My Nationality: Caught in the Middle of Red, White and Blue

Cultural identity is something unique to us all and helps define us as individuals. Our race, gender, religion, ethnicity, nationality, socioeconomic standing and ability strongly influence the way we perceive the world. The aspect of my cultural identity that has shaped me the most is my nationality. My parents both lived in England until after university, when they moved to California. Unlike many of my American friends with immigrant parents, however, I never developed a full West-coast accent. Thanks to little exposure to native American accents during my early toddlerhood I learned all my words with an English accent. This accent has thinned out over time, but I am still left with a somewhat undecided voice. To most Americans I sound English; to most English I sound American. My nationality, carried through my voice, has impacted my life in many ways—for both the better and the worse.

Perhaps the largest effect my nationality has had on my life is changing the way people see me. There are many strange assumptions people make when hearing a British accent: that the individual must have a passion for tea and biscuits, have bad teeth, swear frequently (and colorfully), or act like a pushover. Luckily, if a person spends even a short amount of time with me, they will dismiss these seemingly ridiculous stereotypes quickly. However, it is not these stereotypes that affect me the most. It is what happens after. They will ask me to say a few choice phrases (tomato, toodle-oo, banana, and so on) in my accent, and then they will then walk away satisfied. This “that’s all I really need to know” effect makes me feel reduced to my voice. Possibly the reason I consider my nationality so important to me is that I feel so defined by it.

One positive result of my bi-nationality is that I am no longer afraid to stand out or differ from the crowd. Over fourteen years I have grown used to comments on my heritage. I no longer mind spelling or pronouncing things differently from the people around me, whether British or American. This normalization of being different has let me accept my differences from the crowd. I feel comfortable with other unusual parts of my identity and do not feel any urge to conform.

My easily audible nationality often raises the question, “Do you feel more English or American?” My answer is, and always has been, “I don’t know.” When I was younger, my identity seemed simple: half American, half English. But, like many things, my sense of nationality became more complicated as I grew older. One of the earliest memories I have of this cultural divide was in second grade, walking down the stairs of the lower school at Nueva. I was always told by teachers to walk on the right side of the stairs to avoid collision. I immediately connected this to the fact that, in America, cars must drive on the right-hand side of the road—and that, in England, cars had to drive on the left. Using a playful seven-year-old’s logic, I figured that since I had both American and British passports, I was allowed to walk down the middle of the stairs. Another example of my national confusion is my spelling. I frequently get asked how I spell the words “color” or “center.” As you may have noticed, I have written them in their American English versions. However, when I write them down on paper I spell them “colour” and “centre.” This mixed spelling has developed from a mix of influences growing up: the computer tells me that the British versions are wrong; my grandmother, who taught me how to write, told me that the American versions were wrong, and only demonstrates further how muddled my nationality is.

My nationality poses both challenges and opportunities: though I may never be able to escape being reduced to my accent, my voice gives me a chance to stand out. If I learn to harness this positive result of my nationality, I will be able to feel more confident and comfortable being the odd one out.



With thanks to Jennifer Perry