Friday, October 24, 2014

Eliud Kipchoge's press conference and how language humanizes us

A long time ago, Michael Hurt wrote that language humanizes us. The exact point he made was that speaking Korean in a situation where you are being harassed would earn you the sympathy of bystanders a lot more than speaking English, especially aggressively. I don't want to get into the rest of Hurt's article, but when I tried to imagine a situation where a Chinese immigrant on the Toronto subway was shouting for help in Chinese, I realized just how true it was that language humanizes us, even when we are not otherwise prejudiced against those who do not speak our language or share our culture. Having not seen what happened, all I would see would be someone shouting incoherently, not something that in and of itself would compel me to help.

It was this line in Hurt's post that led me to write online in Korean a few years ago. The decision was partly inspired by the feeling, really a form of paranoia or megalomania, present in English-language discussion of Korea, where opposition to foreign people and ideas are at the centre of Korean society, politics and daily life. In this explanation of Korea, Koreans act in response or in relation to foreigners. Education policy, for example, is supposedly manipulated by teachers unions who are threatened by the presence of Westerners in the school system, to create job cuts for those Westerners. It's almost as though people can't even imagine a world where their existence is insignificant to the mainstream of Korean society.

I wanted to write in Korean to humanize myself as a foreigner first and to access the vast Korean Internet second. As I wrote in Korean, I realized that while many Koreans have prejudices against foreigners, a phenomenon that is as annoying to quantify against Western countries as it is to try and settle whether Pele or Kobe Bryant would be better at track, foreigners simply didn't matter, for better or for worse. As I got over that and stopped using 'Korea' and 'Korean' as a modifier, I realized that language humanizes both ways. In my case, it helped to remove prejudices that I had. For the people who read my Tweets, it wasn't the case that I had suddenly become a person to them, but that my ideas had become accessible and part of their discourse instead of the English-language discourse in Korea that exists in parallel.

I was inspired to write this post by Eliud Kipchoge's press conference after winning the Chicago Marathon two weeks ago. I've been watching Kipchoge run for 11 years, ever since he won a gold medal at the 2003 world championships, but not only had I never heard him speak, my impression of him was formed entirely by his performance at the 2005 world championships. There, having won gold in 2003 and then bronze at the 2004 Athens Olympics, Kipchoge seemed, to me at least, to give up at the end of a race after it became clear that he wouldn't win (Craig Mottram out-leaned Kipchoge for the bronze). To me, Kipchoge was arrogant and sullen, caring only about winning.

That impression, created in a split second from essentially nothing, endured for almost a decade until the press conference Kipchoge in Chicago. LetsRun, which makes it a point to create personalities for stars, saw the interview, uploaded it and highlighted Kipchoge's answers. You need to watch the video, though, to notice that not only does Kipchoge give nice answers to questions like his advice for 5-hour marathoners, but that he looks as though he's enjoying the press conference. Most East African runners are quiet and subdued in their press conferences, which is why LetsRun tries to make stars out of the ones who aren't.

Listening to Kipchoge was an example, from another context and in the interaction of two different cultures, that speaking well in the target language makes you come alive in a way that speaking aggressively in a foreign language simply can't. This holds true for the person who needs help on a subway train, for all the English-language activism that aims to produce change in Korea, and for elite runners who win races in New York and Boston but generate less than one percent of the buzz generated by runners who are also-rans at best.

There has long been a perception that African runners are interchangeable, nameless East Africans who could be swapped out for each other without anyone noticing. In a sense, that's true, just as the winner of a local race could be swapped out for another skinny person without more than a handful of people noticing. That's because spectator sport is about a narrative and about stories, not performance in a vacuum. Performance is in fact secondary to narrative, which is created by knowing players and teams. Athletes, if we knew nothing about them, their histories or their tendencies, would be far less interesting. If they not only couldn't speak to us but didn't speak except for at most twice a year for a few minutes, they would be far less interesting.

This is the problem faced by running as a spectator sport, but it's also the problem faced by outsiders. They may also have a distorted perspective of those on the inside as was the case for myself, and they will often struggle to be fully-fledged human beings to those on the inside even in the absence of overt prejudice. For runners, a classic example of this difference is Kenenisa Bekele and Haile Gebrselassie. Two Ethiopian runners with roughly identical credentials, one is clearly more popular than the other. Bekele is something of a cipher for an athlete who was undefeated at his specialty event for almost a decade.

To bring the story back to Korea, most Westerners in Korea live a non-literate existence to some extent. The average Korean ability of people I meet seems to have improved, but I can still remember naming restaurants based on distinguishing features such as the colour of the sign (three of my favourite restaurants after first coming here were 'red', 'white' and 'yellow') and navigating bus routes by landmarks instead of the names of stops. This may or may not have changed, but I wouldn't be surprised to know that people still employ coping strategies for illiteracy such as using ATMs or websites by memorizing the correct sequence of buttons to press.

Life for such people would obviously improve if they spoke Korean because then they could go about their daily business much more easily, but it would also improve because they would understand the society around them and that they exist, insofar as they are foreigners, at its periphery, not at its centre. It's true that no amount of linguistic ability can overcome prejudice or preconceived notions, which is why learning a bit of Korean actually furthers the prejudicial ranting of some people, but reading a Korean newspaper or watching a Korean newscast would be an eye-opening experience for how little English teachers and even foreigners as a whole factor into the national conversation.

Monday, October 13, 2014

NBC's coverage of the Chicago Marathon was understandably terrible

NBC's coverage of the Chicago Marathon was awful in so many ways. To broadly characterize it, although the main broadcast was done by Ed Eyestone and Tony Reavis, with Greg Meyer and Joanie Benoit Samuelson following the men's and women's races respectively, the whole thing showed, once again, what's wrong with running as a spectator sport. As bad as NFL broadcasts can be, they at least are wrapped up in themselves, alternatively missing the forest or the trees for the other while committing linguistic atrocities as they go along. What routinely passes for coverage of running in mainstream media is inconceivable for another sport.

First, let's go over what made this broadcast so bad for those who either missed it or weren't paying attention. I suspect that we saw about 8-12 km of running total out of the 84 km of racing that took place. The coverage reminded me of sharing a TV with my brothers when, say, one person was watching a playoff hockey game while they other wanted regular updates on a regular-season baseball game. NBC showed the race go off, then cut away after a couple of minutes, showed the mile split and returned for a minute of every mile until 5k, after which it seemed to be a minute for every two mile until we were at around 23 miles. The women's race got about a third to one half of the coverage that the men's race got. There may have been one instance of a split-screen showing both races simultaneously, but I may have just imagined that.

So, what do you do when you're airing running's equivalent of a tennis grand slam but don't actually want to show anyone running? You interview everyone you can get your hands on, and get reporters to provide their unique insights on things that have nothing to do with running. And you show commercials. While watching, I loudly criticized Eyestone, Reavis and Meyers for mistakes such as Meyers repeatedly not being able to pronounce Kipchoge's name or Reavis' Joe Biden-like misspeaks, but those are really trivial, not unlike how football analysts say dozens of ridiculous things in every game.

What was infuriating were the dozen or so weather updates NBC aired showing what the temperature was at each mile marker, explaining and reiterating how the wind would be at the runners' backs at some times and in their faces at other times. There were the interviews. The lengthy interview with Steve Jones was not bad, but it's indicative of the fact that even a generation from now, the only elite runners the casual fan will be able to name will be people like Bill Rodgers. Was there not a more recent champion that could have been interviewed? Does Steve Jones have more name recognition or is he an easier interview as a Westerner? Or both?

Other interviews included people who had run aid stations, people who were standing at aid stations watching the race, and people who were involved with charities that supported the race. Particularly bad was an interview with a family who had been at the 2013 Boston Marathon, even though the video feed had just shown that Kenenisa Bekele had been dropped from the lead pack during the lengthy feature that just finished. A little bit after that, the weather reporter said that because "not much is happening" behind her, they could take another look at the weather. NBC showed pretty much all of the last three miles of the race, but chose to take a commercial break between 24 and 25 miles, which is when Eliud Kipchoge separated himself from Sammy Kitwara and Dickson Chumba.

The coverage was atrocious, but that a major marathon is televised and anyone around the world can watch it is a good state of affairs for track, considering that few non-championship track meets are televised. I have no idea how many people watch NBC in Chicago on a Sunday morning, but it might well have been the case that the number of people who watched even a portion of the telecast online exceeds the number of people watching it on a TV (I'm imagining both numbers in the tens of thousands and using the number of people who run marathons as a barometer).

NBC really isn't to blame because the number of people who care about how a race is shown is really small. Outside of the LetsRun bubble, knowing that the lead pack was not simply jogging despite appearances is on the knowledgeable end of the spectrum, knowing anything more really means you represent less than one percent of the one percent who would watch the race in the first place.

