'American optimism'
Ellyn C.M. Canfield
Issue date: 1/23/07 Section: Forum
I spent this past weekend in a small Ukrainian village with the family of my translator, Tanya. While at Tanya's home, I was treated with the kind of attention and care that would normally be reserved for a visit by the president, well, a president people like - not G-dub, of course. Anyway. My guidebook says that Ukrainians are known for showing their lavish displays of hospitality to house guests and this weekend did not disappoint me.
From the moment the rattly minibus dropped us off on the pot-holed dirt road, I was welcomed with open arms. Mama Nadya, as I was commanded to call her, plopped me on the couch and spent the next three days feeding me without pause. Homemade pickles, fresh bread, sausage, pasta, potatoes - I'm sorry, did you say this is liver?
Just when I would work up the ability to move again, it was time for the next meal. While I lay around digesting various barn animals, Tanya's dad scrubbed and polished my muddy boots.
These are the things I remember from the weekend - the things that were important. Despite the fact that the standards of living in this village were quite different from American suburbia, I felt comfortable and welcomed.
However, throughout my time there, I felt an underlying embarrassment from my hosts on the state of things in their hometown. Indeed, I have noticed this chagrin in many Ukrainians throughout the past few months. A few examples, perhaps?
Tanya noticed me eyeing a large jar of pickles next to the refrigerator and she explained that this was to hold the broken door closed. "I know it is not like this in America," she said. "In America you just buy a new refrigerator."
In Ukraine it is a faux pas equivalent to coming to class naked and to setting one's belongings on the floor. I have had kids in the class I teach get up from their desks to move my Balenciaga knock-off to a chair. When I asked why this was, I was told quite matter-of-factly, "Our entire country is very dirty."
While walking down a gravel road, post-rainstorm, I was having difficulties dodging potholes and puddles in my heels. My friend Roma noticed my gymnastics and asked, "In America, all streets are clean, yes?"
Moments like this generally leave me awkwardly clearing my throat and trying to explain that we too have dirt and broken refrigerators in "America" (I've long since quit asking whether people are referring to North America, South America, or perhaps Puerto Rico).
All of this prods at my long-shaky sense of patriotism. This is the girl who once stood on a desk in her red-blooded-right-winged private school and declared that to be patriotic was un-American, in a na've but sincere reaction to my classmates' unflinching support of the early war in Iraq.
Needless to say, I have not always been proud to be an American. Far too many innocent lives, from Cherokees to Iraqis, have been lost in the conquest of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. As someone whose classroom time has been spent studying social problems, I cannot be ignorant of the millions hindered by poverty, lack of health care and access to quality education.
But, we have clean streets, yes?
It is true that my friends who bemoan Ukraine's woes have endured a checkered history that has left much of the country in a deteriorated state. The average Ukrainian survives on less that $100 a month and basics such as heat and potable water are difficult to come by for many. And I'm not going to lie - I almost lost a shoe to the mud surrounding my bus stop.
But it's difficult to accept the unchecked praise of my homeland from my Ukrainian peers when I am so painfully aware of my own country's problems.
Despite very different circumstances, I can empathize with Ukrainians in feeling shame and disappointment over the state of one's country. All of us, it seems, stand with dirty hands on bloody soil.
However, it is that very essence of the American spirit in me that I at times detest, which has given me the mindset that I should try to make a difference anyway. While I regret the United States' mistakes, I am grateful to be from a country that has raised me to believe that nothing is impossible.
It is pure American optimism that has propelled me to the orphanages of eastern Europe, and will one day, I hope, lead me to impact change in the U.S.
And I think, for me, this is patriotism at its best. None of us, no matter what country is embossed on our passport, can be ignorant of the faults of our nation. However, it is our nations that have shaped us, and we must take what we have learned and try to make things a little better for everyone.
