(Taipei, Taiwan)

Why do people want to help Africa? While I do not doubt the good deeds that many have done on the continent, I have always found it strange how many Americans who have never been there would profess a desire to dedicate their lives to making Africa “better” for Africans. 

The reason why this came up is that I recall meeting people who decided that they had the next big thing that will save Africa. They run off to create a flashy feel-good model that is very media-friendly and which everyone can feel good supporting. It is hard not to shake off the suspicion that a lot of these is done more for self-promotion (look at me) rather than for the best interest of Africans. I discussed this with a friend and he pointed out that if a system promotes “doing good” as a way to social prestige, why not?

I agree with him that incentives to “do good” can be important. My fear is that incentives are mis-aligned in such a system. People do what “looks” best rather than what is truly best. Its not about Africans. Its about “me.” Good acts with unintended consequences, but still look good, are celebrated. The question then is what is the alternative in a society where incentives matters? No good works?

(Taipei, Taiwan)

My brother, who has been living in Vietnam for the past three years, married a Vietnamese lady. According to my mother, married couples in Vietnam have to announce the wedding in the newspapers three months before the marriage. During this period, anyone can write in to oppose the marriage.

I am not sure how such disputes are resolved since no one opposed my brother’s wedding. But I imagine that an opposition would entail someone from the guy or girl’s childhood declaring his or her crush on the prospective bride or groom since age 7 or 6 or 5… Bride or groom then rides off into the sunset with the childhood lover on a scooter.

I also learned about how South American ladies take an interesting approach to fending off unwanted male attention. When guys ask them for a date, it is customary to gush over how excited they are and how they love to go. And you wait and the day comes and ladies never turn up. This is what a political science researcher told us in our qualitative methods class. She was interviewing paramilitaries in Colombia and they would hit on her. Her friends told her that she should just agree to go and never turn up. The guys understand and no one minds it at all…not even when they are murderous paramilitaries.

(Chicago, USA) Glad to be on my feet again

It is hard to concentrate on writing papers for classes when a wonderful summer is just round the corner. In May, I will go to Switzerland for another conference. After my conference, I will finally make my first trip to the Middle East. I will fly to Turkey and make my way across to Syria. I hope I am successful in crossing the border, as I do not have a visa and do not have time to apply for one. I am hoping to get one at the border.

My fascination with Syria is recent. In a political science class on fieldwork methodology, we read a book on the cult of the former President Asad, an authoritarian leader who came to power in a period of coups and counter-coups. He is also the country’s premier “pharmacist” and his son now rules as the country’s president. There are too many similarities with other places I am interested in for me to give up this opportunity to make a visit.

After Syria, I will return to Yale University for graduation before moving to Korea. I have another conference to attend in Taiwan, but given that it is in the middle of my language training program, I am not too keen on making the trip. However, I dearly miss Taiwan and my friends there.

My friends at Harvard are organizing this:

IMUSE 2010 Beijing Summer Fellowship Program

Please refer to the website for more information:http://www.projectimuse.org/application/

(Wilmette, USA)

One of my intrepid undergraduate classmates took a semester off school to study the financial sector in Kyrgyzstan. He was supposed to help set up an investment bank with some entrepreneurs based in New York who had close ties to former president Bakiyev. A week before this flight, the partners of the firm were arrested for ties to the mafia.

My friend went ahead anyway to do his research. A couple of weeks in Bishkek, the revolution took place. Last I heard, my friend is holed up in his apartment not too far from the presidential palace. At least he has Facebook at home and we are still getting his status updates. The best advice I heard from any parent was from my friend’s mom: “Please don’t use the flash or someone will mistake you for a sniper.”

(Singapore, Singapore)

The Singaporeans I normally hear about in the US are the well-to-do bankers, consultants or scions of tycoons churned out of the elite track of Singapore’s education system. The type that congregates in New York City, London or Hong Kong living the high life their privileged education has afforded them. This is of course a stereotype…but it is a stereotype steeped in truth.

