Time for a new website

Friends!

I’ve got a new website. Please spend your time at http://www.sunisanardone.com

Thanks,

Sunisa

Telling Thailand’s story

Some perspective on the situation in Thailand. Maybe.

Things back home are bad. This is civil unrest and then some. Even the New York Times has managed to cover the violence on the front page, and Americans don’t usually take their morning coffee with a dose of reality on an international scale, but for real sensation (Bombs! Colour wars! An evil businessman out to topple a monarchy!) they make an exception. There’s no end of musing in Western news outlets as to the “real” cause of the instability, as if naming it makes anything better.

a
I go about my everyday business here in Melbourne. I ride the new bike, trying not to get lost or run over in the chaos of the CBD. I navigate my way to Fed Square, where we’re at the mercy of the weather down at the food carts, and pray for sunny skies and good business like the rest of the team. I see friends. I grocery shop. Same old, same old.

a
And in the midst of this quotidian existence I’m actually living a double-life, because in the back of my mind I wonder if the road that my dad lives on is barricaded with bamboo sticks and burning tires today, or if the Red Shirts are waving his car through. I worry that he can’t get to work, or that he can get to work and something happens to him over there. This nagging sensation of concern isn’t new to any of us, but for the first time in my life I find myself part of a minority of people who are from a disaster zone. I don’t mean natural disaster– I was still Thai when the tsunami hit, and have written and reflected on the international aid effort, etcetera– but this time things are different. This time when people find out that I’m Thai, there’s this look of pity –almost condescension– that can cross their face. I feel like an outsider, someone apologetic for the disgraceful state of their country even while I’m going crazy with worry myself, wondering where it will end and how we will find peace on the other side of such serious turmoil.

a
Last night I had to console Ellen, a professor of social enterprise at NYU, because given the security restrictions she has to break it to her class that they won’t be travelling to Doi Tung in Northern Thailand in two weeks, and five of them have just lost their summer internships to circumstances unforeseen. It’s rough. It’s a let-down. It hurts the future of a budding collaboration between NYU and Mae Fah Luang that may yet lead to great, life-changing learnings. So Ellen and I found ourselves looking for the conversion in the situation: what could we gain from this setback?

a
There are bleak silver linings to this circumstance. At least Ellen didn’t find herself in Northern Thailand with 11 Americans, unable to get out of the country if the situation escalates. That would be really, really bad.

a
But I think there’s a bigger lesson here. I think what bothers most people who come to exclaim over the situation in Thailand is the sense of outrage that such foreign chaos can happen in so familiar a country. In a way, and I know this isn’t exactly politically-correct, we’re used to accounts of despair coming from specific corners of the world. Haiti– Mali– “Africa”, when we use the word to mean a dark continent of things malign, not even bothering to single out specific countries within the land mass. There are places that We in the West, We of the developed world, have resigned ourselves to hearing bad news about. But not Thailand. Not until the last four years, when airports were shut and the sunny Land of Smiles had its reputation rocked for the first time in a very long while.

a
The writer Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie has insightful things to say on this subject in her TED talk that you can watch here. She’s from Nigeria, which suffers from that myth of the Dark Continent. And she argues that what her stories about Nigeria, published to such acclaim in the English-speaking world, bring is connection. Reading Adichie, we are educated in more complete experience of a country, one that tells many stories about Nigeria, not just the despairing ones, but the good and common human ones ones too.

a
In a similar vein, what I hope these NYU students gain, despite the disappointment of lost experiences in Northern Thailand, is a sense of connection to a country in crisis. Some of them have been to Thailand already. Others will have researched it in preparation for their cancelled visit. I hope that they can’t just read the headlines and glance at the pictures, and turn away with a shrug and a comment that the news is just so depressing these days.  They know Thailand, they’re committed to it, and their concern for the country can keep Thailand real and not let it slip into a stereotype of just-another-generic-failure. I know I’ll hold onto everything I know about the country, not just the polarisation between Red and Yellow and Haves and Have-nots that I read about these days. There’s much more to Thailand than that.

