Yeltsin and Me

Volume III of autobiography with historical contemplations

Part of series

Volume I

Volume II

The Ukrainian 90s were an uneven decade that coincided with my school years. Extreme poverty and lawlessness were largely outweighed by the sense of optimism, freedom, and a strong impression that things can only improve in the future. Until now, the Americanophilic years between 1988 and 1995 remain my favorite time I ever lived in.

Decade can be rightfully called Yeltsinist in most of the European post-Soviet space. Only Azerbaijan and Baltic countries had noticeable cultural differences from the very beginning. Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Armenia, and even Moldova and Georgia (both experienced Russian intervention fairly early in their independence) had a common mix of post-Gorbachevist pluralist understanding of liberalism, Westernist aspirations, and a strongly capitalist economy. Bill Clinton mentioned a dialogue with Yeltsin about this fairly famous photo in his memoirs. There he lamented that he won't be allowed similar type of publicity by his entourage and Yeltsin had a laughter outburst in response. Ukraine will transcend yeltsinism only in 2003, with the publication of the book "Ukraine is not Russia" by the second President Leonid Kuchma.

I began the 90s by becoming part of the last batch of Soviet kindergarten graduates and the last batch of Soviet first graders. I transcended these forced forms of socialization in one country and found myself in another one the very next year. During the traditional first bell ceremony, where first graders are introduced to school life by school graduates, I was fought after because I was one of only 3 kids out of 30 who was already literate. I was also among that half who wore the already optional Oktyabryonok pin, a marker of the youngest caste of communist youth (oktyabryata - classes between first and third years, pioneers - between fourth and final one, komsomoltsy - University students). Once a must, thanks to glasnost it turned into an optional show of allegiance to the Soviet state. And since with the departure of my father no one could argue with my Stalinist grandmom, I swore a very short-lived fealty. Curiously, there was a bureaucratic lag in ditching this triad - it continued during the entire 1992. So the folks who were two years older than me managed to become pioneers outside of the USSR.

I could still smile with honesty during my first day in school. The skill which I will lose fairly quickly. Among my numerous phenotype morphs this is my most "Korean" look - no idea why, but my eyes looked Asian that entire year. On the right is my second girlfriend, the one which gave away my Turbo collection to the hooligans. On the left is her bestie, who eventually married a Latino American, currently lives in Miami, and is now called Victoria Ramirez.

Of course, such a drastic change left a permanent mark on all kids of my generation. We were expecting to pursue different goals in a different society and were rebooted. Although I learned the Ukrainian language very quickly and was always open to reading books in it, unlike the majority of my classmates who wanted books only in Russian, I was skeptical regarding the nationalist elements of my new country. They had one glaring flaw I could not make peace with - they were far less ambitious than communist elements and the country itself was more provincial than the Soviet Union. Why would someone want to be smaller rather than bigger I wondered back then, or to seek rural prosperity instead of conquering new planets?

I have no idea about the correct percentage of Russophone schools in the early 90s. But I do suspect they were in majority or at least on parity with Ukrainophone schools. My working-class district had six schools in the immediate vicinity from my home and only one of them was Ukrainophone. It's possible that this was different in the center of the city. I was in Russophone school. Ethnic composition of my class: 40% were Ukrainians, 40% were Russians, and 10% were "Caucasians". All were Russophone. Thus the only places I ever heard the Ukrainian language before finishing school were lessons in said language and TV. Single mother of my neighbour and the most ruthless hooligan in our class, half-Ukrainian half-Chechen Rustam (distinctively Caucasian name, with Slavic version being Ruslan) Rukavytsya (distinctively Ukrainian and rare surname, with literal meaning "mitten"), spoke surzhyk.

At the age of 12 the horror that adults were serious about having to go somewhere daily fully dawned on me. But the nerves weren't damaged yet. I was no longer smiling but was still confident. Here I think I resemble my great-grandfather the most out of all my photos.

The hardships of puberty and related increases in tensions with male peers coincided with the worsening of our family's well-being and what I perceived as a cultural decline in the world. Mom could no longer profit from importing rare toys and books from Moscow to Kharkiv, a somewhat lucrative affair she briefly undertook in the early 90s. She returned to her profession and the theatre, except that it paid a lot less than under USSR. So although the days of sea kale and birch juice were gone, Snickers and Coca-Cola were within reach, for most days our refrigerator contained just mustard and garlic. All the food that was brought in was usually eaten on the same day. She never came close to remarrying and had just three major lovers in the decade. The first one was a typical brutal hyper-masculine Chad whom she apparently loved. He liked my sister and hated me. They split after he threw her down the stairs and broke her leg. The second was a beta male, a moderately well-off metal alloy speculator, and a widower with two sons of my age. They split after his sister found him a less demanding rural woman. But not before he berated me before everyone for the excessive slice of cheese I took for my burger from his refrigerator. The third one was a rich and fat married lover, who almost made me new brother or sister. He cried when my mom made an abortion without asking his opinion. Her personal life ended in the 90s.

After 1995 my beloved Michael Jackson went out of fashion and the craze which replaced him in the masses was repulsive to me - The Prodigy band. Although with age I learned to appreciate their music, their punkish visual style was an affront to my senses. Whereas Jackson was a mage of his time, blurred the distinction between dreams and reality, The Prodigy were the most basic, honourless rogues. The kind that hunted me outside of school at this age, not shunning the practice of beating me up in groups of up to five people. I was a highly unusual type of whipping boy, however. All other physically weak boys of our class tried to preserve their hides at the cost of their dignity: downplaying the injustices, saying whatever they were asked by the bullies, taking part in inhumane pastimes like feeding newly born pigeon chicks to Pitbulls or just breathing glue with the bullies. I was a daring snob, never hiding my disgust and disapproval. That's why I was beaten up weekly and those conformist boys monthly.

