It's the news, stupid.

If you’re going to blame poverty on anyone, blame it on everyone.

That’s what Palgummi Sainath seemed to say at a talk he gave at Columbia University three weeks ago. A reporter on agriculture and poverty in India, Sainath had a lot to say – and a lot to be angry about.

For one, he didn’t hide his exasperation at the ambiguity of an already elusive definition of poverty. The ABCs of development study teach us precisely that there is no ruling definition of poverty, something to keep in mind when reading about the latest statistics on poverty. The official poverty line in India is 24 cents a day, but 77 per cent of the Indian population lives on less than 20 rupees a day. This large discrepancy between statistics and reality is exactly what drove Sainath’s animated talk. The headlines in India are not growth or a booming IT market. It’s poverty, and everything else that comes with it, such as the farmers’ suicide that have been taking over the country.

It is perhaps the limits of journalists that we can only talk, and not really implement policy. But according to Sainath, that’s all it takes to start change. As much as he is frustrated with India’s policies to alleviate poverty, his gripe is as much with journalists as with policy-makers.

“There is more energy in journalism than ever but there is also the most moral bankruptcy in leadership ever,” Sainath said. What he means is that while fashion, murder, caste, religion, and the booming economy makes for popular reading, newspapers in India have failed to provide full time beats on poverty, housing or primary education. Furthermore, no major newspaper in India has a full-time labor correspondent on board.

According to Sainath, this sends a clear message: “it says we are not interested in talking to 70 per cent of the population.”

The point finally sunk in when Sainath animatedly relayed the crux of this argument to his completely engrossed audience. While 512 journalists were covering fashion week in India last spring, only six journalists were covering farmers’ suicide a one-hour flight away. These suicides would have been creating headlines on their own – they were occurring one every six hours. But the final irony was this: the models at fashion week were showing off cotton garments.

This does not only point to a flaw in policy-making in India, but also a flaw in character. Sainath is perhaps one of the few reporters who actively criticize India for more than the growing inequality that accompanies the growing economy. Beyond the commercials of “I love India” laden in “traditional values”, mom’s never-forgotten home-cooked food, and unbreakable family bonds, lies a country that systematically and institutionally ignores 70 per cent of its population that is struggling to survive. There is, essentially, a moral vacuum when it comes to economic policies.

India is experiencing the largest sustained suicide trend, but as Sainath tells us, no system or higher order is working for these farmers. Instead, everything has become privatized. And government and aid policies help insofar as they encourage farmers to diversify their crops. The problem: globalization has raised cultivation costs. Whereas the cost of cultivating vanilla used to be $1.00/kg, it has increased to an appalling $100/kg. In India, Sainath says, “there is privatization of everything, including intellect and soul.”


Journalists wait for news to happen, for democracy to shine and people to rise up to injustice. But Sainath says this is not possible – don’t wait for a social revolution from the farmers when their primary concern is survival. News does not have to be larger than life to be written. It just has to be someone’s life, like the suicide farmers now who, probably unprecedented in India’s history, address their suicide notes to the PM and Chief Minister.

While Sainath may have had his own notions about what policies India’s government could enact to address rural poverty and the growing number of farmers’ suicides, he ultimately addressed the group that he can really influence: journalists. It is not enough to debate the trend of the journalism industry in India, or discuss how it fares compared to the rest of the world. Indian journalists have a duty to cover the biggest, and most often ignored, issue in the country. However, because this has failed to happen, Sainath says, “India has failed in democracy.”

su doku night

They flirt with each other without much concealment, but both are held back. From where each stands, such flirtation is enjoyable, curious and a way to make the passing time more interesting, but not meant to spill over outside the time allotted for meaningless conversation.

“But there is nothing wrong with it”
She is adament about the candle he is about to toss out.

“It won’t light”

“let me do it”

click click click. The orange blaze explodes from the small hole of the lighter but soon envelopes the entire cup she precariously holds. Just a bit further, a bit further, the flame moves to the bent and burnt whick, but then turns on her. She smiles defeatingly and gives it back to him.

“I told you”

He returns later with a fresh candle, holding it as a peace offering. Her tone turns giddy, but commanding as well. She leans towards him as he stands looking down at her, a hand clutching a pencil which she now points in his direction, gesturing towards the puzzle she has been laying on her lap as her purpose for sitting there.

“I’m not smart” he says, creeping towards the door.

“Of course you are, help me. Of course you’re smart.”

He turns away.

He comes back again. His visits become more and more frequent. He sits next to her now, adding in his two cents, finally, to the puzzle she insists he has brains for.

The courage in his voice strains underneath the weight of his uncertainty. “what are you doing tonight?”

“oh, I’m going to be a couple hours…”

The conversation becomes inaudible, she sips on her wine and her head looks up only once as a little girl runs by. He continues to creep into the door frame, lingering in her wake as he fingers his towel. He is about to turn away when the customer sitting nearby says, “excuse me, can I place my order?”


-- Max Cafe, Saturday night.

