During the last several days of this Christmas season, my thoughts once again, turned to Charles Dickens and his literary masterpiece, A Christmas Story. “There was no doubt that Jacob Marley was dead – dead as a doornail.” But, somehow, Marley had bargained for the chance to revisit his old, selfish business partner, Scrooge, and give him one more thin chance to mend his greedy ways.
During the scary encounter between the two old buddies, Scrooge begged ghostly Marley to “Speak comfort to me Jacob!”
“I have none to give. . . No space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunities misused! Yet such was I! Oh, such was I!” Scrooge couldn’t deflect the message, so he tried a little flattery: “But you were always a good man of business, Jacob.”
“Business!” the ghost cried, wringing his hands. “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”
Then old ghostly Marley went on: “I am here tonight to warn you: that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate.”
The message of Jacob Marley should remind us that the chains of life that we forge link by link, day by day, should not be chains that shackle us to the greed and avarice in this world; but rather, the crafted links should become chains that bind our hearts together with kindness, justice and righteousness on this earth. We should be spending our life engaged in experiencing and promoting goodness.
Next Week: A Working Definition of Goodness
ARE WE READY FOR SOME GOODNESS?
I hope you experienced some remarkable and wildly enjoyable moments of love and friendship during this unusual lockdown season of Christmas.
In last week’s blog, we centered our thoughts around the idea of the extraordinary gift we call “goodness” that is offered to our varied cultures of this planet. The Christmas season, and the beginning of a new year, is a perfect time to have a conversation about this amazing phenomenon that is offered to a world desperately looking for a glimmer of hope and a possibility of fulfilment.
I was gratified at the response that we received following last week’s blog. It was a confirmation that there are a lot of people who are really ready for a huge dose of “goodness” at this time in our culture.
I have been asked to expand on some additional ideas regarding this concept of goodness. So, for the next few weeks, we will try to center our thoughts on the only investment that never fails – “goodness.”
More next week:
HERE COMES NEXT YEAR!
Christmas is the great gift of goodness to a world looking for hope and fulfilment. The New Year that follows, seven days later, brings with it the opportunity to see just how a thing like that all works out.
Who would have correctly guessed what the year 2020 was going to drag along with it when we were all enjoying Christmas 2019? I heard a fellow say the other day that, “Just about the time I have learned the way to live – life changes.” Indeed, it does.
Over the past four-score years, I’ve come to believe that Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are! That’s just the way it is. Christmas, however, is still delivering the gift of goodness to a world looking for hope and fulfilment. That shan’t change!
Too many of my fellow sojourners traveling along the freeways of this culture, take personal consolation in the notion that they are basically the victims of what is happening to them. They find themselves experiencing breakdown of basic law and order in the largest and most sophisticated cities. Physical terrorist attacks like the 9/11 tragedy, as well as electronic cyber-attacks on our financial and national defense institutions are growing realities. A weird pandemic with strange characteristics, and even stranger origins, has killed and sickened hundreds of thousands of our neighbors and left millions of job holders and small business-owners bankrupt. They all watch as traditional political and economic structures begin to falter and collapse into chaos.
Wow! What a perfect time for Christmas – just when the great gift of goodness is being offered to a world desperately looking for hope and fulfillment!
I once heard Dennis Prager tell an audience here in Denver that, “Goodness is about character, integrity, honesty, kindness, generosity, moral courage, and the like. More than anything else, it is about how we treat other people.”
In my opinion, there is nothing in the world stronger than the gift of goodness, that has been given to us by a loving God, with the expectation that we will freely share that awesome gift with every other person in this needy world. If you accept the gift, then keep it to yourself, it will always be little. If you accept the gift and make it about other people by lavishly giving it away to everyone you know, it will grow, and return in exponential measure.
For my Christmas gift to you this year, I would like to help us expand the horizon of our spiritual and behavioral possibilities for goodness in this coming year of 2021.
I would like to challenge us – me included – to commit to answering this simple question:
What accomplishment of goodness would you dare to pursue
this next year, if you were assured you would not fail?
I would invite you to let me know just how this all works out during 2021.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
LOVE LETTERS IN A BLACK ENVELOPE
The envelope is black. The color is ominous. The contents seem foreboding. We assume that whatever is inside can’t be good. After all, this is the color of funerals and all things sad. Slowly, we rip open the envelope and expose the message. Certainly, it must be unthinkable. After all, what news could be contained in such a dark, haunting method of disclosure?
And then we read the contents. It’s a love letter. The words are kind and encouraging. The message is for our benefit. The purpose is kindness, peace, wholeness and all things Shalom. And how could that be? How could something that seemed so dark be the vehicle for something that is loving and enabling?
In our darkest hours, we seem to naturally assume that the message is likewise unpleasant. We fear the content. Our imagination is more than capable of creating the creatures that haunt us.
But what if the looming threat contained a message that was wonderful? That is often the case. I have a friend and colleague. In the early days of March at the outset of the COVID-19 pandemic, she contracted the virus. She got really sick. Her first test took a week to decipher. It came back negative. She suffered at home until the first test was declared in error and she was told to retest. The next series of tests came out positive and she remained sick, getting sicker. We wondered at her prognosis, feared the worst and hoped for the best.
Over the course of the next several weeks, she regained strength, and the virus lost it’s hold on her body. She began to beat back the threat of a terminal infection. Slowly her fever subsided and her senses of smell and taste returned. She was blessed with the type of medical attention that is only available to those of us lucky enough to live in resource-rich jurisdictions.
But, the concern with the COVID-19 virus is the long-term impact of the illness. They checked her blood. It was negative for the virus. The problem came when they looked for myocardial infarction. That is a swelling of the heart and it could be life-threatening. When they took a good, hard look at the images of her heart, they discovered an emergency. Her arteries were stuffed with plaque, and the blood was not flowing into the ventricles. It had nothing to do with her COVID infection. It was hereditary, the thing that had killed her dad. In short, she was a candidate for an immediate heart attack.
