Our Home and Native Land

On being a global citizen

I was recently at an event where I sat next to a stranger. He was a kind person, and we enjoyed some very pleasant surface-level conversation. Until he asked about my children. I proudly grabbed my phone and showed him my lock screen—a photo of our family. There are seven of us from four different countries (the US, Canada, Ethiopia, and Liberia), and I shared with a smirk that our passports and combinations of citizenships and dual-citizenships make border agents’ eyes twitch the world over. (We truly are a bit of a nightmare—you do not want to be behind us in a customs line.)

“Well,” the gentleman said with all sincerity, “perhaps things will be simplified soon.”

“Excuse me?” I was completely nonplussed.

“You know, if Canada becomes the 51^st state, then you won’t have to worry about those Canadian citizenships. It’ll make everything easier for you.”

It felt like someone had poured ice water all over me. “You mean like modern-day colonialism?” I asked.

He laughed. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

At the Canada vs. Finland game, 2018

Something you may not know about me: I am proudly Canadian.

An American-born transplant who crossed the Canadian border into British Columbia in August of 2000 and was welcomed with wide open arms. I was given a Temporary Resident Visa which soon morphed into a work visa when I started as a high school English teacher at a school in the Greater Vancouver area. I was also given a Care Card, my ticket to world-class and compassionate healthcare (a basic human right, in my humble opinion), as well as access to gorgeous provincial parks, ever-expanding infrastructure, and exciting cultural celebrations. I was given a home.

Our first son was born on Canadian soil, and when the opportunity arose to pledge my allegiance, I did so with great joy. In both English and French, of course.

I am proudly Canadian. And American. Which makes this moment in history uniquely fraught and painful as I navigate (with my entire family) the complexities of being a global citizen in a country that seems hellbent on “America First”—a doctrine that actually feels more and more like “America Only.”

Rename an international body of water that we do not own? Sure!

Threaten to “take back” the Panama Canal? Naturally.

Insist that Greenland is up for grabs? Of course.

Pretend that Canada wants to become the 51^st state? Obviously.

Assert that we will “own Gaza” and relocate its inhabitants… I mean, wow.

It’s insane. The entire world (save a few diehard, MAGA republicans) knows this. The blustering, childish insistence that America somehow owns the planet—sovereign nations, shared waterways, and land that has been hotly contested for generations—isn’t just crazy, it’s dangerous.

There’s a German word that is loosely translated as “sadness, weariness, or hopelessness about the world”: weltshmerz. Friends, I feel a lot of weltshmerz these days.

Kawkawa Lake near Hope, BC, 2018

I love my countries. Both of them. All of them, actually, because I recognize and respect the sovereignty of every country the world over and I believe that we belong to each other. Liberia (a place that has become yet another home to me), Italy (my favorite land to visit), Mexico (filled with so many beautiful, generous people), Australia (where dear friends live and share all about their sweet, funny lives), and on and on and on. I am devastated by the damage that has been done to the reputation of Americans internationally, but even more wrecked by how our government’s violent and hate-filled rhetoric has destabilized peace and sown fear the world over.

Have Americans forgotten that Canadians fought alongside them in both World Wars, the Korean War, and Afghanistan? That Canadians historically upheld NATO commitments (now shredded) that greatly benefited both countries? That we peacefully share the longest international border in the world? That Canada supplies the US with 60% of its crude oil imports as well as significant amounts of energy? Just last month, Canada sent water bombers, wildland and urban firefighters, skimmer airtankers, and more to fight the California wildfires. Why? Because we’re friends and neighbors.

It feels like our best friend became our bully overnight.

At Tyne Cot Cemetery in Belgium, 2024

I live in Iowa now, and for the first time in twenty years of leaning into my American roots, I feel like an expat longing for home. I’m ashamed of the big, bad bully who is pretending to be the king of the world, and saddened by the people I know and love who aren’t speaking out against his hateful, hyperbolic speech. It’s not “just words” and the time for a “let’s wait and see how this all pans out” approach has long passed. It’s time for people who know that what is happening is wrong to SAY SO.

“Simply: when we excuse abuse, bullying, and mobbing by our most powerful leaders, we invite more of it into our own lives. And our coworkers’ lives, our friends’ lives, and our families’ lives. It is the darkest kind of social reinforcement loop, cultural drift, and deviance amplification.” -Amy Cuddy

If you’ve been with me for any amount of time, you know that I believe we are better together. I advocate hard for neighbor love, for justice, and for anyone overlooked or in the margins. I’m not a political pundit and I’ll leave the in-depth analysis for the experts. But I will say that whether you voted for Trump or not, it’s time to start calling him out. We can do hard things: say what needs to be said, fight for justice, stand up to bullies. We’ve got this.

Oh, and Canada’s not for sale.

Thanks for reading. xoxo - Nicole

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