One of the main components of my job at the magazine has been writing obituaries. And after five months of condensing entire lives into three sentences, I’ve come to two conclusions: One, that it’s impossible, and two, that I am going to die someday. But despite questioning my own mortality at the age of 23, I’ve also become intimately tied to lives I once believed to be distant. I have written the stories of former undergrads much like myself, who found love in an unlikely corner of campus, who cheered fanatically at Memorial Stadium, and who insisted that their time at UC Berkeley was the best of their lives.

I’ve been coming to terms with this last thought for sometime. As I picked up my diploma yesterday, it occurred to me: If college is, as they say, the best time of your life, then what happens next?

Plagued by this question, I went running to clear my head. As the sun began to set over the bay, and the steady stroll of fog was coming in from the east, I was greeted with this inspiring vista over downtown Berkeley. As I passed exam-stressed undergraduates armed with coffee, I became overwhelmed with nostalgia, realizing that my gamut of emotions is now forever attached to anecdotes, still-frames of people and places who’ve made me who I am.

I finally stopped underneath the Campanile, greeted by the last reflection of sunlight underneath the Golden Gate. Relishing the appropriate metaphor, I was reminded of a part from Way of the Peaceful Warrior, where UC Berkeley student Dan Millman, after hours of deep meditation, returns to his spiritual guru, Socrates, and reveals his progress by proclaiming one simple statement: “There are no ordinary moments!”

My anxieties eventually dissipated when I realized that college is not a tangible place, but a state of mind. It’s the acknowledgment that our educations are everlasting, transcending any classroom or campus. Our intellectual journey is predicated on the idea that we leave UC Berkeley with more questions than answers and, despite this uncertainty, we embrace the future with open arms. As Socrates explained to young Dan Millman, “Life requires more than knowledge; it requires intense feeling and constant energy. Life demands right action if knowledge is to come alive.”

If there’s one constant theme to my columns, it’s that we as human beings are not so different, and together we have the potential to do extraordinary things. Our world is filled with such beauty and wonder—and it’s also bursting with injustice and hatred. Our post-college struggle, therefore, is to maintain our youthful exuberance, fueled by our memories of Cal, amidst a sea of cynics. These people scoff at the notion of “saving the world”, peddling their pessimism as reality. I say this world needs saving, and it’ll take all the help it can get.

Is it too brazen to believe that one person can make a difference? So say the skeptics who diminish our optimism as “youthful idealism”. To them I ask, what’s wrong with idealism? Idealism is the fuel that has enabled human beings to achieve the impossible. Recalling the spirit of Gandhi and Mario Savio, I say go forward, join the campaign trail, leave for your medical mission, write a book. It doesn’t matter what you do; what matters is that you awaken your dormant knowledge through action, and you do it for the right reasons.

As for me, I’m moving to New York, an admittedly cliche place for people my age to discover themselves. I’ve decided to forego law school; instead I am preparing to teach history in the inner city. I’ve learned that my future isn’t constructed with concrete steps, bur rather amorphous ideals. My obituary has yet to be written, and knowing what I know now, I can’t promise that it will reveal how I saved the world. Three sentences will never be enough, but at this point I’d be content with a quotation from Walt Whitman: I am a man who wishes only to contribute a verse to the great play of life.

(This is my final weekly column for the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

It was only later when my roommate Paul, a fellow Korean American, informed me of the shooter’s ethnicity that we impulsively began to fear a potential backlash. This paranoia was symptomatic of our community, the product of our self-created “out-group” identity. This was evident in many Korean American responses to the shootings. In Los Angeles, Reverend John Park publicly expressed shame and responsibility for the murders. Another Korean American later confessed: “I cannot even approach my co-workers to talk. I feel so ashamed.” A report noted that Korean students at Virginia Tech locked themselves inside their dorm rooms, too afraid to come out. Another stated that there were Koreans preparing to leave the country.

To allay the fears of the Korean-American community, South Korean ambassador Lee Tae-Sik spoke at a candlelight vigil a few days after the shootings. He implored the audience to “repent,” suggesting a 32-day fast, one day for each victim, to prove that Koreans are a “worthwhile ethnic minority in America.”

Let me first point out that Mr. Lee, a South Korean, crossed some serious diplomatic boundaries when he decided to speak on behalf of Korean Americans. Furthermore, no group of people can prove that they are a “worthwhile ethnic minority” by starving themselves. And most importantly, neither I nor anyone else should “repent” for something we didn’t do. The irony, we have since learned, was that there was no backlash from American society. It maintained what I came to realize: There was nothing Korean about what Cho Seung-Hui did.

What has become painfully evident by the aforementioned responses is the insular nature of the Korean American community and its inability to cope with tragedy. There are many cultural explanations for this, but the most important might be the Korean concept of han, which denotes a collective feeling of oppression and isolation in the face of overwhelming odds. If the L.A. riots are any example, Korean Americans respond to a crisis in their community by lamenting within their enclaves, hoping their problems will disappear.

This sense of culpability all Korean Americans feel is not because of Cho’s actions, but because of the possible consequences. We fear that Cho will indirectly become the mainstream image of Korean America, and we desperately search for an alternative champion.

But who? Certainly not a South Korean diplomat—we are not South Korean. And definitely not Korean ministers, for we reside in a secular nation. The truth is, the proverbial voice Mr. Mineta urged us to develop doesn’t exist yet. According to recent polling data, Korean Americans have one of the lowest levels in political participation among ethnic groups. But just as Japanese Americans developed political connections following internment, Korean Americans are now realizing the importance of social participation. Fellow UC Berkeley student Vivian Lee said it best: “We need to figure out how to become productive American citizens, not productive Korean American citizens.” How? Well, certainly not by fasting and repenting. We should start by engaging the greater community, through politics, or science, or any venue, and strive to make it better for all Americans.

