How the Lexus meets the Olive Tree

When I was in uni for "Globalization and Justice" I read Thomas Friedmen's "The Lexus and the Olive Tree." I used to be a huge Friedman fan and have read all his books (my affections have since wavered). "Lexus" is about globalization, and how even in the Middle East where we're still warring over the Mount of Olives, people want to drive a Lexus.

Then I came to Cambodia. A Lexus is a status symbol. It's not about having a functional vehicle, it's about having a Lexus...and an iPhone. I'm almost certain that no one knows how to drive their Lexus, or they drive them like they're disposable in impassioned recklessness. There's no function in having a Lexus in Cambodia where cars are a liability. Perhaps this can always be said about access and materialism, but if globalization promotes such insanity, I can only shake my head.

The Olive Tree lives on in Cambodia. We have our own centuries old conflict. We're still massing troops at the Thai boarder to continue feuding about what's their's and what's ours. It's not the Mount of Olives in Cambodia, it's the temple Preah Vihear which is something of a gateway to Angkor Wat which is just as sacred as Jerusalem's Temple Mount. Cambodia and Thailand economically need each other, but that relationship is haunted by past legacies of occupation and completely dependent on each state being allowed to keep what they perceive as key cultural icons.

Thomas Friedman got something right with "The Lexus and the Olive Tree;" old conflicts which are strikingly set against the stage of globalization. Will lust for iphones and a Lexus prevail over old territorial disputes? Are economics the new determining factor, trumping cultures and traditional nation states? Well, this is how people like Friedman make money, writing books speculating over these realities. It's a globalized world. But which scientific law says that for every action, there will always be a reaction...

How to be a Sociologist

I...am not...a psychologist.

I am...and probably always will be...a sociologist.

Normally these distinctions don't bother people. But this one bothers me. I don't do feelings. I don't do hormones. I don't do "how's your relationships with your mother." I am...and will continue to be...a sociologist.

This distinction recently surfaced at work. Why are people poor, someone asked. This was easy for me. "It's because they don't have access to resources, or they are being exploited of their resources." This is what Marx or Weber or Schumacher would say and as a sociologist, I'm obligated expound on their correctness.

I've been delighted recently to introduce my colleuges to theories and paradigms within international development...there's Modernization...and Growth with Equity...and Liberation from Dependency...all of which will eventually feature in their own blog postings.

But introducing my sociological paradigms has helped me understand some key differences in approaches. Viewing the world from the top down--like a sociologist--affords it's own challenges and blessings. On the one hand, it allows us to see "the big picture" of global issues, to understand how things came to be (ex. the NY Stock Exchange, Russian Communism, Feminism) and how they interact (ex. globalization, integrated approaches to international development). This...is where I live. But then there's the social work influences. How are individuals affected by events and people and how do they take these experiences and interact with the world around them? How do individual choices affect society? There is a complexity here, perhaps a greater complexity then how supply and demand affect geopolitics.

There is no one right way to look at the world. Everyone has their own perspective, and I dare say that perspective is influenced by personal experience and preferences. But in the end, I see the world is systems and structures where cultures and societies swirl around in organized manners following unspoken rules until someone throws a wrench in and disrupts the prescripted expectations. I look at movements and trends and ooze enthusiasm about how things will change.

The other ways aren't wrong. I just really love my little sphere and the lenses I've adapted to give meaning to global chaos. But self-awareness of personal bias is the first step towards integrated approaches to worldviews.

How to Ride a Bamboo Train

Riding this train has perks

Once upon a time, a friend from college sent me a link about Cambodia’s dying phenomenon of the bamboo train. He wanted to know if I’d seen them. My interest in bamboo trains went from zero to a million in the time it took to read the article.

Last week, we had our national retreat and went to Siem Riep in northwest Cambodia. Siem Riep is only five hours from Battambang. Battambang is the only place where bamboo trains are still running. Therefore, the decision to take a five hour bus ride with terrible Chinese movies from 1984 dubbed over in Khmer was easy.

The French were in Cambodia for 90 years (officially) from 1863-1953. They built two main railway lines, one from Phnom Penh to the Campong Saoum port (or Shanoukville) and another from Phnom Penh to the Thai border via Battambang (Battambang at the time was the second largest city in Cambodia). The railway system fell into decay after independence, especially during the Khmer Rouge Era and Vietnamese occupation. (Incidentally, the KR made the railway operators train young uneducated farm boys how to run the trains, after which they killed the railway operators.) The Phnom Penh Campong Saoum line is currently under restoration. The line going through Battambang is not.

The “nori” has died from use, mostly because the moto (with its own attached flatbed) is the new means to move goods. The ones in Battambang are primarily for tourists coming through. You can ride for seven kilometers along the warped train rails before turning around and coming back to the original station. It’s a slightly terrifying ride; flying along at a pretty brisk speed on a home-make train car on rails over 150 years old that have probably never been repaired.

