In The Shadow of Lenin

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Wednesday, Mar. 27, 2002
At first sight, the district center of Priluki — with a population of 60,000 people and located 150 km east of Kiev — has not changed much since I was here last, 45 years ago. The same larger-than-life statue of Lenin dominates the central Market Square, except the Orthodox cathedral behind, once converted to storage, is restored and functions. The once colorful market nearby, formerly full of horse-driven peasant carts that brought fresh produce from the country side, has now spilled over. People line the square in long sullen ranks, trying to sell anything from clay ashtrays to live rabbits.

After dark, two boys are playing their guitars at the corner of Market Square and Sverdlova Street, where some 20 meters of lighted sidewalk still function as the local answer to Broadway. The freedom of playing music outside for a modest donation is about the only luxury the last decade has given these boys. Life has been hard under the Soviets. Life is hard in independent Ukraine too, with most all the local industries either closed or on their last legs. The only exception is the tobacco factory, bought by the British American Tobacco giant. The factory now produces 10.8 billion cigarettes a year, which accounts for 27% of all cigarette production in Ukraine. The enthralled Priluchane whisper that even a mere charwoman makes $200 a month over there — and this rumor sounds like a fairy tale to the impoverished population.

Lida Paska, 67, a retired geography school teacher, and her neighbor Nadezhda Serdyuk, 72, a retired factory worker, live in the street, still identified as named after Karl Liebknecht, leader of the 1919 communist uprising in Germany — though the name has been recently changed to Konstantinovskaya. However, there is no money to change the signs. Neither Paska nor Serdyuk cares. Paska's pension is $26 a month. Serdyuk's pension is $20. With utilities costing almost half of their pensions, both rather care about how to survive. They live hand to mouth from their gardens, like most Ukrainians do these days. A well-stocked grocery store is just opposite their small, nice and well-kept private houses, but out of reach: they can afford to buy only bread there, but not sausage at $3, or cheese at $3.70 per kilo.

In fact, cheese and sausage are a matter of pride for official economists: the food processing industry is one field in which Ukraine has made itself proud. They have totally substituted homegrown food for imports from Poland. Unlike the case in Russia, Ukrainian stores and markets are stocked with domestic produce. But this is little consolation to Paska and Serdyuk. The best they can afford on occasion are meatless bones.

How are they going to vote in the coming Parliamentary election? "I must vote, because the state is spending so much money on holding the elections," says Paska, "but I have not made up my mind yet who I will vote for. I simply don't know." Serdyuk is more resolute: "I'll vote for the communists, who else?" Serdyuk issues a vitriolic harangue about the powers-that-be who have led Ukraine to this bitter condition, and ends suddenly: "But the communists won't make any good, either." At that, both come back to their gardens.

Next morning, I'm leaving for Kiev. The larger-than-life Lenin statues seems to smirk. The highway to Kiev is desolate: gasoline prices are prohibitive for idle driving, while there is not much activity to warrant frequent business trips.