Where in the World is Mark?

India 8: Love Delhi

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Mon, 18 Dec 2017 21:29:00 +0000

Today, I have to acknowledge the folks who made my time in Delhi not only productive, but a great pleasure. You've seen in previous blog posts about trips I took with Ravi and his family, whom I met through a mutual friend from my time at Baptist Campus Ministry at Western Kentucky University. Well, in addition to running a group of homes for children in north Delhi, Ravi and his ever-growing set of friends organize monthly outreaches in central Delhi, called "Love Delhi."

Love Delhi is all about encouraging young people, especially the many young and ambitious people who come to Delhi for educational and business opportunities. At its monthly gatherings in a Delhi venue called "The Attic" just off of Connaught Place (the central shopping district and gathering place in New Delhi), there is live music, comedy, and short talks meant to encourage young people toward finding meaning and purpose in life. For many of those involved in Love Delhi, that purpose is found in Christ, but not for all: the forum is open to everybody, and a variety of views about meaning are offered. Each month, there would be an overarching theme for the meeting, such as "Independence" (in August, for Independence Day), or "Peace."

The Friday afternoon before the Love Delhi meeting, leaders and volunteers would go to the central park in the middle of Connaught Place. There, where many young folks gather after work, they play music and hand out information about the event to take place the following evening. Sometimes they would also go to spread the word Saturday afternoon just before the event. Each time I went, we would meet all kinds of folks, many of whom were looking for some kind of community, and many would come to check out the music (and snacks).

The Love Delhi team (left) playing music to spread the word about the event in the central park at Connaught Place.

Love Delhi's team is blessed with quite a few skilled musicians, including Gary (guitar) and Rahul (drum) in the photo below. These guys would lead us in Bollywood songs, and sometimes perform Christian songs.

These Sikh men politely declined to come, since there would be Bollywood songs. I was glad they politely declined, since they carried swords.

Setting up in the Attic on Saturday afternoon, which is an important task...

Another great musician, on the left with the electric guitar: Joel

...as is manning the snack table...

Caitlin (Ravi's wife), and Kelsey (Gary's wife) guarding the snacks.

...since you needed to be ready for a big crowd:

The room was always packed--and it was a small room. The floor just in front of the stage was covered with people!

Every time I went, there was always a game. The one pictured below involved seeing how much cinnamon competitors could consume; harder than it sounds:

Vishal, on the left, organized the games/torments. One game involved Marmite, which he inexplicably came to love while spending time in Australia.

In addition to people sharing stories or ideas if they wanted to, usually Ravi or another leader, Moses (who works with the organization Youth With a Mission, or YWAM) would share a brief lesson relating to the day's topic, and how it fit into God's message.

Moses sharing at Love Delhi.

What really sets Love Delhi apart, in my book, is how it operates as a community, welcoming anyone and everyone who crosses the path of Ravi and his friends into a family. Over my four months in India, I felt I was a part of Ravi's family, from the day we met.

I got to celebrate Ravi and Caitlin's two kids' birthdays:

Oliver looking forward to his birthday cake.

Norah enjoying all the attention at her birthday party.

I really can't thank the Love Delhi family enough. If you're ever in Delhi, I'll put you in touch with them. They'll make you feel at home. I can't wait to go back, largely because of these friends.

***

The video for today is one I love, and have been thinking of because I'll be traveling home soon. I'm always hoping I can take option C.

India 7: Jaipur

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sun, 17 Dec 2017 23:49:00 +0000

Despite what these blog posts would suggest, I did in fact do archival work while I was in India. It just doesn't make for interesting photos (especially since none of the archives I worked at allowed photos!). My last trip was in September, when my friend Ravi and his family invited me to accompany them to Jaipur in Rajasthan.

As in Kolkata, Ravi went to Jaipur to conduct a workshop inviting Christians there to join in reaching out to those around them. I had the privilege of briefly sharing with this group too, but it was mainly Ravi and local leaders from Campus Crusade for Christ who led us in worship and teaching. The need for Christ to bring peace among peoples and transformation in hearts was underlined by recent events when we arrived: the center of the city was shut down due to clashes between Hindus and Muslims over the past several days. (In fact, the authorities shut down mobile internet connectivity in the city, too, to prevent outrage fueling reprisals among the various groups on social media!)

Oliver approved of the proceedings.

Relaxing (with tea, of course) with the Campus Crusade leaders after the workshop, in the hills above Jaipur.

After our one-day workshop, while Ravi attended a conference of Christian leaders from across Rajasthan, I took the opportunity to see the sights. Principally, I explored two fortresses which overlook Jaipur, sitting atop hills just outside the city. The first, Amer Fort, is often referred to as "Amber Fort" because of its sandstone walls. Since the fortresses are up a bit (Amer Fort is the lower of the two), you have to climb a lot of stairs.

Members of GAS: Goats Against Stairs.

However, all that climbing allows for amazing views of the incredible lines of fortifications which stretch all across the hills:

The Amber Fort was built in the 1600s, and served as the seat of the Rajput Maharajas who ruled the region. Below are pictures of the Ganesh Gate, dedicated to one of the most popular and well-known Hindu gods, the elephant-headed Ganesh. The gate separates the public portion of the palace from the private residence.

Ganesh Gate

Door of the Ganesh Gate

Beyond the Ganesh Gate, in the private portion of the palace, you find not only perfectly manicured gardens, but also the Hall of Private Audience (Diwan-i-Khas), where royals would entertain special guests.

Garden facing Diwan-i-Khas (from above)

Enlarged to see the intricate decoration of the walls of Diwan-i-Khas.

Diwan-i-Khas from the garden

Surrounding fortifications, seen from rooftop of Amber Fort

Decoration in the Ladies' Chambers

Conveniently, a tunnel connects Amber Fort to the fortress which looms on the hilltop above it, known as Jaigarh Fort. Thankfully I didn't have to rely on torchlight to get through. Built in 1726, Jaigarh improved the security of Amber Fort, but it also protected a massive cannon foundry, which had operated for decades thanks to iron ore deposits in the surrounding hills. Also due to some fortunate politicking: according to the explanation at the fort, the Mughals closely guarded their mastery of gunpowder weapons after conquering north India from Afghanistan in the early 1500s. However, they sent the ruler of Amber Fort to wage a campaign in Afghanistan in the mid-1500s, and the rulers brought gunpowder and its attendant weapons technology back with them. (You'll see the gunpowder connection below.) Jaigarh sits at the very top of the hill, offering an unparalleled view.

Jaigarh looking down on Amber Fort

The view from Jaigarh

Looking down on Amber Fort, from Jaigarh Fort.

The fortifications snake around a small reservoir.

The cannon foundry was obviously successful, as it produced cannons both small and large:

Cannon cast in 1599

This big 'un is called Jaivana. Cast in 1720, it is 20 feet long, weighs 50 tons, and can fire a cannonball 22 miles.

Man standing in a poor position vis-a-vis Jaivana.

And the ever-present monkey, guarding Jaigarh.

From the heights at Jaigarh, you can see down to the city of Jaipur proper, by Man Sagar Lake. In the middle of the lake, you can make out an island with a palace on it:

Except it's not exactly an island with a palace on it: it's more of a palace-island. This is Jal Mahal (water palace), built in 1750, and it actually goes even further down into the lake, with 4 submerged stories! I don't really understand the engineering of all that, but it's really pretty.

Jal Mahal from eye level

On the way out of Jaipur at the end of a lovely week, we were accompanied by the elephants (which you can hire to take you up the hills to Amber Fort). Elephants are cool. I had to photo out the car window, so apologies for the poor quality.

My sincere thanks to Ravi and his family, yet again, for inviting me to join them on this incredible trip. In my next blog post, I will offer more information about what Ravi and his colleagues are doing, and how I got to offer a tiny bit of help.

***
For the video today, I pull out one of the big guns; my favorite of the short films viewed from the Satellite of Love on MST3K.

India 6: Calicut-up, or, What kind of pun can you make out of Kozhikode?

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sat, 09 Dec 2017 00:29:00 +0000

My final stop on my pleasure cruise through southern India was Calicut (or Kozhikode) in Kerala, on India's southeastern Malabar coast. Kozhikode is the city's name in Malayalam, the main language in Kerala (and which one Keralan informed me is the language spoken in heaven, so we'd better get a head start on it now); "Calicut" comes from an Anglicization of the Arabic name for the city.

Calicut has been a center of trade, especially in spices, since the 7th century AD when Arab traders first interacted with it. Also, Vasco da Gama landed just north of the city in 1498, integrating Calicut into an inter-oceanic economy which by the early 1500s would ring the globe. The excellent Indian cloth traded through Calicut came to be known as "calico."

For my purposes, though, Calicut's interest lies in one of its later famous sons: the subject of my research in India, VK Krishna Menon. Although he spent little time in Kerala after leaving it for college in Madras in the 1910s, a small museum commemorates him in his hometown. As does an indoor stadium, which I think he would have found bemusing. Youngsters were playing volleyball in there the day I went by, as I recall.

But in any case, the museum was atop a hill in the lovely, amazingly green forest, in a compound with an art gallery and a planetarium. I focused on the Krishna Menon museum, which gathered many of his effects, and which I found revealing:

A model of Sputnik, gift of the Soviets

Gift from the UAR (Nasser's Egypt, known as the "United Arab Republic" after 1958)

Krishna Menon's desk, complete with bust of Lenin and framed photo of his friend and colleague, Jawaharlal Nehru

Krishna Menon in profile, complete with cane. (He always used one after being hit by a car in London once!)

Myself with Mr. Menon...

...and with the museum's curator, who kindly allowed me to take photographs.

Not all of Krishna Menon's effects were Soviet- or Third World-themed, but enough were to help me understand him better than I did before visiting the museum! Which helps me justify this as a research trip.

There is a strong Communist tradition in Kerala; in fact, Kerala was briefly home of the first democratically elected Communist government from 1957, but Nehru, while on the left, would not tolerate a Communist government in India, and had the government disbanded in 1959. (Communists would be elected and form the government of West Bengal in 1977, which they held until 2011.) The Communist Party retains a presence in Kerala, as evidenced by this poster I saw while walking through town:

The Four Amigos; or, the decreasing efficacy of facial hair over time

I didn't tarry long by the dictators of the proletariat, though, since I was on my way to the beach. Having put my feet in the Bay of Bengal back in Chennai, I was determined to put my feet in the Arabian Sea, thereby claiming the entire Indian Ocean for the Reeves family henceforth and forevermore. For reasons I cannot explain, while the Bay of Bengal was warm, the Arabian Sea was cold.

On the way back through town, I went through SM (Sweetmeat) Street, a thriving market which has reportedly been in operation since the 7th century.

Then, just to give you a taste of the contrasts contained within the continent that is India, later that night I ate the best beef of my life: cooked in banana leaf, it was so beautifully tender and seasoned; ah...bliss.

Along with Enugu in eastern Nigeria, Calicut is one of the greenest, most lush places I've ever been. Kerala is a popular holiday destination for Indians and foreigners alike, and I look forward to getting back. And this time, not for "work."

***
The video today offers the way I think many Western (and some Soviet) policymakers viewed Krishna Menon, who constantly frustrated them at the UN and on the sidelines of major diplomatic gatherings, such as the 1954 Geneva Conference on Korea and Indochina, and the conferences seeking a solution to 1956's Suez Crisis. The view was misguided based on the evidence I've seen, but I do sometimes like to think of him as a Bond villain.

