Author: matt.kelemen

by Matt Kelemen

A week ago, terrorists attacked Paris and killed 129 people. Among the dead were three Chileans. The attacks dominated the news in Chile for a few days. Facebook friends expressed solidarity with France. Wreaths were laid at the French embassy in Santiago. Opinion-makers weighed in, some calling for retaliation, other reminding readers of the colonialist roots of the conflict in Syria, and everything in between. And then… Chileans returned to their lives and to other pressing political concerns. You can still find updates in the newspapers this week — news that the ringleader had been killed, reports on world reactions to the refugee crisis, etc. But the conversation has moved on. That’s life here, so far away from targets of international terrorism.

In that same attack one American died. That’s two fewer than the number of Chileans. Much of the reaction in the US was the same as in Chile. The condemnation, the solidarity, the reminders of other attacks that had gotten less attention. But there was one big difference: the explosion of vitriol targeted to Muslims. It’s ugly to see and it has me thinking about the sheer number of people who are, in some way or another, aligned with such hate.

Consider this:

There are 220 million people eligible to vote in the US. 92 million of them “lean” Republican. Using current polling data for the 2016 race for the presidency, that means that there are:

— 23 million people who support a candidate (Trump) who thinks we should consider closing mosques, wants to set up a national database to monitor Muslims and had no substantive response when asked how his proposals differed from Nazi tactics

— 20 million people who support a candidate (Carson) who thinks Muslims should be disqualified from the presidency and compared refugees to rabid dogs

— 15 million people who support candidates (Cruz and Bush) who think Christian refugees deserve help, but not Muslim refugees

— 8 million people who support candidates (Kasich, Huckabee, and Christie) who think Syrian refugees should be barred from entry. Kasich even said we should have a Federal agency to promote Judeo-Christian values around the world.

These are all profoundly un-American, even anti-American, ideas. Yet, 66 million people in the United States support candidates who openly espouse them and another 11 million people support a candidate (Rubio) who refused to distance himself from Trump’s idea of closing mosques. That’s a lot of people standing up for hate. And let’s be clear. If you vote for Donald Trump, you’re voting for everything he espouses: the wall to keep Mexicans out, the Muslim watch lists, all of it. To take a more subtle example, if you vote for John Kasich because you like what he did as a Congressman and a Governor, you’re also voting for his New Crusades.

Don’t get me wrong. Not all the hate is coming from Republicans. The Democratic mayor of Roanoke, Virginia invoked the internment of Japanese-Americans in suggesting the need to contain ISIS. And 50 Democratic Congresspeople just voted with the whole Republican caucus to add more barriers to Syrian refugees coming to the United States. But at least the Democratic presidential candidates solidly rejected the xenophobic responses and called on the country to stand by its ideals.

The attacks in Paris were tragic and disgusting. Just as tragic and disgusting as the many acts of savagery committed by ISIS against Syrians who are now fleeing their country and their homes. And there are plenty of legitimate responses to ISIS. I think a Western coalition bombing ISIS is a bad idea, but I respect that others disagree and have good reasons for it. I think we need to take on the root causes of terrorism, but I respect others who want to focus more on the immediate situation. But can we please at least draw the line at sticking to the ideals on which our country was founded? Enough of the hate already.

by Matt Kelemen

There’s a song that’s been running through my head of late. Something of an anthem to living a true life. In the climactic verse, the singer, a Brit named Mark David Rosenberg, rails against the deadening effect of technology.

We wish we were happier, thinner and fitter,
We wish we weren’t losers and liars and quitters
We want something more not just nasty and bitter
We want something real not just hash tags and Twitter

It’s the meaning of life and it’s streamed live on YouTube
But I bet Gangnam Style will still get more views
We’re scared of drowning, flying and shooters
But we’re all slowly dying in front of f-ing computers

— Scare Away the Dark, by Passenger

I’ve been pondering these words not only because “screen time” is the single greatest source of conflict between me and the kids, and not only because they have arrived at an age and place where personal media is ever-present (“Dad, EVERYONE at school has an iPhone!”), but because the truth is, my own life is so consumed with “screen time.” And I’m not sure what to think about that.

