The Belarusian model
One can only sympathize with Ukrainian readers or TV viewers: information about Belarus, our closest neighbor, is so contradictory that even interested individuals find it difficult to distinguish the truth from half-truths or outright lies. A complicating factor is certain well-established psychological expectations: some people see only negative things, which reinforce their viewpoints, while others perceive only positive things. A Kyiv weekly recently published an article by its reporter who visited Belarus. Now the newspaper is printing diametrically opposed readers’ comments of the “believe-disbelieve” type, all based on quotations from their relatives who live there.
Things are even worse on television. Our TV channels do not have their own correspondents in Belarus, so they always broadcast Reuters or APTN footage about the police suppressing yet another protest action organized by the democratic opposition in Minsk. Belarusian state television also broadcasts these protests, but from a different angle, when the number of protesting democrats is not exactly impressive and especially when they are trying to block the traffic in downtown Minsk, hindering the movement of ambulances. There is always the comment that the authorities allowed the rally to take place at a designated site, but the protesters decided to walk down Freedom Avenue at any cost.
Belarusian TV also shows opposition leaders visiting the US Embassy and later admitting to security officers that they had been given thousands of dollars in cash, even though political activity funded by foreign sources is banned in Belarus. It does not matter where the money comes from.
A few years ago the Belarusian authorities unceremoniously expelled the well-known Russian democrats Boris Nemtsov and Irina Khakamada and seized the rubles they had intended to hand over to the anti-Lukashenko opposition. When Nemtsov returned to Moscow, he boasted that he was promised honorary Belarusian citizenship after the downfall of “Daddy” (Lukashenko’s nickname — Ed. ).
I too was somewhat perplexed when I read an article by the Minsk-based opposition journalist O. Koktysh, who said that “more and more Belarusians are seeking their happiness in neighboring Ukraine” ( Den , June 7, 2008). I asked myself if I had just been to the same Belarus.
The well-worn subject of “the last dictatorship in Europe” was the last thing I wanted to write about. I have been following the activities of the media-hyped Belarusian oppositionists for many years. I often see them at the Council of Europe in Strasbourg, where they keep producing the same sound bites.
Lately, the Belarusian opposition press has been increasingly often quoting the younger generation, accusing its elders of usurping power, repressing dissenters within the opposition, and misusing democracy funds by improving the housing conditions of their families.
Traveling around Belarus, I was searching for the answer to the question: how do Belarusians really live — not people who live in the capital but in district centers and villages? Does Belarus really have significantly higher living standards than Ukraine, as the UN claims? What is the basis of the Belarusian economy, which has been bypassed by neo-liberal reforms, denationalization, and privatization? Is President Lukashenko serious when he says that his country already holds leading positions and will continue to improve them? Finally, what kind of system has formed in Belarus in the past 14 years: Soviet-style socialism without perversions or a hybrid of the Cuban and Yugoslav models? I will begin my story in the remote countryside.
LIFE UNDER COMMUNISM?
Fish seek deeper waters, while people seek better lives. I am not casting doubt on what Koktysh says about those Belarusians who have embarked on a new life in Ukraine. This is part of the globalization trend, which includes the notorious phenomenon of “brain drain,” which can also serve as evidence of the quality of Belarusian education. But to be fair, I must admit that I also saw Ukrainian immigrants in Belarus. They came here a few years ago from Volyn and feel no nostalgia for their homeland: “So what? Half an hour down such a fine road and we are there!”
At the Otchyzna farm in the Pruzhany district of Brest oblast, a dairymaid earns 400 dollars a month on condition that her cows produce at least 5,000 kg of milk each a year. But the double-the- average wages are not the main drawing card. A family gets a newly-built 150-sq.m. cottage and a vegetable garden. In addition to a comfortable kindergarten, children have access to a “school that focuses on esthetic and physical training” with Belarusian as the language of instruction, fully staffed with teachers (average age: 38), including a psychologist, furnished with computers, a gym like one in a five-star hotel, and a swimming pool. Meals are free for the lower grades and reasonably priced for children in the upper grades.
This is a typical picture in Pruzhany district. Half of the graduates of this rural school successfully apply to universities. This agricultural town also boasts an impressive infrastructure: stores, public amenities and services, a restaurant, a hotel, and a multimedia club. “The goal is to make life in villages no worse than in district centers or, to use a Soviet-era phrase, to erase the differences between the city and the countryside,” said Kostiantyn Sumar, chairman of the Brest Oblast Executive Council.