Great stories are the ones we return to

The secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don’t deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They don’t surprise you with the unforeseen. They are as familiar as the house you live in. Or the smell of your lover’s skin. You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don’t. In the way that although you know that one day you will die, you live as though you won’t. In the Great Stories you know who lives, who dies, who finds love, who doesn’t. And yet you want to know again. That is their mystery and magic.

– Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things.

Walk a mile in my shoes

It’s a truism that if you walk a mile in a person’s shoes, you will really know them. Today RMIT writing students and STREAT trainees walked that mile together. We spent the day in Federation Square receiving their texts, images, drawings. Can’t wait figure out how we’ll curate the work, but for now, here are some of their stories.

Easters coming, rabbits and chocolates everywhere. No sign of jesus.

Walking through the walk arcade.

Dragonboat is the place to be! Yum Cha is all the dream!

ANGUS swims beneath the bridge for the last beer

Free shaving gel given on a street corner. But now i have to carry it all day

I been hit by a pushie

Shiny red apple boy. You shine up my life.

We loved that alley, you and i. We wrapped in night and gin, the whole first year a blur.

Tell him I don’t want to go to Pony Laura. He wants to kiss you.

Bottled on a winter’s night. Can’t talk can’t speak. Yet fuck i could stick my tongue through my cheek.

And when I can afford it the 7/11 is my fluorscent heaven. I ruffle the dirty change and buy a sweet tooth pink doughnut

Generosity in the everyday

Finding that silver lining in the mad rush of a startup.

It’s been a big week for STREAT. The trainees are in. We’re trading in Fed Square. And the STREAT team has been rolling up their sleeves, donning the trainers, and pushing those half-tonne carts around the Square every morning and late afternoon.

This makes me think about generosity, and what a difference it can make in the everyday. Last month the New York Times (my favourite required reading) wrote about a woman in Brooklyn who is giving $100 dollars to people to give away in creative ways. My old roomates were part of this little experiment, called the Creative Philanthropy project. Watch them pay people to talk to a stranger, with the option of holding hands with a stranger and walking around Bryant Park. For three walks people were paid $18. It seems like this little experiment produced some unexpected moments of social cohesion—a generous gift among the hustle of city life.

Another friend Charlie wrote on his blog Do Good Well about how social enterprise benefits from a culture of generosity. Traditional businesses compete for market share, whereas social business will thrive the more we grow the field. Our customers benefit when offered diverse options so that they can choose to consume responsibly across as many products and services as possible. This is intuitive and practical reasoning.

I’ve seen some old-fashioned generosity happening in Melbourne as well. Social Traders and STREAT recently co-hosted the “Socially-enterprising Foodie’s Forum” (now a quarterly event) so that players in the food and social enterprise space can exchange ideas and learn from one another. Maybe one day this will develop into a network for consumers, a benchmark like Fair Trade that certifies social and environmental outcomes, but for now it’s enough to exchange lessons learned as the industry starts to form. Social enterprise is new to Australia, and any exchange of resources and hob-nobbing of like-minded folk is bound to produce good outcomes.

I’ve spent the last week dividing my time between the food carts in Federation Square and the orientation of the STREAT trainees. At Fed Square we’re interrupting people’s busy days to pitch the idea of a social enterprise helping homeless youth by  selling street hawker food. Despite the crazy (or crazy audacious) idea that it is, we’ve got good reception so far, and even offers from people who want to volunteer, and help spread the word that STREAT has come to town. The trainees have been doing a Foodie tour of the Victoria Market and getting their uniforms from William Angliss. In the midst of this, there’s a whole host of people—staff and volunteers—who are working flat-out to make the trainees’ experience as positive and engaging as possible. That effort is generous indeed. After all, it’s the little moments of individual generosity that build a greater culture. It can be the smallest interactions that change a person’s world view towards a wider embrace of their potential, and what they can achieve.

So what moments of generosity have you experienced?

What has touched your life and changed its direction?

How do you give gladly and give well?

What could you live without?

Nick Kristof  wrote about a family that sold their house for a smaller one, downsizing and giving half the money they made to a good cause. It came about as an attempt to live authentically to the principles the parents were teaching their children. At first glance the story sounds improbable, giddy, an irresponsible way to live.

