49. expatriate

Since we moved to Portugal in July 2022, there’s been more than a handful of times that someone has referred to me and Brent as “expats.” I generally respond that we don’t consider ourselves expats, but rather immigrants to this country we now call home. 

Some might say, “tomato, tom-ah-to,” as if the two are one and the same. But the distinction feels important to me; in the present time, even more so than it has been thus far. 

When I think of the term immigrant, I think of someone who left their home country or nation state to pursue a safer life, or one with more stability or opportunity than what was available in the place from which they emigrated. To me, the term ‘‘immigrant’ implies the pursuit of integration, or even some level of assimilation, into the culture of the new lands - an intention to build a life and grow in relationship and familiarity with the new place, perhaps even seeking at some point to become a citizen. While there are many different reasons humans migrate from one area to another, to be an immigrant suggests an intention to stay, perhaps permanently, in the new place. 

What I feel with the term expat is markedly different, though upon researching, it’s not due to the etymology itself. The word is an abbreviation of expatriate, which simply means a person living outside their native country, without any indicator of the duration or permanency of the status. My disinclination to use the word is connected to the subtle attitude I often encounter with those who do identify as ‘expats,’ which feels like privilege and entitlement, often due to being resourced in a way which enables the person in question to live in a place outside their home country with even greater affluence or material comfort.* (see footnote) This is just my anecdotal experience, but people who self-identify as ‘expats’ (at least many that I’ve met) also seem unbothered by how their presence impacts locals / natives / nationals of the place where they now reside. 

So anyway, I don’t really consider myself an expatriate. 

I do, however, consider myself an ex-patriot. 

Today we picked up our kids at a birthday party, and ran into other parent-friends who were also retrieving their kids. One of these is a very dear friend here in Portugal, who is a dual Canadian-Portuguese citizen, born in Canada, who moved back to Portugal in her teens and lives here still with her husband and two girls. After a quick catch up, she said to me, with fire in her eyes: 

“Did you hear what your president did?” I knew she was referring to the massive tariffs imposed on Canada by the recently inaugurated fascist trynna-be currently occupying the highest office in the USA. 

“I heard,” I said, “but let’s be very clear - he will never be my president.” We shared a few minutes of chatter about how the rapid-fire progression and devolution of the stability of the USA may impact Europe and the rest of the world, then rolled our eyes and went to grab our kids, because really, we can only spare so much breath in the day for That Orange Fucker.

The thing is - even though we have an immensely greater sense of safety, stability, security and nervous system regulation for being thousands of miles from North America at this time - we nevertheless live with the effects of a global economy, on a shared planet, in which all our fates are intertwined. 

What is a patriot, anyway? The word comes from patriote, meaning fellow-countryman, from the Latin root patrios, ‘of one’s fathers.’ The modern definition is “a person who vigorously supports their country and is prepared to defend it against enemies or detractors.” 

Well, let’s just take that one piece at a time. 

A person - Yes.

Who vigorously supports - Yes! 

Their country - Ah, no.

And is prepared to defend it - Nope.

Against enemies or detractors - No. 

Because, see (though I had to google this one too), I am a detractor: a person who disparages someone or something (more detailed descriptions add ‘unfairly,’ but I say that’s in the eyes of the beholder.)

I disparage the United States, as it stands now, and I also disparage the foundations upon which it was built, a nation established through settler violence (yes, my ancestors were perpetrators of that) and genocide. I can disparage the actions of a government, without disparaging the hearts of a people, and I do. I mean, I have shit to say that just isn’t favorable, glowing, or patriotic.

Detour with me, will you? 

We watched the film Wolf Walkers last night. 

Howl if you’ve seen it. 

Oh. My. Goddess. It was sublime. 

If you haven’t watched it, do yourself a favor and go do that, then we can listen to this song together around a bonfire under a full moon and howl ourselves alive. 

(Running with the Wolves by Aurora)

We are wild, and somewhere inside, we remember. Somewhere inside, we ache for it. 

