Uninvited Guests

In the Moscow metro, you often hear announcements beginning with the words ‘dear Muscovites and guests of the capital ...’ Muscovites are justly proud of their city, but all too often the distinction is made between nashi and chuzhiye – us and them. No one feels this distinction more strongly than people from the Caucasus region, whether they have just arrived or have lived in the capital for 20 years. On the third anniversary of the outbreak of war in Chechnya, Russian Life’s Associate Editor,

Anna Hoare looks at the issue of nationality and what it feels like to be a Caucasian living in Moscow.

In any country, natsionalnost (ethnicity) is a complicated issue. And this is certainly so in Russia. The former Soviet Union was made up of 56 “nationalities” that numbered over 100,000 people each, to say nothing of numerous smaller groups. Today’s Russia contains 32 republics and autonomous regions, based on ethnic majorities or minorities, with varying degrees of self-rule.

At the center of it all, Moscow is not so much a city as a multinational conglomerate. According to the 1989 census, 140 nationalities lived in Moscow (see box). And, in spite of the newly-drawn borders, there is still constant traffic to and from the “near abroad,” as the former Soviet republics are now called. Many Russians, accustomed to old ways, still consider these republics theirs. And yet, Russian law is not always welcoming to citizens of these countries.

Not foreigners, but not quite at home either, different nationalities from inside and outside Russia – Georgians, Chechens, Kazakhs, Tatars, Ukrainians and countless others – come to Moscow to live and work. They come as refugees, fleeing wars at home (around 50,000 refugees and 200,000 illegal immigrants currently live in Moscow, a city of nine million). They come to stay with relatives. But mostly, they come to make money, drawn to Russia’s capital like bees to honey.

At Work in Moscow

Igor works 14 hours a day, seven days a week, at a fruit and vegetable stand outside Moscow’s Paveletsky metro station. A candidate of philosophy (similar to our PhD), he taught college in his native Baku (Azerbaidzhan) for a paltry R120,000 ($20) a month. “There came a point,” he says, “when I realized I was a slave living at the end of the twentieth century. When you sit at home and see that your children are going hungry, there’s no money to clothe them, no money to pay for the apartment and nothing to eat, someone has to sacrifice himself.” That’s when he decided to come to Moscow. It is a hard life, but he makes money – over $1,000 a month –  to send home to his wife and children.

Igor is not alone. In 1996, 69,000 foreigners from the near and far abroad came to Moscow to work, with the greatest numbers from the former Soviet Union (FSU) coming from Ukraine, Georgia, Moldova, Belarus and Armenia. According to Kim Tsagolov, Russia’s Deputy Minister of Nationality Affairs, most non-Russians who come to work in Moscow are involved in construction (59%), transport and communication (20%), trade (8%) and commercial activity (almost 7%).

Vladimir Andreenkov, general director of the Institute for Comparative Social Research, said that “there is a significant division of labor between nationalities”  in Moscow, connected with traditional cultural traits. Chechens do not sell in the markets, for example, whereas Azeris do. “For a Chechen,” he explained, “it is shameful to stand at the bazaar and sell things. But for an Azeri, it is normal, a part of life.” Armenians, he said, are known as skillful builders and mechanics, and typically work on construction crews.

A few years ago, Andreenkov said, when Ukraine’s economy was in a shambles, there were many teams of unskilled Ukrainian and Belarusan workers in Moscow. More recently, Ukrainians – Crimeans in particular – have been taking jobs as trolleybus drivers, and you will often hear a southern accent announcing the name of the next trolley stop. Pribalts (Estonians, Latvians and Lithuanians), whose economies are better off than those of the rest of the FSU, are primarily involved in trade, selling not only goods from Turkey, but also their own production, brought in through well-established semi-legal import channels.

For Igor, working here is a constant struggle. “There’s an opportunity to make money here, to survive,” he said. “But it’s very tough, hellish work. There are many complications that not everyone is able to withstand, many dangers.” Many new arrivals, he explained, don’t have housing and live wherever they can. Those who find housing often live in apartments that are unsafe and lack the most basic conveniences. Many don’t have a Moscow propiska (residence permit), and so constantly run the risk of being stopped by the militia.

“For me,” Igor continued, “this life is very hard – mainly not in a physical sense, but morally. I feel humiliated, that I’m wasting my time to no purpose. I could be doing very useful work ... I could be teaching a lot of students.”

Faces of the Enemy

According to Andreenkov, “every society, in an obvious or non-obvious way, tries to find itself an enemy – someone to hate – so as not to be thinking about the problems that actually exist in society.”

