Exceptionalism is Overplayed

There is this weird notion that Americans are exceptional among peoples. It is one of the oft-repeated catch-phrases one would most likely find among politicians these days. Something like “unlike our president who believes that we’re just like every other country, I believe that as Americans, we are exceptional.” I have paraphrased Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney, but he’s not alone. Heard repeated again and again, it often begins to sound something like this, between two children on a playground: “My daddy will beat the hell out of your daddy!”

Here is a problem though: the vapid mantra has been taken so seriously by many citizens that a leading politician now thinks that it is something with which to impugn the credibility of an opponent. “Hear that America, he thinks that you’re human like everyone else. I, however, believe that you’re supermen. You’ve always been.” Before this post is accused of being anti-American, let me give a few more examples of these delusions of exceptionalism as I’ve found them all around the world:

  • Nigeria is the giant of Africa (said to a tone/attitude of superiority derived from nothing else than the fact that one in five persons on the continent today is a Nigerian or that the country has produced some of the continent’s most accomplished citizens.)
  • We are the chosen people (an oft-repeated phase associated with Judaism and Jewish identity. According to the bible, this conviction could be traced to hundred of wars and pogroms in the bible led by the leaders of the nation-states acting on direction of God. It is also a source of immense national pride).
  • A ji sebi oyo laa ri… (a saying from the Oyo people in Nigeria, translated fully as “Oyo is known only to be emulated. Oyo never emulates anyone.”)
  • We’re the superior race (from Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich)
  • Arab Exceptionalism (“a phase that prescribes that Arab nations are immune to economic modernization and democratization, or that these concepts form part of the ‘clash'”)
  • Polygamy is an integral part of our culture/Homosexuality is not a part of our culture. (One of the many vacuous polemics that surface around the African continent whenever any of those issues are raised in public discourse).
  • “Rang de Basanthi” (Hindi: “Colour it saffron” – a badge of nationalism, pride and racial exceptionalism among Indians to the exclusion of everyone else).
  • Once you go black, you never go back (A disgusting racial aphorism. Use google.)
  • I’m a man: that’s what we do/Don’t tell me what to do/What do you expect? (Gender exceptionalism?)

There are many more across different world cultures that I have come across but now forgotten. A thing common to all of them is the belief in a particular world outlook accepted as superior and as defining of the people who hold onto them. American exceptionalism, of course, falls into the same category as all of those above, and it is the reason for this post. The concept is usually defined this way: “Here is a country exceptional in its creation and survival, as well as its role in world affairs.” It is usually bonded with a demand for indemnity from all accountability. “Can’t you see? I’m American!” American television personality Chris Matthews, in debunking the Republican “slight” of anti-American exceptionalism on President Obama, often uses this defence: “Can’t you see? Didn’t you listen to the man’s election speech? He said that only in America was his story possible. President Obama himself is a product of American exceptionalism. Look at where he came from and where he is now…”

Where Chris Matthews got it wrong however is the better end of the same spectrum of Mitt Romney underhanded sneakiness. While America is really no more exceptional among other countries of the world with less colourful starting histories or world presence nor its people any more important than people in more obscure parts of the world, it is also not exceptionally unique just because a bi-racial young man from a poor home and a single mother could become its president after a long history of slavery. I agree however that these make for a very spectacular (albeit empty) polemics. There are a few more examples of such exceptionalism: Mother Theresa moving from Albania to live in India in service of the world’s poor, or Susane Wenger – an Austrian woman, who spent all of her creative life in the groves of Oshogbo learning and teaching art and spirituality (and in dying there become one of the forest’s eternal goddesses).

The undeniable fact is that humans will always thrive wherever they find themselves. The story of Steve Jobs making it out of an almost hopeless beginning to become an accomplished entrepreneur could equally have happened elsewhere (perhaps with much less flair). The son of a carpenter from a victimized culture becoming the most famous, venerated, victim of capital punishment (by crucifixion) is as much a story of Jewish exceptionalism as is the story of a black African from post-colonial Kenya making it through the ropes to become a PhD holder in the United States a case of Kenyan/African exceptionalism, as is the story of a previously obscure princess from a repressive patriarchal culture growing up in the world’s ugliest war finding herself, due to a series of coincidences, as the queen of a large empire on which the sun never set – a case of British exceptionalism. Here’s Brazilian exceptionalism: defy all odds of a third world/developing country and win gold in (almost) every World Cup in which your country participates.

My conclusion here – as might by now be clear – is that there either is something of a human exceptionalism – defined by great success in spite of all odds – common to every culture and people on the face of the earth, or there is no such thing as exceptionalism, and we’re all just as unique as we are different. Nationalism and patriotic/religious credos are usually more disingenuous than the words in which they are couched tell us, and they have not always led to an improvement on the condition of human well-being. Politicians should therefore find something more stimulating to spend their time talking about, as should all blindly-following fanatics.

