Japan and September Eleventh 2001

He leaned over the arm of the chair and showed me the text on his phone. Two images of a tiny flame flipped back and fourth in a flip book animation of a flame. "Look at that," he said, “I didn't know you could send animation through these things.” looked at the flame, then read the text. AMERICA IS UNDER ATTACK. Busy noises of keyboard and mouse clicks that filled the internet cafe were silent. The combination of the crude image and my colleague's mild response ignited a little spark in me. I faced forward and turned to the glowing box of information. I typed the address for the NY Times, but my response timed out. The storied newspaper was gone, and the spark ignited into a flame. I typed the address for Yahoo and saw the headline that confirmed it. The country that I just left 5 days earlier was under attack. The second tower had fallen, but there was no more sense to be made. Comments under the headline blamed the Zionists and Illuminati, but actual news was scarce. Who attacked, what was the context of this? As the flame inside me was building, it narrowed my focus. In one sweeping motion, I got up, paid for the internet time, and left.
With each step towards my apartment, the manic scene of purpose started to burn hotter. My feet fell flatter on the ground with my forehead tipped towards my destination. I saw a fellow foreigner in the train station. I had only been in Japan a few days and already started to identify myself as the group of foreigners. He was one of my people. I could see from the ease in his step he was not aware of the doom that had fallen. I wanted to reach out in some way and spread the news, somehow spread the flame the burned inside me. I thought of saying "The towers are down, the U.S. is under attack, what can you tell me?" But I stopped myself and kept walking.
My mind raced, I'm in Japan should I be?, what about my family?, will the attack spread?, Then I remembered, my dad regularly went to the Twin Towers for business. I had to check on him. I ran to the AM PM, the closest convenience store. I entered and ignored the usually powerful aroma of boiled rice and fish snacks. I saw a fresh faced attendant and an empty store. "How could his face not reflect the terror that was happening?", I thought. Despite not speaking Japanese, I thought that the sheer intensity of the moment would allow us to escape our distinct language. I made a gesture for making a phone call, my hands purposefully enacting the game of charades, by my eyes burning with an intensity. While he was speaking, he picked up a phone card. I pointed to the phone booth outside, hoping the equation of phonecard you are holding+phone I am pointing to out there, could be solved. He put the card down and slid another off the rack. He placed the card on the table, I studied it and tried to decipher how to work the thing. I figured the card worked the same as in the US, put down my last 1,000 yen, and walked straight to the phone.
Still, as I recall, I don't know how the next event fully transpired. With all my focus and single minded determination to check on my family, you would think that I could have been more careful. I placed the phone card on the back of phone so I could read it while dialing. Then the thin card slipped in a narrow crevice between the phone and the booth. I could not retrieve it. Where on earth could it go? I thought. I shook every thing in the phone booth, but it was all secured. I started to put together the situation. My money was gone, I didn't have access to money till the banks open tomorrow, I was looking at a phone that would connect me with the people I love, but couldn't use it. A could shiver ran straight up my back and I suddenly felt alone. I squinted at the phone and looked at it for what seemed like the first time. The contours of the phone came into sharp focus, the colors of the phone radiated. I don't think I have ever focused so hard on anything my whole life. This device is what connects me to the ones I love, I must solve it. I could not fine a solution.
I walked back into the AM PM again and tried to bargain for another phone card with a wallet empty of money and a receipt for the phone card I just lost in the phone booth. My increasingly frantic game of charades were not succeeding, for good reason, what I wanted was off the script. What I was asking for was charity, "give me a card for free because I am out of money." Things were going nowhere and my emotions were a raging blaze of desperation, purpose and determination. The fire inside me was burning out of control. In my desperation, I depicted the two planes smashing into the twin towers with my hand and arm and tried to convey my concern for my dad. I don't know exactly what was communicated with my manic gesticulations and wavering voice on the verge of frustrated sobs, but something was communicated. He quickly gave me a card, fearful of what I would do next.
I felt my pointer and thumb grip tightly the thin paper card, pushing the blood out of both fingertips. I marched back to the phone, entered the code and my mom picked up the phone. "Its Alex" I said....then the line went dead. I dialed the code again to learn that I had spent my 500 yen and only had 500 more. I dialed again my mom picked up again and knew what to do, "Dad's, ok, everybody we know is ok...." the line went dead after that and the card was out of money. My fire was quenched for a time.
Later that week I returned to the AM PM to buy groceries. There was a sign in the window that said "We regret the events of September 11th." I purchased my ramen noodles and left the store. It wasn't until several months later that I realized that I was the only English speaker that shopped at that store. The sign was written and pasted on the front door of AM PM for me and me alone. As my understanding of Japan increased, I realized how special that sign was. Due to hierarchical society, the boss of the the store or maybe even the regional director must have authorized the sign. Therefore, the story of my desperate attempt with the phone card must have spread. Also, Japan is a country where the group is vastly more important than the individual. Therefore, the fact that a sign which most customers could not read was pasted on the front door extremely powerful. The flame that burned inside me spread like wildfire, and compassion was left in its wake.

