You have to be hard in Central Asia, Part 1

There are moments in life when you think, "How have I ended up here?"  And then there are moments when you ask yourself, "What sort of choice did I make to set off this crazy chain of events that has led to me facing immense, imminent danger (or worse) in this exact setting?"  The latter thought occurred to me as we were travelling through the Tien Shan mountain range in Kyrgyzstan, hurtling our Russian minivan straight down a mountain on unfinished roads in the middle of a torrential downpour at midnight.  A newspaper headline danced in my head: 5 Dead in Kyrgyzstan Car Accident: 1 Canadian Teacher, 1 Singaporean Student, 2 Mongolian Students, 1 Kyrgyz Driver Crash in a Remote Region of the Tien Shan.

Let's take a step back.  So, I was in Kyrgyzstan for basically the first half of April, acting as a coach and judge at the IDEA Asia Youth Forum, with a very small school group (there were 4 of us, me included).  We came to represent Mongolia, and to get a glimpse of post-Soviet central Asia, as opposed to the "Central Asia" that also encompasses Mongolia, despite its geographic isolation from the heart of the region.  And, by heart, I mean the "Stans" - Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, probably Afghanistan and, of course, Kyrgyzstan.  Our itinerary took us to Bishkek, the Kyrgyz capital, for 3 days of exploration and pre-debate tournament prep, before our hired van would drive us through the mountains to Lake Issyk Kul, a large salt water lake nestled in a mountain range that was the favoured holiday spot of Soviet cadres back in the day, as well as a nuclear sub test site.  All of us expected to find a slightly different, probably less developed (and, frankly, crappier) version of Mongolia.

We arrived in Bishkek in the early afternoon and were met at the airport by the office manager of the national office of the packaged food company that the father of one of our students heads up in Mongolia.  It was an obscure connection, but we appreciated the inside knowledge and hospitality shown by the Food Empire team, as well as how we managed to avoid the haggling and scheming that is inherent in developing world airport lounges.  The first thing we noticed as we drove into the city was the order, and the infrastructure of this part of Kyrgyzstan.  In UB, the road to the airport is an obstacle course of potholes, gravel pits and random ass holes in the pavement, but Bishkek's road was well paved, signed in Cyrillic and Latin alphabets, and even had proper exits and entrances like a real road.  

Bishkek itself was a beautiful city, the archetype of a Soviet capital.  Radiating out from Ala Too Square (see above), the central bit of the city was a seamless blend of beautiful parks, tree lined majestic boulevards, a surprising range of styles of Soviet apartment blocks, an enormous museum, and seemingly thousands of statutes and sculptures (devoted mostly to Communist themes and people) dropped here and there throughout the city.  One striking feature of the city was in its relative absence of new developments and in its lack of height, with barely any buildings exceeding the 7 stories of the White House (the main government building).   

It's when you leave Bishkek that you see why Kyrgyzstan was the 2nd poorest nation in the USSR, and why it still struggles economically.  The closest towns to Bishkek are relatively ordered, with small Soviet apartment blocks nestled into decent sized and maintained houses.  But, as you travel further away from the capital, the towns turned increasingly dusty with mud brick huts dotting the landscape, livestock hanging out in the yards of a lot of homes (some crossing the highway to eat more grass, from time to time) and either (a) the shuttered hulls of once functioning Soviet factories or (b) a complete lack of industry.  Each town though has a gleaming new mosque, though moderately sized, usually by the side of the road (see below for Kosh Kol's version).  Some towns, as they are, are more depressing than others and Balkychy (a large town on eastern edge of Lake Issyk Kul) was especially disheartening in its post Soviet crumble and destitution.

Islam in Kyrgyzstan is fascinating, and seems roughly equivalent to the place of Buddhism in Mongolia in that the Soviets (and their local henchmen) tried to stamp out the influence of religion in the country, and now people are starting to rediscover their religious heritage.  86% of Kyrgyz people are Muslim, but the way the practise their religion seems to vary wildly, with urban Kyrgyz as more likely to treat Islam as more of an ethnic marker, and less directly of a religious practise.  The rural areas are much more Muslim, but, still, I have never seen as much vodka and beer in a Muslim country as I did in Kyrgyztsan.

