In America, race is a topic we generally try everything
humanly possible to keep from discussing. We pride ourselves on living in the
Land of Diversity, and yet we do our absolute best to avoid any mention of the
characteristics in the people around us that create said diversity. Staunchly
enforced social taboos include commenting on or asking about a person’s skin
color, ethnic background, country of origin, or method of arrival in the United
States. While we might be secretly fascinated with the details of each other’s
cultural heritage, we don’t want to risk lifting the veil of political
correctness in order to gaze at what’s underneath. We are afraid of what will
happen if people find out that we are not really colorblind.
In the States, the best we can muster toward an inquiry into
someone’s roots is a subtle compliment on their “culturally-interesting”
clothing choices or perhaps a request for a recipe for a delicious “ethnic
food” that we think they may know how to make. If we’re feeling particularly
bold that day, we may go so far as to ask, “Where did you get that beautiful
accent?” But that’s as far as it goes. We would never, under any circumstances,
simply ask someone, “Where did you come from? What race are you? Why are you
here?” And upon pain of death, or at least loss of our card-carrying status as
socially well-adjusted, colorblind, non-racist, decent human beings, we would
absolutely not make blatant, candid comments about someone’s color, size, English
speaking ability, or level of adjustment to American cultural norms. You just
don’t do it.
Well, things are a little different in the developing world.
On the World Race so far I have heard all of the following statements and more:
“You’re not from here. Where did you come from?”
“Why is your skin so white?”
“How did your hair get so blonde?” (Note: In the States my
hair would be considered dark brown.)
“You are very big. You should walk more.”
“That color makes you look very pale and shiny.” (Note: This
was meant as a compliment…oh Thailand)
“Why is your skin so red? You’re getting sunburned. You
shouldn’t let that happen.”
“You have lots of scars from your mosquito bites. You
shouldn’t have gotten so many bites.”
“Why is your accent so bad? Why can’t you pronounce the
words right?” (Note: I was the translator when this was said to me…fail.)
“Hey you! You’re white! Hello white person!”
“You are too skinny. You need to eat more so you can fatten
up so you can get married.” (Note: Yes, on the World Race it’s possible to be
simultaneously too fat and too skinny. That’s what you get when you change
entire worlds every 3-5 weeks. I guess you can’t please everyone.)
“Why are you here?”
“Why don’t you do your hair?”
“Y’all are very heavy. You are weighing down the car…it
never bottoms out this much.”
“Why can’t you speak my language? You should try harder to
learn it.”
“Why don’t you know anything about this country?”
As you can see, social commentary in the developing world
takes on a distinctly less complicated form than it does in America. We skate
around the issue of difference like it would kill us to observe that all human
beings are not identical. We fear risking more than a subtle, nuanced hint at
our appreciation of diversity, while in most of the rest of the world, people
shout comments to you about your race and size from car windows as they speed
by you on the highway. They offer you tips on fattening up or thinning down
over a cup of tea as if they were discussing something as benign as gardening
techniques or quiche recipes. In most of the world, nationality, size, race,
language, and general physical appearance are just like any other conversation
topics. They are free game to bring up in any social situation, and you should
expect to be asked questions that would shock you on an hourly basis. What we
may see as a gross insult they simply view as a true observation of what they
see.
In fact, beyond simply being more blunt than most Americans
can imagine, many people that I have met this year cannot conceive of a world
in which their every thought on the topic of someone’s appearance would not be
public knowledge. I was talking to a woman last month in Kenya who simply
refused to believe that people did not shout comments about other people’s race
to them on the street in America. First, she asked me if she was the first
black person that I had met because she has been led to believe that all
westerners are white. After I explained that I have friends of many colors in
America and all over the world and she decided I was lying, she asked me if
people in America would shout “Hey, African!” at her if she walked down the
street in my town. “No,” I explained, “They would absolutely never do that. In
fact, unless someone talked to you and heard your Kenyan accent, they would not
think that you are from Africa.” Again, she did not believe a word I was
saying. “The children would yell to me about my black skin if I went to
America. I am sure of it.” “No,” I told her, “No one would ever say anything
about the color of your skin. They might ask you what country you come from,
but that is about it. You would not be rare, and no one would stare at you.”
