We the People... Unless You’re the Wrong People

The Case for Due Process in an Age of Panic and Pushback

Say this out loud and see what happens: The Constitution protects everyone inside the United States, not just citizens. That’s it. That’s the sentence.

Now watch the reactions roll in.

I made that point in a post about the 14th Amendment, specifically, its use of the word person rather than citizen. And in return, I got a crash course in Facebook constitutional law, complete with caps lock, calls for deportation, and at least one accusation that I was giving out “free stuff” to criminals.

Some of the comments were thoughtful. Others were furious. A few were... unprintable.

One commenter put it bluntly:

“They've circumvented due process by choosing to enter the United States of America illegally, so explain to me why we would give them the rights of a Citizen? They're illegal aliens, not Citizens of the United States.”

Another asked:

“Then what exactly does it mean to be a Citizen, if all these Constitutional rights are applicable to illegal aliens? This is a slap in the face of those of us who are Citizens.”

And one particularly inspired comment began with:

“Cyrus… thou art a retard.”

Not exactly how I pictured opening a debate on constitutional law, but here we are.

But underneath the noise is a real question. A legitimate one. And it deserves more than a meme or a mic drop.

So let’s answer it: Why do even people here illegally still have rights under our Constitution? Why did Congress choose the word person instead of citizen in the 14th Amendment? And why does that matter today, in Oregon, in the middle of a border crisis that feels anything but theoretical?

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1867: When the Government Had Every Excuse to Overreach, and Yet, Didn’t

Right after the Civil War, the country had every excuse to lose its mind.

The Union had won. The Confederacy had lost. But the wounds were still bleeding, and the temptation for payback was real. Some Northerners wanted to strip Confederates of everything, voting rights, even citizenship. And honestly, who could blame them? They’d buried sons, watched homes burn, and listened to lectures about “states’ rights” while their boys froze in Virginia mud.

Others just wanted to move on. Reunite the country. Skip the part where accountability gets messy.

Meanwhile, newly freed Black Americans were being shoved back into place by Black Codes, lynch mobs, and local laws that made “freedom” look suspiciously like rebranded slavery.

Congress had a choice: either make the Constitution bigger, or let states keep shrinking it.

That’s where Representative John Bingham came in. He gave us the language that became the soul of the 14th Amendment:

“The object of a Constitution is not only to confer power upon the majority, but to restrict the power of the majority and to protect the rights of the minority.”

And he didn’t say citizen. He said person. On purpose.

Because when governments panic, or when majorities get mean, you need the rules to kick in harder, not softer.

Senator Jacob Howard drove the point home in the Senate: the amendment protected “any person within [a state's] jurisdiction.” Not just the loyal. Not just the white. Not just the ones with paperwork.

Congress had just watched what happens when whole swaths of people (slaves, freedmen, even sullen Confederates) were told they didn’t count. And they said: Never again.

The 14th Amendment wasn’t a gift. It was a leash. It said: You don’t get to pick and choose who has rights depending on your mood.

“The last two clauses... disable a State from depriving not merely a citizen... but any person, whoever he may be, of life, liberty, or property without due process of law.”

That wasn’t a rhetorical flourish. That was a constitutional sandbag, placed right where the floodwaters of fear and revenge were most likely to rise.

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What the Courts Have Said, And Why It Still Matters

Now, if you’re thinking, “Okay, fine, but that was just Congress being idealistic after a war,” let’s fast-forward. Because this isn’t just some dusty debate about original intent. The courts have weighed in, multiple times, and they’ve been pretty clear.

Take Yick Wo v. Hopkins (1886). San Francisco tried to shut down Chinese-owned laundries with a law that pretended to be neutral but was enforced with all the subtlety of a brick through a window. The Supreme Court saw right through it and said:

“The Fourteenth Amendment… is not confined to the protection of citizens… These provisions are universal… to all persons within the territorial jurisdiction.”

That was 1886. The ink on the 14th wasn’t even dry, and the Court already understood that person means person.

Then there’s Plyler v. Doe (1982). Texas decided undocumented kids didn’t deserve public school. The Supreme Court, again, not exactly a hotbed of radicalism, struck it down. Justice Brennan wrote:

“Whatever his status… an alien is surely a ‘person’ in any ordinary sense… The undocumented status of these children does not establish a sufficient rational basis for denying them education.”

Translation: You can’t just treat people like they’re invisible because their paperwork is a mess.

