POVERTY: The cynic's view (noy necessarily bad!)

“It is now widely acknowledged that Africa, as an idea, a concept, has historically served, and continues to serve, as a polemical argument for the West’s desperate desire to assert its difference from the rest of the world,” Cameroonian academic Achille Mbembe wrote in 2001.[1]
Nowhere is this more evident than in representations of the Democratic Republic of Congo. A country the size of Western Europe with less paved roads than Ireland, the DRC has been immortalized as the “dark heart” of the “dark continent” since Joseph Conrad’s timeless 1899 novella. Yet contrary to mainstream perceptions, the countless descriptions of Congo emphasizing its obscurity and poverty against the whiteness and wealth of the West drive home a narrative that is more reflective of its proponents than its sub-Saharan subjects.
Under this monochromatic lens, Congo is seen as a microcosm for Africa in general: it is the “reservoir of atrocities,”[2] and “rapacious, profit-oriented bloodshed,”[3] emblematic of “what many conflicts in Africa have become — circles of violence in the bush, with no end in sight.”[4] This terrible place, the narrative goes, where a young girl can be “regularly tied spread-eagle and gang-raped…sometimes with sticks that [tear] apart her insides and [leave] her dribbling wastes constantly,”[5] persists despite our best efforts to put an end to it. It’s not our fault that “progress-resistant” cultures,[6] poor leaders and patrimonial networks stand in the way of development, says the narrative.
As New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof describes, our nominally altruistic roles in these cycles of bloodshed 12,000 miles away have the power to transform us Westerners’ perceptions of ourselves: “Technically, I had a good life before, but I wasn’t very happy,” muses American NGO worker in Congo Lisa Shannon. “Now I feel I have much more of a sense of meaning.”[7] Helping Congolese is, from the Western liberal perspective, a transformative, quasi-religious experience, one that appeases a conscience troubled by a decadent, mindless culture that rewards politicians campaigning on ignorance and hatred of gays and Arabs. It is much easier to help someone you think you have no connection with than people living in dire conditions just next door—rarely do Bono or Bob Geldof talk about ending poverty in Ireland (especially among the growing African population there). Although Nick Kristof does talk about America’s myriad problems, rarely does he wax poetic about the endemic racism in upper-class America or how reporting on some of the poorest people in the world has propelled him to a position of wealth and fame. Asserting the other’s desperation is therapeutic. It validates our own position of wealth, and makes us feel better about ourselves within the systems of inequality that we continue to perpetuate. ‘Yeah,’ we can say, ‘I’ve got problems, but theirs are so much worse.’
To that effect, Congo and its neighbors are, and have long been, living laboratories for Western development, from medical technology to resource extraction to security systems and foreign policies—all of which operate without any third party accountability mechanisms. This is why it comes as no surprise to read contemporary articles praising economist and development guru Jeffrey Sachs’ “control villages” in Kenya, which benefit from intensely monitored financial, medical and educational support for a few months before funding for unsustainable, patronizing projects like these dries up.[8]
It is easy to speak of Congo and its people as a backdrop of darkness for which only the West’s white paint can illuminate. But to speak of Congo (and of Africa in general) in more truthfully would require acknowledging our collective stake in the ‘others’’ lives and, more specifically, in their suffering. To properly analyze the current situations in Bukavu and Goma, we would be forced to reflect on Patrice Lumumba’s contention that “friendship is impossible in a relationship of subjection and subordination.”[9] His words can easily describe the basis for interaction between Westerners and Congolese. For the past 500 years and well into the foreseeable future, power relations in the Congo have heavily favored those with lighter skin, and terribly few acknowledge that they are acting in this imperialist, patriarchal power structure.
To comprehensively report on eastern Congo, we would have to acknowledge that the cell phone, video game consoles, DVD players, cameras and printers we use contain coltan, one of the highly profitable minerals responsible in part for the country’s ongoing violence. In effect, in order to cover the conflict in Congo, one is likely to use coltan, cobalt or tin mined in Congo: the plane engine used to travel to Congo is made with coltan and cobalt, the cell phones used to make logistics calls and interviews, cameras used to photograph the conflict and the laptop computers used to type up the reports and send them out all contain coltan, while the batteries used to power the electronics use cobalt, another ‘conflict mineral’. Tin is found in cans to preserve the food journalists and NGO workers and Congolese eat, and used in the manufacturing of glass windows. By reporting on the conflict, one is indirectly contributing to it.
Moreover, almost all journalists in Congo travel with aid groups unaccountable to anyone but themselves, who then give information about the conflict that suits their business strategies. Therefore, producing reports that stray from generic humanitarian analysis is far from easy. It would involve a constant awareness of how our decisions and actions affect those around us and a willingness to oppose the dominant institutionalized practices of Western societies. It would also require journalists traveling in Congo to treat sources like Médecins Sans Frontières as they would any other—investigating their biases and thinking critically about all the direct and indirect effects of NGO operations.
http://africasacountry.com/2010/07/16/poverty-for-sale/