Once again, we are graced with the irresistible spectacle of the masses—one hundred, I am told, a paltry crowd even by the meager standards of Manhattan—congregating outside government buildings, clutching their cardboard placards and braying about “historical oppression.” All this ruckus simply because President Trump has dared to act in the interests of national sovereignty by, heavens forbid, enforcing immigration laws and holding sanctuary cities accountable for their virtue-signaling nonsense. The pearl-clutching over detainees sleeping on floors and the supposed Dickensian horror of administrative delays strikes me as overwrought. This, my dear plebeians, is not the Siberian Gulag, regardless of how many times your friend from graduate school makes the analogy.

This latest tempest is nothing more than performative outrage from people who enjoy little else but moral exhibitionism. Zachary and Mary—oh, how well-meaning, how painfully naive!—weep for democratic backsliding, apparently ignorant that a functioning democracy occasionally involves enforcing laws, however regrettable that is to the latte-sipping classes who believe entry into the United States is some kind of unalienable human right. What of the silent majority, who work, pay taxes, and would presumably prefer not to be saddled with the consequences of unchecked migration? How exceedingly urban of these protestors to imagine themselves champions of justice, when in reality they would go apoplectic if a migrant shelter appeared anywhere near their own well-appointed neighborhoods.

I am of a mind that the aesthetic outrage at ICE is less about genuine humanitarian concern and more about personal branding—hashtags, not handshakes. The conditions at these facilities are unfortunate, yes, but are the result of a system groaning beneath the weight of demands created by feckless border policies and irresponsible city governance. Detention? Undignified, perhaps. A lack of due process? Distasteful. But let us not pretend that the alternative is a borderless utopia in which responsibilities dissipate as quickly as protestors’ patience.

The indignant city councilors and self-appointed saviors of democracy somehow fail to mention that even the most luxurious societies must secure their borders if they wish to endure. I do not propose that we treat migrants with barbarity—my own household staff is a testament to the virtues of skilled immigrant labor when properly vetted—but this hasty moral panic only encourages further chaos. One grows tired of being lectured by professional activists who would faint at the thought of genuine adversity.

If there is to be outrage over the enforcement of laws—imperfect though the execution may be—might I suggest we direct such passions towards reforming the asylum and immigration process itself, instead of vilifying those whose thankless jobs keep the system from outright collapse? Until then, perhaps the protestors might return to their internships and art collectives, and leave the difficult work of governance to those accustomed to making decisions not based on fleeting sentiment, but on the demands of civilization. We cannot all live in a world of scented candles and safe spaces.