Ooops, wrong blog

Woopsie, I totally meant to post that last... post on my "work blog". Read it anyway, but if you want to see the rest of the "Reflection" series, go to my work blog. Word? Word.

A Man of Nature

Of course I'm back now. And of course, now that I'm back, I'm also back in class. One class I'm taking, which is really cool, is the "reflection course" for the Global Poverty Minor. So what does that mean? Well one of the big problems in the "development world", as in all groups that are working to alleviate poverty, is that there is never looking back. In so doing, it has been noted that many groups continue to make the same dumb mistakes they've been making since their inception. Basically, without proper reflection we can never make sense of the things we've experienced; things which are often powerful, life-changing interactions with people and places. If we don't make sense of the feelings and significance of those interactions then will will be doomed to never grow. As my professor puts it, "we use reflection to help us to think differently- or in greater depth and complexity- about things that have happened".

So... this is where we begin. I will be posting here my "Reflection" writing assignments after I turn them in for grading. I'll be sure to include the prompt as well so yall can have some idea as to what issue I'm addressing. Here we go:

Prompt: "In this first reflection assignment, I would like you to select a specific, charged event related to your practice experience and reflect on this event. Do your best to reflect deeply into what happened, how you were feeling at the time, how others might have been feeling, and potentially different ways of viewing the event. Remember that a central part of these exercises is to encourage you to identify important/impactful moments through reflection so that you can develop new ways of approaching your practice experience and understanding how you have been affected by it. Put another way, we use reflection to help us to think differently- or in greater depth and complexity- about things that have happened. Along these lines, you should approach your reflections as a way to "explore events or themes, not as a forum for you to write about something that you have already 'figured out'."

A Man of Nature

For my project it was important for me to interview people involved in food production on Mo’orea across a broad spectrum. At one end of the spectrum there are large scale, modern, industrialized farmers, involved in intensive production, while at the other extreme there are small scale, subsistence farmers, primarily concerned with feeding themselves. On the 27^th of July, I toured the small family farm (faha’pu in Tahitian) of a man named Ascion who has been involved in subsistence agriculture since he can remember. After exploring his faha’pu and talking in depth about different planting techniques I sat down with Ascion to conduct a semi-structured interview. I had prepared a few questions, but I also anticipated, and hoped, that the conversation would flow naturally to a myriad of other topics, for which my questions would merely open the door. The interview passed much as I hoped it and by the end Ascion and I felt both exhausted and satisfied.

One moment in our interview stuck out more than any. I anxiously came to a question, which I worried could be slightly inflammatory, and I asked Ascion, “Who owns this land?” Ascion hesitated; his old eyes scanned my face. Before he answered, it was clear that he knew there would be a lot of explaining to do. I, a westerner, have a very different concept of land use rights than a man of his upbringing, and he knew this well. Finally, he answered the question, “Jimmy”. Jimmy, a neighbor of mine, and a small time fisherman, had inherited this land from his father who had inherited it from his father. That was as far back as Ascion could reckon. The next obvious follow-up question I posed was, “Jimmy doesn’t mind that you stay on his land?” Having already established that Ascion had no income, it was clear that he was not paying rent. This was exactly the question Ascion had hoped I’d ask, or so I gauged from his long, slow, and deliberate response. In essence, he said that because he was a man of the land, a Maohi man, Jimmy would never think to ask him for rent. Yes, Jimmy is welcome to eat the food that Ascion grows, but so is everybody else. Ascion tells me that along with language, religion, music, and food, the concept of land ownership is yet another imported idea. Before the French, everybody used to live like Ascion. Just then it began to dawn on me that I was in conference with a living fossil: a man of a dying breed. It’s not until now that the full weight of that moment is upon me. He told me that he is a man of the land, a man of nature. He then went on to describe how his connection with the land shapes and informs his world. Like all old men, he concluded by complaining about the youth, saying that the lack of connection to the land was precisely the problem with the youth of today: “They don’t know when they’ve taken too much because they don’t know how to listen to the earth”. That statement has kept my head spinning since I heard it. Could this be the root of all environmental problems? Isn’t it likely that all of humanity lived, at one time, more or less in the fashion of Ascion? And if so, haven’t most of us also lost our connection to the earth? How can the residents of Sao Paulo, Los Angeles, Shanghai, or Berkeley ever hope restore that connection, should we care to?

Since my return to the states I find myself observing people and wondering what their connection to the earth may be. Did the small shrivel faced woman, sifting through the garbage in search of recyclables run through the hills of China and sleep on the floor of a bamboo hut built by her father when she was a child? Will the young punks tagging up the back of the Muni bus ever know the life cycle of the animals they eat? Will the Sierra Club member, born and raised in urban sprawl, who spends a total of 7 days of each year in the wilderness, ever understand the effect the moon has on the thousand of mating animals surrounding him? Then of course, there’s me…

Could I Live the Simple Life?

