What the Presidential Election means to this American Abroad

Dimanche, 13 novembre.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Wednesday was supposed to be a good day. I was supposed to wake up bright and early to celebrate with Americans abroad as the seemingly inevitable results trickled in. I was supposed to spend the day at an outreach event, speaking to Luxembourgish students about study opportunities in the United States. I would have sneaked glances at my phone, pausing to retweet quotes from Clinton's seemingly inevitable victory speech, to like images whose captions boasted of the work of Nasty Women, and to dash off quick texts to friends abroad with a series of patriotic emojis. It would have been a long day, but it was supposed to have been a great one.

But that didn't happen. Like many Americans abroad, I  slept fitfully on Election Night -- dozing off for 45 minutes before waking up to look at the news and check in with family. I panicked briefly when I woke up to find that my home state of Virginia was proving closer than anticipated and fell back asleep once certain that it had, in fact, stayed blue. When I finally got out of bed at 4:00 a.m., it was with a growing sense of dread that I refreshed Twitter and watched the results come in. An hour later, what I had envisioned as a triumphant celebration felt uncomfortably like a vigil. I sucked down coffee and made small talk, laughing too loudly at feeble jokes while keeping one eye on the CNN screen. Too close to call. Too close to call. Until suddenly, it wasn't.

As an American who has been living outside of the U.S. since the early chapters of this crazy story, I now feel more out of touch with my country than I ever thought possible. When a reporter asked if I had lost friends during the election, I admitted that I couldn't think of a single close friend who had expressed support for Trump. I have since identified a few likely suspects on my Facebook news feed, but the overwhelming majority of the people in my life were, albeit perhaps reluctantly, with her. I doubt that I am alone in this. Whether intentionally or subconsciously, we surround ourselves with those who share our interests, personal beliefs, and political convictions. (Don't believe me? Check out this study from PRRI, which found that white Americans' self-reported social networks are 91% white.) For most Americans, this bubble is briefly punctured -- by yard signs, television commercials, and bumper stickers that force us to acknowledge the exclusivity of our normal interactions. In my case, however, this bubble has only been strengthened by my geographic separation from the States. As an American abroad, the only social contact I have with Americans is my (often virtual) interaction with a select group of friends and family. Even now, I remain baffled by Trump's popularity, as I can find little to no evidence of it in my own social network.

With an indefinite job contract and no immediate plans to leave Belgium, I have received a lot of messages and comments within the past few days from friends, family members, and coworkers about my future. "So I guess this means you'll be Belgium for the next four years, huh?" "Please look for a bigger apartment so I can come live with you." I get it. Trust me, I get it. I have never felt more tempted to raise a particular finger, shout a particular word, and peace out of my country until the next general election. But leaving is not how you affect change, just as quitting is not how you win. In the words of Slate's Will Oremus, "Don't move to Canada ... move to a swing state." Moreover, what these friends may not realize is that while renewing their passports and hopping on a plane may seem like the easiest way to avoid negative consequences of the next four years, being an American abroad under a Donald Trump presidency is going to be hard.

As the token American in many conversations, I am often called upon to defend such trivial things as my country's affinity for fast food, our monolingual culture, and our insistence on mixing peanut butter and jelly at the lunch table. Even when the topic of conversation remains lighthearted, this task is not always fun: one of the darkest days of my year in Luxembourg was the afternoon I spent trying and failing to explain s'mores to my disgusted European housemates.

Americans abroad now face the daunting task of explaining much more than strange food pairings. When asked about the election over the course of the past year, I have done my best to defend my country, promising everyone that the hateful rhetoric spewed by campaign supporters, surrogates, and not infrequently by Trump himself is not representative of the American people. Now, I am faced with irrefutable evidence that it is. This realization feels like a betrayal, and an embarrassing one at that -- like a beleaguered wife realizing the spouse she has publicly defended for years has been keeping people locked up in their basement the whole time. ("Oops! Guess I didn't know him as well as I thought.") And it has already begun. On the morning of the election, one of this year's English Teaching Assistants asked, in tears: "What am I supposed to say to the Syrian refugees in my class?" Another friend texted from France, where she is teaching in a secondary school, to ask how she was supposed to discuss election results with her students when she could hardly process them herself. The following day, when I met a hijab-wearing girl in my hotel in Luxembourg City, I hesitated when telling her where I was from. Would she ask me about the election? About the anti-Muslim policies proposed by the now president-elect? And if she did, what would I say?

And this brings me to what I feel like I need to get off my chest.

One of the most devastating parts of this loss for me was the fact that instead of electing its first female president, our country seems poised to take a giant step backward with regards to gender equality. I do not look forward to the consequences of this election when it comes to reproductive rights, maternity leave, and equal pay and treatment for women. However as a white, heterosexual, Christian, I am aware that I belong to a privileged demographic that is likely to suffer the least over the next several weeks, months, and years. While I feel confused and betrayed by this week's results, I truly cannot begin to imagine the levels of hurt, frustration, and fear being felt by those of a different color, religion, or sexuality.

