COMMENTARY: Independent Ukraine: a personal perspective (09/08/96)

COMMENTARY

Independent Ukraine: a personal perspective

by David R. Marples

CONCLUSION

The number of panhandlers on the streets of Kyiv has risen sharply. Some are gypsies, but most are not. Some carry placards telling a personal story of misfortune. Many carry babies. The majority of them in the city eke out an existence in the vast complex of underground walkways below the Khreshchatyk. I noted several encampments along the shores of the Dnipro: the homeless leaving bottles and paper, discarded clothing. There are packs of dogs everywhere, and many newspapers were warning of the danger of rabies.

Prices are beyond the ability of many citizens to pay. Accessible gas stations are a new phenomenon, but the prices, at 60,000 karbovantsi per liter, are comparable with those in Alberta, Canada. Food prices are generally higher. It is often remarked that in 1996 one can buy any item in Kyiv. The only line-ups are of teenagers at the Western jean stores. The Bassarabsky Market is notable for its displays rather than sales. As far as I could see almost no one was buying. One can wander around with ample elbow room.

Hotels are prohibitively expensive and the two I visited (the revamped Dnipro and the Moskva) were practically empty. Most range in price from $120 to $180. One can "rough it" at the Bratislava on the Left Bank for about one-third of this price, but there is little need to subject oneself to such an indignity. Many Kyivans are happy to host foreigners.

The arrival of foreign cars has compounded an already critical pollution problem. The situation in the industrial district is particularly acute. I am not very squeamish or susceptible to smog, but at times, in the heat, it was almost impossible to breathe, particularly when squads of heavy trucks occupied the roads. I was often asked whether I felt that the Chornobyl problems remained acute in the city. Invariably I replied that in my view citizens had far more to fear from air pollution than the nuclear disaster.

While I was in Kyiv, copies of the new Constitution were available at press kiosks. Much has already been written about the protracted struggle over the Constitution, how the result is a triumph for the president over the parliamentary left. That is surely true. On its own, however, the Constitution amounts to something less grandiose. A clause at the very end of the document notes that the current laws of detention will remain in force for a further five years. That clause may pose the largest impediment to the consolidation of democracy in Ukraine, particularly when the political situation remains tense. One can look at two aspects of this question.

First, the militia are omnipresent in Ukraine. Observe, for example, the traffic police. They are a constant irritant. There is no avoiding them if one has a vehicle. Of course they have to make a living, to supplement inadequate salaries. Yet there is nothing more offputting than the sight of these "maleznyi-Stalins" (little Stalins) with their uniforms and whistle at the ready, as they pull over passive and uncomplaining (but bitter, surely foaming?) motorists.

After the attempted assassination of Prime Minister Lazarenko in mid-July, I expressed an interest in visiting the site of the explosion. A friend drove me there, voicing en route his disbelief at the road taken by the prime minister's driver to the airport, through a practically deserted industrial district. Certainly there are more direct routes to Boryspil. Why any driver would have selected that particular road is a mystery.

We parked the car and walked along the verge of the road. We soon had company. Three militiamen followed us. "Keep walking," my friend advised. "This is Ukraine. It is a democracy." I glanced quickly at his face searching for evidence of irony. There was none. We were soon overtaken. The first militiaman demanded to see our papers. I had none with me, and I had not bothered to register at the OVIR. But in one of those idiosyncratic, bureaucratic procedures, my friend was escorted back to his car leaving me free to take photographs of the bombed area. The militia, it also must be said, were courteous to the visitor from Canada.

Afterward I pondered why the militia would have established a watch at the bomb site. Would the potential assassin return to the scene of the crime? The assassin in any case would not have been here on the day of the attempt, since the device was detonated from a bridge opposite. The apparent discrepancies in the event would be ample to sustain a second-rate mystery thriller. All the same, the details reminded me of the successful assassination of the Belarusian party leader Pyotr Masherau in 1980, another event that has yet to receive a satisfactory explanation.

The second point to be made about the political situation in Ukraine is that while the country is relatively stable, it remains somewhat authoritarian. My biggest concern about living there would be the rights of the individual, particularly in the event of an arrest. The personalities in the leadership remain familiar from the Soviet period. I heard one explanation of this situation one evening.

Vyacheslav Chornovil, it was alleged, could not have won the 1991 presidential election, despite his sustained opposition to the Soviet-era leadership. He lacked national stature and was essentially perceived as a provincial politician. Leonid Kravchuk, albeit a native western Ukrainian, did possess such stature, but on the other hand never quite divorced himself from the past, particularly in his methods. He emerged as a kind of nationalist apparatchik in 1991-1992. The result, in the view of the speaker, was that Ukraine in the Kravchuk era was never fully committed to reform. In the Kuchma era also, the same applies.

