Eine neue Kulturrevolution in Chinas Wildem Westen

Sorry for taking Schwartz' long-awaited update from the top-position! Read it now.

Nach endlosen Tagen durch die Weiten der unbarmherzigen Wüste erreichten zahllose Händlerkarawanen auf dem Weg nach Westen Kaschgar – das Tor zur
Taklamakan, der ‚Wüste ohne Wiederkehr’. Von Ost und West brachten die Händler nahezu alles mit sich, was in der damals bekannten Welt zu finden war. Die Wagen waren voll kostbarer Waren wie Seide und Edelsteine, aber auch Religionen wie Islam und Christentum konnten sich über die Seidenstraße, ein zusammenhängendes Netz von Handelswegen zwischen Europa und China, leicht ausbreiten. Kaschgar, wegen der strategisch günstigen Position zwischen Pamir, Taklamakan und Karakorum, befand sich auf allen Landkarten damaliger Entdecker und Händler. Marco Polo, der im dreizehnten Jahrhundert hierher reiste, war begeistert von der Fülle der angebotenen Waren und sichtlich angetan von den hiesigen Nudeln. Kulinariker streiten seitdem, ob Pasta nicht aus den entlegenen Fernen Mittelasiens kommen könnte.

Mit dem Versiegen der Seidenstraße durch die zunehmende Schiffbarkeit der Seewege zwischen Europa und dem Fernen Osten verschwand Kaschgar zusehends in der geschichtlichen Bedeutungslosigkeit und tauchte erst Ende des 19. Jahrhunderts wieder auf. Diesmal in den Planspielen russischer und britischer Emissäre in Mittelasien und Britisch-Indien: Das ‚Great Game’, großes Spiel der beiden damaligen Supermächte, wurde ein bedeutendes Kapitel lang in Kaschgar gespielt; dort wo Yakub Beg, exzentrischer König Kaschgarias mit aller Gerissenheit versuchte, die beiden europäischen Mächte gegeneinander auszuspielen. Heute zeugen noch die beiden Konsulate von der aufregenden Zeit, die letztlich in einem geostrategischen Patt endete und Kaschgar an die vorrückenden Chinesen fallen ließ.

Mit rund 400,000 Einwohnern ist Kaschgar heute eine der fünf größten Städte
Xinjiangs, Chinas größter und mit 20 Millionen Menschen am wenigsten besiedelten Provinz. Sie grenzt an sechs andere Staaten, manche von ihnen erst seit dem Ende der Sowjetunion unabhängig. Gerade die benachbarten zentralasiatischen Republiken Kasachstan und Kirgisien verbinden mit Xinjiang ein historisches Erbe: Genauso wie Kirgisen und Kasachen gehören die Uighuren, die bevölkerungsreichste Völkergruppe Xinjiangs und ursprüngliche Bewohner der Region, zu den mittelasiatischen Turkvölkern. Außerhalb des Milliardenreiches China, das derzeit ganz andere Schlagzeilen macht, ist diese ethnische Vielfältigkeit (in ganz China gibt es insgesamt 51 verschiedene Volksgruppen) ein kaum bekannter Fakt, noch dazu wenn das Volk der Uighuren fernab der boomenden Metropolen die Oasen im ‚Wilden Westen’ bewohnt. Diese Gegend ist, seitdem die Seidenstraße ihre Bedeutung verloren hatte, in Europa so unbekannt wie sagenhaft geblieben – ein schwarzes Loch in den landumschlossenen Weiten Mittelasiens.

Die ersten Chinesen überquerten schon früh die endlose ‚Wüste ohne Wiederkehr’ – die ehrfurchterregende Taklaman, nach der Sahara die zweitgrößte Sandwüste der Welt. In Kashgar, Yarkand und Hotan siedelten sie als Händler – und sorgten zusammen mit Tadschiken, Usbeken, Turkmenen und vielen anderen Völkern für ein ethnisches Kaleidoskop, das noch heute bestaunt werden kann. Der massenhafte Zuzug von Han-Chinesen begann jedoch erst nach der Gründung der Volksrepublik China 1949. Mitte der fünfziger Jahre wanderten jährlich an die 250,000 Chinesen in die Oasen Xinjiangs, 1959 sogar eine Million, um dem Hunger weiter im Osten zu entkommen. Uighuren bilden heute mit rund 45 Prozent zwar immer noch knapp die Mehrheit der rund 20 Millionen Einwohner, unausweichlich jedoch blieb der Zuzug von Millionen Neuankömmlingen nicht ohne soziale und wirtschaftliche Folgen für die ursprünglichen, islamischen, Bewohner.

Es ist ein Sonntag in Kashgar - Markttag -, und die Sonne brennt gnadenlos vom Himmel. Die Gerüche exotischer Gewürze und Speisen betäuben die Sinne. Ein endloses Gewühl von Menschen, Eselgeschrei, das Hupen der verzweifelten Taxifahrer – man verliert leicht die Orientierung auf dem heute noch größten Markt Zentralasiens. In einem schier endlosen Labyrinth von Gassen mag der Einheimische alles schnell und bequem finden und bekommen, der Fremde jedoch fühlt sich etwas hilflos und betäubt angesichts der orientalischen Mystik dieses Ortes.

