On people I meet

Sometimes you meet people who make an impression.

This week I met one of the Presidents I am writing my PhD on. Jimmy Carter, even at 90, is still working hard, and thus spends a fair amount of time at the Carter Center in Atlanta. However, for a researcher to catch a glimpse of him is still a rare treat. I didn't speak to him, but must admit I was rather starstruck by his mere presence in the cafeteria where he, like everybody else, queued to have a 4 dollar lunch.

Despite the central role Carter plays in my current work, however, he was only one of the people I've met recently that I will remember for life.

Today I met some guy whose name I didn't catch. I frequently don't catch names here, even when people introduce themselves. The Southern accent is foreign to me, and it often takes me a while to figure out what I understood from what people were saying - a lot of it gathered from context rather than a direct comprehension of the actual words uttered - and names tend to disappear in this process (besides, I am notoriously bad at names. Faces, I remember. Names, never held much importance to me anyway).

Anyway. I was trying to catch a bus. At the bus stop, I was approached by Some Guy. Had it been in Norway, I would have shied away from a conversation. But having been in the U.S. for a few weeks, the last of which in the South, the local social code is starting to rub off on me. I've progressed from small talk to conversations with random strangers (side note: Random Stranger at a zebra crossing the other day - he commented on my t-shirt. It's a Harry Potter shirt, with a big, Hogwarts logo on it. He asked me where I'd bought it, and I said London. He was all impressed that I'd been to London - not yet having realized that I wasn't American, presumably. "You speak any French at all, then?" he asked. I could have pointed out to him that this was a rather strange question to ask after having learnt that I had visited the British capital, but instead I just shook my head, wished him a good day upon the turn of the lights and our departure to the other side of the street, and made a mental note that it was far more important to appreciate the fact that we had this nice little talk than to point out to him his obvious lack of geography skills).

- so conversations with random strangers - and with this new social code guiding my conduct I've talked to everyone from grocery store clerks to the hobo in the park I pass each morning (he just wanted to know if there was a fee to go see the Jimmy Carter museum. I told him I believed it was, but that the grounds were free of charge, and beautiful, so well worth the walk).

Thus, talking to Some Guy at the bus stop wasn't all that strange for me anymore. And I am glad I did.

This was a man with a storage of stories, and the key to open them all at once was simply being an active listener. I learnt all kinds of interesting things about the city of Atlanta, the specific area of Atlanta I'm staying in, African-American history, the Democratic party, and about Some Guy himself. He gave me pointers about things I should see before I leave, showed me a picture with him and Obama (who recently visited the area, apparently), and even shared his hotwings with me. When the bus finally arrived (it was very late, due to a lot of traffic over a Barnes & Noble booksigning with Google later informed me was a YouTube phenomenon - there were crying teenage girls queuing all around the block for YouTube Guy), he told me to pay attention to the driver, as she was a character all of her own.

She was. Talking to herself, yelling at traffic, and making conversation with the passengers made for an entertaining bus ride as well. "What's that guy doing in the Mustang?? Oh, noooo, you didn't!!!" I probably would have given up on the bus without Some Guy, It was worth the wait.

When I go home in less than a week I'll be glad to retract back into my Norwegian shell, where we don't make conversation with strangers unless absolutely forced to, and where the only small talk you make on a bus would be to ask the passenger next to you to let you out if they haven't already noticed all the subtle non-verbal signs you've given them the last minute or so (most do. In all my years of using public transportation in Oslo, I've probably only had to ask about five to ten times, if that).

Until, then, however, I am glad to have been let out of my shell for a while. It makes for good stories. It makes me appreciate the world. It makes interesting things happen, and it makes me learn things I otherwise would have never known.

I was startstruck when I saw President Carter, but most of my time here I've been struck with awe of the extraordinariness of ordinary people.

On LBJ

We meet again, old vague acquaintance.

I never did get the hang of you last time.

Your entry into the White House was sudden, unexpected, tragic. It was inevitable for you to end up in Jack's shadow. History didn't change that.

Your domestic experience gave you no credit among students of diplomatic history. Whatever foreign policy you led, we usually accounted to your predecessor's memory. Besides, your foreign policy = Vietnam.

You are little more than a footnote in books about U.S. policy in the Middle East, and he only thing really worth mentioning is your strong support for the State of Israel (but then this isn't exactly unique among American presidents).

You are said to be one of the main inspirations behind Kevin Spacey's character in "House of Cards" (along with King Richard III of England). Good for you.

Your name. Lyndon! It sounds like a character from a 1950s superhero comic (though no the hero. Not the villain either, I think. The jury is still out). The only U.S. politician sounding more like a superhero comic character is Spiro Agnew. You can't beat that.

You did leave a legacy in domestic politics. But I don't study domestic politics.

You're from Texas. Which called for another footnote in the books about U.S. policy in the Middle East, as you were already accustomed to deal with oil companies. So no need to mention that part of your foreign policy either.

Your wife is called Lady Bird. That is all.

You share initials with your wife (and your daughters, and your dog), though I think it would be much more entertaining if you also shared her middle name. Lyndon Bird Johnson makes you sound even more like a character from a superhero comic (though still not the hero).

We were never friends. I don't think that will change this time either. But perhaps I might get to know you a little better, at least?

I am not sure how I feel about that.

On words to the wiser*

"It is important to note that..." doesn't meant that something is important.

"I have fixed every edit you suggested" doesn't mean that no more edits are required (or even that you actually fixed what I suggested).

"I've been ill the last three days before the deadline" isn't an acceptable excuse for not having used the previous thirty days before that, also included in your deadline.

"I don't know how to improve this text" is not a cue for me to jump in with a cure.






*Note: in this case I am myself the wiser. Or the unwiser. Or at least the person in need of taking my own advice. By admitting this I am, of course, in no way suggesting that there might not also be others in need of taking this advice...

On 2012 (part two)

I know, I know, it's 2013 by now. But before I get used to writing that, I figured it was time to take another look back. Last time I did this, at the end of 2011, I was under the impression that I was barely left standing on my feet in a world that was spinning too fast for comfort (but at the same time, in a slightly interesting manner). I had experienced so much that I barely had time to update the blog, and my life felt turned upside-down. Looking back it felt like the events of that year would be life- and personality altering, and that it wasn't the same Cruella waking up in the morning at the end of 2011 as had done so at the end of 2010.

Maybe it wasn't. But the Cruella waking up at the beginning of 2013 feels familiar. Like I know her. Like we've met before. In 2010, perhaps. Because, even though I believed my 2011 was going to change me for life, I am starting to believe I'm slowly drifting back to my old self. For better and for worse.

