Berkeley homecoming

My life has run a full cycle. After graduating from Berkeley 6 years ago, I decided that it was time for me to travel the world, both physically and intellectually, though I did not foresee where my future would take me. At the moment, it was enough to escape from the post-911 Islamaphobia and anti-internationalism that was sweeping the country. At 23, I began my master's at Oxford, and started taking a rigourous course of study in comparative politics. But later into the programme I realised that a political science Ph.D. was not my calling, and for about a year personal insecurities and shortcomings got in the way of my academic progress.

It was not until I chose Alan, my former Comparative Government tutor, as my thesis advisor that things turned for the better. He motivated me to pursue what I felt passionate about, and helped me out in times of need In the end, I was able to produce a M.Phil. thesis that reflected my intellectual interests and my childhood experience. It began a process of self-discovery that would take me through Africa, the Middle East, and then to different corners of Asia.

Nobel laureate says dictatorship made her write

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By Sarah Marsh

BERLIN (Reuters) - The 2009 Nobel laureate for literature, Herta Mueller, said on Thursday she had been compelled to write about how dictators are able to dominate a country by her life growing up in communist Romania.

The Swedish Academy paid tribute earlier in the day to Mueller "who, with the concentration of poetry and the frankness of prose, depicts the landscape of the dispossessed", when announcing the 10 million Swedish crown ($1.4 million) award.

Mueller, a Romanian-born ethnic German, is known for works such as "The Land of Green Plums" which she dedicated to friends killed during Nicolae Ceausescu's two-decade long Communist rule of Romania, and "The Appointment" in which a Romanian woman sews notes saying "Marry Me" into suits of men bound for Italy.

"My writing was always about how a dictatorship arises, how a situation is able to occur where a handful of powerful people dominate a country and the country disappears, and there is only the state left," Mueller said.

"I think literature always emerges from things that have damaged someone, and there is a kind of literature, where the authors don't chose their subject, but deal with one that was thrust upon them -- I'm not the only writer like that."

Mueller told reporters in Berlin she was certain she would never win the award.

"I am not the winner, it's my books, and they are finished works and not me, not me personally," the 56-year-old said.

"I still can't believe it, it still hasn't hit home. I didn't expect it, I was certain that it wouldn't happen. I still can't talk about it, it's too early, I think I still need time to realise what it means."

Her sensitive and insightful works reflect the intolerance and harshness of life under Ceausescu, who was overthrown and executed in 1989. She left Romania with her husband Richard Wagner in 1987 and now lives in Berlin.

"This country saved me. When I arrived in 1987, I could finally breathe," said Mueller. "And when the dictatorship collapsed I felt I was no longer threatened."

"I feel free in the present, the things that happened are not cancelled out though, they're in my head. I only have one head -- the one I am carrying around -- and it has everything in it with which I arrived in this country."

(Editing by Jon Hemming)

People Power\'s Philippine Saint: Corazon Aquino

People Power\'s Philippine Saint: Corazon Aquino

Sri Lanka: The Land of Serendipity | Demotix.com

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Cory Aquino remembered

I just found out that Cory Aquino died today, and felt compelled to write a little about her as I admire her greatly. The former Philippine president was one of the few principled political leaders that the country has ever known, and is still highly regarded today among Filipinos. She led the People Power Revolution in 1986 (a.k.a. EDSA I, a shorthand for the country's highway Epifanio de los Santos Avenue, where millions of people demonstrated during the February Revolution) that braved the offensive of Marcos's loyalist troops and, in a matter of four days, forced the exodus of Ferdinand Marcos, his wife Imelda and a handful of cronies to Hawaii, ushering in Asia's first chapter of democratisation. She had also been a longstanding champion of human rights and democracy, having overseen the redemocratisation of nearly all spheres of the country's political life, including the ratification by plebiscite of a progressive 1987 Constitution, the restoration of civil liberties, and the introduction of free and fair elections--arguably the freest since elections were first introduced by the Americans under colonial rule.

Cory's global influence cannot be overstated. A mere 7 months after People Power, Taiwan saw the formation of the island's first opposition party, Democratic Progressive Party, in its postwar history. The L-sign flashed by Cory's supporters became a standard scene in Taiwanese opposition rallies that year. Soon afterwards, in 1987 the dictator Chiang Ching-kuo was forced to end the 38-year martial rule in response to massive societal pressures. In South Korea, too, the slogan 'people's power' reverberated on the streets of Seoul, and in 1987 forced the military regime to hold the country's first democratic elections in decades. It is also well-known that Cory's example had influenced Pakistan's late pro-democracy leader, Benazir Bhutto, who drew considerable inspiration from People Power during her own struggles with the military in the 1980s. Scholars have also noted the spread of People Power--nonviolent active resistance by ordinary civilians--as a term to describe the events of the 1989 velvet revolutions across East-Central Europe and the Tian'anmen student uprising in the PRC.

Although her life has ended, history will remember Cory as an inspirational and influential revolutionary for generations to come. And quite unlike the despised Marcoses, whose autocratic rule and plunder of the country have left a devastating political as well as economic legacy in the Philippines, Cory will be remembered as a democracy fighter who stood among the people and for the people during the worst of times.

Somewhat frustrated

Lately, I'm not sure why some scholars have been particularly critical of me. Most of these critics have been Taiwanese, and are ones--who for some bizarre reason--criticise me apparently for my "naive" view of the world. They brushed aside my questions and suggestions, as if to suggest my thoughts were somehow unimportant. Their response to my question goes something like this: "Face reality, this is an unequal world where 'the market' rules." It is ironic that part of this discipline's goals is commitment to tackling social inequality, yet Taiwanese sociology appears to prefer legitimating that social structure rather than deconstructing it.