Eine Art von Orientierungslosigkeit schien auch die chinesische Verwaltung von Kaschgar beschlichen zu haben. Um dem ‚orientalischen Chaos’ des Marktes Herr zu werden, sowie das rege und bunte Handeln etwas mehr Ordnung und Effizienz zu unterwerfen, errichtete man 2003 flugs einen betonierten und überdachten Markt – mit dem Charme einer Autobahnraststätte, Notausgänge und Klimaanlage inklusive. Der „Central Asia International Market Kashgar“ erstreckt sich auf einer Fläche von gut 500 mal 500 Metern, ein zweiter Komplex befindet sich im Bau. Dieser soll zwar den Fortschritt Xinjiangs innerhalb des chinesischen Wirtschaftswunders symbolisieren, aber dieser gesichtslose Komplex erzeugt beim Betrachter nur ein Gefühl von Beklommenheit. Willkommen in Kaschgar, Zeuge einer neuen chinesischen Kulturrevolution - subtil und lautlos - jedoch chinesisch-effektiv in Geschwindigkeit und Gründlichkeit.

Die traditionellen Lebensformen der Uighuren werden auf breiter Front attackiert. Für Jahrhunderte beheimatete der Markt im Zentrum der Stadt auch eine Viehsektion. Herden von Schafen, Ziegen, Yaks, Kamelen, Pferden und Eseln strömten jeden Sonntag in das Stadtinnere und verwandelten die Straßen in ein aufregendes, ohrenbetäubendes Potpourri. Jedoch auch dies war der chinesischen Stadtverwaltung ein Dorn im Auge. Der Viehmarkt befindet sich nun außerhalb der Stadtgrenzen, eingefaßt in Betonmauern stehen die Tiere angebunden in Reih und Glied. Das Ausmaß dieser Umsiedlung erschließt sich dem unerfahrenen Beobachter kaum. Die Mechanismen eines jahrhundertealten Marktes scheinen sich jedoch auch dem Verständnis der ordnungsliebenden Chinesen zu entziehen: Die sozioökonomischen Folgen dieser Umsiedlung jedoch sind unabsehbar. Viele Viehhändler haben Angst, offen zu sprechen, da sie politische Repressionen befürchten müssen. Nur vereinzelt finden sie vorsichtige Worte, ihrer Kritik praktisch Anschauung zu verleihen: „Schauen Sie auf den Boden, der Untergrund ist viel zu steinig, um hier Pferderennen zu veranstalten. Wie kann man denn guten Gewissens ein Pferd kaufen, ohne vorher damit zu reiten?“

Beim Laufen durch die Stadt fällt unmittelbar auf, daß man sich zwischen zwei Städten hin- und herbewegt. Die Reise beginnt in Kashi – Kaschgars chinesischer Name: Weite Boulevards, die obligatorische Mao-Statue auf dem ‚Platz des Volkes’ und eine Unzahl von chinesischen Werbetafeln, auf denen bildschöne Han-chinesische Models Mobiltelefone, Waschmittel und Versicherungen preisen, lassen vergessen, daß Kaschgar eine uighurische Stadt ist. Das chinesische Wirtschaftswunder ist auch hier, in der fernen Provinz eindrucksvoll zu bestaunen. Vor einer Schule versammelt sich eine Mädchenklasse, um in Zweierreihen einen mit sozialistischer Kampfmusik unterlegten Appell zu absolvieren. Über den blumenbesetzten Hauptplatz flanieren gutgekleidete Frauen aus der Mittelklasse. Von den Uighuren, die sich in Hautfarbe und Gesichtszügen von den Chinesen gänzlich unterscheiden, fehlt fast jede Spur.

Nur einige hundert Meter weiter ändert sich das Bild vollends. Man erreicht das eigentliche Kaschgar – und betritt sofort eine andere Welt. Der Hauptplatz der ursprünglichen Siedlung wird von der 500 Jahre alten Id-Kah Moschee dominiert. Zu besonderen Feiertagen wie dem Ramadan versammeln sich hier bis zu 50.000 Menschen. Nur ein Bruchteil der Gläubigen paßt dann in die Moschee. Der Rest drängt sich auf dem Platz, um den Muezzin möglichst gut verstehen zu können, wenn dessen Worte aus den zahlreichen Lautsprechern klingen. Auf dem Dach eines gegenüberliegenden Hauses prangt eine politische Botschaft: ‚Die Völker Chinas leben in Eintracht und Harmonie’. Soweit stimmt das für den Moment, wenn auch kein einziger Chinese zu sehen ist.

