Features
Return to Ukraine: searching out the Rosner family past
Introduction: Not too long ago we were contacted by former CBC Manitoba managing editor Cecil Rosner, who asked us whether we’d be interested in publishing a story about a trip he took in 2012 to visit the area in Ukraine where both his parents were born. Although it’s been 10 years since Cecil visited Ukraine, given the current situation in that country we thought it timely to get a sense of what life was like in Ukraine prior to the Russian invasion.
By CECIL ROSNER ““Oi — look at the way the schlemiel drives.”
We are bouncing along the potholed roads of Western Ukraine, heading from Lviv to my mother’s hometown of Buczacz. Our driver and guide isn’t Jewish, but that doesn’t stop him from endlessly whistling Fiddler on the Roof tunes and inserting Yiddishisms into every second phrase.
“These guys are all ganefs (thieves),” he says of the policemen we pass, as he forms his thumb and forefinger into a pistol and slowly pulls the trigger. Alex doesn’t like the speed traps the highway patrols set up, and he appreciates oncoming drivers signalling him to beware of cops just beyond the next hill. It’s an important issue for our driver, who crisscrosses Ukraine’s roads all year-long, ferrying tourists to distant towns and villages in search of their Jewish ancestors.
For Alex, who holds a history degree and is an expert at tracing genealogical roots, it’s an occupation he never dreamed he would have. But in the chaos of the Soviet Union’s collapse, when jobs were evaporating and everyone was trying to reimagine their lives, it seemed like a useful niche to pursue – especially as foreigners were finally trying to discover exactly what had happened to their relatives during the Second World War.
That’s why I’m here too, along with my wife and a cousin. Both of my parents were born in the region, and both were here when the Nazis occupied the area in 1941. In different improbable and miraculous ways, they both survived the war and emigrated to Canada. But every single other family member was shot, gassed, beaten or starved to death by the Nazis and their collaborators. We came here to see what traces of their lives remained.
It seemed logical to make our first stop the local museum, right across from the old city hall. Buczacz is little more than a village, with about 13,000 people. In the early part of the 19th century, Jews made up two-thirds of the population. While that number ebbed and flowed over the years, Jews were still in the majority when the Nazi occupation began. But that would have been difficult to discern in the museum.
In all the display cases, and in the colourful photo album that the town produces, there is no specific mention of a Jewish population. There is scarcely any reference to the Second World War, except for a notation that the town “was released from German invaders and captured by the Soviet Union.” Wouldn’t a town’s museum want to address what became of the majority of the population? What happened to thousands of farmers, shop owners, tailors, tinsmiths, doctors, lawyers and politicians? Doesn’t the mass roundup and extermination of most people in town even rate a mention?
The only hint of any Jewish presence came in the form of artifacts from the life of Shmuel Agnon, a Jewish writer born in Buczacz who won the Nobel Prize for literature. But the entire fate of the people Agnon wrote about had been erased.
Alex had little luck getting the museum’s employee to throw any light on what the town was like in the immediate pre-war period. She genuinely seemed not to know. But there were a few things I already knew.
My mother, Mina, had been born here in 1913, and her family owned a wholesale distribution company. They carbonated water and stored it in big, forty-litre copper cylinders, shipping them along with ice to shops throughout the area. When she was 25, she married my father, Michael Rosner, who came from nearby Kolomaya. In 1939, they opened a small retail store on the main town square, probably within metres of the present-day museum.
When the war broke out in September 1939, there was a reprieve. The region came under the control of the Soviets, and Jews were under no immediate threat. All that changed when Hitler marched eastward in 1941. My father was conscripted by the retreating Soviets, and my mother was trapped behind Nazi lines for the remainder of the war.
For the next three years, every member of my mother’s family – her parents, five brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins – were dragged from their hiding places, bludgeoned or shot, or sent off to be executed. They were all dumped into unmarked graves. My parents’ first-born child – my brother – also fell victim, dying at the age of three in 1942.
