But it seems to me that while my consciousness does include theirs, or could, theirs could never include mine. They may be nobler, more heroic, more generous than I am, but I have more on my mind than they do—probably just what precludes my ever being that virtuous. Despite my admiration for the Vietnamese and my shame over the deeds of my country, I still feel like someone from a “big” culture visiting a “little” culture. My consciousness, reared in that “big” culture, is a creature with many organs, accustomed to being fed by a stream of cultural goods, and infected by irony. While I don’t
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