A health and wealth gospel

I had an interesting conversation with the pastor of an Evangelical Covenant Church the other day, and one thing in particular that he said set me thinking. He said that his main point of contention with Evangelical churches is that they preach a "health and wealth" gospel, i.e. that well-being on earth is a blessing from God, which assumes that the poor are poor because they are out of favour with God. While my first reaction to that was "Oh, come on. That's not true," when I thought about it, I realised that a part of what he said might be true. (I don't live in a vacuum, so I realise that most people, at least in the West, equate this belief with evangelicals,[I think mistakenly] but what surprised me was that this was coming from a clergyman, a self-proclaimed evangelical himself, but one with a different world view).

The focus of most evangelicals is on what comes after this life. They see God as a God who bestows favour on those whom He loves, so they are not afraid to ask Him for health and wealth (with the caveat that they will not be consumed by their material possessions, but still give Him first place). I don't see this as necessarily translating into a belief that the poor have less of God's favour than the rich.

But, because of their focus on the world after this one, they see their mission here primarily as meeting people's spiritual needs, rather than physical ones. This is what people who are more inclined towards social justice have a problem with, as they see evangelicals seriously lacking in efforts to meet the needs of the poor and reaching out to those less fortunate.

As a Christian, I believe that my primary duty is to share Christ with those around me. But, having grown up in a developing country, I am also aware that, when people are working 16 hours a day or more for a pittance, sharing a tiny one-room hut with their wife, eight kids, parents and a brother or sister, they are not in a position to listen and accept that the most important thing they need to do is turn to Christ. Therefore, I am also aware that there are different ways to share Christ with others. For some, talking is the way. For others, reaching out in the name of Christ to fulfill their needs, and practically showing them His love, is the answer. This is even in the Bible: 1 John 3:17 says, "If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?"

Those who approach people living in such abject poverty with nothing but the Gospel, powerful as it is, will only succeed in alientating them. To borrow from Maslow's hierarchy of needs, people cannot move to the psychological, emotional and spiritual fulfillment, unless their basic needs are met. People cannot be made to think about their spiritual well-being if their mere physical existence is a fight from one day to the next. There are people who turn to God because they have no other hope, and their live on earth is so bad that all they have to look forward to is their life after this one. But there are not very many of these people, and the way to reach most others who are in the depths of poverty is to help get them out of it first.

I don't think evangelicals don't care. I think that many of them, lacking exposure to the terrible conditions in poorer parts of the world, are unaware of how crippling, physically, emotionally and spiritually, poverty can be. But I also think that some are stepping out as leaders to tell the others that they need to look at their mission as showing bringing Christ to others in any way possible, even if that means not even mentioning him for the first six months.

Rick Warren, one of the most well-known American evangelicals, and author of best-seller The Purpose-Driven Life, is one of these. He wrote: "I deeply believe that if we as evangelicals remain silent and do not speak up in defense of the poor, we lose our credibility and our right to witness about God's love for the world," Warren wrote, adding that, "We all grieved when 250,000 lives were lost in the tsunami in Southeast Asia. But there is a health tsunami of that proportion in Africa every 12 days!"

Hats off to Caveboy and Gio!

I am, as I have been for the past few days, struggling through my journalism law exam, and thought I'd take a break by posting. It - the exam, I mean, not posting - has been, is and promises to continue to be, a painful experience.

I was one of the very few people here who could have actually not taken the class. International students are assigned to another class, titled "New York as a Foreign Country". But, after the first day in that class, I decided that it would just be a waste of two hours every Friday morning, and chose to take the law class instead. And the result of that. . . I'm sitting here slaving away on my law exam.

I think anyone who makes it through law school, and mountains of Opinions which sound more like Latin (to someone who doesn't know Latin, of course)deserves a medal, to say the least. So, hats off to Caveboy and Gio!

It's not that I really regret taking this class. It's actually quite interesting. But it's a lot to read, remember and regurgitate, and I've realised that my regurgitation skills went out the window when I was about 10 (for better or worse!). So, here I am, armed with my big book of Supreme Court opinions in most of the landmark journalism cases, the (very unclear) notes provided by the TA (whom a classmate of mine, a lawyer in a former life, dismissed as "only a second-year law student") and more thorough notes emailed by another classmate, who was also a lawyer in a former life (see a pattern here Caveboy Esq.?!?! :-P)

"It shouldn't take more than six hours," the same TA reassured us (or maybe it wasn't a reassurance?!?) It takes six hours to WRITE the thing. It takes another six hours to find the cases and the opinions and to connect them to the cases in the exam, and to come to sort sort of cohesive and coherent conclusion. It definitely does not take six hours - try 12.

It's due at midnight tonight - well, 11:59 p.m. to be precise - so adios amigos, as I return to Branzburg v. Hayes.

And in other news, I just got a grade in one of my classes that I still have to hand in a story for. Should I still turn it in? I'm tempted to just leave it and be done with it, but then, the grade can always mysteriously change, and we can't have that. . .

When I call on Jesus. . .

There are some days when molehills truly seem like mountains, and even the smallest of troubles seems completely insurmountable. I was having one of those days today, and no amount of stern talking to myself helped to make things any better. But in the midst of the tears, I realised that I had brought the situation on myself, if by nothing else, then by acting like I could do things on my own, without my Maker. And now, things had gotten to a point where I couldn't handle it, emotionally speaking, and I needed some serious rescuing. And I remembered a song by Christian singer Nicole C. Mullen, that I used to listen to in college, when I was feeling down and low, and how it used to put things in perspective, and help me realise how helpless I was without Him. And for the first time in a long time, I got down on my knees, and cried my eyes out to the only person who could really help.

And I sang along to the song, and a sort of peace descended on me, and I felt, after a very long time, that I was being cared for and loved in a way that I haven't bothered to acknowledge, and that, while I was searching for approval and fulfillment elsewhere, Christ has been patiently waiting for me to discover that His grace alone is sufficient for me.

Here are the inspired words that put things in perspective for me:

I'm so very ordinary
Nothing special on my own
I have never walked on water
I have never calmed a storm
Sometimes I'm hiding away from the madness around me
Like a child who's afraid of the dark

But when I call on Jesus
All things are possible
I can mount on wings like eagles and soar
When I call on Jesus
Mountains are gonna fall
'Cause He'll move heaven and earth
to come rescue me when I call

Weary brother
Broken daughter
Widowed, widowed lover
You're not alone
If you're tired and scared of the madness around you
If you can't find the strength to carry on

When you call on Jesus
All things are possible
You can mount on wings like eagles and soar
When you call on Jesus
Mountains are 'gonna fall
'Cause He'll move heaven and earth
to come and rescue you when you call

Call him in the mornin'
In the afternoon time
Late in the evenin'
He'll be there
When your heart is broken
And you feel discouraged
You can just remember that He said
He'll be there

When I call on Jesus
All things are possible
I can mount on wings like eagles and soar
When I call on Jesus
Mountains are gonna fall
'Cause He'll move heaven and earth
to come rescue me when I call

U.N. Human Rights Commission by December

Jan Eliasson, the president of the U.N. general assembly announced on Nov. 23 that the new Human Rights Commission will be formed by the end of the year, and will be ready to be functioning by the next Summit in September. Eliasson and the team that is working on hashing out the details of the new Human Rights Council expect to start meeting next week to negotiate the details of the new body, and expect these to be finalized by the end of the year.

But herein lies the problem. The U.N. General Assembly, when it had its Summit in September, was unable to agree on the council’s size and on the criteria for membership. These critical negotiations were left to a later date, and still have not been resolved. What’s more, even Mark Malloch Brown, chief of staff to U.N. Secretary General Kofi Annan has warned that the design of a new council needs to be finalized by December if it is to be ready by Eliasson’s time line.

Despite Eliasson’s affirmations that this is possible, drawing up the details and achieving consensus are near impossible by the deadline he has set. Expectations for the new Human Rights Council are so different, based on whom they are coming from, that lengthy negotiations must be undertaken before the terms are agreed upon. John Bolton, the U.S. ambassador to the U.N. wants to replace the 53-member commission with a council with no more than 30 members. The members of the new Council should also have a solid human rights record, he has said.

Such a council faces opposition from several countries, particularly the human rights violators Bolton and Eliasson have made clear will not be welcome on the new Human Rights Council.

Yet Eliasson and his team believe that by December, they can draw up the details of the Human Rights Council and bring about consensus within U.N. members on these points. Whether it happens or not remains to be seen.

Random stuff!

Nothing much has been happening lately and I haven't had any lightning flash experiences, hence the lack of posts.

It's Thanksgiving break, and, while I had huge ambitions about finishing up all the work I'm behind on, predictably enough, that hasn't happened. I still have two more days left - well, a day and a half now - so hopefully something will get itself done in. My biggest accomplishment to date over Thanksgiving break was joining the ranks of quarter-century olds on Thursday :-) And I managed to get through the day (and the day after) without too much going wrong and without any reports of food poisoning in any of the 12 or so friends I decided to feed that day.


Ji Yeon, Nayma, Shahyar, Adnan, Tim

Me, Ji Yeon

Danny and Weds

Paola, Aiko, Sri, Seda

So that's that. Now I need to get back to my scholarship applications, and internship applications and fellowship applications and graduate program (ship?) applications, and catch up on weeks worth of journalism law readings.

Fun shtuff!

The Plamegate saga continues. . .

The Judith Miller/Valerie Plame saga is really turning into a circus now. Bob Woddward, of Watergate and Deep Throat fame, has now stepped into the ring, proclaiming that another "senior Administration official" had informed him of Plame's identify before Miller knew about it, i.e. before Scooter Libby told Miller about it. This certainly comes at an opportune time for Libby.

