Mongolia is Relevant: Mongolia and Your Mobile

I finally managed to find a copy of the English-Language newspaper in Mongolia, and immediately a few things struck me. One was how much was about economics—there was a “Money” section AND a “Market” section, plus the front page had an money/market focus. But a lot of the economic issues are related to the big thing in Mongolia these days: Mining.

Companies are rushing to develop infrastructure to tap the rich resources of the (till now) untouched Mongolian countryside. Though Mongolia’s not currently a huge player on the international market, that’s partially because it just doesn’t have the equipment and railroads (and regular roads) to uncover all its natural resources.

And valuable resources they are… though cashmere is my personal favorite, Mongolia also has mines upon mines of coal, copper, gold, and (my second favorite) uranium. One article I read was about the development of a new railway to Tavan Tolgol, “one of the largest coal deposits in the world.” But much of Mongolia’s earnings come from the Erdenet open-face copper mine, one of the ten largest copper mines in the world; it produces around 25 million tons of ore yearly, and because most of that goes to China, you’ve undoubtedly come into contact with some Erdenet copper (in your electronics) without even knowing it. On a more adventurous note, there are several Gold Rushes taking place in Mongolia right now, with people flocking to certain areas to illegally mine gold there. And unlike our Gold Rushes, there’s actually enough gold to provide most miners with substantial income. (They’re not getting rich, exactly, but they’re getting fed.) Though right now this mining is unregulated and dangerous, the government is working to extract the gold systematically and safely (though likely at the expense of the beautiful surroundings).

And onto the uranium! As I discovered in an article about Mongolia’s attempts to shift to nuclear power, Mongolia has 63,000 tons of proven uranium reserves, and it is estimated to have up to 100,000 tons. Just the proven reserves account for 2% of the entire world’s reserves, so it could potentially have 3 or 4%.

So though Mongolia may seem remote now, bear in mind that its resources are already relevant to your life, and probably the relevance of Mongolia’s mines will be impossible to ignore in a few decades. Oh, and also the cashmere—try ignoring that.

Mongolian Connections: Christian Connections

I came to Mongolia (in part) to discover similarities across totally different cultures. My theory was that when similar themes appeared in cultures separated by distance, language, religion, and lifestyle, would reveal something about the nature of humanity as a whole. This tactic can be applied to more than humanity as a whole; looking at similarities between Christianity in the Mediterranean/Europe and Nestorian Christianity in the far East of the Mongol Empire, similar trends appear in different eras that might reveal some features of Christianity that are not immediately obvious.

Though Mongol rulers accepted all religions in their realms (and more on that later), Christians in the Mongol realms were sometimes given special treatment. Kublai Khan funded a spiritual journey of two Nestorian Christian monks to the Holy Land around 1275, and he also asked Marco Polo to send 100 Nestorian monks back to his capital when his party returned to the West. Nestorians were given appointments in the courts of various khanates, and when the aforementioned two Nestorian monks traveled through the Mongol realm, many lesser officials tried to convince them to stay at their court, often offering them wealth and material comfort.

Why did Mongol rulers like to keep Nestorian Christians around? Because they were useful. Mongols were not a very literate population (something that didn’t change even until the twentieth century), and, even up to Kublai’s day, they had little experience actually ruling an Empire. Nestorian monks spent years studying, and though they focused on Scripture and theological matters, their literacy and intellectual skill were prized by khans, so rulers courted favor with the Nestorian community in order to recruit members of the clergy to work in their administration. Of course, in Europe, too, literacy and learning was mostly encouraged by the Church. Monks recorded and preserved not only theological treatises, but also works of pagan philosophy and mythology. The university system began as a way for clerics to study theology, and, as I recently discovered, even Celtic myths about a magical island filled with beautiful women for young heroes to live on forever have only come down to us because they were recorded, at one point, by Christian monks. (If you want to know more about the Church’s role in European intellectual development, I have about 8 essays for you to read. And maybe I’ll write a few more for you, too.)