Der Einfluß der chinesischen Kulturpolitik wird an zwei verschiedenen Vierteln der Altstadt überdeutlich. Der erste Gang führt durch einen ursprünglichen, fast unangetasteten Teil der Stadt. Die uighurische Architektur verschließt sich dem eilig Vorbeiziehenden. Die Häuserfassaden sehen fade und brüchig aus, die Bauwerke, deren Lehmwände nur minimalistisch durch Fenster aufgelockert werden, erscheinen wie Klötzer. Doch ein Blick hinter die Eingangstüren eröffnet einem den wahren Reichtum dieser Bauweise: Fast mediterran wirken mit dem Betreten die großzügigen Innenhöfe, begrünte Treppen führen zu den oberen Geschossen. Die Bauweise spendet Schatten und angenehme Kühle im heißen Sommer, im Winter ermöglicht sie ein leichteres Speichern der Wärme.

Vor einer jahrhundertealten Madrassah stehen Pappeln wie im Spalier und sorgen für ein angenehmes Klima. Der Islam hat hier eine lange Tradition – dennoch ist Toleranz ein wichtiges Fundament innerhalb der uighurischen Gesellschaft. Frauen sind unterschiedlich stark verschleiert – mal verdeckt ein leichtes Tuch die Haare, mal verhüllt die Burka die ganze Person von Kopf bis Zeh. Die Straßen in diesem Viertel sind voller Aktivität, Eselskarren transportieren Waren zum und vom Markt, alte Männer sitzen vor den Häusern und führen lautstark Diskussionen. Kinder spielen in den labyrinthischen Gängen des verwinkelten Quartiers. Man kann sich vorstellen, daß das Leben vor Hunderten von Jahren nicht wesentlich anders gewesen war.

Nach dem Überqueren die Hauptstraße betritt man den touristisch ‚aufbereiteten’ Teil der Altstadt. Der Eintrittspreis von umgerechnet einem Euro soll dabei helfen, die Gebäudestrukturen instand zu halten. Die Abschottung des Quartiers hat jedoch einen anderen Effekt: Die Straßen sind im Vergleich zum anderen Viertel wie ausgestorben, nur vereinzelt säumen chinesische Touristen mit neuen Digitalkameras den Weg, Einheimische sieht man kaum. Fast jedes Haus ist mit Schildern bestückt, die ‚traditionelle Handwerkskunst’ der Uighuren bewerben, wovon man auch reichlich einkaufen kann. Es scheint, daß die für die Behörden einzig akzeptable Lebensweise der Uighuren eine Verkümmerung zu touristisch aufbereiteter ‚Traditionalität’ darstellt. Andere Gegenden der Altstadt sind den Stadtplanern ein Dorn im Auge, viel Bauland wurde schon von Bulldozern eingeebnet. „Es ist wie ein rauschender Fluß, den der Mensch in ein künstliches Bett umleitet, um ihn zu zähmen“, sagt Muamar, 23. Nur geht es hier nicht um einen Wasserweg, sondern um ein ganzes Volk mit tausendjähriger Geschichte und Kultur.

Die Resignation vieler junger Uighuren entlud sich in Unabhängigkeitsbestrebungen – politischer, aber auch terroristischer Natur. Seit dem 11. September 2001 hat sich das Durchgreifen der chinesischen Regierung gegenüber den ‚Dissidenten’ verhärtet, da es die Behörden vermögen, die Separationsbestrebungen in ihrem Hinterland in den Kontext des internationalen Terrorismus zu bringen. Todesurteile gegen politisch Andersdenkende gehören leider zur Tagesordnung. Die Mehrheit der Uighuren hat jedoch mit der gewaltsamen Opposition nichts am Hut – zu groß ist die Angst vor den omnipräsenten Sicherheitsdiensten. Die Lautlosigkeit und Effektivität, mit der die Umformung des traditionellen Lebensraums der Uighuren vonstatten geht, lähmt vielerorts die Artikulationsfähigkeit. Fraglich ist, wie lange noch. Wirtschaftswachstum und allgemeiner Aufschwung im Riesenreich gehen hauptsächlich zugunsten der zugezogenen Chinesen. Es ist schwierig, den Sorgen und der Wut der Uighuren nicht sympathisch gegenüberzustehen. Die subtile und rücksichtslose Vorgehensweise Pekings kann auf die lange Sicht den ‚rauschenden Fluß’ nicht umleiten, sagt doch ein chinesische Sprichwort: “Den Strom eines Flusses mit der Klinge eines Messer zu stoppen, macht ihn nur noch stärker.“

Schwartz - The Long Awaited Update

"Clever got me this far, then tricky got me in..."
from The Package by A Perfect Circle

"Close the door, put out the light. No, they won't be home tonight. The snow falls hard and don't you know? The winds of Thor are blowing cold. They're wearing steel that's bright and true They carry news that must get through, oooh. They choose the path where no-one goes. They hold no quarter. They hold no quarter."
from No Quarter by Led Zeppelin

I've been away from the blog for some weeks. The last time you heard from me, the crisis with the volunteer apartments was still underway. Well, that was happily resolved. In fact, after chewing out my ear, my boss was evidently content enough with my work that she asked me to re-plaster and re-paint another apartment!

This entry is divided into three sections: What I've Been Doing, Events and News.

Click on "continue reading."

[Please forgive any typos and mangled grammar; I wanted to get this entry out quickly because it's been too long since I last wrote anything for the blog.]

