From Whence No Lines Are Seen To Be Drawn

Scarcely, when viewed from above, are the borders that separate countries visible to us. A strange sensation comes over one in light of this when considering some of the most conflict-ridden borders to be created by man, such as the U.S.-Mexican border, the Russian-Georgian border and the line that separates the Koreas. Even between countries that boast the strongest of ties, such as Canada and America, border divides are a constant source of conflict. Since the fairly recent discovery of precious minerals in the northernmost regions of North America, North Americans have been fighting over the exact whereabouts of the seemingly cut-and-dry line between Alaska and the Yukon.

In terms of cultural identity, however, whether national or individual, it would seem that despite military force or the lines that separate us from one another, the world is essentially up for grabs. These days, especially, people are finding solace in places previously ill-explored, to them at least. A few years ago, some of the most promising young Italian architects were flocking to Shanghai, because the recession had caused the major firms to discriminate against the youth. Many young South Africans, regardless of their race and who did not find themselves on the receiving end of the culturally discriminating black economic empowerment (BEE) system, flocked to Europe and the far east. Young Americans woke up to the reality that they were not living in their parents' America and began to explore the world anew. For the wanderers, permanence of location began to be reconsidered.

It used to be that only the developed world implemented complex and convoluted immigration strategies as a means of keeping the worst of the developing world out, unless of course an orchard was in need of another fifty apple pickers. But things have changed. People from decidedly developed nations are hungry to get into countries without such amenities as gender equality, racial diversity, or familiar food. Their migration might, in many cases, be temporary, but the fact remains that cultural identity is on the move, constantly being redistributed, whether we like it or not. And if history had shown us anything it is that we are powerless to stop it. The world has never known an era wherein change was in suspension.

Invasions bring with them inevitable change - the kind of change that happens suddenly. But another form of cultural infiltration has occurred over the ages, one to which no land is immune. For every skill essentially lacking in one nation, there are countless others who are able and willing to fill the gap. It is a miracle that Britons have retained something of their Britishness, the French something of their Frenchness and the Dutch, well, their lovable obscurity. As far as the ancient cultures go, even Asia, despite its uncanny ability to retain its idiosyncrasies throughout an ancient history of trade, has repackaged the Occident in precisely the manner it wishes to digest it.

The New World perhaps finds itself in an awkward position as far as identity is concerned, since its identity is, to some degree, shaped by its ancestor and therefore, in these times of cultural flux, the New World may very well come to blend its national identity with the character of its immigrants sooner than the Old. America, for instance, came about in exactly this manner. What America is today is the product of initial invasion, followed by a handful of centuries of quiet infiltration. The Antipodes and Canada perhaps share closer roots to Britain than America does today, but they too are coming to embrace the cultures of less immediate influences, particularly that of their closest neighbours and the cultures dwelling along their general time zones. America, perhaps the least accepting of the current climate of change, seems to want something of its past back instead of accepting what it has become and moving forward. Europe suffers a similar disposition, but then Europe is nothing if not settled in its ways.

A few years ago in Paris on New Year's Eve, I realised just how much Europe was haunted by its colonial past. At around midnight, 2007 was ushered in on the Champs Elysees by a riot that had erupted between a group of Algerians and a group of native Frenchmen. Champagne bottles sailed through the air and the least Franco-Algerian of us realised that we had found ourselves in the midst of an event that did not concern us. As a friend almost lost a limb on the way back to the hotel, it was difficult to enjoy the splendour of a Paris in celebration. In my mind, at least from a cultural perspective, Paris was burning.

It is so easy to point out the world's shortcomings from a position devoid of responsibility. I am not a politician. My contribution to the matter is infinitesimally small. But to write about something so socio-politically charged without offering a suggestion for its betterment is cowardly. The hippy in me suggests going with the flow. Whatever else in me wishes to raise an opinion is awkwardly silent. I therefore think that we are destined to accept the influences on our cultures and go out of our way to tolerate them. That is something we cannot really change. To tell a child not to look behind a door breeds quite obvious results and once we have peeked behind that door, we are forever changed. Should we avoid opening doors? I think it would be a terrible mistake. Enlightenment, curiosity and a healthy desire for knowing is what ultimately shapes us. What we are becoming is of little concern compared with what binds us. The universal, the things we all do irrespective of our differences, is the only thing that really matters in the end.

Hanfred Rauch