And this has me thinking.

With as much money as there is in the world, albeit most of it belonging to the top small-percentage of earners, why can’t we spread it around a little?  Now, I know the first answer is obvious: people work hard for their money, so they should be able to keep it.  Understood.  But.  But what if we made it trendy to invest in improving the public areas in which public works hasn’t worked?  How about that?  How about where public works hasn’t worked…we privatize? 

Consider this. 

How much is the swankiest New York City apartment?  Two million?  Ten?  And let’s face it, that’s just for the property alone, before additions or interior design that would most likely be taking place.  With all the monies that can be spent on the beautification of one’s home, be honest, that home would be eating up a top earner’s money in no time (wait, if the money they are spending is a mere drop in the bucket for them, doesn’t that mean that it won’t be eating up their money?)  But the property itself, regardless of the improvements and beautifications and escape from the rest of New York City…it’s still in the heart of that city we all love…with all its smells, dirt, and grime. 

And now how much is it to re-do a subway stop, for argument’s sake?  $300,000…$600,000?  More? (Is it really more – wow, no wonder the subway stops look the way they do!)

So just as putting a celebrity face to an organization has become trendy – let’s put their money (and by their I mean anyone who HAS money) where their mouth is.  Why can’t celebrities and top earners take a subway station, for example, and revitalize it, re-vamp it?  Clean it up, update it, re-oganize and add escalators or hire specialized cleaning crews, incorporate new technologies…and overall – put as much effort into this project that will improve their neighborhoods and their beloved New York City, as they would put into their homes?

If philanthropy is the issue – think of how great for celebrities to say “the address is 65^th & Columbus.  Just get off on the Oprah Winfrey Stop.”

Better yet, think of how great it would be for top earners to have their names be displayed so prominently that the Average Joe goes from people only in his inner circle or co-workers knowing his name, to gaining partial celebrity status as “The Dan Brown stop on 14^th & 7^th .  Who?  Dan Brown.  Who is that anyway?  That guy who wrote that book.  What book?  The one with Tom Hanks in it.  Oh…” 

So really top earners, if you really want to show us your dough – don’t just keep it selfishly to yourselves for you and your fellow well-to-dos to enjoy and reap the benefits.  Share your wealth, let us not just assume and see what you spend your money on…allow us to experience it.  Who cares that you never ride the subway – do you honestly watch movies in the local movie theatre too?  Do you really stand in line at Banana Republic or use coupons at Macy’s to buy the jeans that have your signature on them?  C’mon…take one for the team…let the rest of us wee people gawk and behold the depths of your financial ocean.   Invest your money in something that will impress me…

Buy yourself a subway stop.

Hong Kong has a major space issue.  It is majorly expensive.  Families in this city pay sky-high rents for little square footage.  Add this to the immigration laws of HK which read that if you hire a foreign domestic worker to assist in your household duties, that worker must live in your home.  So not a lot of space plus additional body in your home equals 1: human rights issues as close quarters make it easy to abuse the migrant worker either physically, sexually, emotionally, etc.  and 2: the migrant workers has no private space as it has been cited that these workers share bedrooms with members of the family, sleep in the den, on the kitchen floor, or in cabinets…I’m not kidding – the issue of space is real.

This video clip shows Hong Kong’s city scene- the areas of Chater Garden (Central Stop, exit J) is completely empty Mondays through Saturdays, with only commuters and tourists passing through.  But on any given Sunday that all changes as the Foreign domestic workers use their one day off per week to enjoy their private lives and space.  Where do they create their private space, you ask?  In the public spaces of Hong Kong.

Who cares about such issues, you ask.  Businesses, for one.  they see the migrant workers hanging out in front of their businesses as a deterrent for customers who want to go in and shop.

Hong Kong cares.  Well, if you consider how it wants its image portrayed.  Thousands of foreign domestic workers sitting on the street eating lunch and painting toenails isn’t exactly the perfect picture of progress, now is it?

And of course- the domestic workers care.  Why should they hide, when they are quite obviously trapped indoors, swept out of sight of the public eye for the rest of the week?  why should they get shafted and be forced to hang out…in underground parking garages…?!@#%^&%  YES – that was ACTUALLY a recommendation of how to handle the “space issue” with FDws.

This is the twist.  If Hong Kong raised the income level necessary to hire a domestic worker so that the workers would only be employed by people who could afford more space so the issue of private space didnt exist – guess what…there would be a heck of a lot less domestic workers.  If HK actually made the workers collect in underground areas…how many human rights violations would they be infringing on?  If families decided to simply not give their workers one day off per week so that they wouldnt have those Sundays free to hang in Chater Garden or other public areas of HK– how many Human Rights issues would THAT infringe on???

So there is no other answer, my friends.  As long as there are migrant workers in HK, they will be there to crowd your spaces on Sunday.

