Die Reisegruppe der Freiheit und Freundschaft am Issyk-Kul

Elke, Laura und Sebastian (alte Schulfreunde aus Berlin) hatten sich kurzerhand entschieden, mir hier in Bischkek Gesellschaft zu leisten und mich auf den diversen Trips zu begleiten. Da auch viele ihrer Bekannten diesen Blog lesen, dachte ich mir, es wäre an der Zeit, ihnen das Wort zu erteilen. Dieses Wochenende ging es an den Issyk-Kul. Da ich noch etwas an den Folgen meines Sonnenstichs zu leiden hatte, übernahmen die drei den Part des Web-Tagebuchs. Und hier ist er auch schon, der Issyk-Kul Reisebericht:

OK, das Wochenende am Issyk-Kul ist vorüber und alle sind wieder gesund. Hier der Reisebericht (und Krankenreport) von Laura, Sebastian und Elke:

Nachdem uns von verschiedensten Seiten die Schönheit des Issyk-Kuls besonders nahegelegt wurde, brachen wir am Freitag voller Enthusiasmus von Bischkek aus auf. Zu acht legten wir die Strecke in einem kleinen Nissan 7-Sitzer zurück – und ließen uns von kirgisischer Textsicherheit im europäischen Charts-Bereich beeindrucken. Neben unserem Guide Cholpon hatten nämlich auch Nadja und Isara ihre Sachen gepackt und sich mit uns aufgemacht. Die Fahrt verlief zügig bis rasant, so daß mit wachsender Distanz zur Hauptstadt traditionellere Bauwerke unseren Weg begleiteten. In den atemberaubenden Bergen angelangt, machten wir an einer Jurten-Raststätte halt und aßen weiße Pferdemilchkäsebällchen, die geschmacklich an Feta erinnerten. Der jugendliche Verkäufer war sichtlich enttäuscht, als sich herausstellte, daß wir doch keine ‚Amerikanski’ waren, sondern nur gemeine Europäer.

Nach einer weiteren rasanten jedoch auch schlaglochreichen Stunde erblickten wir das Westufer des Sees, der sich wie ein Ozean vor unserem Auge auszubreiten schien. Gegen acht erreichten wir unseren Zielort, Cholpon Ata - Ausbau, das Touristenmekka Kirgisiens. Die Freude über die sauberen Zimmer wurde leider recht schnell getrübt: Die sanitären Anlagen bestanden zu unserem Verdruß aus einem wackeligen Plumpsklo und einer Ganzkörperdusche in 20 cm Höhe. Durch das Plumpsklo war man über den Zustand der Verdauungstrakte der anderen Touristen bestens im Bilde. Die einzigen, welche in den Genuß der Ganzkörperdusche kamen, waren die zahlreichen kirgisischen Spatzen.

Gestärkt von der pensionseigenen Küche, welche von Studenten der American University of Central Asia unter einer Plane betrieben wurde, begaben wir uns auf Erkundungstour. Diese ergab, daß die restlichen Gebäude vorwiegend aus Wellblech bestanden oder einem sozialistischen Erholungskomplex Marke Werbellin-See/Prerow angehörten. Gespickt wurde das architektonische Ensemble von einer Reihe lautstarker russischer Karaoke-Freiluft-Diskotheken. Einen Vorgeschmack auf die hiesige Kriminalitätsrate präsentierte sich uns durch eine rennende Menschenmasse, die sich ganz der Verfolgung des schwarz gekleideten Diebes in flagranti verschrieben hatte. Ben, der seiner Blase notgedrungener Weise gerade auf dem Fluchtweg Erleichterung verschaffte, entging nur knapp den Rachemessern. Auf der Suche nach neuen Abenteuern und einladenden Toiletten begab sich die Reisegruppe umgehend zum See. Die Milchstrasse oder Goldspur der Gaben wie Aitmatov sie genannt hätte, erstrahlte am Himmel und setzte den nächtlichen Strand in romantisches Licht.

Nach einer guten Schüssel Pelmeni zum Frühstück, bot sich uns dann der bezaubernde Anblick des Sees mit seinen schneebedeckten Bergen am anderen Ufer bei Tageslicht. Mutig und die uns vom Strand entgegenströmenden Einheimischen nicht beachtend, legten wir uns kühn bei voller Mittagshitze in die Sonne und verbrachten die restlichen Stunden mit Baden gehen und Skat-Spielen.

Der nächste Tag war der bislang desaströseste: Zwar machten Elke und Laura Bekanntschaft mit der umliegenden Bergwelt, in der sich Pferde und Esel tummelten und Honig und Pferdemilch in den Flüssen flossen. Letzteres heißt Kumis und ist das kirgisische Nationalgetränk, sein saurer Geschmack allein wäre die Tour jedoch nicht wert gewesen. Findige Einheimische verdienten sich in den Schluchten ihr Geld durch das sekundenweise Vermieten festgebundener Falken. Elke konnte sich dem wilden Charme nicht entziehen und probierte einen falkenbesetzten Handschuh an…

Jedoch, während die herzlosen Frauen ihr Vergnügen in der Ferne suchten, kämpfte Ben in tapferer Begleitung seines Leibpflegers und Zeitansagers Sebastians um sein Leben. Die Sonne vom Vortage schien sich in Bens Kopf festgeschienen zu haben. Mit hohem Fieber und Rekapitulation des Gegessenen ging es nur schwer durch den Tag.

