The words we use to describe ourselves reveal more than we think. For years, English speakers living in Mexico — and much of the rest of the world — have comfortably called themselves “expats.” Meanwhile, people moving to the United States are nearly always referred to as “immigrants.” Same action, different word. And increasingly, that difference is raising uncomfortable questions.
The debate is not new, but it has gained traction in recent years as foreign populations in places like Los Cabos and La Paz have grown and become more visible. Some locals see the term “expat” as a way for wealthier, mostly white foreigners to distance themselves from the word “immigrant,” which in the United States and parts of Europe has taken on a distinctly negative, even racialized connotation. The implication: expats are adventurous, worldly and temporary. Immigrants are desperate, burdensome and here to stay.
It is not hard to see why that feels unfair.
Where the Terms Come From
Technically, “expatriate” simply means someone living outside their native country. It is derived from Latin: ex (out of) and patria (native land). The word has been in use for centuries and originally carried no class distinction. An expatriate was just someone abroad.
“Immigrant,” meanwhile, refers specifically to someone who has moved to a new country with the intention of staying permanently. It comes from the Latin immigrare, meaning to move into. By definition, the two terms describe different situations.
But somewhere along the way, usage diverged from definition. In practice, “expat” became shorthand for English-speaking professionals, retirees and digital workers living abroad — often in sunny, affordable places. “Immigrant” became the word used for people crossing borders in the opposite direction, often from poorer countries to wealthier ones, often without legal status, often doing manual labor.
The distinction, critics argue, is not about intent or duration. It is about privilege.
Why It Matters in Baja
In Southern Baja, the tension is subtle but real. Many foreigners living here full-time — some for decades — still refer to themselves as expats, even though they have residency visas, own property, run businesses and send their children to local schools. By any reasonable definition, they are immigrants.
Yet the label feels wrong to them. Immigrant, in their minds, implies struggle, hardship, a one-way ticket. Expat suggests choice, adventure, the option to leave. One word feels like an identity. The other feels like a verdict.
For Mexicans watching this play out, the double standard can sting. Why, they ask, do foreigners in Mexico get to be expats while Mexicans in the United States are called immigrants — or worse?
The question has gained visibility as surveys show foreign residents in Mexico are overwhelmingly satisfied with their lives, often praising the welcoming nature of local communities. But that warmth does not erase the linguistic imbalance, and some see the continued use of “expat” as a refusal to acknowledge a shared status.
The Implications of Language
Words shape how we see ourselves and how we are seen. When a retiree from California living in Todos Santos calls himself an expat, he is signaling — intentionally or not — that he is different from a construction worker from Oaxaca living in San Diego. Both crossed a border. Both adapted to a new language, new systems, new neighbors. But only one gets the softer label.
Some argue this is harmless. It is just vocabulary, they say, not a political statement. But language is never neutral. The refusal to use the word “immigrant” for oneself while using it freely for others creates a hierarchy, even if no insult is intended.
Others point out that not all foreign residents in Mexico are wealthy or white. There are immigrants here from Central and South America, from Europe, from Asia. Many arrived with little money, learned Spanish, worked their way up and stayed. Do they get to be expats too? Or does the term only apply to certain nationalities, certain incomes, certain skin tones?
These are not abstract questions. They affect how communities see each other, how policies are written, how integration happens or fails to happen. The foreign community in Cabo is large, visible and growing. What it calls itself matters.
What Comes Next
The debate will not be settled by a dictionary. Language evolves through use, and use is shaped by power, habit and the willingness to listen. Some foreign residents in Baja have started calling themselves immigrants. Others bristle at the suggestion. Most have never thought much about it at all.
But the conversation is worth having. Not because anyone is required to adopt a particular label, but because understanding why the labels exist — and who benefits from them — is part of living responsibly in someone else’s country.
In Baja, where foreign and local lives are increasingly intertwined, small acts of linguistic honesty can go a long way. Calling yourself an immigrant when you have immigrated is not an admission of hardship. It is an acknowledgment of reality. And in a region where tensions over development and displacement occasionally surface, that kind of honesty builds the kind of trust communities need.
In the end, you can call yourself whatever you like. But it is worth asking why the word “expat” feels comfortable and the word “immigrant” does not — and what that discomfort says about the world we have built, and the one we want to live in.
