I want to begin by discussing the relationship between democracy and demography. Over the past two decades, I’ve focused extensively on migration and the boundaries of the demos—an issue that resonates deeply within democracies.
To start, I’d like to recall how Donald Trump challenged Barack Obama’s presidency by questioning Obama’s birthright. For many years, Trump sought to “other” Obama, which was part of an early attempt to articulate a deep-seated fear. This fear is often described as the majority-minority democracy—the concern that the United States could evolve not only into a multi-ethnic democracy, but also into a multi-racial one. Trump’s efforts to stoke these fears about national identity and the boundaries of the demos have a long history, and they have clearly resonated with many.
In discussions about immigration, it’s common to hear a sense of urgency and anxiety, but the numbers don’t always match the intensity of the conversation. Only about 3.6 percent of the global population—roughly 281 million people out of 7.8 billion—live in countries other than their country of birth. This represents a relatively small percentage of the global population. So why does migration spark such anxious discourse?
Part of the explanation lies in the intensification of global movement in recent decades. Over the past 50 years, migration has increased significantly, fueled by neoliberal financial globalization. This trend is not confined to the United States but spans the globe. Along with this surge in mobility, however, comes the difficulty of managing migration—both from an administrative perspective and within political culture.
The New York Times recently reported that the U.S. has seen its largest increase in the immigrant population since the 1850s. Today, 14.3 percent of the U.S. population consists of migrants—understood as people born outside the country.
Now, language here can be politically very tricky and very challenging. Migrants. Which migrants? Those Ukrainians, Cubans or Haitians admitted under a temporary protected status, which is a legal category in American migration policy. Or those people who also have special status because they served with the US forces in Iraq or Afghanistan. The United States as a global power, has relationships and obligations to nations and people in the world that get caught in its own net of foreign policy.
Migration is an incredibly complex issue, both normatively and empirically, as it reflects the United States’ position as a global power. This duality encompasses both the universal challenges of migration and the exceptional American aspect of it, tied to the nation’s role as a global force. For instance, the U.S. has obligations to people who acted as translators during the Afghanistan war. In Massachusetts, where I spend a lot of time, Afghani refugees are now resettling in Pittsfield, an old de-industrialized city in the Berkshires. What does this all lead to? There is significant public misunderstanding about the realities of migration. As Zygmunt Bauman aptly put it in one of our seminars, “strangers become dangerous.”
The average American does not know who qualifies as an undocumented migrant, who is stuck in immigration court, or whose asylum application has been denied. What they do hear, however, are claims that “illegals are invading our country” or “challenging our nation.” The language is appalling, and at times, almost unbelievable. Yet, is there a kernel of truth in the sentiments many American citizens now seem to share? Reports suggest a notable level of support for Trump’s deportation policies, which is deeply concerning. Why would an American citizen, who has historically taken pride in the country’s identity as a nation of immigrants, align with such a stance? This shift in sentiment is profoundly troubling.
The burden of migration is inherently local and regional, yet decisions about national borders are made at the federal level. This dynamic creates significant regional imbalances, with states like Arizona, New York, Florida, and California bearing varying levels of the migration burden. There is a palpable burden felt by people—denying the lack of adequate resources to absorb migration would be shortsighted, particularly on the part of the left. However, the issue runs deeper than resources. At its core, there appears to be a failure of nerve about the meaning of American citizenship. This failure stems from a political culture that no longer seems capable of socializing the stranger into the nation’s constitutional ideals.
Constitutional patriotism, which Jürgen Habermas identified as the singular achievement of American constitutional culture, appears to be fading. Its decline may be attributed to various factors: ressentiment, nihilism, and the combined effects of deindustrialization and neoliberal globalization. This erosion has coincided with a regressive push to challenge birthright citizenship. While this debate is not new—Peter Schuck and Roger Smith have previously questioned the concept in the context of political theory and international law—it signals a deeper confusion. On one hand, there is uncertainty about how citizenship should be granted. On the other, there is insufficient attention to the vital process of socializing or acculturating citizens, a challenge that demands serious consideration.
In this context, the reliance on the language of birthright citizenship reflects a failure of nerve, suggesting that an ethno-nationalist approach could somehow resolve these issues. It will not. Instead, it risks creating suffering for millions. Such policies would likely lead to harrowing scenes—American soldiers, bayonets in hand, forcibly moving migrants across the border. One can only hope that these images would spark widespread outrage among Americans, leading them to reject such inhumane measures.
Why is there a failure of nerve about American citizenship? Part of the answer lies in the question of what money cannot buy. The neoliberal revolution—perhaps now reaching its end—has relentlessly transformed nearly everything into either a service or a monetary value. This shift has eroded the distinctions between the market, the forum (the exchange of ideas), and the state (the exercise of public power). Over the past 30 to 40 years, the market paradigm has come to dominate the forum, a trend amplified by the Supreme Court’s Citizens United decision.
What we are witnessing now is the ambition to transform the state into the largest corporation of all. Consider Donald Trump’s cabinet appointments and the so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) program. What is its underlying principle? It seeks to treat the federal government as if it were a corporation, one from which inefficiencies can be eliminated and assets can be optimized. This echoes practices in American capitalism where hedge funders acquire old corporations, divide them into parts, and resell them for profit.
This moment is decisive. It reflects not only the broader trends of neoliberal capitalism but also the encroachment of private domination into public power. Programs like Project 2025 and the DOGE plan represent an effort to reshape governance into an extension of market logic. Whether this is the culmination of American libertarianism or a new phase of neoliberal capitalism—one where the state becomes, as Friedrich Engels warned, a monopoly power of the bourgeoisie—remains to be seen.
Cover photo: People riding the ferry to Ellis Island for a Naturalization Ceremony on Citizenship Day pass the Statue of Liberty in New York, on September 17, 2022. (Photo by Alex Kent / AFP)
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