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(12/06/00 10:00am)
People choose heroes with whom they have something in common, whose lives are relevant to and hold lessons for their own. In this, my final column for the DP, I pay my respects to my hero, the African-American athlete, musician, actor and political activist Paul Robeson.
Born in Princeton, N.J. in 1898, Robeson grew up in central New Jersey. At Rutgers, he excelled in his studies and became an All-American football star. Some still consider him the greatest collegiate scholar-athlete in U.S. history.
After graduating from Columbia Law School, Robeson decided to take up acting and singing. For the next 15 years, he spent most of his time in Europe, winning critical acclaim for his roles in plays such as Othello and musicals like Show Boat, in which he was immortalized for his performance of "Old Man River." With his wife, Eslande Goode, he moved in the highest artistic circles of prewar London and Berlin.
But the growing menace of Nazism and the threat of war forced Robeson to confront politics. During the Spanish Civil War, he performed for the defenders of the Republic.
After returning to New York, he became increasingly active, speaking out against the segregation and lynching of African Americans, participating in labor movements and campaigning in 1948 on behalf of the Progressive Party -- the Green Party of the day. Abroad, he continued to perform for adoring audiences.
Unfortunately for Robeson, the postwar McCarthyites set their sights on this internationally admired figure.
After making controversial statements at the 1948 Paris Peace Conference, a mob of locals attacked him during an outdoor performance in Peekskill, N.Y. the next year. And then in 1950, the government decided to revoke his passport.
For the next eight years, Robeson languished under domestic arrest, cut off from his greatest supporters in Europe, the Soviet Union and the Third World.
By the time he was allowed to travel again, in 1958, Robeson had only a few years left in his productive career. He attempted to kill himself at least twice. As his family alleges, and FBI files suggest, poisoning may have contributed to his mental breakdown.
In 1965, his health broken, Robeson retired to his sister's home at 4951 Walnut Street, where he died, nearly forgotten, in 1976.
So what legacy has Robeson bequeathed to me?
First of all, he reminds me that people from my little part of the world have done good things for humanity. As I like to say, Robeson was born in Princeton, went to school in New Brunswick and died in West Philadelphia.
I was born in New Brunswick, went to school in Princeton and live in West Philadelphia.
Robeson's artistic career took him to Europe, where he met young African students and was welcomed by Stalin's Soviet Union. This international perspective on the African-American condition distinguished Robeson, along with the aging W.E.B. DuBois, from their contemporaries.
He praised socialism and excoriated the Western powers for their colonial oppression and greed. Robeson never hesitated to speak for the oppressed; whether striking English coal miners, anti-apartheid activists or African American women facing the combined burdens of racism and sexism.
As one of his friends put it, this was a man who had gone beyond black and white -- all the peoples of the world were his own.
For this internationalism, Robeson paid the ultimate price. Not death, which came much later, but historical oblivion.
A friend of mine, who runs the Greenfield Intercultural Center, told me sadly how a young African-American girl in Princeton -- the town of Robeson's birth -- had come up to her, pointed at a pin she was wearing with Big Paul's smiling face, and asked, "Who's that?"
Then, as now, those who dared to "speak the truth to power" exposed themselves to personal danger, public ostracization and government persecution. For me, committed to a life as a dissident intellectual, Robeson's life could easily serve as a warning, an admonishment to silence. Instead, I am inspired by his selfless example.
Over Thanksgiving break, I visited Robeson's childhood house, just three blocks from Princeton University. I reflected on my fellow central New Jerseyan, who willingly accepted the responsibilities of being a great public figure -- responsibilities so many artists, athletes and academics shun today.
In Spain, he had declared: "The artist must elect to fight for freedom or slavery. I have made my choice. I had no alternative."
Thanks, Paul. Thanks for everything.
(11/29/00 10:00am)
Now that Thanksgiving has passed and my 25th birthday is less than one month away, I've been thinking about where I am in life. Although it may sound ridiculous, the question on my mind these days is "When do you know you've had success?"
As I pondered that question, I thought of the Japanese-American poet David Mura. In his memoir, Where the Body Meets Memory, Mura explores the ups and downs of his life in unnerving detail, from rebellious, overachieving high school student to porn-addicted artist to a successful writer and loving husband and father. His experiences caution us against judging when a person has achieved "success."
At age 20, Mura was an undistinguished English major at Grinnell College, seemingly headed for neither fame nor infamy.
And for most of the next decade, he cheated compulsively on his future wife, frequented bars and adult theaters and fell under the influence of drugs and alcohol. He was kicked out of grad school for amassing seven incompletes. His writing career was going nowhere.
By the time he was 30, there could have been no doubt in the minds of Mura's uptight, ultraconservative parents that this wasted intellect was now the shame of the family.
But slowly, life began to change.
He pulled himself together, faced down his addictions and started therapy. His wife, who had stood by him through his years of decadence, helped them confront his painful behavior. And as his writing won acclaim, Mura became involved in the literary and artistic circles of his native Midwest and the United States.
In the introduction to his book, Mura asks, "At what age do you judge whether you've been successful as a parent? In high school, one child may be a star, the other engaged in constant rebellion and hell raising, sneaking drugs, staying out late, skipping school. In college, they reverse roles. Later, divorce, children, a failure in business, can change the whole picture once more."
When I first read Mura's memoir in 1997, I didn't fully understand this point, perhaps because I didn't want to. Five years earlier, when I graduated from high school, I had high expectations for the future. I was going to college on a full scholarship and couldn't wait to leave my boring, insular high school and make new friends.