After nearly 5 hours in the van, we arrived at the Kapriz Rest Centre for the debate tournament.  Unlike basically everyone else, we had made our own way to the lake (mostly because I was organising the trip and I needed to lock down our transport more than a day or two in advance).  This had the advantage of actually having time in Bishkek as well as driving through the beautiful countryside at the time we wanted to go, but had the utter disadvantage of arriving to the surprise of the organising committee.  Regardless, we had arrived and we were anxious to start debating.

To be continued.....

The Debate Tournament

We were standing in the library after the first round of the debate tournament and Pat, who works for the US Treasury and coaches the debate team of an international school in town on a voluntary basis, turned to Our Dear Friend Will and I and mused, "why are any of us here?  We were all high school debaters."  ODFW agreed, but I got into debate because I lied in a job interview about the depth of my experience in debate and my enthusiasm for getting involved in extra curricular activities.  I got the job but then I had to figure out how to coach (and coordinate) a school's debating program.  So, I turned to Tess, a real high school debating champion, learnt what I needed to know and found myself with a thousand dollar budget on my first day as a graduate teacher.

In Victoria, we were part of the DAV competition, which is perhaps the largest high school debating competition in the world.  Hundreds of schools both state and private, thousands of kids, vying for debating supremacy across 4 levels.  I took my team, the VUSC Debate Mighty Ducks, to 4th place (their best result ever) and fell in love with debate.  At its best, basically, you have kids passionately arguing for (or against) solutions for the world, while thinking through the moral, political, economic and ethical considerations of their ideas.  Since most debaters are nerdburgers, it generally doesn't devolve into megalomania but is instead warmly earnest in its intent, and savagely competitive: a sport for those with brains and no athleticism whatsoever.

Mongolia doesn't have anything close to the DAV.  In fact, the national championships were hijacked by a certain school who didn't invite any other school, then declared themselves the National champions in an internal "competition."  After a month of tentative planning with Pat, the administration at school declared that the school would be hosting a tournament and that my friend Levi and I would be organizing it.  It would start in 10 days, there would be competitions for every grade, and, despite being the only school we had been working with at that point, Pat's school was not to be invited because they didn't use the same Cambridge curriculum as us.  We didn't have any kids involved below grade 9 yet, as debate had often been placed on the shelf in favour of talent shows, dysentery pandemics and other unfortunate interruptions.

And, so, Levi and I went off and did the best we could (a truly Mongolian refrain).  We pushed back the first debate by a week, invited 3 other schools including Pat's, established the format (based on DAV rules) with 3 levels, hastily put together junior and intermediate teams, put out the word for adjudicators and hoped for the best when Round 1 rolled around.  For the most part, it went well with the standard of debate varying wildly from barely coherent juniors to intensely dramatic and confrontational seniors.

Since that first debate, we have had another 2 rounds (in one day) and are now preparing for playoffs.  At our school, the kids are engaged and have worked exceedingly hard to raise their game for the pride of the school.  We've found that the best way to organize it has been to listen to the administration and then just do what we want, which is usually the more logical approach.  After Round 1, there were complaints that it was too chaotic to just put up schedules around the school and expect teams to find their way to the right classroom.  Instead, we should have had a meeting with everyone to tell them where to go.  The next time around, we put up schedules and ran it as before.  As expected, things went even better this time.

For round 2, because of the need to conduct 2 debates in a day, we said we were going to offer pizza or a snack for the debaters (and the adjudicators, who are all expats in town with jobs and obligations who had volunteered their time for the sake of debate).  We proposed a budget, waited a week, and then were turned down seemingly on a financial basis.  I ordered and paid for the pizzas myself (a not unsubstantial cost), because we had promised them and they were plainly necessary for kids to have enough energy to debate for up to 2 hours after a full day of school.  Needless to say, the pizzas were a hit and contributed a festive spirit to the day.

Unknown to anyone though, apparently it's school policy that there should be no outside food due to the dysentery pandemic ... which was caused by the school's own cafeteria months ago.  This policy had never been circulated nor mentioned to any foreign teacher nor posted anywhere.  It seems basic, but if no one knows the rules, how are we supposed to follow them.  Of course, despite the general success of the tournament so far, no thanks have been forthcoming from most figures in administration (except notably our dean of foreign teachers) for the dozens of extra hours we have put into it.

Pat was right: we are all high school debaters, if in spirit only.