Although major marathons are increasingly and now absurdly popular, with both world records and Boston qualifying times slowly dropping, this hasn't really translated into anything beyond "2:02:57! Wow, that's fast!" in terms of an interest in running as a spectator sport. You can make improvements in how its presented, but I don't think it's ever going to change, not that the improbability is going to stop me from posts on media coverage of running.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Watching October baseball for the first time

Maybe it's the fact that I've gotten married or it's the fact that I teach university students, but I have chosen this year as the year to feel fully grown up. This probably explains posts such as this one, as I realize that things I saw as being in a state of flux when younger are actually in a state of permanence. Thanks to the prominence of Korean players such as Choo Shinsoo and Ryu Hyunjin, Major League Baseball is very popular in Korea and I come across live games, both in the regular season and now during the playoffs, simply by going out for lunch, as many restaurants here have TVs. The Korean league is also very popular in Korea, more popular than American baseball, and the result is that I see a great deal of baseball and hear a great deal of discussion about it.

I enjoy going to baseball games in Seoul, even though the stadium reminds me of a smaller version of Shea Stadium, heavy on concrete and light on anything else, something that is an architectural abomination until you consider that it was built in 1982, a time when Korea was a far, far poorer country. Compared to most other buildings from that time, Jamsil Baseball Stadium is quite nice, actually. The experience of going to a game is also fun, so I ended up going to a game last Saturday just because I happened to be going past the stadium.

It was a 5 pm start and as I realized that this was by far the coldest baseball game I had ever been to, I also realized that I was at a baseball game in October, albeit a regular season game. It's not that I would have never been to such a game in North America since I would have probably ended up at a game in Detroit, Chicago, Philadelphia or some other Northeastern city in conjunction with some race, road trip or football game. Still, if I hadn't moved to Seoul, I might not have seen a playoff game until I had kids who were older than I was the last time the Jays made it to the playoffs (parenthetically, I moved to Canada in 1994 and started watching baseball in 1995, so I have been waiting for the Jays to make the playoffs for as long as I have known pro sports).

The season that just finished marked the 20th consecutive season of playoff futility, 21 seasons if you consider that the 1994 team wouldn't have made the playoffs even if there hadn't been a strike. I remember a copy of the Jr. Jays magazine for kids sometime between the 1995 and 1996 seasons, that showed the Blue Jays promising to get back to the excellence of the past decade in order to commemorate their 20th season. As things stand now, the 21 consecutive years of futility are stacked against the 17 years from 1977-1993 when the Blue Jays were either on their way to winning or were winning.

To guard against disappointment, I refuse to believe that the Blue Jays will go anywhere until they actually clinch a playoff birth. Even if they stand in first place by a dozen games on Labour Day, I will believe that they will find a way to blow it, even though the story of this team is not really one of tragic collapses or unraveling as much as it is never quite being good enough, or even being close to being good enough.

October baseball goes against everything that baseball is about. The weather is cold and unlike in spring, it's winter that's around the corner, not summer. You don't want to linger as much as you want to stay warm and then get out as soon as possible. The games are also different. They are about performing in the short-term, not over the long-term. I always thought that sudden-death elimination games, or even a game 7, were unlike baseball because baseball doesn't really lend itself to the short-term, as obviously exciting as a single game of baseball might be.

On this night, powerhouse Nexen beat wild card-hopeful LG 6-2 in what could be a preview of the playoffs. I haven't seen much on the debate about the corporatization of pro sports that was prevalent in the 1990s when stadiums began to be named after companies, making me think that no one has issues anymore with the confluence of professional sports and big business, considering that professional sport is a big business to begin with. Still, I smile when I remember that most Korean professional sports teams are named after a large company, not a city, meaning that casual fans would struggle to remember just where a team plays.

In the American League playoffs, it was great to see the Royals not only make the playoffs but advance to the ALCS. I was impressed by the Washington Nationals 96-win season, even if they didn't go anywhere in the playoffs for the second time in three years. The Nationals' playoff appearance in 2012 was their first since 1981. Kansas City is making its first appearance since 1985. The Texas Rangers needed 36 seasons to make the playoffs for the first time. The Blue Jays' playoff drought could easily match or exceed these droughts, using the more popular Leafs as a template, and October baseball would remain something Torontonians see only in other cities.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Movie review: One For All, All For One (60만번의 트라이)

I saw this movie Saturday afternoon in a tiny theatre at the Apgujeong CGV along with at most two dozen people. All I knew about it was that it was a Japanese movie about a Korean high school's rugby team in Osaka. Seeing that the name of the school was the Osaka Chosun High School made me assume that the school was tied to the North Korean government, as did the ramshackle state of the schoolyard, but I tried to give the school the benefit of the doubt, guessing that maybe it predated independence. Of course, about a half hour into the movie, the students' trip to visit family North Korea settled that issue, although the film doesn't so much as refer to or acknowledge the students' identity as at least nominally identifying with and supporting North Korea. Instead, it skates around the matter, referring merely to "the North".

On the surface, this movie, really a documentary, examined a topic about which I knew very little. I don't claim to fully understand the remarkably complex status of ethnic Koreans in Japan who have either political or legal ties to North Korea, or both. There are North Korean citizens who are effectively stateless in Japan, which does not recognize North Korea. There are pro-North Koreans who have South Korean citizenship, presumably in addition to North Korean citizenship, and there also seem to be people who have no citizenship, having chosen neither Japanese, South Korean nor North Korean citizenship, though it's hard to say just how many belong to any of these groups, particularly the last one. Those who aren't South Korean citizens travel in and out of Japan on re-entry permits that serve as quasi-passports.

What is clear, as Apichai Shipper at Georgetown writes, is that many of these Koreans "come to possess such a complex ethnic imagination of themselves as Japan-born North Koreans with South Korean passports or special documents for stateless persons". The result is a complex "long-distance nationalism" described by Shipper, not unusual in and of itself, but unusual due to the fairly unique relations between North Korea and its neighbours to the south and east.

Superficially, this was a movie that showed the ordinary side of these people, who chose to attend a poorly-funded pro-North Korean school and had a remarkably powerful rugby team, albeit one that wore Underarmour or Mizuno clothing. The students made a number of references to their ethnicity, such as how good it was to go to North Korea and speak to those who were of the same ethnicity (however you'd like to translate "같은 민족") or their surprise at how different South Koreans were even though they were of the same background. Their pride in their ethnicity seemed mostly superficial. Just about every student featured in the documentary was barely coherent in Korean and spoke mostly in Japanese sprinkled with a few words of Korean that had a heavy Japanese accent.

It's hard to deny that these children were more or less the same as their Japanese counterparts, looking, talking and acting just like them. They bore no resentment towards their Japanese peers, at least not on the film, and portrayed themselves (or were portrayed?) as no different from Catholic school students in Ontario or a linguistic or religious minority elsewhere, perhaps Hispanic or Mormon students in the United States.

I don't see, though, how a documentary about the humanity of such students can ignore the sharp contrast between their life outside the classroom and their lives in it. Public pressure has caused political education to be removed from elementary and middle schools but not high schools, and pictures of Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il have moved from classrooms to just the staff rooms. Scenes of the students' visit to Pyongyang was telling. They're shown eating at an expensive restaurant and at an amusement park, things that would show the North to be merely another country if not for the alarmingly-thin children shown in the background of their photos, not to mention their visits to the Juche Tower in Pyongyang.

I could have walked away from the movie thinking that although it came across as pro-North Korean at times, the bias apparent was simply the result of caring about North Koreans as people. The discussion that followed after the movie with the directors of the movie and one of the students featured in the movie made clear that the movie has a political objective. In the words of Park Sa-yu, one of the directors, the movie was intended, in part, as a way of raising awareness of the supposed plight of the school and to encourage a government, either Japanese or Korean, to fund the school. The governor of Osaka prefecture explains in the film that the South Korean government certainly wouldn't fund the school if it were located in Korea, so the Japanese government certainly won't be providing funding.

Park, who filmed the entire discussion with a small video camera, went onto urge those in the audience to work towards restoring funding towards the school, suggesting methods such as a a weekly protest held in front of the Japanese embassy. The journalist who moderated the discussion found it "regrettable" ("죄송스럽네요") that the South Korean government was unwilling to fund a North Korean goverment school in a third country that would turn around and teach its students to work for the destruction of the South Korean state.

Listening to an audience member who shared her distaste for life in South Korea, her desire to leave it to go live somewhere else, and her admiration for the panel members, I couldn't help but thinking of the many Westerners who blog and Tweet their fantasy of making a sacred migration to "al-dawlah", the territory controlled by ISIS. Both ISIS and the North Korean sympathizers have decided to deal with living in a complicated, competitive society that may or may not be fulfilling by supposedly opting out of it and declaring their support for a simpler but far more competitive society. Like the students in the documentary who can both sympathize with North Korea and yet enjoy rock music, rugby and MP3 players in Japan, the claim of opting out of society is really the claim of opting in by speaking freely and subversively in front of embassies, in movie theatres and online.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Shopping can be this uncomfortable: paying $10 and waiting a week just to avoid Gmarket

I had a peculiar problem. Ever since I broke or lost my decade-old Timex Ironman watch a few years ago, I have been running with a series of cheap watches bought from stalls at Korean road races, and one Pinyin-laden contraption from Nepal, that have broken after 8-10 months and cost significantly more than buying another Timex would have. So, when my latest iteration of the 10,000-won "marathon watch" you can buy at any Korean road race broke after falling out of my backpack, I decided to buy one of the Timex watches I loved so much.

