VIEWSrnWorld Citizens on Main Streetrnby Bill Kauffmanrn^*’ I t’s a small, small world,” or so chirp the marionettes ofrnX Michael Eisner’s Disney, the outfit that brought vournNHL hockey in Orange County and a free Pocahontas glassrnwith the purchase of a Happy Meal at the McDonald’s in Ouagadougou,rnBurkina Faso.rnIn fact it is not a small world, at least for those of us who actuallyrnlive in it, rather than on Planet HolKwood or in the never-rnnever land of Wishington-Manhattan Conservatism, wherernfreedom’s just another word for nothing, and the twin titans ofrnthe press—the Hearst and McCormick of our day—are bizarrernforeigners named Rupert Murdoch and the Rcerend SunrnMyung Moon, a.k.a. God.rnThe world, in fact, is incomprehensibly large, though therernare forces that would erase it with a Nike swoosh. NAcndellrnBerry once challenged the eager beaver Birkenstock girls andrnbackpack boys with their “Think Globally, Act LocalK” pins torn”look at one of those photographs of half the earth taken fromrnouter space, and see if you recognize your neighborhood.”rnGlobal integration is a blessing, wc are told, and besides, it’srninevitable—it broadens the horizons of children raised byrnparochial parents; it forces workers to put their noses so close tornthe grindstone they have to breathe out of their mouths, andrnhow wonderful for the GNP that is—but apart from microwavernBill Kauffman is the author of Every Man a King, CountryrnTowns of New York, and America First! T/j;s article wasrnoriginally given as a speech at the J 996 meeting of thernJohn Randolph Cluh.rnegg rolls I can’t really see how it has enriched our town. I amrnnot talking here about the free exchange of goods betweenrncountries, or even better, regions, which is generally a very goodrnthing, nor do I complain about the small number of peoplernfrom other states or even lands who have come to live with us inrnCJenesee Countw and be part of us. Native-born doctors refusernto practice in the hinterlands, so I’m grateful to our foreignbornrnphysicians. Besides, without the smattering of Asians,rnBatavia High School would never have a valedictorian.rnBut internationalization—the imposition of alien practicesrnand cultural forms on native populations—deadens our souls,rnsaps our vitality, and leaves us with lost and alienated men andrnv;omen who feel as strangers in their own land. I will speak a bitrnabout mv own town, because that’s the only place in the woridrnI can ever begin to know.rnSeveral vcars ago, a large tractor factory in Batavia, which empiovedrnseveral hundred neighbors as well as a member of myrnfamilv, was purchased by a German firm. Upon taking possession,rnthe new German owners, displaying the puckish humorrnand gentle mercy for which their people are so widely loved,rnfired all salaried employees who were within a few years of a fullrnpension. The did so without repercussion, for unlike the famihrnthat had once owned the factor-, our Teutonic overlordsrnwere tied to Batavia only by the flimsv cord of the almightv dollar.rnThe executioners did not have to look into the faces of 50-rnear-old men, good and loal workers, solid fathers and citizens,rnwho were handed their walking papers one week before Christmas.rnA couple years later, the Germans goosestcpped out ofrn12/CHRONICLESrnrnrn