A friend brought this article to my attention, asking if “an ideologically altruistic person” such as myself had considered this idea of practicing what I preach, walking the talk, and all those clichés about personal integrity and values.

It’s a tricky question, to probe how much a person has a moral imperative to sacrifice personal comfort in favour of living in a conscious manner. I had a good think about it, but couldn’t come up with an easy formula that defines an acceptable scope between luxury and conscientiousness. It’s a personal decision. It comes down to your priorities and principles. But my favourite part of the article is how the family explains their actions:

“The aim was to encourage people to step off the treadmill of accumulation, to define themselves by what they give as well as by what they possess.”

Whether or not we sacrifice fancy cars, big labels, and eating out, in the wake of this new world order post-GFC, maybe we can all do with an altered perspective on the things we value and the ways we contribute to a better society.

This entry is cross-posted at STREAT’s blog.

Melbourne foodies can do better

Why we need higher standards for dumplings and the Cheap Eats annual publication is a gimmick.

This is a city known for it’s awesome food– and the food is awesome. But accessible it is not, and the popular Cheap Eats guide is not what it claims to be. The publication of the annual Cheap Eats guide has become a how-to of Melbourne gastronomy; those in the know poo-poo the selections and vow to move on to undiscovered territory. Those new to Melbourne (myself) get suckered into buying the publication, mistaking it for the holy grail of eating guides.

For the unsuspecting tourist– be warned. The Cheap Eats guide is more like the Eat Guide– it’s the “make yourself feel better because you think you’re getting good value for your meal” deal. Here is city-sanctioned gluttony, or a way to prop up the hospitality industry. I’m all about eating, and writing about eating, and passing on the recommendations, but what self-respecting food reviewer writes blatant ad copy? The Gold Leaf Eastern gets a one star review, and here is how it’s described:

.
Gold leaf has branches everyone (boom boom) and in Burwood the big red doors lead to a cavernous space complete with rotating chandelier and clouds pained on the ceiling. Yes, it’s Chinese dining directed by Ang Lee. But beyond the silk hangings there’s a menu big enough to make sure all diners will find something to their liking. Perhaps a web of noodles hiding in tasty prawns,  herby lamb fillets on a bright bed of snowpeas. Crocodile and venison are on offer, though some seafood offerings will take you beyond budget. Despite the big setting, service is attentive and polite.
.

This type of review is a little too adoring to be informative. One star, and “all diners will find something to their liking?”

Even normally-reliable food critics as Fitzroyalty and Melbourne Gastronome fall short in the Asian food department. A Thai friend and I were underwhelmed by North East China Family after the juicy pictures and rave reviews provided by both bloggers. The dumplings proved to be thick, doughy, and served only lukewarm in gigantic proportions. I say avoid the place, and take your cue from the East Asian crowd, who do not populate this restaurant.

On the upside, +39 got the award for Best Pizza, and it really is kickin’. So the Guide does have its merits. At the end of the day, the Guide is a good overview for people new to town. It contains all the names of those places that your friends have mentioned but you haven’t jotted down. It’s a helpful starter kit, but nothing I’d purchase year after year, precisely because of a lack of a critical eye– or tongue.

Green ghettos

This whole climate change thing has to stop being fringe, and target public acceptance and mainstream understanding.

It’s been a bad few weeks for climate change, with skeptics in the US and UK making noise over trivial things. Heart heavy, I went to be cheered up at Melbourne’s Sustainability Festival, which I think has great potential to educate but comes up short when appealing to a wide audience.

At Friday’s keynote Peter Singer spoke on Climate Change As An Ethical Issue. Singer didn’t break new ground here. He gave us a  sketch of his disappointment post-Copenhaagen, and how he had been holding out for political consensus on carbon reduction. His new hope? Technological innovation. He sees it as the only way to course correct. We need a paradigm shift in climate change, and our politicians don’t have the gumption to make it happen.

