You've probably heard the phrase ugly American. But you might not know it's source. A prescient and depressing novel by that name--published in 1958--was written by a naval officer serving in SE Asia and a political scientist.
The titular character was not, however, loud and boorish, as the contemporary pejorative has it. Rather, Homer Atkins was physically ugly, but did the right things in service to the people of Sarkhan--a fictional composite based heavily on Viet Nam. He and his wife lived among the people, out in the countryside. They learned the language, ate the food and worked in collaboration with the people to address their difficulties. For instance, when the village needed to create a system to raise water from one terrace to the next, Homer collaborated with a villager who seemed handy with tools, and together they built a pump system from materials and gear that they had available to them. Bicycle parts were an integral feature of this pump. Importantly, he did not simply order a pump from a Western aid agency. To do so would have not allowed the villagers to solve their own problems in a sustainable way.
The novel, of course, included many ugly Americans, to be sure. The authors characterized them as tone deaf to the local society and its cultural patterns, wanting primarily to have a kind of working holiday in the country. They wanted to speak English, eat their preferred foods, enjoy cocktail parties and have numerous inexpensive servants...in an exotic locale.
I provide this brief literary analysis in order to say that I feel my ugliness while here. I try not to be loud, but it's an unconscious competence (!). I want to "enter in," but so far I know approximately 13 Amharic words. We--Sandy and I--are curious, but we're reliant on kindly and helpful Ethiopians (all of whom--even the least Anglophonic--have much better English than we have Amharic). And I don't want to be boorishly consumerist, but we live the suite life (with 3 maids cleaning our room each day) in our 2000 sq. ft. while we look out over shanties. And I get edgy and panicky when we can't get on the web for 48 hours.
I don't want to be saying this as a way to exorcise my "appropriate" Western guilt. I don't know if I feel guilty, and I don't know if I should exorcise that if I do. Or, if there's guilt, it's not that I have, and they don't. It's that I've done so little with what I have. You know...to whom much is given much shall be required.
We'll keep working at it, but we've got a long way to go.
The titular character was not, however, loud and boorish, as the contemporary pejorative has it. Rather, Homer Atkins was physically ugly, but did the right things in service to the people of Sarkhan--a fictional composite based heavily on Viet Nam. He and his wife lived among the people, out in the countryside. They learned the language, ate the food and worked in collaboration with the people to address their difficulties. For instance, when the village needed to create a system to raise water from one terrace to the next, Homer collaborated with a villager who seemed handy with tools, and together they built a pump system from materials and gear that they had available to them. Bicycle parts were an integral feature of this pump. Importantly, he did not simply order a pump from a Western aid agency. To do so would have not allowed the villagers to solve their own problems in a sustainable way.
The novel, of course, included many ugly Americans, to be sure. The authors characterized them as tone deaf to the local society and its cultural patterns, wanting primarily to have a kind of working holiday in the country. They wanted to speak English, eat their preferred foods, enjoy cocktail parties and have numerous inexpensive servants...in an exotic locale.
I provide this brief literary analysis in order to say that I feel my ugliness while here. I try not to be loud, but it's an unconscious competence (!). I want to "enter in," but so far I know approximately 13 Amharic words. We--Sandy and I--are curious, but we're reliant on kindly and helpful Ethiopians (all of whom--even the least Anglophonic--have much better English than we have Amharic). And I don't want to be boorishly consumerist, but we live the suite life (with 3 maids cleaning our room each day) in our 2000 sq. ft. while we look out over shanties. And I get edgy and panicky when we can't get on the web for 48 hours.
I don't want to be saying this as a way to exorcise my "appropriate" Western guilt. I don't know if I feel guilty, and I don't know if I should exorcise that if I do. Or, if there's guilt, it's not that I have, and they don't. It's that I've done so little with what I have. You know...to whom much is given much shall be required.
We'll keep working at it, but we've got a long way to go.
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