Superman and the Immigrant Paradox
We regret to inform you that Superman is not legally authorized to save this country.
Yes, he has superhuman strength, laser vision, and the ability to fly at supersonic speeds—but according to any sane interpretation of bureaucratic protocol, he has not completed the proper documentation to serve as a legally sanctioned hero within the continental United States.
Let’s break this down.
Superman was found in a Kansas cornfield with no Social Security number, no visa, no birth certificate (unless “crystal memory pod” counts), and zero demonstrated knowledge of American civics beyond the basics of Midwestern courtesy and intense eye contact. He has never paid taxes, never registered for Selective Service, and has yet to pass the English portion of the Naturalization Test. (“Truth, Justice, and the American Way” is not a valid essay submission.)
His very existence violates every principle of the Heroic Citizenship Compliance Act of 2003, which clearly states that no extraterrestrial entity may engage in large-scale planetary defense without first attending a Homeland Heroism orientation seminar titled: “So You Think You Can Save a Planet.”
The Case for American Heroes
Look, we already have perfectly good legal heroes.
Captain America? Born here. Signed up for a government science experiment. Fights Nazis with paperwork.
The Hulk? Complicated, yes, but technically a domestic threat—which makes him the Department of Energy’s problem, not ICE.
Batman? A billionaire philanthropist who works nights. Definitely taxable. Probably owns property in six states.
Iron Man? Former weapons dealer turned PR-friendly patriot with a heart condition and a defense contract.
These are the kinds of heroes we can trust. Heroes who break stuff on behalf of legally recognized institutions. Heroes who file reports. Heroes who salute.
Superman: The Real Threat
And what about Superman? He acts alone. He shows up unannounced. He levitates ominously in the sky and expects gratitude. Have you ever tried to get him to sign a witness statement? He just vanishes. Like a vigilante. Or a rogue state.
Also—and this is important—he doesn’t even try to assimilate. He puts on glasses and mumbles through a newsroom job like that makes up for city-leveling heat vision. We’re supposed to believe that because he wears a tie and says “golly” he’s one of us? Try that at a TSA checkpoint.
What Superman Should Have Done
If Superman really cared about America, he would have:
- Landed in a designated alien-processing zone (we have, like, three)
- Filed an intergalactic refugee intent-to-naturalize document
- Taken the civics exam (no, you may NOT write “Krypton blew up” for every answer)
- Registered his heat vision with the Department of Energy
- Attended monthly “Capes and Compliance” community safety briefings
- Waited six months for a biometric scan at the Kansas DMV
Until he does, he is technically an undocumented aerial entity. Possibly a weather balloon. Possibly an existential metaphor. Either way, not our problem.
Saving the World Is Not a Legal Defense
Maybe you think heroes don’t need credentials. Maybe you believe saving the world should be enough. That if someone catches a falling skyscraper or wrestles a wormhole into submission, we should offer gratitude instead of government forms.
Cute.
But let’s be honest: we live in a country where you need a permit to build a shed and three forms of ID to renew your driver’s license. You really think we’re just handing out “planetary savior” status to undocumented space orphans in capes?
Heroism, like everything else, is apparently subject to zoning laws.
In Conclusion
If your city is being attacked by a cosmic wormhole and Superman shows up to help? Politely decline. Call Iron Man. Or Captain Planet. Or your therapist.
Let us not become the kind of nation that allows just any alien to save us.
Stay vigilant. File your forms. And remember: belonging is a privilege—even for the guy who literally caught a collapsing moon.