This didn’t sit well with some members of the audience. During Q&A –when the female journo facilitating the talk called on seven men in a row before being outed by an audience member for her gender bias– some men disputed the need to pour more resources into innovation. They argued that we already have the technology to depend on solar and wind power. Their viewpoint — I’ll call it Very Green– is that we need to continue our outspoken advocacy to make governments change their policy. We shouldn’t compromise our ethics in favour of a practical approach. We need to hold to the ethical extreme.

Singer agreed that this change would be ideal, but practically speaking, unlikely. He cited Bill Gates’ TED talk on innovation for zero emissions, and how this is the most viable horizon forward.

The back-and-forth is meant to illustrate a common problem: the reluctance of people very embedded in a cause to appeal to others less interested. To a vegan Melburnian who bikes everywhere and works on climate advocacy, technology might be a dirty word that means compromising with evil agents in the corporate world.  Now imagine that you have a whole conference run by these same passionate, well-meaning, and informed Very Green people. The result is a green ghetto. The organisers run the Festival for people like themselves, who are so embedded in their social norm that they can’t see that their Festival isn’t accessible to the mainstream.

Have a look at the Sustainability Conference website. Their website doesn’t have a timeline of events for the festival. To decide what event to go to, you have to either download a program, or sort through pictorial categories. Really. My roommates and I spent 20 minutes trying to find the Peter Singer event, failed, and ended up using Google to pinpoint the right time and date. Even then, Singer’s talk in 2009 popped up first.

So apart from confessing to my questionable site nav skills, I say– bring the  2011 Sustainability Festival to the people who leave their air conditioning on all day. The people who drive whenever possible and haven’t considered the small changes they can make in their lives to reduce their carbon footprint. These are the ones who need engaging on the climate front.

Moon rise over Argentina

“At first I thought I saw the sun setting in the east; I knew where east was, because the sun was just over the horizon when we got there that morning. Then I realized that what I saw was a full moon rising just as the sun was going down. Each of them was standing on its edge, with the most wonderful light between them. It seemed as if you could touch it, as if there were palpable currents of light passing back and forth, or as if there were great taut skeins of light suspended between them.”

– Gilead

preview of STREAT content: Nak Khin

November 2009

It’s Loy Kratong in Thailand, the Lunar New Year celebration that attracts a flock of new tourists to the country to see people give thanks for the plentiful rainfall of the season. This is vital stuff because the country depends on its rain-fed rice crop. But I’m not standing by a waterway watching the beautiful kratongs float by. I’m standing in front of bugs– piles of cockroaches, locusts and other creepy crawlies fried to a crisp and just waiting to be consumed. They are a delectable, spicy, crunchy food option in the carnival atmosphere that surrounds me as I wait at the meet up point for the night. I’m on a preliminary tour hosted by Nak Khin, or Foodies, a new street food tour launching in Bangkok.

If you’re new to Bangkok you might wonder why there is a street food tour on offer. A note of explanation then: Thai culture revolves around food. Thai people are incessant foodies who take pleasure in cooking, seeking out good food, and most of all eating food together. They also go to different places to enjoy specific dishes. Phad Thai has to be eaten at Pratu Peeh (Ghosts Gate) in Old Town. Chinatown is for roast duck. Rice and fish soup happens either at Lumpini Park or further out of the city. To travel to Thailand is to appreciate the culture through food and the traditions associated with it. The best trips to the Kingdom involve inclusion in the social enthusiasm and spirit of foodstuffs. With so much to try (and maybe not a local friend to show you the ropes) a new option that has sprung up for the adventurous traveler is Nak Khin.

It’s a social enterprise that is the brainchild of Vanda Asphanahu and Tuan Vo, two friends who share an enthusiasm for Thai food. They were introduced to the best of street stalls by Thai colleagues and coworkers, but their hearts went out to those of us less fortunate in our acquaintances. They are going to be offering three food tours by neighborhood: in the old part of Bangkok, in Chinatown, and in the Thonglor area. Each tour will be led by a Thai university student (this is the social side of their work) who will bring local knowledge to visitors while practicing their English skills in an informal setting. Tours will stop at four food stalls where people can share mini plates, tapas style, and then move on to a drink stall and a dessert stall. It’s a gourmand’s dream and perfect for anyone willing to get to the real Thai food, which is always on the street.