We talk about the importance of education. In the US, education is the ticket out of poverty. I picked up a book once about three men living in the ghetto of some US city, and in high school they made a pact that they would be doctors one day. And they stuck to it. Boom – from the ghetto to a doctor’s salary. They were able to leave danger and frustration, and now have the spiritual wealth caring for people offers and the stability, enjoyment, and ease financial wealth offers.
Tho it must be noted that despite the hope this arouses, these gentlemen are exceptions. We talk often in the States of the “cycle of poverty” – you’re trapped, you can’t get out.
Here in Cote d’Ivoire, the “cycle of poverty” seems alive and well. People with university degrees are on the side of the road selling phone calls from their personal cell phones (which are actually commonly used here). They sit there in their little “cabine appel” (“appel” means “call” in French), and if you run out of credit on your cell phone, you pay 100 CFA (about 25 US cents, though that 25 cents goes a lot farther here), you approach one of these guys and make a call. So they went to university to do that? There aren’t jobs here. There aren’t possibilities, there aren’t opportunities.
In Paul Collier’s The Bottom Billion, the author talks about four “poverty traps” that keep the poorest countries (most of which are in Africa) so very poor. Their economic growth is so minimal, you have to ask what difference it’s really making. In the book, he talks about chutes and ladders. Chutes make it impossible to move up; ladders obviously provide the scaffolding one needs to make progress.
The chutes make ceilings – you are limited, you can only get so far. No matter how much you work, how much you try, you just can’t move up. Obviously slavery, Jim Crow, the menacing of the KKK, segregation, denial of the right to vote, denial of the right to own land, etc were chutes for the black community in the US.
Often, living with ceilings for so long causes what I have heard called a “mentality of oppression.” There is a point when folks are so broken down and used to a lack of progress, that it becomes internalized. My colleague in the Teacher Training College is one of the most hard working people here and certainly a good friend. Yet, I become frustrated with him. He says, “Ideally we’d like 3 or 4 computers here, and we can run a cyber café.” So I run around and find a way to purchase second hand computers, and he says immediately, “Yeah but they’re crappy ones.” I thought, “Can’t we at least give this a try?? Or maybe if we talk to the second hand computer folks, they can refer us to someone else who could give us what we want. Why are you so negative about this?? You’re killing it before it started!”
I also want to highlight that these chutes still exist for the black community in the States. An Ethiopian friend grew up in the States and was advised by her teacher not to take AP classes during high school, because they’d be “too much.” Her dad, who thank God had not internalized that her potential was limited, pushed for his daughter to take them. She did. And she did well. This begs the question, how many teachers, who do have good intentions and don’t even realize it, counsel black students to take the less challenging classes? And how many black folks, because of this internalized idea of “I can only achieve so much,” don’t push to go further?
The “chutes” are physical and psychological. How many times do we doubt ourselves so much that we kill our objective before even trying? I have 4 months left to make an impact here – I dream up starting a women’s group, working with a group of high school students to mobilize them so they can fight positively for what they want, and even working with the director here to develop a strategic plan. But I’m obsessed with how ineffective I’ll be, how I’ll fail, so I keep pushing them off. Like my colleague, I’m killing it before I even started.
Back to the physical chutes, this is a huge problem in Cote d’Ivoire. Why work hard for an education when there’s no gain from your effort? No, not everyone with a degree is selling phone calls on the side of the street. But it seems like the only opportunity here to gain some kind of comfortable living is to have a state-funded job – a government official, a policeman or policewoman, a teacher, etc or to work for a Lebanese-owned or French-owned company. I don’t know if an increase in individual entrepreneurship here could give Ivoirians more opportunities – perhaps it could. But folks don’t have the capital to start the businesses. And furthermore, culturally, I don’t see Ivoirians as entrepreneurs. They have the French socialist mentality, “The state takes care of everything,” which thwarts motivation to take initiative and be innovative and creative. It seems the tribes functioned in a very communal manner (again, a socialist state), and starting a business is a very individual initiative.
Though it must be noted that wealth is not the answer. Wealth is important to be able to live comfortable. Here, I see wealthier families who live in strife, while less wealthy families live with care, respect, and support for each other – and thus in peace. In the States, the very wealthy who wanted more have caused much destruction to many people. It’s just that Ivoirians need to have enough opportunities to not be forced to sit by the side of the street and sell phone calls for 25 cents a pop.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
On moving up or being stuck.
How do Ivoirians know they’re "poor?" It’s the same question of Adam and Eve – how did they know they were naked? It was suddenly revealed to them from an external source. We can’t wish for what we can’t have if we don’t know it’s there. People here talk a lot about how they are a poor country. How they’re “en retard” (behind). They are frustrated with the state of their country. But the United States was in this same place back 100, 150 years. People were hitching up wagons to – about 2000 miles (3200 kilometers) to what was then “the Oregon country.” It wasn’t because something was wrong with us, it wasn’t because we messed up – it’s just where our own development was at the time. We haven’t landed on Mars yet, simply because we just haven’t gotten there.