I am all for protecting anonymous sources, when necessary, but I think Judith Miller went a little too far - she was protecting someone who was extremely media savvy, who knew how to use and abuse the media, and who revealed to her information about someone out of a desire for revenge. Being an experienced reporter, Miller, in the first place, should not have promised anonymity to Libby, knowing full well his intentions for revealing Plame's identity to her. And even after having promised him anonymity, she should have made a much greater effort to convince him to release her from her promise to him. Instead, what does she do? She goes to jail, to make herself look like a martyr.

At first, when Woodward stepped into the picture, I was afraid that Miller's decision to remain mum about her source will look even more legitimate. But then, reading a bit more, it seems as if he's going to go down the same route as Miller. For one, it was his source, and not him, who went to Fitzgerald to tell him that the source had told Woodward about Plame even before Miller knew about it through Libby. I think it's pretty clear that, left to himself, Woodward would have continued his silence on this, and would have kept insisting that there was nothing significant about this entire episode.

Woodward is coming under increasing fire for remaining mum throughout all the hoopla about Miller's anonymous source. Despite his almost untouchability, thanks to his role in breaking Watergate, the fact that he kept quiet all this time about who leaked Plame's name, makes him, and by default, the Washington Post, look very bad. He has apologised for not coming forward earlier, but is it too late?

Miller has already left the New York Times, where she was becoming a liability, but with a hefty book deal under her belt, I'm sure. But things just seem to be getting worse. And Woodward, like Miller, certainly considered himself above it all. Miller found out that she wasn't - and possibly still came out the winner. Will Woodward go the same way?
More on this

Why do people boycott elections?

Sri Lanka held its presidential election yesterday, and only 0.014% of Tamils in Jaffna, the capital of northern Sri Lanka, voted, according to the BBC. This figure was typical of Tamil turnout in most other places in the north and east, which are dominated by Tamils. This is compared to 19% of voters who turned out in the 1999 elections, which, while appalling, seems to be a gold mine compared to the turn out this year.

Tamils are disillusioned by both current Prime Minister Mahinde Rajapakshe, and former Prime Minister Ranil Wickremasinghe, who was replaced by his rival. But there is some slight support for Ranil from Tamils, who seemed keen to work out a peace agreement between the government and the Tamil Tigers when he was Prime Minister. Apparently, though, this little support is not enough for them to come out and vote for him, which means that it is now likely that Rajapakshe, with the support of Singhalese nationalists and Buddhist monks - who are vehemently against the Government coming to any agreement with the Tigers - will probably win.

Why do these people do this? There was a similar situation in Iraq when Sunnis boycotted the elections, and then realised their mistake when they had such little voice in the creation of the Constitution. People need to realise that boycotting elections is not the way to make their voices heard. In fact, it accomplishes the opposite - it takes away what small voice they have and leaves them without even the little power they had before.

If Rajapakshe comes into power, the fact that he has the blessings of Sinhala nationalists speaks volumes about the kind of president he will be. With Wickramasinghe, even if he doesn't accomplish much, at least he won't be in the pockets of the monks and nationalists as much as Rajapakshe.

In this case, it is a matter of choosing the lesser of the two evils. But, by boycotting the election, the Tamil people have relinquished the power to put into power the person who will do the most for them - or at least, the person who will do them the least harm. They have sealed their fate, and by their inaction, will probably put into power the greater of the two evils.

In pursuit of a crime. . .

Nev pointed out to me that my last post might be somewhat premature. And I guess he's right, given that I only met the guy for three minutes as I was rushing out the door, and given that I might never hear from him. But, oh well.

On a different note, I finally managed to retrieve some of my clips (for those who don't know my portfolio saga, I lost my portfolio with all my clips in London - I think it was a ploy by my former employers to engage me in bonded labour for the rest of my life, because I left it at work, and it disappeared). But anyway, thanks to the wonders of technology, I have managed to download most of them again. So now, I can prove that I really did work for a daily newspaper, because I've got stories with my byline on them on Lexis Nexis to prove it.

And on a third note, sometimes I get really fed up with people in New York, especially the ones that answer the phones in most places I call for stories, because most of them are unbelievably rude and go out of their way to be unhelpful. But I've been shown that there are some good people in this city that I'm not too fond of.

I've been working, or trying to work, on a story on crime and its consequences. I even came up with a great story. A young guy was killed in a hit and run 20 years ago, and the guy who ran him over was just arrested last week. I saw this story in the New York Times and it quoted three people. I wanted to find these three people, and possibly others through them, to do extended interviews with them about how they were impacted by the crime, about the guy who did it not being arrested for 20 years, and how they feel now that he has been arrested. I looked high and low for them, called a bunch of people with the same names as them (none of which turned out to be the right people), called the DA's office, police precincts, the information department for the police and NYC, and came up with nothing.

In desperation, I emailed our dean of students, who is also a computer whiz to see if he knew how I could locate the right people. He put me in touch with another student here, who works at a newspaper, I think. And that guy, Dom, BLESS HIM, has managed to track down the numbers of all of them. He informed me that type of Lexis Nexis this oh-so-prestigious institution provides for us is not sufficient for finding people, and found the information for me from the version that his company uses. Which had me a little peeved, because the two entire days I spent trying to track these people down were a complete waste of time, since, if I were a real journalist, all I'd have had to do was perform a Lexis search. And I'm pretty sure Columbia has enough money to subscribe to the correct form of Lexis Nexis.

But anyway. At least, I've got their numbers,. Now, the problem is actually getting them to talk to me! Here we go!

Enter Reuters reporter Inihtar!

I tend to get quite obsessive at times. I pick something that I decide I want, and draw up strategies about how I can achieve the object of my obsession, and get very upset and tense when something seems to come in the way of achieving said obsession.

Well, my latest obsession is getting an internship - well, a job would be ideal, but beggars can't be choosers - at the AP or Reuters. So yesterday, I went to a panel discussion about AIDS at the Reuters office here. I actually didn't even realise I'd signed up to go to it until I got the email letting me know that I was One of the Chosen Ones and was really not in the mood for it - but seeing as I was One of the Chosen Ones, I couldn't very well not go!

So, cribbing and complaining to myself, I went. The panel itself was interesting, and quite enlightening, but since the discussion had started late, and I had to get to class afterwards, I left as soon as the Q&A session started.

As I was walking towards the elevators, I noticed a guy standing a few feet outside the room, listening to what was happening. Somehow, in the middle of me hurrying to the elevators, and him straining to hear what was happening inside, we managed to strike up a conversation. He was a reporter at Reuters. As soon as he said that, I decided class or no class, I was talking to him. He looked at my name tag and asked me what I did at Columbia. I told him I was a journalism student.

"Really?" he said. "I've been wanting to do my master's degree at Columbia. Maybe I should come up there and sit in on a class."

"Yeah," I said. "You definitely should. It's great, and the professors are great, they're very experienced, and they have great reputations!"

We chatted for a bit, and exchanged cards. And then, out of the blue, he said, "You should do an internship at Reuters!"

"I KNOW!!" I said. (This guy can read minds!!)

"Well," he continued. "This is how you get into it. By making contacts with people like me."

"Ok," I said. "I'm keeping in touch with you for sure then!"

And I intend to! So much so that he's going to regret having told me to do so!

So, I've got a new best friend who's a business reporters at Reuters, who's going to get me an internship there!

PS: Is it me or are most of my blog entries somewhat anticlimactic?

V-day!

Today is Nov. 8, Election Day, and a very biz bizy one for us aspiring journos. Well, for normal ones as well. I got up at the unholy hour of 5:15 a.m., and betook myself to the Bronx to stand at polling stations and intrude on people's privacy by asking them whom they voted for. That and a few other questions, but essentially that.

Apparently, everyone in the Bronx is voting for "Freddy" Ferrer for mayor, because he's Hispanic, and for no reason other than that. This bothers me slightly, because, apparently, from what I've heard, the guy is a bit of a wet mop personality-wise. But then a few of the more informed individuals I spoke with told me that he did a lot for the Bronx when he was Borough president. So, maybe there is a bit more to him than that. But, he certainly doesn't have the commanding presence - or the money - that Bloomberg has, so despite all the votes he amasses in the Bronx, he's not likely to win. And even those who voted for him conceded as much.

But it was an interesting experience, and certainly tougher than the work on the primary storyI did in Jamaica, Queens, mostly because everyone in Jamaica speaks English, and not many in the Bronx do. The area in Jamaica I covered for the primary was also mostly Guyanese, and since South Asians and Guyanese look somewhat similar, people felt some sort of kinship with me (the same kind that makes people in the Bronx vote for Freddy, I guess).

It was cold and exhausting, and not particularly fulfilling, but I guess it's part of the donkey work that makes up the J-school experience. The most disappointing part was that no one had a passionate hatred for Bloomberg, which might have made life a bit more exciting. Oh well. . .

But this was one of those one-person-does-the-reporting-and-someone-else-does-the-writing assignments, so I didn't have to bother with writing up a story from my skimpy notes, so I was grateful for that.

And by the way, our student work web site is functional as of today, and I've added a link to the left (Columbia Journalist), so check it out! I don't know if anything of my work will make it, but one can hope. . . But there's some pretty decent stuff on there, local of course.

More weds pics!

Nev told me that you can't tell from the pic of Weds that he's a baby, so here are a couple more pics. I need to stop this. I'm like one of those spinsters whose lives revolve around their cats! And he's not even my cat!!

Issues!