Within weeks, she was in the hospital. The doctor scheduled an emergency surgery. The only possible alternative was a triple bypass. I called her a couple days before the surgery to encourage her and to pray with her. Again, we were all hoping for the best and wondering why someone who had just survived COVID would be cursed with the black envelope of open-heart surgery. I asked if she was disappointed, frustrated or concerned.
Her response took me aback, “No. I am grateful for my journey. COVID just saved my life.”
The COVID diagnosis was the black envelope. The love letter was the discovery that she had a very bright future, and that she had a reason to be on this earth, and with a little cardiac re-plumbing, she would be good to help lots of other people. There would be lots of work to do. But her black envelope of COVID contained a letter that she was loved, and there was a brilliant plan for her life. Hers is the ultimate example of love letters in black envelopes.
We are coming up on nearly a year of pandemic lock-down. It has been something that seems dark and ominous. Staying in and hunkering down wasn’t pleasant when we were told it was fourteen days. It has now been months, and there is no end in sight.
One approach would be to see the past months as the ultimate black envelope. What good could come from the pandemic? And what of the unintended consequences? When the annuals of recent history are written, was this a time when our family, friends and co-workers have become the ultimate threats, and could actually infect us with a disease that could potentially kill us? Who do we turn to for security? Who can we trust?
Or what if we asked a different question? What if all of this could be interpreted as something good? What if a love letter came from opening a black envelope? What if the ominous, frightful situation was written for our benefit?
Personally, our story is not as scary as was our friend’s. She is fine. And we are fine. Actually, we are better than fine. And that’s the point of our thoughts today.
Before COVID, Dana and I were travelling like crazy people. In any given year, she and I would log between 450,000 and 500,000 air miles between the two of us. But on March 15th of 2020, that lifestyle all came to an end. No more TSA Security Lines, or Red Carpet Clubs or red-eye flights. We flew United Airlines home to wait for the COVID-19 “Shelter at Home” regulations to run their course. We were told it would be a couple of weeks. We bought toilet paper and tuna fish. We learned Zoom calls and tele-health. It was going to be manageable.
In that course of non-activity, we drove to Evergreen to check in on my folks. We would take dinner and help with chores. It was planned as a visit twice a week, for fourteen days. That is a total of four times, for people who do quick math. I could find four great recipes to make. Who couldn’t? Martha Stewart did that the week before she went to jail. How hard could it be to find four main dishes, a couple of sides and a salad? And then we would go back to the airport, board our flights and carry on. The black envelope was only a shade of gray at that point.
Eight and a half months later, we have been visiting Evergreen with dinner. Twice a week. And never the same meal twice. We have been cooking healthy, which means no red meat, no pork and no venison. We have visited continents and countries by virtue of their cuisine. We have visited some of our favorite places to travel, from Hungarian Goulash to Jamaican Jerk Chicken. And our time together has been the miracle of a lifetime.
What came in a black envelope as an lockdown and a change of lifestyle was actually a love letter to our family. We have spent more time together since March 15th than most families spend after the kids go off to college. The family table has been full of food, conversation and celebration. Love abounds. Ideas are exchanged. Blogs are written. Stories galore.
My thought as I guest-write this Blog post for my Dad on the eve of a Christmas holiday in the middle of Hanukkah is that we all have blessings. At the time, a blessing may seem like a black envelope, dreadful to open. We are scared for what might be inside. We shun the contents and avoid breaking the seal. But inside the foreboding cover may just be the gift of a lifetime.
Whether it is health and a second chance as in the case of my colleague, or the incredible gift of time well spent, we can recognize what was scary at first as a love letter for something much greater. Something that was Divinely inspired, Cosmically orchestrated. And intended for Eternity. All of that in it’s purist sense.
So, my gift to you this Holiday season is a simple question. Will you be faithful in looking beyond the envelope and seeking for the letter inside? Will you have the courage to open the black envelope? Will you read a love letter to you and your family, friends and colleagues?
It is there.
It is for you.
Open the envelope. There is a letter inside.
It is for you.
By Dr. W. Douglas Jackson, Project C.U.R.E. President/CEO
CONFLICT AGAIN IN NAGORNO-KARABAKH: Part 9 Project C.U.R.E.'s Recent Help
Thank you for taking the time to review with us the sad story of Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh. It has been nearly twenty years that I have personally been involved in the lives and national history of the country. In previous years, it was Project C.U.R.E.’s privilege to see to it that hundreds, and hundreds of thousands of dollars-worth of desperately needed medical goods were donated and delivered to the hospitals and clinics of both, Nagorno-Karabakh and Armenia. Only eternity will reveal how many lives were saved and broken bodies made well over that 20-year period.
I viewed the recent pictures of the people of Stepanakert, Martakert, and various hillside villages, fleeing their homes with only the few belongings that they could manage to carry out by hand. I studied the photos of their burning homes and outbuildings they were leaving behind them as they were forced to walk the long and treacherous road back to Yerevan, Armenia – where they had nothing at all waiting for them. My heart was broken. Many of them were my friends.
In the midst of all that chaos, some beautiful things have been happening over the past few weeks. As you are aware, Project C.U.R.E. has huge warehouses and collection/distribution operations, not only in the Denver area, but also, in Phoenix, Nashville, Houston, Chicago, Philadelphia, Kansas City, and additional “collection sites” in a dozen other U.S. cities.
A talented and dedicated lady named Janet Thomason, was the Executive Director of Project C.U.R.E.’s Houston operation. A short while back, Janet Thomason was promoted by our President/CEO, Dr. Douglas Jackson, to the position of Director of National Procurement for our whole operation. Guess what?! Janet’s grandparents are Armenian Christians. You might say, that Janet has a tender heart toward the Armenia, Nagorno-Karabakh situation!
