When “Shall” Means Enforce the Law: Capacity, Control, and the Reality of Execution
From the Craig Bushon Show Media Team
In a recent address at CPAC Hungary, Eva Vlaardingerbroek delivered a message that has been circulating widely: a nation is not just a legal system—it is a civilization shaped over time. Her argument was aimed at Europe, but the structure of that argument maps directly onto a growing debate in the United States.
Not as a copy-and-paste. But as a framework.
Because when you strip away the headlines and rhetoric, the U.S. border debate is no longer just about policy. It is about whether a country can align its laws, its operational systems, and its long-term direction at the same time.
And right now, those three things are not fully aligned.
The starting point is the law itself.
U.S. immigration statutes are not ambiguous in their structure. They use the strongest possible directive—“shall.” Individuals arriving at the border shall be inspected. Those deemed inadmissible shall be removed. Those who claim fear shall be processed. Certain categories shall be detained. Those with final orders shall be deported within defined timeframes.
These are not optional guidelines. They are requirements.
But they do not operate in isolation.
They stack. And when they stack, they collide with reality—limited personnel, court backlogs, detention capacity, and coordination gaps. The result is not the absence of law, but inconsistent execution.
That gap—between what the law requires and what the system can deliver—is where the entire debate actually lives.
At the center of this tension is a critical distinction written directly into federal law: the difference between “shall” and “may.”
When Congress uses the word “shall,” it is creating a duty. It is directing the executive branch to act when specific conditions are met. These are binding requirements. They define the baseline of how the system is supposed to function.
When Congress uses the word “may,” it is granting authority. It allows flexibility. It permits prioritization. It acknowledges that not every situation can be handled identically in real time.
But the order matters.
“May” exists within a system built on “shall,” not the other way around.
The structure of the law is mandatory first, discretionary second. That is how it is written, and that is how it is intended to function.
In practice, however, agencies operate under constraints—limited personnel, court backlogs, detention capacity, and competing legal obligations. That reality requires prioritization. It requires judgment. It requires discretion in how resources are deployed.
But discretion is not a substitute for obligation.
“May” is not designed to override “shall.” It is designed to operate within it.
When “may” begins to determine whether “shall” is applied at all, the system is no longer operating as written—it is operating as interpreted.
That is where the real debate begins.
Not over whether discretion should exist—it must. But over whether discretion is being used to manage the law, or to effectively redefine how and when it is enforced.
This is where Vlaardingerbroek’s framework becomes relevant.
Whether you agree with her conclusions or not is not the point. The mechanism she is describing is the point. A sustained gap between what governments say they are doing and what their systems actually produce over time. That gap does not stay contained to policy. It compounds. And when it compounds long enough, it changes outcomes in ways that are difficult to reverse.
Translated into an American context, the question becomes:
Is the United States operating an immigration system that is aligned with its long-term structural goals, or one that is reacting in real time without full control over outcomes?
The data adds another layer.
At the population level, immigrants—both legal and illegal—commit crimes at lower rates than native-born citizens. That is consistent across multiple studies. But that is not what most people experience.
What people experience are visible pressure points:
- Schools absorbing sudden population increases
- Housing systems tightening under demand
- Healthcare networks managing uncompensated care
- And occasional high-profile incidents that raise legitimate questions about screening and enforcement
Those incidents, while statistically limited, are not abstract. They are real. And they force a question that sits at the center of this debate:
Could a system with stronger control, better screening, and more consistent execution have reduced preventable risk?
From there, the conversation moves to infrastructure.
The southern border spans roughly 2,000 miles. But terrain matters. Rivers, mountains, and remote desert already act as natural barriers. When you isolate the areas where crossings are most feasible, the practical target for physical infrastructure is closer to 800 to 1,000 miles.
Of that, approximately 460 to 500 miles of modern border wall—steel bollard systems built in recent years—have been completed.
That places the United States somewhere between 45 percent and 57 percent complete in terms of modern barrier coverage in the areas that realistically require it.
But even that number needs context.
Much of that construction replaced older, ineffective fencing. Expansion into previously unprotected corridors remains limited. Which means the question is no longer just how much has been built, but whether what has been built is part of a functioning system.
And this is the pivot point.
A border wall is not a system. It is a component.
Its primary function is not to stop everything. It is to channel movement into controlled entry points—modern equivalents of structured intake systems where identification, screening, and legal processing can actually occur.
Without that routing and without the processing capacity behind it, the “shall” in the law cannot be executed consistently.
Which brings us back to Vlaardingerbroek’s core theme.
Her argument is that policy decisions, sustained over time, shape the trajectory of a nation in ways that are not immediately visible but become significant over decades. Whether one agrees with her conclusions or not, the underlying mechanism is real:
Systems produce outcomes.
And when systems lose alignment—when laws, execution, and long-term direction diverge—those outcomes become predictable.
In the United States, the law has not disappeared. Congress still writes it. The word “shall” still carries weight. But execution depends on capacity, prioritization, and system design.
That is why two administrations operating under the same law can produce very different results.
Not because the law changed. But because the system applying it did.
The real question is not whether the United States has immigration laws.
It does.
The real question is whether it has built a system capable of carrying them out in a way that is consistent, scalable, and aligned with the country’s long-term direction.
The law exists. The system is incomplete. And if you read between the lines, the problem is not what Congress has written—it is what the system is actually producing. Until those two are aligned, the country will continue debating symptoms while the structure remains unchanged.
Disclaimer:
The views expressed in this article are those of the Craig Bushon Show Media Team and are intended as commentary and analysis, not statements of fact regarding any individual or entity. While efforts have been made to ensure accuracy, no guarantees are made regarding completeness or current applicability. This content is not legal advice and should not be relied upon as such.
