# Posted 12:20 AM by Ariel David Adesnik  

AMERICA HUMBLED: In the midst of an aggressive American effort to export its democratic ideals, I think it may prove beneficial to empathize with the people of Iraq and Afghanistan by trying to remember those moments in American history when the success of others led to a loss of confidence in our own way of life.

While the the people of Iraq (if not their leaders) have demonsrated an admirable thirst for democracy and human rights, it is never easy for a proud people to admit that foreigners know best, especially in the midst of a foreign occupation. This is not a trait peculiar to Iraqi culture but rather one that Americans share as well. Thus, it may be cultural similarities that are a greater barrier to cooperation in Iraq than cultural differences.

I have begun to appreciate this point more fully over the past ten days thanks to a pair of films that portray Americans in the midst of radical self-doubt. The first is an obscure comedy from the 1980s named Gung Ho. The second is Gone With the Wind, which I had never seen for myself despite its iconic status in the lore of American film.

Gung Ho takes place in a small Pennsylvania town where the close of a local auto factory has led to massive unemployment, the shuttering of countless stores, and a general loss of faith in American industry. In the opening scense of the film, Hunt Stevenson (played by Michael Keaton) travels to Japan in order to persuade the fictional Assan Motor Corporation to invest in the closed factory and bring the town back to life.

When the Assan executive jet arrives at the local airport, the town has assembled on the runaway to meet with hand-lettered signs saying "We Love Japan" and "We Love Assan". The crowd waves miniature Japanese and American flags, while a delegation of local women wear kimonos and the town's children demonstrate their minimal knowledge of karate.

Watching this scene, it was hard not to think of the first moments after the liberation of Iraq, when the celebration of freedom had not yet been marred by the burdens of occupation and reconstruction. The amazing thing, of course, is that the Americans in Gung Ho are not the liberators but the liberated. They welcome the Japanese with a certain reverence reserved for saviors and not for guests. The Japanese are inscrutable, but that only increases their allure because they possess the secret of prosperity.

Even though my memories of the 1980s are hazy at best, I do remember that powerful sense of foreboding that Americans had about the impending superiority of the Japanese. Their wealth seemed unlimited as they began to buy up America. Today we would welcome such investment as an antidote to outsourcing and an excessive dependence on imports. But that is only because we have regained our confidence in the American way of life.

Unsurprisingly, cultural differences lead the Americans in Gung Ho begin to lose patience with the Japanese executives in charge of their factory. In spite of Hollywood's usual passion for political correctness, Gung Ho perpetuates crude stereotypes about the Japanese as authoritarian, cold-hearted and even cruel. In contrast, the greivances of the American factory workers come across as mostly justified, even if their reactions to the Japanese are somewhat intolerant.

When the conflict becomes more than the Japanese can take, they threaten to pull out their investment and go home. Hoping to save the day, labor rep Stevenson (Keaton) persuades the Japanese factory boss to strike a deal: If the Americans can break the one-month production record set by Assan's Japanese workers, then Assan will stay in Pennsylvania. The outcome, of course, is predictable. But what never gets explained is how American workers who weren't productive enough to keep their factory open when it was managed by fellows Americans have suddenly become able to outperform their legendary Japanese counterparts.

In the meantime, the soft-hearted Japanese factory boss begins to embrace his workers' relaxed and individualistic style. Eventually, he stands up to his own boss and demands that the Japanese executive be able to take time off to spend with their pregnant wives and graduating children. Thus, what began as a film about American inferiority ends as a fairly tale about superior American values. Instead of being grappled with, reality disappears.

Now, if Americans in the relatively prosperous 1980s couldn't accept that they actually had what to learn from the Japanese, imagine how hard it must be for Iraqis to accept American tutorials in the midst of an occupation. Now, it would be wrong to suggest that the Ba'athist and Sadrite insurgencies in Iraq are a reflection of cultural differences. In truth, they are a reflection of violent totalitarian ideologies that most Iraqis reject.

Yet I wouldn't be surprised if the everyday business of fixing generators, laying sewage pipes and training security forces suffers from a clash of American and Iraqi egos. In Gung Ho, the cartoon-like rigidity of the Japanese executives prevents them from recognizing that they should compromise with their American workers rather than just demanding that they accept Japanese habits.

Of course, I'm hardly the first one to suggest that cultural differences will complicate our efforts to promote democracy in Iraq. All I hope to add to this debate is the suggestion that cultural similarities may, in fact, cause more trouble than differences. While Iraqis may share our thirst for democracy, they also share our incomparable pride, a trait which make them just as reluctant to learn from us as we were to learn from the Japanese.

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