"Not being able to speak is not the same as not speaking."

(Associated Press photo)

Last week, Jackie Chan found himself in a different kind of spotlight, one that is a far cry from the Hollywood glitz and glamour he is used to. The star of such (in my opinion poorly acted and low class) movies as Rush Hour and Who am I, perhaps Chan was a little lost when he uttered that "Chinese need to be controlled", and "if [Chinese] are not being controlled, [Chinese] will just do what we want". To make matters worse, he called freedom-aspring Hong Kong and freedom-practising Taiwan "chaotic".

In fact, Chan has recetly not simply jibed at Chinese people in general, or insulted the democratic societies of Hong Kong or Taiwan. In the same week or so, on a visit to the single-party city-State of Singapore, he claimed that because Singaporeans lack "self-respect", the Singaporeans too need a government to control them.

Chan's statement is at best a poor generalisation, and at worst outright an outright patronising (and verging on racist) remark that Chinese people cannot govern by themselves, "as if they were potential and deserving outcasts in a Chinese version of Brave New World — somehow deficient and hence to be purged". The kung-fu legend seems to believe that people in Hong Kong and Taiwan are like the Chinese in China; that they think alike, act alike, and therefore must be governed and controlled alike. This, depsite the fact that both the peoples of Hong Kong and Taiwan (and lest we forget, Singapore) have experienced completely different versions of history and democratic processes compared to China:

Chan has not only insulted Taiwanese, who spilled blood building their democracy, and people in Hong Kong, who have worked hard to retain freedom in the territory since the handover to China, but has also come very close to expressing racist sentiment in genetic terms.

If, as he claims, Chinese need to be “controlled,” then this implies that they are genetically predisposed to chaos and incapable of functioning without a system that imposes order — an authoritarian system.

Behind Chan’s words is a deeper, more profound debate about modern democratic theory and the ability a Confucian society is able to adapt itself to inherently Western ideas such as freedom and democracy. Taiwan (and to some limited extent Hong Kong) have proven that it is possible:

At issue is the age-old argument between Confucianist and Legalist tradition. By attempting to argue that democracy would not work in China, Chan championed the Legalist tradition that justifies and supports strong control from a paternalistic, unaccountable central power — like Beijing and the Chinese Communist Party’s politburo.

The implication that Beijing would rather not reveal is that despite 5,000 years of culture, and nearly 3,000 years of Confucianism, Chinese need to be controlled because — though few will say it — they are too dumb, too stupid and too selfish to rule themselves democratically.

I guess Chan can afford to make these thoughtless (and yet provocative) comments, because he is now living the American dream in his big mansion in Los Angeles, far, far away from the the "chaotic" societies which he so-proudly claims need to be "controlled". This is, after all the same guy who sang at Beijing much touted (though at times mimed and carefully orchestrated) coming-out event last year at the 2008 Olympics. The same guy who will soon be singing at the "Believe in China" concert. However well the star-cum-sing can sing, his "Chinese need to be controlled" statement must have been:

Music to the ears of the government of Beijing, which has long been peddling the “we're the only thing holding this place together line,” and laughable nonsense to democrats in Hong Kong and Taipei, who seem to like their chaos just fine thank you. And all in time to mark 60 years since the Communists seized power in China and the Kuomintang in Taiwan went their own way.

It's worth noting that Chan, who was born in colonial-era Hong Kong and has made millions of dollars as a Hollywood film star, has never lived in the sort of repressive regime that he's advocating for his countrymen. As he proved by his comments this weekend, he obviously feels quite free to say whatever he wants.

Ironically, Chan often plays the part of kung-fu heroes "who have grabbed initiative and refused to accept fate", who kicked and punched for justice, for the poor and disenfranchised against the mean and oppressive. With his remarks, Chan seems to be playing the role of an anti-hero:

As the economies of the democracies have tumbled, the world’s autocracies have been on the march. Chan’s words, however, have put China’s authoritarians on the defensive for the moment. And they’ll remain there as long as thousands of Chinese continue to act like Jackie Chan characters, heroes seizing initiative and refusing to accept fate.

The star's agent was of course quick to defend that Chan's statement has been grossly misinterpreted and taken out of context, because his comment was in response to a question about censorship in the entertainment industry. If that is the case, then Chan would be happy to note that his latest movie Shinjuku Incident has been banned by the Chinese government because of its "unflattering portrayal of illegal Chinese immigrants and for its violence". Of course, Chan should have no problem with the ban, because in his own skewed world-view, the ban must be justified order to curtail freedom of information and knowledge, or otherwise people would start unleashing "chaos" and fighting and killing on the streets.

Unfortunately, whether purposely or not , the "kung-fu clown's":

... argument echoes precisely the same line that colonialists everywhere invoked as justification of their continued occupation of their colonies. It's also the same argument that the power elite in China, including Communist Party members and the business barons who cut deals with them, invoke to justify the perpetuation of one-party authoritarian rule in China and the abridgement of a range of freedoms for its people.

