JOURNAL HIGHLIGHTS: Roads I Have Traveled...Excerpt # 6 Nagorno-Karabakh, 1998

by Dr. James W. Jackson

Founder, Project C.U.R.E.
Author, The Happiest Man in the World: Life Lessons from a Cultural Economist

(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., a 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.

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.

© Dr. James W. Jackson   

Permissions granted by Winston-Crown Publishing House

  

www.jameswjackson.com

Dr. James W. Jackson often describes himself as "The Happiest Man in the World." A successful businessman, award-winning author and humanitarian, Jackson is also a renowned Cultural Economist and international consultant, helping organizations and governments to apply sound economic principals to the transformation of culture so that everyone is "better off."

As the founder of Project C.U.R.E., Dr. Jackson traveled to more than one hundred fifty countries assessing healthcare facilities, meeting with government leaders and "delivering health and hope" in the form of medical supplies and equipment to the world's most needy people. Literally thousands of people are alive today as a direct result of the tireless efforts of Project C.U.R.E.'s staff, volunteers and Dr. Jackson. 

To contact Dr. Jackson, or to book him for an interview or speaking engagement: press@winstoncrown.com

JOURNAL HIGHLIGHTS Roads I Have Traveled ... Excerpt # 3 Nagorno-Karabakh, 1998

by Dr. James W. Jackson

Founder, Project C.U.R.E.
Author, The Happiest Man in the World: Life Lessons from a Cultural Economist

(continued): 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
 

© Dr. James W. Jackson   

Permissions granted by Winston-Crown Publishing House

  

www.jameswjackson.com  

Dr. James W. Jackson often describes himself as "The Happiest Man in the World." A successful businessman, award-winning author and humanitarian, Jackson is also a renowned Cultural Economist and international consultant, helping organizations and governments to apply sound economic principals to the transformation of culture so that everyone is "better off."

As the founder of Project C.U.R.E., Dr. Jackson traveled to more than one hundred fifty countries assessing healthcare facilities, meeting with government leaders and "delivering health and hope" in the form of medical supplies and equipment to the world's most needy people. Literally thousands of people are alive today as a direct result of the tireless efforts of Project C.U.R.E.'s staff, volunteers and Dr. Jackson. 

To contact Dr. Jackson, or to book him for an interview or speaking engagement: press@winstoncrown.com

JOURNAL HIGHLIGHTS The Roads I Have Traveled ... Excerpt # 2 Nagorno-Karabakh, 1998

by Dr. James W. Jackson

Founder, Project C.U.R.E.
Author, The Happiest Man in the World: Life Lessons from a Cultural Economist

(continued): Nagorno-Karabakh: August, 1998: The road to the city center of Yerevan, Armenia, passed by a lot of evidence of poverty and deferred maintenance. But the closer we came to the metro area, the more impressive Yerevan loomed. In the distance the beautiful national football stadium, which has a seating capacity of seventy-five thousand soccer fans, could be seen. There were several new buildings, and construction cranes were in place erecting other buildings. Could this be the city that suffered so much from the catastrophic earthquakes in Armenia in 1988, when a quarter of a million people were killed or displaced?

The downtown hub of the city of Yerevan is one of the most attractive I have ever seen. Buildings of coordinated architecture form a loose circle. Fountains, trees, and one building with a huge city clock grace the city center. But the streets were nearly void of people on this quiet Saturday morning. Business people were home with their families, resting from a busy week, and the majority of movement in the streets was from a cool breeze that wafted its way through the large green trees lining the freshly washed streets leading toward the city hub. I thought to myself, These people have a lot of personal and civic pride. What a welcome contrast to the thousands of dirty, unkempt cities I visit in the developing world.

Our plans had been to leave right away on our journey to Stepanakert, Nagorno-Karabakh. But somehow the personal communications network had tangled, and since our hosts had not yet arrived at the hotel to meet us, we retreated upstairs and ate a lovely breakfast in the hotel dining room. Eventually our hosts arrived, and we piled into some Russian-built vans and headed to a domestic airport on the outskirts of Yerevan.

While in Yerevan, we were introduced to one of the most interesting characters of the entire cast of players in Armenia. The historic saga has included many colorful players, but perhaps none more enigmatic as Zori Balayan. Zori is a trained surgeon and has throughout his life been a master sportsman. He has written more than forty books, and during the Soviet occupation of Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh, he represented his people in Moscow as a people’s deputy in the politburo. Now he is perhaps the leading member of Parliament in the Nagorno-Karabakh republic. In my estimation, Zori is the most influential behind-the-scenes leader in Karabakh. He has a godly old mother of character and wisdom, who prays for him daily, and he honors and respects her greatly.

I might be mistaken in my personal evaluation of the situation, since I’ve known Zori Balayan for such a short time, but after reading some of his works, observing him up close, and watching the people around him, I judge that he is the kingmaker of Nagorno-Karabakh and perhaps even of Armenian politics. If Zori scheduled a meeting for Baroness Cox or me, the people at whatever level canceled everything else to attend the meeting.

Zori led us from the downtown hotel to the airport. We passed easily through the heavy security, and our vans actually drove right down the runway to where the flying equipment was parked.

