Two recent experiences in my metropolis reminded me of both the gift - and the economic reality - of enjoying the abundant fruits of civilization.
Exhibit No.1. Two weekends ago, we decided to spend the afternoon with our daughters at the main branch of the New York Public Library (NYPL); the imposing Beaux-Art marble palace dedicated to books and learning on 42nd street at Fifth Avenue now being cleaned to be readied for its centenary. The NYPL system is one of the great joys of New York city living. According to its website, its 4 research libraries and 85 branches carries 50.4m publications for the benefit of 2.2m members. And it is totally free.
What that mean for us is that we would visit the Children's Room at the library, which carries a wonderful collection of children's books (in many languages), with a space to the side for children's activities and we would - literally - empty out whole stacks of books from the shelves and borrow them home. On that particular Saturday, we came out with about 30 books which we could keep for weeks - although the girls needed only a few days to run through them. For the past few years, we hardly bought any books because wherever we wanted we would find at the library. We can reserve them online and they would be delivered for collection at a nearby branch.
I imagine that is what a book loving multi-billionaire would feel, to collect and build up an endless collection of books (and CDs and DVDs) at his disposal. For us, we can enjoy the same thing as the billionaire - and its totally free.
Exhibit No.2. The next day we were out for some exercise and fresh-aire in Central Park. The weather promised to be warm(er) and sunny. I had brought along the children's kick-scooters so that they could ride along the lake/reservoir. But what we did not anticipate was that a slight shower of rain broke the moment we got there - so we sought refuge at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of my favourite places in the world.
Housed in yet-another giant Beaux-Arts mansion, but one built of sandstone unlike the library which was built of marble, we dove into its 1.3m pieces of enclyclopaedic collection from civilizations around the world. We wondered around the Byzantine arts, to the medieval collection when Hue, our 5-year old daughter, wanted to see the mummies. So I went with her to learn about the mummies while Mewyee went with our 7-year old Ning (who is terrified of mummies) and we agreed to meet at the American Wing. Along the way, Hue and I saw and learnt about arms and armours, art and furnishing from the Middle Age Europe and finally mummies and other sacred art work from Ancient Egypt. Eventually, we had lunch at the museum cafeteria and by then the rain cleared and we resumed our original plan.
A few days later, Mewyee and I decided to visit the Met on an impulse. We ended up spending an hour on a gallery tour about the meanings behind costumes through-out the ages led by an expert curator. Such tours brings the collection to life by bringing out the meaning and significance behind the art. We have been on many such gallery tours and there are perhaps a dozen each and everyday (in multiple langauges and for different age groups) but this one stood out as the best we have ever heard for as long as we could recall.
And all the while, I was thinking how wealthy does one have to be to enjoy what we just did? A multi-billionaire would take years and billions to build and house a world-class collection like the Met - even if that is at all possible this day and age - and even more to engage world class brains and experts to create intellectual enjoyment for a lay-person like me. And for that, we paid $5. The suggested entry is $20 but payment is actually voluntary; once I stood behind a person who paid 10cents.
I was profoundly humbled by thoughs and experiences like these. What is the meaning of wealth and abundance? What is the meaning of a civilized society? And what price the "haves" of society should be willing to bear in exchange for a civilized society?
In many ways, New York is a great case study for that last question. Unlike the major capitals of the world - London, Paris, Washington DC - that host the national intellectual and cultural collections, New York do not enjoy state patronage. The great public institutions and collections in New York are privately endowed for the general public by the wealthy; many from the 19th century but contributions continue to pour in to this day from the great and the good of local society. One of the most attractive social tradition about New York City is that the wealthy tend to keep a low profile. For a city full of real estate moguls, the tradition is never to put one's name in bright lights on the building (one reason why New York is usually scornful of a certain Mr Trump, who is from New Jersey by the way). The only exception to this low profile is when it comes to giving: come charity balls and naming rights to a new concert hall, hospital wing or museum pavillion, one sees the New York high society in ferocious competition to see who is giving how much.
And the city as a whole is richer from all those giving. That is how even a homeless person can (if he wants to) read a different book a day for the whole of his life, or a small child get to learn to draw by sketching a Degas, or a delivery boy can listen to Placido Domingo at a public performance in the park, or new immigrant parents can get books for their children to learn English (and DVDs in their native language for themselves).
And I think about all manners of public services, the police for keeping the peace, the fire brigade for rescues in distress, the public buses that takes people about without need for a car, the utilities that brings us clean water, the public schools for giving everyone an education - with the glaring exception of a decent health system that keeps one healthy without costing personal financial ruin. On public schooling, it was said that despite the Great Depression in the 1930s and 1940s a whole generation got the best education in the world in the New York Public school system, which at the time was staffed by brilliant emigre scientists and intellectuals escaping from totalitarian regimes in Central and Eastern Europe.
Everywhere I looked and the more I learn the more I realise public services and amenities are not ill-afforded luxuries, or creeping socialism, or ill-deserved rewards for the poor amd unsuccessful. They are the very foundations of a civilized society; one where the rich, no-so-rich and the poor made a choice that their society shall stand and fall together; and who resolved that a civilization is sustainable only when it is not to be enjoyed in isolation but one to be shared.
As one casts one's eyes to the many societies and metropolis that are developing all around the world - across Southeast Asia China, India, Latin America and the old-Soviet Union - often we see enclaves for the wealthy esconced behind high walls, security guards, manicured lawns, satellite TVs, lavish shops, spas, private hospitals, private schools and darkened car windows. And beyond that are the rest of society; one of indifferent infrastructure, crime, corruption, pollution, poor schools and trash. And I am sure the conclusion must be that the value of civilization is indeed priceless.
