Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
A few months ago, I accompanied my father to his U.S citizenship interview at 26 Federal Plaza. Had this happened a year ago, it probably would’ve been an afterthought to me, and I wouldn’t have gone to this; After all, I was only there to ensure a lawyer was called in the case my old man, a green card holder, got swooped up by ICE agents. C’est la vie I suppose. So, twiddling my thumbs as I sat in the eerily lit waiting room with a large, outdated poster with people of various ethnicities smiling on the wall behind me, the thought crept into my head, among other concerns surrounding the ordeal: Do I really feel American?
I’ve never cared for this notion, and still don’t much. Perhaps it was even a bit self-absorbed to ponder my own identity when there were others in that room going through a hell of a lot more stress than me. I am what I am, an immigrant and citizen of this country, and maybe I should’ve left it at that. My mind wandered though, and I couldn’t stop myself from pondering the subject.
I was born in Istanbul, moved to New York as a baby, and grew up pretty multiculturally, American mom, Turkish dad. Regardless, I’m probably more westernized than a lot of Turkish Americans. I don’t view this as a good or bad thing; I’m just stating the obvious. I hardly know a lick of the language anymore, and several Turks have even doubted my heritage until I’ve said my last name correctly with the ‘ç’ pronunciation.
Because of stuff like this, despite these people’s clearly harmless nature, the concept becomes pretty exhausting if I sit on it for too long. At the end of the day, I don’t half-disagree with them; I haven’t been to the country in nearly a decade, much of what I recall there are fading memories at this point, and it’s kind of sad to think about. Nonetheless, I can live with just being American; it’s annoying, though, when I’m made to feel like I’m not even that. I’ve practically erased my other side; have I not done enough to warrant the label? I grew up a diehard Knicks fan, and I know I don’t have the best swing of a bat, but shit I know what Wins Above Replacement means.
This notion of not feeling American truly began to take shape last year on a road trip to Maryland with friends. During a gas stop, an hour or two into the drive, I examined our surroundings, and almost like he knew what was going on in my head, one of my friends said, “Maybe you stay in the car on this one, Cev, I’ll get you a zona”. I definitely wanted the smooth, refreshing taste of an AriZona Iced Green Tea, but more importantly, my friend understood I might not be as safe as they are in an area like this. I quickly examined the length of my facial hair through my camera’s light and agreed with him. I realized I hadn’t shaved in a week and a half, my beard looked too ethnic.
I didn’t really care if I wasn’t able to exit a vehicle in bumblefuck South Carolina, so the sentiment kind of evaded me, I’d shave for the ride home I thought, simple as that. However as I enjoyed my trip in Annapolis, Maryland, I was confronted with my ethnicity once again in a more rude awakening. At one of the bars we went to that night, a drunken argument between my friends and a few Naval Cadets arose, during which I was called a vulgar slur by one. I left afterwards feeling powerless, it was a losing battle and I wasn’t going to continue it in these guys’ stronghold. All that I knew was I just got called something derogatory by someone whose aspiration was supposedly to serve and protect their fellow citizens, those with my complexion included.
The specific term used, sucks not only because of its offensiveness to Black people in addition to myself, but I can’t even say it myself. I’ll get called a slur, others have gone through far worse in this country, but be a little creative for god’s sake.
More seriously however, it provided me with a sense my citizenship was nothing more than a document. With ideology such as what was said to me, prevalent in our current times, do I really feel American when I’m being called a “sand n-word”? Or additionally when my home city’s Democratic nominee for mayor has his beard thickened in an attack ad, and is dubbed an Islamic extremist for simply existing as a Muslim?
I’m an Episcopalian admittedly, in more testament to my ethnic mishmash. Regardless, the racial abuse towards Zohran Mamdani has still affected me in a poignant manner. It’s demonstrative of outright xenophobia having become accepted in polite society, and more prevalent nationwide. Mamdani is brown like I, and has been mercilessly gone after by opposition for that very fact. They ridicule his racial identity to the most minute detail, such as lampooning an article he wrote while at Bowdoin College, where he benevolently describes past insecurities and anxieties concerning his background.
While personally sharing few to no actual ethnic similarities with the man, I can attest to having held a few of the feelings he described. It struck a chord because despite the mentioned difference, I’ve learned that to many Americans we’re often designated by complexion.
For this reason, these virulent attacks surrounding the prospective next Mayor’s ethnicity have once again begged the personal question for me; If this is our political climate of the current age, why should I feel a substantial attachment to this country? If America has let itself descend to this environment so remarkably unwelcome to many, seemingly including people somewhat-similar to I, circling back to my aforementioned ponderance: do I really feel American?
It’s a surprising quirk that the most sensible words of opposition, on Mamdani, come in the form of Republican nominee for Mayor, Curtis Sliwa. Railing against attacks on his race and identifying them as legitimate issues, he said on a Fox News interview, “Attack the policies of Zohran, not the culture”.
This reflected a semblance of normalcy; While not a political endorsement of Sliwa, his statements contain an understanding of fundamental rights and wrongs regarding discrimination, that have become all too blurred. They are reflective of what should be in the foundation of principled debate, and moreover polite society. One should have the ability to present themselves as a socialist without being told to go back where they migrated from.
You should be able to disagree with someone without resorting to racism, and this is something much of the United States lacks the ability to do currently. Liberty entails the freedom from one’s race deeming the validity of citizenship. Therefore, in a time where the opposite has increasingly become a norm of discourse, and many have accepted taking steps back to a dark history of oppression, I’m occasionally left questioning the legitimacy of my own citizenship. How I can be and not be one simultaneously.
