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======================== II. Featured Essay: III. G-Maverick: IV. Global Spotlight: Mecca Cola V. Sidebar: Ben Franklin on globalization VI. Global Wire by Keith Porter VII. Coda: Ramadan and President Bush
Until a few years ago, television and the Internet were nonexistent in Bhutan. Orville Schell, dean of the Graduate School of Journalism at UC Berkeley, visited Bhutan after their introduction to study the impact of mass media on this digitally isolated society. I asked Dean Schell for permission to reprint his reflections since it is such an interesting case study of globalization in one corner of the world. As a UC Berkeley graduate, I have had the pleasure of hearing Dean Schell speak on many occasions and I am always impressed with his insight, intelligence and ability to paint a vivid picture through his words. You will be equally impressed with his essay found below. Which do you prefer, Pepsi, Coke or Mecca? The latter is the newest cola kid on the block with a mission to help Muslim consumers boycott American products and, in the process, American policies. We profile Mecca Cola in the Global Spotlight section. Lee Thorn, chair of the Jhai Foundation, is the next "G-Maverick" with his peddle-powered computer soon to be found in Laos and other developing nations. I sat down with Lee in San Francisco to discuss how Laotians will peddle down the Information Superhighway without the need for electricity or a telephone connection. Remember, Global Degree is a journal that you'll want to read and digest over time. Don't skim through it and miss something enlightening. Print it out and take it with you. --Mel Ochoa
"Gross National Happiness" Looking down from Kungachoeling Monastery through fluttering prayer flags to the blindingly green rice paddies of the Paro River Valley below, one feels utterly escaped from the surly bonds of Earth. Not far from me, a solemn monk lights incense before the Buddha. In the silence of this remote and lovely refuge--one of the Royal Kingdom of Bhutan's hundreds of functioning Tibetan Buddhist shrines--computer chips, frequent flyer miles, the World Trade Organization, and IPOs seem part of another world. Especially here on the Indian subcontinent, awash in corruption, ethnic struggle, illiteracy, pollution, poverty, and the clash of civilizations, Bhutan's pacifism, paternalism, and egalitarianism stand apart. It is hardly surprising that people here often speak of "the outside world" as if it were another celestial body. Under the spell of this tranquil monastery, the unexpected hum of distant engines is like an unwelcome tocsin awaking one from reverie. I spot a minuscule white dot against a peak as one of Druk Air's two small planes drifts down out of the cumulus clouds toward the country's only airfield. The yearning of postmodern Westerners to escape the velvet shackles of our hard-won progress to places like Bhutan is hardly new. In 1921, when the British governor of Bengal, Lord Ronaldshay, visited Bhutan, he too felt intoxicated at the idea of leaving the aggressive, modern world behind. "Just as Alice, when she walked through the looking glass, found herself in a new and whimsical world," he effused, "so we, when we crossed the Pa Chu [and entered Bhutan], found ourselves as though caught up on some magic time machine fitted fantastically with a reverse." From such accounts, a Western fabric of mythology was woven, one that allows the tourism industry even today to proclaim Bhutan as "the last Shangri-La." No larger than Switzerland but with a population of less than 700,000, Bhutan is, in fact, a place of peace and natural beauty. Indeed, His Majesty King Jigme Singye Wangchuck refers to his country as "a paradise on earth." It boasts awesome snow-capped mountains, including Gangkhar Puensum, which, at 22,623 feet, is the highest unclimbed peak in the world. Climbers are not permitted to scale these peaks lest they "disturb the spirits." It has abundant wildlife, including 165 species of mammal, like the endangered snow leopard, golden langur, and takin. Because a 1995 law mandates that 60 percent of Bhutan's land must remain forested (while another 26 percent is already protected as parkland), it has extensive virgin forestlands. And its pastoral villages are filled with friendly people who show few signs of modern dispossession or malaise, perhaps because their government spends almost 18 percent of its national budget on education and health care (compared with only 2 to 3 percent for a country like China). "The real appeal of Bhutan is that we feel human," says Tshewang Dendup, a graduate of the documentary film program at the University of California, Berkeley, who now works at the Bhutan Broadcasting Service. "Maybe we are somewhat isolated from the world, but we feel part of a living community that is not just connected by wires. That's why 95 percent of us exchange students return home. By and large, you would have to say people are happy here." But "one way or another, change is coming," King Wangchuck told the former New York Times South Asia correspondent Barbara Crossette a few years ago. "Being a small country, we do not have economic power. We do not have military muscle. We cannot play a dominant international role, because of our small size and population and because we are a landlocked country. The only factor we can fall back on . . . which can strengthen Bhutan's sovereignty and our different identity is the unique culture we have." And so the government has kept a tight grip on matters of culture, which have grown out of the Drukpa Kagyu lineage of Tantric Mahayana Buddhism. In 1999, only 7,000 foreign visitors were granted visas, and for 2000 the figure rose only to 7,559. Police are empowered to detain any Bhutanese not wearing official national dress, the robelike gho for men and the jacket and apronlike kira for women. It was perfectly in keeping with this strict but benign paternalism that the King should proclaim that "gross national happiness is more important than gross national product" because "happiness takes precedence