Ever seen The Commitments? Roddy Doyle, the mastermind behind the story, is a contemporary Irish writer who explores social trends, from music to family relationships to racism. I'm way into him, like. (This is how they speak in Ireland - add a "like" to the end of a sentence, and you've got yourself the Irish equivalent of "ya know?")
Well, I'm a liar - I've never been to Ireland and I really have no clue what they say or how they say it over there. So anyway, I'm way into this book of Doyle's right now, called The Deportees. It's grand, like. In every story, Doyle presents an encounter among different cultures - mostly Irish and Nigerian, as Nigerians are currently the largest immigrant population in Ireland - and in every story, he furthers a discussion about the extent to which racism comes into play with nationalism.
I think Doyle is onto something here, especially after viewing Chile's national reaction to the recovery effort in the wake of a history-making 8.8 magnitude earthquake that occurred on February 27th. Doyle explores nationality in terms of scientific measurements: How does one "measure" nationality? Is it quantifiable, like how the Richter scale quantifies seismic activity? When does a person's nationality change? In what ways does it change? The subtle paradox of these questions is what drives Doyle's storytelling.
Perhaps more than any other nation, America has tried to come to grips with the nationality conundrum. I am not only an American, but I am an Italian-American, as my grandparents came over from Italy 80 years ago. Although America has tried to gradate nationality until it has become a moot point (making the Italian/Irish/Cambodian/etc. part of "American" just another way of grouping everyone into a literal melting pot of "American-ness"), the quantifcation of nationality exists as Doyle describes it: How many times have you heard an American pal explain that they are "half-Irish"? How many times have you yourself told someone that you were "twenty-five percent French"? It is hard not to want to give exactitude to home and heritage.
Chile claims itself as a homogenous nation, if in word rather than in fact. However, with increased globalization, Chile now suffers from the same social conundrum the U.S. faced with its first influx of outsiders. How should Chile refer to the Italian and German immigrants displaced after World War Two? Or the ex-pats currently invading Santiago in droves? How about the Mapuche - the indigenous group with which most Chileans share their bloodline, but are ashamed to admit it? Or - perhaps most poignant of all - how should Chile deal with the current influx of Peruvians who have come to the country in search of better standards of living?
But what does all of this have to do with the earthquake, Kate? Well, I think it all boils down to a question of Home, and how we interpret it.
I think we could agree that for most of us, our first thought of "home" elicits a mental picture of the material object; the physical structure we were raised in, the town we grew up in. For two million Chileans, this sacrosanct image of Home was obliterated during the initial quake and its very strong aftershocks.
A homemade banner in one of Santiago's boros - La Florida - proclaims the country is "United in the Effort of Chile Helping Chile." To me, this sign says everything that needs to be known about how Chile views itself as a home. Chile is a "united" country in a way that differs significantly than our "united" in the "United States". I would say that a U.S. "united" might be based in a collective desire for independence, while Chile's solidarity carries the emotional and psychological vestiges of being a successful Socialist country back in the 1970's, before Pinochet's takeover and the forced installation of a military government. In many ways, Chile is still inspired by socialism. The government has offered public healthcare for decades, the population is incredibly civically aware and engaged, and there is a collective accountability or responsibility that Chileans feel toward their country. In many ways, seeing how this collective thinking has manifested itself has been very inspiring, and I have felt more compelled here to be participant in government or community-funded projects solely because it's what people here do.
But "united" also carries the nationalist undertones of that same military government. "Chile ayuda a Chile" - "Chile helps Chile" - sometimes comes off as a somewhat ominous statement to make. Chile is certainly a proud nation, and has every right to be a proud nation: it is the most economically successful country in South America, and in many ways has recently been very politically forward-thinking (which I equate to being liberal-minded; perhaps my own bias). However, some of that pride turns into a dangerous form of uber-conservative nationalism.