Let me explain (or at least try).

The past year I've probably met more challenges that I ever have at once before in my life, including the epicness that was 2011. If I hoped for a peaceful 2012 to get me back down after crazy 2011, I was disappointed. 2012 was the year of the new job (that nearly killed me), the new boyfriend (that kept me alive), 1 1/2 new living arrangements (don't ask), lots of new people (possibly matching that of 2011 too), of countless emotional rollercoasters, of the loss of a loved one and having several others falling ill, of having various heath problems myself (including my first ever ride in an ambulance), and - as a result of all of this - learning how to share both good and bad things (the latter being something I often prefer keeping to myself as to not seem "weak" - I'm still learning, obviously).

Basically, things happened in 2012 too!

But even though the events of 2012 in many ways were probably more life-altering for me than those of 2011, in retrospect, they still seem mellow in comparison. The 2012s were slow events. They built up over time. They didn't wake me up in the middle of the night and made me check a website if the impact was 5.0 or more on the Richter magnitude scale. I don't question the magnitude of falling in love or having a stressful job, but both of those things came to me gradually, with considerable "warnings" ahead.

Also, when I in 2011 occasionally felt I had so much to blog about I couldn't keep up with it (resulting in a somewhat uneven year blog wise), 2012 frequently left me feeling the opposite (which should explain the relatively even non-posting of the past twelve moons). Writing about living the exciting life in Tokyo is one thing, but how do you blog about everyday life at home without it turning into "Today I made dinner for my boyfriend. He said he enjoyed it"...?

Obviously I could blog about other things than everyday life - I've been known to do so in the past - but in that department too the inspiration seemed to fail me. Given that my job was so "mind consuming" in many ways, I had little space left after having read about popes and kings and important historians. And I had absolutely no urge to blog about said popes and kings and important historians.

So I didn't. Again and again I didn't.

Now, it's not like I have a goal of being the most prolific blogger. As such, the frequency of posts here is irrelevant. But having the material, inspiration and ability to blog is something I'd like to keep, thankyouverymuch. I'd rather have time being the constraint than anything else. "Excuse me, but I'm too fabulous and  busy to blog" has a better ring to it than "Sorry, my job and everyday life is sort of uninteresting to write about".

(Mark the importance of the words "to write about" in the above sentence. My life isn't uninteresting, to me. But I am currently having a hard time translating the parts of it I find interesting into words and sentences I'd feel comfortable flying around the interwebs with my name tied to them...)

((I suppose the task ahead is to find a neat balance between making my life itty bit more interesting and figuring out how to write it in a way that makes it more interesting still...))

Anyway, the strangest thing is that in spite of this feeling of "why have I nothing interesting to write?" I find that I don't really mind all that much. It might be a well-known secret to most, but to me this came as news: boring isn't necessarily boring! I find that in real life I cherish these things I can't find an interesting angle for blog-wise. I like making dinner for my boyfriend when he says he enjoys it. I like having a job, and an income, even if I at times have wondered if it was too much (but then the achievement feels all the greater afterwards). I don't like grief and illness and emotional rollercoasters, but I realize that they are a part of life and perhaps they make you grow just as much (albeit in very different ways) as disaster and turmoil.

The lesson from 2011 was that I'd discovered a whole new side of myself. If anything I think 2012 has shown me how the new side fits with the old me, and made me realize that perhaps I didn't change so much after all.

At least, that is what I think now. Perhaps come the start of 2014 everything will be different, again.

In terms of resolutions I am still not making any (even if my old "fill in the blanks"-ones were handy). But there are things I'd like to do, goals I'd like to fulfill, as always. Still, a whole year feels like too big of a unit to digest at once. Maybe this year I should make it my goal to take one day at the time? Who knows, that might even make for a more interesting blog year too...

On construction - a manifesto

"We construct history."

My current employment force me to think about such things on a daily basis. The idea is that the questions asked  will make my students think about issues they previously (possibly) have taken for granted. In reality, I suspect I'm the one learning the most from the experience. The students are goal-oriented; they have to be, given that they will need to pass their exams when the time comes. I am also eager to have them pass the exam, but I feel that in addition I have an agenda which is to not have an agenda. Studying with the
freedom to roam through personal experience in a field that has become mine with time - it's powerful.

Nevertheless, an agenda is constructed as I realize the more I learn of these things, the more insecure I become. Because, I realize, for the first time - really, properly - I am reflecting over what my field really is. What is history?

"History is not identical with the past, nor a reflection of it. The past is what we study; history is how we interpret the past."

It's my history, because I'm the one studying it. Certainly, there are limitations, and still a tendency to strive towards wie es eigentlich gewesen, even if we long since accepted that we can never completely know exactly what happened in the past. But we try to present it in ways that are as close to what you might call a "truth" (with all the limitations that term entails) as possible. We try not to invent or make up history, even if we do construct it.

I've constructed as different histories as modern Norwegian foreign policy, medieval political thought and current Middle Eastern conflict this semester. I'm working hard to tie them all to the ultimate history for a historian: why are we studying this? Why is this important? Why is history important (especially given that you just told us that we construct it, Ms. Teacher...)?

Why is history important?

It is easier, perhaps, to answer such a question in mode negative: why is not knowing history a bad thing?

A shameful and terrible accusation, that, being denominated "unhistorical" (historieløs). Having no concept of background and context, not realizing the importance of such things.

At the same time - doesn't it sound almost liberating, not having to take in the grievances of times past, simply worrying about the contemporary? Perhaps a certain unhistoricalness would be exactly what could solve troubles in well-known conflicts worldwide? What wold happen in the Middle East if no one knew what have already happened there? Can we learn from history? It doesn't seem that way. Can it aggravate us to make the same mistakes over and over again? Well... Maybe.

It is all too easy for historians, when pondering such questions, to end up without a backbone in the skeleton of our own profession. We're left with a pile of bones and no idea how to stitch them back together. Can we even call ourselves a science? Is there anything we can know for sure? Is history important?



Lesigh. Yes. Yes, it's important. Perhaps especially because we doubt ourselves. And definitely because we construct it. Certainly because - and despite - the fact that it is difficult to answer the question "why is it important?".

Everyone knows, intuitively, that history is important. Not being able to explain why, exactly, is what drives us ("us", as in "historians") to constantly question ourselves and our own profession, which in turn makes us excellent analysts. We are critical as few (several meanings of the word, yes; pun intended). We pose questions we might never get to answer satisfactorily, but we are nevertheless brave enough to ask them.

The construction of history - whether the interpretation of events past; or "history", the discipline - is key. It is what we need to do. It is what makes history important.


No wonder my students are confused.

