Glendale: The mob and the zealous cousin

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].

Glendale: Desire to take root is evergreen

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: Giovanni, Arash and the tunnel

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

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 authoritie

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 – 04/06/2004

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–

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

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.

The Pulitzer Prize: No Conservatives Need Apply

FrontPage Magazine
April 7 2004
The Pulitzer Prize: No Conservatives Need Apply
By George Shadroui
FrontPageMagazine.com | April 7, 2004
The Pulitzer Prizes announced this week demonstrate again the
stranglehold that liberals and leftists enjoy when it comes to
garnering recognition from those who bestow honors for outstanding
journalism and writing.
While it is laudable that Anne Applebaum, who serves on the liberal
Washington Post editorial board, won for documenting the terrors of
the Soviet Gulag, it should be recalled that Solzhenitsyn’s
monumental work on the same subject appeared in the 1970s. Likewise,
the award given to William Taubman for his Khrushchev biography comes
long after the Soviet Union itself had admitted to the crimes and
repression documented. It has apparently taken the liberal and
leftist establishment decades to accept and document crimes that many
anti-communists were assailed for daring to mention back in 1940s and
1950s.
The rest of the awards, however, went pretty much as expected, with
liberal and left-driven journalism taking the honors. In the category
for commentary, the winner and all those nominated were liberals. The
public service writing award went to two PBS leftists. The
investigative reporting award went for a series about American
atrocities in Vietnam, which is standard fare in the awards business.
The national reporting award went to a series attacking Wal-Mart — a
favorite bete noir of the Left. The international reporting award
went to the Washington Post for a series on the reactions of Iraqis
to the American invasion, much of it casting U.S. efforts in a
negative light. The beat reporting award went to a story on college
admissions preferences for the wealthy (not one of the extraordinary
investigations into race preference admissions has ever won). The
drama award went to a play whose lone character is a transvestite.
The non-fiction book award went to a book by a leftist about race
struggles.
In short, like many national awards of this kind, the Pulitzer is a
political prize bestowed almost exclusively on writers, journalists
and thinkers who cater to suitably liberal or left-wing points of
view. It wasn’t always thus, but since the 1960s that’s been the
case. Writers Peter Collier and David Horowitz, for example, were
nominated for a National Book Award for the first of their four
best-selling biographies of American dynastic families. That was when
they were on the Left. Although their book on the Kennedys earned
them the sobriquet “the premier chroniclers of American dynastic
tragedy” and the New York Times described their book on the Fords as
an “irresistible epic,” they were never nominated for an award again.
Having spent more than 20 years working as a journalist or with
journalists, I can attest to what even internal surveys by academics
and journalists have shown: most journalists are either liberal/Left
or so cynical that they resist easy characterization. In fact, in
nearly a decade of working as a local reporter, I do not recall
stumbling across another conservative. So do liberals dominate the
reporting awards? The answer is obvious. And it’s not because the few
conservative journalists don’t write worthy stories. Heather
MacDonald, Michael Fumento, William Tucker, Bill Gertz and the late
Mike Kelly have produced prize-worthy work by any standard, but none
of them have been rewarded by the Pulitzer Board.
Still, many of the awards honor legitimate feats of journalism and
many focus on local news coverage that defies easy ideological
characterization, so let us put aside the journalism categories for
now and look instead at the major book or commentary awards, which
are more high profile and often more slanted. For the purposes of
this analysis, four categories – general non-fiction, commentary,
autobiography/biography and history – are relevant. A review of
winners over 40 years shows that conservatives are basically
excluded.
The category for commentary is an exception. Since 1970, when
commentary was first singled out for recognition as part of the
Pulitzer Prizes, several prominent conservatives have won, including
George Will, William Safire, Charles Krauthammer, Vermont Royster and
Paul Gigot.
But liberals have still dominated, with winners including Mike Royko,
David Broder, Mary McGrory, Ellen Goodman, Russell Baker, Art
Buchwald, Claude Sitton, Murray Kempton, Jimmy Breslin, Clarence
Page, Jimmie Hoagland, Anna Quindlen, Colbert King, Thomas Friedman,
