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.”
Sunday, November 30, 2008
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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