My roommate Paul later confessed that he believed that this column would be my most important of the semester. Knowing that he doesn’t regularly read them, the gesture was humbling because it expressed the faith that my column would embody his voice—our Korean American voice—which has been desperately needed amidst the chaos of the last ten days. Paul’s confidence in the column is the same as Norman Mineta’s confidence in the Asian American voice: that through it, we can overcome this dark day, not as Koreans linked in shame, but as Americans united under tragedy.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

Amid the star-studded dynamics of modern sports, we easily forget about the significant contribution and courage Robinson provided to future generations. Consider that without Robinson, Barry Bonds wouldn’t be chasing Hank Aaron’s home run record and Wilt Chamberlain wouldn’t have scored 100 points in a basketball game. Robinson’s audacity transformed baseball from America’s pastime into a global game—today, fans scream Spanish phrases at the ballpark and rename Japanese pitcher Matsuzaka Daisuke simply “Dice-K”, phonetically for their convenience.

Allowing Robinson to play was baseball’s acknowledgement that there existed the possibility of a greater game, one unhindered by our prejudices. It’s appropriate that baseball, the most democratic of team sports, reflected a major step in our nation’s ongoing struggle for equality. It provided just one of many outlets of change, a drastic alteration of our collective conscience.

The inevitable consequence of progress is seen currently in politics. Barack Obama certainly isn’t the first black American to run for president, but he might be the most provocative. Given Obama’s hype, it’s no surprise that he’s both darling and target for political pundits. But amid all the banter, some are avoiding discussing the taboo topic of race. I hate to break it to everyone, but race is a huge overtone of Obama’s campaign. But is that a bad thing?

Leave it to skeptics to question whether Obama, the son of a Kenyan father and a white American mother, is truly a representative of the black community. I think Eugene Robinson posed the best answer: “Is Barack Obama ‘authentically’ black? Come on, be real. Is the pope Catholic?”

Obama’s candidacy urges us to question our own stereotypes. Obama criticized the notion among the poor black community that reading was “acting white.” This is the same ignorance condemned by Malcolm X in his autobiography, recalling a schoolteacher discouraging him from pursuing a career in law in favor of a blue collar job. Why has “white” become equated with “mainstream” in this society? It’s this very notion that proves that racism is self-perpetuating and hardly exclusive to the majority. In fact, politics is, by our national character, our right, and should not be seen or thought of as a “white” activity.

Whether you support Obama or not, nobody can deny the significance of a successful campaign for all Americans. The difference between Obama and Robinson boils down to a difference between implicit and institutional barriers. Will it be the color of Obama’s skin that tears down these walls? No, just as Jackie Robinson’s Hall of Fame career wasn’t predicated on his race, but by the skill and athleticism that defined his talent.

Why did more than 200 Asian, Hispanic, black and white players don Robinson’s number 42 this past Sunday? Because Robinson’s struggle wasn’t an African American one—it was an American one. It’s the recognition of the struggle of all minorities—blacks, Asians, Hispanics—as the collective effort to fight against their superficial definition in favor of a greater, all-encompassing identity. Thomas Jefferson didn’t idly suggest that “all men are created equal”—he based a revolution on it. Our national identity is built upon this very idealism, and our continual struggle epitomizes the conflict between our propensity to discriminate and our faith in a greater inherent human goodness.

People have asked me if I think America is ready for a black president. Well, was American ready for a black baseball player in 1947? Probably not, but uncertainty always precedes change. Nobody knew how Robinson’s integration would affect baseball, but biographer Jonathan Eig described the sentiment best: “Robinson showed black America what was possible.” But more importantly, “He showed white America what was inevitable.”

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

Hunger led him outside the camp, against curfew, where he stumbled upon several South Korean soldiers carving up a dead cow. Taking pity on their shy new friend, one of the soldiers tossed Daesok some meat. As he turned to admire his gift, he was confronted by their captain, hidden behind aviator sunglasses. Realizing that he had broken orders, Daesok concealed his prize and silently awaited his punishment. But the captain instead offered a smile, asking the teenager about himself. The harmless interrogation lasted but five minutes, and the captain, with a pat on the back, departed. Confused, Daesok walked back to the camp, unaware of the significance of the meeting.

North and South Korean troops began mobilizing that night, preparing to advance into no-man’s land—exactly where the camp lay. About a thousand refugees were ordered into a shelter along the riverbed. In the darkness they waited, huddled together against the bitter cold.

Daesok was awakened by the glow of flashlights. Methodically, they probed the shelter until they finally settled on him. Blinded by the light, he fearfully awaited his fate. “Come with me,” a familiar voice echoed. And through the frosty night, he could see the captain, minus the sunglasses.

Navigating through the darkness, he hastily followed the captain to the edge of the camp. “Follow my footsteps exactly,” the captain warned, gingerly traversing a narrow path. Daesok obliged, chilled by the cold and the “land mine” signs surrounding him. At the edge of the minefield, the captain pointed to a small trail. “That leads south,” the captain said. Daesok turned to thank the captain, but he was already gone.

Suddenly, the roar of artillery shattered the silence. As he ran, Daesok glanced at the shelter as it erupted in a great inferno, obliterated by the pounding guns. Only later, as the adrenaline dissipated, did he come to the somber realization that he was the only refugee to survive. Years afterwards, he would try to find the man who had saved him. But he would never see the captain again.

Daesok now lives in America, six months from retirement after almost 30 years of service in the U.S. government. An old man now, he recently celebrated his 73rd birthday. He’s been telling me this story since I was little, and it has yet to lose its poignancy. I recently asked him why he thought he was saved. “Some say God heard my mother’s prayer,” he said. “But there are lots of mothers who pray for their children during wartime.” I suggested fate, but he disagreed. “I don’t want to call it that—it takes away from the captain’s intentionality. He knew he couldn’t save us all, but he tried to save one.” And through my father’s eyes, I see a glimpse of the stunned teenager, as mystified now as he was 57 years ago of the miracle that saved his life.

