“Ni de aquí ni de allá”

The 1.5 Generation

In Queens, New York, sisters Melissa and Melanie Fernandez grew up in the same house to Colombian and Peruvian immigrants, but their identities separate their DNA. Upon asking 20-year-old Melissa where she’s from, she says, “I’m Colombian and Peruvian,” while Melanie, 21, starts her sentence with “I’m American, but my parents are immigrants.” 

Both sisters attend Binghamton University, far from their upbringing in New York City’s cultural melting pot, where carrying roots from different parts of the world is the norm. 

Melanie transitions effortlessly from a close-knit Latina community to a new group of white and Asian friends. Meanwhile, Melissa feels homesick and struggles to find a sense of belonging.

“For me it’s difficult to keep my cultural aspects alive when I can’t relate to anyone. I tell my friends, but they don’t understand because there’s no point of reference for Hispanic culture, so I try my best to paint a picture,” Melissa says. 

In early adolescence, the Fernandez sisters lived in Medellin, Colombia, for four years before settling permanently in the U.S., and soon began clashing with American ideology. Melissa felt a pressure to plan her future, which misaligned with Colombia’s laid-back lifestyle. Melanie struggled with her English pronunciation and often faced ridicule from her peers for "talking funny."

The 1.5 generation, a term introduced by Cuban American sociologist Ruben Rumbaut in the 1960s, describes migrant children navigating life between first and second-generation identities. Making up 27% of the U.S. child population, these children often come to the U.S. at an early age, lacking full exposure to their native culture and struggling to adapt to both worlds.

“There’s a toggling between the two identities depending on how the children were raised. For some families, they might push the kids into assimilation, maybe not use Spanish and emphasizing the American values of upward mobility, independence, and individualism,” Silverstein explains. 

In Hispanic families, these changes happen rapidly, partly due to close ties with Latin America. Because of the back and forth of migration, there are synergisms that present themselves between two generations.

“There’s a tension between the collectivism of the culture and the individualism of the American ethic and the American culture, and as people kind of transition, they get caught between those two forces,” Silverstein quotes. 

Fears of rejection from contemporary society fuel many Latinos to downplay their ancestry and distance themselves from their heritage to avoid being seen as different from white Americans. Celebrities like Jessica Alba have publicly shared how they felt pressured to assimilate into American society, often neglecting their heritage as a means of survival.

Some young adults do continue to celebrate ethnic? holidays. Many second generation Mexican-Americans host quinceañeras and celebrate Día de los Muertos, maintaining their culture into later life, fostering a warmer and more connected relationship between generations.

The Loss Of Language

Sara Valencia, 21, lives in Medellin, Colombia, and moved to Syracuse to study nutrition science and dietetics. Her experience of integrating into American society has brought its own challenges in communicating her true identity with the monolingual.

“I keep my culture alive by being myself. I am more Colombian than anything else, from the way I handle situations, to my way of thinking., I am so much funnier in Spanish; I can express myself so much better. It's a big part of who I am, and no one understands me until they know me in Spanish,” says Valencia.

 Language by definition is one big way human beings, as members of a social group, express themselves. Key features tied to gatherings, celebrations, family events, milestones, rites of passage, and more, are connected to communication.

While most primary schools in the U.S. offer Spanish language classes, bilingual parents often face the dilemma of whether to transition their children to English dominance or insist on speaking Spanish at home.

 “That's a word that a lot of people said—'insisting' on speaking Spanish,” says Amy Lutz, an associate professor of sociology and chair of the Social Science Ph.D. Program at Syracuse University. Lutz has researched children of immigrants and the educational inequalities within these communities. 

“If the parents are dominant in Spanish, they insist on Spanish, but many just use English, and over time, English creeps more and more into their lives,.” says Lutz.

There is real pressure to assimilate to English-only, especially when the interest in maintaining a language only arises when that language shows popularity within a community. 

Lutz suggests, “Latinos who don't speak Spanish have a desire, fueled by new immigration, to do what they call 'relearn Spanish.' They have motivation because they encounter so many Spanish speakers and want to be a part of that community, to know the language and feel connected to their cultural heritage.” 

Familismo

The desire to feel connected to your community comes from knowing you’re part of something bigger. In East Asian cultures, there’s a concept called filial piety, which comes from Confucianism and lays out codified rules about family behavior. It’s about showing deep respect for older generations and honoring them in a formal way. A comparable idea in Latino culture is familismo, which centers around being family-centric, prioritizing family relationships, and showing favoritism toward one’s family, which can sometimes mean putting them above oneself. 

“I don’t think Latino culture goes away, just like Asian culture doesn’t go away,” Silverstein says. “I think there’s residuals that, even moving down the generations, get taught or imprinted or reinforced. Culture is one of those things that takes a long time to erode and disappear, and I think you see that in Latino families as well.”

San Francisco's Bay Area, for instance, you’ll find big communities from Guatemala, Peru, and Mexico, with Latinos making up 40% of California’s population. 

Emily Mazariego, a Guatemalan American,  attended a  predominantly white private school in Northern California was one of four Hispanic students. She says she felt guilt when she traveled to Syracuse, New York for college

“Leaving my family felt like I was betraying them, even if they were happy for me. I guess you could say I’m always hesitant because it's almost selfish to turn my back on the family that sacrificed their lives for me. It’s never easy to just up and leave.” 

White Passing

In efforts to blend in, she attempted to become as "white-passing" as possible—shopping at Brandy Melville, straightening her natural 3A curls every morning, and speaking only English in public. She became self-conscious about her summer tan, feeling like there weren’t many ways for a 'morenita' (a term of endearment for brown-skinned women), to fit the All-American mold. 

It was a familiar story among her Hispanic peers—being overlooked in conversations and left out of cliques. Still, Mazariego held onto her Guatemalan-American bicultural identity, even if acceptance felt out of reach. 

“I realized that being different is beautiful. It’s exhausting trying to fit in and just a waste of time doing anything that’s inauthentic. I am Guatemalan, but I was born in the United States, and a huge part of my identity is that I am the daughter of immigrants. It hasn’t been a linear trajectory to getting here, but I am my culture,” she says.

Building Community

Some communities seem able to maintain their culture while others, often in rural areas, seem to isolate the diverse. It often comes down to social capital — when immigrants come together in large numbers, they form tight-knit communities that help each other succeed. 

South Koreans in California, for example, started their own banks and lent money to one another, just like Cubans in South Florida. Third spaces like community groups and churches play a big part in the maintenance of cultural identity as they plant roots in far away places. 

Silverstein highlights the Roman Catholic Church being central to Latino communities, while Protestant churches often serve as hubs for Koreans, creating ethnic enclaves that preserve culture and provide mutual support.