RC#40: Semper Fi, Sir Kuchma!

published in Eastern Economist #424, March 19, 2002

Just this week, there was a grand celebration of Ruslan Ponamariov, the young Ukrainian who became the FIDE world chess champion. There everybody was, dressed to the nines at Palats Ukraïna in Kyiv, excited that this shaggy-haired blond kid who was one of their own had – out of the blue – got to the top.

            At the time of the FIDE tournament Jan. 23 in Moscow, none of the 128 representatives from 50 countries imagined that two young Ukrainians, Vasyl Ivanchuk and Mr. Ponamariov, would reach the finals – let alone that one of them would win [see RC#33]. For Mr. Ponamariov, it meant half a million bucks and a medal from the president.

            At 18, Ruslan Ponamariov was the youngest world chess champion ever.

            Of course, a week hadn’t gone by before the Spaniards organizing a Super Tournament in Linares woke up and smelled the coffee. On Dec. 24, they had invited Ruslan Ponamariov to their competition for early March. At the time, they hadn’t thought much of it. Mr. Ponamariov was just “another Russian chess freak” from Ukraine.

            Mr. Ponamariov turned them down. He had been asked to open a chess school in his home town of Kramatorsk on the same day. Also, his parents thought he was too young for such a high-powered meet.

            But this no-name kid was now a world champion. Not only that, he had money.

            So on Feb. 1, the Linares organizers gave Mr. Ponamariov an ultimatum. 48 hours to “rectify the situation” or they would sue him. For a cool million!

            It was a no-brainer. Mr. Ponamariov agreed to go, after all, and the opening in Kramatorsk was postponed.

            The Spaniards were in a win-win situation. As long as he showed up, it meant free extra publicity. If he didn’t and they sued, they’d have extra cash for a high-flying reception on the Salvador Dali.

            On Mar. 11, Ruslan did even better. He proved his Moscow title was no fluke. Drawing in the last game with India’s Vishvanatan Anand, he came in second at Linares. Seasoned Russian champion Garry Kasparov won the title.

            So you might forgive FIDE President Kirsan Iliumzhynov this week for waxing a little Shakespearean. “The birth of the next Chess King, Ponamariov, is a great event,” he intoned at Palats Ukraina. Everybody clapped and cheered. There were even a few wolf-whistles. Ruslan blushed and tossed back his hair.

            Mr. Iliumzhynov then announced grandly that Ruslan had been given a three-room apartment in Elista, Kalmykia. In case you didn’t know, Kalmykia is a Russian province situated on the northern shores of the Caspian Sea, not far from the Volga River. Now, maybe if it had been a seaside house in Sochi, this would have been something to write home about. Honestly, I just can’t see Mr. Ponamariov taking weekends off to sit on the Caspian Sea looking at distant oil slicks and humming “Yo-ho, heave ho.”

            Nevertheless, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house as the skinny blond kid from Kramatorsk took his bows.

            But then the spotlight was abruptly shunted off and the Ruslan Ponamariov show was over.

            The World Chess Federation had some sucking up to do.

            The drums rolled, the spotlights dance.

            Mr. Iliumzhynov announced with a fluorish that he was now going to award Leonid Kuchma, the President of Ukraine, as well. As though Mr. Ponamariov’s achievement was somehow thanks to a head of state who had probably never heard his name prior to Jan. 23.

            It seems that the Presidential Council of the World Chess Federation had decided to bestow Mr. Kuchma with an honorary chess title. Mr. Iliumzhynov revealed that he had been made Grand Knight of the Chess Kingdom. As a sign of this honor, Mr. K was presented with a Kalmykian horse.

            But that wasn’t everything. The honorary birthday boy had more coming to him from Mr. Iliumzhynov’s bag of goodies.

            Apparently, when he was 20, back in 1958, Leonid Kuchma had worked in West Kazakhstan oblast, near Pavlograd. In any case, Mr. K had earned a Komsomol award back then.

            In the Soviet Union, the Komsomol – the communist union of young people – was a kind of universal Scout organization for everybody over 14. Only you couldn’t get a good job or get into a good school without belonging to it. The Komsomol became the Old Boys network of the Soviet Union, much as the Parisian institute that graduates all senior government officials in France. And senior Komsomol members became what is known throughout the FSU as the nomenklatura: oligarchs and top officials. They run the show – just like their scandal-ridden French counterparts.

            So Mr. Iliumzhynov presented Mr. Kuchma an award that had been supposedly waiting for him for 44 years. An honorary Komsomol award called “For Developing Virgin Lands.”

            I know Kalmykia is out there in the boonies, but I can just imagine what “virgin lands” a 20-year-old kid might have been developing. Along with umpteen other kids his age, no doubt.

            I just don’t think it compares to Ruslan Ponamariov’s achievement.

            But guess which event took the headlines in the local wire services? You got it. Mr. Kuchma’s award – which just happened to be taking place at a party for Ruslan Ponamariov, the youngest World Chess Champion on record. The one who brought Ukraine the real glory.

            All I have to say to that is, “Semper Fido.” Arf, arf. •

–from the notebooks of Pan O.

RC#39: Fantastic Voyage

published in Eastern Economist #423, March 12, 2002

Europe’s getting big on corridors. In fact, there were two meetings on the subject this past week. The EU alone is planning 10 corridors. Then there’s TRACECA, the Central Europe to Central Asia corridor.

            This is what the US did in the early Sixties. They built a vast transcontinental network called the National Defense System. Prior to that, it was mostly a viper’s tangle of two-lane highways that made travelling worse than going to the dentist for a root canal.

            The 360-mile trip from Montreal to Toronto took 12-13 hours in 1962. You could rarely go over 40 mph and passing was mostly impossible. In 1960, Canadians had to drive through Minnesota to get from Quebec to Manitoba. That’s sort of what it’s like in Ukraine today. It takes about 8 hours to drive to L’viv,* which is only 300 miles from Kyiv. Yet the Montreal-Toronto trip takes just over 5 hours by car today.**

            The resulting web of interstates opened places like Wyoming and its jackalopes to the world of truckers and trailers. It put Idaho and Lake Superior on the map.

            Everybody in Ukraine loves to remind everybody else that Ukraine is on the crossroads of everywhere. But everybody else perceives Ukraine as terribly far away from everything.

            Wrong. Ukraine is only one time zone away from France. It’s about 630 miles from Kyiv to Vienna. This is much less than Washington to Chicago, Edmonton to Vancouver, or Baltimore to Birmingham. And it’s about the same as Vienna to Paris.

            The entire trip from Paris to Kyiv is like driving from Detroit to Denver or Buffalo to Miami. Except that you get to cross at least three countries on the way – Poland, Germany and Belgium, or Hungary, Austria and Germany, or Slovakia, Czechia and Germany – take your pick. Going the other way, this same distance takes you from Kyiv to Baku.

            It’s a two-day trip by car – if you had something like I-80 or Germany’s Autobahn to do it on. You don’t, but that’s about to change.

            Now, the Detroit-Denver trip, as any retired American in an RV will tell you, is “flatter ’n a pancake,” with nothing but Motel 6s and “attractions” like Corn Palaces on the way. If it weren’t for the roads, no one would do it.

