Should U.S. Territories Finally Become States?

The United States likes to introduce itself as a representative democracy of 50 states – and then mumbles the rest. Scattered across the Caribbean and the Pacific are five permanently inhabited territories whose residents live under the U.S. flag but outside many of its core political rights. They serve in our armed forces, follow federal law, and use U.S. currency.

Yet they cannot vote for president and lack voting representation in Congress. If that sounds like a civics riddle with a colonial punchline, that’s because it is. The question isn’t whether these places “count.” The question is whether the country they belong to is ready to count them fully.

What Exactly Is A U.S. Territory?

A U.S. territory is land under American sovereignty that isn’t part of any state (or the District of Columbia). The five inhabited territories – Puerto Rico, Guam, the U.S. Virgin Islands, American Samoa, and the Northern Mariana Islands – collectively hold roughly 3.6 million people across about 9,200 square miles. Residents are subject to federal law, protected (mostly) by the Constitution, and governed locally under frameworks approved by Congress. 

Unlike states, however, they have no voting members in Congress and no Electoral College votes. Most residents can participate in presidential primaries, and each territory elects a non-voting delegate (or, in Puerto Rico’s case, a resident commissioner) to the House. It’s representation with the microphone on mute.

Citizenship, Nationals, And Uneven Rights

Four of the five territories confer birthright U.S. citizenship. American Samoa is the outlier: people born there are U.S. nationals, not citizens, at birth. Nationals can live and work in any state but lack certain rights – like the ability to vote in federal elections without naturalizing, serve on federal juries, or hold some public offices. Even where citizenship is automatic, territorial residents still face a democratic deficit: they cannot choose the lawmakers who set the federal policies that govern them. That mismatch – full obligations without full political inclusion – drives much of the modern debate.

How These Islands Became American

Territorial status isn’t an accident; it’s a legacy of war, purchase, and power projection. Puerto Rico and Guam entered the U.S. orbit in 1898 after the Spanish–American War. The U.S. bought the Virgin Islands from Denmark in 1917, largely for strategic reasons during World War I. The Northern Mariana Islands came under American administration after World War II. American Samoa’s partition followed late-19th-century great-power jockeying. Some were governed for decades by the Navy or Interior, reflecting their role as outposts more than proto-states. That origin story matters: these places were acquired to project strength and secure trade routes, not because Congress imagined them as future states.

The Insular Cases And “Second-Class” Status

The Supreme Court’s early-1900s “Insular Cases” created the concept of “unincorporated territories” – lands “belonging to, but not part of,” the United States. Only “fundamental” constitutional rights applied by default; the rest depended on Congress. The opinions were laced with openly racist assumptions about the people living there, and their legal consequences endure. Practically, this framework gave Congress enormous flexibility to govern territories differently and indefinitely without putting them on a path to statehood. It’s an antique legal scaffolding propping up a modern democratic inconsistency.

Taxes, Benefits, And The Representation Paradox

Territorial residents do pay federal taxes – Social Security, Medicare, and more – but generally not federal income tax on income earned within the territory (local governments run “mirror” codes instead). Critics of statehood often stop there, as if that resolves everything. It doesn’t. Many states also receive more in federal spending than they send in federal taxes. And the principle at stake isn’t a ledger line – it’s consent of the governed. Millions of Americans live under federal law with no voting say in the Congress that writes it and no vote for the president who signs it. The Revolution coined a phrase for that.

Puerto Rico’s Singular Scale

With over 3.2 million residents, Puerto Rico is larger than many states – indeed, it has more people than several states combined. Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens, and the island self-governs as a commonwealth, a term many there prefer. Political status is the live wire: the island has held multiple plebiscites in recent decades, and support for statehood has grown, with recent votes showing a plurality or majority for admission. 

Still, Congress has never offered a binding statehood choice. The result is a long, messy “in-between”-citizenship without full equality, local autonomy without national representation, and outmigration fueled by economic and fiscal instability.

