Can Civil Oppression Offer Up a Dash of Sexy?

Saucy women's gossip blog Jezebel has decided take on a very pressing issue by crafting a morally weird online poll that throws religion, politics, and gossip into fever pitch. Let's honor this nutty poll and take some time to ponder: Just who, exactly, are hotter—the Bhuddist monks in Burma calling for an end to the ruling military junta, or the scruffy lawyers in Pakistan protesting in favor of democratic institutions?

How to decide? It is quite the predicament for many an informed Internet opinionator. The results currently register a statistical dead-heat. I’m trying to drum up some support for the lawyers myself. Shaved heads on peace-loving monks? Not so much. Middle-class Muslim intelligentsia rallying against an oppressive dictatorship fueled by hyper-religious zeal? Way sexier. Let’s make sure these guys come out on top!

At first, I was a little taken aback by this ridiculous, in-a-thousand-ways objectionable poll. I mean, c'mon, these people are suffering! But after giving the post a once-over, I couldn’t stop laughing. And I voted. Twice. It’s the kind of proposition that’s so offensive, it’s not at all. In some ways, it's actually sympathetic to the plight of these democracy-clamoring revolutionaries.

Here’s how I figure: I’m pretty sure the average Jezebel reader simply doesn’t care what goes on in those far-off parts of the world. With this post, Jezebel manages to pique reader interest in two salient, violence-fueled crisis situations that are escalating as you read this, and does so with a solid dose of tongue-in-cheek humor.

I know, I know, it’s unsavory, insensitive and superficial to create a poll asking which group of oppressed yet “fine-dressed men in Asia” is hotter. But Jezebel makes a good point: As a rule of thumb, what gets more girls, bald heads or shaggy beards?

Mexico City's Air and Burma's Internet War

I’m lounging in Gate 19 of Mexico City’s Benito Juarez International Airport, waiting for confirmation of my flight’s departure gate—the jet’s not due to take off for another hour and a half or so. I’m bored and sleepy and still stinging from an inevitable goodbye that came way too early. And as I sit here in the airport, bickering with my brother, checking my work e-mail, and chatting it up with my online contacts, I can't help but feel melancholy. Because in between the madness that is this airport and the schizophrenic feel of a mega-crowded super-metropolis, there are beautiful moments of poignancy and intimacy I am leaving behind.

Which has left me wondering... What does it mean to live a life of relative peace and affluence in times of turmoil? Just now, as I was catching up with a friend over MSN, I was slapped in the face with the harsh reality of the 21st century. Right off the bat, my friend asked me how my lightning-bolt visit to Mexico had treated me. I responded automatically and without giving it much thought: “It’s been great. Today was a beautiful day, in fact, the smog was so light I could even see most of the buildings.” He reacted with one of those surprised smiley faces that are now ubiquitous on MSN IM chats:
“:-O. That’s a pretty intense thing to say.” Huh. I guess it is.

A beautiful day in a big city is one where I can see the sky and my head doesn’t hurt from the noisome air pollution. For me, a day with average smog levels in a Third World megalopolis can be more awe-inspiring than your run-of-the mill, postcard-perfect sunset at a beautiful deserted beach (I've experienced many of these also). Mexico City’s poor air quality offers salient authenticity. But does everyone think the same, I wonder? The world is anything but perfect and moments like this provide a glimpse at atonement.

I was unexpectedly enlightened by what at first appeared to be a cursory, ho-hum IM exchange. Yesterday--in stark contrast--I was (strangely) put off by an e-mail I received asking me to join in an online effort to chastise Burma's ruling military junta for spraying bullets over peaceful crowds of protesters, and doing so without any show of remorse of restraint. Whatever. I blithely carried on with my day. The strange thing is this: I very much feel for these freedom-seeking Buddhist monks, and thanks to the Internet, even though they are halfway around the world, I feel personally connected to their plight.

To wit: Never have I been more amazed at the power of the Web for bringing attention to a rapidly escalating conflict--especially when regional access to the Internet has been one of the most contentious issues in this tense situation--yet I felt my inbox was crudely violated by a person with whom I had a tacit agreement not to engage in politically oriented e-mail sharing. My reaction to this e-mail might be on par with that of a 5-year-old, but I feel that my take on the civil unrest in Burma has been tainted by unwanted digital correspondence. Yes, yes, I care. And yes, along with the world, I am also watching--but watching only.