Showing posts with label metropolitan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label metropolitan. Show all posts
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Moments from My Metropolis - Ashura on Park Avenue
For those who are interested in inter-cultural understanding and tolerance, I had an interesting experience to share from last Sunday 4 January 2009.
As I was driving crosstown, I came across a large crowd of turbaned men and ladies in hijab with banners, etc. Mindful of the ongoing news coverage of the attacks on the Hamas in Gaza, the natural reaction from my passengers was that was probably a protest march. A few things caught my eyes though: the mood was certainly more festive than expected, the banners - all in the Arabic script - seemed calm and I caught sight of turbaned men in richly coloured robes around what looked like a folded tent. For some reason, I felt there was more to the gathering than initially thought. But I also quickly forgot about it.
An hour later, just out of curiousity I decided to visit a famous wine shop on 59th Street at Park Avenue which I passed by a few days earlier.
As I came closer though, I saw the same gathering stretching for 3 blocks just a little beyond the wine shop (which was incidentally closed on Sunday). As I walked towards it, there were many Middle Eastern people - whole families including ladies in dark robes - headed the same way.
By now I had a reasonable suspicion that they were Persian and whatever that was happenning was Shi'ite in origin; which turned out to be true. Closer to the gathering I was impressed to find many youthful girls and boys wearing large signs with, "ASK ME" written in English handing out information leaflets in English. A young lady told me its, the festival of "Karbalah" also known as "Ashura" commemorating the matyrdom of Imam Hussein (grandson of Prophet Mohamad) at the massacre of Karbala in 680 AD.
Around me almost the entire crowd which numbered around 3000, was dressed in black - men in Western clothing and the most women loosely veiled - but here and there there were a few bearded men in turbans in brown or orangey robes. Could they be Imams or Ayatollahs, I wonder? There were a few sound-trucks which belted out a mournful and poetic laments in Persian which were remarkably soothing and spiritual to the ears; and around them hundreds of young men chanted along beating their chests with their hands in rhythm. Far ahead what I thought to be tents were actually tall flags. The women and children mostly just watched. And so did the number of police around who blocked off the road and managed the traffic around it. It was a truly surreal sight to see this ancient Shi'ite gathering across from a church, clogging up the most prestigeous avenues of New York City (which by the way has one of the largest Jewish population anywhere).
What also impressed me was the handout from the Shi'ite community organizations, which explained the history and the different symbolisms of the commemoration. Clearly working to engage a modern Western audience, the document linked the values of that commemoration to what it called the universal values of justice, social progress, tolerance and human rights (!); and carefully side-stepping the religious and political nature of the event as the beginning of the Shi'ite vs Sunni schism. The leaflet even described the role of Zainab (one of the Prophet's grand-daughters) as an early example of women leaders in Shi'ite Islam, when after the massacre she protected the Prophet's family, ralied their supporters with stirring speeches and bravely spoke out against the injustice at the court of her brother's killer, Caliph Yazid. It was a laudable attempt trying its best to convert an image of fear (veiled women and turbaned men) into one that stresses shared values and greater cultural understanding.
I was full of hope seeing the spirit of outreach and dialogue undertaken by the Shi'ite community which was mirrored by the spirit of cultural diversity and tolerence by the City of New York (underpinned by the liberal democratic Western traditions). Coming from a Sunni Islamic state, this was my first experience of the Shi'ite version - and sadly, one that is probably less tolerated by many Islamic governments.
As I was driving crosstown, I came across a large crowd of turbaned men and ladies in hijab with banners, etc. Mindful of the ongoing news coverage of the attacks on the Hamas in Gaza, the natural reaction from my passengers was that was probably a protest march. A few things caught my eyes though: the mood was certainly more festive than expected, the banners - all in the Arabic script - seemed calm and I caught sight of turbaned men in richly coloured robes around what looked like a folded tent. For some reason, I felt there was more to the gathering than initially thought. But I also quickly forgot about it.
An hour later, just out of curiousity I decided to visit a famous wine shop on 59th Street at Park Avenue which I passed by a few days earlier.
As I came closer though, I saw the same gathering stretching for 3 blocks just a little beyond the wine shop (which was incidentally closed on Sunday). As I walked towards it, there were many Middle Eastern people - whole families including ladies in dark robes - headed the same way.
By now I had a reasonable suspicion that they were Persian and whatever that was happenning was Shi'ite in origin; which turned out to be true. Closer to the gathering I was impressed to find many youthful girls and boys wearing large signs with, "ASK ME" written in English handing out information leaflets in English. A young lady told me its, the festival of "Karbalah" also known as "Ashura" commemorating the matyrdom of Imam Hussein (grandson of Prophet Mohamad) at the massacre of Karbala in 680 AD.
Around me almost the entire crowd which numbered around 3000, was dressed in black - men in Western clothing and the most women loosely veiled - but here and there there were a few bearded men in turbans in brown or orangey robes. Could they be Imams or Ayatollahs, I wonder? There were a few sound-trucks which belted out a mournful and poetic laments in Persian which were remarkably soothing and spiritual to the ears; and around them hundreds of young men chanted along beating their chests with their hands in rhythm. Far ahead what I thought to be tents were actually tall flags. The women and children mostly just watched. And so did the number of police around who blocked off the road and managed the traffic around it. It was a truly surreal sight to see this ancient Shi'ite gathering across from a church, clogging up the most prestigeous avenues of New York City (which by the way has one of the largest Jewish population anywhere).