You can decide whether fate or divine power compelled the captain to save my father, but I made my mind up a long time ago that my father was saved by an angel. And while the images of halos and harps are certainly warming, if this story has any lesson, it’s that we need to redefine our concept of angels. My father wasn’t saved by an accidental fate, but rather the intentional audacity of the human spirit. His angel, he insists, was simply a man. Miracles, then, occur because we mortals do, in fact, possess the power to help those in despair and, despite overwhelming odds, choose to do what’s right. After more than 50 years, my father has concluded that he will never know why the captain saved him, a poor refugee among hundreds of others. In a war where millions perished, such a deed might be seen as insignificant—but for my family, it has made all the difference in the world.

On April 11, 2007, people worldwide will fast to highlight of the humanitarian crisis in North Korea. Thousands will skip meals to raise awareness of the current refugee crisis. For more information, visit http://www.fastfornk.com or email callink@gmail.com.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

Coulter, a self-described “polemicist” who likes to “stir up the pot” and does not pretend to be “impartial or balanced”, has made a career out of controversy. Given her track record, I’m not shocked that she referred to John Edwards as a “faggot” earlier this month. At this point Coulter has to offend people just to get by. By not doing so, she would condemn herself to what every celebrity, A or B-list, fears most: obscurity.

Judith Warner framed Coulter’s idiocy: “‘Faggot’ and ‘total fag,’ like other political pearls of our time—such as ‘bring it on’ and ‘girlie men’—are just epoch-making in their stupidity.” Hardly surprising from Coulter, a person who has condemned Sept. 11 widows for exploiting their husbands’ deaths for personal gain and someone who recommended “sending liberals to Guantanamo.”

It’s no surprise that Democrats are outraged by Coulter’s career in nonsensical mudslinging. What might (or might not) be surprising is that all three major Republican presidential candidates condemned Coulter’s recent actions as well, sending the universal message that “Ann Coulter doesn’t speak for us.” The party Coulter supposedly supports refuses to return the favor, which brings up an interesting question: Who, exactly, does Ann Coulter speak for?

One answer lies in the thoughts of political commentator Frank Luntz: “To communicate with the people—the real people of ‘small town, middle America’—and to speak straight to their hearts, minds and entrails, you’ve got to put ‘yourself right into your listener’s shoes.’ In other words, think small.” While Luntz’s simplistic target of middle America is a stretch, he is correct in his assessment of Coulter’s exploitation of the politically ignorant by pandering to a more instinctual rather than intellectual side.

Extremism has always been marketable in this country. It has spawned a whole form of entertainment, inappropriately labeled “reality TV”, that depicts people eating worms and cheating on their spouses for prizes—Coulter advocates for extreme politics while “Fear Factor” promotes extreme reality. The truth is, none of it is real, only appetizing. Our nation is fascinated with ideologues, explaining why Savage has a nation and Colbert mocks O’Reilly. But Coulter, unlike the aforementioned pundits, has no media outlet to mobilize her masses. Thus she’s become a shameless self-promoter, a circus act that constantly needs to push boundaries to stay in the spotlight. Think of Coulter’s ideology as crack cocaine: a temporary pleasure quickly overshadowed by horribly retarding side-effects. It’s a cheap addiction a lot of people share, whether they admit it or not.

If this is so, shouldn’t we just ignore Ann Coulter, as we would a spoiled child? I initially thought so, and at first I considered not giving her my attention. But as USC law professor Susan Estrich warned: “What is wrong with being mean to get attention is that it plays to the worst in people, and in doing so it tears at our social fabric.” Unlike extremists Rush Limbaugh or Michael Moore, Coulter’s ideology is not a polarized politics, but rather a capitalization of bigotry. And while many might casually dismiss Coulter’s attack on godless liberals and homosexuals as trivial, ignoring her doesn’t change the fact that she promotes and legitimizes the hatred and contempt of those looking to exercise their prejudice.

Ann Coulter epitomizes the partisanship that has divided our nation over the past decade. But it seems that everyone, Republican and Democrat, stands united against Coulter, a reassuring indication of changing political times. And while Coulter declares war on godless liberals, she’s become the enemy of all America. Despite Tony Montana’s thinking, we don’t need Ann Coulter to know what’s good about our country. That’s because there’s nothing united about Coulter’s United States, and that’s not the liberal in me talking—it’s the American.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe’s recent comments questioning the existence of comfort women is the most recent and prevalent example of this principle. The term “comfort women” is the greatest euphemism in our modern vernacular and describes the roughly 200,000 women, mostly from Korea and China, who were forced into sexual slavery by the Japanese military during World War II. In 1991, these women demanded a formal apology from Japan, prompting the United Nations to conduct a full investigation. It concluded: “Japan violated customary norms of international law concerning war crimes, crimes against humanity, slavery, and the trafficking in women and children.” Japan responded with an informal apology, but the government never officially assumed responsibility.

The most disturbing thing about Abe’s sentiments, besides the obvious insult to the integrity of the women, is its reflection of an aspect of Japanese society that favors altering history rather than accepting it. Many conservative Japanese are lobbying to strike references to comfort women and other notorious war crimes from school books. “Our campaign worked, and people outside the government also started raising their voices, creating a national trend,” commented former education minister Nariaki Nakayama, who also claims the Nanking Massacre of 300,000 Chinese civilians was a “pure fabrication.” The end results of such propaganda could be disastrous: a whole generation of children indirectly oblivious to an entire chapter of their history.

Abe’s statements relied heavily on the fact that “there is no evidence to prove there was coercion” of comfort women, leading international scholars to argue over the semantics of “coercion”. What a pointless debate: Whether the comfort women were recruited through coercion or not is irrelevant—the fact is that once they became comfort women they were stripped of their freedom and subject to unspeakable abuse.

