Via Prague

The first snows arrived this weekend. Stepping outside my flat, seeing the cars along Donska street covered in a thin white layer, the cobble-stoned street icy and slick, it was a revelation. Four years. Four years since I arrived in Prague, straight from the North Coast, from the Times-Standard newsroom, the presidential election.
I remember the night before leaving, the folks at the T-S threw a farewell party at the Shanty.
'I think you're really going to accomplish something,' said Dave Rosso, then city editor. 'And whatever it is, it won't have anything to do with this -- the daily newspaper stuff.'
After four years, even though things haven't quite gone the way I hoped, I'd say he was right. I've managed to sustain a part-time career in journalism, but journalism has for the most part been a small part of my life. I've drank a lot of Czech beer (too much, but I can now say 'Cheers' in about a dozen languages), written a bad first novel, made a mediocre stab at a second, produced a handful of short stories -- some good, some not so much -- traveled around the Continent, learned a fair bit of Czech (that's an accomplishment), loved and lost a girl or two, made friends.
And become a good teacher, at least sometimes. That's the biggest surprise.
I know, this is all a bit morose and self-congratulatory. Maybe it's the weather, or the season. Fall has always been my favorite because it feels like everything is beginning all over again, and ending too. You become reflective, vaguely melancholy but in a sweet way, you make plans.
This fall has seen this tendency broaden and sharpen. Call it a case of chlorine, or spleen perhaps -- but think of the vast changes around us, most obviously the Obama presidency, but also China and India reaching for space; in the pub earlier I noticed everyone sitting at the bar had laptops. Here in Czech, which this month celebrated 19 years since the Velvet Revolution brought the end of Communism, the country is preparing for the EU presidency.(Sorry, I'm listening as I write to Mozart's Symphony 40 in G Minor, so my brain is half occupied with its strident, faintly autumnal strings). At the same time , there's war, a global economy in turmoil, you know the story, so now I'll stop being facile and start being obtuse.
What I'm saying is we're all witnessing history, and it's a privilege.
And with this change comes the responsible question: What can I do?
I suppose the easy answer would be Emerson's, but unfortunately the great man provided us with two answers to that question in his essay 'Self Reliance.' First he says, 'Embrace the spirit of your Age; all great men have done so.' Then later he turns around and says, 'Zig where others zag ... he who would be a man would also be a non-conformist.'
So what do we do? I remember back at Humboldt State Mac McClary, one of my journalism professors. Once, as a confused, strivings student, I asked him: 'So do I strike you as a print journalist? Broadcast? PR?' 'You strike me as someone who should keep his options open,' Mac replied, without missing a beat.
Ah Mac -- God Bless 'im! At the moment I find myself -- thankfully -- with options. I've been offered a teaching position in Istanbul, good pay and benefits. My visa here is expired, but it's on appeal, and I could drag that out for a while. Or I could return to the States, which I haven't seen since I arrived here in Prague. And, of course, there's always China (that half serious aside has become my personal mantra, replacing from my student days, 'Well, there's always the monastery' -- ahem, no, there is no monastery I've since sadly learned).
Anyway, it's getting late and I've got classes in the morning. What was the point of all this? Ah, dear reader, you've been gypped -- again. Oh, wait! It was something to do with Mozart ... no that wasn't it. Or the snow, or the fall, or Obama or maybe monasteries. No, it was only the old refrain: times they are a-changing. So be it. Stay open. And listen to music if possible. Make a point of being distracted, fall into a somnambulent state, give in to a bit of musing. This sounds like horse shit, and it probably is. Oh well, there's always China.

Posted by James Tressler at 11:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

