Deconstructing Privilege

Experiential Learning Blog 3:

I definitely agree that the opportunity to study abroad is a privilege, and one that many young people around the world do not have. Upon my arrival in Sevilla, I experienced much of the same disillusion that Talya Zemach-Bersin describes in her article. I had gone from traveling around Europe freely for two weeks to a bus full of Americans being shuttled from one Spanish monument to the next, and all the while I felt ridiculous. I embarked on my study abroad journey to understand a different culture, speaking the language and immersing in daily life; to my disappointment, I was touring Sevilla through the windows of a bus, full of English-speaking students who for the most part weren't even listening to the tour guide. This was a slap-in-the-face of how privileged of a group we were, and an early sign of the difficulties of immersion that were to come.

The students in my program all come from private universities in the states. Within days we were all planning weekend trips around Spain and Europe, able to afford such luxuries; the economic privilege was obvious from Day One. But as we began our cultural realities classes, learning about Spanish culture in a classroom setting, it amazed me how much our privileges as Americans were influencing our interpretations of life in Spain. There are stereotypes about Americans, as with any group of people, that I was aware of before beginning my study abroad, and more that I've learned along the way. It surprised me how many of these stereotypes were being confirmed by our group, and how little effort we put in to preventing such affirmation. Our privilege is so deeply engrained that often it is nearly impossible to grasp.

However, while I do agree that we are incredibly privileged to be studying overseas and experiencing other cultures in the way that we are, I do not agree with Zemach-Bersin's statement that we can never be citizens of the world. I think it takes incredible humility and awareness to be able to step away from one's own culture to interpret another without such ignorance and separation that she (rightfully) criticizes. However, being a global citizen is not about "blending in" perfectly with every culture; it is about empathy and letting go of one's judgements about another culture based on one's own cultural standards. Zemach-Bersin's criticism falls into the same trap she is criticizing, by separating the American experience from those of another nationality's; we all face differences, some much greater than others. Privileged as we are, Americans studying abroad have the chance to appreciate the differences we all experience as citizens of the world.

TEXT: "American Students Abroad Can't Be 'Global Citizens'" From the issue dated March 7, 2008 By TALYA ZEMACH-BERSIN

Language between friends

I watched this videos in my listening class during my first week in Sevilla. Cruzcampo is the prized beer of Andalucía, and you'd be a crazy Sevillano not to like it. The commercial shows many of Andalucía's delicacies until the end, when the dramatic voiceover says, "Cruzcampo: made of Andalucía." If you watch, you'll see a pretty Spanish girl holding a sign (colorado means colored, not referring to the state), and she covers the D. The Andalucían accent, luckily for us American students, is not only fast but also eats the D's and S's at the end of a word. During this chalkboard moment, the narrator exclaims that this way of speaking is 'not an accent-- it's a language between friends.'

I was walking home from tapas with my friend this afternoon, about to point out that I was jealous of the accent a woman in passing had, and that I agreed with our friend who had said the other day that he wants the Andaluz accent, despite the fact that outside of Spain he wouldn't be easily understood. Before I could point out my envy, I thought about this commercial and suddenly understood the profundity of Cruzcampo's marketing strategy. Despite their wanting to sell beer, Cruzcampo really hit the small head of a big nail. Upon arriving in Sevilla, I was overwhelmingly trying to pick up on any word I could understand, often returning friendly conversation with confused glares. Slowly as my Spanish improved, I became more excited each day to actually converse with locals and better understand the culture. But I have recently realized, it is not only the words in a language that create a culture; the way in which members of a community communicate is incredibly forceful in shaping the relationships we have with one another and thus the way we choose to live our lives. There is so much more to language than words.

Productive Dislocation

Experiential Learning Blog 2:

Nearly every day I encounter some form of dislocation, in which I feel so distant from the people around me to whom Spanish customs are so natural. But also so often, I experience a moment in which I understand something about Spain, whether it be quite small, that opens my mind and allows me to make connections that were once just questions—or not even thoughts at all— when I arrived here.

