Carpetblogger

Update on THY "Wrong Runway Landing Pilot"

Newsflash!

Thanks to astute, Turkish-reading Short Blonde Neighbor, the "wrong runway landing" pilot has resigned, ostensibly because of withering mockery from this blog. Our Turkish isn't that great but we're pretty sure we're credited in that story.

Also, according to the unimpeachably accurate Trend News, "Reasons of this landing were connected with the pilot's mistake. The evacuated passengers are interested in this case and intend to file a suit to compensate a moral damage."

Carpetblogger is still standing by to negotiate on behalf of the morally damaged Kathmandu Correspondent. We'll aim much, much higher than the five kupati she might otherwise deserve due to pre-existing damage.

As big fans as we are are post-Soviet conspiracy theories, we're not buying rumors that the plane was filled with Ukrainian special forces (CKC says the plane was half full, mostly of Israeli tourists) or the former interior minister, with whom the government wanted to consult. They totally would have used AeroSvit for that mission then promoted the pilot.

Stalin's Carpets

Surprisingly, there aren't that many museums or monuments to Stalin anymore. I guess killing more people than Hitler and drawing national borders that are still causing inter-ethnic bloodshed doesn't merit as much admiration as it used to.

Except in Gori, Georgia.

Located about 80 kms from Tbilisi, Gori probably doesn't have much more going for it than it did when  იოსებ ბესარიონის ძე ჯუღაშვილი (Ioseb Vissarionovich Jugashvili. If you haven't noticed, I love the look of Georgian script) was born there in 1878. For example, a lot of people still don't have running water in their apartments. Still, you grasp the tail of fame where you can and Gori residents embrace their native son more intensely than ordinary Georgians do, which is to say, pretty intensely.

I had heard the museum was lame so I wasn't disappointed to find out it, in fact, was. I was much more disappointed that I had to pay $10 for a ticket. (Full disclosure: this was my second visit to a Stalin museum. The first was in Batumi in 2006, described here. I didn't like Batumi.)

Built just after his death in 1953, it's a typical Soviet-style museum, in which a bunch of uncurated, unanalyzed crap  -- newspaper articles and photos and random memorabilia -- is thrown up on the wall ("unanalyzed" is probably the kindest criticism of this museum. It's a lot like the Nixon Library in Yorba Linda, California in that sense).

Not only that, it's all in Russian and Georgian, it's freezing cold and museum ladies stop to stamp your ticket every time you enter a new room, even though you're the only one in the museum. Though you have to admit, their stamp is pretty awesome.

Neither of my Georgian colleagues had been in the museum before. One was excited to see it, the other less so. Naktia was particularly reluctant to have her picture taken in front of one of the multiple statues, suggesting that her hostility is a response to the repatriation of her grandfather.

"Repatriation?" I asked. "What does that mean?"

"Sent to the gulag," she responded. "No one heard from him again."

"That's a completely reasonable point of view," I said. "You're not cutting off my head in that photo, are you?"

But even she softened up a little when we got to the room with all the gifts Stalin received from his admirers within the empire Formerly Known as Evil. How could you not be impressed by carved chess sets from Tajiks? Ivory boxes from the North Koreans? Silk weavings from the Chinese? Wooden shoes with his and Lenin's face on them from the Dutch. Wait, what? The Dutch?

Naturally, I went straight to the personalized face carpets bestowed by Turkmen and Azeris. The Turkmen carpet was seriously beautiful, even if Stalin's features were oddly Asiatic.  As  gifts, personalized carpets really do stand the test of time, even for people who are not dictators. However, the going price for one these days in Baku is about $600 and I can't think of many friends on whom I'd spent $600 for a carpet. If they were dictators, maybe.

Disappointingly, the Stalin Museum has no gift shop. However, Tbilisi's flea market is one of the most reliable places for Stalin memorabilia, if you're in the market for that sort of thing. (Are you also in the market for Hitler memorabilia? That's what I asked myself after I bought a 1950's alarm clock with his visage on it in Tallinn. I told myself it will would add a bit of dictatorial balance, sitting next to my Mao alarm clock. But no, I am actually opposed to Hitler memorabilia. I realize this is incoherent. I guess I got a thing for dictators).

Soviet History in a Bottle

Knowing my taste for Georgian wine, my Georgian friend told me to watch out for a delivery he had sent over to my hotel. "Make sure they give it to you," he warned.

Having already purchased six bottles at my beloved World of Wine/Urine. I worried that I had already reached maximum capacity (Carpetblogger Travel Hint #1: half empty suitcases are convenient for transporting wine and carpets). If it didn't all fit, I figured I could always go local and drink a bottle before leaving for the airport at 3 am. Or on the plane.

