Category: News

European official, Azeri opposition MPs discuss human rights, Karabakh

Turan news agency
7 Apr 04

BAKU

The implementation of Azerbaijan’s commitments to the Council of
Europe and problems of democracy were discussed at a meeting between
Council of Europe Secretary-General Walter Schwimmer and opposition
MPs at parliament, namely Ali Karimli [head of the reformist wing of
the People’s Front of Azerbaijan Party], Mais Safarli [head of the
Compatriot Party] and Qudrat Hasanquliyev [head of the United
Azerbaijan People’s Front Party].

Karimli drew Schwimmer’s attention to the problem of political
prisoners which has not yet been resolved although Azerbaijan has been
a Council of Europe member country over the past three years. Karimli
said, in particular, that his aide Ramiz Tagiyev has been held in
custody over the past 10 months and has not yet had his trial. The
seven opposition leaders arrested in connection of the 2003 October
events [post-election riots in Baku] have been held in custody over
the past five months. “The world public must keep these issues under
control as there are no independent courts in Azerbaijan and the
authorities can make short the work of anyone,” Karimli said.

Elections in Azerbaijan are not democratic and the Council of Europe
should appoint a special rapporteur for progress to be achieved in the
sphere. In addition, there are serious violations of freedom of speech
and press, many media outlets have been closed down and the bank
accounts of two of the remaining three have been arrested. The
authorities have established complete control over all television
channels and the law on public TV does not give guarantees that an
independent TV channel will appear in Azerbaijan, Karimli said.

He said the authorities are violating the right to freedom of
assembly. In the last six months the authorities had not permitted any
rallies or pickets.

Walter Schwimmer said in reply that in the past three years the
Council of Europe had been keeping the issue of political prisoners in
the centre of its attention and that it would monitor the situation
until the last prisoner was set free.

As for the problem of democratic elections, he pointed to the need of
following the recommendations of the Venice Commission. He called on
the Azerbaijani authorities to endorse the European standards of local
government and to reform the system of courts and advocacy. Freedom of
assembly should also be ensured, Schwimmer said.

Talking about the Karabakh problem which was raised by the MPs, he
said that the sides pledged to resolve the problem peacefully. “The
problem should be resolved through dialogue,” he said. At the initial
stage attempts should be made to build confidence and the solution to
the problem should be sought in line with European constitutions and
experience, he said.

Azadliq’s correspondent accredited at parliament was not allowed to
attend the meeting.

Edicom, Suisse
5 Avril 2004

Sylvie Vartan: 2004 ou l’année du grand retour
par Rachid Aouli

PARIS (AP) – Après un silence radio de quelques années et de brèves
incursions au cinéma, 2004 marque le grand retour de Sylvie Vartan.
Avec d’abord un retour en chansons et un nouvel album sobrement
baptisé «Sylvie» (Mercury/Universal) dans les bacs depuis ce lundi,
en même temps que le premier extrait «Ce n’est pas rien».
C’est en musique que Sylvie Vartan fait son retour sous les feux de
la rampe avec un album enregistré en Italie et à Los Angeles. Réalisé
par Paul Manners, qui a oeuvré pour Kelly Joyce ou Tina Arena,
«Sylvie» a également fait appel pour les textes et les compositions à
de jeunes talents, parmi lesquels Frédéric Lô, Laurent Marchet ou
Daran. Beaucoup plus connu, son fils David, né en août 1966 de son
union avec Johnny Hallyday, signe un texte, «Au rythme du coeur».
Egalement publiée lundi, une autobiographie intitulée «Entre l’ombre
et la lumière» (Editions XO). Sylvie Vartan, icône des années
«yé-yé», y raconte une enfance vécue, malgré les difficultés, dans
l’amour d’une famille attentionnée, entourée de parents très soudés
et d’un grand-père francophile averti.
Sa mère hongroise, son père bulgare d’ascendance arménienne, tous
deux voulaient le bonheur de Sylvie sur cette terre d’accueil
qu’était la France. Le père, tout artiste qu’il était, avait même
accepté un emploi de tripier aux Halles à Paris, tandis que la
famille vivait dans une petite chambre d’hôtel.
Mais qui dit nouvel album dit aussi nouveau spectacle: c’est à partir
du 28 septembre que Sylvie Vartan foulera à nouveau la scène du
Palais des Congrès de Paris pour douze représentations
exceptionnelles dans une mise en scène de Walter Painter.
Et si Sylvie Vartan n’a jamais caché son goût pour les mises en scène
sophistiquées des «shows» à l’Américaine, c’est tout naturellement
qu’elle exposera à partir du 16 octobre et jusqu’au 27 février 2005
au Musée parisien de la mode Galliera ses plus belles robes de scène.

