Freedoms and dialogue

Apologies for missing last week's post. As I'm sure way too many reading this blog know, life abroad keeps you moving at a furious pace and when life starts to feel normal somewhere else - it becomes harder to find the need to use words to make sense of it all.

The past few days in the United States have undoubtedly been historic. A basic principal of foreign affairs is that the US needs to make sure its affairs are in order before it can go around the world, dictating values or what form of development works. By affirming government action that makes sense, through the Affordable Care Act, and by refusing to relegate LGBT to second class citizens in terms of marriage; the Supreme Court showed that the US retains a privilege to both affirm the ability of government to intervene to improve the lives of others and the economy and that the US is on a constantly forward, albeit at times slow, march towards equal freedoms and protections under the law.

Last week, I was fortunate enough to take part in TEDx Tbilisi. Many of you are familiar with TED as the two cent bits of fast food wisdom, shared by elites and randomly selected accomplished individuals, and then spread like wildfire over Facebook. I enjoy them but I'll be one of the first to admit that they can carry a cloying air in the US.

However, it serves a much more interesting purpose here in Georgia. The actual TED conference is an event along the lines of the Davos World Economic Forum or Clinton Global Initiative - closed to primarily the elite and based on invitation only. This forum is open invitation and curated to have a particular mix of Georgian youth and activists and expats engaged with change-making in Tbilisi and Georgia as a whole.

In the US, we take the open dialogue of ideas for granted. A thousand and one views and more bounce across the internet and our TVs. A public common forum was built over the past few centuries. The rest of the world is far from that privileged.

TEDx served as a day long event for that kind of space. Activists, artists, and academics spoke on a range of issues; both particular to Georgia and relevant to other points in the world. The audience and speakers were cut from a very specific demographic, English speakers with an eye towards the outside world, but there was something to be said for some of the statements that people were making in public.

An eco-activist shared about the overlap of environmental activism, technology, and social engineering in a fashion that sounds advanced compared to American methods. A tech social entrepreneur elaborated on the need for client driven development. The winner of Georgia's Got Talent performed an elaborate dance routine with her wheelchair bound partner. Of note, the closing speaker was a lesbian woman who helps to lead an LGBT rights activist group.

The Georgian Orthodox Church is a powerful institution in the country. Georgia stands as the "second Christian nation" - converting as early as the 4th Century. While the Georgian Constitution recognizes a separation of church and state, it still sees a special role for the Georgian Orthodox Church. Religious devotion is commonly visible.

Also, the church is not accepting, some may say to the point of discriminatory, against LGBT people.

In public, they have been beaten or insulted. There are no legal protections. And this is nothing to say of the terrible struggle that some must go through with their very own family.

Conditions are not as bad as they are in neighboring Russia or other nations, but the rights of LGBT are far from accepted. Whether its due to the role of the church, a need for society to advance in its understanding, or any number of other causes - its worth recognizing the hard place that many are in, even in forward looking countries such as Georgia.

Events such as the TEDx conference can only contribute to understanding and promote the diversity of sexual orientation into the light. Open dialogue and forums such as this one might have topics that seem basic for Americans but they can represent large steps in other places.

Over the past few days since the Supreme Court's ruling, many Georgian friends have toasted to the legalization of same-sex marriage. People have congratulated me for the better evolution that the US has gone through. While many of them are already the type who look towards the US as a model, there's still something to be said for when our country lives up to the perception.

Even if it takes time.

 

Donut and Dive Bar Diplomacy

The flash of familiarity on the other side of the world can be seen as the imposing cultural blanding of globalization or stimulate a sense of pride in belonging to a powerful tribe.

When I was traveling through the northern desert mountains of Argentina, I was hit with a welcome sense of common presence when a convenience store owner had a Celtics game, broadcasted from the Boston Garden, playing on his TV. Its probably a bit of the extremely innate tribalism of being from Boston speaking, but it felt like a significant moment.

Here in Tbilisi, the parallel has been Dunkin Donuts.

