Citizenship

On Wednesday, May 28^th, at 10.30 a.m., I became a U.S. citizen.

Inside Sacramento's Memorial Auditorium, I was one of 1,900 people who, in front of a district court judge, raised their right hands and renounced ties to previous princes and potentates, thereby pledging allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

While the language of the ceremony seemed amusingly archaic (does the word “potentate” even exist anymore in spoken English?), the powerful symbolism of the occasion cannot be denied. I am sure that, without exception, everyone in the auditorium felt instantly empowered by the ceremony, as if they had suddenly been granted membership into a privileged club or organization.

A profile of Wednesday’s demographic illustrates the rich, complex tapestry that continues to define this nation’s evolving narrative. Here are selected numbers indicating countries of origin for the new inductees:

Mexico—548

Philippines—241

India—231

Vietnam—127

Fiji—65

China—46

Pakistan--45

Iran—30

Afghanistan--25

Iraq—5

United Kingdom—1

Yes, I was the sole (ex) representative of Her Majesty’s Government. Technically speaking, however, I am still entitled to retain my British citizenship (owing to amicable transatlantic legal treaties). In a sense, then, I gained a new political status rather than having to lose a life-long identity. I have become a “double” citizen, straddling two worlds, two cultures, two sets of life experiences.

I came to this country in 1977 on a graduate fellowship to Indiana University (where I completed my PhD in English and American Literature in 1984). For the past three decades, higher education has continued to support me professionally and personally, for which I am immensely grateful. I emphasize my gratitude so as not to be misinterpreted for the following observations.

From 1977 to 2008, I have witnessed the annual budget of the Department of Defense swell from $121 billion to $624 billion. (In 1977, the Cold War was waning and, for a brief moment, there was serious talk about an international peace dividend as well as multilateral disarmament programs. However, any hope of demilitarizing the fabric of society faded as the Cold War morphed into the ongoing War on Terror, with its unquenchable thirst for tax dollars).

From 1977 to 2008, I have seen the number of prison inmates in my home state of California mushroom from 19,600 to 170,000. (According to a report in last week’s The New York Times, California recently crossed a threshold whereby it now spends more on prisons than on the combined budgets of the University of California and California State University systems).

From 1977 to 2008, I have noticed that people and automobiles have become bigger and heavier. (In 1977, jogging was the nation’s new healthy addiction. Small, fuel-efficient vehicles like the Datsun 210 and Volkswagen Rabbit were hugely popular. Gradually, in the course of the next three decades, a festering obesity has been allowed to shape the bodies of our cars and our very selves, with alarming consequences).

Once again, by making these observations, I do not mean to sound ungrateful. Wonderful things have also transpired in the last thirty years: a technological information revolution (driven mainly by the Pentagon and U.S. universities) has brought the global community closer together than ever before. Similarly, more of my students now get the opportunity to travel and study abroad as part of their undergraduate experience. Even beer in America has become more cosmopolitan and flavorful (thanks to the micro brewing revolution that began to pick up steam in the late 1970s).

Clearly, it’s not all doom and gloom. After all, why else would be there so much hope and ambition in evidence at last week’s naturalization ceremony?

I, too, buy into this narrative of hope and optimism. (It’s as American as Walt Whitman and Francis Scott Key).

It’s just that I have this nagging reservation, this uncomfortable feeling, this bad taste in the mouth, when I see the tightening grip exercised by the military-industrial-prison complex over our state and nation. Can we end the epidemic of their increasingly obese budgets?

As a newly-minted citizen, I am not powerless to act out an answer.