I wrote this post a few weeks ago, but I've been sitting on it for some reason. I suppose I wanted to comb over it again now that I'm feeling a little more settled into the current state of things. This job messes with your head sometimes, but also I might attribute some of the mood swings to mefloquine. I've since switched to malarone, but I imagine it'll take a little time for the other prophylaxis to completely leave my system. (Also, just in case you were wondering, no malaria prophylaxis is 100% effective in preventing contraction of malaria. It's quite possible (and in my case, granted the number of mosquito bites I've received, quite probable) that the organism is gestating in my liver, biding its time, just waiting to burst with parasitic joy and have a little ferrum feast on my red blood cells.)
So between toxic chemicals to keep mosquitoes from biting you to the toxic chemicals we ingest to keep malaria at bay, it seems the safest option is to never leave the safety of my mosquito net. Or fashion some sort of suit akin to a bee-keeping garb. Or just leave the country.
Anyway, let's get on with the show! Welcome to the smorgasbord of my latest host of ramblings.
Another year begins, springing out of the gate so fast that I barely had a moment to blink before the moon makes yet another turn. While I've had a lot of time to pause and reflect on all of life's happenings, I just haven't made the time to express them here.
Now is that time. Or, it was, but it passed as well. I sat on some ideas for so long that they seem to be fading from my attention. Either I've processed them and internalized what I possibly can (best case scenario), or they slipped away only to occasionally echo down some dusty hallway, pesky reminders, though out of sight forever. I suppose it's a bit of both, and in writing I can at least attempt to reenter that frame of mind which produced such thoughts.
So, where am I at?
I ask myself this question every time I start recording. While I may not be writing much about day-to-day events, challenges, observations, and so on, I do take some time to record them on my phone. This has a nice benefit of hearing myself think out loud, often allowing me to be a little more critical of the things floating around in my head. The content is sometimes superficial, but at least this offers a nice starting point and some background imagery before I delve into deeper matters. So let's do that right here, right now.
Physically, I'm at home. I'm right where I want to be, sitting at my new desk. It's a little bit too high, and I have to slump my forearms across it in an awkward configuration to make typing comfortable.
Even if it were just high enough, I imagine my mind would gravitate to some other thing that is just a little off-kilter. Perhaps these are expressions of my mental state: slightly agitated, prone to distraction, always fixating on something that isn't quite perfect. I might focus on the clement weather (see previous post), or a pain in my neck, or a problem at school. In some sense, writing is just a way to indulge in distraction, hopefully sating it to the point that it no longer holds any appeal, like eating the entire jar of peanut butter or smoking the entire carton of cigarettes. I always lament that I want more cohesive writing, connected stories and ideas, but in reality my thinking is so disjointed that it becomes difficult to express it in any other terms. Feeling this so vividly makes me appreciate those who do manage to overcome their minds and produce something not only informative or entertaining or evocative, but something that can settle my mind on a single train of thought for a while. There are authors who might mirror my spastic way of thinking from time to time, but I have to admit that I'm typically more interested in information presented to me in a way that I don't normally produce on a moment to moment basis. It makes sense to me that this method is naturally more stimulating, perhaps for the novelty, but hopefully for the ability to pull me out of my own head (and my head out of my ass). I might say it's a great thing to be on the same wavelength as somebody else, but is it not formative to encounter the opposite? This at least seems true in terms of perspective. If I'm encounter some sociopolitical issues I don't wish to be mentally entrenched in maleness, whiteness, and straightness, but sometimes when you look all around you there is a lack of diversity that might properly inform better attitudes and opinions. Preaching to the choir might feel good, but my ego doesn't need any more inflation.
Then again, perhaps it isn't useful to think of perspectives as being polar opposites along a single line, but that for any attribute we might find a variety of expressions. For instance we refer to male/female as opposite sexes, but what are they really opposing? If anything we might call each other the complementary sex, but even that implies that we require the other for something (though this may be the case biologically, the extent of our interactions goes far beyond that). These dichotomies are limiting, especially now as we are able to appreciate that some people adhere to neither male nor female entirely, but sometimes both, or neither, or something completely different. This shatters any notion of what opposite might mean.
But this post isn't really about all of that. I simply wanted to give you enough of an idea of where I'm at mentally, which is all over the place.
It occurs to me that I cannot always expect to sit down and write when I am feeling good, feeling blissful, or care-free. Sometimes it is important to sit down and write when the mood does not strike at all, or when I'm frustrated, or tired. If moods dictated all of my actions, I wouldn't be a very effective decision maker. Sometimes moods are nice to revel in, but I can't always rely on the good ones to be there to move me forward. Realizing this alleviates some of the pressure of writing, however self-imposed it may be.
Let's really get rockin' now. I have two things slated for today, or however long this takes me. The first is the an exploration of what it means to be a Peace Corps Volunteer, specifically the message or even the ulterior motive of offering foreign aid and development -- as in, what are American taxpayers getting out of this? It has to be more than just a fuzzy cuddly feeling. We're going to have some fun with that. Shortly.
