The door is still closed

The door is still closed.
For all I know, it might as well be locked.
A couple of weeks ago, I received an intriguing email.
It invited me to apply for another Fulbright Scholar grant, this time to Central and South Asia.
Why not? I thought.
Then a zillion reasons “why not” poured into my brain: Concerns about the newspaper, my wife’s budding environmental consulting business and the fact that I’m getting older all managed to get my attention.
But still, it came on a Friday afternoon and was the perfect material for a weekend’s daydreaming.
So I took a look.
Turns out, there were only a couple of countries in that neighborhood where there might have been a good fit between my skill set and what they needed.
One was the Maldives, a cluster of 20-30 coral islands in the Indian Ocean. And that sounded both exotic and a little too exotic. The highest point in the Maldive islands is something like seven feet above sea level. Most of the country is only a couple of feet above the ocean. Not surprisingly, the people there are concerned about global warming and the rising of sea levels. They’re interested in seeing their country continuing to exist and not be drowned.
After a little reflection, I came to the conclusion it wasn’t the right fit. I can swim, but it’s a long way from the Maldives to anything else.
The other possibility was Kyrgyzstan, and that struck a chord.
I’ve worked on independent press development projects there before, and I really like the place. Sure, Bishkek isn’t the prettiest capital city in the world. But the mountains nearby and the Ferghana Valley in the south are spectacular.
There’s just one problem: That’s the country I was deported from in 2009.
Memories from that event are still vivid. I’d flown to the country via London to do an assessment of the journalism programs at the American University of Central Asia, essentially to see if the people and programs could handle an infusion of U.S. grant dollars in an effort to make things better. I viewed my job as taxpayer watchdog; go in, check things out, make a hard-nosed recommendation and do my best to make sure Uncle Sam gets his money’s worth.
Upon arrival in Bishkek, I got my visa. But when I went through passport control, my passport number was kicked out by the computer. I had found myself on a blacklist, one put together by several of the former Soviet states, including Russia, Kazahkstan, Armenia, Tajikistan, Belarus, and — I learned that morning at about 4 a.m. — Kyrgyzstan.
In short order, I was handed a paper declaring me “persona non grata” and put on the next flight out. My offense: The same type of press development work I’ve done in 11 different countries, but which the current government of Belarus found threatening. That’s who put me on the list.
But am I still on the list?
Is it a temporary thing?
Does anyone know?
Those were the questions when I wrote an email that weekend to the U.S. Embassy in Bishkek.
The embassy’s answer: Who knows?
In a spy movie or novel, someone from the embassy would contact a friendly Kyrgyz functionary and have the guy run my passport number through the computer. That way, I’d know for sure if the list happened to still be in effect.
But life is not a movie or a novel. The embassy staff said there’s no real way to check. In fact, the Kyrgyz probably will deny whether the blacklist still exists or whether it ever existed in the first place.
The only way to find out for sure if I can get into any of those six countries — or, I suspect, Uzbekistan or Turkmenistan — would be to fly there and attempt to get through passport control.
Since it takes roughly 24 hours to get to that part of the world, that’s a chance I’m not going to take.
So, for now, the door is still closed.[[In-content Ad]]