In September of 2007, Access to Ideas made a special expedition to Russia in honor of 200 years of unbroken diplomacy between our countries.  We count it as one of the most important trips we have done and merely the start of our efforts to make known the good in one another—that enemies be not made by the denial of that good, or by ignorance of it.  We invite you to read the Log Book that follows and to visit these pages periodically to learn of new activities in honor of "people to people diplomacy".

 

Log Book Entry 1:  Honoring a 200 year legacy

September 2, 2007
Gilman's Corner, U.S.A.

    In heading off to Russia this time, we are going to honor a remarkable legacy: a diplomacy between our countries that managed to never break.  Even more, we are hoping to build on that legacy.  In our journeys across Russia we have been deeply grateful for the opportunities afforded us to work together, not at business or politics, but simply at life itself.  Our greatest yearning now is to bring the peoples of our countries together for the sake of seeing the good in one another -- that enemies be not made by either the denial of that good, or ignorance of it.

     In honor of the 200th anniversary, we will be presenting two prominent villages with hand painted barrel staves of New England scenes.  The artwork has been done by Peter Ferber and is "classic New England".  But the gifts are more than New England folk art.  There are few more powerful symbols for international relations than a barrel!  If you've ever looked at the construction of an old, wooden barrel you will understand immediately.  The fine staves are all different sizes.  No size is more important than another and no position is more important than another. What makes the barrel "work," is the staves' relation to one another.  If even one stave -- even the smallest stave -- is removed, not only does the barrel leak, it instantly weakens and soon completely collapses.  It is the staves' relation to one another that enables the barrel to withstand the pressure of water without bursting.  Indeed, the more the pressure, the tighter the staves become in working together.  Each stave plays a role of giving strength to the others and receiving strength from the others. 

    In short, we truly need one another.

Log Book Entry 2: Just outside Moscow
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Mid to high 70's, bright sunshine, flowers everywhere
 
I'm writing this from the home of some friends of ours who have long helped us in our work.  We're about an hour outside of Moscow, but I don't know the name of the village.  It is a "summer community" where people have summer homes -- and more importantly, summer gardens where they grow enough food for armies.  It is amazing how much Russians can coax from the smallest gardens.
 
I will write more about our work in subsequent entries.  It seems more important to write about the "climate" in Moscow. I know Moscow least of all, as we spend all our time in the villages, and yet it seems important to say a bit about what you see and feel here as Moscow is most often in the news.  Each year the change is dramatic in terms of it becoming an upscale "New York". 

We spent the entire morning at an "outdoor market" for electronics (getting our computer set up so that I can link to the Internet anywhere in Russia -- even in the most remote village).  The market was mind boggling with every shiny new electronic gadget you can think of . . . and even some I haven't seen in the U.S.  In short, Moscow does not lack money or buyers.  But as Nikolai said, "There is nothing money can buy that you can't find here . . . except democracy."  Even more, he added, "I've watched Moscow change for the last ten years and become one of the most, if not the most, wealthy city in the world.  But now I know for a fact that money can change nothing. Life is richer, but not better. (There's a lot to think about in those words.) Neither is the relationship between people or our countries better.  But the observation is not altogether sad.  It simply makes me realize all the more that our work is needed.  Wealth will not change our world for the better.  Only an improvement in the relationship between people will change our world.  And that will not be facilitated by money; but by humility and by valuing our humanity."
 
And the other observation is the "humanity" around me.  On the flight over, as I was waiting in the airport in Paris the thought came to me, "Be mindful of living among all these people.  Don't separate yourself.  Feel yourself as a part of one humanity.  Be mindful of that."  And since that thought arrived, I've tried to be mindful of that everywhere.  As I look at the faces around me, I see people, each of whom, hold something kind in them -- something that at any moment can be reached if you appeal to it. This is nothing philosophical.  It's a simple, ordinary, every day fact. On the metro people dozed on their way to work.  Can people doze if  "it is dangerous" to ride on the metro?  I heard a woman asking for help in how to find a certain Metro stop.  Several people immediately spoke up to help. People went back to their places in line, but there was a difference. It's a nice feeling when people help one another.  Nothing profound, but simply it's a nice feeling which everyone feels.
 
And finally, there's something to be said about the cab drivers.  They aren't actually cabs.  You stand on the side of the road and hold out your arm.  Someone on their way to work who has the time will stop and offer you a ride for a modest sum.  It helps the driver earn a little extra money and it helps you get to where you need to go a little faster.  Not once has such a ride disappointed me. The conversations are remarkable. Warm. Thoughtful.  Even deep.  They can range from everything to the future of Russia to things religious, but they are ALWAYS special.  Perhaps that's in part Nikolai's ability to engage people in conversation.  But the point is, there is a warmth here, a humanity, that we simply never see on television and it truly saddens me every time I'm here and am the recipient of the people's kindness -- both strangers and friends.  It is that humanity that Nikolai mourns is not more used and heightened.  It would seem to get lost in politics and big business, but it's that simple, everyday humanity that would make us feel so differently about one another.  And once felt, it is impossible to lose that feeling and the normalcy it creates between us.
 
Next letter from the village of Vetoshkino.
 

Log book 4: Life in Vetoshkino
September 11, 2007
high 60's, rain

I'm writing from a "miracle".  The village of Vetoshkino now has not only internet access (in the school) but high speed access at that.  Although I have my own computer with me, the school wants me to use their computer and connection because, of course, it is their pride and joy.  The high speed link means that I will buy them a video camera while I'm here so that children here and at home can use Skype/video.  (Skype is a free computer to computer phone service and now includes video -- all free of charge.) It is such things that will help our world learn about each other and live, hopefully, as people and nations working together at life itself.  I was hoping to write a long letter, but the school director and children are looking over my shoulder trying to figure out how I can type without looking at the keys.  It makes it hard to think calmly and write something "profound"!  

