US Presidential Elections: It's All Foreign Policy

U.S. PRESIDENTIAL elections.

     What American voters must dig in deeper is Washington's ever-intensifying relationship with global economy/regional security, especially that Uncle Sam's European allies are in disarray. World Bank and IMF are virtually penniless and tempest roars on the streets.

     Historically, most US presidents devote more energy while on campaign trail on domestic issues than overseas—but about a year or two after they are elected, they seem to focus an ever increasing amount of time to the rest of the world. The Balkans consumed Bill Clinton. George W. Bush launched two wars. Barack Obama paid much attention on revamping counter-terrorism policies, rebalancing priorities on the Pacific Rim, prosecuting a war in Libya, and wiping out Osama bin Laden.

     Without spending too much rhetoric on foreign policy, it is apparent that both candidates' tactical teams are looking beyond the West: Asia, Southeast Asia, South America. They have reasons to be wary. The playing field has become tight in the past few years. China has emerged big like the proverbial dragon, Russia launches huge stakes in Antarctica's melting icebergs for oil etc etc. India and Brazil—and most Southeast Asian countries—have muddled bidding for the world's factories with China and Russia.

NOTWITHSTANDING President Obama's campaign pledges to fix the economy, few weeks following his proclamation in 2008/9, he embarked on a trade mission to China—for obvious reasons. Apparently, such gesture didn't manifest into good tidings. Hence these days, as Mr. Obama runs for re-election, he takes on tougher line toward Beijing...

     The White House has filed two major cases in the past three months against China at the World Trade Organization. On the same day as the latest trade action, Defense Secretary Leon E. Panetta announced plans in Tokyo to help Japan deploy a new missile-defense system, which has aroused suspicion in Beijing.

     Then figure this out: Why did Washington gave a no-visa policy to Taiwan—a privilege that China doesn't enjoy although the Chinese is tops in terms of bringing in tourism money to the US. Washington has, time and again, rejected the suggestion that the United States was pursuing a cold-war-style containment of China... Let's wait and see. Meantime, we have to ask: Why is it there are renewed war exercises in South Pacific—at a time of Chinese “bullying” in contested islands in South China Sea?

BUT hold up, let us also look into how the presidentiables stand on North Korea, Iran, Mexico (it is NOT an illegal immigrant perch, it is an important economic partner), Colombia's drug wars, Libya (remember, Libya is an OPEC power), Afghanistan (take Kabul out, then worry about your next medication/pills--this country is a pharmaceutical minefield).

     Not Obama or Romney have presented credible or consistent stand on these matters, as yet. Americans can't just say, "Let's just look within." Whatever Washington decides on outside and beyond affect America's smallest town and biggest cities. Look what happened when Bill Clinton got China into WTO in the 1990s...

     If the 1 percent/Wall Street pushes for Russia, India and Brazil in re factory/outsourcing alternatives besides China and Southeast Asia, expect recession to go worst than the Great Depression. But then, we are all numbed by apps, FB, tweets, and Smartphones, so it's dim.

MOREOVER, I don't get the point why Romney/Obama (esp. Mitt) had to harp on education and the middle class. Education? College grads are waiting and bussing tables and cleaning houses just to pay rent. So Massachusetts made good in educating its youths under Romney? But for what? Where are the jobs that levels with such good education? Even Harvard scholars are caught cheating...

     And the middle class? They are living on their beat up sedans. History says many exodus to America for greener pastures... But the US has become simply a place to hang out and chill place for the contemporary rich (check Chinese and Brazilian tourist data in NYC alone in the last 4 years)--while brilliant Americans leave families and fly to Saipan or Hongkong or Guangzhou province to supervise workers. The world order has tilted.

     America has more than ever couldn't survive without its allies. Whoever wins in the coming election, must convince his constituency that life and living will improve drastically—because Washington is adapting a more decisive stance in regards foreign policy.

Traveling Bonfires presents 
“PEACE IS A FLOWER” 
SEPT 11 (Tues), 8 to 11 PM, 
with James McKay (from England), Laura Hope-Gill, Caleb Beissert, Pasckie Pascua, and Aaron Price. 

