Hadrian’s Wall and the Case for Modern Borders: A Sceptical Look at Uncontrolled Immigration, By Richard Miller (Londonistan)
Hadrian's Wall, stretching 74 miles across northern England, stood for 300 years as the Roman Empire's bulwark against the untamed Caledonians of the north. Built in A.D. 122 under Emperor Hadrian, it was a marvel of engineering and a stark symbol of control, marking the boundary between Rome's civilised domain and the chaotic beyond. Its milecastles, turrets, and fortresses, manned by auxiliary troops, were a testament to the empire's resolve to protect its frontier. Fast forward to 2025, and the West faces a different kind of frontier challenge: uncontrolled mass immigration. With cultural, economic, and security pressures mounting, the question arises, does the West need a modern equivalent of Hadrian's Wall to safeguard its identity and stability?
Hadrian's Wall was not just a physical barrier; it was a statement of intent. The Romans, having subdued England and Wales by A.D. 61, faced relentless resistance from the Caledonians in what is now Scotland. Rather than expend resources on endless conquest, Hadrian opted for a defensible border. The wall, constructed from local stone and turf by the II, VI, and XX legions, was a pragmatic solution to a persistent problem. It wasn't impenetrable, raids still occurred, but it slowed incursions, controlled movement, and projected power. As Miranda Aldhouse-Green noted, the wall was an alien imposition, awe-inspiring to locals unaccustomed to monumental masonry. It said, unequivocally, "This is ours."
Today, the West grapples with a new kind of incursion: mass immigration, often unchecked and poorly managed. In Europe, the U.S., and even Britain, borders are porous, with millions crossing annually, legally and illegally. The UN's International Organization for Migration estimated 281 million international migrants globally in 2020, a number that has likely grown. In the UK, net migration hit 764,000 in 2022, with projections suggesting continued strain on infrastructure, housing, and social cohesion. Like the Caledonians, these flows are not inherently malevolent, but their scale and speed can overwhelm systems not designed for such pressure. Hadrian's Wall teaches us that clear boundaries, backed by enforcement, can stabilise a society under threat.
The argument for unrestricted immigration often hinges on moral or economic grounds: compassion for refugees, or the need for labour in aging societies. But these arguments sidestep the consequences of scale. In Britain, the NHS is stretched thin, with waiting lists exceeding 7.5 million in 2023. Housing shortages have driven prices to unaffordable levels, with average UK home costs at £288,000, far outpacing wage growth. Schools are overcrowded, and crime rates in some urban areas correlate with rapid demographic shifts, London's knife crime epidemic, for instance, has risen alongside population pressures. These are not abstract issues; they erode the social contract that binds communities.
Hadrian's Wall was not about xenophobia, but about control. The Romans allowed trade and interaction across the wall, but on their terms. Modern Western governments, however, seem paralysed by fear of appearing "unkind." The result is a free-for-all, where economic migrants mix with genuine asylum seekers, and vetting is minimal. In 2023, over 29,000 migrants crossed the English Channel in small boats, many undocumented. Without a clear boundary, literal or policy-based, the West risks becoming a pressure valve for the world's crises, from war to poverty to climate displacement. Hadrian's pragmatism suggests that compassion must be balanced with self-preservation.
The Vindolanda tablets, unearthed at a fort along Hadrian's Wall, reveal a diverse but ordered society. Auxiliary troops, often non-Romans, lived alongside commanders' wives and children. Yet, this diversity was structured, soldiers were bound by discipline, and even "illegal" marriages among lower ranks were tolerated only in controlled civilian settlements. The wall allowed Rome to integrate outsiders while maintaining its core identity. Contrast this with today's West, where rapid demographic change often outpaces integration. In parts of Europe, parallel communities have formed, with cultural norms clashing; think of Sweden's no-go zones or France's banlieue riots. The Vindolanda shoes, from men's size 14 to children's sandals, show a community that adapted to its environment but never lost its Roman character. Can the West say the same?
Security is another concern. Hadrian's Wall had milecastles every mile and fortresses every seven, ensuring rapid response to threats. Modern borders, by contrast, are often symbolic. The U.S.-Mexico border sees millions of crossings annually, with 2.5 million apprehensions of migrants in 2023 alone. In Europe, Frontex struggles to manage external borders, with 380,000 irregular entries in 2022. Terrorist attacks, like the 2015 Paris Bataclan massacre, have been linked to lax border controls. A modern "wall," whether physical, like Trump's border wall, or policy-based, like stricter visa regimes, could restore order without closing the door entirely.
Critics will argue that walls, physical or metaphorical, are relics of a less enlightened age. They point to globalisation's benefits, cultural exchange, economic growth, and warn that barriers foster division. But this ignores the reality of finite resources and cultural carrying capacity. Hadrian's Wall didn't stop trade or movement; it regulated it. A modern equivalent, robust border policies, merit-based immigration systems, or even physical barriers in high-traffic zones, wouldn't mean isolation, but control. The alternative is what we see now: overwhelmed systems, eroded trust, and rising populism as citizens demand action.
Hadrian's Wall was abandoned in the fifth century as Rome's empire crumbled, its stones repurposed for medieval castles. Yet its lesson endures: boundaries matter. The West doesn't need a literal 74-mile wall, but it needs the resolve Hadrian showed, a willingness to define and defend its frontiers. This could mean stricter immigration quotas, advanced border tech like drones and biometrics, or policies that value citizens' welfare without apology. The felling of the Sycamore Gap tree in 2023, a symbol of the wall's enduring presence, was a reminder that even cherished landmarks can fall to reckless acts. So too can societies, if they fail to protect what makes them distinct.
Uncontrolled immigration isn't just a policy failure; it's a refusal to learn from history. Hadrian's Wall stood for 300 years because it served a purpose: order in the face of chaos. The West, teetering under the weight of its own openness, could use a dose of that ancient pragmatism. A new "wall," be it policy, technology, or mindset, isn't about exclusion, but survival.
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