National identity deals with where you hold citizenship. It is a legal status of home but I feel there is a mental aspect to it as well. It makes me feel like Nick Hornby’s character, Rob Flemming in the novel High Fidelity. “I didn’t belong at home. I didn’t want to be long at home. But at least home is someplace I know.” Though I have lived in America my entire life, it has been home in the practical sense but I have never felt like I belonged. There is a part of me that has always longed for foreign shores.
When I arrived in London, I was slightly worried that I would be judged for being American. I have always felt guilty about my nationality and have thought about expatriation since I was old enough to know the word and concept existed. England has been high on my list of countries that I would move to. London earned a place in my heart when I visited it last year. To be honest, I could have cared less what classes were offered through this program. It was an excuse to come and stay in a city I loved for a prolonged period of time. I also have strong family ties to Norway and long considered making the move there permanent. When asked what I am, I’ve always answered with “My family is Norwegian.” It’s only since coming abroad that I have had to respond with “I’m American.” No one has reacted negatively and a few folks, though admittedly drunk pub goers, have given happy exclamations and proclamations of their love of Americans.
While I have been positively surprised by people’s opinions on Americans, all the study I have done here has furthered my desire to leave the country of my birth. I am still in the same place as when I left. My views on my national identity are still tied to my political and moral viewpoints. A Capitalistic country like America is no place for a Socialist like myself. Another country is still the answer for me.
My interactions with the English have shown me that they are not as anti-American as I assumed, but it hasn’t made me feel any better about my national heritage. I acknowledge that I am privileged to have grown up in a nation with such a high quality of life but it is in my nature to focus on the negative. I don’t think my identity will be any different when I return to the States. I’ve been planning a move to London and assuming a new national identity for the past year. If anything this trip as cemented that idea even more firmly in my mind. The only changes I can see anyone remarking on would be a new vigor. No one will be surprised. More people will be surprised that I returned at all. My friends and family know my nature. If leaving the USA for a new country where I have a better sense of belonging has been an active plan since I was 15, it should be no surprise that fulfilling that dream on a small scale would spur on the full scale model.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Week 3
This week’s assignment was to interview a pensioner on what things were like when they were growing up and the changes the years had brought with. I found Betty Cranfield on the Victoria line. Fortunately, she was riding to Finsbury Park as well, giving us a 20-minute window for conversation. She was 70 years old and had lived most of her life in London. I told her I was a student and what my assignment was. Betty was more than willing to oblige and be my interviewee.
Like most of the older British generation, questions about childhood led directly to World War Two. Betty had been living in London during the Blitz and remembered her family’s move to the safety of an American base out in the country. “Though we were on rations like all the other families, we never wanted for anything. American soldiers were always buzzing around my aunt and tried to win her favor by bringing gifts (from the base) for the family. Once, they even brought bananas, something no one else could get!” She also recounted how her little brother would climb on top of the barracks and count the “Doodle bombs” as they headed for London, a hobby that greatly worried their mother.
Betty’s father was stationed in Africa during the war. When he came home, he had three years worth of Army stories that he passed on to his family, and anyone else that would listen, orally and in the form of a diary. These narratives were told frequently and faithfully to the point that Betty’s other memories involved her repeating the endings back to her father when he started them. Their family was very close and had a rich tradition of family gatherings.
When I moved the subject to changes in England since her childhood, she brought up the school system. Betty had lived in the States in the 1960’s but moved back to London so her daughter would be given an English education. If Betty was put in the same situation today, she said she would not make the same decision. “My daughter was in the last generation to get a proper education. Today’s children are still ignorant after graduation.” Mrs. Cranfield felt that the new, multicultural Britain has let things slip through the cracks. She doesn’t think the students are held to the same standards has they used to be. They are instructed in more subjects, as the State makes an attempt to include everyone, but they lack depth in anything. In trying to incorporate everything and everyone, they have lost the traditional standards and a sense of themselves (Being British). The teachers’ and parents’ lack of discipline for fear of stunting the children’s creativity also upset Betty. Her view was that children crave discipline and continue to push the limits until shown a boundary.
Betty felt that the lack of depth and discipline had resulted in a new generation of poorly educated, poorly mannered young adults. She was not a fan of the value shift from detailed knowledge to broad knowledge. “They know they are ignorant and they have no desire to change that. They feel they knew enough to graduate that they know all what they need to know.” Betty asserted that her generation and those before hers had higher standards and she was sad to see them slip. When I asked her to expound on her statement about ill manners she responded huffily with “Don’t get me started on the lack of etiquette, respect, and propriety. It’s atrocious and I will leave it at that.” I took my cue to drop the subject and politely thanked her very much for her time; we had almost reached Finsbury Park anyway.
