defending tudung

when an american moves to a muslim country they are confronted with many differences in social culture. the lack of pork and alcohol, the inclusion of sharia law into the court system are large for americans who are taught that "pork fat rules", going out with friends includes buying a round of drinks and that society works because of a separation of church and state. in the US everyone is entitled to the same freedoms, the first of which is exercise of their religious beliefs. moving to a culture where the majority are ruled with one set of laws and the minorities another is unsettling.

when i first came to malaysia, one of the first pieces of advice i had was given was to not shake hands with women if they were wearing a tudung. i was told that women in tudung were more conservative and would not touch a man's hand. people were surprised that i came to this country and began to drive immediately. they thought moving from left-hand drive to right would be difficult for me; it took me about an hour to make the transition. but, they assumed not sticking my hand out towards someone would be easy; it took me many months to make that transition.

about a year after coming here, a women i knew began to wear tudung because she had gotten married and her husband "requested" she appear more proper. my impression was that her bright and shiny glow was filtered by this new screen between her and the world. her full expressions were now only visible in private, in public she was more shielded. it was explained as a choice she made, but it was clearly a choice based on "request" more than desire.

there were other women i met in tudung, and later met outside of it. some were women who wore tudung in certain settings and not others. i came to realize the social pressures to be covered were not just from husbands, but also that families, bosses and peers who also had expectations of proper behavior. for some the pressure to conform required them to be covered in one setting but allowed them to be open away from those pressures. i was amazed at the amount of angst someone could go through simply in choosing to let their hair down.

i received an email this week, it had a picture of a little girl in the next car. she was in a pretty pink tudung and looked happy to have the morning sun on her face. the subject line of the email was "poor child", an indictment of the parents who would force a child this young to become separated from the world. rather than questioning the wearing of tudung, the image of the child almost hanging out the window of a car in traffic, had me wondering why she was not in a seat belt.

last week, an expat friend of mine made a comment about tudung, it was in the form of a question, "why would anyone want to do this?". i surprised myself by answering in defense of the tudung. i have asked the question many times, some women have shyly looked at me and said "i have to". other, smart and capable women have given me deeper answers; thoughtful and considered. it was clear they were making a choice for themselves. as a libertarian i am ready to respect and defend someone for making a choice, even if it differs from the one i would make.

in the past 4 years i have learned to see beyond the veil. moving from the view that tudung was a misogynistic form of control, to one that respects the choice a woman can make to declare to the world that she wishes to keep more of herself private. this change of view is one that i am honestly surprised by, and one that would not have happened if women did not choose to answer my questions openly.

malay women used to begin to wear tudung as they aged, they would be 40ish when they put the it on. the trend over the past 25 years has been to begin wearing it younger and younger. it should be possible for the 40 year old women to make a choice; but a small child has no choice. good parents make choices for their children, they set expectations and impose limits. i do not allow my children to rollerblade without helmet and wrist guards. i question why some parents would teach their daughters that scarfs come before seat belts.

protecting my children from high speed crashes comes close to first in my priorities of parenting, allowing them the room for self expression and choice closely follows. for malaysians i can only hope that choice of coverage is given to each as an individual. as i have learned, women who have real choice are those who can later explain why it is important to them. enforcement of rules without allowing choice leads those who can to rebellion, even if that rebellion is in the form of quiet hypocrisy. for those who can't think, following rules is not a victory, because thought is required for choice.

i have changed since moving here. i still believe in the evil tirade of pork, beer and secularism, but i can now defend something i used to see as oppressive.

but, only when being closed was an open choice.

rolling thunder

during the 1960s amercia was fighting a war in vietnam, and a related one at home with itself. both were attempts to stop liberalism from overtaking the US. communists were threatening to tumble democracies in asia and the progressive social movement was threatening to change the dynamic of control that was the 1950s. in vietnam, the US fought a three year campaign of B-52 strikes called rolling thunder. it was a failed mission that was doomed from the start by intrusive politicians and their conservative policy of gradualism. these are shadows of the past which i see in the lightening storms today.

