On being American.

This summer at VIAŢA there are three interns from the United States (well, one's from Korea, but they all went to college in the US) and four volunteers from the European Volunteer Service (two from Italy, one from Spain, and one from Latvia).  It's been a delight to get to know all of them, learn about their personalities and passions, and watch them experience and adapt and struggle and love this new culture.  Jack and I have only been here half a year, but both of us had been to Eastern Europe for significant chunks of time in college, and it's starting to feel familiar -- so watching the culture stress and adaptation of newer members of our community has brought back old memories and new reflection on what it means to be an American living in Romania.

For instance.  Last week at VIAŢA, after the campers had left, we spent an afternoon playing various experiential educational games with the counselors and debriefing what we had learned.  The second game we played was not very well explained, and we all felt rather confused: it was a series of ridiculous competitions, judged by three people.  The rules were unclear, we weren't sure who was on what team, and the judges' scores after each round seemed completely unrelated to our performance -- so we were confused.  But it was fun anyway, and we laughed a lot as we blew balloons frantically across the floor, stumbled blindfolded after the squeaks of a toy pig, and chased each other in an attempt to grab bandannas tucked in each other's pockets.  At the end of the game, we sat down to debrief -- and that's where it got interesting.

First of all, we finally found out that the judges' scores were, indeed, arbitrary.  One team in particular had been given really low scores in each round, and we later learned that the game was meant to spur discussion about discrimination -- about how sometimes systems are rigged unfairly, etc.  Had there been less confusion around the actual tasks, perhaps we would have realized this midway through the activity and started to protest or something -- but we didn't realize it until debriefing, which then prompted a lively discussion.   Why didn't we do anything to fight back against the corrupt judges?  Does that happen in real life too, like perhaps in the notoriously-corrupt Romanian political context?  Also, none of us noticed the discrimination until it was pointed out to us -- except for the team that was being discriminated against.  Does that say something about our blindness to systems of oppression?  Does that say something about privilege?  (Yes, yes, and yes.  You can probably fill in the rest of the blanks.  It was a fascinating analogy.)

But in the meantime, what did we learn?  Here it also got interesting.  Some of the Romanian participants spoke up and said it was important that even in the midst of discrimination and confusion and a broken system they still had fun and enjoyed themselves.  That's an important life lesson, they said -- that you still need to make the best of life even when it's lousy and you don't understand the systems you're part of or think they're fair.  When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

As this was happening, I noticed one of our American interns getting visibly more and more frustrated.  She eventually piped up, too, something about how that's not what life is about -- it's about changing systems that are broken, doing something to speak up for others when discrimination is happening, and not just ignoring it and having fun in your own life.  Plus, she said, fun isn't the highest goal of life -- for her, it's living as a witness to Christ, and that doesn't always mean you'll have the most fun.  For her, the whole focus was off.

Suddenly, in watching the conversation bounce back and forth, I recognized culture at play in a really tangible way.  I generally try to avoid making generalizations about Romanian culture, but hang with me for a second.  Romania has had a really rough history, especially here in the Jiu Valley.  The conquer and oppression of the Ottoman empire, then the Austro-Hungarians, then two world wars, and then a series of nasty dictators and one of the most brutal Communist regimes in Eastern Europe... Romanians have had a lot of hard knocks.  Romanian folklore reflects this, with almost all of its famous stories, poems, songs, and legends involving tragic fates for sorrowing peasants and shepherds.  There are no mighty underdog heroes in Romanian folklore.  Kids don't learn about "The Little Engine That Could" or Rosa Parks or the American dream in school -- or if they do, it's not their story.  It's imported from somewhere else -- in fact, probably from America.  So for a Romanian to play this game and come away saying, "Well, when life is hard, we still have to do our best to make the most of it" -- that comes from history.  It's the source of all Romanian Communist-era black humor.  It comes from this country's cultural narratives.  It's hopeful and counter-cultural in plenty of ways, and it's a true and right response.

But as an American (well, at least as a white American, because I know that my whiteness creates a different cultural narrative for me as well), it's different.  We believe the line about making lemonade.  But I think most of us would have no trouble going on from the lemonade idea to then think that we could build a lemonade stand, sell our drink on the street corner, make a little pocket change, and use that money to help make the world a better place.  I mean, we see little kids doing that in our own neighborhoods.  This optimism and social entrepreneurship, this belief that we can do something to change the world?  That's part of our culture, part of our history, part of the American narrative -- that anyone can "make it."  We may know it's not true, (in fact, we may have plenty of evidence that this narrative is often a lie unless you fit certain racial, economic, gender, and/or educational prerequisites), but we know the narrative.  And it means we think we can change things.  And it's also a true and right response.

So how, as an American, do I faithfully work for an organization that's trying to teach Romanian kids that they can help change the world, that they can help fix broken systems and communities?  How do I do that in a way that's culturally sensitive, that acknowledges the places where my assumptions are different from those of the community I now live and work in?  How do I recognize and appreciate my own culture without devaluing the culture of those around me?  How do I value and honor the rich wisdom of Romanian culture, even when its narratives feel unfamiliar to me?  That's the question.  That's what we're learning.

But it fills me with hope.