2003-10-08 - 10:38 a.m.
Some days I wake up with little to do in Xisarak. The trip into Tashkent at times is burdensome and village days are quiet. One of my days off work is Saturday. But school is in session on Saturday and the weekly teachers meeting is held at the end of the day. I like to attend this meeting because it is here that I can bring up problems or suggest ideas. I dread this meeting because often I sit for two hours and not speaking, listening to the doldrum of our director's lecture. So when I rambled into school this past Saturday it was with a head of meloncholy indecision. To sit around all day during lessons waiting for the teachers’ meeting or to head to Tashkent and finish some administrative work or send some emails. My aloofness was erased when I met my Supervisor in the teachers lounge.
“We have just received a phone message from the Rayano (Board of Education). Our students should also go to cotton. On Monday they want us to leave.” He held a small notebook with a handwritten text. “It says here,” he said, “that students should bring bedding and the school should provide food and drink for ten days. Teachers must also prepare their things.
5SSP has been exempt from cotton service since its inception in 1996. As a boarding school, the students are required to pass an entry test for admission. And as I listened I began to learn more. The former District Mayor established 5SSP. During his term, the school was exempt from cotton under his influence. After he moved on to a Ministry position, the new Mayor attempted to include the school, but the Rayano had always met the number quota without needing to include 5SSP. So when Faxridden, the Rayano for Parkent District, had his office call 5SSP school today, it came as a small surprise. Small in that this being Uzbekistan, no order from the government is too surprising. My Supervisor continued. He thought perhaps the decision went a little deeper. “The Deputy Mayor is not a friend of our school director,” he said. “He and Jamolaka do not like each other,” said my Supervisor. And then the story grew. Jamolaka, our director, used to serve as Deputy Mayor. He was demoted from this position to teacher, then promoted again to School Director. Meanwhile, his replacement, the new Deputy Mayor, sent his son to 5SSP. The boy was a problem child and a poor student. In keeping with the rules of the school, after receiving poor grades for three consecutive quarters, he was asked to leave. In response, the new Deputy Mayor put pressure on the Rayano to reinstate his son at 5SSP. Jamolaka refused. My Supervisor felt that the bad blood between local government and school director had some connection with the new decision to send us to cotton.
My frustration was separate from my interest in the gossip of local politics. Cotton is a miserable service for students. Although the kids might say they enjoy missing class and perusing with each other without parent supervision, the facts are plain. Conditions are poor, work is long, and the students miss a month of schooling. Plus, for those not picking their quota, they are made to pay. In addition, students are required to pay for the lousy meals fed to them. It’s altogether a mess brought on by the communists and leftover to haunt Central Asia.
My position as a Peace Corps Volunteer, at times, can carry clout in Uzbekistan, especially in Parkent. Therefore, when my Supervisor walked the two blocks down the road and across the creek bridge to the Rayano office, I joined him. We found Faxridden surrounded by school directors, encircled and chatting. My Supervisor greeted the entire group as is the Uzbek custom, and then pulled Faxridden aside. “I am only checking on a message we received from your office. We should go to cotton?” said my Supervisor. “Monday,” was the reply. Then Faxridden greeted me. I spoke with him coldly. Then I told him in my best Uzbek that I was upset because my students were sent to cotton. He responded that the best students can stay. I replied that was not right and then asked him why I came to Uzbekistan to give help if my students would be gone for a month and a half picking cotton. Then I asked him what I was to do for one month. He was slightly embarrassed and then said that he would see what he could do.
Politics is a passion of mine. From my studies and experience, I have learned that there are many ways to accomplish the same goals. These ways can be one in the same but taken differently with different people. I thought through the conversation with the Rayano before it happened. And looking back I critique myself with a cynic’s eye. I should have pulled the Rayano aside, away from his subordinates, and then given my spiel. But, the weight of my words was felt. As we walked back, my supervisor broke a huge grin. He just kept laughing. “Was that too much,” I asked. “No,” he said. “It was good.” He smiled again. The result remains to be seen. But, all things political relate. My supervisor needs to ask the Rayano for permission to miss class if we due any traveling. Both my Supervisor and I will miss a week of classes. With me giving the “dedication to teaching-what do I do while kids are at cotton” saga to the Rayano, he is in a position to return my fire when I tell him I will miss school for two weeks to go to America.
This is just the local piece of a larger debate. In Cancun last month the WTO met. During the session, King Cotton was fearful that it was going to come under attack. King Cotton is the American association of cotton growers. These growers are mightily subsidized by the United States government (3.2 Billion dollars), taking in billions of dollars. Such large subsidies help keep US farmers in business. It also trickles up, dropping the world market price of cotton and effecting developing countries like those in Central Asia. The cotton debate in Uzbekistan is an annual event, although debate is not the correct term. Its more of an murmur of grumbles, followed by masks of painted on acceptance. Every Fall the same complaints. The same compliance. Then by winter it is forgotten until the next year. My service ends before this debate will awake again next year, but I do not plan to forget.
