“Welcome home.”

Two words, said millions of times on doorsteps, in airports. But this time, for the 38 people seated in the first two rows of lecture hall chairs at the Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine, it landed differently. At this moment, in this place in the United States, they were home for the first time.

Hailing from Azerbaijan to Uruguay, on July 10 new United States citizens from 23 different countries attended the first Tompkins County Naturalization Ceremony since the start of the pandemic. Behind them, in the at-capacity hall, sat their families and friends, many clutching bouquets of flowers, fancy wrapped gifts, even a nice-looking apple pie.

Credit: Sreang Hok/Cornell University

Leslyn McBean-Clairborne, deputy director of the Greater Ithaca Activities Center and an immigrant herself, urged the group to engage in the civic life of this nation: “One word: vote. V-O-T-E.”

She spoke of giving back to the community, of the sacred obligation to uphold the principles of this democracy.

“This ceremony is like no other in the keeping of an American promise,” she said. “As immigrants like me, you’re not coming empty-handed. You bring your unique backgrounds and talents.”

Her words were audible above the crowd’s low murmur, everyone eager to see their loved one cross the stage and receive their certificate. Exuberant hoots and burbles of young children unimpressed by the solemnity of the event made McBean-Clairborne smile, thinking about her voluble 6-month-old at her own naturalization ceremony years ago.

And just as the new citizens’ country of origin ranged across continents and hemispheres, so too did their reasons range for making this choice. Many had Cornell affiliations, drawn to Ithaca by work or school.

For Elodie Smith, a digital communications specialist at Cornell originally from France, who became a citizen alongside her 24-year-old daughter Scilla Raymond-Gazave, the day was a refutation of the divisive, polarizing political moment.

“There’s so much doom and gloom about the upcoming election,” she said, cradling the aforementioned apple pie, a gift from a proud friend. “There’s a feeling that you share this trouble with everybody. Whatever happens, I’m here with the people I love. You really have your roots somewhere.”

Live in a place for a long time without becoming a citizen, she said, one always feels like a foreigner.

“This gives me a sense of belonging,” she said. Later in the day she aimed to zip out to get her U.S. passport.

For Robert Goggs, associate professor in the College of Veterinary Medicine, and his wife Lizzie Goggs, a transition counselor in human relations at the university, they have put down roots here, their two sons, ages 4 and 18 months, born here.

“We have two Americans in the family already,” Rob Goggs said. “It makes sense to have the opportunity to influence local and national politics with the ability to vote.”

The couple sees citizenship as a way to shape their children’s lives. For Lizzie Goggs, local, state and national elections all matter: “It all impacts my family.”

Credit: Sreang Hok/Cornell University

An undergraduate studying information science in the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences, Michel Adelien watched his mother become a citizen in 2008, his father in 2019. His family members, all from Haiti, urged him to become naturalized, in part because of increasingly ugly rhetoric about immigration.

“It’s a problem facing people in the Haitian community. My family thinks this is the safest choice. They worry in terms of policies changing and a scenario where a green card isn’t enough,” Adelien said. His connectedness and love of Haiti is unabated, however. “This past year I joined the Haitian Students Association at Cornell. We’re working on promoting the culture and informing people about what’s going on (in Haiti).”

After the welcome speeches, the Pledge of Allegiance and music performed by London McDaniel on guitar and Alina Kim on vocals (“America the Beautiful” and “Over the Rainbow,” both with just a hint of off-beat reggae rhythm), the group received their certificates, handshakes all around.

Many new citizens stood for photos, tiny American flags clutched in their fists. For Adelien, in a crisp blue shirt and tie, there was still work to do. He stopped stranger Kathy Hopkins, who wore a League of Women Voters button.

“How long do I have to fill this out and what do I do with it?” he asked her, pointing to his voter registration form.

“I can help you do it right now,” she said.

And as new citizens and their entourages filtered out of the hall, on their way to lunch and celebrations, Adelien and Hopkins put pen to paper.