Manas Ordo

As I mentioned in an earlier post, my travels to Talas over the weekend brought me to exactly one tourist location: Manas Ordo.

It's an odd place for a variety of real, imagined, historical, and strictly political reasons. Something like a fusion of the Acropolis, Mount Vernon, and, I guess... Turin?

First the backstory, then onto my actual visit:

Manas is the epic hero of Kyrgyzstan, and serves as a unique cultural identifier (the two things separating Kazakhs and Kyrgyz, as far as I can tell, is flat vs. mountainous terrain, and a strictly-Kyrgyz attachment to the Manas epic), and also a unifier (prior to Manas, the "Kyrgyz" recognize themselves as many disparate and warring tribes, much like the Caucasus of the 19th century; after Manas, they have all called themselves "Kyrgyz"... the historiography here is shaky. I'm not suggesting this is actually what happened, but it is the official version that I've heard many Kyrgyz support).

But Manas is not a "Folk Hero" or a "Myth" - he is an Epic hero in the literal since - he is the protagonist of a long prose narrative. More than that, he is perhaps the most epic hero on the planet in that the epic of Manas is enormous, even by epic standards. The total of 500,000 lines is hard to comprehend, but for perspective, consider that it is 20 times longer than the Odyssey & Iliad combined. It beats the heck out of Gilgamesh, and is even longer than the Mahabarata, making Manas the longest (known) epic in the world. Ever.

And it's still a "living" epic - very much unlike the other examples. It is still recited (either in episodes or in week-long full-renditions) by Manaschi, professional epic reciters, who chant the poem in a lyrical style, but without musical accompaniment. There are many professional "lesser" Manaschi, who know only a few episodes, but only a few "Great" Manaschi, who know the entire epic, and are celebrated as national heroes, and occasionally even international celebrities.

The Manas epic has been transmitted orally since its composition (which some place as early as the 7th century, and others as late at the 15th - whichever is true, it also makes it a very Young epic), before finally being written down as last as 1885 (in truth, there was not much of a formal written Kyrgyz language prior to the mid-19th century).

Let me admit here that I have not (yet) read the Manas epic. It has been translated into English and is available in at least 2 versions. Perhaps I'll tackle that by the time I'm 30...

The story (from what I understand) is pretty standard epic-fare. A hero unites his people, defeats various local antagonists, and ultimately dies (heroically) and bequeths the challenge of continuing his efforts to his heirs (the succesive generatiosn after Manas actually make up 2/3 of the epic).

And here is where Manas Ordo (and I) come into play.

Manas Ordo is loosely translated as the "Throne of Manas," which seems to indicate both a seat of governance, but also an elevated place of observation. The title refers specifically to a small hill jutting up in the middle of a flat valley surrounded by receding chains of mountains. From this position, one can see a great distances down the valley, and also survey clearly (there are partically no indigenous trees in Kyrgyzstan) all the mountain slopes surrounding it. Speaking militarily, it's not the most defensible position - but Kyrgyz military tactics were never based on sedentary fortifications. These are horse people - to fight they needed open terrain, good intelligence of the opposition's movement, and an ability to watch their flank - all of which Manas Ordo provides.

From this strictly military classification, Manas Ordo took on greater symbolic value as the burial place of Manas after his fall. The bottom of the hill served as a cemetery for some time, but even this story is complicated. Like the misleading joke about Grant, no one is burried in Manas' tomb - actually, it's completely empty. Accordig to the inscription on the monument (destroyed centuries about but reconstructed in the late 1800's), it is the burial sight for the daughter of a local Khan - perhaps this is so, or perhaps as legend goes, the inscription itself is a ruse to throw off the enemies of Manas (mostly Chinese, who did actually defeat him) and not let them desecrate his remains.

From the late 1800s through the Soviet era, Manas Ordo was a hill, an old cemetery, and that was about it. It's located some 30 km outside the small town of Talas, in the far NorthEast of the country, making it technically more accessible than much of the otherwise mountainous terrain, but also making it very remote to most Kyrgyz.

Nonetheless, it did develop a small cult following, and the mountain was seen as a holy site, with occasional pilgrims coming for good health, fertility, etc. despite the attempts to mute such supernatural attachments by Soviet authorities.

In 1991, the Kyrgyz Republic became a soveirgn state with virtually no warning, and absolutely no political, economic, or social preparation for what that would entail. The full story of how the various Soviet Republics became actual state governments is a fascinating one, but one that will have to wait. For now, it's important to note that, in lieu of any other reason for considering itself a "nation" (in the ethno-cultural sense), Kyrgyzstan turned the "heritage" knob up to 11.

In 1995, Manas Ordo (state park/monument/cultural site) was built and commemorated on the (rather conveniently discovered) "1000th anniversary of Manas."

This new site included an enormous statue of Manas on a tremendous elevated pillar surrounded in a landscaped circle by more-than-life-sized bronze statues of his 40 loyal generals/warriors/advisors. The circle, which is at the bottom on Manas Ordo proper, leads into a path that takes visitors to various sites of "traditional" Kyrgyz culture including cooking, textile-making, etc. The path continues to the site of the "Manas Grave" itself (pictured at right), in all its reconstructed glory. Besides the mausoleam sits an enormous bolder - supposedly one of the ones that Manas himself lifted with his bare hands.

A path snakes up from the mausoleam to the top of the "Ordo" hill itself (below left), where one can catch your breath and enjoy the same sweeping view of the valley that for so long guaranteed the victories of Manas.

The journey is complete only at the foot of the hill, where a small but elaborate (dare I say, even Elegant) museum chronicles the life of Manas in miniature scenes accompanied by archaeological evidence of proto-Kyrgyz settlements and artifacts such as 18th-19th century swords, ornate horse saddles, and Chinese rifles. The entire museum interior is wrapped in stylistically-consistent murals depicting particular Manas episodes, and the heroes of the various pre-Kyrgyz tribes. Actually, it has Many similarities to the Museum of National History in Bishkek, which gives the same soft-glow treatment to the broader Soviet history - including wall-to-wall murals and larger-than-life bronze statues.