My mother’s survival defied any normal odds. She fled from one hiding place to another, escaping just in time to avoid capture. She spent 11 months in the attic of a Polish family along with five other Jews. She took an assumed name and boldly convinced the Nazis she was Christian. Finally, after Buczacz was liberated, she re-united with my father and they came to Canada to start anew in 1948.
I had been to Buczacz once before, with my mother, in 1990. We came with a documentary crew to record her first visit back home since the war. It was an emotional trip and a difficult one for both of us. But we learned very little of the actual events that had transpired in the town, or the exact locations where they happened. That’s why, nearly 15 years after my mother’s death, I was returning for a second time.
I convinced Alex that our best strategy on this trip would be to find older people and ask them what they knew about the 30s and 40s. Alex seemed skeptical. For one thing, the war had begun more than 70 years ago, so it was unlikely there would be any useful first-hand witnesses at hand. And there was also the collective amnesia that pertained to inconvenient truths.
After all, a segment of the population had actively collaborated with Hitler. They were instrumental in helping identify and round up the Jews, the Communists, and all the other elements the Nazis wanted to destroy. Some might still be living in Buczacz and surrounding areas. Their children and grandchildren almost certainly are here.
The museum’s employee finally gives us a sliver of hope. There is someone in town we should visit – someone who knows the history and might be able to help us. His name is Mykola.
We drive for a few minutes and stop at Mykola’s house. I am expecting to find an elderly man who may have been a teenager during the war. Instead, we come upon a 40-something man in sweatpants and a Maple Leafs T-shirt. He is clutching a handful of papers and photographs. One of them shows a photo of Buczacz’s surviving Jews standing beside a memorial gravestone in 1944. Out of the original population of 10,000, no more than 100 survived. One of the people in the photo is my mother.
Mykola has taken an interest in wartime history, and now helps visiting tourists locate family remnants. He has a variety of interesting documents, including a map of pre-war street names, and a mid-19th century register of townsfolk. It turns out that he knows about some of the Jewish families that lived in Buczacz during the war – a handful of them have returned over the years, and he has helped them find their old homes and landmarks.
We ask Mykola if he could help solve a puzzle my mother and I couldn’t figure out on our previous trip. Her family had lived on a street called Zeblickevicie, which had changed names several times after the war. From her description, though, we knew it was beside a stream that ran into the Strypa River, a subsidiary of the Dniester.
We pile into the car along with Mykola and he directs us to the location. The stream had been covered over, except at the point where it emptied into the Strypa. Though the original home was no longer there, he shows us the exact location where my mother’s family had lived. I saw the idyllic surroundings, the lush vegetation around the quiet river, and for the first time I had an inkling of the peaceful life my mother experienced before the war changed everything.
While we were all walking along the old Zeblickevicie street, Mykola bumps into a friend and exchanges a few words with him. As we walk on, the friend stops my wife, Harriet, and our cousin Nina and says: “Mina Rosner – I am a Witness.” That is the name of my mother’s book. Alex is impatient. He had rich experience of locals trying to pester visitors, and he was eager to move us all along. But Harriet and Nina persist. It turns out the man on our chance encounter knows all about my mother’s story, and offers to take us on a tour of where she lived, where she went to school, where she hid during the war, and where her family members were killed.
Over the next 24 hours, Alex grudgingly admits he was wrong. Our serendipitous encounter has linked us up with Jura, a 60-year-old retired computer technician, astrologist and local historian. He knows my mother’s exact birthdate, and, it appears, everyone else’s in town. He has a photocopied version of my mother’s book, and he has pieced together her recollections with precise locations of many of the events she describes. If photographic memories actually exist, we figure he has one. He is a visiting tourist’s dream come true, and Alex has to take a back seat while Jura takes us on a remarkable tour of my mother’s life.
The first stop is just around the corner, on a street that used to be called Chechego Maya. I remember it from my mother’s stories, but we could never pinpoint it on our previous trip. Jura shows us the building where my mother’s sister and her husband ran a hardware shop. He knows the address because it’s listed in trade publications of the era. Though my mother’s original house and her parents’ store no longer existed, I finally had an authentic touchstone of some of her family’s life at the time.