Thousands of comfort women still reside in Asia, but many of them are reaching the twilight of their lives. This sense of urgency helps fuel the movement, as supporters responded to Abe’s statements by demonstrating in major cities from Seoul to Manila. Even in the United States, steps are being taking to ensure that Japan remains accountable for their past actions. A recently introduced bipartisan resolution by Rep. Mike Honda, D-San Jose, urges Congress to pressure Japan to issue a formally apology.

In a past column, I defended the often-vilified Japanese soldier as being unfairly dehumanized by a community appalled by events of the past. Japan’s history cannot be boiled down to such atrocities, but they are certainly a part of it. Japan is at a crossroads: One path, paved by those who acknowledge past atrocities, leads to reconciliation, the other, built by those who ignore history, descends further into the oblivion. There are human consequences to this decision—for many comfort women, their last wish is closure on a painful history they cannot purge from their lives.

As of this past Saturday, Abe has rescinded his latest remarks and expressed sympathy for the women, standing by the 1993 apology. It seems that Abe realizes that if Japan truly wants to rid itself of its deplorable past and take a responsible attitude towards history, it has to start by acknowledging it. And while one side painfully yearns for the day their tragedy is realized and the other doggedly clings to the remains of a farcical dream, both comfort women and Japanese politicians now share a common realization: In history, nobody can escape the truth, no matter how painful or shameful it might be.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

Facing declining membership and a budget deep in the red, the Delta Zeta sorority attempted a major makeover last month, the end result of which was the purge of 23 of the 35 active members at DePauw, all removed from the house and forced to find new accommodations mid-semester. Controversy arose when it was discovered that among the departed were the chapter’s overweight, black, Korean and Vietnamese sisters. Those expelled overwhelmingly described the remaining members in terms of their physical appearance. “Half of them were blond. The others were brunette or redhead. They’re beautiful women. They were more fit,” said one of the excluded members.

Delta Zeta’s national office stated the decision was made for “reorganizing” purposes. The intention was to change the image of the half-empty house in order to make the sorority popular again. Cindy Menges, national executive director of Delta Zeta, said the only determining factor of who was eligible to stay was “a commitment to recruit for the chapter”. But the ousted girls maintain they were just as committed to recruitment as anyone else in the house. They just weren’t allowed to participate: Delta Zeta officials took over and insisted that the members remain in their rooms during recruitment. Obviously, the national office intended to promote an image of exclusivity with Delta Zeta v. 2.0, and it got its wish. After all, what could be more welcoming than a minority-free country club?

Alexandra Robinson’s article in The New Republic framed this scenario best as an emotionally detached business decision: “The historically white national sororities, which once viewed themselves as social and service clubs, have turned into businesses, with money and image as their bottom lines—and Delta Zeta was flagging.” The removal of 23 members was not seen as a significant emotional decision, but rather as a sunk cost that had to be realized before growth could resume. Such pecuniary dedication is prevalent on the sorority’s Web site, the top of which prominently features “Shop DZ online.” The Web site contains barely two sentences offered as condolence to the departed 23, but nobody seems to notice—they were probably distracted by the $25 striped DZ tote bag.

The most disturbing thing about what happened at DePauw is that, in order to adjust its image, the national chapter seems to have sacrificed some of the most fundamental philosophies of Greek life. These tenets intended to promote an ideal of lifetime growth and acceptance in order to appreciate the diversity of this complex world. Delta Zeta officials obviously missed the memo as they obliterated diversity in favor of conformity and offered the departed a final pittance—“alumna status.” What is “alumna status”? It’s their seemingly refined way of saying: “Don’t let the door hit your unmarketable ass on the way out.”

But instead of assuming culpability, Delta Zeta is projecting blame on The New York Times and other media outlets, accusing their reports of being “unfair” and “completely biased,” portraying their organization in a negative light. I’m all in favor of objective journalism, and I agree that the media has embellished aspects of this story, but in this case it becomes perfectly clear to me that there’s no real good way to sugar-coat blatant superficiality.

I know many sorority girls here at UC Berkeley, and they all resent the shallow stereotype that has overshadowed their community. Contrary to the DePauw story and what many may believe, there are plenty of sororities still committed to a greater ideal of sisterhood and service, resisting the pressures of conformity. Admittedly, I was initially skeptical of sorority commitment to noble motives of philanthropy and loyalty, instead favoring the shallower image of Prada and fruity drinks. But one aspect of this story changed my mind: As of last week, six of the 12 “attractive” girls asked to stay have left on their own, out of solidarity with their departing sisters. Despite the “best intentions” of the national office, it seems that sisterhood and Delta Zeta’s “crusade for justice” lives on.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

I can think of a better place: the United States of America.

Oprah is no stranger to educational philanthropy in this country, already giving millions to inner-city schools throughout the nation. But when asked by Newsweek to justify why she was building a school in Africa rather than the United States, she explained that the situations are different. South Africa’s problems, she explained, lie within its desperate poverty and primitive educational infrastructure. And while the American system has glaring problems, ultimately, “it does work.”

But Oprah wouldn’t be Oprah without editorializing: “I became so frustrated with visiting inner-city schools that I just stopped going. The sense that you need to learn just isn’t there. If you ask the kids what they want or need, they will say an iPod or some sneakers. In South Africa, they don’t ask for money or toys. They ask for uniforms so they can go to school.”

Let me respond by first clarifying that all students, myself included, adore iPods and sneakers, but that such materialistic desires hardly constitute a reason to denigrate an entire demographic. And while nobody can directly criticize her generous contribution to humanity, the gesture doesn’t make her a saint. Her motivation is truly cosmopolitan, but it’s almost too much so. I’m guessing that Oprah is one of those “bigger picture people”; but in this case, she’s neglected the blemish in her corner of the canvas in favor of the overall painting. And while she’s beginning to paint a beautiful portrait, the blotch is still there, and I can’t help but notice it.

