5-4 decision on citizenship by birth
Toyin Falola
Biko Agozino
“For Those Born Here” (Spoken Word)
before the robes,
before the marble steps echo with decision—
there was a cry.
A child—
first breath cutting through air
that did not ask for papers,
did not check status,
did not demand proof.
Just said: live.
—
But somewhere between heartbeat and law,
someone asked—
Where do you belong?
As if belonging is something you apply for.
As if earth itself keeps records
of who is worthy of standing on it.
—
They gather—
in rooms where history wears a suit,
where precedent speaks louder than people,
where words like “citizen”
are sharpened into definitions.
Four words—
born on this soil—
become a battlefield.
—
And I wonder—
what does a border look like
to a newborn?
Where is the line
between breath and belonging?
Can you see it
in the sky they look up at?
Does the wind pause
at invisible edges and say:
Not you?
—
Because this isn’t just law.
This is legacy.
This is a question carried
through generations:
Who gets to say
who counts?
—
Some say citizenship is a contract.
Signed, stamped, authorized.
Others say it is a promise—
written into the bones of a nation
that dared to declare
all are created equal—
but forgot to define all.
—
So the court speaks.
And when it speaks—
it does not whisper.
It writes in permanence,
in language heavy enough
to bend the future.
—
But listen—
even decisions cannot rewrite birth.
Cannot erase the moment
a life begins
without hesitation.
Cannot silence the truth
that existence itself
is not conditional.
—
Because a child born here
does not arrive with politics.
They arrive
with possibility.
—
And maybe the real question isn’t:
What does the Constitution allow?
But—
What kind of story
does this nation tell about itself?
One where belonging is inherited
like light—
or rationed
like privilege?
—
Because every ruling
does more than decide a case.
It draws a line
in the imagination of tomorrow.
And somewhere—
a child grows up
under that line,
learning whether they are seen
as promise—
or exception.
—
So hear this—
before the gavels fall,
before the language settles into textbooks,
before history files this under “decided”—
remember:
No human being
is born illegal.
No first breath
asks permission.
And no line—
no matter how carefully drawn—
can truly measure
the worth
of a life that began
right here.
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Toyin Falola
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