Ground zero

This is a system designed for the utmost inefficiency, humiliation, degradation and graft.

“What have we turned into?” cries a woman who worked all her life as a telecoms engineer, brought up children and sent them to study in the same profession, so she could have a decent, honest peaceful old age on the pension she earned over 44 years labour. “It’s just dirt everywhere! I can’t look at it, these awful handcarts and trolleys, these ubogiy detky, wretched children who stink of beer and can’t get a proper job, look at you just to see how much money they can make out of you, and they just say ‘takoye polozhenye, that’s just how it is’. Why must we live like this? My son says I should stop coming. But it’s my money! How did we come to this?”

This is travelling, aged 76, by bus from Luhansk in east Ukraine on artillery-battered roads through endless sandbagged bunkered checkpoints, disembarking at a falling-down footbridge where for 50 Russian rubles one of those wretched children will carry your chequered refugee bag and trolley, and for 300 rubles will carry you, your ailing heart and arthritic knees and boiling blood pressure, on an old bus seat strapped to a luggage trolley up the broken steps and down the steps and wheel you along as humiliatingly as a sack of potatoes, or else it’s a kilometre on foot and for more rubles or hryvnas maybe you can jump the queues and maybe you can’t, herded between rusty tangles of barbed wire, queues you can’t pay to jump for vile squat toilets that your old bones won’t let you squat to, the anxious wait when you find out if your name has mysteriously disappeared from the Ukrainian list of border passes, a cup of tea provided by the Red Cross in a shipping container with not enough seats, waiting and hoping not to be trampled in the sudden geriatric stampede (“Here comes the marathon,” says a borderguard ironically) when your herd of pensioners is finally allowed through the last makeshift checkpoint and passport check, and you’re in Free Ukraine.

stanitse luhansk border.sm

And what welcomes you? Ukrainian flags, ruined houses, a bullet-riddled bus station full of stray dogs and rubbish and angry people selling grubby fruit and pork salo, refugee tents from the Red Cross or UNHCR or some church or other, four portaloos from USAID but they’re not even portaloos, they’re blue plastic boxes over a stinking hole in the ground. More sordid wretches waiting for your money to take you to the State Pension Fund and the bank, and then it’s more queues and paying to maybe get in a shorter queue so that just maybe you will make it today through the process of ‘identification.’

stanitse luhansk salo.sm

This is a system designed to prove you’re an Internally Displaced Person (IDP) who has moved to live here from non-Ukraine controlled Luhansk, and are thus entitled to a Ukrainian pension. Although of course everyone knows you’re not an IDP, you paid to be registered as one here in Ukraine-controlled Stanitsya Luhanska but you don’t live here because you can’t afford to and no one wants you and there’s no house or room for you to live in. All ‘identification’ does is force you and thousands of others every three months to pay to get to the bridge and pay to cross it and pay to jump this queue and that queue and probably pay again to spend the night somewhere because there still isn’t time to do all of this in one day.

All of this to get a Ukrainian pension worth less than 100 dollars that is yours, that you worked honestly your whole life for, and of course you are also getting a pension on the other side of the bridge from the non-recognised ‘Lugansk People’s Republic’ which is less than 100 dollars too, and you’ve already spent half of one pension getting to this side to claim the other pension, and you’ll spend the other half on medications for your cataracts and your boiling blood pressure, that are cheaper to buy on this side than that side but there’s the worry that someone at a checkpoint on this side or that side will confiscate them, and you’ll have to pay yet again to keep them. You spend what’s left of this or that pension on the journey back home through a non-declared war zone, to the house you don’t officially inhabit, in a non-recognised state, over a border which doesn’t officially exist, that you’ve crossed to prove you are something you and the whole world and its dog knows you’re not, so you can get a pension you can’t live on, which you are already getting, which you earned in a country called the USSR that doesn’t exist anymore and yet is reborn right here in the queues and the pointless bureacracy and the graft and the schemes to jump queues; and the collapse of the USSR which you thought you’d lived through and left behind is also reborn right here in the scraping to survive, the utter humiliation, crawling over each other, shoving each other out of the way, exploiting and being exploiting, cheating and lying and being lied to.

How did you come to this? This is your decent, honest, peaceful old age.

stanitse luhansk toilets.sm

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2 Responses to “Ground zero”


  1. 1 emilymbrown13 December 18, 2017 at 11:58 am

    It makes a mockery of our ‘Happy Christmas’ bubble. It all seems so far away, another time, another place, another world. But then you being there, bringing it so vividly to life makes it so close.
    Much love xxxx

    Like


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