I read this for book club. I don’t know that I would have picked this up otherwise, and I’m glad for reasons to read outside of my normal lane. This was an interesting read in some ways, but so depressingly predictable that I got to the end just though “yep – that was pretty much what I thought it was going to be.” Unsurprisingly, a major theme is that colonialism is not great. Observing and learning about the Waorani culture through the eyes of the author was fascinating. She definitely presented the indigenous way of life in the rainforest in ways I had not encountered before. I’m glad they won their legal battle against the oil companies who were ripping up their land and polluting their water. I’m happy for the author that she seems to have found her way to a good life after a traumatic young adulthood. The author has had a remarkable life, and she is undoubtedly a tenacious and resilient person.
However, I think this memoir had some balance problems. Memoirs are maybe necessarily narrow in their focus, since they tell a story from the sole perspective of one person. But this story is told in such a black-hatted villain vs. white-hatted heroes way, that it comes across as a bit simplistic. Perhaps intentionally and overly simplistic. The missionaries are duplicitous, hypocritical stooges for the oil company. The oil companies themselves are evil and wander around seeking whom they may devour. The government is a faceless, malign monolith of corruption. The indigenous people are magical and have secret knowledge the rest of us have lost through our greed and consumerism. Young people who want to move from indigenous villages to the cities and live in the outside world don’t posses any individual agency, but rather have been tricked and hypnotized by white materialism. The only true voice of indigenous people is the voice that agrees with the author. By focusing on traditional values of community the indigenous people win a victory over the forces of western corporate incursion. Good vs. evil, David vs. Goliath, world without end, amen.
I realize the author and I are coming at life from radically different cultural lenses, but I can’t empathize with the idea that superstitions and objective truths are the same thing. I don’t think that calling something a “way of knowing” makes is automatically above verification. There was a scene where the author yelled at her (white) husband for touching a snake after their baby was born because it would make the baby squirmy. She then lists a half dozen more baby-related taboos that were presented as wise traditions of which any questioning of legitimacy would be insensitive. That’s about as valid as me feeling morally aggrieved and scolding a foreigner for not crossing their fingers before the Lions kick a field goal, or for not knocking on wood when they say something overconfident, or not knowing that someone walked over their grave when they shiver. You should absolutely question the validity of those things. Because they are just superstitious quirks that I picked up through cultural habit. Just like how I know in my soul we will get in a car crash if the dome light is on, and I would never willingly break a mirror because the risk isn’t worth it. I think it’s probably a good idea to politely humor your spouse’s cultural habits for the sake of a happy marriage, but let’s maybe not get carried away and understand what is happening.
Similarly, the idea of prophetic dreaming might be culturally relevant, but that isn’t the same thing as it being actually real. I dream all the time; I could also assign my dreams meaning based on what is happening in my life and society and then use subconscious confirmation bias to feel like I have supernatural powers when I guess right, and that the meaning was murky when I guess wrong. Same with guessing the sex of a unborn baby; there are dozens of old wives tales from white cultures about this as well – are you carrying high or low, is your skin good or bad, and so on. I absolutely felt like I “knew” that my second was a boy; but in real life I didn’t know anything. It’s a 50/50 guess, so people are right enough of the time that they feel like they know something. She seems to really believe that her people are more mystically in tune with the universe than other people, but I think that people are just people. Her people were/are just very educated on the nuances of their own environment. There is just too much mythologizing here.
That leads me to the whole “you need to learn from my culture” thing. It’s a little much sometimes. She criticizes people for not finding the value in things she finds important, and for fearing things from her culture they don’t understand. Fair. But then she herself tells us how much she hates things like math and budgets and Excel spreadsheets because they are culturally foreign to her and she doesn’t understand them. And how unconvincing she finds Christianity. And how aggravating she finds Mitch’s propensity to try to understand things with questions and logical explanations. And how much she dislikes cowori because they are fat, lazy, greedy liars; but don’t get the wrong idea - some of her best friends are cowori, she just prefers when they are seen and not heard because their opinions can be obnoxious. It’s like – yes, I get you. Confusing stuff you can’t connect with on a personal level can be intensely frustrating. I feel the same way sometimes. (And also, full disclosure: budgets and spreadsheets are my culture. The more I think about it, this whole review might be an emotional reaction predicated on her insulting spreadsheets.) So I absolutely don’t begrudge her feelings and frustrations. I just think they are maybe more universal than she seems to allow.
I also found it interesting what the author chose not to talk about. Namely that her people are widely considered to have been the most homicidal culture ever documented…like on the entire planet. After reading this book, I read the Amazon Frontlines website, articles on the missionaries that were killed and the later ones who weren’t, and a bunch of things I could find about the Waorani people. Apparently, pre-contact, over half of all Waorani deaths were homicides. There is a Los Angeles Times article that compares them to violent street gangs. She does mention a contemporary massacre happening (the incident that led to the little Taromenae girls being held captive in the shed), but it is presented as provoked by the oil companies and outside cultural norms. What’s even more interesting is that after the missionaries came, the homicide rate plummeted (which is maybe why the author, who is a product of that era, views the massacre as regrettable?) I guess it’s no wonder that she’s not fond of anthropologists if this is the data their studies produce.
I feel like ultimately this memoir is an interesting piece of a larger puzzle.