Chan made his comments shortly after Chinese Prime Minister Wen Jia-boa delivered the keynote speech at the Boao Forum For Asia. Indeed, the Chinese government/Chinese Communist Party's (remember, in China the Party=Government and Government=Party ) propoganda mouthpiece, the People's Daily was quick to manipulate Chan's remarks to justifiy its authoritarian control and (of course) deride Taiwan's democratic credentials:

"...if a society has yet to form a common sense of social morality, individuals will always need someone to look over their shoulders and to keep them in line. People in such a situation seem not to be able to afford the absence of a functioning government, or they will be thrown into the state of anarchy and feel confused. The Chinese mainland is generally a society in which government still plays an instructive or even enlightening role in standardizing the public conduct. The reason may lie in both history and reality: the whole decade of the so-called 'cultural revolution' wrought untold havoc to the time-honored Chinese civilizations, suffocating almost all the human ethics and courtesies."

The People's Daily's commentary said the backlash against Chan and the angry response of netizens were uncalled for. All an illogical result from "feeling of confused and petrified" about what "freedom" really means. So the Party has, to the benefit of all freedom-loving people around the world, kindlyelaborated what freedom really means in practice:

The linchpin of [...]logic is but a simple balance between freedom and discipline. In this light, if freedom outweighs discipline, there will be chaos; and vice versa, if too much discipline or 'control' is exerted upon the public, there will be less freedom guaranteed to them. Following the above logic, people will easily form the common knowledge that one cannot have both freedom and discipline at the same time. Extendedly speaking, this logic also means that the Chinese have yet to keep a good equilibrium between the two. Once the discipline imposed on them is relaxed, the Chinese will be 'too free' to be tamed, and disorderly conduct will thereby arise. So was born Chan's conclusion: We Chinese need to be controlled.

It's as if people were pets that need to be taught and "tamed", or otherwise they'd run wild and (yes) free. No doubt as to who will be in charge of the "taming" process.

Hollywood stars are prominent celebrities, whose words and actions speak loudly and leave indeligible impressions on millions of fans around the world. Some take up the noble cause of championing greater attention for the ongoing genocide in Darfur, some the speak out against the continuous oppression and "cultural genoicide" in Tibet, while others remind us of the realities of global warming, animal rights, refugee crises, and the plight of AIDS orphans.

And then you have a star like Jackie Chan, who seems content to be repeating the Orwellian newspeak of the Chinese government and defend why it is that millions of Chinese people should have to live under a state of control with the "government [playing] an instructive or even enlightening role in standardizing the public conduct". Even Steven Spielberg was quick to distance himself from the Chinese regime when he realised working for the Opening Ceremony of the Bejing Olympics was asking for trouble.

I end with a memorable quote by Chief Inspector Lee, whom Jackie Chan played in Rush Hour 2. Perhaps when Chan was memorising the line, he did not fully grasp its meaning. Or its significance:

Not being able to speak is not the same as not speaking. You seem as if you like to talk. I like to let people talk who like to talk. It makes it easier to find out how full of shit they are.

Dreams of my dad...

The music brought me to tears. Beethoven's despair, anger and self-resentment, yet also expression of heroism and admiration of greatness and magnomity.. The Eroica Symphony has for a long time been a favourite... it accompanied me through those uncertain days of the first months of university in London... and this mornng, it accompanied me through the first fragile moments of my waking.

The worst parts of the exam period is over. For the past few weeks I've been dreading these three days of intense exam-after-another. French written test, then space law, the latter of which I've not really studied much for. But I think I did well in both.

But the underlying despair is not really the fear of not being able to do... but the hopes and expectations that I sense others have in me, and the great fear that I am disappointing them. Ever since the 'loss' in the moot court, this feeling seems to have multiplied, and I am left with a sense of loss and disappointment in my own abilities, similar emotions that had lingered for months since I arrived in Canada. Feelings, and now for the last few days, also dreams of my dad...

In the dream I am questioned by two people I know from school. What my motivation was for getting the fellowship and money I had received to study for (almost) free. At first I was admenant, defending myself, saying and listing all these things that I 've done as a part of my "service to the community"... but one person kept on insinuating, kept on implying how useless, how unmotivated, how worthless I was, and that I was not deserving at all of the fellowship....

Then I broke down under pressure, and cried. Through tears, in a wavering, sobbing voice, my torments poured out. Do you know what it feels like to loose someone? To loose someone and then to have dreams of him? To loose someone and then having to start a complete new life again? I know I have been underperforming, I know I have not really been my best lately, and how I want to be back to my 'normal' old self again, back to that boy who could, who excelled, who was not afraid to just work, just write and who seemed to impress people without even wanting to.... But I feel like I'm losing it, losing that magical touch, that inspiration, that charm and wonder that resisded in me before. And left behind, the empty shell of someone emotionally distraught, fatigued, lacking in depth, in meaning, perhaps even angered, but definitely going from day to day only through the grace of life's own momentum..

Dreams of my dad.... who had already passed for over a year now. Where is it all coming from? Why am I having them still? I don't want to revert to my emotional weaknesses and traumatised psyche all the time to explain my personal failings and inability to perform up to speed... But I feel sometimes so exhausted, overwhelmed already from the feelings and thoughts running through me, through my conscious, and undoubtedly the myriad of stormy emotions that run through my subconscious...

