I'm American, OK? (Part 1)
And I'm not ashamed, damnit!
I recently learned that my Grandma Margaret used to attend naturalization ceremonies for fun.
Now, if you were to read a TL;DR download about my grandma, you’d learn that she was, by all accounts, a badass who was way ahead of her time. She got a Master’s degree from Northwestern; traveled to Europe by herself in the 40s; studied Spanish, Italian, Latin, and German; taught Spanish but also spent a summer teaching English in Francisco Franco’s Madrid in 1968; was an early subscriber to Ebony magazine; and eventually penned a genealogical account of my grandpa’s family that now resides in the Library of Congress.
All things that, as an insanely modest person, she would’ve shrugged off, diverting conversation to something else unrelated to her.
But finding out that she used to attend naturalization ceremonies (aka watching people get their U.S. citizenship confirmed) really struck a chord with me.
Why?
Because there is something legitimately touching about someone pursuing and obtaining citizenship for your home country, the ol’ U.S.A. Of course, not everyone does it because they’ve dreamed of becoming an American since their first time eating McDonald’s or seeing a Nike commercial. (God bless America!)
My husband has been on a multiyear U.S. naturalization journey (this is not his first time pursuing citizenship in another country, either), which has made me reevaluate my perspective on both America and what it means to be American. Early on in our marriage, he told me I was the ‘most American person he had ever met.’ This was a bit of a head scratcher for me—actually at the time I interpreted it as an insult—because a coworker in the UK (hi, Katy!) had also recently told me that I was essentially an honorary Brit because of my sense of humor and love of crumpets…big paradox, innit.
I had never considered myself to be overly patriotic: I’ve voted in each presidential election and protested a handful of times, but I also have an American flag bathing suit, defend my fellow Americans when I’m met with surprise that someone living in the U.S. wants to learn a new language, and will squawk any time I hear about a naturalized citizen or green card holder promoting policies or sharing propaganda that denigrate immigrants.
Why does owning an American flag bathing suit make me feel like I need to clarify that I am voraciously anti-gun and will never touch nor own one?
It’s been a bit of a journey unpacking the dead weight that is “I’m ashamed and embarrassed to be an American.” I suppose after years of being married to a soon-to-be-naturalized citizen, spending some time abroad, and even taking Dari lessons with my teacher in Afghanistan, I’ve come to cultivate a different understanding of my country.
There is *indeed* a lot to be pissed off about, disappointed with, ashamed of, etc. when it comes to being an American. As an *~elder millennial*~ who grew up in a privileged and slightly-less-fancy John Hughes-esque suburb, absorbing patriotism and American exceptionalism through a combination of osmosis and pledge of allegiances, I was in for a rude awakening when I “grew up” and found that a) finding a well-paying job with a college degree is actually really hard and b) I guess I’m not going to live in a house like Ferris Bueller!
Who knew that mansions are expensive?!
Top it off with the disaster that is our healthcare system, unaffordable childcare, our obsession with “work” and “having a lot of shit,” hyper-commercialization of pretty much everything…and of course, the guns. Yes, there is a LOT to fix, and don’t even get me started on the social issues.
But.
BUT.
As someone who has seen her fair share of therapists—yes, yours truly isn’t always the beacon of mental health, believe it or not—an important lesson I’ve learned is that if you consistently tell yourself that you’re shit, then you’re probably going to feel like a turd.
And I believe that the above mentality applies to how you see your country, too. More and more, I notice younger generations, both domestically and abroad, absolutely shitting on the U.S. And you know what? I get it. I came of age in a post-9/11, “freedom fries” world and watched the beginning of the Iraq War on TV while wondering, if we’re ‘liberating’ Iraqis why aren’t we liberating Libyans, North Koreans, or Iranians?
To me there’s a big difference between the constructive criticism that you take to the ballot box and the destructive criticism that leads to shredding your country to oblivion because it’s the cool thing to do.
In order for the U.S. to not only recuperate but also regenerate, we need to start with some soul searching and a lil’ bit of hope. Yes this country is 100% going to hell in a handbasket at times, but I also genuinely believe it will someday become the country I *believed* it was when I was little. That may sound naieve, but I choose to embrace this vibe because the alternative feels pretty fucking depressing. And if you have conversations with immigrants or naturalized citizens, you may be surprised to learn that, while they may have plenty of valid criticisms or struggle to acclimate, they may often be surprised to hear that so many Americans believe the country is a ‘total disaster.’
More recently, since Biden announced his withdrawal and Kamala’s falling out of the coconut tree and into the race, I’ve felt a sense of optimism that I haven’t felt since Biden won the election in 2020. We need hope and we also need to feel like and see that we are making progress as a country.
That doesn’t mean we should neglect or ignore what needs work: quite the opposite. We need to complain, vote, yell, protest. (Just NOT storm the capitol.)
And yet there are still things to be grateful for. And I’m going to bust out the ‘F’ word, which I know is going to make some of y’all shudder, but freedom is something we often take for granted. I think about my Dari teacher and all the things she’d get imprisoned for (or worse) that, here in the U.S., wouldn’t make anyone blink an eye. OK, maybe you’d get a side eye, depending on what you said or did, but still.
As we head into what is the most consequential election of our lifetime (how many times have we heard that over the last two decades?) let’s remember that while we may feel disappointed, angry, disgruntled, or outraged with different aspects of life here, we need to “yes, and…” that shit with “what are we going to do about it?”
I know it’s easy to be cynical; I myself feel like the female incarnation of Larry David at times, but we have to do our best to counter that negativity with pragmatic optimism. And the numbers speak for themselves.
So when my husband ends up officially pledging allegiance to the U.S. at his naturalization ceremony, I’m sure I will be [hopefully quietly] sobbing in the stands. Not because *he* is so desperate to become an American, but because *I* will have needed the affirmation that people are still coming here for a million different reasons, many of which are for freedom, new opportunities, or simply to, well, live.
And I’m sure during that ceremony I’ll feel my Grandma Margaret with me, finally getting the chance to watch a family member become an American citizen.