Krishna Menon, making his case for Bond villain in 1955:

Compare, Time's super-villain of 1962:

The other super-villain of 1962:

India 5: Chennai, no it's Madras; it's no one's business but the Indians'

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Fri, 08 Dec 2017 23:18:00 +0000

After visiting Hyderabad, I went further south to the city formerly known as Madras, now known as Chennai. I went mostly for recreation, but also for a tiny bit of research, since Chennai is the home of the Theosophist Society, an odd little sect created in the 19th century by Europeans and Americans out of an amalgam of esoteric, mysticist, and occult beliefs. (It is also, incidentally, the source of the internal mythology for Twin Peaks--which gives you an indication of where the weirdness level is starting.) In any case, the Theosophist founders relocated from New York to Madras in 1875, opening a compound which is still owned and operated by the Theosophical Society.

One famous Theosophist was Annie Besant, the Irish radical and feminist who relocated to Madras in the 1890s. There, she also became involved with the nascent Indian nationalist movement, founding the Indian Home Rule League in 1916 and serving as president of the Indian National Congress in 1917-18. Coinciding with her time in Madras, the young V.K. Krishna Menon went to school at Presidency College in Madras, where he came into contact with Besant and got involved in Indian nationalism. (Apparently he ran the Congress' flag up the flagpole at the school, much to the administration's consternation.) Besant then funded Krishna Menon going to London in 1922 in order to pursue further studies, and to lobby for Indian home rule in Britain. By the late 1920s, Menon broke with Besant and struck out on his own, following the line of Gandhi and Nehru's leadership of the Congress instead.

Theosophical Society Library

All of that to say: I went to use the Theosophists' library!

The entire neighborhood, called Adyar, around the Theosophist compound is named after Annie Besant, including one sign which struck my interest:

Anyone up for a jamboree?

Scouting has meant different things in different national contexts, but perhaps none more different from Baden-Powell's vision than scouting in India, where in the early 20th century scouting was associated with Indian nationalism. Thus, Besant and other Indian nationalists encouraged young Indian men to join the scouting movement; there are reports of Krishna Menon riding his bike around Madras evangelizing for scouting. I would pay money to see such photos.

The Bay of Bengal: warm

Just down the road from Adyar, one runs into the Bay of Bengal, the eastern arm of the Indian Ocean. I just stuck my feet in the water, and was pleasantly surprised to find it warm. (Check my upcoming post about Kerala to see the comparison with the Indian Ocean's western arm, known as the Arabian Sea.)

Chennai is also famous as the traditional resting place, and place of martyrdom, of the Apostle Thomas. Thomas is said to have arrived in Kerala, on India's southwest coast, around 52 AD, and then moved inland across the Deccan in the mid-60s, before coming to the southeast coast, where he was martyred ca. 68-72. Nestorian Christians founded a community on the supposed spot of his tomb in the 900s, where the Portguese built a cathedral in the mid-1500s. Now an English neo-Gothic church, built in 1893, houses his relics. (I'll admit it's not my favorite cathedral building, but in this case, it's the inside that counts.)

This was one of my favorite places to visit, since, despite debates about the historicity of Thomas coming to India, the traditions do attest to the early history of Christianity in India, and Asia. The antiquity of Christian community in West and South Asia reminds us that Europeans, much less Western Europeans, and even less Americans, were late in coming to Christianity. This reminds us that Christianity is and always has been a global faith, and it belies any historical claim to Western European claims of enlightening the "Orient." Asia and Africa brought the Gospel to Europe, after all, not the other way around.

I'll also just take a moment to note my appreciation for Thomas. After all, it is his question to Jesus, "How can we know the way?," which prompts Jesus' clear declaration of himself as God reaching down to us, rather than us trying to get to him: "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me" (John 14:5-6). And while he disbelieves in Jesus' resurrection, Jesus not only met him in his doubt, but also offered great hope to those of us without the privilege of physically being in Jesus' presence: "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed" (John 20:29). People like, one presumes, the Indians who met Jesus through Thomas' ministry.

MGR memorial

OK, off my soapbox. I found another prominent mausoleum along the coast in Chennai, in the form of the tomb of Jayalalithaa, the Chief Minister (Prime Minister) of Tamil Nadu for most of the duration from 1991 to 2016. Originally a film star in the Tamil film industry (Tamil is the local language in India's far southeast), she became a politician as the protegee of another film star-turned-politician, MG Ramachandran (MGR)--who is buried just down the beach from her. Her death in 2016 was a big deal in southern India, and across India.

Just a reminder that celebrities turned politicians are nothing new around the world! MGR became Chief Minister in Tamil Nadu in 1977, three years before the United States would elect its first (but not last) entertainer turned politician.

Jayalalithaa's tomb

After Chennai, I flew over to the other end of India's tip: the southwest coast, a region known as Kerala. That will be coming to you shortly, in another post. (I did eventually return to Delhi and do some work.)

***

For my video, this just makes me laugh; no political statement intended.

India 4: Hyderabad? Hydera-good, I'd say [pause for laughter]

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Thu, 23 Nov 2017 20:48:00 +0000

At the beginning of August, I took a whirlwind tour of southern India, spending a few days each in Hyderabad, Chennai (Madras), and Kerala. I will cover each of them separately, so we'll start off where I did: Hyderabad!

Hyderabad proved a special treat, because I got to reconnect with Neha, a friend whom I first met nearly ten years ago, at the Baptist Campus Ministry of my undergraduate alma mater, Western Kentucky University. Neha was one of the first international students I met through BCM, and I went on to serve in the BCM's international student ministry for the next six years as I completed my undergraduate and master's degrees. Neha had graduated from WKU after my freshman year, so it was a delight to reconnect after a long time.

Neha works in the tech industry, which is the bedrock of Hyderabad's economy (along with filmmaking; Hyderabad is the center of Telugu-language films, making it Tollywood to Mumbai's Bollywood). Along with Bangalore, Hyderabad serves as one of the chief tech centers in India, earning it the reputation of India's Silicon Valley. Driving around Hyderabad, you find every major multinational represented with a high-rise office building, from Google to pharmaceuticals.

The Buddha Statue from a distance

Another claim to fame for Hyderabad is hosting the world's largest monolith statue (that is, from a single stone) of the Buddha! For some reason, in the 1980s the region's Chief Minister wanted to have a big statue of Buddha, and by golly he got it. In place since 1992, the statue stands 58 feet tall in the middle of Hussain Sagar, a man-made lake built in 1563, which separates Hyderabad from its sister city, Secunderabad. Neha and I visited the lake and the statue on Saturday evening after my arrival.

Neha and I with the giant Buddha.

From inside Golkanda Fort

On Sunday, Neha took me to Golkonda Fortress, a sprawling complex of palaces and fortifications dating from the 1500s, when Hyderabad and its environs were ruled by the Qutb Shahi dynasty, before the Mughal Empire conquered the territory in 1687. The complex is truly beautiful, and it offers a wonderful view of Hyderabad.

Looking down from the fort.

And looking up at the fort.

On Monday, we had a full day of further treasures in Hyderabad. First up was the Salar Jung

Mark in the Salar Jung pose.

Museum, one of India's great museums. It houses an immense collection of Indian artifacts, artwork, and handicrafts, bought by the eponymous Salar Jung, who was one of the ruler of Hyderabad's prime ministers (more on the ruler of Hyderabad a bit later). The museum became a national museum in 1951.

The collection is incredibly large, so I will just highlight a few of the things which caught my eye there.

These carvings, each from a single elephant tusk.

My favorite of the ivory tusk carvings.

A vast menagerie of canes, with colorful handles.

As well as some weapon canes: several of these handles pull out as blades, or tiny pistols.

A truly innumerable collection of Indian blades, just some of which are shown here.

This was in a whole room devoted to wooden toys, but I like the arrangement of all the elephants.

Chowmahalla Palace, seat of the Nizams of Hyderabad

Now speaking of the ruler of Hyderabad...Hyderabad was one of the largest, and richest, of what were called the "princely states" under Britain. That is, rather than being directly ruled by the British, Hyderabad retained its "native ruler": Hyderabad had declared its independence from the Mughal Empire, which ruled most of current-day India before the British, in 1764, but came under British "protection" in 1805. This meant that the Nizam retained nominal independence, but with a Britsih resident supervising control of the realm. That nominal independence did, however, allow the Nizams to become some of the wealthiest people in the world. Also, when British India became independent in 1947, Hyderabad along with the other "princely states" didn't necessarily join, or at least not at first. Most of the princely states negotiated a transfer into India by 1948, but two had a rougher time: Hyderabad, which Indian soldiers invaded in September 1948; the other, Jammu and Kashmir, has remained a source of tension between India and Pakistan ever since its Hindu ruler opted to join India, against the wishes of its majority Muslim population.

All that to say, Neha took me to the Nizam's palace in Hyderabad, called Chowmahalla Palace, which is now a museum. (The Nizam's descendants now mostly live in France; Indira Gandhi stripped the former princes and royal families of their stipends and titles in 1972.) It is a truly beautiful place, with lovely gardens, and like Salar Jung Museum, lots of collections.

Arms in the collection at Chowmahalla

So many swords

View of the Palace from a courtyard.

The extensive collections speak to the Nizam's great wealth, as does the collection of vintage automobiles, one of the Nizam's prized possessions. The last car in the collection was a Buick from 1947.

View of the pool and gardens at Chowmahalla

A sitting room. Tea, anyone?

Neha even got a photo of me in the royal surroundings:

As this is coming out on Thanksgiving back in the States, I really can't say enough how thankful I am to Neha, who was a perfect host in Hyderabad. I'm also thankful to the faithfulness of Kentucky Baptists, whose gifts and hard work made (and make) the Baptist Campus Ministry a great place to meet people from all over the world. I honestly believe my interest in world affairs would not have grown to the degree it has without the influence of BCM, and especially of the many friends which BCM allowed me to make.

***
Two videos today: one serious, one amusing. (Or maybe both amusing, if you like old-timey news announcers.)

The first is a video recording the Indian invasion and occupation of Hyderabad in 1948, an often forgotten episode in the creation of the modern Republic of India:

The second was brought to mind by the parrot-topped cane in the museum, which immediately made me think of Mary Poppins' umbrella in the film. (Apparently one can't embed such a video, so you'll have to follow the link.) And it's always a good time to go fly a kite: https://youtu.be/g89NxTTycxc?t=2m53s

India 3: Kolkata

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sun, 19 Nov 2017 21:20:00 +0000

In mid-July, I went to Kolkata (Calcutta) in West Bengal along with my friends from the Agra trip, and some other new friends. My friends had invited me to come along to join them in putting on a workshop at the Baptist Mission in Kolkata, where they were inviting local Christians (especially young people) to talk about how to influence their communities with Jesus' good news. I was privileged to join in!

Ravi and Oliver; Oliver led us in the singing throughout the workshop.

Workshop participants worshiping together.

The Baptist Mission Station in downtown Kolkata.

I actually went a little early so I could do some research at the National Library of India, which is in Kolkata. Calcutta, as it was then known, was the capital of British India until 1911, and one of the holdovers from this period is the National Library. Like the Library of Congress or the British Library, it serves as a comprehensive library, with the aim of holding all books published in or about India. I went to look for (and found!) some rare books from the 1920s and 1930s concerning the figure I study in India, V.K. Krishna Menon.

National Library of India

Another place in Kolkata reminding us of the British period was the Victoria Memorial, completed in 1921 (20 years after Queen Victoria's death). Victoria never came to India, but in 1870 she was declared its Empress--a title held by the British crown until 1950, when India became a republic. The building is beautiful, though it certainly stands out as a very British building. Kolkata is a hybrid sort of city, with lots of British colonial buildings remaining (as well as street names: one coffee-shop we went to was on Shakespeare Street). Much more so than Delhi, Kolkata retains a certain British presence.

Victoria Memorial

Equally impressive, though less imposing, was the Kolkata Botanical Gardens, home of Asia's largest banyan tree! The Great Banyan is thought to be over 250 years old, and it has spread itself over a wide circumference, such that we couldn't even capture the whole thing!