Doesn’t it happen, on an individual level, that we beat ourselves up for seeing something in someone else that we don’t possess? I’m not talking about material things; I’m talking on more of a “personhood” level. We ask ourselves: “Why am I a such a disorganized mess?” (insert thought of someone who’s organized here), “Why do I babble on like an inarticulate fool while so-and-so speaks so well?” or “Why am I not as effective at work as my colleague down the hall?“ We compare. And comparing is so dangerous. Because instead of being supportive and encouraging and loving to ourselves, so that we can achieve the next step in becoming more organized, a better speaker, or more effective at work, we put ourselves down. We beat ourselves up. We blame ourselves for not being “enough” and then we begin to think we’re shit. Something is wrong with us. Then, the destructive behavior starts. Why do addictions persist? Because people are so busy menacing themselves with how horrible they are and how they deserve nothing that they don’t love themselves enough to make the changes they want to see in their lives.
This is at least in part what I see here. Ivoirians seem to think negatively of themselves – They’re not the United States. They are less. And that’s just not fair. Just now, in the midst of writing this, I was chatting with a colleague who works at the local Ministry of Education, and he said, “But you’re more honest than us.” You, the Americans. Us, the Ivoirians. "Hell no!" I told him. "People are people, and there's plenty of dishonest people in the States." I think to myself, with a negative self-perception like that, how is this place ever going to have the spirit to make the changes they want to make?
Because of the American personality -we want more and bigger and the next best thing- there was a lot of natural motivation for invention. So the US produced electricity, human flight, the telephone, washing machines. And the list goes on. But because Americans produced this stuff, which is useful to the world-over, does that mean Ivoirians are crap? This moves on to a whole other question – are we valuable because of who we are, innately, as human beings, just for being living and breathing spirits? Or do we base our value on what we produce, what we do? Am I more valuable or better than someone because I was a pretty damn good field hockey player when I was 13 or because I entered college with a semester’s worth of college credit from college courses I took while in high school? Are you annoyed at me because I said that, asking what’s with the unnecessary bragging, the “personal plug?” Because if I read that, I would be. And that’s my point. That stuff, it means nothing. It’s stuff I did, but it’s not who I am. It’s not who my spirit is. And I’d like to see Ivoirians –and the rest of us- to give ourselves a little more compassion, a little more nurturing. We are able to achieve what we want through nurturing and pushing ourselves, not through thinking badly of ourselves. That only keeps us stuck where we are. Côte d’Ivoire, appreciate who you are, give yourself a little encouragement, and you can move.
Doesn’t it happen, on an individual level, that we beat ourselves up for seeing something in someone else that we don’t possess? I’m not talking about material things; I’m talking on more of a “personhood” level. We ask ourselves: “Why am I a such a disorganized mess?” (insert thought of someone who’s organized here), “Why do I babble on like an inarticulate fool while so-and-so speaks so well?” or “Why am I not as effective at work as my colleague down the hall?“ We compare. And comparing is so dangerous. Because instead of being supportive and encouraging and loving to ourselves, so that we can achieve the next step in becoming more organized, a better speaker, or more effective at work, we put ourselves down. We beat ourselves up. We blame ourselves for not being “enough” and then we begin to think we’re shit. Something is wrong with us. Then, the destructive behavior starts. Why do addictions persist? Because people are so busy menacing themselves with how horrible they are and how they deserve nothing that they don’t love themselves enough to make the changes they want to see in their lives.
This is at least in part what I see here. Ivoirians seem to think negatively of themselves – They’re not the United States. They are less. And that’s just not fair. Just now, in the midst of writing this, I was chatting with a colleague who works at the local Ministry of Education, and he said, “But you’re more honest than us.” You, the Americans. Us, the Ivoirians. "Hell no!" I told him. "People are people, and there's plenty of dishonest people in the States." I think to myself, with a negative self-perception like that, how is this place ever going to have the spirit to make the changes they want to make?
Because of the American personality -we want more and bigger and the next best thing- there was a lot of natural motivation for invention. So the US produced electricity, human flight, the telephone, washing machines. And the list goes on. But because Americans produced this stuff, which is useful to the world-over, does that mean Ivoirians are crap? This moves on to a whole other question – are we valuable because of who we are, innately, as human beings, just for being living and breathing spirits? Or do we base our value on what we produce, what we do? Am I more valuable or better than someone because I was a pretty damn good field hockey player when I was 13 or because I entered college with a semester’s worth of college credit from college courses I took while in high school? Are you annoyed at me because I said that, asking what’s with the unnecessary bragging, the “personal plug?” Because if I read that, I would be. And that’s my point. That stuff, it means nothing. It’s stuff I did, but it’s not who I am. It’s not who my spirit is. And I’d like to see Ivoirians –and the rest of us- to give ourselves a little more compassion, a little more nurturing. We are able to achieve what we want through nurturing and pushing ourselves, not through thinking badly of ourselves. That only keeps us stuck where we are. Côte d’Ivoire, appreciate who you are, give yourself a little encouragement, and you can move.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
On cultural values.
