The New American

Returning to the United States recently from an overseas business trip that had me arriving via Dubai, I learned something about my country that I took to be a pleasant surprise. When going to passport control I assumed the line for foreigners would be much longer than the line for U.S. citizens. The reason for my thinking was simple; most of the people on my fully booked flight did not look like “Americans.” Man was I wrong. The longer line was for U.S. passport holders and I was part of a very small minority of white folks on that line. Before you bash me for being politically incorrect, I state this as a mea culpa.

We tend to see the issue of immigration as one that involves illegal aliens and the policy arguments about securing our borders. What we often overlook and fail to credit our country with is the absorption of millions every year from all corners of the earth otherwise known as “legal” immigration. Standing in line waiting to be admitted back into my home country, I could not help but imagine my own grandparents and relatives who did not look “American” when they stood on similar lines years back, nor could I cease to think that they were perceived by others as I just did my fellow citizens. As I bantered with those around me I realized that they too were very much American; the man with the Sikh turban, the woman in the Sari, another with traditional African garb and the families dressed in modest Muslim religious clothes. They all were anxious to return home to their families, go to work and school, see American television, eat fast food, and go to movies.

I imagined that all of them (or their parents) came here for the opportunities this country offers and some to escape oppression. I am overcome by a sense of comfort, we Americans are so secure in our system we can share it with others, free of fear that other cultures will somehow diminish ours. I think about how perfectly normal and American this scene is; different shades of skin, various styles of clothing and eyes shaped every which way, most speaking unaccented English and patiently waiting their turn.

I admit that my prejudice was not far from my thoughts either as I wondered how many of these U.S. citizens are here to undermine us with some kind of Jihad. I quickly became ashamed of myself, no group is immune from radicals and no group should be singled out because of them. I try to see the lives of these people through the prism of my own. I am a child and grandchild of immigrants. As a family we strove to be absorbed by the American way of life while maintaining our own hyphenated dual identity. It is what I love so much about my country. I am an American Jew or a Jewish American, I see no contrast in the labels and do not feel less American than the descendants of those who arrived on the Mayflower. I don’t imagine that the Sikhs and Muslims on the passport line felt any different at least I certainly hope not.

What makes me optimistic about our future despite all the problems we face is that we are so diverse and open minded that failure is not an option. People still strive to move here. What we have learned from generations of new arrivals from all over the world is that there is nothing that cannot be achieved here. There isn’t, and for that we should all feel proud and thankful.