What also impressed me was the handout from the Shi'ite community organizations, which explained the history and the different symbolisms of the commemoration. Clearly working to engage a modern Western audience, the document linked the values of that commemoration to what it called the universal values of justice, social progress, tolerance and human rights (!); and carefully side-stepping the religious and political nature of the event as the beginning of the Shi'ite vs Sunni schism. The leaflet even described the role of Zainab (one of the Prophet's grand-daughters) as an early example of women leaders in Shi'ite Islam, when after the massacre she protected the Prophet's family, ralied their supporters with stirring speeches and bravely spoke out against the injustice at the court of her brother's killer, Caliph Yazid. It was a laudable attempt trying its best to convert an image of fear (veiled women and turbaned men) into one that stresses shared values and greater cultural understanding.
I was full of hope seeing the spirit of outreach and dialogue undertaken by the Shi'ite community which was mirrored by the spirit of cultural diversity and tolerence by the City of New York (underpinned by the liberal democratic Western traditions). Coming from a Sunni Islamic state, this was my first experience of the Shi'ite version - and sadly, one that is probably less tolerated by many Islamic governments.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Moments from My Metropolis - Cosmopolitan Confucians
[11 Dec - Revised and updated since posting]
One of the stories I remember about Confucius is this one about personal virtues of honesty and integrity. It was said that in leading my his moral example when he was briefly Chief Minister of a minor state, even the common people would not help themselves to objects/money dropped by others on the street.
So my search for the spirit of Cosmopolitan Confucians led me to think of several instances of miraculous recovery when we had left things behind in the metropolis we now live in, New York. You see, contrary to common perception of New York as an rapacious, impersonal and unfeeling place, for all the time I have been here I have found it to be surprisingly decent, human and - yes, in one word - civilized - place. There was even this survey in June 2006 by Reader Digest that (surprise!!) found that its the most helpful city in the US using three simple but unscientific tests: (i) walk up to a door and see if the person ahead holds the door; (ii) Buying something small in a shop and observe if the cashier says "thank you", (iii) Randomly dropping some books and papers in a busy location to see if anyone would help to pick up. Turns out that: 90 percent held the door open, 19 out of 20 store clerks said “thank you,” and more than 55% helped with the flying papers.
My first story was when my mother was hospitalized for stroke in September 2006. After she was first admitted, she had asked us to pack up a bag of her clothes and personal items to be brought to her at the hospital. But when we visit her the next day, we left behind – and presumably lost - the bag in a taxi. Dismayed but nonetheless I tried my best to report it to the taxi commission's lost and found hotline in case some one turned it in.
Incredibly, a few days later some body brought the bag in - not only did we recover the bag, the bag somehow made its way back to our apartment! It turned out that the next passenger who took the cab saw the bag. Later as she told us, when she saw the bag she thought what a nice bag and whoever who lost it must feel quite bad. So she decided to take responsibility for returning it. She opened up the bag and fortuitously she found my magazines inside (which still had my address on it). She realised from the address that we live close to her sister's gym so she got her sister to drop it off the next time she went for gym. What a wonderful heartwarming experience that was!
Another time, this time its Christmas last year; we went to a Barnes and Nobel bookshop at Union Square but as we were in the sunway station we realised that Mew Yee had left her gloves where she was sitting down in the bookshop.
It was the height of the Xmas shopping season and there were crowds of people everywhere and the pair of gloves she had lost was brand-new and was one of those nice super-insulated ones people wear to ski. We were not too sure if we could still find it but I decided to try anyway so I made my way back to the bookshop. The gloves were nowhere to be found where she was sitting so I made my way to the cashier. Sure enough, some one found the gloves and turned it over to the cashier ! The cashier a young black man just held the gloves up, "Is this it?" I said yes grabbed the gloves and thanked him profusely.
Moments like these makes me feel really good about human nature. Because it took more than one good person to turn it in but also another who gave it up in without doubting if I was bona fide. Faith in the integrity and uprightness of fellow citizens in their dealings with other people within society I feel is pretty Confucian.
Another characteristic that I'd observed, especially in taking public transportation, is that even when people go about within their personal shell - people tend to create their own private psychological bubbles especially in a crowded environment like public transport - people tend to pop out to help others and then pop in again.
Just this morning I happen to sit behind a young lady who was reading a tabloid who was later joined by an old lady. The old lady interrupted her to ask what street the bus was on, and all of a sudden a few people within earshot quickly spang into action. I looked out of the cloudy window (it was raining) and said, "66th"; the buy behind me quickly wiped the window with his gloves to correct me, "68th" he said before going back into our bubble. The young lady offered to look out for the old lady's stop and they got chatting about how depressing tabloid news tend to be. Before getting off, the old lady wished the young lady "have a nice day and think good thoughts". And they are off into their bubbles again.
Another such impromptu community action often revolve around the "back door". New York buses has a front door (by the driver) and a back door which open when pushed only if the driver disarms the door (e.g. at a stop). Quite often the driver forgets to disarm the door so people trying to get out would find themselves unable to open the back door. They would bellow out, "Back door!" to attract the driver's attention - and almost always people sitting near the back door would all join in a chorus of "Back door!!" - especially if the "victim" were children, older people or women unable to shout too loudly. After that instance of "community action" people would dissolve back into their own little bubbles again.
Moments like these are actually quite typical. So much so that the New York Times keep a fortnighly column for readers to write-in about such human-interest encounters in the city, called "Metropolitan Diaries". Here I enclose the link http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/24/nyregion/24diary.html to a recent column. In one post, someone tried to return a Blackberry only to find that it belonged to her old highschool coach; in another, a human chain brought out a bag of steamed dumplings from a subway car during the rush hour crush. Amusing and heartwarming.