On seven years (not in Tibet)

Seven years ago I was 19, soon to-be 20. I was a second-year student at the university, studying International Relations. I had successfully overcome the panicky transition from living at home in my little town, to mastering "big city" life (not that Oslo is *that* big, but compared to my hometown it's not so bad). I'd made friends - two of which I was living with in a shared apartment (still one of the best living arrangements I've experienced). I still visited my parents a lot, and occasionally worked weekend and summer shifts at the local bookstore there, were I'd earned my first wages when I was still in high school. This was at the time when one of my biggest obsessions - the Harry Potter books - still was an obsession.

Seven years ago I did not know that I would spend a considerable amount of the next seven years abroad. I did not know that I'd be privileged enough to meet so many wonderful people; see such amazing things; taste, smell, feel, experience a plethora (and yet a minimal part) of what the world has to offer. I did not know that the people I then knew would in some cases stay with me, some would drift away, and some whose importance I did not realize then are now among those I hold nearest to heart.

Seven years ago I did not know much about the Middle East. I did not realize how an analytic perspective to a historical problem changes the whole concept and our understanding of it. I did not have the same vocabulary I do now, and I did not know how to best employ the words I did have. Ironically, I had more words then in a language I long since have put in the back of my mind - my French is definitely not one of things that have improved during these years.

Seven years ago I was in the middle of a process of redefining myself. Today I am in the middle of a process of redefining myself. I have constantly been in the middle of that process, and I constantly will. It's a never-ending process, and you're always in the middle of it. To paraphrase Dr. Who (whom I'd never heard of seven years ago, whom I've not yet come to appreciate today, but whom I fully expect to have learned to love sometime within the next seven years) : Time is not linear. As a historian (which I had no idea seven years ago I'd denominate myself) it's tricky not to see time as linear. But as a human being, I find it increasingly easy. We do not know when it will end. We do not remember when it started. Everything in between happens with such vigor and surprise that we cannot manage to sort it into the nice, tidy line we'd like time to be. No one shall be able to convince me that the 24 hours spent dreading an exam or an important presentation pass in the same amount of time as the 24 hours in any other given day - even though I rationally know it to be so. Rationality is overrated. I did not know that either, seven years ago.

Seven years is a long time, or a really short one - depending on your perspective. I was a different person back then, at the same time as I haven't really changed. My perspective has changed. My horizon has widened. I've exposed myself to education from both books, travels, and life. I've felt happiness, grief, fear, excitement, anger. I've lived, and I've learned. I hope to continue doing so, because I have no idea what the next seven years have to offer. I am eager to find out.












This post was inspired by a conversation on Facebook where my friend Stacy tried to figure out how long this group of friends had known each other. We met through a Harry Potter fansite (which is no longer active, sadly), and most of us have still only known each other online (though some have gotten together IRL over the years). We were all a little amazed to realize that it's been (approximately) seven years. The thought of everything that's happened since triggered a bit of a stroll down memory lane on my part. My HPANA-peeps are still among those I feel closest to, even though we've never had that much in common except a book series now concluded. Funny how that sometimes is enough to tie people together. Also one thing I've learned these past seven years.

On innocence

The more I think of it

the more I suspect that Innocent III wasn't so innocent at all.

On my desk

...there is a bottle, empty, but it once contained orange juice. No longer. Someone drank the juice. Me, presumably.

On my desk there is also a postcard, blank, but I originally bought it with someone specific in mind. I still look at it from time to time and find a special guilt in my heart. I should write the postcard soon-ish.

There is a telephone, or two, actually. One is my cell phone of five years this fall. It's been with me through a lot - across oceans, through a master's thesis, several jobs. I've had good news and great news and terrible news and oh-well-it's-probably-for-the-best-news handed to me through it. I've heard voices I despise, and voices I love. Texts that have made me cry. Some that made me glow.
The other phone is the land line to the office I currently occupy. It's rarely in use. This morning it nearly startled me to death, as I'm not used to the sound of it. The conversation was comical and irrelevant.

On my desk there is a Starbucks travel mug. Sakura 2011 edition. I bought it sometime in the early spring last year, expecting to actually be able to see the 2011 sakura blossom in Tokyo. Then the earthquake changed my plan. I hold no grudge against the mug, though.

There is a timetable on my desk. It is too full for my liking.

On my desk there is a pair of sunglasses. They long for usage.

On my desk there is a lot of papers. Some of them belong there, some of them really don't. I should take some time to organize them. I probably won't.

A couple of books - history books - open on the pages of "World War Two" are covered with a pair of gloves and a cheerful scarf.

Another pair of sunglasses. They too long for usage.

On my desk there is three pairs of earrings and two regular rings. And then a keyring. With lots of keys on it. Most of them are to my apartment (4), the rest (3) are for a) work; b) my parents' house; and c) and old bike I haven't used for at least ten years. The figurines attached to the keychain are all bought in Japan, but with 8 years in between.

I have three types of lipgloss and/or lipbalm lying around on my desk.

The various equipment for writing include: one keyboard, three ballpoint pens, two pencils - one of them red, three different colours of highlighters, two felt-tip pens, one "gel-ink" marvel.

On my desk there is a watch. It's not working. Benefit: I didn't have to adjust it for daylight saving this weekend.

Post-it notes of at least three different shapes and colours are spread across the desk.

There is a water bottle on my desk.

On my desk there are two fairly good loudspeakers. The problem is that they only work about half the time.

On my desk there is a dead fly. It's been sitting in that exact position since I moved into this office in October.

On Manhattan

I wish I was on Manhattan.

Not just because Norway is exceptionally cold and snowy today, and a vacation would be just what I need at the moment...

Imagine walking down the streets of Manhattan, running into Carrie and Mr. Big. Or maybe you can drop in on some old friends in "Central Perk". Or the more physical Central Park.
There is something about Manhattan - how it is portrayed in popular culture - that paints such an interesting and amazing picture (like the one above). The rest of New York has its merits too, I'm sure, but Manhattan? The home of the rich and beautiful and cool and successful? Who wouldn't dream of going there?


Why, then, did they have to ruin this picture-perfect place with taking its name for one of the biggest atrocities in human history? I am reading up on "The Manhattan Project", and I don't much like what I'm reading. Military-industrial complexes, Big Science, world politics, a quick end to an already too long war - I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that people were willing to develop and construct a weapon that spread into two separate bombs killed 150,000-250,000 - about half of them immediately, and the rest within the next few months. Not to mention the after effects from the radiation. Add to that how nuclear weapons held the world hostage during the next fifty years, and how it is still considered one of the worst threats should it fall into the wrong hands. (Or, as I'm prone to believe - all hands are wrong when it comes to nukes. The question is whether those hands will pull the trigger.)

