Secret Asian Man- One Nation Under God

I grew up saying the Pledge of Allegiance.  My version included “under God” which was added in 1954.  As a kid, I never knew it any other way, so I thought it had always been that way.  

We said it every morning in school. Some kid, who was never me, got chosen to lead the school in the pledge over the PA system.

I was in Cub Scouts.  We learned about the flag and the pledge.  We got badges or something for memorizing the pledge and properly demonstrating our two finger salute. I practiced in the mirror with my little beanie.

Same with the National Anthem. We learned it in primary school. We read the story about Francis Scott Key watching the Battle for Baltimore in 1812. As a kid, it’s a pretty compelling story.  What with its staying up all night and watching things blow up.

And winning! By the dawn’s early light, America won. In the world of an 8 year old, winning was pretty important.

They played the song at all the high school games. I went on to play it in the band. All would rise, we’d play, then play ball.  It seemed to become rather rote.  Stand, Sing, Sit, Play, Repeat.

Colin Kaepernick seems to have changed all that. In our time away, a lively debate has arisen about what the national anthem represents and what patriotism means. When I sing to the flag, am I honoring the fabric or am I honoring the American Ideal?  And what is the American Ideal, anyway?  Is it freedom of speech, and equality? Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? Or is it something else? The Flag? Veterans? Jesus?

Tastes great? Less Filling? Two great tastes that taste great together?  Does it have to be one or the other?  Ah, well….

What better way to reconnect with American values than to go to a baseball game? On a warm summer’s eve, Mrs. S.A.M. and I attended a farm team ball game.  It was lightly attended even though it was “Kids Eat Free!” night. That’s a pity because it was a good game, rooting for the home team, peanuts and crackerjack and all that stuff.  

The singing of the Anthem was noticeably different compared with a couple years back. In previous years, the anthem approached background chatter.  Now, when the announcer comes on, a hush falls over the crowd. It is deathly quiet. Hats and hands to chests, turning, like sunflowers, to the flag in centerfield.  

A large man, with the presence of the fourth Three Tenors, acapellas his way through the Star Spangled Banner, culminating in a torticolis rendering high note. O’er the land of the free!” He had a great set of lungs, but Man!, was he flat!

Homage we paid to whatever the song represents to us. From the homeless Vet, begging on the street, to the Somali vendor selling me an Italian sausage. From the Irish cop to the Dominican relief pitcher. One nation under God.

Secret Asian Man- Which State Would That Be?

A remarkably diverse trio of public servants at the ready.

I will reach out through the internet and bop you on the nose, if you thank me for my service.

Mrs. S.A.M and I ventured down the Bourbon Trail recently, which is a very scenic and fun thing to do, even if you don’t prefer bourbon.  You learn a lot and taste just enough that you can drive between stills safely. 

There are 13 distilleries strung out like kernels of corn between Louisville and Lexington.  We ticked off 7. All were unique, but to a one, they all asked if we were current or former military, offering discounts to those who were.  

We aren’t, so I declined.

Mrs. S.A.M, the smartest and wisest person in the household and comfortable, over-sharer always replied, “We’re with the State Department.”

Responses ranged from a shrug to a “Oh? Which State?”  while clicking the full price admission button.

Once in awhile, people would enquire more, and she would give a brief blurb. Probably in response to my eyeroll, she would later say, “No one has any idea what goes on at an Embassy.  We need better PR!”

She’s right, of course. The military gets all the press.  Ultimately, for them it’s more binary. Attack or defend.  Kill or be killed. It’s easy to understand.

But what happens at an Embassy? Here in the Midwest, we’ve repeatedly encountered the comment. “I don’t really know what you all do. It doesn’t affect me, so I guess I don’t pay much attention.”

But, it does affect you. Even in the heartland, what happens in Moscow or Beijing affects all of us.

Here’s how.

When a foreign government wants to talk with the United States, the Ambassador is the voice. The meet with government figures at the highest levels to discuss and formulate policy.

Political offices monitor a foreign government. They inform our government about who’s in charge, how they view the U.S and how they view others. If a government changes or is going to change, these folks are the first to know it and how we should respond. The diplomatic work keeps kids out of war. It can also open up channels for military communication.