over economic prosperity in our national development process." "Happiness has usually been considered a utopian issue," acknowledged Bhutan's foreign minister, Lyonpo Jigmi Thinley, at a United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) meeting in Seoul, Korea, in 1998. But he emphasized that because an "individual's quest for happiness and inner and outer freedom is the most precious endeavor, society's ideal of governance and polity should promote this endeavor." What is needed, he continued, is "to ask how the dramatic changes propelling us into the 21st century will affect prospects for happiness [and] how information technology will affect people's happiness." These were good questions, because only half a year later the Internet and television, both locally broadcast programs and imported cable channels, were due to arrive, and it was tempting to view Bhutan as a kind of a nouvelle canary in the cyber mine shaft. So, just a year after the advent of these two tectonic technologies, I traveled to this Buddhist kingdom, which had been so determined to maintain its own identity, to see how it was weathering the penetration of the information and entertainment highways. One thing was immediately obvious: whereas the old controls on trade, tourism, and foreign investment had depended on limiting physical access, Bhutan was now confronting new and more elusive kinds of globalizing influences that would not be impeded by mountains, rivers, and jungles. TV and the Internet had radically recast the terms of intrusion, and many Bhutanese were worried about what Dasho Meghraj Gurung, the managing director of the country's postal service, Bhutan Post, characterizes as "the negative aspects of modernization" and "the mad race for the acquisition of material things in life . . . which lead to a lack of public accountability." Walking past the main intersection in Thimphu, Bhutan's capital city, only the most attentive person would notice the small blue and white sign that hangs unobtrusively beneath a second-floor window announcing a cybercafe. Upstairs, there is only a small room decorated with a single Buddha image dangling from a wall switch and three homemade booths equipped with ancient computers. Pema Wangchuck, a shy 20-something who had been trained in India, tells me that he opened the cybercafe in this rented room a month ago, making it one of the first two Internet beachheads in Thimphu. He charges 3 ngultrum ($0.07) per minute to go online. "Until recently, all I knew of the Internet was what I read in books and magazines, but I believed the Internet was something extraordinary," Mr. Wangchuck says. "Now, as I understand it better, I see that it really is a boon. If people learn how to use IT, the benefit could be infinite, because it will help break our isolation and give us easy access to the world!" When I ask him if his customers come in just to surf the Net, he somewhat despondently replies, "It's so expensive that they get nervous about the cost. So it's mostly just girls who come in to answer a little email. It's not yet for everybody's pocket. Most will have to just remain excited." Mr. Wangchuck says that the main challenge confronting his incipient business is simply connecting to the Internet--all 32 dial-up lines to DrukNet, Bhutan's only ISP, were busy so often. DrukNet was inaugurated on June 2, 1999, as part of the silver jubilee of King Wangchuck's coronation (druk means "dragon" in Bhutan's official language, Dzongkha). It was initially conceived as providing only intracountry email service, a hermetically sealed communications system that would keep the rest of the world at bay. But the king finally concluded that Bhutanese should be able to navigate the entire World Wide Web like most other people. The DrukNet inauguration ceremony, which was attended by chanting monks and Queen Ashi Dorji Wangmo Wangchuck, the eldest of a quartet of sister-queens, heralded the king as the "Light of the Cyber Age." Despite the royal fanfare, DrukNet functions much like any small ISP. "I don't think we'll make any profit for several years, but we must factor in the social service aspect of our business," says Ganga Sharma, a young engineer of Nepali extraction who was trained in the United States as a Fulbright Fellow at the Florida Institute of Technology and oversees DrukNet's hardware. As we talked, he stood admiring his Dell PowerEdge Server at the telecommunications division of the Ministry of Communications. Its blinking lights indicated that all available lines to the outside world through British Telecommunications' Concert UK hookup were being used by Bhutan's 600 Internet subscribers. Part of DrukNet's mandate is to provide, at the same cost, service from any point in Bhutan. This means that someone going online in a provincial town over a local phone line connected by microwave links to the capital pays the same phone and user charges as someone next door to the server. The hope was, and still is, that more schools, tour companies, businesses, and government offices around the country will thus be encouraged to go online. If successful, DrukNet will help Bhutan leap-frog the landline phase of the telecommunications revolution and go right to microwave links. When I raise the question of access to undesirable sites--no small concern in a traditionalist country that has been so dedicated to filtering out objectionable influences--Mr. Sharma acknowledges that DrukNet did censor certain sights with some X-Stop gateway hardware from a company in California. No one I talked to, however, including the vice minister of communications, seemed deeply concerned about the kinds of First Amendment issues that such censorship would raise in the United States. At the end of 2001, DrukNet had almost 1,000 dial-up customers. Bhutanese tour and trekking companies, the mainstay of the country's fragile economy, have become some of the Internet's biggest enthusiasts. Where previously they had to fax brochures to hundreds of overseas travel agents and call clients, now, the manager of one trekking company told me, the use of Web sites and email