A Peace Corps Zen Moment

Since college, I have toyed with the idea of going “veggie”—mostly for health reasons but also because I felt what might be called “omnivore guilt” over the notion that something living would not be so because I felt the need to eat meat instead of lentils. Unlike lions or snakes, human beings do not “need” meat to survive—we can go on without it. In addition, a few choice environmental studies friends made the case that we expend significantly more energy (feed, land, fuel for transportation, packaging, etc.) to eat the average piece of meat in the USA than a vegetarian entry. While many PCVs quiver at the amount of pollution (air, garbage, and otherwise) in their sites, the truth is that our carbon footprint at home remains, on average, significantly higher than any found here. Americans produce 25% of the world’s waste—we just don’t have to witness its effects directly. But I am getting ahead of myself. In any case, college was filled with enough stress thinking about papers, projects, and the state of human rights in the world without having to add the spector of bad karma rearing its ugly head for my eating chicken salad in Stav Hall.

When I came to Azerbaijan, things changed. When I was in India, I had the same feeling: things just seemed more visceral and intense in their honesty. At home, a cigarette thrown out of a parked car invites looks akin to kicking a puppy (but we’ll get to that later). Of course, there is nothing so wrong with this—high communal expectations should signal a higher standard of living for everyone. Still, I was surprised at the violence of my reaction the first time I saw a butcher shop in the regions. Azerbaijanis have a traditional dish called Xaş which is comprised of the head and/or legs of a cow or sheep in broth and served with vodka….in the morning. As a result, it is not uncommon for a whole cow head or sheep hoof to be displayed for all to see on the street corners. Internal organs and discarded hides greet pedestrians next to which two live sheep graze on old hay, seemingly resigned to their fate. The first time I saw this display, I was filled with indignation—how could this happen? Not only is this display unhealthy—it is also unappetizing! But then I thought: we do this same thing in the United States—it’s just that we don’t see the process. True, we probably discard the head of an animal instead of using it as a soup base and let’s not even mention the use of refrigerators to prevent disease but the principle is the same: this is animal slaughter. Further, it must be mentioned that the average cow in Azerbaijan is probably going to have a better overall existence than her American counterpart. True, she will be eating mostly garbage as the fields are littered with it but she will be free range grazing nonetheless. I heard somewhere that the average chicken in American factory farms will never touch the ground—it will spend its life drugged from all the hormones designed to give it larger breasts in a multi-level cage. Is this better than letting them roam free with the garbage and discarded insulin needles that decorate the path in front of my building (see photo)? I have a good friend from St. Olaf who once said that if we choose to eat meat, we should be able to watch the animal be slaughtered. I am not sure that I agree with this but I can say that there are more than a few volunteers who would vouch for its veracity (myself included). Another cross-cultural differences that often jar PCVs is the treatment of animals we often associate with the tradition of pets. In the States, dogs and cats become part of our families--we take them to the doctor, fuss over their diets, and bring them to “five-star” kennels when we go on vacation. In contrast, most Azerbaijanis I have met view dogs and cats as things to be avoided, feared, and in some cases, adopted to the end of being restricted to the yard When we were in the USA, Oruj and I went to Petco so that I could give him an idea of the American perspective on pets. He was astonished: rats kept as pets?! Hats for your ferret?! A $30 leash for your cat?! I have to admit, our collective affair with the pet industry is a little over the top to say the least. One of my PCV friends noted that perhaps it is better in Azerbaijan: dogs are dogs here. They live in packs, find their own food, and they are free as nature intended. Of course, the fact that some communities have adopted the practice of annual dog shooting days and the ritual drowning of puppies to control the population are thoughts that will fester in my mind as less than natural. Furthermore, this schema--combined with what I assume to be a series of others--has allowed for the frequent practice of throwing stones at animals to keep them away. Perhaps this idea makes sense in theory but when the “animal” in question is a puppy and the assailants are 12 year old boys who are clearly not threatened by the laughter emitting from their mouths, I am at something of a loss. In the States, the average person will say that throwing rocks at puppies is on par with slapping your grandmother in terms of cultural no-nos. In retaliation I have sent Oruj out a few times to have chats with local boys harassing small puppies (see above), cognizant of my limited language and street-cred with local boys. The boys listen but more often than not, they just wait until they think we aren’t watching to continue. Apparently “Santa/God is watching you” doesn’t have as much of an effect.

These issues aren’t limited to small Ganja boys and helpless puppies. Many people passing through the region of Shamaxir will stop at a restaurant known for “the bear.” The owners had obtained a full grown brown bear from a local "zoo" and encased Misha (the bear) in a metal cage not even large enough for it to take two steps. Last summer on the way to another region, I watched young children and adults throwing empty containers at the bear, apparently for entertainment purposes. Later, we learned that a bear in an analogous Qabala restaurant had died and, thanks to some British tourists, the government had been informed and completed a series of raids of similar restaurants, rescuing birds, bears, etc. to be “rehabilitated." As much as we would like to think that such things happen only in locals outside the USA, analogous events are not uncommon in our communities—hence the reason my mother has expressed interest in joining an animal rights group. While I might not be a fan of the $30 cat leash or the Harley Davidson poodle jacket, I abhor the perception that animals are without emotion, feeling, or the imperative of respect. There must be a middle ground somewhere, right?

In general, Azerbaijan and the Peace Corps has taught me to look more carefully at my own existence in the United States. What issues and potential contradictions exist beneath our “progressive” social surface? Is it enough to say that “our family recycles” or “we drive a Prius?” Why not say that “we commit to consuming less” or “we use public transportation when we can to reduce the amount of pollution we put in the air?” Sounds impossible, right? Not so much as we have learned to do it everyday. I spent a lot of time wondering when I would internalize the stereotypical Peace Corps adage that “my placement taught me more than I ever taught here.” It took me a year and a half but here I am.