American Politics in Timothy Bascom’s “A Vocabulary for My Senses”

Individualism is a concept that is subconsciously ingrained into the mind of every American. Lockean liberty emphasizes the importance of individual freedoms, and this celebration of the self is evident in all facets of American culture. Timothy Bascom's "A Vocabulary for My Senses" drips with this ideal, contrasting inevitably with the underdeveloped village in which his story takes place. He links individualism with modern society, subtly placing not only western, but specifically American, political ideology on the forefront of all innovations. The Ethiopian natives consistently place more trust in the community as a whole, and are thus stuck in a perpetual cycle in which they cannot escape their backward ways. Yet, Bascom's stark contrasts are not quite so blaringly nationalistic, and he acknowledges what he considers the tradeoff for American democracy. Although he does not explicitly advocate either style of life, he believes that the passion from which nearly every native action stems cannot coexist with the rational.

In spite of benevolent intentions by the Americans, they fail to assimilate into the Ethiopian society and struggle to transplant their own culture in this vastly different world. Bascom only references "foreign" to describe American tasks or American doctors, thereby distinguishing this western world as that of the unnatural (3-5). The mission houses attempt to mimic stereotypical suburbs, and his family even "[has] a yard" (1). He uses such words as "owned" and "tethered" in describing the Americans, again reiterating this privatization of property (1). While the native land is an "open field," the mission classroom "box[es] in" this area (2). Bascom connects these seemingly polar cultures is an almost oxymoronic phrase, essentially epitomizing their entire relationship. The natives become one people as a whole, while the individuality of Americans is preserved.

Bascom himself is absorbed in this individualistic obsession, and he already perceives his own self interests over that of a community. He takes "refuge" in the avocado tree "like [his] chameleon," a simile for his own desire to remove himself from those whom he does not trust (2). This inability to trust others comes innately from ideas of self reason, as Bascom goes to great lengths to reiterate this, constantly saying that he is "hidden" (1), "hide[s]" (2), and "hid" (3) from the Wallaytans. His only friends outside of his family and Marta are "the avocado tree, the chameleon, and the sky," which are in a sense all extensions of him in that they are all symbols for his property, his life, and his liberty (3). Instead of entering into the Ethiopian culture, he "monitors" (1) and "spies" (4) on the people, feeling "cautious" (2) when he walks amongst them. He lumps together the natives into one group, and the Ethiopians are consistently described with this generic they. While the natives pray that "God will take care of [them]" (5), Bascom's own prayer says that "God will take care of [him]" (6). The natives have a stronger sense of communal trust and lack the self interest which governs the majority of his own actions.

Acting without the strong sense of individualism that is so patently evident in every American, the Ethiopians have a stronger communal responsibility. Unlike American democracy, which emphasizes the rights of each person, the natives behave in a more socialist manner. As Bascom observes them from his refuge, he witnesses a continual pattern of altruism, with each member struggling to help another for the general well being of the society. He uses gruesome images to conjure a tone of surreal pain, with a pregnant woman "weary to death" and an old man whose legs are "swollen up thick as elephant legs and thick with bloody bandages" (4). The natives "carry secret wells of inside of themselves that bubbl[e] over in the very throes of pain," (5) and yet he describes their "strange sweet trust" (6). They are happy in spite of their pain, and they trust wholly in this invisible community of both people and spirits.

Bascom contrasts between passion and reason, and he connects each idea to the culture with which it is associated. The natives possess what he considers a more innate sense of spirituality, and he acknowledges that "despite their spiritual yearning," his mom and dad lacked "this 'something' " (5). He links this inability to their own logic, as when his dad flippantly remarks that a native patient jumped because "he thought [Bascom's father] was going to steal his soul" (4). Bascom gives voice to the rational as he claims that this idea is "crazy," escaping the confines of political correctness through the voice of a child, and thereby acknowledging the general American perception of Ethiopian traditional beliefs (4). The American people are calm and rational, as opposed to the native people, who act out of a more inherent and natural sense of being.

He surrounds the Ethiopian people with a sense of mysticism, and emphasizes this essentially medieval ways of thought. Using such diction to invoke an almost eerie tone, he describes the natives as "weird and frightening" with "veined woodsmoke eyes" (3). Bascom writes of them in a continual lyrical style, structuring his sentences to mimic their "strange antiphonal tunes" (5). Even in their acceptance of western Christianity, they maintain this almost magical sense of the spiritual as "Marta "hum[s] hypnotic tunes" as she murmurs ceaselessly the name of "Yesus" (2). It is almost comical, the way in which their leader would sometimes "ma[ke] up new verses" in order to better fit the text into their lives (5). Bascom has a difficult time in accepting this odd relationship and balance, claiming that their trust is "strange and sweet," an oxymoronic phrase that also suddenly shifts the tone from that of a frightened child to that of an almost patronizing American (6). Their song may be "deeply holy" but it sound lacks the "sturd[iness]," "patien[ce]," and "consisten[cy]" of the electric generator, the symbol for modernity (6). The Wallaytan hymn "quaver[s] in minor keys" (5), but Bascom contrasts this to the strangely comfortable sound of the "pucka, pucka, pucka, pucka" (6) of the generator. Using onomatopoeia to invoke this generic noise, he clearly distinguishes between the magical spell of their song and the almost annoying clatter created by this innovation. Yet, he "thrill[s] at the sound" as it is "time itself moving predictably," reiterating the overwhelming evolutionary gap between the cultures (6). The generator brings "with it… light itself," as opposed to the "dimming rooms," "dusky yard," and "shadowed avocado tree" through which the native song drifts (6). Bascom makes clear the link between this leap into modernity and an acceptance of American culture. Although the natives create a beautiful spell, he implies that it is not possible to possess both the communal passion and the cold reason with which innovations are inevitably connected.

American individualism does not merely emphasize the importance of an individual, but rather the importance of self discovery through reason. Bascom appreciates the Ethiopian natives in many senses, and it is clear in his writing that he sought to beautify this mystical spirituality with which they live their lives. Yet, he sees their political downfall in their socialist structure, in which each person disappears into this lump communal well being. He describes the native people as placing blind trust into the society as a whole, relying upon their inherent beliefs. Bascom cannot escape the American idea that links modernity with democracy, and vice versa, mysticism with undeveloped political communities. As long as the natives hold fast to these spiritual ideas, they cannot begin to grasp logic and reason. As long as the natives continue to operate in a simplistic communal manner, they cannot discover themselves as individual beings. Hence, there is a tradeoff for a door into the first world, and that includes shedding the passion that allows for the innate spirituality with which the Wallayta people are blessed.