Already the time here has been very useful. I arrived in the village early Saturday morning and spent Saturday and Sunday helping to harvest the potatoes, herd the cows and "put up vegetables" for the winter.  Such things, believe it or not, are an important part of our work.  The more I simply "live here" as if I lived here all the time, that does more than 1000s of words that say "We should be friends; we should respect each other and live together peacefully." etc., etc.  Better simply to live as they live and then it's clear that all is normal between us (even when the news says otherwise).  The next statement is NOT personal.  It's a phenomenon that occurs with whoever travels anywhere (and something well to remember). While I am here, "I am America" to the villagers simply because it's the only actual contact these dear people will ever have with America.  And they are Russia to me.  That is why, despite all I hear on TV at home about Russia, it has little impact, because the days among the villagers are so much stronger and meaningful.  Thus, if the neighbors see me harvesting potatoes and helping to bring Tatyana and Mikhail's cows home, that's America to them!  (I apologize to those of you who live in the city.) 

In any case, the full weekend of caring for home chores was a happy and valuable one.  One incident told me how much Nikolai has done for us (not just for our organization, but for all of us who live in America) in making it possible for me to live here and be accepted by the villagers.  While I was waiting for the cows last night, a neighbor approached who I don't know and have never met as far as I know.  She looked at me and politely, but "distantly" said good evening.  She stared and stared at me sensing something wasn't right.  I was waiting for the cows, but she sensed that I wasn't Russian.  Suddenly, her face lit up, "OH, Jeannie, you're back! Welcome!"  And that warmth, that recognition, that acceptance (for she suddenly starting telling about the summer and her health, etc.) all of that warmth was towards America, as well as towards me. More importantly, although we had never met, she had heard enough from the other neighbors that it was as if we had met and were friends, for the warmth was full and genuine.

I hope what I'm trying to say is understandable.  In any case, I realized how far we've come in that I'm now accepted "alone" -- that is, without Nikolai at my side -- and that is a huge step forward for our work.  It is one of the reasons we decided that I will work here alone, for a week or so, while he works in the Urals.  Tonight will be the first showing of our documentary.  That will be a big test and at this point I have no idea how it will be received.  We'll wait and see.  I'll try to write again tomorrow.  The interest in watching English words come up on the screen is waning and so I now will go to the 9th grade class and give them an English lesson.
 

Log book 5: Teaching and learning together
Vetoshkino, Russia
September 12, 2007
Sunny, mid 50s


For two days now I have been teaching five English classes in Vetoshkino. The school door is unlocked at 8:00 a.m. by the school director, a tall lanky man who would be a perfect character for Charles Dickens to describe.  The teachers are expected to go to their classes and make sure everything is in order and the children have 25 minutes to socialize in the main hall. They are to arrive at their desks five minutes early and remain standing quietly until the bell rings.  Together they repeat, "Good morning, teacher.  We are glad to see you and grateful for your help."  The teacher greets them, in turn, and invites them to sit down.  (The standing part is universal in Russia, but I don't know if the welcoming words are a tradition of Vetoshkino or if it occurs everywhere.) The youngest children I taught are in 3rd grade and just beginning their English lessons. The oldest students are in 10th grade.  I have strayed far from the Russian method of teaching: i.e. the teacher talks, the children listen and repeat. It is huge that the director of the school is so open in allowing a foreigner to come in and turn everything upside down.  That speaks much for them and counters the stereotype of Russian rigidity in the classroom.  They have been very grateful and open to any help.  It has been truly wonderful to experience their school life: how earnestly they study and how much they respect learning. Even more, what a difference from when I first arrived two years ago when they were so shy we could barely get them to speak to me.  Now they are eager to have pen-friends from America and learn more about their world. That seems like a small thing, but it could be world changing if we could somehow manage to have such an effect in all the villages.  Given the blatant propaganda that plays all day and night on TV, and that inevitably puts a barrier between our countries, only such contacts with each other can counter it so that it has no effect.

The youngest ones are up to learning how to write, "J,K,L,M,N,O,P".  I brought alphabet flash cards with me and created several games.  At the end of today's class (this is the last day I'll teach) I gave each one a "U.S. Post Office" pencil with an American flag drawn on it.  A simple gift, but a little unexpected surprise for them in any case.  Like all little children, they melt your heart.  Their efforts at wrapping their mouths around "th" and "w" melt you even more.

For the older classes I was asked to teach half grammar and half listening comprehension.  I let the children decide what subject I would talk about. They wanted to know about famous people as they are hungry to know more about the "outside world".  I talked about Gandhi, Abraham Lincoln, and Dr. Seuss. I spoke mostly in English.  When they didn't understand, I repeated what I had said in Russian. I don't know if they were hoping for news about Michael Jackson and Britney Spears, but they got Gandhi, Lincoln and Dr. Seuss.

Gandhi is an extremely important figure for village children.  He changed a country, not by connections or money; but with his ideas, patience, and determination.  These are things that any village child can have.  Gandhi left the prestige and fast pace of London life (where he got his law degree) to return to the villages which, he counted, as the heart and soul, and the strength and stability, of any country. . . . because they survive on the relationship between people (the working together).  That, too, is important for village children to know.  They feel the world is passing them by.  They long for computers, Ipods, cars, discos and money, when, in fact, they cannot fathom the richness of the life they have here.  It is a type of richness -- the closeness of family, the need to care for each other to survive, the strength of traditions, the incredible life skills they learn -- such things will not deceive them. In any case, I spoke about both Gandhi and Abraham Lincoln for the same reasons: their humble beginnings and lives built on values and ideas.

Finally, they learned who Dr. Seuss was. I told them The Butter Battle Book story and explained how President Reagan gifted that book to President Gorbachev. That perked their interest even more.  And, of course, it was more than a little humorous seeing who could say The Butter Battle Book the fastest.  I recreated the story using the village of Vetoshkino and Mari-Baicai -- the next village over.  I started the story and then nonchalantly pulled a piece of bread out of my bag, along with a plate, knife, and jar of home-made butter.  Needless to say, they not only laughed with delight at a teacher who would show up with a piece of bread and butter, but immediately got the point of the story which I improvised to include things familiar to village life. When I get home, I'll buy them the book and send it to them.

