Contrary
to popular belief, I'm a pretty typical American. I speak only
one language and, until I was thirty-one, I had never traveled
farther afield than Mexico. I like baseball, stock car racing,
lots of ice, and consider the importation of Dr. Pepper to be
one of the greatest cultural advances in British history. On
the other hand, over the years—and as a direct result of
my travels—I've learned to appreciate black and white pudding,
a good curry, dance hall reggae, and football (go Gunners!).
I've also come to believe that all Americans could benefit from
the nationalistic out-of-body experience of watching, from abroad,
as our nation goes to war.
This ain't my first rodeo. When the first Gulf War broke out,
I was touring out in Australia and I was amazed at the difference
in tone of the coverage in the newspapers, as well as on television
and radio. Back home, in the states, our media has become increasingly
homogenized as large corporations buy up local newspapers and
broadcast outlets. I used to think that subscribing to the
New York Times, when you live in Nashville, Tennessee, was
pretentious—that is, until our local Pulitzer prize winning
paper was bought out. On this side of the pond, I can still
pop over to the newsagent and purchase a wide array of broadsheets
and tabloids espousing a variety of viewpoints. I'm obviously
The Guardian type, but I read The Independent daily,
and I occasionally pick up a Times or a Telegraph,
just to see what those guys are up to. The end result
is that I am, I believe, better informed abroad than I am at
home. The sad fact is that, in the brave new world of high speed
digital information, most Americans wouldn't take the time to
read a good newspaper if they had one.
I left the States on the 1st of March knowing full well that,
barring a miracle, I would be returning to a nation at war.
The tour began in Milan and I followed the last ditch attempts
by the United Nations, and the governments of France, Germany,
and Russia, to avert catastrophe as we made our way north though
Western Europe, retracing the steps of conquerors. Hannibal.
Caesar, and Napoleon slept here. In Berlin, we played rock 'n'
roll in a circus tent pitched in the shadow of the Reichstag.
As I stopped to sign a few autographs, on the way to the bus,
a fan—a guy about my age—presented me with a faded
GDR flag. He said, "This is the flag of the country I was
born in."
We were in Oslo when the first bombs fell on Baghdad and Stavenger—when
the ground war began. Most people that I talked to seemed to
understand that my views vary widely from that of the administration
that is currently in power in Washington, but I would occasionally
encounter a tenacious soul who asked hard questions and expected
me to answer for the actions of my government.
Fair enough. I am a voting, politically involved member of a
more or less democratic society and am, therefore, accountable
for this war. Signing the "Not In Our Name" statement,
that ran in the New York Times late last year, won't get me
off the hook. When this is all over, I will be have to answer—along
with every single American and British citizen—to the world
community. We will have to learn to live with the blood on our
hands. The blood of hundreds and possibly thousands of Iraqis,
Brits, Australians, and Americans. Men, women, and children.
Combatants and noncombatants, alike; they all bleed the same
color and the stain cannot be removed by any substance known
to mankind. Water can't rinse it off. Desert sun can't bleach
it out. And oil only leaves a telltale stain of its own.
After the Bergen show, a fan wondered, "Aren't you ashamed
of being an American?"
I said "Hell, no." Woody Guthrie was an American.
So were John Reed, Emma Goldman, and Martin Luther King.
Sad? Yes. Guilty? Sometimes. Embarrassed?
Often. But never, ever ashamed? Not in a million
years, for I am descended from a long line of patriots, steeped
in two centuries of resistance and dissent, and I still believe
that Americans are a good people who aspire to be a great nation,
which is a noble pursuit. And, like every potentially great
nation that came before us, history will judge us by how we
seek to realize that ambition.