Maureen Dowd and William Raspberry. William F. Buckley, Irving
Kristol, Norman Podhoretz, and Thomas Sowell, to mention just four
obvious conservatives whose work is impressive in scope and quality,
have never won.
A 4 to 1 ratio is actually a victory of sorts for conservatives when
compared to most other categories or awards. Not a single discernible
conservative has won in the other three major categories being
considered here. Not one. There is a long list of leftists and
liberals, however. Among those honored for their work in history, we
find Dean Acheson, James MacGregor Burns, Leon Litwack, Taylor
Branch, Joseph Ellis, Robert Caro, Stanley Karnow, Gordon Wood, Louis
Menand, and Doris Kearns Goodwin.
In the general non-fiction category, winners have included Barbara
Tuchman, David McCullough, Tina Rosenberg, Garry Wills, Richard
Hofstader, Theodore White, Norman Mailer, Frances Fitzgerald, Annie
Dillard, James Lelyveld, J. Anthony Lukas, Neil Sheehan, Jonathan
Weiner, John Dower, John McPhee, Samantha Power and David Remnick. In
the biography and auto-biography category we have W.A. Swanberg,
Arthur Schlesinger Jr., Robert Caro, Joseph Lash, George Kennan,
Edmund Morris, Russell Baker, Katherine Graham, David McCullough,
etc.
Some of these awardees wrote great books and their work deserved
recognition, irrespective of ideological pedigree. It cannot be
ignored, however, that conservative authors are totally overlooked
(or snubbed) going back to the 1960s. No awards for Allan Bloom (The
Closing of the American Mind), George Gilder (Wealth and Poverty),
Charles Murray (Losing Ground), Abigail and Stephan Thernstrom
(America in Black and White), whose books helped set the terms of
national discussion and policy.
Why? For starters, Joseph Pulitzer was a crusader who coined a
much-cited definition of journalistic excellence: to afflict the
comfortable and comfort the afflicted. By this standard, documenting
the defects in society is a priority, often with the goal of
stimulating government activism to redress specific issues. When not
pushing for more government to solve seemingly intractable social
problems, the press is routinely focused on corporate malfeasance.
Finding victims and documenting failure is the paradigm through which
journalists practice their craft — except, alas, when it might cut
against the liberal grain. There will be no Pulitzers for exposing
the destructive effects of liberal programs like welfare, for
example, or the political subversion of the public health system by
the AIDS lobby.
To show just how prevalent this bias is, consider for a moment John
Stossel, the Emmy-winning television reporter, who recently published
a book, Give Us a Break, in which he documents how he was ostracized
by the journalism community when he turned his reporting talents from
major corporations to big government. Once a touted and celebrated
reporter, suddenly he was on the outside among the liberal elite.
Bernard Goldberg, in his books, Bias and Arrogance, also documents
the liberal slant of major news organizations.
This political culture within the profession discourages journalists
from tackling certain stories that would provide a more balanced view
of public policy and international issues. How is it, for example,
that the media have gladly focused on the victims of American and
corporate power, yet done so little to document the suffering of
victims of Ba’athist tyranny in Iraq? Could it be that the media is
reluctant to give moral credence to what is an unpopular war among
leftists and Democrats? Prisons were emptied, mass graves uncovered,
and yet coverage that has explored these issues in depth or
interviewed families or victims at length has been scarce since
Saddam was toppled. Certainly, compared to the coverage given Richard
Clarke’s attacks on the Bush policy in Iraq, efforts to document the
atrocities uncovered by our troops has been miniscule. It is as if we
had defeated the Germans and then no one bothered to document the
concentration camps or the Nazi killing machine, but rather focused
on the imperfections of D-Day.
This bias is evident in coverage of Cold War issues, as well. Again,
it took decades before liberals finally documented atrocities
perpetrated by communism. Yet, their work was quickly recognized.
Meanwhile, the work of Richard Pipes, Robert Conquest and Martin
Malia has never received a Pulitzer. As this year shows again, there
is no shortage of honored books or authors who “dare” to report on
American “crimes” in Southeast Asia or Central America – among them
Frances Fitzgerald, Neil Sheehan, Norman Mailer, Tina Rosenberg and
Gloria Emerson – or for work that takes the traditional liberal slant
on our nation’s race problems. The result is that even well-intended
and more fair-minded journalists or historians often seem to view
issues through the paradigms constructed by anti-American critics
like Noam Chomsky and Howard Zinn.
Take as one example recent Pulitzer winner Samantha Power. In her
book on genocide, A Problem from Hell, she documents what she calls
the reluctance of the United States to take any action to thwart the
