Last weekend, I put my trust in my fellow human being. These things happen when you are not a part of the dominant culture…
About a year ago I decided to commit an act of symbolic violence (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symbolic_violence) and chemically – and permanently -straighten my hair. I’d like to say that I did it for a change in my look, or to experiment with something new. However, I can’t ignore that I am exposed to - and conditioned by -the societal preferences for Eurocentric beauty. So despite my political beliefs, despite my closest friends and families’ political beliefs (and objections), and despite my knowledge of how unhealthy and dangerous hair relaxer is for the body, I decided to give in to The Man and do the white girl thing…as if I’m not “white” enough already.
So here I am now, in Santiago, where there are very few Afro-Americans, and very few people who look qualified to put such harsh chemicals on and around my scalp. Luckily, I brought the horrible and dangerous hair-straightening products with me to Chile, so the only challenge was finding someone who could help me fry the roots of my hair when they’d grown long enough (about every 6-8 weeks). I considered asking my host mother to help me out. She dyes her own hair, which is a similar process, but not quite as dangerous. I considered doing it myself, but I don’t trust myself to correctly apply relaxer, especially to the back of my head. Finally, I considered asking a random black woman on the street. And so I did.
A few weeks ago, as I walked through the Santiago streets, I saw a young black woman with long braided hair. I got up the courage to ask her who’d done her braids and if that person could relax her as well. She was very nice and gave me both her own number and the number of the woman who’d done her hair. She said that if her hairdresser, Cruz, couldn’t do it for me, that she would do her best to help me out. I was also quite excited when I found out that Mode is from the same city that my grandmother lives in back in Colombia.
That night, I called Cruz and made an appointment.
Last weekend, Cruz met me at the subway stop near her apartment and greeted me with a big hug and kiss. I could tell that she was Colombian by her warmth and her accent. When we arrived at her house, I met her children, and two friends who were also from Colombia. As Cruz combed my hair, I sat in her small living room with her and her family. Although they spoke a fast and vulgar Spanish that I never heard my mom speak, the Colombian accent made me feel at home. When I asked if they liked Chile, they told me that they appreciate Chile for the work and living opportunities, but that they much prefer their own country. I then began to remember the unbearable poverty that I only had to witness on my short trips to Colombia.
It was fascinating to see Chile from a black immigrant perspective, to see Colombia from a working poor perspective, to see the mystified look on their faces when I said I was from the US, and to see myself somewhere in the middle of all of these “identities,” unable to reconcile exactly why they separated us, and why they brought us together. And on top of all that, chemicals were burning through my hair and scalp. For a student of culture, the whole experience was a bit of beautiful chaos.
We continued the rest of the day talking about the great food is in Colombia, American music lyrics, Afro-Colombian and Peruvian immigrants in Chile, family, and more. Mostly, they talked among themselves as I tried to follow. By the end, I’d had lunch with Cruz and her daughters, and I had given Cruz’s daughter some of my hair products (though I cringed to see a little black girl get so excited about putting chemicals in her hair, I certainly understood her desire to “soften” her thick texture. I also had to wonder how her own psyche has been affected by Eurocentric ideals of beauty, for I don’t have the experience to make that judgment). I’d also been officially invited back whenever I wanted.
I think I’ll be back. If not to fry my hair, to be comforted by the loving voices of a people that I’ve never been enough a part of.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
So Much Sand
So much happens in a week. The weather went from about 27 degrees centigrade to about 13 degrees centigrade...what?! Yes, it was quite deceiving. I can't wait for it to really warm up down here.
Some scattered news:
1. I started my internship! I am assistant teaching in 11th and 12th grade English classes at an all boys semi-private school. It's really a lot of fun. The boys are very cordial and generally well behaved. I mostly help them with pronunciation and grammar. Our interactions range from questions about their work, questions about America’s Next Top Model, singing American songs for their classes (I’ve heard ‘We Are the World’ about ten times today), and questions about my personal life.
2. Went to Valparaiso, a small port city about two hours away from Santiago. It was just a day trip for the Tufts program, but a few of us decided to stay over. We stayed in the most amazing hostel I’ve ever seen. It was basically a house with giant beds and acrobatics. My upper body still hurts from climbing that stretchy cloth thing. At night, the six of us went to a giant club called “Huevo.” Lots of floors, lots of Chileans, lots of dancing. It was a good time. The next day we took a short bus ride to the sand dunes, where we spent most of the time taking TONS of silly pictures.
