Reflection 2: The Fire Under My Ass

The Fire Under My Ass

My initial motivation for joining the minor, and in fact for returning to school after wandering the globe for five years, is admittedly embarrassing in light what was taught throughout the GPP curriculum. In 2004 I traveled to Cape Town, South Africa, to visit friends and continue the party that was my life. Things rapidly changed as it became obvious that it was not going to be easy to ignore the desperation around me. I had never experienced poverty like I saw it throughout Sub-Saharan Africa, so I decided to volunteer teaching English in one of Cape Town’s townships. I began to feel selfish for the way I was living my life especially when I looked at the dedication of the students in my class. I felt like I was squandering the opportunity I was given simply by being born in the United States.
Restarting my college education was not easy and I had to overcome a lot of hurdles to get to where I am. During my more dismal moments of self-doubt, where I considered whether or not I could go through with my decision to restart my education, I would give myself a pep talk that sounded something like, “what about Africa? You have to do this for them” or “what would they (my former students) say?” Though these sound like slightly naïve things to say now. I suppose they served their purpose at the time. That is, it motivated me to refuse to admit defeat. I now know that this feeling is commonly referred to either as “white guilt” or “the white man’s burden”. I know that these feelings are completely natural and that a good many people experience something similar. Do I still have feelings of white guilt? The answer is, yes. I have witnessed enough injustice in my life to be sure that life is not fair. I don’t deserve a life of opportunity and privilege any more than the two billion people living on less than $2/day deserve to live in poverty. This problem of inequality is exasperated by those who feel that they in a better position because they somehow deserve it more than others. My feelings of guilt arise today when I am sure that I am not making full use of the education I have been given. Getting the education was not enough; now I have to use it.
Today I consider my motivations to be less idealistic and much more realistic. I don’t like what I see in the world and I want to do something to help make it better. That has not changed. The difference in my motivations today is that I no longer have delusions of grandeur. I feel that I am capable of making a difference in the lives of the poor and I also feel like I have a pretty good idea of how I can best utilize my skills to go about it. I am also motivated daily by the belief that my education has given me a quality set of analytical tools that will allow me to make informed decisions when difficult moments arise in the projects I ultimately undertake. I have moved beyond those dark feelings of helplessness that so many of us endure. I feel like I have struck a healthy balance between the hubris of benevolence and the paralysis of cynicism. I am motivated by the belief that I can make a difference, but that I don’t need to single handedly save the world.

A Man of Nature

Of course I'm back now. And of course, now that I'm back, I'm also back in class. One class I'm taking, which is really cool, is the "reflection course" for the Global Poverty Minor. So what does that mean? Well one of the big problems in the "development world", as in all groups that are working to alleviate poverty, is that there is never looking back. In so doing, it has been noted that many groups continue to make the same dumb mistakes they've been making since their inception. Basically, without proper reflection we can never make sense of the things we've experienced; things which are often powerful, life-changing interactions with people and places. If we don't make sense of the feelings and significance of those interactions then will will be doomed to never grow. As my professor puts it, "we use reflection to help us to think differently- or in greater depth and complexity- about things that have happened".

So... this is where we begin. I will be posting here my "Reflection" writing assignments after I turn them in for grading. I'll be sure to include the prompt as well so yall can have some idea as to what issue I'm addressing. Here we go:

Prompt: "In this first reflection assignment, I would like you to select a specific, charged event related to your practice experience and reflect on this event. Do your best to reflect deeply into what happened, how you were feeling at the time, how others might have been feeling, and potentially different ways of viewing the event. Remember that a central part of these exercises is to encourage you to identify important/impactful moments through reflection so that you can develop new ways of approaching your practice experience and understanding how you have been affected by it. Put another way, we use reflection to help us to think differently- or in greater depth and complexity- about things that have happened. Along these lines, you should approach your reflections as a way to "explore events or themes, not as a forum for you to write about something that you have already 'figured out'."

A Man of Nature

For my project it was important for me to interview people involved in food production on Mo’orea across a broad spectrum. At one end of the spectrum there are large scale, modern, industrialized farmers, involved in intensive production, while at the other extreme there are small scale, subsistence farmers, primarily concerned with feeding themselves. On the 27^th of July, I toured the small family farm (faha’pu in Tahitian) of a man named Ascion who has been involved in subsistence agriculture since he can remember. After exploring his faha’pu and talking in depth about different planting techniques I sat down with Ascion to conduct a semi-structured interview. I had prepared a few questions, but I also anticipated, and hoped, that the conversation would flow naturally to a myriad of other topics, for which my questions would merely open the door. The interview passed much as I hoped it and by the end Ascion and I felt both exhausted and satisfied.