So Christians in different sects of Christianity and completely different cultures had a tendency to educate their clergy; what does this reveal about anything? For one, it shows the importance of learning and literacy in the Christian tradition. This isn’t necessarily ideological at all—it’s just because engagement with the Scriptures is an important aspect of the religion. Unlike other religions that focused on ritual, meditation, or submission to an authority (not that Christianity cut those out), Christianity had a tradition of placing a great deal of significance on interpreting the Scripture they had. (And perhaps this is just because it can be so vague and/or confusing?) But this isn’t to say that other religions haven’t nurtured educational systems. Universities here are often linked to Buddhist monasteries, and considering my recent unsuccessful forays into understanding Buddhism, I’m going to assume a lot of study needs to go into attempting Enlightenment. As for other traditions: The “madrasa” is an important aspect of many mosques, and the rabbinic course of study is one of the most intellectual and study-intensive ones I know (think pre-Madonna Kabbalah). Buddhist monks seem to have been recruited by khans as well, but not quite as vigorously as Nestorians. (Though this could just be the nature of my reading material.) So why did Nestorian Christians get more special treatment than Buddhist monks in Kublai’s realm or Muslims and Jews in the Ilkhanate? I don’t know. I’m thinking because it designated people whose sole function was to study, unlike Islam and Judaism whose scholars were also encouraged/mandated to participate in the world. And Buddhist training tended to have less of a practical aspect than Nestorian studies. (i.e. Buddhist monks doesn’t study law or medicine as much as Christians—but I don’t know about this.)

But a love of literacy is not the only similarity between Nestorian Christianity in Asia and European/Mediterranean Christianity. Throughout the history of the Mongol Empire, one story repeats itself a lot: the influence of khans’ wives and mothers on their decisions. And threaded through these stories comes, specifically, the influence of Christian wives and mothers on their decisions. One reason Kublai was supposed to have favored Nestorians (in addition to the practical reasons) was because his mother was Nestorian. The Catholicus (the Nestorian equivalent of Patriarch/Pope/Prophet) was once almost executed by the Ilkhan Ahmad, but Ahmad’s pious Nestorian wife convinced him not to go through with the execution. The Ilkhan Abakha was the son of a Christian and married to a Byzantine princess. Although there were not many prominent Nestorian men, many wives (and thus often mothers, as well) of khans were Christians. Part of this may have been simply the ratio—there were more khans’ wives than there were khans, so it was more likely that a wife would be Nestorian. (Nestorian Christianity never actively forbade polygamy.) But part of the reason was simply that women were more likely to convert. Although some khans participated in Nestorian rituals—the Ilkhan Arghun, though a Buddhist himself, had his son baptized—they tended not to be as fervent supporters of Nestorianism as many women of the Mongol elite.

Similarly, when Christianity was still a new religion, many of its converts were elite women. In fact, the growth of Christianity was in part attributable to these women; when one converted, she often convinced her husband to convert, and thus the entire household (the paterfamilias thing again). Just as women would be attracted to Nestorian Christianity later, in the first couple centuries of Christianity, many upper-class women in the Mediterranean world found something worth devoting themselves to (and in this case, dying for) in the Christian message.

What this reveals about Christianity is a little less clear. Some scholars speculate that Christianity initially attracted both women and the poor because of its emphasis on equality and its downplay of traditional markers of status. In a Christian service, women were just Christians like their husbands, which was appealing to them. This could apply to Mongol women, as well, and though (as noted), their husbands did not always convert with them. In a world where men held the power, women likely found something encouraging about finding a religion that didn’t isolate them as starkly as Islam and Buddhism may have. And, considering what I’ve found about women influencing just about everything from behind the scenes, the message of the last being first might have had a ring of truth to it.  

Mongolia is Awesome: Even Before There Were People

The Gobi desert in the south of Mongolia is a paleontologist’s paradise; for whatever reasons (the heat, its aridity, and the previous creature populations, I’m guessing), the Gobi is a treasure trove of fossils. Rare finds like a pair of fighting dinosaurs and a dino-mommy hunched over her eggs were unearthed in the Gobi, most likely the result of dune collapses or sudden sandstorms. In 2006, paleontologists found 67 dinosaur skeletons in one week (which sounds like a lot to me), and many new species of dinosaurs or other ancient creatures have been discovered in Mongolia, such as this “giant parrot” dinosaur. (Personal Note: I will be in the Gobi, probably seeing a fossil or two, in a couple weeks!)

