It's 10:40 p.m. here in Dhaka, and all hell has broken loose. I wanted to participate in that precise moment, feel the elation wash over me too, but I could not, for the life of me, find an online stream of Bangladesh's cricket match against Sri Lanka. So I resorted to ESPN's play-by-play box score and before the narrative of the final points trickled past the cyber traffic, anticipation had exploded from the lungs of Bangladeshis in glorious fruition. I took off my headphones and opened the door to the balcony. The breeze had stopped for the hoots and horns and yells. Flashes of light from firecrackers lit the narrow side streets and revealed jubilant faces, growing in number by the second. It's still awfully dark in the capital that so many people call home, but the activity of bright colors from celebrating women's shalwar kameez has chased away the heaviest corners of the night.
My heart is swelling with pride as it rarely does. This is the stuff that hits me when the Lakers got Pau Gasol for Kwame Brown, when Brady completed the throw to Moss in the 4th quarter of Super Bowl XLII. For a cricket match to have the same effect on me, I know there is life other than sports at play here. But for these Bangladeshis? It's all wickets and bearded bowlers, man. For a night, an entire nation is going to bed thinking life might be worth it.
All I can say right now about Bangladesh is that the streets of Dhaka are one of the most terrifying things I've encountered. I don't get stressed out easily, but the volume of traffic, the utterly reckless driving, and the constant explosion of horns when the two meet are taking a toll on me. Not sure if I'll ever get used to this.
Last November, on a Saturday before Thanksgiving, my good friend Emma and I made a day-trip to Cape Cod territory. Cape Cod has held a fascination for me long before I came to Bawston. Back in high school, I used to peruse the web for cool wallpapers of outdoor scenery and save them for future viewing, which, admittedly, is not the most heterosexual thing I've done. But anyway I once stumbled upon a Flickr album with Cape Cod's beach sunsets and in one of the pictures, there were these slender rectangular pieces of wood that formed a fence along sand dunes overlooking the water. I thought this, along with the water's strange immiscibility with colors of the sky, would be worth a look some day.
But for the purposes of our trip, Cape Cod was irrelevant. Emma had made an earnest suggestion freshman year that we go on an adventure at some point in college. It's a suggestion I entertained because an adventure designed and implemented with Emma's involvement, whatever the destination, could not disappoint.
Aside from being a great all-around friend and a loyal supporter of this blog, Emma possesses the incredible patience and aplomb of a thermophile - she can seemingly enjoy life at her own pace and on her own terms even when the environment seems inhospitable. Sometimes, a misfortune or insult may briefly raise the volume of her voice but her tone will have hardly changed. Then, her matter-of-fact acknowledgement of the event is the benediction of humor that blesses and forgives everyone in the scene. I should also mention that she, like me, has no discomforts about silence.
We ultimately chose our destination by determining the amount of driving needed to get there and comparing this to the amount of driving that would qualify as an adventure. The 2.5-3 hours to Provincetown, the most remote city in the Cape Cod proper, seemed just right. We would figure out the actual itinerary along the way.
To the gentleman who was handling our paperwork for the rent car at Enterprise, though, this must have been rather disconcerting. The sight of a young Asian male with corrective lenses should have been enough to cause a trip in anyone's actuarial mind. Add the natural shakiness of my hand manifesting itself in the signing of the paperwork and Cape Cod, we've got a problem.
Polite but sounding nervous about having to fish for information, he asked us twice where in Cape Cod we were going. I was slightly annoyed the second time. So I asked him to recommend a place for us. Then he brightened, losing the nerves, and confidently endorsed a place called Wellfleet. I don't remember exactly what he said, except that he enjoyed visiting the place quite often with his family, and that there were "a lot of different things" we could do. Then to my surprise, a lady sitting behind us, who was also looking to rent a car, seconded Wellfleet. Her statement was similarly cryptic, something along the lines of "I have a good time there, I enjoy the place a lot."
