

SUBSCRIBE TO OUR FREE NEWSLETTER
Daily news & progressive opinion—funded by the people, not the corporations—delivered straight to your inbox.
5
#000000
#FFFFFF
To donate by check, phone, or other method, see our More Ways to Give page.


Daily news & progressive opinion—funded by the people, not the corporations—delivered straight to your inbox.
"MAGA’s claim that immigrants are a drain on government budgets? It’s a lie."
A groundbreaking new report released Tuesday details how immigrants in the United States over the last three decades have contributed a massive surplus to the nation's economy, resulting in a total of more than $14 trillion over that period due to the fact that immigrant families generate significantly more benefits to fiscal health than they take away in the form of benefits received or downside costs.
The white paper by the libertarian free-marketeers at the Cato Institute, not a left-leaning outfit, builds on an existing model developed by the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine (NASEM) to create a first-of-its kind analyses to determine "how immigrants, both legal and illegal, and their children affect government budgets" in a cumulative manner.
Looking at 30 years of data, the 95-page report—titled "Immigrants' Recent Effects on Government Budgets: 1994-2023"—discovered that immigrants overall "generated a fiscal surplus of about $14.5 trillion" over those years. In part, the NASEM-Cato model shows:
The paper concludes that "the average immigrant is much less costly than the average US-born American, and that immigrants impose lower costs per person on old-age benefit, education, and public safety programs."
The findings arrive with the US embroiled in a heated debate about immigration enforcement as President Donald Trump—backed by far-right xenophobes in his inner orbit, including White House deputy chief of staff for policy Stephen Miller and Department of Homeland Security Kristi Noem—has unleashed violent federal agents into communities nationwide to sweep up undocumented workers and their family members.
In a video produced for social media, David J. Bier, director of Immigration Studies at Cato and one of the report's co-authors, said the analysis shows in detail why it's a lie to believe that immigrants are "sucking us dry," a familiar argument by anti-immigrant "nativists" like Miller.
For every year from 1994 to 2023, immigrants in the US paid more in taxes than they received in benefits from all levels of government. Check out the latest study from Cato’s @David_J_Bier. pic.twitter.com/0cigBbJwBq
— Cato Institute (@CatoInstitute) February 3, 2026
In summary, the report notes that immigrants produce a net fiscal benefit in the US economy because:
As shown in the figure below, the difference between taxes paid by immigrants and the public benefits they receive "has grown from $158 billion to $572 billion in real terms since 1994." Just to look at 2023, working immigrants that year paid $1.3 trillion in taxes yet received only $761 billion in benefits.

This trend, despite endless cries from far-right pundits and xenophobic lawmakers that immigrants are a drain on public coffers, has held steady for decades—with no sign of it ending in the future.
"For decades, nativists have sold America this narrative that immigrant welfare is behind our deficits and debt," said Bier. "This figure shows how absurd that is."
The report argues that "rather than treating [immigrants—both documented and undocumented] as the cause of America’s fiscal struggles, we should consider immigrants part of the solution."
Mark D. Levine, comptroller of New York City, was among the public officials pointing to the report as timely evidence that the Trump-Miller-Noem narrative about immigration is built on a foundation of falsehoods.
"MAGA’s claim that immigrants are a drain on government budgets? It’s a lie," said Levine.
Seriously addressing this country's ongoing immigration crisis will require policy change, and to get to that point, there needs to be a narrative shift in this country away from indiscriminately criminalizing all undocumented people to humanizing them.
By now, we have heard the mantra that President Donald Trump was right to close the border, but wrong in his heavy-handed approach to immigration enforcement. We are also told that if he would have simply done what most Americans wanted, that is, arrest and deport violent criminals, then his poll numbers would be higher, and his administration wouldn’t find itself embroiled by crisis in the aftermath of two killings at the hands of federal agents in Minneapolis.
But this claim—that the problem with Trump's immigration agenda is mainly about enforcement tactics—is flawed.
Seriously addressing this country's ongoing immigration crisis will require policy change, and to get to that point, there needs to be a narrative shift in this country away from indiscriminately criminalizing all undocumented people to humanizing them.
To put this in perspective, we need to realize that for America to enforce its way out of our current immigration disaster would trigger events like what's happening in Minneapolis all over the country.
The enforcement-first rhetoric put forth by this administration and its supporters is dangerous for the violence it exacts on immigrants and citizens alike.
Considering two sets of numbers makes this clear.