Janet got busy and teamed up with our international contacts, like: American Healthcare Association of the Bay Area (AHABA), the Armenian International Women’s Association (AIWA), and the Armenian American Medical Association (AAMA). Over 50 pallets have been delivered, or on their way, by air into Yerevan, including such needed items as critical surgical supplies and wound-care devices. Some of the critical medical supplies have been shipped out of Houston, as well as Los Angeles. Medical doctors who were individually headed to the disaster area, were loaded up with “CURE Kits” that were taken directly to the crisis areas. Over 120 brand new Stryker Emergency Relief beds have been shipped by sea, with another two ocean-going cargo containers full of beds already on their way from our Philadelphia operation.
Janet Thomason remains in continual contact with the health organizations and Armenia’s Minister of Health, who keep her updated with the current needs. To close out this series of blogs on Nagorno-Karabakh, I would like to share with you a letter we just received from the President of the Board of Directors of AHABA, one of the health organizations with whom we are working during this current crisis:
November 2, 2020
Project C.U.R.E.
10377 E. Geddes Avenue
Centennial, CO 80112
Dear Project C.U.R.E.,
I am moved to write this letter of gratitude for all you have done to help the Armenian Health Care Association of the Bay Area (AHABA), a 501 (c)(3) (46-5168594) charitable organization led by Armenian-American physicians in the San Francisco Bay Area. You have been an invaluable partner as we work to provide aid, medical equipment and medical supplies, as well as medications to the people of Nagorno-Karabakh (Artsakh), who find themselves in a healthcare and humanitarian crisis caused by the aggression of Azerbaijan over Armenian ancestral land.
In the midst of this devastating war, C.U.R.E has worked with AHABA to provide high quality emergency lifesaving equipment and supplies at tremendous discounts from your surplus depots in Houston and Dallas. Included, was a sonogram machine, that will allow surgeons to quickly and accurately diagnose and triage civilians and soldiers with cluster bomb wounds, that cause devastating internal damage to the heart, the lungs and other organs, enabling more lives to be saved.
Hundreds of wound vacuum-assisted closing devices that have also been shipped, are now being used by the Armenian surgeons to treat complicated wounds to prevent infection from setting in. The specialized suture materials we have shipped thanks to you, allow Armenian plastic surgeons to repair instead of having to amputate limbs, which would leave the adults and children injured with lifelong disabilities. The orthopedic surgical supplies we have sent will be used to treat patients with open bone fractures. This is in addition to the hundreds of basic surgical supplies such as tourniquets, sponges, surgical instrument sets, IV infusion supplies and personal protective equipment to prevent the spread of COVID to the frontline workers in the hospitals.
We truly appreciate your acknowledgement of the urgency of our situation and your deep experience working with international disasters, which compelled you to prioritize our needs and expedite the shipments sent to date. We know that C.U.R.E. volunteers worked through the weekends to make sure that the shipments were sent out as quickly as possible. Additionally, when we were able to find a pro bono shipper within the Armenian community to take on that part of the job, your responsiveness to our request for the switch was impressive and the transition from your shipping department to ours was seamless. You always had our best interests in mind.
With your help, to date we have sent three full shipments of sorted, inventoried and palleted goods to Armenia in response to specific daily requests from Armenia based on their current needs on the ground. Anahit Avanesyan Armenia’s Deputy Minister of Health stated on a recent weekly call to the Armenian Medical International Committee (AMIC), the group that coordinates all Armenian medical aid from the diaspora, “The shipments that came from New York and Los Angeles containing supplies from Project C.U.R.E. non-governmental organization, arrived well-packed, fully organized and catalogued, enabling us to streamline the distribution of individual supplies to hospitals throughout the area where they were most needed.”
Overall, we could not ask for a better partner that was as well-run, more organized, cost-effective, efficient and caring than Project C.U.R.E. We would especially like to extend personal thanks to Janet Thomason, Project C.U.R.E. Director of National Procurement, for sharing her expertise and putting her heart into our project, and to Steven Wagener, Director of Logistics for his exquisite attention to detail.
On behalf of our entire Board of Directors and the country of Armenia, thank you again for your kind generosity and for enabling our fundraising efforts to achieve their greatest impact on the devastating ongoing medical and humanitarian crisis occurring in Artsakh and Armenia.
Sincerely,
Elena Sagayan, MD
President, Board of Directors Armenian Health Care Association of the Bay Area
I am so very proud to be even a small part of this amazing organization known as Project C.U.R.E. What a great way to end the year, 2020! May God continue to bless and protect our President/CEO, Dr. Douglas Jackson, the multi-talented staff members, the 30,000 dedicated volunteers, the board of directors, the ever-faithful donors, and all the varied programs and projects that we have going on in the over 130 countries around this needy world. It’s no wonder that I am still the “Happiest Man in the World.”
CONFLICT AGAIN IN NAGORNO-KARABAKH Part 8: Current Update
In my first blog of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict series, dated October 13, 2020, I gave a cursory overview of the situation, based on my personal visits and candid observations of the geographical area over the past thirty years. The conflict that is taking place in that geographical area of the world did not just start in 1988, as the current media coverage would have you to believe.
The conflict has been going on since the message and influence of Christianity began spreading in the first century. Christianity began moving north from Israel into Greece, Macedonia, Turkey; then eastward toward the Caspian Sea. Turkey and the area of Armenia became strongholds for the spreading of the new Christian faith.
This work has been released into the public domain by its author, MarshallBagramyan. This applies worldwide.
As you can see, in looking at the map, the area known as Nagorno-Karabakh is located in the south-eastern area of Armenia. Throughout the centuries, many Christian cathedrals, monasteries, and shrines have been built in Nagorno-Karabakh. Many of those still stand today. The occupants of the area were generally known as “Armenian-Christians.” Over the centuries, however, there were border and territorial disputes between the Armenian-Christians and their Azerbaijan neighbors.
