It goes without saying that for most of his presidency
George Bush was, as CNN's Christiane Amanpour once termed it,
"spectacularly unpopular" overseas. Anti-Bush graffiti adorned the
walls of major population centers around the world, including Kuala
Lumpur, Bangkok, Istanbul, and Ramallah (these are places where I still
remember specific slogans or pictures). While there were pockets of
Bush supporters here and there, they were often unflattering. In
North-Central Sumatra, a largely Christian area, one group of Christian
Indonesians expressed support for Bush because he "bombed Muslims"
(Indonesia has a history of Muslim-Christian strife). When I countered
that if Bush were here he would say that he doesn't bomb "Muslims" but
only Muslim extremists whom he considered a threat to the U.S.,
everyone looked at me as if I were utterly naïve. So not only did many
Muslims think Bush was waging war against Islam; so did some Christians.In the past eight years, except on one occasion in Pakistan, I never hid from my nationality as some Americans did (more than a few American backpackers donned the Canadian flag on their backpacks, hoping to throw people off track). I didn't hide not only because it seemed dishonest, but also because it would have prevented numerous interesting conversations from coming about. And one of the many gifts of travel is the opportunity to dialogue, or at least listen.
One morning in 2004, while in Singapore, I walked into a tandoori restaurant that advertised a breakfast buffet. The manager of the establishment was named Singh. Born and raised in Singapore but with ancestral roots solidly in India's Punjab, Singh was a gentleman. I was drawn to his courtesy, uprightness, and respect for whomever he was talking to. Whether customers, employees, or the delivery boy, he engaged them with the utmost dignity, as though the person before him contained the image of God himself.
When I asked Singh if I could borrow his newspaper, the tone in which he replied also would have fit had I just challenged him to a duel. Shoulders back and eyes looking me dead on, he replied, "Of course, sir!" Picking up the paper, I saw that the headlines included the news that the U.S. had suffered 30 deaths in Iraq since Sunday. I decided to put some questions to Singh, about America and other things.
What do you think of the state of our world? "People are fighting and there is no end to it in sight," he began, deeply furrowing his eyebrows. "It is all so much foolishness!" He didn't sound like a moralistic man spewing haughty opinions; he spoke instead as one who knows the foolishness of fighting because he has experienced what is like to get along and be at peace. A key word for Singh was respect, and he said it often. "In Singapore people respect others. A religion that does not respect others is not worth having."
What do you think of America? "I am very sorry, but in honesty I must say that your President needs to apologize. He never apologizes, and for the good of our world he should step out of this election race so that there can be healing [the '04 election was still six months away]. If anyone challenges Bush, he wants to fight them. He too much wants to fight people."
What do you think of Asia? "What Asians have in common is a high regard for family. But entertainment is weakening the family. Adults often don't work as hard as they used to, and children do less well in school because of video games." When I told him that in several months I would be visiting India, and maybe even Punjab, he said (with eyebrows still quite furrowed), "India will be hot in August, but Singapore and Malaysia will help you acclimate."
Little India is the district in Singapore where I met Singh
This sign could be a warning against writing about anything touching on politics, or it could be one of Singapore's ubiquitous signs meant to keep one safe from all sorts of harm, from deep water to falling coconuts to unzipped zippers.