Secondly, I wish to talk a bit about how Americans (or white people?) are seen from the perspective of Africans, or at least Zambians I've met and talked with. As you can imagine, this probably stems mostly from popular culture, but in this section we'll do our best to carve out some new ideas on the subject.
Section 1: Why should I care?
This is new territory for me, not only by the nature of being here in Africa to do this very thing -- take part in development work -- but also in terms of what it might mean globally in how America crafts its political persona through foreign affairs. I've been fortunate to have some very sound sounding boards (friends -- yes, I've reduced you to mere planks of wood, though of an acoustically satisfying variety) to talk with on the subject, and with their ideas in tow I feel as though I can tackle the subject with a bit more objectivity. You know what, I'll go ahead and give them full credit (blame) for what follows. Take up any issues with them, especially regarding the controversial statements that follow.
So why aid?
The first thing we have to do is acknowledge (and state in simple terms) that there must be some selfish purpose for a government to decide to assist foreign nations. My impression of the Peace Corps has changed considerably since I first encountered the organization via my sister back around 2007. Without much to inform me, I conjured a simple, comforting (though now somewhat bizarre) impression that Peace Corps operated out of the kindness of its collective heart of gold (where it is securely safeguarded in the dirty, stinky volunteers that work from the grassroots level). Based on information passed down by my sister (the first Peace Corps volunteer I ever met, and my inspiration for being here myself), I foolishly synthesized this notion that Peace Corps has no ulterior motive for sending men and women to work abroad, that it's really all about helping people without asking for anything in return. This idea persisted in my mind for a long time without any question, even as I was filling out the lengthy application and writing the sorts of essays that typically get you thinking about this sort of thing.
I want to mention my sister's village in the mountains of Honduras. Peace Corps was not the only foreign aid organization operating in this community. She mentioned a handful of others, often of the non-governmental variety, which would offer things such as school buildings or other infrastructure needs to a place. And in doing so, these entities would subtly put a foot in the door, or sink a hook in a community, steadily reeling in the autonomy of its local population, often dictating how they might be managing their resources differently. This information was presented to me in a way that made Peace Corps, by contrast, look like this noble, unbiased, altruistic organization. They sent my sister there to work without doing any of this fishy business (damn, I'm totally nailing this rhetoric right now) behind the scenes. Right?
Well, I am fairly certain my sister never directly approached anyone in her village to say something like, "Hey, the United States government forbids you from cutting down that tree." But what about indirectly? What is implied or insinuated by sending someone to live in these communities? While it might be a Peace Corps goal that we go abroad and exchange our culture, there's something about it makes me think of surveillance. Not in some government conspiracy sort of way (which we already know is a reality in America), but maybe in the sort of way children act more behaved around adults they don't know, perhaps opting not to act up or smack their siblings or scream and pout. For instance, my head teacher made it a point during one Monday morning meeting to reiterate that it is not acceptable to beat the pupils under any circumstance. Typically any time anyone says something in English, it's because they want me to hear it. For all I know she could have followed that up with "or at least don't let him see it" in local language. And for all I know, the beatings still do occur at the school. As in, I do know. Zambian children do a very good job tidying up the classrooms, so when I see a switch near the door I know it is not there by mistake. Granted I don't witness the corporal punishment, this behavior still persists. And it is actually part of my job, though not by force, to change this behavior. Peace Corps would never state this explicitly, but rather in the form of "The U.S. government promotes cultural exchange and child-friendly school environments." But ultimately, this is why Peace Corps is here. Our job is to impose (without imposing) American values and ideals. Plain and simple. (This happens slowly under the pretense of cooperation, though it's not necessarily a false pretense. Some parameters can be contrived while having genuine results.)
This notion stems from something equally simple. What's more expensive: waging war or waging peace? In an effort to maintain some sort of diplomacy with other countries, it makes a lot of sense to send people there as wards to promote a sense of cooperation. It's not that we're hostages here, not at all, but our presence, while it may not ensure future cooperation, allows the United States to have some political footing when it comes to large-scale global events. If I know anything about our country, we don't just dump money into a problem (unless it's something the military can solve!) without some insurance that this will promote the longevity and health of our own government (and hopefully people, right?).
I think the exaggerated version might go something like this:
Hey Africa, do you like not dying? America wants to help you, and perpetuate this idea that you're too helpless to save your own poor, benighted selves from annihilation. It's good for Americans, too, because then you can't spread your ebolaids and warmongering across the world! And, if needed, maybe America can toss a few strategic missile installations your way? How does that sound?
I'll admit that is some strong hyperbole (and a half -- thanks Allie Brosh, I get jokes). I chose that language, however, because I don't believe it, not fully anyway. Rather, I don't think Africans are any worse off than Americans. Take a look at our own for a moment. Anti-vaccination campaigns? Conspiracy theorists? Rampant superstition and pseudoscience? Political extremism? Oil dependency? We're chock full of the same sort of backwards bullshit that afflicts Africans, and the whole world, though of a different flavor -- but we've managed to get lucky by taking that vast expanse of land (from the natives who once inhabited the country we now feel so entitled to), rife with natural resources, and spinning it into the empire we know and benefit from today.