A wine gift bag arrived and as I pulled the heavy, dark bottle out, dirty flakes of old label fell onto the bed. Capped with what looks like a heavy glob of dark chocolate, the bottle seems to have spent time in the ground or a dusty cave. A wood tag tied around the neck indicated the contents were vintage 1961 and "Rkatsiteli." The bottle leans slightly to the right.

From the Cradle of Wine, a blog devoted to Georgian wines, says this was one of the most popular varietals in the Soviet Union.

Rkaksiteli (pronounced "rkah-tsee-tely"; Georgian რქაწითელი; literally "red stem") is a variety of grapes grown along the Black Sea coast of Georgia, used to make dry white table wines of the Kakhetian style...

Rkaksiteli grapes are often blended with other grapes: with Khikhvi and Mtsvane to produce Rkatsiteli Khornabujuli wine; with Mtsvane to make the aged white wine Tibaani; with Chinuri and Chkhaveri for sparkling wine; with Saperavi and Cabernet Sauvignon for a semi-dry rose wine; or with Khikvi and Mtsvane for the fortified white port Kardenakhi. Rkatsiteli is one of the oldest varieties of grapes in the world; clay vessels have been found in Georgia with Rkatsiteli seeds dating from 3000 BC.

We can all agree that this is a pretty awesome gift.  I do think there are some pros and cons to consuming a bottle of 47 year old wine made during Soviet times, however. Not that I doubt the skills of the mid-century Soviet winemakers in Georgia, but there's a reason why you don't see a lot of 1961 Volgas or Zhigulis on the streets any more. Other, more tangible considerations than "quality" and "longevity" frequently guided production decisions in those days.

But I think the best reason not to drink this is that it is history in a bottle. The early 1960s were the era of the Khrushchev thaw, when it began to become more OK to say that Stalin had made a few mistakes. The Berlin Wall went up. Khrushchev gave millions of landless peasants the right to migrate to the cities and built millions of gray, poorly made five-story apartment blocks ("Krushchyovkas") to house them, shaping the psychological landscape of Soviet cities for decades. In Georgia, dissident and first democratically-elected President Zviad Gamsakhurdia began resisting Soviet efforts to Russify Georgians. There was a lot going on when the wine was bottled.

Where did this wine sit out the stagnation of Brezhnev's 70's? Why wasn't it drunk by a Georgian looking over the precipice of the '80s? How did it survive the chaos, civil war and hardship of Georgia's first years of independence?

I think it has too many stories to drink.

Instead, it will sit on the shelf, next to the "Za Karabagh!" ("To Karabagh!) Jubilee vodka I bought in Baku (on the left) and the limited edition Turkmenbashi vodka from Ashgabat (in the green cylinder).

Welcome to Georgia, II!

Carpetblogger to Georgian Friend Two: "So, was Badri killed or not so much?"

Georgian Friend Two: "Oh, I don't really think he's dead."

I so heart Georgia. (For coverage of previous Georgian conspiracies, see here.)

Welcome to Georgia!

Carpetblogger to Georgian Friend: "So was Badri killed, or not so much?"

Georgian Friend: "Oh, he probably killed himself. To get back at Misha."

I heart Georgia.

Bad Blogger

I've got nothing from Tbilisi-stan. No carpets. No photos. No heartwarming tales or wacky adventures. Only one memorable meal (where else but at my beloved World of Urine?). I did, however, run into longtime blogfriend Wu Wei in the hotel lobby and made unfulfilled plans to meet up with Viola in Vilnius who was also in town.

There's nothing good going on in Georgia right now. In fact, I spent a portion of my week there reliving my experience in Baku. And not in a good way. I worry a lot about what's going to happen on January 5th.

Anyway, we'll be back to regularly scheduled programming soon. Kurban Bayram is this week so stay tuned. I'll be headed down to the carpet carwash to photograph the mass slaughter. You don't want to miss that.

Great News, America! Russian NGOs Are On The Way!

Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty reports today that Russia is going to send NGOs to America to work on different issues.

In one of his few explicit references to the United States in his November 28 speech, President Putin suggested that unnamed Russian nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) should "be able to work in...the United States and other countries in an environment as comfortable as that which we provide for their counterparts working in Russia," kremlin.ru reported.

"Vremya novostei" pointed out on November 29 that Putin is simply reviving an old Soviet propaganda technique by claiming that his country can help protect human rights abroad...The paper pointed out some specific cases that became the objects of Soviet propaganda campaigns, like the one in the early 1970s involving Angela Davis, a U.S. civil rights activist and communist organizer. The daily suggested that "the only thing [the Kremlin] needs to do now is find a contemporary Angela Davis." 

