In 1944, the Spanish surrealist painter, Salvador Dali captured the essence of the American ascent to global leadership in his sweeping masterwork, “Geopoliticus Child.” In the foreground of a barren gray and sallow landscape a giant egg-shaped globe gives birth to a great, faceless power. The torso of a muscular man emerges from a crack in the globe, his fingers splayed over the British Isles rumpling Europe as he hoists himself from the shell. In true Dali fashion, the southern continents appear to be melting off the globe and Western Europe becomes wrinkled and disproportionately small under the force of the man’s hand. A tear even appears to be slipping from the cheek of western Africa. The East is obscured from the painting; it is on the dark side of the egg. The only interaction we see between the powerful man and the east is the outline of his foot imprinted upon the Pacific. The man emerges from a longitudinal crack in the egg, his torso replacing the North American continent in his struggle for birth. The globe is bleeding from the rift and man’s head has not yet emerged. The story becomes more captivating with the parade of characters observing the birth of the “Geopoliticus Child.” In the background, two figures in antiquated clothing animatedly discuss the scene. A nude woman dances in the rays of a rising sun. However, the two people in the foreground, those witnessing the blood, the damage and the giant rift are by far the most enigmatic. They are an unclothed woman and her tiny son, people that appear to be an amalgam of all the races in the world. She points to the birth, her face turned away in shame as her son cowers behind her legs, his face fixated with awe at the scene before him. While Dali may have been gauging the reaction of a suffering world during the last days of World War II as America emerged as a military and political superpower, “Geopoliticus Child” is still analogous with our nation in this election year. In our constant rebirth of power and position, we widen the global rift between the strong and the weak, maiming smaller nations by the force of our emergence whether militarily or in the marketplace. Is Western Europe rumpled under our grasp as we commandeer the actions of bodies such as NATO and the U.N. Security Council? Would we have our foot in the Pacific if it weren’t for the large pool of easily exploitable labor and natural resources to keep us kitted out in our Nikes? Would tears be falling in Africa if our homogenized foreign policy pitted our self-serving agenda against human suffering in nations such as Angola and Rwanda? Would every woman of the earth look at us in fear and shame? Would her young child be so seduced by the power before him? “Geopoliticus Child” has no face. It is not Al Gore, George W. Bush or any past American president. The power to shape the globe, for better or worse is not our head of state. We are “Geopoliticus Child.” It is not a person, but a people. Not a leader, but a nation. As the “Geopoliticus Child,” will we make democratic decisions to support debt relief, humanitarian aid, nuclear disarmament, environmental protection and humane working conditions? Or will we be so enamored of our own prowess that we ignore those who have paid the price for our prosperity? The anonymity of “Geopoliticus Child” is our redemption and our demise. No one person can emerge to assume global control from our functioning republic. Sadly, our collective power has injured the world, rending the globe in ways that even the world power may have difficulty to repair.