From the moment you step off the plane and go through the average two and a half hours of immigrant screening attrition at whatever “port of call” you have reached you begin to realise that the United States of America is a rather peculiar entity that will be hard to emulate for any newborn federation in the future. Admittedly the chances of a similar structure finding its roots in the Old Continent are currently wallowing at their lowest and the surge of nationalism and mistrust of supranational entities goes no small way to creating such an infertile ground.
Looking at the US from the inside though you begin to notice that there is a clear distinction between what would be described as nationalist sentiment and culture in Europe on the one hand, and the allegiance to the national democratic system and structure on the other. You see it on a daily basis. There was no better way to experience this than an early evening stroll through (the safer part of) Williamsburg in Brooklyn. Passing by a pharmacy with a distinctly Italian name I overheard a conversation between a couple of young brats which was more of a verbal sparring match as to the veracity of their Italianite ethnicity.
“You’re not a Caprese, you’re married into the Capreses” sounded like a minor stain on the curriculum vitae of the recipient of this tirade. “I’m as Italian as you guys, no doubt” was the feeble reply. A few blocks down the local parish had an Easter ceremony in full swing. I recognised the rite from my days as an altar boy, only there now seemed to be quite a few altar girls too all dressed up for the occasion. “Ca existe encore? Les enfants de choeur?” quizzed my Belgian travel mates. Apparently these traditions and cultural stamps survived longer in Brooklyn than in Liege and Bruxelles.
Whenever you interact in New York you inevitably end up talking ethnicity and origin. A bona fide New Yorker will sell you the tickets to Woodbury Common but he’ll proudly tell you that he is Ghanaian “et c’est pour ca qu’il parle francais“. Equally bona fide (read that bonafied if you want to sound American) is the security guy posted at Times Square. Equally proud of being of West african descent. How many times did I hear “sei Italiano?” on my trip – in an attempt to find a common cultural ground from which to embark on social niceties.
Walk through Chinatown and you get to understand how you can live in the US as a fully grafted export of any world culture. You live, eat, enjoy and speak your own nationality, food, traditions and language. Don’t even get me started on the Latino. It’s all over the place.
And yet there is a beautiful symbiotic conviviality going on. You cannot miss the multiple expressions of allegiance – to the civic structure that surrounds. The Americans have turned the law into a fine art to the point of being finicky. Everything is calculated by entitlement in this nation that was founded on a Bill of Rights. The formula is weird but works fantastically. So when you do stand up at the Yankee Stadium (Ladies and Gentlemen please rise and take off your hats for the national anthem) you understand how the glue that keeps together so many differences is all in the patriotic pride enshrined in a democratic system of rule of law.
It’s how the slightly irritating habits of the multiple ethnicities become a reality. It’s how they can forget about still being Italian, Puerto Rican, German, Ghanaian, Kenyan, Spanish the moment the first notes are played. It’s how they forged an error-riddled system that works.
It’s how this becomes the land of the free and the home of the brave.
