This is a short post on the bizarre scandal to surface in the rarefied circles of policymaking - l'affaire Petraeus. And here is my take on it - FWIW, as they say.
The story is about old fools being taken in by legends of their own stud-liness. Not only is there no greater fool than an old fool, but there is no greater vanity than that of military top brass dazzled by the shine of their own medals. And I say this with full sympathy for the army as an institution, being as I've repeated many times, an army brat myself.
Being from the culture, so to speak, may I suggest that there are other factors at work here? At the highest level, there is a lot of socializing among army officers and local civilian circles. But, while there may be respect and even adulation aplenty for rank and pomp, military groupies have been largely drawn from the rather modestly middle class ranks of those who were either raised in the military culture or have married into it.You know, the kind who can speak with breathless assurance that Gen X was, didn't you know, the Commandant of the Army War College and therefore direct in line to upstage star rival Gen. Y, who had only been CG of Fort Lewis. Rarely, does one see a rush to court the top brass with as much determination and spendy zeal as did the now-notorious Tampa socialite, Jill Kelley. Thinking about this angle brought me to consider what is the point of this post. Dear reader, I submit to you that the root cause of this civil-military scandal is the oldest reason in the world...
.....Money! Follow the military contractor trail and you will see why Gen. Petraeus was courted not, as the old fool thought, for his dazzling good looks or his sparkling wit but rather for his ability to dole out the pork barrel projects by putting in a good word in the right ears for his friendly friends in Tampa. Jill Kelley's ex-brother-in-law is in the business of military contracting and it looks like Jill Kelley herself was trying to get into that particular scam. The last ten years have been one of continuous warfare. This has been a tremendous strain on soldiers' personal lives undeniably. In the case of senior generals though, this has given them unprecedented authority in the disbursement of government, i.e. taxpayer, moolah to all and sundry in foreign theaters of war such as Iraq and Afghanistan. A substantial amount of money is spent by the Department of Defense (DOD) in these areas and auditory oversight is not always clear. The contractor disaster that was the Iraq War is no doubt replicated in Afghanistan as well with US-based military contractors soaking the taxpayer with all sorts of overpriced food and supplies items. Such is the vaunted efficiency of the private sector. Guaranteed to suck the blood out of the taxpayer in the most efficient way possible.
But another unpleasant truth illuminated by both areas of operation is that the military top brass in the field has been given immense financial authority without much of a financial education to enable them to think things through wisely. Someone please enroll these guys in a finance class so that they understand the enormity of the sums they are handling. And so that it dawns on them that the parties to which they are invited at the homes of contractors and their relatives are, um.... how to put it without making irresistible puns?.....are business meetings. And if they are not careful, they will be sold a bill of goods.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Bless 'Em All, The Long and the Short and the Tall....
Once again, we are in the era of violence unleashed by religious feelings being hurt by attacks on religion in the name of religion. I will say little about the obvious moron who is behind the so-called film about the supposed life of the Prophet Muhammad. Thinking about the whole thing from the vantage point of a late summer day in a pretty part of New England, I do reflect how attitudes to religion vary not just among cultures but even within cultures. Here in Fairfield County, CT, religion is not something people get very worked up about. I am sure there are frothing-at-the-mouth atheists and fundamentalists lurking about and but in general they are an eccentric minority. People in my little part of Connecticut go to temple, church, synagogue and mosque as they wish without much raving and ranting or self-righteousness. Like much else in the Northeast, religion is all about moderation. Which is possibly the reason why most Northeastern politicians, whether Democrats or Republicans, don't make it to the national scene. Clearly, moderation is not a virtue that goes down well in the battleground states.
That was brought home to me quite strongly during this car trip out West. While in Minnesota, I put little M. into a swim camp for a couple of weeks. I waited poolside along with the other moms and watched as the kids learned to float and put their faces in the water, etc. The first sign I got that I wasn't, ahem, in Kan...Connecticut anymore was when one of the moms whipped out a religious text and began to read it in frowning concentration. I am fine with this, having grown up with people playing with prayer beads, whispering mantras and chanting slokas sotto voce in public places.