And that's great. I love America, but I am allowed to hate it a little bit, too -- or at least be critical of its self-righteousness, self-aggrandizing patriotism, self-appointed world policing, and so on -- and thankfully I can gripe about my own country without fear of being thrown in a jail cell. I mean, I'm in Africa, so come and get me, right? And don't get me wrong, I am fully aware that without the big stick mentality that got us through decades of war that I might be writing this in a totally different language -- or more likely, not at all. (This certainly creates some internal conflict. Mostly everything I've gained in this life hinges in some way on taking advantage of others, and becoming aware of that can rip at your spirit (so silence that nagging feeling with some more hedonism).)
Okay, so I'm saying that America is selfish, which isn't news, even though many of our branches of foreign aid operate under the cuddly philosophy of selflessness. There's nothing wrong with that. At all. A people will protect its own (and unfortunately kill flagrantly along the way). But here we are in Peace Corps! That one where they send you to other countries not with guns, but ideals and culture! They send us here to communicate things like:
-In America people treat women and men equally. In theory.
-In America people don't beat their children. In theory.
-In America people are sexually educated and use condoms. In theory.
And you can, too! I mean, some would rather we just drop off computers and extra money and be on our way, but that's not part of the deal.
(As for ideals, I'm glad we have them; even if we have not yet been able to live up to them, the fact of identifying and discussing these issues is a step in the right direction.)
So here's the deal:
America is going to help you, absolutely, because it has money (that it doesn't have) and it has the resources, and it's not made up of inhuman monsters. But, without America telling you explicitly, you're going to learn to do things their way. They'll sugar coat it in the form of a volunteer, patient and caring, who will hold your hand for a few years during the slow, arduous process of behavioral change. If it works, great! If not, they'll probably pull out of your country anyway.
This is what I call an unhostile takeover.
And America does this sort of thing all the time by force. Send troops to foreign country, instate democracy, pick up the pieces for a few (hah.) years while people get their shit together in making a nation that America can get along with. It's like playing dress-up, but with lots of blood and avarice. So, exactly like dress-up. Your friend typically wants to get the hell away from you after you've subjected him to such torment. But then you tell him he can never come over and play your Nintendo or benefit from your economical advantages ever again. So he concedes, and you get to project your culture and ideologies with abandon. Damn, kids these days. In this sense of power control games and prevailing political systems, our government's way of perpetuating and securing itself isn't much of a far cry from the modus operandi of many of the world's religions. It makes me feel strange, and what's more bizarre is to become aware of those tendencies within me, expressed at the interpersonal level. I find people who I can relate to, upon whom I can project my desires and ideas, and in return get some sort of satisfaction that the other knows me on a deeper level. I suppose the difference here would be that I'm often accommodating my own position, within limits, and for those with which I have no rapport, I have little interest in converting them to my "side." It's unfortunate that the breadth of our foreign policy sounds eerily akin to some awful science fiction fantasy writing: "You're either with us, or against us." Yes, America is the Sith in this ridiculous analogy. Only Americans deal in absolutes.
I suppose our government must increase its likelihood of perpetuity by converting the democratically-challenged heathen nations, just as a president has to garner support by talking pretty goodly and, if need be, by rigging elections, and even we ourselves need to cultivate a working social system to live in by telling people how great they are despite all of their glaring flaws. As Harris puts it: "Beyond ensuring our survival, civilization is a vast machine invented by the human mind to regulate its states." We find minds that we can work with to reach other minds and turn them to our side. But there has to be some initial investment, which may seem altruistic, but ultimately there are potential gains to be had in this relationship.
Another thing that strikes me as odd is how America is able to assume this duplicitous role, peacekeeper by either force or by cooperation, as it sees fit. It maintains this precarious balance of war and peace through conditional love and hate, in the way it comes, shock and awe -- or rock and saw (Get it? It's like, symbolic of development? Like a sickle and hammer? Ah, fuckit.)
There's something unsettling about this. For instance, if you happen to reside in the nation which is "acting out" it's really quite uncertain to say which version of America will come to intervene: the good cop or the bad cop (though trends tell me what will probably be the case). I suppose it comes down to how naughty you've been, and how many nuclear warheads you have. Better stock up on those just in case. Or, like, buy your own Nintendo and find some new friends. I wish that would work, but America seems to be that one asshole that's always inviting itself over to ruin everything. Sorry dudes, you can't practice your religion like that if you're gonna beat your wives. You'll have to degrade them in other ways, perhaps by devaluing their work contributions and paying them smaller salaries.
Before moving on I want to qualify my cynicism for a moment. As you can see, I might be wound up in something that I'm grappling with, but I'm trying to establish where these things tend to take root. On a daily level, I don't feel so burdened by this. I've come to Africa to do a job, and I'm going to do it, and enjoy the shit out of it. I should reiterate that I'm incredibly lucky to be here, to be immersed in a community that cares about me, and me them, to be able to teach in a school full of super cool kids, and to share my life with others, and to share theirs with you. What I want to convey from all of this is that there is no ideal, rosy picture of what it means to be here. I suppose I was deluded by some tiny, naive notions which may have been hard to consider without actually living them, but I want to encourage you to seek out and expose those things as well, to think from other perspectives about any controversial subject, even if they aren't so favorable, even if they don't directly benefit Y-O-U. It may not have anything to do with politics or foreign aid or religion or whatever, but our mental fields run wild with bombshells of conflicting notions that need to be tended to.
