American Freedom vs. Ethiopian Poverty

The last television show I watched in Amsterdam was an MTV production concerning a petty teenage girl determined to have "the best birthday party ever." A camera crew followed as she spent $3000--the equivalent of 48,000 meal tickets for starving Ethiopian children--on slutty dresses for her friends and herself. She went so far as to hire a professional French maid to deliver the invitations personally; she also enlisted a team of circus performers to provide entertainment. Her central concern, repeated incessantly, was for her and her friends (comprising two other mentally vacant bimbos) to look better than everyone else. For her, there was no greater moral imperative than the shameless brandishing of her ego; in the end, there was no philosophical difference between her and a baboon baring its red ass at the other monkeys in the canopy.

Our culture is a decadent one that enshrines this godless hogwash. How far we've come from lettered Jeffersonian democracy to a television nation of MTV Cribs and Pimp My Ride! From gentlemen farmers to worshipers of Bling! $30 billion a year in pornography sales (the same amount as our foreign aid), rock n' roll glorification of drug abuse, Girls Gone Wild, American Idol: our cultural offerings read like a rap sheet of vice in the seventh circle of Hell. And still, we sanctimoniously adorn ourselves with "What Would Jesus Do?" bracelets as if we had ever dared to ask the question.

If it sounds like I'm shell-shocked by the scale of poverty in Addis Ababa, it's because I am. In America, at least, we console ourselves with the belief that the poor lack a proper work ethic--even when this consolation is everywhere threatened by historical precedents that divvy our wealth along racial lines. In Ethiopia, this thinking has failed me entirely. The idea that individual greed will somehow result in greater social good just doesn't hold when you see a brand new Mercedes zipping past children so famished they can't even beg. On any major road in Addis Ababa, the full menagerie of human suffering confronts you: elderly women with their eyes gouged out; motionless bodies dying, if not already dead, from starvation; snot-nosed AIDS orphans walking the broken pavement without any shoes; contortionist cripples, their limbs ravaged by polio, throwing themselves at your feet in the name of God. The odd trickster and sob-storyteller cannot alleviate it: there is nothing, simply nothing, that justifies your privilege. No national myth, no American dream, no benevolent God or Invisible Hand can comfort you. And that, I think, is why most of the foreigners I've seen are driving by, not walking through, Addis Ababa.

Meanwhile, in the National Museum, tourists arrive in droves of taxis to gawk at the 3.2 million year old remains of Lucy, the first unearthed example of Australopithecus afarensis. (Funny how a dead ape excites more interest than a dying child). Lucy represents an ape-faced species taking its first, faltering steps toward modern Homo sapiens. As such, she constitutes the probable ancestor of the Homo genus to which we belong. Her ability to walk upright freed her hands for the creation of tools, the first such examples having been discovered in Ethiopia's Gona Valley and dated at 2.5 million years old. The fossil record continues: Australopithecus africanus appears around 3 million years ago, followed by the larger-brained Homo habilis; Homo erectus, with its 1000 cu. centimeter brain, shows up at 1.5 million years, and finally Homo sapiens evolves, found in Dire Dawa 60,000 years ago--not geographically far from Lucy. With its 1300 cu. centimeter brain capacity, Homo sapiens created superior weapons and technology. By 2006, it was the most successful species on the face of the earth.

Upstairs, the archaeological artifacts of Aksum--an ancient kingdom in northern Ethiopia--give insight into the genius of our species. Metal bells, elegant statues and ceremonial trinkets stretch back 7,000 years, most of them inscribed with mysterious alphabets. Slowly, a consonantal Sabean script evolves into the vowel-inclusive Ge'ez; then comes the widely-spoken Amharic of today. Syrian monks arrive with monotheistic religions in the 4th century, revolutionizing the highlands--while today's Europeans were slogging through the Dark Ages, pillaging villages and being eaten by wolves, Ethiopia lived under a devout Christian kingdom that minted its own currency. Traditional history holds that a line of Solomonic kings ruled the empire for nearly 2000 years, a tradition borne out by the museum's collection of regalia. Beautiful, gold-filigreed vestments, towering crowns and colossal thrones trace a noble line through the centuries, culminating in His Majesty Halie Selassie--otherwise known as Ras Tafari. The emblems of royal power incite awe and demand reverence.

My thoughts turn back to Ethiopia's mind-numbing poverty. How could anyone live in such contemptuous pomp surrounded by the stinking, starving masses? The answer, perhaps, lies downstairs with Lucy. Many modern biologists--using the same DNA evidence we summon to dole out the death penalty--believe that were it not for a certain species-chauvinism, we humans would fall into the same genus as chimpanzees. Chimps are, after all, our closest living relatives. Anyone who has been to the zoo or watched the Discovery Channel knows how distressing this is. In turns masturbating and slinging shit at each other, the life of a common chimpanzee is a depressing spectacle, a meaningless quest for domination leavened by the occasional moment of extraordinary compassion. A powerful male uses violence and intimidation to unite a group that wars against others for resources. Social rank arises, determining who gets the largest share of the booty. As we humans band together under the banners of nations, races and religions, it becomes difficult to brush off the suspicion that our enlarged brains work to the same ends as apes. Just like them, we all need food, sex, shelter and another group of us to hate. Christian kingdom or not, the poor suffer while the powerful stroke themselves; that's nature for you.

I enter another room to find my passage blocked by a throng of schoolchildren. I cannot move; I'm stranded against a wall. Soon they surround me in curiosity, giggling in their brilliant blue uniforms. One of the bolder girls walks up to me.

"Tadyass? How are you?" I ask.
The children erupt in laughter at my lamentable Amharic.
"Tadiyass," she says pedantically. "Where are you from?"
"America."
"What city?"
"Milwaukee."

Not a single look of recognition in the sea of faces.

"Near Chicago," I add. A flurry of approval ensues. One of the boys bursts out, "Michael Jordan! Chicago Bulls!" Everyone begins cheering. The girl asks me another question; I can't understand her English. Not wanting to embarrass her in front of her peers, I pretend I can't hear for the crowd.

The teacher approaches. "They want to know what you think about Ethiopia," he offers.

"I like Ethiopia very much. It all began here; there is very much history. My country is not even one quarter as old as yours."Everyone is still looking at me so I continue, "I enjoy learning about your country. It is good to be a student. It is good to study hard."

One of the younger boys rushes over and hugs me around the legs.
"Can I take a picture of you?" the teacher asks.
"Yes, of course."
At this, half a dozen little girls run up and start hugging me, clinging to my arms and legs. We all smile for the camera, together, as one mass of black and white.

Later that night, I smile at the memory. Perhaps it's not all power, glory, and lies. Perhaps we aren't deluded creatures mistaking our desires for virtues, our domestic bliss and base materialism for piety, our suffering for godliness, our chimp creations for civilization. Perhaps there is hope somewhere for Ethiopia's poor; maybe a Kingdom of Heaven awaits.

I'm in bed, but I can't sleep. A huge dog fight breaks out in the shantytown. One of them is being torn apart, yelping madly while the attackers snarl and the onlookers bark. Before long, the humans join in, yelling from their hotel rooms: Shut up! Be quiet! Fuck you! I decide to write about the poor from the comfort of my double bed, to purge myself to sleep.

Somewhere in the cacophony over Addis Ababa, between the Hilton and the ghetto, among the dying animals and men, I can hear the Birthday Girl laughing at the meek who are supposed to inherit the Earth.