From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress

Glendale News Press
April 3, 2004

FROM THE MARGINS
The mob and the zealous cousin

PATRICK AZADIAN

The infant and the wife were awaiting him at home. By the time the
young father had returned to the main square, the open space was
overflowing with a mob of demon- strators. The exclusively male crowd
was uniformly dressed in dark, long coats with an occasional hat worn
by the unlucky few lacking natural protection from heat loss through
their skulls.

It was the winter of 1962. The Shah of Iran had announced sweeping
reforms to single-handedly shove the nation toward secularism. Women
were granted the right to vote, peasants were to be given ownership of
rural lands, workers were to participate in factory profit-sharing
programs, and the legal obstacles for non-Muslims to hold office had
been removed.

The clergy’s reaction to the changes was swift, branding them a
formula for enslavement by America. Strikes and protests were
organized throughout the capital.

The young father approached the crowd and gingerly stepped ahead on
the frozen asphalt. He turned right and then left; there was no way
through. He stopped. His translucent white breath was intermittently
visible in the winter air. There was only one way to reach home. He
took a cold gasp of air into his lungs, tilted his head down, and
plowed ahead into the mob, clutching a can of Similac infant formula
to his chest.

“Mee bakhsheed, mee bakhsheed,” (“pardon me,” in Persian) he said as
he sliced through the pack. His eyes were fixed on his right hand,
holding the hard-to-find baby nutrients.

Sensing the urgency of the man’s cause, the crowd’s resistance eased
as he made determined progress. He emerged at the other end, took
another deep breath, and accelerated toward home. It would be a matter
of time before he was reunited with his family.

“Son, in 1962, when you were just born, I wanted to leave this damn
place and move to America I had all the paperwork, but your mom
changed her mind at the last minute.”

My father was always keen on moving here. We finally arrived in New
York in 1977; it turned out to be a smart move, considering we missed
out on the festivities of the Islamic revolution, celebrated in style
by executions, hostage-taking and re-subjugation of women.

Before my arrival, television and Hollywood films had already formed
my concept of America. “The Wild Wild West” had instilled in me the
idea of the well-groomed government agent fighting evil, “Bewitched”
was responsible for my appreciation of the suburban housewife capable
of magic, “Family Affair” was accountable for my admiration of ’60s
furniture, and “Starsky and Hutch” contributed to my love for San
Francisco.

“The Six Million Dollar Man” was well, was just cool. I can still
remember my friend Vahi (now a successful Glendale dentist) imitating
Steve Austin’s slow-motion runs at the schoolyard with his left eye
half-closed as metal-rubbing- against-metal sounds were spewing from
his mouth: “Eh, eh, eh, uh ”

In addition to television, I would accompany my father to the latest
American war movies. After guzzling down a couple of chilled bottles
of Coca-Cola in the dry desert heat and buying a pair of tickets from
the “black market” to avoid the unruly box-office mob, we would
proceed to witness the story of the humane American soldier. Unlike
Hans, Mitsu or Ng, he was easygoing, had a girlfriend back in Kansas,
and always wore his helmet loose. Even when he was forced to kill the
suicidal enemy, he didn’t really enjoy it.

