This blog site predominantly features writing based on a variety of my global experiences at Boston College.
The blog starts with several entries including essays and reflection topics from classes and the 4Boston service organization.
There are a couple of entries, such as the Anthropology Fieldwork essay, personal profile, and protest music essay, which incorporate aspects of my personal reflection with academic exercises.
The rest of the writing consists of reflections, stories, and thoughts concerning my experience living in South Africa for 5 months during my junior year. This experience living abroad has been a very meaningful and formative experience for me. These entries (in reverse order, as they were initially written chronologically) represent many of the highs, lows, joys, struggles, and learning experiences in South Africa.
I hope this web site provides a window into my experiences, both in Boston and South Africa, that contribute to my widening perspective about the world around us.
16 March, 2009
Jackson-Mann Adult Education
During my senior year I have been volunteering at Jackson-Mann Community Center in Boston with the adult education program. I coordinate a group of volunteers through the 4Boston program at Boston College who also serve as teaching assistants and tutors. I also facilitate weekly reflections with the group of volunteers around issues of community, spirituality, and social justice.
My experience with the students at Jackson-Mann has been a fascinating ‘global’ experience. I work in a pre-GED classroom with about 12 students. In my classroom alone there are people from the United States, Brazil, Panama, Ireland, Cambodia, and Vietnam. The most fascinating aspect of working with these adult students and building relationships with them has been learning about where they are from and why they came to the United States. There are so many unique experiences that have brought all of these people together in this classroom. The environment is also very positive and welcoming for everybody no matter where they come from.
One particular story stands out to me. One student in the class I have very much enjoyed getting to know is a 28-year old man named Piyna from Cambodia. Piyna came to the United States 3 years ago not knowing a word of English and not knowing any family or friends in this area of the United States. Piyna had graduated from a 4 year college in Cambodia and had been working at a bank for 2 years when he decided to leave for the United States. He was not making much of a living, even when working at a bank, and left for the United States with hopes of finding more vocational success. Piyna now works at a café in Brighton and lives with several members of his family who have come to the United States in the past couple of years. Piyna has made much progress with his English grammar and speaking, though he has much more work ahead of him if he hopes to pass the GED. Piyna’s story is not uncommon among many immigrants to the United States who are seeking to find productive work.
Working at Jackson-Mann and getting to know many of the students has been a very enriching experience for me. I have the tremendous opportunity to meet interesting people from all over the world right here in Boston. In many ways we are able to develop reciprocal learning relationships where I am able to provide tutoring in English, Math, and Social Studies, while many of the students teach me about language, customs, and their life experiences in many countries around the world. This community that I am a part of provides an interesting integration of my global understanding with my local service.
My experience with the students at Jackson-Mann has been a fascinating ‘global’ experience. I work in a pre-GED classroom with about 12 students. In my classroom alone there are people from the United States, Brazil, Panama, Ireland, Cambodia, and Vietnam. The most fascinating aspect of working with these adult students and building relationships with them has been learning about where they are from and why they came to the United States. There are so many unique experiences that have brought all of these people together in this classroom. The environment is also very positive and welcoming for everybody no matter where they come from.
One particular story stands out to me. One student in the class I have very much enjoyed getting to know is a 28-year old man named Piyna from Cambodia. Piyna came to the United States 3 years ago not knowing a word of English and not knowing any family or friends in this area of the United States. Piyna had graduated from a 4 year college in Cambodia and had been working at a bank for 2 years when he decided to leave for the United States. He was not making much of a living, even when working at a bank, and left for the United States with hopes of finding more vocational success. Piyna now works at a café in Brighton and lives with several members of his family who have come to the United States in the past couple of years. Piyna has made much progress with his English grammar and speaking, though he has much more work ahead of him if he hopes to pass the GED. Piyna’s story is not uncommon among many immigrants to the United States who are seeking to find productive work.
Working at Jackson-Mann and getting to know many of the students has been a very enriching experience for me. I have the tremendous opportunity to meet interesting people from all over the world right here in Boston. In many ways we are able to develop reciprocal learning relationships where I am able to provide tutoring in English, Math, and Social Studies, while many of the students teach me about language, customs, and their life experiences in many countries around the world. This community that I am a part of provides an interesting integration of my global understanding with my local service.
4Boston Reflection: Liberation Theology
Liberation Theology: Lens of the Poor
Story
Roberto’s family was fairly well off by Nicaraguan standards: they owned two modest houses, two cars, and ate meat with their meals at least two times a day. During the time of the Somoza regime, he had worked in a private hospital and had maintained a medical practice for those patrons who had the ability to pay for consultations. Of course, that select group only included perhaps 15 percent of the Nicaraguan population. Nevertheless, Roberto was free to carry out his career in those ways he determined beneficial.
With the triumph of the revolution, health care was nationalized throughout Nicaragua. Doctors and other health care professionals were required to devote a large percentage of their consulting hours to popular clinics, and for their services they were compensated with a fixed salary which was considerably lower than that which they had previously earned. Roberto was livid about these changes, and regularly vented his anger with me: “Can you believe the totalitarian system which we have in this country?! You wouldn’t allow this to happen in the United States. You wouldn’t let your government tell you where to work and how much you are to be paid for doing it. The Sandinistas have taken our freedom from us!”
When I was not listening to Roberto’s diatribes in the evenings, during the daytime I was traveling to the city barrios and the countryside of Nicaragua in conjunction with the Protestant relief agency CEPAD. Everywhere I went, campesinos and workers were sharing with me the thrill of receiving medical attention for the first time in their lives. No longer did they have to face the inexpressible tragedy of sitting back and watching their children die simply because they did not have the money to buy medicine for them. “We now have the freedom to see a doctor,” they repeatedly exclaimed to me. “We thank God that the revolution has given us the possibility of life.”
To give yet one more perspective on how we view reality from the place where our feet are planted, it would be of interest to note the response I have commonly received when I retell this story to churches in the United States. In an adult Sunday school class held at a Baptist church in Oakland, I was sharing how we more often than not read both the Bible and our own history through the grid set by our social and economic commitments. To illustrate that point, I recalled the story of Roberto, who, consciously or not, held his rights of individual gain over the freedoms of the vast majority of the poor people in his country. At the end of the story, I was mildly shocked to hear one of the class members, the wife of a bank executive, respond: “No, Roberto was right! That government must be acting as a dictatorship; no one has the right to take away what he has worked so hard to earn!”
Once again it is clear that the perception of reality is never self-disclosing. Though neither Roberto nor the Baptist woman from Oakland would likely dispute the objective fact that poor people exist in society, they firmly resist any explanation for that condition which might challenge the privilege which they personally gain from that system which creates poverty. Assuming that their response is illustrative of a whole series of values which legitimates their place in that world, it would be safe to say that the poor should not expect any change in their situation to be initiated from those sectors which hold economic and social power in the society. More realistically, the poor should anticipate a forceful opposition, both ‘moral’ and rational, to any alternative rendering of that world to which they might arrive grounded in their own experience of history.
Quotes
“There is only one point of departure – a reality of social misery – and on goal – the liberation of the oppressed.”
“To know God is to do justice, is to be in solidarity with the poor person…as he or she actually exists today – as someone who is oppressed, as a member of an exploited class, or ethnic group, or culture, or nation…Thus, in order to know or love God, one must come to grips with the concrete life situation of the poor today, and undertake the radical transformation of a society that makes them poor.”
“Jesus Christ is precisely God become poor. This was the human life he took – a poor life.”
“A prior meditation takes place which empowers the poor to be the creators of their own reality, a process which is known throughout Latin America as conscientization…This awareness permits the poor to move beyond a dense, enveloping vision of a world from which there is no escape in order to acquire the ability to intervene in their reality as it is unveiled.”
Story
Roberto’s family was fairly well off by Nicaraguan standards: they owned two modest houses, two cars, and ate meat with their meals at least two times a day. During the time of the Somoza regime, he had worked in a private hospital and had maintained a medical practice for those patrons who had the ability to pay for consultations. Of course, that select group only included perhaps 15 percent of the Nicaraguan population. Nevertheless, Roberto was free to carry out his career in those ways he determined beneficial.
With the triumph of the revolution, health care was nationalized throughout Nicaragua. Doctors and other health care professionals were required to devote a large percentage of their consulting hours to popular clinics, and for their services they were compensated with a fixed salary which was considerably lower than that which they had previously earned. Roberto was livid about these changes, and regularly vented his anger with me: “Can you believe the totalitarian system which we have in this country?! You wouldn’t allow this to happen in the United States. You wouldn’t let your government tell you where to work and how much you are to be paid for doing it. The Sandinistas have taken our freedom from us!”
When I was not listening to Roberto’s diatribes in the evenings, during the daytime I was traveling to the city barrios and the countryside of Nicaragua in conjunction with the Protestant relief agency CEPAD. Everywhere I went, campesinos and workers were sharing with me the thrill of receiving medical attention for the first time in their lives. No longer did they have to face the inexpressible tragedy of sitting back and watching their children die simply because they did not have the money to buy medicine for them. “We now have the freedom to see a doctor,” they repeatedly exclaimed to me. “We thank God that the revolution has given us the possibility of life.”
To give yet one more perspective on how we view reality from the place where our feet are planted, it would be of interest to note the response I have commonly received when I retell this story to churches in the United States. In an adult Sunday school class held at a Baptist church in Oakland, I was sharing how we more often than not read both the Bible and our own history through the grid set by our social and economic commitments. To illustrate that point, I recalled the story of Roberto, who, consciously or not, held his rights of individual gain over the freedoms of the vast majority of the poor people in his country. At the end of the story, I was mildly shocked to hear one of the class members, the wife of a bank executive, respond: “No, Roberto was right! That government must be acting as a dictatorship; no one has the right to take away what he has worked so hard to earn!”