The Great Banyan

***

For a further appreciation of the British Empire, see the following video:

India 2: Agra

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Fri, 17 Nov 2017 21:56:00 +0000

I do apologize, I've been neglecting this blog for far too long. But the year's getting away from us, and I've got so much to tell about my time in India (June-September) and France (October-December)! So let's get right to it.

In mid-June, a friend of a friend invited me to come with them and several of their other friends for a weekend in Agra, home of the famous Taj Mahal, and a town about 3 hours' drive from Delhi. This was my first time meeting these friends, though they are now very dear to me, and will recur often in these India pictures; so, it's worth an introduction:

Clockwise from top: Oliver; Caitlin; Noora; and Ravi

Left to right: Kelsey, Anurag, and Gary (plus Oliver)

All these folks live in New Delhi and welcome folks from abroad often, which usually means a trip to the Taj Mahal. Therefore, rather than just go to the Taj for the millionth time, they took me along on a different sort of trip, helped along by their friend John, who runs a great bike tour of Agra ("Agra by Bike"). John took us out on the river Yamuna, next to the Taj, so we got to see it reflected in the river:

John: check out <agrabybike.com>!

We then also went to the roof of a nearby cafe, and got to see the Taj from land:

The Taj is a mausoleum, housing Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan's favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, and was completed in 1643. The Taj Mahal is also a functioning mosque, so it is closed to visitors on Fridays for prayers.

Although one of India's main attractions, and among the most photographed buildings in the world, I have to admit I found the view from the rooftop as interesting for the contrast it offered: between the fairly typical 21st century north Indian scene in the foreground, juxtaposed with this massive, iconic, almost inaccessibly famous and beautiful piece of architecture in the background. (It was made a little more grounded by the scaffolding around one of the minarets.)

As a believer that every person who lives and has ever lived has been "made...in the likeness of God" (Genesis 5:1, ESV). As such, the juxtaposition between normality and grandeur that one sees in Agra helps me appreciate that: (a) despite what our world tells us, every person (not just queens and kings) deserves a Taj Mahal; but also, (b) even if we don't have a Taj Mahal built for us, every person has inherent and incredible value, as much value as the Taj. I hope that ultimately, the beauty of a building like the Taj Mahal, built for a person, reminds us not that we ought to have a palace, but that we are made in the image of a God who deserves all the palaces there could ever be. And thankfully, "in my Father's house there are many rooms. ...And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also" (John 14:2,3).

John in his office, with Che Guevara, who probably didn't own a bike shop. Maybe a motorcycle shop?

***

With all this talk of the Taj Mahal, why not listen to the building's great blues music?

India 1: A Passage to India

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Thu, 14 Sep 2017 18:42:00 +0000

A bit of India in Nigeria: a signed portrait of Jawaharlal Nehru in Nnamdi Azikiwe's library.
Plus my reflection because I'm not a great photographer.

Turns out Krishna Menon is at the end of this street.

On May 31, I left Nigeria, and through the magic of time zones, I landed in Delhi on June 1. Leaving behind Nigeria, I came to India to continue my quest for knowledge and/or a dissertation topic. In this third country of my odyssey, I came seeking V.K. Krishna Menon. Krishna Menon was the irascible, cranky, and very leftist advocate for Indian independence in London during the 1930s and 1940s, thorn in the side of the United States at the United Nations throughout the 1950s, and India's Minister of Defence from 1957 to 1962. Despite a nearly thirty year long tenure as Jawaharlal Nehru's confidant, Nehru had to remove Krishna Menon as Defence Minister during the Indian Army's disastrous performance against the Chinese invasion in the fall of 1962 (which by complete coincidence occurred during the Cuban Missile Crisis).

I did some light sightseeing, including at the Rajpath, in the very new part of New Delhi (built by the British in the 1910s to house their governmental offices, relocated from Calcutta in 1912). The building photographed here now houses India's Ministry of Defence, and thus served as Krishna Menon's offices in the late 1950s.

Much of my time in Delhi has been spent either at the National Archives of India, or at the Nehru Memorial Museum and Library, a truly world-class institution housing Jawaharlal Nehru's papers, as well as the papers of many of his colleagues and collaborators, including Krishna Menon.

Teen Murti

"The Nehru" is located at Teen Murti, on the grounds of Nehru's old home, where he stayed from 1947 to 1964 as India's first prime minister. Next to the old house is the Library building, which is where I spend my time.

The Library

Krishna Menon lived just around the corner from Nehru, and even after his sacking in 1962, used to go over to Nehru's house in the evenings to talk about the politics of the day. Krishna Menon never married or had children, and so his house was not kept as a museum, but a statue stands to him on his namesake street, not far from Teen Murti.

In future posts I will offer more about my life in Delhi, but I wanted to finally get the blog up to the current country, at least before I leave India in about two weeks. A blog's work is never finished.

***
The video for today is an interview (I believe from 1954) with Krishna Menon. You can marvel at the former substance of television news:

Nigeria 5: Nsukka

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Wed, 13 Sep 2017 17:28:00 +0000

*Brief programming note: this will be the last post for Nigeria (at least exclusively; I will probably have some posts late in the year comparing the different places I've been this year).

While staying in Enugu, in May, I made a couple of trips to the nearby town of Nsukka. Nsukka is the home of the University of Nigeria, which Nnamdi Azikiwe worked for nearly twenty years to establish. A bit like Thomas Jefferson, who insisted that founding the University of Virginia was his greatest accomplishment, Azikiwe felt that the University of Nigeria was his most important contribution to Nigeria. Azikiwe, unusually for his generation, had studied in the United States rather than in Great Britain, and always wanted to bring an American-style university to Nigeria, in contrast to the British-based universities established during the colonial era (such as the University of Ibadan and the University of Lagos, which began as branches of University College London and King's College London, respectively).

Nnamdi Azikiwe Library at UNN

Before Nigeria became independent, Azikiwe served as the Premier (prime minister) of Eastern Nigeria, and he spearheaded the creation of the University, purchasing land in the small town of Nsukka, a place near and dear to his heart. (Azikiwe had received an alleged* assassination threat while backing an anti-British strike in Lagos in 1945, and had fled to eastern Nigeria, sheltering in the small village of Nsukka. The town held a place in his heart ever since.) [*"Alleged" because his political opponents claim he created this threat out of whole cloth.] With the help of the Ford Foundation and Michigan State University, Azikiwe and the newly independent Nigerian government opened the University of Nigeria for the 1964 academic year.

Mr. Ekwelem

I wanted to see UNN (for "University of Nigeria, Nsukka") in part because of Azikiwe's long association with it, but also because I guessed the university would have materials related to his career. I connected with a librarian at UNN's Nnamdi Azikiwe Library over the internet, and Mr. Vincent Ekwelem served as an incredibly gracious host. (Mr. Ekwelem even took me to the campus health clinic when I got a case of food poisoning--an experience I'd rather not repeat, but which was a truly wonderful case study of generosity: it reminded me of the Good Samaritan.)

Onuiyi Haven

Mr. Ekwelem also provided a crucial connection, to Azikiwe's widow, Professor Uche Azikiwe, who has just retired as a professor of education from UNN. Azikiwe had built his home in Nsukka (called "Onuiyi Haven") and lived there from the 1960s until his death in 1996. Professor Azikiwe graciously allowed me to use Azikiwe's papers, which sadly only cover from around the 1970s. Azikiwe had assiduously kept all of his papers, and even built a library on his estate to house them all, but during the Biafra War, Nigerian Federal forces burned the entire library. Thankfully, some of Azikiwe's papers remain, but I can only imagine the incredible wealth of African and Nigerian history which was lost in 1967 with the burning of that library. This serves as yet another reminder that the academic study of history is not divorced from the unfolding of history itself: after all, historians can only reconstruct what we can access in the physical documents which survive, or in the minds of people who survive to tell their tales.

Mr. Ekwelem also graciously welcomed me into a very interesting space: the UNN Senior Staff Club. Although meant for, well, senior staff, I was welcomed at the club nearly every night of my visit to Nsukka. The club had lots of couches around TVs, usually showing the Champions League finals (in which I cheered for Mr. Ekwelem's beloved Real Madrid), as well as a set of couches circled around a small podium with a wooden throne. There, the president of the club sat each night, and would shout out the "business" of the club, which usually consisted of the mobilization of "soldiers" (bottles of beer) for the members. Members who addressed the club would stand and recite a formula, "Honored president of the club; Life members of the club; Esteemed members of the club; I present these [x] soldiers for..." whatever purpose they had. Since it was election time for the campus' staff and student councils, many people came to the club to offer "soldiers" in pursuit of votes! It was a truly unique experience, and I look forward to returning to the club--not for its soldiers, but for the wonderful barbecued kebabs they served there, in the Hausa style. (I always chuckled to myself too, because the couches at the club looked a lot like the seats in the SPECTRE meeting in Thunderball. Somehow I managed to forget to photograph the club, so you'll have to take my word for it.)

I could not have been more warmly welcomed in Nsukka, either by the University, and especially Mr. Ekwelem, or by Professor Azikiwe at Onuiyi Haven. Nsukka holds a very special place in my heart, and I look forward to returning! I felt my idea of hospitality evolve just by being in Nsukka (and really, in all of Nigeria), and I hope to bring that level of hospitality back with me when I return to the USA next year.

***

For my video today, I thought I would offer what amused me so at the UNN Staff Club--its similarity to a set-up in the James Bond film Thunderball (1965), and the room in which the evil organization SPECTRE meets.

And in case you ever wondered how such rooms actually get built:

Nigeria 4: Enugu

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Tue, 12 Sep 2017 18:40:00 +0000

My apologies for dereliction of duty in getting these blog posts up. Since the year is running out, I realize that I should get these posts up before I come back to the USA...

After two months in Ibadan, in early May I flew to Nigeria's eastern region, where I primarily worked in the city of Enugu. Enugu used to be a coal mining town, but since the discovery of vast oil reserves a bit further south on Nigeria's southeast coast, the coal business has dried up in favor of oil. When British forces fired on a miners' strike in Enugu in 1949, it nearly prompted an anticolonial insurgency in the country. The intervention of Nnamdi Azikiwe helped prevent further violence, to some activists' chagrin at the time. When Cyprian Ekwensi described the incident in his 1954 novel, People of the City, he referred to a thinly veiled Enugu as the "Eastern Greens," which sticks with me, thanks to images like these taken near my hotel.

The city's other claim to fame is as the former capital of Nigeria's Eastern Region, which in 1967 seceded as the Republic of Biafra. The ensuing war, alternately called the Biafra War or the Nigerian Civil War, raged until 1970 and resulted in millions of casualties and a humanitarian crisis. (More on this below.)

For my immediate purposes, Enugu was the site of an important period in Nnamdi Azikiwe's political career. So, since I'm studying Azikiwe, I figured I had better go to his old stomping grounds. Much of my time in the city was spent at the branch of Nigeria's National Archives in Enugu--which, perhaps in a spirit of federal unity, looks exactly the same as the branch in Ibadan.

I also spent a good bit of time at the Polo Fields Mall (built, unsurprisingly, on an old polo field), which provides a useful landmark in Enugu: just go towards the big Ferris wheel.

Bust of Azikiwe at the stadium.

Azikiwe was a sportsman throughout his life, and so it seems fitting that the major stadium in Enugu is named after him. Nnamdi Azikiwe Memorial Stadium serves as the home for the Enugu Rangers, who compete in the NPFL, the Nigerian Professional Football League.

It was tough to get a good shot of the stadium.

