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31.5.10

"rebolution in my mind"

I have no real idea what time it is.

It may be 8:00PM Japan time, but when I try to figure out what time it would be okay to call my parents back home, my clock gets all fuzzy. I think it's about 5AM there? But I have no real idea.

I have been in Japan for a total of two days now. Each day so far, around 2:00, when I am away from the computer and unable to write things down, I have great ideas for how I am going to approach this first blog - different approaches, ideas, stories to tell, already in just two days. Should I focus on the things that have been frustrating? Should I talk about the way Ted Tsutsumi, one of my bosses, limps everywhere he goes but still takes the stairs instead of the elevator? Should I discuss how weird it is to be thrown into teaching still jet lagged and feeling a bit ill? Should I discuss my night in Narita at all, or should I leave that for another time?

There are a lot of things I could cover. And a lot I don't have time for right now. See, it's 8PM, and I'm already sleepy. At about 4PM, I was having trouble writing my name. I had to fill out the same form three times: the first, my writing was neat enough for the Japanese man to decipher. The second, I put the wrong address down for my home address in the states. The third was thankfully done closely enough to right that they let me go on.

Forms. I think that's what most of my life for the past 48 hours has consisted of. Forms forms forms. There are forms for the bank, forms for alien registration, forms for customs, forms for getting my stamp, forms for taxes, forms for getting my rebates. Forms that I don't even know the purpose of but had to fill out anyway.

One interesting thing in Japan might just be their proclivity for signs, forms, and warnings. On the highway, there are mile markers (or kilometer markers, as the case is here) like you would find in the US...only between these mile markers are denotations of decreasing 10 point decimals. For example, between mile markers 7 and 8, you would see 7.9, 7.8, 7.7, every few yards. A bit unnecessary, if you ask me.

And then there's the stamp. Apparently, for official documents, a signature is not enough. Instead, each person (or most people, I guess), carry around a small stamp, as in an ink stamp. This stamp has the lettering for their name on it, and after a signature or in lieu of one, they put the stamp in red ink. I, too, now have a stamp, with the katama (Japanese script for foreign words) for "Anderson" on it. It's a cute little wooden piece, and I received a complementary case from the lady at the stamp shop with a little red ink pad in it.

However, as awesomely cool as it may be to have a stamp with the katama for my name on it...this process doesn't make much sense to me. What if someone steals my stamp? Or, more likely, what's to differentiate people with the same last name?

As one of my fellow Americans told me today, eventually you just stop asking why. And to some extent, I already have. I'm not asking why in the world they think that paper sticking to and covering the windows is somehow better at blocking daylight than a curtain (it's not). I'm not asking why they sort the trash into color coded bags. I'm not asking why their tubs wouldn't fit a 10 year old, much less a 5'8" 24 year old American. I'm not asking why they repeat times and dates, but don't tell me why I need to know them.

What I am asking is: Where the heck is my office?


___
PS: Blog post taking from a tshirt I found in the local department store. And no, the "b" is not a typo.

19.5.10

How Glenn Beck Convinced Me to Change

A few weeks ago, I was driving back from Austin in my roommate's car by myself. I was scanning through radio stations, trying to find something that wouldn't bore me, when I happened across one of the many conservative talk radio shows that populates this area (my normal choice is NPR, but it was in the middle of one of those ridiculous jazz improv/elevator muzak shows). This particular radio show was discussing the new AZ Immigration Bill, and within the five minutes of listening, I had heard more than enough denigration of illegal immigrants and maligning of character to last me a week. In anger, I looked down at the radio and gave it a mighty one-finger salute before changing the station.

I don't like myself when I get angry.

Though the story about the radio might be kind of funny (I mean, who flips off an inanimate object?), the lesson I've been slow to learn is that this reactive anger is not loving. No matter how right I may feel my argument is, it means nothing if I am unable to speak so in love and grace.

One thing I tend to forget in arguing is my positions were not arrived at easily. I was not convinced by comments on a blog, or by someone yelling at a TV screen. I believe my currently liberal leaning politics are the result of years of change, starting with friendships I had in high school, and things I learned in college and graduate school. There has been a good nine years worth of change behind what I write, and a good couple of years of research, living, and experience.

However, when I react to others, I tend not to afford them the same sort of benefit of doubt. When I write emails to my parents about Glenn Beck's latest "dangerous" statement, I forget that they have 36 years on me, and have probably spent similar amounts of time thinking about their issues.

Recently, I did what I do in my downtime: I got involved in an internet debate over SB 1070, Arizona's immigration bill. Having spent the last year developing a my own unique viewpoint on nationalism, borders, America, and immigration, I, of course, jumped into the debate with fury. "How could people hold such a view of Hispanics?" "Wow, that's a really ignorant statement!" "That's just so wrong!"

Of course, my arguments were much more fleshed out, and much more supported than those statements, but they are certainly things I said to myself as I put together my arguments. Bolstered by my smart friends who I love and respect joining in and saying that I was right, I continued the debate probably past the point it was doing any good. While I did achieve some concessions, I didn't convince anyone.

