8-5-2008
I don’t know about you, but one of the ways that a movie can become one of my all time favorites is by having a great line. The Usual Suspects is one of those movies. Most people like the film because of its incredible acting and one of the best plot twists of all time. I’m not one of those people; I love the film because of one simple line. That point in the film where Kevin Spacey who plays the role of Verbal Kent, who is under interrogation as law enforcement, explains the power of the criminal master mind Keyser Soze by simply stating that “[t]he greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he did not exist.” I like that line and now I’m going to plagiarize Verbal Kent.
The greatest trick that the anti-immigrant movement has played on African Americans is convincing us that the anti-immigrant movement is no threat to us. I beg to differ. In fact I would like to make a modest proposal to Black America. That proposal is this: I believe that if there were not one immigrant or refugee in the United States we would still have an anti-immigrant movement. Why? Because the current so-called debate on immigration is not about coming to terms with the issue of migration; it is about who is an American and what will American look like. At its core anti-immigration is a national debate about civil rights, citizenship and national identity.
Beneath the irresponsible roar of Lou Dobbs, Glenn Beck and Bill O’Reilly and other radio wannabes lays the underbelly of this so called anti-immigrant movement. It is a layer that they hope that African Americans don’t see. In fact, they are so worried that the key anti-immigrant organization - Federation for American Immigration Reform (FAIR) - has created two front groups in an attempt to distract African Americans. The two groups are Choose Black America and the Coalition for the Future American Worker. Both “organizations” are staffed and/or received support by FAIR. While FAIR says that it cares about the welfare of Black Americans it has never used any of its resources to support one single piece of legislation seeking to lessen the economic plight of Black America. It has never returned the 1.2 million dollars that it has received from the anti-black Pioneer Fund, and refuses to hold accountable board members and staff that align themselves with individuals and organizations with ties to political extremists, including white nationalists.
Meanwhile, while lulling African Americans to sleep with Federation for American Immigration Reform and its constellation of organizations, they have systematically dismantled voting rights at the state level, supported armed vigilantes targeting brown skin people and are now in the mist of seeking to destroy the 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. By using the racist term “anchor baby”, members of Congress, who are part of another FAIR front group called the House Immigration Reform Caucus, they were able to introduce into the present House of Representatives H.R. 1940. Sponsored by 103 Congressional Members, passage and implementation of H.R. 1940 would require eviscerating the 14th Amendment, a question of insurmountable import to black people who citizens’ rights have been historically guaranteed by this constitutional amendment.
While the debate on American identity is occurring on the backs of immigrants, I think it’s time that African Americans come to terms with the fact that an old enemy is undercutting the gains of the civil rights movement. The first step in fighting back is admitting that the anti-immigrant movement just might be the modern day face of white nationalism. Of course some of us will continue to believe the lies of FAIR, but that’s nothing new. The devil has always been able to buy souls on the cheap, apparently even ours.
Are African Americans Missing the Point on Immigration
Audio: 2050 Blogcast - July 2008
By Noah Chandler
7-17-2008
(Image gratefully borrowed from tomsaint's photos on flicker.com/creativecommons)
This month I bring you some audio that I captured during a summer trip the Middle East. What you will hear is an interview that I did with a person I met along my travels. Her name is Nadine and she was born in Lebanon and her parents are Syrian. The catch is that her family moved to the U.S. when Nadine was young and so what you get is a beautiful example of how complex the shaping of one's identity can be. I've spent many years living in the South and hate the stereotypes that people draw when they hear such regional accents. But I admit it, I did a double take when I saw and heard Nadine speaking. I couldn't ignore my own preconceptions of what she "should" sound like. Anyway, I give my heart felt thanks to Nadine for sitting down with me "under the mic" and doing this interview. And I hope you enjoy and get something from this very interesting, and complex, American. She brings up some great questions both directly and indirectly that are worth some discussion here. So, after listening take a bit of time to post a comment, thought, or?
Click HERE if you do not see a play button in this post.
[note: I did the interview on a small cruise ship on the Nile. We were docked but there is still a small amount of motor rumble and some street noise that comes through. Just an FYI for you audiophiles.]
Fried Chicken, Fireworks, & the Fourth of July
By Jill
7-4-2008
I'm a bad American. There's a lot of reasons, but I'll just mention a few of the obvious ones. I don't like meat - hot dogs, baloney, cold cuts, big macs, meat loaf, cheese steak - hate 'em all. In fact, I'm a vegetarian. The sizing system at Starbucks? Still haven't figured it out (I know, pretty pathetic). I haven't owned a TV in five years - haven't seen one episode of the Sopranos or Lost...in my entire life. Birthday cake grosses me out, mostly the frosting part. I don't have a car, an ipod or a myspace page. I can't even remember the words to the Pledge of Allegiance! So, yeah, I'm a crappy American.