I don't think anyone runs with Timex watches anymore, though I could be wrong. Just about everyone I know runs with a GPS and the price differential is getting to be so small that buying a 30-lap Timex is more a matter of stubborn pride than it is cost, although, like using a smartphone to make a phone call, I suspect that a GPS watch might well be a terrible choice for the basic functions I want.

I found a running store in Seoul that sold one, but for 2-3 times more than what it cost online, so I went to Gmarket. I made a Gmarket account five years ago and if I could ever get into my account, I'm pretty sure I'd find a 30,000-won credit from a purchase I made a long time ago where the item wasn't available, but I couldn't even get into my account. The identity matrix that requires you to provide an ID number, cell phone number or even the new I-PIN system of verification that is backed up by an ID number ended up requiring me to call Gmarket to regain my account.

I thought that I could try making a new account that wouldn't be linked to my ID number and therefore would work, but I got stuck on the part where I had to enter my address. For those who have never entered their address into a Korean website, you can never type in your own address, in the form of "123 Fake Street, Lubbock, Texas", followed by a zip code. It works by selecting the large city or province where you live, then the district and then you can search for a building or apartment complex and select it from a list. Only at that point can you enter the building and apartment number by yourself.

For some reason, this happens in a popup and, for some reason, after completing the process, the popup wouldn't close and enter the details automatically into the address field on the registration form. It was here that I simply gave up. There was simply too much working against me. The registration process, with its jigsaw puzzle of ID numbers, phone numbers, the ID number under which the phone was registered and so on, was only the first step. The process of buying it would be another ordeal marked by a cumbersome bank transfer at the very least. I went to Amazon, logged in, Googled a watch, saw that it shipped to Korea for $10 in 9-12 days, added a book to my order and I had completed

Yes, I realize that this is an anecdote that beats a dead horse. Yes, I realize that Gmarket may work perfectly fine for you, especially if you use it in English or haven't forgotten your login information. Yes, I realize that I could have asked someone else to order it for me. Yes, I realize that I could have tried another website or done any number of things that would make this easier, but this is an anecdote. Yes, I realize that with a little bit of patience, I could have saved $10 and had my watch within a few days.

But online shopping is supposed to be convenient. If I wanted a cumbersome way of saving money, I would just run twenty miles to the outlets in Guro. Online culture in Korea being something like 5-10 years ahead of what it is in the West, free shipping is a given within Korea, usually within 1-3 days, something that Amazon has only recently started doing with Amazon Prime. The sole catch in Korea is the mind-numbing complexity of registration and online transactions, both bank transfers and credit cards.

This is a problem highlighted by the inability of overseas consumers to make purchases from Korean companies, but there's a growing recognition among Koreans everyone from the president to ordinary people who have gone to remarkable lengths just to buy products from overseas, that the existing system in Korea is needlessly complex, counter-productive and not doing what it is designed to do, which is to prevent fraud and protect personal information. Repeated leaks of personal information, the most significant being early this year, has shown that a better system is necessary.

Just as the use of ID numbers online has declined sharply from its peak about 4-5 years ago, despite my pessimism, we have probably seen the peak of Active X and maybe even the peak of terribly-designed websites. Certificates for online transactions will eventually disappear, taking much of the impetus for Active X with them, and the growing reluctance of customers to share personal information online will probably lead to personal verification processes, cumbersome as they are, that rely on cell phones, I-PIN or some variant, or maybe even just emails.

For those who aren't from Canada, the title for this post comes from TD Bank's slogan, "banking can be this comfortable". See my related post from 2011 on just how uncomfortable banking can be.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Will there be a 10,000-metre run at the 2020 Olympics?

The Memorial Van Damme meet in Brussels just took place without a 10,000 for the second straight year. This means that the only world-class men's 10,000 of the year took place in Eugene at the Pre Classic. What that also means is that the men's and women's 10,000 are becoming more and more similar, something that's run either at a championship or as a way of getting the standard to run at a major championship. Races like Ostrava, Hengelo and Brussels, which held races that were aimed at performance for the very best (meet records of 26:20, 26:22 and 26:17, respectively) no longer have the 10,000 presumably because they're too long and don't fit with other events at the meet, meaning that the Pre Classic is maybe the only race left that is neither a championship nor a race set up to hit the standard.

If the World Cross Country Championships could go from a hotly-contested annual event to a biennial afterthought, the 10,000 could easily be removed from the list of championship events if track tries, as it did with this year's relay championships, to become more fan-friendly. Clearly, there are many aspects of track and field that no longer appeal to audiences outside of a niche in some part of the world, such as the 30,000 in Japan, domestic cross country in the United Kingdom and the javelin in Finland. A compact, faster track meet may be the only chance track has to stay relevant, not because long-distance running isn't popular, but because it's no longer appropriate for a track meet.

Although the 10,000 is often portrayed, even by supporters, as a dreary jogfest, t he event is by no means short on drama. If anything, it's the stage on which the greatest distance runners on the world must perform in order to earn their title, with the 5,000 often serving as an after-thought at major championships, even though it's more common overall. The event gave us, among others, Farah, Bekele, Tergat, Gebrselassie, Viren, Mills, Dibaba, Flanagan, Radcliffe, Tulu. It has given us breathtaking finishes won by the smallest of margins, improbable wins by people like Mills, crushing defeats (Radcliffe) and heartbreak (Tergat, later Gebrselassie,). For at least twenty years, the world's greatest distance runner has earned the title by winning the 10,00 (Gebrselassie, then Bekele, then Farah).

Based on the way the sport and the event are going, in five or ten years, the 10,000 will move to the roads and become the 10k, with people remembering a generation from now that once upon a time, there used to be a 10k on the track, not unlike the way the now-defunct one-hour run is recalled. There's nothing wrong with the 10k moving to the road, but even on the road, there's the unspoken reality that the most moneyed part of the sport exists as charity. Big road races attract tens of thousands of participants, their money and sponsors, but slowly, people are finding out that if most ordinary runners couldn't tell Kenenisa Bekele from Bekele Debele or Haile Gebrselassie from Haile Selassie, there's no need to pay appearance fees.

The current structure is kept in place by race directors such as Carey Pinkowski who love the sport and love assembling competitive, world-class fields, but races like the Colour Run and the Spartan Race, as well as their various clones, are finding that you can charge much more than a standard race for delivering an experience instead of a race in the conventional sense. If these races spread, which they will considering the fact that their appeal is larger than a standard race, they are likely to leave the roads wanting a competitive, world-class 10k as much as the track, which is not at all.

Sunday, September 07, 2014

The beauty of spectacular, crushing failure

Although there was a game on Thursday, today is really opening day in the NFL. Today marks the first of 20 straight Sundays (Monday mornings for me) with at least six hours of meaningful football, a streak broken only by the Pro Bowl on January 25. I have a fairly bipolar approach to being a football fan. I don't follow football during the off-season, which to me includes the pre-season, and I mostly follow by watching as many games as I can, which can be as many as a dozen games in a week, but nothing else. Sure, I do read Gregg Easterbrook's Tuesday Morning Quarterback and some of the analysis on Peter King's Monday Morning Quarterback, but I probably rank with the a disinterested stadium security guard for the ratio of games watched to knowledge of what's happening in the league.

Not following football in the off-season means that I never really finished recovering from the emotional shock of seeing the Broncos demolished in the Super Bowl. As much as I try to leave sports where they belong, which is as a fun hobby, the Broncos' Super Bowl defeat was probably one of the three most jarring, most disappointing experiences I have ever experienced in any sport I've watched or played in my life, starting with cricket in Pakistan and continuing through with running and football in Korea.

The first was the Jaguars' upset of the Broncos in the 1996 playoffs, the last game the Broncos would ever play in their orange jerseys and bright blue helmets. It was only my second season of watching any pro sport, but for some reason, I had become tremendously attached to the team and, probably never having seen an upset where the team I rooted for was on the losing side, I was shocked to see how unpredictable sports could be. Of course, it probably took me another five or ten years to realize how unpredictable sports could be, I was probably left with a tremendous feeling of unfairness that somewhat irrationally lingers to this day in the form of a crystal-clear memory of the 1996 season, perhaps even clearer than the 1997 and 1998 seasons where the Broncos won the Super Bowl.

The second jarring experience was the 2008 Boston Marathon, where I showed up in the best shape I have ever been in before or since, along half a dozen friends who went as far as to make t-shirts bearing my likeness, and then got off to an awkward, underwhelming start before finding myself unable to even jog just after the halfway mark. This one stung for three reasons. The first was the obvious, tremendous gap between expectations and reality. The second was the fact that I still don't understand what happened. My best guess was that I had a virus, the symptoms of which became apparent a few days later, but I'll never know. The third reason was that running is, to a great extent, quantifiable and meritocratic. A lot of runners expect it to work something like a vending maching, with inputs in the form of training producing quantifiable outputs in performance, unlike, say, a team sport.

