One of my most memorable visits to the US was a road trip along the west coast: from Seattle to San Diego. There were areas where the restaurants only took cash and locals had never heard an Irish accent. More than once, we were accused of being Australian. But the further south we travelled, the more sophisticated – and better off – people were. We stayed in a hotel in San Francisco with no bar or restaurant, but it had an astrologer on 24-hour standby.
The trip highlighted America’s variety and how, at times, it didn’t feel like one country at all but a mishmash of different ethnicities, religions, educational standards and values.
Most Americans, presumably, would take exception to this depiction. They think of themselves as a nation. Most of them still think of the US as the Greatest Nation on Earth. At least that’s what repeated polls say.
Depending on how you calculate it, the US is still the richest country on the planet and, of course, they have the biggest army
You can jump in with any set of easily found statistics to debunk that notion: on educational standards, literacy, poverty, crime and healthcare, the US is about the same or worse than most other developed countries. Depending on how you calculate it, the US is still the richest country on the planet and, of course, they have the biggest army. When it comes to spending and bombing, they win.
Why do most Americans still believe the US to be the ‘Greatest Nation on Earth’?
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That’s hardly an internationally agreed criteria for greatness. Yet it doesn’t put a dent in America’s fervent need to think of itself as the best. That’s why they keep having polls on the subject; and why many American politicians and public figures insist on its truth. They don’t tend to quote statistics to prove their case, instead preferring lofty-sounding language. America is the best because it has (or aspires to have) opportunity, equality and freedom.
The fact that significant swathes of the world have the same or even greater levels of opportunity, equality and freedom is always ignored. It’s like you are in a social setting and there’s one person who has to one-up everyone else. You have a master’s degree, but they have a doctorate. Someone else just got promoted. They bought a company. Someone purchased a caravan. They got themselves a tank.
I’ll stick my neck out here: most citizens of most countries in the world would feel the same way about their home place
On a diplomatic level, the rest of the world doesn’t tend to point this out. America has more money and more guns, after all. You don’t want to poke the bear. But there is, perhaps, also a level of cultural embarrassment for them. Irish people, for instance, love Ireland. There are many reasons to feel that way. But you’d be hard-pressed to find an Irish person who feels that Ireland is better than all the other countries. Because it’s a nonsense comparison. It’s like saying you have the best trees or elbows. And I’ll stick my neck out here: most citizens of most countries in the world would feel the same way about their home place.
Don’t get me wrong. The US is an extraordinary country. But it’s one of numerous extraordinary countries. Yet the US is unique in wanting to frame this in ultra-competitive terms, as winners and losers. It’s a profound cultural difference that sets it apart from everywhere else.
In fairness, there are many Americans who understand this, and over the last few decades American presidents and other politicians have tended to avoid “we’re the best” language. But the idea has always been there, humming in the background. Children are taught it in school. It’s a regular theme in much of the media.
Under Donald Trump, of course, America is the greatest again. The world is a school playground and America wins all the games. You’d wonder if this childlike depiction of geopolitics helps ordinary Americans, or infantilises them. And you’d also wonder if a time will come when the rest of the planet, tired of the stunts and bragging, might decide to go off and play on their own.