I just wanted to throw this out there - I have a 9:00 meeting with the executive director of an organisation that could potentially play a very key role in my master's project, and I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to ask him. And I'm going to bed now, so that situation is not going to be rectified.

And two, is it bad to quit a job that you were warned that you should perhaps not take on by the people offering it to you? Let me elaborate. I applied for a job on-campus, partly becuase it seemed like it would give me good contacts with working journos. During my second interview, my boss (boss-to-be at that time) told me that she had also gone to the J-school, and she knew the work pressures there and warned me that I might not be able to handle school and a job. I assured her that I would, and that I was keen to take on the job.

Now, the job is basically writing random press releases,and drafting memos, and I'm bored and tired of it and pretty much hate it. So I want to quit. My dilemna is that, if I quit, will I be in their bad books, because they warned me against taking it, and I still took it? But I'm not quitting because I can't handle it. I'm quitting because it's so mind-numbingly boring! What should I do? Maybe someone should just send them a link to this blog anonymously, and then I won't have to worry about quitting!

Farewell:-(

I hate goodbyes. Well, I guess there aren't many people who actually enjoy them. But, Emsten left today, to go back home to her sunny little island, and the apartment really feels empty. Today of all days, I had class all day, so I woke up early and made my specialty, aubergine (eggplant, brinjal, whatever!) curry, and had a last croissant and coffee with Emsten before rushing off to class.

Rushed back from class for lunch with Emsten, and Okia, who joined us, and little Wednesday, who, as usual, kept trying to eat us AND our food. I got Emsten her last black bubble tea from Cafe Swish where I took her about five or six times in her four weeks here, and we chatted about Emsten's little twin sisters, and this, that and the other. Rushed back to class after lunch, and rushed back home, with a few minutes to spare before the car came to pick her up and take her to the airport.

We chatted for a bit as Emsten, incredibly organised, had already finished packing (Me, I would have been stuffing things into my suitcase until the last minute, but she had everything perfectly folded and packed, and even a little rectangular space just the right size for her toiletries kit, which went in last). So we checked around for the last time, chatted a bit and took her stuff down. When the car came, we said goodbye, with promises to meet up again on her sunny island, and heartfelt wishes for her upcoming wedding(!!!) and she left. It seemed almost anti-climactic. Such a quick goodbye, to such a good friend.

When I came back to the apartment, it felt so empty. I'd gotten so used to it being the four of us in our apartment, and now it feels strange to have my room to myself again. We hardly even saw each other during the week, but just knowing that she was around, and a quick hi and bye as we dashed in and out of the apartment, still made it nice, more homey somehow. I wished I could have done more, hung out with her more, that we'd had more little chats, but both of us were busy and life has a habit of just taking over sometimes, and you end up doing what you have to do at that moment, not what's important in the larger scheme of things.

When I saw Okia later, she commented too that it felt strange not to have Emsten around. "I already miss her," she said. "Me too," I replied:-(

And Emsten gave me an early birthday gift that left me speechless - a nano!! I had been going on about how it would be so nice to have one for when I'm in the gym and just to listen to - but really, do you need an excuse to have an nano? - and the other day, we were downloading our favourite songs onto my comptuer and listening to them, and reminiscing. . . and the next thing I know, the woman goes and gets me a nano!!

But that's Emsten! Emsten, if you read this, I hope you had a safe flight, and are back safe and happy, and are blissfully planning your wedding. And tell your parents girl!

My first digi cam pics!

My brand new digi cam (not the best but second best, which I can live with :-)) has arrived, and here are some of the inaugural pics. These ones are of my friend Emstenm my roommate Okia and little Wednoo. More pics to come :-)


Wednesday

My roommate Okia and Emsten at Jackson Diner, an Indian restaurant, in Jackson Heights, Queens

Emsten

Just looking at these pics and comparing them with the ones below made me realise how blessed I am. A true wake-up call.

Disturbing photos

I received a strong reprimand from Ficali the other day, because I had complained about her not updating her blog, and then I didn't update mine. "I've updated mine three times since then," she said. "And you haven't, even once."

In my defense, my mind has been churning out blog entries all week, but I just haven't been able to put get them down. For example, in my International Reporting class, we talked about disturbing pictures, and about whether they should be shown. Our professor showed us a few examples. I looked for some of them online, to see if I could put them on here, but these media people guard their pictures very closely. So, I will attempt to describe a few. There was the one of the US serviceman being dragged through the streets in Somalia, which was printed, and I think shown on TV as well, at the time. There was this one, of the charred bodies of two people (contractors, I think?) hanging from a bridge in Fallujah.

Another one was of the bodies of about eight to 10 Nepali civilian workers lined up face down on the ground in Fallujah; an Indian mother surrounded by her dead children, with her hands on her head, and raw emotion on her face, after the tsunami.


The picture to the left; another one of supporters of the African National Congress setting a man from the Inkatha Freedom Party in South Africa on fire; and the one below, among others.

We also saw one photo of a suicide, of a female refugee in a Srebrenica refugee camp.

I found the last one, which I've looked high and low for a picture of - and couldn't find- the most disturbing. The woman in the picture has hung herself in a forest, and it has been shot from her right. When you first look at the photo, all you see is a beautiful, almost wistful, picture of a woman, facing off to the right of the photo, in a wood, sounded by vivid green foliage. It looks like a calm and peaceful photo, and it isn't until you look at her legs that you realise that there is nothing under them, that they are dangling. And then you realise what the picture is really of. There is something so personal, and so sad about it, that it feels like a terrible invasion of privacy to look at it.

For the most part, I'm a firm believer in the media showing and telling things as they are. Not at all in sensationalism, but if there are terrible things going on somewhere, pictures reveal the true horror and the sufferings of the people, much more effectively than words can, no matter how descriptive. I don't think it's the role of the press to sanitise these horrors, and to protect their readers, from what others are going through. For example, the tsunami was so remote to people in the US, because most of them don't know anyone from that part of the world, and many haven't even heard of the countries affected. Showing a grieving mother surrounded by her dead children be it in India as a result of the tsunami, or in Beslan, after the horrific school massacre, puts a face on these otherwise faceless tragedies, and reveals to people the extent of their impact.

The photos of the aftermaths of bombings and such manmade horrors serve a similar purpose. They are snapshots of what has happened, and show people the degree of suffering and depravity in that action. It is reality, and it needs to be shown.

But the photo of the suicide does not serve this purpose. In suicide, one cannot point out exactly why it happened. Even if someone commits suicide every week at that refugee camp - and that would certainly be worth a story - there are almost certainly other factors involved as well. Otherwise, why would there be still others who find their lives worth living, at least enough to not kill themselves. There was something that this woman was feeling that pushed her to the edge in that situation, that someone else was not going through, that gave them the will to live. And the way the photo was shot, she could have been anyone - as easily a wealthy woman from the suburbs of Los Angeles as someone in the refugee camps of Srebrenica. It doesn't support the story, and that was why I thought it shouldn't have been used.

It was a very sober couple of hours, but it made us examine ourselves and our priorities - sensationalism, protecting our readers back home, or showing the truth.

58 comments?!?!

How oh how oh how does This fish get 58 comments on her blog posts, while I get 2? (Thank you faithful Ficali and Nayma!) Of course, I guess it might have something to do with the fact that her life - and by extension, her blog - is tremendously more interesting than mine. But still. It's very unfair! My blog can only be so exciting when I'm a dirt poor grad student with a very limited social life. Sigh:-(

And the latest in my very exciting life: my four boxes have FINALLY arrived from London after three months - and I'm thinking. . . why did I ship this stuff? I could have just saved myself the pain of it all, and given myself the perfect excuse to go shopping - courtesy of Access Group, of course! But no. . . I HAD to ship them. It was quite nice though to finally get my jar of Jaffna chili powder (Ficali, don't kill me, it's a small jar, and I bet you can't get JAFFNA chili powder in New York!) and my sweaters and winter coats (I've refused to get any warm clothes because I knew I had mine in my boxes which I firmly believed with all my heart I would be reunited with one day). So, that's the low down on my exhilarating life. Jeez. . . no wonder no one reads my blog!

Oh, and one more development: I've changed my blog design, in case you haven't noticed. This is the hip new version! Thoughts? Like it? Go back to the old one? Abandon the blog altogether?

Masters' woes!!

I really want to do my master's project on the UN - specifically on the Millennium Development Goals, and the impacts of the edits that John Bolton made to the outcome document draft a week before the summit. All the hullaballoo about his edits died down as soon as the Summit was done last month, and I want to know why, and what the document that was approved means for developing countries. BUT. . . apparently, master's projects on topics like this aren't done at the J-School. I can kind of see why. . . because unless I were to take a trip to Africa, the story would seriously lack a human element. But I want to do it!

Or barring that, my other option is to try to figure why the press is so credulous when it comes to covering the UN. Apparently, if you have a UN pass, you can walk around quite freely. So, why does the press not take advantage of this to do a little digging, to find out what is really going on there? The press seemed to wake up while covering the Oil-for-Food scandal, but everything seems to have died down again after that. But then, even this is a vague topic, not a story idea, since I'm not starting out with any sort of premise - I can't very well start off saying that the press is credulous, because then no press person will talk to me.

And barring that, I have another topic that I will definitely pursue, at some point. This is looking at church planters - people who leave their home churches, and go out to start up new churches, either in a different neighbourhood, or a different city, state or even country. This would look at the challenges they face, where their funding and other resources come from, why they do it, and what happens at the end of it. When I tell my professors about this topic, their faces light up. And I think it would be a great story. But, while I can do this story on my own at any time, doing the UN story requires credentials, and I can get a UN press pass as long as I'm at Columbia. Hence, I want to do the UN story.

