I am a Canadian by birth. I didn’t choose to be a Canadian, but I don’t really mind that fate or chance or whatever other reason resulted in my being born there. Canadians are, by and large, deeply proud of being Canadian — although they are also deeply suspect of being proud. Many Canadians are also deeply proud they are not American.
I have lived in the United States of America for many years — 23 years to be exact. Two years on a religious volunteer visa, two years on a student visa, 19 years as a permanent resident, married to a U.S. citizen.
I live in a liminal space between the countries. I’m a Canadian citizen, but I pay very little attention to what goes on in Canada, apart from the occasional televised curling match and the Stanley Cup playoffs. And my status in the U.S. comes with very few civic expectations. I can’t serve on a jury, I can’t vote, and — most blessedly — I can turn aside most people with political agendas, whether they're gathering signatures for voter initiatives or looking for votes for individuals or causes.
"Thanks, but I’m not a citizen," I say, and they walk away a little sad.
It’s a pretty sweet situation to be in. I’ve been mostly satisfied with my lack of national allegiances.
But I am starting to feel that my neither-here-nor-there status is not the responsible choice for me. This land where I’ve lived for 23 years is my home, and I feel like I need to fully claim that fact. I lingered for a long time on the fringes of this community. Living on the edge is nice because I can keep my hands clean of the messiness of American civic life (and it does get messy), but this also keeps my hands out of the activity of helping clean up the mess and build a stronger nation. My hands aren’t stained with the faults of this country, but neither are they calloused from building it up.
I’ve gotten over a the attitude of liking being Canadian because I think Canada is better — although I do miss nationalized healthcare and malt vinegar on my fries, and I still prefer the parliamentary system. Canada’s a pretty good country, but I like America just fine, too, and this land has many qualities that should make Canadians jealous. There’s a lot about this country I like. This country is now my home.
I do, however, have something that gives me pause when I think about becoming a citizen: the oath of allegiance. I am not inclined to swear oaths of allegiance to any country, or to pretty much anything.
I am a Mennonite. Mennonites and their Anabaptist forebears arose during the Reformation partially in resistance to the prevailing practice of the time — for both Catholics and Protestants — of uniting church and state power. Mennonites believed in separation of church and state. Mennonite were tortured and executed for not swearing allegiance to the state. To them, allegiance belonged solely to God. You could not serve God and state.
Over most of their 500-year history, belief in that separation has meant regular migrations to places where the government promised to leave them alone in return for the Mennonites settling the land and being good farmers. For my particular strand of Mennonites, this meant migrating to Russia, then to Canada, and then for some, to South America.
Modern Mennonites’ relationship to the state is now varied and nuanced. There are faithful Mennonites who hold political office, and there are Mennonites who do not vote. Mennonite churches are rarely in possession of an American flag. Mennonites have traditionally refused military service, but have deep history of voluntary service. There was a recent controversy at a Mennonite college over the decision whether or not to play the national anthem before sporting events.
And so here I am — part of two communities. One who declares allegiance solely to God and has a historical distrust of political institutions, and one which asks for my oath of allegiance to be a full participant.
When Jesus was asked about paying taxes to Rome, he asked for a Roman coin and asked whose visage was on it. "Caesar’s" was the reply. And Jesus answered, "Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and unto God what is God’s."
My allegiance is not the property of Caesar, but the place Caesar governs is my home and the people Caesar governs are my neighbors and I owe them my active participation in our life together.
Perhaps I first need to soil my hands with a declaration of allegiance, one which offers the option of affirming rather than swearing the oath, and the option to exclude a willingness to take up arms.
And then I can brush myself off and offer my hands to help build up my new community.
My allegiance is to God. And the people of the U.S.A, and Canada, are God’s beloved daughters and sons.
Kevin Driedger was raised on the Canadian prairies and is now a librarian in Lansing, Mich.
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