Nevertheless, I've also received praises from women and men, primarily from other cultures and countries, for my willingness to express myself and to ask important questions.

I've always thought that one of academia's missions is to foster an independent state of mind. "Thinking outside the box" is our chief concern, and certainly constructive criticism is part of our responsibilities as well. Still, it does become frustrating when those who enjoy being critical are the ones who tend to be the most unwilling to be self-reflexive. I think I'm beginning to acquire a cynical view of this discipline as it is practised in Taiwan.

(Postscript: I may be overreacting to or misunderstanding these comments. I hope this is the case, rather than the scenario that I've described thus far)

Lessons

The BBC's news article on 27 February 2009, "Despair and Rage among Gaza's Youths," is an extremely depressing account of Gazan life, and something that one cannot easily digest without being overwhelmed by the depths of sorrow of a forgotten people.

For those who unconditionally condone Israeli revenge, their "right to exist," and denigrate people who stand behind Palestinians as "anti-Semites," all the while distorting the meaning of the Holocaust, I really have nothing to say to them. Nonetheless, their hatred is a lesson for those of us who still believe in the possibilities of peace and a universal humanity.

Taiwan's Wild Strawberry Movement in Political Process Perspective

Andy S. Chang

Introduction
On 3 November 2008, a Chinese envoy from the Association for Relations Across the Taiwan Strait (ARATS), Chen Yunlin, arrived in Taiwan to negotiate trade pacts in what was widely hailed by the local press as a milestone meeting between Taipei and Beijing after over half a century of political rivalry. But while the Nationalist ruling elites reveled in a historic thaw of cross-strait relations, Chen’s five-day visit had been marred by a wave of anti-China protests that culminated in the worst incidents of violence between police and protestors in a decade. This was quickly accompanied by an unusually vocal condemnation by the Ma Ying-jeou administration, asserting that if the protestors ‘cannot act peacefully and rationally, the country ceases to be democratic’ and that maintaining public order against social disturbances was a compelling state objective (China Times 07/11/08).

It was in this climate of heightening tensions, reinforced by societal fears of a curtailment of civil liberties—following documented cases of arbitrary arrests and mistreatment of civilians, confiscation of Taiwanese and Tibetan flags, forced entry and shutdown of commercial property —that professors and students responded to the political crisis that surfaced, staging a sit-in on 6 November to call for the revision of the Parade and Assembly Law. Since then, the sit-in has grown into a social movement, dubbed the ‘Wild Strawberry Student Movement,’ which has mustered nationwide as well as overseas student support while elevating the issue of free speech to the emerging public discourse. The growing divide in state-society relations since the coming of power of President Ma and Premier Liu Chao-hsuan, along with a deepening distrust of elite-led normalisation of relations with China, has also been highlighted by the confluence of disruptive protests and demonstrations across the island (BBC 04/11/08).

In this essay, I employ a political process framework to explain the Wild Strawberry Movement’s development and propose ways by which student activists can better sustain collective action and ultimately bring about a change in government policy. I argue that the movement has emerged and persisted, in spite of contracting political opportunities, because of the mobilising structures and interpretative frames that the professors and students were able to cobble together in short order. Its organisational progress notwithstanding, the movement’s success in altering the opportunity structure in its favour will depend critically on its ability to align and amplify existing frames with broader segments of society. In the analysis of movement development, I focus on the injustice, identity, and agency components of strategic framing that Gamson (1992) has contended to be crucial to social mobilisation.

Emergence of the Wild Strawberry Movement
Both the student movement and the opposition-led demonstrations that immediately preceded it had emerged in a climate of declining political opportunities. The police’s heavy-handed tactics against protestors, as well as the government’s extensive mobilisation of riot police to stifle public displays of dissent, had stoked the resentment of significant segments of society, including the student movement. But far from repressing them, the ROC’s deployment of the instruments of coercion conjured up memories of the country’s authoritarian past and galvanised activists to further disruptive action (Taipei Times 04/11/08). On 5 November, Chen was stranded in a hotel by a 1,000-strong contingent of anti-China protestors, but police repression continued unabated as images of scuffles on the street and police closure of a record store were aired around the clock on local media outlets. The fighting that ensued the following day led to a nearly universal condemnation of the protestors by both the authorities and the Chinese-language media. The student protest that formed in the wake of this series of incidents was thus overshadowed by the negative press reaction, being forced to defend the legitimacy of its demands as it sought to distance itself from affiliation with political parties.

Faced with a less than favourable opportunity structure, the Wild Strawberry movement arose and gathered steam despite the police dispersal of 500 activists on 7 November. How did this movement emerge amid a restrictive opportunity structure, confounding the standard prediction of the political opportunity thesis? The movement’s formation, I argue, can be explained in part by reference to the social networks that linked activists across university campuses in northern Taiwan. While it is difficult to ascertain the precise makeup of student activists, a preliminary examination suggests that participants were initially drawn from university sociology departments and medical schools in Taipei, with Taiwan University’s professors and students as some of the major organisers of the 6 November sit-in . A second facilitating factor relates to the notion of consensus mobilisation emphasised in the literature on cultural framing. These inchoate mobilising structures had been able to secure a significant turnout at protest events because of the interplay between injustice, identity, and agency frames that motivated students to launch a movement of contention.