The first is how apprehensions at the border have dropped to zero. Beginning with asylum restrictions put into place at the end of Biden’s term in 2024, the flow of people into the US has fallen steadily. This becomes an issue when noting another figure, specifically, the Trump administration's goal of making 1 million deportations a year.
Of the 14-or-so million undocumented people in the US now, according to the Pew Research Center, the majority are long-term residents with more than 15 years living in the country. Logically then, with border removals no longer a factor in deportation figures as they were in prior administrations, reaching the 1 million mark will mean going after people who have spent years, perhaps decades, living in the US without legal status.
Finding and apprehending those people who have become central to the fabric of their communities is what Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) is doing in Minneapolis. The chaos seen in Minneapolis will continue elsewhere, as coworkers, neighbors, and our fellow parishioners will disappear, triggering anger, protest, and perhaps worse wherever federal agents are sent.
Border Czar Tom Homan, claiming that there would be calm in Minnesota if local officials would just let ICE into its jails, and how the government is going after the “worst of the worst,” is also doing nothing more than gaslighting.
Consider Texas, where we find 1 in 4 of every immigrant who has been arrested in the country.
The Lone Star state has the second-most local law enforcement agencies, at 167, trailing only Florida, that have partnered with the federal government to carry out Trump’s immigration agenda. State law that went into effect this year states that every police department must collaborate by year’s end.
Data from Texas don’t lie—ICE is not going after the “worst of the worst.” In fact, according to the Texas Tribune’s analysis of Department of Homeland Security data, nearly 60% of immigrants detained in the state have only the immigration-related offenses of either coming to the county without legal authorization, or residing here after their permits or visas expired. Figures nationwide on the immigrants in detention are the same. Administration officials, including Homan and Kristi Noem, neglect to mention these facts as they cherry-pick individual cases of violent criminals to distract the public from the community-destroying results of their enforcement actions.
Still, even with the numbers belying the administration's official line, immigration offenses are still, well, offenses.
This is why humanizing immigrants, especially by acknowledging their pathways to the US, is needed now more than ever.
Before legislative changes can be made—and there are many options currently in Congress, such as establishing legal pathways for undocumented farmworkers, children, and spouses of US citizens—we need to note that people come to the United States for many reasons outside of their control. How economic and political crises drive people away from their homes—as they did from Mexico in the 1990s in the aftermath of NAFTA, and most recently, from Venezuela and Nicaragua—point to factors beyond individual choice. As the data on detentions show, the vast majority come not to kill people or deal drugs, but to work, escape some form of oppression, or leave natural disasters. If you want further proof of this, then look at research—from Texas—showing that undocumented people commit crimes at a rate lower than native-born people.
The fact that we live in a volatile world also should make people rethink heaping praise on the Trump administration for closing the border, which in reality only asks for humanitarian crisis to take place there. Instead, we need a more durable, flexible approach to immigration that takes into consideration the reality that the world is not perfect, crises occur, and people may consider coming to the US. Thinking that central to immigration policy is sealing the border like a jar, is at best a childish fantasy, or at its worst, ideological fodder for white nationalists.
The point is that the enforcement-first rhetoric put forth by this administration and its supporters is dangerous for the violence it exacts on immigrants and citizens alike. The problem our country has with immigration is not enforcement tactics, but vision and basis for the policy area in the first place.
If billionaires continue to shape political systems while states become hostage to corporate and neoliberal agendas, we should expect more authoritarianism.
The latest Oxfam report delivers a stark warning about the direction of the global political economy. In 2025 alone, billionaire wealth surged by $2.5 trillion, pushing total billionaire wealth to $18.3 trillion, the highest level ever recorded. Wealth at the top is now growing three times faster than in previous years, even as poverty reduction stalls and hunger rises. Oxfam calls this not just economic inequality but dangerous political inequality, a world in which the ultra rich increasingly shape laws, media systems, and public policy to serve themselves.
This builds on Oxfam’s earlier finding that the richest 1% own more wealth than the bottom 95% of humanity. The organization describes the moment as one where the shadow of global oligarchy hangs over multilateral institutions, tax cooperation, debt relief efforts, and global public goods. Billionaires are not only accumulating wealth, they are accumulating influence, with an outsize presence in politics, corporate ownership, and media control.
At the same time, another long-term trend has unfolded. Over the last four decades, beginning with Reaganomics in the United States and Thatcherism in the United Kingdom, neoliberal reforms normalized austerity, privatization, and shrinking public welfare. The welfare state was reframed as a burden rather than a foundation of stability and dignity.