3. Earlier last week (when it was warm) A cat crawled into my lap while I was writing in my journal. Supposedly there are two cats that hang out between by the science building (where I was sitting) and cuddle with/steal food from students. The cat that sat in my lap was the cuddle cat. The food-stealing cat came later, and literally meowed on my lap and in my face until I generously allowed it to drink some of my yogurt.
Some scattered news:
1. I started my internship! I am assistant teaching in 11th and 12th grade English classes at an all boys semi-private school. It's really a lot of fun. The boys are very cordial and generally well behaved. I mostly help them with pronunciation and grammar. Our interactions range from questions about their work, questions about America’s Next Top Model, singing American songs for their classes (I’ve heard ‘We Are the World’ about ten times today), and questions about my personal life.
2. Went to Valparaiso, a small port city about two hours away from Santiago. It was just a day trip for the Tufts program, but a few of us decided to stay over. We stayed in the most amazing hostel I’ve ever seen. It was basically a house with giant beds and acrobatics. My upper body still hurts from climbing that stretchy cloth thing. At night, the six of us went to a giant club called “Huevo.” Lots of floors, lots of Chileans, lots of dancing. It was a good time. The next day we took a short bus ride to the sand dunes, where we spent most of the time taking TONS of silly pictures.
3. Earlier last week (when it was warm) A cat crawled into my lap while I was writing in my journal. Supposedly there are two cats that hang out between by the science building (where I was sitting) and cuddle with/steal food from students. The cat that sat in my lap was the cuddle cat. The food-stealing cat came later, and literally meowed on my lap and in my face until I generously allowed it to drink some of my yogurt.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Cultural Differences: Kissing
In addition to the power-point presentation on “the abroad experience” the Tufts in Chile pre-departure meeting included little chit chat session with some Tufts in Chile veterans. This session was quite helpful, as they gave us some cultural tips about Santiago. One student made a particularly memorable comment. He explained that we would witness many couples making out on park benches, in the streets, and pretty much any public space. He explained that this was because most Chileans live at home until they get married, and therefore need to find places other than their parents’ houses to make-out. I wouldn’t say that this is the only explanation for the PDA (public displays of affection) in Santiago. I believe that it is also more culturally acceptable to publicly express ones romantic emotions. Very Latin.
Exempli Gratia…
The other day I was riding the train (or the “metro”), and there was a couple making out about a foot and a half away from me. I don’t want to say it was disgusting, but it was disgusting. I could practically smell their breath. (In case it hasn’t been made clear yet, I am an immature pre-teen trapped in a bitter twenty-year-old's body. Though some people seem to think it’s the other way around). So, being the asshole that I am, I turned to them and said (in Spanish, of course), “I’ll give you 200 pesos if you stop making out.” They looked at me in utter disgust. Luckily I don’t have too much of an American accent, so they couldn’t call me a stupid Gringa. They quickly moved away from me as a nearby woman tried to restrain her laughter.
Okay, so that didn’t actually happen. Unfortunately, I’m not that audacious. And, luckily, I’m not that rude. Despite my prudish prejudices around where it is appropriate to make out, I often find the PDA endearing. As an advocate for peace, acceptance, unity, and all that other gushy stuff, I can certainly appreciate people expressing their love for each other. So go ahead, Chileans, make out all you want. Thank you for not fighting in public, or killing each other, or dropping bombs on foreign lands.
Another Kind of Kiss:
In my experience, Salutations around the world can be confusing. In Japan, bowing is customary. In Europe, one might shake hands, or kiss on the cheek two or three times depending on the country. Here in Chile, and in many other Latin American countries, the appropriate way to say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ is to kiss once on the cheek. This goes for meeting someone new, or for greeting an old friend. In the US, however, I find that just saying a friendly, “hi” or, “bye” will suffice to be considered polite. Some people even go for a hug if they’re feeling joyful. And when we meet someone, we generally shake hands, or do an apathetic wave.