And thank God.  Because those people who sit there “in your way” are some of my good friends.  And if you’re too blind to realize how warm and open they are and conclude that they have no business taking up public space like that…

then stay home on sundays.

what’s that saying?  if you cant take the heat – then stay out of the kitchen.

peace.

Local workers in Hong Kong have rallied for the government to set a minimum wage. 

There is a definite need to set the minimum wage.  While in Hong Kong I often noticed how the eldery population is still actively part of the work force – and not like the retirees in Disneyworld who all moved south & sold their homes for more relaxing pastures.  These people all still work out of necessity.  I noticed that many of the people who clean the tables in the food courts or restuarants and attend to the restrooms were of this age bracket. 

This tells me that the local workers of Hong Kong literally work ’till they can’t work no more’.

This video clip shows what I witnessed; that while these local workers were advocating for a minimum wage of 33 Hong Kong dollars per hour, foreign domestic workers (FDWs) wanted to be included in this legislation.  It took Legislative Council a matter of days to conclude that in no way would FDWs be included in the minimum wage legislation.  Yet the actual minimum wage itself is still being debated two months after the bill was initially being reviewed by the Council. 

As Master’s degree candidates in International Affairs, we often asked ourselves what the point was of the rallies and the demonstrations that our civil society groups organize.  We often felt that while the acts these groups were performing were empowering them as individuals – we questioned if that empowerment actually accomplished anything.  Looking microscopicaly at each event it was easy to feel ineffective; to feel that what you say or do doesn’t really evoke change.  We discussed and concluded that true change can only come from law, that without law nothing is set in stone, those that are covered by the law are not required to act in any such manner.

But.  But there exist those who are outside the realm of law, outside of the interest of the lawmakers.  In Hong Kong our group worked with domestic workers, sex workers, refugees and those seeking asylum.  We had people working for environmental change.

And this is the point.  That even though law is king – before you can get to that change interest must be stirred.  Opinions must be voiced.  There needs to be advocates for those who are on the outskirts, whose best interests are not in line with those who make the laws, those who have the power. 

And that is why we do what we do.  That is why we, as students of International Affairs, as advocates for the underrepresented, as members of civil society – this is what makes our passion to advocate for those who are silenced– valid.

I once wondered if innocence is bliss–that our country, the USA, is so rich, its food and resources so plentiful that its citizens find not the time to concern themselves with the rest of the world’s population who battles dirty water, lack of food, sub-par hospital facilities, a heightened fear for personal security, or any of about a hundred million other issues.  We don’t care – we Americans.  We don’t concern ourselves with them.  We, the well-fed and air-conditioned, separate ourselves from those that are not as fortunate as we.  We create the ‘they’. 

They need food overseas.

They have malaria.

They have dirty water.

They have bugs on their faces, and their children are starving.

They have rights which get ignored.

They are without jobs.

They have no money.

We are not like that. 

We have an unending supply of water.

We can go to the grocery or Costco and buy fruit from around the world.

We never run out of chickens or eggs to eat.

We have so much food our children are obese.

We are so over-fed we pay a monthly fee to the gym, and carry a Starbucks giftcard in our wallets.

We have air-conditioners in the summer and heaters in the winter.

We all drive our own vehicles.

I can understand that it is more appealing to listen, read, or watch a story about someone with whom you identify rather than those with whom you cannot relate.  Is the American public saying that they identify more closely with the immature antics of the so-called reality shows rather than with the sufferings of men and women across the seas? Is being a woman or child suffering – or even not suffering, just not having it easy- is that no longer enough to stir the empathy of those in richer countries who have the financial backing to give a damn?

For all those reality show kids, they have become faux-celebrities: they are actually people who have done absolutely nothing, who for their obnoxious and abrasive personalities have earned themselves more than their fifteen-minutes of fame.  America has decided to pay these talent-less, uneducated, unsophisticated individuals with the highest dividends.  Joke’s on you America: you can watch the antics of your neighbor’s seventeen year old son for FREE.

And what does this say to our youngsters?  Don’t go to school, just make a fool of yourself in public, wear scantily clad clothing and waste your time falling in and out of love or lust rather than working on your inner beauty — is that the example we want to leave to our future generations?

Oh America…it’s so sad but it’s true.  All you care about is yourselves.  You and your obnoxious, loud, and ill-mannered role models.  It’s a good thing you will never need anyone’s help because…I can’t say that anyone would ever help you if you needed it.

This is why. Years ago Malaysia and the Philippines were quite similar in their situations. They had similar climates, similar GDPs, similar employment rates. Then there was that crash of 97 that took all the countries in that area for a loop. But since then the story of Malaysia and Philippines are like two brothers going down to very different paths. Both similar at the starts, but growing worlds apart.

