Mongolia is Awesome: Names Edition

After Mongolia became the Mongolian People’s Republic in 1924, they renamed the capital “Ulaanbaatar Xot.” Ulaanbaatar is technically two words, and Ulaanbaatar Xot literally means “Red Hero City.” It’s named after Sükhbaatar, the national hero who led the independence movement against China. Because he led a communist revolution, he was dubbed the Red Hero, and the city was named after him.

But “baatar” occurs in names that don’t involve nationalist leaders, too. It’s commonly found in people’s names; I’ve met a “Chuluunbaatar” (Stone Hero) and at least three “Ganbaatars”; “gan,” like Bold, is a word for steel, so Ganbaatar means Steel Hero. (This country rocks.)

Although having a bunch of Heroes running around is pretty Awesome on its own, Sükhbaatar himself probably takes the cake for the best compound of Hero.”“Sükh” is Mongolian for ax, so Sükhbaatar is simply Ax-Hero. I like to think that this is the equivalent of “George Washington Flamethrower,” or a presidential candidate named “M16 DESTROYER.” Hell, I’d vote for him.

And the moral of this Names Edition? If you are Holding Out for a Hero, get on the next plane to Mongolia.

Mongolian Connections: Money Talks, and People Listen

This connection isn’t exclusively Mongolian, because it’s just related to Buddhism in general, but if it weren’t for Mongolia, I wouldn’t have learned about the life of Buddha, and thus wouldn’t be able to make this connection…

For those of you who haven’t been to Mongolia and thus haven’t read the Shakyamuni Buddha’s biography, Buddha was the prince whose father did his best to keep him isolated from the world in order to keep him from becoming a holy man instead of a king. (This is related to a prediction made on the day of Buddha’s birth.) Buddha was raised in incredible luxury, with several palaces, no work to do, and eventually, with a royal wife and child. Despite his father’s efforts, Buddha decided that material wealth was not enough and wanted to meet some of his subjects. When he left the palace confines, he encountered an old man and was so horrified, he decided to become an ascetic to avoid becoming old himself. (And I thought modern America had a problem with aging!) I’m simplifying a lot here, as other subjects came into play, but the gist of the story is that Buddha decided to renounce his royal power, his wealth, and his family in order to live as a beggar. After escaping the palace, Buddha became a mendicant, then a hermit, and finally, after adopting a lifestyle of moderation and meditation, he achieved Nirvana under the Bodhi tree.

Nothing about this story struck me as too remarkable, but as I continued to read about Buddha’s life, a pattern emerged. Another character in the story had a similar tale: Yasa, “the son of a millionaire,” was brought up in the most luxurious of lifestyles, but one day became so repulsed by the excess of his world that he ran away from his home and came upon Buddha teaching. When Buddha preached to him, Yasa became his disciple and eventually achieved enlightenment.

This story—the renunciation of wealth in pursuit of higher ideals—is a pretty common one, not only in Buddhism, but also in other ideologies. Probably the most famous Christian example is St. Francis, the son of a wealthy merchant who decided that charity and poverty were more fulfilling than his friends’ and family’s lives of luxury. He left behind his father (and his father’s wealth), first living as a mendicant, and then founding his own mendicant order. On the political scene, Engels was the son of a textile manufacturer, and if I remember the movies correctly, Che and Castro were both pretty upper-middle class. Though I’m not sure if these guys renounced their wealth exactly, they at least had to put down that sort of lifestyle a bit in order to lead their revolutions, I think. (I am not a historian, so the communism part could be grossly inaccurate, and Wikipedia is being less than helpful. Corrections welcome.) A google search on “renounced his wealth” doesn’t quite know which religion it wants to choose, so common is that theme. (Interestingly, “renounced her wealth” reveals mostly Christian saints, and I’m sure someone who knows better than I could analyze that.)

