Monthly Archives: October 2017

Korea Times “Xi Jinping and ecological civilization movement”

Korea Times

“Xi and ecological civilization movement”

October 10, 2017

Emanuel Pastreich


Koreans worry that the conflict between the United States and China will force them to choose between a military ally and their most important economic partner. Although this view of the current situation is accurate, it is only part of the problem. In fact, Korea is also faced with a profound choice about how it defines economics and the future of civilization itself.

The recent meeting between United States Secretary of State Rex Tillerson and Chinese President Xi Jinping was ostensibly about planning for the upcoming visit of President Donald Trump to Beijing and discussing how China can increase economic pressure on North Korea.

But these two individuals could not be more different in their motives and backgrounds. Rex Tillerson is an unprecedented secretary of state, someone with zero political, governmental, academic or diplomatic experience. As the former CEO of Exxon, Tillerson was directly involved in the cover-up of climate change and the pursuit of profits from petroleum regardless of its impact on the environment.

Since his appointment, he has been ruthless in gutting the State Department, removing any senior diplomats who might offer even the slightest resistance ― and many have quit of their own accord.

By contrast, Xi Jinping has spent his entire career in government and has an intimate understanding of policy and practice. Under his leadership, China has declared that healthcare is a human right and he has  spoken out about desertification. Read more of this post

Emanuel at Yale

Emanuel at Yale

Lowell High School is considered one of the best public high schools in the United States. Without any doubt it maintains that status because the large number of Asian Americans who study there. These students are the children of hard working Chinese, Korean, Japanese and Vietnamese parents who came to the United States and put the highest value on education for their children. Those immigrants are now starting to send their children to schools like University of California, Berkeley, Stanford and increasingly (but not so much in 1983) to Yale, Harvard and Princeton.

I was a product of a previous generation. My father was the ambitious young man from a middle class Jewish family, his father was a pharmacist who was able to enter Yale through his remarkable academic ability. By the time I arrived at Yale, there were already plenty of people like me around with similar backgrounds. I was no longer the first generation to make the leap into the establishment. I was the second generation after that leap had been made.

At the same time, I was not old money. Yale’s core has been, and still is, WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestants) who have been at the center of power for the last two hundred years. Yale is a university with a strong orientation towards England. The museums at Yale focus primarily on English Art and the study of English history is most popular. The Yale Center for British Art is one of the great collections on campus. If not England, than France, Germany and Italy are of interest to Yale undergraduates and graduate students. Asia was very far away place from the Yale that I entered in 1983. There was a Yale in China program, but it was a novelty. Yale undergraduates saw learning about China an amusing aside in their education. Few indeed were serious about learning the language.

My father had gone to Yale and I had a multi-generational relationship with that institution. Yet I was far from feeling at home in Yale culture for other reasons than the study of East Asia. Many of the students that I met were from established WASP families and they kept a certain distance from me. Part of the problem was perhaps that I was off the established track at Yale. I was not heading towards becoming a lawyer, or a banker or a doctor.

Yale is a smaller university than Harvard or Stanford, or even Princeton. Founded in 1701, it has concentrated on educating a small elite group of students. Graduates of Yale are often deeply committed to the institution. Yale is without any doubt the best undergraduate education in the United States. Yet it is not a broad education. I do not think I could have found a better environment anywhere else to learn how to think. Yale is famous for its drama school, its school of architecture and its school of Law. The sciences are well covered, but they are not an overwhelming power on campus, as was the case at University of Illinois. The attractive campus of Yale features gothic buildings covered with ivy and quiet courtyards that makes for a most enjoyable walk. Walking around campus and enjoying the changes in season was one of my great pleasures at Yale.

Each student at Yale is assigned a “residential college.” The residential dormitory is not simply a dormitory 기숙사 .The residential colleges have long histories dating back to the 1920s when they were established, modeled on the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge. There are different personalities to the residential colleges and the designs and motifs of the buildings vary. If you meet a fellow 동창 the first thing you will ask is “which college were you in.” In fact most friends of mine at Yale were from Davenport College.

When my father went to Yale in 1955, most residential colleges were closed to all but the members of privileged families. In fact, when my father started in 1955, it was the first time in Yale University history that a lottery was used to assign some of the students from middle class families to the more elite residential colleges like Davenport College. My father as a middle class Jewish boy from Brooklyn was assigned to Davenport College randomly as part of the great post-war equalization of American society. The residential colleges have suites with multiple rooms. Now we have five roommates together, but originally those extra rooms were for the servants of student. A student like my father had never been assigned to Davenport College before, the most exclusive and WASP of the Yale Colleges. Both George W. Bush, President of the United States 2001-2009 and George H. W. Bush, President 1989-1993, were residents in Davenport College. And, because of the decision to assign students by lottery, my father Peter Pastreich entered Davenport College in 1955, and so did I in 1983.

Before I arrived at the campus, I spent a few days with my father’s family in New York City getting adjusted to the East Coast culture. I had a fascination with the East Coast in high school and had a map of Manhattan on the wall of my room. But I also made a special trip out to see my mother’s cousin, Uncle Charlie, who lived in New Jersey. Uncle Charlie worked at an engineer at Bell Labs at the height of their technological expertise worldwide. When I arrived at their neat house in suburban New Jersey, he showed me with great pride the trans-Atlantic cables he had designed in the 1960s. None of them are in use today. Like my mother, Uncle Charlie had come to the United States to take advantage of the tremendous opportunities that the country offered.

Uncle Charlie had a son also who was quite driven to succeed. That son had attended Yale and done well. But he had been involved in a gathering his freshman year at which he and friends consumed some drugs. Charlie’s son died as a result. Uncle Charlie never mentioned his son when I talked to him, but I could tell that there were volumes to be told about his son who went to Yale, but never graduated. The cost of going to Yale in terms of pressures and tension can be very high indeed.

I had five roommates at Yale my freshman year. Jason Reese, a future businessman who was best known as a lacrosse athlete. Steve Podos, a pre-med from New York, Kenneth Bernstein, a political science major who went on to play a major role in Los Angeles City policy and Jefferson Mays, a history major who has become an important professional actor.

We lived in a suite of rooms in the basement of the Davenport residential college. Jeff and I shared a room and the other students had their own, slightly smaller, rooms adjacent. Jeff and I were fast friends. I am not sure what bit of luck it was, but my best friend at Yale happened to be my roommate from the very first day. In fact I sat out in front of our dormitory the first day with Jeff and his family drinking lemonade and we were good friends. We are still quite close, although we do not see each other as much these days. Jeff was an extraordinary actor who would go on to win several awards as a professional actor. He loved to draw and write, and we were constantly making up stories to amuse each other and everyone else who was interested.

Early on in our time at Yale, Jeff and I broke into the Davies Mansion, an abandoned house far out to the West of Yale University. We climbed up to the top of its tower. We were gleefully watching the whole city when we saw a police car coming right down the street towards us. The police car was most likely out on a routine patrol, but we feared we would be arrested and ran away.

We also enjoyed wandering around in Yale’s massive Sterling Library, exploring every path and back hall of one of the world’s great libraries. One day, Jeff and I went down deeper and deeper in the basement, past rows of books and reading rooms. We came to a door that was blocked and we could not open. We pushed and pushed and pushed and at last it burst open. We found ourselves in the middle of the underground café of the library with the fire alarm blaring and a hundred students staring at us. We had burst through a secure fire door without knowing it. I said to Jeff in French “Qu’est que on va faire” (what are we going to do now), as if somehow speaking in French would reduce the humiliation because those watching us could not understand.