Recently I’ve found myself getting more and more frustrated, discouraged, worried, and sad about the state of Côte d’Ivoire and the possibility of having strong infrastructure, education, health services, etc here. Teachers aren’t paid on time, often for months. There aren’t enough teachers. If there’s not an English teacher, or even a month teacher, high school students just don’t get that subject that year. There aren’t enough classrooms. High school students and teachers don’t have toilets that work. (They are disgusting, let me tell you.) There are holes in the walls between classrooms, and the classes themselves are very large, maybe 50 students in a class. “What is this?” I ask myself. A lack of funds due low tax revenue, because many people live day-to-day? Wasteful spending? Habits that don’t lend themselves to improving the situation? Really, all play their part. And I should add that, contrary to popular opinion here in Côte d’Ivoire, we have the same problems in poor neighborhoods in the States. Jonothan Kozol does a great job of painting the picture of poverty and the resulting (lack of) education in America in his book Savage Inequalities.
I feel like I do see things here that people can improve upon, but they don’t. If funds were better spent by the local and national government, could we see better services for Ivoirians? Why are there five librarians in the library where I work, and the bookshelves and books are still covered with dust? Why do a couple librarians show up to work when they want, and this is tolerated? Even when the librarians are at the library, they hang out and chat. And I ask myself, “Isn’t there work to be done?? Aren’t there many things to be improved upon?? Why are we just hanging around?? And if we don’t need five librarians, isn’t a position cut and those funds used to improve the library?”
However very recently I began to look at the slow pace of “development” in Côte d’Ivoire in a different way. I was flipping through a book of art of the Sefou, a people from what is now northern Cote d’Ivoire. The art tells a lot about the people: there were masks for dances, statues of pregnant women, headdresses for initiation ceremonies. It appears to me that they are a very spiritual people; what the art painted for me was a beautiful, rich culture. Then I began thinking. Different cultures have different values. Would we expect the Native Americans of long ago to succeed quickly in the world of Western business and modernization? It’s just not who the people seem to be. Their values are not productivity, creating the latest technology, and pushing the limit.
Looking at the history of the States, we have always been a people who are serious about pushing and fighting to get what we want, and to get more of it. People were frustrated that they couldn’t live as they wanted to, so they took a hellacious voyage to an unknown land and settled there. Then we said to the British, “We feel like you’re controlling us too much, and it’s annoying. We’ve had enough.” So a slightly ragtag militia launched a war against the military of a world power – and we won. Then there’s the Oregon Trail, the Gold Rush, and the idea of Manifest Destiny. Slavery was an effort to maximize profits. Even marginalized groups like women and blacks carry the mentality and launched fantastic and impressive movements to demand their rights. It’s like we don’t stop at anything to have what we want. Our mentality is the bigger the better; we want more, more, more. We deserve it all. And to get it, we push and fight and sacrifice, and push and fight and sacrifice some more.
It’s social Darwinism, in a way. The world leaders are those who carry certain values. Even the French lost their status as a world power after World War II, and from what I saw during my time there, they value the enjoyment of life, for example in terms of food, vacation time, or an afternoon spent at a café. They are not a culture who do the “push and fight and sacrifice.”
As I looked at the pictures and read about the meaning behind the various pieces of art, I became sad again. And I thought to myself, “You’re getting so angry and so frustrated with Ivoirians… You expect them to have the same mentality as you. We’re asking a culture that lived off the land for all their needs and had what we would call ‘tribal practices,’ (dances, initiation rites, etc) to adopt totally new values, to change their way of life.”
This morning I went to buy a little bag of attieke (dried cassava root - It looks like couscous) from a local vendor on a little dirt path near my apt. I had this moment of seeing Africa at its beauty - women cooking, children playing with each other and not with toys, a man sawing a piece of wood. Then I went to the Teacher Training College where I work, where we push paper, have meetings, and make schedules. I wish that this place wasn't colonized - that Côte d'Ivoire is a country wherein the women cook and the children play and the people are self-sufficient with what they grow from the land. I'm talking in ideals, but it just seems like the simple beauty of this place and its people and their way of life is slowly being replaced with our modern focus on business deals and having the newest and greatest and best next thing. I'm trying now to appreciate the simple moments here, the real beauty of what this place is: sitting with my colleague's 2 year old son by the fire as dinner cooks, sitting with another colleague's niece as the sun sets, chatting with my neighbors who sell fruit and food on the side of the little path near our house. Despite my worry about this country, I feel a certain peace when I take a moment to take in its physical beauty and the spirit of its people.
