It may be that people in every culture and every part of the world have thought of themselves and where they live as being at the center of the universe at some point. And why not? There is no objective reason I can think of to place the center anywhere other than where we are. Let people in other parts of the world make their own maps. They have their own perspective. For me, I am placing my little part of Malaysia right in the center.
I have ventured out. This past month, while our students went home to be with their families and all of our faculty was on break, Kimber and I spent some time in Cambodia and Vietnam. We had a photograph in front of Ho Chi Minh’s tomb in Hanoi, and thought about what it would have been like if Woodrow Wilson and the League of Nations had welcomed him as a brother who shared their ideals instead of sending him packing. We went to Angkor Wat.
Designed to represent Sumeru, the mountain at the center of all the physical, metaphysical and spiritual universes, Angkor Wat was the "city of the future" of the 12th century. This was a planned development meant to serve as the center of the industry and lifestyle of a million people at the heart of the Khmer empire. Dedicated to the god Vishnu the Preserver, it is also the largest religious monument in the world to this day. Over time, over 800 years, this planned community was abandoned to the point where it truly was a forest city, its pillars and galleries reclaimed by the jungle. So what happened to the vision of its founders? What was there at the beginning that still remains after all this time?
In many places, traces of the old story carved into the walls and pillars were defaced by invaders. Wiped out, like the lives of millions from the surrounding countryside that were murdered by their government in my lifetime. What remains are bullet holes from where the bored child soldiers of the Khmer Rouge passed the time shooting their guns at the sculptures. What remains is the curiosity of a new army touching everything with their hands, millions of visitors streaming through the gates every year, stepping off cheap flights with easy access to lay their hands on what was once held as sacred. Laying hands on the bas relief depicting the emergence of the apsaras from the churning of the ocean of milk in the galleries. Laying hands on the faces of the buddhas that were added to the temple later, tracing the crude marks left by tourists in the 1990’s. Walking on the fallen lintels and sandstone walls that once formed the temple. Taking away what remains of the story from the ancient Khmer script carved into the pillars and walls of the temples with every grain of sand brushed away by their fingers.
Coming home, I was stuck by how quiet it is here in Forest City. The magnitude of millions, the impressions of so many lives are missing here. Mostly the sound is of construction in the distance, across the miles of bare sand between my living room and the Pacific Ocean, bordered by high rise condominiums by the shore on the right and the Carnelian Tower, still partially covered in scaffolding, on the left. Or the sound of gardening shears trimming away at the vertical landscaping that was supposed to be an untrimmed feature of what makes this an eco-city; curtains of greenery shading the windows and balconies of our high rises to produce oxygen and reduce the need for air conditioning. Mostly it is quiet, with the silence of the dozens of people who mop the tiles in the courtyards and walkways, one side to the other and back again all day long. It is so clean here. Clean and quiet. Millions have not been murdered. The air is not crowded with the memory of so many human lives.
If you believe the marketing, Forest City is poised to be more than a wealthy suburb of Singapore, and a key participant in the emerging global economy in its own right. For now though, there just aren’t enough units being sold. Only 5,000 keys turned over to residents so far in a city lit up like a Christmas tree to look like tens of thousands live here. As the first phase of construction begins to wind down, half of the workers building the city are being laid off. Remember the dad who said he wanted his son to grow up free in his mind, free from the government in China and what he referred to as mind control? There is no more work for him here. He and his family are moving back to China.
What is happening here is the story of every civilization in every era, only in fast motion. What was it about the marketing that captured my imagination? What was there about the role I was offered that still resonates? What was here at the beginning that will remain? On the surface, things appear to be changing. Even at the beginning, there were signs that what was promised was too good to be true. Really though? What if what is good will always be true, and how things appear have nothing to do with it? How will we act? How will we treat each other? How can we use this as an opportunity to build something lasting?
I am here because I believe that what is best for children and families is possible here, if not now, in time. I accepted this position because of who I am, and because I thought that I would be able to serve this community without compromising my ideals. I accepted this role because I knew that beginnings are important. Because I knew that the end of things is in their beginning. Without having been at the beginning like this before, I wanted to get in before history and custom and the weight of centuries had a chance to distort the original vision. I wanted to have a part in fashioning the original vision, defining what is possible in terms of love and hope and kindness.
So what if my understanding of my position is different than the understanding of someone I am duty-bound to serve now or in the future? A child, a teacher, a family member, anyone who works here alongside me? The board, the Chairman? The Sultan of Johor? In the face of certain death and being forgotten by time, all we really have is our own understanding, and no one else's. We stay as long as there is a place for that, and what we do here, others can do as well. This is an experiment anchored in something deeper than the ocean floor, something that will remain when this island returns to the sea. This is something that will not be worn away by the feet and curiosity of millions to come in the future, even though it is right in the center of everything. It can't be touched.
I have ventured out. This past month, while our students went home to be with their families and all of our faculty was on break, Kimber and I spent some time in Cambodia and Vietnam. We had a photograph in front of Ho Chi Minh’s tomb in Hanoi, and thought about what it would have been like if Woodrow Wilson and the League of Nations had welcomed him as a brother who shared their ideals instead of sending him packing. We went to Angkor Wat.
Designed to represent Sumeru, the mountain at the center of all the physical, metaphysical and spiritual universes, Angkor Wat was the "city of the future" of the 12th century. This was a planned development meant to serve as the center of the industry and lifestyle of a million people at the heart of the Khmer empire. Dedicated to the god Vishnu the Preserver, it is also the largest religious monument in the world to this day. Over time, over 800 years, this planned community was abandoned to the point where it truly was a forest city, its pillars and galleries reclaimed by the jungle. So what happened to the vision of its founders? What was there at the beginning that still remains after all this time?
In many places, traces of the old story carved into the walls and pillars were defaced by invaders. Wiped out, like the lives of millions from the surrounding countryside that were murdered by their government in my lifetime. What remains are bullet holes from where the bored child soldiers of the Khmer Rouge passed the time shooting their guns at the sculptures. What remains is the curiosity of a new army touching everything with their hands, millions of visitors streaming through the gates every year, stepping off cheap flights with easy access to lay their hands on what was once held as sacred. Laying hands on the bas relief depicting the emergence of the apsaras from the churning of the ocean of milk in the galleries. Laying hands on the faces of the buddhas that were added to the temple later, tracing the crude marks left by tourists in the 1990’s. Walking on the fallen lintels and sandstone walls that once formed the temple. Taking away what remains of the story from the ancient Khmer script carved into the pillars and walls of the temples with every grain of sand brushed away by their fingers.
Coming home, I was stuck by how quiet it is here in Forest City. The magnitude of millions, the impressions of so many lives are missing here. Mostly the sound is of construction in the distance, across the miles of bare sand between my living room and the Pacific Ocean, bordered by high rise condominiums by the shore on the right and the Carnelian Tower, still partially covered in scaffolding, on the left. Or the sound of gardening shears trimming away at the vertical landscaping that was supposed to be an untrimmed feature of what makes this an eco-city; curtains of greenery shading the windows and balconies of our high rises to produce oxygen and reduce the need for air conditioning. Mostly it is quiet, with the silence of the dozens of people who mop the tiles in the courtyards and walkways, one side to the other and back again all day long. It is so clean here. Clean and quiet. Millions have not been murdered. The air is not crowded with the memory of so many human lives.
What is happening here is the story of every civilization in every era, only in fast motion. What was it about the marketing that captured my imagination? What was there about the role I was offered that still resonates? What was here at the beginning that will remain? On the surface, things appear to be changing. Even at the beginning, there were signs that what was promised was too good to be true. Really though? What if what is good will always be true, and how things appear have nothing to do with it? How will we act? How will we treat each other? How can we use this as an opportunity to build something lasting?
I am here because I believe that what is best for children and families is possible here, if not now, in time. I accepted this position because of who I am, and because I thought that I would be able to serve this community without compromising my ideals. I accepted this role because I knew that beginnings are important. Because I knew that the end of things is in their beginning. Without having been at the beginning like this before, I wanted to get in before history and custom and the weight of centuries had a chance to distort the original vision. I wanted to have a part in fashioning the original vision, defining what is possible in terms of love and hope and kindness.
So what if my understanding of my position is different than the understanding of someone I am duty-bound to serve now or in the future? A child, a teacher, a family member, anyone who works here alongside me? The board, the Chairman? The Sultan of Johor? In the face of certain death and being forgotten by time, all we really have is our own understanding, and no one else's. We stay as long as there is a place for that, and what we do here, others can do as well. This is an experiment anchored in something deeper than the ocean floor, something that will remain when this island returns to the sea. This is something that will not be worn away by the feet and curiosity of millions to come in the future, even though it is right in the center of everything. It can't be touched.
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