It was a cold, soggy night after a long day of biking in the fall of 1992 when I rolled into a quiet hostel in the tiny town of Sandspit, on the northern island of New Zealand. That evening, I sat at a dinner table with about twelve young people representing countries from all over the world. It was one of my first experiences sharing a meal with a group that truly reflected the world’s population.

I was the only Canadian at the table, and there was one American. During dinner, a German traveler raised the idea that Americans are, by nature, a violent people. The American at the table immediately became offended and looked to me, expecting that I would agree with him that the comment was unfair.

I said that peace was one of Canada’s hallmark values, and that we simply did not live in fear the way our American cousins seemed to. The discussion continued for about twenty minutes as we ate, with eleven of the people at the table ultimately agreeing that America’s prosperity and culture is rooted in violence and fear.

After dinner, we dispersed to our rooms. I was assigned a bunk across from the American. As we unpacked our bags for the night, my American friend pulled out a literal machete, at least 50cm in length, likely more. I asked him why he was traveling with it. He told me it was for personal protection, despite traveling in what many consider the safest country in the world, Aotearoa.

I thought about what protection I was carrying as a Canadian. Multiple Canadian flags stitched onto my pannier bags and rain jacket. Six hair metal mixtapes I had made before leaving home- each capable of scaring or possibly scarring anyone in Cobain's ‘92 musical landscape.

Watching current events unfold more than thirty years later has only reinforced what that evening suggested to me. The United States is rooted in a fear-based society, where violence underpins much of its thinking.

Elbows up.