They take our jobs. They drain our resources. They refuse to speak our language or follow our customs. They crowd into our towns, bringing strange traditions and foreign loyalties. They threaten the very fabric of our democracy.

Sound familiar? Maybe some are even nodding along, thinking, “Exactly, this is the problem with immigration today.”

Except I’m not talking about today. I’m talking about the 1840s when the so-called dangerous “outsiders” were Irish Catholics fleeing famine and poverty, arriving on America’s shores in search of survival. They were met with signs reading “No Irish Need Apply” and widespread suspicion. Many feared their allegiance to the Pope would destroy American democracy. This fear fueled the rise of the “Know-Nothing” political party, whose members swore an oath to elect only “native-born” citizens.

Today we dye rivers green to celebrate Irish heritage. We wear “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” T-shirts, guzzle green beer in their honor, and proudly trace our family trees back to ancestors who were, not that long ago, treated as “the problem.” We weren’t just wrong back then — we were spectacularly, embarrassingly wrong.

Here we are again, dusting off the same script with different characters. Donald Trump warns of immigrants “poisoning the blood of our country,” — not so different from past fears that Irish immigrants would “dilute” America’s purity. Back then, they were the “scum of Europe.” Today, “they’re not sending their best.” Same fear. New target.

Which brings us to Maine.

Rep. Laurel Libby has introduced legislation to make sure noncitizens can’t vote in Maine — a right they already don’t have. She insists this amendment is “absolutely critical to upholding the integrity of our electoral system.” Apparently, Maine’s constitution hasn’t been clear enough.

Sure, it already bans noncitizens from voting. So does federal law. So does Maine state law. So does municipal law. But that’s not enough. We need to underline it, bold it, and slap on an unnecessary amendment, just to be sure. We need to spell it out with laser precision: “ONLY” citizens can vote.

Because without that crucial four-letter word, who knows what could happen? Chaos. Cats running for office. Lobsters demanding ballot access. Town clerks mysteriously replaced by foreign sleeper agents with suspicious accents and clipboards in hand.

Or — more likely — absolutely nothing would happen. Because noncitizen voting is already illegal. This amendment doesn’t “protect” democracy. It performs paranoia at taxpayer expense.

And why? Because other states are doing it. Heaven forbid Maine have an original thought or, better yet, focus on actual issues — like the fact that housing costs have skyrocketed, families are struggling to afford necessities, and our healthcare system is stretched thin. But sure, let’s chase imaginary voter fraud instead.

Except this legislation isn’t just about imaginary threats. Tucked inside is a provision that would strip voting rights from people under guardianship for mental challenges. So, while claiming to “protect democracy,” the bill quietly undermines it — targeting not just immigrants, but some of Maine’s most vulnerable citizens. Fear may be the headline, but exclusion is the fine print.

This isn’t about election integrity any more than Trump’s speeches are about national security. It’s about stoking the same fear he’s mastered — painting immigrants as threats, whether they’re “invading our country” or “bringing crime.”

We’ve seen this before. The Irish in the 1840s. The Italians in the early 1900s. Each time, we were certain they were the problem. And each time, history proved us shamefully wrong. The real threat wasn’t the people arriving on our shores; it was the fear we clung to, the prejudice we justified, and the opportunities for growth we wasted. The real threat isn’t at the border. It’s the rhetoric we’ve heard before, wrapped in new packaging.

And when the fear fades — because it always does — we rewrite history. We parade through the streets in celebration of the very people we once shunned. We slap their names on bridges, schools, and city halls. We tell ourselves we were never the ones who bought into the hysteria. And we wait for the next group to blame.

Movies have told this story before — reminding us how easily fear breeds violence, how “they’re not like us” becomes an excuse for cruelty. Every wave of immigrants is feared, blamed, and resisted — only to be embraced later. Again and again, fear becomes policy, then discrimination, then regret. It’s the dirty secret of what must be sacrificed to join the American fabric. Years later, we sit in theaters, enthralled by these stories, conveniently forgetting just how terrible we were at the time.

One day, someone will make a movie about this moment too — about the fear we chose to embrace or reject, the voices we silenced or defended.

Ask yourself: What part will you have played? The hero — or the villain?