Reflections on Race, Gender, Sexuality, Poverty and Privilege
As I near the end of my time in Madagascar, I find myself thinking a lot about lessons Iâve learned and above all, how being here for a semester has shaped (and is still shaping) my identity. There are so many profound things here that I never could have imagined I would see or experience before coming here. Obviously that holds true for the natural beauty and the amazing organisms Iâve seen, but to an even greater extent, this has been true in the social realm.
In many ways, Madagascar confounds the ways in which Americans typically think about race. Indeed, Madagascar, as many other observers have noted, is much more the proverbial âmelting potâ than the United States has ever been. The islandâs first modern inhabitants were most likely Indonesian in origin, but they were soon followed by Bantu herders, a few centuries later by Arab merchants, and most recently by Chinese and Indian Ă©migrĂ©s. Further, many Malagasy donât even consider their country to be African at all, despite what the African Union would say. At any rate, they feel a much closer affinity to their fellow Western Indian Ocean states (Comoros, Mauritius, Seychelles, and the territories of RĂ©union and Mayotte). Yet all of these people speak the same language, Malagasy, and aside from the most recent immigrants, no one can really tell you what their origins are.
That said, there is certainly a racial hierarchy in Madagascar and there are probable answers for where many ethnic groups came from. As Allison Jolly says, for all its long history of diversity, Madagascarâs racial dynamics are uncomfortably familiar for most Americans. The âIndonesianâ Merina of the Central Highlands around Antananarivo are the lightest-skinned Malagasy and they dominate the political, social and even cultural realms. By contrast, the darker, âAfricanâ and âArabâ Malagasy (Tanosy, Tandroy, Vezo, Bara, Sakalava, Betsileo, Tanala) of the coasts and lowlands have been subjugated for centuries, interestingly moreso after the fall of French colonialism (as it was the Merina who toppled the Europeans).
But in full disclosure, thatâs not the racial hierarchy I really notice. To be sure, Iâm well aware that itâs the Merina who work for Rio Tinto, get elected to public office (when there are elections, of course), can afford to be educated in France or the United States, and make up the bulk of the music videos that are always playing on repeat. But Iâm not Malagasy, and I wonât pretend that Iâve been doing thorough sociological study of the matter, because I havenât. I can only really fully understand what I actively experience, and that is the absolute impunity with which I can act as a white American.
Not that being American is what really matters (though the Malagasy are perhaps unusual among international peoples in that they have nothing against Americans, choosing instead to hate the French). I could be Russian, Japanese, South African, or Mexican, and it would be the same. Everyone thinks I have unlimited money, so no one ever questions what Iâm doing. People much older and wiser than me almost exclusively call me âMonsieurâ or âtompkoâ and address me in the formal âvousâ form. This, along with being a constant target for vendors and beggars, is enough to make me uncomfortable, but it doesnât sicken me. What sickens me is the sex tourism trade and its only slightly less gross companion, the sugar daddy phenomenon.
I had largely been sheltered from actively observing these phenomena by virtue of spending most of my time in Fort Dauphin (though theyâre certainly here too, and weâll get to that), since itâs so much smaller and harder to reach. Upon arriving in Tana, however, I became uncomfortably aware of how prevalent it was. In any reasonably nice restaurant in Tana, TulĂ©ar and even Fort Dauphin, you can be sure to spot at least one 50-year-old white man sitting with a stunningly beautiful 25-year-old Malagasy woman. It would be unfair to assert that all of these women are prostitutes, but a good portion of them almost certainly are. There is a tendency for women to be encouraged by society (and success) to pursue vazaha wherever they are to be found. It would be inaccurate to say that this is only women, for many Malagasy men do much the same thing. Itâs not hard to understand the appeal â any vazaha with enough money to travel to Madagascar should surely be able to give you a nice house, or at least a nice meal before taking you back to a nice hotel for the night.
In fairness, Iâm sure some of these relationships are completely legitimate. Both our academic director and academic coordinator are white males with younger Malagasy partners, but so far as I can tell, these are loving, mutualistic relationships. Nonetheless, it seems unlikely that the vast majority of these (again, gorgeous) women are genuinely interested in men old enough to be their fathers. And Iâm well aware that prostitution goes on all over. How would I know that? Because Iâve been propositioned, all of my male friends have been propositioned, and Iâve seen anonymous men on the street be propositioned.
