Although I was familiar with the Soviet Union growing up and had friends from their when I lived in China in the late 80's and early 90's, most of my knowledge was focused on certain issues like nuclear disarmament and nuclear power. I was not well versed in Russian history, literature, or culture. It's no wonder - there was a cold war going on. In the early nineties, I was more concerned about the environment and the wars in Iraq and Yugoslavia than the war in Afghanistan. But in 2001, I got my first glimpse behind the old Iron Curtain and found a beautiful and exciting place in Ukraine. Now, on the 20th anniversary of that country's independence (an amazing story of its own!) on August 24th, 1991, I am reprinting an article I wrote for the now-defunct Ukrainian Observer magazine way back in 2003 after having lived their for a couple years. Congratulations, Ukraine!
Ukraine in 2003: Attitudes about Health, Happiness, and Hierarchy
In a previous article in another publication I praised Ukraine for its public transportation, close families, and libertarian sensibilities. Now I feel compelled to attack some of the greatest commonly held beliefs in this vast land – as observed through the eyes of a foreigner: the Ukrainian ideals of good health, material success, and organizational sense (or perhaps the lack of it).
Upon arriving in Ukraine by train from Budapest, I knew things were going to be different. My border crossing at Chop was a dismal exercise in customs-bribery and registration-formality. I don’t know what else to call it: The border police were so surprised to see an American at their station that they bungled an attempt to receive a bribe by not knowing how to ask for it correctly, and it seemed like I had my own chaperone as I was shuttled from baggage inspection to customs office (ahead of all the other passengers in front of me, of course). Outside, shoddily dressed kids competed for handouts with a scraggily dog.
Kiev offered itself as a monument of a city: big train station, impressive subway terminals, huge statues everywhere. To me, it was the home of Chicken Kiev, and the USSR’s third largest city after Leningrad and Moscow. My knowledge of these eastern lands, and the people who inhabit them, was pitifully limited by my American education. Sure, I could name the ABC’s of dead Russian leaders: Andropov, Breshnev, Checkov. Wait, Checkov was a writer. Chernenko was the president. However, I knew little else about Ukrainian and Soviet history.
Now that I have lived here for almost two years, I feel I’ve learned something about the local history and indeed, culture. It’s no wonder that a newly independent country that has been under the control of different empires for many of the past thousand years has a blend of cultures and attitudes much different from the United States, which was dominated by an entirely different set of empires.
In would be an injustice to try to contain Ukraine’s impressive cultural history in just a few lines, and I am by no means an expert anyway. Most Americans are only familiar with Ukrainian-born artists like Mira Sorvino, Isaac Stern, and Isaac Asimov, but more likely consider them to be a part of the cultural panoply of the United States. However, I have observed three distinct customs outside the sphere of popular entertainment that are significantly different in American and Ukrainian culture that I think are worth bringing to light.
The first is the way in which Ukrainians often look at good health. Counter to the American practice of “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Ukrainians seem to be pretty adept at using preventative medicine. Combining folk remedies, urban myths, and old wives’ tales, Ukrainian customs regarding health are sometimes pragmatic and sometimes ridiculous – at least to the uninformed observer. Americans on the other hand, tend to spend millions of dollars on miracle pills and other cures in hopes of extending life and improving its quality.
Ukrainian beliefs about health include the cardinal adages that one not sit on cold things, that one not drink ice cold beverages, that one not be exposed to drafts, that one keep babies completely sealed in layers and layers of swaddling cloths to protect them from the elements and disease. The list goes on and on.
While it’s true that Ukraine suffers from nasty endemic diseases such as tuberculosis, diphtheria, hepatitis, and influenza, none of the above practices are certifiably preventative when it comes to warding off disease – at least not in the opinion of this writer.
When considering much more significant, and preventable, deaths from cancer, heart disease, and injuries related to alcoholism and automobiles, it strikes me as strange that Ukrainians don’t wear seatbelts, or impose limits on alcohol and tobacco use. The national rate of AIDS infection also warrants concern: as does the apparent lack of government involvement in introducing safe sex awareness and addressing intravenous drug use.
Materialism, the bane of communism, has caught on strong here. But there is another side to the equation of wealth. The main quality of life indicators – according to the United Nations – are not expensive cars, entertainment centers, and luxury shopping malls, but are access to clean drinking water, education, and healthcare. The importing and marketing of expensive luxury goods is bad for Ukraine since it deprives the national economy of money it could use to improve the lives of its citizens. When you hear about the cabinet of ministers buying expensive German automobiles instead of Ukrainian-made ones, it is a clear example that somebody’s priorities are out of order.
Ukraine needs more people to buy Ukrainian products, and to build something of a middle class. Then, when there is a normal quality of life for all, people can afford to buy some nice things for themselves. But to cover up Ukraine’s inadequacies with the veneer of luxury goods is to ignore the plight of millions of incredibly poor people. It’s like having a very expensive new car with a rusted out chassis, and a big hole in the gas tank.
That brings me to my final critique: Ukrainian bureaucracy. It can be maddeningly nonsensical and opaque. Let me tell you a short story from my own experience about this cheery subject.
When I came to Ukraine, just after the end of mandatory registrations for foreigners, I was in the situation of needing to extend my private visa for a mere 3 months. For this I, and all foreigners, had to visit that hell of hells, the ‘OVIR’ building on Shevchenko Boulevard. You would think they’ve never had a foreign person walk in their doors before – as there are no signs, no public information in English or even in Ukrainian – just a security guard at a desk.
Even though I did manage to find the bleak desk that handles visa extensions, I was pained to find that the attendants were uncooperative and surly. They insisted that I buy health insurance (a fraudulent scheme, I came to find out), and that after paying over two hundred Hryvvna, I could come back and wait with dozens of other poor souls for hours. Later, they handed out our passports in a random, meaningless fashion. All the while, young ladies seemed to enter and exit a back room, smiling and carrying completed documents – for those lucky enough to have paid a commission for quicker service. ‘If only I had done that,’ I remember thinking.
Well, I’m a little more seasoned expatriate now, and I understand that this is an everyday thing for most Ukrainians. Is it the lack of technology, and all those papers that need filling out by hand? Or is it an internal glitch in an overly hierarchical system, burdened by the lack of resources and insurmountable demands?
Ukraine is far from the only place burdened by red tape, decreasing public health services, and a rise in the disparity between rich and poor. These are elements of injustice that accompany most societies. A question that I often ask myself these days is this, “Am I part of the problem, or part of the solution?”
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