Here it is though, I have a confession. My favorite holiday is the fourth of July. And the reason it's my favorite is because of fried chicken. Sounds strange I know, but let me explain. My family used to have a fried chicken picnic every July 4th; always the same spot on a grassy hill overlooking the harbor near our house. But wait, it gets better.
Earlier in the day we would attend, or sometimes host our neighborhood's famous backyard pancake breakfast. The hosts made the pancakes, and everyone brought another dish, usually bacon (I swear you've never seen so many plates of bacon!). Afterwards we would go to the town fair - jump in the moonwalk until we were sick, have our faces painted, get soaked in the water balloon toss, and maybe take a whirl on the miniature ponies. Depending on the leniency of my mom that particular year my brother and I may have even split a funnel cake or a root beer float. Regardless, by late afternoon, our minds inevitably turned to fried chicken. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits, coleslaw and from-the-box brownies to be exact.
The whole neighborhood would bring their picnics down to the harbor and after eating we'd all cram onto sailboats to watch the fireworks. The dinghies would buzz back and forth, frantically trying to get everyone out in time. One year, too many people jumped onto a dinghy and it capsized. Everyone was still talking about it the following year (it was a big to-do) and from then on the dinghy drivers were allowed to yell at people who got out of hand.
The best spot on a boat was the front deck where you could stretch out on your back and look straight up to the sky. It felt like those colorful flames were going to rain right down on top of you. I still remember all the names my brother and I made up for the fireworks - the weeping willows, the crackleys and whistlers - and that thrill when one of them shot up so high it seemed to disappear and then BOOM! It was suddenly a hundred shooting stars.
After the show we'd head back to shore, and with the smoldering coals of the BBQ pits we'd roast marshmallows until they were gooey and burnt. Then we'd light our sparklers and run all the way home, slaying stormtroopers with our light sabers...er, sparklers, all the way. Every year I'd get the same sad feeling as soon as I arrived at our back gate. I'd see the dark empty house, the fireflies silently flickering in the yard and I'd realize that Fourth of July was over. I'd have to wait an eternity (364 days) to do it again.
I still get that feeling now, no matter what I do or who I'm with, I get a little sad when it's all over. It's goes against all my sensibilities to love the 4th of July. Funny enough I love it not in spite of the grossly American activities (junk food, consumerism & pyrotechnics), but specifically because of all those things. I truly love it because its a sticky, excessive, loud, flag-waving, fat mess! Oh and all that freedom stuff? That's part of it too.
St. Louis, MO: Ain’t She a Beauty!
By Eric K. Ward
Can I ask you a question? Have you ever had one of those “just incredible weekends”? You know what I mean. The kind of weekend that makes you wish you had a three-day weekend. The type that makes you want to retire at forty, the sort of weekend you thank American organized labor for winning on our behalf.
I just had one of those weekends, and I’m still giddy about it so I feel the need to share. (Thanks in advance for being such a good listener, err I mean reader.)
I’m deeply in love and have been for nearly three years. Mia (that’s what I call her) likes to travel. And it works well for us because I have to travel extensively for my job.
Last weekend found us in St. Louis, also known as “The Gateway City.” St. Louis jazz is internationally famous and everyone knows if you haven’t had St. Louis Barbeque, you never had real BBQ. The world famous St. Louis Arch also stands aside the mighty Mississippi river, symbolizing the geographic gateway between the eastern and western halves of the United States.
As Mia and I strolled along the cobbled streets by the waterfront, it occurred to me that St. Louis represents one of the best definitions of American identity. I mean what better examples than the symbolism of jazz and Barbeque to prove the potential power of E Pluribus Unum? And what better icing on the cake of what our country will be than an interracial couple strutting their stuff along the avenue to seal the deal.
It’s times like these, when I’m feeling full of life that I like to remember the Americans who paved the way before me. There was such a couple who did that paving a little less than one hundred and fifty years earlier and I couldn’t help but notice that, just a few blocks away at the old courthouse, they made their presence known.
Dred and Harriet Scott were Americans who were considered slaves because their ancestors came from Africa. The people who treated them like property made the great mistake of moving Dred and Harriet Scott to Missouri, a state that outlawed slavery. Eventually, the Scotts sued for their freedom. At first they lost, then won, and then lost again.
The case finally reached the U.S. Supreme Court in 1857. The Court ruled against the Scott’s and issued one of its most embarrassing rulings. The court argued, “that the black man has no rights that are bound to be respected by the white man.” Eventually, Dred and Harriet Scott found their freedom, and on this incredible weekend the Scott’s trial reminds me of how far we have come and how far we still have to go.