What I miss

A few days before the start of the exam period. It's late at night. I know I should be going to bed soon, especially if I want to break from that routine of waking up late and sleeping late, especially if I want to avoid feeling drowsy and down during the day.

It's been a somewhat rough few days. Probably doesn't help that I'm locking myself indoors and only going out when necessary. I just feel somewhat demotivated, lost... alsof ik ontbreek aan inspiratie, kleur en daadkracht in mijn leven (for some reason, when I stumbled into the bathroom this morning, that sentence just came to my mind). And I feel daunted by the exam ahead, especially since I've not read much of the required readings, and to be honest, a lot of the issues covered don't interest me much. Worse is, it's my field of study: space, and I'm supposed to be the all-so-brilliant fellow...

Then I hear mum's voice, mum's enouragements and kindness on the phone, and I feel rejuvenated. If only for a little while, I feel like I could go on again, I could face all this and strive forward. Try your best, she said, it's not like we expect a lot from you... you know when you've tried your best, and that is enough... don't put too much pressure on yourself, don't feel too stressed and upset.... don't be too hard on yourself... Very touching words. And deep down inside, I feel soothed. If only for a little while...

Spring Snow

They fall like snowflakes, spiral slowly down, down into the river that devour them below. But they only fly and fall once the snow has come and gone. Flighty and bright, blossom petals bloom and shed like sprinklings of snow from the sakuras in the slightest breeze.

I walked around the Tidal Basin, kicking at the rain as it drenched my clothes and hair. I gazed at distorted silhouettes and the wavering reflection of my own image barely recognisable in the pools of dirty rainwater. Ripples radiated and died. Birds twittered above, and squirrels scurried as I approached.

The museum crowds huddled around, patiently queuing to get indoors. The normally inquisitive and culturally-minded me was lost, and my mood was dampened. Perhaps by the incessant rain, perhaps by fatigue, and perhaps by the events of the past few days.

It has been intense to say the least, and I have still to recover from the accumulated lack of sleep over the course of several weeks. And Saturday was the height of it all. There we were, together with 8 other teams, all vying for the prestigious place of representing North America in the Finals of the space moot. But we all knew only one team would go through.

I was extremely proud of my team mates, and as was my professor, and even some of the judges who came to speak to and congratulate us. My co-counsels were articulate, well-versed in the law and the facts, quick on their feet. While some teams erred on the law, seriously misquoted ICJ cases and facts, we were confident and consistent in all we argued and defended. We seemed invincible, and we knew it. But mediocricy seemed to have an unfair advantage.

To be fair, we scored badly in our written briefs. It was kind of expected, especially since we rushed to complete it in a relatively short period of time. Had we had more time, for research, for brushing up our written arguments, for moulding every sentence, every word into one coherent and forceful voice, we would have fared so much better and further ahead. But that’s too late now. It is, as always, frustrating to see and know that some team with only mediocre knowledge of the law deserved a place in the Finals.

Cliché as it may sound, and perhaps sour to admit and remind yourself as a sort of self-consolation, it is not all about winning that matters most. The experience, the time spent together as a team, the efforts combined to go through ups and downs. I guess all those elements, the hard work through late nights and early mornings, those efforts sneaking food and drinks into the library, those illuminating moments when we managed to develop a offensive strategy of attack, the closer ties we have built along the way… they matter more than winning.

As I sped home, blue skies revealed themselves behind the dense gray clouds, and the sun came out of hiding. The brief spring shower has come and gone.

Ride home

He caught my eye almost as soon as I stepped in. I glanced in his direction a number of times, and there was something about him that seemed to capture me.

He fidgeted nervously with his wallet, fingering with cards, pieces of paper and faded pictures. Now and then he'd look up, and I'd turn away to hide my look. The carriage violently lurged from one stop to another. The rest of the world seemed oblivious.

Then he unrolled his sleeve, and there were cuts. Fresh ones, some still bleeding. Scabbed ones from wounds before. Scars of hidden, untold miseries. All along the inside of his arm, red and hideous against his pale, smooth skin. He looked around, his head twitched. And out came a key that began to carve.

"Why are you doing this?" I wanted to grab him, to make him stop.

"It's too painful..."

"What's too painful? "

"The pain... at home..." He continued rubbing the sharp edges of the key against his arm. Did anyone else notice? Did anyone else care?

"Whatever it is, you don't have to do this to yourself..." I wanted to hold him close, tell him it'll all be alright. Tell him that it'll be over soon, even if it's a lie to deceive and comfort.

"I can't take it any more..." He looked at me, if only fleetingly. But it was enough for me to see the fear, anxiety and hurt deep down those blue empty eyes. Guilt-ridden, timid, yet crying out for help.

The tires screeched, and the train came to a bumpy halt. The doors loudly slammed opened, and the crowd began to pour out.

In one swift movement, he stood up, threw his hood over his head, and strode out of the carriage, disappearing to become one of the unknown, unseen, unheard and faceless bodies on the crowded platform.

