Below is another great TED talk by Luis von Ahn about Massive-scale online collaboration, or better reinventing CAPTCHA to digitize books:

It is moderated by Vikas Kapoor, with Fareed Zakaria as keynote speaker, and featured Vali Nasr and Atina Grossmann in the discussion.

Great colloquium with the conclusion that the educational system how it exists today in the US is no longer feasible in the context of globalization.

Educating Students To Lead In A Global Context at the Cooper Union from The Cooper Union on Vimeo.

At minute 8:50 he showed a great slide to visualize the shift away from the traditional distribution of identity and power, which still a lot of people think of in traditional categories like states and nations, towards various identities not associate with nationality.

One of his main points is also that in the future not just governments need to work together, but they will need to work with NGOs, companies, and educational institutions and foundations.

Thus the role of universities needs to and will change as well. According to him (and I agree), education will no longer depend on (ivy league) universities and location. Which will force universities to change, especially acknowledging that globalization is truly global, as he demonstrated during his presentation.

He began his speech with distinguishing between learning and education, which seems trivial, but also very fundamental for discussing nowadays education systems.

I can truly recommend watching his presentation:

What is culture?/Was ist Kultur? from Thora on Vimeo.

This past weekend I made a trip that I have wanted to make for several years now, to the city of Aizu-Wakamatsu in Fukushima Prefecture (several hours north of Tokyo). As someone who is fascinated by both Japanese history and architecture, particularly from the Sengoku (or warring states) Period and Edo period, during which the samurai wielded the political power, Aizu-Wakamatsu was a must-see for me. It was the city under the control of the powerful Matsudaira clan, which was particularly close to the Tokugawa Shogunate (which yielded political power from Edo, which is now Tokyo) and thus one of the most influential samurai families in the country. The Matsudaira clan was also one of the most dedicated opponents to the imperial forces during the Meiji Restoration in the 1868 (when, after almost a thousand years, the emperor would regain real political power in Japan, and the westernisation of Japan would begin). For this reason, well into the 1900s, the city of Aizu was viewed unfavourably by the Meiji government, and people in the city could not embrace their samurai heritage.

However, things have changed considerably since World War II ended, and I had the opportunity to see the most anticipated annual festival in the city, the Aizu Festival (Aizu Matsuri in Japanese), which has taken place on the weekend of the Autumn Equinox since 1953. It is a festival that celebrates the samurai heritage of the city, and the main event is watching the citizens of the city march across the city to Tsuruga castle, dressed as samurai from different parts of Aizu’s history.

When I got to Aizu-Wakamatsu station after a 3.5 hour train ride from Tokyo, I was immediately greeted with shops serving yakitori (Japanese chicken skewers) and many other Japanese sweets, and in the distance, the ‘samurai’ marching through the street. Among these samurai were such famous groups as the Shinsengumi, which was a police force, and the Byakkotai, a group of young soldiers from Aizu that fought against the Meiji government. After seeing them pass in front of the station I took a bus to Tsuruga Castle in order await their arrival. When they did arrive, it was an impressive sight, with the flags of the different samurai warlords waving in front of Tsuruga Castle, with its red roof tiles (the castle was demolished by the Meiji government after they took power, but was rebuilt by the city in the 1960s, and refurbished and repainted in March of this year).

Perhaps what impressed me most about the festival, was when I heard through announcements who were dressed up as the samurai. Whether students, city officials, the executives of major corporations in the area, or just the typical resident, everyone in the city had come together to celebrate something that they all took pride in, the rich history of the city. In a world where many people seem less involved in community-based events, it was great to see so many residents of a relatively large city come together for something that they love. Community based events like this are particularly important after the Great East Japan Earthquake that hit Northern Japan in March. Although there was no major damage in Aizu from the earthquake, many people from other parts of northern Japan whose homes were destroyed were relocated to Aizu. Also, although it is 100 kilometres away, Aizu-Wakamatsu is in the same Fukushima prefecture where several nuclear reactors are undergoing partial meltdowns, so despite there not being hazardous levels of radiation in the city, many people have avoided travel to Fukushima, and I was sad to hear from one of the residents that there were significantly less tourists in Aizu this year then there have been in previous years.