Once again it is clear that the perception of reality is never self-disclosing. Though neither Roberto nor the Baptist woman from Oakland would likely dispute the objective fact that poor people exist in society, they firmly resist any explanation for that condition which might challenge the privilege which they personally gain from that system which creates poverty. Assuming that their response is illustrative of a whole series of values which legitimates their place in that world, it would be safe to say that the poor should not expect any change in their situation to be initiated from those sectors which hold economic and social power in the society. More realistically, the poor should anticipate a forceful opposition, both ‘moral’ and rational, to any alternative rendering of that world to which they might arrive grounded in their own experience of history.
Quotes
“There is only one point of departure – a reality of social misery – and on goal – the liberation of the oppressed.”
“To know God is to do justice, is to be in solidarity with the poor person…as he or she actually exists today – as someone who is oppressed, as a member of an exploited class, or ethnic group, or culture, or nation…Thus, in order to know or love God, one must come to grips with the concrete life situation of the poor today, and undertake the radical transformation of a society that makes them poor.”
“Jesus Christ is precisely God become poor. This was the human life he took – a poor life.”
“A prior meditation takes place which empowers the poor to be the creators of their own reality, a process which is known throughout Latin America as conscientization…This awareness permits the poor to move beyond a dense, enveloping vision of a world from which there is no escape in order to acquire the ability to intervene in their reality as it is unveiled.”
4Boston Reflection: Global Village
4Boston Reflection, November 19, 2006 – The Global Village
If we could reduce the world’s population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all existing human ratios remaining the same, the demographics would look like this:
81 non-whites, 19 whites
57 Asians, 13 Africans, 12 Europeans/Soviets, 9 Latin Americans, 6 Americans/Canadians, 3 Others
49 Female, 51 Male
89 Heterosexual, 11 Homosexual
33 would be Christian, 67 would be non-Christian
21 would be Muslims
15 would be Hindus
6 would be Buddhists
5 would be Animists
6 would believe in other religions
14 would be without religion or atheist
7 would speak English, 93 would speak another language
15 would speak Chinese or Mandarin
6 would speak Hindi
6 would speak Spanish
5 would speak Russian
4 would speak Arabic
3 would speak Bengali
3 would speak Portuguese
51 would speak Indonesian, Japanese, German, French or some other language
6 would control 59% of the entire world’s wealth and all of them would be U.S. citizens.
74 would control 39% of the wealth, and 20 would share the remaining 2%
74 would live in substandard housing
40 would not have access to modern sanitation
79 would have access to clean drinking water, 21 would not
67 would be unable to read
1 would have a computer
1 would have a college education
45 would be malnourished with 1 dying of starvation and 15 overweight
1 would have HIV
In the village, there would be:
7 Teachers
5 Soldiers
3 Refugees driven from their homes
1 Doctor
The budget for the village would be around $300,000. Of that budget:
$18,100 would go towards weapons and warfare
$15,900 would go towards education
$13,200 would go towards health care
In the period 1990-2004, the (inflation adjusted) income of the bottom 90% of taxpayers (yes, 9-0), rose by 2% overall (not 2% per year). The income of the top 1% grew up 57% and the income of the top one tenth of one percent (.1) grew by 85%.
If we could reduce the world’s population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all existing human ratios remaining the same, the demographics would look like this:
81 non-whites, 19 whites
57 Asians, 13 Africans, 12 Europeans/Soviets, 9 Latin Americans, 6 Americans/Canadians, 3 Others
49 Female, 51 Male
89 Heterosexual, 11 Homosexual
33 would be Christian, 67 would be non-Christian
21 would be Muslims
15 would be Hindus
6 would be Buddhists
5 would be Animists
6 would believe in other religions
14 would be without religion or atheist
7 would speak English, 93 would speak another language
15 would speak Chinese or Mandarin
6 would speak Hindi
6 would speak Spanish
5 would speak Russian
4 would speak Arabic
3 would speak Bengali
3 would speak Portuguese
51 would speak Indonesian, Japanese, German, French or some other language
6 would control 59% of the entire world’s wealth and all of them would be U.S. citizens.
74 would control 39% of the wealth, and 20 would share the remaining 2%
74 would live in substandard housing
40 would not have access to modern sanitation
79 would have access to clean drinking water, 21 would not
67 would be unable to read
1 would have a computer
1 would have a college education
45 would be malnourished with 1 dying of starvation and 15 overweight
1 would have HIV
In the village, there would be:
7 Teachers
5 Soldiers
3 Refugees driven from their homes
1 Doctor
The budget for the village would be around $300,000. Of that budget:
$18,100 would go towards weapons and warfare
$15,900 would go towards education
$13,200 would go towards health care
In the period 1990-2004, the (inflation adjusted) income of the bottom 90% of taxpayers (yes, 9-0), rose by 2% overall (not 2% per year). The income of the top 1% grew up 57% and the income of the top one tenth of one percent (.1) grew by 85%.
Class: Perspectives on War, Aggression, and Conflict Resolution
(This is the text of letter regarding the conflict in the Darfur region of Sudan. It has been sent through general mail to President Bush, leading presidential candidates Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, John Edwards, Rudy Giuliani, Mitt Romney, and John McCain, and congressional representative James Walsh.)
“Remember: Silence helps the killer, never his victims.”
- Elie Wiesel
To Whom It May Concern (which should be EVERYBODY):
Darfur is sexy. Posters, t-shirts, stickers, and maybe even a television spot here or there. Save Darfur. Stop the Genocide. Not On Our Watch. People supposedly care to end a vulgar injustice thousands of miles away and seemingly worlds apart. I try to tell myself that I supposedly care to play some role in alleviating suffering. I see the posters or t-shirts, I read the news clippings, I hear the empty promises of political leaders, and I wonder to myself, “What is actually being done to stop this? Is this person or this promotion really doing any good?” I catch myself after that instinctively critical thought and turn the question back on myself. “What do I do to contribute to stopping the atrocities?” Sure, I sign the petitions. I click and send the prewritten emails. I go to events on my college campus that serve to inform people about the conflict. Can I do more? Yes. Will I do more? I do not know. I suppose this letter is one small step in trying to shape the conversation that takes place in politics and policymaking. You (whether you are the person this is addressed to or an office aide) could very easily toss this letter aside citing a book you have written an introduction for, or a bill you have co-sponsored, or some event you spoke at. I guess I am just asking you to hear me out as a concerned member of the world we share, as someone who holds the pursuit of social justice and the promotion of the world’s common good as a high value, as someone who took a little bit of time to write a letter.
The conflict in Darfur comes out of a long history of civil war and cultural, geographical, and agricultural conflict between peoples in Sudan. The most recent conflict—the genocide in the Darfur region—comes along ethnic and geographic lines of tension. Estimates vary, but the most consistent numbers from different reports hold that almost 250,000 people have been killed and approximately 2.5 million people have been displaced and forced to flee their homes. The people who have been displaced are forced into crowded, unsanitary, and vulnerable refugee camps in other regions of Sudan and neighboring countries Chad and Kenya. Although the lines of conflict are blurry, generally the black African population of the region has incurred tremendous suffering and death at the hands of government propped militias and military aircraft.
However, talking about the bad news will not make positive action any more realistic. You have heard the bad news, the deaths, the rapes, the villages destroyed, and the tremendous suffering. I hope that this letter is an opportunity to make some of the good news real. In their collaborative activist work Not On Our Watch: The Mission to End Genocide in Darfur and Beyond, John Prendergast and Don Cheadle write, “The good news is that these horrors can be stopped. It is in our hands: citizen action in the United States and around the world can make a huge difference to the protection and survival of entire communities and peoples.” I hope at least in some small way to take what is in my hands and pass it along to your hands. You are in a unique position to change the conversation of national politics from division, slander, and big business interests to the pursuit of justice and promotion of the common good.
For individuals it is easy to be called to action in the form of spreading awareness, signing petitions, sending emails, and writing letters. The question of what we petition for is much more complicated and difficult. Awareness will not make change. Misguided activism has the potential to do more harm than good if promoting a possibly destructive solution. Pushing forward conflict resolution policy and social change has three pillars: field research to learn what is really happening in the conflict zones and what needs to be done, legal advocacy to influence determinations of policy, and widespread political pressure from a citizenry seeking to force an issue into the relevant political conversation.[1] This research, policy impact, and mobilization must be done with a positive energy. It is too easy for the tragedy of Darfur to be overlooked as a pit hole of the usual African conflict as opposed to a beacon of hope for peace and reconciliation.
The United States has led the world in providing emergency assistance to displaced peoples and refugees.[2] Emergency assistance may provide needed base goods to aid survival of displaced people but it does nothing create a social, political, and economic atmosphere for ending the conflict. Now, if the injustice is researched and acknowledged and the citizenry becomes increasingly concerned and outspoken about the issue, what should the policymakers (also known as YOU!) do to end the conflict and encourage productive reconciliation? This letter, combined with the mobilization of the citizenry, is working towards establishing the political will. Once the political will is established, what do the politics need to do? It has already been proven that the government in Khartoum will respond to intense punitive measures. In the 1990s, economic sanctions from the United Nations Security Council led the regime in Khartoum readily and actively renounced its ties with Al-Qaeda and other terrorist organizations. This same pressure must be applied. Some people argue that economic sanctions will only hurt the poor and ravaged of the country more, but the poor and ravaged have already hit rock bottom. They have been slaughtered, raped, pillaged, and displaced. Punitive measures must be taken to force the government regime to respond.
The U.S. government can support this pressure on the Sudanese government through divestment, cutting business ties with Sudan, pressuring China to cut its huge business ties with Sudan, and being active in the United Nations Security Council response. The government should support university, church, and local and state government divestment campaigns. The huge United States divestment during the international anti-apartheid movement was a significant pressure against the white minority regime in South Africa. That same pressure must be applied to Sudan. Big business and government are so closely tied that business failure will force the government to respond by intervening to end the violence and killing.
