Identity – GW Blogs from Abroad

Living as a ‘Toubab’: Perceptions & Relations of Race in Senegal

AdminNovember 4, 2014December 14, 2018

One of the many attractions of studying abroad in Africa was the chance to experience life as a minority race. For the first time in my life, I’m living in a city where almost all the faces I pass are a different race than my own. When I look at the faces in the government, the same is true. Here in Dakar, I’m an anomaly, and I stick out.

That is an experience in itself. But the additional differences of how people relate to racial differences compared to the US are staggering. It is pointed out quite often that I’m a ‘toubab’, or a foreigner. According to my host father, this name comes from a word for ‘doctor’, referring to one of the first interactions the resident population had with the French. At one point it just referred to French expats, but it’s expanded to include all white foreigners. And yet, there is no malice in the label. It’s a statement of fact – I’m white, and look different. The same logic applies to students who are referred to as ‘chinois’ (used for anyone who appears to have East Asian ancestry), ‘arabe’ (not necessarily Arab, has included my friend of Indian heritage), or any other racial labels. The concept of having mixed-country racial identities seems to be difficult for folks here to grasp – the idea of ‘Indian-American’, ‘Chinese-American’, or ‘Mexican-American’ is very strange to a people who identify only with ‘Senegalese’, regardless of personal or family origin. Nevertheless, there remains no negative connotation to pointing out these differences in racial characteristics – it’s just a fact.

I had a long conversation about this with my host brother Papi about this. It was prompted by him asking about the events transpiring in Ferguson and St. Louis. With such a strong perception of America as a country of freedom and opportunity, he was completely baffled as to why there were American cops killing young black boys. And that’s a hard question, especially for me. While I have observed the continuing problem of racism in the US, and while I continuously try to educate myself on it, I will never have the intimate knowledge of a lived experience with it. But there are some elements that seem clear, especially in contrast with Dakar.

First and foremost – Papi knew, even as a non-American observer, that the conflict in Ferguson is inherently tied to racism and specifically anti-black racism. That fact is one that it seems a lot of white America has yet to fully grasp or accept. We can debate specific situational factors until the end of time, but the fact remains that there are too many instances of white cops shooting black young people, both young men and young women, who were unarmed and, by most all accounts, completely unthreatening at the time of their needless deaths. Even if it is not said in so many words, these white cops continue to feel ‘threatened’ by the very presence of these young black people, and their response continues to be immediate escalation of violence.

I believe that this may be the biggest visible factor that plays into the enduring racism in the US – no one in positions of power want to admit that race still heavily influences their judgment, and in a negative way. No one wants to be called or shown to be a ‘racist’, even if all their thoughts (and actions) align with such a label. But even more so, none of these folks at the top of the privilege totem pole want to talk about race, and the fact that different races exist, and the fact that there are still so many institutional factors at work against those who are not white. And a lot of this is self-protecting: to admit that there is an imbalance of privilege is to admit that you, as a white person, receive some form of unfair opportunity that others, as non-white people, do not. And this means that the leaders in the Ferguson area don’t think or don’t want to think about the disparity between percentage of white folks in the population compared to in positions of power, and in the police force. This means that this disparity has persisted for years and years, and needed just one more act of senseless violence against a young high school graduate to spark massive backlash against an unjust system.

It becomes clearer and clearer the more time I spend in Senegal how messed up the American way of dealing with race is. Here, there are many separate ethnic groups (Wolof, Poullar, and Serre, to name the biggest). They have different traditions and languages. They have very recognizable last names that belong to each group. It would be very easy for this to create tension or even violence between groups, if they purposefully ‘othered’ those who were not in their specific group. But instead, the opposite happens. They have a relationship called ‘joking cousins’ between specific groups and last names. When opposing groups meet and exchange family names, they’ll go off on stereotypes about that family – “oh, you’re a Dioup, I don’t want to eat dinner with you, you’ll be greedy!” or “Oh you’re a Ndiaye – haha, I own you! You have to obey me!” Any tension that could exist between the clearly divided in-groups and out-groups is smoothed over and eliminated by universal jokes that everyone knows are not personal, and are reciprocal. I fully believe that these animosities remain so calm because the differences are acknowledged as existing, and simultaneously acknowledged as inconsequential.

Being a minority race in Senegal definitely is a weird feeling, and at times can be scary. But yet, I know that it can never compare to the feeling of being a minority in the United States. I cannot purport to know how to magically solve the racism problem back home, and as a white person, it’s not my place to lead the discussion. But what I do know is that having that discussion is essential. Taking a page out of the Senegalese book, to acknowledge and discuss our racial differences, might just be a way to reach a similar level of comfort, humor, and nonviolent in the relations between races.

