This House is not a Home
/By Troy Flint
A few weeks ago, a movie called The Good Shepherd made its way to Netflix. Or maybe it’s been there for a while, but I just noticed it in the weeks leading up to the election. Probably a coincidence, but I’m sorely tempted to see it as an omen. The Good Shepherd chronicles the birth of the Central Intelligence Agency through the eyes of one of its founding members, Edward Wilson, a character based on James Angleton and played by Matt Damon. The star-studded cast also includes Joe Pesci as a Sam Giancana- like mob boss named Joseph Palmi and writer-director Robert De Niro as General Bill Sullivan.
The Good Shepherd is well worth a watch, but I doubt many people would place it among the top 10 films featuring either Damon and De Niro. I saw it once, shortly after it was released in 2006 and had no real urge to see the movie again, but one key scene struck me when I saw it and it has stayed with me ever since.
There’s a tête-à-tête with Pesci’s Italian mob boss and Damon’s WASP CIA agent that is ostensibly about the Bay of Pigs invasion but turns into an exploration about what America is and who can claim it.
Joseph Palmi: Let me ask you something... we Italians, we got our families, and we got the church; the Irish, they have the homeland, Jews their tradition; even the niggers, they got their music. What about you people, Mr. Wilson, what do you have?
Edward Wilson: The United States of America. The rest of you are just visiting.
Nearly sixty years after this exchange, we are holding an election that is about many things, but ultimately is about who is at home in America and who is just visiting. As I type this near midnight on November 3, the election is still undecided and may be for days, if not weeks. What is clear, is that for a significant portion of this country, America is first and foremost a country for Mr. Wilson’s people, and not for me or my family.
Yes, there are other factors, such as the Democrats’ failure to offer a vibrant candidate, create a convincing contrast with the GOP agenda, or present a strong program for uplifting the working class and attracting new voters to the party. Regardless of the eventual outcome, there’s plenty of blame to go around where strategy is concerned. But no matter the result or how you parse the election, the fact that the race was this close, is a profound statement on American identity.
Nothing about this surprises me, but when I contemplate what it means for my children, it’s a sobering prospect. Will they ever feel fully, reflexively American? Is that something even to aspire to? Perhaps not and maybe their “otherness” will ultimately be a blessing for their personal development and outlook on the world.
Still, as quaint and unsophisticated as it may seem, there’s something about having a place to call home. About a week ago, an Irish friend of mine posted a video on Facebook of poet and playwright Stephen James Smith reading a poem titled “My Ireland.” My friend, who has lived in California for nearly twenty years, included a caption that said, “My Ireland, what a mighty little country. Forever grateful for the Emerald Isle.” Those two short sentences conveyed a wealth of pride and a sense of belonging that inspired both admiration and envy. No matter how far he roams or what disagreements he may have with fellow countrymen (and women), his relationship to his nation and his claim as a true son of Ireland is beyond dispute. That’s a status that about 40 percent of this country will never know.
I’m fortunate to be an American and my children are, too. We’ve known lives of material comfort that most people around the globe can only dream of and we’ve benefitted from the social progress this country has made during the last 60 years. Yet, for all that privilege, we are still foreigners in our own land. For far too many Americans, we are just visiting. I am mostly inured to this circumstance and the election has proceeded to this point almost exactly as I expected.
My daughter, however, hasn’t developed this sense of otherness, yet, nor acquired the essential defense mechanisms. My great hope is that she and her peers will not only continue our progress toward an inclusive America, but expedite it, so one day she can call this house a home.
Photo by Hamish Duncan