What do I do??!?!?

Updates on employment and ye olde dig cam!

Well, as of now, I'm still gainfully employed, so hopefully that will last. And the dig cam that Nev has been so very nice to get me (as a GIFT, right, Nev??!?!) is making its way to me RIGHT NOW!!!

More to follow. . . and, FYI, the fewer comments I have, the less incentive I have to write (hint, hint for you people who say you read my blog, but leave no trail! Not that my blog gives you reason to wake up in the morning, but still. . . would be nice to hear your thoughts :-()

Sickie!

Heard of poetic justice? Well, it exists. Like when you call in sick to work two days in a row (that too when you only work two days a week) and then, the following week, you really do get sick. What to do then? Do you crawl in to work sniffling and sneezing, or do you pick up the phone and call again, hoping that they assume you are just some chronically ill wheeze? Or do you walk the eight blocks to work, sniffling and sneezing, and then return, having proved that you really are sick?

I chose the middle option, since I decided to get out of bed 10 minutes after I was supposed to have finished traversing the eight blocks (two of them avenue blocks, and frigging LONG!)

"Hi Evelyn," I said. "It's Inihtar."
Evelyn's good at curt responses over the phone.
"Hi," came the reply. "How are you?" but in a tone that really meant, "What is it now? What kind of lame excuse are you going to come up with for not coming to work today?"
"Ummm, not good. . . again."
Silence on the other end. What to do now? I decided to plunge ahead.
"I've had a cold and headache for the past couple of days," I told her hastily. "But I know that Leann wanted me to work on a piece today. So can I come in in the afternoon and work on it? Then I can get some sleep in the morning, and maybe feel better."
Did I really need to give her my symptoms, and my plan of action for getting rid of them? Didn't that make it sound more suspicious? You know, overcompensating. Why on earth do I feel so guilty, darnit? I AM sick. . . this time, anyway!
"Yeah, ok."
"Ok. See you then." And I hung up.
I should have just emailed her. But then, somehow, I felt that if I could drag myself to my computer, it would have made me seem well enough to go in to work. But then I had to drag myself to the computer to get her number anyway! Oh, the dilemnas of taking a sickie.
I'm going to go back to bed now, and my next post will state if I am still employed.

Nev's getting me a brand new dig cam!

So Nev was bragging to me the other day about his new digital camera, and about what a great deal he'd gotten on it. And my whiny if-he-can-have-it-why-can't-I self took over. "I want one too!!"
His reply: a self-satisfied "Heh heh heh!"
"Hey, get me one," I told him.
He stopped laughing. "What?"
"Yeah, get me one, and have them ship it to me. I'll pay you back," I told him.
Pause. "You're sure you'll pay me back?"
"Of course. I've LOTS of money!"
Nev knew that me having lots of money didn't equate to me being able to spend lots of money on expensive digital cameras.
"Yeah, but are you sure you can afford it?" he asked.
"Of course!" I answered cheerfully. "Access Group(the oh-so-naive people who are financing my oh-so-expensive education at this oh-so-prestigious institution) can afford it."
"You do realise that the money you have is a loan. Right?"
"Yeah, yeah."
"And that you have to pay it back. Right?"
"Yeah, yeah."
"You really are planning on skipping the country when you done, aren't you?"
"Heh heh!"
Nev gave up on trying to drill some sense into me. "Ok, so what kind do you want?"
"THE VERY BEST!!"
I was wrong. Nev wasn't done yet. "Why do you need the best? Why don't you get something cheaper?"
Why indeed? The wheels in my head started turning furiously as I tried to come up with a reason for why I needed the very best.
"Well, when I do freelance work, it would be better if I can send them some pictures that are of good quality, so they can do things with them." Never mind the fact that I haven't done one freelance piece since I came here, or even made an attempt to sell the pieces I have written for classes. Or that the places where I can probably freelance my work are piddly little local papers anyway that don't care too much about the quality of pictures. But my heart desired the best digital camera, and what Inihtar's heart desires, Inihtar's heart gets (not really, but it's a nice thought!)
So now, Nev is getting me a digital camera, and Access Group is going to pay for it. Good ol' Access Group!

NOTE: If the nice people of Access Group are reading this: I have no intention of moving to the Amazon Rainforest and not paying back my loan when I'm done here. So, please give me money for my second degree here when I'm done at the J-school, and I promise I'll marry a rich man who'll pay every penny back. Thank you!

George. . . yummy as ever! And smart to boot!

I went to the screening of George Clooney's new movie today. Now, this is not your typical Cloon-man flick, with casinos and romance and adventure and all the rest. This is a documentary - and, what's more, a black and white one - on Edward Murrows, a CBS broadcast journalist, who contributed to the downfall of Senator Joseph McCarthy, known for his aggressive actions against those, particularly in the US army, that he suspected of being allied with Communists.

Clooney, who directed the film, played the character of Fred Friendly, a producer at CBS, who later became president of the company, and was also a broadcast professor at Columbia University. Although I was a wee bit wary when I heard it was black and white, I was very impressed with the movie. It was worth the half hour wait for tickets, and then to get in (of course, this had ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with the fact that George Clooney was part of the panel that was discussing the film afterwards!)

Anyway, the movie portrayed the dilemnas of the staff at CBS in running the episodes about McCarthy on Murrow's show, See it Now; the nervous tension with which they awaited the reviews and responses to the shows (they had both positive and negative ones); and the justification of their efforts when McCarthy was questioned and then officially censured for his aggressive efforts to label people communists, often without evidence.

The panel after the movie consisted of Clooney, and three others, including a historian, a broadcast journalist, and one of the other writers of the film (too lazy to look up their names). I was very impressed with George Clooney, who had a very good grasp of both politics and journalism, and very informed opinions, and was able to answer questions eloquently and clearly. In fact, he was probably as interesting as the historian, who was the only other worthwhile speaker on the panel, unfortunately. He was also funny and cheerful, and kept the conversation going easily.

What was also cool was that two characters in the movie, Joe and Shirley something, who both worked at CBS, and were secretly married (because CBS had a policy against hiring married couples) were both in the audience, and Clooney was as surprised as the rest of the audience when they spoke up.

Despite the title of this post, I'm not really that big a fan of George Clooney's. But I was sufficiently impressed with his performance tonight, and was star-struck enough that I just might turn into one!

Irresponsible shop assistants!

I've been very conscientious about not wasting plastic bags, ever since I went food shopping with Ficali once and she berated me for taking a bag for an onion, instead of leaving it by itself in the shopping basket. Ever since then, I have been very careful about wasting bags, bemoaning the carefree way in which sales people at my local grocery store use two or three bags for a few items without a second thought.

I went grocery shopping today, and after paying for the items I'd purchased, I realised that I'd forgotten a couple of things. I went back into the store, picked up the two tomatoes and onions I'd forgotten, and got back in line to pay for them. When it was my turn, the sales person quickly scanned and put them into the a plastic bag. "Oh, I don't need a bag," I told her. She gave me a dirty look, since my statement necessitated the backbreaking task of removing my two tomatoes and two onions from the plastic bag. She then promptly proceeded to ball up the bag and throw it into the GARBAGE!!!

"What?" I thought. "I might as well have taken the bag! At least Okia could have used it for Wednesday's doodoo!"

So much for my efforts to be environment friendly. Now, that bag will probably end up in some landfill and sit there for 500 years.

Eeek! There's another journo! Hide!

"You know the person from whom you duck into the men's or women's room when you see them coming? They're somewhere writing a lot of journalism."

This was a comment made by Bruce D'Silva, the writing coach at the Associated Press, who came to talk at one of my classes today. Yikes! I thought. He's talking about me!

But, what he said made sense. Because if we talk like newspapers do, people would be ducking into loos all the time to avoid having to listen to our boring, stilted way of talking.

He gave a classic example: In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. That's a great lede, he told us. It's succinct, it reads easily and it tells the story. Then he told us something else: If journos had written the Bible, Christianity would never have caught on. Here's what this sentence, written by a journalist, would have sounded like, (this is, in essence, what he said, but I didn't write it down, so I'm adding a few of my own words): In a surprising development yesterday, sources close to God, speaking on condition of anonymity, revealed that he had, over a period of six days, brought into being the heavens, an expanse of sky, planets, stars and clouds, which also includes his residence, 777, God's Drive, Heavenlyville, Heaven, as well as the earth, located approximately 100 trillion miles below.

Ok, it would probably not be as bad as this (and is there an estimate of how far the earth is from the heavens?) - in fact, if it is this bad, then that journo has no business being in the business! - but you get my gist.

I have to agree with D'Silva! The way we, as journalists, are conditioned to write, is not the most readable, most interesting way we could express ourselves. In fact, we have a knack for taking the fun out of most stories. Things are getting better, but old habits die hard, and this one seems to be hanging on. We have gotten so used to writing in this stilted, confusing way, that simplicity and elegance seem almost impossible, even undesirable!

I will voluntarily throw myself at the front of the line under the big sign that says "guilty". But then, that's what I'm here for - right? - accumulating giganimous amounts of debt in the hope my writing will, at some point, undergo a huge trasnformation and get closer to the Bible writer's style of writing than the journo's!

Of meetings and misery

Ok, ok, I know I haven't posted for a long time. I actually did put something up, something mean and nasty, and I felt so bad I snuck back in and deleted it before anyone (I hope, what with all the time zones and all, it's hard to say) saw it. So if you did see it, please. . . shhh!

