Becoming American

A UK expat's impressions of adopting the American dream.

When my family and I moved to the US from the UK, I didn’t approach the switch with any apprehension or anticipation of culture shock. We speak the same language; we can see what American life is like in all the Hollywood movies, and, in my case, I was even going to be working for the same company. So, no big deal, right?

Wrong. Fairly quickly, I realized significant cultural differences in play that I did not know about. As a heterosexual white cis-gender, able-bodied man, I had been part of pretty much every ‘majority group’ going for my life to date. Removing just one of those many privileges was incredibly jarring.

I stumbled through conversations, struggled to make friends, and settled down. At the same time, this vast country around me continued about its business, chewing up my preconceptions and spitting them out at every turn. I had to learn the hard way - hopefully, you now don’t have to.

Additionally, there had been some confusion in my international move, as no social security number had been secured for me, thus inadvertently creating an ‘undocumented’ experience for my first month here. That bewildering experience for that short period opened my eyes to the very different immigrant experiences that folks are living and struggling through for a shot at the American Dream.

Of particular note is being laughed out of a car dealership when trying to buy a car and being refused cable and internet service by Verizon—even when I offered to pay the entirety of my 2-year contract in full upfront.

One element of being an immigrant that I didn’t expect was the weird position that is thrust upon you as a de facto ambassador of your adopted country to all your friends and family back home. Particularly as one of the most privileged types of immigrants — one who had the choice to move rather than having to flee in fear or mortal danger — that choice is often indirectly called into question by folks back in the UK.

A year into our stay here, back in 2016, we reflected on the differences we’d observed around us and within ourselves during those first 12 months. The two that stuck with me, ingrained in the culture to the point that may make it hard to observe from within, are the determined bias towards optimism and confidence. My family’s tendency for awkward bashfulness around ambition transformed into you *can* do this, this *is* possible, never stop dreaming, or, to take Amanda Gorman slightly out of context:

“So, while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe, now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?”

Observing and noting this is one thing; seeing it personify and grow in your young children is another level of magic.

That magic has continued to develop over the years. Still, against a backdrop of increasingly torrid times, political disunity, a shambolic response to a global pandemic, and culminating in the peak of the “uncivil war” of January 6th, 2021, that ambassadorial role became increasingly difficult. America’s priorities around its positioning and reputation on the world stage hugely decreased with its focus on  “America First” actions. While the media abroad mainly placed the blame for that at the feet of President Trump, it was not lost on the people of the world that the rightly-touted democratic processes made President Trump, whether 51% of the voters liked it or not, the nation’s President and duly elected spokesperson. This also rolled down the hill to me as an unofficial and increasingly unwilling ambassador. The confidence and optimism that I relied on and pointed to in America as an ally of many and protector of world peace eroded around me — slowly at first but with such rapid acceleration through the events of 2020 that the connection to those virtues was left hanging by threads both personally and in the nation around me.

My experience of the Inauguration in terms of international attention — a brief burst of interest on the global scene, most don’t understand what’s happening as those involved play it out amongst the glitz and “Oh look, Lady Gaga, is singing the anthem, what a cool dress.” I had never really paid much attention to the previous inaugurations. The 2021 one, however, will stay with me forever. A nation didn’t just begin to heal; it found itself again. The optimism, confidence, hope, celebration of diversity, and pursuit of unity were faintly stitched back together; they roared off the television screen through every part of the ceremony and celebration. None of this will bring back so many dead from COVID, and the wedges of division that have been further hammered in through the last two presidential terms will take longer than ever to remove, but now the path is forward.

“We will rise from the golden hills of the West.

We will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution.

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.

We will rise from the sunbaked South.

We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.”

Amanda Gorman

It’s hard not to feel ill-equipped when searching for words to do justice to Amanda Gorman’s poem (now banned in some Florida schools). As I sat, every bit as transfixed as the great Presidents of the past sitting just behind her were, Amanda encapsulated in 6 minutes for so many what it means to be American; she pulled together the soul of a nation.

As for this unwitting ambassador, I aimed to approach the future with all the optimism and confidence I can muster, aspiring to Amanda’s call to action and genuinely proud to be able to play whatever part I can in this country’s united journey forward from there.

As I have continued my immigrant life, it has become even more apparent to me that I have carried many privileges into the process of transitioning from immigrant to citizen compared to many others on the same journey.

While there are indeed unique hurdles and challenges that British immigrants will face, they begin to look small and comfortable compared to those faced by hardworking people from other countries who have to spend years—sometimes decades—contributing to the country’s economy while living in fear of making a single wrong step that could see them arrested and deported.

Throughout my naturalization and citizenship process, I consistently observed different experiences because of my ethnicity: the way I’m able to show up, the way I'm treated and spoken to, and the feeling of how much is at stake. For reference, my green card was processed end-to-end in nine months; my citizenship process was four months. These timescales are hugely atypical, and I’m afraid I have to disagree with any argument that my British origins were coincidental.

Sitting in the waiting room for my citizenship civics test, I noticed a massive tension - families who had fought for so long to get to that stage had everything on the line to ensure they could stay together. I’m grateful that all of the stories I saw that day seemed to end with huge embraces and a joyous exit, but I’m sure many deserving would-be citizens were not lucky enough to make it that far.

One story, in particular, will always stick with me - described in heart-wrenching detail by Diane Guerrero in her memoir ‘In The Country We Love: My Family Divided.’ An American citizen, Diane returned home from school at 14 to the horror of an empty apartment. Both of her parents - who had worked hard and been model members of society for over a decade - had been arrested and would soon be deported back to their native Colombia. As you wrestle with the administrative inconveniences of your experience, I highly recommend you read Diane’s story to contextualize your troubles.

When I was sworn in as an American citizen a few weeks later, I was similarly surprised at the start of my journey. Without a requirement to surrender my British citizenship, I expected the transition to feel primarily administrative—securing my family’s lifelong right to live and work in the United States.

It felt like so much more. As I stood and pledged allegiance for the first time, I committed to continuing the story of a great nation built by immigrants. At that moment, I was determined to use my new status and experiences to effect change in an immigration system where the dice are loaded against many who deserve a far better deal.

I plan to use any channels available to me to campaign for common-sense immigration reform that offers paths to citizenship and freedom from fear for those who have earned or are earning their way toward it through hard work and contributions to society.

This is the contribution that I wish to make to defining my American Dream.