We must reject the notion that one person, one letter, or one action is irrelevant to change. We exist as individuals but we do not exist alone. We live in a human community that must move. I, as an individual, have the ability to strive for social justice because WE exist together. Change is not inevitable as we learned from the struggle against apartheid. Let us recognize the injustice in our world and begin to take at least small steps to challenge its existence. The manifesto of the original Students for a Democratic Society reads, “We are the people of this generation, bred in at least modest comfort, housed now in universities, looking uncomfortably to the world we inherit…If we appear to seek the unattainable, it has been said, then let it be known that we do so to avoid the unimaginable.” A perfect peace might be impossible to achieve in reality, but we can certainly acknowledge that we can make the broken peace in which our world exists a little more perfect than it now stands. Our failure to speak out and act out against this war against humanity will leave us—as a nation and as individual people—on the wrong side of history. RISE UP!
PEACE & ACTION,
Jeremy R. Marks
“Remember: Silence helps the killer, never his victims.”
- Elie Wiesel
To Whom It May Concern (which should be EVERYBODY):
Darfur is sexy. Posters, t-shirts, stickers, and maybe even a television spot here or there. Save Darfur. Stop the Genocide. Not On Our Watch. People supposedly care to end a vulgar injustice thousands of miles away and seemingly worlds apart. I try to tell myself that I supposedly care to play some role in alleviating suffering. I see the posters or t-shirts, I read the news clippings, I hear the empty promises of political leaders, and I wonder to myself, “What is actually being done to stop this? Is this person or this promotion really doing any good?” I catch myself after that instinctively critical thought and turn the question back on myself. “What do I do to contribute to stopping the atrocities?” Sure, I sign the petitions. I click and send the prewritten emails. I go to events on my college campus that serve to inform people about the conflict. Can I do more? Yes. Will I do more? I do not know. I suppose this letter is one small step in trying to shape the conversation that takes place in politics and policymaking. You (whether you are the person this is addressed to or an office aide) could very easily toss this letter aside citing a book you have written an introduction for, or a bill you have co-sponsored, or some event you spoke at. I guess I am just asking you to hear me out as a concerned member of the world we share, as someone who holds the pursuit of social justice and the promotion of the world’s common good as a high value, as someone who took a little bit of time to write a letter.
The conflict in Darfur comes out of a long history of civil war and cultural, geographical, and agricultural conflict between peoples in Sudan. The most recent conflict—the genocide in the Darfur region—comes along ethnic and geographic lines of tension. Estimates vary, but the most consistent numbers from different reports hold that almost 250,000 people have been killed and approximately 2.5 million people have been displaced and forced to flee their homes. The people who have been displaced are forced into crowded, unsanitary, and vulnerable refugee camps in other regions of Sudan and neighboring countries Chad and Kenya. Although the lines of conflict are blurry, generally the black African population of the region has incurred tremendous suffering and death at the hands of government propped militias and military aircraft.
However, talking about the bad news will not make positive action any more realistic. You have heard the bad news, the deaths, the rapes, the villages destroyed, and the tremendous suffering. I hope that this letter is an opportunity to make some of the good news real. In their collaborative activist work Not On Our Watch: The Mission to End Genocide in Darfur and Beyond, John Prendergast and Don Cheadle write, “The good news is that these horrors can be stopped. It is in our hands: citizen action in the United States and around the world can make a huge difference to the protection and survival of entire communities and peoples.” I hope at least in some small way to take what is in my hands and pass it along to your hands. You are in a unique position to change the conversation of national politics from division, slander, and big business interests to the pursuit of justice and promotion of the common good.
For individuals it is easy to be called to action in the form of spreading awareness, signing petitions, sending emails, and writing letters. The question of what we petition for is much more complicated and difficult. Awareness will not make change. Misguided activism has the potential to do more harm than good if promoting a possibly destructive solution. Pushing forward conflict resolution policy and social change has three pillars: field research to learn what is really happening in the conflict zones and what needs to be done, legal advocacy to influence determinations of policy, and widespread political pressure from a citizenry seeking to force an issue into the relevant political conversation.[1] This research, policy impact, and mobilization must be done with a positive energy. It is too easy for the tragedy of Darfur to be overlooked as a pit hole of the usual African conflict as opposed to a beacon of hope for peace and reconciliation.
The United States has led the world in providing emergency assistance to displaced peoples and refugees.[2] Emergency assistance may provide needed base goods to aid survival of displaced people but it does nothing create a social, political, and economic atmosphere for ending the conflict. Now, if the injustice is researched and acknowledged and the citizenry becomes increasingly concerned and outspoken about the issue, what should the policymakers (also known as YOU!) do to end the conflict and encourage productive reconciliation? This letter, combined with the mobilization of the citizenry, is working towards establishing the political will. Once the political will is established, what do the politics need to do? It has already been proven that the government in Khartoum will respond to intense punitive measures. In the 1990s, economic sanctions from the United Nations Security Council led the regime in Khartoum readily and actively renounced its ties with Al-Qaeda and other terrorist organizations. This same pressure must be applied. Some people argue that economic sanctions will only hurt the poor and ravaged of the country more, but the poor and ravaged have already hit rock bottom. They have been slaughtered, raped, pillaged, and displaced. Punitive measures must be taken to force the government regime to respond.
The U.S. government can support this pressure on the Sudanese government through divestment, cutting business ties with Sudan, pressuring China to cut its huge business ties with Sudan, and being active in the United Nations Security Council response. The government should support university, church, and local and state government divestment campaigns. The huge United States divestment during the international anti-apartheid movement was a significant pressure against the white minority regime in South Africa. That same pressure must be applied to Sudan. Big business and government are so closely tied that business failure will force the government to respond by intervening to end the violence and killing.
We must reject the notion that one person, one letter, or one action is irrelevant to change. We exist as individuals but we do not exist alone. We live in a human community that must move. I, as an individual, have the ability to strive for social justice because WE exist together. Change is not inevitable as we learned from the struggle against apartheid. Let us recognize the injustice in our world and begin to take at least small steps to challenge its existence. The manifesto of the original Students for a Democratic Society reads, “We are the people of this generation, bred in at least modest comfort, housed now in universities, looking uncomfortably to the world we inherit…If we appear to seek the unattainable, it has been said, then let it be known that we do so to avoid the unimaginable.” A perfect peace might be impossible to achieve in reality, but we can certainly acknowledge that we can make the broken peace in which our world exists a little more perfect than it now stands. Our failure to speak out and act out against this war against humanity will leave us—as a nation and as individual people—on the wrong side of history. RISE UP!
PEACE & ACTION,
Jeremy R. Marks
Class: Liberation Christology
Gandhi, King, Mother Teresa, the nameless saints--they are
all irritants, challenging the careful, comfortable ways we have organized
our lives. Yet we love them. Why do we love them? It is only partly
because of who they are. They give flesh to what they believe and thereby
awaken a spirit deep within us. By their words and deeds they call forth
that part of us that yearns to give life, to love mercy and to do justice.
By living their lives the way they do they reach for what is deepest and
best in each of us--pulling, organizing, putting our love for justice to
work in practical ways that serve the poor.
- Reverend Chris Hartmire
Liberation theologians in Latin America have attempted to use their modern day contextual understanding of Jesus’ significance to develop a church of the poor standing in solidarity with the marginalized and oppressed peoples of the world. This liberation theology comes from a third world context where poverty and violence causes millions to suffer. How can Jesus’ life and significance be understood in the context of a wealthy first world nation? How can a liberation Christology be articulated in the United States? How does this articulation influence our interpretations of Jesus Christ’s life and message? The writings of Volker Kuster, Rosemary Radford Ruether, Josè Ignacio Gonzales-Faus, William Herzog, and Raymond Schwager offer insights into how one might articulate a liberation Christology in the United States today.
Kip Tiernan, a long-time hunger activist in Boston, offers some reflections regarding a North American liberation theology. She writes, “What is needed is a North American Theology of Liberation—a renewed consciousness around the social needs of poor people. A Theology of Liberation for North America would consist of radicalizing the privileged, however, and this would not be easy.” She argues that the United States is increasingly a “third world” country because of the growing gap between rich and poor and violence. Liberation Christology in a United States context requires a preferential option for the marginalized and oppressed in this country and an acknowledgement and reconciliation of the poverty and frustration caused by this country’s wealth and military and economic foreign policy. We must come to understand the context and significance of following Jesus’ liberating praxis in the United States today.
The Significance of Culture and Context
The context of interpretation is central to any understanding of the Christian faith. The cultural, social, political, and economic environment in a certain time and place plays a very important role in determining the significance behind certain actions, beliefs, and messages. First and foremost Jesus’ life must be understood within its own context. Jesus was human on this earth and lived in a specific sociopolitical context that influences how first world people should interpret his message in following Jesus in our own lives. Volker Kuster, author of The Many Faces of Jesus Christ, argues that the process of enculturation is intrinsic to Christian faith. Culture permeates all faith because faith exists in this world, and each part of this world has its sociopolitical and historical context. This leads us to certain questions about Jesus’ message. What was Jesus’ culture? His context? What is culture today? Context today? So, in seeking to develop a liberation Christology in the United States, we must first understand Jesus’ liberating praxis entailed during his life, work, death, and resurrection and then apply that praxis to our lives in a different environment.
This notion of culture, however, makes it difficult to balance truths of the gospel with the relevant social context. There is one extreme line of thought that holds that the truths of the Christian faith must be completely universal, and thus removed from normalized culture. This is dangerous in that all culture might be lost, and the supposed universal truth might suffer with a variety of perspectives to challenge it and maintain it. There is another extreme line of thought that holds that the adoption of contextual cultural values is necessary because Christianity is enacted locally. The danger in this philosophy is that Christian identity may be lost and being a good Christian may become indistinguishable from being a good citizen. Most liberation theologians would put themselves in the conversionist realm, advocating that there is something distinct and profound about being Christian, but Christians should seek to transform their surrounding sociopolitical environment by participating in it and engaging it. Kuster notes, however, “Just as the kernel of a nut is brought to light when the shell is removed, so too the gospel can be extracted from its cultural covering” (Kuster, 21). Essentially, Christ can be revealed in any culture. The goal in developing a liberation Christology in the United States is to reveal the “kernel” of Jesus’ praxis for today in this country.
