Authors: Kathleen A. Tobin
It is a shame that such subjects or approaches are considered inappropriate by conservatives or those who wish to avoid controversy at all costs. What I like to do best is be guided by students. I can see when I have struck a chord in them, and happily follow with more information and sources. Students are good at leading the way if you give them permission and the tools to do so. This approach is not all that rare; at least I hope it is not. Nor are the kinds of students we have. Once while attending a meeting of the North Central Conference of Latin Americanists held at St. Norbert College in DePere, Wisconsin, a young graduate student confronted a professor on a panel who had just presented his work on foreign-initiated housing development in southern Mexico. The group was representative of those who taught Latin American Studies primarily in Wisconsin, Iowa, and Minnesota, and bordering states in the Upper Midwest. The professor was of the 60s generation, avowedly liberal, and proud of his work in the Peace Corps and more recently with Habitat for Humanity.
"Isn't that just like the 'White Man's Burden'?" the student asked him point blank. He referred to the legacy articulated in Rudyard Kipling's 1899 poem warning the United States of the difficult responsibility that lay ahead following the close of the Spanish-American War. As a result of the 1898 conflict, the United States gained possession - to one degree or another - of Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines. In the same year but in a different maneuver it also took the Hawaiian Islands. For many, that time marked the beginning of U.S. imperialism, if one ignores its expansionistic conquest of Native American nations through the 19th century. It also provided evidence of racist influences in foreign policy.
"Excuse me?" the professor asked the student. The young man swallowed hard, overcame any hesitation, and spoke with passion. Students sometimes attend these types of regional academic conferences, but rarely speak. His own brownness stood out at this mostly white - however altruistic - Catholic school not far from Green Bay. He had come to Wisconsin from New Mexico.
"Don't you think that Habitat for Humanity workers are arrogant in the way that they go into other countries and build houses with their own kind of style, imposing them on the people there? White attitudes have not changed over the past century. These people are perfectly willing to build their own kind of housing if they just have the means to do it." It was a genuinely awkward moment, painful for the professor and a bit enlightening for me, as I had never looked at the work of Habitat for Humanity in that way. He was speaking not only from a different ethno-cultural perspective, but as a member of a new generation.
It has become almost a rite of passage for some liberal arts and social science majors on many campuses to embrace the kind of work Renda puts forth as a way of validating their newfound perspectives. Not so with this class in 2008. It is true that every class is different. This time there was a preacher enrolled, and he was rather charismatic. He was probably in his 50s - more than twice the age of the other students - and led a congregation at a small, nearby church. He spoke eloquently and often, and even when they seemed to disagree with him, he commanded their respect. They did not argue with him. After all, he was a preacher.
He and I did not vie for the favor of the group. At least I do not think we did. I sensed his disagreement with my positions and another faculty member might have wrestled more for control of the classroom. Perhaps I would have tried to at an earlier point in my career. But I did not see it as an issue of control so much as an opportunity to remind students to make their best attempts to distinguish fact from opinion, and demonstrate respect for conflicting perspectives. I knew which of his statements were fact and which were opinion, and the situation forced me to become more sensitive to which of mine were which.
He had traveled extensively on mission trips and his insight was valuable to the other students. I gave him an opportunity to share photos with the class and cringed at some of his descriptions of how much people in Latin America needed us. Especially disturbing were pictures of him and associates posing with paramilitaries in Colombia. It had been some time since I read of armed forces aligning with missionaries in counterinsurgency efforts, and I did not feel at all prepared to raise the issue in a way that might confront his intentions or his work there. Rather, I encouraged the class to read more on the subject when they had a chance.
When it came time to discuss the Renda book this student artfully dismissed it. Members of the class had read it to varying degrees, as was the case with most assigned readings. But he seemed to have read, and was prepared to argue, every word. No matter what Renda said, how she said it, or what sources she used to provide evidence of her argument, he did not see paternalism as a factor in the U.S. occupation of Haiti. Given his experiences, he probably did not want to see it. What made me most uneasy was his attempt to wrangle other students into discrediting the book as well. Maybe that was my perception. Perhaps the experiences they brought to class had laid a foundation for rejecting her work, as well. When I brought up the value of noting credentials in addition to evidence when legitimizing a position a student sitting near him turned to a blurb on the book cover.
"Assistant Professor of history and women's studies at Mount Holyoke," he read of Renda's title.
"Ahh... that explains it," said another. They made wisecracks about women's studies in the back of the room. Renda's work in women's studies may have influenced her view of paternalism and/or vice versa, but I could not believe there still seemed a need to defend the discipline in the 2000s.
Years before, I might have more readily challenged their resistance to acknowledging U.S. paternalism in foreign policy, or more enthusiastically encouraged them to see it as a possibility based on the sources at hand. Later in my career some thoughtful pearls of wisdom might have tripped more easily off my tongue. But at this point, I found little to say. I stood there with a greater consciousness of disparate human angles, wondering if anything I said could influence them. Self-doubts in teaching are common and this was one of those moments when I questioned my impact. Years into the profession we find ourselves wondering if students are ever going to stop making the same mistakes, but then we step back and realize that they are not the same students who came to us ten years, or even one year, before. They are not necessarily making the same mistakes. Yes, we are repeating ourselves, but to a new group of students who have not yet heard what we have to say.