As a child, I loved the American brand of war; it was always just and
heroic. There was one catch; I harbored a hidden fear of having my
father be drafted. My father must have been bewildered by my repeti-
tive questioning: “Papa, when is the cutoff date for being drafted
into the army?” At the time, I wanted him to get old quick.

America was untouchable. I remember only one instance throughout my
childhood when I came close to questioning America. We were all at my
grandparents and watching a local show called “Khaneh Bedoosh.” The
plot: A homeless, middle-aged, bald Persian man, Morad, driving a
salvaged red Mercedes truck ends up with the virgin of his dreams,
Mahboobeh. Not exactly a reality show based in the Glendale hills, but
nevertheless entertaining.

My young aunt, Sonia, who had just returned from Philadelphia after
completing her undergraduate studies, inquired: “Es eench heemar
tzrageerner ek nayoom?” (“What are these stupid shows you are
watching?” in Armenian). I was a bit insulted, but she happened to be
my favorite aunt. She was also my main source of authentic Lee jeans
and American art supplies. I kept quiet.

I was still processing the mixed signals of loyalty in my head when my
cousin, Anoush, replied: “Dzer vairenee Amerikian filmereets avelee
laav en!” (“They’re better than your violent American movies!”) Wow!
My 14-year-old cousin was not only questioning an elder, but was also
knocking America.

There was a deep silence. The zealous teenager as the surprise
winner. A successful mini- rebellion against established order. A sign
of things to come.

PATRICK AZADIAN lives and works in Glendale. He is an identity and
branding consultant for the retail industry. Reach him at
[email protected].

March 25, 2004

FROM THE MARGINS
Desire to take root is evergreen

PATRICK AZADIAN

Last December marked the second Christmas I was without my father; his
death was sudden. As the year before, I had no intention of buying an
evergreen for my apartment. Suspecting this to be the case, my mom
showed up at my doorstep right before Christmas with a perky little
tree firmly rooted in soil. I immediately decorated it with a simple
string of white lights and a photo of my father. I hastily replanted
it in a large and shiny golden pot and placed it at my window.

Flavia Baioco noticed a petite Christmas tree at a second-story window
while on her way to meet her 8-year-old daughter’s new teacher at a
Glendale public school. She walked under the open window, stopped,
looked up at the tree, and got a glimpse of a man’s silhouette in the
background. She resumed her walk and disappeared from the man’s frame
of reference.

She was dressed in a gray pinstriped suit, complemented by her
authentic Blahnik sling-backs and a fake Prada purse; a tiny wooden
pendant with a hand painting of baby Jesus and mother Mary decorated
her fair chest. She was particularly proud of her $30 purse. Only a
handful of fellow moms recognized it was a knockoff; they roguishly
extrapolated that her blond hair was counterfeit, as well.

Flavia was from the southern Brazilian town of Pelotas. Born into an
Italian immigrant family, she had been rushed to marry a man a couple
of decades her senior. After going through a thorny divorce, she
managed to escape the heavy hands of her ex-husband. She had moved to
Glendale, where her older brother had already settled.

Priscila, her daughter, was the only gem left for Flavia from her
marriage. Flavia carried the heavy burden of not shielding her baby
girl from recurring turbulence. The frequent displacements, the family
arguments, the loss of friends and the premature detachment from her
father had taken their toll on Pri.

As Flavia marched across the school’s parking lot, her golden locks
and wooden pendant bounced up and down in unison with her every
step. Her oceanic eyes were resolutely pinned on the entrance door. It
was 8:15 a.m.; Mrs. Clemence was awaiting her. She approached the
glass entrance, pulled on the brushed silver rectangular handle, and
threw herself inside by the momentum generated by her short-lived
struggle with the heavy door. The ground she walked on had been
transformed; the shiny tan linoleum floor replaced the asphalt and
provided her a new launching pad to burst forward. Her pace picked up.

She walked straight down the first hallway, turned right at the water
fountain and anxiously entered Room 104’s waiting area. She knocked on
the door.

