What is it about Russian Women?~ Part 3, the “babushkas.”

This is the Part 3 of my weekly series about Russian women.  It’s about the babushkas, bless their hearts.

The babushka, or grandmother, has a special role in Russian history and life. They are the social conscience, and humorously, the collective mouthpiece of Russia. They have an opinion about everything. They are fearless; they talked back tank drivers at the Russian White House in 1991, they march in political demonstrations (all sides), they guard the lobbies of apartment houses, they beat away gypsies attacking foreigners in the street (as they once did for me). They sat outside my building on long summer nights, petting the house cat, enjoying the children playing hopscotch on the pavement, complaining about the immoral price of milk or the crooks in the Kremlin. Yes, they also sweep the streets and sidewalks with stick brooms–someone has to do it.

Sometimes intimidating with their dour, deeply-bred suspicious looks, they can quickly return a smile exposing a few gold teeth or none at all, or start a conversation, or willingly give a direction. They often live alone or in depressing communal flats struggling to maintain their dignity. Our Los Angeles/St. Petersburg Sister City Committee supports a charity group that serves some of the dear ladies in that city. I remember dearly my visits with a few. One was 95 years old and fought the Nazis in that terrible “900 days”  war of attrition- wonderful sweet lady. They deserve help and are one group you don’t want to have against you.

 Come back next week for the Barbies and the beaten.

Buy here  “Walking on Ice, An American Businessman in Russia”

 Your questions and comments are welcome.

Bless the Babushkas!

There are the babushkas, bless their hearts. The babushka, or grandmother, has a special role in Russian history and life. They are the social conscience, and humorously, the collective mouthpiece of Russia. They have an opinion about everything.

They are fearless; they talked back tank drivers at the Russian White House in 1991, they march in political demonstrations (all sides), they guard the lobbies of apartment houses, they beat away gypsies attacking foreigners in the street (as they once did for me). They sat outside my building on long summer nights, petting the house cat, enjoying the children playing hopscotch on the pavement, complaining about the immoral price of milk or the crooks in the Kremlin. Yes, they also sweep the streets and sidewalks with stick brooms. Someone has to do it.

Sometimes intimidating with their dour, deeply-bred suspicious looks, they can quickly return a smile exposing a few gold teeth or none at all, or start a conversation, or willingly give a direction. They often live alone or in depressing communal flats struggling to maintain their dignity. They deserve help and are one group you don’t want to have against you. We help them. The Los Angeles/St. Petersburg Sister City Committee has been helping them for ten years. We love them.

Read more about Russian women, and the babushkas! Buy here  “Walking on Ice, An American Businessman in Russia”

Good Sisters Make a Good Family

It is such a pleasure to see the good that is done when people of different cultures respectfully get together. The result is a realization of how much we have in common, not in difference. Harmony and mutual appreciation happen—and we learn so much.

I have the pleasure of being a member of the Los Angeles/St Petersburg Sister City Committee (LASPSCC) and presently its president. I love St. Petersburg, its history, its architecture, its art and culture, its people, and its role in today’s Russia. My favorite involvement is with the “babushkas” in St. Petersburg.  A nonprofit group directly helps these deserving old ladies unable to get out and care for themselves. I have loved meeting some of these delightful women, heros all. One I met, at age 95 then, commanded artillery firing at the Nazi’s infamous 900 day bombardment of their city in 1941-43. Each week a helper shops for them, fixes meals that last for a few days, and tends to other needs.

Our committee was founded in 1989 and has raised money and helped orphanages, medical programs, and a home for veterans of the stage. We have brought over to L.A. teachers, lawyers, city officials, and others to learn more about how a city like Los Angeles works and governs an active democratic citizenship. We are helping a dedicated scholar to collect, preserve, and digitize the works of the great poet Anna Akhmatova. Now we are supporting a children’s art exchange.

