As a first-generation immigrant, I’ve always said that it’s difficult to know Americans and not fall in love with them. I know this from personal experience. On my first day at Stanford University in September 1974, my freshman roommate gave her only blanket to a lost, drenched, and freezing foreign student. I still hold a very special place in my heart for her.
Fast-forward almost 30 years, and my job as U.S. assistant secretary of state at the Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs (ECA)...
Want more? Sorry, the full text of this article is only available to subscribers. Subscribe now.
Already a subscriber? Please log in by entering your email address and password into the red login box at the top-right corner of this page.
Need to register for your premium online access, which is included with your paid subscription? Register here.