By Tessa Webb

Chasing my American dream to study and run at a Division I university, I hopped on a flight at age 18 to a university on the other side of the world from my home in New Zealand. 

In the three years since, I have dealt with homesickness, missing my family and endless paperwork. But I have never faced true discrimination or xenophobia because of my documentation status. 

While my accented English provides comedy and misunderstandings, it is not a source of ridicule. My use of slang, or peppering of New Zealand’s indigenous language, Māori, into my vocabulary, is seen as a kind of novelty, not a reflection on my intelligence. I feel truly welcome here. 

Unfortunately, I have learned that I am the exception, not the rule. 

Somebody once said to me that I was “the right kind of immigrant.” The kind who should stay here and have American children with an American man after I graduate. They went on to contrast me with “other immigrants” who come here to take jobs and commit crimes.

This person had never met me before, and based their assumption purely on how I looked and sounded during our brief interaction. 

I strongly disagree with this sentiment.

My whiteness is not a proxy for my contribution to this country. I am not inherently more worthy of a place in the U.S. because I speak (relatively) clear English. 

I struggled when I first came to the U.S. with people feeling comfortable being openly anti-immigrant around me. While I first took these comments personally, I soon realized that when people were talking about immigrants, they didn’t mean people like me. This reflects a wider issue in the way we treat people based on their nation of origin. 

Since the invasion of Ukraine, the different ways officials and the media have treated Ukrainian refugees compared to those from Syria or Afghanistan has become a news story in itself. 

Poland has opened its arms to its Ukrainian neighbors, accepting over 2 million refugees mostly into private homes as opposed to refugee camps. In contrast, they are also currently building a $400 million border wall to deter predominantly Middle Eastern asylum seekers from entering the country. 

Welcoming people during this crisis need deserves to be commended, and the kindness Polish citizens are showing is a triumph for the goodness of humanity. However, this same treatment was never extended to refugees from Syria or Afghanistan. 

This situation has the troubling implication that it isn’t immigration numbers that are the problem for politicians and citizens, but who the immigrants are.

In a time of global upheaval, making a change in the way we treat immigrants in day-to-day interactions is important, but a shift is also needed at the legislative level. 

Just gaining entry into the U.S. is more of a challenge for certain immigrants. Data shows that even adjusting for economic status and education level, Black and specifically Black Muslim applicants had the lowest chance of approval for citizenship in the U.S. They also face a higher threat of changes to their status. 

As an immigrant from New Zealand, which is known as Aotearoa in the indigenous language Māori, I am largely free from the stresses of deportation. It wasn’t until the middle of the pandemic, when online learning could have resulted in one million international students being deported or refused re-entry, that I had my first and only experience of my documentation status being in jeopardy. 

Even though I had a safe home in my native country, this situation caused me near-constant stress, sleeplessness and anxiety about my future for months. 

This was the extent of my experience with what is a constant reality for people from other nations such as Muslim countries, or Deferred Action for Childhood Arrival recipients. At any minute, they could find their lives turned upside down by the legal system or a political decision outside of their control. 

Perpetrating the idea of a “right kind of immigrant” harms everyone. We live in a globalized world and ostracizing immigrants based on stereotypes means losing out on the contributions, innovations and diversity that’s being accepting of a wide range of people.

Thankfully, more people seem to be recognizing this. Support for immigration has tripled from the mid-1990s,  as now a majority of Americans believe immigrants make the country stronger because of their work and talents according to PEW.  

We have the opportunity as the most diverse generation in history to continue this positive trend and change the way that immigrants, asylum seekers and refugees are framed as political issues more than people. 

This isn’t a political stance or a revolutionary idea, but merely a call to action on the values of equal opportunity and freedom that are so often spoken of in American society.

My experience as “the right kind of immigrant” has informed my belief that all international students and immigrants deserve to be treated with the same respect and acceptance that I have, regardless of their country of origin or skin color. 

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Tessa Webb is a junior at High Point University majoring in Political Science with a minor in Journalism. For contact inquiries, please email twebb@highpoint.edu.