The Difference

Tonight, Barack Hussein Obama won the presidency of the United States of America. After spending five hours glued to the television in anticipation of results, I viewed the thousands of people standing at Grant's Park in Chicago to see their new president, the masses cheering in Harlem, in Atlanta, in Times Square - tears, screams and smiles dressing the entire country.

What surprises me most is that on the other coast, my parents were both eagerly watching the same acceptance speech. My parents - who came here in 1990 as immigrants without experiencing the "American dream", who have no U.S. citizenship and who have previously shown no political inclination - tonight they were just as joyous and excited as their four children. Obama's victory tonight, I think, was an attribute to the other side of the U.S. that they had heard about but unfortunately never experienced. That is, the other side of America that does not make one cynical about being an immigrant or minority in this country, but points to hope, optimism, and - finally, tonight - reality.

In one of my earlier blog posts, I had rambled about balancing duty with free will, and finally doubting an individual's ability to break from his own history. History goes something like this:

"We were always playing on the white man's court, Ray had told me, by the white man's rules. If the principal, or the coach, or a teacher, or Kurt, wanted to spit in your face, he could, because he had power and you didn't. If he decided not to, if he treated you like a man or came to your defense, it would because he knew that the words you spoke, the clothes you wore, the books you read, your ambitions and desires, were already his. Whatever he decided to do, it was his decision to make, not yours, and because of that fundamental power he held over you, because it preceded and would outlast his individual motives and inclination, any distinction between good and bad whites held negligible meaning. In fact, you couldn't even be sure that everything you had assumed to be an expression of your black, unfettered self - the humor, the song, the behind-the-back-pass - had been freely chosen by you. At best, these things were a refuge; at worst, a trap. Following this maddening logic, the only thing you could choose as your own was withdrawal into a smaller and smaller coil of rage, until being black meant only the knowledge of your own powerlessness of your own defeat. And the final irony: should you refuse this defeat and lash out at your captors, they would have a name for that, too, a name that could cage you just as good. Paranoid. Militant. Violent. Nigger."

That was written by Barack Obama more than ten years ago. The same man, who today, tells us this:

"Tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope. For that is the true genius of America - that American can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow."

Perhaps my parents joined me in my eager and breathless phone conversations tonight because they also recognized that it's not just a country that changes, but people as well and the destinies that are expected of them. Someone commented on Obama's speech saying, "Regardless of what you might believe, we didn't elect a black man to the Presidency tonight. Rather, I submit to you that tonight we elected a man to be President who happens to be black. The difference therein is great and we must never confuse the two." Is it? Is the difference great? Obama didn't grow up in Harlem, nor was he as underprivileged as most African-Americans in this country. But he did recognize a feeling of defeat in his life - a feeling of being black and being put into cages of labels. Tonight, a man broke from the history and future written for him. And tonight, there is no difference between the man the US elected who happens to be black and each person who believed they were destined to be trapped in cages. 

double-standard honor?

Last week, a friend of mine sent out this article to a small group of people. A woman in Lucknow, India severed a man's head when he tried to rape her while she was cutting plants. My friend later told me she thought carefully about who to send it to given what type of responses she may get in return from some of her friends. Despite the censorship, she was still taken aback by some of the comments. The general responses found the article laughable - the thought of a woman beheading a man and then carrying his head through town is a ludicrous image, I'm sure. But why laugh at a woman trying to defend her honor? Although we may not condone it, we at least take seriously honor killings that occur by men. Women burned with their husbands, women killed after being raped - they're disgusting but they're not comical. Is it because we are accustomed to men doing the killing in the name of honor? Perhaps this is a generalization, but most women think about and understand (consciously or not) that they represent the honor of the family, community and culture. And while they are vulnerable to their honor being tainted, it is the men whose place it is to traditionally defend it. Is there something humorous, then, about these roles becoming convoluted and a woman deciding how she will defend her honor and dignity - as horrific as it is? One of my friend's characterized the incident as "a real honor killing". Horrific, yes. Humorous, hardly.

you were supposed to dance

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ERbvKrH-GC4

clean slate

I didn't mean for there to be such a long hiatus since my last post, but here we are, another late night, another city...and another computer. I'm currently borrowing a friend's computer, given that mine is currently inoperable. This past week, my hard drive crashed and I lost five years worth of writing, music and pictures. It's one of those events that make you realize, there's more to life than your computer. Oh, sure there is BUT I know that as soon as koobi (jr) is back, I'll be putting the rest of the world on a pause. I had been pretty down about losing my writing - it meant losing papers, some poetry, free-writes, starts of stories, letters, and probably a file of ideas. It's a lot to lose; they were evidence of thoughts and feelings and knowledge - essentially, they were parts of me on paper. But, as I was telling a friend, perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. I had become too accustomed to my writing, and was having a difficult time letting some go. With writing, as with other things one can do, there is always something to improve on. The crash forced me to let go and start again with a fresh mind - certainly it helped me to not be tied to stale ideas and styles of the past.

