Crash landing in Burma

essay response to a lecture on the current ethnic conflict by Tissa Jayatilaka, Director of the US-Sri Lanka Fulbright Commission

It seems like there is no hope for Sri Lanka. The LTTE was defeated, which was supposed to be the beginning of peace. The President had promised that he would start down the path of reconciliation with the minority groups in Sri Lanka, but what's been done by the political leaders in this country has been going in the complete opposite direction. Ostracization, not inclusion has been the attitude of the government. Today I realized the implications of the term "political leader." In America, I feel like we are told time and time again that in a democratic government ("like ours"), the government is the voice of the people. We believe that our Senators, Representatives, governors, and other elected officials represent us, and therefore do the will of the very people who elected them. While that in itself is fallacious (a person cannot represent someone without their consent, and silence--e.g. not voting--is not consent), the belief that the people somehow control the government is, perhaps, misleading.

Since the implementation of the 18th Amendment and the subsequent allowance for an indefinite number of terms of office for the president, the political outlook for Sri Lanka is very grim. The current President was elected by the majority, and continues to pander to the Sinhalese-Buddhist majority. Since 75% (?) of the population will agree with his politics concerning the foremost ethnic conflict issue, his reign seems almost guaranteed in Sri Lankan politics. His opposition, the UNP, has begun to crumble in the face of his continued term of office. What an awful predicament for this country. The Sinhalese-Buddhist majority would see no reason to elect someone else; certainly not anyone with Tamil sympathies. And the Tamil, being a population minority, lack sufficient voting power to even have a hope of putting someone more favorable in office. As such, they continue to be marginalized by the majority.

The minority/majority conflict seems to be the same story everywhere I go. In the States, at Whittier College, within the comfort of my campus and city, there too are concerns of minorities (not just ethnic) and disadvantages. There, I worry about growing up in a patriarchal society where male is normative and female is other. I worry about being Japanese-American in a hierarchical, dualistic society in which non-White, non-male, non-heterosexual, non-middle+ class peoples are marginalized. I worry about growing up in a hyper-sexualized society, where the female body is regularly dismembered by popular culture and media and where females are taught to place their self-worth in their physical appearance and then given impossible, unrealistic body type ideals. These are the things I worry about as I go to eat in the CI and throw away half of the food I take. These are the things I worry about as I complain that all we ever have for dining options is beef, beef and more beef. These are the things I worry about as I walk the streets of my town barefoot without having to worry about flatworms. These are the things I worry about as I casually stroll the sidewalks at 2 am in the morning because I need some fresh air. These, these are the things I worry about. Not contracting malaria. Not having to be home before dark. Not if I've had enough protein for the day. Not having to learn English so I can have a possibility at a higher education. Not where I can find clean drinking water because the tap water will make me sick. These... these are not the things I worry about.

As I was driven back to my host family's house, I watched the streetside stalls go by with their hanging fresh fruit. I watched as piles of trash that lined the street became a blur; a colorful line undulating in unison with the landscape. I thought of what I would come home to: a two-story house with real windows and doors, a car in the drive way, two refrigerators and running water. But also a kitchen that was consistently swarming with flies, a floor in which you cannot walk without incidentally killing at least five different bugs, and a cup of tea with a belly-up ant as garnish. A kitchen that uses the fridges to keep bugs out of the food, not to keep it fresh.

As I sat in the colder-than-comfortable air conditioning of the car, I realized how dangerous romanticization of other cultures and lifestyles is. When talking on the phone to a friend back home about Sri Lanka, I laughed about being sweaty all the time, taking cold showers and eating food that's been left out all day. I told him, with a knowing smile in my voice, that "It's just a different type of life style here. We may judge it as being 'developing,' but that's just because the climate is so different. Our lifestyle back in the States just wouldn't work so well here. Sure, there's poverty here, but it's not everywhere, and in all, it's not so bad." Today, I passed homes that were no more than huts--shanties really--with cardboard instead of drywall and only windows that were unwanted. How many times have I passed these on my way to and from school and not noticed? How many times have I characterized living styles here as quaint or seen this whole thing as merely an adventure? Oooh, I have to learn to deal with taking cold showers, what a challenge! Surely this will incite change and growth and development in my person!

Oh four-dollar-cups of coffee.

After five months, I'll return to the U.S. I'll go back to living my privileged life, with my own car. With a job that I do for fun. With more clothes than I ever wear. With shoes that I keep around just in case I feel like wearing them. With more food that I throw away than eat. With my own laptop. With constant access to the internet, television and news sources. With water clean enough to drink from the tap. With bottled water that I buy anyway. With four-dollar-cups of coffee. With dilemmas that cannot even begin to compare to those of people less fortunate than I. Yet I have complained, long and loud; to myself and to others about the horrible, awful plights of my life. I am privileged enough, as Larry Rosenstock once told me, to have problems of the existential nature, and not of the having-enough-sustenance-to-survive nature. That angered me at the time. How dare he compare my problems to ones that I would never have to worry about. My problems were important, and him and his third-world problems could go to hell.

The issue is always the same: how do you get the majority to care about the minority? How do you get the privileged to care about the disadvantaged? How do you get the rich to care about the poor?