At 2 AM, the remittance shop in New York's Chinatown is still lit, and delivery rider A-Qiang hesitates with his crumpled $800—this is the money meant to send back home to his mother in rural Fujian for medical treatment, but soon $40 will be taken away. 'This is equivalent to me working for free on 20 delivery orders,' he taps on the counter glass with his calloused fingers, while the construction workers and kitchen helpers behind him nervously shake off the cement dust from their work pants.
The proposal for a '5% cross-border remittance tax' on Capitol Hill in Washington is like a drop of water in hot oil, instantly exploding among 4.5 million immigrant families. Those wearing reflective vests, hustling on construction sites and pushing cleaning carts overnight, must now recalculate their budgets: the living expenses that a father in Bangladesh sends to his disabled sister back home, the regular remittances a Filipino caregiver sends to support her three nieces' tuition, and the lifesaving money a Mexican gardener sends to buy blood pressure medication for his elderly mother—all will be sharply reduced.
'This is not just a tax bill; it's a patch on the American dream.' The data presented by immigration policy researcher Maria at the hearing is shocking—over 60% of immigrant families in the U.S. send more than 15% of their income in remittances each month. While suited lawmakers debate whether the anticipated $3.6 billion in tax revenue can fill the financial gap, countless A-Qiangs outside the glass curtain wall of Midtown Manhattan repeatedly press '×0.95' on their phone calculators.
The rust-red cables of the Golden Gate Bridge sway in the twilight, reflecting the deep paradox of this proposal: relying on immigrants to build a superpower while simultaneously draining their lifeline to their homeland. As the line at the Western Union counter grows longer, one cannot help but ask: Is it really sustainable to enrich the treasury by squeezing the hardest-working groups in the nation with such 'American speed'?