Spring Semester 2011

For those who want to know what I am doing this semester, I will be editor of Under the Microscope, an weekly 8-minute radio show on science, health and technology (http://www.kbia.org/archive/news/health-science-technology). I will also be working for Discovery Tech, although I do not yet have the details of how that will work. Finally, I will be creating a Website where Mizzou study abroad students can contribute their stories from around the world. I will post a link when the site is up and running. That's about all for now. The first couple days of classes are going fairly smoothly, and I am gearing up for the sprint toward the finish line (i.e. my graduation in May).

Wiki Leaks Afghan War Diary

The leak of over 91,000 reports about the War in Afghanistan on wikileaks.org will certainly change the world of information gathering and classified documentation.

Wikileaks.org, a Web site that publishes classified documents and reports with the promise that they will protect the source, leaked Sunday around 91,000 reports on the Afghan war. The reports came from people aligned with Afghan officials and military personnel according to reports from the Guardian, The New York Times and Der Speigel, the three major news outlets that first reported on the leaks.

Time will tell whether the information in the reports will change public opinion about Afghanistan and the outcome of the war. But what the information does prove is a drastic change in the way we handle what was once seen as untouchable information. Prior to the development of wikileaks, which began in January 2007, there was a vast sea of documents that were considered "off-limits" or "confidential." Wikileaks changes all that. If Wikileaks can make its way through this major ordeal and defend its right to the information successfully, this will break all boundaries of what information should and can be accessible to the public. If it cannot defend itself, regulation will only become tighter and censorship could be used more often when describing why we don't know everything we would like about the government's or other organizations' activities.

Much speculation has been circulating this Web site for some time now. On the "About Us" section on the Wikileak Web site, a quote from Time Magazine says, "... could become as important a journalistic tool as the Freedom of Information Act."

Philip Shenon, a writer for The New York Times was quoted on NPR last week saying, "You certainly hear at the Pentagon, at the White House, concern that one of these days somebody is going to leak something really important to an organization like Wikileaks. The example given to me is American nuclear secrets or the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden. Would Wikileaks put that out to the world without much filtering, and isn't there a threat in that?"

Personal Opinion

As I said above, time will tell the ultimate outcome of this development and it will be up to how Wikileaks, the White House and the mainstream media handle this situation that determines whether Wikileaks gets the fame it has been vying for for three years or falls short of journalistic excellence and reaches the level of Tweeted headlines and untrusted Wikipedia pages.

Most likely, it will end up somewhere in the middle. People will go to the site for basic information, much like they do for Wikipedia. However, this site must continue to be monitored closely because whenever the public is given information, it will undoubtably make some more informed but others it will give the impetus they wanted to make outlandish accusations.

While people often read Wikipedia as a major source of information, I do not believe people visiting Wikileaks will take it as it is. Because Wikileaks is set up as a research site, it will be used as just that, one of many sources for in depth research. All that is certain is this, over the next few weeks and months, a lot of people are going to have a lot of work on their hands.

Amsterdam: The City of Juxtapositions

This was the city known for three things: drugs, prostitution, and Anne Frank. Perhaps you never thought you would see those three words in a sentence together. This odd juxtaposition of history and modern taboo is the epitome of Amsterdam.

When you walk down narrow streets that in the U.S. would automatically be classified as alleyways, you smell the stench of marijuana filling the air. It comes out of “coffee shops,” which, as the story goes, were the first ones to sell coffee—another substance that was considered dangerous and, for a time, illegal because of the effects of caffeine. Of course, the weed is not only smelt, but seen. The smoke seeps out of the shops each time the door is opened, and it is not uncommon to see someone walking down the streets with one of the “special muffins” or “brownies.”

There is also the ominous red-light district, where prostitutes sit in the windows waiting seemingly nonchalantly for their next customer. Although if you look closely, although I would advise, not too obviously, at their faces, you may perhaps be able to see anxiety on a few faces. Though this again may be the skewed perception of someone who is as close to a humanitarian activist without actually being one.

However, do not get the idea that the red-light district is a secluded area of town. It is, actually, the heart of the town and normally quite crowded, even during the day. And within the ominous red-light district, with prostitute shops next-door, stands the Oude Kerk, an old Catholic turned protestant church, dating back from the twelfth century. There it stands in all its glory, a testament to the religion that has been a practiced for a thousand years in this region.

Then, just over a kilometer away, across three canals, which have given Amsterdam the nickname, the Venice of the north, is the Anne Frank house, where for Anne Frank and her family hid for two years before their arrest.

And while Anne Frank is the most famous of the Jews in Amsterdam, many still remain. Their synagogues and a famous Jewish museum can be visited, attesting to historical events and present day traditions.

