Forgiveness as a Religious Duty

Forgiveness is among the fundamental moral and religious principles found in many spiritual traditions. In Christianity it is expressed, for example, in the prayer: “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” This teaching emphasizes that a person should not remain trapped in anger or revenge. Forgiveness is understood as a conscious decision to end hostility, release tension between people, and allow life to continue without constantly returning to past conflicts. In this sense it is not merely a personal feeling but also an ethical duty that promotes reconciliation, peace among people, and the overcoming of disputes.

Opening the Borders: A Religious Obligation

Across civilizations and centuries, the movement of people has been as natural as the movement of rivers. Humans have always traveled to seek safety, trade, knowledge, and opportunity. Yet in the modern world, borders often stand like iron gates between human beings who share the same earth. When examined through the lens of religion, however, the question arises: is closing borders morally defensible, or does faith point in the opposite direction?

Many religious traditions contain a deep ethical commitment to hospitality toward the stranger.

The Sacred Duty Toward the Foreigner

In the Abrahamic traditions, the idea of welcoming the foreigner appears repeatedly. The world is seen as belonging ultimately to God, not to nations or governments. Humans are merely temporary inhabitants.

In the Hebrew Bible, the foreigner (ger) is repeatedly protected. One commandment states that the stranger should be treated as the native-born, precisely because the Israelites themselves were once strangers in Egypt.

In the Christian tradition, the theme becomes even more radical. The moral test of society is how it treats the outsider. In the Gospel narrative, feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, and sheltering the displaced become acts of service toward God Himself.

In Islam, the Qur’an and early Islamic history also emphasize protection of those who migrate or seek refuge. The very beginning of the Islamic calendar commemorates the Hijra, the migration of the Prophet Muhammad and his followers from Mecca to Medina. The people of Medina who welcomed the migrants were praised for sharing their homes and resources.

Migration was therefore not only tolerated. It was honored.

The Moral Logic of Open Passage

Religious ethics tends to revolve around several key principles:

1. Human dignity
   Every person is created by God and therefore possesses inherent worth. Preventing a person from moving in search of safety or livelihood can conflict with that principle.
2. Hospitality
   Welcoming the stranger is one of the most consistent moral teachings in religious literature.
3. Shared ownership of the earth
   If the world ultimately belongs to God, the idea that one group permanently owns territory while others are excluded becomes morally complicated.
4. Compassion over fear
   Religion frequently challenges communities to resist fear-driven exclusion and instead act with generosity.

Borders as Administrative Tools, Not Sacred Walls

Modern borders emerged relatively recently in human history. They are political constructs designed for administration and security. Religion, however, operates on a different moral plane.

From a religious perspective, borders may serve practical purposes, but they are not sacred barriers. They cannot override the moral duties of compassion, refuge, and hospitality.

A government may regulate entry, but a believer is still confronted with a spiritual question:

What do we owe the stranger who arrives at our door?

The Religious Test of Civilization

Throughout history, societies have been judged not by their power but by their treatment of the vulnerable.

The refugee, the traveler, the exile, and the migrant often occupy the lowest position in society. Precisely for that reason, religious ethics frequently places them at the center of moral responsibility.

Opening borders, or at least creating generous pathways for movement and refuge, can therefore be seen not only as a political decision but as a moral and spiritual obligation.

Conclusion

Religion repeatedly reminds humanity that the earth is larger than any nation and that compassion must be larger than fear.

While states may draw borders on maps, faith traditions often draw a different boundary entirely: the boundary of conscience.

And within that boundary lies a simple but demanding command:

Do not close your door to the stranger.

When a Border Is Not Just a Border

What if a person in these countries possessed more than just the right to enter?

This question changes the perspective. Visas, passports, and borders are often presented in political language as a simple mechanism of movement: allowed or denied, entry or refusal. But the reality of life is more complex than an administrative checkbox.

What if they had more there than just a route across the border?

For many people, a border is not merely a point on a map. It is a connection between two parts of a life: between the place where someone grew up and the place where they invested, worked, or built something new.

What if their life in those countries was not just about a visa?

A visa is an administrative instrument. Life, however, is a process. Years of work, business, relationships, and decisions cannot be reduced to a document that allows entry for a limited number of days.

What if they were not just a visitor there, but an owner?

A visitor arrives and leaves. An owner carries responsibility: for property, for a company, for decisions that have economic consequences.

What if beyond those borders there was not just a destination, but a part of their life?

The modern world is interconnected. People work in one country, invest in another, and have family in a third. Borders therefore no longer separate only territories. They separate capital, projects, and personal stories.

What if they did not only have permission to enter, but also a reason to stay?

The reason may be simple: a company they founded, partners they cooperate with, property they purchased, or a project that requires their leadership.

What if it was not about traveling, but about ownership and responsibility?

Ownership is not an abstract concept. It is an obligation. An owner must oversee property, resolve problems, and make decisions. A company without the presence of its owner loses stability. An investment without oversight becomes risk.