Jura takes us to the pre-war building on Kolejowa Street that served as the cheder, the religious school, where Jewish kids studied. We visit the girls’ school and middle school where my mother was a student, and walk into Buczacz’s Sokol theatre, where she watched dramatic performances and movies as a teenager. A group of children is rehearsing a musical concert on stage, and I can imagine my mother sitting in the auditorium with her brothers and sisters and friends.
Just down the road, near an orchard, Jura shows us the garden of a long-ago demolished home where my mother hid during one of the Nazi aktions, or periodic killing sprees. A bunker had been constructed in the cellar, and this helped shield her and other Jews from capture. The Nazis conducted four major aktions during their occupation of Buczacz before declaring the town Judenrein, or completely free of Jews. But the declaration turned out to be false. My mother, along with dozens of others, managed to survive with the aid of courageous gentile families who risked their safety to shelter them.
In the middle of our travels, Jura pulls out a sheet of typewritten names – people who had served as policemen, gendarmes and SS officers during the war. I recognize some of the names. Some of the Nazi war criminals and their collaborators have been brought to justice, but the vast majority remain undetected and untried for their crimes.
We go to the Jewish cemetery, where many of the town’s Jews – including my mother’s parents – were taken to be executed. The place is untended and overgrown, a jumble of brush and junk, with headstones in various states of disrepair. We find my great-grandmother’s grave. It’s significant, because two plots over my mother buried her first-born child, Isaac, in an unmarked plot. I clear away the branches and debris from the group of headstones in the area to get a better view. I bend down and touch the ground where the brother I never met is buried. Exactly 70 years later, someone has come back to this place to remember.
Jura takes me down a path through brambles to a spot where survivors had erected a memorial to the war’s victims. The place is overgrown with trees and bushes now, but he says there was nothing here before the war. The marker no longer survives, and even if it did, it’s unlikely anyone would be able to find it without an expert guide.
Our next stop is Fedor Hill, another killing ground where thousands perished. It’s difficult to see traces of anything here, but Jura once again guides us to a marker commemorating the killing of 450 people during the early days of slaughter in 1941. It had been erected by a survivor’s family well after the war.
A far more prominent memorial on Fedor Hill is dedicated to the UPA, the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, the military wing of a movement that initially collaborated with the Nazis in hopes of winning an independent homeland. In fact, throughout our travels in Western Ukraine, there were numerous new memorials to Ukrainian nationalist fighters in places where it might have been logical to place markers noting the victims of the Nazi era. We saw this on the side of a synagogue in Ivano-Frankivsk, near the Jewish ghetto entrance in Lvov, and many other places. In my father’s hometown of Kolomyia, it was a similar story — no mention of Jews or Nazi victims in the local museum, no remnants of the huge Jewish population, and a patriotic memorial to Ukrainian nationalist figures on the site of a former synagogue. In the re-written history of today, the UPA and its related Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists are presented as groups that fought both Soviets and Nazis; no mention is made of the collaboration in 1941 that led to so much destruction during the war.
Throughout our trip to Ukraine, we were reminded of the upcoming election campaign and the ever-present imagery of Ukrainian nationalism, especially in the Western part of the country. In a land that was exercising its brand of democratic activity, we had to wonder how thoroughly the country had come to grips with its recent history. Many countries are wrestling with related questions, trying to reconcile horrendous events of the past with a way forward. But as in any process or truth and reconciliation, there needs to be an initial recognition of what took place. Erasing and denying the past is rarely the path to building a healthy future.
At the end of our tour in Buczacz, Jura wanted to know the exact date of my mother’s death. He also was interested in our birthdates and any other information he could glean from us. In a country that chooses to forget so much, he was something of an anomaly.
