Safe and Sound in Tajikistan

Peter here -

Sunday August 1st, the beginning of our last week in Tajikistan. Now bookending are trip here in Central Asia are terrorist attacks in Tashkent. I'm not sure how much this made news in the US, but we certainly learned about it as soon as it happened, though being across a secure international border, haven't felt any immediate effects.

A little history: At the end of March, beginning of April there were a spate of suicide bombings in Tashkent seemingly aimed at the Uzbek police (occurring on the weekend we bought our plane tickets to Tashkent). The Uzbek authorities cracked down in Tashkent and Bukhara (where they claimed another suicide bombing happened or a safehouse for terrorists accidentally blew up in the process of making bombs). Regardless, the truth of these incidents remains shrouded in mystery. Whenever such situations occur in Uzbekistan, the police close the area entirely to all people including journalists.

The Uzbek authorities placed the blame for these bombings on an organization called the IMU (Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan). The trial for the 15 suspects in the March attacks was to begin this week. For the most part trials in Uzbekistan are shams (like in Tajikistan, see Juno's post below), with suspects detained and tortured into signing confessions (a tactic extensively used in Soviet times).

On Friday 3 bombings, currently being labeled as suicide bombings, occurred in Tashkent: 1 outside the US Embassy, 1 outside the Israeli Embassy, and 1 in the Uzbek general prosecutors office. The bombing in the prosecutors office would seem to draw a link between the current bombings and the start of the IMU trial.

The United States also recently pulled funding from Uzbekistan accusing the Uzbek govenment of not making sufficient progress in demiocratic reforms in the country. The United States also operates a military base in Uzbekistan near the Afghan border. There is the possibility (often voiced, but nearly impossible to prove) that the Uzbek government is responsible directly for the bombings in hopes of presenting itself as an important battleground in the war on terror thereby justifying huge western aid packages. True or not, the Uzbek government is certainly indirectly responsible with it's authoritarian dictorial corrupt iron-fisted rule of its people and the squashing free religious practice.

Both the IMU and Hizb ut-Tahrir have claimed responsibilty for the recent bombings. Hizb ut-Tahrir preaches non-violence, so it's curious they would claim responsibility for the attacks. Certainly anger amongst the muslim community is welling up in Uzbekistan. Unfortunately, bombing the US embassy isn't going help the situation in the slightest no matter who is responsible. All this ever seems to do is cause us to pull out of the country and then everyone suffers.

Personally I was a tad dissappointed all this action happened 1 week before we were to be in Tashkent as the hotel we stay in is right down the street from the Israeli Embassy - I missed my chance at having exclusive photos of an international event! As soon as the police arrive at something like this in Uzbekistan the entire area is sealed and no facts can get out. Instead we were swilling vodka safe and sound at our Australian friends compound.

Now, most of all, I'm hoping they don't seal the borders as they did after the March bombings. We plan to travel to Tashkent next Friday, spend the night, then wake up around 3:30 am for our 5 o'clock flight home! I'd prefer not to be delayed at this point, but it's stille Central Asia. By now we've learned to roll with the punches.

Pamiri odyssey

Juno:

So, we are very busy getting ready for our departure one week from today, and triumphant return to the States on August 7, and haven’t had much time for blogging.  We wanted to give you all a quick account of our trip to the Pamirs.  No pictures right now, ‘cause Pete is still downloading/resizing/whatever else he does in his digital nerd life!  But hopefully we’ll have a few up before we leave.  Anyway, here’s the brief run-down on our incredible journey:

We (me, Pete, Jill – another XXX employee from Uzbekistan, and Dilik, the driver, all tucked into the Niva, a sort of Russian Jeep Wrangler) left Dushanbe going on the northern road instead of on the southern route as planned, because a key part of the road to the south was washed out from the unseasonably heavy rain we had been having. We went north and hoped the road would be fixed by the time we completed our circle. We spent the first night in a place called Jirgital, a quiet and idyllic spot from which you can see Mt Communism (now Somoni peak), the tallest in the FSU. Sadly it was cloudy, and we couldn’t see more than a bit of it. But it was damn big! We stayed in a nice guesthouse and Dilik made us delicious baked eggs with fresh dill and tomatoes for dinner.

Next day we headed for Kyrgyzstan.  Along the way we were stopped at multiple checkpoints, the last of which was manned by a group of staggering drunk border guards.  These guys were all reeling, and it was about noon.  They are especially suspicious of Tajiks, who have a mostly undeserved reputation as drug smugglers.  They grilled us about whether we were carrying narcotics, but Dilik kept his cool (after warning us to keep an eye on them in case they tried to plant anything in the Niva) and we eventually got into the Alay Valley, a gorgeous stretch of ground just north of the Tajik border.  The last range of the Pamirs is to the south, mountainous Kyrgystan to the north.  We spent that night in the lovely warm house of a friendly Kyrgyz family.  They cooked us delicious potatoes and kept the fire (fueled by cow shit) roaring – good thing, cause it was not much above freezing.  The Kyrgyz people look really Asian – almost Chinese, sort of the way I picture Ghengis Khan.  The people we met were friendly and hardworking – we felt like total wusses when we shook our host’s hand – he was younger than us and his hands were calloused beyond recognition.  He must have thought we were a bunch of first-class sissies from our smooth little paws.

