November 21, 2024

This is how immigration policies may shape climate migration in the U.S.

It’s 2042 and you’ve been living in Florida for the past five years. Next week, there’s a series of catastrophic storms en route to your home, expected to cause 16 foot storm surges and wipe out the cozy one-bedroom home you’ve been renovating with care. Desperate to find safety, you and your partner pack up and drive to Georgia’s state lines, hoping to book a hotel and make the most of your time away. 

It takes a few hours queueing at the border before you can present your documents to cross. You’ve brought everything they ask for – identification, your official state refuge documents, proof of homeownership and its location in a flood zone, and the payment for the state tax to cross – but the guards tell you simply “there’s no more room.” You can either return home and brace for the storm, or stay in the state’s short-term shelter and see if things change in a week.

Desperate, you stay, trying to make the best out of staying in a room that feels more like a jail cell than a home. You’re sharing the space with two other families, both also trying to stay safe from the impending storms in different parts of Florida. Food is scarce, and despite their promises, you haven’t received any insulin for your Type 1 diabetes, and your stash is running low. Each day you hear conflicting information – and five days later, when someone asked you to show your ID during a random screening, two guards inform you that since your driver’s license is from Colorado, where you lived before Florida, you’re not eligible for asylum in Georgia at all. They board you on a bus and send you to New York City, where you emerge in Times Square with no formal documentation, and only whatever you have left from your carry-on you initially packed two weeks ago. Because you crossed the state lines illegally, you have no authority to book long-term housing or get your prescriptions filled here. Your car, still in Georgia, is too far away to drive home – if you even have a home to get back to. You’re left adrift in the city, supported only by the kindness of charity and grassroots organizations, left to navigate the web of state immigration on your own.

This is clearly a fictional story, but not an impossible one, and I’ve been musing on scenarios like this in my head. It’s already a true story for many people seeking refuge in the United States, left to the whim of our unjust immigration system. As the Trump administration advances Project 2025's aggressive immigration policies, we're witnessing the most draconian response to immigration in recent history. The plan calls for expanded deportation powers, increased border militarization, and doubled detention capacity - policies that will reshape not just how America treats foreign migrants, but potentially how states treat their own neighbors in the decades to come.

The federal government's tightening grip on immigration comes at a time when state powers are expanding in other areas. The reversal of Roe v. Wade and growing concerns about the future of same-sex marriage protections demonstrate a clear pattern: states are gaining unprecedented authority to determine who receives protection and rights within their borders. While reproductive and LGBTQ+ rights now vary dramatically by state lines, we're already seeing similar state-level responses to migration. Texas has unilaterally transported over 100,000 migrants to cities like Chicago and New York, deploying state forces to manage what was once purely federal territory. This year, state lawmakers have proposed 233 laws that the group considers to be "anti-immigrant" — up from 132 in 2023, 64 in 2022, 81 in 2021 and 51 in 2020.

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This intersection of state authority and migration control becomes even more crucial as we face an unprecedented challenge: climate displacement. Already, approximately 3.2 million people in the U.S. have moved in an effort to escape flooding over the past two decades. After the Camp fires in California in 2018, over 37,000 people were noted moving to all 50 states to escape the impact of rising temperatures. The World Bank estimates that more than two hundred million people in low-income countries globally may migrate as a result of climate change by 2050. With densely populated regions like California, Texas and New York facing disproportionate threats from climate change than the less populated Midwest, we can expect more people forced to move inland to avoid fires, earthquakes, storms or other environmental threats. The political and cultural divisions between states could transform these climate refugees into "outsiders," even within their own country.

The parallels between our current immigration system and potential future domestic migration policies are impossible to ignore. Today's detention centers, enforcement mechanisms, and state-level resistance to federal immigration policies could become templates for managing internal displacement. Those lacking resources to relocate already face severe challenges, mirroring the barriers confronting international migrants today. But let this be a reminder that the systems we tolerate are likely to be reinforced in other ways, a practice we’ve seen in many ways before. Despite the protests against Cop City in Atlanta, similar developments are in the works in states across the U.S. And the immigration system we know today was designed by our incarceration system, treating those seeking asylum in the same punitive way.

Sanctuary regions will become even more important if we continue down this path. These are states or cities that have implemented legislation to protect immigrants within, and limit cooperation with ICE officials to make it harder for undocumented immigrants to be arrested and deported. On Tuesday, Los Angeles’ city council passed a “sanctuary city” ordinance against the pending Trump administration. Although it’s unclear how much power it will ultimately have in the next four years, efforts like this have helped to protect vulnerable populations and can play a bigger role in the future.

Our fight for immigration rights today is more than a moral imperative - it's setting precedents for how America will handle movement and belonging in an increasingly unstable world. As we advocate for migrants' rights and challenge punitive systems, we're not just protecting today's immigrants; we're defending the right of all people to seek safety and build community, regardless of where they come from. The systems we tolerate today will shape how we treat our own displaced citizens tomorrow.

The U.S. Immigration Debate. Comprehensive immigration reform has eluded Congress for decades. Presidents have increasingly turned to executive action to reshape asylum and border policy. CFR >

The future of same-sex marriage under a second Trump administration, explained. There are key protections for same-sex marriage. Some LGBTQ couples are worried they could be rolled back. Vox >

Who Will Care for Americans Left Behind by Climate Migration? As people move away from flooding and heat, new research suggests that those who remain will be older, poorer and more vulnerable. ProPublica >

Atmos’ Climate Migration. Explore this collection of stories on how climate migration is shaping the world. Atmos >