Had it remained just a personal conversation with one's inner soul, no problem. But soon, the peaceful scene of head bent over holy book was replaced by another act in a play that ran every day of the week: a conversation between this lady and another mom who also waited while her kids learnt swimming. The dialogue would follow a similar pattern each time: first, a recounting of the benefits of some local religious school, next would follow a recital of the joys of homeschooling, the grand finale would be the denunciation of the evils of secular society and the siege that religious people were under. One particularly outstanding interchange involved the evils of doctors and medical education and how these two mothers would encourage their children to think of careers other than in medicine because of the irreligious ethics taught at medical school (this was a thinly-veiled criticism of birth control and of the abortion techniques that no doubt apprentice physicians have to be made aware of in order to intervene in an emergency situation).
To me, what stood out was the tone of victimhood. These home-schooling mothers of six and five children respectively felt victimized and persecuted despite the fact that secular society had not prevented them from having as many children as they wished, nor from home-schooling these children. Indeed, these women had benefited from the educated doctors who had delivered their babies. I'm waiting to hear if any of these ultra-religious women ever handed over their physical well-being to doctors who hadn't had a conventional medical education. Further, secular society never banned these women from expressing their views nor did they put them behind bars for grumbling about "secular society". Which brings me to the second point I noted about this loud opinionating: hypocrisy.
Hypocrisy is what allows such people to feel that they are above secular society even as they see no problems in extracting every last benefit it offers them. The swimming pool evangelicals were harmless, bored suburban women with more time on their hands than sense in their heads. In a different setting though that swirling mix of anger, perceived disempowerment and pious canting that defines fundamentalists of all faiths, can have devastating consequences. Combine victimhood and hypocrisy and place the combination in a lawless land like present-day Libya and you get to see how murderous bigots can not just slaughter a man who supported an oppressed people's fight for liberty but even celebrate the demise of the freedom for which he gave his life. RIP, Ambassador Stevens.
How do these different pieces connect? No, I am not part of the "It's all America's fault" brigade. Neither am I reiterating what other people do - that America too has its fanatics and fundamentalists. Far from it. Quite the opposite, in fact. I am drawing on domestic examples and linking them to external developments precisely in order to dispel the bafflement that many Americans feel about the current upheaval in parts of the world that target America as a symbol and as a political enterprise. What I am pointing out,hopefully without the smug self-righteousness that characterizes so much analysis on America's global role, is that religious fanaticism everywhere is rooted in anti-modernity and hypocrisy and is fueled by a false sense of victimhood. Its contours must be recognized, whether it comes in the shape of tracksuit-clad mothers or disheveled, raggedy teenage boys. America may not have been the force behind the Arab Spring, that laurel rightfully belongs to the young people who braved their own dictators. But neither were religious fanatics the creators of free societies in their countries. In fact, religious fanatics everywhere use the cloak of freedom to overthrow the revolutions that young activists launched and drove home to their logical conclusions.
Religious fanaticism is not the Revolution, nor is it the Arab Spring. Rather, it represents the counter-revolution, the absolutist vengeance on the Revolution. In every culture and every country, its goals are the same - the overthrow of the secular, modern state of laws. And that state, however imperfect, must be preserved if Benghazis are not to be repeated elsewhere. I feel this last point especially strongly, as a minority immigrant. As a minority, I am very aware that a strong state with just laws (important to stress this as plenty of strong, unjust states have existed throughout history) is absolutely essential to my personal security. The breakdown of the state is inevitably followed by the law of the jungle, not the collective lovefest about which anarchists and hippies dream. That chaos is the vacuum in which fanatics seek to step in to create a strong and unjust state governed by the absolute power of tyranny. I want to keep the modern constitutional state safe from the marauders who firebomb its ramparts, its symbols, and its culture of law. And modernity and constitutional law in its local variant is what I wish for the brave young men and women of the Arab Spring. That they may courageously undertake that most difficult of tasks: " to create a just state by just means." (Jawaharlal Nehru to Andre Malraux)
That was brought home to me quite strongly during this car trip out West. While in Minnesota, I put little M. into a swim camp for a couple of weeks. I waited poolside along with the other moms and watched as the kids learned to float and put their faces in the water, etc. The first sign I got that I wasn't, ahem, in Kan...Connecticut anymore was when one of the moms whipped out a religious text and began to read it in frowning concentration. I am fine with this, having grown up with people playing with prayer beads, whispering mantras and chanting slokas sotto voce in public places.