The Context of Jesus’ Life
Understanding the significance of Jesus’ life, work, death, and resurrection requires an awareness of Jesus’ life and surroundings. First, the significance of Jesus requires an understanding of his context as a Galilean Jew in the first century. Jesus lived as a human in a specific social environment and that environment must be interpreted. Liberation theologians focus “first on the historical Jesus, specifically on his ‘liberating praxis.’ It is these deeds of Jesus that reveal the meaning of his person and message” (Ruether, 20). These deeds are expressions of complete solidarity with the poor and directly entering into the structural social conflict of his time. Along with his deeds, Jesus’ origins from Galilee are essential to an understanding of the significance of his life and work. “God has emptied himself in the cross of Jesus Christ: ‘He established his centrality by going to the periphery’” (Kuster, 125). At that time, Galilee was the home of a number of social and religious outcasts, people who were generally rejected by the Jews. In terms of interpreting scripture, God’s love is demonstrated by the fact that Jesus became human as an outcast. Jesus worked with the outcasts and thus became an outcast. He was a political subversive who challenged the existing social orders and he was murdered on the cross because of it. As Jesus is abandoned on the cross and killed, he understands what it means to be abandoned and can thus identify with those abandoned by society.
Also, the resurrection of Jesus has implications for a scriptural understanding of a preferential option for the poor. According to the gospel of Mark, the risen Jesus appears in Galilee. In Christ the Liberator, Jon Sobrino writes, “Whatever may have happened geographically and historically, Galilee is the place of the poor and the despised. And there, according to Mark, the risen Christ will be found.” (page 14). First, Jesus’ body and soul are resurrected, symbolic of the call for the resurrection of the “bodies” of the crucified of our world. Second, Jesus appears among the poor and despised of his world, demonstrating a preferential option for the poor. Also, the first to see the risen Christ were women, a group that was and is oppressed by society.
Following Jesus in a United States Context
In attempting to understand Jesus’ significance today, we must interpret the context of our social world today. As Jesus lived as a human in a specific context, we too live in our own context in the world. It is possible to practice liberation today. William Herzog, author of Jesus, Justice, and the Reign of God, writes, “We are not faced with a new story altogether, but with a new moment in the same story” (Herzog, 65). In order to understand better how to follow Christ and take down from the cross the crucified of our world today, understanding Christ in our own context is important. Reverend Hartmire passionately describes several people who have attempted to hold on to the memory of Jesus’ resurrection in their own lives. Gandhi, King, Mother Theresa and others found their own way to follow Christ while living in a certain context. “The cross and the resurrection are contextual to a particular historical community. These are breakthrough experiences which found our people, that mediate hope in the midst of adversity for us. But this does not mean that these are the only ways that this may happen, or that other people may not continue parallel struggles on different grounds” (Ruether, 43). Though the contexts and time periods are different, there are ways to engage in liberating praxis in the United States today.
The three essential aspects of Jesus’ liberating praxis are a preferential option for the poor and outcast, solidarity with the marginalized, and an entrance in the structural social conflict of one’s time. “Following Christ basically means to follow his kind of way of life in the concrete contexts of the social conflicts of one’s time” (Ruether, 21). It is important to identify outcast, marginalized, and oppressed of contemporary United States society in order to understand the significance of Jesus’ message today. These outcast, marginalized, and oppressed people include women, people of color, the homeless, people who identify as GLBT, the economically poor, the sick, the mentally disabled, and immigrants. Marginalization takes on almost infinite forms, but people who embody some of these characteristics suffer from widespread discrimination in obvious and subtle ways. These marginalized people are part of a structurally unjust system that is sinful. People are inherently sinful not necessarily because of the original sin of Adam and Eve, but rather because people are born into a situation of conflict with sinful structures. “For liberation theologians sin means not only alienation from God and personal brokenness in life, but also the structural evils of war, racism, sexism, and economic exploitation which allow some people to dehumanize others” (Ruether, 19). Unfortunately, war, racism, sexism, and economic exploitation exist in the United States, both internally within our own borders and externally in our foreign military and economic policies.
Spanish theologian Josè Ignacio Gonzalez-Faus identifies three aspects of following Jesus’ message today in the first world by addressing the structural injustices. First, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that Jesus reveals the evil that lies beneath the accepted social norms. In the United States today, this could be manifested through creating systems of education and awareness in our communities about systemic injustices that marginalize our brothers and sisters. Second, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that this revelation of injustice is part of the tension that comes with the proclamation of the kingdom. Revealing the debilitating effects of poverty, racism, corporate greed, and other social practices that are anti-fraternity, will be combated by those in power because of its inherent challenge to existing structural norms. Third, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that this tension lead to Jesus being judged, outcast, and opposed. So, present-day prophets entering into the social conflicts of our time in support of justice will be opposed by many.
Martin Luther King, Jr., for example, followed Jesus in his own mid-20th century United States context. He called for justice and rallied millions to reveal existing evils, condemn these evils as wrong, and promote human equality by standing with the marginalized. Then, King was assassinated by someone standing in opposition to his calls for justice. Ruether writes, “Lay catechists, nuns, even some bishops join the ranks of the imprisoned, the tortured, the assassinated. It is from this reality that Latin American Christians speak to Christians of the First World, of Europe and the United States, about what it means to hear and preach the good news of God’s preferential option for the poor” (Ruether, 26). As Kip Tiernan notes, it will take the radicalizing of the privileged in the United States to address issues of systemic injustice that keeps society further away from the kingdom of God.
On a more individual level, a liberating praxis involves personal identification with the poor and marginalized. The United States today has structural barriers in place that hinder the development of the human community. One goal of a liberating praxis should be to break down these barriers and build relationships. “Jesus was well received by the common people, villagers, peasants, rural artisans, and the more destitute as well” (Herzog, 59). An example of at least a semblance of the breakdown of social barriers between the privileged and the poor in my personal experience is the time I have spent at Haley House, a soup kitchen in downtown Boston. At Haley House the line between kitchen and dining area is blurred, so often patrons work in the kitchen and help clean up after meals and volunteers and staff eat breakfast and chat with all members of the community. Human connection and identification with the poor and outcast of society is important to understanding the call of Jesus in our current sociopolitical and cultural situation.
Conclusion
Jesus entered into the suffering of the marginalized and oppressed people of his time by standing in solidarity with them and entering into existing social conflicts. We must not only understand Jesus’ message, we must enact it in our own context in the United States today. In his work, Jesus the Liberator, liberation theologian Jon Sobrino poses this thought: “Jesus asked us to follow him and we ended up worshipping him.” It is our call now to follow Jesus in our own communities. “In our present world, when we see a society where a few rich families own almost all the land, where they suppress all protest with guns and tanks, where they manipulate religion and education to justify this exploitation, there we are far from the kingdom. But when we see the vast majority rising up against these evils, overthrowing the police state, beginning to create a new society where the hungry are fed, and the poor are able to participate in the decisions that govern their lives, there the kingdom has come ‘close’” (Ruether, 22). The central tenet of liberation is not theology, but liberation. When doing theology in the United States, we must situate ourselves in the reality of oppression, practicing a theology that is a reflection of a liberating praxis.
all irritants, challenging the careful, comfortable ways we have organized
our lives. Yet we love them. Why do we love them? It is only partly
because of who they are. They give flesh to what they believe and thereby
awaken a spirit deep within us. By their words and deeds they call forth
that part of us that yearns to give life, to love mercy and to do justice.
By living their lives the way they do they reach for what is deepest and
best in each of us--pulling, organizing, putting our love for justice to
work in practical ways that serve the poor.
- Reverend Chris Hartmire
Liberation theologians in Latin America have attempted to use their modern day contextual understanding of Jesus’ significance to develop a church of the poor standing in solidarity with the marginalized and oppressed peoples of the world. This liberation theology comes from a third world context where poverty and violence causes millions to suffer. How can Jesus’ life and significance be understood in the context of a wealthy first world nation? How can a liberation Christology be articulated in the United States? How does this articulation influence our interpretations of Jesus Christ’s life and message? The writings of Volker Kuster, Rosemary Radford Ruether, Josè Ignacio Gonzales-Faus, William Herzog, and Raymond Schwager offer insights into how one might articulate a liberation Christology in the United States today.
Kip Tiernan, a long-time hunger activist in Boston, offers some reflections regarding a North American liberation theology. She writes, “What is needed is a North American Theology of Liberation—a renewed consciousness around the social needs of poor people. A Theology of Liberation for North America would consist of radicalizing the privileged, however, and this would not be easy.” She argues that the United States is increasingly a “third world” country because of the growing gap between rich and poor and violence. Liberation Christology in a United States context requires a preferential option for the marginalized and oppressed in this country and an acknowledgement and reconciliation of the poverty and frustration caused by this country’s wealth and military and economic foreign policy. We must come to understand the context and significance of following Jesus’ liberating praxis in the United States today.
The Significance of Culture and Context
The context of interpretation is central to any understanding of the Christian faith. The cultural, social, political, and economic environment in a certain time and place plays a very important role in determining the significance behind certain actions, beliefs, and messages. First and foremost Jesus’ life must be understood within its own context. Jesus was human on this earth and lived in a specific sociopolitical context that influences how first world people should interpret his message in following Jesus in our own lives. Volker Kuster, author of The Many Faces of Jesus Christ, argues that the process of enculturation is intrinsic to Christian faith. Culture permeates all faith because faith exists in this world, and each part of this world has its sociopolitical and historical context. This leads us to certain questions about Jesus’ message. What was Jesus’ culture? His context? What is culture today? Context today? So, in seeking to develop a liberation Christology in the United States, we must first understand Jesus’ liberating praxis entailed during his life, work, death, and resurrection and then apply that praxis to our lives in a different environment.