has reduced their international phone bills by 90 percent. By the end of its first year, DrukNet hosted 15 new Web sites. One of the leaders of Bhutan's cyberrevolution is 38-year-old Umesh Pradhan, a bright Nepali with a master's degree from George Washington University. After working with the South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation, Mr. Pradhan set up a software consulting and training firm. But with the arrival of DrukNet, he rented a two-room suite at Jojo's, Thimphu's first shopping arcade, moved in eight computers, and opened an Internet cafe. When I visited Jojo's, it was under construction, but it would soon have a laundromat, a nightclub, a restaurant, and a food court, as well as Mr. Pradhan's InfoTech Solutions Cafe. In the spring of 2000, something quite unexpected occurred. Kuensel, Bhutan's only newspaper, happened to mention Mr. Pradesh's cafe. The BBC picked up the story from Kuensel's Web site, and then Time magazine ran an item. Suddenly quaint little Bhutan, hitherto known to the outside world as the last holdout against the wages of technolust, became something of a cybercelebrity. Alas, the publicity may have been global, but it hardly brought a stampede of customers to Mr. Pradhan's cafe. "The problem is that there are only three or four people in Thimphu who are real IT pros, and there is not yet any real entrepreneurial spirit," Mr. Pradhan complains. "The government has spent all these years putting its heads in the sand, and now the gap is growing. The question is: could they really catch up and take advantage of this revolution?" But there is another question: did they want to catch up? Or did Bhutan want to continue marching to a somewhat different drummer? After all, gross national happiness may not be advanced by jumping too recklessly into the gale-force winds of the global marketplace and technological change. Mr. Pradhan is clear about what Bhutan should do, and he sees people's interest in email as having already "broken" initial resistance to the Internet. He stands in the hallway outside his "cafe" with his American friend Bob Morgenthaler, a sometimes consultant and something of a Bhutan groupie, and unrolls a set of floor plans for the future. Gesticulating grandly, he and Mr. Morgenthaler describe which walls they are going to knock down to expand the cafe, where the food court is going in, and how other shops will turn Jojo's into "one-stop shopping." "I don't buy this pure Shangri-La thing," interjects Mr. Morgenthaler. "To publicize Bhutanese culture and give it a stake in the cyberworld is to save it. I mean, there are already over 20 video rental stores in Thimphu. Some people here have seen more video movies than anyone on the planet! And don't forget, lots of people have long had satellite dishes. A small place like this needs the Internet even more than a large place. Bhutan's one college will never have the library resources of a big university abroad, so the Internet is the perfect answer." The presence of DrukNet has started to have a catalytic effect on sleepy Thimphu. For example, Bede Key, an English expatriate who worked with the British Voluntary Service Overseas and then married a Bhutanese woman, set up the Visual Institute of Technology with a Bhutanese partner, Singye Dorji. Their goal was not only to train Bhutanese to use computers, but to develop an indigenous software industry. "It's an ambitious goal," admits Mr. Key, whose drip-dry white shirt, black trousers, tufty hair, and manner of speaking in acronyms would enable him to share in the community of international geekdom anywhere. "Eighty percent of Bhutanese language software is developed outside the country," he says, with outrage tingeing his voice. "The challenge is to redress the balance and to build self-reliance here by developing the export of IT." As Mr. Key sees it, the foundations for this seemingly improbable dream are actually pretty solid. "Bhutan has a very young population [45 percent of its citizens are under 15 years of age] and growing unemployment among its rapidly increasing class of educated young people," he says. "And there are probably a good number of ex-pats who wouldn't mind doing a little time here in 'Shangri-La.'" As reluctant as some in the government might have been to open Bhutan to the outside world, the minister of communications formed a division of information technology to help plan Bhutan's technological future. "I admit I'm a computer buff," says Kinley Dorji (Dorji is a common Bhutanese surname), the head of the division, as we meet in his small office, where he sits in his gho in front of a new computer monitor. "But we're just beginning. How are we going to do it all? Right now I have no idea." The bright, energetic Cornell University MBA gives a self-deprecating laugh. "We also have to develop a private sector, because sufficient motivation will not come out of the bureaucracy. But our market is small, so it's hard to find people to fund projects. We need to prove that we are entrepreneurs before we'll ever get capital. So possibilities of success are not immediately great." I ask Kinley Dorji about resistance to getting Bhutan online. "Things are moving too fast even for America, so imagine how people feel here!" he exclaims. "Sure, our government is a little reluctant. What they say is: Do we know enough about IT to avoid harm? Everyone worries about pornography. TV and the Internet will, of course, infringe on the time people spend at monastery festivals. "We should give credit to our government's policy and the way the idea of Bhutan as something unique has helped protect us. The answer isn't to say that we don't want the Internet and all that it brings. At some point, more involvement with the world is inevitable. Instead of looking at it with fear, let's look at it as an opportunity and trust in our record of balancing things. Remember, most remote islands connected to the Internet long ago. It kills distance. Think of it! It's a bit utopian but a powerful image of the Internet's promise." If Druk Air--with only several flights a week, the smallest national carrier