Facebook Fallout: Looking on the Bright Side

Sitting at Café Chattberbox in Zamzama, a hip little part of Karachi, drinking fresh peach juice. At the next table is a group of three men in their 20s or 30s talking about the downfall of Facebook in Pakistan. A guy sporting a goatee and an artfully aged t-shirt says his life has actually improved since the government shut down the social networking site. He’s now in much better touch with friends and family across the world. He moves his long hair off his shoulder and says, “Fuck man, people waste so much time on Facebook. They don’t even go to weddings or anything anymore. They just send a message.”

Since I arrived in Lahore almost a week ago, there have been numerous protests across Pakistan against Facebook because of a page that was created called “Everybody-Draw-Mohammed-Day” which encouraged users to draw cartoons of the prophet. I was late to my first meeting in Lahore because the car I was in got stuck behind a group of people protesting Facebook. One look at the crowd told me that most of the protesters were not Facebook users. How, I wondered, did these middle-aged men find out about the page on Facebook anyway?

A conversation a few days later with a lawyer in Lahore explained the trickle-down effect. The simplified version goes like this: Muslim clerics in faraway, but connected, places like London and Amsterdam, come to know about blasphemous Facebook pages from youth in their communities. These clerics tell their friends in Islamic Republics like Pakistan. Together, the clerics and their political cronies stir up their constituencies. It doesn’t matter what freedom of speech and freedom of expression are. What matters is that Mohammed has been blasphemed. The locals are encouraged, prodded even, to protest. It’s one more page in the big book of “Anger Towards the West” (see the recent New York Times article if you need more fuel for this fire).

So, while many in Lahore and Karachi and Rawalpindi and Islamabad have no idea what Facebook is, they marched through the streets to protest the material on it. And, a day or two later, the judiciary instructed the Pakistan Telecommunications Authority to block the site. And so it was. Many people are unhappy about it. But, there is one hipster in Zamzama who has seen the bright side. He goes on to say, “I don’t know how much longer I can stay here. I mean, as long as I don’t turn on the news, I’m fine.” Don’t worry, maybe they’ll block that soon, too.

Border Guard at Pakistan/Indian Border

Tall Guard at the Border with a fan on his head

Wagah Mama

I crossed into Pakistan today on foot wearing my salwar kameez, looking the part of a conservative foreign woman. An Indian porter, a proud Sikh from Atari, carried my red suitcase on his head, and when we got to the line that indicates that this is no longer India, he handed my bag to a Pakistani porter who gingerly took it and placed it atop his head. Although he interacts with the Pakistani porters each day, Mr. Singh says, they are not friends. Why, I ask? Because India is a great country. I believe he means for me to deduce the opposite about his neighbor.

Mr. Singh said that while there are 700 porters (I saw about 50), there are only about 20-30 people who cross the border each day. I can’t vouch for these numbers, but it’s fair to say that while the situation between Pakistan and India is tenuous, the border is rather quiet.

This morning, along with me, there was one French photographer, eager to get in, and about 25 18-wheeler trucks pregnant with white sacks of soybeans—food for poultry, I was told. Two Italians and one woman, presumably Indian, were crossing into India. Other than the numerous border guards and unofficial-looking official guys, the border seemed a no man’s land.

In fact, so little action happens at the border each day, that one of the immigration officers on the Indian side was receiving a leg massage when I approached. His masseuse, positioned on the floor in front of his shins, giving them a vigorous rub down, did not stop as the officer—pants rolled up to his knees—looked over my passport and gave his sign off. On the Pakistani side, the intake officer would not look at my passport until he finished his round of prayer beads.

As I walked across the dividing line, an armed, bearded soldier received me and my American passport, with an awkward, “Welcome to Pakistan.” The country doesn’t seem very welcoming judging from the regular violence in the news, but what seems to be a recurring theme already is locals who tell me that the news outside gives an inaccurate reading of what life is like on the inside. The Minster of Trade in Delhi told me that. The News International says that. The lovely gentleman I’m staying with says that. I’m curious to see for myself.

The crossover this morning was much less dramatic than the border scene I witnessed yesterday evening. Here, at Wagah, a dividing line between India and Pakistan, there is a melodramatic performance of pomp and circumstance each evening as the border gates for each respective side are shut. (The border closes at sundown, and only reopens at 10AM.)

Apparently, the dramatic border closing ceremony has been happening ever since partition. It has turned into such a spectacle that each country has build stadium seating for guests to watch the drama. We arrived at 4:30pm and while the Indian side’s rafters were packed, there was not a single spectator on the Pakistani side. Over the course of the next hour and a half, Indians entertained themselves by running up and down the road leading to the border gates carrying the Indian flag, and dancing in the street to the bumpin’ beats of Hindustani music. The message seemed to be, “It’s fun to be Indian.” Meanwhile, women and men slowly started to fill in seats on the Pakistani side—in separate sections, of course. By the start of the ceremony, India’s side probably had 600-700 people. Pakistan had a humble 80-90.

