Last year, I went on my first book tour. In 13 months, I flew to 14 countries and gave some hundred talks. Every talk in every country began with an introduction, and every introduction began, alas, with a lie: "Taiye Selasi comes from Ghana and Nigeria," or "Taiye Selasi comes from England and the States." Whenever I heard this opening sentence, no matter the country that concluded it -- England, America, Ghana, Nigeria -- I thought, "But that's not true." Yes, I was born in England and grew up in the United States. My mum, born in England, and raised in Nigeria, currently lives in Ghana. My father was born in Gold Coast, a British colony, raised in Ghana, and has lived for over 30 years in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. For this reason, my introducers also called me "multinational." "But Nike is multinational," I thought, "I'm a human being."
去年,我第一次踏上簽書之旅。 在 13 個月內, 我飛了 14 個國家, 說了幾百場演講。 在每一個國家,每一次演講前 都有一段講員介紹, 每一次介紹都以謊言開始,唉! 「泰雅思來自迦納及奈及利亞。」 或「泰雅思來自英國及美國。」 每次我聽到這樣的開場白, 不管裡面提到的是哪個國家—— 英國、美國、迦納、奈及利亞—— 我都會想,「但那不對啊!」 是的,我出生於英國, 在美國長大。 我媽媽出生於英國, 在奈及利亞長大, 現在住在迦納。 我父親生在英國殖民地 黃金海岸, 在迦納長大, 然後在沙烏地阿拉伯 住了 30 多年。 因為這個原因,我的介紹人 也常形容我為「跨國的」。 但是耐吉 (Nike) 才是跨國的,我想著, 「我是人。」
Then, one fine day, mid-tour, I went to Louisiana, a museum in Denmark where I shared the stage with the writer Colum McCann. We were discussing the role of locality in writing, when suddenly it hit me. I'm not multinational. I'm not a national at all. How could I come from a nation? How can a human being come from a concept? It's a question that had been bothering me for going on two decades. From newspapers, textbooks, conversations, I had learned to speak of countries as if they were eternal, singular, naturally occurring things, but I wondered: to say that I came from a country suggested that the country was an absolute, some fixed point in place in time, a constant thing, but was it? In my lifetime, countries had disappeared -- Czechoslovakia; appeared -- Timor-Leste; failed -- Somalia. My parents came from countries that didn't exist when they were born. To me, a country -- this thing that could be born, die, expand, contract -- hardly seemed the basis for understanding a human being.
然後,簽書之旅的某一天, 我到了丹麥的 路易斯安納現代美術館, 與作家科拉姆·麥卡恩同台。 我們討論了「地方」 對寫作有什麼作用, 突然間我領悟了! 我不是跨國的。 我根本就不屬於哪個國家。 我怎麼會來自某個國家呢? 一個「人」怎麼能 來自一個「概念」呢? 這個問題困擾了我二十年。 從報紙、課本、談話中, 我學到我們在談國家時, 好像它們是永恆、獨一、 自然發生的東西, 但是我不懂: 說我來自某個國家, 意思是那個國家是個絕對實體, 時空下的某個固定點, 是持續不變的東西。 但是真的是這樣嗎? 在我一生中,我看過 消失的國家——捷克斯洛伐克; 出現的東帝汶;失敗的索馬利亞。 我雙親的國家 在他們出生時還不存在。 對我而言,國家 會誕生、死亡、擴張、縮小, 實在不能拿來當作 瞭解人的基礎。
And so it came as a huge relief to discover the sovereign state. What we call countries are actually various expressions of sovereign statehood, an idea that came into fashion only 400 years ago. When I learned this, beginning my masters degree in international relations, I felt a sort of surge of relief. It was as I had suspected. History was real, cultures were real, but countries were invented. For the next 10 years, I sought to re- or un-define myself, my world, my work, my experience, beyond the logic of the state.
