27 March
The current geo-political underpinnings of a few potently controlling Western nations on the vast North African nation of Libya are worth pondering. Extremely fresh history informed that a collective of North Africans are simply drained of decade long dictatorship regimes. Former Egyptian and Tunisian Presidents, Hosni Mubarak and Ben Ali experienced the harsh impact of the injustice they continuously deemed on their civilians. With Col Gadafi, things are quite different.
On March 19, dominating Western powerhouses including France, the U.S., England, and Italy reformed their “international coalition” against Libya, in the name of “preparations to enforce the no-fly zone voted by the United Nations Security Council.” In no way, do I consciously intend to support the appalling 42 year regime of Gadafi. The dominant figure has physically and emotionally voiced Libyans and other Africans for far too many years. The deplorable and merciless act of firing on active and subtle protestors clearly exemplifies the despot’s barbarianism. Should the previously mentioned “International World Police” intervene to “save” scores of innocent Libyans from exercising their shear human rights? A contentious and unsettling discourse that remains warped in the political and humanitarian ideology of many. Instead of treading those waters, proposing some political irony related to the situation may be valuable.
David Mafabi, a deeply opinionated Ugandan writer, raised various imperative and pertinent concerns regarding the West’s decision to intervene. Oil. Mafabi explicitly connects the “international military” action to Libya’s oil reserves. “Libya is among the world’s largest oil economies with approximately 3.5% of global oil reserves, more than twice those of the U.S. And with 46.5 billion barrels of proven reserves, Libya is the largest oil economy on the African continent.” Do we find ironic parallels between the intervening nations and their economic investment in Libyan oil? “Foreign oil companies operating prior to the insurrection in Libya include France’s Total, Italy’s ENI, British Petroleum, ExxonMobil, and Chevron.”
I habitually wonder how these materially resource-grubbing dominators incessantly justify such blatant acts of human destruction and terror, and for what costs? To simply maintain control of bloody oil? Col Gaddafi’s domineering style and acts towards the civilians justify the moral, economic and political intervening actions of the West. Does a “humanitarian invasion” in Libya serve similar corporate interests as the 2003 invasion and occupation of Iraq? Is the underlying objective of this mission to grab possession of Libya’s oil and so smoothly transfer it to foreign hands?
The striking irony only augments if we minimally deconstruct Western historical and contemporary international intervention. The current politically violent turmoil in the small West African nation of the Ivory Coast has killed hundreds and forced another million folks to flee the country. “Incumbent” President Gbago and his faithful supporters will not only refuse to accept defeat, but are subsequently taking up arms which threatens a return to civil war. Alassane Ouattara, U.N. and Western world’s recognized winner of the November elections, is presently holed up in some swanky hotel in Abidjan; his life guarded by a heavy U.N. crew. The crimes against humanity are frighteningly similar between the Ivory Coast and Libya, with one stark difference. No Western intervention or even direct attention in West Africa. Comparable humanitarian crises in two unstable African countries, with two incomparable resources; no oil in Cote d’Ivoire constitutes no Western intervention. The Ivory Coast is one of the world’s largest cocoa producers. Perhaps Nestle Chocolate bars are not crucial enough intervening incentives to “save” millions from the harrowing effects of displacement and war.
Rwanda 1994 – One million dead in 100 days. No oil or significantly effective resources for Western intervention in the tiny landlocked African nation. Where is the dominant intervention in the existing catastrophes in Zimbabwe and Bahrain? The examples are practically uncountable. Are we merely a collective span of contempt civilians that continue to be manipulated, hoodwinked and bamboozled by superficial, inauthentic and inhumane government and corporate regimes? Are we subconsciously led through the confines of life by a deceitful and sketchy institutional, international conglomerate of leaders whose cracking is impracticable? Does expelling my energy on these pertinent humanitarian issues benefit myself or anyone? I smile and wonder…
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Munu
9 March
Very seldom do I succumb to contemporary Western society and 21st Century’s technological progress and anxiously check my e-mail prior to leaving my charming dwelling each morning. However, last Tuesday I was abruptly awoken by the screeching of our baby pigs and the lingering aroma of the red “perfumed” mosquito coil that attempted to deny the malaria infestation into my quaint sleeping quarters. Before I knew it, I was sporting a half smile, a lopsided hairdo and awkwardly sitting at the main table in the sitting room. I found slight difficulty comprehending the mosquito coils dedication to not only discourage insects from entering my room, but subsequently create a peaceful, calm fragrance.