In a country where kissing is customary, however, extending a hand is seen as a bit cold. So us Gringos have to adjust to the warm ways of Latin American culture. It can be a little awkward when you forget that you’re in Chile, and you go in for the handshake, and they go in for the cheek kiss (almost as awkward as when you go in for the cheek kiss and they go in for the real kiss). Either you have poked them in the stomach, forced them to back away from you, or ungracefully bumped into their face.
Some people are really good, and do the arms wide-open thing. That way they can go for a hug, kiss, or handshake while also appearing quite friendly. On the other hand, apathetic waves and bows don’t work so well after that.
I would say that the best thing to do in a foreign cultural salutation situation is to take a small step forward, and/or wait to see what the other person does. That way you can do an apathetic wave, bow, hug, kiss, or shake hands without making an arse out of yourself. The only problem is that they might be thinking the same thing. In that case, I just rock/paper/scissors my salutations and hope that they pick the same one.
Exempli Gratia…
Today, after Sociología Economica, whom do I run into at the bus stop? None other than the professor who’d just given the day’s lecture. !! Despite often feeling like a spastic cat on the inside, I’ve learned to keep a calm and collected composure on the outside. Today was no different. Though I was flipping out throughout the bus and train ride home with my professor, I managed to articulate short sentences, and keep up the small talk. He even told me that I spoke well and had a nice mix of Gringo (boo), Chilean (eh), and Colombian (yay) accents. On the train ride, he told me about his work as a musician, and his research with the United Nations on gender inequalities. As the train pulled into my stop, I began to worry. Ahh. How is this goodbye going to work?!, thought I. Professors often kiss their students of all ages, but this logic did not register as I stood there swooning. Luckily, he leaned in for the customary kiss on the cheek before I had to make any decisions (whew).
Exempli Gratia…
The other day I was riding the train (or the “metro”), and there was a couple making out about a foot and a half away from me. I don’t want to say it was disgusting, but it was disgusting. I could practically smell their breath. (In case it hasn’t been made clear yet, I am an immature pre-teen trapped in a bitter twenty-year-old's body. Though some people seem to think it’s the other way around). So, being the asshole that I am, I turned to them and said (in Spanish, of course), “I’ll give you 200 pesos if you stop making out.” They looked at me in utter disgust. Luckily I don’t have too much of an American accent, so they couldn’t call me a stupid Gringa. They quickly moved away from me as a nearby woman tried to restrain her laughter.
Okay, so that didn’t actually happen. Unfortunately, I’m not that audacious. And, luckily, I’m not that rude. Despite my prudish prejudices around where it is appropriate to make out, I often find the PDA endearing. As an advocate for peace, acceptance, unity, and all that other gushy stuff, I can certainly appreciate people expressing their love for each other. So go ahead, Chileans, make out all you want. Thank you for not fighting in public, or killing each other, or dropping bombs on foreign lands.
Another Kind of Kiss:
In my experience, Salutations around the world can be confusing. In Japan, bowing is customary. In Europe, one might shake hands, or kiss on the cheek two or three times depending on the country. Here in Chile, and in many other Latin American countries, the appropriate way to say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ is to kiss once on the cheek. This goes for meeting someone new, or for greeting an old friend. In the US, however, I find that just saying a friendly, “hi” or, “bye” will suffice to be considered polite. Some people even go for a hug if they’re feeling joyful. And when we meet someone, we generally shake hands, or do an apathetic wave.
In a country where kissing is customary, however, extending a hand is seen as a bit cold. So us Gringos have to adjust to the warm ways of Latin American culture. It can be a little awkward when you forget that you’re in Chile, and you go in for the handshake, and they go in for the cheek kiss (almost as awkward as when you go in for the cheek kiss and they go in for the real kiss). Either you have poked them in the stomach, forced them to back away from you, or ungracefully bumped into their face.
Some people are really good, and do the arms wide-open thing. That way they can go for a hug, kiss, or handshake while also appearing quite friendly. On the other hand, apathetic waves and bows don’t work so well after that.
I would say that the best thing to do in a foreign cultural salutation situation is to take a small step forward, and/or wait to see what the other person does. That way you can do an apathetic wave, bow, hug, kiss, or shake hands without making an arse out of yourself. The only problem is that they might be thinking the same thing. In that case, I just rock/paper/scissors my salutations and hope that they pick the same one.
