Saturday Mornings

There's not much better than a bowl of Captain Crunch on a cloudy saturday morning while reading the paper and my weekly magazines (Newsweek, New York, Business Week, FEER).

alot of good articles today. and a few that i had saved from the past few days. two interesting backgrounders on Charlie Rangel and Jesse Helms, on totally opposite sides of the political spectrum. also interesting story on subway workers. really gives me an added appreciation for stuff i take for granted whenever i am annoyed waiting for the train.

and last night there was an interesting piece on Google on the "MacNeil Lehrer" Newshour (i know i just can't help but call it with the old name) which was a nice corollary to the article the other day in the NYT. links below.

The Search Engine that Could
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/newshour_index.html
Spencer Michels reports on the economic and technical success story behind the Google search engine. [realaudio]

Once a Close Economic Rival of China, India Falls Behind

Once a Close Economic Rival of China, India Falls Behind
By KEITH BRADSHER
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/29/international/asia/29INDI.html

"India's continued backwardness compared with its neighbor across the Himalayas has become a national obsession. The world's two most populous countries, China and India were close economic rivals just two decades ago, each struggling to bring progress to vast numbers of impoverished peasants.

But now China, by quickly converting much of its economy to an unfettered and even rapacious version of capitalism, has surged far ahead. The average Chinese citizen now earns $890 a year, compared with $460 for the typical Indian, according to the World Bank."

SONEPAT, India — Raj K. Gupta, a partner in one of India's largest shoe manufacturers, makes a dreaded but necessary trip every two months to Hong Kong and then into Guangdong Province in southern China.

He goes to buy Chinese shoemaking machinery, because India has few producers of such machinery.

He goes to purchase Chinese synthetic leather, because India makes little of the material and most of that is of low quality.

He goes to visit Chinese shoe factories, to draw lessons from their enormous size, advanced technology and highly organized operations.

When he is done, after eating too much Chinese food, which he dislikes, he flies home and thinks about how India, despite democracy, has fallen behind China, a one-party state struggling with the aftermath of Communist economic policies.

"If we were more developed here I wouldn't have to go so much," he groused, sitting in his office, where incense burned in a corner before a group of paintings and statues of Hindu gods. "We should have that kind of technology, both for our international competitiveness and for our domestic market."

India's continued backwardness compared with its neighbor across the Himalayas has become a national obsession. The world's two most populous countries, China and India were close economic rivals just two decades ago, each struggling to bring progress to vast numbers of impoverished peasants.

But now China, by quickly converting much of its economy to an unfettered and even rapacious version of capitalism, has surged far ahead. The average Chinese citizen now earns $890 a year, compared with $460 for the typical Indian, according to the World Bank.

Only slightly more numerous than Indians these days, Chinese citizens now buy one-third more cars and light trucks each year, 3 times as many television sets and 12 times as many air conditioners. China has high-speed freeways, modern airports and highly efficient ports that are helping it dominate a growing number of manufacturing industries.

India's potholed roads, aging airports and clogged ports make exports difficult. China attracted as much foreign investment last month as India did all of last year.

Some blame India's lagging performance on the country's still stifling bureaucracy, although many market-limiting regulations have been lifted since New Delhi began dismantling its "license raj" in 1991.

Some blame the country's cultural and religious traditions, contending that a national thirst for economic equality may have stunted progress. Some even maintain that a democracy may be less able than an authoritarian government to promote growth in a poor country.

Like China, India has a growing middle class — it is just not growing as quickly, perhaps in part because India's expansion started in 1991, 13 years after China's.

The Chinese economy has been expanding by 8 to 10 percent a year for the last two decades, while India's has been growing at a still healthy 6 percent only for the last decade. India's population is growing twice as fast as China's, moreover, so income growth per person has been slower in India.

Both countries are encumbered by many government-owned enterprises with low productivity — for India, most notably, its monopoly on distribution of electricity.

The Indian economy has a few genuine bright spots. Pockets of high-tech prosperity have popped up in two southern cities, Bangalore and Hyderabad.

These have benefited from India's willingness to allow free trade and minimal regulation for new industries, often involving computer software, telephone service centers for financial institutions and other service industries that do not involve moving goods on India's poor roads.

But success stories like Bangalore and Hyderabad remain a tiny part of the overall economy, because software companies hire workers by the hundreds and not by the tens of thousands, as manufacturers do.

"You look around and the rest is a disaster," said Joydeep Mukherji, an Asia analyst with Standard & Poor's. "One billion people are not going to be programming computers; they're going to be making shoes and cars, and serving coffee."

Indian shoe companies had as much cheap labor available two decades ago as Chinese companies, and workers here were better educated. Yet Chinese manufacturers increasingly dominate the global shoe market. "In the shoe industry, China has gotten ahead and will stay ahead," said Martin Merz, a partner in NJB Merz Ltd., a shoe company in Hong Kong.

Mr. Gupta and his family control the Action Group, India's second-largest shoemaker, after Bata. But the newest of Action's dozen factories, next to a dirt road across the city line in New Delhi, is unlikely to inspire fear in foreign competitors. The cramped building has room for just 150 workers, not enough to achieve the economies of scale of Chinese factories, where up to 20,000 toil in a single complex.

Mr. Gupta said local regulations prevented him from building anything bigger. Particularly onerous are laws limiting how much land a company can acquire in a city. The laws are intended to discourage speculation and leave land available for housing, but they make land expensive for new business ventures.

To walk inside the dimly lit factory on a recent morning was to enter a pungent cloud of glue vapor rising from the open pots and brushes that the workers use in assembling shoes. A. K. Sharma, the factory manager, explained that the factory's ventilation had been switched off because of an electricity blackout.

The factory had been running for the last three days on diesel generators, at more than twice the cost of using electricity from the municipal grid; another factory here in Sonepat runs an hour or two on generators every day because of blackouts.

Power failures are rare in the Chinese province of Guangdong, where domestic and foreign companies have invested heavily in power plants, but they are a regular occurrence here. Yet Mr. Gupta had to build his latest factory in the city because electricity was not available at all in many rural areas.

Stacked in the basement are rows of large boxes, each holding dozens of pairs of shoes. Scribbled in purple pen on the sides are the size, style and color of each box's contents. There are no computer-printed labels, and shoe stores in India do not expect them, Mr. Sharma explained.

The boxes, next to many sacks of raw materials, signal another problem. The factory keeps a two-month supply of raw materials and a one-month supply of finished shoes, a huge inventory tying up money that could otherwise be invested in modern machinery. By contrast, Chinese factories keep small inventories, because they receive regular deliveries of raw materials from nearby suppliers and ship finished goods easily on smooth highways to efficient ports like Hong Kong's.

The minimum wage for urban industrial work here is $3 a day. While fairly high by the standards of very poor countries, it is lower than the wages in Guangdong, where competition for skilled shoemakers has pushed up pay.

Some changes are starting to appear here. Construction has begun on new freeways. A quarter of India's states have repealed laws limiting business ownership of land in cities. The central government is mulling whether to allow private distribution of electricity, a step that could bring the investment needed to make blackouts less common.

India is starting to lower its 35 percent tariffs on a wide range of goods, including shoes, forcing producers to compete internationally. Mr. Gupta said he was unconcerned, because tariffs will also fall for imported shoemaking machinery and because he believes that Indian workers make higher-quality shoes.

Indeed, the Gupta family's latest project has little to do with shoes, reflecting instead the human values and limited interest in the global market that still characterize many Indian businesses.

Comfortable with its share of the domestic market and not eager to increase the 3 percent of production that it exports, the family is donating $9 million for the construction of a five-building, state-of-the-art, nonprofit hospital to care for the poor.

While an American family might seek as large a business empire as possible, Mr. Gupta said, his family is more interested in public service.

"What would we have done with that empire?" he asked. "It's a matter of thinking."

Even for $25 Million, Still No Osama bin Laden

Even for $25 Million, Still No Osama bin Laden
By JOHN TIERNEY
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/12/01/weekinreview/01TIER.html

WASHINGTON — WHY does the head of Osama bin Laden seem to be one of those things that money can't buy?

Four years ago, when he was known to have a base in Afghanistan, a country with a per-capita annual income of $800, the United States offered a $5 million reward for information leading to his capture. No one collected it. Last year the bounty was raised to $25 million, and still no one has claimed it. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned human greed?

If, as many believe, Mr. bin Laden is hiding in the mountains on the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan, there must be Pashtuns aware of a notorious 6-foot-4 Arab in the neighborhood.

"Nothing is a secret in those mountains, and betrayal is certainly not unknown in that region," said Milton A. Bearden, who ran the C.I.A.'s covert operations there during the war against the Soviets in the 1980's. "I always found that a few million here and there worked wonders. Loyalties are complex there, but money will still work."

Afghans have claimed a few small rewards, like a $5,000 prize paid last week to an informant who led soldiers to a cache of rockets, grenades and mines in the mountains northeast of Kabul, said Col. Roger King of the United States Army, the spokesman for a joint military task force based at Bagram. But Colonel King said he knew of no serious attempts to claim the $25 million.

Is Mr. bin Laden being protected by the tradition requiring Pashtuns to give refuge to visitors? Unlikely, said Mr. Bearden.

"The Pashtun tradition of refuge is very limited to the clan or the village," he said. "If I'm at the other end of the valley from you, I can give up your visitor."

Mr. Bearden also dismisses the idea that villagers are too isolated to know how to claim a reward or appreciate its value.

"There are scrap armament dealers there who can quote you the international price of metal to three decimal places," he said. "The fact that $25 million hasn't kicked up anything yet leads me to think he's somewhere else — maybe someplace like the really remote outlaw territory of Yemen or Somalia."

Another possibility, albeit slight, is that Mr. bin Laden has been cruising on a tramp freighter, said Neil C. Livingstone, chairman of the board of GlobalOptions, a Washington security firm with experience in international manhunts and kidnapping cases. Mr. Livingstone adds that, wherever Mr. bin Laden is, turning him in might be difficult.

"If you're moving with bin Laden on the sea or in the mountains, how do you get the message out, and how do you avoid being killed yourself when the air strike comes?" Mr. Livingstone said.

The reward for Mr. bin Laden has been publicized in radio broadcasts in Afghanistan and through matchbooks, posters, leaflets and newspaper advertisements in various countries. It is part of the Rewards for Justice program run by the State Department's Diplomatic Security Service, which currently has 22 terrorists on its most-wanted list. It offers up to $25 million for those accused of involvement in the Sept. 11 attacks, and $5 million in other cases.

A total of $9.5 million has been paid to 23 informants since the program began in the mid-1980's, said State Department officials, who credit the rewards for catching terrorists and averting attacks that would have killed thousands of people.

The only reward that officials publicly acknowledge paying was in the case of Ramzi Yousef, the mastermind of the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center, who had a $2 million price on his head when he was nabbed in Pakistan in 1995. But in that case, the informant said he had been unaware of the reward and came forward because he feared being killed by Mr. Yousef for refusing to participate in an attack on the United States.

A $2 million bounty was crucial in nabbing Mir Amal Kansi, who was executed last month in Virginia for a fatal shooting rampage outside the C.I.A.'s Virginia headquarters in 1993. He was caught in 1997 near the Afghan border, thanks to tips from Afghans eager for the cash, American officials said.

Still, it took four years to catch Mr. Kansi, and that was in a region where American intelligence agencies could rely on a longstanding network of paid informants. If Mr. bin Laden has moved to a remote region of Yemen or Somalia, he may have a better network in place than his pursuers do, and he presumably can offer them financial rewards of his own.

"The key to being a successful fugitive is the existence of an underground," said Brian Jenkins, a terrorism expert at the Rand Corporation. "That's how downed pilots were rescued in World War II, and that's presumably how Osama bin Laden is surviving. It's only been 14 months since Sept. 11, which is a relatively short time for a fugitive with a well-established underground who is good at planning. It took the French 19 years to track down Carlos, and the French were relentless."

IS the prospect of $25 million tempting any American soldiers of fortune?

"To the best of my knowledge, there are no mercenary operations focused on the apprehension of bin Laden or any of his thugs," said Robert K. Brown, the editor and publisher of Soldier of Fortune magazine. "No private firm has the intelligence capability to track him. There may be some guys sitting around in a smoky bar talking about going after him, but I'd bet the south 40 that it hasn't proceeded any further than fantasies emanating out of an alcoholic stupor."

If that's the case, the capture of Mr. bin Laden may depend on a chance encounter between him and someone greedy and persistent enough to overcome perhaps the biggest problems with any government rewards program: poor marketing and customer service.

As the recent hunt for the Washington sniper demonstrated, administering a rewards program is tough even in a country with a working phone system. The operators of the sniper hot line were apparently so incompetent or overburdened that they ignored phone calls from the men ultimately arrested for the crime spree. How much hope, then, would a Xhosa-speaking gasoline vendor in the wilds of Somalia have of reporting a suspicious car to a distant American embassy?

Even a snitch sophisticated enough to check out the rewards offered by the State Department on its Internet site (www.rewardsforjustice.net) might well give up.

The Web site warns that "we closely examine the backgrounds of those individuals nominated for awards." Further, it notes that the secretary of state "may" offer rewards "up to $25 million," but only after the Interagency Rewards Committee — comprising 10 separate bureaucracies, from the National Security Council and the Department of Energy — has signed off.

At this point, the cash may start to look like a long shot, especially given the immediate risks. Al Qaeda probably doesn't require a committee vote to execute a snitch.

Who Is Jimmy Choo?

Who Is Jimmy Choo?
By PHOEBE EATON
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/12/01/magazine/01CHOO.html

Beneath the blaze of the carefully placed umbrella heaters, in the muted glow cast by a string of Chinese lanterns, a single cappuccino-colored ponytail whipped from side to side as Tamara Mellon, the 33-year-old president of Jimmy Choo shoes, planted her 26th double-cheek kiss.

"It's a high-stepping public profile for a company founded just six years ago, one that was almost tripped up at the gate by an old-fashioned family feud. On one side stood Tamara Mellon (the Face) and Mellon's publicity-minded entrepreneur father, Tom Yeardye (the Money). On the other was the outwardly meek Malaysian shoemaker, Jimmy Choo (the Name), and his ambitious apprentice niece, Sandra Choi (the Talent). In the haze of accusations and remonstration among all these characters over who, exactly, should get the Credit, there lies the inevitable question: Who is the real Jimmy Choo? It's a long story."

There were now seemingly as many photographers as guests on the patio at the Buffalo Club in Santa Monica, Calif., and every time one of their number snapped the pink-cheeked hostess in her black-velvet ribboned breeches and corset-cleavaged Yves Saint Laurent blouse, Mellon tilted her head coquettishly over one shoulder, hitched a hip back in the Moll Flanders manner, shot a well-turned ankle toward the camera and positioned her perfectly pedicured foot just so.

Mellon was throwing this party to celebrate the opening of Jimmy Choo's sixth store in America. The London-based chain had just notched a space in one of the most profitable malls in the country, Costa Mesa's South Coast Plaza, a bus stop for Japanese tourists combing the California littoral for brand-label clothing like Jimmy Choo shoes, the most popular footwear at the Oscars.

For years, Manolo Blahnik, the other British shoe designer with a ponytail, stood taller than his colleagues, mainly because of his own unwavering affection for the stiletto heel, an engineering feat the diameter of a thumbtack and fetishized by men and women alike. Blahnik remains the visionary against whom all other high-end shoemakers are judged. But lately, Mellon, a former It Girl from Britain, has been drumming her way into the frontal lobes of those who would spend $450 on a pair of Manolos by pitching her just-as-expensive Jimmy Choos as ''a younger looking shoe.'' In the worldview she is selling, Manolos are for Mrs. X, the Mommy Dearest who guest-stars in the best-selling ''Nanny Diaries,'' a witch on heels who organizes her panties in Ziploc bags. Choos are for the boot-loving Sara Ludlow, the ''hottest girl'' in Nick McDonell's new book ''Twelve,'' a private-school purebred with a Nokia cellphone stuffed in her Prada bag. When George W. Bush was inaugurated, his 19-year-old twins, Barbara and Jenna, requested Jimmy Choo cashmere stiletto boots. Their dressmaker, Lela Rose, patiently explained that the girls didn't want to look like their mother.

It's a high-stepping public profile for a company founded just six years ago, one that was almost tripped up at the gate by an old-fashioned family feud. On one side stood Tamara Mellon (the Face) and Mellon's publicity-minded entrepreneur father, Tom Yeardye (the Money). On the other was the outwardly meek Malaysian shoemaker, Jimmy Choo (the Name), and his ambitious apprentice niece, Sandra Choi (the Talent). In the haze of accusations and remonstration among all these characters over who, exactly, should get the Credit, there lies the inevitable question: Who is the real Jimmy Choo? It's a long story.

The Making of the Money

Perhaps it's best to begin in the dyspeptic belly of the Queen Mary. It was 1949, and Tom Yeardye, a North Londoner who worked in the ship's engine room, realized that there was better food in the officers' mess because it came from the American side of the boat's Southampton-New York route. He had a sense that his future lay in America, but immigration laws blocked his escape. After his tour of duty ended, Yeardye found work in London's Pinewood Studios, where, he says, ''If you looked like Rock Hudson or Gregory Peck from a distance, they paid a lot of money.'' But mainly Yeardye worked as Victor Mature's body double.

Yeardye's name first made it into the newspapers when he broke up the marriage of Diana Dors. Known as the British Marilyn Monroe, Dors was the kind of woman who went grocery-shopping in marabou mules. After Dors moved on to her next conquest, Yeardye opened a restaurant in London called the Paint Box, where the diners could sketch nude models, and then a nightclub, Le Condor, where a young Engelbert Humperdinck (then called Gerry Dorsey) sang in a band. Yeardye was investing in real estate when he married Tamara's mother, Anne Davies, a model who was the face of Chanel No. 5.

One day, Davies came home from a job carrying a new product, hot curlers. Yeardye traveled to Denmark and bought the U.S. license from its isolated inventor. Carmen Curlers were a huge hit for Saks Fifth Avenue, and in 1966, Clairol bought Yeardye out for $1 million, making him a rich man. When a friend from his swinging London days named Vidal Sassoon announced that he was relocating to Beverly Hills and asked Yeardye to help him create a worldwide business, Yeardye finally made his move to America. His young family -- Tamara had arrived in 1969 -- bought a house on Whittier Drive in Beverly Hills, next door to Nancy Sinatra.

The Making of the Face

Little Tamara was enrolled at El Rodeo, but her mother switched her into a Catholic school because she was spending too much time on the phone with her friends chattering about Gucci belts. When Tamara later expressed interest in attending Beverly Hills High School, she was packed off to Heathfield, the sister school to Eton. Tamara left Heathfield at 16, typical for women who weren't on the university track, and enrolled at the same finishing school outside Gstaad that Princess Diana attended. She learned how to speak French, set a table and address people who have titles. ''What they were doing was preparing you to be a wife and come back and marry whomever and run the estate,'' she says evenly.

Tamara liked finishing school. But she was eager to work. ''At the end of the day, the person with the money is the person with the control,'' she says, like a person with money. There was a year-and-a-half stint as a shop assistant in the Alaia department at Brown's (where she spent more money than she made), a quick spin through fashion P.R. and a spot at Mirabella magazine calling in accessories. When Mirabella folded, she asked her father to revive it, but he declined. ''If Rupert Murdoch can't make money on it, I sure can't make money on it,'' he remembers saying.

Tamara consoled herself with a job at British Vogue. It was there that she first became acquainted with the work of Jimmy Choo.

A Good Name Is Hard to Find

In Malaysia, Jimmy Choo's father was a shoemaker, but Jimmy decided to refine his own skills at Cordwainers College in London in the early 1980's. His first label, Lucky Shoes, was sold out of a stall in a market on the South Bank, but by 1986, he'd set up his own custom business in a Dickensian former hospital in Hackney, where other bohemian craftsmen like Alexander McQueen were also in residence.

At that time in London, there was an unspoken rule that the shoes should always match the dress. Between the staid ribbon-cuttings and three-nights-a-week galas she was attending in her beaded pastel Catherine Walker gowns, Diana, Princess of Wales, found that she needed more attention to her feet than a reflexologist could offer. As a royal, she was obliged to use a British designer, and she stumbled across Choo, who was making shoes to match clothes for the British fashion magazines. Phobic about gossip, Diana found Jimmy quiet, unassuming and at some remove from her own social milieu.

Choo would visit Diana at Kensington Palace, and young Prince Harry would carry Choo's heavy suitcase full of samples back to the car. Now that he was cobbling for the most famous woman in the world, business started to bustle. Choo was also creating shoes for twice-yearly runway shows, and the workload was stupendous. He needed help. In 1989, he was joined at home and in the workshop by his niece, Sandra Choi.

The Hidden Talent

Sandra Choi's father -- Jimmy's brother-in-law -- owned a Chinese restaurant on the Isle of Wight in England. Shortly after Sandra was born, she was left with her grandparents in Hong Kong, where she grew into an Adidas-obsessed teenager who shaved the sides of her head and skipped school. There was makeup, there were Dr. Martens and there were boys. She had started to smoke and was ''experimenting with things,'' she says. Her grandparents dispatched her to the Isle of Wight at the age of 13, and she was promptly deposited in a convent school by her parents. At 17, she ran away to London, moving in with her Uncle Jimmy. She finished up high school on the East End, and then applied to Central Saint Martins, the famous art and design college attended by John Galliano and Stella McCartney; she'd read about it in Jimmy's fashion magazines.

Choi set out to study clothes -- not shoes -- but she also worked for Jimmy, booking appointments, handling magazine folk and cutting and stitching shoes on his production line. It was a taxing schedule, and after a year, she dropped out of school and went to work for her uncle full time.

The label was popular, but not well capitalized, and that meant business was not as good as it looked. ''To make shoes in England is not easy,'' Choi says. ''We are isolated from components. There are no beautiful heels. There are no beautiful lasts. There is no beautiful leather. It's all in Italy.'' So they would improvise, creating interesting toe shapes, she says, ''using the filler you'd use to fix your car.''

Money Talks (and the Talent Walks)

By this point, Mellon had quit Vogue and was casting around to start her own business. She approached the pair about starting a shoe label that would be sold in stores. ''Jimmy Choo was just a great name for shoes,'' Mellon remembers thinking.

Jimmy and his niece were astonished by her interest. ''We turned to Tamara and said to her, nicely, that maybe she should experience what it's like to work in the shoe industry,'' Choi says. For three months, Mellon reported for work in Levi's and a T-shirt and answered the phones upstairs. These were the days ''before Tamara was dressing in head-to-toe mink, you know, diamonds dripping,'' Choi adds.

''I remember thinking, Oh, God, a rich girl getting into the business,'' Choi continues. ''What happens if she doesn't do anything? She was like a little robin.'' Mellon was surprised by how messy and labor-intensive the work was, Choi says. But she remained interested and a deal was struck with Jimmy in May 1996. Tom Yeardye was induced to finance the entire operation himself at first. ''I spent a fortune buying shoes for Tamara and her mother,'' he recalls. ''I would say, 'We've got to get into this business one of these days,' in jocular fashion.''

A store was leased near Harvey Nichols. Choo flew his feng shui master in from Malaysia, who instructed him to make sure the cash register faced away from the door so all the money wouldn't wander out.

From the outset, there were problems. ''The original idea was for Jimmy to design the collection, and I would find the factories, produce the shoes in volume, open stores, sell the collection to wholesale clients and handle the P.R.,'' Mellon says. ''But we realized early on that there's a big difference between making a pair of shoes and designing a full collection. You have to predict trends. You have to sketch probably over 100 shoes.'

But Choo, who had a family to support, was continuing his couture business, as it provided a steady income. Although he had an equity stake in the ready-to-wear business, he wasn't drawing a salary. In any case, Choo was accustomed to making a single pair at a time for customers who mainly picked what they wanted from pre-existing samples. The thought of expanding his repertoire seemed to overwhelm him.

''He is a cobbler,'' Mellon says flatly.

Worried that the Yeardyes were going to sue the family if Choo failed to produce a full line, Choi hurtled into the void, sketching a collection of 30 shoes that at first contained only about six or seven stilettos. As it turned out, she was good at it. She had a surprising knack for creating the sort of original shoes that would appeal to the sort of women Mellon calls ''the opinion leaders.'' Mellon started making deals with Italian factories so they could increase the collection to a more marketable size. But Choi was showing the strain. After finishing up at the store, where she and Mellon handled all operations late into the night from the basement and sometimes waited on the customers themselves, Choi would head back to Hackney and work with her uncle on his custom shoes, occasionally until 3 in the morning. ''My life was tearing in half,'' she says.

From the outside, the operation seemed positively genteel. The shoes generated reams of press as the girls played official farrier to Hollywood, taking a suite at L'Ermitage to dress the Oscar bound and producing a million-dollar sandal strung with diamonds for Vogue. Choo became upset that all the articles were suddenly about Mellon, who was retailing her $1 million wedding at Blenheim Palace to an heir of the American Mellon fortune and who, by all appearances, was running the entire company. Choo also felt he deserved royalties from the sale of the storefront shoes.

Sandra Choi was chafing from the friction between the Yeardyes and her own baffled clan. ''Words were thrown within the family backward and forward,'' Choi says. In February 1997, Sandra Choi ''left Jimmy,'' she says with a great deal of meaning, and for a time moved in with Mellon, taking over an entire floor of her town house.

Around this time, Diana had procured a divorce and was therefore commanded to appear at fewer events in custom-colored shoes. She would show up at the girls' store on Saturday mornings, where she would park on the yellow line outside and complain about all the tickets she was getting.

Choi says her Uncle Jimmy grew jealous. They stopped talking entirely. ''He felt betrayed,'' Choi says.

The Name Wins Recognition, Then the Boot

In 2000, Jimmy Choo was named Accessory Designer of the Year by the British Fashion Council, an award based on the votes of 1,000 people in the fashion business. Mellon had lobbied strenuously to replace Choo on stage at the televised event. But Choo had hired his own publicist -- and lawyer -- at this point, and he prevailed with his argument that he already had a name in the business before Mellon was on the scene and that it is common for a fashion designer to employ design teams.

That is certainly true at big fashion houses, where designers often sign off on other people's work. But it's a different story at most high-end shoe houses, where people like Manolo Blahnik, Christian Louboutin and Pierre Hardy design a shoe personally and their names appear on it.

''People didn't understand the difference between the custom business and what's in all our shops,'' Mellon says, exasperated. ''And anyway, it's not the name that makes the product but the product that makes the name.''

Both Mellon and Choo now badly wanted out of their relationship. Finally, in November 2001, Choo was bought out of the company for $10.6 million by Equinox Luxury Holdings, backed by Phoenix Equity Partners, a billion-dollar venture capital firm now bankrolling the company's expansion. Twenty-five more stores are slated to open in the next five years. Equinox, which took a 51 percent stake in the company, is run by Robert Bensoussan, 44, a former LVMH executive.

Bensoussan is now the C.E.O. of Jimmy Choo Ltd., and Tom Yeardye is chairman. On Bensoussan's desk sits a bead-encrusted scarlet pump commemorating the sale. Jimmy Choo was allowed to continue his small couture business and handed a licensing deal that comes up for review in 2004. Depending on the outcome of that, the possibility exists that Jimmy Choo could lose the right to use his own name.

The Face Takes Her Place

After the widely publicized sale to Equinox, many in the fashion business were still puzzling over who, exactly, was designing the shoes -- the ones now being talked about on ''The Sopranos'' and ''Sex and the City.''

Mellon's publicists have been known to tell people that the shoes are designed by her and not by Sandra Choi. They compare Mellon to Tom Ford at Yves Saint Laurent and John Galliano at Christian Dior, because they know it can help the image of a design house if the designer interests people. Mellon has the looks and the society laurels, and she spookily embodies the demographic of this product. But does she design the shoes?

''It's quite funny to see the contrast between Tamara and me, isn't it?'' Sandra Choi is saying. ''I'm like a girly, just kind of like whatever, but she's oh so properly dressed up like a doll.''

Choi, 30, is sitting in the showroom surrounded by the entire spring-summer collection. As the company's creative director, Sandra Choi has a lot to say about what comes out of this workshop. When asked about the division of labor, Tamara Mellon describes it this way: ''She is the architect, and I am the interior designer. She sits down and sketches the structure of the shoe, the bones of it. And then I'll come in, and we'll say: Right. I think that shoe should be in red kid.''

When she has time, Mellon attends the important fabric shows in Italy and collaborates on the ornamentation. She also monitors the fashion collections so the pair will know when the hippie-cowboy look is riding the runways. Choi spends a lot of time making sure the factories are doing what they're supposed to. Mellon will notice there's a lot of yellow on the catwalks, for example, so she'll increase the yellow shoes in the stores.

Choi says it helps having Mellon there to rule on styles, because she sees her as the customer. A company mantra is that these are women designing for other women. (Traditionally, there have been more male designers in this business, in part because making shoes by hand requires arm strength to stretch a leather upper; Choi admits this is the one part of the process she can't master.) And so their open-toe shoes are stuffed with comfort in mind; there is extra padding where the ball of the foot rests. An informal Mr. Whipple-style test conducted on other brands in the fabled Neiman Marcus shoe department indicated that this padding was unique, though fans of the shoe say the pad flattens out in three days.

Choi used to tell reporters that the four-inch heel was only good for about four hours of wear. Mellon has now banned her from saying that. Still, Choi says, ''it's the truth.''

Choi is wearing the same style of Cartier watch Tamara used to wear before her husband gave her the $21,800 version with the diamond bezel as a birthday present. Both women like to wear a pointy stiletto from the fall collection known as Savage. But the two, who were thrown together by stressful circumstance, now lead increasingly independent lives. ''Otherwise, I don't think we'd be able to breathe,'' Choi says.

Jimmy Who?

As Mellon and Choi have grown bolder, making public statements that their only competition is Manolo Blahnik, they have earned the scorn of some in the fashion world for presuming to place themselves in the same league.

Blahnik, 60, is increasingly annoyed by the presence of this brand and its celebrity-chasing ways, admits George Malkemus, president of Manolo Blahnik U.S.A. According to a friend of Blahnik's, his grudge dates back to the days of the Hackney workshop, which he believes occasionally copied elements of his shoes for the magazines. Blahnik and others in the industry think they see echoes of ancient Manolos in some of the girls' shoes. ''In the footwear industry, everybody and their cousin makes the claim that they've been copied,'' says Michael Atmore, the editorial director of Footwear News. ''This is an industry full of knock-offs and slight variations of ideas, and it is impossible to trace who actually had the idea first.'' The topography of a shoe is so limited that there are only a few points of distinction -- heel height and shape being one of them. Shoe designers are especially protective of those elements. Blahnik has lined his London store window with a fine layer of chicken wire to thwart the cameras of would-be copycats.

When charges that Choo had co-opted some of Blahnik's designs came up in a conversation, Mellon groaned and discussed what she feels is a hurtful whisper campaign orchestrated by Blahnik and his employees. ''I think it is quite insulting because we very much do our own thing,'' she said indignantly. ''Our styles are very different.'' There's also the argument that the big-city sophisticates who buy these shoes are familiar with both lines and would never tolerate copies. Sandra Choi says she sometimes looks at Blahnik's shoes specifically so she won't be accused of ripping him off. She says her heel shapes are ''slicker'' and ''Mr. Blahnik's are curly whirly.'' Asked to explain the latter, she references a British industry description for a heel with a slightly flared base: ''You know, toilet shaped.''

A factory owner outside of Florence who handles half of Jimmy Choo's production says that a Manolo Blahnik representative recently called to ask if he could make shoes for Blahnik. (Over the last decade, Blahnik has expanded his production, releasing a more commercial line of reissued classics in the states.) Mellon says: ''If I called his factory, he would flip out. It's a confidentiality issue. You don't want people knowing anything about your business.'' The majors rarely share factories. Mellon says she believes Blahnik was ''trying to push us out.'' (Malkemus denies the factory was contacted.)

Some have suggested that Neiman Marcus has been pressured not to carry Jimmy Choos by Blahnik, who does big business there. In New York, Manolos are carried alongside Choos at Bergdorf Goodman, and this does rankle Blahnik, Malkemus says.

Blahnik has many fans in the business. Michael Atmore says that ''there's a level of refinement in his shoes that does set Manolo Blahnik apart.'' Some in the shoe trade think that there's more talk from the Jimmy Choo side about Manolo Blahnik than vice versa and that Jimmy Choo is actually trading on this pairing. Or as Malkemus puts it: ''When you're selling a copy at $49, that's one thing. But when you're selling lesser workmanship at the same price, it's so irritating. This is 30 years of Manolo's blood, sweat and tears.''