Why was I ogling the g-mail screen? Three new messages in my inbox; “Africa” the subject of the first. “Hey Neil, how’s it going bro? The other day a buddy of mine and I were talking about Africa. In a simple and concise way can you maybe tell me why you think Africa remains so underdeveloped?” I instantly clicked out of g-mail and folded down my oversized Toshiba laptop. Shortly thereafter, while attempting to meditate in the front compound – before calmly reminding myself to focus on my own breath – I chuckled and reminisced on why I refuse to open e-mails in the mornings especially when I can bask, value and welcome those crisp, fresh northern Ugandan mornings.
Twenty-seven minutes later, I aimlessly promenaded through my village with a quasi-objective of reaching my internship. Slowly, I passed by my young, adorable, barefoot, ripped black tank top sporting eleven-year-old neighbor selling six foot long rods of sugar cane. I caught a momentary glimpse of his perfectly aligned white teeth as he warmly smiled and greeted me. Next, I vigilantly observed two young boys wading in knee-deep murky water uprooting some personally unfamiliar green vegetation.
Reflecting on my good pal’s e-mail, I shook my head at the request for a “simple and concise” explanation. As I assiduously attempted to shield the already dreadful sun’s rays from my face, I noticed the menacing facial expressions of a six year old boy sprinting towards me. He instantaneously halted just as his endearing nose hit my bellybutton. He extended out his little calloused right hand and in a sort of aggressive tone demanded, “Munu!” Ignorant to the kid’s intentions I reached out my sweaty palm and amusingly greeted him, “Ico ma ber, awobi.” (Good morning, boy). The tyke slapped me five twice and then squeezed and held onto my right index and middle finger. All the while I fixed my gaze on his bright eyes that reminded me of those old school, oversized colorful Christmas tree lights. Not a minute after parting ways, I glanced over my left shoulder and studied the boy and three of his cronies with awestricken faces. Two of the boys raised the one fella’s palm and the three silently analyzed and studied the hand that struck mine. In the local vernacular, I heard one of these dear children state, “This hand touched a Munu’s hand!” I let out an elongated sigh.
“You are rich because you are white, you are white because you are rich.” Frantz Fannon’s uncomplicated and profoundly poignant words radiated throughout. My black American supervisor, Dr. Joanne Corbin, was out here a few weeks ago, and thus we engaged in a plethora of multifaceted discourses regarding race and oppression. What is racism in northern Uganda? We pungently concluded racism in the United States is positively different than here in northern Uganda. Our program demands an anti-racism assignment during our field placement. How does racism impact the workplace? For the specific pragmatics of the assignment Dr. Corbin suggested we substitute the word oppression for racism. How can the work community combat issues of tribalism, the subjugation of women, etc. in order to enhance the current working environment.
Deeply embedded in the notion of oppression in northern Uganda is whiteness. Without fail, each and every single instant I’m out in the villages, walking through town, or moving home I’m perceived in an unambiguous light based on skin color. There is no mistaking that it also - albeit perhaps unconscious and subtle - takes place in the United States. However, out here it’s simply vastly different. The current underpinnings of violence, marginalization and subjugation that scores of northern Ugandans experience daylily is indisputably traced to whiteness. Does this existing injustice further fuel the plethora of conflicted affairs throughout the Motherland? A “simple and concise” response – if one actually exists – is “yes.” How is the ideology of the LRA and Ugandan President Museveni’s dictatorship of 25 plus years linked with colonialism and white oppression? Why is a loaf of bleached white bread quadruple the price in my homeland? And, that’s white bread. I amusingly smirk conceptualizing offering a local pal out here a slice of some pumpernickel, seven grain whole wheat, olive bread.