Der Gesundheitszustand der anderen verschlechterte sich ebenso (bei Bens Anblick), ob nun wegen der Sonne, des Essens oder der hygienischen Verhältnisse war nicht sicher auszumachen. Von nun an war alles nur noch lästige Warterei auf das heimbringende Taxi. Als dieses auf halbem Wege bei 120 Stundenkilometern auf Schweizer Käse-Straßen zur allgemeinen Erheiterung einen Reifen platzen ließ, fragte sich Laura, wie es sei, im schönsten Sonnenuntergang auf einem kirgisischen Feld an Magenkrämpfen zu sterben. Nach einer strapaziösen nächtlichen Landfahrt, hielt der Taxifahrer schließlich in einer abgelegenen verruchten Seitengasse und stieg wortlos aus. Dieses Mal jedoch verschlug es einen rotgekleideten jungen Mann ins Gebüsch, gefolgt von einer munteren Kinderschar. Wir scherzelten noch mit dem uns übriggebliebenen Humor, daß diese Schar unmöglich Böses im Schilde führen könnte. Doch unsere Erwartungen wurden wieder einmal übertroffen. Sie hielten vor dem Gebüsch an, zückten kurzentschlossen ihre kopfgroßen Steine und schleuderten diese mit all ihrer kindlichen Kraft, so daß die Steine nach wenigen Metern den Boden grüßten, dem Manne hinterher. Nach dieser Showeinlage stieg der Taxifahrer wieder wortlos ein und fuhr uns direkt durch die Einbahnstrasse vor die Wohnungstür.
Die angespannte gesundheitliche Lage fand bei Sebastian des nächtens und am darauffolgenden Tage ihren Abschluß. Dadurch war die Stimmung der Reisegruppe der Freiheit und Freundschaft auf den Nullpunkt gefallen. Aber auf ein Tal folgt bekanntlich immer wieder ein Gipfel - gerade in Kirgisien!

Schwartz - Updates, Alert and Re-posting

July 8th, 2004: From the Big Apple to DC to the Big Apple to Tel Aviv Before I leave for Israel, I'm privileged to get a private tour of the Central Intelligence Agency headquarters! So today I'm hopping on the Chinatown express to Washington, DC (a lovely five hour drive), crashing at my cousin's place, going to Langley, Virginia tomorrow, then taking the bus back to the Big Apple to continue packing. This Sunday at 10 AM I head out for Tel Aviv. Am I crazy to travel so much in the space of four days? You betcha!

[In the extended entry: updates and international security alert]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
[This extended entry will be republished in Thinking-East.net.]

7/25/2004 Updates:
1. Doing preliminary research on potential article regarding Latrun history;
2. Working on chronology and article regarding Birthright Israel, including photographs;
3. Planning my first solitary trip to Jerusalem for this weekend.

ALERT! I read about this in the Jerusalem Post last week. The Birthright Israel website has printed this article from Israel Insider.com.

Report: Israel ready for pre-emptive strike against Iran's nuclear facility
By Ellis Shuman July 22, 2004

The Israeli Air Force has completed military preparations for a pre-emptive strike at Iran's Bushehr nuclear facility and will attack if Russia supplies Iran with rods for enriching uranium, Israeli officials said, according to a report in the London Sunday Times. Military sources said the raid would be carried out by long-range F-15I jets, overflying Turkey, with simultaneous operations by commandos on the ground.

Israel may also choose to launch submarine-based cruise missiles from the Persian Gulf at key Iranian targets, NewsMax.com reported.

The rods, currently stored at a Russian port, are expected to be delivered late next year after a dispute over financial terms is resolved, the paper reported.

An Israeli defense source in Tel Aviv, who confirmed that the military rehearsals had taken place, told the paper: "Israel will on no account permit Iranian reactors - especially the one being built in Bushehr with Russian help - to go critical."

"If the worst comes to the worst and international efforts fail," the source was quoted as saying, "we are very confident we'll be able to demolish the ayatollahs' nuclear aspirations in one go."

The Iranian nuclear threat has been on Israel's agenda for some time, and the issue was raised in talks between Prime Minister Ariel Sharon and U.S. President George W. Bush in Washington last year. The Washington Post reported in August 2003 that administration officials were increasingly concerned that Israel would launch a pre-emptive strike against Iran.

In its report, the Sunday Times quoted a senior U.S. official warning of a pre-emptive Israeli strike if Russia continues cooperating with the Iranians. He said Washington was unlikely to block Israeli attacks against Iran.

The paper also quoted from a classified document on the Iranian threat, entitled "The Strategic Future of Israel," which was presented to Sharon earlier this year. The document allegedly advocates military action against "countries which develop nuclear weapons" and describes Iran as a "suicide nation" and recommends "targeted killings" of members of the country's elite, including its leading nuclear scientists.

Israeli sources acknowledged, according to the Sunday Times, that a pre-emptive strike against Iranian nuclear facilities could provoke "a ferocious response," which could involve Lebanese-based rocket attacks on northern Israel or terrorist attacks against Jewish and Israeli targets abroad.

Meanwhile, Jane's Intelligence Digest reported this week that if Israel launches a pre-emptive attack against Iraq, it would have to go it alone. "Any joint U.S.-Israeli precision-guided missile strike against Iran's nuclear facilities - Bushehr, Natanz or Arak - is unlikely to prove an attractive option for the U.S. administration while it remains mired in Iraq - which shares a 1,458 kilometer-long border with Iran," Jane's reported.

In 1981, Israeli Air Force jets successfully attacked and destroyed Iraq's nuclear reactor at Osirak. An attack on Iran's nuclear facilities would be much more complicated, Israeli media sources reported, because the country's nuclear program is dispersed at several sites and the distance from Israel is much greater. Iran also has the possibility to retaliate with its Shihab ballistic missiles, the reports said.

Military sources believe the IDF has the capabilities to defend Israel against a possible Iranian missile attack. Officially, due to Israel's reliance on the newly developed Arrow anti-missile defense system, the country is giving priority to diplomatic pressure to combat the Iranian nuclear threat.

(Ellis Shuman is the senior editor of israelinsider.com.)

Impressionen

Schwartz - Neve Shalom

I have arrived!

My tour group dissolved but some of us stayed behind. The bus took us to a tourist trap called "Mini Israel," a macabre walk-through miniature of the country boasting such oddities as a band of Ashkenazi yetis (I kid you not) and mechanical Orthodox Jews no bigger than my pinky finger davening toward the Wailing Wall.

Three kilometers away from Mini Israel rose two hills upon which sat a monastery and Neve Shalom/Wahat Assalaam, my destination. After wasting several hours in the tourist trap (our guide wanted us to see every last little engraved plastic detail) we finally departed. The bus driver intended to take me to the village but made a wrong turn. I was dropped off, with my luggage, ten kilometers away from the Latrun Junction.

