Superman and Spider-Man: The Tale of Two Superheroes, or One Alien’s Immigration Mystery

Let’s talk about superheroes. Spider-Man: that friendly neighborhood kid from Queens who sticks to walls, swings through New York, and still has time to make it home for Aunt May’s meatloaf. And then there’s Superman, the Man of Steel, the big guy in red and blue, flying around Metropolis like he’s got somewhere to be but never quite explaining how he got there. I mean, come on, Superman is literally an alien… but has anyone seen his visa? His green card? I think we need some answers.

Spider-Man: The Friendly Neighborhood Hero

First off, Spider-Man is just cool. No other way to say it. Here’s a teenager with spider powers, and instead of, you know, going dark, he decides to fight crime, help people out, and make it look like fun. He’s relatable because he’s got the same problems as us. Bad days at work? Check. Relationship drama? Check. Rent due? Double-check. But on top of that, he’s out there fighting the Green Goblin, getting his homework done, and still making time to catch a slice of pizza.

Spider-Man is the New York hero who feels like he’s one of us. He’s the guy you’d see at a corner deli, maybe sticking to the ceiling, sure, but you know he’s grounded (figuratively, at least). Spidey’s also a true-blue New Yorker, so his citizenship status isn’t in question—he’s as American as a hot dog on the Fourth of July.

And Then… Superman

Now, Superman. Where do we even begin? This guy literally fell out of the sky as a baby and somehow landed the role of America’s golden boy. Look at him in that red, blue, and yellow suit! It’s like he walked off the cover of an American flag photo shoot. And yet, he’s an alien. As in, outer space. From the planet Krypton. No birth certificate, no passport, and definitely no green card.

You have to wonder, what exactly does Superman put on his paperwork? Does he check “resident alien”? Or does he just skip the forms altogether? “Clark Kent” may have a Social Security number, but “Superman” sure doesn’t. Maybe the guy at immigration just waved him through because, well, he’s Superman, and who’s going to argue with a guy who can bend steel?

The Real Question: What Visa is Superman On?

Let’s break this down. Assuming Superman’s got some sort of status, what’s his visa situation? If he’s working as a reporter, maybe he’s got a journalist visa. But… there’s no “superhero” category at USCIS, so how’s he explaining all that vigilante work? Does he tell the immigration officer, “Oh, I just work nights. No big deal!” Does he claim he’s on a “mission” for Krypton?

And let’s talk dual citizenship. America doesn’t recognize Krypton as a country. So, technically, is Superman an American or not? If he saves the world, does he qualify for honorary citizenship? What about residency—if he flies back to the Fortress of Solitude, does he technically leave U.S. territory? These are the questions nobody’s asking, but we should be.

America’s Alien Hero

Maybe this is where it gets deep: Superman represents “truth, justice, and the American way,” even if his citizenship status is questionable at best. Maybe he’s a symbol that anyone, from anywhere, can come to America, do some good, and make a difference. Sure, Superman might not have all the right papers, but he’s proof that being a hero transcends borders, laws, and even planets.

Meanwhile, Spider-Man’s Just Chillin’

And there’s Spider-Man, swinging around New York without any immigration worries. He’s got a passport, no problem. If Peter Parker wants to go backpacking in Europe, he just buys a plane ticket, not a space shuttle. He’s the everyman hero who doesn’t need a green card or any special recognition. He’s just one of us, fighting crime and paying rent like the rest of us.

So, here’s to Spider-Man, our friendly neighborhood hero, and Superman, the alien with questionable paperwork. One’s a hero because he chooses to be, and the other… well, he might need to check in with USCIS one of these days. But whether they’re from Queens or Krypton, these heroes remind us that sometimes, saving the world doesn’t require a passport—it just requires heart. And maybe a little help from the immigration office, too.