Why a Briton Chose to Be U.S. Citizen

2014年 01月 20日 07:17

一個英國人為何加入美國國籍？

 PHILIP DELVES BROUGHTON

我

作 為英國人長大，以為自己對民族自仇現象無所不知。我們在國力一去不復返的陰影下長大，人們教導說，我們不過是一群榛睡鼠，拖著沉重的步伐走在大型帝國的身 後。為麻醉自己，我們大劑量地開出了譏諷、自貶和《樓上樓下》(Upstairs, Downstairs──注：英國經典古裝名劇)的藥方。

但 我後來遷移到了美國，而在美國居住10年過後，我發現在自虐言辭和其他很多方面，我們歐洲人都只是二流角色。我們耳聞，美國政府不再是相互制衡，而是已經 破產。銀行和保險公司正在揮霍全國的財富。橋樑在坍塌，孩子缺乏教育，那聲沉悶的響聲，是13億中國人坐下來吃美國的午餐。盡管有過那麼多的輝煌，這個國 家在近幾年的士氣卻很低迷。

Associated Press

美利堅！ 2013年6月，阿拉斯加州安克雷奇，來自薩摩亞的Fiso Kilifi在加入美國國籍的宣誓儀式上。

所以在幾個月前，我為反抗這種悲觀做出了自己的貢獻：我加入了美國國籍。

之 前有人告訴我，2013年加入美國國籍很雞肋。我的余生都將被聯邦稅務局(Internal Revenue Service)玩弄於股掌。 戰分子將把我標記為“邪惡撒旦”的一個小鬼。加拿大和澳大利亞更加適宜。歐洲的社會保障網絡更加堅實。亞洲經濟機遇更多。我是怎麼想的呢？

首先，在跟10歲的兒子一起看湯姆﹒漢克斯(Tom Hanks)電影《菲利浦船長》(Captain Phillips)之後，他提出了一個絕妙的觀點：如果有遭一日被索馬裡海盜綁架，我會希望自己是一名美國公民，這樣美國海軍的海豹突擊隊就可以來救我。

同時也覺得時候到了。過去10年我在美國幸福地生活，同時保留了我的英國國籍。妻子和我的兩個兒子都是土生土長的美國公民。我交稅，卻沒有投票權。一開始我並不在意，但隨著我在美國的財務投資和情感投資越來越大，煩惱與日俱增。

本來我把綠卡更新一下就可以了。但不論是在權利方面，還是在責任方面，只更新綠卡似乎都已經不夠了。我享受著生活在美國卻付出很少的特權。

43年前，外公外婆從緬甸來到美國。他們拋棄了曾經擁有的一切，和一個將來會嫁給英國人的女兒，在弗吉尼亞重新開始。我自己入籍美國並沒有經歷這麼多曲折，只有一筆600美元的申請費，一套表格，一次指紋掃描，一次測驗英語水平的面試，一次公民學考驗，還有一場宣誓活動。

11月的一個周五，我驅車前往位於紐黑文的理查德﹒李法院(Richard C. Lee Courthouse)。它是康涅狄格州中部地區的最高法院。妻子和兒子都請了一天的假，來看我宣誓。（說好了完事之後要吃Shake Shack漢堡以示慶祝。）

法 庭像其他政府建築一樣寬大而老舊，布滿灰塵的電燈照亮了大理石和橡木做成的板壁。我們30個“ 眾生”有老有少，有來自拉美的，中東的，非洲的，亞洲的和歐洲的，各有各的理由來到這裡。主持儀式的是89歲的聯邦法官艾倫﹒布裡﹒伯恩斯(Ellen Bree Burns)，和一位戴著星條領帶的國土安全部(Department of Homeland Security)官員。

伯恩斯法官說，人們離開法庭的時候大都是一半滿意一半不滿意。但授人公民身份是一個充滿純粹愉悅的時刻。她勸我們投票，保留自己的文化和傳統。她還感謝我們使她能夠成為帶領我們宣誓入籍的法官。

我 們拿到了入籍証書，和一個標有“白宮”的黃色信封。信封裡是奧巴馬總統一封寫給“親愛的美國同胞”的信。他寫道：“從我們建國以來，一代又一代的移民滿含 著對更光明未來的希望來到這個國家，他們為了把這份遺產傳遞給子子孫孫做出了犧牲。這是身為公民的代價和承諾。現在你們成為這段寶貴歷史的一部分，你們鼓 舞著那些將會跟隨你們而來的人們。”

