A Historical Perspective on Immigration and Colonialism
In contemporary Europe, a chorus of voices often rises to demand respect for borders, emphasizing that immigrants should enter countries “the legal way.” Politicians, pundits, and citizens alike stress the importance of passports, visas, and immigration protocols, framing unauthorized migration as a violation of sovereignty. Yet, this rhetoric carries a profound irony when viewed through the lens of history. The same European powers that now champion border control and legal immigration once traversed the globe, claiming lands and resources without so much as a nod to the concept of permission. Where were their passports when they arrived on the shores of the Americas, Australia, Africa, or the Pacific Islands? Where were the immigration offices of the Taino, the Carib, the Aboriginals, the Māori, the Arawak, the Kenyans, the Nigerians, or the Ghanaians?
In the 15th century, European explorers, colonizers, and settlers embarked on a global campaign of conquest and colonization. From Christopher Columbus’s landing in the Caribbean to the British establishing penal colonies in Australia, the story of European expansion is one of unilateral arrival. The Taino and Arawak peoples of the Caribbean did not demand visas from Spanish conquistadors. The Māori of Aotearoa (New Zealand) did not set up customs offices to process British settlers. In Africa, the Kenyans, Nigerians, and Ghanaians faced waves of European powers—British, French, Portuguese, and others—who carved up the continent at the 1884 Berlin Conference without consulting a single African leader. These acts of territorial acquisition were not accompanied by legal niceties or respect for existing boundaries. Instead, they were justified by doctrines like terra nullius (“nobody’s land”) or the “civilizing mission,” which dismissed indigenous sovereignty as irrelevant.
The irony deepens when we consider the mechanisms of control now demanded by European nations. Modern immigration systems require extensive documentation—passports, visas, background checks, and proof of economic viability. Yet, Europeans brought no such credentials when they arrived in foreign lands. They came with swords, guns, and papal bulls, claiming divine or royal authority to seize territory. The Aboriginal peoples of Australia, for instance, were displaced by British settlers who declared the land empty, ignoring millennia of indigenous stewardship. Similarly, the Carib and other Caribbean tribes faced annihilation or enslavement, with no opportunity to negotiate the terms of entry. The absence of reciprocity in these historical encounters lays bare the double standard embedded in today’s border debates.
Fast forward to the 21st century, and the descendants of those same European powers now stand at their borders, decrying the presence of migrants and refugees. The “white community,” as it is sometimes framed, often portrays these arrivals as threats to cultural identity, economic stability, or national security. Politicians across Europe—from France’s Marine Le Pen to Hungary’s Viktor Orbán—have built careers on promises to fortify borders and curb illegal immigration. Yet, this indignation is a spectacle of historical amnesia. The same nations that once redrew the maps of Africa, Asia, and the Americas with impunity now demand that others adhere to strict legal frameworks for entry.
This irony is not lost on the descendants of colonized peoples. For many, the sight of European nations erecting walls and deploying border patrols evokes a bitter parallel: the unchecked invasions of their ancestors’ lands. When Nigerians or Ghanaians seek opportunities in Europe, they face bureaucratic labyrinths and hostile rhetoric, yet their countries once hosted European traders and colonizers who arrived without invitation. When refugees from war-torn regions approach European shores, they are often labeled “illegal,” a term that carries no historical equivalent for the European settlers who displaced the Taino or Māori.
The irony of European border narratives is not merely a historical curiosity; it is a challenge to contemporary ethics. If respect for boundaries is a universal principle, why was it absent during Europe’s colonial era? If legal entry is a non-negotiable standard, why were indigenous peoples never afforded the chance to enforce it? These questions do not negate the complexities of modern immigration policy, but they demand a reckoning with the past. The insistence on “legal” migration rings hollow when the legal frameworks of today were built on the spoils of historical transgressions.
To move forward, Europe must confront this irony with humility. Acknowledging the contradictions between past actions and present rhetoric could foster a more compassionate approach to migration. It could also prompt a reevaluation of what “sovereignty” means in a world shaped by centuries of borderless conquest. The Taino, Carib, Aboriginal, Māori, Arawak, Kenyans, Nigerians, Ghanaians, and countless others never had the chance to demand passports from their uninvited guests. Perhaps their descendants deserve a hearing before being turned away at the gates.