This column remain one of my favourite columns in the venerable grey lady, NYT.
One of the stories I remember about Confucius is this one about personal virtues of honesty and integrity. It was said that in leading my his moral example when he was briefly Chief Minister of a minor state, even the common people would not help themselves to objects/money dropped by others on the street.
So my search for the spirit of Cosmopolitan Confucians led me to think of several instances of miraculous recovery when we had left things behind in the metropolis we now live in, New York. You see, contrary to common perception of New York as an rapacious, impersonal and unfeeling place, for all the time I have been here I have found it to be surprisingly decent, human and - yes, in one word - civilized - place. There was even this survey in June 2006 by Reader Digest that (surprise!!) found that its the most helpful city in the US using three simple but unscientific tests: (i) walk up to a door and see if the person ahead holds the door; (ii) Buying something small in a shop and observe if the cashier says "thank you", (iii) Randomly dropping some books and papers in a busy location to see if anyone would help to pick up. Turns out that: 90 percent held the door open, 19 out of 20 store clerks said “thank you,” and more than 55% helped with the flying papers.
My first story was when my mother was hospitalized for stroke in September 2006. After she was first admitted, she had asked us to pack up a bag of her clothes and personal items to be brought to her at the hospital. But when we visit her the next day, we left behind – and presumably lost - the bag in a taxi. Dismayed but nonetheless I tried my best to report it to the taxi commission's lost and found hotline in case some one turned it in.
Incredibly, a few days later some body brought the bag in - not only did we recover the bag, the bag somehow made its way back to our apartment! It turned out that the next passenger who took the cab saw the bag. Later as she told us, when she saw the bag she thought what a nice bag and whoever who lost it must feel quite bad. So she decided to take responsibility for returning it. She opened up the bag and fortuitously she found my magazines inside (which still had my address on it). She realised from the address that we live close to her sister's gym so she got her sister to drop it off the next time she went for gym. What a wonderful heartwarming experience that was!
Another time, this time its Christmas last year; we went to a Barnes and Nobel bookshop at Union Square but as we were in the sunway station we realised that Mew Yee had left her gloves where she was sitting down in the bookshop.
It was the height of the Xmas shopping season and there were crowds of people everywhere and the pair of gloves she had lost was brand-new and was one of those nice super-insulated ones people wear to ski. We were not too sure if we could still find it but I decided to try anyway so I made my way back to the bookshop. The gloves were nowhere to be found where she was sitting so I made my way to the cashier. Sure enough, some one found the gloves and turned it over to the cashier ! The cashier a young black man just held the gloves up, "Is this it?" I said yes grabbed the gloves and thanked him profusely.
Moments like these makes me feel really good about human nature. Because it took more than one good person to turn it in but also another who gave it up in without doubting if I was bona fide. Faith in the integrity and uprightness of fellow citizens in their dealings with other people within society I feel is pretty Confucian.
Another characteristic that I'd observed, especially in taking public transportation, is that even when people go about within their personal shell - people tend to create their own private psychological bubbles especially in a crowded environment like public transport - people tend to pop out to help others and then pop in again.
Just this morning I happen to sit behind a young lady who was reading a tabloid who was later joined by an old lady. The old lady interrupted her to ask what street the bus was on, and all of a sudden a few people within earshot quickly spang into action. I looked out of the cloudy window (it was raining) and said, "66th"; the buy behind me quickly wiped the window with his gloves to correct me, "68th" he said before going back into our bubble. The young lady offered to look out for the old lady's stop and they got chatting about how depressing tabloid news tend to be. Before getting off, the old lady wished the young lady "have a nice day and think good thoughts". And they are off into their bubbles again.
Another such impromptu community action often revolve around the "back door". New York buses has a front door (by the driver) and a back door which open when pushed only if the driver disarms the door (e.g. at a stop). Quite often the driver forgets to disarm the door so people trying to get out would find themselves unable to open the back door. They would bellow out, "Back door!" to attract the driver's attention - and almost always people sitting near the back door would all join in a chorus of "Back door!!" - especially if the "victim" were children, older people or women unable to shout too loudly. After that instance of "community action" people would dissolve back into their own little bubbles again.
Moments like these are actually quite typical. So much so that the New York Times keep a fortnighly column for readers to write-in about such human-interest encounters in the city, called "Metropolitan Diaries". Here I enclose the link http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/24/nyregion/24diary.html to a recent column. In one post, someone tried to return a Blackberry only to find that it belonged to her old highschool coach; in another, a human chain brought out a bag of steamed dumplings from a subway car during the rush hour crush. Amusing and heartwarming.
This column remain one of my favourite columns in the venerable grey lady, NYT.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Moments from My Metropolis - Hu Shih
Once in Chinatown, I noticed a Chinese bookshop above a shop. So I walked up the steps and into this rather dingy shop that is stacked from the floor to the ceiling mostly with Chinese comic books.
Those comic books - mainly wu xia, romantic stuff or translations from Japanese manga - were all bundled up and available for rent by the bundle. Stern notices abound warning people against casual reading; that would cost you $2 because for those who cannot afford to rent you can pay to read what you like at the shop!
How quaint! I imagine in shops like these poor but studious students and labourers can while away hours in the stories and (in winters, in central heating.)
Just as I was wondering how long the shop has been around, I spied a smallish framed piece of casual-looking calligraphy; it was an original autograph from Hu Shih, the 20th Century Chinese scholar and humanist.
As with many "youth intellectual" of his era, Hu Shih spent many years aboard in his formative years. Apparently he studied and researched in Columbia University, the ivy-league in New York city, and later, he returned as Chinese Ambassador to the US during the war years.