And all the talk of peace and a peace process would not occur without hundreds of people laying groundwork and feeling out the other side.  Exploring and discussing and making things happen.  This is where the trust is built.

A country’s economic climate is closely monitored by Economic Officers. Watching prices and industrial output may seem mundane, but so much can hinge on a few numbers.  Our folks model what is going to happen when a government raises fuel prices or the price of bread and what is going to happen to the country’s neediest or wealthiest. Will they tolerate it?  Will there be riots in the street?  How can the U.S. help?

They help promote U.S. products, putting U.S. companies in touch with buyers. How are we going to push those 66 million barrels of Kentucky bourbon overseas? Who wants all these Ohio soybeans?

Building trade affects all of us, especially those who work in industries where products are manufactured. Maybe you are one of the many Americans who work in the supply chain. Know any truckers, warehousemen or sales people? Or maybe you just want a new Toyota or Adidas or T-Shirt from Target or Walmart. After tariffs are imposed, they talk about why and how trade ties can be improved and work toward that goal.

The security and law enforcement offices keeps everyone safe, from the Ambassador to the janitor.  They watch over us. They work with local law enforcement with training and improving law enforcement and enhancing the rule of law. If you’re not sure if that matters, try making a police report to a cop who won’t start working until you give them some “cigarette money”, or who botches the evidence collection. That may seem like it doesn’t affect you, but remember that on your next trip to Cancun or Jamaica.

There are tons of people who help keep the lights on.  Paying bills and signing the contracts. Shipping and logistics. When the Embassy has an event for the host country, these folks make your country look good. Putting our best foot forward for the world

Medical personnel make sure all these Americans who are living in this foreign country with diseases like Dengue and Malaria stay healthy. They also monitor for outbreaks and work to counter pending epidemics

Consular Officers wear several hats. If an American is in need, they are the main contact. If your son or daughter is overseas, say on an exchange program or mission trip, and gets in trouble, they won’t bail him out of jail or pay her medical bills, but they will put him in contact with someone who can help.  They’ll visit them in jail and make sure they being treated humanely. A working legal system isn’t a guarantee in many countries and saying “But, I’m an American” doesn’t make it happen. These people will watch out for you.

If you lose your passport, they are the ones that will help you get home.  

More importantly they are the decision makers at the tail-end of an extreme vetting process that’s been going on for years. Denying and granting visas. Human lie detectors. They are the real wall. A dynamic barrier. Finding a balance between safety and sense.

The Public Affairs Office is the public face of America.  They supervise the social media and speak with the press.  They keep track of how America is perceived overseas. They also help in distributing American culture and values. Keeping the beacon shining had been a huge goal. Promoting education of the world’s youth and getting them to study in the U.S. The more positive someone's experience is with our country the less likely they are to want to do harm to us. They are also more likely to stand up for us in the future.

Aid and development allows another important way to promote the U.S. It is often reported that country ‘X’ receives billions in aid. And, I think, the perception is that we just dump a bunch of money into some bank account somewhere.  But, a vast majority of aid comes with the requirement that it be spent on US products. So, more aid means buying more American.  It is not a zero-sum game where, if they get more, we get less. In reality, if they get more, we get more. It is a win-win.

There are initiatives that help create jobs or keep the environment clean or empower women.  These are, or have been until recently, global priorities. Created with the idea that stronger, more stable nations are better trading partners.  Safer countries send us less people in distress. 

The primary mission is to advance the interests of the United States and its people. Putting America first has always been the mission. It is nothing new.  But, we also all do well when we all do well.

So, that’s the PR spiel. A little plug about what goes on in an Embassy and how it factors in back home. We do this because we love our country and our jobs. Even if we don’t get discounted bourbon, we are happy to serve, so that America can reap the benefits.  

Secret Asian Man- Art in America

Took a walk the other day.  Searching for seeds of optimism.  Not surprisingly, I found some within a few blocks.  Tucked away in artwork displayed on the curb.

Found these outside a house. Maybe this was a summer project.  Maybe a summer parent, a month into summer, trying to keep her kids away from the screen. But it was a nice little display. A sign that the kids are watching. The kids are hopeful. They’re making plans.

