however,the millions of singular lives have had no richer notion of wholeness to describe them than the idea of pluralism. 10 "Where you from?"The American asks the immigrant child."Mexico,"the boy learns to say. 11 Mexico,the country of my blood ancestors,offers formal contrast to the American achievement.If the United States was formed by Protestant individualism.Mexico was shaped by a medieval Catholic dream of one world.The Spanish journeyed to Mexico to plunder,and they may have gone,in God's name,with an arrogance peculiar to those who intend to convert.But through the conversion,the Indian converted the Spaniard.A new race was born the mestizo,wedding European to Indian.A Mexican philosopher has celebrated this New World creation,proclaiming it the "cosmic race.” 12 Centuries later,in a San Francisco restaurant,a Mexican-American lawyer of my acquaintance says,in English that he does not intend to assimilate into gringo society.His claim is echoed by a chorus of others (Italian-Americans,Greeks,Asians)in this era of ethnic pride.The melting pot has been retired,clanking,into the museum of quaint disgrace.But resistance to assimilation is characteristically American.It only makes clear how inevitable the process of assimilation actually is. 13 For generations,this has been the pattern.Immigrant parents have sent their children to school (simply,they thought)to acquire the"skills"to survive in the city.The child returned home with a voice his parents barely recognized or understood,couldn't trust,and didn't like. 14 In Eastern cities-Philadelphia,New York,Boston,Baltimore-class after class gathered immigrant children to women(usually women)who stood in front of rooms full of children,changing children.So also for me in the 1950s.Irish-Catholic nuns.California.The old story.The hyphen tipped to the right,away from Mexico and toward a confusing but true American identity. 15 I speak now in the chromium American accent of my grammar school.And because assimilation is always reciprocal,my classmates got something of me.In the blending,we became what our parents could never have been,and we carried America one revolution further 16 "Does America still exist?"Americans have been asking the question for so long that to ask it again only proves our continuous link.But perhaps the question deserves to be asked with urgency -now.Since the black civil rights movement of the 1960s,our tenuous notion of a shared public life has deteriorated notably. 17 In the sixties,other groups of Americans learned to champion their rights by analogy to the black civil rights movement.But the heroic vision faded.Dr.Martin Luther King,Jr.had spoken with Pauline eloquence of a nation that would unite Christian and Jew,old and young,rich and poor. Within a decade,the struggles of the 1960s were reduced to a bureaucratic competition for little more than pieces of a representational pie.The quest for a portion of power became an end in itself.The metaphor for the American city of the 1970s was a committee:one black,one woman,one person under thirty.... 18 If the small town had sinned against America by too neatly defining who could be an American,the city's sin was a romantic secession.One noticed that the romanticism in the antiwar movement-certain demonstrators who demonstrated by a lack of tact or desire to persuade andhowever, the millions of singular lives have had no richer notion of wholeness to describe them than the idea of pluralism. 10 “Where you from?” The American asks the immigrant child. “Mexico,” the boy learns to say. 11 Mexico, the country of my blood ancestors, offers formal contrast to the American achievement. If the United States was formed by Protestant individualism, Mexico was shaped by a medieval Catholic dream of one world. The Spanish journeyed to Mexico to plunder, and they may have gone, in God’s name, with an arrogance peculiar to those who intend to convert. But through the conversion, the Indian converted the Spaniard. A new race was born the mestizo, wedding European to Indian. A Mexican philosopher has celebrated this New World creation, proclaiming it the “cosmic race.” 12 Centuries later, in a San Francisco restaurant, a Mexican-American lawyer of my acquaintance says, in English that he does not intend to assimilate into gringo society. His claim is echoed by a chorus of others (Italian-Americans, Greeks, Asians) in this era of ethnic pride. The melting pot has been retired, clanking, into the museum of quaint disgrace. But resistance to assimilation is characteristically American. It only makes clear how inevitable the process of assimilation actually is. 13 For generations, this has been the pattern. Immigrant parents have sent their children to school (simply, they thought) to acquire the “skills” to survive in the city. The child returned home with a voice his parents barely recognized or understood, couldn’t trust, and didn’t like. 14 In Eastern cities—Philadelphia, New York, Boston, Baltimore—class after class gathered immigrant children to women (usually women) who stood in front of rooms full of children, changing children. So also for me in the 1950s. Irish-Catholic nuns. California. The old story. The hyphen tipped to the right, away from Mexico and toward a confusing but true American identity. 15 I speak now in the chromium American accent of my grammar school. And because assimilation is always reciprocal, my classmates got something of me. In the blending, we became what our parents could never have been, and we carried America one revolution further. 16 “Does America still exist?” Americans have been asking the question for so long that to ask it again only proves our continuous link. But perhaps the question deserves to be asked with urgency —now. Since the black civil rights movement of the 1960s, our tenuous notion of a shared public life has deteriorated notably. 17 In the sixties, other groups of Americans learned to champion their rights by analogy to the black civil rights movement. But the heroic vision faded. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had spoken with Pauline eloquence of a nation that would unite Christian and Jew, old and young, rich and poor. Within a decade, the struggles of the 1960s were reduced to a bureaucratic competition for little more than pieces of a representational pie. The quest for a portion of power became an end in itself. The metaphor for the American city of the 1970s was a committee: one black, one woman, one person under thirty…. 18 If the small town had sinned against America by too neatly defining who could be an American, the city’s sin was a romantic secession. One noticed that the romanticism in the antiwar movement—certain demonstrators who demonstrated by a lack of tact or desire to persuade and