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Patriot Games: Passing the Test of Citizenship
Jay Blotcher; photo by Megan McQuade

March 7, Arlington High School, Poughkeepsie

R ed, white, and blue helium balloons festoon the stage of the auditorium this Friday morning in March, where 64 foreign nationals are prepared to become American citizens in a naturalization ceremony.

But there is agitation in the air. The previous evening, President Bush held a press conference to make clear he was prepared to ignore world protest-and the United Nations-and invade Iraq. For a group gathered here to celebrate the joy of being American, the irony is bruising.

Balloons, flags, and uniformed sheriffs with rifles have been dutifully gathered to establish a patriotic mood. But they are upstaged by a jarring sight: a small house in a heap on the side of the stage, a set piece from a recent student production of "The Wizard of Oz." As symbols go, it may better reflect the current state of the world.

In the audience, members of the student chorus sit and fidget, preparing to take the stage. John Healey, Arlington's Assistant Principal, scolds the chattering group, his face turning crimson. "This," he says, pointing to his mouth, "means stop!"

Without missing a beat, he turns to the inductees. His scowl gives way to a used car-salesman smile. "And you're all sure you want to be here?" he jokes.

Today's ceremony, the first of 2003 in Dutchess County, will naturalize a group ranging in age from 19 to 73. (Six ceremonies are held annually.) The majority of today's assembly comes from Bangladesh, Colombia, India, Italy, Jamaica, and Taiwan. There is one person from Iran. None are from Iraq. Some are dressed formally; most wear jeans.

Becoming an American citizen can be a laborious process of several years. This is a game show at its most extreme. After extensive paperwork, one is quizzed to confirm a grasp of United States history. (Sample questions: What is the highest law of the United States? Who was the president who freed the slaves? How many years is a president elected for?)

But the prizes are a cut above the booty on "The Price is Right": An American passport, voting rights, the chance to bring family members here (same-sex couples remain exempt), the right to serve on juries, and the chance for federal assistance.

The terminology itself-foreigners become "resident aliens" and then are "naturalized"-resonates with stigma. Rules also resonate with a morality that borders on the capricious, as evidenced by specifics on the government Web site. Candidates must be of "good moral character," to attain citizenship. Disqualifications include murder and other felonies, but also certain gambling practices, drunk driving, and committing "adultery which destroyed a marriage."

The ceremony today begins promptly at 12:30. The band and chorus members ascend the stage for a creaky but committed rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner."

Over the next 35 minutes history lessons unfurl. But here, American patriotism is expressed as a concept of inclusion, rather than as the starred-and-striped cudgel against those who question Bush's rush to war.

Robert V. Kampf, former principal of Dutchess County BOCES, also acknowledges the xenophobia that greeted many arrivals to Ellis Island. But he stresses that we are a nation of immigrants, and that today's group continues the tradition. "The dream of America is here for you in Dutchess County," he declares.

Kalie Albrecht, the Student Council president, recites the Pledge of Allegiance. There is an odd freshness to the familiar words.

Finally, attendees stand and recite the naturalization oath, delivered by County Clerk Richard Anderson. They pledge to "absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state or sovereignty." The words are repeated in a variety of accented voices.

The 64 people make their way to the front of the auditorium to receive their certificates and a small American flag. Some new citizens are crying. Most have emotions that are unreadable.

Celebrants gather afterwards in the school hallway for juice and chocolate chip cookies. John Healey, the Assistant Principal, watches the celebrants, and suggests that the ceremony confers upon these foreign-born people a rare privilege: freedom of speech.

"However you may feel about George Bush and where he's going," Healey said, "hundreds of thousands of [American] people have their freedom to stand up and say, 'We don't agree with you.' And yet, that is precisely the freedom that we're fighting for. Iraqis don't have that freedom."

Alek Chalyy, 19, a Ukraine national and Dutchess County Community College student, is more succinct: "I believe that the US is right and I'm willing to support it."

But County Clerk Richard M. Anderson, who has conducted naturalization ceremonies for six years, said that many new citizens do not share Chalyy's jingoism and are afraid to say so.

Inductees were once usually "jubilant" after taking the oath, he said, but the mood has palpably changed since the September 11 attacks. Recent government attacks on dissent have alarmed newly naturalized citizens, several of whom have confided in Anderson.

"In a lot of cases they are afraid to speak out because they're going to be targeted," he said.

Anderson regularly addresses groups of naturalized citizens throughout Dutchess County, offering advice on how to subvert this trend. He urges them to harness power through deeper community involvement.

* "I have been encouraging them to be more active in government. [Some] don't feel that the United States is their country."

The newly-minted Americans slowly leave the school building, flags in hand, to face the challenge of citizenship during a time of uncertainty and upheaval.

-Jay Blotcher