To heighten and intensify the instability of the area, a fellow named Muhammad was born in A.D. 570 in Mecca, South Arabia. As a young man, he was in a cave and experienced an angel named Gabriel, telling him to record what later became known as the Koran. Eventually, Muhammad became convinced that his calling was to take over the entire Arabian Peninsula for his god, Allah. That expansionism morphed into the growth and formality of the Ottoman Empire for Islam.
The angel Gabriel had instructed Muhammad to be ruthless and aggressive in his battles: “And fight in the way of God with those who fight with you. . . And slay them wherever you come upon them, and expel them from where they expelled you. . . Slay them – such is the recompense of unbelievers – Fight them, till there is no more persecution and the religion is God’s. (Koran 3:190-196)
The Ottoman dominance only slowed down with the defeat of the Ottoman armies at the gates of Vienna, Austria, in 1683. Azerbaijan, Iran, and countries of Central Asia (Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Afghanistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, etc.) fell under Islam rule. Absolute intentionality was there to stop any further Christian expansion to the east of Armenia.
As you can tell, it is extremely difficult to pack two thousand years of history into the 1,000+ words of this blog – but let’s give it a try. As you might imagine, there was more happening in the building up of this current conflict than just religious fervor and theological disputes. As an economist, I have been trained that if you really want to know what is happening – “follow the money.”
In 1917, Russia was embroiled in the Bolshevik Revolution. Vladimir Lenin was determined to replace the Czars with a government that would redistribute all the wealth equally to all the people; where there would be centralized production and centralized distribution – out of the excess of all to the needs of each.
But by 1922, Joseph Stalin and his Communist movement had quickly and effectively stolen the Bolshevik Revolution away from the economic philosophers. Socialism necessitates and demands an “enforcer.” Stalin was an enforcer. Trotsky, Lenin, Marx, Engels, etc., were on the outside looking in.
Joseph Stalin wasted no time in establishing the Russian Federation and the military might of the Soviet Union. The oil fields of Baku, Azerbaijan, were absolutely necessary for his military control and success. (Recall: that it was Adolph Hitler’s general Rommel, who was headed for the Caspian Sea and the capturing of the oil fields of Baku, Azerbaijan, at the closing of World War II.)
Joseph Stalin was born in Tbilisi, Georgia. I have visited his birthplace and even the schools he attended and the statue that still stands in front of the government buildings in Tbilisi. Another look at the map above will show you just how close the country of Georgia is to the oil fields of Azerbaijan. In trying to solidify his Soviet position, not only with the Islamic held countries of Azerbaijan and Iran, but also, those Islamic countries of the “Stans” just across the waters of the Caspian Sea, it becomes quite clear just why he arbitrarily declared that the little section of Armenia called Nagorno-Karabakh would be given over lock-stock-and-barrel to the Islamic Azerbaijanis. The gift was effective. The entire area became part of the Soviet Union.
Skip ahead now, to the collapse of the Soviet Union, December 26, 1991. Russia was desperate to get a pipeline installed from the oil fields of Baku, Azerbaijan, where the oil would be transported westward to the Black Sea. No longer would the oil need to be moved by ship to the Black Sea or the Mediterranean for processing and distribution. Russia did not want to run the pipeline through their steep and rugged mountains known as the Caucasus Range. They wanted, instead, to run it a little further south through Nagorno-Karabakh and Armenia.
Instead of having to negotiate with the people of Nagorno-Karabakh, it was determined to simply and quietly eliminate all the people who blocked the newly-chosen route. That is when the people of Nagorno-Karabakh realized that they all were going to end up as victims of genocide. That is when Baroness Carolyn Cox and others form Great Britain started coming to the rescue. That was when Project C.U.R.E. became involved.
International attention was focused on the genocide. Things got messy, but President Putin still needed the alliance and support of Armenia in order to accomplish his oil pipeline project through the area.
In order to bring a solution to the tragedy that was taking place, President Vladimir Putin, suddenly decided to give back the Nagorno-Karabakh area to the Armenian Christians. He did not rescind Joseph Stalin’s act of giving the territory to Azerbaijan, but rather, gave the Armenian Christians the right to set up an Autonomous state of their own in Nagorno-Karabakh, and sent the Azerbaijanis back to Azerbaijan. The Armenian-Christians rejoiced that they once again had their beloved Nagorno-Karabakh back. They settled back into the country and President Putin got his precious pipeline.
Between 1988 and 2020, however, there were numerous disputes and military clashes between the sides. On September 27, 2020, there was a new, large-scale war that erupted between Armenian soldiers and citizens, and the Azerbaijani forces. It is estimated that there may have been several thousand casualties involved in the short war.
During that period of time, international politics and economics had changed. No longer was Putin in the secure position of strength and control he had once enjoyed. Recent political relationships and involvements between Turkey, Russia, Iran, Pakistan and even Israel had changed. Russia was needing to quickly work out some kind of arbitration that would normalize the intensity of the conflict, and also work to beef-up the security of Russia’s shaky oil field situation. He could not afford to get involved in an all-out military operation with anybody.
Putin wanted to avoid any outside aid coming in from the West to complicate his situation. He gambled that Boris Johnson, in Great Britain, who was staving off the worst economic recession in three hundred years, would not come to Armenia’s aid. He also gambled that America was too fragmented, and obsessed with their own internal problems at the time, to send troops into an unknown place like Nagorno-Karabakh. He was right. He moved quickly.
Vladimir Putin worked with Armenia’s Prime Minister, Nikol Pashinyan. On November 10, 2020, they agreed to a cease-fire. Putin was cancelling his twenty-year-old deal with Armenia and all the people would have to evacuate and return to Armenia. Russia would send military armament and personnel to Nagorno-Karabakh to escort the people out.
