Made in Japan, Outsourced Globally

Haiti is in crisis. The photos of devastation in the makeshift emergency camps are awfully familiar. Someone commented that it was on the scale of the tsunami. De ja vu, all over again.

Memory fades when one is away from the source for too long. I catch myself increasing in “American-ness” each day. I quite enjoyed being the smorgasbord of cultures. I’m an unfaithful creature, really. My loyalty is not bound by citizenship nor native birthrights.

But our outer demeanor does not always reflect the inside, and one cannot tell until you open your mouth and explain. I was at a new dry cleaning shop, and the girl punching in my name says, “Oh, you Japanese?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! Hajimemashite!”

“Wow, you speak Japanese? Where are you from?”

“Korea.”

“Oh, anyo haseo!”

This is a typical banter, but it’s always nice to do the “you speak a little of my language too?” game. I only know about 3 phrases in Korean and the girl probably knows only a few greetings in Japanese, but that’s beside the point.

What took me by surprise was the way I said all these things. I was calculating each pause and emphasis, trying not to seem too assertive – not too American. I was putting on my Japanese mask. A Japanese girl who has not lived in the US long enough would have been absolutely excited and look utterly surprised. I have had similar encounters like these in so many different places (including England, France, and Brazil) that I can’t act surprised any more. I feel slightly insincere for it. (trivial word alert: I just found out that “ingenuine” is not a real word).

So I go home, crack open a packet of sembei and eat some sakura uiro. What am I? Where am I from? I feel slight vertigo and emptiness because it takes me a while to remember my Japan. Then slowly, the synapse start to spark. The sense of smell is the most acute when it comes to recollecting memories – even more than vision or sound. I can smell the blades of grass, tree resin, summer sweat, tatami mattresses, tea, mold, cigarettes, and incense. Japan has four seasons, but when I look back to Japan nostalgically, it is always summer. It seems a little absurd, because I haven’t been to Japan during the summer since 1999.

Like a somato (a picture-flashing lantern), the moments flash before me. Fig fields, carrot fields, butterfly nets, violets growing between the cracks of concrete, children with their randosel bags, local swimming pools, cumulus nimbus clouds on a bright, blue sky. Shirts cling to the skin with precipitation, and you don’t care how much you smell like melting butterscotch candy, because everyone else does too. When you walk by the narrow residential areas, you smell the rice cooking, a lovely home-cooked meal, the smell of bathtubs and laundry – slightly moldy with the distinct soap smell – a battle between inevitable humidity and cleanliness. There is a human lived-in smell - ningen-kusai – a word I cannot find in the Western language.

Small joys are found in walking through the parks, underneath the cool shades of trees. Feeding seagulls on the Sumida River, as they line up in flight to gobble up some fried shrimp snacks. Losing yourself in the hustle-bustle of Asakusa’s Sousenji, although a tourist trap, a preservation of the Old Edo style. I somehow end up drawn to the ningyo-yaki stands, where the craftsmen pour the dough into doll-shaped molds and put the bean paste in the middle. Ningyo-yaki, suzu kasutera, and anmitsu – all the classic sweets that my father loves. When possible, it’s nice to see the senbei craftsmen making their rice crackers and painting the layers of shoyu with a brush. The smell of burning shoyu attract the crowd, hungry for a cracker. My father used to fondly speak of his dog, Chintaro, who once ate a large senbei that was about 20cm in diameter. I have never seen Chintaro, but every time this dog’s name comes up, all I can imagine is a mutt Shiba struggling to gnaw through a gigantic round rice cake between his paws.

Everyone has their own memories and points of view – my Japan comes in fragments of smell and nostalgia. The media portrays Japan as the hyper-Westernized Asia with gadgets and gizmos of the future, and conversely, as the black & white Kurosawa-esque samurai life. Neither of these are my Japan. I am perhaps blinded by being so close, but cannot explain the complexity of my own culture some times. It is so forward-thinking in many ways but preserves many traditions, sometimes to the point of backwardness.

I wake from my trance, and my Japan starts to fade slowly. I need the occasional trip so that I do not forget.

