We often say America is a “nation of immigrants,” but we rarely ask what made our earlier waves of immigration work—and why our current system is failing so many newcomers and citizens alike. The answer, I believe, lies in an old-fashioned word that has nearly vanished from our policy debates: sponsorship.
Ellis Island in 1904 stands as a powerful symbol of ordered and thoughtful immigration—though not without its share of injustices. From the time Annie Moore set foot on that island in 1892 until its closing in 1954, every person who entered America did so with a sponsor.
During the later portion of the Irish migration, those sponsors were largely family members or the Catholic Church.
Sponsorship provided a vital scaffold of support: security, sustenance, and the foundation for assimilation. Sponsors helped newcomers learn English, acquire job skills, and adopt the mores and folkways of their new home. Jewish, Eastern European, and later Asian immigrants experienced similar systems of support. In many Asian communities in particular, the strength of family and communal structures has helped them climb the socio-economic ladder with remarkable speed.
Beginning in the 1950s, this process changed. Employers and agricultural interests discovered an opportunity to exploit a cheap labor force—often with little or no emphasis on assimilation or education. Without the guardrails of sponsorship, immigration too often became a tool for abuse. Some immigrants succeeded despite these challenges, but there was no longer a system designed to help them do so.
My own life has shown me what a structured, compassionate system can achieve. Years ago, my wife and I assisted along with many others, my dear friend, Fr. Patrick Russell, and his family, helping them to adopt and raise an infant girl from Haiti, through a mission supported by the Catholic Church and the hospital where I worked. We helped raise Bailey Claire in our homes, provided twelve years of Catholic education, and later supported her through four years at Gonzaga University.
As the father of three boys—and one of three brothers—I was proud to attend several fathers–daughter events with Bailey, experiences that were both new and deeply cherished. Bailey went on to earn a Bill and Melinda Gates Scholarship to attend the University of Washington Law School, where she graduated cum laude and delivered the student commencement address. Today, she serves as a county prosecutor in Waukegan, Illinois.
From the abject poverty of Port-au-Prince to the top five percent of her profession in a single generation—it can only happen in America.
Bailey’s story illustrates what structured immigration makes possible: the presence of a family, a church, a school, and a community—all fostering assimilation and opportunity. She was also gifted with intelligence and a hunger to learn—qualities that, I believe, should be among the prerequisites for any serious investment in our immigration process.
Sadly, we have drifted far from that model. Some 10–12 million people have entered our country without the structure or support systems necessary to succeed. Instead, we rely heavily on government subsidies unlinked to education, job training, or assimilation. The results—social strain, cultural fragmentation, and needless human waste—have been predictable and unsustainable.
Refugee and asylum policy is undeniably complex and historically prone to abuse. I have met people across the political spectrum who struggle with this issue in good faith, including Stephen Miller, whom I have personally found to be thoughtful, principled, and keenly aware of his own immigrant heritage. But good intentions cannot substitute for a coherent structure.
It is also true that many dangerous individuals have entered our nation through a broken system. They must be removed. At the same time, we need a path toward legal immigration—possibly distinct from automatic citizenship—that emphasizes three non-negotiable requirements: language proficiency, lawful conduct, and employable skills.
During my pediatric trauma training in South Florida, I encountered a model of resilience among refugees from Cuba. I met a man who had been a surgeon in Havana before fleeing Castro’s regime. In Miami, he worked as a janitor while his wife waited tables for twenty years so their children could be educated. One became a surgeon—my colleague—the other an engineer at NASA. Their sacrifices and discipline embody both the promise and the responsibility of immigration done right.
As a Christian, I believe all people are endowed by their Creator with basic human rights. But with rights come responsibilities. The prophet Jeremiah admonished the Jewish people during their captivity to honor their place of exile and seek its welfare. Scripture and tradition together suggest that while host nations must treat the stranger with justice and compassion, the “sojourner” too has obligations—to honor, respect, and contribute to the common good of the host country.
In this sense, biblical hospitality is not a one-way entitlement. Immigrants must receive care with gratitude, honesty, and a willingness to integrate lawfully into the civic life of their new home. That reciprocal responsibility is almost never discussed in today’s immigration debates—but it must be, if our nation is to remain both compassionate and just, and to continue as a beacon of opportunity for all.
Family, faith, education, and responsibility—these have always been the pillars of successful immigration. Any serious reform worthy of America’s ideals must put those pillars back at the center of our policy and restore the kind of structured sponsorship that once helped turn strangers at Ellis Island into citizens and neighbors.
