The weekend before the US Presidential Election, I attended the first Arab American Festival in Glendale, Arizona. We have a very small Arab American community (so small that I had wrongly assumed it was nonexistent), and I was very intrigued to see what types of vendors and performances they might put on.

"The Arab American Festival is a Non-political, Non-religious, Non-profit Organization established to build community pride in the valley and showcases our diversity of music, arts, and cultures. Multi-generational and multi-cultural families gather to enjoy free music, arts and crafts, entertainment, children’s activities, and services from local businesses, foods, and vendors.

The Arab American Festival is an exploration of the rich culture and history of the world’s oldest civilization. Our festival is targeted to all Americans to create an awareness of the diverse ethnic groups while having fun."

Imagine my surprise, then, that the entire festival seemed to be geared around recruiting Arab Americans to work for the CIA, FBI, Armed Forces, and translation contractors.

Overall the event had a peculiar atmosphere of tension and suspended disbelief. It was not at all the welcoming, informative, unifying event that I had anticipated attending. Arab Americans appeared disquieted; the few non-Arab attendees seemed lost and uncertain. The information booth had no information except a list of which musicians were performing at which time. There were no explanations of the origins of certain dances and no boothes explaining the unique history and cultures of the many Arab nations. Other than an Afghan tent selling wooden frames of Mecca, I only saw a hookah tent and a couple of belly dancing costume boothes. Even the food stands left much to be desired: other than falafal, pita and kebab, there were almost no opportunities to discover Arab American cuisine. No tabbouleh, even!

Why not just have a career fair and openly court Arab Americans? Why try and mix it in with a "non political" cultural festival? My husband and I both tried expressing an interest in working for the federal government in these boothes, but they were clearly only interested in Americans with an Arabic background. So again, why not just have a career fair for them specifically? Wouldn't that have been a better way to reach out to them after all of the social injustice that they have endured anyway?

I regret most that such a promising opportunity to build a bridge between the Arab American community and Arizona society - and between Arabs themselves- was so blithely lost. Had the event really focused on its stated purpose, it would have been a success - regardless of the size of the turnout or the number of vendors. Instead, we all participated in a CIA raffle for giveaways such as post-it pads and lanyards.

Last night, I witnessed one of the seminal events of my lifetime. When CNN called the vote at 9 pm my local time, I did a double take. Could it really be that easy? I sat numbly for a moment, silently staring at the screen in front of me- afraid to blink lest it all disappear into the mist of another lost hope.

The footage suddenly cut to the mass of humanity pumping their fists and jumping up and down in unison; the colossal roar jarred me out of my stupor. After eight years of alienation in my own land, I felt surreally elated as I witnessed the physical manifestation of my joy playing out on the vast fields of Grant Park in Chicago.

It's really happened. I sat back on the couch, my legs tucked into my chest under a blanket, positioned like the awed child I now felt myself to be. A child witnessing history, beginning to hope again for the first time since I was in high school in the late nineties.

Scores of emotions poured out of me at once, the hundreds of hopes and dreams that I'd felt quashed year after year as the country had become increasingly anti-intellectual, regressive, hostile, and intractable. How many months had I been holding my breath, anxiously awaiting the result of this litmus test on the future of the nation?

As a 26 year old, I feel an immense sense of hope and promise that my next decade of adulthood will be better than my first. Not because Obama is a magical prophet who possesses some omnipotent ability to right all wrongs of the past, not because the nation will never suffer an economic depression again, and not because a great beautiful tomorrow free of social cleavages and corruption is guaranteed with this victory.

No, my unabated joy springs from a different font. I celebrate because we have closed the door on the blatant criminality and abject incompetence of the past eight years. While not a resounding mandate for the broad panoply of liberal values that I personally espouse, there is no denying that this election result is a solid "guilty verdict" on the Bush administration's conduct.