Buddha and St. Francis were both charismatic leaders who led by example when it came to worldly renunciation. They each gained a cult following and founded pretty influential and enduring movements… So what about this theme is so convincing? Is it just that seeing an example of renunciation leading to spiritual fulfillment makes others more likely to make the leap? (Clare of Assisi, one of Francis’s first and most devoted followers, was a common result for “renounced her wealth.”) Did Buddha and Francis serve as before/after pictures for adopting poverty as a lifestyle? Is this made more convincing because renunciation of property is seen as such a drastic action that it makes people take notice and makes people think, “If he gives up wealth for this cause, it must be a big deal”? I’m not sure, but rich people who choose to become poor seem to have quite a presence, and this theme endures across cultures and centuries.

At first, it may seem like a great thing that these religions glorify figures who give up the material joys that our society so values. They’re sticking it to the capitalist system, right? Except, as your own foray into hagiography may have shown you, (everyone makes a foray into hagiography at some point, right?), this has a major flaw: Only the wealthy have wealth to renounce. The poor that Buddha encountered in his journey? They don’t make much of a statement when they give up their BC equivalent of a cardboard box. In the medieval Christian world, the Church made a big deal about the wealthy devoting so much time and money to charity; this actually gave the upper class a spiritual leg up over the poor, because they had time and money to give. It may be harder for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but with enough money, all things are possible, and this was especially true if one aspired to sainthood. A boy who was born a beggar would probably be too busy trying not to starve to strive for spiritual enlightenment, and if he started preaching about the beauty of his lifestyle, I don’t think anyone would have cared. This is a complicated issue, and one that’s worth a bit of examination. (Keep in mind that not all grand religious figures follow this pattern; it’s significant that Jesus was born in the humblest of circumstances, and if I recall correctly, neither Mohammed nor Joseph Smith, both also from humble beginnings, took vows of poverty.)

That idea carries over into modern times; we value philanthropy on a grand scale, but you can’t be a philanthropist without being pretty rich first. Warren Buffet gives so much money to charity that his net worth dwindles into single-digit-billions, and he’s a hero. Brangelina adopt more foreign babies for their nannies to raise, and they start a trend. But the everyday families who can’t afford vacations, much less yachts, and still scrape enough out of their pockets to pay their taxes and give to their local shelter? They don’t usually get news stories. In fact, some of them sort of get a lot of flak, on a cultural level, because they aren’t necessarily educated, and they probably aren’t ambitious. And couples that give up their time and freedom to give foster kids an extra chance? Sure, our country values them in theory, but it doesn’t necessarily offer them too much support or encouragement. 

Imagine if People Magazine did a celebrity-free issue, where instead of covering the latest cheating husbands or movie-star elopements, they covered the guy who walks two miles in the rain to help his daughter change her flat tire, or a low-budget wedding only made possible by the help of friends and family. (Though good fathers and happy families are probably harder to come by than gross celebrity antics.) But of course, that’s not what people want to read about. And that is part of the problem; probably it’s not so much that the system values the rich better, it’s that the people in the system (and that means you and me) value the rich better. Once we start paying to hear good news about good people, the media would start covering it… But I guess if we want to read about that, we’re just going to have to wait until Madonna gives up her career and starts working at a homeless shelter.

Mongolia is Awesome: Talkh Ba Sercus

What could this funny round structure be? If you thought it looks like a giant blue billboarded ger, as I did when I first saw it, then you’ve probably been in Mongolia too long. In fact, it’s actually the State Circus. Like the State Department store, this was government controlled during communist rule, and I think that, like the Department store, it has been privatized. (Though I'm not sure about this.)

Generally the circus features acrobats and jugglers, and its specialty is Mongolian contortionists. (Most cultural performances here, even a little concert performed just for me at a restaurant, feature young contortionists.) One guy I talked to said he even saw a Russian circus traveling through (with elephants!) once a few years ago. Privatization or not, this is probably pretty much what went on here during communism, too.

It amuses me (and I think it’s Awesome) that the socialist state, along with education and health care and a department store, saw fit to fund something as whimsical and unnecessary as a circus. But, of course, I have to remember that authoritarian governments often choose the obvious and unnecessary over more practical but less people-pleasing endeavors. I guess the communists had been reading their Juvenal and thinking that literal “bread and circuses” might work for them, too.