According to Gamson (1992), the injustice claim refers to the moral indignation over an unjust situation that is laden with emotion. The identity dimension, on the other hand, concerns the process of constructing a collective ‘us’ defined in opposition to some ‘them’ who are held responsible for an unjust situation. Finally, a sense of agency provides a direct incentive for activism by motivating individuals to believe that it is possible to alter situations through collective action. In other words, agency empowers individuals into thinking that they are ‘potential agents of their own history’ (7). All these features of framing were present in the activation of latent protest networks rooted in the university setting. The framing of injustice against what the activists perceived as ‘excessive police coercion’ and the ‘authoritarian retrogression’ pushed otherwise atomised individuals to direct action. With the construction of grievances, the activists also mobilised along identity and agency lines. The movement’s collective attribution was made clear from the outset: the issue was framed in terms of ‘the state’ against ‘the people,’ and the upper echelons of the state hierarchy identified as the target of the protest. The feeling of us against them was particularly salient in the verbal confrontation between students and Hsueh Hsiang-chuan, the Executive Yuan’s Secretary-General, over the legitimacy of the police handling of protests. This growing sense of identity was in part shaped by collective memories of student activism in the nation’s transition to democracy. The legacy of student involvement in public affairs as epitomised by the March 1990 Wild Lily Student Movement and Action 100 Alliance, which conduced to the holding of Taiwan’s founding elections and the abolition of the Sedition Act in 1992, instilled a sense of efficacy in Taiwanese students and provided a contentious repertoire from which to base their political claims.

The mobilising structures and interpretative frames that were organised by professors and students, coupled with the nation’s history of student activism, can in large part explain the formation of the Wild Strawberry movement at a time when political opportunities were far from conducive. I now outline the movement’s prospects for survival, and suggest ways for the successful attainment of the goals it had set out.

Prospects for Movement Success
1) Thou Shalt Align Thy Frames with Society
Many Taiwanese remain unclear, if not confused, as to the goals of the movement. The movement’s frames, while successful in the initial phases, do not seem to have struck a responsive chord with broader segments of society. At a minimum, the movement needs to frame its demands more strategically towards mass society if it wishes to step up the pressure on political elites for change.

2) Thou Shalt Amplify Thy Frames
Part of the reason for the movement’s failure at frame alignment stems from the activists’ denial of the opposition-led protests. The separation of the students’ beliefs from those of the earlier protests obscures the force of the Wild Strawberries’ claims of police oppression. The students have in recent days joined in the public denunciation of violence by previous protestors, but at the expense of gravely weakening the legitimacy of their proclaimed opposition to ‘state violence.’ It is imperative to construct a stronger civil society narrative to amplify the connection between the numerous instances of civilian protests against Chen Yunlin, including the confrontational ones, with the root of their problems: the extraordinary governmental display of force and restriction on individuals’ expression of alternative views throughout the entire ARATS visit. This may require underscoring the injustice（不公不義）components of existing frames so as to shift the public’s attention back to the notion of ‘excessive police coercion’ and thereby enhance the emotional appeal of the students’ demands.

3) Befriend Thyself With Allies, and Expand Thy Mobilising Structures
In its quest to sever what it calls ‘political ties’ and project an anti-political stance, the student movement has consistently denied participation by bystanders and sympathisers. A visible barrier has been maintained between students (us) and the sympathetic crowd (them) at Freedom Square, fostering the impression that bystanders greatly outnumber the movement participants, whose number continues to dwindle day after day. The movement also eschews strategic alliances with liberal civil society organisations for fear of being labeled ‘green,’ without realising that the inclusion of like-minded civic groups is essential to the students’ formulation of a legitimate civil society discourse against the state. A united front of student, professor, journalist, labour, feminist, religious (Falun Gong, Presbyterian Church), ethno-nationalist (Tibetan, Aboriginal, Hakka, Hoklo, Mainlander), grassroots party organisation, environmental and human rights activists is important not only because they provide crucial sources of manpower, expertise and mobilising networks; they are also central to the substance of students’ emergent civil society framing. Perhaps the most effective way to diffuse criticisms leveled on the activists is to move beyond the elites’ bipartisanship and project claims as independent citizens of a democratic polity.

4) Exploit Thy Political Opportunities
An elite split in the KMT between hardliners (Premier Liu Chao-hsuan and anti-Taiwan-independence legislators) and moderates (President Ma Ying-jeou, Wang Jin-ping, and pro-localisation politicians) seems to have emerged from the latest wave of police mobilisation, street protests, and countermovement. Ma has moderated his stance since the events of 6 November, agreeing in principle that the Parade and Assembly Law needs to be revised. Meanwhile, several KMT legislators elected at the grassroots have also questioned the administration’s silencing of dissent for the benefit of the ARATS negotiations, citing police brutality as responsible for the confrontations that followed. The growing fissures between hardliners and softliners may facilitate the Wild Strawberries’ framing competition with the state, but ultimately success will depend on how the movement exploits these divisions and tilts the balance towards the KMT moderates in the upcoming legislative sessions.

Conclusion
I have argued that the Wild Strawberry Student Movement arose not in response to
expanding political opportunities, but because of the strong grievances and the university-based networks that the participants had amassed. While these initial supporting structures and cultural meanings mustered a significant student turnout during the earlier protest stages, the movement’s success in changing government policy will be contingent on how it frames its issues and mobilises supporters. Frame alignment and amplification, expansion of mobilising structures, and seizure of political opportunities will be among some of the major tasks for the Wild Strawberries at this critical juncture.


REFERENCES
Books and Articles
Gamson, William A. 1992. Talking Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
McAdam, Doug, John D. McCarthy and Mayer N. Zald, eds. 1996. Comparative Perspectives on
Social Movements: Political Opportunities, Mobilizing Structures, and Cultural Framings.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Tarrow, Sidney. 1994. Power in Movement: Social Movements, Collective Action, and Politics.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Zhao, Dingxin. 1998. ‘Ecologies of Social Movements: Student Mobilization during the 1989
Pro-democracy Movement in Beijing.’ American Journal of Sociology 103, pp.1493-1529.