I now return to Biafra, because eastern Nigeria has experienced a resurgence of Biafran nationalism in the past several years, partly due to the advocacy of a British-born and -based activist. However, the dissatisfaction with Eastern Nigeria's piece of the pie since 1970 has been simmering for a long time. (For a brief overview, see this and other articles from the excellent site Africa is a Country: http://africasacountry.com/2017/07/nationhood-and-the-struggle-for-biafra/). On my final day in the East (and second to last day in Nigeria), on May 30, there was a 'stay at home' protest where many people across southeast Nigeria stayed at home as a way of indicating the levels of support for Biafran independence, or at least dissatisfaction with the status quo. Other signs of this were apparent even to a clueless white guy like me: at the post office a woman told me she believed Biafra would come some day, though she hoped it would be without violence; and in possibly half the taxi drivers' windows, I would see a sticker like this one:

I apologize for the poor picture quality, but in my defense, the taxi was moving. The sticker shows an imagined nationalist international, with the current leader of Biafran nationalism alongside Vladimir Putin, Benjamin Netanyahu, and Donald Trump, under a banner of fighting terrorism. I believe this is a thinly veiled critique of Nigeria's current government, and especially its president, Buhari, for failing to eradicate the Boko Haram extremist forces in the country's north. But I think that by grouping Nigerian local politics with Israeli, Russian, and now U.S. hardline politics, a sort of anti-Islamist message is implied. I found these stickers fascinating, but sadly my lack of Igbo language skills prevented me from asking about how the taxi drivers interpreted this really interesting read on world politics. I'm afraid the international alliance portrayed will remain quite imaginary: I would be rather surprised if President Trump knows what, or where, Biafra is.

***

For my random video, I offer a slightly less random video, since the music video for Dire Straits' 1980 song "Skateaway" featured none other than Nnamdi Azikiwe's daughter as the "roller girl." Sadly, Jayzik Azikiwe passed away in 2008.

Nigeria 3: BookBuilders

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Wed, 19 Jul 2017 18:53:00 +0000

While I conducted research at the National Archives and the library of the University of Ibadan, I stayed with a wonderful lady, Aunty Chris. Aunty Chris deserves a book of her own, but instead she spends her time publishing other peoples' books, through the publishing house she runs out of her home: BookBuilders. Aunty Chris came to Nigeria in the 1970s, married a Nigerian man, and began a career in publishing. After working for the University of Ibadan Press for many years, she started her own publishing company in the early 1990s, which has become one of the most successful publishing houses in Nigeria's thriving literary market.

BookBuilders, publishing house

BookBuilders is a true publishing house--in that it's a house where people publish. This is not a small operation, though, as BookBuilders employs about six editors, an office manager, and provides a great deal of business to a local printer. Combine this with three dachshunds, an Alsatian, Aunty Chris's housekeeper Aunty Gladys, and the office's housekeeper Aunty Esther, and you have the recipe for what I believe would be a great sitcom. Any showrunners or writers wanting to pitch a pilot based on this premise, just call me; I'll happily split the advance 50-50.

BookBuilders staff hard at work

Aunty Esther (L) and Aunty Gladys (R) at work.

Aunty Gladys (L) and Aunty Esther (R) at play.

The inter-office dynamics made BookBuilders the most delightful of sitcom locations, with Aunty Gladys fussing over Aunty Chris having beer at lunch, everyone in the office's real and feigned fear of the dogs, and the occasional travails of the office's solar system--installed by Aunty Chris's truly ingenious son. (The system worked marvelously, but a storm halfway through my time there knocked some panels down, so it occasionally went out. But to have reliable power was a true blessing, in a country where it is rare to have 12 hours of electricity at a time.)

Even more sitcom-like were the colorful characters coming in and out of the office: taxmen selectively assessing VAT, an architect offering the 20th revision to the drawings in her textbook, and most prominently, the famous Nigerian lawyer (and grand lady, I might add) Chief 'Folake Solanke, SAN. "Chief," as she was known in the office, was the first woman lawyer to become Senior Advocate of Nigeria (SAN), the highest rank a lawyer can achieve--akin to being called to the bar of the U.S. Supreme Court. Moreover, she has been active in UN women's programs (she attended the landmark 1995 Beijing Conference on Women's Rights) and served as the first African president of Zonta International, a service organization for professional women along the lines of the Lions or Rotary Clubs, both of which barred women until the 1980s. BookBuilders published a new edition of her autobiography, Reaching for the Stars, during my time, and I shall have to address the events surrounding that in another post. It was a small cultural education for me.

Program for Chief Solanke's celebration; photo of her in regalia as SAN

From a research standpoint, I ended up staying in Ibadan longer than I had intended, which forced me to cut corners elsewhere in Nigeria. However, only my research project could have torn me away from the BookBuilders family. Aunty Chris was incredibly generous in hosting this unknown grad student who would sleep all hours of the day. Aunty Gladys and Aunty Esther treated me as their own son--and fed me accordingly, which I was happy to oblige. I was truly sorry to leave Ibadan because of BookBuilders, and I'm looking forward to getting back.

Aunty Esther readying some jolof rice to send with me to the airport as I leave for eastern Nigeria.

My two Aunties

***
For whenever BookBuilders the TV series comes to pass, maybe we can use as a template for the opening credits some combination of this...
...and this:

Philippines Redux 3: Community

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sun, 16 Jul 2017 10:28:00 +0000

This may be my final post from my time in the Philippines (coming only 4 months since I left--sorry about that). However, it's probably the most important for me personally. Through the graciousness of a friend-of-a-friend, I got connected with fellow Christians in my area of Manila, both in a local church (Rejoice Family Church) and the University of the Philippines' chapter of Cru (Campus Crusade for Christ). These folks welcomed me into their community during my short stay in the country, for which I am incredibly grateful, and I wanted to let you all get to know some of them.

Pastor Ojie (center) with colleagues outside Rejoice

Rejoice Family Church is pastored by my friend-of-a-friend's dad, Pastor Ojie Bumanglag (Ojie is a nickname; most people in the Philippines have nicknames!). He came to the church about five years ago and sort of 're-started' the church as 'Rejoice.' Now they are ministering to the homeless and drug addicts in the area (the church calls this ministry "the Beloved," a wonderful way to look at it) and is planting churches around Manila and in the provinces around. I had the privilege of being present for the church's fifth anniversary, pictured below. They were beginning what the church called 'the Year of Sending'!

5th anniversary celebration at Rejoice

Brother Toto (left), working with kids in the mountains.

Speaking of sending, one of my friends from the church, Brother Toto (also a nickname; I made no reference to The Wizard of Oz until just now), an incredibly sweet saint who serves as the church's choir director and children's minister. Brother Toto has faithfully checked in with me and prayed for me throughout my time since leaving the Philippines, which has been a wonderful encouragement. He is now beginning service with Servants International's ministry to the urban poor (see more at http://m.servantsasia.org/app/philippines/2163130/36/). In fact, he's beginning his orientation right now. If you would like to support his ministry, please get in touch with me and I can help connect you to Brother Toto.

The young folks at Rejoice introduced me to
good etiquette: before you eat, you have to pray, and take a picture.

The young people at Rejoice also took me in, introducing me to some Philippine delicacies, including halo-halo, the great Philippine dessert (and metaphor for the country?). Halo-halo means 'mix-mix' in Tagalog, so the dessert includes ice cream, shaved ice, milk, jellies, sweet beans, and anything else you can think of. It's good. In the picture here, they introduced me to kare-kare, a stew made with a really thick peanut sauce. Not quite peanut butter, but getting there. Don't knock it until you try it--it's delicious!

The Markists.

At the University of the Philippines, I enjoyed joining the Campus Crusade branch's Wednesday prayer meetings, as well as going out on campus to share the Gospel. Since I had not been involved with Campus Crusade before, one of their leaders trained me with their materials, and we became good friends, partly because of our common name: Mark! His name, however, is Mark Lenin--his father was a communist and wanted to name him Marx Lenin, but the nurse refused, and wrote Mark Lenin on the birth certificate. (Both Mark Lenin and I describe ourselves as Markists.) Mark was and continues to be a very good friend, and I caught him at the tail end of his involvement in campus ministry, as he has now moved on to working with young professionals.

This kind of community is helpful from a practical standpoint: no matter where one goes in the world, there are likely fellow believers in Christ ready and willing to welcome you into their families. But at its heart it teaches a spiritual truth, which the book of Hebrews expresses as follows:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:1-2, ESV)

This is the Christian church at its best: a cloud of witnesses, past and present, motivating one another on to run with endurance, unified not by language or culture or skin or even how exactly we practice our faith, but "looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith." As people, Christians are no better than others, and as a historian I can attest to the many failings of Christians in the past and present. But still we keep going, keep running with endurance, with the transcendent, spiritual strength of God's Holy Spirit empowering us and the great cloud of witnesses encouraging us.

***

And now for something completely different: some workout ideas!

Nigeria 2: ABBA and Awo

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sun, 16 Jul 2017 08:31:00 +0000

While working in the Special Collections at the University of Ibadan, a fellow researcher told me about a library in the nearby town of Ikenne. This library, housed at the compound of the late politician Obafemi Awolowo (1909-1987), contained Awolowo's papers from the 1930s until his death. Awolowo, or "Awo," was the fierce rival of the man I am studying (Nnamdi Azikiwe--more on him in future posts), and an extremely capable politician. A hero among the Yoruba people, Awolowo secured his place in western Nigeria's memory when he served as the western region's premier from 1954 to 1959, implementing universal primary education, universal health care, and significant housing schemes. The neighborhood where I stayed in Ibadan had been built under his administration in the 1950s, and the houses still stood tall. More importantly, the legacy of health care and literacy among the Yoruba people, and the entire population of western Nigeria, helped make it the strongest economic area of the country for most of the past 60 years.

I enjoyed the opportunity to visit his home, which is well maintained, and I was pleased to find his papers in good order (if not terribly well secured). It is a rich collection which helped my research and will help many others.

Sopolu Library at Awo's compound (named for his grandfather)

Mausoleum containing Awo's remains.

Small museum on Awo's compound; sadly it remains closed most of the year.

Just as pleasant as the library itself was my trip to and from Ikenne. The drive from Ibadan only took about an hour each way, and the roads were pretty good except for a few bumpy patches. But I wouldn't have been able to navigate any of it on my own; thankfully I had a great driver recommended by one of my faculty mentors and Aunty Chris, my host. Mr. Taiwo was a delight, but like many young Nigerians, he is struggling to get by despite an incredible work ethic. (That is something you should know about Nigerians: they are always working, or 'hustling' as they put it.) But in an oil-dependent economy, when the price of oil goes down, everybody goes down. I was glad I could provide at least some business to Taiwo.

I realize now I don't have a picture of Taiwo!

Much to my delight and bemusement, Taiwo loves the Swedish band ABBA. So we listened to ABBA's greatest hits to and from Ikenne, as Taiwo belted out the words to "Mamma Mia!," "Fernando," "Dancing Queen," and "Waterloo" all the way there and back again. (I first encountered this same album when I studied abroad in France, and my host mom would play it in the car as we drove around the Normand countryside. I vividly remember telling her what the English lyrics to "Waterloo" meant, at which she was mildly indignant.)

I've encountered it too many times to count, but throughout this journey I continue to find myself surprised at just how common much of global popular culture is, especially from Europe and the United States, from the omnipresence of the English Premier League and hip-hop to the Anglican liturgy and, yes, ABBA. So if you are ever parachuted into the middle of Nigeria, chances are that even if you couldn't speak to someone through a common language, you could communicate through some piece of popular culture. If all else fails, try ABBA.

***
Today's clip comes from a strange little Youtube phenomenon, which posits that you can add Dire Straits' 1985 hit "Walk of Life" to any movie's ending to enhance (ruin) it. My favorite is from that great American romantic comedy, The Silence of the Lambs.

Philippines Redux 2: Corregidor

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Tue, 20 Jun 2017 13:33:00 +0000

Map of Manila Bay

On the same day I visited Fort Santiago, I also took a boat out to Corregidor, an island in Manila Bay and site of a critical fortress guarding the approach to Manila.

'Bataan Death March,' 1994 painting by Lideo Mariano, in the
museum on Corregidor.