Anyway, we did succeed in renting the car and were on our way. The dashboard clock read a little past 10:30 a.m. when we left, and the rest is history:
-The trip got off to an inauspicious start, with me forgetting to switch lanes upon entering the freeway and Emma fumbling with the navigation on my phone. Oh yeah, I was the one driving. The result was that we circled an elementary school parking lot three times before registering positive mileage in the no-stoplight zone.
-The traffic dissipated soon after we escaped downtown Boston, and was replaced by rows and rows of foliage trees along the road. Except for some young'uns with their luminescent yellows and oranges, most of the leaves had begun to show tinges of mahogany and fulvous, which strangely enough, got me thinking about fatherhood at one point in the drive. Because I wanted to focus on safe driving, I didn't give myself much of a chance to look closely at the trees, but speeding along in that open road with the blur of fall colors stretching as far as I could see - that was the highlight of the trip for me.
-We did go to Wellfleet. It was a decision that had me uneasy from the outset, and Emma can testify. When the gentleman at Enterprise first handed me the keys to the car and Emma and I got in, the first thing I said to her was, "I'm not sure if we should go to Wellfleet." Why? The combined age of its two aficionados was about 80. This gaping intergenerational gap likely boded a dissonance between our definitions of phrases like "fun", "good time" and "a lot of different things." For all we knew, Wellfleet's appeal could have been a store that sells pastel-colored cardigan sweaters for cheap or a community softball league for women who've hit menopause and can still hit some more.
Wellfleet, as it turns out, was not altogether different from what I had imagined. A quiet town with a library and colonial church holding it down, and a vibe of close-knitedness wherever folks could be found. We had lunch at a place called Lighthouse Restaurant, which looks like it was built from a ship's wooden dock. The Yelp reviewer who describes it as a townie bar is correct, but Emma and I did not attract too many glances and enjoyed decent sandwiches.
-According to Frommer's, Cahoon Hollow Beach is "spectacular" and "on the rough, frigid Atlantic Ocean." The latter was right on the money, but I was rather disappointed that the huge dunes that slope down to the beach were not more picturesque. Blame it on the time of the year, of course, and of the day (most beaches in Cape Cod just have that barren look unless the sunset is going on.)
But a cool treat was the foray into the woods to and from the beach. Along the way, we encountered a road sign that explicitly warned us of a slow handicapped child. Whatever it takes to get the job done, I guess.
-If we compare the shape of the cape to that of a flexed arm that has horribly atrophied from the elbow up, the city of Provincetown sits at the curled fist. And aside from packing punches in the way of delivering quality seaside views all around and tersely named boutiques such as French Kiss and Market, it really grips visitors with its robust and lively gay community (the fist analogy will stop here.)
Gay couples, gay couples with dogs, and rainbow flags filled every narrow street. Emma was intrigued by a particular coffee shop that allowed pets and carried an impressive line of treats for the furry friends. I liked gazing out at the steely waters by the boardwalk because it was about the only thing I could do without getting amused.
The image I will always remember, though, came on our drive to Provincetown. After passing through the heart of Cape Cod National Seashore, we saw Route 6 give way to an alternate path to Provincetown, the 6A, which snakes closer to the coast. I decided to stay on the 6 for no good reason, and was almost regretting my choice when I was rewarded with one of the most magnificent stretches of highway I've ever seen.
To my left, there was a continuous line of these startlingly uniform and petite homes, almost like giant gingerbread houses. I couldn't tell what color they were because the sun was darting behind the rooftops and throwing their outlines in dark relief, but I'm pretty sure they were more colorful than the Bluth family home. And then to the right, there was this great expanse of yellow and brown grass, something you'd more likely see in an African savanna than North American prairie, except that the terrain was just shaped ridiculously. It was round and flat depending on where you looked, which is what you expect from hills, but there were also bulges and sagging tops and veins in the mix, like some cubist depiction of an old person. And driving a little farther along, I caught glimpses of a black pool of water, thick and heavy like tar, just stagnating along in the middle of all that yellow and brown. I admired it so loudly and repeatedly that Emma started cracking up.