Interestingly, the similarities don't stop there. Being at Manas Ordo park is like being in any park in Bishkek. The landscaping is the same, the irrigation ditches are the same - even the tiles that line the sidewalks are the same. I was struck by this, and asked my accomplice Eleanora if these were used all over Kyrgyzstan?

"No - only Bishkek and Manas Ordo."

Puzzled, I asked why this was. "[They are the] only 2 big government projects"

And that's Very much what Manas Ordo is - a Big Government Project. Building on the epic that is one of the few uniquely Kyrgyz identifiers, the Kyrgyz gov built a shrine to its own imagined history, encouraged pilgrimages and elevated the religious aspect of the location, and reinforced Manas Ordo as a symbol of Kyrgyz nationalism, patriotism, and the positive future ahead.

14 years later, Kyrgyzstan has not fulfilled the many promises of its early independence fervor. There have been moments and areas of tremendous progress, and others of disappointments and even reversals of objectives. Whether Kyrgyzstan paints itself as the "Island of Democracy," the "Switzerland of Central Asia," or the "Home of Santa Claus," all of these glib descriptors ring hollow in the face of actual state policies and the failures of political, social, and economic development.

It's hard to fault a people who endured 60 years of repressive Russian chauvenism for wanting to reclaim some national pride - regardless of how well- or ill-founded such pride may be - but equally it's troubling to marvel at the manicured Manas Ordo surrounded by rural poverty, which seems to be the only "sustainable" situation in the Kyrgyz state (it's economic and political policies are self-acknowledginly non-perpetuating).

So what is the power of myth/epic? What is the cost:value ratio of national imagination? How much effort will a government with nothing to lose go to build a foundation of glittery sand?

But let's not keep the lens on poor little Kyrgyz. The experience of being at Manas Ordo would be well considered in comparison with a trip to the Alamo. Both are historical to some extent, though much more famous for the legends and half-truths that surround them. They both have a bearing on patriotism that is entirely artificial - When an American shouts "Remember the Alamo," they're really advocating for Texas separatism from Mexican political control, not some Western amalgam of "Live Free or Die." And they do build a certain currency, even cultish orthodoxy, around unknown, or even disproven "facts." No one knows how Davey Crockett died (one eye-witness account says he surrendered, then was shot; most movies/paintings depict him leading a final charge against the entire Mexican army). Likewise Manas may or may not existed, but the myth has overtaken even the Epic, which is a great case-in-point for anyone who studies myth and epic, or for most of the rest of us, who assume the two terms to be interchangable.

I enjoyed my time at Manas Ordo; it was interesting. But I would reiterate that what Manas Ordo gives one an insight into is NOT kyrgyz culture, heritage, tradition, or society. It doesn't even really give much of an insight into the Kyrgyz literary/epic tradition. More than anything, it is a demonstration of political power applied to its own self-substantiation. The fact that it is so thinly veiled, and thus easily perceived, from the heights of Manas Ordo, is an irony I'd like to pretend the Manas of my imagination would savor.

Weber (on the lamb)

Sometimes, It Takes a Village...

So I went to a Kyrgyz village this weekend, and will now challenge myself to describe what I did/saw in less than 2,000 words. Here it goes:

Saturday morning I set out with my co-worker Eleanora to visit her family (Grandfather, his sons/daughters, and their young kids) for the weekend. Originally I was under the impression that we were going to Talas, a small town (but town nonetheless) in NW Kyrgyzstan which is, for reasons I haven't been able to figure out, the center of opposition politics.

We started at the Bishkek bus station, which is in fact more of a hub for shared taxis. These have a set destination, and leave as soon as all the seats are full. It costs more than a bus, but is faster and generally more comfortable. My 4 hour trip to Talas, for example, cost me $10.

Eleanora & I shared a taxi with 2 other young Kyrgyz women, including one who, oddly enough, spent part of last year living in Corpus Christi on a work-exchange program. Somehow, she got to Corpus on a program, but once there they had her working at McDonalds... so she went to visit a friend in Ohio. Weird story.

To describe Kyrgyzstan as "Mountainous" is rather more accurate that such a simple adjective should allow. Bishkek is the main exception, though apparently Talas is also positioned on a smaller flat valley as the arms of the Alatau mountains recede into the Kazakh step. Regardless, to get to Talas, we had to cross mountains which were very numerous, usually very steep, and generally not passable without extensive engineering.

Having said that, our trip was quite pleasant and easy. I don't know if this can be attributed to stubbord Soviet policies, or post-Soviet attempts by the Kyrgyz government to validate its sovereignty. Either way, the highways, limited as they are, are impressive in their quality and their audacity. Whether skirting along a narrow cliff, or brazenly switchbacking up a mountain face, they operate year round (and winters are a monster) with minimal signs of wear-and-tear.

At the apex, we stopped for a photo op (at top).

The tunnel (because you cannot go Over these mountains) was closed when we got there - a laborious process of dredging out the gravel was underway - so we enjoyed the sudden snowfall and some more views before proceeding into the heart of the rock. We emerged on the otherside, none the worse for wear, and no bolrogs in sight.

About 40 km shy of Talas the taxi pulled over, and Eleanora told me it was time to get out. I was confused, but since I'm regularly not included on the full details of our plans, I have learned to just roll with it.

We started walking down a dirt side road, past a barrage of cinderblock and mudbrick (but very "modern") houses, and shortly found ourselves knocking on a thin metal gate. This was her uncle's house, and within the compound its wall encompassed would be found most of her extended family.

The partiarch of the family was Eleanora's grandfather (whose name I never caught). He is 85, but remains very quick-witted, taking regular jabs (friendly, and apparently very funny) at Eleanora, who is 26 and unmarried. While Eleanora hasn't been back to the village for about a year, her Grandfather keeps up with her program on Radio Azattyk, and is anxious to talk politics (that is, to tell Eleanora what she needs to be more focused on, or what of her analysis he thinks she got wrong). He listens to a lot of radio, not only because he's a life-long news enthusiast, but also because he has been blind for the past 25 years. He also happens to be a Hero of the Soviet Union, though I wasn't sure if that was awarded as a result of his service in WWII, or his work on the Kolhoz (collective farm) thereafter.

