A Page from Jakarta’s Horrifying News

If you thought the news in your country was bad, have a look at the Jakarta Post. 
I spotted this paper laying open at one of the coffee shops in Ubud. 

Just a single page contains all these horrifying stories.

“Few clues to identify badly mutilated bodies”

“Husband and wife nabbed for drug distribution.”

“Another TNI soldier killed by armed group.”

“Starving monkey’s raid homes in Banyumas”

Privilege without Borders

The author of this post does not know this person 
and would never sit on an armchair grave

I want to talk about white privilege. 

And I want to talk about it using this photo of a white woman. 

She is pictured sitting on the alter of a Chinese grave in a Thai-Chinese cemetery. The design of this particular tomb is known as an “armchair grave.” She is sitting on the alter of the grave, a place where flowers and incense would normally be. I would like to give her the benefit of the doubt, and say that perhaps she was confused and thought this grave was, literally, an armchair, because I don’t want to believe that a member of my own race, or possibly my own country, would be so crass, insensitive, and entitled, as to desecrate an alter for the deceased by rubbing her ass on it and posing for a photo.

As a graveyard photographer, I can find a lot wrong with this image. She is touching the grave, sitting on the grave, and improperly clothed in a sacred place (and for those cries of sexism I hear, men are also required to cover their shoulders and knees inside temples, cemeteries, and sacred spaces in most of Southeast Asia). I have the same nauseating reaction to this photo as I did when I saw tourists pose lovingly next to bullet-riddled tanks at the War Remnants Museum in Vietnam. I wrote about the disassociation that people have with time and place. A murder scene looks like a Hollywood set through the eyes of those living in comfort and safety. There is some amount of disassociation in this photo, but disassociation alone doesn’t send someone’s ass onto an alter.

Ignorance does.

Entitlement does.

Entitlement to be ignorant.

I have been traveling around SE Asia for six months and I have seen some shit. In general, it is my belief that most people are poorly behaved when on vacation. Didn’t we leave rules and responsibility behind at the office? Isn’t that why we took a holiday? But this excuse only holds so much weight, and its weight became much lighter when I watched a white woman smoke a cigarette at Angkor Wat, then rub the butt of the cigarette out on the “No Smoking” sign.

This behavior speaks of the entitlement to be ignorant. Something of this nature:

“I am tourist. I am a foreigner. I am paying for this experience. So I don’t have to learn your language, know your customs, follow your rules. And without apologizing, you have to forgive me.”

If you thought that the privilege and entitlement white people experience in America, or England, or Australia, gets left behind at the airport when they board flights to Bangkok or Bali, you are unfortunately mistaken. Maybe you thought that the experience of being a racial or ethnic minority in another country (such as, say, a white person in Thailand) would give them some perspective or empathy. It does for some, and not for others.

Of course we all know that being a minority in a foreign country is not the same as being a minority in your home country. What one learns, being a minority in a foreign country, is what it feels like to be unable to hide, and what it feels like to be treated differently (sometimes for better, and sometimes for worse) based on one’s physical appearance. Unless one grew up in, or lived for a long period of time in, a country with am institutional system of discrimination against foreigners or certain groups to which one belongs, one cannot compare their experience with say, that which POC experience in the United States.  Being targeted as a non-local and scammed or ripped off really sucks, but most white people in Asia can go home afterwards - to places where such incidents do not happen to them.

That, in and of itself, is a privilege.

Once when I was in Japan, I was walking through the red-light district of Tokyo wearing sexy clothing. I was on my way to a bar to meet friends, talking loudly on my cellphone in Japanese. I had not walked one block before I was stopped, and accosted, by two police officers. They demanded to see my identification (I had none), to know where I was from, what I was doing, where I was going, and whom I was meeting. You see, they thought I was a prostitute. Because I was white, because I was dressed sexy, because I was speaking Japanese, and because I was walking through the red light district at midnight. Honestly, when the police began questioning me, the first thought that came into my head was a quote from Wanda Sykes “Biggie Shorty” in Pootie Tang:

“Just cuz a girl like to dress fancy and stand on the street corner next to some hos, you automatically think she’s hookin?” Unfortunately I couldn’t translate this fast enough for the officers, but after some questioning they let me go, and to the bar I went, riled up and infuriated and all ready to claim that I was a victim of discrimination.

“This would have never happened in America!” I cried.

I used to think that statement showed how discriminatory Japan was, but in fact, it only showed how privileged and entitled I was. This – being accosted by the cops for no reason – who have never happened to me in America because I am a white woman. This does, however, happen all the time in America - to women of color.

I would argue that white people cannot escape white privilege anywhere on this planet, because white privilege is not defined by borders. It is not merely an institution that is policed by one country’s regime. It is internal. It is within us. The sense of entitlement is something we carry in our suitcases and in our minds and it follows us to every corner of the globe. Even when we whites are the minority in a foreign country we expect to be treated with fairness, at equal level with local people. This is apparent in our  surprise at being ripped off by street vendors or accosted by police. Even when we whites are guests and visitors in a foreign country we expect to be exempt from the customs and norms. This is apparent in our flagrant disregard for rules. Trespassing, smoking, littering, loitering, molesting, and vandalizing. I have seen it all, and I am not innocent. I did not stop it. I enabled it. I enabled it by being there and doing nothing about it. 