I board the 42 Bus and find a comfortable seat. In the beginning, the faces are ethnic. Then, as the route progresses, the pattern becomes more Caucasian. We are all heading to the Dupont Circle area; many continue their commute on the Red line to their government jobs. We are worse than canned sardines. It looks like a can of caviars. A bus full of caviars.

The scene is grayscale, simply because it’s the color of choice. We really look like ants in line, following the traces of pheromones – work, power, promotion? I feel the sudden urge to play the curious scientist, putting obstacles in the line, breaking the link of pheromones, and disrupting the normal order. Fabre would have thought the same.

The faces of people in DC are hard to read. They walk briskly with a sense of purpose and an aura of importance. Smiles are difficult to solicit, and it feels like a razor’s edge when you see one.

I feel like I am being bent and folded into a box. Get in line, off you go! I often visualize hemoglobin flowing through the veins. Rush of the red blood cells pushed through in speed, with the occasional jarring pump of the heart. Get in line. Off you go!

Well, someone has come around to questioning the elephant in the living room. What motivates people to do productive work? According to Dan Pink at the TED conference, higher (financial) incentives actually result in poor(er) results. He brings up an interesting study by the U.S. Federal Reserve, and it's an apropos analogy for the current Wall Street Gordon Geckos.

Dan goes on to explain that "Autonomy, Mastery, and Purpose" are the 21st century incentives for knowledge workers. Although I have to argue with the minor detail that "Mastery + Purpose" are the true carrots, with "Autonomy" as a basic necessity for today's generation. Millionaire philanthropic Robin Hoods and progressive businesses that also do good (e.g. - Salesforce.com, Google.org) are "in". Those are the types of leadership that business schools can foster for a new future.

I came across this post from a while back, and now I remember why I became friends with Drake in the first place (he gave me such sage advise - eloquent too!). We were all on the same boat once, and how long have we struggled in our moral dilemmas? Not long enough, apparently, as I am back in the same spot again 4 years later and stewing in the same thoughts.

But really, the main reason I'm friends with Drake is because we function on the same wavelength - both in the serious things in life as much as the crazy funny. (And maybe Digs may have paid me to get you off his back ;) I love you, bro.

Warning: I had a great time with an intimate circle of friends in Belize. So if this post seems a little self-pleasing and loaded with inside jokes, well, you've been forewarned.

We could not belieze it (yes, pardon the pun) when we first got to Bannister Caye. We got on a catamaran (I was definitely thinking "I'm on a boat!") and celebrated Jam & Paul's wedding at a private island. The Belikin and Rum Punch were free-flowing, and Belizians and random internationals were having a great time together. We jutted away from Belize City with our hair flowing in the wind.






This was probably one of the most amusing weddings I have ever been to. The easy-going Belizian sense of humor just put all of us in the right mood. There were lots of laughs (especially over the Michigan-Belize sister state connection - who'd thunk it?) and a beautiful exchange of vows by Jam and Paul, followed by well-wishes from friends and family (and Gautham - he is a category of his own).


Digs gives his 3 advise to Paul (right). Anwar (Jamel's father) fashions a celebration cigar (left).




Let's rewind a bit... We all arrived a loose-knit group of friends and acquaintances. Well, in the words of Ogden Nash, Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker. The warm Belizian breeze, lapping of the aquamarine sea, and the easy-flowing Belikin seemed to resolve that within the first 20 minutes of meeting each other.


Some of Team Croatia is represented here (plus the Drakes). Good clean family fun, right guys? Jan and Joe are absolutely wonderful - they sometimes outpartied the twenty-something year olds.


Mixing up the Belizians and the Americans. This is a wonderfully distracted photo of everybody at the pre-wedding dinner table.


Matt & Digs (a little creepy - what's going on here, guys?)


Digs, John, Surya - it's always amazing how Digs shows up from far-away lands. Tell the Sphinx (Abu-Hol) that we say "Hi!" Surya is on a Caribbean journey, as he heads to Haiti after Belize.


John & Dana (left). Gautham and Kim - Gautham is either looking dreamily at the Belikin... or perhaps he may have had a few too many. There were more people (sorry - you guys are all VIPs in my book), but I failed to take good pictures of them - I blame the Barrel 1 and Coke.