I feel like I do see things here that people can improve upon, but they don’t. If funds were better spent by the local and national government, could we see better services for Ivoirians? Why are there five librarians in the library where I work, and the bookshelves and books are still covered with dust? Why do a couple librarians show up to work when they want, and this is tolerated? Even when the librarians are at the library, they hang out and chat. And I ask myself, “Isn’t there work to be done?? Aren’t there many things to be improved upon?? Why are we just hanging around?? And if we don’t need five librarians, isn’t a position cut and those funds used to improve the library?”
However very recently I began to look at the slow pace of “development” in Côte d’Ivoire in a different way. I was flipping through a book of art of the Sefou, a people from what is now northern Cote d’Ivoire. The art tells a lot about the people: there were masks for dances, statues of pregnant women, headdresses for initiation ceremonies. It appears to me that they are a very spiritual people; what the art painted for me was a beautiful, rich culture. Then I began thinking. Different cultures have different values. Would we expect the Native Americans of long ago to succeed quickly in the world of Western business and modernization? It’s just not who the people seem to be. Their values are not productivity, creating the latest technology, and pushing the limit.
Looking at the history of the States, we have always been a people who are serious about pushing and fighting to get what we want, and to get more of it. People were frustrated that they couldn’t live as they wanted to, so they took a hellacious voyage to an unknown land and settled there. Then we said to the British, “We feel like you’re controlling us too much, and it’s annoying. We’ve had enough.” So a slightly ragtag militia launched a war against the military of a world power – and we won. Then there’s the Oregon Trail, the Gold Rush, and the idea of Manifest Destiny. Slavery was an effort to maximize profits. Even marginalized groups like women and blacks carry the mentality and launched fantastic and impressive movements to demand their rights. It’s like we don’t stop at anything to have what we want. Our mentality is the bigger the better; we want more, more, more. We deserve it all. And to get it, we push and fight and sacrifice, and push and fight and sacrifice some more.
It’s social Darwinism, in a way. The world leaders are those who carry certain values. Even the French lost their status as a world power after World War II, and from what I saw during my time there, they value the enjoyment of life, for example in terms of food, vacation time, or an afternoon spent at a café. They are not a culture who do the “push and fight and sacrifice.”
As I looked at the pictures and read about the meaning behind the various pieces of art, I became sad again. And I thought to myself, “You’re getting so angry and so frustrated with Ivoirians… You expect them to have the same mentality as you. We’re asking a culture that lived off the land for all their needs and had what we would call ‘tribal practices,’ (dances, initiation rites, etc) to adopt totally new values, to change their way of life.”
This morning I went to buy a little bag of attieke (dried cassava root - It looks like couscous) from a local vendor on a little dirt path near my apt. I had this moment of seeing Africa at its beauty - women cooking, children playing with each other and not with toys, a man sawing a piece of wood. Then I went to the Teacher Training College where I work, where we push paper, have meetings, and make schedules. I wish that this place wasn't colonized - that Côte d'Ivoire is a country wherein the women cook and the children play and the people are self-sufficient with what they grow from the land. I'm talking in ideals, but it just seems like the simple beauty of this place and its people and their way of life is slowly being replaced with our modern focus on business deals and having the newest and greatest and best next thing. I'm trying now to appreciate the simple moments here, the real beauty of what this place is: sitting with my colleague's 2 year old son by the fire as dinner cooks, sitting with another colleague's niece as the sun sets, chatting with my neighbors who sell fruit and food on the side of the little path near our house. Despite my worry about this country, I feel a certain peace when I take a moment to take in its physical beauty and the spirit of its people.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
On what we give each other.
I was in Abidjan, Cote d'Ivoire's capital, a few weeks ago, and I saw men with suits and ties. Cars sped home, their headlights whizzing by, one after the other under street lamps. These things I don't see in Daloa, the city I live in. I watched all this and pretended I was in Marseille and DC and Bryn Mawr, just to feel something familiar. And I felt relieved. I told myself, “Ahh, this is good. Abidjan is the biggest city and the capital of Cote d’Ivoire, and it always happens that things begin in one place and spread out. In time, Daloa will have these same things.”