I stood in an almost empty carriage. With all those words unsaid left alone in my head.

Suits me

The little slip inside the fortune cookie wasn’t exactly correct. At least not about this trip. At least not so far.

It was only when I got to the hotel that it hit me, crept up my spine, and froze my thoughts. Temporarily I was short of breath, my heart skipped, and my eyes felt like watering. The realisation, then the despair, followed by a sense of guilt, to be replaced soon thereafter with the insight that it was pointless to worry, pointless to get upset. However upsetting it may be to lose a brand new suit that I had worn only once two days earlier.

I tried to retrace my steps, tried to picture the places I have been since this morning. Taxi to the airport, check-in desk, security check, the restaurant where I had pancakes (explicitly without the sausages or bacon), the lounge where we sat and waited for the gates to open. Up till then I had it with me. After that it all became a blur. My co-counsel assured me that she had seen it on-board the flight. But the excitement of turbulence in those final moments of descent, and of looking out the window to watch the Pentagon fly by overwhelmed my normally careful self.

I tried to imagine the times, locations, moments wherever it may be possible that my suit may have lost itself (or that it has lost me). Air Canada promised to look for it, and if found deliver it to my hotel if I’m still in Washington. If not, the lady on the phone assured me, they will keep on searching for the next two months. A black suit with matching pants, a white long-sleeve shirt, two ties (purple and shiny blue), and an orange astronaut pin that is only available at the souvenir shop of ESA’s ESTEC (which is only open a few hours on Wednesday afternoons). My mind wandered to the curious image of baggage handlers with sniffer dogs, scouring every inch of the two airports and of that little fragile Embraer I was on to live up to their promise.

I felt bad needing to buy a brand new suit, and the shirt and tie to go with it. Even worse as I walked down M Street carrying my bright, big colourful bags. A Vietnam veteran, with unkempt hair, wielding a sign scribbled with “God help me!”, together with half a dozen with empty, sunken (or drunken?) eyes ogled at me as I walked on by.

The “envoy of McGillkind”…

The hours before

After much struggles, we finally made it. Here, right in the heart of Washington DC, preparing and mooting still into the earlier hours of the morning, compromising our sanity and sleep. At this time tomorrow, we will know if it was all worth it.

Two, almost three months of work, the last couple of weeks of which have been going constantly at the facts, law, trying to nit-pick and to refine arguments and rebutals to the most convincing, assertive and coherent way possible. It will be test and tried tomorrow.

I have faith in my team mates, and to be honest, much more than once I felt or had at a time when things were sometimes getting too much. Now I look at them as they plead, confidence in their voices, assertiveness in their posture, and regurgitating facts and legal positions like the highly esteemed legal experts they have suddenly become in the past few weeks. Winning is not necessary everything.

I think I did and tried all I could. Speaking of 'sacrifices' will be thinking too much of myself. But I did try to be there, to respond to comments, to reflect back arguments, to fill in the gaps whenever possible. Perhaps at times I can be difficult to work with, and maybe too picky and wordy when things can be explained in a line or two. But I think they really have a grasp of the law, and I can (hopefully) just sit back and feel somewhat proud.

A few hours more, and we will see.

Better

I feel somewhat better after a few days of intense hard work. And having these mascots with me while I work away in the library sort of boosts my energies.

Less than 5 more days till the big moot day, and I feel somewhat more confident. We finally managed to hash out a coherent argument and counterarguments for both of the States we're going to be arguing on behalf of. Everything needs to flow, every contention needs to be logically, substantiated, and justified. Every word needs to be carefully chosen, used and explained if necessary. There is no room for slipping up on the arguments, no place for flawed rationalisation, no opportunity to contract what you just said. Which is why I'm better of sitting back and watching my team members plead, while I do the preparatory work now.

I came home after almost 14 hours of lectures and work after the lectures. I feel exhausted, yet much better than I did before. I spoke to mum for a while. Two months ago I bought her tickets to go see Swan Lake, in the hope she'd step out of the house and do something that will bring joy and music into her life. She went with a good friend (who happens to be her cousin), and almost immediately the first word mum said was that she thoroughly enjoyed the performance. She said the dancing was wonderful, the music beautiful, as were the decor and the live experience of it all. It was late when she got home, but she felt good. And I could hear the enthousiasm in her voice.

But she told me about her knees, and I become worried. For some time she has been having pains in her joints. Signs of decalcification, normal aging process the doctors said. But she said it hurts when she walks, and she feels weak, as if she may easily fall over. I listened and felt concerned... imagined her walking up and down those 5 flights of stairs every single day. How incovenient it must be, how painful it must be to take each step...

Mum said she's thinking about moving, to somewhere with a lift. She rememebered how dad used to complain about taking the flights of stairs.... and I remembered that he would always rest once in a while to catch his breath, while holding onto the handrail as he slowly ascended the stairs. And now mum realises how inconvenient it really is...
I wish I could help her find a place, help her move, help her pack and that she wouldnt have to worry so much abut all going up and down the stairs everyday...