My most incelish photo ever was taken by my form master, during my school road out to Kyiv. That's near the Golden Gate. I was either 14 or 15. I thought back then and still do that I mogged that guy. He had features I considered Mongolian. But he was okay with doing nasty things while I dreamed about true love with Claudia Schiffer. It is interesting that the form master never intervened and allowed this picture to happen as it is. In line with his non-intervention policy on things that were happening outside of school.

Although I had a friend with whom I was spending no less than ten hours a week, a relatively cultured boy who shared my hate of drugs and tobacco, I was shocked to see that form master wrote "no friends in class" in my characteristics. How can he not see that we're spending so much time together I wondered. Only later I discovered that teachers use ancient Roman understanding of friendship, defining this way those who stick around with you during conflicts. And indeed, my best school friend was conveniently absent every time I bled.

He might have stayed out of real fights but he was always open to an imaginary one. Imagined, as always, by me. Here we're recreating the ending of Mortal Kombat (1995) movie. A guy who spoils the idea by looking directly into the camera is my friend's friend. Decent enough chap but was doing glue since 13, so I mostly avoided him. Mortal Kombat was also the code phrase for all of us when we suspected imminent danger of being mugged by gopniks, a way to warn without raising suspicion. Despite precautions, mugged we were, fairly frequently.

Being in prolonged opposition to most of my classmates and other wolves in human form destroyed my already small desire to be dependent on routine modes of survival. So I basically stopped studying anything I had trouble with. I continued to excel at literature, languages, history, and geography but barely ever opened math, physics, and chemistry textbooks. I missed 90% of physical culture lessons after getting tired of being mocked for failing to do a single pull-up. Hell, I missed no less than 30% of all lessons on all subjects, being one of my school's most active truants. Teachers applied the usual Russian word of progul to my absentia, which means being outside on the streets. I wasn't outside but inside, however, I was staying at home. Watching movies on my new VCR, which we bought thanks to selling one apartment which we inherited from my grandmom's brother. The price of apartments was really low in those times, we got around $5000 for it and spent this money in a couple of years. For perspective, the average monthly wage in the country was around $20. To this day mom blames me for arguing in favor of this sale for the sake of a VCR and, later, a personal computer. I could've relocated there early, in my late teens. All the subsequent life would be vastly different, and difficult to predict for better or worse.

For the time being, I got the escapism I wanted and started collecting videocassettes. Between 1997, the time of this pic, and 2000, when I got the PC, I amassed around 300 of them. Since my Perestroika-style Americanophilia never went away and I was still convinced I'm a Messiah my mom was always telling me I am, I decided I want to be a movie director in Hollywood. They don't work daily and can meet Claudia Schiffer. So I was extra attentive to all the English speech which was voice-overed and barely heard on these tapes. And I switched all my video games to English, even though my level wasn't good enough to understand everything.

After I went into inner emigration and basically became American in Ukraine, the only person for kilometers around who was able to differentiate between nuances of the American cultural landscape, physical reality reminded me of its existence by postponing my school graduation. After getting unsatisfactory yearly marks on all the math subjects and physical culture I stayed for a second year in the 9th class. Such measure was applied to just two other classmates. Aforementioned Rustam, who met this fate in the 7th class. He abandoned the school entirely and by the age of 25 went through two jail terms: one for gang rape and one for robbery. Dmytro Kh., who finished the 9th class after a second attempt, decided that's enough for him and went to vocational-technical school, eventually becoming a more successful criminal - market racketeer. Eventually, I got a complete secondary education, which meant 11 classes at the time. During the last two years, teachers were divided, to put it mildly. Humanitarian teachers still thought I'm a gifted kid, were sending my essays to the literature Olympics and me to the historical and geographic Olympics. Math teachers thought I shouldn't bother with Universities, unless I find some suitable for people with special needs, as that's the school they thought I was supposed to be in.

Trade was completely unregulated during this time. Kids could buy alcohol, tobacco, or erotica magazines if they had the money. From similar street vendors or in shops alike. They often worked too. The most popular job was washing the cars in the streets. Yeltsin and Yegor Gaidar publicly encouraged such underage entrepreneurship.

Favorite movies at the time: Terminator 2 in the first half of decade, Waterworld in the second. Both dealt with motives important to my teenage self: fatherlessness and surviving as a loner. Kevin Costner of that time is also my first ideal of masculine sexuality, a template I wanted to follow.

Most listened songs at the time: Voyage Voyage, Blood on the dance floor, Mona Lisa.

Favorite books at the time: Dragonlance series, The Catcher in the Rye, 1984.

Scarred but still ambitious - that's how I ended the my school years in 2001. To the left is my best friend from the second batch of classmates. Sanguine and continuously spewing anecdotes just like my mom, he spent insane amounts of time playing Heroes of Might and Magic III, became a cable guy, and supported anti-Maidan in 2014. That's when I lost a trace of him.

Random thoughts about the 90s and how they compare to the 20s:

1) girls were better, boys were worse;

2) absence of the Internet stifled intellectual development but allowed a beneficial illusion that there's a niche for every type of person or activity;

3) mistakes seemed correctable, not so eerily profound and eternal as today;

4) everything Western had godlike status and the West itself was better;

5) food in entire post-Soviet space was way worse.

Follow my first independent steps in the next article about the 00s - "Orangeism and Me".