Living and working in different countries I was also experiencing different cultures, different peoples -- and the lessons imparted by these experiences may form the basis of many a posting. At the moment, I shall confine myself to three brief observations.
(1) Of all the places I have lived and worked since 1995, far and away the most appealing -- from an aesthetic point of view -- has been the capital of Hungary. With its Old World architecture and 19th-century layout, its restaurants and cafes and coffeehouses, its theatres and museums, its parks and, yes, even cemeteries, it evokes an (admittedly tarnished) golden age of civilization and cultivation that disappeared in the cataclysm of 1914.
(2) Of all the peoples I have lived among since 1995, the friendliest have been the Koreans and the Mongolians. To be sure, I've encountered little personal hostility wherever I've visited. But Koreans and Mongolians seem especially open to meeting individuals who are not part of their respective cultures.
(3) Years abroad have reinforced my longstanding conviction that human nature is fundamentally the same everywhere. However great the differences in governmental systems or social norms or cultural traditions, human psychology doesn't change from one border to another. This may seem a commonplace observation, but the persistent tendency -- among people from all walks of life, not just political leaders -- to see the world in terms of "us" vs. "them" does not bode well for the future of the race (the human race, that is). (As for my own analysis of what human nature amounts to, that, again, is a subject for future postings -- or, if you prefer, diatribes.)
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
A brief introduction to me
Two score, five years, and about nine months ago I was born in the city of Cleveland, Ohio. Looking back at what I have undergone since then, I would divide the course of my life into four distinct (though obviously connected) periods: Years of Childhood and Adolescence (1963-1981); University Years (1981-1989); Years of Drift (1989-1995); Years of (Voluntary) Exile (1995-present). While each period contains its own special features, peculiarities, and traumas, the last and most recent (i.e., from 1995 to today) is probably the most readily graspable --at least on the surface -- by those just becoming acquainted with me. So I will begin with a brief overview of the past fifteen years.
In early 1995, living in the D.C. area and unable fo find even remotely challenging work, I responded to an ad in the Washington Post for English teachers to work in Korea. Though my academic background was in history, not language, and though I had virtually no pedagogical experience, this seemed to offer an interesting challenge -- more interesting and more challenging, certainly, than doing occasional temp jobs as an office clerk or furniture mover. So I applied to the agency which had placed the ad -- and by mid-February was aboard a flight for Seoul. Unfortunately, due to visa problems beyond my control (and caused, in fact, by the school for which I had agreed to work), I had to leave Korea after only three months. But this my initial exposure to teaching abroad sufficed to convince me that here, if far from an ideal profession, was something I could do tolerably well without unduly exacerbating my entrenched existential dissatisfaction (of which more -- much more -- in subsequent entries). Fourteen years and eight countries later, that conviction, though severely shaken from time to time, still stands.
Anyway, six weeks after returning to the States, I was headed overseas again -- this time across the Atlantic. One year in Slovakia was followed by five years in Hungary followed by one year in Latvia followed by six months back in Hungary followed by fourteen weeks in Thailand followed by two-and-a-half years in China followed by five months in Russia followed by another summer in Hungary followed by five months in Azerbaijan followed by six months in the Baltic states followed by one year in Mongolia. Through most of this period -- interrupted by only two brief visits to the U.S. -- I was teaching English, academic writing, and American studies, chiefly at the university level.
Though not exactly homesick after so much time away from the land of my passport, I did miss being in an environment where meeting people who shared my interests (as well as my language!) would be (I thought) a bit easier -- to say nothing of being able to enter a library the majority of whose holdings were in English. So on June 29, 2008, I departed Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, for my favorite American city, San Francisco, hoping to find a job there that would allow me to remain for a while. But six months of failing to find any long-term employment obliged me to put this particular ambition on indefinite hold. Accordingly, toward the end of 2008, I resumed my travels/travails abroad, in the same country where they had begun over fourteeen years before: Korea. This time around, hopefully, my stay will last longer than three months, while the overall duration of this second stage of my existence as a latter-day equivalent of the medieval wandering Jew could well prove another fifteen years . . . or more.
