I fear it.
I try not to abuse it.
I swim in it, yet I do not see it.
I breathe it, but cannot detect it when I sniff.
I do not know how to live without it--certainly I would not be sending thoughts of my year in Kenya without a hefty dose of privilege.
Privilege has stalked me since I was young. Never the wealthiest in my class, I was often proud that those spoiled children with cable were so morally inferior because of their economic indulgence. But wallowing in that pride allowed me to look away from my great privileges of always having private schooling, always having two working, encouraging parents, always having good roads. Here in Kenya, some of the obstacles I've faced are perceptions of wazungu as privileged. Kids, instead of wanting to play, will practice the second English phrase they learned (second to "Hawayu," of course, the traditional greeting), "Give me 10 shillings." Beggar children in Nairobi and neighbors in Icaciri alike will ask this, because they see a mzungu and he likely has money. They don't look to see that we are dressed shabbily because we don't know how to wash clothes correctly. They do not see our unkempt hair and beards as signs of poverty. They just see a white person. With money.
The worst part about fighting this stereotype (still present among our peers and elders, but they don't just walk around asking for 10 shillings) is that it is truth. If you did not click the link in the last paragraph, click here. The very things about our appearance that I would think could say we are not privileged, because we do not care how we appear, reveal our privilege. The freedom to not care what people think is itself privilege. The freedom to think we are the masters of our realms is privilege.
It is the illusion of privilege to be the cause of the effects around you. "If you study, you succeed" is a story only believable in a situation of privilege. If you have a learning disability, the story is not about you. If you study, you might not succeed. But you're not the same kind of person. You have a named excuse for not being in complete control of your life. I was in a lovely argument yesterday with a determinist who knew these things well. A counselor and a student currently, he saw this inability to control outcomes as sufficient evidence for inescapable fate. I could not follow him all the way; I picture human existence as stretched across the gap of choice and chosen, waiting for the renewal of both internal and external worlds to bring will and outcome into harmony.
So beware of your guilt, America. Even your identity is not safeguarded against the necessity of interdependence in the world. Your wrongs and rights are not only yours, but shared. Beware the hubris of believing an ash cloud unjustly disturbed your plans or of crediting yourself for your academic success. You are privileged. Thanks be to God for granting you the opportunity to fly around the world or study to show thyself approved or drive a smooth road and not even know it. Open your eyes and see how you depend on the postal workers, the road workers, Immokalee tomato pickers, and uncounted hordes of drivers, cashiers, growers, policymakers, administrators, and children.
And continue to work. Because the farmer plants the seed, but does not make it grow. He does not know how it dies in the ground and releases from its belly tenfold or a hundredfold. Do not work on the factory model--successfully or unsuccessfully producing a product--try the agricultural model. Plant a seed. Speak true, loving words or invest in a child's life or actually plant a seed. Don't judge yourself on results, but hope for them. And work for them. Plow, till, but do not credit yourself with the growth. For as much as the farmer has a right to enjoy the fruits of his labor, he could not have prevented a drought. He did not awaken the sleeping seed to the rising joys of geotropism.
May the peace of Christ dream in your eyes new things today as you breathe whatever air in which you find yourself.
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Huratiti
The year is moving faster and faster. Routine and comfort teach me how to not notice how I spend my time. But it wends inexorably toward late July, when I must needs move again, when I will fly high over the ocean to a mission field closer to home.
"Tundapaa juu (oweo)" sings the radio. One of the most-played songs since we've been here blares in a tinny Kiswahili voice a testimony of transformation. I recently had more of the song translated for me than ever before; on my own, I had only discovered it was a gospel song about flying high (tunapaa juu) and going places (tunaenda). What I learned recently was the story, which is conveniently present in the music video. The singer was born into poverty and a rough neighborhood. He gave his life to Christ and since then has been blessed with wealth and music, marked by a dramatic costume change. "Huratiti"--faster and faster the blessings come, higher and higher the Lord lifts the singer.
My initial reaction to this meaning was disappointment. Here's a decent Kenyan song with lots of play time, and it's just parroting the prosperity gospel. "If you're a believer," I heard, "you'll have a nice jacket like this guy." But when I complained of this to my desk neighbor in the staff room, he told me to give the guy a break.
"It's his testimony. Let him tell it."
And that's just it. It is his story. What would I prefer, that he took credit for his success? As much as the prosperity gospel is a plague, it is not the case that God does not want people to be successful. We need refined eyes to evaluate our success in God's light, but material success is a gift of God--giving glory back for that gift is essential. Rumor has it some study has concluded that Africa in general has grown much wealthier in the past 20 years, but not just the rich getting richer--there are more and more people sharing the wealth, so said this study. So more and more people have the opportunity to tell the story of how God has blessed them materially. The message does not have to be read as "if you are a good little Christian, God will give you that sportscar you want." It can just be "Thank you." It is a story of transformation, of the work of God. So I guess that's ok. But I still want to handle with care--it still rubs me funny.
Our handball team did really well this year. It was fun to watch a team that kept losing their "friendlies"--scrimmages with nearby schools--repeatedly beat larger schools that had discouraged us all season. We advanced a game away from provincials after a few weekends of tournament.
