Travel Perspectives: Viewing America from Abroad

Being abroad, especially here in Europe, has given me a different lens through which to see American politics. Distance has a way of doing that. It brings both discomfort and clarity. When you step outside your own country and begin to see it through the eyes of others, especially those not caught up in its daily drama, the noise begins to fall away. Certain truths come into focus, and once seen, they are hard to ignore.

One of the clearest realizations for me has been just how much we, as Americans, have normalized the behavior of our president on the world stage. Even for those of us who strongly oppose him, and find his words and actions offensive, dangerous, or deeply troubling, the sheer volume and frequency of it all has an effect. When something outrageous happens every day, it slowly stops feeling outrageous. It becomes familiar. It fades into the background. That new normality seeps into us, and over time, it dulls our sense of shock and alarm. To me, that numbing may be one of the most troubling aspects of this moment.

Here in Europe, that numbness has not taken hold. Behavior that many Americans have learned to shrug off is still received here as shocking and destabilizing. What feels familiar back home feels jarring and unsettling here. Being here and surrounded by that reaction has forced me to confront how much we have accepted behavior that should never have been treated as normal in the first place.

Right now, two issues in particular have stirred deep alarm across Europe. The first is the conduct of ICE, especially reports involving the deaths of civilians and the subsequent use of language that labels individuals as domestic terrorists. The second is the recurring rhetoric around Greenland and the suggestion, whether implied or stated outright, of taking control of a sovereign nation.

Many Americans dismiss the Greenland issue as bluster. Something to roll your eyes at. Something not meant to be taken seriously. But when a U.S. president speaks, those words carry global weight. Power amplifies language. Here in Europe, such statements are not heard as jokes or exaggeration. They are heard as threats.

Talk of territorial expansion strikes a particularly deep nerve. Europe knows, in lived memory, where that kind of language can lead. Borders here are not abstract concepts. They are lines shaped by war, loss, and devastation. Any suggestion of seizing another nation’s land, even spoken casually, triggers a deep and understandable unease.

Economic threats, including tariffs used as punishment, add to that concern. But it is the language of expansion, of possession, of might overriding sovereignty, that alarms Europeans most. Those echoes are too familiar, and there is little tolerance for anything that resembles them.

Carla and I recently spent two weeks in Italy, on the island of Sicily. Wherever we travel, we try to stay attentive not only to what is happening back home, but also to what is unfolding in the places we are visiting. While Milan was preparing to host the Winter Olympics, news broke that ICE personnel would accompany the U.S. team. That announcement sparked protests in the streets. Many Italians do not want an organization they see as brutal and unjust operating within their country.

And, at the opening ceremonies on Friday night, the message from the crowd was impossible to miss. As the U.S. delegation entered San Siro Stadium, they were greeted not with applause, but with loud boos and whistles from an international crowd of more than 65,000 people. That negative reaction intensified when Vice President JD Vance appeared on the stadium screen during Team USA’s entrance.

It was a striking and very public reminder of how sharply Europe’s view of America has shifted, and how visible that shift has become on the world stage. The Italians feel strongly about this, and I understand their response.

I rarely write about politics on this blog. If you follow me on Facebook, you know I speak more freely there. But this blog is also about travel, and travel is about learning. It is about paying attention. Right now, it feels impossible to separate what is happening in America from what we are experiencing as we move through the world.

What is unfolding in the United States feels different. This moment carries a different weight. Some may argue that a travel writer should stay in their lane and leave politics to others. I see it differently. As citizens who care about the direction and soul of our country, this is our lane. Staying quiet is not neutrality. These issues affect all of us, and they demand more than silent observation. They require our voices.

This is not about political parties or ideology. It is about right and wrong. About justice and injustice. About whether we choose to act with humanity or with cruelty.

In much of Europe, that distinction feels clearer. There is little appetite for “both sides” arguments in the name of balance. No insistence that every position, no matter how extreme, deserves equal footing. In the United States, however, we have developed a habit of treating even the most harmful ideas as legitimate viewpoints in the name of balance. Our media often treats this as fairness. It is not, and in doing so, it has helped normalize behavior that should have been firmly rejected.

When hate, cruelty, and lies are presented as just another viewpoint, the result is not balance. It is irresponsibility. By giving these ideas oxygen and treating them as legitimate options to be debated, the press has helped normalize thinking that is both wrong and dangerous.

Killing citizens and then blaming them. Threatening the sovereignty of another nation because you want what it has. These are not policy debates. They are moral failures. They should be named as such and rejected outright, not discussed as if they are reasonable positions worthy of consideration.

That is how Europe sees it. That is how I see it as well.

These actions are rooted in cruelty and hate, values that are antithetical to any true democracy. We cannot claim moral leadership while tolerating them.

As Carla and I continue traveling through Europe, with several months still ahead of us, we can feel a shift. In the past, Europeans were remarkably good at separating a government from its people. They judged you as an individual, not as a representative of your country’s leadership. We always appreciated that generosity. It made genuine connection possible.

That generosity is fading.

America elected this president twice. Many Europeans now see that as a reflection of who we are and what we are willing to tolerate. They want no part of it.

I feel uneasy now when someone asks where we are from. Imagine that. Feeling embarrassment, even shame, about your country of origin. I do not hate my country. I grieve her. And right now, I struggle to recognize her as a nation guided by decency or compassion. I am not proud of how we are behaving in the world.

When we say we are from the United States, we feel the urge to explain. To make clear that we do not support what our government is doing. That we oppose it. That we are pushing back in the ways available to us. The fact that this explanation feels necessary, right at the start of human connection, is deeply sad.

Carla and I have always seen ourselves as informal ambassadors when we travel. Americans do not always enjoy the best reputation abroad, and we have tried, through kindness and curiosity, to counter that. But this moment is bigger than individual effort. We are now seen as part of a collective, and we are being held accountable for the leadership we chose.

And I understand why.

From the outside, the cruelty, aggression, and self-interest of “America First” are impossible to miss. It no longer sounds like patriotism. It sounds like isolation. Like indifference to our shared fate.

I have said it many times before, and I believe it more deeply now than ever. We are one world. We are one people. Yet our current leadership is actively working against that truth.

So yes, show up. Protest. Vote. Speak out. But perhaps most importantly, be kind. Be humane. Be loving. Because right now, that is not how we are seen.

If that perception is going to change, it will begin with how we choose to show up, and with what we are willing to tolerate. We are judged not only by what we do, but by what we allow, what we excuse, and what we normalize in our name.

The world is still watching, still hoping, still wondering whether America remembers who she is. And I believe repair does not begin with power, flags, or slogans shouted louder. It begins quietly, in how we choose decency, refuse cruelty, and through a renewed willingness to choose one another again.

We are one world. We are one people. And what we do next will tell the world whether we truly believe that or not.