RC#61: The Kolchuga capers

published in Eastern Economist #452, October 1, 2002

I was supposed to be away on vacation for another week, but the situation in the country is getting out of hand. Apparently, the US has decided that the voice Maj. Mykola Melnychenko has on tape in at least one fairly compromising conversation does belong to Ukraine’s president, Leonid Kuchma. It’s about time.

            This charade has been going on for nearly two years now, ever since November 2000, when Socialist leader Oleksandr Moroz first blew the story open in Ukraine’s legislature.

            When the tapes first started circulating in Ukraine, there was no doubt in most people’s minds that it was, for better or for worse, the voice of their president. The man whom, just a year earlier, they had re-elected after a fairly questionable campaign that left him and the Communist Party leader as the only two in a run-off.

            The conversations published then were between Leonid Kuchma and Leonid Derkach, the head of the Secret Service, and Yuriy Kravchenko, the chief of police. They resembled mostly backroom chat among officials airing their private beefs about the media and other matters that beleaguered top officials are wont to complain about.

            At the time, the first thing everybody commented on was the foulness of Mr. Kuchma’s language. It wasn’t just locker-room talk. It was the language of a person who did not seem to be able to say more than three words in a row without one of them being foul. Worse, he showed little imagination even in his foulness, using the same four-letter word over and over – one that is most commonly associated with the language of teenage boys.

            The second thing was the content. The tapes came in the wake of the disappearance of an obscure but pesky journalist, Georgiy Gongadze, and the discovery of a dead body near Kyiv. On the tape, Mr. Kuchma was heard making some suggestions for getting rid of the nuisancy journalist by “dropping him down among the Chechens in his gaunchies.”

            Admittedly, that might have been highly uncomfortable, possibly embarrassing, for Gongadze. But nothing more “serious” was revealed in the conversations that have so far been publicized. The steps from there to a headless corpse in Tarashcha are certainly not obvious from the taped conversations aired to date.

            Yes, Ukraine’s president came off as somewhat less brilliant than a rocket scientist and less well-bred than Emily Post. But there are any number of heads of state that could be described in equally unflattering terms.

            But this newest transcription is different. It does not reveal a conversation between a Head of State and a high government official.

            It reveals a conversation between a mafia don and one of his underlings. There is no other way to describe the content of such a conversation. Here’s what happens if you change the names:

Larry:     There’s a request for a special operation. Our Jordanian contact says Mohammed wants four Kolchugas. He’s offering a hundred million bucks cash.

Lenny:    What’s a f'n Kolchuga?

Larry:     It’s a passive anti-aircraft radar, boss. Keeps enemy MiGs off yer turf.

Lenny:    Who the f-k makes it?

Larry:     Topaz, Tommy’s crowd. Four of them makes a set, and it goes for a hundred million.

Lenny:    Can you sell it without the f'n Jordanian?

Larry:     Sure, boss. I suggest we get Billy to take care of it. Look at system we have to ship stuff from here to Iraq. The Kolchuga sits on a KrAZ anyway, so we crate them along with a bunch of KrAZ’s, that’s all. What’s going to give away that they’re Kolchugas and not just a lot of KrAZs like we usually ship. So a couple of our boys go along for the ride with fake passports to install and deploy it.

Lenny:    Make sure the f'n Jordanian doesn’t blab. Those f-kers'll be keeping an eye on the shipment.

Larry:     Who’ll be keeping an eye on it? We’re not selling them anything new, the Jordies, I mean. But don’t worry, we’ll be careful.

Lenny:   OK. Go ahead.

Larry:     Roger. Thanks.

This was in July. Nine months later, in late February, Der Spiegel, a major German weekly, finds a link to Iraq. Two firms in the city of Mannheim are suspected of being involved in illegal arms export to Iraq and of violating the UN trade embargo against this country. Their operations are being handled out through another small company in Germany which had connections leading to Britain, Switzerland – and Lenny’s home town.

            Soon, the FBI will start sniffing at Lenny’s door. Barely a week after this story hits the papers, Larry shows up dead in a car crash. In broad daylight. In the car with him was an underling who claims he fell asleep at the wheel. In broad daylight.

