Not everyone is a "terrorist"

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We will not allow the enemy to win the war by changing our way of life or restricting our freedoms. –George W. Bush, September 12, 2001

As most of you have heard, Congress recently rubber-stamped a bill at the behest of the President that will supposedly “help fight terror.” The Village Voice has a nice summary article:

Right after 9-11, then attorney general John Ashcroft was directing the swift preparation of the USA Patriot Act. He sent a draft to the aggressively conservative James Sensenbrenner, Republican chair of the House Judiciary Committee. The bill included the suspension of habeas corpus for terrorism suspects–the right to go to a federal court to determine whether the government is holding you lawfully.

Sensenbrenner angrily recoiled at the proposed disappearance of the Great Writ and forced Ashcroft to strike it from the Patriot Act. Five years later, Sensenbrenner helped shepherd through Congress the Military Commissions Act of 2006, which prevents detainees held by us anywhere in the world, not only at Guantanamo, from having lawyers file habeas petitions in our courts concerning their conditions of confinement.

In 1798, the writer of the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson–who insisted habeas corpus be embodied in the Constitution–said to generations to come: “The Habeas Corpus secures every man here, alien or citizen [freedom from arbitrary confinement]…”

But now, the Republicans’ Military Commissions Act can not only remove this bedrock of our liberty from prisoners outside the country but can also strip habeas protections from legal immigrants here, as well as from American citizens.[Link]

In the wake of 9/11 many of us South Asian Americans have dealt with the erosion of civil liberties by joking around about it. “Hey, don’t talk in Tamil at the airport or they might arrest you as a terrorist.” Or what about “Hey, be careful going to Pakistan because they may suspend your 5th Amendment rights and ask you to take a polygraph when it is time to return to America.” Behind all of these nervous jokes is the suspicion that under these new laws perhaps anyone, including U.S. citizens, could be arbitrarily labeled a “terrorist” and stripped of their rights. The Bush administration counters by arguing that we should trust them and that they will only pin the label of “terrorist” on the real bad guys. You see, under the Patriot Act once you are officially designated as a “terrorist” you are in a whole new legal reality.

Now consider for a few minutes the case of Luis Posada Carriles. 30 years ago last week he masterminded a bomb plot that brought down a Cuban jetliner off the coast of Barbados. 73 people aboard were killed.

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Sunday55: The “Black Dog” Edition

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One of my best friends sent me a virtual pep talk at 5:15 pm; he had no possible way of knowing that the words he borrowed from Winston Churchill to make his point were already on my mind. Reading his GMissive on my august, semi-blinged phone’s meager screen while parked in traffic at M St + Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown reaffirmed my belief that nothing is accidental and that especially in my life, continental, oceanic and ironic plates clash together to create quaking moments which belong on celluloid. What are the odds? I get that email when I’m already pondering the British Bulldog, while “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin blares through every straining speaker of this zippy red morsel of German perfection, which is mine for the evening? G-d is one hell of a director; I dig all the synchronicity.

Currently, I’m being haunted by the spectre of a black dog myself, as I reboot my entire life and go it alone, in every possible sense of the word. I desperately wish that I had just one pair of my venerable Docs with me in this cocoa city, to stomp through all the omnipresent ick with…alas, every set of bouncing soles lives with Moms, 3000 miles to the left. Incidentally, that picture you see above was taken the day I met Sepia Wizard Paul for the very first time, in North Beach, for a day of molesting Harry Potter (that was me), being confused by elderly Asian people (both of us) and mais oui, espresso at Greco (that SHOULD be everyone). I’m always a sentimental old bat, but I think tumult like this makes it even easier to conjure the past, as if to remind myself that this, too, shall pass, just like everything else has.

We haven’t held a festival for 55-word nanofiction in several weeks, so this Sunday, write about your black dogs, your love of fog, your fear of being a cog. Whatever floats your clove-smoking, black wet-n-wild nail polish-wearing, Gothic boat. If you’re not too black and blue to do so, that is… Continue reading →

Childbirth in the U.S. and India

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Though people have children all the time, when I went through it it was still astonishing. Even in the merely supporting/cheerleading role of the father, I can’t remember ever experiencing anything quite as frightening and, in the end, exhilarating. The everyday can still be mindblowing, when it happens to you: giving birth to a child is still difficult, painful (even with local anesthesia), and dangerous. So many things could go wrong, and yet somehow they don’t, most of the time. And at the end of the day you have in your hands the most uncanny result of all: new life.

