Humbled to be an American

Last updated on: June 21, 2008 at 10:48 pm by voxnovablog

Humbled to be an American 2008-06-21T22:48:31-05:00 voxnovablog

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This upcoming Wednesday, after nine years of being a resident alien, I will become a United States citizen. I have been waiting for this time for so long. It is hard to express in words the great joy that I feel right now. At the same time, I do feel a great deal of nostalgia that leads me to reflect on this important step in my life. It means more than just a U.S. passport: for the first time in my whole life, I will be able to exercise my right to vote. I had not reached the age of eighteen yet when the presidential election in Venezuela came around in 1998 to elect either Hugo Chávez or his opponent Enrique Salas Römer. A few months following the election, we were moving to the United States forever. I have not been back to Venezuela ever since. These are some of my reflections as I transition from merely observing, listening or just taking the back seat in the issues that affect this country to actively participating and working towards the common good in the United States. These are some of my thoughts that follow my identity crisis when I first moved here. I knew who I was and my role was in Venezuela, because the context was an integral part of who I was and who I turned out to be. Once the context changed, I had to answer the crucial question: “Who am I now?” and “What am I going to do now?” This is the story of how I have come to love the country where I have lived, eaten, learned, studied, fallen in love, grown in faith, cried, laughed… for the past nine years.

I do not ever remember ever saying or thinking that I was proud to be Venezuelan. There was no reason for me to say or feel so. Poverty and destitution in Venezuela were inescapable while I was growing up. Now I hear from friends and family that the situation has gotten much worse in the past nine years. I learned in school that Venezuela was one of the major oil exporters in the world, yet the poverty that I saw every day did not seem to connect to the reality of a country with important natural resources. It was an antithesis that I could not comprehend given the kind of idealist I was. Many corruption scandals in the government surfaced to the public later on and then I learned that it was perhaps greed that was causing that antithesis. I was not proud to be Venezuelan, because I saw how merchants doubled and tripled the prices of their imports so they could make the most money while many families, including mine, were trying to make ends meet. I was not proud to be Venezuelan. I was, in fact, ashamed. In the words of Hannah Arendt, I was “ashamed of [being] human.”

Yet I was not ashamed of the place where I was born and grew up. I loved the desert, the sand dunes, the hot days and the cool and breezy nights. I was immersed in the beauty of the sunsets with clear skies and the fresh smell of the ocean. I loved my friends and how we grew up with no inhibitions: always exploring the outdoors on our bikes. I miss it all dearly. Later on, when we moved to the country’s capital, Caracas, and although we were still in the same nation, I knew that I had left my heart in the beaches where I grew up. I think this is key, because many people from many cultures are always a bit suspicious of immigrants, because they do not know if they are truly “loyal” to their new country. I think this is silly in the sense that even while remaining in the same country, we will always hold our place of birth or where we grew up dear in our hearts. This reminds me of how Tim Russert’s eyes lit up when speaking of Buffalo or when Michael Iafrate on this blog expresses his thoughts on the Appalachia. They are no less Americans just because they feel that strong connection with their birthplace. As human beings, we always have that place that will always be dear to us in our hearts: that place that saw us grow up or that saw us shape our character and become who we are today.

While living in Caracas, the reality of poverty and destitution became even more evident and my social consciousness grew at rapid levels only to remain dormant for many years later. While my dad drove us to school at five in the morning, I saw a lot of people waiting to catch their buses or the subway and I admired their resilience and perseverance. I knew the situation in the country was getting increasingly worse and that many of these people were coming down from their barrios that were full of houses made of cardboard or metal sheets that sometimes could not stand strong rains. In my young mind, I could not fathom how they found the strength to get up every morning to go to work to remain in the same precarious living situation. While I was growing up, I was taught that one had to go to college and get a good education so one could land a good job and improve one’s living situation. Although I was young, I knew that these poor people did not have that choice to go to college and improve their living conditions. This is how I came to appreciate the workers and their constancy. I found in them a source of strength and another reason not to be ashamed to be a Venezuelan, because they were also Venezuelans just as I was. This is how I came to understand that what made me feel ashamed were the politics and the neglect coming from those in power rather than the people, who were actually victims of a system that did not work. I was still not proud to be Venezuelan. I was rather humbled to be one, because there was so much room for improvement and it seemed that I could only do so little to make it better. This is only a few of the ways of how I came to love the country where I was born and where I grew up: through its beautiful landscapes and the customs and traditions of the people who were Venezuelans—just like me.

I am glad I did not become a U.S. citizen any sooner. I have learned and grown so much in my understanding of this country in the past three years that now I can truly appreciate the meaning of becoming a citizen of this country. I have been in the Pacific coasts of California and Washington states as well as the entire gulf coast. I have been in the Rockies, West Texas, Minnesota, the white sand beaches of Florida, Washington DC… I have traveled this country more than I ever traveled Venezuela. I have seen beautiful landscapes: the pacific coast in Bellingham, Washington, reminded me of the same Caribbean coasts that saw me grow up. This stood as a reminder of how distances are actually quite short and that the ocean that wraps around us is indeed all the same.

I have also met new people and have made life-long friendships in the United States. I have understood the true meaning of generosity with hurricanes Katrina and Rita, but I have also seen the greed—that I also saw back home—that has surfaced in the recent immigration controversy. I have fallen in love with the man I will marry in a few months. It is through him that I have come to love this country that soon will officially welcome me. I have seen American people through his eyes. He has given me hope and taught me the wonderful values that many Americans hold: solidarity and fairness and the recognition that with great power comes great responsibility towards others. He has also grounded me in reality by showing me the devastating consequences that racial segregation—something completely foreign to me prior to moving here—for instance, has had in this country that has resulted many social and economic tragedies that have lasted until this day. Thus, I have come to understand and appreciate the many challenges and opportunities that exist in this (our) country. But I also realize that this is indeed a great country made up of so much more than simply political and socio-economic systems that do not work. I sometimes feel ashamed of becoming an American while witnessing how millions of individuals cannot receive basic health care, the tragedies and lies behind the war in Iraq and our silence in the midst of wars in Africa that have lasted years. As I mentioned above, in the words of Arendt, it is not a matter of being ashamed of being American or being German (in Arendt’s case) or being Venezuelan. Sometimes, it is a matter of being ashamed of simply being human. This is why I will be humbled to become an American this Wednesday just as I am humbled sometimes to be human. Because at this crucial time in history there is so much that needs to be done in this country (just as in Venezuela and all over the world) to ensure that justice and peace prevails over greed and neglect and I am being given the privilege of helping to do just that here regardless of what small contribution that may be.

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