Many of the concessions that leading Democrats seem willing to

“Many of the concessions that leading Democrats seem willing to make—from cutting diversity visas to chipping away at family visas—would be made on the backs of Black immigrants, people from Africa and the Caribbean who deserve these policies to remain intact as some of the few legal tools they have to immigrate to this country.” Thus spoke Opal Tometi, the Nigerian-American human rights activist and co-founder of the Black Lives Matter movement. Her words carry the weight of centuries—of displacement, struggle, and survival. They are not merely political commentary; they are an elegy for justice, a warning to those who forget that compassion must be measured not by convenience, but by conscience. In this statement, Tometi reminds us that when power makes compromises in the name of expediency, it is often the marginalized who pay the price. She speaks for those whose dreams of belonging are bound to fragile threads of policy and promise, and for whom every legal pathway closed is another door to hope sealed shut.

Opal Tometi’s words emerge from the ongoing debate surrounding U.S. immigration reform, where politicians across the spectrum speak of fairness but too often fail to see who is left behind. The diversity visa program, established to broaden the range of countries represented among new immigrants, has long provided one of the few legal means for people from African and Caribbean nations to seek life in America. The family visa system, too, has been a vital bridge—allowing loved ones separated by oceans and borders to reunite. Yet Tometi, in her wisdom, saw the shadow beneath the rhetoric: that when leaders agree to sacrifice these programs to gain political favor or to appear “tough” on immigration, they are in truth sacrificing Black immigrants, whose routes to citizenship are already scarce. Her words cut through political pretense to reveal a moral truth—that equality cannot exist when access is unequal, and justice cannot stand when some are told they must wait forever.

Throughout history, the struggle for migration and belonging has been intertwined with race. In the days of old, empires rose by drawing lines on maps, declaring who belonged and who did not. America itself, a nation built by immigrants and the enslaved, has often wrestled with this paradox. The same land that welcomed millions from Europe once barred those from Africa and Asia. The Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965, which abolished racial quotas, opened new doors for non-European migrants—among them, countless families from Africa and the Caribbean who came seeking opportunity. It was through those doors that communities were built, cultures flourished, and children born of two worlds rose to enrich the land that once refused them. Tometi’s plea, then, is not for charity—it is for continuity of justice, for the preservation of the few channels through which her people have been allowed to enter with dignity.

Consider the story of Dr. Paul Farmer, founder of Partners in Health, who worked closely with Caribbean immigrants in the United States and Haiti. He often said that migration, like medicine, is an act of survival—a human response to suffering and need. When nations close their doors to those seeking refuge or opportunity, they deny not only migrants but themselves, for every culture that welcomes others becomes richer, wiser, more resilient. Tometi’s lament reminds us that immigration policy is not just about borders—it is about who we are as a people. To cut diversity and family visas is to narrow the human spirit, to silence the voices that add harmony to the song of a nation. It is to forget that greatness has always been born from openness, and decline from fear.

Tometi’s warning also speaks to the deeper currents of politics: the danger of compromise without justice. The ancients knew that when leaders barter away the rights of the powerless to maintain their influence, they invite decay upon the state. For every concession made “on the backs” of the vulnerable, there is a moral debt that cannot be paid with words or promises. To dismantle the few legal paths for Black immigration while claiming progress is not reform—it is regression masked as reason. Her words challenge not only lawmakers but citizens, to see that justice must be comprehensive or it is false, and that solidarity means standing for all, not just some.

And yet, beneath her warning lies a vision of hope. Empowerment, for Tometi, is not born from despair but from action. Her call is not only to resist unjust policies but to reimagine the meaning of belonging. She urges us to build societies where opportunity is not a privilege of birth, but a right of humanity—where diversity is not a bargaining chip, but a cornerstone. Her activism reminds us that change begins with awareness, but it endures through persistence: through voting, organizing, storytelling, and standing in defense of those unseen.

The lesson, then, is both urgent and eternal: a society that forgets its most vulnerable will one day forget itself. Laws are not sacred because they are written—they are sacred because they protect the dignity of life. Let us therefore guard those laws that uplift, and challenge those that exclude. Let the gates of opportunity not be closed by fear or convenience. For as Opal Tometi teaches, every act of inclusion strengthens the soul of a nation, and every act of exclusion weakens it.

So remember, children of tomorrow, the wisdom of this modern prophet: justice cannot be selective, and compassion cannot be conditional. To defend the rights of Black immigrants is to defend the future of humanity itself. Let us be vigilant against the quiet erosion of equality, and steadfast in our pursuit of fairness. For when we preserve the paths that bring people together—through family, through culture, through law—we build not only nations, but a world worthy of all who seek to call it home.