The People’s Movement for Reckless Endangerment

And the plot thickens…..
I’ve done a lot of complaining about the traffic and drivers in Armenia this summer. It really is horrible and people here seem to dislike it just as much as I do.

Last week I was editing an article about the exorbitant increases in fines for traffic violations and the author just happened to mention the origins of this national affinity for dangerous driving.

By way of a brief background, there is an ‘upper class’ in Armenia, about 300 very wealthy families. Everyone knows who they are, where they live, how they got their money, and who their children are. There are many boutiques in Yerevan selling outrageously priced clothes ($100 for a plain cotton tank top, Gap quality) and these stores are known to cater solely to these families, because no one else can afford them (including yours truly). On the way out of Yerevan, you can see ‘Gago the Stupid’s’ compound perched on top of a hill. He has his own church in the compound and is currently constructing an identical mansion for his two year old son.

The sons of these wealthy families tend to drive SVUs, black shiny ones that I’m sure are really good makes and models. They get special vanity plates that have repeating numbers and letters. Not the kind of vanity plate anyone can get for a little extra money, but ones reserved especially for these families. In the past, these young, privileged men in huge expensive cars were never pulled over for traffic violations. The police would literally turn their heads and pretend not to see a red light that was run, an illegal turn, ect. This allowed and empowered the rich to drive with impunity, and they took full advantage of their ability to break the law and scare others on the road.

Praying I don't get hit by a car.

As it turns out, Average Joe (Armen) Driver got fed up with the situation and started to drive dangerously as well. Things escalated until today, when everyone drives like they don’t care if they hit little old ladies or not.

The police are trying to get the situation back under control but are being met with a lot of resistance. It used to be, complained the driver quoted in the article, that if you got pulled over you could give the officer the equivalent of $30 and get out of a $60 ticket. But with the police crackdown, drivers are stuck with their $60 tickets, which quickly double, triple, and quintuple within a couple months of non-payment. You can end up with a $1000 fine.

I thought the quote in the article was very interesting. The taxi driver bemoaned the unreasonable traffic fine scheme, which does seem a little ridiculous, but also complained that it didn’t affect the rich people because they had no trouble paying the fee anyways. He’s right, but misses the point. Rich people are always going to have an easier time paying a fine, just like most things in life will probably be physically easier for them. But on the other hand, rich people probably are not walking home from the bus, or trying to cross a busy intersection to get to work. This fight against privilege is powerless against undeserved privilege and winds up imposing a double sanction on the rest of society- exorbitant traffic fines and the risk of vehicular manslaughter every time you step out the door.

Health Watch 2008

I started a new diet. It’s called the ‘I’m so hot my will to exist is melting and I’d rather just put my head down on my desk and minimize movement than try to go get lunch’ diet. I’ve been eating a lot of watermelon. When it cools off at, oh say 11:30 pm, I tend to perk up a little and eat my daily caloric intake worth of ‘crackers,’ with quotes because despite the packaging, we all know that these have about two times too much sugar to be considered actual crackers, and that calling them such is just a euphemism for sweet, delicious cookies.

This diet is in many ways similar to that of my officemate. She told me several times that she is trying to lose weight this summer. She is on the ‘brick of ice cream and half liter of regular coke for lunch’ diet. I wonder if I should say something. I would never, EVER suggest that someone diet, or say anything about an average person’s choice of food. But, we talk about her diet at least three times a week, only because she brings it up. She clearly thinks she is making sacrifices (delicious sacrifices) and politely refuses other food. How to handle this delicate situation, I am not sure. I’ll probably err on the side of silence but it is slightly painful to watch.

Arpine's Birthday Party, her uncle explaining to me again that I have to drink the WHOLE thing.

I may have mentioned this before, but I have been informed that is it unhealthy to sip vodka. Arpine's uncle is a surgeon and everytime we are eating with him he calls on me to make a toast and then gets (kiddingly) upset when I don't finish my shot glass of vodka. He did tell me, in all seriousness, that it is a sign of alchoholism to sip vodka. It means the taste doesn't bother you because you drink it so much. I've tried to explain that if I drink the whole thing everytime I will fall over.