This is candy

Stereotypes the world over

“All Muslims are terrorists and all Protestants are copiers”-An Ethiopian man sharing his view with me while in a car.

While doing an intercultural adventure, it is important to find people with strong opinions and who are willing to share. Perhaps it is because I am from Minnesota, where people are less obvious about their views. I believe that behind every opinionated person with strong and perhaps negative views, there are a dozen silent people with similar views. I find exploring the negative options of others especially illuminating. Let’s take the “All Muslims are terrorists” line for example. From this quote I can understand a few things about the gentleman. Considering there is a 32% population of Muslims and a dearth of Muslim terrorist attacks in Ethiopia, I can deduce that the man has formed his opinion based on media or gossip.

What I found the more interesting portion of this comment is the assertion that all Protestants are copycats. This indicates a few things. First, I could deduce, he is proud of his Ethiopian Christian Orthodox tradition and recognizes the value of its time tested traditions. Second, he places value on the age of the religion. Christian Orthodoxy traces its origins to the beginning of the faith, consequently one could understand how the Protestant tradition could be seen as a copy of an older tradition.

I find stereotypical views like these so insightful, for the sheer reason that they are not often expressed. How many other Orthodox Ethiopians, I wonder, view Muslims as terrorists and Protestants as copiers? Can I use this insight to covertly shape a more tolerant message with others I meet along the way? With this knowledge I feel more compelled to share my positive experiences with Muslims with others I meet in my Ethiopian journey.

Eventually I felt obligated to share my experience. "I have Muslim friends who are not terrorists." I felt it best to stick with my direct experience, rather than something more abstract, such as "Powerful groups will often terrorize others in order to obtain control." Or something more pointed, such as "I know plenty of Muslim Oromo people in Minneapolis who say they were terrorized by Orthodox people." People are more receptive to new ideas, when they don't feel like they have to justify their ideas. Really, what is the guy going to say, "No you don't have friends that are Muslims." That would just be ridiculous. He did not say this however. He changed the subject to how he would like to see Yani live in concert.

Intercultural Tip: The best argument seldom influences. Often, your personal experience will introduce enough doubt into a rigid world view to slowly influence.

Ethiopia Archives: Mass of Humanity

Not only was there technological differences to live in Ethiopia, but there were also cultural similarities. Jessi was telling a story of how there was a mass of humanity in Ethiopia. This “mass of humanity” is how I describe the experience where we were always shaking hands, bumping shoulders, squeezed into spaces with others and holding other peoples’ babies in Ethiopia. The “mass of humanity” is the one over arching experience that I had while in Africa both when I went to West Africa in 2007 and most recently that I enjoyed. With it you get this sense that you are a part of a massive, shared human experience. Although it could be considered gross, crowded or stressful, there is something about hearing adults laughing, while a baby cries, while smelling everyone’s’ sweat while squeezed into a mini bus that seats 9 actually seating about 14. Although not something one would traditionally be described as pleasant, it gives you a sense of this raw human experience that we are all sharing together. Everybody eats, sweats, cries, laughs and dies no matter what language is spoken or technology is possessed. And although one can understand this concept intellectually or can rehearse the previous sentence and repeat it. It is the experience of being on a crowded bus that one can really feel it.