It's 3.26 AM and I can no longer churn out my best piece of work at this hour of the night. Unfortunatley I think graduating from college means they take away that power. LifeasIknowit in the middle of the semester in the middle of the night in a sentence summary: cold feet about journalism; excitment about classes; letting go (or, as Adrienne Rich would say "stepping backwards"; too bad she didn't write it about computers); dreams of brunch; intention of drawing again; potential photography.

sickening

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26223335/

Cruelty meets beauty for Pakistan burn victims
After acid attacks, women find refuge, independence as beauticians
By NAHAL TOOSI
The Associated Press

LAHORE, Pakistan - Saira Liaqat squints through her one good eye as she brushes a woman's hair. Her face, most of which the acid melted years ago, occasionally lights up with a smile. Her hands, largely undamaged, deftly handle the dark brown locks.

A few steps away in this popular beauty salon, Urooj Akbar diligently trims, cleans and paints clients' fingernails. Her face, severely scarred from the blaze that burned some 70 percent of her body, is somber. It's hard to tell if she's sad or if it's just the way she now looks.

Liaqat and Akbar are among Pakistan's many female victims of arson and acid attacks. Such tales tend to involve a spurned or crazy lover and end in a life of despair and seclusion for the woman.

The two instead became beauticians.

The women can't escape the mirrors or pictures of glamorous models that surround them, but they consider the salon a second home and a good way to make a living. The two also serve as reminders of that age-old lesson on beauty — a lesson that, needed or not, they learned the hard way.

"Every person wishes that he or she is beautiful," says Liaqat, 21. "But in my view, your face is not everything. Real beauty lies inside a person, not outside."

"They do it because the world demands it," Akbar, 28, says of clients. "For them, it's a necessity. For me, it isn't."

Liaqat and Akbar got into the beauty business in the eastern city of Lahore thanks to the Depilex Smileagain Foundation, an organization devoted to aiding women who have been burned in acid or other attacks.

About five years ago, Masarrat Misbah, head of Pakistan's well-known Depilex salon chain, was leaving work when a veiled woman approached and asked for her help. She was insistent, and soon, a flustered Misbah saw why.

'A girl who had no face'When she removed her veil, Misbah felt faint. "I saw a girl who had no face."

The woman said her husband had thrown acid on her.

Misbah decided to place a small newspaper ad to see if others needed similar assistance.
Forty-two women and girls responded.

Misbah got in touch with Smileagain, an Italian nonprofit that has provided medical services to burn victims in other countries. She sought the help of Pakistani doctors. Perhaps the biggest challenge has been raising money for the cause, in particular to build a special hospital and refuge for burn victims in Pakistan.

Her organization has some 240 registered victims on its help list, 83 of whom are at various stages of treatment.

The Human Rights Commission of Pakistan found that in 2007, at least 33 women were burned in acid attacks, and 45 were set on fire. But the statistics are likely an undercount, since many cases go unreported for various reasons including out of fear of their attackers, or because the victims can't afford the legal bills.

The victims Misbah has helped need, on average, 25 to 30 surgical procedures over several years, but she soon realized that wasn't enough. Some, especially those who were outcasts in their families, had to be able to support themselves.

To her surprise, several told her they wanted to be beauticians.

"And I felt so sad," Misbah says. "Because beauty is all about faces and beautiful girls and skin."
She helped arrange for 10 women to train in a beauty course in Italy last year. Some have difficulty because their vision is weak or their hands too burned for intricate work. But several, including Liaqat and Akbar, are making their way in the field.

Images of beauty and brutalityThe salon in Lahore is not the usual beauty parlor. There are pictures of beautiful women on the walls — all made up, with perfect, gleaming hair. But then there's a giant poster of a girl with half her face destroyed.

"HELP US bring back a smile to the face of these survivors," it says.

Working for the salon is a dream come true for Liaqat, whose mischievous smile is still intact and frequently on display. As a child she was obsessed with beauty. Once she burned some of her sister's hair off with a makeshift curling iron. She still wears lipstick.

Akbar, the more reserved one, also carries out many administrative and other tasks for the foundation. One of her duties is collecting newspaper clippings about acid and burn attacks on women.

Both say they are treated well by clients and colleagues, but Misbah says some clients have complained.

"They say that when we come to a beauty salon, we come with the expectation that we're going to be relaxed, in a different frame of mind," Misbah says. "If we come here and we see someone who has gone through so much pain and misery, so automatically that gives us that low feeling also. They have a point.

"At the same time, there are clients who take pride in asking these girls to give them a blow-dry, or getting a manicure or pedicure taken from them."

Sometimes they ask what happened.

According to Liaqat and a lawyer for her case, she was married in her teens, on paper, to a relative, but the families had agreed she wouldn't live with him until she finished school. Within months, though, the man started demanding she join him.

One day at the end of July 2003, he showed up at their house with a package. He asked her to get him some water. He followed her to the kitchen, and as she turned around with the water, she says, he doused her with the acid. It seared much of her face, blinded her right eye, and seriously weakened her left one.

Liaqat shakes her head when recalling how a few days before the incident she found a small pimple on her face and threw a fit. After she was burned, her parents at first wouldn't let their daughter look at a mirror. But eventually she saw herself, and she's proud to say she didn't cry.
"Once we had a wedding in the family. I went there and all the girls were getting dressed and putting on makeup. So that time, I felt a pain in my heart," she says. "But I don't want to weaken myself with these thoughts."