A contemporary Angela Davis? Oh please. Everyone knows that communism, like a television from the Bolshevik factory in Kharkov, is a product no one's buying. Oh, Russia, bear rising in the east! Export your strengths!

A noted expert on NGOs, Carpetblogger is offering some suggested areas where Russia could contribute meaningfully to US political, cultural and social development.  Gratis!

• Restaurant Design and Management: The problem with American restaurants is too often, they are focused on food and not on creating a luxe environment that enhances their diners' prestige. And American waitstaff give good service in exchange for tips. They need to be shown they are working too way too hard .
• Election Stealing: Democrats fucked up royally in the last two elections by doing a worse job stealing elections than Republicans. Since my own return to the US to open an election-stealing consulting firm has been delayed, I will consider personally giving grants to qualified Russian NGOs who will help Democrats more effectively steal the Presidential election. I'll be just like George Soros! Only without all the money.
• Devushka Lessons: Let's admit it. American women dress like men. Devuska School is an idea whose time has come. "Bitchology," seduction, walking in heels and strip teases are truly lost arts in America. We bow down to the devushkas' stiletto-clad feet. We are not worthy.
• Conspicuous Consumption: Too many Americans act ashamed of their wealth, like it's something to be hidden or wasted in investments.  They do not know the meaning of the word "elitny," the governing principle of oligarch social life. Americans continually fail to use their cars, dachas, mobile phones and wives to communicate their status in society. What do Americans know about selecting and equipping personal security staff? Decorating a dacha? Matching track suits to dress shoes? Nothing, I tell you. I think it's a huge mistake to cede any ground to Gulf Arabs on this one.

And to think I give this sort of advice away. Putie-Poot! Call me!

Carpetblogger Weighed In

A few weeks ago, when the House Foreign Affairs Committee was voting on the Armenian Genocide resolution, Carpetblogger, in a rare burst of civic participation, organized all the people we know who have professional or personal interests in the region to write letters to their Member of Congress asking him or her to, at minimum, postpone the vote until, well, never.

As a former political consultant, I know the influence genuine constituent letters can have on a congressional office but I always viewed writing my Representative as something people who are not me do. Now, I am more like a regular voter than I've ever been (I complain about the garbage and streetlights in my neighborhood like the best neighborhood activist whack job), so I visited the website of Rep. Earl Blumenauer (D, OR-03) and sent off a letter.

I had no illusions that Rep. Blumenauer, who sits on the committee and is a co-sponsor, would change his vote but as a constituent who knows a little bit about the issue, I thought I should weigh in. The Producer did as well, as did about a dozen other folks.

If you have been living under a rock and don't know why this resolution is such a spectacularly bad idea, read this, this and this.

I'm pretty sure it was Carpetblog's organizational efforts that resulted in the postponement of the floor vote, much more so than the opposition of all the former Secretaries of State and the whole of the Bush Administration (though in all truthfulness, realizing I held the same position as the Bush Administration made me pause for a moment and wonder if I was actually on the right side of the issue).

The real point of this post, however, is that Rep. Earl Blumenauer (D, OR-03), failed to respond to my and the Producer's letters. I find that so very discouraging.   

Yashi Yol, Borya

We wouldn't be here today (by "we" I mean people who are not me still living in Crapistan) if it wasn't for you standing on that tank.  You were a bold, deeply flawed, highly entertaining human being. We spill sto gram on the pavement for our dead homie.

Photo by Mitya Aleshkovski, via EnglishRussia

It's a little known fact that Carpetblogger and the Producer were in Moscow the weekend of Boris' First Stand on August 19, 1991. We had gone to Moscow -- the first and only time I have been there -- on a weekend jaunt from Warsaw.

We were traveling back to Warsaw on expired visas because, as everyone who has adapted to Soviet mentality already knows, just because you have a return train ticket doesn't mean you have a seat, so we overstayed our visa one day because our original train was booked. We left Moscow the night of August 18th.

The train passed silently through unlit places like Minsk  -- places that were completely inscrutable at the time but now, just make me tired thinking about them. We shared a compartment with a young guy who whipped out a knife the size of my forearm to exuberantly give a melon the what-for. I remember that being the best melon I had ever tasted, but also convinced the young man was going to eviscerate us in our sleep. It wasn't until almost 15 years later that I figured out that the kid had to have been Uzbek and only wanted to share his melon with a couple of English speakers.