The Azerbaijanis were exuberant. Now, the Muslims could return to their long-lost lands. The Armenian-Christians were devastated and felt tragically betrayed by their own government and Nikol Pashinyan. . . “We thought we were winning. . . Where do we go now?” As they retreated, they took with them the few things they could personally carry over the long treacherous mountain road back to “nowhere” in the crowded confines of Armenia. Most everything they could not carry, they torched and left to burn. They were left to start over – once again.
Next Week: Project C.U.R.E. to the Rescue
CONFLICT AGAIN IN NAGORNO-KARABAKH Part 7: We Are a part of History
(continued): Nagorno-Karabakh: August 19, 1998: This morning our delegation traveled north and east out of Stepanakert to the city of Martakert. It is near the Karabakh-Azerbaijan border where incidents of sniper fire and land-mine explosions are still occurring. The hospital there serves fifty-seven smaller villages in the region. Immediately upon arriving at the hospital I met a young soldier and photographed the wounds he had just received.
The thought flashed through my mind that I could have easily been the one in the cross hairs of the sniper’s sights. The sniper’s bullet had entered his upper-left chest cavity, collapsed his left lung, and exited out his back. The shot had somehow missed his heart, and the doctors assured us that the young man will survive and heal successfully.
All the hospitals we had visited in Stepanakert needed everything. In Martakert, they simply needed more than everything. It kept blaring inside my head: These are the brave doctors on the front lines of this ongoing conflict, and they have nothing to work with. Just the donation of a little would go so far.
Dinner, again, was very late, and by the time I headed for my room, the wind had begun to blow and it was trying to rain. The last thing Baroness Cox told me was that Zori had informed her there will probably be no possibility of taking the helicopter back to Yerevan, Armenia tomorrow. The storm that has moved in has brought with it very dense clouds that are totally blocking the mountains. I asked Lady Cox what the difference in travel time will be if we have to drive back over the mountains.
“They have repaired some of the bombed-out places in the roadway,” she said, “so now even in good weather, we are probably looking at fourteen hours as opposed to an hour and a quarter or an hour and a half by helicopter.
I went to sleep thinking about the probability of returning over the mountains to Armenia tomorrow in a caravan of vehicles, bouncing over rutty roads and sitting on metal seats for at least fourteen hours. I awoke in the middle of the night and listened to it rain. Then I fell back to sleep singing a little ditty I had composed in the dark: “No caravan to Yerevan, Lord. Let me fly by chopper.”
Thursday, August 20
In the morning the clouds had lifted a bit, but it was still raining. At breakfast Dr. Tony Peel and I discussed our presentation to the prime minister. Even around the table, it was the consensus of opinion that the pilots will probably not chance flying the chopper across the rugged mountain peaks in the storm. We all moaned at the thought of a fourteen-hour ride back to Armenia. I kept humming, “No caravan to Yerevan, Lord. Let me fly by chopper.”
Our meeting with the prime minister could not have gone better. He guaranteed personally that the medical goods from Project CURE will be received under his watchful eye, free of any tax or duty requirements. Dr. Peel and I laid out our recommendations that they not put any more expense or effort into trying to salvage four of the hospital buildings in the city of Stepanakert. Rather, contrary to the old Soviet model, we recommended they choose a new location for a unified hospital that would include separate departments for each specialty. That way each department could take advantage of a centralized laboratory, a modern radiology department, and common surgery facilities. We pointed out that they would be able to cut down on the number of beds in the combined hospital and would have better cost control over the supplies and staff.
The prime minister just beamed. He had been thinking about the same things but was certain he would encounter opposition from the heads of the separate hospitals because they would be losing “turf.” We pointed out that he and the minister of health could reassure those directors that they would still have control over their individual budgets for their departments, even in the unified hospital.
One of the members of our medical team had talked to me a couple of days ago about making an anonymous gift of $1.5 million toward the construction of the new hospital if I could get the minister of health and the prime minister to go along with the idea and agree to certain guidelines. I presented the prime minister with that possibility, and Zori, Baroness Cox, and the prime minister all just about took off into orbit.
The prime minister and Zori repeatedly thanked us for having done such a thorough job in our research and recommendations. Now they can start planning how to totally change their health care delivery system and dump the old inefficient Soviet nightmare. It was about noon when we left the prime minister’s office. The rain had stopped, but the clouds were dense and low over the mountain peaks. Zori just shook his head and announced at lunch that there would be no helicopter. “No caravan to Yerevan,” I hummed as I enjoyed my lunch of greasy, fried eggplant and beans.
About 1:00 p.m., a strange thing happened. As we were ready to load up the vans for our caravan trip, the sun broke out, and the clouds began to lift. I actually watched the dense cloud line move up the mountain peaks. As we finished loading the luggage, word came to Zori from the helicopter pilots. They now felt it would be safe to fly! The caravan of luggage and passengers headed to the airport instead of the mountain pass. “No caravan to Yerevan,” I continued to hum.
As we flew back to Armenia, I once in a while caught a glimpse of the winding road traversing its way up and over the mountain range. I smiled and told God, Thank you.
Friday, August 21
Today was a whirlwind day. At 10:30 a.m., I had the privilege of meeting with Viken Aykazian, bishop of the Armenian Orthodox Christian Church. At 11:30 a.m., the foreign affairs minister of Armenia met with us.
Between 1:30 p.m. and 3:00 p.m., an international news conference was held at the main government building in Yerevan. About twenty-five newspaper reporters and TV journalists assembled in the official press-conference room. Baroness Cox was really the star of the press conference. Nearly everyone in Armenia knows her and her tireless work around the world on behalf of Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh. She introduced me, and I was able to talk about Project C.U.R.E. and its impact around the world, as well as our findings in Nagorno-Karabakh and our plans for the future regarding its health-care system and the medical institutions we had visited.