Battery Park Book Exchange & Champagne Bar, 

1 Page Avenue, Asheville

FACEBOOK EVENTS PAGE: https://www.facebook.com/events/416291915094197/?notif_t=plan_user_invited

“POETRY CABARET” 
at The Altamont Theater, SEPT 2: 
WITH: James McKay (emcee), David Hopes, Griffin Payne, Caleb Beissert, Eric Steineger, Pasckie Pascua, Jeremy Rice, Barbie Angell, Kevin Evans, Ekua Adisa, Mike Cook. Music by Aaron Price 
and Vendetta Crème.

FACEBOOK EVENTS PAGE: https://www.facebook.com/events/1623753694430086/?notif_t=plan_edited

MY UPCOMING GIGS, as featured poet

[1] JULY 24 (Tuesday), 9 to 11 PM

with Caleb Beissert, Aaron Price, and Sarah Phoenix Noel

Battery Park Book Exchange 
and Champagne Bar

1 Page Avenue, Asheville, NC 28801
(828) 252-0020

Part of “Peace is a Flower” Summer 2012 Gig Series

[2] AUG 8 (Wednesday), 

8 to 10 PM.

Mind Gravy Poetry, produced by Al Black

Drip Coffee, 729 Saluda Ave at Five Points, Columbia, SC
Part of his "Red is the Color of my Night" road gigs for summer of 2012

INQUIRY: Catherine Durner Ball, 828 252 7798 or Marta Osborne, 828 280 1555,

or email pasckie@yahoo.com

INFO: http://ashevilletravelingbonfires.blogspot.com/ http://www.mountainx.com/ae/2010/041410traveling_bonfires_unpacks_for_pritchard_park/

http://www.mountainx.com/article/8410/Playing-with-Bonfires

https://www.facebook.com/asheville.travelingbonfires

Love on Credit

THERE’s a certain disturbing parallelism how we wade along an acquired credit card/financial loan culture and current way of life—with the manner in which we have come to regard love (primitive, pristine kind of love) and try to sustain a relationship. It sort of feeds each other, in some absurd yet socially-acceptable way… 

     In our quest for life’s comfort and convenience in pursuit of happiness, we buy in to a “give me some good stuff now and I’ll pay you later” ticket that has been sold to us the moment we sign up as member of society. It seems to be the most normal, smartest, and reasonable way to live a life—a social contract that is facilitated by a bank or any societal/community edifice that is erected and fueled by corporate profit.
      Problem is, we are, most often than not, unaware or oblivious of the longevity or future of our capability to pay—since, like addiction, we savor the moment and disregard what’s up next. “Next” is taken care of by a job arrangement that is as shaky as an unpredictable weather, or some inheritance money or business savings that could dwindle in time as inflation and recession hits reality check. Although bigger acquisitions (cars, business capital, houses, education) take 15 to 20 years of nonstop payment, the enticement of present comfort and convenience that these acquisitions offer is stronger. We want these amenities and luxuries now, so we got them on a mouse click—yet we don’t really own them, yet… We have to work hard to fully own them later.

IN LOVE, we know we feel it when it happens—we have it inside. We know it’s reality within than without.

     Despite current studies that say lesser people show interest in marriage or committed relationships, majority of single people—61 percent, according to Pew Research—still hope to get hitched and savor matrimonial bliss. We all want to hold on to love.
     Last Valentine’s Day, consumer expenditures reached almost $18 billion, according to a National Retail Federation finding—up 8.5 percent from 2011. A Time article, citing business and academic sources, estimate that an average of 220,000 wedding proposals are pronounced on Valentine’s Day each year (10 percent of the annual total in just one day). And that, 70 percent of singles said they wouldn’t mind a blind date for the occasion.
     Meantime, romantic fiction accounts for more than $1 billion annually in US sales. Harlequin—the brand name alias for romance novels—sells more than four books each second. Many are still gasping over Stephenie Meyer’s silly vampires in love and whoever The Bachelor or The Bachelorette chooses as his/her longtime mate…
     But LOVE is not a daydream, reality TV, or Shakespeare’s sonnets. We want a piece of that good stuff—and we want it to last, we want to touch and feel it. Love has to enter into a social/human “contract,” or a relationship (partnership, marriage) to be able to, at least, acquire a semblance of holding on to love.
     Pretty much the same way we treat material acquisitions—we try our best to find the man/woman of our dreams on the get go. We have to be sure that the person we want to coexist with under one roof, and build a family with—is also financially capable of paying back what both acquired, or help both enter into more acquisitions to make life “more convenient.”

