When P.R. Sounds Like Samovar

The Russian language abhors a vacuum and, as with, say, computer parlance, has a tendency to fill new lacunae with foreign words.

There is hardly any area in the Russian linguistic space like PR – public relations. Here, foreign borrowing has been “met with open arms,” so to speak. Even die-hard nationalist Duma deputies are joining in the use of alien vocabulary in this sphere. And it should not be surprising. After all, the very notion of PR was non-existent either in Russian political campaigns or in Russian business. Both were, in a manner of speaking, виртуальные (virtual) realities here. Instead of political campaigns preceding elections, in Soviet times we had what they called всенародный праздник единения партии и народа (“a national holiday of the union between Party and the people”). Hence, no need for PR. Can you imagine, for instance, Josef Stalin openly vying for the post of party leader with Sergei Kirov, printing a PR article in Pravda to present an embellished image of himself in the eyes of party delegates? Not. Easier to simply arrange for Kirov to be shot by a maniac in the corridors of Smolny. Why waste time and money on PR?

Of course, Uncle Joe did use his own brand of PR, but it lacked a certain subtlety. Some would even claim (after he was safely beyond the grave), that it rose to the level of cult-building (a.k.a. the infamous культ личности – personality cult). As to business – there was none (no business, that is). All we had was the “народное хозяйство” (national economy); PR (not to be confused with propaganda) was rare. Sure, a plant or a factory could promote itself as the “victor of socialist competition” (победитель социалистического соревнования) or claim the dubious знак качества (symbol of quality) on its products, but these titles were attributed (or rather distributed) in ways that had little to do with true business competition.

Not so today. Politicians and businessmen alike are throwing money at PR (пиар) like there is no tomorrow. The late general Alexander Lebed spared no expense to bring French megastar Alain Delon to Russia to voice his support for Lebed’s presidential ambitions. And businessmen of all stripes engage in “capitalist competition” – trying to be seen as frequently as possible on the covers of business and political magazines, paying big bucks (баксы) for a пиаровская статья (a “bought and paid for” article). And, if they want to denigrate a competitor, they resort to чёрный пиар (“black PR” – mudslinging stories published for money). White PR (белый пиар) also exists, but this is used mostly by well-established Western companies, who invite local journalists to press-conferences (the invitation greased by the promise of a buffet, of course) in order to spread news about, say, the nomination of a new CEO or the launch of a new model of car.

This alien acronym – PR – has been adapted to Russia so well and “decorated” with so many suffixes and prefixes that it can be difficult to recognize the actual English “public relations” behind it. Take the verb пиариться – meaning “to promote oneself.” It sounds like a normal reflexive Russian verb, right? The same is true of the word пиарщик (PR officer or expert in PR), and the adjective пиаровский, which sounds more like the name of a famous field marshal with Polish roots. And finally there is the new word самопиар (self-promotion) which is utterly detached from its English roots and sounds very Russian – almost like самовар.

Amazingly, even well-honed Russian words which once reflected our reality are now “evicted” by imports. Take the “twin” of PR: HR (human resources). Recently, I was interviewing a candidate for an HR post, only to find that this fellow hated being tagged with the familiar Russian/Soviet word кадровик (literally, “cadre person”). Nor did he like for his division to be called отдел кадров (“cadre department”). This new breed of эйчаровцы do not want to be associated with old кадровые realities and prefer to call their personnel людские ресурсы (“human resources”) and label themselves a “специалист по эйчар” or simply эйчаровец.

In fact, there is a пиаровский element in this. To be associated, even (or especially?) linguistically, with Stalin-era divisions for human resources is bad PR. So, by calling themselves эйчаровцы, the new Russian кадровики are seeking to promote themselves as representatives of a new generation of Russian business. It is a part of what some are calling имплоймент брендинг (“employment branding”), which is meant to attract the best young employees. And, to paraphrase Stalin’s old maxim: “людские ресурсы (not кадры) решают всё” (“the human resources decide everything”).