How identity coexist with the immigrant

Migration is a process of mourning, though not always visible, that leaves a mark on the immigrant’s identity, forcing them to reconfigure their sense of belonging while adapting to a new culture. Upon arriving in a new place, the immigrant confronts not only a new territory, but also a profound uncertainty: the fear of losing oneself amid the unknown. Identity, once a safe refuge, becomes fluid, fragile, and vulnerable. In this journey toward the unfamiliar, migration turns into a constant struggle, a mixture of hope and pain. And even when the immigrant adapts, they never cease to carry within them a fragment of the place where they were born.

On December 10, 2025, I met José Romero, a Bolivian who has lived in Gothenburg for approximately 48 years for political reasons, following the military coups in Latin America during the 1970s. His parents were involved in almost radical political parties, particularly the Bolivian Communist Party, which led them to participate in trade union struggles in Bolivia. His father was a teacher and his mother a teacher and housewife, as well as the founder of the Bolivian Housewives’ Women’s Organization. Within the party, his father served as Secretary of Culture, a role that, as José himself suggests, shaped his own strong cultural path.

He explains that, in the city, he also experienced early forms of structural racism due to his involvement in what is internationally referred to as “red politics.” As a result, he and his family were unable to access primary education during those years, something he recalls from his childhood. As he puts it: “We already tasted, so to speak, those bitter flavors of life” socially, politically, and economically. This later led him to become involved in student movements, which eventually forced him into exile in 1972 to Chile. Following Pinochet’s coup d’état in Chile, he and several comrades were again pushed into exile, this time to East Germany, the former GDR.

In 1981, he migrated with his wife to Sweden. José Romero speaks about the identity “stamp” that all newborns receive, one that is not chosen. As he himself says: “and other kinds of stereotypes we are born into, we grow, we evolve, and we carry them with us; we are typified. Wherever we are, whether we are Spanish or Bolivian, Latino.”

We talked about this long and difficult process that migrants undergo, where, after successfully settling into a neighborhood within the host country, the migrant individual may continue to move toward other opportunities that society offers, whether through marriage, securing a good job, finding adequate housing, and so on.

As he explains this entire process, I find myself wondering how a migrant is able to manage such a heavy burden once established, as it is a profound mental and emotional weight that deeply shapes a person. But José Romero clarifies it simply: “(…) the consequence is continuing to live, let’s say, with a double personality, a double nationality, a double attitude. We are always double; we are never one when we migrate.”

Perhaps the answer to this sense of duality lies in his response when I ask him about the obstacles one faces when arriving as a newcomer. He answers immediately: language. Closely tied to the principles and values one is taught at home, he explains, language defines you as a person and as a migrant, shaping how you behave. It is within this space that learning to respect what belongs to others and trying to coexist with what is new and unfamiliar takes place.

Within this process of yielding and adapting unfolds the struggle to make oneself understood. Or to be understood as a person, as a young individual, along with new concerns that gradually take shape within the new society as one becomes accepted.

I was deeply moved by the way José Romero expresses himself. He offers me a warmer, more intimate perspective on migration and what it truly means to live it. He helps me understand that migration is not only about moving from one neighborhood to another, but also about migration within the family itself. It is a metaphor he offers to help explain how one migrates. He continues by saying that we have always been migrants, and that this condition enriches us insofar as society accepts us, and rejects us if we do not conform to what it expects. Because, in the end, as he says: “I have always spoken from difference, because that is what we are. We are different.”