Dunkin Donuts is a relatively new phenomenon in Georgia, arriving at some point last year. As opposed to the ubiquitous canteen of coffee and snacks back in Boston and the rest of the united states, its more akin to a Starbucks (but with a tackier decor) here. Menu items call images of American luxury to mind with a New York sandwich being salmon on a bagel (not available in the US Dunkin) and a variety of donuts that are more whimsically frosted than their American counterparts. Notably, the Boston Kreme donuts are prominently placed.

Lines stretch out the door and are only surpassed by the crowds that you find at Georgian Wendy’s (franchised by the same company and possessed of an even greater level of stimulating American imagery).

Illinois doesn’t particularly own McDonalds and KFC, well it stopped being straight Kentuckian when it became known as KFC and not Kentucky Fried Chicken. But as far as Dunkin goes, there is something distinctly Bostonian about that chain.

Dunkin's presence was also felt at America Days – an interesting mash up of cultural diplomacy and trade show. Set in a park underneath the sprawling President’s Mansion, America Days was comprised of a string of circles of white tents. The main occupier of the tents were individual USAID supported projects ranging from stimulating the Georgian wine industry and artisan cheese to increasing civil participation and society’s transparency. 

However, right after the embassy and Millennium Challenge Account’s tents at the front of the fair was Coca-Cola’s tent, with a portable soda fountain. Strung off on another arm of the core fair were tents for Domino's (staffed by a group of young women dressed in Domino’s red and blue and wearing roller skates) and a tent whose staff were passing out boxes of baker's dozen of Dunkins.

It’s an interesting form of diplomacy that was packed with Georgians of all ages. It was the last stop in a string of America Days fairs that the embassy had been hosting across the nation. Each stop was also accompanied by a concert featuring a country singer, local Georgian performers, and a randomly obscure hip-hop group from Miami called Dangerflow.

The fleeting showcase of direct and indirect aid from the United States, set up in a carnival atmosphere, showcased the wide range of cultural diplomacy, direct assistance, and foreign investment that the U.S. serves to Georgia but I developed a better understanding of diplomacy in a basement bar resembling a terrible college party.

Dive Bar, is well, a dive bar built into a basement down a random dirt road in Tbilisi. It’s packed with a ragtag group of what primarily seems to be young Americans, a mix of other nationalities, and a decent amount of Georgians. The bar serves only one kind of beer, and it comes in a red solo cup. Beer pong tables are strewn about under US State flags and license plates.

A significant amount of the Americans milling around were peace corps volunteers or participants in a Georgian government program, TLG, that brings English speakers to rural parts of Georgia to teach English. While I'm left to assume that all of us who were gathered into this dive spend plenty of time immersing ourselves in Georgian culture in ways both token and sincere; there was something still surreal about everyone overly indulging in stereotypically American college party behavior in a Tbilisi alley.

But these collected idealists, propping up NGOs in small villages and finding a way to teach English, were taking a first step towards diplomacy and ambassadorship. They weren’t nursing ambitions to change the world in a vain manner with a self instilled sense of superior abilities or management – they were throwing themselves into the muck of an uncertain and far corner of the world for months and up to a year. Knowing very well that they were only a piece in the puzzle of the United States lending support to another nation.

On first attempt, this post began as a pillorying of artifice in the spread of American culture and the surreal nature of Dive Bar. Hell, there’s even an element of full circle symmetry in the sense that the bathroom at Dive Bar was lined with flyers from a tasting for Sam Adams beer, the one cultural product that Bostonians will defend as viciously as we do Dunkin Donuts.

But, there’s something else to be said.

Diplomacy comes in many forms but to build a strong and honest relationship, sincerity of intent of all participants is essential. Diplomacy can be seen in the spread of the American dollar, a grand exhibition of government policy, or the relationships built by American youth who travel somewhere with at least a spark of idealism.

JFK was referring specifically to the Peace Corps when he said this, but I think it applied to most of the crowd at Dive Bar that all of them, “will know that he or she is sharing in the great common task of bringing to man that decent way of life which is the foundation of freedom and a condition of peace.

And you know what else, if a Georgian enjoys a Boston Kreme donut and thinks better about the United States afterwards, isn't that diplomacy too?