In 1997, I had none of Mura's sexual or narcotic addictions, but I was upset. I was disappointed by the culture of academia and wasn't sure why I chose graduate school. I had already lost touch with almost everyone from college and realized I had left Princeton with no lasting friendships. My parents had a tough time getting over the fact that I had abandoned science, and our relationship was strained.
For me and many other privileged Americans who grew up with warped notions of "success," it often seems that family and society judge personal worth based solely on scholastic awards, professional degrees and starting salaries. By those standards, I was an overachiever at 16 and a has-been at 21, and that was depressing.
When success is defined so narrowly, it's inevitable that most folks will feel like failures. And no human, especially someone that young, deserves that.
Mura's case reminds us that success can't be measured when you're 30 or 40. It makes no sense to judge the value of your life when you're only 21.
Today, I have a much better idea of what I'm doing and why I'm alive. I'm still not the happiest man on earth, but I enjoy what I study, I've rekindled my activism through writing and I've built up a network of friends at Penn and in West Philadelphia.
Now, when I glance at the class notes in Princeton's alumni magazine, I wonder about my old friends, whom I secretly admired for their comfortable, conformist lifestyles and wedding announcements not too long ago. Many of them sure seem successful. But are they happy -- even as imperfectly happy as I am?
As I once heard, "Success is getting what you want. Happiness is wanting what you get." If that's true, then the answer to my question -- "When do you know you've achieved success?" -- is simple.
David Mura seems content with who he is and what he's accomplished in his nearly 50 years. Although I'm only half his age, I imagine that I just might be able to say the same when I'm older.
Because after all, maybe the only true success is the happiness that comes with knowing you've lived the way you wanted.
(11/22/00 10:00am)
Amazing! More than two weeks since Election Day, and we still don't know who the next president of the United States will be.
For those who've been living in a bubble, the fun began when television networks, less than an hour after crowning George W. Bush the president-elect, declared the race in Florida "too close to call."
Since then, we've been subjected to the spectacle of the Republicans and Democrats filing one lawsuit after another to stop or continue the vote recount, with no end in sight. Meanwhile, talking heads have consumed enormous amounts of airtime and paper defending or bashing the Electoral College, or engaging in idle speculations over the eventual outcome.
But for those living in the bubble that is middle- and upper-class America, "Decision 2000" revealed flaws in our political system far more serious than an anachronistic voting body or suspicious shenanigans involving confusing or missing ballots.
In Florida -- epicenter of our current crisis -- there are disturbing allegations of intimidation or outright exclusion of African Americans, urban minorities and the poor. Residents of Miami and other cities have reported being denied the right to vote because they couldn't produce multiple forms of ID or their signatures didn't match the ones on record.
Similar concerns have been raised throughout the country and suggest a pattern of covert discrimination, particularly against black voters.
It's troubling enough that only half of all eligible voters consider it worth their while to vote for the president. But what I'm hearing from Florida reminds me of charges of "voter suppression" that tainted the bitterly fought New Jersey gubernatorial race in 1993, and demonstrates that the civil rights movement has yet to secure true equality at the ballot box.
When those who wish to vote encounter disproportionate obstacles, the conclusion seems clear: Democracy, meant to protect the rights of the disadvantaged, is not as well off as we often believe.
Perhaps even more troublesome are the international implications. The weekend after Election Day, my girlfriend showed me a political cartoon on her favorite Italian newspaper's Web site. Below the dome of Congress walk three shabby-looking men carrying suitcases. Underneath, the caption reads "America: The Arrival of Serbian Observers."
Remember how our government and media demonized Yugoslavia only two months ago for its supposedly rigged presidential elections, even after international observers said they were satisfied with the voting process?
This month's political soap opera has removed what little veneer of truth was left in Americans' quasi-religious belief that their democracy is the supreme political model for the rest of the world.
Never mind that many outsiders have long been aware that the United States is effectively a plutocracy. What does it mean when the United Sates sees fit to punish other countries for their refusal to accept "Western-style democracy?"
What does it mean, especially now that our own electoral irregularities are so painfully exposed for the entire world to see?
For decades, the United Nations imposed a boycott on South Africa's infamous apartheid regime, where non-whites most certainly did not enjoy the same voting privileges as whites.
When as many as one third of African-American men in some states are denied the right to vote because of their criminal records, and black voters nationwide complain of harassment and being turned away from the polls, dare we speak of a model democracy in the U.S.?
Yes, there is a difference in degree between our political system -- however corrupt and delegitimized -- and countries where advocating democratic elections can land you in jail. But these latest elections have done little to reassure me that the United States is making any effort to address its enormous political shortcomings at home.
Many Americans agree on the need to develop additional political parties, eliminate the corporate stranglehold on politics and guarantee all citizens the same opportunities to vote.
With such broad support, maybe now it's time to take these issues seriously.
On a global level, we need not share Tom Brokaw's election-night fears that "our adversaries abroad" may take advantage of a supposedly weakened America.
But the truth is that the United States' ideal world leadership role -- already severely tarnished by a decade of big-stick bullying -- has now degenerated into an embarrassing farce.
Beacon of democracy? A political system worthy of the world's envy?
Do we really think the rest of the world isn't laughing?
(11/09/00 10:00am)
Last Wednesday, the National Labor Relations Board ruled that graduate teaching assistants at private universities have the right to form unions, if necessary, to defend their interests.
Since I hadn't been following the issue, the NLRB's decision caught me by surprise. But I had always believed that graduate TAs are employees and deserve the same rights guaranteed to others.