 

Then I found another artist.

This is Malvin.  He makes art.  And he’s made art since he was 9 after he saw a Vincent Van Gogh exhibit.  His family couldn’t afford to get him any oil paints, but he had a job sweeping out a general store for a holocaust survivor. That Christmas he found a box of paints under the tree. Without any training, he’s been painting ever since.  

He was planning on going to college, but got called away to Vietnam at age 18. He didn’t think he was going see 19.  Three days after he returned his dad was killed in car accident.  So it was up to he and his brothers to care for his mother.  

He met a caucasian woman and fell in love. They were disowned by parts of both sides of their families, but got married anyway.  He planted a tree in the front yard of his house and has stayed there for 40 years.  

After 29 years with a local bank, his job was outsourced to India.  He retired 2 months ago.  

“You know, I could probably be angry about a lot, but with guidance from friends and God, I’ve mellowed out. People ask me if I’m religious and I tell them, ‘Well, I believe there’s something guiding us. I’ve spoken to the angels and I think that God and I are pretty close. None of us own anything thing in life.  We’re just renting this space. So, I watch my grandkids, I tend my garden and I sit on my porch and I paint what comes out of my head. I got a whole basement full of stuff. I think the best way to sell it is just put it out in the yard and see what sells.  I’ve met the most interesting people just walking by!”

Also, he’s sumo wrestling fan. “It’s the championship today!  I’m gonna knock off early and catch it on NHK TV!”

You can find more of his art on the corner of Indianola and Milford in Columbus, Ohio  or at…

www.artbymmarcus.com 

Secret Asian Man- Safety-Saurus

Safety in America as a thing.  I’m trying to decide if it is a great thing.

Living for several years in an environment where one is searched on every entrance to the mall or large event, or with heavily armed guards outside the workplace or roaming the streets, One gets tuned into the potential of threats that could arise. It is an awakening to come home to America with so few safeguards.

There are far fewer cameras covertly or overtly placed. A much smaller security footprint is remarkable. It is breath of fresh air really to feel so un-oppressed by safety measures.

Until one's breath is taken away looking around at all the potential gaps that could allow something bad to happen.

The whole safety net seems to have a lot of holes. For example, thanks to Nice, France, roads are no longer barricaded with wooden barriers. Now city buses or dump trucks are parked to block major roads. Don’t want any deranged person to commandeer a truck and go for a death ride through the crowd.

At the same time, large public events are often totally unscreened.

 Spawn of S.A.M. has taken to dressing up in a dinosaur outfit. This is not a time to ask why. It is just something they like to do.  I suggested that the local fireworks display may make for some interesting fun.

And so onward we went. Dressing up in the car. We waddled on into the venue and were largely unchallenged. We even asked a guarding cop if we could pass.  

“Sure!  Just stay cool in that thing!”

 And off we went spreading Jurassic joy.

This is my paranoia peeping through, but really, what better to disguise a suicide vest than inside an 7 foot inflatable dinosaur?  Have we learned nothing from the Trojans?

Mind you inflatable dinos aren’t the only way. Coolers, wagons, bikes, picnic baskets are all potential vectors. It’s a deadly nightmare. And folks may say that controlling things couldn’t be done here, but many places do it with leagues of portable fencing and thousands of guards searching each individual box or bag coming in.

But it’s pleasing to find an America that is largely safe and in between firework explosions and when one stops thinking about it, it is relaxing and fun. And America in the Heartland is, these days, white and brown and yellow. 

We were heartened to see Syrians, Somalis, Hispanics flocking to celebrate America’s birthday along with everyone else. Somali children like inflatable dinosaurs just as much as American children, and just as much as they crave a safe place to grow up.

And under the rockets red glare, everyone’s “oooos” and “aaaahs” sound exactly the same.

Secret Asian Man- I Smell Greatness

I was going to offer some travel tips this week, but then I realized that I’m taking home leave and there should be lots of other things to write about. Home leave is required for us.  We have to return to the US so we don’t lose sight of how great America is.  If one is away for too long, one may lose sight of that.

So, we landed this week amid the news explosion of asylum seekers and border crossers having children taken from their parents. This was, as I understand, supposed to be a deterrent to illegal immigration.