Corregidor was the last bastion of U.S.-Philippine (or, as it was known at the time, Filamerican) resistance to the Japanese invasion of the Philippines in 1941-2. The Japanese attack on the Philippines began simultaneously with the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor (and since the Philippines is on the other side of the international date line, this was technically December 8 rather than December 7). Japanese forces had expected the Philippines to fall as quickly as British and Dutch forces did in Hong Kong, Malaya, Singapore, and modern Indonesia, but thanks primarily to the sacrificial and committed service of Philippine soldiers (around 120,000), along with a smaller force of U.S. soldiers (around 30,000). With their air force destroyed in the initial attack, and no reinforcements coming from the United States due to the losses at Pearl Harbor, this force fought a rearguard action against the Japanese which tied them down on the Bataan Peninsula for five months. The invading Japanese forces punished the nearly 100,000 Filamerican captured soldiers on the brutal Bataan Death March.

The Bataan campaign had been coordinated from Corregidor by General Douglas MacArthur. After the fall of Bataan on April 12, 1942, Corregidor became the last bastion of Filamerican forces, and was subjected to merciless bombing. The small force remaining on Corregidor took refuge in the Malinta Tunnel under the island's central mountain, a smoke-filled space crowded with generals, Philippine politicians, and the dead and wounded.

Effects of Japanese bombing, inside Malinta Tunnel

Romulo (standing) with Philippine Commonwealth
president Manuel Quezon in Malinta Tunnel.

The Philippine politician I study, Carlos P. Romulo, served as General MacArthur's press officer during this period, and writes memorably in his book, I Saw the Fall of the Philippines, about the difficulties of this experience--as well as the eccentricities of MacArthur, who would stand outside during Japanese bombing raids, smoking his corncob pipe, firm in his belief that he was divinely ordained to survive and lead a Filamerican victory. MacArthur had been furious with FDR for choosing not to send reinforcements to the Philippines--though MacArthur also deserves blame for leaving the entire U.S. air defense on their runways after reports of the Pearl Harbor attack came in, allowing the Japanese to destroy nearly every U.S. plane without a fight. MacArthur did lead a victory, of a sort; when he evacuated to Australia (against his will), he promised, "I will return." He did return, with Filamerican forces, in 1944, but only after thousands and thousands of casualties, a brutal Japanese occupation, and the near total destruction of Manila.

Pacific War Memorial

Altar within the rotunda

Corregidor finally fell to the Japanese on May 5, 1942. Not surprisingly, the story of Corregidor has not been forgotten in the Philippines, though most Americans likely have never heard of Bataan or Corregidor. The U.S. government funded a Pacific War Memorial on the island, with a rotunda where the sun shines down onto the central altar at noon on May 5 to commemorate the surrender.

I am glad that the U.S. government funded this structure, but I wish that more Americans knew about and remembered Bataan and Corregidor. It reminds us of the immense debt we owe, not only to U.S. servicemen, but to Philippine forces as well. Without their sacrifices on Bataan and Corregidor, the fight to retake the Pacific from the Japanese would have been much more difficult--and Australia might have fallen to Japan. In a time when 'America First' returns to the U.S. vocabulary, it is critically important to remember and honor the Americans and Filipinos who gave the last full measure of devotion--but to my mind, especially the Filipinos, who defended a United States they considered their occupier, and which had abandoned their country to the enemy in the interest of 'Europe First.'

Corregidor is the final resting place not only of Filipinos and Americans, but of Japanese as well. In the 1990s, the unmarked graves of Corregidor's Japanese casualties were finally identified, and a small memorial set up by the Japanese government. Also found was a flag used by the Japanese force defending the island when Filamerican forces retook it in February 1945. Rather than villains, I hope we can remember and mourn these Japanese soldiers, too, as the victims of a war machine which engulfed the entire world from 1914 until 1945.

Today, Corregidor is a beautiful island, quiet and still. As tensions return to Southeast Asia, with another rising power challenging U.S. power and its allies, I pray that Corregidor remains quiet and still.

The island's characteristic eastern 'tail'

Looking up the mountain ridge which dominates Corregidor

If you ever visit the Philippines, I would encourage you to take the day trip from Manila, which takes you by ferry to the island for a walking and bus tour, lunch, and then gets you back by the afternoon. You won't regret it.

***

The video is a bit somber today, but I think this is appropriate.

Nigeria 1: Oyinbo on Okada

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sun, 18 Jun 2017 07:13:00 +0000

On March 6, I traveled from Manila to Lagos via Doha (I'm sure glad I was flying through Doha before Qatar became the target of a Saudi blockade). Thanks to the very generous help of the sister and brother-in-law of a Nigerian friend I met at the Baptist Campus Ministry at Western Kentucky University, I got from Lagos to the city of Ibadan, about an hour's drive north of Lagos. This Nigerian friend of mine currently lives in Australia, and he's married to a Trinidadian woman: if that's not globalization, I don't know what is!

Ibadan is an old city, long pre-dating British rule in Nigeria, which came relatively late in the scheme of things. In fact, Nigeria as a unit only dates back to 1914, when Lord Lugard amalgamated the British colony of Lagos, the Protectorate of Southern Nigeria, and the Protectorate of Northern Nigeria. Ibadan was and is the center of southwestern Nigeria, a region dominated by the Yoruba people. Much smaller than Lagos but still a sizable city, Ibadan also hosts Nigeria's premier university, where I conducted most of my research.

The gate to the University of Ibadan

The University of Ibadan, housed on a former British military base, dates back to 1948 when the British established it as University College, Ibadan, which awarded degrees from University College, London. In 1960, with Nigeria's independence, UI became an independent degree-granting institution. UI's alumnae include renowned Nigerian authors Chinua Achebe and (Nobel laureate) Wole Soyinka.

Lovely statue at the center of UI's campus

National Archives of Nigeria, Ibadan branch

UI also hosts the main branch of the National Archives of Nigeria. I split my time between the National Archives and the special collections of UI's Kenneth Dike Library, which hold the private papers of several important figures in Nigerian political history.

Kenneth Dike Library

Most days, I would go from the house where I was staying (more on that in another post) to UI's campus by riding on an okada, a motorcycle taxi. ('Okada' was a Nigerian airline which went out of business in 1997, but its memory lives on in the speed of the motor taxis!) This clip isn't of my commute to UI, but it gives an idea of what it's like to ride around on an okada, and to see some of Ibadan. Please pardon the very amateur videography, especially when the opening shot is of my pants: https://youtu.be/6aoaq3mrtjs

In Nigeria, I learned quickly that I was 'oyibo' (pronounced, and sometimes spelled, 'oyinbo'), which means 'white man' in the English pidgin dialect used commonly by Nigeria's many languages. Just walking down the street, and especially riding on the okada, I would hear 'Oyibo!' at frequent but random intervals. I quickly learned to think of myself as an oyinbo.

I will admit this took some getting used to. It was a small piece of the difference non-white people in Europe and the United States experience every single day, with much more of a burden. (I should add, 'oyinbo' was never said to me as an offensive statement, just stating a fact. I am very white.) Once a baby, maybe one year old, started crying when I saw him, and his father explained I was the first oyinbo he had ever seen in person. I was reminded of the much more extreme version of this which Frantz Fanon recounts in Black Skin, White Masks, about a French child crying out in fear at seeing him in his small village. My mind also went frequently to WEB Du Bois's description of 'double consciousness,' the constant experience of black people in the United States experiencing themselves and their lives not simply as people, as Americans, but as always Africans, too, seen as different by those around them.

I share this not to equate my experience with those, but simply to point out that being an oyinbo forced me to think about these phenomena differently than I've ever had to in the United States. On a purely human basis, divorced from sociology and histories of constructing race, it is a very odd thing indeed to be identified by one's skin. I often thought when hearing 'oyinbo!,' "I'm not oyinbo, I'm Mark." Which is a very oyinbo thing to think.

***

My other video today offers (a) joy from my dark soul, and (b) at 9:34 and 9:56, what it sometimes feels like when doing archival research:

Philippines Redux 1: Fort Santiago--An Interpretation

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sat, 17 Jun 2017 07:30:00 +0000

Just before I left Manila, I went to the old section of Manila, Intramuros, which dates back to the beginning of Spanish colonization in the 1500s. There is an old Spanish fort here, Fort Santiago, guarding the banks of the Pasig River, around which Manila first developed. First built in 1571, I see Fort Santiago as a sort of symbol of the Philippines' long history of imperial conquests--as well as its resiliency leading to the independence struggle of the 19th and 20th centuries.

The gate to Fort Santiago

The site of Fort Santiago pre-dates the arrival of Spaniards, having served as the fortress of Malay ruler Raja Soliman. This reminds us (me!) that despite the long Spanish presence in the Philippines, the archipelago's history as a part of the wider Malay world stretching across Southeast Asia reaches far into the past. After the Spanish defeated Raja Soliman, they built Fort Santiago, which was completed in 1571. Damaged in earthquakes and attacks over the next two hundred years, the fort took its current form by 1778.

The sculpture above the gate depicts Saint James (Santiago in Spanish), the patron saint of the Spanish state, who was associated with the defeat of Muslims. This provides a useful opportunity to point out that the conquest of the Philippines and the Americas was part and parcel of the creation of Spain as a state--symbolized most poignantly in the fact that Columbus' landing in the Americas and the Spanish conquest of Grenada both occurred in 1492. The sculpture portrays of Spanish rule in the Philippines as another theater for an anti-Muslim reconquista, though the importance of Manila to Spain had a slightly more pecuniary interest. After the discovery of vast reserves of silver in current Mexico and Bolivia, Manila served as the way station for Spanish galleons bearing silver back to Spain and for trade with Ming Dynasty China and various Indian and Southeast Asian states. Manila was the linchpin of the first truly global economic network.

Since the 1570s, Fort Santiago has witnessed and symbolized the different colonial regimes governing the Philippines. Fort Santiago first changed hands during the often-forgotten British occupation of Manila from 1762-1764--a reminder that what Americans remember as the "French and Indian War" was in fact part of what Winston Churchill called the "First World War," the Seven Years' War of 1754-63, which involved all the European powers and their colonies in Europe, the Americas, South and Southeast Asia. Britain returned Manila to Spain as part of the negotiations to end the War.

Statue of Rizal in the cell where he spent his final night.

In addition to the imperial realignments, Fort Santiago also hosted an important factor in the creation of Philippine nationalism. In the latter part of Spain's rule, the fort served as a prison, and its most famous prisoner was Jose Rizal. Rizal, a prolific writer and polymath, severely criticized the Spanish colonial regime and proposed reform in the relationship between Spain and the archipelago (another useful reminder that, like in the United States, anticolonial revolution rarely began with demands for independence!). Falsely accused of cooperating with more radical nationalists who rose up against Spain in 1896, Rizal was imprisoned en route to serve as a doctor in Cuba. Returned to Manila and imprisoned in Fort Santiago, Rizal was shot just outside the fortress on December 30, 1896. As with Jose Marti in Cuba, Spain made a martyr-hero out of Rizal, just before losing control.

Modern Manila, stretching out on the opposite bank of the Pasig River.

Also like Marti's Cuba, the United States swooped into the vacuum left by Spain to dominate the Philippines for the next fifty years, and beyond. In the aftermath of the failed 1896 revolt, the U.S. defeat of Spain in 1898 seemed to offer what Rizal had inspired the revolutionaries to fight for: Philippine independence, but the United States instead occupied the Philippines and governed it from 1898 to 1946--after a bloody war of occupation fought from 1899 to 1902. The U.S. military used Fort Santiago as its headquarters during the American occupation.

But before Philippine independence in 1946, another imperial overlord passed through Fort Santiago. When Japan invaded and occupied the Philippines from 1942 to 1945, Japanese forces used Fort Santiago as a prison for captured U.S. forces and Philippine guerrillas. Like the rest of Manila, Fort Santiago was almost entirely destroyed by the Battle of Manila between U.S. and Japanese forces in 1945, and rebuilt by the independent Philippine government.

