Insight from Southeast Asia.

While in Vietnam I took a history class on the Vietnam War, taught by Dr. Christoph Giebel and came to a simple idea about America’s poor reaction to losing the War. As a culture we had to reconstruct it in our memories with phallic symbols of American might in films such as Rambo to compensate for our loss. We also bullied the rest of the world into imposing crushing sanctions on a victorious country that did not match normal Cold War sanctions against Communist governments[1].

This isolation has given Vietnam a fend-for-itself mentality that is apparent in how the people seemingly never give up when it comes to economic advancement such as creating little corner shops in front of their houses, which are everywhere, to gain a little extra money. Maybe to compensate for poor living conditions during and after the war, Vietnamese narratives of the War and its aftermath are staunchly nationalistic, classically portraying the beaten French, Japanese, Chinese and American forces as weak cowards. This nationalistic narrative of expelling foreign aggressors[2] has been so deeply embedded that a large plaque summarizing Vietnamese history in a National History museum in Ho Chi Minh City even fails to mention that a French missionary developed their Romanized script (quốc ngữ). The American military, after using more bombs and bullets in Vietnam than all of WWII combined, after poisoning thousands for generations, after leaving a beautiful countryside identical to the landscape of the moon, has been portrayed by Vietnam’s nationalistic narrative as the defeated foreign aggressor.

Though Vietnam carries traces of the war everywhere, when I asked a Vietnamese friend how he felt about me being in his country, he said he did not care about the war. He said that he liked Americans, the language, the culture and the people, and that he only wanted to do what the U.S. military failed to do during the war, make a real personal connection.

Cambodia, because of a complex number of factors that relate to the Vietnam War, has quite a different story from Vietnam.[3] In five years, one fourth of the Cambodian population was killed due to the one time teacher Pol Pot who aimed to kill all intellectuals and artists, teachers, bilingual people and even anyone with glasses. According to his own ideals, Pol Pot should’ve been killed too to reach his agrarian dream of complete equality. He pursued this complete equality, but destroyed all semblance of society.

The past lays heavy in the air in Cambodia, like a scented humid night that continuously draws up faint memories difficult to place. With many ex-Khmer Rouge leaders controlling Cambodia for the past twenty-five years there has been a slower process of recovery than in Vietnam, especially most of the builders and maintainers of society and culture had been killed. Yet, even while I walked through a killing field and found bones sticking out of the ground, I could still see in Angkor a past worth being proud of (that is, if you agree with national narratives that would connect the Angkorian Empire to the now dominant Khmer people group in Cambodia).

Angkor is a wonder in itself. I felt as if I was walking through various mythical tales all at once. In one place I saw the Jungle Book (which was inspired by Angkor). In others I saw Wats that could easily be in the next season of Game of Thrones. Somehow, in Angkor, the heavy weight of Cambodia’s recent past seemed to have been blown away by the small breeze that is a breath of life in the heat of a Cambodian summer. It is frustrating to see such an impressive past in a country torn by war and ran rampant by expats that treat the country like the Wild West we were a part of when playing Cowboys and Indians as children[4]. After leaving Cambodia through the God-awful Thai-Cambodia land crossing, I would look back fondly yet sadly on a country whose countryside reminded me so much of Texas and a people who have every reason to not smile yet were continuously some of the nicest people I have ever met.

After paying for a visa at the Myanmar embassy, I found myself in the nicest airport in Southeast Asia as I traveled to Yangon. There are an uncomfortable number of cars in Yangon and traffic is second only to Bangkok. Unreasonably uncomfortable taxi seats aside, Myanmar stands out from its Southeast Asian neighbors not only for its ability to remain as most uninfluenced by the West, but presumably also most unaffected by U.S. military policies. The U.S. has yet to have any direct military engagement with Myanmar, but due to the U.S.’s paranoid War on Terrorism, Myanmar in the past has been labeled as an Axis of Evil by Condoleezza Rice and George W. Bush, giving Myanmar the same shunned treatment as Vietnam received between 1975 and 1994. U.S. military policies against perceived national enemies damaged Myanmar’s already weak economy and helped to develop a black economy[5].

