Image by Till Niermann (License CC BY-SA 3.0)
Two thousand years ago, a man could travel the known world freely, saying nothing but “civis Romanus sum:” I am a citizen of Rome. So powerful was the the name of the Roman Empire that it instilled respect – well, mostly fear – in anyone who dared to attack one of its citizens.
The United States of America may not have inherited the Roman’s desire for conquest, but it’s not an exaggeration to say that if there were a modern equivalent to the empire, it would be the USA. We have the greatest and most powerful military on the planet, capable of being deployed anywhere within a day. Our nation’s wealth compels others to learn English, making it the unofficial international language. Our influence in culture, art, and entertainment – no doubt propelled by the economy – reaches all corners of the Earth.
As an American traveling the globe, one might assume I enjoy the same protections to which a citizen of Rome felt entitled. My first experience abroad certainly reinforced this worldview. I had traveled to Beijing with my parents to visit my brother, who was there studying Chinese. When my father accidentally broke his glasses – well, had them slip off, and stepped on them – we ventured off to one of the many nondescript streets of Beijing.
“It became clear to me, rather quickly, that despite me just being a kid from Texas living in Japan, I was acting as an unofficial representative of the United States. Whether anyone abroad is willing to accept it or not, this is always the case.”
Finding an optometrist was surprisingly easy, and as my parents and brother went inside to explain what they needed, my 20-year-old self stood outside and soaked in the country: loud, crowded, dirty, street vendors everywhere; the heat and humidity requiring me to change shirts every hour.
After a few minutes, a Chinese man walked up to me and tried engaging me in conversation. He didn’t seem much older than I was, but I remember how he looked at me with such intensity; as if I were a creature from another world. He asked me where we were from. And if I thought his eyes couldn’t be more piercing, they were after I told him we were American.
“I want go America very much,” he said.
The way he said it almost sounded like a request. As if he thought I had the power to carry him with me across the Pacific. I’ll never know what was in his heart. To me, it sounded like desperation. He saw someone around his age living a life so completely different than the one he must have had.
Experiences like these reinforced this idea- held by many Americans, myself included at the time: our country is a beacon of hope and prosperity to the rest of the world, and everyone would want to live here if given the chance. Of course, if I were to have spoken to someone from Iraq in 2003, he or she might have had a few not so nice words to say about Americans.
This wasn’t the last time I encountered people like my friend in China. I lived in Japan for two years while Dubya was President. It was my first experience living abroad, and I went through different stages:
– Honeymoon on arrival, in which everything seems new and exciting, and you feel the urge to explore every second of every day.
– Anger and Depression – after some time, when cultural differences and lack of familiarity – food, people, family – start to weigh you down.
– Acceptance –when you acquire enough of the language and customs to be comfortable with your surroundings. When you’ve made friends and learned the ins and outs of your community.
Some expats choose to cocoon themselves in their apartments. With the Internet providing an endless supply of English language entertainment, it’s entirely possible to think of where you live abroad as sovereign territory. Your country may be thousands of miles away, but in that room, it still exists. Some deny the surrounding culture and choose to be angry, by stepping out into the world but criticizing everything and everyone as they see fit, e.g. “We don’t do THAT in America.”
It didn’t take long for me to pick up on how some Japanese felt about Americans. The overwhelming majority were kind and accepting of me, but never seemed to get over the idea I was from another country. Though they lacked the desperation the man from China seemed to have, there was still a sense of awe surrounding the U.S., as if it was an ideal that Japan could never hope to reach.
It’s important to understand that the United States essentially brought Japan into the modern age, with Commodore Perry forcing them to open their borders 150 years ago and the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, showcasing America’s military domination.
Japan has now grown to become the third largest economy in the world (second at the time I was there), with a peaceful society almost anyone would appreciate experiencing: the trains run on time, there’s very little crime, and the natural beauty of the country is remarkable. My thought is, why should someone from a country where everything is in order, and its people are taken care of, still look at the U.S. as the ideal place to live?
We aren’t beyond criticism. Back when Bush put the country knee deep in an illegal war, people around the world started to take notice of America’s lack of moral superiority. My conversations in Japan usually lacked depth, but nearly everyone brought up Bush and what was going on at the time. Even so, there were still occasions when random Japanese people would spot my white face and ask for a picture or an autograph (yes, this actually happened).
It became clear to me, rather quickly, that despite me just being a kid from Texas living in Japan, I was acting as an unofficial representative of the United States. Whether anyone abroad is willing to accept it or not, this is always the case. If you’ve had a tantrum over a taxi driver ripping you off in some random corner of Asia, someone has noticed and probably developed a sore spot for Americans. Alternatively, I was able to dispel certain stereotypes of the uninformed geographically ignorant American, by showing not every Texan was a gun-toting rube, and not everyone in the U.S. was blindly following their President.
When President Obama was in office, I passed through the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. The world was still in the throes of the Syrian refugee crisis, with many fleeing through Turkey to Europe, and others searching for better options in Australia, the U.S., and Canada. Picking up a few cubes of Turkish delight for a snack with my afternoon tea, I found myself talking to the vendor, and discovered he was a Syrian refugee. He was accepted in Turkey, but looking for something better for himself and his family. When I mentioned I was American, he not so subtly thrust his contact information into my palm, asking if I could please find him a job once I returned home. Even when I told him I wasn’t a business owner, and didn’t know anyone hiring, he persisted, taking any opportunity that might lead him to a better life.
As a straight, white, American male, traveling the globe, I seldom feel fear. I’m rarely the victim of a crime or racial discrimination, even in ethnically homogeneous countries in Asia. At worst, I’m the target of pickpockets and the butt of ridicule from non-American expats. In Europe, I’m just another guy crossing the street. In South America, I’m a tourist. In Asia, I can’t help being the center of attention, literally standing out in the crowd. However, no matter where I am, the name of the United States of America still travels with me, and still carries weight. People in many different countries, even those with a high standard of living, look at the U.S. with a sense of reverence.
I’ll be returning to Japan next month. It will be my first trip out of the U.S. since Trump took office. This time, I don’t know if America will be the country that people tell me they try their whole lives to emigrate to. That image may forever be lost.
We showcase ourselves to the rest of the world, telling everyone “Sure, we’ve got problems, but we’re a professional democracy.” Some of our politicians may be corrupt and misguided, but they’re not hellbent on instituting totalitarian rule. Our freedom of speech is powerful, our institutions controlled by checks and balances.
All of that is under attack, and it tells me there’s one thing America can never regain: respect. Even once Donald Trump is removed from office under the 25th amendment or impeached, the damage is done. America elected a clown. Worse than that: a self-proclaimed bigot, racist, sexist, and narcissist.
I don’t know how I’ll react the first time someone will inevitably ask me about our president and ask “Why…?” I won’t have an answer for them. If things continue the way they’re going under Trump, it may strip away whatever reverence there was for the United States. Who would want to travel with that burden?
Turner Wright is a freelance writer with an engineering background. He is originally from Texas, but usually finds himself in the Bay Area if not some random corner of Asia. He is currently the Digital Media Manager for Airbnbhell.com and TravelVisaPro.com. He enjoys running long distances, eating more than necessary to do said running, and traveling to other countries.
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