We climbed up in Battell Chapel, next to our dormitory. Battell Chapel had a substantial tower made of stone that looked out over the city of New Haven. We climbed that tower in secret through a door we had uncovered in our exploration of the campus. We lit candles, imagining we were exploring a haunted house. We made up our own rituals and created our own traditions. You see, at Yale there have been powerful secret clubs for a long time. We were obviously not members. But we did enjoy creating our own little secret club of two.

In the early morning on our first Yale autumn, we adventured out into the broad Hillhouse Avenue, and climbed over the wall into the Grove Street Cemetery. We admired the handsome brownstone graves and a delicate carved angel before hurrying along to have a cup of coffee at Yankee Doodle, a local café that has been there for many years. I came to enjoy meeting the local people of New Haven at the Yankee Doodle Café more and more.

Our roommate Ken could be rather difficult, whining at us all the time for making too much noise, and spending all his time studying without any social interaction with us. We played a series of little pranks on him to relax a bit. One day Ken announced to all of us that he had received a birthday cake from his parents that he was placing in the refrigerator. He told us that we were not to touch his birthday cake. Jeff and I immediately took the birthday cake and hid it in the refrigerator of a friend. We then bought some brownies at the local café and brought them back. I broke up the cookies, smeared them on the plates and left the plates littered around the room. Some of the cake’s silver wrapping was placed next to the empty box on the floor. Ken returned from his studies and was deeply shocked by this scene. He rushed around yelling at us, “I can’t believe you did that!”  We then revealed that in fact his precious cake was untouched. We all broke out laughing and sat down to enjoy the real cake together.

One day, bored with my studies, I wandered into the laundry room employed by all the students in Davenport College. There was a tremendous pile of clothes that had been abandoned there. I took all of them back with him to my room. Working together with Jeff, we built a person in 30 minutes. We sewed the pants together with a shirt and stuffed them with clothes. We added shoes and gloves, and put a white plastic bag on top for a head. We drew a face on the plastic bag and placed a hat on top. We then told everyone that we had a new roommate named “Howard.” We placed Howard in various places in our room, and throughout the dormitory over the next few days, and acted as if he were a real person.

One night, Ken was being particularly difficult. We seized the opportunity. Jeff dressed me up as Howard. I put on Howard’s clothes and even put a plastic bag over my head. Then I lay down on the floor in front of Ken’s room. Jeff knocked on the door and said to Ken, “Howard wants to talk to you.” Ken was just irritated. He came out of the room and looked with distain at the dummy lying on the ground. At that very moment, I jumped up and seized Ken. Ken was petrified for a moment as the dummy came to life. He soon recovered and we laughed about it. Slowly, through these pranks, we grew closer.

One day Jeff and I came home to find Ken on the couch acting very strangely. He talked in a manner that made no sense and he seemed to be deeply intoxicated. We had never seen Ken drink and we were deeply worried. We tried to get him to come with us to the hospital, but he fought us off. The whole situation seemed so terribly wrong that we grew quite worried. Then other students from Davenport College rushed into our dorm to get a glimpse. They smiled and giggled.  Jeff and I were angry that they could laugh about something so serious. And then we discovered what the other students knew all along. Ken was not drunk at all. He was pretending to be drunk and we had been completely fooled.

Jeff played pranks on me as well. One time, he made a long tape of about thirty minutes and surreptitiously placed it in my closet. The first fifteen minutes of the tape were blank, followed by a recording of malevolent whispers and laughter which built in frequency and volume. I was hard at work studying when this weird ghost in my closet started to make those strange sounds. It was a terrifying experience for me indeed.

Jeff and I also arranged several social gatherings for our friends to discuss current issues, literature and art. The meetings were always advertised in a rather unusual, even shocking manner. We had a meeting which we advertised as “The Lizard is your Friend” and another one “Emanuel says, ‘Help save me from my paranoid room.’” We would bring our friends for drinks, for conversations, and occasionally for little plays that Jeff and I had put together.


The political three-way fight in the United States

The political three-way fight in the United States

A “Romance of the Three Kingdoms”


for domestic consumption


Emanuel Pastreich

October 12, 2017


The term “three way fight” finds its origin in a fascinating article by Matthew Lyons entitled “Defending My Enemy’s Enemy” that was published on the blog “Three Way Fight” on 3 August 2006. Although Lyon’s analysis has a certain leftist bias to it in that he assumes that the solution offered by socialism will perforce be the best, nevertheless I think his analysis is pretty much on target. Here is what he says,

“Instead of an essentially binary struggle between right and left, between the forces of oppression and the forces of liberation, three-way fight politics posits a more complex struggle centered on the global capitalist ruling class, the revolutionary left, and the revolutionary right. The latter encompasses various kinds of fascists and other far rightists who want to replace the dominance of global capital with a different kind of oppressive social order.[1]

I would rather use the term “globalists” to refer to “global capitalist ruling class,” “anti-globalization left” to refer to “the revolutionary left,” and “anti-globalization right” to refer to “the revolutionary right.”

We are currently witnessing a “civil war in slow motion” right now in the United States, but there is a chance that it will speed up considerably and that it may bring with it more substantial military conflicts, even if the Trump administration did not have such intentions.

The confusion for Koreans is in part a result of how American citizens are struggling to make sense of the conflicting narratives they have been fed by the media. Most have no other sources of information than corporate media even while they know it is flawed. This problem is made worse by the contempt shown towards working class people by educated upper middle class liberals which means that many working people are more likely to think that the anti-globalization right cares about them than the elites who may be African American, but who have no connection with working poor people. Working class people, especially whites, are dismissed as “ignorant” or “racist” by liberals, without any effort to communicate with them or to understand the world that they live in.

The assumption of the anti-globalization left being that Trump was less dangerous and that working with him to some degree could advance their agenda.

The Globalists

The globalists are ideologically neither progressive (in that they do not embrace restrictions on capital or regulations aimed at supporting local control) nor are they conservative (in that they have no interest in Christian values and may very well be extremely open-minded in terms of who they invite to their mansions in terms of race, ethnicity or sexuality). They are driven to control global finance; liberal or conservative perspectives on institutions has more to do with their family upbringing and does not have any impact on their drive for control of capital and markets on a global scale. As long as you embrace a global perspective and you do not want to interfere with certain key features of global finance (such as the free reign of commercial banks and the right of commercial banks to buy what they please and to have easy access to public money to help) you too can be a globalist.

Hillary Clinton is clearly the candidate of the globalists, although Jeb Bush or Ted Cruz were also globalists but they used the iconography of the right wing. The globalists do have certain fracture lines, and there are rivalries between factions—occasionally enough to encourage flirting with political enemies, but for the most part, the globalists want the subject of trade and finance to be off the table when talking about politics.

The anti-globalization left

The anti-globalization left has a vision of a more equitable society and starts with the assumption that the state, if run by the right people, is capable of bringing about such changes. There are several layers to the anti-globalization left and there are bitter rivalries that make cooperation difficult. Moreover, many leftists fighting globalization are new to the field, having only entered politics recently. Although their numbers and their networks are growing rapidly, they have been out of mainstream politics since the 1940s and they are slow in their efforts. But granted the number of people willing to support Bernie Sanders previously, we can assume that another mass movement is entirely possible.

Certain media outlets like WSWS and Truthdig have, for all their bias, completely surpassed the New York Times in terms of the quality of their reporting. The anti-globalization left is growing stronger, but in a manner which is invisible from Korea. The critique against capitalism is powerful and the rejection of the entire system, including revolutionary thinking, is much more common than was the case even five years ago. There is a substantial left that thinks that Sanders has betrayed them and they are not coming back. They are not effectively organized now, but they may be one day.

