Globalization
Kicking it in Kyrgyzstan … sort of
What's an "American" rave like in post-9/11 Central Asia? No Ecstasy, glow sticks or pulsating beats -- but hey, they've got Duran Duran.
Perched on tiny plywood platforms, two not-so-scantily clad Russian go-go dancers, their hair bleached into the consistency of straw, swayed indifferently to the oversynthesized techno beat behind a reverb-heavy mix of Martin Luther King delivering his “I Have a Dream” speech. Below them, outlined by incessantly strobing black lights, forty or fifty young people in Old Navy jeans, U2 T-shirts and sweatshirts from the University of Nebraska or Cal State sat nervously at tables scattered around an utterly empty dance floor.
They might have been gathered in the nerdiest club in Tallahassee or Sacramento. But what would have seemed dorky in Des Moines were the first agonizingly shaky steps of hipsters in the former Soviet Socialist Republic of Kyrgyzstan to move to global rhythms.
Emil, a Lebanese twenty-year-old who was the coolest kid at the American University, had organized the evening’s entertainment, the first rave to be held in the capital city of Bishkek. Young people knew from movies and music videos that raves were a cool American custom, but no one was entirely sure what a rave actually entailed, how they should dress or act. They waited expectantly, then, for the magic to descend.
I’d never been to a rave, although I suspected that something was off the minute I heard it was being held at a three-star hotel and that no nitrous-oxide-filled balloons would be available. But after six months in town teaching journalism at the Kyrgyz-Russo-Slavonic university, I couldn’t pass up the chance to watch history being made on the new Silk Road.
Emil lounged by the door, collecting the 60-som entry price in low-slung pants and a ski cap –Beirut meets the ghetto, light on the Beirut. Emil’s family had decided to wait out the Lebanese civil war in Nice, France, and had then moved on to Central Asia, so his roots in Lebanon barely grazed the sandy soil. His girlfriend, a sexy Russian with Bo Derek braids, hung on his arm, planning their summer vacation in Montreal in English, the only language they had in common. Inside the disco, a Korean girl and her best friend, a nineteen-year-old from Kashgar in western China, gossiped and giggled nervously in Russian, which neither could speak when they’d first met two years earlier.
Jerry, the campus Chinese DJ and rapper, buttoned and unbuttoned an old Beatles jacket, unsure which was the “right look.” And Regina, my translator, fussed with her hair, envious of the fake tattoo the other Regina, the one from India, had penned onto her forehead, as a postmodern bindi.
Travelers are drawn to “happenings” like Russians to vodka or New Yorkers to trendy restaurants. Italians plan their summer vacations to America around the Hemingway Festival in Key West. The French drive to Clinton, Mont., for the Testicle Festival, where they sample the local cuisine, marinated and breaded tendergroin, as the locals call it. And Australians somehow find their way to Yellville, Ark., for the Miss Drumsticks competition and the annual dropping of terrified, squawking Meleagris gallopavo at the annual Turkey Trot. Festivals, holidays and public celebrations hold out the promise of an unexpurgated glimpse of native folklore, a chance to mingle with “ordinary folk” outside the tourist triangle of hotels, restaurants and obligatory sites. You know, real Americans doing real American things, not cruising the mall or stopping at Starbucks on the way to work.
All my life, I’ve been drawn to that same tourist trail, finding there a unique window into other cultures. So I jumped over bonfires in Ecuador on the feast day of Saint Peter and Saint Paul for a glimpse of the strange blend of Catholicism and indigenous religions. I let myself be pounded with squishy tomatoes during La Tomatina in Bunol, Spain, in my quest to understand Spanish anarchism. And in the Cotswolds, I joined the rest of the demented tourists, British and foreign, who rolled hunks of Gloucester cheese down Cooper’s Hill, trying, yet again, to sort out British staidness from their propensity for slapstick.
The Kyrgyz treated holidays and celebrations with a unique zeal. Valentine’s Day was a cause for congratulations — for what, I wasn’t sure — from every stranger on the street. And International Women’s Day, an old workers’ holiday if there ever was one, was observed with parties, flowers and greeting cards, all without the heavy hand of Hallmark or FTD — and entirely bereft of dedications to Alexandra Kollontai, the leading Bolshevik feminist seemingly having been forgotten by everyone but me.
