Friday, July 25, 2014

The international mongrels of the world, the international bastards, the patriots of elsewhere

Polaroid portrait of Colum McCann at Taschen New York by Jeremiah Wilson 
In a conversation recently somebody asked me to describe my website, what I write about and why, and I found myself at a loss for words. Yes, this is an immigration blog but even though I often describe it as such, the definition doesn't always fit. At its core, the experiences that have moved me to continue to write over the years are the experiences of an immigrant: the person who leaves their country of national origin to seek better, broader horizons. But, to paraphrase Josip Novakovic, my immigrant saga has neither been touching nor difficult. In many ways, the experiences that I have had in this country have been joyful and nurturing. For the most part, my life in America has aligned with the lives of those with extreme privilege. So, when I feel discomfort about being here, weirdness about not being FROM here, embarrassment about where I am from or ambivalence about where ultimately I would like to end up, I tend to freeze. Perhaps my "issues", I wonder, are not immigrant issues. Maybe...they are psychological. Maybe... it's just me.

But I am now (the last person in the world to be) reading Colum McCann's magnificent Let The Great World Spin and came across an interview with the author in which he said:
I’m interested in what Ondaatje calls the “international mongrels of the world,” or what Rushdie calls the “international bastards,” all those people with no place and yet every place inside them. The best line I ever heard along these lines was from John Berger. I met him in Paris. We were both a little over-served, shall we say, wine and vodka, and I asked him where he was from. He looked at me strangely, as we are friends and we’d been corresponding a long time, and he said, “England, of course.” And I said in the most ridiculous way, “I know, I know, I know, but where are you from from?” He smiled that big smile of his, those eyes of his. He waited a long time and then he said that he was “a citizen—no, no, not a citizen—a patriot of elsewhere.”
An international mongrel, a bastard, a patriot of elsewhere. YES. That's me! But I read what I read, and write what I write to feel less like it's JUST me.

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