Many of my local pals have this fixed existential view on what “America” must be like; a land of nonstop money, material and opportunity. A good amount refuse to comprehend my ideology maintaining that America also has an expanding, deeply submissive, polluted and despicable cloud looming overhead. How do those who have experienced both a world of struggling to receive a bag of rice from the World Food Program coupled with a world of excessive loaves of sesame sourdough bread make sense of it all? If originating from the World Food Program scenario, it seems clear that one must believe she is not created as an equal. Again Fannon’s words, “For if, in fact, my life is worth as much as the settler’s, his glance no longer shrivels me up nor freezes me, and his voice no longer turns me into stone.”
Is this why no local ever rejects the slight extra coin I intermittently offer for a boda ride or a shave? At times, it even appears expected. How do I continuously sit with this? Should my existence in northern Uganda parallel the present affirmative action policy in the States? There are countless instances when I feel extremely compelled to give more material, finance, love, comfort, empathy, etc. because I’ve been privileged and fortunate enough to remain absent from the confines of what Chinua Achebe labeled, “things fall apart.” The Acholi “things” are inexhaustible. Similarly to affirmative action in the U.S. isn’t it my right as a privileged, well educated, heterosexual white male to offer some of what I’ve been handed to those who have collectively and continuously been dominated? Doesn’t that constitute humanity?
So the next time I observe a bare-chested four year old girl with green snot running down her right nostril, look at me and says “Munu, mina mi abic” (Give me 500 shillings which is ~20 U.S. cents) I must still perceive her with genuine love and kindness. It’s neither her fault nor mine; just the way this abstract globe decides to spin us.
A “simple and concise” response to my good pal’s inquiry … no such reply exists.
Very seldom do I succumb to contemporary Western society and 21st Century’s technological progress and anxiously check my e-mail prior to leaving my charming dwelling each morning. However, last Tuesday I was abruptly awoken by the screeching of our baby pigs and the lingering aroma of the red “perfumed” mosquito coil that attempted to deny the malaria infestation into my quaint sleeping quarters. Before I knew it, I was sporting a half smile, a lopsided hairdo and awkwardly sitting at the main table in the sitting room. I found slight difficulty comprehending the mosquito coils dedication to not only discourage insects from entering my room, but subsequently create a peaceful, calm fragrance.
Why was I ogling the g-mail screen? Three new messages in my inbox; “Africa” the subject of the first. “Hey Neil, how’s it going bro? The other day a buddy of mine and I were talking about Africa. In a simple and concise way can you maybe tell me why you think Africa remains so underdeveloped?” I instantly clicked out of g-mail and folded down my oversized Toshiba laptop. Shortly thereafter, while attempting to meditate in the front compound – before calmly reminding myself to focus on my own breath – I chuckled and reminisced on why I refuse to open e-mails in the mornings especially when I can bask, value and welcome those crisp, fresh northern Ugandan mornings.
Twenty-seven minutes later, I aimlessly promenaded through my village with a quasi-objective of reaching my internship. Slowly, I passed by my young, adorable, barefoot, ripped black tank top sporting eleven-year-old neighbor selling six foot long rods of sugar cane. I caught a momentary glimpse of his perfectly aligned white teeth as he warmly smiled and greeted me. Next, I vigilantly observed two young boys wading in knee-deep murky water uprooting some personally unfamiliar green vegetation.
