Emheffer I'm An American

In my twenties, while traveling through the former Soviet Union, I noticed that people from other cultures often had hang-ups about authority. Men from autocratic countries in the Middle East always seemed to whisper out of the corners of their mouths, as if they were afraid someone might hear, even about meaningless things. They would say: “Listen, my friend, the only good song George Michael ever wrote was ‘Faith…’”

“Why are we whispering?” I’d ask. “I don’t know,” they’d say.

People who grew up in places with the Queen on their money were class-conscious and calibrated what they could say according to who else was at the table. Russians were like us, expressive and free-spirited and funny, but infected with terrible fatalism: they froze around badges and insignias and other symbols of authority as if they had magic power.

Over time I realized: I liked being an American. For the first time I was seeing the American experience through the eyes of foreigners. I did an interview once at a restaurant in Moscow called Scandanavia. A group of European diplomats was having a conference and complained about a table of loud American businessmen. A young Swedish waiter was sent to deal with them.

He leaned over to the biggest and loudest of these finance bros and said, “If you could keep your voice down, sir…”

The American turned and said:
“Is that a question?”

The kid froze. The American said: “You mean ‘Be quiet,’ right?”

“Yes.”

The American got up. “Look, you’re over here because a bunch of Belgians are too afraid to come over here themselves. You’re carrying that like the weight of the world. I can see it your shoulders. Let it go, man.”

Now those diplomats grew spines. “Hey,” they said. “We are not Belgians. We’re—”

“You’re Belgians,” the American snapped. Then he gave the floor to the kid who said, “Please be quiet.” The American took out a $100 bill and stuck it in the kid’s vest pocket. He walked around the rest of the night like he owned the place. He might have gone on to do just that.

After that I realized every American has a little bit of asshole in him. William Blake said, “Always be ready to speak your mind and a base man will avoid you.” Some struggle with this concept. Americans are born knowing it.

Incidentally propaganda is the same trick I saw in that restaurant. It’s always someone trying to make you feel bad for their weakness, their mistakes. Don’t be ground down by it. Stand up straight and give it back.