Her husband is in prison as the attempted murder case against him proceeds. The two are still legally married.

Akbar says she found herself in an arranged marriage by age 22. Her husband grew increasingly possessive and abusive, she says. The two had a child.

About three years ago, Akbar says, he sprinkled kerosene oil on her as she slept and lit it. A picture taken shortly afterward shows how her face melted onto her shoulders, leaving her with no visible neck.

Akbar has not filed a case against her now ex-husband. She says she'll one day turn to the law, at least to get her daughter back.

Both women were reluctant for The Associated Press to contact their alleged attackers.
Liaqat and Akbar have undergone several surgeries and expect to face more. They say Misbah's foundation was critical to their present well-being.

"Mentally, I am at peace with myself," Akbar says. "The peace of mind I have now, I never had before. I suffered much more mental anguish in my married life."

'Strong girls'Bushra Tareen, a regular client of Liaqat's, praises her work.

"I feel that her hands call me again and again," Tareen says. She adds that Liaqat and Akbar remind her of the injustices women face, and their ability to rise above them.

"When I see them, I want to be like them — strong girls," she says.

Liaqat is grateful for having achieved her goal of being a beautician. She worries about her eyesight but is determined to succeed.

"I want to make a name for myself in this profession," she says.

Akbar plans to use her income one day to support her little girl, whom she has barely seen since the attack.

"I'm independent now, I stand on my own two feet," she says. "I have a job, I work, I earn. In fact, I'm living on my own ... which isn't an easy thing to do for a woman in Pakistan, for a lone woman to survive."

12.12 reading

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

-- Stanley Kunitz, "The Layers"

on [writing]

A couple of headlines that caught my eye today (from the Daily Star):

"Thousands of Pakistanis demand public hanging of Musharraf"

"Israelis call for attacker's home to be razed"

Since when has being so bloodthirsty and vengeful become so normal? Can't really imagine what satisfaction someone would gain, or what a country would accomplish, by destroying another home or publicly hanging a President who doesn't have much power left anyways. I find a huge contradiction in Lebanon. While there is a general anti-Israel and anti-Syrian (it's worse to be Syrian than it is to be Israeli) attitude in the country because of all the oppression Lebanon has endured at the hands of the two powers, the state and the people here are quick to oppress others. Although the massacres of Palestinians in Lebanon happened during the civil war, now Palestinian refugees are completely ignored. They cannot get jobs, they have no rights, they are not talked about, essentially they do not exist. Meanwhile, Africans and Philippine men and women take up jobs here as janitors, maids, nannies, and other menial jobs. They get low pay, and are not well respected, and in some cases they have their passports taken away, are beaten, and worse... I also hear that during the 2006 war, while many Lebanese families fled into the mountains, they locked their maids inside the apartments. This is not new, but hearing about a people who oppress others complain about being victims of force is almost laughable.

I'm not quite sure what "peace" gains either with headlines like these:
"Israeli Military starts to exhume bodies of Lebanese fighters"


When I was young, I was told there were some things I could not talk about. When I lived in Coalinga, I knew there were taboo subjects that should not be discussed at school. This is what had excited me about journalism, and probably what I like about writing: the prospect of finally saying anything you want. I know there are restrictions in many countries when it comes to journalism, like there are in the U.S. as well. But this summer I have been disappointed in: Al J's refusal to talk about homosexuality, something that can't and should not be ignored for long; Iran's new attempt to try to pass a law that would give death penalty to bloggers if they are seen as a threat; Lebanon's refusal to talk to any Israeli citizen because they are in a state of war. These are not surprising, obviously, but they do mean that alot of problems that these countries and the region wants to overcome will not go away anytime soon. Being here has confirmed that there is a big gap between politics and people, and what makes the news doesn't necessarily reflect what's happening on the ground. Which is why I find the fact that Lebanese newspapers will not talk to any Israeli citizen to get better perceptions of their sides of the story a bit absurd. At this rate, the two countries will always be in a state of war. This makes me a bit disheartened about the idealism I have put in journalism. But it has also encouraged me to start writing more (blogs, poetry, fiction, articles, etc.)

In the meantime, however, if you want to see what not talking gains, read the headlines.

city strollin'

Everyone should walk around a city by themselves at least once. It doesn't seem exhausting when you're strolling without having to reach a certain destination by a certain time. And nothing can beat walking to the memorials in DC on a late Sunday afternoon. It's one of the few parts of the east coast that reminds me of the calmness of California.


From a different day: a gorgeous sunset on one side and a looming thunderstorm on the other. Next time it's going to be a sunrise.

Inspired

A few women who inspired me this week, and thanks to whom I may be narrowing down my focus:

Forough Farrokhzad: an Iranian poet living in the early part of the 20th century; feminist; thinker; independent.

Fariba: a friend of a friend; Iranian human rights activist; protester; mother; incredibly sweet.

