Report from Russia  I was tired, okay? I had survived airplanes and airports, kicked seats, no leg room, bossy attendants and bad food for twenty hours without being rude (overly). Then I picked the wrong line.
Ramon is full of smiles as he ushers me to a seating area with four other travelers whose eyebrows look a lot like mine. I’m obviously in the line of the one customs official that gets his jollies watching tourists sweat. I even held it together while some people (certain French women who pretend not to understand “We were in line before you.”) muscled in line ahead of the inattentive (are you blind?) couple who had misplaced something. Add to that the loud American who seemed no more aware of his belly than kids with swiveling backpacks that could knock the breath out of you. By the time – one and a half hours later – I got through; my eyebrows were so low I had to squint to see where I was going.
I am met by Ramon, one of a dozen Russian students in yellow T-shirts assigned to meet the IODA attendees as we arrived. Ramon is full of smiles as he ushers me to a seating area with four other travelers whose eyebrows look a lot like mine. They have arrived from Israel and Thailand and they are tired, too. He says, “Please to sit here. We have only six more travelers to arrive and then we go to hotel.” I remembered the brochure said the hotel is “minutes away” and respond, “I don’t think so.” My eyebrows are now reaching toward my hairline. “I’m going to hotel NOW. Where are the taxis?” Poor Ramon. “But we have shuttle, taxi is very expensive.” I tell him, “I’m going to exchange some currency, when I get back you will show me the taxi.” I turn to my weary compatriots, “my treat, anyone who wants to come.” By the time I return, the arrangements have miraculously changed. The shuttle will take us now, and come back for the six others. The priest from Thailand says, “now THAT’S negotiating!”
Late that night I am dying of thirst and call room service (the room service menu has nothing but liquors, wine, beer, and drinks). “yes madam, and your room number please? Yes madam, four bottles of water, mit gas for 5261.” And I wait. Come to find out, from others who tried the room service I could’ve waited ‘til hell froze over. For a Russian hotel you only need to say you offer room service, a blowdryer, and iron in the room – you don’t have to actually DO it! One hour later I get dressed and go to the 24 hour bar and buy four bottles of water. I’m quite sure that one of the people there is the one who took my “order” but I can’t find a trace of recognition in any of the faces. I am learning how to get around in Russia, nothing is what it seems.
I enjoyed dinner with Gerard from the Netherlands and Sylvia from East Germany, now working in Slovenia. We share stories of open space technology, subcontractors who let us down, broken marriages, healthy kids, and new houses. The next morning I wake up in time for the noon opening ceremonies. Six Russian musicians and dancers strike up the band in the lobby as we cluster around. The two male and two female singer/dancers are in traditional dress. And we smile and relax to watch the performance. Their smiles back to us seem more…well, like they know something we don’t. The next dance is a courtship dance. The female dancer promenades to a chair across the room, sits, crosses her legs and points to her cheek for a kiss. The male dancer dances a very masculine dance toward her, drops to one knee, outstretched arms to sing his love, and then –after getting permission, kisses her cheek. Then they turn to us. Two unsuspecting participants – a woman from Africa and a man from Holland are brought to the middle to repeat the dance. It was hilarious. A combination of John Cleese’s Ministry of Funny Walks and Russian dancing. Then one of the female dancers reappeared with a new pair of mega-boobs and a rag around her hair doing a great “fishwife” to the male dancer’s errant husband. The best part was how he’d kiss one of the female onlookers or pretend to drink with one of the male onlookers and disappear just in time for that hapless innocent to get a massive Russian scolding from the “wife.” There was lots of laughter are we filed into the auditorium.
Zusia, the organizer announced that since this was Russia all the Russians would speak Russian and there were headsets for translation to English. Hmmmm. This conference is always in English. Held in a different country every year, we can depend upon the language at least. But we scramble for headsets because it’s too late now. Then we start flicking channels…nothing…we start switching headsets…nothing. We move seats, plug in again. Some people make a connection. Most don’t. Hands go up. More handsets are passed out. We begin the process of matching a working headset to a working plug. Diagnostically complex since you can’t be sure which one isn’t working. Finally most of us begin to hear a Russian accented monotone translating what certainly wasn’t exciting in the first place. I lean forward with my eyes closed to squeeze understanding out of his words. Most look left and right with “can you believe this?” looks. I listen closely to Professor Nikolai Lapin’s opinions about the “problems” of Russian culture on business. He itemizes the militarization of the economy, the alienation of the people from the administration, the contradiction in criteria between what I expect of me and what I expect of you, and finally the underemployment of highly educated (Ph.Ds are working as janitors). Jeez, even I am depressed and feeling hopeless at the end. What if I were Russian? They often spoke of the crisis of 1998. What crisis. WELL…did you realize that the entire Russian economy collapsed in 1998? Me neither. After all their hopes and dreams of a new economy, within a decade they faced a complete collapse. Everyone lost everything…regular people like us STILL don’t put their money in banks, opting for the mattress. No wonder they aren’t “positive thinkers.”