When in Belize... you have to have a Belikin (the national beer, marked with the icon of Mayan ruin, Altun Ha). To the right, the restaurant has a sense of humor: "Today's Special: No Special"

Last night, I dreamt of San Pedro...


San Pedro is a quirky little island with 3 streets (Front, Center, Back Street), where tourists and locals alike drive around in golf carts. Supposedly Andrew Zimmern from the Travel Channel had visited two weeks before to do a show (which will air some time in September) - I don't know what he ate, but the seafood was pretty good here (Seafood Lover's Platter @ Fido's, baby! Delicious :). On the way back, we embarked on small airplanes that resembled dust-croppers, and we handed the staff laminated boarding passes that said exactly that: "Boarding Pass" (they don't mess around here).

We also had a chance to see a local football match, which was played on a small court, much like indoor soccer (you definitely do not want to be in front of the goal when the striker comes at you - short distances and powerful kicks. Ouch!) We watched a match between the Sugar Boys and Lily's Treasure Boys, which ended with Lily's Treasure Boys kicking butt 6-1 and Belikin bottles being thrown on the field by angry fans. Hooliganism is universal.




Perhaps the good life in Belize can be best described in a souvenir T-shirt I got:

... well, we'll see about that (and you have a life time to see that through). But for now, these two have tied the knot, and we're very, very happy for them :)

I'm usually the adventurous type and would have had a fantastic time cave tubing or visiting the Mayan ruins of Belize. But a different side of me (probably the better half) said that I wanted to do some good while in Belize.

To be absolutely honest, it was an ego inside me that was hell-bent on getting to know more about Belize -- I was wary of being a tourist for the past few overseas trips and needed an excuse to get to hang out with the people of Belize.



Sister Cecelia Home for the Elderly is a government-sponsored nursing home for the needy older Belizian citizens (it is within the HelpAge complex in Belize). Approximately 40 senior citizens of various cultural backgrounds were at the home, and I was there for a day to deliver some donations from the group and to help out (in any way possible).

When I asked the home supervirsor if we could donate something, she asked for artificial sweeteners and toiletries because such imports are expensive in Belize (photo above). It was quite amazing how much we were able to donate by having each of the guests contribute. I think we had nearly 5,000 packets of Sweet & Low and 15 lbs worth of soaps and shampoos. Well done, team!



I really wasn't that useful, being a volunteer for only a day. Ultimately, I felt that I gained more than contributed to the home. I would chat with the ladies, all sitting in a row on the benches as they stared out at the courtyard.

Me: "It's a good day, isn't it?"
Lady 1: "It's a good day."
Lady 2: "Whaaaat? I can't hear you..."
Me: "(slightly louder and more articulate) It's a good day."
Lady 2: "Whaaaaat? Gial, I can't hear very well...."
Lady 1: "It's okay. She can't hear well."

This went on for about 10 minutes, and then everyone would stare out at the garden.

Me: "So, why don't you go talk to the men over there?" (the men congregate in the front of the home in a breezeway).
Lady 3: "Oh, those men are okay. My husband was a good man."
Lady 1: "Oh yes, ma'am. My husband was nice. But dey no good anymore, because dey are gone."
Lady 3: "It's nice to have a man."
Me: "Oh, then you can find me a good man. Where can I find a good man in Belize?"
Lady 1: "Oh, I don't know where you can find a good man. Good ones are hard to find. Men are no good when dey go away."
Lady 2: "Whaaaaat? I can't hear you..."

I wasn't quite sure what to make of the conversation (it's hard to keep a straight face when listening to the sing-song, whimsical chats of these women). I hold the hand of the lady who has a hard time hearing, and she holds my hand tightly. We communicate through touch - her cool, wrinkly hand gripping tigther when she gets excited and speaks about her husband. All of the women have pretty braids in their hair. I later see one of the helpers braid their hair, and a line of women wait happily for their turn. Perhaps they find comfort in the touch.

There is a varying degree of dimentia and disabilities among the residents -- some are absorbed in their own world and others are barely mobile. On the other hand, there are others who are quite self-sufficient mentally and physically. I have a conversation with one of the ladies with a beautiful smile.