Monday's DP staff editorial correctly noted that this ruling is unlikely to bring about the kind of militancy and confrontation at Penn that characterized the unionization campaign at Yale in the early 1990s. But I disagree that graduate TAs are "generally satisfied" with their treatment, or that the University should adopt a strategy of appeasement.
Now more than ever, Penn must heed the example of its neighbor in North Philadelphia.
For years, the Temple University Graduate Student Association has been locked in a struggle with that school's administration for union recognition. During that time, TUGSA has held rallies; staged a symbolic one-day strike to emphasize the vital role TAs play in university operations; and garnered much sympathy from local media.
Last Thursday, one day after the NLRB ruling, City Council voted unanimously to support TUGSA and called upon Temple to negotiate in good faith with its most overlooked employees.
Critics might note that Temple's TAs, on average, tend to be older than Penn's, are more likely to have families and come from less wealthy backgrounds. And in contrast to Penn, Princeton and many other elite private universities, where graduate students are restricted to grading papers and leading discussion sections, TAs at Temple are often responsible for whole courses, even introductory classes with enrollment in the hundreds.
So is Temple's example relevant to Penn?
I say yes, for two reasons. Recently, I was talking with another doctoral student about how to support ourselves while writing our dissertations. Like me, he had fulfilled his teaching duties and had no desire to teach again -- not at the University's salary. "You don't even want to think about dividing the money by how many hours you work, because you know it won't approach minimum wage," I joked.
An exaggeration? Only slightly. In 1996, I received Penn's cushiest graduate fellowship, which entitled me to three years of funding with no obligations. For one year, I was required to teach two classes. And thanks to ex-President Ronald Reagan, my stipend for that year was taxed, so that I was actually making less than I did the other three years.
Assuming I spend 35 hours a week attending lectures, reading for class, teaching sections, meeting with students, answering e-mail, grading papers and running errands for the professor, my total time commitment comes out to about 600 hours per semester, for approximately $6,000.
Ten dollars per hour is well above minimum wage, but it doesn't include the benefits that most University employees receive. Remember also that TAs take courses and have their own reading and writing, plus various departmental obligations to fulfill. And rumor has it that some TAs actually have lives outside school.
So there is at least some motivation for Penn's TAs to organize.
But for me, the real significance of the NLRB's decision is not economic, and only indirectly stems from a romantic notion of TAs empowering themselves as a class of exploited workers.
Since my first day at Penn, I've heard graduate students bemoan their chosen path -- wondering if they'll ever find positions in a diminishing academic job market, and comparing their meager salaries and high stress levels with friends in the "real" world. As I've said before, this lack of self-esteem derives from the general disrespect accorded academics in society.
Last week's ruling acknowledges that graduate students are worthwhile members of society whose existence serves a real purpose. It sends a message to those who prefer to read and write, to teach and encourage the next generation that they, too, ought to be treated with respect -- and adequately compensated -- by their host institutions.
Even for me, an unapologetic defender of the role of intellectuals in the U.S.'s indisputably anti-intellectual culture, last week's news was welcome vindication.
Not that I expect Penn's less sensitive undergrads to stop taking their TAs for granted. For that matter, University employees may not recognize future archaeologists or literary critics -- most of them from privileged backgrounds -- as "fellow workers."
But professors and administrators would do well to keep this in mind.
See the folks in their 20s or 30s sitting in the corner, drinking coffee while reading, grading papers and preparing to teach? They work for you. And they'd like something in return.
(11/01/00 10:00am)
Two weeks ago, an article in the political weekly The Nation lamented the fate of the traditional "social-democratic" left in Western Europe. Author Daniel Singer argued that the "third way" between capitalism and communism -- the combination of free-market economics and a minimal social safety net found in the U.S. and Britain -- has been a failure. France, Germany and Italy, he concluded, must defend their so-called "welfare state" in order to remain independent of the United States.
While reading this piece, I found myself reflecting upon the U.S. presidential election and the increasingly vicious innuendoes being traded between the Democratic and Green parties.
Singer's article coincided with an escalation in attacks on Ralph Nader's candidacy by the Democratic Party and pro-Democrat media. To judge from their paranoid rhetoric, the sole purpose of Nader's stubborn grassroots campaign is to play the spoiler and hand the presidency to Evil himself, Republican George W. Bush.
By ignoring Nader's record of activism as a consumer advocate, apologists for Al Gore have portrayed Nader -- with great success -- as a quixotic idealist running a self-serving glam show under the guise of building "real democracy."
For their part, Greens have pointed to Gore's complicity with corporate interests, from his ownership of stock in Occidental Petroleum -- the oil company set to drill on land in Colombia sacred to the indigenous U'Wa -- to his multimillion-dollar campaign donations from the biggest names in U.S. business.
Once one overlooks the discrepancies between the two major parties on social issues such as abortion and school prayer, Gore's platform, they stress, is virtually indistinguishable from that of his Republican opponent and identical in foreign policy.
Although I agree with these objections, it does no good to follow a party line -- any party line -- without examining its historical background. Once we do this, the differences between the Democrats and the European "third way" parties are dwarfed by their parallel evolution over the past decade.
Despite claims that Western Europe had already begun to shift to the right in the early '80s with the election of Margaret Thatcher in Britain and Helmut Kohl in West Germany, it was the collapse of communism that drastically altered domestic politics. It destroyed western Communists -- who had regularly won local elections and tallied up to 25 percent of the vote in Italy and France -- emboldened conservatives and neo-fascists, and demoralized socialists and social democrats, who could no longer defend their social services or envision a future outside U.S. control.