Features
American Graduation Speakers Deliver Antizionist Views
By HENRY SREBRNIK Colleges and universities in the United States have hosted and encouraged a surge of radical and pervasive antisemitism in recent years. Graduation commencement ceremonies (known as convocations in Canada) have been a source of tensions over Israel since Oct. 7, 2023. Multiple schools have disciplined students who made pro-Palestinian comments in their speeches.
But professors have also fanned the flames. Faculty members have played a significant role in legitimizing and amplifying antisemitism on college campuses. They have shown a propensity to whitewash Hamas and vilify Israel rather than examine the conflict dispassionately.
University of Michigan professor Derek Peterson praised campus pro-Palestinian student protesters during his commencement speech in Ann Arbor on May 2. The History and African-American studies academic and outgoing faculty senate chair told the graduates to “Sing for the pro-Palestinian student activists who have, over these past two years, opened our hearts to the injustice and inhumanity of Israel’s war in Gaza.” His remarks received loud applause.
“We regret the pain this has caused on a day devoted to celebration and accomplishment. For this, the university apologizes,” Michigan’s interim president, Domenico Grasso, responded. Michigan’s campus Hillel also condemned Peterson’s speech. “Commencement is a celebration of every graduate. It is not a stage for political statements that alienate the Jewish community,” it asserted. On campus, however, an open letter rebuking Grasso and defending Peterson’s speech had been signed by more than 1,100 faculty members, staff and students in less than 24 hours.
Protesters at the university have also vandalized the home of Jordan Acker, a Jewish member of the university’s board of regents. He will no longer serve on the board, while the attorney who defended the university’s encampment participants from some state-level charges received the Michigan Democratic Party’s nomination for Acker’s seat.
Amir Makled won the backing despite social media posts that praised Hezbollah and included antisemitic memes. Makled posted retweets of far-right antisemitic conspiracy theorist Candace Owens and referred to Hassan Nasrallah as a martyr after he was killed by Israeli strikes in 2024.
Administrators at Rutgers University in New Jersey canceled a commencement speaker on May 15, citing an “inflammatory claim” he tweeted about Israel. Rami Elghandour, a Rutgers alumnus, had his invitation rescinded when his April 20 tweet, which accused Israel of genocide and claimed that Israelis were “running dungeons where they train dogs to sexually assault prisoners,” was uncovered.
“They decided that the feelings of a handful of students who said that my social media posts ‘opposed their beliefs,’ were more important than the experience of the entire graduating class, the reputation of the school, the dignity and belonging of Arab and Muslim students, and the First Amendment,” Elghandour wrote. Rutgers Alumnus Christopher Markus, an Emmy Award-winning screenwriter, delivered the address instead, on May 17.
At Georgetown University, a law professor who disparaged legal efforts to curb pro-Palestinian student activism replaced Morton Schapiro, a pro-Israel Jewish economist and former Northwestern University president, at the commencement, after students launched a petition calling for Schapiro’s removal. The replacement, David Cole, is the former national legal director of the American Civil Liberties Union. In that role, Cole issued a statement soon after the Hamas attack in which he criticized Jewish groups for what he said were calls to “investigate, disband, or penalize pro-Palestinian student groups for exercising their free speech rights.” He compared Congressional investigations on campus antisemitism to McCarthyism.
Cornell University’s Student Assembly on March 12 voted to cut ties with Israel’s Technion University and condemned the university for hosting center-left Israeli politician Tzipi Livni, part of the school’s campus anti-Israel activism. She was accused of being “implicated in war crimes.”
The university’s Jewish president was involved in a recent campus altercation with pro-Palestinian protesters who had surrounded his car following a campus debate on Israel. The Ivy League school’s Board of Trustees issued a statement of support for Michael Kotlikoff following an investigation into the April 30 incident. “President Kotlikoff has shown a steadfast commitment to Cornell’s values and principles, and we are confident he will continue to lead with integrity.”
Following the talk, members of the protest group Students for a Democratic Cornell followed the president to his car and appeared to try to block its path. When he did edge his way out of his parking spot, they said he bumped some of the protesters with his vehicle. Despite all that, President Kotlikoff was himself the speaker at the university’s May 23 commencement.
