An Immigrantâs Search for What It Means to Be American
Defining my American identity through personal experience
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I was 25 years old when I first set foot on American soil, carrying only a single suitcase, two hundred dollars, and a head full of dreams.
It was 2003, and the air hummed with a peculiar mix of post-9/11 paranoia and the relentless optimism that seems baked into the countryâs DNA. I remember thinking, âThis is it. This is where I become an American.â
Little did I know that âbecoming Americanâ would be a journey far more complicated than simply crossing a border or taking an oath of citizenship.
Fast forward to July 4th, 2005.
Iâd been in the country for two years and was invited to an Independence Day barbecue in Pelham Park, Bronx. Imagine a Norman Rockwell painting coming to life, with star-spangled banners and enough potato salad to feed a small army.
There I stood, paper plate in hand, eagerly awaiting my turn for a cheeseburger, when I heard it â a stage whisper from Mrs. Evans, the neighborhood busybody: âOh, how wonderful that sheâs embracing our traditions! Will she be serving any of her⌠ethnic food?â
My cheeks burned as I pretended not to hear, suddenly aware that my presence was seen as a novelty, a splash of exotic flavor in an otherwise homogeneous dish.
That moment, standing in the scorching sun with the scent of grilled meat in the air and the distant pop of firecrackers, was when I truly understood that being American wasnât just about legal status or length of residency. It was something more elusive, a secret handshake I hadnât quite mastered.
The Paradox of American Identity
Nearly two decades later, with a U.S. passport in my pocket and an American twang creeping into my accent, Iâm still grappling with that same question: Will I ever be considered truly American?
Itâs a doubt that lingers for countless immigrants, an invisible burden carried by those whoâve encountered the thinly veiled, âBut where are you really from?â
According to a 2021 Pew Research Center study, about 14% of the U.S. population is foreign-born.
Thatâs about 45 million people â more than the entire population of Canada â each grappling with some version of my previous Fourth of July question.
But hereâs where it gets interestingâââThe same study found that 20% of Americans say that to be âtruly American,â a person must have been born in the United States.
Which begs the question: what about the other 80%? What are their criteria?
A fondness for pumpkin spice lattes?
Can you recite all fifty states alphabetically while chugging a Bud Light?
Tale of Two Americans: Rahul vs. Brittany
The truth is, âAmerican-nessâ is as challenging to define as jazz â you know it when you hear it, but good luck explaining it. Itâs a shape-shifter, a chameleon that changes color depending on whoâs looking at it.
And for those of us perpetually on the outside looking in, it can feel like chasing a mirage in the desert â always just out of reach, no matter how fast we run.
Take my friend Rahul, for example. Born and raised in Milwaukee, Rahul is as American as cheese curds and disappointed in the Packersâ playoff performance. He speaks with a Midwestern twang thick enough to spread on toast, and his knowledge of obscure state fairs is encyclopedic. Yet, at least once a week, someone compliments him on his âexcellent Englishâ or asks which part of India heâs from.
On the flip side, thereâs my colleague, Brittany. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed, Brittany could be the poster child for Middle America. Sheâs never been asked about her ârealâ origins, even though she was born in Norway and didnât become a U.S. citizen until she was 34.
The disparity between Rahul and Brittanyâs experiences highlights an uncomfortable truth: for many, âAmerican-nessâ is still intrinsically linked to a âcertainâ look, a particular phenotype that screams âI descended from the Mayflowerâ (ignoring, of course, the fact that everyone on the Mayflower was, by definition, an immigrant).
This perception isnât just subjective. A 2019 study found that Americans tend to mentally represent their national identity with the image of a white person, even when presented with information about the nationâs diversity.
The Fundamental Need for Belonging
Because this isnât just about looks or language or the ability to name all the presidents in order (admit it, youâd struggle after the first 10). Itâs about something far more fundamental: belonging.
Psychologists have long recognized belonging as a basic human need, right up there with food, water, and WiFi (okay, maybe not that last one, but you get the point). We are hardwired to seek acceptance and to want to be part of the in-group.
And in a nation that prides itself on being a melting pot (or a salad bowl, or a cultural mosaic, or whatever food-based metaphor is currently in vogue), the question of who belongs can be particularly fraught.
As a woman navigating this landscape, Iâve found that gender adds yet another layer to the complexity of American identity. Thereâs a unique intersection between being a woman and being an immigrant â double othering if you will.
Itâs in the way people assume Iâm submissive or traditional because of where Iâm from or the surprise on their faces when I assert myself in a meeting. Itâs in the constant pressure to be a âmodel minority,â to work twice as hard to prove I belong here.
So, where does that leave those of us perpetually caught in the limbo of âalmost American, but not quiteâ? How do we navigate a landscape where our citizenship is unquestioned, but our American-ness is constantly up for debate?
