[INCIDENTAL] “National Identity: A Dutch Writer in Thailand Reflects on Maps and Minds” by Jay

It must have been thirty-five years ago that I met a beautiful woman at a party. It was somewhere in Europe, in a distinctly international setting. Having summoned the courage, I went over and began talking to her. She told me she was from England. I offered some vague remarks about holidays and English breakfasts, then asked how she felt about being British. Apparently, I had touched a nerve. She embarked on a lecture that made me forget her beauty but remember her to this day.

“I am not British,” she said. “I was born in England, but I consider myself a world citizen.”

I must have laughed; I cannot recall. Her boyfriend came to my rescue.

❧

This encounter has made me think ever since. Like most people, I grew up being told that I am Dutch, he is German, she is American, and so on. But what does this actually mean? What does nationality tell us, or others, about who we are?

Here in Thailand, my national identity is simply farang, a foreigner presumed to come from somewhere in Europe. It is not my language, or even my culture or religion, that determines the label. It is the colour of my eyes and skin, my big nose and, for some, probably the size of my belly.

Personally, I would settle for “European”. But if others assign me a nationality or cultural identity on the basis of their own prejudices and assumptions, how am I to know what actually defines who I am?

❧

I suspect it works like this. The appeal of national identity can be traced to several factors. First, there is the need to belong. People seek a shared history, language and cultural practices. These by no means always coincide with national borders, yet they can create a sense of community.

Then there is fear of the unknown, in the broadest sense. In an increasingly chaotic world, national identity may offer a sense of certainty.

And last, but certainly not least, there is the ego. People can take pride in a country even if they have contributed nothing to the achievements they celebrate.

These three factors offer a ready-made answer to the question of who “we” are, provide a sense of continuity with the past and allow people to participate in something larger than their individual lives. It is striking how readily we turn to something as arbitrary as nationality for answers.

I understand the desire for community and solidarity. Those in power also have a vested interest in cultivating it, encouraging loyalty and a willingness to sacrifice for the nation, particularly in times of war or economic hardship. Need an example? “America First, America First…” America first… but what if national loyalty becomes more important than solidarity with people beyond our man-made borders?

This is where the traditional understanding of national sovereignty becomes questionable. National borders may define the limits of political authority, but they hardly reflect the reality of our interdependence. Climate change is an obvious example: its consequences cross national borders, yet no country can effectively address it alone.

❧

After the recent midterm elections in the USA, the Pope reportedly said, “I’m proud to be an American and to exercise the right.”¹ I read this and felt slightly disappointed. Examining my reaction, I realised that I expected the leader of a church whose faith recognises no national boundaries to see himself as more than an American, or a person of any particular nationality, for that matter. Yet he still feels proud to be American and retains his American national identity.

That reminded me of my fellow Dutchman, the Christian humanist Desiderius Erasmus, who, five centuries ago, questioned the importance people attached to their national origins. For him, what people had in common mattered more than the country they came from. His views seemed different from the national pride expressed by the Pope. A quotation attributed to him reads: “I am a citizen of the world, known to all and to all a stranger.”²

I began to question my own reaction. Why did I admire Erasmus for his cosmopolitan outlook while feeling disappointed by the Pope’s expression of national pride? Was I assuming that the two were somehow incompatible? Why should someone be proud of their nationality when, as in this case, it is not a personal achievement but merely a circumstance of birth? Or was I confusing pride with a sense of belonging? The Pope, after all, also holds Peruvian citizenship.

Does global citizenship require abandoning national identity? Or is it possible to retain a national identity without allowing it to become a barrier between ourselves and people from other parts of the world?

❧

Consider how arbitrary the nationality assigned to us can be. Borders shift through wars, political decisions or the ambitions of those in power. A person may go to bed in one country and wake up in another without having moved an inch. Their language, culture and memories remain unchanged. Yet suddenly they belong to another nation.

We are not our identities. An identity is a label or a story we attach to ourselves. It is not who we are, but an account of how we recognise ourselves or wish to be recognised.

Different identities need not imply division or separation. Languages, histories and traditions differ and have their value, but they need not divide us fundamentally. Unity does not require uniformity. Equally, diversity does not require division.

The woman I mentioned earlier was certainly different from me. She was from England, but did not consider herself British. Her claim to be a world citizen was bold and beautiful, but in retrospect I doubt whether she needed to reject one identity to embrace the other.

Notes

1. Joshua McElwee, “Pope Leo voted in US midterms because ‘I’m proud to be an American’”, Reuters, 6 November 2026. ↩︎
2. Attributed to Desiderius Erasmus; quoted in György Faludy, Erasmus of Rotterdam (1970), p. 197. ↩︎

^{How to cite: Jay. “National Identity: A Dutch Writer in Thailand Reflects on Maps and Minds.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 13 Nov. 2026. chajournal.com/2026/11/13/national-identity.}

Jay is a Dutch writer who has lived in Thailand for twelve years and has been visiting the country for three decades. His essays and columns explore questions of identity, culture, society and the human condition, often drawing on personal observations and experiences of living between cultures. His writing combines social commentary with philosophical reflection, questioning familiar assumptions about how we perceive ourselves and others.