The Burmese people are unimaginably nice and Yangon was easily the safest city I have ever been to, if I ignored the random gaping sinkholes in the sidewalks. Yangon is a microcosm of Myanmar. Yangon has a decently sized Muslim community (from what I saw, though numbers are never mentioned) and a quickly developing economy (just three years ago there were almost no cars), but both of these characteristics meet at a delicate middle ground where economic hardships and opportunities combined with more political freedom are manifesting themselves in random acts of violence against Muslim communities.

The tallest building in Yangon has a rooftop restaurant: off to one side I could see the inspiring Shwedagon temple and the sprawling metropolis of Yangon. Yet, when I turned to the other side of the restaurant, I saw a city that stops and gives way to a sea of green and infinite blue sky. While Myanmar, like Yangon, holds promises of a bright future, the past effects of U.S. military actions in Southeast Asia leave Myanmar’s future as wide and uncertain as the fields and sky that surround Yangon.

Thailand left me with an odd taste in my mouth. Although Thailand has never been in a major international conflict to the same scale as Cambodia and Vietnam, Thailand has a heavily militarized society. Pictures of the royal family are everywhere. If you say one bad thing about the family you are put in jail. The U.S. used Thailand as an anticommunist example in the Cold War after failing to progress anywhere with Vietnam, Cambodia or Laos. Thailand has even developed a national identity that at times is portrayed in specifically not being communist.[6] The U.S. has had a close relation to Thailand since the Cold War that has helped direct Thailand’s history and identity. Overtly aggressive U.S. military actions in Southeast Asia has even helped to develop a robust military society in Thailand by the sheer force of U.S. presence in the region.

In much of the world there are traces of war and the after effects of military actions. But Southeast Asia is different: the memories of U.S. military polices are heavy in the tropical air, it drips in the sweat that rolls around the smiling mouth of local citizens greeting new American tourist, carrying money not guns. In America we often forget what effects our military has on the world, be it on-the-ground violence as in Vietnam or Cambodia, or in more psychological and cultural military influence as in Thailand and Myanmar.

Although there are traces of U.S. military policies across Southeast Asia there are also traces of the future in the warm way people of various cultures seemingly invite foreigners with open arms. It is hard to tell if their smiles are the forcibly polite smiles our mothers have taught us when entertaining unwanted guests, or if it is genuine. Either way, the lingering effects of war are everywhere. The way to fix the current problems left over from the past are many and disputed. But the first step is the step my Vietnamese friend made in Hue, caring about the past, but not letting it affect his view of Americans today. We all carry requiems of war, but how we use those memories in the present constitute how the future will unfold.

Insight from Washington D.C., U.S.A.

Guess what I did for my birthday this year? Courtesy of the Jackson School (JSIS) and  the Association of Professional Schools of International Affairs (APSIA), I received an all-expenses paid trip to Washington D.C., an opportunity to participate in a conference on “Diversity in International Affairs,” and a chance to meet some great students and professionals working on fascinating projects around the world.

It was my first time in D.C. and I was a bit worried about navigating my way through a new city, especially since I had an appointment to meet with a JSIS alum at the Chamber of Commerce within an hour after my plane landed. Navigation turned out to be pretty easy—a little thanks to the fact that most U.S. downtowns follow a similar pattern (and some thanks to Google of course). D.C. seemed similar to most American cities on the surface but I know from experience that real differences between cities begin to stand out once you start living in one longer than a few weeks. Cultural differences, especially, are not a monopoly of foreign countries but are very much present within countries as well.

On this trip I got my first dose of East Coast versus West Coast office culture starting from the minute I began debating what would be appropriate to wear. Kelly Voss, from JSIS Career Services, helped by making the difference much easier to understand when she told me, “Cardigans are the blazers of the West Coast!” As one speaker after another at the conference stressed the importance of having more diversity in the workforce I looked around at the audience and smiled. In spite of small differences in dressing, there was an overall uniformity of sorts—the dominating business culture at work, which also extends to other parts of the world partly as a result of colonization and globalization.