Manila Cathedral, seen from Fort Santiago. First built in 1581, its current building dates from the 1950s.

There is great truth, and hope, in that last fact: despite the utter destruction wreaked on the Philippines by the Second World War, the latest in a series of imperial battles which caught the Philippines in the middle, Filipinos have proven resilient, and rebuilt. Like Jose Rizal, outlasting the forces of destruction which tried to extinguish him and the independence of the Philippines, the Philippines and Filipinos persist, survive, and rebuild.

As a Christian, I don't want to play up this metaphor too much, lest one idolize and deify a nation rather than God. I see it as a picture, a reflection, of a greater Resurrection, of life triumphing over what seemed like the darkest of defeats.

***

The video for today is more somber than usual, but it reflects the sobriety of violence and war. Rudyard Kipling's "The White Man's Burden" is the piece of literature most associated with the U.S. occupation of the Philippines, but an equally important one is Mark Twain's "The War Prayer," which reminds us to face squarely and honestly the consequences of war, and of associating particular political projects with God's name.

Programming Note

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sat, 17 Jun 2017 07:00:00 +0000

My apologies for going off the grid. I was in Nigeria from March 6 to May 31, and due to a more limited Wifi situation, it was more difficult to get blog posts up. I've been in New Delhi since June 1, and despite the better Wifi, I've been lazy about getting stuff up.

So, I will intermingle my last few posts from the Philippines with new posts about Nigeria and new posts about India (there will be lots of posts catching up over the next week or two).

Quezon Memorial

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Mon, 27 Feb 2017 15:04:00 +0000

Well, I'm wrapping up my time here in Manila, so I'm going to try and get a bunch of posts up about different things I've seen, and a little about where I've been working all this time! But today, I'll start with a pretty cool memorial near where I've been living and working.

The University of the Philippines is in one of the cities which makes up Metro Manila, called Quezon City. The city is named after Manuel Quezon (1878-1944). Quezon was instrumental in getting the United States to agree to give the Philippines independence, a plan which was agreed upon in the 1934 Tydings-McDuffie Act. This act created a transition period for the Philippines, where the Philippines would have a self-governing Commonwealth while the United States retained sovereignty until a deadline of 1946, when the Philippines would become independent. Quezon became the president of the new Commonwealth in 1935, a position he would hold until his death in 1944.

Sadly, Quezon died in the United States rather than in his beloved Philippines, since Japan conquered the Philippines in 1942, forcing the Commonwealth government to flee to the United States. It remained there until the reconquest of the Philippines in 1944-45. Therefore, after the Philippines became independent in 1946, the government immediately began plans to build a memorial to the late leader.

The monument was going to be in "Quezon City," then a suburb of Manila which had begun construction while Quezon was still president in the 1930s. The plan had been to relocate the capitol to Quezon City upon independence, but the Japanese occupation and the destruction of Manila in the reconquest of the Philippines interfered with those plans.

We often forget the loss of the Philippines in the United States when we remember World War II, but the occupation and the reconquest left the Philippines absolutely ravaged. At the time, it was said no cities were more devastated by the war than Warsaw and Manila. Here are some photos of Manila after the reconquest in 1945:

The Philippines have come a long way since 1945, though.

Quezon Memorial, AKA Isengard

Ren Mark, my friendly guide

All of that to say...in 1978 construction finished on the Quezon Memorial, a 66-meter high tower (for Quezon's 66 years) at the center of the Quezon Circle, a large park at the center of Quezon City, which had been meant as the site for the presidential palace, Congress, and the Supreme Court. Now, it is a gathering place for families, with amusement park rides, the Quezon museum, a large amphitheater, and lots of goods for sale.

Most important for me, nerd as I am, is the Quezon Museum in the Quezon Memorial tower. A history BA student who worked at the museum, named Ren Mark, was very welcoming to me, and showed me all over the museum.

He showed me the dresses of Mrs. Aurora Quezon:

And the surviving pieces of Quezon's office:

As well as Quezon's tomb, his remains having been returned to the Philippines from upstate New York after the war. Quezon wanted it to resemble Napoleon's tomb in the Hotel des Invalides:

Finally, and most generously, Ren Mark stayed late and took me up the tower, so I could experience Gandalf's imprisonment on the top of Isengard. Thankfully, I didn't have to catch a moth and get the Eagles to come rescue me (magical eagles, not Don Henley). Wonderfully, this gave me the best views of Manila I've ever had:

Looking down on the Quezon Circle, with the fountain at its center.

Great view up Commonwealth Avenue, leading out toward the edge of Manila, and the mountains.

Looking back toward the sea, and the heart of urban Manila. Gives you a sense of the city's size.

Looking out toward the University of the Philippines: the bell tower near the center of the frame is on the UP campus; a little to the right from the tower is the main administrative building, and diagonally behind it, the library, where I spend most of my time.

A sunlit glimpse of the sea beyond all the buildings, to the north.

Yours truly. Thanks to Ren Mark for the photo, and the privilege!

It was an incredible privilege to get these great views, and Ren Mark was a generous and gracious host. He did the Quezon Museum a great service--if you head out that way, ask for Ren Mark!

***

And now for something completely different.

Just in case you hadn't seen it. I'm not sure if Peter Jackson copied the Quezon Memorial, or if the builders just read The Lord of the Rings a lot...

Vietnam Omnibus

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Mon, 20 Feb 2017 14:18:00 +0000

My sincere apologies for going AWOL for the last few weeks: I was in Vietnam for a week earlier this month, and since I returned to the Philippines I’ve kept putting off getting all the pictures together. Well, here they are, at long last: in a full, omnibus edition.

Hiep and his lovely wife, Huyen.

I went to Vietnam at the invitation of my great friend Hiep Nguyen, a Hanoi native whom I met through the Baptist Campus Ministry’s international student outreach when I was an undergraduate at Western Kentucky University. We became good friends, and were roommates for my first year of grad school at WKU, while Hiep finished his MBA. After graduation, Hiep returned to Vietnam, started an English as a Second Language teaching business, and got married! (If you’re interested in learning English in Vietnam, there’s no better place than http://globalchange.edu.vn/.) He’s wanted me to come to Vietnam ever since, and my being in the Philippines seemed close enough. Moreover, the last week in January coincided with the lunar new year, or Tet in Vietnam, the most important holiday of the year, when families gather together from around the country. I felt more privileged than I can say to be invited to join in Hiep’s family celebrations.

The 'turtle temple' at the center of Hoàn Kiếm Lake

Due to a scheduling snafu on my end, I arrived the day after the new year itself, but thankfully the Tet celebrations last for several days. The night of my arrival, Hiep drove me around Hanoi, and especially to a central place in the city, Hoàn Kiếm Lake, or “Lake of the Returned Sword.” As casual passers-by enjoyed a Tet family outing at the lake, Hiep told me the story of the lake: according to legend, the turtle in the lake gave a sword to a Vietnamese king of old, who used the sword to defeat the invading Chinese. Then, the king returned the sword to the turtle and the lake. The turtles who lived in the lake could live for hundreds and hundreds of years, and Vietnam mourned last year when the last was killed, apparently by an invasive species of Chinese turtle. Maybe the humans will help the turtles turn back the invaders this time.

Huyen's family, taking a picture for Tet.

The next morning, Hiep and his lovely wife Huyen drove me to Uông Bí, a city near the coast, to visit Huyen’s family. Although no one but Hiep and Huyen spoke very much English, Huyen’s family could not have made me feel more at home. Huyen’s grandfather (who made me really wish I could speak Vietnamese!) was particularly gracious, even entertaining Hiep and I with a performance on what I believe is the đàn nguyệt (literally, moon string instrument). Then, in what will remain one of my favorite moments in life, he pulled out an electric guitar and played the same song.

đàn nguyệt

Electric guitar

Ba Vang Pagoda

Huyen’s grandfather also took me to the newly completed Ba Vang Pagoda, one of the largest Buddhist pagodas in the world. The visit made me want to brush up on my Buddhism, as I realized how little of the iconography I understood! It is always a special experience to learn about others’ religious beliefs, and to engage in conversation about them. I appreciate Huyen’s grandfather bringing me along for what was a special and meaningful visit at an important time of year.

Ha Long Bay

The next morning, Hiep took me to Hạ Long Bay, a UNESCO World Heritage site and possibly the most beautiful place I have ever seen. Nothing I have seen in all the world has more convinced me of a Creator behind the beauty in our world, though others might interpret the geologic processes which carved these beautiful islands out of limestone karst differently. (Interestingly, this karst is much like that in Kentucky, and its famous Mammoth Cave. In fact, Hiep proudly informed me on arrival that the Hang Son Doong cave system in central Vietnam has recently surpassed the Mammoth Cave system as the largest cave system in the world!) Looking back at these images brings to mind God’s answer to Job, when he asks “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?…Who shut up the sea behind doors when it burst forth from the womb…? …The earth takes shape like clay under a seal; its features stand out like those of a garment” (Job 38:4, 8, 14, NIV). On one island, we got to enjoy a cave, as well as a visit from an enterprising monkey taking advantage of the tourists to get some treats, including a banana—which it opened just like my Grandpa always told me, from the bottom. It then ate it in one bite.

Cute children

Monkey

Quốc Tử Giám

The next morning, we returned to Hanoi to visit more with Hiep’s family. In the afternoon, Hiep took me to the Quốc Tử Giám, or Imperial Academy, better known as the “Temple of Literature,” in downtown Hanoi. The complex, set up as Vietnam’s first national university in 1076 (!), was the site for study of Confucian classics by scholars preparing for exams to serve in the royal court. The gate to the inner courtyard, pictured here, is the symbol for Hanoi. Also pictured are huge stelae from 1484, set on the backs of turtles (who represent wisdom and learning in Vietnamese iconography), recording the names of doctors who passed the royal exams. I think when I (someday) finish this PhD, I should get a stele on the back of a turtle.

Turtle stele; available on Amazon?

Just outside the Temple of Literature, especially for Tet, calligraphists gather to write Chinese characters for luck. Hiep gave me one, with the appropriate word “Serendipity”—though I certainly see it as providence, I am grateful God brought Hiep and I together six years ago when he walked into the Baptist Campus Ministry!

Our calligrapher

All of this provides a good opportunity to discuss the ambiguous and ambivalent Chinese-Vietnamese relationship, as I observed it as an ignorant outsider who visited for a week. Chinese symbols and characters are everywhere, as Vietnam used the Chinese script, and was considered a part of the Sinic, Confucian world, prior to French colonization in the 1880s. (The French introduced the Romanized alphabet currently used for Vietnamese.) Yet, for all these affinities, a great deal of hostility toward China for its numerous conquests, or attempts at conquest, of Vietnam over the last two millennia, remains. The latest, in 1979 (an engagement which Vietnam decidedly won), provided the context for the calligrapher who wrote Hiep’s and my letters. He told us that after serving in the 1979 war, he learned Chinese so he could better understand how to fight them! Yet, his livelihood is selling Chinese characters to display proudly in Vietnamese homes!

National Museum of Vietnam

The same theme emerged the next day, when Huyen, Hiep, and I went to the National Museum of Vietnam. Before the section on the anti-French anticolonial movement (which I found most interesting due to my interest in anticolonialism), practically the entire museum consisted of Vietnamese dynasties driving out, or repelling, Chinese invaders! Even though I tend to focus on European colonization, the museum provided a useful reminder that in the long, two millennia history of Vietnam, the French period (1880s-1954) consisted of a blip in time. Yet, the French and American wars in Vietnam scarred the countryside, and killed more people, than perhaps any of the hundred wars in the previous twenty centuries. The rusty French railway bridge we crossed later that day represents, for me, both the enduring legacy of the colonial era, and its utter hubris. The French didn’t assimilate Vietnam (though the Vietnamese have certainly mastered the baguette!), they built a piece of steel, no longer used for its original purpose, but appropriated by generations of later Vietnamese people.