The elements that swelled into a perfect storm thrusting Bush into office both times still exist in our society, and they may re-emerge again. Conservatism, populism, ruralism and evangelical religious passion have long histories in this nation, and will not disappear overnight. You could even argue that they should not disappear, for they have contributed in often unappreciated ways to the progressive movement itself. Society will always be engaged in the push and pull of conflicting interests; tonight I am thankful that the flexibility still exists in our nation to permit us to correct our past mistakes.

The election of Obama is not just a referendum on the past, but a lighting of the torch for the future. It threatens to become a cliche, but there is no arguing against the reality that the under-30 voters have announced their generation's claim on the future of the nation. This generation is more tolerant, multi-racial, worldly and open to new ideas than the outgoing "Greatest Generation." The youth of the last depression and the Second World War was idealistic like us once; like them, we too will one day become outdated and calcified in our fears. For now, the moment belongs to us, and those who have dared to believe in the possibilities of change.

Certainly, Obama's victory is a fitting and long overdue milestone in the march for civil rights. Who could hold back their own tears while seeing the ones in Jesse Jackson's eyes? But it goes beyond this. Obama represents not only African Americans, but all of the multi-racial Americans, first-generation Americans, and Americans with Middle Eastern and African names. He is the face of the America I have always known.

My childhood best friend was half Slovenian, half Mexican. My best friend since high school is half German, half Filipino. My husband is half Korean, and a quarter each German and Irish. My brother's best friend in high school was half Jewish, half Japanese. My cousin's best friend is Indonesian. One of my sister's best friends is Iranian, and her two college roommates were Black-French from Louisiana and a recent immigrant from Peru. My other friends range from Polish and Norwegian to Indian and Chinese. My husband's best friend is African American; his other good friend is Navajo.

I list out these examples of diversity not because they are shining beacons in a dark night of white bread and Velveeta cheese, but because they are the new reality. This has, actually, been the reality for my entire life, and the lives of my generation. It just took us awhile to get to the polls, to form the groundswell with the sense of purpose demonstrated one night ago. For too many years, Americans like Sarah Palin and John McCain have been able to carry on as usual, operating under the great myth that American was still White Anglo Saxon Protestant. Taking a favorite line from McCain, "My friends, it's just not that simple anymore."

Simply put, I prayed for Obama to win because he represents the diversity and complexity of our nation, the promise foretold by the tremendous efforts of our ancestors. But at least as importantly, he is a man of dignity and intelligence, with a critical mind and a strong educational if limited political background. He stands erect behind the podium, poised, alert, and calm. He has the capacity to deal with the immense trials of our time, to understand nuance and navigate the shades of gray. He is a man that I trust to be able to take in and synthesize an impossible amount of information every day, a man that I trust to select qualified advisers instead of campaign contributor cronies. And fortunately for him, on the heels of the worst president ever to walk the corridors of the White House, he really can't mess things up any more than they already are.

The election of Barack Obama is a clear signal to the rest of the world that America desires a fresh start, that we are separating ourselves from the disastrous legacy of George Bush- and by voting this way, we are also taking responsibility for the shortsightedness we'd demonstrated during the past decade. We are standing for accountability, for our Constitution and the Bill of Rights, for the maligned middle class, and for the ultimate American Dream. Even if Obama accomplishes nothing, he has allowed the nation to begin to heal. And for that, I am grateful.

In her NY Times "Lesson Plans" blog post entitled 'The Cross-Cultural Classroom', Christina Shunnarah describes the challenges of working as an educator in one of the nation's most diverse communities.

The issues she raises are not for educators alone, however, but for everyone living in America today.

How do we learn to live together when our underlying beliefs about raising children, a work ethic, the role of religion in life, concepts of beauty, perceptions of time and personal space, and approaches to problem solving, for example, differ so drastically among our nation's many cultural groups?

Shunnarah advises us that learning about other cultures is a first step, but ultimately, we cannot possibly learn every detail about every other society on the planet.

Instead, what we can do, and what we should all do, is to keep an open mind. Perhaps, we don't know everything because we know one way of doing it. Perhaps, our way is not the only way to live. Perhaps, there is enough room here for everyone's own perspective, if we are brave enough to treat differing points of view with respect and dignity.