HENCE, we keep on looking—and we prefer convenience and accessibility, as well, in terms of finding the right partner. Dating sites—which number an estimated 1,500 with a projected net worth of $2.1 billion, based on recent figures—offer that user-friendly service. There are about 54 million singles in the US, and some 5.5 million of those use dating services. Smartphone users spend on average 81 minutes using mobile apps compared to only 74 minutes on the web.
     You see, even finding love and relationship is tied up to business—hence, finding lovers and spouses has got to be business-like, too. But aren’t relationships—and love—like life, an interactive flow of reflex/response that is nourished and nurtured as two people work around it? Compromises and negotiations, patience and tolerance, synergy and teamwork. Isn’t happiness/good living and love/relationships working projects that are built and fortified as both work around the bittersweets and rollercoasters of life? That life and love aren’t gift-wrapped packages—signed, sealed, delivered—and all figured out?
     The financial burden of living has gone too steep to climb, too high to hurdle, that the only way to make sense of life is to find someone who is physically/materially capable of bailing us out of what we have acquired. Sadly, when we meet that life’s partner who’s financially capable—we often go on acquiring more…
     So where do we place LOVE in that context—that ridiculous itch, swashbuckling idiocy, unreasonable insistence—that make us all human, when focus has shifted to paying bills and loans and we are frantically working for the money like there’s no tomorrow? Love needs time and attention, beyond the constraints of hours spent and dollars paid, far from the limits of gilded four walls. It is difficult indeed, given the circumstances that seem to entrap us, but there is always a way. We just have to start somewhere, somehow. It is on how two people in love talk about it, if they have ample time for those moments, that is. And if they do have time, the next ultimate move is... Just do it: Give love the chance to regain its bearings and be the way it is--for two people's lives. Love can wait, but not for long. It doesn't pause when it decides to stop--unconsummated, unattented love dies a natural death.

THE JEREMY LIN STORY: Race, Business, Game, Himself, and New York City

“IF Jeremy Lin were of Italian, Greek, or other European descent, there likely would not have been a comparable article speculating about this topic.” –A post in NYTimes message board.

In response, let me elaborate on Jeremy Lin:

(1) HIS RACE: Look back in time, the “firsts” in competitive sports, in terms of hurdling the racial barrier in white America—Sugar Ray Robinson, Jackie Robinson, Jesse Owens, and most recently, Tiger Woods (golf) and the Williams sisters (tennis), who excelled in sports games that were once dominated by whites (whether they were Irish, English, German, Italian, Swedish, Australian etc). Jeremy Lin is the first legitimate Asian-American sports personality who actually created such a tremor of an impact. It’s uprecedented, it’s new, it’s novelty. Imagine if there are 15 other Asian-American superstar millionaires in NBA, would people be this Linsane? There’s Ichiro Suzuki, Daisuke Matsuzaka, Tim Lincecum (and the upcoming Yu Darvish) in baseball, Troy Polamalu in football, and Manny Pacquiao in boxing—but Lin, so far, is a lot more than his game of basketball. For one, he is Taiwanese or Chinese descent: We are talking about the most gargantuan heap of humanity on Earth—who, whether we are happy or not, kind of controls the world’s economy at this point in time. When the Chinese of the Universe yell “LIN!” expect a tsunami.

(2) THEIR BUSINESS: Time Warner and MSG fixed their quarrel in the name of cable TV profit, all NBA arenas that Linsanity visits posts record-highs in attendance, sale of shirts and merch is simply Linsane (there’s even one dude who just moved to copyright“Linsanity” as trademark), and VOILA! Chinese all over the globe are watching like the kid is their biological kid—Asia bought TV/NBA coverage rights in all Knicks games, which means moolah generated from this hoopla is even bigger than the Super Bowl. And corporate America is just warming up.