For better or worse, I don't know how closely my life expectancy adheres to the American average.
In early 1995, living in the D.C. area and unable fo find even remotely challenging work, I responded to an ad in the Washington Post for English teachers to work in Korea. Though my academic background was in history, not language, and though I had virtually no pedagogical experience, this seemed to offer an interesting challenge -- more interesting and more challenging, certainly, than doing occasional temp jobs as an office clerk or furniture mover. So I applied to the agency which had placed the ad -- and by mid-February was aboard a flight for Seoul. Unfortunately, due to visa problems beyond my control (and caused, in fact, by the school for which I had agreed to work), I had to leave Korea after only three months. But this my initial exposure to teaching abroad sufficed to convince me that here, if far from an ideal profession, was something I could do tolerably well without unduly exacerbating my entrenched existential dissatisfaction (of which more -- much more -- in subsequent entries). Fourteen years and eight countries later, that conviction, though severely shaken from time to time, still stands.
Anyway, six weeks after returning to the States, I was headed overseas again -- this time across the Atlantic. One year in Slovakia was followed by five years in Hungary followed by one year in Latvia followed by six months back in Hungary followed by fourteen weeks in Thailand followed by two-and-a-half years in China followed by five months in Russia followed by another summer in Hungary followed by five months in Azerbaijan followed by six months in the Baltic states followed by one year in Mongolia. Through most of this period -- interrupted by only two brief visits to the U.S. -- I was teaching English, academic writing, and American studies, chiefly at the university level.
Though not exactly homesick after so much time away from the land of my passport, I did miss being in an environment where meeting people who shared my interests (as well as my language!) would be (I thought) a bit easier -- to say nothing of being able to enter a library the majority of whose holdings were in English. So on June 29, 2008, I departed Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, for my favorite American city, San Francisco, hoping to find a job there that would allow me to remain for a while. But six months of failing to find any long-term employment obliged me to put this particular ambition on indefinite hold. Accordingly, toward the end of 2008, I resumed my travels/travails abroad, in the same country where they had begun over fourteeen years before: Korea. This time around, hopefully, my stay will last longer than three months, while the overall duration of this second stage of my existence as a latter-day equivalent of the medieval wandering Jew could well prove another fifteen years . . . or more.
For better or worse, I don't know how closely my life expectancy adheres to the American average.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Historical Parallels
Many of late have taken to comparing Barack Obama with Abraham Lincoln, encouraged by no less a figure than the new president himself. But how many have paused to consider the possibly even greater similarity between the two men's immediate predecessors?
To be sure, the resemblance is not exact. James Buchanan enjoyed an at least nominally distinguished career as a diplomat and senator before stepping into the Oval Office, whereas prior to 2001 George W. Bush was known chiefly as the unremarkable son of a mediocre president.
Moreover, the problems confronting Buchanan during his administration were problems of long standing, for which more than one eminent policymaker could justly claim responsibility, while the major part of Bush's maleficent legacy can rest comfortably on his shoulders alone. Then, too, Buchanan was unmarried. But nothing, absolutely nothing, ought to detract from the single biggest fact uniting the 15th U.S. president and the 43rd: both men left the country infinitely worse off than when they entered office.To what extent, if any, Obama's presidential tenure will bear comparison with Lincoln's it is much too early to say. As fresh assessments of the latter continue to be put forth even today, over 150 years after his death, surely we should try to refrain from judging a man --for good or for ill -- who has held the reins of executive power for less than a week. James Buchanan, on the other hand, has been consistently deemed one of the worst U.S. presidents ever -- and this despite his insistence that history would "vindicate" him. Perhaps the record of the latest ex-president will force historians to reconsider.
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