Reprinted from MACARONI, #60, Winter Solstice 2003
by John Toren
Every year the World Press Institute invites a select group of foreign journalists to visit the United States. They are assigned host families in the Twin Cities area and travel to various parts of the United States, including Washington D.C., New York, Detroit, Atlanta, Miami, Los Angeles, and Chicago. They each spend three days at a farm in rural Minnesota, and three days in the news environment of a regional center like St. Cloud, Duluth, or Rochester.
I went with some friends to the closing festivities, at which the participants were given the opportunity to share something of their experience with the public. Each journalist was given five minutes to speak, and after listening to them, it seems to me that two things struck them all with considerable force: the United States contains far more ethnic and cultural diversity within its borders than anyone from abroad would guess from watching American television. And it also has produced far greater disparity in fortune than one would expect to find in a nation ostensibly dedicated not only to individual initiative but also to equality of opportunity. As far as journalism is concerned, it was generally agreed that while the coverage of international news is quite good on the highest levels, it was clear to many of the participants that there’s is a good deal of parochialism to be found in smaller markets; and that television news of all stripes, from top to bottom, is marred by efforts to be safe, “balanced,” and entertaining, rather than genuinely informative or penetrating.
Some of the distinctive comments made by participants during their talks: Bertrand Tchoumi, Cameroon: What is all this about tips, tipping everyone all the time? In Camaroon we don’t have tips, we have bribes. People tell me, ‘You must tip the woman who makes your bed, she’s not well paid.’ But isn’t this America? These people should be out on the street, demonstrating for higher wages!
Lars von Törne, Germany: One great thing about the United States is all of the political memorabilia. I went down to Ruminator Books, and I bought this pack of playing cards (holds up deck) with Saddam Hussein and his henchmen... and then I bought this deck (holds up other hand) with George Bush and his cabinet on them (laughter from the audience). I find it amazing how much latitude there is here for the expression of criticism toward government—although it seems that the current administration has not been held to account as rigorously as it might be. I am also amazed at how well the United States succeeds in incorporating people from all over the world into its body politic—this is something we in Germany must learn to do better.
Patience Rusere, from Zimbabwe, referred more than once to the fact that people in the United States seem to take for granted the great personal freedoms they possess. (These comments took on added significance later that evening, when we learned that Patience’s apartment back home had recently been ransacked by the government—she had refused its request to write inflammatory letters against the U. S. before her departure. For the time being she’ll be remaining here in the United States with friends.)
Olivér Kiss of Romania was the comic of the group. When asked by moderator Cathy Wurzer whether Romania would be among the nations aiding the United States in their efforts to rebuild Iraq he replied: In Romania people make $100 a month. How are they going to help the U.S. build Iraq? He brought his speech to a close with a joke he’d borrowed from someone else: What is the capital city of the U.S? Obesity.
During her allotted five minutes Teresa Bausili of Argentina described how impressed she was with the strength of regional, religious, and even sports loyalties among Americans. The group had been in Chicago during the Cubs series with the Marlins, and Teresa found the enthusiasm there even more extreme than that of the most rabid South American soccer fans. Jinmei Lu of China was asked to comment on the widespread concern here in the United States about excessive control of media outlets by a few major corporations. She paused politely, a little bewildered by the question, then replied, “Well, you must know that in China the government controls all the media. I don’t think you have a serious problem here yet.” When asked what surprised her most about her visit, she replied, laughing, “What surprises me most is that, wonderful though the United States is, I still want to go back to China!”
Shujaat Bukhari of Kashmir expressed his disbelief that in a Sunday edition of a major eastern newspaper he could find no mention of the fact that the Indian minister of defense had just resigned. “If the American defense minister had resigned, it would be in all of our papers!” he exclaimed. (This comment left me wondering if he had been reading one of those Sunday editions that appear on news stands Saturday morning.) Near the end of the program the moderator asked Shujaat what advice he would give our president if he ever got the chance. Here, I thought, is a chance to speak out. The participants had been circumspect all evening long with regard to recent shortcomings in American policy, both foreign and domestic, or so it seemed to me. Shujaat might well have said “Repeal the hideous and harmful tax-break you’ve just given to the rich,” or “Quit trying to impose your quasi-religious political beliefs on the rest of the world,” or “Get your act together in the Middle East and end your petty quarrel with the U.N.” But what Shujaat said was “Solve the problem in Kashmir.”
I realize this was a spontaneous, off-the-cuff remark, but it seemed to reflect the same sort of parochialism that several members of the panel had noted in America’s approach to world affairs. It also reflected the attitude that some high-ranking officials in our current administration seem to hold, that it’s the duty of the United States, as the world’s only remaining superpower, to solve all the world’s problems. Yeah, but how?
In the lobby after the gathering I asked Shujaat what he thought of Pakistani president Musharraf. The gist of his reply was that Musharraf was a pretty good guy among the dictators of the region. In fact, he’d actually saved Pakistan in the years before the war in Afghanistan. Lars von Törne was standing nearby, and I asked him if he had any hopes that the European community would ever be able to put together a coherent and effective foreign policy. “It’s true, we have had much difficulty doing this in the past, and we are very grateful to the United States for acting in the Balkans at a time when we were able to do nothing.” he said. “But I do have some hope that in the future we will be able to solve these problems.” I asked him how he felt about Gerhard Schröder’s recent campaign for re-election, which was the first anti-American campaign in post-war German history.
“I was not happy about that,” he relied. “In some ways Schröder is like Bush. His policies are superficially popular but very short-sighted.”
