“I Got Life”

A Memory of American Soft Power and What We’ve Lost

I graduated from West Point in 1993, and after saying goodbye to my parents, a few friends and I decided to embark on a grand adventure before reporting to our Officer Basic Training. We spent a bit of time on the Maryland shore, whooping it up and enjoying our newfound freedom while waiting for a military hop to Europe. After a few days, we boarded a transport from Dover Air Force Base and landed in Frankfurt, Germany.

We stepped off the plane with just the clothes on our backs, our camping backpacks, a rail pass, and a whole lot of confidence. We were butter bars with brass balls. We didn’t have much of a plan — a few hostels booked and some sights we wanted to see — but we didn’t need one. Back then, the world felt open to us because we were Americans. We never once stopped to consider our safety. The Cold War was over, and NATO’s umbrella still carried weight. America’s soft power was unquestioned. We felt welcome. We felt secure.

We headed straight east to Prague and Budapest. Since the Berlin Wall had fallen, there was a palpable sense of optimism and celebration in the air. It felt like a victory lap for democracy and freedom. People greeted us as allies and even heroes. Not because we were soldiers, but as Americans and symbols of something good. The American dollar was strong, sure, but it wasn’t just economics — it was gratitude. These were countries shedding the weight of Soviet rule, and they genuinely appreciated the role the U.S. had played in helping them find that freedom.

I’ll never forget what happened one day in Budapest. We found ourselves in a lively part of the city teeming with young people our age hanging out and enjoying the summer afternoon. It was also over 30 years ago and the old gray matter tends to lose the details over time. Additionally, there were many beers consumed throughout the trip, that day included, so I could not tell you more than there was a fountain.

We always tried to interact with locals as much as we could, so we mingled with the crowd. One guy, kind of a Hungarian hippy type, found out we were Americans and immediately broke into the opening line of “I Got Life” from the musical Hair. Without even thinking, I sang the next line. Suddenly we were trading lyrics like we were in the same cast. It was a quirky moment that was funny and memorable, but we were soon onto the next site.

Today, the memory came rushing back as I flipped through channels and saw Hair playing on Pluto TV. And this time, it hit different.

That moment in Budapest wasn’t just a fun story. It was a symbol. Here was a young man who grew up behind the Iron Curtain — and he knew a song from an American protest musical. A song that challenged the establishment. A song that helped end a war. And he associated that song — and everything it represented — with freedom. With America. The fact that I could answer him, lyric for lyric, wasn’t just fun; it was powerful. That was soft power. That was culture. That was America when we still had moral authority.

And now?

Hungary is ruled by an authoritarian strongman. The flame of liberal democracy that once flickered so brightly there has dimmed. And at home, we’re following Orban’s lead with our own descent into tyrrany. We're watching parts of our own country echo the same anti-democratic beats we used to fight against. Our leaders openly praise authoritarians, legislate away rights, and undermine the very systems that once made us admirable abroad.

That’s why this memory lands with sadness for me. That moment — singing “I Got Life” with a stranger in a post-Soviet city — feels like it came from a different timeline. A different America. One where we didn’t just talk the talk of freedom, but walked the walk. A time when we set example. My experience could not happen today, but tomorrow is another story.

We still have a choice.

We can claw our way back to being that beacon — not through force, but through example. Through culture. Through integrity. Through the quiet power of showing up in the world with decency, humor, and hope. We can inspire again. We can remind the world why we mattered.

Or we can let it all go. Let that moment become just a story — a fossil from a time when the world still sang with us.

The world is watching. And history will remember what we do next.