The rest of Eleanora's family was very kind, and very comfortable having an American around, if not especially interested. They were excited to see Eleanora (especially the 3 young neices); I was a very well-treated after thought.

While Eleanora caught up and watched TV with the youngsters, I went for a hike in the hills next to the village. There were true mountains in the distance on almost all sides, and a pair of thunderstorms kept threatening to come down into the valley, but did not. Still, on the hill tops it put up enough of a wind to get interesting. Eventually Eleanora and the kids came to find me, and were gracious enough to give me a 2 minute horse riding lesson on the way back. I certainly didn't impressed them with equine expertise - I later saw a 5-6 year old galloping down the highway.

We went to visit another uncle before sundown, and we passed the village mosque. I've mentioned that Bishkek only has one mosque, which is very odd (they just broke ground on a second, much larger one, as part of the incumbent president's attempts to woe the "pious" vote). From the drive, I can say that most villages seem to have one mosque. Nothing fancy - large, square, one-room buildings with a metal, faceted dome and occasionally a small minaret. They tend to be more functional than decorative, and none are especially old. I asked if we could go inside, and after a slight hesitation (the issue was Eleanora as a woman, not me as a non-Muslim), it was decided that it would be OK. The two young mosque-keepers brought us in, sat down, and gave a short recitation of the Qur'an before explaining (all this through Eleanora's later translation) that Kyrgyz were bad Muslims, since women should wear the hijab and the Shari'a should be followed (I could tell that he was referring specifically to the punishment for theft).

On the way back to the house, I had a good talk with Eleanora about Islam in Kyrgyzstan, how most Kyrgyz consider themselves true Muslims, but do not participate in the rituals or dogmas that usually go hand-in-hand with such an identity. I likened it to most American Christians, which I think is a useful analogy, though clearly inexact. I do marvel at what it means to be a mosque-keeper in Kyrgyzstan; to hold to a very particular (and honestly unpopular) interpretation of Islam in a country where you have only minimal social authority. To preach that all women should wear the hijab in a country where the most common hijab-wearers are foreigners (Iranians, some Pakistanis).

We went back to the house for dinner (at 10 pm!), but I wasn't very hungry. Since arriving in the village at 4, we'd already eaten 3-4 times.

For dinner, Eleanora's aunt brought out 4 large trays of boiled noodles on top of which were various parts of boiled lamb. Sheep are a staple of village fare, and it is joked by non-Kyrgyz that this diet (and regular proximity) gives them a "cultural odor" of sheep.

I was given the largest such piece - a huge femur with kneecap including all manner of non-muscular tissue. The uncle then took a slab of lamb fat and began cutting pieces onto everyone's plate. To this was added a bowl of "lamb soup," which was really just the thick broth in which the lamb was boiled. I surveyed the situation, considered the challenge before me, and after 30 minutes, decided that - rude as it might be - I just wasn't going to be able to eat it all. I felt bad - no, I still feel bad - but I also didn't get sick, which is a plus I'm not going to play down.

I slept in a large room by myself on the ample mats (we ate at low tables, with thick padded rugs/mattresses stacked on the floor for sitting, and in my case, sleeping). The family got moving early, but I was fortunate to be a sound sleeper. Breakfast was tea with fresh-squeezed milk (the cow was in the backyard), bread (we had bread with every meal and snack - it was great), and more lamb-bits. I took it pretty easy.

While we waited for another one of Eleanora's uncles to drive us to our next destination, we played more with the neices, took photos, and enjoyed some of their fresh produce. They grow apple trees, potatoes, and carrots. I've had freshly-picked fruit before, but I think this was the first time I'd pulled a carrot out of the ground and sunk my teeth into it. Very good - incredibly sweet (for a carrot).

The uncle arrived, we said our goodbyes (more Eleanora than I), and then went to visit Manas Ordo, which is either a religious site, a national monument, or a low-expectation theme park. It is deserving of its own post, so I'll hold off for now.

From Manas Ordo, we took a mashrutka (minibus) into Talas proper to see what little there was of a town, and to find a shared taxi heading back to Bishkek.

It's impossible to know what you're getting with shared taxis. The one we picked looked really great - a very new, clean, comfortable white Honda mini-van. As it turns out, our driver was something of a jerk, and the trip was frought with minor inconveniences. We were 15 minutes out of town when the driver realized he left something behind, so we doubled back. One of the passengers needed to stop to pickup luggage along the way, so we detoured. Another passenger was on her way back to Russia, so we stopped a few different times to say good bye to relatives along the way. One such stop included a snack break at a yurt setup along the highway. There are many such "settlements" where families live for the summer, sometimes tending flocks, but more often just selling the Kumis and other "traditional" food and beverages that are harder to acquire (at least, fresh) in Bishkek.

Kumis, which I've alluded to before, is a Very popular "national drink," of Kyrgyzstan. It was described to me as "semi-alcoholic fermented horse milk." They weren't far off. You can tell by the taste that there's some alcohol in there, but I'm guessing it's less than 1%. Kumis makes some people sick; it doesn't make Anybody drunk. The consistency is just like milk, not any more thick (thank goodness). And the taste....

Sort of like bitter liquid goat cheese.

My vote is still out on Kumis. I didn't love it. I didn't even really like it. But I was able to finish off the enormous bowl/cup I was handed, and that was a decent triumph. However, unlike everyone else in the van, I did not purchase an extra 1 litre bottle to take with me.

As I mentioned, the driver was not especially nice. He drove that minivan like it was a ferrari in Milan, swerving around minor potholes and flying through the intense switchback curves. He dashed around every car we came upon, usually darting back into our lane just as the on-coming car, headlights flashing, wizzed by. At first this all seemed exciting, but as the swerves and brake/accelerate/brake continued, it took a toll.

In all, we had 7 people in the car plus the driver, and had to stop 3 times for people to get out and throw up. That number would have been higher had one kyrgyz girl not come prepared with her own plastic bag. I could blame the Kumis, but I'm pretty sure we just had a jerk taxi driver.

I am proud to say that, riled as the Kumis inside me was, it stayed where I put it.

