My Russian Family

by Lilia Sariecheva

  I was healthy, good-looking, successful, and it felt like everybody loved me. My life was just great! My husband Nikoli and I both made good money and we happily spent it on ourselves and on our young son Andre. I loved my job, but I also loved my vacations because I loved to travel. Travel was a passion but I was traveling only around the USSR, which is to say the 15 Soviet Union Republics. At that time, it was very difficult to obtain the required voucher for traveling abroad. And even if you were lucky enough to have the voucher in your hand, inevitably another problem would arise.

  There was a strict requirement attached to any travel to a capitalist country. You must first travel to a non-capitalist country or to Finland. It would have been useless to attempt to avoid this rule. Certainly, Finland was much more desirable to visit than Czechoslovakia, Hungary, or Romania, which were all similar to Russia.

  You could go abroad only with a tour group under supervision. The transportation, food, and housing costs were included in the original fee. These tours were expensive and only a small amount of foreign currency was allowed for Russian tourists to spend in these foreign countries. The control point was that only the tour officials could exchange rubles for the foreign currency. In those days, Russians were hungry for Japanese electronics which were available in most of the noncommunist countries. Russians had money, but authorities did not allow them to convert enough currency to make an expensive purchase. The solution was for a small group on vacation to pool their foreign currency to make a purchase and one lucky person would take it home. He paid the others in rubles for their services, which raised the purchase price of the item considerably.

  Once, the door of opportunity appeared to open for my husband and me to have travel vouchers for Finland. This was a great opportunity and we were very excited. The officials told us that we needed an evaluation from our employers. We dismissed this as not a large obstacle, but we were happy too quickly.

  My principal answered my request for an evaluation with “I’m not giving it to you because you worked only two and a half years for me and you have to work at least three years.” I was dumbfounded. “Don’t you know me well enough? Don’t you think I am good enough to represent our country abroad? Can’t you make up your mind about me as an employee and as a good person?”

  The principal was a good friend and she stared at me with pity and replied, “Are you coo-coo?” She pointed her forefinger to her temple and rotated it, the Russian sign signifying craziness. “If you are coo-coo, so be it, but I am not. I am not going to lose my position for you.”

  I stared at my friend with astonishment.

  “I have very strict instructions to give evaluations for travel vouchers only to employees who have worked for a minimum of three years. Ask me again in six months. You know that it will be an excellent evaluation.”

  Of course, it is hard for foreigners to imagine these ridiculous circumstances. It would appear quite eccentric for an American to request a job evaluation as a requirement for traveling abroad on vacation.

  My loving husband declined to make the journey without me.

  A concept that Westerners have difficulty understanding is that under Soviet law, status rather than wealth or income determined living standards. A large proportion of most Soviet citizens’ real income consisted of benefits directly allocated by the state. Labor and social benefits under soviet law recognized three distinct categories of employees: workers for state enterprises, employees of collective farms, and inmates in labor camps. The Labor Code provided employees for state enterprises protection against arbitrary discipline or discharge. They could also change jobs, except for a period during and just after World War II.

  Restrictions on residence permits made it difficult for peasants to move to major urban centers to search for new employment. There was no legally recognized right to strike and employees were represented by weak, party-controlled pseudo-unions.

  The Red Power had long denied peasants on collective farms the identity documents (internal passports) they needed for moving to urban areas. The Labor Code did not protect peasants and it was not until 1965 that they had the legal right to representation by the pseudo-unions. The peasants’ legal position was similar to the serfdom that existed in Russia until the mid-19th century. Upon reflection it is easy to see it for what it was, a slave system. The peasants provided their own food and shelter and the only involvement by the state was to lay down regulations and take a huge share of their produce.

  The third category was the labor-camp employees. These millions of men and women had essentially no enforceable legal rights.

  Secret laws and regulations provided for lavish benefits for the ruling elite at the national and local level. These persons received comfortable apartments, the use of state vacation facilities, automobiles with drivers, superior medical care at secret high-quality clinics, preferred admission of family members to universities, access to generally unavailable food and consumer goods at low prices, permission to travel abroad, and generous retirement pensions. However, life was not all roses for these elite. They could lose these privileges at any time if they were suspected of being disloyal to the regime.

  Ordinary urban residents received housing from the state but it was of lower quality and often required years on a waiting list. They received free medical care and free higher education only if they performed well on the difficult entrance examinations. They received pensions but at a lower level, and vacations to the Black Sea but not at the elite locations. I can remember back in the late 1960s that Red Power decreed a “13th salary” which was applied only to workers in plants and factories. Once a year, they would receive an extra month’s salary, the 13th month. This motivational action only lasted a few years.

  The collective-farm workers received free medical care but their state pensions were absurdly small. Vacations on the Black Sea were just a dream for peasants. Those who did receive pensions like Granny Varvara could do little with it, as it was a ridiculously small amount. Mostly they lived in farm housing and received food from the farm co-op. As these people grew older, the fortunate ones like my granny had someone in the family, like my daddy, who could and would support them. Imagine how you would feel if your child had to pay all your expenses including your burial.