 A girl with the same last name as mine (but spelled differently) came up to me and asked if I was from Pakistan. Surprised, I said yes and asked her how she knew. She stated as a matter of fact, “Oh that’s how the Pakistanis usually spell Chaudhary. In Bangladesh we use a ‘w’ instead.” I was just as fascinated by this little tip as I had once been when someone told me that one way to tell if a woman was Indian and not Pakistani was by the design of her shalwar! My years living in South Asia, or studying it, had never provided me with these interesting bits of information. I guess many such distinctions and markers become more relevant when one is outside one’s own country.

 Whenever we meet new people, especially at events like conferences, we end up representing our schools/organizations to some extent. In addition to that, those of us who have grown up abroad tend to be representatives of our respective countries too, whether it be in the way we conduct ourselves–defying or reinforcing stereotypes– or in the form of direct questions people ask about our country’s culture, politics, geography and so on. I always enjoy talking to people about Pakistan and the more I am asked to describe it the more I become aware of how hard it is to explain seemingly simple things, like “what an average meal is like” or “what people do for fun,” simply because often there is so much socio-economic, ethnic, and cultural diversity even within a country that it is not easy to pinpoint an “average.”

Coming back to D.C.—walking around the city I did some typical touristy stuff, I met up with old friends, and I ended up having to wait to cross the road till President Obama’s cavalcade passed by on the way to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. As people around me took out their phones to make videos, I grumbled to my friend about how I felt like I was back in Pakistan with the road blocked for some VIP. Granted that this was a much quicker and more efficient process but, at the end of the day, it only reminded me that no matter where you go in the world some things never change.

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Nabeeha Chaudhary is an M.A. student in the South Asian Studies department in the Jackson School. She grew up in Lahore and Karachi and studied at the University of Karachi for more than two years before transferring to Miami University where she completed her B.A. in English Literature. Her current research interests revolve around Media, Education, and Gender Disparities in South Asia with a focus on Pakistan.

Nabeeha wrote a previous blog post for JSIS Correspondence about being in Karachi to visit friends and family and to collect material for her M.A. project on the representation of women in Pakistani television serials.

Insight from Suzhou, China.

There is a Chinese proverb which states “above is heaven and below is SuHang (Suzhou and Hangzhou).” This proverb implies that the beauty of Suzhou and Hangzhou is comparable to heaven. I can’t agree enough. Suzhou is absolutely gorgeous with amazing gardens that feature classical Chinese architecture and pagodas that rest majestically against the growing number of skyscrapers.

After being in Shanghai for two months, going to Suzhou felt like walking into a different era. Strolling through Tangshan road, I saw normal Chinese citizens going at their everyday lives. They were looking after their children, making food, eating dinner and chatting happily. In several houses were the elderly who sat quietly by themselves. Other than lighting, a few motorcycles here and there, and old television sets in several houses, I barely saw any other trace of technology. Unlike Shanghai, there were no computers, no cellphones, and no tablets. Despite being half an hour train ride from the busy financial center in Shanghai and a twenty minute taxi ride from Suzhou city center, these people seemed ever so distant from the tall skyscrapers and bustling city roads of Shanghai, which makes one wonder if the lives of these individuals are at all affected by China’s economic growth.

At Tangshan road, I met a dainty old man, who was perhaps more educated than most there. He asked where I was from and I told him Hong Kong (which is stretching the truth since though I was born in Hong Kong, I grew up in the States). Afterwards, he immediately told me, “I like Hong Kong, and Shanghai too! People there are much more educated. Look at how uneducated and uncivilized people here are. Look at them yelling at each other and those men with no shirts on baffling back and forth. You won’t see that in Hong Kong or Shanghai. Even though Shanghai is so close to here, people from Shanghai don’t bother to come here. All these tourists, they hail from Nanjing!”

His displeasure stunned me. Here was a city that I thought was absolutely beautiful and yet, here is a local resident who thought very little of it. Perhaps it’s because Suzhou lacked the economic sophistication of Hong Kong, Shanghai and even Beijing. Despite this, I admire this humble and beautiful city for its ability to retain traditional Chinese culture in midst of a rapidly changing China.