This film is a brilliant a beautiful Oscar-nominated animation about the colonization of Ireland (Eríu · Fola) by England and the Catholic church. It follows the protagonist, a young motherless girl named Robin, who lives inside the castle walls, as she tries to follow in her fathers footsteps as a hunter of the wolves of Kilkenny. She has been taught, from birth, to fear the wolves, to fear the woods, and to enact violence upon the wild creatures. She’s been taught that is the only way to maintain a civilized and safe society. 

The story follows Robin as she goes beyond the bounds of her confinement in the walled castle city and encounters a wolf-girl in the woods. Long story short (because I don’t want to spoil it for you), Robin finds her wild, and the courage and conviction of a young girl and the power of the wild animal essence comes into life-threatening conflict with the religious, patriarchal dominator culture. We see how this is not something that exists only outside of ourselves, but inside, too - which is precisely why it’s so insidious. 

It’s all too easy to attach our sense of safety to control, and being controlled. It’s all too easy to give up our wildness in exchange for the promise of protection by the most violent beings around. It’s all too often that these beings are the white Christian men.

Any-hoo, ultimately Robin becomes an expatriate, choosing to live out in the wild rather than behind the walls. She also becomes an ex-patriot, forgoing the ‘safety’ of the church and the colonizer to immerse herself in the elements, woodlands, and wolfpack. 

There comes a time in the film that she must choose between everything that is known and familiar, between the conditioning and control of the dominant culture, and what her heart is telling her is right and true. 

She disparages the church and state, and risks everything in the process. 

You’ll have to watch the film to find out what happens, and let’s take the on-ramp back to our previous chat. 

Before I left the states, I grappled deeply with what it meant to be the descendant of settlers, whose family had profited from the exploitation of Indigenous peoples on Turtle Island, the lands now called the United States, who was now resourced and privileged enough to leave because my family didn’t want to create a life there, because we didn’t agree with how things were being run, because we didn't want our kids to wear bulletproof backpacks, because we couldn't afford the cost to our health that it would take to earn California's 'cost of living.'

I struggled with the decision to leave.

It felt like an abandonment of my post.

It felt like taking an 'easy way out.'

Wasn’t it my job to stay in the castle and fight with the Lord Protector to try to convince them that the wolves were good? 

Wasn’t it my responsibility and patriotic duty to remain there and be an activist, fighting for the ‘life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness” for all people?

Wasn’t it wrong for us to just leave, rather than stay in the ‘lands of our fathers’ and try to make things better? 

Here’s what I realized: I don’t belong to the fathers. 

I belong to the Great Mother.

I belong to the Earth and stars.

Migration is an animal instinct, a survival strategy, a way to ensure the health of future generations by moving to where nourishment might be more abundant. We have, since the beginning of time, moved about upon this Earth, when life circumstances and our own inner knowing align to that end. 

I am not a fellow-countrymen of ‘the fathers.’ 

I am a wolf-woman and a daughter of the Moon, a mother of wild sons, a sibling of wild kin, and a child of Earth. 

So, no, I’m not an expat. But if you want to call me an ex-patriot, go ahead, and I’ll look at you sidelong, howl until the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, and follow the scent of sovereignty into the woodlands of my own destiny.

If I’m lucky, I’ll find my pack out here along the way, and we’ll remember that it is not borders, walls, or the laws of man that determine who we are, how we live, or where we can exist. Our wildness is our birthright. 

May we remember, and become untamed.

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*Note: Different aspects of my own unearned privilege, including whiteness / education / family land ownings / descendant of settlers / military & VA pension / contributed to our ability to leave the USA and move to Portugal. We are, in MANY ways, the 'more resourced' immigrants whose presence may have an adverse effect on housing costs, food costs, the healthcare system, and other aspects of critical infrastructure of this country. We are aware of this, and are building a life here with the intention of humbly, fully, lovingly participating in our local and wider communities, because there is no exemption in immigration from building a better world, wherever it is you end up.