In the last years of his life, my father and I often talked about
exceptionalism. I could never understand it, but my father (born and
raised in America) told me there was nothing to understand: it was a
myth, and like any myth, required no supporting arguments or evidence to
back it up.
People believed in exceptionalism, and in their minds, this
made it as true as winter or sunshine or the midnight breeze. This made
it possible to rationalize any crime, any atrocity, for the sake of Us
versus Them. And if he were alive today to read about torture in the
United States, my father would be appalled but unsurprised.
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