Free (At Last)

Tonight when we were watching the evening news on NBC, a strange feeling came over me. An item about over-fishing in the world’s oceans was screening, and slowly I realized … I’m not really interested in the world anymore. What’s going on in Minnesota? How about Delaware? Didn’t a crane collapse somewhere in the US today?

And that’s when it hit me: I’m an American! Yes, today I made my last-ever – I hope – visit to Immigration Services out in Metairie. I took the Oa.th, which included renouncing all for.eign prin.ces (sorry, Prince Albert of Monaco, possible future love interest); recited the Ple.dge, led by a Colombian candidate; listened to “The Star-Span.gled Banner” played on a boom-box; received a welcome pack (including a small flag, a letter from the Pres.ident, and info on how to register to vote and get a passport); watched a Civi.cs video (which showed more patrio.tic candidates at another swe.aring-in ceremony waving said flags, and asked us, at the end, how we planned to Use Our Freedom); watched a video message from the Pr.esident (he likes us!); and then sat through a video montage of nice places in the US and happy-looking people sitting on beaches, standing on summits, etc, to a soundtrack of one of my least favorite songs – Lee Gre.enwood’s “God Bl.ess the US.A” - while someone overly enthusiastic in the row behind me sang along. (The lines “I’m proud to be an Am.er.ican/where at least I know I’m fr.ee” are off in so many ways: what is that “at least” doing in there? Is there nothing else good about this place? Is nobody free anywhere else?)

Anyway, there were 55 of us sworn in today, from 22 countries. The countries were listed in the little program handed out, and when your country was read out, you had to stand up. I was the only New Zealander. The woman to my left was from Iran; the one on my right was from Honduras. Vietnam, Honduras, and Guatemala were the most heavily represented – not really surprising for Louisiana. (There’s a large Vietnamese community here, for those who haven’t read Robert Olen Butler’s collection A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain.) A lot of people had family members present, but non-candidates had to sit at the back of the room during the Oa.th-and-video bits; they were invited to stand up front when we were handed our certificates, so they could take photos. TM didn’t come with me, which he is now regretting, and the woman on my right asked me, with pity in her voice: “You have nobody here to take your picture?”

We were told on the form to wear “appropriate dress,” so I shelved plans for my red, white, and blue bikini. A woman from Serbia was wearing a Sta.rs-and-Stri.pes scarf, for which she received several compliments in the elevator afterwards. “I wanted to look American,” she said. “You ARE American,” one of the other women told her. We new citizens bonded big-time.

The ceremony was conducted by the Fie.ld Off.ice Director and the Sup.ervisory Off.icer, both of whom were very pleasant, though the FD.O told us in his speech that we live in “trying and perplexing times.” When my name was called (“Paula Morris from New Zealand!), he handed me my certificate and wished me luck. The SO urged us all to register to vote, and to agree to jur.y duty when called up.

Other things: In the reflection of the TV screen I saw that the majority of candidates were hand-on-heart during the S-SB. The old Cuban man in front of me, who walked with a cane, got over-enthusiastic during the Oa.th recitation, and instead of waiting to repeat the words after the F.DO had read them, read each phrase along with him. During the Civi.cs video, which briefly explained the Revolutionary War, history of the Const.itution, evolution of the Re.public, etc, they totally glossed over certain things, not least the Civil War. After explaining the rights protected by the Con.stitution, the voiceover explained: “In time, these rights were extended to more people.” Cue: picture of Native American, followed by picture of black person!

We had to get there today by 1:30 and I was back at the car by 2:50, wondering how to start using my freedom. I decided to be as American as possible, so I immediately made a call on my cell phone, then drove across town to Smoothie King. (Though you don’t have to be free to shop there; they serve anyone.) I got my passport photos taken, and then – because it’s a free country – drove the length of Terpsichore Street, to see if I could find the little cat’s new house. It’s hard driving the length of this street, because it’s one-way in parts, and interrupted for a few blocks by a small park. My mission was not accomplished, i.e. I didn’t see the cat or its owners’ car. All the time in the car I was listening to Brazilian music, which is American in the broader sense, at least.

Today was inevitable, I suppose: I’ve grown to like grits and iced tea. I know how to say “banana” and “tomato” when placing food orders. But I felt an odd pang handing over my Gr.een Card today. (It’s seized when you become a cit.izen.) The picture on it was taken in 1996, though I didn’t get the GC itself until almost two years later. I was a different person then, I think, in many ways, and not just because I didn’t need to dye my hair. I didn’t even know TM when that picture was taken, when that application was filed. I hadn’t started writing again.

Since my first work visa here in 94, it’s taken 14 years, thousands of dollars, and one letter from a Senator (Al D’Amato, Hillary Clinton’s predecessor) to reach this point. Freedom isn’t free, people!

And now I must go use my freedom to watch The Daily Show. Thank you to my local friend Becky, by the way, for the lovely red, white and blue flowers delivered yesterday.