During my final year of university, a seemingly innocent decision to linger after class spiraled into an unexpectedly uncomfortable dialogue. My Spanish professor, a seasoned Latinx educator, had sparked my love for the language and its rich cultures. Her extensive travels and linguistic prowess fascinated me, and I often stayed behind to learn more about her life beyond academia.
On this particular day, our casual conversation drifted toward our family backgrounds. After she shared her lineage, she inquired about my family’s origins and how long we had been in the United States. At first, I thought she was joking, but when my awkward grin failed to convey my surprise, I revealed that my ancestors had been in America for centuries.
Her reaction was telling. She shook her head, clearly skeptical that someone like me—someone who didn’t fit her preconceived notions of American ancestry—could have deep roots in this country. As a Black woman, I felt compelled to address the painful truth of my heritage: my family’s history in America is intertwined with the brutal legacy of slavery, a fact that should have been acknowledged in that moment.
I found the encounter cringeworthy. Surely, an educated individual like her must have understood how slavery reshaped the demographics of the United States. If she lacked a foundational awareness of the trans-Atlantic slave trade that forcibly brought my ancestors here, it raised serious questions about her understanding of race and racism. I wanted to believe she was aware, but she let me down.
Her question, though not intended to hurt, illuminated a broader societal misconception: the belief that non-white individuals cannot claim American citizenship by birthright. This notion echoes throughout our society, perpetuated by those who define nationality through the lens of skin color. It’s a perspective that is not only damaging but also fundamentally incorrect.
The prevailing narrative around immigration and citizenship often excludes people of color, reflecting a troubling trend in the U.S. education system that presents a whitewashed version of history. We are taught that historical figures were predominantly white, with only token mentions of marginalized groups. This misrepresentation leads to the dangerous belief that being white is synonymous with deserving citizenship and honor.
Racism manifests itself in various forms, both overt and insidious, as individuals who don’t meet a biased standard of citizenship are told to “go back to their country.” The diversity of those perpetuating these harmful messages is striking, yet the underlying sentiment is disturbingly similar to the assumptions made by my professor.
Until society recognizes that white individuals are not the exclusive heirs to American citizenship, we will continue to witness hate and division. It’s disheartening to see some people of color acting as gatekeepers of white supremacy, perpetuating the mistreatment of their fellow non-white Americans, whether documented or undocumented.
Even within my own family, I’ve encountered abhorrent views that I reject as vehemently as I would from any white individual. The land we inhabit cannot truly be owned; it was created for everyone to share. If we can come together, it will remain long after we are gone. I staunchly believe that citizenship should not dictate someone’s right to traverse imagined borders. No one should be told to “go back” when they are already home.
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In summary, our understanding of American citizenship must evolve. It’s crucial to acknowledge that people of all backgrounds have legitimate claims to this identity. Until we embrace this truth, we risk perpetuating the cycles of hate and exclusion that harm our society.
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