We arrived at the Belorussian border town of Brest in mid-morning to huge crowds of expressionless people standing around watching the black and white TV. Soccer, soap -- I could have cared less. We had huge problems with our expired visas. Amid all the recriminations, tears and bribery, I never once looked to see what the fuss was about.

We arrived back to our Warsaw apartment to a ringing phone. Of course, it was my mother, who knew we'd been in Moscow and were a day late coming home. Fortunately, a transcript of the conversation still exists. Let's take a look.

Carpetmother: Where have you been!?

Carpetblogger: We just got back.  We had this huge ordeal on the border..."

Carpetmother: What's happening there!? What are the people doing?!

Carpetblogger: Um. Well, they're standing in line for McDonalds. They're doing what normal people do, I guess.

Carpetmother: You don't know, do you?!!

So, we missed the big event by a couple hours.

But thanks, Boris. You created a full-employment act for a generation of consultants holding the firm conviction that if you can't solve the problem, there's money to be made in prolonging it.  Just like 9/11.

Anne Applebaum, a writer who actually "gets" this part of the world, wrote about all the ways the West was wrong about Yeltsin. Just like Lenin, he was a transitional figure, native to Russia, seizing power from one dictator and handing it over to another.

Conspiracy Planet

Frequently in this part of the world, events happen that are hugely disappointing to me, not because of their brazenness or inhumanity, but because I know I will never, ever know what really happened.

The latest example of that, for me, was the spectacular murder back in March of Maxim Kurochkin, a Russian "biznesman"/gangster shot through the heart on the steps of a Kyiv courthouse from 300 meters away.  Can you get any more early 21st Century Russia than that? (of course, there's a big difference between late 20th and early 21st Century Russia -- if it had been the former, he would have been wearing a tracksuit).

Kurochkin's killing is titillating not because of the nature of the murder -- there are unavoidable professional risks associated with being a Russian gangster -- or that it happened (Kurochkin reportedly begged the judge to let him go because he knew he was going to get capped and wanted to protect himself) but the thick sludge surrounding his relations with the oligarchs running Ukraine. If you want to learn a little about the sinews connecting Kurochkin and PM Yanukovich, knock yourself out.

One thing I've learned over the last three years is the logic one cultivates over a lifetime spent in places where rule of law functions is absolutely useless for solving these puzzles. When everything is opaque and every rumor is on equal footing, conspiracies fill the void. Instead of trying to rely on "laws," "evidence" and "facts" to sort out what's true and what's false, it's a lot more satisfying to pick a conspiracy you like and authoritatively declare it as truth at cocktail parties. No one can tell you you're wrong.

That's why conspiracies around events like the Kurochkin murder start growing faster than mushrooms in shit after a warm rain.  A friend from Kyiv told me the latest thinking is the fact that the SBU (Ukrainian KGB) hasn't yet released the body is a clear indicator that Kurochkin staged the murder so he could escape. You think that sounds nutty? When unlimited resources meet unchecked greed, anything is plausible (the sooner you learn that, the more quickly you'll be able to mentally adapt to life in the FSU).

I have lots of favorite conspiracies. What really happened to Georgian PM Zurab Zhavania? I think he was killed because he was gay. Why didn't Jesus Rasul Guliyev return to Baku in October 2005?  'Cause he's a pussy (hardly a conspiracy). Who killed Elmar Huseynli?  What really happened at Beslan? Who killed Hrant Dink? Litvinenko: WTF? All these are stories to which we will only know the end, never the middle. Your conspiracy is just as good as mine (well, probably not. I tend to err on the side of fantasy).

Most of these conspiracies will never be proved or disproved because there's nothing to be gained politically or economically by those in a position to give up the goods.  First of all, if you know enough, you'll be the next Georgiy Gongadze or Anna Politkovskaya (do you think Kurochkin's sniper/murderers are still alive? Doubt it). Secondly, what's the point?

Think about it. We have conspiracies in the US. What would happen if someone came forward with evidence proving Kennedy was murdered by the CIA or the 2000 election was stolen? First of all, there would be massive reaction and counter-reaction. There would be debate over the verifiability of the evidence.  Regardless of his motivation, the person who broke the story would become a 15-second celebrity (Mark Felt/Deep Throat, anyone?) Investigations would be launched. Laws debated.  Even if things didn't change, they would at least move in a different direction. Power dynamics would shift and alliances would form and reform.

I mean, that's the way it used to work.

The only thing worse than believing all the conspiracies is not believing any of them.  I guess what I am trying to say is that the best preparation for living in Bush-era U.S. might be living in the FSU. And, vice versa.