Article|Archive
Matthew Morrison, a 69-year-old Irish immigrant and nurse in Missouri who became an immigration example in the late 1990s, left for Ireland on July 21 after living in the United States for 40 years due to fears of removal by the Trump administration.
Why It Matters
Morrison's self-deportation has brought further attention to the complicated realities faced by long-term undocumented immigrants in the U.S., especially those with historic convictions or high-profile political backgrounds. His case, uniquely tied to historic U.S.–Ireland relations, was previously referenced during the Clinton administration as part of U.S.'s efforts to support the Northern Ireland peace process.
Morrison's departure also underscores the anxiety and uncertainty experienced by noncitizens who fear changes in immigration enforcement policies, particularly those perceived to be at higher risk during political shifts.
What To Know
Morrison worked for roughly 20 years as a psychiatric nurse supervisor in Missouri, including stints at a children's hospital and several state mental health facilities. He also presented at the St. Louis County Police Academy on topics including mental health and de-escalation tactics.
He told The Marshall Project that he voluntarily left the U.S. due to fear of detention by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) under President Donald Trump's administration.
"I would bite the dust in an ICE holding cell," Morrison said prior to going home to Ireland. "There is nothing to stop them from deporting me to Ecuador, South Sudan or whatever. It's really gotten insane here. It's crazy what they are doing now, the Trump administration. You know what I mean?"
Morrison told The Marshall Project that although his work authorization expires in October, he didn't want to spend the next few months in anxiety worrying about being deported.
On July 21, he and his wife reportedly boarded a one-way flight from Cleveland to Dublin and left behind a life in the St. Louis area that includes grown children, grandchildren and friends.
"I've come full circle," Morrison said. "I came here as an immigrant and I am leaving as an immigrant, despite everything in between. The whole thing is a crazy, stressful situation."
Morrison first arrived in the U.S. in the mid-1980s after serving time in prison in Northern Ireland due to his involvement with the Irish Republican Army (IRA) during "The Troubles."
In 1985, he married his American pen pal, Francie Broderick, and had two children, Matt and Katie. Morrison later remarried to his current wife, Sandra Riley Swift.
He once served as a symbolic figure in American–Irish diplomacy. The former member of IRA previously spent 10 years in prison, convicted of attempted murder in a 1976 raid on a British barracks. Other ex-IRA men, all in the New York area, faced deportation for similar reasons.
In 1995, Morrison's wife flew to Belfast while President Bill Clinton was in the region, attempting to garner his attention and protect him from deportation, according to the Associated Press. By 1997, the family received more than $70,000 in donations to help with legal fees.
The case for Morrison and others like him drew support from local and international lawmakers, notably due to IRA members being characterized by the U.S. government as terrorists.
The Missouri Legislature passed a resolution in 1996 urging the Immigration and Naturalization Service to drop deportation proceedings against him. Members of the Derry City Council in Northern Ireland followed suit across party lines, approving a resolution urging Clinton to suspend his deportation.
Morrison's struggle won support from countless Americans, including neighbors in this suburban St. Louis community to state legislators to members of Congress.
The Irish Northern Aid, a nonprofit organization that helps families of Irish political prisoners, and the Ancient Order of Hibernians also have come to his defense.
In 2000, the Clinton administration ultimately terminated the deportation process against Morrison and five others. Then-Attorney General Janet Reno said in a statement that she had been advised by Secretary of State Madeleine Albright to drop deportation proceedings to "support and promote the process of reconciliation that has begun in Northern Ireland."
Clinton at the time said the termination was "in no way approving or condoning their past criminal acts." However, the ex-president echoed the sentiment of contributing to peace in Europe.
What People Are Saying
Matthew Morrison's son, Matt, 37, to The Marshall Project about his father's scheduled check-in with U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services in June in St. Louis: "We were terrified that they were just going to take him right there...He has to live under that fear of somebody knocking on the door and dragging him out of the house, just like they did in Derry when he was young. I hate it. I am just worried about him. Until recently, I hadn't heard him cry about it."
Morrison's daughter, Katie, to The Marshall Project: "Even though he's still alive, I feel like I am grieving. It's a huge loss for me and my children."
What Happens Next?
Swift has a house in St. Charles, Missouri, as well as family in the U.S., The Marshall Project reported. After helping Morrison transition into an apartment in the town where he grew up, she wrote in a social media post that she's going to travel between both countries for a while.
