The Real 'People's State'

Before I left for south-east Asia I watched the first part of Ayn Rand’s ‘Atlas Shrugged’. I wanted to know how the story ended so I started reading the 1,500 page novel. As a business student I found much of the work’s objectivist philosophy to be of merit. The plot deals with how corrupt government officials and their allies can appropriate entrepreneurial gains for their own interests. It shows how this can retard a nation’s growth and even bring it to its knees.

These literal implications of the novel seemed a bit far-fetched to me until I visited Cambodia. On my last day there, I had a chance to talk with my hotel’s owner.  He told me that the country has remained an unofficial communist dictatorship since the fall of the Khmer Rouge 40 years ago. Mostly, it has remained under the rule of a single family.

 Many commodities and state assets have been subject to government manipulation.  In a country where some cannot afford the costs of subsistence, gas costs much more than in the U.S.  Many museums charge above market rates for all patrons because they are now controled by the governing family, which has amassed billions of dollars.

Wealth is not a bad thing. However, from the discussions I had, it seemed to me that if one has enough success the regime will make matters difficult for that person’s business in the name of the public good.

In such an environment, it is little wonder that the country has struggled economically compared to other south-east Asian nations. Cambodia currently produces little. It relies on aid and must import many products and necessities from neighboring Thailand. Services in the country also lag behind. Tellingly for those who have read the novel, all railroad service in the country ceased a few years ago.

My final day in Cambodia was Election Day. My hotel owner did not bother to vote. “Even if we managed to elect the opposition those in power would just throw the results out” he said.  In this light, the power of Rand’s message seems clear. There can be no path forward until business can be perused on individual merit -- and until its rewards can be enjoyed by those who deserve them.      

Nicaragua's Ring Cycle

Two weeks ago I saw Gotterdamarung, the final opera in Wagner's Ring cycle. Shortly thereafter, I got on a plane and went to Nicaragua. What I learned there bore shocking resemblance to the moral of these four operas. I'd read a bit about the history of the country. For much of the 20th century, Nicaragua was actually one of the richest countries in Central America. However, it was also ruled with a iron fist by Somoza, the country's dictator. Then came his ousting by the FSLN, a scocalist revolutionary group, and brutal civil war. Nicaragua's former socialist leader, Daniel Ortega recently returned to power.

Viewed from outside, Nicaragua seems to be a democracy. Once on the ground, you quickly see the the country is functionally a mix of communist dictatorship, Catholicism and a healthy dose of street-level capitalism.

During the ride to our villa, I immediately noticed the abundance of political posters with Ortega's face, or smiling children. Slogans claimed that the president was working 'with all for the good of all' or for 'Socialism, Christianity, and Solidarity'. When I asked our driver about them he told me that the signs had gone up for the previous election, but but were never taken down. Now they're simply propaganda, some of which appears to have been put up after the election.

Indeed, as I traveled through the country President Ortega's likeness seemed to be almost as ubiquitous as Putin's in Russia. The socialist bent of the government party line was like something straight out of the former eastern bloc. Signs throughout the country proclaim the government's national phrase: " El Pueblo - Presidente!" or the people are president. Even local government gets in on the act, claiming to be institutions of 'citizen power'. In the capital, national scocalist statues are common. A park dedicated to Cuban-Nicaraguan friendship features a recent socialist-realist mural of Castro and Ortega standing together under the red star of communism.

Most of the public arn't buying the act. The majority of Nicaraguans Don't support their president. On a drive through Managua, our driver pointed out Ortega's various vanity projects, grumbling that the president " wants every year to be like Christmas."

It seems likely that he will get his wish. After coming to power Ortega forced a change of the constitution, allowing him to be re-elected with only 30% of the vote.

