Globalization: Pre 9/11

Last week, I finally finished reading The Lexus and the Olive Tree, Tom Friedman's globalization manual that preceded The World Is Flat. I initially started reading it during freshman year, but, having no tolerance for economics, the introduction's lengthy explanation of the 1997 Asian financial crisis turned me off the book very quickly. I rediscovered it while perusing my bookshelf at the start of winter break and decided to give Friedman another try. After begrudgingly accepting that economics is a significantly important part of international relations, and I should probably stop ignoring it and instead try to understand it, I was determined to decode the eco-speak. After a two-hour conversation with Papa about how exactly the global financial system worked, I was ready to read the book.

After reading The World is Flat and thoroughly enjoying it, certain parts of this book seemed repetitive. Friedman's corny habit of naming every concept he explains, calling people left in the technological dust "turtles," instructing states to put on the "Golden Straitjacket" of capitalism, and watch out for the "Electronic Herd' of global investors, which comprises "short-horn and long- horn cattle," elicited more than one eye-roll from me, but it was entertaining and hey, it kept me reading. At times, Friedman's conversational tone and use of exclamation points irked me and I got the impression that some things were oversimplified, but for its purpose as an introductory crash course in globalization, the book worked.

The thing that struck me most while reading, though, was what a difference seven years makes. Although 2000 doesn't seem that long ago, reading the book made it obvious that a lot can change in that span of time. Friedman often quoted Larry Summers, who I only knew as the guy who made the sexist comments at Harvard, and mentioned Enron and Kenneth Lay multiple times. In the wake of the scandals that embroiled these two, I wonder if, as he looks back at this book, Friedman regrets referencing them so much.

But most of all, reading this book made it very clear how much of an impact Sept. 11 really had on the state of the world. While before everything revolved around technological advancement and economic development, now, virtually no decision is made without the lens of terrorism in front of it. It was weird, but reading the chapters on globalization's impact on other parts of the world, and the resulting backlash, made it easier to see how much 9/11 changed the way we view the world. He warns us about Super-Empowered Angry Men who could potentially use globalization to their advantage and lash out like never before. The passage on the 1993 World Trade Center bombing was just downright eerie to read:

"Ramzi Yousef is really the quintessential Super-Empowered Angry Man. Think about him for a minute. What was his program? What was his ideology? After all, he tried to blow up two of the tallest buildings in America. Did he want a Palestinian state in Brooklyn? Did he want an Islamic Republic in New Jersey? No. He just wanted to blow up two of the tallest buildings in America. He told the Federal District Court in Manhattan that his goal was to set off an explosion that would cause one World Trade Center tower to fall on the other and kill 250,000 civilians. (402)."

And sentences like, "America's Golden Straitjacket is producing enough gold - with a substantial budget surplus projected into the new millennium - to afford both social safety nets and trampolines [benefits to those burned by the globalization's search for the bottom line.] (450)" and just made me shake my head and think, "Not anymore Mr. Friedman, not anymore." And while it may be true that our military superiority means we can "project more power farther than any country in the world. And deeper too," that really hasn't done us much good since 2003, now has it.

I'm not saying Friedman shouldn't have written things like this; after all, hindsight is 20/20. It's just interesting to see how something that seems to be relevant and applicable just isn't sometimes. By the end of the book though, I still felt like I'd gleaned some valuable insight into the new world structure and power order, and even an understanding into what drove the world to the way it is now, post-9/11 and all.

I am 'Scrubs'

This weekend I finally had some free time, so I decided to live up to the lazy college student stereotype watched about 25 episodes (not including the six I just watched this afternoon) of "Scrubs" aka the best television show since "Friends."

I saw a couple of episodes last year and liked what I saw, but since I really don't like watching TV shows unless I've seen them from the beginning, I didn't really get beyond those few. But, since I for once had some time on my hands, I decided, hey what the hell.

It was funny because I saw a some of the first season with Supraja a couple weeks ago and I made a comment about how I couldn't stand Elliot. She was the show-off who would never shut up and who you just want to grab by the shoulders and shake. But this weekend when I made it haflway into the first season, I realized why exactly Elliot stuck a nerve.

She's exactly like me.

