reckoning with the myth of american exceptionalism
On Tyranny - Lesson 16
This essay is part of a 20-day project inspired by On Tyranny by Timothy Snyder.
Sharing is an undertaking that teaches us that we can trust people beyond our narrow circle of friends and family, and helps us to recognize authorities from whom we can learn.
- Timothy Snyder | On Tyranny | Lesson 16
The myth of American exceptionalism has long shielded many in the United States from recognizing that we are not immune to the forces of history. I remember walking through the National Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. during 47’s first term, stopping at an exhibit titled The U.S. and the Holocaust. Reading the headlines, policies, and rhetoric from the 1930s and 1940s felt like staring into a dark mirror of our present. It was chilling to see how the slogans and exclusionary policies from nearly a century before paralleled what we were living through in 2017 and 2018.
Yet, this time feels worse—more brazen and accelerated, with institutional guardrails eroding faster than before. The refrain of “America First” that dominated then has returned, emboldened and more dangerous. Many Americans fail to grasp, or choose to ignore, the global consequences of such nationalism.
“Make America Great Again” and “America First” aren’t just slogans; they’re a worldview rooted in isolationism, white supremacy, and historical amnesia. In an era where air travel and social media have collapsed distances and interconnected our destinies, clinging to this notion isn’t just reckless—it’s unrealistic.
The reality s we’re deeply entwined with the rest of the world. From climate change to economic instability to mass displacement, the crises we face are borderless. You can now tour the Louvre from your sofa, watch uprisings unfold in real time on your phone, or witness a typhoon devastating a coastal village oceans away. We can’t pretend that what happens "over there" doesn't reverberate "over here" and vice versa.
My years spent traveling and working with displaced communities around the world have fundamentally shaped my understanding of our shared humanity. Sitting with refugees in camps, listening to their stories of unimaginable loss and resilience, stripped away the caricatures so often perpetuated in the media and politics. Let’s be clear—most people don’t flee their homes lightly or under false pretenses. They risk everything—often enduring harrowing and deadly journeys—because they’re trying to save their families and secure a safer, more dignified future for their children. Isn’t that what many Americans are claiming they want for their kids too?
If every person in the U.S. were required to spend even a short time volunteering in a refugee camp or engaging deeply with another culture, imagine how much harder it would be to sustain the illusion of "us versus them." It’s a lot easier to dehumanize what you don’t know. But proximity breeds empathy, and empathy has the power to dismantle the narratives that fuel exclusion, xenophobia, and nationalism.
As cliché as it sounds, the truth is we really do have more that unites us than divides us. But that realization demands a reckoning—with our assumptions, with our complicity, and with the myth that America stands apart from the rest of the world.
We are not exempt from history. We are not above it. The belief in American exceptionalism falters when confronted with the truth: we are just one part of a vast, interdependent human story. And the longer we resist this truth, the more harm we do—to ourselves and to the world we are bound to.
check out other essays in this series . . .