This notion of culture, however, makes it difficult to balance truths of the gospel with the relevant social context. There is one extreme line of thought that holds that the truths of the Christian faith must be completely universal, and thus removed from normalized culture. This is dangerous in that all culture might be lost, and the supposed universal truth might suffer with a variety of perspectives to challenge it and maintain it. There is another extreme line of thought that holds that the adoption of contextual cultural values is necessary because Christianity is enacted locally. The danger in this philosophy is that Christian identity may be lost and being a good Christian may become indistinguishable from being a good citizen. Most liberation theologians would put themselves in the conversionist realm, advocating that there is something distinct and profound about being Christian, but Christians should seek to transform their surrounding sociopolitical environment by participating in it and engaging it. Kuster notes, however, “Just as the kernel of a nut is brought to light when the shell is removed, so too the gospel can be extracted from its cultural covering” (Kuster, 21). Essentially, Christ can be revealed in any culture. The goal in developing a liberation Christology in the United States is to reveal the “kernel” of Jesus’ praxis for today in this country.
The Context of Jesus’ Life
Understanding the significance of Jesus’ life, work, death, and resurrection requires an awareness of Jesus’ life and surroundings. First, the significance of Jesus requires an understanding of his context as a Galilean Jew in the first century. Jesus lived as a human in a specific social environment and that environment must be interpreted. Liberation theologians focus “first on the historical Jesus, specifically on his ‘liberating praxis.’ It is these deeds of Jesus that reveal the meaning of his person and message” (Ruether, 20). These deeds are expressions of complete solidarity with the poor and directly entering into the structural social conflict of his time. Along with his deeds, Jesus’ origins from Galilee are essential to an understanding of the significance of his life and work. “God has emptied himself in the cross of Jesus Christ: ‘He established his centrality by going to the periphery’” (Kuster, 125). At that time, Galilee was the home of a number of social and religious outcasts, people who were generally rejected by the Jews. In terms of interpreting scripture, God’s love is demonstrated by the fact that Jesus became human as an outcast. Jesus worked with the outcasts and thus became an outcast. He was a political subversive who challenged the existing social orders and he was murdered on the cross because of it. As Jesus is abandoned on the cross and killed, he understands what it means to be abandoned and can thus identify with those abandoned by society.
Also, the resurrection of Jesus has implications for a scriptural understanding of a preferential option for the poor. According to the gospel of Mark, the risen Jesus appears in Galilee. In Christ the Liberator, Jon Sobrino writes, “Whatever may have happened geographically and historically, Galilee is the place of the poor and the despised. And there, according to Mark, the risen Christ will be found.” (page 14). First, Jesus’ body and soul are resurrected, symbolic of the call for the resurrection of the “bodies” of the crucified of our world. Second, Jesus appears among the poor and despised of his world, demonstrating a preferential option for the poor. Also, the first to see the risen Christ were women, a group that was and is oppressed by society.
Following Jesus in a United States Context
In attempting to understand Jesus’ significance today, we must interpret the context of our social world today. As Jesus lived as a human in a specific context, we too live in our own context in the world. It is possible to practice liberation today. William Herzog, author of Jesus, Justice, and the Reign of God, writes, “We are not faced with a new story altogether, but with a new moment in the same story” (Herzog, 65). In order to understand better how to follow Christ and take down from the cross the crucified of our world today, understanding Christ in our own context is important. Reverend Hartmire passionately describes several people who have attempted to hold on to the memory of Jesus’ resurrection in their own lives. Gandhi, King, Mother Theresa and others found their own way to follow Christ while living in a certain context. “The cross and the resurrection are contextual to a particular historical community. These are breakthrough experiences which found our people, that mediate hope in the midst of adversity for us. But this does not mean that these are the only ways that this may happen, or that other people may not continue parallel struggles on different grounds” (Ruether, 43). Though the contexts and time periods are different, there are ways to engage in liberating praxis in the United States today.
The three essential aspects of Jesus’ liberating praxis are a preferential option for the poor and outcast, solidarity with the marginalized, and an entrance in the structural social conflict of one’s time. “Following Christ basically means to follow his kind of way of life in the concrete contexts of the social conflicts of one’s time” (Ruether, 21). It is important to identify outcast, marginalized, and oppressed of contemporary United States society in order to understand the significance of Jesus’ message today. These outcast, marginalized, and oppressed people include women, people of color, the homeless, people who identify as GLBT, the economically poor, the sick, the mentally disabled, and immigrants. Marginalization takes on almost infinite forms, but people who embody some of these characteristics suffer from widespread discrimination in obvious and subtle ways. These marginalized people are part of a structurally unjust system that is sinful. People are inherently sinful not necessarily because of the original sin of Adam and Eve, but rather because people are born into a situation of conflict with sinful structures. “For liberation theologians sin means not only alienation from God and personal brokenness in life, but also the structural evils of war, racism, sexism, and economic exploitation which allow some people to dehumanize others” (Ruether, 19). Unfortunately, war, racism, sexism, and economic exploitation exist in the United States, both internally within our own borders and externally in our foreign military and economic policies.
Spanish theologian Josè Ignacio Gonzalez-Faus identifies three aspects of following Jesus’ message today in the first world by addressing the structural injustices. First, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that Jesus reveals the evil that lies beneath the accepted social norms. In the United States today, this could be manifested through creating systems of education and awareness in our communities about systemic injustices that marginalize our brothers and sisters. Second, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that this revelation of injustice is part of the tension that comes with the proclamation of the kingdom. Revealing the debilitating effects of poverty, racism, corporate greed, and other social practices that are anti-fraternity, will be combated by those in power because of its inherent challenge to existing structural norms. Third, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that this tension lead to Jesus being judged, outcast, and opposed. So, present-day prophets entering into the social conflicts of our time in support of justice will be opposed by many.
Martin Luther King, Jr., for example, followed Jesus in his own mid-20th century United States context. He called for justice and rallied millions to reveal existing evils, condemn these evils as wrong, and promote human equality by standing with the marginalized. Then, King was assassinated by someone standing in opposition to his calls for justice. Ruether writes, “Lay catechists, nuns, even some bishops join the ranks of the imprisoned, the tortured, the assassinated. It is from this reality that Latin American Christians speak to Christians of the First World, of Europe and the United States, about what it means to hear and preach the good news of God’s preferential option for the poor” (Ruether, 26). As Kip Tiernan notes, it will take the radicalizing of the privileged in the United States to address issues of systemic injustice that keeps society further away from the kingdom of God.
On a more individual level, a liberating praxis involves personal identification with the poor and marginalized. The United States today has structural barriers in place that hinder the development of the human community. One goal of a liberating praxis should be to break down these barriers and build relationships. “Jesus was well received by the common people, villagers, peasants, rural artisans, and the more destitute as well” (Herzog, 59). An example of at least a semblance of the breakdown of social barriers between the privileged and the poor in my personal experience is the time I have spent at Haley House, a soup kitchen in downtown Boston. At Haley House the line between kitchen and dining area is blurred, so often patrons work in the kitchen and help clean up after meals and volunteers and staff eat breakfast and chat with all members of the community. Human connection and identification with the poor and outcast of society is important to understanding the call of Jesus in our current sociopolitical and cultural situation.
Conclusion
Jesus entered into the suffering of the marginalized and oppressed people of his time by standing in solidarity with them and entering into existing social conflicts. We must not only understand Jesus’ message, we must enact it in our own context in the United States today. In his work, Jesus the Liberator, liberation theologian Jon Sobrino poses this thought: “Jesus asked us to follow him and we ended up worshipping him.” It is our call now to follow Jesus in our own communities. “In our present world, when we see a society where a few rich families own almost all the land, where they suppress all protest with guns and tanks, where they manipulate religion and education to justify this exploitation, there we are far from the kingdom. But when we see the vast majority rising up against these evils, overthrowing the police state, beginning to create a new society where the hungry are fed, and the poor are able to participate in the decisions that govern their lives, there the kingdom has come ‘close’” (Ruether, 22). The central tenet of liberation is not theology, but liberation. When doing theology in the United States, we must situate ourselves in the reality of oppression, practicing a theology that is a reflection of a liberating praxis.
Encounters
I could not even tell you the boy’s name now, but my encounter with him in a rural village along the Wild Coast of South Africa is firmly etched in my memory. For the purpose of telling the story, let’s call him Bongisani. Bongisani and I were in a field along the eastern coast of South Africa with the Indian Ocean on one side of us and seemingly endless majestic rolling hills on the other side of us. We were playing soccer with a partially deflated plastic soccer ball, passing or juggling the ball with no specific end in mind other than to kick the ball around with each other.
Though I was delighted at having this chance to meet and play with Bongisani, some of the even heart-wrenching disparities between us were aesthetically apparent. I am a 5’9” white male with red hair who speaks fluent American English as my first language and only conversational Xhosa (the African language in this region of South Africa) as a partial second language. I was wearing a t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts, both of which were probably made in China or southeast Asia, and what I considered an older tattered pair of Air Jordan sneakers which were probably also made in China or southeast Asia. I had a wallet with cash and a debit card in my back pocket and a working cell phone in my front pocket. Bongisani is a 4’3” black South African boy who speaks Xhosa as his first language and only a handful of words in English. He was wearing a dirty t-shirt with holes in both of the armpits and a pair of brown shorts that had a long rip through the crotch. He did not have anything on his feet.
As much as I tried to remain focused on the present moment and just enjoy playing soccer with my new friend, I could not help but to become internally overwhelmed with a sense of guilt and shame. My initial reaction was to feel guilty and ashamed of my wealth and social privilege. In the short term it made my backpacking travels and financial expenses—hostel, food, rental car, clothing—seem frivolous. Thinking outside of that specific context it also made some of my other life experiences, such as an incredibly expensive university education and my travel expenses for a semester in South Africa, seem frivolous as well. My thoughts matured, however, so as not to feel guilty about who I am or where I come from, but to question how I use those privileges. In the longer term, this encounter serves as a poignant moment that I can reflect on—in thought and action—regarding the ethical implications of how I spend money and how I choose to dedicate my life to service.