The third was the Super Bowl in February. Although I can't see games on TV here in Korea and most Koreans don't know anything about football, I had mentally awarded a Super Bowl to Peyton Manning and the Denver Broncos, the player and team for which I cheer inasmuch as I cheer for anyone or any team. Even though I had dismissed the Broncos in October on the basis that teams with historically strong offenses tend to peter out in the playoffs in the form of the 1998 Vikings as well as the 2007 and 2011 Patriots, their playoff run, Manning's renaissance and the comparative lack of hype awarded to the Seahawks got me to believe. What made the Super Bowl jarring was the totality of the Broncos' destruction. It was like watching Mark Wohlers forget how to pitch, like reading an essay from a student who completely misunderstood the assignment, like coming to a pathetic stop 18 kilometres shy of the Boston Marathon's finish line.

A margin of 7 or 10 points would have been understandable and even the 22-0 halftime score just led me to believe that one tremendous comeback was going to happen, but by the time it was 36-0 in the third quarter, I had to admit that what I had been seeing was not an aberration. The Broncos had basically played the worst game in Super Bowl history, possibly worse than they might have played if they had been paid off by gamblers to lose badly. Again, the wide gap between expectations and reality was so jarring that sports made its way from the place where I normally keep it in my life, as either recreation, entertainment or some combination of both, into the rest of my life. It was really not that different from seeing a favourite character on Law and Order die or leave the show, but I couldn't explain why.

Two weeks ago, while running and promising not to make the same mistake in fall races that I have in the past 2-3 years, I thought of all the losing teams from cities like Toronto and Buffalo have endured, and how, though we often rationalize defeat and failure as setting us up for greater success in the future, it's often the case that we failed on the most significant stage of our lives. Jim Kelly lost four consecutive Super Bowls and never won one. I showed up at the start line of the Boston Marathon and ran easily the worst race of my life. Walter Mondale ran for president and endured a spectacular defeat.

Each of us bounced back in some way, but Jim Kelly never won a Super Bowl, I still don't have the sub-three marathon I thought was the least of my worries that day, and Mondale never became president. It's not that failing at the highest level of a given activity means you suck at that activity, but bouncing back isn't guaranteed and a lot of failure is irredeemable. There's a tremendous lesson to be learned in having failed at something, and it's not that it'll motivate you to succeed in future attempts or that you'll learn why you failed and improve in some way.

The lesson is that failing spectacularly is a chance to learn compassion and empathy, and a chance to reflect on the way you live. Admittedly, there's no guarantee, just as living in a foreign country doesn't guarantee acquiring cultural sensitivity or a foreign language, while those who never leave their hometown can easily acquire both of those, but it's part of the beauty of failure. Someone who has never failed at something, ever, especially if it's not for a lack of taking risks, is prone to the sort of blind spot that the wealthy and successful sometimes have against the poor and less successful (e.g. "I went to college and then did an MBA, why can't you?" or "I've never been overweight, why can't you just lose that weight?").

With the caveat that this doesn't apply to situations where someone's life was necessarily and adversely affected by a failure (though success isn't necessarily harmless either), there's beauty in having gone and failed at something, not because you tried and not because you will necessarily become a better person after examining why you failed, but because you'll learn something. You might not be able to use what you learned for material gain, but you'll learn something. You'll learn that you weren't as good as you thought, that someone else was better than you thought, that life works differently than what you thought and that you have to continue living in spite of your failure.

Thursday, September 04, 2014

Reading Jeff Pearlman's biography of the 1990s Cowboys, Boys Will Be Boys

There are a handful of books and TV shows that I've watched because they were promoted on The Daily Show, but I don't think I've ever read a book because it was briefly mentioned in a Daily Show segment. After ESPN journalist Josina Anderson put together a report on Michael Sam's shower habits, Jon Stewart and Samantha Bee lampooned it on the show by, among other things, reading from the portion of Boys Will Be Boys where it discusses Charles Haley's bizarre sexual practices in both the Cowboys and 49ers locker rooms, places he won five Super Bowls in the span of a decade, still the most of any player in history.

I then read this lengthy ESPN profile of Jerry Jones, who, it could it be argued, has spent a quarter-century trying to win a Super Bowl that would allow him to be considered as a man with football acumen instead of one with more money than taste or sense. Having started watching football in 1995, when the Cowboys dynasty peaked, winning its third Super Bowl in four years, I was surprised enough by this profile of things I never really noticed as a 9-year-old to want to know just how it was possible that a team with a heavy Jerry Jones influence managed to win so many Super Bowls.

I read a preview of Boys Will Be Boys, which was a chapter describing the stupendously relaxed, though depraved might be a better word, approach the team took to Super Bowl XXX. I ended up buying the book to read on the Kindle Cloud Reader, which lets you buy books on Amazon and read them on any device, for $10.95. It was the first time I had bought a book that wasn't a paper book and Amazon's website noted that the book had been delivered for free wirelessly, which is a bit like an airline promising that all its flights come with complimentary cabin pressurization and landing gear.

The book was well-written, but either due to Pearlman's shortcomings as a writer or that of an editor who wanted books about this aspect of professional sports to be written in a certain way, often sounds like a hyperbolic NFL Films documentary. All terms are either vaunted, mighty or lowly. There was seldom an ordinary game, with each game either exposing the moral decay within the team, the egos of those involved, or displaying the sheer masculine talent of the players, which could not be overcome by moral weaknesses. The use of hyperbole works when Pearlman is describing both just how bad the Cowboys were in Johnson's first year or just how astonishing the turnaround was in subsequent years, but by the time he refers to a 20-17 regular-season loss to the Eagles in 1995 as the team's worst defeat of the decade, there had been so many earth-shattering humiliations delivered and accepted that it seemed ludicrous.

Pearlman, either because he wants to depict the Cowboys as they were or because he wants his book to have a shocking realism, takes pride in using as many sexually explicit words as possible. He also, probably several dozen times over the course of a roughly 400-page book, refers to women who hung around the Cowboys as being long-legged, large-breasted and scantily-clad. Such deficiencies are minor in a detailed account, aided by the passage of time, of just how staggeringly good and how staggeringly out-of-control the Cowboys of the early 1990s were. In a way, the resemblance to a bad episode of Behind the Music is necessitated by the subject, even if Pearlman doesn't seem to have a fondness for this topic.

The passage of time also makes it clear just how much football has changed since the Cowboys' dynasty, which had more in common with the NFL of the 1970s than the NFL of the 2010s. The significance of Emmitt Smith to the team seems quaint and his 25 rushing touchdowns of 1995 might as well belong to the pre-merger era, even though LaDainian Tomlinson scored 28 just eight years ago. Troy Aikman, considered a star by 1992, started his career with touchdown-interception ratios of 9-18, 11-18 and 11-10. The players' antics come across as relics of a free era, one before removing helmets, excessive celebration or running onto the field in anger were punished by personal fouls, before the league increasingly tried to control its brand, not that today's players are necessarily better-behaved than those of a generation ago.

The ongoing tension between Jones and Johnson, which left both men feeling empty after winning back-to-back Super Bowls just four years after a 1-15 season, along with the sense that the Cowboys fell backwards into winning Super Bowl XXX thanks to tremendous talent and Neil O'Donnell's mistakes is instructive to understand athletic performance. In sports, there's never really a perfect day or moment. Athletes, teams and performances look perfect only in retrospect, but in reality, they were anything but. The Cowboys always had tension between some combination of players, coaches and ownership, as well as between blacks and whites, but dominated the league for four years while living the lifestyles of drug addicts.

This sort of thing is probably more common than not. There's a perception in sports that everything has to go right in order for great things to happen, but that's clearly not the case. Rather than perfect conditions, it may just be that the only thing needed is for nothing to impede talent. Or, it may be that we don't really understand what it takes for athletes to succeed, which is why alcoholic cocaine addicts chronically short on sleep trounced the well-rested, well-prepared albeit neurotic Buffalo Bills by a combined score of 82-30 in consecutive Super Bowls. This may be why a control freak athlete such as Peyton Manning has one Super Bowl while his younger brother, who has fewer hang-ups and far less pressure to succeed, has two.

Looking at other sports, Nolan Ryan's sixth no-hitter came at the age of 43 after an ERA of almost 9 in his previous five starts, and his seventh came a year later at 44 on a night when he didn't think he could go five innings. In running, Sammy Wanjiru ran arguably the greatest marathon in history at the Beijing Olympics after forgetting his racing shoes in Japan. Abebe Bikila won the Olympic marathon after deciding that the shoes he had were too painful to run in and that running barefoot would be more comfortable.

Boys Will Be Boys makes it seem unbelievable that the Cowboys could perform as well as they did despite the constant distractions, inability to get along and the physical harm they were doing to themselves, but more improbable would be winning the Super Bowl in the absence of all these things. This is not an argument for coaches to find a cocaine dealer for their players, but to consider that a lot of the things they think harm performance are neutral and that a lot of the things they think improve performance really don't matter.

It's improbable, though, considering how hard coaches work, how insecure their jobs are and the tendency of people like coaches, teachers and doctors to believe in the power of doing something as opposed to doing nothing. If coaches needed to work 10 hours a day instead of 18, they wouldn't make as much money, but considering how plainly incompetent Barry Switzer was as a coach and how little it mattered, but also how pointless Jimmy Johnson's micromanaging kindergarten-like discipline of the Cowboys mattered, owners should at least think about it.

