Refusing to choose is a valid choice.
"Don't open your diamonds in a vegetable market. Tie them in bundle and keep them in your heart, and go your own way." ~ Kabir
We are often faced with what seems to be a choice between loving somewhere or going back where we came from.
Don't like the food on offer? Go back to where you came from.
Think society could be made fairer, more inclusive, more efficient? Go back to where you came from.
Knowledge of alternatives is not celebrated. Instead the choice is framed in terms of devotion to community or to place.
Countries are shops. Before you dismiss the metaphor as reductive, consider: Societies are reflected in retail. What is allowed on the shelves is determined by history, culture, and demographics.
A characteristic experience of my post-migration childhood was walking into a department store ...
... and finding nothing I wanted.
The sporting toys were different. No soccer balls, only cricket pads.
No stylish toys based on the constantly evolving styles of giant robot Japanese animation, only He-Man dolls. To add insult to injury, the toys we could buy with missile launchers often had their springs neutered lest some brat choke.
Imagine that. Going from a second-world place to a first-world place and finding less to like. Sure, the lanes were wide and the staff wore uniforms, but the shops in the city on a hill were sterile.
(Don't bother calling me ungrateful. I've convicted myself of that charge a thousand times over.)
One response is to embrace something on offer. My brother did just that. He bought into the sports, the toys, the speech, and the aspirations of his new community. The news is full of heartwarming stories of model migrants who become more local than local. We are all - even native-born - told from time to time to 'make the most of it'. Many do, seeking safety in commonality.
Another approach is to agitate for change. While I admire those who demand to see the manager, such activism is not worthwhile for me anymore.
There is an oft-overlooked third choice: nothing. Forego choice itself. Don't engage. Save your resources for something else.
Desiring something uncommon and being apathetic to bringing it about ironically stem from the same place: the privilege of knowing alternatives. Instead of seeking out or making decent sushi in regional Australia, it's easier to just wait until I'm elsewhere in Asia.
To those who belong 'somewhere' this may smack of globalist elitism. Precisely. This combination of flexibility and self-control should be celebrated as surpassing insular surrounds rather than denigrated as snobbish rejection born out of rootlessness.
As an aside, I cannot ignore that there may be a generational element to my predisposition towards detachment. It may be a tendency for us Generation X-ers to roll our eyes and opt out, having neither the capital of our Boomer forebears or the vigour of our Millennial successors with which to prosecute change.
Being told to 'go back' could be worn as a badge of privilege, a recognition that we have an entire other culture (or more) as an option to draw upon, enabling us to engage selectively, if at all. That is, it signifies the originator's perceived lack of power, rather than the target's lack of conviction. The more parochial are forced to 'love it', having no means to 'leave it'.
My secret power is knowing I can enjoy the air conditioning and cleanliness of the supermarket without buying anything. My challenge is to feel good about it.
"Don't open your diamonds in a vegetable market. Tie them in bundle and keep them in your heart, and go your own way." ~ Kabir
We are often faced with what seems to be a choice between loving somewhere or going back where we came from.
Don't like the food on offer? Go back to where you came from.
Think society could be made fairer, more inclusive, more efficient? Go back to where you came from.
Knowledge of alternatives is not celebrated. Instead the choice is framed in terms of devotion to community or to place.
Countries are shops. Before you dismiss the metaphor as reductive, consider: Societies are reflected in retail. What is allowed on the shelves is determined by history, culture, and demographics.
A characteristic experience of my post-migration childhood was walking into a department store ...
... and finding nothing I wanted.
The sporting toys were different. No soccer balls, only cricket pads.
No stylish toys based on the constantly evolving styles of giant robot Japanese animation, only He-Man dolls. To add insult to injury, the toys we could buy with missile launchers often had their springs neutered lest some brat choke.
Imagine that. Going from a second-world place to a first-world place and finding less to like. Sure, the lanes were wide and the staff wore uniforms, but the shops in the city on a hill were sterile.
(Don't bother calling me ungrateful. I've convicted myself of that charge a thousand times over.)
One response is to embrace something on offer. My brother did just that. He bought into the sports, the toys, the speech, and the aspirations of his new community. The news is full of heartwarming stories of model migrants who become more local than local. We are all - even native-born - told from time to time to 'make the most of it'. Many do, seeking safety in commonality.
Another approach is to agitate for change. While I admire those who demand to see the manager, such activism is not worthwhile for me anymore.
There is an oft-overlooked third choice: nothing. Forego choice itself. Don't engage. Save your resources for something else.
Desiring something uncommon and being apathetic to bringing it about ironically stem from the same place: the privilege of knowing alternatives. Instead of seeking out or making decent sushi in regional Australia, it's easier to just wait until I'm elsewhere in Asia.
To those who belong 'somewhere' this may smack of globalist elitism. Precisely. This combination of flexibility and self-control should be celebrated as surpassing insular surrounds rather than denigrated as snobbish rejection born out of rootlessness.
As an aside, I cannot ignore that there may be a generational element to my predisposition towards detachment. It may be a tendency for us Generation X-ers to roll our eyes and opt out, having neither the capital of our Boomer forebears or the vigour of our Millennial successors with which to prosecute change.
Being told to 'go back' could be worn as a badge of privilege, a recognition that we have an entire other culture (or more) as an option to draw upon, enabling us to engage selectively, if at all. That is, it signifies the originator's perceived lack of power, rather than the target's lack of conviction. The more parochial are forced to 'love it', having no means to 'leave it'.
My secret power is knowing I can enjoy the air conditioning and cleanliness of the supermarket without buying anything. My challenge is to feel good about it.
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