Russia Week (Seven): The Good Guys

Russian manhood is/was problematic. Although I'm sure the situation is better now, back in the mid-90s problems like rampant alcoholism, a limited job market, unfortunate gender role stereotypes, among many others, contributed to a significantly lower life expectancy for Russian men and a lot of social unrest.

Compulsory military service didn't help, either. That same teacher who cried at a party about her son having an American for a teacher also told me, later that same evening, with some real anger and fear in her voice, that "the military takes our sons and sends back monsters." I heard variations on this complaint multiple times — that a rampant and often sadistic culture of hazing, unfiltered machismo, alcohol abuse, poor funding, and general brutality transformed the kinds of sweet, talented, kind young men I had enjoyed so much in school into violent, alcoholic, profoundly unpleasant brutes. (I'm paraphrasing, and perhaps exaggerating, but you get the idea). This teacher friend of mine was terrified of losing her son to that process.

"On the other hand," (he said, before his Russian friends leapt to their feet in protest). I've already mentioned the difficulty I have attempting to describe "what people are like," because, in fact, I keep thinking of counter-examples, and ... let me tell you, I came across a number of Russian men who were flat out amazing. 

I'm going to focus on two in particular right now. One was an older man — maybe in his late 70s. I lived in what amounted to a dormitory room on the top floor (the 9th) of an apartment building in Yemar Bay, and midway through my second year this old man — short, balding, several gold teeth, and a twinkle in his eye like a leprechaun moved into a room down the hall from me. 

The front of my building (my apartment was on the other side)

I don't, unfortunately, remember his name, or even much about him. Except this: He spoke good English, he had served in WWII where he had refused to lead his men on a straight-ahead attempt to take a hill that had already wiped out several other platoons, instead taking a route around the side that was successful, but which led to him being put in an "institution" for several decades for insubordination, he had moved to Yemar perhaps specifically because he had heard I was there, he once went fishing out into the bay and came home with like 20 caught fish he kept cold in his bathtub, and he really wanted to be my friend. Unfortunately, I didn't drink at the time, and that's really ... what he wanted to do with me. I'm afraid as a result, though I spent a couple evenings chatting with him, and generally enjoyed his company, I don't think I ever fully let loose the way he wanted, and as a result I don't think we ever became the kind of soulmates he hoped. It's too bad, because he was, as you can imagine, full of stories, and he was (surprisingly, considering his story) happy, full of laughter, and ... someone I think my life would have been richer for having known better. C'est la vie. Missed opportunities.

But the person I really wanted to point to was Edik, my colleague Marina's husband (and the father of my 5th-and-6th grade student, Lyuba). He was, to my eyes, a star. He was relatively quiet, constantly good-humored, a handy-man, an outdoorsman, knew different plants, herbs, mushrooms, etc. Just solid. The story about Edik that most sticks in my mind came not when I lived in Yemar, but a year later, when I was back visiting. My friend Tanya had let me stay in her studio apartment, on the 3rd floor of the same building I used to live in, while she was at her parents' house for the summer. When the week ended I packed and prepared to head off to the airport, only to find that, about an hour before I had to leave for Artyom, that ... I had let Tanya's door close behind me, with the key (and my bags) still inside. Tanya was 200 miles away in Dalnerechensk, there was no spare key, and as far as I could tell my only option was to take an ax to her door.

Edik and Marina

Which is not to say I didn't add value to their lives as well!

Luckily, Edik stepped in. He took a long coil of rope (because of course he had a long coil of rope) and went to an apartment on the fourth floor, above Tanya's, but one to the right, and asked the owner for permission to attach one end of it there. He then did the same thing at the apartment two doors over, then tossed the rope from one window to the other, where I caught it. We attached that end as well, first wrapping it around him as a sort of harness. He then lowered himself from the fourth floor to the third, mountain-climber style, and he pushed open Tanya's window and let me in to the apartment. I made it to the airport in time.

This was done without objection, hesitation, or complaint. He lowered himself outside of an apartment building, a good 70 feet in the air, to help David, who had stupidly locked himself out of the flat he was staying in. And, of course, immediately and fervently rejected my begging that they let me do it. I think the general consensus was that I was a little bit "soft" in terms of risk-taking and daring —although ironically this opinion grew out of their affection for and even admiration for me (I think the assumption was that I was more intellectual and that America had to some extent evolved past the need for these kinds of jerry-rigged fixes) rather than scorn — and I suppose in their evaluation of me they weren't really wrong. I felt, of course, incredibly grateful, and not a little embarrassed. Marina, Edik's wife, looked on with not a little anxiety, although she pretended confidence.

My flat on the 9th floor pointed out in red, Tanya's flat pointed out in blue.

(As a quick digression, while I was in Russia I read a story from (perhaps) Newsweek describing Yuri Gagarin's famous 1961 orbit around the earth. According to this story, while Americans were terrified that his orbit demonstrated Soviet technological superiority, that was not really the entire story. In fact, his achievement was especially remarkable because the Soviets were so intent on beating the Americans that they pressured their scientists to put Gagarin in space as quickly as possible regardless of many safety risks or concerns. As a result, his Vostok 1 ship encountered multiple problems, almost failed multiple times, and Gagarin himself was forced to address breakdowns and problems during the flight, essentially hard-wiring the spacecraft while in flight with, essentially, a screwdriver and duct tape. The great achievement, in fact was not — or at least was not only — the technology itself, but Gagarin's coolness under pressure, and his (and the Soviet scientists') ability to jerry-rig solutions on the fly (as it were), with limited tools and resources. Having lived in Russia during a time where dependence on authorities for help was never going to work, and where people were required to make do for themselves and fix things that Americans would immediately have thrown out and replaced, I can completely understand that -- and rather than being a failing, it showed their creativity, courage, and quick problem-solving skills).

Anyway, there were, it now occurs to me, lots and lots of good men I met in Yemar, generally as caring, involved, helpful parents of the kids I taught. I wasn't friends with many — female teachers at School No. 72 outnumbered their male counterparts 10-1, at least. And, looking back on the first few paragraphs of this post, it should be noted that while I encountered a number of young men under 18, and a number of men over 35, I knew almost no men between those ages. So who knows what kinds of pressures they were put under, or how they dealt with them?

Still, as I write this during an era of serious military and geo-political conflict with Russia, and against a context of suspicion, resentment, and anger, I want to at least acknowledge that so many of the Russian men *I* met back in the 90s were friendly, not in any way violent or domineering, and often skilled at making their way in a rough and hostile world and finding ways to get their families to the next day.

It only, of course, makes my heart break for what's happening now.