DC2NY

Despite being born and raised in a most political atmosphere in politically changing times, Washington is sometimes frustratingly political. You are surrounded by intimidating, large buildings of the enormous federal bureaucracy that reminds you every time you pass by that hardcore policy making and time wasting is going on inside. You ride the Metrobus every morning with people dressed in the local “DC-conservative” outfit (which for some inexplicable reasons allows for black skirt suits and white tennis shoes). You can hardly turn a corner without bumping into a newspaper stand selling today’s fabricated scandals and recycled political analysis, or visit a museum without paying tribute to the distant vista of the splendid Capitol whose chambers are least used for constructive debate these days.
DC is definitely all about politics and all the fun stuff that comes with it, including my favorite which is the local number plate motto of “Taxation without Representation.” In spite of the political irony that the US capital is on the same level with American Samoa or Guam when it comes to being unrepresented in Congress, the city has little to complain about.
Traditionalist as it is, DC has a decent gay population (conservatively holding hands, of course), passable hookah bars, quite a number of liquor stores, crazy enough salsa parties and high-end loud music $20/cocktail lounges that perfectly fit the today’s nonsensical anti-social club culture. In other words, it lives up to the 21^st century expectations of a world metropolis minus the crowd and the hyper-liberal PDA annoyance.
People here understand that food is made to be eaten at the table and although familiarly long coffee lines still constitute the general pre-work syndrome, I see a fair number of customers sipping after work frozen summer specials with a Post or a Times in hand on sunny terraces, apparently unconscious of the ticking of the time.
Oh, did I mention that we have sun here? (The thing up there that NYC replaces with tanning salons, antidepressant pills and relax massage centers.) Coupled with unbearable humidity and counterbalanced with equally unbearable Arctic style air-conditioning inside. Although I do recognize that men’s business outfits are not as seasonally adjustable as ours, I regard this as the widest scale female outfit dictatorship ever feat. long pants and winter cardigans in July heat.
As opposed to NYC, the local population seems to be intelligent enough to make a distinction between their bedroom clothes and casual shopping clothes; people occasionally do sleep at night and spend weekend mornings with friends and family instead of personal trainers. Fashion seems to be in a comfortable four hour distance away to legitimately disregard the newest trends and riding the bike to work with rolled up sleeves is actually not considered to be un-cool.
As my dear friend Jym once said, you can’t really take New York seriously; it’s one big playground. On the same note, it’s hard not to take DC seriously; this is where the playground rules are written.

A Great Prophet is Risen Up

As the Imperial Presidency of George II is nearing its much anticipated doomsday the world would happily stamp "R.I.P". on the Axis of Evil and end the 21^st Century reenactment of the Holy Crusade a l’Américaine. But a new American popular religion is rising on the not-so-distant political horizon. And it is bound to eventually shine its rays down on us all.
It believes in Government, it praises Diversity, it admires the invisible helping hand from above and it sacrifices individual freedoms on the altar of communal good. Its believers range from the post-industrial new class to young net roots activists, from left-behind slum dwellers to elites of the information age. Their motto is all-encompassing, their gatherings ecstatic, their preaching declares the coming of a brave new world, where differences, social and sexual, racial and economic shall be overcome. And all equally created men, women and in-betweens shall live happily ever after enjoying universal healthcare and eternal top-down benefits.
Dedicated volunteers’ service to the cause is the backbone of the nation-wide project to illuminate hypocrites, engage them in the common cause and deliver the Good News that their Leader is ready come Day One. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad!
No wonder, the followers’ contribution to the sacred mission is extraordinary and awe-inspiring. The liberal media can hardly take its eyes off of the spectacle. So it gives its own alms by launching a private war for opinions, “Reclaiming the Dream” which was confiscated by the greedy charlatans.
Against all odds and big business adversaries, gracious donations are endlessly pouring in, raising Right eyebrows and millions of dollars. Now the Messenger embarked on a worldwide tour to spread the word that Change is around the corner of K Street, one only has to Believe in it.
Judgment Day is yet to come.

En Garde!

The Supreme Nine’s latest decision abolishing DC’s strict gun control laws triggered sighs of relief across America and raised eyebrows across the gun-shy old continent. “Those gun lover Americans, they never change,” would the usual dismissive head-shaking go. It’s just another thing that’s weird about them. Add it to the list!

On this side of the Atlantic, however, few would trivialize the issue. Considering that it was the British army’s attempt to confiscate the firearms of patriotic Americans which snowballed into the Revolutionary war against Britain, small wonder that the “right of the people to keep and bear Arms” comes right after the First Amendment in the American Constitution.

