In my brief experience overseas, I can definitely see the ugly American alive and well. I have spent the last 15 months living in Italy. Not in a dorm room, not at a school, not on a base, but in an apartment in the middle of town. I don’t claim to know everything about the culture, about the people, about the land; for that is far, far from the truth. However, in my 15 months here, the ugly American has met up with me several times.
In every city I have been to there have been Americans who have thrown themselves into the culture, who have worked along side the Italians, who have learned or taught a trade. Their wives cook Italian food, they shop in the Italian markets, and they watch Italian movies. These ugly Americans send their kids to Italian schools and let them go to sleepovers at their Italian friends’ houses. And in 10 or 15 years, these children will also grow up to be ugly Americans.
Of course, the opposite is also true. In every city I have been to there have been Americans who refuse to learn anything about of the culture, they have Italians do the work for them, and they have neither taught nor learned anything about the land they now live in. They only eat food shipped from the states, they avoid the markets at all costs, and they spend all their free time with other Americans doing distinctly American things. And these are the beautiful Americans. Their kids will never step a foot in an Italian school, and they would never go to sleepovers held in an Italian home. And in 10 or 15 years, they too will grow up to be beautiful Americans.
Sadly, this beauty leaves scares. Scares that are hard to heal. Scares that are so deep that they penetrate generations. Scares so long that they reach to the very edges of the country side. The ugly has to continually struggle and scrape its way up to try to fill the gaping holes left by the beauty. What is worse is that no matter how much work is done, there are still some scares will never be healed.