We have had a tiny visitor a few times recently. Sara from across the hall is now old enough to walk. She comes and plays with the Dora dominoes or the dinosaurs or the crayons, with a cute, pudgy, expressive face. Last term (before April) she was comfortable with us and we would go visit and play games with her. But then this term when we came back to school, she had forgotten these bearded wazungu and cried when we came too close. It was another period of getting to know her--she had grown a lot in that month, but now we observe more cuteness than ever before.
And I am transformed this year. Faster and faster approaches the day when I will return home again to measure such change. It is by no means the end of my exploration, but maybe I will know the place for the first time. To new eyes.
"Tundapaa juu (oweo)" sings the radio. One of the most-played songs since we've been here blares in a tinny Kiswahili voice a testimony of transformation. I recently had more of the song translated for me than ever before; on my own, I had only discovered it was a gospel song about flying high (tunapaa juu) and going places (tunaenda). What I learned recently was the story, which is conveniently present in the music video. The singer was born into poverty and a rough neighborhood. He gave his life to Christ and since then has been blessed with wealth and music, marked by a dramatic costume change. "Huratiti"--faster and faster the blessings come, higher and higher the Lord lifts the singer.
My initial reaction to this meaning was disappointment. Here's a decent Kenyan song with lots of play time, and it's just parroting the prosperity gospel. "If you're a believer," I heard, "you'll have a nice jacket like this guy." But when I complained of this to my desk neighbor in the staff room, he told me to give the guy a break.
"It's his testimony. Let him tell it."
And that's just it. It is his story. What would I prefer, that he took credit for his success? As much as the prosperity gospel is a plague, it is not the case that God does not want people to be successful. We need refined eyes to evaluate our success in God's light, but material success is a gift of God--giving glory back for that gift is essential. Rumor has it some study has concluded that Africa in general has grown much wealthier in the past 20 years, but not just the rich getting richer--there are more and more people sharing the wealth, so said this study. So more and more people have the opportunity to tell the story of how God has blessed them materially. The message does not have to be read as "if you are a good little Christian, God will give you that sportscar you want." It can just be "Thank you." It is a story of transformation, of the work of God. So I guess that's ok. But I still want to handle with care--it still rubs me funny.
Our handball team did really well this year. It was fun to watch a team that kept losing their "friendlies"--scrimmages with nearby schools--repeatedly beat larger schools that had discouraged us all season. We advanced a game away from provincials after a few weekends of tournament.
We have had a tiny visitor a few times recently. Sara from across the hall is now old enough to walk. She comes and plays with the Dora dominoes or the dinosaurs or the crayons, with a cute, pudgy, expressive face. Last term (before April) she was comfortable with us and we would go visit and play games with her. But then this term when we came back to school, she had forgotten these bearded wazungu and cried when we came too close. It was another period of getting to know her--she had grown a lot in that month, but now we observe more cuteness than ever before.
And I am transformed this year. Faster and faster approaches the day when I will return home again to measure such change. It is by no means the end of my exploration, but maybe I will know the place for the first time. To new eyes.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Rule breaker
(Written a few days ago, but internet was down when we tried in Gatundu)
Searching for paper to start a fire yesterday, I came across my extra fund raising letters and information sheets--the papers I passed out at churches--and was free to use them. Thank you, dear supporters, for pushing me along. I am being transformed by the relationships I have here.
How does this work? I had a discussion about culture recently that made me look for changes in my spectacles. Here's the example we discussed(given by my friend and fellow teacher Maina).
A century ago, a certain African ethnic group thinks twins are cursed. So, they burn them or leave them out to die. A white man, upon moving to the area, sees this as a tragedy and adopts the ones left outside, rearing them as his own children, watching as they become upstanding, powerful members of the society that originally rejected them.
Maina's conclusion: they weren't cursed. The culture was wrong. I don't dispute that, but from an epistemological perspective, the culture doesn't learn this about itself naturally. I mean, if the culture's rules were followed, no one in the culture would be able to evaluate it. The "culture" of abandoning twins is only seen to be unnecessary when broken. Now, elders of this community have two options in this scenario: (1) continue as if the grown, intelligent, successful twins are still cursed, or (2) rethink the cultural stigma. This rethinking process is only made possible by the rulebreaking of the white man. You can't examine your glasses if you don't know where they start and your eyes end. This person, because of his culture's ethic, has given people an opportunity to examine their worldview. Breaking someone's rules were the only way to show
So here, I questioned a worldview yesterday when it sounded like someone wanted Kenya to become America. When I go home, I want to question Americans about progress without reevaluation of worldview. New eyes and a bigger imagination make better change. Without imagination, rich people moving to the suburbs decades ago engineered neighborhoods which can now only be reasonably navigated by car. People accept an hour commute by car every morning, but shun a 45-minute commute by foot. Without imagination, we get stuck with either-or political parties, both extremes offending sensibility. Imagination is sometimes the ability to see through conflict to underlying unity, to see a way forward to reconciliation. And new paths are sometimes only revealed when we observe the consequence of "breaking" the culture. But how do know what to break? I don't think we are ready to have our culture broken by running around naked. It has to be slow and halting--people don't listen to a stranger in a strange land. Change perceptions by breaking them perceptibly, not by completely changing people's ways of life and thinking. They tend to kill over that.