“Come in, please.”

The lady behind the desk walked up to Flavia and extended her hand.

“You must be Mrs. Baioco; I know all about beautiful Priscila.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“I am Mrs. Clemence. I will be Pri’s new teacher.”

“You know about my daughter’s condition, yes?”

“Yes, dear. Mrs. Carling has told me all about sweet Pri.”

Flavia felt relieved. She immediately pulled out a tape from her
purse, placed it on the old desk, and pushed it forward against the
wood grain.

“We have been practicing the upcoming lessons. I wanted Pri to have a
head start this time.”

Mrs. Clemence’s mind wandered off to some of her students with special
needs. There was the little native boy with ADD, the raucous Armenian
girl who had missed two years of school while spending time in refugee
camps in Germany, the subdued Albanian boy who managed to flee Kosovo
on his father’s shoulders through the Montenegrin highlands, and of
course, Pri, the fragile, olive-skinned Brazilian girl with the
melancholy eyes.

Pri had chosen to be a selective mute from the day she set foot on
American soil. For two years, she had defiantly refused to utter a
single word to anyone. She spoke only to Flavia in private. Every time
she had been displaced, she had let herself believe this would be her
new home. She believed no more.

During this period, Flavia had been orally recording Pri’s homework on
tape and had been delivering it to Mrs. Carling every Monday morning.

“You know, Mrs. Clemence, Pri had a small breakthrough recently.”

For the past month, a school district counselor had been visiting the
Baiocos at their home every night. Pri was eventually convinced the
friendly lady was a long-lost Armenian aunt with relatives in
Pelotas. In spite of her muteness, Pri had absorbed plenty from her
multiethnic environment. Just before the holidays, Pri had curiously
approached her newfound aunt and uttered a word: “Barev” (“Hello” in
Armenian).

“Mrs. Baioco, I think of my students as my own children. We’ll find a
way to overcome Pri’s condition.”

My tree did not make it past Armenian Christmas. It never grew roots
in the golden pot. It sits on my balcony, brown and brittle.

PATRICK AZADIAN lives and works in Glendale. He is an identity and
branding consultant for the retail industry. Reach him at
[email protected].

Glendale News Press
March 20, 2004

FROM THE MARGINS
Giovanni, Arash and the tunnel

PATRICK AZADIAN

The ordeal is almost over. This is the last of three parts sparked by
a quote by Malcolm X: “The only thing I like integrated is my coffee.”
I took the analogy further in describing my high school’s racially
divided social scene: “Milk producers, coffee growers and sugar
planters rarely came together to produce a smooth cappuccino.” Readers
have been inquiring about the true identity of these categories; my
response has been consistent: “They are irrelevant.” It is the late
1970s; I live in Sacramento, and being an Armenian is still
mysterious.

Giovanni was one of my buddies on the soccer team. As far as I knew,
he was the only Italian at our school. He was a product of a broken
home and a jet-setter father. The most exciting things in his life
were his athletic involvements and his sweet girlfriend, Karen. And
she was the envy of everyone, including the football team’s
quarterback, Kenny. She was a victory for all of us on the unglamorous
soccer team.

Karen had a sweet way of filling the family void in Giovanni’s
life. She was one of the rare sweethearts who actually made and
delivered sandwiches for her boyfriend after each and every soccer
match. My Italian mate was smitten.

Giovanni was popular among “sugar planters” and enjoyed all the
benefits of having a solid peer group. One problem: Giovanni’s friends
did not approve of Karen. So one day, after a brutal two-hour soccer
practice, Giovanni broke down in tears. His intensity suggested that
his sobbing was not a product of his howling misses in front of the
empty net during scrimmage; he had broken up with Karen. His official
reason: “Hmmm ’cause I am stupid, man, just stupid.”

Translation: “Sugar planters” did not approve of her. My opinion:
“Dumb move.”