Had it remained just a personal conversation with one's inner soul, no problem. But soon, the peaceful scene of head bent over holy book was replaced by another act in a play that ran every day of the week: a conversation between this lady and another mom who also waited while her kids learnt swimming. The dialogue would follow a similar pattern each time: first, a recounting of the benefits of some local religious school, next would follow a recital of the joys of homeschooling, the grand finale would be the denunciation of the evils of secular society and the siege that religious people were under. One particularly outstanding interchange involved the evils of doctors and medical education and how these two mothers would encourage their children to think of careers other than in medicine because of the irreligious ethics taught at medical school (this was a thinly-veiled criticism of birth control and of the abortion techniques that no doubt apprentice physicians have to be made aware of in order to intervene in an emergency situation).
To me, what stood out was the tone of victimhood. These home-schooling mothers of six and five children respectively felt victimized and persecuted despite the fact that secular society had not prevented them from having as many children as they wished, nor from home-schooling these children. Indeed, these women had benefited from the educated doctors who had delivered their babies. I'm waiting to hear if any of these ultra-religious women ever handed over their physical well-being to doctors who hadn't had a conventional medical education. Further, secular society never banned these women from expressing their views nor did they put them behind bars for grumbling about "secular society". Which brings me to the second point I noted about this loud opinionating: hypocrisy.
Hypocrisy is what allows such people to feel that they are above secular society even as they see no problems in extracting every last benefit it offers them. The swimming pool evangelicals were harmless, bored suburban women with more time on their hands than sense in their heads. In a different setting though that swirling mix of anger, perceived disempowerment and pious canting that defines fundamentalists of all faiths, can have devastating consequences. Combine victimhood and hypocrisy and place the combination in a lawless land like present-day Libya and you get to see how murderous bigots can not just slaughter a man who supported an oppressed people's fight for liberty but even celebrate the demise of the freedom for which he gave his life. RIP, Ambassador Stevens.
How do these different pieces connect? No, I am not part of the "It's all America's fault" brigade. Neither am I reiterating what other people do - that America too has its fanatics and fundamentalists. Far from it. Quite the opposite, in fact. I am drawing on domestic examples and linking them to external developments precisely in order to dispel the bafflement that many Americans feel about the current upheaval in parts of the world that target America as a symbol and as a political enterprise. What I am pointing out,hopefully without the smug self-righteousness that characterizes so much analysis on America's global role, is that religious fanaticism everywhere is rooted in anti-modernity and hypocrisy and is fueled by a false sense of victimhood. Its contours must be recognized, whether it comes in the shape of tracksuit-clad mothers or disheveled, raggedy teenage boys. America may not have been the force behind the Arab Spring, that laurel rightfully belongs to the young people who braved their own dictators. But neither were religious fanatics the creators of free societies in their countries. In fact, religious fanatics everywhere use the cloak of freedom to overthrow the revolutions that young activists launched and drove home to their logical conclusions.
Religious fanaticism is not the Revolution, nor is it the Arab Spring. Rather, it represents the counter-revolution, the absolutist vengeance on the Revolution. In every culture and every country, its goals are the same - the overthrow of the secular, modern state of laws. And that state, however imperfect, must be preserved if Benghazis are not to be repeated elsewhere. I feel this last point especially strongly, as a minority immigrant. As a minority, I am very aware that a strong state with just laws (important to stress this as plenty of strong, unjust states have existed throughout history) is absolutely essential to my personal security. The breakdown of the state is inevitably followed by the law of the jungle, not the collective lovefest about which anarchists and hippies dream. That chaos is the vacuum in which fanatics seek to step in to create a strong and unjust state governed by the absolute power of tyranny. I want to keep the modern constitutional state safe from the marauders who firebomb its ramparts, its symbols, and its culture of law. And modernity and constitutional law in its local variant is what I wish for the brave young men and women of the Arab Spring. That they may courageously undertake that most difficult of tasks: " to create a just state by just means." (Jawaharlal Nehru to Andre Malraux)
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Reflections on a Road Trip: Part 1: Equality and Inequality
Where did May and June go? I know, work, wrapping up the kids' school, more work, etc. But here we are now, halfway through July, and I have been on a road trip en famille, visiting the Midwest and the Rocky Mountain West.
