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1. I want a president who inspires, and gives hope.
2. I want my country to live up to its best ideals.
3. I don’t believe it is good for our democracy to maintain dynasties.
4. I strongly believe we need to move beyond rank partisanship.
5. I want someone in power whose highest value is public service, not power itself.
6. I don’t want someone in power who will say or do anything to get elected.
7. I want someone in power who will attack the problems that our country faces, not someone who will attack “enemies”.
8. I don’t want to have to pretend to be French when out of the country.
For all of the above and more, I strongly support Barack Obama for president. No candidate is perfect, but having looked at his stands on the issues, I find myself in greater agreement with him than any other candidate currently running. And Barack has the ability to inspire and move people in a positive way that I have not witnessed in any other candidate. I want to believe that we can move out of the darkest period I have ever witnessed. I want to be able to believe in my country again.
With no more of a plan than meeting friends for a 6pm dinner at Freemans (highly recommended, btw. The food was the best I’ve had this trip.), I chose to head downtown and slowly meander my way from West Village to East Village, taking in the sites along the way.
Still having a couple of hours to kill before dinner, I decided to check out the New Museum, especially keen to explore their brand new building on Bowery and their much discussed new show “Unmonumental“. The building was beautiful from the outside and serviceable from the inside, but the show was pretty much dreck to my eyes. It was the visual and cultural equivalent of a stretched out one line joke.
As I was surveying objet d’art number 20 and wondering if I really could spend another hour in this place, I noticed a fairly handsome man looking at me. He approached and started asking me what I thought about the various pieces and we pretended to discuss them for a few minutes over the subtext of “shall we take this outside to coffee and perhaps a walk to your place later?” We made our introductions and continued onto a few more sculptures, making wisecracks about the artists’ intent or lack thereof. My new friend John became aware of the presence of another nice looking guy who seemed to be hanging on our conversation and laughing at some of our jokes about the art.
“Is he looking at you or me or both of us?” John asked, more to the room than to me.
The guy then approached and sort of introduced himself, and the three of us struck up a conversation. At this point I had no idea where this was all headed, but I knew I had a dinner to attend in about 50 minutes’ time around the corner. We all continued our blather about the lackluster art, but at some point I realized that I was having a hard time making out the words of our new friend. It wasn’t that he wasn’t speaking clearly, but that the meter of his sentences would change rather quickly and it seemed somewhat difficult to process without paying very close attention.
Still, we came to understand that he was a library science major from somewhere in the Midwest. He was also a pretty handsome guy and I have to admit to feeling a little unsure whether John was flirting with him or me or both. Then again, I was unsure of the same about myself. For some reason the conversation came to a rather odd pause, with the three of us just smiling and standing there for a few awkward moments. John then suggested we move on to the next piece, which we did.
And that is when it happened. As we crossed the gallery floor, I heard a loud “HONK!”
I turned around, unsure of what had happened or where it had come from. I turned back to continue another few steps when I heard another, equally loud HONK (although now, thinking back on it, it was really more of a SQUAWK). I then noticed our new friend kind of turning and bobbing a little, as if to avoid eye contact. And then I heard another SQUAWK. I realized with a slight horror that the noises were coming from our new friend. This clearly also made John uncomfortable, who wished the guy a nice day and then hurried us along to another part of the exhibit, muttering something about having sexually aroused the guy leading to his squawking.
As we walked away, I was feeling a little odd about the whole thing. We continued to hear loud squawks in the distance. I mean, this was a gallery type space, with people quietly milling about looking at and discussing the art in hushed tones, punctuated by these loud outbursts. I suddenly realized what was happening and although this entire sequence of events had transpired in little more than a few minutes, it should have occurred to me by the second or third squawk that our new friend had Tourette’s syndrome. I had in fact read about it in a book by Oliver Sacks just a few months ago.
John and I shared a brief tea in the downstairs coffee shop, exchanged numbers and said our goodbyes. I stayed on in the cafe and moments later I bumped into the guy again and we chatted for a few minutes. He started to apologize and explain and I waved my hand, telling him I understood what it was and said I was sorry if I seemed a little taken aback at first. He was a pretty handsome guy and I told him so. He returned the compliment and asked for my number, so I gave it to him. He then let out an especially loud SQUAWK, said goodbye and left. It is somewhat unlikely that we will see each other again, as both he and I are visitors to the city and leaving in a couple of days, but who knows? Life is full of strange serendipity.
