The 14th Amendment Was Never Yours: How Citizenship Was Built In Opposition To Black And Native Humanity
Thank you Reda Rountree (she/her) [https://substack.com/profile/2073006-reda-rountree-sheher], Mnera [https://substack.com/profile/18094558-mnera], Farrah Senne [https://substack.com/profile/271955116-farrah-senne], Louis DeVlugt Personal [https://substack.com/profile/189210972-louis-devlugt-personal], Copaganda [https://substack.com/profile/347196593-copaganda], and many others for tuning into my live video! Join me for my next live video in the app.
I just got done sitting in a convening about immigration with a bunch of pro-immigration workers, and I have thoughts. Before I get into them, though, I want to give a disclaimer, because my grandfather always said the pathway to hell was paved with good intentions, and what I’m about to lay down ain’t about accusing nobody of being nefarious, ain’t about accusing nobody of being intentionally anti-Black, ain’t about accusing nobody of being intentionally engaged in indigenous erasure. This is about impact, not intent. And as the kinfolks know, two things can be true at the same damn time — folks can mean well and still be perpetuating the exact erasure that the empire requires to function. Let that marinate.
I sat in that room and listened to a presentation on the 14th Amendment, listened to lawyers grapple with how the current administration is trying to overturn birthright citizenship, listened to scholars walk through how the 14th Amendment is being weaponized against immigrant populations — and the whole time I kept asking the same rhetorical question in my head, the question that has to be the starting point for any serious conversation about citizenship in this country: What does the subject position of being an immigrant or being a citizen mean for the Indian or for the Black? What has the concept of citizenship actually engaged when it comes to what it means to be Native, or what it means to be African American? Because for the folks in the back, the 14th Amendment ain’t just a 2026 immigration story. The 14th Amendment is birthed out of the Reconstruction era. 13th Amendment freed the slaves, 14th Amendment gave citizenship, 15th Amendment gave the right to vote — but only to Black men. You feel me? The presentation didn’t grapple with that. The presentation talked about the 14th Amendment as if it dropped out of the sky and landed in 2026 on the bodies of immigrants, when in actuality this amendment is birthed in blood, birthed in slavery, birthed in Reconstruction, and has been weaponized against the very people it was supposed to protect since the second the ink dried.
Education Is Elevation is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Most of us engage with citizenship through a very romanticized, sanitized understanding of what it is. So let me set up some questions, because Research over MeSearch — in 2026, will we say that Black people are citizens? Yes, obviously. African Americans in 2026 are still regarded as citizens. Do we understand that citizenship is supposed to come with the right to vote? Yes. But then what is the concept of citizenship meant for the Black body? It’s never guaranteed any type of safety. It’s never guaranteed what we’re supposed to believe comes with being a citizen. Though Black people are still regarded as citizens in 2026, legally we’re having our voting rights taken away. The very same Supreme Court that says it’s legal to racially profile against immigrant populations when it comes to citizenship is the same Supreme Court that says you have to engage in colorblindness when it comes to creating congressional maps. Let that marinate. Colorblindness is good, Supreme Court says, when it comes to drawing congressional districts that would actually give Black people political representation. But color consciousness is good for the Supreme Court when it comes to enforcing immigration. This illustrates the tension in how the law accounts for indigeneity and Blackness in a completely different way than the other subject positions, and you cannot have an honest conversation about immigration without grappling with this contradiction.
And for the Indigenous, the contradiction runs deeper. Do y’all know the 14th Amendment did not apply to Native Americans? Naturalized birthright citizenship did not apply to the Indigenous people of Turtle Island — the people that have been here for thousands of years. Legally speaking, Native Americans did not gain citizenship until 1924, with the Indian Citizenship Act. The 14th Amendment passes in 1868, and Native folks have to wait fifty-six more years to be legally recognized as citizens of the country that was built on top of their bones. And then even when they were granted citizenship in 1924, what did that mean for their humanity? What did that mean for the ongoing genocide they were facing? What did that mean for the boarding schools that were still actively destroying their children? Citizenship for Native Americans has never led to preserving their culture, never led to preserving their customs, never led to seeing their sovereignty, never led to them being able to get regular old rights of being a citizen. The legal concept of citizenship does not give what it’s supposed to give. And we know this because even now, even now, even now — Black people have been regarded as citizens since 1868, and yet how much legally have our citizenship been circumvented and continues to be circumvented regardless of us being seen as naturalized citizens of America?