This has, as with most things, polarized the country, between those who wish to live in a totally lawless society and those who believe parent-separation could be an effective tool to make America great, and keep that greatness for themselves.

I mean, it’s human nature to want to get to great. If my family is being threatened or murdered and I can’t make my way in the world where I am located, I’m going to go where it’s safer or better.  It’s a huge commitment of effort, but if my life is bad enough, I’m taking the plunge. I have to believe that most of us would.

America is a great country, but there is only so much of it to spread around. There is an underlying idea that there is a limited amount of the good stuff to go around and we have to sway others from wanting to take it. We have a big carrot we have, and we need a bigger stick to beat off all the hungry mouths that want a bite.

I wonder what things would look like if we all looked at it life from a perspective of abundance rather than scarcity.

Speaking of abundance, within a day of hitting the ground, we made our first visit to Target. This is like a pilgrimage to Mecca. The angels sing in my head as the doors slide open.

I noted two disturbing items for sale that made me question America’s greatness.

The first was Green Sour-Apple Jolly Rancher flavoured Pop Tarts. Yes, Pop Tarts, the breakfast pastry. Just because one can slather Jolly Rancher Jelly between two bits of bread doesn’t mean that one must. There are some things that just shouldn’t be.

The second item was, Scratch n Sniff pre-teen girl t-shirts. I don’t think I’m over reacting  when I ask, What in Holy Hell are people thinking?. Did anyone in the legal department clear this?  Was this put through a focus group?  Didn’t this strike anyone in the design process as kind of a flipping, creepy path toward sexual assault?

I had a thought then that maybe this was a kind of conspiracy to shrink the carrot. A way to make America less attractive.  Maybe even act as a deterrent. A different way to give desirous immigrants a choice.

Stay where you are and risk your life in the streets of your home or come to America where creepy Uncle Sam may lure your kid onto the sofa with a polluted pastry and ask for a little scratch n sniff.

EEW, EEW, EEW!!

That’s my initial jet-lagged thoughts. I promise this coming week I’m looking for real greatness. Stay tuned.

Reprogramming

I’ve been home on leave.  We're required to take time in the US in between assignments. I guess to remind us how great America is and to prevent us from thinking about moving away.

My friends chide me that we have to come back to get the battery in our microchip replaced.  Or to be reprogrammed.

Nonetheless, here we've been here. And this is what I've seen.

Coloring. This was hitting Indonesia a bit as we left, but is here at an amazing level. The number of mandalas and puppy dogs and sci-coloring books is remarkable. Along with the cords of coloring pencils. Even the local throw away mag has a coloring page. Perhaps, you'd like to print off and color the mandala at the top of this page? How long until this trend is complete? I'll say by Christmas.

A drive through southern Ohio revealed an astonishing number of confederate flags flying proudly in yards throughout the area. It seems that maybe in the effort to stamp out the festering sore that this banner represents, some of the pus has splattered north of the Mason-Dixon Line and  probably onto the tracks of the underground railway that ran through those parts. In fairness, I did see some rainbow flags. One pizza joint had both flags pinned up, bracketing the door, in a true message of… something?

I went to Lululemon to get some pants hemmed. Their ABC pants are amazing. They truly are travelling pants.You can travel  in them for days. If you need to sit on a plane for 40 hours, these are what you want to sit in.

But, they’re sized funny.  If you normally wear a size 32, you’ll wear a 34 in their pants. While waiting, I decided to try on a pair that was labelled “New Sizing”.  I put on a size 34 and they fell off me.   The lovely clerk said, “Oh yeah, that’s the new sizing.  They’re sized accurately now. 32 inches is 32 inches.  We really listened to our customers!”  I wonder what happened that led them to listen to centuries of international measurement standards.

Perhaps most distressing was a scene I witnessed in the fitting area.  A middle aged man with a slight paunch was trying on t-shirts and examining them far too closely.  I mean, it’s  t-shirt for Pete's sake A $68 t-shirt, but a t-shirt nonetheless.

“Hmmm”, he says.  “It’s a little long.  Can you hem them?”  Raising the shirt 2 inches, barely concealing his hirsute belly.