What I've been doing
The village received an influx of new volunteers from Europe, freeing me up to do more constructive labor. I was reassigned to Voltaire to help him with his maintenance tasks at the village's elementary school. This was a great task for two reasons: first, even though the hours were longer and the labor sometimes menial, my work had a direct impact on an important project for the village; and second, I got to work with the West Bankers, which helped me improve my Arabic and grow closer to them as a friend.

Sadly, Voltaire only needed me for about two weeks. When he was done with me, I was reassigned to the hotel (also known as the "guesthouse" or "White Dove.") I've heard horror stories from former volunteers and villagers about hotel labor: endless, exhausting cleaning. Well, thankfully, the hotel staff is a very cool bunch, and so far I've done mostly minor maintanence and physical tasks, and for now the cleaning isn't too much of a nuisance. Yet, the ease of this assignment is mostly due to the fact that officially I am still working two assignments: a morning shift, during which I worked for the volunteer coordinator, then Voltaire and now the hotel, and an afternoon shift, during which I have only worked at the pool. However, as the swimming season winds down, I am needed less and less at the pool. I often get away with just showing up at the beginning and end of my shift, and sometimes not showing up at all. This has freed me up alot to do other work: edit "Pyretta Blaze," continue researching the village, figure out my student loans and airplane tickets, and so on.

But there is a problem looming on the horizon: in a little over two weeks the pool shall close and I will be working full time at the hotel, 7-3. I dread this because I know the tedium of cleaning rooms over and over again will murder all my intellectual ability. Furthermore, I am increasingly faced with one of several ethical dilemmas: what good am I doing for the Conflict? There was a time in the village, many years ago, when international volunteers played a critical role in the peace project here, maintaining this hill as an outpost of progressivism. (There was even a year when an older volunteer was elected mayor!) Yet, as material security gradually came to the village, the role of the international volunteers was reduced, until finally we became nothing more than cheap butlers. (The story is the same for volunteers in kibbutzim. And now there is a tiny movement within the kibbutzim and even here in the village to eliminate volunteering altogether!) So, if I am to spend the next three-to-four months cleaning the hotel -- whose profits do not go to the village but stay in the hotel corporation! (besides, the hotel barely breaks even these days) -- and exhausting myself doing so to such a point that I don't even have the energy to travel the countryside or write in the blog (which was what happened when I worked for Voltaire), then why am I even in Israel-Palestine?

However, there is good news. In Damascus Gate, East Jerusaelm, resides the Faisal Hostel, the main hub for international peace volunteers and alternative media journalists on the Green Line. I spent a weekend in the Old City of Jerusalem with this hostel as my base camp instantly fell in love with the place. In turn, its small staff were intrigued by me. A sudden spark of inspiration came to me and I asked them if they could use a new employee or volunteer. They happilly said yes and we talked over some logistics. They are now very interested in having me there for the remainder of my stay in Israel-Palestine. There are just some hurtles that need to be crossed before I can leave the village: renewing my visa, finishing my article for WireTap e-zine, and getting my absentee ballot (which will be addressed for the village).

So, the plan forming in my head is to stay here in the village at least until October 11th, then to move camp to East Jerusalem.

Events
Neve Shalom/Wahat as-Salaam vs. the State of Israel Ministry of Education While I was working with Voltaire, a crisis involving the village's school, long brewing since before I began working and living here, finally boiled over. According to the information I've managed to cull from an assortment of sources, the current Israeli Minister of Education has divided all schools in the country into two categories, Jewish (under the direct control of the Ministry of Education) and Arab (organized into a confederation of administrators who work indirectly for the Minister). There is no Jewish-Arab category. The village's elementary school is thus listed simultaneously as a Jewish School and an Arab School, which has resulted in several oddities.

For instance, a few years ago when the Second Intifada started and Israeli police shot dead twelve Arab Israeli protestors, the Arab School administration announced a country-wide strike. This included the Neve Shalom/Wahat as-Salaam elementary school, which became the only "Arab School" with Jewish students in the strike.

Another oddity is that the Ministry of Education has become determined to install its own handpicked principal in the elementary school. This is a very complicated issue, involving a rather bitter history on the part of the villagers.

You see, the school (I'll refer to it as the beit sefer from now on), for the first ten years of its existence, was an unofficial entity, meaning the teachers and the administration received little in the way of instutional support from the State of Israel. Then in the 1990s it became an official school, which helped the pensions of the teachers and provided a small but steady amount of finances. The beit sefer underwent something of a renaissance, with Jewish and Arab parents from all across the Latrun region enrolling their children. Then the crisis with the principals began.

From the Ministry of Education's perspective, the beit sefer is a rogue institution. All Jewish Schools have principals appointed from on high annually. At the end of every school year, the teachers and administrators approve or disapprove the principal -- this is supposed to be done based on the merit of their performance -- to serve for another year. However, for many years this was not the case for the village beit sefer. Then the Ministry of Education became concerned: if the beit sefer maintained its independence, then perhaps other Jewish Schools would "rebel." So for the last three years the Ministry has forced the village to accept a principal. The village sued, and the case went all the way to the Israeli Supreme Court. I attended the hearing and I'll write about it in a moment.

