Philip Delves Broughton's Blog
January 21, 2017
January 11, 2017
I wrote this piece a couple of years ago for the WSJ, but these same thoughts have been rattling around my head recently:
Why I Chose the Red White and Blue
Growing up British, I thought that I knew everything about national self-loathing. We were reared in the shadows of long-gone might, taught that we were mere dormice scuffling in the footsteps of imperial giants. To dull the pain, we administered heavy doses of sarcasm, self-effacement and “Upstairs, Downstairs.”
But then I moved to the U.S., and over my decade here, I have realized that when it comes to the rhetoric of self-flagellation, as in so much else, we Europeans are small time. The U.S. government, we hear, is no longer checked and balanced but broken. Banks and insurance companies are plundering the nation’s treasure. Bridges are crumbling, children aren’t being educated, and that thudding sound is 1.3 billion Chinese sitting down to eat America’s lunch. For all this country’s glories, its morale in recent years has felt low.
So a couple of months ago I did my bit to buck the gloom: I became a U.S. citizen.
I had been told that the 2013 model of U.S. citizenship was the lemon on the international lot. The Internal Revenue Service would have its claws into me for life. The jihadists would mark me as a demon of the Great Satan. Canada and Australia were more welcoming. Europe has a stronger social safety net. Asia has more economic opportunities. What was I thinking?
For one thing, after I watched the Tom Hanks film “Captain Phillips” with my 10-year-old son, he made an excellent point: If ever I were kidnapped by Somali pirates, I would wish I were a U.S. citizen so that Navy SEALs could come to my rescue.
But it also felt like time. For the past decade, I have lived happily in the U.S. while retaining my British citizenship. My wife is a natural-born U.S. citizen, as are my two sons. I have paid taxes but lacked the right to vote. This didn’t bother me at first, but it has chafed more as my financial and emotional investment in the U.S. has grown.
I could simply have renewed my green card. But it no longer seemed enough, either in terms of rights or responsibilities. I was receiving the privilege of living here on the cheap.
Forty-three years ago, my mother’s parents came to the U.S. from Burma. Leaving behind all they owned and a daughter who would marry an Englishman, they started afresh in Virginia. My own naturalization lacked such drama: just a $600 filing fee, a set of forms, a fingerprint scan, an interview to test my English, a civics quiz and an oath.
On a Friday in November, I drove to the Richard C. Lee Courthouse in New Haven, the Areopagus of central Connecticut. My wife took the day off work, and our sons left school to watch me swear allegiance (with the promise of Shake Shack burgers to celebrate afterward).
The courtroom was grand but shabby in that government way, with marble and oak panels illuminated by dusty lights. We huddled masses, 30 strong, were young and old, from Latin America, the Middle East, Africa, Asia and Europe, each here for our own reasons. Conducting our ceremony was an 89-year-old federal judge, Ellen Bree Burns, and an official from the Department of Homeland Security wearing a Stars and Stripes necktie.
Most times, said Judge Burns, when people leave her courtroom, half are happy, half unhappy. But making new citizens was a moment of unadulterated joy. She urged us to vote and to preserve whatever culture and heritage we had brought with us. And she thanked us for letting her be the judge who swore us in.
We received our certificates of naturalization and a yellow envelope marked “The White House.” In it was a “Dear Fellow American” letter from President Obama. “Since our founding, generations of immigrants have come to this country full of hope for a brighter future, and they have made sacrifices in order to pass that legacy on to their children and grandchildren,” he wrote. “This is the price and the promise of citizenship. You are now part of this precious history, and you serve as an inspiration to those who will come after you.”
The U.S. does this language so well. It is an antidote to cynicism. It revealed to me what a frail and incomplete thing it had been to live here as an observer rather than a full participant in civic life. I wish that those Americans who trash their country for its failings or doubt the value of their citizenship could give it up and reapply for it, just to see with fresh eyes what an astonishing gift it still is.
December 20, 2016
The excellent North Country reporter Brian Mann was good enough to write about Charlie Whistler’s Omnium Gatherum in Adirondack Life – the magazine for lovers of this great wilderness. He notes that I was “sheepish” about admitting that I first visited the Adirondacks in order to write about mule diving for The Spectator. And that the donuts of Raquette Lake were a big draw. Keen and accurate observations. You can read the whole 4 page piece here: adirondack-life-land-of-make-believe.
December 19, 2016
Since October, my FT columns, in reverse order, have tackled:
To read them, you may need to subscribe.