Finally, I had the most unintentionally terrifying experience of my life last week. We went to Victory Park, which is at the top of the Cascade, high above the city. There are several amusement park rides and they are very 'Soviet.' You see the usual suspects, the swings ride, the Viking boat one, Tilt-a-whirl, and.....the Ferris Wheel. The rides are at least 50 years old- there are vines and weeds growing through the concrete, the paint is chipped, and some of the lights of the rides are burned out. The old guy that runs them looks tired, unshaved, maybe completely drunk. He doesn't get up to do safety checks. We decided to go on the Ferris Wheel, so when an empty car came around we hopped in (ourselves). No chains or gates to keep you in the car. It was windy on the ground but as soon as we got above the treeline there were gale force winds that made the car sway back and forth. I have never been so afraid. Arpine managed to get her camera out and take this less than flattering picture. I am posting it as penance for the time last summer when I went on the Ferris Wheel with Steve Spiro and teased him by making it sway. I understand now and I am truly sorry :)

Alaska

Hello all,
It's been quite a while since I've written anything on here, but I've got good reasons. I've been in the White Mountains of North-Central Alaska, which have more grizzly bears than the White Mountains in New Hampshire, although we didn't see any.
We finished our work project, which was continuing the construction of a trail up Tabletop mountain (look it up, it'll probably take a while to find) to the tune of 750 feet, or a less impressive sounding 1/7 of a mile. Building a trail through tundra, we quickly learned, has its own pace and its own rules, just like Alaska.
A description. The first step is to take a shovel or an ax blade and cut a square of the tundra, which was anything from two inches of dry or burned grass, to three foot deep chunks of seeping moss, shrubs and saplings that could be rolled up like a carpet. The next step is to admire what a clean-looking "trail" you've made for just a minute, and then begin digging drainage ditches across the trail as fast as you can manage, because what you've just done is cut cross sections of several small rivers running through the tundra that now begin to pour onto your section, making the dry-ish dirt, mud.
So you've successfully gotten the tundra off the trail in a move that resembles hugging a three foot long wet sponge and youve gotten a couple drainages to get some of your newfound rivers off the trail. Don't wait now, because you need to get all of the organic material off of the layer of clay underneath it that will become your trail before the ground melts! That's right, it's eighty degrees out and the ground is solid ice! What's that? it started raining? uh oh. Go back to camp and cook dinner. definitely don't pass go.
You're back the next day, although the sun never went down, so who's to say, really, and you go to your spot, and stand stretching in the morning mist, scanning for moose and owls, when you realize that the section of soil you'd thought so foolishly to claim to control, maybe a little bit, is now literally swallowing you. It turns out, you've reached the right layer of clay, but there's a spring underneath it, so it's now quicksand and you're up to your calves and getting deeper. You call for help from your crew members, but they are all rolling around in gastrointestinal agony (we are bringing four of our eight members to the clinic for what seems like the same digestive disorder). Once you wrestle the ground for a few minutes and end up panting on the tundra, you know you've really gotten into building trail in tundra. It's now time to admit defeat and wait five days until you can stand on the ground you just dug up.
Building trail in the tundra is like scratching a mosquito bite, constantly, on purpose, maybe even getting paid for it. Sometimes it seems like you should just resist that initial urge to build a trail there, and the itch will go away. But it's also really satisfying, to turn tundra into some hard won trail-like state, and be able to share it with some really great people.

p.s. our crew finished more trail, per person, of any crew in White Mountains history. We had the easy go of it.

So now we're spending the next two nights on the army base in Fairbanks, getting better and cleaning up, before a celebration tour through Denali National Park. I hope everyone is doing well, and pictures will come soon.

Steve

Becky-jan

I once heard the expression, 'a nickname is like a verbal hug.' In Armenia, adding the -jan to the end of a name is like saying friend, buddy, dear, ect. A little like the diminutive form in Spanish. Adding jan isn't a big deal, it is said so quickly you can barely catch it. But, the first time someone called me Becky-jan a couple weeks ago, I could not wipe the dopey grin off my face. It was all I could do not to stand up and give a Sally Field Oscar speech. You like me, you really, really like me.

Photo of the Armenian army around WWI, from the Armenian history museum.

Qsan Yot in Hayastan

Leaving your mid twenties for the barren no man's land of your late twenties is not so bad when it's done with cake, Georgian dumplings, vodka and friends- old ones, new ones and the newest ones.

I had a great birthday weekend. ABA staff brought some cake to work, which we ate at 10:30 am. The Counterpart NIS Country Director just happened to be in Yerevan so we went out to lunch and gossiped about all things CPI. After work I went out for drinks with some ladies from work and had the most delicious watermelon punch thing. And thennnn, my friend Zara and I went to Kami, Yerevan best and only club for cool kids. We must have been doing some seriously awesome dancing because some dude sitting off to the side kept giving us two thumbs way up and perfect tens. And my mummy sent me a fabulous care package, just like at camp!, so I have hershey kisses all day long.