Newspapers
Al Jazeera English. 2008. ‘Protests mar China-Taiwan meeting.’ 6 November
BBC News. 2008. ‘Distrust amid China-Taiwan deal.’ 4 November.
BBC Chinese. 2008. ‘Ma Yingjiu hui Chen Yunlin, Minjindang jilie kangyi.’ 6 November.
BBC Chinese. 2008. ‘Wutian de zuida gongyueshu.’ 6 November.
BBC News. 2008.‘Clashes mar Chinese Taiwan visit.’ 7 November.
China Times. 2008. ‘Chen Yunlin wei’an dongyuan renci jiang puo wan.’ 3 November.
China Times. 2008. ‘Ma paizhuo: Cai Yingwen beinuo, bu fuzeren.’ 7 November.
Taipei Times. 2008. ‘Assembly law should be changed: Ma.’ 17 November.
Taipei Times. 2008. ‘DPP pans “excessive” police force.’ 6 November.
Taipei Times. 2008. ‘Protesters say measures recall the martial law era.’ 4 November.

Taiwan LGBT Parade

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Ridiculous fees (Sudan)

One shocking aspect about Sudan involves getting into the country. The visa fee for Sudan is a staggering US$100 and $150 for Americans. But the hidden fees are even more horrendous. The Sudanese government requires foreigners to register within three days on entry and to register again in Khartoum before leaving the country. The fines for not complying are enormous, costing well over $100. But there is a catch for visiting the immigration offices on time: you need to pay $43 at the port of entry and $10 more in Khartoum. How can ordinary people afford to lavish on such an exorbitant expense?

The Islamist regime knows full well that visitors to Sudan are normally foreign aid workers and businesspeople who tend to fork out the ridiculous sums without question. Due to the destruction of two civil wars, the NGO and IO presence in Sudan is among the highest in all Africa: many westerners and UN soldiers go to Sudan to maintain the health and security of the volatile South. Moreover, Chinese investors are scurrying to Khartoum to partake in the oil and construction bonanza. The Sudanese government, it appears, is merely exploiting the situation. According to Transparency International, Sudan ranks 156th out of 163 countries on its Corruption Perceptions Index. The visa and registration fees for foreigners are only the tip of the iceberg in a country ruled by a hugely inefficient, corrupt government.

The Good and the Bad (Sudan)

Sudan somehow draws you in. Despite the barrenness and inhospitable climes, there is something about the land of the Nubians that can leave you feeling touched, humbled, delighted, saddened, frustrated, and exasperated at the same time. And yet the trials and tribulations of traveling in this extremely deprived and remote part of the world can invoke rewards that far outweigh the troubles encountered along the way.

When you least expect it, Sudan unleashes powers so overwhelming that they put you on a soul-searching journey, mold your worldview, and entice you to leave your baggage, both emotional and physical, behind.

*****
Wadi Halfa is a dusty, rundown port of entry whose only purpose is to serve as a temporary waystation for businesspeople, returning expatriates, and occasional visitors. The entire town's activity revolves around the weekly ferry and its passengers, people stopping only so long as to wait for ongoing connections to Khartoum, the South and even as far as Ethiopia. When the train and minibuses depart, the village recedes into silence once again, with nothing more to suggest of its former grandeur as a commercial capital thriving on trade with el Norte--Egypt.

Wadi Halfa, however, is a place I must stay for a longer time than most others. The headache and diarrhea I caught from eating salad washed with Nile's water while on the ferry forced me to sleep in for hours at the unkempt lokanda that had neither fans, electricity, tap water, nor locked doors. But at least it did shelter me from the sweltering 50-degree heat. And after two days without shower, the buckets of murky water collected straight from the Nile did offer some measure of comfort to the body, even if the stench from the makeshift loo hole was very shocking.

Much of two days I spent in Halfa involved the drudgery process of getting registered with the police, paying exorbitant fees, exchanging money, and finding a way to leave Halfa once and for all. It was then that I realised what it was meant when westerners utter the words, "This is Africa." In this part of the world, things run much more slowly and you simply cannot rush or expect "efficiency" to prevail. Much of the "African curse", of course, stems from the glaring absence of governance and accountability on the part of governments; ordinary Africans are not to be blamed for taking things slowly as they simply lack the means to speed things up. The dearth of development, compounded by bureaucratic corruption, inefficiency, and political repression have created nightmares for many Africans struggling to make ends meet on a day to day basis.

As a traveler, you only encounter small jigsaws of these puzzles. But the frustrating entanglements of red tape can be so physically draining that you sometimes lose track of the wider picture of their underlying causes.

(To be continued...)

Culture shock (Sudan)

Sudan proved to be a huge culture shock.

Although nurtured by a surge of foreign investors scurrying for oil in one of the world's fastest growing economies, Sudan's infrastructure falls surprisingly far short of its economic potential--at least compared to the rentier states in the Persian Gulf. Large swathes of towns and settlements outside Khartoum remain underdeveloped, with no roads connecting Sudan and its important trading partner, Egypt, to the north. This is all the more surprising, since Egyptian cultural and economic influences on Sudan are strong, if not pervasive. Many food and industrial goods consumed by Sudanese households come directly from al-Misr (Egypt), not to mention the Egyptian soaps that are watched eagerly by Nubian and Arab families across the largest country on the continent.

While it is comprehensible at first glance that the North and the South should be less developed than the densely populated capital, the disparities seem to arise more from political machination than a dearth of resources. Roads had only been paved or graveled to the extent that allowed for the exploitation of petrol and the conduct of maritime trade through Port Sudan, although the country is now expending Chinese funds to construct roads from Dongola to the border town Wadi Halfa (the roads east from Dongola to Karima, and from Karima south to Khartoum, thankfully, are now sealed).