Exempli Gratia…
Today, after Sociología Economica, whom do I run into at the bus stop? None other than the professor who’d just given the day’s lecture. !! Despite often feeling like a spastic cat on the inside, I’ve learned to keep a calm and collected composure on the outside. Today was no different. Though I was flipping out throughout the bus and train ride home with my professor, I managed to articulate short sentences, and keep up the small talk. He even told me that I spoke well and had a nice mix of Gringo (boo), Chilean (eh), and Colombian (yay) accents. On the train ride, he told me about his work as a musician, and his research with the United Nations on gender inequalities. As the train pulled into my stop, I began to worry. Ahh. How is this goodbye going to work?!, thought I. Professors often kiss their students of all ages, but this logic did not register as I stood there swooning. Luckily, he leaned in for the customary kiss on the cheek before I had to make any decisions (whew).
Monday, August 24, 2009
Esquiando
I went skiing for the first time last weekend. What a privilege it was to ski in the Andes. The trip included a bus ride to the mountains, ski rentals, a ski lesson, and lunch. It was quite an unexpected treat (although I guess I did pay for it through my tuition).
Skiing was as thrilling as I imagine skateboarding or rollerblading would be, minus the danger of traffic, concrete, and a lack of coordination.
Katrina (another newbie) and I practiced together all day. For our last run, Alli, the semi-professional skier, took us to the big(ger) beginner slope. Both Katrina and I wiped out a couple of times, but it was quite enjoyable to be "dominated" - as Katrina put it - by the snow. And Alli got a good laugh out of the whole thing. I think there's even a video floating around somewhere...
Skiing was as thrilling as I imagine skateboarding or rollerblading would be, minus the danger of traffic, concrete, and a lack of coordination.
Katrina (another newbie) and I practiced together all day. For our last run, Alli, the semi-professional skier, took us to the big(ger) beginner slope. Both Katrina and I wiped out a couple of times, but it was quite enjoyable to be "dominated" - as Katrina put it - by the snow. And Alli got a good laugh out of the whole thing. I think there's even a video floating around somewhere...
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Studying?
Since I’m studying abroad, I suppose that I should post some information on my academic experiences now that my classes are finalized.
Class número uno: Historia Social de América Latina, a sociology class for first year sociology students. I think it’s known as a “gringo class,” or an easy class that Americans take, but, unlike other gringo courses, there are a lot of Chileans in the class as well. I wouldn’t say that it has been that easy so far. Taking notes in a sociology lecture in Spanish has its challenges. I’m sure that studying for the tests and writing the paper won’t be such a breeze either.
Class number two: Sociología Económica. This is NOT a gringo class. It is a class for third year sociology students. Perhaps I should explain the university education system here in South America. We Americans, have the option of prancing into college and taking a variety of classes in a variety of fields, and (sometimes) picking major to focus our education. Here, however, students are forced to pick their carrera (career) immediately after high school. They enter their university in a specific carrera (like sociology, for example) and take classes in that field for the next five years. Both systems certainly have their pros and cons, eh? So anyway, for me to take an Economic Sociology class with people who have been studying pure sociology for the last two or three years (compared with my five sociology classes) is a little daunting. But the topic is quite interesting, and the professors convinced me that I would be fine, especially since half of the reading is in English. We’ll see about this one….Actually, when the class met this past Wednesday, I went in feeling quite confident. I sat next to my Australian friend, Miriam, and her Chilean friend, Betsy. There were only a few setbacks, but they were all mainly due to surmountable distractions as opposed to a lack of sociological knowledge.
Distraction number one: Sociología Económica is taught by two young and, uh, not unattractive men. I thought they were students at first. Not, not, NOT students. Distraction number two: five minutes into the lecture, a dog walked into the classroom. There are stray dogs ALL OVER Santiago (I’ll talk more about this in the future), so it wasn’t too surprising, but it was a little funny. One student tried to shoo the dog out, but the professor told the student to let the dog stay. So the skinny Dalmatian curled up into a ball, and slept through the three-hour class. Distraction number three: Smell of stray dog sleeping two feet away from my desk. Distraction number four: My thoughts wandering after not understanding Parsons’ quadrants of social economics. Luckily, everyone else in class was lost as well, and the professor said he would clarify next time.