It took a long time to get back to Bishkek, between all the planned and emergency stop offs, but it certainly was good to get back "home."

A day later I'm feeling exhausted, generally worn out, hungry, and greasy. Despite a month now in Bishkek, my system is not nearly acclimated to the savory (read "fatty") content of Kyrgyz food. I would kill for a salad. I even tried to order one, and instead got a large plate of slimy tomatoes with dabs of mayo. Not the solution I was looking for.

But at least I got out of Bishkek. And while I'm worried about making generalizations (as I've done here) about "Kyrgyz" lifestyles based on just this one trip, I'm content to say that I've seen more now that I had 3 days ago, and that I'll need to see a great bit more before I really have any clue what I'm talking about. Please don't take anything you read here as authoritative - these are just my (ignorant) observations and (foolish) contemplations.

I have 3 weeks left until I return to the states, 1 of which will be spent in Dushanbe, Tajikistan. I'm also supposed to visit the southern Kyrgyz city of Osh, and hopefully spend a day at Issyk Kul (a very popular lake/resort in NE Kyrgyzstan). That's a lot of movement, but after a month of sitting at a desk with little to do (but write over-long blogs) my legs are aching for the activity.

I'm sure you'll appreciate the time not-spent reading these digital blurbs as well.

So a good weekend in Manas village, and a good couple weeks still to come. Hopefully my busier itinerary will help me focus these posts on the more relevant details, but alas, I can make no guarantees.

Needless to say, for the moment, "on the lamb" is a better descriptor of my travels than has previously been apt. I very much look forward to getting off that over-used construct in the months ahead.

But not yet.

Weber (on the lamb-diet)

Reading Orientalism in Central Asia

NOTE: This post gets pretty thick, and doesn't really tell much of interest about my trip. Feel free to skip it, and otherwise read at the risk of the better use of your time.

Last weekend I made an excursion outside Bishkek, making it the first time in the 36 days since I've been in Kyrgyzstan to leave the comforts of the capital. That's a pretty good testament to both my limbo situation vis. Radio Azattyk (they keep promising me work, but almost never delivering, leaving me stuck in town, but with nothing to do), but also pays appropriate tribute to my own lack of insistence or solo adventurousness.

For the weekend, I went with my co-worker Eleanora to visit her home village and the family she still has living there. I will post again shortly with a narrative (and photos) from the weekend, but first, a few thoughts as my recent reading, travels, and ample thinking time have allowed.

Like virtually everyone I've met in Bishkek, regardless of age, Eleanora was born in a village, grew up mostly in a town, and now lives with the rest of her immediate family in Bishkek (The City). To these three strata (village/town/city) should be added the truly-rural, which consists more of yurt-dwelling ranchers than the independent homesteaders of the American equivalent. From what I could see on my drive across the North of Kyrgyzstan, this last group, for which the term "traditional" is equally useful and misleading, is a pretty small percentage. It may be different in the South, but from what I've seen, it seems that the majority populace live in villages and small towns, with the larger remainder in Bishkek (1 million of total 5 million national pop.), and the smallest sliver in yurts.

But these categories, useful as they are for the moment, are not absolute: One family may have a daughter in Bishkek and a son in a yurt; or even some families may live part of the year in a Yurt, then part in a town/village. Regardless, the definitional boundaries are crossed regularly, and while some amenities (toilets, for ex) do not transition, most (ex: electricity, TV, Nike) do. So the yurt family watches the same TV programs as a Bishkek family, whether via broadcast, or satellite TV (admittedly more common in villages than yurts).

Further, since most of the Bishkek crowd are still closely linked to the countryside (whether semi-urban, semi-rural, or full-rural), many of the "cultural" norms are - if not identical, at least easily negotiated. The hipster urbanite with spiked hair and fashionably-ripped jeans will still stop off at a roadside Yurt for a fresh bottle of traditional kumis when traveling through the country side.

It is very difficult for me to think of a comparison based on my experience in travels elsewhere, but I think that's more due to the specifics of my previous itinerary rather than a comment on the uniqueness of the Kyrgyz situation. The relationship is like nothing I found in Europe, or most of the US. In these places, the young people still watch the same TV, and often dress more similarly than they might admit, but a certain cultural cache divides them. City kids are devoid of country experience (shooting, riding, working heavy machinery, etc), while I'm not sure how strongly the gap goes the otherway. The stereotypes of the extreme exist (redneck vs. city slicker), as I think they do in Kyrgyzstan, but in America some people seem to actually personify these stereotypes, while in Kyrgyzstan they are only an amalgam of the worst-possible traits in a population that mixes urban/rural characteristics regularly.

I'm no American studies expert, so I apologize if this is too-naive. My point is that in Kyrgyzstan, it is nothing like how I see America's bifurcated society.

"Tradition" is the all-emcompassing term under which this unity of disparate elements is fused. Few people in Bishkek are "native Bishkekers," and further, no one is more than 2 or 3 generations removed from the villages. More than that, the entire country is no more than 5-6 generations removed from an 18th-19th century version of nomadic yurt dwelling. Please don't misread - the life of a yurt dweller in the 19th century was NOT the same as that of a similar person from the 17th, 13th century, or 9th century. The "traditional" lifestyle is not eternally isolated in time, despite some (soviet) efforts to suggest otherwise.

What it gets me thinking about, honestly, is what America would be like today if we hadn't engineered the genocide of Native Americans. If there was a large body of the population that, when given the choice of "modern" / "Western" lifestyle, chose to adopt certain elements, technologies, ideologies, and reject others. It's hard for me to imagine, because while "education" about Native Americans was a big part of my childhood in Oklahoma, the entire discourse was framed on 2 pillars I now hold to be false: 1) "Indians" only existed in history books or living history museums, and 2) the "Indian" lifestyle, being "traditional," was unchanging over time.

The first was patently false, and should have been all the more obvious living in Oklahoma, while the second was ridiculous given the dual narrative of "primitive arrowheads" and the existing photography, universally showing native americans in full regalia (and often war paint) with rifles.

