ESCAPE ATTEMPTS

I went to apply for my US passport the next day after I took the
citizenship oath. The applications were accepted at a
post-office. There was a line of three people and the guy in front of
me showed up without an application. He was filling it out as we
waited. The applications office looked like a tourist agency with
colorful posters advertising Caribbean trips. As the clerk took my
passport pictures, we chatted about the weather and vacation
plans. She then asked: "Would you like regular or expedited
processing of your application, sir?"

* * *

It all started when I served as a conscript in the Soviet Army. We
guarded something_we_are_not_supposed_to_know in some witch's corner
with no leaves from the post. The first year, the hazing and just
standard army idiocy were crushing. Draftees were not great soldiers
to begin with so one way to maintain discipline among us was to dangle
the possibility of a furlough. In the second year, when I realized I
am not going to get mine, I gave up serious soldiering. My discipline
ranged from passive-aggressive to mild insubordination. My superiors
put me on constant Kitchen Patrol hoping to get me back in line. Also,
this way I would be out of their faces and away from firearms.

However, I stayed on KP for months without repenting. The hard filthy
work did not bother me. Actually, I was getting more sleep than my
more obedient comrades-in-arms and a bit of free time. I made friends
with a librarian. Glastnost rolled around and a lot of so called
returned literature became available. I read stories of the grim past
of my native country: gulags, purges, penal battalions, harassed
geneticists, political dissidents in psychiatric clinics.

These surreal months taught me three things: I can succeed in a
one-person revolt, I really need to escape from this country and I
need to learn to defend myself.

When I was discharged, the Soviet system was still strong even though
the winds of change were blowing. One of the things that these winds
brought were petty commercial enterprise and karate. Before, the
powers that be thought that commerce was the root of all evil and
karate is too dangerous for ordinary citizens to learn.

I signed up for commercial courses of English and for a kick-boxing
club. They cost me 35 and 10 roubles per month respectively. Then I
went about figuring out means of escape. Although it seemed that a lot
of people where happy to whine about how bad the living was and how
good it must be to escape across the iron curtain, nobody cared to
seriously try to do it. I had to do it alone. Here are some of my
attempts.


CUHNETIKUH

Doug was one of the first Americans and westerners I spoke to. A few
guys from our kick-boxing club bought tickets to a karate
tournament. There was an American team. It turned out the tournament
was a sham. It was poorly organized, the competitors were not paid and
the Americans were just amateurs. However, to me, they looked
resplendent and foreign in their white uniforms, black belts and shiny
fighting gear. I dodged security and went to talk to them. I
approached a tall ruddy fellow.

"Hi, I am Misha."
"Hellah the'ah, I am Doug."

"Dog?"
"No, Doug, short for Douglas."

"Vere duu you live, Doug?"
"Cuhnetikuh."

"Kon-nek-ti-kut?"
"Yeah, Cuhnetikuh."

"Oh, this is like Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court!"
"Yeah."

"Mark Twain is vone of my faworite autors."
"M-kay"

"Nice tie, Doug."
"This is not a tie, this a Kah-atee belt."

"I do karatee too. Kick-boxing. But I just hurt my knee juncture."
"You mean, joint?"
"Yes."

"Listen, Misha, your English is reah-lly good. Why don't we get togethah
 in a my hotel later and have a pah-ty?"  
"Really? Tank you, Doug. I vill come. I vill bring friends."

He looked like a lifeline in my escape. My friends and I went to
Doug's hotel. But there was no Doug and the guards refused to let us
in. I spotted another American and explained that we are waiting for
Doug. He said he was going to go fetch him. Nobody came back. The
lifeline was gone.


IVM

IVM was a giant American company producing mainframe computers and
software. The Soviets cloned the hardware and pirated the software. To
Russian programmers, IVM was the magical place where things come
from. As Soviet Union was winding down, IVM established an affiliate
there to try to sell its hardware and licensed software. I interviewed
for a salesman position. This was escape.  My interviewers were
Russian but they had to go through American-style interview process
complete with silly off-the-wall questions. I do not know how I made
it to the third round. However, this was my first experience with the
process. I did not know how to behave so I just honestly answered the
questions. I remember a couple:

"What is your favorite movie?"
"Well, I like all kinds. But I watch them critically. For example, I
 do not like "Terminator". I do not understand how the director was
 able to spend so much creative energy pandering to the audiences'
 most base tastes. I think for this much money and effort he should
 have tried to express himself and create a far more sophisticated and
 artful film.

"What kind of manager would you like to have?"
"I like somebody whom I can respect. I have a difficult time working
 for somebody who is either unqualified, unintelligent or lazy."

The IVM guys never called me back.


AUM BOOMRIKYO

It was a Japanese cult that recruited converts in Moscow. The
attraction was that they offered half a year trip to Japan for
studies. This looked like an escape. I went to the interview. The
interview was in English with translation to Japanese. For whatever
reason, I told them I study karate and dropped a few Japanese words I
learned there. I also told them that I like it full-contact so that it
is more realistic. Somehow they soured towards me and advised me to
seek spiritual enlightenment. I thought I failed and did not understand
why.

It turned out, the cult was planning a gas attack in Tokyo subway and
used the Russian recruits as Guinea pigs.


GREAT GREETING

Great Greeting is a European English-speaking country. A friend and I
decided to just show up at the GG embassy and apply for immigration
visas or something like that. Later we were going to the gym for our
karate workout so I had a couple of bags of gear on me. It was a cold
winter day and snow was crunching under our feet.

We approached the embassy but it was not clear which way we should
go. So we decided to go around and scope it first.  A few hundred
grim-faced people were waiting in a couple of lines. We decided to
take another reconnaissance circle. On the third one, a Russian cop
approached us.

"W-where is the initial processing?" asked my friend hesitantly.
"You two, beat it!" was the answer. 

We turned around and went away. The snow was still crunching under our
feet but this attempt clearly failed. 


THE WAIT

I got an invitation to a graduate school in the US. From Russia it
looked as real as an email from a Nigerian banker offering a
multi-million dollar transaction. However, it was worth a try.

I went to apply for my Russian passport. At that time, the Soviets
decided to exchange all passports so the passport office turned into a
complete madhouse. People self-organized into an interesting
system. They formed a virtual line and everyone got a number. Every
hundred elected a leader who had a list of people in his
hundred. Every evening, after the office closed, we had a roll call:
hundred after hundred. The leader called our names and told us our new
numbers depending on how far the line moved. If you missed a call you
name was stricken out. They accepted about 60 applications a day. My
first number was close to two thousands. I went to these roll calls
for a couple of months. After accepting the documents, they told me to
start coming after a few weeks to check if my passport was ready.  The
office did not pick up the phone: they were too busy. To check on the
passport, you had to wait in a much shorter line: only a couple of
hours. I got my passport after a few such checks. I walked out of the
office as it was closing. I raised the passport over my head and
walked past the waiting people. They broke into applause. In the
distance I heard the familiar sounds of another roll call. My this
escape attempt might yet succeed.


    * * *

"I'd like to get the expedited processing, please" I answered, the
     clerk's question.
"Are you sure? It is an extra $60 and the regular processing
 only takes a few weeks", said she.
"Yes, ma'am. I am sure. I want my passport as soon as possible."