(3) HIS GAME: It all boils down to his game. Lin can play ball, no doubt. He is a multi-tasker: he shoots, passes, steals, rebounds—and he’s only 6’3” and 200 lbs. He is not the typical ball-hog or selfish ball player, he makes his teammates look good as well. He turns the ball over quite frequently—it’s primarily because he’s all over the court most time (more than 36 mins per game), handles the ball 80 percent of the way, and takes more risks than the average point guard. More than all, he wins games. When he was given the nod to take the floor by his coach, he almost single-handedly put New York Knicks back in a winning pace from a badly-losing situation.

(4) HIMSELF as PLAYER: His rise to stardom is an enticing and intriguing Hollywood feelgood blockbuster. After receiving no athletic scholarship offers out of high school and being undrafted out of college, the 2010 Harvard University (Economics) graduate reached a partially guaranteed contract deal later that year with his hometown Golden State Warriors. Lin seldom played in his rookie season and was assigned to the National Basketball Development League (D-League) three times. He was waived by Golden State and the Houston Rockets the following pre-season before joining the Knicks early in the 2011-12 season. He was again assigned to the D-League and continued to play sparingly. In February 2012, he unexpectedly led a winning streak by New York while being promoted to the starting lineup.

[5] HIMSELF as HIMSELF: He has sterling humility—a trait that is not usually seen in most superstar athletes these days. He doesn’t trash talk, he acknowledges God and his teammates before he even mentions his achievements on a particular game. Before he shot to prominence, he was crashing in his bro and friend’s couches—since he wasn’t even sure if his non-guaranteed contract will amount to anything. That was about two weeks ago. He is the ideal role model: Modest beginnings, immigrant dreamer, accomplished academic background, God-fearing, humility/determination/perseverance/hard work, exceptional ball player. No wonder, people from 5 to 75—irrelevant of color, creed, culture and social standing—come out to join Linsanity. He is the personification of the Great American Dream, especially at these times when the Dream seems to be fleeting away…

[6] NEW YORK CITY. Linsanity happened and is happening in New York City, the grand stage of America’s insane love affair for bombastic melodrama, boisterous fanfare, and magnificent corporate brawn.

An Open Letter to my Son (and the world) on Occasion of Christmas...

“IT’s been more than a decade since I stopped believing in Christmas. I am puzzled in the fact that my dad runs through the metro early every 24th to buy every kind of toy he could fit into his tightly budgeted salary, stuff them all in a huge bag made of raggedy cloth, park them in our front door and finally knock at exactly 12 midnight—only to pretend in front of his kids (and even to himself, perhaps) that it was Santa Claus who brought all those gifts… I do not believe in it, but Christmas might mean everything to storm-stricken families. Tonight, what are they going to have? That question, I admit, struck me deeply today.” [--excerpt from my son DUANE’s Facebook post. Manila, Philippines]

DEAR SON,

The beauty and wisdom in being children is BELIEF, just because… Because kids believe in Santa Claus—their dads and moms believe in them, too. But that “belief” in Santa, isn’t really about Santa—it’s about belonging, love, joy, acceptance, being there, being “saved”…

     What could’ve happened if you didn’t believe in Santa, in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, in the thought that dogs and chimps actually can talk (yes, you did believe in those)—then you could’ve felt my pain. I could’ve handed you my sorrows because you understood those—you become my sounding board, my punching bag, my blues comrade. It’s all because our “realities” were one.

     But no, you deserved a break—you deserved some peace, you needed to play. I was happy that whenever there’s chance to frolic and have fun, you did. Each time a hiphop song came out of the radio, you went bouncing like rubber ball wherever we were: our tiny living room, my work place, jeepney and bus, moviehouse aisle, you were unstoppable. Funny that when that horrid July 1990 earthquake was rocking the `hood, you thought gods were dancing up in the sky. You exclaimed: “Gods will be done dancing soon, Papa…”

     Or what if, I told you, those rap lyrics were bad and violent, and maybe Batman was misogynistic or sexist? And Superman was a capitalist devil who invaded so many poor planets for their fancy pineapples and gold nuggets? Maybe you will understand me? Or will you simply resign in the corner (in the dark, like I was when I was 5), and weep because there’s no one to call a hero anymore? That all that I could share you were bad news? What if I simply handed you a grown up world’s bitter pill and said, “Hey son, this life sucks! Let’s be angry, you and me. Swallow this pill, you got no choice.”