On day 3, we passed another series of checkpoints before returning to Tajikistan and the autonomous GBAO region.  It seems to be autonomous more from force of habit than anything else – the southern border continues to be manned by Russian border forces, but they are pulling out in the next few months and the general expectation is that all hell will then break loose, with border security descending into nepotism and a favor/bribe economy like the rest of TJ.  We cruised through occasional snowstorms and a bleak mountain landscape before arriving in Murghab, the most remote town I’ve ever seen.  It’s a true outpost, perched on the edge of Tajikistan, almost in China.  It’s very high up and in an ecologically threatened area, thus the target of the few eco-tourism efforts going in T-stan.  We stayed in another guesthouse, great food, but FREEZING.  Thankfully the next day was sunny and we enjoyed looking around the town before getting on the road again.

Next day we drove south from Murghab, and the landscape began to really be spectacular – or maybe it had been spectacular all along, but since it was cloudy we hadn’t been seeing it!   We drove down a valley fringed with huge mountains and populated by yaks, the main source of milk up there – and the source of fabulous yak cream, which tastes like clotted cream and is in abundant supply!  We started seeing yurts dotting the valley – the summer residences of people from the towns nearby – they come with their livestock for the good grazing in the summertime.  We stopped at a “holy place” – a lake that is deep blue and full of fish – holy because it never freezes – I imagine whatever chemical keeps it blue keeps it from freezing as well.  Lunch was a feast of fried dried carp, lovely fresh bread, yogurt (from yaks) and great gobs of yak cream.  Jill and I fell on the yak cream like wolves on their kill. 

We slept in a yurt that night and it was great.  A yurt, for the uninitiated, is a round structure with a hole at the top – a cylinder with a half sphere roof.  Picture the Pantheon in Rome, but much more rustic.  It’s made of felt (yes, felt, very thick felt) draped over an intricate framework of wood and lattices.  There’s a wood (or in this case shit) burning stove inside, and it’s very comfortable and surprisingly warm, even in a fierce wind.  This particular yurt was built by our host’s grandfather, a big man in the village who, we later discovered, disappeared during Stalin’s purges and was never heard from again. 

The following day we awoke to discover that our host was 3 sheets to the wind at 6:30 a.m.  Apparently the local border forces commander had come by and they had been celebrating something.  We got outta there quick and continued south to Langar, a town in the Panj valley.  The Panj is the border between Tajikistan and Afghanistan, and the two countries both have major mountain ranges that come together in a glorious, fertile valley.  Afghanistan was so close we threw rocks and hit it.  All along the Afghan side, the Hindu Kush towered over the valley, craggy and completely forbidding, a nice buffer zone between us and the nastier parts of Afghanistan. 

We saw several Afghans, and each time we made Dilik pull over so we could look at them through our binoculars.  Fortunately he seemed just as mesmerized by the other side of the river as we were.  We saw some camels cooling off in the river, and then in Langar a crazy old man was walking a group of 3 camels down the road on our side!  It was pretty amazing, and I think the camel up close is the weirdest creature I have ever seen. 

We spent 3 days driving along the Panj, marveling at the huge mountains, the Afghan villages, the beautiful local people with their blue/green eyes.  The people in the western Pamirs are Ismali Muslims, people who believe that the Aga Khan is a sort of living god (that’s not quite accurate, I think he’s more of a Pope figure, but I need to do some research).  Anyway the current Aga Khan is this rich guy who lives in Switzerland, and the Aga Khan foundation is really active supporting the people in the region.  Apparently they pretty much saved the entire population during the civil war – the roads and borders were closed, and the people were completely cut off and would have starved were it not for the help of the AK.  Even now you can see that the people in the Pamirs, though isolated, are doing ok for themselves, with the help of international aid. 

This valley was once the route of the so-called Buddhist silk road, so it’s full of interesting relics.  We stopped at several ruins including an ancient Buddhist monastery and a really old fortress.   We also visited two hot springs and soaked to our hearts’ content.  In one of them, some saggy old local women thoroughly enjoyed inspecting a couple of western women like us.  It was a little bizarre but since they were friendly we didn’t mind. 

At night, Dilik taught us (after some pretty hefty language difficulties) how to play Durak, a Russian card game that quickly became an obsession.  We had a great time and I even learned how to knock back the fierce Tajik vodka with ease.  Just like college…

It was a glorious few days.  This was the best part of the trip – the weather was perfect, the people were friendly, and none of us could take our eyes off Afghanistan on the far side.  I don’t think I can really do it justice in words, so we’ll wait for the pictures!

After a few days, we drove north to Khorog, the largest city in the GBAO.  It was a real town, and quite edgy – it sounds like a fair bit of drug traffic goes through there, and there are plenty of fancy cars to prove it.  Still we enjoyed ourselves and prepared for the long trip home.  Fortunately the road was back in place and we had a long 2 days in the car to get back to Dushanbe – this road, which you would think would be decent since it goes to the capital city, was the worst we’d seen the whole trip.  Lucky for us it was clear and gorgeous, and we all got along so well by this point that we just talked all day in the car, looked at the scenery, and drank vodka and played cards at night.  All very jolly. 

So that’s the brief summary – tons more happened, but we’ll save the details for our return.  Pete took over 2000 pictures so you will all have to see them when we come home.  In the meantime, hope to have some up on the blog ASAP.  We’re getting excited about coming home, but also sad about leaving Tajikistan, despite its occasional absurdity.   Can't wait to see all of you, though!

