An Amateur Perspective on Economic Hegemony.
It’s early evening.
I’m at Odjo d’Agua, an impressive hotel on an island in Cape Verde.
I have my MacBook Pro before me, and I’m expressing myself in some way.
An attendant walks up to me. He does not understand what I’m doing.
I close my laptop, turn around, and with a painstakingly expressive combination of pristine English and finely-tuned body language, justify my stay.
In my head:
“Yes, there are people with black skin whose usual itinerary involves visiting the public library of a four star hotel to read. Or have a drink. Or do whatever.
I am a thing.
Do not look at me like that. Stop it.
I am a thing.
And no I’m not the DJ.”
— — — — — —
I’m in what I believe to be the only functioning hotel on the island, that is owned by a local. The owner of this hotel is an old, interesting looking man with bright white beards.
He’s always driving around angrily in his Hummer, fuming at something.
I’d love to have a conversation with him.
Practically everything else is owned by foreigners. The best restaurants and the biggest hotels. Owned by foreigners from England, Italy, Europe.
I’ve met with a number of them. They seem like nice people, they really do, but I feel they’re bullies.
It’s really not all that difficult to land in a relatively financially-diminutive country along with your hefty English pounds and bulky euros, set up an interesting restaurant, and employ the locals to work for you.
It really does not take all that much.
— — — — —
I stop to contemplate the economic scene on the island.
Ilha do Sal is fueled by tourism. Tourists stream in from Europe and the United Kingdom, and the island survives by catering to them.
There is just one problem. (Maybe not just one, but let’s leave it at that.)
The locals are way, way, down on the list.
Tourists check into hotels. But these hotels are predominantly owned by foreign entities/corporations.
Tourists tour the island (Because tourists). But the major agencies providing these tours are tightly affiliated with the externally-owned hotels.
Tourists visit restaurants. But most of the best restaurants, with Wifi and such, are owned by the English, Italians, etc.
I wonder where the locals fit in.
Well for one, they work at these restaurants.
Otherwise there are a good number of local restaurants, but I feel they get a Lilliputian share of the tourists.
A question bothers me: How does this turn out well for the locals?
How do they come out on top?
If an island is fueled by tourism, but the locals have to compete with foreigners (who have heftier, much more powerful currencies) for tourists, then how exactly does this turn out well?
My mind scales this to countries in general:
Some countries have more established economies than others- more powerful currencies.
Residents from these lower-ranked countries will profit from being subservient to their more established counterparts.
E.g, A local Cape Verdean girl has better chances of working at a prominent Italian restaurant, than she does at setting up her own to be as successful.
Being born in some countries gives a huge head-start.
Being born in others, apart from gifting you with lag, makes subservience to your foreign counterparts profitable behavior.
And so one human is above another not because he should be, but simply because he’s from a more economically developed country.
I wonder how things will turn out- If this a priori non-alignment of starting blocks will ever be considerably attenuated.
For some, attenuation is idealistic. The irrefutable discrepancy is ironclad, and consequently you’re best accepting your inferiority and transforming it into a weapon for survival.
“Get yourself hooked with an unattractive white girlfriend, probably not because you love, or even like her, but because her country has money. Life will be better for you.”
(Like the man who was asking if I was a DJ)
I wonder if less developed countries aren’t already doomed to either worship their economically ascendant counterparts, or languish perpetually.
I wonder, I really do wonder.
An amateur perspective.