To be an American

AdminOctober 29, 2014December 14, 2018

By clairemac93

I am 9 months into my time here in South Africa. For the most part, that means I’ve gotten so used to the things that once shocked me that I don’t even see them anymore. This is just a consequence of living somewhere- and they aren’t all bad. I no longer notice the huge looming mountain tops around town that used to awe me every day. I no longer am taken aback at the beggars following me on my way home from the grocery store, and in fact have had some of my most successful conversations in Afrikaans with them. I no longer notice that the internet is slow, or that races don’t interact much, or how every single house here has a fence or wall around its entire exterior. Surprisingly, as someone who considers themselves relatively tough-skinned when faced with insults to my country, the one thing that to this day has not lost its shock-factor are the feelings of South Africans against America and Americans.

Now, I get it—“it’s all in good fun”. “It’s just a joke”. Trust me, I can take some puns at Americans. In fact, they annoy me a lot too when I’m traveling. They’re unnecessarily loud, especially when they know others are listening. They’re ignorant- a stereotype that is very accurate and which I’ve even noticed in my own lack of knowledge. They travel in huge groups and don’t interact with locals despite having come all the way to [fill in location here]. So yes. I’m not shooting stars and stripes out of my extremities.

However, I am also “proud to be an American” in my own way. I have traveled enough to see the many opportunities that having grown up in the United States has provided me, how many opportunities I was allowed purely because of my citizenship, how much our country has contributed to world history and innovation, and how many amazing cities and states we have. I was offered scholarships for study, to meet people of different upbringings. I never had to worry about receiving schooling, food, shelter, or worry that my politicians weren’t watching out for my general welfare. I ran around my neighborhood as a child, and knew all of my neighbors. And national holidays were, to me, a thing to look forward to and to celebrate having grown up in the States, and still are.

I truly believe that despite what the world way think- that America is culture-less, that that itself is an impossibility. When you meet an American abroad, the entire reason you bond is due to a shared culture—a point of commonality despite whatever differences you may have. I’m not saying it’s the most sophisticated culture—our commonalities might be cereal brands we can only get at home, peanut butter sandwiches, pancakes and our favorite 90’s cartoons, or a common university that you share friends and family at. We bond in going to football games and picking pumpkins at Halloween and sitting down for a meal at Thanksgiving. I think Americans share a lot more in common than they think. And I personally am tired of feeling that I need to be ashamed of my nationality. I am often hit with the phrase, “But Claire, you’re a cool American” or comments on me being the exception to the rule, as if the other 316 million people are innately bad, just by being born in my country.

What’s interesting is that in traveling you tend to run into one of two Americans—regardless of age. There are those who are bazooka-ing you with patriotism and will come to the defense of legitimately any claim against the United States. Then there are those who have picked up on ill feelings towards the US and hate on their country before anyone else does. These both seem like bad options and sort of ingenuine. I think it’s important to strike a balance, with any country, between your pros and cons and to be open to someone else’s respectful opinion. Most importantly, I think it is important to try to speak on behalf of the general population- always remembering that you may be the only American someone ever speaks with and whatever you say may be associated with your country. For example, I have an American friend who likes to rave about how many firearms he and his father own whenever someone approaches him about the issue of gun control in the US. What could have been a productive conversation on media and stereotypes and the diversity of people in the US turns into a game on how intensely someone can fit a stereotype. You can see him getting the shocked reactions he aimed for and you almost witness in their eyes that a stereotype has been solidified forever. Those are chances to act as the middle man- to say what your family does but to also say that plenty of people don’t own firearms and that the reason there aren’t any laws restricting them is due to the NRA’s political influence. This may shed some light on information that foreigners do not know. But many, instead, just tend to shoot to one or the other side of American representation.

Despite always wanting to be a representative of the general public of the States, I’ve run into more than a few snags here in South Africa. I never suspected that anti-american feelings would be worse here than in Germany, but they are. 9 months in and almost daily someone, a professor or fellow student, says something against my country—not to me but in my presence. Most of it is ignorant- assuming were all idiots, we eat fast food 24-7, are all obese, racist, greedy, etc. Rarely do I get approached with a mature argument on political or economic grounds- rather people take easy hits to America’s belly. But sometimes the issues are more serious, such as when I was yelled at for what was going on in Ferguson and told by a South African that “if American can’t even figure out their racial issues, how can they criticize South Africa for theirs?” And I’m not going to lie, it gets old. I can only softly smile and say, “Oh, we're not all like that” or the most common “That’s only in the movies” so many times. I start to wonder why if I insulted a majority Muslim country or an east Asian country I would be considered a bigot or insensitive, yet if I insult the US at every turn its considered socially acceptable. Especially in a country like South Africa, in which I could freely insult blatant inequality differences, racism, lack of education, or any number of other social issues- I don’t. So I find it entertaining at best but insulting at most that South Africans have been so apt to, despite obvious issues of their own, throw so much shade at the United States. Perhaps it is just easier to say, “Hey look over there! Look at how much they’re screwing up!” to distract people from domestic issues.

Essentially, the United States is the country I grew up in, and the one I will go back to. It is a country that, when all is said and done, I am proud to be a part of and proud to represent and which I wish people could experience for themselves to see how diverse it is. I don’t need to be a patriot to respect the amount my country has contributed to who I am and to my values. I suppose it is just difficult to identify with a country whose business is so publically broadcasted, whose movies and music is consumed by the world, and whose political decisions aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, nor mine.

