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| Photo: Wee Mo |
But when I look at the old countries of the Commonwealth, I can't help but notice that despite the theft of their resources, the enslavement of the people, etc and so on. Despite all that, there were some positive legacies left behind. We built roads and rail; we developed a legal and educational systems; we brought medicine. We introduced sandwiches, and cricket – WE GAVE THEM CRICKET.
What of America? What can they say is their legacy? New York Yankee baseball caps? McDonalds? Fucking Walmart? And that's with their allies – have diabetes pal; take obesity, friend.
There have been few more depressing moments on the road than the day I learned what Agent Orange really is. That dioxin exists at all is disturbing; the pictures of what happened when America weaponised it and dropped it, and napalm, on Vietnamese farmers still make me feel a little unwell.
So Vietnam got mutant children for generations, while Laos, next door, had so many bombs that dropped on it that the combined force outweighed that of Little Boy and Fat Man in Japan (more on that shortly). And in some cases, the bombs were dropped just so the pilots could go back and justifiably ask for more. Another fun fact? Since Nixon's Secret War ended, 10,000 Laotians have been murdered by American land mines.
You'd be tempted to say that little Cambodia actually did get off lightly compared to its neighbours (after all they only dropped more ordnance in six months here than they did in three years in Japan) until you find out that America silently backed Paul Pot's Khmer Rouge rather than have Chinese Communism take hold.
That was then, but the economies of all three countries remain in the shitter.
Closer to home, in Central America, The States interfered with every single nation, installing puppet governments, backing rebel coups who invariably turned out to be fucking mad dictators (Britain, and all colonial powers have been equally guilty of this in Africa on a number of occasions too) and sending in CIA death squads to butcher the locals when things didn't go the way they wanted.
All that without mentioning the Middle East and crazy soldiers scratching scripture into their bullets.
And for what? So America could enjoy a certain type of lifestyle at home. And what a lifestyle it is.
With all of the advantages they could possibly ask for America has developed one of the most gluttonous and wasteful societies in human history. The Romans and Egyptians shat away a fair amount, but that was the moneyed few indulging in excess – here even the most base scumbag can, and does, spew away a fortune in food and fuel. With the possible exception of China, no other country has such jolly disdain for climate change either.
It's little wonder that they couldn't give an recycled fuck for the environment when you look at what they do to their selves. Within seconds of arriving, a foreigner can see that the reports of American greed have not been overstated – in fact they might have been downplayed. Men and women waddle unsteadily from one counter to another on rhino-carcass legs, tubes in their noses, gasping out orders. This miracle of survival is made possible by the sugary pish they have for blood, ripping through arteries like shite in a Victorian sewer.
The other half of society, meanwhile, flex their hard-won bodies, content in their neuroses, believing without doubt that they are God's chosen people in the best society on Earth. So smug and content are they with this status, that when random tragedies like the Japanese Earthquake come along, a handful can reach for their iPhones, admire their Facebook profile picture, and come out with delightful quips like: “Remember Pearl Harbour, bitches! LOL!” Neatly skipping around the fact America already tattooed remembrance into the collective psyches of Nagasaki and Hiroshima in 1945.
When speaking in real life, they are no less vapid. One peculiar American trait is the need to share conversations with the general public. I don't mean exchanging small talk, I mean the forced need to broadcast the garbage direct from their brains, in the desperate hope that a stranger will hear their call and say: “Oh that does sound interesting, tell me more.”
And the thing is, other Americans actually might do that. They might actually pretend to care. The insincerity is as widespread as it is nauseating. Do not wish me an “absolutely wonderful day”. You don't mean it, I know you don't – I certainly couldn't give a rosey red fuck how yours is. Give me my change (which is less than it should be because your tax has just robbed more than advertised) and say nothing. Have some dignity, for fuck's sake.
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| Photo: Wee Mo |
And then there's the Republican Party, who half of the country actually vote for. To me, that'd be like living in a Britain in which half the voting populace gave their X to the BNP, if the BNP were in charge of nukes. Then you get novelty sub-species of mentals, like the Tea Party, who in an ordinary world, would be treated as seriously as the Monster Raving Loony Party. But no, instead, they're nurturing potential presidential candidates.
Of course, they're all religious too. And, like their sports, Americans aren't content to simply worship older established traditions. Instead, they come up with their own, like the Mormons, invented by a convicted con-man and polygamist just 180 years ago. Or like Scientology, which was invented by a science-fiction writer just 50 years ago.
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| Photo: Wee Mo |
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| Photo: Wee Mo |
So because of all this stuff, and more besides, by the time I get off the plane in San Francisco, I'm ready for goddamn war.
But almost as soon as I step onto the runway, I realise that here none of it quite tallies. Or at least if it does, it's miles away from northern California. The people aren't racist, gun-toting maniacs. The food isn't all double-fried bacon and peanut cheesecake. No one talks about the wars – or if they do it's only to convey embarrassment and regret. There's recycling, public transport, and a friendliness that's measured and genuine. San Francisco is smart, and cultured, and diverse like a goddamn Michael Jackson video.
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| Photo: Wee Mo The people are political and savvy and have a bold history of protest against the depraved behaviour of their establishment. They're comfortable with the uniqueness in the country: leave the violence to the South, leave the posers in LA. It's somehow beyond America, international, a world city. There are genuinely excellent restaurants from every corner of the globe – and the wine is fucking good, too. Plus, the entire thing is set beautifully around a colossal bay and the weather is cool, cold even. In fact, San Francisco is one of the most beautiful cities in the world in terms of its natural setting – I'd rate it up there with Edinburgh, La Paz and Cape Town, I really would (Wee Mo adds Vancouver to that list too.)  |
So instead of complaints and cynicism, I feel only my heart thudding in my chest. Try as I might to ignore it, I feel myself falling in love, so I buy a New Yorker, a Vanity Fair, a National Geographic an Atlantic and a Dan Fante novel to celebrate. But that night, rather than read, I find myself imagining a life for us there, working for a local magazine while Wee Mo sells crafts, photos and art on Haight Street, the two of us getting half-cut on wine nightly, trying to ignore what our tax dollars might be spent on.
Damn you San Francisco! Damn your perfection!
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| Photo: Wee Mo |
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| Photo: Wee Mo |