Here at LUC we all have at least 15 EC courses dealing with nationhood by the time of graduation (if we have not obtained them already), and so I won’t bore you with describing its characteristics and related theory. Yet, all the same we are ceaselessly reminded of the tension between (in)flexible identity and nationality. The very nature of the student body makes us conscious of it, in small ways and in big. Whether it is flags ardently and proudly displayed, or conversations exclusively in some language or the other, it is likely that if you peek beyond your AvB door (and peek inside your own) these differences and the sometimes looming presence of ‘nationality’ will present itself. All the same, if we peek outside the front door of the college, this diversity and complexity will show itself too. After all, we are but a small sample of a rather diverse world population.

To gain a better understanding of how nationality and peoples’ identity are viewed by some of LUC itself, three LUC’ers of varying backgrounds were interviewed. Each person was asked a variety of set questions, and as one can imagine, each person’s answer was rather unique even if there was at times an overlap in beliefs. Whilst only three interviewees could never fully show the diversity within this college, each student does come from a fairly different background. On the one hand, there is Anne-Marie who was interviewed. A petite and sweet-spoken first-year, she was born in The Hague and grew up here. Anne-Marie seems Dutch to the core, right down to her ontbijtkoek in the morning and her occasional stamppot dinner. Then comes Danilo: the friendliest ginger you will find on campus. His story of nationality is about as uncommon as the colour of his hair. He was born in Switzerland, and has lived there his whole life. However, his mother is South African and his father Italian, and both seem to have passed on their deep national affiliations. Last but not least is Anne Mai, a second-year who loves the sun and travelling on wanderlust. She too is Dutch, but has grown up mostly in Southeast Asia. Needless to say, this has had a large influence on her.

“I say I’m Swiss… It’s true but it’s also a lie at the same time.”

One of the first questions asked in all the interviews was what their (short!) response would be if they were asked randomly by someone on the street where they were from. There is something telling about a quick answer, as it reveals how they like to present themselves to others. In other words, it does reveal quite succinctly what identity they carry forward into the world. Whilst for Anne-Marie there was both a short and quick response to the question (from the Netherlands), both Danilo and Anne Mai’s were inevitably a bit more complex. Anne Mai responded that even though she would initially say she is Dutch, she feels that she is in the process of working out an answer which wouldn’t perpetuate another thousand questions about her accent or skin colour or whatever else. Like Anne-Marie, who claimed her birthplace as the place she is from, Danilo responded that he would say Switzerland. However, with a catch: “The automatic reply I give to anybody — although I hate it — is I say I’m Swiss, because although I don’t consider myself Swiss at all, it’s the easiest way to go and I try not to be biased towards any nationality or the other. It’s true but it’s also a lie at the same time”. This answer and that of Anne Mai’s become thought-provoking when you start to realise that these simplifications of identity that people tend to make are what inevitably comes to serve as their street identity — what most people end up knowing — but not necessarily their own inner worlds.

When it comes to what people really identify with themselves, it can get even more complex, though not necessarily for everyone. Again, Anne-Marie’s answer was that for her, her nationality and what she truly identifies with, is Dutch. Interestingly, she remarked during the interview that she had never really realised how Dutch she was until she came to LUC and was confronted with all these amalgamations of national identities. Suddenly, she was having her ontbijtkoek habits pointed out or she was having Sinterklaas with people who didn’t even know what such a celebration was pre-LUC. For Anne Mai, this internal sense of identity was even more ambiguous than her first answer about a quick response in the street. In response to my question, she in fact challenged the very notion of nationality and its influence in identity. In her own words she said, “This is where I feel nationality no longer applies and is something we only really talk about in class, as this term to assess and everything. For me, it’s not about the country that you’re from but whatever kind of mentality you identify with most, so I’m definitely not Dutch, but I’m also not Laotian [Laos is where she spent the bulk of her childhood]”. Rather differently to both these two ladies, Danilo brought in a whole other influence on identity: the setting and context in which one finds oneself. For him, each line of his heritage speaks most loudly when it is conversing in one tongue or the other with others of the same background. Does what we most identify with then lie in where we come from, or how we think, or better yet where we are at any particular moment?

“I feel nationality no longer applies”

What place does heritage have then for the new global citizen? Whilst all three conceded that heritage and its link to national identity gives a real sense of belonging to people, there was some division as to how important they really found it. For Danilo and Anne-Marie “it’s probably one of the most important things there is”, but Anne Mai seemed less convinced by such an argument. Personally, I am about as divided as these three. Whilst I believe there must be a mechanism of identity going beyond the successes and pitfalls of your heritage, it is hard to imagine that this heritage handed down has no bearing whatsoever. Perhaps, it comes down to where we feel most at home — our identity not only internalised and/or handed down but what we resonate with, or what we call ‘home’. For some of us that would be LUC, if we follow Danilo’s definition of home as being where most of our stuff is. For others, only a wanderlust passport will suffice. Ultimately, home is where we make it and nationality and identity are about as flexible as we allow it to be.

This article also appeared in school year 2014/2015's third issue of PAX. Unfortunately, a wrong version of the article was published under a wrong title. This is the edited and right version that should have appeared in PAX.