America at a Crossroads: Is the Golden Door Slamming Shut Again?

Paul Riverbank, 12/5/2025America’s immigration crossroads: balancing policy, history, and identity in a new national debate.

Thinkers like Tyler Cowen and Christopher Caldwell have each staked out their positions on this national puzzle. Oddly enough, both seem to doubt the U.S. will ever find that elusive, lasting balance. Cowen says let more folks in; Caldwell’s all for pumping the brakes. Before 2016, Cowen argues, America’s immigration setup was mostly fine—a patchwork of rules and requirements, but still a country that, for all its fences and fingerprint checks, clearly beckoned newcomers. He puts it starkly: our system got close to “open borders,” at least in spirit if not by statute. Unsurprisingly, that kind of talk rattles many Americans. If nearly everyone beyond our shores started coming at once, Cowen notes, some fear the nation’s fabric might simply fray.

Caldwell draws comfort from America’s tougher stance lately, seeing it as another swing of the historic pendulum. He sketches out three moments when the United States pulled back hard on immigration. First, he points to the end of the 18th century—eras of war and uncertainty. The second, and perhaps most decisive, came with the restrictive Immigration Act of 1924, a law that stemmed the steady flow of southern and eastern Europeans who’d entered the country only a few decades earlier. Caldwell claims this second pause helped forge a more cohesive American culture.

But, looking closely, laws are only part of the story. The yearning to move, to start anew, motors much of human history—even when the odds make little sense. Historian Michael Barone once wrote, with an edge of wryness, that most folks don’t abandon their homes for “just marginal economic gain.” In the American context, entire eras of arrivals seem to trace the arc of hope and collapse. The 1980s boomed with newcomers chasing dreams of family unity, security, or a shot at a mortgage. During the heady days of easy bank loans and soaring home values, some immigrants hit the jackpot—right up until the housing market tanked in 2007 and left them broke.

Recent shifts at the border show how much policy can, at least for a while, shape people’s decisions. During the Trump years, ramped-up enforcement brought the number of illegal crossings down. For some, this meant heartbreak, or the abrupt shattering of a dream. Cowen finds the severity troubling; Caldwell, in contrast, calls it overdue course correction.

History can upend our tidy assumptions. For example, high U.S. wages didn’t automatically spark mass crossings from Mexico for decades—not because the rules were tight, but because, for much of the 19th and 20th centuries, sheer geography and cultural difference kept flows small. A major turning point came only after the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act. The law imposed new numerical caps but, ironically, opened up new avenues—especially for family members of those already here, thanks to what’s known as “chain migration.” Over time, especially by the early 2000s, the faces and languages of new arrivals shifted too: Central Americans, Haitians, and others joined Mexican migrants at the border.

Those numbers, and the stories behind them, pumped new energy into the national argument. Enforcement toughened, public worries rose; yet in the swirl of alarmist headlines, a quieter truth stood—around 800,000 people still earn citizenship every year. That’s hardly a nation slamming its doors shut.

A lot of today’s tension circles back to assimilation—how, and whether, newcomers fold into the broader national life. After 1924, according to Caldwell, society knitted itself closer. It wasn’t just the law; mass popular culture—like radio and movies—pulled people together, and events such as World War II and the civil rights movement forced Americans to redefine who belonged.

Barone points out something important: more recent immigrant waves often arrived without those shared touchstones. There were no military drafts or nightly radio shows serving as common ground, and the broad social consensus that had anchored earlier generations had loosened. The debate now pivots to messy questions—Do we limit the annual flow? Should we prioritize highly-skilled workers, as some suggest? Or, as Barone says, is there good reason to throw the doors open even wider?

Whatever the approach, one principle endures: no legal tweak can override the basic forces that push people to uproot. Hope, desperation, or the stubborn pull of a promise—these motivations often surge past any wall or statute. All policy can do is nudge the current; it rarely damns the river entirely.

So the story of American immigration, far from wrapping up, enters a new chapter. Politicians and citizens alike are left asking, not for the first time: who do we welcome, and why? There may never be a consensus answer—but wrestling with the question is as American as the journey itself.