The playful encounter simultaneously managed to tear down the barriers separating us and to illuminate the tremendous barriers that will always separate us. Even my semi-intellectual engagement of this experience in my head is driving a wedge between our already disparate identities. In one sense, the simple desire to play soccer brought Bongisani and I together. On paper, our differences were almost infinite, but in reality, we both enjoyed kicking a soccer ball around and running through the fields. This very specific and small interaction still gives me hope that despite the greatest barriers between our humanity, there are common values capable of bringing people together on a very concrete, personal level. In another sense, however, this interaction served to highlight the immense differences—some of which are locational and cultural, others of which are indicative of inequality, privilege, and oppression—between the circumstances and identity of Bongisani and myself. My feelings of guilt and shame and my acknowledgement of the frivolity of many of my experiences in the midst of poverty and racial and economic injustice in South Africa could potentially be debilitating. In acknowledging that I can not change where I come from or that specific experience, however, I can appreciate that encounter as one that has raised my consciousness. It reminds me of the importance of using my privilege—perhaps by breaking it down—for a just cause and of finding common ground with any person I encounter in my life.
This experience alone does not speak to my entire motivation to do service, but it does capture many of the joys and struggles I have experienced through service. For me, I feel the most intense connection to something bigger than myself when I am challenged and when I form meaningful relationships through service. To be challenged is to be forced to grapple with common conceptions, ideals, and morals and to have questions about life raised that do not necessarily have clear answers. Essentially, I feel most alive in the midst of service. My encounter with Bongisani, though maybe not even service, highlights two dualities of service. The first duality is between joy and struggle. In my experience, a commitment to service, whether with friends or neighbors or people who are homeless or people far away, presents the joy of relationships and conversation and community, but also presents the struggle that comes with the spiritual, social, and economic injustice that affects so many people. Bongisani and I were both enjoying a game of soccer with each other, but I think we both realized, perhaps in very different ways, the unjust disparity that exists between our lives. The second duality is between interpersonal relationships and structural despair. I am drawn to direct service because of the power of relationships and community. I firmly believe that no injustice and no despair can be healed without the presence of community. But I also acknowledge that there are very powerful systems of politics and economics that create disparity and suffering. Acknowledging the power of presence, I was incredibly moved by my encounter with Bongisani, but I understand that a history of racial and economic disparity in South Africa has been instrumental in dictating his life experience whether or not he knows it.
Though I was delighted at having this chance to meet and play with Bongisani, some of the even heart-wrenching disparities between us were aesthetically apparent. I am a 5’9” white male with red hair who speaks fluent American English as my first language and only conversational Xhosa (the African language in this region of South Africa) as a partial second language. I was wearing a t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts, both of which were probably made in China or southeast Asia, and what I considered an older tattered pair of Air Jordan sneakers which were probably also made in China or southeast Asia. I had a wallet with cash and a debit card in my back pocket and a working cell phone in my front pocket. Bongisani is a 4’3” black South African boy who speaks Xhosa as his first language and only a handful of words in English. He was wearing a dirty t-shirt with holes in both of the armpits and a pair of brown shorts that had a long rip through the crotch. He did not have anything on his feet.
As much as I tried to remain focused on the present moment and just enjoy playing soccer with my new friend, I could not help but to become internally overwhelmed with a sense of guilt and shame. My initial reaction was to feel guilty and ashamed of my wealth and social privilege. In the short term it made my backpacking travels and financial expenses—hostel, food, rental car, clothing—seem frivolous. Thinking outside of that specific context it also made some of my other life experiences, such as an incredibly expensive university education and my travel expenses for a semester in South Africa, seem frivolous as well. My thoughts matured, however, so as not to feel guilty about who I am or where I come from, but to question how I use those privileges. In the longer term, this encounter serves as a poignant moment that I can reflect on—in thought and action—regarding the ethical implications of how I spend money and how I choose to dedicate my life to service.
The playful encounter simultaneously managed to tear down the barriers separating us and to illuminate the tremendous barriers that will always separate us. Even my semi-intellectual engagement of this experience in my head is driving a wedge between our already disparate identities. In one sense, the simple desire to play soccer brought Bongisani and I together. On paper, our differences were almost infinite, but in reality, we both enjoyed kicking a soccer ball around and running through the fields. This very specific and small interaction still gives me hope that despite the greatest barriers between our humanity, there are common values capable of bringing people together on a very concrete, personal level. In another sense, however, this interaction served to highlight the immense differences—some of which are locational and cultural, others of which are indicative of inequality, privilege, and oppression—between the circumstances and identity of Bongisani and myself. My feelings of guilt and shame and my acknowledgement of the frivolity of many of my experiences in the midst of poverty and racial and economic injustice in South Africa could potentially be debilitating. In acknowledging that I can not change where I come from or that specific experience, however, I can appreciate that encounter as one that has raised my consciousness. It reminds me of the importance of using my privilege—perhaps by breaking it down—for a just cause and of finding common ground with any person I encounter in my life.
This experience alone does not speak to my entire motivation to do service, but it does capture many of the joys and struggles I have experienced through service. For me, I feel the most intense connection to something bigger than myself when I am challenged and when I form meaningful relationships through service. To be challenged is to be forced to grapple with common conceptions, ideals, and morals and to have questions about life raised that do not necessarily have clear answers. Essentially, I feel most alive in the midst of service. My encounter with Bongisani, though maybe not even service, highlights two dualities of service. The first duality is between joy and struggle. In my experience, a commitment to service, whether with friends or neighbors or people who are homeless or people far away, presents the joy of relationships and conversation and community, but also presents the struggle that comes with the spiritual, social, and economic injustice that affects so many people. Bongisani and I were both enjoying a game of soccer with each other, but I think we both realized, perhaps in very different ways, the unjust disparity that exists between our lives. The second duality is between interpersonal relationships and structural despair. I am drawn to direct service because of the power of relationships and community. I firmly believe that no injustice and no despair can be healed without the presence of community. But I also acknowledge that there are very powerful systems of politics and economics that create disparity and suffering. Acknowledging the power of presence, I was incredibly moved by my encounter with Bongisani, but I understand that a history of racial and economic disparity in South Africa has been instrumental in dictating his life experience whether or not he knows it.
Class: Ethnomusicology
Music as Expression
By 1970, the apartheid regime had been in place for over 20 years. There had been forced removals, continued economic exploitation, development of townships, and legal segregation. At this point, different musical styles and protest songs had been used in the course of the anti-apartheid political struggle and township life. Not all music necessarily had a specific identification with politics. Very often the music that developed during this period was not sung with a specific message to challenge political structure, but simply to express the musical part of a culture and to appreciate and embrace a person’s identity. One of the most oppressive and disheartening effects of the policies under the apartheid regime in South Africa was the dismantling of identity. Government officials, police, and the overall socioeconomic structure stripped away the identity of Africans, Coloureds, and Indians through forced removals, cultural dominance, and economic exploitation. Whiteness, in all its complexities, was deemed normal, appropriate, and desirable, while anything besides that was deemed less valuable and secondary. Despite so many restrictions on the lifestyle and livelihood of so many people, song served as an expression of identity that could not be eliminated. The identity expressed through music also came in the form of affirmation of a black identity. In the midst of spiritual and material suffering that tarnished ‘blackness,’ people would use songs to celebrate their identity. During the student protests of the mid-1970s in Soweto, an iconic song of the time had the simple and powerful lyrics, “You are strong. You are black. You are beautiful” (Amandla! 2002) The song was directed at the students involved in the youth movement affirming their identity and the validity of the cause they were fighting for.
Music, whether it was directly political or not, was an influential part of peoples’ lives during the struggle. Often unintentionally, music by itself could be resistance to the regime. One musician interviewed in the film Amandla! says, “How do you stop people from singing? They tried everything, but how do you stop people from singing” (Amandla! 2002). This sentiment was echoed in conversation by Grace Ngcete, a lifetime Grahamstown resident, member of the National Organization for Women, and manager of Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in Grahamstown. “They [whites] stayed on their side of town, we [blacks] stayed on our side of town. That’s how it worked,” she said very bluntly. “Maybe we didn’t always have much, but we could sing. Maybe not in public all of the time, but sure, in church, in our homes, in the township.” Grace acknowledged that certain songs in certain parts of town could get her arrested, but singing in general could not be stopped. Though it may not have always been specifically oriented towards the politics of the day, singing for Grace and others could be a rejection of limitations. Joseph Madolo, a current Grahamstown resident, self-ascribed singer and performer, and member at Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in Grahamstown, finds inspiration in song no matter the time of day or depth of struggle or physical environment. “Yes, man! Ukucula! [Xhosa word for “to sing”] To sing! What a good song, man. It is very good to sing. It’s what I love to do. Sing. I won’t be stopped from doing what I love.” Mr. Madolo then broke out into an improvisational tune, half in English and half in Xhosa. Song, no matter the magnitude of its politicisation carried a powerful message of celebration and affirmation.
By 1970, the apartheid regime had been in place for over 20 years. There had been forced removals, continued economic exploitation, development of townships, and legal segregation. At this point, different musical styles and protest songs had been used in the course of the anti-apartheid political struggle and township life. Not all music necessarily had a specific identification with politics. Very often the music that developed during this period was not sung with a specific message to challenge political structure, but simply to express the musical part of a culture and to appreciate and embrace a person’s identity. One of the most oppressive and disheartening effects of the policies under the apartheid regime in South Africa was the dismantling of identity. Government officials, police, and the overall socioeconomic structure stripped away the identity of Africans, Coloureds, and Indians through forced removals, cultural dominance, and economic exploitation. Whiteness, in all its complexities, was deemed normal, appropriate, and desirable, while anything besides that was deemed less valuable and secondary. Despite so many restrictions on the lifestyle and livelihood of so many people, song served as an expression of identity that could not be eliminated. The identity expressed through music also came in the form of affirmation of a black identity. In the midst of spiritual and material suffering that tarnished ‘blackness,’ people would use songs to celebrate their identity. During the student protests of the mid-1970s in Soweto, an iconic song of the time had the simple and powerful lyrics, “You are strong. You are black. You are beautiful” (Amandla! 2002) The song was directed at the students involved in the youth movement affirming their identity and the validity of the cause they were fighting for.
