When I was born, I spent my first nine months away from my mother—not due to neglect, but rather because of immigration laws in Ireland.
My mother, a US citizen in her late 20s, was visiting my brother in Ireland when I was conceived. Complications during her pregnancy prevented her from traveling back, so she overstayed her visa. After I was born, Irish immigration mandated that she leave while they processed my paperwork.
A nation that lacks enforcement can spiral into chaos, with those most affected being the most vulnerable.
This meant I grew up as a US citizen but in the care of foreign foster parents. I don’t hold Ireland at fault for upholding its laws. Similarly, I can’t blame my mother for going to Ireland when it was unsafe for her to fly back. Life can be complicated, and it didn’t turn the government into a villain. That experience holds a lesson as we grapple with current discussions in the U.S. about deportation and family separation.
Enforcement is not cruelty
My situation isn’t a melodramatic tale—it’s simply a reality. For years, activists and media have inundated the public with emotional accounts of children separated from their parents during deportations. The narrative often paints immigration enforcement agents as heartless individuals who tear families apart just for kicks.
That’s a simplistic view.
I lived through separation, and I understand the pain it brings. Yet I also recognize that these actions come not from cruelty, but from necessity.
When my mother violated immigration rules, there was a temporary separation. The same applies in the U.S. when immigrants break the law. These actions aren’t motivated by hatred but are necessary for maintaining order and upholding sovereignty.
I know what loss feels like
Months away from the woman who gave me life have left their mark. I never got to know my father—he was murdered before I was born. And then I lost my mother to cancer when I was just seven. Childhood for me was shaped by separation and loss.
And yet, I don’t blame the Irish government for its immigration enforcement. Neither my father’s death nor my mother’s illness were caused by immigration laws. Life can be tragic, and sometimes blame doesn’t have a target.
Emotional suffering doesn’t invalidate the need for law enforcement; rather, it underscores it. Countries must have borders, and when those borders aren’t respected, real people suffer—on both sides of the law.
The American system is facing a crisis
The U.S. is currently experiencing a significant immigration dilemma.
In 2019, during Trump’s administration, around 143,000 arrests were made by ICE, and over 267,000 were removed. Fast forward to 2024 under Biden—there were 113,431 arrests and 271,484 removals, although over 11 million encounters occurred at the border during this time. For context, the total under Trump was around 3 million.
The Department of Homeland Security has reported that around 1.4 million undocumented migrants have been paroled into the U.S. By mid-2024, there were nearly 650,000 undocumented criminals still on ICE’s non-decisive dockets, roaming freely.
This doesn’t suggest compassion; it feels more like disarray.
These statistics reveal a severe lack of accountability. If the laws aren’t reinforced, tragedy won’t just persist—it will worsen.
Blame doesn’t equal accountability
Having spent only a few years with my mother, I understand the desire to place blame when you experience profound pain. However, blame often distracts from the truth and provides a convenient target for emotional turmoil.
It’s just as much a political distraction as it is a psychological one. But what if we redirected that energy into accepting responsibility? Every action has consequences—not due to cruelty, but as a matter of balance.
If someone enters a home uninvited, the homeowner has the right to call the police. It’s a law that upholds property rights, and this principle should extend to national borders.
Different stories yield different contexts
My circumstances from three decades ago differ from today’s situations. My mother had no criminal background save for a parking ticket. She didn’t intend to break the law. In contrast, data suggests that approximately 44% of unlawful immigrants now have prior criminal histories.
I didn’t come to America through human smugglers or any traffickers. I returned home through the efforts of my grandfather—who had served in World War II. He utilized his connections, even reaching out to Senator Ted Kennedy, to ensure my return to the U.S. I flew back on the lap of a decorated soldier to a country that already recognized me as a citizen.
Creating a better future for the next generation
This is why I can’t accept the argument that lawlessness equates to compassion. It’s just not true.
I owe it to all children born and raised here, those separated in various circumstances, to uphold justice without replacing it with sentimentality. A society without enforcement will lead to chaos, and such chaos always harms the most vulnerable first.
This isn’t about cruelty; it’s about sovereignty. It’s about keeping a system that works for those who respect the law while ensuring consequences for those who don’t.
