The Educated Imperialist

In recent years the popularity of international experience has gone up—way up. No doubt, being cosmopolitan has always been fashionable. It seems, however, that an increasingly globalized era is putting even more value on worldly wisdom.

Few areas better reflect this trend than our nation’s bastions of higher education. In the past 10 years, the number of U.S. students studying abroad has more than doubled. Under the administration of former University President Larry H. Summers, Harvard’s own undergraduate pedagogy has placed increasing emphasis on international experience—participation in the University’s study abroad programs has increased over 300 percent, escalating from 160 students in academic year 2001-2002 to 659 in 2006-2007. Study abroad programs reflect a growing interest in developing nations, which have welcomed the biggest influx of American students—the number of students in China, for instance, increased 35 percent in 2004-2005, and India and Argentina witnessed a 53 percent growth. Compare such statistics to more developed nations like Spain or the United Kingdom, which saw flat or negative growth.

I need not expound upon the wonders of international experience for a student’s personal development. It widens perspective, displaces bigotry, and uproots hypocrisy. It is a noble endeavor in the ongoing quest for human understanding and we, the educated, pride ourselves upon it. However, for all the gallantry of our aspirations, it is important to consider not just the benefits, but also the conflicts that such efforts may bring. Beneath the cloak of academic humility lies a specter of cultural imperialism—one that is often difficult to reconcile with the goal of cultural exchange.

What exactly cultural imperialism entails or implies is a lengthy debate to enter. Traditional scholarship on imperialism focused on the three Cs of commerce, conquest and conversion, signifying economic commerce, conquest of new territories and religious conversion. We have long moved past this historical stage. Updated theories of cultural imperialism focus on what Balachandra Rajan calls a new tripod of commerce, culture and consent—reflecting the progression from territorial conquest to the conquest of minds—a side-effect of globalization.

Regardless of whether one is an optimist or pessimist concerning the effects of globalization, the salient point to take away from the imperialism debate is the existence of an exchange imbalance between developed and developing nations. And many undergraduate programs contribute to this imbalance.

For instance, consider the financial logistics of study-abroad programs. While in a developed nation like the United States most middle class students have the opportunity to travel overseas, such costs are often much less trivial for students in developing nations. Most universities offer limited, if any, financial aid for international students. Harvard, which offers identical financial aid to all admits, is a notable exception rather than the rule. Thus it is no surprise that international education is often limited to the highest socioeconomic strata of developing nations, which skews educational exchange.

Outside of academics, another popular method of international experience among undergraduates is participation in programs that teach English as a second or other language (TESOL). WorldTeach, for instance, is a Harvard-based NGO of high repute that sends student teachers to developing nations. Many other similar programs have arisen, especially in Asia where the demand for English is particularly high. Such international opportunities, however, fail to consider the broader implications of global language politics. Selma Sonntag articulates the complexities of language policy, describing the global hegemony and “stampede towards English” around the world—to which TESOL programs contribute—which to some degree undermines the agency of cultural and linguistic minorities. If the goal of our academic institutions is exchange, then perhaps exchange would be better balanced by limiting the number of English student teachers, or by bringing student foreign language teachers over to America.

Even undergraduate travel fellowships come with their set of dangers. While some fellowships require a specific travel project, others explicitly allocate money for personal travel and exploration, which risks devolving into a blind whirlwind of American tourism. Such a devolution is risky, because tourism is an industry that caters to its customers; thus it often has a large impact on local cultural practices. Scholars have raised many concerns about this commodification of culture; as Robert Shepard writes, the tourist gaze has the power to turn culture into a spectacle and local peoples into facades of themselves —one thinks of Dave Eggers’ mountain porters on Kilimanjaro. It is sad irony that international travel can lead to the very destruction of the cultures it intends to appreciate.

These warnings about the growth of international experience do not equate with cutting back on global education. Ultimately, such efforts hold value for a better understanding between nations. However, our actions towards the international community must be guided by our attitudes. The goal, then, is to consider our place in the world with modesty—to balance what we can individually gain with what we project forth unto others. At the gateway to the global generation, our education must be sensitive to the changing realities of the international situation.



N. Kathy Lin ’08 is a social studies concentrator in Winthrop House. Her column appears on alternate Wednesdays.