School is now over and I have about a half hour to write and send this. They still have not turned the heat on (regardless of how cold the temperature gets, the heat is not turned on until October 1st).  Thus both my fingers and nose are slowly becoming numb.

I have shown the film twice. It has been interesting to see what interests them in it.  Of course they smile proudly to see that their village has been included.  Yet, not surprisingly, almost everything that draws interest with American audiences, is hardly noticed by them.  The main point in showing the film here is to leave the impression that something kind was done about Russia -- something that sought to show the best. And that they have clearly understood and appreciated.  As we show the film more, I'll write more.  I must go now.  The director is waiting to lock the front door.
 

Log book 6: Watching the villages disappear
The Ural Mountains
September 15, 2007
Sunny, cool

The music playing in the car was melancholy and it had begun to rain. It was my last day in the Kirov region and Mikhail and I were off to the village of Shalya to buy a pair of laptee.  They are shoes (actually more like sandals) that peasants wore many years ago.  The road to Shalya is gorgeous: narrow and crowded on each side with trees that are now encroaching on the road and bending over it like a living tunnel.  The thick foliage was the first sign that we were headed to a dying village. As the road wound its way through the woods the foliage got thicker and thicker.  Here and there a gorgeous, but empty, wooden house peered out of the vines hanging from the roof like an old woman peering out to see who was coming to this village that no one comes to any more.  Such houses inevitably strike me as something from a fairy tale.  The windows resemble carved, wooden lace.  I can't get enough of them.  Curtains still hang in the windows, but there is no one now to pull them open in the morning.  We passed at least twenty such houses. At one time, this village had over 100 residents.  Now there are five: two elderly couples and an old man, Anatoly Adreivich, to whom we were headed to buy a pair of laptee.

     He was still sleeping when we arrived at 7:30 in the morning, so we waited outside while he got dressed.  He was a gentle, kindly man with a quick smile -- even for a stranger at 7:30 who had just gotten him out of bed.  We had ordered one pair of laptee (for a friend at home who is about to have a baby), but he had made two.  He wanted to gift us the second pair, but I insisted that such work should earn a reward.  Each pair cost $1.50. 

     I cannot imagine how the five of them, all very elderly, survive alone all winter. They grow enough vegetables to feed themselves and I'm sure there are chickens, but I doubt very much that there is a cow to give them milk.  But even more, how do they shovel the snow that gets up to your shoulders?  What do they do when they are ill?

     It is very painful to see such villages at every turn.  They are even now beautiful despite the fact that they are empty.  If they were ordinary homes it would be one thing.  But to see homes that are like little jewels disappear, is a tragedy.  Even more, I think it is a state of self deception to think that the progress and success of a country lie in the cities. 
 

Log book 7: An important holiday
September 16
From the Ural Mountains, but about Vetoshkino

     We planned that my last night in Vetoshkino would also be the celebration of the anniversary of the 200 years of diplomatic relations between our countries.  Earlier in the day we had gone to the village of Mwesee where the "America Home" waits for us to be put to good use.  Although it lay unused all year, bright yellow flowers spilled over the fence of their own accord and the branches of the apple trees in the side yard bent low under their load of fall fruit.  Tall grasses had grown up exactly in front of the door as if to discourage intruders . . . or to scold me for still not finding a way to make good use of the home. 
     The greatest problem is its remoteness.  An extremely small village (Votskaya) is a good two miles away and Vetoshkino is a bit more than six miles away.  Other than that, Mwesee sits alone on the banks of the Vyatka River.  Mwesee, now 2/3 empty is another mystery of how such beauty could be abandoned.  The homes are simply magical and the location, though frustratingly remote, is gorgeous.
     It had been raining for days and so we needed to take the longest road, weaving here and there to try to avoid the worst wash-outs.  We were riding in a big truck as no ordinary car could have made it.  Even at that, every time the truck plunged down into some murky, watery mud hole, and spun its tires fighting to get out, I held my breath.  If we got mired down, there would be no other way out than to walk the long muddy road back.  Even more, it would take a huge tractor to get the truck out and only when the weather and roads had dried. 
     In other places the road was so rough and uneven that it literally felt like we were riding a bucking bronco who was gleefully tossing us out of our seats against the truck windows and ceiling.  In short, such roads are not for the faint of heart and they are the sole reason the American Home cannot be easily put to use.  Yet, the little jewel of a house was willingly given to strangers -- to Americans -- at a time when it is hard to think of places on earth where we would be so warmly and openly welcomed.
     It was simply wonderful to see the neighbors.  The year of separation had not lessened the warm feelings or their hopes that others would come and use the home.  Yet, when we said good-bye, we all knew that even the warmest feelings could not change the fact that Mwesee soon will not be.

     The evening celebration was truly a wonderful time.  Nikolai Aleksandrovich, the man who got me to Mwesee and back, and who is also the "head" of the village and the one who decided to give us the home, was there with his wife.  There were our closest friends there as well as new acquaintances.  At the height of the celebration I gave him a very symbolic gift from two people in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire.  Andy and Jane Milligan had sent me off with a gorgeous and very American lodge blanket.  I told the people that there warmth and openness was truly an unspeakable gift and in appreciation of it, these friends had sent along this gift in the hopes that the warmth between us will never fade.  The blanket will be hung in the main meeting house or "home of culture" in the village where everyone can appreciate it.

