I spent every summer between the ages of eight and 18 in a state of full-fledged Americana. I grew up in Raleigh, but each June my family would drive five days across the country and set up shop in Bozeman, Mont. My dad worked for an environmental think tank, my mom hiked up and down the mountains of Gallatin Valley and I educated myself in the appropriate and punny manner in which you should always answer the home phone:
“Thurman summer home. Some are home, some are not!”
Unfortunately, this summer I’m going to be one of the Thurmans who is “not.” For 12 weeks, I’ll be living and working near Masaka, Uganda. That’s what college students are supposed to do, right? Pick up and go to Africa and help those poor nameless, faceless children? All these poor kids have ever wanted in life is for you to take pictures cradling them in your arms.
Working in nations that have fewer resources than our own presents the terrifying threat of a superiority complex. Not only is it easy to return to Duke feeling like a saint compared to your classmates who worked in finance for the summer, but there’s a pre-established hierarchy in any relationship you develop while abroad. When you can afford to fly halfway across the world and your new friends don’t possess a similar privilege, it’s difficult to engage with people on equal footing. Beyond wealth differentials, America is nothing if not a nation that prides itself upon its lofty ideals. It’s easy to enter a nation and judge the manner of governance, the pressing social issues and the cultural traditions.
And the accepted norms in Uganda seem to open themselves up to American judgment. Less-than-liberal treatments of religion and women’s rights run particularly contrary to the mores developed on college campuses. For instance, Uganda celebrated its 100th anniversary of independence from Britain last year, and their president, Yoweri Museveni, took this occasion of public celebration to dedicate Uganda to God, stating the nation’s desire to “be known … as a nation whose foundations are firmly rooted in righteousness and justice to fulfill what the Bible says in Psalm 33:12: Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord.”
This comes as the Ugandan government continues to uphold strict and severe criminal prosecution of individuals engaging in homosexual behavior. “Aggravated homosexuality,” or homosexual acts committed by parents, authority figures, those infected with HIV or repeat offenders might be punished with the death penalty.
Women, too, are looking at losses of rights with a ban on mini-skirts in the works. The minister of ethics of Uganda has championed this cause, arguing that with simple props like the mini-skirt, men are “provoked and enticed” to sexually assault the women of Uganda. So by simply preventing the victims of rape from “asking for it” in the first place, sexual assault rates will fall.
When we are at home, in our own nations, states and cities with legislators elected to represent us, criticism is more legitimate. I feel completely comfortable criticizing the North Carolina General Assembly’s recent discussions of establishing a state religion. The building in which they discussed this potential bill is a mile from the house I grew up in. I went to two public high schools in North Carolina and a handful of different denominations of church services during my time in this state. I have voted in every state and local election since I turned 18 and feel qualified to say: This was a ridiculous piece of legislation.
But that’s not the case with Uganda. I have seen the Book of Mormon, and have started to read some local news sites, but beyond South Park creators’ Broadway smash hit, “I Am Africa,” I know nothing. I feel as though I have zero authority, and thus zero right to criticize. But authority to criticize and capacity to disagree are very different. I can’t see how to respect a leader elected to possess political authority who adopts religious authority without popular consent. I don’t understand the basis for looking at the victims of sexual assault for ways to fix the problem.
I don’t think 12 weeks will do anything to change my mind on these accounts, but to some degree, I know that the national autonomy of Ugandans must be respected. It’s the people of Uganda who live with their legislative decisions, not me. In August I get to return and complain about the backwardness of North Carolina politics. The people of other nations have the same fundamental capacities for thought and morality as Americans; there’s no reason to look down, to say, “Oh you poor backwards people. If only you knew what religious coexistence was like!” I’m excited to meet the people of Uganda, the people who don’t find their customs and beliefs an oddity, but rather the norm, and the people who are at home in a place I will surely feel out of place in. I’m excited to arrive in my summer home.
Lydia Thurman is a Trinity sophomore. This is her final column of the semester. You can follow Lydia on Twitter @ThurmanLydia.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.