Me: "How are you today?"
Lady: "Oh, ma'am. I am doing very well."
Me: "That's fantastic. Tell me about yourself."
Lady: "Ma'am, I used to be a teacher. Yes, ma'am. I was a teacher since 16 and started getting paid for teaching when I was 18. I used to love teaching since I was very little. So much that I used to teach my dolls - 'You, recite the alphabet. That's right, 'A', 'B', 'C'!"
She giggles shyly like a schoolgirl that had just done mischeif.
Me: "Wow. That's a very admirable profession. You should be proud of yourself."
Lady: "Oh, yes ma'am. I used to teach young children, and I was teaching at a preschool just before I came here. The other lady can take care of the shool now though."

About 10 minutes later, something quite exciting happens. A van pulls up, and a couple dozen 5-6 year olds pile out. I see the same lady surrounded by the children in the front courtyard. The young preschool teachers tell the kids that she was a teacher at their school. They all greet her:

"Hello, Mrs. Puca!!!"

The children sing several songs (like "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands"), awaking even the sleepiest of the residents. All eyes are on this lady and the children. She is beaming.

The rain came and went that day, and we would move the male residents away from the courtyard when the torrential monsoon came (that's what it felt and sounded like). And they would wander back to the same spot once it receded.

I befriended one of the men, Ozzie, who was one of the more chatty guys. He would flash his two-teeth, jack-o-lantern grin and tell me about his life in Belize City. He used to own a hardware store. He worked in import/export. He used to have a wife, but she was gone. And his two sons lived in Belize City, but didn't take care of him (or possibly it was difficult economically - who knows, everyone has a story). He liked my name. It was one of his favorite drinks (I wasn't about to tell him that the drink was actually pronounced sak-eh). Throughout the day, he would cheerfully say my name when I walked by.

People like Mrs. Puca and Ozzie have agile minds, and they are very aware of their surroundings. Others were mostly staring quietly outside or turning inwards into their own world. It made me slightly sad. It's not that the these people need pity - far from it, they just need to live and to be treated with dignity.

I remember their faces vividly. The only thing I can do is to keep them in memories, since I cannot go back. Everyone I shook hands with would say, "When are you coming back?" I felt sheepish, telling them that it won't be for a long time or ever at all.

What I do remember are the domino games. The blind man who said, "Ah, a lady hand. I can tell!" Mrs. Puca's perfect teeth and smile. Chats with Ozzie. Even if they forget, I won't.

I have been slacking on my reading for a while, and I am now finally finding some time to catch up. The Google Story was gathering dust on my shelf since an impulse purchase at Waterloo station in 2006. Since then, the world has changed ten-fold for Google, and it has multiple pet projects that continue to surprise the media (as seen on Google.org). What's refreshing about Larry Page and Sergey Brin, the 'Google Guys', is their purist pursuit of technology and mathematics. No matter how rich they become, they are probably unsatisfied and are looking for the next idea to "Wow" the world. Case in point: the use of Google Earth to map out geothermal energy and to detect potential infectious disease outbreaks. My bet is on them to be the first to come up with a user-friendly cloud computing interface.

The Google business development reaffirms my theory that "being the right guys at the right time in the right place" is a huge success factor for exceptional companies, along the ranks of Apple, GE, and Sony. The stars aligned for Page and Brin (enterpreneurial partner, VC funding, mentors, Stanford backing, dot.com timing), and they took the opportunity. These are smart guys, and there are lessons to be learned (both from their success and mistakes). I'm also deeply in favor of having a company with strong cultures and visions - these are the magic ingredients for successful companies.

Leaving Microsoft to Change the World was another book that I was recommended to read as I step back into the world of development. It's sometimes difficult to swallow the 'wealthy entrepreneur trying to make a better world' pill, but I think John Wood got it right. Above all, the success of Room to Read (an organization that helps open up libraries and schools in remote developing country villages through co-fundraising in the developed world and in the local community) speaks loud and clear that excellent business practices have a great fit with international development. (I also have a new-found respect for Steve Ballamer - sometimes you need bosses and leaders like him who are intimidating and rigorously number-oriented. I'm also glad my Dad didn't accidentally run him over).