On the flight home, I pondered what I had seen. In many ways Nicaragua's situation resembles the plot of Wagner's famous work. Wotan's status as a god was dependant on a contractual consensus inscribed on his spear, the instrument of his power. By breaking those agreements, he fell from grace. Nicaragua's dictators also must answer to their people. Somoza's refusal to give aid to the masses following, a devastating 1972 earthquake made his rule untenable. The power of ruling elite is dependant on the masses' acceptance of the government's actions even in dictatorship.

Today in Nicaragua, it appears as if the same cycle is staring all over again. Tempted by the shining gold of absolute power, the revolutionary has become the despot.

I can only hope that Ortega will realize that the quest for absloute rule leads down the path to immolation -- and that his position is contingent on the expectations which his subjects ascribe to the instruments of his office. The people do have power, but not because their government proclames it. They infulence the future by demanding actual progress in spite of the party line.

GIrls, Booze and Maturity: Some Observations

I sat down and took in the view before me. Fountains danced
to music against a backdrop of ancient defense walls. Beyond that, stood thecathedral and medieval square that we had just walked through. It was my last night in the town of Bardejov. I had come to the region in Slovakia to visit a friend, who I met while studying Polish in Krakow the month before. She,her friends and I were out for a bit of the local nightlife. As we casually sipped glasses of Saris from a pub located in one of the fortifications defense turretswe discussed how we have changed now that we had entered our early 20’s. She sounded almostnostalgic for her teenage years, recalling the blind excitement of nights spent sneaking cheap Champaign on the town defense walls. “It really made me feel like someone” she toldme in Polish. Now, we agreed, we hadmoved beyond that stage. Sitting down over a beer was a normal part of life. It was also nothing special.
I didn’t think much about this discussion until a few days ago. Almost half a year later after that
discussion, I found myself sitting in a small Korean restaurant in a strip shopping center east of Los Angeles. I was staring at an image of what looked like a glass filled with psychedelic vomit on a smartphone. The smartphone’s owner was prattling on excitedly about how she wanted to try the libation in question. Not because she’d had it before, or even because she heard it was good,but because it was so ‘cool’. She had just turned 20.
It occurred to me that this must have been the excitement that my Slovakian friends of roughly the same age had recalled. Only, in America youth go through this stage much later.
Growing up, this youthful excitement must have passed me by. I spent a lot of time traveling as a teenager. I have been of legal drinking age on my birthday since I turned 16. Alcohol was always just another part of life to me. I hate clubs, and have never felt the need to go to one and binge drink simply because I can.
Yet, this was exactly what I saw when I traveled to Shanghai on a university trip in 2010. It one of the first times that most of the other students could actually go to a club. A group convinced me and a Korean international student to go with them. Everyone but us acted as if this activity was the high points of life. The Korean student and I did not enjoy ourselves and left early. On the way back to the hotel we agreed that our collogues behavior was immature compared to the youth in many other nations. The others on the program had yet to realize that reality is different from how things appear in music videos. Those who may have begun to suspect weren’t about risk voicing the truth to their peers.
Indeed, on my most recent trip to Ljubljana we celebrated my admittance to graduate school by going to a pub. One current student in the graduate program explained why. The clubs in the Slovenian capital are filled with 18 year olds who think being there means they are someone.
Apparently, this is also the case is Bardejov. It’s a normal stage of life inany country. Many quickly grow out of it.
Since my most recent return to America, many of my friends have turned 21. I cannot help but be struck by how much they remind me of some of my 18 year old European acquaintances. The excitement one of them displays regarding participation in drunken revels is almost
exactly the same as the attitude of an Austrian girl I knew in Poland. There is three years of age difference between them. Maybe will mature more quickly than the other, but that one will also have grown up faster. I suppose that which is better depends on your perspective.

The Goal of the Game

During my most recent summer in Kraków, I became famous, or infamous, for being able to ‘disappear’. I don’t dance and therefore don’t like clubs. So, if that was the next non-negocable item on the nocturnal agenda, I could duck behind a bus stand and be half way to Bronowice Małe before anyone even noticed I was gone.

