GEORGE PFROMM
I’m walking through Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam on the last day of January, looking for someplace to get tea. I realize my dark-blue passport is still in my hand. I slide it into my pocket. I’m not embarrassed to be an American. But right now, at this particular moment in history, I am embarrassed for America.
I executed the exact same move—quickly sliding my passport into a pocket, hoping no one would spot it—once before, a long time ago.