For decades, Sudan had been engaged in a protracted civil war between the Arabic-speaking Islamist centre and the black Christian/animist periphery in the South, long before the Darfur conflict had emerged. While it is common to speak of the Arab North as the instigator of the war and the black South as the victim of political and economic repression, the North technically speaking had been outside the purview of the pernicious power struggle that had left at least 2 million dead and millions more homeless. The North is, in fact, largely populated by the Nubians--a famous people who had developed a rich indigenous civilisation as old as Egypt's Pharaonic kingdoms, harking back five millennia. Yet, this same proud people have long been ignored by the British colonial and Egyptian regimes as well as Khartoum, with the result that much of Nubian turf remains impoverished in spite of Sudan's booming economy.

The South governed by Sudanese People Liberation Army (SPLA) had also been denied political access, but the two civil wars that combine to stretch nearly half a century ended Khartoum's monopoly on power with the signing of a peace treaty in January 2005. The South today enjoys relative autonomy and boasts a substantial number of appointed representatives to the central government, though relations with Khartoum remain unstable.

In short, the infrastructural gaps, the lack of tourist-friendly facilities, along with the tense political times could pose quite a major shock to travelers who had never set foot on Africa. In the days that followed my arrival at Wadi Halfa, I would not see very much of what Sudan had to offer, but would experience life in a way that I never would have had anywhere else.

On logistics and friends (Sudan)

Sudan felt like another Libya, Syria or Iran--full of mysteries and anxieties for the uninitiated traveler to countries on the "Axis of Evil."

After two months in North Africa and the Middle East, you'd imagine you had gotten used to the region's cultures, languages, customs, food, transport and accommodation. Conceivably, previous journeys in less developed countries would prepare you for travel elsewhere. But while I knew sub-Saharan Africa was far from similar to its northern neighbours, having gathered first-hand accounts on Sudan from four travelers and researched countless times, nothing could fully prepare me for Sudan.

Sudanese visa formalities, for one thing, were an unusual experience. I was required to hand in a letter of introduction from my country's embassy in Cairo. Taiwan, of course, had no diplomatic representation in the largest capital of the Arab world; I had to ask for one from the semi-official Taiwan Trade Office, tucked away in the massive City Stars shopping complex in the al-Misr suburbs. It wasn't easy to locate the mall by bus, as everything was labeled in Arabic, but a friendly 25-year-old local man and three trendy women graciously showed me the way on separate occasions.

There was no guarantee that my letter would work, however, as Sudan could deny my entry simply because of the "China factor"--the anti-Taiwan regime is the largest investor and arms supplier to Sudan at a time when the oil-rich country is shunned by the international community for the humanitarian crisis in Darfur.

It was also discouraging to know that Americans and those who visit Israel are routinely refused visas. I held a US passport and had recently been to Jerusalem and the West Bank, so my US$ 100 payment would slip down the drain if it was found I had violated the Islamist state's stringent tourism codes.

The second inconvenience involved the actual process of reaching Sudan. Apart from the plane, the Aswan-Wadi Halfa ferry was the only way to cross from Egypt to Sudan. But the ferry ran only once a week and had to be booked days in advance. Although I had arrived three days before the scheduled departure, second-class tickets had already sold out.

The wait in Aswan lasted a week, during which I befriended a Spanish teacher Fernando and a French cyclist Clement who shared the same dodgy, 5-pound-a-night hostel room as I. Luckily, we were all headed for the same destination, and had successfully attained Sudanese visas. So we decided to give it a try on Monday, hoping to obtain seats in the event of no-shows.

Clement was an interesting fellow. When you're traveling, you'd often meet exceptional characters who take travel to the highest level: cyclists, wheelchair users, walkers, and hitchhikers (the full-out type, not just the occasional hitcher). Clement was a 27-year-old cyclist who rode down to scorching Egypt all the way from the Middle East, and he was about to take on the next challenge: crossing the vast desert terrains in the largest African country where summer temperatures range from 40 to 50 degrees centigrade. For him, it was an alternative , inexpensive and eco-friendly way to see and feel the world at its basics.

His project was impressive, not the least because he was cycling alone in an underdeveloped, almost primeval, world. There were lots of risks and determination he had to take in making his epic journey. At times, he nearly fell sick to dehydration and ran out of drinking water amid the uninhabited desert. He told of many touching encounters where amiable locals helped him along the way and probably had saved his life. For the courage he showed, I held a lot of respect for Clement. Despite our very brief encounter, it also felt awesome to get to know someone as friendly and cool, especially when you hadn't seen and talked to a traveler for weeks.

As for thirty-year-old Fernando, he was also unusual in his own way. Teachers, in general, tend to be stereotypically conservative, or at least less receptive to events outside their realms. But Fernando didn't fit this popular image; rather, he was an open-minded adventurer at heart. Having backpacked to Iran before, Fernando felt that as someone charged with molding the impressionable minds of future leaders, he needed to make an effort to understand other cultures beyond the negative news portrayed by Western media. What better way to achieve this objective than to travel and interact with the people for himself?

Fernando said his pupils had been impressed by his photographs and stories of kids and cultures in the developing world. His goal in the current East African journey (Sudan, Ethiopia, Tanzania) was simply to show, through photo stories, his students how their counterparts fared on the other side of the globe. This was crucial, he asserted, not only because Spaniards were among the worst traveled Europeans and could gain a lot by venturing outside their comfort zones, but also because his students were growing up in an increasingly global world where an understanding of other cultures would be of paramount importance.

The two days I spent with the two special people made me look forward to our group journey from Egypt to Sudan. We would be able to learn more about each other and share each other company. So early on Monday, we took the local train to the docklands near the Nile's First Cataract. Beneath the scorching sun and amid the large home-bound crowd, we waited anxiously for ferry seats to free up and head for the land of the Nubians.

