In 2023, I went to the US with a year-long scholarship - the first time I had ever set foot on the American continent. While it was an unforgettable experience, both personally and intellectually, it left a bitter taste. Even as a short-term visitor, I could sense the political, racial, ideological and class tensions simmering close to the surface as the presidential elections of November 2024 were approaching. On my return, as I was sorting through some photos I had taken while visiting various US states, I wrote down this:

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“Emotional hangover from a fantasy, the mourning of a waning desire. What can an Eastern European dream about now, when the lure of America has faded away?”

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For most people, this question might seem naive, given that the consequences of America's wars abroad and its foreign policy concerning many parts of the world have long eclipsed its soft power appeal. But for us Eastern Europeans, it carries a different kind of weight. A long-standing fantasy, cultivated since childhood, seems to have breathed its last breath. As far back as we can remember, we were enthralled by every cultural and material illusion that Hollywood and pop music offered us in the name of America: from suburban dreams of domestic comforts to unrealistic visions of big-time self-made success.

 

Growing up in grey neighbourhoods at the margins of the world as it appeared to us, too poor to see the world as our oyster, we at least had America onto which to project our aspirations of a better life. But what happens when we encounter a dreamed-about place in real life, especially in a country shaped by Trumpian politics? Can it ever live up to our imagination? What traces of our fantasies are still discernible among the harsh facts of the land? What do we bring back? And most importantly, what do we hope for from now on?