If you only had the ceremony to go on, India would seem a positively rich country compared to Pakistan. The cultural fabric of India felt vibrant and dense. It had more flags, more soldiers, more citizen support, and all the singing and dancing. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the underdog. All Pakistan had going for it was its spot in the shade.

What’s remarkable and odd, is that these two countries, which take their divide very seriously, are able to engage in what has become a very theatrical ceremony. Border guards from each side have a yell off, where they each see who can hold a note the longest—over and over again. Pakistan often won this contest. Then there’s the march up to the gates, where the guards engage in some high kicks that would make a high school color-guard jealous. There’s high stepping, foot stomping, and pugnacious gestures—but at the end of it all, after the crowds go home, I’ve heard that it’s not uncommon for the guards to play cards together.

So, why all the vitriol? Indians tell me that their differences with Pakistan are not personal—they are driven by politics and history. At lunch today, though, my Pakistani host tells me that the evening show-off is disgusting and only promotes hatred. I’m surprised. He explains that while I may see it as theater, the locals who come to watch from either side take it very seriously. It deepens the divide and rubs raw the hatred.

I can see his point. While the show may be dramatic and boisterous, cocky and often playful—winning or losing is serious business.

Brand Central

In Pakistan's urban centers, it's not unusual for cars to carry gunmen, for protection.

It is not safe to travel in Pakistan. The US State Department has written 2.25 pages, single spaced, saying as much. And, while I am not one to take bombings, terrorists or target killers lightly, I go anyway. Duty calls—I need to make a trip for a research project related to work.

But, oh, the paradoxes of the developing world. Boulevards branded with Levi’s and McDonalds, Standard Chartered, and Pepsi. Manicured medians with flowering shrubs. It all looks so normal.

But, with power outages on and off throughout the day, there are regular reminders that these sign-posts of modernity are not signs of advancement. They are merely symbols of Western infiltration. The water is still dirty. Youth are still unemployed. The people still need protection from one other.

The Typist

There is a man named Anil whose life depends upon the Pakistan Embassy in India. If the Pakistan Embassy gets its act together and builds a website, any website at all, to represent its presence in India, Anil will lose his job. Anil, you see, is a typist. As in, he makes words on a typewriter. And while he doesn’t work for the Pakistani Embassy in New Delhi, he works very close to it. Rain or shine, Anil sits outside the Embassy, has been for 30 years, and helps travelers battle the bureaucracy within the Embassy’s run down offices.

You see, visa applicants are required to turn in their forms TYPED. Why? Because the Embassy doesn't have a website, they don't have forms that you can access online and print out before you show up. They supply the forms you need at Gate 1. They don't want to have to read your messy handwriting. So, they must be typed. And who has a typewriter handy on Shantipath Chanyakumari Road in New Delhi? I’ll tell you who.

Anil is Indian, but he doesn’t seem to have any problem with the fact that his life’s work is dependent upon his country’s arch-enemy. People will go to Pakistan, and when they do, they will need forms, and when those forms need to be typed, Anil will help. Incidentally, Anil also provides, free of charge, advice on how to fill in the forms. Having been privy to visa rejections over the years, he knows what will and won’t fly.

So, like a leech on a bleeding wound, Anil drinks up. And Pakistan’s Embassy survives another day without technology.

Sunny with a chance of...

The forecast in Delhi today is "Widespread Dust." Not sunny with...or cloudy but...or windy and...but just Dust Everywhere. http://xhtml.weather.com/xhtml/cc/INXX0096

High of 110 F.
Sent from BlackBerry® on Airtel

Stuck in her Ways

The Indian mindset often seems hard to shift. Mind set. Mindstuck. We’ve escaped for the weekend to a cantonment in the Himalayas of Himachal Pradesh. Whereas Delhi is over 100 degrees right now, and Mumbai is 90 with 74% humidity, the little village of Kasauli requires a light shawl in the morning, and is sunny and a beautiful 85 in the afternoon.

When we checked into our hotel, it was just after lunch. We asked the receptionist where we could go for a hike. “Oh, you can’t trek now,” he said with certainty. “It is too sunny.” This was the second time we’d been told this. The driver that brought us to the hotel also said, “It is too bright now. You can walk this evening.”

The weather was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky. Bright and clear. All that was needed was a slick of sunblock. But, someone once told these guys that they shouldn’t go out during the day. It will make you dark. You should take rest. And they listened, and now, they pass it on.