Dumb got even dumber. Within a week Giovanni had a new girl from the
more accepted scene, and within a month, she was pregnant. Beautiful
an expectant father at the green age of 17. My Dodo bird curiosity
immediately kicked in, and I posed the obvious question to his friend,
Joaquin: “I personally have not seen this contraption with my own
eyes, but isn’t there something called contraception in this country?”
Dodo bird received his answer in the form of “Hush that is against the
teachings of the church.”

The grand lesson is quite clear, but allow me to be redundant. Lesson
No. 1: Peer pressure can lead to losing your hot girlfriend,
especially if your homies are involuntarily single throughout high
school. Lesson No. 2: If you are going to be selective in following
the teachings of Christ, pick and choose wisely.

Arash was one of three Iranians at our school. Thanks to him and his
monthly “Animal House” toga parties at his bachelor pad, I enjoyed a
decent level of popularity. In spite of my superior looks, as well as
my lack of a unibrow and a thick black mustache, our classmates could
not tell us apart. They would often thank me for being invited to the
toga bashes.

Arash’s gatherings could not have come at a better time, considering
we were privileged to have experienced all the ill effects of the
Iranian hostage crisis. But no one dared to openly get on our wrong
side, as they feared being axed from the guest list. In exchange, we
were denied entry to gatherings on a couple of occasions, but no
worries, no resentments; we had a firm grip on our own social life.

In addition to being quite popular with the girls, Arash had a
beautiful girlfriend named Kelly. I could safely say Arash was one of
the biggest party animals at our school, and enjoyed all the freedoms
American society offered and tolerated. At the same time, he was
supportive of the Islamic revolution in Iran.

I posed a question to him once about this contradiction: “Would you
like a brutal spanking from a bearded official every time you were out
with Kelly?” His response: “That system is good for those people. I
don’t have to like it to support it.” He went as far as inviting me to
his pad to have his extremist roommate preach to me the virtues of a
fundamentalist revolution. From that day on, our friendship was on
ice.

I am almost certain Arash eventually made a U-turn on his views. Like
most Iranian students of that era, his anti-Shah, pro-democracy
tendencies were temporarily allied with pro-revolution sentiments. His
preaching roommate was a different story, however. He went on to
benefit from the American educational system, only to go back and help
coin the term “Great Satan” for America.

Lesson No. 1: What’s not good for you is probably not good for others,
either. Lesson No. 2: Hypocrisy runs rampant in the world. Lesson
No. 3: Revolutions can mess up good friendships.

High school was my landing ground in America; sink or swim were my
only choices. I left home at 14, traveled above gray waters, trekked
through a jet engine-noise tunnel surrounded by dark clouds, and
emerged in an entirely new universe. The tunnel was then sealed.

Everything before the tunnel is surreal, but intact. Everything after
the tunnel is real yet artificially detached from the past.

The bridge is still under construction.

PATRICK AZADIAN lives and works in Glendale. He is an identity and
branding consultant for the retail industry. Reach him at
[email protected].

From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress

Armenian opposition party reports kidnap attempts

Arminfo
5 Apr 04

YEREVAN

The Anrapetutyun [Republic] party has published a list of its members,
who have been unlawfully arrested and taken to police stations, over
the past several days.

On 4 and 5 April, the houses of some 20 party members were
searched. The party members themselves – including Suren Surenyants,
member of the party’s political board, and leaders of the party’s town
and community bodies – were taken unlawfully to police stations,
Anrapetutyun told Arminfo news agency. Some of them have now been
released and criminal cases have been launched against others.

Moreover, attempts were made to kidnap some party activists,
Anrapetutyun said. There were attempts to abduct Aramazd Zakaryan,
member of the political board of the Anrapetutyun; and two members of
the People’s Party of Armenia, Usik Grigoryan (in the town of
Charentsavan) and Karen Lazarian (in Gyumri).

Opposition leader announces “quest” to overthrow Armenian authorities

Arminfo
5 Apr 04

YEREVAN

The quest to overthrow Armenia’s unconstitutional authorities starts
today, the chairman of the National Unity party, MP Artashes Gegamyan,
said at a meeting with voters on 5 April.