            And that’s the point, ain’t it?

            If you had the roads, the Kyiv trips would take you through beautiful mountains and rolling rivers, past thousands of years of European and Caucasian history and half a dozen famous towns.

            Going east, you could see exotic places like Sochi and Sukhumi on the Black Sea through the Caucasus to Tbilisi. Or you could go through Russia’s sun belt, Krasnodarskiy Krai, to Chechnya and through the mountains to Tbilisi and Baku.

            The ultimate destination is the California Dream of the 21st century – China.

            Imagine the possibilities.

            You pack up your sturdy, souped-up 2015 Daimler RV. It’s got the built-in wide screen satellite TV with Internet and PlayStation 5. There’s a kitchenette with microwave everything, a UV shower (doesn’t need water) and compact super-foam bed. Photosensitive windows to climate control your interior. The whole hog.

            You log your car computer onto the TRACECA mapping system. Going through Kerch is somewhat out of the way. Besides, you’ve been to Crimea for the weekend twice this year. The war in Chechnya is a distant memory and the new international highway has given Chechens access to more than just Russia. Oil transit has brought them billions to rebuild their mountain economy. Nowadays, they’re billing Chechnya as a tourism hot-spot, complete with mountain day-trips and a Grozny Battlefield Museum. So you decide to do Kyiv-Rostov-Grozny-Baku.

            The Krasnodar Valley is on the way, where there are U-pick berry farms and vineyards. Somebody told you there’s a great new microbrewery not far from Stavropol, so you’ve decided to stop along the way and sample the goods.

            You’ve heard great things about Georgia, starting with John Steinbeck’s Russian Journals, so Tbilisi is a major must-see on the way. Georgian hospitality is legend and you can’t wait to see the Caucasus, especially the place where Prometheus was supposedly chained to his rock for giving humans the gift of fire. You’ve always been a mythology nut, so this will be the highlight of your trip.

            Baku’s only 300 miles east of Tbilisi and the road cuts through some impressive passes. Baku used to be a nasty mafia town under the post-communist guard, but Geydar Aliyev’s grandson has been changing things since the old man died in 2003. Oil revenues have been trickling down to the average Azeri and life is better than anyone can remember. Best of all, the refineries have been complying with EU standards in hopes of accession some time in 2020. So the air is pretty good now.

            The real reason you’re doing Baku is that you want to check out the new high-speed ferry to Krasnovodsk, in Turkmenistan. Word is that the Caspian has been really cleaned up and the sunsets are spectacular over this huge inland sea.

            If it looks as good as they say, you might try the whole trip next year: Krasnovodsk, Ashkhabad, Kabul, ending at Kashgar in the Tien Shan mountains. In China.

            There’s even a special deal for tourists that would get you back home from there: ship-and-fly for the same as the cost of gas one way.

            Imagine the possibilities! •

–from the notebooks of Pan O.

* if you care about your axles and don’t drive a Merc 600.

** keeping to speed limits.

RC#38: Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail, Ukraine-style

published in Eastern Economist #422, March 5, 2002

Back in December, long before the official election campaigning began, I flagged a car to a downtown meeting and was picked up by a young man in his Zhyguli. As usual, things got around to politics. My driver’s brow furrowed and his fists tightened around the steering wheel.

            “My wife works for City Hall,” he said.

            Mayor Omelchenko, of course, had just announced his new party, Yednist. I wondered what changes that might bring about. Would she have to lick stamps for his campaign instead of dealing with her usual tasks, as sometimes happens in the US or Canada?

            “She got a little piece of paper to sign. Actually, she got two pieces of paper,” he explained. “The first one was an application to join Yednist.”

            “And the other?”

            “A letter of resignation.”

            “So if she doesn’t join, she’s fired?” I said in disbelief.

            “That’s correct,” he said. “All the employees at City Hall got the same deal.”

            This is what Ukrainians mean by “administrative resources.” What I call “administrative leverage.”

            At the time, I only half-believed what the young man had told me. But the evidence is mounting.

            Not long ago, Oleksandr Moroz wrote an editorial in Cilski visti, Ukraine's answer to the Village Voice (only it really is a farmers' rag), called, “Alone with your conscience.” He mentioned the same thing, with reference to President Kuchma’s plagiarizing Chief-of Staff Volodymyr Lytvyn. A kind of Jay Leno without the jaw, Mr. Lytvyn just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Leverage, what leverage? I don’t see anyone suing us –?”

            Mr. Lytvyn heads the list of Za yedynu Ukrainu! The bloc boasts among its ranks Premier Kinakh, ex-premier Pustovoitenko, Tax Czar Azarov, former president of PrivatBank Tyhipko, and other similarly modest fellows who have absolutely no administrative clout, I'm sure.

            “From Severodonetsk to Periaslav, Pervomaisk and Chudno,” wrote Mr. Moroz, “managers in local administrations have been warned, ‘Vote this way, or your ass is grass.’ And they’ve been told to do the same to their underlings.” Turns out, Mr. Omelchenko was only getting a jump-start on things.

            The Committee of Ukrainian Voters confirmed suspicions Feb. 27, reporting “complaints of mass and systematic abuse of their positions by local officials on behalf of the Za yedynu Ukrainu! bloc and individual candidates.” In fact, the heads of government departments, agencies and enterprises often make no effort to hide their favoritism, the committee noted. “Those candidates who do not support the Executive are confronted with a variety of obstacles of both an administrative and criminal nature when trying to campaign publically.”

            Playing into Mr. Lytvyn’s hands, however, the CUV concluded, “There is not enough evidence of a deliberate conspiracy in this, either within the ZYU bloc or within central executive bodies.” This implies that, under Ukrainian law, any kind of graft and abuse of office has to be the joint effort of at least two officials in order to qualify…?

            Still, CUV Chair Ihor Popov thinks the use of administrative leverage could backfire. “Nationwide, the ratings are already making it clear that this could cause a backlash among voters.” Unfortunately, this same leverage would lead to victory in first-past-the-post districts.

            What bothers Mr. Moroz and me is the fact that no one has the guts to stand up to this abuse, to challenge their bosses.

            “The district manager who’s twisting your arm over the election is doing it to keep his position,” says Mr. Moroz. “He’s convinced that ratings don’t mean a thing, that all the sociological analysis on television is a lie, in preparation for the Big Lie on March 31… But where are the guys who had the job before him?”

            In the days of one vote, one party, it didn’t much matter. The communists always got 99.9%. But things have changed. If anybody really had the fix on the election, they wouldn’t bother with all this administrative hoopla, would they? It’s a lot of bother, if you can quietly let everyone vote and then toss the ballot boxes into the Dnipro.

            That’s Moroz’s main point. “Why blame those at the top, if you’re the one who put them there in the first place?”

            There could be a message there for Mr. Yushchenko as well. Politychna dumka [Political thought], a journal that has researched the political process in Ukraine for nearly nine years, calls Nasha Ukraina an “ethical opposition.” NU refuses to challenge the president’s actions or the legitimacy of the current regime – in the hope that there will be a voluntary change of the guard at the top.