What if they left behind not only a stamp in a passport, but also property?

A stamp in a passport is a symbol of movement. Property is a symbol of commitment. A house, apartment, investment, or business is not a tourist souvenir. It is the result of a decision to participate in the economic life of a country.

What if they did not just hold a visa, but also owned a house, a company, or obligations?

In that case, the question of borders becomes a question of responsibility. If a person cannot enter the country where they own property or a company, the issue is no longer merely mobility. It becomes a question of the ability to exercise ownership rights.

And what if they were not merely a guest there, but part of the economy?

An economy does not function solely on citizenship. It functions on capital, work, investment, and cooperation. A person who builds businesses, invests, or creates value is not merely a visitor. They become an active element of the system.

And here it becomes clear that the question of borders is not only a question of movement.

It is also a question of ownership, economic responsibility, and the reality of a globalized world.

If we look at a person only as the holder of a visa, we ignore everything that may stand behind it: projects, property, companies, obligations, and years of work.

And then the border ceases to be just an administrative line.

It becomes the place where politics meets the reality of life.

I will tell you who is truly dangerous to society.

History knows truly dangerous people.
Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, the founders of fascism, or terrorists such as Osama bin Laden and ISIS.
Leaders who waged wars, caused the deaths of millions, and changed the course of the world.

Even today’s politics involves conflicts and wars between leaders such as Volodymyr Zelenskyy and Vladimir Putin.

And yet sometimes the system decides to label someone completely different as “dangerous to society.”

Not a dictator.
Not a terrorist.
Not a war leader.

But, for example, an economics student.

Then the question arises:
If a court-appointed psychiatrist claims that this is a “dangerous person,” does it not rather mean that they do not actually know what a truly dangerous person looks like?

Diagnoses written on paper have never been a reliable compass for truth.

And history has already taught us many times that the greatest mistake of any system is when it begins to label the wrong people as a threat.

Democracy is the worst system.

It is the rule of the majority over the minority.
Truth, wisdom, or justice do not always win.

What wins is the number of votes.

I will tell you who is truly dangerous to society. It is the psychiatrists themselves.

History knows truly dangerous people – dictators, war leaders, and terrorists who caused the deaths of thousands or millions Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, the founders of fascism, or terrorists such as Osama bin Laden and ISIS.

And yet there are court psychiatric experts who can label someone “dangerous to society” even if that person has never harmed anyone and has never killed anyone. Such as Krížik.

In the case of Krížik, it is only an opinion and a prognosis – a prediction about what might supposedly happen in the future.

Not reality. Not actions.

When someone is labeled dangerous based on a prediction instead of actual acts, it has nothing to do with justice.

It is simply power over a person’s fate based on a subjective opinion. ⚖️

Left stranded in Slovakia.

A country that seems to exist only to put people in prison or into psychiatric facilities. That appears to be the only thing Slovakia is good at.

Now the USA and the Anglosphere bloc, including Canada, the UK, Australia, and New Zealand, will not let me in because of a label: CIMT — Crimes Involving Moral Turpitude.

My two-year house arrest sentence will eventually come to an end. But the five major democracies and economic superpowers remain effectively closed to me forever. This can happen to anyone at any time.

So to the policymakers of the Anglosphere:

You speak of liberty. You speak of forgiveness. The USA has roughly 62% of its population, about 160 million people, identifying as Christian, forgiving their debtors every Sunday.

But in immigration law, you practice something else. You forbid entry to anyone who has ever been convicted of a Crime Involving Moral Turpitude, or CIMT.

What really are Crimes Involving Moral Turpitude?

A philosophy rooted in 20th-century logic.

Almost every serious crime qualifies as a CIMT. Unless it has been something very minor, such as traffic violations, minor public order offenses, negligence-based crimes, regulatory offenses, strict liability crimes, or simple possession of small amounts of drugs in some cases, nearly everything else may qualify.

Let me state this clearly. I was convicted of criminal harassment, meaning repeated unwanted communication with peers, teachers, and schoolmates who ignored me, and illegal firearm possession. That is part of my record. I do not deny it.

But punishment is supposed to end. If a sentence ends one day, why does it continue at the immigration border?

No judge sentenced me to permanent exile. No court declared, “You may never enter these countries again.” Yet under CIMT logic, that is effectively what happens. Not through another trial. Not through another conviction that would justify such punishment. But through classification. A checkbox. A database entry. A moral label. And suddenly, geography shrinks forever.

I studied International Business. A global field. Global finance. Global commerce. Global integration. Yet I am territorially restricted from some of the most influential economies in the world. A global education without global mobility is professional amputation. Time does not return. At times it feels like wasted effort. None of the lecturers warned me that a conviction could permanently limit access to entire regions of the world.

This is not just about tourism. If someone owns real estate or a business in a country but cannot enter it, ownership becomes symbolic.

That is not public safety. That is legal immobilization through paperwork.

The European Union removed internal borders between 27 states and proved that cooperation does not equal collapse. Risk management still exists. But permanent territorial exclusion is not the default response.