I’m pretty sure that by the end of that conversation she thought I was either
crazy or a liar, because in her completely non-diverse world in which
absolutely everyone is the same color and is from the same country, it is
inconceivable to not comment on the things that make us different.
Since I have had every facet of my body, hair, skin, accent,
and personality analyzed in public conversation everyday of the last eight
months, I have spent a good bit of time reflecting on why our levels of
openness about obvious truths are so different. Why can people here tell us to
lose weight and yell at us because we’re white, but we would be social outcasts
if we merely admitted contemplating these topics at home? There are many
reasons, and I’m not trying to open up a debate on this subject, but the reason
I keep coming back to is the abundance or lack of diversity. In places like
rural Uganda where people live their entire lives without meeting anyone who
does not look exactly like them, speak the same language, and share the
identical cultural heritage, the sudden presence of diversity in any form is
reason for questions and conversation. In an ocean of similarity, a speck of
difference is a welcome change. In America, the Land of Diversity, where every
person you pass on the street is from a different country, is a different
color, and speaks a different language, we cling to the few things we have in
common. We push our diversity under the rug in order to highlight the basic
similarities that bind us together. Where diversity is lacking, difference is
celebrated. Where diversity is the norm, similarities are sought after.
People in the developing world do things differently than we
do in America, but they might be onto something. I’m not saying I would like
everyone to start openly commenting on the fluctuations in my weight or the
pastiness of my skin tone when I get home, but I will say that I think we have
something to learn from the candid, fearless appreciation for difference that I
have experienced this year.
Despite the fact that it was meant as a punishment for man’s
arrogant attempt to play God, I have always liked the story of the Tower of
Babel. I studied Anthropology and Spanish in college, so I have always liked
reading about how people first acquired the gift of languages, were scattered
across the earth, and began to live separate lives as distinct people groups.
If that had not happened, most of the things that fascinate and excite me today
would not exist. The World Race would not exist. But God didn’t stop there. He
didn’t simply scatter us, confuse our languages, and then leave us in a state
of punishment until the future day in which he would put everything back in
order and make us all the same again for eternity. One of my other favorite
passages from the Bible is at the very end. In Revelation 22, as John describes
the vision he saw of heaven, he tells how the Tree of Life was growing up on
either side of the River of Life that flows through the street. It says that
the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there
be any curse. It does not say that the nations will be abolished and that
everyone will be the same-it says the nations will be healed. I have always
read this and believed that it means there will finally be peace between people
who are different. We will no longer fight over our differences, but we will
still have them. In Heaven, I believe that we will all be different, but we
will celebrate our diversity and the creativity of God that we each
represent.
If we will peacefully celebrate our diversity in heaven, and
we are commanded to live our lives on earth as it is in heaven, then I think we
can start that party now. I’m not proposing an end to the pursuit of political
correctness as a whole, but I do think a relaxing of the rules, a relieving of
the fear of offending, and an embracing of a touch of the innocent fascination
with the way God created people that I’ve seen around the world might be in
order. I think admitting that I’m not colorblind and neither are you would be a
good start, because God is not colorblind either. Seeing in color does not have
to mean discriminating based on our differences. Admitting that we can see the
full spectrum of God’s creative powers places a higher value on the things that
make us unique without diminishing the importance of the things that unite us.
If anything, the one thing we all have in common is that we are all different
from every other person that has ever existed. I believe that a big step toward
healing the nations is openly recognizing their existence and celebrating them
as a creative gift from God instead of a curse that we should ignore. I’m
white, you’re black, you’re Asian, you’re Latino, you have red hair, I sunburn
easily, and you could stand to lose a few pounds. And guess what? God made us
this way, and he likes us.