In a way I was lucky that S. went into labor last Friday, before I came across the latest issue of the New Yorker, with a typically excellent Atul Gawande piece on the evolution of obstetric medicine. In effect, the story Gawande tells isn’t really an alarming one, though it still might have filled my mind with thoughts better avoided. Childbirth in the U.S. has become fairly safe over the years (though the threat of infant mortality and maternal mortality is still real). But what is a bit disturbing is that until fairly recently so many women (1 in 100) and newborns (1 in 30) died going through this. Interestingly, it was a woman doctor named Virginia Apgar who formulated a rating system (the Apgar scale) which gave doctors a set of criteria by which to evaluate newborns who seemed a bit iffey immediately after delivery. According to Gawande, the Apgar scale has dramatically reduced the infant mortality rate and revolutionized neo-natal care. The procedure that has made the difference with maternal mortality is the modern Caesarian section:

In the United States today, a full-term baby dies in just one out of five hundred childbirths, and a mother dies in one in ten thousand. If the statistics of 1940 had persisted, fifteen thousand mothers would have died last year (instead of fewer than five hundred) —- and a hundred and twenty thousand newborns (instead of one-sixth that number). (link)

It’s worth noting that there are disparities along racial and ethnic lines; infant mortality rates for African Americans and Native Americans are appreciably higher than for other groups. The statistics in India aren’t quite as good, though they have also improved dramatically in recent years. Continue reading →

Two plates of curly fries, please

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Sajit mentioned comedienne Vijai Nathan in his post. She is that doubly rare breed, a female desi comedian. However, she didn’t spring fully formed out of Robin William’s forehead onto the stage. Her origin story involves a past as a copywriter until one day, her comedic talents were unleashed by a comedy workshop. The moment when she quit her day job to pursue comedy full time became a part of her act:

“… her father was furious: “He said: ‘Vijai, how could you do this to your family? I have struggled in this country for 25 years and you’re going to disgrace me this way?’
I said, “But dad, I just want to make people laugh, you know, be a comedian.’
He said ‘Oh, your mom told me you wanted to be a Canadian…” [Link]

Audiences also have a hard time getting it sometimes, too:

“This guy shouts out: “Woo! Keep it going for the Cherokee. Yeah!”
I said, “Sir, I’m not the kind of Indian with bows and arrows. I’m the kind with unlimited access to nuclear weaponry...” [Link]

She actually started out “really bad Clinton impressions” and much more mainstream jokes before developing some very desi material:

… my parents were always worried that I was becoming too American. My Dad would say: ‘So you want to wear pants, eat cows, have minty fresh breath. That’s it, you’re going back to India.'” [Link]

… her mother overheard her singing along with Madonna, and put a stop to it by insisting, “Vijai, you are not like a virgin, you are a virgin!“… [Link]

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Sunrise to Moonrise

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It isn’t so often that South Asian cultural events happen in DC, but when they do, it reaffirms to me how much I love living here. Today is one of those days.

To celebrate the 100th anniversary of Charles Lang Freer’s gift (Freer’s money led to the creation of the Freer Gallery here in Washington) to the American people, the Smithsonian Institutions are putting on a day’s worth of Asian-American themed cultural events. Starting at 4 pm today, the Rudresh Mahanthappa quartet will perform on the Freer Steps, and because it is raining the show will likely be shifted to the Gallery’s Meyer Auditorium. The quartet is led by Saxaphonist extraordinaire and Pi recording Artist Rudresh Mahanthappa and will feature a blend of South Asian and Western Jazz improvisation.

If that isn’t enough FREE entertainment for you, starting at 8 pm, female Indian-American comedian Vijai Nathan, of “Good Girls don’t, but Indian Girls do” fame, along with Frank Hong, will be entertaining the crowds with their ethnic comedy at the Meyer Auditorium. And to make the night a bit more festive, there will be a sake tasting for two hours immediately before the show in the Freer courtyard.

So if you are in Washington D.C. today, and are willing to brave the first signs of fall here in DC, make sure you head out to the Freer today.

The Freer Gallery is located at Independence Ave at 12th St SW here in Washington D.C.

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Battlestar Galactica is desi friendly

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I apologize in advance for the geekery that may ensue on this website but I feel obligated to a certain segment of our readership to point out that tonight (Friday night-when all the cool people will be out) marks the season premiere of Battlestar Galactica, a show that one Newsweek writer recently called “indisputably, hands-down and without question, the best show on television.”