I accepted my friend Sian’s invitation to attend Friday night services with her at her synagogue, B’nai Jeshurun, on the Upper West Side. I have to admit to feeling a sense of uneasy intimidation leading up to me going, the kind you feel when you have a homework assignment to finish or some bill to pay. Something you don’t want to do, but have to anyway. I felt I had made a promise to my friend to go and that I should do so, so what was the big deal?
There was a lot of big deal, actually. I was somehow transported back to my childhood where I was forced by any manner of adult to do these things that held so little meaning for me: go to shul, pray, be a good and observant Jew, fit in to this or that community. For various reasons for most of my life, these things held very little attraction for me. It was as if someone was trying to graft onto me an identity that only partially fit. This could have been the case for many reasons. It could have been that as a young person struggling with being gay, none of this felt particularly welcoming. It could have been that, having moved around in several neighborhoods growing up, I never felt particularly tied to these sub communities. It could have been the natural tendency of my family in questioning everything to reject belief in God.
Whatever the reasons, it was with trepidation that I walked up to 88th and Broadway to meet my freind. In the abstract, going to services with Sian was no different that the many other ceremonies and rituals in which I have participated over the past year, whether these be Hindu, Buddhist, Sikh, Muslim, Christian or other. Objectively, this was just another culture to witness. This was just another ceremony to observe, trying to understand its purpose and mystery, trying to appreciate the meaning it holds for the participants.
But this was different, specifically because I was raised in this tradition. This was different, because I felt by turns an uneasy and a comforting recognition in the prayers and music. One thing you have to hand to this congregation, they sing beautifully and with integrity and feeling. Looking around the room during the service, I saw in the faces of people the warm embrace of community and religious bliss. It was really something. And when the time came to sing the Shema, I felt a shiver and connection to these people that was really lovely.
The other nice thing about this congregation is their clear commitment to social justice and bridging gaps of understanding between communities of differing beliefs. I have always felt that religious groupings serve two purposes for the participants. They provide a place in which to express belief and they give a sense of belonging and community to their members. In some people the former is stronger and in others the latter.
This particular congregation and their outlook is not for me, for all the same reasons I have come to in this blog over the past year. Nevertheless, it was wonderful to be given the opportunity by my friend Sian to witness a loving community that gives her life meaning. And perhaps I have also been given the opportunity to let go of a few old ghosts from my childhood.
I reconnected with an old friend yesterday after a long absence. We had a great meandering talk about a number of things and I asked her what she was doing to occupy her time these days. She explained to me that she is working as a life coach. I began considering the outlines of this profession and started thinking that in some ways I was quite suited to it. Then today I crossed paths with another subject matter that I have recently become aware of: virtual worlds such as Second Life.
And then it hit me what a funny job it would be to become a virtual life coach. I could create a virtual website with virtual testimonials from virtual celebrities that had benefited from my virtual coaching. Since this world is virtual, everything can be larger than (real) life. The stakes are higher (and lower), the rewards greater (and smaller), the failures more spectacular (and less spectacular). In addition to coaching virtual people how to live a better virtual life and achieve their virtual goals, I could become a virtual expert in these sorts of things and attend virtual conferences that I would organize and even create a virtual certification for myself and others like me.
If I were a life coach outside of this virtual world, however, I might advise my clients to pay more attention to the game called real life pulsating all around them. Then again, who is to say what is real and what is not? Not me, that is for sure.
Being back in the US makes me feel somewhat anxious about not working (or maybe just anxious). Why? I’m not totally sure. Here are some of the possibilities:
- The Culture of Productivity. Let’s face it, everywhere one goes here there is an underlying need to be productive (or just look productive).
- The people I know all work. Somehow in my head, I imagined coming back and hanging out with all manner of friend, family and acquaintance. But every time I (finally) manage to get a hold of said people they are very scheduled and busy with very many things and not really available at the drop of a hat, or tomorrow, or even next Tuesday.
- The familiar surroundings. It may also be that just by the mere fact of being back here in a familiar place that I am induced to repeat old patterns and fall back into the mode I was in before leaving. This is one of the trepidations I had in coming back.
- Money. This one is pretty obvious. Things cost way more here and my money will run out in a few months and I will have to do something. That said, I really don’t have to worry this very moment and was planning on not having to worry for a few months. But just the shock of spending in a single night what I would in a week on food is disconcerting.
- Owning things. I bought a computer last week. The whole reason for it was to enable my writing and give me some flexibility in creative endeavor. But owning this thing has also caused me to invest a lot of time in caring for it, configuring it, tinkering with it. I’m letting it become a mini obsession, and I think part of the reason is to feel more productive, doing something. Ironically, this makes me a little anxious and leaves me feeling a little less productive.
