When immigrants become anti-immigrant themselves

Public conversations and debates on immigration are often framed around a false binary: the “good” immigrant versus the “bad” one. Who is welcomed into a country and who is treated with suspicion is less about fact than it is about stereotypes; refugees cast as burdens, certain migrant workers praised as industrious, others dismissed as exploitative.

This reductive thinking fuels anti-immigrant sentiment, not only by pitting migrants against the wider population but also by sowing division within immigrant communities themselves. “Immigrant infighting” emerges when those granted legal status distance themselves from others seeking entry, viewing themselves as more deserving than others. 

These contradictions are visible in “Latinos for Trump” or kebab shops willingly displaying Union Jack and St George flags - cases where immigrants align themselves with anti-immigrant sentiment in order to distance themselves from those deemed “less worthy". This reinforces the very narratives that harm them, and produces a climate where acceptance is conditional, hierarchy is manufactured, and solidarity is fractured.

Of course, being an immigrant does not necessarily mean one has to be pro-immigration, per se. For example, it is unsurprising if someone who has legally migrated to the UK, and over time secured their indefinite leave to remain, is against illegal immigration. The problem arises when these views extend beyond policy preference and begin to replicate the rhetoric of the right, which casts newer or more vulnerable migrants as threats. 

Crucially, this hostility does not always break along racial lines. In fact, it rarely has to do anything with skin colour – many second-generation immigrants have overheard their parents making hostile remarks toward immigrants of the same race.

Sometimes, the distinction lies in economic status: to qualify as a “good” immigrant, one must be seen as an abiding, productive, tax-paying member of society. This unfairly disregards the reality that not everyone is in control of their circumstances: many refugees long to return home, but were pushed out by forces beyond their control. Privilege plays a role in who can stably immigrate abroad.

Too often, then, public debates about immigration are not really about whether migration should be controlled, but rather the perceived “type” of immigrant being admitted. It is one matter for a country to argue against increasing migration in general, but it becomes far more insidious when particular groups face disproportionate hostility.

Thus, it is important to recognise the role of the right in broadcasting anti-immigrant rhetoric online, in the news, and across social media in normalising exclusionary language, which in turn gets replicated amongst immigrants themselves. From Donald Trump’s vilification of migrants at the US–Mexico border to Nigel Farage’s ‘Breaking Point’ poster during the Brexit campaign, such messaging seeps into mainstream discourse and legitimises hostility even within immigrant communities.

Another key distinction in whether an immigrant is categorised as “good” or bad” is cultural. How “westernised” a newcomer appears – their fluency in English, familiarity with local norms, and general willingness to assimilate – can determine whether they are treated with acceptance or suspicion. 

To be clear, some level of assimilation is normal to be expected of immigrants. But older immigrants who felt they had to sacrifice elements of their own language, identity, and culture in order to make a life abroad can often harbour resentment toward newer immigrants who do not conform to the same expectations. This can manifest in what looks like self-hate or projection, but is better understood as the outcome of pressure to conform and the burden of representation.

By extension, immigrants who do manage to secure legal status are frequently subjected to the pressure of being “model minorities.” Their individual actions are scrutinised not on their own merit, but as representative of their entire community. These unrealistic expectations not only strip them of individuality, but also perpetuate the very stereotypes that divide immigrant groups in the first place.

The danger is that this “good versus bad” dynamic ultimately harms the “good” immigrants themselves. It encourages them to prove their worth by distancing themselves from others, rather than challenging the conditions that make their belonging conditional in the first place. 

Anger gets misdirected towards refugees and asylum seekers – convenient scapegoats for housing shortages or job insecurity – instead of the governments whose housing and resettlement policies create those very pressures. The binary distracts from structural failures, leaving all immigrants – good or bad – vulnerable to the same systems that marginalise those deemed unworthy.

Fundamentally, immigration cannot be meaningfully assessed through a moral hierarchy that ranks some migrants as inherently more virtuous than others – nor can it be held solely culpable for structural issues such as unemployment or overstretched public services. Narratives built on fear, stereotypes, and misleading claims about crime and economic strain, obscure the real issues and fuel unnecessary hostility. Instead of casting immigrants as the source of social difficulties, attention should be directed toward the policy and governance shortcomings that generate these pressures.