But don't let Amsterdam's reputation for legalizing drugs or prostitution fool you. If you walk far enough down one of these "alleys," you will walk out into one of the main streets that are more for bicycles than cars. In fact, there are separate lanes of the bikes, and one must be careful, lest he accidentally step in front of a bicyclist, who are not out to be considerate to pedestrians. A word of advice: if you hear a bell ringing behind you, move.

In the middle of these streets, like large medians, flow the Amsterdam canals. In fact, one of the most eerily beautiful things about Amsterdam is waking up on a morning when the fog sits bodingly on the canals, enveloping the city, as though it holds vast secrets of sins of the night before and heroism of years past.

This was the city known for three things: drugs, prostitution, and Anne Frank. Perhaps you never thought you would see those three words in a sentence together. This odd juxtaposition of history and modern taboo is the epitome of Amsterdam.

When you walk down narrow streets that in the U.S. would automatically be classified as alleyways, you smell the stench of marijuana filling the air. It comes out of “coffee shops,” which, as the story goes, were the first ones to sell coffee—another substance that was considered dangerous and, for a time, illegal because of the effects of caffeine. Of course, the weed is not only smelt, but seen. The smoke seeps out of the shops each time the door is opened, and it is not uncommon to see someone walking down the streets with one of the “special muffins” or “brownies.”

There is also the ominous red-light district, where prostitutes sit in the windows waiting seemingly nonchalantly for their next customer. Although if you look closely, although I would advise, not too obviously, at their faces, you may perhaps be able to see anxiety on a few faces. Though this again may be the skewed perception of someone who is as close to a humanitarian activist without actually being one.

However, do not get the idea that the red-light district is a secluded area of town. It is, actually, the heart of the town and normally quite crowded, even during the day. And within the ominous red-light district, with prostitute shops next-door, stands the Oude Kerk, an old Catholic turned protestant church, dating back from the twelfth century. There it stands in all its glory, a testament to the religion that has been a practiced for a thousand years in this region.

Then, just over a kilometer away, across three canals, which have given Amsterdam the nickname, the Venice of the north, is the Anne Frank house, where for Anne Frank and her family hid for two years before their arrest.

And while Anne Frank is the most famous of the Jews in Amsterdam, many still remain. Their synagogues and a famous Jewish museum can be visited, attesting to historical events and present day traditions.

But don’t let Amsterdam’s reputation for legalizing drugs or prostitution fool you. If you walk far enough down one of these “alleys,” you will walk out into of the main streets that serve as streets more for bicycles than cars. In fact, there are separate lanes for the bikes, and one must be careful, lest he accidentally step in front of a bicyclist, who are not out to be considerate to pedestrians. A word of advice: if you hear a bell ringing behind you—move.

In the middle of these streets, like large medians, flow the Amsterdam canals. In fact, one of the most eerily beautiful things about Amsterdam is waking up on a morning when the fog sits bodingly on the canals, enveloping the city, as though it holds vast secrets of sins of the night before and heroism of years past.

How I Have Been Mistaken for a French Speaker

This morning, as I walked into work, I finally got the courage to talk a little more to the security guard at the front of our building that I see everyday. He is a smaller, middle-age man with rough, somewhat drawn skin and a longer, pointed nose. Everyday, he, or I, (whoever happens to be first) say bonjour, and the other responds with the same.

Today, however, I ventured out on a limb with my French, or lack thereof. “Bonjour,” I said when I walked in. “Ça va?” And the rest of the conversation only God and the guard know…because I certainly don’t. As soon as the words, “ça va” came out of my mouth, I was greeted with a reply that I could not comprehend. All I know is I somehow managed in response to what I guess was his question of “I’m fine how are you?” to get out another “ça va,” which in French is both “how are you” and “I am fin,” and after he made another longer comment, I laughed awkwardly. I’m still not sure that was an appropriate response to what he said, but I figured by the tone in his voice it was the best guess at the time. For all I know he could have said, “Haha, you are a stupid American who thinks she can speak French.” In that case, I guess a laugh would still have been an appropriate response, so it’s okay.

Of course, this is not the only time I have been mistaken for a fluent French speaker. Often on the streets someone will come up to me and ask for directions. Most of the time they get the message that I don’t speak from my deer in the headlights look, but normally if that doesn’t work, they quickly figure it out when I open my mouth. Although the other day, I did manage to point someone in the correct direction with the metro station. It was a good thing the only thing I had to do was point in front of my and say “tout droit.”

I would love to be able to speak French, and hopefully, I will be able to soon. But for now, I have to say I somewhat enjoy these slightly awkward moments as I laugh my way through this francophone city.

Bruges- Simply Beautiful

Imagine a small European city from the 1800s with narrow, cobblestone streets, horse-drawn carriages, glass-water canals, a magnificent central square and a neo-gothic cathedral that can be seen rising above the buildings from almost anywhere in the city. This is Bruges.

