COLUMN: Standing firm, staying put

From Lindsay Faber's, "From Russia With Love," Fall '98 From Lindsay Faber's, "From Russia With Love," Fall '98When the going gets tough, the tough are supposed to get going. This time, however, the tough aren't so tough, and they're going the wrong way. The delineation between the "haves" and the "have nots" has become that much clearer in recent weeks, as we -- the expats -- are faced with an option that distinguishes us even more from the Russians: when the times get tough, we are able to pack our bags and board the next plane. Granted, we are a pretty sad bunch these days. Like the Russians, we are growing weary from the political instability and the general state of misery and uncertainty. With daily reminders of President Yeltsin's failing health and possibly early resignation, the parliamentary scene is spiraling out of control. Some politicians are beginning to step up their campaigns in the hopes of inching toward an early snag on the presidency. Others have been welcomed into the political arena recently by a gunshot to the back of the head, victimized by politically motivated hit-man attacks. In the banks, the ruble is still on a joyride, repeating its most recent trend of speedy recovery followed by instant collapse. The store shelves are still bleak, salaries remain halted and the Russians are waiting to be saved. Many of us -- the slightly bizarre (or "eclectic," as we like to say) group of college Russian majors who have drifted over here -- feel as if we have invested a great deal of our energy and passions into a country which is now decaying beyond hope of resuscitation. We feel angry, hurt and betrayed by the uncontrollable course of events and the destruction of our hope that something here was changing, that the new Russia was breaking out of her Communist handcuffs. At times like these, I often turn to the literary brilliance of Tolstoy, the poetic musings of Pushkin and the dark, dreary verses of Achmatova. Through each story, I am always struck by a particular nuance, whether it be the vividness of the tsar's robes, the Communist soldier's austere demeanor or the simple visions of a weary people so punctured by their history. And suddenly I remember why I am here. I long for the understanding of how the Russia of today is related to the Russia of yesterday, how this attempt at democracy grew out of a Communist parent. I need to understand how a culture could possibly embrace those changes. I am a Russia junkie. But I am not alone. There is a band of us living here now, and our futures dangle precariously before our eyes. Some have stepped back into their American identities and fled for the states, where democracy is as guaranteed as the sunrise, where 24-hour diners dot ever city and town and where there is no worry about whether the phone is still bugged. Others have decided to stay and congratulate themselves on the spirit of adventure, patting each other on the back and smiling with evil delight at how interesting the story is becoming. As these people are quick to ignore the Russians' misfortunes, they, too, are missing the point. I admit, the thought is tempting. The option of taking off for some sunny island where Russia's woes would be overshadowed by the timely service of my next pi-a colada, does not exactly turn me off. I would be lying if I said I didn't miss the little luxuries and amenities I usually take for granted in America. In Russia, I have no mattress on my bed, my shower is a hose and I eat piles of kasha everyday. I have been attacked twice already by a pack of wild dogs, and I have surely contracted an intestinal parasite. Yet here is where my loyalty lies, and I am certain that part of my future rests here, too. I refuse to bow down to the pressure of chaos and pack my bags. I refuse to admit that I have been deluding myself all this time. I simply do not know whether or not Russia needs us to build a more stable future, or if she instead has a predetermined future lurking in the distance or a different notion of what a better future entails. Still, these are not ideas which should provoke us to quit on her. I have certainly begun to realize how foreign I am here. As ugly as the situation gets, however, I have vowed to stay tough. I am not going to turn my back on Russia now; I know I'm here for the long haul.