Our return, and some revisions

Peter:
Back from the Pamirs, we needed a vaction.

Juno and I returned to Khujand yesterday evening safely (no thanks to Tajik Air, but that story is for another time).  Our jeep trek around the Pamirs I’m sure will be the highlight of our time here in Tajikistan.  It was absolutely spectacular for many, many reasons.  Sleeping in yurts, eating yak meat, drinking yak milk, Juno obsessing about yak cream (like English clotted cream) and yoghurt.  Amazing hot springs that cured our eye problems, others that were to cure our skin ailments, though I fear getting into a spring full of people with skin diseases may have done more harm for me than good.  We’ll see soon enough. 

We traveled along the Chinese border for a while, though the barbed wire fence to our left only marked the beginning of the 25km no-man’s-land before the actual border.  And perhaps the highlight, traveling for 3 days down the stunning Panj River valley, one side of the Panj being Tajikistan, the other Afghanistan.  We were so close I could throw a rock into Afghanistan.  I’d have liked to wade across, but between the fast moving water and the Russian border guards who still manage the Tajik-Afghan border, I decided against it.  At one point a couple of Afghani men gestured for me to come to the water’s edge and so the 3 of us stood directly across from each other, the Panj roaring between us, gesturing hello, I’ve got a few photographs of my new friends (along with 2500 more of the Pamirs, I’m sorting through them now and trying to back them all up!  A tedious and nerve wracking process.).

Juno and I are still trying to figure out how to best summarize the trip for you, our loyal readers.  Photos with captions would be nice, but our ability to upload photos is completely at the whims of the Internet gods (who seem to be fussy here in Central Asia).  9 days is a lot to catch up on, but we’ll try! 

Our time here is quickly winding down, and we’ve much work to do to be ready to leave.  I’m a bit sorry that my ABC rant had to hover at the top of Tajikiblog for the last 10 days. I’m sure you’re tired of seeing that headline.  I’m also afraid people may have the misconception that I’m not enjoying myself here.  Truth of the matter is that all that crap, while intensely frustrating, I actually find quite amusing and interesting, frustration simply being a part of life here.  Now, if I were here permanently, I think I might be a little more upset by the hassles.  In the shortrun, though, its rather entertaining.  I will say I was angry and am still angry with the Mayor of Taboshar threatening Nargiza.  The incidents described in those posts are indicative of life in Tajikistan today and it’s important for people in the west to understand the little things that make life difficult for people here and in many other countries where freedoms are challenged. 

I’m happy to describe the police as lazy, that seems to be an accurate assessment.  But worse than lazy, the police are extremely and blatantly corrupt.   As an example, just to leave the capital city of Dushanbe as we began our trek to the Pamirs, we were stopped at 6 checkpoints and our driver Dilik (one of the coolest guys in Tajikistan) had to pay bribes totaling more than $10 (which is a lot in Tajikistan).  The cops saw our bags on the roof and knew we were going somewhere far so must have money on us (even without knowing we were western) so they waved us down at each checkpoint (they don’t check for anything at checkpoints).   Or our taxi home from Salsa (Dushanbe’s Mexican restaurant) down the main street of the capital was stopped 3 times in less than 1 mile to pay bribes.  Needless to say, the ride ended up costing us 3 times what it should have.  Unless these corrupt cops can be reined in (possibly by paying them more upfront so they don’t have to rely on bribes to live) many of Tajikistan’s problems will continue.

As for the people of Tajikistan – hard work is in their blood.  Most of the people come from a peasant tradition, farming fields every day with old fashioned back breaking labor.  Perhaps inefficient is still a good assessment, as much work could be saved with tractors, but there is no money for that, nor tractors to buy.  You should see some of the rusted out antique machinery that seems to have long since plowed its last field suddenly roar to life and sputter around the cotton fields.

To further correct my previous misstatement, it’s not laziness that’s the problem here, but complacency.  Protest is not a large part of Tajik society now, if it ever was, and it’s difficult to do without being intimidated by the powers that be.  I hope more people will be able to find their voice.  The corruption in the government needs to be stopped but first the people need to see that it’s wrong.  An interesting aspect of the post-communist society here (and elsewhere, I’m told) is that people still think of community first, then the individual.  It’s hard to say this is wrong.  In America it might help us to think of community over the individual more often. 

But the government uses this to control the individual – as if it’s for the community’s good that KGB always know where each person lives, what they do, and that they never make any noise or have curiosity or behave in any way out of the ordinary.   A new government-installed propaganda banner was recently unfurled across the country with a statement along the lines of “a good mahalla (neighborhood) makes a good individual”.  How does one achieve a good mahalla?  By trusting the corrupt government to consider your individual concerns? 

Before we left for the Pamirs, Dushanbe’s water was not working. We return 10 days later, THE WATER IS STILL OFF. And this is the capital city of Tajikistan.  There had been heavy rains and rumors were that a cemetery was flooded.  The water is some neighborhoods returned, but the government still said not to drink it and that even for bathing all water should be boiled TWICE.  The US Embassy sent out an email recommending to just use bottled water.  The new rumor is that the water is highly radioactive, a believable proposition.  I’m not sure that boiling will really help at all for this.  People grumble but not much more.  Juno wanted to make a sign that said “Mr. President, where is our water?” and march back in forth in front of the presidential palace.  We wonder what would happen. 

