On Transition

President Gorbachev is remembered negatively by many in Russia. Some are nostalgic for the Soviet era. They view him as the destroyer of the USSR.

The western world lauded Russia’s conversion to capitalism. From their perspective, it was the correct thing to do.

Russia suffered since the fall of communism. The resulting decline in living standards and life expectancy is so great that it’s sometimes referred to it as the ‘Russian Genocide’. The military was once the gallant protector of the USSR. It’s fallen from grace. Underfunded, it’s unable to pay its utility bills.  Some Russians view the Red Army’s withdraw from central-eastern Europe as forced capitulation to the West.   

 The nations that army vacated have prospered.

 Before martial law’s declaration in Poland, there were rumors of Soviet tanks massing for attack. After finally throwing off communism the country forged ahead. The same is true of other satellite nations, such as Czech Republic and Slovakia. The Baltic States have found their footing. Russia continues to flounder.

Last week I became a Slovenian citizen.  I took an oath, swearing to up hold my new home land’s democratic values. After the ceremony my lawyer, translator, and I discussed the region’s history.

Slovenia used to be part of Yugoslavia. It was a member of the nonaligned Marxist faction.  Slovenia was Yugoslavia’s economic powerhouse. The most of what they produced went to Serbia.

We also discussed Russian politics.  My lawyer and translator acknowledged Russians’ antipathy toward Gorbachev. They seemed dumbfounded by it. Gorbachev maintains that he did not set out to destroy the USSR. They are grateful he did.  

 I’ve traveled to Slovenia three times. It‘s one of the most developed transition nations. On this visit I felt as if I was in the West. The locals spoke a Slavic language.

 Putin professes a desire to redress Russia’s degradation since the fall of communism. Giving a people hope isn’t negative.  Leading them to stagnation is.

Russia must modernize in order to survive.  It must accept the West, while retaining the essence of its own heritage.

Many Russians regard Gorbachev as an enemy.  His policies shaped the future. The obliteration of one empire spawns the beginning of another.  

Let the Russian people embrace the world. Let them build their own destiny with the territories they inhabit.  Let them prosper -- looking towards the future while uniting behind the past.

Let them find truth in their story. As I attempt to find truth in my own.  

Keeping Roza

I thought a great deal about going to Pakistan during Ramazan. I didn’t know if I could go without food or water for 14 hours every day. Then it occurred to me that I’d already done so two days a week over the past year.

 When I started commuting to USC, the only way to make it logistically viable was to schedule my classes on two days. During those days I scarcely had time to eat, drink, or even go to the bathroom.  Those days often lasted about 14 hours. I found a way to get through it.

If I could handle USC, I could handle Ramazan.  

I came to Karachi assuming that I’d be fasting daily.  It was surprising to learn that half of my host’s family doesn’t fast. In fact, they told me that I would be expected to gain weight during my time with them.

There is a law in Pakistan forbidding eating and drinking in public during Ramazan.  It’s another story behind closed doors. Among those I met, the decision to ‘keep Roza’, or fast, is regarded as a personal choice.

One of my host’s family’s relatives met me when I arrived in Lahore.  I’d taken refreshment on the flight there. Travelers are exempt from the fast, and PIA (the Pakistani national carrier) honors this. Once I arrived, I found that my local host was keeping Roza.  He graciously offered me the opportunity to have some water in the 40 degree heat.  “No. Thank you” I told him. “Your culture doesn’t change just because I’m here”.  

A couple of days later I returned to Karachi.  My host decided that it would be good for me to experience Roza at least once during my time in the country.

I was awoken at about 4:00 on my last day in Pakistan. I took part in Seri, the beginning of the fast. Afterward my host told me that I should still drink water as I was not Pakistani. Therefore, I must not be used to fasting.  I declined. It was pointless to not have the whole experience.

My host’s sentiment was repeated many times through the day.  More than a few people asked if my fast was getting difficult. This was the first time they’d seen a westerner fast; they were curious. Almost as if they doubted that one could endure the experience.

But, there was also admiration. On the ride to Iftari at the Karachi Boat Club my host’s daughter enquired as to the condition of my fast. I told her I was fine.  Our driver also understood. ”Roza?” he asked inquisitively. I nodded and he gave an enthusiastic ‘thumbs up’.     

At first, I thought the experience would be little different than going to college.  After a full day of classes I’d come home, shove the dogs aside, and throw a pizza in the oven.  I usually didn’t respond to questions until I’d downed a triple vodka.  During Ramazan you have to be nice.