- Being sick. It is also a real possibility that the mere fact of having a bad cold the past few days has affected my state of mind, clouding my ability to be present.
Before coming back here, I had resolved to give myself a couple of months to relax, get reacquainted, and figure out what to do near the end of the year, with no preconceptions. That could mean travel or work in any number of places (San Francisco, London, Madrid, HK, Sydney..take your pick). That could mean many types of work (writing, technology, design, etc) in many situations (self, non-profit, start-up, etc).
I need to relax and get back to my Buddhist lessons. Perhaps I’ll go to a drop-in meditation at the Zen Center tomorrow.
They all seem mixed together here in Varanasi. I have noted several times before how India is always a mixture of the sacred and profane, how all elements of life are seemingly jumbled up and criss crossing. In Varanasi this is even more evident and the addition of the palpable presence of death here completes the picture.
We took a fascinating walk last night through the tiny alleyways and over to the Manikarnika (also known as Cremation) Ghat. There, we witnessed the preparation of bodies and their placement on funeral pyres, and their burning. It was a very moving and slightly destabilizing sight. As we stood above the fires, our eyes burned from the fumes and we had to descend after several minutes. A while later after continuing our walk we came back and actually stood on the ghat next to the burning pyres, and I could see a body burning. I have to admit to being a little shaken up. Our guide had explained the whole process to us, what the family does, how people say goodbye and what rituals there typically are in mourning.
There are things that you understand intellectually, and there are things that you understand on an emotional level as well. Varanasi brought home to me something real and ultimately peaceful about acceptance of our mortality and the beautiful cycle of living and dying.
One of the obsessions of Tibetan Buddhism is to circumambulate various stupas and temples. If possible, they can also turn the prayer wheels that surround many of these structures. Both the circumambulations and the wheel turning are always in a clockwise direction. I was wondering about the origins of this and figured they were mostly biological in nature. As most people are right-handed (with only about 10% lefties), the clockwise direction and turning probably made the most sense, felt the most natural, in this way. And thus something that started as slightly practical grows into a strong superstition about the holiness of direction, added to a particular religious canon.
It is also interesting to note that almost all the monks have their left arm covered by robes, but the right arm shows. Pity the poor left-handed monk, where is his place in the world?
A very interesting thing happened to a friend of mine here a few days ago. He received an SMS from one of his clients saying simply “I love you.” My friend (who is married with children and straight) felt fairly certain that this was a sort of come on from his client. This client had always been a little overly affectionate, always specifically asked when dealing with my friend’s firm that my friend be the representative. Although the client was 60 years old and married himself, many in the office had always felt that he was gay and had a laugh or two about it among themselves.
My friend was in a bit of a pickle about what to do, so he ignored the text message entirely, but a few days later when meeting in person with the client, he was asked why he had never responded. The situation felt awkward for my friend and so he quickly made up some excuse and moved on to another topic. He and his wife asked me the other day what I would have done. I asked them a few questions. Were they certain this man was gay, and this was a sort of come on? How close were they to the client? Could this not simply be a strong voice of affection with nothing else implied? They felt certain this was an expression of gay affection and possible sexual attraction.
I concluded that the best thing to do in this situation was to pretend to have read the message in a way that they felt it had not been intended. And not to ignore it, but reply with something along the lines of “I love working with you as well, thanks”. This would save any embarrassment of rejection from the sender while still acknowledging with kindness that the message had been sent.
It is very interesting where India is today in its acceptance of gay people (or gay attraction or feelings for that matter). Although there are many cultural differences, I still feel a parallel can be drawn with the US and its attitudes some 40 years ago. Here is the situation as I read it today:
1. The young and the well educated seem quite accepting of gay people. For instance, most of my friends here all know that I am and they have no issue with it (that I know of).
2. People such as my friend’s client are in a bit of a sad situation. Supposing he is gay, he must feel quite isolated and a little desperate to send this “I love you” message. In a healthy and accepting society for gay people, this would be the ultimate thing one would say after basic flirting, dating, courtship, etc. You know, like it is for straight people. It would not be a cry from the dark, as it seems to be here.
3. As I have written many times before, marriage and procreation are at the very heart of Indian society. In general this is a very good thing, giving people connection to each other and support in times of need. The downside is that most people cannot imagine allowing anyone to upset the status quo with an alternative arrangement. Gay people and their relationships are effectively invisible. Gay sex happens all the time, but it is never talked about and certainly must not be legitimized with allowing relationships to form publicly. Even among gay people that I have met out at parties, many of them believe quite plainly that it is their duty to enter into marriage and have children, even if they are not attracted to the opposite sex. Many of these feel it is perfectly acceptable to continue gay relationships on the side.
