Election Day Reflections: Citizenship, Voting, and Belonging

Today is Election Day. I have already cast my ballot, but I am tempted to walk over to my neighborhood polling station to see who is turning out to vote. I have lived in the same Washington, DC, house for more than three decades, in a predominantly immigrant neighborhood. I know many of my neighbors, and I have watched our community change over the years.

This year, the changes have been particularly troubling. Some of my neighbors have been deported. Others have returned to their countries of origin because they were afraid to remain in the United States. On Halloween, there were no trick-or-treaters at my door. Admittedly, their numbers have dwindled over the years as neighborhood children grew up. But lately, fear seems to have become another reason for staying indoors. My Latino neighbors organized trick-or-treating inside the large apartment building across the street.

What does this have to do with voting? Quite a lot, I think.

As an anthropologist who has spent much of her professional life studying migration, and as a naturalized US citizen, I have long been interested in how immigrants participate in American political life. Do naturalized citizens vote? How do they decide whom to support? And do they see themselves represented by the people seeking public office?

When I began working in the refugee field in the 1980s, I often heard colleagues describe the political preferences of former refugees as something of a paradox. Many, particularly those who had fled communist regimes, were thought to favor Republican presidential candidates because of their foreign policy positions, even as they hoped to benefit from the social services and assistance programs traditionally championed by Democrats.

I never found these preferences particularly contradictory. People can care about international affairs and their immediate economic circumstances simultaneously. A refugee who fled political persecution might have strong views about American foreign policy while also worrying about employment, housing, health care, and the education of their children. Nor should we assume that immigrants from the same country, much less all naturalized citozens, vote alike.

There was another recurring concern in those discussions: the supposedly disappointing electoral participation of naturalized citizens. I was always struck by the expectation that immigrants should demonstrate an exceptional commitment to civic participation, as though acquiring citizenship carried an obligation to be more politically engaged than people who acquired theirs at birth.

The numbers do show a difference. According to the U.S. Census Bureau's recently published report on the 2024 presidential election, approximately 58 percent of eligible naturalized citizens voted, compared with 66 percent of native-born citizens. Naturalized citizens represented 10.1 percent of eligible voters but 8.9 percent of those who actually cast ballots. But aggregate figures can obscure important differences. In the 2016 presidential election, for example, 53 percent of eligible naturalized Hispanic citizens voted, compared with 46 percent of their US-born counterparts—a reversal of the overall pattern.

That gap deserves attention. But it also deserves explanation rather than moral judgment. Naturalized citizens are not a homogeneous electorate. They differ in age, education, income, country of origin, migration history, and length of residence in the United States. Interestingly, recent Pew Research Center data show that naturalized eligible voters are, on average, older than their U.S.-born counterparts and have somewhat higher family incomes. These are characteristics generally associated with higher voter participation. Clearly, there is more to understand about the factors shaping their political engagement.

A survey conducted in October 2026 for the National Partnership for New Americans offers another perspective. Among 1,000 registered naturalized citizens, 90 percent said they had already voted or intended to vote in the midterm elections. Of course, stated intentions are not the same as actual turnout, and registered voters are not representative of all eligible citizens. Nevertheless, the findings suggest considerable political interest.

What interested me even more were the respondents' concerns. Seventy-eight percent identified grocery and food prices as a major issue, while 53 percent reported feeling less secure in their citizenship. And 65 percent said neither major political party had contacted them in recent months.

These findings raise questions not only about whether naturalized citizens participate in elections, but also about whether political parties make meaningful efforts to engage them.

Representation is another matter. The growing number of naturalized citizens elected to public office is encouraging. A 2020 Bipartisan Policy Center discussion highlighted the increasing political presence of immigrants and their children, including in Congress and state legislatures. But having an immigrant background does not automatically mean that an elected official represents the interests of immigrant communities. Shared experiences can matter, but so do policies, political commitments, and accountability.

My own relationship with US citizenship has been shaped by experiences that preceded naturalization. I arrived from Poland in the early 1980s and spent several years without legal immigration status. After martial law was imposed in Poland, the Reagan administration granted Polish nationals extended voluntary departure, allowing people like me to remain and work legally, at least temporarily. I eventually obtained permanent residence through the now-defunct sixth-preference immigration category for highly skilled professionals—the same provision used by Mikhail Baryshnikov.

I remember the uncertainty of those years, but also the opportunities that followed. I was able to work, conduct research, and eventually build a professional and personal life in the United States.

There is considerable irony in the fact that I, a committed Democrat, now find myself recalling Republican presidents whose administrations provided protection and opportunities to immigrants. It is a reminder that US immigration policy has not always followed today's partisan divisions.

I also know that my own experience was shaped by advantages that many immigrants do not enjoy, including being white, highly educated, and fortunate enough to have supportive family members and colleagues. I wrote about these circumstances in 2018, when the Trump administration moved to end DACA protections. I was reminded then, as I am now, that immigration status is not an abstraction. It determines whether people can work, travel, plan their futures, and live without constant fear.

And that brings me back to my neighborhood.

Some of the people whose absence I notice cannot vote because they are not US citizens. Others may be naturalized citizens who can vote but are uncertain whether the political system recognizes their concerns. Still others may simply be preoccupied with the ordinary demands of daily life.

We should certainly encourage every eligible citizen to participate in elections. But perhaps we should stop treating the voting behavior of naturalized citizens as a test of their gratitude or their worthiness to belong.

Citizenship confers equal political rights. It should not impose unequal standards of civic virtue.

As we head to the polls today, I find myself thinking not only about who will vote and who will win, but also about those whose lives will be profoundly affected by the election and who have no vote at all.

And about what it means to belong to a democracy when some of your neighbors are increasingly afraid to step outside their doors.