I know. What a turn this post took. I'm complicated that way.

On old-year resolutions

2011 has been an absolutely crazy year. It feels like it has gone by extremely quickly. At the same time, January must be a decade ago. So much have happened in my life - good things, bad things, meh things, unexpected things, if-you-had-told-me-this-twelve-moons-ago-I-wouldn't-have-believed-it things. I wouldn't define 2011 as a "good" year. Nor a "bad" one. It's been - interesting. Exhausting. Amazing. And many other words that end with -ing.

Now that it is coming to an end, however, it feels appropriate to take a look back. Set the record straight and clean the slate for the new year, so to speak (in mixed and mauled metaphors).

I won't bore you with the details. I've already covered much of it on this blog: Tokyo, work, earthquakes, trauma, Tokyo again, confusing times, wonderful times, back home, OsLove, unemployment, resignation, fresh beginnings. And so on. To save time (and details), however, I thought it might be interesting to look all the way back to the very beginning of this year. To the post titled "On resolutions".

I said I didn't do New Year's Resolutions, and I meant it. In an attempt to make a twist of the ordinary variety of them, though, I did write some:

1) I will do [blank] that I have never done before.

2) I will strive to stop [blank], and begin [blank].

3) I will [blank] without [blank].

I can honestly say I've met them all. Some several times. And I didn't see it coming.

At the start of 2011, I had no idea what sort of year I'd have. Fortunately. I probably wouldn't have been able to handle it.

At the end of 2011, though, I am glad that I did handle it, or at least survive it. That I got to face all the life lessons I've earned this year. That both good and bad things happened, and that they mixed together most likely will make 2011 stand out as the most extraordinary year of my life (so far). In terms of personal growth, I wouldn't be without it - any of it - for the world.

Thus, it's time to make some new resolutions. In the spirit of 2011 being manageable only because I knew nothing of most of the things that would happen, I think I should go for a similar approach to 2012.

1) I will make sure to [blank] at least once.

2) I am going to [blank] until I reach the goal of [blank].

3) I will continue to get even better at [blank].

2012 - I am ready for you, whatever you will bring (but please don't let it be the apocalypse. Let's prove those Mayans wrong!!!).

On Denmark

I'm prone to speak of one of Norway's neighbours - Sweden. If you have been following this blog for a while, you know all about my love-hate relationship with Norway's "older brother". Or rather, how I pretend to hate Sweden, while in reality I love it (except when it comes to sports. That's the only arena where my Swedenmosity is genuine...).

Our other close "relative", however - Denmark - I haven't spoken much about. Denmark is a little further away. You actually have to cross an ocean (albeit a narrow one). Also, Norway and Norwegians are strangely concerned about Sweden, while Denmark occasionally falls out of our conscience.

Even if we write Danish.

Even if our flag is the Danish flag with a blue cross in it.

Even if we imported our royal family from Denmark.

Even if practically every flight anywhere in the world to/from Norway goes via Denmark.

Even if they ruled us for 400 hundred years.

We forgave that...

I know I've previously mentioned how strange it is that while our union with Denmark was four centuries of absolutist rule, Norwegians are only bitter about the less than a century with Sweden in a much looser constellation where we had our own constitution, Parliament and flag. We like to think of Denmark as our protector, somehow. Perhaps not a brother or sister - more like an uncle, perhaps? The uncle that always is a little tipsy and brings you presents from abroad. That's Denmark to Norway. Slightly less close than Sweden, but infinitely more appreciated. Poor Sweden.

I've grown to appreciate Denmark more recently, though. First of all, some of the very excellent people I met in Tokyo were Danish. I've had Danish friends before - the first one was on a vacation when I was five, and I didn't understand a word she said. Language is a problem with Danes, you see. Despite the fact that our written language (or one of them - yes, we have two. No, they are not all that different. No, don't tell my Neo-Norwegian patriot friends I said that...) basically is a Norwegianified Danish, oral Danish is quite difficult to understand. Norwegians commonly think Danish people sound like they speak with a potato in their throats. Some of my Danish friends agree... With some practice, though, I can usually understand Danish if. They. Speak. Slowly. Slooowly. It cuts through the potato, then.

Written Danish, on the other hand, is not problematic for a Norwegian to read. Thus, it poses no particular challenge when I in my current job have to read a lot of Danish newspapers. In fact, by now I think I prefer reading Danish - it sounds much more poetic and elegant than Norwegian does! Also, the Danish debate I am reading up on is much more "spicy" than anything you'll find in Norway. While we consider the Danes to be mellow people, they certainly have much more zing to their public commentary than what we have. It makes for more interesting reading material, for sure.

They may be bold in their debates, but the Danes are also surprisingly polite. For instance, I was surprised to find myself addressed with "De" and "Dem" in an email in reply to some inquiries I had. We have this polite version in Norwegian too - it compares to the German "Sie" or the French "Vous" - but we never, ever use it anymore (I don't anyone has since the 1960s). I commented on this to my Danish friend, and he replied that it is not very common in Denmark anymore either, but that is is used for "customers, elderly people and Norwegians". Obviously, the latter was a joke, but it says something about the relationship between our two countries. In many ways I think Danes think of Norway as the prodigal son - they fondly awaits that we will come back under their influence once we've tried all this "independence" nonsense... (I might also add that another Danish friend commented that had I been Swedish, I probably wouldn't have gotten a reply at all... That says something about the relationship between those two countries, I suppose...)

Oh, it's all fun and games, of course. Norway, Denmark and Sweden - Scandinavia (and if we include Iceland and Finland we've got the whole Nordic family) - we're good friends. We begrudgingly vote for each other in the Eurovision Song Contest. We occasionally cheer for each others' teams in sports competitions (perhaps that is why we like Denmark better, by the way? We generally don't do the same sports...). We cooperate in politics and economy, we read each others' literature and watch each others' movies. We have similar values and ideas and systems. We get along pretty well, despite our historical differences. And we looooove to make fun of each other. As evidenced below.

On fortresses

I grew up in a city that once was constructed around a fortress. The fortress was meant to defend the citizens of Kongsvinger - and more important, perhaps, the rest of the country by securing the border - from Sweden. Built in the 17th century, the fortress served its purpose (it was never captured by any Swedes), but almost four centuries later it has now become obsolete in its original task. There isn't even a military presence there anymore (but shhh - don't tell the Swedes). Instead, the proud attraction is being rebuilt into a hotel and conference center. It will always be a fortress in the collective mind of the people living here, though, and it will always be the origo around which our city was built.

There's a crane sticking out of our fortress! Is it the Swedes?