Of course, tourism has become the primary income for the city, which inevitably leads to lines of chocolate and lace shops complete with “handmade” goods. The authenticity could be questioned, but for the sake of the small town, we will give them the benefit of the doubt for now. Museums have also sprung up around the city, featuring work from the 1400s to the present day including works from artists like Jan Van Eyck and René Magritte. The horse carriages are only used for tourists who want to tour the city in the old style, but they make the scene a bit more picturesque regardless.

Unfortunately, I was not able to stay as long as I would have like, as I traveled to Bruges with my art class. But I plan to return soon on business. I hope I can then stay a bit longer and enjoy the atmosphere. What I found most attractive about the city was its size. Although the city has about 120,000 inhabitants, if you stay within the “old city,” as the center is called, there are only about 45,000 people. This makes the city feel much smaller than it actually is, even with the large number of tourists that come each year.

While there are still a large number of buildings that remain untouched from their original construction, many other buildings have been rebuilt because they were destroyed in battles or natural disasters. However, there was one church that particularly struck me as intriguing…or rather, I should say two churches—one on top of the other.

Snuggled into a corner of a plaza lined with grandiose structures that now serve as government buildings or tourist shops is a grey stone building decorated with gold statues of saints and knights. Underneath two arches is a small wooden door that leads into, what at first glance could easily be mistaken for a cave. Soon, you will realize, this is not a cave, but a church of the twelfth century. It is the Chapel of St. Basil. It is simple. To the left is a fairly small kind of atrium. Wooden seats lead to a small colonnade, which leads to an altar, now adorned with a statue of a gold eagle. There is a small passageway that wraps around back into the main room, and above one of the arches is a relief sculpture of St. Basil's baptism. It is simple, like the rest of the church. The figures look primitive and disproportional. But after nearly a millennium, the figures of St. Basil and the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove coming down from heaven are still clearly visible. Everything except for the statues that were clearly added later on is a stone grey, sometimes given a golden hue by the candlelight.

But perhaps what is more amazing than the antiquity of this church is the stark contrast with the church housed above it, the Basilica of the Holy Blood. From an outside entrance a staircase leads to another church, located directly on top of the early church. After climbing the stairs, another wooden door leads into a large open room at least ten times the size of the church below. The roof is at least another two stories high and the entire room is a dazzling gold from the paintings that cover most of the walls. The altar is again to the left, but it is adorned in a large gold and red altar and life-sized paintings. Where the passageway was below with the stone sculpture of St. Basil's baptism, there is another large room with an altar on top of a type of stage. On the stage stands a priest, his hands folded in prayer. He stands over a relic, supposedly holding the blood of a crusader. A loudspeaker encourages visitors to come put their hands on the relic and say a prayer. Donations are also welcome for the restoration of the church.

It intrigues me that the actions of those who built the simple, stone church below—those who participated in the crusades—led to the construction of the lavish church above. I wonder if they meant for their actions to lead to such things. But no matter what their intentions were, their actions led to what can be seen today.

Overall, Bruges is a magnificent city full of history and culture. It is a small city in a tiny country that is often passed over by many tourists longing to visit the grand sites of Paris and the like. But Bruges is not Paris or London or Rome, nor should it be. It is the very lack of the big-city feel that makes Bruges so appealing and unforgettable.

Bonjour de Cafe Belga

I am sitting in what is known to be one of the most popular cafes in Brussels, Cafe Belga. Families have come in for a Sunday pastry and cup of coffee with their little ones. Friends and co-workers catch up on the latest news and interests in their deceptively lovely French. Individuals type on computers or read books over a warm cup of, might I add, delicious cup of coffee accompanied by the best graham cracker I have ever tasted, a Speculoos. All of this with a wide variety of American pop, Belgian folk and whatever other genre of music the invisible D.J. feels like playing at the time. Outside is the weekly fresh market complete with fresh meats, bread, and vegetables, fresh flowers that brighten the ever cloudy Brussels days, vin chaud (hot wine), and guafres (the best waffles you will ever taste).

After two weeks of being in Brussels, I am beginning to learn the Belgian ways...slowly. It still takes time for me to learn how to order at restaurants or when you can say hello to people on the streets, and, for women, when you shouldn't. Languages create barriers that I never knew could exist, but also create adventures and connections between individuals that would not be possible otherwise. The first night we arrived, we ventured out to find a restaurant because we had no food in our flats. As it turned out, our waitress was traveling to the U.S. in a month and wanted to practice her English. We, inevitably, needed to practice our French.

A couple needs a seat, so I must give up mine and say goodbye for now. Until next time, from Cafe Belga. Au Revoir!

Internet Problems Wasn't What I Was Expecting

Not too much is what I've expected in Brussels so far. The city is different than I expected. The people are different than I expected. The housing is different than I expected. All of this is pretty good though--except for the Internet. The Internet isn't too good here, so I haven't been able to post like I wanted to. Hopefully that will soon change. I hope to find a good cafe that I can go to after work most days and post there. For now, just know that we've had a busy week of miscellaneous conferences and orientations along with a little sight seeing and shopping. I'll try to catch up on all this soon. Until then, just hold on and news from Brussels will be on the way soon.