This is where the romanticized framing of “America is a nation of immigrants” starts to crumble under the weight of historical analysis. When Zohran Mamdani says New York was built by immigrants, when Shaboozey says America was built by immigrants, I understand the intent — the intent is to dignify immigrant labor, to push back against the xenophobic right, to remind people that this country’s prosperity was constructed by hands that the empire would now like to deport. I get it. But the impact erases the history of chattel slavery, erases the fact that a bunch of Black people built this country before the Immigration Act of 1965 brought an influx of immigrants to a country that was already built. The milk and honey people came looking for? It was already created — by particular people, under the lash, under the whip, under the auction block. Then there’s the second erasure: when you call this a nation of immigrants, what does that mean for the Indigenous folks who were already here? What does that mean for the people who didn’t migrate, who didn’t choose, whose land was taken from underneath them? You feel me? When you frame the starting point of the American story as immigration, you’ve already erased two subject positions — the people who were forced here in chains, and the people whose land was stolen.
This is what Tuck and Yang call the settler’s move to innocence. The phrase “no one is illegal on stolen land” — said with the absolute best of intentions, said by Billie Eilish at the Grammys, said at every progressive rally — has a contradiction baked into it that does the work of indigenous erasure even as it claims to be solidarity. Who was the land stolen from? Do you know the specific tribe that is indigenous to the land you’re standing on when you make this statement? What does it mean for Native sovereignty when you present the starting point of the story as already-stolen land? Because if the land is just abstractly stolen, if the original people are just a hazy concept in the backdrop of your solidarity statement, then the land becomes available for redistribution among non-Native populations, and the Indigenous claim disappears into a vibe. Tuck and Yang argue that settlers reach for these moves to relieve the discomfort of being implicated in colonization without actually giving anything back. The slogan feels radical. The slogan does nothing for land back. The slogan, in fact, makes land back harder, because it converts a specific Indigenous claim into a universal humanitarian one. That ain’t the same thing.
I want to be clear about the Afropessimist intervention I’m making here, because some of y’all gonna read this and try to flatten it into Oppression Olympics. That ain’t what this is. Afropessimists like Frank Wilderson and Jared Sexton argue that anti-Blackness is antagonistic to America and to the world, while a lot of other injustices are seen as human conflicts. To understand the difference between a conflict and an antagonism: a conflict can be compromised. An antagonism is always one or the other. The relationship between America and Black suffering, between America and Indigenous genocide — that ain’t a conflict that gets resolved through better policy. That’s the structuring antagonism that makes America possible in the first place. America is structured and made possible through Black suffering and the genocide of Native Americans. If we’re talking about defending democracy, we have to deal with how democracy has never guaranteed freedom or safety for Indigenous folks in America or Black folks. Democracy in America is situated upon Black bodies and Native American blood. We don’t get it without that. So when we think about the romanticized ideals around what the law is supposed to do, the ideals don’t grapple with the material reality. The scholar in me and the nigga in me is asking, in the bare bones — what has citizenship guaranteed for the nigga and the native? What has equal protection meant for us? What has political representation in citizenship meant for our plight?
And here’s where the antagonism between pro-immigration discourse and Black/Indigenous discourse really comes home. After 1965, when you have non-Black, non-white immigrant populations migrating to America, and they want to prove they’re citizens in court, they have historically tethered their citizenship and humanity to whiteness. You go to the courthouse, you stand before the judge, you say “I’m a citizen because I’m white” — showing you the inherent anti-Blackness within the law itself. The law was structured in opposition to particular subject positions getting rights and humanity. So when in 2026 we start talking about immigrant rights, when we start talking about how we’re going to use the law to push back against birthright citizenship being overturned, we have to grapple with the fact that this very legal apparatus, from 1776 to 2026, has been the tool we’re being asked to believe in. And I gotta be honest with y’all — I was around a bunch of lawyers in that room, and it made me think about why I didn’t become a lawyer. I didn’t become one because epistemologically, which is just a fancy word for how we produce knowledge, I could never get down with the idea that the law could be discursively permuted to get whatever ruling we want. The law is very black and white. The more we deny that, the more we have these conversations about immigration rights with this antagonistic tension sitting in the backdrop unaddressed.