An odd little coincidence that happened while I was reading this book is that Michael Sam signed with the Dallas Cowboys. He's easily one of the most normal people to be signed by the Cowboys, though it's unlikely that he'll win many big games as a Cowboy as long as Jerry Jones is the general manager. The Cowboys have lost seven of the nine playoff games they've played since winning Super Bowl XXX, a statistic that doesn't reflect the fact that they have, somehow, lost three week 17 games in the last three years when victory would have put them in the playoffs. As the ESPN profile notes, no one would keep their job after consistently failing at it for twenty years, least of all in a field like professional sports, where people are fired just because it gives the perception of solving a problem.

Friday, August 29, 2014

What the women's 4 x 400 at the European Championships and Flotrack's cross country previews teach us about track

I post videos of races on Facebook from time to time, and most get a handful of responses from other fans of track, even though people who have never run, say, 20 km without stopping probably make up the minority of my Facebook friends. That even people who participate in a sport, in the form of organized competitions no less, have no interest in it as a spectator sport means it is incredibly unpopular. There are kids who enjoy playing football who might not be able to name every single team in the NFL or a single lineman or defensive back, but they'll probably be able to name five famous players and their teams.

If you find ten runners at the start line of a marathon and ask them to name a famous runner, they'll probably start with Usain Bolt and maybe add Kara Goucher or Galen Rupp if they're American, Joanie Samuelson, Frank Shorter or Bill Rodgers if they're older. I doubt most could make it to ten without struggling, and I don't think a majority could name ten Olympic medalists. This isn't really a problem of slow runners, since I know many fast runners (however you want to define it for non-professionals) who couldn't tell you what a world-class time is for any event except for the mile or the marathon.

The more I run, the more I'm convinced that the problem is one of track, not necessarily that of runners. A certain amount of change and a certain amount of unsavoury marketing is necessary to make a sport something that people want to watch. Gear and complexity, for example, is popular, while simplicity isn't. This partly explains the popularity of triathlon, especially as a spectator sport, and also why obstacle-type races are more popular than doing the exact same thing on without military-grade GPS on a rubberized track. Track, in comparison, comes across as football without the equipment, without the helmets, and without the jargon. Eleven people in t-shirts and shorts playing football is almost inherently more boring.

What track can offer, though, is competition. Lots of it. I have no idea how good the European 4 x 400 teams are in a global sense, though I'm aware of the UK and Russia generally being strong, but it doesn't matter when you watch this video. Neither did it matter to the casual runners and the non-runners on my Facebook feed who watched it and enjoyed it, making it different from most other videos of posted of unknown runners beating each other. The exact same last lap, but in Nike singlets instead of national colours, with individuals instead of a relay, wouldn't be nearly as interesting. They would be athletic accomplishments in a vacuum, like watching Peyton Manning throw a football if you didn't know it was Peyton Manning and he wasn't throwing it to anybody.

Watching accomplishments in a vacuum, though, is what track asks of even the semi-serious fan. A 3:27 1500 is indistinguishable from a 3:34 1500. The level of knowledge required to distinguish the two is probably like the level of knowledge required to distinguish a quarterback passer rating of 82 from a rating of 92, or a yards-per-carry average of 4.6 from 3.6. Any serious fan would know the difference, but sports don't survive on serious fans, they survive on casual and semi-serious fans, even non-serious fans who can tolerate watching the sport for a few hours. Fans who like watching the game because it's fun. Their enjoyment doesn't hinge on whether a quarterback threw for 302 yards or 287 (serious track fans, the sort who don't need distances to accompany times, will often be disappointed at a 13:05 but impressed by a 12:58 in a professional race).

Flotrack gets it. Although I don't get it at all, their countdown rankings of NCAA cross country is exactly the sort of thing we need. It's incomprehensible to someone who doesn't really know the teams and the athletes, just as NCAA basketball previews are incomprehensible to me, but by creating a story where teams aren't just teams, but they take on personalities and characteristics, they're creating a product for fans to watch. A few race promoters get it at major marathons, such as Boston and New York, where even casual runners will watch because the course is interesting, even though the times are comparatively slow and the very best runners might not even show up.

What's sad, though, is that it falls on Flotrack or on fans who take a great moment and capture it on Youtube to create the sports's stories. The organizing bodies are next to useless, with the IAAF's dreary website boldly daring even the serious fan to try and take an interest in the sport. Most accounts of the sport, with some exceptions, simply tell you what happened. It would be like a recap of the first Patriots-Giants Super Bowl simply noting that the Giants beat the Patriots to win the Super Bowl and explaining the events of the game, giving barely any attention what was at stake for the Patriots or how improbable the Giants' victory was. That sort of ineptitude, applied to what is basically the NFL Combine, is why the very fact that track has any fans at all is in spite of the sport.

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Will North American car culture be remembered as a relic of the late twentieth century?

A Danish tourist to Ottawa wrote a letter to the Ottawa Citizen lamenting Canada's car culture, which in many ways served as her last impression of Canada more than its sights, culture and natural beauty through its representatives in parking garages, strip malls and drive-thrus. The country seems built on the principle that people were secondary to cars, with a few exceptions here and there.

What they probably noticed is that Canada is almost always meant to be experienced through the car. Car culture is maybe the worst thing about Canada. It's a country built around cars, with exceptions like the parts of Toronto that are within a few kilometres of subway stations. It's dehumanizing, hideous, unhealthy, and bad for the environment. When I visit my parents in Brampton, I notice that just about the only people who walk in Brampton, not counting children or people exercising themselves or their dogs, are poor. The only reason this sticks out is that no one walks in Brampton. Many malls and big box centres are only meant to be driven into. To walk there means to walk through a series of parking lots at your own risk.

Even where it's possible to not walk, there is just about no occasion or situation in Canada where you feel weird for driving, the way hapless tourists and the conspicuously wealthy might feel when driving a car through the alleys of Seoul's Myeongdong on a busy evening, roughly as hopeless as driving a car through the Eaton Centre on Boxing Day.

Even in the rare situation where something happens that makes it hard or impossible to drive, such as road closures due to events, festivals or construction, there is no shortage of angry drivers incredulous at the fact that something could impede the automobile, so used are they to its dominance and so dependent are they on it for getting around.

People defended Canadian car culture by pointing to its weather, size, low population density and the distance between its cities, not realizing that the reason people do things like drive 90 minutes from an exurb to downtown Toronto is that we think it's normal to drive that much, and we enable it. People left comments like "I drive from Barrie to Toronto every day, there's no way I could cycle that" or "Walking is not an option with our winters", but the point is not to walk everywhere, it's to walk somewhere or to take the bus somewhere, instead of driving everywhere. Even if people want to drive everywhere, we don't need to organize our cities around driving.

Canada doesn't have the population density of Europe or East Asia so it won't have the same sort of public transportation system in these places (buses in Seoul don't have schedules because they just come every 7-10 minutes, they just tell you when the next one will arrive), but that doesn't mean Canada doesn't have to try, or that Canada has to build cities around the automobile.

The concept of a city built around the automobile is rooted in the urban planning of the second half of the twentieth century. I'm hopeful, though, that the urban planning of the twenty-first century might be able to reverse this trend. Car ownership for young people in both Canada America is down. Fewer people want to own cars and live in the suburbs. More want to have access to a car instead of owning a car, as the popularity of Zipcars and now Uber shows. They want to live somewhere interesting, not a neighbourhood or a city that's designed for you to stay in your house, get in and out of a strip mall as quickly as possible, and then get away from that neighbourhood or city as fast as possible on a highway.

This is due in part to changes in culture (you can talk to someone online or with a smartphone instead of, say, 20-30 years ago, having to go to their house) and in part due to cheapness necessitated by the economy, a cheapness that could be as habit-forming for my generation as it was for the generation that grew up during the Great Depression.

I don't doubt that subdivisions and big box centres continue to be built or that people in my age cohort continue to want those things, but they want them less than they have in the past. Maybe, by the time we reach middle-age, we will be able to look back on the depressing era of the subdivision, the suburb and the car-oriented city as one of those bad ideas of the twentieth century that tried to replace something natural and organic with something artificial and man-made, a list that would include things like artificial turf, watching TV on a schedule (it's entertainment, not TV, that's natural), plastic bags, and the forty-hour work week.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Watching A Most Wanted Man at the Seoul Cinema

I saw Philip Seymour Hoffman's last movie, A Most Wanted Man, at the Seoul Cinema on Friday night. I thought I had been to the Seoul Cinema (서울극장) before, but I realized that I hadn't, mostly because there are about a half dozen other theatres within a mile of it. The Seoul Cinema, located at Jongno-3-ga station, was built in 1964 as the Century Theatre and changed to its present name in 1978. When I got there, I couldn't believe that I'd never been there before, but I realized that I'd been confusing it with the older Daehan Cinema at Chungmuro, which was built in 1955. Admittedly, the two do look somewhat similar in that they look jarringly dissimilar from the major cinema chains.

If you broadly look at A Most Wanted Man as a spy movie set in Germany, you'll remember that the Jason Bourne franchise is also a spy movie set in Germany, at least in part, and you'll realize that A Most Wanted Man manages to be much better without a fraction of the action and the information overload. If anything, this movie thrives in the absence of information, loud noises and action. In retrospect, the perpetual panic and long-winded stories of the Bourne franchise now seem like a bad story told by someone who's obviously lying.