genocidal policies of other governments. Power, it should be noted,
reviewed Chomsky’s recent book, Hegemony or Survival, for the New
York Times. The book is another in a long line of his anti-American
fulminations. Though Power concedes that Chomsky can be one-sided,
her own work is in some ways a testimony to his influence.
Power, like many critics of American foreign policy on the Left,
views American decision-making outside of historical context. She
judges our action or inaction against some unachievable ideal rather
than against what other nations or governments were doing. If our
record is less than satisfactory, it seems fair to ask how it
compares with the action or inaction of others? To attack the United
States because it has neither the capacity nor the will to right
every horrific wrong being committed across the globe is to hold our
nation to a standard unmatched in history. As we are finding in Iraq
today, the choices are not painless or uncomplicated, but these
factors often are forgotten over time.
For example, what would she have had the American government do to
stop the Holocaust or the Armenian genocide beyond exercising our
maximum military and diplomatic might against the regimes
perpetrating these crimes, which we did once involved in both World
War I and World War II? We lost almost a million men in both wars and
it was not a given that we would triumph. Nor is it a given we will
win in Iraq against a clearly fascist enemy, but our harshest critics
for acting against a tyrannical regime are on the Left.
Back in the 1980s, J. Douglas Bates, a former newspaper editor,
offered some criticism of the Pulitzers in his book, The Pulitzer
Prize. He documented a bias evident in the Pulitzers, not against
conservatives, but against those who worked in the heartland or out
West. His argument was that Easterners had the advantage. Bates also
documented the lobbying effort by leftists on behalf of the work of
Toni Morrison and James Baldwin. When a group of leftist writers took
out an ad in the New York Review of Books arguing that Morrison
should win in the fiction category, the Pulitzer Board a few weeks
later honored her novel Beloved. You can rest assured that those
writers never organized on behalf of black author Shelby Steele,
known for his rejection of politically correct views.
Bates has plenty of sympathy for liberals he feels have been
overlooked by the Pulitzers, including I.F. Stone, Leonard Bernstein
and Neil Sheehan for his reporting on the Vietnam war (though Sheehan
would later win for his history of Vietnam). Yet, not once in his
250-page book did Bates explore the issue of bias against
conservative writers or journalists who cut against the liberal
grain.
The awards, of course, are administered by the Columbia Journalism
School, which is itself a bastion of liberal/Left attitudes. One
Columbia University student once reportedly remarked – all my
professors come from The Nation and the Village Voice. There is not a
single identifiable conservative on the Columbia Journalism faculty.
Bernard Goldberg, in his most recent book, Arrogance, reports that a
blue ribbon panel was established a few years ago to review the
school’s operations in an effort to improve its performance and the
practice of good journalism. Goldberg notes that the panel consisted
almost entirely of known leftists and liberals, while prominent and
respected conservatives were not invited to contribute.
Awards are symbolic but also important. They are the trademark of
excellence and they often make or break careers. They should be based
on the quality of the work being considered, not on the political
prejudices of judges or the industry as a whole. Most conservatives,
I am confident, want fair and balanced reporting even when it cuts
against the grain of their own ideology. This is the bulwark of a
free society. What they can’t accept as easily is the kind of
spectacle witnessed over the past couple of weeks, when Richard
Clarke was given unprecedented air time, during a time of war, to
espouse views at odds with those of conservative administration
trying to win that war.
A self critical journalism community must ask itself why such noted
conservative writers and authors as William F. Buckley Jr., David
Horowitz, Peter Collier, Michael Novak, George Gilder, Charles
Murray, Allen Bloom, William Gertz, Gerald Posner, Dinesh D’Souza,
Thomas Sowell, Florence King and many others have been overlooked by
so many contests that honor writing or letters.
However difficult it might be for liberal elites to acknowledge it,
every major award given for writing or public affairs reporting is
dominated or controlled by the leftist or liberal intelligentsia. Is
it an accident that Jimmy Carter was given the Nobel Prize precisely
when a conservative president whose policies Carter detests was
trying to mobilize the international community against worldwide
terrorism?
Those who would claim to be the standard-bearers of excellence and
the defenders of the marketplace of ideas should be embarrassed by
the discriminatory practices evident in these cherished awards. None
dare call it bias – but bias it is.