He criticized the incumbent government of Armenia both for its
domestic and foreign policies and said that their only objective was
to enrich President Robert Kocharyan and Defence Minister Serzh
Sarkisyan. The way out of the situation is to oust the illegitimate
authorities and restore the constitutional order in Armenia, Gegamyan
said.

The meeting, attended by many people, is taking place outside the
Nairi cinema because the law-enforcement bodies prevented them from
staging it in the square outside the institute of ancient manuscripts,
Matenadaran.

The rally is being frequently interrupted by eggs which are being
thrown and brawls between the people, who attended the rally, and a
group of young people with shaven heads.

A TV operator was injured during one such brawl and his video camera
was broken. The participants in the rally recognized Gagik Beglaryan,
who worked for the head of Yerevan’s Centre community, among the group
of young people.

ARKA News Agency
April 6 2004

5th international exhibition `Education and Carrier EXPO-2004′ opens
in Yerevan

Catholicos of All Armenian receives members of Vaspurakan Union

National Unity Party expects CE assistance in protection of human
rights in Armenia

*********************************************************************

5TH INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION `EDUCATION AND CARRIER EXPO-2004′ OPENS
IN YEREVAN

YEREVAN, April 6. /ARKA/. 5th international exhibition `Education and
Carrier EXPO-2004′ opened today in Yerevan. According to Director of
National Institute of Education Vardan Martirosian, the exhibition is
to represent all potential of national educational system.
The exhibition will represent 25 educational programs and institutes,
including British Council, EU program Tempus TACIS, Caucasus Media
Institute, French University of Armenia, Moscow State University of
Service.
The organizer of the exhibition is expo-center Logos, official
sponsors are RA Ministry of Trade and Economic Development, RA MFA
and National Institute of Education. The exhibition will last till
April 8. L.D. –0–

*********************************************************************

CATHOLICOS OF ALL ARMENIAN RECEIVES MEMBERS OF VASPURAKAN UNION

YEREVAN, April 6. /ARKA/. Catholicos of All Armenian Garegin II
received members of Vaspurakan Union. The members of the Union
traditionally attend the grave of 125th Catholicos Mkrtich I Khrimian
at his birthday.
Garegin II highly estimated devotion of the Union to the memory of
Catholicos Mkrtich Khrimian. L.D. –0–

*********************************************************************

NATIONAL UNITY PARTY EXPECTS CE ASSISTANCE IN PROTECTION OF HUMAN
RIGHTS IN ARMENIA

YEREVAN, April 6 ./ARKA/. National Unity Party expects CE assistance
in protection of human rights in Armenia, says the letter sent to the
Embassies of US, Russia and European countries. The letter says that
Yerevan City Administration was warned ahead considering conducted
meeting with electors. `Prime Minister assured in prevention of
provocations and preservation of public order, however all roads in
town were closed, which prevented participation of regions’ citizens
in the meeting and police did nothing during attacks on journalists’,
the Leader of the Party Artashes Geghamian stated today. In
accordance with that we expect assistance from CE, Russia and USA in
fulfillment of statement of the convention on human rights
protection, Geghamian concluded.
The meeting of Artashes Geghamyan with people on April 5 was fraught
with serious consequences for the operators and reporters. Unknown
provocateurs broke the cameras of Kentron TV Company, Hai TV, and
PTA. The tape recorder of Shant TV Company’s operator was taken away.
L.D. –0–

Gulf News, United Arab Emirates
April 6 2004

Off the Cuff: One flew over the coocoo’s nest

By Tanya Goudsouzian

Easter in the Armenian home is a much-anticipated event. Setting
aside the religious context, it is an occasion to feast upon special
dishes that do not appear on the everyday dinner table.

As the women of the family prepare these dishes, the tantalising
aromas wafting from the kitchen usually attract a number of
self-appointed tasters. These so-called tasters, who would insert
their fingers or forks into a cooking pot, are expressly unwelcome.

