Saturday, April 6, 2013

Truth, Purpose, and the Power of Ideas: Intellectual Lessons from Rwanda


[This is the first of three essays that I'm required to complete for my program.  I thought I'd include them here because so much of my time here has been focused on academics and these papers, I hope, will reflect how much I've learned!  I've changed them a little bit, in order to protect my program, and I'm also not sure how much is understandable without having heard our class discussions/being present here in Rwanda... I hope they make sense!  This one particularly is supposed to be a personal essay--no citations or anything.]

            Learning is a constant process.  Immediately upon reaching a “solution” or basic understanding of an intricate concept or relationship, a new insight propels you back into the exhausting yet exhilarating process of thinking and rethinking the complexities.  The peace and global studies discipline in particular fosters this opportunity to think critically and to continuously evaluate one’s field and one’s place within that field.  I find myself constantly absorbing new information—regarding social and economic development, political identity, humanitarian aid work, the relationship between capitalism and political space, the challenge of legitimizing alternatives, etc.—that will aid in my work with future peacebuilding efforts.  My program in Rwanda has advanced my studies in these areas significantly.  In particular, my time in Rwanda has allowed me to unpack three lessons crucial to peacebuilding: the danger of a single truth in peacebuilding efforts, the discovery of a space to change the theoretical within the concrete, and the necessity of believing in the power of ideas.
            First and foremost, this program has reiterated my understanding that no single truth exists.  In the field of peace and conflict studies, it is tempting to search for the answer—the one “right” solution—to the myriad global problems we analyze and discuss.  However, in realizing that each person comes from a unique environment, with a particular frame of mind and set of values, it makes sense that their story is their truth, fabricated from the unique circumstances life has presented him or her.  These contextualized truths must be viewed as valid and legitimate within the unique history of that person’s experience.
In learning to contextualize and historicize individual truth, I believe that I can better meet each person on his or her own level in a way that can foster greater understanding.  Only accepting one truth as the “right” way to view the world completely discounts an individual’s unique experience and hinders any sort of mutual understanding or desire to move forward together.  The danger of recognizing only a single truth constantly manifests in aid projects.  Their very specific plan to build peace, often focusing on development and short-term provision of goods and services, is praised for doing so much “good” in the world while it actually falls prey to an overarching, unjust system.  We heard myriad examples during our program: the alleviation of poverty via the Millennium Village Project, the Rwandan Development Board’s plan to modernize the country, the Invisible Children and Save Darfur advocacy projects for mobilizing masses to prevent genocide.  Despite these programs appearing to do “good” on the surface level, they operate within a system that perpetuates unhealthy dynamics like continual reliance on foreign aid, the privileging of “easier” economic development projects over complex structural problems, and the dehistoricization of incredibly intricate conflicts.  In other words, the very foundation of these programs meant to do “good” aligns carefully with a system based on harmful assumptions that continually oppress the very people these organizations are meant to help.  Thus this single conceptualization of what is “good” distracts from the main issue: the necessity of deconstructing an inherently oppressive system.
So what does this say about truth?  When these projects are championed as the “best” ways to encourage lasting peace, and their advocates—found among the majority of our speakers in class—truly believe that their actions are helping create lasting peace, how can that mindset—their truth—be doubted?  Do these advocates and speakers recognize how well their views align with the official government narrative, and do they realize that this narrative causes fear and alienation for certain groups of people?  Do they actually believe in the concepts on which they present or do they knowingly regurgitate the government’s narrative?  And the single question lying foremost in my head: are these people knowingly causing “bad” while operating under the guise of “good”? 
While this will remain an ongoing question for me, this program has helped me understand the danger of assuming one truth and how crucial it is to deeply evaluate every aid program and attempt to help.  In grappling with this very issue, I have reached a greater understanding of my own purpose in peacebuilding work.  I originally struggled with the aforementioned dilemma of concrete, on-the-ground projects perpetuating injustices on a grander scale and, if this truly was the case, dismayed over where I could work as an advocate of peace.  I could not imagine a definitive way to challenge the harmful assumptions that constrict the way people think: how could big picture paradigm shifts operate within concrete, action-based projects? 
