proizvol

Proizvol is a word that I encounter a lot in my sources, a Russian word with no equivalent in other languages--for good reason. It means something like "arbitrary authority" or "caprice." Tsarist subjects frequently complained about proizvol, which they saw in the heavy-handed actions of officials, the arbitrary enforcement of rules, and the abuse of administrative power. Of course, the revolution only encouraged these kind of abuses: Soviet communism's rigid and hierarchical qualities begged people to find ways to bend or circumvent the "rules" that were formally in place. My interpretation of the whole phenomenon is that when people feel that they have no autonomy and no power over their own lives, they'll take whatever autonomy and power they can stake out.

Unfortunately, proizvol remains a striking feature of post-communist life. The classic example is the tyrant who runs the reading room of one of my archives. She is solicitous and smiley to people that she thinks might have power and rude and arbitrary to the point of ridiculousness to people who don't. This is the woman who won't respond when I say "hello" and "goodbye" to her, who let everyone else wear coats in the reading room when there was no heat, but forced me to leave mine at the coat check because wearing it inside is "against the rules."

Her tyranny continues! The research that I have left is largely on microfilm. The first problem with these films is that they were photographed in the Soviet Union using poor equipment and are out of focus to begin with. The second problem is that the reading room has horrible 1950s machines that require you to refocus practically every line. The third problem is that the films consist of records scrawled by hand by hurried 19th century officials. Needless to say, they're almost impossible to read in this form.

There is one normal, somewhat western machine, probably made by the Germans. I had asked before to use it, and Tyrant told me that it's "only for professors." After days of suffering through the Soviet hulkers and never seeing the good machine occupied, I finally got up the courage to ask again. This time, she asked me what collection of documents I wanted to look at and she told me that it's "very undesirable" for me to use the good machine because "it's not the hardest collection of documents to read." (!!!) This time--again, that long-time Kiev resident chutzpah kicking in--I said, "ok, I'll sit there now and will move if someone comes and wants to read a 'harder' collection." Of course, no one ever came, and she didn't kick me out, but I'm not sure how long I'll be able to get away with this.

Another good example happened last night. I went to a drugstore and told the girl behind the counter, "I'd like to buy that detergent for colored things," and pointed to a box. She then turned around and grabbed the first box she saw, which was for whites. I told her it wasn't what I wanted, but she tried to convince me that I could use it for colors too. I then repeated, "no, I want the one especially for colors." She turned around and gave me the next box on the shelf--also not for colors! When I protested again, she claimed that I had asked for detergent for whites all along and told me I was bothering her. I told her I wouldn't leave until I got my color detergent. This always does the trick--if they think you'll keep pestering them, they'll break down every time. She finally stepped a foot to her left and gave me the box that I'd pointed to all along.

Proizvol!

I'm leaving for Warsaw on Wednesday for a week of research, and hopefully some sightseeing too. I expect that people are a little more solicitous there, but we'll see!