We are a nation of immigrants and their offspring. In 2019, those who were foreign-born without US citizenship accounted for almost 14% (45 million) of our population. This includes naturalized citizens, lawful permanent residents, refugees and asylees, persons on certain temporary visas, and unauthorized immigrants.

Why did they come? The answers vary greatly, and have changed over time.

The Pilgrims who migrated to North America aboard the Mayflower in 1620 were desperate for religious freedom. In the 17th and 18th centuries, Africans forced into chattel slavery, and the indentured Chinese who built our railroads in the 19th century were simply conscripted.

The “huddled masses” that passed through Ellis Island in the 19th and early 20th century were ethnically diverse but uniform in their quest for economic opportunities. Jews from Europe and Russia came to escape Nazi genocide in the 20th century, while Haitian and Cuban migrants came seeking refuge from natural disasters and communism.

US military activity in Korea, Vietnam, Yugoslavia, Iraq, Syria, and now Afghanistan each created its own wave of political refugees. USAID operations combating famine and civil wars also facilitated migration from Somalia, Ethiopia, Rwanda, and Sudan. And of course, migration from Latin America has steadily increased since 1960, driven mostly by economic motives.

We are not united by a common race, ethnicity, or religion. We are instead a “mongrel” people compared to ethnically homogenous cultures like Japan, Italy, Greece, or Saudi Arabia. In the heyday of broadcast TV, America embraced an illusory sense of homogeneity, modeled on Anglo Saxon culture, with Walter Cronkite as its voice. But that illusion faded.

The diversity that typifies American society often makes it difficult to define precisely what “being American” actually means.

One of the core characteristics of Post-Woodstock America is certainly the priority we assign to individualism. We are not a communal people. We no longer place nation, neighbor, or even future generations above self-interest. Look no further than the latest imbroglios over vaccination and mask mandates for expressions of extreme individual agency.

But arguably the most enduring trait associated with “being American” is a hunger for personal success in the form of economic transcendence. From the “ethical egoism” of Ayn Rand to the “greed is good” bravura of Gordon Gecko, American culture presumes that anyone can become wealthy, and everyone should aspire to. The desire to “get rich or die tryin” is quintessentially American.

Horatio Alger, a 19th century author, exemplified the synthesis of religion and greed that came to define America’s industrial culture. His novels about children rising up from poverty thanks to a fierce work ethic and strong moral compass created a “rags to riches” genre that helped Gilded Age society rationalize the excesses of the Robber Baron era.

Outsiders often characterize America as a capitalist free-for-all. Europeans in particular tend to caricature Americans as work-obsessed wage slaves. There is some truth to these jibes.

In the 1980s the average hours worked in the US surpassed the hours worked by peers in Europe, and that differential has been rising since. Labor-friendly regulations and benefits in many EU states contrast sharply with more employer-friendly rules in the US.

Recent narratives about economic inequality point to our shrinking middle class and the accumulation of extreme wealth as evidence that Horatio Alger yarns about economic mobility are simply myths. This critique oversimplifies a complex topic.

The portion of Americans in middle-income households did decrease from 61% in 1971 to 51% in 2019. However, a shrinking middle-class cohort is not necessarily a sign of regression. In the same period, adults in the upper-income tier increased from 14% to 20%. Meanwhile, the lower-income cohort increased from 25% to 29%. There was slightly more movement up the income ladder than down.

Living standards have also improved. In the 1930s Americans spent more than 60% of their income on necessities compared to less than 35% in 2015. The average American worker now receives over 22 days of paid time off annually. Adjusted for inflation, per capita personal income has increased 284% from $14K in 1959 to $54K in 2020.

Income inequality – the extent to which household incomes differ – has increased since the 1970s, driven by relatively rapid income growth at the top. In 1975, the average income of households in the top fifth of the income distribution was 10 times household income in the bottom fifth; in 2019, average top incomes were over 16 times those at the bottom.

Covid stimulus and related hiring challenges have recently slightly reversed this trend by accelerating wage growth in a small amount for the bottom quintile.

Neuroscience shows we’re hardwired to care more about income relative to peers and neighbors than we are about the actual amount we earn. We may not have Royals, but Americans have always chased fortune and used income as a yardstick. We are, ultimately, a motley collection of strivers looking for opportunities to beat the averages.