Rainbow Fascism at Home and Abroadrnby James George JatrasrnSome years ago, when I was a consular officer in the oncenotoriousrnborder city of Tijuana, I spent a few days in MexicornCity on my way back from a temporary assignment in Matamoros,rnanother border town just across the Rio Grande fromrnBrownsville, Texas. At a social function, I was cornered by arntypically irate group of young Mexican intellectuals, who proceededrnto lecture me on the evils of my country, in particularrnthe manner in which (they claimed) we brutalize Mexican illegalsrncaught crossing into the United States. After a few minutesrnof the standard exposition—genocide, racism, imperialism,rnand so forth —I posed a question: “In light of all your complaintsrnabout us, why do you Mexicans treat Guatemalansrncaught crossing your southern border the way you do?”—it beingrncommon knowledge that beatings, torture, rape, and evenrnmurder are prevalent.rnMy interrogators were astounded—then enraged. With arnmixture of wounded pride and arrogance, they stormed back atrnme: “But, it’s not the same thing—they have violated the lawsrnoilapatriai” The fatherland. T/zeir fatherland. It was evidentlyrnclear to them, as Mexicans, that their fatherland was somethingrnas dear to them as the word implies. It was equally inconceivablernto them that I, an American, might feel about myrnown country the way they felt about Mexico (maybe because,rnin their experience, Americans typically do not seem to havernsuch feelings, at least the kind of Americans they would havernoccasion to know). After all, how can a norteamericano have arnpatria? For them, and for the rest of the world, the UnitedrnStates is not the unique home of a particular people—it is morernlike a natural resource. Everyone has a right to it.rnJames George Jatas is a policy analyst at the United StatesrnSenate. The views expressed are his own and do not representrnany Senate member or office.rnLa patria. La patrie. Das Vaterland. Otyechyestvo. Forrnmost nations, the fatherland is an obvious fact, like their own fatherrnand mother, like the air they breathe. In contrast, it seemsrnthat for Americans (and for that matter, all other English-speakingrnpeoples) “fatherland” is a foreign-sounding word that appliesrnto other countries, never to our own. We talk about ourrncountry in terms of ideals, principles, maybe traditions, evenrnFounding Fathers, and we might be “patriots”—but we havernno fatherland. We are explicitly told that American identity—rnthe “American Creed” even —has nothing to do with “nationality”rnin the traditional understanding of the concept, muchrnless with the related idea of “ethnicity.” We talk as if there is nornpeople, no nation (as opposed to ideological identity), no familyrn(as the Greek patria is translated in the authorized version ofrnEphesians 3:15) for which America is home. Instead, we seemrndetermined to turn our country into a boarding house, whererneach visitor—come one, come all—stays as long as he likes andrntakes what he will but owes no deeper loyalty.rnThis attitude affects our relationship with the rest of thernworld and our inability to base a policy on national interests.rn”Efforts to define national interest presuppose agreement onrnthe nature of the country whose interests are to be defined,”rnwrites Samuel P. Huntington in the September/October 1997rnissue oi Foreign Affairs. “National interest derives from nationalrnidentity. We have to know who we are before we can knowrnwhat our interests are.” Citing the “disintegrative” effects ofrnnon-European immigration in recent years and an increasinglyrnintolerant cultural diversity, Huntington warns; “Without arnsure sense of national identity, Americans have become unablernto define their national interests, and as a result subnationalrncommercial interests and transnational and non-national ethnicrninterests have come to dominate foreign policy.”rnIn short, the negation of American national identity—which,rnJUNE 1998/19rnrnrn