Viewpoint When a meal at McDonalds isnt so
happy
By DANIEL J. MORIARTY
I learned a new phrase in Spanish
today: hasta agotar existencias. I first thought it sounded ominous,
something to the effect of until all of existence is snuffed out.
In fact, it means while supplies last. I learned it at the local
McDonalds. I went to see what kind of toys they were putting in their
Cajitas Felizes (Happy Meals) these days.
In my case, the local McDonalds is located on
the main drag in La Paz, Bolivia. I live and work in La Paz as a lay missioner
with the Maryknoll Mission Association of the Faithful. On a recent global
association Internet mailing list, Fr. Charlie Dittmeier in Hong Kong wrote
asking other Maryknollers if the McDonalds restaurants in their
respective mission countries were running the same giveaway promotion as they
were in the Chinese metropolis.
In Hong Kong, McDonalds was encouraging clients (presumably
children, above all) to eat their combo meals every day for 28 days. They were
luring them in by offering Snoopy figurines dressed in costumes from different
world cultures each day. Included were costumes representing a good number of
Asian countries, several European countries and North America. Representing the
rest of the Americas, there was a Mexican Snoopy and a Latin
America Snoopy. There was not a single Snoopy from Africa.
A fascinating discussion ensued on the mailing list, as
Maryknollers from other parts of the world commented on health and
environmental concerns regarding the arrival of McDonalds in their
mission countries. Charlie pointed out that McDonalds has been
encouragingly responsive on some issues. But he was still curious about the
ethnic makeup of the 28 Snoopy costumes in other countries where the offer
might be in effect. So, I went to investigate.
Well, no racially selective Snoopies here. In Bolivia, they are
giving away four different McDonaldlandia characters in astronaut suits. While
supplies last, that is. Maybe when they run out, well get Snoopies. I
dont know how well Bolivians would react to being lumped in with every
other non-Mexican Latino from Spanish Harlem to Tierra del Fuego (to say
nothing of being portrayed by a beagle).
But it probably wouldnt bother most of the local Big Mac
consumers the way it might bother, say, leading activists for the rights of
coca growers, or a socially conscious Aymara cultural promoter. Thats
because being simply labeled Latin Americans is a step closer to
not being Latins at all. It certainly doesnt point to the embarrassingly
evident Indian blood running through most of their veins. After
all, theyre eating Quarter Pounders, arent they? And for a pretty
peso. Theyve earned the distinction of not being distinct. Their
ancestors were the first people on earth to harvest potatoes - 800 varieties,
in fact -- and yet they choose to munch on world famous McDonalds French
fries, imported from Canada. Latin American? Indeed, theyre
almost Middle Americans.
Dont let that wrinkly-faced beggar woman outside in sandals
and a bowler hat tell you otherwise. Besides, she must agree. Shes left
her potato patch in the altiplano and come to the big city, and now nothing
would make her happier than for one of the Happy Mealers to reach through the
bars surrounding the patio and playground and hand her some scraps of
Canadian-grown, French-fried potatoes to share with the toddler wrapped in a
blanket on her back. You can even see his black eyes sparkle as he turns the
red and yellow box over in his tiny brown hands, his mother hobbling away,
savoring her world-famous leftovers. The enormous plastic McDonalds
Golden Arches perched majestically overhead like an imported rainbow add a
sense of cinematic composition to the scene as mother and child disappear into
the hills of the adobe-dotted Andes.
When McDonalds was first preparing to open here in Bolivia,
there was a controversy regarding where they would get their potatoes. I heard
they had finally given in to local pressure and agreed to buy local spuds. The
week they opened, I went in to make sure. I asked the manager, and he told me
that the meat was from Santa Cruz, Bolivia, but that the potatoes were imported
from Canada. I told him what I had heard. Impossible, he said. He
told me that it was absolutely necessary to import the potatoes in order to
ensure uniformity in the French fries. Using the English phrase with evident
pride, he explained that the policy was worldwide.