The first rave in Kyrgyzstan, then, was an irresistible magnet.
That night, the few American University students who were actually American bought Russian beers in English, Turks and Turkmens purchased Coca-Cola in Russian, and Jerry, the Chinese rapper, regaled anyone who would listen with tales about the glories of his hometown, Kunming, down by the Vietnamese border. “It’s a city of eternal spring,” he gushed. A third-generation Chinese Christian majoring in business administration, Jerry had moved to Kyrgyzstan to perfect his English so that he could enter a Christian seminary in Iowa. “And of course, as you will recall, it was the site of the International Horticulture Exhibition in 1999.”
No one remembered that exhibition, nor was anyone much interested. The beat of the music was beginning to overcome the shyness. Joy, whose real name was Gulzada, was trying to pull a group of girlfriends onto the dance floor. Her time in the United States had been spent at a Christian college, but Joy had a punkish tendency to dye her hair a different color each day. That night, she was wearing grunge copied almost perfectly from the pages of Seventeen. But with her butch haircut, the look screamed “young dyke with an attitude,” although no one in the room was savvy enough about America to hear that message.
Regina, my translator, was too fixated on the go-go dancers to join her on the dance floor. “They’re prostitutes?” she asked, horrified at the public display. The curriculum at her suburban Dallas high school where she’d spent 12th grade apparently hadn’t included any lessons about go-go dancing.
In the early hours of the rave, the disco was atwitter with the latest gossip about Konstantin Sudakov, a junior from Kazakhstan who’d just come out of the closet in a blaze of fury over the firing of his boyfriend, a young Canadian instructor at the university. Clusters of the country’s trendiest teenagers, none of whom had ever met an uncloseted homosexual, giggled and guffawed nervously about the scandal. The rumored details — “Is it true that they ‘did it’ in his office?” — and the breathless speculation — “Do you think there are others?” –provide a welcome relief from the tension of the empty yet beckoning dance floor. They might have been the hippest kids in Bishkek, but neither high nor drunk, they turned the rave into a junior high cotillion. Girls danced with girls, boys with boys, and potential couples eyed one another from across the room, too shy to make the first move. The scattering of students from other universities — easy to spot since their hair and makeup were perfect — hung back, even less bold, by the bar at the far end of the room.
“What makes this a rave?” I asked Regina. No drugs, little alcohol and none of the bruising anger of would-be punks in the United States, who in comparison had comparatively little to be angry about. In one of those strange generational and spatial anomalies, in Kyrgyzstan it was the old, not the young, who acted out.
“I don’t know, that’s just what we call it because, you know, it’s an American thing,” she replied, playing with a dozen plastic bracelets, which were glowing in the dark.
“Come on, let’s dance,” yelled my husband Dennis, trying to make himself heard over the 5,000-decibel music. Ten minutes later, Duran Duran’s “I Wanna Take You Higher” wound down, and we collapsed back into our seats.
“Did you get high?” Jerry, the Chinese rapper, asked. I sensed no irony in the question. “I love these American customs!”
Elinor Burkett is the chair of the Department of Journalism at the University of Alaska. Her new book, "So Many Enemies, So Little Time: An American Woman in All the Wrong Places," will be published in March by HarperCollins. More Elinor Burkett.
Goodbye, Davos man
Pundits haven't realized it yet, but the age of economic globalization is over
Robert Rubin (Credit: AP/Cliff Owen) Now and then there are moments that clarify major trends in politics. Such a moment occurred recently, when François Hollande, the Socialist candidate for the French presidency, agreed with the French far right on the need to further limit immigration to France: “In a period of crisis, which we are experiencing, limiting economic immigration is necessary and essential.” For his part, Hollande’s opponent Nicolas Sarkozy criticized immigration in his first electoral run and as president of France has denounced deregulated markets.
Continue Reading CloseMichael Lind’s new book, "Land of Promise: An Economic History of the United States", will be published in April and can be pre-ordered at Amazon.com. More Michael Lind.