Bernie Sanders picked up many of these people during his campaign, so much that Democrats were deeply worried he might rock the boat. Sander’s speeches drew on metaphors about class that sounded like politics of the 1930s. His campaign represents a major development in the United States and we have not seen the end of that movement.

The anti-globalization right

Donald Trump has become the idol of the anti-globalization right wing and they are increasingly dominating the discussion on class issues, on political conspiracy and on the question of massive institutional corruption (as opposed to the liberals who talk about corruption as a matter of a group of a few bad apples and refuse to consider that the system itself may be broken beyond repair). Anti-globalization right websites like Prison Planet and others have a loyal following and just as in the 1930s, the move for a revolution that will throw out the blacks and Muslims (which will eventually become the Jews and the Asians) is growing.

The anti-globalist right prefers a simple narrative that is easy to follow and it appeals toworking class people who are alienated from elite institutions like Harvard. Trump is able to attack the entire system and still survive because of the depth of alienation. Many of these anti-globalists play major roles in local politics so they should be taken very seriously.

Trump started out with a massive following among lower middle class whites and they are loyal to him. Trump himself is more of a globalist, but he is an expert in responding to his audience and his campaign has evolved in response to the demands of his followers.

Trump appeals to these anti-globalist rightists, and white nationalists, but he is not originally one of them. Trump has very close ties to Israel (which the anti-globalist left and right do not like). There are many among this right wing support group who are extremely hostile to Israel and we may see some unexpected developments. Certainly the attacks on Jews has already begun.

The important point here is that in a three-way fight, the globalists will sometimes pair up with the anti-globalist left, and sometimes pair up with the anti-globalist right, depending on the issue or the strategy. But equally true is the fact that the anti-globalist right can team up with the anti-globalist left, a phenomena that is becoming more dominant and which has little precedent in our memories.

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“Korea between Scylla and Charibdis”


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“Pay no attention to the men by the doors!”

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Emanuel’s Early Years


My early years:  

As I think back on the environment that I grew up in, and the people that I met, I think that I was most blessed. It might even be generally proposed that the key to educating children is to create environments in which children are exposed to thoughtful and intellectually challenging people. I had two extremely well educated people I acquired have much to do not only with who my parents were, but also with the specific environment I found myself in growing up in the 1970s and 1980s in the United States. It was an age of remarkable openness in education, when many very idealistic people dedicated themselves to education with an enthusiasm that has been unmatched. Several of my teachers put a great emphasis on creativity and inventiveness, encouraging me to imagine the world for myself.

Let us start with my own family. My paternal grandfather Benjamin Pastreich was a pharmacist in New York’s Brooklyn district. He lived a relatively simple life of running his little pharmacy and taking care of his family. He also was quite dedicated to exercise. His family was from Central Europe: Poland and Hungary. They were hard working Jews who started with no money.

I do not think of my grandfather as an intellectual, but he did have an intellectual impact on me. I did not see him often, but we did communicate frequently. He constantly wrote me letters as a young child. I remember that when I collected stamps, he took a great interest in what I was doing and would send me stamps from around the world for my collection. He went out of his way to collect them and send them along to me. I would write back to my grandfather when I reached the age of 12 or 13, and we carried on a very active correspondence. That process of communication was quite important to me because someone much older than I took such an intimate interest in what I was doing. I think the experience allowed me later in life to tell people about my ideas with confidence, assuming that they would see my ideas as valuable.

There was another elder man, Mr. Helmholz who lived just down the street from me and loved to collect stamps. I went over to his house frequently and he would give me stamps from his collection, as did my grandfather, telling me about the history of what I saw. For example, there were stamps in his collection from Germany in the 1930s that were worth a thousand, ten thousand a million Mark. He explained to me the terrible inflation of the 1920s and 1930s, which he had experienced himself as a young man. The stamps made sense as part of a long historical tapestry and I felt a greater intimacy with those pieces of paper. They were traces of something larger. That interest in my work on the part of my grandfather and Mr. Helmholz inspired me to go forward with my learning. Close relations with much older men and women was critical to my intellectual development as a child, and I think is one element often lost for younger people today.

My paternal grandmother, Hortense Davis, had a college degree from City College of New York and was a tremendous reader. A very thoughtful person, but also very determined, she put a high value on the success of her family. She took a deep interest in what I was doing from a very early date. I remember that when I was about eight years old she sent a series of books to me for me to read. The books included Two Years before the Mast and other books that were far beyond me capability to read. She somehow expected that I would be able to do just about anything, and that expectation had a profound effect on me.

The tremendous expectations of my grandmother, even more than those of my parents, influenced me tremendously. I came to feel that it was not enough to be just an ordinary kid, playing. I was somehow supposed to do something greater and more significant. I felt a constant pressure to do something extraordinary that derived from the expectations that my grandmother had for me. She also engaged me in very real and complex conversations that forced me to think and to express myself. She took me seriously as a thinker even before I deserved to be taken so seriously.

My grandmother worked as a school teacher for many years. Public service was a critical part of her life. Later on, she went on to serve as a social worker in New York City, spending her days helping poor people in the city. My father’s family had a strong sense of public service and commitment to social service in various forms. For example, my father’s brother, my uncle, Billy dedicated his life to helping poor people and immigrants.

I never knew my maternal grandfather 외할아버지 Louis Rouff. I have a picture of him holding me as an infant of six months. That picture was taken when I visited Europe with my mother to meet my extended family. He died not too much after that, so I cannot describe him first hand. My mother’s family is from Luxembourg and were devout Catholics with a family tree stretching far back (unlike my father’s family which I cannot trace). My grandfather had first planned to become a Jesuit, and studied hard as a young man. He ended up working as a bureaucrat 공무원  in the 세무청 of Luxembourg. He rose to a high level. However, during the Second World War, he refused to enter the Nazi Party and was severely punished by the government for his actions. Germany took over Luxembourg and treated it as a province at the time. He could not work for five years and suffered any number of humiliations as he tried to feed five children. My grandfather was admitted back into government after the war and retired as a senior staff member of the tax department shortly before his son-in-law, Jean Olinger, became the Director of the Internal Revenue Service. As a child I knew nothing of my maternal grandfather, and had no real interest in him, but later in my life he became an important figure for me, a man who had strong beliefs and was willing to sacrifice himself for them.

My maternal grandmother Catherine von Roesgen I never met. An imaginative woman, who was not well educated, she devoted her time to creating a special environment in her home for her children. She loved gardening and creating a beautiful interior in her home. The von Roesgen were originally nobility, although they had fallen on hard times by the generation of my grandmother.

As a young girl she received a camera as a gift from her aunt and godmother and taught herself to become a skilled photographer. She and her brother built a darkroom where she developed her prints on glass plates. She gathered together family members and friends into ” tableaux vivants,” or dramatic scenes. She would have us dress up as gypsies, or create romantic or fantastic scenes at the farm. Other pictures that remain include family scenes such as picnic  outdoors, playing chess by the pond, or herding in the geese.  Her daughter, my aunt Jeanne Rouff, has the entire collection of prints and glass plates.  In 1997 my aunt arranged for a complete retrospective of my grandmother’s work at a gallery in Luxembourg.

She was the person who inspired my mother to become an artist later on, and my extension impacted my own intellectual and emotional growth.  My maternal grandmother grew her own food and believed strongly in nutrition. She also spent her days reading, creating her own little universe in Luxembourg, a nation of rain and clouds that was quite economically depressed in those days. She was stubborn in her ways and never adjusted herself to the modern world. She was killed by an automobile when she crossed the road without looking to see what was coming. That was her personality, still clinging to a world that had already past.

