I’ve often felt the slings and arrows of the British viewpoint of America. Generally, I think they see us as bombastic, surly, aggressive, entitled, boisterous, and obnoxious. Not all of this vision of loveliness is entirely incorrect.
I wanted to hide under the seat of my guided tour (full of Americans) when a largish woman behind me began screaming, “A Bobby! A Bobby!” simply because she’d seen… you guessed it… a Bobby.
I cringed when my friend picked up a 200 year old vase off the shelf of an antique dealer. The dealer’s mind clearly sending me messages, “Get your nasty Yankee hands off my 200 year old vase.”
Everyone knows, you should look at it from a distance.
The British don’t quite get Americans… but that’s ok. We don’t exactly get the Brits either. The British see us as upstarts, nouveau riche, pretenders to the throne of aristocracy with designs against the British Commonwealth. The British gave us Queen Elizabeth and Westminster Abbey. We gave them Michael Jackson and Disney World.
The British act from centuries deep culture, tradition, and bad weather. If they burn people in effigy, there is a reason. If a guy wants to blow a horn at the close of day in the square at Ripon(1), there’s a reason. If a guy bangs a black stick on the doors of Parliament and the door is shut in his face(2), there’s a reason.
We Americans generally have no reason for what we do. Have you ever asked yourself why someone buried a bunch of cadillacs in Amarillo(3)? Or how tailgating parties originated? What about pig calling contests or wienerdog races?
The British have a reason. All we have is a sense of humor. Perhaps that’s the underlying difference.
But wait – there’s also the food barrier!
In the 1980s, my British next door neighbors nearly had a heart attack when I served them tacos for dinner. Where were the knives and forks? Things have changed a bit since then, but I have seen (more than once) a hamburger eaten with knife and fork. It’s only proper, you know!
The heathen Americans will eat just about anything with their hands… pizza, hamburgers, tacos, popcorn… Good Lord, how we are even allowed past British immigration still baffles me.
But then, I watch the British eat pork n’ beans on toast FOR BREAKFAST, and have a similar reaction.
One of my American friends was told by a British child how wonderful the hamburgers were they had for dinner, and asking them what made them taste so good. It’s called MEAT. No fillers. Grilled up and served fresh.
And yet, the British eyed us warily as we fired up our grill one snowy day in winter… go figure.
The British hate our politicians as much or more than they do their own. It is a British past time to hate politicians, and they revel in it. They will discuss politics at the drop of a hat with anyone, anywhere. If you don’t believe me, just catch one of those black cabs and ask the driver what he thinks of Obama.
In return, we get a view of their Parliament in seeming chaos every time video is released of their sessions. Having the podium in Parliament doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ll be heard. Americans would call that rude.
When Representative Joe Wilson yelled at a legislative session that Obama was a liar, he was heavily criticized for his outburst. That wouldn’t have even made news had it happened in Parliament.
Perhaps, the British think we don’t care about politics because we’re not raging at the top of our lungs. Well, some of us aren’t, anyway.
In all, I think British and Americans are more than just two countries divided by a common language. We are like a dysfunctional family… the Americans left the nest and haven’t really been forgiven. I heard a discussion in a pub by two elderly men who were still engaged in World War II:
“Came in too late to the war, they did.”
“Yeah, we had won it by the time they got ‘ere.”
“Surprised they bothered.”
I also got to witness first-hand the repercussions of NOT joining the British in the Faulklands War. Sit-ins, protests, a lot of under-the-breath clucking.
Americans give money, aid, and support so often to world disaster relief and aid in wars that buy no land or accolades for us. Perhaps that intimidates. But, like a child who is always seeking recognition from an aloof parent, the British just see us as bumbling through the world without the enlightenment of British wisdom.
Perhaps one day we will reconcile our love for each other’s cultures and the bonds that link both the British and Americans. Until then, I choose to admire the Queen and Westminster Abbey over buried Cadillacs and Michael Jackson.
1. See Ripon’s Hornblower (http://www.bbc.co.uk/northyorkshire/content/articles/2008/07/10/ripon_hornblower_history_feature.shtml)
2. See Black Rod (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Rod)
3. See Cadillac Ranch (http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/2220)