la navidad

I have to admit that the past two weeks haven’t been quite as productive (at least, research-wise) as I’d hoped upon my enthusiastic return to the DR. Firstly, I arrived back in the country sick, although the generous efforts of a close friend helped me to feel much better in a hurry – including breakfasts in bed and mandatory naptimes. Once I kicked most of my illness, the oppressive (capitalist) spirit of Navidad, or Christmas, had taken over. With people clamoring to return to the countryside for holiday family gatherings I deemed it futile to attempt to plan any meetings until after the New Year.

Christmas was a bit anticlimactic – or perhaps I had unrealistically high expectations for the DR, since it is an historically Catholic country. Last night I headed out to the community where I’ve worked for the past three years with SOMOS. In the Dominican Republic, la Noche Buena (Christmas Eve) is the most important part of the festivities, which are marked by alcohol, alcohol, and more alcohol. I spent the night with the family of a good friend in Paraíso, where I happily tucked into a huge array of food: spaghetti, various pastelones (basically lasagna-like layered concoctions of eggplant, meat, and veggies), bread, and about three different types of meat.

Dinner was very laid back; everyone simply got a plate at some point and ate either inside the house or, more likely, outside on plastic chairs positioned in front of two different sources of deafening music. For hours bachata and Dominican hip-hop competed while I screamed into the ears of assembled friends and family to explain what a gringa in hiking shoes was doing at a Christmas gathering in the low-income outskirts of Santo Domingo.

Across the street at the colmado (small general store) on the corner teenage boys gulped cups of rum and beer, eventually joined by their female counterparts, at which point a very graphic form of dancing began (think high school Homecoming). Besides the ubiquitous presence of alcohol (even a very small twelve-year-old girl at the house where I was kept grabbing unfinished cups of wine and liquor, which didn’t seem to bother anyone), I noticed an unusual number of motoconchistas (motorcycle drivers) revving their engines up and down the dirt roads, and more than one fight broke out. Every woman I saw was wearing skin-tight, low-cut, very short dresses, and all the adolescent females insisted on picture after picture, posing scandalously in front of the Christmas tree.

The night ended with a car ride to drop off one of the girls who had come over for dinner (this was around 1am), at which point the drivers (the oldest daughter in the family with whom I stayed and her husband) allowed the squealing, scantily-clad teenage girls in the back (and me, in my jeans and hiking shoes) to spend fifteen minutes parading through the crowd of people spilling out a local nightclub. Interspersed were an astonishing number of motorcycles and more liberally-flowing alcohol. The girls giggled with excitement, while I was half-afraid that someone might try to snatch one of them away. They seemed oblivious to my concern and kept talking to very sketchy-looking strangers, which also freaked me out.

No matter the cultural context, I think that holidays are a time when you see the best and worst of a society. There are the beautiful cultural traditions that are finally given time to flourish and be appreciated. There is a sense of generosity, of high spirits, of love. Then there is the alcoholism and the resulting (intentional and unintentional) violence that often follows. There are the interactions of family members long separated. And there is a sort of magnification of tensions between and among people. The expression of disgust at some of the obviously (to me, at least) problematic issues in Dominican society/culture (or at least a particular subset of it) is a sentiment that I often criticize in others, but, infrequently, I feel it as well. This is not to say that many of these things aren’t present in North American society – but perhaps I am more comfortable criticizing my own culture than others.

I’m talking about things like the abundance of alcohol, the risk-taking behaviors of youth – particularly male youth – and the way women participate in their own objectification. Sometimes I have had to physically stop myself from laughing at the way I have seen women – of all ages, which can be disturbing on a variety of levels – dress, because in more than a few instances I have mistaken what someone intended to be a sexy outfit for some sort of ill-timed Halloween costume. At the same time, it saddens me, though I know that my conceptions of what is and is not appropriate are hardly applicable to people in a very different context.

Here again is the old battle I’ve had with many a friend over the past few years: where does one draw the line between cultural relativism and universal standards? Are there universal standards? How can we really understand others’ choices without knowing everything about their personal strengths and constraints? That is, how do we know when people have true agency? Choices are only free insofar as they are accompanied by a number of reasonable alternatives.

Upon returning to the Zona Colonial today, I noticed something else about Dominican holidays: the silence. I looked up several times in complete shock, and it took a few seconds to register that it was the lack of noise that was so mind-blowing. I cherished the planes of sunlight that dart on and off of old, colonial façades that rise up from the stone streets, broken only by barred windows with their bright flowerboxes. For once, the light was not filtered by clouds of exhaust and fewer frantic shouts interrupted my admiration of the scenery.

Now I eagerly await the arrival of many of my close friends – members of SOMOS who will be arriving in a few days and with whom I hope to celebrate the New Year here in the capital. After that I promise I’ll get back to my research!