Although a compliment on the “fertile hands” of the chef might help
grease the passage, it is unadvisable for anyone to venture into the
kitchen unless they intend to make themselves useful.

Thus it was from the doorway of a room adjoining the kitchen that I
overheard the events, which I will now relate.

Every station on the kitchen stove was occupied. There were dolma
(stuffed vine leaves) boiling in a large pot, and spicy rice with
raisins simmering over low heat. I could also smell the early stages
of plaki (kidney beans and potatoes). The ‘boeregs (filo dough
stuffed with cheese) were baking in the oven. The parsley, just
washed, was ready for the chopper.

My mother worked best under pressure. Wearing leggings and an
oversized |T-shirt, she was sprinkling sesame seeds on braided little
bits of dough, which would turn into delicious aghi biscot (salty
biscuits) in the oven. Into this fracas walked my grandmother,
donning an elegant house-dress and hand-embroidered apron.

“Hurry up,” she told my mother. “Or I won’t have time to prepare the
coocoo (egg, lettuce and leek pie)…”

My mother, beads of sweat trickling down her brow, looked up
incredulously at her mother-in-law.

“I was thinking I would prepare the coocoo this time,” my mother
said.

“What do you mean YOU will prepare the coocoo?” my grandmother asked.
“I have always prepared the coocoo for Easter. You don’t know how to
make coocoo…” “I found a recipe I want to try,” my mother replied,
coolly.

“What recipe? I will make the coocoo, the way my mother made it,” my
grandmother persisted. “Why are you breaking with tradition?”

“It’s your tradition, not mine. This is my house, and my dinner
table. I will make the coocoo,” my mother insisted. This argument was
clearly not about coocoo. It ran far deeper.

>From the doorway, I could feel the onset of another war between these
two vastly different women. My grandmother was a stubborn woman, with
expensive tastes and traditional notions; and she made no secret of
the fact that my mother was anathema to all she stood for.

My grandmother travelled in taxis; my mother took the bus. My
grandmother had regular manicures; my mother loved gardening. My
grandmother bought a new fur-lined coat every season; my mother paid
the mortgage on the house.

Yes, I could feel the onset of another war. I hoped and prayed there
would be no name-calling, no door-slamming and no threats of leaving
the house. Certainly not over a silly old dish that nobody ever
touched anyway.

In the end, my grandmother retired to her bedroom, and only
re-emerged after I was sent as an emissary to cajole her into joining
us in the dining room. She appeared, proud and stoic. She sat at the
head of table, as she always did.

At the end of the meal, my mother bitterly noted that she ate
everything except the coocoo. Although it was edible for a first try,
I had to admit my mother’s coocoo was a little grizzled. It certainly
did not look as appetising as my grandmother’s coocoo, which was
usually golden brown and fluffy.

No matter. Ultimately, they both won. My grandmother’s tradition to
serve coocoo for Easter was preserved; and after many subsequent
attempts, my mother finally learned to make coocoo properly.

Baku Today, Azerbaijan
April 7 2004

US changing Minsk group spokesman

Baku Today 07/04/2004 12:43

US government will be replacing the US chairman to the OSCE’s Minsk
group, said US Ambassador in Azerbaijan Reno Harnish at a meeting
with Azeri defense minister Safar Abiyev yesterday.
US State Secretary’s senior adviser for the Caspian basin issues
Steven Mann will take over the chairman’s post. Mann will succeed
Rudolph Perini who has been the third US chairman of the Minsk group.

Linn Pasko and Kerry Kavano have been the preceding chairmen of the
group.

OSCE’s Minsk group has been functioning to facilitate a peaceful
solution to the Karabakh conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan.

Three nations are currently presiding over the group to coordinate
the mediation efforts. Alongside with the United States Russia and
France are the chairmen of the group.

The three nations have been operating in joint chairmanship since
February 11, 1997.