Although I have always wanted to go to Aizu-Wakamastu, I felt particularly inclined to go after the earthquake in order to talk to the residents and also let them know, even if indirectly by being there as a tourist, that they are not alone in the rebuilding effort. Instead of outright avoiding Japan, or the Tohoku (northern) region of Japan, like many tourists have been, I think that the proper attitude is to make every effort to visit those parts of Japan that have been affected by the earthquake (obviously while still keeping safety in mind). Despite all of the horrible losses, the culture in these towns has lived on, and this is something that visitors can appreciate regardless of the circumstances. Unless people from all over and also outside Japan directly interact with the people in the Tohoku region, and contribute to the rebuilding of their economies (by visiting historical sites and buying local goods), Japan will never truly recover from this disaster.

There is a saying that says, “You fear what you don’t know, and you hate what you fear.” So it’s about the lack of research, basically. It’s almost, “Do your homework,” — some involvement. And you cannot do parachute reporting — just jump into a country for two days and think that you’ve done your homework and a story. So I wish that the world would know my Yemen, my country, my people. I am an example, and there are others like me. We may not be that many, but if we are promoted as a good, positive example, there will be others — men and women — who can eventually bridge the gap –again, coming to the bridge — between Yemen and the world and telling first about recognition and then about communication and compassion.

The second talk is by Ethan Zuckerman, senior researcher at the Berkman Center for Internet and Society at Harvard University, and amongst many other things he has started the great non-profit project Global Voices.

He is presenting research that shows that through the Internet we connect to people we already know. To this he says:

I’m surprised by this, because this wasn’t how the internet was supposed to be. If you go back into the early days of the internet, when cyber-utopians like Nick Negroponte were writing big books like “Being Digital,” the prediction was that the internet was going to be an incredibly powerful force to smooth out cultural differences, to put us all on a common field of one fashion or another.

He concludes his talk with:

We have to figure out how to rewire the systems that we have. We have to fix our media. We have to fix the internet. We have to fix our education. We have to fix our immigration policy. We need to look at ways of creating serendipity, of making translation pervasive, and we need to find ways to embrace and celebrate these bridge figures. And we need to figure out how to cultivate xenophiles. That’s what I’m trying to do. I need your help.

Both speakers talk about bridge figures, people who are comfortable in more than one country and can function as bridge between their country and the world. And this is exactly what we will try to do, what our mission is. The first step of our cultural communication workshops will be to raise the participants’ awareness of their own cultural self, and the awareness that everyone has a different, unique cultural self. This then will be the foundation for recognition, communication and compassion, and hopefully our participants will be future bridge figures.

Most people in Taiwan would consider me to be an “ABT”, or an American-born Taiwanese, which means that I am only Taiwanese by blood and nothing more.  The term offends me because I may not reflect the general Taiwanese population, but I have certainly inherited very Taiwanese traits and tastes from my parents.

To be Taiwanese is to not be Taiwanese.  There is no distinct culture in Taiwan other than the native language Hokkien (which I can understand, but do not speak).  The island was a Japanese colony until the end of WWII, which explains the visible Japanese-style architecture, food, and infrastructures.  As a matter of fact, my father attended university in Japan and speaks the language fluently.  My mother cooks Japanese staples such as ramen, okonomiyaki (savoury pancake), gyudon (beef bowl), and sushi.

The people of Taiwan speak Mandarin Chinese like their neighbor China and consume Chinese foods and goods, but the two countries are far from similar – China is communist, and Taiwan is democratic.  And the last time I visited Taipei (the capital of Taiwan) in the winter of 2009, I found an increasing European influence including branches of the famous French boulangeries Paul and Maison Kayser.