            Now, put the right names back into the story. •

RC#60: Still waters run

published in Eastern Economist #448, September 3, 2002

On Thursday last, Aug. 29, a controversy over building sites was raised again with the city’s chief architect, Serhiy Babushkin. Despite his impressive credentials, Mr. Babushkin is not a man known for his subtlety and tact.

            Towards the end of May, a talk show on Studio 1+1 focused on the reconstruction of Maidan Nezalezhnosti. Mr. Babushkin and the Maidan architect, Oleksandr Komarovskiy, presented their distinct viewpoint on the merits of the results [see RC#46]. Their viewpoint differed radically from that of almost all the other professional guests on the program – and the studio audience.

            It also differs radically from the opinion of almost any resident of Kyiv you might care to ask.

            Another project hit the headlines July 25, when Larysa Skoryk, a one-time minister of culture, organized a protest in front of City Hall. The protesters claimed that an underground multi-storied parking lot and fitness-center were being built too close to historic St. Sofia, at provulok Rylskoho 5.

            Now St. Sofia really is a very special place. It was built in the 11th century, in imitation of Constantinople’s Great Sofia. In modern-day Istanbul, the Hagia Sofia is a Muslim sacred place. So Kyiv’s St. Sofia remains a unique reflection of Byzantine Christian glory.

            The church itself is part of a monastery complex and includes many golden-domed towers, the tallest of which is the bellfry on Sofiïvska Ploshcha. Inside the church itself are wonderful frescoes, mosaics and hand-painted walls, pillars and naves.

            The protesters claimed that new construction was causing water to accumulate underneath St. Sofia. They said that the belfry was beginning to tilt and cracks had appeared in several walls.

            On vacation in Foros in Crimea when he heard of the demonstration, President Kuchma gave instructions to halt construction around the cathedral and called for a review of the situation. “Any construction around historical sites and monuments needs to have government approval,” he said.

            Projects around Sofiïvska Ploshcha include a nearly-finished Inter-Continental Hotel across the square and an underground parking lot and fitness center connected to Sofiïvska Brama, a renovated luxury apartment complex right next to Sofia’s walls.

            On July 29, the head of the State Construction Office, Valeriy Cherep, said his office would do its best to resolve the controversy.

            At a meeting with Vice Premier Volodymyr Semynozhenko, a decision was taken Aug. 9 to suspend construction of the fitness center. At the same time, the Kyiv Prosecutor’s Office launched a criminal case against officials at the Kyiv Administration for allowing anyone to build near the historic site, and against the builder “for destroying historical and cultural monuments.” Among those accused of ruining Sofia is the Office of the Chief Architect of Kyiv.

            Of course, August is holiday month in Ukraine, so nothing much happened for nearly three weeks.

            On Aug. 29, the Chief Architect himself reacted.

            “I’m confident that building a fitness center under the walls of St. Sofia has not damaged the historical site,” Mr. Babushkin told reporters. “The pit was dug more than a year ago and pylons were put into the ground to shore up the walls.”

            The city’s architect says it’s more likely that the creaking water and sewage systems that were laid in the cathedral complex some 50 year ago are the root of any damage. They’ve been seeping into the soil under Sofia’s foundations. For good measure, Mr. Babushkin added, “They’re also reconstructing the public toilets without a permit and they’ve already damaged a gas line.”

            “We did all the necessary studies before starting,” says the center’s architect, Valeriy Rubshtein. “If the owner decides to cancel the fitness center, that’s his decision. It’s his money.”

            What’s more, according to Mr. Babushkin, the builder transferred Hr 318,000 to the monastery to restore its ramparts and another Hr 50,000 as a ‘charitable donation’.

            But he was careful to put any blame squarely with DerzhBud, the state construction corporation. “This project was reviewed two times at DerzhBud meetings and it was approved as a full-scale reconstruction,” he said. “They’re the ones who signed the go-ahead to build right near the monastery’s ramparts.”

            Of course, DerzhBud doesn’t accept any blame for the situation, either. According to Vasyl Prysiazhniuk, its deputy director, the special commission found that construction went ahead in violation of city building codes. There was no permit for a fitness center with swimming pool, nor was there permission from City Council to use the land.

            I decided to ask a Western developer about all these issues.

            “Groundwaters have plagued downtown Kyiv for decades,” he says. “This is the main reason why so many projects along Yaroslaviv Val and other streets, up to and including Volodymyrska, have ongoing problems. One city architect told us that the Lybid River, which used to run through the area, was blocked off during Soviet times and the resulting underground waters are causing havoc with some streets and buildings.”

