Privilege

To be completely honest, I have been dreading writing this blog all week.  I literally have too much to say and the idea of writing about even just one of my experiences is overwhelming.  It’s a great thing that God has been showing me so much, but I wish sometimes that He’d make it possible for me to mentally record everything and burn it onto a disk.  Technology’s come that far right?

Anyway, what I’ve decided to write about is a theme that is surprisingly rather central to the missionary field: nationality and race.  Being raised in a family and church that are all about equality and acceptance, I never thought that these too unchangeable aspects of my identity would have such an influence on my work as a missionary.  However, since coming to Zimbabwe, I’ve realized how prominent they are.  More times than I can count, I’ve been the only white person in sight or stared at by children or been asked how great America is, but I think the most notable circumstance where I’ve found my race and nationality to be influential is at Precious Life.

Over the past few weeks the girls and I have spent quite a bit of time together and as the level of comfort has increased, so has the depth of our conversations.  They started out by asking me simple things about my life in the States such as where I go to school, what do I like to do in my free time, do I know any gangsters like the ones in music videos, etc.  Or they’d make comments on my hair or the fact that my skin turns pink when I’m hot.  Then the questions became about whether or not I have a car, how much a plane ticket to America costs, how much money can be made as a maid, and do I know any available white men.  Statements about how America is free of problems, white features being more beautiful than black, and an overwhelming desire to move to the States were also included.  They were actually confused when I told them that America’s not perfect, that we have problems too.  The idea that poverty, hunger, homelessness, teen pregnancy, and broken homes could be present in big shiny America was like being told that there isn’t really an overweight man in red velvet that squeezes his way down your chimney in the middle of the night to bring gifts once a year (scary image isn’t it..and the Easter Bunny?! Terrifying.)  Anyway, I became really uncomfortable with the idea that these girls idolized America to the point of thinking that they would literally have no problems if they could just make it across the Atlantic.  I will readily admit that I lived a blessedly privileged life, but it certainly isn’t the new age MTV inspired fairy tale that they imagine.

If that wasn’t appalling enough, I had a conversation with one of the girls that left me uneasy for the rest of the week.  This particular girl had stood out to me because of her constant inquisition about my American life.  It finally got to the point this week where she flat out told me that I was privileged, that I had come to Zimbabwe for my own benefit just like all of the other white people, that I was rich, that I didn’t know the real Zimbabwe because I was staying in a nicer suburb, that I was only serving here to make myself feel accomplished, and that my life was easy.  How do I possibly respond to that?  Here’s a girl who has made the assumption that I have no idea what hardship or hard work is because I’m white and, more importantly, because I’m American.  And the worst part of it was that I could hear the resentment in her voice.  Nothing I could say to defend myself was acceptable.

I left Precious Life that day feeling embarrassed about things that I had no control over.  I had come to Zimbabwe knowing that there was a stigma surrounding Americans, like in many other parts of the world, and I knew that I would be a minority as a white woman.  But I really didn’t know what to do when the girls I was trying to serve suddenly began making assumptions about my  life and reasons for coming to Zimbabwe based on those factors.  To make it worse, they all began asking for my phone number and email and address so that they could “come visit” or “call their American friend”.  To put it simply, I felt used and judged.

What I’ve had to keep telling myself is that there’s nothing that I can do about this.  People will make assumptions about me based on my nationality and race no matter where I go and all I can do is hope that my words and actions overcome their preconceived notions.  I firmly believe that God has blessed me with privilege for a reason.  He’s given me a heart for missions and it’s that privilege that makes going to places like Zimbabwe possible.  It isn’t me who benefits, it’s His kingdom.  And I can completely understand how someone like this girl at Precious Life might look at me and be resentful of the hand that God has dealt me.  But I’ve realized that she’s forgetting the fact that He has a plan for her life, just as He has a plan for mine.  God uses all of us for His good and perfect purposes.  Whether you’re rich or poor or American or Zimbabwean or white or black, we all play an important role in His greater plan.  In 1 Corinthians 4 Paul writes: “But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself.  For I am not aware of anything against myself, but I am not thereby acquitted. It is the Lord who judges me.  Therefore do not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purposes of the heart.”  I’m going to do my best to remember these verses in the coming weeks, especially when facing judgments and assumptions based on the situations that I’ve been born into.

On a side note, I was reading through the hymnal at church tonight and came across this hymn that I found to be really relevant to my walk with God at the moment:

It may not be on the mountain's height

It may not be on the mountain’s height, or over the stormy sea;
It may not be at the battle’s front my Lord will have need of me;
But if by a still, small voice He calls to paths I do not know,
I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in Yours,
I’ll go where You want me to go.

I’ll go where You want me to go, dear Lord,
O’er mountain, or plain, or sea;
I’ll say what You want me to say, dear Lord,
I’ll be what You want me to be.

Perhaps today there are loving words which Jesus would have me speak;
There may be now, in the paths of sin, some wand’rer whom I should seek.
O Savior, if You will be my Guide, though dark and rugged the way,
My voice shall echo the message sweet,
I’ll say what You want me to say.

There’s surely somewhere a lowly place in earth’s harvest fields so wide,
Where I may labor through life’s short day for Jesus, the Crucified.
So, trusting my all unto Your care, I know You always love me!
I’ll do Your will with a heart sincere,
I’ll be what You want me to be.