Rootless
As to the question of why the subject doesn’t speak Dutch, a full decade after he moved to the Netherlands, there are two equally plausible hypotheses.
H1
It’s a difficult language, and the subject is lazy.
H2
This hypothesis is hereby proposed not for the benefit of the nativist, who only asks that question rhetorically–a ploy to typecast the subject as an avatar of the unintegrated masses–but for the benefit of the civic-minded do-gooder, who asks that question in earnest, out of concern, bless her heart, for the wellbeing of the subject and of society. The hypothesis is addressed, ergo, to the Dutch bleeding-heart liberal, or DBHL.
DBHL is shocked, and for completely altruistic reasons, by the fact that the subject cannot speak Dutch. Besides her concern for his day-to-day convenience (Wouldn’t it be easier if he spoke Dutch? Yes, DBHL, matter-of-fact, it would), there are reasons for her worry that are of higher order. She believes, deep down in her bleeding heart of hearts, that by shutting himself off from Dutch society, the subject is confined–she wouldn’t quite put it in those terms–in an inferior cultural milieu.
DBHL: Nee, niet per se.
No sweat, DBHL, let me finish my point. And that the subject is lost in spacetime, like a sci-fi protagonist, existing physically in the present-day Netherlands, but spiritually elsewhere, in a bygone time, and a place called where-the-subject-originally-comes-from. His exile or self-exile from that place has led to him denying himself the full experience of truly living in his host nation. No longer able to bask in the comforts of his original culture, he abstains, in a kind of mute protest, from the culture that now surrounds him–the one that’s available to him. Having not embraced his host nation’s culture, how can he realistically expect it to embrace him? Until he’s done so, DBHL regretfully opines, his internal experience will be that of detachment and non-belonging.
Migrants, you should know, DBHL, are not a monolith. The subject’s personal choices, as much as he’d sometimes like them to be, are not political statements. Nor are they unified theories of sociology, psychology, or linguistics. With these caveats, I proceed to speak for the subject and for him alone, if he’ll allow it, when I try to ease your no doubt benevolent but serious concerns.
The subject: I’ll allow it.
Thanks. Listen closely now, DBHL: You can transplant any number of tree species. You can uproot them, transfer them safely to new soil, far, far away, then watch as they continue to grow. The nativist will be quick to point out that some species of trees suffer in the process of transplantation and some may not survive it, due to big changes in soil type and climate. Meneer nativist is especially bothered by the fact that certain trees, to ease the transplantation process, choose to bring some of their own soil with them, which he thinks is toxic to the local environment. They also build big greenhouses that shelter them from the local climate, which the nativist thinks, frankly, are kind of an eyesore.
You, DBHL, on the other hand, have unremitting faith in the local climate, soil, and horticulture. You and your DBHL kin claim, with a tinge of pride in your voices, that you can tolerate all kinds of foreign trees: durian, palm, olive, whatever–if only those trees shared your faith, removed their greenhouses, and breathed the normaal air.
Here’s the thing, DBHL, that the subject would like you to know: He is not a tree. He is not even a plant. He may look like one, because he’s green and capable of photosynthesis, but if you look closely, you’ll notice—there, you see?–he has no roots. He is, in fact, a free-floating macro alga: He is seaweed.
The subject, and many like him whom you’ve mistaken for plants, have always existed independently from soil. They may have come to this land from faraway places, but that doesn’t mean that they’d been rooted before. Expecting them to take root here, or anywhere else, is counter to their nature.
Unlike their rooted cousins, these creatures absorb nutrients freely and on the move. That freedom made them who they are, and it’s what brought them here in the first place. Their rootlessness, moreover, does not imply the poverty of their internal lives. Despite his linguistic handicap and his ignorance of the local culture, the subject moves through life with verve; he reads broadly, listens intently, and loves deeply. In other words, he’s fine, though he appreciates your concern.
Finally, and this is where the subject ventures, against my better judgment, into hand-waving, but for what it’s worth, he wants to tell you, DBHL, that he thinks that the local culture here is furtive by nature. It avoids drawing attention to itself. Its nativist desire to impose itself on migrants is therefore self-conscious and confused, because expressing that desire openly is a faux pas by that same culture’s norms. Why? The subject doesn’t exactly know but reckons it has to do with the fact that it’s never clear what exactly is being imposed. He doesn’t think you or the nativist know either.
DBHL: First of all, what a crock of shit! The subject’s lack of knowledge of something is not evidence of its nonexistence nor, as he claims, of its furtiveness. That’s a blatant fallacy if there ever was one, and he should know better. Second of all, seaweed? Seriously? Give me a goddamn break. If the subject spent half as much time reaching out and opening himself up to his hosts as he did cooking up crackpot theories to explain away his lack of commitment, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. Or at least we would be having it in Dutch! What an insufferable person you are, I swear to god. I wonder why no one likes you.
The subject: (unintelligible grunting noises)
OK OK, as the impartial mediator, I think it’s time to bring this discussion to a temporary halt. We will put both hypotheses to the test. Thank you both for your goodwill and valuable contributions. See you next time.