The Mexico City Reader

In the Same Boat

What Rockefeller said about all of us being “in the same boat” is partly true, partly false, because there’s a world of difference between being the captain on the bridge and serving as the stoker in the engine room. Yet my soot-smeared labors are not entirely the captain’s fault, and my pathetic destiny as a boiler baster owes something to my character, just as his job strutting around the deck barking orders owes something to his. This helps explain the following situation. One day when those closeups of the moon were being broadcast on TV, there was I, chatting with a friend in his office about technocracy and bureaucracy. He is warehouse manager for a government ministry, so I said, “Listen, seeing as you’re the boss here, don’t be mean, get me some paper.” “You’ve but to ask,” he beamed, pressing a bell. A girl came into the office. “Be so kind as to bring me two reams of bond paper, twenty-four pound, letter size.” “Certainly, sir.” My friend, by name Augusto, is a lucid reader of philosophy. He went on: “Do you know that Romain Gary, in his letter to De Gaulle, said exactly what I’ve been telling you for ages: it’s no longer a question 266 In the Same Boat   of ideological conflict, doctrines at loggerheads, or different ways of conceiving humanity; it all comes down to technicalities, two great technological bands carving up the world into zones of influence and exploitation . Technology and markets.” “Well,” I said, doing my utmost to disagree, “but those two big technological bands imply only a tiny amount of people, compared to the rest of the world which includes anyone from a British nuclear physicist to a wild Indian in the Colombian jungle.” “Absolutely,” enthused Augusto, “and so what! None but the citizens of the empire will have any right to autonomy, sovereignty, real life; the third world has suddenly expanded to contain everyone who happens to be neither Soviet nor North American.” “What ever happened to my paper?” He rang the bell. The girl came in. “My dear, what’s holding up the paper I requested?” “Oooh yes, sir, I’m very sorry. I’ll tell Porfirio to bring it up now.” We continued our discussion. “The imminently immense third world will forever remain a dispenser of raw materials and a consumer of manufactured products, nothing more; because however spectacular its progress, its distance with respect to the technology of empire will grow ever greater.” “Look here,” said Augusto, “the difference between a crack North American scientist and a Tzeltal Indian, for instance, has gone beyond economic or social disparities to an actual species leap, as you’ll agree if you reflect that even a European scientist of the first rank hasn’t got a clue about the physical and mathematical operations involved in traveling to the moon. Just think, he wouldn’t even be able to pilot the rocket.” “Where’s my paper?” I reminded him. This is when bureaucracy, or should I say bureaucratic underdevelopment , came down on us like a ton of bricks. The young lady minced in for the third time, explaining that Porfirio called in sick and the other office boy took the day off, so there was nobody to take the order. It was suggested to her that she get in touch with the warehouse herself. Shortly she reappeared, to say they were on their way, and while we waited for the warehouse employees to arrive, Augusto and I attempted to represent to ourselves the nationwide organization required for a trip to the moon and the complex preparations that must precede and accompany such an endeavor. The warehouse men, five of them, jostled and shoved their way through the door. In the Same Boat 267 “What’s this,” frowned Augusto, “a union meeting? I only asked for two reams of bond paper, twenty-four pound, letter size.” Off they went and back they staggered twenty minutes later, carrying between them all a gigantic drum of rolled-up paper. “We couldn’t find twenty-four pounds of loose paper, so we brought you the whole bale instead, Mr. Augusto.” When Augusto had calmed down enough to repeat the line about two reams of bond paper, twenty-four pound, letter size, and the warehouse men had gone off to tell their supervisor to report personally to...