Class number three: Cerámica y Vidrio. This class is a lot of fun. It meets twice a week for four hours. The Chilean art students work on their amazing pieces while us gringos learn how to make clay and elementary projects out of glass. There are five students from the United States in the class. One is my friend Emily from Tufts, and the other four are from the University of California program. It’s really nice to have a designated time to work artistically and socialize with Americans and Chileans.
My final “class” will be my internship, in which I will teach English to high school students.
Class número uno: Historia Social de América Latina, a sociology class for first year sociology students. I think it’s known as a “gringo class,” or an easy class that Americans take, but, unlike other gringo courses, there are a lot of Chileans in the class as well. I wouldn’t say that it has been that easy so far. Taking notes in a sociology lecture in Spanish has its challenges. I’m sure that studying for the tests and writing the paper won’t be such a breeze either.
Class number two: Sociología Económica. This is NOT a gringo class. It is a class for third year sociology students. Perhaps I should explain the university education system here in South America. We Americans, have the option of prancing into college and taking a variety of classes in a variety of fields, and (sometimes) picking major to focus our education. Here, however, students are forced to pick their carrera (career) immediately after high school. They enter their university in a specific carrera (like sociology, for example) and take classes in that field for the next five years. Both systems certainly have their pros and cons, eh? So anyway, for me to take an Economic Sociology class with people who have been studying pure sociology for the last two or three years (compared with my five sociology classes) is a little daunting. But the topic is quite interesting, and the professors convinced me that I would be fine, especially since half of the reading is in English. We’ll see about this one….Actually, when the class met this past Wednesday, I went in feeling quite confident. I sat next to my Australian friend, Miriam, and her Chilean friend, Betsy. There were only a few setbacks, but they were all mainly due to surmountable distractions as opposed to a lack of sociological knowledge.
Distraction number one: Sociología Económica is taught by two young and, uh, not unattractive men. I thought they were students at first. Not, not, NOT students. Distraction number two: five minutes into the lecture, a dog walked into the classroom. There are stray dogs ALL OVER Santiago (I’ll talk more about this in the future), so it wasn’t too surprising, but it was a little funny. One student tried to shoo the dog out, but the professor told the student to let the dog stay. So the skinny Dalmatian curled up into a ball, and slept through the three-hour class. Distraction number three: Smell of stray dog sleeping two feet away from my desk. Distraction number four: My thoughts wandering after not understanding Parsons’ quadrants of social economics. Luckily, everyone else in class was lost as well, and the professor said he would clarify next time.
Class number three: Cerámica y Vidrio. This class is a lot of fun. It meets twice a week for four hours. The Chilean art students work on their amazing pieces while us gringos learn how to make clay and elementary projects out of glass. There are five students from the United States in the class. One is my friend Emily from Tufts, and the other four are from the University of California program. It’s really nice to have a designated time to work artistically and socialize with Americans and Chileans.
My final “class” will be my internship, in which I will teach English to high school students.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Cultural Differences: Staring
Before leaving for Chile, all 20 of us Tufts-in-Chile-ers were asked to attend a pre-departure meeting. In this meeting we were given information on a variety of topics such as classes, travel tips, and cultural differences abroad. During the “cultural differences” section, we were warned - I was warned - that black women are particularly sexualized in Chile. I had already heard rumors about the lack of black people and the sexualization of women in Chile, but I wasn’t expecting to get an official warning. I immediately cursed American media (damn you 50 Cent/VH1/industry producers/the man for putting naked black women in your videos and disseminating them abroad – yeah, I saw that video at a bar last weekend). Later, I was informed that the sexualization of black women may have also come from Brazil (I am not in the position to curse Brazil).
So I’m thinking that this sexualized-other thing is going to slightly influence my experience here in Chile. It may be too early to make real judgment, but so far, I have felt no more sexualized here than I do on the streets of Brooklyn. Obviously, in Brooklyn I am not one of 17 other Black women in the entire city, which I assure you, makes a difference. But it really hasn’t been that bad. I was once called “chocolate,” but that’s the only instance in which I’ve been singled out as a black woman.
Still, I’ve still been somewhat paranoid about being the alleged sexualized other here in Santiago. As a result, I have been particularly receptive to the way in which Chileans behave towards me.
