Buying Russia

Everything in Russia has a price tag: grades, driver's liscenses, police officers, and government officials. Most people I have talked to believe that it is this kind of "open market" that is holding Russia hostage from real progress and change.

For instance, in talking with Tamara, who teaches physics at a local university, I learned that teachers and professors make less than the yard man. "How can this be?" my naevity beseeched. She explained that governmental officials factor bribes in, by default, which would make teachers' net salary plenty liveable. An "A" costs significantly more than a "B", which, in the end, means that a teacher's marketing strategy determines his wealth. And for students it is not their brain or efforts, but the thickness of their wallet that will determine their success on the university level. Last year, I even had someone tell me that in going to speak with her professor about a grade, she wore a short skirt. He, in turn, showed his appreciation by placing his hand, ever so gently, on her knee. My American roots pratically burst out of my head in moments like these: "What did you do?" I asked, infuriated. "What do I care," she said with a casual shrug of her shoulders "As long as he gives me a good grade." Shocked and bewildered, I thought to myself what I would have done if a professor were to be so affectionate with me--certainly not shrug my shoulders and pat myself on the back for a grade well earned.

The streets are another place where the "For Sale" sign puts trepidation into the hearts of drivers and pedestrians everywhere. If famous television personalities can come out on TV and say "Yes, I bought my driver's liscence" and then admit openly, and with a tinge of pride that he does not know, and does not need to know, the meaning of street signs, then we're all in big trouble. And it gets worse. After you have purchased your car and your driver's liscence (but not insurance), if you are stopped for, oh I don't know, driving against traffic, you can get out of it, but for a hefty price. So if you like to drive while inebriated, run over pedestrians, and play chicken on the road, Russia is the place for you. In reality, the government is trying to crack down on corruption, so paying off policemen these days is even more expensive. So just stay where you are and drive on the right side of the road.

One more thing. A few days ago, while returning home after a late night at the office, I encountered a comic, yet tragic episode in the subway. It was about 11p.m. so the trains were running on a much slower schedule. There was a medium sized, black dog laying down in the metro next to a bench. An old babul'ka and and a young girl were feeding and petting the dog. Than, along came a drunkard. He wabbled from side to side as if each step could be his last. As soon as the dog saw him, it jumped from its comfortable surroundings and emmitted a sanguinary bark. I thought the dog was going to tear the poor man to pieces, but it just followed close behind him barking more and more ferociously. The man didn't seem to notice, much like a mouse that didn't notice the elephant standing on its tail. The people waiting for the train watched closely, with intrigued half-smiles waiting to see what would happen next. The drunkard leaned over to pick up an empty bottle to add to his collection--the dog stayed close behind. A police officer emerged importantly from the shadows. As he strutted toward the situation, I was glad that he would finally remove the dog from the metro so that it would stop harrassing that poor man. But instead, and much to my amazement, the officer walked up to the drunken man, grabbed him by the shoulder and led him away. My fellow onlookers smiled with content, as if justice had been done, and looked for validation in the faces of others. I was astounded. What did that man do to the dog? To the people? To the police officer? Since when is drunkeness a crime, especially in Russia? I suppose the police officer had to do something, and the man was less threatening than the dog. I stood there wondering what the officer did with the man: Did he kill him? Did he graciously arrange for him to be placed in a rehabilitation facility? Or did he simply throw him outside? As I pondered the drunkard's fate, the officer returned to deal with the unruly pup. The combination of bravado and fear that played on the officer's face, as he tried to catch the 'wild' beast, was priceless. NowI was smilling. After a few minutes of cat and mouse, the officer finally chased the dog out of the metro. Or maybe he killed it for making a mockery of him in front of people. Or maybe he turned it in to the humane society. It's probably outside with that drunkard right now, united against a common enemy.