And with that title, I’m gonna make a few.
People in
I dialed on the house phone, waiting for Lyudmila of Rentaroom Realty to pick up. As soon as she did, I relaxed: I was the customer, after all, and she seemed eager enough to help me pay them for an apartment. After asking my name, however, she apparently lost all notion of being polite.
“Excuse me, ZEEK, but are you black?”
I hadn’t understood, and I asked her to please repeat what she had said. The next time, I got it, and I assured her, in a voice that I hope betrayed my anger, that I was not. She said okay; that Americans came in different shapes and sizes; but that she could continue, now, knowing that I was white. After getting other essential information, she made inquiries into the two places I was interested in and quickly called me back to tell me that one owner hadn’t picked up and that the other insisted on renting only to Russians.
I’ve been here before, so I know about the racism, but that was the first time that it had been threatened to be directed toward me. I was shocked that a realty agent would ask such a question of a potential client—wouldn’t she at least wait until we met, then judge whether or not anyone would rent to me? I suppose it just saved her time to ask me directly (before, by the way, she asked me my age, ideal price range, area preference, and how many rooms I wanted).
I hung up not really in the mood to make any more calls, so I went to a beautiful market on the west (rich) side of Moscow, called Dobromilovsky Rynok, only to get VERY ripped off by an awfully nice Azerbaijani man. At least he was just in it for the money, though, right? Would another foreigner have anything against me? I went home not feeling great—the picture-perfect grapes I had bought tasted less than the price warranted—only to find my (gay, black) roommate sitting on his bed looking gloomy. I asked him how the internet café was, and he told me that he never made it there—he had forgotten his metro card, so he just went to the grocery store, where he bought four large bags worth of groceries, started to leave, was roughly grabbed by a security guard, brought to a back room, and accused of shoplifting. An enormous, nasty woman, he told me, flung curses at him, gesturing crazily to a video-camera shot of him picking up some cheese, putting it down, and walking away. Luckily, Chris half-wailed, the security guard and policeman, who were subsequently ordered by the glowing red woman to pat him down, were rather nice, and quickly recognized that he was not to blame. He nonetheless had to sit for more than an hour while she told him that he ought to be ashamed of himself. By the time they let him go, he said that his burgers were thawing and his ice cream half-melted.
The point is that while I’ve enjoyed my time here a great deal—rainbows of produce and character-filled side streets do it for me—days like yesterday make me wonder why I came back. I don’t yet know what I want this blog to be, but I thought it important to describe that day—and not, like I joke uncomfortably in the beginning, to make stereotypes, but to note a few unpleasant streaks of behavior that exist in this culture. I haven’t witnessed first-hand anywhere the kinds of racism and xenophobia that still seem entrenched here. I guess it’s probably good to see for myself that it still exists and needs attention, but it's not easy to deal with. Here’s to hoping that ethnic Russians address these demons soon.
4 comments:
I want to come visit you, Zeke, to see this interesting, flawed world you describe. I'm sorry that you and Chris have been treated poorly - it reminds me of what our African-American friends go through here, in the USA. Breathe, and please take good care of yourself.
Anne Walker
Hi, Zeke. Just learned of your blog. and don't have your new email, so i'll write a long response here. Your situation telephoning the apartment finding company sounds just like what a Fulbright friend of mine experienced 2 weeks ago. When he arrived in Kazan, his host university told him that when they set out to find places for him to look at the first refused to rent to a non-Russian, the next 3 all said, "well, an American is ok. Just as long as he isn't an African-American." GRRRR!
ANyhow, I'm in Ekaterinburg now, looking forward to reading more about your adventures. Get in touch! Send me your home number if you have a land-line and I'll telephone. Or your new email would be even easier! I'll be in Moscow at the end of Jan. - maybe we can meet up then. Also, I have a contact at an English-language publication in Moscow (wife of Moscow Fulbright exec.) - and would be happy to pass that on - you might be able to make a few extra bucks and get a piece published there. Drop me an email (gmail best, but PO account ok, too)! Hope to hear from you soon! Katie/Katya
Zeke, great blog. Keep it up. It sounds like you are having an interesting time in Moscow. I look forward to reading about it. I hope there are good days that make up for the nightmare you describe in this post...
Udachi, zdorove, schaste, i tak dalee...
Don't forget to read that Flannery O'Connor if you have a chance.
-Pat
Hi Zeke:
I am trying to figure out how to respond to your blog - my first!
1. what exactly is a Madeleine?
2. I had my first experience with purple, almost liquid, yogurt on campus at UMBC when I came for grad school and stayed in the dorm. That was 1978 - ah memories.
3. racism and xenophobia - I sent you a gmail about our recent Jena6 news. We have plenty of mess on our side of the ocean. Sorry for your up close and personal experience, but keep up the great work. You are doing good things with your world view reporting. I am grateful to be able to share your adventures from my warm spot in C-ville.
keep being COOL!
deb
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