For 12 years, I fought to make Caribbean immigrants and those of Caribbean ancestry count in the United States Census, but after reading the Trump administration’s sweeping proposal to reshape the 2030 Census last week, I realized the question confronting America today is much bigger than the Caribbean immigrant community.
The Trump administration’s Census Bureau is proposing changes that could exclude undocumented immigrants and some other non-citizens whose legal status is considered less permanent from the population used to apportion the 435 seats in the U.S. House of Representatives.
At the same time, the Bureau is proposing to prohibit questions about race, ethnicity, and sexual orientation from the questionnaire used for the decennial population count.
One proposal changes who counts while the other changes what we know about those who do. The Bureau argues that some non-citizens should not be included in the apportionment count because they lack what it calls a sufficient tie and allegiance to the United States. It also argues that the census should be “colorblind” and questions the usefulness of collecting race and ethnicity information in the decennial enumeration questionnaire.
Of course, thankfully, these are proposals, not yet final rules, and legal challenges are almost certain to follow if they are adopted. However, the direction should concern anyone who understands the meaning of Census data.
I certainly do. For 12 years, through CaribID, I fought to convince Caribbean immigrants and Caribbean Americans that being properly counted mattered. Simply checking “Black” did not tell America who we are. We are Guyanese, Jamaican, Haitian, Trinidadian, Barbadian, Grenadian, Vincentian, St. Lucian, Dominican, and much more. Various races from one region who respond to one culture: the culture of the Caribbean.
After years of advocacy by communities across America, the 2020 Census made significant progress. For the first time, its Black or African American race question included a write-in area for detailed identity, with examples like Guyanese, Jamaican, and Haitian.
The result? The Census Bureau produced detailed data for 62 Black population groups, including Caribbean identities such as Jamaican, Haitian, and Grenadian. Nearly two-thirds of Black respondents provided a detailed identity.
That is what better data can accomplish, and this was never simply about ethnic pride. Data is power. Census data affects congressional representation and redistricting, and helps inform the distribution of federal resources. The Census Bureau itself says race data is used in government planning and funding, identifying disparities in access to medical services, and evaluating whether programs serve different communities fairly.
When immigrants and Black communities become less visible in detailed data, our children do not disappear from schools. Our elderly do not disappear from hospitals; our families do not disappear from neighborhoods.
What becomes harder to see is precisely who is there, and now there is an even larger issue. The proposed residence rules would potentially exclude not only undocumented immigrants from the apportionment population, but also some immigrants who are lawfully present yet do not have permanent resident status.
Think about what that means. A person could live in Florida, Texas, California, or New York. They could rent an apartment, buy groceries, send children to school, travel on the roads, and contribute to their community’s economic life. Yet, under the proposed approach, their presence may not count in determining that state’s representation in Congress. At the same time, the government is considering knowing less about the racial and ethnic identities of the people it does count.
That represents a remarkable reversal. The race question has existed in some form since the first U.S. Census in 1790. More recently, the Census Bureau spent years researching how Americans could better report their increasingly complex racial and ethnic identities.
Now America is considering moving in the opposite direction. To be clear, removing these questions from the decennial enumeration would not make all race and ethnicity data disappear. The Census Bureau also collects demographic information through the American Community Survey and other programs.
However, the philosophical question remains. After decades spent improving America’s ability to understand the people who comprise this nation, why would we now choose to know less?
For 12 years, I told Caribbean immigrants and Caribbean Americans: “Stand Up and Be Counted.” I believed then, as I do now, that visibility matters — but this fight is no longer simply about whether a Jamaican, Haitian, Guyanese, or Trinidadian can be seen in America’s demographic portrait.
It is about something much more fundamental: Who gets to count as America?
The 2030 Census is still four years away. These proposals are not final, and the debate is just beginning, but communities should pay attention now.
Because when America debates whether millions of people who actually live here should count, while also questioning whether the identities of those who do count are worth recording, we are no longer simply debating boxes on a Census form. We are debating who America chooses to see.
Felicia J. Persaud is the founder and publisher of NewsAmericasNow.com, the only daily syndicated newswire and digital platform dedicated exclusively to Caribbean Diaspora and Black immigrant news across the Americas.