In looking at Kyrgyzstan, and only a small part of it, and only through the limited lense of my own social awareness, it seems to me that a great many of the methods by which we (here being Western society in general, and unfortunately as often Western policymakers or even academics) dismiss groups different than ourselves by relegating them to the classification of "traditional," and therefore timeless, incapable of improvement except through "modernization" (read, "westernization"), and usually only capable of that change w/ Western assistance.

For those not familiar with this line of reasoning, I am stealing quite liberally from a very important critique of Western scholarship by Edward Said, first published in 1978, and called Orientalism. It's a thick read, but if you've ever wondered how an Oxford (or Harvard, or Columbia - I'm not playing favorites)-educated Westerner can come to the point of speaking with authority about "The Arab mind," or just "the Arabs," as if an entire and horribly ill-defined group (Despite its common use, "Arab" is not a linguistic, racial, ethnic or religious category. It's some combination of these which changes to suit the needs of the person using it. see Darfur, for evidence) consisting of millions of unique individuals could have their personalities described through scholarly analysis of a classic literature they may or may not have ever read, or the political choices of an empowered (thus, by definition of having power in the colonized world, pro-Western) elite.

I'm beginning to ramble, and getting my threads quite crossed. Let me leave you with a few things to think about, and see if I can get some bites on the comments thread for a change.

1) Anytime you hear keywords like "The Arabs," (really, "The (anygroup)"), "Development," "Modernization," or "Traditional," keep in mind that these are not factual descriptions, but rather subjective, and usually judgmental ones, employed for a purpose that goes beyond description and involves intentionality. "Development," for example, implies first that one society or group of people is "less advanced" than another, second, that the "less advanced" society needs to improve, and third, that this can only happen through imitation of, or direct involvement by, the "more advanced" society.

2) It's hard to put Kyrgyz and other societies that maintain pre-Western social elements into comparison with America. It's easy for this difficulty to reinforce how much "more advanced" the US and the West generally is. Let's allow that if the Europeans (and even the freedom/human rights-loving US of A) hadn't massacred (there is no other word appropriate) an entire indigenous population, we would have a much better connection with the rest of the world. The resulting gap in understanding has more to do with a brutal and voluntary extermination of the autochthynous connection to North and South America than it does to an unprecedented leap in social/technological/cultural progress.

3) Anyone who tries to "deal" with the world must pursue one of 2 things: to understand the world we live in and the various people who inhabit it, or to control it for our own benefit. Those of us who self-righteously place ourselves in the former category are nonetheless all-too-often instruments of the latter, and the indirect nature of the resulting exploitation should probably not leave our consciences as clean as we allow it to.

4) If might does not make right (whether in schoolyard bullying or genocide), then the West has been wrong quite a lot, which problematizes its critique of others. Even drawing a line in history and declaring that, from this point forward, ethics should dictate behavior, is a problem when claims of exceptionalism are made anytime local rights run against US policy or interests (the catalogue of US-funded coups, etc. from the 1940s-1980s is just the most flagrant example. As more documents become available, you can be sure the same patterns will emerge, especially regarding the US "Salvation" of Iraq).

That covers a lot of ground.

And is a pretty bad blog entry.

But it's written (as if in stone), so rather than spending time trying to re-write over and over, I'll just move ahead to writing something more interesting and less tedious for all you wonderfully patient readers.

I do feel as though a slight weight is lifted, so thanks for putting up with my off-loading.

Weber (on the lamb)

4th of July - Bishkek Style

As in many other (all?) countries with diplomatic relations with the US, the local Embassy is not only a projection of the US foreign policy apparatus and a help-desk for US citizens in the country, it is also very much a comfort blanket for ex-pats missing a taste of home.

The US Embassy in Bishkek is an odd setup for a comfort-anything. A few years ago, there was a bombing in Bishkek at the Osh Bazaar (the major marketplace). It wasn't huge, but it was a terrorist attack and, according to US intelligence officials, the attack was going to be targeted at the US Embassy - but it was decided that would be too hard.

The result of that independent finding by the US Embassy staff was that the US got a newer, bigger, even more secure, and even more remote Embassy compound. It is the only embassy in all of Bishkek that is not in the city center (instead being outside of town, and just down the street from the Presidential residence). Additionally, it it one of only 3 embassies to have a security fence (Russia, China, India are the others), and the US embassy has 2 of them, with multiple guard houses, check points, etc. It's a modern fortress, situated on a large open space (owned by the US to prevent any nearby construction).

Basically, it is as foreboding as possible. The small army of security guards (all local Kyrgyz in US-flagged uniforms) don't make it any homier.

And it was to this embassy that I journeyed on July 2nd to celebrate the 4th of July (Embassy was closed on Sat the 4th, and taking Friday the 3rd as its surrogate holiday, leaving Thursday the 2nd the only option for an official fest).

I went with my 2 American friends, Kara & Evan, both Fullbright scholars in Bishkek for the better part of a year by now. They generally avoid the embassy themselves (both in Kyrgyzstan to study local politics and work on Russian fluency), but it was the 4th, and there was the promise of "American" food.

Once we got through the road gate, the pedestrian gate, the metal detector, and the scanner (for loose items only - no backpacks allowed), the grounds themselves were quite pleasant. Lush grass, a few saplings (it's still new) and a building that would seem very familiar to anyone who

grew up in rows of Ranch-style homes in the American midwest.

I'm not suggesting it's a great representation of America, at least, not the positive parts, but it was a suitable place to have a big Burger & Hot Dog 4th of July cookout.

Evan had his hopes up about non-Russian beers; Kara made a deal with Evan to wear her ridiculous Kyrgyz heels (everyone under 40 wears heels in this urban pedestrian capital, usually of phenomenal design and unbelievable height) if Evan would pay for her dinner ($5); I had no idea what to expect.

We were apparently late - not having received the official invite, but just a fwd without the exact time - but there was some food left, and the live cover band hadn't stopped playing when we arrived. On the upside, our tardiness exempted us from the $5 cover charge.

The food was exactly what you'd expect at a government-sponsored public picnic in the states - the burgers were generic pressed patties, not ground beef, the hotdogs were greasy and of indeterminate meat origins, and the side dishes were colorful - cornbread & beans sat side-by-side with an "asian sesame coleslaw."