Deir Mar Musa: Camaraderie (Syria)

Although Deir Mar Musa had been able to survive the ebbs and flows of Christianity in the region, it witnessed a gradual decline through the 15th century, eventually being abandoned in the 1830s with the departure of the last monk. While the church continued to receive visits from Nebek villagers in the ensuing years, its chapel and other buildings were left in perpetual decay, with no promising future in sight.

It wasn't until the 1980s, a century and a half later, that the church was rediscovered. This time, it was an Italian Jesuit priest who spearheaded the reconstruction of the site and the monastic community. Through painstaking effort on the part of Italian and Syrian experts, the chapel's impressive 900-year-old frescoes have been restored to their former glory. Today, the St Moses community is made up of an eclectic bunch, like Syria itself: the half a dozen Italian, Syrian, and French priests and monks receive daily visits from Muslims, Christians, youths volunteers, students and backpackers from nearly all walks of life.

The hustle and bustle of Deir Mar Musa never seemed to stop. During the first night, I attended a special concert by French and Syrian Muslim artists. The musical theme was interfaith; it was a part of the many Christian-Muslim dialogues that the tolerant community actively pursued.

In this musical interaction, visiting French Catholics performed a series of mellow hymns and songs in an impressive array of European tongues (English, French and Latin), from solos to duets and choirs, while their Muslim counterparts played the exotic tunes of traditional and contemporary Arabic music. Amid the resounding applause and cheering, the back and forth exchanges between the various music genres reached the apex when the Europeans and Arabs joined together in an ensemble of singing, Middle Eastern flute and drum beats.

The Italian priest and an imam concluded the evening with words of encouragement, amplifying the camaraderie that had bonded followers of different faiths and nationalities, both on the stage and below. It was a joyous and uplifting experience, one that I had never expected to see in the Middle East, let alone in a country that the U.S. has labeled "Axis of Evil."

Deir Mar Musa: Mountainous Hideout (Syria)

Damascus' Arab Christian and Armenian quarters are impressive and dynamic, especially considering the fact that Syria is a Muslim majority country in the heart of the Arab world. And while the Arab-Israeli conflicts and the subsequent Jewish exodus have all but obliterated the Judaic presence in the city, Damascus' history as host to the three world religions--Islam, Christianity and Judaism--is special in the Middle East. The biblical references to Damascus, as well as the eclectic blend of Roman-Byzantine and Arab architectural styles in the grand Ummayad Mosque, attest to the city's historic nexus between the East and the West; wall reliefs carved with the Star of David in parts of the old town are further symbolic of the Syrian capital's multicultural lineage.

All this fascination with the multifarious aspects of Damascene culture led me to learn more about Syrian Christian life. And thanks to a Danish student I met in a hostel, I was introduced to the St Moses Monastery where I ended up staying for two nights.

Deir Mar Musa el-Habashi, located 90 km north of Damascus, is nestled in mountains around 1,400 metres above sea level and boasts a long, undulating rock staircase that is accessible only by foot. In the past, it would have required tremendous effort to carry loads of food and goods to the tip of the mountains while climbing the steep pathway. But now, a small gondola made from an iron box does the job, permitting visitors to unload their luggage on the cable mechanism before they set out on a hike.

Following a strenuous half-hour walk uphill, two heavy dogs drooping on a flat stone surface greet the visitors with a bark that reverberates through the valley. A large, 10-metre tall rock formation comes into view, at its base a 1-metre gap that serves as the entry to the church compound. It isn't obvious at first sight that a spacious grotto lies within the solid rock, until one stoops to get in and rises up again after a few footsteps to appreciate its height. The secluded cave nested in an already isolated mountainous desert demonstrates the peculiarity of this Syriac Catholic church. But its unusual stories do not end here; Deir Mar Musa was born of unique circumstances, its very prosperity today attributable to a panoply of exceptional factors.

The Monastery of St Moses the Abyssinian traces its origins to the founder St Moses, the son of an Abyssinian king in modern-day Ethiopia. Similar to the Buddha, St Moses forsook the crown and a comfortable royal lifestyle for a spiritual journey that carried him through Egypt, the Holy Land and Syria, where he eventually settled for a life as an ascetic in grottoes across the desert hinterland. Sadly, however, his quest came to an abrupt end when he suffered a violent death at the hands of an invading Byzantine army, his right thumb miraculously preserved in the Church of Nebek not far from Mar Musa.

Despite the tragic fate that befell its progenitor, the monastery withstood the worst of times by blending in with the surrounding Muslim neighbourhoods. In fact, as if to allay Muslim fears, a church wall is inscribed with Arabic letters dating to the Muslim year 450 (1058 AD) that echo the Koranic verse, "In the name of Allah (God) the Merciful, the Compassionate." Today, Syrian Muslims continue to pay visits to the church, intermingling with the friendly resident European and Syrian Catholic priests and nuns for interfaith dialogue.

(More to continue...)

Axis of Evil (Syria)

I had long wanted to visit Syria, as friends and travelers had told me that not only is the country steeped in history, it is also home to some of the most hospitable people in the world. Bush's "Axis of Evil" remarks made Syria even more enticing to me, as by then I had formed a theory about the negative correlation between a country's reputation and the kindness of its people. Iran and Pakistan are supporting cases; they show how a people can be so incredibly warm-hearted despite the notoriety of their government. And after my positive Libyan episode, I was ready to test my thesis further in the Syrian Arab Republic.

Although Syria is a predominantly Muslim country whose majority belong to the Sunni sect, it is one of the most diverse and tolerant societies in the Arab world. Apart from Syria's status as a secular state that permits religious freedom on the scale rarely seen elsewhere in the Middle East, religion in the Levantine republic is fairly variegated with 90% Sunni Muslim and 10% Christian (Syriac Orthodox, Armenian, Greek Orthodox)---the highest proportion of indigenous Christians in the Middle East after Lebanon and Egypt. Syria is, moreover, multicultural; the Phoenicians, Assyrians, Bedouins, Armenians, Kurds and Jews have all left their imprint on Syria, creating a fascinating melting pot of tongues and traditions. The latest influx of displaced Iraqis further portrays Syria as the millennium-old refuge to peoples from the Byzantines to the Arabs, from the Crusaders to the Mongols, and from the Ottoman Turks to the French.