About a year ago, I tried to pitch NEWSWEEK’s arts editor on a “BSG” story. He said something along the lines of “Get out of my office, nerd,” which neatly sums up the challenge of getting other people to watch it. The title unfortunately evokes its predecessor, a 1978 “Star Wars” clone that presented humanity fleeing through space, pursued by robots with the same blinking red LEDs that was later adopted by the talking car in “Knight Rider.”

I was never a big fan of the original, but I became an instant convert to the Sci Fi Channel version…

At the center of the maelstrom is the ethically challenged Colonel Tigh, the show’s biggest hawk and best character. In his portrayal of the squinting Tigh, actor Michael Hogan brilliantly channels Donald Rumsfeld. Tigh despises all things soft, and anything that smells of compromise or weakness. When he’s told in this week’s episode that a suicide bomber will inflict many casualties, both human and Cylon, he barks: “Don’t avoid them. Send a message. There are no boundaries for the Cylons and there are no boundaries for us!”

Beyond the Rumsfeldian Tigh, the show blatantly co-opts the visual imagery of the current conflicts in the Middle East. Prisoners are marched into jails with hoods draped over their heads and sit alone in cement block cells–shades of Abu Ghraib. [Link]

I am sure many of you are still wondering why I am writing about this on SM. Well, for one thing the show’s opening credits are Hindu friendly, set to…the Gayatri Mantra. Also, late last season Indo-Canadian actress Rekha Sharma joined the cast as Tory Foster, an aide to outgoing President Laura Roslin. I am expecting to see her role grow this season. Or she may be killed off like the President’s former aid. This ain’t like Star Trek, even the non-randoms gets whacked.

And for the record, I won’t be home tonight. I have TiVo.

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What It Feels Like For A Girl

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A few hours ago, when I left my new apartment for dinner at Heritage India (Connecticut Ave), rain was escaping the night sky with such fury and speed, my golf umbrella was barely adequate and my mukluks were soaked. They are lined with sheepskin, which is now wet and disgusting. My toes are miserable. I’m barely cognizant of this though, because I’m on the phone, having the most important conversation of my day. I’m so involved with this voice, I barely notice the mile which I’ve walked uphill, the road I’ve made a right turn on, the periodic hordes of people on Adams Morgan’s 18th street, on this dead-because-it’s-wet-and-miserable night.

I should be at my new home, snuggled in my, um, Aerobed, but I have no internet access yet, so Tryst (a much-loved haunt of our Manish’s) has gone from third-place to first place in my life, for the moment. I don’t want to go inside and be the idiot on her cell phone though, so I’m hunched over my umbrella handle while I shiver mindlessly right outside the giant picture window, directly across from “my table“; practically on the sidewalk, it’s close to an electrical outlet and the perfect size for one. It’s also almost exactly where I sit when I’m at Greco. Some call me boring, I prefer consistent.

I’m in the middle of responding to a worrisome revelation when a group of frat-tastic retards lurches past, reeking of sweat and bad alcohol. I’m less vexed by such roving stupidity than some of my friends, mostly because unlike them, I was “Greek” and thus constantly around similar. I turn away from them slightly as they stagger by, wishing Maisnon were here; one of the last times we were together in the Morg, I was grabbed so violently, you could see marks the next day. Well before THAT sickening reminder of ickiness manifested itself in my flesh, our girl became Our Lady of Terrifying Rage. Approximately two minutes after Filthy McNastyman’s fingers defiled my arm, she accosted the pulayadi mon who startled and then offended me. “You do NOT do that”, she ranted, right in his face, as his innards liquefied in the face of her wrath. Ah, good times. But why was I thinking these thoughts? I had no need for such big guns. Nothing was going to happen to me…

“Jewugingglut”

Wait, what? Immediately, I hit a mental rewind even as I strained to listen to the voice currently inhabiting my cell-phone. WAIT. OMG. No. He. Didn’t. I dropped the phone right then from ear to hip and shouted in to the bastardÂ’s wake.

“What the hell did you just say to me??”

