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Odds & Ends
Expatriates Revolt!
By Jim Plunkett

What a jerk! Here I am, running around calling myself and my gringo friends expatriates for the last umpteen years, head high, even bragging about it at times, until I decided to look it up in the dictionary.

I have been going along with this game of being an “expat,” part of a select group of people who are usually considered daring, adventurous, bearing a foreign accent, apparently willing to put up with dodging moto taxis and black smoke, and at the same time relishing all the goodies Peru has to offer in the way of gourmet delights and casual living. The “others” even show sorrow for us occasionally: “Poor gringos, so far away from home; they must be homesick. We must make them feel at home!”

Much to my chagrin, I finally resorted to the dictionary, not one, but several, to see what an expatriate is. I was shocked! According to my heavy set of Oxford dictionaries I cherish, expatriate means to “drive a person away from his native country: BANISH. To withdraw from one's native country; to renounce one's allegiance to his country.” Miriam-Webster is a bit milder and more diplomatic: “to leave one's country to live elsewhere.” What a relief!

Is that what happened to all of you…driven away from little old Wisconsin, cold and miserable Saskatchewan, lovely Liverpool, or witch-crafted Salem, Massachusetts? Did you get a free one-way flight as your government banished you from your homeland and shipped you off to Peru?

I don't know about you, but I fall under the Miriam-Webster definition. “To leave one's country to live elsewhere.” How dare they accuse us of being driven away or having been banished from our native land! Not only that, but many of us banished individuals still pay taxes, hope to get retirement benefits, Medicare, Disneyland, Home Depot, and all that good stuff the homeland offers to the natives, including Homeland Security. Many of you people driven away from your native land still sneak back in once in a while to visit relatives, hit the shows, and languish on the latest fast food outlets, not to mention the between season bargains at K Mart (now under Chapter 11) and Lord & Taylor's. (Try the bathrooms… they are extremely clean!).

Once I got into this theme, I started nitpicking. The dictionary defines “ex” as going out, exiting, getting away from something. For many years, I was able to avoid the “ex” prefix. I used to enjoy being President, Member, General Manager, Director, etc. Now, they all refer to me as the ex-President, the ex-General Manager, the ex-Director, etc., which instead of instilling pride and provoking invitations, puts me into the “has been” category. “Oh yeah, he used to be the Director, etc.”

Now they want to make me an ex-patriot. I've gone out of my native land, I am no longer one of the normal folks that go by the Seven Eleven after church to buy the Sunday paper, and I am now some freak that wanted to get away from it all! It ain't fair! As far as an expatriate is concerned, my Microsoft Word corrector says there is no such a word, and that I should be using “patriot.” I have always considered myself a patriot; perhaps not a Ben Franklin or Patrick Henry, but hey, I was a Cub Scout, a Boy Scout, sang in the choir, sold magazine subscriptions for my class trip, marched in the 4th of July parades, rode around with a tiny American flag on my bike on holidays, and even served in the Marines, of all things! Talk about patriots, how patriotic do I have to get to avoid the term “expatriate.” I even put up with the natives calling me “gringo,” fortunately in a complimentary way, with affection.

Again I went back to my dictionaries and in Webster's it says, “PATRIOT is a fellow countryman; a lover, an amateur,” but clarifies that these definitions are now obsolete. Thank God! The valid definition appears to be “one who remains loyal to his country when occupied by the enemy; a member of a resistance group.” Well, now you know where we “ex-patriots” stand: we are no longer fellow countrymen, not even amateur lovers, nor are we loyal to our country when occupied by the enemy, and we no longer belong to a resistance group!

Only once was I insulted back in the days of Peruvian dictator Juan Velasco. I had just finished the Peruvian Independence Day march with Boy Scout Troop 55 of San Isidro in front of the Lima Sheraton Hotel and we were headed back to the bus. We crossed on the sidewalk with another troop known to be rather leftist from La Victoria, a rough blue-collar neighborhood, and one of their leaders exclaimed as he passed, “Gringo Go Home!” I almost retorted, but decided to swallow my pride. Otherwise, I have had a wonderful experience all these years outside of my native soil. Now I'm an expatriate!

With all the protesting going on nowadays, it may be the opportune moment to all get together and protest in front of the U.S. Embassy. “George, help us get the “ex” off of expatriate, we are your overseas ambassadors!” We must do something about this belittling title that makes us all look like a bunch of criminals shipped of to some country that was willing to put up with undesirables, like the British did with the first Australians. Now they call them Aussies, not expatriates.

Take the word “grin-go.” It's much easier to pronounce and is rather melodic. “Hola, Grin-go, como estás?” Now try, “Hola, expatriado, como estás?” What a difference! Now mind me, “gringo” is also a rather sensitive term. According to legend, gringo stemmed from slang term used by the Mexicans that used to cross the borders to labor in the fields and return home with their sweat-laden shirts (the wetbacks). They say the Mexicans heard their northern neighbors singing a song entitled, “Green Grow the Lilacs,” and hence “gringos.” Who knows?

In my years exporting Peruvian handicrafts, I had many rich experiences. One of my most popular items was a small hand weaving from Ayacucho made by a leading weaver. It depicted a flying ancient Paracas god with a staff in his hand featuring the U.S. stripes in the background, all in red, white, and blue, and below was written, “Gringo go Home.” At first I was a bit set back by it, but tourists who understood the culture used to come into my shop and buy me out. I took a few samples to New York once, and in Chinatown, of all places, a Chinaman wanted to place and order for 4,000 tapestries. I returned home elated to find my weaver could only put out 100 a month. As to the expression, he didn't even know what “Gringo Go Home” meant. A Peace Corps volunteer had given him a sketch to weave a surprise gift for her husband and he had just copied her drawing.

Whatever the circumstances, I think we definitely have to look for a substitution for expatriate. Maybe we can have a contest for the best suggestion. How about the New England Patriots, Little Diplomats, Homelanders, Beautiful Misplaced People, Friends From Overseas, Inoffensive Immigrants, Temporary Invaders, Long Term Tourists, etc., etc.? Amen.

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