Against all this patriotic American gun pride, the nation’s capital, a long-time trophy holder of the highest homicide-rate city in America, decided on a general firearms ban and passed the toughest gun law in the United States. Alas, crime rates only increased to the point where for example two years ago, when I spent my summer here, a murder-less week was as rare as a grammatically impeccable speech from the current President. Unarmed tourists and local nighttime runners frequently fell prey to illegal gun gangers. For gun guardians it was clearer than the truth that the solution to high crimes is not the general disarmament of the public. Yet rates did not convince the local government, hence the Court had to fire the fatal shot that ultimately killed the law – enjoying the wide support of the American public opinion.

While the vast majority supports reasonable regulations to purchase firearms this same majority of Americans still stick to their sacred right to carry guns. As emotional, politicized and patriotic an issue as it is, most Americans don’t have a gun at home and don’t hunt in their free-time. A lot of them do though and it is a cherished an important part of their lives which also makes them “very American.”

All of my friends who hunt, have guns or ever shot a rifle happen to be American. Despite the fact that my grandfather’s a real hunting buff, I never had forty minute long conversations about the proper techniques of clay shooting or the intense excitements of dove hunting before coming here. My mother never allowed us to play with toy guns in the house and I will never allow my children to do so.

Here, it’s hip to carry a gun and un-hip to carry a packet of cigarettes. In Europe it’s the opposite. I’d rather get rid of both of them. But in the meantime, as long as no one uses either one around me, I’m fine.

Internet (R)evolution

When an hour and a half prior to the unofficial end of the workday the Internet gods disgraced our think tank bubble for an unforeseeable period of time, Revolution broke out. Scholars, RAs and interns alike went through identical phases of psychological distress ranging from minor irritation through thunderous outcries mixed with unsophisticated cursing to monitor punching. In the midst of this unconnected misery and deteriorating general work morale, once again we were all reminded of how dependent inferior human beings we really are to the supernatural forces of information hyper highway. So what on earth are we going to do now? I have to send this email, read this Post article and check the latest online sales…NOW! What do you mean “server not found”….this is my workplace!
A couple of hopeless minutes passed. After receiving an official confirmation from the Tech Department that the Internet indeed does not work, people seemed to calm down and stoically acknowledge the fact that the world indeed stopped. Legitimate time-out for everyone! And so did humankind rediscover the forgotten beauties of interpersonal communication: real life discussions and stuff like that - just until the server gets back to business again and everyone can retreat to their respective cubicles, and return to intra-office emailing.
Addicted or not, I started to have growing concerns about this dependency phenomenon and new age romance between me and the Net. I spend more time with it than with my boyfriend. I realized I spend more time online than off line which is clearly more than what I would want to. And ratio is getting worse and worse every year. As much as I fight against the supernatural forces by trying to avoid a state of dependence from which there is no return, IT seems to have won the hand wrestle. “Your Internet usage is causing significant problems in your life. You should evaluate the impact of the Internet on your life and address the problems directly caused by your Internet usage.” That is not me. Yet. But I might turn into one of these shaking neurotics whose fingertips are suspiciously smooth from 24/7 typing and talk in 0-s and 1-s. According to the Center for Online Addiction (yes, they do exist), I am just “an average on-line user” who may surf the Web a bit too long at times but has control over its usage. For a control-freak like me that is reassuring, at least for the time being. So I will try and keep swimming against the cyber tide and cheer when we get cut off from the virtual world from time to time. At least we get a moment to enjoy the real one.