A flag with swastikas surrounding the Star of David flew briefly atop a New York University building during a graduation event May 13, as hundreds gathered for an outdoor celebration called “Grad Alley” on West Fourth Street. “We are shocked and deeply troubled that this hateful symbol expressing antisemitism was raised on a flagpole overlooking Washington Square Park,” said NYU spokesperson Wiley Norvell.
Student government leaders at the university had objected to the selection of Jonathan Haidt as the graduation speaker at Yankee Stadium May 14, calling it “deeply unsettling.” An NYU social psychologist and author, he has been highly critical of the culture in which many young adults today are raised.
A network of anti-Israel activist groups coordinated “Nakba 78” protests across the United States the weekend of May 15, with organizers using the anniversary of Israel’s founding to challenge the Jewish state’s right to exist. University of California campuses have faced an antisemitism crisis, with dramatic increases in harassment, intimidation, and exclusionary conduct targeting Jewish students and others labeled “Zionist” or “pro-Israel.” Among many events, University of California, Berkeley lecturer Hatem Bazian spoke at a three-day “Islam, Memory and the Nakba” conference in Burlingame, Oakland and Los Gatos.
Even the UCLA campus Hillel was targeted. The Undergraduate Students Association Council condemned an April 14 Yom HaShoah event organized by Hillel featuring freed Israeli hostage Omer Shem Tov. He was kidnapped from the Nova music festival on Oct. 7, 2023, and held hostage in Gaza until his release in a prisoner exchange in February 2025.
“While we affirm the humanity of all people impacted by violence, we reject the selective platforming of narratives that obscure the broader reality of ongoing state violence,” they stated. “Israel is currently continuing to carry out what has been widely identified by human rights advocates as a genocide in Gaza, while also expanding its illegal military campaign into Lebanon.”
This has become part of an effort to delegitimize Hillel chapters, long seen as the main address for Jewish life on most American campuses. Hillel International asks all its affiliate chapters to maintain an unwavering commitment and support for Israel, discouraging criticism of the Israeli state.
The New School, a university in New York City, on May 2 rejected a student government vote to defund and cut ties with the campus chapter of Hillel. The student senate a day earlier had voted to strip funding and stop collaboration with the campus chapter of the Jewish student organization, claiming violations of “international law” due to volunteer opportunities it has offered with the Israel Defence Forces. They also cited Hillel’s promotion of 10-day Birthright trips and other programs in Israel. Hillel International and other Jewish groups have said that efforts to shut down the Jewish student organization are antisemitic.
But it seems to be working. Swarthmore College in 2015 became the first campus to break with Hillel International. They began to call themselves an “Open Hillel,” then rebranded entirely after the parent organization threatened legal action over a civil rights panel it deemed too critical of Israel. Now, the student leaders of the campus Hillel at Middlebury College have voted to rename its student group, moving to distance it from an international organization they say is too pro-Israel. It was renamed the Jewish Association at Middlebury. Might others follow?
Henry Srebrnik is a professor emeritus of political science at the University of Prince Edward Island.
Features
Tracking U.S. Immigration Statistics by Year: Shifts in Policy and Population Growth
Every number tells a story. Behind each datapoint on U.S. immigration lies a family that crossed a border, a student who arrived with a scholarship, or a worker chasing opportunity. Taken together, these stories form the demographic backbone of the country.
This article traces how immigration has shifted across time and into 2026. By focusing on statistics, we can see how policies, world events, and enforcement measures leave clear marks on US immigration. The aim is not just to report numbers, but to understand what they mean for America’s growth, its labor force, and its future.
Illegal Immigration Statistics USA 2026
Numbers on unauthorized immigration are never exact, but careful estimates reveal striking trends. This section draws from research led by Jennifer Lockman, a senior analyst affiliated with an essay writing service, EssayService, known for blending demographic data with policy context.