We were pretty upset not to be able to shower after our long trek in the mountains, but for the people of Dushanbe it was much worse.  10 days, 100 degree heat, and no explanation from the Government.  Maybe it’s just more of the same that they’ve dealt with for so many years, this being a minor blip in time.  But I hope they get their water back soon and that it’s clean and safe and that they might learn that it’s okay to hold your government responsible for providing some basic necessities of life.

In conclusion, both Juno and I really like Tajikistan.  It’s an amazing place with amazing history and amazing people.  It’s always interesting, even if just because of how it’s messed up.  Are we happy to be returning to the states soon?  I think so.  I’m looking forward to processing everything, doing more research, understanding this region and its history even better.  Maybe as preparation for coming back to work more to complete the work I’ve began.  But we will see…

Meantime, we’ll try and get some photos and details of our trip up in the next few days, so that you all can see the spectacularly beautiful parts of this country and its people. 

Tajik ABCs: Autocrat, Bureaucracy, Closed Society

Sometimes it sure is nice to be able to drive around in a white SUV with diplomatic tags. How else could we go 15 minutes out of town to Kairakum (aka the Tajik Sea) to have Chinese Food for dinner instead of 45 minutes of police checkpoints? The food is damn good, so maybe it would be worth the hassle, but it’s more enjoyable to watch the policemen lower their batons and visibly deflate as a pile of internationals cruise by. After my day yesterday, I’m happy to hold my head high and scoff at the ridiculousness of this country. Sometimes it seems Tajikistan is getting what it deserves with this despot running the show. Unfortunately, I remember, it’s the regular people who suffer – and who become so frustrated and angry that peaceful solutions appear less and less appealing. Revenge certainly feels better.

3 examples of the troubles with Tajikistan experienced by Juno and me during the past week follow: the ABCs of why Tajikistan sucks.

(Please note: the Tajikiblog is going on an expedition to the Pamirs, the remote mountain range in eastern Tajikistan (see B below). Enjoy the following 4 posts from today. We will return on July 26th with more harrowing tales of our adventures! Love J&P)

Autocratic Asshole

Emomali Rahmonov, the benevolent dictator of Tajikistan, decided to visit our fair city this past week. The visit, a top secret of the government, is probably the worst kept secret in all Tajikistan. Why else would the entire bridge be painted in one weekend, new patriotic banners unfurled quoting the great leader himself, colorful flags flying from lampposts, and the sudden vaporization of the small bazaar just down the street from our house (we witness the crane lifting the last kiosk into a truck and driven away on Sunday morning – right from where I bought tomatoes less than 24 hours before!)?

On Monday, I had been planning to visit the old German-built uranium-mining ghost town of Taboshar but decide to stay in Khujand figuring it’d be impossible to leave the city. I guess the secret surprise is his waiting until Tuesday before actually appearing in Khujand. It’s quite obvious Tuesday is the day, though, as soon as we step out the door of our house. The streets are completely quiet, no cars in sight and people – everyone – walking. Juno and I proceed to get yelled at for not walking in the crosswalk (oops) as we cross Lenin Street heading to her office.

It’s pleasantly eerie on the streets. Normally crossing Lenin Street is a lifesize game of Frogger with lots of smoke and honking. Today it is silent, calm, peaceful (aside from the asses in the funny hats and stupid shoulder boards). Near Juno’s office buses are parked blocking all access to Lenin Street from Khujand’s main intersection all the way across the bridge to the other side of the river. I decide stealth mode is in order and head out to investigate and photograph what I can of this strange phenomenon.

Wandering towards the bridge, which incidentally sits next to the Khukamat (government office buildings), I’m quickly singled out of the crowd and stopped by some oafish policemen. First they start asking for my passport (which was in Dushanbe – more on this in B) and then they mutter and mumble in Tajik while I smilingly cooperate in this charade, gesturing towards the hundreds of other people who are allowed to walk across the bridge. They ask me to follow them while they find a cop who speaks better English.

Soon enough we find a guy lounging lazily in a car – many cops means many lazy asses. This young fellow begins asking for my passport, too, which I tell him is in Dushanbe (failing to mention I have a copy in my bag).

He states, “The law in Tajikistan says foreigners must carry their papers at all times.”
I reply, “The law also states foreigners don’t need to show their papers unless they’ve done something wrong.”

Struck dumb, they miss their opening to fabricate some offense I’ve committed. Next they ask me who I’m in Tajikistan with (to be in Tajikistan one must have a letter of invitation) and I tell them the XXX, which they don’t understand. I say "XXX” they say “ahhhhh, the XXX” and seem to become a tad more respectful. Then I start the ignorant foreigner act:

“What is the address of their office?” Since none of the streets have streets signs, I nearly truthfully answer, “I don’t know.”
“What is the phone number?” I untruthfully answer, “I don’t know.”

Well, we quickly reach a standstill, their questioning going nowhere, my obvious innocence of everything (aside from a few stealth photos – it’s unclear to me whether this is illegal) obvious to all. What do these morons decide to do? They write their names and phone number on a piece of paper and tell me to call them! Huh? What? Why – so we can drink vodka together this weekend? What dumbasses.

So much for Tuesday, everyone’s plans for the day ruined or delayed due to the visit of the great leader. Waking up Wednesday, what do we find? Same story, Emomali decides to stay another day! I just miss seeing his Mercedes drive by, but catch the 25 black Volgas in his entourage.