He went on to explain the state-sponsored plan for building agrotowns, “because a college graduate won’t go to a village that lacks these things.” By 2010 Pruzhany district plans to set up 19 more agrotowns that will bring together several traditional villages and hamlets. The district authorities even want to outstrip the planned target and build two more agrotowns.
The answer to the age-old question, “Where will the money come from?” is very simple: we’ll earn it. The revenues of the Otchyzna farm traditionally come from meat and milk production. A real feather in its cap is the drip- irrigated (because of an increasingly hot climate) orchard that was started two years ago. Today the farm sells tons of apples. Manager Vladimir Bondarenko learned recently that the Russian importer uses special equipment to peel the famous Belarusian potatoes supplied by his farm, then packages and labels them “Product of Holland,” and sells them at double the price. Bondarenko now intends to purchase similar equipment in order to retain the famous trademark and reap twice the profits. Last year the farm, home to 462 people, including pensioners and 17 newborns, earned a net profit of nearly two million dollars.
If animal rights activists visited the neighboring Zhuravlyne farm, they would have no grounds for complaints against the management. The cows are kept in stables year round and supplied with all necessities, instead of being put out to pasture. A computer determines the feed per cow and records its individual milk yield. The cows are also conscientious: three times a day they amble over to a special milking room, where between 10 and 11 tons of top- quality milk are produced every day.
The pig farm is also computerized. I am reminded of the advice that Arsenii Yatseniuk, the speaker of the Ukrainian parliament, offered the technicians who operate the Verkhovna Rada’s electronic voting system. He told them to quit their jobs and go work on a farm. At Zhuravlyne I had to put on a white smock, as if I were visiting a maternity ward, but the farm workers refused to allow me go into the computer center. Owing to stringent hygiene precautions, access requires permission from the republic’s chief environmental health officer.
Farm manager Mikhail Grishkevich is keen not only to produce more but also to sell at a greater profit. “We are going to sell heifers to Russia because they give us a good price,” he said. The average monthly wage at his farm is $300, but he is planning to double it within the year.
“I WILL DO AS I SEE FIT TO EARN REVENUES!”
According to Belarusian law, managers of state-run enterprises, both rural and urban, are entitled to a salary three to four times higher than average. This explains why farm managers are interested in boosting the production at their enterprises. But expansion will only occur if the enterprise shows a high output and earns sales revenues. This is why Koktysh’s story of the “successful cannery director” whose “three-liter jars of vegetables were gathering dust on Belarusian store shelves” sounded implausible. (At the same time I am delighted that this ex-director is now driving around Lutsk in a Mercedes.)
The authorities, in the form of oblast executive committees, conclude a one-year contract with every manager, which sets out industrial growth, product sales, and wage increment targets. The manager must also present a business plan to show exactly how he is going to achieve these targets. It is up to him to decide where to sell his products — in Belarus or abroad. “Buyers are very choosy now, they have a wide selection. They demand not only high quality but also nice packaging,” Mikola Radoman, manager of the Snov farming enterprise in the Nesviz district of Minsk oblast, said sarcastically.
“Do I need an advertising agency? No, not right now. Our 200 varieties of sausage sell very well without any advertising. Our factory produces 30 tons a day. We have our own retail outlets in both the district center and Minsk. We used to sell them even cheaper here in our agrotown. But then we noticed that intermediaries were buying our products and reselling them at a higher price, so we had to raise our prices. Unfair competitors began producing counterfeit versions of our products. So we are now marking our sausages from A to Z. Once we build a new slaughterhouse, we will be producing 50 tons a day. Then we’ll be able to ship our products to Russia. Right now we are supplying Moscow only with 300,000 cans of beef in its own juice every month.”
Asked if he has a free hand in running the farm, Radoman replied curtly in Belarusian: “I do as I see fit! The main thing is to earn enough money to pay salaries and build housing for young families. Suppose I don’t meet the target and produce, say, seventy centners worth of produce instead of eighty? They won’t shoot me.” Incidentally, a tractor driver on Radoman’s farm earns 850 dollars. That’s no surprise: the cabins of the farm’s tractors feature three computer display systems.
Of course, no one is going to be shot, but managers can be issued a reprimand, and their contracts will be cancelled if the local authorities are not satisfied with their explanations. “The oblast council encourages successful managers,” said Svitlana Gerasimovich, chairperson of the Minsk Oblast Council. “We award certificates of honor plus thick envelopes.”
Incidentally, no enterprise manager can be appointed without the consent of the village council chairperson.