Then I stopped myself. Is modernization what we should be striving for? Does living in what we call “a developed world” make us happy? I know this is a theme that’s been running through my blogs. I’m not saying that the answer to the world’s problems is to live in a village in Africa without electricity or running water. But I’m also saying the answer is not what we call “development” either – bringing the Third World out of “poverty”. I’m currently reading Sidney Poitier’s Measure of a Man, and he speaks beautifully of his childhood living in “poverty” in the “Third World” on an island in the Bahamas:
“Our cultural ‘authenticity’ extended to having neither plumbing nor electricity, and we didn’t have much in the way of schooling or jobs, either. In a word, we were poor, but poverty there was very different from poverty in a modern place characterized by concrete. … In the kind of place where I grew up, what’s coming at you is the sound of the sea and the smell of the wind and your mama’s voice and the voice of our dad and the craziness of your brothers and sisters – and that’s it … You’re watching the behavior of your siblings and of your mom and dad, noting how they behave and how they attend to your feedings and how they care for you when you have pain or when the wasp stings you around your eye. What occurs when something goes wrong is that someone reaches out, someone soothes, someone protects.”
Isn’t that beauty? Isn’t that richness?
I’m not saying modernization is terrible. Technology has bourne phenomenal movies like Schindler’s List, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, and Philadelphia, which have helped us to question our own prejudices and make an effort to move past them. The drug that put my Dad’s cancer in remission was created just a few years before he got sick. Thanks to Skype, I can call my sister from Africa to find out about her adventures in Puerto Rico- and Bryn Mawr. Through planes, trains, and automobiles we can discover beautiful places – and also meet people from all over and thus find the common humanity in all of us.
I guess what I want to say is that Poitier shows how people give other people what they need. Care from others and love from others is food – we need it, just like we need to eat everyday. And when we don’t get it, we are hungry – perhaps starved. A month after St Lucia happened, on Thanksgiving night in 2006, I found myself sobbing in my basement. And I mean sobbing – I was coughing because I was crying so hard. And it lasted for almost an hour. I thought I would never stop, except that my mom came downstairs and simply put her arm around me. And suddenly the pain and trauma melted away, and the jarring that was within felt soothed. That’s when I realized how much we need each other, how much we need someone “to reach out, to soothe, to protect” as Poitier puts it. This is the other food we need. And if we expect it from others, we must give it to others as well.
In the developed world, we have love, we have compassion, we have family, we have laughter. I guess I just want everyone to see that Africa is not a continent only of civil war, corruption, and sickness. It is a land of people who do indeed “reach out, soothe, and protect.” For example, I was terribly sick on Christmas Day – spent the whole day in bed at my colleague’s with a pounding headache, pain in my joints, and a fever. My colleague took amazing care of me – let me stay at his house, made sure I had all I needed. The next day, my colleague told me this person and that person asked about me and wished me a “bon guerison” (basically the French “get well soon.”) My neighbor saw me and immediately asked with sincere worry in his face if I was feeling better. I asked how they even knew I was sick, and it was because one 13 year old girl I knew saw me before I got really sick and I told her I had a headache. Word spreads quickly – people are concerned. My neighbor made me a soup with ingredients known to heal. And while she may have helped me to heal physically, it was her thought, her kindness, and her care that brought a deeper healing – It was nourishing for the spirit.
Then I stopped myself. Is modernization what we should be striving for? Does living in what we call “a developed world” make us happy? I know this is a theme that’s been running through my blogs. I’m not saying that the answer to the world’s problems is to live in a village in Africa without electricity or running water. But I’m also saying the answer is not what we call “development” either – bringing the Third World out of “poverty”. I’m currently reading Sidney Poitier’s Measure of a Man, and he speaks beautifully of his childhood living in “poverty” in the “Third World” on an island in the Bahamas:
“Our cultural ‘authenticity’ extended to having neither plumbing nor electricity, and we didn’t have much in the way of schooling or jobs, either. In a word, we were poor, but poverty there was very different from poverty in a modern place characterized by concrete. … In the kind of place where I grew up, what’s coming at you is the sound of the sea and the smell of the wind and your mama’s voice and the voice of our dad and the craziness of your brothers and sisters – and that’s it … You’re watching the behavior of your siblings and of your mom and dad, noting how they behave and how they attend to your feedings and how they care for you when you have pain or when the wasp stings you around your eye. What occurs when something goes wrong is that someone reaches out, someone soothes, someone protects.”
Isn’t that beauty? Isn’t that richness?
I’m not saying modernization is terrible. Technology has bourne phenomenal movies like Schindler’s List, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, and Philadelphia, which have helped us to question our own prejudices and make an effort to move past them. The drug that put my Dad’s cancer in remission was created just a few years before he got sick. Thanks to Skype, I can call my sister from Africa to find out about her adventures in Puerto Rico- and Bryn Mawr. Through planes, trains, and automobiles we can discover beautiful places – and also meet people from all over and thus find the common humanity in all of us.
I guess what I want to say is that Poitier shows how people give other people what they need. Care from others and love from others is food – we need it, just like we need to eat everyday. And when we don’t get it, we are hungry – perhaps starved. A month after St Lucia happened, on Thanksgiving night in 2006, I found myself sobbing in my basement. And I mean sobbing – I was coughing because I was crying so hard. And it lasted for almost an hour. I thought I would never stop, except that my mom came downstairs and simply put her arm around me. And suddenly the pain and trauma melted away, and the jarring that was within felt soothed. That’s when I realized how much we need each other, how much we need someone “to reach out, to soothe, to protect” as Poitier puts it. This is the other food we need. And if we expect it from others, we must give it to others as well.