Section 2: Perfection in the promised land.
So, nextly, and hopefully lastly, I want to go elsewhere for a moment. Let's go back to language class sometime in July or August. In our little language groups at this time we began learning comparative language.
Ku America yosiyana bwanji mu Zambia? Yaoneka bwanji? Anthu amamvala citenje? Yai?!
How is America different from Zambia? How does it look? Do the people wear chitenge? No?! How do you sleep at night!?
I might have made some of that up.
Thinking back on those sessions, I remember it was actually a rather difficult task to describe America. Not because of my limited language skills exactly, but rather in how difficult it was to reach some sort of consensus in generalizing America, even if it was something as trivial as how it looks on the surface, let alone how people behave differently.
America isn't only large spatially, making it difficult to tell people what the weather is like, or if there are mountains and lakes or simply enormous, empty deserts void of any life (weapon testing sites? If I ever learn to describe those in Nyanja I'ma give myself a cookie and a pat on the back), but America is also incredibly diverse in its peoples, cultures, beliefs, sexualities, and whatever else you can shake a stick at. At least in Zambia they're pretty much on board with the whole unifying under a Christian nation thing, but surely they have plenty of differences that I don't yet see. At any rate, it's quite a challenge to circumscribe these things even after a lifetime of living them, let alone in a conversation.
This issue here is that we, as foreigners, are often confronted with questions carrying the assumption that everything in America is perfect. It's typically phrased as: So everything is good that side in America? Again, it might be some quirk of the language, but what's really odd about this is that I find myself defending my country in a way that makes absolutely no fucking sense. As my friend pointed out, we find ourselves saying, "Hey, now wait just a minute, we're fucked up, too! We've got rape, and violence, and guns, and gay-bashing, and racism, and religious cults up the wazoo!" For a country that strives to eradicate these things, we sound like pretty poor representatives of any progress we've made (though I certainly believe it's there).
So we may have some ability to identify these problems and create systems to help victims or create social change, but that doesn't change the fact that they are still happening like crazy. And I try to convey this if the opportunity arises. I feel a strange sense of duty to paint the more realistic picture -- that suffering still exists in many forms: addiction, mental illness, homelessness, and so on.
And the fucked up thing is, based on any Zambian perspective, they have every reason to believe that America is this sort of mystical promised land. We don't have malaria (thanks to the government systematic pesticide carpet bombing of our country) or any of the other issues immediately affecting Zambians. And just look at me, for instance. White, well-dressed, money dripping out of my pores (which again just perpetuates that looking white gives you access to these things -- an unfortunately ubiquitous belief around the world). I'm a product of my environment that happens to be pretty damn well off, pretty much free of those awful things I mentioned above (straight white male syndrome). I have so many things, and they're really shiny. When I go to the store I can afford more than twenty cents of mobile phone airtime. When I go to town I can eat at a restaurant. And I can go to town more than once a month. I've got a job.
The list goes on. I am privilege incarnate, and a total walking contradiction if I suggest otherwise. I am lucky to have a mostly happy life, my body and intact, to be free relatively free of hardship. And then there's this whole Hollywood debacle, further reinforcing the notion that material gains in the form of a shiny, fast car, and a shiny, plastic wife, and an enormous home all obliterate suffering, that strife is completely absent in the fabled America, the land of microwaves and toaster ovens and other things that somehow magically improve quality of life. Some of us know this isn't the case, that we could even be happier without a lot of these dependencies, yet we're sometimes helpless in the face of it. It is just the way we live, and the automatic default setting does what it does.
But I still want to do those people justice, the ones who aren't represented by popular culture, the media, and even very well by me and my limited perspective. I want to convey the nuance, the idea that even in the midst of progress and beauty and joy, we're occasionally subjected to a lot of shit, afflicted by perennial suffering in its various forms. I wish to extend that sense of sympathy and understanding to people here, even though they have their own worries to deal with. Perhaps the idea of America being perfect is comforting. "If it's not perfect, then why the hell are you here? Go back home and fix your shit!"
As my friend put it very eloquently, Zambia is not one of those "for thirty cents a day you can save a starving child" advertisements designed to pluck at your heartstrings (a gross exploitation of Sarah McLaughlin?) and compel you to donate to their cause simply to assuage your guilt in living how you do. We shouldn't feel guilty about the things we've created, the progress we've made, but we also have to acknowledge that a lot of what we've designed in America isn't necessarily creating better lives for people. Maybe instead of the next Transformers movie we might invest our time and interest in social welfare advocacy groups, not because they run some ad campaign to tug at your emotions, but because we understand the clear gains to be had in doing so. Then again, people want what they want, and until some beneficent dictator from another planet comes along to tell us to treat each other better, we will continue to do what feels good in the short term.