In response to the story I posted yesterday, a sharp and inquisitive friend of mine responded by asking me whether or not I could be content living the life of a simple fisherman? My response became prolific before long and now I share it with you:

"Do I think I could be content with the simple life of a fisherman? I think not, but I think this may be because I have already been corrupted, in a way. I don't use that word, corrupted, to necessarily mean anything evil. What I mean is that human kind, when raised closely with the land, will develop a deep and profound sense that you are a part of the land. In my project this summer I have interviewed a great number of people who are living this life. I am interviewing anybody who is involved in agriculture here on Mo'orea; from the government subsidized large scale "modern" farmer, all the way down to small groups and individuals who live in the valleys, without income, subsisting off the land and the sea. It is in these subsistence farmers that I see and feel this closeness with their environment. For them, the modern world holds no sway over their imaginations. Remember in "Ishi" when the anthropologists bring him to San Francisco? Ishi is unamazed, stating that the earth has built larger mountains than the buildings he sees before him. For myself, I feel I am somewhere in between. Alone in nature, I feel all that hippy peaceful stuff, but there is more. I feel alert and alive. I feel like a hunter; my body electrified and my senses keen. In these moments I know that I am tapping into that connection with the land that the farmers of the valley feel every moment of everyday. Alas, the feeling is fleeting, and it is difficult to conjure when I am 3 floors below the earth in the middle of the night, studying for midterms, in a room lit by florescent lighting. In these moments I am a perfectly modern man and I know that my connection with the land has indeed been corrupted. So to answer your question from a slightly different angle: I think that, only those people who's connection to the land has not been corrupted can thrive and be contented with such a simple life. Others, like myself, will come back to, and be drawn by, our memories of the modern world. We are as comfortable in that world as the farmers are in their valleys. We understand the value and the beauty of intensive human production (for all it's faults) whether it be in a bustling market, mind bending works of art, or advanced communication technologies. Unfortunantly for us the subsistence farmers win big time on the sustainability front, but this does not change who we are or will ultimately make us happy. Word?"

So what do you think? Could you be content? Why, why not? Leave responses of epic proportions below :)

Peace,
C

While checking out the website of a popular Polynesian news magazine , Tahiti Pacifique, I came across this wonderful little story that I thought should be shared with you all.

"Business in Paradise"

In a small village, on a small atoll in French Polynesia, a vacationing businessman walks on the beach along the lagoon. A fisherman in an outrigger canoe returns from the ocean through the pass and pulls the canoe on the beach. Several big tunas are lying inside the boat. The foreigner admires the size and the freshness of the fish and compliments the Polynesian fisherman, asking him how long it took to catch them.
-" Not very long ", answers the fisherman.
-" But then, why didn't you stay out there to catch more ?" the tourist asks.

The Polynesian replies that these few fishes will be sufficient to feed his family.
The visitor then asks:
- " But what then do you do the rest of the day? "
- " I sleep late, I fish a little, I play with my children, I take a nap with my wife. In the evening I go to the village to see my friends. We drink a little beer and play the guitar. I have a simple but well filled life. "

The "Popa'a" (foreigner) interrupts him :
- " Listen! I hold a Harvard MBA, I even studied a year at Yale. I am an educated man. I can help you. You should begin with fishing much longer and sell the fish you don't need. With these profits, you can then buy a bigger boat. With the money which this boat will earn for you, you'll be able to buy a second boat, and so on, until you possess a whole fleet of trawlers. Instead of selling your fish to wholesalers, you could directly negotiate with the cannery, better still, build your own factory. You could then leave your small village and move to Papeete, then maybe on to Paris, where you would run your business from. "

The Polynesian thinks things over, then asks:
- " How long would it take to do all this?
- " 15 - 20 years " answers the businessman.
- " And after that, what do I do? "
- " After that ? But this is where things really get interesting ", announces the expert, beaming: "you will then be able to sell shares of your business on the stock exchange and this is how will earn you millions, hundreds of millions! "
- " Yes ? Hundreds of millions !!!? But then, what do I do with these millions? "
- " Then, let's see. You will be able to retire, to go and live quietly in a small village on some small island, on the shore of a nice lagoon. You can then sleep late, play with your grandchildren, go fishing a little, take a nap with your wife and spend your evenings drinking and playing the guitar with the few friends you'll still have.
You'll be able to do what the whole world dreams about! "

-Alex W. du PREL

Aftermath

I think one of the worst parts about being robbed whole thing (though this may be particular to a place as small as this) is that I look at everybody as though they were the ones who did it. The community here is very small and everybody says they know who the people are who are typically involved, but nobody is willing to spill the beans to a white guy. So instead, I walk by every group of little 20 yr old punk ass loudmouth bitches assuming it was one of them. The paranoia and suspicion grates on me and I can feel it making me a person I don't want to be.

That was until this week. I think I'm finally moving past it and getting on with my life (and my project). I spent all of last week rebuilding security at my house, including our new, ugly ass pitbull, Bingo :)

I promise to make my next blog entry more uplifting...

Robbed

Fuck me. Last night our house was broken into and our computer was stolen. That includes all of my work, photos, and my semi regular access to the internet. What does this mean for the blog? expect even less action (not like I was writing much anyway). What does this mean for my image of paradise? In a word, tainted. The first Tahitian I saw today, I mugged like he was the thief.... grrrr.

Work Blog!

Hey everybody,
So just wanted to let those of you who are interested in following my project, that my work blog is up and running.

I don't have a link for it but it's called "Polynesian Roots" and you should be able to search for either by clicking on me as a blogger, or just by searching blog titles in the search bar. Woohoo!