We meandered through Pennsylvania and Ohio, stopping to wander in the Firelands, and to visit little Ohio towns named after their counterparts in Fairfield County, Connecticut. It was great to stop in Norwalk, Ohio. It is home to the finest small town museum I have seen. In my opinion. The care and the effort that the curator and the town have lavished in showcasing the history of their little town are wonderful to behold. Ohio's landscape may be one of bleak de-industrialization but here and there there are these great flashes of determined cultural effort and striving. Long may those dolls, doilies and that awesome gun collection live on in the Firelands Museum.
Besides little delights like the afore-mentioned museum, one sociological pattern caught my eye: the further west you go, the less race-segregated work becomes. Let me clarify this: do I mean that racism lessens as you go into the Midwest? No, it doesn't. But when it comes to labor, especially in small towns, there are just as many whites doing menial jobs like cleaning bathrooms and sweeping out restaurants as there are minorities. That I was startled enough to notice this made me realize how differently race stratification works in the East Coast and in cities like Chicago, from upper Midwestern parts like Minnesota and South Dakota. For example, in the East house cleaning seems to be primarily a Hispanic and Polish monopoly, with some African American variation here and there. Poor whites in the midwest do exactly the same jobs as poor minorities in the East but comprise some of the first class racists of the country. Poor minorities perform menial labor everywhere and end up being despised anyway. I wouldn't go so far as to call the mid-western pattern "equality" but it did make me stop to consider how complicated the politics of race are.
Next post: religiosity
We meandered through Pennsylvania and Ohio, stopping to wander in the Firelands, and to visit little Ohio towns named after their counterparts in Fairfield County, Connecticut. It was great to stop in Norwalk, Ohio. It is home to the finest small town museum I have seen. In my opinion. The care and the effort that the curator and the town have lavished in showcasing the history of their little town are wonderful to behold. Ohio's landscape may be one of bleak de-industrialization but here and there there are these great flashes of determined cultural effort and striving. Long may those dolls, doilies and that awesome gun collection live on in the Firelands Museum.
Besides little delights like the afore-mentioned museum, one sociological pattern caught my eye: the further west you go, the less race-segregated work becomes. Let me clarify this: do I mean that racism lessens as you go into the Midwest? No, it doesn't. But when it comes to labor, especially in small towns, there are just as many whites doing menial jobs like cleaning bathrooms and sweeping out restaurants as there are minorities. That I was startled enough to notice this made me realize how differently race stratification works in the East Coast and in cities like Chicago, from upper Midwestern parts like Minnesota and South Dakota. For example, in the East house cleaning seems to be primarily a Hispanic and Polish monopoly, with some African American variation here and there. Poor whites in the midwest do exactly the same jobs as poor minorities in the East but comprise some of the first class racists of the country. Poor minorities perform menial labor everywhere and end up being despised anyway. I wouldn't go so far as to call the mid-western pattern "equality" but it did make me stop to consider how complicated the politics of race are.
Next post: religiosity
Sunday, April 29, 2012
What's in a Name?
Moving to a different country, especially when moving out of choice, means a ton of adjustments. In the United States, that means that you have to either learn English or change the way in which you already speak English. Not always easy to do, grumbles Tom Greaney, and the chances of making ghastly gaffes abound. Reading his article, I chuckled at some of the familiar unfamiliarities of my life, c. 1992. And enjoyed all the carping and criticism in the comments section.
As for me, after twenty years of living here, I have learned to change the manner in which I use English words and spell them. Really, is there any point in writing "candour", "colour" and "programme" when you know that if spellcheck does not catch them, a well-meaning colleague or friend will? And after all, if you are the one to move, then you are the one who has to adapt. En France, on parle français, n'est ce pas? And besides, unlike the commenters in the article cited above, I actually like America and enjoy my life here (and please note, this is not an either/or situation - I don't hate India in order to like America or vice versa). So, speaking as the natives speak not only makes my life easier, it is a gesture of accommodation and respect to the land I now call home.