Mainly I’ve noticed that people stare at me for longer than I find to be acceptable in a large city. As a New Yorker (and I won’t speak for all 9 million of us), I usually feel concerned, offended, violated, or threatened when a stranger deliberately looks at me for more than two seconds, and makes no attempts to hide the fact. See, it’s generally not a big deal if you catch someone staring at you, and then they quickly look away. So, naturally, my New York crazy (or just my own crazy) sets in, and I immediately feel violated (I am the sexualized other, right?) when people stare at me, and do not look away when I look back at them SEVERAL times. I’ve noticed that men, rather than women or children, like to look for longer periods of time.
I later spoke to my fellow New Yorker friend, Katy - who could probably pass for a Chilean - and she finds that people stare at her as well. I’m not so sure if she gets the curious stares, the mindless stares, or the “you’re pretty” stares. I mostly get curious stares. So maybe staring is just a little more socially acceptable here in Santiago. Or maybe it’s all a self-fulfilling prophecy. Either way, I figure I’ll just have to adjust to the culture and stare back.
I am, however, keeping my eyes open for neo-Nazis. Our program director told us that there is a group of about 50 neo-Nazis roaming the city. They aren’t huge fans of blacks, Asians, and probably a number of other social categories of people. There are probably A LOT more neo-Nazis in and around New York City, but I’m in Santiago where I stand out a little bit more. Since there are probably three more black folk than there are neo-Nazis, (and I’ve only seen about eight people that look like they might be of African descent) I shouldn’t be too worried about running into serious racial problems.
By the way, my demographic numbers are not accurate. I just find it hilarious that I chose to study abroad in one of the few South American countries that only has 12.5 black people. This phenotypic “minority” thing is not new for me, as I grew up surrounded by people who didn’t look like me. Hell, even the entire maternal side of my family doesn’t look like me. It’s not really a big deal. Not like it has contributed to any personal identity crisis or anything. ;) Oh, life. Ya gotta love it.
So I’m thinking that this sexualized-other thing is going to slightly influence my experience here in Chile. It may be too early to make real judgment, but so far, I have felt no more sexualized here than I do on the streets of Brooklyn. Obviously, in Brooklyn I am not one of 17 other Black women in the entire city, which I assure you, makes a difference. But it really hasn’t been that bad. I was once called “chocolate,” but that’s the only instance in which I’ve been singled out as a black woman.
Still, I’ve still been somewhat paranoid about being the alleged sexualized other here in Santiago. As a result, I have been particularly receptive to the way in which Chileans behave towards me.
Mainly I’ve noticed that people stare at me for longer than I find to be acceptable in a large city. As a New Yorker (and I won’t speak for all 9 million of us), I usually feel concerned, offended, violated, or threatened when a stranger deliberately looks at me for more than two seconds, and makes no attempts to hide the fact. See, it’s generally not a big deal if you catch someone staring at you, and then they quickly look away. So, naturally, my New York crazy (or just my own crazy) sets in, and I immediately feel violated (I am the sexualized other, right?) when people stare at me, and do not look away when I look back at them SEVERAL times. I’ve noticed that men, rather than women or children, like to look for longer periods of time.
I later spoke to my fellow New Yorker friend, Katy - who could probably pass for a Chilean - and she finds that people stare at her as well. I’m not so sure if she gets the curious stares, the mindless stares, or the “you’re pretty” stares. I mostly get curious stares. So maybe staring is just a little more socially acceptable here in Santiago. Or maybe it’s all a self-fulfilling prophecy. Either way, I figure I’ll just have to adjust to the culture and stare back.
I am, however, keeping my eyes open for neo-Nazis. Our program director told us that there is a group of about 50 neo-Nazis roaming the city. They aren’t huge fans of blacks, Asians, and probably a number of other social categories of people. There are probably A LOT more neo-Nazis in and around New York City, but I’m in Santiago where I stand out a little bit more. Since there are probably three more black folk than there are neo-Nazis, (and I’ve only seen about eight people that look like they might be of African descent) I shouldn’t be too worried about running into serious racial problems.