Anyway, the reason I haven't posted is because I've been a bit down in the dumps lately. Just missing good ol' Londres :-( and feeling sorry for myself. Nothing like a full-fledged feeling sorry for self to provide a change of scene. I'm getting better now:-)

Well, I've had a couple of guests lately, which is always exciting! One of my best friends from Kodai, Emsten, is down in NYC for a month, and she's staying with me - she says till Thursday, but I hope to convince her to stay longer. It's so nice to have someone who knows you, and whom you know from way back when you were a different you in some ways, but also the same in many others - who knows all your old (and maybe still) dorky ways, your old crushes and heartaches, and with whom you can share nostalgic moments. And, even if you are not getting nostalgic together, there's something about being able to reconnect in the same way you used to, and to feel the familiarity that is not always easy with newer friends. I'm blessed that I already have Ficali, Nayma and Ilajna here, but it's good to add to the list!

So, we've been hanging out together at home, trying neighbourhood restaurants, going shopping and of course, playing with little Wednesday, who has taken quite a fancy to her (like when she decides to take a nap, he climbs on the bed, and goes to sleep next to her - and he adores her toes - he goes crazy when he sees them, jumping on her feet, and nibbling manically at them). And on the whole, having a pretty nice, relaxed time (for me, and I hope for her).

And today, I saw my cousin who I haven't seen since 1992, and is in town for a couple of days. It was only a few hours, but it was still good to catch up with him, listen to stories about his two daughters, whom I've never met, and to listen to his excited plans for me when I go visit him and his family in Africa.

And today also, I saw an old flame online on MSN, sent a message just for the heck of it, and was surprised and delighted to hear back (seeing that he spent most of my last days in London trying to keep me away, with good reason!)

And, I had a really good interview today. It was with a girl from Bolivia who has converted to Islam. I've been panicking about this story, because it wasn't panning out according to my plans, but, after my interview, I feel like I have a bit more to go on, even though the premise of the story is changing. But at least I have an interesting story to tell, which is more than I hoped for :-)

So, despite my downness, it's been a good few days. And I have been praying that things would start to look up, and they have, so. . . yaay Jesus!

And I've made a resolution - I'm going to drop some of the extra stuff I've taken on, and focus on my classes. Like I told Emsten - I'm getting old. It's time I realised that I can't handle all the extra stuff that I once could!

Rejection is no fun

Why is it that rejection hurts so much, even when the object of your desire didn't mean all that much to begin with? Why do you feel so bad when you don't get that job you weren't all that keen on anyway? Or when that person you've known for less than a week and have the tiniest of crushes on decides that he/she don't want you?

Is it because it's a blow to your self-esteem that you were unable to get even something or someone you didn't even want all that badly? Or is it the realisation that the something or someone that didn't seem at all essential has suddenly become all-important in the brief interval between the almost-attainable phase and the slap-in-the-face rejection phase?

You do get over it quickly, for, in the larger scheme of things, the small rejections don't affect you all that much. But, while the sting of the rejection lasts, it makes you - ok, why am I hiding behind the second person? - me really question myself, and shines a glaring light on all my inadequacies, laying bare and magnifying every thing wrong with me. Was this why I didn't get it? I thought this might be a reason for him not to like me - now, I know it is.

PS:
Nev will probably tell me off for this post, and I should probably not publish this, but oh well. . .

Contempt of court???

Today, I got back an assignment I did last week - covering a court case. And looking over it, I remembered some of the details of the case, and one very dicey situation that I could have found myself in.

I arrived at the Queens County Criminal Court at about 8:40 (early again, what's happening to me?!?!?), only to find out that the court clerk's office, where I had to go to choose a case to report on, only opened at 9. I bumped into a couple of other girls from my class, and we tried to see if we could find any other way to locate an interesting case. We finally found the Supreme Court clerk's office, which was open and one of the girls asked them what the most interesting case was. (Now me, I wouldn't have asked them to recommend a case. I would have asked to look at the cases on trial and decided myself, because they could have sent us to the least controversial one, or the one where they didn't want any outsiders to be - good journalistic thinking, eh? I'm getting good at not being so gullible.) But anyway, they directed us to one of the court rooms, and we went in. Time passed, and no judge, no jury, nobody, though we did see the defendants in the case outside the courtroom, probably waiting as impatiently as us.

There was one Guyanese woman (of Indian origin) sitting in the viewing area, on the bench in front of us. She turned around at one point, and seeing me, I think felt some affinity towards me, since I looked to be of similar background. I was encouraged by this, and, being the enterprising journalist that I am (heh heh!), decided to approach her and talk to her. She told me she was the ex-girlfriend of the alleged victim, and that she was testifying about what happened (the case was that the defendants had beated up her ex-boyfriend outside a bar in Jamaica). We didn't talk about any other particulars of the case other than that. She said she was sick of the case, and having to go to court, when she wasn't even with the guy anymore. I moved back into my seat and waited for the trial to begin, which it did, about 70 minutes late.

The witness was continuing her testimony, so she went up and took the stand. As soon as did so, the defense attorney fired the first question at her, which sent my heart rocketing into my mouth. "Have you spoken with anyone about this trial between yesterday and today?" he asked her.

OHMIGOSH!! What have I done???? Have I just broken the law? Am I going to be in contempt of court? And how did the defense attorney find out that I had spoken to her? And why didn't any of the court staff say anything when they saw me talking to her??? Is this the end of my career as a journalist, over before it even really began? I turned in panic to one of my classmates, only to be greeted with a blank stare.

I turned back to the witness. She maintained a stony silence, which had guilt written all over it. I'm finished, I thought.

Then, the attorney rephrased the question. "Did you call the owner of the bar to tell her what happened in court yesterday?" he asked her.

PHEW!! My heart settled back down into its normal place. So he wasn't talking about me after all! It took a few minutes for my nerves to settle down, though, and to get back to following the case.

Needless to say, I stayed far away from her, and the other two witnesses, for the remainder of the day! Darned Columbia professors - why don't they tell you that you can't talk to witnesses before sending you out to cover a trial??

Turned away :-(

Today was not a very good day. I spent over two hours on the subway to my beat -- well, an hour and a half on the subway, then another half hour waiting for a bus, getting on the bus, getting lost, getting unlost, and finally reaching my destination, all a total of over two hours -- only to be sent back.

I am working on a story about the controversy surrounding rent increases in one of the largest housing co-operatives in the US, which happens to be in my beat. So I decided to take advantage of the fact that the board's meeting was timed perfectly to meet my Wednesday deadline and attend.

I walked confidently into the meeting room at the Rochdale Village Community Centre, sending up a silent thank you that the meeting hadn't started yet, even though I was, as usual, late. I settled into a seat close to the back of the room, from where I could observe the proceedings without drawing too much attention to myself. I had just settled down, and gone up to say hello to one of the board members whom I've spoken with earlier when the head security guard approached me. "Will you please step outside, miss?" he asked me, politely, but so firmly that I dismissed the inclination to respond "No, thank you. I'm fine where I am."

Rolling my eyes at the inconvenience, I followed him outside. He informed me that the meeting was only for residents of the co-op, and as I wasn't one, I had to leave. "What?" I said. "I've travelled two hours to come here, and I'm not going back. I wasn't told that I couldn't come."

"It's a private meeting, only for co-op residents, miss," he insisted.

"I called so many people and none of them told me that I had to be a resident to attend," I told him.

He wouldn't budge. I tried the anger tactic, closely followed by the "it's-all-your-fault" tactic, but nothing worked.

"I'm not just sitting around, doing nothing, you know. You people need to do a better job of letting people know if you're not going to let us in," I told him in the most righteously indignant tone I could muster. It didn't work, although he became a bit more sympathetic.

"I know, I'm sorry, I have a son in college in Connecticut," he said, though how he thought that would be of any help to me, I'm not sure.

He asked me if I knew how to get out, and I shook my head, stubbornly refusing to talk to him, now that all else had failed. He called another guard, and asked him to escort me to the bus stand. "I'm sorry," he said, in parting.

I glared at him, and walked away in stubborn silence with the other guard. It was drizzling, and the guard, trying to be kind, asked me if I had an umbrella. "Yes, but I don't want to use it," I retorted, and continued walking, though I did thaw a bit and tell him what had happened. He was duly sympathetic, but it was clearly not in his hands.

The bus came, predictably late; I missed the train as I was walking down the steps, and again predictably, had to wait for the next one. I did try to salvage my evening by calling a woman whom I met while waiting for the bus on Saturday, when I went to speak with the residents of the co-op. We had started chatting, and she mentioned that she was a friend of the chairman of the board. She had offered to get me in touch with him, so, on my way back, I called her and whinged about how they wouldn't let me into the meeting, and asked her if she had his contact details. She gave me his email address.

So, if he gets back to me, it might not, after all have been a complete waste. Though, I could have called her from home, and had that game of squash that I said no to because of the meeting. Such is the life of a journalism student whom no one takes seriously . . .sigh!!

Kitty corner. . .

After spending the entire afternoon on my beat, trying to talk to people who love to gripe, but not to let their gripes be attributed to them; three hours on the subway; an hour at the gym; a couple of hours rewatching My Big Fat Greek Wedding; and about an hour on my post on Talabani's speech, which took an inordinate amount of time for a blog post; I'm ready to go to bed.

But guess who has - after darting about the apartment the entire afternoon and evening with more energy than I can muster even after three double espressos - decided to clamber into my lap and go to sleep. What to do? Wait till the little guy wakes up, or unceremoniously deposit him outside my room, shut the door and go to sleep? I'm actually feeling quite charitable towards him, despite the fact that he's been chewing on my toes, and digging his claws into me every opportunity he gets. Maybe I'll just twiddle my thumbs till he decides to wake up, and then kick him out. . . then again, maybe not. . .

