For millions of Americans, a seemingly simple question — “What is your race or ethnicity?” — is anything but.
From school applications to medical forms to the once-a-decade U.S. census, Americans are routinely asked to define themselves in checkboxes. But more and more people say those boxes don’t reflect who they are — not their heritage, not their lived experience, and not their identities.
“I’m North African,” says Leila, 32, from Detroit. “But on official forms, I’m told I’m ‘White.’ That’s not how I see myself, and that’s not how society treats me either.”
Leila’s frustration is far from unique. The U.S. Census Bureau has long grouped people from the Middle East and North Africa — known collectively as MENA — under the category “White,” a classification many see as both historically inaccurate and socially alienating. Efforts to add a separate MENA box have stalled repeatedly, despite widespread support from civil rights groups and community leaders.
“It feels like we disappear on paper,” Leila says. “And if we disappear on paper, we disappear in policy.”
A Growing Crisis of Representation
The issue goes beyond MENA. Many Latinos balk at being asked to choose between “White” and “Black” — categories that often don’t reflect their cultural, racial, or familial backgrounds. Others from multiracial or multiethnic families find themselves forced to flatten their identities into a single ticked box.
Even public figures face this dilemma. In a recent New York Times article, New York City mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani revealed that he marked himself as both Asian and African American on a college application — a reflection of his Indian-Ugandan heritage. His story ignited a public conversation about how flawed and limiting the current racial categories are.
“There was no option for South Asian African,” Mamdani said. “I didn’t want to lie. But I didn’t want to disappear either.”
Checkboxes with Consequences
This isn’t just about paperwork — it’s about power.
Race and ethnicity data drive billions in federal funding. They shape everything from school district resources to public health initiatives, housing policy, and civil rights enforcement. When categories fail to capture communities accurately, those communities risk being undercounted — and underserved.
Dr. Amina Youssef, a public health researcher in California, has seen firsthand how the absence of accurate racial categories can distort data.
“In COVID studies, Middle Eastern communities had high infection rates, but they were counted as White,” she explains. “That skewed our data, our understanding of risk, and ultimately, our response. If you’re not counted, you’re not protected.”

The Emotional Toll
For some, the harm is more personal.
“I hate that I feel like I have to choose between my parents,” says José, a biracial college student in Chicago. “My dad is Mexican. My mom is Black. But I can only pick one. Every form asks me to erase half of who I am.”
Others say the categories themselves feel outdated — relics of an America that no longer exists.
“I’ve lived here my whole life,” says Samira, 27, whose family fled Syria during the civil war. “I pay taxes. I vote. I work. But every time I fill out a form, I’m reminded that I’m not seen — that there’s no place for me.”
A System Due for Change?
In 2023, the Biden administration floated proposed changes to federal racial and ethnic standards, including adding a MENA category and allowing people to check multiple boxes more fluidly. But the proposals have languished, caught in bureaucratic red tape and political hesitancy.
Meanwhile, Americans continue to fill out forms that don’t reflect them — and wonder if anyone is listening.
“There’s this illusion that the census is neutral,” says Dr. Youssef. “But who gets counted — and how they’re counted — is a deeply political decision. It shapes who matters. Who’s visible. Who gets a voice.”
The Question That Won’t Go Away
Back in Detroit, Leila sighs as she clicks through another government form, hovering over the “White” checkbox.
“I check it,” she says finally. “But I always feel like I’m lying.”
Then, after a pause, she adds, “It’s not that I don’t want to answer the question. It’s that they’re not asking the right one.”
