"Let's Listen and Learn," from the Baltimore Sun, June 9, 2004

Palmwag, Namibia – "Is your country very big?" asked Jonas, a young man my wife and I encountered in this remote outpost in the northern wilderness of one of Africa’s most underpopulated countries. "Who is your president? And what is this war I heard he is fighting?"

We were astonished. At a time when many of our fellow citizens have taken to traveling overseas with Canadian flags on their luggage so as not to risk any unpleasantness or even danger that might arise from being identified as Americans, we had stumbled across someone who barely knew about the United States. He did not “hate” us, as Americans these days too often assume other people do. He was, rather, genuinely curious.

Jonas, it turned out, had almost no schooling. But, as a member of the minority Himba people, he had taught himself several languages, including English. And, like so many others around the world, he was determined that his two children would have a better life than he—that they would know more and have greater opportunities.

So we had a chance that few Americans ever have: to talk about our country with someone whose opinions of it remain largely unformed. And with that came a poignant choice that every American faces in one way or another. Should we take the approach favored by President Bush, the object of Jonas’s curiosity, and simply proclaim that America is “still the greatest country in the world”? Or should we opt for a softer sell, a more candid and nuanced view of our superpower home? Should we, say, talk about the vast and varied territory of the United States, and the fact that while many different kinds of people manage to live together there relatively peacefully, we still have quite a few problems of our own to work out?

It's not always easy, of course, to think on your feet under such circumstances. But it was clear that Jonas was not really interested in hearing about what a perfect democracy Americans have built and how much Namibians could learn from it. What he had in mind, like ordinary people everywhere, was more of an exchange, a dialogue. So as we talked together for an hour or so over lunch, sitting in a dry riverbed surrounded by beautiful, desolate land, we learned about each other’s countries and, more importantly, each other’s lives and families and ordinary day-to-day concerns.

Though it may seem an affront to our more narcissistic American sensibilities to say so, for those few moments Sam Nujoma, who fought for Namibia’s independence and now serves as its president, was at least as important and interesting as George W. Bush. How Jonas’s country would create jobs in the face of unemployment rates that run up around 35 or 40 percent seemed at least as daunting as America’s current economic problems. And the question of what Namibia would do about an HIV/AIDS epidemic affecting perhaps 25 percent of its population felt far more pressing than the famously unsuccessful search for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.

Out of simple, unhurried conversations come occasional, welcome insights. We might just find in the discussion of the issues facing countries like Namibia—crises that dwarf many of the United States’ domestic concerns—important keys to understanding and solving some of our own. And certainly in a world that has demonstrated time and again, often in horrific terms, the global consequences of ignoring the struggles of fragile states, we have an interest in ensuring that countries like Namibia continue making progress.

Africa represents one of the last great frontiers on earth, a continent where there is much despair and yet great cause for hope. On one hand, Rwanda has just marked the terrible anniversary of the genocide that claimed about 800,000 of its people 10 years ago. On the other, South Africa has just celebrated the 10th anniversary of its first democratic election by holding a third successful one. Other nations face turning points right now. In Sudan, a decades-long conflict among ethnic insurgents, the country’s Islamist government, and militias has displaced more than 600,000 people—and could very easily deteriorate into violence on the scale of the atrocities in Rwanda, if the world chooses once again not to pay attention. In the Democratic Republic of the Congo, a resurgence of the very Rwandan rebels who perpetrated those atrocities once again threatens the stability of the region.

In all of these places, there is still a chance for the United States to have some moral and political influence—but only if we pay careful attention and genuinely try to understand the complexities of these challenges, and not just on our terms as Americans. It struck me, during our conversation with Jonas, that if the United States could just stop shouting at the world and acting like the toughest kid on the block and start listening a little more, it might do better all around.

A basic principle must apply: If we want other people to understand us and to pay attention to our profound worries about what is happening in the world, we must be willing to listen to them and learn about theirs.