Britain’s retreat from its history and identity offers a cautionary tale for an America approaching its 250th birthday.
For reasons too dull to disclose, I didn’t become an American citizen till age 26, 20 years after arriving in the U.S. from Cuba. I had to drive from Washington to Baltimore with a good friend, Tom, who would testify that I was worthy of the honor. The two of us sat outside the immigration office waiting for Tom to be called in first. I was already a rock-solid conservative by then, more so than my buddy, and we got into a deep political argument. When the immigration officer popped her head out and called for Tom, he looked at me and said, “I don’t know now.” Of course he endorsed me. But that’s how challenging it was back then to become a U.S. citizen. Today, you probably don’t even have to speak English.
