When a stone falls into a pond it
creates a series of ripples that propagate through the surface of the
water, displacing and carrying floating leaves, sticks, and other
small particles. When two stones fall, however, the ripples from one
pulse collide with the ripples of another, and energy is
redistributed as either constructive or destructive interference.
Constructive
interference is a type
of interference that occurs where two interfering waves produce a
displacement in the same direction, whereas destructive
interference occurs
where two interfering waves produce a displacement in
the opposite direction. In the latter case, the effect of one pulse
on any given particle is destroyed, or canceled out, by the effect of
the other pulse- but the interference is only temporarily. That is
to say that two waves will collide, produce a new ripple resulting
from their net effect, but eventually each will continue on
propagating as it was before the point of interference.*
One stone to represent the
developing world. Another stone for that the so-called developed
one. Me, a particle, riding out the interference between the two of
them. To promote development, to foster progress- this was my noble
mission, but these waves are big, and I'm far under-qualified to
navigate such a monumental collision. I want to be clear- as a Peace
Corps Volunteer I help my community to address its needs, absolutely
I do- but I am not capable of fostering progress in the developing
world, let alone defining it.
Progress for you or me might
running water, a new bridge, or a lower infant-mortality rate, while
for Luis it might mean getting a season job as a migrant laborer that
earns him more money than he's ever earned- a whopping $14 a day.
And with that $14 he can buy a few cement blocks each week to upgrade
his family's mud hut, some milk for the kids, a bus ticket home every
weekend, and a handle of moonshine to accompany him as he catches up
with friends and family. I'm walking with him the other day when he
looks at me and says, “you know, with all the projects and
government programs that come through here, there's still no
progress. There's still no one getting any richer.” Progress,
Luis implies, means money. How can I argue with that definition,
knowing full well that I, too, would prefer a comfortable life with
such conveniences as clean water, health care, accessible education
for my children, and some clean clothes to wear when I go to town. I
would be a hypocrite to judge Luis, the subsistence farmer, for
wanting to send away his daughter to a middle school that she doesn’t
have to hike 3 hours to get to. After all, wouldn't I want for my
own mother, who has sewn and hammered her flip flops back
together multiple times, to be able to afford a new pair?
Wouldn't I like to eat until I'm full? Yes, of course I would;
and you all would, too. So no, I
can't disagree with Luis' definition of progress, but I don't
entirely agree with it, either.
I do see that progress, by another
definition, has come as a result of projects and programs in my
community. I see that our water supply is clean and easily
available, I see that the cooperative is handling a hefty UNDP grant
to jumpstart a kidney bean business. I see that people in the
younger generation are almost always literate, and that families have
food to eat (although it may be less than enough or less than
nutritional). But the lenses through which I interpret this
situation are tinted. Luis sees it differently, and there's probably
a whole lot of other people in other developing countries around the
world who agree with him.
Then what's my role in the
developing world as a Peace Corps volunteer? If I'm supposed to be
promoting progress, whose definition of progress should I promote?
Should I be helping Luis to get what he most wants- money- by
infusing him with skills and knowledge that will enable him to
acquire a paying job? By doing so, I will also be encouraging him to
leave behind his bamboo house, his dogs and pigs, and his crops, so
that he can move to the city. There, he and his family will rent a
small room in a shared complex with other migrant laborers, they'll
have electricity, the school will be on the same block, and once all
the food is purchased, there might even be a few bucks left for those
new flip-flops- you know, the
nice $4.00 ones. Never mind that he'll lose a perfectly fertile,
valuable tract of land that will probably be abused by someone else
who will leave it fallowed within 10 years; that he'll throw out his
favorite sombrero pintado to rock a Playboy baseball cap; that
he'll forget about that good ol' campo courtesy that I find so
endearing and beautiful; that instead of pasearing his
children will binge on tele-novelas and in doing so become
obese and disconnected from their neighborhood peers; that his
6-year-old daughter, Gissell, might infer from mass media that her
body is neither the right size nor color; that his son, Ariel, will
be more likely to get involved in drugs as an adolescent; that the
stories his grandmother spun late at night by the glow of the
guarricha will be replaced by enthralling Disney plots- no,
never mind any of that. What's important is that their lives will be
more convenient, right? Another day, another dime towards a pair of Nike's, and Nike's mean
you're not poor. Nike's mean progress.
It's hard for me to feel good
about advocating that kind of development. Capitalism has a shiny
side that's all too easy to become fixated on when you're looking at
it from the underneath, like Luis. But you and I and most everyone
we know, we're looking at it from a privileged place, and from here
it starts to look a little like a beast. I've seen the adverse
consequences it's had on the richness of culture and natural
resources- neighbors whose names we do not know but whose cars we
recognize from a distance, black Fridays, oil spills and oil wars,
for example. In the developed world, we work to buy, buy to live,
then live beyond our means. There are men and women who've become
slaves to credit-card debt, others who are so gluttonous and
indulgent that it's repulsive. Everything, even progress itself, has
a price, and at such a steep cost,
I'm not willing to front the bill.
Acknowledging
this reality, I accept that my job as a development worker is neither
righteous nor prestigious. Please don't get me wrong- I am certainly
not suggesting that the “capacity-building” part of being a PCV
is immoral; most of what I do is beneficial and all of it is
well-intended. What I am suggesting, however, is that while I may
be
a helping hand in Luis' pursuit of a better life, I am certainly
his friend.
This means
that the stress, and the sacrifices, and the lofty expectations that
accompany my culturally-embedded obsession with efficiency and
results- they're not necessary. I can let go of my frustration
with meetings that start late, or never at all, with failed projects
and dwindling community interest. I can indulge in good foods, get
plenty of exercise, take mid-day hammock-naps, and attend volunteer
gatherings. I can tend to myself before tending to my work, and I
can do so without suffering the guilt that so many volunteers force
themselves to endure. Because to me, the product of my work is not
nearly as important as my presence in the lives of Luis and others,
and my ability to be present is directly related to my own
well-being. When I'm healthy and happy, my front door, like my
heart, stays open.
Two stones
fall in a pond. I did not throw them, and I do not know which is
more righteous, but my life here revolves around their overlapping
waves. Maybe there's no saving the world happening here; maybe it's
just a lot of interference, and whether it should be considered
constructive or destructive, I don't know. What I do know is that
the natural pattern of development, like ripples from a stone, will
eventually continue in the same direction no matter what actions I
take. After all, I am just another particle suspended in this
turbulent place- but I am not alone. For just this one brief moment
in time, I am here alongside Luis, and that's what matters most.
*http://www.physicsclassroom.com/class/waves/u10l3c.cfm
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