The tides of social entrepreneurship is gaining critical mass today. To put simply, the desire for international development always existed and manifested in forms of international and state institutions (UN, World Bank, USAID), NGOs (CARE, VSO, Medicins Sans Frontierers, and other small NGOs), and private corporations (HP, McKinsey, Unilever). Then what is different today?

Here's what I think happened: Globalization exposed many business-savvy people to the remote corners of the world, and they became restless. There's a time and a place for the development institutions, NGOs, and corporations, but they weren't meeting some needs quickly enough in the eyes of the social entrepreneurs. Or perhaps institutional motives left gaps (e.g. - companies are thinking about the 'middle-bottom of the pyramid' and cannot possibly serve the lowest bottom of the pyramid). Globalization brought awareness, and social entrepreneurs thought they could do something about it. (*I do not mean to mitigate the impact or criticize the other entities - everyone has a role in development, and these organizations have been the bedrock of international development for decades, whereas social entrepreneurs are somewhat of a minority still).

Google regards realization of great ideas as their organizational objective. They also have a simple mantra: "Do No Evil", which encompasses the company culture. Their contribution to international development, therefore, is a residual of their great ideas and tools. John Wood left the corporate life to make education accessible to the children in Nepal and other remote villages his life-long mission. These seem like opposing approaches and goals (top down vs. bottom up, successful enterprise vs. spread of education in remote areas as a goal), but what's important to recognize here are the results. They are making tangible progress, and they feel good about it. Who said that you couldn't have your cake and eat it too? I think that's what makes the new generation of social entrepreneurs a little different from other oganizations - they are not shy about trumpeting their success and feeling good about the progress (there's also a PR aspect). I say more the power to them, because there's a lot of people and communities that can use all the help. It's a breath of fresh air and inspiring.

In Japanese, there is a saying "fish scales fell from my eyes" (「目からウロコが落ちる」）. It is a metaphor for being able to see clearly because something that was clouding your vision has been removed.

I had such an experience the other night, as a hodge-podge of MIT students, professors, and Net Impact members chatted over dinner in a semi-noisy bar. The conversation rolled on with interesting points of view, but the epiphany hit when my new acquaintance said, "All these social enterprises... they talk about scalability, but I think they've got it slightly wrong. Everyone has a technology or process and wants to replicate them in multitudes, but social enterprise is all relative and specific to each community. What you really need to 'scale' are smart entrepreneurs. An Indian social entrepreneur once said, 'You want scalability? Clone me. Have more of me working in communities. That's scalability and that's all you need!'"

I felt momentarily dumbfounded. I felt a little embarrassed that I haven't thought of scalability in that way - I was just as inclined to think that if a good technology or idea was created, it should be promoted as far as it could go. But if you slightly shift the idea of scalability to 'scalability of smart people who can do things', you have an improved strategy for development. I'm excited about this mini-discovery, because it changes the game a bit now.

This book was recommended to me recently, amongst others, and I chose to read it first. Despite the skeevy, eye-catching title, it's more serious and covers a whole lot of ground in UN peacekeeping operations. I say kudos to the marketing.

It's a first-person account by a Harvard-grad lawyer (Ken), a New York social worker (Heidi), and a Kiwi doctor (Dr. Andrew) who were in the most dangerous conflict zones during the 90's. As they went from Condition Alpha ("All is clear") to Condition Echo ("End of the line, evacuate urgently to save your life"), escalating in danger and human travesty at each stage, I became more drawn and involved in their human drama. I think it's an incredibly honest account of being in the field - emotions, broken idealism, the need to believe in something, and the good days and the bad days.

The sweet vision of spreading democracy in Phnom Penh turned into chaotic cross-fires in Mogadishu, and eventually evacuations after 'black hawk down'. The US decision to pull out of Mogadishu had incredible domino effects, as Haiti and Rwanda quickly followed in anarchy. My blood boils each time I look at what happened in Rwanda (video: "Ghosts of Rwanda"). I wasn't as familiar with the violence and political backgrounds in Haiti and Bosnia; now the images of Dr. Andrew in the Haitian morgues and the bulldozed mass graveyards in Srebrenica haunt my mind.

Despair. Optimism. Individual survival. Altruistic visions for universal peace. Lust. Friendship. Cynicism. Humor. -- it's all mashed together in their personal diaries. It's an unforgettable read.