One of his great legacies was his role at Peking University where he was a prominent professor, publisher and eventually the Vice-Chancellor. In New York, he left another legacy as the co-founder in 1926, of the "China Institute of America" on East 65th Street. http://www.chinainstitute.org/
I was not sure whether he had been to the bookshop or had spent any time there, but he had addressed his calligraphy specifically to the "Dong Fang (Eastern) bookshop in New York". In a note by the calligraphy, it appeared that he gave wrote the calligraphy while recuperating from illness in Nanking.
Well, what did he write? He wrote:
勇敢的假设, 小心的求证
Translation: Be courageous in the assumptions;
Be cautious in demanding evidence.
What a wonderful glimpse of Chinese intellectual sentiment in early 20th century! How wonderful to find it in a bookshop full of comics.
Those comic books - mainly wu xia, romantic stuff or translations from Japanese manga - were all bundled up and available for rent by the bundle. Stern notices abound warning people against casual reading; that would cost you $2 because for those who cannot afford to rent you can pay to read what you like at the shop!
How quaint! I imagine in shops like these poor but studious students and labourers can while away hours in the stories and (in winters, in central heating.)
Just as I was wondering how long the shop has been around, I spied a smallish framed piece of casual-looking calligraphy; it was an original autograph from Hu Shih, the 20th Century Chinese scholar and humanist.
As with many "youth intellectual" of his era, Hu Shih spent many years aboard in his formative years. Apparently he studied and researched in Columbia University, the ivy-league in New York city, and later, he returned as Chinese Ambassador to the US during the war years.
One of his great legacies was his role at Peking University where he was a prominent professor, publisher and eventually the Vice-Chancellor. In New York, he left another legacy as the co-founder in 1926, of the "China Institute of America" on East 65th Street. http://www.chinainstitute.org/
I was not sure whether he had been to the bookshop or had spent any time there, but he had addressed his calligraphy specifically to the "Dong Fang (Eastern) bookshop in New York". In a note by the calligraphy, it appeared that he gave wrote the calligraphy while recuperating from illness in Nanking.
Well, what did he write? He wrote:
勇敢的假设, 小心的求证
Translation: Be courageous in the assumptions;
Be cautious in demanding evidence.
What a wonderful glimpse of Chinese intellectual sentiment in early 20th century! How wonderful to find it in a bookshop full of comics.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Moments from My Metropolis - I.M. Pei
Let me start with some stories of my very few and very incidental encounters with the great Chinese-American architect, I.M. Pei (full name: Pei Ieoh-Ming贝聿铭).
It all began when I discovered that old Mr and Mrs Pei happen to be my neighbours. It was an exciting discovery personally because he is well-known in Asia and is someone much talked about between my late father and myself when I was growing up. We deliberately and consciously admired his work when we visited the Louvre, Bank of China (Hong Kong), Raffles City in Singapore; and later by myself, the East Wing of Washington DC's National Gallery, the Jacob Jarvits Center, Bank of China (Beijing), Four Seasons (New York).
Not one to be easily impressed by modern architecture, I have come to learn about the master's subtle manipulation of light, shadows, reflections and space with minimal use of shapes, motifs, colours or indeed any decorations. In the end, I realise that his style of architecture is less about the building but is instead about the space-enclosed - and how the space in turn play with the light or view from the outside as they turned into shadows and reflections inside.
If one consider the gardens of Suzhou and how the designers manipulate the space, the views from the strategically placed openings and the shadows from plants and rocks - but minimal colours; one get the sense of the origins of Pei's philosophy and sensibility in his design. He is a master in engaging you by doing less and hence making you notice more.
Well, the Peis live in their town house at No.11 Sutton Place (which is between E57th and E58th street) a mere 5 minutes walk from my apartment block which is on E54th street. It is a simple and neat looking townhouse no more than 25 feet wide and painted in various shades of gray. Although it pre-dates the modern era of Pei's signature styles, the house echos the clean lines and neutral shades one often find in his designs. A few simple metal sculptures are visible from the second floor window.
One time, Mewyee and I were walking nearby when we saw the tiny old man himself coming out of his house. He looked the same as in the photographs in a grey suit and his trademark glasses. A few paces behind him, his wife came out wearing a qi pao walking quickly after him. He walked out to the middle of the street to flag down a cab and off they went.
Some time later, in conversation with a random neighbour in a park next to Pei's home, the neighbour said they often see him about, sometimes sweeping leaves off the sidewalk. One time she claimed, she shared a bus ride from midtown with him. I.M.Pei riding on the bus!
When my daughters was in pre-school, we were amused to find that Pei's daughter, Li-Anne was the school's "onward schools" counsellor we had spoken with for information about getting into private schools. She was a corporate lawyer before leaving practice after she had children so as to have more flexibility with her time. Another parents in the same school, who is Chinese-American, was so excited when she found out, she came to us saying "Guess who is Li-Anne Pei's dad?! Its I.M Pei!!" To which her husband could not understand the excitement and asked, "who is I.M.Pei?"
Just last week, when I walked by the neighbourhood I saw Li-Anne coming out of her parent's house. I just said hi, but she didn't see/hear me because she was busy walking into the middle of the street to hail a cab.
It all began when I discovered that old Mr and Mrs Pei happen to be my neighbours. It was an exciting discovery personally because he is well-known in Asia and is someone much talked about between my late father and myself when I was growing up. We deliberately and consciously admired his work when we visited the Louvre, Bank of China (Hong Kong), Raffles City in Singapore; and later by myself, the East Wing of Washington DC's National Gallery, the Jacob Jarvits Center, Bank of China (Beijing), Four Seasons (New York).