The rightward drift of the Democratic Party here can hardly be blamed on the end of the Cold War. Already in the mid-1980s, as a result of Ronald Reagan's stunning success in driving U.S. political culture to the right, "centrist" Democrats -- including Gore -- drafted a strategy for remaking the party by jettisoning support for civil rights and appeasing corporations.
But whatever the causes, the end result proved the same. In the U.S., Democrats found it ever more difficult to distinguish their policies from those of Republicans.
You may recall the excitement with which progressives greeted Bill Clinton's election in 1992. These hopes have long since soured, as Clinton perfected his technique of "triangulation" -- promising to the left while delivering to the right -- but could not prevent both houses of Congress from "going Republican."
Of course, even after eliminating welfare, pushing free trade and bombing several small countries, Democrats could still point to social issues as the one arena that marked them off from a Republican Party increasingly dominated by fundamentalist Christians.
In Western Europe, where abortion, gay rights and school prayer barely register on the political radar, traditional leftists found themselves reduced to spokesmen for "globalization with a human face." This continent-wide collusion with U.S. corporate rule and military expansion has now successfully assimilated Germany's Social Democrats, England's Labor Party and Italy's former Communists.
Last year, while NATO was bombing Yugoslavia, I was shocked to learn that of all the major Western European parties, only Germany's Party of Democratic Socialism -- the successors to the East German Communists -- opposed the war.
Has the old left become part of the right? Is there any commitment to social justice, any opposition to unbridled corporate power and military adventurism in the "reformed" neoliberal left, here or across the Atlantic?
Questions like these are clearly disturbing the Democrats. As their contempt for their progressive challenger indicates, neither they nor their European counterparts are willing to face the answers.
(10/25/00 9:00am)
Imagine that you're a top administrator at a powerful university. You're responsible for a multibillion-dollar endowment and a vast annual budget, and you're doing a good job.
One day, some "agitators" disturb this idyllic picture. Likely, they're student activists concerned about the way their school -- ahem, your school -- is spending its money or about some detail of student life. They have demands, and they want them met -- even if it costs money or damages your reputation with the government, corporations and individuals who bankroll your institution.
What do you do? You can't come out and declare that your hands are tied -- much less that you, as a powerful decision-maker, have no accountability to students who pay tens of thousands of dollars a year in tuition, or to the wider community and world in which your school holds such influence.
So, you announce the creation of a committee, divert the attention of the troublemakers -- and let the issue die.
If you're thinking of Penn's recent past, you might assume that I am airing a cynical take on last February's anti-sweatshop protest and its aftermath. Since then, wrangling over details by the ad hoc committees has led more than one student to view the entire process as a stall tactic.
But in fact, the above is based on my experiences with the diversity initiative and ethnic studies movement at Princeton.
There, I saw the collective energy, idealism and intelligence of too many well-meaning students wasted on preparing for committee meetings, only to emerge feeling more disempowered than ever. Confronted by savvy administrators and hostile faculty, they began to question all possibility of change -- that is, change the university doesn't want and won't allow.
This tactic also successfully deflects unwanted media attention.
Press coverage aided the nationwide movement in the late 1970s for universities to divest their money from South Africa, and the anti-sweatshop campaign of last spring found sympathy even in such defenders of the status quo as The New York Times.
But as soon as protests were replaced by committees, the news reporters departed.
This pattern symptomizes an unpleasant but undeniable fact about the power structure in U.S. universities: Important decisions are made by the president and a handful of top administrators.
But who appoints these officials? Not students, who pay outrageous and steadily rising fees (or, in the case of graduate students, are paid minimal salaries), and not employees.
The answer? A board of trustees whose members are unsatisfactorily selected from and voted upon by alumni.
In short, universities are not democracies.
Thus, whenever a controversial issue arises, they form committees, task forces and other ad hoc assemblages of administrators, faculty and students to preoccupy activists and distract the media. In that way, universities successfully avoid unpleasant PR crises.
Perhaps even more importantly, committees provide a veneer of democratic process under which top-down decisions can be justified. Of course, since the administration tends to appoint friendly faculty members and students to these committees, this veneer often stretches very thin indeed.
What I find frightening about this technique is its resemblance to the role of democratic bodies in the Third World, where power remains in the hands of a non-elected elite. In such "democratorships," superficial civilian rule and largely meaningless elected parliaments hide a largely unchanged power structure, beyond the reach of ordinary citizens.
I doubt that most administrators would be proud of this analogy. Yet if it's unrealistic to expect them not to "table" issues to Death By Committee, what can be done to make universities more democratic?
Turn to past cases when colleges reluctantly took steps that went against their economic or political interests. Then, as now, continued pressure and criticism -- especially in the form of protest action -- have been the means by which activists can influence universities to take a principled stand.
It worked when they started admitting women and minorities; when they allowed men and women to live, eat and sleep together on campus; and when many removed their ROTC offices during the Vietnam War.
And it worked again in the mid-'90s when elite universities, such as Penn and Columbia, finally committed to multiethnic curricula.
But progress comes slowly, if at all, when committees take over. In this light, it's no wonder that February's nine-day College Hall sit-in by anti-sweatshop protesters did more than eight months of committee meetings since.
(10/18/00 9:00am)
I had just arrived in Vienna after an overnight train from Germany. After checking into a youth hostel, I was finally ready to tour the former capital of the Hapsburg Empire.
Like many Americans, I'd heard plenty about the rise of Austria's scary neo-fascist leader, J”rg Haider, and as an obvious non-European, I was slightly apprehensive about how I would be received by the locals.
