Here Randy’s got another hangup, something that’s been slowly dawning on him as he stands on the beach beneath Tom Howard’s concrete house: the perfect freedom that Tom’s found in Kinakuta is a cut flower in a crystal vase. It’s lovely, but it’s dead, and the reason it’s dead is that it has been alienated from its germinal soil. And what is that soil exactly? To a first approximation you could just say "America," but it’s a little more complicated than that; America’s just the hardest-to-ignore instantiation of a cultural and philosophical system that can be seen in a few other places. Not many. Certainly not in Kinakuta. The closest outpost is really not that far away: the Filipinos, for all of their shortcomings in the human rights department, have imbibed the whole Western freedom thing deeply, in a way that has arguably made them economic laggards compared to Asian countries where no one gives a shit about human rights.