One moment in our interview stuck out more than any. I anxiously came to a question, which I worried could be slightly inflammatory, and I asked Ascion, “Who owns this land?” Ascion hesitated; his old eyes scanned my face. Before he answered, it was clear that he knew there would be a lot of explaining to do. I, a westerner, have a very different concept of land use rights than a man of his upbringing, and he knew this well. Finally, he answered the question, “Jimmy”. Jimmy, a neighbor of mine, and a small time fisherman, had inherited this land from his father who had inherited it from his father. That was as far back as Ascion could reckon. The next obvious follow-up question I posed was, “Jimmy doesn’t mind that you stay on his land?” Having already established that Ascion had no income, it was clear that he was not paying rent. This was exactly the question Ascion had hoped I’d ask, or so I gauged from his long, slow, and deliberate response. In essence, he said that because he was a man of the land, a Maohi man, Jimmy would never think to ask him for rent. Yes, Jimmy is welcome to eat the food that Ascion grows, but so is everybody else. Ascion tells me that along with language, religion, music, and food, the concept of land ownership is yet another imported idea. Before the French, everybody used to live like Ascion. Just then it began to dawn on me that I was in conference with a living fossil: a man of a dying breed. It’s not until now that the full weight of that moment is upon me. He told me that he is a man of the land, a man of nature. He then went on to describe how his connection with the land shapes and informs his world. Like all old men, he concluded by complaining about the youth, saying that the lack of connection to the land was precisely the problem with the youth of today: “They don’t know when they’ve taken too much because they don’t know how to listen to the earth”. That statement has kept my head spinning since I heard it. Could this be the root of all environmental problems? Isn’t it likely that all of humanity lived, at one time, more or less in the fashion of Ascion? And if so, haven’t most of us also lost our connection to the earth? How can the residents of Sao Paulo, Los Angeles, Shanghai, or Berkeley ever hope restore that connection, should we care to?

Since my return to the states I find myself observing people and wondering what their connection to the earth may be. Did the small shrivel faced woman, sifting through the garbage in search of recyclables run through the hills of China and sleep on the floor of a bamboo hut built by her father when she was a child? Will the young punks tagging up the back of the Muni bus ever know the life cycle of the animals they eat? Will the Sierra Club member, born and raised in urban sprawl, who spends a total of 7 days of each year in the wilderness, ever understand the effect the moon has on the thousand of mating animals surrounding him? Then of course, there’s me…

The Student or the Worker

In the garden today caught myself thinking once again about my role at Atitia. Am I here to learn, or am I here to work and to produce something tangible. I know the two are not mutually exclusive, and that in fact we often learn much through out work, albeit in a less directed way. I think the dilemma arises over which portion, and when, I should focus most of my energy.

On one side of the coin I feel like I have so much to learn. How could I possible make any recommendation of how to change or improve agriculture on Mo'orea when I know so very little. My French is only passable, my Tahitian is nearly non-existent ,though improving, and I have never worked in agriculture (aside from backyard gardening). I feel like I would need to spend years here before I could possibly produce any significant piece of work.

At the same time I think that it's possible that this feeling is just me being stuck in my role as a student. Frightened to venture beyond my comfort zone, I feel safe within the familiar student role. As a student you are rarely to blame for failure, and if you are, you just say, "Hey, come on, I'm learning here", and all is forgiven. As a student it is very easy to define the boundaries of your work, being that you are to learn is already written. Another problem with simply playing the role of the student while I'm here is that if I come here only to learn, one could argue that I would only be extracting resources from the community rather creating some benefit for it. Just think, what do Tahitians stand to gain by bolstering my educational career? Should I learn Tahitian, ethonobotany, and traditional farming practices so that I can go back to Berkeley and boast on my resume that I have this amazing field experience in Agriculture? Certainly not.

On the other side of the coin I know that, at the very least, I can, using nothing but my two hands, improve the gardens at Atiti'a. I could work from sun up to sun down, weeding, planting and digging in the soil, stand back and admire the fruits of my labor. However, then I must ask myself, "how lasing will this be"? The answer is, no very. In a tropical climate where the suns intensity is mixed with a constant onslaught of fresh water from the sky to create a perfect recipe of botanical growth, "land managment" seems like an almost laughable term. In fact, again, as a meanial labor worker, I am again falling into yet another comfort zone with many of the same problems as that of the student.

In short, I know that neither burying myself in literature nor breaking my back in the sun alone will due to reach the goals that I've set out for myself. In reality I know that I am currently capable of striking a balance that incorporates the strengths of both work and education. The problem arises when trying to decided where to draw the line between the two and then sticking to that plan instead of hiding behind what feels comfortable.

