A Letter to America
by Margaret Atwood
The Nation magazine April
This is a difficult letter to write, because
I'm no longer sure who you are. Some of you may be having the
same trouble. I thought I knew you: We'd become well acquainted
over the past 55 years. You were the Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck
comic books I read in the late 1940s. You were the radio shows
-- "Jack Benny," "Our Miss Brooks." You were
the music I sang and danced to: the Andrews Sisters, Ella Fitzgerald,
the Platters, Elvis. You were a ton of fun.
You wrote some of my favorite books. You
created Huckleberry Finn, and Hawkeye, and Beth and Jo in "Little
Women," courageous in their different ways. Later, you were
my beloved Thoreau, father of environmentalism, witness to individual
conscience; and Walt Whitman, singer of the great Republic; and
Emily Dickinson, keeper of the private soul. You were Hammett
and Chandler, heroic walkers of mean streets; even later, you
were the amazing trio, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Faulkner, who
traced the dark labyrinths of your hidden heart. You were Sinclair
Lewis and Arthur Miller, who, with their own American idealism,
went after the sham in you, because they thought you could do
You were Marlon Brando in "On The
Waterfront," you were Humphrey Bogart in "Key Largo,"
you were Lillian Gish in "Night of the Hunter." You
stood up for freedom, honesty and justice; you protected the innocent.
I believed most of that. I think you did, too. It seemed true
at the time.
You put God on the money, though, even
then. You had a way of thinking that the things of Caesar were
the same as the things of God: that gave you self-confidence.
You have always wanted to be a city upon a hill, a light to all
nations, and for a while you were. Give me your tired, your poor,
you sang, and for a while you meant it.
We've always been close, you and us. History,
that old entangler, has twisted us together since the early 17th
century. Some of us used to be you; some of us want to be you;
some of you used to be us. You are not only our neighbors: In
many cases -- mine, for instance -- you are also our blood relations,
our colleagues, and our personal friends. But although we've had
a ringside seat, we've never understood you completely, up here
north of the 49th parallel.
We're like Romanized Gauls -- look like
Romans, dress like Romans, but aren't Romans -- peering over the
wall at the real Romans. What are they doing? Why? What are they
doing now? Why is the haruspex eyeballing the sheep's liver? Why
is the soothsayer wholesaling the Bewares?
Perhaps that's been my difficulty in writing
you this letter: I'm not sure I know what's really going on. Anyway,
you have a huge posse of experienced entrail-sifters who do nothing
but analyze your every vein and lobe. What can I tell you about
yourself that you don't already know?
This might be the reason for my hesitation:
embarrassment, brought on by a becoming modesty. But it is more
likely to be embarrassment of another sort. When my grandmother
-- from a New England background -- was confronted with an unsavory
topic, she would change the subject and gaze out the window. And
that is my own inclination: Mind your own business.
But I'll take the plunge, because your
business is no longer merely your business. To paraphrase Marley's
Ghost, who figured it out too late, mankind is your business.
And vice versa: When the Jolly Green Giant goes on the rampage,
many lesser plants and animals get trampled underfoot. As for
us, you're our biggest trading partner: We know perfectly well
that if you go down the plug-hole, we're going with you. We have
every reason to wish you well.
I won't go into the reasons why I think
your recent Iraqi adventures have been -- taking the long view
-- an ill-advised tactical error. By the time you read this, Baghdad
may or may not look like the craters of the Moon, and many more
sheep entrails will have been examined. Let's talk, then, not
about what you're doing to other people, but about what you're
doing to yourselves.
You're gutting your Constitution. Already
your home can be entered without your knowledge or permission,
you can be snatched away and incarcerated without cause, your
mail can be spied on, your private records searched. Why isn't
this a recipe for widespread business theft, political intimidation,
and fraud? I know you've been told all this is for your own safety
and protection, but think about it for a minute. Anyway, when
did you get so scared? You didn't used to be easily frightened.
You're running up a record level of debt.
Keep spending at this rate and pretty soon you won't be able to
afford any big military adventures. Either that or you'll go the
way of the USSR: lots of tanks, but no air conditioning. That
will make folks very cross. They'll be even crosser when they
can't take a shower because your short-sighted bulldozing of environmental
protections has dirtied most of the water and dried up the rest.
Then things will get hot and dirty indeed.
You're torching the American economy.
How soon before the answer to that will be, not to produce anything
yourselves, but to grab stuff other people produce, at gunboat-diplomacy
prices? Is the world going to consist of a few megarich King Midases,
with the rest being serfs, both inside and outside your country?
Will the biggest business sector in the United States be the prison
system? Let's hope not.
If you proceed much further down the slippery
slope, people around the world will stop admiring the good things
about you. They'll decide that your city upon the hill is a slum
and your democracy is a sham, and therefore you have no business
trying to impose your sullied vision on them. They'll think you've
abandoned the rule of law. They'll think you've fouled your own
The British used to have a myth about
King Arthur. He wasn't dead, but sleeping in a cave, it was said;
in the country's hour of greatest peril, he would return. You,
too, have great spirits of the past you may call upon: men and
women of courage, of conscience, of prescience. Summon them now,
to stand with you, to inspire you, to defend the best in you.
You need them.