Obviously all of my family traditions were filtered down to me through my parents. My father, Peter Pastreich, had the most obvious impact on me growing up. He also had high expectations for me, like my grandmother. He never told me to study or to work hard. I just knew that is what was expected of me. He also held me up to a high standard as child. My father would sit me down and  read to me rather complex adult books with me long before I had the capability to understand them. But the books we read, like the short stories of Edgar Allan Poe and the Sherlock Holmes series of Arthur Conan Doyle were fascinating to me and I longed for a time I could read them myself. I was trying to read for myself novels from third grade, even if I could not fully understand the content.

My father was an exceptional student from a young age who excelled in both learning and his work. He studied at a public school in New York City and was admitted to both Harvard and Yale at the young age of 16. That was extremely difficult feat for someone who did not come from a traditional preparatory school at that time (1955). My father studied medicine, but was so capable that he was able to master French language as well. He took a year off to study in Paris, France, his third year, and he met my mother there. He then turned more to music and literature, eventually dropping out of medical school to pursue a career in music administration.

My father is both a well-read and thoughtful intellectual and at the same time a very effective administrator who reads broadly in the literature of business administration and lectures on non profit administration frequently. He can both write well and read carefully and administer organizations and respond to political and economic challenges.

My father served as the executive director of the Saint Louis Symphony (where I grew up) from 1966-1978 and the San Francisco Symphony from 1978-1999. He is now executive director of the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra in San Francisco, a smaller symphony dedicated to authentic reproduction of early classical music. I perceived my father as a remarkable figure in his work, doing things so much more effectively than I could do so that I doubted I could ever come close to what he had achieved. He thought me much and was the driving force, is the driving force, in my career. But he never told me to study and never put direct pressure on me. I just knew from how well he did his job that I was expected to do a similarly good job as well myself.

In terms of my early education, my father read with me, always a little higher than my own intellectual development. He took me to concerts and museums constantly to show me the full range of intellectual opportunities that lay before us. He also explained to me his work as a matter of fact. He assumed that I could understand the details of finance and marketing, administration and politics that went into running a complex organization, one that interacted with government, industry, research institutions, unions and wealthy donors. The stories he told me from his work helped me to comprehend the full complexity of human experience and I felt as if I could play a role in his work. He would ask me for my opinion and suggest that he would follow up on my suggestions. I am not sure, thinking back now, that he actually did anything based on the opinions of a ten year old, but I gained great confidence from the experience.

He never said that he wanted me to go to Yale University. I think that if there was any hint of his expectations, it came merely from the assumed level of education required to carry on a conversation with him. That was his strategy, I believe, to constantly demand of me through our conversations, and later our letters, a profound understanding of the world and its traditions that I had to live up to that expectation. I think the approach is the best way to teach, especially to teach one’s children. The important point is that such an approach to teaching requires one to hold oneself to a high standard. One cannot be lazy in teaching one’s children. Better for the father to read books constantly and never tell her children to study than for her to constantly to yell at them for not studying while she watches TV and gossips with his friends.

My mother, Marie Louise Rouff, is an extremely independent woman: extremely well read, creative, hard working, honest and imaginative. She is less of an administrator and more of a free spirit, but she is also quite capable of working together with a variety of people on projects. In my childhood she serves a traditional mother role and did not try to impress upon me her erudition or her talents. I think it was only much later that I noticed just how educated my mother really was, and for that lack of attention to herself I have great respect for my mother.

She created an environment for us, as children, that was unique. She told us stories, took us on trips and most importantly of all, described what is unique, beautiful and significant about our world. She taught us to see through her efforts. And she was always busy reading and later, painting. So she also taught us that it is not enough to just sit around and watch TV. One must do things and grow as an individual through that process.

My mother made Indian food for us as children. You see, she had married an Englishman and lived in India for five years when she was very young. That was the time that she first left Luxembourg and entered into the big world. She had little Indian statues of the elephant god Ganesh and other gods on her desk that I remember vividly. She was the creative figure in the family, leaving little signs, whether flowers cut from the garden or carefully arranged art in the living room, that this was not just any home.

My mother was working as a translator in Paris when she met my father there. She has a degree in translation from the Sorbonne for translation between French, German and English, and to this day has a remarkable command of all three languages. She also has an MA in French literature from Middlebury College, where I also studied Japanese and German over the summer.

Later on my mother became a full-time painter, working out of her studio day and night. She had not been trained as a painter at all, but she soon proved herself to have the determination to make something of herself. She has had many successful shows and now is quite well recognized. But in fact, she started as an artist when I was only about 10 years old. Before that, she had made our own family life a work of art.


Emanuel as a child:

I was born in Nashville Tennessee, a place best known for country music and beautiful wide roads lined with trees. I do not remember anything of that time of my life, as we moved to Kansas City, Missouri when I was about 10 months old.

My parents made me a traveler from an early age. At the age of 3 weeks they bundled me up and took me by plane to meet my grandmother Hortense. She was delighted to see me, but shocked that my parents would take a three-week old baby on the plane just to see her. At six months I was taken to Europe to see my mother’s family. And I took many other trips thereafter. In fact, often when my father went to New York City on business, he would take me with him. I would stay with my grandmother exploring New York City, while my father went to his meeting. But on occasion, I would come along with my father on his business meetings as well. My father always introduced me to the people he did business with as if I were an important person. That made a deep impression on me.

I am told that my aunt Marianne came from Luxembourg to take care of me when I was an infant. She insisted that I should become accustomed to the cold weather and would wrap me out and take me outside no matter how cold it was. She took me for long walks in the dead of winter. Perhaps for that reason, I have come to enjoy winter. It is perhaps my favorite season.

My mother tells me that when we drove from Nashville to Kansas City, for my father’s new job, I cheered them both up because I enjoyed the drive so much. It seems that travelling, watching the world go by, was fascinating to me at that age, and it still it. My parents rented a large house near Loose Park in Kansas City and my father worked for the Kansas City Symphony as an executive director. My mother taught French. When my mother came home, she took me to Loose Park when I enjoyed crawling on the grass next to the pond. I started to walk in that park on exactly my first birthday. I carefully balanced myself, walking slowly, quite delighted and clearly enjoying the astonishment and pleasure you saw on my mother’s face.

My mother tells me that from infancy I was a very outgoing child, curious about all things going on around me. She says that I would try just about any food offered, even if I did not end up liking it much. I would sit for thirty minutes to an hour just staring at a stone or an insect, she tells me. Even before the age of one I was so absorbed in my own world that there was no need to entertain or distract me for my mother.

My mother says there was considerable amount of independence on my part from a very early stage. She would come down the hall to my room in the morning and find that I had been up from early in the morning playing happily with my toys—I was happy to see my parents but did not call out or ask for their attention.

My mother spoke to me in only French for the first two years of my life. My first word was “fleur” (꽃). I was becoming quite fluent. But when we next moved to Saint Louis, none of my friends spoke French and the language seemed quite useless to me. I started answering my mother in English, and within a short period of time, I had forgotten how to speak that language. My mother gave up and spoke English with me.

Later I would greatly regret that I had not made more of an effort to learn French. I had that opportunity to be bilingual and I lost it. All further efforts to learn languages would be more painful. But as I would learn later in life from a medical test that I have in fact language on both the right and left side of the brain—no doubt a result of that early encounter with the French language.

I spent a lot of time with my mother from a very young age. She was not working and took me everywhere. My mother treated me not so much as a baby, but rather as her close friend. She tells me that she would take me out for long walks in the carriage, and she would talk to me constantly about just about any topic.

