Divided, We Limp Along

(Those of you who open my blog for the pictures may skip to the end if you'd like.) 

Before moving to Russia, I’d heard all sorts of things about Russians. I had a piano teacher in high school tell me that the Russians were controlling the weather. News reports have long told me that they’re always spying on us. I was warned that, while living here, there would be Russians rummaging through our house when we weren’t at home. I have been told flat out that they don’t like us.

The Russians have experimented with cloud seeding in attempt to have sunny days for special outdoor events. Sounds pretty sinister to me. Though not quite as sinister as rejecting sustainable energy in favor of coal power or, as I’m guilty of, continuing to drive gas fueled automobiles instead of electric─both of which, as I understand it, ultimately affect the weather in the form of global warming.

I really wouldn’t know if Russia is spying on us. Of all the nerve! Have those other countries heard of that? Do you think we’d ever consider such a thing?

If they don’t like us, they have a funny way of showing it. (Read my previous few blogs for details.)

I’m no sociologist, but I can understand how mankind formed groups to separate themselves from others because of beliefs, lifestyles, etc. What I don’t understand is how that degraded into mocking and insulting those who live differently. That has degenerated into refusing to socialize with and give aid to those who are different. That, at its absolute worse, has devolved into random killing and genocide.

It starts young. I remember hearing and saying, “Our school’s better than your school,” “Girls are better than boys.” 

But we don’t grow out of it. Women have our unique challenges in the world, yet still we manage to pit ourselves against each other.

I had a friend who moved to the San Francisco area and, within a month of living there, claimed that the Chinese didn’t know how to drive because she’d been cut off in traffic several times by someone who looked Chinese. As often as I rode with her and heard her yelling at the other drivers in Phoenix, I never once heard her say that white people didn’t know how to drive. 

Religions that have more in common than in contradiction are always at odds. Even common religions form off-shoots that often look askance at the other sects. (A quick Google search showed 19 divisions within the Baptist church alone!)

Whether it’s race, gender, religion or politics we will find a way to divide ourselves.

I was going to try and write this blog satirically, but I’m not sure I’m skilled enough. I was going to try and use humor. But every sentence I started wound up too true for there to be anything to laugh at. Example. We call our country the United States of America. We have a congress that works toward party agendas rather than American interests. If you look at our country as a family unit and consider the office of president and congress in the parental roles, it’s no wonder the people can’t/won’t sit together to discuss and dialogue in order to form a more perfect union.

I’m going to be living in Russia for three, possibly four, years. I’m trying to listen and observe so that I can bring home truths with me. I’m trying to be involved so I can share good, real stories with you, my readers. Stories of people who live and believe differently than you and I as well as stories of people who are just like us, but happen to live on another continent.

I’m attending a Catholic church here in Vladivostok. I’ve visited Catholic churches only on rare occasion. I lost interest in the faith after trying to understand it from a small variety of members. Here’s a conversation I once had. (I should say, in my defense, this conversation was with the father of an old boyfriend whom had asked me to marry him. His father wouldn’t even consider inviting his friends and family to a marriage ceremony in any church other than a Catholic church. The Catholic church wouldn’t marry me to my boyfriend unless I was Catholic or could prove that I was baptized. The airing of my faith, what was in my heart, wasn’t proof. They wanted documentation. Cold, meaningless paper. Needless to say, the relationship did not last.)

Me: What is Catholic?

Tony: It’s my church.

Me: Well, what Catholicism?

Tony: It’s my faith.

Me: What do you hold faith in?

Tony: The Catholic church.

Me: Well, uh . . . okay. The Catholic church. What is Catholic church?

Tony: It’s what I believe in.

Me: Okay. I believe in God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, prayer . . . What exactly do you believe in?

Tony: Catholicism.

No kidding. I had a similar conversation with someone else, who, after getting exasperated with my persistence, offered me a book written by a stranger to explain what they believed in their heart. I’ve met one person who could actually answer my questions about Catholicism. I’m in the company of four delightful sisters now and I look forward to our years together. I want to form a good friendship first. Our friendship has a good base of our love of God and music. I’ll eventually start asking them questions. Then I’ll report.

We need to be building bridges, folks, not walls. Hold me to my words and, in the comment section of this blog, as I challenge you with these words, ask me if I’ve followed through with what I write.

I recently read the parable of God separating the sheep (the faithful) from the goats (the unfaithful). God praised the sheep for feeding, clothing and visiting Him when he needed it. They wondered when they had done such a thing for God. God said they did it whenever they did it for a fellow human. Contrarily, God chastised the goats for refusing Him food, clothing and care. They protested and asked when they’d ever denied God anything. God told them that when they refused their fellow man, they refused Him.

If you are a reader of this blog who is not concerned with God, then I leave you with this famous quote from Niemὂller:

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out─

         Because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out─

         Because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews and I did not speak out─

         Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me─and there was no one left to speak for me.

Okay, that's it for the heavy stuff. Now for the fun stuff.

Here are some differences in life in Russia. First, grocery carts. 