Straddling the barrier

There's a public truth and a personal truth when sharing the deep reflections and minute passings of a time abroad. A certain level of sensitivity and censorship is necessary on a blog. 

This summer, I am living in Tbilisi as an intern for the Millennium Challenge Corporation, a development agency of the United States government. The last time I worked on this blog, Facebook was barely a thing, so the distance through my network that this would go was slim. Now, everyone out there will probably dig in and enjoy it.

I'm starting this summer's blog with a reflection on privacy and sharing in an open world for some context on everything to come. I still plan on writing with honesty and the deepest effort I can to immerse you in what I feel, see, and do. However, buy me a drink at some point and that's when I'll really dig deep into depth. :-)

I've been in Tbilisi for seven hours short of a week.

The city tempts one to use stereotypes as a shorthand to communicate how it feels. Granted - my frame of reference is narrowly limited to the United States, Buenos Aires, and film.

Tbilisi has a clash of tree lined avenues and winding streets that diminish into hillside collections of wooden homes with elaborate terraces. Sidewalks have a constant churn of people but the streets are a never ending flow of speeding cars. Crossing the street is foolhardy and comparable to being Frogger. Cars do not slow down and there are limited crosswalks on the main roads but a network of tunnels can be found scattered across the city.

Car culture in Tbilisi is a good window to start understanding Georgia's recent history. According to Georgian friends of mine, street lights (and reliable electricity in general) are fairly new. Before street lights, everyone had to be an aggressive driver, yet a driver who understood the street's rhythm, in a defensive manner. Now, there are many street lights - so many that at night, the city is arrayed below you in a beautiful constellation of orange pips populating the valley.

History and how far Georgia has come always seems to be at the front of any conversation about Georgian politics, economics, or history. With a deep history of independent identity, even under Soviet rule, there is a mantra of Georgian uniqueness of identity and heritage. Yet, befitting my narrow frame of reference, of course all nations do carve out their own unique role in history.

Yet...something rings true about what Georgia represents. Going hand in hand with Tbilisi's European nature is another sense - the long history of multiculturalism brought on by being a Christian enclave for thousands of years within the gateway to Asia.

What does this mean and what balance can be found within it now? And what is there to learn for an American with idealistic, just short of naive, ideas about the role of the US abroad? 

Despite knowing only about two words in Georgian and acknowledging the Georgian script for all its complexity, after a week here, I don't feel as isolated as I did in Buenos Aires (despite having studied Spanish for years before moving there). Is it my own sense of adaptability that's changed? A greater tapping of the universal language that has happened? Is it the nature of Georgia? Or a bit of it all?

As before, understanding this barrier (or lack of it) is what this blog will be about at its heart. And here, its tapping the cosmopolitan nature of Tbilisi and what it means to the rest of the country and what I am here to do and learn.

There's more to come, probably imminently, but as far as introductions go, I think this went pretty well.

What do you think?

"The Let's Get Moving Already Generation"

Where are you and where are you going?

Odds are you're on your ass right now, skimming through facebook and my status update caught your eye. Or you're facebook stalking me...and in that case, please introduce yourself. I'd love to know who finds my constant musings that captivating.

An editorial in The New York Times (praised be the Grey Lady's sacred word) called us all out for what we're doing right now. On facebook, exploring the great information super highway instead of Route 66 (sorry for the irresistible cliche). For reference, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/11/opinion/sunday/the-go-nowhere-generation.html.

It brings up some great points, where's our migration for jobs in growth sectors? Are most of us a little too risk averse? As opposed to the great bohemian and pre-bohmeian urges to self-discovery through ragtag exploration, when we do make it abroad, we tend to get ushered into buses or well trodden routes with a beer in hand and house music in our ears. Sure, we get some volunteer work in and maybe carve out a niche life for a bit, but how many sincerely struggle to carve out that thrilling life made on wages from being a line cook?

To my friends out there who are putting their stability on the line for that noble pursuit of discovery, I commend you. To my friends who are tip-toeing the line with a safety net cast by a munificent other, I don't blame you. And to those of my friends who earned a safety net through commitment and hard work that I personally failed to do, I admire you.