            “Voluntary change” is not in the vocabulary of any known politicians on this planet since the start of written history (and probably before that as well).

Meanwhile, one Election 2002 footnote has played its course. Olena Solod, a 28-year-old from Zaporizhzhia, applied to the ZAHS last November for an official ID change to the name Osama Bin Laden [see RC#28]. She hoped to open a Taliban embassy and run for parliament under the moniker. This week, her request was turned down.

            “The police department’s official denial,” says Viktoria Kuzmina, head of the Kommunarsk ZAHS, “was because she’s taking on the name of someone currently being hunted by Interpol. Anywhere Ms Solod might be required to register, in hospitals, police stations or hotels, her new name would cause a stir. Once the Nº1 terrorist is captured, Ms. Solod can apply again.”

            “It’s a real joke,” says Ms. Solod, who is now suing the ZAHS. “They’re afraid of confusing me, a woman, with the real Osama Bin Laden.” In the event, she has missed the deadline for registering in this election.

            Hopefully, Mr. Moroz's message will have reached Ukrainian voters by the time of the next presidential election: “You get a decent government when you yourself start voting for decent people.” •

–from the notebooks of Pan O, with a tip of the hat to Hunter S. Thompson, Cilski visti, UNIAN and Fakty

RC#37: Words, Words

published in Eastern Economist #421, February 26, 2002

It’s been fun getting into the swing of the 2002 VR election. The process, for one thing, seems a bit tidier than in the past. They actually made everybody wait until Feb. 9 before they could leave their starting posts.

            Of course, the BS was flying fast and furious even before that. Those with media access didn’t have too much trouble getting around that limitation in a variety of ways. Some became sponsors for popular film programs, serials and other prime-time shows. Still others did “social advertising,” portraying everyday Ukrainians in their struggle to survive.

            But I have to give it to them. The ways in which they are promoting themselves is slick. Take Mayor Omelchenko. He came out in a cool black-on-black outfit that very first day, at a Saturday night concert for teenagers and put the pitch for both St. Valentine and his party, Yednist. “Don’t forget those great virtues,” he declared: “Faith, Hope, Love – and Unity!” Unity, of course, being “yednist” in Ukrainian.

            Patriotic fever has really overcome the political arena in Ukraine.

            Yes, there are still the dinosaurs of the soviet past – the Communists, the Socialists, the Peasants, and a few permutations thereof.

            And you have the post-independence nouveaux politiques – the Liberals, Republicans, Conservatives, and Social Democrats (in at least four incarnations). Most of them are buried in one electoral bloc or another – for now. Chances are, the day after the election we’re going to hear a massive chorus of “April Fool!” as the bloc leaders find themselves once again with only the five guys they started out with last fall. This may not be the Land of Opportunity, but it definitely is the land of opportunists when there’s an election in the wind.

            And you have the flakes – two kinds of Greens [Zeleni], the Apples [Yabluko], the Rainbows [Raiduha], the New Generation, and Khoroshkovskiy’s Team of the Winter Generation. It’s hard to figure out whether he came down with Olympic fever, or whether he was just in a hurry to come up with a name before he landed in Washington two weeks ago. I say they should all join forces and call themselves the Rainbow of Winter Apples (new). They can even shorten it to ROWA(n).

            Then there’s the “vanity” names. There was a short-lived Za Yushchenka bloc. Poor Viktor had to go and register his over-popular name, both as Yushchenko and as Viktor Yushchenko, to prevent any further abuse. Gosh, some other guy might have been happy to have such loyal fans. He might even have invited the keen-beans to join his bloc.

            By contrast, Ukraine’s lady politicians have no qualms about the use of their names. The old Progressive Socialists have reinvented themselves as the Natalia Vitrenko Bloc. Their vocal leader once liked to call herself Konotopska vidma, after a witch in a Kotliarevskiy novel set in the town she comes from.

            Once she realized the squeamish Mr. Yushchenko had filed for d*i*v*o*r*c*e, Yulia Tymoshenko, unbeloved of the energy sector oligarchs, decided to go for the gusto. She called her conglomerate of four parties the Yulia Tymoshenko Bloc and dared the boys to stop her. (For the record, I beg to differ with The Economist. Ms. Tymoshenko does not make “shrill” denunciations. Her voice is quite normal. Try using the word “aggressive.” Like you would for a man.)

            There is a slew of vaguely philosophical names like Yednist [unity], Sobor [another kind of unity], and Za yedynu Ukrainu [for a unified Ukraine]. At least two of them have big egos at the top. The third one practices what it preaches and joined forces with several other parties.

            There’s a clutch of special interest names: women of Ukraine, women for the future, Leftists for fairness, teachers, and Russians. Into this mix, I think I’d toss Mr. Haber’s party as a perfect counterpoint. It’s called, simply, Against Everyone. Together, these six could form a catchy bloc called Future Women Teachers Against Russia (fair). Alas, FWTAR(f) doesn’t make a very interesting acronym. But neither does SDPU(o).

            Finally, you have the Nova Khvylia or New Wave of parties and blocs. These are the ones who are appealing to patriotism in a way that has not been seen before in Ukraine’s electoral process. The oldest of the lot, Batkivshchyna, is now part of the Tymoshenko bloc, along with three other parties. The most popular of the lot, Nasha Ukraina, includes three parties and a number of wannabes. The bloc with the most clout behind it is Za yedynu Ukrainu. It takes the prize for the most number of official parties, five – one for each of its heavyweight leaders.

            After the names come the issues. Fortunately, I’ve been assiduously reading the papers and I’ve come up with the Top Ten Issues. Here they are revealed to you:

            (1) Ukraïna, (2) the People, (3) the Truth, (4) victory at the polls, (5) jobs/higher pensions, wages, stipends, (6) the environment, (7) corruption, (8) children, (9) lower taxes, and (10) free healthcare and education.

            A professional army just missed the list. Notably missing is anything to do with the sale of land. This is the issue the Communists were ready to burn down the legislature over. Now, nothing. Maybe they decided it’s better to buy in than to burn out.

            So, putting it all together, I have a little all-purpose political statement that I hereby place in the public domain. If any of you decide to run for office, feel free to use it.

            “If you want the Truth, I guarantee to raise pensions, wages, stipends. The fight against the corruption of our environment will reach our future children. A professional army will make short shrift of the bunch of oligarchs who promised a lot and didn’t do anything. I promise to do everything I do. Ukraïna, give me and the People victory at the polls.”

            Good luck! And don’t forget: after the bloc elections come the bloc parties!

–from the notebooks of Pan O.

RC#36: Omelchenko's Sandbox

published in Eastern Economist #420, February 19, 2002

There’s an old Ukrainian saying. “A sacred spot never stays empty.” I mostly remember this when the cat comes and sits on my chair just as soon as I get up to get a drink of water or change the movie in the VCR. Kyiv’s mayor is finding out that the same thing goes if you take a break to run for different office.

            There’s no doubt that last year was Oleksandr Omelchenko’s year. While protesters lined the streets shouting Ukraine without Kuchma, the mayor was busy prettifying the country’s capital for its tenth birthday.