I’m just realizing that solidifying how I feel to be an American abroad is one of my hardest challenges here.

Race in Salvador

AdminOctober 13, 2014December 14, 2018

By marisalgado94

The theme of my abroad program is Public Health, Race, and Human Rights. The past three weeks, we have spent a lot of time grappling with the idea of race, of how we identify ourselves, and of how that dictates our interactions with people in Bahia. One of the biggest challenges that I have had to work through is that in Brazil, race is defined as being phenotypical- people are classified and also choose to identify by the color of their skin. Brazil is a country where the majority of the population is Black. Before arriving, I knew that many people were of African descent and that Brazil had the highest concentration of Africans outside of Africa, but I did not know that this group made up a majority of the country- 97 million people to be exact. In Salvador specifically, 82% of people identify as “not white” according to the most recent census, meaning they either identify as being Preto (Black) or as Pardo (mixed race).

In Brazil, although Afro Brazilians are the majority, discrimination and inequality are prevalent. Race and social class are extremely intertwined in Brazil and the lower socioeconomic classes are made up predominantly of Afro Brazilians. Many advances have been made in the fight for equal rights for all Brazilians, but there is still a ways to go. Because of the connection between race and social class, the lighter your skin is, the more privileged you are perceived to be. The background of students on my program is extremely diverse: African American, Hispanic, White, Sri Lankan, and Indian. What we have learned in our 3 weeks here is that our different skin tones have, whether we want them to or not, places us into very specific racial categories here in Brazil. The racial makeup of Salvador especially has made us all very aware of the color of our skin. If I am just walking down the street or on the bus, my dark hair and facial features allow me to pass as a Brazilian. The interesting thing, however, is that because of my lighter complexion, I pass as a white Brazilian. Being classified by Afro Brazilians into a minority group of elite in Salvador can be a bit weird; my identity in Brazil is no longer tied to being Mexican American like it is in the US, but to having light skin and the privilege that gives me here.

Our academic director, after debriefing our first three weeks here, asked us a question: “Did you come to Brazil to fix something, or did you come to let Brazil shape you?” The Brazilian concept of race and identity reveals a lot about the history of the country: it shows the legacy that over 350 years of slavery has left, it shows how the Black movement has some uphill battles ahead, and it shows that the stereotypical images that most people have of Brazil- of football, Carnival, and happy people on beaches- is not the reality for the majority of people in Brazil. In order to get the most out of my time here, I need to set aside my own world view and preconceptions and understand the lenses through which Brazilians, especially Afro Brazilians, see the world. When I begin my research into health care systems, conduct interviews, and interact with people who have been marginalized in Salvador, I need to be sensitive of how race plays a very real factor in the kind and quality of access to healthcare people have. Instead of being uncomfortable with how Bahianos may initially view me because of my own skin color, I need to allow Bahia and its people to teach me things about myself. I need to embrace cultural differences and use this time to open my eyes even more to the world around me. My hope is that through my time in Bahia, I will gain a new understanding of my own identity and be exposed to questions that I have not yet had to wrestle with in the US. I hope to get a new perspective on the struggles that people who face inequality and racism confront every day. Brazil still has much to teach me, and I am open to learning. I am ready to let Brazil shape me in a way that only Brazil can. Three weeks down, twelve more to go, and I can’t wait for what they have in store.

Pop Culture Abroad

AdminFebruary 20, 2014December 14, 2018

By anishag22

Tomorrow marks my one month since arriving in England. As I'm finally starting to settle into more of a routine with my classes, I thought I would discuss one particular class that keeps me thinking about US/UK cultural differences every time I leave. My intro-level class called "Sacred Scripture and Popular Culture" examines the relationship and intersection between religion and pop culture, and it couldn't be more interesting. We've already watched clips from films like "The Passion of the Christ" and "Ben-Hur," but what I find most intriguing about this class is the fact that almost every single pop culture reference is American. And surprisingly, my British peers seem to be familiar with all of it.

It's hard to explain how it feels to be the only American in the classroom as the professor makes comments like, "In America, gun control is a big issue.." or "How many of you have American friends on Facebook?" The fact of the matter is that American pop culture is British pop culture, and I never realized that before coming to England. As I sit in that class, I feel like some sort of expert on American pop culture topics (and yes, the professor has consulted me about various topics mid-lecture).

In my time in Bristol, I've realized that American pop culture has not only "hopped across the pond," but has truly become another facet of British culture. Every movie that my British flatmates watch when we're hanging out is American. Their favorite singer? Likely Beyonce or Katy Perry. Several times, I have thought to myself: "British pop culture is non-existent." To be honest, these copious American pop culture references have made me feel more patriotic and American than I've ever felt in my life.

It will be interesting to trace my personal journey and American self-identification through the course of this particular class. I wonder if, by June, I'll feel differently about British pop culture. In the meantime, I'm enjoying learning more about England through not only cultural differences, but similarities.

Until next time -

Xx, Anisha