On June 17th this year, a young man joined several others gathered for an evening Bible study at a South Carolina church. He stayed for almost an hour while they read their scripture. Then he stood up, pulled out a gun and started shooting them, reloading the gun several times, and killing a total of nine of them.
The young man was a white man. Those killed were black. His rage was borne of cold-blooded racial hatred. He targeted people of a specific color.
The young man was a white man. Those killed were black. His rage was borne of cold-blooded racial hatred. He targeted people of a specific color.
The horror shook the country. If you just watched one of the YouTube speech videos of one of its victim, state senator Rev. Clementa Pinckney, it is not hard to share the despair. Of the senselessness of the act. His politeness of speech alone, in the crude world of American politics, imbues antithesis of violence. "Why" that reverberates in ceaseless expanse of darkness, echoing, bouncing, feeds this anguish.
This despair collided with a particular history of this country: of the race relations between the whites and the blacks. I certainly bear no depth of understanding of this country's history of race relations. My understanding is rather simple: black people were forcefully dragged out of their native countries, enslaved, dehumanized and traded as commodities in more barbaric times of this country. This country has come a long way from that disgrace. But it is not a transformation that has happened overnight. There has always been sides, and people have struggled, suffered, to come to the stage it is now. They have made improvements in slow, painful steps. There have been violent oppositions to each of these changes.
Confederate flag represents one of those opposing sides to the American black people. Reminding them of those times when several states fought, claiming their rights to own slaves. South Carolina was one of those states. And its state house proudly displayed the flag on its grounds claiming legacy of their past. Multiple attempts over decades by more fair-minded people to have it removed had proved futile.
After the racist massacre in the Church, slowly a call started burgeoning, touching on the wrongs of racial past: to remove confederate flag from South Carolina state ground. This was opposed by many, who probably aligned themselves to the white racial supremacy of the past. But the mainstream politics, media was rather unified in calling for the removal. The state government ultimately bowed to the call. The confederate flag, that symbolized atrocities of more barbaric past for many, that fluttered in glory for decades against the cringe it incited on many, was removed.
It was a humble moment for me. I thought, better instincts of human beings had prevailed. And to collectively attain that better state, I suspected, if you were a citizen of this country, you would be proud. That would be a form of a national moment where I could, for that instance, claim the pride of national identity.
As an immigrant, I know, I will never share that sense of nationalism in this country. I have no claims to the sufferings of their past to share their joys. But more than that, nationalistic feelings have not been particularly appealing in general.
Interacting with fellow immigrants from Nepal to this country, I sense that many find the question of national identity particularly acute. Perhaps it is aggravated by the difficulty of assimilating to the new culture and place. Perhaps it is realization of a difference of national identity that introduces a certain sense of insecurity in a foreign land. Regardless, many appear to have developed a sharpened sense of affiliation to Nepal.
This was reflected in an acute form when earthquake rattled Nepal recently. They exhibited an extraordinary generosity; they reached for their pockets, some made journeys to Nepal to volunteer, many penned their love for the country in their social media pages; the affection was palpable. The connection to the nation was visible. Even in less extra-ordinary times, their longing is visible-- in their daura surwals and dhaka topis in dashain (I do not see many doing the same in Nepal itself), exaggerated glitters of Teej, serene landscapes of Nepal (rather enhanced by extraordinary photography skills) on their Facebook pages affixed with nostalgic expressions.
It is a sentimental affiliation. But it is a mistake to think of this as a national identification that gives a claim to moments of pride akin to the lowering of confederate flag in South Carolina state grounds.
As immigrants, ours is an identification of convenience. We can mostly choose what we like about Nepal, polish it with imageries and mold the affiliation to our liking. On rare occasions when we are forced to face the inescability of national identity -renewing passport, being harrassed in the airport for one thing or other- we seek the most convenient solutions to patch the hiccup. We find relatives in power and bypass the procedure, or in worst case scenario bear the burden of the procedure in silence saying it is only this time I have to endure this. We don't even protest if we found the processes unfair. Why take the unnecessary burden when I will be away in another country in a day?