I’m speculating that Oprah’s comments on the U.S. educational problems stem from frustration; after all, she’s spent millions of her own earnings in seemingly futile attempts to reinvigorate inner-city schools. But sitting in Oakland High School a few weeks ago, I met students who, contrary to Oprah’s categorization, sincerely wanted to learn. There are students who fail to appreciate education’s benefits and who make learning in these schools difficult. I was looking for them—but they weren’t there.

Our country is succumbing to educational inequity along socioeconomic and racial lines. These disparities severely limit the prospects of the 13 million children currently living in poverty. Studies show that by the time these children are nine, they’re already three grades behind their peers. Fewer than 7 million will graduate from high school, and those who do test at an eighth grade level. There is an education gap in this country, and it’s growing.

The truth is these problems won’t be remedied by a state-of-the-art all-girls leadership school, even one built by Oprah Winfrey. Oprah’s statement was most disturbing because it reflected our nation’s tendency to attribute failure to an unsubstantiated cause, changing the discourse. We have become jaded by the broken public school system, but instead of addressing the problems we’ve chosen to overlook it in favor of more “relevant” matters. And while Wolf Blitzer talks Anna Nicole, students in this country learn without updated textbooks or adequate lighting.

While the situation is daunting, there is hope: By coupling our reinvigorated faith in our school system with high educational standards for both teachers and students, we can create a level playing field for all children. It’s a matter of principle: If we truly believe that America is the land of opportunity and everyone deserves to have a fundamental education to live enriched lives, then it’s about time we start putting our money where our mouths are.

It’s too bad Oakland High School doesn’t have connections with major television networks. Oprah’s highly publicized school is inspirational, but the more compelling story is currently occurring everyday as determined students who defy convention and struggle against great odds and decrepit conditions towards their greater goals. Not for iPods and sneakers, but their futures.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

Since 2003, South Korea, Japan, Russia, China and the United States have been exerting pressure on North Korea to dismantle their nuclear weapons program. At the same time, President Bush promoted his policy of alienating the Stalinist regime, aligning it with the “Axis of Evil” and branding North Korean leader Kim Jong-Il a “pygmy.” Pyongyang responded to the stalemate in negotiation and overtly hostile name-calling by successfully testing a nuclear weapon this past October.

This disregard for North Korea shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. For years, the six-party talks somehow escaped the general debate and, while current analysts bicker over the potential costs of nuclear war with Iran, we instinctually stick our heads in the sand like oblivious ostriches and ignore the real threat of nuclear war with North Korea. Of the 25 paragraphs President Bush dedicated in his 2007 State of the Union address to foreign policy, 23 dealt with the Middle East, including the potential nuclear threat in Iran and its phantom link with Al-Qaeda, Iraq and Sept. 11th. He subtly interjected a single sentence mentioning North Korea. A major obstacle in American foreign policy had been blatantly omitted, and nobody seemed to notice or care.

But after more than three years of futility, the most recent talks somehow reached a breakthrough last week, displaying a consensus uncharacteristic of Bush’s obvious distaste for diplomacy. That’s because it’s not Bush’s strategy we’re currently adopting. It’s Bill Clinton’s.

Clinton’s North Korea strategy called on the two sides to take actions simultaneously and in phases. Through years of engagement, Clinton finally reached a breakthrough in 2000, culminating in Madeleine Albright’s visit to Pyongyang, the highest U.S. government official to ever visit the Stalinist regime.

All of which, of course, came crashing down when George W. came to power. Dick Cheney summed up Bush’s new Texas Ranger diplomacy: “We don’t negotiate with evil—we defeat it.” Bush’s negotiations stalled in the past because he refused to issue any serious offers to Pyongyang until their nuclear weapons program was dismantled—the sole bargaining chip North Korea possessed. This stubborn approach contrasted with the true virtue of Clinton’s Korean policy: diplomacy based upon mutual respect. When asked what the difference was this time around, an official involved in the six-party talks commented, “What’s different this time is that it is clear that both the president and Condi wanted a deal.”

Scrutinizing the details of the newest agreement, I realized that one clause embodies its true promise. In sum, it states that the United States and North Korea will hold bilateral talks on normalizing relations, and all six powers will discuss a permanent peace treaty to supplant the mere cease-fire that ended the Korean War (which is still technically active). While the provision is hardly definitive, it acknowledges that trust, an essential ingredient to the negotiations, has been missing in the past. Past agreements collapsed because of broken promises and anachronistic Cold War fears. But both sides now realize their vested interests in the negotiations: The U.S. is compelled by the threat of a non-aligned nuclear power, North Korea by survival. Trust in this case is not built from affection, but necessity.

The current agreement possesses the same porcelain fragility of past negotiations, save one difference: This time both North Korea and the United States acknowledged their crucial role in the process and have taken active steps towards reconciliation. And while many hail the current agreement as a breakthrough, it is far from done. But I’ll admit, with optimistic caution, that this is certainly a step in the right direction.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

Columnist Ruth Marcus called him the “truly Clintonian figure running for the Democratic nomination,” surely to the chagrin of that other Clinton. These appeals to historical sentiment are overt; but when contrasted to his perceived inexperience, many inevitably question the comparisons as premature.

Newton Minow, a former political advisor, proposed another president: “I thought, ‘I haven’t felt this same thing since Jack Kennedy.’”

Kennedy rallied a nation motivated by fear rather than hope. With Cold War paranoia dominating the collective conscience, the United States remained in the shadows of both domestic and foreign enemies. But amidst the turmoil, Kennedy optimistically implored the nation to “ask what you can do for your country.” With all due respect to NASA and the Peace Corps, Kennedy’s greatest contribution was the restoration of the belief in our broader identity amidst a period of tumultuous change.

