Remembering December 26, 2004
I was in Johor Baru, the capital city of the southern most province of peninsular Malaysia, for a friend's wedding, when the tsunami slammed into coastlines on all sides of the Indian Ocean. Today, people in many towns and cities, not the least of them Banda Aceh, which lost about 190,000 people to the wave, are remembering the tragedy.
I was safe, with the giant island of Sumatra blocking the wave, and was far away from the west coast anyway, but the earthquake and tsunami still affected my life, changing the course of the rest of that year in Malaysia and beyond. But the effect on me was minute compared to the families, entire communities, that bore the physical and lasting pains of death and devastation.
Lost Boys, Heroes, DIY’ers, Entitled
The attempt to define my own generation, as we get ready to enter our third decade, is an ongoing one. Perhaps, in the end, fruitless, in a world that exists between the niche market and mass market, individualism and mass movements, entitled Liberal Arts graduates and long term underemployed youth, but useful to ponder nonetheless.
Lately, my thoughts have revolved around the thousands and thousands of my brothers and sisters, kids I grew up with and probably lost touch with, or the many who are invisible, whose lives were largely put on hold and whose souls have been battered by years of military service. The focus on the recent pull out of the last American troops from Iraq really drives this thought home as images and articles in the media portray the decorated and the devastated.
True, some of my more successful friends are vets who have come home and used their skills and connections toxins their place. But when I look at the state of veterans of war from generations before my own, and I hear stories of all those people who I don't see or know, whose lives have been ripped apart, I admit a degree of fear for what could happen to this new generation of my peers, in the US and in every country whose people have faced the violence of the past decade.
Moments, On The Way Home
Has it come to this? My letter writing confined to long bus and plane rides, those moments of drawn out transition when my brain has a chance reset, reacquaint itself with thoughts that do not involve the meetings or reports of the day, the latest Jamaican political drama, whether last night's rain storm carved any new potholes along my route to and from the embassy? In my last letter, written on a bus trip from New York to Washington, I promised to be a bit more prolific in my writing... sorry.
But now, once again, ears popping in the plane's changing pressure, Thelonious Monk on my headphones, mind numb from the 4:00 am ride to the airport, I can leave one The Caribbean behind and delve into a Thanksgiving holiday with family and friends in Minnesota.
...
And now, a few hours later, of all the places to get stuck, Terminal D of Miami-Dade International Airport, a rather desolate stretch of gates and doughnut vendors. 40 mile per hour winds in Chicago, they say, everything delayed. Now wishing I had a direct flight to Minneapolis/St. Paul. But MIA does give me an opportunity to read, write, and people watch. I can see the flip side of the immigrant's story, for example. In Jamaica, I routinely deal with people who are migrating/ want to migrate to the USA. This airport, however, seems to employ almost exclusively people for whom English is not a first language, people from every Latin American country, people who take your lunch order in English before jumping back into rapid fire Spanish conversations with their coworkers. People who come to a new country and work very hard, hopefully legally and hopefully for something better than they had before.
Sooner or later I'll touch down in Minnesota, though, and a blast of November air will cement the physical transition away from the tropics and away from life as a "diplomat" - in quotes as a useful replacement to what would otherwise be a long and ultimately inadequate description of this strange and wonderful existence. The psychological transition will take a bit longer, since I haven't seen my friends or family or home for over 14 months, and I have barely set foot in an American supermarket or department store for that long. For all the similarities, there are so many differences.
Much thought has been going into the commitment I seem to have made that will define the next seven years of my life: in less than a year I will begin ten months of language training before heading to Beijing, China for a five year tour at the embassy. Well, a one year "junior officer" tour in 2013 and a three year "mid level" tour in 2015, with a year of language study in china in between. I am participating in a pilot program put in place with the hopes of building a corps of diplomats highly proficient in the Chinese language - anyone who thinks US-China relations will not be an increasingly important theme has not been paying attention. I am very proud to be a part of this program. The prospect of living and working in Beijing for five years of my life evokes all sorts of excitement and anxiety.
...
And finally, in Minneapolis, a few inches of snow have already fallen since I've been here. It's going to be a good two weeks.
Limitations of Rationalism
Political Science. It was so easy to say, back at university, answering "what's your major." What a wonderful feeling, learning grand models that could not only explain but help you predict human behavior.
Now, having lived in the realm of international relations, in one form or another, for a number of years, I long for those days of confidence. Not to exaggerate the simplicity of my education, of course - there was plenty of skeptical back and forth. But at the end of the semester you still walked away with your grand theories.
Human, or government for that matter, behavior, presents itself as irrational more often than it rings of realism or liberalism etc, in far too many cases. Navigating the webs of relations and causes/effects can leave one with head spinning...
Best guitar solo ever
I shall now transcribe, in mouth/air guitar, the guitar solo from the Black Crows' Hard To Handle.
Ahem.
Bwahh, Bwahh, beedadoobee doobee doobee deedlebow dooblebah doo.doodahh, duhdoobledop doodiedaw diplebop dooh.doohdah, duhdoobaleedop doodiedaw diplebop doooh.
Bdweee diiii, diibahbah bdwee! Duhduh bdweedada deedee doo bleee! Bleee, bloohdee bloohdeedee bloohdee, bloodeedeedoobeedoodaaaawwwww!!
Thank you.
A Prime Minister Falls. A Prime Minister Ascends.
I was at the press conference this week as the party currently in power in Jamaica, the Jamaica Labor Party, announced the man they plan to put forward as new leader and therefore new PM at its November national convention. The party's 5,000 some rank and file delegates voting AGAINST the chosen one of the party leadership is highly unlikely, of course, but would provide the kind of political theater that makes for long days, and nights, for diplomats reporting on political developments. Come to think of it, it's already been a couple weeks of quite long days...
You mean I get to do this for a job?
I stole the sign saying "Seating Reserved for Diplomatic Corps."
Jamaicans love their loud music in the first place, so a stadium packed with 30,000 rabid tribal political supporters, with as many airhorns, called for speakers this big.
Jamaica's People's National Party, currently the opposition party in government, held its final National Convention before the next general election, when its leadership promises to take back the government it lost to the Jamaican Labor Party in 2007. It has, indeed, been an eventful four years under JLP leadership, with what amounts to warfare in Tivoli Gardens, global recessions, changes in the tides of global powers and alliances, and a myriad domestic woes.
The public session on Sunday set an all time record for attendance.
Inspiring the crowd - Jamaican style.


































Wednesday, May 23rd at 1:19
Tuesday, May 22nd at 15:51