Latrun was the site of a bloody battle that occured during Israel's War of Independence. The Israeli army suffered most of its casaulties in an extended operation to gain control of the highway to Jerusalem. Backed into a corner, the State of Israel consripted male refugees from Europe -- survivors of the Holocaust -- for a mighty push against the Arab armies at Latrun, a battle Israel won but with great cost to both sides. Ironically, Latrun is now a stop for an eged bus that comes three times a day to take travelers to the village.

Underneath the searing sun, the soles of my feet burning on the black tar of the highway, I hitch-hiked my way past Latrun to the mouth of the road that leads to Neve Shalom. I still had a two kilometer walk ahead of me, uphill! Dragging my luggage behind me I set off. Taxi cabs sped by me, ignoring my plight. Not until I collapsed under the shade of a dying tree jutting out from the side of the curving hill did Fate finally assist me: an Arab fellow in a jeep took stopped and transported me to the gate of the village.

When the first families arrived here twenty-seven years ago, they lived in an old bus beside a bedouin family. The hill was rocky, barren and infested with gnats and flies. Today, it is resplendent with green trees and bushes, and the slope of the hill is lined with the avant garde boxes of the fifty Arab and Jewish families that live here.

I am very excited to be here, though I am nervous. First, my spoken Hebrew is awful and my spoken Arabic worse, and while the villagers speak English well enough, I would much rather achieve some linguistic fluency. Second, the only other volunteers here will be leaving in two weeks and then I will be on my own for at least two weeks, possibly for many months. The number of volunteers the village has received has dwindled since the Al-Aqsa intifada began. I find the lack of international activism disappointing: this village exists precisely because there is an Occupation (or "Situation" as the Israelis call it), preciesely because there is an Intifiada. Third, there is almost no one my age here -- especially of the female variety, I won't lie -- and I fear that I may meet no one. Fourth, my money situation is still difficult. Fifth and finally, while there is a great dream behind this village, as Rosa, one of the volunteers, put it, "The people here are still people, just trying to do the right thing." I must keep that in mind. In just the night and morning I've been here I've already heard some of the difficult internal political difficulties of the village.

Well, we shall see what becomes of our intrepid hero. We shall see...

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Now it's time to read-up on Ben's adventures. I love the photo of the horse!!

In the back of the building...

...Lenin is greeting. Without a name plate - incognito - he is pointing towards the American University Central Asia. Maybe he is trying to raise attention at the presence of the class-enemy-sponsored institution? Simon's daughter thinks that he is actually waiting for someone to pick him up, like an eternal hitchhiker. Have your own guess.

Once being placed in front of the National History Museum, where now a bewinged angel-like statue has taken his place - Lenin had been moved to the inglorious back of the building. However, he is still here, in contrast to many other ex-socialist countries, where everything reminiscent of the pre-1990 days has been regardlessly demolished. Lenin's fellow co-'ideologists', Marx and Engels also still have their memorials in Bishkek, though, without a name plate, too. In a society, where 50% of the people live on less than $200 a year, some might feel nostalgic remembering the old days - where at least care was taken for the basic necessities, education was free, etc.

Schwartz - Tel Aviv

I'm writing from a computer in a Tel Aviv hotel on my eleventh and final day of touring Israel with the right-wing Birthright Israel/Taglit "Israel Outdoors" operation. This is the first operational computer in all this time that I have found along our route! I may be stranded without any money. A Bank Leumi cash machine in the holy city Tzafet ate one of my debit cards, and my other debit card seems to only work with cash machines in Mom & Pop stores and not the big bank chains. Oh boy!

I don't know when my next chance will be to write an entry, so please bear with me dear readers. Hopefully when you hear from me again, it shall be from a computer in the Oasis of Peace!

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Everyone, check out Thinking East. It looks amazing! Many congratulations to Ollie Dams for his hard work!!

Would you like to do something positive this summer?

A friend asked me to put that one up:

Join a photo competition!

Young & Equal, a new youth network for gender equality run by a group of very enthusiastic young people from Caucasus, Central Asia, Russia, Afghanistan and Eastern Europe, invites you to join a photo competition called

“INEQUALITY BETWEEN MEN and WOMEN AS SEEN BY YOUTH”

Photographs submitted to the competition will be displayed at least in four major cities of the regions where Young & Equal are represented in fall 2004, as well as on the website of Young & Equal.

The author of the best work will be awarded a digital camera.

CRITERIA:

You must be 14 to 28 years old, live in Caucasus, Central Asia, Russia, Afghanistan or Eastern Europe.

Residents of other regions are welcome to participate - your entries will be displayed, but will not be eligible for competition.

Entries will be selected on the basis of their originality, creativity and impact.

HOW and WHEN to send your photograph(s):

The deadline is 25 August 2004

- Photograph(s) should be e-mailed in JPEG format to young_equal@yahoo.co.uk
You may send up to 5 photographs
- Each photograph should be sent with text (500 words maximum) containing the following information:

1. Your name, age, occupation, postal address, telephone number and e-mail address.
2. Title of your work and a short explanation of where and how the image was taken, if desired.
3. You may send photographs taken by other people (your family, friends, from books, magazines, newspapers, Internet, etc) – however, you MUST make note of it. Please provide a detailed description of where you obtained the photograph if it is not your work.

PLEASE NOTE THAT ENTRIES SUBMITTED WITHOUT THE INFORMATION REQUESTED IN 1, 2 AND 3 WILL NOT BE ACCEPTED.

If you have questions about this contest, please write us at young_equal@yahoo.co.uk

GOOD LUCK!!!

- YOUNG & EQUAL -

Die zweite Woche

Das Leben hat sich eingependelt, hier in Bischkek. Unversehens bin ich in eine geregelte Arbeitsroutine geraten - und arbeite meine 50 Stunden die Woche. Heute nacht bekomme ich Besuch aus Berlin - Elke, Laura und Sebastian werden hier drei Wochen lang Quartier beziehen - mit ihnen zusammen geht es dann ein wenig auf Reisen. Die erste Tour ist schon für dieses Wochenende geplant, wo es zum Issyk-Kul See geht. Die Tage werden also durchgeplanter und bewegter - mir soll es recht sein. Langsam ist es an der Zeit, Bischkek zu verlassen, um den Rest des Landes zu sehen.

Ich hoffe, dass am Donnerstag mein erster Artikel erscheint, sicher bin ich jedoch leider noch nicht. Wenn es soweit ist, werden hier auf jeden Fall die Korken knallen. Also, Daumen drücken.