     I also gave the first barrel stave to Mikhail and Tatyana Reshetnikov, the family with whom I have long lived in Vestoshkino and who were the first to welcome an American to this part of Russia.  I explained the great symbolism of the stave which they all immediately understood and which truly touched them.  Both presents couldn't have been more perfect and will "work in the heart" long after I am gone.  It is such things whose worth I cannot begin to say enough about.  They do sooooooo much for us.  And much is needed, for this time the fierceness of the propaganda against us has been hard even for me to take.  I have shed more than a few tears when I've laid down to sleep this time.  It is such an awful weapon of mindless hatred and so cruel in its calculation against trusting people. 

     Finally, I showed the documentary and, that too, left us all with a warmth of feeling that was invaluable.  I could not have asked for me. Nikolai Aleksandrovich stood and thanked us for being willing to do such a film that shows the good of Russia.  In a strange way, that willingness to show the best of Russia also works for us in that it creates a willingness to seek the best of America.

    In any case, the presents, the film and the celebration did all we could have hoped for.  And for that I am deeply grateful.
 

Log book 8:  Beginnings of work in the Urals
September 17, 2007

It is early Monday morning. I am in an internet cafe as we had a glitch with our telephone/computer connection. I should have about two hours to write. This time it seems there is so much to write about.  But here I will write simply to say that we will meet with a blacksmith today who is in the midst of making an incredible bench which will be gifted to "America" from the people of the Urals.  Last night I saw the drawings of several artists whose work was rejected -- not because it was poor work, but for the exact opposite reason.  They had designed benches that should be placed in the Hermitage or Louvre!  They were too grand.  I sat with my mouth open they were so ornate and gorgeous.  I can't even begin to describe them.  I have been told that I can bring their drawings home and so I will scan them and put them on the website for everyone to see.  The artists who had done such work reasoned that any bench which is to be gifted in honor of 200 years of diplomatic relations ought to be something grand and gorgeous.  And, in fact, their reasoning was right.  But practically speaking, if their designs were used the bench would not only fill up an entire sidewalk and half the road, it would cause endless traffic jams as people stopped to gawk at it.  Thus, a more modest design is now in the works -- but equally beautiful I am sure.  (I still have not seen the final design.)  The back of the bench will have many symbolic elements and the number 200, as well as 1807-2007.
    For those of you who have seen the documentary film, the blacksmith who is shown in the film is the one who will do the bench.  He too works as if he were a magician -- turning iron into delicate flowers and decorative lace.  I believe the final design has been completed and he has begun to work, although I am not altogether sure.  In any case, we will be with him today. 
     Before I got to the Urals, Nikolai held several radio, newspaper, and television interviews about the bench. They were extremely important. Solzhenitsyn, the famous Russian author once wrote, "One word of
truth outweighs the world."  Despite the propaganda that now plays morning, noon and night on radio and television here (and more and more also in America) despite all its intentions, you have to hope that something good, something pure, will remain in the hearts of those who see or hear the broadcasts about the bench.  If something good remains it will "disturb" the thoughts of that person so that he cannot wholly accept, thereafter, the propaganda.
     Those who organized the "friendship bench" project in the Urals have done so not only because it is the 200th anniversary of diplomatic ties between our countries but because, as it has been said, "sometimes all you have are symbols to bolster your courage and resolve".  Those who organized the project are very mindful of the turning tide of feelings between our countries (which is why "simple people" here and in America have been organizing this project as opposed to our governments) and are still hopeful that a second Cold War can be avoided.
     They want good and are willing to still trust good and for that we should be extremely grateful.

The problem with propaganda is that you are not aware that it is propaganda.  It works subtly, unnoticeably . . . and patiently.  It deceives even those who employ it. That which is "glaring" is not propaganda.  Propaganda is always in some small part the truth, so that it can be accepted.  You accept the 10 percent truth, not realizing that it is 90 percent false. 
     Of course, it is easy to recognize the propaganda here about America because anyone who knows the truth is not deceived by lies.  But when you don't know the truth -- and are given little opportunities to know the truth about one another -- propaganda seems to have free reign to do whatever it wants.  Until I lived here among these people, the stories that now appear on the radio and television at home about Russia, such stories I accepted as "legitimate news".  Only now do I see that now, as during the cold war, such stories are not news, they are, in fact, propaganda, having no real meaning or need.  (I myself could not have believed the words I have just written had I not lived here so often.) 
     I am afraid that perhaps such words will offend some, although that is not my intention.  Neither is it my intention to say something poor about our news organizations or government.  As I said, propaganda deceives even those who fall prey to using it. I decided to write them because the propaganda here is simply "head-spinning" and at home, if milder, nonetheless saddening.
     There is a famous Russian painting by the artist Repin, if I am remembering correctly, called "The 9th Wave".  It is an enormous canvas filled with an angry sea. In the middle of the canvas is a small boat and sailors dwarfed by "the 9th wave".  A wave builds and crests nine times.  The ninth time is the worst.  Thus from the painting you do not know if the sailors will survive the 9th wave.  It hangs over them about to devour them, but of course you leave telling yourself that they survived because the painting left them still alive.
    We think that, in large part, the Russians are to blame for worsening relations and for the blatant "cold war tactics" they employ  (I have read that sentiment more than once recently in U.S. newspapers).  Yet propaganda is from no "person" or persons.  It is the mindless wave.  Even more, we are all in one small boat together. 

Perhaps you have read or heard a phase that goes something like, "Communism wiped out every vestige of religion in Russia".  It is more accurate to say that the practice of religion became discreet and not openly shown.  Churches can be knocked down and Bibles burned but no man-made system can erase the divine influence on the heart and, in fact, it did not in Russia. 
    Every night, as babushka and I lay down to sleep she would quietly say, "Sleep with God."  Then she would sing her prayers.  She knows two: The Lord's Prayer and "a shorter one" as she put it.  She can only remember them, she said, if she sings them.  The shorter one, as far as I could tell, for she sang very quietly and modestly, was a prayer of gratitude.
    I have ridden in very few cars and in no bus that does not have an icon attached to the dashboard.  Phrases and stories from the Bible often suddenly get added to some conversation.  Almost every home I've been in houses some old Bible, etc., etc.  And most of all, the things of God can be spoken of -- if sincerely and not for show or to convince someone of something -- but can be spoken of in any conversation without embarrassment or without if feeling strange or strained.
 

