America is Decent
As an American living abroad, I'm often asked to account for my country. This week, and always, this is my answer.
This is a big week for my home, my country.
Not only because we’ll be determining our fate for the next four years (and beyond), but because the world will be watching.
I sometimes joke that living overseas means we’re all a kind of diplomat to our homes. Each encounter - from pleasantries to taxi chats, from a professional coffee to a dinner party - are all opportunities to create an impression of what it means to be American. Our values, how we treat others, to share what our country is like beyond the headlines and movie scripts.
My pastor once said “you’ll be the only version of the Bible someone may ever read, so make it a good one.” And in some ways I feel the same way about representing the country I so love.
So here’s my pitch to my overseas friends - those who have lived, worked, studied, traveled across the U.S. and those who have never been: America is decent.
There will be so much division over the coming days and weeks - much like you may have already seen. But social media is not reality, tweets are not hearts, and there is so much more that unites us - amidst our beautiful diversity - than divides us.
I wanted to share a little story. One that doesn’t have much to do about politics at all, rather one that represents not only my country, but my roots. And it just happens to take place at the epicenter of the 2024 election …
Earlier this year, my husband, mother, and (then) 4 month old daughter ventured home to introduce her to my family. Home for us is on the East Coast, including Pennsylvania. We started our American journey in New York and road tripped across the Commonwealth to reach Western PA where my family’s from, and most still reside.
About halfway into a four hour drive we heard our little bundle of joy, our sweet, time bomb start to tick tick … stir. Surrounded by farmland, we scoped out a potential place to stop when a beckoning sign indicated that a family farm - with fresh produce and refreshments - was just a short ways away. We turned off our two lane backroad onto a winding gravel one, turned up Imogen Heap’s Happy Song (scientifically engineered to calm children) and crossed our fingers that my daughter would remain content until we reached a place of respite. We wound along a country creek, through a covered bridge, and eventually pulled up to a large red barn converted to a farmer’s market. I found a rocking chair, soaked in the sweet still summer air, and nursed my daughter.
Each person who entered or exited the market store stopped to wish us well, to remark on how lovely our little girl was (we agree). The owner, and gentleman after whom the farm is named came out to greet us. Upon seeing that I was feeding my daughter he promptly got me, my husband, and mother bottles of cold water. He was so struck - and delighted - by the fact that we were visiting from Singapore. Indeed we probably did seem a fairly exotic lot to happen upon that bucolic oasis in the middle of Western Pennsylvania.
To the contrary, for my mother, myself, and now my daughter, this stopover in Indiana County, PA was a return home and to our history. My ancestors who came to the United States from a combination of Ireland, Scotland, England, and Germany found a home in Pennsylvania and specifically in White Township.
My Great Grandad was a delegate at the Democratic National Convention, and I always knew my Great Grandparents to be staunch Democrats. Then, those who wanted to make a life for themselves through ingenuity and hard work felt represented by the Democratic Party. Now, the same county featured lawn decorations honoring the MAGA Party’s anointed leader. Perhaps they held the same dreams as my ancestors, or perhaps they’d lost hope and were hanging what little of it was left on Trump.
Back at the farm, I finished feeding my daughter and went to use the restroom. Above the door read a “Trump 2024” sticker, with a “Lets Go Brandon” sign along the sink. Living overseas, I (very candidly and honestly) rarely encounter an overt Trump supporter. I’ve had so many things to say to them throughout the years: don’t you realize this is the last stand for democracy? He’s not for you, he’s using you! Yet as we loaded up the car, I simply smiled thanked them for the water and hospitality. If they knew my political beliefs as I knew theirs we’d line up for X’s version of mortal kombat - 280 characters at a time. But when our interactions were limited to our basic human-ness, we showed our truest colors, which were neither red nor blue, but kind.
We had a hundred other lovely encounters throughout our time home - a time that took us across and through the heart of this election. We saw tiny towns decimated by declining industry only to be revived by ingenuity and inclusion (like a fabulous little bar in Cumberland, Maryland with delicious food where my daughter sat next to the Cumberland Pride committee planning their upcoming parade.) The beauty of the country - verdant rolling hills, popcorn clouds on a blue summer day - reminded me why I love her so much. And the people we met along the way appeased my fears and instilled the belief that we would be okay. That we aren’t just great, we are decent.
To conclude these reflections, I wanted to share a few excerpts from my daughter’s baptism. We convened as a family in Beaver, Pennsylvania. A quintessential town outside Pittsburgh where my mother grew up, my Grandmother still resides, and which holds so much meaning to our family. The sermon, which simultaneously honored our daughter took place on Memorial Day Weekend and wove in themes of service and love of country. So much of it resonates today:
“Don’t all of us want to be known—and accepted for who we are?
I don’t think there is a single one of us who doesn’t desire this, and, yet, how elusive this same blessing is for so many today. Am I right?
But let me add this: Today also marks the commissioning of Bronwyn to … look beyond all the differences—whether real or imagined—that society lifts up as a basis for keeping people apart—even at odds one with another—differences due to different skin color, gender, sexual orientation—to name but three fault lines in our society today.
What must be the foundation for this government “of the people”?
What must be the cornerstone of a society “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the
proposition that all men are created equal to long survive”?
Does not this foundation rest upon the need for us to be at peace, one with another—and to have peace within ourselves?
What makes freedom truly last?
It is not something outside of us--the powers of a government to coerce us, to simply keep the peace: It is something, rather, within us—something placed with our souls, within our conscience—within our heart and mind that is from above, I believe, that makes for lasting Freedom…”
My hope is that as the days churn on, more Americans will look within and return to what binds us. And to my friends overseas, I’ll continue this refrain when describing home:
America is decent.