Ironically the past few days during the president’s visit have been rainy, the only rainy days we’ve had here, and rumor has it he came north to spend some days on the Tajik Sea. BUST! (The president, from the Southwest part of Tajikistan, is not much liked here in the north. In fact, there was an attempt on his life here in 1997 with a grenade.) My trip to Taboshar is again delayed with exits to the city closed, but for only a few hours today (more on this in C below). Emomali’s final strike - closing the airport for 6 hours – brings additional pain (but this is described in B below).

Bureaucratic Bullshit

Since the first week of arriving in Tajikistan Juno and I have been planning to take a 9 day Niva (Russian 4wd) tour through the Pamirs – the eastern half of southern Tajikistan comprising almost half the country – a mountain range rivaled in size only by the neighboring Hindu Kush and Himilayas. Good thing we started planning this over a month ago with Tajik bureaucracy looming higher than the former-Communism Peak ((now Somoni Peak), at around 23,000 feet, it is the highest mountain in the former Soviet Union).

Goulya, our fearless organizer, runs a nice eco-tour operation, if only she could have more customers. See, Tajikistan does everything in it’s power to keep tourists from contributing their cash to the hurting Tajik economy from getting a visa to arrive in the country to finding a way into the country (only Tajik Air can fly here) to travel within the country (you’ve heard about the roads).

The Pamirs lie in a region called the Gorno-Badakhshankaya Avtonomnaya Oblast (or GBAO for short). The GBAO sits in an area between Kyrgyzstan, China, and Afghanistan, though this section of Afghanistan is very narrow, with the Pamirs practically bordering on Kashmir. I’ve heard Kashmir is one of the most beautiful places on earth, so I’m hoping the Pamirs are similar. The Pamiri people are said to resemble Europeans, blonde hair and blue eyes even. We’ll see…

Created a long time ago by the Russians after negotiating the border with the British, the GBAO was the final frontier of the Russian empire. The region, due to its remoteness and the high percentage of ethnic minorities and refugees, was granted a semi-autonomous status by the Russians, which continued throughout the Soviet period into today.

What does this mean now? Not much - except that you need a special visa to go there. And a visa that takes over 3 weeks to receive (remember what I said before about inefficiency? Here’s a prime example). We apply immediately. Jill, our travel companion from the XXX office in Ferghana, also applies.

After 4 weeks we find out that Jill’s visa is denied! Why? Who knows? She sends her passport to Dushanbe for one final attempt. Jamshed, the “fixer” in XXX’s Dushanbe office, goes to the proper ministry and manages to get her visa in a day. But still no word on our visas.

A few days later we find out our visas have also been denied! This being 1 week ago from today – we need to go to Dushanbe for the trip tomorrow. We quickly cast out a call to all internationals in Khujand “Do you know anyone traveling to Dushanbe tomorrow?” Our buddy Henk from XXX is going, so we give him our passports and pray for luck.

Jamshed gets our passports first thing Friday morning in Dushanbe and heads to the ministry to begin the process anew. As of Monday, still no word. Our frustration mounts. By Tuesday the president has arrived in Khujand, the power is out in Juno’s office so phones don’t work – we are in the dark. The good news travels by cell-phone though - no crappy communist infrastructure can get in the way of 21st century technology! We’ve won the cold war – our visas are approved.

Now how do we get our passports back? Normally they can be sent with someone traveling on the plane and picked up at the airport. But with the President tooling around, no one knows if planes are flying or if we can reach the airport to pick them up. We lose a day, but by 5pm they should arrive in Chkalovsk, the town outside Khujand with the airport. Not so. One final dash of salt in the wound – the President’s leaving town. No flights in or out until 11pm. Poor Khushed, our fearless driver and “semi-Fixer” (he’s too nice to be a full-fledged fixer), I’m sure he really wanted to spend his whole evening sitting in this radioactive slum (Chkalovsk was a closed city during Soviet times where the uranium mined in nearby villages was processed (see C below)).

Of course, losing days waiting for the visa we lose precious time in buying our plane tickets for tomorrow morning to Dushanbe – plus we need to buy a ticket for Jill and we haven’t a copy of her Tajik visa (required to buy plane tickets here). Miraculously Khurshed manages to buy tickets for all of us, including Jill, for Friday morning (with a mysterious additional cost of $17. But hey, who’s asking?)

Crappy Closed Cities

All these frustrating autocratic, bureaucratic barriers to doing anything are one thing. But when the authorities threaten you (or your translator), a new facet of the evils of a closed society is expressed – and one that’s personal. My understanding and sympathy are tested, and part of me says “good riddance to you poor assholes. What are you so afraid of? The world knowing there’s nothing worth anything in your country except a lot of oppressed poor people trying to survive?”

After driving circles around Khujand for an hour searching for a way around the police barricades, my translator Nargiza, her mother, and I are finally on our way to Taboshar. My friend Stephanie suggested I see this town, a ghost town since Tajik independence with 80% of the population leaving the country for homes in Russia, Germany and other western places. Built as a mining town in the 40’s by Germans (prisoners?) and Russians, the houses are all stone and look as if part of Europe was plunked down in the hills of Tajikistan. The uranium for the first Soviet nuclear bomb was mined here and processed in nearby Chkolvask (by the airport).