Log book 11: Respect is enough
Talitsa, the Ural Mountains
September 18, 2007
Another day of rain

The last two days have been as busy as they have been rewarding.  We have shown the documentary film several times to large groups and to groups of "one".  One of the most touching times was to Nikolai's mother. For those of you who have seen the documentary, she appears at the very beginning in the garden and then is the primary figure in the scenes about World War II. 
     The three of us sat quietly together in Nikolai's darkened room and for a whole 45 minutes were not interrupted by either a visitor or the phone.  I never remember such a long time without either interrupting us at home.  In any case, it was a gift to have the "space" to show her the film calmly and alone.  While she watched the film, I watched her face and it said more than words can describe: a subtle smile would break out, then a quick laugh, then the pride of the mother watching how well her son held himself in the film.  But when the part about World War II began, she simply cried throughout the entire part.  It was as if someone else was telling the story and the story brought back all that was endured during that unimaginably horrific time.  She untied her headscarf and with the ends wiped the tears away again and again.  Because she truly doesn't cry easily, when the film finished, so as not to reveal her emotions, she jumped up and said, "It's time to load the woodstove and heat the banya" . . . and was off.  But that act revealed that the film had truly overwhelmed her.  Only later, as we sat alone together in the banya did she begin to talk about the film and ask if people understood when she had said this or that.
     In fact, although the film has been very well received (I say that with enormous relief), even MORE IMPORTANT to everyone here is how it has been received "in America".  "What do people notice? they ask.  What do they think about us?  What do they feel and say after seeing the film?" And on and on.  Nikolai anticipated that the film's reception in America would be the most important thing here to share (more than the film itself) and is the reason he yearned for us to have the funds to have me come over so that when we showed the film I could talk about its reception at home.  
     When enough funds appeared in our organization's bank account to buy Nikolai's ticket we went ahead and bought his ticket, simply hoping that somehow I would be able to come.  But at the least, we had enough so that he could show the film in Moscow and then fly to the Urals to show the film here (where it was largely shot). 
     Then two months later I went ahead and reserved my ticket.  (After eight years of traveling here I had earned enough miles to get a free ticket this year.)  Still, without travel and working funds, I would have to forfeit the ticket and Nikolai would nonetheless have to work alone.  Then less than 10 days before I was to leave, I received a phone call and suddenly, like a Christmas-time miracle, the funds needed for the trip were donated so that I could indeed get on the plane and work both in the Kirov region as well as here in the Urals.
     We have driven, and will continue to drive, to several different regions in the Urals to show the film. Interestingly, but perhaps not surprisingly, almost nothing that draws interest at home, draws the same
interest here.  The things they notice are entirely different.
    One of the most successful showings was to a "Polytechnical School". The director required the students to remain late at the end of their study day.  They were hungry and tired and truly didn't want to, but of course, they had no choice, so they plopped themselves down in their chairs.  With some suspicion of what this was all about, they watched the first half "distantly".  But little by little, they forgot that they were "supposed" to watch the film and began leaning forward, giving it their full attention.  Again and again, it is the part about WWII that grips them and "wins them over" that the film's intent is sincere and that foreigners had truly tried to understand them. When the film ended, the students asked if I would be willing to meet with them further and talk more about the film. That will be tomorrow.  The question and answer session will be filmed by the local TV station.  Whether the questions stray into present day issues and questionings I don't know.  But at last even "aggressive" questions do not faze me (that is, I don't take them personally or as if they mean that an argument is about to ensue).  Such questions are truly to be welcomed. From them comes the most opportunity for healing.

     Russians rarely, if ever, believe that foreigners can, or want to, understand them.  This also was a large reason for doing the film.  If we could leave the conviction that foreigners had at least sincerely tried to understand and respect them, we hoped that that would be the bridge over which we could begin to approach each other and see each other in another light.  And while we knew we had neither the skill nor experience to do a professional film, we felt that even those weaknesses did not have the power to block sincerity.  And from sincerity could come respect.  And respect is enough to defend us against conflict.
    This trip has brought a major change in my perceptions of things. Perhaps it is because I have been here so often that little about "real life" has been hidden from me, or perhaps it is because the propaganda has become so fierce.  I don't know the exact reason, but in any case, it seems as if it is time to state a long believed idea more exactly.  We love and long to say that "we are all the same" when, in fact -- until we find
ourselves all in heaven -- we are very different.  To try to hide that and say "we are all the same" is a subtle mistake which causes many disappointments and problems.  Under the stress of circumstances that lovely and sincere yearning collapses and leaves bitter feelings when the differences loom large and strong. 
     We are indeed all people and are all needed . . . but very different from one another when all is said and done.  The real need is to learn to respect each other -- along with our differences.  With that there is much we can share with each other and that will be enough to preserve us against the things we don't understand about each other.
 

Log book 12: The second barrel stave
September 19, 2007
Pervouralsk, the Ural Mountains

I received an excellent question asking me to explain more of what I mean by the propaganda here (and perhaps in the U.S.?).  I will devote the next letter to that, as now I have just a few minutes to write to say that I have just come from the Polytechnical Institute where we gifted the second barrel stave.  Before I arrived in the Urals, Nikolai and our partner Vladimir long searched for a place that could appreciate the meaning of the stave and where that meaning would grow and be shared.  They simply couldn't have found a better place.

I spent most of the morning at the school.  It is actually three large polytechnical schools that have just joined forces and combined as one school teaching the students specific trades to prepare them for
specialized careers.

From the minute I stepped through the door the atmosphere was "right".  I first met with the director and professors of the school explaining my reason for coming and explaining the symbolic meaning of the barrel stave. All the while a local TV channel filmed the event.  They then followed us into a classroom of about 50 students where I "officially" presented the stave to the director (i.e. to the Institute).  The students' heads nodded sympathetically and understandingly as I explained it all to them.