Matthew Morrison, a 69-year-old Irish immigrant and nurse in Missouri who became an immigration example in the late 1990s, left for Ireland on July 21 after living in the United States for 40 years due to fears of removal by the Trump administration.
Why It Matters
Morrison's self-deportation has brought further attention to the complicated realities faced by long-term undocumented immigrants in the U.S., especially those with historic convictions or high-profile political backgrounds. His case, uniquely tied to historic U.S.–Ireland relations, was previously referenced during the Clinton administration as part of U.S.'s efforts to support the Northern Ireland peace process.
Morrison's departure also underscores the anxiety and uncertainty experienced by noncitizens who fear changes in immigration enforcement policies, particularly those perceived to be at higher risk during political shifts.
What To Know
Morrison worked for roughly 20 years as a psychiatric nurse supervisor in Missouri, including stints at a children's hospital and several state mental health facilities. He also presented at the St. Louis County Police Academy on topics including mental health and de-escalation tactics.
He told The Marshall Project that he voluntarily left the U.S. due to fear of detention by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) under President Donald Trump's administration.
"I would bite the dust in an ICE holding cell," Morrison said prior to going home to Ireland. "There is nothing to stop them from deporting me to Ecuador, South Sudan or whatever. It's really gotten insane here. It's crazy what they are doing now, the Trump administration. You know what I mean?"
Morrison told The Marshall Project that although his work authorization expires in October, he didn't want to spend the next few months in anxiety worrying about being deported.
On July 21, he and his wife reportedly boarded a one-way flight from Cleveland to Dublin and left behind a life in the St. Louis area that includes grown children, grandchildren and friends.
"I've come full circle," Morrison said. "I came here as an immigrant and I am leaving as an immigrant, despite everything in between. The whole thing is a crazy, stressful situation."
Morrison first arrived in the U.S. in the mid-1980s after serving time in prison in Northern Ireland due to his involvement with the Irish Republican Army (IRA) during "The Troubles."
In 1985, he married his American pen pal, Francie Broderick, and had two children, Matt and Katie. Morrison later remarried to his current wife, Sandra Riley Swift.
He once served as a symbolic figure in American–Irish diplomacy. The former member of IRA previously spent 10 years in prison, convicted of attempted murder in a 1976 raid on a British barracks. Other ex-IRA men, all in the New York area, faced deportation for similar reasons.
In 1995, Morrison's wife flew to Belfast while President Bill Clinton was in the region, attempting to garner his attention and protect him from deportation, according to the Associated Press. By 1997, the family received more than $70,000 in donations to help with legal fees.
The case for Morrison and others like him drew support from local and international lawmakers, notably due to IRA members being characterized by the U.S. government as terrorists.
The Missouri Legislature passed a resolution in 1996 urging the Immigration and Naturalization Service to drop deportation proceedings against him. Members of the Derry City Council in Northern Ireland followed suit across party lines, approving a resolution urging Clinton to suspend his deportation.
Morrison's struggle won support from countless Americans, including neighbors in this suburban St. Louis community to state legislators to members of Congress.
The Irish Northern Aid, a nonprofit organization that helps families of Irish political prisoners, and the Ancient Order of Hibernians also have come to his defense.
In 2000, the Clinton administration ultimately terminated the deportation process against Morrison and five others. Then-Attorney General Janet Reno said in a statement that she had been advised by Secretary of State Madeleine Albright to drop deportation proceedings to "support and promote the process of reconciliation that has begun in Northern Ireland."
Clinton at the time said the termination was "in no way approving or condoning their past criminal acts." However, the ex-president echoed the sentiment of contributing to peace in Europe.
What People Are Saying
Matthew Morrison's son, Matt, 37, to The Marshall Project about his father's scheduled check-in with U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services in June in St. Louis: "We were terrified that they were just going to take him right there...He has to live under that fear of somebody knocking on the door and dragging him out of the house, just like they did in Derry when he was young. I hate it. I am just worried about him. Until recently, I hadn't heard him cry about it."
Morrison's daughter, Katie, to The Marshall Project: "Even though he's still alive, I feel like I am grieving. It's a huge loss for me and my children."
What Happens Next?
Swift has a house in St. Charles, Missouri, as well as family in the U.S., The Marshall Project reported. After helping Morrison transition into an apartment in the town where he grew up, she wrote in a social media post that she's going to travel between both countries for a while.