The sinking “Island of democracy”?

A torrid heat hangs over Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan. The impressive peaks of the Tien Shan rise only some 30 miles in the south – and on a clear day their sight gives a visible foretaste of the cleft landscape that shapes this mountainous landlocked Central Asian country. Its remoteness had left Kyrgyzstan off most foreign policy radar screens for years. It was only after September 11 that the wider region experienced a boost in international recognition due to America’s War on Terror in nearby Afghanistan. This new spotlight of international coverage arose because Kyrgyzstan granted permission to the Coalition forces to station troops on the ex-Soviet airfield Manas, just some 15 miles outside of Bishkek. The airport also acts as the main national civil airport. When approaching the terminal building after landing, the sight of dozens of US Air Force transport jets surprises: One of the main ingredients of the much-referred-to geopolitical cocktail in the region could not be visible more clearly. The military deployment – paralleled in neighbouring Uzbekistan - marked a major watershed in Central Asia’s foreign policy. Traditionally hegemonic power Russia was kept out of these military calculations deliberately, causing concerns in Moscow over an increasing American engagement in one of Russia’s historical areas of influence, only ten years after these countries’ gained independence.

When first Western delegations arrived in Bishkek and the remote countryside back in the early nineties, there was a mutual feeling of surprise about the level of development prevalent in the ex-Soviet Central Asian Republic. With literacy rates close to a hundred percent and a high proportion of the population holding university degrees, the reality in Central Asia was rather reminiscent of conditions in Central Europe than in nearby countries of the Middle East.

The new leadership of Kyrgyzstan, led by the former president of the Kyrgyz Academy of Science, Askar Akaev, showed a pragmatic understanding of the nation’s immediate outlook after independence: Unlike Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan is not gifted with abundant hydrocarbon resources or cotton wealth, and hence, the opportunity of a sudden economic boom and foreign investment deemed unlikely. The reinvigoration of the collapsed Soviet command economy with its state-owned conglomerates was therefore inexorably linked to Western goodwill. Thus, a democratic development acting as a model for the rather authoritarian countries next door prove to be Kyrgyzstan’s major ‘cash guarantee’. The ‘vibrant civil society that emerged earned the country the tag of Central Asia’s “island of democracy”’ – and a steady flow of soft loans from international organisations. However, the implementation of neoliberal policies did not bring about desired economic growth rates, and living standards were impossible to sustain. As a good ‘pupil’ among post-Soviet Union transition countries, Kyrgyzstan set out in 1991 with no debt at all, and – a decade later – found itself with its GDP halved and levels of poverty soaring. Today, about the half of the population lives on less than £100 a year.

When the foreign visitor strolls through the streets of Bishkek, though, this economic hardship is sometimes difficult to detect. The streets are jam-packed with Western cars, preferably of German origin. Russian Germans, once deported to Kyrgyzstan by Stalin were allowed to return to their historic home Germany after the collapse of the SU. Some of the returnees have set up lucrative trade businesses that specialise in the purchase of used cars on the German market. Once bought, they are then driven to Kyrgyzstan by land. Simon, a NGO-worker from New Zealand, tells me that since his arrival in Kyrgyzstan in 1994 until now, the traffic on Bishkek’s streets has visibly twenty-fold. So, the catastrophic economic downturn was surely not a universal fate of the Kyrgyz people. Apparently, affluent city-dwellers show the other side of the coin. With an economy being fully dependent on international aid, many of the new - comparatively - fancy cars cruise the streets only thanks to Western aid. Step by step, president Akaev, his family and his closer followers have positioned themselves not merely in politics, but also in promising key business sectors. Akaev’s family clan is known to control the market for cigarettes, a large number of the capital’s nightclubs, etc. (though apparently the son has recently gambled away the ‘Soho’). The American presence nearby is a licence to print money, too – as the supply with petrol is reportedly run by Akaev’s brother-in-law and his son. What is worse, there is no transparent account of where the alleged rent of $250m per year for the Manas airfield go to. It is exactly this uncertainty which seems to prove that the government does not want the public to know anything about hard data. Allegedly, the US government pays a starting and landing fee of $7,000 per flight. As in many other developing countries, it seems that politics is the key to a successful business career in Kyrgyzstan.

Although Kyrgyzstan was able to present itself as the most moderate and liberal among the five Central Asian republics collectively known as the ‘Stans, the Kyrgyz model was already by 2000 lauded undeservedly. The reason why the country had a better reputation lies in its neighbours: Adjacent Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan, plus the Caspian-Sea littoral state Turkmenistan were and are still being ruled by former Communist elitists; war-torn Tajikistan in the south still struggles to recover from a raging civil war in the nineties. Thus, Kyrgyzstan was by far the most promising candidate of a successful transition from socialism towards a democratic civil society. However, President Akaev, former chair of the Kyrgyz Academy of Sciences, had already perceptibly tightened his grip on political processes in the run-up for the last presidential elections in 2000. Alternative candidates faced problems in registering, and a lack of confidence in the independence of the courts and the election administration disillusioned many voters. The official turnout in the presidential elections was surprisingly high, though. Many independent observers suspected that in fact many people voted more than once, and thereby earning a nice little extra income. Students were reported to be threatened by their universities to hand in pre-filled ballots, and return those ones handed out in the ballot offices as a proof of their accomplished jobs. A rumour went round in Bishkek that one student repeated this procedure – more than a hundred times.

After 2000, mass detention and torture of alleged Islamist terrorists in Uzbekistan became the major human rights concern throughout the region – taking away attention from degrading conditions in Kyrgyzstan. A popular Kyrgyz opposition deputy, Azimbek Beknarzarov, was taken into custody for his open criticism towards the government in January 2002, causing protests in the politician’s home territory in the country’s south. Confrontations with protesters in March led to five people getting shot by the police. For the first time since Kyrgyz independence, political protests claimed the live of citizens. The conflict was finally resolved. Akaev dismissed the entire government; but it was only when thousands of protesters threatened to march on Bishkek that the charge against Beknarzarov was lifted

However, the underlying problems of these unprecedented protests and subsequent eruption of violence were not tackled. With economic development still being sluggish in arriving, the atmosphere is heating up. The growing gap between poor and rich is certainly increasing the existing anger among the population. Therefore, the upcoming elections in 2005 are anticipated with growing concerns. Kyrgyzstan seems to be standing at a crossroads. A period of uncertainty is to come as the country approaches the end of President Akaev’s term in office. He has repeatedly declared that he won’t seek re-election.

