american mask

"I don't like my culture."

A friend spoke these words the other day, and I remembered feeling the same thing, not so long ago. I couldn't ever quite tell you why though. Instead, I trekked the globe to learn about other cultures. I found myself in Russia, lost myself again in Italy, and found comfort in England. Soon, I found a new identity in Southern California amongst the Hispanic and Vietnamese community where I teach. Hearing that, you must agree: "She's looking for something."

And with my friend's comment, I think I have. She figured it out: Americans, specifically Caucasian Americans, wear masks. We're good "hiders."

In a society that is so well "wired," you hear time and time again that we are the most disconnected society that ever existed. Living in community has become something we genuinely have to work at -- and when work is as fast paced as it is these days -- it's no wonder we crawl behind computer screens at the end of the day.

Behind this screen, it's easy to hide.

And because we don't spend a lot of time together, when we meet, I put on my happy face. It takes time and energy to be vulnerable with you, and right now, I don't have either. So, I'm going to smile and respond "Fine." And you'll never know what's eating me up inside. You'll never know how I obsess over piddly comments. You'll never know who I care about, who excites me, or who drives me bananas. You can't actually know me.


That's the part of my culture I don't like. I seek refuge in a culture that doesn't really have any secrets. I cherish a culture that isn't afraid to speak harsh words towards me, because they are the truth. I come alive when surrounded by cultures driven, not by money, but by love, no matter what age. I find hope in reading about cultures that have suffered for what seems to be an eternity, because they know what hope really is. I can't wait to know the culture that quits work early to take a nap each day because rest is just as important as accomplishment. I am amazed by cultures so hungry for Christ that they'll worship underground, in secret, because their government is so oppressive. I'm challenged by nomads, who wander with the animals still, because they have not chosen the easy life that Western culture values. I'm saddened to know that thousands of children are missing out on a education because it is too dangerous to leave their houses and go to the school each day.

I'm not inspired, challenged, amazed, or hopeful about the Caucasian American. I'm only saddened and surprised that we are still, still, "stupid sheep*."

I do cherish American ingenuity. I'm saddened that it has become so selfish.

Can I bring all that I learn, all that I admire, all that I cherish about other cultures, to my own? Or will the Caucasian American not realize her self-righteousness until it is too late?

When I do take off my mask, I am not usually accepted. I am usually shunned for being too passionate, too charismatic, too full of energy. Unless we want to breed an entire society of slugs, I don't believe anyone can ever be too passionate. It is a lack of passion that is destroying us. A lack of a desire to be unlike the guy sitting next to us. Too strong a desire to put on that mask. If we maintain a smile, if we keep on trucking down our own road, maybe no one will notice us, so then we won't get hurt.

Or maybe we will just lay here in the sun.
and dry up.
or explode?


It's not just our faces that wear masks. Drive down Harbor Blvd. in Santa Ana, CA. The store fronts all look the same. Empty lots don't stay empty for long: we make them look pretty so that people will shop there. Because no one drives down Jackson St., just behind Harbor, where evidence of poverty feels like you are driving in another country. We don't want anyone to know that Jackson St. exists. If we keep Harbor looking pretty, no one will look beyond pretty. No one will know the poverty in the richest county in America. It's scary, dangerous, uncomfortable to go behind the surface -- so we don't. Just look pretty. The world was shocked to see the aftermath of Hurricaine Katrina. Yet, I would ask, how many of us knew the poverty that lay there before the devestation? How many of us looked closely? Few, I would guess. Because America doesnt like to talk about its inadequacies. (Even now, how many news channels talk about how New Orleans is being rebuilt?) We mask it with smiling Presidents, happy governors, and satisified celebrities. If they visit the devestation, and it looks good, it must be. We'll let them go beyond the surface -- and we'll stay right here behind our computers and our telelvisions, thank you very much -- and let someone else solve the problem. Because we are scared and uncomfortable looking at dirty, poor people.

*A friend in college owned a sheep farm, keeping stuffed sheep named "stupid sheep" to remind her of home. I thought it was a cute name until I visited her farm and realized that sheep really ARE stupid! Probably the dumbest animals on the planet. And Christ compared us to sheep?!