Category: Politics

John Kerry, Korea and The Dragon Throne

korea8Do you ever wonder what happened to Kim Jong-un?  He’s that North Korean guy with all the nuclear weapons.  Believe it or not, it was just three weeks ago that he was striding around threatening to rain fire and hell on anything and anybody from Seoul to Guam (and all points beyond) unless he got what he wanted, which, BTW, was never made clear.  It actually got so serious that President Obama sent in some military ordinance — with real people inside.  So what happened?  Did he just take his finger off the trigger and go further out to lunch?  Maybe, but I don’t think so.  Even though I don’t have a direct line to the inner workings of American foreign policy (who does?) this is what I figure happened.

Okay, you do remember John Kerry?  He’s the guy who took Hillary’s job at the US State Department so she could run for President.  John’s been kicking around politics since the 70s and Washington since the mid 80s.  He was never what you’d call a go-to guy though.  After all, when it came to the biggest political decision of his career (Who’s going to be my Vice President?) he chose John Edwards.  Clearly, Kerry’s not exactly a fellow who does his homework.  Anyway, John’s job description comes with a couple of pages on nuclear crisis, so when Kim Jong whoever started cutting up rough, he packed his suitcase and headed for Asia.  After a couple of whistle stops in Korea and Japan (to reassure the locals that America would kick the snot out of Kimmie if it came to it) John went to China.  This is where it gets tricky.  Nobody in their right mind would suggest that the Secretary of State of the United States of America (President Obama’s personal representative on Earth) had been summoned to appear before the Dragon Throne.  However, a couple of Saturdays ago, there John Kerry was, all smiles and hairdo, standing around Beijing,korea7 diplomatic hat in hand.  Ostensibly, John was there to discuss the Korean problem with his Chinese counterpart, Yang Jiechi.  Sounds legit, right?  Maybe, but I don’t think so.  Personally, I think the Chinese wanted something.  Otherwise, they wouldn’t have let Kim Jong-un shoot his mouth off in the first place.  Secretary Kerry was there to find out what.

From here, nobody but John Kerry, Yang Jiechi and Wikileaks will ever actually know what went on — secret private talks are, after all, secret private.   However, unless you flunked history in high school (twice) you do understand that, despite a century of assurances to the contrary, secret protocols between nations do happen — with surprising regularity.  So it’s interesting to note that a couple of curious things have occurred since John and Jiechi put their heads together in the Forbidden City.  First, the Chinese government has suddenly jumped on the environmental protection bandwagon — which is totally odd because, less than a month ago, their official Party line was Climate Change was something the West had made up to piss them off.  Remember these are the folks who spray-painted the Beijing grass green to impress the IOC.  Secondly, and most curious of all, Kim Jong-un, who, two weeks ago, was mad enough to nuke a basket of puppies, has fallen off the radar entirely.  He doesn’t seem to want to vaporize his neighbours anymore, kill Imperialists, play with his warheads or even test his missiles.  In fact, aside from chillin’ with Dennis Rodman, nobody’s heard from the guy.

korea5So what caused these momentous events?  There are three possibilities.  One, John Kerry is the greatest diplomat since Coenus the Weary convinced Alexander the Great to give it up at the Ganges River, turn around and go home.  That’s a nice idea, but I don’t think so (given John’s track record.)  Two, the Chinese suddenly discovered their Inner Altruist and couldn’t wait to share it with the world.  Again, a nice thought but…  Or, finally, three, the Chinese (who, as you know, play puppeteer to Kim Jong-un’s marionette) got what they wanted.  Then, happy as a clam, they told Kim to sit down and shut up, tossed Kerry some Climate Change rhetoric to take home and called it a day.  If you go with Door #3 on this one, I don’t know what you bet — but I think you won.

But the most curious thing of all is, even with a multibillion-dollar budget it appears as if the folks down at Foggy Bottom have never seen fit to buy a copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War — and if they have they sure as hell have never read it.

Voluntourism: Another Do-Good Blunder

volunteer2Apparently, for the last several years, in the upper reaches of Western society, the elite among us have been moiling away doing good works.  This is not new: the crème de la crème have always shared their largesse with the rest of us, but in the old days it was kinda ad hoc, and, therefore manageable.  These days, however, volunteerism has become a multinational business (like the oh-so- evil Walmart) and it’s getting out of hand.  I realize calling down charity is like attacking a unicorn — nobody’s going give me a thumbs up on this one — but when something becomes a destructive force, what am I supposed to do?

So, ladies and gentleman, I give you the latest in a series of do-gooder blunders: voluntourism.  This little puppy is so wrong — on so many levels — I don’t even know where to start — perhaps, a definition?

In essence, voluntourism is a thinly disguised guilt-free vacation.  Rich people can indulge themselves, eat up tons of fossil fuels and other resources and justify it by “giving back” (a vague feel good term that means absolutely nothing.)  The vast majority of voluntourists are well-meaning high school and college kids who can afford to “give back” because they don’t have to sling burgers or mochaccinos on a daily basis to pay for their education.  The voluntourism experience looks good on a CV; thus giving the voluntourist a rung up on the education and career ladders over their poor bugger peers (who couldn’t afford a semester off in sub Saharan Gabrungi.)  Plus, it gives them something to brag about until the first child goes to preppie preschool.  Everybody’s happy — except some of us are a little happier than others.