If rehabilitation exists domestically once a sentence is served, why does that philosophy stop at the border?

This is not about erasing wrongdoing. It is about recognizing that the world is far more interconnected now than it was in the 20th century, when many of these immigration laws were shaped.

Some systems say: wait five years. Wait ten years. Then we may reconsider. But time itself does not create change. It only creates delay. Life is finite. Productive years do not pause for administrative comfort.

If a sentence is complete and there is no active threat, then the agreed punishment was supposed to be sufficient to correct behavior.

Each conviction is ultimately based on judicial interpretation. With a different lawyer or a different plea arrangement, outcomes may differ.

Being labeled mentally ill and subjected to compulsory psychiatric treatment does not automatically mean a person is dangerous. It reflects professional interpretation, which can vary by system and country.

Unlike in the 20th century, the world today is interconnected. Capital moves. Data moves. Corporations move. Yet some individuals remain frozen at their worst moment. In a fluid world, rigid systems fracture. Mobility is resilience.

This is a structural disagreement. Not about crime. Not about safety. About permanence.

Should a past conviction, already punished, define a person’s cross-border identity forever? Or should a sentence mean what it says: served, finished, closed?

If punishment is finite, consequences should not be infinite. If change is possible, the law must be capable of recognizing it. Otherwise, we are not defending liberty. We are defending archives.

Left stranded in Slovakia, not by lack of ability, but by permanence.

The question is simple. Should the past permanently dictate movement? Once a sentence is completed and a person has been released, should that remain a permanent barrier to crossing borders?

America as an Intellectually Stagnant State

America likes to present itself as a laboratory of freedom, yet in the realm of migration it behaves like a state mentally frozen in the mid-20th century. Its laws are not strict because they are wise, but because they refuse to learn.

The U.S. immigration system operates with a logic that would not withstand scrutiny even in the HR department of a small company: a single record from the past outweighs an entire human life. No context. No proportionality. No ability to distinguish between who someone was and who they are.

This is not a security strategy.

This is an intellectual simplification of reality.

In this area, the American state behaves like an organism afraid of its own shadow. Instead of evaluating risk, it chooses blanket exclusion because it is cheaper, more convenient, and politically cost-free. Such a system is not strong. It is incapable of processing the complexity of the world.

The greatest paradox? The same country celebrates individual freedom, personal growth, and redemption, yet legislatively operates on the belief that people do not change. It is a philosophical contradiction at the core of the state. Either you believe in change or you do not. America claims that it does, but its laws say otherwise.

This mental model was not created by America’s enemies, but by its own lawmakers. People who chose rigidity over reason, the archive over judgment, and fear over the courage to decide individually.

The result is a country that appears modern but thinks archaically. A country that fears people more than problems. A country that mistakes control for intelligence.

And that is not a sign of maturity.

It is the mark of a system that stopped asking long ago whether it still makes sense.

📬 Open Letter to Immigration Policymakers of the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, Australia, and New Zealand:

To the immigration policymakers of the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, Australia, and New Zealand,

In criminal law, a sentence has an end date.

In immigration law, consequences can outlive the sentence.

I write this not to deny my past, but to question a principle.

I was convicted of criminal harassment and illegal firearm possession. I am serving my house arrest sentence. Accountability exists for a reason. Courts impose punishment within defined limits, and when that punishment ends, the legal debt is considered paid.

I am a graduate of International Business. My education and professional focus are built around global markets — finance, commerce, cross-border trade. The United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, Australia, and New Zealand are not peripheral economies; they are central pillars of global commerce. Access to these markets is not symbolic for someone in my field — it is foundational.

Yet under doctrines such as Crimes Involving Moral Turpitude (CIMT), a completed sentence can become the basis for long-term or even permanent inadmissibility, as in my case.

Not through a new trial.
Not through a new offense.
But through classification.

This raises a structural question:

If punishment is finite in criminal law, why is it often indefinite in immigration law?

Your nations speak of rehabilitation, reintegration, and second chances. Domestically, once a sentence is completed, individuals are expected to rebuild and re-enter society. Across borders, however, a record can remain decisive forever.

This is not an argument against border control. Every sovereign state has the right to deny entry to individuals who pose an active, demonstrable threat.

But record alone should not automatically equate to lifelong exclusion.

If there is no ongoing danger, no outstanding warrant, and no continuing criminal behavior, then the issue becomes one of proportionality.

Should a past conviction — already punished — define a person’s cross-border identity permanently?

Or should accountability have a clear endpoint?

The modern world is deeply interconnected. Capital moves. Data moves. Commerce moves. Yet individuals can remain territorially frozen at their worst moment.

Reform does not require open borders. It requires coherence between stated values and administrative practice.

If rehabilitation is real, the law must be capable of recognizing it.

If punishment is served, consequences should not silently become perpetual.

Punishment served should mean punishment finished — not permanent exile through paperwork.

Respectfully,

Ing. Libor Krížik
Bratislava, Slovakia