For those who might seek to take offence at my headline: It's Czech humor, OK?
Actually most Czechs are, like the rest of the world, excited -- or at least curious -- by Barack Obama's sweeping, broad-ranging victory.
Here in the heart of Europe, things have historically trickled down a bit slowly compared to Western Europe. Not unlike many Americans, they simply don't care about what goes on in the rest of the world. An exception would be 9/11, which was felt as strongly here as elsewhere. But generally Czechs, conscious of being a small country, tend to be insular, and enjoy using their hard-edged, but usually well-meant brand of černy humor ('black humor') on the rest of the world -- particularly the giants Russia, the U.S. and the Czechs' neighbor and former occupier, Germany.
This past week was no exception. I was at a bar in my neighborhood, Rožeta Žaba (The Squashed Frog), and there was a spontaneous Obama victory party the night after the election. Most of the people were students, a young hip-hop and metallish crowd. We celebrated while running YouTube videos (isn't YouTube the new jukebox?) of everyone's favorite songs.
When I came in, everyone clapped me on the back.
'Obama!' They cried. (It should be known that for months I've bored everyone with my go-Obama talk))
'Obama,' I said. I exchanged high fives with various familiar people.
'Black man in the White House,' said Tomas, an electrician in his early twenties.
That's been a common joke over the past few months. Czechs, historically pessimistic, at first greeted the prospect of an Obama presidency with extreme skepticism. 'He's good, but it will never happen,' most told me.
Others joked, 'A black man in the White House -- only in America.' Or: 'Now, it's the Black House.' There's a similar joke Czechs have about Michael Jackson. 'A black singer who becomes a white one -- only in America.' As I said, harsh humor to some - but here, just Czech humor.
To those who chafe at such jokes, bear in mind: there aren't many people of color in this part of the world , at least not historically, and as I said before, Czechs tend to be somewhat insular. With globalization this has changed somewhat in recent years. Certainly, Obama's victory has sent a certain refreshing shockwave through the Czechs' characteristic pessimism. On buses and trams, on the metro, I see older Czechs, the ones who lived during Communism, reading articles about the new U.S. president with great interest. You can see they're re-thinking the possibilities.
'He looks intelligent, sympátetik,' says Jana, a woman in her forties who works for a pharmaceutical company. We watched Obama's first press conference together. 'At least he can speak well. Your Bush -- he was not such a good speaker. At least that's what everyone says.'
'But James,' says Jiřina, in her fifties, old enough to remember when Alexander Dubček, leader of the Prague Spring reforms in 1968, was ousted from power and humiliatingly ostracized following the Soviet-led invasion. 'Some of my friends, they say they are afraid Obama will be killed.'
Yes, in this corner of the world, disappointed expectations, particularly with political leaders, has long been a way of life - hence the triumph of černy humor.
But the ice has definitely thawed.
My opinion, which thanks to the war and anti-Americanism, has for four years been greeted with suspicion and hostility, is suddenly consulted with earnest eyes. What do I think of Obama, they ask?
We will see, I answer, using the Czech equivalent, 'uvidíme.'
'But at least he will be better than Bush, 'they say.
'Uvidíme,' I say again. 'I hope so.'
'Everyone hopes so.' This they mean seriously.

Posted by James Tressler at 03:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