But who knows, maybe Transformers 5 or 6 (can't keep track) will be insanely deep and complex, exposing us to the very essence of what it means to be human by extending that eternal woe to sentient machines. People will run out of the theater weeping, renouncing their worldly possessions and vices, ushering a new age of peace and well-being.
Haha, good one, me. Self-five.
So between toxic chemicals to keep mosquitoes from biting you to the toxic chemicals we ingest to keep malaria at bay, it seems the safest option is to never leave the safety of my mosquito net. Or fashion some sort of suit akin to a bee-keeping garb. Or just leave the country.
Anyway, let's get on with the show! Welcome to the smorgasbord of my latest host of ramblings.
Another year begins, springing out of the gate so fast that I barely had a moment to blink before the moon makes yet another turn. While I've had a lot of time to pause and reflect on all of life's happenings, I just haven't made the time to express them here.
Now is that time. Or, it was, but it passed as well. I sat on some ideas for so long that they seem to be fading from my attention. Either I've processed them and internalized what I possibly can (best case scenario), or they slipped away only to occasionally echo down some dusty hallway, pesky reminders, though out of sight forever. I suppose it's a bit of both, and in writing I can at least attempt to reenter that frame of mind which produced such thoughts.
So, where am I at?
I ask myself this question every time I start recording. While I may not be writing much about day-to-day events, challenges, observations, and so on, I do take some time to record them on my phone. This has a nice benefit of hearing myself think out loud, often allowing me to be a little more critical of the things floating around in my head. The content is sometimes superficial, but at least this offers a nice starting point and some background imagery before I delve into deeper matters. So let's do that right here, right now.
Physically, I'm at home. I'm right where I want to be, sitting at my new desk. It's a little bit too high, and I have to slump my forearms across it in an awkward configuration to make typing comfortable.
Even if it were just high enough, I imagine my mind would gravitate to some other thing that is just a little off-kilter. Perhaps these are expressions of my mental state: slightly agitated, prone to distraction, always fixating on something that isn't quite perfect. I might focus on the clement weather (see previous post), or a pain in my neck, or a problem at school. In some sense, writing is just a way to indulge in distraction, hopefully sating it to the point that it no longer holds any appeal, like eating the entire jar of peanut butter or smoking the entire carton of cigarettes. I always lament that I want more cohesive writing, connected stories and ideas, but in reality my thinking is so disjointed that it becomes difficult to express it in any other terms. Feeling this so vividly makes me appreciate those who do manage to overcome their minds and produce something not only informative or entertaining or evocative, but something that can settle my mind on a single train of thought for a while. There are authors who might mirror my spastic way of thinking from time to time, but I have to admit that I'm typically more interested in information presented to me in a way that I don't normally produce on a moment to moment basis. It makes sense to me that this method is naturally more stimulating, perhaps for the novelty, but hopefully for the ability to pull me out of my own head (and my head out of my ass). I might say it's a great thing to be on the same wavelength as somebody else, but is it not formative to encounter the opposite? This at least seems true in terms of perspective. If I'm encounter some sociopolitical issues I don't wish to be mentally entrenched in maleness, whiteness, and straightness, but sometimes when you look all around you there is a lack of diversity that might properly inform better attitudes and opinions. Preaching to the choir might feel good, but my ego doesn't need any more inflation.
Then again, perhaps it isn't useful to think of perspectives as being polar opposites along a single line, but that for any attribute we might find a variety of expressions. For instance we refer to male/female as opposite sexes, but what are they really opposing? If anything we might call each other the complementary sex, but even that implies that we require the other for something (though this may be the case biologically, the extent of our interactions goes far beyond that). These dichotomies are limiting, especially now as we are able to appreciate that some people adhere to neither male nor female entirely, but sometimes both, or neither, or something completely different. This shatters any notion of what opposite might mean.
But this post isn't really about all of that. I simply wanted to give you enough of an idea of where I'm at mentally, which is all over the place.
It occurs to me that I cannot always expect to sit down and write when I am feeling good, feeling blissful, or care-free. Sometimes it is important to sit down and write when the mood does not strike at all, or when I'm frustrated, or tired. If moods dictated all of my actions, I wouldn't be a very effective decision maker. Sometimes moods are nice to revel in, but I can't always rely on the good ones to be there to move me forward. Realizing this alleviates some of the pressure of writing, however self-imposed it may be.
Let's really get rockin' now. I have two things slated for today, or however long this takes me. The first is the an exploration of what it means to be a Peace Corps Volunteer, specifically the message or even the ulterior motive of offering foreign aid and development -- as in, what are American taxpayers getting out of this? It has to be more than just a fuzzy cuddly feeling. We're going to have some fun with that. Shortly.
Secondly, I wish to talk a bit about how Americans (or white people?) are seen from the perspective of Africans, or at least Zambians I've met and talked with. As you can imagine, this probably stems mostly from popular culture, but in this section we'll do our best to carve out some new ideas on the subject.
Section 1: Why should I care?
