The future of immigration policy is linked to a willingness to confront the dark past and the brutal realities of the present
The arrival of Columbus in the New World marked the beginning of a long history of human migration, driven by the universal quest for survival, hope and dignity. Yet, in a grotesque inversion of history, contemporary politics in the United States, particularly under the Trump administration, has perversely transformed immigration into a toxic battleground of fear, exclusion and ideological warfare. By erasing this brutal history, successive governments in the United States have perpetuated a myth of exceptionalism, even as it denies the humanity of those seeking refuge on its shores.
As schoolchildren, many of us were asked to write an essay on the theme, “What if Columbus had not discovered America?” Understandably, the very framing of this question is steeped in colonial ideology that assumes that Columbus’s landing was a historic necessity, a great leap for civilization rather than what it actually was. Our answers, drawn from textbooks that valorized explorers and erased victims, inevitably celebrated Columbus’s courage and navigational daring. We were taught to admire the predator, never to mourn the prey.
The destruction of vibrant civilizations
But what if Columbus had not landed in the Bahamas in 1492? What if the Arawaks, the generous, peace-loving people he first encountered, had been allowed to live in peace? What if the Americas had been allowed to evolve on their own terms, with their own cultures, languages, and knowledge systems flourishing unmolested? The Iroquois Confederacy, for instance, had developed a sophisticated democratic system that inspired elements of the U.S. Constitution, though that influence is often buried or denied. These were not “primitive” societies awaiting rescue. They were civilizations with libraries, roads and astronomy, all destroyed in the name of gold and god.
From the early waves of European colonization in the Americas and Africa to the apartheid regimes of South Africa, migration has not merely been a matter of movement. It has also been a means of conquest, expansion and domination. Settler colonial projects thrived through the forceful displacement and systematic downgrading of native populations, manifesting in overt and subtle ways through systems of oppression that are deeply ingrained in societal structures that perpetuate racial disparity and injustice. The U.S., frequently celebrated as an ideal for the “tired, poor, huddled masses”, was itself forged through the expurgation of native peoples and the abuse of enslaved labor. By denying entry to migrants, powerful nations conveniently obscure their own complicity in creating the conditions that drive people to flee.
The intricate dynamics of historical memory and its distortion are starkly illustrated in the U.S.’s approach to immigration and counter-terrorism. Let us for a moment go back to the distressing example of “Geronimo”, the code word said to have been used in the 2011 mission (“Operation Neptune Spear”) to eliminate Osama bin Laden. By appropriating the name of the legendary Apache leader, Geronimo, the U.S. military inadvertently highlighted its historical amnesia. Geronimo was a complex figure, a warrior who resisted Mexican and U.S. military forces, seeking to preserve Apache sovereignty and way of life. Labelling him a terrorist overlooks the nuances of his struggle and reduces it to simplistic binaries.
But this is no isolated misstep, for it is symptomatic of a deeper sickness in the dominant historical narrative; a narrative that begins in 1492 with the mythic arrival of Christopher Columbus. This moment is still described in textbooks, museums and mindless school rhymes as the “discovery” of America. The truth, of course, is far more brutal. Columbus did not discover a new world. He invaded one, and that invasion set in motion one of the most ferocious chapters in human history. Columbus’s arrival heralded not discovery, but genocide. The devastation was total.
What mainstream historians miss
Mainstream historians seldom dwell on the mass enslavement, the sexual violence or the cultural annihilation. To question Columbus’s legacy is to invite accusations of being “anti-American” or “revisionist”. But if revision means restoring truth to the record, then revisionism is a moral obligation. The problem is not that we remember too little; it is that we remember too selectively.
The Columbus myth, far from being a harmless fable, is the ideological blueprint for centuries of colonial expansion, white supremacy and racial capitalism. It legitimizes the pillaging of the Americas, the enslavement of Africans, and the later interventions of American imperialism under the guise of spreading “freedom”. The mentality that justified the extermination of the Arawaks is the same that rationalizes drone strikes today.
Fast-forward to the 21st century, and the brutal calculus of migration remains unchanged: flee war-torn Syria, economically ravaged Venezuela, or climate-ravaged sub-Saharan Africa, and you will be met with suspicion and hostility at the borders of the Global North. The Trump presidency has been a zenith of this xenophobic fervor, pathologizing immigration as an existential threat to American identity. The border wall, family separations, and the Muslim ban are not just policy aberrations but ideological manifestos that codify cruelty and exclusion. These measures are not pragmatic responses to complex issues; they are declarations of war on the most vulnerable.
Moreover, the resurgence of exclusionary nationalism, a hallmark of Trump-era politics, has biased the discourse around belonging and citizenship. It designates the immigrant not as a fellow human in search of security but as an economic burden, a cultural contagion or a national security risk. What emerges, then, is a moral paradox of nations founded on violent migration and colonization but now busy erecting moral and legal barriers to those seeking refuge.
If settler colonialism is justified under the banner of “civilizing mission”, why should today’s migration be framed illegitimate? The glaring disparity between the revered pioneers of the past and the vilified migrants of today lays bare the insidious role of race, power and historical amnesia in shaping the immigration narrative.
A fundamental aspiration
Clearly, the future of immigration policy hinges on our willingness to confront the darkest chapters of our past and the brutal realities of our present. We need to excavate the buried subtexts of empire, capitalism and racial domination that continue to shape mobility, and forge a new path forward informed by historical reckoning and a commitment to human dignity. The right to seek safety, to move across borders, is not a privilege to be doled out to the few, but a fundamental human aspiration that must be recognized and protected.
To imagine, therefore, a world in which Columbus had not made landfall is not to indulge in idle fantasy, but to confront the brutal reality of a collective past. It is to consider the possibility of a world unshaped by genocide, a world where Indigenous peoples flourished on their own terms, where empires did not build their foundations on loot and plunder. The truth about history is not a matter of nicety, but a fundamental requirement for justice, accountability, and a future that does not replicate the wrongs of the past.
(Shelley Walia has taught Cultural Theory at Panjab University, Chandigarh. He can be reached at shelleywalia@gmail.com)
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