This shift was not only economic but moral: Market efficiency displaced social solidarity, and welfare came to be viewed as dependency rather than dignity.
The irony is that once in power, many populist leaders deepen the very insecurity that propelled them to office.
Today the richest 1% have more wealth than the bottom 95% of the world’s population put together, while the welfare state has steadily eroded. What has followed has worsened inequality; fueled resentment; broken trust in state institutions; weakened the social contract; and led to feelings of exclusion, helplessness, and marginalization. The result has been a rise in populist anger and right-wing governments characterized by anti-immigrant sentiment and hostility to multilateralism.
This trajectory has not only reshaped economies, but politics itself. So who is to blame? Is it the right-wing populists who are now eroding democratic norms, or the neoliberal austerity that hollowed out welfare systems long before them. In reality, the link between the two is the helplessness and anger felt by ordinary citizens who feel invisible in a world marked by inequality and social injustice. As Oxfam International executive director Amitabh Behar notes, being economically poor creates hunger, being politically poor creates anger. It is this economic and political poverty that fuels today’s rage, and much of it traces back to economic disenfranchisement and austerity.
A recent report to the United Nations by Special Rapporteur on Extreme Poverty and Human Rights Olivier De Schutter reinforces this picture. He warns that welfare retrenchment, harsher conditions for benefits, digital surveillance of claimants, and stigmatizing systems have increased insecurity and humiliation rather than reducing poverty. These punitive approaches erode trust in public institutions and create fertile ground for far-right movements that claim to speak for those left behind.
The irony is that once in power, many populist leaders deepen the very insecurity that propelled them to office.
The United States offers a clear illustration of this paradox. Donald Trump returned to power on a message of defending forgotten citizens and challenging elites. Yet recent policy directions have narrowed the social safety net. Cuts to Medicaid and the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, stricter work requirements for food assistance, and the expiration of enhanced healthcare subsidies have increased costs and reduced access for low-income households. Earlier efforts to weaken the Affordable Care Act and promote short-term insurance plans with thinner coverage followed a similar logic. While framed as efficiency or fiscal responsibility, these measures shift burdens downward even as tax and regulatory environments remain favorable to corporations and wealthy interests.
What the world needs now is a serious reset where the common citizen feels seen and their rights and needs are valued. The state must play its role as an active dispenser of social protection, justice, and welfare. As the UN Special Rapporteur De Schutter notes, social protection and welfare should not be seen as a cost to be reduced, but as part of a strategy that has been proven to deliver security and well-being for all
If billionaires continue to shape political systems while states become hostage to corporate and neoliberal agendas, we should expect more authoritarianism. The outcome will be deeper division, fragmentation, and conflict. The world cannot afford that trajectory.
What is missing in today’s political economy is empathy, a basic regard for human welfare that has been crowded out by indifference and market logic. Without restoring that moral foundation, neither democracy nor social stability can endure. Reclaiming democracy therefore requires not only restoring welfare states, but curbing the political power of extreme wealth through taxation, regulation, and democratic accountability.
When journalists are punished for observation, the public loses access to contested truth and fear becomes a tool of narrative control.
When federal agents arrested journalist Don Lemon and independent reporter Georgia Fort in connection with a protest inside a Minneapolis church, many commentators rushed to frame the incident as a straightforward defense of sacred space: Worship was disrupted, congregants were frightened, and the law intervened to restore order. That framing captures part of the truth—but it obscures the deeper constitutional and moral stakes at play.The arrests are not simply about a protest in a house of worship. They are about whether journalists can witness and document contentious public events—especially those where power, conscience, and institutional authority collide—without facing criminal charges for the act of seeing itself.
The legal action stems from a January demonstration at Cities Church in St. Paul, Minnesota, where protesters interrupted a service after learning that one of the church’s pastors also serves as an official with US Immigration and Customs Enforcement. For demonstrators, that dual role represented a profound moral contradiction: How can a religious leader entrusted with spiritual care also participate in an agency responsible for detention, deportation, and family separation?
Lemon was present to report. He did not identify as a participant, did not lead chants, and did not incite the crowd. He documented the scene, spoke with parishioners and protesters, and relayed what was happening to the public. Georgia Fort, a Minnesota-based independent journalist, was live streaming coverage of the protest and later live streamed her own arrest outside her home. Both were subsequently detained and charged.