No, seriously. Total goody two shoes whose biggest fear is having to make a decision in a situation where the right answer can't just be looked up in a book; overzealous, ambitious control freak who is desperately seeking the approval of her superiors and colleagues; young neurotic woman who is (sort of almost) about to jump into the real world without having any clue as to how it works since her parents have always provided for her every need; and finally, the over-analyzer who has to have and thought she had her entire life planned out, right down to her career and the age-window she has to get married in, but is now realizing that a little thing called life kind of gets in the way of all that planning.

Me, me, me, and oh God yes, me.

Seriously, this semester I've been convinced my English teacher doesn't like me, so I met with him to go over the guidelines for one of our papers so that he would realize how much getting an A in class means to me, just like how Elliot was willing to do everything for Dr. Cox in that one episode, including delivering every patient the bad news they had no desire to hear. She may get all the answers right, but she slaves away over those textbook so much that when people like JD are just good at everything, she can't handle it. She is unable to stand up to anyone, like those gyno gals from that one episode in Season 2. She's secretly happy when every doctor is finally paying some attention to her, even if the attention is due to her hookup with a doctor she rarely knew. (Okay, we may differ slightly there, but the whole needing to be the center of attention no matter what, that's shared). Throw in Turk's relentless ambition, subtract the blonde hair and desire to become a doctor and bam, you've got me in a nutshell. (Hell watching all this Scrubs such little time has made a teensy part of me actually want to become a doctor. Scary, I know).

So beyond my little personal revelation, this massive Scrubs marathon has wreaked havoc in one other way - I'm kind of unable to do anything else but watch it. Seriously, I don't know how I'm actually going to get any work done this week, or for the rest of the semester for that matter. I just don't seem to grasp the concept of moderation (remember the 4,000 pages of books I read in three days this summer?)

Oh dear :)

The Enchantment of Harry Potter

Seeing as J.K. Rowling has already penned 4,100 pages worth of them, I have given up trying to find the words that do justice to the magnificence of Harry Potter’s epic journey. Devouring “Deathly Hallows” last month reminded me just how much I’d fallen in love with the series (and just how much of it I’d forgotten) so I decided to reread the entire thing, one to seven, start to finish. It was definitely different this time, reading the books while knowing how it all ends. I picked up on so many subtleties, nuances that linked each book to the next, and I found myself utterly amazed at just how continuous the whole thing was. Rowling really did have the entire story planned out right from the very beginning. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for her to keep so many of the details hidden from the public before the saga was finally complete.

As I was reading, I realized that I enjoyed the latter tomes more. I really liked how Harry himself seemed to mature through the years, how he, the “chosen one” wasn’t perfect. He talked back to people, got detention, lost people close to him, and struggled with the enormity of his task. (Not to mention he wasn’t afraid to bend the rules from time to time, something my goody two shoes self could never do) And I know this may sound a bit naive, but the physical pain that boy went through in seven years – a de-boned arm, cracked skull, broken nose. I’m pretty sure the words “scar seared with pain” appeared at least eighty five times in each book.

But beyond Rowling’s superb character development, I especially liked that the books got progressively darker and more adult. Because I’ve had the experience of literally growing up with Harry, it’s been a nice introduction to life in the real world. Sure, I won’t necessarily be battling dark wizards or hunting down Horcruxes any time soon, but I will have to deal with broken hearts, losing parents, forgiving an enemy and standing up for my beliefs at some point in my life. I may not have a magic wand to help me get through all of that, but Harry’s wand didn’t bring his parents back, help him get over Cho or make him save Malfoy. The lessons Rowling wove into the seven books, lessons of courage, loyalty, bravery, forgiveness, and responsibility are things I can learn from. And that right there is the beauty of Harry Potter. It may be set in the impossible, but the core of the tale is very real. Can we learn to trust those around us, to keep ourselves from temptation or to sacrifice for the common good of society? Can we learn to love? If the success of Harry Potter is any indication, I think we can.

Last week, I saw a letter in the newspaper lambasting Rowling’s progressive darkening of the series. The man wondered why the books were considered children’s literature when the seventh one should have come with a parental advisory sticker. He said the material presented in the fifth and sixth novels scared his daughter so much that upon receiving the seventh book, all she did was turn to the end to make sure Harry survived and then put it down.

But to all that, I say, Deal with it, because that’s life. The series is such a beautiful testament to the difficulties of leaving childhood behind and dealing with responsibility. It reveals the true nature of the world around us, how people are prejudiced, how the government doesn’t always do what’s right, and how we have the power to make the right choices.