            In fact, this summer, Antonovycha and Velyka Vasylkivska streets [Gorkoho and Chervonoarmiyska] were torn up to create new channels for the ancient river to flow into.

            “Surely, as the city’s architect, Mr. Babushkin should be aware of the situation,” says the developer. “But officials at City Hall seem more concerned with making money and with the outward appearance of the main streets, than with problems underground. Until a major disaster occurs, no one is likely address them.”

            “What’s dangerous is leaving things as they are,” says Mr. Babushkin. “These [fitness center] people can go ahead and build. I give my word. A few years ago, there were only dogs and bums around here. Instead of lawsuits, somebody ought to give these folks a medal. Why not jail those who don’t do anything? Why make a federal case?”

            As to dogs and bums, the airlines and fancy jewellers who had their offices in the original building on Rylskoho 5 might have a different point of view. Like I said, this guy ain’t subtle. •

RC#59: Byways and Highways, Part 3

published in Eastern Economist #446, August 20, 2002

Summer weather may have turned sour, but lots of people are still looking for vacation tips. A couple of weeks ago, I started this story about travelling Ukraine in a car. Everything was fine until my engine stopped on the Zhytomyr bypass at two-thirty in the morning.

            None of our Kyiv friends with cars were able to come out [see RC#58]. A tow to Kyiv was going to cost at least Hr 620, nearly $120 – without even starting on repairs. I passed on the offer. Serhiy, the manager of a café where we managed to find shelter and a telephone, agreed.

            “You’d be better off getting the car into Zhytomyr and repairing it there,” he said reasonably. “It won’t cost so much.” He was right, of course. The question was, how? So far, not a single car or truck had stopped to help. Another hour went by. The coffee and tea got colder.

            Just then, we heard a knock at the door. A heavyset man in a dark suit opened the door.

            “Pryvit, Serhiy,” he said.

            I paid no attention to their conversation as I sipped my coagulated coffee.

            “You folks need a little tow?” the man suddenly asked. Serhiy’s morning visitor just happened to manage an CTO, a state car repair shop, in Zhytomyr.

            “I’m heading in right now. I’ll get the boys to come out with a tow.”

            What luck! We thanked Serhiy profusely, paid him for our breakfast, and gathered up our belongings.

            Twenty minutes later, a smallish man in a white Neva pulled up. He hooked up our car with a rope and explained:

            “Steer the car behind me and keep the rope taut.”

            We wound our way down potholed back streets. A couple of times, I got the tension wrong. We ran over the rope, stopped, rolled back. Finally, we reached the CTO.

            “Nah, we don’t do imports. Not engine jobs,” said a guy in greasy overalls. “Not our area.” My heart sank. “But you can try the import place down on the main drag. They do Daewoos for sure.”

            Off we went again. Five minutes later, we turned into the import shop. I went up to the window with the CTO driver.

            “No, we can’t do a Daewoo right now. Our mechanic’s busy,” said an unhelpful man with whiskers behind the request window. “Maybe tomorrow.”

            The CTO guy shrugged his shoulders. He’d done what he could. I paid him his Hr 40 and walked back to my car.

            “Hello, hello?” A young man in a burgundy shirt and navy tie ran up to me. “You have a car that’s broken down?”

            “I think I blew my engine.”

            “And they wouldn’t take you?” he asked incredulously. “Hold on a sec. Let me see what’s going on.”

            I followed him back to the window.

            “What do you mean, ‘Ihor’s working on a Lada.’ We do Daewoos. That’s our business!”

            The young man waved me to follow him through the shop to a back room where engines were rebuilt. There, a sulky young man was carefully taking apart a motor.

            “Ihor, I want you to look at what’s going on with this Daewoo. You can do the Lada later.” He turned to me. “Here’s my mobile number just in case. I’ll be back around five.”

            Ihor reluctantly followed me back to our car. Lifted the hood. Tinkered around. I watched him carefully undo some tubes and connectors.

            “Your water pump’s seized.” He went back to work.

            The water pump? This was the best news I’d heard yet. It couldn’t be a tenth as expensive as a rebuilt engine.

            “How long will it take?” I asked.

            “Not long. You have to get a pump and a belt. I don’t know what we have in stock.”

