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But the reality of immigration lies not only in the broad       story of the American nation, where the agony is lost in the glory, but       in the details. I immigrated with my family to the United States from       Hungary as an infant. We settled in a tenement in the Bronx. The most       important part of our story was not that we were poor, but rather that       our family was torn apart. My parents brought my sister and me to the       United States because they had no choice. Their home abandoned them in       World War II, and America welcomed them. For immigrants, however, America       is a mistress who gives generously of her pleasure but is ruthless in her       demands. You must be completely devoted to America to enjoy her pleasures       to the fullest. My parents had lived through too much and had grown too       weary to pay that price. They didn’t hope for the ecstasy America       offered; they were content with sanctuary, however meager. 
 
My hopes diverged from my parents’ needs. My parents were       loving, yet, in a way, they became irrelevant. They could not guide me on       my path. In those years, many immigrants settled in the Bronx. The Jewish       kids banded together. So did the Irish, the Italians, the Puerto Ricans       and the African-Americans. They drew strength from each other, rather       than from their families. The cruel paradox of immigration is that it       divides parents and children. The children long for America while the       parents long for relief. And when the children band together, they learn       the first lesson of America: It has pity for the weak and respect only for       the strong. 
 
You learn this lesson on the streets, where you discover       that pain is not the worst thing in the world. Cowardice is. Winning is       everything. Fighting fearlessly and losing brings opportunity for       redemption. Fleeing the field of battle to huddle with your parents       denies you pride and entry into America. America is for those who have       the strength not only to play baseball or to excel in school but also to       learn the lesson of the streets and to pay the price of entry. 
 
Imagine what the Bronx was like back then. Young thugs, or       would-be thugs, roaming the streets, seeking and fearing the moment when       they must prove their manhood. The boys and girls, driven by hormones, as       much strangers to their parents as their parents were to them, alone in a       world to make what rules they could. The law was what you made of it, and       the cops were just another gang, albeit a very dangerous one. 
 
The Bronx was once a genteel borough of New York, with       stately apartment buildings and vast parks. But it was at the bare limits       of gentility. Those whose families came a century before were now gone,       and the children of the new immigrants turned much of the Bronx into a       nightmare. The parents of these children lived their lives in terror,       fearing every trip to the grocery store. The dream of a little safety       brought them back to the war zone. 
  
A Predictable Response 
Immigrants tend to move to neighborhoods with low rents,       and they often live together so they have people around them who speak       their language. They’re satisfied with simply making a home in their new       land. But their settlement can create havoc for those who were there       before – those who also live in low-cost neighborhoods and now must       compete for jobs and housing. As the new immigrant group expands, word       spreads that this particular group is uniquely dangerous, and the belief       grows that immigration must be stopped. For those who have the means to       insulate themselves from the fear and uncertainty, on the other hand,       this process isn’t a cause for concern. For them, immigration is a       concept, not a reality, and so they see it as a charitable endeavor. 
 
The reality is that the United States cannot survive       without waves of immigrants. It’s never been able to grow without       immigrants, and there’s no reason to believe it can now. But the process       of immigration becomes more painful the closer you come to it. The idea       that those afraid of immigration are racist misses the point. Immigration       directly impacts many of those who fear its effects. Many of those who       don’t fear it live in well-off communities where new immigrants tend not       to settle. 
 
Fear is a predictable response to immigration. The English       feared the Scotch-Irish. Protestants feared Irish Catholics. And the       cycle continues. Even a group as disreputable and hated as the Scots made       the transition, and now, fully integrated for centuries, they loathe and       fear new arrivals. 
 
In two centuries of debating immigration, both sides have       been systematically oblivious to the realities underlying the debate. The       advocates of immigration are oblivious to its disproportionate impact on       those who live in poorer neighborhoods. Those wary of immigration are       oblivious to the impact of ending it in a time of declining birthrates,       and to the fact that immigration is embedded in the nation’s soul. The       beauty of America is that every American can have an opinion that makes       little sense. It is as charming as a gang brawl in a schoolyard. But in       the end, America has survived this debate many times, and the outcome has       always been the same. 
 
The U.S. economy has always depended on a constant inflow       of low-paid workers. What has been true since the founding remains true       now or the migrants would not be still coming. This has brought with it       tension, violence and pain, far more for the poorest Americans than for       the wealthy, who have benefited from immigration. But we cannot stop       immigration. Nor can we make those insulated from its effects understand       or care about the pain this process inevitably causes. Welcoming       immigrants is not an act of kindness but a necessity. Those who think of       it as an act of kindness misunderstand the lives of immigrants and those       who live among them. Immigration has always been a growing pain of the       Republic. | 
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