As refugees and immigrants from around the globe continue to seek their futures on our shores, we cannot afford to selfishly and rigidly guard our own culture from any changes. We should instead seek to understand and to engage those around us, no matter what their food smells like or how their words sound.

An engagement of citizens with one another... isn't that, after all, the original American ideal?

As a student of Russian culture and politics, I was terribly disappointed by both politicians' obvious lack of understanding of that nation as expressed during the debate.

It is easy to vilify Putin as an evil KGB thug, but he is extraordinarily popular with his own people, and that phenomenon bears examination. The American media bandies around words like "oligarch" without a substantive discussion and analysis of the real Russia today. Shockingly unaware of the ways in which Russian society has been transformed during the past nearly ten years under Putin’s leadership, we are inclined to shrug off the fact that the current Prime Minister is considered a real hero by many. Our thinking seems to be that we are free, so we know better; if Russians adore Putin, they are wrong and we must defend them from their false thinking.

The fall of the Soviet Union was not seen as a heroic moment by most Russians; it was certainly not the harkening of the era of peace that Americans and many Europeans celebrated. Mikhail Gorbachev was not their hero; in their eyes, he was a blundering fool and even a traitor who gave away the Motherland without even a ruble in exchange. The prosperous 1990s left Russians behind, and seemingly overnight an entire nation was left penniless. People who had had sacrificed everything in the name of creating a brighter future for their children’s children were left devastated. Pensions dissolved, crime (previously unheard of) skyrocketed, health care evaporated, and the entire infrastructure of the nation crumbled. If Americans are in an uproar over our own current economic crisis, we cannot even begin to imagine the extent of the catastrophe that befell Russia.

Americans saw this as proof of the inevitability of Russia’s decline, but we were mistaken. Russia has been crushed before, but has never been long defeated. In our arrogance, we assume that we will be able to outwit or overwhelm the largest state on the planet, overlooking that we are hardly its toughest historical opponent. We forget that our erstwhile enemy is nothing if not resilient; it endured several centuries of terror under the Mongol yoke; staved off Hitler’s plans of annihilation at the cost of eating leather boot straps and one’s own pets; remade itself out of whole cloth under the banner of socialism.

Russia is massive beyond the mind’s limits of measurement and perspective. According to the CIA World Fact Book, it measures over 17 million square miles, or approximately 1.8 times the size of the US. The greatest tragedy of Russian history is most certainly the brutality that the various regimes have resorted to in order to reign-in the vast territories the state engulfed. The second greatest tragedy may be the fact that repeated invasions have proved the necessity of a strong state; in most Russian minds, the state must be strong in order to survive. It is worth mentioning to true believers in US-style democracy that Lenin’s own revolution emerged out of the instability created by the floundering democracy immediately following the Tsar’s abdication.

A similar power vacuum emerged under the inept Yeltsin years. Shock therapy, or the immediate implementation of market prices and individual ownership of state enterprises, directly led to the phenomenon of the oligarchs. In order to meet the strict output regulations during the communist years, factory managers resorted to the black market for their supply line. The technocrats at the top of each industry under the Soviet system just before it dissolved were the ones who were able to play the shadow market game the best (in order to survive, you had to meet the specified outputs regardless of circumstances to avoid being accused of sabotage).

When they suddenly became de-facto CEOs of the new private enterprises, they kept their old behavioral patterns alive; becoming not just businessmen but the captains of massive organized crime leagues.

The competitive market provided opportunities for untold millions, and competition between varying oligarchs-the new rich strong-men- began to fill the streets of Moscow with blood. Ordinary Russians continued to eat rotten vegetables to survive while the oligarchs rode around in their limousines with their mistresses; Moscow rent soared to the most expensive in the world.