I've experienced the negative effects of this nationalism firsthand. Chileans (perhaps like the Irish) can have a tendency to be xenophobic - anything out of the accepted standard deviation is literally stared at or publically called attention to. (I've had a woman hiss at me for being demasiada blanca - "too white.") Chileans can suffer from myopia - looking too close in front of their face, Chileans are quick to assume or incorporate stereotypes or black-and-white responses into their way of thinking. Chileans might not gradate "Chilean-ness" the same way we gradate nationality in the U.S. You are either Chilean, or you aren't; there are some very clear, unspoken rules about who falls into what category. Obviously, this does not describe the way all Chileans act or think, in the same way that not all Americans are conservative, evangelical yuppies who voted for George Bush.
However, it is very easy to be without a "home" in Chile. What is it like to be homeless? Where does homelessness leave you, in terms of nationality? Some people would say that without home, you are left in "Nowhere" (tipping my hat to the studies of Dr. Chris Borick and Dr. David Rosenwasser of Muhlenberg College, whose recent presentation on the politics of Bruce Springsteen's music has me thinking about our concept of "Home" in several new and insightful ways: for more, you can see Scott Kraus' article, "Why Do Both Liberals and Conservatives Love Springsteen?" in the October 17, 2009 issue of Allentown's The Morning Call). However, I think Chileans might take it a step further - without a home - in any sense - some Chileans are left in Less-Than-Nowhere.
What do I mean by this? For many immigrant Chileans (especially Peruvians, who have little to no rights in their newly-adopted country), being without a house in the aftermath of the quake is a paltry concern to being without a country. There is no step they can take that is on quantifiable ground: the Chilean community simply doesn't extend its help in the same way to people who exist without a category to exist in.
The way Chile interprets home and, in extension, nationality, could be Chile's stepping-stone to an unproductive and ugly sort of nationalism. It will be interesting to see how the way Chile rebuilds itself will incorporate nationalism and civic engagement in its quest to provide its people a home - a home in any sense.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Ice cream.
Not going to lie - this quick and fiscally-friendly dinner alternative has been having me shout, "So, early once this evening, guys?" every night this week. I've been out for ice cream so often that the woman at Bravissimo knows my name, knows my order, and could probably divine my future.
But it's not only us Americans who are craving a close encounter with some "Mil hojas" (vanilla-wafer-flavored gelato). Even a fierce loyalty to Colo-Colo or La U might be combated by a Chilean's love for either Bravissimo or Emporio la Rosa. Santiago alone has over 1,042 ice cream shops, 17 of which are in a mile vecinity of our hostel. A "colore" at Bravissimo (a dinner-sized portion of one flavor of ice cream) costs about U.S. $1.90. No wonder Chileans are all over this....well, like cookies and cream.
Ice cream here tends to come in two varieties: crema, which usually tastes like gelato, and yogur, which is self-explanatory. There are light flavors, but beware! Many of them contain aspertaine, which at least to me tastes a little like chowing down on some lemon peels. Best flavors I've tried so far? Pinapple, Chocolate-Orange, and Rose - yes - Rose ice cream.
Delicioso.
Tonight, don't expect this girl to be slaving over trying to light a gas stove without burning herself. No completos for me, either. I'll be salivating over my colore at Bravissimo, just like any good santiaguino would tell me to do.
Not going to lie - this quick and fiscally-friendly dinner alternative has been having me shout, "So, early once this evening, guys?" every night this week. I've been out for ice cream so often that the woman at Bravissimo knows my name, knows my order, and could probably divine my future.
But it's not only us Americans who are craving a close encounter with some "Mil hojas" (vanilla-wafer-flavored gelato). Even a fierce loyalty to Colo-Colo or La U might be combated by a Chilean's love for either Bravissimo or Emporio la Rosa. Santiago alone has over 1,042 ice cream shops, 17 of which are in a mile vecinity of our hostel. A "colore" at Bravissimo (a dinner-sized portion of one flavor of ice cream) costs about U.S. $1.90. No wonder Chileans are all over this....well, like cookies and cream.
Ice cream here tends to come in two varieties: crema, which usually tastes like gelato, and yogur, which is self-explanatory. There are light flavors, but beware! Many of them contain aspertaine, which at least to me tastes a little like chowing down on some lemon peels. Best flavors I've tried so far? Pinapple, Chocolate-Orange, and Rose - yes - Rose ice cream.
Delicioso.