Two policies in 1965 tell this story plain. The 1965 Immigration Act opens the doors to non-white immigration in significant numbers for the first time. The 1965 Voting Rights Act gives Black people federal enforcement protection for the franchise that should have been ours since 1870. These two policies happen in the same year, and the tension between them has been shaping American political life ever since. Because of redlining, because of the legacy of slavery, because of being systematically excluded from banking — economic opportunities in the Black community got filled by other immigrant populations. Whether we talking about hair weave, whether we talking about the nail industry, whether we talking about beauty supply, whether we talking about food industries throughout America, this is the backdrop of living in the Black community. Black entrepreneurs were not given those opportunities. And me being in LA right now, the 1992 Rodney King riots happened in part because of the tension between these two communities — the Black community and the Asian community. If we gloss over that, act like it’s hunky-dory, whoop-dee-doo, we impact our ability to build genuine coalitions and solidarities. When Shaboozey said America was built by immigrants, it wasn’t just Black folks that was pissed off by that statement. When we make those types of declarations, we alienate particular people from particular communities who can’t f**k with the framing because the framing erases them.
Then you got Cesar Chavez, who is iconized as the immigrant rights hero, the patron saint of farmworker organizing. Even before we came out with the fact that he was a rapist, even before we came out with the documentation of his misogyny and patriarchy, we already knew he was anti-Black. We already knew that even though he was on immigrant rights, he would call ICE on undocumented farmers when they were undercutting his union. We have statements of him saying anti-Black s**t. So when L.A. is named after him, when Cesar Chavez is the figure that gets centered in pro-immigration mythology, what does that say about whose humanity is allowed to be complicated? Whose contradictions are forgiven? Whose anti-Blackness is folded into the heroic narrative because the broader project of immigration politics needs him? Two things can be true. Chavez did organizing work. Chavez was anti-Black. Refusing to hold both is what allows the antagonism to keep operating in the dark.
And let me tell you about indigeneity in California specifically, because this part don’t get touched enough. Right now in California, there are a bunch of Indigenous folks caught up in immigration politics and immigration law — because they get coded as Mexican, because they get coded as Latin American, because the colonial lens of America sees them as Spanish-speaking subjects rather than as Indigenous peoples of land that was theirs before Spain ever arrived, before the United States ever arrived. Gloria Anzaldúa wrote about this in Borderlands/La Frontera — the Mexicans didn’t cross the border, the border crossed them. You hear white conservatives telling Mexican people to go back where they came from, and I’m from Texas, born and raised, living in Texas now, and it makes me cringe every time, because nigga, hear it: they are in their home. You view their sovereignty, you view their indigeneity, through the lens of colonizers — i.e., this used to be a Spanish colony, so I’m going to view everybody in this colony as Spanish subjects, point blank period. So even here in California, you got indigenous folks who can’t even access the law’s protection because the 14th Amendment didn’t give them citizenship, but they’re also Indigenous to California, so the law is already insidious to their bodies. They’re seen as aliens in their own land. They’re seen as immigrants in their own land. Because they were colonized by Spaniards who taught them Spanish, and the white folks here only understand their humanity through the colonial language they were forced to speak. This is what we’re dealing with.
A Specific Implication For Education
For educators, for curriculum builders, for the folks teaching social studies, civics, history, ethnic studies — this analysis is not an academic exercise. It’s a directive. The current public education curriculum on immigration in this country is a curriculum of liberal flattening. Students are taught that America is a nation of immigrants. Students are taught about Ellis Island as the origin story of American belonging. Students are taught that the 14th Amendment guarantees birthright citizenship in a way that floats free of slavery and Reconstruction. Students are taught about Cesar Chavez as a saint without being taught about his anti-Blackness. Students are taught about the Civil Rights Movement and the Immigration Act of 1965 as parallel stories of progress without being taught about the structural tensions those two policies set into motion. The result is a generation of well-meaning young people who graduate from high school perfectly equipped to perpetuate Indigenous erasure and anti-Black erasure while believing themselves to be on the right side of history. We have to teach the 14th Amendment with the 1924 Indian Citizenship Act sitting right next to it. We have to teach the 1965 Immigration Act with the 1965 Voting Rights Act sitting right next to it. We have to teach Chavez with the Black farmworkers he undermined. We have to teach Anzaldúa, we have to teach Wilderson, we have to teach Tuck and Yang. Otherwise we are producing what Charles Mills called the white moral psychology — a citizenry capable of believing in justice while being entirely incapable of recognizing the structuring antagonisms that make injustice possible. Education is elevation, or it ain’t education at all.