A few weeks ago, early on in my time abroad, I had a class assignment in which fellow students and I had to interview a Sevillano about some aspect of Spanish culture. My group decided to interview my host-father, who is an artist and educator, about art in Sevilla. My friends and I arrived at my homestay and walked up the steps to my floor; I was excited to have this conversation with my señor and more so to introduce my friends to my host family. But when we opened the door and I went to introduce them to my señora, she was frantic! She told us to go upstairs into my room and then eventually to go to the studio to interview her husband, all without saying hello to my classmates. I was very stressed and didn’t understand the situation; later that night she told me not to bring people in the house, as I had surprised her and the three children I live with.

From the roof of my homestay

It was not until much later that I truly understood this event. I kept thinking about my home, in which friends would be greeted and talked to and their company welcomed. My friends were just as surprised as I was by the frantic lack of welcome. However, as I continued learning about Spanish culture and reflecting on all the experiences I’ve had, I realized that the home is something much different than it is in the states. The home is for family, for taking care of, for personal time. It isn’t that Sevillanos don’t enjoy the company of others—that is certainly not the case. People in Sevilla very much enjoy talking to others, whether they know them or are just in passing. But the home is not the place for it. In Sevilla, there are plazas and gardens everywhere; my professor once joked that there are more bars and cafes than there are people; the streets at night are packed with friends, new and old, talking over tapas or drinks or simply just talking. I learned from this experience that relationships really matter in Spanish culture, but they matter in different ways. The family is greatly important, and the home is a sacred place where family can be together.

We speak Catalan

Barcelona is a big city to conquer in one weekend. I went with a girl from my program and another, the French girl whom we met in Cádiz, to a concert. We arrived just on time, like true concert-goers, two hours late and just as the band was coming on stage. WhoMadeWho put on a great show, creating a different vibe in this intimate venue (which pleasantly reminded me of San Francisco’s Warfield) than at South Pop. My friends and I made our way to the front row and at the end of the show, the guitarist reached out and shook my hand; I like to think he remembered us from Isla Christina, since we saw them after that show and told them how amazing their performance had been.

Friday was rainy, but we began our day with a free walking tour led by a Swedish man living in Barna (not Barça, he warned us—that’s the fútbol team) for the last six years. He took us to the Ramblas, a street filled with shops, famous for being famous; a mural that Franco installed as a middle-finger-esque gesture to the Catalans (Franco despised Barcelona, so he built an incredibly ugly building in the middle of the old town center, on which he placed another artistic battle: a mural created by Picasso mimicking (more like making fun of) the style of Juan Miró); he took us to city hall and the parliament, explaining the Catalan Independence flag and pointed out the many statues of Saint George killing dragons (the dragon is a symbol of religion, so this Saint was admired for defeating religions outside of Christianity); we walked down the Avenue, after which Picasso’s first cubist work was named: The Brothel of the Avenue.

After getting accustomed to the area, Kait and I explored little on our own until the evening when we ran (late again) to a bar at which we would learn how to make paella, a very traditional and delicious Spanish rice dish. The chef led us to a great market to pick out the seafood, stopping for fresh juice and to point out all the animal parts that we don’t dare to eat in the states. We went back to the bar for tapas and then he began his instruction; he explained the peppers and spices and the order of which to add different types of seafood—it was really great (and hot! Paella is cooked over three rings of fire in a huge flat pan). While we waited for it to cook, the bartender taught us how to make sangria, and we returned to enjoy the fresh seafood paella that I now (sort of) know how to make. After a nap at the hostel we went out for crepes and had a nice conversation with the woman working at the café, despite all we had heard about Catalans refusing to speak Spanish. Cataluña has a strong desire for independence from Spain; the official language is Catalan, which is more like French than Spanish. The Independence flag hangs from balconies all around the city, and there are some who prefer English to Spanish. This isn’t true for every Catalan citizen, but I definitely felt the distance formed between Cataluña and the other, more Spanish-feeling cities I have visited.