Tonight, don't expect this girl to be slaving over trying to light a gas stove without burning herself. No completos for me, either. I'll be salivating over my colore at Bravissimo, just like any good santiaguino would tell me to do.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Dear Juan,
Jorge is a veternarian. I know because he gave me his card and it said it right there: medico veternario. He was very nice and a little sweaty, and he got me to do a charades-impression of me during the earthquake that rocked Chile last Saturday night, in which I huddled up against a doorframe, thinking that standing in a doorframe during an 8.8 earthquake might be just as effective at keeping you safe as surrounding yourself with milk cartons during a nuclear attack.
But really, I could have told you that Jorge was a veternarian the moment I walked into the apartment he was renting out, because it reeked like wet dog.
Apartment hunting can be stressful in any situation. Apartment hunting in a foreign country where you only kinda speak the language? A little private slice of hell. In addition to the problems you'd have at home (a creep of a landlord, choosing an okay neighborhood, etc.), you additionally have to deal with all sorts of culture shock.
Apartment quality varies greatly in Santiago depending on neighborhood. Chile has one of the widest disparities in socioeconomic status of any country in the world, and it is clearly reflected in the types of apartments offered here.
So what do you look for in your fancy new Chilean apartment? Depending on the neighborhood, a room should cost somewhere between 100,000-200,000 CLP (approximately 200-300 U.S. dollars at the time of this post). If the apartment is in a complex, it should have a doorman, preferably it should be above the second floor, and it needs a SEC green seal of approval (yellow means it is pending approval; red means you should run for the hills).
Compartodepto and Craigslist: Chile are great sites to look for roommates. The first site is designed for natives or for those who speak fairly good Spanish - reflecting Chilean demographics, it is not too foreign-language-friendly otherwise. Craigslist is a better bet for those of you who are more language-challenged - you are more apt to find foreigners or Chileans with some English capabilities posting links, and the apartments, though less in quantity, seem to me to be better quality, for the most part.
Despite my pieza-fears, I have held onto one shining gem: Mariano.
Mariano has been my saving grace in all this mess. A man I have never met, who exchanges virtual hugs with me from across the globe, is eager to show me a room in his house. I see pictures online. The house looks perfect: an old mansion with cavernous rooms, brightly and eclectically painted, instruments hung on strings from a glass ceiling, a large deck looking out over the cityscape and, beyond, the Andes.
When I arrive at his door yesterday afternoon, Mariano seems very surprised. He politely shows me inside and gives me a cold glass of juice. He invites me to sit, and sinks into the overstuffed chair across from me. He sighs and his lips purse. I have made some mistake, but I am not sure what it is.
After some general conversation - How was my trip? How am I finding Santiago? Was I scared by the earthquake? - Mariano finally explains. I understand just enough of what he says to deduce that he was expecting me two hours later - not at four, but at six. this makes a little sense, seeing as time is told differently in both countries. When I had written him last, I asked to meet at 16,00 hours. He might have glanced quickly at the email and assumed I was telling him American time. He is dirty and his hair shines with sweat. He has been painting. His neon green shirt exclaims: "Gay? Fine by me."
Luna, the cat, digs her nails deep into my thighs as she settles into my lap. I squirm uncomfortably. I am now a burden to Mariano. He does not know how to ask me to leave without being rude, and so he lets me wander the house. It is seriously under construction. The three rooms to be rented have nothing but subfloor, and several of the walls are subwalls. I do not want to live here, I know. I do not want to pay a third of my salary to live in an unfirnished room in an unfinished house. But Mariano and I must be polite until I walk out the door. He invites me to coffee tomorrow at seven. I agree knowing that I will not go.
I have been talking to Mariano for weeks. Writing this email to him feels a little like he and I are breaking up. I try to let him down gently about the room. I include nothing that would betray me as a spoiled American girl. this makes the email sound terse. I compensate by using superlatives.
Mariano writes me back. His email is, to put it politely, terse. He does not use superlatives.
I cry.
My mother says to take a room I feel comfortable in, regardless of cost. My aunt suggests rooming with ex-pats. My friend Shea explains that the hardest part of moving to Chile for him was dealing with reduced creature-comforts. Chileans aren't friendly, says the guidebook. But Jorge was not unfriendly; in fact, he was very polite. As was Mariano. All the other girls are finding roommates and houses, bragging about the great deals they have found in super-chic neighborhoods, even one pair of girls housing with a hippie artist and his musician girlfriend and their apparently adorable puppy.