Our driver drops us off in the center of town (by the cute Lenin statue and the Khukamat) then speeds off for Khujand. I guess we will take the bus home or something. The “friendly” mayor had given Stephanie a tour of the city so I thought maybe we should introduce ourselves hoping for the same. Nargiza seems to think this isn’t a good idea and I trust her judgment, though her mother said some men had driven by in a black Volga looking suspicious. I thought I’d rather confront these suspicious men than hide and behave like a spy (since I’m not a spy, or am I?).

Either way, we just slowly begin to explore the town. It’s really quite a nice town with birch trees and huge stone houses lining the streets, aside from the fact that most of the buildings are empty and starting to fall apart. Soon enough, though, another set of suspicious men appears (with their wives and children in tow, not exactly an intimidating sight) and the confrontation begins.

The mayor (who prior to this had a good reputation among internationals) was at the center of the posse. I wanted to meet him anyway hoping for a tour, so this was as fine a time as any to say hello. I must have caught him at a bad time, though, as his mood was sour.

After the initial “hi I’m Peter XXX, photographer from New York” schtick, it was time for the inquisition.
Why are you here? Who guided you here? What do you know about this town? Etc. etc.
Nargiza steadfastly translates the questions and my answers, but suddenly his suspicion and temper rise.

One thing that set him off, I think was my knowledge of the town’s having a high-tech science lab. Stephanie told me about it as the mayor’s sad attempt to attract people to his town, to create a center for technology. Maybe something else is going on, because he certainly didn’t want to speak about it.

His anger appeared to be rooted in the fact that we came to the town and wandered around without a “guide” which I would happily have accepted if one were offered. Out of one side of his mouth he told me they were an open society and I could take photos so long as I had a guide who showed me around and could tell me about what I was seeing. Out of the other side of his mouth he told us that Taborshar was a “closed city” and that we could not be there. (It was a closed city during Soviet times, but as far as I know Tajikistan has no closed cities now). He was amazed when I told him there were no such places in the US. This made him angry and he spewed “Impossible!” (Though I fail to inform him about our own dictator’s ban on photographing coffins returning from his crusade in the middle east).

All this, unfortunately, is being filtered through my translator Nargiza, meaning she took the brunt of his assault. Firstly he accuses her of being my guide, though I insist it was my fault she is there. Then he threatens to get the Tajik KGB after her saying “He’s safe because he is an American, but you are Tajik and you are not safe.” He further intimidates her by accusing her of betraying her country by bringing me here. (When I saw Nargiza today I make sure she understands she has not betrayed her country, and if what she had done really was a betrayal of her country, than she should be happy because any country that doesn’t allow you to travel to regular towns within it deserves to be betrayed.)

Nargiza’s a modern Tajik woman and spent a year in Kentucky, so she holds strong and betrays no fear. Seeing this the mayor turns his assault on her mother! I couldn’t believe it. I try to steer the conversation back to me, to describe my reasons for visiting and my desire to help his town. I think he’s pretty confused and didn’t know what to do. (I want to believe he is actually as friendly as people say, I just rubbed him the wrong way by not presenting myself correctly) So after making Nargiza and her mother intensely fearful, what does he do but hook us up with a guide to take us around town! Unbelievable.

We wander about the place for a few hours. Habib, our guide, is a silly man, a “lawyer” with the mayor. He points out the sites and makes up statistics (this town once had 22,000 people, now it has 15,000 – sure, more like 500.) We stop for lunch and, even if I’m the enemy, his Tajik hospitality won’t let me pay for the meal.

After lunch we pass through the main square and the mayor swings by in his car again stopping to chat with Habib. A bus also pulls into town. Suddenly there’s a sort of panic. We rush to the dilapidated stadium (where I had asked to go) and I’m told I must hurry by Nargiza, a plea more than anything. I’m extremely confused, unsure where this urgency is coming from. I try to hurry but still want to get the pictures, since that’s the whole reason we’re even in this town. Then I see Nargiza again, looking truly upset and decide there must be something happening I don’t understand at all.

We get back to the square and the bus is gone. I thought the panic was a rush for the bus. No problem for me, as we can just take a taxi, faster and nicer anyway, for $10. But if we must take a cab, then I’d like to photograph a bit more. “Maybe the science lab?” I ask - though Nargiza hesitates, afraid to even translate the question. I decide not to push the issue so we get in the cab and fly out of town, desperation on the faces of both Nargiza and her mother.

Unbeknownst to me, Nargiza and her mother have been in complete fear the whole time we are in Taboshar. I feel terrible for causing them such concern, though I really had no idea of the whole undercurrent here and the mayor’s threats until we are in the taxi halfway back to Khujand. Even I get scared as we approach the government checkpoint, hiding my camera’s memory cards in my bag. While the photos seem pretty tame to me (just a bunch of empty old stone buildings) maybe there’s something I don’t see? I’m thinking, “They have my business card! Now the KGB’s after me! I don’t want to be the next Jack XXX!” Of course we make it through the check point no problem. The Taborshar Khukamat is probably still typing on their Teletype machine and making carbon copies while someone winds the phonograph in the corner (inefficiency saves the day). Fortunately they never got Nargiza or her mother’s name, so the KGB ought to leave them alone. I, on the other hand, will be watching my back until I’m back in safe and sound Uzbekistan.

But maybe, just maybe, Taboshar is the home of Tajikistan’s secret nuclear program…should I inform the CIA? (Whoa, I’m getting nervous even joking about this.)