4.Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code still criminalizes homosexuality.While a barrier to wider acceptance, I tend to believe that laws follow social acceptance more than the other way around. For example, although the US only definitively overturned sodomy statutes nationwide in 2003, society had already changed to a point of widespread (if not perfect) acceptance of homosexuality. This was a result of many changes throughout the culture in the preceding decades.
It is my personal opinion that openness breeds acceptance in the long run. When people know that a member of their family is gay, they are less likely to stereotype or hold hatreds based on these. They are no longer able to pretend that no one they know is gay. As I have discussed with many gay people here, I personally believe the most powerful thing any one of us can do politically is to come out, to live openly. Societies are ever evolving, and the first ones to come out suffer the worst hatreds, of that there is no doubt. Coming out in India today is no picnic.
But each successive wave of out people makes it easier on those that follow them. It has to begin somewhere. I was able to come out with less trouble and rejection than those that came out before me, because they had paved the way and there was some general cultural knowledge of such things. My own coming out has made it easier for a younger generation (such as my niece). Eventually, people will come to see being gay about as threatening to them as left handedness or a different eye color. But this takes many years and many small acts of bravery.
Putrajaya (the administrative capital of Malaysia) is a strange and fascinating place indeed. History is littered with examples of grand capital planning, and this one is right in a line with many of them. Putrajaya is a new city (begun in 1995), and it is extremely impressive to see how much has been built in so short a time. The city also has a surreal quality about it, owing to its scale, planning, architecture and location.
Putrajaya begs all kinds of questions, such as:
- Was there really a need to build this place away from the (business and cultural) capital of KL?
- Who owned this land prior and were they friends or associates with the powers that be? Who were given the building contracts and how?
- How do they expect this place to be successful with such poor public transport? Perhaps this will improve over time.
- What does this place say about the poor of Malaysia (and their access to government institutions), who would be very out of place here and have a hell of a time getting here (see above, transport)?
- As (I am) someone coming from a land where religion and state are separate entities (at least in theory), what is Putrajaya saying about multiculturalism in Malaysia when one of its centerpieces is a huge mosque? Are other religions or belief systems represented somewhere? Are they meant to be ignored?
- What is the identity that Malaysia wants to form and project to the outside world? The architecture is a hodgepodge of many styles. But interestingly a lot of it uses Middle Eastern and Arabic details for inspiration.
- As the city is still far from complete, how are businesses that are located there faring? Do they have the traffic necessary to sustain them? What incentives (tax or otherwise) are granted to people that build (offices, housing, shopping, etc)?
- What are the costs of maintaining the grand public spaces and how will they deal with the ravages of time? Although barely a decade old, much of the public parks and other spaces don’t seem to be aging that well, with cracks and decay evident in places.
I haven’t seen this much consumerism since Bangkok. Shopping mania pervades Beijing (and Xian to be frank). I have a number of questions about consumerism and capitalism in China. These are supposed to be anathema to communism, aren’t they? In truth China is not communist at all, just totalitarian. Mao would be rolling in his grave, don’t you think? And it seems odd that as people have money and freedom to buy things, they still have no ability to criticize the government. Apparently capitalism has no need of democracy. Sounds like the worst of both worlds: conspicuous consumption and exploitation of the worker. And yet, look what China can accomplish with its authoritarianism. Massive public works projects, crazy economic growth, forced grand scale social changes, etc. The questions, as always, are about who wields the power and what checks there are on it.
What do the Chinese themselves feel about it? Do they feel that they are missing anything? People I have spoken with here say that although there is grand censorship, many people know how to get around it via the Internet. Mostly people seem completely apolitical. Bread and Circuses, how long can they hold the attention of the populace? Still, I have a lot of questions as I am here:
- What is health care like here, and is access equal for all?
- What is taught in schools related to communism (Marxist, Maoist, etc) and how do they square that with Chinese capitalism?
- What can be owned?
- How are people taxed (where does the government get its money)?
- What is the state of Social Security (pensions, welfare, etc)
- How much of enterprise is state run vs private?
- What qualifies for censorship? (for example, it seems ok to be gay here, but not to say anything negative about the Chinese stock market)
I will be scouring the internet and asking a lot of people these and other questions over the next few days. Stay tuned.
