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THE CONSTITUTION -
“No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States...”
—Fourteenth Amendment, Section 1, U.S. Constitution (1868)
In moments like this, when the Supreme Court inches toward the erasure of what was once an unshakable promise, that to be born in this land is to belong to it, we must step back from the legal language, the policy papers, the cable news churn, and ask ourselves a deeper, more human question: Who are we becoming?
Not as voters. Not as party loyalists. But as people.
Birthright citizenship is not a bureaucratic oversight or a legislative accident. It is the moral spine of a nation that emerged from the ash of slavery. In 1868, just three years after the Civil War ended, the Fourteenth Amendment was ratified to correct the unforgivable wrong of the Dred Scott decision, which had ruled that Black people could never be citizens of the United States. It was written with clarity and conviction: “All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens.”
This was not just a legal fix, it was a moral revolution. The Citizenship Clause meant that the children of formerly enslaved people would never have to beg for membership in a nation built on their ancestors’ stolen labor. It was a direct, explicit guarantee that no future court, president, or mob could strip them of their belonging. It declared, once and for all, that America’s promise must begin at birth.
Today, that promise is under attack.
When elected officials flirt with the idea of ending birthright citizenship, they are not simply debating immigration policy, they are unraveling the fragile covenant forged during Reconstruction. They are telling the child born in El Paso to undocumented parents that her cry in the delivery room does not count the same as the cry in a hospital in Greenwich, Connecticut. They are telling us that life, in all its miraculous fragility, must pass through man-made filters before it can be fully honored.
The legal arguments will be endless. Some will claim the Fourteenth Amendment never meant to include children of the undocumented. Others will cite national security, economic burden, political manipulation.
But this isn’t about the letter of the law, it’s about the spirit of it. And the spirit of the Fourteenth Amendment is love. Radical love. Love powerful enough to declare that no matter your origin, your language, your color, or your parent’s passport, if you are born here, you belong here. You are one of us.
That is a deeply emotional, deeply moral, deeply human idea. And it cannot be defended with statistics alone. It must be defended with the same fierce tenderness with which we defend our own children.
We must confront what this moment is: a war on the womb. A political project that strips sacredness from birth and replaces it with suspicion. Every child is born reaching out, gasping for connection. Yet in this climate, we meet them with skepticism. We weigh their worth. We assign labels before they have even taken their first breath.
“Anchor baby.”
“Illegitimate.”
“Burden.”
“Illegal.”
But there is no such thing as an illegal baby.
There are only children, each with a beating heart and a will to live. They are not evidence. They are not threats. They are not tactical advantages in a culture war. They are miracles.
Who are we becoming, when we question whether a newborn child deserves a nation?
We are becoming callous. We are becoming cynical. We are becoming a country more interested in the purity of borders than the purity of conscience. We are fast becoming the kind of people who build walls around miracles.
The conservative legal movement knows exactly what it’s doing. They are chipping away at Reconstruction itself. This is not merely about immigration, it is about unraveling the very foundation of post-Civil War America. It is about returning us to a time when citizenship was a privilege reserved for the “right” people, not a birthright for all people.
We saw this before. During Jim Crow, Black Americans were citizens on paper but segregated in every facet of life. Their citizenship was conditional, tolerated, but not protected. And now, in a different voice but with the same cold logic, we hear: Not every baby deserves a nation. Not every child gets to belong.
We owe our ancestors more than this. The Fourteenth Amendment was a blood pact. It was signed not with ink but with the sacrifice of those who suffered under chains, those who marched across bridges, those who sat in and stood up and knelt down so that this country could live up to the poetry of its founding.
Revoking birthright citizenship is not just a policy reversal. It is an act of historical vandalism. It tells Black Americans that the Reconstruction amendments were never meant to endure. It tells immigrants that their children must earn humanity. It tells us all that our nation is regressing from hope into hierarchy.
Look at a newborn child. Watch as their tiny hand curls instinctively around a stranger’s finger. That instinct, raw, sacred, eternal, is to connect. Before politics, before language, before race, before nation, there is connection.
We are wired to reach for one another. Our laws should reflect that same yearning.
Senator Edward Kennedy once said, “We are not a nation that casts out children. We are a nation that recognizes every child born here as part of the American family.” That is the standard we must reclaim, not only in law but in love.
The truth is, birthright citizenship is not only a legal principle. It is a spiritual one. It is a statement that being born is enough. That life itself confers value, dignity, and a place in the human family. In the words of Justice Earl Warren, “Citizenship is man’s basic right, for it is nothing less than the right to have rights.”
We cannot legislate that away. Not without losing our moral compass. Not without losing our heart.
So we must decide. Not as Democrats or Republicans. Not as policy wonks or pundits. But as mothers, fathers, friends, neighbors, and human beings:
Do we believe that a baby, born on American soil, is our responsibility?
Do we believe that a child’s future should not be shackled to their parents’ past?
Do we believe that the right to belong is a gift that should be given freely, not earned through paperwork?
Because if we don’t, if we surrender this ground, we surrender the soul of this nation.
And once that is gone, no court, no Constitution, no campaign will bring it back.
Let us speak now, clearly and from the heart. Let us defend the miracle of life. Let us reject the poisonous labels. Let us say to every child born in this country: You are not a mistake. You are not a pawn. You are not “other.” You are one of us. You belong.
And we will fight for you.
Because in fighting for them, we remember who we are.
And maybe—just maybe—who we still have the chance to become.
(George Cassidy Payne is a writer and cultural critic whose work explores the intersections of history, justice, and human dignity in American life. His essays have appeared in a variety or regional and national publications, where he blends moral urgency with nuanced historical insight.)
