When I told the psychiatrist that I hated my country—that I felt trapped within it—I was giving voice to a thought that had been rising within me for years. I did feel lost and ineffective. My dreams of change appeared vain and fruitless. America was a gear that crushed the vulnerable with its force, but the psychiatrist was right to scold me. From his seat, he saw the country with different eyes. In his America, an immigrant could rise to the rank of physician. This was a place of refuge and opportunity. A grand experiment. The best country on Earth. It had its flaws, many of them severe, but
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