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Binh Vong is a junior in the International Political Economy track of the Jackson School of International Studies and is also majoring in Political Science and Chinese. She is currently a member of the Jackson School Journal Editorial Board.

This past summer, Binh studied Business Chinese at Shanghai Jiaotong University and interned at China Telecom through a Columbia University administered program.

She authored another blog post about her experiences in China for JSIS Correspondence titled “Getting lost, Shanghai.”

Insight from Shanghai, China.

It’s easy to get lost in Shanghai, virtually and psychologically. My first memories of Shanghai are the bright lights that illuminate its skyline at night, pedestrians piling every street and corner, and the endless rows of cars racing back and forth across lane lines. With skyscrapers on nearly every block, the city itself is a labyrinth and it’s nearly impossible to not lose one’s way. However, one can also get lost in another sense as we indulge ourselves in Shanghai’s modernity, wealth and fast lifestyle.

Surrounded by luxuries of every kind, it is easy to completely forget about China’s record of human rights abuses, flawed legal system, and income inequality. It is easy to overlook the people living in the margin of Shanghai’s advancements. Behind the tall skyscrapers are run-down tenements that are easy to miss as we instead gape at the unique and innovative designs of modern architectures.  Beyond the façades of high GDP growth and fancy restaurants is a stark underside: people living in the margin of Shanghai’s advancement, normal citizens barely eking out a living, struggling to keep up with the growth of modern Shanghai.

The Bund is perhaps Shanghai’s most popular tourist attraction. Tourists and locals alike crowd the walkways to catch a view of the beautiful skyline in Pudong, Shanghai’s financial district. Cameras flicker every other second as families and friends pose for pictures with the infamous Oriental Pearl Tower in the background. The lively environment can easily allow one to overlook the young migrant workers that fill the benches of the Bund after ten PM. These workers, usually youths in their late teens and early twenties, came to Shanghai from rural areas to look for work. However, they soon find that work is not so easily found nor is housing in Shanghai very affordable. They also face legal challenges as China’s hukou system (a household registration system) makes it nearly impossible for migrant workers to gain residency in another city after leaving home. Even university students like my language partner from Hubei cannot attain a Shanghai hukou. The rigidity in the system leaves room for much inequality.

One of the most unforgettable conversations that I had in Shanghai was with a professor. This professor teaches Political Science. Having recently taken a class on Chinese politics and governance at the UW, I was excited to consult this professor and to hear his perspective on matters pertaining to Chinese governance. Everything he told me was more or less what I expected to hear, but hearing it from someone who lives and works in China gave me a very fresh perspective.

The professor was candid and acknowledged the flaws in the Chinese systems. He told me stories of his colleague being arrested for conducting a research around AIDS patients, a subject considered too sensitive for Chinese officials. Fortunately, this colleague was released on bail, though not without extensive warnings from the government.

Then there is the notion of quantity over quality. I told the professor that from my experience in Shanghai, I grasped a sense that ‘face value’ seems to matter more than the actual intrinsic value. This is especially apparent from the contrast between outdoor and indoor lighting. Skyscrapers and many shopping buildings were covered with gorgeous lights on the outside of the buildings, yet many buildings that I’ve entered are dimly lit on the inside. In Seattle, it was the exactly opposite. Our skyscrapers are rarely lit aside from the light emanating from offices.

The professor confirmed my theory that the Chinese value ‘face’ or ‘mianzi.’  He told me that such was the same in the Chinese education system. Chinese students are required to take an excessive number of classes every semester, with some taking up to 8 to 10 classes.  The rationale for this, according to the professor, is because of the perception that the number of courses students take represents the wide range of knowledge that students are required to learn. However, many of these students are overloaded with work and do not have time to build comprehensive understanding of any subject matter. Consequently, according to the professor, breadth without depth can do more harm than good. Students leave their classes without substantial knowledge of the subject.

