With the presidential election looming and dominating our news, we hear opinions (oh, so many opinions) about, "Who Americans are and what they need/want/care about." And while I have political rhetoric fatigue as much as anyone, since my time living abroad, I listen a little more carefully and roll my eyes a little less than I once would have. Part of moving to a new country is that inevitable questioning of definitions and roles, as a woman, a teacher, even a Midwesterner ("No, um...it's called Ohio? Yeah--no, it's the name of a state, one of the states. It's in the middle. No, it's--uh-- not really near New York...") But, as you may have guessed, the definition that I come to terms with most often is 'American.' In the States, when someone asks where I'm from I begin to list my ancestry or say, "Originally, Ohio.What? No, not Iowa... Are you serio-- it's the freakin' heart-shaped one in the middle!"
The question takes on an entirely different answer and significance when living overseas. It will come up in every conversation I have with locals and other travelers alike. And the answer is loaded with implications, plenty false and some alarmingly true. When you come from a country that everyone knows and usually has a strong opinion about, perceptions--good and bad-- slip out of the mouths of strangers and of friends. Stop me if you've heard it: Americans are loud (guilty...). Americans tip well. American girls are easy. Americans love their guns. Americans love their country. The American dream is real. Americans are all fat. Americans don't know us. Americans don't understand us.
It wasn't until I was living outside my own country that I started to develop a real sense of my 'American-ness.' How often had I had to think about it before-- really, critically think about it? That part of me that couldn't be claimed by my family influence, my local culture, or my inescapable Kerk-ness. It was a part of who I was and it wasn't negotiable, but I didn't feel responsible for it. I certainly never had to defend it. But my Korean co-workers frequently asked if some of my habits were, "Just an Anne Teacher thing, or an American thing?" My Argentine students wanted to know my opinion on areas of American politics I had never fully considered. (Fun fact: Many Argentinians call all people from the States 'yankees,' a fact I found out at a party early into my time in BsAs. Cue a long-winded, somewhat tipsy explanation about the Civil War and succession that I'm pretty sure failed miserably).
While I was traveling in Vietnam fellow backpackers advised me to say I was from Canada as they had encountered animosity and scorn when they'd admitted they were American. It was well intentioned advice, but I decided that I couldn't lie about where I was from. That meant, in a way, I would be lying about who I am. If my country has done things that I'm not proud of, then surely my role as a citizen is not to deny their existence but to commit to learning from past mistakes. Should I remove myself from criticism by saying- "Sure, that's my country but I only admit to the good parts?" That doesn't sit well with me. I don't deny that it is a huge responsibility, yet my role must be to step outside my comfort zone, seek out different perspectives, ask hard questions, and learn about my world, my country and my place in both. And interestingly enough, in all my travels, when I reply to the inevitable with, "Umm... the USA, from Chicago?" the response is most often, "Chick-a-go? Michael Jordan! Go Bulls!"
Election season may find me shouting at the T.V., shaking my head, and being drawn into political fights on Facebook walls even though I know better, and somehow I always find hope ballooning inside me about that infamous American Dream the whole world references. I'm finding there might be something to that classic argument "America. Like it, or leave it!" and the variations thereof. Not the sentiments of exclusion or intolerance of course, but how telling, how American is it that in such a statement, we have a choice? (And if I didn't recognize the significance before, living in close proximity to North Korea for awhile was eye-opening.) I am an American. I get a choice. So, perhaps my slogan for this moment in my life could be "America. Like it and Leave it. And then come back. Reflect and leave again. And then come back and eat a bunch of peanut butter." But that doesn't fit so nicely on a t-shirt.
What has all this going and coming and American-ness meant for me? I suppose it's that you don't think about who you are until you see yourself from somewhere else.
Rock the Vote 2012.
Love from,
Kerk
The question takes on an entirely different answer and significance when living overseas. It will come up in every conversation I have with locals and other travelers alike. And the answer is loaded with implications, plenty false and some alarmingly true. When you come from a country that everyone knows and usually has a strong opinion about, perceptions--good and bad-- slip out of the mouths of strangers and of friends. Stop me if you've heard it: Americans are loud (guilty...). Americans tip well. American girls are easy. Americans love their guns. Americans love their country. The American dream is real. Americans are all fat. Americans don't know us. Americans don't understand us.
It wasn't until I was living outside my own country that I started to develop a real sense of my 'American-ness.' How often had I had to think about it before-- really, critically think about it? That part of me that couldn't be claimed by my family influence, my local culture, or my inescapable Kerk-ness. It was a part of who I was and it wasn't negotiable, but I didn't feel responsible for it. I certainly never had to defend it. But my Korean co-workers frequently asked if some of my habits were, "Just an Anne Teacher thing, or an American thing?" My Argentine students wanted to know my opinion on areas of American politics I had never fully considered. (Fun fact: Many Argentinians call all people from the States 'yankees,' a fact I found out at a party early into my time in BsAs. Cue a long-winded, somewhat tipsy explanation about the Civil War and succession that I'm pretty sure failed miserably).
While I was traveling in Vietnam fellow backpackers advised me to say I was from Canada as they had encountered animosity and scorn when they'd admitted they were American. It was well intentioned advice, but I decided that I couldn't lie about where I was from. That meant, in a way, I would be lying about who I am. If my country has done things that I'm not proud of, then surely my role as a citizen is not to deny their existence but to commit to learning from past mistakes. Should I remove myself from criticism by saying- "Sure, that's my country but I only admit to the good parts?" That doesn't sit well with me. I don't deny that it is a huge responsibility, yet my role must be to step outside my comfort zone, seek out different perspectives, ask hard questions, and learn about my world, my country and my place in both. And interestingly enough, in all my travels, when I reply to the inevitable with, "Umm... the USA, from Chicago?" the response is most often, "Chick-a-go? Michael Jordan! Go Bulls!"
Election season may find me shouting at the T.V., shaking my head, and being drawn into political fights on Facebook walls even though I know better, and somehow I always find hope ballooning inside me about that infamous American Dream the whole world references. I'm finding there might be something to that classic argument "America. Like it, or leave it!" and the variations thereof. Not the sentiments of exclusion or intolerance of course, but how telling, how American is it that in such a statement, we have a choice? (And if I didn't recognize the significance before, living in close proximity to North Korea for awhile was eye-opening.) I am an American. I get a choice. So, perhaps my slogan for this moment in my life could be "America. Like it and Leave it. And then come back. Reflect and leave again. And then come back and eat a bunch of peanut butter." But that doesn't fit so nicely on a t-shirt.
What has all this going and coming and American-ness meant for me? I suppose it's that you don't think about who you are until you see yourself from somewhere else.
Rock the Vote 2012.
Love from,
Kerk