Music, whether it was directly political or not, was an influential part of peoples’ lives during the struggle. Often unintentionally, music by itself could be resistance to the regime. One musician interviewed in the film Amandla! says, “How do you stop people from singing? They tried everything, but how do you stop people from singing” (Amandla! 2002). This sentiment was echoed in conversation by Grace Ngcete, a lifetime Grahamstown resident, member of the National Organization for Women, and manager of Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in Grahamstown. “They [whites] stayed on their side of town, we [blacks] stayed on our side of town. That’s how it worked,” she said very bluntly. “Maybe we didn’t always have much, but we could sing. Maybe not in public all of the time, but sure, in church, in our homes, in the township.” Grace acknowledged that certain songs in certain parts of town could get her arrested, but singing in general could not be stopped. Though it may not have always been specifically oriented towards the politics of the day, singing for Grace and others could be a rejection of limitations. Joseph Madolo, a current Grahamstown resident, self-ascribed singer and performer, and member at Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in Grahamstown, finds inspiration in song no matter the time of day or depth of struggle or physical environment. “Yes, man! Ukucula! [Xhosa word for “to sing”] To sing! What a good song, man. It is very good to sing. It’s what I love to do. Sing. I won’t be stopped from doing what I love.” Mr. Madolo then broke out into an improvisational tune, half in English and half in Xhosa. Song, no matter the magnitude of its politicisation carried a powerful message of celebration and affirmation.
Language in South Africa
Language in South Africa - Xhosa
11 Official Languages (in order of highest number of mother-tongue speakers): Zulu, Xhosa, Afrikaans, Tswana, North Sotho, English, South Sotho, Tsonga, siSwati, Ndebele, Venda
Xhosa is the indigenous language of the Xhosa people of the Eastern Cape province of South Africa and is the mother-tongue of approximately 7 million people in the country. It is mutually intelligible with Zulu.
I’m currently taking the introductory level Xhosa course at Rhodes. I’m also trying to pick up a little bit in town and up at Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in the Joza township in Grahamstown. Fluency is way out of reach for my time here, but I’m working at it a little bit.
Greetings and whatnot:
Molo bhuti/sisi!
Hello brother/sister!
Molo mama/tata!
Hello mother/father!
Unjani?
How are you?
Ndiphilile
I am fine
Molo hlobo wam!
Hello my friend!
Ungubani igama lakho?
What is your name?
Igama lam nguJeremy
My name is Jeremy
Enkosi
Thank you
Uthando
Love
Uxolo
Peace
Ethembeni
Hope
11 Official Languages (in order of highest number of mother-tongue speakers): Zulu, Xhosa, Afrikaans, Tswana, North Sotho, English, South Sotho, Tsonga, siSwati, Ndebele, Venda
Xhosa is the indigenous language of the Xhosa people of the Eastern Cape province of South Africa and is the mother-tongue of approximately 7 million people in the country. It is mutually intelligible with Zulu.
I’m currently taking the introductory level Xhosa course at Rhodes. I’m also trying to pick up a little bit in town and up at Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in the Joza township in Grahamstown. Fluency is way out of reach for my time here, but I’m working at it a little bit.
Greetings and whatnot:
Molo bhuti/sisi!
Hello brother/sister!
Molo mama/tata!
Hello mother/father!
Unjani?
How are you?
Ndiphilile
I am fine
Molo hlobo wam!
Hello my friend!
Ungubani igama lakho?
What is your name?
Igama lam nguJeremy
My name is Jeremy
Enkosi
Thank you
Uthando
Love
Uxolo
Peace
Ethembeni
Hope
Personal Profile - Thandeka
In the course of our daily lives, we are not necessarily explicitly aware of the actions of strangers around us. Not only do we not necessarily observe specifics about a person’s mannerisms or clothing, we do not observe the actions of strangers for an extended period of time. For an exercise in participant-observation, one of the central components of fieldwork in anthropological study, I approached someone that I did not know and observed their actions over the course of a couple hours. My process for finding someone that I did not know was not totally random, as I picked a specific location in Joza that I am familiar with. I approached a woman that I did not know at Ethembeni Senior Service Centre. For this exercise, I will refer to her as Thandeka. Thandeka is a member at Ethembeni, which is a day centre for elderly people in the Joza township in Grahamstown. The biggest challenge in this exercise was the language barrier. My first language is English and I have only a limited proficiency in isiXhosa, while Thandeka’s first language is isiXhosa and she has only a limited proficiency in English. Though in some ways this was a barrier to conversation and interaction, it also forced me to be keenly aware of Thandeka’s mannerisms, movements, and interactions with other people at the centre.
Thandeka is a 70 year-old Xhosa woman who has lived in Grahamstown her entire life. She is the youngest member of the centre, which serves as a day home for approximately 30 people Monday through Friday each week. Though this is a very specific environment in which I observed Thandeka, it is a major part of her daily routine as she spends five hours a day for five days a week at the centre. Thandeka also does not have full use of her right hand and walks with a limp as a result of a physical disability.
On the day that I observed Thandeka, she was wearing a baggy beige jersey and long brown skirt. She also had a brown fabric head covering and plain black sneakers. I first began observing Thandeka while she was playing a card game with several other members from the centre. She held the cards in her disabled right hand out of the view of any sneaky adjacent card-players, and when it was her turn played the cards with her left hand. There is a consistent low level of chatter in isiXhosa amongst the card-players throughout the games. During the first game, which lasted about ten minutes, Thandeka mostly kept to herself, but took part in friendly banter during the second game. Though I was not able to pick up exactly what was being said, I gathered that the conversation was lighthearted and friendly. After the first two games I was invited to play along with everybody else. The game was reasonably simple to follow, quickly-paced, and relied more on the luck of the draw than on experience and skill. The card game, whose name I was not able to get, is played every morning during the week as part of Thandeka’s and other members’ daily routine and social interaction.
The card playing ended just before the start of the lunchtime prayer that precedes the midday meal at the centre. Thandeka took her place sitting at a bench along the wall on the right side of the centre with all of the other female members. The men sat around two tables on the other side of the room, still near to the women as the only function room at the centre is not very big. The prayer lasted for ten minutes and included song, chant, and spoken prayer in isiXhosa by one of the members in between songs. During lunch, Thandeka sat at a table with two other women near the kitchen at the back of the function room. At this point, after a couple hours of observation, I had to leave the centre, but was able to gather a few more details about Thandeka’s daily routine at the centre. Very often after lunch, Thandeka will do beadwork and sewing with a couple of other female members of the centre. Despite her physical disability, she is able to put together beautiful quilt work, stuffed teddy bears, and beaded jewelry. Thandeka also said she often spends time sitting and chatting with other members outside in front of the centre on more pleasant days. A mini-bus taxi takes Thandeka and other members to their homes in the township a little while after two in the afternoon each day when the centre closes. Thandeka was very welcoming and friendly towards me, and despite our language barrier, I was able to participate in and observe a number of her daily activities.
Thandeka is a 70 year-old Xhosa woman who has lived in Grahamstown her entire life. She is the youngest member of the centre, which serves as a day home for approximately 30 people Monday through Friday each week. Though this is a very specific environment in which I observed Thandeka, it is a major part of her daily routine as she spends five hours a day for five days a week at the centre. Thandeka also does not have full use of her right hand and walks with a limp as a result of a physical disability.
On the day that I observed Thandeka, she was wearing a baggy beige jersey and long brown skirt. She also had a brown fabric head covering and plain black sneakers. I first began observing Thandeka while she was playing a card game with several other members from the centre. She held the cards in her disabled right hand out of the view of any sneaky adjacent card-players, and when it was her turn played the cards with her left hand. There is a consistent low level of chatter in isiXhosa amongst the card-players throughout the games. During the first game, which lasted about ten minutes, Thandeka mostly kept to herself, but took part in friendly banter during the second game. Though I was not able to pick up exactly what was being said, I gathered that the conversation was lighthearted and friendly. After the first two games I was invited to play along with everybody else. The game was reasonably simple to follow, quickly-paced, and relied more on the luck of the draw than on experience and skill. The card game, whose name I was not able to get, is played every morning during the week as part of Thandeka’s and other members’ daily routine and social interaction.
The card playing ended just before the start of the lunchtime prayer that precedes the midday meal at the centre. Thandeka took her place sitting at a bench along the wall on the right side of the centre with all of the other female members. The men sat around two tables on the other side of the room, still near to the women as the only function room at the centre is not very big. The prayer lasted for ten minutes and included song, chant, and spoken prayer in isiXhosa by one of the members in between songs. During lunch, Thandeka sat at a table with two other women near the kitchen at the back of the function room. At this point, after a couple hours of observation, I had to leave the centre, but was able to gather a few more details about Thandeka’s daily routine at the centre. Very often after lunch, Thandeka will do beadwork and sewing with a couple of other female members of the centre. Despite her physical disability, she is able to put together beautiful quilt work, stuffed teddy bears, and beaded jewelry. Thandeka also said she often spends time sitting and chatting with other members outside in front of the centre on more pleasant days. A mini-bus taxi takes Thandeka and other members to their homes in the township a little while after two in the afternoon each day when the centre closes. Thandeka was very welcoming and friendly towards me, and despite our language barrier, I was able to participate in and observe a number of her daily activities.