We lived in Saint Louis in a very attractive quiet neighborhood just across the boulevard from Washington University, a major Midwestern institution. The neighborhood was known as Parkview and was filled with a mixture of professors and professionals. There was a poet named Howard Nemerov who lived here, and his son Alex was a good friend of mine. Howard Nemerov was named Poet Laureate of the United States. He wrote a poem entitled “Walking Down Westgate Street in the Morning.” Our house was on Westgate Street. Stanley Elkin, a famed writer of novels, including such classics as “The Bailbondsman,” also lived on Westgate Street and his son Bernie was a close friend of my brother Michael.

The houses in Parkview were built in the 1920s and are surrounded by large sycamore trees and wide lawns. The neighborhood was full of children to play with. I tend to think it was an ideal environment to grow up in. The United States in the early seventies was in the midst of a great experiment. President Lyndon Johnson had declared a “War on Poverty” and there were many people dedicated to reducing the gaps between white people and black people, between rich and poor, in our country. In my school, Delmar-Harvard Elementary School, we had classes in which a remarkable balance between working class blacks and more educated whites from the university and other professions were maintained. University City was split between blacks and whites exactly 50/50.

When I started school it seemed as if we were all coming together as one society. That ideal would fall apart in the next decade and gaps would grow more significant. Today most everyone in the United States has given up on trying to bring together people from all walks of life to form a better society. And most students from wealthy families no longer attend Delmar Harvard Elementary School. In fact, the school will be closed in 2011.

The early 1970s was both an age of both disillusionment with the Vietnam War and of hope for what we could do to improve the world. Many of my elementary school teachers were deeply idealistic and wanted to make a real difference in the world through their teaching. They had a profound impact on who I have become. That link of education to a vision of a better society remains with me today. I have gone forward from that date with the assumption that I can contribute to society in a positive way through my actions. I always feel that there are little things that I can do to make the world a bit better for all of us. It never is acceptable for me to just resign myself to how things are, or to do things for my own self-interest.

Parkview was located in the development called University City which is adjacent to Washington University. University City was founded by Edward Gardner Lewis, an idealist who wished to create a utopia in Saint Louis. Some of those utopian ideas were still present for me as a child in the carefully designed city planning and the remarkable openness between people in University City. As children we would run from one house to another and learn from the parents of the children living there. For example, Dr. Coben, father of my friend Rachel Coben, who would join us, with his wife Sandy, when we came over to play, and tell us fascinating stories, or explain his work as a medical doctor. Dr. MacGavaran, father of my friend Jennifer MacGavaran, was also a doctor who had grown up in India and would care for our animals when they were sick. His wife Ursula, took us on field trips and made us feel at home in her home full of dogs, cats and even a peacock. Ursula was constantly making up stories for us and entertaining us and teaching us.

Next door to me was the home of the Dreshers. Their son, Parky, was a good friend of mine who introduced me to army men and war (my mother was a pacifist who wanted to keep toy guns away from me). Parky’s father was a lawyer who would sit out in the afternoon when he returned from work to tell us stories and about his work. There was a group of six or seven children who would run around together from house to house.  I think there was a culture then in which we could learn much from the previous generation, and a great openness of exchange.

I remember vividly Mr. Helmholz who lived at the end of Westgate Street. He was an older man who had emigrated from Germany in his youth and struggled to adjust to life in the United States. He took me down in his basement and showed me his stamp collection. I was an avid collector. He would offer me some of his stamps for my collection. They were stamps he had brought over from Germany. He explained to me the terrible inflation of that time when he showed me the stamps from Germany with denominations of 100,000, 1,000,000 and more Marks.

My father loved animals and bought any number of them for me. I think the first thing that I collected was animals. Along with my brother Michael, we had a dog, then two dogs. We had a series of cats, gerbils and hamsters. I also had a turtle and a beautiful sleek indigo snake that I kept in a long wooden cage with a Plexiglas window not far from my bed in my bedroom. I would pick up and play with the snake frequently, treating the snake as many children would treat a cat or dog. One day the indigo snake escaped. We could not find it anywhere. Eventually, my father found it in the attic of the house, and after much effort, captured it. He had to crawl up through a trap door in the top of a closet to catch the snake.

I would later have two other snakes, two iguanas and numerous fish. I also kept a crayfish as a pet. I had caught the crayfish out in the wilderness and was fascinated by its shape. It seemed like a robot. I went to the library next to my school and checked out books about crayfish and crabs and other 갑각류. When the first crayfish died, I was deeply traumatized. I caught another crayfish which was much larger the next time we went to the woods. One day that crayfish also disappeared. I did not know what happened to it. But when we moved many years later, we found its crushed shell under the rug spread under the dining room table. Animals were always trying to escape.

I caught the crayfish at Cardinal Acres. My parents rented a little cabin for our family in a small group of houses in the wilderness, a place called Cardinal Acres. We would go there, the four of us, for weekends, and for holidays like Thanksgiving. We also had some friends who joined us out there with their families. The cabin was located near a fresh flowing river called the Jack’s Fork River that teemed in the summer with fish, crayfish, turtles and snakes. Our family would ride canoes together and my brother and I would try to catch just about every animal we saw. Every time we saw a turtle on a log, we were after it. My father loved to catch animals in this manner and helped us. We would camp overnight, sleeping out under the stars. I also explored caves along the river with my father from time to time.

I formed a tooth club up in the attic of our garage on Westgate when I was about eight years old. Andy Fineberg, a friend from the end of the block whose father designed planes for MacDonald Douglass, and Jennifer MacGaveran, from next door, and a few other children joined. We made a rule that only those with plastic teeth (which you could only get by buying a certain kind a candy at the candy store) could enter the tooth club. We made up all sorts of other rules about who could and could not come up into the attic to play with us. We would climb up in great secrecy to discuss our plans.

I had a sandbox in the backyard where I would make tremendous castles and tunnels. It was my own special space for creation, although I shared it with my brother Michael from time to time. Sand, like Legos, is a wonderful tool to explore what is possible, to understand that we are only limited by our ability to imagine. Later, my mother built a tree house over the sandbox that we could climb up in. I spent several nights up there in the summer as an experiment. The early morning out there in the tree house, watching the cats come out and hearing the birds sing, had a magic quality for me that I remember to this day.

One of my teachers at Delmar Harvard stands out in my memory for his innovations in teaching and his commitment to his students. I often thought of that teacher I had for fourth and fifth grade, Mr. Pat Dugan, especially after I had become a teacher myself. He raised animals with us and taught us about the importance of nature. He made up special projects for us and constantly reinforced in us the sense that we had a responsibility as citizens of the world. We learned about magnetism and electricity through careful experiments that Mr. Dugan designed. Mr. Dugan had carefully planned everything out, but it felt to us always as if we were making up the projects ourselves. He had a genius for stimulating the curiosity of children.

Mr. Dugan kept all his students in one big room. It is amazing to me now to think that he managed to control both the fourth and fifth grades in this manner and inspire us to learn. Whether drawing pictures, observing animals or practicing mathmatics, we constantly were kept busy. Taking tests was part of the class, but I really do not think that tests were the focus of Mr. Dugan’s class. Learning was the focus of his class.

One of the projects I started in Mr. Dugan’s class was a series of plans, drawings and descriptions for what my friend David Soda and I called “Salmon City.” We started this project as a description of a special route by which Salmon could climb up and get around a dam through a series of water locks. But as we started writing, we started to imagine hotels for the salmon, restaurants for the salmon, movie theaters, police stations and a whole elaborate world to support the salmon. We wrote about Salmon City for weeks, coming up with hundreds of plots and drawings. It became our own world. Ultimately the theme we were being taught was the environment. Mr. Dugan taught us to teach ourselves through such games.

