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-- April 29, 2002 --
Hello, everyone,
One ring to rule them all, but in more than one language: Elvish,
English and Russian. I caught the last show on the last day of
the Tashkent run of "Blastelin Koletz," or "Fellowship
of the Ring." Fortunately for me, the dubbing was so sloppy
that I could hear many of the words in English, plus I'd already
seen it in Michigan (in English) and had read the books so I could
follow along. The poor dubbing irritated the two Fulbright researchers
I went with, Patrick and Steve, who speak Russian. In fact, the
dubbing was so sloppy that sometimes the dubbers forgot to dub
so we'd hear a couple of complete sentences in English. Incidentally,
"Frodo, "Shire" and "Gandalf" are the
same in English and Russian.
The seats at the cinema (kino) were hard to start with and even
harder after three hours, which was a negative. The ticket cost
1,000 sum, or about 65 cents, which was a plus. There were subtitles
in English on the few occasions when a character spoke in Elvish,
which was a plus. Every 15 minutes, a streamer moved across the
screen warning that this copy was authorized only for theaters
and that anybody who rented or bought it should call a toll-free
number in the United States to confidentially report this copyright
violation, which was a distracting negative.
The bottom line: Seize whatever culture and entertainment you
can, when you can.
#
On a Sunday walk, I chanced across a cemetery and adjoining mosque
a few blocks from the U.S. Embassy. Sitting on a wooden bench,
its teal-blue paint mostly weathered away, I smelled blossoms
from flowering fruit trees in a garden across the path and listened
to the hum of traffic and the birds before I wandered around.
Most of the graves are overgrown with grass and weeds, although
there were splashes of color from dandelions, from bright red-orange
tulips and from purple irises. A blooming lilac bush threw its
shadows on a couple of graves, too far away for me to smell. Elsewhere,
the first buds of the season were evident on a lone rose bush.
Some tombstones have pictures etched into the polished marble.
My favorite marks the grave of a man who died in September 1991,
the same month that Uzbekistan became independent. The picture
shows him wearing several Soviet-era medals -- symbols of his
accomplishments under the old regime, perhaps as a soldier in
the Great Patriotic War against the fascists, as WW II is called
-- pinned to his suit jacket. The old passes, the new arrives.
Many people are buried under earthen mounds, some partly covered
with grass or moss. No names, just numbers on gray stones sticking
up about a foot to 18 inches up from the dirt, 2690, 3834. It
reminded me of the old spy series on television where the theme
song went something like this: "Secret agent man, secret
agent man, they give you a number and take away your name."
#
Every culture blends its history with its arts and produces something
that isn't true history. Shakespeare gave the British an arguably
distorted view of many historical figures, most noticeably King
Richard III who may not have been the murderous ogre Shakespeare
portrayed him as. In America, our films and plays have cleaned
up and sanitized some of the not-so-pure Founding Fathers, some
Republicans claim that Oliver Stone unjustifiably slimed Richard
Nixon on the big screen and Broadway musicals have taken great
liberties with such social forces as slavery, the Revolution and
the Civil War.
Here in Uzbekistan, the opera "Timur the Great" romanticizes
the 14th-century leader Amir Timur (also known as Tamerlane) and
takes other liberties with history. Uzbek composer Alisher Ikramov's
version is heavy on warm and fuzzy family relationships, visits
from foreign ambassadors bearing gifts and Amir Timur's laudatory
words of support for the sciences, justice, trade and medicine,
all to the adoration of his people.
That was the "good" Amir Timur, my fellow Fulbrighter
Patrick observed during intermission at the Navoi Opera and Ballet
Theatre.
Other than the symbolism of helmeted soldiers carrying shields,
the opera overlooks the reality that he made his reputation as
a nomadic warrior king, not as a patron of peace and learning.
One account tells how he was "born with blood-filled palms,
an omen predicting his hands would slay many," my guidebook
says. He was an adventurer, a political and military strategist,
a sacker of cities, a plunderer of the wealth of the vanquished
and an ambitious despot who conquered more territory than any
single ruler before him. The book says, "Estimates suggest
17 million people died in a trail of blood and suffering, marked
by pyramids of skulls, that surpassed even Mongol barbarity."
(Note: Uzbek friends have told me that he got a bum rap and that
the Russians distorted his record to make him appear to be a butcher
instead of a noble leader.)
#
Contrasts of luxury and loathing in Bukhara, a 2,500-year-old
Silk Road city:
Until 1920, southern Uzbekistan was under the nominal rule of
the wealthy, decadent emirs of Bukhara although real power rested
with Russia, first under the czars and then under the Bolsheviks.
From 1911-1918, the final emir built his ornate Summer Palace
- known as the Palace of the Moon and Stars because of its décor
- on the outskirts of town. The conspicuous consumption here reminded
me of the show-offness of Versailles or the oceanside mansions
of Newport, Rhode Island. Furnishings came from Europe, from China,
from Russia, from Japan. There are imported porcelain and stained
glass, rugs from Turkmenistan, a three-sided mirror which legend
says will fulfill a woman's wishes after 40 days. Concubines from
the emir's harem dove into the pool for apples, according to another
legend. (The emir had four official wives and 40 unofficial wives.)
I doubt it was much consolation to his poverty-stricken, oppressed
subjects, but he was able to used the palace for only two years
before being exiled from the country. How far the mighty can fall.)
For comparison, consider Zindon, an 18th-century prison housing
political dissidents, criminals, debtors and unfortunate innocents
even into the early Soviet era.
Its most infamous feature is the brick-lined Bug Pit, 20-plus
feet deep, infested with vermin. A sign informs visitors that
it was "reserved for the least favorite prison inhabitants."
My guidebook calls it "the foulest pit in Asia." The
best known of those least favorites was Col. Charles Stoddart,
an ill-fated British army officer and diplomat, who antagonized
the emir ("a sadistic, paranoid madman") of the day.
He spent three years as a prisoner, tortured and abused. Ultimately,
Stoddart and a fellow English officer who arrived later in a doomed
effort to persuade the emir (who had "paranoid suspicions")
to free him were ordered to dig their own graves. That task accomplished,
they were publicly beheaded or, according to an alternative account,
had their throats slashed.
Eric
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