I propose a radical idea: what if we flipped the script entirely? Instead of asking, âWill I ever be considered American enough?â what if we asked, âIs America ready to expand its definition of American-ness?â
Because hereâs the thing â America has always been in a state of becoming. This nation has been an experiment, a work in progress since its inception. The America of today would be unrecognizable to its founders and thank goodness for that.
Weâve expanded our understanding of who can be a citizen, vote, and marry. Why not expand our understanding of who can be considered truly American?
This isnât just feel-good kumbaya talk. Itâs an economic necessity. In an increasingly globalized world, Americaâs diversity is its superpower. A 2019 study by New American Economy found that 45% of Fortune 500 companies were founded by immigrants or their children. Thatâs nearly half of Americaâs most successful businesses, created by people who might not pass the âAre you really Americanâ test at a neighborhood barbecue.
So, whatâs the path forward? How do we bridge the gap between the America that is and the America that could be? I humbly suggest a few strategies:
Welcome the Hyphen: Instead of seeing hyphenated identities as diluted versions of American-ness, recognize them as uniquely American expressions of identity.
Rewrite the Narrative: Challenge media representations of what an âAmericanâ looks like. Demand diversity not just in front of the camera but behind it, too.
Education, Education, Education: Push for curricula that reflect American historyâs and contemporary societyâs true diversity.
Call It Out: When you hear someone question another personâs American-ness based on their appearance, accent, or name, speak up. Be an ally.
Celebrate Complexity: Recognize that American identity, like all identities, is multifaceted and ever-evolving. Thereâs no one way to be American.
Claiming My American Identity
As for me, Iâve come to realize that my American-ness isnât defined by how others see me but by how I see myself. Itâs in the way I tear up a little every time I hear the National Anthem at a ballgame (even though I still donât understand the rules of baseball).
Itâs in my fierce defense of the Oxford comma and my borderline religious devotion to brunch. Itâs in how I complain about taxes while simultaneously being grateful for public libraries.
Itâs also in the memory of that crisp autumn day when I stood in a crowded room, my voice cracking with emotion, as I swore an oath to protect and defend this country.
As the words âI hereby declare, on oathâ left my lips, I found myself unexpectedly sobbing â not out of fear or regret, but from an overwhelming sense of belonging and responsibility.
At that moment, with tears streaming down my face and my right hand raised, I wasnât just becoming a citizen on paper. I was accepting a personal truth: This is my home, and I am as American as anyone born on this soil.
Will I ever be considered American by every person I meet? Probably not. But Iâve realized thatâs okay. Because being American isnât about fitting into someone elseâs definition â itâs about continuously redefining what America can be.
So the next time someone asks me where Iâm really from, I think Iâll smile and say, âIâm from here. Iâm an American woman, shaped by my journey from there to here. Where are you from?â And then Iâll invite them over for a barbecue. Iâll even serve some of my âethnic foodâ alongside the apple pie.
After all, isnât that mix of flavors and traditions the most American thing?
Thank you so much for reading.
I have been waiting for this essay because I knew you would say it and say it so much better than I could. Thank you so much. You hit that note perfectly.
I recently wrote a note right here on substack (that was largely ignored) stating that I am an immigrant and I am afraid. I am in the Midwest and surrounded in people of a political bent that denounce and vilify immigrants. What will happen to us when they and their guns are called out. (If the election result is not to their liking for instance).
I am afraid what happens next for my friend the chef who was born in Mexico and struggles with English who sends kitchen scraps out for my pigs who has worked here for ten years, pays taxes and rent, has two kids to an American wife and still they are holding up his citizenship. I am afraid what will happen in the next few months. I am afraid we are on the firing line. Immigrants. Do we need to make a plan?
Often I hear: oh I love your accent. (Thank you I was born with it) Where are you from? (Far far away) I bet you get asked that all the time (yep - all the damn time). Smile, Cecilia. Donât look scary, Cecilia. Donât make them mad. But these people believe they are being kind really, (as long as I play along and donât bite) not caring that they just pointed out to me and the whole check-out line behind me that I donât belong and they donât quite understand me because I speak funny.
Anyway. I said something once - I canât remember even what it was - and I was roundly told that if I donât like it here to go back where I came from. âThis is how we do it hereâ.
So - yeah - thank you for this most excellent piece of writing.
And I have blue eyes.
I actually donât care if I donât belong anywhere. I just donât want to be scared. And the last few weeks down here in rural America have been scary.
This is powerful, Neela. It is a daily question I ask myself: What are you doing to remove biases, stigmas, prejudices, even deep seeded junk that you may not even realize you are carrying? I'm listening more than I speak. Unlearning, relearning, and creating space. I'm committed to stop being an #Ally and start being an #Accomplice. #DoBetter
đbeing American isnât about fitting into someone elseâs definition â itâs about continuously redefining what America can be.đ