I promised myself that I wouldn't write another entry until I finished The Brothers Karamazov because the book is just full of didactic nuggets to inform my conscience and outlook on life, but it's looking as though my days in Cali are numbered (more on that later.) So while I still have reliable Internet access, I thought I'd put myself through an exercise that is long overdue.
Every January, I think about making a list of New Year's Resolutions and then don't. I blame my heavy blanket at home full of duck feathers. Sleeping under it is like sleeping under the warm, shapeless bodies of women, and it raises my complacency to such a level that I will become susceptible to things like joyful reimaginings of my immigrant experience. Another one of those things is the assurance that a regular commitment to being the person I want to be trumps adherence to some short-sighted and contrived to-do list.
That would be true if I have actually taken the time to think about who I want to be, and made conscious efforts to see it through. I hope that by the time I finish writing this post, I will have achieved at least the first goal. A clear articulation of my beliefs, values, and action plan should come in handy throughout my life.
The Reality
Lead Us Today is a NGO started by my amazing friend, Dalumuzi Mhlanga, that provides leadership training to Zimbabwe's high school students who have a vision for lifting their communities out of poverty, corruption, and chronic disengagement with shared challenges. One of the main objectives of the leadership curriculum is to help students "face their realities." The idea is that a critical re-evaluation of what they consider to be true about the world around them can uproot false preconceptions and provide a logical basis for values.
What I consider to be true about the world is based on empirical and measurable findings that humans have gathered through observation and experimentation over time. There is no particular reason for this except that scientific method and statistical rigor work pretty well for most things in life. Like developing drugs to treat illnesses and going to the moon and creating shampoo that smells like apples.
This method of understanding the world has led me to two conclusions. First, I am not very different from people who may appear different. All of us share common ancestors who marched out of Africa long before Senator John McCain was born. So Latinas and I, despite the several gradients that separate our skin tones, are perfectly interfertile.
The differences I do see between people can be explained by a combination of genetic variation and environmental influence. For example, Europeans and East Asians probably have lighter skin because their ancestors adapted to regions with lower UV exposure. Girls are girls because they inherited the X chromosome from their father, and they also learn from their family members how girls act. And so on. There was a time we didn't know these things so we filled in the gaps with rubbish.
Having met some of these brothers and sisters from another mother, I've come to discover that people other than myself have thoughts, feelings, desires, and life-changing events in the same way I do, in fact some of the same ones. And because we are so similar and it was by fate that I became me and they became them, I think a poetic alien with an air of affectation might say we are like droplets of a small puddle of life. In another dimension where all of earth quakes with dubstep and Kobe gets better with age, we are probably a small puddle that runs and spills but is always one.
Secondly, the human race has been characterized by inequalities in quality of life. Quality of life is generally a difficult thing to measure, and I suspect it depends on what you consider human rights. I think a long, healthy life is a good place to start because Forrest Gump says life is like a box of chocolates and if somebody gave me a box of chocolates, I would like a big box of chocolates with a generous expiration date. You could also decide to return it if you don't like it, and in fact, many people do.
Other frequently used indicators of quality of life are levels of education, income, happiness, and freedom. I think these are neat as well. My current position of life is such that I have a basic understanding of the world and what is out there and what my aspirations are, and I live in an environment that more or less gives me a fair shot at making those aspirations come true. I really believe every human being should have that.
Our statistical methods of learning the truth of things, however, clearly show not everyone does. Life expectancy and levels of health, education, income, and freedom all vary widely across and within countries. In many cases, these indicators are closely correlated. There has not been as much research done about happiness, and the proxies we use are rather crude, but a recent OECD study did show interesting variation in "Life Satisfaction" of respondents in its 34 member countries (Denmark had the highest rating, which likely attests to the quality of its rye bread sandwiches.)
