With the flurry of news from Ferguson dominating headlines globally, it has only become more evident how U.S. American media dominates global narratives. It is hard to say whether this is intentional, as a means of promoting the interests of the United States by hijacking global narratives, or a byproduct of the spread of U.S. media.

But that’s irrelevant. The point is that we non-U.S. Americans know a lot about U.S. politics, perhaps too much, and with that comes the expectation that other non-U.S. Americans will know about the U.S. as well.

I remember when I ran downstairs in the middle of the night to find out more about the Boston Marathon bombings. I was extremely upset by what had happened and was hoping that the terrorists weren’t Muslim or Pakistani. They weren’t.

Still, I was surprised by my reaction. I had never reacted this way because of bombing elsewhere, even those that had happened in my own country. Granted, terrorist attacks occur more frequently in Pakistan. But I’ve never had this sort of reaction to attacks or tragedies in other countries, probably because something about U.S. coverage makes me more sympathetic to the U.S..

We get more news from the United States than anywhere else in the world. With their hundreds of affiliates around the globe, many of whom are dedicated solely to the coverage of U.S. affairs, news outlets like MSNBC and CNN can produce information at a rate that is impossible to compete against.

U.S. media can convey heartwarming or depressing stories about issues affecting the U.S. only and the world tunes in to hear them. No other country's media has this sort of power.

As a consequence, it is easier to talk about issues affecting the United States than about issues affecting other countries. U.S. American issues have become common knowledge, centering any discussion on discrimination, racism and violence within a U.S. American framework. Stories and coverage we hear about the U.S. serve as launching pads for other issues.

I’ve had conversations with people where we started off from discussing protests in Ferguson, U.S.A. and proceeded to discuss issues of violence and ethnic cleansing in Balochistan.

Yet, with each parallel we drew between the two issues, more problems arose in attempting to discuss them separately. While the basic theme at hand was the same, one group in power manipulating a system in order to gain even more power, the issue in Balochistan was much more complex than that simple tagline. And as we continued to make comparisons to the U.S., the Balochi issue ceased to be understood on its own, despite the fact that it was a separate issue with its own history of violence and oppression. It has very little to do with the U.S..

There is also the dangerous temptation to think that people who know little about Ferguson are uniformed or ignorant. I have been asked to discuss Ferguson on many occasions. Sometimes, I have refused to talk about it because I do not understand the history of the city and need to learn more. That means my voice is less relevant to the discussion.

Additionally, in a world saturated by U.S. American headlines, those not from the U.S. may find that others will be less willing to fully and comprehensively understand issues that don't revolve around the U.S., leading to assumptions about these issues that rid them of their complexities and nuances.

It’s important to draw parallels between systems of oppression in order understand how they remain in place. However, when we are forced to discuss U.S. issues for the sake of finding a common ground that starts the discussion, or even for the sake of just seeming well-informed, then we will find ourselves living and speaking within yet another system of oppression.

This is not comparable to the oppression of racism. This does not mean we should stop talking about Ferguson. But we should also talk about the Balochis and drone strikes. We need to make an effort to understand issues outside of the U.S. context.