Recently, my father decided that it would be a good idea for us to go to an Airsoft course. That was how I found myself staring at an array of particle board partitions in a storage facility somewhere in El Monte. I had never partaken in any kind of activity like this.

No one bothered to explain the rules, but I quickly got the basic idea. Participants were divided into two groups at each end of the building. They then ran toward the other side of the obstacle course, while shooting plastic pellets at members of the other group. If you got shot, you were out of the round.
My first few tries I got quickly peppered with bullets. Once I became acquainted with the course, I realized that my ability to ‘disappear’ would serve me well. It proved easy to skulk to the enemy’s end of the course without getting shot at, or even seen.

Upon reaching the enemy camp unscathed for the first time, I immediately felt a swell of pride. Then I realized that my compatriots reached the other end of the course only to turn around and rush back into the melee.

The only thing I could think as I saw this was: ‘Why?’ In the world I live in you get ahead by achieving your goal with the least amount of time, effort and risk. No student would re-submit a paper for grading after he gets an A on it. No commando would risk getting sprayed with bullets after reaching his target, right?
Apparently not.
Some of the people were clearly aficionados of the sport. Many of them were fully equipped with laser sights, and protective gear, and every kind of gun imaginable. Most of it looked military grade. I wondered why so many felt it necessary to deck themselves out like Seal Team Six just to run around a dusty warehouse in California.
Actually, I felt more like an anthropologist than a Marine. I’d figured the sport out in less than an hour. While making it through the course I pondered what could motivate Airsoft’s most avid followers. The only conclusion I came to was that that the human psyche remains a mystery. After about 90 minutes I got board and went to dinner. An experienced 10 year old ‘commando’ expressed surprise that we were leaving so early.

After I left, I realized that I completely missed the point of the game. My Texan father had to explain it to me:
People are divided into 2 separate teams, not simply groups. The point is not simply to make it to the other side, but to strategize as a team to ‘kill’ all of the opposing team members as you advance towards their side of the course. In this way the gun has not only a defensive, but also an offensive purpose. It also makes the game more strategically difficult than I first thought.

This was absolutely mind boggling to me. As long as you get the promotion, making sure that other candidates are promoted or fired is just wasted energy. However, this also served as a valuable reminder. Even in the region of one’s birth, culture can seem more foreign than those from the farthest corners of the world. I have heard the famous expression that there is no ‘I’ in team. Then again, I never could spell.

A Call For Change

When people travel to foreign lands,they go forth with the hope that they will change the places they visit. Those from different traditions have varied ways of manifesting this, but the intent is usually the same. Russians often refuse to overtly step out of their own cultural mindset. French interact mostly with other french speakers. Americans broadcast their own values to those around them. On a grand scale this may change the local's view of other peoples; without necessarily making it more accurate. Business continues as usual.
One man cannot change the world.When professionals are sent abroad to teach those in other parts of the world, the impact they make often pails in comparison to the cultural impression their foreign co-workers make on them. While I went to Maldives to train it's journalists,the lessons learned and friendships formed will remain a part of me for the rest of my life. For better or worse, one returns from this education forever changed.
It is almost time for me to return again. All that I had to do on my most recent sojourn through the former eastern block has been accomplished. I have received a B2 level Polish certificate, connected with extended European family, and been accepted to grad school.Despite this,I find my self focusing on every day activities of life in Budapest,which soon will no longer be a part of my own. More than anything else they have defined me. They will also continue unimpeded after my departure.
When my plane lands in Los Angeles,the city I grew up in will be exactly the same.But I will be different.As I begin re-adjusting to an old life through wizened eyes I know the process will offer little comfort. I can only yearn to for the next experience -- the newest change to my own world.

A Nation Left Behind

In America, it is common to see stories on the nightly news about how the education system in the United States has fallen behind. Over the past few months, I have been given an eye-opening lesson on how true this is in one subject area; one that is never even mentioned in these broadcasts: foreign languages.