            Sure, you could hear plenty of spiteful comments later about the statue of Ukraïna looking like a pinhead. Perspective does that. But there were also complaints that a younger Mrs. Kuchma had been the model. Some said the baroque gilding looked like a portrait of red-haired Mr. K himself. Yet, when the parade marched down Khreshchatyk Aug. 24, all the pensioners were saying, “Take a good look at all of this, Mr. Putin!”

            Not only was Mr. Omelchenko the man behind it all, but he and his president seemed the best of buddies. Kyiv’s own Dynamic Duo.

            Now, Mr. Kuchma’s putting out the message, Kyiv without Omelchenko.

            I think it all comes back to the Maidan.

            Just about a year ago, Ukraine was in a bit of an uproar. People were angry about a dead journalist called Georgiy Gongadze. They were angry about a dismissed vice premier called Yulia Tymoshenko. And they were angry about tapes of a foul-mouthed president called Leonid Kuchma.

            For the first time since independence, Ukrainians were expressing their opinion with their feet. And where else in Kyiv should they have done it than on Maidan Nezalezhnosti or Independence Square?

            The Maidan is the very heart of Kyiv. Five streets run down the hill to the granite-paved Maidan framed by bushy chestnut trees and boasting a good-sized fountain. In front of it runs Kyiv’s famous cross-town avenue, Khreshchatyk.

            On a typical weekend afternoon, tens of thousands of people milled around here, getting their pictures taken, buying Ukrainian books and tapes, and eating ice-cream – even in the dead of winter. On special occasions, such as Kyiv Days or Independence Day, the Maidan’s fountain was covered over and a huge stage erected for music festivals. More than 300,000 people crowded the area to hear a single final concert of Chervona Ruta, the biannual rock talent festival.

            In other words, the Maidan was a major gathering place.

            But in late February last year, the mayor broke up the tent city that protesters had put up. Shortly afterward, bulldozers began breaking up the Maidan itself – all in preparation for the 10th Anniversary. Residents of the capital knew nothing about it. There were no city hall debates, no published renderings. But grandiose plans were in motion and all anyone could do was sit and wait to see what materialized.

            Meanwhile, protesters were hard-pressed to find a place to gather. They tried Shevchenko Park. They tried Mariïnskiy Palace, next to the Verkhovna Rada. But it wasn’t the same. Soon, the scandal died down and the placards disappeared.

            By Aug. 24, the Maidan was transformed.

            The fact that the original Maidan was still half-boarded up didn’t matter. Or that the underground mall would take another two years to finish. Nor did doubts as to the soundness of the construction have any dampening effect. But you’d be hard-pressed to fit 2-3,000 people into the remaining open spaces.

            The Omelchenko-Kuchma axis had never been stronger.

            Now the mayor went hog-wild.

            First he put a statue of Kozak Mamai to the right of Ukraïna-on-her-pillar. He put the founders of Kyiv to her left. All three are by different artists.

            He went to work across the road on the Maidan. A glass dome on the grassy knoll was joined by several more skylights, all revealing the depth of the still-unbuilt shopping mall.

            Down came St. Michael the Archangel – stiff as a tin soldier and admittedly pretty awful. He was replaced on his column by an electric blue spinning globe. A replica of the old gates – whose remains had been “accidentally” destroyed during construction – went up kitty-corner. On top stood a new St. Michael. Paint is already peeling in places on this pastiche of the Arc de Triomphe. And poor Michael is so glitzed in gold, he looks like a baroque drag queen.

            Meanwhile, the mayor rearranged some political furniture too. He launched a new party called Yednist, ostensibly to campaign for the Verkhovna Rada. In private, he admitted that mixing with the hoi polloi in the VR was not his ultimate ambition. The presidency was.

            In February, a popular television channel accused Mayor Omelchenko of conspiring to remove its license. Mr. Omelchenko threatened to sue.

            The next day, Mr. Kuchma appointed an acting mayor to replace him.

            Mayor Omelchenko now accused the premier of conspiring against him. He tried to withdraw his request for leave during the VR campaign. The Guarantor of Ukraine’s Constitution laughed in the mayor’s face. He told his one-time buddy. “Too much power is concentrated in one man’s hands in the country’s capital.”

            The ensuing squabble over who controls city accounts and council meetings was even more embarrassing than the architectural kitsch on display downtown.

            But there you have it. Two thin-skinned power-hungry men. One’s upset about being spoofed on TV. The other’s upset that everyone is laughing at his hairline.

            Is there anything else these two could try going after? An American friend said the other day, “The best thing about Kyiv is the Dnipro River – and they can’t change that!”

            As I look at the white sand beaches, I hope he’s right. •

–from the notebooks of Pan. O.

RC#35: Ernestine's Cousins

published in Eastern Economist #419, February 12, 2002

One of the most memorable characters from Laugh-In, a 1970s comedy show, was Lily Tomlin’s Ernestine. Ernestine was a buck-toothed woman with a horsey snicker who sat at a switchboard at The Telephone Company. Whenever callers complained about something, her answer was, “We don’t care. We don’t have to (snicker, snicker). We’re The Telephone Company.”

            Ernestine is the epitome of bureaucratic hell. And her cousins seem to have been answering phones in Ukraine since way back.

            Just getting information has been a form of water-torture. Our office does a lot of gathering of information of all kinds. That means people spend lots of time on the phone trying to persuade other people to part with that information.

            Some of it’s factual as in “What’s the name of the boss of company X?” If you read “Who Owns Ukraine?” last week, you’ve got some pretty good answers to that. And some idea why it’s not a simple question.

            Some of the information is statistical, such as “How many companies in sector Y turned a profit last year?”

            It used to be that you could get economic data from at least seven different bodies. There was the ministry that ran the specific sector, of course. MinEcon, MinFin, the Industrial Policy Ministry, the Cabinet of Ministers, the Premier’s Office, and even the Presidential Administration also tried their hand at massaging numbers. With as many different results. Last, but not least, there was Ukraine's official statistics agency, DerzhKomStat.

            One time an associate had a connection in a state enterprise department from whom she needed some information.

            “Hello, this is So-and-so, department manager of Company X. I need some information for a report on–”

            “I’m not going to give you any information,” said the man. “I don’t know anything and I don’t deal with this.” Click!

            Another associate tried a contact at MinEcon.

            “Hello, may I speak to So-and-so?”

            “He’s not around.”

            The next day he was told the person was on a business trip, so he tried a different contact in the same department. The second person was also away – on the same business trip.

            He called a third contact.

            “I need to get some information, Serhiy, but your website doesn’t have it.”

            “Yeah, it’s not very up-to-date. Sorry I can’t help you. My job is public relations for MinEcon.”

            “But isn’t this part of PR?”

            “Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to deal with it.” Click!

            A couple of days later, the same associate was walking down the street when a car honked at him. Out jumped out a man whom he didn’t recognize.

            “Don’t you remember me? We rode on the train together from Ternopil last spring.”

            Turned out the guy worked in a ministry and the subject got around to – getting information. “Call me any time!” he said. “I’ll be happy to help you. Just tell me what you need and I’ll do what I can to get it for you.”

            Nowadays statistics are consolidated under one roof, at the agency whose raison-d’être is statistics. So we’ve been turning to DerzhKomStat more.