There are so many things like this here: you shouldn’t drink hot drinks then cold; if you’re sick, it’s usually the weather; if you have a cold, you should not work; it’s Western food (not oily Indian food) that’s causing Indians to have health problems, etc.

I admit, you hear these things often enough and you start to believe it. Even if it holds no water. Which is why some parts of India are really stuck. You hear something and pass it on, like a folktale, without considering an alternative. “The poor are ignorant.” “Orissa is a backwards state.” “Delhi is not safe for women.”

The typical response to India's challenges goes thus: “Adjust, adjust. It is like that only.” It indicates an acceptance of the ways things are, because that easy attitude makes it easier to go on, and get past the country's rough edges. But, a people desirous of change and advancement cannot afford to believe that it is like that only.

The Compulsion of Presence

Ten or fifteen years ago, we talked about how computers would change everything. In the future, you wouldn’t need to go anywhere, you could just pop on your video conferencing tool, or your laptop camera and have a meeting. You could internet chat with friends instead of going out. But, that hasn’t really happened. It’s 2010. The internet has been around for 4 decades, chat functionality has been around for 15 years, Skype has been around for 7. And yet, we still go to conferences, and fly to nearby cities for meetings.

I have the technology, as does my company, to enable every meeting to be a virtual meeting. Yet, we still insist of gathering together. The phone just doesn’t cut it. VOIP isn’t adequate. Even my friends who work for mega-money multi-lateral organizations, which have the tools to do state of the art video conferencing, aren’t doing it all that often. Why? It costs millions of dollars, and anyone you talk to has to have invested in the same caliber of system. And face it…we like to get together with other humans, in person.

This simple realization emphasized what we’ve been talking about at this in-person workshop in Bellagio: the compulsion of presence. In a world where many people are spending more and more time fielding email and connecting via social networks, we still value being present with our fellow man. Real, lasting, and valuable connections made in person still trump those made virtually. Not groundbreaking really. But, refreshing.

Country as Imagined Community

More ideas from Bellagio...

Many of us like to think of country borders as permanent and meaningful. In some cases, these borders are physical, for example, parts of the divide between the US and Mexico. But, in many cases, borders are lines on a map that serve to separate cultures and people that don’t necessarily need to be divided, for example, Punjabi Indians versus Punjabi Pakistanis (same people, just different sides of the fence). In other instances, the concept of a “country” only makes sense to a colonizer, but not to the people who are part of that country. India, for example, could easily be divided into several countries, each with its own language, dress, cuisine, and cultural traditions. On the other hand, parts of Africa could easily supercede their country divides, either because of spillover populations or cultural affinities.

The “country” as nation-state can both unite and separate, but the country as physical border divides. One idea we’ve discussed at Bellagio is the potential of transforming borders into uniters. Imagine the line between two countries that may have had conflicting relationships in the past. Drawing a line in the sand that says "this is mine, that is yours" only further cements the divide. But, what if the line in the sand were made into a park—neutral territory for either side to enjoy, that was classified as neither country’s official domain, but something shared. The concept immediately changes the way one thinks about the border. It is a connector. A few areas are already doing this. If you’re interested, check out the Balkans Peace Park Project and the Great Limpopo Transfrontier Park.

Robots, Pipes, Stampedes, Oh My!

Thirty two people from around the world have gathered in Bellagio to talk about the future. We are part of the Rockefeller Foundation’s “searchlight function,” an effort by the organization to work with teams around the world to uncover new and future developments that will affect the poor. In addition to about 10 sets of researchers, there are an additional 6-7 guests who have been seeded among us to add complexity and alternative perspectives to the conversation. Which is why, at breakfast yesterday, I found myself learning about the way robots can be used to find water leaks inside pipes and detect bank robberies before they happen.

Let me explain. Old leaking and cracked pipes are a big issue in many countries—developed and developing. The last month alone in Mumbai, the media has reported at least 5 major pipe bursts due to festering leaks. Smart robots can actually prevent this from happening by finding current or potential weak spots and patching them up.

As Andre-the-robot-man explained to me, the robots are programmed to sense dissonance in patterns. In the case of a pipe, they can sense when there is a break in the surface because it is different from the other parts of the pipe. The same kind of technology can also be used to identify when a bank is being robbed or when a crowd is getting out of control. The system maps the usual behavior, and when it notices a break in the pattern, it can alert the main system. Think about how useful this would be for crowd situations in India, where there are stampedes several times a year that inevitably cause unnecessary deaths of dozens, and sometimes hundreds of people. The technology developed by Andre’s company can actually detect a simmering situation about 4-6 minutes before it explodes—giving the powers that be time to react and prevent it.

At Bellagio, we are quite far from these realities--Indian stampedes and robots that find leaks--but the peacefulness here makes it surprisingly easy to focus and get on with the thinking.