Mass naturalization of people will occur Friday. Twenty or thirty rows of them. In some community hall. With a flag overhead. Red, white and blue lapel pins for souvenirs.
Young and old will raise one hand while their voices - some stammering, others smooth - issue a modern and very personal declaration of independence.
Joining up. After getting accustomed to, they are now becoming part of, America.
The networks will run a sound bite at six.
Sea to shining sea is a nice little catch phrase. If you like east-west relations.
But it doesn’t capture America.
No sense trying to create a north-south jingle either. Hawaii and Alaska would object.
This problem began with a mapmaker who, in a fit of misguided enthusiasm, wrote "America" upon the scrawled manuscripts of explorers, who basically traveled rivers, forayed into adjoining lands, cleared some trees and built a few houses.
We concluded America was a place. Our house. Ours.
History should forgive this oversight. We were part of the expanding European empires at first. British. French. Spanish.
They missed the point.
American was always an idea.
In fairness to our ancestors, it was all about primitive annexation then. Land grabbing, to be accurate.
Of course, all Europeans were illegal immigrants. Advanced weaponry and aggressive conflicts with the native populations produced catastrophic results to Indian cultures in both hemispheres.
Enslavement. Confinement. Treaties were used for toilet paper in frontier outhouses.
Headlines today suggest that some people aren’t playing by the rules of immigration.
Not sure we ever have.
The Cunningham family didn’t, I can confess to that. So no stones being tossed from this corner.
Great-grandpa Matthew stowed away on a ship. Didn’t find him until it was too far for him to swim back. Which, if he represented the combined aquatic skills of his progeny, was about 25 feet. He was an Irish cop. I believe that placed him at odds with the majority of my clan who typically inhabited the other side of the bars.
Rest assured, more kin would certainly have accompanied blessed Matthew, but those locks were hard to pick.
Now don’t be too hard on ol’ Matt. Everyone wanted to come to America. He was one of thousands.
Too many to count or control or feed or welcome.
Didn’t matter. America, and its idealistic partner, freedom, were, and have always been, magnets.
No need to be tired or poor either.
The compass pointed to Ellis Island. Get in line. Serving freedom at the front.
So dear reader, in the days leading to this Fourth of July, answer this question: How do you know you are free?
(Like a good teacher, I will give you time to answer here.)
Your right to vote? To worship as you please? To live unrestrained? To travel unencumbered? To choose from a selection? Just how do you define freedom?
Hopefully, some news anchor will offer that question to our newest citizens Friday.
Our culture is constantly subject to revision, you know. Age after age. Generation upon generation.
America.
The idea of it.
Don Cunningham of Fremont is a regular contributor to the Tribune’s Opinion page.
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