Being (North) American in Argentina

“Who does the United States think it is, sometimes?”

“Isn’t is ridiculous that you all preach of freedom but lack well-developed systems of free healthcare and free public education in your own country?”

“The United States is, I’ll just say it, an imperialistic country.”

The first question was posed to me during dinner at my homestay shortly after Obama proposed a targeted strike on Syria. The second, a bit of commentary sneakily masked as a question, inspired a discussion on why the U.S. government didn’t divert some of its spending to providing tuition-free higher education. I heard the third quote during Thanksgiving dinner at a friend’s homestay, delivered point-blank from across the pumpkin pie by her host father.

An elusive but all-knowing “they” say that travelling opens your mind to new worldviews and strips you of your preconceived assumptions. However trite the statement may sound, you don’t appreciate the veracity of what “they say” until you go abroad and have real conversations with real people.

The first step of my immersion process was abandoning the language that equated the United States to the entirety of the Americas. I learned this lesson when I overheard two Argentines speak of how arrogant some foreigners from the U.S. were when introducing themselves. “America,” they reasoned correctly, was not a valid response to “Where are you from?”

Being a North American, particularly from the U.S., in Argentina proved an interesting experience. In one moment, I’d be celebrated for coming from the culture that gave the world Katy Perry, “Breaking Bad,” and the thrills of New York City. In another, I’d be hearing from outspoken Argentines about the U.S.’s occasional hypocrisy or unwelcome hegemonic maneuvers.

Even my coursework challenged the concept of “American” exceptionalism. The students of my Latin America in International Politics class could list off the instances when the U.S. propped up right-wing dictatorships in Central and South America as easily as reciting the alphabet. A, B, C… Batista, Cabrera, Pinochet.

Meanwhile, the readings for my International Security class cited the U.S. as capitalizing on the instabilities of Latin America for its own national security gain: weak regional alliances allowed the U.S. to push an anti-terrorism agenda all the way down to the Southern Cone.

I understand that great power ritually attracts a great deal of criticism. Yet, having Argentine authors comment on those U.S. foreign policy moments of sheer self-interest forced me out of a starry-spangled-eyed naivety. While my love of country remains strong and steadfast, I now recognize that the U.S. has not always acted as an unfaltering anchor for democracy everywhere.

On the cultural front, the article “Globalization: Reality or Fiction?” by Argentine philosopher Mario Bunge ruffled some North American plumage one afternoon in my Academic Writing workshop. Our eyes read in wonderment as Bunge indicted what he called the “cultural waste” of North America for being the bane of globalization. Coca-Cola, junk food, rock music, Marlboro cigarettes and jeans were among his listed offenders. Bunge concluded globalization to be an invasion by central powers like the U.S. into peripheral countries, not a mutually beneficial process born of liberal economics.

Us adherents of the Red, White, and Blue jumped to the defense of those cultural waste products. For one, the McDonalds in Argentina was ritzier and busier than any we’d ever seen in the States. Secondly, many Argentines would express their disdain for import substitution laws by relating the unfortunately exorbitant cost of scarce Apple Inc. technologies. All four times I attended the cinema to take in a Hollywood production, I noticed well-sized Argentine audiences.

Thus, we were inclined to view the culture brought by globalization as more of a thing desired than an imposition. After all, Big Brother wasn’t forcing Argentine disc jockeys to play the Billboard Hot 100 or a Buenos Aires newspaper to announce Kaley Couco’s engagement on the front page.

Yet, it’s valuable to understand the outside perspective. Beautiful and resource-rich Argentina has suffered a number of economic setbacks. Surely, it hurts a patriot to see his or her country’s domestic production stunted. That’s why “Industria Argentina” is a small but ubiquitous sticker that appears on most Argentine commercial goods, from a pear at the local fruit stand to a leather jacket from Murillo Street. It evokes the same pride us U.S. citizens have when we see its “Made in the U.S.A.” equivalent.

What most resonated with me about Bunge’s article was his assertion that Argentine products didn’t enjoy the same freedom of circulation in the U.S. as U.S. products did in Argentina. To demonstrate the validity of his point, I’ll admit that the only culturally valuable tidbit I knew about Argentina prior to my arrival was that its meat rivaled all other meats. I couldn’t name a single Argentine celebrity, soap opera, or song.

Here’s what I’ve found to be VERY exciting: all of us who had the pleasure of calling Argentina a home for five months are going to reverse the current of globalization. We are returning home with our mate cups, bottles of the bittersweet Fernet liquor, enthusiasm for the Pope, newfound appreciation for fútbol, and knowledge of rebellious anti-Kirchner newscasters. We will be sources of importation on Argentina’s behalf.

Though our numbers are small, the farther we go in life, the more our love-filled stories of Argentine culture will spread.