On Saturday I poked around some museums and met a new buddy, to whom I told all the half facts I know about Yerevan and dragged to the flea market and then all the way up the Cascade on Sunday night for some Russian beers and nightime city views.

On Sunday, Arpine took me out to the country with her 'yard friends.' We took a mashrutka (small minivan) out to the country and then her uncles picked us up and took us to a church called Khor Virap where Grigor Lushivich was imprisoned for a long time. They kept him in a hole, and low and behold, they let you go down into the hole! It was about 90 degrees and I was feeling a little 'under the weather' from the night before but they all really wanted me to go down into the hole, so I took a deep breath and went down. Like everyone in Arpine's life, her family was incredibly nice and sweet.

Then we picked up some more family and headed way, way out into the countryside to Armenia's only national park for another BBQ. It was gorgeous! We had pretty much the same meal as I did at the countryside house. We took a little hike and played some no-net volleyball.

Before heading out we stopped by Arpine's grandmother's house to say hello. Her aunt, uncle, and cousins all live with grandma in a very nice house. They keep animals and Ashok was very excited to show me all the little Wilburs!

Rule of Whose Law?*

The project I am working on here is called a rule of law project. Generally, that means promoting a society that depends on its formally written laws and legal systems to function. Rule of law means you don't speed because you could get a ticket. You don't accept bribes because the you could go to jail. You don't build an addition to your 4th floor apartment and support the whole thing with two cement posts because you will violate building codes.

The concept of a society that does not depend on formal law is tricky for us to understand because we consider a workable, if imperfect, legal system as a fundamental prerequisite to a functioning society. But it isn't necessarily so. People will work out their problems and try to find some sort of justice in the most efficient means available, whether they are written, formal, or merely understood.

This is not to say that having a strong legal system isn't good. In fact, a strong, accountable, and consistent legal system is maybe the only 'export' from the West that I have seen that doesn't come with significant drawbacks (and I've considered democracy). It's something I feel confident standing behind.

I had a conversation with an Armenian law professor and my ABA director at a case law training for judges during the first week I was here. I've been mulling it over since. Here's what I've got.

When Americans and Europeans (and others) talk about rule of law we assume a very basic concept- that of a social contract. I remember a little of my 10th grade World Civ and the idea that governments exists in order to protect people from a 'state of nature,' in which we would all run with axes. We forfeit the right to drive as fast as we want to the government for protection against those who would drive faster and more dangerously.

But what if the government, and therefore the laws, don't exist to protect the people it governs? If you are part of a larger empire, a colony, or a conquered land, the rules, the laws, and the bureaucracy would most likely be in place to benefit whoever is actually in charge. In a system such as this, the rule of law calculus is different. If you obey the law, you might avoid punishment but it is unlikely that you will be substantially better off. So, those who succeed are those who skirt the system enough to benefit themselves. Survival of the cleverest rule breakers.

In Matenadaran, the Armenian ancient manuscript museum, there are lots of maps dating back thousands of years. You see Armenia on maps with Assyria, ancient Greeks and Romans. It is often marked by an ark, the one that Noah crashed into Mt. Ararat. It is an old, old place with a storied history of great empires and crushing defeats and a distinct ethnic identity that has persisted throughout it all. But, for the last 1500 years or so, Armenians have not ruled themselves. First there were the Arabs, then the Byzantian empire, Seljuk, Mongols, Ottomans, and finally the Soviets. (thanks wikipedia!)

In some ways, 1989 was the first time in 1500 years that Armenians have been free to make their own law, without a ruling party looking over their shoulder. Of course this is a vast simplification, but I think it makes sense in some ways. Since the Russians left, Armenians have stepped into the role the ruling party that governs for their own benefit. The judiciary is a prime example. In significant cases, judges often wait to hear how they should rule from 'above.' Those that buck the trend are fired, without recourse.

So, promoting rule of law is about teaching case law, how to brief a case, strategies for questioning prosecution witnesses, but it is also about a deeper, paradigmatic shift.

ps On my walk to work this morning I saw a man shaving his nose hairs with a bic razor in the side mirror of his car while his wife sold vegetables out of the trunk. If you think this is weird, talk to my Armenian friend Alina who lived in a house in Gaithersburg, MD with roommates who were into 'furries.' If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you....