During Soviet times, everyone was supposed to live in friendship, in a classless society free of discrimination based on race or gender. Georgians, Armenians, Uzbeks held key posts in the Party and in the armed forces. In the regional governments, a rigorous personnel balance was maintained between Russians and representatives of the local nationality. Usually, the first secretary was a local, while the second secretary – a Russian – pulled strings from the background.

But there were plenty of ethnic tensions smoldering beneath the surface, reflected in the jokes and proverbs of the time. The saying went that nezvanny gost khuzhe Tatarina (“an uninvited guest is worse than a Tatar”). And, of course, there was the legacy of pogroms and other measures aimed against Jews (See Russian Life, April 1997). The Soviet internal passport (separate passports used to be required for internal identification and foreign travel) contained a clause – the “fifth clause” – stating one’s ethnic identity. This measure was used at various times to discriminate against assimilated Jews (considered a “nationality” in the FSU) in terms of restrictive quotas for jobs and education.

But new times have created a new focus. The new Russian passports, issued since October 1997, have dropped the “fifth clause” (ironically, against the protests of some autonomous regions, especially Tatarstan, seeking to maintain their non-Russian ethnic identity), and the issue of nationality has largely faded to the background. With one large exception. According to Andreenkov, the war in Chechnya and Russia’s growing crime rate have combined to create a new enemy – litsa Kavkazskoy natsionalnosti (literally, persons of Caucasian nationality) – people from the Caucasus.

The Caucasus region, located at the crossroads between Europe, Central Asia and the Middle East, consists of areas both inside and outside Russia. The Southern Caucasus includes independent Georgia, Azerbaidzhan and Armenia, while the Northern Caucasus, located within Russia, encompasses seven republics and at least 19 local nationalities, speaking about 40 languages and practicing several religions (Orthodox Christianity and Islam being the main ones). This region has a long history of struggle for independence. During the 19th century, it took Russia several bloody decades to subdue it. And in this century, from 1943 to 1945, Stalin deported four Northern Caucasian peoples – the Chechens, Ingush, Balkars and Karachay – to Central Asia for their alleged cooperation with the German army. Most recently (since December of 1994), Chechnya has made headlines with its struggle for independence.

They are called chyornye (blacks), yuzhanye, chyornomazy and, most rudely, chyornozhopy. For the most part, they are easily distinguishable from Russians by appearance. And they are held largely responsible for Moscow’s organized crime. In an interview with Vek newspaper, Deputy Minister Kim Tsagolov – himself from North Ossetia (a republic in the Northern Caucasus) – recalled watching a television show in which the host asked a group of young schoolchildren “what should be done with the chyornomazy?” Almost unanimously, the kids said that they should be kicked out of Russia (“let Azeris live in Azerbaidzhan, Georgians – in Georgia, and Russians in Russia!”).

Outsiders: Then & Now

Zizi (a nickname for Eliza) and Nunu are two Georgian women who have lived in Moscow for over 20 years each. Although both women are now Russian citizens, they still feel like outsiders in some ways and consider themselves very much Georgian. Nunu arrived in the capital from her native Tbilisi in 1967 to continue her studies at Moscow State University’s biology department. Zizi married a Russian and came to Moscow in 1972.

Nunu and a friend arrived in Moscow in the middle of the winter with no place to live. But, she said, the cold here went deeper than the weather: “As soon as you arrive, you feel alien. We discovered here that we are a different nationality ... In Georgia, there is no differentiation between nationalities and here we felt that there was. For us, this was something very surprising and new.”

Zizi adds: “In America, there are people from everywhere – from France, England, Mexico, Argentina – they are Americans, and no one says anything. But here, the older brother is always right. ‘I’m Russian, I’m the boss.’”

For a short time at the end of the 1980s, Moscow’s city government introduced a system of cards – so-called vizitki – to bar non-Muscovites from buying deficit items in the capital. In stores, the cashiers checked these cards thoroughly. One day, Zizi was waiting in line, when a woman behind her complained loudly that the clerks were giving out food to all and sundry. Zizi, feeling that she was the reason for this outburst, turned around and said: “Don’t you worry, dear, they will definitely check my card!”

Justified as Zizi’s outrage may be, this measure was introduced not so much to discriminate against non-Russians as to keep residents of the Moscow region from coming to the city and buying up food supplies. During Soviet times, the provinces worked overtime to feed Moscow and St. Petersburg, and so-called “sausage trains” would arrive in Moscow full and leave empty, leaving nothing for the surrounding region. “What’s green and smells of sausages?” went the riddle. The answer: “an electric train leaving Moscow.”