And another important influence on me as a child was my Aunt Jeanne, my mother’s older sister. Aunt Jeanne served in succession as the first woman lawyer, the first woman judge, and eventually the first woman member of the Supreme Court in Luxembourg. I went to visit her home on vacations over the summer, and my brother and I even stayed with her for a month on vacation. My aunt was a tremendous reader and thinker. Not only did she read voraciously, she was also deeply engaged in society. I remember distinctly how she sat down with me to explain extremely complex issues in a comprehensible and considerate manner. She seemed constantly to be seeking my opinion, even when I was ten years old. Only much later did it occur to me just how much she actually knew about the world. I still remember most vividly the walls of her office at home, covered with books on every topic and her neat and tidy office at the Supreme Court of Luxembourg.

My parents were divorced when I was in the fifth grade. I would not say that the divorce itself was traumatic for me, but it did introduce considerable instability into my life for a period of years. I have no regrets about the results. I have come to believe that it is healthy to have one’s life stirred up every so often and it is an essential part of learning and growing.

My mother decided to move into downtown Saint Louis, into a neighborhood called Benton Park that was somewhat run down and poorly maintained, but had many very attractive homes The homes were from the late 19th century, although in some cases even earlier, made of brick. The neighborhood had been settled by German people 150 years ago.

I think my mother was attracted to these old brick houses because they reminded her of the Europe she had left behind. She bought a much abused old house that she had a vision of restoring. It had been split up into little apartments and she wanted to make it a grand single-family home again. I became part of that great project. We opened up the fire places, make the third floor livable, uncovered and polished the hardwood floors and otherwise brought life back to this ruin of a house. It was an exciting experience for me as a child, and gave me some sense of how we can create something new just through our own creative actions.

My mother worked as a real estate agent during this period. But she also ran an art gallery called “Gallerie Rouff” in the fashionable West End neighborhood of Saint Louis. I met many artists through her events, just as I met many musicians through my father’s work. We would go to the openings, my brother and I, and serve wine to the guests who came. My mother was not a great businesswoman, but she kept trying and kept experimenting with art. My brother and I were sometimes frustrated by her efforts, but we were also impressed by her courage. That experience taught me that we can create our own world if we just have the will.

I saw myself as having a duty to help fix these broken down houses and tell the world about the beautiful past it was leaving behind in pursuit of the mindless modern. I felt so strongly about the value of these old homes that were run down and poorly maintained. So I started taking pictures of hundreds of those old houses so that there would be historical records of them. I also wanted to persuade people of their value by documenting them. I talked to many adults about the importance of historic preservation and made up my own arguments, even made my own materials, to persuade them. It was a mixture of certain idealism with a desire to know, to understand. That combination has always been at the core of my learning.

My mother also had the tremendous idea to launch something called “ART PARK,” a public event that brought together artists and non artists from the neighborhood to create inspiring temporary installations of art in parks throughout the city. The city of Saint Louis’s Arts and Humanities Commission supported the idea with a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Community Development Agency to carry out the project, to great success. My mother eventually worked as the Director of Neighborhood Arts Councils for the city.

After my parents were divorced, I traveled with my mother and brother to Matinicus Island, Main for two summers. The island is far of the coast from the city of Rockland. It was a two-day car ride from our home in Saint Louis to Rockland. We had problems with the tires, which kept going flat, and Michael and I learned to roll out the spare tire quickly.   We jacked up the car, replaced the tire and were on our way again in a few minutes. It was a team effort. My mother tells me, “Looking back it was the first long trip with my children that I took alone and I was very much afraid and nervous about getting lost. Emanuel had the map and somehow we made it to Maine. Again there was something steady about Emanuel that gave me the confidence to strike out with you. I did rely on Emanuel perhaps more than his years warranted, but this may have given him early on a sense of competence.”

Once we were on the island, Michael went out to explore every inch of the place. We met the lobster fishermen and went out with them to pull up the lobster traps. We spent hours and hours on the rocks outside of our house looking for crabs and other sea creatures. It was a marvelous adventure. We collected mussels from the rocks, raspberries, blueberries and gooseberries from the meadows.

When we lived in the city, in a Benton Park, there was a young man named Timothy Lambert, probably about 27 at the time, who lived next door. Timothy worked fixing up the house next door, which had been bought by the Fineberg family—our neighbors in Parkview. He was a great scholar and a good friend to me. When he was not fixing the house, he was reading novels and histories, or preparing for his study group on Dante which he ran together with John Dobson. John Dobson was the head of the small firm that repaired homes. They had helped with our home as well. You could say they were repairmen philosophers. I spent every hour I could over with Timothy. He told me about every aspect of philosophy and literature that he studied. He explained to me concepts like “symbolism” and led me to look for symbols in the texts I read. He was a great fan of military history and taught me to play a variety of military games. We practiced playing out on boards famous battles of 18th century Europe and the American Civil War. Again, I learned by just being around him and listening to him talk as he plastered the walls. Much better than studying for tests, which we often forget quickly.

When I moved out to California to live with my father in 1979, my interest in architecture grew even stronger. I wanted most desperately to be an architect who would restore the old houses, or at least build new houses that were as attractive as those of old. I still have hundreds of drawings and floor plans for traditional houses that I produced during that period. Most of the materials are not about existing houses, but rather imagined Victorian age mansions that I had designed myself. Designing for myself homes was a critical part of my experience of architecture. Only by creating my own houses could I be assured that I had internalized the concept. I learned about that time about a group of fantastic Victorian mansions that had long been destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and spent my time in San Francisco conducting research on them. There was a historical society about a thirty minute walk from my father’ house and I went almost every day during vacation to find pictures of the old, long vanished houses. I made floor plans for what I thought the houses must have looked like as part of the process and wrote a book about the ancient homes. I was set to be an architect.

My freshman year in high school I signed up for mechanical drawing as the first step towards becoming an architect. I had created so many drawings over the last few years that I was certain it would be a fun class. In the end I had to drop the class before I failed it completely. The mechanical drawing class was based on one’s ability to copy letters meticulously and to draw quickly the assigned forms without any smudges or crooked lines. I was almost incapable of doing so. I have terrible coordination and my writing, even today, is rather hard to read even for me. The experience of taking a class in mechanical drawing and having to drop it was rather traumatic for me. I did not draw much after that. I also assumed, mistakenly, that I could never become an architect.

Lowell High School was about 75% Asian. The largest group was Chinese American, and I had the most Chinese American friends. But there were also Japanese, Koreans, Philippians and Vietnamese. In a sense, my time at Lowell High School was the beginning of my study in Asia. I became accustomed to being the only Caucasian in the room from that time. In fact, I feel most comfortable working with Asians today because of that experience. Being the only Caucasian in a room full of Asians is my natural state. Asia was very far away from the European culture that I had been exposed to before that time, so the adjustment was large. My father was executive director of the San Francisco Symphony, so I was surrounded with French and German culture at home.

I was also blessed with a few extraordinary teachers in high school who helped me on my path towards greater things. For example Ms. Lee Anne Torlakson was my English teacher and a great inspiration. She is a woman who cares deeply about learning, and when I talked to her just recently on the phone, her enthusiasm remains unabated. She made such tremendous demands of me in terms of my writing and my interpretation of what I read. We were constantly given assignments to read literature, such as Shakespeare, and comment on what we wrote in detail. Ms. Torlakson then wrote extensive comments on our writings, explaining the aspects of the text we had not understood. She also graded us for content (our ideas) and style (the quality of our writing). We were forced to hold ourselves to a very high level in both through her instruction. Papers that were well written but had little content would have that weakness pointed out, as would papers that had fascinating content, but were poorly written.