Meanwhile, the villagers began a revolt against the Ministry in the beit sefer itself. The information I have received about this has been unclear, but apparently one year the villagers even sacked the entire Jewish-Arab teacher corps, (falsely) claiming "dissatisfaction" with their performance. Increasingly the villagers have stepped in to disrupt the curriculum, dismiss teachers, even block administrators from enterring the school, and during the annual review of the Ministry principals, though all the principals have apparently been very good and even receive commendations from the villagers, they are still officially disapproved. Needless to say, it's been a messy affair, but it gets messier: at least according to the Jewish residents, the perpetrators have been largely Palestinian residents who view this as a battle against Israeli apartheid. The revolt has been going on so long that the school's enrollment is imploding (including enrollment of residents' children), its curriculum and textbooks are rapidly becoming outdated, dreams for establishing a high school have been dashed, and the village income has decreased as a result. The crisis, one of many the village faces, has opened up old wounds between the residents and has created new ones, and has severely damaged the image of the village to the surrounding region. I have met several parents who have withdrawn their children from the beit sefer and are throwing up their hands in defeat regarding hopes for the village's future. The conflict has become so intolerable to some that there is now a movement within the village to de-officialize the beit sefer, an incredibly counterintuitive move that would have the most severe repercussions for the instutition's economic and professional wellbeing.

All these issues simmered in the back of everyone's minds in the court. During the trial, the village's lawyers argued that the beit sefer, as a Jewish-Arab instution wherein both languages are spoken, has special needs, and only the village-appointed principal has the skills necessary to head such an operation; the Ministry's lawyers countered that the principal appointed this year is a Moroccan Jew with some foreknowledge of Arabic and an interest to learn more, volunteered for the assignment knowing the tumultous history of her predecessors, and had the necessary skills to run a bilingual and politically sensitive operation (indeed, she has been commended by many of the beit sefer's teachers, and on her first day she even vowed to the children to learn Arabic). Furthermore, they argued that if the Ministry lost control of this Jewish School, then it risked losing control over all Jewish Schools (an argument which made me wonder about the circumstances that could inspire such a rebellion, and also made me wonder why the Ministry so feared institutional autonomy).

The Judges ultimately ruled against neither party but also not for the village. They suggested that the Ministry's principal remain in office until the annual review, and that the village's candidate be given a managerial position, i.e., a "consultant." They told the lawyers to decide, and gave them a short recess to do so. Outside the courtroom, the lawyers and villagers clashed. The villagers found the compromise wholly unsatisfactory: either the Ministry give them autonomy or create a special Jewish-Arab School category. After the recess, the lawyers proclaimed this to the Judges, but to no avail. Since the lawyers apparently couldn't agree to the compromise themselves, the Judges enforced it themselves and then closed the case.

To observers of the Israeli judicial scene, the ambivalence of the Judges may come as a bit of a surprise. The Israeli Supreme Court has actually been a very progressive entity. Just recently it proclaimed that the Fourth Geneva Convention must apply to the Occupied Territories, and it concurred with the International Court's ruling against the Separation Wall. Why did the Judges take such a wish-washy position? You see, the State of Israel does not have a constitution. In 1948 a constitutional assembly was planned, but it has never come about. The Declaration of Independence, which established the current governmental structure, and political precedence have served as a de facto constitution, and also, just as in the United States, Supreme Court decisions. Yet, the American Supreme Court has the advantage of possessing a document it can read and interpret; the Israeli Supreme Court, on the other hand, with every ruling essentially creates the Israeli constitution. Thus the Judges were very reluctant to make a decision that could effect the educational structure of the nation-state for years to come. Also, the truth is that the Ministry's principal is a qualified individual.

The battle continues. Villagers intend to stage demonstrations and further protests... but with each passing year, the quality of education in the beit sefer continues to suffer, and with it, the mission of the village.

Travels In my blog entry On a Voyage to an Untamed Land, I wrote about a very important ideal of mine, which I call the "Theonaut," a new kind of explorer for a new type of Age of Exploration. In that entry I reflected on a dilemma: when to embark on internal journeys across uncharted emotional-intellectual-spiritual dimensions of the private psyche, and when to embark on external journeys across the uncharted sociopolitical dimensions of the 21st Century. In that entry I opted for the first choice. A few weeks ago I came to the conclusion that I had done enough intratrekking and that it was high time I did some extratrekking, or to put another way, I said to myself, 'I'm spending too much goddamn time in this dinky village!' So I've spent several days on the move.

First I went to the Old City of Jerusalem on the weekend of September 11th. I visited many of the famous religious and historical sites, in particular the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the various churches on the Mt. of Olives and the Separation Wall in Abu Dis and Bethany. Unfortunately Israeli security would not let me into the Haram as-Sharif/Har Ha'Beit (Temple Mount). But I managed to snag this snazzy photograph of the As-Sakhra/Ha'Kippa (Dome of the Rock) from the Dome of the Rock. Unfortunately my digital camera hit maximum capacity, so I was not able to take photographs of my tour of the Separation Wall -- but if you happened to be watching German news, you would have seen televised footage of an anti-Wall protest that took place on the very place my taxi driver took me. I will return to the Wall in the future for Thinking-East.net and Politicus, the LaSalle University political awareness magazine.

