Rep space.
15 FAM 264.3-3 Representation Function
(CT:OBO-69; 04-04-2018)
a. Representation is a key diplomatic function for many employees abroad who must develop personal relationships with host- and third-country officials in order to advance U.S. policies. As an employee rises through the ranks, it is reasonable to assume that his or her professional responsibilities will increase, and representational functions (personal and official) may correspondingly increase. Within the respective tiers of space standards (maximum allowable residence size), as defined in 15 FAM Exhibit 237(1) and 15 FAM Exhibit 237(2), it is estimated that employees could conduct functions at the following levels [in their residences]…
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The Foreign Affairs Manual (FAM) lays out a rule and regulation for just about every possibility in the lives of Foreign Service Officers and their families serving overseas. From how we’re allowed to get to and from post on official travel (like when we move or have an R&R) to how many square feet we’re entitled to (based on position rank and family size), the FAM’s got it. And if there were one ring to rule them all and one ring to bind them, the FAM would be it.
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As a second tour officer, Joe’s responsibilities don’t require us to have representational (aka “rep”) space in our home. We’re not expected to host cocktail receptions or dinner parties or working lunches or any of the other official functions that the FAM accounts for in the space allocations outlined in 15 FAM 264.3. But I’ve still been finding myself thinking a lot lately about how our home, and our actions in and around it, are — while certainly not official — not not representational. And the question that’s been nagging me is what, exactly, might one think about who we are and what we stand for when they see us at home?
This is probably the point where I should explain that we currently live in a house that’s bigger than we would likely rent or even buy back in the States. Part of that is due to the fact that housing adequate to meet the required standards for fire and natural disaster safety as well as security just tends to be bigger in some posts (particularly those in lower income countries). Even so, it’s a big-ish house. It is, in fact, the biggest house I’ve ever lived in aside from one of the parsonages that was my mom’s house when I was in college. I should also explain that, because we chose to request housing not on the housing compound, we live in a normal Dominican neighborhood.
Except that it’s not really. Because even though we’re certainly not in the fanciest to be found, we do live in a neighborhood with an average household income much, much higher than most.
And while I’ve been acutely aware of that fact since we moved in, it’s been something sort of floating under the surface. Even though I share a street with them, I don’t necessarily see myself on the same playing field as the neighbors with five cars and three or four domestic employees when we have one (15-year-old) car and a live-out nanny. I was forced to really re-think that today.
After she and Nicolas came in from playing outside this afternoon, our nanny handed me an envelope and explained that the garbage truck men had written something on it to wish us a Feliz Navidad. Without a beat, I responded “yes, of course,” and then asked her what the normal amount to give was. I got a confused look in return before realizing she had no clue what I was talking about. I explained that, in many countries, it’s customary to give a small monetary gift to the refuse collectors at the holidays. I could see the wheels turning but wasn’t prepared for her to call it so bluntly when she said “they don’t do that in the barrio, could you imagine? I’m sure it’s only in the neighborhoods with money.” I had to admit she was most certainly right.
Whether I like it or not and regardless of whether it feels like it fits or it doesn’t, I had to face up to the fact that I, in some ways, do belong with los ricos even though there are many, many ways that, as a middle class American who came from humble beginnings, I don’t.
And even though I’ve known it for as long as she’s worked for us, I had to really see that my interactions with the world are being watched and interpreted by our nanny.
It’s not just her observing how Joe and I handle ourselves and our affairs. It’s the neighbors and their staff too. (At least the parts they can see, like me walking barefoot out to the bins to take out my own trash on the weekends.) And it’s the guards who wave our car in and roam the neighborhood on their motorcycle patrols.
We requested to live where we do partially because we knew we’d get more square footage and partially because we didn’t want to live in the sometimes-can-feel-like-a-fishbowl compound. But I’m starting to wonder if perhaps we simply chose a different fishbowl.
So what do I do with that?
Nothing and everything, I guess. Continue to live my life the way I would in the States (while, of course, respecting local customs as long as they don’t conflict with my values). Try to be kind to all I encounter, regardless of their current station in life. Figure out ways I can be of service without consciously or subconsciously trying to be a savior. And remain cognizant that my home is, in fact, a representational space.