At least the flag is still Norwegian

Really old windows

Really old door

When I was a kid they used to tell us those hooks were for hanging naughty children.
I think they may have been for hanging non-naughty lamps, actually. 

The crane and a soon-to-be hotel

Looks like the upgrade is needed

This might not mean anything to you, but I know this spot is supposed to have a cannon.
Now how will we defend the fortress?

Crane of doom?

There's a cannon. I think it's hiding...

Not too clear from the pic, but even this grand, old tree looked worn and forlorn.

Perhaps a general upgrade* of the area is called for? It's still pretty, though, in its slow demise:

*And by "upgrade" I don't mean update. The history in the walls and moldings of these houses could never be replaced.

On this day

Lately, Facebook started wooing the nostaligiacs of us...

"On this day in 2009..." My Facebook status on this day in 2009? "In Boston." I was visiting fellow Burrower Leanne, we had been touring D.C., and then I came back with her to Boston. We took the night train, and none of us really realized when staggering off at the station in Boston what day it was. I seem to remember it even took a while for us to notice.

On this day six months ago I was having a busy day at the embassy, helping out with the last few details before our Prime Minister visit. Then the earth started moving, we crept under the table, the world turned upside down (figuratively) and several inches off its axis (literally).

On this day eleven months ago, I wrote a note of encouragement to myself. It was three minutes to midnight, and I was up, working on my master's thesis. I hated my thesis. I hated everything and everyone. Including myself. But I had the wisdom to realize that I hadn't hit rock bottom yet. The note - when I re-read it two months later - was appreciated.

On this day last year, I was on my way to a hotel in Lillehammer, where my entire family were gathering to celebrate my parents' 40th anniversary. It was a lovely weekend.

On this day ten years ago I was home from school, watching some mindless show. It was interrupted by a news report, about the first plane. I remember thinking "accident". Then the second plane hit, and the idea of an accident was obsolete. At the age of fifteen I hardly knew what the concept "terrorism" meant. That was about to change.

On this day in 1904 my great great great grandfather observed the landing of two ships in Geiranger, Norway. One of them was a war ship, Sparton, but the more notable was the ship it was accompanying: Alexandra and Albert. On board was the Danish-born, British Queen Alexandra, wife of Edward VII. The queen and her party were sightseeing, and they left Geiranger two days later.

On this day in year 9, the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest ended. An alliance of Germanic tribes defeated the Romans, and this was the end of any serious Roman attempts to conquer Germania beyond the Rhine.


This day didn't start being part of history in 2001. It didn't end then either. But some events make deeper marks on their aftermath than others.

On proletarianization

I'm finally making some use of myself. My parents - who are being extraordinarily generous by housing, feeding and catering to my every need in a way only parents can do without it getting awkward - will occasionally ask me to do small favours in return for the hospitality they are showing me. Naturally, I do these things. Clean the bathroom, make dinner, go grocery shopping; it's the least I can do considering how kind they've been and are to me. Yet, I never feel that it's adequate - the favours they do me easily add up to much more than I can ever hope to repay them. So when they asked me to do a large-ish favour - help paint the house and garage - I was (if not thrilled...) happy to oblige.

Since I've been writing job applications lately, I've focused on stuff I'm good at. Like writing reports, or being a loyal employee and colleague, or being able to work both in teams and independently. I've been focusing very little on stuff I'm not good at. Like painting houses.

I felt terribly, terribly out of place. Like the stereotypical city girl, with her high heels and pink nails, trying to do good, old-fashioned manual labour. (I did not have high heels. I did, however, have pink nails...) I couldn't figure out how to secure the ladder. I didn't know how much soap to use for the water (like any good painter should do, I cleaned the wall first, of course). I showered myself in cold water in an attempt of getting the water pressure on the hose up to proper levels (I eventually managed. Okay. My dad eventually managed).

And yet, it felt pretty good. I was outdoors, working, being useful. Then it struck me, how interesting the experience actually was, from a historian's point of view.

The garage was originally built by my grandfather - who has been dead for eighteen years - some fifty, sixty years ago. He was a conductor in the national railway company, but he grew up on a small farm deep in the Norwegian forests. As the son of a farmer, he doubtlessly had to learn all sorts of manual labour - including building houses. So when he had gathered the means, he built one for himself, his wife, and two sons. My grandmother still lives in that house. We live next doors, on a lot bought by my grandfather with his eldest son - my father - in mind.

The garage was built a few years after the house. After all, they had to have a car first. And not just any car. I still remember the smell of my grandparent's Volvo Amazon. The shine of its bright red hue. The lack of nonsensical things such as seat-belts in the back seat. The ash tray, which was always filled with candy since neither of my grandparents smoked.

By the time I was old enough to pay attention, the Amazon lived in a new garage that had replaced the old one, and our house was built on the aforementioned neighbouring lot. The original garage, which now was closer to our house than our grandparents', was turned into a shed. My father - handy in many ways, but not build-your-own-house-handy - did lots of work on our house. But so did a team of 15 carpenters, plus my two grandfathers.

With time the old garage is not as impressive as it once was. Still. It impresses me to think that my grandfather actually did build it. He had those kind of skills. Half a century later, his granddaughter, pink nails and all, struggled to wash and paint the walls he once put up. I doubtlessly have skills he did not - I'm sure he'd be rubbish at writing reports, for instance - but it's a two-way street. It's humbling, really, to think of everything people used to take for granted, that now have become huge tasks because we've let go of the knowledge previously transmitted from generation to generation.

In the end I suspect it's fortunate for me that the times have changed. If I ever build a house, I probably will not even touch a hammer. I won't take much part in the construction process post-planning at all, and I wouldn't have the skills to do so even if I wanted to. On the other hand, I might be able to pay for that house because I got a good education and (hopefully) a job.

At least I've learned a thing or two about painting houses today, should I ever have one of my own. All thanks to my grandfather.

On soap, in terms of boxes and operas

Before coming to Japan in January, I envisioned that I might find myself in conflict between what I wanted to blog about, and what I felt would be appropriate, considering my job. After all, I have a code of silence at the embassy, and there are things I potentially could say that might get not just me - but also my country - in trouble. In theory. In reality, the world isn't as interesting as that. I doubt that any of the things I could potentially say would have much of an impact on Norway-Japan relations. Besides, I've found myself talking about completely different stuff than the going ons at the embassy anyway - I think most of my readers are more interested in hearing about bento lunches, karaoke singing and gaijin mishaps than political or consular gossip.

