by Liam Kennedy, University College Dublin, [This article first appeared in The Conversation, republished with permission]

The case of Seamus Culleton – who was detained by US immigration agents in Boston in September 2025 – is proving a diplomatic headache for the Irish government ahead of a visit to the White House on St Patrick’s Day.

Culleton arrived in the US in 2009, overstaying his visa. He married a US citizen last year and obtained a valid work permit, and was in the process of applying for permanent residency when he was apprehended by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers and detained. He has remained in detention in Texas since. A US court has now issued a temporary order staying his deportation.

Culleton’s case shines a rare light on the “undocumented” Irish in the US, a group that is rarely mentioned in US discussions around illegal immigration. The very idea of being undocumented in the US is associated with people from Mexico and Central and South America, not white people of European descent.

That perception reflects the racial exceptionalism that has long shadowed the Irish push for immigration reform in the US.

This history largely began in 1965, when the Immigration Reform and Nationality Act, also known as the Hart-Celler Act, radically changed conditions of immigration into the US. One effect was to reduce the numbers of Irish able to legally settle in the US.

Since the late 1960s, there have been efforts by successive groups to push for immigration reform that would advantage Irish immigration. While this work led to some successes, there was ultimate failure to secure comprehensive immigration reform.

Since the 1980s, advocacy has been primarily driven by Irish-born immigrants. At that time, the US saw an influx of immigrants leaving an economically impoverished Ireland. Many overstayed their tourist or student visas, and became undocumented – having no legal status in the US. It is estimated that there are 10,000 undocumented Irish living in the US today.

During research I was involved with in Chicago in 2017, a number of undocumented Irish consented to be interviewed anonymously. They were notably uneasy due to the recent election of President Trump and his avowedly anti-immigrant stance, expressing a sense of increased fear and uncertainty.

Equally, they were conscious that their race made them less visible to the authorities than the large numbers of undocumented people of Hispanic heritage. One interviewee commented: “People don’t think that we would be undocumented. I’m white, I can speak English, I’m Irish … that is not what the Americans are thinking of.”

The majority of our interviewees and survey respondents favoured immigration reform for undocumented Irish. But several observed that there can be opposition to such reform within the Irish community. A first generation Irish priest who had close relations with Irish communities, including the undocumented, commented: “Those who have legal status in the Irish community are not supportive, and sometimes opposed to the undocumented Irish. There’s pushback more so than in the Latino community … the Irish are quite divided.”

This schism between settled and sojourner Irish in the US is rarely mentioned, yet significant. The undocumented Irish take on a symbolic resonance, disrupting the common success narrative of how the Irish “made it” in the US.

In the past, the law was applied leniently to overstays who were building a life in the US, giving them opportunity to regularise their status. But in the second Trump administration, as ICE more rigidly and aggressively apprehends people who are deportable, the unease of undocumented Irish is even more heightened.

A St. Patrick’s Day dilemma

Irish Taoiseach Micheál Martin is in a difficult position as his visit to Washington approaches. According to a statement by Martin, there are “five to six” cases of Irish citizens currently detained by ICE. There is little clarity on how many have already been deported or how many have elected to quietly return to Ireland.

Irish opposition politicians and others in Ireland have taken up Culleton’s case to berate Martin for not doing enough to stand up to Trump. Some have demanded he pull out of the visit, which would be diplomatically awkward – Martin does not want to pull out of the scheduled meeting with Trump and all it entails for Ireland-US relations.

This is a volatile period in those relations. Trump is deeply unpopular in Ireland. Underneath this is a growing Irish disconnect with the US, including a notably conservative Irish America.

Martin can’t admit any of that, of course. His job is to steer a safe and prosperous course, making his visit to the White House without causing headlines. On the Culleton case, he is adamant that a softly-softly diplomatic approach is best, saying: “Let’s not do anything that could make that even more difficult. This cannot be resolved in the public domain.”

That approach appears to have been made more challenging by Culleton’s decision to speak out about his case and about conditions in the Texas detention centre. He described it to national Irish broadcaster RTE as “a modern-day concentration camp” and said he feared for his life.

The discovery that Culleton was facing drug charges in Ireland at the time he moved to the US may further complicate the story, perhaps diminishing popular Irish support. It is also likely to harden the determination of US homeland security officials to deport him.

The story also has resonance due to the fact that Culleton is white. The last year has seen much debate about whether ICE’s actions have been targeting people of colour. Some conservative commentators are pressing for Culleton’s deportation to signify that ICE is colour-blind – “Yes, Even White, Irish Illegal Immigrants Must Be Deported” runs the headline of a Fox News opinion piece.

Whatever the outcome of Culleton’s case, it has already turned a spotlight on the fraught racial politics around being Irish and undocumented in America.

Liam Kennedy, Professor of American Studies, University College Dublin

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.