But maybe imposition is breakable--consider that as a point of contention. Our (Euro Americans') personal property and our time is so sacred that visits are limited to invitation only. I don't often hear of people (outside of a university setting or really close friends) simply dropping by someone's house to say hello or to ask a request, or especially to spend some days there. The overnight is the biggest imposition of all. Is it because we are so used to using our guest rooms as studies (which is convenient)? Do we worry that there's not enough cereal in the pantry for our guest's breakfast ($5 says there is)? No. Because we don't have to. Our culture says it's an "imposition," so we're not likely to receive unexpected guests and go without leftovers. But a gospel of abundance kills the overgrown American concept of scarcity of time. A gospel of community ends the individual's tyranny over house and homestuffs. So I encourage you, impose on someone this month. Within reason and especially within compassion, of course. Impose on someone to show them that you call them a part of your life. Give someone an opportunity to do so, and help them examine their cultural spectacles.
Anyway, that's some stuff I've been mulling over recently. As far as happenings, Josh and I had a nice visit to Meru to see Deanna and Sweetwater, a game reserve in Nanyuki. It was beautiful--saw my first elephant in the wild. It was small and feisty. Breaking a branch, it shooed our bus along the road away from its private munching grounds. I had no way to tell it we were not going to hurt it, especially while we kept roaring at it with our beefy engine.
Searching for paper to start a fire yesterday, I came across my extra fund raising letters and information sheets--the papers I passed out at churches--and was free to use them. Thank you, dear supporters, for pushing me along. I am being transformed by the relationships I have here.
How does this work? I had a discussion about culture recently that made me look for changes in my spectacles. Here's the example we discussed(given by my friend and fellow teacher Maina).
A century ago, a certain African ethnic group thinks twins are cursed. So, they burn them or leave them out to die. A white man, upon moving to the area, sees this as a tragedy and adopts the ones left outside, rearing them as his own children, watching as they become upstanding, powerful members of the society that originally rejected them.
Maina's conclusion: they weren't cursed. The culture was wrong. I don't dispute that, but from an epistemological perspective, the culture doesn't learn this about itself naturally. I mean, if the culture's rules were followed, no one in the culture would be able to evaluate it. The "culture" of abandoning twins is only seen to be unnecessary when broken. Now, elders of this community have two options in this scenario: (1) continue as if the grown, intelligent, successful twins are still cursed, or (2) rethink the cultural stigma. This rethinking process is only made possible by the rulebreaking of the white man. You can't examine your glasses if you don't know where they start and your eyes end. This person, because of his culture's ethic, has given people an opportunity to examine their worldview. Breaking someone's rules were the only way to show
So here, I questioned a worldview yesterday when it sounded like someone wanted Kenya to become America. When I go home, I want to question Americans about progress without reevaluation of worldview. New eyes and a bigger imagination make better change. Without imagination, rich people moving to the suburbs decades ago engineered neighborhoods which can now only be reasonably navigated by car. People accept an hour commute by car every morning, but shun a 45-minute commute by foot. Without imagination, we get stuck with either-or political parties, both extremes offending sensibility. Imagination is sometimes the ability to see through conflict to underlying unity, to see a way forward to reconciliation. And new paths are sometimes only revealed when we observe the consequence of "breaking" the culture. But how do know what to break? I don't think we are ready to have our culture broken by running around naked. It has to be slow and halting--people don't listen to a stranger in a strange land. Change perceptions by breaking them perceptibly, not by completely changing people's ways of life and thinking. They tend to kill over that.
But maybe imposition is breakable--consider that as a point of contention. Our (Euro Americans') personal property and our time is so sacred that visits are limited to invitation only. I don't often hear of people (outside of a university setting or really close friends) simply dropping by someone's house to say hello or to ask a request, or especially to spend some days there. The overnight is the biggest imposition of all. Is it because we are so used to using our guest rooms as studies (which is convenient)? Do we worry that there's not enough cereal in the pantry for our guest's breakfast ($5 says there is)? No. Because we don't have to. Our culture says it's an "imposition," so we're not likely to receive unexpected guests and go without leftovers. But a gospel of abundance kills the overgrown American concept of scarcity of time. A gospel of community ends the individual's tyranny over house and homestuffs. So I encourage you, impose on someone this month. Within reason and especially within compassion, of course. Impose on someone to show them that you call them a part of your life. Give someone an opportunity to do so, and help them examine their cultural spectacles.
Anyway, that's some stuff I've been mulling over recently. As far as happenings, Josh and I had a nice visit to Meru to see Deanna and Sweetwater, a game reserve in Nanyuki. It was beautiful--saw my first elephant in the wild. It was small and feisty. Breaking a branch, it shooed our bus along the road away from its private munching grounds. I had no way to tell it we were not going to hurt it, especially while we kept roaring at it with our beefy engine.
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