the great american identity crisis.

Jaipur was bombed.

You might have seen the news about it, if you got to it before it was submerged under whatever the latest Britney Spears update is, or some Miley Cyrus crap (who the hell IS MC, even?) or the fact that Angelina Jolie is having twins, or the BREAKING news of the new TACO BELL DISCOUNT MENU (I'm not kidding, by the way; in the waiting room at the doctor's office I honestly saw the new menu emerge as a news story, in which somebody was actually interviewed--I very nearly asked for a glass of arsenic, right then and there).

I saw it because I was on Google News at the right time. As predicted, my mother emailed me a few hours later (I lost my phone) in a panic, wondering what the hell was going on, wasn't Jaipur safe? You said it was safe! You said you wouldn't be kidnapped and placed in a hijab!

I don't know how to feel about it. Bad, obviously. I read the news and felt immediately scandalized. I don't know anybody in Jaipur yet, and I can't claim any personal connection to the city, but I do feel a sort of relationship to it now, after applying to two programs there, and tentatively researching its history and culture and geography. And knowing I'll be living there very soon. So I feel angry, for the 63 people killed and the 200+ injured, who were buying vegetables at a market or praying at a temple. For how futile and harmful and morally degraded terrorism is.

It's weird--terrorism just seems like a cliché most of the time, living here. With Bush standing up at a podium every 20 minutes to tell us how terrorists want to kill our children, with every heavily made-up blonde news anchor asking us, in deadly serious tones, is the world safe for Americans? Most sane people are just sick of it at this point. With perfectly normal-seeming American citizens walking into malls and universities and opening fire, without any motive except personal angst, why be afraid of angry bearded Muslim extremists? Why not be just as afraid of your neighbor?

The thing is though, if you do think about it, if it feels relevant to you in any way, terrorism has the capacity to build up an extraordinary amount of anger. I understand that people are frustrated... that they feel like no one hears them. But killing perfectly innocent people will do nothing, absolutely nothing. It's a futile action that will do nothing but irk the government (not even enrage, I don't think--you have to go after important people for that), and cause innocent people suffering. So... I feel angry. That the people who resort to these methods don't value human life enough to consider whether what they will be getting in response is worth such destruction.

I also feel strange, being an American. I feel strange that the first thing my parents, or any adult, really, wants to know is, will you be safe? Apart from the fact that fearing Jaipur now would be like fearing New York City after 9/11--I really hate this worry. I hate it. Because this situation is not about me. Jaipur is not about my safety, and my safety isn't worth any more than the safety of the 63 people who died, in their own city. Going into that city and expecting my safety to be a priority to the people there, any more than their own safety, is ridiculous. Being American doesn't mean being special. So when I read about terrorists and bombs going off and people dying, I don't want my thought to be a sarcastic: And I'm going there in a month! What great timing!

Being an American, as is probably obvious, is not something I'm particularly proud of. I don't think it's anything to be proud of. Sure, I know plenty of Americans that I feel proud knowing, but it has almost nothing to do with this country. The U.S. is not a particularly progressive country. It isn't necessarily the most ethical country. And most of all, there is a pervasive sort of institutional jingoism that is entirely unparalleled. My mother, when she moved here from Germany, thought it was funny that the flag was printed on shirts and mugs and hung from every building and praised in every classroom. Why? she wondered. What's so special about us that we need to pat ourselves on the back every time get together? And that we need not know anything about the rest of the world?

For years I've been vaguely resentful of my country, but now, knowing I'm going to Jaipur, I feel even stranger. One of the terrorist groups claiming responsibility for the attacks cited India's alliance with America as one of the reasons behind the bombings. I certainly don't think India and America shouldn't be friendly toward each other, but at the same time, I don't think Americans have dealt with the Muslim populations of the Middle East and South Asia--historically or currently--with any degree of grace. I don't feel that I deserve respect as an American. As a person, yes, as an American, no.

But I'm both... how should I convey that?