The lack of mustard (they had some, but being that Kyrgyzstan is a country practically afloat in Ketchup, this welcome US alternative had been expended long before we arrived) flagged my enthusiasm sligthly... that is, until I looked into the drink tubs.

Evan was out of luck - the only beer they had was Baltika 7, a Russian stand-by. But for sodas, they must have cleaned out the Marine PX over at Manas base, because there, bobbing in two 55-gallon transcans filled with lukewarm water, was a stunny array of Diet Dr. Pepper, Diet Coke, Dr. Pepper and even - yes - Mountain Dew!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!

!

The first 12 oz can of the Sacred Nectar was, I dare say, the best 25 som ($0.50) I have ever spent. There is no MD in KG, so this was the first reunion with my beloved beverage in more than a month. I don't mean to be obsessive, but...

Once we were seated, we quickly met the 3-4 other Americans that Kara/Evan knew, mostly some of the more relaxed embassy crowd. I find the Embassy workers are... difficult to describe politely. Not because they aren't nice, or smart, or well-meaning. They are all those things, and very friendly as well. But there's a certain ethos, a constellation of assumptions and self-perceptions that are either necessary to work in an embassy, or perhaps just inevitably adopted once you're inundated in it, that I find very... distasteful. Or maybe "unfortunate" is a better description.

In fairness, much of their bitterness about "locals" stems from their need to interact with local government and attempt to bypass the corruption that is completely unavoidable. Their job requires them to convince the Kyrgyz gov to do things that are in US interests, and the fact that the Kyrgyz gov may not want to run its country according to their dictates from Washington doesn't change the fact that such refusals only make an embassy worker's job harder.

I'm trying to be cognizant of such frustrations, and understand how living in a double-fenced maximum security island would convince one that outside the walls is a seething mass of deception, lassitude, and poverty-fueled anti-Americanism. But it's pretty hard for me not to make the obvious comparison with colonial administrators, bemoaning the "savages" for not being "enlightened" enough to understand all the benefits that "development" offers them.

Anyway, I will admit that meeting with the Charge d'Affairs and a few other high-ranking embassy personnel gave me some pause in such an assessment. These people do have a hard job, and are expected to work with some of the less cooperative elements in all of Kyrgyz politics. It makes sense how they come to such world-views, and being as their opinions are based on very direct experience (albeit from a fundamentally wrong-headed position), I'm willing to allow that my mostly-academic critique may not be the be-all-end-all analysis.

But it should be noted that Embassy people always want to "help the locals," so long as that help corresponds with US foreign policy objectives. Let's just acknowledge that, and move on.

The event brought together an odd group of people. Long-term expats (including a guy who's been in Bishkek for 15 years running an English-language news/culture radio program?) rubbed elbows with embassy politicos and marine guards; my small contingent of Fullbrighters met up with their friend in the PR bureau, and various other clusters of mostly-younger (interns) wandered about. It wasn't a full representation of Americans in Bishkek, but was a fair sampling, a total of less than a hundred, I'd estimate.

One particularly large group of 20-somethings grabbed our attention. We started taking potshots to identify them based on common stereotypes:

Missionaries? They sure are drinking a lot.

Corporate Interns? They look kind of casual.

Peace Corps? I said casual, not self-righteously dirty.

I was getting tired of the guessing game when I suggested to Evan that it would just be faster to go and ask.

He then made a fatal mistake. "Hey, if you go do it, I'll buy you two more Mountain Dews."

Game. Set. Match.

Upon my return, Evan had my 2 fresh MD's ready and I explained that they were a group of students from Sam Houston State College, a largely technical school in SE Texas with which I was already familiar (they have a great Radio, Television, Film dept., which produced one former co-worker at KRTU we had to replace after 3 months). Apparently, the contingent of some 16 people total, was a group of student volunteers who've come to Bishkek every summer for the past 4 years to organize and run a Bishkek Baseball Little-League.

Pretty darn random, but honestly a pretty cool outreach. They aren't trying to prove that Baseball is the best thing on Earth, just that it's fun, and not something Bishkek kids have access to otherwise. Plus, I think it's a great broadening-of-mind for the 16 mostly small-town Texans as well. Good trade, really.

There were also some interns with various Microfinance companies - a booming NGO/Business hybrid in Bishkek and many other countries (though no longer Uzbekistan).

It would be hard to top the experience of 4 MD cans (original, plus one I bought, plus my 2 winners from Evan) on a warm Bishkek evening, but the second spot certainly went to one particular Sam Houston student who elected to wear his Buckee's shirt to the party. It took a lot of work to convince Kara to come over and take the super-tourist photo (at left), but I think it was well worth it. Buckee's in Bishkek. Hard to beat.

The party wound down, and we found ourselves hunting a cab back into town with a new comrade, Dan, who works for the major microfinance company in town, FINCA. We weren't quite ready to call it a night, so we had the cab drop us off by JAM, where Evan had a former student working the bar.

A couple beers later it was suddenly vodka time.

Those Americans - they're incorrigible.

Made it home after another wilder-than-I-needed Thursday. Not exactly a down-home July 4th BBQ, and honestly the Embassy vibe (or was that the hum of the electric fence) creeped me out, but a chance for some good conversation, some free grub, 4 mountain Dews (I saved 2 for later) and a memorable photo: priceless(?)

Weber (on the lamb)

States and Stats

A quick update to a few of my earlier posts. Following the very small "protest" in Ala-Too on June 30, today the opposition finally began its Bishkek campaign. Nothing overwhelming, but with just 20 days until the "election," the first signs of the main opposition candidate, Atambaev, showed up in the form of posters around town.

As with the earlier Nazaraliev (minor party) posters, these are exclusively confined to light posts, electic boxes, and public walls - in short, (free) public spaces. This contrasts with the incumbent Bakiev campaign, which involves more than a dozen major billboards around town and posters (just a red background with the name "Bakiev" in white) placed in home and shop windows. It pays dividends to show one's personal support of Bakiev, just as it is less risky to put Atambaev posters on things no one owns.