I was surprised to hear of my Dad remember when he moved from his small town that he shared with his 13 other immediate siblings, that he missed this as well. He remembers being in Minneapolis while working at a big accounting firm and missing the constant noise, physical attention and constant humanity that was his life in the small town.

Although the “mass of humanity” is an experience I was able to put words to due to my experience in Africa, it is an understanding that belongs not to a single continent, but to a way of life that is more rural. In one way I felt that this experience that I had while in Africa brought me closer to my parents. It was almost as if I had to all the way to Africa to understand the living situations my parents grew up in while in their own rural “village.”

Mass of humanity near and far

While discussing the village life Jessi and I experienced while in Ethiopia, stories started pouring forth from my parents. I learned for the first time that my extended family didn’t have a running water toilet in their house until the 1980s. I also learned that my mom went to a one room K-8 school where all students would use a single outhouse for a toilet. Before eating lunch each student in this k-8 school would reuse water from a single basin to wash their hands. The last student to wash her hands got the dirtiest water. It was funny how Jessi and I thought we were having this real village life experience with limited electricity and running water. To our parents, this was nothing new. I am a little disappointed in myself that I wasn’t able to bring these stories about my parent's history to people we met outside the main city in Ethiopia. It would have been nice to share with them because it would illustrate how America is not this shining metropolis on the hill where every family and household had running water and electricity since its invention. Perhaps it would have given the people we spoke with the confidence to see how technological development is a developmental process.

Intercultural Tip: Technology can either widen or shorten cultural divides.

Robot market and the perfect price

I remember from economics class how firms try to navigate pricing. On one side of the spectrum, if you negotiation with each and every customer, you will be able to get the perfect price for each customer. But this takes too long plus it all depends on the skill of the negotiator. So companies decide to set a standard price. This way companies don't have to train every sales rep in negotiation, plus they can conduct business quickly.
Imagine at the grocery store

Clerk: "One can of beans, four dollars."
You:"Four dollars, this is absurd. I will give you a quarter"
Clerk: "A quarter, no sir. That will not even cover the cost of the can those beans are in. A dollar, this is my best price"
You: "Ok a dollar."
Clerk: Scans beans and sends them down to the bags. Picks up other can of beans. "One can of beans, 5 dollars."
You: "Five dollars, you just sold me the identical one for a dollar"
Clerk: "Everyone knows you need two cans of beans to make anything."

This situation is absurd in a western style supermarket. Supermarkets make up for their lack of negotiating a perfect price for each item by volume.

But what if supermarkets could train a robot. A robot that is an expert negotiator and has an unlimited amount of time. Time and negotiation skills are the only two things that are keeping supermarkets from getting the perfect price.

I found the robot. And it is inside the ticket pricing of airline ticket sales.

As I was booking my flight to Portland. I stepped away from the computer to eat dinner. When I came back, the ticket price increased $100 dollars. I couldn't believe it. I saw red glowing letters in the lower corner, 2 seats left. I remembered this feeling from the markets of India. If you come back to a vendor, he knows you are desperate and can jack the price. But,how could the airlines know it was me coming back?
I logged out, then searched without logging in, to see if I could mask my identity. The price had jumped by another 50 dollars. This was getting ridiculous. I was feeling jerked around. I logged in via a virtual connection, so there was no way the airlines could trace my computer. The price was holding steady at 150 dollars above what I initially thought I was going to pay. I pulled up Amtrak and realized that their prices are a joke. I pulled up a driving map to Portland and realized I couldn't make it in time. I decided to sleep on it. The next morning I searched again and the price dropped back down to the original level I was set on.

I don't know what sort of robot I was negotiating with, but I dealt with it the same way I did the in markets of India. I just kept asking for the same price over and over again, refusing the answer I didn't want to hear.

Intercultural Tip: Specific cultural skills are not always culturally bound. Find ways to apply skills learned abroad in the new context back home.

Intercultural Adventure India Part Three