Guam And The U.S. Virgin Islands: Strategic But Stalled

Guam and the U.S. Virgin Islands have been American for over a century. Their people are citizens, the cultures are distinct – Chamorro in Guam, Afro-Caribbean in the USVI – and both economies lean heavily on a narrow base (the military and tourism, respectively). Statehood has never gained real momentum, in part because of size: combined populations are far below the smallest states. Admitting either would grant two Senate seats to a tiny electorate, a political reality that makes Congress cautious. Local support has also been fragmented; past referendums showed no clear mandate for statehood. Inertia fills the vacuum.

Culture, Identity, And The Statehood Dilemma

Supporters argue statehood secures equality and stability; skeptics worry about cultural dilution and federal overreach. These aren’t trivial concerns. Language, heritage, land tenure, and indigenous rights are central to community identity, particularly in Guam and American Samoa. But statehood doesn’t require cultural erasure – Hawaii is a state with a living Native Hawaiian culture; New Mexico remains bilingual and proudly distinct. The harder question is whether staying a territory better protects identity than equal footing as a state. My view: culture thrives when people have power over their future. Political equality strengthens, not weakens, that power.

What Statehood Would Actually Change

Statehood would confer full representation: voting members in the House, two senators, and Electoral College votes. Federal programs would largely align with state formulas, and residents would generally pay federal income taxes like everyone else. It would also shift more responsibility to local governance under the Constitution’s state framework. The fear that small, remote states can’t handle it doesn’t square with history – Alaska and Hawaii adjusted, as did the 37 states admitted after the original 13. The bigger hurdle is political, not logistical: Congress must pass an admission act, and national parties will assess the partisan impact of two new Senate seats.

Independence And Free Association: Real Options, Real Tradeoffs

Full independence would maximize self-determination – but likely at the cost of U.S. citizenship and the financial and security backstops that come with it, unless a bespoke deal were struck. A “free association” compact – sovereignty paired with negotiated U.S. support – offers another pathway (think the Marshall Islands, Micronesia, Palau). For territories with small, storm-vulnerable economies, either route would demand careful planning and broad public consent. It’s no accident that independence has historically drawn limited support. That said, the status quo is not “free”; it imposes democratic and economic costs of its own.

The Two-Senators Problem And Congressional Inertia

Under Article IV, Congress controls admission. That makes statehood a pure political calculation: would the national parties accept two new senators (and new House seats) from small, far-flung electorates? When a territory is large enough – Puerto Rico – the counterargument is “too big and complicated.” When it’s small – Guam or the USVI – it’s “too small for two senators.” This is less constitutional principle than partisan math, and it explains why the territories remain where they are: caught between a dated legal doctrine and a Congress allergic to structural change.

A Fair Path Forward

There’s a way out of limbo that respects consent and clarity. First, Congress should authorize binding, federally recognized self-determination votes in each territory with clearly defined status options: statehood, independence, free association, or continuation as a territory. Second, it should commit – publicly and in statute – to implementing the winner of a majority vote, with negotiated transition timelines and fiscal frameworks. 

Third, suppose the choice is to remain a territory. In that case, Congress should legislate a bill of territorial rights that ends second-class treatment in federal programs and codifies equal protection where the Insular Cases currently cast shadows. If we’re going to keep territories, we should at least stop treating their residents like afterthoughts.

So, Should They Become States?

My answer: where a territory’s people clearly choose statehood – particularly in Puerto Rico – the default should be yes. Equality is not a prize reserved for contiguous land or convenient populations; it’s the promise we claim to make to all Americans. For smaller territories without a statehood consensus, Congress should still force the question with binding, transparent votes and credible alternatives beyond the status quo. Democracy isn’t a souvenir you buy on vacation. It’s a living system that demands the courage to fix its contradictions. If the United States believes its own founding story, the people under its flag should get to finish theirs.

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