Keeping Roza doesn’t simply refer to abstaining from food.  Succumbing to violence, vulgarity or even general crankiness is regarded as violating the fast. As my Host’s daughter put it: “Fasting is not furious”.

The Iftari at the Boat Club was more civilized then my own ritual. It was fitting that it was my last experience on this trip to Pakistan. I reluctantly headed for the airport.  In a small way I felt closer to a people I’d come to know only two weeks before.

I’d gone without food before. In Pakistan I learned the meaning of fasting.  

An Instructive Journey

 One of my classes this semester is about Russian politics. This includes the brake-up of the USSR.  The professor is Moldovan. Last week she questioned the wisdom of Gorbachev’s policies, which led to the sudden brake up of the Soviet Union.  She opined that his attempt to reform the political and economic systems of the country toward democratic capitalism, while retaining the basics of communism, was untenable. It caused economic and social hardship.  

After the collapse of the country, the right to vote was a small condolence to its people. With the exception of the Baltic States, they’d never fought for democratic freedom. They had no idea of its significance. “The Baltic States are the only ones that more or less function properly” my professor added.

Last weekend I returned to the former USSR.  I went to Lwow in western Ukraine to speak at a Rotary seminar. Before World War II it used to be a Polish city. But, the cultural differences were like a slap in the face.

 I tried to buy an opera ticket for a performance the following day. I asked if I could have a ticket to ‘Il Travatore’ and was simply told “no”. I inquired as to whether this was because it was sold out.  “Today there are no tickets”.  I finally specified the next day and got a ticket.

At the Rotary Seminar, I met a man of Ukrainian decent.  Raised in the U.S., he returned to his homeland. He reminded me that Poland was never in the Soviet Union.  Here people lived under the auspices of the KGB. You learned not to volunteer any information that wasn’t absolutely necessary.     

He also commented on the level of service in Ukrainian hotels, pointing to employees ironing tablecloths in the middle of the hotel’s restaurant. “And they have the nerve to call this a four star hotel?” he asked jokingly.

I came to the conference with hope that I would get invited to present in Poland. I got about five invitations. They were all from Ukrainians. The Poles seemed uninterested.  Ukraine and the rest of the former USSR must travel a difficult path to transition. Ukraine’s GDP has fallen by over 50% since the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Russian life expectancy is plummeting.  Yet, the enthusiasm is clearly there.

I left the seminar and headed for the opera house.  Along the way I saw older women in babuszki selling produce along the side of the road. Some claim that this part of the world has no entrepreneurial spirit. They are wrong.

The opera had some technical difficulties.  The chorus didn’t sing in unison, the orchestra overpowered the singers and some leads couldn’t control their vibrato. Despite its Hapsburg era opera house, Lwow is a relatively provincial Ukrainian city. Anyone with more talent could be hired away to Kiev or the E.U.

Russian public opinion polls show that many think the best times during the 20^th century were during the Brezhnev era. Employment and housing were guaranteed, and the price of goods was less than the cost of production. The problem was that it wasn’t sustainable.

Maybe the opera in Lwow might have been better during communist times. But that ticket would have been bought at the expense of the future.  

Gorbachev may have gone too far too fast, but the transition had to happen.  The USSR eventually had to face reality.

I look at the debt amassed by the U.S. and some European countries. The prevailing ‘tax and spend’ mentality. They must learn from history. They must make tough decisions. 

Required Reading

 In the past few weeks, many of my recent posts were about the attempt to find personal identity after being exposed to many cultures. I chalked my perspectives up to my own upbringing. I also considered the importance of each observer’s perspective in determining where each person is ‘from’.

Today, I started into my required university texts. I hit upon a theory of globalization that explains a lot. (Yes, I actually got excited by required course reading.)

Globalization “is visible in the emergence of a new economic class…whose members are separated from their fellow citizens by barriers of language, knowledge, wealth and tastes and to whom they may be physically proximate but psychologically remote.”

My cousin, uncle and grandmother live three miles from my parent’s home.  Ever since I was young I thought nothing of traveling the world. When America’s graduate school system wasn’t to my liking I imediately  looked abroad. My parents are both university graduates. My uncle never attended college.

About a year ago, I suggested that my uncle come visit me in Thailand. He informed me that he’d have to get a passport. I blanched involuntarily. I’ve held a passport since long before I had a driver’s license.  It never occurred to me that someone could lack such a basic document.   50-something years old and my uncle had never left the country.

In actuality less than 30% of Americans hold passports. Some of them are naturalized citizens.  