At home, I am considered to have a talent for languages other my native tongue. Compared to many Americans, the fact that I can converse and study in three of them is unusual. However, at my university in Budapest, it is common to find that many of my European pears have similar ability. In many cases, their English is practically perfect. The reason for this seems clear. In many European countries, foreign languages are mandatory starting from elementary school. By the time students graduate from university they have been given the time and opportunity to learn multiple languages quite well. I was taught the value of knowing multiple tongues from a early age, but could not any foreign language at school until 8th grade.
Many U.S. schools only require 2 years of a foreign language for high school graduation. Usually, the only language available is Spanish, which remains ubiquitous although some would prefer other linguistic options. Many students regard it as annoying and learn it only enough to pass the final exam.

Distressingly, the current U.S. language instruction program bears striking resemblance to the defunct attempts of the USSR to teach Russian in other nations behind the Iron Curtain in the 70's and 80's. Students from Poland to Romania were forced to learn the eastern Slavic language. Most of them simply passed the exam and forgot what they had learned by the start of the following school year.

One of my Polish professors in Kraków spent a few years teaching Polish in Washington D.C. One day she urged Americans to avoid the Muscovite's mistake. "It seems to me that Spanish in the U.S. is like Russian used to be here" she said in Polish. "Everyone has to learn the minimum amount and few can speak any of it." It was one of the most candid and insightful comments I had heard in a long time.

When abroad, I often feel that my own country's education system has forced me to work from a disadvantage. I have only been able to study Polish for five years, but I am competing with some who have learned languages since they were five. While I can always communicate, I must perfect my skills on the fly.

My Polish 'niece' and 'nephew' are about 8 years old. They already are learning English at their local elementary school. Although we speak Polish, they often teach me a thing or two about the language, and are eager for me to help them learn English words. On the other hand, my 11 year old American cousin is not learning any foreign language and regards them as 'stupid'. It is often said that a nation's youth are its future. If this is true, then I leave you with a question: with whom will that future lie in a globalized economy? The answer seems all to clear.

A Standing Ovation

My passion for the grand opera began in the world's smallest opera house. It is located on a side street in Warsaw and there are more people in the cast than there are in the audience. As a young man of fifteen years, I was captivated by Mozart's 'Escape from the Seraglio'. After my return from Poland I began to further discover the art form. Most of this exploration took place at the LA Opera.

After every performance, the Angeleno opera-goers would begin to applaud. Eventually almost all of them would stand up in accolade to the performers. I always assumed that this was simply polite behavior, despite overhearing the occasional grumble that standing ovations "come like pennies in L.A. these days."

I did not realize how true that statement was until I started regularly attending performances at the national opera house in Budapest. Unlike Californians, the Magyars demonstrate their appreciation for the lead performers after each act. The amount of applause is directly connected to a spectator's opinion of the artist's performance. Standing up after the finale is strictly reserved for exceptional productions.

More importantly, Hungarian opera fans take the time to make their approval known. At the Dorthy Chandler theater, flawless arias by Placido Domingo are met with little more then a bit of polite applause. This could not be further from the truth at the Budapest opera. I will never forget the audience's reaction after one of the main leads opened the second act of Bank Ban with a stunning solo. The show stopped for a full 10 minutes. Applause came in synchronized waves as the packed theater meaningfully demonstrated its approval.

It is also permissible to express one dislike. When the tenor's voice cracked during 'La Donna e Mobile' most of the audience loudly booed him. It was the first time I had ever seen this done.

When my time in Budapest is over I will have seen more than 8 performances at the Magyar National Opera. It is one of the things I will miss most. Los Angeles may showcase some of the world's best artists, but in Budapest the singer's performance actually counts for something.

Last night, I saw Puccini's 'Turandot'. It was one of the most amazing operas I have ever seen. For the first time, I noticed that a few members of the audience had gotten to their feet in true recognition. Still seated, I clapped thunderously until the final curtain.