Federal prosecutors allege that Lemon, Fort, and others conspired to interfere with religious worship, invoking the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act, a 1994 law that also applies to religious spaces. Lemon and Fort were released after initial court appearances. A judge placed limits on Lemon’s travel and contact but did not require pretrial supervision. No violence occurred during the protest.
Don Lemon and Georgia Fort did not interrupt worship. They interrupted silence.
That fact matters—but it does not end the ethical inquiry. Fear, particularly in contemporary America, is not abstract. Houses of worship have been sites of mass shootings, and the threat of violence is a lived reality for congregants across faith traditions. No one can read another person’s mind, and no one can fully know the intentions of a group entering a sanctuary in a volatile political moment. Even actions intended as nonviolent moral protest can be experienced as frightening.
Holding this truth is essential. Civil disobedience does not exist in a vacuum, and claims of nonviolence do not erase the perception of danger felt by others. Moral confrontation can be principled and still deeply unsettling. Ethical seriousness requires acknowledging that tension rather than dismissing it.
But fear alone cannot become the standard by which constitutional rights are curtailed—especially the rights of journalists whose role is to observe, document, and inform the public. The central question is not whether congregants felt afraid. It is whether that fear justifies arresting reporters who were not organizing, directing, or participating in the protest.
After his arrest, Lemon emphasized that he was being punished for doing what he has done for decades: covering the news. The First Amendment, he argued, exists precisely to protect that work. Fort echoed this concern, warning that criminalizing documentation of public events—particularly protests—poses a grave threat to journalism itself.
Almost immediately, a familiar dismissal surfaced: Don Lemon is not a “real journalist.” The argument is both unserious and dangerous. Who decides what journalism is? Cable news hosts routinely blend reporting, commentary, and political advocacy, often with privileged access to power. Independent journalists, freelancers, and live streamers—many of whom take on greater personal risk—are frequently denied legitimacy after the fact, especially when their reporting makes institutions uncomfortable.
If journalism is defined by function rather than branding, Lemon and Fort clearly qualify. They observed. They documented. They informed. For that, the state sent federal agents to their doors.
The irony is that Christianity itself has a long and uneasy relationship with disruption. In the Gospels, Jesus repeatedly confronted religious authorities, challenged imperial power, and disrupted ritualized comfort in the name of justice. The early Christian proclamation “Jesus is Lord” was not a private devotional claim; it was a public rejection of imperial sovereignty.
That tradition carried forward. The civil rights movement drew deeply from Christian theology to justify nonviolent confrontation with unjust laws and complicit institutions. Figures such as Martin Luther King Jr., Dorothy Day, Pauli Murray, and James Lawson understood that faith divorced from justice becomes hollow.
Acknowledging this history does not negate the fear congregants may have felt. It clarifies why moral confrontation so often occurs in places of symbolic authority. Sacred space has never been immune from ethical challenge—nor should it be.
This is where the Department of Justice’s response raises deeper concern. The arrests do not merely defend religious freedom; they signal to journalists that covering morally charged protests—particularly those implicating powerful institutions—may carry criminal risk. The chilling effect is unmistakable.
This pattern is not new. Over the past decade, journalists covering protests have faced arrests, equipment seizures, subpoenas, and legal threats. While the legal contexts vary, the cumulative message is consistent: Some forms of witnessing are increasingly treated as suspect. When journalists are punished for observation, the public loses access to contested truth. Fear becomes a tool of narrative control.
This is not a choice between religious freedom and press freedom. Both matter. But when the state treats observation as interference, the balance collapses in favor of power. Protection becomes insulation. Accountability becomes disruption.
Journalism is not a threat to faith. It is a threat to unaccountable authority—especially when that authority cloaks itself in moral or divine legitimacy. A functioning democracy depends on contested spaces, on the ability to observe power where it gathers, even when that power claims holiness.
Don Lemon and Georgia Fort did not interrupt worship. They interrupted silence.
The question now is not only whether Lemon and Fort will prevail in court. It is whether witnessing itself will remain a protected act in American public life—or whether fear, once invoked, will become a legal solvent capable of dissolving press freedom wherever power feels exposed.
If journalists can be arrested for documenting protest inside a church, the precedent will not remain confined to sacred spaces. It will travel—to campuses, courtrooms, town halls, and streets—wherever institutions claim moral authority and demand insulation from scrutiny.
A democracy that punishes witnessing does not preserve order. It preserves silence.