            Neither, as it turned out. Half an hour later, we were in Ihor’s car driving around Zhytomyr picking up parts. The pump was no problem. The very first store had it. Just looked it up in their catalog, found it on the shelf, and wrote up a bill. Hr 195. That was a darn sight better than the Hr 500 the shop had quoted.

            The belt was another matter. We tried four car parts places. One even offered to order it for the next morning. I passed.

            We drove back to the shop. I went to the accountant to pay Hr 78 for the repair work. “Isn’t there anything we can do to get a belt today?” I asked her.

            “Well, some of our boys are driving back a couple of new cars from Kyiv today. Maybe they can pick up the belt for you.” Several phone calls later, she smiled at me. “I’ve left them the order. They’re due here by five-thirty or six.”

            Ihor had gone back to the Lada engine. Time dripped by. At five o’clock, he informed me that his day was over. I ran to the accountant and said, “Can’t you just ask him to stay on and let him come in later tomorrow?” I pleaded. “We can’t stay overnight for this!”

            Oddly enough, the accountant had the power to do just that. So Ihor went off happily to work on his own car, while we waited for the crew to arrive from Kyiv with our belt.

            Around seven-thirty, the boys finally rolled in. I grabbed the belt and went to the shop to pay for it. Hr 84.

            In less than an hour, Ihor had the pump installed and the belt on. I was so happy to be going home, I gave him a Hr 25 tip.

            Total cost for the whole mess, tip and tow included? Hr 412. About two thirds the cost of a tow to Kyiv…

            I told you this story had a happy ending. Now get out there and drive around Ukraine a little! •

–from the ramblin’ notes of Pan O.

RC#58: Byways and Highways, Part 2

published in Eastern Economist #445, August 13, 2002

Summer weather is still going to be around for a while, so last week I began a story of travelling Ukrainian roads in a car. The trip started out with some good luck. A garage in L’viv had rotated my tires and found a bad tire that was now safely in the spare wheel well. Best of all, the whole thing had cost me about six bucks. We drove away happy as larks and I was certain we were home free.

            Mile after mile, the car drove while the player blasted rock music. Rain came and went. Banks of fog drifted across the road. Night came on.

            The car was driving like a dream. But the gas was getting low and it was well past midnight. I could kick myself as one gas station after another turned out to be closed.

            We turned off onto the Zhytomyr bypass, just after 02:00. There was an open café with flashing lights. I pulled over to ask directions, but I didn’t bother to turn off the engine.

            That’s when I heard the loud, uneven knocking. Maybe it had just overheated and would cool down.

            I ran inside and asked the woman at the cash if there was an open gas station nearby. No.

            I ran back out. The engine was still making really bad noises. I had no idea what was going on. The last time the tape had switched off, we hadn’t heard a thing.

            I knew there was a huge 24-hour truck stop just the other side of Zhytomyr. Maybe the car would make it there, about 10 klicks away. We were only an hour and a half from Kyiv and I was counting on being home by 04:00. Now I was about to lose my engine.

            I pulled back out onto the road. The rattled knock continued.

            Sure enough, about two kilometers along, here was a loud ping and the engine stopped altogether.

            “The piston’s blown through the engine wall,” I said gloomily to my travelling companion. “Fifteen hundred bucks, I’ll bet,” I said, thinking about the cost of a rebuild back home. “And we’re nowhere near a repair shop.”

            I coasted the car as long as I could in the dark. It finally rolled to a stop at what looked like a truck turnout. It was now 02:30 in the morning.

            I put the blinkers on, lowered the headlights and hauled out the triangular emergency reflector that is mandatory equipment in Ukraine – thank god.

            There was still some traffic, particularly trucks, so I stuck my hand way out to flag someone down. I even tried waving my hands up and down like an idiot.

            It made no difference. Not a single car or truck stopped. One truck beep-beeped as it went by. Of course, the pesky highway police were home in their warm beds, not patroling the nation’s roadways.

            This was my worst nightmare come true. Like being stuck in the mountains of Idaho or the Ensenada highway in Mexico.

            After half an hour, I gave up. “I guess we’re sleeping in the car,” I told Nadia. “But I think we’re parked in the middle of an intersection, so we’d better move the car forward.”

            “No, we’re not. It’s paved here,” she responded.