Meet Atitia, Hinano, and my Project

It is difficult for me to begin this blog having been given so many tools for critically analyzing the ways that NGOs and other poverty relief efforts work. My brain feels slightly jumbled, but more than that I think I may just have way too much to say. I blame (maybe not in a bad way) UC Berkeley’s IAS 105, Perhaps this blog will help me to synthesize my thoughts, in the way that only writing can. My hope is that I will finish these entries with a clearer picture of what it is that I have actually done. Anyhow, without further adieu, my project blog…

I suppose the first order of business would be for me to explain what it is that I think I’ll be doing here. On the island of Mo’orea, French Polynesia, I will undertake an agricultural project focusing on traditional Polynesian crops, to preserve Mo’orea’s biocultural heritage and to encourage sustainable environmental and economic alternatives to current farming practices. I will be volunteering with a locally founded, non-governmental organization (NGO) called Te Pu Atiti'a whose statement of purpose is, “to document, promote and preserve Polynesia’s biocultural heritage”. During the three months of my stay I will create a living library of traditional Polynesian crops at Te Pu Atiti’a’s cultural center, the Atiti’a Center. Working with local farmers and community members, I will simultaneously conduct a participatory form of research to investigate local views and opinions about the reintroduction of traditional crops. Using fieldnotes, informal interviews and, considering the effects of market-based solutions, I will investigate how French Polynesia stands to benefit by the reintroduction of traditional crops.

Here is some background on why I decided to work here in the first place. While by the standards of development throughout the world, French Polynesia is relatively well off, some striking poverty related issues persist. Highly paid French ex-patriots, governmental officials, and the urban elite of Papeete, the capital of French Polynesia, live in stark contrast to the urban slum dwellers on the outskirts of Papeete and the rural populations that live either on the outskirts of the French territory or in the shadows of a glamorous tourist infrastructure. French Polynesia’s economy depends mainly on imported goods, tourism, and financial assistance from France. In 2008, French Polynesia imported $2.2 billion (USD) worth of goods while it exported only $0.2 billon (USD) worth of goods (IEOM, 2009). Incidences of families living without basic needs are extremely rare, but “economic opportunities are limited, development has been uneven, and social inequality and wealth differences are growing” due in part to the presence of the subsidies that French Polynesia receives from mainland France (Lockwood, 2002). Rates of illiteracy are low and a decent education system has brought about a vigorous and lively political atmosphere.

The agricultural sector is one that has been at the center of some of the political fervor. Currently the French government subsidizes farmers that grow pineapples. Political groups that are in opposition to French involvement in the islands claim the policy to be a failure. First, ecologically, pineapple cropping is pesticide and fertilizer intensive and has increased the rate of soil erosion. Second, French Polynesian pineapples cannot compete on a global market with pineapples produced in Indonesia or the Philippines. Third, the subsidy has discouraged the agricultural sector from pursuing ecologically and economically sustainable crops (Strokirch, 1991).

Hinano Murphy, resident of Mo’orea and head of Te Pu Atiti’a and my current boss, became personally entrenched with this issue when pineapple plantations were slated for dedvelopment in an area of the island that is very dense with Polynesian sacred sites (Marae). Hinano, a pillar of the Mo'orean community, often acts as a voice between the community and the government. As a native elder with a traditional upbringing, Hinano has a unique perspective: that ancestral knowledge of the land is a necessary component in preserving biological diversity. Hinano understands that there is both a great need for people to grow food and for Polynesian heritage to be protected, and that these two options need not be mutually exclusive. One way she sees that this can be achieved is through the reintroduction of traditional crops.

A'titia is meant to be a living library: a place where, if the traditional Tahitian way of life is completely lost everywhere else, it will live on as a relic at A'titia. Hinano's ultimate vision for A'titia is that it will serve as a meeting place and mixing pot for Tahitians and the scientists who visit the research station just down the road. Many Tahitians and scientists alike are concerned with improving and protecting life on these fragile islands, but they live in separate worlds. Hopefully A'titia will bring these groups together to exchange ideas and gracefully integrate local and scientific knowledge. With this, my project begins.

My specific goals are as follows:
1. Conduct a formal interview with Hinano to establish her goals and her vision of Atitia
2. Establish friendly relationships with members of the farming community
a) Poll farmers, buyers, etc. on benefits and problems with the current agricultural system on Mo’orea
b) Establish the view of the public on the reintroduction of traditional crops
3. Get sweaty at the Atitia center
a) Plant, harvest, and maintain crops
b) Weed/trim/maintain garden, performance, teaching, and work areas
c) Meet everybody else involved at Atitia to start informal disccssions and glean their views of Atitia
4. Learn basic Tahitian
a) Create online flash card deck to learn Tahitian plant names and to leave as a learning resource for any other
b) Take Tahitian language courses with Hinano. This will only be possible if Hinano decides to restart her language program. Unfortunately, they have been suspended due to lack of interest :( I am the new interest!

Two and a half weeks in, the work has begun, and I feel that I already have something to show. The specifics of daily work will have to wait for my next entry.

Love life,
Chris Ahlgren