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	Destroying the Master’s Yoke
Home Identity Construction Political Economy Orientalism Language Borders Religion Annotated Bibliography	back to orientalism or proposal paper from Global Interdependence, Fall 2004 When I marched through the souvenir markets in Dakar last year, I was perfectly aware of the money signs flashing in vendors’ eyes as this young toubab (foreigner) approached their stands of trinkets. I made a minimum of these trips because of the energy they required in discussing prices for pieces of “African” art that really had no significance for Senegal in particular. The Senegalese houses where I lived and visited rarely displayed any of the wood carvings, or masks that draw tourists. The value in buying these trinkets, however, lay less in the object and more in the interaction entailed in discussing the price. I could barely communicate coherent thoughts in the most widespread native language of Senegal, Wolof; but I excelled, relatively, in marketplace banter. “Dafaa jafaa lool-waay! Wanni-ko!” in Wolof loses something when translated to English “That’s too much! Reduce!” I began brushing up on Wolof vocabulary in an attempt to lower prices from the vendor, but engaging in joking arguments ended up elevating my relationship with the vendors. More than benefiting the economy, economic transactions through tourism becomes the bridge between tourists and native people by building social capital. Its nice to imagine our money funding social reform, but it often returns straight back into the tourist industry. Kincaid draws attention to the name of the airport as the first impression that might strike a tourist in Antigua, “you might be the sort of tourist who would wonder why a Prime Minister would want an airport named after him-why not a school?” (3). As soon as the tourist saw the library, in disrepair since 1974, they might understand that education falls low in the list of priorities of the government. Instead the hotel training school is celebrated, “a school that teaches Antiguans how to be good servants, how to be a good nobody, which is what a servant is,” (Kincaid 55). The tourist economy strengthens poverty and reliance on charity since educating a new generation of leaders falls to the wayside of building a stronger tourist industry. Maintaining the cycle of poverty and charity upholds the alienation Americans feel in our fear of falling from the plateau of economic success in the world. In her article discussing class divisions through the metaphor of a teenager’s, Wendi, affinity to sports utility vehicles, Rachel Heiman suggests that “the farther one is from the ground, the more anxious and dizzying the view from above” (25). After Wendi’s involvement in a number of car accidents in her SUV, she feared that “I’m driving this little car and I get into an accident with a truck, I’ll die” (Heiman, 25). Her need for a SUV represents American’s fears in losing our position on top of the world economy, for fear of being smothered by fresh upstarts. Since supporting the tourist industry cannot in itself create a strong economy, the economic contribution of tourism only proves to underline our economic success. The tourist’s role in the foreign economy contributes to the alienation of America on top of the world economy, afraid of true success in other nations that might challenge our own one day. As agents for development, the tourist gains an element of nobility. Therein lays the superiority complex that threatens development from effectively maneuvering its resources to achieve its goals of raising the standard of life in a nation. Development agencies generally only want the best for the people, but they work towards what they, from the outside, consider the best. According to Escobar, “development reproduces endlessly the separation between reformers and those to be reformed by keeping alive the premise of the third world as different and inferior, as having a limited humanity in relation to the accomplishments of Europeans,” (386). By thinking of tourism as economic charity, tourists reproduce their conception of high development in the Global North and underdevelopment, or backwardness in the tourist destination. When tourists leave their country, they imagine entering an exotic culture deeply embedded in tradition. Tourists watch in awe “…the way they squat down over a hole they have made in the ground, the hole itself is something to marvel at,” (Kincaid, 17). Even though the tourist might not overtly perceive their superiority over the native people of their vacation spot, Jamaica Kincaid notes this “ugly but joyful thought will swell inside you [as an ugly tourist]-their ancestors were not clever in the way yours were, for then would it not be you who would be in harmony with nature and backwards in that charming way?” (17). Maintaining the stereotype of cultural backwardness that Americans often hold of the Global South increases the alienation we feel as superior beings. The evolving culture that a tourist most likely finds (if they leave Club Med) might disappoint them, or invoke feelings of irritation with the West. My first few days in Korea involved disgust with corporate America for its world takeover. Remnants of core countries are present all over the periphery. In Uganda, as in many nations of the Global South, used clothes from American charities have found a large market. One young driver finds this influx disconcerting, “Ugandan culture will be dead in 10 years, because we are all looking to Western things” (Packer, 3). Like this man, tourists fear the encroachment of the West on Global South cultures when they first see the prevalence of Western-style clothes replacing a unified traditional dress code. Yet where tourists see cultural depletion, they find an integration of traditions and cultures that play off of one another in an evolutionary process. Kincaid asks “what is culture anyway? In some places it’s the way they play drums; in other places it’s the way you behave in public…is it not so that people make them up as they go along, make them up as you need them?” (49). The nature of culture requires change as people’s needs evolve. Ugandan used clothing markets maintain the oral traditions rich in joking banter as the shopper and vendor argue over prices: the vendor defending the high price because “this coat is as thick as fish soup” to which the perspective buyer claims “you are killing me!” (Packer, 4). More than an American imposition, “Western” and “traditional” cultures both contribute in melding a new cultural identity. Tourists that recognize this relationship between their nations and the tourist destination emerge from their experience bound to the people of this “small place” as Kincaid describes Antigua. The tourist loses the stereotype of suffering natives in need of charity when they attach faces and conversations to the distorted image of lives trampled on by America and Europe. The tourist begins to see the native people as active participants in Globalization, instead of victims of it. They become connected in humanity as the tourist becomes aware of their relationship to the native people, “once you throw off your master’s yoke, you are no longer human rubbish, you are just a human being…once they are no longer noble and exalted, they are just human beings” (Kincaid, 81). Creating this common bond through tourism, the tourist and the native find social capital that “can improve our lives by making people aware of how our fates are linked while building social networks that help people fulfill individual goals” (Robbins 375). Smashing perceptions of victimization increases the tourist’s emotional obligation to the inequality and poverty that they did witness on their vacation. Even when tourists attempt to shield themselves from anything dirty or distressing, Kincaid paints a scene of the inevitable relationship, “you must not wonder what happened to the contents of your lavatory when you flushed it…Oh, it might all end up in the water you are thinking of taking a swim in” (14). As much as the tourist might try to escape the harsh realities of the world surrounding them, one that our connected history of Colonialism bore, the footprints of inequality remain present for the tourist to account for. Tourism can endow the foreigner and native with a sense of global community that breeds interconnectivity in their actions. Recognizing our impact in the lives of Senegalese or Antiguans continues when we return home as we consider their impact in America. It is impossible to define the extent of our interaction with the rest of the world. Tourism acts as one conversation in our dialogue with the international community as we search for the meaning of global interdependence. back to top
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Destroying the Master’s Yoke

