Friday, March 7, 2008

The American Students Who Study at University of Cape Town

Brain dead. I don’t use that term lightly. The people Melanie lives with are brain dead. The sort of jet setting liberal so prevalent in the new South Africa. I want to kill them all, just as they are killing me with their fake smiles, nervous laughter, and Gucci bags.

I hate them.

They epitomize everything that’s wrong with the American educational system. How the fuck did these brain dead bimbos get into Penn and Pomona? How many thousands of more qualified black applicants did they beat with their community service essays on building a well in Uganda, a spring break trip they took on their parent’s expense specifically to have the kind of profound moments great college essays require.

These brain dead white people, who go to class at University of Cape Town, then come home, then get drunk and get stoned with their other brain dead white friends. And they’re in Africa, motherfucking Africa. But this Africa looks a whole lot like Palm Springs. This Africa is not really Africa at all. Those dirty cabs the white kids bemoan because of how they don’t obey the speed limit, the ones African people actually use? Those cars are what I associate with Africa.

There is no Africa to see here. I am living in a fortress surrounded by an electric fence.

“I feel so bad for our house cleaner,” Melanie says to me. And maybe this patronizing talk about black housekeepers is the extent to which Melanie has analyzed her own relationship to the black community in South Africa. Maybe she is the only poor black South African woman Melanie has ever met. Who am I to judge, right?

But who is Melanie to judge either? And that’s what pisses me off more than anything about these private school douchebags; they’re willingness to judge everything and everyone that doesn’t fit into the prep school mold. Actually learning about the culture? Weird. Actually writing self-critically about your experiences? Why?

But there’s a much subtler, and more subversive control element I am having a hard time putting into words. Maybe it’s just the look I got when I told one of the girls I took the cab cab alone downtown. It was a look like, “why would you do that?” It was a look like, “weren’t you afraid?’ Finally, it was a look that said, “Don’t you know and respect your own position in the economic food chain?”

And that’s the difference between me and these girls. While they seem to be fairly comfortable with the life they’ve created for themselves, in the leafy green university bubble, I am not at all comfortable with my own race, my own privileges, and my own position in the economic superstructure. I am not complacent. I am agitated. I am peeved. I am angry. I am sad. I am alive.

Don’t wear your I-Pod headphones. Don’t travel alone in a cab cab. Don’t walk alone at night.

I am sitting in a beautifully upholstered house. My couch lies on tiles that were set by Africans. This room was cleaned by an African maid. I have been touched by an African, but I am not in Africa.

Don’t forget to lock the house. Don’t give money to homeless people. Be careful walking down the street. Don’t talk on your cell phone in the street. You might draw attention to yourself.

This house is all that’s wrong with America. This house is all that’s wrong with international tourism. This house is an island, an American island, where no one has to feel like they’re actually in a new country.

I’m sorry. It must sound like I’m being a terrible hypocrite. I live with Americas, too. I know. We’re all Americans. We can’t escape that. We can’t apologize for it over and over. We’re Americans. That’s just who we are.

But you don’t have to live like this, Melanie. You have so many options! Go live in a township! Make friends with African people! Stop being so judgmental of everyone! Stop building up walls no one can climb up! No woman is an island, so stop building a moat. Soon you will go hungry on your island and die. That is the cold hard truth.

I hope you find peace. I’m out of here.

If I have to spend five more minutes here my head will explode.

I don’t like your roommates. The one from Penn State, the one you told me was a Christian? She asked me to sum up my entire study abroad experiences “one good, one bad.” Uh, bitch please. I can’t fucking sum up my experiences in one good, one bad. What do you think you’re my fucking camp counselor? What a stupid, empty question. Don’t pretend you’re interested in what I have to say. Spare me the acting, please.

And the girl that goes to Pomona. The whiny one who smokes. Don’t get me started on this one. Who the fuck let you into Pomona? You’re an English major? Really? Don’t you have anything intelligent to say about the newspaper beyond…

“Yah. It’s kinda like weird.”

What do you mean?

“I don’t know, the writing is just like really weird. I don’t get it.”

Weird. Writing. That’s all you have to say? That’s all 150,000 dollars of education has taught you to say? Are you playing dumb? Are you afraid I won’t like you if you act smart? Do you really think that I, as a gay man, enjoy talking to dumb pretty girls? Be smart with me, I can take it. Challenge me. Debate with me. Don’t just sit there and tell me the writing’s weird. Is this what you write in your essays for English class? That the writing is weird? Do you just submit a paper that says:

“This book was weird but kind of funny?”

Are you a complete moron?

I know this sounds harsh, and it is. The world has every right to be harsh with you, to turn our cold critical eyes on your actions. You are our future. You are our American bourgeois. You are the next best-educated leaders of the most powerful nation in the free world. You must be held accountable for your lack of inner-brain activity. Your education cost more than a township school building. So get out there and get some fucking perspective, bitches.

4 comments:

A.S.C. said...

This was awesome. I think you could easily replace the world "Africa" and put "DC" or "GW". Keep writing! You're awesome!

Unknown said...

Your writing is honest. As a "local" who attended UCT for 4 years, I would often see the overconfident and overbearing US students seldom want to fraternise with people other than themselves or with the posh "white" folk. They would always try to swop tuts so that they can be together.
I bravely introduced myself to one of them who took a History class with me, partially because I was totally crushing on him! Although he was slightly intimidating (me thinks it was his accent) he was actually a cool guy. I was disappointed though, that the only places he got to see in CT were the famous tourist places like Table mountain & Robben Island. He never got to taste a mouthwatering vienna gatsby in Athlone ("coloured cultural cuisine"),go to a braai (bbq) or just experience some other culture like driving in a Mowbray, Claremont, Wynberg minibus taxi. (Most of them had hired cars) Maybe he was just not open to it. It was sad that our meeting happened a week before his departure back home.
My other Yank experience was with my Anthropology tutor. He was cool cause he gave me good grades and said my essays were well written. I'm telling you there is something in your accents, on the one hand is can be entirely captivating yet totally intimidating.

the dude said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
the dude said...

Steven, thanks for this post. I appreciate your comments and your passion. Just FYI, there are some Americans at UCT who think a bit differently and are struggling against the grain.

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