All's as it should be in Iraq. . .

Last week, I attended a talk by Jalal Talabani, Iraq's new president. It was, on the whole, a winning talk, aimed at convincing the audience that the US did the right thing by going to Iraq. He is quite a personable man, and I could tell that the (somewhat undiscerning) audience took to him immediately. Which, for my journalistic - in other words, excitement-craving - instincts, proved a little disappointing.

"You are our partners in our liberation from tyranny," he told the audience. "Now, we struggle side by side to fight facism and terrorism in Iraq." He highlighted the mass graves of women and children that were discovered in Iraq, one of the products of Saddam Hussein's regime, as one of the many reasons for the US and Iraq to continue to fight the "war on terror" together.

To those who opposed the US' involvement in Iraq, he said: "Please come to Iraq and see the mass graves with hundreds of thousands of Iraqi people."

"The forces of darkness want to take us back to our terrible past," he said. "They showed no remorse to any human suffering." An example, he said, was the exchange of congratulations between members of Al Qaeda after Hurricane Katrina.

Responding to calls by several Americans to the US government to withdraw from Iraq,or at least to set a timetable for withdrawal, Talabani said that doing so would prove to be a set back for the war effort. The presence of the UN and multinational forces is vital for democracy in Iraq and the Middle East, he said, until Iraq can stand on its own feet.

To those calling for a timetable for a pull-out, he said: "The US should set no timetable for withdrawal. It will encourage the terrorists, [lead them to conclude] that they can defeat a superpower. Withdrawal now or in the near future could lead to victory of tyranny in Iraq."

Speaking about the new Iraqi Constitution, Talabani addressed the conflict and troubles that Iraq has had in its drafting. The outcome of the drafting process is that nobody is entirely happy with the new Constitution, he said, but insisted that this is a good thing. "If anyone was completely happy, there would have been others who were completely unhappy, and it would have been a failure," he argued.

Talabani also said that it has taken longer to build a government in the new Iraq than it would have in the old Iraq. This is because the new Iraq is "a state based on the principle of inclusion, not exclusion," he said. "There must be no victors and no vanquished."

And in conclusion: "To the terrorists, I say, 'You will never win. Freedom will win in Iraq'."

His talk was a veritable journalist's dream, at least as far as succulent quotes and sound bites go. But it was obvious that it was a carefully crafted speech, designed to win over an American audience with mixed feelings about the US' role in Iraq.

Throughout Talabani's talk, it was clear that he was trying to soothe troubled waters, to convince the audience that things in Iraq are going well, despite all the problems and conflict still rife in the country. I think that, for the most part, his talk succeeded in at least moving the audience a little closer to acceptance of the view he presented. But whether they remain convinced as events continue to unfold in Iraq remains to be seen.

Talabani's ascendancy to the presidency of Iraq is clearly a victory for Iraq's Kurds, long marginalised under Saddam Hussein. The fact that he has been voted into such a position of power in Iraq also signifies a mandate for change in Iraq. And thus, when the US does get out of Iraq, it will, I imagine, leave with at least some of the credit for uniting a nation that has had several internal divisions, both in the north, with the Kurds, and in the south, with the Shiites.

But precisely because of this acceptance of Kurds in Iraq, relations between Iraq and Turkey, which still refuses to recognise Kurdistan, have soured considerably after Talabani came into power. That this hostility is present on both sides was very clear from a comment that Talabani made in response to a Turkish student's question. The student showed his own bias when, referring to a comment Talabani made about Kurdistan, he asked Talabani what he exactly he had meant.

Talabani's sharp retort: "I didn't create Kurdistan. God created Kurdistan. Just because you don't accept Kurdistan doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

It was amusing to see his diplomatic veneer slip ever so slightly, and that little bit of tension somewhat appeased my aforementioned need for excitement in an otherwise tame presentation.

Baby bloopers

Something pretty darned disgusting happened to me today. And I've been feeling completely grossed out all day.

My roommate got a little kitten two weeks ago. Well, he's technically hers, but he's kind of adopted us. He's absolutely adorable, with a tiny pink nose and a little pink mouth. He has soft black fur, a strip of white down his chest and little white gloves and socks, that makes him look like a butler in a tailcoat. .

But the most adorable part is the way he falls asleep. One minute, he's completely hyper, running around, and the next thing you know, he's fallen over, asleep. Once he started walking somewhere, and fell asleep mid-stride! I suspect we've got a narcoleptic cat on our hands. And the way he sleeps. Sometimes, he sleeps on his stomach, absolutely flat, with his four paws spreadeagled in four different directions. Other times, he sleeps on his back, with his chest and belly up, looking remarkably like a human baby.

He loves being around people, and is constantly jumping onto our shoulders and laps, climbing up our legs, looking into our eyes and mewing softly. And biting everything, from fingers and toes, to earrings to watches.

He is absolutely irresistible, so, even though he had an "accident" - the big kind - on my roommate's rug, and a little one on my other roommate's bed, I haven't had the heart to shut him out of my room when he comes bounding up to me on his tiny legs every time I open the door.

This morning, I saw something dark-coloured in a corner of my room where the light didn't fall very well. I thought it was a piece of dark paper. I went to pick it up, and as my finger made contact with it, something unexpected happened. My fingers went right through it. Realising too late what it was, I withdrew my hand in horror, and rushed to the bathroom to scrub my hands clean over and over. Little Wednesday had done it again - the big job, in my room! I learned my lesson.

Cursing him, I cleaned up his mess, trying not to get sick and make a bigger mess of my own. I let him know in no uncertain terms that I was not very pleased with him, shut my door loudly when he tried to get in, and left the apartment.

The feeling on my fingers stayed with me, and everytime I ate, I was aware that the same fingers I was eating with had touched something else. But, when I came back home, he came running up to me again, and dashed into my room, as soon as I opened my door. What could I do? He's such a baby, and it breaks my heart to be mean to him. I let him in, promising myself that he could only be in the room when I was there with him. And my method of keeping him out of my room? Staying out of it myself! So, here I am, in the living room, with the door to my room shut tight. And the little guy's climbed onto my lap as I'm writing this, and squeezed himself into the tiny bit of space left by my laptop, and is chewing on my thumb - but only after I checked to make sure that he was clean, and that there were no unwanted substances on any part of his anatomy. I'm just hoping that there are no accidents now!

One thing I know - I'm going to adopt a child when he or she is at least three years old - so that these kind of mishaps don't happen. I can't deal with a kitten. A real baby that I have to clean up after is out of the question!

Choice of words

Yesterday, we had an interesting discussion in one of my classes about the use of the word "refugees" in describing people displaced by Hurricane Katrina. The professor asked if the news media should be using that word to describe them, as the word has two definitions. According to the dictionary definition, it applies to anyone seeking refuge from anything. But according to the general UN definition, and the way it is used in the media worldwide, it means someone who has come to one country for fear of persecution in his or her own country.

The professor asked various students to comment on whether it was appropriate to use the term refugees for people displaced by the hurricane. Several people stuck to the basic dictionary definition, and said that, yes, technically, they are refugees, so it is ok to use that word. Others said it was not ok to use it, as the people it refers to are American citizens, and as such, they are not refugees.

When I was talking to a couple of others in a small group later on, one of them said that the word refugees has been used in the American media to describe people fleeing natural disasters in other countries, e.g. after the Dec. 26 tsunami. One of the others in the group, a lawyer in a former life, who has done several fascinating things, including serving on a few election monitoring missions in the Middle East, pointed out that the media in other countries hadn't been calling those affected by the tsunami refugees.

My question is. . .why the need for this debate at all? The appropriate term for those who have been displaced by Hurricane Katrina is "evacuees". Not refugees, not internally displaced, as someone else suggested. While people can't be faulted for choosing to use the word refugees according to its dictionary definition, journalistically, it is inappropriate. The media does anything but operate in a vaccum, even a vaccum called the United States. While local media who don't know better might get away with using the word "refugees", national publications, such as the New York Times, cannot afford to stick to dictionary definitions. Because the New York Times is, in many ways, an international paper too, and if it veers away from the internationally accepted definitions of words and chooses to endow on certain words meanings that are not recognised internationally, it could lead to a great deal of confusion. And the whole point of the news media is to clearly and accurately inform people of the truth.

Predictable politicians

On Wednesday, I went to listen to yet another speaker: this one, the president of my own country, Chandrika Kumaratunga. She had come to New York for the UN summit, and was gracing the Asia Society with her presence, so I decided to shell out 15 big ones to go listen to her!

It was a pretty mediocre performance. I think her objective with the session was to leave her presidency (which is coming to an end soon, as we are going to have elections within the next few months) with a bang. She went on about how hard her government had worked to achieve peace in Sri Lanka, and to keep peace talks with the LTTE going, even though the LTTE petulanty keeps reneging on its cease-fire agreement.

Not quite true, because, although there have been isolated incidents and internal conflicts among the LTTE itself, it has, for the most part, adhered to its promise of not returning to full-fledged war.

She claimed to have tried hard to redevelop conflict-affected areas in the north and eest of the country, sending ministers there to lead redevelopment efforts, whom the LTTE have promptly killed. This might well be true, but she made no mention of the several Tamil areas still occupied by the Sri Lankan army, which refuses to let Tamils back into their land and their homes, saying they are high-security zones.

She also called for transforming the LTTE from a "dictatorial, brutal force to a political one that doesn't use violence to make its voice heard." Which might be a noble goal, but the last time I checked, it wasn't only the LTTE that was a "dictatorial, brutal force".