Lockman, who often collaborates with professional human essay writers online to translate complex data into accessible reports, describes her process as “writing an essay in numbers”: collecting surveys, interviewing migrants, and checking official counts against lived experience. Her 2026 research involved both government datasets and community-based surveys, making the results more credible.
She found that by 2023, the U.S. undocumented population had surged to 14 million, the largest in history. Roughly 27% of all immigrants in the U.S. lacked legal status at that point. But in early 2026, the trend reversed: deportations rose, border encounters fell, and the total unauthorized population declined for the first time in over a decade.
Lockman’s approach gave weight to personal accounts, such as Central American families waiting years for asylum rulings or Venezuelan migrants finding “twilight” legal status. These essay-style narratives backed the data: 6 million of the 14 million undocumented migrants in 2023 held temporary protections (asylum applicants, DACA, TPS holders), leaving them neither fully documented nor fully unauthorized.
Unauthorized Immigrant Population and Trends (2010–2026)
| Year | Estimated Unauthorized Population | Share of Total Immigrant Population | Notes |
| 2010 | 11.2 million | 24% | Plateau after 2007 surge |
| 2015 | 11.0 million | 23% | Stable, slight decline |
| 2020 | 10.3 million | 22% | Pandemic slowed inflows |
| 2022 | 12.8 million | 25% | Border arrivals surged |
| 2023 | 14.0 million | 27% | Record high |
| Jan 2026 | 13.9 million | 26% | Peak levels |
| Jun 2026 | 13.5 million | 26% | Decline after policy changes |
Key facts:
- Mexico remains the top origin, about 5.5 million people (40%).
- Central America accounts for ~20% (Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador).
- Venezuela has grown rapidly, adding ~500,000 recent arrivals.
- Roughly 4% of the entire U.S. population is unauthorized.
Lockman concludes that immigration enforcement in 2026 created “the first visible dip in the shadow population,” but warned that long-term structural issues remain unresolved.
U.S. Immigration by Year: A Historical Perspective
The US immigration tendencies show clear peaks and valleys tied to events. In the 1990s, the U.S. legalized millions under the Immigration Reform and Control Act, pushing green card totals to a historic 1.8 million in 1991. After that, flows stabilized at about 1 million new permanent residents annually, until the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020 cut arrivals by nearly half.
By FY 2023, recovery was in full swing, with 1.17 million new green cards issued. Adding temporary migrants, asylum seekers, and undocumented arrivals, the foreign-born population climbed to 53.3 million by January 2026, or 15.8% of the U.S. population. That was the highest share since records began.
Yet, for the first time in 50 years, the number dipped in the first half of 2026, down to 51.9 million (15.4%) by June. This decline underscores how quickly policy can reshape the chart, from expansion to contraction in just months.
The US immigration chart for the last three decades makes the shift visible:
| Year | Total Foreign-Born Population | Share of U.S. Population | Notable Context |
| 1990 | 19.8 million | 7.9% | Start of modern growth |
| 2000 | 31.1 million | 11% | Post-1990s inflows |
| 2010 | 40.0 million | 13% | Strong growth |
| 2020 | 45.0 million | 13.7% | Pandemic slows flows |
| 2023 | 47.8 million | 14.5% | Border surge |
| Jan 2026 | 53.3 million | 15.8% | All-time high |
| Jun 2026 | 51.9 million | 15.4% | First decline in 50+ years |
The picture is clear: immigration has been the sole driver of U.S. population growth in recent years, even as birth rates among the native-born decline.
How Many Immigrants Came to the U.S. in 2026?
By mid-2026, immigration flows had already shifted noticeably. According to US immigration statistics released by DHS and the Census Bureau, roughly 1.2 million immigrants entered the U.S. in the first half of 2026 through legal channels: green cards, work visas, student visas, and refugee admissions combined. That’s a slight drop compared to 2023 and 2024, when yearly admissions reached over 2 million.
When unauthorized migration is factored in, early 2026 arrivals added another estimated 250,000 to 300,000 people. This marked the smallest six-month increase in over a decade, reflecting tightened enforcement and economic slowdowns abroad.