所以我發現「主權國家」時 真是鬆了一口氣。 我們現在所稱的國家,其實是 「主權國家地位」的各種說法, 這個想法在 400 年前才流行起來。 當我學到這一點, 那時我剛開始修國際關係碩士, 我真的覺得如釋重負。 就像我猜想的一樣。 歷史是真實的,文化是真實的, 但國家是人編造的。 接下來十年,我尋求重新定義, 或說從定義中釋放自己, 我的世界、我的工作、我的經歷 都超越國家這種邏輯。
In 2005, I wrote an essay, "What is an Afropolitan," sketching out an identity that privileged culture over country. It was thrilling how many people could relate to my experience, and instructional how many others didn't buy my sense of self. "How can Selasi claim to come from Ghana," one such critic asked, "when she's never known the indignities of traveling abroad on a Ghanian passport?"
2005 年,我寫了一篇論文, 「什麼是大非洲人?」 描繪一種以文化 而非國家定義出的身分。 我很興奮有很多人 能認同我的經驗, 也很受教,因為很多人 無法接受我的自我感覺。 有個評論這麼說: 「泰雅思怎能自稱是迦納人, 如果她從未嘗過 拿著迦納護照 出國旅行要受的屈辱?」
Now, if I'm honest, I knew just what she meant. I've got a friend named Layla who was born and raised in Ghana. Her parents are third-generation Ghanians of Lebanese descent. Layla, who speaks fluent Twi, knows Accra like the back of her hand, but when we first met years ago, I thought, "She's not from Ghana." In my mind, she came from Lebanon, despite the patent fact that all her formative experience took place in suburban Accra. I, like my critics, was imagining some Ghana where all Ghanaians had brown skin or none held U.K. passports. I'd fallen into the limiting trap that the language of coming from countries sets -- the privileging of a fiction, the singular country, over reality: human experience. Speaking with Colum McCann that day, the penny finally dropped. "All experience is local," he said. "All identity is experience," I thought. "I'm not a national," I proclaimed onstage. "I'm a local. I'm multi-local."
現在,如果我誠實, 我想說我瞭解她的意思。 我有個朋友叫蕾拉, 她在迦納出生長大。 她的父母是第三代 黎巴嫩裔迦納人。 蕾拉說著一口流利的方言契維語, 對首都阿克拉瞭若指掌, 但是我們數年前第一次見面時, 我想著,「她才不是迦納人。」 在我心中,她是黎巴嫩人, 即使她過去的形成經驗 都在阿克拉郊區發生。 我,就像評論我的人一樣, 想像迦納人都是棕色皮膚, 而且他們都沒有英國護照。 我陷入一種設限狀態, 即我們都來自某個國家的說法, 享受來自某個虛構、 單一國家的殊榮, 而非現實:人類經驗。 那天與科拉姆·麥卡恩的一席對談, 終於讓我了解這件事。 「所有的經驗都與地方有關,」 他這麼說。 「所有的身分都與經歷有關」, 我這麼想。 「我不是哪國國民,」 我在台上這麼宣稱。 「我是某地的居民。我是跨地方的。」
See, "Taiye Selasi comes from the United States," isn't the truth. I have no relationship with the United States, all 50 of them, not really. My relationship is with Brookline, the town where I grew up; with New York City, where I started work; with Lawrenceville, where I spend Thanksgiving. What makes America home for me is not my passport or accent, but these very particular experiences and the places they occur. Despite my pride in Ewe culture, the Black Stars, and my love of Ghanaian food, I've never had a relationship with the Republic of Ghana, writ large. My relationship is with Accra, where my mother lives, where I go each year, with the little garden in Dzorwulu where my father and I talk for hours. These are the places that shape my experience. My experience is where I'm from.