Enroute to Tripoli (Libya)

After much hassle, the Tunisians finally let me pass through customs. A Libyan taxi driver named Abdullah, who spoke English with a perfect American accent, agreed to take me to Tripoli. But we waited two more hours for a Chadian passenger who was being detained at Tunisian customs. The Chadian was eventually turned back to Tunisia, though he had a valid student visa for the Jamahiriya and could have been admitted to the country had it not been for Tunisian interference. Our driver was frustrated, but he could do nothing about it; we had to leave. Perhaps such is the fate of black Africans in the Maghreb; they are treated with little dignity and respect.

As I had suspected, Abdullah turned out to be an American-educated intellectual who had lived in Texas for more than 7 years. Even more surprisingly, he was married to an American woman and had two adult children in the United States. But by a twist of fate, his family was rendered apart. His passport was revoked without reason by the Libyan authorities when he returned for a brief visit in the early 1990s. As a result, he was forced to stay in Libya and fend for himself, since Colonel Gaddafi had long deprived the intelligentsia of opportunities.

Abdullah became a cabbie plying the lucrative routes between Tunis and Tripoli, transporting passengers to and fro between the two capitals on a daily basis. The taxi business seemed to have earned him a comfortable income, so that he was planning to reopen his short-lived tourist company, which had been erratically suspended by the authorities in the 90's. To make things better, life had visibly improved for him and other Libyans with the UN's rescission of the embargo and the recent normalisation of ties between Tripoli and Washington.

Abdullah openly praised the government for providing many essential services at no cost, such as free housing and health services--made possible thanks to Libya's possession of Africa's largest petrol reserves. Such accolades seemed reasonable, since Libya is reputed to have the top per capita GDP in all of Africa. But when the passengers were dropped off Abdullah cursed Gaddafi for ruining Libya, as if to suggest that beneath the surface of social harmony and economic development signs of dissent were emerging.

Anxiety Awaits (Tunisia)

I obtained the Libyan transit visa in Tunis after waiting for a week. It was a surprising development, especially given that Libya and Taiwan have neither diplomatic nor economic ties. In fact, it is not uncommon for Taiwanese to be restricted or even barred from entering certain countries, such as Pakistan, Tunisia and Lebanon, simply because Taiwan receives so little international recognition.

Moreover, independent travelers of various nationalities are routinely turned down from visiting General Gaddafi's al-Jamihiriya (Arabic for "state of the masses"), a country that has been isolated by the West for over a decade and only recently been removed from the State Department's list of state sponsors of terrorism. How could a Taiwanese backpacker enjoy relative ease of access when others do not?

But what surprised me the most was the fact that I was never questioned as to the status of my Tunisian entry visa, which was affixed on my U.S. passport. If they had known I was also a US citizen, I would never have been given the green flag.

Finding a way to go by land to Libya was not as straightforward as I had assumed, but by the word of mouth I eventually found the street not far from Bab al-Bahr where minivans were lined up and destined for the Libyan capital Trablous (Tripoli). We waited for more than five hours before the shared minivan was fully occupied and departed late at night. On the bus, everyone was curious as to why I, an Asian, was going to Libya. It seemed rather amusing to the two drivers and my fellow passengers, mostly businesspeople, that I was willing to pay 30 dinar ($25) just to cross into Libya. For many of the women and men on board, it was unthinkable that Libya had anything interesting to see. After all, Libyans are widely considered by Tunisians to be uncouth and backward "rural pumpkins," notwithstanding their common heritage as Arabs. A man next to me even asked why I was not spending more time to tour Tunisia, which had far more interesting attractions.

The journey to the border at Ras al-Jedir was 9 hours long. At 5 a.m., traffic came to a screeching halt as hundreds of vehicles awaited the opening of customs. We descended the van, had our bags checked after a 1-hour hiatus, and presented our passports. But I was singled out to stay behind while others were quickly granted stamps of approval. A Tunisian official took both my passports away, after I was forced to show him that I had the requisite visas on different passports.

For half an hour, my companions and I were anxiously looking for the official who had confiscated my passports and disappeared without a trace. When he reemerged, he did not have my passports with him. I was told I had to stay alone at the border. My protests fell on deaf ears as I defended my rights to leave Tunisia for Libya.

--"Monsieur, j'ai des visas pour entrer la Tunisie et la Libyie. Pourquoi je ne peux pas partir maintenant?"
(Sir, I have the visas for entering Tunisia and Libya. Why am I not allowed to leave right now?)
--"Il est interdict d'avoir les visas sur deux passports."
(It is forbidden to have visas on two passports.)
--"Mais il n'y a pas de probleme avec mon visa tunisien!" I retorted, You could simply stamp my U.S. passport and let me leave Tunisia and never have to worry whether I could enter the other side of the border!
--"Vous ne pouvez pas entrer la Libyie comme ca...We have an agreement with the Libyans whereby foreigners without Libyan visas are not permitted to go."
--"But I have a visa for Libya; you know it! It says very clearly that I am permitted to enter the country. Just give me the exit stamp, and everything will be fine."
--"No, it is not possible. Il faut que vous restiez ici." (You must stay here).

My companions could not help; they left my rucksack and bag behind and departed for Tripoli. The next hour and a half was a gruesome wait, as I nervously contemplated whether I would have to return to Tunis and purchase a ridiculously expensive intracontinental flight to Cairo.