It is in this context that Russians adore Vladimir Putin. There are outspoken voices to be sure; the socially inconvenient consciences that warn of a darkness ahead. We should listen to these voices, especially those informed critics such as Anna Politkovskaya, an opponent of both the war in Chechnya and Putin himself, who was gunned down in 2006. We should not content ourselves with carrying the mantel of those protestors, however, without knowing the whole story. Why are they so unpopular in their own society, and how does this reflect the difference in between the way we perceive Russia and they way its citizens see themselves?

To analyze all of Putin’s successes and crimes would take more than a single blog. For here, we should at least acknowledge the primary reasons that he retains such an overwhelming support, even in light of election irregularities and other controversies. Quite simply: He’s made the people happy by getting the nation back on track. He’s reigned in the oligarchs. Jobs have returned. Upward mobility and social expectations have risen. Crime is down. The economy is awash in petrodollars. Most importantly: after yet another wasted generation of suffering, Russians have regained their pride.

Returning to the US presidential debate, the posturing by both candidates implies that they plan to act under the assumption that it is still 1992 and the US is still triumphant. In fact, the geopolitical reality in 2008 is as different as night and day from the end of the Cold War nearly two decades ago. For the next president of the US to start announcing that we are going to somehow keep Russia in its place is patently ridiculous, especially with our military stretched so thin as it is and with the EU already desperately engaged in talks to restore their relationship with Moscow.

Just like all major states on the planet, such as China and our own, Russia has ambitions befitting its stature and capabilities. Certainly, we should not turn a blind eye to its excess, and we should not ignore the plight of those crushed beneath its wheels. However, what is needed is not the broken record of Russia-bashing, but a multi-faceted policy designed to meet the challenges of working with such a behemoth of a nation. This is the real world, and in the real world, you must deal with nations that you dislike or with which you disagree ideologically.

Times are too critical to create another enemy out of Moscow; sadly, neither candidate has either the awareness or the courage to admit this.

Have you heard? University of Illinois employees- including faculty- are now forbidden to wear political buttons or park cars with bumber stickers supporting a particular candidate. They are additionally banned from attending on-campus political rallies in favor of a specific candidate.

Those who choose to do so in protest (or just in the interest of civic participation) will now be in violation of the university system's ethics policy.

http://www.insidehighered.com/news/2008/09/24/buttons "Beware the Bumper Police" explains that this is a sharp departure from past policies around the country which permitted individual political expression, while banning the use of department funds for the support of a particular candidate. Certainly, nobody would support the diversion of science lab grant money for the Obama campaign, and of course, it would be inappropriate to have a university reimburse their staff for making a donation to a particular campaign.

But this official directive is both chilling and monumentally important in the ongoing battle for freedom of expression in the US. When we lose the freedom to express ourselves during an election, what will be next? And when universities become closed to dialogue and civic debate, where will we protest at all?

In yesterday's electronic edition of The New York Times, Tara Parker-Pope examined an emerging front in the war on methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus.

Entitled The Doctor’s Hands Are Germ-Free. The Scrubs Too?, Parker-Pope's article presents the frightening possibility that some of the most deadly hospital infections may be getting a free ride on doctor's clothing, especially ties and white coats but also on scrubs.

The article is worth reading for the full scoop, but what I'd like to point out here is the startling gap in health codes that she reveals between the US and Europe, and how that could be needlessly endangering the lives of many.

In Denmark, where there has been an increased emphasis not only on handwashing, but also on "sterilization, screening and clothing control," the rate of drug-resistant staph infections was 1% of the total. In the US, where there has been no protocol similar to the EU-wide one informing Danish policy, the rate of drug-resistant staph infections is 50% of all such infections.

I find it incredibly concerning that the nation that trains many doctors around the world and that considers itself to be a leader in global medicine has not even managed to establish a basic germ policy addressing this problem.

What do you think? If you are in a medical profession, what is your experience in your country? What have you experienced as a patient? I'd love to hear what everyone else thinks about both this article and the topic, so please share!

Somewhere between the glass jars of Jacobs and Nescafe instant coffees , the tetra packs of barszcz and the ubiquitous display of Kinder eggs, I felt the frustration simmer up to my ears. Bored from shifting my weight between my right and left leg, my arms long ago having given up on carrying the obligatory shopping basket (now situated between my two feet for efficient shuffling, should we ever move forward in the line), I revealed myself as a foreigner with an exasperated sigh. In the past half an hour, we had moved approximately three customers closer to the register, and four couples remained in front of us.

Every payment had to be made in exact change, to the grosz, and in the precise denominations preferred by the clerk. The customer at the register, having given up on digging for three 10-grosz pieces and one 5, emptied out her coin purse into her palm and extended it to the clerk to speed up the process. Not finding the satisfactory coins, she turned in desperation to the next customer in line and bartered change. If you ever wanted to have your turn at the check-out counter, you’d cooperate with the poor customer in front of you.

Finally, only three customers to go, and it would be our turn to pay for our muesli and juice. Compared to the grueling class schedule earlier that day, my life that hour had become nauseatingly slow. Still wrapped in my scarf and hat, my jacket bringing me to a boil, I searched for a logical explanation through the rapidly growing mental fog.

“I just don’t get it,” I moaned to my husband as inconspicuously as possible, “How can this possibly take so long?”

“It’s Poland,” he sighed.

Ahead of us, another familiar scenario played out: one person stood in line with an empty basket, while his companions shopped for items one at a time and placed them into the basket, departing again for more. The process seemed to continue up until the very moment that the waiting customer had arrived at the cash register. Apparently, they base their grocery list on how much they can buy in the time allotted by the line, I thought, wishing we’d done the same. It had to be faster, I thought with a scowl.

“But Carrefour is a French supermarket!” I insisted to my husband, reviving my gripe. The shelves of one of the world’s largest retailers were stocked with everything from soy milk to salsa, the freezers stuffed with drinkable yogurt and delicious bagged berry medleys, the housewares section complete enough to rival any Wal-Mart. On the surface, it was like any other industrialized nation.

“Doesn’t matter- the culture is Polish,” he grumbled, his head tilted back in agitation. Smiling wryly, he quoted the region’s motto, “Haste leads to degradation.”

There’s the rub, I thought bitterly. In spite of nearly twenty years after the end of Soviet domination, Poland was still cloaked in its own mental iron curtain. Long lines. Poor customer service. A widespread acceptance of mediocrity. A largely cash-based economy. Political ineptitude and a lack of real economic opportunities for young people, aside from immigration. Grey buildings and even bleaker skies, broken sidewalk cobbles and menacing Skoda drivers barreling down on pedestrians. Clinging to a noble past of suffering and victimization, wavering in the face of an uncertain future.

Exiting the large double doors with our bags in tow, the cool night air shocked my cheeks and jolted my spirit out of its irritation. Walking past the train station with the seasonal skating rink in front, we made our way through the pedestrian underpass back into the Old Town. Vendors hawking sour sheep’s cheese imprinted with fancy patterns, striking autumnal floral arrangements, miniature bagels on strings, and colorful mittens vied for our attention in vain. My mind was occupied with the trials and tribulations of life in a transitioning country.

Carefully dodging the icy potholes, the elderly gentleman playing the harmonica, and arm-linked couples enjoying a romantic stroll, my eyes turned to the glow of the main market square ahead. Seduced again by the glistening Słowackiego theater on my left, the haunting remains of the ancient city wall on my right, and the anticipation of the magical Sukiennice cloth hall through the alleyways, I felt my heart sink with guilt.

Life was frustrating here, but that certainly wasn’t the full story. My experiences that evening, the surreal and incomprehensible swing from stagnation and irritation in the hypermarche to bliss and exhilaration ten minutes later on the streets reflected the complicated reality of life in Poland.

It is full of inconsistencies, bureaucratic mazes, masked faces, false hopes, and intense pride, but also an enchanting aura wafting through the crevices, a sorrowful but angelic aria permeating the nation’s soul. In order to completely understand its mystery, one would need to spend a lifetime peeling back the layers, painstakingly deciphering its clues. Poland, I was discovering, was an enigma.

