In an era where political debate has devolved into a game of spotting hypocrisy, Ben Burgis cuts through the noise to argue that the moral case against immigration crackdowns stands on its own merits, regardless of historical ironies or land ownership. This piece is notable not for its policy prescriptions alone, but for its refusal to let the Left off the hook for using weak arguments to defend strong principles, forcing a confrontation with the human cost of enforcement that goes far beyond abstract economic theory.
The Trap of Hypocrisy
Burgis begins by dismantling the dominant mode of online discourse: the obsession with pointing out inconsistencies in an opponent's history rather than engaging with their current logic. "One of the most annoying things about online political discourse in the 2020s is that it’s become totally dominated, on all sides, by hypocrisy-baiting," he writes. He argues that this approach is a distraction that prevents genuine reflection on what we actually believe and why. The author illustrates this with a sharp analogy regarding capital punishment, noting that it is absurd to argue against the death penalty by saying it is ironic to "murder murderers to show that murder is wrong." Burgis points out that if this logic held, we couldn't imprison kidnappers or fine thieves without committing the very acts we condemn.
This framing is effective because it exposes the intellectual laziness of "owning" opponents with clever retorts rather than substantive policy critiques. Burgis applies this same lens to the recent escalation of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids. He critiques the smug takes that mocked restrictionists by comparing current raids in Los Angeles to the historical theft of Mexican land. "If California having been stolen from Mexico actually contributed in some meaningful way to the wrongness of the raids in LA... then it would pretty well follow that ICE raids in, say, Minneapolis are at least somewhat less objectionable," Burgis observes. He correctly identifies that no one truly believes the moral weight of an immigration raid depends on whether the specific state was once Mexican territory.
If the wrongness of a raid depends on the land's history, then raids in places like Minneapolis are somehow less objectionable. Does anyone, anywhere, actually believe that?
The author extends this critique to the slogan "no one is illegal on stolen land." He argues that while the land in Minnesota was indeed taken from the Sioux, Ojibwe, and Chippewa, using this to justify open borders in a specific historical context fails when tested against other nations. He asks readers to imagine similar anti-immigrant rhetoric in Germany, where the first Germanic tribes arrived thousands of years before white settlers reached Minnesota. "Many aspects of America’s culture wars have been imported to Europe, but land acknowledgments have never really caught on among German liberals," Burgis notes, suggesting that the moral repulsion against separating families should be universal, not contingent on a specific land acknowledgment.
The Omelas Tradeoff
Moving beyond the critique of bad arguments, Burgis tackles the most credible economic objection to open borders: the fear that immigration from poorer countries suppresses wages for the working class. He acknowledges this concern but rejects the brutal methods used to address it. To illustrate the moral bankruptcy of sacrificing the few for the perceived benefit of the many, he turns to Ursula K. Le Guin's short story "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas." He provides a harrowing description of the child kept in a basement whose misery sustains the utopia of the city. "Le Guin takes it for granted that none of these benefits would justify the treatment of that child," Burgis writes.
The comparison is stark. Burgis argues that safeguarding wage levels does not require the "Omelas-style tradeoffs" of detaining children or deporting families. He suggests that direct policy interventions, such as raising the minimum wage or strengthening labor laws, are far more effective and morally sound. "Instead of trying to Rube Goldberg our way to higher wages by kicking out some low-wage workers... you could, say, raise the minimum wage," he argues. This section is the piece's strongest moral pivot, shifting the debate from abstract economics to the tangible suffering of individuals.
Critics might argue that wage suppression is a complex structural issue that cannot be solved solely by minimum wage hikes, and that immigration policy is one of several tools available to manage labor markets. However, Burgis counters that the current crackdowns are not just ineffective but actively counterproductive, driving workers underground and making unionization harder.
There are a whole lot of ways to increase wage levels without throwing little kids like Liam Ramos into detention cells or de facto murdering Wael Tarabashi.
The human cost of these policies is brought into sharp focus through specific cases. Burgis details the story of Selamawit Mehari, a Minnesota resident dragged away in chains despite her children producing paperwork proving her lawful status. He also highlights the case of 5-year-old Liam Ramos, who was left behind by his father while fleeing ICE agents. "Perhaps that’s true... but maybe they’re telling the truth this time," Burgis writes regarding the official narrative, before noting that he trusts the word of neighbors over the agency known for lying. The image of a terrified child in a bunny hat locked in detention serves as a visceral counter to the cold calculus of restrictionist policy.
The Limits of the Win-Win
Burgis concludes by warning against the temptation to claim that immigration is an unblemished "win-win" for everyone. He argues that this framing is not only dishonest but dangerous because it ignores the reality that many jobs are only available at such low wages because workers are desperate. "We should find it repulsive when some well-meaning pro-immigration people talk about undocumented immigrants doing jobs 'Americans don’t want to do'," he writes. He explains that this rhetoric implies that native-born citizens simply aren't desperate enough to accept those conditions, a dynamic that has historically been true.
This admission is crucial. It prevents the argument from becoming a naive defense of the status quo and instead positions the Left to demand better conditions for all workers, regardless of origin. Burgis suggests that if the work is truly undesirable, the solution is to improve the job, not to import a workforce that has no choice but to accept exploitation. This connects to the broader historical context of labor movements, much like the shifts seen in the era of Manifest Destiny where land and labor were inextricably linked, though here the focus is on the moral imperative to elevate labor standards rather than expand territory.
Bottom Line
Burgis's most powerful contribution is his refusal to let the moral high ground be held hostage by weak arguments; he insists that the case for humane immigration policy must stand on its own ethical and practical merits, not on the hypocrisy of opponents. The piece's greatest vulnerability lies in its reliance on a long-term vision of global socialism to fully resolve the tension between open borders and wage protection, leaving a gap in immediate, actionable policy for the current capitalist framework. Readers should watch for how the administration navigates the inevitable clash between its enforcement rhetoric and the undeniable human toll of its own operations.