Most of the anxiety I have about returning to the States these days, is about the perspective I have gained from living here. Another experience I had last night brought on that anxiety.
Last night, I was in a taxi in the wee hours of the morning, returning home, when my cab driver asked, in a hostel tone (he had already heard me speak in English) where I was from. I said, "los Estados Unidos," and he kind of bit back, "Los Estados Unidos de America." (that continuing spite harbored by South Americans of the ego-centrism of the northern America.) As we commenced our conversation, he asked what I studied, but I immediately felt tension in the air. He was attacking me and my national identity. As began explaining what I was doing here, I felt embarrassed. Sometimes it hits me hard the level of privilege that I have to be here. And when I start talking about going to university here, but admit that it is more about the cultural experience, the language, etc, than the classes...well, then I get embarrassed.
After I told him that study Latin American History, I felt like I had to explain that I study it because Latin America's history is an important part of my own nation's history. That it should be taught and learned by US citizens because it tells a sad, imperialist story. I knew that I was doing that thing, that guilt-ridden thing: trying to justify myself. Trying to show him that I wasn't just any ignorant American. That I understand. (what do I understand?) I do that a lot here. This comes with this anxiety to get back to the US and get away from this terribly blatant, privileged experience. I am not complaining, but sometimes I wonder what right I have to be here and to simply be having a "cultural" experience. But I need this perspective. All people from the US need it....
As I tried to level with him, he didn't really listen to me, rather just wanted to rail on me about my government's politics. Perhaps was he trying to show off his knowledge, as a mere taxi driver who could take on an American student, a female, who claims to study history...He asked me if I knew about Operation Condor, (initiated by the US to maintain unity and power between the military dictatorships in South America), the Malvinas War and how the US was guilty for that too...He kept saying because of "su país" because of your country, so many terrible things have happened to us. How can you not take that personally?
Again, with my justifications: "I am not a representative of what my government does..." I told him. I am not guilty of what the US has done. I never supported the War in Iraq. I am not guilty for Bush being, as another taxi driver said, "un carnicero," a butcher. But am I?
As this man lectured me, I was on the edge of tears, feeling vulnerable to this huge amount of history and politics boiled down into a taxi ride, this weight, this heavy weight. To what level to I carry that weight? Am I allowed to escape being held accountable for what my government does? Is that how a democracy is supposed to run? Is that a dangerous way to expect our country to run? Yes we bash Bush too much, but with that said, then who should be held accountable? Are we ready to face ourselves?

I met a German girl from Berlin recently and we talked about our respective histories, personal and national, particularly the Holocaust and how that fits into German memory. (Collective memory is showing itself as my primary academic interest) I told her my family's story and she shared her's with me. Her grandmother was raped by Russians, her grandfather admited to her mother on his death bed of killing someone face to face in the Second World War. I told her about my great-grandfather who died in a concentration camp and had also fought for Austria Hungry during World War I.
She told me about the countless times she had to learn about the Holocaust in school, that eventually she just held up her hands and said "are you happy? I feel guilty! I feel terribly guilty! I don't want to hear about it anymore! It could have been me!" In fact it was her grandparents and relatives who were Nazis. Who else were they supposed to be?
Who else am I supposed to be, but American? I am still trying to figure out the responsibility that I have to the rest of the world, to that taxi driver, to my great-grandfather, to myself to admit and take accountability for my national identity.