Puerto Ricans Aren’t Immigrants, But We’re Still Second-Class Citizens
Puerto Ricans aren’t immigrants—but the U.S. sure acts like we are. No presidential votes, no representation, yet we still get taxed, drafted, and expected to send billions back home. We’re American enough to serve but never enough to matter.
I moved to the mainland, and suddenly, I wasn’t just Puerto Rican—I was an “other.” A tropical outsider. A bilingual overachiever with a permanent side hustle. I had the passport, but not the privilege.
Second-Class Citizens Since Day One
Puerto Ricans have been and will always be second-class citizens in the eyes of the U.S. We’re only useful for three things:
- Dying in their wars – The U.S. won’t let us vote for president, but we’re always first in line for the draft. Thanks, I guess?
- Tourism – As Bad Bunny said, “PR, archipiélago perfecto.” Our beaches are pristine, our piña coladas are cold, and as long as we’re just serving drinks and entertaining tourists, we’re tolerated. Just don’t ask for statehood, independence, or basic respect.
- Puerto Rico sending billions to the U.S. is the real perreo intenso—we do all the work, and they collect the check. We make the music, they take the Grammys. We build the economy, they reap the profits. Bad Bunny sells out stadiums, and the IRS still gets paid first. Ain’t that a remix?
Welcome to the United States (Kinda, But Not Really)
Being from Puerto Rico in the U.S. is like being part of an exclusive club with zero benefits. No voting rights in presidential elections, no representation in Congress, but don’t worry—we can still get taxed and ignored when natural disasters hit.
We’re born into a paradox: we’re “Americans” when it’s convenient (hello, military recruitment and corporate tax loopholes), but “foreign” when it comes to resources, respect, and, let’s be honest, how people react to our names. Génesis? Too complicated. Just call me “Jennifer” and move on, I guess.
The Job Market: Overqualified and Underestimated
The moment you tell someone you’re from Puerto Rico, you can see their brain buffering. Do I need a visa to talk to you? Did you swim here? No, Chad, I took a Spirit Airlines flight with a 7-hour delay.
Workplaces love a good “diverse hire” until it means hiring someone who actually knows two languages and how to make arroz con gandules without burning the kitchen down. But sure, let’s hire the guy who spent a semester in Barcelona and now claims he’s “basically fluent” in Spanish.
The Inevitable Assimilation (Or, At Least, Pretending To)
Sooner or later, you start code-switching like a pro. Your Spanish gets quieter in certain rooms, your accent fades just enough, and you learn to laugh when someone butchers coquito like it’s a Harry Potter spell.
You start craving things you never thought you’d miss—gas station empanadillas, reggaetón blasting at 3 AM, and the complete and total lack of personal space at a Puerto Rican family gathering.
But here’s the thing: no matter how much we adjust, adapt, or play along, we’ll always carry Puerto Rico with us—whether it’s in our Spanglish, our Spotify playlists, or our refusal to accept any coffee that isn’t café con leche bien hecho.
So, am I an immigrant? Not on paper. But in every TSA line, job interview, and awkward “But where are you really from?” conversation—yeah, it sure feels like it.
Now excuse me while I go correct someone on how to pronounce bacalaítos.
Graciass por leerme,
Génesis