            “I’m pretty sure it’s a crossroads and I don’t want some idiot piling into our side at high speed in the dark.”

            We got out and rolled the car a few meters forward. Then we turned the lights off and packed it in.

            I woke up to a grey morning. Five thirty. I looked around. Sure enough, we were on far the edge of a four-way paved intersection.

            There was a little traffic, so I decided to try flagging someone again. Now that there was light, maybe drivers would see that I had a newish import with yellow plates and would stop to help.

            Of course, the minute I opened the door, it started drizzling. After 15 minutes, a Neva jeep stopped. But it already had four people, so they couldn’t help much. “Thanks anyway,” I said.

            Around six o’clock, I decided to start calling some friends in Kyiv who had cars. The signal was very unreliable and I had a hard time getting through.

            Oleh had just turned his car over for repairs and was without wheels for two days.

            Oksana was on the outs with her husband and he refused to help.

            Vitaliy, a professional driver, refused to ask his boss, whom I knew, to let him take time off to drive out and help me.

            Worse, my battery was fading fast. I was getting more and more worried. We couldn’t even get into town because no one was stopping.

            Just then, a man and his two kids came out to pasture a few cows. Nadia offered to go and see if he would let us use his home phone. Twenty minutes later, she was back. “His phone can’t do Kyiv.” By now, it was seven and my cellphone was deader than a doornail.

            Across the road from us was a rundown café. Nadia went to check it out.

            Five minutes later, she was back. “The guy who runs it just got up. He said we can use his plug to juice up the phone.”

            We trudged over. It was small and very shabby, but it had a fireplace. I plugged in the phone and ordered some coffee and tea.

            Some more calls to Kyiv. Nadia’s friend gave her the number of a towing company. They quoted Hr 100 for the call and Hr 4 for every kilometer. That would add up to at least Hr 620, nearly $120 – without even starting on repairs.

            Now, this story does have a happy ending, so stay tuned. •

–from the extensive notes of Pan O.

Part 3 concludes the saga of travelling by car.

RC#57: Byways and Highways, Part 1

published in Eastern Economist #444, August 6, 2002

For those who are still contemplating a summer car trip in Ukraine, I have a couple of tales to tell. They are both disappointing and heartening. But the message is, be prepared – and go for it!

            I still remember travelling to Ensenada, Mexico, from San Diego, California, with a couple of friends. The roadway was a narrow, unmarked thing creeping up and down steep, uninhabited hills. Sign after sign saying “Curva pelligrosa” – dangerous curve. There was at least one dead dog every couple of miles. There were no gas stations. We were all very glad to get back to the land of 8-lane freeways.

            I’ve seen a lot more since. I’ve even learned to drive in it. Not only that, I have my own car. So I have all the pleasures of driving, along with all the headaches of owning the darned thing.

            On my way back to Kyiv not long ago, I thought my car was making too much noise on the passenger side. My passenger at the time was a nice young lady from Mohyla University, not a Rottweiler, so I knew the noise wasn’t inside. It sounded suspiciously like the front right tire.

            Now, the tire in that spot had blown out on me just six weeks earlier. Then, too, there had been a warning rumble. About 20 kilometers out of L’viv, my nerves got the better of me and I decided to check the noise out.

            We were just coming up on a bright yellow gas station, so I pulled in. “You guys know anything about tires? I’d like mine checked out,” I said to the guy inside. “No, we don’t, but there’s a guy back in the shop that does.”

            He called out and in a minute a young man came out wiping his hands. “My tires are making noise, rumbling,” I said. “Would you mind driving around with me to see what it might be?” “No problem.”

            Katya got out and Slavko took her place. I turned the car down the highway, drove a few kilometers at various speeds and U-turned back. When we got out, Slavko got down and checked out the two front tires.

            “I think your bearing could be gone on this right front tire. See here? It’s pretty hot, whereas this one…” – he got up and went to the left tire – “…is fairly cool. There’s a shop back up the road towards L’viv that I’m pretty sure can do it for you.” “Thanks,” I said and we made our way back about 15 kilometers to where we had come from.

            Sure enough, just past a truck area, there was a huge complex and in back an impressive shop with 6 bays. Better yet, it was open and working at nearly 20:00 on a Tuesday night.