A Semitic Viet Nam... Regarding the Wall, both in terms of efficacy and morality, I'd like to say this much: it is a sham, a demonic falsehood that will enslave Israeli freedom and democracy to the forces of Fear, Oppression and Evil. But the Wall is just one of the most gruesome symptoms of a national sickness, born by the festering and gangrene wounds of the Occupation and the twisted priorities of thirty years of pseudo-Zionistisc imperialism. Another symptom has been the recent Histradut strike. The Histradut is the national labor union which controls almost all the working-class municipal and municipal-related occupations in Israel, from airport clerks to postmen. It resorted to this desperate action, which shut down the country for several days, because many Israeli workers have not been paid by the state in over a year! Why? I've been told that Sharon and the Likud have directed so much of the state's finances into the Occupation that the Knesset has slashed the budge of almost every governmental and government subsidized program in the country, including welfare, pensions, salaries and even university humanities programs.

Just as the Separation Wall threatens the future of Israeli liberty, it will demolish any hopes for Palestinian stability, freedom and democracy as well -- quite literally demolish, for everywhere I went along the immense barrier (it is taller than a mansion in most places) I saw the dust left behind by bulldozed houses -- and symbollically demolished, for the barrier in being built not only right through the middle of many Palestinian communities, totally disrupting the economic and cultural sphere of entire towns and cities, but the Wall is also lined with observation towers bearing security cameras which shall keep an attentive Orwellian eye upon the local populace. Israel should take a page from Chinese history: no state can wall itself; the barbarians shall invade if peace is not made. The Separation Wall is checkered with gaping holes. All I had to do was hop onto an Arab bus and take a ten minute ride to Abu Dis, where there is a steady flow of people hopping through a gap in the concrete. Moreover, Israel, being the Jewish State, should take a page from Jewish history: peoples who have tried to wall themselves in only succeed in transforming themselves into a ghetto, with all the socioeconomic, psychological and spiritual suffering such a situation entails.

Shana Tova! A few days after my trip to Jerusalem I went to Eilon, a formerly Marxist kibbutz in the north of Israel for Rosha Shannah, the Jewish New Year. I came down with a stomach bug, so I was bedridden for most of my first day there, but I improved well enough to take part in the big dinner. The next few days I toured the kibbutz and the local region. Eilon is only about a kilometer south of the Lebanese border, and only a few kilometers from the Mediterranean coast, in particular an area of cliffs dotted by grotos that was the site of a trans-Mediterranean destroyed by Jewish guerillas during the 1948 War. The photograph at the top of this entry is of the Mediterranean at sunset; the black blob in the distance is an Israeli warship patrolling the Lebanese border. The photograph to the right of this paragraph is of the Lebanese mountains, which overlook the kibbutz (please forgive the grainy quality and black smudge; my digital camera has been having problems lately). On the crest of the mountains is another Israeli kibbutz and an Israeli Bedouin village.

This past weekend I returned to Jerusalem for Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. (If you're not acquainted with Jews yet, you might be noticing the bundled frequency of their holidays. "We like to get them all out of the way at once," one Israeli remarked. Two more holidays are coming up this week and next week!) I figured that there was no other appropriate place for me to be. This was a particularly special Yom Kippur because it fell on the Shabbat, which occurs only once every seven years, making it, so to speak, doubly holy. (Unlike the Christian calender, which is completely solar and seasonal, and the Muslim calendar, which is completely lunar, the Jewish calendar is partially solar, lunar and seasonal, which means the months and holidays fluctuate year to year, but only a little. For instance, Rosha Shannah is always in September, but sometimes closer to the beginning and other times closer to the end.) I spent my Yom Kippur walking the Via Dolorossa, the Path of Suffering, which is the traditional route of Jesus' last day as a mortal, from the Antonian Palace to Golgotha, which is supposed to be housed in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Of course there is debate concerning the route, especially its starting and ending-point. I visited the alternative sites as well. It was a very moving experience for me... but in an unexpectedly dark way. In the Bible, Jesus condemns Jerusalem yet, to fulfill his mission as Messiah, sacrifices himself for the city:

The same day there came certain of the Pharisees, saying unto him, Get thee out, and depart hence: for Herod will kill thee. And he said unto them, Go ye, and tell that fox, Behold, I cast out devils, and I do cures to day and to morrow, and the third day I shall be perfected. Nevertheless I must walk to day, and to morrow, and the day following: for it cannot be that a prophet perish out of Jerusalem. O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you desolate: and verily I say unto you, Ye shall not see me, until the time come when ye shall say, Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord. [Luke 13:31-35, King James translation. See also Luke 19:41-44.].