I wonder what I am doing wrong.
But really, I could have told you that Jorge was a veternarian the moment I walked into the apartment he was renting out, because it reeked like wet dog.
Apartment hunting can be stressful in any situation. Apartment hunting in a foreign country where you only kinda speak the language? A little private slice of hell. In addition to the problems you'd have at home (a creep of a landlord, choosing an okay neighborhood, etc.), you additionally have to deal with all sorts of culture shock.
Apartment quality varies greatly in Santiago depending on neighborhood. Chile has one of the widest disparities in socioeconomic status of any country in the world, and it is clearly reflected in the types of apartments offered here.
So what do you look for in your fancy new Chilean apartment? Depending on the neighborhood, a room should cost somewhere between 100,000-200,000 CLP (approximately 200-300 U.S. dollars at the time of this post). If the apartment is in a complex, it should have a doorman, preferably it should be above the second floor, and it needs a SEC green seal of approval (yellow means it is pending approval; red means you should run for the hills).
Compartodepto and Craigslist: Chile are great sites to look for roommates. The first site is designed for natives or for those who speak fairly good Spanish - reflecting Chilean demographics, it is not too foreign-language-friendly otherwise. Craigslist is a better bet for those of you who are more language-challenged - you are more apt to find foreigners or Chileans with some English capabilities posting links, and the apartments, though less in quantity, seem to me to be better quality, for the most part.
Despite my pieza-fears, I have held onto one shining gem: Mariano.
Mariano has been my saving grace in all this mess. A man I have never met, who exchanges virtual hugs with me from across the globe, is eager to show me a room in his house. I see pictures online. The house looks perfect: an old mansion with cavernous rooms, brightly and eclectically painted, instruments hung on strings from a glass ceiling, a large deck looking out over the cityscape and, beyond, the Andes.
When I arrive at his door yesterday afternoon, Mariano seems very surprised. He politely shows me inside and gives me a cold glass of juice. He invites me to sit, and sinks into the overstuffed chair across from me. He sighs and his lips purse. I have made some mistake, but I am not sure what it is.
After some general conversation - How was my trip? How am I finding Santiago? Was I scared by the earthquake? - Mariano finally explains. I understand just enough of what he says to deduce that he was expecting me two hours later - not at four, but at six. this makes a little sense, seeing as time is told differently in both countries. When I had written him last, I asked to meet at 16,00 hours. He might have glanced quickly at the email and assumed I was telling him American time. He is dirty and his hair shines with sweat. He has been painting. His neon green shirt exclaims: "Gay? Fine by me."
Luna, the cat, digs her nails deep into my thighs as she settles into my lap. I squirm uncomfortably. I am now a burden to Mariano. He does not know how to ask me to leave without being rude, and so he lets me wander the house. It is seriously under construction. The three rooms to be rented have nothing but subfloor, and several of the walls are subwalls. I do not want to live here, I know. I do not want to pay a third of my salary to live in an unfirnished room in an unfinished house. But Mariano and I must be polite until I walk out the door. He invites me to coffee tomorrow at seven. I agree knowing that I will not go.
I have been talking to Mariano for weeks. Writing this email to him feels a little like he and I are breaking up. I try to let him down gently about the room. I include nothing that would betray me as a spoiled American girl. this makes the email sound terse. I compensate by using superlatives.
Mariano writes me back. His email is, to put it politely, terse. He does not use superlatives.
I cry.
My mother says to take a room I feel comfortable in, regardless of cost. My aunt suggests rooming with ex-pats. My friend Shea explains that the hardest part of moving to Chile for him was dealing with reduced creature-comforts. Chileans aren't friendly, says the guidebook. But Jorge was not unfriendly; in fact, he was very polite. As was Mariano. All the other girls are finding roommates and houses, bragging about the great deals they have found in super-chic neighborhoods, even one pair of girls housing with a hippie artist and his musician girlfriend and their apparently adorable puppy.
I wonder what I am doing wrong.
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