Lara Logan: CBS Chief Foreign Correspondent; extremely passionate; feisty; actually cares about ethics in journalism.

Power in numbers

02/16/96 - 05:11 PM ET - Click reload often for latest version

Washington's great gatherings

The number of people at the largest gatherings in the nation's capital, according to the National Park Service:

Event                             Date              Crowd
Vietnam War moratorium rally      Nov. 15, 1969     600,000
Iran hostage welcome              Jan. 27, 1981     500,000
Vietnam War 'Out Now' rally       April 24, 1971    500,000
Million Man March                 Oct. 16, 1995     400,000
March on Washington for Gay       April 25, 1993    300,000
and Lesbian Rights                              
20th anniversary of Civil         Aug. 28, 1983     300,000
Rights March on Washington                      
Solidarity Day                    Sept. 10, 1981    250,000
Civil Rights March on Washington  Aug. 28, 1963     250,000

Source: National Park Service; USA TODAY research by Cindy Hall

Flying high

It is the time of year of commencement speeches – and despite their attempts to be original, they end with the same point: the power of youth is unimaginable. Speechmakers seem to give advice freely and enthusiastically. Excel in math and science to become superb engineers in order to surpass competitive countries. Keep troops out of battle, and do not enter another world war. Save the world from poverty. In short, do not make the same mistakes your predecessors have made.

Youth has a lot of faith in itself. Perhaps it is not as visible in the United States, where graduating classes have become accustomed to finding their own niche and generally agreeing that the distance from point A to point B does not necessarily have to be the shortest, and that they will eventually save the world, but in their own way. Yet, youth as a collective force, as something with the power to change the course of a country’s history is not just an idea posed during a ceremony, but a reality outside the U.S. It is a necessity, even.

An op-ed in today’s The Daily Star, written by a student at AUB, argued for students as the solution to Lebanon’s problems. After almost two decades of political stalemate and little change in the country, it is not surprising to place hope in a young generation that will not abide by the same rules, same games. We all know this is not a new idea. Youth movements have played crucial parts in at the very least establishing dissident voices in places like Pakistan, Iran, India, and Egypt. These expressions of dissent are not limited to rallies, protests and sit-ins. They have been realized through a “revolution of ideas” – blogs, radio, television, and surprisingly music. Laal, a band from Pakistan, for example, recently released a music video written by a poet speaking sarcastically of the country. Perhaps it wouldn’t be effective without the added pictures of Bhutto’s recent death and the chaos that followed. Similarly, Dam expresses the destitute and the hurt inflicted upon people by political institutions in Israel and Palestine. Again, what makes the video powerful are the pictures – regardless of whether they represent Israel or Palestine, they are effective in saying: this has got to stop.

The message is not new either, but essentially what the op-ed rests upon is collective memory and the hope placed in time to enable youth to forget this memory. In the case of Lebanon, it is essential for younger generations to find a political agreement that breaks away from a confessional system based upon religious identities people may no longer recognize. The differences between Sunnis, Shias, Maronites, the Druzes, and the Greeks only make sense for so long. The younger generation can move beyond these differences of which they have no collective memory. In that sense, it becomes easier to find political reconciliation that is not based on emotions. Well, that is the hope.

But then there is the issue of collective memory in another part of the world – Pakistan and India. Ironically, perhaps the memory that the older generations had should be passed along to the younger generations – that of having known a time when the two were friends, were one nation even. We may be entering a time in which the present and future generations will not be able to recall the costs of partition, or the social and political complexities surrounding it. Technically the younger generation does not have a literal memory of partition, but with the continuing Kashmir conflict, they are constantly reminded of everything that came after, not what had come before. But despite this, at least there are movements within both countries to improve their nation, however it stands now.

All right, so what has changed if the youth still go and protest oppressive regimes or bullying governments? The 1970s already gave us memories of listening to the Beatles, protesting in communist rallies, being pummeled by a rowdy crowd…have we been able to offer anything different?

So here, let’s bring in another factor – expats. It is difficult to avoid the progressive movements among youth in the United States, concerned with Pakistan, India, Israel, and Palestine. Their work has been crucial in many instances; for example when students tried to mobilize against and raise awareness about the BJP in India using Hindu Student Councils in the U.S. to raise funds for specific (problematic) endeavors…And yet, it is interesting to think about what type of collective memory the young generations of different diasporas hold outside of their home countries. At times, their views seem more hostile than of the youth residing in the countries in question:

I would never bring a Pakistani home.

Indian culture is better than Pakistani culture.

India is a right-wing Hindu state. It is not a democracy.

Progressive movements in the U.S. for causes elsewhere have become increasingly popular, as they should. But it might be possible that the reality they perceive is slightly different than what those in the country see. So really, who is right: The young generation fighting for national ideals caught up in the spirit of causes, or the young generation fighting for more jobs, more food, and less chaos? Both are important in their own right.

sometimes you don't have to read past headlines

"Revenge of the Nerdette" - Newsweek
"China Scolds Western Media" - Businessweek
"Syrian Anthem Played for Lebanese" - BBC
"Hen living at McDonald's finally captured" - CNN

epiphany

I realized this weekend that I come to conclusions too often…and have a habit of voicing them.