            “Can you check my tires out? I hear a lot of noise and I’m wondering if I have a blow-out brewing,” I said. “No problem. Drive it on over here,” the man said, pointing out to a bay with a lift.

            When the car was up in the air, an authoritative-looking man in an overall and cap uniform began looking at the underneath carefully. “It’s definitely not your bearings,” he said. “See how your wheel turns smoothly and easily? It wouldn’t do that if the bearings were going.”

            I felt relief. Bearings sounded expensive to me.

            He carefully looked over the tires and eventually took the right front one off. “Look at this,” he said. “These are cheap Slovak tires. Touch the sidewalls.” I could feel some bumps and it worried me. “Nah, they won’t blow out on you. But they aren’t great. Your back tires are originals and they’re better made.”

            He then looked at the engine and other parts from below, checking for leaks and such. “Everything seems pretty good from here,” he said. “There’s a bit of oil around this seal, but it’s par for the course.”

            After fishing around a little more, he told one of the other guys to balance my front tires and see if that made a difference. The lift came down and the guy went to work. Twenty minutes later, I did a short test drive down the highway again. The noise was less, but it was still there, even at low speeds.

            “Try rotating the front tires to the back,” said the main mechanic. “That way, if one of those tires does blow, it won’t be as dangerous.”

            The tire guy went to work, starting with the front right tire. He took each one off, balanced it and moved it to the next position. When he got to the last tire, the right rear one, he suddenly said “Hah!”

            Rolling the tire to me he said, “Here you are!” Sure enough, there was a bulge in the treads, a nasty bump that he said would probably have resulted in a blow-out eventually. “Do you have a spare tire?” I did. The left front tire that was taken off when the right one blew.

            He balanced the last tire, screwed it on, and said, “Take it for a spin and see how it goes.”

            The car drove as smooth as a shot of Bailey’s.

            I drove back into the bay. The tire man tightened all the screws and put the hub caps back on. By now it was 22:30. “I’ve put the other tire in your spare well, but I wouldn’t use it,” he said as he closed the trunk.

            I thanked him, paid him the Hr 36 he requested – less than US $6 – and we drove off, happy as larks. •

–from the extensive notes of Pan O.

Part 2 continues the saga of Ukrainian byways and highways.

RC#56: Flights of financing

published in Eastern Economist #442, July 23, 2002

Two weeks ago, another promising Ukrainian athlete went missing in action.

            Olena Zubrylova, Ukraine’s top biathlete, declared that she would not extend her contract here. Instead, she would be joining Team Belarus.

            Ukraine has had a long history of losing its talent abroad. World champion jumper Inessa Kravets complained in the mid-nineties about the Olympic Stadium in Kyiv. It was so hard to find a free dumbell, she said, that if you want to train you had to take your trainer piggyback and carry him around.

            Since independence, the disease seems to be spreading as facilities rust and oligarchs spend the country’s assets on themselves and their relatives.

            When a sledder left in the middle of the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics, the reasons were the same: lack of training facilities and resources—and lousy pay.

            Like most divorces, money seemed to be the biggest sore point.

            A one-time World Champion, Ms. Zubrylova is coached by her husband Roman and says she self-finances most of her own training. She put in a very disappointing performance at Salt Lake City. Apparently she was running a fever at the time.

            Ms. Zubrylova’s reasons are understandable: harsh official criticism, miserable pay, the Federation’s tendency to put its efforts into younger athletes. Meanwhile, Belarus has promised for starters to pay her a monthly stipend of US $1,500.

            It wasn’t easy to get a word out sideways from any of the people involved in this headline. Nor was there any damage control on anyone’s part [see RC#55]. The best DerzhKomSport, the State Sports Committee, could come up with was “Well, we have a very promising team of male biathletes.”

            As a PR opportunity, this whole thing was a bust.

            The deputy chair of DerzhKomSport wasn’t taking calls. Nor would the Biathlon Association or the Olympic Committee comment.

            On July 12, two sports officials agreed to answer some questions.

            DerzhKomSport Chair Maria Bulatova said that she “didn’t know anything.” That she first read about Ms. Zubrylova’s decision in the newspapers. Well, “anything” is a bit of a stretch.

            “We talked about this three times and the last time Olena said: ‘OK, I’ll stay but I need some time to think.’ She didn’t say she would leave for Belarus and switch citizenship.”

            How many times does a top athlete need to tell her bosses she’s not happy for them to get the message?

