A Trip To Modern Russia Shows A Former Foreign Correspondent In The Soviet Union How Life Has Changed

Modern art was not an acceptable art form in the Soviet Union so a permit for an exhibition in a city park was refused. But the artists decided they would defy the government and have their show anyway. The expat community in Moscow also decided it would do its best to try and keep official trouble at bay by turning out in force – diplomats, journalists, business people and their families, and it turned out to be such a gloriously sunny Sunday morning, perfect for the show.

One could see the plain-clothes police – it was never difficult to pick them out – but they seemed to be letting things happen. And then came those water trucks. And no one really believed what happened next. On went the water hoses washing away the entire exhibition. Kids in panic screamed, diplomats yelled at the police and waved their diplomatic passports but the mayhem continued. The exhibition was over.

ftm Moscow WAN/WEF coverage

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Memories of that day have never left this writer who, as Helsinki bureau manager for United Press International, was in Moscow that week providing summer relief. Now, more than 30 years on, it was a time to revisit. In most ways the Soviet Union is gone, but still the past lingers. Now, as then, those in charge don’t like to be defied, and they have the power of the state to ensure it doesn’t happen often.

But perhaps one way to show how things have changed, at least for the foreign correspondent, is to explain what had to be done to get the story out. Text was no problem, we had our own leased lines and they were seldom interrupted. But still pictures were a different matter. UPI had lots of pictures of what happened; the question was how to get those pictures to the West?

In those days the only permitted way to transmit pictures was via transmitters that had to be located at the TASS news agency. They actually had UPI 16-s transmitters installed to UPI lines, but only TASS could transmit on them and UPI was not allowed to connect a transmitter to lines in its own office. The pictures were developed and they were good – they really showed all the mayhem. Captions were written and pasted to the picture that was then given to the TASS people to transmit.

“Nyet” was the instant reaction. We tried a few more pictures, tried to tone down the captions somewhat, but still came “Nyet”. Finally, a masterstroke, a picture was chosen that showed only a water truck with the hose on, but it didn’t show any people getting soaked. A simple caption was written “A water truck cleaning a Moscow street Sunday” and suddenly we had a “da”. We got a picture out.

But how to get the really good stuff out? There was one tried and true way and it was what we called “pigeons” -- no not the kind Julius Reuter used; ours were far more sophisticated.

Moscow then was a small foreign community. And among the most welcome visitors were flight crews – pilots, flight attendants (the females were particularly welcome) some of whom stayed over for one or two days. They were quickly befriended and whenever we needed to get film “out” they were our pigeons. Being the Helsinki bureau manager more than once I had to head out to the airport at unseemly times having been told by Moscow to find the crew of a particular flight because they had a package for me. From Helsinki we could and did transmit what we wanted.

The Soviet Union in those days was one of the best stories going what with all the dissidents etc., but the state didn’t take kindly to those stories written by foreign correspondents. And while it was every journalist’s creed to have scoops, Moscow was the one place you didn’t want to have a scoop for too long. You could get unwelcome visitors.

The news agencies made pacts. UPI and AFP would telex one another all the stories they wrote so the other could write a “matching” story. AP and Reuters had the same deal. Foreign newspaper correspondents who usually are put up with but are not so welcome in news agency bureaus were made to feel very welcome in Moscow.

There is usually a nagging objection by news agency reporters who have done a lot of leg work on a story when a newspaper correspondent comes into the office, reads up the story, makes notes, and then the next day a very similar story appears under his or her byline. But Moscow was the exception. We wanted them coming in and writing what we had written. There was safety in numbers.

(As an aside when this writer later joined Reuters in media marketing we were asked by editorial not to sell the Reuters media wire to organizers of special events such as summits etc., because editorial was getting fed up with seeing its stories taken by those other reporters and used as if they were their own work without any credit to Reuters.)

Today, of course, in modern Russia those days are gone. Those kinds of tricks are no longer necessary. Things have moved on (although the breaking up of unauthorized events has stayed pretty much the same – just a couple of weeks ago police broke up a Gay Pride march that had not received a permit).

Arriving in and leaving the country was also like night and day. Flying in 30 years ago on a Finnair flight one remembers that no sooner had the plane reached its parking spot than a policeman was on guard to make sure no one got onto that plane who shouldn’t. The visa inspection seemingly took forever as did the customs inspection.

But flying in 30 years later there was not a policeman in sight until one hit the actual terminal building, the visa inspection took a couple of minutes and lo and behold there was even a green passage for customs which we sailed right through. No having to declare currency, not having to convert what you had to rubles. Leaving was equally as easy. It could have been any European airport.

Whereas 30 years ago you stood a good chance when leaving of having luggage searched by customs to ensure you didn’t have artifacts or too many rubles, this time only the occasional traveler was stopped. Security controls were like any other European airport.

That was a far cry from when this reporter left the Soviet Union in 1974. The journey was made by train with a stopover in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg). A UPI correspondent in Moscow gave me a thick letter containing text and pictures to family that he asked I would stamp and mail when I got to Helsinki since the mail from Moscow would take forever to get to the US, if at all. And I had some advice from a close friend, Jim Jackson the then correspondent of the Chicago Tribune. “If anyone gives you any problem whatsoever you yell at the top of your voice PROVOCATION and keep yelling it.”

Because Finland was a Grand Duchy of Russia in the 19th century its train gauge is the same as Russia rather than the standard gauge found elsewhere in Europe. In those Cold War days of the 1970s that did not please western diplomats who feared that if war should break out the Soviets could send their troop trains west right through Finland. That, of course, never happened, but it did mean there was daily train service between Leningrad and Helsinki.

At the Russian border town the passport and customs people came on to check people and baggage. I had the compartment to myself and they did a thorough search of my luggage and since my jacket was hanging on a hook they searched that, too. And they found the letter.

They demanded to know what it was and I told them. They said it was forbidden to take letters out of the Soviet Union. But one of the officers pointed out of the window to a mailbox at the far end of the platform and told me to go mail the letter.

“It’s not stamped,” I blubbered. In what for him was probably a smile he said, “Don’t worry about the stamp.” And off the train I got. I just knew that any moment I would hear that train start-up and leave the station with me standing in short sleeves and trousers on the platform without a ruble to my name or any identity. One does not forget fear like that and I was ready to yell PROVOCATION at any second. But I got to the mailbox, posted the letter and then started heading back to my compartment. And as I did I saw the most extraordinary sight.

Several policemen were walking along the roof of the train making absolutely sure that no one was hiding up there or between carriages. Other policeman had mirrors mounted onto long poles and were using them to search under the train – again to make sure no one was leaving who shouldn’t be leaving.

I finally reached my carriage where the customs guy gave me a little polite salute, he got off, and seconds later the train left the station. Heart still in mouth I didn’t calm down until I started seeing signs in Finnish. We had crossed the border and for the first time in my life I understood why people who have fled to safety sometimes kiss the new ground beneath them.

Just two weeks later came a Teletype note from Moscow. “Phil, just to let you know the letter arrived yesterday!”