I still remember my citizenship ceremony from 2011. There was a festive spirit among the dozens of us who were about to become the newest Americans, a kind of joy offset only by the anxiety of having to turn in our green cards first. For years, I jealously guarded that little card, which was not only not green but also something I was repeatedly told by authorities to carry with me at all times. They had to pry it from my fingers that day.
At my ceremony, which I wrote about at the time, a representative from the New York City commission on human rights explained to her captive American audience what civil rights protections we had, and the judge who swore us in as citizens encouraged us to exercise our vote, serve on juries, run for office and speak out for our rights. We were each given a pocket constitution. The whole thing was a celebration of democratic values. I entered downtown Brooklyn that day as a resident alien. I left as a newly minted American citizen, equal in the eyes of the law to every other American citizen.