Nunu said she believes that the problem of discrimination has become worse since the fall of the Soviet Union because of the new freedom of speech and the fact that young people grow up voicing the prejudices they hear at home. “You sometimes hear the words ‘let’s bring back the Soviet Union!’,” she said. “But I say: what do you want with a Soviet Union when you don’t like chyornye? So that you can eat fruit? So that you can go to the Black Sea for vacation? Only for this do you need them. But the people who live there, you hate them.”

Black Paint

To understand the depth of Nunu’s bitterness, you have to understand how entrenched the negative attitude is toward “persons of Caucasian nationality.” As Tsagolov told Vek, “I am not a ‘person of Caucasian nationality.’ I am an Ossetian.” “This phrase,” he went on to say, “like black paint, smudges the amazingly mixed and colorful palette of the ethnic mosaic of the Caucasus. There is no such thing as Caucasian nationality, just as there is no European or Asian nationality ...” Nonetheless, this phrase has been widely used by politicians – who both shape and reflect public opinion – to label undesirables.

Andreenkov said, “what is shown on television, how our official leaders express themselves – this has an influence on public opinion toward a certain nationality, and toward Caucasian nationalities, a stable, negative nuance has already been manufactured.” With the result that, at the market, you often hear babushkas arguing with Caucasian traders, calling them zhuliki (swindlers), thieves and even murderers.

This “negative nuance” is so widespread that the idea of Caucasian criminality is often voiced by the mass media. In the previously mentioned Vek interview, the reporter put the following question to Tsagolov: “But you do agree that arrivals from the Caucasus commit the majority of crimes in Moscow, don’t you?”

As it turns out, this perception of Caucasian criminality is greatly distorted. “You often hear it said that the main perpetrators of crimes are of Caucasian nationality,” Tsagolov replied. “But it is impossible to agree with this.” In fact, as Tsagalov told Russian Life, all non-native Muscovites combined account for only about 31% of the crimes committed in Moscow, while all Caucasians combined account for around 6%. Furthermore, statistics from Russia’s Interior Ministry reveal that criminal gangs do not contain predominantly any one nationality.

“I am sure that the proportion of Caucasians in the criminal world is higher than Russians,” Andreenkov asserted. But he went on to explain that, for purely socioeconomic reasons, there are always more criminals from poor and war-torn areas. This is equally true of poor areas within Russia, where salaries are not paid for months or where all the factories have closed down. As is only natural, when people are hungry, they turn to crime ...

Nonetheless, the negative attitudes toward Caucasians continue. Crime has risen and someone must be blamed. Many Russians still view the break-up of the Soviet Union as a loss of national pride and blame the break-away republics. The war in Chechnya was yet another insult, and one which cost many Russian lives. The idea of successful Caucasian mafiosi – however exaggerated – also arouses resentment, especially among the poor. Plus, 70 years of Soviet rule has instilled in Russians a strong distrust of torgashi (traders) and spekulyanti (speculators), and Caucasians are unabashedly successful traders.

Russians, who are not normally burdened with the cross of political correctness, tend to say just exactly what they think. Lena, 24, a manager at a printing company, stated flatly: “I don’t like them [Caucasians] ... they don’t sell their own goods, they buy from peasants and resell for high prices.” Plus, she said, Caucasian men arrive in Moscow and come on to Russian women, hoping to marry and obtain a propiska. She went on to tell of a girlfriend who had married an Azeri. Before the wedding, he was an ideal suitor, bringing flowers and chocolate. But no sooner were they married than he expected her to do everything – cook, clean and support him as well. She got a divorce and went to live in Germany for three years. When she came back, her ex-husband was living in her apartment with a new wife and two children.

Of course, in every perception, there is a grain of truth. Caucasians do have a virtual monopoly at many of the city’s food markets and often hire Russian or Crimean women to mind the stalls while they stand back and run the show. And, for the most part, Caucasian peoples are strongly patriarchal. According to some local traditions, for example, the women eat in the kitchen, and only after the men have finished their meal.

So the resentments rub both ways. But, though you can understand the origins of much of Moscow’s racial tension, cultural differences alone do not account for the sheer scale of document checks and other measures that seem to be targeted specifically at Caucasians.

“Documents, Please!”

Every Moscow resident must have documents testifying to his right to live in the city, including a passport stamped with his propiska. Unless you can achieve refugee status (which is granted to only 600-800 people out of the up to 12,000 who apply in Moscow each year) or have close relatives in Moscow, such permits are difficult to come by. So most new arrivals to Moscow have to buy a temporary propiska, renewed every 45 days for $100, or run the risk of going without.

Additional documents are required for trade. As Igor told Russian Life, “our documents are checked practically every day. They check our medical book, they check our propiska that is issued every 45 days, they check our trade permit, they check our labor agreement, they check all certificates on all products that we sell. If everything is in order, there are no more questions. If something is missing, they immediately close us down and call in the boss.”