Reviewing “The Help”

A group of young southern housewives (all brought up by black maids working for meagre payment) gathered around to play bridge every week in each other’s house drinking wine and having fun. Beneath this facade is a series of complex relationships which included jealousy, in-fighting, pretense, hate, and compassion, courage, inferiority, humour, discrimination, ignorance, among very many others. The time was early to late 60s, and the place was Mississippi. The movie is an adaptation of “The Help” a best-selling novel written by 40 year old Kathryn Stockett.

I saw the movie today and it was a moving experience. (I have written a short review on Nigerianstalk.org.) My attention was first called to the movie in May at a house party at a professor’s house. She’s a 70 year old history professor here who occupies a vivid memory span of some of the event recalled in the book. I recommend the movie to everyone who is interested in a few more nuances of the race relations in the South of the 60s and their implications for today’s society. It is an important story.

 

America I Am

Pictures from an exhibition of African contribution to American history, at the Missouri History Museum last week. They included Epa masks from Nigeria, real doors, manacles and other relics from the slave castles in Ghana, clothes and artifacts from American slavery, and plenty 20th century notable artifacts including Alex Haley’s typewriter, Mohamed Ali’s famous track jacket, the KKK’s hood, Michael Jordan’s vest, Michael Jackson’s whistle, Prince’s purple vest, Serena William’s top, Louis Armstrong’s bugle, a black astronaut’s suit, among so many others. Hanging from the ceiling of the history museum is “The Spirit of St. Louis“, the famous airplane that made the first transatlantic flight from New York to Paris in 1927.

More about the exhibition here.

A Sad Day in America

Today ended like a dream, a series of surreal hours that – one after the other – confirmed some of the worst fears of sane tolerant people. I’m disappointed like I’ve never before been in the political process and a certain intolerance best exemplified by what had just happened. It was unbelievable. The president of the United States had called a press conference, cutting into all live shows around the country, to show a final definite proof that he was born in the country as he had always said he was: a long hand birth certificate. It was the first of any president.

Obama's birth certificate in the eyes of a birtherFor me, this is sad on many levels, and race had a very large role to play. A few minutes after the White House released said birth certificate which they had got on request from the records office in Hawaii to put the controversy to rest, media mogul Donald Trump – also a contender for the next election – went to a press conference not just taking credit for the disclosure but also asking for the president’s college transcripts thus casting doubts on his qualifications as well.

I am a firm believer in the inner goodness of every human being in spite of their colour. I approached this country and people with the same open mindedness and was – like everyone else around the world – ecstatic and absolved when Obama was elected in 2008 in spite of what many considered his biggest obstacle: the colour of his skin. And then, from then, disappointed as to how every criticism of his policies seemed to come with something more than just a mere disagreement with economic policies. The press conference by Mr. Trump exemplified for me an unfortunate culmination of an underlying culture of intolerance.

First he said the president wasn’t born where he said he was, then he said the president had paid over $2m to prevent himself from having to show the document. A few weeks ago, he said he had sent investigators to Hawaii and he “couldn’t believe what they’re finding.” This, we found, was a lie, as Anderson Cooper found out after sending his own reporters to Hawaii. It turned out that Trump’s men either haven’t been there, or haven’t spoken to any relevant people as they should have. Yet he kept hyping the issue up for ratings in the media. Today, as the document finally surfaced, you would think he would back down. No, “we will get experts to examine it,” he said. For a moment there, I remembered another third world country – Ivory Coast – where Laurent Gbagbo had used a similar case of citizenship to keep his opponent away from the political process for many years. Many years, thousands of lives, and a brutal civil war later, we know where Gbagbo now sleeps, and in what bad shape his country is. It’s not the perfect analogy, but it’s not too far off either. The script is the same: “show us your papers and we’d let you play.”

I don’t think that many Americans realize just how bad this reflects on the country to the rest of the world, and that makes it a little more unfortunate. I’m not American and may never try to be one. But seeing how the country treats its own and one of its best leaves very much to be desired. This piece published today puts it in very good perspective. (Thanks to Nneoma for the link)

On Wednesday

Silence all around the campus, three young men and a girl pace around the parking lot opposite the Arts Theatre, sharing jokes and catching up on old times. Amidst occasional passage of cars between them and the Theatre across the road, there were smiles and jabs. They were young, and happy.

Then two girls walk by. One of them was white, possibly American. He had been told that a few American students might have arrived on this campus for a few weeks of study. Could these be some of them? The one in front – if American – would not be older than twenty years. She had dark shades on. The other was black but could also be foreign going by their pesky walk and general attitude to the campus environment.

“Oyinbo, bawo ni?” Segun quipped as they walked by, half smiling but not totally with an expectation of a fast informed response.
“Hey Dudu, how are you too?” She responded, just as quickly, pronouncing the dudu like doo-doo. And she kept walking, perhaps even giggling with her friends as she went away.

She had won. It was too sudden for Segun to grasp, and the girl had already gone too far from him to hear whatever he had to come up with afterwards. “Touche,” someone said, laughing, and it was one of those moments of fun enlightenment.

His friends could only gape, giggle and to laugh at their own errant selves, and the young quick-witted foreign student now forever etched in their memory.