Immigration

On Friday morning of September 20, I am spending a couple of hours for my naturalization interview in the federal building on 630 Sansome Street in San Francisco that houses the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. Then later at 1 pm, in the oath ceremony, I am reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Standing, holding up my right hand like everyone else, repeating the words after our master of ceremonies, I am engulfed in a chorus of immigrants’ voices from all over the world. Out of maybe 80, only two are Caucasian. The man leading us through the 20 minutes ceremony, is most likely a judge, but without his robe. He is an elegant, kind, and personable elder. We can hear the genuineness in his voice, and we are genuine, too. As we pledge allegiance to this country, the English sentences might ring slightly different for each of us. In another minute we will be citizens of the United States. Something in me is expanding. I am swearing to be a responsible and good citizen – of the world – ready to defend the well-being and future of all. When the master of ceremony declares us American citizens and applauds, we all start clapping as well, perhaps a bit stunned. Here we are. Finally.

The whole room is in an elevated state with many feelings. The caring demeanor of our master of ceremonies astonishes me. He has gravitas, as well as a twinkle in his eyes. He administers it several times a day, and yet his heart is obviously present. No need for a bureaucratic or robotic attitude, his friendly casualness is a gift to us immigrants. In succession he calls our name and hands each us the precious certificate of naturalization, telling us to sign it. The place is filled with quiet joy, relief, tears, and laughter as we take pictures for each other. The man across the aisle starts crying when the master of ceremonies explains to him, that now his two boys will be citizens as well. “Get both, certificate of naturalization and passports for them soon,” I urge him, overjoyed myself. He nods, a beautiful smile on his wet face. All kind of revelations and releases reverberate – there is not a dry eye in the room. Africa, Asia, Philippines, Middle East. The whole world is present in my heart, wide open, vulnerable, and elated. Two days later, this beautiful state still is lingering. I will never forget this day.

 

All year I have been gearing up for the event. End of June, the German government finally signs a new law allowing for dual citizenship. Since January, I have been researching. It is a big thing. In May I apply under the guidance of an immigration lawyer, so that I hopefully will get my certificate of citizenship in time to register and be able to vote. All those previous decades living and working in America, I never wanted to lose my European passport. FINALLY. I am nervous about it. In the test interview on Wednesday evening with my lawyer, he is obliged to tell me all the things that could go wrong. He is very affirming, wishing me a joyful day, but I am overwhelmed. On Thursday morning, in the dentist’s chair, I conceive a silent prayer: commitment to the intention for smooth flow.  From here on I never let go of the phrase, not for a minute. The words focus and anchor me in the seriousness of this scary endeavor.

 

It turns out to be a glorious day. My friend Fern has offered to accompany me, and we take the lovely ferry ride from Richmond to San Francisco. Gently swaying across the bay calms my nerves. Then I leave Fern at the Ferry Building and take a brisk walk to the austere United States Appraisers Building. In the forties, it housed a “deadly” detention center for Chinese immigrants on its very upper floors. During my fifty minutes in the spacious light filled waiting room on the second floor, with others who are similarly composed and nervous as me, I focus on my mantra, not on any history. Finally, a very polite and personable interviewer calls my name. She keeps it all casual, going through my application details and green card history. At the end she needs to ask me only six easy civic questions, we laugh. My application is approved and two hours later, Fern is attending the oath ceremony with me. I tell her about the characters I sat with earlier this morning. How I wished them good luck, out loud in words or with physical gestures each time someone would be called by an officer and would disappear to be interviewed and approved – or not. All of us with a different past, all of us wishing for more personal safety. All of us with the “secret” that even with green card or work permit we don’t have full human rights.

The master of ceremony begins by asking the assembly if we are ready to become citizens. Sitting in the front row, I spontaneously say out loud: YES. He looks at me intently and moves a step closer: “Are you really ready?” Something compels me to reply boldly and truthfully: “YES, I have been waiting for 42 years.”  To my surprise the whole room breaks into loud laughter. A fleeting embarrassment washes over me – what made me speak up?  Fern sitting next to me, finds the whole event very moving, her dad was an immigrant from Eastern Europe. Throughout the national anthem, the videos of the historical stream of immigrants and the president’s welcome, we both shed unexpected tears, and of course everyone else in the room does so. How open and happy our faces look now.

 

By the very end, the room feels like family, laughing, crying, helping to take pictures, explaining about voter registration, everyone knows how important it is this year. Here is an example of the best of America, all the officers and security personnel are friendly, polite and kind. Today I feel safe, having experienced myself very different treatment in this building. And at this moment, my destiny is present as well: a big love, a profound, personal and cosmic connection and beauty. Five days ago, my brother texts me: the situation will be finally set right, and honored. He is talking about my astrological constellation. But I remember that our family has endured lots of emigration and immigration stories in past generations, many were excruciating, complicated, and fateful. Often not acknowledged. Today, my ancestors are present, too, and welcomed.

 

The freedom to feel safe and respected, is the birthright of all human beings – how difficult to achieve that in any society. My work on this side of the world has always been supported and received with open arms, even when I am critical of America. From the very beginning people are helping, collaborating with me on my visions, responding quickly to my enthusiasm and new ideas. My critics and audiences always generous with praise and encouragement. Aware of this privilege as an artist, which not all Americans have, I always tried to give back, pay attention to those less lucky than me. And the freedom to do so has made me a better person, a better citizen. This day of my naturalization, feels like a Day of the Future – this is how we all want the future to be unfolding, all of us paying forward to future life and future generations. Being responsible and awake, caring and decent. Guessing from his looks, melody of voice, or perhaps an ever so slight accent, our Master of Ceremonies was once an immigrant himself. My generous Hispanic interviewer, too. Like me, they want to pay forward, and create a beautiful and heartfelt welcome to the newcomers in this land. Hope is not passive – it is a continuous, fiery and fierce act, taking up the responsibilities that come with freedom, ready to be of service. The many immigrants and asylum seekers in detention, we must fight for their human rights…

 

On our walk in San Francisco, I catch Fern in the yellow angel’s trumpet tree.

Next day she writes: “Still floating from yesterday. Honestly, I cannot remember

when I felt so proud to be an American. It might be my very first time.” 

In the evening, I play open strings on my cello, letting flow forth sounds and improvised song: feelings of ancient sorrows and fears, and new ones of affirmation, joy, safety, delight, Geborgenheit, tenderness, and gratitude – it all pours out freely. Then I take out again my certificate of naturalization, gazing at it with awe… my proof of citizenship….

 

Beauty is lodged deeply in our hearts, can we let it flow forth freely?

Let it migrate into the world…