2003-07-08 - 11:46 a.m.
Authority. A ride in a taxi, a visit to the post office, a pit stop to eat lunch, or a red carabiner with a watch and compass are usually the stage for usage of a simple, sarcastic phrase Uzbekistan Peace Corps Volunteer like. This phrase helps to remind ourselves where we live and work, and is most often pulled out because a task made simple at home, in America, was made excruciatingly difficult here; "But remember Kevin," my PCV friends might say as I shout my frustations. "You live in a ruthless, yet effective police state."
Uzbekistan's communistic past has many remains. One is the propoganda billboards which are everywhere. When I first arrived, I could not read these signs, but as my language skills increased, I slowly began to make out some phrases. A favorite of mine is the sign that repeats itself everywhere: "Uzbekistan's future is as a great state." But, our PCV favorite, "the ruthless, yet effective" phrase was spoken by a non-native English speaker at a volunteer training session. This is not on billboards, but was an attempt at justification of future treatment towards us on the streets by militizia. It somehow explains the idea behind many problems we face, even on a daily basis, where the political philosophy of order outranks the philosophy of individual freedom. Simple put, in Uzbekistan, authority rules.
A great example of this is Kasimjon, my counterpart. Kasim recently received an invitation to visit the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. He is hoping to use this invitation to motivate his bosses to pay for a plane ticket to the U.S. At Chatkal, the park where Kasim works, they are spending gobs of time and money trying to train and revitalize the visitors center, tourism, and community education. World Bank even has a hand (and therefore money) in this project. But, Kasim has been hesitating. "Kasim," I say. "You need to let me know if you will be able to visit America or not so I can make a plan for August." Kasim's response had been excuses of not having time to ask, etc... Not until yesterday did the truth come out. Kasim finally said that he was going to ask the main boss in Tashkent, but was afraid. I tried to explain the American ideal of "nothing to lose." He seemed to get it. But, Kasim, a pillar of his community, is a product of 45 years of communistic thinking. To Kasim, his boss, the big guy in Toshkent is not someone he initiates conversation with, much less ask for $1,000 to visit America. Nevertheless, projects such as these are in the outline for goals and the World Bank has the money to give. Really, its fear of authority.
Kasim is not alone in his feeling of intimidation. The militzia has been aggressive this summer in their harrassment. Peace Corps Volunteers, including myself, have not been spared. Last month, in Olmalik, while I was visiting a fellow volunteer, John, and his host-family got a knock at the door. It was 10:30pm. Three militzia men entered. John and I came from his room. They started asking us questions, mostly at John, about his work. "Do you like to write a lot about your work here," they asked. And "Do you like to fight with people," asked another, as he made a jabbing motion with his fists. "We're Peace Corps," we said. "Tinchlik! Tinchlik! PEACE, PEACE," we responded. Then they took down our identification information and left.
John and I had a typical PCV reaction. We laughed at the line of questioning. "Do you like to fight?" John said to me. "What kind of question is that? Well, yes, of course I like to fight. Who doesn't. I'm in the Peace Corps and our first day in training is spent boxing." But these little things get annoying, and for Americans are tough to swallow.
For the past three days, I've been working in Toshkent. For the past three days, I have been stopped in the Metro and asked for ID. This is most annoying and my responses have been less than adequate. The first time I ask what was the problem and showed my ID. I was annoyed and bitter and the militzia was trying to pull the bully thing, but simply took his time and then sent me on my way. Vinegar! Yesterday, again I was stopped. This time I was not so hurried, and so I pulled out my Uzbek Kevin and shook hands, small talked, and just explained that I was Peace Corps. Never had to show my ID, which is a vitory. Honey! And today, well, I was a little of both. But, I was at first friendly with the militzia man, then ending our conversation before I got dragged into a long, time consuing ordeal. His reason for stopping me, I learned, was the red carabiner, or clip, that hangs from my bag. This carabiner, about four inches long, has a clock and compass. My cousin Terry gave it to me before I left. It mesmorized him. As we talked, he only looked at my bag, not me. And then I thought about it. The two "pull-overs" the two days before also had men looking at my bag. I thought they were worried about its contents, but I now realize it was my watch clip.
Things we take for granted in America, like individual freedom or red carabiner watch clips, are not to be taken lightly when you live in a "ruthless, yet effective" police state.
