The first time I set foot in the United States, I was just a six-year-old boy utterly captivated by the marvels around me. The sheer number of cars and cutting-edge technology, coupled with an overwhelming sense of abundance, were unlike anything I had ever seen. To my young mind, it felt as though I was stepping into the future. The vivid memories of that trip lingered with me long after I returned to my homeland of Venezuela.
As the years passed and Venezuela fell into the grips of tyranny and economic turmoil, I found myself reflecting on a fundamental question: What set America apart? Why hadn’t Venezuela, the country of my birth, achieved the level of freedom and prosperity I had witnessed in the United States?
This question became pivotal in my life. Even before I was forced to flee Venezuela, I was deeply engrossed in understanding America’s foundational ideals. When Nicolás Maduro’s government unjustly branded me a terrorist, it was clear to me that America was the only refuge that beckoned. Like countless legal immigrants before me, I embarked on a journey to understand the country better — without the aid or guidance of a welcome package detailing the Constitution or the Bill of Rights.
I instinctively knew that America was a choice worth making and longed to uncover the reasons why.
It is this background that makes the recent uproar over educational resources for refugees so confounding to me. An article in The New York Times casts aspersions on the initiatives by PragerU and the Trump Administration to engage newcomers with the history and civic principles of the United States, framing it as a questionable political maneuver. Yet, isn’t this exactly the sort of welcome any embracing nation should extend?
The criticism misses a simple point. Helping legal immigrants understand the country they have chosen isn’t just beneficial. It is indispensable. If America is to remain exceptional, we, as newcomers, must understand what made it exceptional in the first place.