To this day it remains a cesspool of thieves and fanatics ("No wonder it's a holy city!" exclaimed a British journalist I met in the Faisel Hostel). Palestinian peddlers, desperate for a quick buck and totally misunderstanding my desire to be left alone, vulturously pursued me at every turn; touristic, paganistic pilgrims slavishly threw themselves upon the altars of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre; and the priests of the various Christianities which comprise the Church bickered with each other (their ridiculous bickering has often turned violent, and sometimes has dragged states into armed conflict). While I successfully resisted the temptation to snag photographs of my trip, I am guilty of my own small crimes and petty prides. All in all, a very black and murky experience for me, and I think I'd like to leave it at that.

So now I'm back in Neve Shalom, and it's time for the Theonaut to turn inward again. I have student loans, overseas ballot forms, a visa renewal and an article for an e-zine to worry about now. Wish me luck!

-----------------------------------
Some other photographs from my travels:

From the Eilon sculpture garden: statue of a child butchered in battle (the figure on the right is screaming as a tank shell buries itself into the figure's shoulder -- sorry about the poor quality). One of the kibbutz's great heroes was a general who fought in the 1948 War and who, apparently tortured by many of the horrors he witnessed in battle, turned to art to exorcise his demons. He was particularly interested in modernist interpretations of Phillistine sculptry. The garden is filled with disturbing but insightful representations of ancient and modern barbarism -- minotaurs, slithering satanic snakes, mindless masses of people, and other assorted semi-human beasts.

Murals from a wall in the Faisal Hostel. The rightmost section of the mural depicts International Solidarity Movement volunteers placing themselves in the line of fire between Palestinian insurgents and Israeli soldiers. Apparently painted in the radical heyday of the ISM, someome stuck a poster of slain ISM activist Rachel Corrie as a reminder of the dangers of radicalism. Corrie was bulldozed to death by an Israeli soldier when she placed herself in between the bulldozer and a Palestinian house. The ISM, famous for its ingenius idea of using international volunteers as "human shields" to protect Palestinian civilians and leaders from Israeli bullets (rarely does the IDF dare harm an international, for fear of the repercussions), also has a darker side: in the name of nonviolent protest ISM activists, many of whom have enlisted really for the a cheap Indiana Jones thrill in a Third World country, have verbally abused Israeli soldiers, sometimes even attacked them, and have also developed a bad reputation among Palestinians as overbearing, that is, trying to control the lives of those they were supposed to protect. A new generation of ISM activists -- many of whom are Israeli Palestinians -- are seeking to reform the operation from the inside, to make it less radical and bring it closer to true Ghandian strategies. As one of the reformers, who recently appeared on the Muslim Broadcasting Chanel about ISM training, put it to me, "How does swinging from the turret of an Israeli tank help Palestine? Many have no respect for Israelis, don't understand the soldiers, don't care for Hebrew. This needs to be changed. I avoided getting involved with the ISM for years because of this, but now I hope that maybe from the inside I can cause real change."

Mishmash, the feline princess of the Faisal Hostel. One of the Faisal Hostel's managers called Mishmash the "sexiest cat in East Jerusalem." Conservative speculations of the managers, workers and frequent hostel guests say that she has born over fifty kittens. Apparently she has never not been pregnant for more than a few months. The managers particularly liked an American analogy which I thought was fitting: "So she's kinda like the town bike: everyone's had a ride." Sadly (or maybe not so sadly), Mishmash will finally be undergoing an operation soon.

The famouse Damascus Gate, viewed from the Faisel Hostel lounge. The entrance into wisdom?
"Think for yourself. Question authority. Throughout human history as our species has faced the frightening, terrorizing fact that we do not know who we are or where we are going in this ocean of chance, it has been the authorities, the political, the religious, the educational authorities who attempted to comfort us by giving us order, rules, regulations, informing, forming in our minds their view of reality. To think for yourself you must question authority and learn how to put yourself in a state of vulnerable, open mindedness, chaotic, confused vulnerability to inform yourself."
- Timothy Leary

Photos online

I put up some pictures of this summer on a seperate page including some descriptions taken from prior blog-articles.

http://www.paarmann.info/ca2004

Thinking East #2

Schwartz and I will take some energy away from this blog - putting it into a new project called 'Thinking East'. We will start looking for other contributors, soon. Our new statement follows:

Ours is a time of new frontiers in religion, science, politics, economics and morality. The boundaries of human civilization are reaching once unimaginable new heights, with results both glorious and grotesque... and all of these frontiers are violently converging upon one terrain: North Africa, Israel and the Arab States, Turkey, the Caucasus, Iran and Central Asia – the spine of the Earth – the East.

The earliest migrations of homo sapiens out of Africa arrived in the regions of the East 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 has 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 desperately needed.

Thinking-East.Net is a nonprofit e-publishing platform, started by two young academics for other young academics who believe they can develop innovative thinking about current events in North Africa, the Middle East and Central Asia; who are daring enough to physically and intellectually trek across the manifold thematic borderlands posed to the human mind by the modern “Wild East.” The network specifically seeks individuals under the age of 25, wherever they may be in Asia, whatever their expertise (preferably politics, social sciences, etc.), whatever their race, gender and religion, who are not professional journalists but seek to thoughtfully cover and reflect upon Asian issues.

For more information, please don't hesitate to contact us.