Everyone was so thrilled and grateful for Project C.U.R.E.’s commitment to over a million dollars-worth of desperately needed medical supplies and pieces of medical equipment, and the possibility of a new combined hospital unit for the future in Stepanakert.
We used our last dinner together to honor the helicopter pilots who had been so kind to us during our stay in Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh, and all the other helicopter pilots who had given their lives to keep the corridor open between Armenia and Karabakh during the recent war years.
My research of the Armenians and the Nagorno-Karabakh situation had somewhat prepared me for a cursory understanding of the history of the Karabakh region, but I was in no way prepared for the emotional wrenching I experienced during my stay. I know I can’t keep up forever the pace of what I am doing now. My exposure is high, and the risks I am taking are, according to common sense, quite stupid. But while God gives me good health and high energy, I want to make my life count for kindness, justice, and righteousness. I truly believe those are the high objectives that will delight the heart of God.
Next Week: A current update on Nagorno-Karabakh
CONFLICT AGAIN IN NAGORNO-KARABAKH Part 6: God's Miracles vs. Soviet System
(continued): Nagorno-Karabakh: August, 1998: The archbishop is a strong man whom I judged to be in his late fifties. His slightly graying beard somewhat hid a classic squared jaw and chiseled features. He stood with strength and dignity, but his soft eyes revealed his kindness and gentleness of spirit. He knew some English, but he spoke to us through an interpreter.
Our meeting with the archbishop was so meaningful to me that I asked if I could have my photo taken with the archbishop and Baroness Cox. Along with Zori, they had fought an impossible war and were not defeated. “The war showed many miracles. As with the miracles in the Old Testament, victory was not just because of the people of Karabakh; it was because of the Lord.” To illustrate his point, he told me the account of a battle during the war that took place close by in a village referred to as “Under the Rock.”
A small group of thirty Karabakhi soldiers were dispatched to guard the village from a sneak attack. A battalion of at least three hundred Turkish and Azerbaijani soldiers surrounded the village and prepared for their offensive to completely destroy the village and all the men, women and children there. The day was completely clear and sunny. The group of Karabakhi soldiers realized they needed thirty minutes at least to get all the women and children out of the village before the deadly attack of the enemy. They prayed that God would somehow grant them the thirty minutes necessary. Out of nowhere in the sky came a bright-white vapor cloud. The fog was so dense that they couldn’t see in front of them. The cloud of fog passed between the villagers and the enemy and stopped for thirty minutes. When the women and children were safely out and away, the cloud passed on and evaporated.
In the ensuing battle, which lasted the rest of the day, only thirteen Karabakhi soldiers were killed. The Karabakhi soldiers had won. Over half of the Azerbaijani forces lay dead, and many more were wounded. “That was a miracle,” insisted the archbishop.
Tuesday, August 18
Our next stop was Stepanakert’s general hospital. The schedule was tight enough that we didn’t even have time for a lunch break. The thing I observed that both the children’s hospital and the general hospital need most is a total replacement of the buildings. Both hospitals had taken fifteen to twenty direct missile hits and a lot of mortar hits. The ceilings and walls still have not been repaired, and it isn’t unusual to find holes and bomb fragments in the wooden hallways.
Next, we rushed to assess the maternity hospital where Dr. Arthur Marutian and his administration staff welcomed us. The maternity hospital received quite a number of direct and indirect missile and mortar hits during the fighting. Quite frankly, the building isn’t worth trying to salvage. The outside walls are collapsing, and the inside of the building sustained structural damage. On our tour of the facilities, I discovered that the hospital has been completely without water for the past four days. I kept asking myself how they can run a hospital without regular access to fresh water and electricity.
Dr. Marutian responded very positively when I suggested that they think about altering the old Soviet style and philosophy of health care. As we walked down the dark corridors of the hospital, I told him about the many hundreds of hospitals I had visited throughout the old Soviet Union.
“I am very aware,” I told the doctor, “of the idea of total central control of the health-care system by the Soviet government. Their idea was to place each specialty in a separate hospital location. Then they could more easily control the movements and procedures of everyone, because no one had an opportunity to communicate with anyone else.” He nodded his head in agreement. “The hospitals I have visited so far in Stepanakert have all needed everything. I am guessing that the other ones we will be visiting also need everything. But Project C.U.R.E. can’t fully equip five or six separate hospitals here in the city. It would be my suggestion that you abandon separate hospitals and combine all the medical specialties in one new hospital building with separate departments for the specialties. By so doing, you here at the maternity hospital would have access to a fully equipped, modern operating room, radiology department, and diagnostics laboratory.”
To my surprise, Dr. Marutian really jumped at the idea and said there were others in Stepanakert who were in agreement about needing to dump the old Soviet system of medical care. To underscore the maternity hospital’s dire need for new equipment, the doctor took me into the main delivery room. There he walked to the metal delivery table and lifted up the pad that covered the tabletop. The entire end of the table where the delivery procedures took place was completely rusted out. “This is not just unsanitary with all this rust,” he said, “but if the end of the table drops off during one of my deliveries, we will all be in great trouble.”
I told Dr. Marutian that before we leave Karabakh, Dr. Anthony Peel, the surgeon from England, and I will be meeting with the prime minister and making recommendations for Stepanakert’s health-care system. I told Dr. Marutian that since he is one of the doctors who would be willing to break away from the old Soviet health system concepts, I would like to be able to call on him or at least use his name to support our recommendations. He smiled broadly and gave me a “thumbs up.” I knew that somehow we were going to hit a homerun!
Next Week: No Caravan to Yerevan, Lord let me fly by chopper!