All of that is awesome, but it’s not quite Mongolia-level Awesome yet. That’s because I’ve left the kickers for the end. The only example of the skull of the Andrewsarchus was discovered in Mongolia by Roy Chapman Andrews (he’s kind of a big deal) in 1923. (Well, that’s not quite true; it was discovered by Kan Cheun Pao, a member of Andrews’s team who does not even have his own Wikipedia page. Something about that scenario seems so typical.) The Andrewsarchus is pretty freaking Awesome, and even before I got to Mongolia, I was hoping to meet one of these bad boys. Note that the BBC describes it as “the largest carnivorous land mammal ever.” Apparently their show “Walking with Beasts” also called it the “Whale-Killer” and featured a clip of two of them hunting whales. Although the BBC has maybe taken a few liberties with the information that can actually be gleaned from a piece of skull, it can’t be denied that a giant roaming carnivore with jaws that can crush bone and a silhouette like a werewolf is Awesome. And the moral of this story is that I have to find fossils of the coolest dinosaur ever and name it the ALICEOSAURUS KHAAN.

Though this was meant to be a post just about the Andrewsarchus, in my research I came across something even more Awesome about Mongolia. Maybe you have heard of velociraptors, just about the scariest and most intense dinosaurs ever, according to XKCD (my paleontological authority). They are the primary villiains in Jurassic Park, and since then they have been immortalized in popular culture and a meme or two. And you know where this is going…

All velociraptor fossils ever discovered have been found in Mongolia (Inner and Outer), and the official name of the main velociraptor species is “Velociraptor Mongoliensis.” That’s right: Steven Spielberg owes Mongolia big time.

Mongolian Connections: Paterfamilias

One of the main banks here is named Golomt Bank, and their signs/branches are everywhere. I didn’t know what “Golomt” means, but it seemed like an interesting word, so I was there with a Mongolian member of the University Staff, I figured I’d asked her. She thought about it for a minute. Then she said, “I don’t know in English; it is like the father of a household, who is in charge of the family.” I followed up with, “So it’s like the ‘head’ or something?” She shook her head. “It’s more than that, but I cannot explain.”

I knew what she meant—though there isn’t an English word with the full connotations (“patriarch” doesn’t quite cut it), there is a Latin word “paterfamilias,” which is literally the father of the household, but has more to it than just that. The paterfamilias had both legal and social jurisdiction over his extended family; his wife, children, slaves, etc. were supposed to obey his will and respect his authority. He was the foundation of the family, the central core whose duty was to keep his family in perfect Roman order.

So I said to her, “I think I know what you mean. It is like the family is a tree, and ‘golomt’ is the trunk, with all the other branches growing out of it and dependent on it, and it is the central authority.” “Yes, yes, that is exactly it!” she said, sort of glad I got it.

I don’t know where exactly that description came from, because I don’t think that quite describes paterfamilias, but her reaction showed that it was pretty much what “golomt” meant. It’s interesting that both Roman and Mongolian society (very different worlds) have the same (or similar) concepts of golomt/paterfamilias. Apparently the patriarchy in these societies is well established and extends beyond mere property rights or even legal rights to the social order within an extended family. Yet it’s not as patriarchal as it might seem, since both Roman and Mongolian high society has a history of women exercising more influence over their powerful husbands/children than the law would like to admit. (And I’ll post more on that later.)

But I wonder why we don’t have this word in English like in Latin or Modern Mongolian. Is it because husbands/fathers don’t have the legal jurisdiction they used to? Or is it because they don’t have the social power? Or is it perhaps because women’s influence was not as common and/or threatening in our society as it was in the Roman/Mongol courts, so there was no backlash to establish the concept of “paterfamilias” or “golomt”? In any case, this connection between two of my favorite empires intrigues me.

Meditations: How We Speak

We all use language to communicate every day, hundreds or thousands of times a day. In a country that speaks the same language we do, we don’t necessarily think about our language. Sure, we might try to use our “I” statements when confronting someone, or carefully put something into the passive to avoid blame. With or without thinking about it, we might use a single word to make a judgment call or an expression to get someone on our side. But these are the cases where we alter normal language for a purpose. We don’t dedicate a lot of thought to modes of expressing ourselves that are considered normal, the commonly used constructions and phrases we utter daily and automatically.

In Mongolia, I am sometimes a little taken aback by the directness of people’s language. There is not a lot of room for politeness; though I repeat “bayarlaa, bayarlaa” (“Thank you, thank you”), Mongolians don’t use the expression nearly as often as in the States. And according to my phrasebook, there’s really no way to say please. So when I order lunch, I always feel like I’m missing that element of respect, and I have to remind myself that they don’t notice the absence. One instance of directness that I found particularly jarring was hearing people on the phone loudly ask the caller, “Khen be?” translated as, “Who is it?” This isn’t too out of the ordinary, but how do Americans ask the same question? With “May I ask who’s calling?” It means the same thing; it would be weird for someone to respond with, “No, you may not” or “Yes, you may,” because the proper response is the same as for “Who is it?” But the fact is, when we say, “May I ask who’s calling?” we are not saying what we mean. This isn’t a big deal, because we are all part of a culture that uses this; we all know what the question really is.

