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and Antonio Gramsci in Italy, Lucien Febvre, Marc Bloch, and the Annals school of history in France, Arnold Toynbee, R. G. Collingwood, and Edward Hallett Carr in England, to cite a few. My exposure to foreign authors was something of a normal occurrence during those years. Very early in my education, I learned to appreciate the profound analysis of these authors and their different perspectives. When I arrived at the University of Texas Austin to study my PhD in political science, I discovered that very few of my professors made references to the work published by social scientists in other countries. Although many of them were familiar with the literature printed in other latitudes, and some of them even spoke other languages besides English, my syllabus was dominated by American authors and very rarely included the work of foreign specialists. Furthermore, I vividly remember that in my first semester in Texas a professor—who, it should be said, did not represent the department’s mainstream—stated: “the best political science in the world is done in the United States.” When I said that was not true, for Giovanni Sartori and Norberto Bobbio are Italians, he responded derogatively, “that is political theory.”

When I returned to Mexico City to work at the Center for Teaching and Research in Economics (CIDE) in the Institute of US Studies, the institution was inundated with young economists and political scientists who studied in the United States and were mainly familiar with American literature in their respective field. I always remember having conversations and debates with Guillermo Trejo, who was a big defender of American political science, who believed, like my professor in Austin, that the only relevant political science was manufactured in the United States, a claim that I found ingenuous. In many parts of the planet, from Sweden to England, from Argentina to India, from China to Denmark, there is relevant work. I also found in CIDE people like Jean Mayer—born and educated in France, who spoke several languages, specialized in Mexican and Russian history, and with a vast knowledge of the work in social sciences around the Western world—and Mauricio Tenorio and Jorge Chabat, who were familiar with authors beyond the confines of Mexico and the United States. Mauricio, Jean and I had long conversations about Mexican parochialism in social sciences, and the need to expand the horizons of Mexican people. Our dialogue crystalized with the creation of Istor, a Mexican journal on international history.

      In 2013, thinking of my own career path and international authors like Octavio Paz, Daniel Cosío Villegas, Umberto Eco, Partha Chatterjee, Claus Offe, Tony Judt, and Amartya Sen who I read frequently, I began work on a syllabus on foreign views on the United States. My syllabus included mainly the work of European, Latin American, and Middle Eastern intellectuals and their view on the United States. In 2014, I taught the course for the first time. To my surprise, my students enjoyed my class fundamentally because the readings and lectures challenged traditional views of the United States, and because the course opened their eyes to other perspectives and opinions. As I prepared each new section of the course, I developed the habit of searching for new literature, constantly reading international newspapers and magazines. When the 2016 US presidential race began to intensify, I started considering the possibility of editing a book on foreign views of the 2016 presidential election, but also one that contained longer-term perspectives on the United States from abroad.

      A book of these characteristics would not be possible without a good network of scholars. Luckily, I have one. I would like to express my deepest gratitude to Peter Trubowitz at the London School of Economics, who connected me with Tao Xie in China, Anna Kronlund in Finland, Jungkun Seo in South Korea. Tao Xie, in turn, put me in touch with Guoxi Zhang, who contributed the chapter on China, but also suggested inviting Professor Hiyoshi to write the chapter on Japan. I am grateful to Alan Knight from Oxford University, who kindly referred me to Clive Webb for the chapter on England. The late Rodolfo de la Garza of Columbia University gave some names in France, who in turn advised me to communicate with Professor de Chantal. Finally, Luis Maira from RIAL in Chile, instructed me to email Guilherme Mello for the chapter on Brazil. Without the help of Trubowitz, Knight, Zahang, and Maira, this book would not exist.

I would like to thank Kelly Styron, the Dean of the Liberal Arts College at Tarleton, and Eric Morrow, the chair of the Department of Social Sciences, for their unconditional support of this project. My appreciation also goes to Laura Isabel Serna, who had the titanic task of editing twelve chapters, nine from non-native English speakers. Cody Holmes and Christopher Langer, my research assistants, helped me in many ways. Barry Price, my former Tarleton colleague, was always sympathetic to this project. Our long conversations of how traveling and reading foreign authors expanded his views on American politics, were formative. He also reviewed and commented on a couple of the chapters. Victor Godinez, one of the most cultured persons I have ever known, have spent hours and hours with me sharing his extensive knowledge on international literature and social sciences and helping me to enlarge my worldview. Finally, my greatest debt goes to Catherine Boone, Peter Trubowitz, and Bruce Kellison, each of whom provided incisive and valuable comments to my introduction. Bruce Kellison graciously read the conclusions, as well.

This has been both the most difficult and enjoyable book on which I have ever worked. I only hope that the reader will find something interesting and gratifying within its pages.

       Introduction

      “Faithful to its origins in its domestic and foreign policy alike, the United States has always ignored the others…. The others do exist…. [But] not only do ‘we others’ make up the majority of human race, but also each marginal society, poor though it may be, represents a unique and precious version of mankind. If the United States is to recover fortitude and lucidity, it must recover itself, and to recover itself it must recover the ‘others’—the outcast of the Western world.”

      —Octavio Paz, “Mexico and the United States,” 1979

In the twenty-first century, the United States has been the subject of intense criticism from people and governments around the world. In 2003, thousands of people openly protested the American invasion of Iraq. In February 2003, 750,000 people took to the streets of London to protest the planned invasion. Similar protests took place in Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Australia, and New Zealand.¹ An estimated 10 to 15 million people marched in more than 600 cities to oppose President George W. Bush’s decision to send American soldiers to topple the regime of Saddam Hussein in Iraq.²

      Prominent European intellectuals vocally criticized the US-led invasion. Prominent German scholar Jurgen Habermas and French philosopher Jacques Derrida publically denounced America’s non-compliance with United Nations resolutions and international law. These intellectuals were overwhelmed by the spectacle of US military preparations they were witnessing, which they called a “morally obscene division.” They write:

Like searchlights, they [US planners] picked out the civilized barbarism of coolly planned death (of how many victims?) and of torments long since totaled up (of how many injured and mutilated, how many thirsty and hungry) of the long-planned destruction (of how many residential districts and hospitals, how many houses, museums and markets). As the war finally began, the Ernestjunger aesthetic of the skyline of nighttime Baghdad illuminated by countless explosions seemed almost harmless.³

Italian thinker Umberto Eco declared that Bush was highly ignorant about Iraq, its people, and its culture.⁴ French philosopher and scholar Regis Debray argued, “Puritan America is hostage to a sacred morality; it regards itself as the predestined repository of God, with a mission to strike down evil. Trusting in Providence, it pursues a politics that is at bottom theological and as old as Pope Gregory VII.”⁵ Spanish intellectual Fernando Savater lamented the “massive aggression against

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