One of those flings

It was raining leaves, and they probably didn't even realize it. But from where I stood, the amphitheater seemed to be showering its petals down on the graduating class. I hadn't ever noticed it before, probably because when I was sitting in their place, I was also just focused on the speaker, waiting intently for the ceremony to be over. But sitting at a distance was wonderful - I finally got to enjoy Swarthmore for its beauty, without the stress of work, or the emotional burden of graduation.

Swat is insanely beautiful - one of the most beautiful places I've seen in all its simplicity. There is nothing grand or overbearing about it. A couple of friends and I spent some time under the shade of a massive tree, and I remembered reading the Masnawi with my class under a literal curtain of cherry blossoms. Discussing poetry under a tree seems so annoyingly collegiate in retrospect but at the moment you couldn't help but think, "wow, this is why I love this place." We walked through the rose garden (if only I could take everyone through that rose garden), and a group of parents walked by, all talking about how beautiful the garden was. I heard one of the men say "I'd like one of those !" and I couldn't help but smile and think that it was mine, and that I had owned a part of it. That reminded me of how a friend of mine had compared Swarthmore to a romance in his senior speech. I'm not sure what he thinks of the comparison now, but I still find it appropriate. It was irrational and frustrating, short and sometimes too long, but at the end of it, you come out a better person.


The entry is somewhat corny, but it made me happy to go back to Swat. I ignored the changes of course, like the new New Dorm, and I had hoped I'd be able to walk through the crum one last time (I didn't really do that senior year and somewhat regret it). But what was also incredible was sitting with friends and talking about all the ways we had changed, and not being phased by it. Transformation just seemed to be expected and natural. As one of my friends put it, we all seemed to be having the same experience but in different places.

Graduation was nothing less than chaotic, but memorable in all its craziness. It's somewhat funny to hear some of the graduating seniors talk about how sad they are and what a wonderful time they had, and how they are never going to get it again. And I want to be able to tell them that it gets better after, but they won't believe me until they actually live it. Thank god college isnt the best four years of your life, but it definitely is four years worth going through. But really, I can only say this now.

different place, same fun

I got to go back in time for a few days while staying with Mamta in her apartment in Baltimore. Not only did we attempt to cook things we had never cooked before (again), but we somehow succeeded in making something edible!

Like our first attempt at veggie chili, which turned out better than we expected. It had a hint of Indian spiciness to it, and I can expect nothing less from us. But as always, we're more excited about the colors than anything else. It looks like a real fiesta in the pan! We even ventured so far as to create an entire chipotle meal with tortillas, rice and the works. This time we managed to have a successful meal without burning anything...




We had a bit of trouble with the rice though...something we have yet to master. It seems that both of us individually can cook fantastic meals, but bring us together and disaster strikes!












But at least there will always be pie. Pumpkin pie! Which, of course, did not go without a reference to falling pumpkins.




It's nice knowing nothing much has changed. Cooking can be as eventful as it always was, dinner as satisfying as you would expect, and the clean-up (as usual) filled with uncontrollable laughter after reminiscing about our falls...literally.

I didn't think I would ever give television journalism another chance after my disappointing internship at CNN, but the past week has been quite exciting. Granted, a 40 second clip requires an hour of set-up and interview, and a daily 22-minute show is only possible with hours of shooting, editing, and the works. But the 5,4,3,2,1! and the subsequent 22 minutes are quite exhilarating. The hilarity is seeing the backstage action - the producers cursing into their headsets, or the editing and sound persons talking over each other. EVERYONE is talking backstage and yet things get done! Somehow, the host knows exactly what to say, the crew knows exactly what to put on when, the scroller knows exactly when to cue the script. I've never experienced a more productive scenario where people talked over each other so much. Although that (over) communication seems to be successful only in those 22 minutes. The rest of the day revolves around quite a bit of miscommunication and frustration. But despite that, this could be the beginning of a new endeavor...

Exile

"In October 2000 the world was tuned in to the Sydney Olympics. In the hostel, on D-day we were all glued to the TV set eager for the opening ceremony to begin. Halfway into the event I realized that I couldn't see clearly anymore and my face felt wet. I was crying. No, it wasn't the fact that I clearly wished I was in Sydney or the splendour of the atmosphere or the spirit of the games, I tried hard to explain to those around me. Bu they couldn't understand, couldn't even begin to understand....how could they? They belong to a nation. They have never had to conceive of its loss, they have never had to cry for their country. They belonged and had a space of their own not only on the world map but also in the Olympic Games. Their countrymen could march proudly, confident of their nationality, in their national dress and with their national flag flying high. I was so happy for them."