Tomorrow off to the Pamirs!! Just wait for the story of the 1 complete day built into our trip just to cross into Kyrgyzstan from the GBAO – 5 checkpoints on both sides of the border. Wish us luck; I just hope I have some photographs to show for the trip and they don’t confiscate my equipment.

(Just a note: we'll be in the Pamirs, away from computers until Monday July 26. Please do check back then for more stories from "Adventures in Justice: Tajikistan")

"Terrorists" on Trial: Justice in Tajikistan?

Today I attended the trial of 20 men accused of being members of Hizb ut-Tahrir, a Muslim extremist group banned here in Tajikistan. It was one of the more disturbing things I’ve seen in a long while, maybe ever.

First of all, even though the trial is supposed to be open to everyone, I had to talk my in by flashing Christine’s business card around. Fortunately Hamida, my translator, did most of the talking or I might have gotten us in trouble.

When we finally got into the courtroom, the first thing I noticed was the cage. The big, wrought-iron, floor-to-ceiling cage that takes up about 1/5 of the courtroom. This is where the defendant sits – in this case, it was full of about 20 guys. Although I haven’t met any of them, I feel that I know some of them because I’ve interviewed their families for my project. I know that they have been tortured at the “6th Department,” the Ministry of Internal Affairs’ own special torture den. I know that they were all captured in a raid at a chaihana, or teahouse, back in February and were kept incommunicado for 2 weeks to a month, basically until they confessed to being members of HBT. I know that one of them can no longer hear out of one ear (a result of electric shocks administered to help “jog his memory”) and I know that one of them has a severe limp that he didn’t have before. I don’t know if they are guilty or innocent, but I’m pretty damn sure there’s no fair trial to try and find out.

How can a trial be fair when the defendants are all already in a cage? When the court system prioritizes written confessions above all else? When 20 men are lumped together and tried as though they are part of a conspiracy, though there’s no evidence to the fact?

The courtroom itself is, as is to be expected, really crummy. It was dirty and not air conditioned and falling apart. The prosecutor sits on the left, and the defense lawyers (about 6 of them, though it was unclear who was representing who) sit on the right by the cage. There is no jury.

I forgot to mention the guys with guns. Young army recruits in fatigues, their Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders like exceedingly deadly handbags. They keep a stern eye on the defendants and their families and put their hands on their guns whenever anyone starts crying too loud or a little kid starts to chatter.

The whole time we were there, one guy was testifying. The judge interrogated him, asking him about his relationship to Islam and referring to the written testimony where he confessed to being a member of HBT. When the guy gave testimony that differed from his written account, the judge asked him why, and the defendant said that he had been forced to write the confession. The judge played dumb: “What do you mean, forced?” The guy told him he’d been tortured with electric shocks until he signed the confession. The judge’s response? “I don’t believe you – why isn’t this stuff about torture in your confession?”

All this time, the guy’s lawyer doesn’t say anything, just sits there taking notes. I don’t think they are allowed to make an objection or anything like that. The defendant is sparring with the judge from his spot in the cage, with no help. It’s pretty unlikely he’s even been allowed to meet with his lawyer in private. I thought he was incredibly brave for standing up and talking about torture the way he did, especially in front of the Kalashnikov guys and assorted militzia who were present.

After the judge got through with his interrogation, it was the prosecutor’s turn, then finally the defendant’s lawyer was allowed to question him. Not surprisingly, he dwelt heavily on the torture issue. He asked for details about what happened, and the courtroom erupted in gasps and sobs (from the family members) as he related how rings with wires attached had been placed over his fingers, how a hood had been put on his head, how his hands and feet had been bound, and how he had been shocked with electricity until he confessed. I felt ill.

The guy looked ill too – he had big bags under his eyes and a nasty cough. None of the defendants looked very good at all, in fact. They were clearly exhausted and many looked as though their spirits had been broken. They brightened when their wives entered the courtroom, and one guy kept making faces at his little girl who was sitting next to me. I kept thinking how it must feel to see her father in a cage. The whole time, the courtroom was packed with these guys’ parents and wives and children, many of whom I have met. They are poor and uneducated and absolutely certain that their sons and husbands are innocent. The whole sordid process is absolutely awful.

By the time we broke for lunch, the defendant’s lawyer had gotten into a screaming contest with the judge because the prosecutor had been allowed to make a big speech about how these guys are interfering with democracy but the other attorney hadn’t been allowed to respond. The judge tried to shut him up, but the lawyer stood his ground and argued that in Tajikistan there’s nothing illegal about practicing one’s faith. Now, I’m never a huge fan of organized religion, but being in a country where piety can get you thrown in the electric chair shows how important it is to be tolerant of other people’s beliefs. The government here clearly views Islam as a threat and therefore prefers to oppress people than be tolerant, with the result that people turn to extremist groups like HBT. It’s not a good plan any way you cut it.

After this morning’s nightmare and the various traumas detailed in Pete’s post below, we’re glad to be heading off on vacation. Of course, we will still be in Tajikistan, but hopefully other people will be dealing with the hassles while we just lie back and enjoy the view.

Here are a few photos to give you all an idea of what it looks like here. This is the building where my (Juno's) office is. That's a pretty classic Tajik car under the overhang, a Lada if I'm not mistaken.  