A Friendship of Unequals (Tunisia)

Said did not return home to Maztouria, as he could not afford to. Instead, we met in Djerba where he was working in a touristy hotel catering to Germans and other Europeans. Puffs of apple-scented tobacco ascended into the air, a mild bobbling sound reverberating on the ground, as we caught up with one another over sheesha. Said was pleased to see me back in the country, but it was obvious that something else was on his shoulders.

Slowly, he told of contemptuous treatment by Western holidaymakers, even though he and other Tunisians are the masters of this land. While his earning here was higher than what he could have achieved in Tataouine, it was still difficult to have to serve alien couples and families who regarded him with little respect, as if he was a mere thief who plied on tourist money. But I was not a "tourist" but his brother, he said, because I appreciated the culture and traditions of Tunisia and was well loved by his family.

Opportunities are rare in Tunisia. While tourism is a booming industry there, its salutary effects are lost on the vast majority of Tunisians. With record high unemployment and rising prices, young people who make up the bulk of the population are forced to look elsewhere for their livelihood. Going to university is not a realistic option, as tuition is high and there is a huge shortage of jobs anyway. Sadly, a phenomenon has developed in which young men are engaged in alternative prostitution--many have chosen to become boyfriends to older white women in hopes of obtaining free passage into Fortress Europe.

Said was contemplating something along this line, although it was marriage to a young beautiful Czech woman with whom he had interacted that he had in mind. As if to allay my doubts, he told me that this was a far more promising path for him, given the circumstances in which he found himself. Papa Ali was getting old; the entire family was looking for ways to accumulate savings to allow him to perform the hajj in Saudi Arabia, a rite of passage that was far beyond their means.

Marriage with a European woman would be easier, even though she was not Muslim, as Said could then work in a continent where wages were far higher than the meager $5/day that he could ever expect to earn at home. Moreover, a European woman could certainly afford air travel; she would be able to financially support her bon homme should the need arise.

I could not help Said in any way. Having to sacrifice one's own beliefs and leave loved ones behind for a foreign (usually hostile) land, is a difficult matter for migrants and refugees all around the world. In his shoes, I would very likely consider the same option. But I am not similarly situated as Said. I can afford to travel the world for no other divine purpose than pleasure, even if I was backpacking on a shoestring. I also have life opportunities that many Tunisians can never imagine. And when I think of all these asymmetries between me and Said, I could utter little in the way of advice or assistance to my friend.

Got AIDS? (Ethiopia)

That was the question on my mind when I returned home after visiting 15 countries in the course of 5 months and a half. I even went to a hospital in Taiwan to check whether I had contracted the feared epidemic, not to mention my diarrheal and skin conditions that were caused by months of rough walking, eating street food, sleeping on the street/in dodgy hostels, and taking bumpy bus rides.

So what was all this about?

In September 2007, I traveled in Sudan with a South African couple on a Land Cruiser and then backpacked solo across Ethiopia, both malaria-endemic regions. I was stung by a gazillion mosquitoes first in Khartoum and later in the flooded South Sudan, having to worry constantly whether I had taken enough malarial pills and insect repellent to avert a potential death-inducing catastrophe. But I didn't feel nauseous on the scale that travelers had described to me. Moreover, I never expected Ethiopia to pose a similar level of malarial risk as its neighbouring Sudan. Accordingly, I took my guard off once I crossed borders from the Islamist "pariah state" into the oldest Christian land on the continent.

Ethiopia, at least its highlands region, is arguably the safest country in sub-Saharan Africa in terms of malaria exposure. Because the majority of Northern cities and villages are located on altitudes above 2,000, the resulting temperate climate is not conducive to mosquito habitation. Even the mosquitoes that do exist are considered safe, so malaria is not, as far as travelers are concerned, a serious problem.

In Addis Ababa, I became seriously sick for the first time in 3 months. Initially, I thought I had caught a flu, but the condition worsened day after day. After hours searching for a clinic in the Piazza on my second visit to Addis, I eventually came across one that would provide blood tests for malaria. But my somewhat zealously Ethiophile guidebook didn't prepare me for what was about to happen.

The clinical doctor utilized a rather rudimentary needle to extract my blood sample; it appeared that the needle was not even new as there was no prepackaging, although it could have been sanitised. As I awaited in another room for test results, Indian-made giant posters advertised detailed information on safe sex, sexually transmitted diseases, pregnancies, and so forth....It finally dawned upon me that this was a specialty clinic for AIDS/HIV, and not just an average clinic.

A nurse came to say that I was not malaria positive. But instead of acquiring a peace of mind, I could not extricate myself from the spectre of having traded for something far more deadly.

Ethiopia has a serious prevalence of HIV and prostitution. According to Ethiopian government health statistics in 2002, the HIV prevalence rate in the capital was as high as 15%. While Ethiopia is the second largest African country with a population of 77 million, its incidence of HIV is also high relative to its size. It is estimated that 2 million adults and 200,000 children suffer from HIV/AIDS, and the majority of the infected age groups are below 30--people who form the backbone of the national economy. The issue is so severe that the government has launched highly visible campaigns to promote safe sex, condom use, and treatment for sexually transmitted diseases. Clinics treating AIDS patients have also mushroomed up in many major cities, even spreading beyond provincial capitals to remote towns and villages.

Friends once related to me that while Ethiopian women are the world's stunning beauties, one should take "proper precaution" when befriending them. Although their joke may sound crude and lack political correctness, it is true that AIDS and the dearth of medical services are heart-wrenching issues that have wreaked havoc on communities, leading to the breakup of families and dashed hopes for children and young adults my age who may never live to see a brighter future.

I am fortunate. I will probably never see this situation happen to myself and my loved ones, simply because I am privileged to have resided in the right place at the right time.