Class: Anthropology Fieldwork
Ethembeni Senior Service Centre
Joza, Grahamstown, South Africa
The Physical Environment
Ethembeni Senior Service Centre is located in the Joza area of the township around Grahamstown, South Africa. I hop off the mini-bus right next to the Joza Petrol Station and look across the street to Ethembeni, my home for two days a week. A six-foot high concrete wall, painted an almost orange beige color, encloses a small open area. The wall does provide a certain amount of security and privacy, but its bright color and lack of razor sharp edges along the top make it less intimidating. A gap in the wall is filled with a white painted metal gate. While the centre is open the gate remains unlocked. I step through the gate and see the small open space enclosed by the exterior wall. There is a brick patio that includes two wood benches placed against the inside of the exterior walls. The bricks are a variety of bright shades of red, orange, yellow, and everything in between. Next to the brick patio is a patch of green grass with two sapling trees beginning to grow in the middle. At the far end of the patch of grass are a few sections of dirt designated for gardening. There are carrots, tomatoes, heads of lettuce, and onions in their early stages of growth coming out of the dirt. The garden is not very tidy, as dirt spills over the edges and weeds litter the garden patches.
The main building itself is a small one-level square-shaped concrete building painted the same color as the exterior wall. Right beneath the peak edge of the triangular roof is a brown sign with white lettering announcing to visitors that they are about to enter “Ethembeni Service Centre.” The two large rectangular windows on the front side of the building by the entrance are covered on the outside but a white metal gate so as to prevent unwanted intruders from breaking the windows. The white, orange, and brown pattern curtains just inside the windows are closed. The white gate on the exterior of the main entrance door to the building is held wide open by a rock. The door itself is brown wood with a silver-colored metal handle. The wooden is also held open on the interior of the building by a rock.
The interior of the building is divided into four sections with most of the area being taken up by the main social area. In the back of the building there is a narrow kitchen and a bathroom. In the front left of the building, immediately to my left as I walk in, is a small office for Grace Ngcete, the woman who runs the Centre. The main social area has grey tiled vinyl flooring with five rectangular folding tables with white table covers and black plastic chairs arranged around them. On the walls there are windows running along each side of the building, several collections of pictures from past landmark events at the centre, and two cork bulletin boards with news articles, information on medical care and tuberculosis, and calendars. Just based on the physical environment the Centre is very clearly a simple and small place. Though the pictures on the walls do speak to some of the character of the Centre, the physical environment in no way tells the story of the interactions, relationships, and lives of its members.
The Place and the People
Ethembeni Senior Service Centre is a day centre for elderly township Grahamstonians. The people pay 15 rand per month for membership at the centre. The practical services offered by the Centre include two meals a day—breakfast and lunch—for Monday through Friday during the week, transportation to and from the Centre for those who need it, and in certain cases extra help organizing medications and pills. The more spiritual services include community, friendship, interaction with other elderly people, and a welcoming and relaxing place to stay during the day. The Centre is run by Grace Ngcete, a 65 year-old lifetime Grahamstonian, who is compassionate, engaging, and loving in all that she does at the Centre. She does not have 35 “members” at the centre, but rather, she has 35 friends there. Also, Connie, a boisterous woman with a big laugh, runs the kitchen with a little bit of help from a few local older women. About 2/3 of the regular members of the Centre are women. And then there is me. A 20-year old white male from the United States who spends Mondays and Fridays at the Centre as a guest and friend.
Though each day is different in small ways I will attempt to capture the atmosphere of the Centre through a description of everything going on at one moment. At the table furthest to the left, seven people are gathered around a table playing cards. People are chatting and laughing as they play. At two separate tables right of center in the main social area, several women work on knitting and beadwork mostly in silence. Two women are laying down along built in bench style seating against the right wall. Four women, including Connie, stand in the kitchen cooking, washing, dishes, and talking with much enthusiasm. Grace is at another table left of center, clipping an older man’s fingernails and carrying on three conversations at once with various people at the Centre. Mr. Madolo, an 82 year-old regular at the Centre is standing in the doorway singing and improvising songs, half in Xhosa, half in English. Several women sit quietly outside on the benches on the brick patio in the shade. Several men and women are sitting in plastic chairs outside at the right edge of the building at the end of the vegetable garden smoking cigarettes and chatting. Most of the men are dressed in slacks, some shabby, some newer looking, and a button-down shirt. Most of the women are wearing full covering dresses and sweater blouses and hats with a variety of colors and patterns. There is a reasonably consistent level of noise and chatter with the occasional interjection of a boisterous laugh from the kitchen or the card table, or a bellow from the full voice of Mr. Madolo.
Conclusion
Generally during our daily interactions and activities we do not have a heightened sense of awareness in regards to specific details about anything from the sounds of birds to the color of someone’s clothing. In order to truly appreciate and articulate the dynamic atmosphere of an environment, we must heighten our awareness to very specific details about the people we see, the colors of buildings and structures, the collection of sounds we hear, and the ways in which people interact with one another. These observations are valuable not only for trying to describe a certain environment or group of people, but also to understand better issues of socioeconomic status, race, class, gender, language, religion, and other social structures affecting society. This exercise in field work is a reminder that an explicit state of awareness is necessary to make the best attempt at describing a particular environment. It is also a reminder that being specifically observant in the course of our daily actions, whether in field work or not, is a valuable practice to understanding our community and identity.
Joza, Grahamstown, South Africa
The Physical Environment
Ethembeni Senior Service Centre is located in the Joza area of the township around Grahamstown, South Africa. I hop off the mini-bus right next to the Joza Petrol Station and look across the street to Ethembeni, my home for two days a week. A six-foot high concrete wall, painted an almost orange beige color, encloses a small open area. The wall does provide a certain amount of security and privacy, but its bright color and lack of razor sharp edges along the top make it less intimidating. A gap in the wall is filled with a white painted metal gate. While the centre is open the gate remains unlocked. I step through the gate and see the small open space enclosed by the exterior wall. There is a brick patio that includes two wood benches placed against the inside of the exterior walls. The bricks are a variety of bright shades of red, orange, yellow, and everything in between. Next to the brick patio is a patch of green grass with two sapling trees beginning to grow in the middle. At the far end of the patch of grass are a few sections of dirt designated for gardening. There are carrots, tomatoes, heads of lettuce, and onions in their early stages of growth coming out of the dirt. The garden is not very tidy, as dirt spills over the edges and weeds litter the garden patches.
The main building itself is a small one-level square-shaped concrete building painted the same color as the exterior wall. Right beneath the peak edge of the triangular roof is a brown sign with white lettering announcing to visitors that they are about to enter “Ethembeni Service Centre.” The two large rectangular windows on the front side of the building by the entrance are covered on the outside but a white metal gate so as to prevent unwanted intruders from breaking the windows. The white, orange, and brown pattern curtains just inside the windows are closed. The white gate on the exterior of the main entrance door to the building is held wide open by a rock. The door itself is brown wood with a silver-colored metal handle. The wooden is also held open on the interior of the building by a rock.
The interior of the building is divided into four sections with most of the area being taken up by the main social area. In the back of the building there is a narrow kitchen and a bathroom. In the front left of the building, immediately to my left as I walk in, is a small office for Grace Ngcete, the woman who runs the Centre. The main social area has grey tiled vinyl flooring with five rectangular folding tables with white table covers and black plastic chairs arranged around them. On the walls there are windows running along each side of the building, several collections of pictures from past landmark events at the centre, and two cork bulletin boards with news articles, information on medical care and tuberculosis, and calendars. Just based on the physical environment the Centre is very clearly a simple and small place. Though the pictures on the walls do speak to some of the character of the Centre, the physical environment in no way tells the story of the interactions, relationships, and lives of its members.
The Place and the People
Ethembeni Senior Service Centre is a day centre for elderly township Grahamstonians. The people pay 15 rand per month for membership at the centre. The practical services offered by the Centre include two meals a day—breakfast and lunch—for Monday through Friday during the week, transportation to and from the Centre for those who need it, and in certain cases extra help organizing medications and pills. The more spiritual services include community, friendship, interaction with other elderly people, and a welcoming and relaxing place to stay during the day. The Centre is run by Grace Ngcete, a 65 year-old lifetime Grahamstonian, who is compassionate, engaging, and loving in all that she does at the Centre. She does not have 35 “members” at the centre, but rather, she has 35 friends there. Also, Connie, a boisterous woman with a big laugh, runs the kitchen with a little bit of help from a few local older women. About 2/3 of the regular members of the Centre are women. And then there is me. A 20-year old white male from the United States who spends Mondays and Fridays at the Centre as a guest and friend.
Though each day is different in small ways I will attempt to capture the atmosphere of the Centre through a description of everything going on at one moment. At the table furthest to the left, seven people are gathered around a table playing cards. People are chatting and laughing as they play. At two separate tables right of center in the main social area, several women work on knitting and beadwork mostly in silence. Two women are laying down along built in bench style seating against the right wall. Four women, including Connie, stand in the kitchen cooking, washing, dishes, and talking with much enthusiasm. Grace is at another table left of center, clipping an older man’s fingernails and carrying on three conversations at once with various people at the Centre. Mr. Madolo, an 82 year-old regular at the Centre is standing in the doorway singing and improvising songs, half in Xhosa, half in English. Several women sit quietly outside on the benches on the brick patio in the shade. Several men and women are sitting in plastic chairs outside at the right edge of the building at the end of the vegetable garden smoking cigarettes and chatting. Most of the men are dressed in slacks, some shabby, some newer looking, and a button-down shirt. Most of the women are wearing full covering dresses and sweater blouses and hats with a variety of colors and patterns. There is a reasonably consistent level of noise and chatter with the occasional interjection of a boisterous laugh from the kitchen or the card table, or a bellow from the full voice of Mr. Madolo.
Conclusion
Generally during our daily interactions and activities we do not have a heightened sense of awareness in regards to specific details about anything from the sounds of birds to the color of someone’s clothing. In order to truly appreciate and articulate the dynamic atmosphere of an environment, we must heighten our awareness to very specific details about the people we see, the colors of buildings and structures, the collection of sounds we hear, and the ways in which people interact with one another. These observations are valuable not only for trying to describe a certain environment or group of people, but also to understand better issues of socioeconomic status, race, class, gender, language, religion, and other social structures affecting society. This exercise in field work is a reminder that an explicit state of awareness is necessary to make the best attempt at describing a particular environment. It is also a reminder that being specifically observant in the course of our daily actions, whether in field work or not, is a valuable practice to understanding our community and identity.
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