This is an immigration story—but not the kind you might expect.

Fifteen years ago, our neighborhood learned that one of the homes down the street would become a group home for men with brain injuries. A neighborhood meeting was quickly convened to discuss what should be done about the newcomers. The discussion centered on how the group home would devalue our homes, increase neighborhood traffic, and put us all at a greater risk of crime. One notable dissenter, a neighbor with a career in Special Education, spoke up—but was mocked and dismissed as irrational. 

Days later, an email circulated asking residents to contribute money to hire a lawyer to block the sale. The entire effort was driven by fear, misinformation, and an undercurrent of prejudice. What had once felt like an accepting neighborhood suddenly fractured—between opposition, support, and uneasy silence—and I had to decide where I stood.

I still live in this neighborhood alongside the men from the group home, who ironically announced their happy arrival by visiting a yard sale held by one dissenting homeowner—and since then, there’s been no rise in crime. The only reason I’ve noticed any change in traffic is that they drive a van instead of the usual suburban SUV—and my property value has since skyrocketed. None of the fears materialized. And if you’re curious, the Fair Housing Act protects people from precisely the kind of actions my neighborhood considered.

These men weren’t immigrants—but the social dynamics around their arrival mirrored what we see across the country today: fear, misinformation, opposing views, and widespread ignorance of laws designed to protect people from reactionary decisions.

That experience stayed with me—and years later, during a weekend getaway with my wife, the same social dynamics resurfaced in an unexpected place: a pub on the coast of Maine.

We were sitting at an L-shaped bar, having dinner and chatting with the couple next to us. They were reacting to news coverage on the TV behind the bartender, which showed immigrants crossing the southern border. I’d never lived near the border, so I was hesitant to speak to specifics. Instead, I shared a personal story that challenged this couple’s idea that all immigration is unwanted.

At the time, I worked at a highly successful software company where 70% of my team held H1B visas—reserved for highly skilled workers with at least a bachelor’s degree. In my case, every one of them had a master’s degree from a school like Georgia Tech. They brought skills and perspectives that made our team sharper and more successful. That 70% wasn’t a quota; it reflected hiring the most qualified candidates.

When news broke of Trump’s first immigration ban, one of my international employees came to my office in tears. She was engaged to a coworker, and they had planned to travel home to celebrate their wedding with family. Out of fear they wouldn’t be allowed back, they postponed the trip—and their wedding—for a year. Eventually, they decided to take the risk. On their return to the U.S., her husband was detained. She came back alone—devastated. Months later, he was finally allowed to reenter, but the entire ordeal was unnecessarily disruptive.

Even for those unmoved by their story, the broader point remains: immigration laws were harming law-abiding immigrants with exceptional skills—people vital to the success of U.S. tech companies and the wider economy. Without them, the U.S. would be significantly less competitive.

After telling this story, the couple promptly paid their bill and left without any sort of “farewell.” Our exchange was open and respectful, but perhaps the perspective I shared made them uncomfortable in a way I hadn’t anticipated. I thought sharing this story with them might shed light on a more positive aspect of immigration that I rarely hear about in the news. 

Immigration is complex but is rarely treated as such. That’s why sharing stories to unravel the nuance—and having balanced conversations—is essential; it’s how we move forward together.

What connects these two stories—my neighborhood and the couple in Maine—is fear. Some of my neighbors feared what might happen when the brain-injured men moved in. The couple in Maine feared immigrants at the border despite research from economists and government agencies consistently showing that immigration provides net economic benefits to the United States over time. Fear isn’t wrong—but how we respond to it determines whether we act with fairness or prejudice.

Unfortunately, social media often encourages us to lash out at others with differing views—without the due diligence of learning and understanding. My modus operandi, hewn from these experiences and lessons learned from my own anxieties, is this: pause and learn before reacting. Or, more alliteratively: Learn before lash.

Narratives portraying immigrants as violent criminals understandably provoke fear and hate. Do I want dangerous individuals on our streets—immigrants or not? Of course not. But does the data support that portrayal? It does not. According to a 2020 National Bureau of Economic Research study, immigrants are 60% less likely to commit crimes than U.S. citizens, and our legal system handles crimes committed by immigrants with the same rigor as any other. 

On the contrary, The Congressional Budget Office projects that increased immigration over 2021-2026 will reduce federal deficits by $0.9 trillion over the 2024-2034 period.

More troubling, these exaggerated fears about immigrants are driving policies that bypass fundamental legal protections. When I read that courts have found that ICE detention practices violate due process, as outlined in a recent Harvard Law Review analysis from March 2025, or when I hear Stephen Miller, also in March, say that the Trump administration is “actively looking at” suspending the writ of habeas corpus, I wonder: if these constitutional protections are ignored for some, what assurance do you or I have that they won’t be ignored for us?

Driven by concerns about constitutional overreach, combined with my conviction that there is a better way to address the complexities of immigration, I attended a peaceful protest in Boston over the weekend, seeking to deepen my understanding of the issue. Standing there among protesters from across the political spectrum, I was reminded of my neighborhood angst fifteen years ago—similar fears and divisions, but also the opportunity to choose learning over reactive judgment. 

There were signs with abrasive language—and a deep sense of conviction. However, one woman, holding an understated sign with a simple message, “Nothing American About Hatred,” got me thinking…

Strictly speaking, it’s not true—there is plenty of hate in American history. But I saw this woman’s sign not as a reflection of our past but as a vision for the future—and that direction resonates with me. It calls on us to listen to—and learn from—each other’s experiences, even when it’s difficult. We need fair laws—not just for some, but for everyone. Just as important, we need leaders with the courage and integrity to uphold them.

Learn before lash.

Fifteen years later, I’m still grateful my neighborhood chose acceptance over fear. I hope we can do the same as a country.