So where do we go from here? Well, that depends. We could acknowledge the truth of both statements but decide they are not as compelling as other equally true statements supported by equally strong evidence. Which is that we are independently functioning organisms with independent needs. That in no other corner of the ecosystem of life do organisms concern themselves with inequalities. This is how natural selection happens, and how humans got here. The weak die out, and the strong persist.
We could reason that as far as we can tell, each of us has one life to live in this world, and activation of choice pathways in our own brains ultimately determines the satisfaction we get out of it. The feeling of interconnectedness and altruism exist because some aspect of our own survival or happiness depends on them. And it would be possible to lead an internally consistent existence that abides by these truths.
But we could also place all of these facts side by side and choose a different course of action. We could decide, for whatever reason, that we value the gift of life, and the well-being of our more distant kin of humanity. We could arbitrarily grow a fondness for compassion, justice, and selflessness, rather than power, pride, and self-fulfillment. And recognizing the limitation that our thoughts and actions are constantly swayed by our desires for power, pride, and self-fulfillment, we could begin to discipline ourselves to make the decisions that align with our choice of values. We could apply the tools of empirical and logical reasoning to determine how we can serve others in the most impactful and efficient way. So that's what I want to do.
Inequalities
Before I do anything, though, I should figure out what needs to be done. Toward what vision of the world am I working? So to answer this question, I need to revisit the idea of inequalities.
Why do inequalities exist? Let's think about a specific inequality in a specific region of the world. The 2010 median income of white people in the U.S. was estimated to be $55,000. It's $35,194 for African Americans. Why? Well, it might have something to do with African Americans not being treated like human beings for a very long time. The history of slavery and discrimination placed generations in a severely disadvantaged position to achieve a good quality of life, and the recovery from such structural violence could not be expected to go quickly.
But is it possible that the observed income inequality has other causes? Perhaps it is diet and genetic profile, in addition to limited access to education and health care, that contribute to the higher prevalence of chronic disease and thus lower incomes for adult African Americans. Perhaps the median income is lower because it is a cultural norm for African Americans to have larger families and to provide more support to their family members in times of need. Or perhaps they are just getting outworked by those Asian immigrants with their superior math skills and excellently run liquor stores!
I think the issue many of us face is trying to trace the precise origins of inequalities. More specifically, we often struggle to decide whether victims of inequalities are, to some degree, responsible for their own misfortunes. The reason is that equality in its purest form seems difficult to reconcile with meritocracy. In a world with scarce resources, it seems only fair that honest, hard-working people get ahead. So when economic historians still butt heads about why Africa is Africa today and our favorite news stations release the newest estimates of our national debt, we are filled with doubts. We are busy paying off our own bills, and we are not too sure about tacking on extra tax dollars to support people we don't even know.
A helpful exercise, I think, is trying to understand inequalities from the point of view of a growing baby. A lot of decisions are made for human beings before they are capable of making decisions. Genetic make-up, as mentioned earlier, is one of them. It determines whether you are more likely to grow tall or become obese or develop a gambling addiction, even though you had no say in the matter. In fact, you also didn't have a say about the environment into which you were born. It's not your fault you were born in Nebraska or you come from a high-income family or your mother smokes cigarettes. At the very moment that humans appear in this world, they are saddled with certain pre-existing conditions that differ by individual.
And our understanding of child development tells us that these inequalities present at birth and during the process of growing and discovering ourselves - which lasts awfully long, mind you - have very large repercussions for our future well-being. This is why parents with higher levels of education or income are more likely to have high achieving children. This is why children of parents who smoke are more likely to buy cigarettes. And so on.
But new sources of inequalities also lurk beyond this "vulnerable period." Though we typically enjoy increases in our decision-making power and reasoning ability as we grow older, we are still subject to life's incredible unpredictability that render our decision-making power and reasoning ability rather insignificant at times. Getting hit by a drunk driver, for example. It may have been your decision to be out on the street that fateful hour, but the accident wasn't your fault. The same reasoning applies to victims of the financial crisis or natural disasters.
