Dispatch – February 15: Aeschylus
Aeschylus was the father of Greek tragedy, but he is said to have died in a rather funny way. Legend has it that, aware of a prophecy that he would meet his fate by a falling object, the tragedian avoided staying indoors. Even at night, he slept outside under the open sky. But he was bald, and when, one day, an eagle flew overhead carrying a tortoise, it mistook his bald head for a rock. The predator decided to smash the tortoise’s shell on the “rock” to enjoy the heavy meal more conveniently. Hit by the tortoise, Aeschylus died.
The story may seem like another fatalistic lesson that there’s no escaping prophecy. But not everything must be written in the stars. It may be that if you protect yourself a little too much, lock yourself inside a shell like that tortoise, or, worse, stay outdoors like Aeschylus did and deny yourself the highest wisdom of staring at the ceiling, life may still hit you, and hit you precisely with that protective shell.
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Here is Nini and the Dispatch newsletter writing about the current Georgian obsession with oneness.
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Shortly before midnight on January 29, my neighborhood in Tbilisi was hit by a total blackout. Hardly a light disturbed the darkness as the silhouettes of apartment blocks, new and old, stood there, all in black. The only sign of life was the sound of dogs barking, made louder by this temporary death of the hum of civilization. It was perhaps in those magical moments that I must have developed a very useless talent: spotting American military planes by the sound of their engines.
The neighborhood is among the places the planes cross after taking off from Tbilisi Airport, before choosing a destination. Planes here often take off at night — Georgians have long known and accepted that we are not important enough for international airlines to honor us in daylight. But that night, soon after the lights came back on, the roar was a bit too loud and too long.
Even in the night sky, I noticed that the plane was indeed different. FlightRadar confirmed that it was that plane: the U.S. Air Force Lockheed Martin MC-130J Commando II, an American aircraft designed for infiltration, exfiltration, refueling, and clandestine operations. It is said to prefer night flights. The media had reported earlier that an “American plane” had landed in Tbilisi after arriving from Bucharest, where it had arrived from Ramstein U.S. Air Base, where it had arrived from a UK base. There was much thrill, but no context. All we knew was that there was some U.S. military buildup around Iran, and that Georgia’s ruling party declaredly dreaded any remote link with anyone else’s war. Now we were officially and proudly an avoidant country.
What did the plane carry? Fuel? Weapons? Soldiers? A second front? A vice president who bypassed us on his Caucasus trip? A tortoise?
None of us knew, but it was the plane everyone was talking about, and I, of all people, was lucky to see it with my own eyes. Now, what was I supposed to do with that information?
A strange day
January 29 was a strange day for many reasons, and it had a strange start. Early in the morning, authorities announced plans to merge two of Georgia’s largest and historic higher education institutions: Tbilisi State University (TSU) and Georgian Technical University (GTU).
Even for those well aware of the ruling party’s eccentricities, and even for those supportive of those eccentricities, the announcement came as a shock. Some attributed it to the government’s deliberate drive to destroy the education system. Others explained it with the stated wish to sell the campus buildings: the most absurd things become the most logical ones once you recall the country is run by businessmen.
But maybe none of these explanations were true, and the merger was only the first, most physical act of how Georgia was adapting to a world gone mad.
“For millennia, we’ve withstood similar ‘international orders,’ we went through numerous geopolitical cataclysms, and found our own way of survival,” the speaker of Georgia’s disputed parliament wrote in January as he pronounced an international order dead following the U.S. intervention in Venezuela. “It is precisely this knowledge that helped us retain our statehood while others disappeared,” he bragged. As more international crises followed, others in the ruling party team, too, kept citing “historical experience,” coming from our “wise kings and rulers,” of walking this “narrow bridge” safely every time the world order wasn’t world-ordering.
What that survival wisdom actually meant, we would learn eventually. The trick was apparently for the country to merge itself into a single, homogeneous substance, a grey rock, not to stick out, not to provoke any predator’s attention.
The loneliest number
That’s how Georgian authorities must have developed a strange and obvious obsession with oneness.
First came the higher education reforms that introduced the painful reorganization through “one city – one faculty” principle. Then followed general education reforms that reintroduced school uniforms and, similarly, proposed a “one-subject—one-textbook” model. Then the Georgian government suddenly discovered that despite all the economic boom, people could not afford basic groceries, and quickly concluded there were far too many supermarkets and pharmacies around, and began floating the idea of a “one neighborhood – one supermarket” model. One-party and one-man rule didn’t really need anyone’s introduction. We’ve lived in that pain for a while.
And just as the Georgian opposition kept failing at reaching the widely requested unity, even with so much at stake, the ruling party appeared to be taking the concept to new levels – to physical and even transcendental realms.
They do have a point: in a world of dying orders and recklessly flying planes, anything that attracts the spotlight is dangerous. The universe itself, and the way God designed it, with all its Big Bangs and explosions, now seems a scary place. To spare ourselves the trouble, we have to contract ourselves back into a small and tight substance. Everything and everyone – from humans to buildings to supermarkets – must morph back into each other. A re-form. A Big Bounce.
But one doesn’t go against the Creator’s will like that. Even the most obedient of humans can’t afford the discomfort of being pulled back from Big Bang inertia way too suddenly. Facing resistance even from the most supportive professors, the party had to scrap the plans to merge the two universities in February. But obsessions are hard to cure, and days later, Georgian officials still pushed alternative forms of dismantle-and-merge, this time focused on gutting the most defiant academic institutions first. Time will show how easily they’ll overcome the resistance.
Falling objects
Days after that first American plane took off from Tbilisi to an unknown destination, the word spread that another one had landed in the Georgian capital. On February 3, the press reported that a Lockheed Martin C-130J-30 Super Hercules had arrived the previous night from Ramstein Air Base. The next afternoon, on February 4, at around 1 p.m., I again heard a strange but now familiar engine sound, and again spotted a grey military plane, this time in daylight. FlightRadar again confirmed: it was the Super Hercules, a tactical airlifter meant for diverse military missions.
It was windy. The plane quickly vanished into the sky, and that was that. Nothing happened, not that day, nor in the days that followed. Thanks to some wisdom of our rulers, Georgia was spared once again, unknown from what trouble. The country went on living peacefully within its own domestically invented crises.
What we may never know, however, is what it is that actually keeps shielding Georgia from falling objects in these chaotic times.
Is it that Georgia has finally turned into a single, unnoticeable, colorless substance, hidden from roaming threats? Or are we spared precisely because the country has so far resisted reaching that homogeneous stage, where we might be, like the bald head of Aeschylus, easily mistaken for some grey rock by predators seeking to fatally smash their prey?