Sure enough, while touring the Hapsburg palace grounds, with my beat-up camera in hand, I passed a group of tall young men. One of them noticed me and scoffed, "Look at these little Japanese with their cameras."
Austrian racism at its finest? Not exactly. The group consisted of Americans, and these loving words were said, not in Wienerdeutsch, but in good ol' American English.
And their utterer was of South Asian descent.
I might have been forgiven for not wanting to come across any more Asian Americans after my run-in in Vienna. Instead, this incident reminded me of a sad truth that many students visiting Western Europe have observed: the near absence of non-white Americans traveling there.
True, there are reasons for this relative paucity. For one, non-whites are less well-off socioeconomically and so tend to have less disposable income for luxuries such as travel. Many Americans with family in Latin America, Asia or Africa would rather spend their hard-earned savings visiting relatives.
Furthermore, Europe does not symbolize only "civilization" and "culture." To many -- and not just non-Europeans -- the continent also carries heavy historical baggage: colonialism, slavery, discrimination, persecution and mass murder.
These reasons are understandable, but they alone cannot explain why I could count on one hand the minority Americans I encountered in six weeks across the Atlantic.
Why, then, the overwhelming whiteness of Americans in Europe? Especially when there is so much to learn from countries superficially similar to the U.S. -- such as Britain, France and Germany -- yet with distinct societies and cultures?
I suspect that the answer lies in the insular, American-centered world-view of many educated blacks, Latinos and Asian Americans. Ironically, although the discipline of ethnic studies has devoted increasing attention to "diaspora" issues, few U.S. minority intellectuals have shown much awareness of, let alone curiosity in, minorities in Canada and Western Europe.
By focusing narrowly on conditions in the U.S., these folks reinforce that most ethnocentric of beliefs: that "America is the world." Such arrogance causes them to generalize, assuming that, say, West Indian blacks in Britain or North Africans in France face exactly the same sort of injustices as their counterparts here.
Worse, they miss out on the chance to make real, substantive comparisons between the U.S. and other Western nations, ones that go beyond the usual stereotypical jibes about smells, personal habits or movies.
Sometimes it is Europe that comes out looking worse. Many Americans would be shocked to learn that most countries there do not consider native-born non-Europeans automatic citizens. France, for instance, does not allow children of North African immigrants to apply for citizenship until age 18.
Whereas I once condemned this practice as racist, I now understand that the U.S. is unusual in guaranteeing citizenship to everyone born on its soil.
But the fact is that minority life in Europe often compares favorably with that in the U.S.
Despite the existence of ethnic enclaves -- North African "suburbs" in Paris, Turkish "ghettos" in major German cities, Pakistani neighborhoods in London or Leeds -- I witnessed far more interaction across racial lines than I did back home in Philadelphia. Even in the U.K., with its racial and immigrant tensions, it is not uncommon to find ethnically mixed groups of young men or women, or couples.
In Amsterdam, a city known here mostly for marijuana and '60s-style free love, I felt completely comfortable for the first time I can remember. Never mind that I speak poor Dutch or that I didn't know my way around. None of the passersby, waitresses or punks seemed to care in the least about where I, my half-Surinamese friend or her Chinese-Dutch boyfriend "come from."
Of course, the Netherlands has its social problems, but I would never have believed that there was a place where locals -- white Europeans at that -- were simply not interested in my origins. And I would never have imagined I could have so much fun explaining American politics as a representative of the United States -- not until this summer.
Being in Europe taught me a lot about the U.S. and about myself as an American minority. I hope the gentleman who insulted me in Vienna learned as much from his stay as I did.
(10/11/00 9:00am)
Had it not been for the violence in the Middle East, last week's biggest news story would have been the end of Slobodan Milosevic's reign as president of Yugoslavia.
Faced with strikes throughout the country and massive protests in the capital, Belgrade, Milosevic conceded defeat to opposition leader Vojislav Kostunica. Tens of thousands of Belgraders celebrated on Thursday by partying all night and drinking in the streets.
How should Kostunica's victory be interpreted? And what does it portend for the future of Yugoslavia and the Balkans? Yugoslav and Western observers agree that the events of the last two weeks have been a major turning point, a victory for democracy.
But even before the elections on September 24, it was clear that "democracy" -- and the political future of Yugoslavia -- were viewed very differently by policymakers in Washington and London than by the citizens of Novi Sad and Nis.
To hear CNN or the major newspapers tell it, "the Serbs" -- rarely Yugoslavs -- correctly chose against the "Butcher of Belgrade," who for 13 years blinded them with nationalistic hate to maintain his iron-fisted rule.
The new president, by contrast, is a Western-style "democrat" who promises to reform the economy by ending state subsidies, privatizing large sections of industry and implementing other IMF dictates -- exactly as happened 10 years ago in the rest of Eastern Europe.
Freed from dictatorship, what remains of Yugoslavia is, at long last, ripe for the picking -- that is, investment and exploitation -- by Western multinationals, from Nike to Mercedes-Benz.
In short, Yugoslavia has renounced its wayward politics and rejoined the rest of Europe. Its people will now be treated just like other Europeans and rewarded with the standard of living all Europeans enjoy.
I doubt that most Yugoslavs share these illusions.
To begin, they suspect that they will continue to be viewed as "inferior Balkan semi-Europeans" rather than full-fledged Europeans. They are sickened by the 10-year propaganda campaign against them in the Western press and doubt the sincerity of these generous pronouncements.
From watching CNN and Britain's Sky News, they know how the U.S. and U.K. distorted their political system by pouring large sums of money into opposition groups. As The New York Times and Washington Post reported, the U.S., in the last three years, dished out $77 million to everyone from independent radio stations to student resistance groups.
