By Claudia Catherine
I read in the paper the other day that the government is making the citizenship test harder. Apparently, simply knowing that George Washington was the guy on the quarter isn’t enough anymore. Now, the poor soul who wants to become an American needs to name five of the original thirteen states and explain the nuances of the Federalist Papers.
I read this and felt a cold shiver run down my spine. Not because I’m an immigrant—I was born right here, in a hospital in Ohio, which automatically makes me a member of the club. But the shiver came from a terrifying realization: if I had to take that test today, right now, to keep my passport… I’d be packing my bags for Antarctica.
I tried it. I sat at my kitchen table with my coffee and tried to name five original states. “Virginia,” I said confidently. One. “New York.” Two. “Pennsylvania.” Three. Then my brain stalled. “Chicago?” No, that’s a city. “Dakota?” No, too far west. “East Virginia?” Does that exist?
I gave up and Googled it. I’m a fifty-year-old woman, a taxpayer, a voter, and I possess the historical knowledge of a golden retriever.
And I’m not alone.
If we applied this test to the native-born population—the folks who scream the loudest about “heritage” and “patriotism”—the population of the United States would drop to about twelve people. And ten of them would be history professors who are currently arguing on Twitter.
We have a double standard that is frankly hilarious, if it weren’t so tragic. We treat citizenship like a country club. The new guy, let’s call him Igor from Belarus, has to memorize the bylaws, know the history of the golf course, and recite the club president’s middle name backwards just to get in the door. Meanwhile, we, the “legacy members,” are sitting by the pool, drunk on margaritas, asking if the Constitution is that movie with Nicolas Cage.
I have a nephew, Tyler. He’s 16. He goes to a good school. A “progressive” school. I asked him the other day: “Tyler, who do we fight in the Civil War?”
He looked up from his phone, annoyed, and said, “Aunt, we don’t focus on wars. We focus on the socio-economic impact of agrarian tension.”
“Okay”, I said. “But who won?”
“It’s not about winning”, he said. “It’s about the narrative.”
See, that’s the problem. The experts say that memorizing dates and names is “old fashioned”. It kills the “joy of learning”. So now we have a generation of kids—and let’s be honest, a generation of adults—who are excellent at having opinions but terrible at knowing facts.
We are raising a nation of pundits who don’t know where Delaware is.
The statistics are depressing. Something like 14% of eighth graders are proficient in history. The rest of them think Abraham Lincoln was a vampire hunter because they saw the movie poster once.
But here’s the kicker: it’s not just the kids. We look back at the “Golden Age” of education, maybe the 1950s, and think everyone back then was a scholar. They weren’t. There are surveys from World War II where soldiers couldn’t find France on a map. And they were in France.
The difference is, back then, we didn’t have to explain the Federalist Papers to get a job at the Ford plant. Now, we are demanding that Igor know more about James Madison than James Madison knew about himself.
There is a teacher in Chicago who said something brilliant. She said, “You can’t have critical thinking if you have nothing to think about”. You can’t analyze the Constitution if you haven’t read it. You can’t debate the Bill of Rights if you think “The Fifth Amendment” is a band from the 90s.
I firmly believe that if we want to make the test harder for immigrants, we should make it mandatory for everyone else, too. Every ten years. Like a driver’s license renewal.
Question 1: What are the three branches of government? Answer: “Republican, Democrat, and… Instagram?” Buzz. Wrong. Please hand over your voting card.
Question 2: Why is there a star on the flag for every state? Answer: “Because stars are pretty?” Buzz. Wrong. You are hereby sentenced to watch three hours of PBS documentaries.
It sounds harsh, but think about it. We are asking people to swear allegiance to “the principles of the Constitution”. How can you swear allegiance to something you haven’t read since 7th grade, and even then, you were mostly paying attention to the girl sitting in front of you?
Igor, the new guy, is going to pass the test. He’s going to study. He’s going to know that there are 435 members in the House of Representatives.
Meanwhile, I’ll be here, asking Tyler if he knows who the Vice President is.
“Is it that guy from the memes?”, he’ll ask.
“Close enough, Tyler”, I’ll say. “Close enough.”
God bless America. We’re going to need it.
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