I am Taiwanese not only by blood, but also because I represent the inherent multiculturalism of Taiwanese culture.  I am an Asian and an American.  I grew up on the West Coast in California, but now I live in New York on the East Coast.  I not only speak English and Mandarin Chinese, but I have also learned German in college.  I enjoy films by German director Werner Herzog, French director Jacque Demy, and Japanese director Hayao Miyazaki.  I live in a Japanese minimalism inspired apartment with Western furniture, and my kitchen is stocked with foods from Chinatown and Whole Foods.

People may attribute my diverse lifestyle to world globalization, but improved communication and transportation has only allowed these options to exist, not be integrated, in America.  In America, people have cultural expectations when they visit a non-American place.  For example, Chinatown is seen as an ethnic enclave rather than an American neighborhood.  In contrast, the Taiwanese view the adoption of other cultural traits and goods as part of their own culture.  Even during my parents’ generation, The Beatles were considered a part of pop culture rather than a “special” niche.

I revise my above statement, “To be Taiwanese is to not be Taiwanese.”  After this reflection, I would say that to be Taiwanese is to be a person of the world.

Jessica Hsu

I could say that I grew up between two cultures: one is the Dutch culture of the outside world, including behaviors of my friends, and the way they viewed things in the greater world. The other is the inner culture of my family, which is not equal to the Indonesian culture, but has a lot of overlap. In my opinion, my parents are pretty Dutch in most respects. It’s our family culture that’s unique, and very different from the Dutch culture.

I must have been 8 years old when my neighbor introduced me to peanut butter as a topping on bread (something as common as cows in a meadow in the Netherlands, or status updates on Facebook where ever in the world). I thought it absolutely normal that my grandmother lived in our house. Also, it never occurred to me that you could disobey your parents. I simply did not want to.

It’s hard to tell how many of these quirks are ‘family culture’ and how many are ‘Indonesian’. This made me think. How can anyone ever tell which influence comes from where? Most probably, every family has its own family culture… so how is my situation different from anybody else’s? Maybe I had just been living in the ‘extremes’ of the spectrum.

I always thought that the greatest blessing I received from growing up with two cultures is, that it’s taught me from a very early age that things in other cultures or situations are just different. There is never a right and wrong. It’s always just different. Because who are we to judge that not eating everything on your plate is impolite? (In the Indonesian culture it means you haven’t had enough) Or, for that matter, that not shaking somebody’s hand (I’m purposefully not stating the gender of that person) is impolite? It’s just different. No value can replace that insight. I learned a lot from it and it has saved me from numerous occasions of being judgmental (something I try really hard not to do) .

On the other hand, it taught me that there was so much about another culture that I don’t know about. The Indonesian one in particular. Contrary to my sister’s urges, I was afraid of the unknown. Knowing how much I didn’t know made me worry about all the things I could do wrong when in Indonesia. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss. I think any tourist would be more apprehensive if they’d know that you’re not supposed to be in a photograph with 3 people, that you’re not supposed to accept the plate given to you so you can grab dinner, but that you’re supposed to offer it to the eldest in the family, or that you’re not allowed to give away a gift, even if it’s a t-shirt that is 5 times your size and would fit your cousin much better. (Mind you, some of these examples may be family culture and not Indonesian culture.)

Even though some of these examples have beautiful cultural value, they made me uncomfortable, because I didn’t understand them and often got them wrong.

Maybe it’s age, I don’t know. But I grew over it. I visited my family in Indonesia and it felt like returning home in a way. All these familiar things that had long been forgotten merged together with my ignorance of the culture to create an experience that is mostly captured in the words ‘family visit’ as it is supposed to be. And I’m grateful for that.

So for all you people who might feel the same, I encourage you to embrace your other culture and let it be a part of yourself. Because no matter whether it’s family culture or something else, no matter how different it is, you grew up with it and so it is part of you.

Samantha Hosea