a few months ago i awoke to the loudest thunder i have ever heard. well, the second loudest, the first woke me two years ago; that night i was standing when i realized i was awake. this time i was still lying down when the thunder shook me. living 250 feet off the ground, perched on the top of one of KL's highest hills translates to occasionally loud nights, but this was well beyond ordinary. i got out of bed and went to the balcony to watch the show.

thunder storms in KL normally come with torrents of rain. water falling so hard it has its own rhythmic roar that tries to mask the thunder in the distance. as i stepped outside, i felt the still air on my skin and noticed the depth of silence that seemed to have a hold on the night. the normal roar was replaced with silence so deep it felt like the night was standing frozen in time.

low clouds covered the city and obscured the mountains to the north. i saw a bolt of lightening reach downward, it lingered in the air as though it was attempting to hold onto the base of the mountains; refusing to let go of the ground it claimed to own. a moment passed in silence until the bolt's angry thunder passed through me. rather than being heard once and fading away, the thunder trapped between the deep clouds and mountains ricocheted back and forth over the otherwise quiet city. it was as though it wanted to be heard over and over so it would not be forgotten in history.

the normally active city had been stolen in the night and replaced with a kampung, one too small to make noise of its own. this was KL at its best, covered in clouds, shrouded and still. i knew i was experiencing something special. i have been here long enough to know the rhythms of the city, and this was not normal KL. it was raya season and i thought about those fasting, i wondered if this quiet was related to them. sleeping soundly, with another hour to rest before they got up to subo. was the stillness of the night because so many were asleep?

this was a violent storm, breaking over the city and sending waves of sound back and forth through the valley. it was also a beautiful show to watch, impressive lightning and rolling thunder, the likes of which i have never experienced in the US. KL is an impressive and beautiful place, it is special in its quiet times. it is impressive in its shyness; curious eyes shifting away with a pleasant smile.

but KL also has a dark side, one that flared up last friday when the often discussed harmony was broken by SMS driven news that because some could correctly use a word others began firebombing churches and vandalizing cars while leaving prayers. i did not see the vandalism myself, but malay friends of mine did and told me it happened, with the same shyness and shifted gaze. this time they averted their eyes out of sadness for the truth.

i am old enough to remember the tension of race wars in the US. i had friends who were distrusted or disliked for the color of their skin, or the different name of their shared god. it took nearly 30 years for my country to recover from those violence stained moments in our history. the recovery was long, but it was better than allowing it to remain the way it had been. there were more brave people who cared for fairness than scared people demanding race politics; respect and justice won in the end.

i used to say that malaysia was like being in the US during the 1950s. my fear is that we are now slipping into the turbulence of the 1960s. malaysia is facing a storm of its own, one that is self imposed and similarly driven by fear of change. life here will not remain as it has been, so each person must decide if it matters that real harmony is found. liberalism might scare some, but we should all be more scared of firebombs and tyranny.

gradualism is code for status quo. all systems move towards equilibrium. this beautiful country has been out of balance for a long time. the distant flashes of light, and the sound of turbulence are signs of that the storm is out there. the only real solution is to allow the system to come into balance and stop simply saying that it already is. the US lost it's wars during my childhood, but won the peace by remembering what mattered most.

let's pray to {your version of the word} for satu malaysia, with liberty and justice for all.

/**************************************************

as i stood watching that night, i was shocked that no one else came onto the balconies around me. how could a storm like this take the city and not wake the sleeping up? i guess some people heard but did not leave their comfortable place.

maybe i am the one that is strange, willing to get up and move towards the storm.

**************************************************/

management psychology

a few months ago i was in a cafe when one of my employees came in. he is a friend, so rather than sitting across the restaurant and waving, he came over and sat with me. he had his sister with him and as we talked she mentioned her masters program, she is getting a degree in management psychology.  since that day i keep flashing to that moment and wondering if i need to look into the program to better understand my staff, my organization or the world.

the past two weeks have been about reviewing the previous 51. this weekend is the deadline to complete the documentation of those reviews. as i sit in a cafe typing this, i am waiting for the site we use for that documentation to return from scheduled maintenance. it is down during my daytime to ensure it impacts the fewest people. being on the opposite side of the world makes my impact acceptable. as i wait, i agree with that assessment, but the mounting frustration still remains.  thoughts on management linger.

wiki defines management as:

the act of getting people together to accomplish desired goals and objectives. management comprises planning, organizing, staffing, directing, and controlling an organization (a group of one or more people or entities) or effort for the purpose of accomplishing a goal.

management is part of all of our lives, we do it within the family, in workplaces and within ourselves. to think of management as something that only true managers do is a narrow view that misses the universal nature of the act. the key to the above definition is "getting people together to accomplish desired goals". the first time i saw genuine management was in a locker room almost 30 years ago; a typical amercian setting with a typical american management style.

it was the night of my first varsity football game, and the excitement of being on the big field was what i remember.  i was a junior member of the team and would see no playing time that night, but i was there and i was happy. the fact that the team was not winning was not as important to me, i had made it onto the team and i was reveling in the experience.

coach toppa was last into the locker room at half time, he and the other coaches had stopped outside as the players filtered in and found spots to sit. some of the senior player removed their helmets and shoulder pads to be more comfortable, but those of us new to the team stayed in full uniform.  we kept our helmets on to show everyone we were ready to play; comfort be damned. as coach came into the room, he kicked an empty helmet that skittered across the room. this was the first time i witnessed this legendary leader of men use violence to get their attention.  everyone in the room was now looking at him.

coach allowed his frustration to flow as he spoke, he allowed every person in the room share his frustration, and fostered a feeling of guilt for forcing him to have this conversation. the team was not playing as well as he knew we could play, he may have been 60 years old, but he would have suited up and joined the game if he could.  he could not understand why those who could play were not. he did not understand how we allowed ourselves to fail. as he spoke, the excitement of being next to the field was replaced with a desire to be on the field. almost helping was not enough, i wanted to actively make a difference, i was a failure for just being there, i should have been helping us win. i was ashamed and angry at myself.

that was when coach changed the tone of his message, he turned to what we could each do to solve the issue, we could come together as a team, then we could go back out there and win the game. that is what would make him proud of us, and nothing else was going to help us feel better. 70 vikings rushed the field as one, some got to actually play, but we were all fully in the game during the second half. we rallied and won the game. together we proved to toppa and to ourselves that we could.  those moments set the tone for the rest of the season, and in many ways for every game i have played since.

i was awed that day, i knew coach was performing as he spoke, but it was a great performance that raised the team up. coach motivated us to win that day. he managed us, he brought us together to accomplish our goal. he used psychology to do it; the planning, organizing and staffing was over. he needed to go beyond the plan to give us the need to win.  being happy to be there was not enough, we needed to accomplish our goals as a team.

i have been thinking about this and wondering if those skills can really be taught. is being a leader something you go to graduate school to learn, or can you do by continuing to play? does it help to do it with different teams, each having different needs? does being forced to use non-amercian motivation help someone first awakened by the only in america sharp sound of a kicked helmet crashing into a locker?

toppa was a great coach. he taught three generations of players to be the better than they knew they could be. he did it with small players who learned to play big, making them proud to be on the field.  he did it by managing each team of individuals, to come together and share a goal. he taught us to care enough to work as a team.

being on the field mattered, but winning mattered more. that is a management psychology i will never forget.

chicken sausage

i have been challenged on the question of breakfast here more than once. why does it matter that breakfast has pork on the table? why do i whine as much about it as i do? i was considering how my day in the US and here are different, and basically it came down to the levels of pork and of quality. that last word was almost ease, but my issues here are not about having things, its having things done well.

in the US i can go into a restaurant and ask for a burger without a bun, the same burger but wrapped in a piece of lettuce. that really might sound like a simple request but without even trying i am sure the level of effort to get this done is not worth the return. last week i ordered two hard boiled eggs, with a side of hollandaise. the eggs came in 5 minutes, two eggs in the shell sitting in a bowl with no sauce on the side. as i cracked the first egg it exploded in my hand, hot runny yoke spilling over my burnt fingers.

i sent the eggs back, asked again for hard boiled out of the shell and for the sauce on the side. 5 minutes later, a new bowl with apparently new eggs, running together is a mass of soft boiled ooze. i asked the server how i should correctly order hard boiled eggs, he smiled and walked away. a few minutes later i asked another server for hollandaise and ate the soft boiled eggs. i wondered if the lesson was to not try to do things the hard way.

a few months ago i was trying to order breakfast and was given the choice of chicken sausage, beef bacon or nothing. i choose to skip the meat, but only after asking those around me if they would like pork also. the people at the tables close by agreed that they also wanted the other white meat; majority-discrimination or not, it just tastes better. i added a sign to my table that read, "beri saya babi", which was politely ignored.

in the US, having breakfast is simple. it comes without a moral debate over the animals i am eating, or a secular debate over why others are choosing which they will allow in slab or sausage form. i have tried the local replacement meats, but find them sadly lacking. i am sure if i asked my grandmother why she didn't serve beef bacon or chicken sausage, she would have looked at me in a puzzled way and said, "because that's not the way god made them".

that same puzzled look is the one i get when the debate of breakfast meat breaks open. but here is the thing, i have tried it their way, i have eaten the weak alternatives, and i have gone without. have they tried it my way? do the people who think chicken sausage is a good choice know the the taste of the meat allegedly evil? i challenge anyone to tell me beef bacon tastes as good as pork; or is even a close alternative.

by the way, baked beans are not for breakfast either. copying your cuisine from the british is a recipe for failure in taste, but even local "english breakfast" is done with compromise. the best part of baked beans is the flavoring of salt pork. the local version is correctly halal, and again suffers in terms of flavor. post-enlightenment democracy is about allowing people to choose without the enforcement of mystical tradition pressuring the way. at the very least its about letting quality come to the front over tradition.

take a taste before you want to tell someone what is best. or listen to my grandmother, let others do breakfast, "the way god intended".

less noise

i have noticed something unexpected in the past few days. the world without wheat is a quiet place. i am beginning to wonder if this is what most people experience world as, a clear and quiet space that flows along a smooth flat path. this has been a holiday week, and work and life have both been unnaturally calm, but this is more than that. each day has shown that life does have the ability to move without the thrill of a bungee jump.

the last time i was decarbonated i was trying to vainly plug the hole of a dam that was set to burst. the process of holding back the oncoming wave, and asking how things had degenerated into a leaky mess springing holes faster than they could be patched, was enough to eliminate all hope of quiet time. whether i was driving, riding or sitting still, my mind was moving at full pace in directions of it's own. carbonation levels be damned, other things created their own noise.

this time is different, i have been waking up early and listening to the quietness inside and out. my near constant multi-tasking has dropped away at the same time that the light levels have come up. the room is bright and shiny, with the noisy neighbors apparently away on holidays. there is no distraction, and no urgency to begin moving. rather, there is the ability to sit on the couch and read the paper, or in a cafe write, without the normal extras.

what is missing is the chatter of the day that i am used to, the dialogue of debate that i have come to enjoy. i feel like a new yorker who has been dropped into the middle of the beautiful field with wildflowers and tall grass. i am sitting under a shade tree and watching the clouds drift by. the quietness is welcome. after the noise of the city, it is good to be out in the countryside with time to relax. but the lack of noise reminds me that i am truly a city kid.

choosing to live in the city is about being close to the action, to have a cafe on every corner, book stores on every block and a restaurant scene that you need to work to keep up with. it's about having amusement parks that allow you to ride a roller coaster when you feel the need. with these distractions come the noise, pollution and other distractions that staying in the country help you avoid. country living is about comfort not thrills, but the thrills can be missed.

stepping off the curb in decarbonated country does not come with the tension of dodging on-rushing taxis. this sounds like a good thing, until you find yourself wondering what will replace that tension. the flat, quiet country road is nice; easy to slowly glide down. but, the pace of city streets, even with congestion, horns and danger, is what is missed by a city kid as they travel that slow country road.

sometimes, noisy neighbors are good to have around. how long can a city kid watch puffy white clouds silently drift by?