This translates to “our life is not easy” a sentiment that is relevant to many trying to survive and live and thrive on this earth.
There are many times while I was in Comoros when I felt proud to be an American. I was proud of the fact that us Peace Corps Volunteers were learning the first language of the people, something the French rarely do there. I was proud of how open to diversity the United States is as compared to my homogenous village that would start vehemently gossiping if a girl my age wore pants to walk somewhere. Even more than proud, I often felt thankful and privileged to be an American. Our passports allow us to go nearly anywhere we want in the world with very little hassle, meanwhile Comorians are forced to engage in illegal and dangerous tactics to pursue “better” lives in Mayotte and France. The educational resources, the sheer quality of my education at every single school I’ve attended in my life, is so noticeable when compared to my students’, friends’, and siblings’ experiences, where they’d have to study a history lesson in complex French that they hadn’t fully been taught by the haze of a small dinky flashlight because the power had yet again gone out. Our healthcare system and the quality of our doctors was another thing I felt thankful for, because in Comoros the most common solution for any illness is to stick in an IV drip, and if you have to stay overnight, you better make sure a family member can too, because that’s the only way you’ll get food or help going to the bathroom.
Reading that paragraph you may be able to understand how my view of the United States became idealized. I started thinking like Comorians; that the United States was an all powerful utopia that had the answers to everything. I didn’t forget about the problems we face in America, but I became really focused on the problems I saw in Comoros, like the sexism that women and girls face, like the lack of quality educational resources, like the absolute dearth of available well-paying (or even mediocre paying for that matter) jobs after someone managed to get their university degree. And so I thought of the United States as the land of plenty, as the land of opportunity, just in the same way as many Comorians did.
Reverse culture shock is a real thing that many expats feel. You get used to the culture and ways of life of the place you’ve been living so that things from your native culture feel foreign or off when you get home. My rosy image of a utopian United States was immediately shattered by the incompetency, opposing views, and lack of an immediate solution regarding the covid-19 pandemic. I also started to struggle a lot in regards to American excessiveness; feeling guilty that even in pandemic America many of us have so much compared to my Comorian family. We have electricity and laptops and cell phones and as much food in the fridge as our hearts’ desire. I couldn’t understand why my Comorian family had gotten the short end of the stick and I’d been given the clear winning pile. I still haven’t resolved that question, but I do know that it informs the way I view the things I have been given, what I choose to buy, and how much I complain about life’s minor inconveniences. These were two large themes of reverse culture shock that I’ve been experiencing and now a few more have become apparent.
I had trouble wrapping my head around the recent events our country is experiencing, which led me to feel guilty, because racism in this country and the black lives matter movement are topics I started learning about in 2015, when I took my first Africana Studies course at Pitt, and that I have been relatively outspoken about in my personal life, and to an extent my public life. Why did I suddenly feel unable to engage with what was going on with the same passion and empathy that I usually had when it came to these matters? After much self reflection I realized that it’s due to a lot of reasons, but perhaps most significantly because I have been back in the US for 2.5 months and I haven’t found my footing yet. My worldview evolved and grew while I was in Comoros, but I hadn’t been faced with the challenge of inserting that updated worldview into the American context yet, until now.
I obviously do not have an outside perspective in the way that a foreigner would, but I do have the perspective of someone who hasn’t been living in the US recently. In Comoros I thought about how incredible it is that my country is so diverse, my country is so educated, my country is so progressive, and yet here I am surrounded by a country of people so divided it’s nearly impossible to summarize to an outsider, like my Comorian family who have been asking, all the intertwined layers that led us to this point. In Comoros 99% of people are Muslim and they all share the same ethnicity. While there are political debates, it’s mostly about getting the current dictator out of power, but when it comes down to it, most people held the same opinions and ideas about how they should all live their lives. I forgot about the extremity of opinion that exists in the United States, I forgot that there are often a thousand or more different takes on any one topic.
Honestly, I am glad I live in a country where it is normal for people to speak their minds and share their opinions, and that having a difference in beliefs is incredibly commonplace. But I am worried we have gotten too caught up in the minutia of these beliefs that we are missing the big picture. We have created a habit of disagreeing with each other to the point that we’ve forgotten what the end goal should be.
There are some beliefs that are grounded in fact, and to believe otherwise indicates a belief in something that is wrong. Racism is a fact in our country. Police violence against people of color is a fact in our country. Generational trauma and the systematic oppression that has yet to be dismantled since the time of enslavement is a fact in our country. We, and I am speaking as a white person specifically to white people for the remainder of this, need to educate ourselves on those facts in the most academic and well-rounded way possible, and we need to engage with those who do not see those things as facts yet. We shouldn’t be telling people who disagree with us to unfollow us because those are the exact people we should be trying to have a conversation with. We should not be making blanket statements that belittle people who disagree with us because that means we have shut the door for any further hope of advocacy or conversation. I know we are angry; I am angry, sad, and appalled that there are still people who do not believe these facts of racism in our country. But I am white, I have benefited from these systems my entire life, I am part of the oppressing group. I cannot think of myself as better than other white people because I am educated on these topics; because if I do, that gets us nowhere. There is a way to be angry and to advocate for the truth without discrediting the potential for others to find their humanity. There are some truly awful racist people out there who will probably never change and frankly don’t deserve anyone’s time of day, but thankfully the extreme does not make up the majority. I believe if we put in the work to engage with people who as of yet do not understand the gravity of racism in this country we have a chance at making real change. Our end goal should not be to further divide ourselves, but to eventually unite ourselves.
This takes time. When I first got to Comoros I would never have dreamed of making comments about the sexism I observed, and it’s good that I didn’t, because imagine a stranger white girl marching in with all her American privilege telling the teachers at her school that it’s rude they didn’t shake her hand or telling her host father that it’s wrong he never helps out in the kitchen. Instead I formed relationships with these people and truly got to know them in the same way that they truly got to know me. Only then was I able to make effective statements about my beliefs in regards to women’s rights, and it led to many positive conversations with teachers at my school, men in my village, and my female students.
There are many aspects of this example that aren’t identically relatable to the current issue at hand in the United States. But I suppose my point is that the person you want to start having these difficult conversations about race with is probably not a radical right wing Nazi type of person, but rather your cousin who has grown up Republican and feels loyal to that and doesn’t see how being anti racist could fit his views, or your friend who has a police officer brother. These are people that you know, that you already have a relationship with and that you need to start engaging with. Be honest, show your anger and sadness, stress the urgency, but be ready and willing to engage for the long run because something that I have learned from living in a different culture in Comoros is that what is glaringly obvious to you isn’t always so obvious to others.
A United States that is across the board anti racist is a United States that will reach unprecedented heights. White people we have to be in this till the end, we have to stay focused on the facts and we need to stop belittling others with our words, especially those who are fighting for the same thing, just perhaps in a way not identical to ours. Belittling is not the same as speaking the truth. We need to keep speaking the truth.
Danielle in Comoros 