The Queerness of Queerness

Even before coming to Bard I observed with growing concern what it means to be a “man” or a “woman” today at home or abroad. Whenever I went out I was struck by how masculine women conduct themselves and how feminine guys behave. While girls, deep in their hearts long for some good old romance; on the part of guys, gallantry, good manners and chivalry is passé. Out with the roses and prose, in with Facebook poke-ing and agrammatical text messages. (Who needs sophistication in a loud bar or jam-packed lounge when both parties are sufficiently intoxicated to resort to more primitive forms of communication, anyway?)
On our arrival to campus in August, the first thing we were told during one of our “intro to Bard life” sessions was that we should prepare for a substantial amount of “gender queer” students. That was the point where I gave up: I was used to manly girls, girly guys, Paris acculturated me to all forms of homosexuality, but “gender queerness” was quite a novel jargon on the list. In my conservative mind, Greek mythology apart, one is either a man or a woman. Not in Annandale-on-Queer.
The college’s support for “gender exploration” has got to a point where students started calling for “gender neutral” locker rooms, bathrooms and toilets. I could not stop wondering what the signs on the doors would look like. “Men’s”, “Ladies”, “To Be Defined”? As much as I learned to acknowledge the importance of the freedom of self-exploration and self-expression, this recent initiative made me wonder. Where exactly is the border between liberal education and institutionalized promotion of certain pseudo-categories that do not happen to exist in Real Life, i.e. outside of the Bard bubble? I hold the (by local standards) extremely unmodern view that gender is not a trial-error thing and that playing around with such categories confuses people. What would really happen to a gender queer Bardian out there in the “neutral”-locker-less world? Well, at some point, Reality would happen....seasoned with the inner stress of non-compliance to social norms that he or she will have to live by in the next ca. 50 years.
I am skeptical that excessive liberalism and tolerance makes people actually happier on the long run. From teenage outcasts they would only grow to be adult outcasts and I do not think it makes them happier.
Simone de Beauvoir, who argued that no woman is born woman, as independent and confident a feminist as she was, from time to time burst out in hysterical crying on Sartre, realizing that deep inside she longed for a normal, traditional relationship. The kind most women instinctively long for. One with roses and prose.

Hey, Big Spender!

Suffering from severe war-fatigue, as every decent American and non-American, a lecture on the costs of the war in Iraq would not necessarily be on my to-do list on a sunny and warm spring afternoon. But since I rarely have the opportunity to listen to Noble prize winning economists in the comfortable proximity of my campus cinema, I opted for Joseph Stiglitz today. The title, “Three Trillion Dollar War” sounded politically provocative enough.
Democrats have been wining about the war costs ever since they realized it’s not precisely a G.H.W. Bush-style hundred-hour military project in Iraq, but in our terror-ridden world, no decent liberal candidate would actually cut back the US military budget, of course. The evil is still out there, as we know. But for some reason or another even with no defense spending cuts on the horizon, it became a daily duty of every respectable Democrat to waive the Iraq check and show how much those wild Republicans hawks are spending. Nota bene, it remains to be a Congressional responsibility to approve military spending every fiscal year and Democrats happens to have the majority of the seats since 2004. Minor detail.
Nevertheless, three trillion dollars remains a particularly supersize number even by American standards. Yes, that is exactly twelve zeros after the number 3: take Hungary’s GDP twenty times, and you got it. Or do you? The main narrative of Stiglitz was to make the econ illiterate, liberal arts audience realize the opportunity costs of Operation Iraqi Freedom.
Take Health Care (long live Democratic primaries) and imagine just how much money the Federal government would have to pump into the system to cover those 60 million who are left out of the rain. Well, take one sixth of the war’s costs and you would solve the problem not only for this generation but for the next one as well. But of course not everyone agrees with universal health care, and all Americans have the right not to put a price tag on the sacred cause of democracy promotion. In the end, what conscientious parent would complain about the high tuition fee of their child’s education? Parsimony is out when it comes to educating the world and national security, magnanimity is in. The bulk of the problem, however is that financing Iraq in itself becomes a national security problem when the money lender happens to be not so democratic, not so allied China.
The real trouble with financing Iraq is that the US has not been able to finance it from the beginning. It simply did not have the bucks to back it. So as most reputable American citizens that now find themselves in the middle of an ugly housing crisis, it started to spend money that it didn’t have and hoped for better days.
Stiglitz argued that it is an urban myth that wars are good for the economy. They’re not. At least not in the long run. They create a false sense of growth that is all but sustainable. So, here they are now: living on borrowed money and borrowed time, facing a depression that is deeper and probably longer than most Americans would want to think.
America is yet to see a war to be ended due to financial concerns. To pullout because of the cash problems would be the least romantic and most un-American ending of the Freedom fairy tale. It just won’t happen. Democrats will have to find better reasons than that.

