“What did you do this summer?” “I was in the Dominican Republic”, I responded. “No way! How were the beaches?” This is how most of my conversations have unraveled since spending the summer in the Dominican Republic. To answer the question, sure, the beaches are incredible—but this is such a small piece of the Dominican Republic. It is simply “one story” as Adichie would say. The Dominican Republic was a diverse land of mountains, valleys, streams and beaches. It was a land of rich and poor, educated and illiterate. Nevertheless, I feel the need to emphasize the glamorous, anticipated aspects of my experience—the beaches, the baseball, and Latin dances—as opposed to painting a true story of what the Dominican Republic really is. After understanding the messages of Adichie, Achebe, Solzhenitsyn, and Paz, I recognize that to shape my Dominican experience into the expectations of others would be to contribute to the injustice of the one-sided image that the world paints of the Dominican Republic. In order to better inform academia and all those with whom I share my story, I must show the real Dominican Republic.
I was in the post-partum room of the public hospital interviewing women about their birth experience. Most women were calm, talking with their mothers, aunts, cousins, or friends who attended to their needs. They responded to my questions, asked me questions, and laughed with one another as their healthy child laid at their side. I was surprised. “Am I supposed to be discovering the atrocities of the over medicalization of birth?” I thought. Nevertheless, there were plenty of women birthing naturally; women’s needs were attended by their friends and family who stayed at their side (until expulsion), and as a result, physicians and nurses were quite hands-off. I was shocked. “What I am supposed to do with this data?” “Nothing seems that bad here”, I thought. Although I would later find several important findings, I felt forced to paint a negative picture of Dominican public health. I felt the need to paint their physicians as racist, classist demons; I felt the need to depict their women as uninformed poor, cesarean-preferring patients. I found neither of these things to be true. In fact, the medical team was quite kind, and most women preferred natural birth. My findings would not be quite the exposé that I expected them to be. I feel that this need for my academic findings to be an exposé is similar to the statements of Achebe; just as western literature has painted Africa as a foil for the western world, the embodiment of anarchy and suffering, so has the developing world (and the Dominican Republic) been the foil for public health initiatives. Although several cases of unnecessary cesareans were observed, to overstate a certain monstrosity in the medical team would be to create an unjust ‘single story’ for the Dominican Republic.
In a similar sense, the Dominican Republic’s role as the embodiment of paradise has created important negative impacts on the people, and has continued an impactful stereotype that I have felt pressured to perpetuate. The Dominican Republic’s number one industry is tourism, and throughout the past decades, tourism has shaped the very fabric of the Dominican identity. The native Arawak people’s native tongue was completely destroyed and converted into Spanish with the arrival of Columbus. However, in the past few decades, the linguistic conquest of the Dominican Republic has been increasingly one of the English language. Almost every Dominican knows some English. Yet this makes sense; to be able to compete in the tourism market, English is a must. From the constant beats of American hip-hop, to American cartoons, to English-labeled merchandise, English colonialism is on an active invasion of the Dominican Republic. Just as Achebe points out, the ‘native language’ of Dominicans (Spanish), seems to be more and more tied with peasantry, savagery, and a lack of involvement with global society. Ironically, their ‘native language’ is not even Spanish—rather one that disappeared with the Arawak people. As a result of the tourism industry, I feel the need to constantly relay my message of the Dominican Republic as one of paradise. I am tempted not to balance my descriptions of the beaches, palm trees, and coral reefs with the equally present images of trash-lined streets, polluted streams, and sickly dogs. You see, the Dominican Republic is much more complex than the tourism industry wants it to seem; it is beautiful and ugly and global and local—it is multifaceted just like every other place in the world.
As several writers, such as Achebe and Adichie, have expressed in their writings, other places in the world should not be confined to stereotypes. They are so much more than the “single story” that people tend to tell about each location. In the Dominican Republic, academics and healthcare development professionals feel the need to expose the medical suffering of those in developing countries. I, too, felt this pressure, and when I felt that the medical situation in Region III was not as poor as expected, I felt shocked. Americans expect their hotel concierge to speak to them in English—and so, through tourism, the English linguistic colonialism of the Dominican Republic has grown quickly. Similarly, vocabulary of paradise has left unexposed the Dominican Republic’s real problems of pollution. By keeping in mind the effect of globalization on the Dominican Republic, one can further sense the responsibility to paint a true picture of the Dominican reality—to do any more or less would be a true injustice.