There is one part of the original me that I refuse to give up, though - my name. While Englishmen like Tom Greaney see their native inflections as a point of identity, my sticking point is my multi-barrel, grand old Sanskrit name. And this refusal to change my name in the old tradition of American immigration history goes to a much deeper core than simply the ebbs and flows of immigrant acculturation.
I grew up as a Third Culture Kid, i.e. although Bengali, my army brat life ensured that my childhood and adolescence was outside Bengal, in Punjab, Sikkim, Maharashtra, and so on. Names like mine are common in middle-class Bengali circles that take great pride in the classical Sanskrit roots of Bengali culture. In other parts of India, more cheerfully middle-brow, I've had jolly secretaries suggest that "Chal, tujhe naa hum Sherry bulayengein." ("How about we just call you 'Sherry' "). I resisted all such name-changing. And so, I grew up hearing it mangled and mispronounced outside my home state, so much so that I gave up expecting to hear it pronounced the same way twice in a day. But there was another reason that I refused to change it. In the ever-changing kaleidoscope of my army childhood, against the backdrop of changing state languages and vehicle licence plates, my pure Sanskrit name was the one constant - it stood unchanged through all the moves, east to west, north to south, across nine schools, one college and one graduate school.
My dentist here in Fairfield County asked me once why I kept such a very long Indian name, as he peered over my account information in his office. "My grandparents were immigrants from Russia," he chuckled. "But we learned to change our names so we blended in better. You should do that too. Just pick a nice American name and you're on your way." How do I explain? My name and I have been "outsiders" well before my American sojourn. I'm used to faces turning pale when they hear my name, anyway. Besides, I'm proud of its epic roots, and the specific story behind it (sorry, can't share it but it's one of the oldest stories in the Mahabharata). I've assimilated in all the ways that matter to me - working, paying taxes, becoming a soccer mom. And, I'm not turning myself into a Denise or a Stephanie or....a 'Sherry'.
As for me, after twenty years of living here, I have learned to change the manner in which I use English words and spell them. Really, is there any point in writing "candour", "colour" and "programme" when you know that if spellcheck does not catch them, a well-meaning colleague or friend will? And after all, if you are the one to move, then you are the one who has to adapt. En France, on parle français, n'est ce pas? And besides, unlike the commenters in the article cited above, I actually like America and enjoy my life here (and please note, this is not an either/or situation - I don't hate India in order to like America or vice versa). So, speaking as the natives speak not only makes my life easier, it is a gesture of accommodation and respect to the land I now call home.
There is one part of the original me that I refuse to give up, though - my name. While Englishmen like Tom Greaney see their native inflections as a point of identity, my sticking point is my multi-barrel, grand old Sanskrit name. And this refusal to change my name in the old tradition of American immigration history goes to a much deeper core than simply the ebbs and flows of immigrant acculturation.
I grew up as a Third Culture Kid, i.e. although Bengali, my army brat life ensured that my childhood and adolescence was outside Bengal, in Punjab, Sikkim, Maharashtra, and so on. Names like mine are common in middle-class Bengali circles that take great pride in the classical Sanskrit roots of Bengali culture. In other parts of India, more cheerfully middle-brow, I've had jolly secretaries suggest that "Chal, tujhe naa hum Sherry bulayengein." ("How about we just call you 'Sherry' "). I resisted all such name-changing. And so, I grew up hearing it mangled and mispronounced outside my home state, so much so that I gave up expecting to hear it pronounced the same way twice in a day. But there was another reason that I refused to change it. In the ever-changing kaleidoscope of my army childhood, against the backdrop of changing state languages and vehicle licence plates, my pure Sanskrit name was the one constant - it stood unchanged through all the moves, east to west, north to south, across nine schools, one college and one graduate school.
My dentist here in Fairfield County asked me once why I kept such a very long Indian name, as he peered over my account information in his office. "My grandparents were immigrants from Russia," he chuckled. "But we learned to change our names so we blended in better. You should do that too. Just pick a nice American name and you're on your way." How do I explain? My name and I have been "outsiders" well before my American sojourn. I'm used to faces turning pale when they hear my name, anyway. Besides, I'm proud of its epic roots, and the specific story behind it (sorry, can't share it but it's one of the oldest stories in the Mahabharata). I've assimilated in all the ways that matter to me - working, paying taxes, becoming a soccer mom. And, I'm not turning myself into a Denise or a Stephanie or....a 'Sherry'.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
A Certain Light
I will be travelling again to India soon. Just as I had done on the trip in November, I will be going through Dubai. Mentioning the Middle East, of course, brings up anxiety and unease - the tense downward relationship spiral with Iran, the possibility of a surprise strike on that country, the bloodshed in Syria, and so on. But, today, I want to focus on something else - women's dress.
