On Poverty Porn

Had I seen the documentary “Born into Brothels” a few years ago, I probably would have liked it.  The chaotic scenes of Calcutta’s red light district, the snippets of Hindi I can halfway understand, and the starkly hopeless portrayal of the film’s childlike subjects make for a very compelling film. 

But these days…it looks like poverty porn.  I have no doubt that the filmmakers made the documentary with the best of intentions and that the white woman who helped the children had nothing but love and good intentions for the kids.  And while it’s necessary to be exposed to the harsh realities of life in other parts of the world, it’s so much easier to zoom in your Nokia lens on the eyes of a child whose skin color is different and who doesn’t live in your own backyard.

Let’s turn the camera around for a moment to really examine the crassness of such an action.  Let’s say a young African backpacker rode up into your town one day and started taking pictures and filming your children.  You know that when he goes home, he will speak of our quaintness, our backwards ways, and our strange jobs.  He will post pictures of our children online without our permission and he will take pictures of us doing our jobs to post on a cheeky Instagram entitled “These are real jobs in America.”  He will not learn our names, and he will promise to send us the pictures.  Maybe he will even promise to pay our children’s school fees.  But he won’t. 

I used to bring backpackers into my community.  I would get frustrated when, on my weekly night in town, they would sit around the bar of the hostel and talk about how developed and rich people are here.  (Swaziland, like many countries, hides its poverty well off the main tourist route).  So I would offer to show them “the real” Swaziland….Or at least the Swaziland that 70% of the people live in.  It is a Swaziland with dirty naked babies, strangely colorful religious rituals, and lots of opportunities for that perfect “African” Instagram photo to share with your friends back home. 

So I would take them to my community, and they would have a very moving experience as people welcomed them with open arms.  They would take lots of photos and promise to email them to me so that I could print them for my friends who had welcomed them so kindly.  And despite my follow-up requests…not a single backpacker has ever emailed me the photos. 

Like the film “Born into Brothels,” the experiences of backpackers are less about the people whose lives they are documenting and more about their experiences as amateur photographers on the road in wild and savage lands.  My least favorite had to have been the French-Canadian photographer who refused to cover up his tattoo when I asked him.  His goal was to go to every country in the world.  Swaziland was 140-something and he threw a tantrum when I told him he wouldn’t be able to exchange his money at the bank on a Sunday. 

I sometimes feel that I may be guilty of perpetuating the “poor African” stereotype, if only to a lesser extent.  But then I remind myself that I would never point a camera at my host brother and make a world-famous documentary about him.  Because the documentary wouldn’t really be about him, but what he represents as just another AIDS orphan in Africa.  Because that’s how it would come across.  A movie wouldn’t show how he does in school, his favorite movie, his favorite thing to draw, and that he loves to play ball.  A movie would only show him as that poor African child who has a white woman interested in saving him.  I shudder to think that any artist with a video camera come here and record the lives of the people I love as if they were noble savages or something.  But it happens every day.  And is this blog not also a kind of testament to “my adventures in Swaziland”? (Mission trips are the worst in terms of the noble savage imagery, but at least their hearts are less selfish than those of backpackers). 

So here’s my etiquette list for backpackers, artistic types, missionaries, and anyone else traveling to any neck of the woods anywhere, ever:

1.       Don’t talk about a country you’ve been in for two seconds (or less than 6 months) negatively.

2.       Let locals help, but don’t expect their kindness to be free.  Tip any man or woman who helps you a few bucks.  If they refuse, great.  If not, know that they probably needed it a lot more than you.

3.       10% gratuity is polite in restaurants in southern Africa.  Don’t take advantage.  Tips are usually shared collectively and supplement a meager income.

4.       Lifts are also not free unless they refuse your cash.

5.       Don’t complain about your hectic time trying to arrange local transport.  This is called daily life, and your privilege reeks when you do it.

6.       Don’t say “I’m glad I paid a bribe.  I just wanted to have the experience.”  (A backpacker actually said this to me recently).  Bribes are embarrassing for your hosts.

7.       Don’t over-barter unless you know you’re getting ripped off.  You clearly have enough money to travel abroad and are undervaluing craftsmen’s work when you force them to earn mere pennies off of a sale. 

8.       Do NOT take pictures without the permission of the subjects.  (This one annoys me SO MUCH!) Furthermore, tell them how you will use those photos. 

9.       Don’t make promises you can’t keep. “Yes, I will sponsor a child,” is easy in the heat of the moment and the warmth of their smiles.  It’s a lot harder to commit to on the other side.

10.   Learn the names of the maids at the hostels you stay at, not just the names of the white bartenders.

Sorry for the rant…I guess I’m just frustrated from my interactions with travelers who don’t really even care about this place other than to check off another country on their list before moving on to their next Instagram moment.