你看,說泰雅絲來自美國並非事實。 我與美國沒有任何關係, 跟 50 州都沒有,真的。 我只與布魯克林有關係, 因為那是我成長的地方; 與紐約市有關, 那是我開始工作的地方; 與羅倫斯威爾有關, 那是我度過感恩節的地方。 讓我覺得美國是家鄉的原因 不是我的護照或口音, 而是這些非常特別的經驗, 及這些經驗發生的地方。 儘管我對迦納的埃維文化, 國家足球隊「黑星」引以為傲, 也非常愛迦納食物, 我與迦納共和國 沒有任何關聯,非常明顯。 我只與阿克拉有關聯, 因為那是我母親住的地方, 我每年都會去, 與佐烏魯區一座小花園有關, 我父親與我會在裡面聊上幾小時。 這些都是塑造我經歷的地方。 我的經歷就是我「來自」的地方。
What if we asked, instead of "Where are you from?" -- "Where are you a local?" This would tell us so much more about who and how similar we are. Tell me you're from France, and I see what, a set of clichés? Adichie's dangerous single story, the myth of the nation of France? Tell me you're a local of Fez and Paris, better yet, Goutte d'Or, and I see a set of experiences. Our experience is where we're from.
與其問「你從哪裡來?」 如果我們這麼問: 「你是哪個地方人」會如何? 這會讓我們更加了解我們是誰, 我們有多類似。 你說你從法國來, 我會看到什麼?陳腔濫調? 阿迪奇的單一故事的危險性, 對法國的迷思? 你說你是(摩洛哥的) 費茲及巴黎人, 或這樣說更好,你是巴黎古得多區的人, 我看到的就是生活經歷。 我們的經驗就是我們「來自」的地方。
So, where are you a local? I propose a three-step test. I call these the three "R’s": rituals, relationships, restrictions.
所以,你是哪個地方的人? 我提議來一個三步驟測驗。 我稱這些為三「R」:習慣 (rituals)、 關係 (relationships) 、限制 (restrictions)。
First, think of your daily rituals, whatever they may be: making your coffee, driving to work, harvesting your crops, saying your prayers. What kind of rituals are these? Where do they occur? In what city or cities in the world do shopkeepers know your face? As a child, I carried out fairly standard suburban rituals in Boston, with adjustments made for the rituals my mother brought from London and Lagos. We took off our shoes in the house, we were unfailingly polite with our elders, we ate slow-cooked, spicy food. In snowy North America, ours were rituals of the global South. The first time I went to Delhi or to southern parts of Italy, I was shocked by how at home I felt. The rituals were familiar. "R" number one, rituals.
首先,想一下你的日常生活習慣, 不管是甚麼都沒關係: 煮咖啡、開車上班、 收割莊稼、禱告。 這些是什麼樣的生活習慣? 在哪裡發生? 這世界上有哪個城市 或哪幾個城市有店家認識你? 我小時候在波士頓過著 還算標準的郊區生活習慣, 還參雜了我母親 從倫敦及拉哥斯帶來的習慣。 我們在室內脫鞋, 我們對長輩總是很有禮貌, 我們吃辣的燉菜。 在下雪的北美, 我們帶著南半球的習慣。 我第一次去德里及義大利南方時, 我被家的感覺嚇到。 很熟悉的生活習慣。 第一個「R」,習慣。
Now, think of your relationships, of the people who shape your days. To whom do you speak at least once a week, be it face to face or on FaceTime? Be reasonable in your assessment; I'm not talking about your Facebook friends. I'm speaking of the people who shape your weekly emotional experience. My mother in Accra, my twin sister in Boston, my best friends in New York: these relationships are home for me. "R" number two, relationships.
現在,想想你的關係, 想想跟你的生活大有關係的人。 你跟誰每個星期至少講一次話, 無論是面對面或是視訊? 評估時要合理; 我不是在說你的臉書朋友。 我是在說每星期 會影響你情緒的人。 我在阿克拉的母親, 在波士頓的孿生妹妹, 我在紐約的幾個要好朋友: 這些關係對我就像家的感覺。 第二個「R」,關係。
We're local where we carry out our rituals and relationships, but how we experience our locality depends in part on our restrictions. By restrictions, I mean, where are you able to live? What passport do you hold? Are you restricted by, say, racism, from feeling fully at home where you live? By civil war, dysfunctional governance, economic inflation, from living in the locality where you had your rituals as a child? This is the least sexy of the R’s, less lyric than rituals and relationships, but the question takes us past "Where are you now?" to "Why aren't you there, and why?" Rituals, relationships, restrictions.
