Very respectfully

Conventions

I’ve always been interested in conventions of society or why people do what they do.  I’m not sure where handshaking in the Marshall Islands came from, but it is deeply ingrained and unique part of their culture now.  As a contractor there and also working as a liaison for the Army between the Marshallese workforce and local Government, I had to shake a lot of hands in the meet and greet VIP lines.  The Marshallese handshake is unique, a grip and pump – just once, never more, and then you move on to the next hand shaker in line.  At times, there was a long line of hands to be grabbed and gripped and I’d sometimes  let my gaze wander at the snaking line ahead to see how long that darn line was.   On occasion, my gander ahead would pick out someone who boldly had their finger twisting deeply up their nose.  Just straight out in the open, digging for the golden nugget, trying to pick a winner, unabashed mining.  And I knew I’d have to shake that hand.  In Afghanistan, we’re all terrified of getting sick and handshaking, so the Obama communist fist bump is quite popular here.  If you get sick, you are put on quarters (and by quarters, I refer to the cell block that passes for a place to sleep) and you don’t get paid. 

Cellblock (quarters).  Where you don't want to be.  Because it's dank and tiny.  And you don't get paid.  So fist bump all.day.long.

So we fist bump and wash our hands compulsively all day long to try to avoid the filthy virus laden palms that one has to lay flesh on when shaking hands.  That’s right, a hand extended in Afghanistan is met with a closed fist.  Seems apt for the location. There was, however, no way to get around the social convention of the handshake in that line, so we always had a bottle of hand sanitizer at the ready. 

I also helped Marshallese employees respond to intent to bar letters.  Some transgression would be committed (sometimes they’d take three candy bars through the checkpoint, rather then the allotted two…) they’d get a ticket, a police report would be generated, and depending on the level of infraction, they’d get the letter, letting them know the Provost Marshal intended to bar them from the installation.  This was a big deal, no access to the island = no job.  Because I speak Marshallese fluently, I would listen to their story and interpret as I helped them with their response in English.  Note the use of interpret versus translate – interpretation allows for some degree of poetic artistry, translation is just boring word for word repetition.  Every once and a while, there would be an unusual police report apart from the mundane…one police report said the employee had been found outside of a local drinking establishment, in the bushes, masturbating.  When asked to stop, said the police report, the gentleman did not comply.  As I read the report, I imagined the masturbator saying, “Wait, ooohhhhhhh, wait, hold on, I’m almost there!”  The write up went on to state the reported uncompliant employee pissed all over the officer’s shoes directly after refusing to obey the order to cease and desist pleasuring himself.  I read the report, listened to the employee’s story with a straight face (where he vehemently denied laying hands on himself in the bushes) and wrote a flowery response where I recall mentioning the difficulty of urination in such close proximity to an orgasm.  It was one of my better efforts.  The Provost Marshal, however, was humorless and was not buying what I was selling.  The employee was barred from the installation.  His boss brought him in as I was also the bearer of the unfortunate news.  She said, “Mr. Alan tried his best to help you, but it didn’t work out, so now you shake his hand.”  That’s right.  Tell the masturbator to shake my hand.  And there was no way out of it – conventions required the handshake (but thankfully, it was the Marshallese grip and pump, just once so there was no lingering). I couldn’t fistbump my way out of that jam.  And I couldn’t get to the copious amounts of hand sanitizer that was used fast enough after that handshake.

Now I’m back in Afghanistan at lovely Bagram Air Force Base.  One convention that fascinates me is the signature block on military e-mails.    Almost without fail, you’ll see some variation of ‘very respectfully’, then the rest of their signature.  Very respectfully or v/r.   When I worked for the Federal Government as a Department of Army Civilian, I v/r’ed with the best of them.  It was what was done, just like the handshake in the Marshall Islands.  Thank you, regards, best regards or the cheeky best were unheard of.  Verboten.  Haram.  Very respectfully or v/r were your two choices.   Although I’m back in v/r land, as a slimy contractor, I leave the v/r off of my signature block.  I’m kind of an infidel that way.  But back in the Marshall Islands, my boss at the time, who ended every e-mail with ‘Very Respectfully’, was furious at a decision a superior officer had made and he sent off a scathing e-mail, delineating  point by point the perceived negative downstream effects on the Host Nation, and the ramifications to the U.S. Army, of the decision.  He was very smart and a very good writer.  He was also very mad and you could hear the keys being pounded on fast and furiously.  The e-mail was close to being over the line, but he held it together until he finished the email.  The ‘Very’ was as conspicuously absent as a fistbump in a Marshallese VIP receiving line.  He punctuated that e-mail with what could have been interpreted as a disrespectful… Respectfully.