BEING AN AMERICAN ABROAD RIGHT NOW

The Mad Sociologist has been quiet for a while. Fear not, this humble blog is going nowhere. I’m just on a long vacation and opportunities to post are fleeting and the wi-fi has been sketchy. I have posted some videos on TikTok, YouTube, and Instagram. My Substack hasn’t been working. I’m hoping to post some brief travel observations as I  have the opportunity.

There’s one thing I will say…

My family and I do a lot of traveling. As Americans abroad, there is always a certain status that we carry with us. We’re Americans. We’re proud of being Americans. Many places we’ve been, being American has been… well… fun!

In fact, in many places we’ve visited, being an American has brought with it a certain amount of status and even curiosity. I remember being in China. The American political elite would have us think that the Chinese are a people single-mindedly dedicated to American ruination.  That was not our experience when we visited China…and we were there when The Orange Don Administration 1.0 announced its first trade wars.

The Chinese people we met were happy to interact with Americans. I remember touring a Buddhist temple garden outside of Beijing and being fascinated by older people drawing Chinese characters with water on the slate pavers that defined the walkways. One woman saw me watching and handed me her brush. Another man who knew English wrote my name in Chinese. When I reproduced the characters with some level of competence, everyone aplauded. It was a blast!

I remember three young, Chinese men, perhaps in their late teens, approaching me and my son. They had been talking about us and then ginned up the courage to approach. One of them asked, “are you Americans?” We nodded and confirmed the accusation. The same young man elaborated, “we could tell you were Americans because you look so strong.” He flexed his muscles to accentuate the point.

These kinds of interactions were, and quite frankly, remain the norm. I’m currently in Greece, and the people are wonderful! I’m often walking around with my Bruce Springsteen concert shirts. Greek men are stopping me on the streets with their fists in the air saying, “Born in USA!” One man stopped me, pointed at my shirt and said, “The Boss! New Jersey! Glory days, my friend!”

Glory days indeed.

Speeking of glory days, we started vacation in Liverpool where my wife bought pit tickets to…yep, you guessed it, the Bruce Springsteen concert (the one where Paul McCartney did a walk on!). There, we met four men from Scotland who seemed to have never met a stranger. We talked and joked while waiting for the performance to start. At one point, my wife and daughter went to the restroom. Once they were out of sight, one of the Scots leaned in and said, “So, you’re from Florida.” Without hesitation he asked, “What the fuck is going on with your politics?”

There’s the problem. Traveling as an American under the bloated shaddow of the Orange Don casts a pall on any status that may have come with being an American. On previous excursions, my wife and I would announce with pride, “Yes, we are Americans!” Now, we would rather the issue not come up. If the issue does come up, we feel like we have to declare, “Yes, we are Americans, but we are not the batshit crazy Americans in the fucking red hats!”

Having dinner in one cafe, the waiter responded to us by meekly looking around, leaning in close and asking, “So…um…what do you think of [The Orange Don].” He expressed relief when we informed him that The Bloviator in Chief is repulsive to us. He even gave us free shots of ouzo!

It’s like going to a family reunion when you’re the guy who did the thing that nobody talks about. It may be that nobody is talking about it…but everyone knows, and everyone silently judges you even if they smile to your face. There’s a feeling one gets, even in the most pleasant interactions that infuses all of your motives with a certain amount of shame.

Or maybe it’s just us. It is likely that the only ones who care about this are Americans with a sense of shame about what is being done to the world in our name. After all, if I were to meet a Russian in my hometown town, would I affix to their identities the loathesome, lipless specter of Putin?

Regardless, the red hat of shame seems to be attached to us in ethereal and emotional ways as we travel. Perhaps time will help it fade.