This is new territory for me, not only by the nature of being here in Africa to do this very thing -- take part in development work -- but also in terms of what it might mean globally in how America crafts its political persona through foreign affairs. I've been fortunate to have some very sound sounding boards (friends -- yes, I've reduced you to mere planks of wood, though of an acoustically satisfying variety) to talk with on the subject, and with their ideas in tow I feel as though I can tackle the subject with a bit more objectivity. You know what, I'll go ahead and give them full credit (blame) for what follows. Take up any issues with them, especially regarding the controversial statements that follow.
So why aid?
The first thing we have to do is acknowledge (and state in simple terms) that there must be some selfish purpose for a government to decide to assist foreign nations. My impression of the Peace Corps has changed considerably since I first encountered the organization via my sister back around 2007. Without much to inform me, I conjured a simple, comforting (though now somewhat bizarre) impression that Peace Corps operated out of the kindness of its collective heart of gold (where it is securely safeguarded in the dirty, stinky volunteers that work from the grassroots level). Based on information passed down by my sister (the first Peace Corps volunteer I ever met, and my inspiration for being here myself), I foolishly synthesized this notion that Peace Corps has no ulterior motive for sending men and women to work abroad, that it's really all about helping people without asking for anything in return. This idea persisted in my mind for a long time without any question, even as I was filling out the lengthy application and writing the sorts of essays that typically get you thinking about this sort of thing.
I want to mention my sister's village in the mountains of Honduras. Peace Corps was not the only foreign aid organization operating in this community. She mentioned a handful of others, often of the non-governmental variety, which would offer things such as school buildings or other infrastructure needs to a place. And in doing so, these entities would subtly put a foot in the door, or sink a hook in a community, steadily reeling in the autonomy of its local population, often dictating how they might be managing their resources differently. This information was presented to me in a way that made Peace Corps, by contrast, look like this noble, unbiased, altruistic organization. They sent my sister there to work without doing any of this fishy business (damn, I'm totally nailing this rhetoric right now) behind the scenes. Right?
Well, I am fairly certain my sister never directly approached anyone in her village to say something like, "Hey, the United States government forbids you from cutting down that tree." But what about indirectly? What is implied or insinuated by sending someone to live in these communities? While it might be a Peace Corps goal that we go abroad and exchange our culture, there's something about it makes me think of surveillance. Not in some government conspiracy sort of way (which we already know is a reality in America), but maybe in the sort of way children act more behaved around adults they don't know, perhaps opting not to act up or smack their siblings or scream and pout. For instance, my head teacher made it a point during one Monday morning meeting to reiterate that it is not acceptable to beat the pupils under any circumstance. Typically any time anyone says something in English, it's because they want me to hear it. For all I know she could have followed that up with "or at least don't let him see it" in local language. And for all I know, the beatings still do occur at the school. As in, I do know. Zambian children do a very good job tidying up the classrooms, so when I see a switch near the door I know it is not there by mistake. Granted I don't witness the corporal punishment, this behavior still persists. And it is actually part of my job, though not by force, to change this behavior. Peace Corps would never state this explicitly, but rather in the form of "The U.S. government promotes cultural exchange and child-friendly school environments." But ultimately, this is why Peace Corps is here. Our job is to impose (without imposing) American values and ideals. Plain and simple. (This happens slowly under the pretense of cooperation, though it's not necessarily a false pretense. Some parameters can be contrived while having genuine results.)
This notion stems from something equally simple. What's more expensive: waging war or waging peace? In an effort to maintain some sort of diplomacy with other countries, it makes a lot of sense to send people there as wards to promote a sense of cooperation. It's not that we're hostages here, not at all, but our presence, while it may not ensure future cooperation, allows the United States to have some political footing when it comes to large-scale global events. If I know anything about our country, we don't just dump money into a problem (unless it's something the military can solve!) without some insurance that this will promote the longevity and health of our own government (and hopefully people, right?).
I think the exaggerated version might go something like this:
Hey Africa, do you like not dying? America wants to help you, and perpetuate this idea that you're too helpless to save your own poor, benighted selves from annihilation. It's good for Americans, too, because then you can't spread your ebolaids and warmongering across the world! And, if needed, maybe America can toss a few strategic missile installations your way? How does that sound?
I'll admit that is some strong hyperbole (and a half -- thanks Allie Brosh, I get jokes). I chose that language, however, because I don't believe it, not fully anyway. Rather, I don't think Africans are any worse off than Americans. Take a look at our own for a moment. Anti-vaccination campaigns? Conspiracy theorists? Rampant superstition and pseudoscience? Political extremism? Oil dependency? We're chock full of the same sort of backwards bullshit that afflicts Africans, and the whole world, though of a different flavor -- but we've managed to get lucky by taking that vast expanse of land (from the natives who once inhabited the country we now feel so entitled to), rife with natural resources, and spinning it into the empire we know and benefit from today.
