Intercultural perceptions

My legs are beginning to catch the beat of Buenos Aires. From the quiet Flagstaff neighborhood where I lived a routine of fruit, veggie, whole grain diet; fresh air hikes; early to bed and early to rise… to 10pm dinners of filet mignon; constant lively discussion over cafe con leche; pounding the exhaust filled streets of this vibrant metropolis.

Perhaps the description I heard most of Argentineans before arriving was that regarding their national pride, and I’m entertained to find this generalization largely true. Several people I’ve met have taken much time to describe how Argentina outshines other South American countries in terms of their ties to Europe, the beauty and variety of its natural wonders, and its resiliency. I was surprised to find an especially abrupt air towards Chileans. Another minute example gave me a chuckle this evening as my host brother, Agustín, corrected my Spanish homework. I had written about my experience this weekend at Carnaval (not much to speak of… we were “attacked” by shaving cream, as is the tradition), I suggested that one might consider going to Carnaval in Gualeguaychú (in the province of Entre Ríos, Argentina), or Brasil. That “or Brazil” addition caught the attention of Agustín who insisted that the option of going to Brazil not be included. I chuckled and raised little resistance as he backspaced it away.

Several Argentineans have asked me what ideas Americans have of this country, and I ask them the same in return of Argentineans’ impressions of the United States. I find this interesting, so I’ll share… Among the impressions are: that the average U.S. family is not as solid as that of a Latin American family, and children are expected to leave the house at 18 years old; that people from the States are feverishly in quest of the mighty dollar and work like crazy to acquire wealth; and that Americans know and care little about the world at large. My policeman friend explained that Argentineans feel frustration toward President Bush for his arrogance in intervening unilaterally on the global stage. He articulated his understanding that many U.S. citizens are not in agreement with this administration’s policies, and that each country consists of people that contribute both positively and negatively to the world. At the same time, he explained, if he were to tell his friends that he was talking with a woman from the U.S., some might react abruptly with “Why would you talk with a Yankee?” I get the impression that this response would be rare, however, and overall I have felt very well received. In general, the level global awareness and development of ideas here has impressed me in this sense. No doubt this offers a rich environment in which to study international relations.

Villa Miseria

My Spanish teacher asked for our weekend experiences today at the beginning of class. I wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction from her when I recounted my tour of one of the “villas miserias,” (poor squatter communities, as mentioned in Feb 25th’s entry). In a nutshell, her reaction was, “you’ve got to be crazy,” and implored that the other students not follow my lead. She insisted that the people living in these villas are uneducated, violent, dangerous drug addicts, and that I was lucky to reappear unscathed. As you can imagine, I was squirming in my seat and swirling in my mind of how to manage this conversation. On the one hand, remembering my jaunt through the poor community on that sunny Saturday afternoon, I remember experiencing a complete sense of security. Peeking into the humble homes along the narrow path, I saw impeccable cleanliness, and I exchanged smiles and nods with the residents there. On the other hand, I have to admit that I am a foreigner to this land. I wonder to what extent my experiences in other countries, in neighborhoods similar to this villa, translate to this new reality? And on another level, I admit to my perhaps naïve tendency to want to believe in the good in all people, even more so among those in the most impoverished physical conditions. When I hear these stereotypes about a neighborhood or a group of people being dangerous, uneducated, unruly… comments that seem to paint the group as a “separate breed,” to what extent is this reality? Even considering it is (which I profoundly do not), how can we dismantle this fear that sets up walls which perpetuate injustice? To creatively readjust our perspective to see that building bridges of interaction, belief, and faith can help to dissolve these unhealthy and useless boundaries?

As I brought up Gandhi in tonight’s family discussion about violence, I was intrigued to hear such resolute responses regarding his being of “another level,” or higher being. I got little impression that they believe it’s possible to even get close to being what Gandhi was to this world. But he was a man, a human being, I insisted. We are all capable of acting out of such a place of love and peace; are we not? Is it so difficult?

Moving along...

Yesterday I returned home from Spanish class to find my host mom, Silvia, rushing out the door. Not a soul in the apartment. My legs were aching from tromping around the city for the fifth day in a row without rest, and my mind reeling from all the stimulation. I slipped in some classical music, grabbed my journal, slipped off my shoes, and settled in for some moments of recentering. Five minutes later, the telephone rang and I picked up to Silvia requesting me to receive her grandson who would be delivered shortly. Within a half hour, not only did I meet my host brother´s son, Tomas, but the apartment filled with over twelve of the family wishing to see the other grandchild, Francisca, before her departure back to Spain. Kisses all around as I greeted ones I already had met and those I was meeting for the first time.

I had to rush off to a Rotaract meeting in another barrio. My host grandmother and her sister, who are always checking in to make sure I am content and well taken care of, loaded me up with change to take the “colectivo” (bus). Thus is my life as an adopted daughter in the Sanchez Cruces family. I will miss it when I move in a week (more about this later).