When I first came to South America, it was as a traveler. It was 1994. Email was new. Cell phones were a few years away. The Internet was still the domain of a small group of scientists. And I landed in Quito with a vague plan to go south until I couldn’t go any further… and then go north. I navigated mainly by following the trails of human-ants traversing the continent. We were a sub-species instantly recognizable by our backpack-appendages. And, like ants, we would cross paths, share information, and be on our way. Oh, you just came from Cuzco? I’m heading there. Can you do the Inca Trail alone or do you need a guide? Hey, did you hear that there’s going to be an eclipse crossing the Atacama Desert? You should go. The ants knew and it was because of them that I had some indelible experiences, including seeing that eclipse in the Altiplano and hiking to Machu Picchu without a guide.

But some of my happiest times were off the ant trail in quieter, more quotidian spaces. Pouring the maté for a truck-driver giving me a long ride up the barren Atlantic coast of Argentina. Describing life in my hometown to a teenager eager to get out of his small, war-torn town in southern Colombia. Joining a baseball game in Mérida, Venezuela or a soccer game in Salvador, Brazil. Laughing over a beer and churrasco sandwich in Santiago, Chile. Getting up the nerve to ask a woman to dance salsa with me in Cali. Writing in the corner of a café. Being in the moment. It was in these encounters that I felt I was beginning to understand life in the places I found myself.

There’s an ongoing study trying to figure out what makes us happy. The researchers program computers to text thousands of people and ask them how they feel about what they’re doing at that moment. So far, the study has discovered good evidence that we usually have our minds on other things and that makes us less happy. We’re happiest when we’re fully present in the moment. Actually tasting that churrasco sandwich or really listening to someone’s tale. Probably unsurprising to any Buddhist. And perhaps a bit ironic that participating in the study requires people to respond to the Pavlovian chime of a text and break away from the moment in order to describe it. But it feels important, nonetheless.

Fast-forward twenty years to our current stay in South America. Screens have changed everything. I can follow live-tweets of U.S. presidential debates and catch Larry Wilmore’s caustic take on them the next day. With the touch of a button, I can see and chat with my nieces and nephews, getting updated on their lives. I can post a picture of me with President Bachelet and get confirmation that 70 friends have seen it before the day is out. If I want to know where to see good live music in the neighborhood or navigate to the best hot springs in the nearby mountains or buy tickets to Universidad de Chile soccer matches, I reach for my phone and it’s done. When I’m in meetings or in restaurants, I keep Google Translate at the ready. On my 30-minute walk to work, I can even listen to TED talks about how screens are changing our lives, like anthropologist Amber Case who thinks our screens are already turning us into cyborgs. Or I can listen instead to Passenger, emploring me to “sing at the top of [my] voice.”

Some of these changes are inspiring, like a virtual reality movie that shows a Syrian refugee camp almost literally through the eyes of a twelve-year old girl. Others are downright disturbing, like a recent study that put 50 pre-teens in a five-day camp without screens and left 50 other pre-teens with their screens. The campers got better at recognizing emotional cues from faces in photos and silent videos. Five days of screen detox and kids are better at knowing whether someone else is happy or sad! Meanwhile, technologists like Rana el Kaliouby are actively working to get our screens to read our emotions for us. I can’t help but thinking about the dystopian future imagined in 2001, when the computer murders the crew and then tells the last man standing: “Look Dave, I can see you’re really upset about this. I honestly think you ought to sit down calmly, take a stress pill, and think things over.” Long live the robots. Humans, not so much.

All of this leads me to some pretty predictable ideas: Put limits on when I use the screen and when I don’t (especially resisting the urge to Google the answer to a vexing issue in the middle of a conversation), make sure that I’m passionate about the work I do, seek out real experiences, whether they be pick-up soccer games or long conversations with friends. While my access to technology makes it difficult to re-create the kind of life I lived on and off the ant-trail, it really isn’t so hard to just power off the phone and be fully present.