-- Tenzin Tsundue

It's 3AM

I hear there are no more tangas left in Lahore. This places me in a predicament: you see, I have very clear memories of riding tangas in Pakistan, invariably with the smell of shit coming from the horse in front of us. In particular, I clearly recall eating a huge paan quite happily while squished between two women (perhaps one was my mother who surprisingly did not scold me for finishing the entire paan off at the age of four; I mark that as the beginning of my degeneration). So where is this predicament? Well, without any tangas, I have no sense of what Pakistan is. What will happen when I go back? I will be utterly lost. Tangas were almost as indispensible to my memory of P. as dancing women with colorful dupattas are for any Yash Raj film trying desperately to evoke nostalgia for the homeland. Horse shit, where else can I get that smell? I came close driving through the cow lands of coalinga, ca - but there was no horse and no tanga, and usually a struggle to keep the windows up while my brother tried to put them down shouting "but this is our pind!" Let me tell you, freedom does not smell like that. Nineteen years of memory and I won't be able to appreciate it when I go back; now I have to recall something that is hopefully not untrue - like kite-flying, although it's banned in Lahore (I believe), and I only did it in Karachi...

Hm, perhaps this can be resolved. I just remembered - I never lived in Lahore, only Multan. There is still hope...maybe not so much for my memory. And I think one of my friends would argue not for my facial recognition abilities either. Unfortunately, the slow waves caused a little bit of trouble earlier when I couldn't recognize a friend's friend in time and failed to respond with a nod and wave in the elevator; he came to the conclusion that my friend was ignoring him and that she had told me to do the same. I would suggest no one really read into my facial expressions - they say more of what I don't intend than the other way around. A similar thing happened today, though I in fact did not know the person, and hopefully no drama will result from the interaction; point is, elevators are dangerous for social interaction.

For those of you who are probably wondering why this post even exists, I think you should appreciate that it's a clear improvement from my 3am posts in my previous blog.

happy things

big brunches ojpj candles walks in the sun with a slight wind pushing me along church bells feet bells sleigh bells walks at night on large empty streets when all you hear is a saxaphone friends (you havent seen in so long and can still have three hour conversations with) smell-of-jasmines-honeysuckles-onions frying-beach-afterrains over-coffee-talks that last longer than you realize no concept of time appreciation of time stargazing fleeces daisies grass-naps swings writingwritingreadingwritingreadingabookyoudontwanttoend smoothies salinger music lying-in-my-bed-listening-to-music-mornings funny jokes silly jokes inside jokes massages dresses drawing twirling in skirts anklets nightsatthebeach driving driving with windows down icecreamintherain snowballfights bonfires citywalking kites peoplewatching ink pens
dance drum talk hum sing -ing
days that dont end the way they began days that end the way they began

Why I'm Old

My blog has been too focused on Pakistan. The focus needs to be redirected towards ME!
Anyone who has known me for a while most likely knows that one of my peeves is being called "too young to ____" (fill in the blank). Fascinatingly, people here tend to remind me of my age more often than anyone did at college. I would appreciate this if I had an awful memory and didn't know when my birthday was (which actually isn't so funny since my parents were somewhat confused about what year I was born in for a short period in my life). But really, if I've forgotten, I'm sure a friend or a good samaritan (facebook) will remind me when to blow out my candles. So, I have decided to respond to these polite reminders, exclamations of surprise, excuses for my "lack of craziness" with a list of why I'm old:

- I have white hairs. Not just one - many. I'd rather just believe this is a sign of wisdom.
- I have a horrible memory (except for when it comes to remembering my birthday). I lost my favorite scarf - twice - and I'm pretty sure I won't be able to recover it now.
- I can stay up past a bedtime. In fact, I dont even have a bedtime.
- I take afternoon naps. Oh, and also, I can fall asleep anywhere - ANYWHERE.
- I drink coffee - not the 99/100 milk and 1/100 spoon coffee kind, but the actual bitter strong disgusting kind.
- I wore a business suit two days in a row (although to be honest I couldn't retain the professional look and ended up eating Bugles on Wall Street because I get freakin hungry all the time).
- I am jaded.
- I am idealistic, but only when appropriate.
- My impromptu dance and singing shows have been reduced to only happening in my room.
- I make lists.

The beginning of the end?

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/7262071.stm

When Youtube stopped working for me earlier this afternoon, I didn't think much of it - until I read this article. Leave it up to Pakistan to create a global problem for everyone, however temporary. At some level I can laugh this off, but at another, Pakistan's censorship on youtube is quite frightening.

The Danish cartoon controversy is not only over-done but is also about two years old at this point. It's surprising that Pakistan would censor a public site such as youtube so close after the elections and the subsequent "victory of democracy." Clearly, elections do not equate to democracy. The government has alot of work to do in order to stop Pakistan from spiraling down into an autocratic state.

In order to respond to an inevitable protest to the above statement, I should say that I don't mean that someone should "install" a democracy in Pakistan. As I said earlier, the elections do not prove stability; however, there are specific freedoms - social, religious and political - that should not be denied to anyone. Perhaps that seems too basic, but that is precisely why they are important - these rights are logically basic and inherent to everyone. No state, or a small group of people, should be able to curtail these, under the guise of religion or state unity. If religion and statehood become more important than human freedom, we need to rethink the extent of their importance.

