I even went to Russia a few years ago without my parents in an attempt to learn more about my identity. I felt anything but at home. My vocabulary had degraded so much I accidentally dropped some swear words in a fancy bakery and struggled to explain to a family friend why I couldn’t come to his house. At one point, I ducked into a bar near my childhood home, wiping away tears of frustration and ordering in English.

Certain elements of Russian culture have, at times, made me wary of espousing my nationality. Not long ago, I interviewed a group of Russian conservatives. They were a boisterous group who generously allowed me to observe their political arguments before hugging it out over an enormous meal. One of them asked me to date her son.

But I felt unsettled by my encounter with one of them in particular. In the middle of the interview, the woman went on a long, racist tirade. At one point, she brought her beloved cat into the room and placed him on the couch, where he began proudly licking his genitals. As I grew hotter and increasingly tired and uncomfortable, she grew more opinionated about “ze blyecks.” The cat, meanwhile, more aggressively licked his own gonads. I cut the interview short, desperate to get some air. How is it that someone who is supposed to be so close to me culturally, I thought, could be so incredibly far?

Ultimately, Anton and I chose slightly different tribes. He married a smart young consultant who moved to the U.S. from Moscow just a few years ago. My partner, meanwhile, is a man whose family has been in the U.S. since the 1600s.

I’ve stopped trying to befriend people just because they’re Russian. To assume we’ll relate is to compress foreigners’ personalities to a caricature—the offense for which I had always resented certain Americans. I might return to Russia again, but if I do I’ll probably speak English.

When, for another story, I interviewed the president of HIAS, the refugee aid society that brought my family to the U.S., I surprised myself by awkwardly prefacing our conversation with a “thank you.” I was grateful that HIAS had brought us here. I was—dare I say—proud to be an American. I’ve been an American almost my whole life, and no matter how much I dabble in Russian culture, I’m going to remain one for good.

Robert

Social psychology is one of the most left-leaning professions in the United States. Studies and polls put the number of right-of-center social psychologists at around 6 percent,324 at most. Robert Mather, an assistant dean and professor of psychology at the University of Central Oklahoma, is, therefore, one of the few conservative social psychologists on earth.