Rotaract is Rotary for 20-30 year olds, whose mission is to cultivate leadership skills while serving their communities. A fellow World Peace Scholar invited me to the meeting at a small restaurant in an area called Palermo. We sipped on Argentinean wine as the club listened to the platform of candidates for next meeting´s election of new officers. The lively, searching, intelligent, and respectful discussion inspired me, and gave me a much longed for entry into the service world here. It was quite amusing their talk of an anti-smoking campaign as several puffed at their own sticks, but they were aware of this contradiction and apparently open to change. Smoking is fairly pervasive throughout this culture…

Today I went on a run to my new favorite space in the city, the ecological reserve. As I sat in the park and released some emotion of this intense transition, a concerned policeman came over to chat. Over an hour later after an interesting discussion, he took me on a short walk through a “villa,” or “slum.” We meandered through the narrow paths finding house on top of house on a smaller and more hygienic scale to that which I witnessed in Haiti. I was glad to witness this, and breach the physical gap I was feeling between me and the lower income neighborhoods of Argentina.

Several small yet important steps as I continue to get to know this new home…

Comparisons

So my natural inclination is to compare my experience to that which I had in the Dominican Republic. Wow, quite a difference. Given my interest in race relations, one of the first differences I honed in on is that Argentineans are, for the grand majority, white. As I’ve learned from some history lessons, this is for two reasons: one, because Argentina abolished slavery early on in the 1800’s, and many Africans were sent to Brazil; second, because Argentinean Africans were sent off to battle in the 1860 war with Paraguay. In effect, what we see here are principally Argentineans of European descent.
My impressions are skewed by the fact that I have only been exposed to the wealthier areas of Buenos Aires thusfar; nonetheless, the high level of education and the quality of the infrastructure here impress me. I got a chuckle out of my host family when I asked if they have blackouts here. Extremely rare. The University of Buenos Aires (la UBA) is free for all and has a reputation as a top university.
I have found an interesting irony, as it seems to me. It has become "vogue" to regularly visit a psychologist or psychiatrist. Young people proudly decline an invitation to a social event because they have an appointment with a mental health professional. At the same time, there is a suffocating focus on physical appearance here. Argentina boasts the 2nd highest rate of plastic surgery in the world, and rates of anorexia and bulimia are also towards the top of the charts. The congress recently passed a law requiring clothing stores to carry all sizes. Nonetheless, a "normal" size woman still feels she cannot shop in the "best" city shops.
And there are many little things that peek my anthropological curiosities: the passing of the mate (tea ritual), seeing the dog walkers "paseadores" who are employed to exercise as many as 15 dogs at a time, the various styles and locations of toilet flushers, the fun-sliding elevator doors, and the use of "vos" instead of "tu."
There aren’t near as many catcalls as what I experienced in the DR. Besides the fact that I simply don’t stick out as much as I did there, I am more likely to have a person turn to me to talk politics, of which there are strong opinions against the US for sure. Not to mention the graffiti scattered around the city.
There are many points of comparison and I try my best not to let the emotions enter in, because the DR always will have a special place in my heart as my first out of US living experience. Being here in such a different context—grad school vs. Peace Corps—creates different realities, and I often think of and long to see my family in La Yautia again. But slowly this new family forms, and slowly I will venture out of this upper class section to find the simplicity that Argentina’s campos surely offer.

Powow 1

– La lucha con la culpa y el privilegio en decisiones de la vida (the struggle with guilt and privilege in life decisions)

7pm casa de John. My arrival, followed by that of Mneesha, and lastly Perth, all marked by our gasps and awe of the beauty of Juan’s 11th story Rotarian-architected apartment, kissed with a gardened balcony. Perhaps in hindsight a foreshadowing to our inaugural conversation once the four of us sat down to an immaculately set table.
To live or not to live…in Recoleta. Our conversation twisted and turned around the philosophical bases of our decisions of where to call home during our stay here in Buenos Aires. No small question. On one hand, the repulsion from neighborhoods such as Recoleta and Palermo for their wealth and all this represents. For one, a distance from the poor neighborhoods; an “out of sight, out of mind” phenomenon that we hope never to fall into. The resistance to be associated as “one of them,” o sea, another privileged person living in Recoleta. Though we are indeed privileged. At what point can we or should we distance ourselves from this privilege by virtue of living in lower-income neighborhoods? Distancing would mean letting go of several things to which we’ve become accustomed: proximity to parks, yoga studios, health food stores, and “safety.”
Perhaps the “hottest” concept in this 21st century: are you safe? Protect yourself from the terrorists out there and make sure you’re protected and secure. But who are these apparent “bad guys” and why do they harbor the anger they do? Aren’t we, after all, so inextricably connected so that one person’s violent act is a reflection of us all? Is our desire to be “safe,” and therefore apart, exacerbating the problem?
And there we were, four individuals who had come together with a similar awareness of the problems at hand, knowing that true change begins with each one of us. What is required of us, as peacemakers, with respect to this choice of location? How much of our personal desires do we let go of? Where do the sacrifices begin and end? The privilege we recognize and the feeling of guilt that privilege evokes, we agree, is not entirely productive, but clearly links us and is our common bond that has led us here. No matter where we live, we will remember. The dilemma lies in that we are tired of the words and longing for action. How do we, who are so few, encourage a change that involves many?