* This post, as all posts, consists of RHU musings only and should be taken with several large grains of salt. And maybe a fact check to boot.

Deep Thoughts

I just bought my Tbilisi-Istanbul ticket for August and one of the meal options was 'Low Protein.' Not vegetarian, there were three options for you guys- Indian vegetarian, Asian vegetarian or Vegan. But low protein. Who is this for? Dudes who had too much protein shake at the gym yesterday? Recovering anemics? Those who aren't superstitious, but just a little stictious?

There are lots of underpasses here, which is really nice because you can avoid crossing some street. This is a good thing because I swear it's like that 1980's videogame 'Frogger.' If you make it off the curb and all the way to the median, you are likely to get smushed in by the left hand turners.

Back to the underpasses, in the one I pass every day there are three tiny little offices. They sort of look like KGB interrogating rooms, with an empty desk, two chairs, and a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, but I've deduced that the first one is a for xeroxing and the second one is for something internet related. But the third one is a complete mystery. It is always darker than the others and has three chairs, a TV, and a little curtained off area. Every morning I walk by and there is someone different sitting in the chair, having coffee, watching TV, in house slippers. Sometimes it's an old woman, sometimes two, sometimes an old man. Ok, I guess they are all older. What is this place??? Rent a living room? I walk by at night and there's no one there so it's not a sleep over place. In my head you get up, start heading to work, realize you are an hour early, so what are you going to do? Rent a living room, that's what! Take your shoes off, have some coffee, maybe your morning cigarette, watch the news, you know.

A July Valentine

Dear man at the delivery joint who makes my sandwich,

I love you and think we should get married. You know me like few do. Every day I order ‘no fries’, and every day you do not send me a pile of fries, but instead sneak about 7 or 8 into the wrap. And not just any kind of fries! Crispy ones! I know you do this specially for me because I’ve had the menu translated and none of the wraps list ‘fries’ or ‘potatoes’ as an ingredient. It’s like you know that I can’t make myself order fries, but secretly I want some. So you loving bury them in the wrap amid the chicken and vegetables, knowing that I will find them and be happy. I especially appreciate this during these ugly days of the law journal Write On competition.

So thank you.

Love,
Becky

Ps This may be too much to ask but I will hope against all odds that you are taller than 5’7” or else our wedding pictures will be really awkward.

Becky Does the Dancing

I have a friend! Her name is Arpine and she is my Armenian teacher. She was co-opted into the both positions of Armenian teacher and RHU bff by my Russian teacher, Larissa Markovnah (Markovnah meaning 'son of Mark,' it's called her patronic name and it indicates respect). Arpine is incredibly sweet, patient and fun. She invites me to do all sorts of things with her friends and family. She is Larissa Markovnah’s deputy at the language school and oversees a group of 23 year old girls who are all English language teachers. We went to the zoo last weekend and they tried to teach me a bunch of words.

Me the English teachers. Arpine is next to me in orange.

Note the sad-looking camel with a floppy hump.

I remember three- artiv is eagle, kapack is monkey, and Dee is Horse. The zoo was really depressing, animals in very small cages, they all looked thin and sort of sick, and people kept throwing food at them. One of the baboons flipped out after a little girl hit it in the head with an apricot. He jumped on the bars and hissed with his huge teeth showing. Scared the pants off me!

Lots of meat. This picture not dedicated to my sister. That would be mean.

Arpine also has a great group of ‘yard’ friends. They all grew up in the same or neighboring buildings, hence the name. She invited me over to her house for dinner a couple weeks ago and the whole group came over to say hi. Last weekend Arpine invited me to go to her family’s country house for what can only be described as National Water Fight Day. It’s an Armenian holiday that is supposed to date back to pagan times and involves good luck if you ‘water’ someone. This gives everyone free reign to dump water on you all day long. We took a van out the country and had to close the windows because there were children lining the streets who would launch plastic bags filled with water into the windows of the van. That was actually kind of scary.

Armenian BBQ!

We got to the country house, which is the very modest place where he grandfather spends most of his time, and immediately began setting up for the famous Armenian Barbeque. It involves lots of bloody meat and skewers and smoke but boy is it good. The country house is a two story cement building surrounded by 40 feet of grape vines and fruit trees. When the BBQ was ready we set up a big table on the porch upstairs, poured the vodka, and ate. About ten minutes into eating the toasts began. To friendship, to Americans, to love, and finally, to beautiful sex. When I heard that one I choked on my cup full of vodka.