She also told me about this herbal medicine that a friend of her took her to buy in the mountains. Some kind of fungus that's indigenous to Taiwan. Very expensive, but is supposed to detox the body, and supposedly very effective against cancer. You make a kind of tea with it. It makes you kind of dizzy at first, and tastes bitter, but it's supposed to be very effective. Had dad been able to have this, then it wouldn't have been too late, mum said...

Moot

There are moments that dawn on you. Such as one as I stood there waiting for the metro home tonight.

I suddenly felt so small... awed and dazed by the amount of work and lack of time in which to deal wit it all. I felt small, almost shrinking as the thought ran through me, right there on the platform. Perhaps after 14 hours or so of lectures, work, reading and writing, I was feeling dizzy and my world spin.

Less than two weeks till the big moot competition in Washington DC. Practice runs in the coming weeks, and my role is to act as the source of law and references to support my two other team mates who will do the actual pleading. I already made it clear at the start that I'd not be good in speaking, definitely not in front of judges and an intimidating forum of claims, counter-claims, rebutals and surrebutals. I just don't think I'm quick enough for all of that, at least not quick enough to formulate my thoughts and translate them into a coherent and eloquent enough argument that will silence the opponent team. I leave that to the other two girls who are much more confident, much more fluent in their English speaking abilities.

And so I'm here, close to midnight... phrases, semblances of words and legal principles still lightly echoing in my head. I feel daunted, challenged, small because I feel there is still so much I do not know. Can one ever be prepared? Can one ever be sufficiently briefed and prepared for all possible arguments and counter-arguments? I feel somewhat pressured, especially being the one in the Institute with a fellowship position. I feel I must perform, must excel, must suceed, or otherwise it'd be like a 'waste' of their faith and all the resources they've invested in me, in us.

Perhaps I'm just thinking too much, frowning and fretting as I write this... It's a competition. There are winners, there are losers. And we can only be one, or the other. But try we did, no matter what.

Heydays

It's been a while since I last blogged. I mean really write something and reflect on what has been going on in my life. Between travels, and being part of a moot team, I rarely have time to myself nowadays.

In a way, it's good. I seem to be so much happier to be busy, to wake up everyday and work towards something... even if this something requires me to spend almost every moment of my waking moments in the last two weeks to be almost constantly thinking about space, law and militarisation. I enjoy the experience, but have really been going to bed late and eating not so healthily, despite my promise to myself to really take care of myself after coming back from Taiwan at the beginning of February.

Other than that, I've been getting to know msyself a little more. At least, through friends. One particular person stands out, someone I met and really connected with back in December, and we've been spending a lot of time together of late. Perhaps too much time? Especially as he is already with someone.... I'm not sure how I feel about this all... Knowing that at times I'm in the library till late, he even brings me dinner. It's so touching, so very romantic. But what does it all mean? I just don't know, and it's in a way intimi--dating... But it does feel so wonderful every time I see him, and I smile when I see him.

Really, really smile...

King Mariano

He was either insane, or unbelievably wise. There is but a thin line separating the two.

I see him almost daily, just as I come up of the escalator at Peel. Often I have the urge to approach him, offer him something I have in abundance, yet most days I just walk on by on my way to school, ushered forward by time and obligations.

This morning I did the same thing. The sun was bright, the streets empty. But the image of the man lingered, and lingered even longer, making me turn back again. I approached him, and he greeted me. I offered him a banana, and that was how the philosophical (or perhaps completely nutty) conversation began.

We must have talked for over a quarter of an hour. More a monologue, with me asking questions to clarify what he was saying at brief intervals, what he was really saying, and trying to make connections with what he was saying and what I knew about the state of the world. Who is the real monarch of England? King Arthur. And of France? King Louis the Sixteenth. I didn’t quiet catch the connection. Canadians… all descendants of superior royals who left Europe and established themselves throughout the Americas.

I eyed his clothes and belongings as he rambled on… it looked like he put on everything he had to shelter himself from the bitter cold, and probably had two, three scarves around his neck. His dark hair was covered with two woolly hats, his pants torn and frizzled at the ends. He had a suitcase, a pretty nice and solid one at that, but one of the wheels is missing. To improvise, he ingeniously tied the suitcase on a skateboard with strings. Two big bags bulged with stuff, and another little plastic one contained a bag of chips, sweet cookies, and, yes, the yellow banana he just acquired from a complete stranger.

King Mariano, he called himself. A descendant of King Arthur of England, just like some of the Founding Fathers of America. Though, he added, he was originally born in Venezuela, the flag of which bears the colours of the royal families of the ancienne regime of Europe in the Middle Ages. I nodded, and let him continue, occasionally noticing the rusher-bys who sped past us without looking up. Those who did not see…

“Most people don’t really see, don’t really understand,” he went on, “Most people are educated to think this way, but are blind to understand what is really happening in the world. We’re all descendants of royalty”. For a moment, I thought about my own name, which roughly translated means “Great Crown”. Perhaps…

His teeth were crooked, and few, perhaps rotten from the cheap foodstuff he bought and ate regularly to get by. “How many elements are there in the periodic table?” I admitted it’s been a long time since high school Chemistry… “120 in total. At least, that’s what most people believe because it’s what they can see. But in reality there are over 700,000! We don’t acknowledge them, because human beings can’t ‘see’ them. Ignorant…”

I nodded quietly. Indeed, there is so much about the universe we don’t know, and yet we think human beings are so much more superior.