Equally important for me in my education were the other students at Lowell High School. My close friend Michael Malione, who would eventually go to Harvard, often invited me over to his house. He also was a very driven student, but also interested in learning about the world. We did our own chemistry experiments together when no one was around, occasionally blowing things up. We made videos in which we explained the universe, as if we were running a science program for children. With the support of the chemistry teacher Mr. Briggs, we started the science club which gathered together capable students interested in science frequently to learn more about the world around us. Above all, we learned from each other.

Another friend, John McDonald, founded the astronomy club to promote the learning about the universe. We used his telescope to observe the planets and stars, and on occasion he gave short lectures for us on astronomy. John went on to be a professional astronomer. He now works at University of California, Berkeley, and I hear from him on occasion. I remember vividly walking along the beach with John in high school, talking about the world around us and imagining what we might do together in the future.

But perhaps our biggest success was the Philosophy Club, founded with the additional help of Emily Murase, a Japanese American who is now quite active in San Francisco education politics, and Steve Rothblatt, an advocate for human rights globally today. The Philosophy Club consisted of events for students to meet off campus and debate intellectual issues. We also had presentations by members and readings in works of history and literature. In some ways it approached a class in its own right, but one that was entirely voluntary. We joined Philosophy Club because we were interested and we worked hard at it because we believed in it.

Over time, my interests shifted away from architecture and towards literature. Perhaps it was my failure in mechanical drawing that made me doubt that I could pursue that career. My father even made a special effort to introduce me to successful architects, but it I did not shift away from my position. In fact, I would not take an interest in documenting and saving old buildings until 2010 when I started to think about how we could help to make the city of Daejeon into a more livable and culturally enjoyable city. At the time, the shift towards literature was critical for my intellectual development for it led me to think deeply about language, a step necessary to learn foreign languages.

I became a member of the Lowell High School literary magazine “The Myriad” my junior year of high school. A group of about ten students were members of this journal and met regularly to review the submissions of poetry and short stories that they received. It is remarkable now to think back on how many students at Lowell were active writing in high school. I enjoyed the debates over literature held there. In fact, only a few poems that I wrote were ever accepted. I think the other students simply did not like my style of writing. Even after I won a national prize for my poetry in my senior year the other students of Myriad did not pay much attention to my writings. I learned the literature is not a democratic thing. I have always been slightly different than the other students, but at the same time, I wanted always to be involved in student activities, to be a member of the team.

I spent the summer after my junior year in France, 1982,  working hard to master French. I had lost the invaluable opportunity to learn French as a child, and now I had decided I would not make the same mistake again. I was in Paris for six weeks hard at work at a language school studying French language. This time I took the grammar seriously. I lived with a French family so that I could speak French all day long, and I sought out every possible opportunity to learn more of the language. My father had given me a list of friends he had in Paris and I sought out every one of them. I even went to see the woman who had been my father’s home stay mother when he was in Paris in 1958. The thrill of living abroad was considerable and my ability in French improved notably. But at the same time, I found France a bit too familiar. My father and mother had lived in France. My parents were extremely fluent and well-read in French. No matter how hard I worked, I would not reach that level, I thought. I had to try something different.

I have not said anything about the application process to universities because in fact, although I did study a bit for the SATs and the AP tests (back in 1982) I do not have any particular unique skills to offer in terms of test taking. I did well on the tests, but I did not have perfect scores. Nor did I devote that much time to preparation for the tests. If anything, I would say that I did well because of the breadth of my interests and readings, my work in both literature and science, rather than any particular strategy for preparation. My father was most proud that I was admitted to Yale, but he did not at any time insist that I had to go to that school. The goal was a broad education, more than anything else.


My study of Asian Languages

There are not that many Americans who are highly fluent in an Asian language, many fewer who are fluent in two or more. When I was a professor in the United States, I was often irritated when people referred to me as the person who could speak Chinese, Japanese and Korean. I guess I thought that knowing those languages was not my greatest skill or accomplishment, but rather just one consequence of a specific plan that extended over thirty years.

I grew up in the Mid West, St. Louis, to be precise. There was not much of Asia around me then. Of course there was the Lantern House, the Chinese restaurant that we ate at on occasion. I enjoyed that food. And the owners, the Wongs, lived across the alley from us. And there were two adopted Korean kids who were in my class for two years in elementary school. But there was not much of Asia in my life.

I made the fateful decision to go and live with my father in San Francisco back in 1979 and ended up at Lowell High School. Lowell was an extremely competitive public school that placed many students in good colleges and my father thought it was the best place for me. I think his judgment was correct. Again, I did not take any Asian languages, although they were offered, and I had only the most vague interest in Asian culture. I did have many close Asian American friends and most importantly, I came to feel entirely natural and comfortable surrounded by Asians. There are plenty of reasons why I have felt lonely at times living in Japan, or China or Korea, but it was most definitely not because of some ethnic sense of belonging.

When I arrived at Yale, I took a course in French literature which turned out to be a bit more difficult than I had thought. I struggled to keep up, and I am sure that I would eventually have hit my pace, but the more profound truth was that I did not find it all that interesting. It was predictable for me to study French literature, just as my father and mother had done. I also felt that no matter how hard I tried, I would never learn it as well as a native speaker like my mother.

I decided to drop the course and started a list of promising courses from the course catalog. After reading over the descriptions, I decided to attend “Classical Chinese literature in translation.” The course was taught by Kang-I Sun, a very enthusiastic young women who had just finished her Ph.D. at Princeton University. She took me under her arm and encouraged me to take the course. She also took time to read with me ancient Chinese poems and discuss Chinese philosophy.

Yale at that time was a unique environment. There were few majors in Chinese literature and the faculty made a special effort to cultivate us. I was starting to see that somehow there was a future in the study of Chinese, and was even starting to feel a sense of mission. Read more of this post

“A dangerous game: Losing the chain of accountability through Korea-US-Japan missile defense and intelligence integration” Circles and Squares

“A dangerous game:

Losing the chain of accountability through Korea-US-Japan missile defense and intelligence integration”

October 5, 2017

Emanuel Pastreich

Circles and Squares

Read more of this post

동아일보 “추석의 위기”


“추석의 위기”

2017년 10월 3일

임마누엘 페스트라이쉬


내가 추석을 처음 경험한 해는 1년간의 한국어 연수를 위해 한국에 온 1995년이다. 그러나 한국에서 일을 하며 정착한 시점을 기준으로 하면 이번 추석은 내가 꼭 10번째 맞는 추석이다. 10년간 처가에서 맞는 추석은 모습이 많이 달라졌다. 아마 다른 가정도 마찬가지일 것이다. 이 변화를 감히 위기라 부를 수도 있겠다. 추석 명절이 다음 세대에도 의미를 가질지, 아니 존속 자체가 가능할지 불투명하기 때문이다.

10년 전만 해도 장모님은 오랜 시간 공을 들여 추석 차례상에 올릴 과일과 음식을 준비하셨다. 차례상은 ‘주자가례’를 한국식으로 해석한 원칙에 따라 정성스레 차려졌다. 차례에는 가족들이 필사적으로 참석해 함께 조상을 기리고 존경을 표했다. 우리보다 앞선 시간을 살다 가고, 우리가 의식하든 그렇지 않든 현재 우리의 삶에도 영향을 주는 조상의 존재를 기억하는 시간이었다.