They're small. (You should see the kiddie carts!) This is a standard grocery cart with my (empty) bags, jacket and purse and a sack of potatoes. In this picture, it was not yet winter, so my jacket is small (you can see part of it underneath my red hat). Add my down coat to this mix and I'm simply stacking groceries on top of everything or trying to manage two carts.

Kit Kats! They have Kit Kats in Russia!? Yummy. 

Wait. They're green??? At first, I thought it was a fun nod to St. Patrick's Day, but no. These are, I believe, made in China and they contain seaweed. I had to admit, they tasted good. This is not the first blend of seaweed and chocolate I've come across, unfortunately.

A sign of spring in Vladivostok. Dancing in the park. Who cares if he's a beat behind? He's a good sport!

The local pool hall. Okay, there's more inside this beautiful building than a pool hall, but this is where I go to shoot pool. It's associated with a pub (!). You can sit in the pub and eat, then go to the pool hall, or you can go straight to the pool hall and still order from the pub menu. You can even, for just a few dollars more, have a private room. I shot American pool, but I do want to try Russian billiards while I'm here. In Russian billiards, the balls that you sink are a mere three millimeters smaller than the pocket. You must be very accurate. The goal is to carom the target ball off another ball and into the pocket, rather than using a cue ball to shoot another ball into a pocket.

Post Themes

Every post in the Foreign Service seems to have a theme. Tashkent was my social post. Though I worked hard studying Russian and wrote quite a bit, I attended balls (a first for me), regular luncheons and bazaars with an International Women’s group, many dinners and parties, participated in a book discussion group, and hiked with an international hike group on many Sundays.

Munich was my writing post. I was the sole non-visual artist in a creative group. Some of us wound up forming a writer’s group. I loved these groups. We’d share our progress and set goals for ourselves at each bi-monthly meeting. When we didn’t achieve our goal, there was never any shame; everyone rallied to help figure out how the goal could be met in the coming weeks. We even had an exhibition—one I figured I’d not be a part of since I wrote. But as they began planning—within a few minutes—someone said that I should tell an original story. Our theme was being homesick for somewhere we’d never been. I challenged myself to compose this story strictly orally. I made a few notes, but, otherwise, didn’t write it down. I practiced it aloud as I walked through the beautiful English Gardens. It wound up being a good, if unusual, fit in our successful exhibition.

Our United States post was my music post. I kept up with writing, even took a couple of classes, but my time was mostly devoted to music. I sang in a church choir. While in Munich, I sang in the Munich English Language Choir. When I told the director I was leaving for DC, he told me to contact Christopher Betts at Episcopal Church of the Redeemer. Chris had been his organ teacher. I did and wound up in the perfect church. I met Lisa, a cellist, who encouraged me to practice some piano accompaniments so we could play together. She and Joy, a flautist, encouraged me to practice my recorders and join the Taize ensemble. There, I met Donnette, a harpist, who passed on some simple harp music to me which got me to pull out my folk harp, dust it off, tune it and practice. We played a duet for a service. I was even gifted a harp from the daughter of one of my fellow choir members. Douglas and I sat in with a few local choruses for various performances. That led to our auditioning and singing with a professional choir, Carmina. I also sang in Illuminare, the director’s women’s choir.

That brings me to Vladivostok. Although we're settled, it's too early to give this post a name. I have, however, dubbed it the post of waste. There are no recycling programs here, so everything goes into the trash. This is confusing to me, in this day and age. Russia beat us into space. This is not a technologically unevolved country, but when it comes to waste, it’s acting like it. Moscow is shipping its trash (which, apparently is apx. one fifth of Russia’s trash) to other cities because its landfills are full. You can probably imagine how this makes the residents of those areas feel. I don’t want to make Russia sound dirty. From my perspective, it’s not. You may remember my writing that I don’t see a lot of trash on the streets of Vladivostok. It’s regularly cleaned up (except on the unpaved, washed out road where we live). But it bothers me to throw away recyclable materials. I’ve asked two residents about the lack of recycling. Both seemed disgusted that there isn’t yet a recycling program in place. It reminds me a bit of being in Tashkent and seeing the water waste along side the disappearing Aral Sea. (The North Aral Sea, by the way, is apparently on a rebound with the return of some freshwater fish.) But I must be careful to not throw stones when I still drive a car and am from a country with an administration that is still trying to promote coal power.  

While it’s too early to assign a theme to Vladivostok, I envision it as being a post of firsts, some of which I’ve already written, one of which occurred on February 22^nd. Douglas and I ran in the annual Ice Run.

From the left: Our neighbor and Community Liaison Officer Yancy, Consul General Michael, Me, Consular Officer Noah, Douglas and our Public Affairs Officer Darren.

You know how they say that the camera adds 10 pounds? Well, posting pictures on a blog adds about 50% more frump than is actually there.

I also see it as being a post of completion. (That’s another blog entirely.)

I will leave you with this beautiful picture of a sunset. This is what we see every day from our little lighthouse that overlooks the bay. This will perhaps factor (at least poetically) into the theme of our life here in Russia.