A-Rod May Play for the Dominican Republic: Un-American or Quintessential American?

Yankees third baseman Alex Rodriguez will probably play for the Dominican Republic, rather than the United States, in next March's inaugural World Baseball Classic. Born in New York City, Rodriguez would live there until the age of four. At that time, his family moved to the Dominican Republic. The family would return to the United States when Rodriguez was eight-years old.

Certainly, Rodriguez is entitled to play for the team of his choice. It would seem hypocritical for a democracy or one its long-standing institutions like Major League Baseball to force or even admonish players to play for its national team instead of another national team. At least until recently, the power of democracy has always been in its unique power to inspire, rather having to compel, and its ability to "win" often without throwing punches or even flexing muscles. Along those lines, to criticize A-Rod or any player who elects to play for a different country seems inapposite with our norms and aspirations.

That said, Rodriguez's decision to play for a country in which he was not born, and one in which he has only lived four of his 30 years, begs an interesting question that perhaps has no answer: At what point do we "become American"? Can it happen in the first generation of a family? The second generation? The third generation? Obviously, it varies by family; some families maintain close relations with their relatives "back home"; others come to the United States and don't look back; and yet others, like the Rodriguez family, literally move back-and-forth.

Many of us can relate to this experience. I think of my own background: my mother's parents were Italians who emigrated to the United States as young adults, while my father's ancestors came to the United States from Ireland a long time ago. So I'm "half second-generation American," and yet I don't feel an affinity for any country but the United States. And this goes to the fact that while I say that I'm half Irish-half Italian, I also say that I'm American, born and raised (even though I--and I suspect almost all of you--have no ties to the indigenous population that predated the influx of Europeans on the North American continent--a population that some might call the "real Americans").

So how can one be 100% American, 50% Irish, 50% Italian, and 0% "real American"? I guess that's the "fuzzy math" we sometimes delve into. It may also reflect the situation in which we find ourselves: when we talk to people from other countries, we say that we're "American"; when we talk among ourselves, we say that we're "half this" and "half that."

And yet despite this often mixed message of identity, we are an incredibly patriotic country, sometimes to the point of excluding those who may disagree with national policy--which is, of course, not a very "democratic" thing to do. For that reason, we can expect A-Rod to receive criticism from certain "Americans," even though his decision to not play for the American team appears as consistent with our national ideals as if he chose to play for "us."

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