Where are you from? (not such a simple question)

Where are you from? (not such a simple question)

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new sights, but in looking with new eyes.” – Marcel Proust

Give it a try. The next time you walk into Subway on Daniel Island, ask my good friend David where he’s from.  You’ll certainly enjoy his answer, a simple: “Planet Earth.”

Our planet has seen the birth of more than 110 billion people – 7 billion of whom now roam the earth.  I often refer to these 7 billion as “fellow travelers,” given that we travel together through space – same vehicle, same direction, same course. And, by and large, we do the same things – look after our families, look after each other, explore, create, connect.

Nonetheless, we consistently draw lines that separate us from one another – through religion, race, nationality, economics or politics.

Four years ago, NPR host Michele Norris created The Race Card Project “to solicit people’s frank, unfiltered thoughts on race,” according to an article in The Atlantic. Since then, the article explained, “she has received tens of thousands of responses, from people in 63 countries” and one of the most common submissions, Norris explains, “is some formulation of ‘So, where are you really from?’ Adds Norris, as quoted in the Atlantic: “To a lot of people that hits their ear the wrong way. It feels like someone is trying to point out their otherness: ‘You’re quite obviously not American, so where are you from?’”

I must admit, when I hear someone with an accent (whether I’m hopping a cab to the airport or ordering a drink at a corner café), I frequently ask: “Where are you from?” I hope that I’m not offending anyone, and I’m asking out of genuine interest in their story, their background, their life. I view the question as a simple social rejoinder, a way to connect with a fellow traveler.  But for many, I now realize, particularly Americans who (forgive the phrase) don’t “look” American, it’s often not a happy question.

Listen to Teresa Volcheck of Des Moines, Iowa, who shared her thoughts with The Race Card Project: 

“I am a Korean adoptee, raised in central Nebraska. I do not have an accent. I had a Swedish last name growing up and now have a Czech last name. I often get asked, where are you from? I say, ‘Nebraska.’ Then I get, “Really, where are you from?’ I have never self-identified as Korean-American and find it puzzling that people need to know this information. I do not know my biological family. I have a Korean adopted brother and growing up, we were often asked if we were REAL brother and sister (we are not biologically related). Is ‘real’ and ‘biological’ the same? Isn’t family more than just blood relations?”

Or listen to cartoonist Vishavjit Singh:

" ‘Where are you from?’ This is one of the most common questions hurled my way in public. My quick response is: from right here in the U.S. For many this is not a satisfying response, so they prod further. But where are you from really? Okay, I am from all over. Born in Washington, DC, I spent my childhood in India, went to college and graduate school in California, then moved to the East Coast. So you are from India? No, my parents are, but I am American.

“That’s the end of this discourse in just about all instances. The innate urge on the part of many of my fellow Americans to somehow place me firmly in the ‘foreign’ category is amusing and frustrating at the same time. There is no such thing as an American ‘look’, yet the juxtaposition of beard and turban in our contemporary times seems to mark me as the ultimate ‘other’.

“I am a cartoonist, a writer, a costume player, a software engineer, married, turbaned, bearded, American, Sikh -- just to name a few. While all of these identifications are true, they don’t contain the essence of who I am.”

The Great Floating Tribe

In a stirring TED talk, global author Pico Iyer talks about the “great floating tribe,” noting that “the number of people living in countries not their own now comes to 220 million, and that’s an almost unimaginable number.” The “age of movement,” Iyer points out, allows us to now “choose our sense of home, create our sense of community, fashion our sense of self, and in so doing maybe step a little beyond some of the black and white divisions of our grandparents' age. No coincidence that the president of the strongest nation on Earth is half-Kenyan, partly raised in Indonesia, has a Chinese-Canadian brother-in-law.”

Adds Iyer:

“I think the age of movement brings exhilarating new possibilities. Certainly when I'm traveling, especially to the major cities of the world, the typical person I meet today will be, let's say, a half-Korean, half-German young woman living in Paris. And as soon as she meets a half-Thai, half-Canadian young guy from Edinburgh, she recognizes him as kin. She realizes that she probably has much more in common with him than with anybody entirely of Korea or entirely of Germany. So they become friends. They fall in love. They move to New York City. Or Edinburgh.

“And the little girl who arises out of their union will of course be not Korean or German or French or Thai or Scotch or Canadian or even American, but a wonderful and constantly evolving mix of all those places. And potentially, everything about the way that young woman dreams about the world, writes about the world, thinks about the world, could be something different, because it comes out of this almost unprecedented blend of cultures.”

So the next time you ask a fellow traveler “Where are you from?,” be mindful. The question holds great power – to connect, or divide.  It all depends on our intent. 

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