“Oh, yes! Of course!” says the shop lady, just as pleasant as can be, like they get this request all the time.

“Ok. I’ll take 4.  Just make sure they’re all hemmed to the same length” If you're counting, that's $280.00 on four t-shirts.

And there you have it.  In my absence, America seems to have become a coloring-obsessed, confederate flag-waving, t-shirt-hemming, middle-aged paunch bearing Britney Spears wannabes. Seems I’m not the only one who needs re-programmed.

Oh, America! You are a beacon unto the world! Surely your light can shine brighter than this.

The Donut Shop

A few evenings ago, I went to a wine tasting hosted by a group called Internations.org which is an expat group with chapters around the world.  People sponsor events and often you can find something like a dinner or movie or a travelling group so that one doesn’t have to go alone to things.  There is a pretty active group here in Jakarta.  Lots of local folks join as a way of networking.  If there is a group near you, check it out.

But the wine tasting….

It was all for beginners. No one there knew much of anything about wine and we worked our way through generous pours of 3 whites and 6 reds and very little food.

The group of us were sitting finishing our wine.  Myself, 4 Spaniards, 2 Chinese, a Japanese and 4 Indonesians.

I was speaking to an Indonesian woman. She asked.  “Do you know the Donut Shop?”

The music that had just started playing.  She spoke softly as many here do. The wine made me a trifle more deaf and the woman a little more slurred.  “What?” I replied.

She leaned in and asked again.  “Have you heard of the Donut shop?”  

We had been talking of restaurants earlier in the conversation, so I thought the conversation was continuing.  But, I didn’t know the place and said so.

“Donut shop and the Muslims?”

“Oh, Donald Trump!”

“Yes, of course, Donut Shop.  Can he stop all  Muslims from going to the U.S.?”

“Well, not yet.  He’s not President, yet.”

She continued. “I mean, I’m not worried.  I’m Protestant, but still I from Indonesia.  How will he know?”

Others joined in the conversation, firing question after question, mostly in an accusing fashion. “Do you support Donald Trump?  Do you actually know anyone else who believes as he does?  When is the election?”

“Next November.”

They all almost yelled in unison. “November? We’ve got another year of this?”  And then, “none of your choices of candidates are very good.”

I’ve mentioned this a bit before, but it’s at this point in conversations like this that you can see such apprehension on the faces.  America is the world leader. America the beautiful.  Truth, justice and the American way!  Land of the free. Home of Brave. Land of opportunity.

How does that reconcile with one man’s isolationist speech and media images of thousands of placards and postings supporting him? Civilians carrying arms in the streets. In foreign eyes, what does it mean for them when such paralytic divisiveness reaches the promised land?  What hope is there in the world?

I try and defend us.  I do.  “No, of course, we don’t all think that way!”  “Americans have lots of different opinions and we’re free to express them all, for better or for worse.” and “Guns are super fun to shoot!”

Over time, though I wonder about the chronic presentation to the world of such views and images. How will we be approached for help or to help?  Will anyone turn to America to go in on a business deal?

Regarding the recent Donald Trump statements, Spawn of S.A.M. #2 was asked earnestly by her Japanese friend at school the other day.

“Did you use to believe that before you got out of the country?”  This was from a young person.  Already our image may be changing. We may be turning away the world just when we need each other the most.

What's up with the Donald?

Let me start off by saying that I don’t really want to be too political here.  I don’t really want a lot of shrill shout downs or shout outs about your preferred presidential candidate.  I really just want to make an observation.

We had a trek on our last day on the island of Komodo itself.  We were hiking up to a ridge that overlooked the water and the islands and islets beyond. This is it in this photo here.

We’d heard a lot about the dragons and the other wildlife on the island and had been walking in silence for a bit, when our ranger turned to us and said, “What’s going on with Donald Trump?”  

This is not the first time I’ve faced this question.

I’ve told you Indonesia loves Barack Obama. In their minds he is a great leader leading a great country.  Despite the evident anti-muslim sentiment shown in the media and the Kardashians, the United States is still a place to be aspired to.  Many people want to visit someday.