I am, by no means, under the illusion that the LTTE is some sort of saintly force that is trying to fairly and accurately represent all Tamils. The internal struggles that it has been dealing with over the past year itself are evidence that this is not the case. Yet, Kumaratunga's claims that she has done nothing but good for the country, while the evil LTTE does everthing possible to foil her saintly efforts, made me feel slighty sick.

Overall, it was a disappointing and somewhat predictable evening. But, as my International Reporting professor commented when I told him so afterwards, "What did you expect? Politicians are always predictable."

"I shook hands with Mary Robinson!!"

On Tuesday, after my long day on my beat, I decided I still have a teeny weeny bit of energy left to go to a forum on the UN on the eve of the UN Summit. My tentative plan for my master's project is that it will be on the UN (it's a VERY tentative plan!), so I thought going to this forum would help me crystallise that plan into something more specific.

It was a very different experience from any I've had so far in New York, just in terms of the dialogue and discussion. It comes as no surprise to most of the world that the US is a pretty insular place, for all the pies it has its fingers in (apologies for the cliche!).

So, the forum was a very refreshing experience. Featuring such well-known names as Shashi Tharoor (UN Undersecretary general for public affairs and author), William Pace of the World Federalist Movement, Luis Inacio de Silva, president of Brazil (on tape, presented by a member of his staff), Jose Antonio Ocampo, UN undersecretary general for economic and social affairs (ECOSOC) and Erkki Tuomioja, foreign minister of Finland.

The last session, on the Millenium Development Goals and UN Reform, was the only one I was able to attend, and the discussion proved very educational, if somewhat predictable (with the US- and Bush administration-bashing that seems to characterise any dialogue on anything these days).

All called for putting civil society (NGOs), rather than governments, at the centre of the UN agenda for change. Most called for ECOSOC to have a larger role in the UN, with financial institutions such as the World Bank and IMF reporting to this agency.

Gina Vargas, of the Global Call to Action Against Poverty Feminist Task Force, pointed to the reason for her organisation's demand for UN reform. The five permanent members on the UN Security Council have 80 percent of armament trade in the world, she said. "They are not capable of defining what are situations of imminent/latent threat or danger," she said. The Millenium Development Goals are insufficient, and they cannot be reached without far-reaching UN reform, she said.

At the end of the session, my friend Anits and I debated whether to stay for the "political and cultural event" that was to follow. With speakers including Mary Robinson, Jesse Jackson and Nobel Laureate Wangari Maathai, it was very tempting. Anits was eager to hear Mary Robinson, among whose claims to fame are her presidency of the Republic of Ireland and her role as Human Rights High Commissioner of the UN for five years.

We decided to stay for Mary Robinson's talk. And we were glad we did. She reminded the audience that, at the turn of the century, the UN's goal had been to ensure that globalisation would work for all the world's peoples. However, with the emphasis on fighting terrorism following Sept. 11, globalisation and the role of human rights in globalisation got shoved to the back burner. She pointed to the fact that human rights issues have been removed from the UN summit's agenda this year, and called for change.

She also cautioned against settling for a weak UN reform plan. "It's important that we don't get into the kind of mood where we think that something's not so bad, because it used to be so much worse," she said.

After her talk, Anits and I slipped out of the church where the forum was being held. As we exited the building, we spotted Robinson standing by herself on the sidewalk. Anits studied human rights in undergrad, and to her Robinson was an idol, one of the leading figures in the field. So, we had to go speak with her. We approached her, introduced ourselves, and thanked her for her talk. Anits, who's a lot more informed about human rights issues than I am, then chatted with her about the need to bring human rights back into the UN agenda, while I gawked.

As we walked away from Robinson, Anits was in heaven. "I shook hands with Mary Robinson!!" she exclaimed jubilantly. "I feel like a child who's seen Madonna or someone for the first time! No one's going to touch this hand!!"

Anyway, as we walked away, what struck me the most was my own ignorance about the UN, and all the roles it plays. Listening to the talks, I realised how little I knew about the Millenium Development Goals, the UN reform agenda, the agencies that make up the UN, everything. My knowledge about the UN barely skims the surface.

So, I've decided. . . I'm going to read up on as much as I can about the UN over the next few weeks. So ask me in a few weeks!!

Mayoral troubles. . .part II

In relation to the earlier post titled Mayoral Troubles, Gifford Miller got 10 per cent of the votes in the mayoral primary and came last. I guess that explains the response he got from New Yorkers. . .

Primary story

Here is the fruit of today's toils:

Getachew Kinfe went to PS 55, his polling station today, determined to do his part to ensure that Albert Baldeo, a candidate for the District 28 City Council seat, did not get elected.
“I am not interested in voting for anyone,” Kinfe, a native Ethiopian in his mid-50s, who lives in Richmond Hill, said. “I have no confidence in politicians. But I came here to vote against Baldeo. He’s one of the crude third world politicians that I wanted to leave back home.”
“You need a real interest in serving people,” Kinfe explained. “Baldeo makes his money in private business, and then he wants to fold in more power, more money, more everything through this.”
Kinfe, who was turned away without voting, because he had not declared a party affiliation while registering to vote, had settled on voting for Baldeo’s arch rival, pediatrician Robert Mahadeo.
Kinfe’s lack of confidence is mirrored this year by several voters in City Council District 28. Despite having one of the more colorful council races this year, many who bothered to turn up to vote in the primary lamented the lack of choice – between Baldeo and Mahadeo, who have both been to jail for threatening each other; the incumbent, Allan Jennings, who has been accused of sexual harassment, fined and stripped of committee responsibilities; Thomas White, Jr., a former District 28 Councilman who allegedly used taxpayers’ money meant for drug treatment programs for personal expenses, and who earned himself the title of the “Invisible Man” for not showing up at meetings; and Dhanpaul Narine, a little-known school teacher.
Gloria Ruiz, in her mid-40s, chose to go with Narine. “He said he’d be there for seniors,” she said. “I like that.” Ruiz, who, like Narine, Baldeo and Mahadeo, is from Guyana, said she was also more inclined towards Narine because he is from her neighborhood, and he is Guyanese.
“I’ve seen the news about Baldeo and Mahadeo,” she said. “I don’t think I trust them.” Jennings hasn’t fulfilled the promises he made during the last election, Ruiz said, and, not having lived in Queens during White’s term, didn’t know enough about him.
A voter at PS 55, who gave his name as John Smith, said he had cast his vote for Jennings. His reason? “You’ve got to vote for somebody. And I spoke to him when he came to Allan church. I haven’t spoken to any of the others.”
The result of this lack of confidence in the candidates is the low turnout at the polls this year, according to Sheryl Bishop and Joe Vidal, election coordinators at PS 50 and PS 55 respectively.
Voters trickled in to both polling stations, about two every 10 minutes, vastly outnumbered by bored poll workers, who numbered over 20 at each station.
“Turnout so far has been pretty close to mediocre,” Vidal pronounced about half way through the voting day. Having worked at various polls for 20 years, Vidal pointed out that people of Indian origin generally come out early in the morning, usually before 9 a.m. to cast their votes. He expressed surprise that the Guyanese, many of whom are of Indian origin, have not done so in District 28.
Bishop’s explanation: the turnout depends on who is running. “If it’s someone everyone likes, they’ll come out. Otherwise, they don’t show.”

On the beat. . .

Today was an extremely exhausting day. It started off with Breakfast with the Deans, which is supposed to be an informal Q&A with the deans at the J-school. I didn't really have any questions, but I'm running for treasurer of our student government, so was trying to impress anyone else who would be there.

Anyway, after the breakfast, where I ended up speaking only with people I know anyway (SIGH!! There's such comfort in familiarity, isn't there?), I took off to cover one of the primary election races in Jamaica, Queens, my beat. I got out of the subway and started walking, and, (surprise, surprise), I got myself lost. Now, my deadline for the story was 5:00 p.m. today and by the time I got to Jamaica (after a 1.5 subway ride), it was already about 12:00. After walking in the hot sun for about 25 minutes (I'm convinced that by the time I finish with this programme, I'm going to look like charcoal), I managed to catch a bus that took me quite close to the first polling station on my long list of two that I managed to come up with by typing in random addresses into the poll station locator. No sophisticated journalistic techniques there!

At the polling station, I had to wait a long time to speak with about four people, but to my shock, all of them actually told me, with no hesitation, whom they had voted for.

After I finished talking to the first two voters who came out, a young (cute!!) police officer who was on duty at the polling station came out to ask me what I was doing.

I launched into my spiel. "I'm a student at Columbia University, and am working on a story on the primary."

"Oh, so you're just interviewing people as they come out?"

"Yes."

"That's cool," was the answer. Pause. Then, "So are you a freshman, sophomore. . . ?"

How flattered was I!??! "I'm a grad student," I said. And then, incredulously, "Do I really look like a freshman??!?!?"

That caught him off guard, for some reason. "Well. . . if I said yes, it would be a compliment right?"

"Yeah, of course!"

Awkward pause. Then, "Ok. Good luck!" and he went back inside :-(

Anyway, at the next polling station, I spoke to a few more people, including a 50-something year old election co-ordinator, who was way too energetic for his own good. After I spoke with him, he gave me some great advice about being a journalist: "Don't try to change the world. Be a great observer, so that you can help someone else change the world." (thoughts on that for another entry :-))

From that polling station, another half hour's walk brought me back to the subway station, and I caught up a little on my sleep on the hour and a half journey back. Came back to the apartment, quickly wrote my story and emailed it to the professori!

Men are motormouths!!

After the Gifford Miller incident, FMP and I proceeded to a very artsy, very cool cafe called Cafe des Artistes (I know it had a Cafe and an Artistes, just not sure about the des or pour or whatever in between)! Anyway, as we were chatting about various things, we got to talking about volunteering information.