As always, I was struck by the students respect and general demeanor. They were truly wonderful students and asked question after question for more than two hours.  Their questions were all, without exception, regarding my feelings toward Russia and the feelings of people at home about Russia after seeing the film.  The warmth between us only grew and grew with every passing minute. 

The stave truly has found a home where there is a desire to work together, learn together, and live together all needing one another and caring for one another -- in good times and in bad.  The "frosting on the cake" was when I learned that the grandfather of the director of the school was a barrel maker. . . .
 

Log book 13: What kind of propaganda?
Pervorualsk, "Kosmos" Internet Cafe
One lone grandmother among a swarm of teenagers
Gorgeous, sunny "Indian Summer" afternoon


In terms of the propaganda I referred to earlier, I will try to be more specific.  Not surprisingly, news about Iraq plays on every news cast.  The images here are "grizzlier" and stay on the screen longer.  Following such a story might be a story of how President Putin is sending money to Chechnya to help restore homes and work places.  Both stories are true. But the pictures from Iraq are the worst they can find, and the pictures from Chechnya the best they can find -- but viewers don't think about that while they are watching the broadcast.  In fact, despite everything, restoration is happening in Iraq.  And, indeed, some places in Chechnya are being restored -- but they are very, very few and they are the least of what needs to be restored.  Nonetheless, when such stories run side-by-side it paints Russia as the "helping" country and America as the "destroying" country.  Further, when very, very little other than Iraq is reported about America, the result is that the Iraq war and America have become synonymous as if there is absolutely nothing more about America to know than Iraq. Thus people continually ask me (sadly more than anything else) "Why is America so aggressive?  What does she want from the world?"
     In addition, old "war films" (about WWII) play endlessly here.  Not a day goes by when you won't at some point come upon such a film playing on TV.  Those films -- and rightly so -- honor the courage, endurance, and "glory" of the generation that paid the unspeakable price to win that war. While life continues to be difficult here (as the country gropes to find its way forward), the people find pride and courage only in such films. Everyone needs encouragement and a sense of pride and so such films are used to bolster the people's sense of self-respect. 
     Nonetheless, when war films play on endlessly it creates a mentality and atmosphere that is not helpful.  Slowly, subtly, and surely, the "glorious Soviet army" which held its own in WWII is compared to our success in Iraq . . . and our "unglorious" motives for being there.  It inevitably creates a feeling of competitiveness between our countries and "who is greatest".
     As far as I can see, propaganda often works on that feeling of competitiveness in subtle, but persistent ways.  When President Putin, for instance, was in Maine this summer, all the footage that ran here showed moments when Mr. Putin was strong looking and "in command" . . . yet caught President Bush at "inconvenient" moments.  For instance, the camera caught Mrs. Bush discovering one of President Bush's shirt buttons undone and she reached over to do it up.  Those few seconds played over and over.  All the while President Putin was neat, tidy and "invincible" looking.
     To use the news as if we were in a continual contest with one another (again, using stories that are not obviously about competing with one another) has us working against one another rather than with one another.

     In terms of news in America, there are more and more "intrigue" stories that are not balanced with "normal life" stories.  For weeks and weeks, for instance, there was news about the individual in London who was (almost certainly) poisoned at the command of the Kremlin.  Is your curiosity in such a story normal or "educated".  i.e. have you been "educated" to want more morbid news about it?  Is that news truly essential to your happiness and well being?  Does it do anything to forward our humanity and the strengths of our countries?  Does it deserve three weeks or more of coverage?  The "intrigue" questions that accompany such a story, for what purpose are they?  To seek understanding that will bring healing? Or do they fan the flames of mystery and distrust? 
     Corrupt actions within governments are the liability of those who hold power. Such stories will inevitably run and attract interest, but if they are not balanced with stories that could as easily show the enormity of good that lies in America and in Russia, then that imbalance slowly but surely either creates and perpetuates feelings of fear and distrust. 
     There is no need for feelings of fear and distrust between us. Both fear and distrust are educated.  They are not inherent in us.  I have met only a staggering degree of warmth and love here.  And I am quite sure it is not because I am anyone special!!!!!  Any one of you reading this would meet the same here, because it is what there is to be found here.  And so, propaganda is also the absence of the whole picture.  If people in America knew the 10th part of the good to be found here -- the talents, the wisdom, the strengths, the values, the goodness of heart, the strength of family, the level of education, the kindness, the generosity, the incredible unselfishness -- they could never again have interest in shallow intrigue stories.  (And vice versa.  If Russians knew America and Americans, they could never again be taught to fear or hate us.) 

     And so, when you watch news about Russia ask yourself at the end of the broadcast, "Does this leave me with feelings that make me feel closer to Russians or more distant?  More trustful of them or less?"  If the answer is that you feel more distance, distrust and fear, than the broadcast (if not balanced with something else) has been in part propaganda.  You do not deserve to feel fear about your world when good, like the sunlight, is everywhere and freely given to all peoples and nations equally.
 

Log book 14: Things that make the warmth between people real
Pervorualsk, the Ural Mountains
September 19, 2007

Both yesterday and today we have had several TV and newspaper interviews. The first was in regard to the illustrated barrel stave we gifted to "the people of the Urals" from "the people of New England".  The stave (as I wrote about yesterday) will reside in the Pervouralsk Polytechnical Institute.  It is the largest trade school in the area and an important school as so many young people in this industrial area learn trades and will have the chance to work in Europe as well as in America.  The "barrel stave story" was on the evening news yesterday.  The broadcast was the exact opposite of the propaganda I just wrote about in Log 13. 
     The broadcast WHOLLY captured the meaning and intent of the stave. As the camera slowly panned the image on the stave, the director of the Institute (whose grandfather, remember, was a barrel maker) spoke eloquently about how pieces relate to each other.  He said he had never thought about the symbolism which, for him, was deeply moving. I was asked to talk about the gift and then, when I had already left, the journalist interviewed students about the gift as well as their impressions of the documentary film and of "Americans" in general.  The piece was no more than 3 or 4 minutes in length and yet there was not one -- not one -- disparaging word. It was 100 percent sympathetic, warm, and humane. 
     When Nikolai, Vladimir and I left the Institute, the manager of the Pervouralsk TV station was waiting for us. Would I be willing to do an interview with them? We assumed that although the interview would largely be with me (about U.S.-Russian relations), we fully assumed that Nikolai would be there beside me, both to help if I didn't understand something and to add to my answers.  That was important because the show would be broadcast "live" (as opposed to being taped) and would be 15 minutes of discussion with the host and 15 minutes of fielding questions from viewers.