장모님은 꼼꼼하게 깎은 배와 밤, 곶감과 어포, 떡을 올린 제기를 상에 올리고 초에 불을 붙였다. 차례상은 음식을 소중히 아끼는 마음과 과거에 대한 경건한 기억이 조화롭게 합쳐진 아름다움을 가지고 있었다. 나는 다른 가족과 함께 차례상 앞에 앉아 향을 피워 돌아가신 조상에게 바쳤다. 그 순간만큼은 우리가 유아독존의 개인이 아니라 오랜 시간 많은 사람이 함께 만든 전통의 일부라는 느낌이 들었다.

그러나 소비문화가 맹위를 떨치면서 과거를 경건히 기억하며 의식의 범위를 확장하는 시간은 사라졌다. 추석은 상업적 마케팅 수단으로 퇴색해 갔다. 이제 장모님은 우리가 도착하기도 전에 아침 일찍 간략한 차례를 먼저 지내신다. 추석 문화에서 큰 부분을 차지했던 조상에 대한 대화와 이들을 기억하기 위한 경건한 묵념은 사라졌다.

이제 추석은 소비를 만끽하는 명절이다. 먹고 또 먹는 시간이 반복된다. 아이들은 TV를 보고, 어른들은 돌아서면 잊을 만한 소문이나 잡담을 생각나는 대로 나눈다. 우리를 만들어준 과거를 되짚지 않고 차례상에 올릴 음식, 심지어 서로에 대해서도 별다른 관심을 기울이지 않는다. 조상을 기리고 감사함을 느끼는 마음은 자취를 감췄다.

요즘에는 추석 때 아예 오지 않는 가족도 있다. 한때는 해외에 있는 가족까지도 반드시 참여해 ‘한 가족’임을 느끼는 중요한 명절이었다. 그러나 이제는 친구와의 약속, 심지어 학교 과제를 이유로 내세워 추석 때 아예 오지 않거나 잠깐 왔다 가곤 한다.

추석이란 명절 자체가 즉각적 만족과 순간적 소유를 만끽하는 자리로 변질됐다. 추석이 가진 본래 의미는 반대로 뒤집혔다. 우리보다 앞선 시간을 살아간 사람들, 그들이 이룬 가족에서 이어진 가닥들이 합쳐져 지금의 우리와 그 경험을 만들었음을, 우리가 그저 홀로 태어난 사람이 아님을 기억하는 자리는 더 이상 없다.

나는 추석 명절의 차례 의식을 좋아했다. 먼저 살다 간 사람들과 우리, 우리와 가족의 관계를 군더더기나 꾸밈 없이 확인하는 자리였기 때문이다. 일상의 가장 단순한 활동도 감사히 여기는 시간은 삶을 새롭게 환기시키는 중요한 쉼표가 되어 줬다.

추석을 되살리고 싶다면, 추석의 고유한 가치를 되새겨야 한다. 소비할 것들로 가득 채운 차례상보다 의미를 살린 간략한 행동이 정신적으로 더 큰 의미를 가짐을 깨달아야 한다. 가족의 역사를 이야기하며 아이들이 조상의 존재를 실제로 느끼고, 자신이 먼 과거로부터 이어진 위대한 존재의 사슬에 닿아 있음을 깨닫게 도울 수 있다.

마지막으로, 추석에 자연의 순환을 느끼는 시간이 다시 생겼으면 좋겠다. 농사의 수확을 축하하는 자리이니, 산에서 자연을 즐기거나 농장에서 곡물과 채소를 구하며 세상의 섬세한 아름다움 속에서 우리의 자리를 느끼는 시간을 가져보자.

“为了拯救地球, 青年人能做的事情”

为了拯救地球, 青年人能做的事情

上一代人对于环境问题的漠不关心和对于将来要发生的事不去做深刻思虑的事实, 让现在的年轻人们深感忧虑.。他们也清楚地知道,那些掌握决定权的人们不仅对于环境变化关心甚少,而且也不准备为了环境保护而采取任何长期性的行动。关于环境问题的谈论,基本都是与日常生活没有直接关联的, 类似北极熊或冰河一类的话题。这样的谈论所能起的作用, 不过是让人们认为环境问题与日常性的实践无关,仅仅是那些领取国家俸禄的专家们的事。除了寄希望于那些专家们可以处理好以外,普通人好像没有什么事可以做。青年人们经常被引诱去相信, 那些掌握决定权的人们如果关于特定的文件达成共识并签字承诺, 环境将会有所改善。或是轻易相信绿色和平组织 (Green Peace)能够做出某些贡献和富人们或高位公职者们可以带来某些革新性的变化等等。



为了改善人口剧增、沙漠化、水质污染、海洋生态界问题、农业危机和大气污染等问题,在各个阶段并不要求急剧的变化。但是在电视里看到的那些受过良好教育的人们,总是在不断重复极为僵化且与真正需要关系甚远的谈话。 哪怕仅仅是为了真正的需要做一些最基础的事情,国际团体们也在回避。


带来真正的变化,仅需要非常小的实践,一些在日常生活中可以做到的简单实践而已。为了亲身践行,并不需要阿尔·戈尔(Albert Gore)的气候政策,而仅仅需要勇气和想象力。


他的意思是说,在高档餐厅里享用昂贵的食物或乘坐豪华汽车, 并不能直接给人带来幸福。无论是什么, 通过消费某种物品的方式去满足自己的欲望,只会让自己与幸福越来越远。人想要在沉迷于消费的过程中,找到某种自我进步和提升的感觉, 只是一种无益徒劳,并会迷失自我。

最根本的问题在于没有自由,在于你在自己的人生中不能独自做出任何决定。总是轻易接受广告等媒体的宣传或身边人对自己的灌输。在这样的状态下不可能找到幸福。当你真挚地去探知和去独立地去判断的时候,即使你一无所有,也会感到自己变得更加自由。同时,你可以获得在享用昂贵的食物或住大且漂亮的房子等生活之中,所无法获得的幸福感。并且当一个人知道, 消费昂贵的食物或住大且漂亮的房子的生活不仅会牺牲环境,也以牺牲别人为代价时,他会跟随自己的良心去清算那种生活。


这一点,有必要与周边的朋友们、父母、邻居们分享。如果去超级市场,那么就应告知人们必须做的事情。虽然这样做会给别人增加一些负担,但不断的坚持则会形成一种现象。不仅是你自己,周边的人们也应一起参与。这样的现象形成以后, 则会成为普通市民公共生活的一部分。但很多情况是, 在日常的具体场所里不清楚要做什么。所以,不仅需要有追求改变的意识,还要明确认识到需要怎样的变化。

就像环境专家詹姆斯 · 斯佩思(James Gustave Speth)早就指出的那样, 我们必须懂得何为文化运动。

“我曾一直认为, 环境问题中最重要的主题是生物物种的多样性减少、生态界的崩溃和气候变化。 我曾经预想, 在30年之内科学会着重地去处理这些问题。但是现在才认识到,真正重要的主题是自私自利之心、贪欲和漠不关心。为了解决环境问题,需要的是文化上和精神上的变化。”

生活中的每时每刻, 你都不得不在‘消费文化’的紧张状态里挣扎。我们被囚禁在迅速地对环境和社会造成破坏的‘消费文化’里。当我们认为消费他人和环境是一件好事的时候,当我们对现在的消费文化没有批判态度的时候,我们会经常处在问题状况之中。需要做的是要抵制消费和抵制怂恿消费的文化。


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