At the other end of this libero-colonial adventure, the target destinations either adapt to their newfound benefactors or they go under.  I can’t think of a better way to screw up a struggling local economy than introducing a pool of high quality unpaid labour into the mix.  Suddenly, the neighbourhood workforce (in pretty much every area except aid administration) is facing stiff competition from a gang of gungho kids from Indiana.  These boys and girls have resources at their disposal that the local folks can only dream about, and they’re undercutting shipping, handling, materials and labour by 100%.  Think about it: how long volunteer5would even a mighty Mcdonald’s franchise last if I opened a burger joint down the block that gave away Happy Meals for free?  Even when the voluntourists actually work with the locals, they’re still stealing jobs.  These are jobs that an embryonic micro-economy can’t afford to lose.

The only defence against this economic genocide is, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.  Many local institutions have had to become part of the Western charity food chain in order to survive.  Frankly, there’s no advantage to solving problems and flying right if the minute you do, the voluntourists move on, the money dries up and you’re left worse off than when you started.  In fact, there are some very clear advantages to not poking your head above the poverty line.  So when the voluntourists show up and want to build yet another school, your best bet is to shut up and let them do it.  If nothing else, some local somebody is going to make a shekel or two feeding, housing and looking after these contemporary bwanas.  Besides, they might tell their friends what a good time they had sorting out the natives, and next season’s crop of Lady Bountifuls will be assured.  “It’s the Circle of Life/And it moves us all.”

I’m not against charity, volunteerism or giving my fellow human beings a helping hand.  I just can’t abide a bunch of people blundering around the world paving the local roads to hell with their good intentions.  The grinding poverty on our planet doesn’t need charity; it needs jobs — local jobs that feed the local economy.  Those people who want to help the downtrodden places in our world need to commit to more than just a vacation full.  They need to bring business with them when they come, open a local volunteer6bank for microloans, or start an export clothing business, a bicycle repair shop, or just a simple bed and breakfast.  Unfortunately, these things take time and commitment, and the positive results need years to take root.  Voluntourists have to get back to their own lives.  They have things to do that don’t include slogging it out in a minor village in Cambodia or Rwanda for five, ten or twenty years.

I don’t care how you slice it: voluntourists are tourists; that’s all they are.  The interesting thing is, since tourism adds a lot of dollars to any local economy, everybody would be a lot better off, if they just acted like it.

Miss Reed and Acts of Terror

miss reedI met Miss Reed (not her real name) many years ago in a Residential Hotel in London.  She was 80-something and lied about her age.  Strictly speaking British residential hotels are not retirement facilities, so according to her — and select members of the staff — she was 72 (and had been for more than a decade.)  The fiction was Miss Reed was looking for a part time teaching position in the area.  She had excellent credentials.  As a young woman, she’d left Britain sometime in the 30s to teach school in China – Shanghai, to be exact.  She’d vaguely spent World War II in the Far East (she redirected all my questions about the war.)  When the war was over, she slowly retreated home to London as the British Empire closed up shop; first in India, then in Kuala Lumpur and finally at a boarding school in Sevenoaks, Kent.  The London she lived in was not the London she’d left, and it made her sad sometimes.

For those of you unfamiliar with British residential hotels, they are all basically the same.  There are rooms upstairs, reception, a dining area and a lounge/bar which usually opens at six.  Actually, just think Fawlty Towers.  There is always a Basil in there somewhere, a Manuel and at least one Major.  The place we stayed at had several.  It was these various ex-military residents and the IRA’s propensity for revenge that made our hotel a “soft” target for terrorism (although nobody called it that in those days.)  It was The Troubles and it wasn’t open to academic debate.  We were shown the evacuation routes, told not to leave our bags unattended and generally advised to be cautious during our stay.  I had no idea what cautious looked like.  After all, I hadn’t been threatened with violence since Betty Jones and her big boyfriend decided my lunch looked more interesting than hers back in second grade.   However, being in a foreign country, I wanted to do my best, so, after the first couple of days of getting the lay of the land, I took the nightly residential gathering over drinks in the lounge to ask around.  Most of the advice was the usual; hide your wallet sort of thing, although one fellow did tell me it was best not to speak to Irishmen.  Then there was Miss Reed who usually had one gin before dinner.

“Nonsense,” she said, “Here we are, young man, and here is where we intend to stay.  We haven’t drawn the curtains and turned down the lights.  One cannot hide from those who would do us harm.  So we must go about our affairs as best we can.  In the High Street every day, there are automobiles and buses whizzing about and any one of them can strike you down in a second.  So what do we do?  Stand at the kerb and wait for them to go away?  Return home and lock our doors?  No, we cross.  We use caution and look both ways — but we cross.”

So Boston, it’s time to take your place with London, New York, Madrid and Oklahoma City.  It’s time to open your curtains and turn on the lights.  The madmen, who wish to do you harm, are not going to go away.  They live on fear and the only way to defend yourself is to take that away from them.

The next day, Miss Reed put on her hat and her gloves and went out, as she did every afternoon, to have tea on the High Street.