When asked about Mellon and Jimmy Choo shoes -- which he is frequently -- Blahnik has been known to respond, ''Jimmy who?

And They All Lived Happily Ever After

On the pale blue business card, Dato Professor Jimmy Choo (as he now calls himself) appears to be rehearsing a swirly new logo -- for ''JC Couture.''

We are standing inside Jimmy Choo's workshop, now located in a section of central London scattered with Turkish cafes. Choo, who is wearing a neat blue oxford shirt and a spiffy overcoat, tells me that since the buyout, he has time to lecture at Cordwainers. Choo is now the most famous Malaysian after the Bond girl Michelle Yeoh. In 2000, the sultan of Pahang named the shoe designer a dato, the local equivalent of a peerage.

Choo occupies the first floor of what a real-estate broker might call a gracious town house. The shop is obstinately underdone, the carpet industrial grade, and the cheap desk in the back looks like someone went at it with a letter opener. But this is an appointment-only business, and Choo doesn't have to seize the attention of the odd pedestrian. Samples on the wall show some wear and seem unremarkable, if high quality, many featuring mother-of-the bride-style beading. He shows off one pair studded with shards of crystal -- rose quartz for love and green quartz for calm.

The shop is suffused with strong fumes; it is the glue being used downstairs, in the basement.

Choo says that he can make five pairs of shoes a week, each bearing the legend ''hand made'' on the sole. ''People who send their work off to Italy . . . it's not as good,'' he observes, his eyes dropping to the floor. Choo says that he knows he's lucky to have retained his name. He attributes this to ''good karma.''

Since the troubles, Jimmy Choo has become increasingly enamored of Wong Chee Yew, a Malaysian feng shui expert he calls his master. About six years ago, he asked his master to give him a gift. Choo says he can now read auras. He places two fingers on my forehead for a minute of chanting, exorcising the bad vibes with a sudden whoosh toward the door. A pair of Chinese lions atop the mantel were a decorating tip from his master: they protect him from evil.

Choo and Sandra Choi are speaking again. But it hurts, she says, when she thinks of the effort she put into building the company and how Choo was polite as he could be to the Yeardye family while totally ignoring her. Choi added that after Choo's name won household currency, he became fixated on parties. He asks if I will be attending the Versace opening at the Victoria and Albert Museum the following evening, noting with regret that he won't be there.

''He's made an awful lot of money, many millions,'' Tom Yeardye offers.''He's his own boss. He doesn't have to come in and argue with me and Tamara. He's a big wheel in Malaysia. I think Jimmy is very happy with how it worked out with us.''

''I am a simple man,'' Choo says, glumly avoiding eye contact. ''I'm happy. Everybody happy now.''

Phoebe Eaton is a former deputy editor at Talk. This is her first article for The Times Magazine.

Why Are Black Students Lagging?

Why Are Black Students Lagging?
By FELICIA R. LEE
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/30/arts/30RACE.html

The persistent academic gap between white and black students has touched off difficult and often ugly debates over the question why. Are racist stereotypes to blame? Substandard schools? Cultural attitudes?

This long-running argument may bubble up again next year with the arrival of a book that argues minority communities themselves contribute to student failure.

The book, "Black American Students in an Affluent Suburb: A Study of Academic Disengagement" (Lawrence Erlbaum Associates), is by John U. Ogbu, an anthropology professor at the University of California at Berkeley and a well-known figure in the field of student achievement for more than three decades. Indeed, it was Mr. Ogbu's research that popularized the phrase "acting white" in the mid-1980's to help explain why black students might disdain behaviors associated with high achievement, like speaking standard grammatical English.

Now Mr. Ogbu is back, arguing with renewed fervor that his most recent research shows that African-Americans' own cultural attitudes are a serious problem that is too often neglected.

"No matter how you reform schools, it's not going to solve the problem," he said in an interview. "There are two parts of the problem, society and schools on one hand and the black community on the other hand."

Professor Ogbu's latest conclusions are highlighted in a study of blacks in Shaker Heights, Ohio, an affluent Cleveland suburb whose school district is equally divided between blacks and whites. As in many racially integrated school districts, the black students have lagged behind whites in grade-point averages, test scores and placement in high-level classes. Professor Ogbu was invited by black parents in 1997 to examine the district's 5,000 students to figure out why.

"What amazed me is that these kids who come from homes of doctors and lawyers are not thinking like their parents; they don't know how their parents made it," Professor Ogbu said in an interview. "They are looking at rappers in ghettos as their role models, they are looking at entertainers. The parents work two jobs, three jobs, to give their children everything, but they are not guiding their children."

For example, he said that middle-class black parents in general spent no more time on homework or tracking their children's schooling than poor white parents. And he said that while black students talked in detail about what efforts were needed to get an A and about their desire to achieve, too many nonetheless failed to put forth that effort.

Those kinds of attitudes reflect a long history of adapting to oppression and stymied opportunities, said Professor Ogbu, a Nigerian immigrant who has written that involuntary black immigrants behave like low-status minorities in other societies.

Not surprisingly, he said, the parents were disappointed when he turned the spotlight on them as well as the schools. Peggy Caldwell, a spokeswoman for the Shaker Heights City School District, said that minority families cared deeply about their children's academic achievement and the district was working with education experts to reduce the racial achievement gap. She noted that while Professor Ogbu called most of the black families in the district middle class, 10 to 12 percent live in poverty.

Also not surprisingly, many researchers take issue with some of Professor Ogbu's latest findings.

"When we asked if friends made fun of kids who do well in school, we don't find any racial difference in that," said Ronald F. Ferguson, a senior research associate at the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard who analyzed a new study of 40,000 middle and high school students in 15 middle class school districts, including Shaker Heights.

Indeed, the study, which was administered by the Minority Student Achievement Network, an organization that explores ways to close the racial achievement gap, found that African-American and Latino students work as hard and care as much about school as white and Asian students do.

Mr. Ferguson said that while minorities lag behind whites in things like homework completion, it is wrong to infer that they aren't interested in school. "High achievers are more often accused of acting white than low achievers, but it's because the low achievers suspect the high achievers believe they are superior."

"It's things like talking too properly when you're in informal social settings," he continued. "It's hanging around white friends and acting like you don't want to be with your black friends. It's really about behavior patterns and not achievement."

Mr. Ferguson speculated that what Professor Ogbu saw was a clumsy attempt by black students to search for a comfortable racial identity. "What does it mean to be black?" he said. "What does it mean to be white? The community needs to help kids make sense of their own identity."

"I would agree with Ogbu that there are youth cultural patterns and behaviors that are counterproductive for academic success," he went on, mentioning socializing in class and spending too much time watching television. "But when they engage in those behaviors, they are not purposely avoiding academic success."

Other researchers have zeroed in on other culprits, whether inferior schools, lower teacher expectations, impoverished family backgrounds or some combination.

Theories of black intellectual inferiority, too, have popped up from the 1781 publication of Thomas Jefferson's "Notes on the State of Virginia" to "The Bell Curve" in 1994 and beyond. Given that sensitivity and the implications for policies like school desegregation and affirmative action, virtually every aspect of the academic gap has been examined.

Where Professor Ogbu found that some middle class blacks were clueless about their children's academic life, for example, Roslyn Arlin Mickelson, a sociology professor at the University of North Carolina, instead concluded that such parents were often excluded from the informal networks that white parents use for information about courses, gifted programs and testing. "I believe, based on my own research, that the center of gravity lies with the school system," she said.

Claude Steele, a Stanford University psychologist, meanwhile, has hypothesized that black students are responding to the fear of confirming lowered expectations.

And Walter R. Allen, a professor of sociology at the University of California at Los Angeles, said that even when racial minorities and whites attended the same schools, they could have radically different experiences because of tracking and teacher expectations.

Professor Allen is conducting a long-term project on college access for African-American and Latino high school students in California. In his view, black students sometimes underperform because of subtle exchanges with teachers who convey the message that they find the students inferior or frightening. And, he said, minority schools still overwhelmingly lack good teachers and adequate teaching tools.

He also pointed out that comparing the income level of black and white families, as Professor Ogbu did with his Midwestern subjects, can be misleading. Black incomes might be derived from two-career families juggling several jobs compared with a single breadwinner in white households.

Professor Ogbu is no stranger to controversy. His theory of "acting white" has been the subject of intense study since he first wrote about it in the mid-80's with Signithia Fordham, then a graduate student and now a professor of anthropology at the University of Rochester. They studied an inner-city Washington high school where students listed doing well in school among the "white" behaviors they rejected, like visiting the Smithsonian and dancing to lyrics rather than a beat.

The two anthropologists theorized that a long history of discrimination helped foster what is known in sociological lingo as an oppositional peer culture. Not only were students resisting the notion that white behavior was superior to their own, but they also saw no connection between good grades and finding a job.

Many scholars who have disputed those findings rely on a continuing survey of about 17,000 nationally representative students, which is conducted by the National Center for Education Statistics, an arm of the federal government. This self-reported survey shows that black students actually have more favorable attitudes than whites toward education, hard work and effort.

But that has by no means settled the debate. In the February issue of the American Sociological Review, for example, scholars who tackled the subject came to opposite conclusions. One article (by three scholars) said that the government data were not reliable because there was often a gap between what students say and what they do; another article by two others said they found that high-achieving black students were especially popular among their peers.

"It's difficult to determine what's going on," said Vincent J. Roscigno, a professor of sociology at Ohio State University who has studied racial differences in achievement. "`I'm sort of split on Ogbu. It's hard to compare a case analysis to a nationally representative statistical analysis. I do have a hunch that rural white poor kids are doing the same thing as poor black kids. I'm tentative about saying it's race-based."

Indeed, Professor Mickelson of the University of North Carolina found that working class whites as well as middle-class blacks were more apt to believe that doing well in school compromised their identity.

All these years later, Professor Fordham said, she fears that the acting-white idea has been distorted into blaming the victim. She said she wanted to advance the debate by looking at how race itself was a social fiction, rooted not just in skin color but also in behaviors and social status.

"Black kids don't get validation and are seen as trespassing when they exceed academic expectations," Professor Fordham said, echoing her initial research. "The kids turn on it, they sacrifice their spots in gifted and talented classes to belong to a group where they feel good."

Women power keeps delta boomtowns moving

Women power keeps delta boomtowns moving
by DOUG YOUNG of Reuters in Shenzhen
Thursday, November 28, 2002
http://columns.scmp.com/colart/clife/ZZZ5S3Q7R8D.html

Behind a long panel of glass windows, row on row of young Chinese women sit at the Nam Tai Electronics factory, their bodies and faces covered by blue smocks, matching gauze caps and surgical masks.

"Called ''dagong mei'', or little-sister labourers, the new generation of young women powering China's factories often stay for about three years in the city before returning to faraway places like Sichuan and Hunan to marry in their home villages."

The building hums with the whir of machinery, the women's eyes lit up by a flood of fluorescent light.

The soft but steady noise lies at the heart of an industry powering China into the 21st century, as the Asian nation supplies much of the world with billions of dollars' worth of electronics, from toys to televisions to cellular phones.

But the buzz also hides serious social problems, ranging from sexual harassment to stress, as thousands of often poor, young girls move from the countryside to Pearl River Delta boomtowns like Shenzhen to seek their fortunes.

Called ''dagong mei'', or little-sister labourers, the new generation of young women powering China's factories often stay for about three years in the city before returning to faraway places like Sichuan and Hunan to marry in their home villages.

The trend is typical of developing societies in Asia, and mirrors Taiwan and Hong Kong in the 1960s and 1970s, said Pun Ngai, a social sciences professor at Hong Kong's University of Science and Technology.

''They imagine young Chinese girls are more hard-working, more obedient and easier to control,'' said Ms Pun, who spent six months at one such factory as part of her research.

Factory managers say women are more patient and attentive to detail than many men.

The women, meanwhile, say they are just looking for a chance to make some money and have a little fun.

''The character of women is to do things very carefully, from assembly to checking monitors,'' said Bonnie Yu, a spokeswoman at a Nokia joint venture factory making mobile phones in the town of Dongguan.

At a factory run by VTech Holdings, the largest supplier of cordless phones to the United States, about 80 per cent of the production line workers are women, said Simon Lau, manager of operations.

The average worker earns about 700 yuan (US$84.50) per month, and the number of workers at the factory ranges from 11,000 at low season to 20,000 at the peak, Mr Lau said.

''We provide them with free dorms, free meals as well as entertainment, karaoke and a disco in the factory,'' said Mr Lau, leading a group of reporters on a recent tour of the factory.

On a Friday afternoon at the VTech plant, rows of women in yellow smocks stood before chest-high work stations, each taking printed circuit boards as they passed by on a conveyor belt, soldering a few points and then putting them back.

One slight woman, Xu Jin, was from the town of Wudanshan in distant Hubei province. She said she would earn about 500 yuan a month in her hometown, or about half of what she makes in the Dongguan plant.

''I came here with friends,'' she said, adding that she planned to stay three to four years. ''The pace of life here is much faster than in Hubei.

City life stresses

But factory work in the big city also creates a number of physical and social problems for young women not used to the fast pace of urban life and rigorous working conditions, said Ms Pun from the University of Science and Technology.

Long working hours and absence from home can produce a lot of stress.

''I like working here, but I sometimes miss my family,'' said 21-year-old Wei Weiyan.

She said she had come to the factory with some friends three years ago, and would like to stay on if possible.

''There are huge differences between city life and rural life,'' Ms Pun said. ''There's a lot of hardship for them, especially when they have to work long hours and learn work skills by themselves.''

Apart from the physical stresses, women from the countryside must also cope with social problems like sexual harassment, in a world where about 70 per cent of supervisors are male, Ms Pun said.

''The kind of harassment is quite subtle, but is almost everywhere,'' she said.

''There's a lot of verbal abuse, as well as behavioural abuse. For example, when the supervisors do interviews, they will touch the women's hands. They will also give lots of comments on their bodies.''

In such cases, Ms Pun said, hometown bonds that many of the women share also function as support networks.

''Most of these women will form some sort of ethnic or kinship enclave to cope with the industrialised network,'' Ms Pun said. ''This kind of kinship network helps them to cope with life in the workplace.''

Ordinary folk fear they'll pay for Shanghai renewal

Ordinary folk fear they'll pay for Shanghai renewal
by BILL SAVADOVE
Thursday, November 14, 2002
http://columns.scmp.com/colart/sbrief/ZZZOT9H238D.html

A piece of land on the southern bank of Shanghai's Suzhou Creek has become the latest battleground in a fight between city planners and citizens forced to make way for development.

The plot, surrounded by water on three sides, is slated to be turned into parkland to offer an oasis in Shanghai's urban landscape. The city has put intense efforts into cleaning up the waterway, which has been seriously polluted since the 1950s.

But the residents of West Suzhou Road say the city is offering them below-market prices for their homes, and they fear the Putuo district government plans to turn around and sell the land to a developer to build another high-rise.

"We feel this is unfair, but there is no place to appeal," said one resident, whose house is slated for demolition. Officials from the Construction Commission and the district declined to comment.

Such disputes are common as Shanghai moves towards its stated goal of becoming a world city. At the annual meeting of an advisory council to the mayor earlier this month, foreign investors urged Shanghai to clean up the environment and upgrade decrepit housing.

"Shanghai's rapid development is counterbalanced by sluggishness in other areas, as indicated by the existence of rundown, overcrowded housing and the lag of provision of essential urban infrastructure," Japan's Mitsui Sumitomo Insurance said in a paper submitted to the council.

Shanghai is trying to win the designation of "garden city" from the central government next year by increasing so-called "green space" to seven square metres per person from five square metres.

Green space includes parks, gardens and forests.

But residents said local officials did a poor job of telling them about plans for the area by the creek. They urged the local government to make clear the intended use of the land and offer an effective mechanism for dealing with disputes.

One resident, who was forced to move once before to make way for the elevated highway on Yan'an Road, said he would feel more reassured if he knew it was a worthy project.

Inhabitants first learned of the plans for demolition last September after they saw announcements posted around the area. One resident said the city was offering compensation of roughly 4,467 yuan per square metre of housing, which he said was below market value.

The city is also offering subsidised housing in a distant suburb as part of the package.

About 100 people had accepted the offer, with 150 others still holding out. Preparations for demolition work have already started.

After appealing dozens of times to government offices, a group of about 100 people decided in August to march on Kangping Road, which is home to many city officials.

Police detained members of the group before they reached their objective. In September, representatives of the group brought a lawsuit against the local government. They lost, and are now awaiting an appeal to a higher court.

With these avenues exhausted, residents have written a letter to the Supreme People's Court in Beijing and contacted domestic and foreign media organisations about their situation.

Shanghai has encountered similar cases before and will have many more.

At the city archives, which were recently opened to residents for researching current laws, one of the most common requests is for information about compensation for relocation.

Shanghai has pledged to redevelop both banks along a section of the Huangpu River to serve as the site for the 2010 World Expo if the city wins the bid.

Critics of Shanghai's bid for the world's fair say the area is densely populated. City officials say the government needs to clean up the water and clear old housing and warehouses.

Redevelopment along Suzhou creek has already forced a colony of artists to seek new space after the warehouse they were using for a studio was slated for demolition.

Modern painter Ding Yi said Shanghai should take space for the arts into consideration as part of the city's urban plan.

"In the process of urban development, culture is not a major consideration," he said.

The residents of West Suzhou Road feel they have little choice but to make way for demolition gangs in the end. Although the area still had water and electricity, the city would eventually force them out, they said.

Some diehards are threatening to hole up in their houses - others simply want more compensation from the government.

The dispute highlights the need for more transparency in Shanghai's urban planning. It also shows how the city must balance development with the rights of citizens, as well as the need to upgrade old areas against historical preservation.

Cecil Steward, president of the US-based Joslyn Castle Institute for Sustainable Communities, told the mayor's council that cities should balance good economic growth with a broad definition of sustainable development.

"It seems that the greater the economic success of a city/region, the greater the pressures become for social equity - in all forms," he said.

Rangel's Star Grows Dim as Democrats Lose Ground

Rangel's Star Grows Dim as Democrats Lose Ground
By RAYMOND HERNANDEZ
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/30/nyregion/30RANG.html

WASHINGTON, Nov. 29 — Only a few months ago, Charles B. Rangel was a step away from a pinnacle of power he had long coveted. He was the New York Democratic leader most everyone came courting, the congressman who would smile broadly as he heard himself introduced as "the next chairman of the Ways and Means Committee."

He had traveled the country campaigning and raising millions of dollars for Democrats, bent on helping the party recapture the House and, in the process, on getting the chairmanship he prized. Closer to home, he had played the political kingmaker, building twin coalitions for his favored candidates for mayor and governor. And he played a key role in pushing Andrew M. Cuomo out of the primary for governor to clear the field for his close friend H. Carl McCall.

But on election night, Mr. Rangel's political fortunes unraveled nearly as quickly and completely as those of his party. By the end of the night, Democrats had failed to win control of Congress, erasing Mr. Rangel's hope of becoming Ways and Means chairman. And Mr. McCall was pummeled by the two-term Republican incumbent, Gov. George E. Pataki. That defeat — taken with the loss by Fernando Ferrer, the congressman's candidate for mayor — marked the collapse of years of arm-twisting and maneuvering that Mr. Rangel had undertaken in hopes of extending his reach into City Hall and the State Capitol.

To many, Mr. Rangel's dual disaster that night left him in a predicament that seemed so grim that his unexpected absence from public view in the days after the election set off all sorts of speculation: Was Mr. Rangel planning to quit? Or was the brash and pugnacious Harlem congressman simply too humiliated to show his face?

Mr. Rangel, it turns out, was on the island of St. Maarten for a conference. ("I wasn't going underground," Mr. Rangel said.) But the speculation about his future underscores the tenuous, even perilous, nature of his position today. Many Democrats wonder whether, after coming so close to reaching the top, he will decide now, at the age of 72, that the time has come to end a three-decade career.

"This is clearly not one of his high points," said Philip Friedman, a longtime Democratic strategist. "I would not count him out, but he is definitely down."

Another Democratic operative put it more bluntly, saying: "He was poised to become one of the most powerful Democratic figures in the country. But now he is reeling, and you have to wonder whether he can come back from this."

Even Mr. Rangel, an old-style liberal, strongly suggested in a recent interview that he is largely out of step with the Democratic Party as it takes a more moderate-to-conservative tilt in the face of Republican dominance.

"My future in the party will be decided in the next couple of months," Mr. Rangel said. "I have to make sure that there is something there that I can enthusiastically support. There is nothing there now."

But in discussing his future, he shied away from talking about retirement. "Retiring is a strong word," Mr. Rangel said. "It's not a question of whether or not I retire."

It is no secret that Mr. Rangel has been chafing under years of Republican rule in the House, and people close to him say that the prospect of Democrats winning the House this year had kept him from retiring.

Now, Mr. Rangel sounds doubtful about the party's prospects. "We've got to determine what we agree on," he said, arguing that Democrats had no coherent message to counter Republicans. "Otherwise we will be a permanent minority party. And I will not be a part of a permanent minority party."

In many respects, Election Day was a make-or-break moment for Mr. Rangel, whose influence was on the line even before the 2002 elections, political experts in both parties said.

Most notably, he backed Mr. Ferrer's failed bid to become New York City's mayor last year. Mr. Ferrer could not even win the Democratic primary. It was a major blow politically for Mr. Rangel, who for years has done what he could to make his office a station of the cross for New York City Democrats seeking higher office. And he had taken an active role in trying to build an alliance among minority candidates and voters in the city to secure the mayoralty after eight years of Rudolph W. Giuliani — an effort that ended not only with Mr. Ferrer's defeat but with a party mired in recriminations and racial divisions.

Mr. Rangel had other troubles, too. In 1995, for example, the newly elected Republican administration of Mr. Pataki dissolved the Harlem Urban Development Corporation, a huge setback for Mr. Rangel, who was a major force in the organization during its 23-year life.

The administration said the agency had not produced a single major commercial project despite having received $100 million to help rebuild Harlem. It also described the agency as a place with little oversight and controls as well as one where state money changed hands freely with little regard for contracting procedures or documentation.

At the time, Mr. Rangel said he had no day-to-day involvement in the agency. But many Democrats describe that moment as a turning point anyway. "That agency was a big patronage mill," said one New York Democratic operative. "By closing it down, Pataki reduced Charlie's influence almost immediately."

There was more bad news to come. In 1999, Mr. Rangel agreed to step down as chairman of the Apollo Theater after the state attorney general, Eliot Spitzer, filed a lawsuit against Mr. Rangel and five other Apollo directors. In the lawsuit, the board members were accused of failing to collect $4.4 million owed to the theater by the Inner City Theater Group, a company controlled by Percy E. Sutton, the former Manhattan borough president and one of Mr. Rangel's closest allies.

What made the episode so remarkable was that Mr. Spitzer was a Democrat. "Spitzer played hardball with Charlie, and Spitzer could not have done that if Charlie were not diminished," said one political operative from Harlem.

Hank Scheinkopf, one of several Democratic consultants the McCall campaign hired, said that a new generation of politicians in New York City, particularly in Harlem, is wondering whether Mr. Rangel's days in politics are numbered.

"There are obviously young politicians waiting for Charlie to retire or hoping that he is defeated," he said. "That becomes a more realistic possibility with the defeat of Fernando Ferrer and the stunning collapse of the McCall campaign. The fact is that there are too many people in New York politics saying the emperor has no clothes."

"It does not appear that Democrats are getting the House back any time soon, and Democrats are not winning in New York," he continued. "A lot of people feel that significant change is required. It means that we need new people and new blood badly."

This is not to say that Mr. Rangel has been unable to achieve some recent and notable victories. He was widely credited with having been the first person to urge Hillary Rodham Clinton to run for the open United States Senate seat in New York. (In October of 1998 — in the midst of the presidential impeachment scandal — he teasingly told her that she should be the Democratic candidate. As Mr. Rangel recalls it, he could tell by the twinkle in her eye that it was more than a joke to her.)

More recently, Mr. Rangel used his influence — people in politics have to defer to anyone who might become Ways and Means chairman one day — to raise money for the party. His national political action committee and his own campaign committee took in $3.4 million during the 2001-2002 election cycle, according to a senior Rangel aide. Mr. Rangel turned all of it over to Democratic candidates running for Congress. He raised an additional $3 million for the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee, according to the aide.

Even his critics say it would be a mistake to underestimate Mr. Rangel, who after decades in public life still takes politics very personally.

"It may not look good right now, but you can never count Charlie Rangel out," said Randy Daniels, the secretary of state in the Pataki administration and a Harlem resident who has clashed openly with Mr. Rangel. "He's rough, he's tough, he's smart, and he's relentless. But things have clearly not been going his way."

Mr. Rangel, in turn, was more philosophical about his situation. "One of the great things about getting old is that you don't have to feel disappointment," he said. "You do the best you can."

Oldest Living Confederate Senator Tells All

Oldest Living Confederate Senator Tells All
By Jennifer Senior
http://www.newyorkmetro.com

In Helm's 30 years in office, he has, in many ways, made the senate over in his own image. As he prepares to leave office, Jesse Helms looks back on a career of opposing civil rights, women's rights, gay rights -- virtually everything most New Yorkers believe in. So is he a monster? That depends on your definition of the word monster.

"In The Washingtonian's biennial, bipartisan survey of top Capitol Hill staff, Helms was voted the nicest member of Congress -- this is out of 535 people, mind you -- in both 2000 and 2002." [!!]

It's Washington in late September, and most senators are up to their hair plugs in Iraq. Under different circumstances, a debate about America's sovereignty would have sent Jesse Helms cartwheeling to the center of the Senate floor, but with a weak heart, numb feet, and an unreliable sense of balance, the North Carolina senator no longer has the strength. Instead, he sits in a room off the main chamber, nestled in his motorized scooter, and entertains 55 middle-schoolers from Raleigh.

"I understand you got a mean lady for a principal," he says. The kids smile, because the lady in question is Helms's daughter. "You tell me about her. I'll spank her." He looks around the room. "Where is Jane?"

An apple-cheeked woman with gray hair raises her hand. Helms points.

"I changed her diapers."

The kids think that's pretty funny.

"Anyone have any questions for my daddy?" she asks.

They do, but Helms, 81, has a hard time hearing them; a blonde aide in a bright-pink sweater has to repeat each one loudly into the senator's left ear. A Capitol Hill photographer comes along, and Helms insists, as he generally does, on getting out of his scooter for the shot. One of his aides gingerly reaches under his arms and hoists him up. Another picks away bits of lint from his collar.

Slowly, on pelican's feet, Helms makes his way over to the huddle of seventh- and eighth-graders, leaning uncertainly on his four-legged cane. It is only when he reaches the group, unsteady but triumphant, that he finally shows a hint of the man who led the crusade against Robert Mapplethorpe, thumbed his nose at Gerald Ford, proposed at least ten constitutional amendments to ban abortion, denounced Martin Luther King Jr.'s "action-oriented Marxism," called a Clinton appointee a "militant-activist-mean lesbian," and held up eighteen ambassadorial nominations and two treaties in order to force a reorganization of the State Department.

"I want everyone," he instructs the kids, "to grin like a jackass chewin' briars."

Helms's daughter moves to his side. He tries to put his arm around her. And for one terrifying moment, he teeters violently backward. "Whoa," the senator cries.

His daughter reaches out to steady him.

Perhaps no one in american public life has made the liberal liver work harder than Jesse Helms. The mere mention of his name provokes hostility, fund-raising, bravura acts of guerrilla protest. In 1991, AIDS activists scaled the roof of his home in Arlington, Virginia, and inflated a fifteen-foot replica of a condom. (HELMS IS DEADLIER THAN A VIRUS, IT READ.) The Internet has a site where you can make him explode. During his first term, the Raleigh News & Observer gave him a nickname, and it stuck for the rest of his career: Senator No.

Apart from Ted Kennedy, Jesse Helms may be the one out-of-state senator that New Yorkers can readily identify, because he is the champion of values so many of us loathe: pro-life, anti-gay, U.S. first, U.N. last. Alan Simpson, the retired Wyoming Republican with a coyote's tongue and sailor's flair for metaphor, thinks we're destined not to understand him. "It's the natural elitism of geography," he muses. "New Yorkers are a great and wonderful people, but if you stop and ask 'em if they've ever been to North Carolina, they'll stop and blink at you like a frog in a hailstorm."

With Helms retiring in January, the great temptation is to deem his departure the end of an era. And in some respects, it is: When Helms first entered politics as a staffer to a North Carolina senator 50 years ago, the South was still fighting tooth-and-nail to preserve segregation, the Red Menace was alive and well, and Roe v. Wade sounded, as the old quip goes, like two options for crossing a stream.

The truth, however, is that Helms is more responsible for defining our current political era than prolonging a bygone one, and he leaves a Senate fashioned largely, if not entirely, in his own image. To understand his legacy is to understand how Congress has evolved in recent years -- in ways that increasingly tilt away from New York's interests.

When Helms was first elected to Congress in 1972, there were 42 Republicans in the Senate, many of them quite liberal, and only 6 were from the South. Today, Helms exits as one of at least 51 Republicans, almost all of whom are deeply conservative, and 13 of whom, including the party leader, come from the South -- 17 if you include Texas and Oklahoma.

When Helms entered the Senate, he railed against mothers on welfare, railed against big government, railed against the disappearance of God from public discourse. Today, religion and morality are regular staples of Washington discussion, the welfare state is fading, and when it comes to the size of government, most politicians agree that less is more.

"Jesse Helms was conservative before conservative was cool," declared Phil Gramm, another retiring Republican lion, at the Senate's two-and-a-half-hour, two-hankie lollapalooza of Helms tributes on October 2. "Before Jesse Helms came to the Senate, there was a guilt about America, this doubt about our purpose and our policy. Jesse Helms, as a young member of the Foreign Relations Committee, started the process of changing that debate."

As the Greatest Generation starts to fade from the Senate and finds itself replaced, as Dave Barry likes to say, by the Largest, boomer Republicans are getting misty about Jesse Helms. ("The Rambo of the Geritol generation" is how Bob Dole once fondly described him, before he himself became the Rambo of the Viagra generation.) Younger Republicans may not always have agreed with him -- he was, after all, one of only six senators to vote against the Clean Water Act, one of five to oppose the reauthorization of the Civil Rights Act, and one of two to reject the arms-control agreement with the Soviets in 1987 -- but it was precisely this fearless, uncompromising radicalism that made their lives possible.

"He really set out markers in terms of how far conservatives could go and how aggressive they could be," explains Republican Judd Gregg, the senior senator from New Hampshire, who was 25 when Helms first got elected. "We're perceived as less hard-edged because of him," adds Pennsylvania's Rick Santorum, who was 14.

"Jesse was an inspiration," says Trent Lott, the impressively high-haired Republican Senate leader. "When I was still in the House as a junior officer, I watched him from afar."

Lott is leaving the Senate floor as he says this, having just kicked off the marathon of Helms encomiums. His voice catches. "Sorry," he says. "I'm a little teary. This is very nostalgic. A lot of the fights Jesse fought in the seventies, eighties, and nineties, we won. He pulled us all this way."

Unlike the front offices of most senators, Jesse Helms's reception room in 413 Dirksen is not a garish shrine of self-congratulation or a shadowbox of state-related kitsch. The only interesting celebrity photo on the wall is from an admirer of a certain age: HOW CAN YOU LEAVE US TO THESE LIBERALS? WELL BLESSINGS ANYWAY!!! JANE RUSSELL.

In North Carolina, the constituent service provided by the Helms operation is legendary. It is run with seamless efficiency by bob-cut blondes and Brooks Brothers men whose smiling, lacquered professionalism makes New Yorkers acutely aware of their unruliness -- we're all loud voices and dark clothes. Helms's aides respond quickly to letters, take handwritten messages (the senator refuses to install voice mail), and, most inconveniently, barricade their boss against journalists; it's something they've learned from years of unbecoming press.

But as Helms's days in the Senate dwindle to double digits, a more expansive mood seems to have filled the room. After a few minutes, his chief of staff appears, and he guides me to an antechamber outside the senator's private office. Helms is busy receiving an award from the North Carolina Farm Bureau. When that's over, he beckons us inside, offers me a seat, and quickly establishes that he is not exactly a stranger to New York. He and his wife came to New York on their honeymoon.

"This was World War II," he says, in his lilting, trademark slur. (When he speaks, he shpeaks, as if he had a wad of tobacco in his mouth.) "And I was a serviceman, see. They wouldn't let me pay for my meals or anything else. Dot and I went to see the kids kick up their heels at -- what's that place called?"

Radio City?

"Yes! And . . . and, um, then, Frank Sinatra, when he was juuuuust comin' along. I forgot who he was singing with. A Roxy gal." He sighs. "We saw so many things. But New York ain't that way anymore. I like the old New York better."