Accepting the history of U.S. paternalism in Haiti, however, is not the same as having students improve their paragraph development on essay exams or seeing them finally distinguish between there, their, and they're. And I would not want a roomful of students who easily accepted that there was such a thing, just because I said so or because they had read one book on the subject. Perhaps this was simply their first taste of it and they would come to see it later on. Perhaps they would see future foreign policy developments through a different lens because they had had this discussion. What I saw most of all, however, was a clash of world views. The preacher and I had similar years of experience on the planet and in traveling abroad. But we had come to this point, in the classroom, having developed strikingly different interpretations. He had nothing but good intentions in what he saw his life's work to be, and nor did I.
During the fall semester
of 2009, I made preparations for my trip to meet with Renate in Jeremie and then Port-au-Prince. During the previous couple years I had served as Director of International Programs, a position that allowed me a seemingly unlimited travel budget for purposes of professional development. My return to faculty status, compounded with university budget slashing driven by the failing economy, brought my travel allotment down to about $500 per year. A severe cut in my salary loomed and I wondered how I was going to find money for this trip. I had recently taken out a home equity loan to remodel my kitchen and bathroom and I underestimated the expenses I would incur in raising three kids. I was not sure if my new take home pay would cover the bills. First world worries to be sure. Real for me, nonetheless.
As is the case from time to time, I wondered aloud as I walked into one of my classes. Having just had a conversation with a colleague about how I might justify the value of such a trip both for research and faculty development, I moaned to my class about the financial frustrations of being a professor.
"What do they expect me to do?" I muttered as I placed my books on the desk. I was feeling very much like a single parent unable to afford the extra investment in opportunities that would make my work more satisfying and job promotion more likely. Faculty outside the humanities and social sciences generally take home significantly larger paychecks, and for the many who were married and had a double income, frequent travel was a given. Once in Haiti, my expenses would run several hundred dollars even with the most meager of accommodations, and the airfare to Miami, Port-au-Prince, Jeremie and back was another $800 or so.
The class to which I griped that day was Modern Latin American History, comprised mainly of upper-level students. They knew of my plans, and understood how much this trip meant to the quality of my work - undoubtedly less so to the quality of my sanity. Though I did not want to discourage any of them from the vocation of an academic life, I confessed periodically a bit about what, exactly, that was - many years of schooling, unfunded research, countless hurdles, egos and nonsense, along with all its rewards. Most of them are first generation college students, and have not had role models to watch meander their ways through the process. Each time I successfully presented a conference paper or had an article published I shared the experience with them. I was a first generation college student, as well, except for the few accounting classes my father took at a local school. Finding my way through the maze of higher learning without a mentor was difficult, and I knew that casual mentions of what I was going through would clue them in a bit.
I went on with my lecture, and that was that. I felt committed to the trip and knew the money situation would work itself out. It always did. Haiti was where I need to be to get grounded again and put any challenges I thought I had into better perspective.
Following the next class meeting, one of my students approached me in the hall.
"Professor—" I turned to see that it was Christine. She had done extraordinarily well in a number of my classes and was one of my more unique students.
The first time I met her was in a 100-level U.S. history survey. She sat in the front row and I could not help but notice her. She was around my age, had striking blond hair, magazine cover quality makeup, fantastic shoes, and a full-length fur coat. Thick. I will be the first to admit I know little about fur, but I do know it was not rabbit. Her perfume was subtle and expensive. I wondered what the other students thought of her.
She turned out to be a perfect scholar. Smart. Very. Hardworking. Reliable. Our occasional conversations became increasingly frequent, and we came to learn her daughters were about the same ages as my sons and attended the same high school. Her natural curiosity about history was outstanding, and as mothers of teenagers we developed an additional bond. She eventually dressed like the other students - plus perfect hair and makeup - and seemed to make some very good friends.
"Professor, may I talk with you about your trip to Haiti?"
"Sure." I wondered what she had in mind. Occasionally students and colleagues kick around the idea of joining me on a trip and, to be honest, I wondered how she could be serious. As down to earth as I came to know her to be, I did not think she could survive the rigors of life in Haiti.
"What's up?"
"I know this might sound crazy . . ."
"Yes?"
"... and please let me know if I'm being too forward in any way." She took a breath. "It's just that I am so impressed with your travels, and my husband and I were talking. Well, we had to go to this thing last night. A $300-a-plate thing. I do get so tired of them. Making small talk, and wondering if this or that is making any kind of difference."
"So?"
"So, I told my husband about your trip and asked if we might be able to fund it. At least part of it."
"What?" My jaw dropped. Yes, it was awkward, though not enough to keep me from agreeing.
"I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. Just let us do it. Please. This will help students there, right?"
"I hope so. I just don't kn—"
"So it's settled. I'll have my husband cut the check this afternoon."
The following week she brought me a check for $800, written from her husband's business, a local construction firm known in the area for its lucrative contracts. I was so grateful. Embarrassed that I had fretted about the poor economic status of college faculty, I secretly promised to someday direct my gratitude monetarily in some way to Haitians. This trip would just be a stepping stone.
"There is just one thing we ask in return."
"Ok." I wondered what she had in mind.
"We would like it so much if you could make a presentation about your trip for our friends when you return."
"Of course! Of course, I will!" That was easy. Professors are used to going on about one thing or another at the drop of a hat. "That's not a problem at all."
"Good. Oh, thank you so much. Not to raise money or anything. Just for information. I'll book a room at the country club. Innsbrook."
"No, thank you. Really." Country club? It sounded a bit surreal. But I looked forward to visiting Innsbrook. I had never been there.
The gift was a godsend. I don't know what I would have done without it.
I had never experienced
lost luggage until this trip and as much as I desired to commiserate with friends I hesitated to mention it lest they equate it with Haitian dysfunction and magnify negative perceptions they might have had of the country. It was not Haiti's fault.