One could append to this theory the statement that few Ukrainians appear remotely interested in the political process. I have witnessed contempt for parliamentary debates in Canada, but they pale beside the attitude of many Kyivans. In the past one could ride the metro in Kyiv and watch passengers immerse themselves in their newspaper. Presumably many must have had some interest in politics, particularly in the Gorbachev period. Today newspapers on public transit are an unusual sight, other than the Vedomosti, which is approaching the level of the National Enquirer.

One part of society is in too much of a hurry to peruse the latest debates in Parliament. The other, morose and frustrated, is engaged in the daily struggle for subsistence. I concluded that Western observers and reporters probably know and care far more about Ukrainian politics than do residents of Ukraine.

The changes in Ukraine have occurred so rapidly that citizens can only be bewildered by events. I found it an interesting task to compare the political changes to new historical assessments by Ukrainian scholars. After all, 1996 should be an ideal time from which to view the past, particularly the Soviet period. To some extent this has happened externally. There is a small but effective monument to the famine of 1932-1933, located close to the statue of Olha and the other founders of Ukraine.

By contrast, the propagandistic war museum on the hill adjacent to the Pecherska Lavra (Monastery of the Caves) has been closed. Rumors abound that a museum devoted to the Chornobyl disaster is to replace it, whether founded or not, I could not say. Old buildings have been tastefully refurbished. Workers were busy at the monastery itself, in fact. Despite acute financial shortages, historical preservation is at least on the official agenda.

However, the academic climate, including the publication of new historical works, is in disarray. I found only two sizable bookstores in Kyiv: the Naukova Dumka and a technical bookstore of inferior quality (unless one happens to be a devotee of IBM catalogues). The search for historical works proved to be futile. There are school textbooks. Otherwise the major published scholars of Ukrainian history today appear to be Westerners, such as Orest Subtelny and Arkady Zhukovsky. One wonders whether the apparent lack of domestic output is a question of the short lapse of time since the Soviet period - a reflection time? research time? - or the inability of academics to combine an academic career with alternative modes of economic existence.

On the other hand, one can find out all one needs to know about the OUN-UPA, courtesy of new and often expensive republications of works previously available in the Western diaspora. These are available on street corners and in Independence Square. I suspect also that more books are sold at weekend book fairs than in any bookstore. There are more books on social science topics in English than I had seen hitherto. All the same, a historian can only emerge from a visit to the major Kyiv bookstore feeling depressed at the apparent lack of dissemination of new research.

I was anxious to sample one of the new restaurants in the city, but my budget limited the number of outings to one. I decided on the Slavuta on Gorky Street, since this outlet had been recommended in my guidebook. The Slavuta organization appears to be thriving. The building also comprises a store that sells English newspapers and magazines.

The restaurant combines adequate food with truly appalling service in a cosy, dimly-lit setting and red-squared tablecloths. I went with my friends. Our waitress was prim and proper, in black outfit, blonde hair. When one of the friends was hesitant over some dish, she tapped her foot impatiently and promptly withdrew to the next table, where a loud-mouthed businessman hosted a table for eight that was loaded down with wine and vodka. Not a trace of a smile passed her lips. "Pozhaluysta?," she yawned upon her return.

A security guard watched the proceedings disinterestedly from an adjoining table. The bill was about $90 for the three of us, including a bottle of wine, but it had not exactly been a sumptuous feast. The Slavuta describes itself as a Finnish-Ukrainian joint venture. I assume that it originated in the Soviet period. In that way one could explain that situation simply: Soviet service, Finnish prices. I didn't leave a tip.

In 1992, I had been surprised at the prevalence of the Russian language in Kyiv. In 1996, usage of the Ukrainian language has increased, but given its apparent advantages as a state language, not dramatically. Ukrainian is spoken in academic circles, in Parliament, and at the government level. Elsewhere the ear becomes accustomed to Russian. On Andriyivsky Uzviz, the most picturesque street in the Ukrainian capital, I saw in a pleasant restaurant adorned with Western company advertisements (Rothman's and Coca Cola led the field), drank German beer, ate Italian food, and was served by Russian-speaking waiters. For good measure, the Winnipeg band Crash Test Dummies droned away in the background.

