Lady Liberty Tereres

Sometimes I feel better about being an American. What comes to mind is something my Dutch friend said on Superbowl weekend:

A lot of people talk shit about Americans

, he said in perfect English,

but I like you guys.

I like us, too. By us, I mean the collective we who get out of America from time to time and can look at our culture froma distance. Because it is with this outsider´s view that we can understand our place in this world--not through the eyes of the media or textbooks--but with our own. I have had the opportunity to see much of the world, and most of the American travelers I meet--not tourists, but travellers--are aware of thier linguistical ineptitude in comparison with Euro travelers, for instance. There is an air of playful humility about us, however, that I enjoy.

The backpacking world sometimes feels like a big contest reminiscent of school hallways. Who has the cooolest backpack, has the most bad-ass stories, is the most culturally sensitive? Crowded hostels can feel like cold, lonely places ifyou let yourself get sucked into that mentality. Many travelers from other countries seem to have a haughty attidue, while Americans just seem so goofy and more approachable, though I realize that this may be just because I´m an American. (It is widely agreed upon that Israelis are the coolest travelers.)

Many of the American travelers I meet do not try to flaunt their Americanness, but, in fact, are self-concious about it--about our unilinguilism and the unforgivable acts of our political leaders. In my travels, I have lied about my citizenship, claiming CAnada or England as my home because there is such hostility towards the USA in much of the world. Our wealth and "privilege" is a source of resentment the populations who world in our clothing factories, earning $1 a day in dangerous conditions.

And it is a privilege, I am quick to admit, to be able to get out of America and shake hands (and kiss cheeks) with the people other nations; to look back over that perverbial ocean and give a little saludos to the Statue of Liberty, and have a slightly better understanding of what she´s really standing for.

Also in my travels, when admitting apologetically to a stranger whose country has been at war for over 50 years, that I was American, he chastised me, saying that you cannot help where you come from. He made me feel guilty about feeling guilty, but reminded me to be proud of who I am. And where I come from is a big part of who I am.

I came to Paraguay with hope--I think it would be extremely difficult to be a Peace Corps volunteer if you did not have hope. But I did not come just to help Paraguayans. In short, I came to help myself. In long, I came to help my brothers and sisters break down the borders that divide us--the ones that stereotype and categorize us and that prohibit us from understanding each other, and, therefore, finding peaceful resolutions to our differences. And that´s a tall order, and one I´m not willing to take on when I just can´t eat another bite of stale sopa or when my neighbor kids won´t stop staring at me.

What I want for my Paraguayan friends is for them to have the opportunity to go to a different land and look back over that perverbeal ocean at their own land-locked country. I wish they could see for themselves where they come from, so they can not only choose where they want to go, but recognize their own privilege and the blessing they were born into.