A clear image of "American" (I rarely deign to use that word nowadays to describe people in the U.S.) doesn't exist. I'll argue that it's a good thing that we aren't all descendants of one race. But sometimes (if not generally) people at home find it hard to accept "Arizonan" as a response to "Where are you from?"
Chile is an exacerbation of this annoyance. I am apparently not permitted, as my white friends here are, to respond to "What are you?" with simply, "Estadounidense" (the Spanish noun for U.S. citizen or resident, you might translate United Statesian); at least not without further explanation. I know exactly what my name means, what language it comes from, and my parents' racial identity, but should I have to? And does it tell as much about me as does the fact that I live in Phoenix? For others, maybe. But for those of you that know me, you'll agree that it certainly does not. And where I was born (London) or where my parents are from (they were born in Kenya), gives you completely irrelevant information about my history. But those are the first questions people ask.
Even at the Instituto Chileno Norteamericano de Cultura, where they use an American flag in their logo, people share some level of this ignorance. I stopped by to see if I could pick up some extra cash teaching some of their English classes. I was quickly turned away: "We're only looking for North Americans, here." When pressed for further explanation, the secretary responded, "Well, Canadians would do, but we prefer people from the United States. We specialize in English from the U.S."
So, do I. But I wasn't prepared to offer her a tutorial on the U.S. as an immigrant nation. Nor was I going to show her my passport. When she told me she was from Chile, I had thinking to do. I wonder what continent she puts Mexico in?
Granted, I'm not pegged as a foreigner until I open my mouth. But when I do, a justification for the color of my skin is all but mandatory. When I got lost and stopped to ask for directions, I started to walk as directed. Two steps later, my generous helpers became interrogators (albeit well-meaning, curious people)--asking me if I was an Arab. I'm wasn't offended, as I think some with a darker complexion might be, but telling them I was from the U.S. didn't satisfy them.
Often I play dumb. I think it settles the point better sometimes. Why wouldn't I be estadounidense?
1 comment:
Hola, soy estadounidense, but so are Mexicans. Even though estadounidense is the word for an American (you know, an inhabitant of the United States of AMERICA) Mexicans could just as easily be called by this in spanish. After all, Estados Unidos Mexicanos is the official name. I do not mean to rant, but as a graduate with a spanish degree from Ohio State, I was constantly bombarded by Hispanos for our use of America and American. America may mean one thing in Spanish, but in English (and I have traveled the globe) America is the name of a country not a continent. Why can't they have their definitions and we have ours? I should learn chinese where the USA (I do not mean Union of South Africa) is called Meiguo which means beautiful country. Actually, you should call yourself "usamericano." That's what they call us "U.S. Americans" in Ecuador because they realize that they stole the word Equator.
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