France is once again experiencing violent unrest. It is not comparable to the U.S.
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It’s had five revolutions and five republics,[1] whereas the U.S. has had one and one.
The streets of France have once again become battlegrounds, schools have been barricaded, and police have confronted demonstrators amid scenes that should concern anyone who values a civilized society. The immediate grievances concern education, public services, and economic frustration.
The disorder has also reignited a broader debate about immigration, integration, and national identity. President Trump has connected the unrest to mass migration. Whether that explains the problems in France is debatable. But the underlying question deserves serious attention.
What happens when a nation becomes concerned with admitting people but neglects the responsibility of integrating them?
There is an important distinction between immigration and integration. Immigration is the legal process by which someone enters a country, like what I did in July 1999. Integration is the social and civic process by which that person becomes part of the nation.
One grants permission to reside, whereas the other cultivates a sense of belonging. Confusing the two can have serious consequences.
France has wrestled with these questions for decades, and so has the U.S. The French republican ideal promises liberty, equality, and fraternity. Yet tensions involving economic exclusion, national identity, policing, and communities with immigrant backgrounds have repeatedly challenged that promise, as they do in the U.S.
Admittedly, not every social disturbance is caused by immigration, as many involved in France’s previous riots were French citizens. But that makes the question of integration even more significant. Citizenship on paper does not necessarily produce belonging in practice.
A nation cannot sustain itself simply by issuing visas, residency permits, or passports. It must also communicate what citizenship means. And that brings me to my own experience.
I came to the U.S. legally in July 1999, first on an R1 (religious worker) visa, then as a permanent resident, complete with fingerprinting and Social Security number. Eventually, I became a naturalized American citizen, a proud day I will never forget.
It was a process. There were requirements, responsibilities, and expectations. But there was something more important than the paperwork I filled out. There was a clear understanding that becoming an American meant becoming part of something greater than myself.
Allow me to explain, especially if you were born in the U.S.
Following my naturalization, I received the standard congratulatory letter from the sitting president of the United States, who happened to be Barack Obama. What struck me was not merely the welcome, but the expectations that accompanied it.
The letter made clear that I was now included in the promise of the American Dream. It reminded me of the oath I had sworn, my Pledge of Allegiance, and the privileges and responsibilities that accompany citizenship. It spoke of democratic principles and liberties that I was now expected to uphold. It emphasized the values that have guided America, including hard work, honesty, loyalty, and patriotism. Most of all, it reminded me that generations of Americans had made sacrifices to build and preserve this nation.
I still have that letter in my files to remind me.
In other words, citizenship was not simply something I received. It was something I was now responsible for preserving. There was a price to citizenship — not merely a financial price, but a moral and civic obligation.
Perhaps most strikingly, the letter encouraged me to become an inspiration to those who would follow me. So my life in the U.S. matters as an example of what it means to become an American.
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Just pause and think about that.
I was not simply being welcomed into America, but being entrusted with America’s future. Therein lies a lesson that both France and the United States would do well to consider.
A successful immigration policy must address two distinct responsibilities.
The first is institutional capacity. How many people can a nation reasonably accommodate without overwhelming its housing, schools, health care, employment opportunities, language instruction, and local services? These are not expressions of prejudice. They are practical questions of responsible government.
If immigration outpaces housing construction, housing shortages become worse. If classrooms are already overcrowded, additional demand without adequate resources disadvantages existing residents and newcomers alike. If employment opportunities are insufficient, economic frustration grows. If language instruction is inadequate, newcomers may struggle to participate fully in society.
Simply admitting people without providing realistic opportunities for integration is neither compassionate nor competent.
The second responsibility is national identity. A nation must be able to explain what it means to belong. That does not mean that immigrants must abandon their languages, religions, foods, or cultural traditions. America has benefited enormously from people bringing different customs, talents, and perspectives. But cultural diversity and national unity are not mutually exclusive.
An immigrant may speak Spanish, worship in a synagogue, attend an Anglican church, or celebrate traditions inherited from another country while embracing the constitutional principles and civic responsibilities of American citizenship.
The distinction is between cultural identity, which can remain diverse, and civic identity, which must be shared.
Freedom of speech, religious liberty, equality before the law, democratic government, and respect for constitutional authority are not optional cultural preferences. They are foundational principles of the American republic. We should welcome diversity without surrendering the principles that make such diversity possible.
France’s difficulties offer America an opportunity to examine its own immigration system.
We need an orderly and enforceable immigration process, realistic assessments of institutional capacity, accessible language and civic education, and a renewed emphasis on the responsibilities of citizenship.
Naturalization should be more than the final administrative step. It should be the culmination of a meaningful introduction to America’s history, principles, sacrifices, and promises. And those principles must be demonstrated by the institutions that expect newcomers to embrace them.
When I became an American citizen, I was not asked to stop being British by birth. I was asked to become American by conviction, and that is a distinction worth preserving.
France’s unrest should remind us that national unity cannot simply be legislated, nor can integration be assumed. Immigration may open the door to a nation, but shared values, mutual responsibilities, and a common civic identity are what make it a home.
So America must never become so preoccupied with who is coming through the door that it forgets to explain what it means to belong on the other side.
[1] They overthrew their own monarchy in 1789, King Charles X in 1830, completely ended their monarchy in 1848, the revolutionary government in 1871, and the massive student and workers uprising in 1968.
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