The Paradox of American class

Students are shocked at the poverty, disadvantage, and classism of their recent adventures around the world. Many of the countries we tour are part of the so-called developing world, the third world countries, the southern hemisphere. No one can ignore their own privilege, access and opportunities after visiting a township in South Africa or a Brazilian favela. Yet there is disbelief when the conversation shifts to class and caste in America. Sure, they say, that is a necessary component of South American or African society, but not in the United States. Here, in many of the places we visit, the power and class are naked, undisguised and very apparent. Walking down the street there is no confusion about the elite and the poor, a visible and noticeable difference between the ruling, rich few and the struggling to survive, begging masses. But there are classes in America. They are hidden, beneath the surface of things, but they are ever-present. We need only look at the tragedy of New Orleans and a record-setting season of hurricanes to see the underbelly of class and race in the United States. This is my look at the complexity of American class; a lesson from the world, but about ourselves.

While religious freedom is now the part of the story and mythology of America, many of the huddled masses came not for prayer, but for money and freedom; the American dream that anyone and everyone regardless of their previous position in society could succeed. There would be no classes in America like the Old Country, no ruling elite, no powerful, monied and governing class. It only seems ironic that the Bushes are now a common name in American politics, a new dynasty. Yet there is still disbelief about American classes. Psychologists and sociologists call it the belief in a just world—that everyone sails or fails by their own effort, not by circumstances or chance. And Americans belief in this powerful tenet more than any other people in the world. It is both our greatest asset and our largest weakness—individualism and optimism at the core. The reality can’t be any farther from the dream: the vast majority of Americans will die in the class they are born in. Racism is a more subtle, hard to recognize influence, and therefore a past evil, thought by many people to be long extinguished by affirmative action and education.

So how do we Americans blindly disregard class in our country, but are quick to point out the plight of Brazilian favelas and Indian Dalit villages? How can we point fingers at others while ignoring our own poor? Gandhi said, “A society can be judged by how it treats its lowest class.” Several staff and faculty still talk about India. People on the streets on carts for getting around, others stricken with polio so hard they cannot move. Kids are starving to death in Calcutta, others forced to work on the sari looms of Kanchipuram. Class is harder to accept here, not even mentioning the caste system. Are these images defeating or stimulating?

I cannot convey the ultimate paradox of all. There are two worlds aboard our ship. We wake in the morning to have our beds made. At breakfast, wait staff bring us coffee and juices. “No need to get up, sir, I got it,” Marlon say. Is nationality the only difference between us and them? “Cream and sugar in your coffee, right Mark?” Almost by birth right, most Americans are given an education, a career, and opportunities, while the mostly Filipino staff are resigned to working 14-16 hour days to save for their families. At the end of this voyage, we return home to privileged homes and jobs, while Vibert and Ray, our cabin stewards, will continue on. This is Vibert’s 8th year with Semester at Sea. He has seen the two worlds, but like him, the crew say nothing. For 100 days or 4 months, he makes $3000. Granted there are no costs, but the benefits are small and the hours long. Fraternization is strongly discouraged—no mingling of the classes, passengers and crew. But what are the opportunities in his Filipino town—better, a slight possibly, but most likely much worse. But if Mezhraim and I switched our birth places, there is no doubt that our jobs would be reversed. Do we feel guilty for our privileges or refuse them? Is awareness enough or should we fight for basic rights for everyone?

The obvious statement is that poverty and class complex problems with no easy solutions. In many parts of the developing world, small local organizations and “banks” have offered small loans to fill the gaps of funding and support for ideas and subsistence. Small farmers and entrepreneurs are simply too high risk for banks and loan institutions to justify handing money over to, often very little sums and for high rates. Grameen is an example of this localization of banking, starting in Bangladesh. This small experiment began as an economic project with small, underdeveloped populations and has been suggested as a means for eradicating poverty in the next 50 years. Poverty still existing, and maybe is growing, since the Universal Declaration on Human Rights declared that each individual has “A standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and of his family, including food, clothing, housing, and medical care and necessary social services, and the right to security in the event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age or other lack of livelihood in circumstances beyond his control.” 1.3 billion people live on less than $1 a day in the world. Until income and wealth are more evenly distributed, there will always be class conflict, always be revolution, always be war. A small wave against the tide of poverty sweeping the globe.

We’ve seen poverty with a different face. Poverty is harder, in your face. Class is stricter, easier to witness but less so to bear. There are no suburbs to run from the crime and the depravity of the poor. Favelas are mixed with rich skyscrapers, townships interspersed with metropolises. Pull yourself up by your own bootstraps, an American might say. Maybe if they had shoes or food, I answered. I sincerely hope that this lens into the poverty of the world doesn’t leave me immune and apathetic, but realistic and inspired.