     Your lolo always said that I was the most questioning, doubting child he had: I questioned many things when I was a kid—why a transistor talks, a car runs, an airplane flies, my mom weeps, my dad was always gone, the sky pours rain, the sea is endless, why my dad was always fighting with aunt about an ancestral house, why six kids share one Ligo sardines and one kid throws away pork chops to his dogs, why everybody hates Marcos when Imelda says “All Filipinos are my children”? Because of that, I felt the pain, and it tormented almost most of my childhood—I couldn’t understand the world of grownups. Why were they always complaining about stuff, and the only way that they could settle differences was to fight first?

     My dad or mom never gave me answers, or responses that would’ve satisfied my child’s mind. So I sought out my superheroes for sufficient answers. I found the time to find my Santas—my superheroes: Buck (the dog in Jack London’s books), Batman, Spiderman, Sgt Saunders (in “Combat”), Huck and Finn, Charlie Brown, the sirena (mermaid) and Darna, my komiks heroes. At a time, when I saw many children starving and dying in typhoon areas while politicians feasted in the palace, and barrios were bombed because tribes didn’t want to leave their land, I found solace in the thought that there might be superheroes who’d save these kids.

     And when I became a dad, I made it a point to share toys and burgers from my meager salary to/with these impoverished kids in “da riles” and squatter areas every time I brought you and your sisters your “pasalubongs.” Those poor kids called me “Ka Pasckie,” and it was like I was a savior to their days… and I believed I was Ka Pasckie all my life, like some superhero.  And it felt good to be one at a time when heroes were all washed away by monsoon rains and swept to oblivion by typhoon floods.

    So my son, it’s okay to be cynical because it gives you an other vantage view of life, the grim version of reality. But it’s also okay to believe. Balance keeps us sane, balance makes us write poetry or paint or craft a song. Artists are dreamers and realists that find peace in their work—it balances them, hence they survive. Because if they couldn’t—as did Van Gogh, Hemingway, Woolf, Plath, Cobain etc etc… their world will cave in. I was far from being those guys, but my world almost “caved in” in 1995—and I “died.”

     I wasted myself because I thought life was so real, so fucking painful that I couldn’t take it anymore. But why did I choose to call out loud to God (“If you are true, and you are such divine and superhero, fucking make me live again—because my kids believe in me, they need me, and I don’t want to go unhappy. Just make me live again, please!”)—God was my superhero and he/she made me live again because I wanted to be Santa knocking at the door on our Christmas eves again, or stay a Ka Pasckie in squatters areas. I wanted to share my little superhero-ness to the world…

     BELIEVE that it’s possible, my son. It’s okay to dream…

     Where do I find wisdom in life? In those poor typhoon areas: each calamity, these poor humanity weep—the truth cut them to pieces, they weep until no tears are left to shed… but on Christmas days and fiestas, they celebrate like there’s no tomorrow. They exalt life’s little blessings like a sack of rice or a small hand-me-down shoes or a toy actually came from superheroes and Santas who will be gone by the time the first rain comes down in July… And when the next devastation happens, they will take it—but when they survive, they will celebrate again.

     In an affluent country like America, most stopped believing, or we have become more cynical. We suspect control, abuse, and manipulation in all fronts. We stopped believing that there is a God… in saints, in Santas, in the beautiful pristineness of the past, in “politically incorrect” characters, in heroes real or imagined—we only believe in what we can touch but not those that we can feel… Hence we are sadder than the wounded but smiling and laughing humanity in 7,107 islands back home who still believe that some superhero will blow out of a bleeding rainbow and save them from misery—even for a day, a Christmas, a fiesta. They believe no matter how crazy things are…

     Believe, my son—because if we don’t, that dude that knocks at the front door on Christmas eve will not be a jolly old grandpa in red with a bagful of gifts—but a grim reaper with a box of misery. The world needs a break sometimes, and Christmas is the time to hang out and chill.

     Stay cool! Happy Christmas!

--PAPA

Asheville/Candler, North Carolina