Immigrant Admissions and Arrivals (2023–2026)
| Year | Legal Permanent Residents | Temporary/Work/Study | Refugees & Asylum Grants | Estimated Unauthorized Arrivals | Total |
| 2023 | 1.17 million | 1.1 million | 200,000 | 1.7 million | ~4.2 million |
| 2024 | 1.05 million | 950,000 | 180,000 | 1.5 million | ~3.7 million |
| 2026 (Jan–Jun) | 600,000 | 500,000 | 95,000 | 250,000 | ~1.45 million |
These figures reveal a paradox: even as the U.S. foreign-born population peaked in early 2026, inflows slowed soon after, signaling a turning point.
Facts About Immigrants: Beyond the Numbers
Every chart hides a set of lived experiences. Behind US immigration statistics are students, workers, and families reshaping communities. Here are some highlights:
- Top origins: Mexico (23%), India (6%), China (5%), Philippines (5%).
- Education levels: 47% of immigrants arriving since 2010 hold a bachelor’s degree or higher.
- Labor force impact: Immigrants represent 18% of the U.S. workforce as of 2026.
- Citizenship: Nearly 45% of the foreign-born are naturalized U.S. citizens.
- Households: Roughly 14% of U.S. households are headed by an immigrant, many of them multigenerational.
- Economic output: Immigrant-led businesses generate over $1.3 trillion in sales annually, fueling both local and national economies.
These numbers remind us that immigration is not just a border issue. It shapes schools, hospitals, and industries across every state.
Policy Shifts and Their Impact
Immigration ebbs and flows with the law. Every reform, executive order, or court ruling alters the trajectory of entries and the size of the foreign-born population.
Key policy-linked shifts:
- 1990s IRCA reforms legalized millions, creating the largest one-year spike in green cards.
- Post-9/11 tightened visa screening and slowed flows in the early 2000s.
- 2017–2020 restrictions cut refugee resettlement to historic lows (below 20,000 annually).
- 2021–2023 expansions raised ceilings again and offered protections to Venezuelans and Afghans.
- 2026 enforcement showed the first measurable decline in the total immigrant population in half a century.
Taken together, these shifts reveal a pendulum effect: expansion, contraction, and expansion again. Immigration policy has never been static, and each wave leaves long shadows in classrooms, in labor markets, and in family reunifications.
Conclusion: The Changing Shape of Immigration
Looking ahead, immigration will remain central to U.S. growth. With declining birth rates among native-born Americans, new arrivals sustain both population and workforce numbers. Whether immigration grows or contracts depends less on individual desire to migrate than on how U.S. policy balances enforcement and opportunity.
Immigration data is a mirror. It reflects national priorities, international crises, and the human drive to move. The question is not whether immigration shapes the U.S., but how the U.S. chooses to shape immigration.
Features
Brave American hero only US soldier to be included among Yad Vashem’s Righteous Among the Nations
By MYRON LOVE Courage is a rare quality. More than 80 years ago, Roddie Edmonds, a master sergeant in the American army, showed what courage looked like when the then-POW successfully stared down the barrel of a Nazi gun, thereby saving the lives of about 200 of his Jewish fellow POWS.
In 2013, Edmonds became the first American soldier to be inducted into Yad Vashem’s list of Righteous Among the Nations – a designation that recognizes non-Jews who risked their lives during World war II to shelter and save Jewish lives. Earlier this year, he was also awarded the Medal of Honour, America’s highest medal for bravery.
On Wednesday, May 6, Roddie’s son, Chris, was in Winnipeg to tell his father’s story. Speaking at the Truth and Life Worship Centre in St. Vital to an audience of Jewish community members and non-Jewish supporters, the younger Edmonds, a Christian pastor from Tennessee, related how his father – at the age of 14 – in Chris’s words, committed himself to Jesus.
In the brutal winter of 1944, Master Sargent Roddie Edmonds and his 106th infantry division were thrust into action for the first time, in the Ardennes Forest. They were unprepared for what was to come.