Some people might argue with me, say that this isn’t about white privilege and that some people are just poorly behaved, that’s all. Sure, we can find examples of ill-behaved people of all backgrounds. That’s true. But what makes white privilege real is not that some white people behave badly, it’s why they behave badly.

To the white guy who I caught writing “fuck” on the walls of the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum:  “What made you think you could, and did, get away with that?”

Culture Shock Stage 2: The Malaysian Edition

Hello Culture Shock Stage 2, my old bitter friend. It’s been a while. I knew you would find me in the mountains of rural Japan, but I didn’t know you would find me on my dream-journey through SE Asia. I am supposed to love this place. I am supposed to be happy and grateful to be here.

But I'm not.

 I am in the I-Hate-Everything stage of culture shock. The wonder and awe that struck me as our taxi careened through Bali’s night markets  has long since wore off and I am almost past the point of being saved. I am disappointed in feeling this way. After enduring months of this feeling in Japan I thought I had enough of it to last a lifetime. But it found me again, this time of the trip that I have been planning for years. Now I am sitting here, two weeks in thinking, is this what I worked so hard for? Congested streets, smog, muddy rivers, leering men, poisonous food? I should have stayed home. That’s what I am thinking now. I am worn down from a lack of privacy. I’ve been retreating inward lately. Inspiration and energy for writing doesn’t seem to come. 

Here are my fears:

I am worried that this feeling of discomfort will last the entire trip

I am worried that I won’t fall in love with any place I visit.

I am worried that I won’t enjoy my time or the experiences I am having.

I am worried that I won’t be able to write for my novel, and that I will barely write for this blog.

I am worried that I won’t learn anything.

There. Those are my concerns. As I type them I am sitting in a narrow walkway on the second floor of VCR Cafe. The right wall beside me is actually a floor-to-ceiling window. From the second floor, I am above the filthy streets and instead, my view is shared with the lime green tree tops. I can rise above this, I think. I can love my life here, or anywhere. I have to. The fact that I have wanted to have this experience for so long, and the fact that now I am finding it hard to enjoy, is disappointing, but perhaps unavoidable. Maybe if I can break this spell I will fall in love with life again, deeper than before.  This dirty, awkward, disappointing life. You are all I have and I want to love you, love you, love you.

- Wednesday .Oct. 8, 2014 VCR Cafe, Kuala Lumpur

Enter Stage 3

When I first moved to Japan, I felt utterly alone. I wondered what I was doing alone in this country.

I missed my home and family, I missed having a place and a purpose.

But when I returned to my house life resumed as usual. There was work to do. There was daily life to be lived. And I lost myself and found myself in those things. This is the life I am living.

I described this experience by saying that “my head finally caught up with my body,” we were both finally living the same life. This is to say, that although I was physically present in Japan, my mind was lingering on thoughts of home. Now my home in America is a memory, and my mind is here in Japan, right where I am.

This may also be described as Stage Three of culture shock, known as the “adjustment phase.” This is when things basically begin to feel normal.

 

My house in the winter months 

Wikipedia lists a few traits of people in the adjustment phase. I will reiterate them here with a proper citation. You know you have entered the adjustment phase when…

1.    You develop routines.

2.    You know what to expect in most situations.

3.    You develop problem-solving skills for dealing with previously difficult situations.

4.    You view the “culture’s ways with a positive attitude”

5.    Your “negative responses and reactions to the culture are reduced”

Now that I have officially entered the adjustment phase, I thought I would share some of experiences in this stage.

Routines:

One routine I developed early on when I moved here was to run as often as possible. I started out only running 3K, but increased it to 5K, and now I run about 6K three times a week. My village lacks the fancy gyms of the big city, so I run outside, on an enviable path that winds parallel to the Gono river, right along the edge of a mountain. I run at sunset, just when the sun dips behind the peak of the mountain and the gold lite of dusk makes me feel like I'm running through an oil painting.  Being outside so often has taught me many things about nature, about the changing of the season. I could tell you the position of the sun at any given hour. If there is a strong wind, it means it will snow the next day. Running has helped clear my mind, put my thoughts and worries in perspective, escape myself.

Expectations:

I had many pleasant and unpleasant surprises when I moved to Japan. Eventually, there are only so many brand new things you can experience in a single day, and sure enough, situations begin to repeat themselves, and the second and third time, you know what to expect. I don’t have it down to a science, but I’ve gotten pretty good at anticipating the outcome of situations.