Dubai is a Mecca for the fashion forward. At Dubai Airport in November, M. and I wandered in a happy daze, absorbing all the upscale consumer goodies available for ogling in the luxury high-end airport stores. Finally, tiring of this spectator sport, we sat and waited at our gate for our connecting flight. Besides the usual clutch of impatient international travelers in their de rigueur sweat pants and/or business attire, Arab families strolled by, men in their traditional garb and women in the black abayas (cloaks) and shaylas (head scarves). Far from looking primitive and barbaric, the dresses struck me as graceful and fluid, both the men's clothing and the women's. I was surprised at my own reactions - the black covering for women always strike me as rather ugly and unbecoming when I see them in India or in New York or other cities. So how did they suddenly look rather attractive now?
Was I becoming an Orientalist in my early middle age? The natives must be dressed suitably native, and all that? On reflection, I decided that it was in fact about aesthetics and visual impressions. My impressions about Middle Eastern clothing have, in fact, much to do with the setting in which I see the garb. In the strong desert light (albeit filtered through airport glass windows) there is a pleasing visual contrast between the black, the white and natural illumination against a predominantly sandy background. The abaya, the shaylas and the men's galabiyyas look attractive in this sort of light. In the sub-tropical light of India, the white galabiyyas are acceptable but the women's black abayas,however, look stifling and funereal. In the muted light of the Northern hemisphere, the abayas, shaylas and niqabs just look jarring and ugly.
So much of beauty in costume, then, has to do with geography and the angle of the sun's rays. I, for one, rarely wear the saturated colors of India that look so beautiful in the South Asian light. I stick to pastels and soft shades here, when I need color and brightness. Occasionally, I'll break out an acid pink or gemstone green to celebrate summer flowers, but then it's back to the somber browns, blacks and greys for winter with whispery pinks, blues, and purples to liven up harsh days. And silver and gold glitter to reflect the sparkling snow - the sparkling snow that has given us the go-by so far this season, for the most part.
Sunday, January 01, 2012
A Drop in an Ocean
This post is one among several hundreds of thousands of blogposts worldwide about New Year, and resolutions and 2012. Well, to add to the abundance of expression, here are my thoughts on the coming year - this year, I will set aside an hour a day for walking. I am fortunate to live in a part of the country where the winters are relatively mild and really there isn't much excuse for procrastrinating about exercise. On blog matters, I will write a post at least once a month, preferably on a weekend morning when the house is still quiet and I have the time to both savor my first cup of Darjeeling tea and to begin stringing my thoughts into words. 2012 I know will be a big year for me - I have completed a second novel, have submitted it to my overworked editor and am awaiting the verdict on its publishing fate. 'No' means that I pitch it to another publishing house, it might also mean looking seriously at self-publishing on Amazon. 'Yes' means I collect my weary thoughts and begin for the second time the process of reviewing and editing. It is a tedious process that drives both writer and editor nuts but is vital to the manuscript's transformation into limpid prose and handsome, bound copy. Whatever may be the editorial response, the completion of two book-length manuscripts means that I am a writer. I need to start thinking about a separate blog focused on the book/s. Or I may just go to Facebook.
That doesn't mean that this blog will head into any further neglect than necessary. I like having a space that is semi-anonymous and reserved for observations that are not strictly literary. After all, writers have lives outside books too. So, I intend to use this space for matters not directly related to my literary life, matters that I find take up a much larger area of my life than I had thought. Matters that this blog made evident to me over the last few years of its existence.
That doesn't mean that this blog will head into any further neglect than necessary. I like having a space that is semi-anonymous and reserved for observations that are not strictly literary. After all, writers have lives outside books too. So, I intend to use this space for matters not directly related to my literary life, matters that I find take up a much larger area of my life than I had thought. Matters that this blog made evident to me over the last few years of its existence.