There is something particularly American about the way we're dismantling our democracy these days – we are doing it with paperwork. While the world watches our grand political theater, immigration agents are quietly canceling visas, filling out deportation orders, and reshaping the boundaries of acceptable speech without firing a single shot.
I think about Mahmoud Khalil, a Palestinian activist and Columbia graduate who committed no crime beyond speaking his mind. I think about Rumeysa Ozturk, a doctoral student at Tufts whose academic career hangs by a thread. I think about the estimated 300 international students whose visas are under review or already revoked for daring to participate in First Amendment exercises on campus across the United States. These stories are not just about immigration status but about who is American enough to participate in its democracy and under what conditions.
We are experiencing the weaponization of the First Amendment. It's a familiar pattern to those of us who study American history. When direct censorship becomes too apparent, too constitutionally questionable, the state machinery finds other ways to silence dissenting voices. During the Red Scare, it was deportation orders against immigrant labor organizers. During the Civil Rights Movement, local ordinances were selectively enforced against protesters. Now, it's the calculated use of immigration law to chill political speech.
The genius of our government's approach – and I use that word with all the bitterness it deserves – is its apparent neutrality. Federal authorities assure us no one is being arrested for their speech. These are simply routine immigration matters. But there's nothing routine about the pattern emerging before our eyes: speak too loudly about specific issues, challenge the wrong policies, and suddenly, your paperwork receives extra scrutiny. One's visa status becomes questionable. Another's right to remain in a country you've made your home becomes uncertain.
Happening now is a test of our democratic character. When we allow the government to use administrative procedures to silence voices it doesn't want to hear, we're not just failing those directly affected. We're failing the very principle of free speech that we claim makes America exceptional. The fundamental irony should not escape us that many of these deportation threats target students and scholars at leading universities. Institutions that we proudly claim as bastions of free inquiry and open debate. When we invite bright minds to our shores, we send conflicted messages worldwide, only to expel them when they engage in the democratic practices we claim to champion.
We must fully accept that the state of our democratic republic and its values are seriously in question. Free speech only truly applies to citizens. Citizens who speak in ways that don't challenge power, especially Whiteness, too directly. When did we decide the First Amendment was too dangerous to extend to everyone within our borders? Likewise, strategic silencing of targeted individuals, people groups, or ideologies is not about national security. On the contrary, silencing is about creating an atmosphere of fear that makes others think twice before speaking up. Every visa revocation and every deportation threat sends a message to countless others: your presence here is conditional on your silence.
James Baldwin, whose words I often return to in times like these, reminded us that America is peculiarly and uniquely situated to contribute significantly to the world. "But she can only do this if she is willing to re-examine herself and learn what it means to be Black in America." We should note that America can only contribute if it is willing to re-examine what it means to be a democracy in practice, not just in theory.
Deportation is not simply about the exiting of individuals who illegally reside within our borders—deportation, as purposed by this current Presidential administration, is toward extinguishing ideas and identities. Truthfully, revoking visas is best described as an act of retribution. Every use of administrative violence to silence dissent moves further from the democratic ideals we claim and closer to fascist rule. Will we be a nation that genuinely embraces the messy, uncomfortable work of democratic discourse? Or will we continue to rely on bureaucratic machinery to ensure that only certain voices are heard?
Unfortunately, political speeches or Supreme Court decisions will not assure our destiny. How we respond to these quieter attacks on democratic expression will speak volumes. Whether we're willing to stand up for the principle that the First Amendment isn't just a protection for citizens' speech or a fundamental and protected human right for all who live under our laws. Every time we allow the government to use deportation as a tool of political silencing, we're not just failing those directly affected – we're participating in the quiet death of American democracy itself.
Rev. Dr. F. Willis Johnson is a spiritual entrepreneur, author, scholar-practioner whose leadership and strategies around social and racial justice issues are nationally recognized and applied.




















image of U.S. President Donald Trump is displayed on a digital billboard in Times Square in New York on April 8, 2026.
Trump is stuck between two realities. Neither serves the American people
Normally, I worry that events may overtake a column. But not so with the Iran war.
I don’t worry about running afoul of a headline or Truth Social post from the president because what is said about the situation is no longer very relevant to the reality.
On April 8, Nick Catoggio, my Dispatch colleague, dubbed an earlier stoppage with Iran “Schrödinger’s ceasefire.” This was a reference to the famous thought experiment by the physicist Erwin Schrödinger, who was trying to explain the weirdness of “superpositionality” in quantum physics. A cat in a box is both dead and alive at the same time until you open the box. Schrödinger meant to illustrate the absurdity of the idea that particles aren’t any one thing, but a “cloud of probabilities.”
The Trump administration is stuck in a word cloud of probabilities of his own making. The war is over. The war is on. The war isn’t a war. We have a deal, but we don’t have a deal, but we’re about to have a deal. We destroyed Iran’s military. No, we left it intact. We want regime change. No we don’t. We already accomplished it. We “obliterated” Iran’s nuclear program a year ago. We had to go to war in February to prevent nuclear war. The Strait of Hormuz is open, closed, or something in-between. No deal without “unconditional surrender.” Let’s make a deal!
This everything-all-at-once vibe can be disorienting, particularly since most Americans didn’t have a war with Iran on their bingo cards until the shooting had already started. President Trump didn’t prepare the country or consult with Congress beforehand because he thought it would all be a smashing success in a matter of weeks.
The miscalculation that started it all: killing Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and much of Iran’s senior leadership, on the first day of the war. To “the great proud people of Iran, I say tonight that the hour of your freedom is at hand,” Trump announced on Feb. 28. “When we are finished, take over your government. It will be yours to take. This will be probably your only chance for generations.”
I support regime change in Iran and shed no tears for Khamenei or his goons. But when you start a war by killing the regime’s top leaders, it’s not unreasonable for the remaining ones to conclude that you really intend regime change.
Khamenei was a murderous fanatic, but he was a fairly cautious one. He liked to threaten closing the Strait of Hormuz or attacking our regional allies, but he was reluctant to actually do it, fearing it would invite a regime change war. The mullahs and IRGC goons believed, not unreasonably, that if they lost their grip on power, they’d be lynched by the Iranian people they’ve brutalized for decades.
By starting with a regime change war, Trump removed any reason for the regime not to go for broke. When you have nothing to lose — particularly when you are a millenarian religious fanatic — a Persian Alamo strategy makes a lot of sense.
So Iran closed the Strait of Hormuz and attacked its neighbors.
But it turns out this wasn’t the Alamo. In the contest of wills, Trump blinked. The Iranian regime’s tolerance for punishment proved — so far — to be greater than Trump’s and that of our gulf allies. Militarily we could finish the job, but that would require ground troops and much greater economic turmoil. In a conflict Trump launched unilaterally without the prior support of Congress, NATO or the American people, Trump doesn’t have the political capital for that.
But that’s only half the problem. Trump wants the war over, but he doesn’t want to pay — militarily, economically, politically — what that would cost. So he wants to make a deal that ends it. But there is no deal available that wouldn’t come at an equally undesirable cost. Any deal that looks like what President Obama struck with the Iranians would be too embarrassing to bear. But the Iranians are convinced that they can get just such a deal, and they’re willing to drag things out as long as it takes.
The result: Trump’s in a box of his own making. He thinks he can talk his way out by simply asserting a reality that doesn’t exist. When the financial markets get nervous, he announces a breakthrough that is, at best, a possibility. When the Iranians agree to a deal that looks similar to one Obama might negotiate, Trump goes back to his threats.
It can’t go on forever. But I’m sure it’ll last until long after this column is forgotten.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.