We are barely two months into the second Trump Presidency, and a dark cloud has settled over the U.S. Even outside of America, the air is thick, and we can’t help but choke on the fumes. It pollutes our news, social media, and even the communities where we would have once found reprieve.
In a recent conversation about immigration, I found myself struck by how deeply language shapes the way we view belonging. “No one is illegal on stolen land,” I said. The response came swiftly: “Immigration laws exist, and even those who cross illegally acknowledge their status as ‘illegal migrants.’” My heart pounded loudly inside its cage, its fervent thumps traveling up to my ears. I looked around at the quiet security of my life, a life shaped by fortune rather than right. I, too, have lived in this country without status. I, too, have been an illegal.
It felt obvious to me: a country built on imperialism has no moral ground to decide who belongs. The so-called “migrant crisis” is a crisis of America’s own making, a consequence of its political underhandedness in countries which range from A to Z, or in Latin America's case, from Argentina to Uruguay. The "migrant caravans" that Americans decry are a direct consequence of imperialist intervention, as seen in places like Guatemala and Venezuela, where U.S. policies and direct actions—such as the CIA-backed coup that overthrew democratically elected Guatemalan leader Jacobo Arbenz for the sake of shareholders of the United Fruit Company (better known as Chiquita)—have destabilized governments and crippled economies. People flee because they have no choice—yet when they arrive, they are treated as criminals. “You can’t just throw out the rules based on the land being stolen,” the argument goes.
Why not?
The concept of "illegal immigration" is a relatively modern one, emerging from the imposition of colonial systems that sought to establish rigid borders and categorize people based on arbitrary lines drawn, in most instances, by white men wielding colonial power. Prior to this, Indigenous peoples had a fundamentally different relationship with land—one grounded in stewardship, connection, and community rather than ownership or exclusion.
For Indigenous communities, land was not something to be bought, sold, or confined within borders. It was a living entity, shared among people, communities, and generations, intimately tied to culture, identity, and survival.
Colonialism’s insatiable need to possess, to rule, in its inexhaustible quest to expand, conquer, and consolidate power, not only stole land but then sought to redefine who could exist on it. Laws and policies dictated who belonged and who didn’t, often criminalizing or marginalizing the very people who had lived there for millennia. These laws were an extension of colonialism’s sole purpose—to control populations and extract resources, with no regard for the existing systems of governance and relationship to the land that Indigenous peoples maintained.
But still, native resistance persists. Indigenous people of North America challenge the legitimacy of modern borders and immigration laws—their right to the land, as stewards and caretakers, predates the existence of colonial powers and their laws.
The very existence of Indigeneity serves as a constant reminder to colonialism of what it has stolen and what it has tried, and failed, to erase.
This is why slogans like Land Back provoke such a visceral reaction from those who uphold colonial power structures. It reveals their deep insecurity—not just about land itself, but about the legitimacy of their existence. The idea of returning land to Indigenous people is a threat, because it challenges the very foundations of colonial authority. But Land Back is not about exile or revenge; it is about restoring Indigenous sovereignty, dignity, and the right to self-determination. It means returning decision-making power, cultural autonomy, and access to resources that were stripped away through colonization. Here in British Columbia, the government recently returned the land and rights of Haida Gwaii to the Haida Nation, marking a significant step in reconciliation.
Indigenous governance existed long before colonial borders, and it continues to persist despite centuries of attempted erasure. It seems that what colonialists truly fear is not displacement—it’s the loss of control over the narrative, the economy, and the laws they wrote to justify their own theft. Unlike the the inhumane deportations going on in the United States, the Land Back movement does not seek to displace people from their homes, or to enact cruelty upon the descendants of settlers. Instead, it is a demand -- a demand for justice, for the right of Indigenous peoples to exist on their own terms, in their own lands, without the shadow of colonial imposition of laws meant to benefit the few, and arbitrary borders drawn without consideration of native people groups.
Colonialist violence is perpetrated every single day on people who are portrayed on TV as infiltrators, yet who would not have left their own land had imperialism not left behind nothing but scorched earth. Many trek for days with limited food and water, with children strapped to their backs across one of the most dangerous places in the world—the Darién Gap, which stands as a stark testament to the desperation driving migration, where violence is rampant and paths are shared with ruthless cartels.
The words we use matter. In the 19th century, a pair of German philosophers came up with the theory of linguistic determinism—that is, that language shapes thought. Terminology adopted by populists like Donald Trump uses terms like “illegals” to push the idea that, not simply their immigration status, but rather their very existence is unlawful and criminal. “Undocumented immigrant,” on the other hand, acknowledges a bureaucratic status under a colonial regime rather than defining a person as one who is allowed or disallowed. This shift in language is not unlike the growing shift from “homeless person” to “unhoused person,” which highlights the growing opinion that indeed it is communities, and by extension the governments that represent them, which have the duty to house all of their people—shifting accountability from the capitalistic “self” to the collective accountability we all have to each other.
While the Trump administration continues its “muzzle velocity” media blitz, we must keep ourselves focused on the real question.The real question isn’t which people deserve to be here—it’s how we justify a system that decides belonging based on borders imposed through violence. Acknowledging the sordid history and enmesh geopolitical turmoil of the Americas doesn’t mean erasing its laws, nor does it mean feeling shame for the circumstances of your birth and the access it granted to a country that continues to benefit from colonialism’s lasting effects.
But it does mean recognizing our privilege—the privilege of safety, of clean water, of abundant food—and using it to challenge a system that enforces a false dichotomy of those who have and those who do not. True justice requires not just recognizing these disparities, but actively working to dismantle the structures that uphold them.
"Soon, spring will arrive, bringing familiar birds back to warmer habitats, thawed from the bitter cold. Around the world, despite nations and borders, humans will watch them in awe—whether from behind paned glass in the safety of our homes or the bars of a detention center—the unifying admiration for their resilience and will to survive is undeniable. Yet, we fail to extend that same grace and respect to humans fleeing famine and the destruction of their habitats in search of better lives. And so, 'no one is illegal on stolen land' is not just a empty slogan, chanted at anti-deportation rallies and throw up by protestors all over the world, but an anti-colonial battle cry—a call to dismantle the borders and systems built on injustice and build a kinder, fairer world we so desperately need.
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Thanks for taking the time to read this. Perhaps it made you uncomfortable. Perhaps it struck you as too "leftist". I understand because it took me many days to consider publishing this. I encourage you to sit with any feelings of discomfort for a few moments and try to put yourself in the shoes of people who walk for days to get to safety in the countries we call home.After you've taken a beat, I'd love to hear from you. Please share your thoughts below and if you liked it, please consider sharing it with someone you know.
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