My little cousin says she never wants to leave the U.S. Believing that nothing could be better than the American way of life. But that lifestyle, and the quality of living in many other countries, has been bolstered by the power of trade.  She insists that she has no desire to learn a foreign language. I am proficient in two.   

The article also notes the association of this societal class with transnational corporations. My father worked with many of them as a mid and upper level manager during my upbringing. When I was about 13 my family was almost transferred to Switzerland. My Mother took many international assignments as a reporter. She currently runs an international media consulting company.

When I first wrote about South Hills, I attributed its difference from mainstream America to its existence as a subculture within LA. That may not be the whole story. I may be a member of this “new economic class” without realizing it. A member of a community comprised of successful, international families. Separated from the surrounding area by differences in language, ideology, wealth, and worldview. But, not so far removed as to be completely isolated from the surrounding local culture. 

Others claim that globalization leads to the erosion of local traditions. It enriches them. Born In America I had the curiosity to interpret Chinese proverbs. However, I find different meaning in them than a resident of mainland China. That native would doubtless have a different reading of an American film than its creators intended. Globalization is not simply American cultural imperialism.       

Other collage interns were employed at the NGO I worked with in Thailand. My closest friends were the 13 year old son of prominent Thai businessman and the 16 year old daughter of an international manager from Standard Chartered Bank. I attributed the age difference to my young colleges’ maturity at the time. Now I wonder if it was because we are from similar backgrounds. Based in nation-states. Citizens of the world.

In the current economic climate, some question the wisdom of globalization.  It’s a process that is beneficial to all concerned. Weather they realize it or not.

 As a product of this process I appreciate the importance of adaptation. The right to mold your own future.  To go where conditions are best. Despite those who are unaware of the possibilities.         

Culture, Time, and Democracy

A few months ago, my family thought about taking our annual vacation in Tunisia. Then some idiot posted a video on Youtube.  Those plans went out the window.

 My honors thesis dealt with how communist dictatorial policy influences economic transition in central-eastern Europe. While writing the paper, Tunisia and Egypt revolted - the beginning of the so called ‘Arab spring’. It occurred to me that the policies of dictators in those countries could influence the future in a similar manner.

I mentioned this in the paper. Accounting for the differences in religious organizations and social media the situation might not be so different.

But, those two changes make all the difference.  In Poland, the Catholic Church fomented the Solidarność movement during martial law.  All religion was outlawed in Albania. The economy continues to flounder there. The absence of social media made opposition harder to form.  Instead people rallied around figureheads. They could lead a country through the beginnings of transition.

One of the students in my program is from Tunisia. We had the opportunity to discuss the current situation in her country. She told me that since the revolution the Islamist party gained power in Parliament. They were the only party with any vision after Tunisia’s Arab Spring.  In Egypt, Islamic factions also figure prominently in elections.

A Democracy is ruled by the will of its electorate. Religious institutions played a positive role in giving the people a voice during some post-communist transitions. In northern Africa, the opposite seems to be the case.  

My Tunisian colleague described the current atmosphere in her country as uncertain.  With the increasing power of fundamentalists, many are looking abroad.

“The revolution left us with hope. But they have done nothing” she said.

 Both regions successfully overthrew brutal regimes . In Eastern Europe, religion allowed some nations come together and rise up.

In North Africa, the internet organized the rebellion. Religious fundamentalists are all that remains to offer a way forward. I worked in Maldives during its first democratic election. The opposition won.  Since then, I’ve heard the same to be true.

I’m not saying that the Muslim world can’t achieve democracy.  Many Americans are quick to criticize the Arab World for its politics. They forget that it took the United States over a century, two constitutions and a civil war to create a stable republic.

In Poland, democratic policy making arguably existed since the middle ages. It may have allowed them to throw off three centuries of partitioning, war, and communism so quickly.

Just because a country has moved toward democracy does not mean it will become a utopia. It's  a process. One that takes hundreds of years.

I hope that those in all parts of the world will keep this in mind. Especially me. 

Somewhere

“Everyone’s from somewhere”. Most speakers of English know this expression. I do not doubt this cliché’s intuitive veracity. However, I wonder where that somewhere is.

I spent last Tuesday in Wrocław’s main square, talking with a young woman. She was born of the first emigration from Poland to Germany, shortly after the fall of the Iron Curtain. She told me that she feels more a part of her heritage in Germany than she does in Poland. While proud, she said that she practically dreads mentioning her Polish heritage in Germany. Afraid she will become an object of ridicule. In Poland it’s a different story.