The kids know I’m trying to do this and I guess it’s a good thing that they can needle me about it. When I ask Adela to notice something amazing – like the pink hue of the snow on the Andes that we can see from our deck or the way the fruit is stacked at the market – she’ll often say, tongue firmly in cheek, “Let’s post that to Instagram!” Touché.

*****

Adela’s thoughts on screens: I personally don’t think “device time” is bad for my brother and me because our “device time” is limited. But what about the kids at my school? Most of them are rich and all have phones. And I have noticed they are on their phones ALL the time. I hosted a Halloween party for my friends and at the end of the party when everyone was getting picked up, everyone (and I mean everyone) was on their phone. I think that you can have “device time” but be smart about it.

Dylan’s thoughts on screens: The song “Scare Away the Dark” is a song I have also been listening to in the past few weeks. For me, it is like a guide for how to live your life and be happy without your electronic devices. It inspired me to think more about my social life and how it affects me and the people around me.

Jeannette’s thoughts on screens: For the last four months I’ve been using a flip phone or an android phone with minimal “smarts.” It’s caused me to map out where I’m going before I leave the house, and to ask more people for directions and advice. If I’d been absorbed in the latest Facebook posts or been able to more self-reliant maneuvering public transportation while I was out and about, I may have missed out on the chance to ask a teacher about her thoughts regarding Chile’s educational reforms. Or get advice about where to shop from the Peruvian housekeeper struggling to make ends meet. It’s helped me brush off the cobwebs on previous ways I’ve been resourceful and helped me to avoid taking technology for granted. But I won’t lie when I tell you I’m really looking forward to trading my “dumb” phone for a new iPhone next week!

 

By Jeannette LaFors

September 18th is the day Chileans celebrate their nation’s independence. This year over a million people were dealing first-hand with the aftermath of the September 16 8.6 earthquake and ensuing tsunami – dropping or adjusting any plans they had for celebrating independence.

Considerable motivation for Chilean independence from Spain came when Napoleon invaded the Iberian Peninsula in 1808 and set up his brother Joseph to rule there. Leaders in both Spain and the Spanish Americas formed juntas (local administrations) to stand in for the imprisoned Spanish monarchs. Amidst the chaos, colonists in Chile were divided – some wanted to return to an absolute monarchy, others wanted to remain loyal to Spain, and others still wished for independence. It turned out to be a long and bloody war, and civil strife ensued even after independence was won.

The national celebration is definitely a big deal. Everyone gets the two days off, and most schools close for an entire week during the “fiestas patria.” Lots of people travel to visit their families, and a religious liturgy of thanksgiving dating back to 1811 is led by the Archbishop of Santiago. The president and cabinet members attend this religious service, which became ecumenical in nature in 1971 at President Allende’s request.

Here are some of my observations:

Lots of Red, White, and Blue. I mean lots. Flags. Everywhere. I wondered why there were so many Chilean flags. Did people take their patriotism that seriously? Eventually I learned that public buildings and private residences since 1967 are required to display the flag on Sept 18 and 19 (as well as May 21) and that people responsible for displaying the flag risk a fine if they don’t. Before 2010, Chileans were not allowed to fly the flag on days other than the national holidays without permission. In honor of Chile’s bicentennial, President Piñeda enacted a law repealing the restriction and allowing anyone to fly the national flag throughout the year. The most impressive flag flies downtown near La Moneda (where the president’s offices are located) and is 27 meters long and 18 meters wide.

Consumerism. Chileans exploit their independence holidays to make some cash. Every store offers special deals and street vendors do their best to attract customers and make a sale. Kites for sale on the highway. Flags for sale on the sidewalk. Children’s traditional costumes in shop windows. Party decorations everywhere. And food . . .