Over the past few days, I have seen a handful of messages -- even in my little bubble! -- encouraging Democrats to begin the process of healing by remaining respectful of and tolerant toward the opposing side. One viral image touted the "beautiful, inspirational people" who supported candidates on both sides and ended by arguing: "Don't think less of people because some of their beliefs don't align with yours, and don't lose quality people in your life because you chose hate over love." And I'd just like to say ... hold up. I agree that we should respect one another, despite our differences, and I am sure that some otherwise pleasant people cast their votes for Donald Trump on Tuesday. For many of these voters, including those who saw the Republican nominee as the solution to a changing economy that has left their communities behind, I am willing to believe that Trump's inflammatory comments about Mexicans and Muslims were the last thing on their mind as they cast their ballots. But impact is more important than intent. In choosing to support a man whose political campaign was based on messages of hate and intolerance, voters implicitly endorsed his agenda and sent a message to the populations he has marginalized: "I do not care enough about you to vote against a man who has demeaned your humanity and threatened your existence." If that's not choosing hate over love, I don't know what is.

So what am I going to do? For the time being, I'm going to stay in Belgium. (And once I get a bigger apartment, you're welcome to come visit.) I'm going to spend the day in my pajamas and I'm probably going to watch Kate McKinnon on SNL and cry a couple more times. But then I am going to do my best to foster positive change in my country by donating my time and money to organizations that will continue to fight for the rights of women and minorities, no matter who is sitting in the Oval Office. (Want suggestions? This article from Jezebel has a few.) I'm going to let my congressional representatives know how I feel when it comes time for them to vote for or against upcoming legislation. (Want to get in touch? This interview with former staffer Emily Ellsworth explains how to effectively make your feelings known.)

And when it comes time to do this whole Election Day all over again, I'm going to work as hard as I can to ensure that it turns out the way it is supposed to.

Sorry Europe -- You're Not Getting Rid of Me Yet!

Samschdeg, 2 Juli.

I first arrived in Luxembourg a whopping 295 days ago-- bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to jump into nine months of adventures in the Grand Duchy. As the year went on and the prospect of leaving my new international life became all too real, I hemmed and hawed about finding a way to stay in Europe. ("Just find a job here!" my housemates counseled me, blissfully unaware of the challenges that face a non-EU citizen trying to enter the European workforce. Hello, work visa!) However, the plan -- as evidenced by the round-trip KLM tickets I purchased back in August 2015 -- was always to return to the United States and to the Washington, D.C., area after finishing my grant in July.

But you know what they say about plans. Namely, they change.

And so, instead of returning to the United States in July, I will be moving to Brussels (!) to begin a full-time job (!!) as the new Fulbright Program Manager and EducationUSA Adviser with the Fulbright Commission (!!!).

I'm not exaggerating when I say that this has been my dream job since day one. While I am sure that this new experience will come with its own unique set of challenges (not least of which being the continued absence of Target and authentic Mexican food in my life), I could not be more excited. I cannot express how lucky I feel for the opportunity to continue my involvement with Fulbright, to learn more about the field of global education, and to live in a city as beautiful and dynamic as Brussels.

I will be starting work in just under two weeks, which means that I'll be leaving Luxembourg ten months -- to the day! -- after I arrived, way back in September. Although I won't be moving very far away, I know that it will be difficult to say goodbye to this wonderful little country and to the people who have made the past ten months so wonderful. Instead of dwelling too much on our upcoming departure, my friends and I have decided to make the most of our last couple of weeks in Luxembourg by doing all of the things we've intended to do, but somehow never got around to. Stay tuned for nine days of indulgent bucket list fulfillment -- and, more than likely, a handful of weepy blog posts! ;)

Notes from the Classroom: "Hamilton" in Luxembourg

Denschdeg, 7 Juni.

Today, I began my lesson with the 4e students at my lycée by asking them to take a trip back in time to 2009. Seven years ago, President Obama had just been elected, no one had yet heard of swine flu, and I was a fresh-faced student in an AP U.S. History class. We had been studying American history for a semester when a particularly timely video went viral: Lin-Manuel Miranda's performance of "Alexander Hamilton" at the 2009 White House Poetry Jam.

A theatre geek, I knew Miranda from his hit musical In the Heights, a musical to which we were rumored to have secured tickets on an upcoming school trip. (Spoiler: We did not see In the Heights. It's okay. I'm fine.) I don't remember if we watched the video in school, or if it just filtered down to me through the news feeds and wall posts of my classmates. I do, however, remember that Miranda's pop culture approach to history had a big impact on our end-of-year projects. While no one succeeded in creating a hip hop musical, I do vaguely recall a musical version of the life of Teddy Roosevelt...?