I always enjoy talking to people who lived through the Second World War. They tend to be straightforward and unapologetic about their beliefs. I find it refreshing. However, it does become difficult to find similarities and common ground in our childhoods. Though the United States was at war when I was close to the same age Betty was during World War Two, I definitely was not as effected by war as she. I have never been on rations. I have never had to move to avoid being bombed. I have never seen my family go off to battle. These things are foreign and terrifying to me. For Betty these things just were. The only shared experience is that of family closeness. Family gathering and story telling were a major part of my growing up. There are tales told by my mother that I finish for her.
Every generation looks toward the past as “the good old days” in some way. I suppose I, too, romanticize the World War Two era. I see it as a time where leaders were bold and people were stronger and more courageous. It seemed a simpler time where it was Good versus Evil and Right against Wrong. It’s imperative to be reminded that these were ordinary people just living their lives the best they could. Some are still around to hold us to and help us achieve higher standards if we listen and learn from them.
Betty’s comments on education made me reflect education in the United States. I think we are suffering from a similar problem. As we incorporate the point of view of more and more cultures into our curriculums we may gain breadth but we lose depth. While I think that it is good to be informed about the world around us, I also recognize the fact that trying to cover more subjects in the same amount of time results in time taken away from the original rudiments. America’s values as a whole have switched from quality to quantity. I fear we will become a nation of know nothing know it alls. What is the solution to this? I am not sure. Extending the school year to a point where everything is given enough time would result in childhoods lost for the students and possible insanity for instructors. Do we socialize education and rely on colleges to broaden mental horizons? I wish I had the answers on how to fix education in America. We already know so little when compared to what is taught in the European schools. Maybe it’s time to acknowledge the failures in our system and begin to examine systems around the world for ideas on how we can improve.
Education aside, what impacted me the most was Betty’s family. The story telling tradition still runs strong. It is important to them that the past is remembered. As a tribute to their father and his generation, Betty’s brother took his father’s diary and had it published. He personally typed up every word in a journal that covered three years of warfare. The book became his Christmas present to the entire family a couple of years ago. Betty’s family holds to the words of Winston Churchill and believes if history is forgotten it will be repeated. I applaud their active role in the preservation of the past and love of the pursuit of knowledge. This subway conversation has strengthened my own resolve to never stop learning nor to overlook the importance of the past.
Like most of the older British generation, questions about childhood led directly to World War Two. Betty had been living in London during the Blitz and remembered her family’s move to the safety of an American base out in the country. “Though we were on rations like all the other families, we never wanted for anything. American soldiers were always buzzing around my aunt and tried to win her favor by bringing gifts (from the base) for the family. Once, they even brought bananas, something no one else could get!” She also recounted how her little brother would climb on top of the barracks and count the “Doodle bombs” as they headed for London, a hobby that greatly worried their mother.
Betty’s father was stationed in Africa during the war. When he came home, he had three years worth of Army stories that he passed on to his family, and anyone else that would listen, orally and in the form of a diary. These narratives were told frequently and faithfully to the point that Betty’s other memories involved her repeating the endings back to her father when he started them. Their family was very close and had a rich tradition of family gatherings.
When I moved the subject to changes in England since her childhood, she brought up the school system. Betty had lived in the States in the 1960’s but moved back to London so her daughter would be given an English education. If Betty was put in the same situation today, she said she would not make the same decision. “My daughter was in the last generation to get a proper education. Today’s children are still ignorant after graduation.” Mrs. Cranfield felt that the new, multicultural Britain has let things slip through the cracks. She doesn’t think the students are held to the same standards has they used to be. They are instructed in more subjects, as the State makes an attempt to include everyone, but they lack depth in anything. In trying to incorporate everything and everyone, they have lost the traditional standards and a sense of themselves (Being British). The teachers’ and parents’ lack of discipline for fear of stunting the children’s creativity also upset Betty. Her view was that children crave discipline and continue to push the limits until shown a boundary.
Betty felt that the lack of depth and discipline had resulted in a new generation of poorly educated, poorly mannered young adults. She was not a fan of the value shift from detailed knowledge to broad knowledge. “They know they are ignorant and they have no desire to change that. They feel they knew enough to graduate that they know all what they need to know.” Betty asserted that her generation and those before hers had higher standards and she was sad to see them slip. When I asked her to expound on her statement about ill manners she responded huffily with “Don’t get me started on the lack of etiquette, respect, and propriety. It’s atrocious and I will leave it at that.” I took my cue to drop the subject and politely thanked her very much for her time; we had almost reached Finsbury Park anyway.
I always enjoy talking to people who lived through the Second World War. They tend to be straightforward and unapologetic about their beliefs. I find it refreshing. However, it does become difficult to find similarities and common ground in our childhoods. Though the United States was at war when I was close to the same age Betty was during World War Two, I definitely was not as effected by war as she. I have never been on rations. I have never had to move to avoid being bombed. I have never seen my family go off to battle. These things are foreign and terrifying to me. For Betty these things just were. The only shared experience is that of family closeness. Family gathering and story telling were a major part of my growing up. There are tales told by my mother that I finish for her.