BAKU: US changing Minsk group spokesman

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.

Chechnya and war through the camera

International Herald Tribune
Chechnya and war through the camera
Joan Dupont IHT Tuesday, April 6, 2004
PARIS-There is a generation of filmmakers who risk their lives to expose the
terror and humiliation of war. They work independent of television and cable
news channels and are not in the business of being embedded.
Gilles de Maistre, a leading French reporter, for instance, is known for
“J’ai 12 ans et je fais la guerre” (I’m 12 years old, and I make war), an
investigation of preteen warriors that won an international Emmy.
And Mylène Sauloy is one of a handful of women to enter Chechnya
clandestinely, draped in a headscarf. “Then, I put my camera in a plastic
bag, and pile bananas on top – I could be a housewife coming back from
market,” she said.
Raised in Marrakech by a Moroccan doctor father and Russian-Hungarian
mother, the director lived in Colombia for 17 years, making films. She also
worked with de Maistre, interviewing street kids in Bogotá for a
documentary.
“One day, I read an article in Le Monde about this small rebel people in
Caucasia who resist colonization. It wasn’t a European story like Bosnia,
about ethnic racism – it was about a fight for freedom.” When the first war
broke out in 1994, she negotiated with the cultural television channel Arte
to make a film in Chechnya. “I went right from Bogotá to Grozny,” she says.
Sauloy has filmed broken families, shattered homes and a children’s dance
troupe that made it out of the country to perform in Paris but couldn’t wait
to return home to Grozny.
Her first film, “Le Loup et l’Amazone” (The Wolf and the Amazon), made from
1995 to 2000, was inspired by independent-minded women in the mountains of
Caucasia, who, legend has it, may be descended from the Amazons. “It’s a
poetic idea,” she says. The Amazon theme crops up again in her current
project, which focuses on an army of women hiding in the mountains of Iraq.
In her headscarf and long skirts, Sauloy has crossed borders into Chechnya
14 times, turning out films such as “Le 51,” about an apartment house in
Grozny inhabited Chechens, Armenians and Jews. “Grozny used to be a modern
city, like Algiers, cosmopolitan, with an intelligentsia.”
Two wars – from 1994 to 1996 and from 1999 to today – and a reign of terror
have reduced Grozny to rubble. The prewar population was less than a
million; 250,000 have been killed, 200,000 live in exile.
Sauloy’s latest film, “Danse Avec les Ruines” (Dance With the Ruins), tells
the story of a Chechen choreographer and his family who return from exile in
Turkey. “I hopped a bus with them in Istanbul, without realizing they were
really going back home. I was there when they walked into their bombed-out
house.”
She followed the troupe of 30 children – originally 60 – to Grozny and shot
the family repairing their home, fitting windows, returning to rehearsal and
to school. The children sewed their costumes and dreamed of the tour to
France, “a country where we won’t be greeted as terrorists,” in the words of
a teenage daughter.
Recently, Sauloy, 45, split her weekend between a screening of “Danse Avec
les Ruines” at the International Women’s Film Festival in Créteil, a Paris
suburb, and her own festival of films on Chechnya at the Cinéma des
Cinéastes in Paris. “Tchétchénie Criblée d’Images” (Chechnya, Riddled with
Images), as the festival was called, screened films of rare beauty, such as
“Eliso” (1928), a silent film by the Georgian director Nikoloz Shengelaya
about the first deportation of the Chechen people in 1864, under the czars.