For its minimalism and ability to create importance through quiet and the absence of information rather than overwhelming information, A Most Wanted Man fits Seoul Cinema as well as the Bourne supremacy fits any chain theatre with its massive lobbies, crowds, trailers with loud explosions on perpetual loop (there was a time around last summer or fall that theatres in Korea played this 20-second beer commercial featuring Psy and the tune from Garden of Eden every minute or so), shiny interior and staff with machine-like efficiency.

The Seoul Cinema has none of it. The entrance is in an alley off of the main street, with small crowds even on a Friday night, a concessions stand that takes forever to deal with customers, gives you something other than what you ordered and has popcorn servings that probably haven't changed since 1978, this last fact being probably a good thing for everyone involved. There didn't seem to be anyone checking tickets in the basement theatre I went to, which wasn't all that well laid-out or marked. I almost stumbled on a step in the theatre, which has no lighting at the doors.

A Most Wanted Man ends somewhat abruptly and in silence. There's no Matt Damon on a Greek beach, no predictable, almost-expected plot twist that serves as a sort-of-happy-ending, no bridge to a sequel. The movie ends suddenly like a football game in overtime that's won by the visiting team, and the home crowd processes the loss while walking out. This is perhaps where the Seoul Cinema best suits this movie.

Most movie theatres in Korea have a very predictable location. If you can think of a mid-sized Korean city, there's a good chance that there's a train and/or subway station bearing its name. There's also a good chance that there's a movie theatre between six or nine floors above that station, with a department store or mall in between. This is true, for example, of Suwon, Uijeongbu, Bucheon, and Guri, as well as (Dong) Incheon, Daegu, as well as major train stations in Seoul with the exception of Seoul Station, such as Yongsan, Youngdeungpo and Cheongnyangni.

The Seoul Cinema, by contrast, is right on the street. There's no long corridor to take you back to the lobby and no shopping mall or department escalators. You walk out the way you came, go up the stairs and you're on the street within a minute. Within another minute, before I could really process what I had just seen, I was at Jongno-3-ga station.

Both the cinema and the movie are not without their weaknesses. First, A Most Wanted Man relies on the spy movie cliche of oblique references to both a previous job and an incident that happened there with the name of the city, such as "I thought they'd have fired you after what happened in Ouagadougou" or "you didn't forgive him for Bydgoszcz, did you?". I concede that actual spies might well talk this way, but somehow I doubt it.

Second, everyone in the movie, with a few exceptions, is somehow either an American or a German who sounds like one. The English ability of Europeans is superb, but at the very least, the tremendous privilege of the English language makes it reasonably credible, i.e. not ridiculous, for Germans, to speak not a single word of their own language, Turks to speak a few, and Arabs to speak lots, since speaking Arabic is how you convey that something or someone is suspicious.

Finally, Hoffman's job in this movie is an extra-legal position just a step above the murky, made-up world of Treadstone or CTU. It's not enough to be a normal spy, you have to be a spy among spies, apparently, otherwise the movie apparently falls apart.

As for the Seoul Cinema, its problems are mostly problems of service and design, the latter probably due to the fact that they simply don't get enough people in there for the confusing, counter-intuitive layout and lack of signage to be an issue. The interior is a little bit run down, to be honest, though I found the seats, at least where I sat, to have an impressive amount of leg room. On the whole, the experience is more human and less mechanistic than it is at chains, but it comes at the cost of comfort, convenience, as well as money. The selection of movies and times, as well as the discounts, rewards and free tickets at Lotte and CGV make it hard to turn them down.

Friday, August 08, 2014

Arrest of Canadian couple on meaningless charges in China is a test for Stephen Harper

Canadians Kevin Garratt and Julia Dawn Garratt were arrested in Dandong, China earlier this week on charges of espionage, specifically "stealing state secrets about China’s military and national defence research". Dandong is on the other side of the Yalu River from North Korea and the Garratts have been fairly open about both their faith and about their desire to both help North Koreans, so it's reasonable to assume that they're guilty of something after 30 years in China, though it's hard to see how coffee shop owners in what is a Chinese backwater could be guilty of anything else.

The Garratts look destined for the Chinese legal system. About the only nice thing you can say about the Chinese legal system is that it's quick, astonishingly quick even. You could maybe also tack on the charge of punishments being severe, though that probably only applies as vengeance in the case of a powerful person convicted of a crime. Although the Garratts are officially detained, detention can last for up to 37 days before a formal arrest is made and to be detained sounds the same as being arrested in a free country. To be charged is to be convicted, with only 825 of the 1.16 million people charged last year being acquitted in a Chinese courtroom, a conviction rate of 99.93%.

Trials, even for important people facing serious charges, last a day or two, are conducted in secrecy and don't offer things like a chance to view the evidence against you, to recant confessions obtained under duress, or for the accused to cross-examine the prosecution's witnesses.

Espionage is one of many vague charges that exist in China as political weapons for the Communist Party. The analysis in the National Post article I linked above is fairly accurate. China is, as cliche as it sounds, bolstering its own state at the expense of outsiders. The Garratt's out-of-nowhere arrest is comparable for the equally sudden, arbitrary investigation into Microsoft over anti-trust practices that was recently begun in China. Also around the same time was the announcement that Ilham Tohti, an Uyghur professor who was a modest critic of the Chinese state, was being charged with separatism, one of many anti-state crimes punishable by death in China.

I raise Tohti's case not because it's related to the Chinese state targeting foreigners, but because it shows the sort of charges that exist and are regularly laid in China, without much of a basis, because the state has no one to respond to. China is remarkably good, unlike other countries that open their mouth and create controversy, at simply not answering questions, or providing amazingly empty non-answers that sound like answers. It is amazingly opaque.

My brother once asked me if China has ever explained why websites such as YouTube and Twitter are blocked. I replied that to my knowledge it hasn't, but I remembered an exchange between a foreign reporter and a Chinese foreign ministry spokesperson in 2009 where the spokesperson was directly asked, twice, whether YouTube was blocked in China and responded with an astonishing blizzard of legalese, referencing six US federal laws but being unable to answer this simple question.

In other such instances, the spokesperson has referred the reporter to the "relevant authorities" (this bureaucratism is so popular that it spawned a Twitter account parodying the Chinese government, which was met with the highest praise, a sharp denunciation from the People's Daily), who of course would never deign to answer phone calls from a foreign reporter, thus accomplishing the twin functions of allowing the foreign ministry to seem as though it answered the question of the foreign reporter while absolutely refusing to answer the question in any way whatsoever. That China loves the word 'relevant' and uses it at every chance is clear. Look at the statement released by the Chinese embassy on the initial accusations of spying.

 As a number of reports have noted, to be an openly Christian foreigner in Dandong, a city that directly borders North Korea, is to be watched. China watches everything and anything that could be remotely considered suspicious. Activists and dissidents are, of course, routinely watched and either prevented from traveling somewhere or sometimes forced to travel somewhere on what is roughly the equivalent of giving a Washington activist a free trip to Hawaii in advance of a session of Congress opening up. Even run-of-the-mill Jehovah's Witnesses are watched in Beijing.

The opaque, authoritarian attributes of the state, combined with its increasing boldness in resisting international norms and international pressure means that China can consider bizarre actions like arresting a pair of probable missionaries on grave charges of espionage, when the more probable outcome for proselytism is deportation, as a direct response to being publicly embarrassed by the Canadian government for hacking into the computers of the National Research Council, the latest in a long string of such accusations by foreign organizations.

The sad news for the Garratts is that there's no guarantee China will back down from the serious charges in this case. A somewhat analogous case is that of Stern Hu, an executive from Australian mining company Rio Tinto. After Rio Tinto rejected a bid by a Chinese firm to double its stake in the company, Hu and a few other Chinese employees of the company were charged with bribery and corporate espionage. Hu, an Australian citizen, received ten years in prison after a closed trial. China previously executed a mentally ill British man for drug smuggling in 2009.

Being a foreigner is no protection from being given a full tour of the Chinese legal and penal system and, as the National Post mentions, power (and being a Westerner is a sort of power in China) is no protection whatsoever when an example needs to be made. If anything, it's a liability, as evidenced by the recent arrest of former Politburo member and security cheaf Zhou Yongkang, as well as the life sentence given to the highly-popular politician Bo Xilai. In a country as corrupt as China (Beijing is probably ten times as poor as Washington but probably has more Audi A6's), the public trial and humiliation of powerful figures serves to create at least the impression of impartial justice.

Finally, this is red meat for Conservatives. The Conservative government over the past decade has made it a point to delineate Canadian, Western values as a distinct group of ideas that are worth defending against those who apparently don't believe in either those values or the sort of things that they represent. The Conservative government has given a more prominent role to the monarchy. It is a strong supporter of Israel. It strongly supported Ukraine against Russia. It's not that I necessarily disagree with these things, but in many ways, the Harper government has a traditionalist world view that embraces religion, democracy, free markets and makes a distinction between those who don't embrace these things.