The American immigration debate has never run on simple tracks—and today, it’s more tangled than ever. You can sense it in the anxious conversations in Congress, the passionate arguments pouring out on radio and cable, the barely submerged worries in living rooms from San Diego to Scranton. Calls to “close the border” thunder louder than at any time in recent memory, but the truth, as usual, glimmers somewhere in the cracks.Thinkers like Tyler Cowen and Christopher Caldwell have each staked out their positions on this national puzzle. Oddly enough, both seem to doubt the U.S. will ever find that elusive, lasting balance. Cowen says let more folks in; Caldwell’s all for pumping the brakes. Before 2016, Cowen argues, America’s immigration setup was mostly fine—a patchwork of rules and requirements, but still a country that, for all its fences and fingerprint checks, clearly beckoned newcomers. He puts it starkly: our system got close to “open borders,” at least in spirit if not by statute. Unsurprisingly, that kind of talk rattles many Americans. If nearly everyone beyond our shores started coming at once, Cowen notes, some fear the nation’s fabric might simply fray.Caldwell draws comfort from America’s tougher stance lately, seeing it as another swing of the historic pendulum. He sketches out three moments when the United States pulled back hard on immigration. First, he points to the end of the 18th century—eras of war and uncertainty. The second, and perhaps most decisive, came with the restrictive Immigration Act of 1924, a law that stemmed the steady flow of southern and eastern Europeans who’d entered the country only a few decades earlier. Caldwell claims this second pause helped forge a more cohesive American culture.But, looking closely, laws are only part of the story. The yearning to move, to start anew, motors much of human history—even when the odds make little sense. Historian Michael Barone once wrote, with an edge of wryness, that most folks don’t abandon their homes for “just marginal economic gain.” In the American context, entire eras of arrivals seem to trace the arc of hope and collapse. The 1980s boomed with newcomers chasing dreams of family unity, security, or a shot at a mortgage. During the heady days of easy bank loans and soaring home values, some immigrants hit the jackpot—right up until the housing market tanked in 2007 and left them broke.Recent shifts at the border show how much policy can, at least for a while, shape people’s decisions. During the Trump years, ramped-up enforcement brought the number of illegal crossings down. For some, this meant heartbreak, or the abrupt shattering of a dream. Cowen finds the severity troubling; Caldwell, in contrast, calls it overdue course correction.History can upend our tidy assumptions. For example, high U.S. wages didn’t automatically spark mass crossings from Mexico for decades—not because the rules were tight, but because, for much of the 19th and 20th centuries, sheer geography and cultural difference kept flows small. A major turning point came only after the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act. The law imposed new numerical caps but, ironically, opened up new avenues—especially for family members of those already here, thanks to what’s known as “chain migration.” Over time, especially by the early 2000s, the faces and languages of new arrivals shifted too: Central Americans, Haitians, and others joined Mexican migrants at the border.Those numbers, and the stories behind them, pumped new energy into the national argument. Enforcement toughened, public worries rose; yet in the swirl of alarmist headlines, a quieter truth stood—around 800,000 people still earn citizenship every year. That’s hardly a nation slamming its doors shut.A lot of today’s tension circles back to assimilation—how, and whether, newcomers fold into the broader national life. After 1924, according to Caldwell, society knitted itself closer. It wasn’t just the law; mass popular culture—like radio and movies—pulled people together, and events such as World War II and the civil rights movement forced Americans to redefine who belonged.Barone points out something important: more recent immigrant waves often arrived without those shared touchstones. There were no military drafts or nightly radio shows serving as common ground, and the broad social consensus that had anchored earlier generations had loosened. The debate now pivots to messy questions—Do we limit the annual flow? Should we prioritize highly-skilled workers, as some suggest? Or, as Barone says, is there good reason to throw the doors open even wider?Whatever the approach, one principle endures: no legal tweak can override the basic forces that push people to uproot. Hope, desperation, or the stubborn pull of a promise—these motivations often surge past any wall or statute. All policy can do is nudge the current; it rarely damns the river entirely.So the story of American immigration, far from wrapping up, enters a new chapter. Politicians and citizens alike are left asking, not for the first time: who do we welcome, and why? There may never be a consensus answer—but wrestling with the question is as American as the journey itself.