But the reality, Self-Sufficient, Self-Discovery seems to be becoming a rarity, trapped between fear and an abundance of support.

So what's left for us to do? Those of us sleeping in our childhood beds or trapped in a cubicle punching in numbers, constantly telling ourselves fulfillment is another spreadsheet or promotion away. Or what about those of us doing sincerely great and growing work, but burdened with the stiffing but warm blanket of support from our families. Or perhaps most heart-breaking, those who have never even had the illusion of control over their life?

The editorial talks about the prevalence of the word "random" in today's lexicon. The shattering forces during our adolescence and the crash that came about when we emerged explains a lot about why the world seems "random". Whereas the sins of Vietnam and World War II before it laid on the over thinking of normally smart men and the hatred of the evil, our generation only has fecklessness, greed, and simple stupidity to fight.

Real human flaws have caused the cloud we've grown up under as opposed to the mythic flaws that lined the clouds in years before.

What recourse do we have against simple, random human nature?

What travel can expose us to discover the solution to man's always present flaws. No hippy-dippy, drug filled communes or noble wars against evil could inspire equivalent self-discovery.

So if the flaws happen through basic human nature, let's stop thinking about how to combat it and just do it.

Let's just get moving already.

Our quality is that we are doers. The over-achieving adolescence has shown us that the limits really are just what we allow.

Sure, all we will do is surf the internet and not see the world if that's all we are willing to do. And then we muse on how things crumble and deteriorate over twitter. We can't afford to be spectators always with a witty aside (or a witty aside provided by @andyborowitz).

The mumbo-jumbo decentralization of media and all that jazz is just another way of saying just take whatever tools are around you and do something.

I'm not sure if this circular nonsense is actually sense, so I'll leave you with a stereotypical Michael Fox cliche anecdote.

There's a small pond not too far from my house. Since I live on my town's border, it's in the next town over, so pretty much another universe. At some point, on a whim, my family discovered a cut away street that ran by the pond which shaved a minute or two off some of our travel towards the other town.

Due to the area's residential isolation, it's become my preferred route to job (not run, jog).

On this absurdly nice day (I can't say beautiful when it's unseasonably warm), I went for a jog. My life has way too much uncertainty right now, with several possible real opportunities to do what I am passionate about up in the air, and all set to fall to Earth this week or next.

Unemployment sucks. It really sucks when you have a hard-earned academic resume, "worldly" experience, and a strong network. Each week without a call back or a job devalues your perception of your own accomplishments that much more. When is it your time?

So I left for the jog with these thoughts. Since I started the route (done habitually in starts and spurts), I can never jog the whole thing. Even when I feel like I am in better shape, there's the parts I always slow down at.

On the uphill return, a slow down hit. So when I slowed down, I simply enjoyed the sight of the pond. I also removed the battery from my phone/daemon.

Completely undistracted from anything, I just enjoyed the pond. Less than a quarter of a mile from my house, it still feels like a foreign terrain, just out of the boundaries of my childhood.

But I kept walking and enjoyed the sight. No distractions from anything else, not feeling burdened by a need to keep jogging. No burdens at all.

If we can capture the sensation of that moment, reminding ourselves that we need to keep moving, we can enjoy the beauty on the way, but not let the outside slow down our pursuit down our paths, we might be ok.

Maybe we'll only go as far as the pond across the town line from me. And then of course, we'll come back. But at least we went somewhere?

Barriers (of kinds other than language...)

Last summer, in the throes of immediate post-grad unemployment, I set the lofty task aside for myself to write an exhaustive diary entry of every day of my life. Record my feelings from wake-up to bedtime, moments significant and inconsequential. Somehow this timeline, personal and intimate, fully exhaustive of emotions, would provide a detailed account for any and all views of my life develop from here on out.

Needless to say, I didn't reach this goal. Sure enough, points of extreme frustration or bliss have driven me to write thorough accounts of some of life's mini adventures, but I haven't been able to record anything approaching my "mock memoirs"

Maybe its better to not reach this Borgesian level of literary self-discovery and introspection through writing. Nonetheless, I failed to write regularly. Writing is one of my deepest passions and greatest assets.

