The other night at dinner, The Big D and I were talking about the difference between being an “expat” and being an “immigrant.” The conversation became surprisingly heated, symbolizing the difference in our world views — the writer vs the lawyer. To me, it is a question of where your heart is. You could live your entire adult life in one country, but if you are forever longing to go back to the place of your birth than you are an expat, or depending on your political situation, an exile. But if you give your heart over to your new country, you’re an immigrant, regardless of how long you live there. At least that’s what I was thinking. The Big D, though, said it has to do with where you die, and where you die is all about money. “I might love it here,” he explained, “but I’m not going to die here — the estate taxes are too crazy. So that makes me an expat.” I don’t know. Does that mean that as long as you are sensible enough, and healthy enough, to quickly check yourself into some old age home back in the country of your birth just before you kick the bucket, then you were an expat all those 20, 30, 50 years rather than an immigrant? When I was ten years old and learning about Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty back in suburban New York, it all seemed quite simple. If you moved to a new country, you were an immigrant. Remember all those “huddled masses yearning to breathe free”? Is it really all about money and politics? Then who are the expats now? Only those who have money? And who are the immigrants? Only those who can’t afford to go home? This is the stuff I think about, and write about. Any thoughts?
But it’s too grey and rainy out there to leave it like that today. So here, below, is the ultimate song about forced immigration (though only if you take it quite figuratively). Who out there remembers The Kingston Trio and their song about Charlie?
what a fascinating topic – it got me thinking. My grandparents were immigrants, my parents were ex-pat immigrants – but if ‘home is where the heart is,’ then I’m not even from this century, let alone this country. So what do I do with my roubles/francs/zloty? Aren’t all writers exiles from a country they’ve never seen which they search for all their lives?
Hmmm, kind of got hypnotised by the guy on the banjo and his neat frailing…
I always get irritated by people who contact Radio 2 to tell the DJ how hot it is in…Majorca/Australia/ South Africa…or wherever they live and I think…’yeah but you still have to listen to BBC radio’ Would an Ex-pat be ‘not totally integrated?’
Oh dear, so many things are about money and politics, I prefer your view that it’s about where your heart is.
Hmmmmm…..the difference between an Ex-Pat and an immigrant!! *Thinking*
For me an Ex-Pat is someone who is currently liviong somewhere else but fully plans to return home whereas an immigrant would be someone who lives somewhere else and has decided that they will live out the rest of their lives in that place!! (Does that make any sense what so ever?)
C x
Yes, I’d agree with the comment above – I always think of an ex-Pat as someone who has not fully left their home country – perhaps it’s the ex- bit, although what that says about ex-husbands I don’t know!
I’ve tagged you on my blog btw for some random thoughts. Looking forward to reading yours.
Hmm. All these labels … why do we all have to be put into boxes? I feel it’s somehow about not belonging – and that’s a good thing cos you get to have Narrenfreiheit – and longing to be despite where you are located. You might immigrate and years later want to go “home”. But home won’t be the same cos you’ve changed and so has it. And I know that I don’t want to die in one of the countries I’ve lived in – and it has nothing to do with munney. Hmmm.