Either way, while the video was at once intriguing and inspiring, I eventually forgot all about it. It was only relatively recently, as hype began to build about a new off-Broadway musical, that I even remembered watching the 2009 video. Needless to say, Hamilton has been a runaway success. But although it seems like everyone in America is going ham for Hamilton, the musical is -- to my knowledge -- relatively unknown outside of the United States. But not for long. Enter Elisabeth, Fulbright English Teaching Assistant and fan of musical theatre / alternative historical narratives.

The First Thanksgiving!

Donneschdeg, 26 November.

I imagine that the First Thanksgiving was a stressful time for everyone involved. Sure, it was a celebration of a successful harvest and sure, the Pilgrims were probably delighted to have (barely) survived their first year in the New World ... but I find it hard to believe that they didn't spend most of the holiday fretting that their guests wouldn't like the cooking. ("Dost thee like the gravy? I brought the recipe with me on the Mayflower.") And you just know that the Wampanoag were arguing in the car on the way to the celebration. ("I told you, bringing five deer makes it look like we're trying too hard!")

But as stressful as this very first celebration must have been, it pales in comparison to November 26, 2015 because ... it was my first ever time cooking Thanksgiving dinner!! And, like any wise beginner, I took things slow by signing up to make a full traditional American Thanksgiving dinner for my entire house of international housemates.

 

The stakes were high for my roommates' first ever American Thanksgiving!!

Unfortunately, sacrifices had to be made. Pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce were removed from the menu when the requisite canned goods proved too difficult to acquire. Cornbread stuffing was replaced with a baguette-based side of dressing. And -- as the very thought of cooking an entire turkey in my tiny oven had been causing me to break out into a cold sweat -- the traditional fowl was substituted for two of its less intimidating brethren. (In other words, I bought two rotisserie chickens and called it a day.) We ate on paper plates, drank cheap wine from plastic cups, and cut our food with mismatched silverware.

And at times, things were a little touch and go.

Like when we totally misjudged how long it would take for stuffing and candied yams to finish cooking. Or when my housemates realized that being asked to mash a kilogram of slightly under-cooked potatoes is code for cruel and unusual punishment. Or when I revealed my total lack of spacial awareness and dumped a whole bag of frozen haricots verts into a tiny, tiny pot.

But you know what? It turned out perfectly.

The green beans cooked, and so did the stuffing. The rotisserie chickens were devoured with as much enthusiasm as any turkey and the potatoes, once mashed, were doled out and eaten. Roommates and guests from Italy, Germany, and France discovered a previously-untapped love for stuffing and fascination with candied yams. And even though we ate until we couldn't eat anymore, everyone found a little bit of extra room for apple pie and cookie brownies.

Of course, it wasn't really about the food. (Well, it wasn't *ENTIRELY* about the food.) It was about the fact that I got to spend an important holiday, one that I would usually spend surrounded by family and friends in America, surrounded instead by some of my favorite new friends in Luxembourg.

Wishing you all a very happy Thanksgiving from Luxembourg!

"If I Say America..."

Méindeg, 5 Oktouber.

"If I say America ... what do you think of?" So began the first class of "American Studies I: Ideas and Ideals" -- one of the courses I'm helping to teach at the University of Luxembourg this semester. My supervising professor and I divided the classroom into groups, challenging the students to share what values, cultural icons, and issues came to mind when they thought of the United States of America.

As they finished their lists, representatives from the group made their way up to the front to write their ideas on the board. I could hear a groan as one group realized that "Thanksgiving" was already taken.

I honestly wasn't expecting to be surprised by their responses. After studying abroad in France and speaking with friends and relatives about American stereotypes, I feel like I've heard it all. Still, I found myself surprised by what did -- and didn't -- come up in our conversations.

Among the values or ideals that came to mind? Freedom. Patriotism. The military and the Allied Forces. (I was particularly interested in the inclusion of "the Allied Forces." My supervising professor later mentioned that many Luxembourgers of a certain age consider America beyond repute because of the American soldiers who liberated the country at the end of the Second World War.) The American Dream. A strong national identity. (In a country where the national motto -- "mir wëlle bleiwe wat mir sinn" -- means "we want to remain what we are," this reference to a particularly strong American national identity also surprised me.)

The cultural touchstones proved to more a diverse list, with everything from Hollywood and the fast food industry to the Stars & Stripes and the bald eagle. One of my favorites was the cultural concept of "Republicans vs Democrats." Although I'm accustomed to our historically two-party system, it must seem particularly foreign in a country where no fewer than SIX distinct political parties currently hold seats in the national legislature,