The next day I attend another Russian presentation. This time in English. I have no doubt that someone explained to Zusia if 100% of the foreign attendees speak English and 50% of the Russian attendees speak English ….anyway, we were listening to a Russian speaking wonderful English and reporting from a sociological and scenario perspective on the future of Russia. He described the Russian tendency to play ‘with’ the rules rather than ‘by’ the rules, quoting “the only thing that compensates us for the brutality of the rules is that most of the time no one genuinely follows the rules.” Unfortunately this attitude encourages employees to give false information, cheat clients, and break agreements. Not a good recipe for success. The other polarity he described was a Russian phrase “the vertical of power” which refers to the cultural assumption that if you get the hierarchy right then the people will be okay. Of course, the new economy can’t/won’t allow a hierarchy – right or wrong – so the networked, collective effort style necessary to survive in a complex environment is even harder for the Russians. Just as depressing but delivered with hope by Professor Preobrazhensky. He said, “we need to learn that you can grab money but you can’t grab trust.” And spoke of paths to success – not the least of which was increasing the number of women in management, increasing tolerance for uncertainty, encouraging managers to share emotionally, seeing the big picture and then yourself inside rather than vice versa, and finally building the ability to manage imagination rather than numbers. HEY, right up my alley. I was going to use story, poetry, and art the next day. You can bet I referenced my buddy Professor Preobrazhensky (I had to practice pronouncing his name though).
I had left my guidebook at home. Real smart. I have no map of St. Petersburg and only a vague idea of what there is to see, much less what I want to see. I had to deliver my speech the next morning. Sightseeing would have to wait.
I arrived early to meet my translator. Oh dear the same monotone that thinned Professor Lapin’s speech to a trickle. I begin briefing him on things I think he might want to get a head start on. I tell him, “I will be using a metaphor from Alice in Wonderland – do Russians know this book?” he says yes and I go on, “I want to demonstrate how true participative decision making can feel out of control just like Alice in the croquet game using a flamingo for a mallet, hedgehogs for balls, and soldier bent over for hoops…” he is shaking his head, “this will not work for Russians. Is not possible. You cannot use this.” My eyebrows engage again – up this time, then down. I tell him. “I will have to try and risk failure.” I give him a photocopy of the poetry so he can “cheat” when he is translating. He shakes his head, “this will not translate. Is not possible.” And tries to hand it back to me. I tell him, “but I have faith in your talent.” I’m being very very nice now. I tell him I will stand behind the microphone on a stand (there is no such thing as a lavaliere – is impossible.) And he says “No you must hold microphone.” I explain that I use my hands to talk, tell stories, write on the flipchart, etc. and he deeply truly doesn’t give a damn. He says again, “you must hold microphone,” I say, I’m not holding the microphone. He says, “they you will not have translation.” Eyebrows down again. I say, “fine, will you please inform the organizers so they can make that announcement.” He frowns. I am supposed to argue. For some Russians this sort of engagement is as common as small talk and is just as social. Sheesh.
My speech was titled “Innovations in Group Decision Making: The Price of Hypocrisy.” The hypocrisy I addressed was how we facilitators can feign participative decision making when in truth only invite the kind of participation we WANT, not the kind that derails our precious predetermined outcomes. I told about using poetry at the Pentagon. First Shakespeare’s, “Once more into the breach..or fill this wall up with our noble dead” to demonstrate the type of emotions that win a war. Then the “Unknown Soldier” a poem that gives voice to a soldier speaking from the grave asking, “did they really win the freedom they battled to achieve?”...and “I wonder if the profiteers satisfied their greed,” the silence I heard from pentagon employees was no more thoughtful than the silence of the international group listening to me that morning. I told sad stories and funny stories and saw both tears and laughter. The woman who came up to me and said, “your speech was a triumph” seemed to reflect what a lot of people thought. I was heartened. It isn’t easy to tell control freaks (any of us in organizational development are natural control freaks) to loosen up and let the discord and chaos happen every now and then.
