Missionaries, Mercenaries, and Madmen

Those are, they say, the three types of people you can find living abroad. I’d like to consider myself part of a fourth group; mild-mannered teachers with a healthy passion for understanding the world. Truth be told, I’m not sure we really exist outside of some cross-bred manifestation of one of the three former groups. Besides, adding another category to the mix breaks up a great triumvirate. So I will speak for myself (and for the collective body of expats which by extension, I am a part) as I begin this slightly self-deprecating journey...

Unlike missionaries, teachers don’t have the explicit intention of converting the natives through forced imposition of our own beliefs. However, discrete brainwashing on a subconscious level does occur. Not religious per se, but ideological, laden with subtle cultural values and tacit social codes. This manifests in a “I just don’t understand the way “these people” do things. If only they could do things the way we do them. Not that their way is wrong, our way is simply....more efficient. Productive. Cost-effective. In other words, better.” Even if all these things are true, such an argument precludes the fact that perhaps these are not the values held most dear by the aforementioned society. We are assuming that our way is best for us, and therefore everyone must want to adopt it. And if they don’t then it is safe to assume they’re just plain stupid. While we fool ourselves into thinking we are going abroad to experience another culture to see the value in their ways, we are most often going to reaffirm our own perspectives. I see this in subtle ways, even the most progressive and seemingly open-minded have a colonialist streak.

Like any good mercenaries, one must believe that their risk will result in worth. One would not relinquish the creature comforts of home if they did not feel there was something to be gained on the other end. This might not be in monetary gain: perhaps teachers are more likely to intellectually pillage Istanbul. We talk of its history and charm, absorb its culture and return home with minds globalfied and perspectives broadened without leaving very much in return. We talk about how enriched we are, and now we can just pat ourselves on the back for having survived without electricity or a hard copy of the New Yorker or decent sushi or whatever, and its only upon returning home as we are juxtaposed against others that our lives as glamorous expats come into focus. We love the idea of living abroad, maybe even the truth of it. Denying yourself what you miss does not make you a better person.

As for madmen, it does take a certain amount of gusto, of panache, of verve, of chutzpah (if you will) to brave uncharted territory and make your way in a foreign land (yes, even if there is a Starbucks right around the corner). The rare strain of individuals who are intoxicated with freedom and build life based on keeping it tend to carry traits like unique, risk-taking, and verrrry interesting. On the flipside, this elusive breed of humans also carries mutations and comes in all varieties of wackjobs, nutters and crazies. I mean, I am not a raving lunatic banshee or anything of the sort, but I admit I might possess a certain...proclivity...toward the eccentric end of the spectrum. Anyhoo, to reference the great Janis Joplin, when you’ve got nothing left to loose why not piss a whole bunch of people off? Or something like that. So you take your chances when living abroad, hoping that you find yourself amongst those on the sane side of crazy.

Or perhaps, just maybe, living abroad breeds insanity. When your paradigm for interpreting the world is put in a cultural blender and shaken up a bit and all that’s left is the liquid (but look how fluid and flexible!) version of who you used to be, its a jolting experience to say the least. If you continue to move like a rock skipping across the oceans, you never have to worry about the effect of the ripples on those you’ve left behind. With that gratuitous metaphor, I shall bid you adios.