In McPherson, Kansas, a local resident wonders what might happen to their neighbors if President-elect Donald Trump moves forward with his plan to deport 11 million undocumented immigrants, a promise he has made for day one of his administration. The neighborhood, consisting of small, modest homes built in the 1940s for returning soldiers, is home to a diverse community: older white residents, young families, and individuals of various racial and ethnic backgrounds, including Latino, South Asian, Black, and others.
Though the immigration status of many residents remains unknown, it’s clear that many have lived in the area for over a decade, contributing to the community and working in essential roles. Some of these individuals, like millions across the country, are likely undocumented. Pew Research estimates that 80,000 undocumented immigrants live in Kansas, and it’s assumed that some live in McPherson.
If Trump’s plan to deport undocumented immigrants comes to fruition, questions arise about how it would be implemented. Would authorities go door to door to check citizenship? Would they stop individuals walking or driving to question their immigration status? Most residents, whether citizens or not, don’t carry documentation proving their citizenship on a daily basis. Although a 69-year-old white resident may not be stopped, the likelihood of neighbors of color—particularly Black and brown individuals—being questioned is much higher.
This scenario raises significant concerns, especially for families. Nearby, an elementary school filled with children of diverse backgrounds prompts questions about whether immigration status would be checked at school gates when parents pick up their kids. If an undocumented parent were found, what would happen to their children?
Beyond the human impact, there are economic ramifications to consider. Many undocumented immigrants in the area work in agriculture, construction, healthcare, and hospitality—industries that would experience severe labor shortages if millions of workers were deported. Small towns like McPherson would struggle to fill these critical roles. The absence of farmworkers, construction workers, and healthcare aides would quickly lead to a housing crisis, with fewer workers available to build homes and maintain infrastructure.
The logistical and financial costs of mass deportation would be staggering. Trump’s plan would necessitate the construction of internment camps to house millions of people, reminiscent of the camps used to detain Japanese Americans during World War II. To put it into perspective, the entire U.S. prison population is 1.2 million, so deporting 11 million would require nine times that capacity. The cost of such an operation could exceed $315 billion.
But the financial impact doesn’t end there. The removal of so many workers would negatively affect the U.S. economy, leading to labor shortages and reduced tax revenue. Many undocumented workers contribute payroll taxes without benefiting from social services, so their removal would have a double financial blow on the country.
Ultimately, the question arises: Is this the direction the country wants to go? The money spent on mass deportation could be better allocated to initiatives that benefit all communities, regardless of immigration status. As a local resident reflects, their Aunt Doris used to say, “You spend your money on what you want.” What message would it send if the nation chooses to invest in mass deportations and internment camps instead of supporting the well-being of its communities?
As the nation grapples with this decision, the costs—both human and financial—deserve careful consideration.