He turned back, the look on his face scaring me so much I think I whimpered for Deepa, my Mom and/or my ferocious, late German Shepherd Rani. Continue reading →

Free Choudhury

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Salah Uddin Shoaib Choudhury

Salah Choudhury is a Bangladeshi Muslim currently on trial for ostensibly spying for Israel. Alas, even prosecutors in Bangladesh are forced to concede the surface accusations are false. The real reason he’s being persecuted is for using his role as a leading newspaper editor to criticize radical Islam and advocate an open, tolerant Bangladeshi society. In a political environment where everyone is crying out for moderate Muslims to rise up, Mr.Choudhury appears to be the real thing. And he can use your help.

The Chicago Tribune gives us the back story for the of Choudhury’s saga –

Salah Uddin Shoaib Choudhury…will be tried this month on charges of spying for the Jewish state. The crime is punishable by death in predominantly Muslim Bangladesh.

…Choudhury was arrested at Dhaka-Zia International Airport [in November 2003] before boarding a flight to Israel, where he was scheduled to deliver a lecture on Muslim-Jewish relations. After several months behind bars, he was charged with sedition, a capital offense in Bangladesh.

“This is absolutely a false allegation,” Choudhury said. “I never, ever spy for any country. We work for the betterment of the interfaith.”

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Puppets deployed against landmines

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Witness the following horrific string of events:

I know it isn’t pretty and I hope that I haven’t ruined anyone’s lunch hour. The Christian Science Monitor has an article about the puppets of “No Strings,” and that organization’s mission to teach the children of Afghanistan about the dangers of landmines:

“Bang!” The little puppet boy steps on a mine, and now he only has one leg. The Afghan children watching the video at a school on a Kabul hillside gasp.

Puppets have long been used to entertain and to teach children basic lessons such as how to count and the letters of the alphabet

“The Story of the Little Carpet Boy,” loosely based on Pinocchio, is the brainchild of No Strings International, a British charity set up to reach children in war-torn areas and teach them vital life lessons through puppetry.

“It’s hard to get a crowd of children to listen to an adult, but the minute you bring a puppet out, kids just light up,” says Johnie McGlade, founder of No Strings.

Mr. McGlade worked for more than a year with two of Muppet-creator Jim Henson’s original team, Kathy Mullen and Michael Frith, to create a culturally sensitive film using characters from Afghan folklore to teach children about the dangers of minefields.

About 60 Afghans a month are killed or injured by mines and unexploded ordnance around the country, and almost half of them are under 18 years old, according the United Nations Mine Action Center for Afghanistan (UNMACA). [Link]

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Festivals: One Up, One Down

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A quick-hit/public service post concerning two of the major annual events on the American desi cultural circuit. First, the South Asian International Film Festival (SAIFF) opened last night in New York City, and runs until Sunday. The films and events are taking place at venues around Manhattan; you can buy tickets online or just show up at the door. Here are some film synopses to whet your appetite:

“My Cultural Divide” – A three month visit to Bangladesh becomes a discovery of family and home that runs parallel with the filmmakers attempt to tackle the complex issue of global trade. Accompanied by his ailing mother, he takes us on a very personal journey to bridge the gap between his heritage in Bangladesh and his life in Canada. He connects his politics with his humanity, and weaves together a story that is both thought provoking and touching.
“Driving in India” – There are no traffic regulations and much like survival of the fittest, the biggest vehicle on the road wins unless you’re an elephant. Shot all over Northern India, “Driving In India” is about a sudden and fast-paced economical environment that has contributed to this challenging way of transportation, but it also shows the relentless optimism and humor of the people and the unwavering need to survive.
“A Cry in the Dark” – This film captures an extraordinary succession of abuses of authority and culminates in a horrifying, desperate act. She was an ordinary village girl but the popular movement that rose up in the wake of Thangiam Manorama’s death shook the foundations of a government. Reportedly raped and killed in police custody her death shook the foundation of local government and barely made the world news.
“Quarterlife Crisis” – Dumped on his 27th birthday by his college sweetheart Angel for being indecisive, Neil makes a silly bet that takes him on a wild ride through New York’s singles scene, accompanied by four testosterone-packed imbecile buddies and one crazy scheming New York taxi driver. On these madcap adventures Neil journeys from life choice paralysis to real life manhood. [w/ Lisa Ray and Russell Peters]

…and lots more feature films, documentaries, and shorts. Many of the films are by emerging or first-time filmmakers. Ali at Eteraz has an interview with one of the latter, Shripriya Mahesh.

On a less happy note, we hear from Sarita Vasa of ArtWallah, the decade-old Los Angeles desi arts festival, that the organization and festival are in jeopardy. They are launching an appeal for emergency funding. Sarita writes: Continue reading →