I spent a short time in malaysia. First time for me. And while I could have taken it at face value, I couldnt help feeling like someone had slapped me across the face and left me alone to perform the walk of shame.

I didn’t go to Malaysia with open eyes. I went there expecting it to have beaches that were so intoxicatingly beautiful, beautiful lavish homes with lawns that are manicured and well cared for, water that you can snorkle in. I went expecting things to look much like the richer parts of the Philippines, and maybe even more successful. The currency exchange is 3 malaysian ringits to one us dollar. That’s better than even the hong kong exchange!

But this is the thing. Malaysia didnt impress me. It wasnt super clean or super modern. it wasnt super-naturey with the beaches being mediocre. The people weren’t like Filipinos; maybe I’m just more used to Filipinos but I feel like Filipinos make everyone feel like family,no matter if they JUST met you. Malaysians dont have that same welcoming spirit. And well. Some of the men are just plain creepy.

So this is my irritation. Why do you, Malaysia, get to enjoy a successful economic climate? Why do you get to have increased tourism and a stronger Malaysia Dollar? What makes you so special that you don’t have to keep sending your best and brightest abroad for employment?

Oh wait. I know what this emotion is. It’s jealousy – is that right? I’m jealous of Malaysia that their leaders got their acts together and created a job market for their people. They figured it out. Maybe the emotion is also bitterness towards the Phils. Seriously man, pull yourself together. If your baby brother Malay could do it – what the hell are you waiting for??

Books and movies always portray this idea.  A character shows their life as they know it.  They encounter an experience which changes them: something quick like a loss of life, or something that takes a longer time to unfold such as war, spending months or years abroad or being trapped on a remote island.  Then that person returns home, and they cannot see life the same way.  They feel alienated in their own town, their own home, their usual daily routine.

 Sometimes I sort of feel like those stories.

 I love my home, those who surround me, my town…I love all that. 

But yesterday I was re-establishing my role as domestic goddess and Suzie Homemaker as I found myself in the housewares section of one of my previously-decided favorite stores.  I was experiencing a little bit of culture shock, perhaps not the word for it – perhaps culturally critical, as I stared at the aisles upon aisles of items one could buy to pretty their homes.  I thought, “wow, that’s a lot of junk” and then I thought of how my migrant worker friends cannot shop like this: they could not go as the women who surrounded me in that store were doing, and mindlessly peruse the aisles to fill the emptiness in their lives with crap from the store’s shelves.  Isn’t that why women shop?  To fill a void, a boredom?  To find socialization amongst strangers, with friends?

I overheard these two women complaining that two other members of their party had left the store to step outside. 

“In this heat?!!”

“It’s because they don’t look…there’s so much to look at!”

Their disdain at their friends was interesting, these women were offended that their two friends didn’t find interest in shopping; they were irritated that the other women valued sitting in the summer sun over inside a incandescently lit box that shelved crap with which to fill their home.

I sort of laughed and sort of sighed with sadness at this.  Their irritation was fueled by something so petty, a fight brewing over literally nothing.  These women probably have all they want in life, a home, friends, family who surrounds them, that they can’t imagine a world bigger in which those family and friends couldn’t be at their side.  So their minds have the room to pick petty fights and make something out of the most insignificant differences of opinion.

Is ignorance bliss?

I once said that it is: that we fat, overspending Americans have it made, we haven’t a care in the world (and on the whole Americans certainly act like they don’t know the rest of the world exists…), and that is what everyone would love.  But now I criticize this idea.  By going through the same daily routine, we are not challenging ourselves, we are not stepping out of our box.  If all anyone ever cared about was themselves, so much of the world as we know it would not have progressed as it has.  Sure there is always a selfish catalyst, perhaps a scientist’s child has gotten sick or died from a certain disease and that scientist has made it their life’s mission to find a cure.  But the larger picture, the working for a larger good is what advances us technologically, medically…

But individually I wonder if Americans are the way they are because it’s safe.  Do they overeat, overspend because to truly know about the trials of the rest of the world, to truly understand the issues, the hurts that others experience, the knowledge would overwhelm and paralyze…and we would be ineffectual once again.  To cry tears for those far away from us who are nameless, faceless, but we know exist – what exactly does that accomplish?  What exactly can we do that would actually affect change? 

Americans are a large bunch.  Obesity is on the rise.  Weight loss advocates try to tell people to stop emotional eating, to try to find the root cause as to why they are looking for this ‘comfort food’, for this act of eating to mask the pain (or the boredom).  But isn’t that our way of life?  Don’t we just buy, buy, buy to mask the boredom…to refuse ourselves to acknowledge that somewhere in the world there are people who can’t buy to their heart’s content…who don’t have their own homes with which to fill with crap, who don’t have things…things…so many things…

It’s like obesity is ingrained in our way of life here, no wonder it’s on the rise.  Our act of numbing our senses by ignoring the rest is quite possibly a result of our not knowing what to do.  Maybe people do want to be effective; may be we just don’t know how. 

