Who're you, outsider?

     "Who're you, outsider? / Ask me who am I."  The last two lines from Langston Hughes' "Visitors to the Black Belt" sums up how I assume natives feel in tourist land.  Countries like Mexico and Jamaica, where poverty and drugs are prevalent, are huge tourist traps.  People come to the country to stay at a resort and pretend like they understand the culture.  They might pick up a few words in the native tongue of the country and repeat them to the natives, feeling like they now can connect so well to their culture.  The resorts are safe and blind the visitors to what's really going on in the country.  Tourists might get glances of what life is like while taking a tour bus from one sight to the next, but their exposure to the truth is limited, and they can continue to pretend that the country is beautiful and tropical, void of problems.
     Even I can't pretend like I know what it's like to live permanently in a poverty stricken country.  I go for a mission trip, get exposure to the culture and the true living conditions of most people, and leave a week later, back to my safe home in America.  We can talk about "across the railroad tracks" (line 2) or "up in Harlem," (line 6) as Hughes points out, but we can't truly know what life is like--because we are outsiders.
     Hughes poem is somewhat of a reality check for privileged people like myself, who haven't ever had to experience poverty or poor living conditions firsthand.  But Hughes isn't asking for pity in his poem; he isn't asking for us to go home and report the poor conditions for others' sympathy.  His question is simple: "Ask me who am I."  He's wants us to ask, but more importantly to listen.