BBQs are Supreme. Chile BBQs are all the rage, from intimate gatherings to giant “fondas” where thousands of people converge to eat, listen to music, and dance. I’ve never seen the variety nor quantity of meat in the U.S. like we have experienced here. You can get grass-fed Chilean beef, all kinds of beef from Argentina, Bolivia, Peru, . . . . and yes, FDA-approved beef from the U.S.A. I was astonished by the enormous quantity of meat I saw for sale in the grocery stores and consumed at the celebrations we were part of. To get warmed up for your protein-fest, you’re likely to be offered a “choripán” – a delicious chorizo sausage (chori) grilled to perfection and stuffed into fresh-baked roll (pan) or an “anticucho” (shish kabob). And you can’t turn down the empanadas – delicious meat-filled pies.

Spirited Celebrations. The first day of spring comes right on the heels of Independence Day, and snow is still covering the Andes. So the holiday is not a big lake, pool, or beach day. But typical Chilean “Dieciocho” festivities do include rodeo, emblematic of a country lifestyle in Chile’s central valley (akin to the American “cowboy” and other South American “guacho” cultures). And cueca.

At the kids’ school celebration, Adela wore a traditional huasa (aka country girl) folk dress and competed in a cueca dance contest. Cueca is Chile’s official national dance, and it’s a highly complex partner-dance that mimics the mating ritual of a rooster and a hen. I didn’t make that up.

Dylan’s soccer club hosted a giant “Dieciocho” celebration with enormous amounts of food and competitive games that included kite-flying, tug-of-war, and potato sack races. They skipped the cueca.

We were delighted to celebrate the long holiday weekend with close Chilean friends in the beautiful coastal mountain range near La Campana National Park. In addition to preparing and eating delectable back-to-back traditional Independence Day BBQ spreads (one Chilean-style and the other American-style), we spent a lot of time jumping on a trampoline, hiking, playing soccer, strategizing games of mega-size chess, and socializing with all those gathered.

And yet, amidst the hearty celebrations, ubiquitous red Chilean soccer jerseys, and military fanfare, I detected an undercurrent of rational reluctance to celebrate independence with unbridled expressions of patriotism.

Indigenous peoples in Chile continue to fight for land taken from them by conquistadors and colonists. The Mapuche, Chile’s largest group of indigenous people, are one example. The Mapuche proved to be a formidable foe to the conquistadors, and it wasn’t until the 1880s that Chile and Argentina banded together to seize and divide their Wallmapu territory. Today the Mapuche continue their tradition of fierce resistance. They plant their ancient crops on contested land, they sabotage timber corporations, block highways, and interrupt commerce. Many Mapuche activists have been arrested and charged with terrorism (in a way the UN has defined as discriminatory); and others have been killed by police.

And indelible memories of Pinochet’s human rights’ violating regime have not endeared people to trust or support national expressions of patriotism.

Thinking about Chilean independence and what it means for individuals, communities, and the nation caused me to reflect on my own ambivalence celebrating American Independence. Founders of the U.S. desecrated Native Americans, protected slavery, and excluded women and others from fully participating as citizens.

When Europeans arrived in the new world, they ushered in disease, warfare, slavery, genocide, and apartheid that decimated Native American populations. The Declaration of Independence describes Native American people as “merciless Indian Savages” and they continue today to experience discrimination in their daily lives. Native Americans are more likely to live in poverty, drop out of high school, be unemployed, and suffer from violence than most other racial/ethnic groups. And they are less likely to receive adequate access to education, healthcare, and other critical support services [See this article].

While we certainly have, as a nation, expanded opportunities for many to pursue “life, liberty, and happiness,” it is irrefutable that the lives, liberty, and happiness of far too many of our citizens are threatened and violated every day. Indeed, knowing this motivated me to become a history teacher – to help young people critically reflect on the events of our past so they might be motivated to act in ways what ensure a better present, as well as a better future.

“Me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.”
— Toni Morrison, Beloved