When my friend Zach first met me, he thought I was twenty-eight. At first I thought it was appearance-related. Due to my mature face, figure, and demeanor, I have been called my father’s wife or sister more times than I can count. But Zach assured me my physical and emotional maturity weren’t the deciding factors. “Es que, all of you estadounidenses (people from the United States) confuse me. You seem much older than you are.” I wondered what nationality could have to do with maturity, so I asked for clarification.
“It’s like Americans are more…developed? Educated? Like you’ve reached a higher, wiser way of being.”
RED FLAG. Bueno, the US is responsible for a lot of good things. Like an escape from famine and religious and political persecution. And jazz music. And big dreams. But let’s face it. The way we have dominated the world doesn’t work. If you don’t agree with that, you should stop reading this blog post. But my argument is that Zach is very mistaken.
Perhaps mistaken is the wrong word. Brainwashed might be appropriate. For as long as I’ve known him, Zach has exhibited symptoms of “internalized oppression.” I first learned about it in my post-colonial literature class and comprehend it more fully thanks to my new favorite light reading material, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, by Paolo Freire, the father of popular education. In this process, by which imperialist societies dominate developing countries, “the invaders (in this case, the United States) penetrate the cultural context of another group (Nicaraguans) in disrespect of the latter’s potentialities; they impose their own view of the world upon those they invade.”
For those whom colonial studies are completely foreign, I will explain the example of internalized oppression that is applicable to this blog—though examples are plentiful (the UK to the Americas, France to Lebanon, Russia to Cuba). The US has occupied Nicaragua since the 1700s—with its troops, dictators, and more subtly, its culture. Thanks to years of invasion, Nicaraguans like Zach perceive their invaders as superior. When Zach thinks of the States, instead of seeing the military bully who funded a war against the people’s revolution in the 80s and 90s (read about that here), an overspending, neoliberal monster, he thinks of shiny skyscrapers and limitless opportunity. But at what cost? As cell phones, designers, and consumerism invade, traditional Nicaraguan values of family, simplicity, and art are lost.
Zach loves made-in-China Hollister and American Eagle. He listens to Justin Bieber and the Jonas Brothers. He clings to catchy English phrases like candy. Although he hates it, he’s studying accounting because he thinks it will help him find a job that will get him enough money to move out of El Recreo neighborhood and support a family. A noble quest that I have no right to judge. But I can’t help wondering whether he’s pursuing happiness, or the unattainable, unsustainable “American dream” of white picket fences and a mini-van, which he must see in all those glossy magazines and on the Disney Channel. Did I mention he can't afford a good education, but prioritizes getting the Disney Channel?
Interesting, too, is the fact that I am doing exactly the opposite of what he’s doing, I’m an Estadounidense who chose to leave suburbia for El Recreo, a barrio of tin houses, trash-lined river beds, and drug sales. I am an upper-middle class North American who hopes never to purchase meat, own a microwave, or buy new made-in-China clothing ever again (yay thrift stores!). My habits confuse him. What’s wrong with her, he must think. But I also hope it occurs to him to think, what’s right? He’s certainly done the same for me.
its called internalized oppression, its rampant in Nica and its rampant for people of color in the US, too.
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