Democracy & Russia

NY Times Article: March 26, 2007

Only in Moscow

Something tragic, absurd, and only found in Moscow.

http://www.sptimes.ru/index.php?action_id=2&story_id=21083

The Zoo is just down the road from the US Embassy and we pass it everyday on the way to the Metro.

Racial Tensions

It doesn’t take long in a new place to figure out the pecking order of life. Here in Russia, there has been well-publicized removals of Georgians just a few months ago portrayed as the result of tensions between the two governments. Many complained that it would be the end of decent food and wine in the city. Moreover, it has ushered in a broader scale Russification of the country where people with darker hair and skin are suspect and the target of government action to reclaim, in particular, economic sectors that have long been success of those from the Caucasus.

I like to walk through Danilovsky Rynok each day near our apartment. My Russian is still not good enough to strike up a conversation with vendors, and I usually feel more comfortable just pointing and asking how much certain things cost since I still lack the vocabulary for most food items. Tristan and I were on one of our evening strolls today picking out a few things for dinner and struck up a conversation with one of the vendors. I had noticed a sign on the entrance earlier in the day, but hadn’t taken the time to decipher its meaning. I did note it was rather official looking and out of place for the rynok. This woman, like many vendors in the market, is from Azerbaijan. She said she remembered me from earlier in the day. We picked out some broccoli and parsley and started to ask about a few other things she had for sale. She had us try some canned figs which were really tasty, but too sweet for us. I said next time maybe, and she said there wouldn’t be a next time. Apparently, all the non-Russian vendors are being kicked out, and she said a Russian guy would be here next week selling in her place. Everyday, she told us, she stands here 10-11 hours a day. It’s hard work. The Russians can’t do it—they are too busy drinking, she says. I showed Tristan the sign and it confirmed that March 30 would be the end of all non-Russian vendors at the market.

While our first response is to view the situation from that of the superior expat, one can’t ignore that this exact same phenomena is taking place in the US. The rynok in Russia or the meat packing plant in Kentucky or the farmland of central Washington, in either place this is the systematic removal of browner people doing the jobs that no one else wants to do. The Russians, as is culturally appropriate, are just far more blunt about the whole thing.

Africans in Russia are routinely the victims of severe violence and hatred. We attended one of the expat churches this past Sunday whose membership includes many Africans. One of their members was attacked by a group of young men with a beer bottle last year on the way to church. I definitely have concerns about being Asian in this city, but do feel lucky to also look very American and possess the privilege of a Diplomatic identity. But I continue to ask myself if this is really significantly different than the US or just far more blatant and less sophisticated? Time will tell.

To read more about Racial Tensions in Russia, click here.

Tristan's Thoughts

Hi everyone. We've been here in Moscow for two weeks now, and I've gotten a little settled. Before coming here, my only experience of the former Soviet Union was Turkmenistan and the other Central Asian countries (except Tajikistan) that I traveled through as a Peace Corps volunteer from 1996-98. It's quite amazing how different Moscow is from those places at that time. For one thing, things here for the most part work. In T-stan, a lot of things evidently used to work, during the Soviet period, but then stopped working sometime between 1991 and the time I got there.

The telephone system, for instance. To call home from T-stan, usually I had to go to the local telegraph office and give the clerk the number for the AT&T operator in Moscow (this often flummoxed the staff, most of whom seemed not to have dealt with a call to Moscow since Gorbachev's time) who spoke English and could put me through to the States.

Often this was a lenghthy and delicate process, involving waiting for the correct booth's phone to ring and then dealing with multiple audible conversations on my line and trying to determine whose voice was that of my family member on the other end.

Now, in Moscow, we just had high-speed internet installed in our apartment. I just talked to several folks back in the U.S. using our Vonage wi-fi phone, and the call was free and for the most part perfectly clear. They can call us using my old cell number, which means it's a local call for people in the Seattle area. Pretty cool.

Also, there's a lot more variety of food here. Though I haven't seen camel yet. We'll see.

more later,

Tristan

Don’t leave home without your diplomatic potatoes.

Well, we have arrived safely and with all our maxed out luggage. It’s amazing what you can stuff in 200+ pounds of luggage. Thank god everything has wheels. Our apartment is just south of the Garden Ring which encompasses the inner part of Moscow. At first impression, it’s an amazing city. We haven’t waited longer than 3 minutes for the Metro or Bus. Within 5 minutes of our apartment we can hop on the Metro, bus or trolleybus and be most places in about 30 minutes. There are three 24-hour grocery stores and several pharmacies all within walking distance, not to mention the bakery, tabak (tobacco stands), large rinok (pronounced ree-nock, or large farmer’s market), plus vendors for just about everything else you could want on the street. If you thought Russia was still the center of bread lines and limited availability, put those preconceived notions aside. THIS is the NEW RUSSIA!

With the new Russia comes a high price. Inflation is on average 10% a year, and my jaw hit the floor at the sight of a litre of soy milk (from Finland no less) for about $10 USD. Yes, I bought the soy milk.

This doesn’t mean you can’t find a bargain. Fur is still cheap and fashionable (more in later postings on fur). In the Perehod, or underground crosswalks you can find good deals and plenty of pirated DVDs.

Today is International Women’s Day (March 8^th). While originally a Communist holiday to celebrate the great contributions of women to the Soviet State, it now is a day for families to stay home and the men stop drinking enough vodka or beer to fix their wives dinner and relieve them of their household chores. In the new Russia, it’s an excuse for men to buy the women in their lives flowers formally unavailable in Soviet times. On the Metro and street this week you can see colorful splashes of tulips or roses poking out from the sea of brown and black coats. With a little prodding, I too received a bouquet of tulips. The closet equivalent in the US is Mother’s Day, but Women’s Day is better. There’s not the painful recollection of your family of origin issues, or marginalization of single or childless folks; this holiday embraces all women (and makes a ton for the flower vendors).

Well, if you’ve read this far, you might still be wondering about the diplomatic potatoes. While I made plenty of jokes about moving to the land of snow, cabbage, and potatoes, this actually has nothing to do with cooking or snow. Upon arriving in Russia, Diplomats and their families must register with the Foreign Ministry before receiving their credentials. After a few days, a pink laminated card with your picture is returned to you. This card doesn’t really do much for you except keep you out of trouble if you are stopped by the local Police and looks like something I could have engineered in High School Yearbook class. The Embassy tells us to make sure you carry your Dip Card with you at all times. Those of you who know the beauty of the Russian language know that there are many words with close pronunciations. As Tristan and I were getting ready to head our one afternoon, I tried my wonderful Russian out and said, “Don’t forget your Diplomatic Card.” With the slight mistake of a sh instead of a ch and shift in the accent, my potatoes were granted immunity and my card got left in fridge. I’m sure that won’t be my last language faux pas.

Lesson learned:

Remember the card, leave the potatoes.