However, I mistakenly isolated theoretical paradigms from on-the-ground structures and institutions, failing to realize how the two inescapably work together.  Dangerous paradigms do not simply appear but are constructed through specific structures and institutions.  Within those institutions, the seed of a harmful paradigm lies within the minds of individuals in the shape of specifically constructed assumptions and biases.  Hence these colossal paradigm shifts can only take place on the ground, within the minds of individuals.
Unfortunately, this raises uncomfortable issues like the presumption that I have the right to impose different mindsets on people and the critique that working within the system cannot break down unjust structures nearly as well as working outside of the system.  Yet, the final lesson I have gained from Rwanda is a strong belief in the power of ideas.  Engaging in theoretical discourse, believing in alternatives, and simply discussing new ideas are all crucial to seeing long-term change; if alternatives cannot be imagined, they will never come about. 
The immensity of some of these structural injustices tends to discourage and frustrate many, myself included.  The utter domination of harmful and biased systems like capitalism, neoliberalism, and nation-state organization is overwhelming.  Specifically, if capitalism as a concept is harmful in itself, how does one even begin to deconstruct such a pervasive mindset?  This point of discussion arose during our conversation in Uganda, pointing to the extent of capitalism’s infiltration into so many ways of life and its probable role in provoking conflicts in Africa.  If one views capitalism as a dominating system in its essence—a claim substantiated because capitalism’s very existence relies on the domination of some over others—then the system of capitalism serves to pacify and suppress those who do not fit neatly into its rigid model of how to organize life and economy.  Hence, in nations with a strong state and a highly integrated system of capitalism, little room exists for dissent or opposition.  It is in response to this intentional narrowing of political space that rebel groups arise and violence becomes the only option in which to voice opposition.  Yet with a less integrated capitalistic system and a weak state, one could argue that opponents have more space to disagree with the current system and highlight other alternatives, for the simple reason that capitalism has not fully pacified the nation under a single system.
Therefore, if capitalism rests at the foundation of many oppressions and conflicts because of its inherently closed political space, it seems to me that resistance needs to take the shape of establishing a space in which to share alternative ideas.  An opening of political space creates an opportunity to at least conceptualize that there can be another option rather than capitalism—or that there already are other options out there that deserve attention.  Encouraging this kind of open dialogue and critical thinking requires that all voices be heard, even allowing the “bad guys” to have their say.  Yet this brings up issues of voice and whether every voice should be heard, despite how harmful or violent it is.  Should we shut out harmful discourses or listen to them?  If we continue to engage with these discourses, will discussion serve to legitimize them and perpetuate their very existence?  Completely opening up political space certainly raises some major issues, ones that I hope to continue unpacking in the years to come.
All the same, I see positive movement occurring in this “play” of ideas: I think positive change lies in the ability to simply conceptualize and begin to believe that there are alternatives to these intimidating systems of capitalism, neoliberalism, and nation-states.  Thus, I leave this program believing even more in education, in the value of critical thinking, and in the spread of knowledge to let people make their own decisions.  Education has the power to influence ways of thinking, ways of conceptualizing, and ways of believing to the extent that entire paradigms are shaped—and hence can change—within this setting.  With an education that invites every individual to think for herself, the thoughts, possibilities, and ideas are endless—and within those rests the possibility of alternatives, even to grand paradigms. 
In synthesizing a semester of work, discussion, and observation, I arrive at these aforementioned lessons: the danger of assuming a single truth, the ability to work within concrete structures to change injustices existing within the mind, and the power of ideas to change abrasive systems of control.  All of these are crucial when examining their implications for pursuing aid work, for wanting to “do good” in the world, for trying to deconstruct complex paradigms within concrete structures, and for focusing on capitalism as a route cause of global conflicts.  I know that I will continue to confront these lessons from Rwanda when I return to my home institution and hope that they will guide me towards even more opportunities to explore the complex relationships in our world.

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