It was no surprise that Harper took a long time to visit China, received a public rebuke from premier Wen Jiabao for not having visited sooner, and served one right back at Wen for not visiting himself. This is a great chance for Harper, who has wanted a strong military and taken a strong stance against things he didn't like, to try and somehow get the Garratts home. What's more likely to succeed, though, is a softer, or at least quieter approach that allows the Chinese government room to reduce the charges without embarrassment. The likely outcome here is a prison sentence of some length, but a show of strength by the Canadian government will need to be met by one by the Chinese government, which is likely what produced the initial charges.

Wednesday, August 06, 2014

Reflecting on Nicholas Nassim Taleb's Antifragile and applying it to living, running and medicine

I enjoyed Taleb's Black Swan, about which I wrote here. I learned more from Antifragile, which was more technical and diverse in its scope, though I found much more to disagree with than I did while reading The Black Swan. Antifragility is defined by Taleb as the direct opposite of fragile, which is something that breaks down under stress. Given that the exact opposite of something is not its absence, Taleb distinguishes between fragility, robustness and antifragility. Fragility means to break down under stress, robustness is to remain unchanged by stress, and antfragility, therefore, is to thrive under stress.

Anyone who has experienced both sleeping for 12 hours and then wanting to do nothing, as well as working out in the morning before work and having a tremendous amount of energy all day, will understand that humans are antifragile. We thrive under stress, which is, of course, not the stress of pressure, anxiety or discomfort, the "stressed out" stress, but the sort of stress where we do something, such as use our muscles, go eight hours without food or endure less than optimal temperatures for a few hours.

Taleb applies antifragility and fragility to countless situations throughout the book. The book, which is reasonably well-organized, is so laden with so many different kinds of examples that it can seem, in a way, to be a 400-page book that simply gives one or two examples of things that are antifragile or fragile on every single page. Many of the lessons are instructive, such as the idea that large, centralized polities are fragile while smaller, decentralized ones are antifragile. Still, after reading this post or even the book, if you don't immediately get how all these things are connected to the idea that some things are improved by stress while others are destroyed by it, you've noticed the fact that this book is very far-reaching.

He points out Switzerland as a country that is a great example of being antifragile, minimizing risk by decentralizing power towards its cantons. A good example of the opposite is the area that today makes up Lebanon and Syria, which for centuries had been left in a state of messy uncertainty, which suited the area just fine. European attempts to turn the region into two centralized modern states has ruined the long-standing prosperity of the region.

Problems with the book, though, are the fact that although Taleb has two master's degrees and a PhD and is an academic, he constantly and repeatedly takes potshots at economists and academics throughout the book. Instead, he frequently points to intuitive, less intellectual ways of solving problems. There is value in this. Running is a classic example of a something where results have improved marginally, especially in the West (where it can be argued that it has instead gone backwards), even as academics have rushed to study the most minute aspects of the sport. Athletes backed by years of science are routinely demolished by novices.

Taleb probably takes it too far. An instructive example is that of a game theory expert who tried teaching a Middle Eastern vendor how to bargain, to which the vendor reportedly replied "we have done this for generations", what makes you think you can improve on this? The expert was embarrassed by the response and gave up. I don't know what that is supposed to prove. Taleb repeatedly extols the wisdom of the ancients, but often, is the case here, appears to be doing so to mock his peers.

In doing so, Taleb writes a very feel-good book, often making it a feel-good book for himself where he gets to describe how wealthy, cultured, smart and privileged he is. At one point, Taleb informs the reader that he is writing using a "seasoned fountain pen" and immediately declares that "I do not fuss over the state of my pens. Many of them are old enough to cross decades...Nor do I obsess over small variations in paper. I prefer to use Clairefontaine paper." I enjoy Taleb's work, but that was a remarkably pompous sentence for someone who makes a living out of demolishing pompous thinking.

In the last quarter or so of the book, Taleb outlines his beliefs on food and health, declaring that he doesn't drink anything that hasn't existed for a thousand years and has not therefore passed the test of time (what if Coca Cola makes it another 900 years?), nor does he eat fruits that didn't exist in his ancestral homeland. These heuristics make a point, but they also help to create a pretentious image. Someone who doesn't eat a particular food for reasons such as these gets to feel superior to others, just as someone who doesn't own a TV or use Facebook will not be shy about letting you know (I am guilty of the former).

Still, there is a great deal to learn in this book and apply in many domains. First, the idea of redundancy, common in nature, perhaps the most common example of this is the fact that we have two kidneys but can live with one, is a great way to live. However, Taleb writes, "human design tends to be spare and inversely redundant", having savings is redundancy but having debt is fragility. Redundancy is not just defensive or "wussy", but can have tremendous benefits. If you view an increase in fitness as "the additional capacity to withstand an extra stressor" at some point in the future, fitness is basically redundancy or insurance.

Second, the applications of antifragility to running are obvious, though Taleb's views on fitness are to lift as much as possible in a short amount of time and mix in long, slow walks. That stress and rest leads to fitness is commonly understood in running, but if life is seen as an analogy for running, the concept becomes clearer. Taleb makes it clear that stress, such as being scared senseless, needs to be followed by an appropriate period of rest, such as relaxing while listening to soothing music. The constant mid-level stress experienced by someone with a boring job requiring long hours and a long commute are not conducive to antifragility, but it leads to fragility. Similarly, running hard all the time without rest, be it running hard in easy runs or running too many races, isn't going to lead to optimal outcomes.

The final application, which Taleb touches on constantly, is to medicine. Taleb cites research showing that all the medical advances of the post-war era have had less of an impact than a decline in smoking. Going to the doctor is about as useful as punting in football, it seems. Between diseases acquired from being at a hospital, malpractice and needless procedures undertaken because no one feels important or helpful by telling someone to do nothing, medicine is incredibly harmful.

The heuristic Taleb proposes for medicine is that medical intervention should only be resorted to when the benefit is large and exceeds the potential harm. While I can agree with Taleb about the potential harm done by simply being in a hospital and receiving unnecessary treatment, his argument for viewing medicine in economic terms ("decision making based on payoffs, not knowledge"), combined with his endless disdain for economics and economists, makes medical decision-making based on payoffs a choice I wouldn't want to make.

Tuesday, August 05, 2014

What's it like being a hagwon student?

I recently went through the process of acquiring a Korean driver's license. I learned how to drive in Canada but after missing my initial road test for scheduling reasons, I never bothered re-scheduling. Years later, to facilitate renting a car for hiking trips and out-of-town races, I decided to get a license. The process for getting a Korean license is well-documented even in English, so I won't get into it. Most Westerners who get one already knew how to drive, so they never took lessons from a driving school, which I did. I can't speak authoritatively about driving in Korea, but I learned a fair bit about how the hagwon industry works from the two weeks I spent as a hagwon student.

The hagwon industry in Korea exists to produce results, which is what students-slash-consumers want. It's not that people are ignorant of the fact that studying English at a hagwon does not make them competent at English as it's used outside of academic or test-based situations, they just don't care. Studying English to be able to appreciate literature and engage in idiomatic conversation requires time and money that they don't have. Their goal is something else, whether it's admission to a university, employment, promotion or personal satisfaction on other lines.

I can't speak for all driving hagwons, though people I spoke to told me that mine was hardly atypical, but I was taught how to become a licensed driver, not how to drive, and there is a difference, as I learned. Like English hagwons or weight loss clinics that promise a great deal in a short amount of time, Korean driving hagwons are similar. Never mind an American who already knows how to drive and just needs to get a license, someone who has never driven and knows nothing about cars can become licensed to drive a car, bus or even a truck in less than 24 hours.

Most of the schools I found online allow students to complete the safety education, written and skills test (starting a car, turning the wipers on and off, and so on) in one day and then immediately begin the mandatory six hours of road instruction. The six hours can be split into four hours on one day and two hours on the next, with the road test taken at the hagwon immediately after finishing practice. You could, in theory, show up one afternoon knowing nothing and have a license in your hand before noon the next day.

All practice is done on one of four possible driving courses that could show up on the exam. Even public test centres give out maps of the four possible test centres. In my case, I simply drove the courses over and over in three two-hour sessions, and I don't think this is at all atypical. Information that I thought was pointless was important because it was something that needed to be remembered and performed in the exact same way on the test. For example, I didn't learn to parallel park, I learned to parallel park in the exact same spot where the test would happen by counting alternating yellow-and-black blocks on the curb. Needless to say, I park very slowly anywhere else, but I parked with complete confidence in the hagwon.

Instructors told students to memorize the courses because all they would hear would be instructions from a GPS, telling them to turn right, left or make a U-turn in 300, 200, and 100 metres. There was no need to memorize the courses, at least not actively, because I remember every single one of them more than a month later, having driven each one about five times. They were also quite simple, with three courses consisting of nothing more than a couple of U-turns that made a loop, and the fourth one having no U-turns but a loop made by three immediate right turns.

In the end, I passed, despite a few mistakes. I was happy to have paid 300,000 won and gotten my license nine days after first showing up at the hagwon, which is the point. Hagwons take skills, such as English, driving, or computer programming and teach them in ways that are easy to remember and produce measurable results, such as jobs or test scores. The customer generally wins by getting what they want in a short amount of time for a relatively cheap price. The schools are in second place, struggling to balance the customers' demands of speed, efficacy and cheapness while having no shortage of competing schools. The teachers have it hardest, because they are tasked with taking people of vastly different abilities and making sure that they succeed in the promised amount of time (six hours of practice on the roads, in this case).