If you are non-Russian, the situation becomes more complicated. In 1995, Moscow’s mayor Yuri Luzhkov issued a decree requiring all non-Russian citizens staying in the city for over three days to register with the local department of internal affairs. This decree was a hangover from the Soviet system by which all foreigners had to register, but Luzhkov extended the rule to citizens of the near abroad as well. Militiamen frequently check registrations on the street or in metro stations and fine violators.

Although, officially, there is no policy of singling out any one nationality for document verification, in reality those who are stopped are mainly young men with dark skin or an obviously Caucasian appearance. Ruben, a professional musician who is half-Armenian, told Russian Life that, because of his light skin and “European appearance,” he has never once been stopped. But his first cousin, also half-Armenian but with a more Caucasian appearance, is stopped constantly and has been held in preliminary custody. The irony is that, according to tradition, Ruben, with an Armenian father, is considered the Armenian, while his cousin, with an Armenian mother, has a Russian last name and is considered Russian.

Andreenkov explained that militiamen, badly paid themselves, have established their own well-developed system of corruption. “Of course,” he said, “the militia stops chyornye much more frequently than others.” For one thing, there is a much higher chance that their documents will be out of order. And, he continued, when a militiaman stops a Caucasian who does not have the proper Moscow registration, so the system goes, instead of arresting him, the militiaman demands money (often, simply a bribe for his own pocket) and then lets the Caucasian go.

Not long ago, Andreenkov was at Moscow’s Sheremetevo airport not far from a group of Azeris who were waiting for a flight to Baku. By the entrance, militiamen stopped every last one of them to check their registrations. The majority who were unregistered were frightened into thinking they would miss their flight, relieved of a sum of money and set free. “This was simply an organized group of bandits,” Andreenkov said.

According to an article that recently appeared in the English-language daily The Moscow Tribune, the Armenian and Azeri embassies receive complaints from their citizens daily concerning militia behavior. One counsellor at the Armenian embassy has been stopped twice since he assumed his current post. At the Azeri embassy, over fifty complaints against the Russian militia are considered every day.

The above counsellor is not the only high-ranking official “of Caucasian nationality” to be stopped for documents. As Tsagolov told Vek, he was stopped by a militia patrol when out for a walk one night near his home. The men quite politely requested to see his documents. When Tsagolov asked why they had singled him out from all the other strollers, the following conversation took place.

“Well, you’re from the Caucasus! It’s immediately obvious from your face.”

“No, I have nothing to do with the Caucasus.”

“So, who are you then?”

“I’m the singer Rosenbaum.” (Alexander Rosenbaum is a popular Russian bard of Jewish descent, known to be equally loved by bandits and militiamen, to whom Tsagolov bears a certain resemblance. – Ed.)

“Comrade Rosenbaum! Sing something for us.”

“Sorry, it’s cold and I don’t sing without a guitar. Come back to my house, I’ll sing for you there.”

“Oh, no, thanks! We can’t leave our work. Good luck to you, Comrade Rosenbaum!”

A Ray of Sunlight?

The list of such stories could go on and on. And yet, not everyone from the Caucasus seems to feel the sting of discrimination. Igor, for example, said that he, personally, has never had a problem with militia harassment. And at Moscow’s Velozavodsky market, an elderly Azeri woman named Affa said that she has always lived in friendship with Russians. “Of course,” she says, “everyone has bad eggs, we have them, they have them, they are everywhere, but we have always lived as friends, and now we are friendly.”

Of course, such responses could be based on fear. All trading points are heavily patrolled by militiamen, and Caucasians have good reason to be suspicious of questions. And yet, perhaps, these people are speaking from the heart. The Institute for Comparative Social Research has conducted studies on Russian attitudes toward nationality with results indicating that, on an everyday level – especially if you set aside Caucasians – nationality is not as significant as one might expect.

Before the last presidential elections, a number of studies were carried out on how Russian voters viewed the candidates in relation to their nationality – for example, Yeltsin and Zyuganov are ethnic Russians, Yavlinsky is Jewish and Tuleev is Kazakh. But, as it turned out, as a rule, these distinctions made no difference to voters, many of whom did not even know the candidates’ nationality. And nationality did not play an important role in their choices.

Andreenkov believes that today’s economic realities have drawn people’s attention away from ethnic resentments and made them concentrate on everyday problems. The young are busy finding their place in business, in science. And many of all ages are simply concentrating on making ends meet. “Life has become so much more complicated,” Andreenkov maintained, “that such pragmatic issues play a more essential role than the nationality question.” Cold comfort, perhaps, for those who are stopped for document checks on a daily basis, but nonetheless a healthy sign for Russian society as a whole.  RL