The situation now is indeed very complex. To fully understand what is going on in Kyrgyz politics, one certainly needs some clear sight and – time!

Coming up next: The Kyrgyz 2005 elections. Learning from past lessons. Is transparency possible?

Thinking East

As previously announced, Schwartz and I had been planning to launch a project beyond this rather personal weblog. Things got sorted out within the last two weeks, and we are proud to give birth to Thinking East, a nonprofit e-publishing platform. Our preliminary mission statement:

Israel, Turkey, the Caucasus, the Arabs, Iran and the ‘Stans –- these peoples and places comprise the eternal frontier of human history. Welcome to the Wild East!

The earliest migrations of homo sapiens out of Africa arrived here before anywhere else. The epic struggles of the Bible and Qur’an unfolded here. Across this tumultuous landscape stretched the Silk Road, the great caravan route of precious metals, spices and fabrics, for the mastery of which warred the empires of the Classical Age.

Today, scholars, journalists and leaders are once again recognizing the region as the linchpin of civilization. The collapse of the Soviet Union left a vacuum which has changed and charged the geopolitical composition. Local and world powers now vie to control a new Silk Road, a great transit route of oil and natural gas, radical religious ideologies, and drug and human smuggling.
Yet, the conceptual frameworks of the global intelligentsia are too deeply rooted in the fossilized thinking of the Cold War to truly understand just what it is that is happening in this multifarious region. Innovative visions are badly needed.

Thinking-East.Net is a nonprofit e-publishing platform for young academics daring enough to physically and intellectually trek across the manifold thematic borderlands posed to the human mind by the Wild East. The network specifically seeks individuals under the age of 25 who are not professional journalists but seek to thoughtfully cover and reflect upon Asian issues.

Thanks to Ollie from Berlin-based creative design manufacture Graco, we will be able to use an innovative content-management-system, allowing us to enable people from the concerned countries to directly publish and share their ideas with interested readers.

More is yet to come as the ideas will take shape within the next weeks.

The first week

A torrid heat hangs over Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan. The impressive peaks of the Tien Shan rise only some 30 miles in the south – and on a clear day their sight gives a visible foretaste of the cleft landscape which shapes this mountainous Central Asian country. It’s been a week now since I arrived here from Istanbul, flying in at Manas Airport. After heavy course corrections, the aircraft touched ground safely. The passengers acknowledged the safe arrival with a moderate applause – and a heavy sigh of relief. While the plane turned around on the runway to approach the terminal building, most of the mainly Kyrgyz people onboard unfastened their seatbelts immediately to collect their luggage, despite Russian instructions to wait with that until the plane had come to a complete halt. In the meanwhile, they missed an interesting sight outside of the windows: Numerous US Air Force Boeing 737 transport jets occupied almost every available parking position. I didn’t reckon to see one of the main ingredients of the hot geopolitical cocktail of the wider region right at the start of my journey – the American military presence in Central Asia could not be more visible to visitors arriving by air.

My roomy 2 bed-room flat, located on Moskovskaya Street, affords a satellite-TV and thus, I can watch BBC some time of the day. The channel currently broadcasts a trailer on heavy rotation. It shows wide Kazakh plains and articulates somewhat like:

‘This is Kazakhstan, the largest of the Central Asian states, collectively known as the ‘Stans. It is an area which rarely makes it into the headlines. With all the predictions about this region coming true – it soon will.’

Well, great to be here then.

After unpacking my stuff into the flat, Cholpon, my guide, asked me whether I was ready to have my first night out in Bishkek. Well, it was already two at night, but nevertheless, we took a cab to the ‘First Nightclub’ (formerly known as ‘Soho’) – owned and run by the son of President Akaev. The $10 entrance fee made undoubtedly clear who is to be seen here. The newly-rich young and successful generation, shaking their hips to Black Music and Russian all-time-favourites populated the dance floor and made the scene appear a bit like the Central Asian version of a P. Diddy video-shooting. Just what it made unique was the armed guard next to the dancing people. He was having a sharp eye on everyone and made sure everything was in order. Kept in a clinically white layout, the place was a bit reminiscent of a trendy European establishment. The prices, too.

The next day took me out of Bishkek for the first time. The Ala-Arca national reserve is located only 40 miles south of the city and acts as a favourite refuge for heat-anguished city-dwellers who want to catch a fresh mountain breeze. Slowly inclining up to some 1,500 meters, the valley reminded me a bit of the Swiss Alps - with its green meadows, a loud and roaring torrent and snow-capped peaks further up.

Cholpon’s friends, all students of the American University Central Asia, were all nice and welcoming. Together with them, we sat down under pine trees and picnicked all day. What a great start for the two months I’ll be here.

My work at the International Foundation for Election Systems started the day after. I’ll be able to get some great insights into the complex political situation in the ‘island of democracy’, although my work is rather down to earth and – as usual - computer-based. However, by simply having my desk in the meeting room, having lunch with my colleagues, and seeing some of them after work, my knowledge is growing on a daily basis. Still, it is quite confusing, as my brain has to cope with a multitude of new names, dates, and contexts. What can be said until now is that the model-state of Central Asia is far from offering transparent democratic conditions, and - what is worse - seems to be on the down grade. With parliamentary and presidential elections scheduled for the next year, Kyrgyzstan seems to be standing at a crossroads. The country is entering a period of uncertainty as it approaches the end of President Akaev’s term in office in 2005.

After a busy week, Friday brought great news from London: I will cover the election-preparations on openDemocracy, a former employer. There, the previous paragraph will be spilled out in greater detail.