            “Hello, I’m from Company X and I need some information.”

            “Sorry, we can’t help you right now. Call back next week.”

            The associate tried calling a manager listed on their website.

            “Hello, etc, I need information.”

            “What kind of information?”

            “Some regional indicators.”

            “Why are you calling me for this?”

            “You’re listed as the regional manager.”

            “I don’t deal with this kind of thing. Besides, we only do this for money.”

            “Can I meet with you to explain what I need. That way you can decide whether or not you can help me.”

            “No, you can’t. I’m too busy. Call my deputy.” Click!

            Sofia, his deputy, was somewhat more forthcoming.

            “Send us a written request. It’ll be reviewed in a week or two. In about a month, you’ll get your information for free. But even if you pay, it’ll take at least a week.”

            “If we pay you more, will it be any faster?”

            “Not really.”

            Things are looking up, though. The other day, someone called a regional sector management department.

            “Hello, this is so-and-so from Company x. May I speak to Ivan Poshpishailo?”

            “This is Pospishailo. How can I help you?”

            “Can you give us an idea of companies that are state- and private-owned in your sector?”

            “No problem.”

            “I also need to know if they’re profitable or not.”

            “No problem, I can fax that you that as well. Is there anything else?”

            “No, that’ll do. Thanks for your help.”

            “Not at all.”

            What about filing complaints, the classic Ernestine-detector?

            If it’s something in your neighborhood, the local police department says the procedure is simple. Just gather signatures from people in your building who feel the same and write a formal complaint to the dilnychiy militsioner or district police chief. It doesn’t sound like individual residents can lodge a complaint. Could be their way of eliminating cranks. In any case, they promise that the police will look into the matter to resolve it.

            If you’re having problems with anything in your own apartment and your Zhek – the residential services bureau – is unresponsive, the City of Kyiv actually has a residential emergency service. Just dial 057. It’s billed as a number for “all problems in the home,” water, gas, heating, electricity and so on. A friend of mine swears by it.

            “We had a really unresponsive Zhek. Once it was power outtages, the other time it was leaking water. So I tried this number. They registered my complaint very courteously and took care of it within a few hours.”

            In other words, I’m happy to report, Ernestine’s Ukrainian cousins seem to be going into retirement. •

–from the notebooks of Pan O.

RC#34: Poor Ol' Good Ol' Boy

published in Eastern Economist #418, February 5, 2002

Last week might have been heaven-sent, but this week a few worms have turned.

            Take Serhiy “Mr. Clean” Tyhipko. It’s been a little rough lately for Mr. Tyhipko. Less than a year ago, he was a serious contender for premier until Anatoliy “Willy” Kinakh got the thankless job instead. Word got out late in January that Mr. Tykipko was being fingered for laundering money through Privatbank to the tune of US $150mn.

            That’s twice as much as Mr. Tkachenko scrubbed through Zemlia i Liudy, a 1990s farm sector scam. And it’s a good chunk more – nearly 40% more – than Washington accuses Pavlo Lazarenko of rinsing through. If Mr. Tyhipko goes down, he may drag a few well-placed people down with him. For one thing, Mr. Kuchma also had interests in the bank – even if at arm’s length.

            I’d say it’s good news, though, that this kind of stuff is now coming to light, regardless of the political motivations.

            Take the president’s Chief-of-Staff, Volodymyr Lytvyn. A nice-looking guy. Clean-cut, silver-haired. Sort of like Jay Leno without the Clintonian jaw. Mr. Lytvyn hasn’t been feeling so good lately, either. He started the new year with a bang after his car apparently hit another car that had drifted into his lane Dec 29.

            The driver in the Zhyguli died.

            While Mr. Lytvyn was still in hospital recovering, Mykhail Brodskiy, Yabluko’s wide-girthed political gadfly, began to cast doubt on the official version of what had happened. Specifically, he accused Mr. Lytvyn’s driver of “speeding excessively.”

            In Ukraine, there are several classes of speeding. There’s “speeding normally.” That’s when you’re doing a steady 10 klicks above the speed limit and step on the gas to make a changing traffic light, never passing the 19-klick unofficial limit above the posted limit.

            Then there’s “speeding regularly.” That’s when you consistently drive 20-25 klicks above the speed limit in the city and 40-80 klicks above the speed limit on the highway.

            “Speeding excessively” is when someone else’s chauffeur drives faster than yours. Mr. Brodskiy seems to be suffering a slight case of chassis envy.

            Luckily, Mr. Lyvtyn has connections in high places, because the next thing, the president’s man in the Interior Ministry not only exonerated Mr. Lytvyn’s driver, but called for an investigation into a possible assassination attempt. Suicide drivers in Zhygulis? Hmmm…

            Mr. Lyvtyn got out of hospital with only an ugly white bandage patch on his lobe to show for all the excitement.

            But maybe that knock on his head did more damage than X-rays could show. The demon political ambition must have bit the soul of the leader of the Za yedynu Ukraïnu bloc. Because Mr. Lytvyn turned around and published an article Jan. 19 in Fakty, a popular tabloid, called “Civil society: myth and reality.” In it, he argued that the development of civil society was useless in transition countries.

            Frankly, I would have flunked him for the dreadful title. It’s the classic title for any BS essay that ninth graders use whenever they write about topics they neither understand nor care about.

            Everything seemed hunky-dory – until someone noticed that chunks of Mr. Lytvyn’s piece were taken verbatim from someone else’s article. To whit: an American political scientist by the name of Thomas Carothers published a piece called “Civil society: Think again” in Foreign Affairs – in 1999.

            The miracle of the Internet.

            Given the irritation that intellectual property law has become for Ukraine, this did not go over very well. But Mr. Lytvyn’s immediately response, in squirmy soviet style, was to deny that he had placed the article and to insist that “someone” had “set him up.”

            “These attacks are all coming from NGOs that are financed from abroad,” he told journalists. “They’re criticizing the latest thought in American science in my article.”

            This explanation in the domestic press impressed a total of three people. And they thought that he was talking about the car accident.

            Then Radio Svoboda – Radio Liberty in American – did an interview with the gentleman. Mr. Lytvyn by now admitted that he had, indeed “borrowed” some ideas from Mr. Carothers, but he insisted that he had added his own thoughts to the mix.

            That really stuck in the craw of two Ukrainian PhD candidates at Cambridge. Vlad Mykhnenko and Mykhailo Vynnytskiy wrote an open letter Jan. 29 to Mr. Lytvyn saying, “You signed this article as an associate member of the Ukrainian Academy of Sciences and as a professor… [W]e feel ashamed that that a person of such qualifications, moreover a highly placed official in the Ukrainian government, could have violated intellectual property in this way.”

            They called on all Ukrainian academics and scientists to insist that Mr. Lytvyn return any academic honors and recognitions he has been granted. “This is the least that you can do to save your own face and the reputation Ukrainian science.” Amen.

            That same day, Mr. Lytvyn appeared on a popular TV show, Same toi [That’s the one]. When asked why he had plaigiarized, Mr. Lytvyn told his host, “It’s a PR thing… I just wanted to show that you don’t have to get too excited about civil society.”

