By Jane Bauer
“Our true nationality is humankind.”
— H.G. Wells
We are in the midst of World Cup fever. What is more Mexican than El Tri? And yet, when we dig a little deeper, we discover that football itself is an import. The game arrived in Mexico with Cornish miners in the nineteenth century and was gradually adopted, adapted, and embraced until it became something undeniably Mexican.
At what point do the blurry lines of otherness disappear? I find myself thinking about this often. Maybe because I have spent so much of my life living somewhere other than where I was born. Over the years I have been called a tourist, a traveller, an immigrant, and occasionally the word that makes me cringe the most: expat. What is the difference, exactly?
An immigrant moves somewhere permanently. An expat plans to leave? A traveller keeps moving? A displaced person had no choice? The definitions seem straightforward until you start looking closely. Then they begin to fall apart. Is it intention that matters? Money? Privilege? Time? And what about the rest of us?
Aren’t we all being displaced constantly? We move across countries and continents, but also through relationships, careers, beliefs, identities, and stages of life. The person I was at twenty is not the person writing this today. Sometimes the biggest migrations happen without ever crossing a border.
Perhaps movement is not the exception. Perhaps it is the human condition. The World Cup offers a fascinating reminder of this. National teams are presented as symbols of identity and belonging, yet many of their players have roots stretching across multiple countries and continents. Some were born in one place and represent another. Some hold dual citizenship. Some choose to play for the country of their parents or grandparents rather than the one where they were born.
These teams reflect a deeply interconnected world shaped by migration, colonial history, family ties, opportunity, and choice. And yet we remain remarkably attached to the question of origin.
Where are you from? Sometimes even when someone answers, it is not enough. “No, where are you really from?” As if birthplace alone could explain a person.
In this age of rapid technological change, global travel, and lives that increasingly unfold across multiple places, I sometimes wonder why we continue to use the location where someone first slipped into the world as one of our primary measures of identity.
Who are you really? Perhaps that is the more interesting question. The World Cup reminds us that identity is rarely as simple as a flag, a passport, or a place on a map. We are all shaped by where we come from, but also by where we go, who we love, what we learn, and the communities we choose along the way.
The older I get, the less interested I become in where people are from and the more interested I become in who they are.
Have a great July!