But there is a gritty underbelly to this immigrant business. Last year, I moved to New Haven for my fellowship. This is a small town two hours west of New York City. A friend whom I met while studying classical Chinese in Beijing welcomed me by bringing me to a restaurant called “Ivy Noodle.” What I heard in the restaurant was unmistakable…the staff spoke with the mixed English and Chinese thick with the Singaporean accent that I am familiar with.

Here was a family from Singapore running a “Chinese” restaurant in Connecticut. I wonder what their story is, but I feel too shy to ask them. Or maybe I feel it is better left unasked. That way, it lingers in my imagination, and it becomes a story to which I project my own reasons for being somewhere else but Singapore.

(Shenyang, China)

I am taking a class here at Yale called “Public Opinion in China.” The class uses surveys and statistical mining to study Chinese public opinion. The professor talked about how certain towns he visited in Henan to collect data had effectively “rebelled” against the government. They had thrown out the local party cadres and now wait for a new administration at the provincial level to provide someone more palatable. Other towns were essentially being run by the mafia. Since even before CCP rule and during the Cultural Revolution, Henan suffered under some of the worst party administrators.

Our discussions reminded me of my classmate’s story of her time in Xian. This is a recollection from 2007 hence I might have mis-remembered some details. Jean* was making her way to some historical sites in the countryside around Xian. Unable to make it to her destination in time, she stayed in a random village for the night. She ran into some gangsters who tried to pull her over to sing and drink with them – very much like the stereotypes of those KTV scenes in Chinese movies.

The innkeeper had to intervene and told them that Jean was a visiting cousin. My friend was told to stay at the innkeeper’s room for the night just in case there was trouble. In the middle of the night, the innkeeper’s son, a lad no older than 16 years of age, snuck in and asked Jean if she could kiss him. Jean told him that she was going to tell his mother. The frightened kid ran out of the room.

*A pseudonym

(Border with Ji’An, North Korea)

North Koreans have a badge with the likeness of Kim Il Sung or Kim Jong Il on it. They wear this badge over their left breast. Outside observers often claim that those who do not wear these badges are punished (either through fines or worst). When I visited, I asked a university student what would happen if someone failed to sport the badge. She replied, “The person would feel really ashamed but there is no punishment for doing so.”

I did not give this much thought until I read Lisa Weeden’s book on the Ambiguities of Domination on the Syrian cult of personality. The author claims that most members of the cult of personality in Syria do not buy into the claims of the cult. However, the power of the cult lies in its expression: the ability to force people to act in obedience, to say things that they know are patently false, and to reaffirm complicity of anyone to everyyone around them through such actions. People who fail to uphold the cult are criticized by their peers not so much for believing something “untrue” but rather, for their seeming arrogance in trying to stand above their peers in admitting the truth.

I find it hard to doubt that student’s words. While it might be that some coercion takes place to enforce the badge-wearing rule, the costs of doing so are relatively high and a slap in the face of a regime that claims omnipotence. Rather, the public signaling of subversiveness and the resultant peer pressure could be enough to compel people to comply. And the peer pressure need not stem from binary values of “belief” or “disbelief” but rather from the ambiguous state in between where people could “disbelieve” but still express opprobrium at those who reject the cult in the most blatant fashions.

(Chicago, USA)

I must look terribly unintimidating. On my last day in Chicago, I rented a bike to ride along the Michigan Lake. On the way back, I decided to check out the inner-city area around Hyde Park. I had wanted to see the Public Housing Projects on this trip but these were torn down years ago.

The Project was blocks of high rise apartment where poor and often African American communities were corralled into when the Illinois Institute of Technology and the city wanted to scoop up land for redevelopment ages ago (according to an exhibit at the Architecture Institute).

(Chicago, USA)

My bike ride brought me through a rather run down community. I noticed that the entire neighborhood was African American. A kid coming out of his high school suddenly appeared in front of me. He said, “Can I steal your bike?” I just smiled and shook my head. He started chasing me and I pedaled furiously to get away.

I steered myself back to the park around the Lake. A 7 year old toddler there also ran up to me and said “Can I steal your bike?” Her parents laughed. I almost bolted. The experience was surreal.