border: Culture, Identity, and the Boundaried Self
An August in Limbo
In many parts of the world, August is a summer month — a time of lazy days, golden sunlight, and the promise of adventure. For many, it signifies the final stretch of school holidays, a season of carefree exploration. When I look at the activities around the city, I see that there are many concerts, festivals, events, etc., as usual. However, this year’s relentless heat in New York City redefined the summer by transforming some city-lovers into indoor hermits.
For me, August 2024 held a different kind of promise: a trip to my mother country, Turkey. Traditionally, it is a month filled with the anticipation of balmy coastal breezes, vibrant cultural experiences, good food, and a good time with loved ones. However, my anxiety, the physical act of going elsewhere, overshadowed my excitement, and I had to postpone my plans. While this decision upset me, I tried to think that many also experience stress about travel. After all, crossing the border is a complex issue.
Last year, I had some time to think and write about the concept of borders for my Digital Resistance class. The topic of the class at that time was “Difference, Power, & Identity,” which was an interesting coincidence for me since I was about to “cross the border” to Turkey to visit family and also had similar anxiety. While considering my previous travel experiences, I questioned why a very ordinary event, traveling to another country, is an exciting yet stressful act.
bor·der [noun] /ˈbôrdər/
a line separating two political or geographical areas, especially countries. (Definitions from Oxford Languages)
The first definition of the word border that comes to mind and is seen in dictionaries is determining a geographical area. In fact, boundaries are multifaceted grounds and are more than lines engraved on stone and soil; they are tools used by power structures to define, confine, liberate, and oppress, and ultimately, compel us to question the very nature of our existence, to create the other.
Navigating the Political Border
Crossing political borders requires adherence to immigration laws, visa requirements, and other legal protocols. Here, the concepts of identity, belonging, alienation, and othering come to the fore as individuals are scrutinized and categorized based on nationalities, documentation, and perceived legitimacy. Once a mere geographical line, the border becomes a site of power, where one’s sense of self is often reduced to a set of legal identifiers.
Naturally, airports are places where travelers become faceless entities moving through a controlled environment. I do not like airports at all; stress starts before I even leave the house. Although this is called travel stress/anxiety, it may also be seen as the pressure of being controlled.
Everything that legally defines me must be with me and ready when it is my turn to be checked. The richness of one’s “personal” identity is stripped away.
“Did I take my passport, my green card, documents sent by USCIS, and my Turkish ID? Let me check again!”
While checking the documents before leaving, it was also necessary to quickly set off for the airport as the fear of not missing the plane took over. Unfortunately, it does not end there; depending on the flight, passengers must be at the airport 2–3 hours in advance. And continues with weighing the luggage, where totems are made so that the number on the scales does not exceed the limit.
This is followed by waiting in line for passport control, during which we try to look like our mugshot-like passport photo. Not mentioning TSA checks, which are like short-term military training, would be unfair to airport tension. Every step, from security checks to passport control, is a surveillance exercise where the individual is observed, categorized, and controlled.
The stress I experience at the airport may stem from this internalized surveillance. I must ensure that my identity aligns perfectly with what is legally and bureaucratically expected of me. The airport is not just a point of departure; it is a space where power is exercised, and identity is challenged and enforced.
Emotional Borders, the Cultural Division, and the Self
These external pressures do not solely define the act of crossing a border. The emotional weight of navigating these controlled environments often leads to a deeper transformation within the self. The anxiety, anticipation, and feeling of being ‘othered’ are not merely reactions to the physical and bureaucratic hurdles but rather experiences that shape and redefine one’s sense of identity.
Following another wait for the plane, which was definitely delayed for a variety of reasons, waiting in line to board the plane, waiting in line to get into my seat, waiting in line to get off, waiting, waiting, waiting, and checks, checks checks…
After all of this, one finally may arrive at a place called home. In my case, after a 9-hour flight to Turkey, arriving home is an intense and complicated idea. I was home, or at least where I was supposed to feel home. Following the initial thrill of seeing deeply missed faces, family, and friends, a sense of disconnection began to creep in.