We chose a good weekend considering the rain stopped for the most part, and this weekend only included Mercat de Mercats: A series of tents filled the old town square with local tapas and cava (Catalan Champaign); we had coques twice because they were so delicious, and the vender made clear that they were not pizzas. We visited MACBA, Barcelona’s contemporary art museum, and the famous Picasso museum. On Sunday we spent hours at the Sagrada Familia, a beautifully wild work of Gaudi’s architecture that is still being built today. Gaudi spent forty years on this project, knowing he would not live long enough to see it completed. That didn’t seem to bother him though, as he didn’t want to take on the project alone. Gaudi wanted the input of future generations; he laid out his ideas and visions but encouraged the interpretation and contribution of later decades. After a weekend of art and architecture, my friend and I enjoyed café con leche in the same café that was like home to Gaudi and Picasso—the same building in which they spent their leisure and probably came up with the ideas that would change the world forever afterwards. I love the connections of art and history and the present that are so deeply rooted in Spain.

The Cádiz Charm

Cádiz is the oldest city in all of Europe. It was the last city to secede in the Spanish civil war and the first to fall under Franco. Now, it’s a beautiful town on the Atlantic coast known for its seafood and nice beaches. I spent last weekend in Cádiz in Casa Caracol, which I’ve ranked as top two in my experience. We wandered all over the old part of the city (the modern half is pretty ugly in comparison) and walked down a long pier to the castle of San Sebastian. On the shore, someone had created its replica as a sandcastle, the best one I’ve ever encountered (I later found out from other friends who decided to sleep on the beach that the creators slept there too, guarding their masterpiece).

Back at the hostel that night, my friend and I began to prepare our dinner; cooking is always fun since we don’t get to cook or even choose what we are eating each day. As we began, one thing led to another and suddenly we were making pasta with five other people. All cutting vegetables and chorizo and boiling water, we learned each other’s names and origins, kissing cheeks and bumping into each other in the small kitchen. Suddenly there were 15 people sharing this dish around the mosaic table, and every one of them was content, enjoying the meal and the company, not caring about who made or brought what. It was a communal moment like I had never experienced. This compassionate vibe sugarcoated the whole weekend, and the hostel quickly felt more like a home. The terrace, filled with hammocks and plants, made a great environment for talking late into the night, in many different languages at once, as people passed a guitar around and others helped by drumming on their laps or tapping a wine cork between their lips (try it, it makes a nice sound).

We met two German vegans traveling around Europe and later South America. We went with them to the central market, a huge spot for fresh vegetables and seafood. For their meals, they greatly enjoyed nineteen mangos or three giant melons or whatever large quantity of fruits or vegetables they felt like having; they were a fun and incredibly free couple of travelers to meet. We also met a French girl who was celebrating having just completed her Masters degree: the first European philosophy major I’ve met yet! It was exciting to talk to her about her studies and the commune she lives in right outside of Paris.

Cádiz is also experiencing the highest rate of unemployment in Spain. One girl who has been living in Casa Caracol for the past month joked that the people of Cádiz are largely out of work because the beach is so beautiful for spending one's days, and it doesn't cost a thing! It was quite a cleansing trip to Cádiz, enjoying tapas and fresh vegetables, the beautiful beaches and beautiful people.

Rain in the capital

Last weekend began with an overnight bus ride to Spain's capital, Madrid. We arrived at our hostel by 7am after making our way through the rain and darkness, and after some toast on hot cereal (my favorite since Carcassonne!), I entered the wet grey city with my brand-new umbrella. People continued on with their days, out and about in the downpour, and often stopped to wait under the shelter of Madrid's grand architecture, quite patiently. I thought about how never before have I asked myself, "I wonder what this city is like in the rain", while the question of what a place might be like in the sunshine comes right away.

