What makes for a national identity?

I am an American. I say this without gusto, or any specific pride today. Here and now it means that I was born in the United States of America. [Side note: a number of South, Central, and North Americans take offense at this specific interpretation].

I reside in Islamabad – but today I wonder if I’m really here in Pakistan.

I drive down the street and no longer feel the rush of “Oh, I’m in Islamabad,” daily. I teach my classes and no longer think, “Oh, I have students from all over the country and world,” daily. I look at the dark skin of fellow residents and longer say, “Oh, these are the citizens of Pakistan,” daily.

Yes, I pay attention to the streets, the lights, the loaded vehicles, the colorful trucks, etc. Yes, I recognize each of my students as unique individuals with their own experiences, talents, and potential. Yes, I look at the people around me and realize that each one has their own story to be told. However, the labels of cities, regions, countries, and more rub off in time and are replaced with my personal experiences with each moment.

Am I really in Pakistan? Let’s leave alone the almost cliché reality that Islamabad is a state onto itself in Pakistan; it is a planned city created decades, centuries, or millennia after the people of this area first settled in what is now Pakistan, depending on how you look at the situation.

(Google stolen images above)

Truly, what distinguishes a Pakistani from an Afghan? Or a Punjabi from a Baluchi? We see both here in Pakistan. Sure there are telltale signs; I am being rhetorical. There is language, there is culture, and there may be physical features. [My former Ghanaian students always surprised me when they could pick another student’s ethnicity or home of origin out by sight]. However, for a moment – at a glance, maybe while you ate your own plate of dal and rice on the street – could you distinguish the two? Maybe more importantly, does it matter?

My African brothers brought up an important point when they said that, despite our difference in skin color, the blood that rolls in our veins is still red. It’s a basic humanity we share, [maybe we could go so far as to avoid human references but say an essence or unity of God]. From personal experiences, I have great difficulty separating the two types of people, even as I see each uniquely.

The novelty of 'foreign' languages wears off, even as I learn new phrases and characters. The novelty of traveling to particular cities and countries wears off, as I experience each moment. The novelty of skin color, dress styles, and (at some point!) food wears off, as I interact and learn about the place that is now my home.

What does it mean to be “American” or Pakistani? Today… not a whole lot to me. The individual experiences, or more importantly how we perceive and remember them, matter so much more than our national identity or any other label.

I am proud to be an American, but I don’t let my national identity overrun my personal identity.