Crossing the road I came to Bulgakov's house. There, less surprisingly, I was escorted around - along with a group of teenagers - by a fat, officious, truly Soviet woman, who pontificated in reverential and literary Russian about the great man. Is the language question in the city, then, a generational affair? I am not qualified to answer such a question.

I accompanied a group of 16-17 year olds one day for a pleasant walk along the shores of the Kyiv Reservoir and all of them spoke Russian. On the other hand, I made a private little study of school textbooks, and all were in Ukrainian. In 1996, in contrast to 1992, it would appear that in Kyiv one needs to understand Ukrainian, but not necessarily to speak it. I asked a Canadian graduate student who has spent several months in the city how he deals with the problem. His answer was as follows: "Unless I am specifically addressed in Ukrainian, then I speak Russian". Incidentally, the student was a native Ukrainian speaker (in contrast to this writer, who learned Russian first); such a situation was not ideal for him.

Kyiv has always been a sort of dividing point in Ukraine for the two languages. In contrast to some of my peers, I do not view language as the decisive factor in determining one's nationality or voting habits. A combination of events: the development of national consciousness in Ukraine; the truculence of Russia as manifested particularly in the December 1994 invasion of Chechnya and ramifications thereof; the relative isolation of Ukraine from the CIS; and others, have rendered residents of Ukraine generally convinced of their Ukrainian citizenship and commitment to the current state. This statement applies equally to Ukrainian and Russian speakers in the capital (it may apply less strongly to residents of Donetske or Luhanske).

One can appreciate that every traveler encounters different experiences. Conceivably an academic could attend official functions, associate with colleagues at Kyiv State University and the University of Kyiv Mohyla Academy and hear nothing but Ukrainian (or English, a thriving language in Kyiv today). Outside the elite, however, in the vast apartment complexes, the overwhelming memory is of the melancholic Russian speech, of an ancient crone sitting outside one entrance admonishing a group of teenagers for their insolence. They were sitting in her seat, it appeared. (Conceivably she had a previous career as a guide in Bulgakov's house.) In that respect, 1996 could be 1986, or 1935 for that matter.

And what of the future? The progress over five years has been remarkable. One can make several sweeping assertions without much fear of contradiction: aside from the Baltic republics, Ukraine has made more advances toward democracy than any other former Soviet republic; politically Ukraine is relatively stable; fundamental and irreversible material changes have taken place; Ukraine as a business center in 1996 is closer to Europe than to Russia and, moreover, has drifted away from the CIS.

On the other hand, any progress report has to be qualified by basic realities. Economically, the predicament remains acute. If unpaid workers are ever to receive their wages, then rampant inflation will surely follow. The differences with Russia remain, and no solution is in sight to the persistent energy shortages. The political leadership is essentially a combination of reformers and intransigent state-controllers. Bureaucracy is omnipresent.

However, when economic transformation occurs in Ukraine - and it will occur - it will not emanate from the political bureaucracy of from the office of the president. It will take place from below, from the new economic entrepreneurs. Whether that change is swift or sluggish is dependent partly on the restrictions imposed upon them. They are not well liked. How could these young patronizers of casinos and high-priced night clubs be appreciated by, let us say, veterans of the second world war, currently surviving on $50 per month? Incidentally, among the panhandlers, the placards declaring the owner to be a victim of the Great Patriotic War are very prevalent. One could complete the pathos of the situation by handing them a few Deutschmarks.

I am convinced also that the new Ukraine will be completely unrecognizable from the Soviet state or even the immediate post-1991 creation. Tax and property laws will mean more to the new business community than famine memories or Chornobyl. The plight of the pensioner and the former state employees, moreover, will be ignored amid the general stampede to accumulate capital. That is the future, and it will come no matter how hard Mr. Moroz tries to delay it, or whether the current president espouses a form of "capitalism with a human face."

At Boryspil, I sauntered through customs once again, picked up my free copy of the Kiev Post, and seated myself at an appropriate table in the only place open for refreshment: the Irish Pub. I ignored the overpriced items in the various fashion outlets. At the music store, copies of the CD by the late Russian nationalist folk hero Igor Talkov were available for $11.99.

When I leave Minsk after my visits there, the sense of relief, of returning liberty, of escaping from Lukashenka's giant collective farm, can be overwhelming. But with Kyiv one's feelings are more complex, ill-defined, both positive and negative. It remains a wonderful city to visit. But there are at least three levels of citizenry: the official bureaucracy, the new elite and the increasingly impoverished masses. I remain unconvinced that they have a mutual goal.

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.

PART I