I've been realizing lately that my style of argument may need to change. Having been a debater in high school, and a naturally good writer, I tend to approach my arguments in a way that I'll lay out my case, attempt to respond to counter arguments in a way that bolsters my own point, and I rarely make concessions. This type of argument comes naturally to me because it allows me to be selfish: I don't have to actually listen to what the other side is saying. I just have to look for holes in their argument.

It's really hard to change this when we genuinely believe the other side is wrong.

It's darn near impossible to change a mode of thinking when it's an issue really close to one's heart, such as faith or politics.

But, as I've been slowly realizing, the only way to true community is not through divisive political arguments, but through genuinely listening and hearing out the other side.

This past weekend, my parents were in town for my graduation with my MA. On the way down to Austin, as is inevitable when my parents and I get together, politics came up. As it is common nowadays, the topic was the AZ immigration bill. I explained to my father that part of my objection to the bill is that it offers no provision for victims of trafficking - an illegal is an illegal is an illegal, regardless of their means of entrance into the country. My father listened to this explanation, and I could tell that he was thinking about it. He told me he hadn't thought of that angle, and it troubled him, because he knows it's an issue close to my heart.

This is the type of reaction I would like to model. Rather than just saying the words "I hear what you're saying," I want to actually hear people. I want to listen; I want to think about why they believe what they believe. I want to consider the whole of the person, not just the argument made. And maybe, just maybe, if I do this, I will eventually be able to listen to conservative radio and Glenn Beck without wanting to give the one-finger salute.

10.5.10

On Banksy and Street Art


I've spoken a bit before on this blog about my philosophy considering art in terms of how a Christian should consume it, but I don't know that I've spoken about what specific kinds of art I like.

I like art that challenges, that provokes, that pokes a little humor at things we take seriously, and that presents a perspective different from one's own. Modern art is some of my favorite stuff - Andy Warhol is fascinating, Gustav Klimt is great, and Annie Lebovitz is a great photographer. One of my favorite days was when Chase and I were in New York before leaving for India, and we went to the Museum of Modern Art. It was fantastic seeing what products older artists felt were important to their time - Warhol expressed his distaste for commercials by creating pop art. Annie Lebovitz sought to portray the world as she saw it through her camera lens. Klimt used color and romantic images to redefine humanity.

Each new piece of art gives us a different way of looking at life, and a lot of the time, the vision put forth by the artists is frequently one of hope, of looking beyond the pale into that green country under a swift sunrise that our world could become (that's a Lord of the Rings reference, for those of you who didn't catch it).

In this vein, I've recently become a fan of what you might call street art or anarchic art. It's art that is produced in unconventional venue and by unconventional means. Rather than oil paints, paintbrushes and a canvas, the artist uses a blank wall and spray paint cans. British artist, Banksy, is remarkable in this manner.

The above is Banksy's "One Nation" work. I'm not sure on the history, but the term CCTV is British, and refers to Closed Circuit Television Cameras - security cameras. They are all over the place in England - one of my favorite movies has a line that Britain is "the most watched nation on Earth." Banksy's work is a comment on that fact, pulling in the idea of Orwell's Big Brother, and of course, "One Nation Under ___" is a comment most are familiar with because of the repeated phrase from the American Pledge of Allegiance. It's an interesting commentary on the tension between security and privacy in both England and America.

In this vein, tonight I discovered what is supposed to be a humor site called Hacked IRL (In Real Life), which catalogs graffiti done in various spots. I was surprised that many of the posts actually contained what could be considered art, if not on the same level as Banksy, at least clearly influenced by him.

This art exhibits a different way of looking at the world, a way to make a statement and a way to give me some hope that there are some creative people still left in the world.

Basically, I'm bringing this up because I'd like to challenge you to look at the world in different ways this week. What new ways can you find hope? What new ways can you challenge people? Do you choose to speak in a way that brings people into conversation?

5.5.10

"now that I have seen, I am responsible"

A fellow blogger/author who is in the Dominican Republic right now working with Haitian Refugees posted that he can't get this song (below) out of his head.



In this interconnected, globally smaller world, all of us have seen, and all are held responsible. This artist, New Zealander Brooke Fraser, commented once in an article that "I'd rather be seen as a fool for trying to change the world then not do anything at all."

Lord, never let me forget India. Never let me forget what I have seen, the people I have met, and the things I know of your love.

Related.

3.5.10

Pray For Tennessee

The pictures and video coming out of Tennessee this past week have been horrifying and beautiful in their own ways. For those of you who don't know, Nashville received record rainfall over the weekend, causing flooding throughout the city. The below video has some images from the floods, and gives you a small glimpse of how truly bad it is.



Disasters like this remind me of how truly fragile everything we have is. I think that's why I like storms so much - it's a terrifyingly beautiful reminder of how brief and tenuous our grasp on life is. When things like this come, what matters is not whether or not my stuff is alright, or that my house is destroyed - all of that is just stuff. What matters is whether or not my family and friends are okay, have a good meal to eat and a warm place to sleep.

You can donate to help relief efforts at the Red Cross' website. This is a place right on our home turf, and many friends and family are in the area - Faceless International is headquartered in Franklin, just outside of Nashville. We must help.