Fantasy vs. Reality

I spent the past two days in London helping my cousin and her family pack up and move back to the U.S. After they left, I was able to travel around the city a bit. Everywhere I went felt like a dream. On the train, I looked out the window and saw scenes that looked as though they had come straight out of a picture book. The snow-covered English countryside rolled by as the snow gently fell. Except I could also see my reflection in the window, which created an odd juxtaposition as though I suddenly had been thrust into a fantasy world.

Then, a woman walked by and asked in a perfect British accent if I wanted "anything from the trolley?" My mind immediately traveled to Harry Potter, the only other place I had heard that phrase. Still, again I seemed to break into this dream world as I heard myself respond in what seemed like an extremely harsh American accent, "No, thank you."

Everything seems like this. Parliament and Westminster Abbey stood before me in all their glory, and I was aware of all the great history that is associated with those places. Laws have been made, people have been buried and it all has shaped the world I was standing in that day. But I was also acutely aware that these were buildings, like the skyscrapers that architects design every day. I think I might just like these things better in the books than in real life, but, of course, we can't live in a fantasy world.

Brussels to You

I will be traveling to Brussels, Belgium next semester for a semester abroad. As of right now, I plan to be interning for the Associated Press while taking two culture classes at Vesalius College. Brussels is an amazing city that is truly a mix of cultures and peoples from around the world. It is also the capital of the European Union, so politics are never lacking. Therefore, starting in January, for the next five months, this blog will become my way of sharing the politics, culture, and everyday adventures from Europe to you. I hope you enjoy.

President Obama Wins Peace Prize

President Obama promised to bring hope to the international sphere, and he certainly has, at least in the opinion of the Nobel Prize board. The board awarded President Obama the Nobel Peace Prize today, boosting his standing in the international realm. Obama supporters were thrilled and many Europeans also seemed elated with the great contrast between the Obama and the Bush administrations' reputation with foreign leaders. Republicans balked when former vice-president Al Gore won the prize in 2007, and they will most likely do so again with Obama.

Whether or not one is a Republican, the question does arise, "Is the Peace Prize awarded for what has been or what will be done?" The most famous Peace Prize was awarded to Mother Teresa in 1979, years after she had begun her mission work. Are we now to give someone an award for something they hope to do? However, if this is true, maybe it is not such a bad thing. The prize will definitely boost Obama's reputation, and Iran's spokesman already said, "We hope that this gives him the incentive to walk in the path of bringing justice to the world order." And there is something to be said about a opportunistic attitude. Without the attitude that Obama has about reaching out into the world, nothing would be done. As it stands today, we will have to wait and see over the next few years whether or not the Nobel Prize board made the correct choice for this year's peace prize.

Avoiding Ignorant Speech

Many times we find ourselves listening to people speak on certain topics as though they were experts. Then, about half-way through their soliloquy, we realize they have no credentials to speak on this particular topic. That is not to say that they are not educated or knowledgeable about a great many other things, but only to say that they have stepped beyond their boundaries.

If you follow blogs or the news, you know that many people have been writing about Senator Edward "Ted" Kennedy today. I will not. The reason I will refrain from writing about Senator Kennedy is not because he is unworthy. In fact, he did a great many things that should be recognized. The reason I will not write about him is this simple fact: I do not know enough about him to speak intelligently.

Particularly in blogs, but in other media as well, I have found this trend of talking about that which we have no true knowledge to be growing. Everyone wants to put in their opinions, when really they do not know the basic facts. For example, take the recent town hall meetings on health care. These meetings have been extremely passionate to say the least. However, President Obama did make a good point in one of his meetings. He asked how many people in the audience had Medicare. A good portion of those people raised their hands. Then he asked how many of those people were satisfied with their health insurance. A good majority of those people raised their hands. Then, he asked how many people would support some sort of government health care plan. Only a couple people in the audience raised their hands. What those people in the audience did not realize is that many of them are already on a government health care plan, Medicare, and they were satisfied with it.

Now a government health care option may not be good for the United States at this time. There are obviously some difficulties with it. But people need to stop speaking on that which they have no knowledge. I feel like what we are sometimes experiencing in our never-ending stretch for democracy is what is known as "ignorance of the masses."

I have just come from a discussion on Jane Austen's Persuasion, and one of the main points my professor made was that the main character Anne Elliot is to be admired because she attempts to see herself as no more than she truly is. She does not pretend she is any smarter or more important than she actually is. While this mindset is quite foreign to our way of thinking, there is something to be admired about it. By admitting to our shortcomings, we are more willing to listen and learn from those that excel in that particular area. After all, it is only by owning to our cracks that we are able to fill them and seal them shut.