This is our living room. It's a little sparse, but it works as a crash pad. Tajik houses often don't have windows from the main rooms directly to the outside - that way, the rooms stay insulated from the winter cold and the summer heat. A good idea, but a bit gloomy.  

The avenue of bread ladies at the bazaar. When you come up to them, they all start telling you that their bread is the best and the freshest! Scroll down for another great bazzar pic.  

Here's the entrance to our apartment building. That's our kitchen window on the left. The other day I came home and Pete was sitting on the (rather rickety) National Sofa getting a lesson in Tajik pronounciation from the neighborhood kids. They are all very cute and know our names, so every time we go anywhere there's a chorus of little voices singing "Hallo Peter, hallo Juno!"  

This is the main bazaar in Khujand, really a magical place - you really feel as though you're in another world when you're there.  

Back to the Day-to-Day

Juno:

Apologies to all for the lack of blogs lately. Basically, ever since we returned from Dushanbe, we’ve just been living our regular lives (“regular” as far as life is ever regular in Central Asia!). Nothing too wildly exciting to report! Also having a bit of trouble posting photos, though we managed to get one up yesterday.

Anyway, to quickly fill everyone in on what’s been happening here:

This past weekend we went to our friend Farangis’s birthday party at the Tajik Sea. They had rented a tapchan (the real name of the National Sofa) with a roof on it, and we sheltered under it from the blinding sun and ate many, many meals. The tapchan was on the grounds of a sanatorium – sounds like a place your family locks you up and throws away the key, but actually a sort of Russian retreat – nothing special, but they have a good swimming place and all these nice tapchans. We spent a lovely afternoon swimming about and eating and enjoying the great company – most of the people from my office were there.

On the way to the sea, we were stopped for the first time at one of the roadside checkpoints that intermittently appear on the roads here. It was just us and a non-English-speaking taxi driver, so we just handed over our passports and hoped for the best. The guy kept asking us about our “registratze” and, while we suspected we knew what he meant (a sort of “get out of jail free card” carried by the longer-term international staff here) we just played dumb, shook our heads, and kept saying “we don’t understand Russian or Tajik” in Tajik. This strategy, combined with the excessive deference of the driver, seemed to do the trick, and after a few minutes we cruised on.

That evening, we went round to the Aussie’s house for the 4th of July BBQ we Americans had pressured them to throw. They agreed, but insisted on calling it “Goddamn Day” which we all thought was hilarious. (They call us the goddamns, as in “goddamn yanks.” It’s great.) We all pitched in and put together a jolly time – cooked up some burgers, ribs (man was it good to eat pork!), peach cobbler – it was solid. Then we all rocked out to some Bon Jovi. No patriotic songs were sung, but we had America in our hearts….

In other news, some interesting developments on my project. The local extremist Islamic organization, Hizb ut-Tahrir, is in the news a lot here because of a crackdown on its members. While they are a bit heavy on the propaganda for my taste, HBT is no terrorist organization, and its members are usually arrested for passing out leaflets in the bazaar, or some other such triviality. However, the governments here and in other Central Asian countries like to use alleged HBT membership as an excuse to throw people in jail, and now, with the war on terror, they have an even greater license to do as they please.

Lately I’ve been interviewing some people related to accused HBT members. I have no idea if they are in HBT or not, but their story is a horrific one. I will spare you all the details, both because they are gruesome and because, frankly, I don’t want to endanger my sources in such an open forum (I know it sounds mysterious and a little absurd, but people here are really afraid to talk about this stuff), but suffice to say they make Abu Grahib look like preschool. No lawyer will represent them, either because they are in bed with the prosecutors or because they are afraid of what will happen if they are perceived to be representing “terrorists.” While they wait to get a court-appointed lawyer (not much better than having no lawyer from what I understand) the trial proceeds though they remain unrepresented. It’s shocking and very depressing, and there’s next to nothing I or anyone else can do.

Anyway, that’s what I’m up to. Also developing a training for local law students on persuasive legal writing and critical thinking. The training will be held this Saturday and I’m a bit nervous that the students will think I’m a silly ass! Plus, I’ll be training through a translator, which is a royal pain. I’ve been studiously trying to learn Russian, but that damn alphabet is so impossible! 10 vowels! Who ever heard of such a thing? To the credit of my “Take Off in Russian!” book I can now say “Thank you for the borscht!” Still waiting for someone to hand me some borscht so I can practice….

Pete is trying to get a bit more specific in his photo work, having thoroughly documented everyday life in Khujand. He has hired himself a translator and is visiting various orphanages, hospitals, farms, and a government-run “hostel” where sex workers and drug users live – trying to document the need for (and lack of) humanitarian aid here. I will leave the details to him for a later date. He’s also been hired to design a mural for the youth center associated with the hostel, so now he’s trying to figure out what Tajik at-risk youth think is cool. Quite the challenge, I’m sure.

I think that’s about all for now. Not too exciting, I’m afraid, but we should have some more good stuff for you all soon enough. I will admit I have been a little homesick the last few days as the novelty of being in Khujand has worn off. At the same time, I am sad to be leaving one month from today – it feels like there is much to be done here, though I’m not at all sure I would be able to do any of it! So much bureaucracy, so much fear, so little attention from the rest of the world. It’s all very intimidating, and 2 months is just enough time to begin to grasp all of the problems and wonder how to go about fixing them.

Landscape from early in the drive from Dushanbe to Khujand.