Many Yugoslavs, of course, know that the new road they have bravely chosen offers no guarantees for peace or prosperity. True, the European Union made good on its word and promptly lifted oil and airplane flight sanctions.
But the last few days have also witnessed new conflicts with Washington. Immediately after Milosevic's resignation, the U.S. demanded that Kostunica hand over the ex-president to face "war crimes" charges in the Hague, which he refused to do.
Now that the celebration is over, Kostunica faces tough questions. Will he accept Western "support" to oust or override the legally elected parliament, in which Milosevic's party won a majority? Will the U.S. and Germany finally recognize Yugoslavia as a sovereign country, instead of indulging in the absurdity of "Serbia and Montenegro?" Will the U.S. use Yugoslavia's non-Serbian regions, such as partly Hungarian Vojvodina or the largely Muslim Sandzak, as leverage against Belgrade?
More importantly, what will happen in Montenegro itself, which NATO and the IMF have already converted into a Western protectorate? And what about the political fate of Kosovo?
Reflecting on the likelihood of continued conflict between Yugoslavia and the West, I recall a conversation I had this summer in Belgrade with my friend Danijela. She predicted that the country would need only six months to recover once economic sanctions were removed.
From what I saw, I had to agree. Yugoslavs are highly educated, and technical expertise is widespread. Young people speak foreign languages and watch more American movies and music videos -- and understand international politics better -- than most Westerners.
What this means is that, should the U.S. and EU allow Yugoslavia equal economic footing with its neighbors, it will almost certainly re-emerge as a regional power. To prevent this, they will do everything they can to turn the country and its stubborn people into yet another military and economic colony.
History is not over in the Balkans, folks. Milosevic's fall signals an end to a period of bloodshed and suffering. It remains to be seen whether Kostunica has what it takes to confront the uncertainty that lies ahead.
(10/05/00 9:00am)
Last week, I and two other Penn students led a teach-in on the issues surrounding the IMF and World Bank demonstrations in Prague.
A student inquired about the effects of globalization and IMF/Bank policies in the U.S. We gave the usual answers: Lower wages and working conditions overseas negatively affect workers here; the loss of jobs to the Third World leaves Americans out of work.
But in retrospect, the best response might have been to point out the parallels between the behavior of the West toward Third World peoples and "internal colonialism" in communities across the U.S. Coined in the 1960s to describe the political and economic disempowerment under which poor and nonwhite peoples in the U.S. live, this term has disappeared in favor of the overused "globalization."
Yet internal colonialism is alive and well, and examples are not hard to find.
Take West Philadelphia. Last week, a DP columnist described the disputes between Penn and community organizers over the Clark Park Funtabulous Fall Festival, scheduled for the weekend of September 23.
From what I understand, the University -- by far the largest economic power west of the Schuylkill -- promised to contribute $1,500 to the 30-year-old neighborhood tradition. This move would have strengthened Penn's image as a "good neighbor" in the eyes of University City residents.
Penn, however, made the donation contingent upon certain demands. Among them, President Judith Rodin would have to be allowed to give a speech boosting Penn's very own "neighborhood" to the freshman class.
The organizers said no, and the University withdrew its money. However much that principled decision may have hurt the festival financially, I'm sure many citizens of West Philly would agree that they did the right thing.
Now let's move just a few blocks north, to 43rd and Locust streets. A vacant lot, once the site of an Acme supermarket, had been a festering eyesore to local residents for years.
The owner of Varsity Pizza told me last spring how much he would like to see, say, a 24-hour diner that would brighten up the 4300 block of Locust and bring together locals and Penn students.
Last month, I noticed some workers renovating the building. Was his dream being realized?
No, a friend told me. They were building a new CVS.
Since I already pass a Rite Aid almost every day -- near 43rd and Walnut, a full one block away -- I'm likely not the only one who feels another drugstore won't enhance the quality of life in University City.
Together, these developments represent the domestic face of corporate rule, one that has as much of a negative effect on the quality of life as decreased wages and soaring costs of medical care and housing have on the quality of living.
We've all heard stories of McDonald's and Wal-Marts springing up in small towns across the U.S. and displacing independent stores, so what's happening now in West Philly is hardly shocking. Blaming only "corporate power," however, misses the larger picture.
For globalization, whether in the West Indies, West Philadelphia or western Pennsylvania, is ultimately about homogeneity: the suffocation of small, distinctively local businesses and traditions and time-honored, respected, locally based forms of social organization by behemoth outside forces with no interest other than profit.
Time and again, small businesses have been refused tax breaks that would allow them to survive against a Barnes & Noble or Starbucks, just as the World Trade Organization has denied poor nations the ability to protect their economies through tariffs.
Firms are given "corporate welfare" to expand their profits, just as multinational banks are backed by the wealthy governments that control the IMF and World Bank.
And just as globalization destroys traditional agricultural practices and deters the creation of self-sufficient economies, internal colonialism threatens the livelihood of vulnerable communities.
Seen from this perspective, Penn's intervention in Clark Park and the erection of yet another chain store in University City are part of the same phenomenon.
Globalization, so often associated with the far-off Third World, is all around us, and this, up close, is its blunt reality.
(09/27/00 9:00am)
Yesterday, while the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank met in Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic, tens of thousands of demonstrators held rallies and blocked streets to protest these organizations.
Just as in Washington, D.C., in April, representatives of the IMF and the Bank reaffirmed their commitment to economic policies that, in the view of anti-globalization activists, are responsible for the impoverishment, exploitation and neocolonial status of most of the Third World. Once again, mainstream media fixated on violent street battles and downplayed the protesters' message, leaving independent sources to discuss the serious issues at stake.
