Who Am I?

Abstract

Recently, a friend sent me an article in which the writer declared, “America has long been a failed country; now it has become a rogue state.” Another colleague from a European country wrote to me about how his friends have come to pity the United States. I was startled by my angry response, for I am certain that I have used similar words to talk about the United States, and not just under Trump's presidency but also for many generations.I could talk about how we have mistreated minorities and continue to do so. Just look at the disproportionate death rates due to COVID-19. I could talk about how we have instilled dictators; backed corrupt regimes in other countries; caused the collapse of many regimes and feasted on the remains, buying up the resources as if it were a yard sale.So why did their comments disturb me? Maybe it is because they are too simplistic; they ignore complexity. They seem to ignore the fact that there is almost always another side. They fail to talk about how the United States has often been unbelievably generous, like when President George W. Bush (one of my least favorite presidents) did so much to control AIDS in Africa. They ignore how far we have come to accept members of the LBGTQ community; or people like me, the son of Polish immigrants, whose grandmother and aunts died in Nazi concentration camps.But more importantly, it may be that those comments challenge my identity, my sense of self. You see, it is okay for me to be critical of my children, but if an outsider criticizes them, and even if I agree with the content, something stirs in my belly and I rise up against it. It is if they are criticizing me. The same is true of my profession, the state I live in, and yes, even my country. For many, this sense of self also extends to their religion, union, ethnic group, and even baseball team. Somehow when we feel deeply connected to someone, something, or some set of beliefs (gays are … Trumpers are … Bernie Bros are …), and someone messes with “them,” I feel like they are messing with me. These connections are who I am. They are my identity. And I will do almost anything to maintain it.These connections are tremendously resistant to change. If I believe that Massachusetts drivers are in fact Massholes (people who drive too fast, without considering others), I feel confirmed when I see someone speeding and their license plate signals that they are “from away.” My stereotype has been supported. If I see that the plate is from Maine, I will often slyly say to myself, “I guess they must have just moved here.”Maybe this helps explain how Catholics and Protestants in Belfast, Northern Ireland set each other's houses on fire in the heat of religious conflict. How could these neighbors, who have watched their kids grow up and eat in each other's homes, try to destroy each other? I am guessing that their adult connections were no match for their sense of religious and cultural identity, which was injected into them at a young age.This reasoning might explain why so many poor people identify with Trump, despite the fact that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. For many, despite the economic and educational differences, he is still “one of us.” “He does not speak like those hated politicians. In fact he hates them just like I do. So what if he lies. This is what being an unscripted person is about.” I do not just want to pick on Trump. I identified with President Bill Clinton. Despite his southern roots he was “one of us.” It was easy to give him a pass on his sexual offenses.We are social animals. This is one of the many reasons why the virus has been so devastating. We yearn to connect, to speak and be spoken to, to touch and be touched. Yet, even during this time of social isolation, I am drawn to people who “fit” within my self-definition. And for those of you who are “from away,” whether it is defined in terms of place of birth, political ideology, style of dress, education … You get it … you are the other. You are not a part of who I am. Too bad.