---
Ellyn C.M. Canfield is a senior in human development and family sciences. She is currently interning in Uzghorod, Ukraine. The opinions expressed in her columns, which appear every Tuesday, do not necessarily represent those of The Daily Barometer staff. Canfield can be reached at forum@dailybarometer.com.
From the moment the rattly minibus dropped us off on the pot-holed dirt road, I was welcomed with open arms. Mama Nadya, as I was commanded to call her, plopped me on the couch and spent the next three days feeding me without pause. Homemade pickles, fresh bread, sausage, pasta, potatoes - I'm sorry, did you say this is liver?
Just when I would work up the ability to move again, it was time for the next meal. While I lay around digesting various barn animals, Tanya's dad scrubbed and polished my muddy boots.
These are the things I remember from the weekend - the things that were important. Despite the fact that the standards of living in this village were quite different from American suburbia, I felt comfortable and welcomed.
However, throughout my time there, I felt an underlying embarrassment from my hosts on the state of things in their hometown. Indeed, I have noticed this chagrin in many Ukrainians throughout the past few months. A few examples, perhaps?
Tanya noticed me eyeing a large jar of pickles next to the refrigerator and she explained that this was to hold the broken door closed. "I know it is not like this in America," she said. "In America you just buy a new refrigerator."
In Ukraine it is a faux pas equivalent to coming to class naked and to setting one's belongings on the floor. I have had kids in the class I teach get up from their desks to move my Balenciaga knock-off to a chair. When I asked why this was, I was told quite matter-of-factly, "Our entire country is very dirty."
While walking down a gravel road, post-rainstorm, I was having difficulties dodging potholes and puddles in my heels. My friend Roma noticed my gymnastics and asked, "In America, all streets are clean, yes?"
Moments like this generally leave me awkwardly clearing my throat and trying to explain that we too have dirt and broken refrigerators in "America" (I've long since quit asking whether people are referring to North America, South America, or perhaps Puerto Rico).
All of this prods at my long-shaky sense of patriotism. This is the girl who once stood on a desk in her red-blooded-right-winged private school and declared that to be patriotic was un-American, in a na've but sincere reaction to my classmates' unflinching support of the early war in Iraq.
Needless to say, I have not always been proud to be an American. Far too many innocent lives, from Cherokees to Iraqis, have been lost in the conquest of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. As someone whose classroom time has been spent studying social problems, I cannot be ignorant of the millions hindered by poverty, lack of health care and access to quality education.
But, we have clean streets, yes?
It is true that my friends who bemoan Ukraine's woes have endured a checkered history that has left much of the country in a deteriorated state. The average Ukrainian survives on less that $100 a month and basics such as heat and potable water are difficult to come by for many. And I'm not going to lie - I almost lost a shoe to the mud surrounding my bus stop.
But it's difficult to accept the unchecked praise of my homeland from my Ukrainian peers when I am so painfully aware of my own country's problems.
Despite very different circumstances, I can empathize with Ukrainians in feeling shame and disappointment over the state of one's country. All of us, it seems, stand with dirty hands on bloody soil.
However, it is that very essence of the American spirit in me that I at times detest, which has given me the mindset that I should try to make a difference anyway. While I regret the United States' mistakes, I am grateful to be from a country that has raised me to believe that nothing is impossible.
It is pure American optimism that has propelled me to the orphanages of eastern Europe, and will one day, I hope, lead me to impact change in the U.S.
And I think, for me, this is patriotism at its best. None of us, no matter what country is embossed on our passport, can be ignorant of the faults of our nation. However, it is our nations that have shaped us, and we must take what we have learned and try to make things a little better for everyone.
Ellyn C.M. Canfield is a senior in human development and family sciences. She is currently interning in Uzghorod, Ukraine. The opinions expressed in her columns, which appear every Tuesday, do not necessarily represent those of The Daily Barometer staff. Canfield can be reached at forum@dailybarometer.com.
Note: writers will not reply to comments.
Be the first to comment on this story
Comments by registered users are approved by default.