Reflecting on my good pal’s e-mail, I shook my head at the request for a “simple and concise” explanation. As I assiduously attempted to shield the already dreadful sun’s rays from my face, I noticed the menacing facial expressions of a six year old boy sprinting towards me. He instantaneously halted just as his endearing nose hit my bellybutton. He extended out his little calloused right hand and in a sort of aggressive tone demanded, “Munu!” Ignorant to the kid’s intentions I reached out my sweaty palm and amusingly greeted him, “Ico ma ber, awobi.” (Good morning, boy). The tyke slapped me five twice and then squeezed and held onto my right index and middle finger. All the while I fixed my gaze on his bright eyes that reminded me of those old school, oversized colorful Christmas tree lights. Not a minute after parting ways, I glanced over my left shoulder and studied the boy and three of his cronies with awestricken faces. Two of the boys raised the one fella’s palm and the three silently analyzed and studied the hand that struck mine. In the local vernacular, I heard one of these dear children state, “This hand touched a Munu’s hand!” I let out an elongated sigh.
“You are rich because you are white, you are white because you are rich.” Frantz Fannon’s uncomplicated and profoundly poignant words radiated throughout. My black American supervisor, Dr. Joanne Corbin, was out here a few weeks ago, and thus we engaged in a plethora of multifaceted discourses regarding race and oppression. What is racism in northern Uganda? We pungently concluded racism in the United States is positively different than here in northern Uganda. Our program demands an anti-racism assignment during our field placement. How does racism impact the workplace? For the specific pragmatics of the assignment Dr. Corbin suggested we substitute the word oppression for racism. How can the work community combat issues of tribalism, the subjugation of women, etc. in order to enhance the current working environment.
Deeply embedded in the notion of oppression in northern Uganda is whiteness. Without fail, each and every single instant I’m out in the villages, walking through town, or moving home I’m perceived in an unambiguous light based on skin color. There is no mistaking that it also - albeit perhaps unconscious and subtle - takes place in the United States. However, out here it’s simply vastly different. The current underpinnings of violence, marginalization and subjugation that scores of northern Ugandans experience daylily is indisputably traced to whiteness. Does this existing injustice further fuel the plethora of conflicted affairs throughout the Motherland? A “simple and concise” response – if one actually exists – is “yes.” How is the ideology of the LRA and Ugandan President Museveni’s dictatorship of 25 plus years linked with colonialism and white oppression? Why is a loaf of bleached white bread quadruple the price in my homeland? And, that’s white bread. I amusingly smirk conceptualizing offering a local pal out here a slice of some pumpernickel, seven grain whole wheat, olive bread.
Many of my local pals have this fixed existential view on what “America” must be like; a land of nonstop money, material and opportunity. A good amount refuse to comprehend my ideology maintaining that America also has an expanding, deeply submissive, polluted and despicable cloud looming overhead. How do those who have experienced both a world of struggling to receive a bag of rice from the World Food Program coupled with a world of excessive loaves of sesame sourdough bread make sense of it all? If originating from the World Food Program scenario, it seems clear that one must believe she is not created as an equal. Again Fannon’s words, “For if, in fact, my life is worth as much as the settler’s, his glance no longer shrivels me up nor freezes me, and his voice no longer turns me into stone.”
Is this why no local ever rejects the slight extra coin I intermittently offer for a boda ride or a shave? At times, it even appears expected. How do I continuously sit with this? Should my existence in northern Uganda parallel the present affirmative action policy in the States? There are countless instances when I feel extremely compelled to give more material, finance, love, comfort, empathy, etc. because I’ve been privileged and fortunate enough to remain absent from the confines of what Chinua Achebe labeled, “things fall apart.” The Acholi “things” are inexhaustible. Similarly to affirmative action in the U.S. isn’t it my right as a privileged, well educated, heterosexual white male to offer some of what I’ve been handed to those who have collectively and continuously been dominated? Doesn’t that constitute humanity?
So the next time I observe a bare-chested four year old girl with green snot running down her right nostril, look at me and says “Munu, mina mi abic” (Give me 500 shillings which is ~20 U.S. cents) I must still perceive her with genuine love and kindness. It’s neither her fault nor mine; just the way this abstract globe decides to spin us.
A “simple and concise” response to my good pal’s inquiry … no such reply exists.
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