            The following day, Ukraïnska Pravda interviewed the original author, Tom Carothers. “I’m even less happy about the fact that he changed some passages… I was raising important questions about civil society. Mr. Lytvyn twisted my ideas to simply attack civil society.”

            Is Mr. Lytvyn repentant? On the contrary. He went on the record again in Ivano-Frankivsk Feb. 1, saying that he had not plaigiarized but “summarized and analysed” Carothers’ article. “It was a PR move. I wanted to see public reaction.”

            Nor was that all. Mr. Lytvyn now says this was just the first of a series of three articles.

            It seems he comes from a long-standing soviet traditon, actually. An old Tom Lehrer ditty called "Lobachevsky" went, "Let nothing new evade your eyes/and plagiarize, plagiarize, plagiarize…" Of course, he was referring to soviet mathematicians...! •

–from the notebooks of Pan. O

RC#33: A Week of Wonders

published in Eastern Economist #417, January 28, 2002

Most of us are used to bitching about the Week from Hell. But when’s the last time you felt you had a Week from Heaven? I’d say that’s what it must feel like in Kyiv just about now. Not to mention bookies the world over, when some real long shots came in to win.

            Things went swimmingly in Paris on Monday, where the hot news was not Paris Club negotiations but Olympic champion Yana Klochkova. The Divine Ms K clocked in a world record that shaved a whole second off the previous best and took the world championship.

            The clocked ticked equally well for Ukraine on Tuesday, where the world championship in chess heated up in Moscow. Two young Ukrainians took the field by storm and faced each other off on Wednesday. Ukraine couldn’t lose, but it could win with a bang. And so it did: 18-year-old who took the title broke a record for the youngest Grand Master ever to win the crown.

            Wednesday brought a surprise in basketball. The national team beat favored Lithuania for the first time, to move into second place in the A Group. Who knows, Ukraine might even qualify for the 2003 European championships.

            Then, news came from London on Thursday about a different kind of move up. Moody’s Investors Service announced that they were upgrading Ukraine’s foreign currency ceiling from Caa1 to B2 for bonds and to B3 for bank deposits. All outstanding bonds, both foreign currency and hryvnia denominated, get bumped up to B2. Ukraine’s better-looking economy and stability are behind it, thanks in part to economic improvements in Russia and to Russian investment in Ukraine. But, hey, FDI is FDI, and non-Russian investment has been looking up, too. Those of you hanging out in New York, Paris and Istanbul should keep your eyes out for food and clothing marked “Made in Ukraine.” Walmart’s already placed their orders.

            Dynamo Kyiv made everybody’s day on Friday. The team has been very up and down since losing some of its key players to richer European teams. This season, they just managed to squeak in to the semi-final round by edging Ashkhabad’s Nisa 3:2. Faced with a new opponent from Riga, Dynamo was nervous at first. But they got their heads out of the sand in time to make three goals and win the match against Sconto. Now they only have to do the same to Moscow Spartak in the finals.

            Saturday offered the most fun news of the week. Vopli Vidoplasova celebrated their 15th anniversary in a sellout concert at Palats Sportu. Better known by the shortened VV (Veh-Veh), leader Oleh Skrypka named his band “the shrieks of Vidoplasov” after a character in Dostoyevsky. Since old Fyodor was incredibly depressing, most of his books are about lives of desperate internal shrieking. With his froggy voice and hallmark low, rumbling yodel, the name suits Skrypka.

            VV’s not for the delicate of hearing.

            The size of the whistling and jumping crowd was impressive, especially since I’ve mostly been going to sedate classical concerts in recent years. The stands were about 80% full and the floor was jammed nigh wall-to-wall. The average age was probably about 19 and three-quarters, but I saw both toddlers and pensioners in the crowd.

            There were two VIP sections right up by the stage, jammed with bodies from barrier to barrier. Standing room only, no seats, I thought smugly as I settled into my tenth row spot. So much for VIP treatment. I figure these “pens” held roughly about 900 people each, and that was only the front 40% of the floor area. My Canadian friend commented how dangerous this would be if there were ever a panic. I shook my head: “Ukrainians don’t tend to panic.”

            Halfway through the concert, though, we were all standing up trying to dance between the narrow plastic arms of our flipped-up seats. That’s when I decided that the mass of jiggling fans on the floor had the better deal.

            As the band set up, the overhead screen played a series of black and white clips from VV’s early years. The clip from a 1989 concert in Poland my friend had been to had very sophisticated computer effects, considering how early it was for modern bands in Ukraine. In fact, all the entire video matched the beat of the songs that played in the background as the film cut from one scene to another, even though it was a mix of shows, backstage, goofing around with friends and so on.

            Starting with VV’s soviet-era songs, the first portion of the concert ended with (how appropriate) a presentation by an official from the Kyiv mayor’s office. It was the only political pitch in the whole evening and the crowd hissed a little when he began. Although it did seem like a script from a different planet, the band took it in stride. After the watches and flowers had been parcelled out, Skrypka commented:

            “We have to treat these folks with tact,

            so let’s put on a brief entr’acte.”

            Skrypka himself plays several guitars, trumpet and harmonica in addition to his signature bayan or button accordion. Throughout two-hour-plus show, he was a veritable Jumping Jack Flash, switching tops and instruments in a heartbeat.

            Above him, the video screen showed a mix of straight close-ups, effects and clips cleverly chosen to match the songs. In one instance, a coy Indian maiden in sari does a teasing dance with a suitor in a 1970’s men's suit to the perfectly matched beat of VV’s rock song. Laser tracings and fireworks completed the show’s effects.

            At least 8,000 sore throats went home when it was all over at 21:45 – including mine.

            Like I said, a Week from Heaven. •

–from the notebooks of Pan O.

RC#32: Censeless, or: Much Ado About Numbers

published in Eastern Economist #416, January 21, 2002

Without a whole lot of fanfare, Ukraine’s leaders decided to mark the 10th anniversary of the last time Ukrainians stood up to be counted – the independence referendum Dec. 1, 1991 – by asking them to stand up and be counted properly. So, Dec. 5-14, the country underwent its first official census.

            Reaction was mixed among Ukrainians. Most people didn’t seem to mind the 70¢ per person pricetag the process carried with it – Hr 200mn or US $38mn, according to Oleksandr Osaulenko, who runs DerzhKomStat, the state statistics committee.

            Without doubt it’s a big chunk of change to spend on something that could be considered non-essential. Hospitals don’t have equipment and medicine. Schools lack textbooks. Teachers and nurses aren’t being paid regularly in many places. And so on.

            But that wasn’t what bothered people, it seems.

            Just as the census was about to go into full swing, a phone interview published in an obscure Moscow paper, Trud [see RC#29] made a lot of Ukrainians sit up and take notice. In it, their president went on the record saying he thought Russian should have official status in Ukraine.

            On Dec. 4, Chernivtsi Governor Teofil Bauer reported that Romanian activists were putting pressure on ethnic Moldovans in Bukovyna to declare themselves Romanian citizens. The Odesa-Ismail Metropolitan of the Russian Orthodox Church began pushing not to renew or expand the Ukrainian language.

