Immigration is a powerful narrative in the history of the United States, at times evoking optimism and at other times providing fodder to foment xenophobia. These two books, authored by a pair of New York City–based scholars, share a common vantage point in the experience of the most racially and ethnically diverse city of immigrants in the United States. At the same time, the books are a study in contrasts, a neat fit to both ends of the spectrum between hope and fear. One is concerned with enhancing freedom and the other with maintaining order. One advocates expansion of political expression in the form of the franchise, the other recommends constraint. One looks to our nation's history—to our sometimes ignominious past of exclusion, as well as to expansive practices allowing noncitizen voting—and highlights inclusionary lessons to draw, and the other looks to the future and sees danger in a post-9/11 world of organized terror. Although distinctive in many ways, both books are passionately written, and one is compelled to read on whether cheering in agreement or taking umbrage, for the arguments will resonate regardless of where one sits on the political spectrum.

Stanley Renshon's book, The 50% American, is best distinguished from an already well-developed body of scholarly literature on citizenship in the United States in its claim that those with dual citizenship are only partial Americans. “The 50 percent American, for whom both sides of the hyphen are equal, means in reality that both sides have equal weight in a person's psychology and that in any particular instance the scale could tip to one side or the other” (p. 74). Renshon sees danger in dual status; he reserves his strongest critique for foreign states encouraging continued loyalty among émigrés and the American state for its lax attitude in demanding undivided loyalty from immigrants. Alternatively, Renshon is sympathetic to the predicament faced by “half-Americans,” acknowledging how hard it is to love only one country and recognizing the emotional dilemmas one faces in leaving a national birth mother for an adoptive one. Nevertheless, he takes the strong position that immigrant Americans must leave their genealogical parents to fully embrace a new national parent, for patriotism requires monogamous emotional attachment. Renshon argues that a national identity in the form of patriotism is a critical psychological foundation of legitimate citizenship. “Citizenship without emotion is the civic equivalent of a one-night stand” (p. xviii). The danger to order, however, is less clear. “I do not envision many immigrants lining up to join al Qaeda. However, I can easily envision a more subtle kind of conflict, in which immigrants favor positions that are not necessarily in their new country's best interests but certainly are in the interests of their home country, or in which immigrants view their American attachments primarily through an instrumental lens” (p. 27). Indeed, it is the question of the extent to which dual citizens can reconcile competing loyalty and become 100% American that seems to most animate Renshon. One might imagine an empirical analysis at the unit of analysis of the individual immigrant, for example, examining the dimensions of psychological conflict and identity development. However, there is little discussion of either primary data on immigrant adaptation or secondary analysis on questions relevant to how immigrant Americans reconcile their dual identities. Similarly, and despite Renshon's desire to develop a theory of American national community, there is less sustained conceptual and analytical muscle in the text than one would need to take on targets that include philosophers such as Michael Walzer and Martha Nussbaum. To be fair, Renshon's strongest suit is the forceful set of policy recommendations of a public intellectual contained in the final two substantive chapters. Policymakers sympathetic to Renshon's priors on the danger of nonmonogamous country love will find the to-do list for Washington insiders straightforward and clearly argued. Scholars, on the other hand, may find the book less satisfying for the deficiency of empirical evidence to support a broad range of individual-level claims, and for a lack of a sustained analytical argument for a new theory of American national community. Nevertheless, The 50% American is certainly provocative and provides an interesting window into the psychology of fear and its relationship to patriotism.

Ron Hayduk's book, Democracy for All, addresses the controversial issue of immigrant voting. The idea of noncitizens voting in the United States is far from novel, and Hayduk teaches us that throughout much of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, most states allowed some form of immigrant voting. “From 1776 to 1926, as many as forty states and federal territories permitted noncitizens to vote in local, state, and even federal elections…. The notion that noncitizens should have the vote is older, was practiced longer, and is more consistent with democratic ideals than the idea that they should not” (p. 3). He reminds the reader that early restrictions on voting were based not on nativity and citizenship, but on race, gender, religion, and class. In contrast to the Renshon book, the main of Hayduk's work draws from the experiences of immigrants and immigrant rights groups in contemporary politics. Indeed, the last two substantive chapters of the book detail cases of immigrant voting in Maryland, New York, and Chicago, as well as the movements to achieve noncitizen voting rights in various locations across the nation. These are stories of contemporary social movements in action, documenting the push and pull of local urban and suburban politics. Implicated herein are racial and ethnic identity politics, the power of party organizations, and the actions of ordinary people in gaining the right to political expression through voting. Prior to the case studies, Hayduk provides a historical overview of immigrant voting from the nation's founding through the early twentieth-century immigrant restrictionist period. He also details the demographic changes in the population over the last several decades and places noncitizen voting in the United States in comparative context. The chapters describing contemporary immigrant voting and the struggles to restore noncitizen voting in California, New York, Washington, DC, and Massachusetts are the strongest in the book. Although the latter is an unusually long chapter, it is full of important details and unique insight that serves to draw critical connections between social movements in the various locations. Hayduk, takes a strong position in favor of immigrant voting rights, arguing the case in one chapter of the book. If immigrants can fight and die in military service to the United States, if they pay taxes, contribute to social capital, and help sustain the American economy, why not allow them to vote? Hayduk sees an opportunity in immigrants to improve democracy, not just for noncitizens, but for the polity at large.

Hayduk's critics, Renshon among them, would say that immigrant voting and the promise of better democracy as a result of noncitizen enfranchisement is overly optimistic and naïve. They would argue there is not sufficient evidence to support the notion that immigrants would learn to be good citizens—would learn to love this country—even if they had the right to vote. Indeed, Hayduk's book does not present sustained and systematic support of either the transformative results of democratic participation for noncitizen voters, or the notion that better representation is the result of immigrant voting. Instead, the emphasis of Democracy for All is the politics of immigrant social movements. Where the two authors come together, however, is a shared conviction in the potential promise of practicing democracy as an essential learning and formative experience. Renshon argues that “… participation is emotionally bonding. Those able and willing to participate feel more closely connected with the political community and the way of life that supports it” (p. 199). Taking part in the political system is a powerful way to experience emotional attachment with one's country; a way to encourage patriotism and monogamous love. However, Renshon specifically warns against extending the franchise to noncitizens, arguing that immigrants have a multitude of other ways to express preferences and influence politics besides the vote. It is naïve optimism, according to Renshon, that immigrants would be both knowledgeable and able to participate in politics before going through the rigors of naturalization to citizenship. It might also be risky to enfranchise people who have not formally become members of the polity and taken the oath of U.S. citizenship. Hayduk might respond that naïve optimism is precisely what the United States was founded on, and that this impulse is a good place to start. Hayduk has faith in immigrants to use their liberty wisely as voters. If we expect new Americans to be loyal—to have an emotional attachment to and to love the United States—we need to treat them fairly and provide room for agency rather than restriction. In short, we need to show them that we are worthy of being loved, and we need to love them first. Renshon's requirement of monogamous love of country for naturalized citizens is heady indeed, but speaks to no such test of faith, love, and patriotism for America's biological children. Some 100% Americans, such as Timothy McVeigh, could also use a lesson in practicing democracy, raising the importance of civic education for all in America. The important issues addressed in these two books are not easily resolved, but Renshon and Hayduk raise interesting questions and provide a compelling set of answers to illuminate how to think about politics in an increasingly diverse American polity.