27 Who is the author?
“The limits of my language mark the limits of my world.”
– Ludwig Wittgenstein
It depends on the story being told. It depends on the text and the reader.
One story of the author begins with the document of citizenship known as the “passport”. In the world of nation-states, power is wielded in relation to national status. The “passport” is a document that represents power at borders: the power to cross borders, the power to tourist other places, the power to leave and study abroad, the privilege of seeking medical treatment in another country.
The child in the passport photo is surly. She doesn’t enjoy sitting for the photograph. What is missing from the passport photo includes the people in the room with her. What is missing is always included in a close reading of the image.
The passport includes three languages: Romanian, Russian, and French. These three languages are the ones spoken and valued by the issuing state government.
The words at the bottom, in all caps, în creștere, can be translated from Romanian to mean “in growing” (literally) and “developing” (figuratively).
“Creștere” is also translated as “rising” or “increasing”.
The child in the passport photo is growing, developing, rising, increasing, and yet disconnected from this official designation. In her mind, she knows she is almost 3 years old. When asked how old she is, the child holds up three fingers.
She cannot imagine what is coming. There is no way for her to know she’ll be ripped into another country, given to people she doesn’t recognize, defined and enunciated in a language she can’t understand or speak. It seems ridiculous. And hilarious.
When I stare at this child, I notice the unevenly chopped black hair on her forehead. The hacked hair and curls settled around her furrowed eyebrows, the indication of a small storm brewing on her face. There is something demonic in the expression of this child, or something set against itself. An American might consider this sullen child a threat to freedom.
Why does she look upset? How can she be upset, given that she will be reunited with her parents? What does the word “parents” mean to her?
Twenty or so years later, when the child is pregnant with her own child, she will confront her parents and initiate a difficult conversation.
“How could you leave me in Romania without knowing if you could get me back?” she will ask them. “How could you?”
Her father will say there was a 50% chance they’d be able to bring her to the United States. The margin of error was equal to the margin of possibility—it was just as likely that they’d lose her forever as it was likely they would be reunited.
He will quote the number given to him by his asylum officer.
But the child who is pregnant with her own child will not be satisfied with this official quotation. Did he know that 50% number in Romania, when he made the decision to leave? How many examples of parent-child reunifications did he know about prior to defecting?
“There were none that I knew of then,” her father will say, quietly. “Not in the U.S., I mean.”
“So, what did you know?” she will ask, again.
What do any of us know about “quotation”?