As me, a black man walking down the street deeply in love and hand in hand with my Lebanese and Jewish partner, I knew in my heart that St. Louis should be seen as more than just a geographic gateway. St. Louis should be celebrated as the city that represents the gateway between our American identity of yesterday and of today.
I think that would make Dred and Harriet Scott happy. And after 150 years, I’d like to think they’ve earned that right. In fact, I think that we all have.
Building American Identity
By Sarah Viets
When I talk about my American Identity, I also talk about race. But when I do, some folks wonder why I bring it up. They say talking about race distorts or clouds the real problems, like family food budgets superceding monthly paychecks, gas prices over $4 a gallon, rising healthcare costs and even immigration. Or better yet, some folks say I’m pitting black people against white people or white people against people. They say that by talking about race, I’m dividing Americans rather than bringing us together.
But I’m not trying to weaken and tarnish our American identity; I’m not trying to deepen the divide.
I want to honor my American Identity.
I want to strive for an unimaginable future. I want to live in an age where kids from my rural high school see more out of life than working as a correctional officer at one of the three prisons located just 5 miles outside of my hometown. I want to live in a time where my best friend can deliver her two babies, now six and four, without having to claim bankruptcy, like she did two years ago. I want to breath at ease and find a job so I can back my $65,000 college loan. (Last month I graduated from the University of Illinois at Chicago.)
But to solve America’s sunken stain, to build a bridge between America’s divided neighborhoods, we must first open our eyes. We can no longer ignore that African Americans, Asians, Latinos, whites, and the rich and poor, don’t receive the same opportunities. Each group receives a different amount of money for schools, different paychecks, different job and economic opportunities, access to health care, and criminal sentences.
But my grocery list of racial disadvantages is not new. People are aware; they’re just tired of hearing the same ole list.
But when we start to talk about solutions, we prefer to point the finger. Empty piggy banks in each neighborhood pits whites against non-white communities and rich against poor. So we blame affirmative action, we blame undocumented immigrants, we blame same-sex marriage, or we blame it on crime.
In result, we fight for what little money there is, which inevitably deepens our divide. It tears at the heart of what it means to be American.
We argue over what neighborhood deserves more money for schools. We cling to our paid tax dollars for our own neighborhood while forgetting about the guy next door. We don’t share. We don’t’ see the child on the other side of the tracks as our own. Instead, we define them as somebody else’s problem. Yet, when that child doesn't receive the same support and opportunities as our own, when that child starts stealing, doing drugs, or skipping school, we blame it on the child. We say it’s time for “personal responsibility.” Or we say it’s the parent’s fault.
But at the end of the day, what does it matter? Who cares whose fault it is. We can have a discussion over faults, or we can sit down and figure out how to stop the problem.
But when we do, when we finally decide to stop blaming each other, when we finally decide to stop pointing our fingers, we can’t forget how race is used to weaken our American Identity.
We can’t forget what divides our American identity when we build a unified nation.
American by default
By Marjorie N.
One of the things I struggled with while studying abroad was taking on the label of an “American.” I was born a US citizen, and have lived on the U.S. mainland for most of my life, but I have never felt that long-time U.S. citizens, particularly Americans of European decent, saw me as a fellow American. The perceptions of others was not, however, the only reason I struggled to see myself as an American.
When people would ask where I was from, I would say Puerto Rico. The fact that I did not have a “traditional” Latino accent often prompted people to ask why I spoke like an American. I would have to explain that Puerto Rico was a U.S. territory, and so it began. The people I maintained a relationship with while I studied abroad seemed conflicted about labeling me as an American, but they did not know much about Puerto Rico, so they assumed certain things about me as an American. When they talked negatively about the U.S. they would excuse themselves from having to apologize, because I was not really an American, so according to them I shouldn’t have been offended.
It seemed like not only was I conflicted about my American identity, but so was the rest of the world. I could just never come to terms with identifying with a country with such a marred history.
What I didn’t realize was how offended I would become with the anti-American commentary I would come to hear. I would find that after establishing a dialogue with people who decided I was American, an onslaught of questions would begin. “Why did you Americans vote for Bush?” “Why are Americans so ignorant?” “Why are American women so ‘easy’?”
At first I’d laugh, but after it sank in that people were seeing me as an American - by default - I found myself trying to speak on behalf of all Americans. I had to explain that not all Americans are white; that we didn’t all vote for Bush; that American women are not ‘easy’; and my favorite, that not all American men wear white socks up to their mid-calve. I had to explain that Americans are from Central and South America, the Middle East, Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Caribbean. And that’s when it hit me, I was American too.