A-theist Mass at Bard

There are really very few ways to feel like an outsider at Bard whose maxim is diversity, but being religious is definitely one of them. Even during the most important Christian holidays, the tiny Holy Innocents’ Chapel in the middle of campus has a daily visitor average of 0.5, even those are mostly vocal majors benefiting from the intimate solemnity and unique acoustics of the two century old walls. Despite its central location you hardly find a more desolate place on campus.
Bard being the hodgepodge of hyper-liberal late-bloomers has probably the smallest population of students of any religion (apart from Obamaism) so it came as no surprise that the first (and probably last) faith-related student debate was entitled “America is too religious.” The promising panel duet consisted of Bard’s iconic Jewish president, Leon Botstein and its Chaplain, Bruce Chilton drew enough students to fill the largest auditorium on campus. Even in the midst of a busiest pre-midterm week, people gathered in masses at the smell of blood.
On the panel, students of varying (liberal) beliefs were also represented speaking out for or against the provocative resolution with a characteristically Bardian undertone featuring high levels of religious illiteracy or ignorance. A sample of talking points à la Bard: “the colonists were a bunch of sexist, racist, neo-mercantilist religious fundamentalists;” given the current demographic trends of America, “time’s up for the WASPs” so they better start preparing for their future role as America’s most powerful minority; America might not be too religious but “there are far too many fundamentalists defining its policy”; “religion is a private matter and politicians shouldn’t talk about religion when they make policy or diplomacy”; "it’s shameful that today nearly any minority can make it to the presidential office except for atheists." The last one being particularly worrisome for the vast majority of the audience in such a secular country as America.
Struggling with my strong reluctance to embrace these high-minded neoliberal propositions, it was quite comforting to hear that I was not the only one feeling a twinge of uneasiness. The brave and eloquent public statement of a sophomore sociology major was a real slap in the face of the “highly tolerant and accepting” Bard community. As much as she enjoyed all the benefits of a liberal arts education, she was raised in a Catholic family and thus regards herself as an observant Catholic she feels not only marginalized but recurrently labeled naïve by most of the students on campus. Three of her close friends, a Jewish and two Muslims left Bard pushed by the same feelings and disappointing experiences. So much for that famous sweeping tolerance that rules campus.
Bard, originally founded as St. Stephen’s College as a pre-school into the seminaries of the Episcopalian Church, has indeed come a long, long way since 1860.

The Best of Both Worlds

There are two purely non-academic reasons that I consider legitimate to take a certain class that you have already taken three times. Number one: you are madly in love with the teacher. Number two: you get to go to West Point. My Advanced IR Theory class falls into the latter category. I probably had IR theory in some disguised form every single year in the last four years but I was dying to get into this one. The waiting list was long, the costs of the books totaled at $350, and the extra-curricular but hyper-compulsory Bard-West Point joint seminars were scheduled at 8 am (which, for a decent Bardian is about four hours before standard weak-up time). It was eventually a Swiss girl’s first week drop out and my international status (ironically the same that barred me from staying in NYC) that proved to be my lucky constellation.
When the first Monday morning came with the 6 am alarm clock obnoxiously waking me up from my 4 hour sleep I was little less enthusiastic about the lawful or unlawful status of detainees in Guantanamo Bay and all that jazz…

But duty is duty. Outperforming myself with a record breaking speedy dress n’ go I was out in the chilly, snowy realities of a 6:30 dawn before I even realized. That’s when I paid my first deep respect for all military students around the world who do this seven days a week without the faintest grumble.
The bus ride to the US Army campus on the other side of the Hudson River was probably picturesque but I respectfully slept it over. I woke up just in time to be able to dutifully present my visa to the officer at the gate and try not to behave suspiciously and more civilized than what my Eastern European passport implies.
West Point being the oldest military base in the long history of the US has a sort of eerie atmosphere, its fortress-like grey stone buildings projecting rigid authority. With all our civilian humbleness and Bardian coolness we penetrated into the Social Science Department which happened to be housed under the same roof with the Combating Terrorism Center. Welcome, make yourself at home. Gulp.
Since last week we have spent an entire hour of the class wondering what time they get up, go to bed, brush their teeth, date (is it permitted?), if they ever leave campus other than to Iraq or Afghanistan? And questions like are women allowed, are they all tomboys? Do they use names or only numbers? Are they graded? Are they allowed to get married? Are they allowed to vote? Are they allowed o breathe? Etc, etc.
Having a friend from West Point and having visited his perfectly normal family I found ourselves truly entertaining. But I have to admit, I was nevertheless extremely curious. Surprisingly enough, the future brave man and women looked remarkably human (minus the uniform): the girls were girl-like and the guys were guy-like, some were brawny, some were scrawny. They were from all over the States, and majored in shockingly strange things like English, Engineering, Political Science or History. But the unconventional circumstances and kind of mythical status of the players added a massive dose of stimulation to the by nature controversial US foreign policy topic we had to discuss. They talked like students, had good points and weak points, said smart things and less smart things. By the end of our very short 75 minute seminar session we realized we have at least one thing in common: we’re all completely clueless about the current chaos.