The ability to craft a coherent voice is a gift that should never go to waste.

Now, in my unique limbo of post-grad/political acolyte life, maybe my voice has some value. It's probably going to only be my dad, brother, and mom reading this. Maybe a few other scattered friends, followers, and "fans". But of course, more than anything this is to keep my voice loud and practiced.

So I apologize in advance if my life is far from interesting. I'll do my best to shout somewhat melodiously into the ether. And if no one actually reads this, maybe it will drive me to at least carry through on my personal feat of magical realism.

oh, and as for the title, the barrier is laziness of course. and maybe a bit of a need for discretion.

In the Light of the Never Dying Spirit of Discovery...

In Light of the Never Dying Spirit of Discovery, I present the following three anecdotes:

Cancion

The bar was only five blocks away, but the transformation of the neighborhood took on a rapidly increasing pace. From the semi-suburban nature of my tree lined street, lined with cafes and apartment towers, to houses of a more modest height. The paved streets were replaced by the hodgepodge of cobblestone streets always five years from being improved by the city.

It was tucked tidily on a street corner, taking up a space hardly larger than the apartment I was staying in. The walls were lined on all sides, up to the ceiling, with pennants for soccer teams around the world, showing some truly amusing illustrations from some of the teams from the early 1900s.

Besides my friend and I and the owner, a waitress, and what seemed like the owner’s friend; the bar was occupied by a party of about 20 men ranging from middle age to pensioner. I don’t know what they were celebrating, perhaps someone’s birthday, but it involved a nonstop stream of wine, whiskey, and deli platters.

While sipping on my own whiskey, a cheap local made affair, I listened to a singer that the party had hired. An old man, flanked by two dapper dressed guitarists, sang powerfully. I caught snippets of the songs, and from the steady guffaws of the old men, guessed that the songs were of a dirtier nature.

At times the singer transitioned to slower ballads, one which sang of the very streets we were now on and was named after the neighborhood, Almagro. Tears trickled from a few eyes.

Politica en accion

I was sitting at a café on the elegant Avenida de Mayo, a wide boulevard in the Parisian style that stretches from the Congress building to the Casa Rosada. I munched on the sandwich in front of me, an open-faced, toasted sandwich with ham and cheese, and sipped on the bubbly, carbonated mineral water (a new favorite of mine since coming down here). The whole atmosphere evoked an elegant charm, tourists, well dressed men, and I sat, soaked the sun, served on by bow tied waiters.

Suddenly, a blast shook the serenity of the street scene. I looked down the street and saw a mass of blue and white banners, flags, drums, and people clogging the street. Two men at the front kept running ahead, launching some kind of mortar, and then running back to the crowd in an almost pixyish manner.

I knew that there was a Political demonstration today; organized by the President’s party, in favor of a controversial law she was pushing through congress. Marching toward me was the face of populism, stirred up in a demonstration to support their beleaguered leader.

They made their way down the street to the steady drum beat, matter of factly staring at the cafes, filled with their perceived enemies. The bourgeois bureaucrats that their leader defended them from. Waving banners of Evita, Che, and Juan under titles such as the Peronist Youth, the New Socialists, and a score of other loosely associated Political groups.

They came in streams, almost as if they were timed to make their march last as long as possible. Vans topped off by megaphones and emblazoned with images of the President and her husband (the ex-President) displayed in front of the masses spread their message up the urban valley.

The political cynics/realists such as me, while excited over what was displayed, surely see it for what it really is. An organized political stunt, funded by labor dollars and Political favors. The middle class derides the President and her husband of Hugo Chavezesque tactics, and witnessing the exercise in staged populism, it was clear.

I made my way back down the line of protestors, marching the same route taken throughout the twentieth century under more revolutionary and sincere means, crossing the Avenida de 9 de Julio, the main artery of the city’s heart. There, garbage trucks emblazoned in favor of the President drove in circles, disrupting traffic, turning the world’s widest avenue into the world’s widest parking lot. The government buildings lining the avenue were covered in slogans against the President. “Es verdad que esta es democracia” Is it true that this is democracy was a common refrain.