October 9, 2016
If you don’t subscribe, these columns can be viewed most easily (I think…) through my public Facebook page:
September 4, 2016
On July 1, I started writing a regular column in the Financial Times. It appears every Saturday on the oped page, next to the profile.
You can see the rest of them, so far, here.
August 19, 2016
The Adirondacks’ wonderful North Country Public Radio aired an interview about the Omnium Gatherum this week. Brian Mann was good enough to meet me by the Raquette Lake General Store and talk over donuts and coffee, before kayaking off. It was wonderful to be back at Raquette Lake, which was my first introduction to the Adirondacks when I went to write about diving mules for The Spectator in 1998 or so.
The guiding theme of the Omnium Gatherum is that curiosity propels the most interesting lives. It’s why I quote William Blake on the first page: Energy is Eternal Delight.
So it was wonderful to read The Financial Times’ high living agony uncle, David Tang, last month:
I regard a privileged upbringing to be one that is filled with curiosity. This curiosity might be a genetic condition or one that somehow been cultivated in an individual. But it doesn’t matter how it has come about. All I know is that I am eternally grateful for my innate sense of curiosity for, without it, I might well have passed a meaningless or futile life, not knowing anything and not really enjoying the use of our imagination which is the linchpin of life itself. Privilege is curiosity.
Then standing in the Hudson News in Grand Central Station yesterday afternoon, I read an interview with the private equity titan, Henry Kravis, in Bloomberg Markets. He was asked what advice he’d like to have given his younger self.
If I can take one thing other than integrity and instill that in people, I’d want it to be curiosity. Because to me, people who are curious are going to be better investors and better stewards of others’ money. If there’s no curiosity, you’re basically doing something that’s already been done by someone else.
Photograph of the ever curious Henry Kravis by Daniel Shea for Bloomberg Markets
July 15, 2016
For the very kind mention. Everyone in New York, and beyond, should subscribe to The Manhattan Users Guide. Charlie Whistler finds himself in esteemed company today.
July 12, 2016
I shall be at the excellent Bookstore Plus in Lake Placid this Saturday afternoon from 3-5pm signing copies of Charlie Whistler. If you’re Adirondack-ing this summer, park the kayak and come along. Outside if fine, indoors if showers.
May 28, 2016
Meghan Cox Gurdon is very enthusiastic about the Omnium Gatherum in The Wall Street Journal today. A fine start to the Memorial Day Weekend for C. Whistler.
If you were to distill the several essences of Adirondack forests, invigorating lake waters, family traditions and a zest for life, and then capture them in the form of a book, you probably could not come closer than “Charlie Whistler’s Omnium Gatherum” (Harper, 258 pages, $29.99). With its rough green cover and mottled pages, this old-fashioned gallimaufry of letters, maps, newspaper clippings, postcards and vintage photographs purports to be drawn from the archives of the fictional Whistler family. In fact, it is the elegant contrivance of writer Philip Delves Broughton, an Englishman who makes his home in the United States and who, in these pages, reveals a deep love of this country and its adventuresome spirit.
The conceit of the book is that five generations of Charlie Whistlers, dating from the mid-19th century, have kept scrapbooks and that a sixth Charlie Whistler, a boy today, has borrowed from his forebears to compile his own “omnium gatherum.” One of the first tidbits that Charlie gives us is a diary entry from 1878, in which his work-obsessed great-great-great-grandfather blames Henry David Thoreau and “Walden” for having bullied him “into looking at my life afresh—and sown disorder.” Thus chastened and inspired, Charles Wilberforce Whistler would build the cabin in the woods on Raquette Lake that would “serve as a foundation for the Whistlers to meet the world on their terms and no others.”
In that same cabin, many decades later, our modern Charlie has pulled together this fascinating collection, in which we find a 1923 chronicle of a trip through the Khyber Pass in a jalopy, the travelers’ “stomachs churning and our brains clattering around in our skulls like dried peas in a can”; a list of the American presidents with the names and types of their pets; the poetry of Aeschylus and William Carlos Williams; accounts of shark attacks, deer hunts and bobsledding; and a lovely letter of consolation after the death of a beloved dog.
Vigorous, eclectic and beautifully designed, this book for young readers is also rather daring. These Adirondacks have no cell towers in them. There’s no family dysfunction, and the only nod to technology’s despotism is the urging of Charlie’s father that he “live a big life” and not one “shrunk to the size of a screen.” Hurrah for that!