Only a few observers, however, have focused on probably the most significant aspect of this latest showdown: its location.
Before 1989, the Soviet Union and its Eastern European satellites presented the major obstacle to Western efforts to create a "global economy." The collapse of the communist bloc and disintegration of the U.S.S.R. presented the West with a historic opportunity to extend its economic and political influence eastward.
Freed from Soviet oppression, Eastern Europe's new leaders -- many of them suspect "reformed Communists" -- adopted Western advice on restructuring their economies and civil societies. Many citizens expected that the overthrow of Stalinist dictatorship would soon lead to the wealth of Western Europe's "social democracies."
Ten years later, an increasing number of disillusioned Eastern Europeans have begun to ask difficult questions. The overt political repression of the Cold War years may be gone, but that wealth has not been forthcoming.
Instead, thanks to the dictates of the IMF, governments from Warsaw to Sofia have been encouraged -- sometimes pressured -- to make drastic cuts in vital social services, privatize entire industrial sectors and open their economies to investment from Western multinationals.
Under such austerity measures -- or "shock treatment" -- the living standards of the majority of the population have sharply declined. Families that had managed for decades thanks to state subsidies suddenly found themselves unable to pay for rent, utilities and public transportation; massive layoffs at "inefficient" businesses left hundreds of thousands out of work.
In 1989, many Eastern Europeans were willing to put up with temporary hardship as long as they could see a light at the end of the tunnel. Over the last decade, according to some estimates, the poverty rate in the Czech Republic -- the richest of the ex-communist states -- has increased tenfold. And anyone who has traveled in Poland or Hungary knows that poverty, homelessness, drugs and despair are far from uncommon.
Why, then, did the U.S. and other industrialized powers who control the IMF prescribe such policies for Eastern Europe -- and for Russia and the other republics of the former Soviet Union?
Economic domination is an obvious answer. Under IMF-imposed free-market measures, these countries have become instant sources of cheap labor. True, wages are rarely as low as in Central America, Southeast Asia or other parts of the Third World, but highly educated Eastern Europeans constitute an irresistible labor pool for, say, German auto manufacturers or U.S. computer companies.
But behind economic control lies a greater design: political and military expansion. Contrary to widespread hopes, the end of the Cold War did not bring about a new era of international cooperation. Instead, Western elites have been preoccupied with "containing" a weakened Russia by incorporating Eastern Europe and ex-Soviet states such as Ukraine into their sphere of influence.
The IMF has become one of the primary instruments of this policy. In 1991, for instance, Slovene and Croatian secessionist leaders were promised that their share of Yugoslavia's foreign debt would be erased if they declared independence. Last year's war against remnant Yugoslavia -- the only state in the region that has refused to subject its economy to an IMF structural adjustment program -- demonstrated that Western leaders are willing to use their military arm, NATO, to enforce their political hegemony.
Against this background, the setting of yesterday's protests is no accident. Today, as so often in the past century, Eastern Europe holds center stage in world affairs.
The IMF and the World Bank have raised the stakes by bringing their circus across the old Iron Curtain. A new generation of Eastern European activists has made it clear that they do not wish to trade one master for another -- that, just as they defeated the Soviet army and state socialism, so too will they stand up to the rapacious interests of corporate globalization.
(09/20/00 9:00am)
In late July, thousands of people converged on Philadelphia to disrupt the Republican National Convention and protest the corporate-controlled policies of the major political parties. Hundreds were arrested on August 1, a day on which demonstrators blocked streets, staged rallies and engaged in other acts of civil disobedience.
Participants and independent media reported widespread brutality by police officers, who arrested more than 400 individuals. The most publicized case -- police infiltration of the "puppet warehouse" at 4100 Haverford Avenue -- has remained a major story in local newspapers.
None of this came as a surprise to those familiar with police behavior in general, certainly not to veterans of recent protests in Seattle and Washington. But not many expected that the most vocal defender of the Philadelphia Police Department would turn out to be an African-American former civil rights activist known for his fearsome temper toward the media and political rivals.
That's right. I'm talking about Mayor John Street.
For those not familiar with Street's political record, think back to the heated mayoral campaign of just a year ago. During the Democratic primary, Street rival Marty Weinberg ran a commercial consisting solely of 18-year-old footage of a young, Afro-sporting and very angry Street shoving a reporter to the ground in City Hall. In his unsuccessful quest for the nomination, Weinberg appealed -- and not very subtly -- to the racial fears of white Philadelphians by portraying Street as an unrepentant radical.
The fact is that Street was known in the 1970s as an effective community organizer, working with street-level activists in North Philadelphia for community empowerment during the hostile Frank Rizzo years.
These credentials as a "black ex-radical," I submit, have helped to legitimize his fervent and often militant support for the actions of city and state police during this summer's protests. I find it difficult to imagine a bespectacled white suburbanite -- Republican mayoral candidate Sam Katz, let's say -- expressing such views without being compared to New York Mayor Rudolph Giuliani.
Yet Street's complete turnaround is silently lauded; the public -- and perhaps Street himself -- believe that he has dissociated himself from his controversial past and remade himself into a defender of law and order.
Consider the irony: Street used to organize and participate in protests. He had his run-ins with police. Today, he stands fully behind -- and denies -- police brutality and has used the recent protests to portray himself as a (black) politician who's not afraid to be tough on crime. Both before and after August 1, Street promised that those arrested would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.
Unfortunately, Philadelphia's mayor is not the only example of manipulation of racial fears by and among black Americans.
