In May, yet another border crisis burst into public attention. This time the crisis centered on the feared consequences of the long-delayed termination of a draconian policy initiated by former President Donald Trump. Title 42 was the pandemic-justified policy that summarily expelled asylum seekers without a hearing on their asylum claims. The end of Title 42, it was claimed, would result in another “surge” or a “flood” of border crossers.
Republicans amplified the threat to discredit President Joe Biden. The administration responded by parading its border-security bonafides and announcing its own restrictions aimed at radically limiting asylum seekers.
The crisis narrative is a staple in this nation’s fixation with border security. The widely held supposition holds that the border is a danger zone, a site of infiltration of unwanted migrants who are positioned as a threat to our nation’s safety, prosperity and identity. Walled or unwalled, the border signifies the nation’s sovereignty and, for many, the line of defense against the outside world.
Media coverage of the crisis focused on the political drama. Minimal attention was devoted to the consequences for people who are turned away after undertaking long and dangerous journeys in the hope of finding refuge from violence and persecution. At best, news accounts referenced but did not elaborate upon the objections of human rights or refugee advocacy organizations, as if they were a sideshow to the main attraction.
Even less attention was given to why asylum is a value the nation should uphold and what policies are needed to protect that value.
The right of asylum belongs in our political debates about how we should respond to refugees. Offering protection to people escaping danger has long been among the most universal ethical obligations. All three Abrahamic religions assert the requirement to provide shelter to those in need; and indeed religious charities play a crucial role in the resettlement of refugees. Resettlement, however, assists only a small fraction of those caught in the hell of the world’s overflowing refugee camps.
Ever since the acknowledged failures to provide sanctuary before and during the Holocaust, asylum has been declared an essential value of the international order, important enough to be recognized as a core human right that nations cannot violate without falling outside the law.
The U.S. was instrumental in the adoption of the right of asylum, part of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and then backed subsequent treaties and laws, starting with the 1951 Refugee Convention. The protection of human rights is a responsibility of nations to the international community. The right to asylum means a right to cross borders in order to seek asylum. People who arrive on U.S. territory, even without permission, and then request asylum must be provided due process in a fair hearing. It is their legal right to do so. They should not be treated as criminals or intruders to be repelled. They are not “illegal.”
For decades, the U.S. has joined other nations in the Global North in adopting tactics designed to evade its asylum obligations. It has implemented restrictive interpretations of what qualifies as asylum. It has created physical and militarized barriers to entry. It has interdicted migrants at sea, detaining them offshore. It persuades or pressures other nations to prevent migrants from reaching the U.S. border and adopts other tactics known to critics as “remote control.” People who have crossed the border without authorization have been subjected to lengthy incarceration, family separation or “expedited removal.”
Human rights groups have amply documented the brutality and frequent lethality of these methods. The prevailing crisis narrative, however, ignores these consequences or justifies them as deterrence. Compassionate policies are labeled as “pull factors.”
Anti-migrant prejudices are deeply embedded in American history and culture. Border security anxieties are far-reaching. Opportunist politicians are eager to exploit both. Yet fear of electoral consequences should not silence a moral politics. If our debates about border policy would not sweep aside the morally shocking consequences for people being summarily turned away or never given a chance to apply for asylum, might we turn instead toward a more humane response to the deeper crisis of forced migration?
The moral challenge may seem daunting; but the choice to help might be better served if, like the reckoning that followed World War II, Americans could acknowledge the inhumane consequences of failing to offer sanctuary.
Our response to the growing crisis of forced displacement and migration would then be framed by commitments and obligations already undertaken in the name of human rights and human dignity.