In the developed world, we have love, we have compassion, we have family, we have laughter. I guess I just want everyone to see that Africa is not a continent only of civil war, corruption, and sickness. It is a land of people who do indeed “reach out, soothe, and protect.” For example, I was terribly sick on Christmas Day – spent the whole day in bed at my colleague’s with a pounding headache, pain in my joints, and a fever. My colleague took amazing care of me – let me stay at his house, made sure I had all I needed. The next day, my colleague told me this person and that person asked about me and wished me a “bon guerison” (basically the French “get well soon.”) My neighbor saw me and immediately asked with sincere worry in his face if I was feeling better. I asked how they even knew I was sick, and it was because one 13 year old girl I knew saw me before I got really sick and I told her I had a headache. Word spreads quickly – people are concerned. My neighbor made me a soup with ingredients known to heal. And while she may have helped me to heal physically, it was her thought, her kindness, and her care that brought a deeper healing – It was nourishing for the spirit.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
On our sameness.
I think often about how Ivoirians are a people coming out of colonialism. This is a very young nation; it became independent in 1960. It is 48 years old. The French influence is everywhere here – from the baguettes I eat to the Socialist political mentality to the most common mode of communication, the French language. (Though there are over 60 ethnic languages still spoken here.) I ask myself what this place would be if the French didn’t come in. I ask myself why one racial or ethnic group thinks they have a right to subvert another? I ask myself why human history constantly tells the story of a more powerful group taking advantage of a less powerful group, causing immense physical and emotional suffering to the people in the less powerful group.
I don’t understand how there are 6 billion humans in this world, all of the same make, all with the same needs. And why is there so much pain, so much suffering caused by human hands? I don’t understand how we came to be this way. It seems to me we as a collective and we as individuals are doing something very wrong, completely missing the mark.
We all know the emptiness, pain, and disappointment of losing someone we care about. We feel strongly the absence of someone who brings joy to our lives when they are not there. It’s hard enough when someone moves away or dies a natural death. We can all empathize with the pain that brings to the human heart. So I don’t understand why we CHOOSE to do bring that suffering to other people.
Racial or ethnic social groups have been very successful at dehumanizing other racial or ethnic groups. I suppose the dehumanization helps us in our effort to cause them harm. We Americans know well the picture of “the Jap” used during World War II. He looks so goofy, so unintelligent. He is portrayed as not having the same brain that thinks or the same heart the feels. This propaganda helped us to be more comfortable with dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And yet, the testimony of those in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 – the terror, the desperation, the fear, the confusion – is the same that the folks in Mumbai experienced a few days ago. Why do we keep repeating the same destruction?
Our failure to recognize our common humanity destroys our own humanity.
Even in the cyber café the other day, I found my own prejudices mounting when the Lebanese guy sitting next to me tried to help me with my computer when I couldn’t connect to the Internet. My immediate thought was, “Ugh, this annoying guy just wants to hit on me because I’m white. Typical.” Roll my eyes. As we started talking, I found out that he has a girlfriend (ie: He was NOT hitting on me). And he was friends with the American who was here in Daloa last year. Almost immediately, I tagged him as annoying, a little desperate, and with nothing to say, all because of his Middle Eastern features. And as we began to talk, I of course almost immediately found something we had in common and that was of interest to me: his extensive travel. And as I grilled him about why he moved from Oslo to Daloa to Cyprus and back to Daloa, I thought to myself, “Yes, my friend, we are both on the same journey. We are both doing what we can to satisfy a hungry heart. We are the same.”
I don’t understand how there are 6 billion humans in this world, all of the same make, all with the same needs. And why is there so much pain, so much suffering caused by human hands? I don’t understand how we came to be this way. It seems to me we as a collective and we as individuals are doing something very wrong, completely missing the mark.
We all know the emptiness, pain, and disappointment of losing someone we care about. We feel strongly the absence of someone who brings joy to our lives when they are not there. It’s hard enough when someone moves away or dies a natural death. We can all empathize with the pain that brings to the human heart. So I don’t understand why we CHOOSE to do bring that suffering to other people.
Racial or ethnic social groups have been very successful at dehumanizing other racial or ethnic groups. I suppose the dehumanization helps us in our effort to cause them harm. We Americans know well the picture of “the Jap” used during World War II. He looks so goofy, so unintelligent. He is portrayed as not having the same brain that thinks or the same heart the feels. This propaganda helped us to be more comfortable with dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And yet, the testimony of those in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 – the terror, the desperation, the fear, the confusion – is the same that the folks in Mumbai experienced a few days ago. Why do we keep repeating the same destruction?