我們在哪裡帶著習慣過日子、 產生關係,我們就是那裡人, 但是我們對某地的經驗 也部分受我們的限制所影響。 我所謂的限制, 是指你能住在哪裡? 你有哪國的護照? 你是否受像種族主義的限制, 所以住的地方沒有太像家的感覺? 是否受內戰、 政局失衡、經濟通脹限制, 所以你不能住在小時候 培養出習慣的地方? 這是三「R」中最不迷人的一個, 比習慣與關係更難娓娓道出, 但是這個問題能帶我們超越 「你現在住在哪」, 到「你現在為什麼 不住在那裡?為什麼?」 習慣、關係、限制。
Take a piece of paper and put those three words on top of three columns, then try to fill those columns as honestly as you can. A very different picture of your life in local context, of your identity as a set of experiences, may emerge.
拿一張紙, 把這三個詞寫在三欄的最上面, 然後盡可能誠實填滿這三欄。 一個全然不同的你, 你在某地生活的樣子, 你以經歷界定出的身分, 可能因此出現。
So let's try it. I have a friend named Olu. He's 35 years old. His parents, born in Nigeria, came to Germany on scholarships. Olu was born in Nuremberg and lived there until age 10. When his family moved to Lagos, he studied in London, then came to Berlin. He loves going to Nigeria -- the weather, the food, the friends -- but hates the political corruption there. Where is Olu from?
所以來試一下吧! 我有個朋友叫歐路。 他 35 歲。 他的父母在奈及利亞出生, 用獎學金到德國。 歐路出生於紐倫堡, 十歲前都住在那裡。 他家搬到拉哥斯時, 他在倫敦讀書, 然後去了柏林。 他很愛去奈及利亞── 因為天氣、食物、朋友── 但是他討厭當地的政治腐敗。 所以歐路是哪裡人?
I have another friend named Udo. He's also 35 years old. Udo was born in Córdoba, in northwest Argentina, where his grandparents migrated from Germany, what is now Poland, after the war. Udo studied in Buenos Aires, and nine years ago came to Berlin. He loves going to Argentina -- the weather, the food, the friends -- but hates the economic corruption there. Where is Udo from? With his blonde hair and blue eyes, Udo could pass for German, but holds an Argentinian passport, so needs a visa to live in Berlin. That Udo is from Argentina has largely to do with history. That he's a local of Buenos Aires and Berlin, that has to do with life.
我還有另一位朋友叫烏都。 他也是 35 歲。 烏都生在阿根廷 西北方的科爾多瓦, 他的祖父母在戰後從德國 ──現稱波蘭──遷移到那裡。 烏都在布宜諾斯艾利斯讀書, 九前年到了柏林。 他很愛去阿根廷, 因為天氣、食物及朋友, 但他討厭那裡的經濟腐敗。 所以烏都是哪裡人? 因為他金髮碧眼, 你大概會說烏都是德國人, 但是他卻拿阿根廷護照, 所以需要簽證才能住在柏林。 那位從阿根廷來的烏都 與歷史大有關係。 說他是布宜諾斯艾利斯及柏林人 卻跟他的生活有關。
Olu, who looks Nigerian, needs a visa to visit Nigeria. He speaks Yoruba with an English accent, and English with a German one. To claim that he's "not really Nigerian," though, denies his experience in Lagos, the rituals he practiced growing up, his relationship with family and friends.
歐路看起來像奈及利亞人, 卻需要簽證才能去奈及利亞。 他說的非洲優魯巴話 帶著英國腔, 而他說的英文卻帶著德國腔。 但是如果你說他不是 「真」奈及利亞人, 又否定了他在拉哥斯的經歷, 否定了他成長過程的生活習慣, 否定了他與家人朋友的關係。
Meanwhile, though Lagos is undoubtedly one of his homes, Olu always feels restricted there, not least by the fact that he's gay.
