It’s the 4th of July here, without fireworks and no day off work. No barbecues either. After living here for a few weeks, I’m starting to think it’s a funny thing to celebrate—independence, that is. No American I know understands what “dependence” means. We’ve always had our own government, under our own power. No one has tried to invade and take that government away from us. No other country (in my lifetime) has staked a claim on our lands. Sure, there have been attacks and terrorism, threats and international strife. But our dependence is old, a history lesson, really. Cambodia, in contrast, has an economy supported mainly by foreign aid. This little country, “independent” of other nations politically, is run by outside money. Even as a sovereign nation, Cambodia remains dependent.
A couple weeks ago, I went to Vietnam. I am in the process of getting a certain type of visa from the Cambodian government, so I had to leave the country and reenter it. Since we had work to do in that direction anyway, Vietnam became our destination. I crossed the border alone, managed to get into Vietnam without trouble, drank a Coke, and headed back in the span of about 20 minutes. Not what I would call an “extended stay.”
The thing about crossing borders is that you have to take your passport. I’m not sure who thought up the idea of the passport, or decided that stamping a piece of paper would be a good way to keep track of people. Enterprising readers can google this or find it on wikipedia and tell us all later. The main point is: While walking from Cambodia to Vietnam (approx. 100 yards), and back, I started to contemplate the usefulness of my passport. What does it say about me? What is my citizenship worth?
These days, I’m finding that calling myself “American” identifies something other than my present feelings of citizenship. America is where I come from, where I was born, and the culture that has shaped me. But I don’t live there anymore, my address is somewhere else, and so my passport seems to represent something other than my “home.” As I walked through the DMZ, all I could come up with was that these few sheets of paper give me an idea of who to call if I get in trouble.
I’m grateful for the protection of the US government. These are the people I want to have my back in a nasty situation. I’m certainly not trying to say that I want to renounce my citizenship. And I’m not about to apply to be Cambodian either. I have a passport from one nation and my feet in another. The word “expatriate” keeps ringing through my head. In more ways than one, this word describes me.
I grew up learning that to be American was to believe in “liberty and justice for all.” We sang “I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free.” I suppose to be a “patriot” is to believe this strongly. But even in the US, people live in bondage—both literal and figurative. They are slaves through forced labor, slaves through addiction, slaves through debt. I guess I’m an “ex-patriot” in this sense—I’m not proud of this part of America.
So where do I fit? I look around Cambodia and see oppression here, too. I also see true freedom, in the faces of women who are using microfinance loans to keep their kids in school. I see it in the daily worship times of our staff, as they unashamedly call on the name of God and praise Him. But because of who I am, what I look like, and because I hold a blue passport, I’ll always be an outsider here, and it will never be my “home,” no matter how long I live here.
Thankfully, this lack of fit is not a unique problem. In fact, it goes all the way back to Abraham, who took up his tents, rounded up his cattle, and headed off to somewhere new. He wasn’t the only one to experience some questions over where he belonged. More followed. “And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them” (Hebrews 11:13-16).
What a blessing to know that we are all expatriates here, longing for a better country, with true freedom and real justice—for all. No passport required.
A couple weeks ago, I went to Vietnam. I am in the process of getting a certain type of visa from the Cambodian government, so I had to leave the country and reenter it. Since we had work to do in that direction anyway, Vietnam became our destination. I crossed the border alone, managed to get into Vietnam without trouble, drank a Coke, and headed back in the span of about 20 minutes. Not what I would call an “extended stay.”
The thing about crossing borders is that you have to take your passport. I’m not sure who thought up the idea of the passport, or decided that stamping a piece of paper would be a good way to keep track of people. Enterprising readers can google this or find it on wikipedia and tell us all later. The main point is: While walking from Cambodia to Vietnam (approx. 100 yards), and back, I started to contemplate the usefulness of my passport. What does it say about me? What is my citizenship worth?
These days, I’m finding that calling myself “American” identifies something other than my present feelings of citizenship. America is where I come from, where I was born, and the culture that has shaped me. But I don’t live there anymore, my address is somewhere else, and so my passport seems to represent something other than my “home.” As I walked through the DMZ, all I could come up with was that these few sheets of paper give me an idea of who to call if I get in trouble.
I’m grateful for the protection of the US government. These are the people I want to have my back in a nasty situation. I’m certainly not trying to say that I want to renounce my citizenship. And I’m not about to apply to be Cambodian either. I have a passport from one nation and my feet in another. The word “expatriate” keeps ringing through my head. In more ways than one, this word describes me.
I grew up learning that to be American was to believe in “liberty and justice for all.” We sang “I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free.” I suppose to be a “patriot” is to believe this strongly. But even in the US, people live in bondage—both literal and figurative. They are slaves through forced labor, slaves through addiction, slaves through debt. I guess I’m an “ex-patriot” in this sense—I’m not proud of this part of America.
So where do I fit? I look around Cambodia and see oppression here, too. I also see true freedom, in the faces of women who are using microfinance loans to keep their kids in school. I see it in the daily worship times of our staff, as they unashamedly call on the name of God and praise Him. But because of who I am, what I look like, and because I hold a blue passport, I’ll always be an outsider here, and it will never be my “home,” no matter how long I live here.
Thankfully, this lack of fit is not a unique problem. In fact, it goes all the way back to Abraham, who took up his tents, rounded up his cattle, and headed off to somewhere new. He wasn’t the only one to experience some questions over where he belonged. More followed. “And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them” (Hebrews 11:13-16).
What a blessing to know that we are all expatriates here, longing for a better country, with true freedom and real justice—for all. No passport required.
3 comments:
Well apparently I'm an enterprising reader :) So it turns out the passport has Biblical origins! Or at least the oldest references have been found in the Bible:
"Nehemiah, an official serving King Artaxerxes of ancient Persia, asked permission to travel to Judah. The King agreed and gave Nehemiah a letter "to the governors beyond the river" requesting safe passage for him as he travelled through their lands, Nehemiah 2:7-9." [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Passport]
I am so enjoying your blog, Kate. You will no doubt be surprised to hear from me (blame your mother). It is interesting to hear you expressing all the things that have long been my experience as a "stranger and alien" in America. The Hebrews passage you quote is a particular favourite of mine and a great comfort.
Di from SafeGrain
Hey Kate,
I've been reading your blog, and I really appreciate all of the questions you've been asking. I think it is wonderful that you are having an opportunity to be a expatriot and thinker, while being part of an important Christian ministry. Amber and I are here in LA, thinking of you, and wishing you the very best in your struggles. Remember it isn't about the destination, but about the journey. No doubt, you are experiencing that first hand.
Much love,
Jeff
Post a Comment