“Law, you study?” And for the next few moments came another episode of wisdom (or utter non-sense) that, to be honest, was somewhat, and sometimes, difficult to follow. When you injure someone, in whatever way, you create a little injury in the universe, was what he seemed to be saying. Say I refuse to let you sit on this public bench because you’re Asian. You may not feel ‘injury’, but at the molecular level there is injury. “Over time that accumulates, and generations from now the effects can be seen and felt”. Most people don’t see it, can’t see it. But the effects are there. I could perhaps understand what he was saying. The laws of Karma are irresistible and invisible, but they creates consequences and effects that bind us all to(gether in) our mutual circumstances, existences and interconnectedness.

At best he may be labelled a conspiracy artist, at worst a mad man who’s spent too much time brooding over the world’s wrongs and faults. All this in exchange for a banana on a Saturday morning. It was fair enough to me.

“Listen to Bach”, he said as his final words, “He’s a medical genius.”

The heavy doors of the metro station swung open. And I exited into the world.

"Journeys of Inspiration"

Perhaps KLM realised at some time it could not live up to its own company motto as “The Reliable Airline”, and so now there is a different one. My recent journey with KLM certainly inspired me… inspired me to complain!

Never really been a fan of the Dutch national carrier. Bad food (‘stroopwafel’ on a two hour flight, one piece only), cramped seating (I believe one of the worst in Europe, ironically for the tallest people in the world), old planes (and from my experience, likelihood to have mechanical failures), and on one occasion cabin crew who were sitting in the back reading their magazines while the passengers disembarked. Frankly, I’ve flown low cost carriers that provide better service, and KLM is supposed to be the biggest airline in Europe (together with Air France and Northwest).

So as with most people and cases, I looked into my rights after they have been violated. Fascinating, even more so because this is what I’ve been studying in recent months. My flight was an obvious case of a delay which turned into a cancellation, as the airline admitted once we were back at Schiphol. Part of my letter (the legal bit) reads:

"The delay and/or cancellation, and subsequent economic loss on my part in missing my connecting flight, was solely due to the KLM’s poor maintenance. According to Article 19 of the Montreal Convention 1999, which is applicable to all “international carriage of persons”, the carrier is “liable for damage occasioned by delay in the carriage by air of passengers”. In addition, the obligation on air carriers to pay compensation for damage in the event of a delay and/or cancellation is enforced under Regulation (EC) No. 889/2002. Article 5(3) of Regulation (EC) No. 261/2004 further obliges the air carrier to pay compensation if the cancellation was due to circumstances which could have been avoided if all reasonable measures had been taken. Faulty maintenance does not qualify as taking all possible measures to avoid the damage occasioned by the delay and/or cancellation, nor was it impossible for KLM to take measures to ensure that damage as a result of the flight’s delay and cancellation did not occur. The unfortunate events that took place surrounding flight KL1767 could have been avoided had mechanical crew performed their tasks to industry standards”.

Obviously, the first place to look is the Montreal Convention 1999, which deals with compensation and liability of air carriers in the event of death, injury or passenger delays on all international flights. The limit on liability is 4150 Special Drawing Rights (approximately US$6200). Further, as my (unfortunate) flight was (fortunately) within the European Union, regional regulations on air transport also apply. (Indeed, when the Montreal Convention was ratified, the Netherlands declared that it would comply with any action under taken by the Community in any matters governed by the Convention).

Say what one would like about the bureaucracy in Brussels, but the European Union does have its merits, and has perhaps the highest standards in consumer protection anywhere. So, according to
Regulation 261/2004 , in the case of a flight cancellation (Art. 5), I have a right to re-routing or reimbursement (Art. 8), and also a “right to care” (Art. 9). The latter includes meals and refreshments, hotel occasion if a stay of one or more nights is necessary, and also the offer of “two telephone calls, telex or fax messages, or e-mails” free of charge. There are similar provisions, but to a lesser extent, for care and rerouting in the case of a delay.

I was poorly informed of my rights by the KLM ground staff, and just shoved a coupon booklet. In fact, there is a pamphlet by KLM which contains all the rights of passengers in the case of delays and cancellations (and to be fair does comply with EU regulations), but this was never given or mentioned.

Yes, there was a coupon for refreshments, but because I missed my connecting flight I needed accommodation, but this was not offered at all. When I asked to used the phone or email, I was told to go to the public cell phone (even though the coupon booklet contained a voucher for calling… which I don’t think the ground staff knew about). It was pointless for me to be rebooked on the next available flight to Frankfurt, since arriving late in the evening meant there were no more flights onto Canada. So I requested to be rebooked to the following day, which the “gate supervisor” did, but only grudgingly and as if I owed him a big favour.