“A gathering would be cool”

If you reside long enough in New York slowly but surely you get used to the incessant and characteristic background music of Manhattan streets presented by the local taxi driver community. It is probably one of the very few city orchestras in the US that perform every day of the year (national holidays included), 24/7 and they're not even paid for it.
Walking across town on 42^nd Street this Sunday, the volume of non-stop honking got to the point of ultimate irritation as I got close to Times Square. I was on the verge of going to the nearest post office and sending a letter to Hillary Clinton to immediately include free daily doses of hardcore tranquilizers in her MediCare reform program for Manhattan taxi drivers; I know it’s a stressful job but not everyone is deaf and dumb in this city, please!
Fortunately, before the next UPS office came my way I literally bumped into one of the cars that gave the obnoxious sound. When I noticed that the trunk of the sedan was wrapped in Albanian flag, the penny dropped…I turned around and realized that the van I just had intimate physical contact with was followed by an endless line of Mercedes’, BMWs, Toyota Jeeps, black SUVs of various brands but all neatly decorated with the somewhat scary scarlet-and-black Albanian emblems. Teenagers hanging from skylight windows, waving and singing along with the radio playing Albanian songs, their parents at the wheels probably grasping more of what a historical moment it was.
The unsuspecting British shopping tourists less so. They knew Times Square is a vibrant and crowded place but few expected an extra two hundred Albanians shouting and dancing around the US ARMY recruiting booth and flooding the sidewalks along Broadway. The most helplessly uninformed opted for “phone-a-friend” to try to understand what exactly is going on: “I have a real quick question for you, man: is Kosovo’s Independence Day today, or what?” Well, sort of. It happened to be the first one for them, very good guess though. But the puzzled majority just stared at celebrating crowd or took six dozen memorable pictures of … when-we-get-back-to-the-hotel-we’ll-find-out-what exactly.(Kosovo's declaration of independence being breaking news on CNN and front page story of the NYTimes it was clearly the mission impossible of the day.)
What gave the distinctive US edge to this local Balkan Independence celebration was the almost equal number of American and Albanian flags. For every two ecstatic Kosovar dressed in the double-headed eagle there was one dressed in Union Jack. “We finally have a State….Thank You, USA” - read hundreds of ruby red T-Shirts featuring the map of Kosovo. Enlightened passers-by clapped and showed V-signs sharing the blissful euphoric moments.
Today, in the seventh post-Yugoslavian state that has probably been the sickest part of the Sick Man of Europe the same Union Jacks were burnt by Serbians denouncing Kosovo’s independence.
But stone-throwing and flag-burning of incensed ethnic Serbs over the Pond is less of the émigrés’ problem. American-Albanians of Albanian.com can lay back and “chill out for the day” or maybe “go to one of those NY parties.”

Climate Change for Real

When the holy board of international program directors decided that being an exchange student I am absolutely required to have at least one semester of “campus experience”, I knew that moving up from the middle of Manhattan into the middle of nowhere will be a more than drastic climate change. I am usually very good at getting used to new living environments, but I have to admit, acclimating myself to the Moon would probably be a slightly easier project than my current situation.
Imagine a green bubble in the heart of the Catskills, on the Hudson River, completely cut off from any form of civilization. The first habitation of human beings is found in a 20 minute picturesque drive from our college grounds in the form of two villages with a population slightly above that of the North Pole.
On site, however you’ll find a plethora of rare plant vegetations (with varying levels of hallucinogen content) and a whole range of unidentifiable forest mammals and birds - indubitable proofs of our extreme remoteness and seclusion. What ultimately completes the particularly rich local flora and fauna of the campus site is of course Bard’s uniquely diverse student population of 1,500 undergraduates whose physical appearance is so distinctive that you can easily single them out in even the most crowded Amtrak trains.
Bard, this 540-acre incubator of hyper liberal, alternative minded, post-Woodstock “nerds” (which is what the freshmen were collectively and officially called during the introduction week) reminds me most of the famed hippie enclave, Christiania, in the heart of Denmark’s capital. Much like Copenhagen’s flower power community, Bard is a sort of social experiment; the land of the freest of free and (second) home of the bravest of brave.
At Bard it is difficult to feel like an outcast since everyone is an outcast. Unless you happen to be “normal.” I.e. you happen not to be a pseudo-hippie, a forgotten punk rock star, an anti-everything-that-has-to-do-with-physical-exercise, a staunch atheist, a faithful Marxist, an unappreciated artiste, or haven’t recently changed your sexual orientation.
Since I don’t (yet) belong to any of the above listed castes, it looks like the spring semester will be my most intensive anthropology class ever. Franz Boas and Bourdieu would surely envy me.