Over time though, Cambodians decided to innovate a way to use tracks. They built flatbed “cars” out of bamboo with moto-sized engines on the back to move goods along the line for strictly local use. Each car is free-standing, they aren’t connected and an individual engine powers each car. The cars are completely collapsible in that two people can take it off the tracks in less than a minute (with no cargo). This is mandatory because there’s no system to coordinate the trains. Every time two cars meet on the track, there’s a friendly debate about who is going to get off the tracks.

Totally worth the $5. Even worth that bus ride. The icing on the cake was getting completely drenched coming back on the train. It’s not supposed to rain in March, ever.

How to Bring Hope to Lent

Lent 2011 has arrived. Lent is a special time to think. It doesn’t even have to be “religiously themed.”For this Lent season, I find myself thinking extensively about Cambodia and what it means to live and work here. A phrase repeatedly comes to mind…grasping for droplets of hope…

It’s hot season in Cambodia. We won’t see a single raindrop until June or July. Every day I wake up and the sun beats down on me from a cloudless tropical sun. I just want to see rain.

Every day I wake up and hear about some form of injustice in Cambodia or around the world; the pending Cambodian NGO law which will make it easier for the government to regulate our local partners, trying to find funding for truly good peacebuilding, trying to convince people that change is good, trying to encourage critical thinking and questioning, and learning that it’s okay to be indirect in every way which is just inefficient. I was never an idealist, and even the most hardened realist can be discouraged but the mountains of systemic problems facing not just Cambodia, but the entire region.

And then it’s so hot, and I want to see rain. I want to see family. I want to be with my friends. I want to ride my bike. I want to tell people point blank exactly what I’m thinking.

But this Lenten season, I’m trying to give up hopelessness. Hope is magical. Hope never dies. Hope is what fuels people through any situation of any injustice. Hope motivated protesters in Egypt, Tunisia, and Libya. Injustice moves us but it’s because we hope for something better. Change can never come if we don’t hope and plan for something different and better.

In June, I will see rain. And sometimes within the remaining two and a half years of my time here, I’ll see bits of the change I’m hoping and praying for.

How To Travel in Phnom Penh

There are endlessly amusing facets of transport in Phnom Penh. Soon enough, they can become annoying because you’re just as serious about transport as anyone else here. But still, there are several elements here that would not be observed in other contexts, which—just like the Pakistani “jingle trucks”—make Cambodia ever so unique. I have a 20 minute commute along a fairly busy road everyday. This affords massive amusement on a daily basis.

Off-Roading: This routinely occurs. In the event that traffic is gridlocked or waiting a stoplight, it’s perfectly acceptable to drive on the sidewalk, through gravel, through patches of nonexistent grass or any available space an object does not exist in order speed up your trip. Yesterday, I drove thorugh a construction site to get around hairball gridlock. I was hardly the only one. This will inevitably create a bigger hairball, but driving lesson number one: no one cares! Be aggressive or have aggressiveness done to you. Just don't get mad. That's an unattractive Western quality.

Stuff on Motos: If only I could create a list of all the strange things I’ve seen on motos. This week it was an entire queen sized mattress. I also saw about eight live chickens hanging by their feet off the side of another moto with more in a cage on the back. Four people on a moto isn’t uncommon either. However, legally you’re only allowed two and legally, only the driver needs to wear a helmet. Typically there are so many vegetables hanging off the back, the front, and the sides, sometimes with a tiny Asian woman just barely sitting on the back of all of it, that it’s a mystery the driver can balance. My theory is they pack it all on while he’s sitting on his moto and unload with him wedged in there.

Moto Flirting: This is an amusing almost cultural quirk. Public displays of affection are completely non-culture. Except on a moto, and then you’re allowed you snuggle really close, unnecessarily close, downrightly disgustingly close. You totally don’t need to hold on when top speed is 40kph—I don’t!--much less hang on like the Titanic is sinking. On the back of a moto, no PDA rules apply so people go for it, really go for it. It’s also very common for young people to drive motos next to each other and chit-chat (“moto flirt” as a coworker describes it). The only people who don’t think it’s cute, are the people behind who are trying to pass them.

Bikers: I still don’t understand why bikers don’t die. I am a biker. That is the essence of the Americana me. But not a chance in Phnom Penh. Bikers are at the bottom, the very bottom of the totem pole. Sometimes I even shove around them myself. Yet in the end, the persecuted biker is remarkably resilient and they just keep going, even while everyone else disrespects them, honks at them, and cuts razor close.

Body Coverings: Cambodians prize “white skin.” No one wants to be dark or tan because that’s “ugly.” So girls will completely cover up to insure no tanning while driving. This includes: floppy hats, gloves, long skirts, wearing multicoloured knee socks on with multicoloured flip-flops, wearing jackets on backwards, and often a mask over one’s face. It’s also between 88F and 95F degrees everyday. Beauty has always come at a high cost.