American and proud

I never felt more earnest than I did on Wednesday night. I went to a Democrats Abroad party at an English pub in town to watch the inauguration of Barack Obama, and, oddly, few Americans filled the room. Most of the hordes of NGO workers, Khmer Rouge tribunal interns, and, like myself, journalists, hailed from Australia or Canada, with a few Swedes and Germans in the mix. Per usual, they found Americans’ wide-eyed patriotism at best, naïve, and at worst, silly.

Yet they packed into that bar to watch the inauguration in impressive numbers. They jeered when a comically menacing looking Cheney rolled onto the podium and they cheered when the Obamas emerged. It sounded as though Manchester United was battling Liverpool on those big screens. Between the outburts, conversations continued. I strained to hear the new president’s speech over the disinterested chatting and occasional snickering after Obama made a particularly highfalutin statement.

As a liberal American living overseas, I’ve encounters strange, new emotions. I spent years living in a conservative town, arguing against an unquestioned belief in America’s supreme moral authority. Suddenly, I’m confronted with a strong and urgent desire to defend my country. Or at least to defend Americans. When someone taking a census of the crowd came around to see who comprised it, she asked if anyone at my table was American. “God no,” most of the Aussies replied in one way or another. It’s still socially acceptable to disdain my citizenship, even at an inauguration party for my president. I’m the white man, the patriarch, the oppressor, the girl from the bossy country that can’t mind its own business.

I’m also the citizen of a country that used to own black people and now elected one as president. And what makes me even prouder, I’m the citizen of a country who elected a proud intellectual, a man who sees nuance in the world and tries to make sense of it, who speaks to the educated, who values professors alongside “Joe the Plumber.”

Now, any derision I must endure overseas as an American has vastly diminished since Obama was elected. I shouldn’t complain. Cambodians and Vietnamese usually respond with “Obama!” now when I tell them I’m an American. When I studied abroad in Australia in 2004—in one of the few countries that sided with the U.S. on the Iraq invasion—my accent alone incited a shocking amount of contempt. I was treated as though I single-handedly campaigned for and secured the election of George W. Now, the rest of the world, cynical Europeans included, seem to feel as though this one man will positively impact their lives. I expect to be asked to personally answer on Obama's behalf whenever he falls short of these hopes.