Carrying American baggage abroad

At my job in Beijing this summer, we primarily spoke English in the office. Most Chinese I met outside of the office usually insisted on chatting in English as well, since opportunities to converse with native English speakers were rare. As a result, I used regrettably little Mandarin during my two-month stay in China. But I did become particularly proficient with three key Chinese phrases: "I don't want it," "kung pao chicken," and "I don't like George Bush."

The former two should be self-explanatory; the last phrase probably requires some contextualization.

Every time I got into a cab or was seated alone at a restaurant, the Beijingers around me would engage in a game of Guess The Small Caucasian's Nationality. The guess usually began with French or Spanish or Russian or sometimes Indian (go figure) and finally, unenthusiastically, irritably landed on American.

Soon as I fessed up to my true nationality, I was immediately bombarded by stultifying questions and complaints about America's perceived arrogance towards the rest of the world in general and its actions in Iraq, in particular. Why did so and so say such-and-such to the U.N.? Why do Americans like going to war so much? Couldn't we have at least tried to reelect Clinton?

The first few cabbies who insisted that I personally account for any controversial exploits of the American government rendered me an apologist. I did my best to explain, in broken Chinese, the rationale of various policies and actions under attack. In what I consider to be an admirable attempt to cross the so-called "Red and Blue Divide" America has lately been scolded for, I presented the arguments used by politicians I didn't vote for to endorse policies I didn't support.

However valuable this little exercise in political empathy might have been to me, it was somewhat less than convincing to those Beijingers who designated me the U.S. government's whipping boy. By rationalizing the U.S.'s motives, I was rationalizing their actions. According to my interrogators, I was arguing on behalf of the U.S. government, and my circumlocution typically earned me only a more circuitous (and expensive) cab ride.

Head aching and light in the wallet, I eventually developed new approaches to this daily confrontation. Sometimes I dodged it entirely and pretended to be from another country. Unfortunately, I quickly realized my embarrassing ignorance of French, Spanish, Russian and Indian affairs, which were, inevitably, of great interest to the driver/waiter/doorman chatting with me. A few times I claimed to be Icelandic since, after all, I know the correct answer to the only rearview mirror question you can ask an Icelander ("Yes, Iceland is very cold").

That got old after a while.

But when I finally discovered the magic bullet to talking about the Land of the Free, I felt much freer doing so. All I had to do was immediately profess disdain for our Commander-in-Chief (a disdain which, fortunately for me, was and is genuine).

While in the States I am unhesitant to criticize seated politicians and their policies, for some reason halfway around the world my dissent felt traitorous. Though I don't endorse a "my country, right or wrong" mentality, in China I was my country, and calling it wrong felt schizophrenic, if not disloyal. In a country as diverse as the United States, people are differentiated by their race and their religion, but in Beijing, China, my only ostensible otherness was my Americanness.

My feeling of unofficial representation of my country was only reinforced by the many American proverbs of unity. How ironic, I thought, that at home, protest is a display of patriotism, but abroad we are expected to stand united with an imaginary homogeneity, determined by our government's policy output. If I consider myself proud to be American, what American beliefs and political implementation of those beliefs do I pride myself in exactly?

Since returning to the States in mid-August, I have grown increasingly conflicted about my initial attempts to defend my own government abroad. I wonder more and more about the relationship between citizen and country, between "mandate" and policy: Do I represent my country, or does my country represent me? Catherine Rampell is a sophomore from Palm Beach, Fla. She can be reached at crampell@princeton.edu.