Helms began his political career in 1951, working as chief of staff for Willis Smith, a North Carolina Democrat who got elected on a baldly segregationist platform. (A typical campaign ad: WHITE PEOPLE, WAKE UP BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE.) After a brief stint in Washington, he returned to North Carolina, worked his way up the ladder of the state banker's association, and eventually wrote a column for its in-house newsletter. His piquant commentary landed him a job as a conservative on-air editorialist for WRAL in Raleigh, and that, in turn, transformed him into a local celebrity, positioning him well for his Senate bid in 1972. When he won, Helms discovered that most of his fellow southern senators were still Democrats. "The Republicans in those days, they were nice gentleman," he says, "but they were sort of, sort of . . . stodgy. I mean, we were coming along. We were trying to spread our wings and learn how to fly!"

In those days, the Republicans also considered themselves a hopeless, permanent minority. In order to get legislation through, they had to master the arcane rules of the Senate, and Helms took on this formidable task with gusto. It drove his opponents, and even his allies, nuts.

He forced votes on bills that members didn't want to weigh in on, and stood in the way of bills they did. He put secret holds on ambassadorial nominations, amended other people's amendments, filibustered with abandon. In December 1982, when every member of the Senate had a ticket in his pocket to fly home for Christmas, Helms kept the Senate in session for an extra week because he opposed Reagan's nickel-per-gallon gas tax. (Simpson later declared he'd "seldom seen a more obdurate and obnoxious performance.")

Perhaps because he blocked as many bills as he authored, Helms refuses today to say what legislation he's most proud of, though he certainly has a few plump contributions to choose from -- including the Helms-Burton law, which penalizes foreign companies that do business with Cuba, and his forced reorganization of the U.N., which many Republicans say vastly increased their respect for the institution. "But I'm not a boastful man," he says. "And a lot of battles, I've lost."

Then he looks me right in the eye. "I shall go to my grave a strong pro-lifer. I'm married to one of the finest ladies I ever knew, and we have two daughters and all that, but when it comes to the taking of the life of a child, I don't think anybody has that right."

Regardless of where one stands in the cultural wars, though, Helms didn't win them. I point out that Roe v. Wade has withstood major challenges in the past 30 years, the National Endowment for the Arts perseveres, Will & Grace is in its fifth season . . .

"Well, I never view it as a win-lose proposition," he says. "I never consider that I lost a battle if I did the best I could."

And that's just it: Helms's objective was seldom to win; it was to force the Senate to go on record on polarizing, hot-button issues he'd shrewdly isolated as important to his conservative base -- like banning government funding of pedophilic art, for example. (Sure, it's unconstitutional, but who wants to vote in favor of such a thing?) As a former media man, he understood that controversy was the surest way to stimulate the interest of the press, and as a southern traditionalist, he knew that the best way to excite his supporters was to exploit the giant backlash generated by the sexual revolution, affirmative action, and gay rights.

He leans in confidentially: "If you promise not to regard me as holier-than-thou, I'm gonna tell you a secret."

I nod.

"I've got a little office that's down on the first floor of the Capitol" -- a private, stately little space, one of the real old-fashioned Senate perks extended to the body's senior members -- "and I've gone down there many a time and said, 'Lord, I don't know how to handle this. Please, if you will, help me.' And every time, His hand would go on my shoulder and say, 'Get out there and try again.' And I . . . I still lost, but my faith in the Lord has grown immeasurably since I've been here. Because I know who's in charge. He is." Helms rolls his watery eyes toward Heaven and points up.

Faith is central to understanding Jesse Helms. He is a devout Baptist from a state of devout Baptists, and while the things he does in the Lord's name may give a lot of us the chills, it's this sense of devotion that informs much of his rhetoric and deeds. It explains why he's an ardent pro-lifer; it explains why he's a mean-activist-militant heterosexual. (At a campaign rally in 1990, he lamented: "Think about it. Homosexuals and lesbians, disgusting people marching in our streets, demanding all sorts of things, including the right to marry each other. How do you like them apples?") It probably also explains why, many Christmases ago, Helms adopted a child with cerebral palsy after reading a newspaper story about unadoptable children, and why, years later, he served as director of United Cerebral Palsy North Carolina.

Helms also has one of the few real marriages in the Senate. Everyone in that floor Jessepalooza mentioned Dot Helms. Sixty years later, and even in a scooter, he still opens doors for her.

It's a sense of Christian duty, too, that friends say accounts for Helms's recent embrace of two unlikely causes: AIDS funding in Africa and Third World–debt relief. In what has now become a shiny pearl of Senate folklore, the senator openly wept two years ago when Bono, the lead singer of U2, used the biblical principle of Jubilee to persuade the Committee on Foreign Relations to forgive the world's poorest nations their loans. And this past February, at an AIDS conference thrown by an international Christian relief organization, Helms stunned everyone by confessing how "ashamed" he was not to have done more to fight the world's AIDS pandemic, especially in Africa. His Senate swan song became a $500 million appropriations bill to USAID for HIV-positive pregnant women.

"I have come to a conclusion that the positions Jesse Helms took really weren't political positions," says Warren Rudman, the retired New Hampshire Republican and one of the Senate's last great moderates. "They were things he truly believed in."

It also often surprises people that in person, Helms is almost the exact opposite of the dragon the media and his foes make him out to be. He joshes with Senate pages, herds tourists into SENATORS ONLY elevators to spare them long waits, and greets most of the Capitol Hill employees by name. (Unlike, say, Barbara Mikulski, the liberal Maryland senator, who might routinely vote in their interests but whose stare could freeze a bottle of vodka.) In The Washingtonian's biennial, bipartisan survey of top Capitol Hill staff, Helms was voted the nicest member of Congress -- this is out of 535 people, mind you -- in both 2000 and 2002.

How do you like them apples?

"It's the reverse of the proverb: He's the velvet hand in the iron glove," says Danielle Pletka, who worked for the Foreign Relations Committee for ten years. "Often to the immense frustration of his staff. Because you'd want him to be the man people think he is: a superhawk, a tough guy. Instead, he's genuinely, relentlessly nice."

"He has been extremely cordial and kind to me personally," admits Hillary Clinton, who once accused Helms on national television of being the steward of a vast right-wing conspiracy. "He was the first of my colleagues to stop me and ask me how my mother was doing after she had surgery for colon cancer." She abruptly stops walking -- a risk if you're Hillary, because the press and tourists will crowd. "I mean, we still disagree on practically evvverything," she says. "But . . . uh . . . well. I think both of us have been surprised at how cordial a relationship we've developed."

"You could approach him about any issue," adds Russ Feingold, the liberal senator from Wisconsin. "You'd be foolish to approach him about some, but I was surprised to discover that he's rather easy to work with." He, too, pauses. "As long as you're not rude to him."

"Arrrrghhhh! that is the most ridiculous, hackneyed point," says Barney Frank, one of three openly gay members in the House, as he sits in the gilded Speaker's Lobby and munches irritably on a cigar. "People were nice to their slaves!"

In the same biennial Washingtonian survey that rated Helms the nicest member of Congress, Frank was deemed Brainiest and Funniest for the past ten years.

"People also used to say, 'Oh, I met Khrushchev, and he was nice!' " Frank continues. "There's no correlation whatsoever between someone's public policy stance and their personality. None. Few people get elected to office unless they're prepared to be nice to other people. Grumpy people rarely win elections . . . "

I stare at him. Frank is one of my favorite members of Congress, but he is exceptionally grumpy. His staff has learned to ignore it, but he can still make the occasional rookie reporter cry.

"Okay, I'm an exception," says Frank. "Thank you for pointing that out. It saves me a lot of time." He stabs out his cigar. "But the fact is, people rarely get far in public life without having the ability to make other people like them. There's nothing inconsistent with being charming and a racist bigot. Particularly in the South."

"Helms's contradictions are not hard at all to reconcile," agrees Mel Watt, a black Democratic congressman from Charlotte, North Carolina. "People who are patronizing and unsympathetic in their public postures but friendly on a personal level -- historically, that's almost the stereotype of the older southern gentleman."

Before running for Congress, Watt managed the first Senate campaign of Harvey Gantt, who challenged Helms both in 1990 and 1996. During the race, Helms aired one of the most shameless television ads he'd ever run: a pair of white hands crumpling an employment-rejection notice while a narrator intoned, "You needed that job, and you were the best-qualified, but they gave it to a minority."

Harvey Gantt, by the way, is black.

"He chose to resurrect a bill that even Strom Thurmond had abandoned!" says Illinois Democrat Carol Moseley-Braun, who was the first African-American woman elected to the Senate. She's referring to the failed measure Helms sponsored in 1993 to renew a design patent for the United Daughters of the Confederacy that just happened to use the Confederate flag as its emblem. "What I've seen," the former senator grimly declares, "is someone who has no understanding or appreciation for the humanity of people who disagree with him."

In Helms's office, I ask whether he'd revise any of the civil-rights positions he had as an editorialist, when he excoriated black activists for being uppity and defended luncheonette owners who refused to serve.

"I still think forced integration was a mistake," he says. "As a government action, I think it was detrimental to whites and blacks. And left alone, it'd have come along -- if you look at the football teams in North Carolina, I tell you, there's scarcely any room for a white boy on 'em!"

He's utterly silent for a moment.

"I came along at a different time, an earlier time, far earlier than you," he finally says. "And I remember very distinctly one of my little friends, when I was 4 or 5, was a little colored boy. And he got mad at me -- I think we were playing jack rocks -- and he called me a white cracker."

He pauses, looks at me intently. "And I called him a you-know-what," he continues. "And it just happened that my father was passin' by, and he heard me do that. He came and took me by the hand and said, 'I'm not gonna paddle you, but don't ever let me hear you use that word again.' And I never used that word again.

"I wish somebody would go among the, uh, colored people, as we called 'em, who work in the Senate, and ask what they think of Dot Helms," he concludes. "And what they think of me. Many people here who work in the Senate, they are my buddies. I do the high-five with 'em. No kiddin'. They stick out those hands and . . . " He swats the air, demonstrating.

The following afternoon, the senator invites me into his personal office for a brief second interview. I'm delighted, because I still have other questions to ask: about George W., about W.'s father, about the U.N. and Madeleine Albright and the Foreign Relations Committee and Saddam and Osama. Yet I find myself distracted by a large photograph on the wall above his couch. I try not to look at it. And yet . . .

"Look at you! The lady's lookin' at me and Bono!"

It's the strangest shot: Bono, making a V-sign in his wraparound shades, and the senator, grinning like a jackal in his suit.

"I'd never heard of Bono," he says. "So I said, 'Well, why is he comin' here?' It turns out that he is a deeply religious fellow. A family man. And a very charming individual."

He looks back at the photograph, then at me. "Now, I don't understand his music. All I know is loud. But he invited Dot and me to one of his concerts, and to use his -- what do you call it?"

"Skybox," says Jimmy Broughton, his chief of staff.

"Yes! Skybox. They had 27,000 people, I think. Sold out." He starts drawing an invisible diagram in the air. "The suite had a glass window on this side. And it had refreshments and so forth. Thick glass so the noise wouldn't bother you. And then, if you wanted, you could go outside.

"So my grandchildren and I and Dot, we sat outside, and it was . . . earsplitting! And there was my friend Bono down there, dancin' around a heart-shaped thing, yellin' and carryin' on! He'd wave his hand, and a whole sea of people would do the same thing, just like seaweed blowin' in the wind!"

He smiles that big Ichabod Crane grin of his. "They were havin' a screamin' willy!"

Lazy taxonomists usually lump strom Thurmond and Jesse Helms into the same generation of carbon-dated electoral relics, but almost nineteen years separates the two Carolinians, and time has been much kinder to Strom than to Jesse. As recently as the mid-nineties, when Strom was almost in his mid-nineties, he was still walking around the Senate unaided, adhering to a rigorous regime of sit-ups and prunes and swimming furious laps at the gym. ("He takes up a lot of lane," his trainer once observed.) It is only today, just a few days shy of his 100th birthday, that Strom, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, is finally somewhere else, lost in a mist of recidivist contentment, smiling gauzily every now and then at pretty ladies and the people he knows.

Helms, on the other hand, has been in fragile health for some time, and the press has been whispering for years about his imminent demise. Between 1991 and 1998, he was treated for prostate cancer and had two kneecaps replaced, plus a heart valve. Back in December 2000, the senator's spokesman on the Foreign Relations Committee got so fed up with press inquiries that he sent out a blast-fax: To our friends in the media -- Senator Helms is not sick. He is not in the hospital. He is not on life support. He does not have terminal prostate cancer. He does not have pancreatic cancer. He is absolutely fine and will (God willing) be around to torment you for a long time to come. Relax and accept it.

But apparently, Helms wasn't absolutely fine. Eight months later, he announced his retirement, citing his health. Seven months ago, he had another heart valve replaced, and he continues to suffer from a peripheral neuropathy that wreaks havoc with his strength, balance, and nerve endings.

Moseley-Braun sees a connection between Helms's recent interest in AIDS and his aging. "I think that whenever someone is facing their maker," she says, "they try to straighten up and fly right."

What's strange, though, is that Helms's dearest friends say the exact same thing.

"I think what you've seen is a stripping-away or a peeling-away of the shell, and it's really shining the light on the true Jesse Helms," says Senator Bill Frist, a Tennessee Republican who happens to have been a heart surgeon in his previous life. "Amidst this fading energy, I've seen this AIDS issue take off to the sky."

During Senate breaks, Frist frequently does medical mission work in Africa. Three years ago, he asked permission to do a global-health bill out of the Foreign Relations Committee, of which Helms was the chairman, telling the senator that AIDS was destroying sub-Saharan Africa.

"And Jesse said, 'You gotta be kidding me,' " recalls Frist. " 'There are 10 million orphans from parents who've died of AIDS in Africa?' And I said, 'Yes. It's the same little virus that, over the years, you haven't been too sympathetic to.' So we wrote a global-health bill. And it passed."

Franklin Graham, Billy's son and the chairman of Samaritan's Purse, an international Christian relief organization based in North Carolina, was also instrumental in persuading Helms. "I told him that we have to be consistent as Christians," he says. "We can't be for saving the unborn and then turn our backs on children dying of AIDS."

Back in his office, I ask Helms if his interest in Third World–debt relief and AIDS means his priorities have, in fact, changed.

"Not one iota."

Didn't he mention being "ashamed"?

"Well, I did say it, and I am ashamed," he says. "But we're not going to stop the spread of AIDS if we don't all get busy workin' in every possible way. We got to make morality in America popular again."

He looks at me defiantly. "Because a lot of people who have AIDS and other diseases," he says, "delight, I am told, in spreadin' 'em. Which is awful, if you think about it."

Today, it is hard not to think about Helms in terms of his ideological opposite, the late Paul Wellstone, who also was a principled populist and the lonely senator on the slim side of 99-1 votes. Before he died, I happened to ask Wellstone what he made of his North Carolina colleague. I confessed to being charmed by him -- in spite of the homophobia, in spite of the appalling record on civil rights, in spite of the utter monstrousness of his public rhetoric.

Wellstone was sympathetic. Shortly after he got elected in 1990 (but before he got to Congress), he told the Chicago Tribune that he "despised" Helms. "I still don't understand what I would consider his real . . . harshness, to tell you the truth," he told me. "But I'll tell you: We once went on a plane together coming back from Rabin's service, and we had a lot of time to talk. I remember saying, 'We didn't start out on such good footing.' But then he talked about his children and grandchildren, and I talked about our children. And since then, we've come to really appreciate each other. Whenever he's been in the hospital, I've always called him and wished him and Dot well . . . So it's been nice. And surprising. But you know, I'm glad. I would rather it be this way."

He stepped into the elevator to go vote. "I guess the key distinction," he said, "is between a person and a person's viewpoint." The doors closed.

It was then I realized: Helms inspires Democrats to do just what he says his own daddy preached.

Love the sinner.

Hate the sin.

And pray that one day, our way wins.

Killed in the Subway They Tried to Make Safer for Others

Killed in the Subway They Tried to Make Safer for Others
By MICHAEL WILSON with NICHOLE M. CHRISTIAN
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/29/nyregion/29TRAN.html

The subway workers and their policy manuals refer to them in a kind of industrial language: point-to-point signals, train approach warnings, relays. But they are, simply, lights. Lights brought to dark tunnels so that workers may work in safety and train motormen may know they are there. There are entire work gangs that touch only lights — installing them, testing them, changing them, retesting them, cleaning them.

On Thursday, Nov. 21, at 11:19 a.m., Joy Antony was peering into a glass box just north of the West 96th Street subway station to test whether a warning light several yards away was working properly, when a northbound express train approached. Standing on a narrow slab of concrete between tracks, he leaned back a little. Maybe the rush of air pushed him another inch. He got too close to a southbound train behind him, and something on the side caught him and scooped him under.

"It sounds like a bad joke: how many subway guys does it take to screw in a light bulb? Until you go under Canal Street and look up, at the hundreds of long fluorescent tubes in neat rows that bathe the platform in shadowless light. It would take the crew of six men hours to change 100 fixtures."

Thirty-five hours later and more than 100 blocks south, Kurien Baby, part of a crew known as light maintainers, carried a yellow blinker the size of a bulky purse into a narrow tunnel beneath Canal Street, to set it on the far wall so motormen would know that his crew — assigned to work all night hanging new light bulbs — was nearby. He likely felt the gust from the northbound E train before he saw anything. There was no place to crouch or duck in the narrow tunnel, and no time to race the 23-mile-per-hour train back to the platform.

Two men who make a living lighting dark places died because no one saw them.

The deaths halted work underground and sent union leaders and New York City Transit officials behind closed doors for three days. They emerged with rewritten regulations, released on Wednesday, that provide more flaggers, or train spotters.

The union and New York City Transit have battled for years over how extensive the safeguards should be for those who work on the live tracks of the subway, considered the most dangerous job in the system.

The issue has been difficult in large part because the subway — which runs around the clock and with great frequency — is so unlike other rail systems in the country. Most other subways, for example, shut down completely at night, allowing work to be performed without the danger of speeding trains. Service on passenger rail systems like Amtrak is much less frequent, meaning that track workers can order the slowing or stopping of trains without causing major delays. But stopping a morning express on the crowded Lexington Avenue line, for example, can back trains up for miles.

"It's very difficult to overstate the difference in the operating environment there, compared to everywhere else," said Warren Flatau, a spokesman for the Federal Railroad Administration. The agency oversees safety rules for most of the nation's rail lines, but not for the New York subway, which is considered an intracity system.

There are 7,000 maintenance-of-way workers at ground level and below in New York City. The deaths of two of them illuminate corners of work life in the subways. It is cramped and loud and often monotonous, robotic labor, a million little intersections of danger and dull rote. There are complex rules for safety spread through five thick books. Veteran employees and managers say workers improvise and cut corners, sometimes no more fearful than the driver who does not buckle his seat belt on a quick trip to the store.

The station at 96th Street and Broadway is among the city's oldest, opened on Oct. 27, 1904, for the old IRT line. Trains were smaller then, and so were the men who worked on the tracks. There is less clearance, less room, than in new stations. Add to that three so-called diamond crossovers that switch trains to other tracks, and it gets very crowded under the Upper West Side.

"It's like driving in from Long Island westbound and stopping in the center lane and deciding you're going to tune up your car or change the belts; see how long you can do the maintenance before somebody plows into you," said Andrew Rohman, who was in charge of investigations for the Transit Authority from 1986 to 1995.

Mr. Antony never saw it coming.

He went underground to work three years ago, after his brother-in-law, an 18-year transit veteran, pushed him to put his electrical engineering degree to work for the authority. Mr. Antony, 41, had two young sons and a new house in New City. He and his wife were carefully selecting furniture, and planned a housewarming party for the weekend after Thanksgiving.

Mr. Antony and two other workers were performing a "shunt test" on a set of northbound tracks. They were testing the circuit for the red, yellow and green signals that tell a train when to slow down, stop or start, in part so that a train does not rear-end the one in front of it. To test the circuit, the crews lay a wire across the rails to simulate a train's presence and trigger the signal.

Mr. Antony was watching a relay, staring into a glass box with a switch that, when activated, flips up. In tunnel parlance, he was "engrossed," meaning he was unable to also watch for trains. "He tells the other person doing the test, `It's up, it's down,' " said Henry Williams, who is investigating the incident for the union. Mr. Antony stood between two sets of tracks, facing one of them.

"We call it no man's land," said Duane MacMenamie, a union vice chairman and subway worker, staring down at the spot from the platform above, days later. The area is less wide than a city sidewalk. With trains passing in both directions, workers must stand ramrod stiff, facing a train's side inches away.

Union officials said there was no flagger, a man assigned to look out for oncoming trains. The crew had set up a flashing yellow light on one track to warn oncoming trains that they were working. But there was no warning light at all on the track behind Mr. Antony, Mr. Williams said.

Over the years, a system has evolved in the subway in which many track jobs are performed with minimal use of flagging.

Some difficult and involved projects, like rail replacement, are performed with what is known as full flagging. Blinking warning lanterns are placed at several points near the rails, a safety trip is installed that will brake a train before it reaches workers, and a flagger is assigned to do nothing else but watch for approaching trains.

But for many other types of lighter track work — replacing signal lights, testing equipment, inspecting the rails for cracks — a lesser procedure is used, with only one warning lantern and a worker serving as lookout.

Union officials contend that over the years, transit officials, either in the interest of keeping trains running quickly, increasing the productivity of track workers, or both, have begun to use the minimal type of flagging in many more circumstances.

John Samuelsen, the union's acting vice president in charge of track workers, argues that those performing signal repair work or testing, as Mr. Antony was, have long been in danger because of the frequent use of minimal flagging and that even then supervisors sometimes skirt the rules. Crews without a dedicated flagger have been increasingly common for signal workers.

Last month, Cheryl Kennedy, the subways vice president for system safety, wrote in a letter to union officials that she agreed with many of their concerns about signal workers. Her office, she said, "had advised management and they agreed that the person assigned to perform flagging must not perform any other duties." If the flagger is needed to help with the track work, then another worker must be sent to devote himself exclusively to flagging, she added.

Exactly a month after the letter was sent, Mr. Antony stood between the tracks. A northbound train passed, said Mr. MacMenamie, who was not present that night but is familiar with the investigation.

In the din, Mr. Antony probably had no idea that another train was passing behind him. "He was cleared for this train," Mr. MacMenamie said, pointing to the northbound track, "and he got clipped by the six car of the southbound."

The train was traveling at an estimated 35 miles per hour. Later, Mr. Antony's hard hat was found in one place and the light that had been mounted on the front in another.

"He got caught on something on the side," Mr. Williams said. "The motorman never saw him. The motorman went back after all the air went out of his brakes. Passengers kept saying, `There's a man down there, a man down there.' He was walking through the train between the cars and he saw a leg sticking out."

At Mr. Antony's funeral, his younger son, Alvin, 4, wanted to know why his father was lying in a box. He lifted his father's hand and when it did not move, only then did he realize.

"He had the qualifications to start to go high one day," said Alexander Joseph, a brother-in-law. "He was a bright burning lamp, that just like that was extinguished."

It sounds like a bad joke: how many subway guys does it take to screw in a light bulb? Until you go under Canal Street and look up, at the hundreds of long fluorescent tubes in neat rows that bathe the platform in shadowless light. It would take the crew of six men hours to change 100 fixtures.

"You get up on a ladder, take the bulb out of the socket, wipe the fixture clean so it shines bright. They get dirty easy. And you put in a bright new bulb," said one 39-year-old worker from the crew on the night of Oct. 21. "It's pretty simple."

And pretty safe. The men work on the platform, not the tracks, and would not necessarily need a flagger.

Still, someone has to set out the yellow blinking caution light to inform an approaching train that men are working close to the edge of the platform. It would be a quick job under Canal Street, on the northbound platform for the E train: a short walk down a catwalk adjacent to the track, and a quick hop across the track to set the light, so that it is closest to the motorman's side of an oncoming train. It is a narrow, one-track tube with only inches of clearance around trains that slam into the station from around a curve at nearly full speed, 40 miles per hour. The whole job could take a minute.

"You don't want to be out there any longer than you have to, but at the same time, you have to step careful," the worker said. "You don't want to run."

Two men are supposed to set the light, with one watching for trains and shining a flashlight down the track the entire time, but that rule is often overlooked, the light maintainer said.

"It's not uncommon," the worker said. "I have seen it done. Guys who have been on the job a long time, they get complacent, they don't stick to procedure."

Last Friday, the men met at the transit lighting shop on 14th Street and got their assignment to change the Canal Street fixtures. They took a No. 2 train down and walked a couple of blocks. It was cold, and the group was quiet. There were three light maintainers and three helpers, among them Mr. Baby.

"Just a quiet man," one of his co-workers said. "He'd always get to work early and do what he was told to do. He's one of the good workers. There are some that are not so good. But he's one of the good ones."

He was 57, with 14 years on the job that he told everyone he loved. He was, like Mr. Antony, from India, and had also earned his electrical engineering degree. He was happy to see the younger of his two grown sons following in his footsteps, at Polytechnic University.

At the Canal Street station, the men began moving supplies and equipment down to the northbound platform. They were almost ready to begin work, just waiting for some rags.

"I started to walk toward the south end. I was going to start doing something. As I was walking down there, another Transit Authority employee said, `There's a man under a train.' "

The co-worker walked to the edge and looked into the tunnel.

"I didn't look for long," he said. "I did see it. I turned around and got out of there."

Investigators arrived and questioned the crew into the night. They asked whether Mr. Baby had seemed depressed or had been acting strangely, but the group said no.

"He was older than all of us," the worker said. "Perhaps that's why he took this dangerous task upon himself. But he shouldn't have."

Anson Bernon worked beside Mr. Baby for eight years. This week, at his friend's wake at the Thomas F. Dalton funeral home in New Hyde Park, he shook his head in disbelief.

"It's so puzzling," Mr. Bernon said. "He knew the job. He would have never gone outside of the rules."

Mr. MacMenamie, the union official and veteran worker, is confused, too. "I don't know what his thinking was that night," he said. "He knows the rules. And now he's dead."

Falling Crime in New York Defies Trend

Falling Crime in New York Defies Trend
By WILLIAM K. RASHBAUM
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/29/nyregion/29CRIM.html

It is a question as compelling as any of the mysteries that police officials and criminologists routinely encounter: Why should crime continue an 11-year decline in New York City when it is on the rise elsewhere around the country?

Policing strategies? At least a dozen other cities adopted some of the New York Police Department's innovative programs following their successes, and while crime declined in several, others have seen crime rise.

Drug use? New York City is no longer the crack capital of America, and experts say hard drug use here has waned. But in some cities with apparent downturns in drug use crime has risen, and in some with intractable drug problems crime has dropped.

The economy? Since the Sept. 11 attack, New York has faced fiscal problems as bad as any city in the nation, with a $6.4 billion budget deficit for the next fiscal year and a 7.8 percent unemployment rate coupled with increasing homelessness and a shrunken welfare roll. But its resilient crime declines have continued despite the failing economy.

Prison population? The number of people in the city being sentenced to terms in state prison, where those convicted of more serious crimes serve their time, has steadily declined over the last decade, with nearly half as many people entering the system last year compared with 1990.

"It is the mystery of the ages," said Jeffrey A. Fagan, a professor of law and public health at Columbia University who has studied crime and New York City's criminal justice system for 15 years. "Certainly no one has articulated what the right variables are that will produce a crime increase when configured in one way in a city and, when configured another way in a city, will produce a decline."

Not everyone, however, says they are stumped by the phenomenon. New York Police Commissioner Raymond W. Kelly cites the failure of many cities to make the sustained investment New York undertook more than a decade ago, when the Safe Streets, Safe Cities program began the remarkable expansion that eventually increased the ranks of the department by nearly 40 percent.

With the larger force, which eventually peaked at 40,710 officers, Mr. Kelly's predecessors, including William Bratton, the first of Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani's three police commissioners, used new programs, including Compstat, a system of crime mapping and management accountability that has been exported from New York to other cities, to focus on serious crimes and quality-of-life violations. Some contend that such petty offenses lead to more serious crimes.

Michael Jacobson, a professor at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice, says that focus on smaller crimes — and, over the last eight years, the arrests of about one million people on minor violations for which they spent the night in jail — has characterized the New York City approach more than anything else.

And while Professor Jacobson, who headed the city's Correction and Probation Departments under former Mayors David N. Dinkins and Giuliani, was wary of suggesting that the strategy alone was responsible for New York's success, in the face of crime increases elsewhere, he says it has given the police the opportunity to check warrants and search suspects, and thus helped get guns off the streets and reduce crime.

At the same time, he says, the practice brought with it a host of problems, not the least of which was the fraying effect such zero tolerance approaches have on the already tense relationship between police officers and residents in some of the city's poorer neighborhoods they patrol.

But criminologists and police officials around the nation are far from uniformly embracing any of the theories for the drop in crime. And so to some, there are other factors at work in addition to police strategies, the economy and patterns of drug use, such as the involvement of communities with the police, and demographic and social forces. While to others, it is beyond knowing without additional study. "Crime has been going down for a decade, and people are still fighting about why," Professor Jacobson said.

But New York City's continuing crime reduction appears to be a fact, not an interpretation. Murder and auto crime, the two statistics criminologists consider most reliable because dead bodies and stolen cars seldom go unreported, both have continued to drop this year. As of last week, murder was continuing its robust decline, down 12.7 percent over the same period last year, while car theft was down 9.8 percent and overall crime was down 5.3 percent.

The same good news, however, has not held in many other cities.

Crime Inches Up Nationwide

F.B.I. statistics released at the end of last month for the 2001 calendar year show crime rising nationwide for the first time since 1991, with murder inching up 2.5 percent over 2000, car thefts up 5.7 percent and robberies up 3.7 percent. Overall crime rose 2.1 percent over the previous year, with crime increases in cities on both coasts and in the nation's midsection.

In Boston, the statistics show, overall crime, car theft and murder rose in 2001, with killings up sharply, jumping to 65 from 39, an increase officials there called an aberration after 10 years of almost steady declines, with fewer than 40 murders in each of the last three years. So far this year, overall crime in Boston is down slightly, and with 51 killings through the end of last week, the city appears on track to end the year with fewer murders than it had in 2001, but still far more than the figure for 2000.

Over the same period, after years of declines, murder and overall crime also climbed in New Orleans, Las Vegas, Phoenix and San Antonio, among other cities, according to F.B.I. statistics, with killings jumping 48 percent in Las Vegas, 37.5 percent in Phoenix and 17.6 percent in San Antonio. Murder also rose in Chicago and Los Angeles, which with 602 homicides so far this year has already surpassed last year's tally of 587, according to that city's most recent statistics.

The reasons for some of the increases cited by police officials and sociologists are as varied as the communities themselves. They range from the release from prison of a particularly violent cadre of criminals and their efforts to re-establish street-corner hegemony in Boston to the law enforcement's shift in focus along the Southwest border after the Sept. 11 attacks and its impact on the murder rate in Phoenix.

In Boston, the crime declines over the last decade were so drastic they have been referred to as the Boston Miracle. They have been widely credited to a novel relationship between the police there and a group of black clergy, which served as an intermediary with the city's poorer communities. Murder, fueled by gang- and drug-related homicides, peaked in 1990 with 152 killings. Over the next 10 years, the number plummeted to 39, as the murder rate nationwide also declined, while at a significantly slower rate. But last year, the number of killings jumped to 65, according to the F.B.I. statistics.

Christopher Winship, a sociology professor at Harvard University who has studied the relationship between the police and the clergy in Boston cites an increase in felons returning to communities from prison over the last two years. In a paper on the phenomenon published in March, he said that as many as 250 people a month were flooding from prison into the city's neighborhoods.

"The belief is that many recent killings involve retribution and/or attempts to retake drug markets that were lost when the individuals were sent to prison," Professor Winship said.

A spokesman for the Phoenix Police Department said the sharp jump in killings there — to 209 in last year from 152 the previous year — should be examined in the context of the murder rate over time, noting that killings in the city hovered around 200 annually for more than five years. The dramatic increase came after the particularly low number in 2000, when stepped-up federal law enforcement along the Southwest border cut drug trafficking, greatly reducing the number of killings tied to the trade, said the spokesman, Sgt. Randy Force.

The next year, after the Sept. 11 terror attacks, when shifting priorities moved the focus away from the Mexican border, the pace of killing in Phoenix quickened, he said. While overall crime rose 7.6 percent in 2001, it came after what Sergeant Force said was a 20 percent drop over five years.

The reported increases in these and other cities and in the country as a whole came as little surprise to many who follow crime trends, because experts have long questioned when the steady declines would end and crime would begin to rise again, a pendulum swing that many criminologists view as inevitable. But several said it was too soon to reach to any conclusions about whether the F.B.I. statistics represent a turnaround or a broader trend.

"After 10 years of decline, one year of a moderate increase doesn't necessarily mean anything," said Jerome H. Skolnick, a law professor at New York University, where he is the co-director of the Center for Research on Crime and Justice.

The New York Exception

While the explanations for New York's continuing crime decline vary widely, many experts agree that it is particularly noteworthy because Mr. Kelly and several top aides have spent much of the past year working to prevent possible terrorist attacks, creating an entire Counterterrorism Bureau and reorganizing the Intelligence Division to focus on terrorism as well as traditional crime. The department has marshaled significant resources toward that end, with 1,000 officers re-assigned to counterterrorism units.

New York's continuing crime declines have come despite drops in summonses and misdemeanor arrests — key parts of the zero tolerance program — and the budget cuts, which combined with attrition have reduced the force from its peak to about 38,000. That number is likely to shrink by several thousand more officers.

So, with the F.B.I. numbers raising the possibility that a nationwide turnaround could be at hand, some current and former New York police officials believe Mr. Kelly's most significant challenges lie ahead, and experts say the question of why New York's crime rate keeps going down becomes an even more pressing issue.

One academic is trying to answer at least part of that question by examining the impact of Compstat in other cities where it has been adopted. They include Philadelphia and Baltimore, where former New York police officials oversaw significant declines, and others where crime initially dropped but later began to inch up.

Andrew Karmen, a sociology professor at John Jay College who has written a book about the city's murder rate, "New York Murder Mystery," has begun a study on more than 12 cities outside New York that have adopted the program. "The easy answers — the economy, improved policing and greater incarceration — don't hold up if you look carefully," he said.

Professor Karmen has also urged the establishment of a special city- or state-financed commission to examine New York's successes. "Something very special and positive is happening in New York," he said. The city's experiences needed to be studied, he added, "so that should things begin to reverse, we will have an idea why, and so that other cities can learn."

In Bali, a new watchfulness

In Bali, a new watchfulness
By Jane Perlez, The New York Times
Friday, November 29, 2002
http://www.iht.com/articles/78503.html

KUTA, Indonesia The sweeping stretches of Bali's beaches sparkle in the sun, and in some places a few hardy tourists mingle with the local fishermen. But mostly, the popular playgrounds of young surfers and backpackers - outdoor cafés, boutiques and nightclubs - are virtually empty.

The hotels favored by a well-to-do clientele from Europe, the United States and Japan have become the exclusive clubs of some resilient regulars or a few determined honeymooners. In Ubud, the art community in the hills, the jewelry, furniture and clothing stores languish without customers.
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The emotional and economic toll of the Oct. 12 terrorist attack on a disco that killed more than 180 people, most of them tourists, has been tremendous. The mood on the island, known as an enclave of Hindu tranquillity, is strained by the prospects of a bleak economic future.
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In the last 15 years, the surge in new hotels and shopping malls turned Bali into one of Indonesia's wealthiest areas, but it also made it overwhelmingly dependent on tourism. There are about 800 hotels, and a month after the blast, the occupancy rates in many places were in the single digits, with some managing 15 percent, according to the Bali tourism board, a government agency. Before the blast, occupancy had been about 70 percent.
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To get the tourists back, the major hotels have made some hardheaded decisions. The first, according to Brad Kirk, the general manager of the Bali Hyatt and the spokesman for the Casa Grande, an association of 44 four- and five-star hotels, was not to push for bookings right away.
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"With the exception of the local market, we are telling our members: zero advertising and zero sales trips until January," Kirk said. "We think it looks heartless and mercenary to go into the marketplace now."
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But more important, he said, the hotels wanted to develop what he called credible information about security on Bali. This information, stressing new security measures at the major hotels, has been circulated to all Indonesian embassies, foreign embassies in Jakarta and major tour operators, he said.
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Immediately after the attack, hotels in the group beefed up security. Now, guards stop all vehicles entering the grounds of the 44 hotels, inspect the trunks and interiors of the vehicles and check the undercarriages. All of the five-star and most of the four-star hotels, including the three Aman resorts, two Sheraton hotels, the two Hyatts, the two Four Seasons, the Ritz-Carlton and the Oberoi, have gates, Kirk said. The association's hotels and others have uniformed, armed soldiers and police officers patrolling their properties.
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At the Hyatt, four armed police officers and four armed soldiers patrol the 14 hectares (36 acres) of gardens around the clock. In addition, four undercover military intelligence officers are on 24-hour duty, Kirk said.
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At the top and middle of the market, Kirk said, it was unlikely that hotels would cut rates. The problem for Bali, he said, was not the price of rooms but the perception of security. If the next two months are calm, the hoteliers will bring travel agents to Bali to show them that safety was being addressed, he said.
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Mid-range properties, particularly popular with Australian tourists, are also struggling. But they were heartened somewhat when the Australian government lifted a specific travel warning on Bali, though it kept a general warning about Indonesia. This followed the Japanese government's easing of its travel warning for Bali on Oct. 26.
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The Japanese Tour Operators Association, whose members visited Bali after the attack to see the new security measures, have begun promoting it again. This was an important boost because the Japanese, with about 300,000 arrivals last year, are the largest group of visitors. One of the demands of the Japanese - more visible security at the Denpasar airport - was taken care of by the Balinese government soon after the blast. Armed soldiers and police are now on the tarmac and in the terminal.
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Bali is now safer than big resorts anywhere, hoteliers contend, arguing that terrorists do not strike the same place twice.
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A big test will be the Christmas season. At the Oberoi, a resort of luxury villas among frangipani and bougainvillea on Legian Beach that has had few guests this month, reservations are coming in for Christmas, according to the general manager, Kamal Kaul.
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"People love the Balinese," Kaul said. "I don't think Bali will be abandoned by those who have had a great time here."

Shuffling 'Heirs' to Cambodia Throne

Shuffling 'Heirs' to Cambodia Throne
By SETH MYDANS
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/30/international/asia/30CAMB.html

PHNOM PENH, Cambodia, Nov. 29 — It was one of King Norodom Sihanouk's little surprises and, as he surely intended, it set off a buzz of speculation about Cambodia's hottest question of the day.

When the royal limousine arrived at a National Day ceremony two weeks ago, it was not the king who emerged to greet the crowd but a tall, slim, rather elegant man who is rarely seen in public here.

His name is Norodom Sihamoni, a self-effacing 49-year-old dancer and cultural ambassador who is one of the king's many sons and one of the many candidates to succeed him.

The question of succession, once taboo, has recently become the subject of debate and speculation, prodded by the king himself, who is 80 years old and weakened by a number of ailments.

Cambodia is a parliamentary democracy and the king holds very little real power. But he represents the moral and spiritual core of this dysfunctional nation and no politician dares to challenge him openly.

The royal succession is hereditary, but that does not help much in determining the future monarch. Under the 1993 Constitution, hundreds of descendants of any of three past kings are eligible.

It stipulates that a nine-member Throne Council is to choose the successor within a week of the death of a king. But no law has been passed setting out such ground rules as whether a majority vote will decide.

This opens the way for a politicized free-for-all at a time of national mourning and disarray, raising fears for the future of the royal line.

"The king basically is concerned about the survival of the monarchy," said a diplomat who has known him for many years.

King Sihanouk has put the issue of succession on the agenda in recent months by hinting, and then denying, that he might abdicate.

His two most politically prominent relatives, Prince Norodom Ranarridh and Prince Norodom Sirivudh, have said they have no wish to be king. Both have had political conflicts with Prime Minister Hun Sen, whose supporters control the Throne Council.

Mr. Hun Sen made it clear last summer that he intended to use his power, saying, "Don't forget that if Hun Sen vetoes, a new king cannot be created."

It may be because of this dominant position that the prime minister has for three years blocked a parliamentary bill clarifying the succession process. But he cannot simply brush aside the wishes of the popular king.

Prince Sihamoni has been emerging lately as a strong possibility, even though, as Cambodia's ambassador to the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, he spends much of his time in Paris and has taken little interest in royal affairs.

He is one of only two children of King Sihanouk and his current wife, Queen Norodom Monineath, and his position as a favorite is reflected in his name, Sihamoni, a combination of the first two syllables of their names.

He has made few enemies and is seen as a man who could uphold the dignity of the throne while posing no challenge to Mr. Hun Sen's political dominance.

The king has not stated his preference for a successor. But his statement playing down Prince Sihamoni's National Day appearance only seemed to fuel speculation.

"Given his good behavior and his total loyalty to his father, I rewarded him by choosing him to represent me on this important day," the king said. "Many of my compatriots as well as certain foreign diplomats have expressed a wish to `get to know better' Norodom Sihamoni, son of the very popular and very esteemed Queen Monineath."

The Riches of the $12 Room

The Riches of the $12 Room
By DAISANN McLANE
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/12/01/travel/sundaytravel/01cheap.html

SINCE I began writing the Frugal Traveler column nearly five years ago, people have often asked me what it's like to stay, night after night, in cheap hotels. They say this with half a chuckle, half a grimace, as if unable to decide whether to be amused by, or sympathetic to, someone who travels outside the secure, no-surprises cocoon of standard or luxury hotels.

"Cheap hotels have a personality that is unmediated by designers and corporate honchos. These rooms are quirky, and they are not afraid to engage their guests, sometimes even to shock them. . . . Pay more for your lodgings, move up the economic ladder, and your travel comfort may be assured. But if you want travel adventures, stay in a cheap hotel."

I assure them I am having a blast hopping from roadside motels to Victorian pensions, and guest houses with bathroom-down-the-hall. But until I started working on a book of essays and photographs of some of the hundreds of hotel rooms I've visited since 1998, I wasn't able to say precisely why I'm always happier sleeping in the less-expensive bed, even when it's doll-sized, lumpy or covered in an atrocious polyester bedspread.

The charm of these cheap hotels became clear to me only when I began poring through box after box of slides. I'd never paid much attention to these photos before, and most of them were taken on the run, in a state of exhaustion. Usually I pull out the camera (and, if I'm feeling particularly ambitious, the tripod) as soon as the bellhop or hotelier shuts the door, even if I'm longing to plop on the bed after a day on the road. (The photo editor doesn't like shots with messy bed sheets.) Working like this, I found it was easy to miss the details that made each of these rooms a surprise, an adventure, a first point of entry to fascinating new places everywhere.

But here they were, and in the frame of each slide I discovered an indelible travel memory. There was the vintage 1940's telephone on the table of the Hotel Lord in São Luís, Brazil, that I'd used to order breakfasts of succulent orange papaya and thick dark coffee. The shuttered windows of the Xieng Mouane Guesthouse in Luang Prabang, Laos, that opened to the Buddhist monastery next door, filled with chanting monks who woke me at dawn. The impossibly tiny cubicle in the Ryokan Asakusa Shigetsu, in Tokyo, where I could reach out and touch both walls at once, and where the bathroom was so compact I had to learn how to shower while sitting on the toilet.

Cheap hotels have a personality that is unmediated by designers and corporate honchos. These rooms are quirky, and they are not afraid to engage their guests, sometimes even to shock them. The Künstlerheim Luise in Berlin is run by artists who have turned each of the rooms into an installation. Every time I entered the Hundezimmer, or Dog Room, put my key on the bedside table made from cans of puppy food and laid my head to rest on a pillow propped up in a wicker basket, I was reminded, not always comfortably, of the animal within.

In an inexpensive hotel, ghosts feel freer to roam, shadows linger and stories are told. Extraordinary things happen. Maybe if I'd stayed in an expensive hotel in Galicia, Spain, instead of in an extra bedroom in the home of Doña María, in the village of Camelle, the concierge would have slipped a chorizo sandwich into my backpack as I was leaving, but I doubt it. And I am certain that if I'd stayed in a luxury resort in Angkor Wat, instead of the $18-a-night Golden Apsara Hotel, I never would have met Keo Sithan, the manager, who riveted me with the story of his escape, on foot, from the Khmer Rouge.

Pay more for your lodgings, move up the economic ladder, and your travel comfort may be assured. But if you want travel adventures, stay in a cheap hotel.

DAISANN McLANE, the author of "Cheap Hotels" (Taschen), writes the Frugal Traveler column for The Times.

A Buffet of Luxury in New York

A Buffet of Luxury in New York
By ALEX WARD
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/12/01/travel/sundaytravel/01nyluxe.html

WHEN it comes to luxe accommodations, Manhattan has few rivals. Uptown, downtown and, especially, in midtown, the city is awash in hotels offering suites in the four-figure-a-night range, and even higher.

With all these choices, and with the holiday season nearly upon us, the time seemed right to put a simple and extremely appealing plan into operation: book a suite for my wife, Nancy, and myself at three of New York's top hotels and compare the experiences. Our allowance was $1,500 a night, more or less.

I picked the Four Seasons and the St. Regis, two flagships in the heart of the city, and a downtown boutique, the Mercer. The decision was based on curiosity and whimsy as much as anything else, but there was a certain symmetry to it - cool modern elegance, romantic Old World opulence, hip stylishness. And each has a highly-touted restaurant.

The Mercer

Since it opened on the corner of Mercer and Prince Streets in 1997, the Mercer has come to symbolize SoHo, the much-changed neighborhood it inhabits. Discriminating film celebrities are frequent guests, as are younger well-heeled Europeans. True, one of the last holdouts of the old SoHo, Fanelli's Cafe, sits resolutely across the street, but the stores, galleries and restaurants that fill the surrounding cast-iron spaces are as chic as anything on Madison Avenue.

The operative mode within the six-story, 75-room hotel is tasteful understatement. It's evident in the plain but comfortable modern furnishings, the indirect lighting and muted color schemes, and in the soft, spare lines that dominate the rooms and hallways.

Our $1,100 top-floor loft suite had a number of pleasing textural touches in its 670 square feet, among them an exposed-brick wall, a floor-to-ceiling arched window looking out on Prince Street, and a large leather screen on runners that served as a moveable wall between the living room and bedroom. There was also a fireplace, two plasma-screen televisions, a sound system with wall-mounted speakers, and a bathtub with its very own opaque-glass skylight.

The Mercer offers a veritable catalogue of thoughtful amenities, including a lending library of CD's and movies, minibar snacks from Dean & DeLuca, and the arrival in the morning of two newspapers (one, The International Herald Tribune, comes in what looks like a baguette sleeve). Even the inevitable terry-cloth robes have something extra - a smooth cotton outer shell that feels like silk. If God is in the details, someone at the Mercer is a true believer.

One of the hotel's major attractions is its restaurant, the Mercer Kitchen, where a menu prepared by Jean-Georges Vongerichten, a reigning monarch of French-New American cuisine, is served in an undeniably cool basement space defined by a bright open kitchen at one end, a dark bar near the other and a series of low brick arches that create appealing spaces in between.

On the recent busy Thursday night we were there, however, the din from a roisterous crowd and pulsating music played at high volume gave this ambience a pounding. To make matters worse, we were put at a table directly under the stairway and right next to the coat-check room.

The food was excellent - celery root and chestnut soup, pumpkin ravioli and grilled swordfish and lobster tail - but we ate it as quickly as we could, skipped dessert and fled.

If our four-figure suite price didn't get us a prime spot in the Mercer Kitchen, it did provide entree to the hotel's private club, the subMercer, which we couldn't resist checking out. Part of the fun is getting there, through an exit door off the restaurant, down a flight of steps and along a narrow walkway leading to a smaller, casbah-version of the restaurant space, with red lights instead of yellow ones, and even more intimate nooks.

Adam Sandler was sitting at the bar, but it was only 10:30 and nothing much was stirring yet. The music was even louder than upstairs, so we didn't stay, which turned out to be a serious lapse of judgement. Shortly after 11, I learned much later, a party across the street with Victoria's Secret models spilled over into the subMercer.

In the morning, room-service breakfast took exactly 10 minutes to arrive - I timed it on the tiny, minimal-looking black clock on the table beside the incredibly comfortable king-size bed. The fruit on the fruit plate tasted right off the vine and the croissants were perfect. The skylit bathtub beckoned. Maybe we should never have left the suite.

The Four Seasons

At the Four Seasons on East 57th Street, we were promised a suite with a view of Central Park. And for $995 - discounted from $1,325 on something called the Romance and Style Package - that's what we got: a two-room, L-shaped 720-square-foot suite looking north and west from the 41st floor. The afternoon we arrived was clear and the park at the height of its fall color, so the effect was breathtaking.

The hotel, designed by I. M. Pei and Frank Williams, is cool and sleek, with large, high-ceilinged public spaces that make you think of a modern version of an Egyptian temple. Our suite was beige and honey-colored, with light-wood paneling, ultramodern furnishings and lots of electronics, including three televisions (one in the spacious marble bathroom), a Bose clock-CD player (with a small selection of CD's, one of which was called "Deep Sleep"), and buttons to push - for the floor-to-ceiling curtains, for instance, and for turning on a privacy light that saves you from the bother of putting out a Do Not Disturb sign.

A folder in the room spelled out a list of intriguing possibilities, among them a midnight-to-6 a.m. menu for night owls; a special Japanese breakfast with onsen egg, pickled vegetables and toasted seaweed; and a spa and fitness center, offering treatments with names like the Shopper's Revival, the Jet-Lag Remedy and the Perfect Wedding Gift. The 30-minute New York Neck and Shoulder Massage sounded good to me, but it turned out that, except for the manicurist, the spa staff was booked until early the next afternoon, after our checkout time. So while Nancy went to have her nails done, I consoled myself by calling the valet service for a shoeshine. The shoes were picked up within 10 minutes and returned within 30.

Later, we abandoned our aerie for a drink downstairs. The Fifty Seven Fifty Seven Bar, just across from the restaurant of the same name, was packed, so we opted for the main lounge, a pleasant, slightly elevated space that looks onto the lobby. There, we spent most of the next hour sitting in oversized chairs, sipping our drinks and casually observing the passing parade, which included more than a few guests in town for the New York City Marathon two days later.

The Fifty Seven Fifty Seven restaurant, also designed by Mr. Pei, is usually described as a "soaring" space notable for the power crowd it attracts at breakfast and lunch. The diners that evening could have been power brokers, but if so they were disguised as families or youngish couples on a big night out. This was red meat night, lamb for Nancy, sirloin steak for me, plus a nice bottle of Pommard. The food was fine and the service friendly and attentive.

The view was still there when we got back to our suite, and it was all sparkly now, with the Carlyle Hotel and the George Washington Bridge glowing in the north and the park a vast dark space interrupted by the lights strung along its winding roadways. We stared out at this for a while, then checked to see what movies were available on the hotel's pay-per-view channel. We settled on "Unfaithful," with Diane Lane and Richard Gere, punched the privacy light, climbed into our king-size bed and did something truly extraordinary for us - stayed awake through the whole movie.

A new morning dawned, and with it the room-service breakfast ritual. We were told the food would take at least 40 minutes, which was slightly annoying but gave Nancy plenty of time to try out the tub. It was big, though not quite as big as the Mercer's, and the bellman had told us with pride that it would fill up in only one minute (he was right); it also had a headrest.

Breakfast arrived and was laid out in the living room. There we were, perched high above Gotham, bathed in light and swathed in terry cloth, she consuming French toast, I corned beef hash. What words to capture this moment?

"You know what?" Nancy said, peering off into the distance. "I can see the Tappan Zee Bridge."

The St. Regis

The distance between the Four Seasons and the St. Regis, which is on 55th Street and Fifth Avenue, is only a couple of blocks, but in terms of ambience it's a couple of centuries. (You'd need to check planetary charts to figure how far apart the Mercer and St. Regis are.)

The lobby of this Beaux-Arts hotel, built by John Jacob Astor in 1904, is a compact marble space that bustles with top-hatted doormen escorting guests to and from their cabs, porters loading luggage on handcarts, the concierge staff working the phones. It struck me that for people of a certain age, and I am one, it is an exquisite representation of grand hotels imagined as a child.

Best of all was being told by the receptionist that our $1,160-a-night suite was being upgraded (we were staying anonymously) not just one level, but four. I wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but I didn't argue, especially when the same receptionist took us up to the ninth floor and opened the big French doors to our home for the night, 1,500 square feet of gilt-edged extravagance that would make Louis XVI beam, if only he were around to see it.

There was a large bedroom and a much larger living room, both dotted with what look to be genuine antiques and large, wonderfully florid pieces of furniture, separated by a hallway long enough that you'd have to shout to be heard from one room to another. Not that you would, of course.

It shouldn't have surprised us then that immediately after our bags were dropped off, a butler - our butler - arrived at the door to show us the ropes: where the light switches for the wall sconces were; where the light switches for the chandeliers were; how to operate the ingenious phone machine with a lighted touch-screen that automatically dials any of the hotel's services.

His name was Anthony, and he said we were to call him if we needed anything. As it turned out, we didn't call him, but he kept showing up anyway, first to bring fresh fruit, then champagne and strawberries, then a vase of long-stemmed roses, then to wheel away the cart after we finished afternoon tea. Having a butler, we were discovering, is not a bad thing.

That evening, we dined on foie gras and lobster bisque, monkfish with lentils, banana tart and a chocolate concoction that resembled a Calder mobile at Lespinasse, the elegant and pricey restaurant where Christian Delouvrier is the genius-in-residence. Afterward, we somehow negotiated the few feet to the hotel's atmospheric King Cole Bar, where several lively groups of revelers created a pleasant buzz, and had a nightcap.

That night I slept the sleep of the overindulged, and woke very late the next morning. We padded around in our terry-cloth robes and matching terry-cloth slippers, alternately reading the Sunday paper and commenting on our good fortune. I made two calls. The first, naturally, was to room service for breakfast. The second was to the receptionist to see if we could extend our checkout time. The answer was yes.

The food a Belgian waffle and fresh fruit, coffee with warm milk and fresh orange juice, took a full hour to arrive, placing the St. Regis dead last in the breakfast derby. So maybe it was Anthony's day off. Who cared? We were in no hurry to go anywhere.

Hotel Information

The Mercer, 147 Mercer Street at Prince Street, New York, N.Y. 10012; (212) 966-6060, fax (212) 965-3838; www.mercerhotel.com, offers 75 rooms. Our loft suite cost $1,100, plus 13.25 percent state and city tax and a $2 occupancy charge ($147.75). Two glasses of wine in the lobby were $25.65; dinner at the Mercer Kitchen $113.76, and room service breakfast $64.48. The total: $1,451.64.

The Four Seasons Hotel, 57 East 57th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022; (212) 758-5700, fax (212) 758-5711; www.fourseasons.com/newyorkfs, has 364 rooms. Our $1,350-a-night suite was discounted to $995 on the Romance and Style Package, which includes a bottle of champagne (an amenity that came in all three hotels) and strawberries. The taxes were $135.84, a manicure in the spa $39.20, two drinks in the lounge $30.48, dinner at Fifty Seven Fifty Seven $258, including an $80 Pommard; the in-room movie $12.98, breakfast in the suite $79.77, and one local call $1.25. The total: $1,552.52.

The St. Regis New York, 2 East 55th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022; (212) 753-4500, fax (212) 787-3447; www.stregis.com, has 315 rooms. The suite we had was $1,160, plus $157.70 in taxes. Room-service tea, including finger sandwiches, scones and a fruit plate, cost $102.17; two half-hour massages $150; dinner at Lespinasse $322.12, including a white Alsatian for about $65; two drinks in the King Cole Bar $41.72; room-service breakfast $24.49, and three local calls $5.50. The total: $1,963.70.

ALEX WARD is the editor of special sections for The Times.

Asia Journal

Two "new" Asia Journal articles posted on the Boots-n-All site continuing my trip in Nepal and Tibet. This time Nepal&Tibet Parts 2 & 3. Seeing the pictures again make me just wish i were still out there traveling...
http://www.bootsnall.com/cgi-bin/gt/travelogues/kan/18.shtml
http://www.bootsnall.com/cgi-bin/gt/travelogues/kan/19.shtml

btw, check out this link to a dynamic webcam from the hotel in Waikiki (Oahu) where we'll be over Christmas and New Years. it even pans and zooms. pretty awesome!!
http://www.outrigger.com/details/webcam.asp

this morning watched a rerun of Brigadoon on HBO that i saw the tail end of the other night. why don't they make quality musicals like that anymore??

Happy Turkey Day everybody!!!

Chinese tourists

PRD People's Republic of Desire – Chinese tourists
Wednesday, November 27, 2002
by Annie Wang, SCMP
http://totallyhk.scmp.com/thkarts/anniewang/ZZZEXJP7R8D.html

NIUNIU GOES TO Washington, DC, to meet her friend Ann during her holiday in the United States. The capital is filled with professional, young, single and politically ambitious men.

But Niuniu isn't in the mood for dating: she is leaving town soon, and she doesn't have enough time to develop a serious relationship. Also, the weather is cold at this time of year and everyone is talking about a possible war, both of which are unromantic scenarios and definitely not conducive to a fling.

On her last day in the capital, Niuniu, wearing baggy clothes, takes a walk along Pennsylvania Avenue. In Lafayette Park, she runs into a group of six Asian tourists who are sitting on the lawn, chatting and smoking. From the small bags under their arms, ill-fitting suits and the Olympus cameras they are carrying, it is easy to tell where they come from. Plus, they are also speaking Chinese.

In the past few years, Chinese delegations have been very visible in America's tourist spots. They visit in groups on trips often paid for by their companies or work units as a reward.

''Hi!'' Niuniu says.

''Are you Chinese?'' a man wearing glasses asks.

''Yes,'' Niuniu replies.

''Are you American Chinese?'' a young man asks.

''Yes,'' Niuniu replies.

''You don't work for the CIA or the FBI, do you?'' a stocky middle-aged man asks. It's difficult to tell whether he is joking or serious.

''Of course not,'' Niuniu responds, laughing.

''We were told we might be tailed by spies in America,'' the stocky man says. ''We have to be careful about speaking to strangers here.'' He is serious.

''Who told you that?'' Niuniu asks. ''I don't believe that bull****. Where are you from?''

''Dashan county, Shandong province,'' the young man replies.

''What do you think of DC?'' Niuniu asks the group.

''At first, I thought I'd arrived in Africa. I didn't expect to see such a large black community here,'' the young man answers. ''You know, the Hollywood movies mainly feature white actors. So I thought . . . ''

''In DC, 62 per cent of the population is African American,'' says Niuniu.

The man with glasses says: ''I don't think the federal guest house for the foreign state guests and dignitaries look luxurious at all.''

The stocky man says: ''I thought America, being a rich country, would be full of skyscrapers. But it's disappointing that DC doesn't have as many skyscrapers as Beijing or Shanghai.''

Niuniu explains: ''Washington, DC, has a rule that no buildings can be taller than the Capitol Building. Since they cannot be tall, they are quite wide.''

The stocky man smirks and says: ''Okay, now I understand why the buildings are so wide, but why are the people as well? I'm thin here.''

A tall authoritarian-looking man who has been silent so far suddenly interjects: ''Show some respect to the American people!'' He appears to be the head honcho of the group.

Facing the White House, he says: ''Long live the friendship between American people and the Chinese people.''

''Where are you going next?'' Niuniu asks the young man.

''Vegas, of course. We are going to eat lobsters, watch strippers and gamble,'' the young man answers with pride.

''Have fun!'' Niuniu waves to them before leaving. But before she goes another tall man stops her and says: ''Can I talk to you in private?''

''Sure,'' Niuniu says.

''What Little Wang just said about going to a strip club is his own idea,'' the man says. ''I haven't given the okay yet. I have some reservations about young people being influenced by the West's freewheeling lifestyles. Little Wang argued with me, saying the party encourages us to be more open-minded. So I think, in order to show some respect to the young, I can't be too arbitrary. At least, I should make a decision based on facts. That is to say, only after I see how decadent the dance is will I be able to make a fair evaluation and a right decision.''

''So why are you telling me this?'' Niuniu asks.

The man says: ''I'm thinking of going to a strip club tonight to check it out. It will help me make decisions for the group.''

Niuniu says: ''To be honest, I'm not familiar with DC either. I have noticed a male strip joint, but not a striptease club. If you have a local tour guide, you can ask him.''

The man says: ''We do have a tour guide, but if he told the other group members about my plan to visit such a place, it would make me look bad. You see, I've decided to sacrifice my own purity to protect the purity of the other party members. It's like undercover work. If you take me there, I can pay for you as well. The expenses can be reimbursed by our work unit if it says entertainment fee.''

''I'm not nearly as altruistic,'' says Niuniu. ''No way will I sacrifice my time with cute guys in an oyster bar to watch almost naked ladies cavort for men.'' Niuniu leaves.

She knows her grand finale in DC will be a quiet one. Probably she will just order room service and read the Washington Post's international section in her hotel room.

Annie Wang's weekly column, PRD, looks at sex, desire and young women in urban, modern China.

Popular Chinese phrases

Each week People's Republic of Desire features definitions of common Chinese words and expressions - read about them all here in our PRD dictionary
http://totallyhk.scmp.com/thkarts/anniewang/dictionary.html

A
B
Baima wangzi: Prince Charming
Bang dakuan: gold-diggers
Baotang: to make soup
Bazi: "Eight Characters", the Taoist reference to the year, month, day and hour of one's birth.
C
Cei: to beat and attack someone. A popular slang term among the young and uneducated in Beijing.
Cehua: to plan, promote, position and publicise
Chihewanle: eat, drink, play and laugh
Chi le ma?: Have you eaten yet? Traditional Chinese greeting, equivalent to How are you?
Chuji jieduan: the primary stage of socialism and the Chinese Communist Party's description of the current political system in China.
Chuzhang: department chief
Cuo yidun: Have a feast
D
da gong: to work (usually manual labour) for a living
E
Erguotou: Fiery Chinese rice wine
Er-hua: The distinctive "er" suffix added to words pronounced in the Beijing accent
F
G
gaogan zidi: children of high-ranking communist officials
Gemenr: Beijing slang for mate or buddy.
H
Haidian district: Beijing's college district
Haigui pai: overseas returnee
Hanjian: Chinese traitors, a historical pejorative term
Hongbao: a red envelope, normally containing money, used to contain a gift for friends and relatives on special occasions, just like the lai see envelopes in Hong Kong.
Hou xiandai: post-modern
Huanzhu Gege: My Fair Princess - one of the most popular TV series in China in recent years
Hutong: alley
Huxiang xuexi: Learning from each other - mutual language exchange lessons
I
J
Jiachou buke waiyang: Domestic issues should not be told to outsiders.
K
Kan renao: Enjoy the crowd
L
Li le ma?: Have you divorced yet? A new way of greeting as the divorce rate in China skyrockets.
Liu Si: June 4, the Tiananmen incident of 1989
M
Maizidian: a funky place in eastern Beijing
Maren: To criticise or insult someone
Meiguo huzhao: American passport
Meiguo meng: The American dream
Meinu zuojia: a group of good-looking female authors who like to include flattering photos of themselves on the covers of their books.
N
Niujin: Oxford-educated
O
P
Pifu: skin
Pigu: butt
Piqi: temper
Q
Qingren Jie: Valentine's Day
R
S
Sanlitun: A neighbourhood in Beijing that has many entertainment places such as cafes, shops, restaurants and bars. A place where young people love to hang out.
Shengdan: Christmas
Songaoxie: platform shoes. Popular among young women in Japan, Korea and China.
T
Tai tai: wife
U
V
W
Waiqi: Foreign Enterprise, a Sino-foreign joint venture company in China
X
Xiao mi: "little secret", slang for mistress
Xingbake: Starbucks
Xingui: the new rich
Xuanmei: beauty pageant
Y
Yangsheng: Cultivate one's body to keep it healthy and balanced
Yaomohua: to demonise
Yao tou wan: Ecstasy tablets
Yingyu: English
Youhua zuhe: optimisation
Z
Zhengyi: controversy

CHINA'S ELITE – Tomorrow Is Ours

CHINA'S ELITE – Tomorrow Is Ours
A Special Report by Nury Vittachi
FEER Issue cover-dated December 05, 2002
First of a Three-Part Series
http://www.feer.com/special/2002/cls/china1.html
http://www.feer.com/breaking_news/021128.html

Communism ain't what it used to be. Never mind Chairman Mao—even recent supreme leader Deng Xiaoping, who died in 1997, wouldn't recognize the modern, moneyed, urban Chinese citizen. That's him on the corner of the street, talking endlessly on his mobile phone.

He doesn't need a taxi because someone in his family has a car and is about to pick him up. He is racing off to his office, where he has an Internet link which he uses to send e-mails—many of which are in English. The younger members of this group eat fast food and are highly computer-literate, and have the same brand watches on their wrists as their cousins in Hong Kong and Taiwan.