     Even as I "steeled myself" for any question, at the same time I walked into the studio conscious of the fact that we were all in the presence of the same God whose presence would give grace to all. And truly, from the moment I stepped through the door it was clear that it was going to be a special occasion that had already "given itself" for the purposes of good. 
     The host was a young man who clearly had tried to prepare everything so that it would be as easy for me as possible.  He showed me the questions he wanted to ask me (instead of springing them on me as the show was in progress) and had told those manning the phones that they were to make it very clear to callers that they had to speak slowly and enunciate so that I could understand them.
     The station manager then appeared on the set and immediately brought a smile to my face.  He was a HUGE man with an equally huge smile that broke out under his black mustache and beard. "Don't worry, don't worry about anything!" he said jostling around managing an infinite number of cables and microphones wrapped around his legs, arms, shoulders and head! 
     Just before the show began we learned that the set did not allow for a third person and that I would be alone.  Nikolai would be in the control room and "connected" to the host through small ear phones/microphones.  He could thus help tell the host how to phrase something so I could understand it if there was truly a problem.
     The 30 minutes flew by.  The conversation and the questions were not only all kind and non-confrontational, they allowed me to share most all the ideas that mean the most to us in terms of what we've learned over these years of working together in Russia.  I can't remember all the questions and all that I answered, (and it would take too long to answer in full) but here is an abridged version of the program as I remember it. 

Q) What 3 things did I consider mean the most to the well being of America?
A) Democracy.  Freedom.  Religion.

Q) Were those things equally important to Russian society as American?
A) Yes, because they are not things that are dependent on nationality, but things that are needed to preserve and lift up our humanity.

Q) What about the differences between our countries?
A) There are differences between all peoples and countries. But it would be a mistake to think that those differences are more important or stronger than the good we can know together.

Q) Can knowing the good of each other really make a difference?
A) Without a doubt. It is the good that defends and saves us.  Once the good of any people is known, that remains as a stronger feeling in the heart than all that would portray the worst as what there is to know about
us.

Q) That is, you feel that human emotions can outweigh political strife?
A) It cannot be otherwise.  After all, we are humans, distinguished as having hearts. Whatever touches the heart remains there and grows. The worst of mankind dies of its own accord and has no lasting power.  It is the good that remains and distinguishes us as people.

Q) What is your work in Russia?
A) (I explained our library work as well as our work to build bridges of understanding between us.)

QUESTIONS FROM THE AUDIENCE:

Q) Why did I choose to work in Russia as opposed to some other country?
A) I explained that my small publishing company had published a book about a Russian man whose ideas were so remarkable and inspiring to me that I understood that there was something (indeed much) that I had never been taught about Russia.  From there I began a long journey of reading all I could about Russia, learning the language, and beginning to work here out of the desire to learn more from and about the remarkable people with whom I work.

Q) Is there religious tolerance in America?
A) Absolutely yes.  It is one of America's greatest strengths. It was essential to its founding and is essential to its existence.

Q) What did I think of the Russian Orthodox Church?
A) I have the deepest respect for the sincerity Russians express toward their religion. More than once I have been to a Russian service and although the services do not hold great meaning for me as I deeply love my own religion, nonetheless I am inevitably deeply and sincerely moved by the sincerity of the worshippers.  Their faith in God and love of God mean much to me and inevitably touch my heart.

Q)  What do I think about Russian roads?
A)  They are as jolly as an amusement park ride. While I see the standard of living rise each year, the stores improve and the abundance and quality of the goods increases, it is unfortunate that the quality of the roads has not equally risen. I suppose that even Russians would not greatly miss them if the potholes became fewer.

* * *

    As we left the studio, the young host said that it was the easiest interview he could ever remember doing.  To which I replied that it was the most pleasant interview I could imagine possible and thanked him sincerely. There is SO much that can happen, so much that can be felt, when it is the good that is sought.  I am so glad to be able to write all this, for the experience, in many respects, corrects and even reprimands my feelings about the growing anti-American sentiment here.  I stand (gratefully) corrected.  The news may be one thing, but the people themselves are warm, kind, and simply wonderful.  
 

Log book 15: Tending the cows
From the Urals, but about Vetoshkino
Story from September 12, 2007
Sent September 20, 2007
 