Our accountability for events in our lives obviously varies on a case by case basis, but it's easy to see that randomness and chance permeate our everyday life. The neat chain of cause-and-effect, and of intention and outcome is easily disrupted by consequence, with significant implications for individuals' well-being.
So how do we go about this? We can think about categorizing inequalities based on the amount of "fault" attributable to the victims of inequalities and responding accordingly. This is, in fact, what our government tries to do. The Recovery Act was passed because people who lost their jobs weren't to blame for the recession. We have a government agency dedicated to providing emergency relief in catastrophes (not named Hurricane Katrina) because people don't have control over them. And when there are disputes among people about who's to blame for a change in one's well-being, we rely on our system of laws and procedures, which, ideally, reflects our collective understanding of justice.
But outside of these singular events, things get trickier. The income gap between whites and African Americans in the U.S. fits in this category. Why in the world is the black man so poor?! Well, we could ask around. We could take a small random sample of whites and African Americans in the U.S., sit down with them one-on-one with a pen and paper, and jot down all of their relevant biographical facts. How well off their parents were, what their childhood was like, what kind of teachers they had in school, when they first had sex, and so on. And we could think hard about what most reasonable people would've done in their stations of life and assign them a score from 0-10 based on how much they are to be blamed or credited for their current state of well-being. I hear God does something similar with a pretty strict cutoff at 5.
To think of it, I have, actually, tried something similar. While volunteering with LIFT, a national student-run organization that helps clients access housing, employment, and public benefits through one-on-one service, I used to work with a black woman in her 50's who always asked for help on her essays. She was a single mother attending UMass Boston as a part-time student. I won't ever forget proofreading her essay on why we should beat our kids.
Anyway, we would be talking about improving her topic sentences so she could make clearer to the reader which reason for beating kids she was about to explain, but then she would get distracted and then talk about her life. She grew up with both parents but didn't get along that well with her father for some reason. She served in the army straight out of high school. Her checks went toward paying for her mother's prescription and medical bills after a stroke. Then she got married and had a kid. She was starting to feel depressed though, and her husband left her. So why was she going to school so late in her life with only a veteran's check and a son to feed (and beat)? Well she never got to attend college. She had always dreamed of college. She was a crazy and lovable person to know.
That's how people's lives go, more or less. Most people have emotions and children and dreams and do the best with what they have. And this is why I don't believe that large inequalities, and racial and gender inequalities arise spontaneously in a world that has affirmed the dignity of all people.
So if we as a society find compelling the idea that we are like one big family, we can do a couple things. We can continue to undo the global history of injustice toward fellow mankind by creating governments and institutions that safeguard the human rights of all. We can each contribute what we can to systematically erase the reminders of that history - the existing barriers to one's fair shot at a fulfilling life. And we will have thus embarked on a grand design of a society that, as far as we know, has never existed before. We will have invented a culture that truly honors the gift of life by protecting individuals from circumstances beyond their control. And we will have become the first species to deliberately betray the thirst for life, the impulse that separates life from non-life, for an idea. It's a noble idea.
And Kobe agrees:
Min's Action Plan
I've already decided that I'm interested in a career in international development. But I haven't really had a chance to crystallize how I can align my daily life with the values that matter to me. Here's a couple action items I hope to implement:
1. Treat those around me with kindness and respect
Last semester was one of the strangest times in my life. I was wrestling with a lot of these issues in earnest for the first time, and yet it was also the first time I went around acting like I didn't need anybody. I hardly kept in touch with my friends from high school or my more distantly located friends at Harvard (aka 15-minute walk away).