I was in good company as I tried to resolve its riddles. My first months in Krakow were a tumultuous period in Polish domestic as well as foreign relations- a time when European Union leaders and Poland’s own citizens would become increasingly confounded with the status quo.

Particularly within the EU, a swelling “Poland fatigue” came to dominate all diplomacy like an omnipresent and obstinate cloud. Having expanded to include Poland in 2004, the former member states complained increasingly vocally that Poland seemed to mistakenly believe that the EU had joined it, rather than the other way around.

Resenting the march of European history that had nearly obliterated and then forgotten it, and realizing its geopolitical leverage for the first time, Poland overplayed its hand in round after round, alienating nearly every ally. The ruling Law and Justice party (PiS) retaliated over the most minor infractions with Germany, at one point cancelling a high level visit due to an unfavorable newspaper editorial. As the EU attempted to wrap up the Lisbon Treaty negotiations, an increasingly mercurial and sanctimonious Polish posture towards Germany threatened to unravel years of international effort. Warsaw also impeded Brussels’ efforts to thaw relations with Moscow, raising concerns over Russian energy shipments to the subcontinent as winter rapidly approached.

An overwhelming and self-defeating paranoia and victimization in combination with an intense messianic mission drove Warsaw’s self perception and policy. Acidly hostile towards Germany due to unresolved disputes from the Second World War and distrusting Russia following the Cold War; still bitter at the opulent “West” for its perceived abandonment of Poland twice to its enemies; convinced of its fraternal and moral mission to lead the nations of Eastern Europe to freedom; and finally, certain only of the military backing of the distant United States, Poland lashed out at its past and nearly lost its foothold on the future.

The situation was at least as bad on the home front. Besieging its opponents with allegations of corruption, mafia ties, sex crimes and communism, PiS found itself caught in its own avalanche and lost control of the political implosion it had set in motion. Championing the interests of its primarily elderly, agrarian, impoverished and staunchly Catholic supporters, the President and Prime Minister (coincidentally, twin brothers) failed to inspire the hope of young, educated workers with upward aspirations and experience abroad. Clinging to a sense of moral superiority and confident in a victory, the majority party voted to dissolve itself in September.

Weary of PiS’s overzealous political machinations, the EU held its breath for one month. When the results of the snap elections were tallied, it, and much of Poland, was able to finally breathe a sigh of relief. Donald Tusk, of the pro-business Civic Platform, had persuaded voters that the time for a new course in domestic and foreign policy had arrived. Young, attractive and athletic, well educated and articulate, hopeful and charismatic, he appeared the John F. Kennedy to the Nikita Krushchev. Immediately shaking hands with EU leaders, he promised to revive Poland’s relationship with the supranational body, and promptly set to work on ironing out old problems. Particularly with Russia, cracks appeared in the ice if not a thaw, as Tusk sent high level delegations to discuss bilateral issues. And with the US, Tusk has held a firmer line, delicately attempting to balance the wishes of its former champion with its geopolitical reality.

In spite of the greatest turnout PiS had ever seen by its supporters, Tusk carried the election due to tidal wave of support, primarily by younger citizens, many of whom cast their votes from abroad. Whether Tusk will be the answer to Poland’s heartfelt prayers remains to be seen; what is clear at this point is the desire of the nation’s younger generation to make peace with the past and take its proper place on the pedestals of Europe.

Arriving at my apartment, squeezing past waiting tram passengers and customers scurrying into the apteka, I paused for a moment with my key in hand. Turning around back towards the Planty, a green ring created when the Austrian invasion obliterated the old city walls, I felt for a moment a flickering of understanding, as if the enigma had brushed past my skin and whispered in my ear. Perhaps it cannot be cracked, and perhaps the legacies of past suffering will linger past their expiration date. Long lines may remain, but so does the indefatigable Polish spirit. Just as the acid-rain washed buildings on the Rynek sparkle again under the sun and new paint, and just as the city created a park out of the destruction of its ancient history, so too will the nation rise again. Just how it will transpire remains to be seen.