Upon finding out that I donât want to buy any bracelets, daggers, vanilla or anything else, women in the resorty areas of Mangily and Ifaty north of TulĂ©ar have quietly proposed âune massage,â an almost certain code word. In TulĂ©ar proper, my friends and I witnessed two women in tell-tale garments (I donât want anyone assuming that I usually assume women wearing heels to be prostitutes, I promise you itâs much more obvious here than at home) approach an older white man on the street, who in a rare win for decency and a much-needed loss for exploitation, refused their offer. My good friend who spent his ISP in Diego Suarez managed to be propositioned four times in one night (he also refused), and a friend who was also in TulĂ©ar was followed back to hotel by a prostitute who refused to leave until paid. I hadnât noticed the phenomenon in Fort Dauphin until very recently, but apparently when cruise ships come in, there is a ready supply of beautiful young men and women standing by, just waiting for rich white (or Asian or Arab, but most importantly, not black Africans) people to hit it, quit it and throw in a few thousand ariary while theyâre at it.
I want to talk about the poverty that brings all this on, but first I think it best to explore the way that gender and sexuality manifest themselves here, particularly for me. Macalester students ranting about heteronormativity would perhaps do best to pack themselves off to the developing world for a few months to gain some perspective. Not that Iâm saying it doesnât exist and isnât a problem in our own developed world bubble, because that would be blatantly false. Ugandaâs abhorrent laws aside, nobody does a hate crime like the West. What I am saying is that things we take for granted in the U.S. donât exist here. Namely, a notion of homosexuality. Some American bigots may find it to be âunnatural,â âa choice,â or âdisgusting,â but all the same, they know it exists. I havenât found that to be the case in Madagascar.
For all that Iâve been having the greatest semester of my college career, Iâve been very uncomfortable in a way that I havenât felt since I came out to the last of my relatives in high school. That is to say, Iâve gone back into the closet for a semester, and it feels terrible. There are no secrets from my program-mates, program staff or ISP advisor, but even my host family has no idea. Iâm resigned to chuckling and trying desperately to change the subject when, once again, Iâm asked about my girlfriend or whichever female SIT student has been seen walking with me that day. As hard as all that is, it would be so much worse if I were Malagasy. Tana has apparently just begun to have a real gay community with a pride parade and everything, but thatâs the only breath of tolerance in a deeply Christian nation. The odd thing about this is that the Malagasy are not at all prudish or repressed in the way of Americans or the British. Premarital sex, even extramarital sex, is normal, and nobodyâs ashamed about it. But once you subtract one pair of genitals and double the other one, no one seems to be able to accept the possibility.
Gender has felt rather the opposite kind of uncomfortable for me. Madagascar is by no means as stratified as say, Saudi Arabia or even much milder India, but it is still noticeably different from the U.S. I say different because in some ways, it is much more advanced. Especially in rural areas, I felt an uncomfortable amount of privilege from being male. I eat first, am served by my family members, sit in the place of honor and am certainly never asked to do any chores. In a weird and unexpected matter, namely my underwear, I am privileged. Nearly all laundry in Madagascar is done by hand, but it is 100% fady for a washerwoman (itâs always a woman) to wash a womanâs underwear. It doesnât matter how much smellier or more soiled mine might be, itâs always okay and hers never is. That issue aside, girls do seem to receive the same education as boys, and children of both genders are valued equally. Women work in all of the same positions as men, although not traditionally as fishers. However, many women own the boats the fishermen use and therefore own and manage their catch. So, inequalities abound, but gender is still a richly complicated issue.
And now to finish off this excessively long (making up for inactivity?) post with some brief thoughts about crippling poverty. I wish I couldnât say that Iâve seen clichĂ© malnourished African children, but I have. I wish I didnât have to turn down begging children and old men on a daily basis, but I do. Iâve waded through minefields of human excrement and seen families of ten squeeze into tiny huts where nearly everyone gets fleas in rural villages. These people certainly canât afford to fly anywhere and most of them can only occasionally (if ever) afford a taxi-brousse, so they rarely leave their homes. And those are the lucky ones, who have enough money to feed themselves and their families and if theyâre really lucky, educate their children. And yet all of these people have been exceedingly friendly and welcoming to me, rather than giving me the glares I probably deserve. Itâs enough to make you feel heartless for advocating an end to the unsustainable activities they engage in just to get enough rice.
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