The crowd in the lobby was thinning, and we retired along with several of the participants to the home of former director Frank Jossi and his wife Judy. Here we settled into those conversations that combine the fascination of learning about other cultures with the pleasant illusion that our own daily lives are actually worth describing. I thoroughly enjoyed hearing from Finnish correspondent Kaius Niemi about the origins of the Finnish people, and the year he spent in military service in Lapland. Kaius speaks four languages fluently and was named Finland’s “journalist of the year” in 2002 for his reporting in Afghanistan, but if he found my questions jejune he never let on. During the presentations earlier in the evening he had remarked “I have had America in my head for as long as I can remember,” and he also commented that what surprised him the most during his visit was “how many Big Macs I could consume,” so I suppose he was enjoying one more encounter with a bona fide American. When I apologized for my lack of linguistic expertise he replied: “No, no. Why should you learn other languages? Do you think the French know other languages? We in Finland must learn, because nobody knows Finnish. Why should they?” I made mention of Bo Carpelan, the only Finnish writer I could think of, and was informed that he wrote in Swedish. (How was I to know?!) And when I asked Kaius about Lapland, he surprised me by saying that he was stationed there for a year during his (compulsory) military service. I asked him about the Northern Lights, and his eyes lit up as he began to describe the evening when he was showing some of the “boys” how to activate... (what is the word in English?) flares. As he spoke he held his hands in front of him, about to pull the imaginary pin, then looked up toward the ceiling of the Jossi’s house. “I looked up, and there were colors everywhere. It was dazzling, extraordinary. There was no need to light a flare that night.”
“Did you ever experience that Arctic hysteria they talk about, during the months of darkness?” I asked him.
“I’m crazy anyway,” he replied, laughing. But then he added, “Yes, it can get rather unhealthy. I need the light. Everyone does.”
Nevin Sungur of Turkey has reported from Iraq, Afghanistan, Indonesia, Eritrea and Sarajevo, but she was similarly inquisitive and relaxed as we sipped our wine and munched on pieces of candy corn. I asked her about the likelihood of a Kurdish state being formed from the northern part of Iraq, and she agreed that it was likely. Sixty years? I asked. Sooner than that, she replied. She took umbrage at my suggestion that Turkey represented a model of democratic sophistication in her part of the world. “The military protects the constitution, the military has the ultimate power.” She also acknowledged that the recent election of Recep Tayyip Erdogan, whose Islamic orientation is well-known, as prime minister was a troubling development. On the other hand, she seemed delighted when I told her about an expression we use here in the United States to describe a group of innovative newcomers who shake up a staid and conservative situation: we call them “Young Turks.”
But for me the highlight of the evening was the conversation I had with Teresa Bausili of Argentina. She described some of the dramatic regions and landscapes of her country for me, and we discussed the effects of the IMF policies on the troubled Argentine economy. We evaluated the works of Borges, Paz, Machado, and other stars of Spanish-language literature, and she expressed her enthusiasm for the Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci. I was at a loss, however, when she asked me to recommend some contemporary American writers to her. Everyone I came up with happened to be from somewhere else. But when I mentioned the Spanish novelist Javier Marias (A Heart so White, Tomorrow in the Battle Think on Me), she said, “You mean Julian Marias?”
“No, Javier.”
“It must be Julian’s son.”
“How do you know Julian Marias,” I asked in some surprise. I had never before met anyone who had heard of that rather obscure Spanish philosopher and historian, author of Philosophy as Dramatic Theory, Reason and Life, Understanding Spain and other classics.
“He was a good friend of my father.”
“You’re talking about Julian Marias, the protégé of Ortega y Gasset?”
“Yes, my grandfather was a good friend of Ortega’s. My father and grandfather are Spanish. They came to Argentina with Ortega and Julian Marias during the Civil War.”
I was flabbergasted by this revelation. Ortega y Gasset, though not widely read today, is a thinker comparable in stature to Heidegger, Sartre, Croce, or Wittgenstein. He died in 1955. Marias carries on the tradition of “vital reason” that Ortega pioneered. I would never have imagined that I would be sitting at a dining-room table discussing politics and literature with someone for whom these names evoked personal memories. It seemed to me that Teresa was perhaps no less surprised to be discussing these matters with an American stranger. She may, in fact, have been pleased to be sharing associations that had meant a great deal to her father and grandfather. “I was so young then,” she said, “I wish I remembered more.”
She did tell me about the discussions that went on in her house, and of her grandfather’s library, so vast and venerable and obscure that the only thing to be done when the old man died was to sell it. She promised to get more detailed information about those times from her father before he forgot everything.
“One story I do remember my father telling me. He was a young man, sitting at the table with his father, Julian Marias, and one other man, and his father said to the group, before pursuing a line of argument ‘Well, we’re all intelligent adults here.’ My father was very moved. It was the first time my grandfather had given him praise of any kind.”
In the course of these (to me) fascinating exchanges I noticed that a somewhat heated discussion was taking place in the kitchen between Nevin, Kaius, and Olivér. I found out later that the subject had been Iraq, and Olivér had been defending the American involvement. “Even if the invasion is 99% about politics and oil, and 1% about freedom, I still support the American action,” he was saying. “You do not know what it’s like for an entire generation to starve.”
As the party broke up people began exchanging cards. “Drop me a line if you’re ever in Helsinki.” That kind of thing. The journalists returned to their hotels, with other adventures on the road ahead, and we Americans returned to the dining-room table, where, over a bottle of port from Galena, Illinois, we discussed such mundane topics as the assault charges that had recently been brought against the son of the St. Paul police chief following an altercation in a bar.
John Toren is the editor and publisher of MACARONI, a seasonal publication (in its fifteenth year) devoted to politics, literature, travel, film, cooking and other aspects of contemporary cultural life. He is also the author of Mountain Upside Down, (Nodin Press).