A few other tidbits made public by the (often pro-government) new agency 24.kg:

Bakiev (incumbent, Ak Jol party)

Current spending: $341,000 [how he got so many billboards, TV ads, etc. for this price is a mystery]

Total budget: $826,476,744

Atambaev (opposition)

Current spending: $104,384,534 [he must have spent this outside of Bishkek]

Total budget: $104,702, 325

Umetalieva (only woman in the race, just for contrast)

Current spending: $5,100

Total budget: $14,465

The Freedom House ranking of Democractic "progress" is also an interesting, if rather blunt, analysis. It notes that in 2008, Kyrgystan received a score of 5 for Political Rights and a 4 for Civil Liberties, both on a scale of 1 (Free) to 7 (Not Free).

Other 5-4 countries include Uganda, Thailand, Nigeria, and Lebanon.

The full report is here. The opening graphs (pie chart of Free/Partially Free/Not Free countries in the world) are hilarious.

According to these rankings, Kyrgyzstan is a "Partially Free State," though more recently (June 30), Freedom House for the first time classified the Kyrgyz Republic as an "authoritarian state," which is a far cry from the more common "island of democacy," or "most democratic in Central Asia" tag that often gets affixed to Kyrgyzstan by Western countries looking to do business with it.

the June 30 report was a mid-year assessment published by Freedom House including a fascinating breakdown of different elements (still on the 1-7 scale). The combined figure gives Kyrgyz a 6.04 ranking (anything over 6 qualifies as an "authoritarian state"). This is actually the first year Kyrgyz fits this definition (mostly in the 5.90s previously), thanks in large part to a slight up-tick in suppression of the media in 2009.

It's a short read (with a great table of data), so if you're actually interested, check this out: http://www.freedomhouse.eu/images/nit2009/kyrgyzstan.pdf

The important thing to note is that the numbers don't change AT ALL before/after the supposed "Tulip Revolution" of 2005. The President changed, but the government structure, degree of political rights, and civil liberties didn't waver one iota.

and for comparison, here is the neighborhood:

Uzbekistan (27 million people): 6.89

Turkmenistan (5 million people): 6.93

Takikistan (6.7 million people): 6.14

Kazakhstan (15.5 million people): 6.32

Russia (142 million people): 6.11 (first time Russia's over 6 since 1999)

So to reiterate: Kyrgyzstan is a country of somewhat open civil liberties, but very closed political operations. You can more-or-less do or say what you want, so long as you do not endanger the political status quo.

Still, I have a lot of problems with the basic assumptions of these reports, especially the insistance that countries must always be moving along the linear axis of "more" or "less" democratic - that's just not the case. Most countries (including the US) are varying degrees of semi-democratic, and they fluctuates in a very 3-dimensional space, often changing, but not often affecting their relationship to such a limited "free" vs "not free" criteria.

Most US citizens didn't want to go to war in Iraq (or to be less contentious, polls regularly show that most US citizens have wanted public healthcare for more than a decade). But the government "of the people" hasn't reflected this demonstrated public will. According to Freedom House, that's Democracy.

Conversely, the majority of Kyrgyz probably do want Bakiev to be president, even though the system doesn't really allow them to choose, and so this reflection of public will is called "Authoritarian - Not Free."

The reality is murky, and the loaded terminology of Freedom House and other "Democracy Promotion" agencies, chief among them the NDI, only exacerbate the misleading assumptions.

And this is what happens when I have a slow work day and too much internet access.

Weber (on the lamb)

Tomski jana Geeyarrii

I owe you all a more thorough explanation of Kyrgyz TV - at my flat I only get local analogue broadcast, not satelite or even local Cable channels. These 15 channels are about 50% all-Russian, with the other half part-Russian.

Surprisingly, Russian MTV is one of the Broadcast channels, offering the latest music videos by Kanye West and Russian metal bands, as well as Russian-dubbed Scrubs, South Park, Sex with Tequila, etc.

The selection includes Russian Soap Operas (which are just as dramatic as their Western counterparts), a couple pretty good comedies (the Russian MTV show about a German family and the daughter's live-in Turkish boyfriend is shockingly interesting), BECTI (Russian CNN), and local channels which peddle in local news, Kyrgyz feel-good scenery montages, and international (mostly American) cinema.

I've been compiling a full list of the movies I've seen (in Russian) since my arrival a month ago. I don't have the full list with me today, but rest assured I'll post it soon. The current best representation of the extremes it covers are Thelma & Louise and the Dark Knight. Runners up are Babylon AD (may you rot in hell Vin Diesel) and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (I heart Jim Carrey).

They also air some classic American cartoons, like Tom & Jerry (the episode featured at right is "Texas Tom," with the hero in spurs & 10 gallon hat rolling an enormous cigarette to impress a barbi-figured feline), Bugs Bunny, and Roadrunner. This is especially interesting because for me, and I believe several generations before me, these characters ARE major cultural icons, whereas sometime in the past 20 years that ceased being the case. In America I can no longer talk to kids about their favorite cartoon characters, yet here, in Central Asia, 10 year olds still know who Tom & Jerry are.

It's also fascinating because here they don't retroactively apply the same PC filter that determines which classic 'toons I could watch as a kid. Jerry in Black face. Early Mickey Mouse. Some of the racier Speedy Gonzales shorts. All the racism and latent superiority that was an inherent part of American culture at the time of these cartoons' creation, and which we've subsequently tried to mask or bury, if not necessarily erase, is on full display on Kyrgyz broadcast TV.

This means I not only get to see familiar (cartoon) faces, I get to see some of the episodes that will never be on American TV.

Not getting too sentimental, but am I wrong that these classics are just that - American Classics? It saddens me that future generations won't have the minimal-dialogue, classical music, simple slapstick, always-cheer-for-the-underdog pop culture background. Can you even buy this stuff on DVD? Could you force your children to watch Tom & Jerry even after it's no longer available?

Would it make sense? Take "Texas Tom" - I get it, sort of, but I'm sure it would have been funnier for kids more familiar with the Lone Ranger/ Davey Crockett/ John Wayne phenomenon. Surely in the post-Bush era, "Texan" has a cultural baggage that is different than the spurs-and-six-shooter image.