Op-ed

I responded to an op-ed written by someone in the San Francisco Chronicle last week:

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/01/06/INSTU7JRN.DTL&hw=Vanni+Cappelli&sn=001&sc=1000

Unfortunately my article didn't get publish, but here it is nonetheless:

Pakistan is in danger – not because of its political instability, but because of misguided foreign policy suggestions. Vanni Cappelli’s proposals to curtail the Islamic threat in Pakistan in the January 6th edition of the San Francisco Chronicle are a repetition of history. Blaming Pakistan’s army for the extremist Islamic threat the world faces only distracts policy-making from effective changes needed to promote stability within the country.

What is most frightening about Cappelli’s argument is suggesting an Afghanistan-India-US alliance to try to contain extremism in Pakistan. There are two major problems with this solution: first, it completely dismisses the dangers and repercussions of utilizing Afghanistan and India, the two states that Pakistan finds dangerous to its statehood; and second, the proposal suggests that the Pakistani state is inherently linked with Islamic extremism, a falsehood that should not be linked to US foreign policy.

In regards to the first issue, the hurried process of partition left Pakistan and India’s borders fragile, and the Kashmir issue unresolved. The result has been massive military and defense spending on both sides. Pakistan spent $4,572 million and India spent $23,933 million in 2006 alone in military expenditure. This includes money for weapons that could be spent on educating thousands of children in both countries. Trying to contain Pakistan through India would only exacerbate the threat India poses for the state-hood of Pakistan. Disputes between the two countries remain unresolved, and it is inevitable that Pakistan would continue to spend more on defense and the military to protect its borders. If the goal of development in Pakistan is to provide “tractors, not tanks” to its citizens, then this policy needs to be rethought. Using Afghanistan would similarly only worsen tension between the two countries who are currently trying to contain the open and ungoverned regions on the Afghanistan and Pakistan border. Eradicating internal Islamic threats to Pakistan and other countries requires working with the country, not isolating it.

Second, it’s a mistake to assume that the US’s focus should now be shifted from Iraq to Pakistan. There is a looming threat of instability and destruction in Iraq that should not be ignored. Clearly, if the U.S. is having difficult in curtailing extremists in Iraq, then there is no reason to assume that Pakistan can succeed in the task but just hasn’t been doing so. Pakistan’s military history has been extensive, but civilian rule in the country has not proven to produce stability and prosperity either. Violation of human rights for women and minorities are integrated into a corrupt political system; it is not a result of an Islamic identity, but because of a continuously tension-filled political history. Even when Benazir Bhutto was in power, she was not successful in curtailing violations of rights for women, or in liberalizing the media. The Pakistani military’s goals are problematic, but when faced with threats from countries that continually endanger its political and cultural autonomy, the military finds more reasons to further assert Pakistani identity that “needs” to be different from its neighbors – an Islamic one.

Policies toward stability will be effective in Pakistan if the U.S. focuses not on an anti-Islam agenda, but political development within the country. Moreover, media should not continue to paint a rosy picture of the Bhutto legacy in Pakistan – democratic process in Pakistan requires substantial change, not a lineage of political leaders.

Pakistan is not a lost cause. The lawyers’ movement and the subsequent return of Bhutto are indicators that Pakistanis are demanding rights and political freedom. Pakistan’s history and political sphere is more complex than an Islam vs. West attitude: let’s try to comprehend that before we propose plans to eradicate the extremist threat coming from the country.

Balancing Act

After I finished reading A Fine Balance, I was wondering how someone who liked The Fountainhead so much could find herself in the same perplexity about this book. Where one talks about the individual as the ultimate being, the other talks about duty, fate, and the lack of individual will when confronted with circumstances. Perhaps this is why the individual spirit, will, whatever, is so enticing – because it means that there is possibly a way to control a situation, and that we don’t have to succumb to Fortuna’s twisted plan. The individual will, if provoked, can rise beyond and above society.

Well, this is what I would like to believe, but really it is not pessimistic in acknowledging that it’s not possible. To acknowledge the oppression, the bad, the unfair parts of society, and then to rise yourself above that and not society altogether, well that’s a feat probably worth pursuing. We need society, we need people, and circumstances. Duty is necessary, if only to hold ourselves in boundaries for others; without duty, there is no responsibility, no expectation, and if there is not that, we will constantly be in a state of wondering where we have come to and why and what for. But up to what point shall duty be upheld? Duty, as Mistry said, made people irrational, made them blind to something that could otherwise have been simple. Duty perpetuated the unbearable web of responsibility, poverty, loss and oppression. So much so that even in our lives, we can sometimes predict the loss that will befall us. Maybe, at times, we make it happen. Are we doomed to repeat history? When discussing the concept of fighting for freedom with a friend, I found myself arguing against it, at least in one’s personal life. I didn’t actually believe that freedom was not worth fighting for, but my questions were real, and they continue to perplex me. I am afraid that one will continue to fight, and that history will continue on, and that the individual will will be faced with a huge mountain that it can’t budge. Perhaps if I saw people breaking histories in their own way, I can be convinced. But at the moment, I can’t help but question who to fight for; it can’t be a duty to one’s self, because the self is already unrecognizable in this fight – how does one continue to fight without hating one’s self?