While surfing the Russian Internet the other day, I came upon the Snob site (www.snob.ru), an “international Russian-language media project, which was launched in 2008, with the aim to connect international and global audience of influential, high-net worth individuals.”
One item jumped at me right away: “Lessons of Patriotism from Tim Kirby,” an interview by Russian journalist Lera Yakutina with Timothy Kirby.
|Russians and American expatriates are shown here watching the inauguration of President Obama at an American-style diner.
The American-born Kirby had emigrated to Russia from the United States, which he left behind.
“I am an American. I moved to live to Russia, and I am here to stay for good. I did not enjoy my life in America. For me, it was much too complicated. I never felt too comfortable there — I always felt I was out of place. I did not belong there. I could not fit into that society. For me, it was too materialistic. It’s that simple.”
The interview was in Russian, the language he spoke almost perfect.
Responding to the interviewer’s question whether it was difficult for him to master the Russian language, Kirby said that it takes a great effort to learn any foreign language, especially taking into account the fact that foreign languages are not being taught in American schools.
Of course, you can take it on an extracurricular basis, which is not obligatory.
And so the lengthy interview went on and on. The gist of it was that life in the United States was for him a complete disappointment.
When I read the interview, something else went through my mind — something I and my family lived through while we were still in Russia.
I and my wife were also studying a foreign language. German was taught in all Soviet schools throughout the country. But we both studied English on our own, by taking private lessons, outside the classroom.
Secretly, we both had the same dream: to escape the Stalin’s paradise-on-earth once called Russia into the United States.
After graduating from the Moscow Institute of Foreign Languages, we both went to work at the Foreign Languages Publishing House. It was there that we first met. I translated Russian classical literature into English, while my wife worked as an editor.
There, at the publishing house, we were lucky to work with native-born English-speaking colleagues. To us, who had an impossible dream to escape our hellish life and come to America, such people were an enigma: those poor souls were victims of their own doing. Most were Americans along with some Brits who had joined communist parties in their countries.
They came to Stalin’s Russia in the hope that they would be hailed as heroes and enjoy the communist paradise, as promised by Soviet propaganda. Some of them gave up their foreign passports and became Soviet citizens. Upon their arrival, however, they were arrested on suspicion of being spies and were sent to serve time in concentration camps.
Upon their release, they were lucky to find a place to live in a communal apartment and get a job. Those poor souls trapped in that strange, vicious regime, shared with us their memories of the lives they left behind. Some of them kept photographs of their weddings, houses, and the free lives they gave up.
They were all depressed. There were those who could not take it any longer and committed suicide.
We became friends with Jack G., an American, who came to Russia for a different reason. His father, a dentist, had been an American communist, who despised his son’s anti-communist attitudes.
Jack was an intellectual, loved classical music, and was an accomplished pianist. To prove that his father’s communist beliefs were fantasy, Jack decided to go to Soviet Russia to see what was happening there with his own eyes.
Jack traveled there as a tourist. He stayed at the Moscow Intourist Hotel and for a week enjoyed sightseeing and making friends. He was appalled at what he saw: the unfriendly faces of poorly dressed people in the street, empty stores, striking poverty all around.
He decided to go back home before his tourist visa expired. But that did not happen. He was detained by Soviet police, questioned, then pronounced an American spy, and arrested. Jack spent seven years in a concentration camp. His health deteriorated, he lost all his teeth.
We met Jack after he was released from prison. He was looking for a job, and I was happy to help him survive. He was a brilliant storyteller, but he spoke very little Russian.
Jack never renounced his American citizenship. His mother, a New Yorker, despite her failed desperate attempts all those years to get him out of that hell, suddenly got her visa and came to Moscow to see her only son. She already knew about us, and showered us with gifts for our newborn son.
Soon afterwards, Jack brought us good news: he received an invitation from the American government to come back to the United States.
Shortly after, he and his wife, an American-born girl he had met in Moscow — who waited for him all those seven years he was in prison and supported him by sending him food parcels — went back to the United States.
They stayed with Jack’s mother for a time and then bought a house in Cleveland, where Jack got a teaching job at a university.
When we arrived in the United States, they came to see us: “Welcome to the country of your dream, Lev. Welcome to our America!”
Jack’s health was failing, and soon we had a call from his wife that Jack passed away.
Lev Navrozov is a journalist, author, and columnist who is a winner of the Albert Einstein Prize for outstanding intellectual achievements. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Read more reports from Lev — Click Here Now.
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