American Imperialism
I had a very difficult conversation with a student I met today. As soon as he learned I am American, he launched into an attack on George W. Bush that strangely felt like an attack against me. Maybe it was his confrontational tone, maybe it was my inability to "defend" myself or state clearly my position (given that my Portuguese is barely good enough for idle chit-chat.) Whatever it was, I struggled through that conversation for a full hour. I continually affirmed to him that, though I am having trouble understanding everything he is saying, I really want to. Though I meant that when I said it, it is also true that I found myself, at numerous points of the conversation, longing for its end.

What made the conversation so difficult was that my friend seemed unable or unwilling to separate me from the country that George Bush leads. I felt offended. Which was a terribly awkward position to be in because it caused me to react defensively. Never have I imagined taking a defensive posture when it comes to critiques of the United States or George Bush! But I tried (with great difficulty, mind you, because I'm trying to do this in a language I've studied only 6 months) to explain that there are a number of Americans who would agree with what he was saying. Over half of the country disapproves of President Bush and there are very many, including me, who feel and regularly express the same kind of outrage he feels toward my government. He didn't seem too convinced.

When I told him there is going to be an election in November in which Bush will be defeated, he said it doesn't matter. Again, I found myself defending my country. "Eu tenho esperan?a por meu pais" I said. ("I have hope for my country.") But he responded by saying that there is no way the problem of America can be solved. To illustrate his point, he went biblical, comparing America to the beast in Revelation. I have no disagreement with that political interpretation of the apocalypse, nor with identifying empires like the United States with the vanquished beast. I had heard (and made) this argument many times before. But suddenly, when I (an American) heard this being argued by him (a Brazilian), the issue was no longer one of self-assured armchair polemics. I realized that, in his mind, and perhaps accurately so, I too am implicated. I am a citizen of the United States. I am a beneficiary of the beast's wealth and power. Therefore, when Revelation speaks of the beast being killed, I have to wonder: where in the story am I?

In the end, despite opening me up to this new level of discomfort, none of my friend's points were new to me. His arguments against American imperialism, against its people's exorbitant and wasteful wealth, and against its president's war in Iraq are arguments I endorse and have myself made. The points he made were no different from what I casually read in The Nation and comfortably regurgitate among friends. But that is the difference - not the points I make but the way I make them. When I say the same things my Brazilian friend says, I do so from a position of privilege, with the luxury of casual comfort. I have nothing on the line except for my own conscience, my own sense of right and wrong. Relatively speaking, the depth of my outrage is pretty shallow.

The depth from which my Brazilian friend draws his ire is the abyss of poverty and despair. He lives the existential nightmare of knowing he belongs to a part of the world that the reigning superpower can and does think of as dispensable. He is traumatized because he and every single person he knows is the victim of American indifference.

At the end of the conversation he said something that seemed very important because it immediately followed numerous points about how disastrous America's policies are for people in Brazil who are hungry and suffering. I reached longingly for his conclusion, repeatedly pressing him to express it in a way that I could fully understand. After many unsuccessful attempts, he finally boiled it down to its most heartbreakingly simple form: "George W. Bush pensa que eu sou um animal," he said. ("George W. Bush thinks I am an animal.")

I was stunned into silence. Pure silence. My throat went dry and an immense sadness overcame me. I have always found Bush's presidency irritating, but never have had to experience it as dehumanizing. I could sense that the pain my friend felt was real. It was authentic. It was tangible. Here before me, sitting less than three feet from where I sat, was a young man no older than me who has suffered more than I will ever have to imagine suffering. Here was a man who lives with the physical and psychological pain of a "third-world" existence in a "first-world" planet.

After a long pause, during which we simply gazed intently at each other, I could think of only one thing to say. Not so much any more by way of defense or apology, but now simply in an awkward attempt to love a trampled brother, I said to him: "Eu na? penso que voc? ? um animal." ("I don't think you are an animal.")

First Impressions
I slept in late this morning, still recovering from the long flight, I guess. Won't work for me to be in bed until 10:30 much longer though. When the semester begins in three weeks, classes begin at 7am. I learned that on a posted schedule of last semester's classes. I am amazed by the variety of classes they offer here. The school offers concentrations in systematic theology, church history, sacred music and Christian pedagogy. I knew to expect the theology and pedagogy courses. I'm surprised and most excited to learn there is a degree in sacred music. One of the classes offered last semester for that degree, I read, was "History of Brazilian Music." I think the opportunity to take that class alone would make this whole trip worthwhile!

While walking the streets of downtown Feira de Santana today, I witnessed just how important music is in this culture. Every block has the popular Brazilian songs blasting over loudspeakers. It's a very dynamic scene. I am told that this part of Brazil - Bahia - because it is the region most seeped in Afro-Brazilian culture, is particularly important for Brazilian music. Before long, I hope to travel into Bahia's capital city, Salvador, where I will get to experience much more of that.

