I struggle with the privileged white American woman's burden. Not the white man's burden of
Kipling, which is considered a justification of Western imperialism in developing countries. My origins are humble, but because of the circumstances of my birth I enjoy opportunities and privileges ranging from exemption from suspicion to quick dispensation for minor legal infractions (e.g., speeding). I care deeply about issues and problems faced by those less privileged then myself, and admire people who bridge the distance between their similarly privileged positions and disadvantaged people they commit to help.
I read
Three Cups of Tea, a book about Greg Mortenson, a privileged white American man who committed his energy to building schools for girls in Pakistan, expecting to elevate him in my mind to hero status. The book, written by David Oliver Relin, portrays Mortenson as selfless and self-sacrificing as he tirelessly raises money and spends long stretches in Pakistani villages arranging for materials and other resources to build and run these schools. I was uncomfortable with his story and my lukewarm reaction. I was left cold by the narrative that read, to me, like a promo piece in a fundraising pamphlet. Why, thought I, did readers react so positively to the book, such that every person I knew who read it (save one, and you know who you are!) raved about it? I'm heartened to see
a few reader reviews on Amazon that mesh with my views, but in general the book and the subject (Mortenson) are handed, a la Kipling, "the lightly proferred laurel, the easy, ungrudged praise."
A more captivating story, in my mind, is one I read about a privileged white American woman,
Sarah Chayes, who makes her life in Afghanistan, working with Afghanis in a
cooperative that manufactures unique soaps. Maybe I find her story more interesting because she's a
better writer than the Relin/Mortenson combo. But I think it has something to do with the person she is: a woman who did not impose her values and vision on the people who were so very different from her, but who crafted a business that took a cue from elders and that benefits the villagers who plant and harvest the ingredients of the soaps they produce. In Afghanistan, where
heroin cultivation is out of control, the work Sarah does provides a viable alternative to production of illicit crops and products.
Chayes also writes about and discusses Afghanistan beyond her own interactions and experiences, understanding that she contributes to the fortunes of the community but also that there are large and complex forces that determine the fates of the people of Afghanistan, including her own. In other words, it's not all about her. Along with her wonderful work, her reverence and humility are what, in my eyes, makes her a heroine.