"You don't tell people things unless you are asked, do you?" I asked her. "I've noticed."

"I know. I don't. I'm really closed," she admitted.

We started talking about how we don't volunteer information about ourselves unless we are asked, and how Caveboy, Rohinton, Nev and Oiram (all boys) talk about what's happening in their lives without being asked, and don't always realise that we expect them to ask us about ourselves, thus leaving us with the impression that they don't care.

"Caveboy is really good about intuiting what I need and asking me," Ficali said. "That makes a big difference."

But, like Nev and Oiram with me, Rohinton expects her to volunteer information, because that's the way he functions. Nothing wrong with that, of course, except that we see them asking as a sign of them caring. Ergo, them not asking is a sign of them not caring.

"Yeah, Nev tells me this is happening, that's happening, blah, blah, blah," I told her. "And I'm on the other end of the phone, seething 'coz he hasn't asked me what's going on with me!"

Ficali understood exactly what I was saying. "We're such losers!" was her pronouncement.

But it really got me thinking. Guys, who are normally supposed to be reticent, are the ones who find it easier to talk without being poked and prodded for information (of course, the four we talked about are BY NO MEANS a representative sample). But still, it seems it's us, the girls, who wait to be asked before we tell. Yet another example of turning stereotypes on their heads?!?!?

Mayoral troubles. . .

I went out yesterday evening to meet Ficali McPipe for a quick cup of coffee before she dashed off to pick up her parents from the airport.

While I was waiting for her at the 14th Street station (yes, believe it or not, I was actually early for once!), I saw Gifford Miller, current speaker of the NY City Council, and one of the candidates for mayor of NYC, standing by one of the station entrances with his campaign staff holding up "Vote for Gifford Miller" signs. Maybe because I read the papers obsessively, Miller is something of a celebrity to me, as he (along with all the other candidates) figures in them every day.

But as I stood watching him hold out his hand to everyone who walked by, the majority walked right past him, with no idea who he was, not even bothering to glance at him, let alone shake his hand. Out of about 40 to 50 people he approached, about seven or eight people actually stopped, and with big grins and looks of delight on their faces as they recognised him, chatted with him, and wished him success. That's a shameful 15% per cent of New Yorkers who recognised their potential next mayor!

Now, the mayor of New York City is no small position. Former mayors from Ed Koch to David Dinkins to Rudy Giuliani to the incumbent Michael Bloomberg have all been somewhat larger than life figures, not just to New Yorkers, but nationwide, and even worldwide. And while realistically, Miller will probably lose the election, he is still in the running to be the next mayor of the city. And yet, people walk right past him!

And they complain that the media doesn't provide them with enough information about the candidates. With the Democratic primary coming up less than five days away, the majority of NYC voters don't even seem to recognise the candidates, let alone know their issues. And yet, the newspapers have been filled with stories about them everyday, with the New York Times doing regular stories on various issues, including education and housing, and the candidates' stands on them, and covering their debates in great detail.

So, wwhere does the problem lie? The media or the attitude of the people? The latter, I say!

First writing sample!!

This is the first of my many writing assignments that you will have the privilege(???) of reading! I've often been told that I'm a better reporter than writer (that might just be a nice way of saying that I'm a worse writer than a reporter!). But either way, I think it's true.

For this assignment, we were told to go out to our beats (the areas we're covering) and talk to people on the streets about how they have been impacted by Sept. 11 and by the attacks in London, and write a story about it. This is mine. . .

As a flight attendant, Sandy Jack, is well aware of terrorism. She and other crew members she works with at an international charter airline are told to be extra vigilant when traveling in foreign countries.
Yet, Jack, an Ozone Park resident in her early 30s, insists she doesn’t let it affect her daily life or the way she brings up her son. “You can’t dwell on it,” she says, biting into a kebab she has purchased from a street vendor in Jamaica, Queens, while her son dozed in his stroller. “What is going to happen is going to happen.”
Jack is not the only one with this laissez-faire attitude. Shoppers stream into and out of shops on Jamaica Avenue, more intent on bargains than bombs, the thought of terrorism apparently far from their minds. The only reminder of the threat of terrorism on the busy street is a T-shirt that proclaims, “United we Stand,” worn by Samuel Wright, a bearded black man in his mid-50s, handing out fliers promoting a dental clinic.
Asked how he views the threat of terrorism, he proclaims, “They’re not going to terrorize me. The Man Above has your number. If it’s your time, it’s your time. Leave it up to the Lord.”
While his T-shirt might be seen as a sign of his patriotism, he says that his love for his country is by no means unequivocal. Both he and Jack say that the US invited trouble by going to war with Iraq in the first place. “I love this country, but not everything about it, and certainly not its president,” Wright says. “I did not vote for Bush, I knew he was lying the first time.”
For others, like Sadia Mohmamed, from Queens Village, Queens, the threat of terrorism has been an opportunity to see the good nature of New Yorkers. Mohammed, in her mid-20s, wears a hijab – as Islamic headscarf – wrapped around her head and shoulders. But, she says, she has not had a hard time either after Sept. 11, or after the more recent London bombings. “If anything, I’ve felt like people have tried harder to show their support,” she says. “They’ve tried to show women like me, who show that they are Muslim, that it’s ok to be yourself. They don’t want us to feel like we are part of (the terrorism that) has been going on.”
It is not just civilians who are relatively unaffected. Sgt. Everton L. Johnson, station commander at the US Army Recruiting Station on Jamaica Avenue, says not much has changed on the US Army’s recruitment front either. If anything, he has seen interest in the US Army increase in the past few months.
Despite negative coverage by the press, Johnson views the fact that the war has increased the public’s awareness of the army in a positive light.
And, while Jack and Wright see the United States’ involvement in Iraq as meddling, Johnson has a different view. “Everyone has an opinion and thinks their opinion is right,” he says. “I’m not here to say that anyone is wrong. But, I believe we have a duty to protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

The pursuit of greatness. . . or happiness?

I have been wondering. . . are the pursuit of greatness and true happiness mutually exclusive? At first glance, they would seem not. . . for why would anyone pursue greatness if it wouldn't lead to ultimate happiness? ,But, in life, it is often small pleasures, shared moments with loved ones, etc. that bring the most happiness, or at least the pleasantest feeling of contentedness. While pursuing greatness, there is often not much time to accomodate these little things . Of course, the ultimate achievement of greatness is supposed to bring happiness. . . but then again, when we reach what was initially our ultimate destination, we create for ourselves another rung, higher up, to aspire to.

The pursuit of greatness is, thus, a choice; sacrifices must be made, and the sacrifices we choose to make, which are often those little things that sustain us and nourish the soul, leave us sad and lonely. Some people change their choice along the way, choosing happiness over greatness, but others persevere, postponing their momentary happiness in the belief that better things await them at the end. But do they?


Does this make ANY sense whatsoever? In my defense, it is now 1:20 a.m., WAY WAY past my bed time, and this thought was floating around in my head, and I needed to get it out. No, I am not on crack, but my mind is a bit fuzzy now, and I should just save this entry as a draft and delete it tomorrow, but I WILL take a chance. I will post it!

A diplomatic event

Last week, I attended a reception hosted by the Sri Lankan ambassador to the UN, Prasad Kariawasam. The event was sponsored by the South Asian Journalists Association (yes, believe it or not, there are enough South Asian journalists around to form an association!!) and the Dean of Students at Columbia, who happens to be South Asian, allowed us aspiring journos to attend as well.

So, there we were, at the oppulent apartment of the Ambassador, complete with white gloved door-men, elevator-men, corridor-men, you name it. ("Note: this is how the other side lives," our Dean told us as we gazed around us with our jaws dropping. Well, I didn't go into journalism for the money, I have to keep reminding myself! I went into it for the love of ferreting out the TRUTH, the unadulterated facts. Even though that means I'll never get to have door-men, elevator-men and corridor-men!)

Anyway, the reception itself was very pleasant. Tasty finger foods, very pleasant company, and a very good conversation with Mr. Kariawasam, who was duly excited to discover that there was a Sri Lankan journalism student at Columbia. I asked him quite innocently, if he was Tamil or Singhalese - since he said he was from Galle (a Singhalese area), but his name sounded Tamil - a question that, in Sri Lanka, can be taken as an attempt to decide if the subject of the question is friend or foe. He looked taken aback, and then started laughing. He did answer my question, though - Singhalese, and we chatted about the difficulty these days of figuring out where a person is from based on their name alone!

He made a brief speech, thanking everyone for coming, etc. Although he was the true diplomat, careful not to ruffle any feathers, he did unwittingly ruffle a few of mine. One statement in particular. In talking about the conflict, he said that "we" are fighting the Tamil rebels. True, he is part of the Sri Lankan government, and as such, the statement is true, for it is the Government that is fighting them. But, it also made me realise anew the huge divide in Sri Lanka between the Government and the Tamil people. Because when the Government says "we", it means the Singhalese, those who are, at least theoretically, on the side of the Government in the civil war that has been tearing the country apart. His statement made me realise that the Government doesn't even want to make a show of representing the Tamil people, because the "we" in his statement certainly doesn't include the Tamils.

It made me angry, but the impromptu press conference didn't allow much time for probing questions. I expect to go back and talk to him at length about a lot of topics he talked about - the peace process, tsunami aid, the economy (the enormous growth in the stock market!) to name a few (I made friends with his first and second secretaries, so that should be easy!). I'll nail him then!!

Incidentally, the President of Sri Lanka is speaking at an event on Sept. 14, and I'm going!! That should definitely be a blogable event!