The Guilt of Fortune

Eight months now and I’m taking a look back. I feel very fortunate to be where I am, despite the 120 degree temperature outside and the geographical rift between myself and my favorite two people. The economic climate in the U.S. looks pretty grim especially in the airlines. Many airlines have announced upcoming furloughs. Others are doing the same, or going under. My employer has recently hired at least three ex-Aloha pilots after they closed for business. I suspect the rate of pilots knocking on their door will only increase in the next coming months.

Another fortunate thing for me is the hierarchy here. As with the U.S. it all comes down to seats – what seat you drive the airplane from (left or right) and how many seats are behind you when you do. The natural order of things in the U.S. is that one starts off as a first officer for a regional airline, then “upgrades” to a captain position in that same regional airline (the position I was in when I left). In a few years that captain might find himself with enough experience to interview for a major airline where he starts over as a first officer in a bigger airplane. Finally, after 10 years or so he might find himself eligible for a captain position that same airline where he ends his career slowly improving his pay and lifestyle by means of his longevity with the company and/or advancement to ever larger airplanes. Let’s call these levels 1, 2, 3, and 4 respectively. Here things operate a bit differently. A first officer in the small airplane finds that his next opportunity for advancement is as a first officer in a big airplane (the Boeing 737 – which is the same airplane many major airlines use) instead of as captain of the small plane. After he has proved himself there, he can finally advance to being a captain of the small airplane he started in. As with the U.S. his final step will more than likely be the captain position of the big airplane. So in effect the order, as compared with the U.S., is 1,3,2,4. What that means for me is that since I am in level 2, I have unwittingly skipped a step, and find myself ahead of the guys that came over from the American system as level 3 pilots. Unfortunately for them, they have to retrace some of their steps. A few guys I know, were actually captains in the big airplane back home, and came here as first officers in that plane, which in effect bumped them down two “levels”.

Despite this reshuffling of our career advancement plans all the ex-pats here are pretty mature, and we all treat each other as equals. What continues to be harder for me to rectify, however, is the disparity of the South Asian workers here. I can see it in their eyes as they watch me and notice how easy my life is. I wonder what goes on in their minds. They are all really polite and friendly to me and many of them I know by name and interact with on a daily basis, but, I can’t help but think about the tinge of jealousy they must feel. For whatever reason God wrapped me in white skin, gave me a pointy nose and large ears. He also chose to give me access to American citizenship and English as a first language. Coincidentally this little “starter package” put me well ahead of most of the rest of the world in terms of opportunity. None of this would be anything I could logically boast about, as I really had nothing to do with it, yet here I am in Saudi Arabia with slightly darker fellow humans begging to serve my every need for pennies.

It’s hard for me to enjoy my affluence. Part of me would rather not have it, as it comes with a good share of what Khaled Hosseini calls the “guilt of fortune.” Hosseini is an Afghan doctor - turned author in San Francisco, who wrote two of my favorite books: “Kite Runner” and “A Thousand Splendid Suns”. I heard him once on an interview where he talked about a feeling he shared with the main character of his first book. The character was a Sunni boy in Afghanistan who was part of a wealthy and prestigious family and was served by a lower class Shi’a boy who became his best friend. The class difference was always unsettling for this Sunni boy and became all the more unsettling the more eager his friend was to serve him. Without ruining the story, I’ll just say that the Sunni boy turns out to have the lower character of the two, and lives the rest of his life bearing the guilt of the realization that the consequences of his moral ineptitude were suffered more by his much more “righteous” childhood friend. The very lack of external consequence he himself experiences does more to aggravate his inner turmoil leading to drastic efforts made in his adult life to appease his guilt. It’s a powerful book, and if you haven’t read it, I would strongly recommend it. Don’t watch the movie though. The acting wasn’t that great.

I wonder how life would be if social hierarchy were actually determined by personal character. In some ways it seems like it actually is. Everyone seems to be constantly evaluating each other on moral grounds, and despite their economic and political disadvantages, they appease themselves with the idea that they have a higher standing on this invisible moral scale. The more unsure a person is about this, however, the more effort they seems to make to point out the moral flaws of the more “well heeled” among them. Out here, the name “Ali Baba” is synonymous with “corruption”, and is frequently credited as the ultimate reason for all discomfort. (My bus driver friend, Anur, emphasizes his disgust with an over-dramatic mime of a person putting money in his front pocket whenever he speaks of the “Ali Baba” of his superiors. Somehow, highlighting the moral failure of others makes one’s discomfort (long hours, low pay, lack of appreciation etc.) seem more tolerable. Because of this, those of us that are more comfortable are watched like a hawk. Every reluctance we might display to share our “wealth,” is a moral point against us, and the more sensitive we are to this sense of guilt, the more chance we have of getting fleeced.

I wonder how much of my behavior is motivated by this guilt. I find myself smiling at and giving eye contact to as many of these disenfranchised workers as I can. Usually they smile back, and are eager to shake my hand when I offer it. If I get to know their name or a bit of their language they seem overly grateful … and it makes me feel good. The fact that it makes me feel good … and less guilty makes me question my altruism. Do I do all this for myself or for them? Oh, to not be plagued by this constant over-analysis. I long to not even think about myself; to operate out of a pure desire to help others, oblivious to any emotional benefit I might receive in the process. This will never be true in any pure sense, this side of heaven, but I can at least hope for true love to slowly replace my guilt as a means of motivation … love that I am only at the mercy of receiving from God, and am completely incapable of conjuring up on my own.