Our failure to recognize our common humanity destroys our own humanity.
Even in the cyber café the other day, I found my own prejudices mounting when the Lebanese guy sitting next to me tried to help me with my computer when I couldn’t connect to the Internet. My immediate thought was, “Ugh, this annoying guy just wants to hit on me because I’m white. Typical.” Roll my eyes. As we started talking, I found out that he has a girlfriend (ie: He was NOT hitting on me). And he was friends with the American who was here in Daloa last year. Almost immediately, I tagged him as annoying, a little desperate, and with nothing to say, all because of his Middle Eastern features. And as we began to talk, I of course almost immediately found something we had in common and that was of interest to me: his extensive travel. And as I grilled him about why he moved from Oslo to Daloa to Cyprus and back to Daloa, I thought to myself, “Yes, my friend, we are both on the same journey. We are both doing what we can to satisfy a hungry heart. We are the same.”
Monday, November 17, 2008
On liberation.
It’s been amazing to witness Obama’s election here in Cote d’Ivoire. No matter what your ideological persuasion, no one can’t say that the election of a black man as President of the US, even if he wasn’t a descendant of slaves, is an incredible victory for the unity of our country.
Most everyone knows that racism is something I think about a lot. When I was in France, I youtubed video of the civil rights movement on MLK Jr.’s birthday and watched television specials about MLK Jr’s life on the 40th anniversary of his death last April. I saw water from fire hoses pummel people and trap them against buildings. I saw white demonstrators shout with stark rage and fury as black students pursued their education at a formally all white school. I saw the demonstrators’ signs teeming with disgust and hatred at other human beings. Watching all this, I felt such hurt and disbelief – how could my people have treated other human beings like this? How could my people have taken away the humanity of other human beings like this?
During the whole 45 minutes of the show on MLK Jr.’s life and death, I cried, letting out a pain that came from somewhere deep within me. A pain that is still with me, the pain of division among our brothers and sisters in America.
I know this history is very recent, not even 50 years ago. I am filled with anger, sadness, and fear that we will never surmount it. My mind goes immediately to my really close black friends. They have taught me life’s lessons, helped me grow, and have been an affirming reassurance when I’ve been scared or nervous, like any good friend does. I watch these videos and acknowledge the fact that I would not have the joy and comfort these friendships give me if I was born in a different time or place. Then I think of an even worse reality – what if my black friends, who mean so much to me, were told they weren’t good enough to use the same space on a bus, restaurant, or toilet as me? What if they always had to hide their intelligence for fear of coming across audacious? What if their church was burned to the ground? What if they were constantly told in cold and cutting English, “Leave. You’re not welcome here.”
Lastly, the real worst, the heart-breaking truth. What if I was a perpetrator? What if I told black people they didn’t deserve to be in a public place or to get an education? What if I told them verbally and nonverbally that they were less than I? If I grew up with the idea that black people are less intelligent, less able, more brutish, more violent, why would I think otherwise? We are all raised with values. It’s completely possible. It’s cultural.
And yet, we are still in the 21st century raised with these values, even if they’re not in our own homes. The evening news wherein black men are almost always represented in situations of violence. The cartoons wherein the physically darker characters, whether by dress, features, or skin color, are the evil ones. This is why my black friends today talk of being followed in stores or seeing someone clutch their purse as they walk past.
Don’t get me wrong, I am proud of the progress our country has made. It was 25 years ago that MLK Jr. had a dream that “the sons of slaves and the sons of slave owners would sit down together at the table of fraternity.” And we are doing this more and more. But I just hope that we keep up the fight for the humanity of all of our brothers and sisters, because there is still much work to be done.
Most everyone knows that racism is something I think about a lot. When I was in France, I youtubed video of the civil rights movement on MLK Jr.’s birthday and watched television specials about MLK Jr’s life on the 40th anniversary of his death last April. I saw water from fire hoses pummel people and trap them against buildings. I saw white demonstrators shout with stark rage and fury as black students pursued their education at a formally all white school. I saw the demonstrators’ signs teeming with disgust and hatred at other human beings. Watching all this, I felt such hurt and disbelief – how could my people have treated other human beings like this? How could my people have taken away the humanity of other human beings like this?
During the whole 45 minutes of the show on MLK Jr.’s life and death, I cried, letting out a pain that came from somewhere deep within me. A pain that is still with me, the pain of division among our brothers and sisters in America.
I know this history is very recent, not even 50 years ago. I am filled with anger, sadness, and fear that we will never surmount it. My mind goes immediately to my really close black friends. They have taught me life’s lessons, helped me grow, and have been an affirming reassurance when I’ve been scared or nervous, like any good friend does. I watch these videos and acknowledge the fact that I would not have the joy and comfort these friendships give me if I was born in a different time or place. Then I think of an even worse reality – what if my black friends, who mean so much to me, were told they weren’t good enough to use the same space on a bus, restaurant, or toilet as me? What if they always had to hide their intelligence for fear of coming across audacious? What if their church was burned to the ground? What if they were constantly told in cold and cutting English, “Leave. You’re not welcome here.”