同時,雖然拉哥斯 無疑是他的家園之一, 歐魯在那裡總是覺得大受限制, 尤其他是同性戀這個事實。
Both he and Udo are restricted by the political conditions of their parents' countries, from living where some of their most meaningful rituals and relationships occur. To say Olu is from Nigeria and Udo is from Argentina distracts from their common experience. Their rituals, their relationships, and their restrictions are the same.
他和烏都兩個人都受到 雙親國家的政局腐敗限制, 無法住在他們培養出 最有意義的習慣 及關係的地方。 說歐魯是奈及利亞人, 烏都是阿根廷人, 轉移了我們 對他們共同經歷的注意力。 他們的習慣、他們的關係 及他們的限制都一樣。
Of course, when we ask, "Where are you from?" we're using a kind of shorthand. It's quicker to say "Nigeria" than "Lagos and Berlin," and as with Google Maps, we can always zoom in closer, from country to city to neighborhood. But that's not quite the point. The difference between "Where are you from?" and "Where are you a local?" isn't the specificity of the answer; it's the intention of the question. Replacing the language of nationality with the language of locality asks us to shift our focus to where real life occurs. Even that most glorious expression of countryhood, the World Cup, gives us national teams comprised mostly of multilocal players. As a unit of measurement for human experience, the country doesn't quite work. That's why Olu says, "I'm German, but my parents come from Nigeria." The "but" in that sentence belies the inflexibility of the units, one fixed and fictional entity bumping up against another. "I'm a local of Lagos and Berlin," suggests overlapping experiences, layers that merge together, that can't be denied or removed. You can take away my passport, but you can't take away my experience. That I carry within me. Where I'm from comes wherever I go.
當然,我們問「你從哪裡來」時, 我們好像在用速記法。 說「奈及利亞」比說 「拉哥斯及柏林」要快的多, 而且因為 Google 地圖, 我們總是可以拉近放大來看, 從國家拉近到城市 再到鄰近地區。 但那不是重點。 「你是哪國人」 與「你是哪個地方人」的差別 並非答案有多明確具體; 而是在於問題本身的意圖。 將國家這種表達法 以地方來取代, 讓我們轉移焦點到 現實生活發生的地方。 即便是最能輝煌展現國家的地方, 世界杯足球賽, 參賽的國家球隊也是由 從各地來的隊員組成。 作為人類經驗的測定單位, 國家沒甚麼大用處。 那就是為什麼歐魯會說:「我是德國人, 但是我的父母來自奈及利亞。」 句子裡的「但是」 反證了這種單位的不靈活, 固定、虛構的實體 彼此衝突碰撞。 「我是拉哥斯及柏林人,」 告訴我們重疊的經歷, 層層交織, 無法被否認或抹去。 你能拿走我的護照, 但你拿不走我的經歷。 它與我密不可分。 我從哪裡來源自於我去過哪裡。
To be clear, I'm not suggesting that we do away with countries. There's much to be said for national history, more for the sovereign state. Culture exists in community, and community exists in context. Geography, tradition, collective memory: these things are important. What I'm questioning is primacy. All of those introductions on tour began with reference to nation, as if knowing what country I came from would tell my audience who I was. What are we really seeking, though, when we ask where someone comes from? And what are we really seeing when we hear an answer?
我要說清楚, 我不是建議要廢除國家。 講國家的歷史很有道理, 講主權國家的歷史更有道理。 文化存在於社會, 而社會存在於背景。 地理、傳統、集體記憶: 這些都很重要。 我質問的是哪個是首位? 簽書的介紹開場白 都從國家開始, 好像知道我從哪個國家來 就會讓讀者群瞭解我是誰。 但是,在我們問某人從何處來時, 我們真正想問的是什麼? 我們聽到答案時, 真正看到的什麼?
Here's one possibility: basically, countries represent power. "Where are you from?" Mexico. Poland. Bangladesh. Less power. America. Germany. Japan. More power. China. Russia. Ambiguous.