Not one to be easily impressed by modern architecture, I have come to learn about the master's subtle manipulation of light, shadows, reflections and space with minimal use of shapes, motifs, colours or indeed any decorations. In the end, I realise that his style of architecture is less about the building but is instead about the space-enclosed - and how the space in turn play with the light or view from the outside as they turned into shadows and reflections inside.
If one consider the gardens of Suzhou and how the designers manipulate the space, the views from the strategically placed openings and the shadows from plants and rocks - but minimal colours; one get the sense of the origins of Pei's philosophy and sensibility in his design. He is a master in engaging you by doing less and hence making you notice more.
Well, the Peis live in their town house at No.11 Sutton Place (which is between E57th and E58th street) a mere 5 minutes walk from my apartment block which is on E54th street. It is a simple and neat looking townhouse no more than 25 feet wide and painted in various shades of gray. Although it pre-dates the modern era of Pei's signature styles, the house echos the clean lines and neutral shades one often find in his designs. A few simple metal sculptures are visible from the second floor window.
One time, Mewyee and I were walking nearby when we saw the tiny old man himself coming out of his house. He looked the same as in the photographs in a grey suit and his trademark glasses. A few paces behind him, his wife came out wearing a qi pao walking quickly after him. He walked out to the middle of the street to flag down a cab and off they went.
Some time later, in conversation with a random neighbour in a park next to Pei's home, the neighbour said they often see him about, sometimes sweeping leaves off the sidewalk. One time she claimed, she shared a bus ride from midtown with him. I.M.Pei riding on the bus!
When my daughters was in pre-school, we were amused to find that Pei's daughter, Li-Anne was the school's "onward schools" counsellor we had spoken with for information about getting into private schools. She was a corporate lawyer before leaving practice after she had children so as to have more flexibility with her time. Another parents in the same school, who is Chinese-American, was so excited when she found out, she came to us saying "Guess who is Li-Anne Pei's dad?! Its I.M Pei!!" To which her husband could not understand the excitement and asked, "who is I.M.Pei?"
Just last week, when I walked by the neighbourhood I saw Li-Anne coming out of her parent's house. I just said hi, but she didn't see/hear me because she was busy walking into the middle of the street to hail a cab.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Moments from My Metropolis - Thoughts on Racism and Social Progress from a Cosmopolitan City
KY's wonderful post on racial discrimination merits an echoing - a rejoinder - from across the seas than just a comment.
I have just finished reading Newsweek's wonderful seven-part fly-on-the-wall account of the 2008 Presidential Campaign [http://www.newsweek.com/id/167581]. And what struck me was - despite the negativity and hostility we saw - how sensitive and adverse all the candidates were in general to the perception of racism. Which is not to say there are no more racists or racial politics, but that social change in the US has reached a tipping point where racism is now so socially-unacceptable that any temptation to exploit it will quicky be overwhelmed by the backlash. This shows the powerful social consensus in the US against racism has expanded and matured since the Civil Rights movement a mere 45 years ago.
I marvelled at this wonderful evidence of social progress first made de jure than became de facto and then becoming a universal value. KY provided some excellent examples of enlightened leadership that tries to make the ideals and aspirations of social progress tangible first through legislation which hopefully will create the condition for such progress to take root. Social progress takes time, but I am hopeful of a growing cross-cultural consensus throughout the world that is making racism less and less socially acceptable - and hence less politically attractive which then creates a virtuous cycle by creating a more conducive climate for racial tolerance. I believe this is how social progress happenned and (mostly) pushed slavery, child labour and polygamy to the margins of any society that considers itself civilized. Wither the societies and political systems that stand against the forces of enlightened global social consensus.
One of the joys of living in New York City for the past 34 months has been the daily experience of a tolerant, diverse and cosmopolitan society. I have come to admire the fact that here diversity comes naturally. Deliberately, I observe my children, ages 7 and 5 1/2, for their world-view and I must say (so far) they do not differentiate any of their friends by race. Although being in the UN International School - where every class may be a mix of more than 20 nationalities when those of both parents are counted - they are very aware of the different nationalities but interestingly, racial or national "labels" were hardly ever considered. To Ning, her friend Sara is just her friend Sara - and not an ethically Indian of the muslim religion who is South African by nationality. I find this notion of seeing people as individuals and not as labels a very refreshing and positive experience.
Being in a diverse environment means being different no longer means being a curiousity, so ironically children are more relaxed about their own cultures. During the recent UN Day, my daughters carry both the Bruneian and Malaysian flags - and they both wore a Chinese dress (although for some reason, this year she also wants to carry a Chinese umbrella). And her friend Claire (center, last row) who is American, decided she would wear a Moroccan dress and everyone thought it was interesting. The picture below is my younger daughter Hue's class where you can see at the back row, the flags of Western Samoa and Fiji among others.
Sometimes they ask, why do we have to go to Chinese school on Saturdays? And I would say, because you are Chinese - and same goes for Jeremy who also goes to Chinese school, Julie and Aram who goes to Korean school because they are Korean and Beyan who goes to Russian school because she is Russian etc. So quite ironically, diversity can also be characterised as something they have in common with their classmates.
Well, what happens outside the UN school? I enjoy the fact that in my time here, I have not been conscious of being seen in a racial light - I said "conscious" because I do not know what goes on in their minds. In casual small talk, which is a common social interaction in the US be it on the bus, in the lift, at the cafe - I am still yet to be asked (or presumed) about my race except in Chinatown where people automatically speak Chinese to me. Only in more lengthy conversations people ask where you are from i.e. which I assume to be nationality as opposed to ethnicity.
