May
2004
The
Race for the American Dream
By Catherine Clyne
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On July 10, torrential rainfall
caused a landslide that wiped out the homes of hundreds of people in
Manila, in an area called Lupang Pangako, meaning “Promised Land.”
Lupang Pangako is a dumpsite towering 15 meters high, and is home to
anywhere from 60,000 to 300,000 people (depending on who you ask). More
than 300 people are dead—buried in a mountain of trash. Most likely
there are many more, but the dumpsite disaster is old news now, so the
numbers are no longer reported.
People reside on or near dumpsites in many cities in the “developing”
world. They provide subsistence for those who recycle what is discarded.
Lupang Pangako is something of a promised land to the people who live
there. An average of 5,000 tons of trash is dumped there every day,
about three-quarters of which is recycled by scavengers. Promising treasures
lie below the surface: rags, containers, scrap metal, paper, glassware,
household products, whatever is reusable is collected and used or sold.
People even forage for meals, digging for leftover food and frying it
up. This last practice might seem pretty disgusting to most Americans,
but then, most Americans are not in similar circumstances. Poverty is
harsh wherever you are; but the kind of poverty that most people in
the world experience is oftentimes beyond comprehension. Here, in the
U.S., people scavenge for reusable things, mostly for recyclables that
are redeemable for money, and pick through bins for leftover food; however,
we do not have a sub-culture of garbage pickers that recycle three-quarters
of our dumps. Instead, we are a garbage making culture.
In the U.S., “disposable” is an appealing trait of merchandise,
from contact lenses to cameras, plastic cutlery and paper plates, cups
and napkins to take-out food containers, aluminum cans to glass bottles,
diapers to latex gloves and hospital gowns. Disposable is a good way
of describing our consumptive habits. Fashion “seasons”
tell us to get rid of our old clothes and buy new ones that will be
replaced the following year. The automobile industry tells us that it’s
not enough to own a car from the 1990s, it’s time to buy one from
the 2001 line. Consume more, more, and still more, American culture
tells us, to the point that stuff builds up and we become indifferent
to the sheer glut of volume. Even living creatures are transformed into
disposable things: mentally ill people, prisoners, impoverished people
and indescribable numbers of animals. Unless they are loved or useful
to us, we want no part of them. Big Macs, KFC, Whoppers: disposable
creatures served in disposable packages.
The other day I heard conservative columnist William Buckley, Jr. on
the radio. When a listener called in to discuss the broadening gap between
the wealthy and impoverished, and advocated a redistribution of the
world’s wealth, Buckley pooh-poohed the argument and pointed out
that people who have enormous wealth, like Bill Gates, have talents
and have created things that we want, so we purchase them and they get
rich. Economies grow, engendering wealth. People in poverty, continues
Buckley’s reasoning, can use their talents and creativity to make
money. In Manila, people use their talents to eke out a meager existence
by foraging through garbage. Given that the average garbage picker at
Lupang Pangako makes between $2.50 and $4.50 (U.S.) daily, it’s
unlikely that many of them will have the opportunity to purchase things
at their local Gap store, never mind having an email account. (So much
for the idea that entrepreneurship will make everyone into a Bill Gates.)
“The American way of life is non-negotiable!” So pronounced
President George Bush (Sr.) at the summit on the environment in Rio
de Janeiro in 1992. Mr. Bush’s arrogance is representative of
the way we think about our “American way of life.” It is
a failure of the American people to take responsibility for our over-consumption
of the earth’s resources and its consequences, a “hear no
evil, see no evil” mentality when confronted by our direct connection
to rainforest depletion, species extinction, fossil fuel consumption,
pollution, etc. It’s not about guilt; it’s about responsibility.
If the U.S. can consider itself to be the world’s superpower,
then we’ve got to stop acting like babies and grow up. Americans
do their recycling, then drive around in gas-guzzling SUVs thinking
all is OK in the world, that they’re “doing their part.”
It’s an insulation that has become a cultural paradigm, upholding
an outright refusal to realize that the majority of people in this world
actually don’t live the way we do, and—what’s perhaps
more eye-opening—we neglect to see that they WANT to live the
way we do. If we have the “right” to own four cars, have
four babies, own four pure-bred pets, and buy four guns every month,
then everyone else in the world has the right to live the same way.
Who are we to say otherwise?
Consumption patterns in the West have an inestimable impact on the rest
of the world. While we serve as models for people in the “South”
we hold a double standard when we criticize developing nations for their
environmental trespasses and population explosions, then don’t
apply such criticism to ourselves, as Mr. Bush’s declaration illustrates
all too well. As the role models that everyone loves and loves to hate,
our cavalier and self-righteous over-consumption patterns are disgraceful.
One way to deal with the frustration and outrage that such realizations
stir up is to direct it into positive action. I direct mine into a personal
policy of, as Gandhi put it, “non-cooperation.” I take inspiration
from the Washington, DC-based post-punk band, Fugazi, who sing: “Never
mind what’s been selling, it’s what you’re buying,
receiving undefiled.” “Undefiled” consumption is the
challenge. I’m learning to direct energy into being more mindful
of what I consume: organic, locally-grown food when possible, and cruelty-free
products are obvious choices. But “cruelty-free” doesn’t
apply to just nonhuman animals. For example, there is cruelty involved
in apparel made in sweatshops and in the growing of food by oppressed
workers. Apparent “cruelty-free” products—even some
vegan “replacements”—often contain elements that are
not biodegradable and are harmful to the environment. It’s not
a pursuit of the holy grail of undefiled products. It’s about
doing the best that you can to take responsibility for yourself and
others by being mindful and not cooperating with a culture that is grinding
the world into environmental destruction and economic inequality. It’s
about growing up and maturing our consciousness and, ultimately, joining
the world to make it a place where the need for cruelty-free products
will be obsolete.
Catherine Clyne has been Satya’s Editor
since 1999.
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