Lastly, the real worst, the heart-breaking truth. What if I was a perpetrator? What if I told black people they didn’t deserve to be in a public place or to get an education? What if I told them verbally and nonverbally that they were less than I? If I grew up with the idea that black people are less intelligent, less able, more brutish, more violent, why would I think otherwise? We are all raised with values. It’s completely possible. It’s cultural.
And yet, we are still in the 21st century raised with these values, even if they’re not in our own homes. The evening news wherein black men are almost always represented in situations of violence. The cartoons wherein the physically darker characters, whether by dress, features, or skin color, are the evil ones. This is why my black friends today talk of being followed in stores or seeing someone clutch their purse as they walk past.
Don’t get me wrong, I am proud of the progress our country has made. It was 25 years ago that MLK Jr. had a dream that “the sons of slaves and the sons of slave owners would sit down together at the table of fraternity.” And we are doing this more and more. But I just hope that we keep up the fight for the humanity of all of our brothers and sisters, because there is still much work to be done.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
On wealth.
It’s really interesting to be an American living abroad. My 9 and 10-year-old students in France were obsessed with the United States. They would say it was their dream to live there. Even many adults in France, same thing. Here in Côte d’Ivoire, it’s even stronger. Everywhere I go when people find out I’m American, they tell me how much they want to go there. People outside of the US have this idea that the US really is the land of milk and honey – that in America, one’s life is comfort, ease, joy, and pleasure.
Yet we Americans know this is not true. We are acutely aware that we are plagued by addiction, by aggression, and other symptoms of deep spiritual pain.
I always tell people here that while in the States we have laptops and big cars and nice clothes, we are rich only in terms of material wealth. What we do not have in the States is spiritual wealth – the ability to find joy and appreciation in who we are, each of us, as individuals. And the ability to truly and deeply embrace other people as our brothers and sisters in the human family. I mean brothers and sisters in the deepest sense – that above anything else, we give attention, openness, and care to those we cross in our lives, whether in our family or when passing in the grocery store. Ivoirians call everybody their brother, aunt, etc, no matter what their blood relation. While I find this confusing, an Ivoirian friend explained to me that calling someone “my mom’s friend” makes that person too distant. And she couldn’t fathom why you would want to distance yourself from someone else.
I will also add that I’m happier here than I was in France. My life in Marseille consisted of 12 hours of work a week, coffees in cafes on a beautiful port, walks along the Mediterranean Sea, and traveling in Europe. Here, I am constantly uncomfortably hot, itching mosquito bites, and must communicate in a language I haven’t mastered. (There are no native English speakers here – It’s French all the time). Despite this, in Marseille I carried with me a loneliness that I don’t feel here in a land of such strong fraternity.
I’m jealous of people in Côte d’Ivoire. Writing from West Africa, I think my country is very poor. In the States, we see other people as objects to manage and negotiate. I pray that we all learn to see each other as who we really are: souls deeply in need of love and affection.
I send big hugs to everyone back at home, and miss you much!
Yet we Americans know this is not true. We are acutely aware that we are plagued by addiction, by aggression, and other symptoms of deep spiritual pain.
I always tell people here that while in the States we have laptops and big cars and nice clothes, we are rich only in terms of material wealth. What we do not have in the States is spiritual wealth – the ability to find joy and appreciation in who we are, each of us, as individuals. And the ability to truly and deeply embrace other people as our brothers and sisters in the human family. I mean brothers and sisters in the deepest sense – that above anything else, we give attention, openness, and care to those we cross in our lives, whether in our family or when passing in the grocery store. Ivoirians call everybody their brother, aunt, etc, no matter what their blood relation. While I find this confusing, an Ivoirian friend explained to me that calling someone “my mom’s friend” makes that person too distant. And she couldn’t fathom why you would want to distance yourself from someone else.
I will also add that I’m happier here than I was in France. My life in Marseille consisted of 12 hours of work a week, coffees in cafes on a beautiful port, walks along the Mediterranean Sea, and traveling in Europe. Here, I am constantly uncomfortably hot, itching mosquito bites, and must communicate in a language I haven’t mastered. (There are no native English speakers here – It’s French all the time). Despite this, in Marseille I carried with me a loneliness that I don’t feel here in a land of such strong fraternity.
I’m jealous of people in Côte d’Ivoire. Writing from West Africa, I think my country is very poor. In the States, we see other people as objects to manage and negotiate. I pray that we all learn to see each other as who we really are: souls deeply in need of love and affection.
I send big hugs to everyone back at home, and miss you much!
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