So when people ask, “Why should illegal aliens have rights?”, the answer isn’t a bleeding-heart slogan. It’s the Constitution. And the courts. And 150 years of legal clarity.

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What Happens When Rights Get Selective

After Pearl Harbor, the U.S. government rounded up over 120,000 people of Japanese ancestry and sent them to internment camps. No charges. No trials. Just ancestry.

Two-thirds were American citizens. It didn’t matter.

Families were separated. Businesses shuttered. Homes lost. Lives derailed, not because of what people did, but because of who they were.

And the spark? A single Japanese Zero pilot crash-landed on the Hawaiian island of Niʻihau. Two local Japanese Americans tried to help him. That was it. That story got passed around like proof. The fear did the rest.

And yes, the Supreme Court went along with it. Korematsu v. United States is still one of the most shameful decisions in the Court’s history. Justice Frank Murphy didn’t mince words:

“The legalization of racism.”

That wasn’t some fringe take. That was a sitting justice calling it like it was.

And this is exactly why we have a Constitution. Not to rubber-stamp popular opinion. Not to hand out rights to the well-behaved or well-liked. But to restrain power, especially when fear starts dressing up like patriotism.

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But What About Citizenship?

One commenter asked, loudly, and with creative punctuation:

“Then what in the hell is the purpose of being a citizen?”

It’s actually a fair question.

Citizenship matters. A lot. It’s how you vote, sit on juries, run for office, and shape the laws that govern your community. It’s full political membership in the American experiment.

But here’s the thing: being a citizen doesn’t mean you get to decide who counts as a person.

Because rights like life, liberty, and due process aren’t perks handed out by the government, they’re the reason we invented government in the first place. The job of a constitutional republic isn’t to distribute rights like coupons; it’s to protect them.

And due process? That’s the promise that before the state can jail you, fine you, or kick you out, it has to follow the rules. A notice. A hearing. A chance to respond. It’s not glamorous, but it’s the firewall between justice and power-with-a-personality.

That’s why cases like Gideon v. Wainwright (you get a lawyer) and Miranda v. Arizona (you get a warning) exist, not because the defendants were role models, but because the Constitution doesn’t require you to be lovable to be protected.

And while we’re at it: let’s stop confusing rights with benefits. Food stamps? Housing subsidies? Those are policy decisions, created and shaped by lawmakers, not written into the Constitution. You can argue about who should get what, but you don’t get to rewrite the 14th Amendment in the comments section.

Due process is what separates a republic from a popularity contest with police powers. It’s what keeps the government from operating on vibes.

That’s the point.

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If That Bothers You, Good

To everyone who emailed, commented, or launched a creatively profane tirade this week, thank you. Honestly. You helped drag this conversation back into the light, where it belongs.

Here’s the thing: you don’t have to agree with me on immigration policy. You don’t have to like how we got here, or even who’s here. But if we’re going to wave the Constitution around like it’s holy writ, maybe we ought to start reading the fine print.

The 14th Amendment isn’t subtle.

It says person for a reason. Because the rule of law isn’t supposed to depend on whether we like you. If it did, it wouldn’t be the rule of law, it’d be politics, just with a shinier logo.

That’s what Congress understood after the Civil War. It’s what the Court reaffirmed in Yick Wo and Plyler. And it’s what we keep forgetting every time we treat rights like trophies for good behavior.

So if it still bugs you that undocumented immigrants have due process rights, good. That means you care. But aim your frustration where it belongs: at the lawmakers who’ve spent decades avoiding the immigration issue like it’s radioactive, and then act surprised when the system buckles under its own contradictions.

Because the whole point of a republic is that we limit ourselves. On purpose. For everyone.

We play by the rules.
Even when it’s inconvenient.
Even when we’re angry.
Even when the comments section is on fire.

“If men were angels, no government would be necessary.”
—Federalist No. 51

The rules exist because we aren’t angels. Because fear is persuasive. Because cruelty makes a great campaign ad. Because sometimes we’d rather be right than be restrained.

And yes, especially then.

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If you're still here, you’re either really into the Constitution or really hate-scrolling. Either way, stick around. Subscribe to get more essays like this: dry, principled, and occasionally unpopular, in your inbox.

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I’m running for re-election to continue to represent people, not just applause lines, an not just a party. That means telling the truth, honoring the Constitution, and standing firm when it’s easier to cave. If you think there’s still room in politics for that kind of leadership, chip in to my campaign.

I’ll keep fighting for the rule of law, even when the comments section is on fire.