“Roots are not in landscape or a country, or a people.They are inside you.”

 ~ Isabel Allende

How deep are your roots? How far back can you trace your history? Do you stay in touch with the traditions of your culture?

I’m going to start with an assumption that most of you reading this email are in the US. And for those of you who aren’t, you’ve probably visited. Then you probably won’t mind me saying: The USA is pretty odd place.

Why is that? Well, to start with, we’re one of the only places I can think of that (at one time, at least), prided ourselves on being a “melting pot”. You know, built on the backs of hardworking immigrants from all over the world.

“Give us your cold, your tired, your hungry…” et cetera, and we’ll all come together and make a great country, right? Never mind about all those unfortunate multitudes of indigenous folks who just happened to be doing just fine until they found themselves in the way of colonial expansion. Inconvenient, to say the least.

You see, the thing is, American culture is built from scratch. Invented out of whole cloth. Bootstrapped from the ground up. Sure, our ancestors pretty much all came from somewhere else, (unless you happen to have Native American ancestors), but the fact of the matter is that they were all leaving somewhere else on purpose.

Possibly avoiding religious persecution. Escaping a repressive regime. Seeking a better life in The New World. Starting a new life in The Land of Opportunity. Whatever the reason, it boils down to this: They were getting the heck away from somewhere else.

So regardless of whatever traditions and customs your ancestors may have brought with them from wherever they hailed from originally, a large part of the whole process of becoming Americans was to sever the ties, cut the cords, and pull out the remaining roots of The Old Country.

Not entirely, of course. Blood is thicker than water and all that, and every incoming immigrant in whatever era that still has family back home of course does their best to stay in touch and maintain the connection. Easier now in the internet era than it once was in the days of sailing ships and the Pony Express.

But to become a member of The Melting Pot, one must ‘assimilate’. Learn the language, adopt the customs, and mimic the mannerisms. It’s the same process if you are an American heading to an ‘Old’ country, only then you’re likely stepping into a culture that goes back a millennia or two, not just a few centuries.

The point I’m making, as I whiz through the French countryside on a TGV train going 300 kilometers per hour, is that my roots, as an American son of the Pioneers, are exceedingly shallow. I can safely assume the same for many, if not most, of my compatriots.

My mom was adopted, not much is known about her biological mother and who her real father was is still a family mystery. (There are two competing legends, he was either the livery man at Mount McKinley National Park, or Grant Pierson, the fellow who founded the park. I happen to be a dead ringer for Grant based on a photo of him in an old book. My mom’s real mom was a housekeeper at the lodge back in the late ’20s when she found herself pregnant. She later went on to be back country teacher to Inuit kids, getting around via sled and dogs.)

My dad’s family history was also mainly a mystery. His dad was occasionally a prospector seeking to strike it rich in gold or silver in Nevada, at other times a blacksmith in the remote mountain town of Yampa, Colorado. He disappeared during a prospecting foray into Old Mexico in the ’30s when my dad was 12, never to be seen or heard from again.

There’s a family photo of the entire clan perched on the front of covered wagons on the migration across Colorado, my dad being a baby in his mom’s arms at the time. We know that one of our ancestors fought in the Civil War, standing up on the side of the North against slavery and the traitorous South. Further back than that? Not much. My grandpa’s middle name was Comanche, another unexplained mystery.

So when we visit one of the French Châteaus or cathedrals that can trace its lineage back to the 5th or 6th century it brings it into stark relief just what a young culture we Americans have. What do we do with all that youth and vitality our culture exudes? What do we look like once we mature?

Well, that’s the dance of a maturing culture. We’ve had any number of turning points on our way to where we are now, and what comes next is by no means certain. There are those among us who long to return to the days before civil rights and social justice were brought to the fore. And then there are the kind-hearted and forward-thinking citizens who believe in “Liberté, Égalité, & Fraternité.”

It’s no accident that the French gave the Statue of Liberty to us Americans. Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity are values of a lasting culture that we will do well to sustain.

No matter how deep your personal roots can be traced, it’s never too late to strengthen the values that you’d like to see your own ancestors carry forward. We’re all only a degree or two of separation away from some other citizens who hold a different vision, so the common ground between is where we can cultivate a compassionate community.

“Liberty and Justice for all” is a big ask that our young culture is still trying to live up to. The reason there is such a backlash is because we’re making progress. Every time we lurch forward there’s pushback, but that’s all the more reason to keep pushing for progress.

May your roots remain deep and your values stay lofty!

Until next week, Happy Monday to you!

M+

Mark Metz
Director of the Dance First Association
Publisher of Conscious Dancer Magazine