Crossing borders is a transformative experience. Individuals who cross geographical borders often undergo a process of self-reflection and identity redefinition, similar to what I am currently going through. I can see that people’s reactions to my “immigrant” self were mixed. Some were curious, eager to learn about my life abroad; others were dismissive, assuming that I had forgotten my roots and become an individualist, an American. I found myself struggling to connect with the people around me on a deeper level, our priorities, problems, needs were all different to each other. But, as we get older and have different experiences, don’t we all change somehow?
This year’s Turkey presented a complex reality; the nation grapples even more with economic challenges and political unrest, which has made people more intolerant. In a tiring environment, I cannot blame my relatives’ approaches toward me. But even though I longed for the embrace of family and the familiar rhythm of Turkish life, a growing unease about the situation there cast a shadow over my excitement. Besides, this time, I did not have the courage to handle the stress of a 9–10 travel and airport hustle.
When I think of my last trip from Turkey to the U.S., I mostly remember the emotional burden of saying goodbye to my loved ones. Even though I did not feel at home as I had expected, saying goodbye is always hard.
After an emotional rollercoaster, we are on the road. One more time, the waiting started with the arrival at the airport. Traveling from Turkey is more tiring; there are more controls, checks, and questions due to Turkey’s political positioning itself closer to everything that America and Europe have bogeymanized.
The Invisible Border
Turkey’s political and geographical position also legitimizes my legal classification as the other in the U.S. Being the other is not the end of the matter; the others are also categorized within themselves.
Inspired by Sociologist Abby Ferber’s term “good black,” a concept such as the “good other” suits this situation very well; since I came to the U.S. following its laws, and abided by the patterns and rules they set for me, I did not go outside the social norms. This makes it easier for me to enter and exit the U.S. border than for the “other” other as in my last trip to the U.S. from Turkey in the summer of 2023.
After an uncomfortable 10-hour flight back to the US, we landed in Newark. As the ‘good other,’ I passed the passport control as quickly as I expected. As I was passing through the officers, I heard an embracing sentence from the officer:
“Welcome home.”
I asked myself, “Am I really home?” The feeling of being back in a more familiar and safe place, my partner and I started to walk to the exit. We were dreaming of reaching our home as soon as possible with the comfort of quickly getting rid of all these controls.
While walking to the exit, an officer stopped us, and our luggage was subjected to an extra check. I think the reason for this was that my partner and I were speaking a language other than English at that time; we were speaking Turkish. So, being a “good other,” or an American in my partner’s case, was not enough to avoid a final check. My ethnicity still places me within a certain category. Though subtle, this categorization can shape how others perceive and treat me. It can lead to assumptions about my cultural background, values, and abilities, even if these assumptions are inaccurate.
Symbolic borders are constructed through symbols, discourses, and shared meanings. Considering the colonial history of the United States and its related structure, it is not surprising that in the 21st century, there is still an obsession with categorizing people according to “the Holy Trinity of identity:” class, race, and gender. This creates complex social constructs and boundaries that influence individuals’ experiences, opportunities, and societal interactions. The “other” is those who deviate from these norms and are labeled as different or deviant. The relationship between the categories of self and otherness, nationalism, and racism points to the structure of discourse and representation that is symbolically pushed out.
These physically intangible borders can be just as powerful in shaping our understanding of self and others. They are the invisible lines we draw around ourselves and others based on shared values, beliefs, and experiences. These borders can be exclusionary, limiting our interactions with those who do not fit within our defined categories. They can also be inclusive, fostering a sense of belonging and community. For example, the idea of ‘race’ is a symbolic border that’s been used to divide people into groups. Even though there’s no scientific basis for race, it’s still used to create unfairness and prejudice.
Borderlines
The summer of 2024, particularly the month of August, was a time of reflection and introspection for me. As I had canceled my trip to Turkey due to my anxiety, the complexities of borders, both geographical and symbolic, became increasingly apparent. Crossing a border is not merely a physical act but a profound journey that resonates with one’s identity and sense of belonging.
Ultimately, my August in limbo experience reminded me of the complexities and contradictions inherent in human existence. While I may have longed for the familiarity of my homeland, I also recognized the value of my experiences abroad and the unique identity I have developed as a result. In these liminal spaces, between cultures and identities, we often find the most profound opportunities for growth and understanding.