  Father supported not only his mother but also his relatives when they had hard times, including numerous nieces and nephews. He gave long-term financial support to Linda until she died in 1955, Tania until the mid-1970s, and his Uncle Andre until the 1960s. Even with socialism, it was typical for those who had money to share with their relatives who did not. Money from the city workers and food from the country peasants flowed back and forth as it provided relief for relatives in the frequent hard times. Relatives expected help only if it was possible.

  The bottom rung of the ladder was for the labor camps. The inmates were issued just enough food to allow them to meet the assigned production quotas. Starvation and executions were constant threats. Authorities estimated that ten percent of them died each year from overwork, harsh climate, inadequate food, and executions. It gave one the impression that it was a system designed to cull out the weak. Certainly, it worked opposite to the military draft system where the sick, lame, and lazy remained safe at home, while the excellent genes of the strong and healthy were eliminated on the battlefield.

  Sometimes my girlfriends and I compare the USSR to the present Russian Federation. More goods are available now but many citizens do not have the money to purchase them. Under socialism, we had steady work and yearly paid vacations to the Black Sea, Baltic Sea, or any of numerous other vacation locations. During the past 15 years, many people lost their positions and now work at low-skilled jobs. For them, yearly vacations are rare and paid vacations are even rarer.

  One of my friends complained that she has not seen the Black Sea since 1990.

  52. The Sworn Enemy

  Since I couldn’t finesse a vacation to Finland or anywhere else outside the USSR, I could only
imagine what life was like in other countries. All I could do was to keep my peace and just enjoy my trips to different Soviet Republics. Whenever I travel and see new things, it gives me a greater appetite to see even more. Although I was by myself on most of these trips, I never felt any fear of danger.

  These trips usually included a sojourn to see my parents. On one particular trip, we had a nice summer visit and as my husband, my three-year-old son, and I were leaving my parent’s home, that day became remarkable. The unexpected event occurred as my family, including my parents, were waiting at the train station for our train back to our home.

  My son wanted to explore the station so he and I started looking around and doing some window-shopping. I felt like someone was watching me, but not my husband or my parents. I glanced around and locked eyes with a young, attractive militia officer in uniform. He stared fixedly at me. His face was open and kind and he was smiling warmly. I stopped walking and gazed at him intently.

  It was my old sworn enemy Veetya. A flood of memories washed over me. He was the boy I had physically fought with in school and at camp when I was only 11 years old. At one point I had hit him with a rock and thought I’d killed him. And here he was, all grown up.

  At that inopportune time, the train arrived and my husband called my name. I returned a smile to Veetya, as did my son, and then the moment was lost, but indelibly seared into my memory!

  Bye-bye, old friend!

  My generation of young people in Russia did of course find things to complain about. However, in hindsight it was probably more jealousy than valid complaints. We watched some brilliant American-made movies at the cinema that showed families with huge houses, many cars, expensive clothes, and extravagant lifestyles and we thought that most Americans lived that life. It is only now that I am living in America that I observe most of them do not, and for those that do, I question the need of their excessive self-indulgence. In Russia the Soviet Power took good care of me and mine. Our houses and apartments were smaller but sufficient, and they were free. Public transportation was cheap and generally good when I was young. The food was all right. Healthcare, education and jobs were available, restaurants and theaters were full, and the arts, ballet, and opera were stimulating. It was a contented life for most Russians.

  Lilia and son Andre in snow, 1977

  Lilia and son, 1978

  Even women’s rights were seldom a hindrance under the USSR socialism. Men and women had equal rights—period. Salaries, vacations, benefits, privileges, educational opportunities, and lifestyles of women were commensurate with the men. Women controlled the money and ruled the family at home. Men were reluctant to be physically aggressive against females. This has all changed with the fall of the USSR. Russian men exert more control over women under the increased influence of Western democracies. I am sad to report that the rights of Russian women are now in decline.

  The passing of time does highlight a few events from the USSR years that bother me more now than they did at the time they happened. I love plays, opera, and the ballet and we attended many performances in various theaters. However, I have never seen that most prominent of ballets, the Bolshoi of Moscow. (Bolshoi translates as large or enormous). This wondrous ballot troop is located in the Moscow Theatre, a beautiful and famous place. The troop has worldwide recognition and it has long been a dream of mine to see it.

  My husband swore that he would make it happen but despite his strenuous and expensive efforts, it never occurred. The problem is that the Bolshoi is reserved for foreigners. One failed scheme of ours involved signing on with a group of tourists from a distant republic; another scheme involved outright bribery, but nothing worked and still I wait.

  Russians have a novel and quite successful approach to obtaining a driver’s license. One must be at least 18 years old to obtain this prized document. First is a visit to a unique medical doctor’s office that specializes only in driving permits. There is an ear and eye exam, color blindness test, and an obtrusive examination of mental fitness. People who are mute, deaf, or color blind, or who have mental issues never get a driver’s license like they do in America. Even my colorblind father never drove; he always had a chauffeur.