Saturday, I and my colleague Jamilya went out to southern Bishkek, where I was supposed to meet national writer Chingiz Aitmatov’s wife Maria. Next to the presidential residence and hidden behind huge walls, the Aitmatovs live in modest – under Kyrgyz conditions though crass - luxury. Sitting down on the terrace of their house, Ms Aitmatov offered me to participate in a summer study camp, where I would teach students German and English. The camp is held by the International Aitmatov Foundation, bringing together European and promising local students. As interesting this project sounds (and tempting the chance to see Chingiz Aitmatov), I will have to turn down the offer. At the same time, I will visit an IFES summer camp in south Kyrgyzstan, near the Tajik border, instead. There, I feel I will be able to see more of the real nature of this country and get a rare opportunity to see how democracy is trying to be promoted on the micro-level. Batken, a region heavily inflicted by economic hardship, has been in the news two years ago, when insurgents of the IMU had poured into Kyrgyz territory to stage attacks on Uzbek positions in the adjacent Ferghana Valley.

Today, it has been rather calm. As last Saturday night was heavily exhausting and came to an end at seven in the morning, Cholpon, Nadja and me took it easy by leaving the city to ride horses.

I did quite well considering the fact that I am a bloody riding-beginner with no experience whatsoever. At least I didn’t fall off the horseback. But what my inexperienced eye could make out for sure was that my horse ‘Muskat’ was definitely in a better shape than Schwartz’ ‘Bubba’.

Bischkek beginnt

Um ein Uhr morgens berührte die Maschine der Turkish Airlines die Landebahn des Manas-Flughafens. Es war eine ruppige Landung, nachdem der Pilot kurz zuvor den Anflugwinkel korrigieren musste. Die vornehmlich kirgisischen Passagiere quittierten den ruppigen, aber letztlich sicheren Bodenkontakt mit zurückhaltendem Applaus. Nach anschließender langer Bremsung drehte die Boeing um 180 Grad bei, fuhr die Start- und Landepiste wieder herauf, und schlug erst nach einigen hundert Metern den Weg zum Terminal ein. Die meisten Passagiere hatten sich da schon abgeschnallt, emsig die Gepäckfächer geöffnet und sich Richtung Ausgang gedrängt – trotz türkisch, englischer und russischer Anweisung damit zu warten, bis das Flugzeug die endgültige Parkposition eingenommen haben würde.

Wahrscheinlich kannten sie schon den äußerst interessanten Anblick, der sich einem beim Blick aus den Fenster eröffnete: Auf nahezu allen Parkpositionen des Airports standen Boeing-737-Transportjets der amerikanischen Luftwaffe, schätzungsweise 30-40, unter ihnen auch vereinzelt andere Flugzeugtypen. Zwischen ihnen fuhr einsam ein großer Chevrolet hindurch, gesteuert von einem jungen GI. Der Manas Airport, angeflogen nur von einer Handvoll Airlines, hat seinen größten Kunden in den von Amerika geführten Koalitionskräften, die anlässlich des Afghanistan-Feldzuges Ende 2001 hier stationiert worden waren. Angeblich kassiert die kirgisische Regierung dafür fürstliche Start- und Landegebühren, von denen rein zivile Flughäfen in Europa nur träumen könnten. Zusätzlich zu den ca. 300 Millionen Dollar Miete pro Jahr sowie großzügigen Modernisierungsplänen erhalten die kirgisischen Behörden 7000 US-Dollar pro Start und Landung.

Passkontrolle und Zoll dauerten lange, trotz andersartiger Befürchtungen verliefen sie aber ohne besondere Vorkommnisse. Im Empfangsbereich stand ungefähr die zehnfache Anzahl an Menschen, die in dem Flugzeug gesessen hatten. Nach erfolgreichem Kampf durch das Dickicht der Menschenmassen spricht mich endlich ein Mädchen mit meinem Namen an – Cholpon Osmonalieva (20) wird für die acht Wochen mein lokaler Kontakt sein. Sie führt mich durch das mir sprachlich fremde Land, organisiert die Touren und hat ein offenes Ohr für all meine Probleme. Ohne sie, und das kann ich schon nach 2 Tagen festhalten, wäre es ungemein schwierig und lange nicht so ergiebig.

Das Taxi raste die Straße nach Bischkek entlang, dort wo es ging mit maximalen 140 Stundenkilometern. An einigen Polizeistreifen vorbei, erreichten wir die kirgisische Hauptstadt nach guter halber Stunde. Die Wohnung, die ich die nächsten zwei Wochen bewohnen werde, ist einwandfrei. Balkon, Satelliten-Fernsehen, saubere Küche und Bad – alles angenehm und komfortabel. Die paar Schaben, die sich vornehmlich nachts auf Erkundungstour durch die Gänge machen, sind wohl letztlich unvermeidlich und bringen mich noch nicht aus der Fassung. Ihren südostasiatischen Verwandten stehen sie in Größe und Geräuschpegel nach. Die Vermieterin, eine mittelalte Kirgisin mit goldener Zahnreihe, ist nett und kam heute zum Kassieren der Miete.

Nach kurzem Wäschewechsel ging es auch sofort weiter. Unten wartete das Taxi, um uns zum ‚First Nightclub’ zu bringen, einer im Nachhinein dubiosen Einrichtung. Eigentum vom Sohn des Präsidenten Akajew ist dieser Club wohl eine der ersten Adressen für das reiche, neue und erfolgreiche Bischkek. Den Eintritt von 200 Soms (5 US-Dollars) kann sich kaum jemand von den normalsterblichen Kirgisen leisten. Somit ist schon im Vorneherein klar, wer da zu den Black Beats die Hüften schwingt. Die neuen Reichen bleiben auch gerne unter sich. Gerade neben der Tanzfläche steht ein privater Sicherheitsmann mit Pistole im Halfter, vor dem Eingang schaut Militär nach dem Rechten. Das Etablissement ist ganz in weiß gehalten und auch die Kellnerinnen spiegeln dies in ihrer Garderobe wieder. Man fühlt sich fast ins trendy London oder Berlin versetzt. Das schlichte Design im Club steht im Gegensatz zum sozialistischen Leuchtspektakel vor der Tür, wo elektrische Fontänen nahezu romantischen Charme versprühen. Das Publikum macht einem jedoch unwiderruflich klar, wo man sich befindet – im Herzen Zentralasiens.

