A global picture must include those outside the frame

PASSING THE NEW YEAR WITH THE HIMBA PEOPLE OF NORTHWEST

Namibia would have been uneventful. The Himba calendar does not recognize the turning of the millennium, for the Himba calendar does not exist. Instead, the Himba measure events by their proximity to other events—I, for example, was born the year of my grandfather's death.

Their culture, often described as one of the most pristine in Africa, is three centuries old. As there is no infrastructure or outside influence in the Himba's province, Jan. 1, 2000, would have found the Himba herding cattle and goats, with its wealthier homesteaders working in the fields. There was no electricity, no cars, no news.

If you were Himba, you would not know that your national government is seeking funding to build a massive dam in your territory, which will flood your fields and pastures, create an infrastructure of roads, schools, and clinics, and allow the entrance of bureaucracy, graft, AIDS, prostitution, and other signs of "progress." Of course, if you were Himba, you would not even know that you have a national government.

But that's not the only place you might have been this New Year's Eve. Perhaps you were in Grozny. At your age, you are probably a Russian soldier or a Chechen rebel. For noisemakers this New Year, you would hear artillery barrages and the rumble of Soviet-made T-82 tanks. The exploding rockets overhead would provide your fireworks. You would be huddled in the ruins of a building, trying to find warmth from freezing rain and snow, and putrid mud would cling to your sweat- stained, shoddily manufactured wool uniform.

Though the Himba do not know of the ongoing celebrations throughout the world, and thus do not miss them, you in Chechnya do. You know t hat, in the world's capitals, people are drinking champagne, driving along well-maintained roads. You know that only a few years ago your country was at peace. But now you are passing the holiday the same way your grandfather did at Stalingrad, half a century ago.

Or maybe you spent the momentous occasion as a native of Mobasa, Soweto, Lusaka, Harare, Luanda, or Kinshasa. There would be a 25% chance that you have HIV. If you do have HIV or AIDS, you are probably not aware of it, or believe that it might be simply cured by having sex with a virgin. Within a close circle of your female friends or relatives, someone has, in all likelihood, been raped. You live in a de facto one-party state. Unless this state is South Africa, any radio or television coverage of the millennium that you had access to would be provided by a government-owned broadcasting station. Your country's economy has not shown much growth in the past decade. Many of your countrymen live in crushing poverty.

Or perhaps you spent New Year's in a suburb of Boston, or New York, or Atlanta. Almost everyone drove their own car, probably no more than three to five years old, to the party, which was at a two story house with an acre or two of land. People called friends and family living across the country on cellular phones manufactured in Norway, South Korea or Japan. The champagne was from California, the beer from England, and the vodka from Sweden. You called a restaurant and had food delivered. Maybe it was Italian, Thai, or Chinese. You watched the new year arrive around the world on a 21-inch television (one of three televisions in the house), which was connected to a cable infrastructure,which provided over 60 privately owned, consumer-driven broadcasts. You have never fought in a war, and it is rare to meet anyone under the age of 70 who has. Everyone in your family is employed, or has the potential to be.

We, the privileged, celebrated the new year with a great deal of hope, amid exuberant feelings of success. For the world's wealthy countries, these are good times, and they appear to be getting better. But with our triumphs and our affluence comes the responsibility not to forget those who do not live as we do, those who have been left behind. We have a responsibility to remember the rest of the world and the lives of others, not just blindly enjoy the fruits of our success. Peter Gulliver is a junior in Saybrook.

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