So there you have it. I will not comment on the life of Senator Edward Kennedy except to give my condolences to all his friends and family. Beyond that I will not say another word as it would be beyond my true abilities and imprudent for me to do so.

US Intervention in Honduras

In my last blog, I mentioned the fact that I questioned wether or not the Honduras coup was a U.S. government intervention. John Perkins, author of Confessions of an Economic Hit man, sent out this newsletter yesterday.

Dear Friends

Speaking of Democracy, Honduras, and President Obama. . .

In writing my new book Hoodwinked (Random House, Nov 2009 publication date), I recently visited Central America. Everyone I talked with there was convinced that the military coup that had overthrown the democratically-elected president of Honduras, Manuel Zelaya, had been engineered by two US companies, with CIA support. And that the US and its new president were not standing up for democracy.

Earlier in the year Chiquita Brands International Inc. (formerly United Fruit) and Dole Food Co had severely criticized Zelaya for advocating an increase of 60% in Honduras’s minimum wage, claiming that the policy would cut into corporate profits. They were joined by a coalition of textile manufacturers and exporters, companies that rely on cheap labor to work in their sweatshops.

Memories are short in the US, but not in Central America. I kept hearing people who claimed that it was a matter of record that Chiquita (United Fruit) and the CIA had toppled Guatemala’s democratically-elected president Jacobo Arbenz in 1954 and that International Telephone & Telegraph (ITT), Henry Kissinger, and the CIA had brought down Chile’s Salvador Allende in 1973. These people were certain that Haiti’s president Jean-Bertrand Aristide had been ousted by the CIA in 2004 because he proposed a minimum wage increase, like Zelaya’s.

I was told by a Panamanian bank vice president, “Every multinational knows that if Honduras raises its hourly rate, the rest of Latin America and the Caribbean will have to follow. Haiti and Honduras have always set the bottom line for minimum wages. The big companies are determined to stop what they call a ‘leftist revolt’ in this hemisphere. In throwing out Zelaya they are sending frightening messages to all the other presidents who are trying to raise the living standards of their people.”

It did not take much imagination to envision the turmoil sweeping through every Latin American capital. There had been a collective sign of relief at Barack Obama’s election in the U.S., a sense of hope that the empire in the North would finally exhibit compassion toward its southern neighbors, that the unfair trade agreements, privatizations, draconian IMF Structural Adjustment Programs, and threats of military intervention would slow down and perhaps even fade away. Now, that optimism was turning sour.

The cozy relationship between Honduras’s military coup leaders and the corporatocracy were confirmed a couple of days after my arrival in Panama. England’s The Guardian ran an article announcing that “two of the Honduran coup government's top advisers have close ties to the US secretary of state. One is Lanny Davis, an influential lobbyist who was a personal lawyer for President Bill Clinton and also campaigned for Hillary. . . The other hired gun for the coup government that has deep Clinton ties is (lobbyist) Bennett Ratcliff.” (1)

DemocracyNow! broke the news that Chiquita was represented by a powerful Washington law firm, Covington & Burling LLP, and its consultant, McLarty Associates (2). President Obama’s Attorney General Eric Holder had been a Covington partner and a defender of Chiquita when the company was accused of hiring “assassination squads” in Colombia (Chiquita was found guilty, admitting that it had paid organizations listed by the US government as terrorist groups “for protection” and agreeing in 2004 to a $25 million fine). (3) George W. Bush’s UN Ambassador, John Bolton, a former Covington lawyer, had fiercely opposed Latin American leaders who fought for their peoples’ rights to larger shares of the profits derived from their resources; after leaving the government in 2006, Bolton became involved with the Project for the New American Century, the Council for National Policy, and a number of other programs that promote corporate hegemony in Honduras and elsewhere. McLarty Vice Chairman John Negroponte was U.S. Ambassador to Honduras from 1981-1985, former Deputy Secretary of State, Director of National Intelligence, and U.S. Representative to the United Nations; he played a major role in the U.S.-backed Contra’s secret war against Nicaragua’s Sandinista government and has consistently opposed the policies of the democratically-elected pro-reform Latin American presidents. (4) These three men symbolize the insidious power of the corporatocracy, its bipartisan composition, and the fact that the Obama Administration has been sucked in.

The Los Angeles Times went to the heart of this matter when it concluded:

What happened in Honduras is a classic Latin American coup in another sense: Gen. Romeo Vasquez, who led it, is an alumnus of the United States' School of the Americas (renamed the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation). The school is best known for producing Latin American officers who have committed major human rights abuses, including military coups. (5)

All of this leads us once again to the inevitable conclusion: you and I must change the system. The president – whether Democrat or Republican – needs us to speak out.

Chiquita, Dole and all your representatives need to hear from you. Zelaya must be reinstated.