Die unterschiedlichen Gesichter der Tanzenden zeigen unter anderem, dass sich wirtschaftlicher Erfolg hier nicht nach ethnischer Zugehörigkeit zu richten scheint, sofern ein Nachtclub darüber ausreichend Auskunft geben kann. Freudige junge Menschen geben sich der Musik amerikanischer Machart hin und verwandeln den recht klinisch wirkenden Club in eine einzige Tanzfläche, welche die DJs gekonnt im Griff haben. Vinyl ist in Ländern der ehemaligen Sowjetunion schwer zu bekommen und Bestellungen aus dem Ausland würden an organisatorischen und finanziellen Gründen scheitern. Auf den hiesigen Märkten gibt es nur (professionell gebrannte) CDs. Doch durch pitchbare CD-Spieler gelingen den DJs jedoch überraschend sanfte Übergänge zwischen den Songs.

Die Hitze verschwindet auch nachts nicht, der Ventilator verschafft nur scheinbare Abkühlung. Somit war in der ersten Nacht kaum an Schlaf zu denken. Cholpon rief auch schon um sieben an, um mich zu wecken. Sie und ihre Mitstudenten hatten einen Sonntagsausflug geplant, der uns in das rund 50 Kilometer entfernte Ala-Arca Tal bringen sollte. Nach kurzem Warten vor der ‚American University Central Asia’ waren alle Freunde beisammen, die Reise konnte beginnen. Nach einstündiger, holpriger Fahrt war der Eingang des Naturparks erreicht und der Rest der Strecke taleinwärts musste schließlich zu Fuß zurückgelegt werden. Der Weg führte uns über ein weitgefächertes Flussbett zu den ersten steileren Passagen. Im Hintergrund erschien nach einer Rechtskurve plötzlich der Pik-Semenov-Tienshanskij, ein majestätisch anmutender 4895 Meter hoher, mit Schnee bedeckter Berg. Zu seinen Füßen sollten wir jedoch nicht kommen, da wir schon vorher ein ruhiges Plätzchen am Bach und unter Nadelbäumen fanden. Der Tag verlief traumhaft: Viele Gespräche mit Cholpons Freunden, Fußball auf einer Bergwiese und ein reichliches Picknick sorgten für einen äußerst angenehmen Start meiner 2 Monate in diesem wunderschön fremden Land.

Auf dem Weg zurück zum Bus gab es noch eine Live-Erfahrung in kirgisischer Politik. Das letzte Haus vor Beginn des Naturparkes hätte sicher einen Architekturpreis verdient – vor 20 Jahren. Ein bizarres Spitzdach-Dreieck mit bayrisch anmutenden Balkonen und verglasten Seitenflügeln ist der neue Besitz vom Vize-Präsidenten. Dieser saß meinen neuen kirgisischen Freunden zufolge auf der unteren Terasse, umgeben von Sicherheitsdiensten und anderen offiziell anmutenden Männern. Der Mann sorgt für Unbehagen bei der kirgisischen Bevölkerung. Er besitzt keinen direkten Bezug zu Politik, ist Russe und – interessanterweise – ehemaliger Tennistrainer vom Präsidenten.

Totmüde fiel ich um abends um neun ins Bett und wurde erst wach, als mitten in der Nacht BBC Griechenlands Triumph bei der Fußball-Europameisterschaft verkündete. Zwischenzeitlich hatte auch ein russisch sprechender Mann angerufen, der nach meinen verzweifelten Versuchen, ihm zu sagen, dass ich seiner Sprache nicht mächtig bin, einfach aufgelegt hatte. Verwirrt über den Mann, das unerwartete Ergebnis der Euro 2004 und schweißgebadet von der gnadenlosen Hitze schlief ich verhältnismäßig ruhig weiter bis sich Cholpon gegen elf bei mir meldete.

Der erste Weg des Tages führte mich zu meinem Arbeitgeber vor Ort, dem ‚Institute for Election Systems’. Chedomir, Simon und ein grimmiger Amerikaner interviewten mich zugleich, um meine möglichen Arbeitsfelder abzustecken. Wie immer werde ich höchstwahrscheinlich im Bereich Grafik- und Webdesign eingespannt sein. Die Broschüren der Organisation für Kirgistan, Tadschikistan und Kasachstan benötigen dringend optische Aufwertung und scheinbar bin ich der richtige Mann dafür. Weiters geht es nach jetzigem Stand auch in ein IFES-Sommercamp im Südwesten des Landes, wo junge Studenten und Schüler in Simulationen Krisensituationen durch kreatives Denken bewältigen müssen. Morgen, am ersten richtigen Arbeitstag (Beginn 08:30), werde ich sicher mehr erfahren können. Simon möchte auch gerne, dass ich ein Datenbank-Projekt übernehme, leider werde ich ihm wegen fehlendem Wissen diesbezüglich absagen müssen. In den Mittagspausen-Gesprächen und vielleicht auch bei späteren Tätigkeiten hoffe ich, mehr über die Organisation und die politische Situation in Zentralasien zu erfahren.

Erfreulicherweise klingelte auch schon mein Handy. Dank kirgisischer Sim-Card bin ich auch aus Europa problemlos zu erreichen und kann hier vor Ort besser Kontakt zu Leuten halten. Auch Shirin Akiner, meine Professorin aus London, werde ich hoffentlich bald sprechen können. Immer noch in Bischkek, ruft sie mich hoffentlich noch heute Nacht an, wie mir ihre Bekannte Elvira versicherte. Vielleicht ergibt sich ja auch das mögliche Interview mit Tschingis Aitmatow sehr bald.

Took off.. And stopped over

After a pleasant and sleepy flight, Istanbul is reached. First impressions are overwhelming and actually cry for a longer stay ın this fabled cıty. I spent some time strolling through the streets with two guys from Kurdistan who gave me a crash-course about everything.

Seeing them pray in the Blue Mosque was an undeniable sign that I left Christian Europe and arrived in a different hemisphere. Good, enough for tonight. My rusty hostel bed is calling. This is just a stopover.

Schwartz - From Philly to the Big Apple

My immediate post-university situation in Philadelphia simply was no longer tenable. From May 10th through June 13th I lived in South Philly with one of my best friends from school, a brilliant fellow by the name of Todd Whelan. Todd made his living by working in the Philadelphian tourism industry as a horse carriage driver and he got me into the profession. During March I trained, in April I worked part-time, and then for the month following my graduation I worked full-time.