Intersectional Material Impacts
The folks who get crushed hardest in the gap between pro-immigration discourse and Black/Indigenous critique are, of course, the folks sitting at the intersections. Black immigrants — Haitian, Jamaican, Nigerian, Ethiopian, Somali, Afro-Latine — get hit twice. They get hit by immigration enforcement that racially profiles them as both Black and foreign. They get hit by Black communities that haven’t always made space for them in the freedom struggle. ICE deports Black immigrants at disproportionate rates relative to their share of the immigrant population — that’s documented, that’s empirical. Black women immigrants face the misogynoir Moya Bailey named on top of the xenophobia. Black trans immigrants face all of that plus the medical and legal violence the state reserves for trans folks. Indigenous women in California caught between immigration enforcement and federal Indian law sit at a junction where neither legal regime acknowledges their actual sovereignty. Indigenous trans and two-spirit folks navigate colonial frameworks that erased their cultural roles before the United States existed. Disabled Black and Indigenous folks navigate a citizenship that has never accommodated their material needs. Poor Black folks watching wealthy non-Black immigrants integrate into whiteness in ways they never could. This is what intersectional analysis demands — not symbolic representation, but material outcomes. Crenshaw didn’t give us a vibe. She gave us a tool. Use it. Most of the symbolic wins of pro-immigration politics over the last decade have left Black immigrants, Indigenous immigrants, and the Black and Indigenous communities of the United States in materially worse positions, and that ain’t an accident. That’s the antagonism doing its work while the conflict gets compromised.
Closing The Loop
So when I sat in that room and listened to that 14th Amendment presentation, what I was hearing was the failure to grapple with the foundational antagonism. The failure to grapple with how the 14th Amendment was birthed in Reconstruction and weaponized in Louisiana v. Callais to gut the Voting Rights Act. The failure to grapple with how citizenship for Native folks wasn’t recognized until 1924, and that recognition was a paper formality on top of ongoing genocide. The failure to grapple with how every “nation of immigrants” slogan does the dual work of erasing Indigenous claims and erasing Black labor. The failure to grapple with how the law itself, from 1776 to 2026, has been structured in opposition to Black and Indigenous humanity. The pathway to hell is paved with good intentions, and the room was full of good intentions, and the impact of those good intentions left without my interventions would have been more Indigenous erasure and more anti-Black erasure, dressed up in the language of progressive solidarity. We have to center Blackness and we have to center indigeneity in these conversations, because if we don’t, we engage in indigenous erasure and erasure of Black suffering, and to me that is the cornerstone of America. America is structured and made possible through Black suffering and the genocide of Native Americans. If we’re talking about defending democracy, we have to deal with how democracy has never guaranteed freedom or safety for us. Land back and reparations have to be married together. We don’t get reparations without the land. The land was built with our bodies. Feel me?
Education is elevation. Let that marinate.
5 KEY TAKEAWAYS
* The 14th Amendment is a Reconstruction-era artifact, not a free-floating immigration document. Any conversation about birthright citizenship that doesn’t begin with slavery, the 13th-14th-15th Amendment sequence, and the 1924 Indian Citizenship Act is doing erasure work, regardless of intent.
* Citizenship has never guaranteed humanity for Black or Indigenous people in America. Black folks have been citizens since 1868 and are still having voting rights stripped. Native folks were not citizens until 1924 and were facing ongoing genocide when the paper formality arrived. Romanticized framings of citizenship as protection collapse under historical examination.
* “Nation of immigrants” and “no one is illegal on stolen land” are settler moves to innocence. Tuck and Yang’s framework explains how progressive-sounding slogans can do the work of Indigenous erasure by abstracting away specific tribal claims and converting them into universal humanitarian principles that demand nothing back.
* The 1965 Immigration Act and 1965 Voting Rights Act set structural tensions in motion that still shape Black/non-Black immigrant relations. The 1992 Rodney King riots, ongoing tensions over Asian businesses in Black communities, the iconization of Cesar Chavez despite his anti-Blackness — these are not coincidences. They are downstream consequences of policies that did not address racial capitalism’s foundational antagonisms.
* Land Back and reparations are not competing projects — they are the same project. Coalition between Black and Indigenous freedom struggles requires honesty about the material differences in subject position, not flattening into a singular “people of color” frame that allows non-Black, non-Indigenous immigrants to skip past the structuring antagonisms that make their inclusion in American life possible.