That hagwons teach to the test and cut corners was something I knew, but seeing it from the perspective of a student, I understand why. Like any other business in a competitive industry, they sell a product and are highly specialized in how they do it. Seeing how it got me what I wanted, I was happy with the result, though I'm cognizant of the deficiencies in my ability and I'm also cognizant of the fact that these weaknesses are result of my own choices. The only way to create positive change in the system would be to change the incentives people have for attending hagwons. In this case, a harder, less predictable test would produce more teaching instead of test practice, but it would harm consumers, particularly those who struggle to pay for lessons in the first place (be they driving or math), and impact the ability of the weakest in society to achieve their goals.

Saturday, August 02, 2014

The Rip van Winkle experience in Toronto

While I said in my last post that nothing ever seems to change in Toronto, some things have changed, while I've forgotten how to do many others. The result, I joked, is that I feel like Rip Van Winkle, unable to recognize the city and the society where I'm from, in part due to decays in my own memory. I just don't remember how so many things in Canada work any more. This is not a post, though, about reverse culture shock, about feeling out of place in Canada because I've spent so much time in Korea. What made my experience embarrassing for me was that while I felt completely at home, I just didn't know where I'd put anything.

Parenthetically, f you're curious as to what things about Canada or Western culture do seem unfamiliar and unusual to me, they are:

- the casual approach to dressing, particularly for work, as well as talking and interacting with strangers, particularly customers
- strangers talking to me, something I used to do myself and enjoyed a great deal, now makes me feel uncomfortable, though I'd noticed this on the US army base in Seoul
- words you can say and topics you can discuss on TV, The Big Bang Theory is an example of a show that could not be aired on any of the three big networks in Korea

The first thing that made me realize just how long I'd been gone from Canada was the 505 streetcar in Toronto. I was going to a friend's house at Dundas and Pape and got on the Dundas streetcar at Dundas station. When the streetcar made a left turn onto Broadview, I realized that the 505 had never gone to Dundas and Pape, and tried in vain to remember the streetcar that did go east on Dundas past Broadview.

More pathetic than this were shopping trips. I went to a grocery store, a chain whose name I can't remember ever since they renamed Dominion, A&P and even Price Chopper, and went to weigh and price some fruit I'd bought. When I didn't see it, I asked an employee where the scale was. He politely told me that they didn't exist anymore, something I should have known since they don't exist in Korea either, at least not where I shop.

Still more pathetic were my regular trips to Tim Hortons. I struggled to buy a dozen donuts and always handed over my card to the cashier who handed it back to me, where I swiped it instead of inserting it into the machine. I always double-counted my change warily, forgetting that the penny had been eliminated. I forgot the names of donuts and couldn't remember how to order a bagel. I couldn't remember the names of GO train stations and forgot how to get to the airport on my way out of the country.

What embarrassed me about the whole thing was the impression it gave off. If I'd spoken with an accent, I'd have had more latitude, and if I'd acted more uncertain when buying donuts, I could have passed for an American. In the absence of neither, and being in a suburban area, I thought I came across as someone recently released from prison.

A long time ago, when I was new to Canada from Pakistan, someone once told me that if I didn't speak Urdu, eat Pakistani food and generally act more Pakistani than I was, that I wouldn't be Pakistani and I wouldn't be Canadian. "You'll be nothing," he told me. Of course, I ended up becoming more or less Canadian, to the point that people were surprised to learn after just five years in Canada that not only was I not born in Canada, I had only lived there for five years.

I became more or less Canadian and I still consider myself Canadian, but I'm also cognizant of the fact that 2014 marked my 28th birthday and sixth year in Korea, which means that I can be described alternatively as a Canadian or someone who lived in Canada for 14 years, just half my life. I don't know how Canadian others would consider me, something I felt acutely aware of when I went to get a police background check. The only valid Canadian identification I have left are my passport, my certificate of citizenship (something I wouldn't have if I had been born in Canada) with a 9-year-old picture and my social insurance number.

I would never say that I'm "richer for the experience" or that I've done something others can only dream of, partly because it's insulting to others in a general sense and partly because a great deal of Canadians wouldn't be drawn to living in Toronto, never mind Seoul and Lahore. I am glad to have seen this much of the world and to be sort-of-but-not-entirely comfortable in three distinct cultures, countries and languages. I also know that the same qualities that let me fit into life in Canada and then Korea will allow me to fit into life in Canada again, though I'll probably always retain a blind spot created by my time outside of the country, as well as the things I've never done for cultural reasons (to this day, I've never been to a wedding that wasn't a Pakistani or Korean-style wedding).

Friday, August 01, 2014

Toronto the Unchanging

I had already started writing this post before reading this piece by Chris Selley, focused on the Union-Pearson rail link, on why it is that nothing ever seems to get done in Toronto, but I enjoyed Selley's piece more than you'll enjoy this post. Selley also makes my post somewhat timely.

When I was in Toronto a couple of weeks ago for the first time in a year, I was struck by the fact that so many things from those days in high school existed in the exact same way they had, more than a decade later. Islington station had the exact same shops, as did the Union Station concourse, the Yonge Street strip had pretty much the exact same shops and restaurants, the streets east of Yonge looked more or less the same. I could visit most of the restaurants I enjoyed in university, which looked exactly the same. I even recognized some of the homeless people I used to see while running around U of T.

It's not that I expect Toronto to reinvent itself as a city in the six years since I stopped living there, but I get the feeling, as much now as I did then, that Toronto is on the cusp of a great renewal that could start and finish at any given moment. Toronto is a really a city built during and for the post-war era, with a planning, infrastructure and public transit system better suited to a city of about a million people centred on Bloor Street instead of a city of 2.5 million centred on Eglinton (if not further north).

Toronto was worn out by the time I discovered it as a high school student in 2002, just before starting this blog, with ancient buses plying potholed streets, a haunting waterfront riddled with such chill-inducing structures as the Hearn generating station, the Canada Malting silos, and the mercury-polluted site of Tent City, ancient public housing projects at Regent Park and a perennial budget crisis. The perpetual financial crisis may continue, while progress has been made in several other areas, the waterfront being maybe the most notable and visible example.

That Toronto doesn't change isn't exactly a bad thing, nor is it necessarily notable that restaurants have existed in the same place for a decade or two. Unless, of course, you live in Seoul, where I remember being jarred out of my broken-escalator-in-a-subway-station-will-be-fixed-in-six-months doldrums by a pharmacy that became a functioning Dunkin' Donuts in the span of just over a week. Every neighbourhood where I've lived in Seoul has been transformed during my time year with the exception of one, which was basically carved out of nothingness (actually, I have no idea what existed there before, probably a much poorer neighbourhood) about a decade ago.

I also have no idea how long it should necessarily take before you don't recognize a neighbourhood. The answer is probably not five or six years, unless you live in Korea, China or some fast-changing, trend-driven neighbourhood. I suppose a maturing market that isn't rapidly developing wouldn't have as much change as one that is rapidly growing, Beijing and Shanghai being great examples of this, with apocryphal stories of businesses or even piles of dirt being transformed into other businesses in the span of a day. The sort of stability that Toronto has, where you don't have to wonder from year to year whether a given restaurant is still in business, is something of a blessing.

Something of a curse, though, is what Selley describes. You simply can't get anything done in Toronto because people can't be bothered. Construction, of which there is no shortage, is impossible to get started on anything and once it begins, it's painfully slow. Waterfront renewal, to the extent that you can more or less call it complete, took an incredibly long time. Maybe it's the result of a population that wants a dozen different things without any inconvenience whatsoever (I used to work on a street in suburban Seoul that consisted of about a kilometre of metal sheeting for 3-4 years while a subway line was built underneath), but projects that would have been discussed, resolved and then completed in Seoul are still under discussion in Toronto.

A classic example might be the issue of transfers. Toronto still uses paper transfers and it would be a minor miracle to expand Presto to the whole city within five years. Seoul used to be an order of magnitude worse than Toronto, with no transfers between buses or the subway system as recently as the turn of the century. The mayor and future president Lee Myung-bak essentially strong-armed the private companies that operated public bus service (can you imagine that in Toronto?) into adopting an electronic fare card system, something that may have well won him the presidency, along with his demolition of a central highway to uncover the ancient, historic stream underneath. What Lee accomplished, for better or for worse, in five years as mayor, would either take a generation or two in Toronto, if it wasn't impossible to begin with.

What that points to is just simply low expectations. Seoul is a city of tremendous scale, one that's much greater than that of Toronto. I always explain it to Canadians as all of Canada living in the Greater Toronto Area. If Seoul could give up a highway in the heart of the city to be replaced with a quaint little stream, Toronto can endure giving up the Gardiner or the present Union Station renovations, as inefficient and chaotic as they may be. Toronto doesn't, however, because expectations are too low. Decades, not years, of apathy and neglect, of the impossibility of improvement due to financial and political impotence have led Torontonians to just make sure that at least the city works for the basics, never mind the great things.