It was a typically English day. Overcast sky with the hint of rain and all I wanted was a pint. But when I walked into the pub in a charming, limestone-brick cottage village in East Anglia, I suddenly realized I was embarrassed to open my mouth and ask for a local ale. In just a few days of visiting the United Kingdom this past month, I had become keenly aware that to be identified as the bearer of an American accent was to display the verbal equivalent of a scarlet letter.
My trip to the U.K. was a mix of family duties and a nostalgia tour, at least for my husband, who determinedly plowed his way through a litany of much-missed food favorites as if it were prescribed therapy. But what truly underscored the trip was how the perception of who and what an American is has been altered to an extreme I would never have thought imaginable.
Much of it was inevitably our orange-haired commander-in-chief. No matter where I went, the pub, the market, family get-togethers, all the talk was about what my sister-in-law called “cringe-worthy” Trump and the bilious right-wing hatred brewing across the U.S. and the strange, tortured rhetoric of the left in response.
Whether out of respect for America’s crucial role in European defense and global trade, or the passion for all things American (Elvis, Levis, giant houses and California girls) the British have always had a fascination with America. But sadly, the land of freedom and opportunity is now being viewed as the land of hate and violence led by a “buffoon” of a president.
During my travels across the British isles I had the distinct impression that when I was tagged as an American people wondered how I felt about the emotional and sociological carnage that my country is going through. They also wanted to know what I would do about it. Would I seek Trump’s impeachment, would I tacitly support his assassination? My mind boggled at the virulence of some of the perspectives of my country our foremost allies offered.
Much of it comes from the media. I had always respected the British press for its quality and reverence to reporting the truth. Every day that I was in the UK the lead story in all of the newspapers, including the trashy gossip tabloids, was about the U.S. Headlines screamed, “It’s in the blood… Trump‘s father arrested at Klan rally!”
“Trump courts white supremacists”
“UK-US bilateral trade deal could mean that UK consumers will receive chlorine-washed chicken”
The most frightening was “President Trump: military solutions are now fully in place, locked and loaded, should North Korea act unwisely.”
I finally plucked up the courage to order a pint. As I sipped on the amber nectar, I listened to the comments of my neighboring imbibers. They ran along the lines of “This crazy man has to be destroyed before he destroys the whole world.” and “What were those idiot Americans thinking when they voted for him?”
The Brits no longer trust Americans and certainly not our president. Nearly 2 million British citizens signed a petition calling for a ban of a Trump State visit to their country. Along with fear they are also laughing loudly. They laugh at the American president who “takes a motorized golf cart through the streets of Sicily while his fellow world leaders walk like pedestrians,” and they laugh at a president whose handshake is a “form of mortal combat.”
Finally I realized that I was indeed embarrassed to be an American abroad. What has become clear is that it is not irrational to fear what our president will do next. This irrationality, this insanity is at the source of my embarrassment. Trump threatens to destroy the unity and moral legitimacy of this country. We, the citizens of the United States, are now being viewed as dangerous, violent and, to quote a crusty Welshman in a seaside pub, “idiots.”
The day I returned to Utah I ran into a neighbor who asked if the rest of the world was looking at the chaos occurring in the U.S. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.