Five days after their posting, they were hit hard by an unexpected Nazi onslaught in what became known as the Battle of the Bulge, the last great battle of the war on the Western front. Edmonds’ unit was quickly overrun and he was one of as many as 9,000 GIs who were taken prisoner.
Chris Edmonds described the POWs’ dire situation in detail. They were forced to walk for four days in freezing cold, deep snow, and constant rain. They were then put into the Nazis’ notorious sealed box cars – standing room only – and subsequently divided among several POW camps.
Master Sgt. Edmonds found himself the ranking officer responsible for almost 1,300 POWS – among them about 200 Jewish American GIs. It was Nazi practice to separate the Jewish GIs from the others and ship them to concentration camps.
On January 7, the POWs’ first day in camp, the Nazi commandant ordered Edmonds to tell only the Jewish GIs to turn up for roll call the next morning. The night before, Edmonds spoke to all of his charges and they all agreed on a plan. The next morning, all of the GIs presented themselves – including the weak and the sick – all claiming to be Jewish.
The Nazi commandant – red in the face with anger – put a gun to the 22-year-old Edmond’s head and demanded that he identify the Jewish GIs. He refused. Instead, according to his son, Chris, Roddie calmly pointed out to the commandant that the war would soon be over, the Allies were going to win, and if the commandant were to harm any of the POWs, he might be prosecuted for war crimes after the war.
As Chris noted, the colour drained from the commandant’s face, he put the gun down, and returned to his office.
Liberation for the POWS came on May 5, 1945, with the arrival of a couple of American tank columns.
Chris attributed his father’s bravery to his deep faith and love of God.
“Dad used to say that fear of people makes you scared, but fear of God makes you brave.”
Now, as was the norm, returning soldiers, POWs and Holocaust survivors rarely spoke about their war time experiences – not even to their families. All Chris knew about his father’s war was that he was a POW.
Roddie Edmonds came home, married, had a family, was an outstanding dad – according to his son – and enjoyed a successful career in sales. He died in 1985 at the age of 66.
Chris Edmonds first learned about his father’s heroism in 2008 while reading an interview in the New York Times with Lester Tanner, a prominent New York-based attorney. During the course of the interview, Tanner – whose original name was Tannenbaum – mentioned the American master sergeant who had saved his life.
Chris Edmonds reached out to Tanner, who subsequently invited the Edmonds family to come to New York where the former GI arranged for the family to be lodged at the prestigious Harbor Club and generally gave them the royal treatment. Tanner also described what had happened in that POW camp.
Chris was inspired to learn all he could about his father’s war time experiences. Fortunately, his mother had kept all of his father’s effects. Among his father’s possessions, Chris found a detailed diary of his father’s time as a POW.
As a result of Chris Edmonds’ research, he wrote a book titled “No Surrender; A father, a Son and an extraordinary Act of Heroism That Continues to Live on Today” (with co-author Douglas Century). He also produced a documentary, “Footsteps of My Father,” which includes commentary by Tanner and some of the other Jewish POWs who were spared as a result of Roddie Edmonds’ bravery.
The documentary was part of Chris’s presentation at the Truth and Life Worship Centre.
Chris Edmonds has also founded an organization: “Roddie’s Code,” which is dedicated to “extending the leadership and legacy of his father to future generations.”
Edmonds was brought to Winnipeg by community leader Larry Vickar and Christian Zionist Pastor Rudy Fidel, both of whom heard Edmonds speak in Florida earlier this year. The presentation here was sponsored by B’nai Brith Canada’s Manitoba Jewish-Christian Roundtable.
While in Winnipeg, Edmonds was also able to present his inspiring story to close to 700 students at Gray Academy, St. Paul’s High School, and Vincent Massey Collegiate.
In closing, Chris Edmonds noted that his father’s actions in that POW cap didn’t just save the 200 Jewish POWs who were there, but also their future generations – numbering around 20,000, who would not have been alive today.
“My dad used to say that there are two main purposes in life,” Chris said. “