 And then maybe we’ve been doing that for so long that it’s now translated into apathy and literally having ‘not a care in the world’.

I forgot what it was like.

There were nights when I was miserable.  I was lonely and sad.  And missed home.

But i was surrounded by friends, and a totally new experience.  And I did enjoy myself, but I missed home.

It’s as simple as that.

And now that I am home, I can’t believe how unspecific I was.

I sat at my kitchen table today, and finally remembered the feeling I get whenever I’m sitting at the table and I hear the keys in the door.

And looking out the window and watching the cars pass by.

And the feeling of when the family pets puts their paws on me while they let me hand feed them.

I forgot all that, the details.

But I knew it was there.

Which leads me to believe the sad truth.

I will forget Hong Kong.

I won’t forget in theory, but I will forget the specifics.

I will forget the grimy shower and the annoying Brit kids who kept stealing our food.

I will forget the humid walk up the hill that upon arrival to my room, made me tear off my clothes and step into the shower in four seconds flat.

I will forget the heat of the sun during the rallys, and the pride I felt when the media would take pictures of my friends, and interview my people, and ask them their opinions.

I will forget sitting in Chater Garden, feeling hot and sweaty and muggy.

I will forget feeling sometimes lonely, but then feeling sometimes thankful that I’m surrounded by people who care about me…why did they care about me?  I only knew them for…a total of two months.  They cared about me within minutes.  What causes that?

I will forget being bored at work, and feeling like my time was being wasted.

I will forget listening to Adora and having her pour her heart out to me.

I will forget sitting in a group, and only ‘sort of’ understanding the conversation.

I will forget Diego, Teresa, Marta, Marcel.  I will forget our laughter.  Our discussions.  Our web of support.

But at least they’re coming to NY with me.

Sadly I will forget Malou, Crisselda, Loi, Ateng and Jan.  I will forget their immediate sisterhood, and their love.  I might forget their love.

I forgot the books on our shelves, the pictures in the frames.

I forgot the magazines in the basket, and the soap on the counter.

I forgot the hardwood floors and the pillows on the couch.

I forgot the mailbox, the taking something out of the mailbox.

I forgot so much.

I forgot the walk through the kitchen then the dining room then up to the den.

I forgot the backyard, and the patio furniture.

I forgot my music stand, and my chin rest, and my rosin.

And as much as I am weeping with having remembered now; I am weeping that I will never go back.  Even if I did it wouldn’t be the same.  It may not be anyway. My friends are migrant workers after all, their work may bring them elsewhere.

And my heart cries harder because I think that

they do this.

They go to Hong Kong like I did

they miss their homes and their families and their friends like I did

they come home to visit and see their homes and their families and friends like I did

but then they go back to Hong Kong for another couple of years.

Like i don’t.

They will leave their mothers, fathers, siblings, spouses…they will leave them again out of necessity.

And here I am swearing I’ll never leave home for this long again…

What do they think of their interns, if they just look at them like summer help and send them away, waiting for the next batch of free help.  Perhaps they see them as more of a nuisance, like children who need to be spoon fed, awaiting instruction.

He said to me

Our interns, they might be our next advocates.  We hope for that, we strive for that.  That in the future they will be our allies and fight for our cause and for our campaign.  And even if they can’t be here campaigning for us, then maybe they’ll be able to do good work elsewhere, wherever they go.

And I fall in love with them all over again.

She’s the one who told me about her husband, that after nearly 20 years of working abroad to provide for their family, he has left her for another woman.  Curse him.

So I told her yesterday that I was leaving soon, that I’m going to miss them, are they going to miss me, I joked.  Of course, she says.  And she asks where my husband is and whether or not I’ve missed him.  Yes, a lot, I’ll be glad to be going home to finally be with him, I say.  And then she tells me.

She tells me, wow, so you understand, you know what it’s like to miss your husband and your family and your home.  Now multiply that times so much more, can you imagine – you’ve only been here for so short and you miss home so much.  Now think of us, that we will be missing home for so much longer.  You are one of us, she tells me, because you are migrating as well.  But you’re lucky to be going home.

I still don’t really know what they think of me.  I know these women have a lot of love to give, that they are full of energy and life, and smiles and laughter.  But I don’t know what they make of me.  Or if they even care.  Perhaps they just see me as I am, as a friend.  Do they read into me more than that?  Should they?

You’re a migrant too, she told me.  You understand.

Part of me is flattered and triumphant that she identifies with me, that she can draw similarities to our stories.  But on the notion that I actually understand what it’s really like for these modern day  heroes…do I?  Do I understand?