It’s not that (if I can) I can claim a lot of money. It's probably not about the money, but pricinples. My pure economic loss was only the €95 (CAD$150) I had to pay to rebook my Canada-bound flight. KLM should be responsible for this, because it is their fault that I could not catch my connecting flight, despite the ample time I estimated to transfer in Frankfurt had KLM flown me there on time.

But then there are other losses too… lost time, unexpected expenses of staying another day in Europe, wasted efforts and energies travelling back and forth between the airport, and trauma of having to wear the same clothes for much longer than expected.

I should get a response back from KLM in reaction to my complaint soon enough. No more than 17 days. That’s a guarantee.

Or is it?


---

*Another horrible "Journey of Inspiration" here.

Free flight

Another dawn spent in the air, the who knows how manyeth one in recent months. There’s something magical about watching the sky dim. Not completely, for there seems always to be a sliver of orange on the furthest horizon, against the defined silhouette of the wing and flashing light at the tip of it.

A thought dawned on me as I’m following the plane across the Atlantic. This must have been my fifth time crossing the ocean. With such ease, with such speed. For me it seems to be the easiest thing to be boarding a plane and to just take off. Even the passport check person at the person was surprised when she saw the number of luggage stubs I had attached to the last pages of my passport.

Perhaps that is a blessing in itself, for I enjoy the privilege that most around the world can dream of: having homes around the world, and being able to come and go, but most of all, being able to stay in a place and not be like I’m a complete stranger. Feeling foreign and estranged is another matter altogether compared to being able to arrive at a city, a place and quickly get accustomed to the life and means of moving around at a place.

It never ceases to amaze me, how far I have come, and how far I can go. Onward to Canada. Another flight, another journey. The world feels so small. Or perhaps I’m just too active?

Flight scare

The land disappeared beneath the clouds. A last glimpse of the Netherlands for a long time to come. At least so I thought.

Ten minutes into the flight, the captain’s voice sounded over the intercom. “Technical problems with the landing gears… cannot be retracted…”. Then came the low grumbling and rumbling in the bowl of the Fokker 100. The plane shook, the clouds were dense, but beautiful, spread like a fluffy sheet across the sky, across the horizon as far as the eye could see, up to where the sky met the sea.

The rumbling continued for a while, then stopped. I felt the plane bank, turning, turning, turning, and turning. I suspected as much, and the pilot came on again to report that we had to go back to Schiphol. The gears just wouldn’t retract, and they had no way to guarantee our safety if we pressed on towards Frankfurt. Passengers around me murmured, and the atmosphere was somewhat tense, despite attempts by the cabin crew to explain that things would be alright. I watched the hands on my watch tick, tick, tick and draw closer to the time my connecting flight was supposed to depart from Frankfurt.

Soon the land appeared again beneath the clouds… fields, canals, polders, lakes, and even the big, shiny building in Leiden I used to study in rolled by below like a reel of film. Slowly, we neared the ground. It was damp from the drizzle before. I leaned back, and braced in anticipation. Wheels that had been out in the freezing air so long… would they still be ok to withstand the forces of touching down? It seemed like forever, and the runway slid past beneath like a black snake.


"the big, shiny building in Leiden I used to study in" (top left corner)


A thump, and a screech. But at least we were still alive, hurtling down the runway until we eventually came to a halt. The plane rolled back to the tarmac to join its Fokker friends, perhaps a little wounded in pride, for it was the little plane that could not really fly. As the passengers disembarked, the pilot stood at the door seemed to looked apologetic. There were lots of complaining and grumbling, even louder than the noise coming from the belly of the plane before. But I smiled at the crew, and thanked them for bringing us back down to earth again.

I got a coupon, and repeated apologies. Ten Euros to spend on food and whatever I want to buy at Schiphol. But it doesn’t compensate for the fact that I was sure to miss my connecting flight to Canada. I asked whether there was anything KLM could do; rebook me, contact my continuing airline, find me an alternative routing. More apologies. As my onward flight was a separate ticket, KLM’s responsibilities end when they bring the passengers to Frankfurt. “That is our contract with the passenger, and we can’t be liable for anything beyond that”. Yeah, but because of their ‘technical problems’ I’m missing my flight, even though I had made sure I would have almost three hours to transfer. “There’s no legal loophole. We are doing what we can to get you there, and the delay is within the time frame, so there is no right to compensation. You better speak to Air Canada, we can’t help you here”. I smiled, and at the same time in my mind a strongly worded complaint letter was already being written. Mental note: avoid KLM whenever possible.

I searched for a phone, and when I found it, it seemed to swallow money like a slot machine. I managed to rebook my flight and postpone my flight back to Canada by a day. But it will cost me. Not just time, energy, but also $150. Together with the fee I had to pay for my two previous changes I could almost bought a return ticket from Canada to the Netherlands. My good luck in the new year, I guess.

I consoled myself. At least I have done my bit (again) to save Air Canada from impending bankruptcy.

Debut

I always thought I was more of a writer than a speaker. I have a way with words written, but less so when they are spoken. Until yesterday that is.

To be honest I’ve always dreaded public appearances. A crowd of people, watching, staring, wondering and waiting for what wisdom you have to dispense. I always thought many others have a flair for public speaking, but I just don’t, and never will possess that ease, that confidence. They can just go up there on stage, and talk persuasively and eloquently and go off stage in a round of applause. But not I. Until yesterday.