But the burden imposed by boundaries of the nation called Nepal is inescapable to many who live in that country. It is not with longing they think of their nation. But daily struggles in navigating a collective society. It expresses itself in violent forms in their daily life: public officials who ask for bribes to carry the official process of selling your property, political cadres who threaten your life for your beliefs, justice system which answers to calls of bribes than arguments of reasons, tax payer funded public officials who see the service seekers as slaves and find every reason to impose hardship. The weakest among them suffer the worst of the imposition.
Are we willing to take up that burden?
That is why it is best if we recognized our romance with the notion of nationalism as what it is: a sentimental affiliation. The claims to glory of nationhood belongs to those who toil in that inescapability against all odds, to elevate the collective society to a mass of better human beings. It belongs to the weak who suffer just based on the fact that they happen to be born there and have no escape. It also does not belong to those who live in the confines of the nation but prey upon the weak ones to feed their needs.
After the racist massacre in the Church, slowly a call started burgeoning, touching on the wrongs of racial past: to remove confederate flag from South Carolina state ground. This was opposed by many, who probably aligned themselves to the white racial supremacy of the past. But the mainstream politics, media was rather unified in calling for the removal. The state government ultimately bowed to the call. The confederate flag, that symbolized atrocities of more barbaric past for many, that fluttered in glory for decades against the cringe it incited on many, was removed.
It was a humble moment for me. I thought, better instincts of human beings had prevailed. And to collectively attain that better state, I suspected, if you were a citizen of this country, you would be proud. That would be a form of a national moment where I could, for that instance, claim the pride of national identity.
As an immigrant, I know, I will never share that sense of nationalism in this country. I have no claims to the sufferings of their past to share their joys. But more than that, nationalistic feelings have not been particularly appealing in general.
Interacting with fellow immigrants from Nepal to this country, I sense that many find the question of national identity particularly acute. Perhaps it is aggravated by the difficulty of assimilating to the new culture and place. Perhaps it is realization of a difference of national identity that introduces a certain sense of insecurity in a foreign land. Regardless, many appear to have developed a sharpened sense of affiliation to Nepal.
This was reflected in an acute form when earthquake rattled Nepal recently. They exhibited an extraordinary generosity; they reached for their pockets, some made journeys to Nepal to volunteer, many penned their love for the country in their social media pages; the affection was palpable. The connection to the nation was visible. Even in less extra-ordinary times, their longing is visible-- in their daura surwals and dhaka topis in dashain (I do not see many doing the same in Nepal itself), exaggerated glitters of Teej, serene landscapes of Nepal (rather enhanced by extraordinary photography skills) on their Facebook pages affixed with nostalgic expressions.
It is a sentimental affiliation. But it is a mistake to think of this as a national identification that gives a claim to moments of pride akin to the lowering of confederate flag in South Carolina state grounds.
As immigrants, ours is an identification of convenience. We can mostly choose what we like about Nepal, polish it with imageries and mold the affiliation to our liking. On rare occasions when we are forced to face the inescability of national identity -renewing passport, being harrassed in the airport for one thing or other- we seek the most convenient solutions to patch the hiccup. We find relatives in power and bypass the procedure, or in worst case scenario bear the burden of the procedure in silence saying it is only this time I have to endure this. We don't even protest if we found the processes unfair. Why take the unnecessary burden when I will be away in another country in a day?
But the burden imposed by boundaries of the nation called Nepal is inescapable to many who live in that country. It is not with longing they think of their nation. But daily struggles in navigating a collective society. It expresses itself in violent forms in their daily life: public officials who ask for bribes to carry the official process of selling your property, political cadres who threaten your life for your beliefs, justice system which answers to calls of bribes than arguments of reasons, tax payer funded public officials who see the service seekers as slaves and find every reason to impose hardship. The weakest among them suffer the worst of the imposition.
Are we willing to take up that burden?
That is why it is best if we recognized our romance with the notion of nationalism as what it is: a sentimental affiliation. The claims to glory of nationhood belongs to those who toil in that inescapability against all odds, to elevate the collective society to a mass of better human beings. It belongs to the weak who suffer just based on the fact that they happen to be born there and have no escape. It also does not belong to those who live in the confines of the nation but prey upon the weak ones to feed their needs.