The secret to making American workers competitive
Despite GOP claims, big business won't bring us more and better jobs. Obama should outline how the government will
(Credit: AP) Who should have the primary strategic responsibility for making American workers globally competitive – the private sector or government? This will be a defining issue in the 2012 campaign.
In his State of the Union address, President Obama will make the case that government has a vital role. His Republican rivals disagree. Mitt Romney charges the president is putting “free enterprise on trial,” while Newt Gingrich merely fulminates about “liberal elites.”
American business won’t and can’t lead the way to more and better jobs in the United States. First, the private sector is increasingly global, with less and less stake in America. Second, it’s driven by the necessity of creating profits, not better jobs.
Continue Reading CloseRobert Reich, one of the nation’s leading experts on work and the economy, is Chancellor’s Professor of Public Policy at the Goldman School of Public Policy at the University of California at Berkeley. He has served in three national administrations, most recently as secretary of labor under President Bill Clinton. Time Magazine has named him one of the ten most effective cabinet secretaries of the last century. He has written 13 books, including his latest best-seller, “Aftershock: The Next Economy and America’s Future;” “The Work of Nations,” which has been translated into 22 languages; and his newest, an e-book, “Beyond Outrage.” His syndicated columns, television appearances, and public radio commentaries reach millions of people each week. He is also a founding editor of the American Prospect magazine, and Chairman of the citizen’s group Common Cause. His widely-read blog can be found at www.robertreich.org. More Robert Reich.
World on the verge of a nervous breakdown
Capitalism's ceaseless quest to cut costs made us more jittery in 2011, and there's no relief in sight.
Italian equities shape American realities (Credit: Tony Gentile / Reuters) For those looking for signs of how globalization has woven the world into a web of unexpected vulnerability, 2011 offered a bumper crop.
An earthquake in Japan sent the global auto manufacturing industry into a conniption.
A flood in Thailand drastically reduced supplies of computer hard drives, forcing even a titan like Intel to swiftly reduce revenue forecasts.
Continue Reading Close
Andrew Leonard is a staff writer at Salon. On Twitter, @koxinga21. More Andrew Leonard.
The “American Century” has ended
The Great Recession, the Arab Spring and the euro crisis show how global relations are fundamentally shifting
Barack Obama, Moammar Gadhafi and George Papandreou (Credit: AP) In every aspect of human existence, change is a constant. Yet change that actually matters occurs only rarely. Even then, except in retrospect, genuinely transformative change is difficult to identify. By attributing cosmic significance to every novelty and declaring every unexpected event a revolution, self-assigned interpreters of the contemporary scene — politicians and pundits above all — exacerbate the problem of distinguishing between the trivial and the non-trivial.
Did 9/11 “change everything”? For a brief period after September 2001, the answer to that question seemed self-evident: of course it did, with massive and irrevocable implications. A mere decade later, the verdict appears less clear. Today, the vast majority of Americans live their lives as if the events of 9/11 had never occurred. When it comes to leaving a mark on the American way of life, the likes of Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg have long since eclipsed Osama bin Laden. (Whether the legacies of Jobs and Zuckerberg will prove other than transitory also remains to be seen.)
Continue Reading CloseAndrew J. Bacevich is professor of history and international relations at Boston University. His latest book is "Washington Rules: America's Path to Permanent War". More Andrew Bacevich.
How to solve the corporate tax problem
Our globalized economy creates too many loopholes for multinational firms. It's time to push for a universal system
(Credit: AP/Mary Altaffer) The United States is teeming for tax reform. Obama speaks eloquently of the rich “paying their fair share” while Republicans pledge never to raise taxes. Warren Buffett is taxed less than his receptionist. Occupiers rally for the 99 percent, while Tea Partyers rally behind 9-9-9.
Meanwhile, 25 of the Forbes top 100 companies paid their CEOs more than they paid Uncle Sam in 2010. Some of the big names are GE, Prudential and Verizon, all of which paid their CEOs well over $10 million, but paid no income tax whatsoever.
Continue Reading CloseKeriAnn Wells is a Master of Public Policy Candidate at the University of California, Berkeley. More KeriAnn Wells.
Page 1 of 385 in Globalization