At the moment, I’d much rather do something to improve the air quality in Mexico City than help fight for civil rights in South East Asia. After all, as far as global digital media, it's all eyes on Burma. They've got all the limelight they need. Buddhist monks don't desperately need my e-mail signature right about now... I wonder if they even need yours?

Of Cars and Clothes and Benjamins

The more I read, research, and write about cars, the more I desperately want to buy one. I want to splurge and participate in the thrill of personal purchase so I don't feel I'm missing out on the decadent joys of capitalism. I want to throw away my money, be flippant with my buying choices, randomly return unwanted items I bought out of inertia, and complain that I have nothing to wear. I want a convertible and a coupe and a roadster and a four-door sedan and an extended cab truck and a hybrid with Active Fuel Management and Rainsense wipers and automatic temperature controls that runs on an ECOTEC engine that, as a colleague recently quipped, "converts gasoline into world peace" (see dealer for details). But truth is, I don't need another car. I can't even afford a car right now. But I want a car, and I want it now.

I remember when I was in high school and I was a socialist that I pretended--hypocritically--to loathe all things material. I wanted social justice and was planning to unite with the workers of the world. I wanted peace, love, and rock and roll, and visualized spending the rest of my days surfing away an endless summer--I'm embarrassed by it now, as I didn't even know how to surf then and I still don't know how. But I was adamant about my so-called values and morals, disdaining all who pursued material pleasures and vying instead for the simple things in life.

As soon as my college years hit and I began to make a life for myself in the Northeastern Unites States, I nuked away my "values" faster than a Coca Cola fizzles out and turns flat. No more peace, love, or social justice. Ppfff. Forget that! My life became a wasteland of excess, posturing and one-upping, always ready to serve up some 'tude to anyone not up to par. I was completely enveloped by my surroundings and found myself slowly turning plastic. I distinctly remember a conversation I had with friend of mine from NYU that resonates to this day as a cautionary tale. We were in Battery Park, overlooking the sultry waters of New York Bay on a crisp, cold night, when she said, as we both admired her soft new leather jacket: "You know, back home I used to not care about clothes that much. Now I can't help but want the latest fashions." I nodded empathically and played it up with a distinct "totally." A wardrobe malfunction for us was not having just the right thing to wear. Who had we become? We were prisoners of our environment and didn't even know it--or if we did, we didn't care.

And today, I really really want a shiny new car. But now I know that even though I may want it, that doesn't mean I'm going to get it, and even if I could buy it, I probably wouldn't indulge simply because I can. Now I know a little better, and in between the empty insta-gratification of no-holds-barred capitalism and the sounds-nice, sharing-means-caring, unreal hippie ideal, there's a spot where I have begun to feel right at home.

I Am African

I like to think of myself as a citizen of the world. With my dual citizenship, I have been afforded the chance to identify with and immerse myself in two different, distinct cultures: that of the United States, that--despite the current sate of world affairs--is still soaked with an endless sense of freedom and opportunity, and that of Latin America, drenched in magic realism and steeped in tradition. I would not pick one over the other. Instead, the combination has served as both platform and springboard to explore and visit other cultures around the world--and I still have a long ways to go. But today, I consider myself international, and believe that globalization, regardless of its discontents, is an exciting phenomenon. Because of my staunch support for global free commerce, I've been called everything from immoral to insensitive to bourgeois, and I've even been labeled a "degenerate"; however, I just shrug these off with a smile. I think all these people are afraid and have axes to grind. I'm all about globalization--it moves in all directions and is in constant flux, and those who wish to keep it in check will only get bulldozed under it's power.

I am North American, South American, African, Middle Eastern, European, Australian, Asian... Or at least I want to be. When I travel, I am most interested not in visiting the sights (although this is fun) but in getting a feel for what it means to live in and be culturally and geographically tied to a certain place. Local media has a lot to offer in this respect. And I've found that, with the forces currently shaping the world, not only is local global and global local--cultural experiences become more acute and immediate. Recently for me, it was London, Motown, the City of Lights, Beantown, Mexico City, and Los Angeles. Soon, it might be Lagos, Islamabad, Tokyo, Stockholm, Buenos Aires. Who knows? As distances shrink and borders fade, even more explosive, exciting, and (probably) violent things are bound to keep happening.

But when it is all said and done, I think we will be better off because of it.