FOOTNOTES

(1) “Who's in charge of US foreign policy? The coup in Honduras has exposed divisions between Barack Obama and his secretary of state, Hillary Clinton” by Mark Weisbrot

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/cifamerica/2009/jul/16/honduras-coup-obama-clinton (July 23, 2009)

(2) http://www.democracynow.org/2009/7/21/from_arbenz_to_zelaya_chiquita_in (July 23, 2009)

(3) “Chiquita admits to paying Colombia terrorists: Banana company agrees to $25 million fine for paying AUC for protection” MSNBC March 15, 2007 http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17615143/ (July 24, 2009)

(4) Fore more information: http://aconstantineblacklist.blogspot.com/2009/07/eric-holder-and-chaquita-covington.html (July 23, 2009)

(5) “The high-powered hidden support for Honduras' coup: The country's rightful president was ousted by a military leadership that takes many of its cues from Washington insiders.” by Mark Weisbrot, Los Angeles Times, July 23, 2009

http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-weisbrot23-2009jul23,0,7566740.story (July 23, 2009)

I did email John Perkins Web site and ask him about President Obama and the White House's remarks condemning the coup and saying Zelaya must be reinstated. I have yet to receive a reply. However, I think it is important to notice how the companies have a major role in this, one that may very well be much larger than the U.S. government's role. Companies like this must be stopped. Send them letters and emails. Stop buying their goods. Do whatever peaceable actions it takes, because eventually, this will only lead to more violence, death, and poverty.

Confessions of an Economic Hit Man

This past weekend was the Fourth of July. This past weekend, I have never been more disappointed in my country. On Sunday, July 5, I finished reading Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. I believe every American should read this book. And my only disappointment is that it took me so long before someone gave it to me and told me to read it.

The author, John Perkins, worked as an economic hit man for many years before he finally decided to get out of the business and write a book about how his career and the strategies of the United States were enslaving the rest of the world.

Economic hit men are, in brief, men from U.S. private corporations who are sent into other countries to propose enormous construction and development contracts that will supposedly create great economic prosperity for the country. However, what actually occurs is that the country incurs enormous amounts of debt to the United States and therefore become like slaves to the U.S. and expand what Perkins called the U.S. empire.

Before reading this book, I had a basic idea that these kinds of things were happening. I knew that the CIA had been used to overthrow many world leaders and further American interests. But I didn't know how intricate this system was.

And the worst part about it is we fund this system. We by clothes from places that are run by the labor of underpaid workers in sweatshops across the world. We turn our eyes away from unjust wars and unprovoked attacks on other countries. We shut our ears from the outcries of so many other countries and pretend that our oil addiction contributes to the prosperity of oil-rich nations, when in reality, our oil addiction is sending them into the most impoverished conditions.

Although I have no facts to back this up, I began questioning world events and whether or not they were supported by this "empire" system. Are the destruction of Indian slums and therefore the displacement of its inhabitants being funded by U.S. contractors? Was the recent ousting of Honduras' leader the result of a discontent population or a CIA agent?

But then I started thinking about the direction our country is headed, and how our past does not have to determine our future. We can stop supporting places that make their money from sweatshops. We can refuse to elect leaders who will fund military invasions of other countries. We can cut back on our oil consumption.

We can change. But it will take work. And I would recommend that you first read this book. It will open our eyes to a whole new world and allow you to see the country that you call home in a whole other light. We can change the connotation "American" has in other countries. And I hope that day comes sooner than later, for the sake of ourselves and the world.

A Different Mindset

Today, Ahmadinejad won the Iranian presidential elections to secure his second term. Before the results came out, I kept hearing encouraging news about the main opposition candidate Mousavi. His platform was more democratic and his wife encouraged many women to support him. I began to hope, that this man would change the face of Iran. I was hoping that a win from him might change the U.S.-Iranian relations. 

However, that did not occur. And I began to wonder why. Sure, rigging could have occurred, but since Ahmadinejad won by about 30 percentage points, I find it hard to believe that he rigged it that much. So why could the Iranian people see Ahmadinejad for what I saw him for? A crazy man who hates Israel and wants to push his own agenda so much that he denies historical facts like the Holocaust. 

But one man interviewed on NPR brought up a good point. He was in New York, voting in the Iranian elections. He said that he was voting for Ahmadinejad because the current president demanded respect from Western nations like the United States. When I heard this before the elections, I brushed it off as one of probably a few people who believed this. I thought a lot of people probably would just vote for Ahmadinejad because they were somehow involved in his politics. But after the election, I realized this was not the case. 

Of course there are many reasons why people voted for him. The poorer individuals probably voted for him because he promised them his support. But I began to think of that man's reasoning again...he demands respect. Then I thought, maybe it really is our fault that Ahmadinejad won. Because of years of the West acting like they are better than our Eastern counterparts, we have driven them to turn to leaders who "demand respect," whether that be through nuclear arms, threats of hoarding oil or many other similar tactics. 