Since I was one of the newest drivers, my valiant steed was a rotund drafthorse by the name of Bubba, the slowest but one of the sweetest and intelligent horses in my company's fleet. Bubba was so slow that little old ladies using strollers moved faster than him -- I kid you not! The other drivers and I had a theory: we figured that unlike most of his compatriots in the stables, Bubba long ago realized that no matter how fast he walked, he still kept going around the same four or five blocks, day in and day out.

Unfortunately, even though I managed to make good cash with Bubba, our efforts were always thwarted. First off, my boss -- Bubba's owner and the company's dictator, er, director -- was a crook. His favorite hobby was to find ways to steal money from his workers. Since we were paid in off-the-books cash and most of the carriage drivers were junkies desperate for any money, there was always some way he could find to swindel a person out of his or her hard-earned percentage. Second off, the fact is carriage-driving is a dead-end job, and seedy to boot. Third off, the city of Philadelphia has regulated the tourism industry to the point of near extinction. Fourth and finally, this summer is experiencing a tourism "drought," so even the high rollers in the carriage job were making a pittance.

Then there was the living situation. Todd had four boarders: me, his girlfriend, one of his best friends, and a cokehead -- all in a house barely large enough for two people. I'll leave it at "'nuff said."

Finally, there was Philadelphia itself. Philly is one of those places that sounds more amazing on paper than it truly is, and looks stunning from a distance. Take for example the skyline. The truth is, once one finds their way into downtown "Center City" Philly (a task comparable to wandering lost in a Tolkien dwarves' mine), one discovers that all those lovely skyscrapers are in fact very short and spaced out from each other. No less, the entire downtown is lopsided: all the impressive modern architecture is on the side of the Schuylkill, a secondary American river. The Old City -- Philly's casbah, if you will -- is quite tiny and removed from Center City. I don't know about you, dear reader, but I sort of fancy urban sprawl, so long as it is not sprawl within the city. All that space between avenues and buildings is not only aesthetically displeasing, but very irritating.

Yet, what has always bugged me about Philly was its impermanence. Believe it or not, I only fully realized this after I saw the film The Day After Tomorrow. I am an avid fan of desolation and eschatology. I am fascinated by scenes of ruin and age; where eternity is king, there shall I be, Polaroid in hand. It's been a fascination of mine since childhood, with a concomittant passion for immortality: the more durable the ruin, the more fascinated and prouder I am of its human makers. Roland Emmerich's film, incredibly flawed though it may be, struck that secret nerve within me. I found myself suddenly impressed with New York City, a metropolis I had known since my youth (my hometown Yonkers is shoved up against the Bronx, one of the Big Apple's burroughs) but had never truly appreciated. It donned on me that were human civilization to end suddenly, Manhattan would remain. New York City would be our testament to the universe: that we once lived and we onced reached high, so high, maybe too high, but high nevertheless, crawling and clawing and straining and yearning and building up up up.

But Philadelphia?

After all these years in that city, all I could think was, 'Where are the trees?' It was the very first thought I had when I arrived for university four years ago; four years later, it was my last thought. I always felt naked in Philly, as though the tepid Pennsylvanian sun roasting in the bland Pennsylvanian sky might burst like a hog on a stick and its sizzling juices would drown me and the city.

So about three weeks ago I quit -- quit the job, quit the house (but not my friendship with Todd) and quit Philly.

When I arrived in the New York City area, I understood something else: both cities were planned on grids, but for very different reasons.

In Philly the grid was crafted in the names of fire insurance and God. You see, William Penn, the man who started Philadelphia, had survived the Great Fire of London. He was determined to make sure that no such inferno could ever consume his city; hence the grid: Philly is divided into four quarters, the idea being even if three out of the four corners burned to the ground, so long as that last corner remained, there would be no need for a Christopher Wren for the city could be said to have "survived." (I do find it ironic that despite this ingenius attempt to insure the city's immortality, most Philadelphian architecture from the colonial period to today, crafted as it is from Delaware brick, is tiny and fragile.)

He and his followers the Quakers had another agenda, namely, to build a trial Heaven upon Earth ("a holy experiment," to quote Penn), a demographic atempt to embody what the Quakers believed to be God's Plan of global socioeconomic and religious liberty. Ever hear of Edward Hicks' The Peaceable Kingdom? Yep, that was supposed to be Pennsylvania and Philadelphia! Hard to believe when one looks at the Philly of today: a racially segregated and impovershed bunch of shacks that for the last twenty years has whored itself to transnational corporate pimps. The Quakers' ideal was indeed a worthy one: unlike the other English colonies on the North American coast at the time, Philadelphia was the only settlement where religious tolerance was an overarching legal and societal principle, for in Heaven, at least to the Quakers, all God's children are equal and free to worship as they will. Yet, somehow the execution went wrong, horribly wrong, and rightly or wrongly, I hold Philadelphia responsible for this.

Manhattan's grid, however, was built for a very different reason: to carve Man's Order out of Nature's Order. New York City was to be a testament to Mankind. If civilization ended tomorrow and Philadelphia were to survive, I feel that this would not be an impressive feat because the city was built to parasitically latch onto that which is already immortal: God. Manhattan, on the other hand, has brazenly chosen to pick a fight with Time itself. Manhattan's survival would be a true triumph, for humanity is not immortal, and yes, eventually all our witty artifice decays into dust, but even if those skycrapers were to last a thousand, two thousand, three thousand years beyond you and I, our species would have accomplished something.

* * *

So, the last three weeks I've been working in Midtown Manhattan (that's the Empire State Building behind me in the photograph), within eyeshot of the Chrysler Building, Empire State Building, New York Public Library and Grand Central Station. I should note that New York City is far from perfect itself; indeed, it is a quite brutal and greedy place. Those amazing skyscrapers were built as much in the celebration of money and materialism as they were in the spirit of humanity -- and doubtless their architects would say that there is no difference! Yet, I feel more at home here, forty stories into the sky, in a land trying to beat Time at its own game.

However, I am not totally at home here. I left the New York City area four years ago precisely because I am an alien to this place. I am still an alien.

And so, this Sunday, July 11th, I leave for Israel. Ben has already begun his journey into the wild. I will soon follow my friend to the ends of the Earth.

I burn with anticipation.