I’m done. I want to escape. After a speech everyone usually wants to tell me how that’s what they’ve always thought and thank you for telling those “other people” who never listen. I’m usually a good sport, but I’m exhausted. Kirsten (Germany) and Peter (Holland) are going to the summer palace, do I want to go? YOU BET! We are off. Kirsten speaks a bit of Russian, we get a free shuttle to the city. We find a portapotty for 10 rubles (www.clozet.ru ) and an outdoor beer garden. Before we have a chance to have two beers, Peter insists we eat – seems to think Kirsten and I might be a bit hard to handle otherwise. Hmph. We walk and look and laugh and find the boat to the summer palace. Nap a bit on the way and walk up the grand water fall entry of gold lions spouting water for maybe four hundred yards until the finale – four levels of every greek god and goddess water streams three stories tall. Just glorious. Later they leave me on the grounds. The rest of the group should be arriving in one hour to have dinner. I filled that very long hour mainly with imaginary scenarios centered on this being the wrong place and trying to get back to my hotel. It was the right place…but it was still a very long hour.
After the group (200 or so) arrived we have a lovely dinner under a tent on the beautiful grounds. Guards with whistles and german shepherds surround us. No one has told us where we can or can’t go. We are left to discover on our own by stepping past some invisible boundary whereupon guards start yelling, blowing whistles and the dogs start barking and straining at their leash. Pretty effective for me. I stay in the tent after that. One portapotty makes it a bit difficult. Without the guards you might find a tree or something, but my two Israeli women friends and I make the long hike to the bus in some discomfort. Once past the gate we head for the trees. Zusia starts yelling. What for? I mean it’s not like once I yell back “give us a minute” she couldn’t figure it out. I finally yell “WE have to PEE.” Of course I was teased for that the rest of the trip.
On the last two days, I attached myself to Jackie and Ann because Jackie speaks Russian and she knows how to use the subway. There was one perilous moment when the doors threatened to separate us. Not tap and recede doors, these were Russian subway doors that didn’t give second chances. I had to channel my inner Hercules to get on the car with them, but I was NOT letting that subway leave without me. One of the stops was freakily like a Harry Potter scene. A long grey marble hallway, solid except for rows of double doors all the way down on either side. Only then did I realize that in most subways you can see the train arrive. But here, there was the weird experience of seeing people in a long somber hall waiting at doors that all open simultaneously for everyone to exit the hall, never to be seen again. I’m not sure if I described it well, but it was weird.
As we approached the church of the spilled blood (Alexander’s, who by the way is credited with making the first attempts towards democracy) I saw two horses. I had spent hours on the internet searching for a place to ride a horse in Russia. I love horses and I try to ride everywhere. Well, God surprised me. I was delighted. They were two girls who probably hung out illegally giving rides to tourists for weekend spending money. I asked how much? 300 rubles ($10USD) I could’ve bargained but it would’ve taken time and I wanted on that horse. I shoved coat, bag, camera, etc into Ann, Jackie’s and Isabellas arms and took the reins. I walked him left and right – he was a charmer, willing and attentive. I breathed into his nostrils and he nuzzled my face. I hopped on. The park was closed so we trotted out into the street in front of the tram, sliding in and out of traffic. The English saddle was comfortable and I stroked his neck. After a short ride, I buried my nose into his side, breathed in his horse smell and walked around for the next few hours, dreamy with whatever narcotic that horses seem to deliver to my soul. All is well with the world and the mosaics in the church were even more beautiful for the experience.
Next day, we ‘did’ the Hermitage connected to the winter palace. Three hours of art exhaustion and human contact overload and I was ready to be alone. I figured I would walk until I found a taxi and just get him to take me back to the hotel Pulkhovskaya. I hit St. Isaacs on the way but by the time I got back to the hotel I was well and truly exhausted. I had an early dinner, fireside, beluga caviar and vodka (which you have to order saying whoa’ –dka or they have no idea what you are talking about) and slept like a baby, happy to get up at four a.m. and ready to come home. |
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