Kyrgyzstan

I have finished and submitted my term paper for Democratization in the Middle East. Naturally, I did a democracy assessment for Kyrgyzstan. While not in the Middle East per se, it is a majority Muslim country that before 1991 had never been.

The research was the most fascinating thing. Taking my conversations with people about the nature of Central Asian identity beyond the talking and finding what actual scholars had to say was a real treat. I didn't find anything particularly shocking, really. In fact, most of what I thought I would find, I found. Still, it was good to see the process in action.

Conclusions: Slow and steady wins the democratization race. The final piece including bibliography came out to be just shy of 50 pages. As I understand it, the instructor only wanted 20-25. Ho hum.

It will be posted here when I've edited the little bugger sufficiently. Perhaps someday I'll turn it in to the big project that we always dreamed about.

Came to a Bridge

It looks as though I'm going to be staying in the States for the summer. Does this bug me? Sure, it does. I had really, really wanted to get back out there and at the very least do a bit of language training in Anatolia. The big target was, as usual, Central Asia.

So I shall stay in Denver. There is ample time to read and bike and drink tea. Perhaps I'll climb a mountain or two.

First Mate

Since I still haven't figured out, and refuse to learn, how to put an accent grave over my "e"s, I will simply hope that it can be deduced that I am refering to mate the drink and not mate the friend.

My new gourd is finally conditioned, so I broke it out last night and filled the little guy up with regular yerba mate. It was less than exciting, far more mate-y than I had thought it would be. In previous brews minus the gourd, I've simply used roughly equivalent tea measures. But a third of the gourd! Holy cow.

So after two infusions, I dumped it and tried out some mate chai, which is exactly what it sounds like, except this time I used a bit less. Same sorts of difficulties. I think one of the bigger problems is having bits of the stuff fly into my mouth. Perhaps I should try a new bombilla or something. Who knows? I still like the stuff.

Group Rights

Article 27 of the United Nations International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights reads:

In those States in which ethnic, religious or linguistic minorities exist, persons belonging to such minorities shall not be denied the right, in community with the other members of their group, to enjoy their own culture, to profess and practise their own religion, or to use their own language.

In Jack Donnelly's Universal Human Rights in Theory and Practice, 2nd ed., he mentions this article while pointing out that it is the people constituting these minorities and not the minorities as minorities that possess these rights.

Nothing particularly groundbreaking, just interesting. He addresses self-determination in a later chapter; I'll report on what I find there when I get there.

Je Recueille de Beaux Objets

Just watched The Science of Sleep.

Yeah, it was a bit difficult to work through, to be honest, but it was still one of those perfectly strangely wonderfully beautiful films that I like so well.

It occurs to me that a lot of my "art life" has been spent adoring films like this, or music like Edith Piaf, Bessie Smith and Cinematic Orchestra, or sculpture like Claudel's "Waltz" and paintings like Wyeth's "Christine's World." I suppose that these sorts of things inspire the quickest and deepest emotional responses; it's that odd love/sad thing that happens. Billie Holiday makes me want to climb a tree and cry while doing it. There must be a name for that emotion.

Let's call it "cry" + "love" = CROVE. Billie Holiday's music is crovely.

Sweet.

4000

4000 today in the Fertile Crescent

From Laurence Binyon's For the Fallen:

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

What is Poverty?