Questions: Is there something wrong with the English linguistic colonialism of the world? Does this lead to more opportunities for economic growth, or to the depletion of local cultures?
I was in the post-partum room of the public hospital interviewing women about their birth experience. Most women were calm, talking with their mothers, aunts, cousins, or friends who attended to their needs. They responded to my questions, asked me questions, and laughed with one another as their healthy child laid at their side. I was surprised. “Am I supposed to be discovering the atrocities of the over medicalization of birth?” I thought. Nevertheless, there were plenty of women birthing naturally; women’s needs were attended by their friends and family who stayed at their side (until expulsion), and as a result, physicians and nurses were quite hands-off. I was shocked. “What I am supposed to do with this data?” “Nothing seems that bad here”, I thought. Although I would later find several important findings, I felt forced to paint a negative picture of Dominican public health. I felt the need to paint their physicians as racist, classist demons; I felt the need to depict their women as uninformed poor, cesarean-preferring patients. I found neither of these things to be true. In fact, the medical team was quite kind, and most women preferred natural birth. My findings would not be quite the exposé that I expected them to be. I feel that this need for my academic findings to be an exposé is similar to the statements of Achebe; just as western literature has painted Africa as a foil for the western world, the embodiment of anarchy and suffering, so has the developing world (and the Dominican Republic) been the foil for public health initiatives. Although several cases of unnecessary cesareans were observed, to overstate a certain monstrosity in the medical team would be to create an unjust ‘single story’ for the Dominican Republic.
In a similar sense, the Dominican Republic’s role as the embodiment of paradise has created important negative impacts on the people, and has continued an impactful stereotype that I have felt pressured to perpetuate. The Dominican Republic’s number one industry is tourism, and throughout the past decades, tourism has shaped the very fabric of the Dominican identity. The native Arawak people’s native tongue was completely destroyed and converted into Spanish with the arrival of Columbus. However, in the past few decades, the linguistic conquest of the Dominican Republic has been increasingly one of the English language. Almost every Dominican knows some English. Yet this makes sense; to be able to compete in the tourism market, English is a must. From the constant beats of American hip-hop, to American cartoons, to English-labeled merchandise, English colonialism is on an active invasion of the Dominican Republic. Just as Achebe points out, the ‘native language’ of Dominicans (Spanish), seems to be more and more tied with peasantry, savagery, and a lack of involvement with global society. Ironically, their ‘native language’ is not even Spanish—rather one that disappeared with the Arawak people. As a result of the tourism industry, I feel the need to constantly relay my message of the Dominican Republic as one of paradise. I am tempted not to balance my descriptions of the beaches, palm trees, and coral reefs with the equally present images of trash-lined streets, polluted streams, and sickly dogs. You see, the Dominican Republic is much more complex than the tourism industry wants it to seem; it is beautiful and ugly and global and local—it is multifaceted just like every other place in the world.
As several writers, such as Achebe and Adichie, have expressed in their writings, other places in the world should not be confined to stereotypes. They are so much more than the “single story” that people tend to tell about each location. In the Dominican Republic, academics and healthcare development professionals feel the need to expose the medical suffering of those in developing countries. I, too, felt this pressure, and when I felt that the medical situation in Region III was not as poor as expected, I felt shocked. Americans expect their hotel concierge to speak to them in English—and so, through tourism, the English linguistic colonialism of the Dominican Republic has grown quickly. Similarly, vocabulary of paradise has left unexposed the Dominican Republic’s real problems of pollution. By keeping in mind the effect of globalization on the Dominican Republic, one can further sense the responsibility to paint a true picture of the Dominican reality—to do any more or less would be a true injustice.
Questions: Is there something wrong with the English linguistic colonialism of the world? Does this lead to more opportunities for economic growth, or to the depletion of local cultures?