I think I was polite and respectful toward friends I did see regularly, but I wasn't much of a good friend. For some reason, I just wasn't in the mood to spend time with them or genuinely care about their well-being... as I was going over my duties as a global citizen. It's a shame because I really do appreciate the people in my life, and I need to show that. It's also a shame because simple gestures like smiling and making people laugh really do make a difference, sometimes in ways we don't fully understand. They are a big reason I regard my quality of life so highly, and I hope to start producing some positive energy of my own.
But just as importantly, I think a daily commitment to the Golden Rule is crucial for training myself to think and act in ways that are faithful to my values. If I make it a habit to care about others, the process will become much more natural over time.
2. Be honest with myself
Our brains are so good at telling us what we want to hear. We can always rationalize our asses off and feign, what Garcia Marquez calls, a bewilderment of innocence. This is worrisome in the context of everything above because my brain is wired such that the idea of helping people is closely linked with my own satisfaction and even pride. So I need to assess my progress by measuring, as objectively as possible, improvements in the well-being of those around me.
The real challenge, though, comes at the point of making decisions. If I had my way, I would clone myself a couple times before an important life decision, and randomly assign a different decision to each of my clones. I would then fast-forward a couple years and evaluate the impact of the decision on my ability to improve people's well-being. Then I would go back in time to choose the optimal decision. But without any of these technologies? Integrity will be my biggest asset to ensuring that the product of my intentions and actions is the most fruitful.
3. Understand the impermanence of things
This lesson from Buddhism is just so hard to master, and yet it's really at the core of what I want to do. I don't consider myself someone who needs a lot of things to be happy in life. High-speed Internet, hip hop, Laker games, Chipotle, a public library with a decent fiction collection, a sensible woman, and access to nature. Yet I still indulge. I vainly cling onto temporary desires and pleasures, despite knowing that life will always have its highs and lows and my true sense of satisfaction comes from within.
I think it's the sad truth that moderation is the most feasible goal. Enjoy life moderately and set my conscience to uh, level moderate.
4. Be inspired from time to time
The movie Slumdog Millionaire hardly shed any novel insights into issues that interest me, but watching my boy Jamal Malik rise from rags to riches and score with a hot woman made me so happy that I now feel energized for the task of helping others. Again, letting my emotional attachments dictate my thoughts and actions can be dangerous, but I do think it's helpful to remind myself, from time to time, what is really at stake here. Nothing does the trick better for me than getting to know the people (real or fictional, apparently) who are facing poverty and marginalization.
And with that, cheers to a happy and meaningful 2012 for all of us, and a better tomorrow tomorrow!
So I understand that my handsome charcoal eyebrows, gently sloping nose, and generally hairless appearance don't exactly fit the All-American caricature, but seriously, TSA? Seriously?
After being not so subtly implicated in a transcontinental drug cartel network two weeks ago at JFK Airport, my patriotism was again called into question as my sweet countenance made its way past the Long Beach Airport metal detectors. The incriminating evidence this time? Ryan and Colin, take it away:
TSA guy: Sir, is this your bag?
Me: Yeah.
TSA guy: I'm going to take a look inside, ok?
Me: Ok.
TSA guy: It was in this side pocket here.
Me: What was in the side pocket?
TSA guy: Let me check it out. I'm not sure what it was.
TSA guy takes out the Ziploc bag containing my toiletry. His pupils dilate.
TSA guy: These are nail clippers?
TSA guy is holding my nail clippers.
Me: Yeah.
TSA guy: I mean, nail clippers are not a problem. These are just big.
Me: Yeah they are.
TSA guy: Hey, check out these nail clippers. This is the biggest nail clipper I've seen.
TSA guy calls over TSA girl and TSA guy #2.
TSA guy #2: Wow.
Me: I guess they don't make em like this anymore.
TSA guy #2: Did they ever? Damn.
How do you change the culture of always finishing second in a U.S. footwear market that's growing more competitive by the second? You recruit Snoop Dogg, Game, Dwight Howard, a brilliant director's mind, and two unnecessary booties to shoot the dopest shoe commercial since Jason Williams appeared in one. I'm still not buying Adidas though.