paper from Global Interdependence, Fall 2004

When I marched through the souvenir markets in Dakar last year, I was perfectly aware of the money signs flashing in vendors’ eyes as this young toubab (foreigner) approached their stands of trinkets. I made a minimum of these trips because of the energy they required in discussing prices for pieces of “African” art that really had no significance for Senegal in particular. The Senegalese houses where I lived and visited rarely displayed any of the wood carvings, or masks that draw tourists. The value in buying these trinkets, however, lay less in the object and more in the interaction entailed in discussing the price. I could barely communicate coherent thoughts in the most widespread native language of Senegal, Wolof; but I excelled, relatively, in marketplace banter. “Dafaa jafaa lool-waay! Wanni-ko!” in Wolof loses something when translated to English “That’s too much! Reduce!” I began brushing up on Wolof vocabulary in an attempt to lower prices from the vendor, but engaging in joking arguments ended up elevating my relationship with the vendors. More than benefiting the economy, economic transactions through tourism becomes the bridge between tourists and native people by building social capital.

Its nice to imagine our money funding social reform, but it often returns straight back into the tourist industry. Kincaid draws attention to the name of the airport as the first impression that might strike a tourist in Antigua, “you might be the sort of tourist who would wonder why a Prime Minister would want an airport named after him-why not a school?” (3). As soon as the tourist saw the library, in disrepair since 1974, they might understand that education falls low in the list of priorities of the government. Instead the hotel training school is celebrated, “a school that teaches Antiguans how to be good servants, how to be a good nobody, which is what a servant is,” (Kincaid 55). The tourist economy strengthens poverty and reliance on charity since educating a new generation of leaders falls to the wayside of building a stronger tourist industry.

Maintaining the cycle of poverty and charity upholds the alienation Americans feel in our fear of falling from the plateau of economic success in the world. In her article discussing class divisions through the metaphor of a teenager’s, Wendi, affinity to sports utility vehicles, Rachel Heiman suggests that “the farther one is from the ground, the more anxious and dizzying the view from above” (25). After Wendi’s involvement in a number of car accidents in her SUV, she feared that “I’m driving this little car and I get into an accident with a truck, I’ll die” (Heiman, 25). Her need for a SUV represents American’s fears in losing our position on top of the world economy, for fear of being smothered by fresh upstarts. Since supporting the tourist industry cannot in itself create a strong economy, the economic contribution of tourism only proves to underline our economic success. The tourist’s role in the foreign economy contributes to the alienation of America on top of the world economy, afraid of true success in other nations that might challenge our own one day.

