What if I'd never left? A case for living without borders.
My story of moving freely. And the thought that nations are just something we made up.
Throughout my life, I’ve lived in eight cities, across six countries, on four different continents. Each time, it involved packing a bag that fit in an overhead compartment and navigating a bit of red tape. That’s the extent of the “pain” I’ve experienced: airport lines, visa forms, the occasional Kafkaesque bureaucratic loop (some worse than others, of course).
But lately, I keep asking myself: what if?
What if I’d never had the chance to leave my country?
What if, instead of being welcomed, I had been met with suspicion, judged, mistreated, even criminalized, just because of the way I look?
I read the news: more and more countries closing their borders. Building walls. Creating prisons for people whose only “crime” is not being from here. The narrative is always the same: us vs. them. Stricter immigration laws. Harsher rhetoric. And I wonder:
What if my skin was a different color?
What if I’d been born somewhere else, purely by the randomness of fate?
How different am I, really, from someone who crosses a border to flee war, escape hunger, or simply build a better life?
I moved to study. I moved for work. They move to survive.
Why does it get easier for me than for them? Is this even fair?
This is my case for a world without borders.
Why Borders Were Created
Borders didn’t always exist.
For most of human history, we organized ourselves around kin, cities, empires, or religion. Loyalty was to a ruler, not a flag.
It wasn’t until 1648, after years of religious wars in Europe, that the idea of modern borders was born. The Peace of Westphalia marked a turning point. It said: each ruler should have control over their land. No outside interference. Sovereignty, defined by borders, became the rule.
At first, this was about peace.
Then came the idea of power. Rulers needed legitimacy. And slowly, the people became central to that.
By the 18th century, revolutions started to flip the script. The American and French revolutions introduced something radical: a government should represent not a king, but a nation. A group of people, united by language, values, or culture.
And so, we created flags. National anthems. Myths. Symbols that made us feel like we belonged to something bigger.
Europe unified. Latin America fought off empires. Asia began to shape new identities too. The idea spread fast.
But here’s the thing: it’s all very recent. Nations, as we know them, are just a few centuries old. Barely a blink in the timeline of human existence.
What Makes a Nation, a Nation?
So what are we really talking about, when we talk about a nation?
Not just land. Not just laws.
A nation is a shared story.
It’s a group of people who believe they belong together, even if they’ve never met. It’s built on:
A common language and shared culture
Stories and myths that define a past (even if partly invented)
Values, sometimes tied to religion or secular ideals
A connection to a homeland, real or imagined
A sense of political identity, often formalized by citizenship
We grow up learning the same songs. Saluting the same flags. Studying the same heroes. And over time, we come to see each other as “us.”
Political scientist Benedict Anderson called nations “imagined communities.” Because that’s what they are. Social constructs. Beautiful ones, maybe. Powerful ones, yes. But imagined all the same.
And they’re taught. Reinforced through schools, media, laws, national holidays.
A nation exists because enough people believe in the idea of it.
Will It Always Be Like This?
Maybe not.
Some signals suggest we’re already rethinking what it means to organize ourselves.
The European Union lets people move, work, and live across borders as if those borders barely matter.
International institutions now hold more power: the UN, WTO, WHO, shaping policies that go beyond any one country.
We face global problems: climate change, pandemics, inequality. And we solve them better together.
Cultural borders are blurring. Pop culture, the internet, and migration are creating a more mixed, global identity.
Local and regional movements (like Catalonia, or Kurdish regions) are asking if smaller, closer-to-home communities make more sense than large national ones.
Still, nationalism hasn’t disappeared. In fact, it's having a comeback.
People feel disoriented. Globalization moves fast. Some respond by clinging harder to flags, borders, and the idea of “us vs them.”
But we have a choice.
So, if nations are recent...
If we already have the tools to collaborate across borders…
If we’ve proven it’s possible to live, work, and move freely, as millions do across Europe today…
Then maybe it’s time to ask:
Why can’t we build a world where movement is not a privilege but a right?
Where borders don’t decide whose life is worth more?
Where being human is enough?
Image generated by AI.
Slight utensil overload and too few glasses. Still, a table like this, shared across cultures, might do more than most peace talks.