Last night I dreamed I was in England and Australia at the same time. Regardless of the geographical and cultural separations that are patently obvious to residents of these lands, my dreaming brain didn’t seem to give a damn. This explains why I was at a pick-up rugby match at an English college, but Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin was patrolling the border of the field asking spectators, “Ahr you protestin’?” Protesting what, I don’t know, but those who were indeed protesting were rewarded with an ice cold Foster’s beer. I could go on about other bizarre aspects of the dream, but for a change, I’ll attempt to get to the point of the article in the first paragraph: American ethnocentricity.

Ethnocentricity is the tendency to focus only on the beliefs and mores of the country or ethnic group to which one belongs. We Americans suffer dreadfully from this myopia. Ethnocentricity is the root of a much dirtier habit – racism. My opinions on full-fledged racism are significantly stronger, so I’ll try to avoid those here and focus instead on unintentional characterizations.

My dream was a typical example. There are recent activities that certainly contributed to the content of the fantasy. I’ve been watching a lot of Animal Planet, and my son recently attended MLS Soccer Camp, which was completely staffed by British footballers. However, the rest of my collective knowledge about these countries comes from two semesters of history class and a whole lot of old-fashioned American ign’ance.

I can’t necessarily fault us for being ignorant. Even with all the resources available to us, it’s still difficult to grasp the reality of another culture without first-hand experience. Not everyone has the opportunity to travel abroad. What bothers me most is that Americans are so cavalier about flaunting this ignorance.

My wife is Jamaican. If you’re an American, particularly a white one like myself, you have been trained to know that she dances around the house to reggae all day, saying “cool runnings, mon” and eating beef patties while trying to get the ganja stench out of her dreadlocks. Welcome to the American media stereotype. Unlike Bill Clinton (waiting to inhale), she’s never even tried pot.

When I was a kid in white suburbia, I was completely unaware of the reality of Jamaican life. There’s still so much to know, but I learn what I can through experience and keep my mouth shut about the rest. Many don’t feel this need to clamp up. Jamaicans are one group that’s still an “acceptable” stereotype in America. People have no problem asking her (without a hint of irony) about Rastafarianism or how to roll a spliff. Sit-coms are full of caricatured Caribbeans. The recent Malibu Rum ads are the only ones I’ve ever seen that even approach an accurate accent. Still, many Americans won’t make the leap and realize that the ad is intentionally funny and that not all islanders are whimsical melon salesmen.

Last year I traveled to South Korea to visit my brother-in-law in the Army. Guess where most of the Americans ate? At a food court on post that featured doughnuts, hamburgers and pizza. I went to a Korean restaurant every day. I can’t speak more than two words of Hangul, the local language, but I made the effort. When I returned, the tunnel vision was much worse. The first comment I got from a co-worker was “It must have been difficult to get around with all of the bicycles.” I explained to this person that my immediate impression of the country was the advanced state of the technology and the impressive modern architecture of the bridges crossing the Seoul River. I went on to describe the infinitely tall skyscrapers, which often featured advertising via flat screen televisions several stories high, like something out of “Blade Runner.”

“Yeah, but the bicycles must have been overwhelming,” he replied. “I’ve seen pictures on CNN.” He refused to accept my description, instead opting for a well-ensconced media portrayal.

I realize that I sound holier than thou (a columnist often does), but my ire is driven by my own personal experience. Like a born-again who chastises his old friends, I was there once.

I grew up in a town with about a 3 percent minority. When I was 15, I was guilty of all the same assumptions. Now that I’ve “crossed over” into a mixed-race marriage, I feel it’s my duty to inform the unenlightened.

I probably do take it too far. I was hesitant to discuss my trip to Korea with a girl I thought to be of Korean descent. I was terrified that she might be Vietnamese or Thai and take offense, a la the mailman in that Seinfeld episode (“why must I know where Chinese restaurant is?”). I also waited a year to ask an Indian colleague for tips on cooking Indian food, choosing to hold out until she mentioned something culinary first. Political correctness is a tricky battle these days.

I believe the only way to survive is to be able to laugh at yourself as well as others. My wife and I constantly nettle each other with jokes about white and black idiosyncrasies, but only as a mockery of existing stereotypes. To poke fun at someone else you must also be willing to be harassed.

Take for instance this direct quote from one of my son’s Yu-Gi-Oh cards, a Japanese game that features dragons and other mystical creatures:

“The ideal group together with Cand, Water, Fire, Wind which will always be the winer.”

I can sarcastically hypothesize that the writer of the card was describing a candy-toting dragon that is eternally stomping grapes at the winery. However, I do so only because I fully expect to be ridiculed in turn by Japanese natives. On a stopover during that same trip to Korea, I assume that people in the Japanese airport were laughing at my futile request for directions to a sushi restaurant (“Can you believe that American guy just asked to launder my crabmeat?”).

I hold the same standard for clowns who snicker every time a Latin American player is interviewed after a Major League Baseball game. I must have heard it a thousand times from ignorant Americans: “Learn to speak English!” If these bigots can’t say that in Spanish, they shouldn’t open their mouths at all. In fact, my guess is that their “English” would be unintelligible in Great Britain, Australia, and probably even in my dream’s, uh…Engstralia.           

I don’t expect us to spend all of our free time studying foreign affairs. I simply ask that before we demean another culture, we have some understanding outside of a U.S.-made cartoon or reality TV show. If Americans keep spreading this ignorance, we will always be the winer and never the winner. Yeah, I guess that means I’m protestin’.

Hey, Crocodile Hunter! Another Foster’s over here!