Confessions of a Capitalist Pig

Looking back on that moment in comparison with Costa and Tode’s diligent studying, I cannot imagine two extremes that more perfectly epitomize the difference between working to better one’s own circumstances versus a dangerous abdication of personal responsibility. I am not an economist. I hope never to be sucked into the materialistic frenzy of commercial America. But that moment in a Malagasy bush taxi dramatically sharpened my understanding of my own capitalist pig roots and the extent to which I value individualism. By this, I do not mean stepping on or over others in pursuit of a plasma screen television; the American connotations of wasteful consumerism, shortsighted decision-making, and ill treatment of others are not necessarily the hallmarks of individualism. I am thinking more of an excuse-free sense of individual choice and the right to enjoy the rewards of that choice as well as the responsibility to accept its consequences. In face of negative repercussions, this standard can seem heartlessly unforgiving. But it can also be seen as respecting reality, and the alternative truly scares me. The man in the bush taxi felt he should not have to live with the consequences of his decisions, denying his power of choice (and, in a sense, his humanity) to an extent that could cost him his life.

If I could take back just one thing I did in Madagascar, it would be having announced to my entire village that I was there to help them. Everyone who responded by asking me for money, food, or medicine, or insistence he could not do something for himself because he was too poor, tired, or sick, was conforming to the dynamic I suggested, wherein I was the helper and they were in need of help. If I could do it over again, I would tell everyone simply that I was there to learn and to share ideas. My Malagasy friends and neighbors were perfectly capable of deciding and acting on their own behalves. But people can only be held responsible for their choices when they actually have choices to make. Being born in the country I was, to the parents I have, gave me every imaginable choice and opportunity in life. In the meantime, I could have made such horrible, destructive choices as to be destitute or even dead. Do children born into extreme poverty have a reasonable chance of choosing their way to a standard of life like mine? Highly doubtful. And though the people in my village considered me rich, there was nothing material I could give them that would create lasting change in their lives.

How to save the world? I feel now it cannot be done—not with capitalism or collectivism or any other one-size-fits-all plan. This is not a pessimistic surrender, but a fact of our humanity. For everyone to agree to a perfect way of being, ideal solutions, or a static recipe for justice would be against our very nature. Our best survival tools are our brains, and using them to make life choices based on our individual values and circumstances is what makes us human. I never mentioned to the kids who played Go Fish in my house each day that American children keep their cards secret and compete to see who can end up with the most pairs. Gradually, as we kept playing, they decided on their own that it is more fun to hide their hands. Sometime after that, they spontaneously began the ritual of counting their pairs at the end of the game. But I never heard one of them declare himself the winner or say that he had more or less cards compared to someone else. From their perspective, it was winsome just to play.

Eventually, I realized it was ridiculous to worry that introducing my inherently capitalist ideas for income-generating projects would undermine the communal balance of the village of Tsimelahy. Instead, the women I worked with chose from among my ideas those that made sense for and appealed to them, much in the way that Costa and Tode tailored Go Fish to suit their own culture of play. And the women did not reject their sense of cooperation as they aimed for the individual goals of good health, housing, and education for their families. Those who choose to cooperate with each other will likely get there faster. It is only scape-goating and abdication of responsibility for one’s actions that have no place in an individualist’s mindset. So if my faith in individualism makes me a capitalist pig, so be it. Offering “help” that suspends individual choice and responsibility until things get better is not help at all. Anytime and anywhere opportunity arises, some people will take up the challenge and some will not. The point, I began to see, is to create the option. With choices, people shape the circumstances of their own lives with a natural variety that preserves the diversity that defines us as human.

While the twenty passengers in that bush taxi stared at me, awaiting my response to the assertion that America should foot the bill for HIV treatment in Africa, I had my own choice to make. I could play the white savior role that seemed to be expected of me, or I could tell it like it is. The truth is that condoms are inexpensively available to most people in Madagascar, and the challenges of maintaining ARV regimens are intimidating, to say the least. Realistically, it is not subsidized treatment but preventative behaviors that have the best chance of protecting that man and his friends from death by AIDS. So I told him exactly that and then steeled myself for his reaction.

For a moment there was total silence save the clatter of the taxi’s engine. Only then did I glimpse the mischievous glint in my challenger’s eye. Suddenly, all the passengers erupted into simultaneous laughter and declarations of agreement. For the next half hour they continued to talk among themselves about HIV/AIDS, occasionally lobbing a technical question my way. I do not know what decisions those bush taxi passengers, my village friends pursuing ecotourism projects, or Costa and Tode will make in the course of their lives. No matter how much I care about them, it is simply not my business to know or decide that for them. What matters, I learned, is that I try in any way available to me to contribute to making sure they have a choice—and then leave it in their hands, where it belongs.

 

Lindsey ClarkLindsey Clark‘s writing has previously been published in Aeolus, WorldView, Switchback, and Hippocampus magazines, as well as the Africa anthology “Memories of Sun.” She is also the author of a travel memoir, Land of Dark and Sun.