Still, there are times when I think "Oooh, I want to blog about this", and then I don't, because a small part of me worries that it will come back and bite me in the butt. I'm very diplomatically inclined that way. Last week I solved the problem by writing about everything surrounding the topic I really wanted to write about. This week I intend to just go ahead and make a disclaimer: the opinions of this blog is my own, and only mine - and does not necessarily reflect that of the Norwegian embassy/government. So there.

Unless you either live here or are more than average interested in Japan, you probably don't know a whole lot about the politics of this country. Let me give you a brief introduction.

Japan before 1945 has a long and complex history, much of which can be summed up in a few words: ninjas, samurais and emperors. Okay, maybe not, but there was a lot of back and forth there (between the samurais and emperors. I just threw the ninjas in for fun). A feudal system. Warrior lords. Emperors - some with and some without power. Matthew Perry (not the guy from "Friends" - yes - I *have* to make that point every time I talk about it) and his forced opening of Japan. Militarism. Colonialism. Forceful use of principles Western countries had applied to most of the world through centuries, but slightly too late. If I say "Manchuria", you're supposed to flinch.

The war changed a lot for Japan. They went from being a powerful, imperialist power who had enough self-confidence to take on the United States; to being forced to surrender by the worst weapon humanity had ever seen, and then de facto occupied by the very same US. Transformation started: the emperor renounced his divinity, the occupied areas in China and Korea were returned or put under international control, and till this day Japan still maintains only a defensive military (though it's budget is the second largest in the world, so I don't know how much emphasis one can put on this, apart from the strictly symbolical).

Also - post-war Japan transformed into a democracy, and a rapid economic development frequently referred to as "the Japanese miracle" started. These two are closely linked. While there can be do doubt that Japan succeeded tremendously in the latter, I am here to claim that the former is overrated...

Don't get me wrong. Japan is a democracy. But is it well-functioning? Maybe not.

The first 50 years or so, the politics of the country was dominated by one, single party - the conservative Liberal Democratic Party (LDP). I'm not saying that this is necessarily a problem - as long as there are fair elections, the population is of course welcome to vote for the same party over and over again. In fact, the LDP period had something the latter years have lacked: stability. But, it seems to me that a large reason for why the LDP continued to stay in power was that the people who continued to vote - elderly, rural, conservative people - also continued to vote for the only party they knew, while other citizens more or less stopped voting altogether.

Now, it is almost unfair to call the LDP-era a one-party system, since LDP had (still has, in fact) so many fractions that it basically was a multiparty system. Only, unless you were a member of the party, you didn't have much influence within the fractions. Eventually, however, other parties started making their presence known. Some already existed. Some were formed, others merged. A number of LDP-members left the party to form new parties. If you look at the name of most Japanese political parties, present and past, it looks an awful lot like most of them were formed at an izakaya after a long day at work. Either they have some variety of "Liberal"/"Democratic" and "Party" in them, or they have the most random names ("Your Party", "Sunshine Party", "New Clean Government Party" anyone?).

Finally, in 2009, one of these new parties - the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) won the general election, and thus formed a government. Finally some change, you might think. Wrong, I tell you.

First of all, a considerable amount of politicians in DPJ are former LDP-members. Secondly, due to the power struggle within and between the political parties the last few years, Japan has had five prime ministers in as many years, and it's not looking as though it's about to change. The current prime minister, Naoto Kan, has now managed the near-impossible: he's been PM for over a year (barely). But it is expected that he will hand in his resignation any day now.

Why, you ask? Why would he do that when Japan is in the middle of the biggest crisis the country has seen since World War Two (and I just explained why that wasn't the best of times for this country, right...)? Well, I am sure Mr. Kan asks himself the same question. And so do the Japanese people. They might not like Kan very much (in general, though, they don't like any politicians), but they don't think it's a good idea to change captain mid-match. Too bad the rest of the politicians don't care.

Because a number of politicians - both DPJ and from other parties - have decided to use the current situation as an opportunity to get rid off another prime minister. Great idea. Just great.

So, two weeks ago a vote of no confidence was raised. Last minute, Kan struck a deal with his rival (and party member!), former prime minister Hatoyama, which meant that Kan got to stay on Hatoyama's mercy provided he agreed to step down once the crisis had reached "a certain level". What this level is, and when that will be, remains unclear. To me, to the Japanese population, and as far as I can tell - to Hatoyama and Kan too. But, the thing is, now people no longer speculate if Kan will step down. Now we only wonder when. Which in effect makes him as lame a duck as ducks go. So if Kan did all this - as I suspect - to try to keep some continuity in Japanese politics and actually get some stuff done (much needed!), he has already failed. He will probably not get anything done in the current political situation, and chances are he'll go down in history as the guy who had all these ideas but never managed to see any of them through. If he can escape the label "earthquake guy", that is.

No wonder most of the Japanese I speak to have a strong dislike of politics and politicians altogether. This view is supported by surveys too: more than 50 percent of Japanese voters do not support any party, due to "political inefficiency". Instead, the Japanese rely on private initiatives, the business sector, the idea that profit will eventually benefit the lot. Japanese politicians are seen as "elitist", "they don't listen", or even - "they come from a different planet than the rest of us". I can't say I blame people here for thinking that.

At the same time, it saddens and infuriates me. The other day I couldn't help but ask: "So what do you do to make them listen?"

I couldn't get a proper answer to that. Because it doesn't seem like the Japanese way, does it, to do as the rest of us have to: force the politicians to listen. Arrange demonstrations, write open letters, vote, vote, VOTE!!! The politicians are there for you - or they are supposed to, anyway - and if they don't listen, then you're probably not screaming loudly enough. Their jobs depend on YOUR support, and only by showing or taking away support can you make them do their job. It seems to me the Japanese gave up on their politicians. They have accepted that they will not listen, when in reality this is the time to MAKE them listen.

I'm not saying that keeping Kan is the answer. Personally, I like the guy, but I'm not a voter here. I also see the point that his political life is probably long over - you can't teach a lame duck to walk. But Kan at least has the willingness to act, he has the ideas and initiative to do something, and like it or not - he can provide stability through the crisis. Instead of showing him the support he needs to survive the political assassination he is being subject to, however, people shake their heads and go on with their daily business.

Japanese politics is one big drama. But it's high time to move from the soap opera onto the soap boxes. Speak your mind, and perhaps those politicians finally will listen!

On the difference between a sealion

So, the thing about being a bureaucrat is that sometimes you are forced to work for the system even if you don't agree with it. Historically, the problem has been that the bureaucrats are too eager to please their political bosses. Would Nazi-Germany been able to function without the worker ants keeping the machinery gong? Not a chance. If enough of them had looked up from their papers, given it a second thought what it was they were taking part in, and drawn the conclusions history by now has drawn for them, there is a possibility the Holocaust would not have happened. Bureaucrats have power. They just don't use it very often.