The books offer a wonderful opportunity for parents to sit down with their children and learn together about what’s important in this world. What better way to explain to your children the difficulties of life and the challenges of the real world than through the metaphor of magic?

The Joy of Reading...On Steroids

Books are meant to be savored, enjoyed like an expensive glass of wine. After a long day, nothing beats sinking into bed with a thick novel to carry you across the world or through time itself. It’s a comforting ritual, sipping a chapter or two before slipping off into slumber. I, on the other hand, am incapable of doing anything but gulp down book after book not unlike a famished runner downing gallons of water after a marathon.

In the past 72 hours, I have read 1,747 pages worth of literature: John Grisham’s “The Broker,” J.K. Rowling’s “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,” and Dan Brown’s “Angels and Demons.” I don’t know why I do it, why I can’t just put the book down after a couple of chapters and stretch the enjoyment of reading beyond more than just a paltry six hours. In obvious cases, like Harry Potter, the book is just too good to put down. But the Grisham book wasn’t anything special, yet I still found myself plowing through, page after page, until there was nowhere left to turn. My brother sometimes accuses me of simply skimming the book, racing through it just to say that I finished in x number of hours. But that's just not true. I read each and every word on the page and I follow the story properly, just a bit more quickly than most.

It's like my curiosity is on overdrive. Usually, you read a couple chapters, rest the book on the nightstand and drift off to sleep, dreaming about what the characters will do next, what twist and turn of the plot will they end up in tomorrow? But for me, the suspense is just too much, even if the book sucks. I've tried many times to put the book down and just go to bed, but unless I'm utterly bone-dead tired, 15 minutes later I'll turn the light back on, reluctantly return to my page and reenter the story.

I remember when I was reading "Pride and Prejudice" (which by the way is my all time favorite book (I know, what a cliche, but hey it's every girl's dream)) in high school, how agonizing it was to have to stop reading each day after the assigned chapter or two was completed. I wanted so badly just to continue on, but I was worried that, since we had questions to answer for each chunk of chapters, finishing the book would mess up my ability to complete them. However, since none of the question asked us to predict what was going to happen later in the book, this rationale really made no sense whatsoever. I still remember the sense of elation I felt when I casually mentioned this to Ms. MacNemar and she told me it was okay to finish the book. That afternoon, I sat in a beanbag chair in the middle of my room and didn't budge until Elizabeth Bennet had once and for all ironed out her tribulations with Mr. Darcy. (I still don't understand, to this day, why I thought I needed a teacher's approval to finish reading the book and I know this story marks me as pretty much the dorkiest person ever, but hey, this is the internet. You don't know who I really am, right.)

The Big Cheese and The Godfather

Last night I did not sleep well. First, I couldn't fall asleep (But you already knew that judging from the random previous post. I mean, it was written in Spanish.) But finally, sometime after 4 am I did finally drift off to dreamland, only to have my sleep continuously interrupted by...cheese. Yeah, cheese. It was a totally restless sleep, and every time I tossed and turned, I saw the words "Camembert (only for some reason in my dream it was spelled with two ms. (Yes I see words in my dreams...I'm a journalism major, what do you expect.)) and Roquefort, both of which I don't like. (I had a piece of camembert cheese with my dinner on the flight to Paris over spring break, and well, let's just say you'll never see me eating that kind of cheese again.) I blame that salt book I'm reading, since one of the last things I read about was how to make Roquefort cheese. Not that I really plan on ever doing so. But since I love cheese so much and don't really have anything better to do, I'm going to list my favorite kinds. This way, if I ever get old and crazy, I can at least remember something that made me happy. But anyways, here goes: port salut, havarti, fontina, gruyere, feta, goat cheese, parmigiano-reggiano, colby jack, and lorraine. I think that's all of them.

Speaking of lorraine cheese, last night, my insomniac self poked around at a couple other blogs, and I found this one of a French girl named Lorraine who was living in Sweden. This girl has written entries in both Swedish and French. There must have been English somewhere but I wasn't bored enough to hunt for them. But that reminds me once again of one of the many other topics I have been meaning to write about - how most other young people around the world are fluent in at least two languages, and here we are in the United States, hardly making a serious attempt at doing the same. I mean, I'm serious about learning Spanish, but can you imagine where I'd be now if I'd started learning Spanish in kindergarten instead of 7th grade? But I'll expand on that later, I had another point for this post besides just cheese.