On the streets you (over)hear all kinds of languages - English, Spanish, French, Russian, German, Chinese, Korean - and I notice people either don't hear or they don't care because no one (except me) paid any attention. In my neighbourhood, there are all kinds of restaurants, French, Jewish, Turkish, Chinese, Japanese, Indian etc. I have a feeling that generally, people treat the mix of races like having a choice of restaurants in the neighbourhood - as "different cultures" rather than "different people" that add to the richness of society - to be explored or disregarded - without any personal reaction whether to approve or disapprove, like or dislike, neither to be affirmed or threatened by their presence.
My good friend Nasri came to visit last week; first time he came to the US and to New York. And I tried to take a fresh look at my city through his observant eyes and keen and curious mind. First he said, on three occasions when told people actually knew about Brunei. Second, he wonders about the racial mix in New York because he was expecting to see more Caucasians [40% white, 25% Latino, 25% blacks, 10% various-mostly-Asian; although on a working day in Manhattan its more like 60% white, 15% Latino, 15% blacks, 10 various mostly-Asian. 3x more people come to work in Manhattan than living there]. Thirdly, on a bus, as he observed the mix of people boarding the bus, he remarked to me how the racial diversity is observed throughout the city as opposed to enclaved.
I feel those are quite astute observations of a open and cosmopolitan environment; but I also had to remind him New York is not representative of all-of-America (for the record, NYC voted 85% for Obama) but more like a prototype "world city" that places like Hong Kong and Singapore openly aspire to be Asia's very own. I have to confess that living in the midst of all these made me more hopeful for the world.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
A Perspective of America
One of the beauty of this co-blogging business is that KY and I both live as outsiders in the most cutting edge and outward-looking metropolis on the edge of our respective continental-size countries. In observing the preoccupations of the day in our nooks, I think we can better illustrate the present realitiesof the two most powerful nations in the world.
Over one late September weekend, our family holidayed at Lake George. Lake George is a rather large lake in upstate New York, most of which is ringed by the southern reaches of the Adirondack Mountains. It reminds me of the Lake District in Lancashire although both the lakes and the mountains are somewhat larger. Around the lake are dotted with small towns, motels, resorts and hundreds of beautiful vacation homes of the American elite.
The more I observe America, the more I can understand those Amercians who believe unquestioningly in the American exceptionalism. This is a land of unimaginable plenty in the material sense, but it is also a place where common decency and civilized behavior still prevail. It is very easy for Americans to forget about the troubles of the world simply because life is kind and they have it so good.
The drive from New York to Lake George took 4 hours. We drove through endless miles of green wooded hills and pristine streams, punctuated by a small town here and there. From the open highway, one sees nature and nothing else for hours on end. There is so much space about, unoccupied, uncultivated left to the golden sunshine and to nature. The weather was such that those hills were beginning to be dotted haphazardly with dashed of the colours of autumn: red, orange, gold and amber.
When we got there, the fresh water in the lake is crystal clear. It is hard to image waves lapping about without the smell of the sea - in fact, no smell at all - but thats Lake George. And as I found kayaking up and down the coast, not a spot of garbage washed up on the shore or debris floating about, not even streaks of oil even though power boats were cruising about. Space, woods, fresh air, clean water and pleasant weather: Americans are right to think of themselves as blessed.
Out there in the rural communities, the infrastructure was clean, well-maintained and tended with pride by the local community. The people are unfailingly good-natured, law abiding and polite. In the small towns, the civic and community infrastructure very much in evident: the local library, the village notice board, the volunteer fire service, the local police (sitting by himself with a newspaper in the cafe), the flags that bedecks the homes and on the streets, the banners and decorations for halloween, the signs of the local Rotary and Lions Club and the multitude of local churches. It is like a modern day reincarnation of a Norman Rockwell print. I had the sensed that, here people still uncynically live the healthy and wholesome life. I notice that from the way parents behave with their the small children - so relaxed and so much trust in other people - this seems to be a place where one can grow up believing that the world is safe, that the living will be comfortable and life will always turn out for the better.
Life is easy too. Too easy and clogged up with stuff, stuff and more stuff. As i paddled pass the summer homes, it is easy to see 5000 sq ft homes with 4 car garages and a dock complete with a boatshed for 2 boats, 2 jet skis and numerous kayaks. In the front patios, are hot tubs and all kinds of toys. You go into the local supermarket and it is clogged with consumer excess - everything that can be made, sold and then disposed off.
Closer to home, some weeks ago, a friend of Marisa (our Philipino helper) launched a collection within her neighbourhood in Park Slope, Brooklyn for second hand clothing in aid of victims of the recent hurricane in Haiti. All it took was passing the word among fellow parents of her son's soccer team, and within days they had a whole living room 2 feet deep full of clothing. Many of them are branded and brand new. They had so much stuff that they decided to send some off for typhoon victims in the Philiipines as well. Marisa also picked up some clothes for the girls - raincoats, winter stuff, brand new shoes, jeans etc. - we ended up not having to buy any more new clothes for them for the year! This is no means a one-off. In fact, occasionally there are gathering around town where people simply leave their excess clothing - often perfectly good stuff - for others to just pick up for free. We are astounded by the world of abundance that we live in; but also bemoan the excess of it all.
I was beginning to understand why Americans are not interested in the rest of the world - its simply the sense that for all the world's troubles none of that concern them because they just seem so abstract so far away. I can also understand why for so many Americans, who never seen another modern country apart from their own, would assume that America is No.1 at everything and somehow that everyone, if given a chance, wants to be like them.