This conversation with the professor showed me the underlying problems in China’s education system, one that is rarely portrayed in Chinese media. Of course, while the professor is more educated than the average Chinese and had been educated in the United States, which had substantially influence his perspective on these matters. The average Chinese citizens, on the other hand, are not as concerned as they are too busy concentrating on making ends meet. This group includes my co-workers at my internship. They epitomize the average Chinese who are neither at the higher tier nor the lower tier of the income strata.

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Binh Vong is a junior in the International Political Economy track of the Jackson School of International Studies and is also majoring in Political Science and Chinese. She is currently a member of the Jackson School Journal Editorial Board.

This past summer, Binh studied Business Chinese at Shanghai Jiaotong University and interned at China Telecom through a Columbia University administered program.

Insight from Tehran, Iran.

This summer I traveled to Iran for the purpose of visiting family. It was a particularly amazing experience because it was my first time visiting since I was 15, allowing me to gain a mature perspective and perceive my surroundings with the context of my International Studies classes. I would like to focus on a misunderstood people rather than the commonly described political situation.

Culturally, Iranians are very hospitable. They invite you into their homes, offer endless amounts of food, and attempt to impress their guests. When I visited Iran this past summer, it was no different. Countless offers to visit family and stranger’s homes, constant practicing of Iranian taarof (the act of politely denying offers, which is followed by subsequent reoffering, which over an unnecessary period of time is eventually accepted), and acts of immense trust. No matter where we were in Iran or where we were shopping, the simple act of asking for a price was replied with ghabel nadareh, essentially meaning “for you, it’s free.” After a back and forth of taarof, the shopkeeper, waiter, and taxi driver, or whoever we were talking to, would eventually tell us the price.

This inefficient, but lovely, politeness is only a part of the story of Iranian trust. Once, I mistakenly walked out of a store after a shopkeeper gave me extra change. The shopkeeper had asked whether I would give him the difference but I simply walked out. Surprisingly, the shopkeeper did not care to ask me again as or come out after me as I walked out. (I later came back after finding out to give him the difference.) I even noticed that crossing the street in Iran is a form of trust. As chaotic driving there appears, the people relaxingly cross the street even though a car is speeding towards them. The only conclusion I had was that people must really trust the drivers.

The most extreme example of trust I saw was something that my uncle does. In Iran debit cards are rare. My uncle had one, and was very willing to give his card to fellow business owners that competed with him. My father explained a scenario that he witnessed, where a local shopkeeper came into my uncle’s store to borrow his debit card and repeatedly returned because he kept forgetting my uncle’s pin number. Of course the shopkeeper planned on returning the money soon, but comparing that to the United States, no one usually provides their pin numbers to their best friends let alone their competing business interests. The institutional and societal norms may be very different between the two countries, but I still found this shocking.

The Iranians did not keep this sense of family just for one another. Visitors felt it too. When I was in Isfahan, a visiting German told me that “many people offered me assistance and invited me to their homes, honestly I was very surprised by all the help,” which perfectly exemplified the contrasting impression people have of Iranians in the West versus when they visit in person. Another tourist in Isfahan, this time from Spain, replied to my question about this being her first visit or not, told me “this is my first time, but it definitely won’t be my last!” Although Iranians and Westerners could be natural friends, the political tension becomes intertwined with a negative impression of the people to the detriment of both cultures. Hopefully overtime impressions will change and political tension does not dictate the knowledge of an entire people.

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Shahed Ghoreishi is a International Studies major (International Political Economy track). Currently, he is representing University of Washington students as a Senator in the Associated Students of the University of Washington. Also, he is interning at Senator Maria Cantwell’s Seattle office.

Shahed was born and raised in Seattle’s eastside and is fluent in Persian. He was first inspired to study international relations when he visited Iran in 7th grade. Shahed will graduate in 2013 and hopes to continue his studies in International Studies.

Shahed was in Iran to see family and attend a cousin’s wedding. It was his first visit to Iran since he was 15 and he hoped to gain a more mature perspective on Iran, particularly in light of his education in the Jackson School. His visit also helped to perfect his formal Persian speaking skills.