The U.S. sister city program originated in 1956 when President Dwight D. Eisenhower proposed a people-to-people, citizen diplomacy initiative. Thanks, Ike. The Sister Cities is a wonderful and fun way to get together, gain knowledge and respect for each other. It is up to the individuals in the local communities. No government supervision is involved—it’s all about individual initiative and mutual care.

Buy here  “Walking on Ice, An American Businessman in Russia”

Russian Women

In Chapter 38 of “The Domostroi”, which I jokingly call a sixteenth-century, Ivan the Terrible,  version of Good Housekeeping, the husband is admonished exactly how to discipline his wife and children, “…beat them only with the lash, in a careful and controlled way, albeit painfully and fearsomely.” Progress has been made in Russia, but progress, like all else, is in this case relative.

March eighth is Woman’s Day in Russia. Its history goes back to the 1917 Russian Revolution.  Like most things in Russia today, it is controversial. Some say it is a transparent apology for mistreating women the rest of the year, which is to some degree true. Others say that women have come a long way in Russia and are, or should be, grateful for that step forward¾also true. And I said, about ten years ago when I first wrote the essay on Russian Women which is in my book, “Walking on Ice…,) they still have far to go. But things have changed. Russian women today are increasingly at the forefront of society, business, politics.  The Moscow Times reported a few years ago that sixty percent of the new businesses in Moscow were started by women.

Amongst the over sixty employees in my first Russian company a large percentage were women and they were for the most part capable, determined, technically competent, trustworthy, and loyal. I enjoyed working with them. I could depend on them

There is a lot of various opinions about Russian women, some not too complimentary. But in my book, they are unique and fill a very important place in society—in Russia for sure, but also just about anywhere they decide to be. In my book I list six kinds of Russian women: the beautiful, the babushka, the Barbie, the beaten, the bold, and the bewildered. To understand all this you will have to read “Walking on Ice….” Enjoy.

Partially excerpted from “Walking on Ice, An American Businessman in Russia”

The Banya

Even after eleven years in Russia, I had never enjoyed the pleasures (?) of the banya. It is an institution in that country. As we collected our sandals, sheets, and bunches of birch twigs the Russian in our group said, “Citizens of The United States, prepare to suffer.”

 The process was this: First into a room with walls and seats of hot wooden planks, too hot to touch. With a long handled cup, water was thrown on the walls to increase the temperature which was already, they said, at 200 degrees Fahrenheit. After about twenty minutes, the birch branches, soaked in water with oil of eucalyptus, were beaten on our white and frail bodies. We either did it to each other, one man standing covering his essentials and beaten by the other, or like Penitentes, we beat ourselves. Slap, slap, slap. If it were babushkas doing the beating, it might have been fatal. Some men wore felt caps, supposedly to protect the ears, making one look like a peasant in a Brueghel painting.

 The skin a beaten red, the next step was into the pool of ice cold water. The manly way was to climb up the slippery ladder (everything was slippery) and jump into it, a pool eight by fourteen feet and five feet deep.  When the body starts to shake, it’s into the private locker room, large enough for ten or so—we were five, and down a tall mug of kvass. Kvass is the Russian tea-totaler’s substitute for beer. It is made from black bread. Not bad. Some talk and gossip about poets and writers, then back to the hot room. The eucalyptus aroma soothes the insides. Soon some Russians joined us. Thin and fat, young and old. It was quitting time, we figured.

 This masochistic routine was repeated four times over two hours. By then the twigs had lost all their leaves and were switches. They hurt more. The body sways a bit, and it wasn’t just me. Sitting is better. Then a shower, drying off, and taking to the street for the long walk back to the hotel.

 Now, among Russians, I can claim some degree of legitimacy. The girls in the office said I looked healthy. So it must have been a good idea.

There is another role for the banya. A  tough business decision was to be made affecting my company by our Russian partners. At about six one evening, I was told we would hear by ten the next morning–and we did. I learned that they (the important men) got together in the banya before going home, and decided in our favor. It was explaned that is where vital decisions are made.