But Juvenal never met a Mongol, and as the 1990 Revolution proved, Mongolia is Awesome enough to decide eventually that bread and circuses, (and education and health care) aren’t a fair trade for freedom.

Mongolia is Awesome: Stand Up For Your Rights!

Stalin had told Genden multiple times that he should get around to destroying Buddhist temples and purging the monks, but Genden refused to do so. Genden resented growing Soviet ambitions to control Mongolia and use it as their own satellite state, and at some point, Genden called the Soviets “Red Imperialists.” When Genden was in Moscow in 1935, he had a few too many vodkas (he was a very heavy drinker) and shouted at Stalin, “You bloody Georgian, you have become a virtual Russian Czar!” Yeah, that’s right. Genden told Stalin what everyone else was thinking years before they even knew they were thinking it.

But that’s not all: The tension swiftly escalated into physical conflict, and as the story goes, Stalin kicked Genden’s walking stick, Genden literally slapped Stalin across the face in return, and smashed Stalin’s pipe on the table. Thus he proved, in case anyone had forgotten, that the Mongolians have no fear, and they will slap mass-murdering dictators if they feel like it. Also that they hate smoking. (Kidding!)

Though one moral of this story might sound like, “You will do Awesome things if you get drunk enough,” another moral is definitely, “You will face the consequences for your drunken antics.” Back in Mongolia, Genden was voted out of office for threatening Mongolian-Russian relations, and a couple years later Stalin had him arrested and executed for being a Japanese spy and conspiring with Buddhist radicals. Although, I guess, if you’ve got to die (and you pretty much were going to die soon under that regime), you might as well have smashed Stalin’s pipe while you were alive.

Meditations: Stalin Lives!

Walking around Ulaanbaatar, one cannot escape the feel of Stalinism that absolutely pervades the place. If I were given only three words to describe the city, “Stalinist” would indubitably make the list, and I’m not sure that, if I were given only one word, “Stalinist” wouldn’t be it.

It shows in the city’s name: “Ulaanbaatar” is translated as “Red Hero,” and it received its name in 1924 after being conquered by communists. (Who exactly the “Hero” is, I have yet to discover, though I suspect it is Sukhbaatar, who also gives his name to the main Square of the city.) And the buildings… I never realized until I got here how much of an effect architecture has on a place (which shows how little I’ve been paying attention). Most of the standing structures in Ulaanbaatar were built by the USSR, and they look like exactly what you’d expect: Square apartment buildings. Period. But it’s a neglected sort of Stalinism, like an abandoned communist city, despite the crowds of people walking around, knowing to avoid the open manholes and unbothered by the bits of wreckage that stand on (or are) the side of the road. Grass pokes through the concrete and makes a reluctant appearance in backyards and parks, but even the plants here look Soviet.

But here’s the thing: Ulaanbaatar is not communist. It is not Soviet, and officially, it never was. The Mongolian people are pretty ready for the future, evidenced by some of the new modern buildings and the rapid privatization of the country’s industry. When the coordinator of International Programmes dropped me off, I asked about a statue in front of the NUM and wondered who it was. She said she doesn’t like him much, that he was president of Mongolia when the NUM was founded, but she does not like him much (she repeated), because he was friends with Stalin. So people’s attitudes seem to be very un-communist.

My first meditation, then, is very appropriate to Mongolia in general (as I’ll get to later): How significant is the past? What prompts a people to reject their past, and once they collectively want to, how easy is it? Is it even possible, or does the past still stand as long as the buildings do? How are our own societies still tied to the past? Did America emerge the way it did due to the very fact that it was without a past, that it was a people starting fresh and erecting their own buildings? Getting back to Mongolia, is the Stalinism something that will wear off as new institutions of the country emerge (i.e. democracy, capitalism, technology), or has it made enough of a mark that they’re stuck with it for a while? What effect will new institutions have not only on the literal remnants of the past (buildings, statues, etc), but also on people's views of the past? And I haven’t even started with gers yet.