Fast forward more than forty years: Barack Obama enters a presidential race in a country jaded by years of war and corruption. Issues like the Iraq war, Iran, nuclear North Korea, budget deficits, health care and immigration have exhausted Americans. To make matters worse, excessive partisanship and ethical lapses in both parties have exacerbated the situation. We are disgusted: According to a recent AP poll, 68 percent of Americans do not approve of the nation’s current path and desire change.

While polarized party identities have solidified extreme bases and isolated the average American, Obama evokes the unifying spirit of JFK by reminding us that “there is not a liberal America and a conservative America—there is the United States of America.” In our time of national pain, Obama has assumed the role of a political healer. Where many petty politicians find temporary victory in political strife, Obama challenges the petty “politics of cynicism” with the “politics of hope.” Obama’s motivation is non-partisan, appealing to ideologues in our nation’s time of need to abandon their trivial identities in favor of greater allegiances.

Pundits will counter my praise with two pedantic responses: that he’s both inexperienced and young. While contrived, these challenges do reflect the fact that, in this early stage of the campaign, Obama’s presidential hopes are painfully fragile. But these criticisms are short-sighted and far from insurmountable. For those who question whether he has enough experience to have good judgment, allow me to remind everyone that it was Obama who had the wisdom back in 2003 to oppose a war with widespread Congressional support. Arguments for the age issue succumb to historical potholes: JFK and Clinton utilized their youth to provide a fresh outlook on politics sorely desired by a wary electorate.

The greatest challenge for the senator is, to borrow a concept from physics, transforming that potential energy he has accumulated and redirect it into the kinetic energy of a tangible campaign. Obama’s political legacy will come down not to charisma but substance. Whether that happens or not is speculation; but from an immediate standpoint, Obama has already contributed to the national debate. Amidst the thousands cheering in Springfield, it became clear that Obama has gotten the United States excited about politics again by resuscitating our belief in our personal efficacy.

He might not be able to walk on water, but Barack Obama is messianic in his own right. In a time where faith in politics has flatlined, Obama has begun resurrecting our hopes for a better future, uniting citizens under a common cause—much like a young idealistic senator from New England did more than forty years ago.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

Described by The New York Times as “highly entertaining and grossly reprehensible,” Max’s self-titled website is largely composed of his documented escapades and receives around 1.2 million visitors a month. He’s made a career out of selling his stark frankness. And in the “truthiness” age, where it is the responsibility of the reader to discern between truth and “kinda” truth, Max’s unabashed candor is a relieving quaff of honesty (or beer) for parched throats.

Max’s stories are also ancillary to a greater literary revolution, defined by columnist Warren St. John as “fratire”: “Young men, long written off by publishers as simply uninterested in reading, are driving sales of a growing genre of books like Mr. Max’s that combine a fraternity house-style celebration of masculinity with a mocking attitude toward social convention, traditional male roles and aspirations of power and authority.” Max is often the first to admit that his work is not high brow and that his audience is composed partly of “dudes who can’t spell ‘dude’ right.” But fratire, in a grander context, represents an outlet for angst, a philosophy of expression and, surprisingly, a candid methodology that can be construed as art.

It would be credulous to simply brush this off as boys being boys. Something about this new genre sells: Only a year ago his first book “I Hope they Sell Beer in Hell” made it to No. 26 on the New York Times Bestsellers list with over 100,000 copies sold. And while many would initially conclude that women would be repulsed by Max’s stories, almost half of his readership is female, revealing his lessons as truly universal in both their repugnant and liberating appeal.

Max provides a novel (albeit extreme) antidote to the disease of conformity endemic in today’s culture. The tales of streaking through hotels and fighting hockey mascots possess only a sophomoric appeal, but somehow, Max concurrently fights for an ideal best summed up by E. E. Cummings, “To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”

Max has either intentionally or unintentionally established himself as a modern role model for our generation. Once dismissed by a Chicago Sun-Times reporter as “some sort of uber-frat boy,” many judged Max’s stories as they immediately appeared. But Max defends his work: “Fratire is not about acting immature, or animosity towards women or fraternity life, or anything of these other things it is accused of being. Fratire is, at its essence, nothing more than men writing about being men in an honest and authentic way.”

Further demonstrating his dedication to this ideal, Max has spurned many publishing, television and film offers from firms who wish to alter or censor his raw message. This is why our demographic admires Max—not because he’s brash and disgusting, but because he’s unapologetically true to himself. To a generation struggling with confidence and identity amidst the overbearing machine of corporate America, Fratire provides the outlet of protest.

Max proudly assumes leadership of this antithetical movement for beer-pong beatniks clawing at the chains of societal convention. “I live my life the way that I want to and not the way others want me to,” he writes. “That’s a very appealing message to a lot of young kids. They’re bombarded with these messages of ‘This is what you’re supposed to do.’ I show that the best way to live is to be true to yourself.”

In a time of uncertainty and self-doubt, it’s reassuring to get that kind of advice, even from a self-proclaimed asshole.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

Eastwood’s film documents the last days the of ill-equipped and malnourished defenders against the impending onslaught on Iwo Jima. The film does not depict a Japanese version of the Battle of Iwo Jima, but rather the Japanese experience. It was not meant to be the contradiction to the American side, but a complement to express unrealized but inherent similarities.

I’m not ruining the movie because you already know how it ends: Of the 20,000 Japanese defenders on Iwo Jima, about 1,000 would survive. The film portrayed soldiers who do not struggle for victory, but come to terms with impending death. Eastwood depicts the brutality of these final days in harrowing fashion, using drained color and barren landscapes to portray those bleak final days. This is not a movie of personal glory on the battlefield, but the stark reality of war.

Eastwood’s characters, although speaking a foreign tongue, express the same cynicism we currently display towards our own war. There is no discussion of whether the war was just—the men are not fortunate enough to possess such insight. Their discussions revolve around a language universally understood: the longing for loved ones, the fear of death, and of a future beyond their control.