Arpine, Becky, Rubina- post toasts

A couple brief asides:
- Russian and Armenian generally do not use articles. It’s really nice when trying to learn the language, less nice when editing legal articles. I am forever inserting ‘the’ and ‘a’ and deleting awkwardly places ones.

- During one of my Armenian lessons, I made poor Arpine describe the way dating works here. Several times I’d asked her if two people were boyfriend/girlfriend and she assured me that they were ‘just doing the friendship.’ But then there was another situation in which one of her friends was angry at a guy with whom she had done the friendship for awhile and then he moved on to another girl. So clearly there’s something else implicated in this doing of friendship. Arpine explained that it encompasses everything from the initial expression of interest through group dates until the first kiss. Pretty much, if you are going to be doing any k-i-s-s-i-n-g, you better be ready for love, marriage and the proverbial baby carriage.

So back to the toast, one of Arpine’s cousins stood up and gave a toast, in English, to beautiful sex. I choked on my vodka again and I turned with big eyes to Arpine and she explained it was a toast for women, you know, the beautiful gender. Ahhhhha.

After barbeque we cleaned up, dumped some more water on each other, played cards, the cousins and friends tried out some English words on me, and I made them laugh my asking everyone their name and birthday (my only two Armenian sentences thus far). Then someone put on some Armenian music and Arsen decided to teach me how to dance. I wasn’t horrible but I also don’t think there will be any repeat performances. Arsen and I really hit it off and by the end of the night this cheeky lil pup was looking at pictures in my camera and referring to his mother and father in law.

Becky Does the Dancing

We had a second round of food with some absolutely amazing stewed lamb and more vodka and awkward toasts in English. Then a couple strolls up and down the street, fruit, cookies, and clean up. A really fun day.

A pretty view from the country house.

Undocumented Alien Bunnies

OK I have snapped. Driven mad by the heartless bunnies munching my baby lupins and the threat to our way of life, I have gone all “Lou Dobbs” on their asses and built “protective custody enclosures” to keep the bunnies out. If I can only catch one, I would interrogate it: Why can’t they stay in their own area? What’s so tasty about my lupins?

Diane in Tibet

We arrived in Llasa on the evening of July 3rd after a 24 hour train ride from Xining. The ride was a combination of hours of brown, dusty high plateau scenery and breathtaking snowcapped mountain peaks. We saw lots of yaks, wild Tibetan donkeys and sheep and hundreds of small collections of Tibetan tents, colorfully decorated and inhabited by sheep and yak herders. The time flew by for the most part, the exception being that I had about 6-7 hours of altitude sickness (headache, stomach ache, vomiting), which is not easy to manage when the quarters for 4-6 people are about the size of our bathroom at home. But that passed and I spent the time looking out the window at some pretty amazing sights, reading and talking. Our group consists of 26 very different people, half of whom are couples. I knew many of them before the trip. One week in, we are all getting along pretty well.

We arrived at 10 pm and were greeted by a flock of Chinese security. It seems we are one of the first groups to be let into the country after the March uprisings and the government is very worried about more protests. It is fascinating to hear the story of what happened from our guide who is Chinese and has the official government story of the uprisings.

We went immediately to the hostel which is run by the Chinese government. There we were greeted by at least half a dozen officials who also looked very worried but eager to impress us with their hospitality. Our rooms are pleasant and recently refurbished and the hotel staff is pleasant enough, but everyone around here seems tense and nervous.

Fourth of July! Yeah America!

Today we got a slow start...they are worried that the Americans will keel over and die from the altitude so they are continually telling us to walk slowly and rest often. In the morning we visited the Jokhang Temple, the most magnificent temple with hundreds of worshipers circling the building (clockwise). The sights, smell and sounds of the place were something to behold. There Tibetans circle the temple singing mantras, many lying prostrate on the ground chanting and praying to Buddha. They place yak butter in to keep the candles lit and the intense smell of incense is everywhere. The temple is filled with brilliant colors decorating each little chapel inside. This temple was built in 639 AD by the king Songsten Gampo. Steve, I thought of you hundreds of times today.

Have to leave to go see the Potala Palace now, but will send more tonight.

Love

Steve at JFK

I spoke with Steve briefly after he arrived at JFK from Serbia and before he got on his flight to Alaska, but haven't heard from him in the past couple days. Don't expect there will be much contact while he is in rural Alaska.