When all of the European countries pulled out of Africa, dictators started taking over. Why was that? Again, there are probably tons of reasons. But I can't help but think that one of those reasons is because the people were hurt. They were knocked down, and they needed to know that they were not inferior. And if one of their people could get up and show himself to be a strong, domineering individual, it meant they, the people, were not inferior. 

It's time we show these countries a little respect. I'm not promoting soft negotiations. We must look out for our own interests as well. But it's time we stop acting superior. It's time we try to look through another person's eyes. We think democracy is flawless elections and millions of dollars spent on political campaigns. But isn't the basis of democracy allowing everyone to have a voice? So lets see what the people of other countries see. Let's hear what they hear. Then, maybe we can understand what they want.

I have a feeling it won't be that much different from what we want as well...a little freedom, a little security, a little happiness... a little respect.

A World of Culture in My Backyard

You don't realize how much your culture means to you until you enter another culture. When I lived in Texas, I hated it. This is not typical for Texans either. Most Texans are extremely proud to be a Texan, but I thought the weather was awful and my city of San Antonio was extremely boring. Then I moved to Missouri.

Don't get me wrong, I love Missouri, but coming here made me realize how unique San Antonio culture is. In San Antonio, there is real Mexican food. In San Antonio, there are traditions that no one else has. I used to hate hearing Spanish spoken in the grocery stores, but after being in Columbia, Missouri for nearly nine months, I savor the few moments when I hear a student pass by who is speaking Spanish. 

Last weekend, I went to the outskirts of St. Louis for Easter. My roommate's mom is a youth minister, and so we helped with the Easter egg hunt that they were putting on at their church. As she was explaining the schedule to the parents, she told them she had a surprise for them. 

"This year, we have something new," she said. "They are called cascarones. Cascarones are egg shells that have been hollowed out and filled with confetti. What you do is you take the egg and crack it over someone's head."

At this point, I was so confused. Why was she explaining what a cascarone was to these parents as though they had never heard of it before? As it turned out, they hadn't. As I went out to the parking lot later to prepare the cascarones for the children, the parents were talking excitedly about the confetti eggs. "Have you ever seen these before?" one parent asked to another.

Then it hit me. Other parts of the United States don't use cascarones on Easter. In San Antonio, every year at my great-aunt's house, all the cousins would get cascarones to crack on our relatives' heads. To me, Easter was not Easter without cascarones, and no one in my family is Hispanic. But the Spanish culture had influenced us although we didn't realize it.

At that moment, with the Missouri parents awing over the cascarones in the parking lot of a St. Louis suburban church, I finally felt proud to be a San Antonian. Suddenly, I fell in love with my culture.

How is it that all those years, I missed it. I missed the privilege it was to live in a place where two cultures collided to form a beautiful mosaic. Perhaps it was because our lives were still quite separate. I went to a upper class private school that had less than ten Hispanics in the high school of 400. Although I constantly heard Spanish spoken around me, I know little more than hola and adios. Maybe it was the racism of my peers that I heard every day like, "Why can't they just speak English if they are going to come to our country." For a long time, I agreed with this. It took me a long time to understand how difficult it was for an immigrant to learn a new language. It took me a long time to realize that almost every single one of those immigrants was braver and stronger than I could ever be.

But now that I have discovered the beauty of my culture, I am going to embrace it this summer. This summer will probably be the longest time I ever spend at home again, and I don't want it to go to waste. If only others can learn from my mistake and embrace their culture sooner instead of wanting to run away to another so quickly, I can't help but think our home would be a place.

Small Miracles, Big Treasures

Today, a small miracle occurred. For the past year, my grandfather (my mother's father) has been suffering from dementia. It has slowly gotten worse by the month until he is now unable to tell who my mom and grandmother are. My grandmother does not feel comfortable putting him in a nursing home for fear that the change will be detrimental. She also can't bear the thought of leaving his side. So he has gone on like this for many months, not making any sense when he speaks and rarely understanding even simple sentences like what he would like to drink with his meal. 

The other day, one of my acquaintances at the San Antonio Express News, columnist Ken Rodriguez, was kind enough to call me about an article he was working on. He was writing about multimedia and journalism, and since I am a convergence major (which basically means I am learning how to use video, audio, print and photo forms of media) at the University of Missouri-Columbia, he decided to interview me. As it turned out, he wrote a glowing piece about all I am accomplishing, using terms that I thought were way to generous for the limited knowledge I have managed to gain. But nevertheless, my family was extremely proud, and my mom naturally showed the article to many family members. 

So she went over to my grandfather's house, like she does many days of the week to keep my grandmother company, and she decided to show the article to my grandfather. After she let him read it for a couple of minutes, she asked a question, probably not really expecting a comprehensible response.

"Do you know who that is, Daddy?"

"Of course I do," my grandfather answered. "That's Gretchen?"

Still unsure since my name was in the article, she asked again. 

"Yes, but do you know who that is?"

"Yes," he answered. "That's my Gretchen."