Elaborate metaphor for colonialism

On a cheerier note, next to the museum, we visited a phở restaurant owned by Hiep’s brother. The phở, pictured here, was delicious: although it’s pretty common in the USA, this was easily the best I’d ever eaten. Usually eaten for breakfast, the rich broth, slurpy noodles, and tender beef are a perfect combination. With some lime juice squeezed in, and lots of herbs, you can’t beat it. Try it if you haven’t. And if you’re in Hanoi, be sure to go to the restaurant!

Hiep and Huyen in old Hanoi

Later that day, we also walked around the crowded streets and alleys of old Hanoi, with its old streets and colonial-era buildings—and lots of Westerners, since Vietnam has become a very attractive tourist spot.

On Friday, Hiep and I went to the outlying village of Bat Trang (after he mercifully let me sleep in), famous for its marvelous pottery. Hiep and I tried our hand at spinning the wheels (Hiep more successfully than I), but after we painted our beautiful vase and brought it back to Hiep’s house, we found it had crumbled in the wrapping! Alas.

Bat Trang

Hiep painting our ill-fated goblet

Mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh

Saturday, my final full day in Vietnam, Huyen, Hiep and I went to the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh, leader of the Vietnamese Communist Party from the 1930s until his death in 1969, and revered as the founding father of Vietnam, having led the Viet Minh against the Japanese and the French, and then the North Vietnamese regime against the USA and the US-allied Republic of Vietnam (South Vietnam). Ho’s face graces all of the currency, and his mausoleum (where he lies in state, like Mao and Lenin) rather outshines the National Parliament across the street. His humble abode, nearby, was a testament to the common touch which enabled him to lead a popular movement for decades, and reach nearly all of his goals. As an American, whatever one believes about Ho, the Vietnam War, or communism, his political and strategic acumen cannot be disregarded.

Van Phuc

Card patterns for silk looms

Finally, we dropped by Van Phuc, a little village tucked within Hanoi, famous for its silk production. As we shopped for beautiful silk scarves and shirts, we also dropped in on a small mill producing silk garments, using the sort of punch-card patterns my great-grandfather used in western North Carolina to make textiles. I don’t think he ever made any silk scarves, though!

All through my time in Hanoi, I got to spend time with Hiep’s family: his two older brothers, his oldest brother’s wife and two children, and Hiep’s parents. I enjoyed playing with Hiep’s nephew and niece (who were amused to no end by my repetition of their nonsense words), and receiving Hiep’s mother’s constant urges to eat more, from noodles and vegetables to more soybeans or more tea! Our last night together was bittersweet, as I expressed to Hiep’s father how grateful I was for his family welcoming me, and affirming that my family considers Hiep a member as well. He expressed hope that our relationship would continue to grow, and would bode well for continued US-Vietnamese cooperation and reconciliation. I could not concur more heartily.

Hiep with his (very silly) niece and nephew

Hiep's mother, in a typical scene, bringing more food. Hiep's brother and sister-in-law are in the center, with Hiep's father to the left.

Hiep's father managing hotpot night!

A pretty great moment: with (from left) Hiep's father, nephew, brother, niece, and sister-in-law. And me, with a lovely gift (replica of a drumhead which we saw at the Temple of Literature and the National Museum) from the family. Their hospitality was gift enough by far!

Then, it was time to go. With a sad farewell, I left Hanoi. I hope to go back soon—to see Hiep and his family again, to learn some Vietnamese, to explore more of a beautiful country, and to better understand its history.

***
And, to keep up tradition, here is a totally unrelated video:
Don't think about it too hard.

I'm on a Boat

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Mon, 23 Jan 2017 14:04:00 +0000

Just a short post this week: on Saturday evening I went for a little dinner cruise around Manila Bay, which provided a good occasion for some pictures of the Manila skyline, albeit at night. (I should highlight just how huge Manila is: Metro Manila has about 12.9 million people, according to 2015 numbers -- http://www.nso-ncr.ph/. That puts Manila on par with cities like Kolkata/Calcutta, Lagos, and Los Angeles. The Metro Manila area includes about 15 separate municipalities.)

Here is the aforementioned boat, where dinner was served:

One of the passengers was celebrating a birthday, which the crew and the musicians announced at least 10 times. It made me think of my dad, because of how much he loves that.

But here is seaside Manila at twilight:

The pier from which we left is off a small peninsula which juts out into the bay off the city, which stretches up and down the coast, and then continues inland. Here's that peninsula, which has casinos, a large mall (more on that in a bit), and hotels.

And, they just happened to do a little fireworks show--just for me, I'm sure.

So, back to malls. Manila, and the Philippines as a whole, is mall-crazy. Right on the peninsula with the pier is a gigantic mall, the Mall of Asia. (I think there should be a World Series of Malls, with the Mall of Asia vs. the Mall of America.) I just have a small piece of it here; just imagine this, but continuing forever.

This is terrible, but whenever I'm near a mall, I can't help but think of the Blues Brothers, and thus I will leave you with that edifying question, "Yes, do you have a Miss Piggy?"

Fear Itself

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Fri, 20 Jan 2017 14:00:00 +0000

I hope you'll forgive my soapbox, as I think about being an American outside the country on an important day.

On January 6, 1941, FDR articulated a vision of what the United States of America could, and should, represent in the world. As part of his State of the Union address, he was explaining why the USA should support the British against the Nazis, and he said:

We look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms. The first is freedom of speech and expression -- everywhere in the world. The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way -- everywhere in the world. The third is freedom from want, which, translated into world terms, means economic understandings which will secure to every nation a healthy peacetime life for its inhabitants -- everywhere in the world. The fourth is freedom from fear, which, translated into world terms, means a world-wide reduction of armaments to such a point and in such a thorough fashion that no nation will be in a position to commit an act of physical aggression against any neighbor -- anywhere in the world.

That is no vision of a distant millennium. It is a definite basis for a kind of world attainable in our own time and generation. That kind of world is the very antithesis of the so-called “new order” of tyranny which the dictators seek to create with the crash of a bomb.

To that new order we oppose the greater conception -- the moral order. A good society is able to face schemes of world domination and foreign revolutions alike without fear.

Since the beginning of our American history we have been engaged in change, in a perpetual, peaceful revolution, a revolution which goes on steadily, quietly, adjusting itself to changing conditions without the concentration camp or the quicklime in the ditch. The world order which we seek is the cooperation of free countries, working together in a friendly, civilized society.

This nation has placed its destiny in the hands and heads and hearts of its millions of free men and women, and its faith in freedom under the guidance of God. Freedom means the supremacy of human rights everywhere. Our support goes to those who struggle to gain those rights and keep them. Our strength is our unity of purpose.

To that high concept there can be no end save victory.

This speech reflects ideals which the United States has rarely lived up to, but that doesn’t make them less valuable. The America that FDR describes here is one I want to live in, that I am proud to call my home. At the time, the Four Freedoms proved as inspirational outside the United States as they were inside the country. But the freedoms serve as a goal for Americans to pursue, both within our borders and around the world.

At a time when our country seems more divided than ever, and the world seems drawn more and more to a ‘new order’ on offer from Russia or China (one where political freedom is traded for material prosperity), I think we need to remember this speech, and its moment. January 1941 was a pretty dark time for democracy: the Nazi-Soviet pact still held, the British were on the ropes, France had fallen, and Japan was on the march. FDR had just been elected to an unprecedented third term, and had instituted the first peacetime draft in U.S. history.

Keeping the differences between 1941 and 2017 in mind, the Four Freedoms still offer us a path forward, through:

Common goals (securing freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom from want, and freedom from fear), even if we disagree on how to achieve those goals.

A resolve to refuse the power of fear: even though FDR refers to arms, I also love how the speech urges Americans to refuse fear more generally: “A good society is able to face schemes of world domination and foreign revolutions alike without fear.” This should be familiar for Christians: “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control” (2 Timothy 1:7, ESV).

The choice to accept and commit to imperfect processes: After all, the good society can refuse fear because, even though it “placed its destiny in the hands and heads and hearts of its millions of free men and women,” who are fickle and feeble, it also puts “its faith in freedom under the guidance of God.” Our American experiment, the American Revolution, continues, “steadily, quietly, adjusting itself to changing conditions without the concentration camp or the quicklime in the ditch.” To refer back to 2 Timothy, God replaces fear not simply with power but also with love and self-control.

The reminder that no matter what divides Americans, or even what divides freedom-loving people all over the world from each other, “Our strength is our unity of purpose. To that high concept there can be no end save victory.”

This is not to paper over the real differences and divisions within the United States; rather, let’s acknowledge those (provided for under the First Freedom), and move forward from that starting point to try and empathize with one another and find some unity of purpose. It takes a conscious choice to refuse fear, and to pursue unity. But if we choose to see from others’ perspectives, and assume others are acting in good faith rather than bad faith, I think it would be a good start toward achieving that unity of purpose. After all, “to that high concept there can be no end save victory.”

National Museum of the Philippines

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sat, 14 Jan 2017 15:03:00 +0000

Last Saturday (Jan. 7) I went down to Intramuros, the old section of Manila (as in, 16th century old) and looked around the National Museum of the Philippines. The Museum is housed in the old legislative building where the Philippine House of Representatives and Senate met during the U.S. colonial period (1898-1946). Where beautiful art now hangs, Philippine leaders crafted a constitution in 1935 which led to the Philippines' independence as a republic in 1946, and that constitution held until Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law and established a dictatorship in 1972.

Here are some of the treasures from the National Museum:

This is a sculpture by the great Filipino patriot, poet, doctor, Renaissance man Jose Rizal, whose novels Noli Me Tangere (1887) and El Filibusterismo (1891) were the backbone of Philippine nationalism. Rizal was executed by the Spanish for subversion in 1897, but he remains the national hero of the Philippines. The sculpture, "The Mother's Revenge" (1894), depicts a dog attacking the crocodile who has taken her pups.

In the old House chamber hangs one of the masterpieces of Filipino art, Juan Luna's Spoliarium (1884), which won the first prize at the National Exposition in Madrid that year, heralding Filipinos as having "arrived" in the Spanish art scene. Juan Luna had an illustrious career in Spain, and several of his major works remain in Spain. The painting depicts the area of the Roman circus where gladiators are disarmed and disrobed.

A place of shame and defeat, it makes me think of the passage in Hebrews where the writer reminds us that "Jesus also suffered outside the gate in order to sanctify the people through his own blood. Therefore let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured. For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come" (Hebrews 13:12-14, ESV).

Luna spent much of his career in Europe, including in France. I enjoy the expression on the face of this sleeper from Domestic Scenes in Paris, ca. 1887-92. Looks like me when I have to get up:

Later in his career, Luna turned to social realism, and produced works depicting life in Asia as well as in Europe. I love this piece in particular for its isolation. (Philippine Scenes, 1894/5)

Fittingly, this watercolor is the first depiction of the Philippine national flag, and the last work of Luna (ca. March 1899), when he was in Europe working as a diplomat for the Philippine Republic, which declared its independence from Spain in 1898 and which the United States fought from 1899-1902. This bloody war (which occasioned Rudyard Kipling's famous "White Man's Burden" poem) is often forgotten in the United States, but not in the Philippines.

Now some more recent works: this sculpture from 1949 is entitled "Plea for Freedom from Fear," referring to FDR's famous 1941 speech (the sculptor is Fermin Gomez). The work shows the raw emotion and pain of a nation destroyed and scarred by the Second World War. By 1949, a Communist insurgency (the Huks), dating from anti-Japanese guerrilla forces, was also engulfing the main island of Luzon.