CONFLICT AGAIN IN NAGORNO-KARABAKH Part 5: Eighty Percent of Our Men Are Dead
(continued): Nagorno-Karabakh: August, 1998: As we were being served dinner in the basement of the main government building, the four of us who had been assigned to stay at the bombed out downtown hotel began trying to figure out which of the dirty, tattered sofas in the lobby we would use as beds. As providence would have it, a gentleman intervened and invited us to stay at a facility where there were latches and locks on the doors and running water in the sink, toilet, and shower. It was a miracle!
Sunday, August 16
At breakfast Lady Cox and Zori informed us that we would be going once again in the helicopter. As we shuddered and shook to a successful liftoff, our helicopter once again took us just barely over the tops of more burned and bombed-out villages. At one point the clouds parted, and I was able to get a spectacular view of Mount Ararat. As I sized up the mountain, I tried to imagine a puddle of water sixteen thousand feet deep, and the time Noah and his family must have had trying to make their way off the steep mountain with a menagerie of animals.
The Armenians built their churches in the most inaccessible places you could imagine. There is no such thing as a church “on the way.” They are all very much out of the way. But I suppose that’s why they are still in existence today. The cathedral at Gandzasar, known as the Hill of Treasure, now conducts services on a regular basis. During the war the Azerbaijanis tried desperately to destroy the church. They encircled the building and fired missiles and mortar shells at it. The monastery next door was blown up, but neither the bombs from the air nor the mortar shells nor the rockets could destroy the small cathedral. All the shots missed the church, except one missile that penetrated one meter inside the building but did not explode. The people all talked about the miracle God had performed in sparing the church. Zori told me that during Stalin’s reign, all the priests and bishops in all the Armenian churches were either killed or shipped off to Siberia to be worked to death.
Our helicopter had to dock about one and a quarter mile down the hill from the church. Dr. Scott and I decided to hike up to the church instead of waiting for a four-wheel-drive rig to take us. The priest and the people of Gandzasar had planned a spectacular feast in our honor. Two men led two young sheep through the ancient churchyard and back behind the monastery, where the sheep were butchered for our lunch. As some of the men cut the meat, others built the fires, and still others began stabbing the meat onto shish-kebab skewers. Mountain-village women prepared breads and salads and cooked vegetables to be placed on the nearly forty-foot-long table. By the time we were ready to eat, over fifty people sat down at the table.
The generosity of the Armenian people is almost incomprehensible. They have nothing, and yet they will give you anything and everything they might have. The average Karabakhi makes only one thousand drams a month, and a loaf of bread costs one hundred drams. That equates to purchasing ten loaves of bread a month—and nothing else. Our interpreter, Irena, who speaks three languages and works for the health ministry, earns an income equivalent to twelve US dollars per month. She has to feed two teenagers as she tries to live on such a salary. Yet there is nothing she would not do for a guest or for someone she saw in need.
After the feast Zori had one more surprise for us. We all got back into the helicopter and flew a ways farther down the mountain close to the village of Vanenka. Rafee, the pilot, set the big, ugly, orange bird down about one hundred yards from the cottage of a mountain beekeeper. As we walked from the chopper to the house, I noticed hundreds of blackberry bushes just loaded with ripe berries. The lady of the cottage had set a very long table loaded with bread and bottled mineral water. Between the small house and where the table was set in a tree-lined opening, we had to cross a small creek. Set up alongside the creek was a beautiful antique samovar filled with boiling tea and a small burning log in the center chamber of the samovar keeping the liquid hot. I had no idea how old the samovar must have been, but it delighted me to see it in practical use out in the rugged mountains of Nagorno-Karabakh.
Before we were seated at the table, the bee farmer directed us to the area where he kept his beehives. He gently shooed the bees away and opened the top of the hive. Then he carefully tugged and pulled one of the thin sections from the hive where the bees had built their honeycomb. He repeated the process until he was certain he had retrieved enough honey for our dessert party.
Once seated, we were served piping hot tea, fresh bread, large platters of fresh honey still in the honeycomb, and generous helping of blackberries in thick, sweet juice. I don’t know what heaven is going to be like, but I think I will suggest to the Lord that he include in the venue something quite like that setting in the wooded mountains of Karabakh along the stream, with honeycomb, fresh bread, fresh berries, and hot tea.
Monday, August 17
The health minister suggested we perform the needs assessments at the children’s hospital and general hospital today, and the maternity hospital, military hospital, and psychiatric hospital tomorrow, and then drive out to the region near the front lines of the war on Wednesday to a town called Martakert. That way we will have been able to assess six of the institutions by the time we have our next meeting with the prime minister. Additionally, we set our final meeting with the minister of health for Wednesday at 5:00 p.m. to bring him a complete report on our findings and deliver our recommendations for the region’s health-care system.
On our way to the children’s hospital, I was watching the people of Stepanakert as they walked along the streets. For a two-block stretch, there were no people on the streets except women. I turned to the backseat where Irena, our interpreter, was riding and mentioned my observation that the streets were filled with only women and a few children.
“That’s because our men are all dead,” she replied. She then told us that her husband had been an antiaircraft gunner in the war. He survived being shot during the war but died a short time after the signing of the cease-fire as a result of some kind of head or brain injury. Now she has been left alone to raise her teenage son and daughter. “It is impossible to live on what we earn in Stepanakert. I earn the equivalent of twelve US dollars a month for many long hours. I have tried to find students who want to learn English, Russian, or American English. But the problem is that they don’t have any money either, so it is difficult for them to pay me.”
She then went on to add, “But I don’t have it as bad as many in Stepanakert. Nearly 80 percent of all the families here do not have a husband or father in the home. They are dead, and the wife now has to raise a much bigger family than mine, by herself, and also try to earn a living.”
For the rest of the drive to the hospital, all of us in the car just sat there stone silent.
I thought to myself -- Why are we the first ones to come and help the people of Karabakh?
