If Humans Had Wings: Resisting Global Anti-Immigration Rhetoric

If humans had wings, would we fly south for the winter? Would we take to the skies, leaving behind our grounded lives? Would we flock together as humans, abandoning the geographical barriers that keep us apart? Or would we be just as segmented as we are today, drawing borders with the clouds—lines that decide who belongs where and who doesn’t?

Human migratory patterns have evolved. I, alongside many of my peers, am a child of migrants living far away from home. Migration has become standard in our world, though we have no wings. Planes and boats carry us to lands far beyond the reach of our bipedal biology. In this, we meet people who look different from us, with different traditions, different beliefs. Sometimes, even walking down the street can feel like travelling the globe. To some, it’s exciting. To others, threatening. From this fear, a dangerous rhetoric has taken root. Across the world, anti-immigrant voices have grown louder, shrouded in nationalism and xenophobia. In our globalized society—where we rely on one another—these voices are not only dangerous, they’re inhumane. 

Nowhere are the voices louder than in the United States. Once the land of immigrants is now rife with anti-immigration sentiment and “secure the border” messaging. During Donald Trump’s second campaign for the presidency, he rallied millions of Americans behind anti-immigration policies. He preached the idea of the “real American,”  and promised mass deportation of both authorized and unauthorized immigrants. 

For once, he followed through on his promise. Trump tasked ICE with conducting raids on immigrants. According to ICE, they arrested and deported a record-breaking “66,463 illegal aliens and 65,682 aliens” during Trump’s first 100 days. The horror isn’t necessarily in the numbers, but in the dehumanization of these immigrants. The human cost. These are real people, with real lives, each just as complex as our own. Yet, they’re degraded as “aliens,” as though they’re of another species. It’s appalling the level of inhumanity some have descended to. 

Behind labels and statistics are real lives being destroyed. Beneath the numbers are names: Kilmar Abrego Garcia. On March 15th of this year, Garcia was ripped away from his home, shipped off, and slandered by the US government itself. Born in El Salvador, he fled due to gang violence—seeking asylum in America. He was granted a work permit, built a life, and even raised a son. On one regular Wednesday, Garcia was detained by DHS agents. Three days later, he was deported back to El Salvador—the same place he had once escaped. As a legal immigrant, his story sparked public discourse. Later, it was revealed that his deportation was the result of a “clerical error,” and that there was no intention to return him to US soil. To quiet the loud controversy, Trump’s administration branded Garcia a terrorist: linking him to an El Salvadorian gang, MS-13. During an interview with ABC, Trump pointed out that Garcia’s tattoos read “MS-13”, citing a very clearly photoshopped picture of Garcia’s hand as evidence. It would be laughable, if not so sickening. He had a life, a son. I’m the son of immigrants, and I can’t take this story as anything but a warning.

This rhetoric doesn’t just clip the wings of others—it cripples even our own identities. In Australia, MP Bob Katter had a viral moment during a press conference where he shared his intention to attend an anti-migration rally. Ironically, the moment occurred when a reporter began a question about Katter’s Lebanese heritage. Katter exploded—as any sane person would—with, "Don't say that! Because that irritates me, and I've punched blokes in the mouth for saying that. Don't you say that! My family has been here for 140 years.” In his rage, he revealed the paradox of nationalism. 

He disavows the very wings that brought his family to Australia in the first place, because he wants to be a “real Australian”.  Heritage turns to shame. It’s impossible to distinguish, in this modern world, who is “real” and who is “fake”—searching for purity in a society where there is none. In this age, every family has a migration story. Pretending otherwise is not patriotism, but prejudice dressed up as pride. 

If humans had wings, the world would be fundamentally different. Human migration would be welcomed, instead of feared. The sad truth is that humans don’t. Yet too often, we shoot one another down—even though we can’t fly. But we can choose differently, think differently. We ought to recognise that the borders between us are meaningless. Maybe then we could flock together as one.

We don’t need wings to fly. We just need to have the courage to allow others to soar alongside us.