The U.S. Embassy and Its Stone Cold "No"

The last time I flew into Vietnam, my friend and local colleague Thuy (Twee) met me at the airport. On the ride back to the hotel she told me that her father was dying of liver cancer.

Thuy was devastated, of course. Her mother and father have been living in the USA for years now (Houston) and are American citizens. They had just visited Thuy in Ho Chi Minh City two months earlier and her father seemed fine. In fact, I was also in Vietnam at that time and remember her coming to work and reporting about the fun family visits the evenings before.

The following day, armed with letters from her father's doctors at the Houston Hospital, Thuy paid 130 dollars to apply for a visa, filled out the "emergency" application, and meanwhile started looking into flights.

But, no way.

She "failed" the visa interview (a sham to being with), and was yelled at by the US embassy interviewers--telling her she was lying. That her father probably wasn't sick. That she was really trying to move to Houston. This is worth repeating: They told her she was a liar, that her father wasn't even sick and that she was trying to finagle her way into the US.

Here are some facts about Thuy.
She is nearly 30 y.o. and engaged to a Vietnamese (living in Saigon).
She is a very successful art director working for Vietnam's top-rated newspapers.
She owns a hugely successful cafe frequented by ex-pats.
She employs a staff of about 7-10.
She has her MA in Advertising and Marketing from a prestigious university in Berlin. During her years in prosperous, democratic Germany, Thuy never tried to emigrate.
Her dad has been in the US for 10 years, yet she'd never been to see him there because she wasn't---believe it or not--particularly interested in seeing America.

While I was with Thuy, we sent urgent emails to her dad's congressional rep. in Texas--Michael McCaul. No response. No response. No response.

A few days after I arrived back home, Thuy sent a heartbreaking email, telling me her dad had passed away.

I got on the phone with Congressman McCaul's office. I told them the situation--that I'd written them from Saigon asking for help but hadn't heard anything back. I made the case again, making it clear that Thuy ONLY wanted to be with her mother to help bury her father, and that she would return for sure to Saigon. Although "sympathetic," they said there was nothing they could do... until I told them that I was ashamed to be American, given the way she was treated by the US embassy in Vietnam. I repeated it. "I'm ashamed," I said. "I'm ashamed to be American and to see us treat another human being this way."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "I'll mark this urgent. We'll discuss this tonight and be in touch."

To the credit of McCaul's staff, I was contacted within 24 hours, suggesting ways they could possibly help. But it was too late. The funeral had already taken place.

Unfortunately, as I see in this L.A. Times piece, Thuy's case is not unique.

24 years, +1

A year ago I was sitting in my dad's condo in Florida, watching news about distant Austria.
Today marks one year since Josef Fritzl (known as Josef F. in Austria) was arrested.

Big Wheel Keep on Turnin'. And Turnin'. And Turnin'.

Ahhh... 1968. In Woodstock, the summer of love. In Windsor Woods, the summer of the Krazy Kar. I wanted a Big Wheel but my parents didn't love me enough to get me one. Instead, they gave me this thing, which I had to power furiously with my arms. Was I a paraplegic when I was a kid? How tragic for me.

Mr. Postman, Bring Me a .... crowbar

Postboxes in my apartment building in Skopje, Macedonia.


Hope the check's not in the mail...

On Further Inspection....

I just posted a rant about a so-called newspaper blog that lifted my previous entry (Newspapers, Pneumatic Tubes, Kurt Vonnegut) without a link to my site or a mention a'tall.

But then I went back and actually read through the post and it's a riot. The Newspaper Quebec blog, which is really a French one of course, reads like a translation train wreck.

Take this, for example (translated into French from my original post, and then back into English):

As American newspapers on to implode, so does the grieving on. It’s not barely a forfeiture of an ply, but a practice of life–for those working within it, along with those slippered and robed, coffee cup in involvement, shuffling down the driveway to recover their morning infer from. What would betide if baseball was hastily bewitched a practice from us?

Bewitched Baseball--gotta love it! And did I write this?!

But, just for the record: Regarding blog posts themselves, if you credit me and link back to me, I'll compromise and consider that acceptable, but barely. If you quote me and use the post as a springboard for further discussion, and link back--well, that's an appropriate use of blogs. Anything else is stealing, as in what this blog did. It gave the headline as follows: The American Lady: Newspapers, Pneumatic Tubes, and Kurt Vonnegut (see previous entry), but plagiarized the full body of my post without ever linking to my blog, nor attributing the post to me. Even if it is bass-ackward and can tell where to put a verb not, nor which to use verb, well, you my meaning get.

Given that it's this new media industry (which I am not against) that is killing American newspapers, I find the misuse and lack of transparency ironic. I guess it's true that with the demise of American newspapers, there will be no checks and balances, no right to response, no sourcing: If we go the way of these kinds of blogs --we will only be left with: plagiarism and secrecy---the two dragons that American print journalism generally killed off. But now they're back. Or should I say: Now but have arrived themselves are.

Newspapers, Pneumatic Tubes, and Kurt Vonnegut

As American newspapers continue to implode, so does the grieving continue. It's not just a loss of an industry, but a way of life--for those working within it, along with those slippered and robed, coffee cup in hand, shuffling down the driveway to retrieve their morning read.

What would happen if baseball was suddenly taken a way from us? Except here, the consequences are much more dire, unless of course you're happy with tweets as news review and delivery.

And c'mon, without the gritty texture of the newsroom, where are we gonna stage all of our movies? The main character won't be an investigative reporter hot on a lead, but a dude caught up in a crowd for a single moment--or hearing from someone who knows someone who has a cousin who just this second shook hands with the president-- twittering about it on his cell phone.

So for some newsroom texture, and risking a few more broken hearts from journalists who are forced to stand by and watch the only lives they've ever known or ever wanted to know crumble in a heap at their feet, here's a bit from Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse 5:

I was also working as a police reporter for the famous Chicago City News Bureau for 28 dollars a week. One time they switched me from the night shift to the day shift, so I worked 16 hours straight. We were supported by all the newspapers in town, and the AP and UPI and all that.
And we would cover the courts and the police stations and the Fire Department and the Coast Guard out on Lake Michigan and all that. We were connected to the insititutions that supported us by means of pneumatic tubs, which ran under the streets of Chicago.

Those Wascally (Easter) Wabbit Eggs...

Given the traditional White House Egg Roll on Easter Monday--although not formally an Easter Egg Hunt--it seems like a good time to tell my story:

A couple of years ago I was talking with an Austrian friend about Easter. I told her we had the same traditions they have... the Easter Bunny, Easter Egg Hunts.

Easter Egg Hunts, she said. To clarify.

Yep, Easter Egg Hunts. It's for the little kids. You know--when grown ups hide the eggs and the little kids hunt for them.

She gasped in horror. "You SHOOT the EGGS?!?!?!?"



Only when we have to, I told her. Only when we have to.

Easter, Prater by Night, Etc.

The Prater, as seen by night with the train nearing.

My friends are renovating their apartment in the second district. It's nice that their living room has this view of Vienna's famous Prater.

Was kindly invited to spend Saturday evening with their family in Bad Fischau.

There was a bonfire, a starlit night, a full moon, good wine, good beer, chili, marshmallows the size of Texas (with Austrians needing assistance in roasting, of course!), stories about hikes in the Schneeberg, stories about a bucket of paint and the butt that landed in it, and Austrian folk music sung a capella by a family who knows how to open hearts and welcome you in.

Three sisters and a grandmother on Easter in Virginia Beach


Baby, contemplative, Mom, somewhat smiling, on a first Easter.


Mom, Dad, brood of five and one more to go to make it an even six. On Easter.

More on the Painful US newspaper situation

This is so painful.

I used to be a graphics editor at the Chicago Tribune. I know a few who have been "let go"--what a horribly neutral euphemism--, but it seems like child's play to what is going on in at Atlanta--the one time team of 16, now down to four, is now down to zero, after a few phone calls.

Play That Funky Music ...

As my niece says, you gotta love the "bum"* wiggle at the end. *(Niece can't help saying bum. It's a Brit thang!)

My brother, John, is the cute trousered kid standing with his hands in his pockets. Two of my sisters are next to him and the rest are cousins and my Aunt Marguerite.
Thoughts and prayers are with my brave and fabulous brother today. His big family is wrapping loving arms around him, even from afar.

Moldova in the News

Babushka in a Moldovan village. 2005.

Moldova has the only freely-elected Communist government in the world. Or not so free, depending on who you talk to.
I spent five months in Moldova as a Knight International Press Fellow, and was there near election time back then (about four years ago). It was common knowledge then that election fraud was rampant--either by stuffing ballot boxes or bribes or whatever it took.

One of my interpreters admitted to me one day while we were sipping coffee that he had voted several times in that one election, although for an opposition party, and that many are paid to go vote.

Elections this time have spurred violence. CNN claims that organizers planned on about 1,000, but that Twitter outdid itself in getting the word out, and suddenly organizers were faced with a whopping 10,000 protesters. By all accounts, it has gotten out of hand.

The motivation of protesters in Chisinau is understandable. Moldova is the poorest country in Europe. Many want to look toward Europe but the Russia-backed government keeps about facing them in the opposite direction. Twenty five percent of its population has gone abroad seeking work. Another 25 percent say they would do so if given the chance.

One of the biggest social issues facing Moldovans is the trafficking of women, and the country itself was found to be the "most depressing" by journalist Eric Weiner, who wrote "The Geography of Bliss."

Fatal Attraction? Or Just Hungry?

The poor Austrians seem to keep stepping in it. if it ain't dungeon incest monsters, it's a bunny killer masquerading as a popular gourmet cook, this time on live TV with horrified children looking on.

The unapologetic chef really just wants everyone to buck up and get over it, because, you know, life is gruesome and brutal so you better figure it out now, kids. Iin the meantime, enjoy this tasty treat!

It turns out that Glenn Close was just cooking Michael Douglas a romantic meal.

Anyhow, bunny-killing chef Sarah Wiener really wants to know what all the fuss is about. Maybe PETA, or the SPCA, or even Vick can have a sit down with her. I'd certainly like to have a go at her.