You have no idea the delight I felt as I crawled out of the van. By going into that guarded airport facility, I had been suddenly transported back into the pages of recent Soviet history. The feeling of awe I felt as my feet hit the tarmac was supercharged as I looked up and spotted in the background another object with even more emotional significance to me. Imposing itself on everything within its influence was the gigantic, snow-clad phenomenon of Mount Ararat, where Noah’s ark had landed so many millennia earlier. The mountain towers more than sixteen thousand feet from its base, taller by two thousand feet than any of the majestic mountains in Colorado.

Lined up on either side of the runway were pristine vintage Soviet aircraft from a bygone era. The Armenians are still using the large biplanes from World War II. Mixed in with the other planes were the Russian hot-rod Yak-40 military planes still used by many of the Soviet officers. The Yak-40, as you know if you’ve read my other journal entries, has become perhaps my favorite airplane. It seats about twenty-five people and is powered not by one jet engine but by three jet engines mounted at the tail of the plane. It’s like riding on the back of a rocket.

Farther down the runway were parked perfect specimens of Russia’s famous MiG fighters. The Soviets had abandoned all the equipment in Armenia following the breakup of the Soviet Union. 

Our van had stopped right in front of two Russian Mil Mi-8 combat helicopters. One was painted in camouflage colors; the other was an ugly faded-orange color with blue-and-black trim. It was obvious that the helicopters had been used and abused during the war and in subsequent months.

Zori told me, “We used to have to negotiate these rugged mountains with mules. Today the helicopters are our mules.”

Our pilots jumped out of the vans and quickly began to scurry around performing the necessary preflight procedures. It quickly became apparent that we would be flying in the monstrous, ugly, orange-colored machine. At a later point, Rafee, one of the pilots, told me that they will only be able to use the old Soviet helicopters for a maximum of another two years. No more spare parts are available, and no one is making any parts for repairs or maintenance. I only hoped they had been diligent in their maintenance up to the present.

Once I had satisfied my photo cravings to preserve in pictures the rare sight, I climbed on board the Russian-made bird. As I entered I looked up at the turbo engine that powered the Mi-8 chopper and noticed areas of fresh oil from the engine compartment on top that had run down over the old, oxidized paint. I prayed a brief prayer for protection as I found myself inside the padded cargo area. The seats were in a configuration around a command table in the center of the helicopter’s belly. Lady Cox went up and mingled with the pilots while the rest of our team slithered into the available seats. Zori sat at the head of the conference table, where I suppose he was most used to sitting. In Nagorno-Karabakh, the military people still refer to him as Commissar.

It took a while to warm the engines up to operating requirements. As the massive blades on top began to rotate, the helicopter began to vibrate. The more I convinced myself to relax and enjoy the experience, the more the severe vibration made my teeth chatter. I decided it was better to be a little tense.

The severity of the shaking intensified a great deal more as the giant bird tried to lift itself off the ground. But suddenly we reached the necessary height, and the nose of the chopper tilted forward. Immediately the long blades on top began to bite into the air ahead of us, and we took off like a shot. In no time at all, we were traveling not only up but ahead at terrific speed. It was a sensation and thrill I will not soon forget.

In only minutes we were flying over very rough terrain and between steep mountain peaks to gain the necessary altitude required for our trip from Yerevan, Armenia, to Stepanakert, Nagorno-Karabakh. I was sitting close to a round porthole window and had a perfect view of the terrain below. I spotted a narrow, winding road below, the alternative passageway to Stepanakert for those not fortunate enough to have a helicopter available to them. Some recent repairs applied to the roadway cut about four hours off the regular travel time. Now it only takes ten to fourteen hours to make the journey. We would cover the same distance in about an hour and fifteen minutes.

No more than twenty minutes into our flight, I began to observe the ravages of the destructive war. I didn’t know then that I was being introduced to emotions and insights that would change my life forever. Having been born just before the United States was plunged into the Second World War, I had seen plenty of pictures and newscasts of the devastation of war. I remembered the pictures of the Korean War and the Vietnam War, and I had subsequently visited all those war sites in my travels. I had also been up close and had personally seen the results of African tribal wars as they were taking place. But before Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh, I had never been to a war zone on the front lines and felt the impact of loss and the devastation caused by modern weapons of mass destruction.

 As I gazed from the windows of the chopper, I began to see whole villages where every building had been blown apart. Trees were uprooted, orchards were burned, and bones of livestock were still strewn in the abandoned farmyards.

Mile after mile along the once-closed corridor between Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh, nothing moved. Towns were totally obliterated. All was silent and left to ruin where families once lived in community, children had played, and old women had gathered to gossip. Now all was silent.

Next Week: Meager accommodations
 

© Dr. James W. Jackson   

Permissions granted by Winston-Crown Publishing House

  

www.jameswjackson.com  

Dr. James W. Jackson often describes himself as "The Happiest Man in the World." A successful businessman, award-winning author and humanitarian, Jackson is also a renowned Cultural Economist and international consultant, helping organizations and governments to apply sound economic principals to the transformation of culture so that everyone is "better off."

As the founder of Project C.U.R.E., Dr. Jackson traveled to more than one hundred fifty countries assessing healthcare facilities, meeting with government leaders and "delivering health and hope" in the form of medical supplies and equipment to the world's most needy people. Literally thousands of people are alive today as a direct result of the tireless efforts of Project C.U.R.E.'s staff, volunteers and Dr. Jackson. 

To contact Dr. Jackson, or to book him for an interview or speaking engagement: press@winstoncrown.com