The more I spoke on behalf of Americans, the stronger I found I identified as “American,” and the more offended I became when people expressed anti-American sentiment. The toughest part was taking on the privilege that is associated with being an American. Sure, I had no problem acknowledging that on a global scale, as an American, I have access to resources that aren’t readily available. However, seeing myself as a privileged person was new. I had a tough time reconciling this idea with my identity as a minority, who is, in a sense, at the mercy of an elite group of society who distinguish themselves from the rest of us on racial and economic grounds.
Upon returning to the U.S., I noticed that I felt different. I had the opportunity to reflect on what it meant to be an American and the energy we invest in trying to make this experiment in diversity work. The longer I stay here, however, the more I find that I am returning to that feeling of an outsider, of not really having a place here.
I watched in awe as some media personalities laughed at the idea that Puerto Rican voters could actually have an impact on the democratic primaries. And it all has made me wonder when I would be included in the global branding of America? When will I stop being an American by default?
Immigration Strengthens our American Identity
By Sarah Viets
Over the last few years, the topic of immigration has filled our hearts and minds. Is it good for our country? Who benefits from the flow of immigrant labor? What about our schools, our local hospitals? What about our jobs?
All we hear is how little money we have for education, how much our health care plans have increased because the state must pay the tab for uninsured patients, like undocumented immigrants, or how American businesses prefer to hire immigrants because they work at a low wage.
How can any of these concerns strengthen, preserve, and protect what it means to be an American?
Being an American means to inspire the people you love to hold onto their dreams. It means to stand tall and let go of your fears. It means hope, aspiration, optimism, perseverance, freedom, and liberty. Being an American means to take what you’ve been given, and transform it into something unimaginably new.
None of here, as citizens, has succeeded on our own. We are who we are today because of the support of our family, friends, schools, and jobs. That’s what being an American is all about. It’s not about protecting “number one,” it’s about looking out for each other, no matter where we come from.
Our American strength - our individual courage - comes from each other, not just from ourselves.
What makes us strong is our ability and courage to challenge ourselves. What makes us strong, like our ancestors, is our willingness to plunge into the unknown, to see hope in unpredictable futures.
There are three different reasons why most of our ancestors left their family and friends and everything that defined who they were: they were fleeing religious or political persecution, they were looking for jobs to feed their families, or they were stolen from their homeland and used as slaves to help build our nation. And in each of these reasons, is a contradiction in what we stand for. At the root are two different meanings about what it means to be an American.
What defines who we are, what defines our great nation in my mind, were the two actions that followed.
Some people persecuted thousands of families who already lived here. And some stayed strong and remembered their history, their painful past, and created and fought for a brighter future. They stood tall and side-by-side with something unfamiliar. And the fact that our ancestors remained hopeful in times of darkness shows how much strength we have hidden inside ourselves.
New cultures, customs and people may seem foreign, at odds with who we are. But opening ourselves to new challenges and the unknown is what makes us strong; it’s what makes us American.
So today, just like our ancestors, we have two choices:
We can sit back and blame the rise of healthcare costs, low wages, the environment, population growth, and our under funded public schools on undocumented immigrants, or we can open up our American hearts and minds and fight to preserve human dignity for all people, no matter what language they speak, the house they worship in, or the national flag of their homeland.
I’m not saying this is going to be easy, change never is. We prefer the familiar. We prefer our mom’s home-style cooking when we’re not sure where our next meal is coming from. The idea of opening our homes - our country - to someone we don’t even know when we barely have enough time and money to support ourselves seems unreasonable. It doesn’t make sense.
But every time we do, our country doesn’t die. We become stronger.
So when you ask yourself, what immigration can do for you, how can immigration strengthen who I am, my American Identity, think of what makes you strong. Think of what makes you proud to be an American.
They said any white man who didn’t own property couldn’t participate on Election Day.
They said black men and women must remain slaves, that there was no room or need for them to participate in the American dream. They said Mexicans, Asians, or any person without white skin must stand on the sides, not front and center. They said women must stay home and not participate in American Democracy.
But every time America opens her doors, every time each one of us steps outside our comfort zone, every time we open our hearts and souls to an idea we’re unfamiliar with, we become stronger. We become honorable.
We become an American.
Audio: 2050 Inaugural Blogcast!
Posted by: Noah Chandler
Yes, the Imagine 2050 blogcast is here! It's a simple beginning for a wonderful project. I invite you to send in your ideas and input to 2050audio(at)gmail.com. This week we hear the opinions of some people "on the street" about this projected 2050 demographic shift and how that might impact our identity as Americans.
If you are reading this post through blogger.com and don't see the audio player, you may download this weeks program by here.