            “Ms. Zubrylova’s not well,” Ms. Bulatova went on, “and we planned a whole rehabilitation program for this summer, somewhere abroad.” The Committee had recommended cutting back Ms. Zubrylova’s training schedule to give her some time to improve her health.

            OK. What about the money angle?

            The president of the Biathlon Federation, Volodymyr Brynzak, said he hadn’t heard any complaints from Ms. Zubrylova and thought the Federation had done “everything possible” for her.

            “We had no conflicts,” said Mr. Brynzak. “She was my personal guest a number times and one of my friends sponsored her for her Gold Medal with US $5,000.”

            Not to be outdone, Ms. Bulatova responded, “Our Committee spent more than a quarter million hryvnia [under US $50,000] to prepare Olena for Salt Lake City. Her salary here was Hr 1,000. At the Dynamo Society, she was paid about Hr 1,600 as a Security Service Major, and the Federation gave her Hr 500.”

            That comes to Hr 3,100 or under US $600. It’s may be well above the official national average, but nowadays secretaries at rich companies make that much in Kyiv. Slim pickin’s for a sports star.

            “People don’t think about the fact that all our money goes towards our training. No professional international coach will even look at you for less than US $5,000 a week,” said Natasha Medvedeva, the sister of tennis star Andriy Medvedev, on a Gravis sports marathon July 13. Ms. Medvedeva is herself a tennis player who was sidelined in 1998 after an injury.

            Mr. Brynzak also challenged Ms. Bulatova on this point. “Your committee hasn’t financed any Federation activities,” he said angrily. “Ms. Zubrylova won the world championship thanks to us. DerzhKomSport owes the Federation about US $32,000.”

            “Officially, the Belarus NOC has not addressed us at all over this,” Ukraine’s National Olympic Committee spokesman Ivan Bondarchuk told uaSport. “These decisions were made without consulting us.”

            Olena Zybrulova herself, in an interview on Studio 1+1, looked on the verge of tears. “Ukraine doesn’t appreciate what it has,” she said. “Other countries try to make their teams stronger by buying ready-made stars.”

            In an AP report from Sydney back in 1999, Belarus President Alyaksandr Lukashenka was quoted as saying, “Just produce results and you’ll be able to provide for yourself for the rest of your life. I’ll buy you anything you neeed, be it apartments, guns, boats, swimming trunks, even undershirts.”

            His offer has not fallen on deaf ears. Last year, Olympic Champion skier Svetlana Nageikina moved to Minsk from Russia, as did biathletes Yelena Khrustaleva and Yevgenia Kutsepalova. All of them performed at Salt Lake City on the Belarus team. Now, says komanda.com, Russian biathlete Vladimir Drachiov, a many-time World Champion and holder of the World Cup, may follow suit.

            “Without money, you can’t get anywhere in tennis or fencing,” says Serhhiy Holubnytskiy, a fencing champion. “That’s a reality. Everything has to be paid for. The problem here is that the government only responds to results. You have to get to the top before they give you anything, and the minute you don’t have the results, they stop supporting you.”

            A DerzhKomSport insider pooh-poohs this. Olena’s just trying to get a little attention, he says. “There’s an Italian handball player and an American swimmer who want to join Ukraine’s team.” We’ll believe that when we see it. •

–from the notebooks of Pan O., with thanks to Yuriy and Bill.

RC#55: Whistlin’ Dixie

published in Eastern Economist #441, July 16, 2002

A curious new organization made itself visible on Monday July 8. It calls itself Ukraïna vidoma – Ukraine Cognita in English. Leonid “The Fox” Kravchuk, a one-time president and since-then VR deputy, is founder and president of this “Ukrainian public mission.” The main aim of the Mission seems to be PR activities involving Ukraine.

            Its supervisory board and committee contain a passle of other big names. The chair is Ukraine’s first premier, Vitaliy Masol, who was suspected of pilfering from the state in the early nineties.

            There are also some solid workhorses with impeccable credentials. Borys Paton, the hoary president of the National Academy of Sciences. Serhiy Bubka, a clean-cut Olympic pole-vaulting champion from Donetsk. Oleh Pinchuk, a distinguished and wonderfully whimsical sculptor.