By the way, my demographic numbers are not accurate. I just find it hilarious that I chose to study abroad in one of the few South American countries that only has 12.5 black people. This phenotypic “minority” thing is not new for me, as I grew up surrounded by people who didn’t look like me. Hell, even the entire maternal side of my family doesn’t look like me. It’s not really a big deal. Not like it has contributed to any personal identity crisis or anything. ;) Oh, life. Ya gotta love it.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
On Being American
It is likely that I will write several posts that comment on my country of origin. Perhaps, I have already conveyed a distaste for the United States and for Americans in general. (Even the word “American” bothers me. Why do we decide to call ourselves “American” as if to ignore the two full continents of people who are also from America?) I blame my dislike for the U.S. on my parents (thank you, parents), for they have always been critical of the United States and American culture. I must emphasize that I do not hate Americans – that would be a silly generalization. In fact, my best friends are American, my father is American, and I consider myself to be more than half American. But, as Tim Wise (timwise.org) claims to hate Whiteness, as opposed to hating White people, I just hate American-ness. But what is American-ness? It’s a bit difficult to define, but I’ll give it a shot. In my opinion, American-ness is an unquestioned ignorance about the foreign cultures that are exploited in order to support our lifestyle, an apathetic comfort with imperialism, a sense of entitlement to anything and everything around the world, a desire for power and a lack of responsibility, always viewing ones self as heroic, material indulgence, insensitivity to people of other nations and cultures, Hollywood, and probably a lot of other things. I can’t really blame American-ness on any one person, or even on Americans themselves. Like whiteness, it is something that us Americans are taught to not see, or question, or destroy. After all, how could (and why would) such powerful society breed self-destruction?
So why am I so critical of the U.S. if this American-ness is not even an innate quality of ours? One: because I like to analyze society - if it’s all a social construction than it can be changed, right? Two: I believe that whenever there is a social power imbalance, the group with the most power should be criticized in order to resist the forces of a destructive hegemony. Three: because I am American, and believe that I have the responsibility to be self-critical.
As noted in my previous post, I slept all day today. Now I can’t fall asleep. So I decided to go to one of my favorite news sources, Frontline on PBS.org. I could watch Frontline documentaries all day, for they are truly fascinating. This time, I clicked on a short video clip about illegal immigrant workers from Guatemala. My internet connection was slow, so I read through the comments before watching the short clip. And there it was. American-ness. To be fair, some people made constructive points. But the, “If you don’t have money, don’t have kids” comment was pretty insulting. I think that fits into, “insensitivity to people of other nations and cultures.”
But then again, what do I know? Seriously. I come from a set of prejudices, and so does he. Why should I get to say who's being "insensitive"?
Here’s the clip: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/story/2009/08/that-summer-barbecue.html
To relate all of this to my current country of residence (and my other nationality), Chile “nuanced criticism” of Colombia’s decision to host U.S. army bases. There we go again, exercising our sense of entitlement and imperialism around the world. Though Chile was not as critical as Venezuela or Bolivia, I appreciate the slap on the hand.
The article: http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/content/view/20783/
So why am I so critical of the U.S. if this American-ness is not even an innate quality of ours? One: because I like to analyze society - if it’s all a social construction than it can be changed, right? Two: I believe that whenever there is a social power imbalance, the group with the most power should be criticized in order to resist the forces of a destructive hegemony. Three: because I am American, and believe that I have the responsibility to be self-critical.
As noted in my previous post, I slept all day today. Now I can’t fall asleep. So I decided to go to one of my favorite news sources, Frontline on PBS.org. I could watch Frontline documentaries all day, for they are truly fascinating. This time, I clicked on a short video clip about illegal immigrant workers from Guatemala. My internet connection was slow, so I read through the comments before watching the short clip. And there it was. American-ness. To be fair, some people made constructive points. But the, “If you don’t have money, don’t have kids” comment was pretty insulting. I think that fits into, “insensitivity to people of other nations and cultures.”
But then again, what do I know? Seriously. I come from a set of prejudices, and so does he. Why should I get to say who's being "insensitive"?
Here’s the clip: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/story/2009/08/that-summer-barbecue.html
To relate all of this to my current country of residence (and my other nationality), Chile “nuanced criticism” of Colombia’s decision to host U.S. army bases. There we go again, exercising our sense of entitlement and imperialism around the world. Though Chile was not as critical as Venezuela or Bolivia, I appreciate the slap on the hand.
The article: http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/content/view/20783/
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