  The state provides driver’s education courses with classes several times a week after work. After two months of theory and practice, you may receive the coveted driving license. Selected students attend classes five months longer and receive permits for heavy duty vehicles or chauffeuring.

  Both the medical permit and the driving certificate are at the expense of the citizen, but they are required only once in your lifetime. When you have passed your medical exam and taken the required driver’s education classes, you take the two documents you’ve received and proceed to the Motor Vehicles Office. There, you join long lines for document stamping and finally receive a driver’s license that is valid forever. This license is a multi-page, fold-over document that fits in a shirt pocket or purse.

  The traffic police are a specialized branch with large salaries and well-respected reputations. When they catch a driver in a serious traffic violation, they are authorized to punch a hole on a particular page of the driver’s license. When three holes are punched, that driver is no longer a driver. It is a very serious event to receive a hole in your license. In addition, the offending driver may or may not have to pay a fine for a particular offense. This involves visiting an office to pay the fine and then taking the receipt to the Motor Vehicles Office. This can involve a half-day or possibly two or three days of standing in line. The threat of standing in line is undoubtedly a deterrent to violating the law. This system remains today, except that the fold-over license is now just a card-sized document that’s good for only ten years, and the hole punching is no longer in use.

  This backdrop leads to a story I have never told completely to anyone except my husband. He thought I was crazy, but I felt justified and vindicated. You may be the judge.

  I am a conservative driver and only received one ticket for all my years of driving in Russia. It happened in the summer that I turned 32. I was driving home on a semi-isolated country road after spending the day visiting my son at his Pioneer Camp.

  About three kilometers outside of Ryazan in the evening dusk, a bulky man walking alongside the road flagged me down and I noticed he wore the uniform of the traffic police. I was obligated to stop for a traffic policeman, but he was not in a car or on a motorcycle. I did not like it and, prior to stopping, I locked the car doors and rolled up all the windows except for a small opening on my side window. I rolled to a stop beside him with a questioning look on my face, ready to hit the gas and speed off.

  “Lady, you must give me a ride to the police station so I can go to work,” he said.

  I was leery of both his attitude and his looks. He was perspiring and his face was red. “Look,” I replied. “I don’t know you, and there is no one else around here!” I had not seen another vehicle for several minutes. As an afterthought, I added, “I am not responsible for getting you to work.”

  He shot me a dirty look and leaned on my clean car. “The bus is late and soon I will be late. It is on your way, just give me a ride.”

  “Maybe you stole that uniform. How can I trust you?” I said.

  He quickly realized that I would not yield to his demand and he turned nasty. “You will be sorry for this. I will get you, you bitch!”

  I immediately drove off thinking that my car and the license plate were easy to remember and he could find me if he wanted to. At that time, there weren’t many female drivers. The government had no problems with it but society definitely frowned on women driving, especially in the provinces.

  About nine the next morning, I again started the 40minute trip from my home in Ryazan to the Pioneer Camp. In a bad twist of fate, that same traffic officer was parked in a police car on that same road. He pulled me over.

  He greeted me with a sneer, “Oh, what a surprise, we meet again!”

  We scolded each other for some 15
minutes. He was still mad that I did not give him a ride to work and I was still mad that he should expect a lone woman to assume responsibility for his poor planning. We started to yell at each other like a husband and a wife! Only one other vehicle drove by the whole time we argued.

  In the end, he gave me a ticket for three rubles, which was a ridiculously small amount and only issued to harass me. As we parted, he sneered at me and boasted, “Now who won?”

  I decided that I would not pay the fine. I would fight this by complaining to his supervisor. I still carried the ticket and after about a month a complaint that the traffic ticket had not been paid arrived on the desk of my boss, the school principal, as typically these go to your place of work, not your home address. She convinced me that I should pay the fine, in addition to complaining. I received a lot of moral support from this principal and the other teachers.

  I spend almost a full day standing in lines at the bank office and the Motor Vehicle Office to pay the three-ruble fine. Then I upped the ante and made a visit to the local supervisor of the traffic police, where I told my story. It was some time later that my husband and I met this same supervisor at a social event. He informed us that he had fired the rogue cop, a serious punishment, as the man lost a prestigious position which included excellent benefits. The supervisor further explained that there were several other complaints against him in addition to mine. It set me to wondering just how many people he had harassed.

  Maybe I should have been satisfied and just let it go, but I could not, it kept bothering me. The following summer I finally found out where he lived. It was next to the place where he had stopped me the first time, a beautiful little village near Ryazan. I drove there and asked what his address was. Everyone of course knew everyone else and an elderly woman pointed out his house to me. I proceeded to his front door and knocked loudly. The ex-cop and his wife opened the door and I watched the recognition appear on his red face. I stared at him and asked, “Now who won?”