            Whatever side of the fence they fell on, Ukrainian citizens were not pleased that the census was being politicized.

            Even in the West, census information, like any other data, can be used for political purposes. The worst example is the jerrymandering of electoral districts according to the racial and other profiles of various neighborhoods that census data provides. And there is no doubt that some canvassing and propaganda go on when social services dollars are at stake. (Is someone with less than 50% Mexican ancestry “Hispanic” or “white”?)

            In this neck of the woods, the history of censuses is even blacker. Back in the Middle Ages, when Russia first began counting the men on its territory – women and children didn’t figure –, protests by peasants who did not want to appear on the “Devil’s lists” even resulted in fatalities.

            Right after the 1932-3 Holodomor (Manmade Famine), Josef Stalin held a census. When the results came in, he promptly confiscated them and executed all those who were involved. The evidence of his bloodthirsty policies clearly did not please the Great Leader.

            You might think, then that Mr. Osaulenko would have had a hard time finding anyone willing to be a canvasser in Ukraine. But that was not a problem. Some 250,000 people were needed to complete the task, and across Ukraine an army made up mostly of women began going door-to-door Dec. 5.

            Since one thing that worried a lot of people was safety, this was to the good.

            Once things got underway, the media began airing stories about Russian-speaking canvassers harrassing people who insisted on registering as native-speaking Ukrainians, even in Kyiv. (I didn't find any reports of the reverse happening anywhere in Ukraine.)

            This was connected, in a number of instances, with canvassers noting information down, not on the forms as they were supposed to, but on scraps of paper or in notebooks.

            Den’ columnist Klara Gudzyk wrote: “Since both sides are extremely aggravated by the formulation of the language questions, this seems to me to indicate that the questions are on the money.”

            Uriadoviy Kuryer’s Anastasia Matiushina agreed: “The language questions are neither ambiguous nor leading.”

            Judge for yourself: The census survey on language consists of three very straightforward questions:

(a) Your mother tongue is ___________.

(b) If your mother tongue is not Ukrainian, please indicate if you are fluent in Ukrainian. ___________

(c) Other language that you speak fluently ___________.

            That’s it. So, how can one and the same set of results to the same set of questions possibly lead “to the establishment of a second official language,” and “to the continuing discrimination against the great Russian tongue?” Only if someone changes the formulation of these questions.

            Mykyta Kasianenko, the Simferopol correspondent for Den’, confirmed that this was happening: “Many canvassers phrased questions in a leading fashion, such as ‘What language did you learn in school?’ What could people living in Crimea possibly have learned in school when, even today, 95% of all Crimean schools are Russian?”

            All this fuss got me thinking. So I talked to 10 people I know. They come from Kyiv, L’viv, Odesa and Kirovohrad.

            Not one of them had anything bad to say about the canvassers or about the questions. Most had said the interviews were brief and professional. Only one family had refused to respond at all. “Those questions are unconstitutional,” the son told me.

            “Which ones?”

            “About work and incomes.” Like many Ukrainians who work in the shadow economy, they didn’t want to go on the record about money.

            “You didn’t have to answer them.”

            “That’s true,” he said. “Actually, I think our dog scared them off, but they probably got the information from our neighbors anyway.”

            One journalist put the whole exercise in a different perspective. “The whole purpose of any census is to allow individuals to declare who they are,” wrote Matiushina, “the way they see themselves.”

            A Kyivite I spoke to did just that. “The canvasser wouldn’t let me put more than one language as the second language, so I put English and German for my husband and my children, not Russian.” Native Russian-speakers didn’t have that constraint: they could put Ukrainian in (b) and another language in (c).

            The average Ukrainian has long moved on to other things. Says one young woman from Kirovohrad, “I don’t think the census results are going to reveal much, but I’m pretty certain they will largely be accurate.” That already says a lot. •

–from the notebooks of Pan O.

RC#31: A Site to Behold!

published in Eastern Economist #415, January 15, 2002

There’s no question that technology is way ahead of the average Ukrainian voter. With an Internet penetration of well under 10%, most of the hot stuff in Ukraine is happening in what can only be called a virtual desert.

            Last week half of Ukraine was reading, listening or watching the gory details of a phone conversation. There’s not much to say about a phone call where one guy is rude and aggressive and the other guy can’t get in a word edgewise.

            As to the content, seems to me this is the kind of politicking that goes on in the Capitol or on Parliament Hill every day of the year, just about:

            “Tom, what’s this I hear that the California caucus ain’t going with us on the McClosky-Hernia bill. You promised me those votes. Are they gonna be there or are you blowin’ me off?”

            “Yes, Joe-Bob, I mean, no–”

            “Don’t be a shmuck, Tom-boy, don’t try to screw on this one!”

            “I-ah–”

            “And besides what’s this crap I hear about your buddy Jack. What’s his problem?”

            “Jack?–”

            “I hear he’s whining about this deal to everybody. What is he, anyway, a baby in diapers?”

            “Wait a–”

            “Full of poop?!?” etc, etc, etc.

            What’s the lesson here? The guy with the bigger mouthpiece wins? Nice guys finish last? Kind of reminds me why I never want to get into politics. But definitely not something to spend more than a nanosecond thinking about, either.

            But this Yushchenko tape thing won’t go away. It’s even got a spot on a new website called nedovira.com.ua. Nedovira means distrust in Ukrainian. The site is supposed to be “For Fair Elections,” as Mr. Ponomarchuk put it.

            This was a challenge I couldn’t refuse. So I logged on during a dull moment on a Saturday afternoon.

            At first glance, the page looks technically polished. The design is professional and the organization is good. There’s a mugshot of a guy covering his face and a Christmas greeting. Oops – there’s a spelling mistake in the greeting. Oh well, nobody’s perfect.

            Wait a minute. I look up at the top again and realize that it says, “The All-Ukrainian Movement for Honesty in Politics.” Didn’t these guys call themselves “For Fair Elections” at the press conference?

            Further down it reads:

            “Dear visitors, At the beginning of 2002, Rukh was given over the most serious material yet that proves the dishonesty of our politicians...”

            If the above-mentioned conversation constitutes “the most serious material yet,” I think, this country must be cleaner than Tide.

            “…At a Rukh meeting Jan. 8, it was decided to publicize these materials.”

            Wait a minute. I didn’t know Rukh was involved in this. Chornovil’s Rukh is the national movement that started Ukraine on the path to independence back in 1990. And nobody else uses the name like that today. But dirty tricks are just not Rukh’s style. This is pretty confusing.

            I decide that they must be referring to their own “movement.” But I’m feeling creeping nedovira about this site.

            Below this is a window titled, “The 25 most dishonest politicians.”

            At the top stands Viktor Yushchenko, accused of plotting to remove Viktor Medvedchuk.

            Second, Oleksandr Omelchenko, accused of plotting to remove Viktor Medvedchuk.

            Third, Pavlo Lazarenko, accused of being the godfather of corruption, etc.

            The entire entry on Yushchenko, on another page, never goes beyond the taped conversation. It grandly accuses him, by having worked to remove Medvedchuk, of “disenchanting voters who see him as the new leader of an independent Ukraine.”