But I’ve taken notice here of how many phrases we use like this, phrases that make perfect sense in America, because everyone knows the code, but that say something different from what they are supposed to mean. This is true even in English-speaking countries; an English friend of mine who went to the States for college was surprised by how many people would ask, “What’s up?” or  “How are you doing?” as they passed. She’d stop and tell them what was going on in her life while they stood there, confused that she didn’t just give the customary response, “Nothing” or “Fine, thanks.” On the other side, a couple times in England people asked me, “Are you all right?” and I got confused, thinking, “Did they hear something about me? Am I supposedly sick or injured or upset? Of course I’m all right.” In both cases, these phrases, though they literally mean the same things, are codified differently in the different countries.

Naturally, though, these differences are compounded in countries where there already is a language barrier. I noticed it first in my homestay, when Prof C would translate that someone was asking if I’d like more tea or yogurt or something. My response was always, “I’m fine, thank you.” Of course, “I’m fine, thank you,” really just means “No.” And probably, Prof C just translated it back into Mongolian as “No.” But for someone who’s just learning the language, “I’m fine, thank you” must be a pretty confusing phrase. Because, though it means “no,” that’s just not what it says--and what it says isn't really "yes" or "no." Ordering things or requesting menus and napkins (in English) here, I face a similar problem. I usually preface my request with, “Could I please get—.” For people whose English isn’t fluent, this could be confusing; what are those extra syllables tacked on to the beginning of the sentence? (It wouldn’t be a big deal if I didn’t say it so unnecessarily fast, as if it were a single word.) And the other day after receiving coffee, I asked, “Would it be possible for me to get some milk?” The woman at the café, understandably, thought I was requesting password and milk. (The wi-fi password.) These are just a few examples; our language is full of indirect demands, requests that aren’t really requests, and implicit statements that just aren’t clear in the literal language. This is one of many, many reasons I think English must be the worst language in the world to have to learn.

Why does English do this? Why is our language so riddled with expressions and conventions that get us around saying what we actually mean? Is this a bad thing? Of course, being me, I actually love these conventions. Saying “I’m fine, thank you” as a way to say “No” actually does say more than that; it expresses gratitude and qualifies the “No.” (That is, it says, “I’m happy how I am, which is why I will refuse.”) This polite phrase is a way for me to say “No” without sounding ungrateful. And “May I ask who’s calling?” or “Could I please get—“ are courteous way to get information or goods; they express respect and deference, but still get the point across. So I’m a fan. But I do worry a bit about a language that teaches us not to say what we mean, and there is always an issue when what I think is an implicit request doesn’t get across, when other people don’t get the rules I think are widely known. (And I’m sure I, too, miss plenty of implications.) So whose way is best? The no-frills Mongolian where you pretty much say what you mean, or the labyrinthine code of English, where almost everything you say also means something else? Does it even make sense to ask which way is “best”? Are they just different traditions, dependent on their own cultures? Is there a “best” middle ground? And do these expressions make a difference in how we think and feel? Does being linguistically courteous actually make an impact on how we feel about other human beings? Or is it all just talk?

Mongolia is Awesome: Names Edition

Bold is common enough to make it into my Mongolian book as the first boy’s name featured, and my guidebook even classifies it as a generic Mongolian name. “But wait,” you might be thinking, “That name is an English word, so you can’t count it as an Awesome purely Mongolian name.” It IS an English word (and a good one), and if that were the only Awesome feature of the name Bold, that would still be pretty Awesome.

But “bold” is also the Mongolian word for “steel,” and is a popular name for boys because of the strength and enduring power of steel. Thus, not only is there a Mongolian Max Steel, but the country is positively CRAWLING with them. Awesome.

Mongolian Connections: Coffee Empire

I’m sure there is some deep sociological significance behind a “Coffee Republic” knockoff in Mongolia called “Coffee Empire,” but it’s just too deep for me to dissect. I’m hoping it has to do more with historical than with political ideology, but who knows?