My current assignment isn't quite as serious as that, and thus I'm not worried I am committing genocide by proxy. But I am in the capacity of my work defending a political position I disagree with personally. It certainly does nothing to help my motivation...

Maybe that is why I've been distracted all day? My research hasn't really brought me much that is useful for the job I have to do, but it brought me lots of random information I found much more interesting than what I was supposed to work on. Digressionism en diplomacy, I guess.




First of all, I've learned a lot about various species today. Extinct and otherwise. Did you know that the 18th century botanist, zoologist, physician and explorer, Georg Wilhelm Steller, had several species named after him - most of which are now either extinct or endangered? The Steller sea cow, for instance, disappeared only 25 years after he discovered it. The Steller sea lion is still around, but especially the western stock of this mammal is threatened, partly as a result of over-hunting in the past, and partly as a result of changes in their habitat (climatic and otherwise).

I have also learned a little something about different species of sea mammals: "There are sea lions on the ears, ear seals are just a hole." Or maybe the lesson learned there was that Google Translate cannot be trusted?

I have discovered the story about the adorable Tama-chan. This was a seal who for some time lived in a Tokyo river (or two, actually), and consequently it became a national celebrity in Japan. Because, you know, that's what happens in Japan when you're cute.

Tama-chan was also attempted seal-napped by a doomsday cult. Because, you know, that also happens in Japan... This cult believed that Tama-chan had been led astray by electromagnetic waves, and that returning him to the sea would save the world. They didn't succeed. This might explain the current state of the world...

And finally, if you're wondering about the title of this post? Another Google Translate glitch. It reminds me of a joke, though. I've modified it slightly to fit today's theme:

"What's the difference between a sealion?"
"It can neither ride a bike."

On history

There are certain dates and years that stick. We remember them, either because they hold a collective or personal importance. They make history.

April 9 is one such date. In Norway, this marks the anniversary of the single most traumatic collective event in our history. On April 9, 1940, Nazi-Germany invaded Norway and Denmark. Operation Weserübung managed to conquer most central Norwegian cities within 24 hours, while the Norwegian army continued fighting for two months before capitulating. Norway was subject to the brutal rule of the Nazi dictatorship for five years.

There is obviously a lot more to be said of both the invasion and the following occupation, and it definitely requires more than one blog post to do it justice. If inspiration every strikes, the historian in me might not be able to pass up the opportunity to make an attempt, some day. But not today. While April 9 is a part of Norwegian history, it is also a part of my personal history.

To me, the importance of April 9 changed last year. My sister was pregnant, and tests during the pregnancy had showed that the baby was not growing properly. The doctors prepared us that we could expect the worst, and the prospects for her surviving the birth at all seemed bleak. A premature C-section was scheduled, and thus my baby niece was born.

She did survive. Once born, there appeared to be nothing wrong with her. She was tiny - the smallest baby I have ever seen - but she otherwise seemed fine. From day one she ate well, and it did not take long before she started growing.

My niece is still small. Maybe she'll always be. But she is alive, she is healthy, and she is the cutest, happiest baby on the planet. Considering the prospects we faced prior to her birth, I don't care if she grows to ten times her current size, or if she doesn't grow at all. She is with us, and that is enough.

Happy first birthday, Live! You already made history.

On Socrates

Socrates, the philosopher, supposedly said that the only true wisdom lies in knowing that you know nothing.

I must be really wise, then.

It is humbling, really, to be able to work with a research project of a magnitude that whenever I think I almost have the hang of it, I only discover that there are new things popping up. Things I haven't considered. Things I really should consider. I keep getting the feeling that I could easily devote my life to writing my thesis, and it still would never be entirely done.

I started out, two years ago, knowing nothing more about the Middle East and the conflict(s) there than the average newspaper reader does. I dived into the subject - took out every book there was in the library, and even managed to read some of them. I copied off articles to read. I wrote a project proposal. I held a "test lecture" for two professors as part of my exams. I did everything I could to make sure I knew everything I had to know about what was going to become the topic of my master's thesis.

And yet. Every time I opened a new book there was a new aspect. Something I hadn't thought about. Something that changed my perception of what I was working on completely - over and over again. No matter how deep I penetrated the problems I was working with, I continued to return to my starting point. There was still much more I didn't know about this conflict than what I did know.

I wrote a chapter. I read some more. I went to the US, where I spent the greater part of my time in an archive. I've read through thousands of documents. I've categorized them, analyzed them, written about them. I've read more books. I've written more chapters. I've talked to professors, and fellow students and other who have worked with this conflict.

I have done everything that was possible for someone with my resources and capacity to understand the topic of my thesis, and to make it comprehensible for others. Looking back, I can see my learning curve has been steep. Reading my first project proposal makes me cringe, because I am now able to see flaws, inconsistencies and imprecise formulations in every paragraph.

Despite this, however, I still feel like there are light-years to go. There are more books and articles and papers than I can fathom written about the very thing I try to make sense of. Then why in the world am I trying to write another one? I have no idea. I am supposed to have a brilliant answer to that, and it is supposed to go on page 8, circa, of my introduction chapter, which currently is a mess.

Regardless of all my hard work - or because of it, actually - I am still left with the feeling that I know nothing. I suspect that this is the way it will be. And I'm starting to wonder if it isn't also how it's supposed to be. The more I learn, the deeper I go in my research, I will only find that there is more left to explore. I will never reach a total understanding of the conflict I am supposed to be an expert of - nor would I of any other subject. It's just not possible. The more I search for answers, the more questions I come up with.

In the end, isn't that what research is all about? Perhaps Socrates had it right?

On my grandfather's 87th birthday

Toten is the place where my mom grew up and where my grandfather still lives. It’s in the deep inland of Norway (if anything as “skinny” as my country can be called deep), very rural and something of a childhood paradise of mine. I don’t know what it is, but I breathe freer there (actually I do know what that is: less pollution), the sky is more blue, the sun is brighter, the people friendlier. I love walking along the fields, taking pictures or finding flowers (or taking pictures of flowers I find). I enjoy these walks alone, or with family. Maybe best of all with my grandfather.

He doesn’t walk very fast, but his pace suits mine when I bring my camera. When we walk along the fields, he’ll tell me stuff like ”This is oat” or “They have a new type of potatoes here this year”. Sometimes he will point at a house and tell me something about the people living there, or even better, about the people that used to live there. I love it when he starts explaining about old times (as a kid I used to beg my grandparents to tell me about “old times” – my interest for history isn’t a new one). He has a lot of stories, many of which I’ve heard before. He doesn’t remember which stories he has and hasn’t told me, but I never let him know if he tells an old one over again. I still love listening to him. Every now and then he tells something that I’ve never heard before, things that to him only are part of his life and not spectacular in any way. But to me, it’s part of my history, and increasingly I feel how it’s also a part of my identity.

