On elections, guilt and white privilege

     As much as I like posting pictures, talking about how much fun we’re having and the like, today’s topic will be a bit more serious than the average post.  This week Wednesday Zimbabweans will go to the polls, electing a president, parliament, and local councilors.  In 2008 when the country last went to the polls, most credible human rights groups–Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, International Crisis Group, etc–say that 150-200 people were killed in the aftermath.  The election was in March and the political negotiations to end the ensuing crisis didn’t end until the following February.   Sorry to scare some of you, but those figures are indisputable facts. 

     First of all, to get this issue out of the way, am I at all worried about our safety/security?  I am no more concerned for us than I am on any other day we get in our car (driving here is a game of dodge and weave).  It is not for me to worry about, and we are as safely kept as any people in the city.  I don’t want to go into specifics, but suffice to say we are well protected.  I should also point out that even in 2008, no one messed with people in our positions, especially not here in the capital.  Don’t worry about what you might read in the news, as we will be fine no matter the electoral outcome.

     However, I do worry for the everyday Zimbabweans I have met thus far.  That is the biggest change from studying a place to actually living there: it becomes personal.  I worry for my local Zimbabwean co-workers at the Embassy, our housekeeper, gardener, the kids we drive past going to and from, the woman who checks out our groceries, etc; it is their country, and I genuinely do not want to see people injured or killed as part of this election. For me this will be a busy week, but for the people here, it is so much more.  I may have a long day or a few days, but for the people who arise in the wee hours Wednesday to get into a polling station line before the sun rises or has sought to get their preferred candidate elected fairly, or have engaged at all in this political game given the horrors of 2008, all of those individuals, regardless of political affiliation have my utmost respect.  

     So many people have said to me, “You’ve come to Zimbabwe at an interesting time.”  Though I acknowledge this sentiment, I also feel guilty and withdrawn about that description: being here and that personal interaction make the consequences of how this plays out that much more real.  It was “interesting” or “fascinating” when it was in a text book thousands of miles away.  Those terms make me feel like I’m looking down at a Petri dish.  It becomes much more human when you walk these streets and greet these people.  If it all truly goes bad, and I don’t expect it to, I get evacuated to somewhere nice–South Africa, Europe, back to the US, what have you, only to sit on the sidelines and await it to get safe enough for we privileged people to return.  That isn’t the case for the locals.  No matter how this goes, they will live here, dealing with the day to day security implications as they unfold.   Do I EXPECT it go sideways?  No, but just my first world ability to fly away if it does is a guilty realization.  For these people who have lived through political hell at times, I hope it does not return; they truly deserve better, no matter the outcome.

     So I had about 97% of that written yesterday.  Then the following happened, cauterizing at the individual level what I describe above: last night I was heading out for the night—a Hail and Farewell for another Western diplomat (can you say privileged white person event?)—and one of our local guards stopped me in a panic.  He walked me over to his bicycle, which he rides into work each day he’s on shift.  One of the tires was either deflated or punctured.  I searched for a pump, but the people whose home we are living in didn’t have one.  I told him while I was out I would see what I could do; thankfully, one of our friends who I was joining for the evening is an avid rider.  He not only had a pump but also offered up a tire tube, which later in the evening I offered our guard.  I told the guard to give it a try, and if it would not work, I would happily drive him home in the morning.  “Boss, it is 21 kilometers to my home,” he stated, telling me the much poorer neighborhood where his family resided.  He thought that was too much trouble to ask of me.  I told him that if the pump/tube weren’t sufficient to solve the problem, I’d happily take him home this morning, no questions asked.  I got up right before his shift was to end this morning, finding him already gone, along with the tube and pump; I’d have gladly driven him home, but to me, the point is far larger:  Here is a guy who routinely rides his bike about 25 miles round trip, leaving his largely poor neighborhood to earn a living protecting my affluent home and livelihood.  He leaves his wife and children at home, making that decision to ensure their economic security and put food on their table.  While I KNOW my safety and security are ensured, the irony of that and the fact that most of the local security guards probably would tell similar stories of departing their poor areas to protect wealthy neighborhoods is yet another reminder of how privileged we are relative to the common person here.  It is these nameless blue collar and collarless members of Zimbabwean society whom I empathize with most at this time.

     I know not all of you who read this are the praying type.  If you are though, between now and Wednesday if you’d say a prayer, not for us and our personal security which is largely assured, but for the people of Zimbabwe—all of them, from the richest to the poorest, the laborers and the elite, that God would keep them safe through this election season, that the elections would be as peaceful as possible, that He would guide their decisions and that HIS will would prevail, I would greatly appreciate it.  I’m sorry if this comes across as obvious or trite to many of you, and I’m sure we’ll soon return to our regularly scheduled travel pictures and humorous tales, but those are the things I’m thinking of this morning.