration policy is not a system gone astray—it is a system functioning exactly as it was designed. From its inception, America's immigration framework has operated as a tool to protect whiteness, police Black and Brown bodies, and preserve economic and racial hierarchies. While the language of today's policies has grown more subtle, the outcomes remain the same: whiteness is welcomed, Blackness is criminalized, and Brown lives are treated as disposable.

Public Hypocrisy: The Case of White South African "Refugees"

Few examples expose this racial hypocrisy more clearly than the quiet acceptance of white South Africans as "refugees" after the fall of apartheid. Beneficiaries of one of the most brutal white supremacist regimes in modern history, some white South Africans have had the audacity to claim "reverse racism" under the new Black-led government. Rather than facing skepticism, their claims found sympathetic ears among American conservatives and policymakers eager to reinforce the narrative that whiteness is under attack.

These white refugees are quietly welcomed through humanitarian pathways that are all but sealed off to Black and Brown migrants. Meanwhile, Haitians fleeing generations of poverty, foreign exploitation, natural disasters, and violent political instability—many of these conditions fueled by U.S. foreign policy—are met with state violence and mass deportations. In 2021, the image of Border Patrol agents on horseback, using reins as whips against Haitian migrants at the Texas border, was not an anomaly; it was a modern manifestation of America's historic anti-Blackness.

Selective Humanitarianism: Who Deserves Rescue?

The U.S. response to humanitarian crises makes it painfully clear whose lives are valued. When Russia invaded Ukraine, the U.S. mobilized almost overnight, granting Temporary Protected Status (TPS) and welcoming over 250,000 Ukrainian refugees with open arms and financial support. No cages. No mass detentions. No armed patrols hunting them down. Just safe passage and dignity.

But when it is Black and Brown bodies that wash up at America's doorstep—whether from Haiti, Honduras, or Sudan—the doors slam shut. Syrians displaced by a devastating civil war received only a fraction of the support extended to Ukrainians. Refugees from Somalia, Yemen, and the Democratic Republic of Congo face endless bureaucratic delays, extreme vetting, or outright denial. America's so-called humanitarianism is not guided by need; it is guided by race.

Criminalizing Black and Brown Migration

For Black and Brown migrants, merely seeking safety becomes a crime. U.S. immigration enforcement is a multi-billion-dollar industry built on the suffering of non-white people. The southern border is a militarized zone, complete with drones, armed agents, and private detention centers profiting from every occupied bed.

Policies like Title 42, abused under the guise of public health, have become tools of mass expulsion for Haitian and Central American migrants. Even as Haiti collapses into chaos, deportation flights continue. Migrants are shackled, caged, and returned to face the violence and instability they fled—while private prison corporations count their profits and politicians build careers on the politics of fear.

This system doesn't stop at the border. Black immigrants, though only a small percentage of the non-citizen population, make up nearly 20% of deportation cases tied to criminal grounds. The racist logic of America's mass incarceration system follows Black immigrants across borders and into deportation chambers.

The Legacy of Racial Gatekeeping in U.S. Immigration Law

From the Naturalization Act of 1790, which defined citizenship as the exclusive domain of "free white persons," to the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 and the National Origins Act of 1924, U.S. immigration law has always been about protecting whiteness. The faces of those excluded have changed over time, but the purpose remains the same.

Today, this legacy is hidden beneath economic justifications and public charge rules, which disproportionately target immigrants from the Global South. Poor immigrants are branded as burdens, and their poverty is treated as a character flaw rather than the direct result of colonialism, global exploitation, and American foreign policy. This is the modern face of an old ideology—a eugenics-era belief that some lives are worth more than others, dressed up in the language of fiscal responsibility.

Conclusion: Dismantling the Racial Architecture of U.S. Immigration

The United States does not have a broken immigration system; it has a system doing exactly what it was built to do. It polices Black and Brown bodies, protects white dominance, and generates profit from human suffering. From its earliest days, America has drawn lines—legal, physical, and moral—around who belongs and who must be kept out. Those lines have always been racial.

This system is not a malfunction; it is a mirror. It reflects centuries of policy choices that elevated whiteness and devalued the lives of people of color. Even today, it operates with ruthless efficiency, separating families, denying asylum to the most vulnerable, and turning away those whose suffering doesn't fit America's narrow definition of worthiness. This is not just a flaw in the system, it is a profound injustice that should stir moral outrage.

And make no mistake—this system is profitable. Private prison companies, defense contractors, and political campaigns grow rich on the fear and dehumanization of non-white immigrants. This is not simply about policy failure—it is about policy intent.

True reform demands more than tinkering around the edges. It requires us to confront the hard truth that America has never been a welcoming nation for all. It demands that we dismantle the racial architecture of immigration policy and build a new system centered on humanity, dignity, and justice. Until we do, the border will remain not just a line on a map, but a weapon wielded against the world's most vulnerable. The need for this reform is urgent, and we must act now.

Ending this hypocrisy is not a matter of politics. It is a matter of basic human morality. And the question before us is simple: Do we have the courage to finally choose justice over fear? It is a daunting task, but it is also a call to action that can empower us to make a difference.

Vernellia Randall, Professor Emerita of Law, University of Dayton School of Law.