These striking, modernist wall-sized paintings were in the cafeteria for the International Rice Research Institute, a Rockefeller and Ford Foundation-funded think tank set up in the 1960 here in Manila. The paintings show Philippine life, as depicted by Vicente Manansala, one of the great 20th century Filipino painters.

Finally, just because of the nature of my work on anticolonialism and internationalism, I was drawn to the title of this piece (I can't say I care for the painting itself, though): Third World (1981), by Papo de Asis.

I didn't even make it through the entire museum. It holds lots of treasures! Here is the building, in the sunset as I was leaving:

And the memorial to Jose Rizal at the site of his execution in 1897, in nearby Rizal Park:

For your viewing pleasure, the greatest of guides to any city or art museum: Sister Wendy.

*Sorry for the weird size issues with the text. I'm still figuring it out.

Mabuhay!

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Wed, 11 Jan 2017 13:52:00 +0000

(Mabuhay means welcome in Tagalog, the main language of Luzon, of which Manila is the main city. That’s pretty much all the Tagalog I know. Check back with me later.)

Well, after about 24 hours of air travel, I made it to Manila in the Philippines on January 4. Friend-of-a-friend (and now just a friend!) Ramon Dimacali was incredibly generous to host me in Makati, a pretty affluent area of Manila, for my first week while I got over jetlag and readjusted. (If you’re looking for insurance in the Philippines, you can’t go wrong with his FPG Insurance: http://fpgins.com/ph; he’s a really savvy businessman.)

Moreover, Mr. Dimacali provided an invaluable connection to the family of Carlos P. Romulo (CPR), the politician whom I am studying here. So, last Thursday, I got to meet Roberto Romulo, the son of CPR—and a fascinating figure in his own right. The former head of IBM in the Philippines, Mr. Romulo then served as the Philippines’ ambassador to the European Community (now the European Union) in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Mr. Romulo provided helpful insight into CPR as a man and a father—perspective you don’t usually get from archival documents.

With Mr. Roberto Romulo (on the right, in case you don't know what I look like).

I also got to meet Mr. Romulo’s daughter Liana, who is responsible for taking care of CPR’s papers and created the wonderful content about CPR at the Carlos Romulo Foundation website (http://carlospromulo.org/). She also curated an amazing set of photographs to decorate Romulo’s Café in Makati, a delightful restaurant which she showed me around after lunch with her dad. If you’re in Manila, be sure to check it out!

I’ll have more in the coming days on museums in Manila, as well as where I’m working (the University of the Philippines). Until then, here is some footage of CPR on a 1955 TV program very different from what passes for news these days.

More INFORMATION.

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Sun, 01 Jan 2017 06:44:00 +0000

So now that you’ve met the cast of characters I’m studying, a good question would be: why? Why these people? Why these people together?

Basically, I am interested in one key concept: “anticolonial internationalism,” or the combination of anticolonialism (trying to gain independence) and internationalism (trying to build some kind of world order). Usually historians have seen anticolonialism as inherently nationalistic—purely interested in building a nation-state out of a formerly colonized territory. However, I think that the careers of the men I am studying show that anticolonialism could be both nationalistic (trying to build an independent nation) and internationalist (trying to build a world order out of those independent nations).

To make an analogy with U.S. history, many of the Founders were interested in building up their own states or commonwealths and the federalized United States, not to mention how these United States should relate to the former ruler and other countries (remember the War of 1812?). They didn’t see the two purposes as contradictory. Likewise, African or Arab leaders trying to build independent Nigeria or Syria both wanted to build an independent state and bring greater unity among African and Arab nations. I’m interested in the tension between those idealistic purposes and the difficulty of achieving those goals amid the hurly burly of real-life politics. To take the case of Nigeria: how do you try to integrate Nigeria with other African nations when you have a big enough task trying to hold Nigeria together?

That still leaves the question of why these people, and why together. Essentially, I chose to look at anticolonial internationalism in multiple regions, and in order to keep the project manageable, I decided to study one person from each region. Within that selection, I tried to choose less famous figures, and to get a variety of political ideologies and a variety of empires. To further narrow it down, I wanted to study people who were roughly contemporary to each other; as I looked at the people I ended up studying, I discovered they had peaks and valleys in their careers at similar times (the mid-1930s; 1943; 1945; 1955; the mid-1960s). Here’s a little breakdown of the diversity I hope to manage:

Figure	Region	Imperial Power	Cold War Alignment	Religion	Ideology (generally)
Shukri al-Quwwatli	Arab Middle East (Syria)	France (Ottoman Empire pre-1918)	Non-aligned/leaned pro-Soviet	Islam	Center-left (left, at times)

V.K. Krishna Menon	South Asia (India)	United Kingdom	Non-aligned/leaned anti-USA	Atheist (Hindu background)	Socialist

Carlos Romulo	Southeast Asia (Philippines)	United States	Pro-USA	Catholic (Christian)	Conservative

Nnamdi Azikiwe	West Africa (Nigeria)	United Kingdom	Non-aligned/leaned pro-USA	Protestant (Christian)	Center-left

Now, you will correctly notice that in one area my figures are not diverse: gender. They’re all men. While there are a couple of women contemporary to this period who could fit the bill (notably Mrs. Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit, a prominent representative of India at the United Nations), male leadership was the norm for anticolonial leadership in the early- to mid-twentieth century. Rather than accept this as a given, though, I’m going to try to understand why that was the case. (After all, most political leaders in the Great Powers from the 1930s-1960s were men too. What can that tell us about world politics?) Moreover, the men I’m studying had quite different relationships with women, with Krishna Menon never marrying while the others married, with their wives and their marriages playing different roles in their personal and political lives.

So these are some of the problems I’m investigating. As for where it’s going to end up, what I’m going to find, I have to admit I feel like I’m throwing a bunch of darts and seeing where they all land. In other words, I have no idea what the conclusions are going to be yet! Through these disparate stories, I hope to uncover, at least partly, answers to some of the following questions:

Why did the hopes of these anticolonialists all around the world not come to pass? Which goals did they achieve, and how?
How did the onset of the Cold War alter the political trends toward decolonization unleashed by the Second World War?
How did the experience of this particular generation (you might call them the anticolonial “Greatest Generation,” leading from the 1930s-1960s), experiencing anticolonial struggle, independence, and post-independence difficulties all in a single career, offer a unique perspective on world politics?
How could that “Greatest Generation” perspective be useful to their successors across Asia and Africa today, and to current leaders in the former colonial powers like the United States and Great Britain?

I believe that by combining the study of multiple regions through the men I’m studying, I will be able to answer these questions in a more holistic manner than I could if I studied just the leadership of Nigeria, or just Arab countries. Although my scope is limited to four people, the depth of their individual experiences gives combining them all a useful depth.

I hope you’ll come along the journey with me, and feel free to ask questions (also feel free to see the prospectus attached to the last post for a longer explanation). I find I think through things better when I have to answer questions!

*For another stimulating combination, try Hot Water and Ham—you can call it “Hot Ham Water”:

INFORMATION. (Part 1)

noreply@blogger.com (Mark) — Mon, 26 Dec 2016 18:00:00 +0000

So why am I going to all these seemingly random places? I’m glad you asked.

My Ph.D. dissertation is the story of four men (yes, they are all men) from four different countries:

· Shukri al-Quwwatli (شكري القوتلي), from Syria (1892-1967): the first president of independent Syria, Shukri al-Quwwatli was born a subject of the Ottoman Empire, and trained for civil service in Istanbul, but after the Ottoman collapse in the Middle East during the close of the First World War, he became a leader in the Syrian-Palestinian Congress and then the National Bloc, both anticolonial organizations which opposed the French, who took over Syria after the war. Repeatedly exiled from Syria for his activities, Quwwatli returned in 1942 after the British invaded Syria to prevent Germany using Syrian airfields. He then became president of the new Syrian republic created in 1943, and subsequently helped play the British, French, Americans, and Soviets against one another until the British and French evacuated forces from Syria in early 1946. Quwwatli was ousted as president in a military coup in early 1949, but returned to the presidency in 1955 after Syria returned to a democratic system in the mid-1950s. He was again shunted aside once Syria joined Egypt to become the United Arab Republic in 1958, though once the UAR collapsed in 1961 Quwwatli did not return to the presidency of Syria. Exiled again after the Baathists came to power in 1963, Quwwatli died shortly after the Israeli victory in the Six Day War in May 1967. For more information and photos of Syria in the 20^th century, visit http://www.syrianhistory.com/en.

· V.K. Krishna Menon, from India (1896-1973): Krishna Menon, a native of Kerala in southern India, spent much of his career in Britain, arriving in London as a law student and a follower of the Theosophist Annie Besant’s Indian Home Rule movement in the 1920s. While in London, he entered the orbit of British socialists and communists, and led the India League, a group lobbying for Indian independence, through which he attracted the attention of the Indian National Congress’ Jawaharlal Nehru, who would remain a close colleague and confidant throughout both men’s lives. At India’s independence in 1947, Krishna Menon became India’s first ambassador (“High Commissioner” within the British Commonwealth) to Britain, before becoming a roving ambassador for Nehru’s foreign policy, serving as Nehru’s surrogate at the United Nations through the 1950s and a vocal supporter of “non-alignment” for newly independent countries, in opposition to joining US-led alliances or the Soviet bloc. With Nehru’s support he eventually became India’s Defense Minister in 1957, supervising the liberation of Goa in 1961 as well as India’s disastrous performance in the border war with China in 1962. The war cost Krishna Menon his prominent position in government, but he remained in the Indian parliament until his death in 1974. To see Krishna Menon in action in US media at the height of his powers in the mid-1950s, see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ylzRZA5-zs.

· Carlos P. Romulo (or, “CPR”) from the Philippines (1898-1985): Carlos Romulo was a newspaper publisher in the Philippines during the 1930s and early 1940s, and won a Pulitzer Prize for his coverage of Asian attitudes toward colonial powers in 1941. During World War II he served as General Douglas MacArthur’s press man during the Philippine campaign of 1941-1942, and then served as a press agent for the Philippine government in exile. After the war, he served as Resident Commissioner of the Philippines in the US prior to Philippine independence in 1946, and then as Ambassador to the US, as well as Philippine Ambassador to the UN. He served as President of the UN General Assembly in 1949, and President of the Security Council on multiple occasions. He left diplomatic service in 1962 to become president of the University of the Philippines, and returned as Philippine Foreign Minister in 1969, in a role in which he served until shortly before his death in 1985. For more details on his career, see his Foundation’s website: http://carlospromulo.org/bio/.

· Nnamdi Azikiwe (or “Zik”) from Nigeria (1904-1996): Nnamdi Azikiwe was a newspaper editor in Nigeria in the 1930s and 1940s, having returned to West Africa after studying and teaching in the United States, especially at Lincoln University in Pennsylvania, from the late 1920s until 1935. After pioneering an American style newspaper, the West African Pilot, and launching challenges for the British Empire to live up to its promises during the Second World War, “Zik” (as he was known ever since his U.S. days) launched a political party, which he led to electoral success in the late 1940s and throughout the 1950s, until he and other regional leaders in Nigeria helped negotiate Nigeria’s independence in October 1960. On independence, Zik became Governor-General (executive) and then President of Nigeria, a post he held until a coup ousted him in January 1966. Remaining in Britain during the bloody Nigerian Civil War of 1967-1970, Zik returned to Nigeria after the war and twice ran again for the presidency, in 1979 and 1983, before retiring from politics in the 1990s. To see footage of Zik’s inauguration as President of Nigeria, once it became a republic in 1963, as well as footage from after the 1966 coup, see this archival footage from the AP: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYsHVeCCNr4.

OK, so why all these people? Why all together? For the long answer, feel free to peruse the attached document (my “prospectus,” or the proposal for what my dissertation would cover): Prospectus.

For a more concise explanation, you’ll have to stay tuned—because this post is already pretty long.

And, for whenever you want more “INFORMATION”: