Zero at the bone
 
It's me. Girls like me. Women like me.
 
That's the answer to why disgusting, lecherous western businessmen think they can go to China, Taiwan, Korea, Vietnam and the rest of Asia and have young girlfriends in every city with no obligations, no commitments and no respect. That's why they can view Asian women as passive dolls to be played with, with no ramifications. That's why they think they can put their arms around Asian women they don't know and plant kisses on them and get away with it. Because they can. Because women like me let them.
 
Okay. Back up.
 
I skipped taekwondo tonight to go to my friend Trace's birthday party in Itaewon, the notorious playground for expats in the middle of Seoul. Trace is a career soldier in the army -- started out as a buck private and worked his way up to a comfortable living. He loves Korea -- married a Korean woman (from whom he is now divorced), is conversant in both spoken and written Korean, and has traveled all over the country. I like my friend. I think he's a good guy. But if a person is to be judged by the character of his friends, my friend is a fucking low-life.
 
Everytime I go into Itaewon, I step into this weird world of transplanted America -- the music, the videos playing on TV, the faces of the people in the bars all say I'm not in Korea. Trace's birthday bash was at a bar he frequents, and his friend, a low-level American mover and shaker in the Korean entertainment circuit who is married to a moderately famous Korean singer, was footing the bill.
 
(I met the Korean singer tonight, incidentally, and was shocked at the extent that she had remodeled her face -- nose, eyes, possibly chin. She really didn't look Asian anymore. Ilion had described his wife as incredibly beautiful. Why, because she Michael Jacksoned her face into something it's not?)
 
I had invited my Taiwanese friend Vivian to come with me; she'd met Trace at the same party I had, a year ago (in fact, the very party from which I went home with KB to sleep over at his place the first time). We were greeted enthusiastically by Trace, whom we haven't seen for several months, and we sat down to eat some food.
 
We were joined a bit later by Ilion, who, just like last year's birthday party for Trace, spent most of his time boasting about his huge house, where "everyone in Seoul wants to have," his business in the Philippines, his connections in the biz in Korea. If he's to be believed (and why not?), he runs a cock-fighting business in the Philippines, has a huge house there, knows all the politicians, and is somewhat of a gangster.
 
Not his words, of course. He said that he knew a lot of Taiwanese mafia, so I asked him if he were part of the Philippine mafia, and he denied it, but what else do you call a man who openly says he's had a couple of men killed for crossing him? Trace said earlier that he was planning to go work for Ilion after he retires from the army, and when I brought up that fact with Ilion, he said "Yeah, I need a man I can trust. Trace would never fuck up. He knows what would happen. Ask him -- he knows I know some people over there. But I know he would never fuck up, and he knows I could never hurt him. I'd just probably tell him to go home."
 
Who did you have killed? I wondered. "I have a cock-fighting business over there," Ilion said, "you know, chickens. I bet a couple thousand dollars on a fight, and the chickens cost a couple hundred dollars. So this guy decides to steal a couple of chickens. So I have these guys cut him up into pieces and put them all over town. As an example."
 
"You couldn't have just scared him?" I asked, half horrified, half thinking he was pulling my leg.
 
"No," he shook his head. "It's a different world there." He paused for a minute. "I'm not a bad guy -- I didn't pull the trigger, I have guys do that for me. I'm not a killer. And I give money to the families -- $5,000."
 
"And that's a lot of money there," I said, wondering when I had entered the set of The Sopranos.
 
"Yeah, it's a lot of money, and those families, they thanked me for it! They said the guy was a no-good fuckup anyway, and they were happy to have made money off him! I mean, they lo -- hey, if the village needs water, I build them a well. I'm the only guy in town who drives a Hummer, the only guy in town with a $65,000 car. So they know who I am. If I tell them to vote for a certain politician, they do it because they trust me. They know me."

After this remarkable exchange, another friend of Trace, Willy, sat down next to me. Willy. Overweight, reeking of cologne, with obviously dyed black hair pulled into a ponytail and ruddy complexion. Forty-six years old. From Cleveland, Ohio. A marketing guy, in the steel industry, who said he had been selling steel-production machines at $5 million a pop in China. Due to the Chinese government's fear of an economic bubble burst, though, Willy wasn't doing much work lately.
 
Vivian and I arrived at the bar around 9 pm and left around 10:30. Every few minutes during that time, Willy held my hand, put his arm around me, kissed my cheek, or pulled me into an unwilling embrace. While also telling us that he had two girlfriends in Taiwan, one 33 years old and the other in her twenties. While also telling us that he liked northern Chinese women because their skin was lighter, because they were "passive and just my style," because women from Shanghai and Beijing just "weren't his style." While also showing us a picture of his Korean girlfriend (who looked no older than 30) hanging from his keychain. While telling me that I was "cute," "beautiful," and a "heartbreaker."
 
At first, I figured it was more trouble than it was worth to say something to Willy about the skin-crawling embraces and kisses. He's drunk, I thought, and affectionate, and it's gross, but it'll stop if I don't respond. But as the seconds ticked forward and Willy didn't desist, I felt increasingly uncomfortable. Panicky, almost. Violated. Disgusted.
 
I disengaged my hand from his, saying lightly, "Oh hey! It's my hand!" I didn't look at him. I inched away on the sofa. Any fool could have seen that my body language was saying NO. I tried to divert his attention by telling him that Vivian was from Taiwan, which was low of me, because then he grabbed her hand. She was good, though -- she smiled and said, "Oh! It's just like holding my father's hand."
 
Just before we were about to leave, Willy leaned in close and asked, "Can I take you out to dinner sometime?"
 
"You have a girlfriend."
 
"Hey, I'm a firm believer that if you have a ring on, you stay faithful. I'm a pastor. [!] I believe in that. But if you don't have a ring...."
 
"I'm afraid I'm leaving in a month."
 
"In a month? That's too bad." And he leaned back.

Vivian and I left.
 
We walked to the subway and I apologized for inviting her to the bar. "That's okay," she said, "I saw a lot. Their lives are very different. But I felt sorry for you. I didn't like the way he kept touching you, and holding your hand or my hand. Are you okay?"
 
I shuddered. "I feel gross. He was disgusting."
 
She frowned. "I think Trace is a good guy. And even Ilion, he has a kind face. But that other guy..." 
 
After parting ways on the subway, I sat and tried to figure out why the hell men like Willy think they can get away with treating Asian women with such disrespect. Why do lecherous old fucks like him get away with it? And would they get away with it in the U.S.? I don't think so. Maybe with young, economically powerless girls who don' t know that they deserve more. Then something Ilion said snagged my memory.
 
Upon finding out that Vivian had married a Korean man, he made a face and said, "Why?" He proceeded to lecture: "Korean men, they're hard core. That's why Korean women, when they meet a man who will cook and clean -- I do everything for my wife. I can cook anything. I hired a cleaning person because I don't want my wife to do that stuff. I'm half Italian and half Philippino, and the Philippinos, they take care of their women. So when a Korean woman meets a man who will do that, they realize!"
 
Is it the sexist hierarchy in Asian countries, then, that makes these situations possible? Are Korean (or Philippino, or Chinese, or Vietnamese) women running away from a patriarchal system that treats them poorly, toward a more sensitive-new-age-guy culture? Or are they young and economically powerless and don't know they deserve more? Or do they simply recognize relationships like the ones Willy has as financial transactions?
 
I suppose it differs according to the country. I've heard of men going to the Philippines or Vietnam, renting a house, and hiring two women -- one for cooking and one for fucking. They couldn't get away with that in Korea -- women have more power here. But then how can a disgusting amoral shitbag like Willy get away with having a Korean girlfriend and asking me to have dinner with him sometime?
 
Okay, there are disgusting amoral fucks everywhere in the world, both male and female, who are not necessarily examples of class and ethnic domination. But -- but the question remains: what makes men like Willy think they can get away with it?
 
And the answer? Because they can, yes. But also because of women like me. Because I didn't do any one of the half dozen things that would have put a stop to Willy's kisses and hugs. Because I didn't change my seat. Because I didn't turn to him and say, "Please stop doing that, it makes me uncomfortable." Because I didn't answer, "The reason I won't go to dinner with you is that you're a repulsive, boring fuck who has no respect for women." Because I didn't look at him with the "back off" stare. Because when he said, multiple times, "oh, she doesn't like me" in a coy tone, I didn't say, "You're right, I don't, and stop touching me." Because I didn't say upfront, "Look, I went to Yale and I'm going to Harvard Law," which has the effect of freezing  men like Willy in their tracks, because they don't know how to behave around an intelligent woman. Because when he asked if he could hold my hand, I didn't say, "No, you can't, because your touching me makes my skin crawl because you're old enough to be my father, and I'm not one of your 'passive' Chinese women, I'm American-born and bred and you know you wouldn't be able to get away with this shit in Cleveland, Ohio, and why the FUCK do you think you can get away with it here?" 
  
I didn't do anything.
 
Why? Why? Why? How could I have just sat there and taken it?