In front of the Casa Rosada, a number of groups, almost cued progressively made their way down Mayo to their own drum beats.

I made my way down to the other end, to the Congress building, where a carnival like atmosphere was on display. All of the groups had their banners unfurled in front of the congress. Fliers blanketed the ground like a fresh flurry of snow. People on platforms sang protest songs and railed against the perceived enemies in the building in front of them.

Families congregated, vendors sold ice cream and beer, and people generally milled about in the social atmosphere around them.

An almost imitation of presenting the people’s will. Democracy works without the protests. Healthy republics aren’t impacted by staged stunts, only by the ballot box.

But when the day comes and democracy is fading, the marches, protests, and demonstrations will thrive in relevance and impact again. After all, what’s an election? Just an organized version of what I saw that day.

Una Calle Linda

In the heart of blue collar Almagro, a block north of the famous mall Albasto, is a small pedestrian street. Its lined with benches, trees, and walking down the street’s stones gives one the image of the prototypical South American city street. The first time I walked down it, at sunset, a lone cat was strolling down it. The iconic grin of the tango singer Carlos Gardel smiles down from various pop art murals (he grew up a block away).

Walking down it this night, I saw a group of schoolchildren watching something on a projector.

Families and other people walking by stopped to join in. The kids laughed and clapped along to the cartoon playing and when I stopped to watch, I smiled.

It was an Argentine claymation about a kid who dreams of Mars, is taken there by his grandfather in a pickup truck, eventually doubts the wonder of this childhood memory, but rediscovers his passion for adventure later as an adult.

I had seen it twice in college Spanish class, and it always makes me smile at the stunning array of emotions it can provoke.

Here, flanked by the soft light on the street, munching on a cookie offered by what I assumed was the children’s teacher, I felt a spirit of community unity pulsating down the tidy yet semi-archaic street.

Zelaya

What is Foreign?

I have a habit of only writing about exciting things. As a sensationalist and junkie of all things new and exciting and fan of over the top action movies and epic stories, of course I would shape my writing to reflect my sensibilities. When I set out to write a novel about college, it quickly morphed into a political thriller set in a college atmosphere with typical college scenes placed on its frame.

My blog posts have for the most part reflected this mentality with the emphasis placed on my weekend adventures. But this does a huge disservice to you my readers and this city that I’m in.

I’m in the downhill part now, less time left than time I’ve been here, and my mentality reflects it. I’ve settled into an insane amount of comfort (for being in a city on the other side of the world), I know my way around numerous neighborhoods, I have favorite places to go all over the city, I have people that I can call to see, I’m beginning to settle into a comfortable routine here. A normal life.

It’s funny, you would think to yourself that traveling to the other side of the world would ensure a life full of constant excitement but then you forget, millions of people are living a comfortable routine life in that city. This city isn’t exciting or exotic to the people who live here. Frequently I’m asked seriously by Argentines why on earth would I want to spend this much time in Buenos Aires.

Of course the flip side is that down here, I’m exotic. My accent is something interesting, my grasp of Spanish amusing, and the stories I have to tell truly foreign. Sharing stories about college life with four Argentines at a late night bar leaves them enraptured. Just like we travel to other places to see if they’re just like the movies, so do they want to travel to the States and see if it’s just like the movies.

It is a truly difficult concept to grasp that my descriptions of Boston and Amherst are equivalent to a native of Bangkok describing their daily life.

To make sure that this city doesn’t dwindle down into familiarity, at this point I have begun to push myself harder, to seize every moment down here greater. I have a list of 54 cafes in all parts of the city compiled by the city of Buenos Aires as notable and I am trying to move through the list before I leave. It takes me to street corners and alleys in the city that I would have never seen otherwise. It keeps the spirit of discovery persistent.

To be fair to whomever is still keeping up with the blog; I am going to try to make my new entries reflect this new appreciation of daily Porteno life. Just like how they find our daily life exotic, I know that the details I have to supply about daily life down here, the otherwise normal, should prove to be interesting.

So, sorry for the hiatus, and more will be coming out soon. And maybe I’ll still have a few stories of adventure.