And that's great. I love America, but I am allowed to hate it a little bit, too -- or at least be critical of its self-righteousness, self-aggrandizing patriotism, self-appointed world policing, and so on -- and thankfully I can gripe about my own country without fear of being thrown in a jail cell. I mean, I'm in Africa, so come and get me, right? And don't get me wrong, I am fully aware that without the big stick mentality that got us through decades of war that I might be writing this in a totally different language -- or more likely, not at all. (This certainly creates some internal conflict. Mostly everything I've gained in this life hinges in some way on taking advantage of others, and becoming aware of that can rip at your spirit (so silence that nagging feeling with some more hedonism).)
Okay, so I'm saying that America is selfish, which isn't news, even though many of our branches of foreign aid operate under the cuddly philosophy of selflessness. There's nothing wrong with that. At all. A people will protect its own (and unfortunately kill flagrantly along the way). But here we are in Peace Corps! That one where they send you to other countries not with guns, but ideals and culture! They send us here to communicate things like:
-In America people treat women and men equally. In theory.
-In America people don't beat their children. In theory.
-In America people are sexually educated and use condoms. In theory.
And you can, too! I mean, some would rather we just drop off computers and extra money and be on our way, but that's not part of the deal.
(As for ideals, I'm glad we have them; even if we have not yet been able to live up to them, the fact of identifying and discussing these issues is a step in the right direction.)
So here's the deal:
America is going to help you, absolutely, because it has money (that it doesn't have) and it has the resources, and it's not made up of inhuman monsters. But, without America telling you explicitly, you're going to learn to do things their way. They'll sugar coat it in the form of a volunteer, patient and caring, who will hold your hand for a few years during the slow, arduous process of behavioral change. If it works, great! If not, they'll probably pull out of your country anyway.
This is what I call an unhostile takeover.
And America does this sort of thing all the time by force. Send troops to foreign country, instate democracy, pick up the pieces for a few (hah.) years while people get their shit together in making a nation that America can get along with. It's like playing dress-up, but with lots of blood and avarice. So, exactly like dress-up. Your friend typically wants to get the hell away from you after you've subjected him to such torment. But then you tell him he can never come over and play your Nintendo or benefit from your economical advantages ever again. So he concedes, and you get to project your culture and ideologies with abandon. Damn, kids these days. In this sense of power control games and prevailing political systems, our government's way of perpetuating and securing itself isn't much of a far cry from the modus operandi of many of the world's religions. It makes me feel strange, and what's more bizarre is to become aware of those tendencies within me, expressed at the interpersonal level. I find people who I can relate to, upon whom I can project my desires and ideas, and in return get some sort of satisfaction that the other knows me on a deeper level. I suppose the difference here would be that I'm often accommodating my own position, within limits, and for those with which I have no rapport, I have little interest in converting them to my "side." It's unfortunate that the breadth of our foreign policy sounds eerily akin to some awful science fiction fantasy writing: "You're either with us, or against us." Yes, America is the Sith in this ridiculous analogy. Only Americans deal in absolutes.
I suppose our government must increase its likelihood of perpetuity by converting the democratically-challenged heathen nations, just as a president has to garner support by talking pretty goodly and, if need be, by rigging elections, and even we ourselves need to cultivate a working social system to live in by telling people how great they are despite all of their glaring flaws. As Harris puts it: "Beyond ensuring our survival, civilization is a vast machine invented by the human mind to regulate its states." We find minds that we can work with to reach other minds and turn them to our side. But there has to be some initial investment, which may seem altruistic, but ultimately there are potential gains to be had in this relationship.
Another thing that strikes me as odd is how America is able to assume this duplicitous role, peacekeeper by either force or by cooperation, as it sees fit. It maintains this precarious balance of war and peace through conditional love and hate, in the way it comes, shock and awe -- or rock and saw (Get it? It's like, symbolic of development? Like a sickle and hammer? Ah, fuckit.)
There's something unsettling about this. For instance, if you happen to reside in the nation which is "acting out" it's really quite uncertain to say which version of America will come to intervene: the good cop or the bad cop (though trends tell me what will probably be the case). I suppose it comes down to how naughty you've been, and how many nuclear warheads you have. Better stock up on those just in case. Or, like, buy your own Nintendo and find some new friends. I wish that would work, but America seems to be that one asshole that's always inviting itself over to ruin everything. Sorry dudes, you can't practice your religion like that if you're gonna beat your wives. You'll have to degrade them in other ways, perhaps by devaluing their work contributions and paying them smaller salaries.
Before moving on I want to qualify my cynicism for a moment. As you can see, I might be wound up in something that I'm grappling with, but I'm trying to establish where these things tend to take root. On a daily level, I don't feel so burdened by this. I've come to Africa to do a job, and I'm going to do it, and enjoy the shit out of it. I should reiterate that I'm incredibly lucky to be here, to be immersed in a community that cares about me, and me them, to be able to teach in a school full of super cool kids, and to share my life with others, and to share theirs with you. What I want to convey from all of this is that there is no ideal, rosy picture of what it means to be here. I suppose I was deluded by some tiny, naive notions which may have been hard to consider without actually living them, but I want to encourage you to seek out and expose those things as well, to think from other perspectives about any controversial subject, even if they aren't so favorable, even if they don't directly benefit Y-O-U. It may not have anything to do with politics or foreign aid or religion or whatever, but our mental fields run wild with bombshells of conflicting notions that need to be tended to.