美國很好地踐行了這些話。它是化解風涼話的解藥。它使我明白，原先作為觀察者而不是公民生活的完全參 與者生活在美國，是一件多麼不牢靠、多麼不完整的事情。我希望那些貶損自己國家失敗之處、或懷疑自身國籍價值的美國人，能夠先放棄美國國籍然後再重新申請 入籍，只為用新的目光打量，美國國籍仍然是一件多麼了不起的饋贈。

作者最近出版了新書《銷售的藝術：向大師學習生活之道》(The Art of the Sale: Learning From the Masters About the Business of Life)。

Why a Briton Chose to Be U.S. Citizen

 PHILIP DELVES BROUGHTON

Growing up British, I thought that I knew everything about national self-loathing. We were reared in the shadows of long-gone might, taught that we were mere dormice scuffling in the footsteps of imperial giants. To dull the pain, we administered heavy doses of sarcasm, self-effacement and 'Upstairs, Downstairs.'

But then I moved to the U.S., and over my decade here, I have realized that when it comes to the rhetoric of self-flagellation, as in so much else, we Europeans are small time. The U.S. government, we hear, is no longer checked and balanced but broken. Banks and insurance companies are plundering the nation's treasure. Bridges are crumbling, children aren't being educated, and that thudding sound is 1.3 billion Chinese sitting down to eat America's lunch. For all this country's glories, its morale in recent years has felt low.

So a couple of months ago I did my bit to buck the gloom: I became a U.S. citizen.

I had been told that the 2013 model of U.S. citizenship was the lemon on the international lot. The Internal Revenue Service would have its claws into me for life. The jihadists would mark me as a demon of the Great Satan. Canada and Australia were more welcoming. Europe has a stronger social safety net. Asia has more economic opportunities. What was I thinking?

For one thing, after I watched the Tom Hanks film 'Captain Phillips' with my 10-year-old son, he made an excellent point: If ever I were kidnapped by Somali pirates, I would wish I were a U.S. citizen so that Navy SEALs could come to my rescue.

But it also felt like time. For the past decade, I have lived happily in the U.S. while retaining my British citizenship. My wife is a natural-born U.S. citizen, as are my two sons. I have paid taxes but lacked the right to vote. This didn't bother me at first, but it has chafed more as my financial and emotional investment in the U.S. has grown.

I could simply have renewed my green card. But it no longer seemed enough, either in terms of rights or responsibilities. I was receiving the privilege of living here on the cheap.

Forty-three years ago, my mother's parents came to the U.S. from Burma. Leaving behind all they owned and a daughter who would marry an Englishman, they started afresh in Virginia. My own naturalization lacked such drama: just a $600 filing fee, a set of forms, a fingerprint scan, an interview to test my English, a civics quiz and an oath.

On a Friday in November, I drove to the Richard C. Lee Courthouse in New Haven, the Areopagus of central Connecticut. My wife took the day off work, and our sons left school to watch me swear allegiance (with the promise of Shake Shack burgers to celebrate afterward).

The courtroom was grand but shabby in that government way, with marble and oak panels illuminated by dusty lights. We huddled masses, 30 strong, were young and old, from Latin America, the Middle East, Africa, Asia and Europe, each here for our own reasons. Conducting our ceremony was an 89-year-old federal judge, Ellen Bree Burns, and an official from the Department of Homeland Security wearing a Stars and Stripes necktie.

Most times, said Judge Burns, when people leave her courtroom, half are happy, half unhappy. But making new citizens was a moment of unadulterated joy. She urged us to vote and to preserve whatever culture and heritage we had brought with us. And she thanked us for letting her be the judge who swore us in.

We received our certificates of naturalization and a yellow envelope marked 'The White House.' In it was a 'Dear Fellow American' letter from President Obama. 'Since our founding, generations of immigrants have come to this country full of hope for a brighter future, and they have made sacrifices in order to pass that legacy on to their children and grandchildren,' he wrote. 'This is the price and the promise of citizenship. You are now part of this precious history, and you serve as an inspiration to those who will come after you.'

The U.S. does this language so well. It is an antidote to cynicism. It revealed to me what a frail and incomplete thing it had been to live here as an observer rather than a full participant in civic life. I wish that those Americans who trash their country for its failings or doubt the value of their citizenship could give it up and reapply for it, just to see with fresh eyes what an astonishing gift it still is.

Mr. Broughton is the author, most recently, of 'The Art of the Sale: Learning From the Masters About the Business of Life.'