Memos leaked from the D.C. and Philadelphia police departments revealed that African-American cops had been psychologically primed for demonstrations in their cities, told that they should be ready for a bunch of white kids who would taunt them with racial slurs.
Why, in both cases, were black officers targeted?
Perhaps Street's about-face does not evince anything deeper than the "maturity" of old age. After all, haven't countless other leftists forsaken their convictions upon taking power, from Vietnam protester Bill Clinton and ex-pothead Al Gore to the ex-pacifist European leaders who bombed Yugoslavia?
Perhaps Street is simply guilty of hypocrisy. Recall that this defender of poor communities delivered the coup de grace to Chinatown this spring by championing the decision to put a new stadium next to the politically vulnerable neighborhood.
Perhaps Street has forgotten what it's like to be an ordinary citizen. According to reports, when an aide was arrested for jaywalking at the convention in Los Angeles, an offended Street confronted the officer responsible, reminding him that he was the mayor of Philadelphia -- in other words, an important man -- whose aides were to be treated accordingly.
It seems Street's experiences haven't prevented him from turning a blind eye to police excesses, whether against white protesters or poor African Americans.
Taken in isolation, perhaps.
But in the context of the rising tide of citizens committed to social change, John Street's vindictive and cowardly stance against the civil rights of political activists reveals that officials will use any means -- even reverse racism -- to keep down those who challenge their power.
(09/12/00 9:00am)
If you don't like the message, don't bother to find out where it comes from, just kill the messenger.
That seems to be the lesson of the public condemnation of musical artists whose lyrics remind us of the uncomfortable truths of our society. This time, the chosen targets are a superstar white rapper and a suburban "alternative" band.
The last few months have seen enormous public outcry against the violent, homophobic lyrics of multimillion-selling phenomenon Eminem. Those who have listened to his second album, The Marshall Mathers LP, tend to be disturbed by his profanity-laced diatribes against women, homosexuals, his mother and anyone else he doesn't like.
Considering that Eminem's first CD, The Slim Shady LP, is equally vulgar and perhaps even more misogynistic, I don't understand how anybody could be shocked by his follow-up release. But the crude gay-bashing of two songs on his latest album -- including the by-now infamous line "Hate fags? The answer's yes" -- has set a coalition of gay-rights advocates and groups against violence toward women on a crusade against this latest poster boy for hate.
Amazingly, these activists -- along with self-righteous music critics -- have seen fit to skewer the skinny, blond-haired kid from Detroit, without once considering the larger environment of prejudice and hate that he reflects. Even Jim Carrey, that Hollywood role model, has joined in the feeding frenzy, lamenting at last Thursday's MTV Video Music Awards that "Eminem's lyrics are socially irresponsible."
No kidding, they're pretty sick. But didn't social irresponsibility make Eminem who he is?
Leave aside for a moment the simple fact that, as he has repeatedly emphasized, Eminem's lyrics are to be taken with a giant heap of salt; anyone who listens to "Kill You" -- the song which led the rapper's mother to file a $10 million defamation suit -- ought to be able to tell that he's kidding around in his usual twisted way.
Why the media and "activist" campaign now, after Eminem's nearly-as-offensive first album?
Because, as the white rapper, he makes a convenient scapegoat? Because, with violence against women on the increase in the U.S. and prejudice against sexual minorities gaining the upper hand in U.S. politics, it's easier to blame the messenger than those who write the message?
After all, why risk offending a record company or right-wing politicians when an entertainment figure -- one already involved in his own personal problems -- will do?
MTV's slant on the "Eminem controversy" has revealed that his true sin has been to attack a particular minority group, gays and lesbians. After all, the station broadcasted nary a peep about Eminem's painful song "Kim," in which he describes killing his wife, or his smash hit "Guilty Conscience" with Dr. Dre, in which Eminem's character advocates raping a drunk, passed-out 15-year-old girl.
And MTV could care less about the Bloodhound Gang's "Yellow Fever," which include such socially acceptable lines as "She's like an oriental rug/ 'cause I lay her where I please." Whereas Eminem at least hasn't attempted to justify his gay-bashing, lead singer Jimmy Pop of the former Temple University band feels no shame. As he bragged, "OYellow Fever' is a song about me wanting to bang Asian chicks."
Last spring, it seemed as if all Asian-American would-be college activists could think about was the Bloodhound Gang and their unprovoked attack. Never mind that Republican presidential candidate John McCain had recently defended his use of the ethnic slur "gook," explaining that the "gooks" had imprisoned and tortured him in Vietnam.
(My favorite Asian-American speaker, Helen Zia of the Asian American Journalists Association, spoke at Penn last April and recounted how the fear-ridden group had failed to respond. That's why you didn't hear about it.)
In view of McCain's popularity, this gook finds his racial hatred far more dangerous than the demeaning lyrics of an alternative pop group. Furthermore, no one seems to question where Jimmy Pop and company got the notion that their attitude was acceptable.
MTV, whose videos and politics consistently degrade Asians? The stereotypes of popular culture at large, which teach white men to treat Asian women as obedient property?
There are mounting social problems in the U.S. today, from domestic violence and hate crimes to school shootings and drug use. They are compounded by a political leadership that has not only avoided, but even turned its back on the hopelessness and resentment of the white lower working class, from which Eminem hails, and the boredom and arrogant prejudice of the suburbs, home to the Bloodhound Gang.
One day, we will have to wake up and ask ourselves why it is so laudable to ignore these creeping ills of society in favor of cheap shots at the entertainers who reflect them.