We both went to the same summer immersion program in Kraków.  There, she befriended one of the program’s leaders.  One evening he told her that, as far as he was concerned, she was German.  “I felt hurt when he said that” she told me.

Even as the third generation descendant of Poles who emigrated to America I could empathize with this sentiment. I grew up in a majority Chinese community. To my friends, I was always the Polish one.  They or their parents were from China, or Taiwan. Everyone had to be from somewhere.  Myself included.

In Poland, the same is true. Everyone is from somewhere. But, the perceptions are different.  In California, I might as well be from Poland. In Poland, I am ‘the American’.

After class, the professor, a couple of my first-generation friends and I got into a discussion. They told the teacher of their own dual life. Then she jokingly asked me:  “Of course, you feel as an American.”

My parents raised me to be international. I never really learned to play American football. Yet, from ten years old the highlights of my life were trips abroad. Though I come from a country where relatively few have a passport, I made a life abroad my goal. I settled on Poland as the place where I’d like to build that life.  

In graduate school, I was the only student  to place at the highest level of the Polish course who did not speak  the language at home. I’d be hard pressed to say that I’m a main stream American. I’d never say that I’m completely a Pole either.  

I tried to explain it. Telling my professor where I’d grown up. Telling her that everyone is from somewhere there. Generations removed; I didn’t know where I belonged.  

“But you feel as an American, True?”

 A couple of years ago my parents told me the story of the lupe garue.  The pet of a  man who decided  his dog was too bad for heaven and too good for hell. It was doomed to walk the night as a ghost.

“We’ve raised a lupe garue” my father told me one morning.

I didn’t know how to answer my professor. Even though I knew what she wanted to hear. Everyone is from somewhere.  But that somewhere is differs according to every person we ask.

I could chalk it up to a matter of perspective. I could let it all go as a matter of national pride. All of that seems in adequate.

 A birth certificate might make one have nationality. But from where does that person truly come?

 For my own part it's still a question I struggle to answer.   

City on a Hill

My friends say I live in a cat house. This isn’t because it’s in a slum. Cats like to be up high; its the two story living room you can look down on the activity.

Fog shrouds the valley

My family moved to the Walnut-South Hills area 5 ½ years ago. I spent many of my teenage years and early adulthood in this Asian suburb of Los Angeles. I’ve written about cultural experiences around the world. It seems only fair that I reflect on my own community.  

Every morning, from high school onwards, the first thing I’d do was open the shutters on one of my bedroom windows. Los Angeles expanded before me.  From the hills on which our house sat, it stretched through flats of tract housing towards distant freeways. The Sierra Nevada rose from the field below.

In many ways, the place I lived wasn’t anything like LA. It’s a mix of bareness and bounty. Paying an extra dollar for a premium blend at a pricy tea shop is a big decision. Many of my friends and I have traveled internationally, but never have been to Beverly Hills. This dichotomy of wealth and frugality can be shocking. It’s not uncommon to see a local washing his Mercedes in the driveway while gardeners mow a front lawn. We eat in crowded strip shopping center Korean restaurants for the best deals. We could easily go further afield.

And eventually we have to. The verity seen in more urban parts of LA isn’t available here. For culture, western food, and even education one must descend from the hills.  I got my undergraduate degree from USC in down town LA. Upon arrival, the culture I saw was different. Completely concerned with popular whims, it lacked the detachment I’d come to appreciate in my hilltop community.  I elected to remain in South Hills while studying at USC. 

One morning, I awoke, opened my shutters and looked down. Sunlight reflected off the cap of fog that settled over the LA basin.  Only the hills and mountains remained. I felt pride in having chosen to remain.

But my generation can’t remain forever.  A suburb isn’t the best place to launch a career.  Almost everyone in my closest group of friends is moving this month. One is possibly going to Britain, one to Germany, and one to that ‘other country’ called UCLA.

The field in Psie Pole

 I recently got on a plane, headed for Poland and graduate school. My route took me through Germany, the first European country I visited.   I boarded my trans-Atlantic flight in the first class cabin. One of its passengers was a 10-year old boy. He was likely on his first trip to Europe. I trudged into economy as he  played excitedly with his seat controls. That boy used to be me.  

The name of my Wroclaw neighborhood translates as Dog Field. It is also on the outskirts of the city. It’s flat as the name suggests. But, I’m still up high.  I stand on the balcony of my 4^th floor apartment as the sun sets. A field still expands before me. Light reflects on its trees, stretching toward distant houses.  A blok rises from the meadow below.

 I’d like to think that these similarities are encouraging.  A sign that the life we’ve known still exists. That we will always carry it with us. No matter where we are.