The American Embassy sits on a narrow, cobble-stoned street in Prague's Lower Town (Malo Strana), the stars and stripes keenly visible amid the brown and mellow-gold complexion of the neighborhood. In four years, I've never stepped foot inside, but this morning curiosity led me there. I wanted to see if there was a big line of my countrymen waiting to go in and vote in today's presidential election.
After all, this is history, right? Even most of my Czech students and friends, the past few days, have expressed a growing excitement. A news report in one of the Czech papers indicated that the oddsmakers here have placed big bets, with 99 percent putting their crowns on Barack Obama.
It was a misty, cold morning. As I walked to the embassy, one ambulance, then another, their sirens blaring, went by, their hard metallic blue lights flashing, giving the ambulances an absurd impression of a pair of runaway Christmas trees.
I myself, sorry to say, was not voting. Procrastination and laziness meant I had not registered as an overseas voter in time, even though I've followed every twist and turn of this epic and epically expensive campaign since it began two years ago. Much of that time, I've also enjoyed the privilege of following it with my students and friends.
'So you will have maybe first black man?' asked Vladamir. This was earlier that morning, at a lesson at an American auto parts company on the city's south side.
'Quite likely,' I told him. 'He's leading in the polls anyway.'
Vladamir and the other students listened expectantly.
'Well,' I went on. 'After the past eight years, Obama's at least got a chance to be better. Things haven't been so good.'
'We know,' came the answer, in grim chorus.
The thread was picked up later at Ianother class at a Rotterdam-based shipping and logistics company.
Helena, a stout, blousy woman in her mid-thirties, twinkled her eyes when I brought up the election. I've taught Helena for more than three years. She's one of those types who has strong opinions, and isn't shy about voicing them, in her forceful style. Being often the same way myself, or at least defensive, we've had many heated discussions over the years as America has ridden through one colossal storm after another.
'So it will be Obama,' she offered, with a cheerful lilt in her voice.
'I think so,' I said, my modest optimism a carbon copy of the earlier lesson.
We exchanged smiles. Helena has many times made no secret of her low opinion of President Bush, her opposition to the Iraq war, and at times I've noticed a sort of thinly veiled glee (the old shadenfruede) when news of some disaster or misfortune broke in the headlines. But this morning, she seemed more reflective.
'Of course, America has had many big problems,' she said. 'It wouldn't be easy for any one to solve them. First you had the eleventh of September, then the war --'
'-- Katrina, the financial crisis,' I added, and we nodded. It felt good to sort of bury the hatchet, at least for one day. Don't get me wrong; what I found infuriating at times about Helena wasn't her views -- many of which, most of which, I agreed with, but rather the way she threw them at me, in her sometimes hard style, as though they were revelations, as though a 'typical American' couldn't be expected to grasp them. But as I said, I tend to get defensive.
So our talk, just a few minutes while we waited for her colleagues to arrive (the colleagues, Jana and Ondrej, hate politics), showed we'd rounded a long curve. It felt like a returning. And besides, in my time here in Prague, Helena, her forcefulness notwithstanding, has been one of my most loyal and conscientious students.
Perhaps (and I'm thinking this as I write), there is something to all the Obama hype. Maybe he really can bring people together. Maybe it's the divisiveness, even more than the crises, that everyone is truly tired of.
But getting past such civics class 'phrase-mongering,' which I admit spreads as thin as processed American cheese, as the day wore on the excitement, the sense of gentle wonder, continued to permeate the atmosphere of the city. The front page of the newspapers, 'Obama nebo McCain?' This question, which presents the choice Americans are in the act of making, can be appreciated in light of this country's recent regional elections. Two weeks ago, the country's ruling party, the conservative Civic Democrats, lost big at the polls to the more left-leaning Social Democrats. For some, the shift carries gloomy implications, considering that the Social Democrats are expected to form a ruling coalition with the Communists. Pundits attribute the change, coming just two years after the Civic Democrats scored a similar victory, to worries about inflation, recently introduced fees to its health care system, and opposition to the U.S. proposed anti-missile defense shield.
Among friends and students, the Czech elections have been greeted with a mixture of gloom and resignation. Bear in mind, the majority of them live, or at least work, in Prague, where salaries and lifestyle are higher than in the provincial villages and towns. They feel more attuned to Western Europe and America, and share a disdain for Czech politicians, many of whom are former Communists themselves. In fact, the man expected to assume the Prime Minister post for the victorious Civic Democrats, Jiri Paroubek, is cut from such a mold. And the Czechs are, justly so, famously pessimistic in regards to politicians.
Thus this game of party musical chairs, as the elections here are seen by many, has become an unattractive topic -- a far cry from 1989, when the whole country was out in the streets, seized with the fervor of democracy and revolution. I'll admit I've suffered from a dose of schadenfruede myself in this light; it's a nice change, after getting hit over the head with Bush for so long, to be able to say, 'Yes. Obama. I think he's got a chance' and watch in some a perceptible gleam of envy flash in their eyes. They wish they had an Obama too.
But if he's the right man, that's where Obama can in fact make his impact -- I know it's galling for a foreign-living, lazy procrastinator to weigh in at this point, but I'll leave the observation. Yes, he can belong to the Czechs too. He's our guy, or at least has the potential to be, and the opportunity his extraordinary candidacy represents.
So yeah, I wish I'd voted. It's the first election I've missed in a long time -- and ironically, the one I care the most about.
Especially considering Helena. All along, she'd assumed that it wasn't possible for me, living abroad, to vote. Actually, it is possible, I told her, explaining the absentee system and so forth.
'So did you?'
How I would have loved to say yes.
But at the same time, a certain pride went through me as I read in the news reports that record numbers were expected. Here in the last Czech elections turnout was extremely low, another reason why the Social Democrats won. Those who voted were generally older people, and it's the older ones who tend to look at the old days with rose-tinted glasses 'Ah, in Communism we all had a job, ah there was no homelessness, beer was one crown ...' While many younger Czechs, at least those who take a moment to reflect, are sympathetic -- it's true prices have gone up, there are homeless and the mobile, go-and-get world of capitalism and its downsides have been well publicized in recent months -- most young Czechs would rather talk about their new iPhone or their recent tour of Amsterdam's pot bars. But as history has shown, everything is good until it's bad. Until younger Czechs do get involved, they won't have an Obama of their own, and voting -- as we're seeing in today's election, even in today's cynical age is a basic obligation that actually can shape history.
There was one consolation for me, if you can call it that. I don't think I was alone among my countrymen here in missing that obligation. When I arrived at the embassy, two Czech security guards were standing outside. Shy about having to show my passport, with its expired visa, I greeted them with exaggerated courtesy. One of them spoke quite good English, the other was a bit more stand-offish. I explained that I was interested in the election.
'Have many people been here?'
'It's 12 o'clock, lunch,' said the English-speaking guard. 'Nobody is here. One hour.'
'But I mean, in general ... many people have been here today, or the past few days.'
He shrugged his broad shoulders.
'No more than any other day.'

Posted by James Tressler at 07:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)