其中一個可能是: 基本上,國家代表權力。 你是哪國人?墨西哥、波蘭、 孟加拉──比較不強; 美國、德國、日本──比較強; 中國、俄國──不確定。
(Laughter)
(笑聲)
It's possible that without realizing it, we're playing a power game, especially in the context of multi-ethnic countries. As any recent immigrant knows, the question "Where are you from?" or "Where are you really from?" is often code for "Why are you here?"
有可能我們在無意識間 玩權力遊戲, 尤其是在多種族國家。 就像許多新移民都知道, 「你是哪裡來」 或「你真正從哪裡來」, 常是「你為什麼來這裡」的代名詞。
Then we have the scholar William Deresiewicz's writing of elite American colleges. "Students think that their environment is diverse if one comes from Missouri and another from Pakistan -- never mind that all of their parents are doctors or bankers."
然後我們有 威廉·德雷西維茲的文章, 他是美國菁英大學學者。 他說:「學生認為他們的環境很多元, 如果有人來自密蘇里, 有人來自巴基斯坦, 卻不去管他們的父母 都是醫生或銀行家。」
I'm with him. To call one student American, another Pakistani, then triumphantly claim student body diversity ignores the fact that these students are locals of the same milieu. The same holds true on the other end of the economic spectrum. A Mexican gardener in Los Angeles and a Nepali housekeeper in Delhi have more in common in terms of rituals and restrictions than nationality implies.
我贊同他的看法。 你說某學生是美國人, 另一個是巴基斯坦人, 然後得意洋洋的宣稱 學生群很多元, 忽略了一個事實,就是這些學生 在相同的成長背景下長大。 這同樣適用於經濟情況。 洛杉磯的墨西哥裔園丁 與德里的尼泊爾裔管家, 在習慣與限制上有更多的共通處, 比國籍顯示出的意義還多。
Perhaps my biggest problem with coming from countries is the myth of going back to them. I'm often asked if I plan to "go back" to Ghana. I go to Accra every year, but I can't "go back" to Ghana. It's not because I wasn't born there. My father can't go back, either. The country in which he was born, that country no longer exists. We can never go back to a place and find it exactly where we left it. Something, somewhere will always have changed, most of all, ourselves. People.
或許我對「從哪個國家來」 最大的問題 是「回去」那個國家的迷思。 我常被問到有沒有 「回去」迦納的打算。 我每年都會去阿克拉, 但我不會「回去」迦納。 這不是因為我不在那裡出生。 我的父親也不會回去。 他出生時的那個國家, 那個國家已不復存在。 我們不可能在舊地重遊時, 發現人事景物都依舊。 總是有東西變了, 最有可能的是,我們自己變了。 人。
Finally, what we're talking about is human experience, this notoriously and gloriously disorderly affair. In creative writing, locality bespeaks humanity. The more we know about where a story is set, the more local color and texture, the more human the characters start to feel, the more relatable, not less. The myth of national identity and the vocabulary of coming from confuses us into placing ourselves into mutually exclusive categories. In fact, all of us are multi -- multi-local, multi-layered. To begin our conversations with an acknowledgement of this complexity brings us closer together, I think, not further apart. So the next time that I'm introduced, I'd love to hear the truth: "Taiye Selasi is a human being, like everybody here. She isn't a citizen of the world, but a citizen of worlds. She is a local of New York, Rome and Accra."
最後,我們在談的是人類經驗, 聲名狼藉卻又 輝煌無比的一團混亂。 創意寫作中,地方代表人性。 我們愈瞭解故事的發生地點, 地方色彩就愈濃厚, 角色就愈真實, 就愈能產生認同感,而非更少。 國籍的迷思及從哪裡來的詞彙 混淆我們,讓我們置身於 互相排斥的類別中。 事實是,我們都是多元的── 跨地方、多層次。 以承認這樣的複雜度來開始對話, 我想會讓我們更加親近,而非更遠。 所以下一次介紹我的時候, 我會很樂意聽到實情: 泰雅思是個人, 就跟在座各位一樣。 她不是某個地區的公民, 卻是多個地區的公民。 她是紐約人、羅馬人 及阿克拉人。
Thank you.
謝謝。
(Applause)
(掌聲)