The trouble is the world is not all like that or it would simply be a good thing if all can be like that. If the whole world try to live like Americans by aping the lifestyle, the world would collapse simply because it is so wasteful that it should be seen as an abberation in human history. It would be equally mistaken for America to export their template as it isfor others to replicate their template. Make no mistake, everyone can live as well but everyone must find their own best ways to do so. Tempting as it is to copy, simply not many places in the world has the "basic conditions" to do as they do - no one has the wide spaces and resources nor at the moment: the institutions, education level and human-societal development to replicate such a lifestyle.
But what we can do is to learn from that American sense of optimism and courage to assume that things can always be better and to assume personal responsibility for making that difference in the world. Since the first time I visited America in 1992, I have always been a fan of the prevailing decency, open attitude to others and the fact that people take personal responsbility to make a positive difference to their community, that one finds in America. I am pleased to see that pretty much intact even in the metropolis of New York; where my days are often brightened by such encounters.
To celebrate those moments, I intend to begin a series of postings of "Moments from my Metropolis"soon.
Over one late September weekend, our family holidayed at Lake George. Lake George is a rather large lake in upstate New York, most of which is ringed by the southern reaches of the Adirondack Mountains. It reminds me of the Lake District in Lancashire although both the lakes and the mountains are somewhat larger. Around the lake are dotted with small towns, motels, resorts and hundreds of beautiful vacation homes of the American elite.
The more I observe America, the more I can understand those Amercians who believe unquestioningly in the American exceptionalism. This is a land of unimaginable plenty in the material sense, but it is also a place where common decency and civilized behavior still prevail. It is very easy for Americans to forget about the troubles of the world simply because life is kind and they have it so good.
The drive from New York to Lake George took 4 hours. We drove through endless miles of green wooded hills and pristine streams, punctuated by a small town here and there. From the open highway, one sees nature and nothing else for hours on end. There is so much space about, unoccupied, uncultivated left to the golden sunshine and to nature. The weather was such that those hills were beginning to be dotted haphazardly with dashed of the colours of autumn: red, orange, gold and amber.
When we got there, the fresh water in the lake is crystal clear. It is hard to image waves lapping about without the smell of the sea - in fact, no smell at all - but thats Lake George. And as I found kayaking up and down the coast, not a spot of garbage washed up on the shore or debris floating about, not even streaks of oil even though power boats were cruising about. Space, woods, fresh air, clean water and pleasant weather: Americans are right to think of themselves as blessed.
Out there in the rural communities, the infrastructure was clean, well-maintained and tended with pride by the local community. The people are unfailingly good-natured, law abiding and polite. In the small towns, the civic and community infrastructure very much in evident: the local library, the village notice board, the volunteer fire service, the local police (sitting by himself with a newspaper in the cafe), the flags that bedecks the homes and on the streets, the banners and decorations for halloween, the signs of the local Rotary and Lions Club and the multitude of local churches. It is like a modern day reincarnation of a Norman Rockwell print. I had the sensed that, here people still uncynically live the healthy and wholesome life. I notice that from the way parents behave with their the small children - so relaxed and so much trust in other people - this seems to be a place where one can grow up believing that the world is safe, that the living will be comfortable and life will always turn out for the better.
Life is easy too. Too easy and clogged up with stuff, stuff and more stuff. As i paddled pass the summer homes, it is easy to see 5000 sq ft homes with 4 car garages and a dock complete with a boatshed for 2 boats, 2 jet skis and numerous kayaks. In the front patios, are hot tubs and all kinds of toys. You go into the local supermarket and it is clogged with consumer excess - everything that can be made, sold and then disposed off.
Closer to home, some weeks ago, a friend of Marisa (our Philipino helper) launched a collection within her neighbourhood in Park Slope, Brooklyn for second hand clothing in aid of victims of the recent hurricane in Haiti. All it took was passing the word among fellow parents of her son's soccer team, and within days they had a whole living room 2 feet deep full of clothing. Many of them are branded and brand new. They had so much stuff that they decided to send some off for typhoon victims in the Philiipines as well. Marisa also picked up some clothes for the girls - raincoats, winter stuff, brand new shoes, jeans etc. - we ended up not having to buy any more new clothes for them for the year! This is no means a one-off. In fact, occasionally there are gathering around town where people simply leave their excess clothing - often perfectly good stuff - for others to just pick up for free. We are astounded by the world of abundance that we live in; but also bemoan the excess of it all.
I was beginning to understand why Americans are not interested in the rest of the world - its simply the sense that for all the world's troubles none of that concern them because they just seem so abstract so far away. I can also understand why for so many Americans, who never seen another modern country apart from their own, would assume that America is No.1 at everything and somehow that everyone, if given a chance, wants to be like them.
The trouble is the world is not all like that or it would simply be a good thing if all can be like that. If the whole world try to live like Americans by aping the lifestyle, the world would collapse simply because it is so wasteful that it should be seen as an abberation in human history. It would be equally mistaken for America to export their template as it isfor others to replicate their template. Make no mistake, everyone can live as well but everyone must find their own best ways to do so. Tempting as it is to copy, simply not many places in the world has the "basic conditions" to do as they do - no one has the wide spaces and resources nor at the moment: the institutions, education level and human-societal development to replicate such a lifestyle.
But what we can do is to learn from that American sense of optimism and courage to assume that things can always be better and to assume personal responsibility for making that difference in the world. Since the first time I visited America in 1992, I have always been a fan of the prevailing decency, open attitude to others and the fact that people take personal responsbility to make a positive difference to their community, that one finds in America. I am pleased to see that pretty much intact even in the metropolis of New York; where my days are often brightened by such encounters.
To celebrate those moments, I intend to begin a series of postings of "Moments from my Metropolis"soon.
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