Every generation looks toward the past as “the good old days” in some way. I suppose I, too, romanticize the World War Two era. I see it as a time where leaders were bold and people were stronger and more courageous. It seemed a simpler time where it was Good versus Evil and Right against Wrong. It’s imperative to be reminded that these were ordinary people just living their lives the best they could. Some are still around to hold us to and help us achieve higher standards if we listen and learn from them.
Betty’s comments on education made me reflect education in the United States. I think we are suffering from a similar problem. As we incorporate the point of view of more and more cultures into our curriculums we may gain breadth but we lose depth. While I think that it is good to be informed about the world around us, I also recognize the fact that trying to cover more subjects in the same amount of time results in time taken away from the original rudiments. America’s values as a whole have switched from quality to quantity. I fear we will become a nation of know nothing know it alls. What is the solution to this? I am not sure. Extending the school year to a point where everything is given enough time would result in childhoods lost for the students and possible insanity for instructors. Do we socialize education and rely on colleges to broaden mental horizons? I wish I had the answers on how to fix education in America. We already know so little when compared to what is taught in the European schools. Maybe it’s time to acknowledge the failures in our system and begin to examine systems around the world for ideas on how we can improve.
Education aside, what impacted me the most was Betty’s family. The story telling tradition still runs strong. It is important to them that the past is remembered. As a tribute to their father and his generation, Betty’s brother took his father’s diary and had it published. He personally typed up every word in a journal that covered three years of warfare. The book became his Christmas present to the entire family a couple of years ago. Betty’s family holds to the words of Winston Churchill and believes if history is forgotten it will be repeated. I applaud their active role in the preservation of the past and love of the pursuit of knowledge. This subway conversation has strengthened my own resolve to never stop learning nor to overlook the importance of the past.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Week 1
My trip to London was fairly uneventful. I arrived at Bruxelles Midi at 9 AM only to learn that my train was a casualty of the curtailed schedule caused by last week's Chunnel fire. I spent my 6 hour wait chatting with Lady Tunnicliffe (yes, a real Lady) and learning about the political side of the British educational system. The train from Bruxelles was packed, as passengers from the three canceled trains converged. Travel by train has become a favorite of mine over the course of the past month and I plan to continue to utilize the mode for the rest of my stay in addition to after I return.
I arrived at St. Pancras late Saturday evening and took a cab to my home stay in Muswell Hill. My home is a charming three story and is a paradise compared to my lodgings at Cite Universitaire in Paris. My host mother, Pat, is more than accomidating. I feel very lucky to have been placed in such a lovely home with a delightful pensioner and mature (thank God!) roommate.
London is just how I remembered it. After a year away, it feels strangely like coming home. I can already tell I will be more than reluctant to leave at the end of this term. I acknowledge it's been less than a week, but the only downside I see here is the cost. The people are fantastic and there is more history here than I will ever be able to learn. The past month in a half has also opened my eyes to how wonderful public transportation can be. I wish I could bring the Tube home with me.
Though we've gone to a few pubs, last night was the first time I felt like I went out and experienced local culture. After some Shakespeare, a couple of friends and I went out to East London for a show. It had been 41 days since I had seen the inside of a music venue, other than the jazz club in Paris. I don't think I've spent that much time away since in the past seven years! I can see myself being able to settle into the music scene here as well. The two bands we saw were fantastic and I regret having to leave before Casio Kids finished, but the worry of the Tube closing overshadowed my desire for good music. I cannot wait to see what the next 10 weeks hold....
I arrived at St. Pancras late Saturday evening and took a cab to my home stay in Muswell Hill. My home is a charming three story and is a paradise compared to my lodgings at Cite Universitaire in Paris. My host mother, Pat, is more than accomidating. I feel very lucky to have been placed in such a lovely home with a delightful pensioner and mature (thank God!) roommate.
London is just how I remembered it. After a year away, it feels strangely like coming home. I can already tell I will be more than reluctant to leave at the end of this term. I acknowledge it's been less than a week, but the only downside I see here is the cost. The people are fantastic and there is more history here than I will ever be able to learn. The past month in a half has also opened my eyes to how wonderful public transportation can be. I wish I could bring the Tube home with me.
Though we've gone to a few pubs, last night was the first time I felt like I went out and experienced local culture. After some Shakespeare, a couple of friends and I went out to East London for a show. It had been 41 days since I had seen the inside of a music venue, other than the jazz club in Paris. I don't think I've spent that much time away since in the past seven years! I can see myself being able to settle into the music scene here as well. The two bands we saw were fantastic and I regret having to leave before Casio Kids finished, but the worry of the Tube closing overshadowed my desire for good music. I cannot wait to see what the next 10 weeks hold....
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