Walking around the city was magnificent and filled with little discoveries. My friends and I had our first real tapas experience at El Tigre, where we ordered drinks and were overly pleased to receive a giant plate of rice and six little sandwiches. Tapas is a way of eating between main meals, and some attribute the history of tapas to King Alfonso X, who banned wine in the inns of Castile unless accompanied by something to eat in order to avoid alcohol's harmful effects. There are more than 20,000 restaurants in Madrid, and we did our best to taste the local flavor, bouncing from tapas bar to tapas bar and enjoying many delicious foods.

Museo Reina Sofía was incredible-- so incredible that we had to go back. There was one exhibit in which a big cage held three parrots, and on the other side of the room were two wooden structures. I watched as museum-goers entered the exhibit, pointed and smiled at the birds, walked in a circle around the wooden cubes, and left. Delightedly, I walked through the narrow slit in one of the port-a-potty-looking units as people stopped and watched me, as if an alarm were about to go off and the building would self-destruct. I pushed through some ribbons hanging in the entrance and squeezed through to the center, which held--- I won't say, for a description wouldn't do the experience justice. The point is, it was my favorite exhibit in that it is a perfect example of life without one's initiative, life with fear of making mistake, of not conforming: unknown.

As the weekend went on, the sun finally came out and warmed up the city as we warmed up to it. Madrid is full of life, and it is truly the city that never sleeps. We went to a discoteca with seven floors, although sadly only made it to the first two, went to a smaller scene with new Spanish friends, and I was amazed when after coffee and toast they presented the option of returning to the club at eight in the morning, where people were waiting outside to enter! But the night out didn't stop us, as we took on our last sunny day in Madrid, visiting a street market with artists and artisans selling their crafts. We saw street performers and walked through a grand park, made sandwiches with fresh baguettes and my swiss army knife in the park, returned to my favorite museum, and enjoyed Madrid's tapas once more with a student whom my friend met on her flight to Sevilla. The capital of Spain was a great place to be.

Critical Citizenship

Traveling abroad as an Allegheny student entails a one-credit course called Experiential Learning 300, in which students reflect upon their experiences by responding to readings and a professor's questions in a collective blog and commenting on other students abroad and their ideas and experiences. This course inspired me to create my own blog. For our first assignment (well, second; ironically I missed the first one), we read Vanessa Andreotti's "Soft versus Critical Global Citizenship Education" and compared our current educational programs to the ideas presented in her article about learning as a global citizen:

In my program, I am taking two culture classes while exploring Spanish culture every day. My anthropology class has just begun, however we have been discussing the role of an anthropologist and his or her goals and obstacles. My professor told us his favorite sentence: An anthropologist is not a tourist. Linguistic immersion, for example, is necessary in understanding a culture. We have discussed participative observation as a component of anthropology, in which a person must enter into the local lifestyle, observing while participating in the culture's customs.

Living in Spain these past five weeks, I have experienced these obstacles and have aimed to immerse myself in the language, converse with locals, avoid acting like a tourist (by treating Sevilla as a vacation destination rather than my temporary home and place of study), and learning and practicing the customs (like kissing each cheek to greet, for example, or eating meat). It is important to me that I do these things and all I can in order to understand Spanish and Sevillan culture. However, to understand these cultures, I must make reference to my own; this can be harmful though if not treated carefully. As Vanessa Andreotti quotes in her article, "Spivak affirms that the colonial power changes the subaltern’s perception of self and reality and legitimises its cultural supremacy in the (epistemic) violence of creating an ‘inferior’ other and naturalising these constructs." In comparing one's culture to another, especially coming from a Western society or a superpower like the United States, it is easy to fall into the trap of ranking aspects of the new culture as better or worse.

Locally, this creates barriers in understanding humanity, even those with whom one is living. This disallows us to form relationships with people from other cultures, creating a disconnect that manifests into worldly misunderstanding. Globally, these faulty relationships form the basis of our universal progress. When some culture feels a superior morality to help the rest of the world, they "run the risk of (indirectly and unintentionally) reproducing the systems of belief and practices that harm those they want to support." As citizens of the world, it is vital that we recognize our moral obligation to humanity as a whole, thinking critically about the consequences of our interactions and the ways in which we can better our relations with other cultures in order to truly understand one another.