Section 2: Perfection in the promised land.
So, nextly, and hopefully lastly, I want to go elsewhere for a moment. Let's go back to language class sometime in July or August. In our little language groups at this time we began learning comparative language.
Ku America yosiyana bwanji mu Zambia? Yaoneka bwanji? Anthu amamvala citenje? Yai?!
How is America different from Zambia? How does it look? Do the people wear chitenge? No?! How do you sleep at night!?
I might have made some of that up.
Thinking back on those sessions, I remember it was actually a rather difficult task to describe America. Not because of my limited language skills exactly, but rather in how difficult it was to reach some sort of consensus in generalizing America, even if it was something as trivial as how it looks on the surface, let alone how people behave differently.
America isn't only large spatially, making it difficult to tell people what the weather is like, or if there are mountains and lakes or simply enormous, empty deserts void of any life (weapon testing sites? If I ever learn to describe those in Nyanja I'ma give myself a cookie and a pat on the back), but America is also incredibly diverse in its peoples, cultures, beliefs, sexualities, and whatever else you can shake a stick at. At least in Zambia they're pretty much on board with the whole unifying under a Christian nation thing, but surely they have plenty of differences that I don't yet see. At any rate, it's quite a challenge to circumscribe these things even after a lifetime of living them, let alone in a conversation.
This issue here is that we, as foreigners, are often confronted with questions carrying the assumption that everything in America is perfect. It's typically phrased as: So everything is good that side in America? Again, it might be some quirk of the language, but what's really odd about this is that I find myself defending my country in a way that makes absolutely no fucking sense. As my friend pointed out, we find ourselves saying, "Hey, now wait just a minute, we're fucked up, too! We've got rape, and violence, and guns, and gay-bashing, and racism, and religious cults up the wazoo!" For a country that strives to eradicate these things, we sound like pretty poor representatives of any progress we've made (though I certainly believe it's there).
So we may have some ability to identify these problems and create systems to help victims or create social change, but that doesn't change the fact that they are still happening like crazy. And I try to convey this if the opportunity arises. I feel a strange sense of duty to paint the more realistic picture -- that suffering still exists in many forms: addiction, mental illness, homelessness, and so on.
And the fucked up thing is, based on any Zambian perspective, they have every reason to believe that America is this sort of mystical promised land. We don't have malaria (thanks to the government systematic pesticide carpet bombing of our country) or any of the other issues immediately affecting Zambians. And just look at me, for instance. White, well-dressed, money dripping out of my pores (which again just perpetuates that looking white gives you access to these things -- an unfortunately ubiquitous belief around the world). I'm a product of my environment that happens to be pretty damn well off, pretty much free of those awful things I mentioned above (straight white male syndrome). I have so many things, and they're really shiny. When I go to the store I can afford more than twenty cents of mobile phone airtime. When I go to town I can eat at a restaurant. And I can go to town more than once a month. I've got a job.
The list goes on. I am privilege incarnate, and a total walking contradiction if I suggest otherwise. I am lucky to have a mostly happy life, my body and intact, to be free relatively free of hardship. And then there's this whole Hollywood debacle, further reinforcing the notion that material gains in the form of a shiny, fast car, and a shiny, plastic wife, and an enormous home all obliterate suffering, that strife is completely absent in the fabled America, the land of microwaves and toaster ovens and other things that somehow magically improve quality of life. Some of us know this isn't the case, that we could even be happier without a lot of these dependencies, yet we're sometimes helpless in the face of it. It is just the way we live, and the automatic default setting does what it does.
But I still want to do those people justice, the ones who aren't represented by popular culture, the media, and even very well by me and my limited perspective. I want to convey the nuance, the idea that even in the midst of progress and beauty and joy, we're occasionally subjected to a lot of shit, afflicted by perennial suffering in its various forms. I wish to extend that sense of sympathy and understanding to people here, even though they have their own worries to deal with. Perhaps the idea of America being perfect is comforting. "If it's not perfect, then why the hell are you here? Go back home and fix your shit!"
As my friend put it very eloquently, Zambia is not one of those "for thirty cents a day you can save a starving child" advertisements designed to pluck at your heartstrings (a gross exploitation of Sarah McLaughlin?) and compel you to donate to their cause simply to assuage your guilt in living how you do. We shouldn't feel guilty about the things we've created, the progress we've made, but we also have to acknowledge that a lot of what we've designed in America isn't necessarily creating better lives for people. Maybe instead of the next Transformers movie we might invest our time and interest in social welfare advocacy groups, not because they run some ad campaign to tug at your emotions, but because we understand the clear gains to be had in doing so. Then again, people want what they want, and until some beneficent dictator from another planet comes along to tell us to treat each other better, we will continue to do what feels good in the short term.
But who knows, maybe Transformers 5 or 6 (can't keep track) will be insanely deep and complex, exposing us to the very essence of what it means to be human by extending that eternal woe to sentient machines. People will run out of the theater weeping, renouncing their worldly possessions and vices, ushering a new age of peace and well-being.
Haha, good one, me. Self-five.