            There is no one professionally connected to international media or financial management. Unless you count Mykola Azarov, the current boss of the Tax Administration. He is best known for running the STA as his own fiefdom and ignoring decisions of the Finance Ministry and the judiciary.

            Nor is there anyone representing or having strong professional ties with the international community. Not even a token former ambassador as an honorary member.

            The “activities” of the Mission are exceptionally ambitious and very concrete. The president is responsible to “Form a positive image of the Ukrainian state.” As opposed to “Ukraine” or “the Ukrainian people”? Is his mission, then, to make his buddies in office look good?

            The Board is supposed to tackle strategic directions. “Entry of Ukraine into the EU.” “Increase export potential and foreign investment.” “Develop international business and tourism.” How can the board of a PR organization develop international business? Imagine if the head of the US Internal Revenue Service or the UK’s Inland Revenues – whose names most of their citizens would be hard pressed to tell you, that’s how visible they are – sat on a committee to develop international business and tourism, headed by Jimmy Carter or Edward Heath?

            UC’s first public meeting took place July 8, after one year of intense activity. It had gathered over Hr 5,500,000 in its accounts from 11 businesses listed in its report. Most of them are, strangely, not represented on either its committee or its board. They were undoubtedly thrilled at being given a “Diploma as Honorary Sponsor of Ukraine’s national image.”

            That’s more than a cool million dollars “accumulated and directed towards carrying out program events.”

            For that nifty sum, the Mission so far has: Organized itself June 2, 2001. Held its founding assembly June 14. Signed a rental agreement in August. Decided at the end of its first year to increase staff and begin looking for a permanent location in Kyiv. Held five joint meetings of the Board and Committee.

            It also chose – via tender – two Austrian companies, m.i.p. and Troon Fields, as its international PR specialists. Apparently they have “lots of experience in Ukraine.” This author, who has worked in media and advertising for many years here, had never heard of either prior to last Monday.

            The big push in 2001 was to get some international visibility.

            This involved: Holding a July 19, 2001, press conference in Vienna with 19 international periodicals. Sending press releases on Ukraine’s 10th anniversary to 30 international media. Arranging a 3-month survey and analysis of international media in 19 countries and its perception of Ukraine. (This was done by the Austrian companies and the results presented at Monday’s meeting – in Russian.) Participating in (not organizing, note) Ukrainian Culture Days in Switzerland.

            There was a slew of PR activities to increase the Mission’s profile at home, too. A brochure. A website. Helping the Philharmonic participate in Bern. Sponsoring a roundtable on economic transformation organized by the Bleyzer Foundation (no date). Holding a “Ukraine in Focus” competition to select the 100 best photos of contemporary Ukraine.

            And finally, the Mission worked to bring to the government’s attention “the importance of working in the direction of formulating [sic] an international image for Ukraine.”

            This involved: Getting the president to sign a decree Oct. 4 to support UC. Getting a line item in the draft 2003 Budget to “finance the formulation of Ukraine’s international image.” (They failed to get into the 2002 Budget, alas. Note: this is in addition to the Hr 5,500,000 sitting in UC’s accounts already!) Preparing a draft law on activities aimed at formulating said image. Trying to get Mission members included in the coordinating council of a state program called “Ukraine’s Investment Image.”

            The Mission believes that its first year was very positive and effective. Surely they don’t imagine that a single press conference in Vienna and Ukrainian Days in Bern have had a serious impact… do they?

            Also, the Mission’s “Principles and methods” include “openness, transparency.” The report did not include any financial statement about the first year. And they’re trying to get taxpayers’ money.

            The next day, July 9, there was a news flash in Ukraine that the country’s top biathlete, Olena Zubrylova, was moving to Belarus. This single story had more impact than an entire year of hot air on the part of Ukraine Cognita.

            Why is a top athlete changing citizenship to play for a no-name country like Belarus? Why was Ukraine Cognita’s committee member, Olympic star Serhiy Bubka, not on every channel explaining what’s going on and working to get her back? Or provide a compelling reason for letting Ms. Zubrylova – one of the few athletes in the world who could compete in 1997 as an equal against the legendary Magdalena Fossberg, according to champion.com.ua – go? When we called UC July 11, they refused to comment.

            Incidentally, DerzhKomSport isn’t worried. “We have a very promising team of male biathletes.” Now, there’s an organization that understands about PR. •

–from the notebooks of Pan O.