The new annexe to the Loves Creek Baptist Church perches on a small hill, like a long bungalow. Inside, the congregation stands with arms raised and eyes closed, swaying to the music and testifying to the glory of the Lord. The men are in neatly pressed white shirts; the women in pastel frocks and sandals.
Just what you'd expect from a Baptist church in god-fearing rural North Carolina. Except that everyone-pastor, flock, even the wild-haired trio on electric piano and guitars-is a recent arrival from Mexico, belting out hymns and prayers in deafening, raucous Spanish.
"First time I realised we had trouble brewing was when I tuned into the police reports. Seemed like they were having big traffic accidents every day," said Rick Givens, farmer and one-time pilot, now chairman of the county commissioners.
Ten years ago, Siler City was a town of 5,000, a backwater where folks raised cows, mended fences and drove their pick-up trucks across the county line if they wanted a drink. The town has 25 churches, but you won't find a bar that serves serious liquor. Not unless you're a member of the all-white, all-male country club, like Givens and his pals.
"They don't have car insurance. They don't use banks so they carry their cash with them and get mugged. And there's 30 undocumented ladies a month wanting pre-natal care at the hospital," said Givens. "Then they give birth to little American citizens who qualify for 18 months more free medical care."
Only recently did Siler City wake up to what was happening. What had been a trickle of seasonal workers became a flood of Mexican immigrants-mainly illegal-eager to work in the rapidly expanding chicken factories, and busily importing their wives and children and extended families. In ten years the town's population has doubled.
"They let off their guns at night, they take our dogs, we're talking about people having their garden gnomes stolen," says radio talk show host Barry Hayes, another pillar of the local community.
But then something unexpected happened. Rick Givens wrote to the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) in Washington, asking them to send these undocumented workers back to Mexico.
What was the response? Givens was given a public roasting by Siler City residents who said that the last thing they wanted was for the Latinos to go home.
"They are here to stay," says a chastened Givens. "The government can't block the borders. And if the INS did come to take them home, our community would shut down."
Across the US, hundreds of thousands of Latinos are fuelling local economies and revitalising communities whose tobacco fields lie empty and whose industrial plants are rusting. Now Siler City shops rely on Latino custom. Second-hand dealers sell most of their cars to the new arrivals. The sign outside the elementary school says "Bienvenidos!" And they are recruiting more bilingual teachers. A radio show in Spanish has become a vital link to explain the complex world of American laws and customs to those who have just arrived.
"It's not surprising they don't want to send us home. We are the backbone of the economy," says 18-year-old Lenin, spokesman for his Latino teenage peers, who intends to go to law school and get rich. He refuses to feel burdened by the unlikely choice of name bestowed on him by his older brother Carlos, back in the days when they lived in Mexico and Soviet-style socialism was still chic.
Nowadays, Carlos embraces capitalism wholeheartedly. When I met him he was running his car repair business from his mobile phone, planning to expand his breakdown service to points due south, all the way to Mexico.
These brothers are the tip of the iceberg of a generation which represents something new. They play soccer on the town football pitch on Sunday afternoons. They speak fluent English and work hard to go to college. Their parents' toil in filthy chicken factories has not been in vain. They are determined to be a new sort of American, one who doesn't get stirred into the melting pot, who doesn't forget where he came from. They see no reason to abandon their roots: their dual culture, they say, is America's gain.
"I'll always be Mexican," says Lenin proudly. "My children will always be Mexican. We speak Spanish. That's where my inspiration comes from, that's where my thoughts come from. One day we will be American judges, lawyers and doctors and we will control part of this country. And they will appreciate our culture, just as we appreciate theirs."
Back at his farm house, Rick Givens is thinking about the future, too. He has already taken one Spanish course and is planning another. "Matter of fact, I'm going to recommend the sheriff's office send some of his boys down to Mexico for some language training," he says. "If we could convince these Latinos to trust us, I think they could contribute a whole lot more to our town."
As we talk, his 14-year-old son slips away to his computer. He is already making a small fortune, designing web pages for dozens of people he's met online. His horizons aren't confined to Siler City. Like so many other American children wired to the internet, his world now stretches far beyond the US.
In the late 1970s, when I was a graduate student at Harvard, a fellow student once leaned across to me at supper and asked: "You're from Europe, from England, aren't you? And you speak with an accent. What's your native language-is it French?"
Could that happen now? Judging by Siler City, probably not. Even in the remotest backwater, the US is not so insular. Whether Anglo or Latino, the next generation of US citizens sees the century stretching ahead of them in terms of global, not national opportunity. For Americans, the New World is not the only world any more. n
Bridget Kendall presents "Manifest Destinies," a three-part documentary series on America on BBC Radio Four: 18th April, 25th April, 2nd May, 20:00. (Repeated on BBC World Service in May.)