I'm not attacking modern cartoons - in fact, I think a lot of them are great, both those targeted at kids and especially those that are not (can I get a Hazaah for the return of Futurama!).

But there is nothing quite like the classics - then again, if the classics are no longer relevant, are they worth propagating, or reducing to museum archival fare?

As always, I welcome your comments.

Weber (on the lamb)

Talkin' 'bout Irrevolution...

Today I went with a few other young Azattyk reporters to cover a "flash protest" by a youth movement in the central Ala-Too square. My Kyrgyz/Russian being non-existant, and my friendly co-reporters having only basic English, it was difficult for me to comprehend what I was walking into. I wasn't about to miss "Youth Protest," but their nonchalance on the way there tipped me that this might not be the Bastille.

Ala-Too square is the center of downtown bishkek. It's located immediately next to the Kyrgyz White House (which is the President's office and the Parliament building) and across from the National History Museum. As recently as 6 months ago, the square was extremely well defined by its geometry. It was a giant concrete square, surrounded by buildings on 3 sides and the main road on the third. And that was it.

June 1, the "New Ala-Too" was opened, featuring enormous LCD-colored fountain jets, splashing pools, benches, and a maze of gardens snaking across the square in geometic flourishes. It's very vibrant, and has become a favorite social destination every night at dark, when the government sponsors a small fireworks show there.

My more paranoid American friends have noted how the new gards cut the once-open square into many smaller areas with limited transit between them. Said one, "It sure is a lot harder to assemble a large group of people with fountains and flowers in the way." Ala-Too was, notably, the site of all the relatively few large-scale protests that have occurred in Bishkek since 1991, including most importantly those surrounding the "Tulip Revolution" of 2005 which brought the current president Bakiev to power.

I tried to ascertain what, exactly, this protest was protesting, and the best answer I got was that it was pre-emptively protesting the upcoming election, which it is widely assumed will not be open, fair, or accurate, despite the presence of some 12 international observers from the OSCE, SCO, and other IGOs.

When we got to the square, it took some looking around. We finally found the group, unsure if it was a protest or a school field trip. Ok, they weren't That young... at least, not most of them.

They all wore white shirts with different politcal affiliations or slogans, including one person who was there representing the current majority Ak Jol party. I got the impression white was not so much the color of protest as the color of cheap screen printed t-shirts.

It was an opposition protest, so most present were supporting the main opposition candidate, Atambaev. The t-shirts with his stylized face in blue (at right). I thought were a good counterpart to the Moussavi and Obama trend.

All told, I would estimate the crowd at about 50 people, though I'm notoriously bad about such estimates. There were at least 20 journalists present, jockeying for photos or sound bytes, and they swelled the crowd noticeably.

Almost immediately the protest attracted police attention. There are always police in Ala-Too, making either a very safe place, or a potential tourist trap. Instead of confront the group directly, police just started gravitating toward the group from all across the square. Once about 6 officers and patrol men were around, one officer approached the group and asked if they had a permit.

The group did not - in fact, the need for a permit to hold a demonstration was only recently passed, another good election run-up legislation.

The officer lightly suggested that without a permit, they could not protest, but the crowd basically said they were going to anyway, so the officer drifted back to stand with his cohorts.

This exact scene repeated 3-4 more times as progressive more veteran/bolder officers joined the group. One finally stepped into the center of the protesters and explained that Ala-Too was a place for resting, not a place for action (as it was translated to me).

The lingering question: Where Was the place for action?

There was a sum total of 2 chants, and no marching. Mostly, it was milling about smartly in opposition regalia with placards and holding a protest - however loosely we define the term - in contravention of the law. Toward this end, it was successful.

A few of the protestors engaged the police in debates, one even had a copy of the Kyrgyz constitution (which specifically guarantees the right to assembly), though obviously the new permit law was made explicitly to override such a legalistic argument.

One student brought a komuz (essentially a 3-stringed Kyrgyz lute), which surprisingly added a very Hippie Granola air to the proceedings.

When it was all over (that is, after the police asked for the 5th or 6th time for people to disperse, and the crowd finally decided to mosey off), they stopped for a group photo by one of the new fountains.

It was an interesting experience more for what it wasn't than for what it was. The young people involved were enthusiastic, and one could tell they were ideologically quite fierce in their opposition to the political status quo. But they weren't spoiling for a fight, nor were they beyond having a few good laughs at some jokes from the various police officers who approached them, and were never especially stern.

Without being too harsh, it may be fair to say that this was a "democracy vacation" for most of them. Don't read too much into such term - all I mean is that they took 30 minutes (total) out of their regular lives of political frustration (but not Too much of it) and went to Ala-Too, put on a white t-shirt, told the police they had a right to be there, and then quietly disbanded, returning to whatever they were doing an hour ago. They took touristic photos of their "trip" and left with souvenirs (t-shirts, stickers).

I'm not sure if this was a demonstration of defiance by the "people," or just a clear indication of how little public discourse is still considered adventurous by the participants (it certainly isn't considered much of a threat by the "establishment.")

It was also interesting to watch the police response. They were immediately at the scene, either in small clumps or spreading out around the periphery. It seemed they were very interested in being present, to show that this was something worthy of their attention, but they really didn't do much to stop it. They asked people to go away, then did nothing. They suggested other places would be better to protest, but again did nothing. They spoke of the protest permit law, but didn't enforce it. Even going so far as to call this "light pressure" might be too far.

likewise, the media response was interesting. Cameras and video cameras were all over the place, with at least 4 different people interviewing individuals and police officers. The photography was informative - they were all up in the crowd, getting close-in face shots. This wasn't an attempt to "identify" the protesters, it was a recognition that from afar, the protest didn't look like anything more than a relative's graduation party. Only up close did it look... interesting. News-worthy.

There will be more such events as the Kyrgyz election grinds closer (vote day is July 23), but I don't expect them to get much, if any, more contentious. The main opposition candidate still hasn't made an appearance in Bishkek, and the t-shirts at Ala Too today were the first sign of his campaign I've seen since the season started June 18. In Bishkek, which has a significant number of opposition people, the public images availble are all-Bakiev, all-the-time.

More as it happens.

Weber (on the lamb)