in the world--can be described as "small pipes," the Internet offers Bhutan large pipes. But perhaps the largest pipes now linking Bhutan to the outside belong to another arriviste medium. Until spring of 1999, Bhutan was one of the last countries in the world without television. At the same time that the Internet was inaugurated, the Bhutan Broadcasting Service (BBS) started a nightly one-hour TV news and variety show. But the effect of this event paled in comparison with the jolt caused by the arrival of cable television from beyond Bhutan's protective mountain ranges. While some had already bought illegal satellite dishes, it was not until several local cable companies set up shop that ordinary people truly entered mondo cable. Dago Beda, the cheerful and energetic managing director of Etho Metho Treks and Tours, is an astute business person who basically fell into the cable business. In 1999, she and her partner, Rinzy Dorji, began hooking up local subscribers to a satellite dish. "We weren't sure what would happen," she coyly tells me in her office overlooking Thimphu's only movie theater. "But then all the government said to us was, 'No overhead lines, please.' So we took the lines down. We've done a lot of digging for underground cables since!" Everyone, it seemed, was a bit surprised when the government did nothing. "We just started to do what we wanted, but we ourselves thought that BBS should have done cable," Ms. Beda continues, shrugging diffidently. "Finally, they made some rules. So we applied and then got a license." Thus was born Sigma Cable Service, offering 26 channels, including Home Box Office, Star Plus, BBC, Turner Network Television, Cartoon Network, MTV, and ten pay-for-view channels. Sigma charges 1,500 nu ($52) for a hook-up and a 200 nu ($7) monthly subscription fee. By the beginning of 2002, Sigma had signed up about 3,000 subscribers. "But you know, when TV finally did come on in June 1999, I really felt a little sorry," she says, suddenly turning somewhat triste. "Gone are the days when we were so naive, when people just talked together, read, and gardened rather than let the TV tell us how it should be. Now we've entered a new world." If she feels so ambivalent about this "new world," why did she become part of the cable-ization of Bhutan? "Well, I thought better us than someone else," she explains. "We, at least, can control things. Once we attain our target, I want to review all our channels. We want the BBC, Hallmark Channel, and Nature, but I want to get rid of the action and professional wrestling channel." She grows increasingly indignant. "I want to say to our viewers that they should not watch this trash! I mean, we still have a moral duty to our kids, and we do care for our country! We can always go to the government and ask them to control it." It was confusing to hear Ms. Beda criticize something being shown on her own cable system as if she were somehow not involved with it being there. When I point out the obvious contradiction, she just sighs. "The problem comes from too much freedom. TV has happened outside, and it's going to happen here," she says. "But how do we go about keeping TV or the Internet in balance? Maybe it can happen differently in Bhutan. So far, we have managed, because if there is one thing we Bhutanese have, it's our culture to anchor us against the world." But this cultural safeguard is precisely what the advent of the Internet and cable threaten. In fact, since the advent, nothing has agitated the Bhutanese quite so much as the sudden appearance on their screens of beefy World Wrestling Federation ogres body-slamming each other in a way that is hardly calculated to earn much good karma. The Sigma office is on Thimphu's main street in a dusty shop where a pack of young children are often playing on the stoop, sometimes dressing up like American professional wrestlers and imitating their theatrical style of fighting. When I visit one evening, I find a bored young woman, Deychan Dema, inside behind a rickety table with a phone and an order pad with carbon paper. (Bhutan is the only place where I have seen carbon paper in the last decade.) The office is decorated with a few tattered posters and the de rigueur portrait of the king above gritty shelves of soft drinks and beer. A glassy-eyed boy sits before a new color TV, surfing desultorily, with a remote, between TNT, the Cartoon Network, MTV, and an action film. Rinzy Dorji, Ms. Beda's partner was out of the office. In fact, he had been out ever since a saboteur mysteriously started cutting Sigma cables several days earlier. Like a county lineman, Rinzy Dorji was trying to restore service to those customers deprived of their nightly 26-channel fix. "When football is on, people now stay up very late," says Ms. Dema, a neighborhood girl hired to answer Sigma's phone, sheepishly. "And kids know exactly when the World Wrestling Federation is on. I like wrestling and Popeye." "In terms of actually putting controls in effect, I think the government sort of gave up on TV," complains Kinlay Dorjee, who works for the World Wildlife Fund. "We have strict controls on foreign investment, although I hear this may change. But we have no such controls on television. And now we are also getting hooked on the Internet. Suddenly we find ourselves stuck in front of so many screens! It has become a kind of compulsion, so that we feel it was almost like ignoring God, or Buddha, to not answer our screens!" Actually, it may not be long before Bhutanese have only one screen to answer. While cable service presently has no connection to the Internet, part of the reason that Ms. Beda and Rinzy Dorji were interested in cable was because they understood that ultimately it could provide pipes for the Internet as well. Kinley Dorji, the Columbia University-educated editor of Kuensel, has equipped his office with new computers, many of which are linked to the Internet over modem. He is an articulate man of about 40 whose wire-rimmed glasses and tousled hair provide an interesting counterpoint to his pert, gray gho with white cuffs. As we sit chatting in his office, I