As part of the symposium I have been invited to attend in Strasbourg, I was asked to present a paper that I wrote together with a friend of mine. The thesis is simple really, but nonetheless a fascinating account (or at least attempt at that) of the legal and political implications of a new intergovernmental space organisation that China has been so eager to establish. We have been working on the paper for months, and finally yesterday was the opportunity to present it.

Of the three days and six panels in total, it was my luck to be assigned to the last session on the last day as the very last speaker. I debated whether it was because my topic was too uninteresting… but then some others told me it was a ‘golden seat’. That didn’t dispel the anxieties.

The first day of the symposium went by smoothly. Now and then, when listening to a topic that was less interesting, I would go over my notes and power point, and go through the presentation inside my head. But as the day, hours and minutes before being called up to perform, I got more and more nervous. Worse was I had to do it all alone.

I kept on drinking water, clearing my throat, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths to calm myself. The presentations before me seemed like a haze, and in my mind I just imagined the end of it all, when it is all over, when I can either smile at myself or feel like a failure. I didn’t do any practice dry-runs, and I even refused to do a mock presentation to a friend, because as I said “I get nervous in front of people I know”. Strange, but that’s true.

Then I was called on stage. I thanked the chair of the panel for the introduction, and I began with a joke… or at least an attempt at one, saying what a great honour it was to be the very last speaker, and to be standing between the audience and their long-awaited weekend. And I began.

Somehow, gone were the fears of me stuttering, stumbling, tripping and falling over words and phrases. Instead, there was a surprising sense of calm, clarity of thought and mind, and somehow the words and ideas, sentences and opinions flowed out of my mouth, almost as fluently as they would out of the tips of my fingers. My voice was clear through the mike, and the audience listened attentively, some even nodding in agreement at times. Slide after slide, the presentation went according to what had been planned inside my head. The keywords and short trigger sentences I had in front of me kept the momentum going. I looked around the room, at times ‘seeing through’ the people sitting there (a technique I learnt in high school drama class), and I felt no anxiety. I was on a roll!

And when it was all over, the audience applauded. A great encouragement, an exhalation of relief. I smiled, and looked around the room. The crowd seemed satisfied enough. What came almost soon after were the questions. Half a dozen hands went up around the room, much more than was the case with other presentations. Perhaps a good sign, that people were interested… or perhaps a bad sign, that I didn’t get the message across clear enough.

And it was the former. People were genuinely intrigued at my points and speculations, and wanted to know more about the organization’s aims, its potentials and pitfalls. I answered each question gracefully, smiling as I replied them, full of confidence, full of pride, feeling in those fleeting moments like I was the one with the expert knowledge and understanding, and that people were really interested in what I had to say. As a lawyer in training I attach great importance to the idea, to the ideal of the law, I said. Yet politics and power often may, and often does, prevail over the niceties of the law. What looks beautiful on paper may be far and different from what is realized in practice, as with anything in the world. The people with questions nodded as I gently carried my message and answers across. They were satisfied and convinced.

Enthused, I left the stage, delighted and relieved, in yet another round of applause. I had done it. Faced my worst fears of embarrassment, faced my (often unjustified) lack of confidence in my own abilities and intellect, and showed to people, and most of all to myself, what I can do.

And all this just before 25.

When he's not around...

The house is a little quiet without baby Aslan. It’s not hard to spot his toys, the little fish he used to play in the bathtub, the Wall.E robot that sings and speaks, and the Mr Men and Little Miss books that I bought for him one. His tiny clothes lie unused in the cupboards, his bed and blanket unslept, with his baby scent still smell lingering behind. His mum, sometimes saddened and close to tears whenever she looks at the many, many pictures that she has of baby Aslan.

At last count, I’ve been to Strasbourg no less than 8 times since he came to this world. And this is the first time that he is not there when I visit. A little sad, but imagine how his mum must feel.

Because of her studies, my friend decided to take Aslan home and leave him behind with her relatives. Only for a little while, so she can finish off her studies. She just couldn’t cope with her work, and having to spend (quality) time with this very active (sometimes read: naughty) and demanding little boy. And spending everyday at daycare has made him really depressed and difficult to handle. At least in Taiwan, there are many relatives and other little friends he can be with. There Aslan can receive much love, and has much room to run around in in nature. Even when he was asked where he would like to be, he replied, in his sweet little voice, that he’d like to be in Taiwan rather than here in cold, gray France.
This morning, I woke up to Aslan’s voice on the phone. His sweet little inaudible words, answered the phone, and then disappearing again as he went off on his way to play, only to come back to say something that would leave most people guessing what he wanted to say. I think he said “Play, play… go out… play, play!” and “Foot… pain, pain…” Later I found out he injured himself recently in one of his rounds of running around. The way he plays, jumps and sprints from one place to another, it’s not difficult to get hurt. But then he always has a way of getting back up again, and with tears that have barely dried, run on to explore, poke, and probe whatever he could see and touch.