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Bolshoi gorod, MosNews
All the leading world media outlets have their correspondents in Moscow. Some regard their assignment as an honorable mission, others— as exile. Some marry Russian women, others dream of escape. Some enjoy speaking Russian and take a keen interest in Russian art, others view it as a punishment. Yet most agree that Russia has long ceased to be an exciting place to cover.
Correspondents with a popular Moscow magazine Bolshoi Gorod (Big City) met foreign correspondents, “to look into the eyes through which the world looks at Russia”.
Steven Lee Myers heads the Moscow bureau of The New York Times. His office looks pretty much like a teenager’s messy bedroom, with clothes scattered all around, notebooks and papers on the floor. But then the Moscow bureau of NYT is in fact a former downtown apartment redesigned for office use.
Dressed in jeans and a pullover, Mr. Myers has nothing whatsoever in common with diplomats or State Department employees. But it is he who shapes the public opinion of millions of NYT readers across the globe, diplomats and State Department staff included.
“Terrorism is a great global challenge these days,” Steven says. “Many in the U.S. do not care about what is happening elsewhere. But our readers show a keen interest in Russia, in what is happening in Chechnya. Not all of them agree with Putin, but many, like our President believe that Putin has made progress in Chechnya and in dealing with terrorism. They are partners, aren’t they?”
Sounds quite pro-Russian. As to how he ended up in Russia, Steven says it’s a long story. “I think it was a mistake,” he admits, smiling shyly— quite an un-American smile. In those days Steven was working in Washington, covering Pentagon affairs but he was eager to work abroad. Two vacancies were available at the time— Russia and Japan. He opted for Russia because “Russia is an enormous country, I had been here once during defense ministers’ talks in 1998 and I liked it.” Russia won out.
Whether it was a mistake or not Steven is quite satisfied with his current position. “Moscow seems quite safe to me. I can freely stroll outdoors by night.”
In New York, he says, that was too dangerous. However, in the Russian capital he does not venture beyond the Garden Ring— i.e. downtown Moscow. During his years in Moscow he has become a patron of Russian bath houses. He admires St. Basil’s Cathedral and Suzdal monasteries. “There are Orthodox churches in the U.S. too, but there they are unusual. Here you can see them everywhere. Even in the Kremlin, I think…”
But, unlike other Moscow expats, Steven does not extol Russian folk art. He prefers Viktor Yerofeyev and modern artists he has met at Marat Gelman Gallery.
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Klaus-Helge Donat’s voice is quite low but penetrating. His coverage of Russia in the left-wing Die Tageszeitung— a paper of small circulation but considerable political influence— is often cited by Russian media when they seek to show how Westerners are engaged in blackening Russia’s reputation.
This ardent mudslinger lives in Vavilov Street, in southwest Moscow, in a block which also houses the Moscow office of the Maltese Order. This does not prevent local property maintenance from carrying out noisy construction works on the premises. Of course they do it during working hours when most people are out, but that does not help Klaus and his fellow-sufferers the Maltese, as they live and work at the same place.
That is why when Klaus interviews someone on the phone very often he does so to the sound of drills and hammers. On the day the Bolshoi Gorod correspondent visited Herr Donat at his office there was a four-hour power outage. Klaus did not care to conceal his sentiments: “Russia is the only country where such insolence is possible. I pay sky-high rent and that’s the way they’re treating me. I have already lost three laptops to those tricks with electricity.”
There is no love lost between Die Tageszeitung’s Moscow correspondent and Russia. He feels hurt. Not angry but hurt, as Russia has disappointed him terribly. Back in 1990 he was sent to a country that had the attention of the entire planet focused on it, where so many things were happening and history was being made before his very eyes! And what is there today?
Today he calls the press service of the pro-Kremlin United Russia party to ask some functionary a couple of questions on the occasion of the millionth member being accepted into the party ranks and has to wait for a week before he gets a chance to do so. In the meantime, he is told: “Please send us a fax… Present your paper’s profile… Submit your registration with the Foreign Ministry…”
Klaus has nearly stopped watching Russian TV. He is disgusted. Even the idea of interviewing Putin is no longer inspiring. “What is there to discuss with him?” For Klaus it is hard to be a journalist in Russia because, he thinks, he has already gained understanding of everything going on here. He simply has no questions left.
That is why he wants to leave. Say for Turkey where it is warm ten months a year, and Klaus cannot stand the cold. In Turkey, you can study modern Islam and Klaus takes an interest in it. He has even started to learn Turkrish. But the problem is that Die Tageszeitung’s correspondent in Istanbul has no desire to leave, let alone move to Moscow. This is something nobody wants.
Klaus’ bosses are ready to take pity on him and terminate his prolonged assignment, after all, space devoted to news from Russia in the newspaper is shrinking fast. But he cannot leave until a replacement is found.
“But there is no way how I can persuade anyone, even gifts won’t help,” Klaus says desperately.
He will leave, of course. His wife and younger son have been living in Germany since August— getting used to a new way of life. During his brief visits to Berlin he keeps having to pay fines for speeding, because he has got used to the Russian manner of driving over the years. But that perhaps is the only sign of Russification in him. “When I studied in Great Britain,” he says, “I felt like one of them after only three months, although the Brits have no warm feelings for the Germans. But the Russian society and culture does not help you integrate. After all those years, I still feel like a foreigner and an alien.” Even his second Russian wife, when he asks her to tidy up, calls him a Nazi.
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Marie Jego first arrived in Russia in 1991, shortly after the August coup, commissioned to cover public sentiment in Moscow. The country was full of it those days— filled with euphoria and the anticipation of a miracle. That is why small inconveniences like no cafes, shops or certain goods could be ignored. Nowhere to warm oneself during a walk through town? You could go to the Lenin Museum on Red Square. That is what Marie did and that is why she knows the history of the USSR so well. A taxi to the airport is more expensive than an air ticket? Well, what of it? Taxi drivers have a lot to tell. “That was the era of chaos, lack of logic, endless question marks, but not of fear. On the contrary, those were the times of hope,” she says.
When she came to Moscow again, almost a decade later, Marie could not believe her eyes: “I walked the streets where I’d been before and could not remember a thing. Everything had changed. New developments all around. People had changed too. They dressed more elegantly, they held their heads higher. They were no longer as aggressive as ten years earlier.” Marie still likes Moscow. She gladly accepted her third assignment. She likes speaking Russian and she does so almost perfectly. She likes supermarkets and restaurants being open 24 hours a day… Of course, there are things that vex her, such as the impudence of vendors or the fact that when you’re having a conversation people say “What?” instead of “Pardon, what did you say?” But Marie knows that rude and insolent though they are, deep inside Russians are kind and warm.
It saddens Marie when political issues are raised. Russian politics, she says, is the only thing that matters to her editors at Le Monde. “When they need information on Russia in France, they look at the Kremlin.” The people she has to deal with there are hardly appealing. She says she would not mind interviewing Dmitry Medvedev. “Perhaps you know he has begun talking to the press after he moved to the government?” she asks. Other Kremlin insiders, like Vladislav Surkov or Igor Sechin, are of no interest to her.
But, unlike many of her colleagues, she does not think Russia is sliding into the abyss. “One woman recently told me, the time we live in is very much like the last days of the Soviet era. It is just that these days we do not know whether the Soviet period is beginning or ending.”
“But I think it is ending,” Marie adds with a smile. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
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