Why I Self-Deported from the US. Part II: Fleeing the Death Star

Why I Self-Deported from the US

Part II:  Fleeing the Death Star

            In the first part of this manifesto I noted that my moving to Oviedo, Spain, had more to do with the joys of living in this small, vibrant, European city than it did with my disgust of the Trump presidency or with the extreme militarism of contemporary America.  But those latter two factors were not entirely absent in my decision to uproot myself and sail across the Atlantic.  In this second part I want to explore those issues in a bit more detail.

As I remarked in Part I, one of the many joys of living in Oviedo is how, at least thrice daily, cute little street-sweeping vehicles go up and down the pedestrianized streets and alleyways of the old city where I live.  So how is Oviedo—a city much less wealthy than most US communities—able to afford its extravagant, almost obsessive, street cleaning? 

At least part of the answer lies in the American “industrial-military complex” Eisenhower warned us about in his presidential farewell speech in 1961.  The United States has plenty of money, but its lobbyist-run government run spends a disproportionate amount of that wealth on the largest military force ever amassed on the planet.  Yes, the US does not lead the rest of the world in the percentage of its GDP spent on the military (that dubious honor goes to Saudi Arabia, with 10% of its 2016 GDP going to military spending, compared to 3.3 % of GDP in the US), nor does the US lead the rest of the world in terms of military spending per capita (in 2015, the US was fourth in this category, with $1,859 being spent on the military per citizen; that year the Saudis, again, led with $6,909 per citizen, followed by Singapore with $2,385 and Israel with $1,882), but the actual (2016) US military budget of  $611,200,000,000 dwarfs what the rest of the world spends on its defense, being more than the (again 2016 figures) military spending of China ($215.7 billion), Russia ($69.2 billion), Saudi Arabia ($63.7 billion), India ($55.9 billion), France ($55.7 billion), the United Kingdom ($48.3 billion), Japan ($46.1 billion), and Germany ($41.1 billion) combined.  The US, with 4.4% of the earth’s population, accounts for 36% of the world’s total defense spending.  Spain, in contrast, spends $14.9 billion on its military—1.2% of its GDP or $320 per capita.

            But it is not just the fact that the US expends 2% more of its GDP, or some $1500 per person, than Spain does on guns and bombs that makes the streets of my Spanish city so clean, nor is it the full story of why I have fled my native country.   My self-exile has more to do with how and why the US spends all of that money on its military.  According to a recent Politico report (David Vine, “Where in the World Is the U.S. Military?” Politico July/August, 2015), the US has some 800 military bases located in 70 foreign countries, in contrast to the 30 countries that have bases from the combined foreign deployments of Russia, France and the UK.  (The recent death of US soldiers in an ambush in Niger has opened some American eyes to the extent of its mostly covert global military reach.) 

The role of the US as the world’s policeman is, of course, nothing new, having been articulated as long ago as Teddy Roosevelt’s 1904 modification of the Monroe Doctrine.  What is new is that, for the past several decades, the US has been the sole global super-power; with a government largely controlled by the military-industrial complex, continual war—often on several fronts—has become the new norm.  Business is the national interest of the United States; and the one of the main business of the US is building and selling bombs. 

The militarism of the US is as much a cultural as it is an economic issue—one that becomes especially clear when viewed from abroad.  Americans are subjected to daily obsequious panderings to the military, with the radio host or airline stewardess asking us to thank the brave men and women in uniform who are serving the country (something never done for our nation’s teachers or nurses or janitors).   American militarism is linked to a national hyper-patriotism, especially evident in sporting events, with their jet fighter fly-bys and the ritualized singing of the National Anthem.  And our traditional Memorial Day events, with be-medaled ex-soldiers marching along in small-town patriotic parades, will now, if the President has his druthers, be trumped by massive national Kremlin-style military cavalcades of our most modern tanks and missiles.

But militarism runs much deeper in American culture than these direct manifestations.  Our television sets and movie theaters abound with tales of our heroic soldiers combating the evil forces that threaten Mom and Apple Pie (e.g. The Brave, Seal Team, or Six; American Sniper, The Wall, or Sand Castle).  First-person shooter video games such as the Call of Duty or Battlefield franchises continue to mesmerize thumb-twitching couch potatoes. 

American militarism is also tied into a negative feedback loop with the nation’s worsening educational and social service systems.  As more and more billions of dollars are spent on the military (and caring for the returning wounded), fewer resources are available to provide underprivileged young Americans with access to high-quality schools or health care.  Increasingly, joining the “volunteer” army is the only option for tens of thousands of high-school students who were not prepared to go to college or enter the workforce.  Underfunding our nation’s educational system thus becomes a hidden source of support for our military.

And now, with its apparently demented leader, it seems to me that the US is increasingly acting like the evil Empire of Star Wars.  [I might parenthetically add that this movie franchise which so fascinates us also has its galaxy far away being in a state of constant warfare, and that while we identify with the heroic underdog Luke and the rebels, they are also killers—a moral ambiguity that is now being explored in the newest incarnation of the series.]  The current US Commander-in-Chief, with a compliant Republican party that is willing to forgo its long-standing opposition to increasing the national debt, is pushing for dramatic, deficit-busting, increases in military spending (up $80 billion this year and $85 billion next year, in contrast to raises of $63 billion and $68 billion in discretionary domestic spending).  In large part thanks to the effectiveness of the nation’s hyper-patriotic propaganda, Trump’s mostly white, mostly under-educated, political base supports this re-allocation of national resources to the military rather than demanding that those resources be spent on the types of human services they so desperately need.

I know that the vast majority of people in the United States—just like the vast majority of people in all of the countries on earth—are decent folk who try their best to live good lives in accordance with their moral values.  My conundrum is what to do when you come to believe that the country in which you were born is being governed by a structure that is fundamentally misguided.  One reaction would be put your head down and try to ignore it.  Another, more noble approach—one taken by many of my friends—would be to stand up, to resist, and try to effect a change.

            And then there is the path that I have elected to take.  Like Finn, the ex-stormtrooper FN-2187 in the new Star Wars, I am in flight from the First Order and its Starkiller Base.  But unlike the heroic Finn, who chose to remain and fight on the side of the Resistance, I am seeking my fortunes in a much more benign Outer Rim.  Like a reverse-pilgrim, I have gone eastward across the Atlantic Ocean to flee a hostile government and its increasingly polarized, angry citizen body.  And, although the streets of my new city may not be paved in gold, they certainly are very clean.