At last week’s immigration march on Washington, tens of thousands of immigrants and activists rallied around the Capitol Building, calling for legislation that would afford legal status to the millions of illegal immigrants living and working within the United States. While official crowd estimates for such events are notoriously unreliable, the New York Times noted that “the demonstrators filled five lengthy blocks of the Washington Mall.”
Many, if not most, of the rally attendees wielded protest signs–both homemade and professionally manufactured–or wore T-shirts emblazoned with slogans like “Change takes courage” and “Illegals are humans.” Still others carried flags–American, Mexican, Brazilian, French, and almost everything in between. And while it seemed as if practically everyone had a unique way of showing their support for reform, they also had one very notable similarity: The crowd was overwhelmingly Latino, with chants of “Libertad ahora!” filling the air as frequently as “Freedom now!”
To be sure, knowing the statistics–76 percent of America’s illegal immigrants are Hispanic, according to the Pew Hispanic Center–a majority Latino presence was to be expected. And according to the Population Reference Bureau, in 2005, there were only 2,815,000 foreign-born blacks in America (compared to nearly 18 million foreign-born Hispanics). But in Washington, D.C., estimated to be the home of more than 150,000 Ethiopian immigrants and their descendants, the lack of black protesters was downright odd. Ultimately, it raised an important question to consider in the days leading up to the Obama administration’s grapple with America’s immigration problems: Why don’t black immigrants have an affinity for the reform movement?
One thing we do know is that, despite their relatively small presence, black immigrants are often the most upwardly mobile ethnic group functioning in the United States today, even more than foreign-born white Americans. For instance, as journalist Clarence Page noted in 2007’s “Black immigrants: an invisible model minority,” in 2000 “43.8 percent of African immigrants had achieved a college degree, compared to 42.5 of Asian Americans, 28.9 percent for immigrants from Europe, Russia and Canada, and 23.1 percent of the U.S. population as a whole.” In 2005, a fifth of Caribbean or Latin American-born blacks in America had degrees. And according to a 2006 study by sociologists at Princeton and University of Pennsylvania, of the black students attending Ivy League colleges, 41 percent were either immigrants themselves or children of immigrants.
If the statistics are to be believed, then it would seem that there’s some truth to the quip that a Jamaican immigrant offered while Page was researching his article: “I’m too busy working two jobs to worry about the white man’s racism.”
Grace Orjih is a registered nurse who immigrated to St. Louis from Nigeria in late 1969. She’s since become a naturalized citizen. In Orjih’s estimation, save for people like war refugees, black immigrants in America are generally burdened with less desperation than their Latino counterparts. Subsequently, they’re less often forced into circumstances–financial, residential, etc.–that comprehensive immigration reform would remedy. “Africans come here legally for the most part, and they come here with a goal in mind,” she says. “If you look at the Latino group, they’re in more dire straits than we are. You hear about Latino immigrants crossing the borders and dying and things. They have a lot more to gain and a lot to lose if things don’t work out the way they want.”
Orjih says she came to America mostly for the educational benefits for herself and her children, and that she still hopes to one day retire in Nigeria. “Talking to my [African immigrant] friends, moving to America is usually a stepping stone,” she says. “We are loyal to this country, but home is still home.” Orjih’s indifference toward the immigration debate has carried over to her progeny. Her son, Obi, a first-generation American, told me he has no opinion on the topic.