I was 12 years old the first time I ran away from home and I made it all the way to Quebec, Canada. My escape from the dull suburbs of Connecticut did not take the typical form of childhood runaway: I did not leave the house on foot, nor did I hitchhike. In fact, my mother bought my ticket, and I was accompanied by most of my French class. I am not adventurous enough to strike out unplanned and penniless, but I have always been willing to study abroad. It is only now, three continents and seven countries later, that I am finally asking the question, “Why leave home?” Now that I am at the University of Cape Town (UCT) in South Africa, I fear that I have been lulled into the convincing, if illusive, narrative of study abroad as a transformative experience.
During my adjustment to the slower pace of life at UCT, I have had a lot of time to reflect and question aspects of my life at Princeton. For example, why is it that my dorm at Princeton can’t be a two-story, three-bedroom apartment with 1.5 baths, a full kitchen and a stunning view of the majestic Table Mountains? And why can’t 18-year-olds go to bars? My greatest and most troubling questions regard the nature, purpose and intent of studying abroad. Why is it that 150 Princeton students feel the need to leave their comfortable homes and crisscross the world this semester? What do we find in distant lands? Do our discoveries change us? These are not easy questions to answer, and I do not mean to offhandedly dismiss the importance of cross-cultural interaction. Rather, my goal is to critically reassess what study abroad is and is not capable of.
Princeton has an explicit goal in supporting study abroad. The Office of International Programs (OIP) website describes study abroad as an opportunity for students “to enrich and expand their education through firsthand encounters with the peoples, cultures and contemporary concerns of other regions of the world.” These goals are certainly laudable, and the student testimonials on the website reify study abroad as a transformative experience. One student described studying abroad as “the most important part” of their Princeton experience while another suggested that studying abroad will “give you some perspective on life.” I have said similar things about my study abroad experiences in Tanzania and Ghana, but the idea that one can best understand life only through travel is problematic.
OIP’s mission statement asserts an idealized narrative of study abroad that says a lot about the constraints on thought, expression and independence at Princeton. There is a narrative to studying abroad: One must travel far from home and be introduced to a world of radical new experience in order to truly appreciate — or at least reflect on — what makes home unique. And surely my own experiences in distant places with difficult-to-pronounce names have been fueled by a hope that travel will trigger transformative growth. But what of those who are not fortunate enough to travel? How do they experience growth? The study abroad model suggests that critical reflection is difficult, if not impossible, from within the confines of a given locality or institution. I reject such an assertion. Those who cannot afford — whether by dint of finances, family or medical need — to travel abroad are not incomplete people, robbed of a transformative, life-changing, perspective-granting experience. It is entirely possible, and I suspect quite common, for students to travel abroad without ever having to reflect or reassess any part of their lives.
The narrative that travel and experience create the possibility for disrupting norms and privileges is equal parts reality and myth. I am reminded of conversations I have had with white Americans while in predominantly black countries. I asked one of my peers if they felt out of place, white in a sea of black bodies, while riding on a bus. He responded, “I never thought about it. I’ve always just assumed that I’m in the majority wherever I go.” It is hard for me to imagine a sense of privilege so pervasive that, even when people are a minority, they are blinded to reality. A keener student noted that, for the first time, he noticed the significance of race while in Africa. It was almost as if he had never noticed power, class or privilege while living in America. Yet nearly every American city suffers from segregation and wealth inequality. These two anecdotes, while certainly not representative of all experiences abroad, hint that travel in and of itself does not dislodge privilege or make experiences at home more intelligible.
Study abroad is sold as a travel experience that can affect meaningful personal transformation. But one doesn’t have to travel far — or at all — to experience radically different ways of living. If Princeton students want to be aware of race or privilege, they need not travel to some far-off and distant land, but just have to talk to our peers, uninhibited by the pervasive norms which make discussions about religion, sex, race and class taboo. The project to send Princeton students abroad is laudable. It attempts to stretch us beyond our limits and force us into challenging situations that can lead to productive dialogue. But what studying abroad does not teach us is empathy: the ability to meaningfully engage and understand the lived experience of others. We should seek to understand not just distant and alien cultures, but our friends, neighbors, co-workers and subordinates. If Princeton students can walk through the suburbs of Princeton without recognizing that it’s a ghetto of mostly white, mostly upper-class U.S. citizens, then it’s entirely possible to imagine them walking through Cape Town without noticing poverty or violence. Study abroad is little more than a long vacation if students have failed to learn the power of empathy.
Michael Collins is an anthropology major from Glastonbury, Conn. He can be reached at mjcollin@princeton.edu.
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