When Azerbaijan won Eurovision I was drinking with a Meskhetian Turk somewhere in the flatlands of Central Azerbaijan. I had gone to see the night livestock market, which isn’t exactly at night nor a market. But the point remains, instead of covering the biggest story of the year about Azerbaijan in the Western press, I was feeling sorry for sheep on a roadside in Sabirabad. Figures…
I didn’t think it would be such a big deal (and maybe it’s not), but it has sparked a good deal of self-reflection here. So I’d like to offer a little metaphor I recently heard from my friend Hasan in Sabirabad. It’s a good short hand for me – I find it more than a little patronizing, limited and slightly offensive – everything a metaphor should be. Azerbaijan is big on animal metaphors – there’s the bunny on the back of the lion, the pack of wild dogs, “you can’t have a forest without a fox,” etc… etc… but my favorite was about an adolescent boy.
After the night market, Hasan helped me to translate for a group of local activists who were organizing farmers after last year’s devastating floods. He kept adding his own extremely positive assessments of the government, the president and so on. Then I stayed on at his house for a second night, after reporting in the flood zone one year after the face and the conversation was completely different.
Hasan has lived for years in Moscow, Uzbekistan and Turkey, so he has access to an outsiders perspective. But once he started explaining his own understand of How Things Are, it was preceded with “let’s talk as neighbors.” He explained that the first night, I was a guest, so he had no interest in speaking about politics or the problems of everyday life. Everything was fine, he insisted and poured another round.
But the second night I was no longer a guest, I was a friend, so we could talk openly. And we discussed into the night about where he say the country going. He explained the local nuances, distrust, corruption, solidarity, pragmatism, optimism and inertia that usually only enter my conversations with outsiders or activists. In short he knew which way the wind blew.
His analogy for “Azerbaijan and Progress” was that of an adolescent boy seeing a beautiful woman. At first, he is shy to look, but he cannot help it. When no one is watching him, he is watching her. He looks her up and down and longs for her. He is overwhelmed with desire, but he has no idea how to approach her. He can walk over to her, but he’d lose his speech, he’d become unsure and shy or babbling, talking over his own words.
So he sits and the desire only grows. But he won’t get her. Maybe he will try, but it will be a failure. Only when he is older, more experienced will he see her, but by then she will not be the most beautiful girl in the world – she will be an attractive woman, one he can read, understand and maybe even woo. He will have a chance with her because he has had years of watching other men fail and succeed. He has learned how to take risks until they are not risks anymore but decisions.
So according to this analogy, the adolescent is Azerbaijan, the beautiful woman is European style progress and Eurovision is a batting of her eyelashes – or was that a wink?
And now, for your viewing pleasure, the wedding singer, basketball all-star, scholar, scientist, historian, warrior, mourner, good-for-nothing jack of all trades, Hasan (and the Volga he swears he bought off a minister):