Last evening, I did something momentous, something so ingrained in our culture that it's a wonder I was able to call myself an American before. I watched "The Godfather." It was all Neeraj's doing; I had no desire at all to watch a Mafia movie full of death and crime. But he had gotten Mom and Papa to watch it, and all his friends to also, so it was only a matter of time before he got to me too. And he did. So I watched. And yes, I admit, it wasn't as bad or confusing as I thought. I was worried that he would get overexcited and talk through the entire movie, explaining every little intricacy, seeing as he's seen it about 5 times in the past 2 months and gets. But he didn't and I am glad. And while the movie didn't revolutionize my life, I will say that it was a well-done, interesting story that makes it very clear you should always stick with family. So thanks Neeraj, now I'll be able to understand all the various pop culture references and be able to impress any guy I meet with my Godfather knowledge. But for now, the breakfast table is making me an offer my stomach can't refuse, so I'll be off.

"The Diary of Ma Yan"

The other day I was wandering through the house trying to find something to do when I happened upon a book entitled “The Diary of Ma Yan.” This touching translation of a thirteen-year-old girl’s daily struggle to balance her studies with life in one of China’s poorest villages was a jarring reminder of just how differently the rest of the world lives. According to the UN Development Program’s 2006 annual Global partnership for development report, “The poorest 40 percent of the world’s population – the 2.5 billion people who live on less than $2 a day – account for five percent of global income, while the richest 10 percent account for 54 percent.” Can you imagine that? More than half of the world’s income goes to just 600 million people. Now, I’m not about to go on a tirade against capitalism or anything like that, but carving out your niche in this world shouldn’t happen at the expense of leaving others so far behind.

I’m not sure whether my family falls under that 10 percent bracket but I do know my life is far more comfortable than that of many others around the world. My biggest worries usually revolve around catching up with assigned reading before an exam and figuring out what my weekend plans are. And while my education is certainly important to me, I’ve never really questioned its presence. It’s always been a given that I would work hard in school, go to college, move on to graduate school and then land a rewarding, high-paying job. While I haven’t necessarily reached that dream job pinnacle just yet, life without education has been a non-sequitur. It’s not that I don’t work hard – my 4.0 is a testament to that – but I’ve never realized just how lucky I am to be able to devote myself fully to school. I don’t have the burden of helping to sustain a family; I’ve got no crops to harvest or drinking water to collect; I’m not even responsible for financing my own education (thank God for parents).

While reading the book I was most struck by the fact that in almost every entry Ma Yan reminded herself how important her education was and chided herself for not trying harder. Schooling wasn’t just the key to broadening her own future; more importantly education would enable her to one day give her parents and hopefully grandparents the comfortable lives they so deserved. And the fact that she wrote these words in her personal diary, not in a self-help manual intended to be read by millions of eyes, makes it so much more profound.

Reading her diary, I felt ashamed that all I do is complain about school. I whine about how much work there is to do, rail on about how I hate some class, procrastinate until the wee hours of the morning and proceed to repeat how tired I am the next day. I realized I should just suck it up and deal with it because so many young people out there would do anything to have the opportunities I have.

And I know I’m not the only one. Too many of us forget how lucky we are to have what we do. We forget to thank our parents for everything they do for us and be grateful for the fact that our daily problems involve negotiating traffic and deciding what to make for dinner. I couldn’t imagine living in a place where I had to walk twelve miles through rocky hillsides to get to school or where my mom had to grit her teeth and pick fa cai while suffering from a stomach ulcer.

Halfway through the book I stopped and looked at the dates of the entries, trying to remember what I was doing when she wrote these vignettes. With a jolt I realized that Ma Yan and I are the same age. While I was in middle school, freely enjoying my passing childhood, she was writing these words, words that began as an explanation of her days but eventually became a poignant look at impoverished yet determined youth. I admire her so much, willing to give her private diaries to a stranger in the hopes that he share them with the rest of the world. I was happy to read that the stranger, French journalist Pierre Haski, not only shared them but helped start the Association for the Children of Ningxia to help others pay for their education. It’s thanks to people like Ma Yan and her courage and perseverance that my generation will not only help address many of the world’s most pressing issues, but will welcome the challenge to do so. I wish her the best of luck in all of her future endeavors; I’m sure this won’t be the last we’re hearing of Ma Yan, not by a longshot.