Problem Solving Skills:

One example of this happened today. I needed to do a wire transfer via the ATM, and for those who know about 振込Japanese ATMs, this is no easy feat. Back in my village, I could go to the local bank, where the staff know me, and are always eager to assist. Today I was in the city, so I walked into an unknown bank branch, and was told by the staff that no one was available to help me (which I anticipated being told), so I had to call customer service and get assistance over the phone. Three months ago, I would have angrily stormed out and waited until I was back at my home branch to make the transfer, but today, I gave the customer service center a call. They were hesitant to help me (which I also anticipated), what with my limited Japanese, but somehow, after ten minutes and twenty questions later, I successfully made my first wire transfer without in-person assistance. It sounds a bit embarrassing, but I almost skipped out of the bank, I was so proud.

In the adjustment stage, the positives outweigh the negatives. You start to experience more successes than failures. This is true of things big and small. From navigating a Japanese ATM, to running a 10K, to just generally having a good day, these successes manifest themselves in many forms.

Happiness is abundant. 

Life in Stage 2

Almost exactly one month ago I moved to Japan.

For reasons which are difficult to express, I uprooted my urban life from the west coast of the United States, and moved my reference point to the mountains of rural Japan.

In Japan I work for the prefectural government, and I am attempting to finish my novel. Much like Thoreau in Walden Pond, I wanted to get out of the city, cloister myself away in a secluded yet scenic space, and finish the novel I started writing five years ago in a donut shop  during Portland’s most extreme snow storm.

Now the scene has changed, and so has the writer.

The first night in my new house, I undoubtedly entered what some would call the “negotiation phase” of Stage 2 in the culture shock spectrum.

 

green-tea flavored Kellogg’s cereal and Lipton ice tea

 Basically, nearly everyone experiences some level of culture shock when relocating abroad, and it can be broken down into stages. Stage 1 is when everything is new and exciting. You write home about finding things like green-tea flavored Kellogg’s cereal and Lipton ice tea, and everything in the new culture is a source of wonder. Stage 2 is when you go from loving everything to hating everything. The differences in the new culture seem more pronounced, and become a source of anxiety and frustration.

I hit Stage 2 on August 7^th, at around 11:30 pm when my enormous, old, Japanese house in the mountains began to creek and groan in that thickness of night that only places without streetlights can produce. As I lay awake that night with  the lights and TV on, I wondered why I ever left my beautiful condo in Portland, just to come all this way to a scary house in the rural mountains. I told myself that I would drive to the airport in the morning and go home. I had just arrived, and still hadn’t unpacked after all.

Well, one month later, I’m still here, and no longer wishing to get on a plane every second of the day.

Looking back on this last month, I can reflect on some very real grievances. 


Apart from having to adjust to this new culture,  and the challenges that come with navigating Japanese language and society, I have had serious frustrations with the mechanics of my new life. I live in an enormous, old, traditional Japanese house, which requires a lot of maintenance and has some structural problems which prevent me from living in complete comfort.  I imaged my rustic life would be peaceful, like Thoreau's "Walden," but it has been just the opposite.


Loneliness  is a very real companion to life out here in the country. One may imagine that I would feel lonely in my large, rustic, Japanese home, but rather I am learning that I have enough of a presence to fill an entire house, so the loneliness instead finds me on the dark roads leading to my house. At night I am often the only car on the road, the only person on the street. That is when the loneliness feels unbearable, when the darkness feel suffocating. In a city even if I were the only person on a train, I would take comfort in knowing that there was someone operating the train, someone keeping the stations lit, someone working at the all-night convenience stores. 

Here it is just me, a long dark stretch of road, the sound of rain hitting my windshield, and two headlights piercing the darkness...

Many times I wonder, what am I doing here?

When I round the bend of the mountain, driving on the left  (opposite) side of the road,

When I get a bill in the mail and realize I can’t understand it,

When the fog hangs low around the mountains, in a space between dreams and reality,

When Japanese monkeys linger on the sidewalks around my house,

When I realize that absolutely no one here has known me longer than a few weeks….

Slowly, slowly, slowly I am carving out a place for myself in this scene, and the more of myself I see in my new life, the more validation I have that I am living it. Bills are getting paid, people are learning my name, and monkeys are still lingering on the sidewalks around town.

 

From the Izumo Sunrise

Life in Stage 2 is not easy and it takes some time and effort to pass. I have managed thus far by inserting myself into the space around me, taking a long look at the image, and trying to make sense of it. In other words: decorating my house, forcing myself to attend every social event that I am invited to, and developing a Facebook addiction. 

 I also keep rereading excerpts from past writings, before the dream became a reality:

“Outside the train window waves of luscious forests flowed past us. Occasionally, an old Japanese house would appear in the frame, only to be swept away by rice fields, rolling hills, and smoke. I wonder what it would be like to live in one of those old houses, consumed by the mountains.”

-       - Except from my Diary on the Izumo Sunrise, when describing scenes from the prefecture where I now live, written on  October, 2010

“I hope you are enjoying life in your quiet, Japanese mountain village. It sounds like a dream to me.”

- Excerpt from a letter to a friend in Mashiko, Japan on  April, 2013