As agents for development, the tourist gains an element of nobility. Therein lays the superiority complex that threatens development from effectively maneuvering its resources to achieve its goals of raising the standard of life in a nation. Development agencies generally only want the best for the people, but they work towards what they, from the outside, consider the best. According to Escobar, “development reproduces endlessly the separation between reformers and those to be reformed by keeping alive the premise of the third world as different and inferior, as having a limited humanity in relation to the accomplishments of Europeans,” (386). By thinking of tourism as economic charity, tourists reproduce their conception of high development in the Global North and underdevelopment, or backwardness in the tourist destination.

When tourists leave their country, they imagine entering an exotic culture deeply embedded in tradition. Tourists watch in awe “…the way they squat down over a hole they have made in the ground, the hole itself is something to marvel at,” (Kincaid, 17). Even though the tourist might not overtly perceive their superiority over the native people of their vacation spot, Jamaica Kincaid notes this “ugly but joyful thought will swell inside you [as an ugly tourist]-their ancestors were not clever in the way yours were, for then would it not be you who would be in harmony with nature and backwards in that charming way?” (17). Maintaining the stereotype of cultural backwardness that Americans often hold of the Global South increases the alienation we feel as superior beings.
The evolving culture that a tourist most likely finds (if they leave Club Med) might disappoint them, or invoke feelings of irritation with the West. My first few days in Korea involved disgust with corporate America for its world takeover. Remnants of core countries are present all over the periphery. In Uganda, as in many nations of the Global South, used clothes from American charities have found a large market. One young driver finds this influx disconcerting, “Ugandan culture will be dead in 10 years, because we are all looking to Western things” (Packer, 3). Like this man, tourists fear the encroachment of the West on Global South cultures when they first see the prevalence of Western-style clothes replacing a unified traditional dress code.

Yet where tourists see cultural depletion, they find an integration of traditions and cultures that play off of one another in an evolutionary process. Kincaid asks “what is culture anyway? In some places it’s the way they play drums; in other places it’s the way you behave in public…is it not so that people make them up as they go along, make them up as you need them?” (49). The nature of culture requires change as people’s needs evolve. Ugandan used clothing markets maintain the oral traditions rich in joking banter as the shopper and vendor argue over prices: the vendor defending the high price because “this coat is as thick as fish soup” to which the perspective buyer claims “you are killing me!” (Packer, 4). More than an American imposition, “Western” and “traditional” cultures both contribute in melding a new cultural identity.

Tourists that recognize this relationship between their nations and the tourist destination emerge from their experience bound to the people of this “small place” as Kincaid describes Antigua. The tourist loses the stereotype of suffering natives in need of charity when they attach faces and conversations to the distorted image of lives trampled on by America and Europe. The tourist begins to see the native people as active participants in Globalization, instead of victims of it. They become connected in humanity as the tourist becomes aware of their relationship to the native people, “once you throw off your master’s yoke, you are no longer human rubbish, you are just a human being…once they are no longer noble and exalted, they are just human beings” (Kincaid, 81).
Creating this common bond through tourism, the tourist and the native find social capital that “can improve our lives by making people aware of how our fates are linked while building social networks that help people fulfill individual goals” (Robbins 375). Smashing perceptions of victimization increases the tourist’s emotional obligation to the inequality and poverty that they did witness on their vacation. Even when tourists attempt to shield themselves from anything dirty or distressing, Kincaid paints a scene of the inevitable relationship, “you must not wonder what happened to the contents of your lavatory when you flushed it…Oh, it might all end up in the water you are thinking of taking a swim in” (14). As much as the tourist might try to escape the harsh realities of the world surrounding them, one that our connected history of Colonialism bore, the footprints of inequality remain present for the tourist to account for.

Tourism can endow the foreigner and native with a sense of global community that breeds interconnectivity in their actions. Recognizing our impact in the lives of Senegalese or Antiguans continues when we return home as we consider their impact in America. It is impossible to define the extent of our interaction with the rest of the world. Tourism acts as one conversation in our dialogue with the international community as we search for the meaning of global interdependence.

home CIS website