More than 98% of people polled carried a mobile phone, 60% wore designer clothes and 69% ate fast food.

Some 57% of people working in Beijing put their career before family. By comparison, 51% of respondents in Guangzhou and 48% of people in Shanghai said the same.

This survey focuses on China's elite—the capitalist-thinking, business-savvy individuals who have emerged in large numbers in recent years in the major business cities of Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou. While businesses around the world are fascinated by this group, few people have much idea about what they are really like.

In this, the first of a three-part weekly series, we find that the most notable trait of this group is their confidence.

"YUPWARD" MOBILITY

WHAT DOES A MODERN, urban citizen of a "communist paradise" look like? Increasingly like the citizens of other urban centres. While mainland China remains socialist in name, the younger generation of city dwellers is evolving dramatically into the same "yupwardly" mobile individuals we find in modern cities around the world.

The change is happening extraordinarily fast--and it's revealed by the yawning generation gap in certain areas. For example, nearly all the "elite" urban individuals we interviewed had mobile phones, but the figures were far less uniform for other modern habits. While less than half the respondents aged 55 or more have eaten fast food, 84% of the under-35s have indulged in it. In fact, there was a direct correlation between the age of the person interviewed and the likelihood of his dining on French fries.

The same was true about other modern habits. While 94% of under-35s were regular computer users, the number falls to between 79% and 82% for people who were 45 years old or more.

But the pattern isn't always neat and symmetrical--there are some telling exceptions. For example, when we look at who follows the stockmarket and invests in shares, we find the number of people in the youngest age group is significantly less than the number of people in the two middle groups. The unmistakable conclusion: The roller-coaster rides that share-owners have had in the past five years have scared younger adults away from stockbrokers.

In terms of regional variations, the citizens of Shanghai appear to differ slightly in character from their cousins in China's capital and those in the main city in the Pearl River Delta. The Shanghainese are mellower people, not quite as hyper as Beijingers or Guangzhou residents.

THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT

CHINA'S ECONOMY IS powering ahead. The rest of the world hasn't seen anything yet. People in China who have money are highly optimistic, and feel the rest of their community is, too. Three out of four are convinced that the economy will perform well in the months ahead, and most of the rest think that growth will at the very least stay the same as it has been. The people of Beijing and Shanghai are almost uniformly bullish--more upbeat than the citizens of Guangzhou, who appear to have been slightly infected by the gloom in neighbouring recession-hit Hong Kong.

Looking to the future, we see that there's a correlation between how much people earn and how confident they are in their own prospects. People who earn 5,000 renminbi ($610) a month are convinced they have a bright future, while those in the bracket below, earning at least 3,000 renminbi, are only "quite" confident. Only among the people earning less than 3,000 renminbi do we find a number of individuals who are negative about their futures--a minority of one in four.

Is fluency in English important for enhancing one's prospects? Younger people, predictably, rated English as important, and reckoned they spoke the language well. The under-35s are clearly the most globalized group. But the oldest group, the over-55s, also believed their English was fair. It was one of the middle groups, people aged 45-54, who were notably not confident in English. This group, born in the 1950s, was educated in the traumatic 1960s, when the study of European languages was denounced in China as a bourgeois Western habit.

In short, the future is bright, and fluency in English is one of the keys to making sure one gets a share in that success.

HAPPY TO BE A MEMBER

CLUB LIFE ROCKS. Urban Chinese citizens were highly enthusiastic about China's freshly acquired membership of the World Trade Organization, a global club of nations that do business with each other under a series of free-market rules. Not only do individuals like the idea of being part of this group, many feel that their sectors have already felt significant benefits from membership. People involved in joint ventures, which by definition are already cross-border organizations, felt the most benefit, but entrepreneurs and staff of domestic firms were also positive about China's accession to the WTO.

When we zeroed down onto the individual companies of respondents, the news wasn't entirely good. While more than half said that their firms had benefited, 12% of people employed by local mainland firms said they had felt negative effects.

Still, the majority of reactions were positive. The major benefits that WTO membership has brought about were for consumers, respondents believe. Consumers get better choice of products and services, and what they choose is cheaper than it otherwise would have been.

There were also benefits for business as a whole. Distribution systems had been significantly improved, there was greater stability, and foreign investment had started flowing faster. Perhaps surprisingly, some people even felt that job security was better. While competitiveness makes all the players fight harder for market share, the winners of the skirmishes end up stronger.

After half a century in which the older generation lived in a closed society, modern Chinese come across as strongly outward-looking. Three out of four people earning 5,000 renminbi ($610) or more a month liked to buy imported consumer items, but the number fell to two out of three for those earning less than 3,000 renminbi a month. The message: Paying a premium for imported stuff is worth it--but only if you have the money to spare.

A MISSED REVOLUTION

NOW HERE'S WHERE the generation gap really shows. While upwards of three out of four members of the under-35 age group rate themselves as highly proficient in the use of the Internet, that number drops dramatically for older people. Only one in two of the 45-54 age group are practised surfers, and only a third of the over-55s can say the same. It's clear that the older generation in China has missed out on modern-day techno-mania.

There have been worries that the periodic crackdowns on Internet cafes might stunt the growth of a Web culture in China, but this survey suggests that this is not true, at least not for the moneyed classes. Most respondents logged on to the Web at work or at home, with Internet cafes playing an insignificant role as providers of Web links.

Staff members of joint venture organizations, which naturally have an external focus, have a particularly high level of access to the Internet, with three out of four staff members being able to log on at home and at work. This contrasts with mainland entrepreneurs, only half of whom log on at home and/or work. They appear to be too busy making a renminbi.

Nevertheless, all the groups felt that the present negativity about dotcom businesses was only temporary. The Net will return, and it will be big. All businesses will have to take notice of it, for several reasons, respondents believed. Companies that embrace the Internet will have a significant financial advantage, and business practices and levels of competition will eventually be directly impacted by the growing use of the Internet in mainland business.

What brand of cars are people driving in China? If they could travel anywhere, where would they go? What's their favourite designer label? What sports do they play? The answers to these and many other questions will come in the next two parts of China's Elite, a weekly series.

SURVEY DETAILS

RESPONDENTS: 1,019
CITIES: Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou
DATES: September-October, 2002
CONDUCTED BY: Asia Market Intelligence (AMI)--part of Synovate

China’s Elite is one of the most comprehensive studies of lifestyles, habits and aspirations of executives in China. More than 1,000 face-to-face interviews were conducted in Mandarin between September and October in the three cities. The report reveals new and significant findings on the trappings of modern life, computer literacy and opinions on China’s accession to the World Trade Organization.

“One of the most notable traits of these Chinese urbanites is their confidence,” Mr Vittachi added. “They are upbeat about the future and are convinced that the PRC economy will continue to grow.”

Some of the key findings in Part I of the survey include:

More than 98% of people polled carried a mobile phone, 60% wore designer clothes and 69% ate fast food.

All groups polled felt that the present negativity about "dotcom" businesses was only temporary. Respondents also believed that companies who embrace the Internet would have a significant business advantage.

The 2002 study was conducted by independent research firm Asia Market Intelligence (AMI) and was sponsored by Omron.

The survey offers indispensable insights for marketers who must keep abreast of the rapidly changing demographics of business people in China. A book with the compiled survey results will be available for purchase from the Far Eastern Economic Review’s research department in early 2003 for US$100. Review subscribers can obtain the survey book for US$50.

The first in this three-part series can be found in the magazine’s Dec. 5 issue, available from newsstands today. The full article can also be found at http://www.feer.com.

Parts II and III of the survey will look at favourite brands, cars, sports and travel.

Monks Behaving Badly

Cambodia Monks Behaving Badly
By Eric Unmacht/PHNOM PENH
Issue cover-dated December 05, 2002
http://www.feer.com/articles/2002/0212_05/p064current.html

BUDDHISM seems to have made a remarkable recovery in Cambodia since its virtual eradication during the brutal, iconoclastic rule of the Khmer Rouge in the late 1970s. Monasteries have sprouted up around the country over the past decade, worshippers are flocking back to temples and young shaven-headed monks in their distinctive saffron robes are once more a common sight in Cambodia's towns and villages.

But the renaissance is only skin-deep, warn some scholars of Buddhism, who worry about both the ability and spiritual health of the monkhood, whose image has been tainted by reports of ritual suicides, paedophilia, drug-taking, violence and other violations of the strict disciplinary code. The politicization of the Buddhist clergy is also cause for concern. Moreover, other religions are waiting in the wings to snap up converts, armed with money and the flagging reputation of the guardians of Buddhism.

The radical Khmer Rouge virtually destroyed Buddhism and the monkhood in the late 1970s. The religion has made a remarkable recovery, but it suffers from some fundamental weakness that could undermine its position as the national religion

FUNDAMENTAL WEAKNESSES
• Buddhism's recovery has been hit by scandals affecting the monkhood
• Most monks and worshippers lack understanding of the religion
• Buddhism faces a threat from outside influences and other religions

"Right now Cambodian Buddhism can be compared to a sick man," says Miech Ponn, 71, a scholar and adviser at the government-run Buddhist Institute in Phnom Penh. "Once he gets sick, he gets thin and weak and then it's very easy for him to get more sick, easy for outside illness to get in the body."

Miech Ponn and others like him hark back to what they see as the golden era of the 1950s and 1960s. The then-Prince Norodom Sihanouk, now king, was in power and Cambodia was a centre of Theravada Buddhist learning. And in 1961 it hosted the Sixth Conference of the World Fellowship of Buddhists. Part of Buddhism's strength came from its tight weave with the national culture and Khmer identity.

But the country passed into darkness after Sihanouk's overthrow in the 1970s, when Cambodia was first plunged into civil war and then subjected to the 1975-79 terror rule of the Maoist Khmer Rouge regime, which tried to destroy all traces of religion. Officials say that almost two-thirds of the country's 3,500 pagodas were destroyed and the Khmer Rouge forced some 65,000 monks to work in the rice fields, where an untold number died of disease and starvation or were executed.

Experts on Cambodian culture say that at least 80% of the country's vast archive of Buddhist texts, many carved on fragile strips of palm leaf, fell victim to the regime's utilitarian motives, ending up as baskets and hats or simply destroyed.

Buddhism slowly began to re-establish itself in the 1980s when Vietnam propped up a puppet government in the face of a resistance alliance spearheaded by the Khmer Rouge. But it was not until the 1990s and the return of relative peace and economic stability that the pace picked up. Those who say the religion is now as strong as ever point to the number of monks and pagodas in the country, with estimates close to or exceeding the early Sihanouk years. They say temples are packed on holy days and note that Cambodia will host a major international conference on Buddhism from December 5-7.

Undeniably, village life once more revolves around the pagoda in most rural areas--the centre for education, culture and community. In addition to performing religious ceremonies, monks often assume the roles of educator, both of traditional subjects and moral conduct, mediator of domestic and community problems and disputes, and spiritual healers.

"Buddhism is so powerful in terms of social solidarity," says Ok Serei Sopheak, coordinator for the Centre for Peace and Development. "When there's a moral problem or social conflict, monks play such a crucial role. Their presence alone helps people to calm down and resolve problems."

"Now Buddhism has been reborn," says Pov Soem, a professor at the government-run Sihanouk Raj Buddhist University, while noting that the number of Buddhist high schools has grown from two under Sihanouk's rule to 15 today.

But scholars of Buddhism, while acknowledging the importance of the pagoda and Buddhism in the everyday life of Cambodians, disagree with the rosy picture painted by people like Pov Soem. They say there are major weaknesses, citing indiscipline and poor educational standards among the monkhood and the paucity of Buddhist texts and experienced teachers. And they add that if the rote-trained monk does not get it, neither will his rural flock in a country where less than 40% of the people are literate, according to official figures.

"There's a lot of confusion in Cambodia," says Sri Lankan Hema Goonatilake, a senior adviser to the Buddhist Institute. "There's a lot of confusion and misunderstanding about religion and Buddhism itself."

And when people don't understand what they are meant to be preaching, and if they are not getting the proper guidance, they are more likely to go off the rails. Buddhist leaders say that over the past decade the number of monks who have fallen by the wayside has grown. "You hear about monks drinking alcohol, having sex, sleeping with girls in their rooms, going to discos and nightclubs, and it's increasing. They're just imitating the trends of civil society," says the Buddhist scholar Miech Ponn.

It's also true that the monkhood in Buddhist countries such as Thailand, which have not undergone the trauma of Cambodia, suffer from disciplinary problems, but the difference is that they have well established mechanisms to deal with aberrations. "Buddhist leaders and government institutions are trying our best to solve these problems," says Tep Vong, supreme patriarch of the country's majority Mohanikay sect. "When we solve one, another occurs. If we don't solve them, they will continue to spread."

Tep Vong started the Cambodian Monk Inspection Commission over a year ago to punish errant monks, but most experts on Buddhism say nothing will change unless the core problem is addressed--the lack of comprehensive religious education and training among young clergymen throughout the country.

While monasteries, the Buddhist high schools and the country's two Buddhist universities are training young men valuable new skills, including computer training and English-language tuition, in most cases these are simply preparing them for life after the monkhood--most Cambodian males only join the monkhood for a short time once in their life.

"Monks are thinking about their futures," says former monk Heng Monychenda, who heads the Buddhism for Development non-governmental organization. "This is good in terms of developing human resources for the country. For the health of Buddhism in the long term? I'm not sure."

Yos Hut, one of the few surviving Cambodian experts on meditation, says the best teachers died under the Khmer Rouge. "The masters now don't have enough ability to lead and guide the novices. Their knowledge and training is limited. They can only perform traditional ceremonies," adds the 55-year-old monk.

But these weaknesses in the clergy are still largely eclipsed by the throngs of temple-goers, which experts attribute in part to Cambodians' deep association between Buddhism and Khmer culture, and in part to the healing qualities of the rituals in which most Cambodians still faithfully take part.

"There's an obsession with rituals. One problem is that the rituals are based largely on fear. Fear that something bad will happen if they don't do them," says Goonatilake. "I don't know how long this can hold up."

Despite the poor example shown by some monks, they are still seen as a force for rebuilding the country and the "only institution that has the complete confidence of the people," says Ok Serei Sopheak of the Centre for Peace and Development.

But scholars say the lack of deep-rooted education and understanding of Buddhism leaves it vulnerable as Cambodian society continues to open to the outside world.

But more worrisome than the threat of worldly vices and outside influences to many in the Buddhist community is the threat of other religions bearing gifts, especially aggressive Christian groups seeking converts.

"If Buddhism's not strong, other cultures will replace it in head, heart and mind," warns Ok Serei Sopheak. "Other cultures will fill the gap left between the understanding of the religion and the building of pagodas."

Nina Wang's Bitter Battle

Little Sweetie's Battle of Wills
By David Lague/HONG KONG
FEER Issue cover-dated December 05, 2002
http://www.feer.com/articles/2002/0212_05/p016region.html

IT HAS BEEN more than 12 years since Nina Wang's tycoon husband Teddy Wang was kidnapped--and presumably killed--but she has never played the part of the grieving widow.

Since her husband vanished 12 years ago, Nina Wang has built his Chinachem into a property giant. Now, a bitter legal battle with her father-in-law threatens her future

The tiny but flamboyant Nina built Chinachem, the property company she started with Teddy, into Hong Kong's biggest privately held developer. She became one of Asia's richest women. She took on another persona--a teenage-fantasy character flaunting bright lipstick, bouncing pigtails, garish miniskirts and bobby socks. Sometimes she takes her pet German shepherd Wei Wei to boardroom meetings.

Now comes a bitter reversal for the 64-year-old--dubbed Little Sweetie by the Hong Kong media. On November 21, a civil court in Hong Kong ruled she had "probably" forged part of a will, allegedly written by her husband in 1990, that named her as his sole heir.

Hong Kong's police say they are now investigating the case. At the very least, the ruling means Nina Wang is in danger of losing control of Chinachem and its assets, which Forbes magazine earlier this year estimated to be worth $2.4 billion. If Nina Wang is worried, she is not letting on. "I will appeal," she defiantly told reporters two days after the court ruling. "There is nothing to worry about."

Perhaps, but the problem remains for Nina Wang that she has lost the first round in a "battle of wills" with her father-in-law, 91-year-old Wang Din-shin. The older Wang maintains that a 1968 will makes him the sole beneficiary of Teddy's estate. In court, he claimed that Teddy disinherited his wife in 1968 after learning that she had had an extra-marital affair.

While this titillating contest has been played out in Hong Kong's High Court, its origins go back to 1940s Shanghai. Before the 1949 communist takeover, Wang Din-shin was an importer of industrial raw materials and Western medicine in Shanghai. In 1947 he set up a branch of his business in then-British-run Hong Kong and Teddy was soon working for him, mainly selling agricultural chemicals. Nina, Teddy's childhood playmate, came to Hong Kong from Shanghai in 1955 and they were married the same year.

In about 1960, Teddy founded Chinachem with capital from his father and went into real estate. According to court documents, Teddy held most of the shares in the new company while Nina held a minor stake. By the late 1980s, the privately held Chinachem was reportedly earning more than $130 million a year in rents alone from its apartments.

However, unlike other mainland immigrants, Teddy and Nina Wang didn't flaunt their wealth. They may have lived on Hong Kong's tony Peak, but their flat was unkempt and their garden overgrown. The childless couple threw their energy into Chinachem, where they were equally parsimonious: According to construction-industry veterans, building contractors earned every cent they were paid. In more recent times, Nina Wang has told interviewers she gets by on just $400 a month by eating Fillet-o-Fish burgers from McDonald's and buying clothes from factory outlets. (Nina Wang did not respond to requests to be interviewed for this article.)

Police say that this concern to keep a tight grip on spending may have contributed to Teddy Wang's demise. Teddy was first kidnapped in 1983, when an $11 million ransom (subsequently recovered) was paid. Despite this, testimony from his kidnappers during their trial revealed that the then-57-year-old tycoon was alone and unprotected when he was abducted on the evening of April 10, 1990. A car parked across the road forced his Mercedes to stop. He was overpowered and driven to a harbour, where the now-drugged tycoon was taken aboard a fishing boat, which put to sea.

His captors soon contacted his wife with a $60 million ransom demand. Despite strong objections from police who wanted her to wait until there was some evidence that her husband was alive, she paid a $30 million instalment.

"Ironically, paying the money paid off for us," says Steve Vickers, the detective who led the investigation. Detectives managed to track the movement of this money and most of the gang were eventually caught and given long prison terms. Almost all the ransom was recovered. In the late 1990s, a convicted kidnapper claimed that panicked gang members had thrown Teddy's weighted body into the sea. Whatever happened, Teddy was never seen again.

HIGH HOPES
In 1994, Nina Wang announced an audacious plan for Hong Kong: She would construct the world's tallest building--108 storeys high--and name it The Nina Tower. The plan was eventually vetoed by the government, but its ambition symbolized Nina Wang's confidence in her role as Chinachem's "chairlady."

In the years since the kidnapping of her husband, Nina Wang has diversified Chinachem's business into biotechnology, food and entertainment. Today, the group and its subsidiaries have more than 200 properties in Hong Kong, according to local property analysts.

Nina Wang has been active politically, too. She is an adviser to the mainland government and sits on the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference. In the United States, she donated $7 million to Harvard University in 1997 to fund a study programme for People's Liberation Army officers. There was also a $50,000 donation in 1996 to the Clinton Birthplace Foundation, which was restoring the home of then-President Bill Clinton. Although fully legal, the donation briefly dragged Nina into the controversy in the U.S. over Asian political donors.

As her business and political profile rose, so did her extroverted public demeanour. Last year she commissioned a cartoon book featuring a character with pigtails. "Up close she looks her age but she is pretending to be a Hong Kong teenager with her outfits and a little backpack," says a local photographer who last year accompanied a Hong Kong business delegation, including Nina Wang, to China's far west. "Even in Muslim areas she was wearing her micro-miniskirts."

Still, people who know her say she shouldn't be underestimated. "She looks funny but she is very smart and very good at business," says Hong Kong-based businesswoman Chiang Su-hui who has met Nina on many occasions. "She has made a lot of money since her husband disappeared."

In the 12 years since he vanished, Nina Wang has never publicly accepted or acknowledged his death. In fact, she has persistently claimed he is still alive and that he has attempted to contact her. She also resisted her father-in-law's attempts to have her husband declared legally dead. Such a declaration would have allowed Wang Din-shin to execute the 1968 will, which made him Teddy's heir.

Finally in 1999, Hong Kong's High Court cleared the elder Wang's bid to have his son declared dead. It was immediately after this ruling that Nina handed the judge a sealed envelope. She claimed Teddy had given it to her with instructions not to open it unless he died. The envelope contained the will dated March 12, 1990, that a civil court has now ruled a forgery.

In his judgment, Justice David Yam said he found it impossible to believe that the tycoon had signed the four documents that make up the 1990 will. "The only irresistible conclusion that one can draw from all the unanswered or unanswerable or unexplained or unexplainable questions raised by the evidence presented by the plaintiff is that the 1990 documents are forged documents," the judge said. He also speculated that some of the wording in the documents could have been written by Nina to ensure she would not have to share her late husband's estate.

While the trial over the wills was under way, Wang Din-shin moved in other ways to protect his claimed inheritance. In March 2000 he succeeded in getting a court to appoint administrators to protect his son's estate, but because Chinachem is unlisted, the immediate legal implications of this on the company's ownership and day-to-day operations remain unclear. Still, from a series of writs filed in Hong Kong's courts, it is clear that administrators, from Deloitte Touche Tohmatsu and PricewaterhouseCoopers, have moved to undo actions by Nina Wang that they claim were aimed at strengthening her hold on Chinachem through share allocations in Chime Corporation, the biggest company in the Chinachem group. "Since the disappearance of Mr. Wang in April 1990, Madam Wang has engaged in a course of conduct . . . or acts designed to expropriate Mr. Wang's majority shareholding in Chime in her favour and to obtain collateral benefits therefrom," they claimed in a writ.

If the November 21 ruling means Nina Wang ultimately loses control of Chinachem, she is unlikely to face anything like poverty in the near future.

"Even if she was not a substantial shareholder of this company, Nina was substantially provided for by Teddy in many of the developments of the Chinachem group in the past," Justice Yam found. And, Nina had become the sole owner of joint accounts holding "substantial" amounts of money since her husband's death. Business analysts also believe she has accumulated substantial assets in her own right. With her careful spending habits, Little Sweetie could make what is left over go a long way.

Postcards From Planet Google

Postcards From Planet Google
By JENNIFER 8. LEE
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/28/technology/circuits/28goog.html

MOUNTAIN VIEW, Calif.

AT Google's squat headquarters off Route 101, visitors sit in the lobby, transfixed by the words scrolling by on the wall behind the receptionist's desk: animación japonese Harry Potter pensées et poèmes associação brasileira de normas técnicas.

The projected display, called Live Query, shows updated samples of what people around the world are typing into Google's search engine. The terms scroll by in English, Chinese, Spanish, Swedish, Japanese, Korean, French, Dutch, Italian - any of the 86 languages that Google tracks: people who shouldn't marry "she smoked a cigar" mr. potatoheads in long island pickup lines to get women auto theft fraud how to. Stare at Live Query long enough, and you feel that you are watching the collective consciousness of the world stream by.

Each line represents a thought from someone, somewhere with an Internet connection. Google collects these queries - 150 million a day from more than 100 countries - in its databases, updating and storing the computer logs millisecond by millisecond.

Google is taking snapshots of its users' minds and aggregating them. Like a flipbook that emerges when successive images are strung together, the logged data tell a story.

So what is the world thinking about?

Sex, for one thing.

"You can learn to say 'sex' in a lot of different languages by looking at the logs," said Craig Silverstein, director of technology at Google. (To keep Live Query G-rated, Google filters out sex-related searches, though less successfully with foreign languages.)

Despite its geographic and ethnic diversity, the world is spending much of its time thinking about the same things. Country to country, region to region, day to day and even minute to minute, the same topic areas bubble to the top: celebrities, current events, products and computer downloads.

"It's amazing how similar people are all over the world based on what they are searching for," said Greg Rae, one of three members of Google's logs team, which is responsible for building, storing and protecting the data record.

Google's following - it is the most widely used search engine -- has given Mr. Rae a worldview from his cubicle. Since October 2001, he has been able to reel off "anthrax" in several languages: milzbrand (German), carbonchio (Italian), miltvuur (Dutch), antrax (Spanish). He says he can also tell which countries took their recent elections seriously (Brazil and Germany), because of the frenzy of searches. He notes that the globalization of consumer culture means that the most popular brands are far-flung in origin: Nokia, Sony, BMW, Ferrari, Ikea and Microsoft.

Judging from Google's data, some sports events stir interest almost everywhere: the Tour de France, Wimbledon, the Melbourne Cup horse race and the World Series were all among the top 10 sports-related searches last year. It also becomes obvious just how familiar American movies, music and celebrities are to searchers across the globe. Two years ago, a Google engineer named Lucas Pereira noticed that searches for Britney Spears had declined, indicating what he thought must be a decline in her popularity. From that observation grew Google Zeitgeist, a listing of the top gaining and declining queries of each week and month.

Glancing over Google Zeitgeist is like taking a trivia test in cultural literacy: Ulrika Jonsson (a Swedish-born British television host), made the list recently, as did Irish Travelers (a nomadic ethnic group, one of whose members was videotaped beating her young daughter in Indiana) and fentanyl (the narcotic gas used in the Moscow raid to rescue hostages taken by Chechen rebels in late October).

The long-lasting volume of searches involving her name has made Ms. Spears something of a benchmark for the logs team. It has helped them understand how news can cause spikes in searches, as it did when she broke up with Justin Timberlake.

Google can feel the reverberations of such events, and others of a more serious nature, immediately.

On Feb. 28, 2001, for example, an earthquake began near Seattle at 10:54 a.m. local time. Within two minutes, earthquake-related searches jumped to 250 a minute from almost none, with a concentration in the Pacific Northwest. On Sept. 11, searches for the World Trade Center, Pentagon and CNN shot up immediately after the attacks. Over the next few days, Nostradamus became the top search query, fueled by a rumor that Nostradamus had predicted the trade center's destruction.

But the most trivial events may also register on Google's sensitive cultural seismic meter.

The logs team came to work one morning to find that "carol brady maiden name" had surged to the top of the charts.

Curious, they mapped the searches by time of day and found that they were neatly grouped in five spikes: biggest, small, small, big and finally, after a long wait, another small blip. Each spike started at 48 minutes after the hour.

As the logs were passed through the office, employees were perplexed. Why would there be a surge in interest in a character from the 1970's sitcom "The Brady Bunch"? But the data could only reflect patterns, not explain them.

That is a paradox of a Google log: it does not capture social phenomena per se, but merely the shadows they cast across the Internet.

"The most interesting part is why," said Amit Patel, who has been a member of the logs team. "You can't interpret it unless you know what else is going on in the world."

So what had gone on on April 22, 2001?

That night the million-dollar question on the game show "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" had been, "What was Carol Brady's maiden name?" Seconds after the show's host, Regis Philbin, posed the question, thousands flocked to Google to search for the answer (Tyler), producing four spikes as the show was broadcast successively in each time zone.

And that last little blip?

"Hawaii," Mr. Patel said.

The precision of the Carol Brady data was eye-opening for some.

"It was like trying an electron microscope for the first time," said Sergey Brin, who as a graduate student in computer science at Stanford helped found Google in 1998 and is now its president for technology. "It was like a moment-by-moment barometer."

Predictably, Google's query data respond to television, movies and radio. But the mass media also feed off the demands of their audiences. One of Google's strengths is its predictive power, flagging trends before they hit the radar of other media.

As such it could be of tremendous value to entertainment companies or retailers. Google is quiet about what if any plans it has for commercializing its vast store of query information. "There is tremendous opportunity with this data," Mr. Silverstein said. "The challenge is defining what we want to do."

The search engine Lycos, which produces a top 50 list of its most popular searches, is already exploring potential commercial opportunities. "There is a lot of interest from marketing people," said Aaron Schatz, who writes a daily column on trends for Lycos. "They want to see if their product is appearing. What is the next big thing?"

Google currently does not allow outsiders to gain access to raw data because of privacy concerns. Searches are logged by time of day, originating I.P. address (information that can be used to link searches to a specific computer), and the sites on which the user clicked. People tell things to search engines that they would never talk about publicly - Viagra, pregnancy scares, fraud, face lifts. What is interesting in the aggregate can be seem an invasiion of privacy if narrowed to an individual.

So, does Google ever get subpoenas for its information?

"Google does not comment on the details of legal matters involving Google," Mr. Brin responded.

In aggregate form, Google's data can make a stunning presentation. Next to Mr. Rae's cubicle is the GeoDisplay, a 40-inch screen that gives a three-dimensional geographical representation of where Google is being used around the globe. The searches are represented by colored dots shooting into the atmosphere. The colors - red, yellow, orange - convey the impression of a globe whose major cities are on fire. The tallest flames are in New York, Tokyo and the San Francisco Bay Area.

Pinned up next to the GeoDisplay are two charts depicting Google usage in the United States throughout the day. For searches as a whole, there is a single peak at 5 p.m. For sex-related searches, there is a second peak at 11 p.m.

Each country has a distinctive usage pattern. Spain, France and Italy have a midday lull in Google searches, presumably reflecting leisurely lunches and relaxation. In Japan, the peak usage is after midnight - an indication that phone rates for dial-up modems drop at that time.

Google's worldwide scope means that the company can track ideas and phenomena as they hop from country to country.

Take Las Ketchup, a trio of singing sisters who became a sensation in Spain last spring with a gibberish song and accompanying knee-knocking dance similar to the Macarena.

Like a series of waves, Google searches for Las Ketchup undulated through Europe over the summer and fall, first peaking in Spain, then Italy, then Germany and France.

"The Ketchup Song (Hey Hah)" has already topped the charts in 18 countries. A ring tone is available for mobile phones. A parody of the song that mocks Chancellor Gerhard Schröder for raising taxes has raced to the top of the charts in Germany.

In late summer, Google's logs show, Las Ketchup searches began a strong upward climb in the United States, Britain and the Netherlands.

Haven't heard of Las Ketchup?

If you haven't, Google predicts you soon will.

Walker in the Wireless City

Walker in the Wireless City
By TOM VANDERBILT
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/24/nyregion/24FEAT.html

IT is a late autumn day in Bryant Park. Red and yellow leaves swirl around clusters of green folding chairs. People sit in the thin afternoon light, talking on cellphones, to others, to themselves. The scent of a piquant cigar mixes with the crisp tang of fall.

As I sit in this verdantly genteel place, a whole other flurry of movement and social interaction is going on around me, one invisible to the eye. I watch it on my laptop, the modern equivalent of Jimmy Stewart in a wheelchair, binoculars in hand, in "Rear Window." In the small browser window of my iBook's Airport card, an antenna of sorts, I find myself at the nexus of any number of the wireless networks that have come to blanket the city.

There is one called "theorywireless1," another that says "Wlan," another labeled "www.nycwireless.net" and one called simply "X." I select the penultimate choice and within seconds have a free broadband connection to the Internet, something, it is estimated, found in less than 10 percent of American homes.

While most people were not watching, New York has become host to yet another layer of infrastructure, a random, interlinking constellation of what are called "wireless access points." A survey last summer found more than 12,000 access points bristling throughout Manhattan alone, many open to anyone with a wireless card, many others closed and private, and still others available for a fee.

None of these were laid down by city workers. No streets were torn up. No laws were passed. Rather, this network has been made possible by the proliferation of ever more affordable wireless routers and networking devices, which in turn transmit the low-range, unlicensed spectrum (a wild frontier, home also to baby monitors and cordless phones) known as 802.11b, or, more genially, Wi-Fi.

Walking the streets of New York today means walking amid an unseen tangle of Wi-Fi. The hum of Internet traffic mingles with the jostle of pedestrians. Data "packets" whiz by like bike messengers. In no place are the emerging social and urban aspects of this fact made clearer than Bryant Park, which last spring became what its operations director, Jerome Barth, calls "the first park to have installed a dedicated system that provides coverage throughout its entire footprint."

Not that you would notice. A thin antenna rising from the park's office serves as access point, while two similar antennas, on top of the bathrooms and the pizzeria near the Avenue of the Americas, function as what are called repeaters. These minor appurtenances drape the eight-acre park in high-speed Internet access.

The people who run the park now report that daily users of its high-speed access number in the high two figures. Come spring, they expect the daily figure to swell to several hundred. Internet sessions often last more than an hour.

"We are intent on loading the park with users and increasing what we call their `dwell time,' or how long they stay in the park," said Daniel A. Biederman, president of the Bryant Park Restoration Corporation.

The idea of Internet access surfaced at one of the corporation's regular meetings more than a year ago, Mr. Biederman recalled: "What can we do to make people stay in the park? Why do they have to go back to their offices at 2? They have to go back to get on the Web. Why don't we give them the Web?"

The idea of fixed connections seemed discordant with the park's philosophy. "They were in portions of the park that didn't seem amenable enough, too noisy," Mr. Biederman said. "We wanted to have the same thing as we have with our seating: a random distribution of the function."

Enter NYC Wireless, an ad hoc group committed to the creation of free wireless access in public spaces throughout the city. Bryant Park would be the perfect showcase for their vision.

With some clever engineering and hardware from Cisco Systems and Intel, the wireless park was born. Just as park users could sit wherever they liked, so too could they gain access where they liked. The eight-megabytes-per-second connection was as free as the sunshine and the green grass.

"When we first started the group, we were concerned about the proliferation of paid hot spots in coffee shops, hotels and airports," said Anthony Townsend, a co-founder of NYC Wireless, using the popular term for a wireless access point. "We realized that if we could deploy a free hot spot at a given location, there would be no incentive for a commercial provider to ever set up a network there. People are always going to choose the lowest-cost option."

The group began small. The other co-founder, Terry Schmidt, set up a free network in the New World coffee shop downstairs from his Upper West Side apartment. But with Bryant Park as its flagship effort, and Madison Square and Tompkins Square Parks among its other areas of coverage, the group is building a loose network of free Wi-Fi throughout the city. Apart from its centralized efforts, the group's Web site is filled with announcements from those who have set up their own access points, a do-it-yourself response to the paid Wi-Fi found at Starbucks.

Rather than a paid telecommunications service, its founders regard wireless as an urban amenity with untold implications for a city's vibrancy. "Cities wouldn't work if we didn't have networks," Mr. Townsend said, "for moving people, goods, information."

"This technology flies in the face of all the `death of distance' and `end of geography' rhetoric of the 90's fiber optic boom," added Mr. Townsend, a doctoral student in urban planning at M.I.T. and a researcher at the Taub Urban Research Center of New York University. For regulatory reasons, the ranges of Wi-Fi transmitters tend to be within several hundred feet.

"It's a very intimate technology, very local," he said. And perfect for New York: the denser the city, the greater the number of people who can gain access to a network. "It's easier to achieve a critical mass. When we got to 50 hot spots, that looked like a lot more than Los Angeles or Atlanta. You could actually walk between them."

Rather than the death of place, it serves to reinforce place. "Places that have it will become special," he said. This in effect causes a kind of reimagining of the city's geography — i.e., where can I go to find a hot spot? — although interestingly, places with access already tend to be vital urban places.

BRYANT Park is an example of what the geographer Kevin Lynch, in his classic 1960 book "The Image of the City," called a node. Nodes, as he defined them, "may be primary junctions, places of a break in transportation, a crossing or convergence of paths, moments of shift from one structure to another." They help give "legibility" to the city, help us to orient ourselves. Node is also a word synonymous with hot spot — a junction of Wi-Fi signals — and the electronic nodes are turning up in the same parks, airports and public gathering places that Mr. Lynch considered physical nodes.

For Mr. Townsend, there is much possibility, and still much to be learned, in the relationship between the physical Bryant Park and its virtual twin. For example, should there be some physical manifestation of the Internet activity in the park, like a light that grows brighter with more users? Should information about park events, dining options and other local information be posted on the Bryant Park portal?

Conversely, should the virtual park reflect the real one? "When the park closes, do we close the network down?" he asked.

Plans are in the works for a Bryant Park chat system, where users could meet online. This location-based service, as with other virtual meet-and-greet applications, represents a striking effort to overcome the social distancing augured by wireless itself: Why talk to the person next to you when you've got the world at your fingertips?

For Mr. Biederman, the wireless program is part of the evolving mission of Bryant Park, one of the world's most heavily trafficked (900 people per acre) and intensely managed public spaces. The park has kept track of its Internet users with the same vigor with which it sends two employees with clickers (one for men, one for women; a close male-female ratio is vital to its vision of a vibrant public place) to measure park attendance each day at the peak hour of 1:15 p.m. On daily walkthroughs, the park managers approach laptop users.

"We look over their shoulders a lot," Mr. Biederman said. "When I see someone using a laptop and I run up to them and say, `Hi, I'm the guy who runs the park, and I wanted to see what your reaction is to this,' it's almost like parental guidance."

That raises the issue of what is on people's screens at the park.

"We want to give users the greatest privacy possible in the usage of the system," Mr. Barth said. "We believe that just as Bryant Park is a very lawful place where people are extremely civilized, this will link in a manner to their Internet usage; that you won't feel comfortable surfing the Internet for reprehensible Web sites or pornography, because the social pressure around you will make it an unpleasant experience."

Call it "eyes on the net," an updated version of William H. Whyte's classic idea of "eyes on the street," espoused in books like "The Social Life of Small Urban Spaces" (1980). Whyte, whose time-lapse studies of pedestrian behavior and treatises on the desirability of movable chairs are the foundation stones of Bryant Park's revival, died in 1999, before the advent of the wireless park. And yet New York's emerging wireless citizens, like the cellphone users before them, would certainly have been germane to his studies of street-corner conversations, plaza footpaths and spatial relations.

Even if the Blackberry-armed New Yorker can check e-mail anywhere, Whyte might have noted that this behavior had its own distinct patterns, that people would feel more comfortable doing so in inviting public places like Bryant Park.

Whether or not Whyte would have envisioned the wireless park, Mr. Biederman thinks it is true to his thinking. "Anything that got people into parks, made them more pleasant — he would have thought this was terrific," he said.

DOWN the street from my house in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn, a Linksys wireless router sits in the window of the apartment of Kevin Milani, a 28-year-old engineering school dropout and marketing consultant. As one of the far-flung band of people who have posted listings on the Web site of NYC Wireless, he invites those within range to use the bandwidth streaming into his house through a D.S.L. account provided by Panix, a New York company. It is one of many "stoop networks" to be found in Brooklyn.

"I have a lot of bandwidth I'm not using, so I might as well share," he said.

This is the remarkable idea at the heart of the free wireless movement. It's as if he invited people within 150 feet to watch whatever cable stations he happened not to be watching at the moment.

Nor is he overly concerned with the risks of leaving his electronic front door open. "A person could actually do quite a bit of damage if they wanted," he said. "I have backups. I am at risk just being connected to the Internet." As for his potential redistribution of the bandwidth provided by Panix, he said: "I don't think they really care. They're a bunch of techies."

But Panix does care. For residential accounts, says the company's president, Alexis Rosen, this is "strictly prohibited." For business users, it is "strongly discouraged." Predictably, large providers like Time Warner also take a dim view of bandwidth sharers. "The fact that the technology exists to go a couple of hundred feet is irrelevant in our minds," said Joseph DiGeso, vice president and general manager for high-speed online services at Time Warner Cable of New York. "The ability to tap into a phone line or cable box has existed for years, but it doesn't make it legal."

A larger concern for Mr. Rosen is security. The spread of broadband Internet has resulted in scores of connected computers that are, in effect, servers unto themselves. Mr. Rosen worries that such wireless arrangements are vulnerable to hackers or "script kiddies," less technically pro- ficient users who simply use code-breaking software.

"If you open your network to any fool who's got a wireless card in their machine," Mr. Rosen said, "they can use your machine to execute a bandwidth attack, or they can be the victim of a script kiddie and be used to execute an attack. And we can't even figure out who they are. We can only trace it back to you."

The electronic city is still fairly porous, as was demonstrated by a recent series of expeditions of the World Wide War Drive. War driving means cruising through the city logging unsecured access points. Christopher Blume, the 16-year-old New York coordinator of the war drive, trolls through Manhattan like a Baedeker of the ether.

"You learn to look for the abbreviations as you're driving by," he says. "Take `Bndemo.' You wouldn't think anything of that. But where I drive by, that's Barnes & Noble." (This summer, after the magazine 2600 published a log of the bookseller's network activity, including credit card numbers, the network was closed.)

Mr. Townsend of NYC Wireless concedes the additional security risks of a public wireless network, but adds that any network has its vulnerabilities. "I can sit here in my office and sniff the traffic going over the local network," he said. As for al Qaeda or child pornographers using Bryant Park, he argues that there is nothing anyone can do on a wireless network that couldn't be done at the public library.

With all their promise and peril, the emerging wireless networks raise the perennial questions about the dynamics and very nature of urban space. Can public life ever be made truly safe? How do you balance private and public space? What does the geographic distribution of the wireless networks say about the socioeconomic makeup of a city, especially one as large and complex as New York?

Quite a lot, as Marcos Lara, founder of the Public Internet Project, found out this summer. He and a research team, using a global positioning system, a laptop and an antenna, conducted a four-month survey of all wireless access points in Manhattan (www.publicinternetproject.org). Mr. Lara, 28, formerly of NYC Wireless and part of the Bryant Park initiative, is now working to bring broadband access into underserved communities. He also sells the results of his findings, correlated in a plotted, thematic map that, as he puts it, represents a "one-of-a-kind look into the use of wireless technologies in daily consumer life."

His drive also cast cold digital light on the notion of urban social disparity.

"It's one thing to hear about it," he said. "It's another thing to actually see it occurring on your screen as you drive down the block. You see the economically depressed areas. You think: `Well, maybe they have computers. Maybe they have technology.' Then you look down on the screen, and you have this unique portal into their world, and it's a desert."

Tom Vanderbilt is author of "Survival City: Adventures Among the Ruins of Atomic America."

Unemployment Pinches Hard

Unemployment Pinches Hard at the Bottom of the Economic Ladder
By JEFF MADRICK
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/28/business/28SCEN.html

There seems to be a notion around that an economy with unemployment at the current rate of 5.7 percent is not doing too badly at all. At least that's how some members of Congress justified their refusal on Friday to extend unemployment benefits, which will soon expire for nearly a million workers.

After all, many economists asserted only a few years ago that an unemployment rate around 6 percent is about the best the economy could do.

But most of those economists are still trying to wipe the egg off their faces. If the 1990's taught us anything at all, it is that the American economy can now do better. The unemployment rate fell consistently from 6 percent in 1994 to a low of around 4 percent for all of 2001, with little worry about inflation.

And low unemployment — the nation had not experienced sustained unemployment at the 2000 level since the 1960's — showed us all just how much better the economy can perform than even the most optimistic had come to believe.

As unemployment fell through the 1990's, the number of unemployed Americans fell by an impressive five million workers. In addition, millions of people who lost jobs found them more quickly, far fewer workers had to settle for part-time jobs, and many more people started to look for work again after sitting on the sidelines during the slow economic growth of previous years.

Now the economy has deteriorated again. How does an economy with an unemployment rate around 6 percent compare with one with an unemployment rate around 4 percent? To get a sense of the differences, Jared Bernstein, a senior economist at the Economic Policy Institute, compared the conditions of the labor markets in the first nine months of 2002, when the unemployment rate averaged 5.7 percent, with the first nine months of 2000, when it averaged 4 percent.

About 2.5 million more workers are unemployed now than in 2000. That's bad enough. But the unemployment rate for African-Americans has risen about 60 percent faster than for all workers. Some 400,000 more are now out of work than were out of work in 2000, a two-year rise of 30 percent.

Moreover, after workers have lost their jobs, they have had more trouble finding new ones. The proportion of those who have been out of work for more than 27 weeks is way up. That is why extending unemployment benefits is so important. Now, about 800,000 more workers have been out of work for six months or longer, compared with the number in 2000.

In addition, the number of part-time workers who would like full-time work has risen by one million. And the increase in the labor force has slowed markedly because many more people have stopped looking for jobs. They do not show up in the unemployment data. In the recessions of the early 1980's and 1990's, the labor force grew far more rapidly, pushing up the unemployment rate.

Such a snapshot does not nearly tell the whole story, however. The biggest benefit from rapid growth coupled with low unemployment rates may well have been the first significant increases in wages and family incomes since the 1960's. Over all, family incomes, for example, rose far more rapidly from 1996 to 2000 than they did from 1991 to 1996 or even from 1984 to 1989 — the last five years of the fairly rapid expansion under Ronald Reagan. In particular, incomes for lower-income families rose as rapidly as for other income groups for the first time since the 1970's. In other words, income inequality stopped widening at last.

Family incomes at the 20th percentile — low-income families who earned more than 20 percent but less than 80 percent of all families — began to rise as rapidly as family incomes for those in the 80th percentile in the mid-1990's. In fact, incomes rose at about the same pace for all income levels in these years.

By contrast, in the early 1990's, when the unemployment rate averaged around 6.5 percent and economic growth was sluggish, family incomes grew much more slowly at all levels — about half as fast. But incomes for lower-end families grew the most slowly.

Those at the 20th percentile grew by a scant 0.5 percent a year from 1991 to 1996, less than one-fourth their rate of growth in the late 1990's. These families were earning only a few hundred dollars more after five years. Families at the median saw their incomes rise about twice as fast as low-income families. They were earning $1,200 a year more in 1996 than in 1991. Family incomes in the 80th percentile rose still faster. They were earning $5,000 more in 1996.

Comparisons with the 1980's are even more interesting because growth was fairly rapid in these years, and the unemployment rate fell sharply. Again, family incomes rose for all levels from 1984 to 1989. But with unemployment rates still well above 5 percent, incomes grew most slowly for low-income families. And income inequality widened significantly over these years.

For all the claims that educational differences and international trade were the main causes of income inequality in America, the experience of the 1990's increasingly suggests that slow growth and high unemployment were more decisive. As labor markets tightened in the late 1990's, even low- and middle-income workers seemed to regain some bargaining power at last. Mr. Bernstein and Dean Baker of the Center for Economic and Policy Research find an inverse statistical correlation between unemployment rates and wage rates for low-end workers.

With the recession that began two years ago, family incomes again fell across the board. But it's no surprise that they fell most rapidly for those in the bottom 20 or 30 percent. An unemployment rate of 6 percent, or even 5 percent, is just not good enough.

Well-Heeled Suburbs at Last Start Dressing the Part

Well-Heeled Suburbs at Last Start Dressing the Part
By GINIA BELLAFANTE
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/26/fashion/26DRES.html

Every other Friday evening at the Round Hill Community House in Greenwich, Conn., about 100 children, most a good 12 years away from possessing the skill to make a decent stock pick, arrive to learn about what adulthood will require. Boys and girls are paired off and taught the fox trot, the waltz, the cha-cha and the ways of polite conversation. The class, called Barclay's Etiquette, asks that children dress formally, which has led many of the girls to show up looking like exceedingly stylish women in miniature.

"A lot of the girls wear cocktail dresses and we're always saying to ourselves, `They look like us," one young mother said. "Of course, fashion for children doesn't exactly cover the ground of `what I need to wear to my ballroom dancing class when I'm 10,' " she added.

In the whole subgenre of 20th-century literature devoted to the habits and afflictions of the well-to-do in lower Fairfield County, Conn., one does not come across images of girls marching off to cotillions looking like Vogue editors, but then one doesn't come across images of their mothers looking that way either.

But slowly, the world has become a different place. In a survey published by Women's Wear Daily this month, lower Fairfield County, which includes Greenwich, Westport, New Canaan and Stamford, ranked as the metropolitan region with the highest average annual spending on women's clothes per household in the United States. At $1,663, the figure is nearly double the number spent per household in Dallas. (San Jose ranked No. 2; New York City, with its masses of lower-income households, did not make the list.)

"It's just not as conservative as it used to be," said Debbie Needle, a Greenwich mother who has noticed a shift in fashion sensibility during the three and a half years she has lived there. "A lot of the younger people wear a lot of Dolce, which you wouldn't expect. No one is running around in Alexander McQueen, but people look hipper, and if they have the money but their taste isn't necessarily there yet, they get personal shoppers."

That there are certain corners of the world impervious to current economic realities is a lesson easily absorbed during a day spent on the elegant strip mall that is Greenwich Avenue, or along Main Street in Westport.

Last Saturday, not long after Gary Shandling had walked through the doors at Mitchells, a 44-year-old clothing store in Westport, Bobbie Friedman, a tall painter in newsboy cap and a fur-collared Dolce & Gabbana coat, dropped off some medication she'd picked up for her favorite saleswoman, Phyllis Bershaw. Ms. Friedman said she visits Mitchells every day; she makes at least one purchase a week. Like many women in the area, her tastes have evolved over the years, past Ralph Lauren to European labels like Celine.

"Phyllis remembers what I have — I don't and she'll tell me, `You don't need this; you've already got it,' " Ms. Friedman said. Her dealings with Ms. Bershaw are so frequent that a few years ago, Ms. Friedman's husband, a restaurant owner, put a salad on his menu called the Phyllis.

Mitchells, like so many of the upper-end retail businesses in the area, is family-run. "The women's business has been growing at a rate faster than the men's business," Jack Mitchell, chairman of the company, said. Mr. Mitchell, who joined his family's company in 1969 after pursuing doctoral work in Chinese history at Berkeley, said his clients have become younger over the years.

What one finds at Mitchells, and the Mitchell family's second store, Richards in Greenwich, is an inventory that tries to meet the demands not only of a younger community but also of an increasingly international one. The stores collectively carry Pucci, Missoni, Jean Paul Gaultier and Marc Jacobs. A YSL boutique opened at Richards earlier this season and has done well, Mr. Mitchell's son Andrew said. "The cruise collection is blowing out."

Along the retail corridor of Greenwich Avenue in Greenwich on a Saturday afternoon, well-dressed women were speaking Italian and Japanese as well as Spanish and Portuguese. The newsstand on the avenue carries a selection of publications that rivals that at a Paris kiosk: German, Japanese and Spanish editions of Vogue as well as Bunte, Corriere della Sera and nearly a half-dozen Arab newspapers.

A few doors down from Richards on Greenwich Avenue is Grossman's, a shoe shop that defies all laws of luxury merchandising in that it is poorly lighted, generally resembles a Stride Rite outlet circa 1978 and carries Jimmy Choo shoes. Lee Grossman, whose father founded the business in 1940, inherited it in the 1970's.

"The maids were the customers until then," Mr. Grossman said. "I couldn't sell a $50 pair of shoes back then. If I'd gone high end, I would have gone out of business. People were snooty. If you bought something good it had to come from New York."

At Grossman's over the weekend, three young women who asked not to be named tried on boots and pointed out that layoffs have translated to increased opportunities for group shopping. Two of the women had retired from prominent banking positions in New York, and as one put it, "I shop and I work out."

A few hours earlier a saleswoman at Richards was whisking off to drive a sable coat to a client of hers who could not make it to a trunk show the store was holding for a furrier, Ben Kahn. The client had purchased 10 fur coats in 11 years, the saleswoman said. Over the course of two weekends, more than two dozen furs were sold.

At Betteridge's, a 105-year-old jeweler a few doors down from Richard's, a middle-aged man in a polar-fleece vest was looking for a yellow diamond to inset on a bracelet he had bought for his wife. He wanted the diamond to match a rare cut he had already purchased for a ring.

"You don't know what a joy it is for us to see something like this; it's so rare," the salesman said to his client of the ring stone.

"The talk around here about canary diamonds and pink diamonds among housewives is diabolical," said one Greenwich mother who did not wish to be named.

"When I was a kid in Greenwich there were a lot of wealthy families but their jewelry was inherited," explained Terry Betteridge, the third-generation proprietor of the shop. "Your typical customer then was someone whose sole motivation was capital preservation.

"I hear a lot of complaints about McMansions, but excuse me, these people have made their money. It's not awful. These people are fun and dynamic and they're confidant that if they spend all their money, they'll just go out and make more."

Defusing the Holy Bomb

[well written "satirical" letter from the "President" to the Muslim World.]

Defusing the Holy Bomb
By THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/27/opinion/27FRIE.html

To: Leaders of the Muslim world
From: President George W. Bush

Dear Sirs,

As you approach the end of Ramadan and we approach our Thanksgiving, I thought it would be a good time for me to share with you some concerns. Let me be blunt: I am increasingly worried that we are heading toward a civilizational war.

How so? Well, let me point out just a few news stories in recent days: Imam Samudra, the Indonesian Islamist accused of masterminding last month's Bali bombing — in which nearly 200 tourists were killed — reportedly said during his confession that it was a "holy bomb" that ripped apart that disco, and that it was aimed there because it was full of foreigners — i.e., non-Muslims. There is nothing "holy" about a bomb that kills 200 people just because they are foreigners.

Then I read about Bonnie Penner, a young U.S. missionary nurse at a prenatal clinic in Sidon, Lebanon, which provided care for needy Palestinians and Lebanese. She was shot three times in the face. A Palestinian security official told The A.P. that "the killing was the result of a hostile Muslim reaction in Sidon to the preaching . . . lessons the center was giving to Muslim youths." Do you know how much proselytizing Muslim groups do in America? A lot. We have no problem with that. That's who we are. Who are you? I have no idea whether this woman's clinic was involved in proselytizing Muslims, but I do know that she was a nurse, caring for Muslims, and she was shot for who she was.

Then there was Azmi Abu Hilayel, whose son Na'el strapped himself with dynamite and blew up an Israeli bus with school kids. Azmi was quoted as saying: "I thanked God when I heard that my son had died in an operation for the sake of God and the homeland." I can't believe that the God of Islam, a God of mercy and compassion, would bless killing anyone's kids. Believe me, I know Israeli soldiers have killed dozens of Palestinian children during the intifada. That is shameful. But I don't hear Israeli generals, parents or rabbis thanking God their sons could kill Muslim kids. Soldiers shooting kids is wrong. Suicide killing is wrong. There is no God that blesses either.

On top of all this, we just had the imam of a Paris mosque arrested for allegedly helping the airplane shoe-bomber. And we had two U.S. marines shot in Kuwait, a country we helped rescue from Saddam, and we saw one of our top aid officials in Jordan killed in his front yard for a similar "crime" — being an American in the Muslim world. Now you see why I ordered that young men from most Arab countries who are studying in America be fingerprinted and photographed by the I.N.S. I had no choice.

You say all this is happening because we support Israel. I know we need to do more to bring peace, but I don't think that nurse was shot, or that Bali bomb was made "holy," because we support Israel. I think it has to do with the rise within your midst of a deeply intolerant strain of Islam that is not simply a reaction to Israel, but is a response to your failing states, squandered oil wealth, broken ideologies (Nasserism) and generations of autocracy and illiteracy. Armed and angry, this harsh fundamentalism now seems to totally intimidate Muslim moderates.

But the values it propagates will bring ruin to you and conflict with us. As Brink Lindsey of the Cato Institute wrote in National Review, "No faith will make rote memorization of ancient texts, suppression of critical inquiry and dissent, subjugation of women, and a servile deference to authority the recipe for anything other than civilizational decline."

The decent, but passive, Muslim center must go to war against this harsh fundamentalism. Yes, we have our intolerant bigots too. I just publicly distanced myself from those Christians who smear Islam with a broad brush. But our moderate majority and press regularly denounce them too. They are not dominating our society. We've had our civil war against intolerance. Now I'm urging you to have yours. Don't tell me you can't. Look at those courageous Iranian students who are now taking on the extreme fundamentalists within their own society — risking their lives to fight those who want to take Islam, and Iran, back to the Dark Ages. God bless them.

Friends, unless you have a war within your civilization, there is going to be a war between our civilizations. We're just one more 9/11 away from that. So let's dedicate this next year to fighting intolerance within so we can preserve our relations between.

Sincerely, G.W.B.

Teaching Japan's Salarymen to Be Their Own Men

Teaching Japan's Salarymen to Be Their Own Men
By HOWARD W. FRENCH
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/27/international/asia/27JAPA.html

TOKYO, Nov. 26 — To listen to Masayoshi Toyoda, or any of his loosely associated band of activists, Japanese manhood has fallen on terrible times.

Not so long ago it was acceptable, even cool, here to introduce oneself as an "average salaryman." The expression conjured images of the total company man — someone who leaves work each day only to stay out late drinking and talking shop with colleagues, and whose first three words to his devoted wife upon arrival home were likely to be bath, meal, bed. As in, get them ready.

But those were the days of Japan's world-beating economy, when many women dreamed of nothing more than raising a family with a man with a lifetime job. During 12 years of flat growth, women have stampeded out of the kitchen and into the workplace. Now, as women have come to enjoy greater freedoms, there are suddenly few things less hip in Japan than to be an oyaji, or typical middle-aged man.

Like many social phenomena in Japan, the collapsing status of the corporate warrior has generated its own vocabulary. For younger women, the dark-suited company men seen everywhere walking two or three abreast, chain-smoking, their heads slightly bowed, are dasai (uncool) or nasakenai (clueless). For the wives to whom many of them return home in the evening, meanwhile, they are the nure-ochiba zoku (the wet leaf tribe) — clingy, musty and emotionally spent.

Mr. Toyoda, who has built a national network of men's liberation groups, is anything but nostalgic. What he yearns for is the reinvention of the Japanese man, not a return to the strong-and-silent types on whose backs Japan's fantastic post-World War II success supposedly was constructed. Indeed, rebellion against the old model is what turned him on to liberation in the first place.

A 36-year-old journalist, he grew up in awe of his father, who always seemed incredibly busy running a successful wholesale seafood business. But as he got older, Mr. Toyoda wondered why his dad was always exhausted, sullen or drunk in his rare moments of free time.

Feeling suffocated by his father's emotional distance and depressed by the idea that he was expected to follow in his dad's footprints, Mr. Toyoda fled the family business for a spell of travel in the United States. While there he discovered feminism and reflected on the role of men in his own society.

"Eventually, I realized that the problems I was suffering didn't come from me, but rather from Japan's traditional patriarchy," he said. "Traditionally, Japanese men don't attach importance to their family life at all. I, for one, hardly ever had a proper conversation with my father."

Unlike their American counterparts, who often invoke religion or mythology, members of Japan's budding men's movement do not gather in the woods to beat drums or sit in circles to hug or cry. Neither Zeus nor Christ figures in their pantheon of gods and heroes.

What many of them do share with their Western counterparts is a feeling that men must find a way to be both vigorous and sensitive. This starts by rediscovering life outside the workplace, sharing time with their families and, above all, learning — often for the first time — how to communicate personal thoughts.

"Japanese men have lost their vigor, and are not lively any longer," said Yoshihiko Morotomi, a professor of psychology at Chiba University and author of "Desolate Man," a popular recent book. "Our self-esteem has traditionally come from relationships in which we are paid respect, either in the job or from the wife. But our society is going through a model change, and nowadays men don't have anywhere to turn for respect anymore."

For Mr. Toyoda, who formed the group Men's Lib Tokyo in 1995, and has since become well known by helping to start other chapters nationwide, the most basic function of male groups is to get men talking. He said he had learned how to do it himself almost by accident, when he attended a neighborhood seminar on gender equality years ago.

"Several men were discussing problems in their lives, from the challenges of being the eldest son to child-rearing, sexuality and so on," he said. "I discovered how to state my true feelings for the first time. Until then, I thought this was pathetic, but I found that it was not shameful at all."

Beyond encouraging communication, Mr. Toyoda wants to change the Japanese workplace.

"My generation entered the workplace at the end of the bubble era, so many of my contemporaries are being hit by job cuts," he said. "My father's generation lived in a bullish era and enjoyed the fruits of their labors. Men stretch themselves today simply to avoid being sacked."

One of Mr. Toyoda's priorities is lobbying companies and governments and sensitizing men about paternal leave. While almost all men are eligible, less than 1 percent of male employees presently use the benefit.

Men in their 20's are famously rebelling against the grim, anything-for-the-company sacrifices made by their fathers by dropping out of the job market, working a succession of part-time jobs and living off their parents for years after college. But the sweeping reappraisal of work has quietly made inroads among men in their 40's as well.

"I am not an ideal father or husband, but to me the most precious moments are the time I spend with my family, four of us, making fun of each other or watching TV and playing," said Shinichiro Yamamoto, 46, a friend of Mr. Toyoda's who works for a large auto manufacturer. "I have no special program or ideology. I just enjoy my life. I have to work five days a week, and do it simply because I need money."

Rule Tightens Demands on Failing Schools

New Federal Rule Tightens Demands on Failing Schools
By DIANA JEAN SCHEMO
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/27/education/27EDUC.html

WASHINGTON, Nov. 26 — Children attending public schools deemed failing under a new federal law have to be offered transfers to better schools, regardless of whether those schools are already full, according to final regulations released today by the federal Education Department.

The new regulations, which are more stringent than expected, could leave hundreds of districts scrambling for alternative places for children who want to transfer out of poorly functioning schools.

The new regulations do not oblige school districts to adopt specific solutions. At a news conference here today, Education Department officials said that schools might consider signing contracts with neighboring districts to accept students from failing schools, hiring more teachers or building new classrooms at more successful schools.

But critics suggested the administration was quietly paving the way for vouchers to private schools as the answer when districts could come up with nothing else. In earlier discussions of the new law, known as No Child Left Behind, officials had said there would be one acceptable reason for denying children transfers: lack of capacity in good schools. But in today's regulations, federal officials eliminated that excuse.

The federal government declares a school to be failing when students in any category — black, Latino, special education or those with limited English — fail to close the achievement gap on standardized tests two years in a row.

Taken together, the final regulations amount to a sweeping effort on the part of the government to change the way Americans think of education, acknowledged Eugene W. Hickok, the department's undersecretary.

"Public school choice and supplemental services should be part of how we see public education in America," Dr. Hickok said.

He denied, however that the regulations were meant to reintroduce vouchers, which President Bush pressed for briefly at the start of his administration. "That came off the table pretty quickly; it has not come back on the table," Dr. Hickok said. "The agenda is not hidden, it's obvious. It's producing better schools.

"The law creates this opportunity, and human nature being what it is, as more and more people understand it, there's going to be growing demand to take advantage of those opportunities and the response cannot be simply, `Sorry we don't have room,' " Dr. Hickok added. "That will produce real frustration."

Critics, however, contend that the Education Department's regulations are aimed at creating conditions that would make the case for private school vouchers, as school districts with many subpar schools and few empty seats at better schools fail to deliver on the law's promise.

"They're saying that parental choice is the supreme good, and everything has to give way to it," said Jack Jennings of the Center on Educational Policy. "It sends a signal that, hell or high water, the federal government's requirements override everything else, and it's not just what the Congress wrote, but what the Education Department thinks it should say."

The law, as signed by President Bush last January, was not entirely clear regarding school choice. It promised children in schools that failed to make adequate progress the option to transfer to a more successful school, but it also said priority should go to the poorest children in the worst performing schools.

Up to 20 percent of a school district's Title I money — earmarked for impoverished schools — would have to go for transportation out of failing schools and for private tutoring of the children who stayed in the struggling schools.

In discussions last summer, when some 8,600 schools around the country were identified as failing, Education Department officials said that the only valid reason for denying children transfers was a lack of capacity, which officials defined as physical limitations to comply with fire and safety regulations. Local initiatives to limit class sizes, as well as federal desegregation orders, would have to take a back seat to the new education law, officials said.

Today's regulations went further, saying that No Child Left Behind "does not permit" a local school district "to preclude choice options on the basis of capacity constraints," and that all children attending failing schools have the right to transfer out. Education Department officials contend that overcrowding at a school is a valid reason for denying a student admission to that school, but not for denying pupils the right to transfer to other successful schools.

Nevertheless, educators around the country were uncertain how the law would be carried out if many parents opted to move their children. Recent surveys have shown that roughly half of all parents have never heard of the new law, and many more are unaware of the specific promises it makes for children to escape failing schools.

Last September, few school districts offered all children in failing schools the option to transfer, and few parents sought it.

With time, the law is expected to result in vast numbers of schools being designated as failing. In a recent interview, Sandy Kress, a lawyer who represented the White House in drafting the law and who now advises states on carrying it out, predicted that 50 to 90 percent of the schools in some states might be found inadequate.

That is because schools must show that all kinds of students, including those in special education or with little English, have improved on standardized tests. The law also requires that schools make substantial progress toward closing the gap between racial minorities and white students to avoid failure.

One aspect of the new law that remains unclear is how school districts would finance the changes.

"It's totally unfair to expect schools to perform without adequate resources," said Reg Weaver, president of the National Education Association, the country's largest teachers union. "It's next to impossible."

Supporters of vouchers and charter school said they were pleased with the regulations.

Jeanne Allen, president of the Center for Education Reform, predicted that the regulations would produce "constructive chaos."

"You've got awareness of options, frustration that there aren't enough options, and more awareness of failing schools," she said. "That combined with the fact that in some states we have completely new legislatures that are more reform-minded may spark them to look into capacity as an issue, and creating more supply."

The final regulations also upheld an earlier draft that said teachers in fast-track alternative certification programs could be considered "highly qualified," even before they finished their training. Following criticism that these programs vary in quality, the regulations specify that the teacher programs must provide "sustained, intensive and classroom-focused" training to meet the law.

Trusted Secretaries Caught Embezzling

When a Trusted Secretary Takes More Than a Letter
By ANDREW ROSS SORKIN
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/27/business/27SECR.html

Like many busy executives, E. Scott Mead, a top banker at Goldman Sachs, trusted his secretary to help him run his life. Beyond answering the telephone and setting his schedule, she helped organize family vacations and managed his expense account.

Mr. Mead may have trusted her too much. The secretary, Joyti De-Laurey, is to appear in court today in London, charged with embezzling more than $5 million from Mr. Mead in an elaborate fraud in which she is accused of wiring blocks of his money to bank accounts in Cyprus.

Ms. De-Laurey has not yet entered a plea in her case, and her lawyer in London declined to comment on it.

Accusations of grand theft, it turns out, are not so uncommon among the trusted set of career secretaries and executive assistants who juggle the lives of the powerful and wealthy from cubicles outside corner offices. The phenomenon goes uncounted, so it is impossible to assess trends in secretarial swindles, but court files around the United States hold dozens of cases, from petty abuse of an executive's credit cards to complex conspiracies.

Generally, security experts attribute such episodes to a lack of oversight and an abundance of envy.

"You have high-end lawyers and high-powered bankers working 16 to 18 hour days living on airplanes," said Daniel E. Karson, executive managing director at Kroll, the big investigations and security firm. "They leave a lot of discretion to secretaries," he said, "and there is a perception that no one is watching."

Then temptation takes hold, said Toby Bishop, president of the Association of Certified Fraud Examiners. "When you're a staffer working for someone who travels to the best places, wears expensive clothes and makes lots of money," he said, "it's hard not to be envious and think you should share in that person's success."

Earlier this year, Anamarie Giambrone of Flushing, Queens, 34, was sentenced to up to six years in prison for pillaging $800,000 from her boss, Eli Wachtel, a senior managing director at Bear, Stearns. He invited her to his son's bar mitzvah; she took his money to help start a family pizza parlor in Queens.

Ms. Giambrone's crime did not involve computer hacking or complicated wire transfers, according to prosecutors. She used an erasable ink pen when she wrote out personal checks for Mr. Wachtel to sign. Afterward, she would erase the payee's name, raise the amount and make the check payable to cash.

The pizza parlor, Queens Village Pizzeria Restaurant, has since closed.

Big thefts — like the one that Mr. Mead is dealing with — are usually discovered quickly, but many of these crimes involve a gradual siphoning away of an employer's money and so are easier to overlook.

Last year, Farnaz Faraneh, the longtime secretary of Lynn R. Coleman, a partner in the Washington office of the Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom law firm, pleaded guilty to stealing $1 million from Mr. Coleman a little at a time.

Starting in 1994, she would simply make out checks to herself, usually for no more than $5,000 each, and forge Mr. Coleman's signature. To avoid being caught, she intercepted Mr. Coleman's monthly checking account statements from the mail and removed the cashed checks.

Lawyers at Skadden, Arps seem oddly susceptible. In 1998, another Skadden partner, Neal McCoy, lost nearly half a million dollars to theft by his secretary, Maria Susana Cone-Burrell. She was sentenced to 21 months in prison.

Even more extraordinary episodes of thievery often go unreported — the losses are handled informally, outside of court — to avoid embarrassment for executives whose reputations are built on their financial acumen, lawyers and security experts say.

"Some companies do not want this kind of exposure and may eat the million or set up a payment schedule to avoid the headline," Mr. Karson said.

Mr. Coleman of Skadden, slightly embarrassed himself, admits he was taken. "I was fooled," he said. "The one thing I had no doubt about was her loyalty. You put your trust in these people." Less trust, perhaps, after becoming a crime victim; Mr. Coleman said that his new secretary did not have the same kind of access to his checkbook.

Because many assistants are asked to handle the expenses of busy executives, they do not need black ski masks to steal from their bosses.

"If you let your secretary reconcile your bank account and keep your checkbook, they have the opportunity to both commit the fraud and conceal it," Mr. Bishop said. "It's like putting a large bowl of candy in your child's bedroom."

And because secretaries are usually part of an executive's trusted inner circle, the thefts can go unnoticed for years.

For example, Jeanne Gaston of Hopewell Township, N.J., worked as Vincent Murphy Jr.'s secretary for more than 16 years, following him after he retired from Merrill Lynch, where he was assistant to the chairman, to an office in Plainsboro where he privately managed money. From January 1992 to November 1998, she stole $3 million from Mr. Murphy to buy real estate, cars and furniture, prosecutors charged. News reports say that Ms. Gaston sobbed at her sentencing, where she received a term of up to seven years in prison.

According to a new study by the Association of Certified Fraud Examiners, the typical organization loses about 6 percent of annual revenue to employee fraud and financial abuse. In the largest companies, the average loss in a case of employee theft or fraud costs $97,000, versus $127,500 in small businesses. The average fraud scheme lasted 18 months before it was detected, the study found. Corporate insurance policies often provide reimbursement to the victims; if a credit card or checking account is abused, banks may cover some of the losses, too.

Ms. De-Laurey, 33, is accused of stealing from one of the private accounts that her boss, Mr. Mead — a prominent American investment banker who runs Goldman's global communications, media and entertainment practice from London — maintains at the firm. Forging transfer authorizations and faxing them to Goldman's office in New York, prosecutors contend, she managed to take as much as $3 million at a time.

As Mr. Mead was preparing to make a donation to Harvard University in honor of his 25th class reunion, he asked Ms. De-Laurey for a copy of a recent statement. She did not produce it, according to people close to the case, and so Mr. Mead called the firm's New York office himself, not suspecting anything nefarious.

When an account representative started ticking off wire transfers to the Bank of Cyprus during the phone call, he suspected that there was a serious problem, these people said. She used the money to buy real estate in Britain and take lavish trips, these people said.

As investigators connected Ms. De-Laurey to the missing funds, they began to look at the accounts of her previous boss at Goldman Sachs, a banker named Ron Beller. The case against her in London charges that she stole nearly $1.8 million from Mr. Beller and his wife, Jennifer Moses, who also worked at the firm.

A lawyer in London for Ms. De-Laurey, Francis Flanagan, declined to comment. Mr. Mead, Mr. Beller and Ms. Moses also declined to comment, as did a spokesman for Goldman Sachs.

Of course, executives could avoid becoming victims if they simply handled their private business, well, privately. But Mr. Karson of Kroll said the duties of an executive assistant extend well past company needs.

"Shopping for the children's birthday gifts is part of the job," he said.

Still, lessons are being learned.

After Mr. Mead's problems surfaced, bankers at Goldman Sachs were sent an advisory instructing them to always have a second set of bank statements mailed to a home address.

Two Palestinian Leaders Killed in Blast

November 27, 2002
Two Palestinian Leaders Killed in Blast
By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS, Filed at 3:03 a.m. ET
http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/international/AP-Israel-Palestinians.html

JERUSALEM (AP) -- Two Palestinian militant leaders were killed in an explosion in the West Bank late Tuesday. Palestinians initially said it was an Israeli missile attack, but it later appeared they may have been killed while making a bomb.

The explosion in the Jenin refugee camp killed Alah Sabbagh, of the Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigades militia, affiliated with Yasser Arafat's Fatah movement, and Imad Nashrati, leader of the Islamic group Hamas in the area.

``Apparently, it was an explosion inside the room,'' said the Fatah leader in Jenin, Kadoura Moussa.

However, Moussa said he still suspected Israeli involvement, noting that Israeli helicopters and tanks were present in the area.

Israeli military officials said the army was not involved. The officials said the explosion could have been caused by other security forces, or could have been a ``work accident'' by the militants preparing a bomb.

A Golden Couple Chasing Away a Black Cloud

A Golden Couple Chasing Away a Black Cloud
By MAUREEN DOWD
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/27/opinion/27DOWD.html

WASHINGTON — Prince Bandar is known as the Arab Gatsby.

Rising from a murky past in a racist society, born in a Bedouin tent as the son of an African palace servant impregnated by a Saudi prince, to a glamorous present as dean of the Washington diplomatic corps.

Tossing glittery parties with celebrity entertainment at his sumptuous mansions in Aspen and England's Wychwood, a royal hunting ground once used by Norman and Plantagenet kings.

Smoking cigars and bragging about his fighter-jock exploits— flying upside down 50 feet above the ground — at parties at his McLean, Va., estate overlooking the Potomac, "where there was more chilled vodka in little shot glasses than I've ever seen," as one guest recalled.

Flying off in his private Airbus to hunt birds in Spain with his friends George Bush Sr. and Norman Schwarzkopf, entertaining the current President Bush's sister, Doro, at his Virginia farm, and palling around on the D.C. social circuit with Dick Cheney, Colin Powell, George Tenet, Brent Scowcroft and Bob Woodward.

Spinning a smoky web of intrigue with his cigars and C.I.A. operations, helping finance the contras.

So if Bandar bin Sultan is Gatsby, his wife, Princess Haifa, must be like the careless Daisy, her voice full of money that could have ended up supporting two of the Saudi hijackers. And those 15 Saudi hijackers would be "the foul dust that floated in the wake" of the Arab Gatsby's dreams.

His new dream is that Saudi Arabia will help America get rid of Saddam, and then the anger over Saudi involvement in 9/11 will fade and the cozy, oily alliance between the countries can get back on track.

All the millions the Saudis have spent since 9/11 on a charm offensive could not save them from Newsweek's Michael Isikoff and Evan Thomas, who drew fresh tracks between charitable checks Princess Haifa wrote and two hijackers.

The princess says she feels as if a bomb had been dropped on her head — an unfortunate metaphor given the fact that Saudi terrorists funded by Saudi charities turned planes carrying innocent Americans into bombs.

She is rarely seen around Washington, abiding by Saudi customs sheltering women. But she entertains at her many homes, and powerful friends — including Barbara Bush and Alma Powell — called on Monday night to buck her up.

The case inflamed public suspicion that the Saudi government is more involved than it admits, and that the Bushies are less zealous about getting to the bottom of the Saudi role than they should be.

Some senators charge that the F.B.I. has pulled its punches, and that the royal family, as Richard Shelby puts it, has "got a lot of answering to do."

Gen. Tommy Franks has already spent a fortune setting up a new base in Qatar because the Saudis are still dithering about letting us use our old bases in their country.

Noncommittal on the future, and uncooperative on the past, the Saudis have been stingy about helping the F.B.I. with 9/11. The administration has helped the Saudis be evasive, with Dick Cheney stonewalling Congressional investigators.

It would probably be far easier for America to reduce its dependence on Saudi oil than for the House of Saud and the House of Bush to untangle their decades-long symbiosis.

Prince Bandar, the representative of an oil kingdom, is so close to the Bushes, an oil dynasty, that they nicknamed him Bandar Bush. He contributed over $1 million to the Bush presidential library. The former president is affiliated with the Carlyle Group, which does extensive business with the Saudis.

It was terribly inconvenient for all the friends of the bin Sultans when the trail of checks led to the Saudi Embassy. Many influential people in Washington were averting their eyes from the embarrassment. The prince and his panicky wife were defending themselves to The Times's Pat Tyler while Bandar anxiously flipped among seven television screens in their pool house to catch the latest news.

The Bush crowd was praying it wasn't a last-days-of-disco scene similar to the one when the shah of Iran was overthrown by Islamic fundamentalists, and the jet-setting Iranian diplomats had to pour all the liquor down the drain at their embassy. Will the Arab Gatsby end like the original — "borne back ceaselessly into the past"?

No More Fanaticism as Usual

No More Fanaticism as Usual
By SALMAN RUSHDIE
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/27/opinion/27RUSH.html

It's been quite a week in the wonderful world of Islam.

"Where, after all, is the Muslim outrage at these events? As their ancient, deeply civilized culture of love, art and philosophical reflection is hijacked by paranoiacs, racists, liars, male supremacists, tyrants, fanatics and violence junkies, why are they not screaming?

At least in Iran the students are demonstrating. But where else in the Muslim world can one hear the voices of the fair-minded, tolerant Muslim majority deploring what Nigerian, Egyptian, Arab and Dutch Muslims are doing? Muslims in the West, too, seem unnaturally silent on these topics. If you're yelling, we can't hear you."

Nigerian Islam's encounter with that powerhouse of subversion, the Miss World contest, has been unedifying, to put it mildly. First some of the contestants had the nerve to object to a Shariah court's sentence that a Nigerian woman convicted of adultery be stoned to death and threatened to boycott the contest — which forced the Nigerian authorities to promise that the woman in question would not be subjected to the lethal hail of rocks. And then Isioma Daniel, a Christian Nigerian journalist, had the effrontery to suggest that if the prophet Muhammad were around today, he might have wanted to marry one of these swimsuit hussies himself.

Well, obviously, that was going too far. True-believing Nigerian Muslims then set about the holy task of killing, looting and burning while calling for Ms. Daniel to be beheaded, and who could blame them? Not the president of Nigeria, who put the blame squarely on the shoulders of the hapless journalist. (Germaine Greer and other British-based feminists, unhappy about Miss World's decision to move the event to London, preferred to grouse about the beauty contest. The notion that the killers, looters and burners should be held accountable seems to have escaped notice.)

Meanwhile, in the Islamic Republic of Iran, Hashem Aghajari, a person with impeccable Islamist credentials — a leg lost in battle and a résumé that includes being part of the occupying force that seized the Great Satan's Tehran embassy back in the revolution's salad days — languishes under a sentence of death imposed because he criticized the mullahs who run the country. In Iran, you don't even have to have cheeky thoughts about the prophet to be worthy of being killed. The hearts of true believers are maddened a lot more easily than that. Thousands of young people across the country were immature enough to protest against Mr. Aghajari's sentence, for which the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, duly rebuked them. (More than 10,000 true believers marched through Tehran in support of hard-line Islam.)

Meanwhile, in Egypt, a hit television series, "Horseman Without a Horse," has been offering up antiSemitic programming to a huge, eager audience. That old forgery, "The Protocols of the Elders of Zion" — a document purporting to prove that there really is a secret Jewish plot to take over the world, and which was proved long ago to have been faked by Czar Nicholas II's secret police — is treated in this drama series as historical fact.

Yes, this is the same Egypt in which the media are rigorously censored to prevent anything that offends the authorities from seeing the light of day. But hold on just a moment. Here's the series' star and co-writer, Mohammed Sobhi, telling us that what is at stake is nothing less than free speech itself, and if his lying show "terrified Zionists," well, tough. He'll make more programs in the same vein. Now there's a gutsy guy.

Finally, let's not forget the horrifying story of the Dutch Muslim woman, Ayaan Hirsi Ali, who has had to flee the Netherlands because she said that Muslim men oppressed Muslim women, a vile idea that so outraged Muslim men that they issued death threats against her.

Is it unfair to bunch all these different uglinesses together? Perhaps. But they do have something in common. Ayaan Hirsi Ali was accused of being "the Dutch Salman Rushdie," Mr. Aghajari of being the Iranian version, Isioma Daniel of being the Nigerian incarnation of the same demon.

A couple of months ago I said that I detested the sloganization of my name by Islamists around the world. I'm beginning to rethink that position. Maybe it's not so bad to be a Rushdie among other "Rushdies." For the most part I'm comfortable with, and often even proud of, the company I'm in.

Where, after all, is the Muslim outrage at these events? As their ancient, deeply civilized culture of love, art and philosophical reflection is hijacked by paranoiacs, racists, liars, male supremacists, tyrants, fanatics and violence junkies, why are they not screaming?

At least in Iran the students are demonstrating. But where else in the Muslim world can one hear the voices of the fair-minded, tolerant Muslim majority deploring what Nigerian, Egyptian, Arab and Dutch Muslims are doing? Muslims in the West, too, seem unnaturally silent on these topics. If you're yelling, we can't hear you.

If the moderate voices of Islam cannot or will not insist on the modernization of their culture — and of their faith as well — then it may be these so-called "Rushdies" who have to do it for them. For every such individual who is vilified and oppressed, two more, ten more, a thousand more will spring up. They will spring up because you can't keep people's minds, feelings and needs in jail forever, no matter how brutal your inquisitions. The Islamic world today is being held prisoner, not by Western but by Islamic captors, who are fighting to keep closed a world that a badly outnumbered few are trying to open. As long as the majority remains silent, this will be a tough war to win. But in the end, or so we must hope, someone will kick down that prison door.

Salman Rushdie is author, most recently, of "Step Across This Line."

Little Things

Today the maid came, and i was so pleasantly surprised to find the kettle sparkling. she must have really scrubbed it today, as i can even see my reflection. The little things that make me happy some days -- a sparkling kettle, and fresh cha siu baos from HopSing on Bowery.

God and China

[do we realize, despite our flaws, how fortunate we are to have real "freedom", especially religious freedom?]

God and China
By NICHOLAS D. KRISTOF
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/26/opinion/26KRIS.html

HONGXIANG, China
She never broke when she was tortured with beatings and electrical shocks, and even when she was close to death she refused to disclose the names of members of her congregation or sign a statement renouncing her Christian faith.

But now, months later, Ma Yuqin abruptly chokes and her eyes well with tears as she recounts her worst memory: As she was being battered in one room, her son was tortured in the next so that each could hear the other's screams, as encouragement to betray their church.

"They wanted me to hear his cries," she said, sobbing. "It broke my heart."

Ms. Ma, a steel-willed woman of 54, was brave enough to tell her story of the persecution that Christians sometimes still face in China. Dozens of members of her church are still imprisoned, and those free are under tight scrutiny, but several church members dared to meet me for a tense interview after we all sneaked one by one into an unwatched farmhouse near Zhongxiang, a city in central China, 650 miles south of Beijing.

China is in many ways freer than it has ever been, and it's easy to be dazzled by the cellphones and skyscrapers. But alongside all that sparkles is the old police state. Particularly in remote areas like this, police can arrest people and torture or kill them with impunity, even if they are trying to do nothing more than worship God. Accordingly, Washington must press China hard to observe not only international trade rules, but also international standards for human freedom.

Secret Communist Party documents just published in a book, "China's New Rulers," underscore the grip of the police. The party documents say approvingly that 60,000 Chinese were killed, either executed or shot by police while fleeing, between 1998 and 2001. That amounts to 15,000 a year, which suggests that 97 percent of the world's executions take place in China. And it's well documented that scores of Christians and members of the Falun Gong sect have died in police custody.

In some parts of China Christians worship completely freely. But in other areas the authorities brutally crush the independent churches, and that's what happened to the South China Church, an evangelical Christian congregation active here.

Ms. Ma said she and her family were sleeping one night in May 2001, when police burst into her house and arrested her, her son and her daughter-in-law. The police left her 5-year-old grandson alone with nobody to take care of him. A 27-year-old woman friend and fellow Christian named Yu Zhongju who dropped by the house was promptly arrested as well.

Ms. Yu died in custody, and one can surmise that she was beaten to death. According to interviews with church members and statements smuggled out of prison, dozens of church members were arrested at the same time and were beaten with clubs, jolted with cattle prods and burned with cigarettes; when they fainted, buckets of water were poured on them to revive them. Interrogators stomped on the fingers of male prisoners and stripped young women prisoners naked and abused them.

"They used the electrical prods on me all over," Ms. Ma said, fighting back the tears again. "They wanted to humiliate us."

The government initially sentenced five church members to death. Ms. Ma herself was released because she was so sick that the authorities feared she would die in prison, but her son, Long Feng, was sent to labor camp where the guards told criminals to beat him up.

One of the ironies of Christianity in China is that in the first half of the 20th century, thousands of missionaries proselytized freely and yet left a negligible imprint. Yet now, with foreign missionaries banned and the underground church persecuted, Christianity is flourishing in China with tens of millions of believers.

To his credit, President Bush has emphasized the issue of religious freedom in China, and there is progress. Last month a court overturned the death sentences of the South China Church leaders, replacing them with long prison terms. Increasingly, a historic change is visible: Citizens of China are becoming less afraid of the government than it is of them.

I had assumed that Ms. Ma,, like all the other church members I interviewed, would not want her name published. "No," she said firmly, "use my name. I'm not afraid. The police are afraid of foreign pressure, but I'm not afraid of them."

Korean Protesters Break Into Camp Red Cloud

[btw, this was sam's base in korea...]

Korean Protesters Break Into Big U.S. Army Base
By DON KIRK
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/26/international/26CND-KORE.html

UIJONGBU, South Korea, Nov. 26 — More than 50 protesters broke through a chain link fence today surrounding a strategic American military post in this commuter town several miles north of Seoul and paraded for 35 minutes with banners demanding that American troops leave South Korea.

The protesters chained themselves together during the final few minutes of the march in Camp Red Cloud, headquarters for the United States Army's Second Infantry Division. Korean national policemen swarmed through the main entrance to the base and arrested the marchers.

Lt. Col Steven Boylan, a spokesman for the Eighth Army in Seoul, said the demonstrators "walked through shouting, `U.S. troops out of Korea.' " It was, he went on, "reasonable to assume there is concern" about the security of American bases in view of the incident.

United States Army officers said there were no injuries and almost no damage, but they but were confounded by how easy it had been for protesters to cut through a fence surrounding the post from which the United States Army coordinates defenses on the main invasion route to Seoul.

The second division, the largest American unit in Korea with 14,000 troops, is responsible for the 30-mile stretch between Seoul and the demilitarized zone that has divided the two Koreas since the Korean War.

Maj. Curtis Roberts, who witnessed the demonstration from his office near the main gate, said the protesters walked from the place where they came through the fence toward the gate, where they had planned to block traffic with a sit-in.

"They were detected immediately after they breached the wire," Major Roberts said. "They had some banners and flags they wanted to burn." The demonstrators burned one American flag as the police were arresting them.

"Different agencies and units responded," Major Roberts noted. "U.S. soldiers and military police showed a great deal of restraint. They allowed them to proceed to the front gate. The measures we have in place were executed quite rapidly."

Privately, American officials discussed the implications of the episode for the 93 American bases scattered throughout South Korea, where 37,000 American troops are stationed. "I'm shocked," one official said. "It's very worrisome."

The underlying question being asked was whether the American bases in Korea had proper defenses not merely against demonstrators but also against terrorists or North Korean troops.

The demonstration was the latest of a series of outbursts in which the crushing of two 13-year-old Korean girls by a 50-ton American armored vehicle in June has been the centerpiece of a mounting anti-American campaign.

Protesters demonstrated outside the post here in June, tossing Molotov cocktails and rocks over the fence. On one occasion, two demonstrators cut a hole in the fence and managed to enter the base before United States military policemen grabbed them and turned them over to Korean police.

The mood of protest gained intensity last week when an American military court acquitted the two United States Army sergeants who were on the vehicle that killed the girls. The trial was held about 12 miles north of here at Camp Casey, where more than half the second division's troops are stationed.

The protesters appeared to have adopted a strategy of hitting bases when least expected. About a dozen protesters were also arrested today as they stormed the entrance to Camp Hilaleah, in the port city of Pusan. On Monday, about 20 people tossed 15 pipe bombs over the fence of Camp Gray, a small post in Seoul.

President Kim Dae Jung, sometimes criticized for not having done enough to discourage such protests, ordered strong action by the police after Monday's incident, in which there were no injuries.

THE FROSTED PANE

THE FROSTED PANE
by Charles G.D. Roberts (1860-1943)

One night came Winter noiselessly, and leaned
  Against my window-pane.
In the deep stillness of his heart convened
  The ghosts of all his slain.

Leaves, and ephemera, and stars of earth,
  And fugitives of grass, --
White spirits loosed from bonds of mortal birth,
  He drew them on the glass.

Knits for the big chill

Tuesday, November 26, 2002
Knits for the big chill
Suzy Menkes, International Herald Tribune
http://www.iht.com/articles/78117.html

PARIS Is fashion a more reliable winter weather forecast than meteorological experts - or counting the berries on the hawthorn bush?
.
If so, it is time to forget global warming. The current crop of chunky sweaters, crochet-patchwork shawls and ultra-long striped scarves suggests that the Western Hemisphere is about to enter a new ice age.

Knitwear is not just thick - it often takes on the effect of a hefty carpet or shag rug. When cables do not intertwine like ancient strands of ivy, there are poodle stitches creating fluffy curls of yarn or bobbly effects like miniature snowballs. Even the patterns and textures that are the focus of the new knits symbolize the big freeze: snowflakes, reindeer and icicles.
.
"I was thinking about skiing: Saint Moritz, Zermatt and Gstaad," says Stefano Gabbana, one of the Dolce Gabbana design duo whose collections for men and women were played out like a cold December day in the country. "There is something really masculine about a big hand-knit sweater that looks as though it has been knitted by your grandmother," says Gabbana, who finds that his own wardrobe varies between the lightweight urban indoor sweaters and the big knits he wears outside as a cover-all to replace a coat or jacket.
.
D&G gave the Tirolean touch to women's wear with embroidered eglantines on chunky cardigans and with those bobble hats and woolly scarves that go with mountain scenery. Gabbana says that his ideal is handmade woolens, which have been touched by humans, which gives them a fashion soul but also makes them highly priced. (There are also less expensive factory-made versions.)
.
Hand-knit sweaters were last fashionable in the 1970s as a uniform of alternative style in the Woodstock era, so it seems ironic that they are now luxury items rather than a sociological statement. Marc Jacobs, who has made the pricey long scarf in cashmere part of his hip image, admits that his childhood memories of the '70s are his inspiration.
.
"The Cat in the Hat!" he says, referring to the Dr. Seuss cartoon cat with its trademark ultra-long, skinny striped scarf - just like the ones that appeared on the runway in Jacobs's Marc collection. "My first image of that long scarf was Ali McGraw in 'Love Story,' when I saw it when I was a kid and my mom was watching it," says Jacobs, who was defining not a particular scene in the 1970 movie, but its romantic spirit.
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Another inspiration cited by designers is the British television character Dr. Who, with his stringy striped scarf, from the 1960s and '70s. And don't forget Harry Potter in his school uniform, which offers another image currently floating in fashion's ether, along with the tails of those long scarves.
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Wherever it comes from, the maxi scarf is a big story for the winter season. On offer in thick wool or finer jersey, it is an obvious holiday gift, especially for teenagers.
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Other 1970s inspirations were behind the thick collages of knit that Nicholas Ghesquiere put together for Balenciaga, inspired by the wall hangings he saw in a bank foyer showcasing art and craft. The result was a series of knits that are as voluptuous and deep pile as fur and are used as coats and vests rather than as the more traditional sweaters and cardigans. In fact, the vest or gilet is another hot-ticket item - more of a long sleeveless jacket than cropped to waist-length and reminiscent of a medieval jerkin.
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That same historical spirit appeared when Stella McCartney put full Renaissance sleeves on her cabled knitwear. Giving volume in shape as well as texture is another aspect of winter knits, as though comfort and coziness were the priorities. Sweaters are as generous in shape as the comfort blankets in which Bridget Jones wrote her diary. Yet the heavy sweaters were often shown - as at McCartney's show - played off against ultra-light chiffon dresses.
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Why this sudden switch from the tiny, fine-knit sweaters clinging to the body and baring the navel (for both sexes) to the opposite? The chunky sweaters of the 1970s followed the hug-me-tight knitwear in the 1960s exemplified by Sonia Rykiel - although she was smart enough to develop a parallel look in big, comfy cardigans that remain fashionable to this day.
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Today's big knits are probably part of a similar swing in style that is the essence of fashion. But as winter unfolds, we will be able to tell if they carry a global warning that we are in for a cold season.

< < Back to Start of Article PARIS Is fashion a more reliable winter weather forecast than meteorological experts - or counting the berries on the hawthorn bush?
.
If so, it is time to forget global warming. The current crop of chunky sweaters, crochet-patchwork shawls and ultra-long striped scarves suggests that the Western Hemisphere is about to enter a new ice age.
.
Knitwear is not just thick - it often takes on the effect of a hefty carpet or shag rug. When cables do not intertwine like ancient strands of ivy, there are poodle stitches creating fluffy curls of yarn or bobbly effects like miniature snowballs. Even the patterns and textures that are the focus of the new knits symbolize the big freeze: snowflakes, reindeer and icicles.
.
"I was thinking about skiing: Saint Moritz, Zermatt and Gstaad," says Stefano Gabbana, one of the Dolce Gabbana design duo whose collections for men and women were played out like a cold December day in the country. "There is something really masculine about a big hand-knit sweater that looks as though it has been knitted by your grandmother," says Gabbana, who finds that his own wardrobe varies between the lightweight urban indoor sweaters and the big knits he wears outside as a cover-all to replace a coat or jacket.
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D&G gave the Tirolean touch to women's wear with embroidered eglantines on chunky cardigans and with those bobble hats and woolly scarves that go with mountain scenery. Gabbana says that his ideal is handmade woolens, which have been touched by humans, which gives them a fashion soul but also makes them highly priced. (There are also less expensive factory-made versions.)
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Hand-knit sweaters were last fashionable in the 1970s as a uniform of alternative style in the Woodstock era, so it seems ironic that they are now luxury items rather than a sociological statement. Marc Jacobs, who has made the pricey long scarf in cashmere part of his hip image, admits that his childhood memories of the '70s are his inspiration.
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"The Cat in the Hat!" he says, referring to the Dr. Seuss cartoon cat with its trademark ultra-long, skinny striped scarf - just like the ones that appeared on the runway in Jacobs's Marc collection. "My first image of that long scarf was Ali McGraw in 'Love Story,' when I saw it when I was a kid and my mom was watching it," says Jacobs, who was defining not a particular scene in the 1970 movie, but its romantic spirit.
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Another inspiration cited by designers is the British television character Dr. Who, with his stringy striped scarf, from the 1960s and '70s. And don't forget Harry Potter in his school uniform, which offers another image currently floating in fashion's ether, along with the tails of those long scarves.
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Wherever it comes from, the maxi scarf is a big story for the winter season. On offer in thick wool or finer jersey, it is an obvious holiday gift, especially for teenagers.
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Other 1970s inspirations were behind the thick collages of knit that Nicholas Ghesquiere put together for Balenciaga, inspired by the wall hangings he saw in a bank foyer showcasing art and craft. The result was a series of knits that are as voluptuous and deep pile as fur and are used as coats and vests rather than as the more traditional sweaters and cardigans. In fact, the vest or gilet is another hot-ticket item - more of a long sleeveless jacket than cropped to waist-length and reminiscent of a medieval jerkin.
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That same historical spirit appeared when Stella McCartney put full Renaissance sleeves on her cabled knitwear. Giving volume in shape as well as texture is another aspect of winter knits, as though comfort and coziness were the priorities. Sweaters are as generous in shape as the comfort blankets in which Bridget Jones wrote her diary. Yet the heavy sweaters were often shown - as at McCartney's show - played off against ultra-light chiffon dresses.
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Why this sudden switch from the tiny, fine-knit sweaters clinging to the body and baring the navel (for both sexes) to the opposite? The chunky sweaters of the 1970s followed the hug-me-tight knitwear in the 1960s exemplified by Sonia Rykiel - although she was smart enough to develop a parallel look in big, comfy cardigans that remain fashionable to this day.
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Today's big knits are probably part of a similar swing in style that is the essence of fashion. But as winter unfolds, we will be able to tell if they carry a global warning that we are in for a cold season.

Nepal – Shangri-la is in trouble

Tuesday, November 26, 2002
Shangri-la is in trouble
by Kunda Dixit
http://www.iht.com/articles/78105.html

KATMANDU Nepal is finding it hard to shake off its Shangri-la image. The preoccupation of many countries with fighting Al Qaeda-linked terrorism has not helped. Even when 200 Nepalese were killed in one night recently, it seemed that the international community still couldn't believe the seriousness of what is happening.

For the past seven years, this landlocked kingdom has been wracked by a Maoist insurgency that has all but destroyed the economy, brought development to a standstill and nearly wiped out tourism. More than 7,000 people have been killed.

Successive elected governments in the past 12 years were too busy squabbling to focus on resolving the crisis. Many Nepalese are fed up with official neglect and corruption. They have become disillusioned with parliamentary politics.
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A year ago the army entered the fray after the Maoists broke a truce and ended peace talks. But the military has inadequate logistics, equipment and manpower to fight a guerrilla war in mountainous terrain that often favors its opponents. Critics point to serious human rights violations by both sides.
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On Oct. 4, King Gyanendra sacked the prime minister and assumed executive powers. He says he still believes in parliamentary democracy and constitutional monarchy but he needed to intervene to restore stability. This month he nominated 13 new ministers to an interim cabinet of 22 after the main political parties refused to join.
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The king has made an attempt to get a geographical and ethnic mix that reflects Nepal's diversity. In normal times his government would make up a good team. But with political parties excluded, the dispute between them and the king is dangerous.
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The Maoists have been trying to widen the rift by wooing the parties to the republican cause. The Nepali public is so frightened by the violence and the sinking economy that it is willing to back anyone who restores peace.
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Disillusioned with the elected politicans, Nepalese are willing to give the king and his council of ministers a chance. But the country's problems are so serious and solutions are required so urgently that the royalist administration has only limited time to produce results.
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The key issue is whether the king can reach a truce with the Maoists and revive negotiations. Peace would offer hope of development.
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But neither side has a strong reason to talk. The Maoists think that their revolution is advancing. The government will want to negotiate from a position of strength, and so will try to intensify military pressure. But first it needs the military aid promised by the United States, Britain and India.

The writer, editor and publisher of the Katmandu-based weekly Nepali Times, contributed this comment to the International Herald Tribune.

U.S. Warns Against Visits to Nepal

U.S. Warns Against Visits to Nepal
By DAVID ROHDE
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/26/international/asia/26NEPA.html

The State Department urged Americans yesterday to defer non-essential travel to Nepal because of a written threat from Maoist rebels to attack American diplomats.

The warning, issued by the American Embassy in New Delhi, says a statement by the Maoists on Nov. 15 takes responsibility for the kidnapping and killing of two Nepalese security guards employed by the American Embassy in Katmandu.

"Included in the press release are threats of further violence against any party or diplomatic communities" working against the Maoists, the department said, "including the American diplomatic mission."

The warning by the Maoists restated their policy of not attacking foreign tourists. Even so, the repeated threats against American diplomats suggest that any American could be in danger, particularly those traveling outside the capital, Katmandu, the department said.

Maoist rebels started a guerrilla campaign in 1996 to abolish the country's monarchy and ease rural poverty. An estimated 7,000 people have died in the conflict, which has intensified sharply in the last year and hurt tourism in a country best known for its Himalayan beauty.

It was unclear what prompted the Maoist threat. The Bush administration asked Congress in June to provide $20 million in aid to the Nepalese government to help it defeat the Maoists. Congress has approved $12 million in military aid.

The State Department warning comes amid some turmoil in Nepal. Last month King Gyanendra fired the prime minister and appointed a new prime minister with close ties to the palace who promised to hold elections and begin peace talks with the Maoists soon, but gave no firm date.

In 1990, widespread pro-democracy protests prompted Nepal's royal family to give up power, turn the country into a constitutional monarchy and allow an elected Parliament to rule. The Maoists, who at first took part in the democratic process, took up arms six years later.

The Quiet American

well saw it this weekend, and it was... ok.

unfortunately i had been anticipating the movie just a little too much and was hoping for sweeping moody beautiful cinematography. which it wasn't. rather than outside atmospheric shots, the movie was filled with inside-set shots. and the frames seemed a little haphazard, but not in a documentary way that would have seemed authentic and appropriate. the movie also started slowly. but built nicely to the finish. which was better than the other way around.

all in all, i was still glad to have seen it, and would still recommend it. although there are other beautiful vietnamese films i would recommend first - like Three Seasons, or Vertical Ray of the Sun .

Love is just a series of actions

[interesting article posted in amabelle's comments.]

Love is just a series of actions
Monday, November 25, 2002
JON CARROLL
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2002/11/25/DD196934.DTL

MY FRIEND LINDA says that there are two kinds of people -- new-teapot people and broken-teapot people. She likes the broken-teapot people better, and so do I. I don't trust anyone who hasn't lost something.

New-teapot people think that they can expect to be new teapots for the rest of their lives and that broken-teapot people are careless or stupid or perhaps just unlucky. Some new-teapot people think broken-teapot people have cooties.

Mass culture pretends to like new-teapot people, but it really likes broken- teapot people. A bad marriage, a bad drug problem, a dying child -- that's the real currency of public adulation. Michael Jackson is a curious example of someone who broke himself, not once but many times. But of course people still care, because his voluntary mutilation was caused by inner demons.

I think that's true, by the way, but that doesn't make it less creepy. Jeffrey Dahmer was driven by inner demons too.

Eventually, most of the new-teapot people get broken, and welcome to the club. They are not, perhaps, sadder but wiser, but they are definitely sadder. Grief is a natural and useful emotion; it is just unfortunate that we live in a culture that has found ways of papering over grief with piety.

"It was for the best," we say, although sometimes it was not for the best, and no, I don't want a hug right now, or a consoling quote from Rumi or the Bible. The five stages of grief are a highly artificial construct, and I do not for a moment think they represent some universal law. I do know there is one stage of grief. It's called, "Well, God damn it to hell, that sucks big time." Lather, rinse, repeat.

(Point of personal privilege -- some people read these columns for personal revelations. Few can be found. These are not messages from my life; these are amplifications of words scrawled on pieces of paper. I picked "Linda broken teapot" over "Medea cocktail party." Maybe someday I may write "Medea cocktail party," but it will not be because I have just murdered the king of Corinth.)

THE ONLY WAY out of the sadness box is love. Not someone loving you, although that sure helps. But really, it's you discovering the urge to love that still lives within you. Sometimes this is very hard, but it is work that needs doing. There is still music and sunshine and balloons and a mechanical gorilla that plays the "Macarena." (I have one of the latter.)

I do believe that love is not an emotion. There are all sorts of emotions that resemble love -- lust, pity, compassion, trust -- but they are not the same thing. Love is a series of actions, actions often taken against self- interest. Love involves walking it like you talk it. Love involves generosity of spirit. Love involves sacrifice. Love is not for sissies.

MANY RELIGIONS TEACH that we should love our enemies. This injunction always gives people a lot of trouble because it sure is a lot harder than loving your friends. Love involves forgiveness. Love involves hope when there is no rational reason to hope.

You may think I am making a political point, but I'm not. I do think it is possible to pray for Saddam Hussein without ignoring the threat he represents to world peace. I do think it is possible to pray for George Bush without ignoring the threat he represents to world peace. All prayers are answered, as they say, just sometimes not the way we would have wanted.

I am only saying that love is a series of actions before it is a feeling. It is acting as if. It is faking it until you make it. A broken-teapot person uses the damage to understand the damage in others -- and merrily we roll along.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We have a persimmon tree that is just now going nuts, and I see it every day.
You give a little love and it all comes back to you; you're gonna be remembered for. jcarroll@sfchronicle.com.

Where shall we meet?

A Song
by Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)

Thou art the soul of a summer's day
Thou art the breath of the rose
   But the summer is fled
   And the rose is dead
Where are they gone, who knows, who knows?

Thou art the blood of my heart o' hearts,
Thou art my soul's repose,
   But my heart grows numb
   And my soul grows dumb
Where art thou, love, who knows, who knows?

Thou art the hope of my after years-
Sun for my winter snows
   But the years go by
   'Neath a clouded sky
Where shall we meet, who knows, who knows?

First Guangzhou Triennial

A Landmark Retrospective Celebrates Chinese Artists' Experiments
By ERIK ECKHOLM
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/25/arts/design/25TRIE.html

GUANGZHOU, China, Nov. 19 — Even before you pull up to the front door, you know there is something unusual going on in the Guangdong Museum of Art.

High on an outside wall, where one might expect a dutiful slogan from Mao Zedong or Jiang Zemin, are big red English letters saying: "In God We Trust." I did a double take before I realized that this must be an installation work for the First Guangzhou Triennial, a landmark retrospective of China's exuberant experimental arts, which opened on Nov. 18 and is to run through Jan. 19.

Public proselytizing for any god but Marx is illegal in China. But in this case, it would appear, even the censors apparently understood the cheeky homage to the almighty United States dollar, which is China's real religion now.

More perplexing, the culture police did require the destruction, before the show opened, of a seemingly inoffensive installation that portrayed cut-up parts of the American EP-3 spy plane that crash landed in China last year, causing weeks of international tension.

Still, the show, "Reinterpretation: A Decade of Experimental Chinese Art (1990-2000)," offers a lively and remarkably free-wheeling portrait of China's postmodern edges.

It includes 166 works by 135 artists working in paint, sculpture, performance, video, interactive computer and installations of every mode, mainly from the 1990's but with newly commissioned works as well from several of that decade's stars. Walking through the three floors of the show is a multisensory experience that leaves the mind tingling because the works are bursting with ideas.

The chief curator is Wu Hung, a Chinese-born art historian from the University of Chicago who is respected on both sides of the Pacific and in previous American shows has helped introduce Chinese avant-garde art to the West. He spent long periods in China over the last decade making sense of the feast of forms and themes served up by the artists.

The scene is especially hard to grasp because of China's size, the lack of a strong domestic market for avant-garde art and the paucity of exhibitions and shared criticism.

So in singling out and categorizing many of the decade's best works, in this show and its monumental catalog, Mr. Wu, the Guangdong Museum and several other critics who contributed essays have done a huge favor for an increasingly entranced worldwide audience.

" `Global political art' is what's happening right now, and China is at the forefront," said Kimerly Rorschach, director of the Smart Museum of Art at the University of Chicago, using "political" in the broadest sense to refer to works that engage social themes.

Ms. Rorschach was one of several museum directors and curators from the West, including several from the Museum of Modern Art in New York and one from the International Center of Photography there, who came for the Guangzhou opening and another in Shanghai this month.

"Chinese artists have had to deal with the invasion of Western pop and avant-garde cultures, and that makes for a lot of very interesting work right now," Ms. Rorschach said.

The last comparable show was in the heady days of early 1989, when the Chinese were forging into the avant-garde, but that show, at the National Museum of Art in Beijing, was closed when artists fired live ammunition in a performance.

Large official sites in Beijing have been cautious ever since, and it is no coincidence that this first large-scale retrospective has been mounted in Guangzhou, the distant temple of the free market.

The show is a bold step for the museum, which was founded only in 1997, and for its director, Wang Huangsheng, who says he hopes to create a new cultural identity for the city. By bringing in as curator Mr. Wu, a Chinese academic star from abroad, the museum enhanced the global credibility of the show and may have also strengthened its hand in dealing with the mercurial censors.

As evidence of the growing global buzz about China's art, opening night drew groups of collectors and donors from the Museum of Modern Art and the Asia Society in New York. And in a sign that its museums are also entering the global mainstream, the gift shop at the Guangdong Museum was filled with attractive tie-in products, including T-shirts and watches with images by leading artists.

Chinese experimental artists play with the same concepts of perception and power as their brethren anywhere, but in terms of their own country and experience, and many of the pieces fully resonate only if you know a bit of the cultural context.

On the terrace outside the museum's front door, for example, is a forest of large, socialist-realist statues, heroic workers proudly wielding their tools. This is a new work by Wang Guangyi, who became successful in the early 1990's with "political pop" art that combined Communist icons with commercial images like Marlboro and Coke.

Now the pop is gone. "I have rid the works of any obvious cultural antagonism," the artist said in a statement, "instead placing emphasis on the ambiguity that is found in their simple strength."

To Westerners the figures may offer a fascinating riff on time, space and aesthetics; but some Chinese viewers at the show found them deeply unsettling, dredging up suppressed terrors of the Cultural Revolution era.

Out in the museum sculpture garden is a new work by Xu Bing, a pioneer of the Chinese avant-garde known variously for his rubbings of the Great Wall and tablets of fake Chinese characters.

Here he painted a herd of donkeys to look like zebras, inspired, he said, by a news report that villagers in southern China had painted donkeys to look like zebras in hopes of drawing amazed tourists.

The tension between art and politics in China is a long story in itself, but political statements by today's artists tend to be glancing and ironic, if they are there at all.

One of the harshest works is "Shin Brace," by Feng Feng, a huge photograph, excruciating to look at, of a man's leg with metal pins jabbing through the skin.

"The relationship between steel and flesh is very direct," wrote the artist, observing that human beings both fear and welcome the total power of steel.

A huge red door, by Zhang Hongfu, spoofs the heavy red, metal-studded doors that kept ordinary people out of the Forbidden City in dynasties past and out of the Communist leadership compound of Zhongnanhai today. For all sorts of reasons, viewers break out laughing.

It's just a red door, but the studs have become pipes with rounded tops that protrude several inches. "The phalluslike studs are the secret that the gate is supposed to hide," Mr. Hu commented. "The gate's mystique vanishes when this (unimpressive) secret exposes itself on the outside."

Other works are more like gentle meditations. "Dialogue with the Peasants of Tiangongsi Village" by Chen Shaofeng is described as a "performance and installation."

In fact it is a wall filled with pairs of small oil paintings: Mr. Chen's lively portrayals of each villager, and the portrait that each villager painted, in turn, of the bearded Mr. Chen, several of them surprisingly adept.

He wanted to see the villagers "as equal participants in my work," Mr. Chen explained. (Foreigners may not realize just how ignored and powerless many of China's farmers continue to feel.) "For most of the villagers, the act of participating made them aware of talent they did not know they had, which was a pleasure in itself," he said.

First Senate Ledger Saved From History's Dustbin

First Senate Ledger Saved From History's Dustbin
By CARL HULSE
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/25/politics/25CAPI.html

WASHINGTON, Nov. 24 — Misplaced and long forgotten in a dirty underground storage room, the original accounting book of the Senate carries careful entries by the likes of John Adams, Thomas Jefferson and Aaron Burr. The ledger, known as S-1, survived hundreds of years, escaping the torching of the Capitol in the War of 1812. But it was almost lost last week to an effort to modernize the building.

Officials in the Senate historian's office said that a staff member in an out-of-the-way office and workers for the Architect of the Capitol, the agency supervising the construction, noticed the aged volume and 59 other ledgers dating from the 1800's to the 1950's and called Congressional curators, who rescued the books.

"It came just a whisker from workmen whose only orders were to clear out the room," said Richard A. Baker, the Senate historian, adding that when he first heard of the volumes he presumed they were copies.

"I couldn't believe my eyes," Mr. Baker said. "I have been here 28 years and have never seen a find like this."

Marked as the "Senators Compensation and Mileage" ledger, S-1 covers Senate sessions from 1791 to 1881 and provides a down-to-the-dollar account of the early costs of democracy.

Though it contains no narrative, the ledger offers a fiscal portrait of the evolution of the Senate and the growth of the nation as the ranks of famous names like Webster and Calhoun expanded with the country.

The first senators were paid $6 a day for their attendance and received 30 cents per mile for travel to and from their homes. A tidy sum then, though it also covered food and lodging.

"I do certify that the sums affixed to the names of the within mentioned senators are due to them as the law provides," declared an early entry signed by John Adams, the first vice president.

While most of the signatures appear to be authentic, Mr. Baker said clerks may have occasionally signed on behalf of the vice presidents, including times when "Adams" is spelled with a double D.

As vice presidents, Adams, Jefferson and Burr and their successors presided over the Senate and as a result were responsible for authorizing payment. The Senate in 1791 spent about $4,530 per month for 26 senators. Mr. Baker said that when Congress was still meeting in Philadelphia before moving to Washington, the secretary of the Senate would take the document directly to the Treasury and withdraw the appropriate sums.

Since the ledgers were discovered last Tuesday, Mr. Baker and others in the Senate historical office have spent time establishing how they came to be lost, and he attributed it to a not uncommon government cause. "This is a screw-up," he said.

From what the historical office can discern, S-1 and the other volumes had been shipped to the National Archives, perhaps around the 1930's, but for an unknown reason Senate officials asked that they be returned in 1963. They eventually found their way to the storage space, which the Senate disbursing office abandoned in the early 1980's. Hardly anyone has been in there since.

Mr. Baker said the carefully drawn entries on the pages, which measure about 9 by 14 inches, show the Senate's struggle to keep accurate accounts in its early years as it moved from New York to Philadelphia to the District of Columbia.

Another historian, Peter Drummey, librarian at the Massachusetts Historical Society in Boston, said such documents were vivid reminders of the small scale of the early federal government, when the president personally signed the commissions of military officers.

"These things are not going to change the understanding of the early Republic," Mr. Drummey said of the ledgers, "but they put a human face on things that can sometimes be seen entirely as matters of debate over the Constitution."

A secretary of the Senate had S-1 re-bound in 1884 for preservation purposes, and it has aged well. The book has drawn public attention in the past. A newspaper account in 1885 recited the history of the volume as well as the escalating expense of operating the Senate.

"It costs about six times as much to pay our senator's car fare now as it did during Washington's first administration although there are only about three times as many senators," the correspondent for The Commercial Advertiser noted.

Mr. Drummey said travel pay was important in the old days as senators and representatives could accumulate considerable sums for journeys that covered thousands of miles. Senator Jefferson Davis of Mississippi, for example, reported in the late 1840's that his round trip covered 3,962 miles at 40 cents a mile before he left the Senate to pursue other interests.

To guard against potential abuse, the historians said, the distances were eventually based on those given in a published gazetteer.

Mr. Baker said that, not unlike the modern Congress, senators were eager about any effort to increase their own pay. The first attempt to go to an annual salary was in 1815, when lawmakers voted themselves $1,500 per year.

"There was a huge public explosion, and large numbers of House members and some senators were defeated in elections," Mr. Baker said. "They went back to the daily rate but added $2."

The east front of the Capitol is now under construction for a three-level underground visitor center that will provide more space for tourists and museum exhibits as well as improved security. Visitors will enter the Capitol near where the storage room was. But Mr. Baker does not expect any more historical discoveries, saying the Senate has become much more careful with its documents in recent decades. The other volumes include check ledgers and cover years into the 1950's.

Given the thousands of dollars that autographs like those in the volume would bring at auction, the book could be worth a large amount of money. Mr. Drummey said Aaron Burr's signature was much harder to find than those of Jefferson and Adams, who went on to serve as presidents.

But Mr. Baker said the ledger, which eventually will be available on the Senate Web site, would not be leaving the Senate's possession and in fact would not be traveling far at all. "It literally will end up 10 feet or maybe 20 feet away from where it was lost for 40 years," Mr. Baker said. "It will be a prime exhibit item for the visitors center, no question about it."

Shanghai Journal

[two more old ones i found on shanghai... pk]

September 18, 2002
Shanghai Journal – The Brothers Are in the Deconstruction Business
By JOSEPH KAHN
http://query.nytimes.com/search/article-page.html?res=9D05E6DE1530F93BA2575AC0A9649C8B63

Ni Daimei values Shanghai's old European-style row houses as much as any preservationist. He knows exactly how much they are worth, every brick, plank and tile.

A good one, built in the 1920's for a merchant or banker, might have a few thousand rust-colored bricks that fetch about one American cent apiece. A roof tile made of earth and long-lost craftsmanship wholesales for 2 cents. Softly worn 80-year-old planks of pine, originally imported by Western colonialists, fetch $6 and up.

The numbers trip off Mr. Ni's tongue because he puts up cash for rights to demolish old Shanghai neighborhoods, most of them government property. He makes money selling them off in stacks and bundles. He and his team of 13 sunburned men, all from the same rural county in faraway Sichuan Province, work methodically with crowbars to reduce houses into component parts.

Conservationists, most of them Westerners, complain that Shanghai has bulldozed its unique past to make way for look-alike skyscrapers. The truth is that it has dissected its past, floorboard by roof beam. There is no heavy equipment in sight.

Shanghai has so far demolished old towns that covered roughly the area of Venice. Mr. Ni, 36, and his brother, Ni Dairong, 45, have spent their working lives prying through dozens of them. They estimate that there are three years of wrecking work left in old districts.

This city is in a hurry to remake itself in the image of Tokyo or Hong Kong. The government is condemning houses throughout the old districts and contracting with developers to remove them and build new structures. But bringing in companies with big yellow tractors costs money. Why pay someone to use machines when migrant workers will pay the city to do the job by hand?

There is another reason why the Ni team gets more contracts than companies with big yellow tractors: Many condemned houses still contain people.

Tucked away in the shadow of the fancy Garden Hotel, the Xiaobangwan neighborhood, home to some 2,000 people, until recently looked much as it did before 1949, when the French controlled this quarter of the city. The attached wood-frame houses, some with Italianate balconies and tiny gardens, line streets just wide enough for a watermelon cart. Outside, small parrots screech in their cages. Housewives chat on their stoops, and a barber gives a man a dry shave.

This is where Mr. Ni and his crew have lived and worked since April. They moved into a spacious third-floor walk-up vacated by one of the few local residents who took a Hong Kong developer's early offer of compensation to relocate.

After six months, still only half the residents have accepted sweetened buyouts or been evicted after appeals. Under Chinese law, the government controls the land, and the residents will eventually have to go. But many believe that they will do better if they delay.

That means living through the blitz. People watch television and cook dinner in stage-set apartments missing an outside wall. A woman washes clothes next to a home stripped of everything but smashed plaster, which spills out onto the street.

Though he smiles easily and speaks in a near whisper, Ni Daimei has no sympathy for those who stay on. He calls them ''nail families'' for their stubbornness.

''People just open their pockets wider demanding more money all the time,'' he says. ''It makes our work much more difficult because we have to work around them.''

On good days, he finds homes with no nails. Mr. Ni and his crew, dressed in fatigues and hard hats and carrying crowbars and sledgehammers, cut the power and water supply. They rip out wiring and pipes and remove floor boards, doors and window frames. They smash concrete encasements to salvage electrical meters, a few dollars apiece.

Often, however, they work in intimate spaces. In one three-story building that once housed eight families, five remain. Mr. Ni's men have opened a chimney the size of a living room through the middle. Sunlight pours in, and so does the rain.

''They knock on the door each day and say they're here to smash a hole in my house,'' says Zhang Lijuan, who has lived there since 1945. ''How can they destroy walls and not disturb the other people? Impossible!''

After tearing up the neighborhood, Mr. Ni and crew retire to their third-floor apartment, where their wives cook dinner while they smoke cigarettes and drink beer.

The work has gotten steadily harder, they complain. Lots of Sichuanese have come to Shanghai to demolish homes, and the competition has pushed up deconstruction fees. Residents also seem to hang on longer. Community relations, they say, are strained.

''Once in a while someone wants to argue, or throw a punch,'' Mr. Ni says. ''I tell my men, when they yell, run away. We don't want to fight.''

Still, as much as Shanghai embraces the new, displacing the old has been good business. The crew lives rent-free in condemned property. Mr. Ni's poster bed and chest of drawers are leftovers, as is the gas stove. Overhead is low.

And just outside their window, where they can keep watch at night, is a Home Depot of scraps, bundles of wire, piles of tin and metal pipe, fan covers, two-by fours, curtain rods, door knobs and water filters -- an antique community for sale.

SoHo of Shanghai

June 6, 2002
Commerce Follows Artists Into the SoHo of Shanghai
By Anna Esaki-Smith
http://query.nytimes.com/search/article-page.html?res=9B07EED61E3AF935A35755C0A9649C8B63

An artists' community is growing here along the meandering Suzhou Creek, which empties into the Huangpu River at the northern tip of this city's riverside esplanade. Abandoned waterfront warehouses, hulking memorials to the manufacturing days of Shanghai, provide artists with huge work spaces.

Last year newspapers heralded the return of fish to the creek, suggesting that an ambitious billion-dollar city cleanup had improved upon a past when raw sewage and chemicals were routinely dumped into its waters. More recently, vast apartment complexes have sprung up in a place where residents used to keep their windows shut year-round because of the stench.

This creekside area that has been revitalized is often called Shanghai's SoHo. But as was the case with its namesake in Manhattan, the tug of commercial possibilities may uproot the growing artists' community. The land beneath the warehouses containing studios and galleries has recently been sold to developers, artists say, and the warehouses could be razed for commercial development and a park.

''We live in a commerce-driven society,'' said Li Liang, the owner of Eastlink Gallery, which covers 6,500 square feet on the second floor of a former grain warehouse along Suzhou Creek. ''You try to do new things, influence society, but in the end you pretty much know what the results will be.''

Two years ago the Shanghai Biennial, a government-sponsored art show designed to put the city on the cultural connoisseurs' map, took place at two sites in town, but a band of intrepid artists with no official ties put on a series of their own shows, including one at Eastlink.

Their exhibitions included a video of three artists walking around town as their blood dripped into tubes from catheters in their arms, and a live performance of a diaper-clad artist floating down the Huangpu in a plastic bubble. Some of the shows were shut down by city authorities, which frayed the relationship between the local government and rebel artists.

The art at Eastlink is not the sort favored by the nouveau riche of China. Some of it is installation art, like a pyramid of layered blue-green glass shown at an exhibition earlier this year, paired with a television screen enclosed in a wooden box. Mr. Li said he focused more on exposing people to forms of modern art than on actually selling it. Officials at the Shanghai Cultural Bureau would not comment on development plans for the Suzhou Creek area.

Teng Kun-yen, 52, a Taiwanese architect, also has a vision about how to marry art with commerce as he works in a former rice warehouse thought to have once belonged to a local gangster. He has given city officials his proposal to transform 30 waterfront warehouses into eight cultural centers focusing on music, fashion, architecture and other arts. Although he doesn't know the status of his proposal, he said he felt that some officials might be leaning in his direction. He said his hopes were buoyed by the suspension of plans to build a garbage-disposal plant next to his studio, where three old buildings were demolished.

He admitted, however, that conflict seemed to reign. City and district authorities are unclear about how to develop the Suzhou Creek area, Mr. Teng said, and are ''entangled in disputes.''

The warehouse containing Mr. Teng's studio was built in 1933 and has an Art Deco facade, massive wooden beams and high ceilings. Mr. Teng spent around $100,000 renovating the roughly 25,000-square-foot space, and the yearly rent is just over $40,000. The infrastructure was so solid that little basic reconstruction was needed.

The appeal of the warehouses is not just their large size and affordability, but their embodiment of Shanghai's history as a bustling international trading port. Mr. Teng said he believed that his building was designed by Americans.

In the early 1990's many old factories along the creek closed or their operations moved to rural areas as the state-run economy of China began to implode and Shanghai started to reinvent itself as a financial center.

During the subsequent development boom here, blocks of historic buildings were razed to make room for modern offices. Many people fear that the same fate awaits the warehouses.

But Mr. Teng said he saw a promising precedent in the preservation of the hall where the Communist Party was born and of nearby buildings in central Shanghai, which now house upscale restaurants and cafes. If the government wants to go ahead with a preservation project, ''the speed of doing things is unimaginable,'' Mr. Teng said, adding, ''Democratic countries can't do that.''

In a last-ditch effort to save the historic warehouse area, preservationists are mounting a letter-writing campaign to this city's mayor. Even if construction of modern buildings gains momentum, there is optimism that some buildings will be preserved. Most artists realize, however, that the lure of commerce over culture may be too mighty for city authorities to resist.

A woman who works at a gallery in the Suzhou Creek district said, ''Only a sliver of hope remains.''

Return to Shanghai

[missed this last week... pk]

Return to Shanghai
By YILU ZHAO
http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/17/weekinreview/17ZHAO.html

BEFORE I came to the United States to live first as a college student and then as a reporter, I grew up in China. Born to proletarian parents in Shanghai, I moved abroad after high school. Last month, for the first time in three years, I visited my parents and found that in many ways, Shanghai had become like New York.

I listened to my 14-year-old cousin sing rap in Chinese about the fantasized martial arts, jiang hu. When I asked him about Chairman Mao, he gave me a blank stare, just like teenagers in Harlem had when I inquired about Malcolm X. "Who is Mao?" my cousin asked. "They might have mentioned him in school, but I didn't pay attention."

I visited the new apartments of my old buddies. Almost all of us were from one-child families, and had grown up like 10 siblings at a public, boarding high school; I was the only one to have left the country. My friends' homes were decked out in minimalist furniture from Ikea, much like mine in New Jersey.

I went to a candle- and strobe-lit bar in Shanghai. A black woman with an American accent sang jazz as a bartender with huge biceps concocted margaritas.

Rent a car in Shanghai; you can find Hertz. Grab a sandwich; just look for Subway. Talk to college seniors about job searches; they will spit out the Chinese names of Goldman Sachs, McKinsey and Microsoft.

But then, browse Shanghai's newspapers and magazines. There, you will find no mirror image of the rambunctious, sometimes courageous and sometimes obnoxious New York press.

Or flip through the dozens of television channels. You will encounter China's own sleek, mawkish MTV and learn about Hong Kong pop stars' relationship troubles. But you will not hear about recent construction accidents or mining mishaps that have killed dozens of people.

Shanghai, a bustling colonial seaport turned into an industrial base by the Communist Party, has been unabashed about its desire to imitate New York City and regain its former glory as East Asia's financial capital. In just a few years, it has built a breathtaking new skyline and set aside land for a large green space called Central Park.

The planners have even named one of its busiest intersections Times Square, not realizing that its progenitor was named for The New York Times. Instead, the Shanghai one is called Shi Dai Guang Chang, the Square of the Times, as in "modern times." (Not that the city planners would have named the intersection after this newspaper. Most Chinese have the lingering suspicion that it is somehow an agent of the United States government, just as all general news publications in China are mouthpieces of the Communist government.)

Shanghai has succeeded in gaining most of New York City's hardware, but not its most essential software.

The middle class live as comfortably as those in Manhattan. If you are young and well-off, you can afford Hershey's and Reebok, Estée Lauder and Bristol-Myers. (The average person can choose from a plethora of equally good but much cheaper local brands.)

Whether one belongs to the emerging middle class has much to do with age. My peers, 10 years younger than those who openly demanded democracy on Tiananmen Square in 1989, have had it lucky. While their counterparts in the West slowly ascend their corporate ladders, many of my classmates have soared into managerial positions in China's foreign-owned or joint ventures. They make as much as college graduates in New York, in a country where the World Bank says per capita annual gross national income is $890, and $10 buys two people a good dinner out.

At the same time, our aunts and uncles and parents, who missed out on higher education or even basic education because all schools were closed during the Cultural Revolution in the 1960's and 70's, are cleaning vegetables in supermarkets, cooking and scrubbing at young yuppies' homes for 80 cents an hour or selling trinkets by the roadside.

Fortunately, filial piety, though fading, has not died out. Many of my Chinese peers, after having bought apartments and cars for themselves and toured South Asia or even Europe, are paying mortgages for their aging parents' new two- or three-bedroom apartments.

These days, the Communist Party often asks bright and suave university students to join up, and many of them do, hoping to play the system and advance their careers. The party is rewriting its constitution to declare that it represents "advanced forces" — capitalists and the young middle class — and this basic direction seemed affirmed by the party's choice of new leaders at its congress last week.

What about Communist China's founding members' mission — to help the weak and the oppressed? "The world is like a Darwinian jungle," one of my old buddies sneered, lighting a cigarette. "The strong will win, and the weak will lose." It is a view popular with many of China's new young elite.

But some things have not changed. The Communists still like to boast that their movement beat the Nationalists under Chiang Kai-shek with two sticks. One was the gun, the other the pen. And knowing the importance of the pen, the government is not going to grant free rein to its newspaper publishers or news program producers, except the most innocuous ones, any time soon. Last year, private investors did establish a few magazines. One was "Shanghai Brides." Another was a Chinese version of Glamour.

No wonder that the obsession with beauty is almost as extreme in Shanghai as in Beverly Hills, or that the psychic meanings of Zodiac signs roll off the tongues of many young people. What else is there for young, active minds to obsess about?

What about the right to vote, I asked one day. Or the right to choose your own leaders?

My friends hushed me, rolling their eyes. We are comfortable, they said. We don't want trouble. One solemnly informed me that "Western-style" democracy is incompatible with the East Asian Confucian culture. He had read it in a newspaper. The middle class might have been clamoring for democracy in Tocqueville's America, but, for now, they are not in China.

Deep down, however, many of the young elite feel a little queasy about their future. Or at least many of their parents do. While my generation has witnessed only progress and stability, our parents' families were torn apart. The Cultural Revolution shattered youthful dreams and shredded the belief in the goodness of humanity. And our parents aren't so sure that another horrible, unpredictable convulsion won't occur.

They are full of practical warnings that boil down to a profound question: Who knows about tomorrow when the law offers no real protection? Who knows about next year when the government can do whatever it wants?

So at their nagging, one of my cousins, a business owner, has spent half a million dollars to buy her young family immigrant visas to New Zealand, where she will have to start over from zero. A classmate, a successful programmer, recently moved to Canada. Half of my close high school friends plan to become Australian citizens. All would have liked to come to the United States, but acquiring American visas, never easy, has seemed impossible since 9/11.

Our parents' advice to those already in the United States: Don't settle back in China until you get a green card. Give birth to your children there, so they will be American citizens. If the government goes insane again — not that we think it will, but you never know — you can just pack up and leave.

And the young, albeit usually confident and complacent, do listen.