How the Internet Broke Assimilation

By John Gustavsson

Sunday, December 07, 2025

 

After the shooting of two National Guardsmen in Washington, D.C. by an Afghan migrant, the Trump administration halted visas for Afghans and suspended immigration from “Third World Countries.” While some deem this an overreaction, others argue the move was long overdue. But what is clear — from both the D.C. shooting and other incidents, such as the widespread welfare fraud by Somalis in Minnesota that has recently made national news — is that the United States is beginning to experience the same issues with Middle Eastern migration and integration that Europe has dealt with for some time now. When immigration comes under scrutiny at moments like this, advocates will often cite the successful assimilation of past groups of immigrants — such as the Irish and Italians — as evidence that immigration almost always works out well. Yet, thanks to the advent of new technology, contemporary efforts to assimilate large groups of migrants might face insurmountable challenges.

 

The sheer popularity of apps that can keep migrants in constant touch with family members abroad can’t be overlooked in examining why some migrants are slow to embrace their newly adopted countries.

 

It is not long ago that emigration meant that one would never see or hear from one’s family again, at least in one’s homeland. In Ireland, a country known for its historically high levels of emigration, the practice of an “American wake” developed; a type of funeral for the living, held for a prospective emigrant shortly before their journey. Once the boat set sail, an emigrant would be dead to those at home in Ireland. At best, they might hope to receive a letter every other year.

 

Today, migrants use social media and messaging apps to stay in touch with those at home, often on a daily basis. In one survey, as many as 98 percent reported using Facebook. This has had many positive effects, to be sure — it’s obviously a good thing that immigrants don’t have to permanently cut off contact with relatives upon arrival. But it also comes with downsides, the first being that staying in constant touch with one’s homeland undercuts the urgency and necessity to assimilate to one’s newfound home. Migrants who can have their social needs at least partially satisfied in this way might not feel the same imperative to learn the language and customs of their new country, or to make friends and get to know the new community in which they live.

 

Social media also offers relatives back home the opportunity to keep close tabs on a migrant’s new life. A migrant posting about trying a new restaurant for lunch may spur an angry call confronting them over not keeping the precepts of Ramadan (and was that a bacon burger?), as could an innocent TikTok post (why is your daughter not wearing her niqab?).

 

Emigration no longer offers the clean slate it once did, now that the once-a-year letter home has been replaced by twice-daily WhatsApp check-ins. This transformation can serve to slow down assimilation, even if other everyday influences (a job, neighbors, the local school system, and other community resources) are at work trying to bring migrants into their new cultural fold. It goes without saying that this frequent contact also helps ramp up the pressure to remit money, and to help those at home emigrate as well — spurring chain migration.

 

Relatedly, social media has caused a surge in the willingness to emigrate, by offering those living in the developing world a window into the types of lifestyles enjoyed here in the West. While would-be migrants might always have had a vague idea that their countries are less materially well-off, being bombarded on a daily basis with pictures, stories, and videos showcasing the opulent lifestyles of Western influencers on social media makes this difference feel real and tangible. Comparison, after all, is the thief of joy.

 

Thanks to social media, people from the Third World are experiencing daily what Boris Yeltsin felt when he first set foot in an American grocery store. Yes, he knew at a conceptual level that the Soviet Union was poorer than America — but seeing America’s material abundance firsthand was, quite understandably, something else entirely. And unlike Yeltsin, people migrating usually have limited prospects of changing their own countries; Instagram influencers trigger a desire to leave, rather than an urge to improve one’s own situation at home. Indeed, and somewhat counterintuitively, emigration has increased at higher levels from poorer countries that have had relatively strong economic growth, partially in response to improved internet access which has given more people their own “Yeltsin moments.”

 

But the desire to leave is not just due to Western influencers, of course. Stories of successful migrants striking it rich in the West go viral in the developing world; this has the same impact that stories of successful miners had in creating the 19th-century Gold Rush, which caused California’s population to increase by more than twentyfold in less than a decade. And much like during the Gold Rush era — when the real winners were the suppliers of picks, pans, and provisions — the current flood of third-world migration creates windfalls for coyotes and cartels peddling smuggling services, more than it does for aspiring arrivals.

 

The abundance of influencers and success stories sadly combine to create unrealistic expectations. While the U.S. and Europe are significantly wealthier than the Middle East and Africa, most of us do not live the lifestyle that wealthy influencers live (or pretend to live). And migrants — even those who may have held reputable positions in their home countries — typically must work their way up from the bottom.

 

This clash between expectations and reality became evident during the European refugee crisis of 2015 to 2016; newly arrived asylum seekers at several Swedish detention centers went on hunger strikes. Others simply refused to get off the bus after being taken to a detention center in a small northern village (instead of Malmö, where many of their relatives lived). Complaints about the food being served in asylum center cafeterias — the same food as is served in Swedish school cafeterias — were commonplace.

 

Understanding the divide between expectations and reality for migrants is crucial to understanding why so many of them act ungrateful towards their host countries, despite being treated with a kindness of which past generations of immigrants could only have dreamed. This resentment, again, slows down assimilation.

 

It is not just family and friends whom migrants use social media apps to keep in touch with. The Israel–Hamas war of the past two years has made it apparent how conflicts abroad are now capable of spilling onto the streets of Western countries. Immigrants from the Middle East and from Muslim countries, bombarded with round-the-clock news from home through apps like TikTok, naturally feel the need to act — to do something. This is compounded by the fact that much of the news they follow is heavily distorted, manipulated by foreign actors who deliberately aim to inflame sectarian tensions in Western societies.

 

Migrants’ importation of conflicts from home is not limited to debates over Israel and Gaza, either. In 2023, hundreds of pro- and anti-regime Eritreans clashed in a violent riot in Stockholm, and earlier this year, two people were assaulted in a fight between pro- and anti-regime Iranians in London. And of course, in Minneapolis, Somalian tribal politics played a decisive role in the recent mayoral race.

 

To be clear, the effects of the internet on immigration aren’t entirely bad. It should also be noted that many migrants use smartphone apps to learn their new country’s language, to make new friends, and to familiarize themselves with the cultures and ways of life of their new countries. Yet, at least among migrants from cultures with significant cultural divides from the West, the new technology has clearly been a net negative for assimilation.

 

As for ensuring that these modes of communication are a net positive, policy options are limited, as the government certainly cannot tell migrants to disown and cut off contact with their relatives at home. Nor can they be prevented from consuming news from their home countries, though disruptive protests can and should be strictly curtailed. As for fighting unrealistic expectations, Australia’s campaign targeting would-be migrants in their own countries via social media platforms may provide a blueprint.

 

The key lesson for policymakers is to understand that the cultures modern migrants bring with them are likely to have staying power, and thus culture must be viewed as a genuine and permanent externality of immigration. When considering the question of whether and how many visas to grant to immigrants from, say, Somalia, the answer must consider not just the direct economic effect (e.g., net tax revenue or net economic contributions), but also indirect effects on society (e.g., increases in welfare fraud and the weakening of civic institutions). Welfare economics can offer us some insights on how to quantify these factors.

 

The old melting pot required distance, disconnection, and time. The internet has abolished all three. Where steamships and one-way tickets once forced newcomers to choose between the old world and the new, WhatsApp and TikTok now let them keep both. The old expectation — that newcomers would, over a generation or two, become indistinguishable from the native-born — is increasingly detached from reality. But as long as policymakers keep measuring immigration with 20th-century yardsticks, they will keep getting 21st-century problems.