Primary studies of World War II, as seen in most high school texts, depict the Japanese as suicidal fanatics who preferred death over defeat. Eastwood’s film reassesses this overly simplistic definition to highlight the conflict between the human struggle to survive and the Japanese cultural obligation to honor. And ultimately, the Japanese are not depicted as robotic zealots, but emotion-filled beings that quiver in fear under the rattle of enemy fire and deafening explosions, just as we would expect.

Eastwood boldly challenges the status quo, where our Manichean thinking has reduced the near-infinite variety of humankind to “with us” or “against us.” Our current war on terror has created a faceless fanatical enemy who similarly lurks in caves and speaks in foreign tongues. Paranoia and hatred have helped focus our propensity to dichotomize, which has become endemic to this new millennium. Ignoring the millions of innocent denizens that reside in North Korea, Iran, Iraq and Syria, we have promoted the simplicity of this mindset and grouped them all into the convenient “against us” category.

The timing of this movie’s release, whether deliberate or not, is significant. Like this column, the film is not a condemnation of the war in Iraq per se, but rather a condemnation of war itself. It is not my place to justify who is right or wrong, for in the end I believe that war is caused by the oversight of impatient men on all sides. In Washington, politicians are discussing the virtues of exit strategies versus the current “surge”. As a counter to this, Eastwood’s film reinforces the apolitical view that policy is somehow lost in translation on the battlefield, and that the common soldier, above all, simply wants to return home.

The unfortunate tragedy of war is that the decisions of a select few, guided or misguided, affect the destinies of millions. Through Eastwood’s film we share our grief with a once-maligned enemy we thought too barbaric to deserve sympathy, forgetting for a moment that the ones causing their misery are our own countrymen. We then realize that the greatest lesson from “Letters from Iwo Jima” is one of semantics: that the term “enemy” is both self-propagating and politically self-serving. Only when we refer to combatants within the ubiquitous context of humanity are we able to come to terms with war, as the Japanese soldiers in the cave did, and realize the folly of our ways.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

Kevin Drum’s take:

I’ve never really had the animus toward Biden that a lot of people do, but jeebus. He’s just a gaffe machine waiting for someone to flip the power switch on. Back to the Senate, Joe.

With all due respect to Biden, there’s already a gaffe machine right now in the White House–and the power switch was turned on too long ago.

Through primary sources, engrossing lectures and the most open office on campus, Zook’s courses have created a welcoming academic forum that fosters both debate and a painful wait-list. His lessons elicit a connectedness among different cultures, emphasizing a more human ideal that transforms an exotic world into a simpler and strangely more familiar place. As alumnus Matthew Velasco fondly recalled, “It is ever apparent in (Zook’s) words and actions that he is one of few professors whose ultimate goal lies in the betterment of his students, a trait far too rare in an institution that boasts of producing future world leaders.”

But despite his obvious popularity and subsequent accolades, Zook’s courses have inexplicably been restricted by the political science department. When asked why, department chairman Pradeep Chhibber explained that “the decision was not personal, but based on yearly plans when classes are assigned based on the needs of the department.” He went on to clarify that, “these are tough decisions, and faculty members need to do what’s in the best interest of the department.”

Forgive me for being incredulous, but something doesn’t add up. It’s obvious that the perfunctory responses from the administration are sorely insubstantial in explaining the decision. But the issue becomes even more suspect when we consider that, in the wake of Zook’s restriction, no substitute has been assigned to teach courses he formerly taught. If the decision to ignore these courses was, in fact, deliberate, then the department is sending a bold statement: that classes on terrorism, international law and human rights are unnecessary. Surely in the post-Sept. 11 era, these courses, whose topics resonate daily in the modern media, are essential to a well-rounded political education from a “pre-eminent” university. A great disservice has been done to the students of this campus, and increasing the frustration is the lack of information as to why.

But UC Berkeley being UC Berkeley, student frustration ultimately begets grassroots movements. The “Save Zook” Facebook group, now with over 600 members, is a newly-formed student organization rallying support for the imperiled lecturer. Jovanna Rosen, co-creator of the group, explained: “While our Facebook group is titled ‘Save Zook’, it is not only directed at the injustice of Zook’s inability to teach these classes but also the fact that these classes are no longer being taught at all. We equate this to diminishing the broadness of the education of future Cal students, something which we consider unacceptable.”

Save Zook,” on the surface, seems to be the typical student movement. But what’s unusual about the group is the amount of alumni support it has rallied around a campus issue removed from graduates’ post-college lives. Just as Zook encouraged his students to speak out against injustice in Darfur and North Korea, present and former students have used his lessons to take action against an injustice occurring right in front of them.

Every class I have taken with Zook has ended the same way—the crowd rising in unison and erupting in applause, an admittedly inadequate demonstration of our true gratitude. As a recent graduate, the decision to restrict Zook’s courses had no direct influence on my life. But when I first saw the Save Zook shirts, with their Bueller-esque appeal, I couldn’t help but remember Zook’s absorbing stories, allusions to Red Bull and, most importantly, strong encouragement that sustains me to this day. In light of this, I cannot help but heed Einstein’s words and stand in solidarity with my fellow students. At this point I cannot tell you what steps will be taken next or how this issue will be resolved. But I am confident that this gesture is a more appropriate token of our gratefulness, for it compliments a dedicated educator with the greatest gift a teacher can receive—the demonstration that their lessons were truly understood and appreciated by the eager minds of the future.

(This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

(Editor’s Note: The fact that one of the categories is “number of Daily Show appearances” acknowledges the undeniable influence Jon Stewart has on modern politics, good or bad. And while I’m personally partial to Colbert myself, I cannot help but smile at this)

Every time I watch Bill O’Reilly I anxiously wait for him to burst into song or dance. He’s a clown, minus the face-paint and goofy nose, and I can’t believe people consider the polarizing ideologue as a legitimate news source. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

In the end, the Colbert Report and the O’Reilly Factor are outlets of entertainment, ironically with the same humorous appeal. Except, of course, O’Reilly actually takes himself seriously.