ask him how he views all the changes rocking Bhutan. "TV and the Internet are very new to us, and their impact on family and society has not been fully understood," he says without hesitation. "After all, we are talking about a traditional society that only recently came out of isolation. We feel vulnerable. In the past, we always saw these threats in the form of physical occupation. But with TV and the Internet, we must now fear a new threat--a kind of aerial threat." A wistful look began to furrow Kinley Dorji's brow. "It's not that TV and the Internet are bad, but that we're so small, unprepared, and vulnerable. To use things like TV and the Internet intelligently and not lose our uniqueness, our people need to be better educated. If you let a subsistence Himalayan farmer watch sexy girls in five-star hotel pools, . . . " his sentence trails off. "Well, you have to ask: do human beings ever learn without going through these mistakes themselves?" This issue is being pondered by Karma Ura, an Oxford-educated author and the director of the Centre for Bhutan Studies, a government organization that is very much involved in questions of cultural preservation and national identity in Bhutan. "I thought, well, since the king is controlling things at the helm, he should control TV, too," says Mr. Ura. "But then, he let go. If all barriers are broken down, then all decisions will become economic." It is rare, indeed, in Bhutan to hear anyone criticize the king so directly. When I ask Yeshey Jimba, Bhutan's minister of finance about cable and pro wrestling, he pauses. "There is no doubt that TV is now uncontrolled," he finally replies. "But to do anything about it leads to criticism of being authoritarian, and we Bhutanese are freedom-loving people." He smiles wanly. "Anyway, in certain ways I think the days of such control are over." Indeed, when I ask him about the prospect of allowing foreign investment in Bhutan, he hints that it would not be long before changes would be made here as well. Until 2001, Bhutan had a uniquely strict policy against foreign investment; the only outside development monies permitted were aid projects funded by the United Nations and such benign countries as Canada, Denmark, and Switzerland. This policy changed when two Bhutanese companies engaged in the development of the country's tourism infrastructure were permitted to form joint ventures with several Singaporean and Indian investment groups to build first-class resorts and hotels. When I ask Mr. Jimba about the Internet, he flips his bright orange minister's sash, or kabne, over the shoulder of his checkered gho and points proudly to a new computer on his desk. "I've only had it two days," he crows with pride. "We have to embrace the Internet, learn from it as much as possible, and use it to good effect. But we must also inculcate respect for our culture and values in our people, thereby building up our own strength and resistance." As we talk, I hear the chanting of monks begin from across the courtyard of the Taschichoedzong, the fort-cum-monastery that was the ancient summer residence of the government and clergy and that presently houses the offices of the king and Je Khenpo, Bhutan's spiritual patriarch. Mr. Jimba is himself a practicing Buddhist, as are most officials in Bhutan's government. As soon as he notices me listening to the chanting, he triumphantly proclaims, "You see? Right over there, we have monks! Buddhism here won't weaken!" In the contest of cable TV and the World Wide Web vs. Buddhism, it's hard to say which will prevail. The fates of other traditional societies, from Alaska to Bali, Mongolia, and Tahiti, that are struggling to keep their cultural balance through "selective modernization" do not inspire great optimism. But Bhutan is a curious holdout where the kind of go-go entrepreneurial energy that has besieged so much of the hyperkinetic global marketplace has been kept in abeyance. Bhutan, a small, reluctant Buddhist refuge, seeks to measure its progress in long-term kalpas (a measure of millions of years in the Buddhist faith) of good karma and gross national happiness rather than in quarterly corporate bottom lines. But now, as the siren song of the outside world's infatuation with IT (never mind global terror) begins to reverberate throughout Bhutan, even in this once quintessentially isolated Himalayan land, a debate about globalization is gathering intensity. Unlike countries where the only concern is how to get a bigger piece of the global market, Bhutan, at least, is debating the wager. In fact, the deputy minister of communications, Leki Dorji, tells me that he has undertaken a survey on the effects of the Internet and TV and is hoping to organize a media-advisory committee to "do some soul-searching" about formulating a coherent media policy. In almost every conversation, two starkly contradictory imperatives are implicit: control heterodox influences from outside lest they corrupt Bhutanese culture, or open up to gain the obvious benefits of the larger world's hybrid vigor. But one would have to conclude that Bhutan has passed an important milestone in convergence with the outside world. Even one of the architects of gross national happiness, current chairman of the Council of Ministers and foreign minister Jigmi Thinley, agrees. "We can continue to be cautious, but being cautious does not mean shutting our eyes," he tells me in his office upstairs from the National Assembly. "Shutting our eyes and cloistering ourselves as we did at one time during the policy of isolation served us once. But then we took the conscious decision to strengthen our sovereignty through involvement in the world. That means some intrusion, and we are prepared for that." What about maintaining the integrity of Bhutan's vaunted traditional culture? "Some people tend to look at culture as static, but actually culture is always evolving," he replies emphatically. "It is a tool, and when a tool becomes obsolete, you have to change it." Perhaps, then, for this hesitant land to be electronically linked to the outside is not so bad. After all, such interaction does not involve invading armies, legions of businessmen, or phalanxes of ganja-fueled backpackers. On both the Internet and TV, unwelcome intrusions by real people can still be kept at bay. "Yes, we need money, but we should never forget that money is not the end," emphasizes the division of information technology's Kinley Dorji. "Whenever indigenous people meet with outsiders, the indigenous people seem to lose. The difference between a physical occupation and a virtual one could be huge. So, while it still may be hard to get to Bhutan physically as a place, we may nonetheless connect it more closely to the outside world." He pauses a moment and then adds somewhat tentatively, "Maybe I just see the bright side." When Queen Wangchuck, who like her three sisters now has an email address, attended the opening of DrukNet in 1999, she optimistically described "Bhutan's dream for the Internet" as being a window through which her people "will gain access to the whole world without ever having to leave the tranquility of their tiny remote villages." The thought of cable television and the Internet tamed and harnessed to minuscule Bhutan's humanism is an enchanting dream. But the real question is not simply how well the government succeeds in controlling traditional physical invaders, but whether the Bhutanese and their culture will be strong enough to resist virtual influences. "The challenge is this: can a nice tshechu dance at a monastery compete with the World Wrestling Federation?" asks Kay Kirby, a former Los Angeles Times editor who married a Bhutanese and moved to Thimphu more than six years ago. "Since people are very aware here, if any place can survive the onslaught, Bhutan can. Until now, Bhutanese culture has held its own. This may be wishful thinking, but I have hope." Everyone, it seems, is a little suspicious of optimism. By the end of 2001, the BBS had expanded its nightly television programming. But the most seductive entrant in the television wars was still cable. Around Thimpu, it was all too familiar a sight to see young Bhutanese boys dressed up like Andre the Giant, the Undertaker, or Dude mock body-slamming each other as they played, as if the Lord Buddha was the patron saint of the World Wrestling Federation. Internet use in Bhutan, too, is growing rapidly. In September 2001, DrukNet added another upstream provider--KDTI in Japan--and had almost 1,000 dial-up customers and about 40 Web sites. A survey by the Bhutan division of information technology found an acute shortage of people trained in IT skills. This, despite the fact that, in addition to the pioneering Visual Institute of Technology, Bhutan now boasts six private IT training institutes. Also, the first two cybercafes in Thimphu now find themselves in competition with four other upstarts, including one run by Bhutan's postal service and another called Digital Shangri-La. Mr. Pradhan's Internet cafe at Jojo's is going strong, with several new rooms of computers; he is even providing computer-literacy training to a complement of Bhutanese policemen. Perhaps for this small landlocked kingdom, the arrival of the Internet and cable TV will be providence. Indeed, even as virtual video images from outside the country were cascading into Bhutan at the end of last year, the country's tourist industry was contracting, hammered by the global economic downturn, the September 11 terrorist attacks, and technical problems with tiny Druk Air. As of the beginning of October, only 4,460 tourists had managed to arrive physically in 2001, just more than half the number of the previous year. "Yes, we are vulnerable," admits Mr. Dendup at the BBS. But he insists that with one cross-country road that is blocked by snow in winter and landslides in summer, and with one airline composed of only two planes that often cannot fly because of bad weather, technology is just what Bhutan needs. "For example, take my father who is a priest at a temple," he playfully told me several months ago. "When I recently bought him a CD player, he didn't even know what it was. Now he brings it out every time monks come for a puja ceremony. And what does he play? Religious music! He has taken this new high-tech thing and put it to his own uses! We have a saying in Bhutan: 'If it is medicine, you should take it from an enemy. But if it is poison, you should refuse it from a friend.'" "Gross National Happiness," by Orville Schell. Reprinted by permission of the author.
This award reinforces the belief that one person can make a difference on a global level. Whether it is advancing the benefits of globalization or stopping globalization's harmful wake, Global Mavericks define the power of one with their bold ideas and actions. Lee Thorn, chair of the Jhai Foundation, has achieved G-Maverick status in the technology category. I met Lee for the first time over lunch a few weeks ago to see the Jhai PC and to discuss his thoughts on technology needs in developing countries. My friend John Thomson, founder of Embrace Vietnam, joined us. The Jhai Foundation has developed a self-contained, low-wattage computer about the size of an under-the-desk portable heater that is powered by a bicycle-style foot crank. When peddled, the bike acts as a generator to power a battery that runs the computer. One minute of peddling produces five minutes of power. Without moving parts such as a fan, the computer can withstand dirt, heat and immersion in water. A wireless network transmits information to a server and dial-up connection many miles away via strategically placed antennas. The Jhai PC was developed for implementation in developing areas of the world void of electricity and telephone connections, such as Laos where Lee has been focusing his efforts. In conjunction with the Jhai PC, Lee's team developed a Linux-based software -- aptly named "Laonux" -- so that locals may maximize their use of the computer. Among the many benefits, farmers can now accurately price crops before traveling to a distant market. Villagers can also communicate with family and friends abroad. Technology training is given to youth who then help elders use the computer.
Lee Thorn: It is not at present. We did not receive permission from the Lao military for permanent implementation in Phon Kham. We have now been invited by the Lao government to introduce the Jhai PC in other villages and we are checking with those villagers. In the next few months we will install a five-unit version on the Navajo reservation in the Unites States. We are also negotiating for implementation in the Philippines, Cambodia, India, Namibia, South Africa and Congo. We expect to also conduct a demonstration in China and in either Mexico or Peru within the next year. GD: How has technology such as this impacted local economies? LT: WAP-enhanced cell phones in Senegal have helped villagers increase their take on the sale of vegetables and fish from two to eight times. The Jhai PC was developed for those areas that don't have cell phones and will probably never have cell phones because of the terrain and poverty. GD: Is there an unexpected outcome or issue that you've seen thus far? LT: Yes, we never expected that we would not get permission for Phon Kham. We've worked in Laos for seven years and we've never had this situation arise. We worked on this issue almost exclusively for a year and finally had to give up. However, we are looking at a possible serial wi-max solution that might solve the main problem the military is concerned about at Phon Kham. We would need free wi-max equipment for this experiment and other funding. GD: Has this been replicated in other remote regions of the world? LT: It will be soon. The system has been running pretty much non-stop in the lab for almost five months with no crashes. All functions work. We'll field test on the Navajo reservation as soon as possible. However, we need funding. Tax-deductible donations can be made through our Web site using PayPal or can be sent to Jhai Foundation, 921 France Ave., San Francisco, CA 94112. GD: Is there a Jhai PC v2.0 with any changes you'd like to see made? LT: Yes, we are testing prototypes now. They are made of off-the-shelf parts bought in low quantities. Since our project is open design and open source, we expect the market will produce several perhaps better and probably cheaper versions once we post the design and documentation, the bill of materials and specs, and the open source code. At 10,000 units, we think our present version of the Jhai PC can be built for about $400. In larger quantities, of course, this price is reduced. I know engineers who are designing a one-card version and we are working with other engineers who are looking at hardening the boxes. Still other engineers are looking at increasing the effectiveness and efficiency of the bicycle generator system. I actually think this last thing is the most important and potentially profitable. Human-generated power is under-rated as a source of energy. Combined with LED lights, it could make a great impact on education (night classes, study halls, computer labs), for example. It has health benefits. It can be applied anywhere. It has many applications at all levels of development - from that in Sweden and Italy to that in Bangladesh - and the input is totally clean. GD: What is your opinion of globalization? LT: If there were only one species of animal on Earth, the Earth would literally die. Language is an organizer of thought and a transmitter of culture. It is to our benefit to preserve all languages and all kinds of diversity, including human cultures. On the other hand, some pieces of globalization may be unstoppable. English is very popular all over the world, for example. It might be nice if we all had a second language . . . and a third, fourth, fifth . . . or more. The piece of globalization that is most problematic is its ugly militarized face, such as in Iraq. In circumstances like this, globalizing forces are helping in a very effective way to create chaos and perhaps their own demise. They are helping to create more opponents than they are killing or de-mobilizing. For most Vietnam veterans, like myself, this is quite familiar. Unfortunately, the flailing about of the militarized face of globalization seems to create reactions that hurt the entire globe. This is especially true for the people who live where the battles are fought and the soldiers on all sides who are fighting. But the whole world suffers, not simply from the creation of more unconventional soldiers or "terrorists," but also from the hugely unproductive use of capital in war and the globalized ripples of fear and discontent. Thought about in one way, much of so-called "terrorism," that is, unconventional warfare, is a response to the uglier sides of globalization by people who are committed to keeping their culture -- especially the religious aspects of their culture.
The Economist: San Francisco Chronicle:
Technology: Lee Thorn, Jhai Foundation
Global Spotlight highlights an organization that is interacting with globalization in some way. American companies such as McDonald's have faced boycotts, but until now these boycotts were mainly aimed at particular business practices. Mecca Cola, based in Dubai, is taking a more political route and allowing the Muslim world to boycott America itself -- or at least its strongest icons like Coca-Cola -- as leverage against U.S. foreign policy. With slogans such as "Drink With Commitment" or "Shake Your Conscience," founder Tawfik Mathlouthi has solidified an anti-American consumer base in countries throughout Europe, the Middle East and Africa (with plans to move into Latin America). Now that consumers are given a choice to "buy Muslim," companies such as Coca-Cola, McDonald's and KFC are entangled in international politics. Mecca Cola also has a strong commitment to assist Palestinians. Twenty percent of net profits go to charities, with 10 percent given to Palestinian organizations focused on humanitarian aid such as child welfare and skill education, and the other 10 percent to European NGOs. According to the company, aid is never given in cash, only in clothes or goods, to avoid supporting terrorism. The Mecca Cola Web site states: "This exceptional, passionate, constructive, rebellious human adventure has brought together all who reject injustice, imperialism, and lies, in short, it has given rise to an immense wave of hope in which alternatives are possible and opposition is feasible... "Mecca-Cola is not only an economic and industrial challenge. It is also a political affront, a fight for dignity against savage globalization, even though it has expanded in such a way that it has become global in its reach... "[Mecca-Cola] will give locals an image of themselves that is totally the opposite of what they see in the media." To learn more, visit http://www.mecca-cola.com
Sidebar is a section devoted to an interesting -- or devastating -- outcome of globalization, a unique tidbit relevant to the global economy or a thought-provoking quote from an individual within the audiences served by Global Degree.
Read how this quote is true today in a global context:
Globalization news and findings from leading publications throughout the world. +++ Courtesy of Keith Porter (http://globalization.about.com) +++ Where Have All the Protestors Gone? (YaleGlobal) The police chief of San Jose, Calif., is fasting for Ramadan. He is not Muslim. With the introduction of Mecca Cola, I've started to think more about the apparent dilution of Brand USA throughout the world. According to a recent worldwide poll, "57 percent [of the respondents] said they had a worse opinion of the United States than two to three years ago." [1] As CEO of our country, President Bush is as much the face of Brand USA as are McDonald's, Coca-Cola and Levi's jeans. The war against terrorism has partly led to this lower worldwide opinion, especially within the Arab community. Don't confuse this with a war on Islam, though, as President Bush declared in October 2001: "Our war on terrorism has nothing to do with differences in faith. It has everything to do with people of all faiths coming together to condemn hate and evil and murder and prejudice. "And we've got to do a better job of making our case. We've got to do a better job of explaining to the people in the Middle East, for example, that we don't fight a war against Islam or Muslims. We don't hold any religion accountable. We're fighting evil." [2] But the Bush administration has not done "a better job" in reaching out to Muslims and making its case, both in the U.S. and abroad. In fact, there have been many fumbles along the way such as Bush's use of the word "crusade" when discussing the war on terrorism. (For those who don't recall history class, The Crusades were Christian campaigns to recover the holy lands from Muslims). His aides were quick to spin the inadvertent statement. The San Jose police chief's attempt to reach out to Muslims has instantly garnered him respect from civic leaders. And it is such a straightforward and logical act of unity. No fancy speech. No flashy campaign ad. No puppet Iraqi or Afghan leader flown to Washington, D.C. for a photo opportunity. Chris Matthews discusses the adage that "all politics is local" in his book Hardball. In this case, Matthews is correct. The Bush administration is defined by images of death, prison torture and chaos thousands of miles away. This is what the U.S. Arab community uses to judge President Bush's war on terrorism (but remember, not Islam). There are no localized efforts involving the Arab community that Bush has developed to make his case or improve his image, especially as unique as the police chief's observance of Ramadan. Instead, I've seen a lot of death, prison torture and chaos thousands of miles away. Proponents of President Bush might argue that the two men and their actions cannot be compared; that the President of the United States has a higher degree of diplomacy, foreign policy and international balance at stake. I'd have to disagree. A police chief also must find the balance between providing community-building leadership and strict law enforcement that might affect those within the community. President Bush's lack of strategy in communicating with the Arab world is evident. He has an image problem when it comes to Muslims and a serious need for an Arab marketing expert familiar with field organizing. President Bush stated in his re-election victory speech, "A new term is a new opportunity to reach out to the whole nation." [3] Perhaps he should start with the Arab community. Here's an idea, what if President Bush fasted for Ramadan? --Mel Ochoa
[2] http://archives.cnn.com/2001/US/10/11/gen.bush.transcript/ [3] http://www.cnn.com/2004/ALLPOLITICS/11/03/bush.transcript/index.html
+++ Print Global Degree and enjoy it over time +++ With an increased global interdependence, Global Degree presents the many facets of globalization in a fresh and interesting manner to the widest possible audience. Global Degree is a medium for CEOs to exchange ideas with activists, for filmmakers to interact with politicians, and so forth. Each issue offers a timely, open and multidisciplinary discussion of globalization and its impact from different perspectives including, but not limited to, business, politics, academics, technology, economics, activism and foreign policy. Essays and interviews touch upon ideas, opinions and concepts related to trade, investment, technology, labor, governance, law, political and/or social unrest, the environment, and culture. EDITOR: Global Degree welcomes essay submissions, feedback/comments and suggestions for all sections. Email the editor directly or visit http://www.gdegree.com for essay submission guidelines. No part of this publication, advertising or editorial, may be reproduced without written permission of the editor and individual essayists. The Global Degree subscription list will not be sold for third-party marketing or advertising purposes. The opinions expressed herein are those of the contributors and not necessarily shared by the Global Degree staff. Inclusion of a product or service in Global Degree does not imply an editorial endorsement. All editorial rights reserved. Copyright 2003, 2004 Mel Ochoa.
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