Our guide continued, “I was watching TV the other night and they were talking about Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton.  They have the same hair, but they don’t think the same. He’s so rich, but I don’t think that Donald Trump likes foreigners.”

There is such a disparity here between the haves and everyone else.  Those with money have  lot of money. I mean private jet and lamborghini-for-your-birthday money.  The millions without live on a few dollars a day.

The general perception here is, if you’ve got a lot of money, you got it from a river of corruption and payoffs and perhaps with the help of the police who helped snuff out your competition.

I think it creates a great dissonance for Indonesians when a man with what they presume is corrupt money comes to the fore as a leader of a country and people they admire so.  How can this be?

So, right there on that ridge, in the middle of nowhere and 10,000 miles from the U.S election I found myself trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. No, Obama can't run again... It’s early...  There is a lot of time...  I say that I don’t want to say anything because Mr. Trump may be my boss someday.  

“Ha ha ha. Maybe he tell you 'Your fired!' Ha ha ha."

Sigh. That’s right.

America: Head and Shoulders Above the Rest

Secret Asian Man returned to North America for a brief time recently for work and pleasure.

It was so refreshing to walk in cities with only limited amounts of trash in the streets.  Clearish streams and rivers instead of chalky-silver fluids running in blackened streambeds. Driving within the lanes at speed without fear of hitting stray cattle or pedestrians or motorbikes.

Now, Indonesia is not a poor country from a resource vantage point.  Plants sprouts instantly out of the soil even with the pollution.  Food grows year-round.  There are vast natural resources.  

But, their resources do not compare to the abundance found in America.

Mrs. S.A.M did not accompany me, and so, sent a list of things she wanted from the Land of the Free including Head and Shoulders shampoo.  I marked one day as a shopping day and headed to Target, the home of all things abundant even when one is not coming from a place of scarcity.  

In the shampoo aisle, I found myself wishing for an abundance of time for there was a 6x6 wall of all manner of Head and Shoulders. I was absolutely paralyzed.  

I reached for the “Classic” version, but paused as my eyes roamed my other choices.

I knew that that I didn’t want to smell like “Green Apple.”  I don’t think that anyone should.

I pondered what “Ocean Lift” smelled like.  Did I want that?  I was about to crack open a package for a sniff when I caught sight of the Head and Shoulders/Old Spice version.

Now, I liked the boisterous attitude of that muscled Old Spice Guy and I’d been trying to work on my abs.  Perhaps this shampoo was my key to a washboard gut.  But, perhaps that was too much to ask for.

There was also H and S, Dry Scalp edition.  This seemed unfair.  For what is dandruff, if not, at least partly, a dry scalp.  What did normal Head and Shoulders do if it didn’t help with this anyway.  

There was 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner and also a version that conditioned while it cleans.

What?

And then there was size.  Do I get a jumbo size that might last me a year or a smaller size that lasts a few months?  The miser in me kicked in.  What was the price per ounce?

I tell you it was simply baffling.  It was a 15 minute process.

Going home, though was like slipping into a pair of your favourite jeans.  How comforting to know one could have anything and more?  I mean really, green apple scented shampoo?

It was nice to have a front porch to sit on.  In Indonesia, I sit behind 10 foot walls.  Everyone does.  Only the guards know the neighbors. Or, at least they know the neighbor’s guards.  On my porch, I get to chat with neighbors and watch the world go by.  

One evening, an obviously psychotic gentleman marched up and down my street all night. His mutters punctuated by persecutory rants about Vietnam.  He shook and rattled all the recycling bins, but never took anything from them.  I wondered what was going on in his altered reality.

That same night, another man, possibly just as psychotic and clearly quite inebriated wandered, zombie-like,  into the orange glow of the light overhanging  the intersection.  He paused and gave a far off stare before turning around and stumbling back down the middle of the street into the darkness.  A friend and I followed him and watched him pass out in some bushes just before the police rolled up to assist him.

As noted here before,  here in Indonesia, the mentally ill are often locked up out back of a family’s home and kept out of sight and out of harm’s way.  In America, it seems, our mentally ill are cage-free, free-range and clearly unmedicated.  In a country of abundance, there has to be some happy medium somewhere.

Ah, but ain’t that America.