And I did it all independent, no really, all independent
Now we winnin', I got my homies cookin' up in the kitchen

Guest post from Kevin J. Lowther, Jr., originally written for The Westerly Sun

Those paying attention to the news or scrolling social media have seen the disturbing images of immigration agents detaining people on the streets, in courthouses, on school grounds, even in hospitals. Reactions vary widely and often mirror political leanings. Some cheer, believing the law is being enforced. Others are horrified, seeing racism, cruelty, and violations of due process.

This essay won’t change minds already made up, but perhaps it can offer a different, more personal lens shaped by experience, not ideology.

In 2016, I deployed to Afghanistan, then spent three months in Kuwait City, living downtown, an uncommon privilege for a U.S. Army officer. I explored the city, hoping to meet locals, but found Kuwaiti society somewhat closed to outsiders.

Instead, I befriended migrant workers, mostly Indian and Filipino men and women who kept the country running. They worked every kind of job: construction, healthcare, service, transportation. They lived in cramped high-rise dormitories, far removed from the luxury of Kuwaiti citizens in walled compounds.

These workers had no hope of citizenship or advancement, yet they came willingly. Why? Because even low-wage jobs in Kuwait paid more than they could earn at home. They sent money back to their families, chasing the dream of a better life.

That experience left me asking hard questions. Is it moral to build a society that depends on people we pay less, value less, and treat as disposable simply because they were born elsewhere? What opportunities justify that? How much talent is wasted in the process?

In America, we tell ourselves our system is different; anyone can “pull themselves up by their bootstraps.” Sometimes that’s true. But often, the dream we sell doesn’t match the reality we deliver. We promise opportunity, punish those who reach for it, then vilify them as criminals. Yet, as a matter of law most immigration violations are civil, not criminal, and immigrants commit fewer crimes than native-born Americans.

My second encounter with immigration came recently. In May, I married the love of my life, an Austrian citizen. We have every advantage including education, income, legal help, and we’re navigating the K-1 fiancé visa process, made famous by reality TV. My wife checks every box: European, fluent in English, from a friendly nation.

And still, the process is emotionally and financially grueling. It demands surrendering not just paperwork, but parts of your identity. You must trust a system that could reject you on a technicality. The fear is not abstract; it’s deeply personal.

Even those who follow every rule are sometimes detained or deported for minor infractions like failing to report a change of address. Doors kicked in, cars smashed, people zip-tied and taken away. The cruelty isn’t a bug in the system; it’s become a feature.

Immigration is so much more than taking sides It is human beings with hopes, families, and futures. It’s about the moral cost of creating a class of workers who live in fear, doing the jobs we refuse to do, but punished for wanting better lives. America’s greatest advantage has always been the point where talent and opportunity can meet.

We can and must be better. Our immigration system should reflect not only our economic needs but our moral values, and it must be rooted in fairness, dignity, and humanity.

This column is written by members of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism.