Musharraf's Talking Points

Yesterday I attended a talk by the former President of Pakistan, General Musharraf, who spoke at the Baker Institute at Rice University. Here are the talking points that I imagine he would have outlined for himself, had he been perfectly objective about the content of his talk. You can view his full talk here.

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[Stylized] Talking Points for His Excellency General Pervez Musharraf

• Intro: The deterioration in relations between the US and Pakistan is unfortunate. In my time, I had great relations with President Bush [...mostly because he was glad I was cooperating and I was glad he wasn't invading us.]
• Thesis: Pakistan is the sufferer, the victim, and not the perpretrator, of terrorism. [Any actual violence supported by the state—say, in Kashmir—is actually freedom fighting, stemming from overwhelming public support for the cause].
• Pakistan faces four main challenges: terrorism, extremism, terrorism, and extremism
• Some FAQs:
• What accounts for the "antipathy" of Pakistanis towards America?
• America betrayed Pakistan in 1989. With the Cold War over, America left an anarchical Afghanistan that Pakistan wasn't able to handle; this in spite of Pakistan helping during the war effort against the Soviets.
• What accounts for the current extremist problem in Pakistan?
• The Betrayal of 1989
• What accounts for the strength of the Taliban and Al-Qaeda?
• The Betrayal of 1989
• US failure in Afghanistan
• Let's not get too distracted by Afghanistan, though. The real threat to regional stability is India. India is the clear enemy.
• India is setting up an anti-Pakistan Afghanistan. For instance, Afghanistan sends its forces to train in India, but not once have they come to Pakistan.
• India is not resolving the Kashmir dispute, which spurs attacks [not that we discourage that].
• It's not fair that India gets special treatment and we don't. The world is, for some reason, hostile to our nuclear weapons. But our nuclear weapons are the pride of our people, even down to the most illiterate man, a symbol of our acheievement [even if they had to 'eat dust' for it, right?].
• The stump speech: There is currently no strong candidate for election next year, so I'm "offering myself as a third alternative."
• Be selfless: "I'm not doing this for myself. I'm comfortable already, I make good money, I could live anywhere in the world. But the people of Pakistan need a leader like me."
• (Since I have to): We did not, did not, did not know about Osama bin Laden. We did not. [Delivered somewhat like this].

Note to self: Be respectful. Make sure to address audience as "ladies and gentlemen." The more, the better.

Review: Black Swan

I went to see this movie not knowing what I was in for, but that's probably the only way I would have seen it anyway: it's a real mind-f@#%.

The premise is simple: anxiety, tension, and rivalry in a NYC ballet company's production of Swan Lake. But the director, Darren Arenofsky, takes this simple story and makes it a deep and haunting and rich.

The plot goes like this: Nina (played by Natalie Portman) is a ballerina driven to perfection, and yearns for the lead role as the Swan Queen in the company's upcoming production of Swan Lake. She auditions for the role, and she gets it (not before the director tries to get some of her), but with the condition that she needs to fix the weakness in her performance. The Swan Queen part comprises two roles, the White Swan and the Black Swan; and though Nina plays the White Swan to perfection, she has trouble connecting with the dark, imperfect, sensual side of herself to play the Black Swan. At the same time, a new ballerina, Lily (played by Mila Kunis), has joined the company, and she has all the dark edgy qualities required of Nina. Nina's mind starts to buckle under the stress: she deliriously imagines that Lily keeps trying to take her place, and she begins to rebel increasingly violently against her controlling and suffocating ex-ballerina mother. The movie follows her journey into the dark side and her spiraling psychosis.

It's difficult for me to explain why the movie was so scary, but I think the main reason is that in this case the threat is internal. You can always run away from an axe-murderer, but you can never run away from your own mind. Plus, the visuals were really gruesome, and unrelenting. This wasn't a movie that had a rising action, climax, and denouement; instead, the tension only increased and increased as the film went on, until it released spectacularly at the end.

I try to come away from these kinds of heavy films with some lessons, and also I think this film, which is so clearly a glimpse into the mind's abyss, particularly invites it. So here's what I learned:

1. Suppressing any aspect of your personality is not healthy.

At the director's urging, Nina connects with her dark side. But since she had neglected it so much, once she begins to make that connection it overcomes her. Her personality swings to the other extreme and she loses control over her mental equipoise. She isn't able to handle the new ideas and emotions and thoughts that are engulfing her.

2. Perfectionism is an ugly trait.

The crowd that watches Nina's astounding performance only sees the final result, but through the film we witness what the cost is of the perfectionism that leads to that performance. It costs Nina her mental stability—paintings come alive and taunt her, blood stains her hands, she imagines stabbings and voices shouting "I'm not good enough." It costs her her relationship with her mother. It costs her her relationships at the ballet company, where she constantly feels alone and threatened. And ultimately, it costs her ballet: something she presumably picked up for enjoyment becomes mental torture and a death sentence.

Less philosophically:

1. Ballet can be quite vertiginous.

Arenofsky's cinematography does a good job of showing just how alive and quick ballet can be. I've seen a production, and it looks rather static-y and calm from a distance, but after watching Black Swan I realize the dancers themselves experience a quiet whirlwind.

Avatar

I think one of the reasons why Avatar has enjoyed such popular and critical success (top critics give it 94% at Rotten Tomatoes) is that it speaks to many of the major tensions and anxieties of our time. The story takes place on Pandora, an alien planet where a greedy corporation has sent up base to mine Unobtanium, which sells for $20 million a kilo on Earth. The problem is that one of the largest deposits of Unobtaium lies under a giant tree where the native Na'vi population lives. Jake Scully, our hero, is a crippled Marine who, through advanced future-age technology, is able to have his mind transfered to a Na'vi body grown in the lab (an Avatar). His assignment is to find a "diplomatic solution"—that is, convince the Na'vi population to leave their home before the corporation comes and razes it anyway.

Within this framework, Mr. Cameron weaves story lines that prove cathartic for our blood-stained and embarrassing history. A good chunk of the middle part of the movie functions as a dramatic reenactment of The Trail of Tears; the way the military and the company work as one unit in the film is reminiscent of the United Fruit Company's exploits in Latin America; and the military commander's callous contempt of and insensitivity towards the Na'vi has echoes of the US military's attitude towards the "gooks" in the Korean War. For those of us familiar with US history, the film forces us to confront our past, learn from our mistakes, and serves as a precautionary warning for the path we must not travel again in the future—an especially timely message as we continue the Iraq War and prepare to escalate in Afghanistan.

Alongside its political message, Avatar also voices what I think is a general anxiety of our society's spiritual decline. The Na'vi are a very spiritual society, in the way of the Native Americans or the Orient, and believe in the oneness of all living beings. The film yearns for a simpler life, connected with nature and other living beings, living in harmony instead of opposition. David Denby of The New Yorker calls this sentiment nothing "more than a whiff of nineteen-sixties counterculture, by way of environmentalism and current antiwar sentiment" and ultimately dismisses it as "sentimentality," but I think he fails to realize the reality and legitimacy of this spiritual need.

And of course, the film is absolutely joyful to see, visually: a real treat for the eyes. What makes these effects worthwhile is that they're not effects for effect's sake, but rather a way of absorbing you into this rich and astounding fantasy world that Mr. Cameron creates. This film has clearly delineated good guys and bad guys, and for that to work the film has to tie you up emotionally with the good guys. By introducing us to the Na'vi's world, and by making us fall in love with it, Mr. Cameron succeeds in making the struggles of the Na'vi meaningful and close; in the end everyone in the theater was openly cheering for them.

Some critics complain that the characters are too simplistic or that the story line is too trite, but I think there is a place for war-of-good-and-evil tales and this movie does a fantastic job of representing the genre. The visuals are stunning; the plot is absorbing (for those who aren't too cynical at least); and after you walk out of the theater you have something to think about. Certainly worth seeing.

Review: Tagore's Short Stories

I recently finished reading a collection of Tagore's short stories. Knowing my affinity for literature, some family member of mine gifted it to me after returning from a trip to India, almost as a way of introducing me to the literature of the subcontinent. It turns out that was a really appropriate move: If you were to single out the single literary giant of India's modern history, you would pick the Nobel-prize-winning, early 20th century, Bengali writer Rabindranath Tagore.

For those of you unfamiliar with Tagore, a quick biography: Rabindranath, the youngest of 14 children, was born to Debendranath Tagore, a zamindar¹ and prominent figure in Bengali politics and elite society.² Naturally, then, Rabindranath's education consisted of private tutoring, multiple trips to Europe, and close interaction with the leading intellectuals of the day. The stories contained in the anthology I read were all written during the 1890s, when Rabindranath was called away from his home in the Bengali capital of Calcutta to manage the family estate in the countryside. This experience—though somewhat lonely and isolating for him, as he confesses in his letters—proves a fertile source of inspiration for his stories, which often focus on rural life, both for the common folk and for the zamindars.

Although Tagore's stories take place so long ago, they still feel relevant and familiar to contemporary Indian society. Of course, some social mores have changed drastically since then (making, for example, awkward reading during many of Tagore's stories about child marriage), but others haven't. Child marriage may be outdated, but marriage itself is still central in Indian culture. Like many contemporary Indians, all of Tagore's characters seem to regard marriage as the most important event in life and the most important social institution. In fact, Tagore himself seems to believe this as well, for he often places a marriage scene at the most critical point of the story.

Nowhere does he do this more prominently than in his story "Kabuliwallah." In it, he describes the affectionate relationship that forms between a traveling salesman (a kabuliwallah)³ and a little girl named Mini. Rahamat and Mini shared an amusing, inside joke where he would ask her if she was going away to her father-in-law's house, and she would roundly reply, "Are you going to your father-in-law's house?" Rahamat visits her frequently and thus they develop a strong bond, until one day Rahamat is sent to jail for committing assault and the two don't see each other again for many years. The day after he is let out of prison, Rahamat goes to visit Mini. This day, it turns out, happends to be Mini's wedding day, so when he arrives at the house, he finds it all decorated for the occasion. Rahamat asks Mini's father for permission to meet Mini, but he, hesitant and afraid, tries to turn him away, saying that there is some event in the house and everyone is too busy. Crestfallen, Rahamat then walks up to Mini's father and says, "I have brought this box of grapes and nuts and raisins for the little one. Please give them to her." Mini's father is about to pay him for the box, but Rahamat stops his hand and tells him:

"Please, don't give me any money—I shall always be grateful, Babu. Just as you have a daughter, so do I have one, in my own country. It is with her in mind that I came with a few raisins for your daughter: I didn't come to trade with you."

With that, Mini's father instantly connects with this fellow father's longing, and ignoring all objections, all worry that this murderer would tarnish this most auspicious day, all concern for propriety and social class (since he was, after all, a Babu), he brings Mini, decked in her full bridal sari, out to see him. At first Rahamat is shocked to see Mini all grown up, but then he smiles and asks, "Little one, are you going to your father-in-law's house?"

Though the narrative is simple, and the events are simple, the emotions in this story are suprisingly powerful. The poignancy of Rahamat's final question and the suprising boldness of Mini's father make your heart both ache and rejoice at the same time. Often, you don't know what to feel, or you feel a strange mix of both at the same time. Many of Tagore's stories are like this. They put you through complex emotional situations, where you find yourself stuck between multiple characters and perspectives.

The "Kabuliwallah" story also highlights another salient feature of Tagore's stories: they always have something to teach us. In "Kabuliwallah," Tagore brings out a moment when we're at our best, holding both Rahamat and Mini's father as an example of both generosity and simple love. Alternatively, Tagore also shows us when we're at our worst—lusting for wealth, valuing social custom over people, forgetting our duties. In both these cases, we find teachable moments, and not because Tagore moralizes, but because he shows us what we are capable of—both for good and for ill. After that, we're free to make conclusions as we will.

I have come to view Tagore's stories as a sort of guide to life. They do not pretend to offer any advice, of course, and supply no moral strictures; but I feel I always come away more humble, more appreciative of the complexities of life. That, for me, is guidance enough.

Notes
1. A zamindar is essentially an aristocratic landlord, an Indian squire of sorts.
2. His name, Tagore, is itself is an Anglicization of the Bengali/Hindi word Thakur [ठाकुर], meaning "lord."

3. Traveling traders in those days were known as kabuliwallahs (the ones from Kabul) because they often came from Afghanistan.

District 9

Today I saw "District 9," a grisly film about life twenty years after aliens land. Although the plot was rather cliche (i.e. outcast hero sacrifices himself to save his newly found friends), I appreciated the film for the two main takeaways that it gave me:

1. For me, the film acted as a case study of how badly humans react to abrupt change, new social problems, and, most importantly, major profit opportunities. In this film, the "profit opportunity" is the ability to access the power of alien weapon technology, which for some reason only works with their DNA. Corporations, governments, and warlords are all hungry for this technology, and are willing to use violence, double-dealing, or any other means necessary to get it. It's not that I see people as fundamentally evil, but I think humans are very susceptible to corruption when the stakes are that high.

2. The film reminded me that fulfillment can be found even in the most wretched conditions through self-sacrifice—and conditions don't get any worse than for Wikus van der Merwe, our hero, who finds himself a fugitive from human society after an accident causes him to begin transforming into an alien. While Wikus finds this transformation painful and miserable, vested interests around the world are exuberant, since Wikus can now access alien weapons technology. This makes him the "world's most valuable corporate artifact"; no longer human, but a prize, a resource; and to be degraded to this state is, it seems, as low as one can possibly go. Yet whether the world recognizes it or not, Wikus is able to demonstrate and assert his humanity by sacrificing himself. Even as he lays dying he is victorious knowing that he is what he thinks he is, regardless of what the world around him thinks.