Last time I visited him (this Easter*), I found something of a treasure. We’ve had family members doing research about our family history before. For instance, we have a book describing my great great (I’m not sure just how many greats it’s supposed to be) grandfathers life. It’s a fascinating story; my favourite being an anecdote about him walking across the country (yes, I know, skinny country, but not that skinny… He still had to walk for days) to get a bride. Lucky for me and the other generations that followed, he found one, and they settled at Toten.

Another find, now in my possession, is a diary of another great-great-something grandfather (I think that might be just one great as it’s not that far back in time. His chronicles start around the turn of the 19th to 20th century). He wrote about the cruise ships coming into the fjords where he lived, in the western and probably most beautiful part of the country. Already back then they had a considerable amount of tourists there; one of the most prominent being the German Emperor Wilhelm II. My ancestor counted all the ships and listed them in his diary. Then he compared one year to another, and calculated how many he could expect the next year. He would also write about the weather, accidents (he loved to list how many people had died the previous year from one accident or another), crops and animals. “This year we have 17 goats”; “Five people died in a landslide this year, but the crops are good”.

But I digress…

The treasure I found this time was another record of family history. I found papers tracing my family back to the 14th century. This has, apparently, been in the family for many years, but somehow, no one thought it important enough to mention it to me (I was born after this research was completed). Imagine my excitement when I found out that we actually know the names of my ancestors that far back. My brain immediately started working out plotlines for stories about Torgeir Gislesen, Gisle Herleiksen and Herleik Gislesen (they were all called stuff like that...). Family history has always fascinated me, and some day I hope to write a fictional story about a real person such as a great, great grandmother or father. Maybe I’ll even write about the guy counting the cruise ships.

Another fascinating aspect of these family records is the high number of emigrants. From the mid-18th century and on, a considerable percentage of the family is listed as emigrated to America. I can’t help but wonder what they were thinking (and I mean that in the nicest possible way…). Imagine leaving everything behind, moving to the other side of the world, a world that must have seemed a lot bigger then than it does today. Admittedly, many didn’t have much to leave behind, but still – family, friends, your home. Leaving for something you don’t know at all, a place you only know from descriptions (though, descriptions such as “the promised land” did of course constitute huge pull-factors), knowing that you’ll probably never come back. Even in our globalized world, that would never have been an option for me. I admire their bravery, in a way, but I also shake my head at them. I guess I’m too good off to understand.

One of the documents attached to the family history accounts, was a 50 pages long description of the life of one of the families that left. They are pretty distant relatives of mine, but it was still fascinating to read about their life as settlers. They lived both in South (?) Dakota, Minnesota and Montana; moving around with the possibility to gain more land and better conditions. This was a family with a mother, a father, a grandmother and ten children – or rather, they started their journey with ten children. One of the little girls died at the ship across the Atlantic. The account starts in the 1880 or so, and it ends after World War Two. This family experienced so much of the American history I’ve learned about, but it never felt as real as when reading about it through the eyes of real people, people I’m related to even. The process of immigration and settling; building a life around the farm; experiencing the hardships of losing a family member in World War One; the Great Depression and World War Two.

*It’s been a few years since I wrote the majority of this little piece. In the meantime my grandfather has become older, not just in years; but also physically – and most noticeably – his mind is not what it used to be. It is not just a matter of not remembering which stories he already told anymore. Sadly this has disabled him from living in his own home, and we can no longer take our little walks along the fields.

When I make the mandatory birthday telephone call today, I will be a little sad over everything that’s lost. I still try to cherish what is left, though. And I will always keep the memories.

Happy birthday, Bestefar!

On Peace One Day

When I was in Japan in 2006 I was invited to a local celebration of Peace One Day. I had no idea what Peace One Day was, but after a quick introduction in the car on our way there, and then a viewing of the Peace One Day movie, I begun to realize I had just become part of something big. Our local Akita celebration hardly tore down any walls, but I think that the people who participated (I know I did) felt that we had been empowered to go out in the world and spread the word about what Peace One Day is all about. That is what I am doing right now.

Peace One Day is a concept developed by filmmaker Jeremy Gilley who in 1999 decided to try to convince the world community that just one day of world peace could be the starting point for something much bigger. His initial goal was to make September 21st the United Nations official day of peace. In 2001 this was achieved, with the 192 member nations voting for adopting this day as an annual day of global ceasefire and non-violence. Peace One Day had won its first victory, but the project was not over.

Since 2001 the work of Jeremy and his organization has spread the word about Peace One Day. The new goal is to reach out to 3 billion people by 2012. Peace Day is supposed to be a day of non-violence, both between nations, within countries, and between individual people. Call me a hippie, but if we can make 3 billion people stop being violent in every aspect of their lives for just one day each year, that is one hing of an accomplishment.

This year I think the thought behind Peace One Day holds a particular meaning to me. I’m finally in the process of putting the finishing touches on my thesis. For two years I have been surrounded by narratives, images, old documents and history books – all telling various aspects of the same tragic story. The people in the Middle East has been living in a state of war, or under the threat of war, for more than 60 years. After having seen what it does to me to only hear about it for two years, I can’t imagine what it must feel like to live in the middle of it a lifetime.

The current negotiations offers a slim, but much needed hope. I can’t say that I believe it is as easy as a signed document in front of a smiling Obama (and I’m not even saying I believe that will happen). But I have to hope. One day of peace will not save the Middle East either, but again I want us to hope. Hope that each day without war will somehow make the world slightly better. That perhaps we eventually can talk about Peace One Week, or Peace One Month. That enough people will be convinced that peace is the way to go, and that war is not.

Thus I encourage you to take part in this. Spread the word about Peace One Day. Raise the awareness. Remember that if just one man could do all this, then perhaps it is time the rest of us start paying attention.


Happy International World Peace Day!
http://www.youtube.com/peaceoneday


Also - in a slightly related vein I'd like to tell you about another, much smaller project. Imagine that one good deed set in motion a chain of events that lead to a slightly better day for each person affected. In August, The Burrow invited a number of our friends to participate in a drabble cycle - inspired by a post by B. Miller - where each mini-story covers a selfless action that helps another human (and in one case an extra-terrestial) being. The Burrow Pay It Forward project will only be up a few more days before a new project is due, so I urge you to visit www.the-burrow.org ASAP to get a chance to read all the drabbles.