            The same page contains the complete list of the most dishonest 25. Among them are such familiar names as Zviahilskiy, Brodskiy, Bakai, Surkis. Only one name is missing in this illustrious company: Medvedchuk.

            Well, it’s time to get to business and fight all these creeps. I press a button at the top that says “How to fight political lies.”

            A page comes up, with – a list of other sites. The list starts with lucky.net and ends with card.lucky.net, passing through libido and gold. Not a news or political site in the lot. Fight political lies with irrelevant advertising for your ISP? OK…

            Another page opens with a banner saying “What to do with compromising materials.”

            There’s a tedious declaration from the founders, Mr. O. Ihnatenko and Mr. V. Rubtsov. I’m curious about the two running this “movement.” I call a reporter who was at the original press briefing. Mr. Ihnatenko is a twenty-something entrepreneur who claims the tax police shut him down so he decided to go into politics.

            Rubstov is another story altogether. Back in 1999, before the presidential election, there was a look-alike contest called “Don’t let yourself be fooled.” Rubtsov won as a Kuchma look-alike.

            At the very bottom of this informative page, two little windows entice: “Sensation of the day.” I click on one and find myself on korrespondent.net.

            There is nothing on korrespondent.net of a particularly sensational nature. It’s just a news site that belongs to an American publisher in Kyiv.

            As the first page refreshes, there is a “Bigmir.net” box and three “big banner net” banners in three places. “Bigmir” and “big bn” belong to the same American publisher.

            Whoever is behind this site, and Mr. Medvedchuk certainly seems the first candidate for the role, it also looks like a western publisher is very cosy with this lot. No comment.

            The Committee for Journalistic Ethics is the one shining light in this entire sordid exercise. They went on the record saying about it all: “The use of illegal methods of information-gathering, tendentiousness and the absence of balance in its presentation, we consider sufficient to declare that such information has nothing in common with professional journalism.”

            Someone should post this on the nedovira site. •

–from the notebooks of Pan. O

RC#30: Boys Just Gotta Have Fun

published in Eastern Economist #411, December 18, 2001

Water babies

I’ve been avoiding the VR cafeteria of late. Something there doesn’t agree with my stomach. Could be the interior. But this week I had to go to wrap up some business. The walls were actually spic and span, quite a change from the food fights back in late May, when debate of the Land Code finally got serious and the Communists realized that they were about to lose their bowl of soup [see RC#7].

            Things were nice and quiet and I was sipping my coffee (no sugar), waiting for news of the Medvedchuk vote when suddenly the door flew open and there he was. None other than Tovarish Charodeyev – the Charmer, as it were, in Russian. Only this time, it was not messy mayonnaise on the deputy’s shirt front but obviously an entire pitcher of water soaking him from head to foot.

            “Oi, oi, oi,” I cooed in his direction. “Must be those beastly Ruhkivtsi,” I added, oozing sympathy.

            “That’s exactly what I said,” sputtered Ukraine’s dripping answer to Vladimir Zhirinovsky, “and they leapt on me like a bunch of pit bulls. Doused me with water, can you believe it!”

            “Dear me,” I muttered, “thank your stars it wasn’t a pitcher of compote.”

            Our friend was undoubtedly getting his shorts all into a knot – and those of some all-Ukrainian patriot as well, from the sounds of it. This is the man who has called deputies “pederasts” and worse, who’s been known to tip compote on people in the cafeteria.

            Good old Charodeyev. Maybe Yabluko boss Mikhail Brodskiy pays him to do this stuff, I thought. Broad-skiy, as I personally think of the 120 kg dude who once owned Kyiv’s favorite tabloid, Kiyevksiye Vyedomosti, and suckered half of Kyiv with his pyramid schemes, has never been averse to a little well-placed publicity – of whatever kind.

            “So what, now, pane Charodeyev,” I asked him after a couple of sips, watching his disgruntled face as he shook his sleeves and hair out like a dripping bear just foiled by a pack of salmon on the run.

            “They want to exile me from the Rada for 10 days.”

            “Only 10 days?” I murmured. “Why worry, it’s winter recess anyway, if I’m not mistaken. It’ll give everyone a little break. Time to think of more pleasant things, like New Year's presents and Sviat Vechir.”

            “I don’t celebrate Christmas,” came back the woeful reply.

            “You don’t? Oh my, I’m sorry, pane Charodeyev,” I said in my most dulcet tones. “How about Channukah?”

            “Nope, not that either.”

            “Maybe it’s time you reconsidered and got into the spirits of the season?” I suggested gently. Poor soul, he knows how to get attention, but not presents wrapped in colorful paper and cute ribbons. What the VR really needs is an annual gift exchange. I should drop that bee in Ivan’s little bonnet, I thought, folding my paper and getting up from my table.

            Just then, I remembered the momentous decision before the legislature that morning.

            “What about the Medvedchuk vote?”

            “He’s history.”

            Well, I thought, the year is ending with a bang, after all. And it wasn’t the passing of a law allowing journalists to carry arms.

Rubber souls

There’s been such a kafuffle over journalists being attacked and killed this past year, making Ukraine the shame of Europe in terms of press freedoms. Last summer, after a Sloviansk TV producer was beaten with bats and died July 7 of his injuries, Ukrainain police warned journalists not to carry on their own investigations in order to not put their lives in danger. But this kind of saves the lives of journalists at the cost of killing the most important – and most interesting – function of a free press in the first place. Not to mention that it looked like an effort to silence the work of investigative journalism, so sorely lacking in any real way in Ukraine.

            But while Mr. Oleksandrov was known to have been involved in exposing local corruption and organized crime, local police did not think the murder was connected. In September, Deputy PG Serhiy Vinokurov announced that a suspect had testified that Mr. Oleksandrov had been killed “by mistake.” How many other attacks against journalists, including possibly Georgiy Gongadze – who apparently owed money, hung out with strange people in dangerous parts of the world, and was having an extramarital affair – are only coincidentally related to their professional work, and sometimes only accidentally related to them at all, is hard to say. After all, Ukraïnska Pravda was never shut down for even a nanosecond. Nor does Grani’s Tetiana Korobova, who vituperates everyone from Kuchma on down, have trouble being published.

            Nevertheless, the Interior Minister felt he had to offer some gesture. So Gen. Smirnov issued an order Dec. 8 allowing journalists to bear arms. No one was surprised – or particularly impressed. Possibly wanting to avoid complete mayhem, with mini-skirted blondes carrying pearl-encrusted pistolettes to interviews with rude lawmakers, the order limits the weapons to handguns of domestic manufacture that use rubber bullets. A kind of low-grade stun gun that can take someone out at close range and is powerful enough to knock a man off his feet at 10 meters.

            Now, that might prove useful against assailants with bats, but what good will it be if the attack really is a contracted murder, complete with guns that fire real bullets? What about the point that you have to not only know how to use a weapon, but be psychologically prepared to actually fire it at someone? Perhaps what journalists and other people at risk had better do is take up basic martial arts training. This would help them to develop greater alertness when they are taking out the garbage. After all, most of the assaults have taken place near the victims’ homes or offices. •

–from the notebooks of Pan O.