Immigrant, American

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When you think of an American, what—or who—comes to mind?

I recently listened to a podcast in which celebrity author, TV host, and restaurateur Eddie Huang discussed the challenges of growing up Asian in America. There are many aspects of the interview that resonated with me, both as a scholar and a child of immigrants.

What struck me most about his comments were the complex ways Huang has navigated racism and xenophobia throughout his life as an ethnic minority and child of Taiwanese immigrants. Critical of being perceived as a "model minority," Huang forged his identity in the spaces between acceptance and rejection by others. Paradoxically, his love of hip hop made him not Asian "enough" even as he was racially bullied on the playground for being Asian.

Belonging neither here nor there, Huang's experiences illustrate what it feels like for many children of immigrants, as Latino, Asian, and Black youth in many research studies, including my own, report being treated unfairly, socially excluded, or held to different expectations due to their ethnicity or race. Young people also know that such treatment reflects a larger societal milieu in which being black and brown is devalued. Numerous scholars—a sampling of whom are referenced below—have found that such experiences undermine the mental health and academic engagement of youth of color, many of whom are children of immigrants. Indeed, exposure to discrimination is among the greatest challenges youth experience in acculturating to the U.S.

American vs. Americanized

Listening to Huang's reflections led me to reflect on my own upbringing as the child of Costa Rican immigrants. For most of my childhood we lived in Queens, which was then and still remains among the most ethnically diverse urban areas in the U.S., and my neighborhood was a place where I had friends and classmates from quite literally all over the world. Up to that point, the kids I grew up with—White ethnic (Greek, Turkish, Jewish), Latino (Colombian, Peruvian, Ecuadorian), and Asian (Filipino, Korean, Chinese)—were what I knew of America. It was simple: By virtue of citizenship, I was American and they were, too, and having an immigrant heritage was just part of the American-ness equation.

It was only when we moved to south Florida that I first heard someone use "American" as something that did not quite apply to me.

Moving to a neighborhood with many White residents with no apparent immigrant heritage and going to school with their children made me acutely aware of the difference between being technically American by birth and being "Americanized." To many immigrant parents, including my own, the rights and privileges afforded to the former label were desirable, to be sure. But—whether right or wrong—being "Americanized" was viewed as anathema to the values and traits these parents hoped to inculcate in their children. By simply observing peers' and adults' behaviors in schools, many immigrant youth also eventually learn what researchers have shown: People of color cannot freely claim "Americanness," because for many, "American" = White.

Immigrant America is a place of acceptance and rejection—you are foreign and not foreign at the same time. Moreover, the more foreign you appear to others, the more likely it is that you will be exposed to blatant racism and social exclusion. As they grow up, U.S.-born children of immigrants must develop their own definition of what it is to be an American, one that is expansive enough to fit their complicated experiences within this society. And they must do so as adults in even the highest ranks freely and openly derogate the Latin American, African, and Asian countries from which their parents and grandparents migrated.