Sincerely,

College students of America who have been over-burdened with rising debt

Is this really humanity’s zenith? Surely the “Greatest Generation’s” resistance against fascism in the 1940s or the modern antidisestablishmentarian struggle of the 18th and 19th century warrant consideration with the current Google era. But I do appreciate the potential of our time, as noted by the TIME headline: You, in the plural, control the information age. In the age of MySpace, individuals possess more intellectual firepower than they ever have in human history. What started with Guttenberg’s printing press is currently manifested in Wikipedia. With more effective communication comes the realization of our intellectual prowess. But the brazen assumption held by this award is one of blind optimism—that we are, in fact, capitalizing on this potential.

Metcalfe’s Law states that the value of a telecommunications network is proportional to the square of the number of users in the system. If my propensity to religiously scan the updated friends and photos section of Facebook is any indication, Metcalfe’s Law is right on the money. The potential to connect people to untapped sources of information is just a mouse-click away. Distant acquaintances from high school become rekindled friends, nameless faces from lecture became more, well, familiar.

This is all theoretical and not a practical application of Metcalfe’s Law, for the value that we are measuring has a catch: Not all information is created equal. What is sorely lacking is a standard. As Washington Post columnist George Will said, “Most bloggers have the private purpose of expressing themselves for their own satisfaction. There is nothing wrong with that, but there is nothing demanding or especially admirable about it, either. They do it successfully because there is nothing singular about it, and each is the judge of his or her own success.” Take one look at YouTube’s most popular videos or how people choose to use their MySpace blogs. Amidst songs about genitalia in boxes and videos of skateboarding accidents, a thought echoes in my head: Just because we possess the freedom of speech doesn’t mean we have to say whatever comes to mind.

With freedom comes chaos, an unfortunate byproduct of human nature, and the Internet is a perfect example of our propensity to succumb to our own instincts. There’s certainly warrant for mindless entertainment, which the Internet has captured with flying colors. But after a while, we become inundated with spam about hot stock options, videos of state executions, and bogus news from even more bogus people. If anything, we are becoming numb to the information age, and that’s certainly no reason to celebrate. As NBC’s Brian William’s article from the Person of the Year issue warned: “The danger just might be that we miss the next great book or the next great idea, or that we will fail to meet the next great challenge … because we are too busy celebrating ourselves and listening to the same tune we already know by heart.”

TIME’s selection of us as Person of the Year is humbling, if only for a moment, before it regresses by its premature nature. The Internet has the potential for both enlightenment and Philistinism. But TIME chose us because of the promise of the former and not the realist latter. It’s an acknowledgement that the obscure are no longer obscure and their prowess must be realized. You, in its all-encompassing form, is certainly strained, but amidst the spam, pop-ups, and senseless videos are the bloggers, entrepreneurs and activists who have revolutionized politics, technology and daily life. And to those select few, the “them” in the proverbial “us”, I give my congratulations.

(Note: This is my weekly column that appeared in the Daily Californian. You can also read it here)

To a much greater extent than the other announced and prospective candidates for the party’s nomination, that depends on the immediate response of grassroots Democrats to his prospective candidacy…

By establishing the exploratory committee, he will be able to raise money to hire staff and build a basic campaign infrastructure in advance of the expected formal announcement in February. He’ll need it. Clinton and another contender, former North Carolina Sen. John Edwards, are far ahead of Obama when it comes to putting together the multi-state campaign apparatus that is needed in a fast-paced presidential campaign.

Can Obama catch up? Yes, but only if the grassroots Democrats who have been so enthusiastic about the prospect of his candidacy now turn that enthusiasm into practical commitments in states such as Iowa, where the first caucuses will be held a year from this week, Nevada, New Hampshire and South Carolina. That transition will have something to do with Obama’s star power, of course, but it will have much more to do with how he defines himself.

Obama is undeniably the hottest political star at the moment, stealing the spotlight from a newly elected Congress and other possible horses for the 2008 race. But this article touched upon a good point: flash is, in the end, just flash. To borrow a fundamental physics lesson, Obama must turn the potential energy of his star-power into kinetic, working energy, manifested through grassroots organizing.

The challenge, therefore, befalls upon us, the individual, the concerned citizen with hopes for a better tomorrow. 2008 will certainly be a turning point in our nation’s history. Years of political fighting and national division have conditioned a wary electorate. But if anything, the 2008 election will reaffirm our belief in our own political efficacy, reinforcing a point Obama mentioned in The Audacity of Hope: “We have some control—and therefore, some responsibility—over our own fate.”

In the 2008 Election, our challenge as citizens is to grasp the political reigns of our nation and steer America to brighter times. Our weapons will be words and ideas, the blogosphere, community centers, and school campus our battlefields. And my hope is that we will rise to this challenge with a renewed sense of hope and realize our civic obligation to standing for what we believe in. And in the end, we will win.

Will Americans elect a black man president? It boggles the mind that Obama is only the third African American elected to the Senate since reconstruction. Polls suggest the country is ready, but this is the sort of question where people lie to pollsters.

At 45, Obama is roughly the same age as Bill Clinton when he sought the presidency. But Clinton had served four terms as governor and one as attorney general. George Bush had served just six years as governor. But that was before Sept. 11. Is America ready to entrust its national security to a candidate whose experience amounts to two years service on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee?

There will be other raps. Obama’s middle name is Hussein, which will likely remind some Americans of their discomfort voting for a man whose first and last names are even more unfamiliar.

Obama’s greatest hurdles come campaign time will be race, Washington inexperience, and unfortunate (and possibly unforgiving) coincidences. The good news is that problem number 2 can be addressed by the campaign. The bad news is that problems one and three won’t go away no matter how the campaign spins them. Why? Because they’re not his problems to change; rather, they’re a fault of our collective conscience, an issue of our own perceptions.