How To Turn More Immigrants Into Americans
July 3, 2002

By Tamar Jacoby

The federal marshal overseeing the swearing-in ceremony kept calling them “the citizens”—as in “The citizens should file in first,” “Guests and family members, take a seat among the citizens.” And though they weren’t citizens yet, there was no mistaking how proud this made them.

Virtually no one among the 300 or so immigrants being sworn in as new Americans at the Daniel P. Moynihan federal courthouse last Friday was taking it casually. You could tell from the hushed tone in the wood-paneled courtroom. (Someone sitting near me said it felt a little like church.) You could tell from the way they stood up—one man in a turban and a “God Bless America” T-shirt, several women in traditional African garb, most looking like ordinary, working New Yorkers – to recite the Oath of Allegiance. But most of all, you could tell from the way the citizens talked about what they were going through.

“I did it because of the rights,” said Sara Medina, 40, a Dominican woman who works in a juvenile detention center. “In my country, we don’t get those kinds of freedoms.” “I realized how much better it is here,” explained Shirley Barth, 29, also from the Dominican Republic, who makes a living cleaning hotel rooms. “Over there, in my country, I could never get what I have here.” “I did it to vote,” Jose Cappellan, 26, offered in such halting English it was hard to believe him, until he started listing the local officials he was getting ready to vote for.

Even those who gave more practical reasons—because it’s easier to travel on a U.S. passport, or because they fear an anti-immigrant backlash in the wake of 9/11—couldn’t end the conversation without waxing a little patriotic. Virtually no one mentioned the more tangible benefits that dubious Americans sometimes suspect are at work: access to welfare benefits, or the right to bring additional relatives into the country. (Indeed, many heaped scorn on those who did it merely for “convenience.”) And even those who couldn’t articulate what they felt radiated a kind of quiet commitment: “I just knew it was the right time for me,” said one Thai woman who’d been living in the U.S. for 30 years. “I knew it was time to make it official.”

Of course, not all immigrants feel this way. In fact, despite a surge in applications since 9/11, those who do are a minority, growing smaller all the time. In 1970, nearly two-thirds of the foreigners living in the U.S. had become citizens. By the 2000 census, the figure had dropped to 38%—with only 28% of Latin Americans and 20% of Mexicans doing it. Not surprisingly, this has alarmed many Americans, and it is one of the top reasons anti-immigrant groups cite for restricting the number we allow into the country. After all, the argument goes, if they’re not going to assimilate, why do we want them here?

In truth, there are many reasons why the foreign-born don’t take the trouble to naturalize. It can be a daunting process, especially if your English is less that perfect. There are several tests: in civics and history, and in English. The INS bureaucracy, the one-to-two-year processing time, the $310 fee, even the 10-page form can seem off-putting. And many immigrants, often struggling to get by on two or even three jobs, say they don’t feel they need it. “We were fine here,” an older couple explained last week. “We had green cards, we worked, we didn’t have any problems—and many people already treated us as if we were citizens.”

For many, it seems, becoming naturalized is like getting married when you’ve already been living together. The question is what the U.S. could or should be doing to encourage it—an increasingly pressing question in a nation where a tenth of the population is foreign-born.

Some people—and some groups—are more likely to take the plunge than others. Where you come from clearly has something to do with it, with those who feel that it wouldn’t be hard to go home far less inclined to make a full commitment here. (That’s surely one reason why the rate among Asians is more than double the figure for Central Americans.) The more income you make, the more educated you are and—perhaps most important—the longer you’ve been in the U.S. also increase your chances. (Only 13% of those who arrived since 1990 have gotten around to it – compared to 70% of those who’ ve been here 20 years or more.)

All of which might suggest we should just let nature take its course—since most people eventually make the leap anyway. Maybe so, but in a country increasingly fragmented by race and ethnicity, we ought to be doing all we can to encourage a sense of cohesion—and conversations with immigrants suggest that many would welcome more encouragement.

Certainly, that was how the nation reacted the last time immigration soared and naturalization rates sank. The Americanization movement of the early 20th century has a bad name these days. But in fact, it aided millions of immigrants, particularly in its early years, before World War I. And both its successes and its failures hold important lessons for today.

A broad array of Americans and American institutions participated: from pro-immigrant do-gooders to unabashed racialists who thought the newcomers inferior, from settlement houses and ethnic organizations to business titans like Henry Ford. Almost all the nation’s big-city governments were involved. So were the federal bureaucracy and the public school system. Together, this vast, informal public-private network offered a broad array of services—most importantly, English and civics classes.

The movement eventually went awry, becoming harshly coercive, even xenophobic. And today, as in the past, some people want to try to force the transition: making English the official language or mandating classes, as some European countries do. (In Germany, for example, new immigrants may soon be required to undergo an astonishing 600 hours of German instruction.) But at its peak—its most effective, early years—the Americanization movement knew better. This was the United States, after all—the land of freedom and opportunity. Far more effective, the early Americanizers understood, to persuade and seduce, even while making classes available to all who wanted them.

The movement did this in a variety of ways. Some were showy: big July 4th celebrations, for example, touting the benefits and status that came with citizenship. Others were more prosaic: the Bureau of Naturalization sent the name and address of every immigrant who applied for citizenship to a local institution that could provide English classes. The government published a civics textbook; factory-owners gave time off for learning. Perhaps most important, we as a nation left no doubt: we expected new immigrants to make the leap eventually, becoming full Americans.

There’s no reason why this shouldn’t be possible again today, even in multicultural America. The last thing we need is a new layer of federal bureaucracy—and the government alone is hardly up to the challenge. (New York State currently spends some $2.5 million a year to encourage naturalization. Even so, according to a study by the New York Immigration Coalition, with more than a million immigrants in New York City who would like to take English classes, there are only 50,000 slots available.) But surely the government could do more to encourage others—employers, faith-based organizations, community groups—to provide services, using tax incentives and other inducements to leverage private money.

At the very least, the INS could make the naturalization process more efficient. Not easier or less demanding: new citizens are adamant—they don ’t want that. (On the contrary, out of more than a dozen interviewed last week, only one wanted to make the English test easier, and most thought it should be harder.) But the INS ought to follow though on its promise to reduce the processing time to less than six months. (In New York, the average has been cut to 16 months—an improvement, but hardly enough.)

Finally—and arguably most useful—the mainstream can make clear that becoming a citizen is the expected norm. Why not make it a mantra—reinforced by public-service advertising, immigrant-community peer pressure and bully-pulpit politicians, ethnic and otherwise—that every new American be naturalized within 15 years of arriving in the U.S.?

The mistakes of the 1920s remind us: you can’t strong-arm this. You can’t coerce commitment of the kind on display at the Moynihan courthouse last week. But as immigrants themselves often make clear, it helps if the nation expects and demands it. “It only makes sense,” one new citizen explained last week. “We’re newcomers, and sometimes scared or shy. Why doesn’t the country set some standards?”

©2002 New York Sun

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