In the US, Cars Need Visas Too

Support CleanTechnica’s work through a Substack subscription or on Stripe.

Imagine this scene:

The line at the border stretched for miles. Cars idled nervously, their engines humming like anxious hearts. Above the checkpoint, a new sign gleamed in bureaucratic glory: “Protecting America from Chinese Cars Act — Effective Immediately.”

A customs officer stood behind a glass booth, stamping passports and VIN numbers with equal authority. “Next!” he barked. A silver BYD sedan rolled forward, its headlights flickering like pleading eyes.

“Purpose of visit?” the officer asked.

“Tourism,” said the car, its voice polite, its battery charged. “I just wanted to see Niagara Falls.”

The officer frowned. “Country of manufacture?”

“China.”

The stamp came down hard: DENIED.

The sedan sighed, reversed slowly, and joined the line of rejected vehicles waiting to be escorted back to Canada.

Behind it, a Volvo approached, wearing a Swedish badge but carrying Geely DNA. “I’m European,” it insisted, waving a passport embossed with the blue-and-gold stars of the EU.

The officer squinted. “You look Chinese to me.”

“I’m adopted,” Volvo said softly.

The officer hesitated, then stamped PROVISIONAL ENTRY. “You can stay ninety days. No mapping military bases.”

Next came a Jaguar, polished and proud, its grille shaped like a smirk. “British nobility,” it declared.

The officer flipped through its documents. “Built by Chery in Wuhu.”

Jaguar coughed. “Exchange student.”

The officer sighed. “Fine. But you’re on probation.”

In the far lane, a BYD bus waited quietly, its windows reflecting the California sun. It had already crossed the border years ago, ferrying commuters through Los Angeles. Nobody noticed it anymore. It was the sleeper — the undocumented worker of the automotive world.

Inside the booth, the officer’s phone buzzed. A message from headquarters: “Reminder: Tesla batteries, Apple iPhones are exempt from inspection.” He looked at his own device, made in China, brimming with cameras and GPS sensors, and laughed.

“Cars need visas,” he muttered, “but phones get diplomatic immunity.”

In the grand theater of American trade policy, cars have become immigrants. They arrive at the border with their headlights wide open, their trunks packed with dreams, and their dashboards glowing with ambition. But like people, they are sorted into categories, stamped with visas, and judged not by their horsepower but by their passports.

The lucky ones are the green card holders. Toyota, BMW, Hyundai — they’ve built homes in Kentucky, South Carolina, Alabama. They’ve planted roots, raised families of SUVs, and paid their taxes in the form of union jobs and property investments. These cars are permanent residents. They roll confidently across the border, their VIN numbers practically engraved on the Statue of Liberty.

Then there are the H1-B cars. Stellantis imports Leapmotor EVs, Volkswagen ships ID.4s from Europe. These are the skilled workers of the automotive world. They’re allowed in, but only under sponsorship. They must prove their worth, renew their papers every few years, and live under the constant fear of deportation back to the factory.

And then, of course, there are the visa-denied cars. BYD, Chery, MG — the unlucky ones. Even if they sneak into Canada, they are barred from crossing into the United States under the Protecting America from Chinese Cars Act. They are treated like inadmissible aliens, suspected of espionage, even if all they want to do is commute to Buffalo. Their dashboards are accused of spying, their cameras of plotting, their GPS systems of mapping out military bases.

VinFast, the Vietnamese hopeful, occupies a special category. It is the conditional resident, the fiancé visa of the automotive world. It is building a factory in North Carolina, applying for its green card. Until then, its SUVs are on tourist visas, allowed in because Washington likes Hanoi’s geopolitical résumé. VinFast is the favored immigrant, not born in America but politically useful enough to be waved through immigration while others are stuck in detention.

But the visa bureaucracy doesn’t end there. Volvo and Polestar, owned by Geely, arrive at the border with Swedish passports. They are the dual citizens, insisting they are Scandinavian even though their family tree is rooted in Hangzhou. Jaguar, built by Chery in China, shows up in a tweed jacket, sipping Earl Grey, claiming aristocratic British lineage while its VIN number betrays Wuhu origins. And then there are the BYD buses in California — already inside the country, rolling through Los Angeles and San Francisco, carrying passengers who don’t realize they are riding in what lawmakers call “surveillance packages on wheels.” They are the undocumented workers of the automotive world, sleeper agents hiding in plain sight, their batteries humming quietly as they gather intelligence on traffic patterns and taco truck locations.

And here lies the great irony. Apple iPhones — all made in China — are waved through customs like diplomats. They contain the same geolocation, camera, and microphone features that supposedly make Chinese cars a national security threat. Yet nobody suggests banning iPhones at the border.

They stroll past security with diplomatic immunity, their screens glowing smugly. If cars need visas, shouldn’t phones too? Imagine a border guard asking, “Sir, does your iPhone have a work permit?”

The Protecting America from Chinese Cars Act was introduced early this June by Michigan lawmakers Elissa Slotkin and Haley Stevens, both representing districts tied to Detroit’s auto industry. The bill’s intent is to prohibit connected vehicles manufactured or designed in China, or by companies with significant Chinese ownership (15% or more), from entering U.S. territory — even temporarily from Canada or Mexico.

Not being an American, I cannot understand the pains that push lawmakers to protect its turf. I do know the pains of Detroit having lost its grip on an industry basically started by America and the Ford Model T. I also don’t see it just as an import ban; it’s a border exclusion law, treating Chinese cars as potential surveillance devices (which, if true, can be defeated by American testing standards and talents) rather than consumer goods.