I guess my problem with McDonalds here is more cultural than
it is environmental or nutritional. Too many Bolivians believe that all things
foreign are inherently superior. The arrival of McDonalds last year gave
upper-class Bolivians a unique opportunity to live out that belief. Their
appreciation is made evident by the Range Rovers seen around town with
McDonalds stickers in the back windows, not to mention the traffic jams
caused by lines at the drive-through. They would much rather pay U.S. prices
for a fast food combo meal -- the exact same combo meal New Yorkers and even
Parisians are eating, mind you -- than pay $1.50 for a traditional Bolivian
multicourse lunch in a sit-down restaurant (perhaps a stuffed tomato, peanut
soup, bread with hot sauce, spicy chicken with rice, vegetables and two kinds
of potatoes, fruit salad and a cup of coffee or coca tea). Families who are
less able to afford simply popping in to refuel will wait and save all week to
make McDonalds their big Sunday outing.
There are a head-spinning number of people working at
McDonalds at any given time. So, at least they provide jobs, right? Well,
just like in the United States, they arent looking to support families or
provide benefits, so these are almost all upper-class, white Bolivian teenagers
earning some spending cash after school.
The percentage of white people, among both clients and employees,
is striking in this second-most-indigenous of Latin American countries (after
Guatemala). The place doesnt look nearly as Latin as, say, the crowd at
the McDonalds in Adams Morgan where I used to grab late-night snacks in
Washington. In fact, Ive often thought that the proud clients of
McDonalds here would be shocked and disillusioned to see some of the
characters nursing cokes in the less conspicuous corner booths of many
McDonalds restaurants back home.
And, beyond all that, the aesthetics alone depress me. The first
McDonalds here in La Paz was built in the elite Southern Zone of the
city. It looks exactly like any suburban McDonalds in the United States,
right down to the kind of bricks on the floor. Which actually means it fits in
rather well down there. Its next door to a Mormon church -- also exactly
like its Northern counterparts. Across the street is a big modern Catholic
parish (English Masses on Saturday evenings), a bowling alley and a new,
overwhelmingly large supermarket that specializes in imported goods (the same
company has an older, smaller store just blocks away; the new one has almost
exactly the same stuff as the old one, but it has wider aisles and 20 of
everything, to give it a more impressive, U.S.-style appearance).
Just weeks after McDonalds arrived, a Dominos Pizza
opened around the corner. Ex-pats and the grandchildren of former dictators
(including those who continue to run the country) meet and mingle in this most
elite of Bolivian neighborhoods.
The second McDonalds opened on the main boulevard downtown.
I must admit, they did a decent job at maintaining the buildings colonial
facade. But then they planted a ridiculously large set of Golden Arches out
front, which now dominates the entire boulevard, especially when lit up at
night. This not only makes La Paz look like any U.S. city, it also looks just
like Amsterdam and countless other otherwise unique and beautiful places
Ive lived and visited. They just tore down a beautiful old colonial house
on the main street in Cochabamba to build the first McDonalds there.
Ive yet to visit Santa Cruz, home to most of Bolivias drug money,
and its first two McDonalds restaurants.
I admit it, I like McDonalds. Always have. And I admit that
I have given in to temptation and eaten there a couple of times since they
opened here in La Paz. It may not be gourmet, but comfort food
rarely is. Its something familiar, quick and fairly unlikely to give me
parasites. Heck, they even have astronaut toys. But my cultural misgivings have
always caught up to me, and Ive ended my meal slinking out hoping nobody
I know sees me, feeling as if I were exiting a porn theater.
I want to thank Charlie for his recent inquiries and words of
semi-defense regarding the Mac empire. Today, armed with the pretext of a
work-related investigation into current Happy Meal toy offerings, I ate two
cheeseburgers and drank a Coke (I did resist the French fries) and left feeling
guilt-free -- no small feat for an Irish Catholic in any situation!
Of course, now the floodgates are open. I just read an article the
other day in which one of Bolivias richest industrialists, Doria Medina
(interestingly, I work in the local prisons where Ive visited some
guerrilla terrorists who once kidnapped him -- the ransom is rumored to have
financed the takeover of the Japanese ambassadors residence in Peru last
year) cheerfully announced that Bolivians will soon enjoy the
world-famous hamburgers of Burger King. Can KFC, Pizza Hut and
Dunkin Donuts be far behind?
Ill leave you with a semi-related quote from the book
Violence Unveiled: Humanity at the Crossroads by Gil Bailie. I find it a
strangely hopeful statement in both its assertions. He says, Christianity
no more owns the gospels than do multinational corporations own the earth, a
point that the gospels and the earth will make clear enough in due
course.
Food for thought.
Daniel J. Moriarty writes from La Paz. He may be contacted
at daniel@djmo.bo
National Catholic Reporter, January 15,
1999
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