Nationality, Ethnicity, and Home

Several things have made me think more about the above these past couple weeks. We have a medical student visiting from America. Her parents emigrated to the US during the secret war and she was born and raised there. I’ve been introducing her as “ethnically Lao” - she has two Lao parents, and she’s American, but clearly she has Lao ancestry. Actually, I think one parent’s family would have considered themselves ethnically Chinese, not ethnically Lao, while they were in Laos. (Though several generations of them may have lived in Lao.) So is she ethnically Chinese? Really, she is just as American as me - English was her first Language, and she misses pizza just as much as I do. (But cheese not quite so much. :) ) There’s a temptation to introduce her as Lao so that people here will embrace her - and she does speak some Lao and understand a lot, so she has an advantage there. But at some point I realized this also isn’t fair to her. She’s American - and introducing her as Lao may set up expectations she can’t live up too.

I’ve been hoping she would finish residency and then find some way to come back and help Lao - maybe just short visits, or maybe a longer commitment. Having HF as a connection could help her forge relationships where she could make a lasting difference. But then one evening last week I realized that it’s quite possible she doesn’t feel Lao at all, or feel any connection or obligation to this place. Her parents left a country that was in the middle of a war where they were poor and are now successful and happy in a new home, where they’ve had and raised children. Her family had to leave this place to be happy, and America is the place where she had the opportunities that have allowed her to return here. Maybe she’s just here because her family wanted to come, or out of simple curiosity. But maybe she has no more reason to feel a connection, or want to help here, than someone like me would. (She’s a lovely person, and assures me this is not true and she is interested in helping here in the long run. But the point is, there’s really no reason to assume she would be.)

At the dentist yesterday, the dentist asked me where I was from. “America” Where are you from before that “Um, I’ve always been an American?” No, he wanted to know what my ethnic background - it’s a longer, but in some ways more simple answer. I’m 1/4th German, 1/4 Norwegian, and 1/2 mixed British Empire. One branch of the family can be traced back to the Mayflower, and Dad’s side has been in America so long it can pretty much just be called American. I’ve never felt Norwegian, German, or British - I’m American. I would even say that I’m “ethnically American.” And I’m generally proud to be an American. I don’t agree with everything our government does, or with many of my fellow citizens, but traveling and living abroad always reminds me that there is no other place in the world that I would rather call home. We’re not a perfect nation (no one is) but it’s a good place to be from.

Over the course of my life, I’ve had many friends and colleagues who had different perspectives on this. In primary and secondary school, I had black friends who’s families had also been American for many generations - but who probably had a very different perspective on what that history meant. Certainly being an African American has been much harder than being a white American for much of our history. I also had friends who’s parents had emigrated from Mexico and spoke little English and friends who’s families had lived in the south west for many generations but still spoke Spanish as their primary language. Indeed, the first (and for many years only) settlers in Colorado were Spanish speakers. However, both these groups might be perceived as ‘un-American’ by many of my countrymen.

In medical school and residency, I’ve had friends who considered themselves American, but who were constantly asked where they were from because they didn’t look look or sound exactly like our concept of “American.” Their whole families lived in America, they had done much of their schooling in America, they had American citizenship, some were born in America, but they had tan/brown skin and black hair (and sometimes a slight accent) so they must be “from” somewhere else. I know they got tired of this question - America is their home, probably the only place they’d ever want to live - so why are they perceived as foreign by so many? I also had friends in residency who were from elsewhere and had come to America for training they couldn’t get at home. Some were counting the days till they could go home, and others would be happy to spend the rest of their careers in America. (All of the foreign medical grads I worked with were more knowledgeable, smarter, and harder working than the average American medical grad, so we should be happy to have them should they choose to stay.) After all - that is the American dream - you (or your parents) come here, work hard, contribute, have opportunities you might not have at home (at costs you wouldn’t have at home), and become a successful member of American society. One we constantly ask “where are you really from?” (Oh, wait, that’s not part of the American dream, is it?)

However, I must admit, that a small part of me wished I could claim some other country as my native land yesterday at the dentist. The images I saw on BBC over the weekend of drunk Americans celebrating the death of Osama Bin Laden in front of the White House have stuck with me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset that the US killed Bin Laden. Generally, I am anti-death penalty and I think vengeance in place of justice costs us a lot in American society - morally, and in the actual cost of killing people in the course of ‘justice.’ But I’m also a realist, and in this particular case, I can’t see what capturing him would have done but waste time and money. He was never going to cooperate with a trial, or recant his evil teachings. It seems very unlikely that he was going to have a last minute revelation and see the world as governed by a god of peace - Islamic, Christian, Jewish, Hindi, Buddhist, or otherwise. He might have used a trial / incarceration as an ongoing platform from which to spread a message of hate. And his guilt in instigating terrorist attacks is not questioned, or really questionable - he proudly takes responsibility for them. I am sure he had no intention of being captured, and would not have complied with incarceration, likely ultimately trying to commit suicide, but probably trying to take some captors with him.

So in this case I think the practical choice was, in fact, to go ahead and kill him immediately, and I think this was also just. However, that is certainly not a choice or situation I see worthy of celebration. Relief, yes. Sadness for all the people he has killed over the years, for whom his death does nothing, yes (young Muslims he indoctrinated into suicide missions included.) Joy, no. No one won in this battle, but hopefully some people stopped loosing.

I also keep remembering a young man who was particularly jubilant stating “It’s finally over, after 10 years!” Umm. . . what is over exactly? We still have thousands of troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. All the people Bin Laden trained and the network he set up are still alive, functional, and probably more pissed off than ever. If he didn’t have a plan in place for this very possibility, and a successor chosen, I’ll be surprised. I hope that this can be another step to Afghanistan and Iraq having stable, independent, democratic governments, but it certainly isn’t the last. And I hope it leads to a decreased American presence in Afghanistan and Iraq, but I doubt it will change things immediately or dramatically. These images - celebrating the death of a human being, thinking that killing one many will solve big problems for our nation - bother me because they are wrong - morally, and also just incorrect. But also because this is now the image that is projected to the rest of the world. And that makes a small part of me wish I could claim to be something else. Oh, I’m from America, but I’m. . .

Nationhood/Personhood/Ethnicity seems like it should be simpler in a place like Laos - only 6 million people, relatively stable population. However, Lao citizens identify themselves as being from many different communities or groups. There are people who are Chinese or Vietnamese ethnically, though their families may have been in Lao for generations, they still identify as being from somewhere else. There are the lowland Lao - ethnically Lao, and with the traditions that foreigners perceive as “Lao”. And there are the highland Lao and other tribal/ethnic groups. Many have their own languages - last week one of my residents had to translate from Hmong to Lao (for the other Lao doctors) and Hmong to English (for me) to present a patient . I don’t even know how many actual languages are spoken in Lao. And they certainly have their own values and traditions, some of which may be perceived as very odd by lowland Lao.

I guess who you are and where you are ‘from’ can be complicated anywhere. It can be complicated in America, where you may have been born elsewhere but see America as the land that nurtured you. Or you may have been born in America but raised in a community that was really ethnically and culturally much more aligned with some other nation. Or you could be born in rural Laos and never go more than 100 km from your village, but identify yourself as Hmong or Acca - and see Laos as a contrived politically defined state, not a group you belong to. I suppose I am very lucky that I identify myself as American, and for the most part, no one questions that idea. But it means I have to be even more careful about assumptions I may make about other people.