It was early morning and I was sitting in a lush green valley as I wrote this. The sun had still to warm the sky. All around me were gently rolling hills -- and closer a herd of 40 some cows and a dozen sheep.  We had found a still place next to the river Baisai to both sit and lie down behind a grove of bushes shielding us from the cold fall wind. Sasha, a huge man -- tall and built like a blacksmith -- had made a small fire to keep us warm. He laughed easily and talked incessantly to the cows. It was his turn to tend the flock. He and his wife, a round-faced, simply woman, work together.
     We left the village at 6:45 am starting at the farthest home and collecting all the cows and sheep until we reached the other end of the village.  Arina, Sasha's wife, would call out, "Ladies! Move along, move along, please! Ehh, Madame! What are you doing in the neighbor's flower bed?"  And so on.  They all knew where they were supposed to be and collected themselves properly until we crossed the main road, holding up cars and trucks, who patiently waited for the stragglers to get across the road.
     We would tend the flock until 6:30 p.m., thus we sat, or lay, down every time the cows settled themselves in one place to eat.  The weather couldn't have been more beautiful, fortunately.  I can't imagine what it is like all day under a pouring rain or against a strong wind.  When it rains, you stand for the 12 hours.  In any case, you are constantly jogging here and there when someone strays.  If they get too far away, everyone else will think the stray found something special and will follow, although the stray has found nothing but curiosity. 
      Every time the herd settled down, Sasha pulled out a pack of cards and he and Arina would play some game.  I would wander off and sit in the middle of the herd, shielded from the wind by their huge backs.  They curl their necks around like dogs and "sleep," lightly chewing their cud.  The sheep would wander over as soon as I sat down.  Two were especially friendly, laying their heads on my shoulder and burying their noses in my neck.  I brought my diary and a small Bible passing the time writing and reading.  Other than the wind, the river, and the breathing of the cows, there was no other noise.  A flock of birds swooped in and out of the flock and settled nearby only to take off again like a kite under a gust of wind. The hours passed quickly in the morning.  In addition to reading and writing, a tan dog had come to keep us company. 
     At noon on the horizon we saw Mikhail lumbering over the fields in his huge truck searching for the best place to drive down into the valley and bring us "dinner".  He finally spilled over the last hill and before I knew it we were sitting in the tall soft grasses eating huge bowls of macaroni topped with an enormous chicken leg.  As we dug in, he pulled out a thermos of sweet tea and a freshly baked loaf of bread and began slicing off inch-thick pieces.  Mikhail finally collected the big pot and tea cups, leaving us with a few more hours until the cows would lead us home. 
     The last two hours were the hardest.  The sun was setting and the wind was cold.  The last two hours you need to stand in front of the herd the whole time as they are eager to go home, but you must hold them back until the end of the day when people get home from work and are there to meet them and milk them. Thus we stood twitching our whips (Sasha cracked his but Arina and I could only twitch ours) and with our voices encouraged them to hold on a bit more.  When we finally did let them go, I was amazed at the pace they trotted (and sometimes ran) home, their full udders swinging merrily from side to side.
     It's been a long time since I was that tired.  But I collected my $4 for my day's work and went happily off to bed dreaming of how I would spend it.
 

Log book 16:  Little details, ordinary happenings and the last train ride
Talitsa, the Ural Mountains
September 23, 2007

This log entry will be lots of loose ends that bear no relation to one another and will most likely be the last log I can send off.

I can't remember if I wrote that Tatyana (Nikolai's cousin) came with me on the train from Kirov to the Urals.  In large part it was because the family didn't want me to travel alone, and also because it was a good excuse to have a few days of freedom from milking the cows, cleaning the stalls, working in the garden, fixing the meals, etc., etc.

We had the two upper bunks and below us were various different people who came and went with each major stop. Both bunks (upper and lower) have their advantages and disadvantages. You can't see out the window from the upper bunk, for one thing.  And it is a major ordeal getting up and down if you need to use the facilities.  But, on the other hand, the people in the lower bunk have to endure the upper bunkers comings and goings.  When, for instance, at 6 am Tatyana woke me up saying we had only a few minutes until we would arrive in Pervouralsk, my first thought was how I would get down without landing on the head, back or legs of the lower bunker.  "Just jump down on his bed!" Tatyana kept repeating in a whisper that was enough to wake up the whole train let alone the two poor lower bunkers. Tatyana, who is "amply formed" went first.  To my amazement, as the side of the bed of the lower bunker's bed bellowed up and down, he didn't even stir.  As I sat looking at the phenomenon, Tatyana simply reached up and pulled me off the bunk.  I landed on her instead of the lower left bunker and with that we arrived in Pervouralsk.

When we arrived, several friends were already here eating breakfast and waiting for us.  They knew we had arrived simply because they saw smoke coming from the banya chimney.  Usually the banya is heated only at night, thus, the logical conclusion that the morning banya meant we had arrived.

When we first got here there were still been sufficient flies and mosquitoes to be bothersome.  One evening while Tatyana, Nikolai, and I sat watching the news, we heard his mother rummaging through her dresser drawers muttering about where the "mosquito repellent" had disappeared to. At last she appeared in front of us smiling and with a small round tin in hand.  "Vot! (here) she said.  Put this on your face, arms and neck and the mosquitoes won't bother you tonight."  Only when she left the room did I fall into a fit of laughter, explaining to Nikolai and Tatyana that the tin was beeswax lip balm I had sent to her last year at Christmas.  She was so sure of its effectiveness in warding off mosquitoes that I didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

The days have truly flown by and it's hard to believe that it's already time to leave.  We took Tatyana to the train at 12:30 last night.  As we stood by the tracks waiting, trains came and went with various colorful designs painted on the sides.  They are either elegant designs or fanciful, but in either case, beautiful.  Traveling by train here is very pleasant. The trains are immaculate and the food wonderful.  In the midst of our chatter, we didn't notice that Tatyana's train was arriving on track 3 instead of track 2.  Thus when the train on track two pulled in and came to a stop, Tatyana and Nikolai began to look at each other wide-eyed although I still didn't understand the problem.  Only when her train arrived a few seconds later on track 3 did I understand that something wasn't quite right.  (Pervouralsk is a "minor stop" on the route, thus the train waits, literally, only 2 minutes.) Quickly surmising the situation, Nikolai and Tatyana scooped up her bags and simply yelled "hurry!"  We clamored up onto the train that was not hers and then crossed over descending the steps on the other side.  The problem was, the steps on the other side didn't have a platform under them.  How many times, I thought to myself, am I going to have to leap off a Russian train?  When I landed with a thud, they were already well ahead of me racing to find Tatyana's car.  They threw her bags up, she followed, waving back at us and laughing, and was gone.  To leave in any other way would, in the end, have been very un-Russian.