The power of propaganda has long been intertwined with America’s immigration policies, steering public sentiment from one extreme to another. Throughout history, nationalism has been wielded to manipulate the American people’s views on refugees—alternating between embracing them as part of the nation’s patriotic duty and rejecting them in the name of self-preservation. This fluctuating stance has shaped America’s role as both a refuge and a gatekeeper, shaping its identity in global migration discussions.

Reflecting on this, I wonder: What if President Truman had never pushed for the Displaced Persons Act? Could the American role as a migration hotspot have been completely erased, altering the nation’s trajectory and the lives of millions seeking refuge?

In Michael Longo’s The Picnic of Freedom, the instability of political power is laid bare. The book’s exploration of the Austrian-Hungarian border in 1989 shows a haunting reminder that “history cannot speak for itself; it must be given voice.” (p. XII). Longo captures the urgency and fear that underlie the collapse of authoritarian regimes, making me feel as if he was drawing parallels to the constant surveillance of Orwell’s 1984. His depiction of political leaders navigating the end of an era is a powerful testament to how easily the tides of history can shift—just as immigration policies often do.

What I find most compelling about Longo’s writing is his ability to encapsulate the fragility of political systems. He notes, “One may make myriad mistakes in retelling history; it is a minefield of misinference and omission.” (p. 27). This quote resonates with me as I consider how narratives around immigration are constructed and reconstructed, often depending on who is telling the story and what they wish to emphasize—or omit.

Turning to Jessica Goudeau’s After the Last Border, her historical analysis of U.S. refugee resettlement focuses on the recurring question of American identity. Goudeau highlights how immigration debates have always been intertwined with questions of national character, mainly when she writes, “Immigration debates have always been about American identity” (p. 96). Whether it’s the resettlement of displaced persons after World War II or earlier waves of immigrants, these debates reflect more profound struggles about who belongs in the U.S. and who does not.

Goudeau also addresses the discriminatory attitudes that often underlie U.S. immigration policy, using the Chinese Exclusion Act and the treatment of Jewish refugees aboard the MS St. Louis as case studies. The ship, often referred to as the “voyage of the damned,” became a symbol of the uncertainty and fate that many refugees face. It is a reminder of how protectionist policies, justified by a “better safe than sorry” mentality, have historically allowed America to turn a blind eye to the very people it claims to stand for: those seeking safety and freedom.