Become A Paid Subscriber
Y’all, this is what independent media looks like. No corporate backing. No advertiser telling me what I can and can’t say about Cory Booker or AIPAC or Netanyahu. No editor softening the analysis because a Senator’s office called. Just me, a transcript, a stack of receipts, and y’all.
Public broadcasting is being defunded. PBS is on life support. NPR is being structurally hollowed out. The Education Is Elevation Substack is filling the void left by the retreat of public education media — with Pan-African analysis, Southern Black Left framing, and the kind of receipts-based political education they don’t teach in school.
Fewer than 1% of my followers are paid subscribers. Less than 1%. So if this piece taught you something, gave you a frame, or armed you with language for the next argument at the family cookout — become a paid subscriber today.
Education Is Elevation is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
ANNOTATED BIBLIOGRAPHY / RELATED READINGS
Wilderson, Frank B. III. Red, White, and Black: Cinema and the Structure of U.S. Antagonisms (2010). The foundational text for understanding the distinction between conflict and antagonism that drives this analysis. Wilderson lays out why anti-Blackness is structuring rather than incidental, and why the Indian, the Black, and the Settler operate as three distinct grammars of suffering. If you read one thing from this list, read this.
Anzaldúa, Gloria. Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza (1987). The text that gave us “the border crossed us” and reframed indigeneity in the U.S.-Mexico borderlands. Essential for understanding why California’s Indigenous-but-Spanish-speaking populations get caught in immigration enforcement that has no language for their actual subject position.
Tuck, Eve and K. Wayne Yang. “Decolonization Is Not a Metaphor.” Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society (2012). The article that named the “settler moves to innocence” — the rhetorical maneuvers that allow non-Native people to feel implicated in colonization without doing the material work of land return. Required reading for anyone using “stolen land” language.
Sexton, Jared. Amalgamation Schemes: Antiblackness and the Critique of Multiracialism (2008). Sexton’s work on how multiracial discourse can flatten and obscure anti-Blackness is directly applicable to how “people of color” framings function in immigration politics.
Mills, Charles W. The Racial Contract (1997). The philosophical architecture for understanding why a legal apparatus designed to exclude can never simply be reformed into one that includes. Mills’s account of white moral psychology explains the room I was sitting in.
Crenshaw, Kimberlé. “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex” (1989) and “Mapping the Margins” (1991). The foundational texts of intersectional analysis. Read them whole — not the watered-down version that survived corporate diversity training.
The Combahee River Collective Statement (1977). The original articulation of how Black women’s freedom requires the dismantling of interlocking systems of oppression. The reason intersectional analysis is non-negotiable.
Bailey, Moya. Misogynoir Transformed: Black Women’s Digital Resistance (2021). Bailey gave us the term misogynoir. Essential for understanding the specific position of Black women immigrants and how their experience does not collapse into either “Black” or “immigrant” frames alone.
Hartman, Saidiya. Scenes of Subjection: Terror, Slavery, and Self-Making in Nineteenth-Century America (1997). Hartman on the afterlife of slavery and the law’s relationship to Black flesh. Essential context for why the 14th Amendment cannot do what the legal liberal hopes it can.
Spillers, Hortense. “Mama’s Baby, Papa’s Maybe: An American Grammar Book” (1987). Spillers on the gendered grammar of enslavement. The grammar of citizenship is downstream of the grammar of fungibility.
Robinson, Cedric. Black Marxism: The Making of the Black Radical Tradition (1983). Robinson on racial capitalism — the framework for understanding why anti-Blackness is engine, not aberration. Indispensable.
Rodney, Walter. How Europe Underdeveloped Africa (1972). Rodney on the global structure that produced the migrations being debated in 2026. The immigrants didn’t come from nowhere. They came from the wreckage Europe and America made.
Grande, Sandy. Red Pedagogy: Native American Social and Political Thought (2004; 2nd ed. 2015). Grande on Indigenous education, sovereignty, and the limits of liberal multiculturalism in addressing Native claims.
Dunbar-Ortiz, Roxanne. An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States (2014). The historical record that the standard American history curriculum erases. Read alongside Howard Zinn but understand that Dunbar-Ortiz does what Zinn could not.
King, Tiffany Lethabo. The Black Shoals: Offshore Formations of Black and Native Studies (2019). King’s work specifically theorizes the meeting point of Black and Native critique — exactly the conversation pro-immigration discourse refuses to have.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theconsciouslee.substack.com/subscribe [https://theconsciouslee.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]