A fragmented land

When my colleagues from IFES asked me whether I was interested to visit a summer camp in the remote Kyrgyz South-West, it didn't take me long to agree. The area had gained a dangerous reputation for various reasons. It was here where Japanese geologists were held hostage in 1999 and where insurgents from the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan (IMU) tried to access Uzbekistan (see map) - and faced stiff resistance by Kyrgyz security forces.

Since then, all embassies in Kyrgyzstan warn tourists not to visit the Batken oblast, which comprises Kyrgyzstan's South-East and is squeezed in between Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. Having a concrete aim and Kyrgyz accompaniment, I thought it can only be safe travelling there. I was right. However, the problem did not lie in a threat from hostile insurgents but in the nature of this stretch of land. The cars whose drivers try to cope with a Soviet infrastructure grid and a territorial hodgepodge of enclaves lead to a style of travelling where time does not play an important role anymore. It is the getting there, which turns to be the most important thing.

Having arrived in Osh with an old Antonow Turboprop machine, it took me comparatively long to find a taxi which would take me on the 6-hour drive to Batken. Simply put, my problem was that I am a foreigner. All foreigners in Kyrgyzstan have to have an Uzbek Visa to cross the Sokh enclave (see the enclave to the right of Batken on the map) - whereas Kyrgyz citizens can momentarily do so without any regulations. This obstacle prove to be the main headache, as the alternative route was only partly paved and the taxi driver, whom I eventually found with the help of IFES staff from Osh, did not seem to own a 4WD... Instead, his car was a wreck that would scarcely have made the normal tour, either. A 20-year-old Lada Nova, which we had to push-start everytime the motor went off, should be my mean of transportation for the next 17 hours.

(I covered the endless journey in a seperate entry here, so I won't have to reformulate the strain all over again. If you have problems reading the German, let me say just that: It was exciting and the most exhausting road-trip I've ever made.)

Talking to friends in Bishkek, they found that this sort of travel experience was just another proof of the weird border setup prevalent in Central Asia, mainly in the highly heterogenic Ferghana Valley. I was not getting tired to defend my point of view, a rather more differentiated approach to understand the underlying reasons for the non-functioning structures between the Central Asian countries. Many of my friends and colleagues were quick to blame it all on Joseph Stalin, who supposedly sat down in Moscow in 1924 thinking about the best way to suppress dissent. He hence drew the borders in the most arbitrary manner. Even though this might reflect a fraction of today's reality, it is by far not the entire story to be told. Suffice it to say that by then, in the 1920s and 30s, the SSRs in the Union's South were not 'designed' to exist independently, thus the infrastructure planning was of a holistic design. This is all too visible today, with my circumvention-mission only being one of the problems. In press coverage terms, the most appalling and potentially crisis-prone shortcoming is the lack of a cross-border water-management between Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan, which has already led to frosty bilaterial relationships between the two countries.

Having arrived in Batken, I was warmly welcomed by German aid-worker Torsten. With him, I was able to explore the oblast from a development perspective. Our journey the next day took us as far as to the Tajik border in the far West of the country, some hundred kilometers behind Isfana. Some interesting facts:

-> The GTZ funds many small-scale projects in the oblast. Activities include the (re)building of elementary schools in various villages. The level of commitment of villagers varies. While in bigger villages (places with 5,000 inhabitants are still called villages very often), projects could often seem to have diluted, smaller communities with around 50 families showed incredible results with little means.

-> Many families in the Batken oblast have at least one family member seasonally working in Russia. Many bring home around 40,000 Soms for a six-months stay (~ $1,000). This money though is not used for investment purposes, but for long and pompous family celebrations. A wedding, funeral or circumcision festivity can easily soak up all available funds. As in India, this addictedness towards festivals is considered to be one of the major hindrances towards capital accumulation and the promotion of a small- and medium-sized enterprise sector.

-> The technical infrastructure in the region is in a terrible condition. Telephone lines to Isfana, a town of 10,000 inhabitants in the West, cumulate in a place remiscent of TV-images from the 50s. Sadly, this still is reality in Kyrgyzstan. Road conditions are dependant on the mood of the weather. Severe landslides, earthquakes and other natural desasters take their toll every year and make maintenance of the roads a Sisyphotian work.

My actual aim in Batken was to visit the IFES summer camp, where a group of around 60 children come together for ten days. The kids - all from Batken oblast - were selected on the grounds of their application forms, which were given out to them through the German-funded GTZ. The agenda was full with workshops, trainings, games, etc. related to civic education. Topics included a wide variety of society-related themes like elections, human rights, conflict, etc. What I saw in the three days I was there was impressive. I have never seen such a level of participation and commitment of youths in any social project. Even though there were difficulties like a distempering language barrier (some kids spoke only Kyrgyz, some only Russian, some even only Tajik), the camp was a good example of rather well-spent Western money.

The way back to Batken from the camp prove to be quite weary, as almost no car took the road that particular day. Finally having arrived there by one at night, Torsten had incredible news for me: I could fly directly to Bishkek from Batken airport, not having to take the windy road around the enclaves again.