My mom says she believes he knew what he was talking about. And I believe this is a small miracle since he has not seen me for nearly two months while I have been away at college. I may never understand the human mind or the Supernatural, but I do know that I will treasure these small moments, and thank the people and God who make them possible. 

Seeing Ourselves Through Another's Eyes

This past week, Anne Garrels, a foreign correspondent for National Public Radio, came to Mizzou. Because I currently work for the NPR affiliate station in Columbia, I had the amazing opportunity to eat dinner with her one night. Her stories were amazing and her courage that these stories revealed was even more so. Yet what surprised me the most was the story she told us about the U.S. invasion into Iraq. Garrels was one of the few reporters in Iraq at the time of the invasion, and she told us about the Iraqis' reactions to the invasion. 

Some were genuinely thrilled, she said, but most were just "scared sh**less." She would later tone down her language for a more public audience. Generally I do not condone cursing, but for some reason, the way she said it painted a more vivid picture in my mind than anything else she could have said.

The pictures that came back to the U.S. from that day show the Iraqis pulling down the statue and beating it with all kinds of weapons. But notice that you cannot see the people who are actually pulling down the statue. Anne Garrels said that there were not even enough Iraqis in the square to pull down the statue. U.S. Marines had to help them pull it down. 

This shows that ethical journalism is not just about writing the truth. It is about telling the truth in every way, even if that is through pictures. Some journalists like Anne Garrels did give an accurate description of the Iraqis' reaction to the invasion, but others did not. As viewers and journalists alike, we need to stop looking at the world through ethnocentric eyes. We need to see the world as it is, even if that picture is not as perfect as our ideal world. 

The pictures above belong to Reuters.

The Triumph of Racism

I have always known that people have certain dislikes and prejudices against other races, but I have never seen it outrightly except for in a few cases. These cases are primarily seen in older people, and I generally excuse this as being "old-fashioned." But today, I heard a comment that blew my mind.

During a basketball game (Mizzou versus Nebraska), there was a player on the Nebraska team who was appeared to be of African origin. And when I say African, I don't mean African-American. Later on I discovered that the player, Ade Dagunduro, was actually born in California. 

The two college students began the game by throwing out the "f-word" whenever they got the chance. This made me cringe every time I heard them behind me, but it was when they told Dagunduro to "go back to the bush" that my heart started pounding with anger. Later on, when Dangunduro fouled one of the Mizzou players, they continued with their racial comments. "We don't do that in America! Yeah, Go back to the bush!" It took a lot of self control for me not to turn around and tell them to stop, to tell them that that kind of language and racism should not be tolerated. Then, I realized, I was not practicing self-control. I was practicing cowardice.

What was it that was keeping me from turning around and standing up for Dangunduro and all people of different origina? I wish I could answer that question. If more people stood up against racist comments, no matter in what context they are spoken, perhaps racism would dissolve much more quickly. Instead, we do what I did and stand by, pretending not to hear it, or we just walk away. Either way, we allow it to spread and thrive in our society. 

Edmund Burke was right when he said, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

The same is true for racism, for indeed, it is an evil. 

All that is necessary for the triumph of racism is that good men do nothing.

Next time, I pray that I will have the courage to stand up and do something.

Handprints- The Mosaic of Life

Tonight, my university (Mizzou) hosted an event celebrating the Chinese New Year. I met three Chinese guys who I knew from another campus group, and we began working on a Chinese umbrella. One of them had already painted the Chinese flag on part of an umbrella. He told me that he wanted to paint the American flag on the other side. 

If you understand China and the U.S.'s relationship, this willingness to unite the two countries may seem odd, as it did to me. However, I welcomed the idea and so we started to work. He asked me if I would paint the American flag. So, with the help of the two other Chinese students, we completed the flag. 

We decided that with the left over room, we would each put our handprint. Black and

 yellow (the colors of Mizzou) seemed appropriate colors for the task. But one of the students decided he wanted to do his handprint in red. Then, since there was still left over space on the umbrella, he put another half red, half black handprint. 

Now the umbrella was unsymmetrical with two handprints on one side and three on the other, not to mention that the art was much less than professionally done. 

Still, I could not help but find the beauty in this. When I first began working on the umbrella, I imagined a beautifully organized piece of art that had perfect harmony. China on one side and the United States on the other united by the common goal of education, represented by the Mizzou students' handprints. But this is not how life works. We each have our own personalities, our own way of making handprints if you will. Some of us are more sporadic than others, and this mesh of personalities and ideals can sometimes create a mess of things. What I realized is that China and the U.S. may never get along in perfect harmony, but that is okay. The struggles that we go through because of our differences is what makes this world so unique. Perfection is not a part of this world, and complete harmony is something that should be saved for the life hereafter. Until then, I will enjoy this world, with all of our flaws and faults and see them as lines and colors in a beautiful mosaic masterpiece called the human race.