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Collect Examples of Cultural Change
People often tilt their heads and say “it’s our culture” or “it’s their culture,”
which gives the impression that it has always been that way and always will
be. Then turn your head around and look for some counterexamples. We
already discovered that Swedes didn’t always talk about sex. Here are a
couple of others.
Many Swedes think of the United States as having very conservative
values. But look at how quickly attitudes to homosexuality have changed. In
1996, a minority of 27 percent supported same-sex marriage. Today that
number is 72 percent and rising.
Some Americans think of Sweden as a socialist country, but values can
change. A few decades ago Sweden carried out what might be the most
drastic deregulation ever of a public school system and now allows fully
commercial schools to compete and make profits (a brave capitalist
experiment).
I Don’t Have Any Vision
I started this chapter with a story about a well-dressed ignorant man who
didn’t have sufficient vision to see what was possible in Africa. I want to end
with something similar. (Spoiler alert: the ignorant man
this
time is me.)
On May 12, 2013, I had the great privilege of addressing 500 women
leaders from across the continent at an African Union conference called “The
African Renaissance and Agenda for 2063.” What an enormous honor, what a
thrill. It was the lecture of my life. In my 30-minute slot in the Plenary Hall of
the African Union’s beautiful headquarters in Addis Ababa, I summarized
decades of research on female small-scale farmers and explained to these
powerful decision makers how extreme poverty could be ended in Africa
within 20 years.
Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma, the chairwoman of the African Union, sat right
in front of me and seemed to be listening attentively. Afterward, she came up
and thanked me and I asked her what she thought of my performance. Her
answer was a shock.
“Well,” she said, “the graphics were nice, and you are good at talking, but
you don’t have any vision.” Her tone was kind, which made what she was
saying even more shocking to me.
“What?! You think I lack vision?” I asked in offended disbelief. “But I said
that extreme poverty in Africa could be history within 20 years.”
Nkosazana’s response came in a low voice and she spoke without emotions
or gestures. “Oh, yes, you talked about eradicating extreme poverty, which is
a beginning, but you stopped there. Do you think Africans will settle with
getting rid of extreme poverty and be happy living in only ordinary poverty?”
She put a firm hand on my arm and looked at me without anger but also
without a smile. I saw a strong will to make me understand my shortcomings.
“As a finishing remark you said that you hoped your grandchildren would
come as tourists to Africa and travel on the new high-speed trains we plan to
build. What kind of a vision is that? It is the same old European vision.”
Nkosazana looked me straight in my eyes. “It is
my
grandchildren who are
going to visit
your
continent and travel on
your
high-speed trains and visit
that exotic ice hotel I’ve heard you have up in northern Sweden. It is going to
take a long time, we know that. It is going to take lots of wise decisions and
large investments. But my 50-year vision is that Africans will be welcome
tourists in Europe and not unwanted refugees.” Then she broke into a broad,
warm smile. “But the graphics were really nice. Now let’s go and have some
coffee.”
Over coffee I reflected on my mistake. I remembered a conversation from
33 years earlier with my first African friend, the Mozambican mining
engineer Niherewa Maselina. He had looked at me with that same face. I was
working as a doctor in Nacala in Mozambique, and Niherewa had come with
us on a family outing to the beach. The coast in Mozambique is unbelievably
beautiful and was still hardly exploited and we used to be almost alone there
at the weekends. When I saw that there were 15 or 20 families on the mile-
long stretch of sand I said, “Oh, what a shame there are so many families on
the beach today.” Niherewa grabbed my arm, just as Nkosazana was to do
years later, and said, “Hans. My reaction is the opposite. I feel great pain and
sadness seeing this beach. Look at the city there in the distance. Eighty
thousand people live there, which means 40,000 children. It’s the weekend.
And only 40 of them made it to the beach. One in one thousand. When I got
my mining education in East Germany, I went to the beaches of Rostock at
the weekend, and they were full. Thousands of children having a wonderful
time. I want Nacala to be like Rostock. I want all children to go to the beach
on a Sunday instead of working in their parents’ fields or sitting in the slums.
It will take a long time, but that is what I want.” Then he let go of my arm and
helped my children to get their swimming gear out of the car.
Thirty-three years later, addressing the African Union after a professional
lifetime of collaboration with African scholars and institutions, I was
absolutely convinced that I shared their great vision. I thought I was one of
the few Europeans who could see what change was possible. But after
delivering the most cherished lecture of my life, I realized that I was still
stuck in an old, static, colonial mind-set. In spite of all that my African friends
and colleagues had taught me over the years, I was still not really imagining
“they” could ever catch up with “us.” I was still failing to see that all people,
families, children will struggle hard to achieve just that, so they can also go to
the beach.
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