COMMENTARY: Independent Ukraine: a personal perspective (09/01/96)

COMMENTARY

Independent Ukraine: a personal perspective

by David R. Marples

PART I

I decided it was time to play the role of observer in Ukraine - to be more precise, in its capital, Kyiv. I had last visited the city in May 1992. Subsequently, my research work had taken me to neighboring Belarus, to which I have made 11 visits over the past four years. The latter country is notable for its familiarity to those who recollect the Soviet period. Kyiv came as something of a culture shock.

Physically and externally, Kyiv is in the throes of a dramatic transformation. One can begin with the regular port of entry into the country, Boryspil Airport. I had entered the airport under the auspices of British Airways, en route from Gatwick Airport. The airline is apparently new to Ukraine and at present appears to have little idea that Ukraine is an independent country.

Announcements were made in English and Russian. Upon landing, the plummy-voiced flight attendant announced: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Russia." I was about to ask whether the plane had been diverted to Moscow, but at the time could find no one to question. We were, in fact, in the capital of Ukraine.

Boryspil used to be among the shabbiest of Eastern Europe's major airports. There were still few international planes in evidence, but the airport itself was remarkably efficient and clean. It lacked the dark, dank appearance of recent memory. I cleared customs within 10 minutes. A vast highway now runs into the city center. Most of the cars around me appeared to be German. The odd Lada driver now occupies the inside lane and can watch the traffic pass by him like an express train. One could be anywhere in Europe in this respect. It was a scene utterly alien to the airport road into Miensk.

Kyiv's city center, always impressive, now functions as a commercial hub. Businessmen in suits with mobile phones are everywhere. Foreign stores have begun to predominate. On Chervonoarmiyska Street, a young woman tried to entice me to install a whirlpool in my home.

The main bookstore in Soviet times now sells computers. Gas stations abound, as do official currency exchange booths. There seems to be a market, large or small, at every major metro station. Some of them extend into the street. Most often the vendors sell individual items and rarely more than five. These markets are less the result of a suddenly thriving capitalism than a reflection of the struggle for subsistence, though this fact was not immediately apparent.

The currency appeared to be relatively stable against the dollar, at 174,000-177,000 kbv, and inflation was negligible, though in both cases suspension of regular wages to state employees has created a false sense of security.

The Soviet period is generally regarded with contempt. In fact, Soviet icons are now marketed with good humor at every souvenir outlet. One of my favorites was a T-shirt depicting the founder of the Soviet state under the golden arches and the slogan "McLenin." Soviet Army coats and caps are for sale, usually costing from $6 to $20 per item. At one outlet, I found one of Stalin's works in what appeared to be the original edition of 1950.

"How much is this?" I asked the vendor, fingering the 80-page book.

"Thirty dollars," he answered.

I dropped the wretched thing like a hot potato.

"Why?" I asked him.

"I have no idea," he replied, "because it's not worth 2 kopeks."

Stalin's works aside, nevertheless, the lack of reverence for the past era is striking.

The past, however, has not disappeared. It will take generations to replace the decrepit housing in which most urban residents of Ukraine are obliged to live. As one enters, one cannot help but note the peeling walls and urine-stenched elevators. The apartments themselves provide convenient views into the windows of neighbors, indeed into their daily lives.

Some fare better. One day I visited Misha, a friend of a friend, a businessman who had redecorated his apartment to near perfection by removing the walls separating the kitchen from the living room and bathroom, and taking over part of a neighboring apartment. He had also eliminated the balcony, which had thereby become an extension of the living room. The result was extraordinary: a plush living room with a tapestry carpet on brown-tiled floor and a substantial kitchen with bench seats.

The window overlooked the river and the Pecherska Lavra on the hillside, a vast forest that seemed close enough to touch. The food provided was lavish, and even ostentatious by Western standards: black caviar, roast chicken, salads, a tray of desserts that would have graced the Ritz, all to be washed down with Finnish cranberry vodka, well diluted by a fantastic assortment of German and Finnish fruit juices.

Misha plans to buy out the people who live above him and has plans to build a stairwell and some sort of waterfall (indoors) that can cascade from the top floor to the bottom. I wish him luck. Is this a new breed of Ukrainian resident? Does he represent a new elite in Ukrainian society?

It seems a reasonable assumption to make. Certainly there is a nouveau riche in Ukraine that is notably self-confident. It is a young - often very young - and dynamic sector that has rejected the traditional route to success: education and technical training. Its feet are firmly on the path of business.

The new generation may turn out to be the least educated in 20th century Ukraine. It rarely reads books other than computer manuals, but it has a definite grasp on the principles of a market economy.

The new entrepreneur knows the laws of the country and the amendments that occur almost on a weekly basis. He is in a hurry. At the same time the trappings of the new life must be present: the expensive briefcase, the Italian suit, the car, the cellular phone. He is as likely to be in Tashkent as Moscow from one week to the next, and his work ethic is utterly alien, well nigh inconceivable to the Soviet-trained employee.

A cynic might declare that such wealth can only be attained by working the system, by close links and cooperation with organized criminal elements. Much depends on how one defines the word "crime." Good contacts are essential, but the new entrepreneur must fend for himself/herself once established. The crucial question is where the accumulated wealth is stored, inside or outside the country, and if the former, then in which banks?

The success of the nouveau riche contrasts with the rest of Ukrainian society. In this respect, the changes have left in their wake the majority of the capital's population. Some are on the fringe, trying and often failing with new businesses. Others have never gotten off the ground.

And there are the state workers and the elderly, for whom life could scarcely be worse, whose sacrifices of the past can now be deemed worthless, who have no savings and evidently no future. They are the reason why Parliament today still comprises a strong Communist and Socialist element.

They are epitomized by the Donetske coal miners. No industry has ruined the health of its workers over the past 30 years more than that of the Donbas, but the industry today has become obsolete. Its workers have resorted to militancy in an effort to receive due wages, which are often months in arrears. The chief union leader was arrested suddenly two weeks ago in what the miners widely regard as an unnecessary provocation.

It is unlikely that the Ukrainian coal mines will ever turn a profit again, but their death will be a gradual and lingering affair. The same applies to many of the traditional old industries of Ukraine. President Leonid Kuchma has been reluctant to apply the sort of shock treatment administered in Poland or Russia - though one feels that such a policy might over the long term be more humane.

Pensioners are in the worst crisis of all. Few can subsist on their pensions. Many congregate at markets, often clutching a package of cigarettes. Often they plead with pedestrians to help them, to buy their meager offerings. They are the forgotten generation. The past is a distant memory. One can only imagine the impression that the recent changes must have made on them. Some 22 percent of Ukraine's present residents are pensioners and that figure will increase further as the century draws to a close.

David R. Marples is professor of history at the University of Alberta in Edmonton and director of the Stasiuk Program for the Study of Contemporary Ukraine at the Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies, which is based at that university.

CONCLUSION