Next Week: Astonishing Miracles
CONFLICT AGAIN IN NAGORNO-KARABAKH Part 4: A Good Team - but Sad Surroundings
Stepanakert, Nagorno-Karabakh: August, 1998: Stepanakert was our destination. It is the capital of Nagorno-Karabakh and houses the country’s government buildings. The helicopter pilots gently set our ugly orange bird down in the midst of its own tornado and dust storm. When the chopper blades ceased rotating, a pilot named Uri opened the door, and we were allowed to crawl out.
The air was hot and muggy, and there was no breeze at all after the helicopter’s windstorms died down. Vans were at the airport runway to meet us at Zori’s prearranged direction. I already perceived that Stepanakert is a lot different than Yerevan. There was something of bleak solemnity that permeated the spirit of the city. I could feel it. No one smiled. The expressions on people’s faces showed neither happiness nor pleasantness; rather, their facial muscles drooped, which had the effect of making their eyes look even sadder.
Our vans and taxis rendezvoused at the government buildings in the center of Stepanakert. The hotel in which four of us are scheduled to stay is only one block away from the main government building. I grabbed my luggage and went quickly with the others to get checked into our rooms and freshen up a bit before our scheduled 5:00 p.m. meeting with the minister of health.
The hotel had known its days of glory and splendor in the past, I was certain. But that must have been over a hundred years in the past. Since then, I don’t think any maintenance had been performed at all. In addition, the building had taken some direct hits during the bombings of the past few years. As we entered, I looked up to the ceiling of the lobby area and marveled at the half-destroyed remnants of crystal chandeliers hanging precariously from the ceiling. Most of the crystal pendants were missing, and the few that remained closely matched in color the tarnished brass of the fixture. I guess I should have just kept focusing on the broken chandeliers, but I made the mistake of looking around at where we were expected to stay. Most of the rooms were uninhabitable, with collapsed plaster ceilings or broken walls or doors. I recalled all the terrible places around the world where I had been expected to lay my head down and sleep, and at first I figured I would just take a deep breath and make the present situation work.
A pudgy, unkempt woman met us as we came in and handed us a couple of keys. She then accompanied us to our rooms on the third floor. On our way upstairs, I began to notice that the hotel wasn’t just old and war damaged; it was grossly filthy. At the door to one room, the unpleasant innkeeper communicated to us in Armenian that she expected three of us to stay there. But there were only two beds. We protested, but she countered by showing us that it was the only room in the hotel that had its own bathroom. We stepped in to have a look-see—we shouldn’t have. She lost her sales point. The bathroom was a terrible fright. The floor had been torn up and not repaired, so there were piles of dirt and broken concrete to sidestep. The mirror consisted of just a few broken chunks that still stuck to the wall. The sink was crusty, but we were to discover that this didn’t count for much, since there was no running water available on floors two and three. Obviously the toilet wasn’t of much use, since there was no running water. But they had tried to compensate for that by filling the dilapidated bathtub with some drain water they had carried up in a rusty bucket and dumped.
I made signs to the lady as if I were turning on and off a water spigot, and hand motions as if I were taking a shower. She cracked about a half smile and pointed back down the stairs. We all then communicated to her that we wanted to see the running water downstairs. After all, we were going to be here the major portion of a week! She pointed to her watch and indicated that there would be no water even downstairs until after 5:00 p.m. We insisted on seeing the shower room anyway. I will let your own imagination paint the picture of what we found there.
Thinking we had no other options, we put our suitcases in the rooms, and as we walked down the stairs and out the door to our meeting with the minister of health, Dr. Scott Stenquest, Dr. Anthony Peel, and I talked about perhaps using the old sofas in the lobby as beds.
Our meeting with the health minister, Dr. Aleksander Petrossian, really got our visit off on the right foot. There was an instant bonding between the two of us, and I knew I would be able to work with him in the future. I explained to him all about Project C.U.R.E., why we had come, and how the needs assessments would be conducted in his hospitals with his cooperation and blessing. I was then perhaps a little more stern with the health minister than I needed to be in explaining my expectations for getting the containers into the country and the distribution process.
While I was laying down my points in no uncertain terms, I had a flashback of my presentation in a similar situation in Benin, West Africa, when my snippy, little Baptist missionary, who had never had a meeting with a government official higher than the local traffic cop, chided me and told me I had no right talking to a cabinet minister in that tone of voice. Pushing that picture aside, I kept up with the pressure. I was demanding written assurances of getting the medical goods into the country without customs hassles, levied taxes, or transportation delays. I also demanded the right to distribute the goods as we see fit based on the findings of our needs assessment and not based on political determinations. I joked with him just enough to keep him smiling and his head going up and down.I asked the minister to give me wise counsel as to which hospitals we should visit and in what order. He agreed that by Monday morning at 9:00, he would have all the answers ready for me, and the hospitals notified of my arrival.
At 7:30 p.m., Zori Balayan ushered our delegation into the office of the prime minister of Nagorno-Karabakh, Zhirayr T. Poghosyan. Baroness Cox was extremely gracious in her introduction of Project C.U.R.E. to the prime minister. We only had time to greet Mr. Poghosyan with a few words, because he had pulled himself from another scheduled meeting to meet briefly with us and greet us. It is certainly helpful having Zori make sure we receive our requested appointments with any of the government officials.
Dinner was scheduled at 9:00 p.m. in the lower level of the government building. At dinner Zori told us that this is Lady Cox’s thirty-ninth trip to Nagorno-Karabakh. I have watched in amazement while we have been in Armenia and Karabakh at the recognition and reception the local people give to Baroness Cox. Everyone knows her, or at least who she is. To them she is almost a patron saint. She was there all during the war and held nothing back within her ability, giving aid and comfort during the people’s darkest hours. My respect for her has grown by the day. She really has a gift of love for the oppressed and particularly those of the persecuted Christian church. I am not surprised in the least that she has been given nearly every international humanitarian award for her spirit and her work.
Next Week: Mountain Top Banquet