Agabo, the dean of the school, took me to the mall with his son, so I could get some groceries. I wouldn't have been able to tell you, once inside the mall, that I had left America. Kind of sad to see, but the same kind of hyper-materialism and nauseating commercialism characteristic of American shopping malls you find even in Brazilian ones. There was even (naturally, I suppose) a McDonalds in the food court. Agabo pointed out to me, when we entered, that this is a good example of the paradox of the Brazilian reality. What he was referring to is the disparity of wealth within this country, which I have come to learn is about the worst disparity within any single country, that allows the glitz and glamour of a shopping mall to exist among the poverty and squalor of even Brazil's poorest region. Only a tiny fraction of Feira's residents can afford to shop where we were shopping today.

Because Agabo is the pastor of a large church and, it seems, a strong community presence, he was continually running into people he knows (or at least who know him) while we were out. One friend of his was puzzled to learn, when Agabo introduced me, that I am an American. But he said he was glad to see that a young man like me left his country for Brazil, not for Iraq! With a wide smile, he said, "This is good, you must not be a friend of Bush."

Day of Arrival
I now have a small taste of what it's like to be a rock star. Or an odd specimen. It was almost embarrassing, at various points when I looked beyond the ever-expanding crowd of very friendly Brazilians surrounding me and met the gaze of someone looking curiously at the spectacle. The spectacle was me entertaining my new friends with my feeble attempts to communicate with them in their language. This was all after church today (my first day here) which I attended with the seminary's dean, Pastor Agabo, and his family. And a beautiful family it is! They've all spent time in the United States, when Agabo was a visiting professor at my field ed supervisor Prof. Allen Callahan's college, Macalaster. So they're eager and happy to speak in English with me. The friends I made at church tended to be the ones who were more comfortable with English. They were excited to try out their English with me, while I of course was trying to do the same with Portuguese, in talking with them.

I have been surprised in two ways about the language issue. First, I must say I am quite amazed at how much I know in just my six months of studying. Most printed material that comes my way I can understand, though I miss a few words here and there. I guess this makes good sense when I committed to memory the 1000 most commonly used words (through the flashcards I had). It's probably the case in any language that most thoughts are expressed with, basically, the same 1000 words. I am also able to speak quite well and am making myself well understood. But the negative surprise is that I am having a miserable time trying to understand the Portuguese that I hear. I think it's just a matter of not knowing where one word ends and the next begins. This is very frustrating. But, in all, I'm not too worried about this. The listening is something that is just going to come with time, naturally, without me even needing to put extra work into it or stress over it.

The flight over here was fine. Quite long. My seatmate on the longest leg - from Miami to Sao Paulo - was very friendly and we had some great conversation. She is moving back to Brazil after having lived five years in Atlanta. Like all Brazilians, she takes a lot of pride in her country. The moment the TV screens displaying the flight path showed us crossing over Brazil's northern boundary, she immediately welcomed me to her homeland. For that reason, as we said goodbye at the end of the flight, I thanked her for being "minha primeira amiga no Brasil." ("My first friend in Brazil.")

Pre-Departure Thoughts
Well, it's the day before my departure. I'm glad that I finished setting up this web page before leaving. My boy Branden (brooksworld.tripod.com) makes this website business look a lot easier than it actually is.

I hope through this weblog to keep a written record of my two months in Brazil. Unfortunately, in the part of the country I'll be in, I can expect that Internet access will be limited. I will be happy to get into an Internet cafe once or twice a week to upload some pictures and write up some of my thoughts on the past week.

It's worth recording at this time how it is I got to this point. For a good while, I had been planning to spend the summer before my final year at HDS doing a field ed abroad. As south Asia has become my region of academic focus, my thought all along had been to spend the summer in Sri Lanka or India. Then I was lucky to have as a classmate last fall, in Nancy Richardson's course titled "Education for Liberation," the recently-retired Anglican bishop of Sao Paulo. I repeatedly told him how excited I am to get to know him, a contact in case I ever find myself in Brazil and, indeed, a reason to go down there.

The "Education for Liberation" class confirmed what I had come to learn in my studies of liberation theology: Brazil is a hell of an important place. It is the home of some of the most distinguished liberation theologians. And, I learned in the class, it is the home of history's most important educational philosopher, Paulo Freire.

In getting to know my Brazilian friend, I came to feel that, being at a point in my life when brief dabbles to parts of the world I might otherwise not see are most feasible, my summer might be better spent in Brazil. In January, I spoke with Prof. Harvey Cox about this and he supported me all the way, most practically by putting me in touch with Prof. Allen Callahan, a former HDS professor of New Testament who now serves on the faculty of a seminary in the poorest state of Brazil.

I contacted Allen and, since February, he and I have been meeting regularly (fortunately for me, he was working in Cambridge this past semester). We put together a field education program, which he has agreed to supervise while we are both together at the seminary this summer.

So, I have a lot of people to thank for helping me get to this, my point of departure. A special debt of gratitude I owe to those who helped me with my Portuguese, including Professora Bianconi (the best Portuguese teacher I could have had) and my conversation-partner and fabulous mail room co-worker, Fernando Kerr. It's more than a bit nerve-wracking to know that, in 36 hours, I'm going to be in a part of the world that speaks a language other than the only one I really know. But that's just as well. I'm going there to observe and to listen. Takes a lot of the linguistic pressure off to know I'm going to be a learner, not a teacher.