And there were recent films like Andrei Konchalovsky’s “House of Fools”
(2002) and Sergei Bodrov’s “Prisoner of the Mountain” (1996), which show
sympathy for the predicament of the Chechen people.
In the public imagination, Chechnya has never been a popular cause but a
thorn in the side of the Russian government, and an embarrassment to Europe.
Perceived as poor refugees at best, bandits, terrorists and radical
Islamists at worst, this mountain people of Caucasia live with a terror that
takes a daily toll on both Russians and Chechens.
Five years ago, Sauloy founded an arts association, Marcho Doryila (“Let
freedom be with you”), and recruited figures like the stage and film
director Ariane Mnouchkine and the philosopher André Glucksman to support
Chechen artists. Mnouchkine opened her Théâtre du Soleil in Vincennes, a
suburb of Paris, to the dance troupe from Grozny; at the film festival,
Glucksman led a debate after the screenings, calling Chechnya Europe’s
guilty conscience.
Sauloy started filming three years after the collapse of the Soviet Union,
when some interpreters, journalists and humanitarian workers also worked as
informers. Her first interpreter in Chechnya was “crazy and dangerous,” she
said, “a regular Russian Mata Hari,” which decided her to learn Russian. “I
was raised with several languages. My grandfather spoke Hungarian, and my
grandparents spoke Yiddish together. At first, I wrote out questions in
Russian, but I couldn’t understand a word of their answers until I went home
and translated.”
For Sauloy, the problem is not a Chechen problem, but a Russian one. “It’s
about dehumanization, and it’s about our silent complicity. The Chechens are
the last resistants in the Caucasian mountains, and as a filmmaker, I’m
interested in resistance, in showing what is left of humanity in wartime.”
She sees the Chechens as an endangered species living in a codified society.
Hospitality is sacred. “When I enter a Chechen home, my host sits next to
the door and seats me furthest away from the door so, if we are attacked, he
will be killed, not I.”
Sauloy balks at the way Chechens have been demonized, yet admits that the
situation has changed since the October elections, which installed a
pro-Russian Chechen government. “Before, when you crossed a Russian
checkpoint, you knew where you were. Now, there’s a Chechen militia, paid to
do the dirty work. Life is becoming more dangerous, the way it was in France
under the Occupation.”
After the first war, Saudi Arabia recruited 2,000 Chechen students, who
became hardline Islamists. “Things have changed,” she says, “since the first
woman Chechen suicide bomber blew herself up in front of Russian military
quarters, and the whole number was filmed on video.” Sauloy has talked to
the orphaned families of these kamikazes, “women who aren’t real Islamists,
but university educated, and who have adopted the look, the headscarf, the
business of reciting the Koran.”
The Chechens traditionally practice Sufism, a mystic form of religion,
“something like the whirling dervishes. But now I know dancers and actors
who never prayed before, who pray. There’s a saying, the more bombs fall,
the more beards grow.”
Now, Sauloy is making a film from a Russian soldier’s home video. “You see
his friends shoot and kill and hear him comment on what he does and sees.
That video has been sold all over. Watching people kill has become a
business.”
Her work, she insists, is more dangerous for those who help her than for
herself. “It’s not that I’m fearless, but these people, and these children,
teach me courage.”
Is her family frightened for her?
“Oh yes, they are afraid, and they are proud of me,” she said.
International Herald Tribune