Folk Wisdom

By Walter Kish

Recent political developments here in Ukraine have been completely bewildering in the build-up to the impending parliamentary elections. In an effort to gain some insight into what is likely to happen, I turned to my family’s resident political pundit, my cousin Hryts.

Hryts hails from what he claims is the navel of Western Ukraine – the curious little town of Pidkamin. For those of you not conversant in the native tongue, the town name translates loosely into “under a rock.” Although there is indeed a fairly impressive rock sitting on a high perch overlooking this rather scenic little village nestled a little south of Brody, some say the appellation refers more to the likely origins of most of the town’s eccentric inhabitants. My cousin is a prime example of this special, local vintage of peasant stock.

“So Hrytsiu,“ I inquired recently as we warmed ourselves by the large, colourful ceramic stove in his cozy house, drinking some of the homemade spirits that he liked to call Chateau Pidkamin, “What do you think of the current election campaigns of the various parties?”

“Bah!” he exclaimed with great disgust. “I have heard more imaginative political slogans in my barn from my goats and chickens– and they smell less offensive as well. Besides, their strategy is all wrong. They’re promising all the wrong things.”

“What do you mean?” I asked somewhat tentatively, knowing from past experience that I was likely to be blindsided by some of his unorthodox folk wisdom.

“Well, just look at all the stuff they are flapping their tongues about – improved health care, increased pensions, a better gas deal, eliminating corruption, joining the EU – they’re completely missing the point. We’ve heard it all before and know that they are as likely to come true as Kuchma giving away his fortune and becoming a monk. The only one I know who believes any of that is my neighbour Yarko, and that’s only because he hasn’t been exactly normal since he got kicked in the head by his cow last spring after he named her Yulia. They should be campaigning on a platform that gives the people the one thing they really want.”

“And what exactly is it that the people want?” I continued hesitantly.

“Obviously, my dear boy, you’ve been eating too much salo and it’s all been going to your flabby head!” he retorted impatiently. “I have done intensive sociological research at the korchma where the village toilers congregate at the end of the day to have their sto hram and discuss both their woes and their dreams. From this healthy mix, I have come to a definitive conclusion.

“Every Ukrainian has but one overriding ambition: he wants to be an oligarch!  Every Ivan and Yuri wants to go tooling down Khreshchatyk in a big black Mercedes, accompanied by several fine young things in a short designer dresses with legs so long that they stretch all the way down to Crimea. They want to have a huge wooden dacha in Koncha Zaspa and an offshore bank account. They want to go shopping at the Hugo Boss boutique and drink expensive French cognacs whose names they can’t pronounce. They want to have the local police, judge, and member of parliament on their payroll. Since most of the leaders of the various parties have tremendous experience in being oligarchs, isn’t it obvious then that it would be smart for one of the parties to create a campaign program that promises every Ukrainian an equal opportunity to become an oligarch? Just think of it, they would win in a landslide!”

I stood with jaw agape at the boldness and strikingly Ukrainian logic of his proposition.

“But, but…” I started to protest, but he was on a roll and continued with passion and enthusiasm.

“Just think of the possibilities – they could promise to create a Ministry of Oligarchic Development. Special institutes could be set up to develop grassroots local programs of self-aggrandizement…”

He was still talking as I surreptitiously made my exit wondering, as always, how we could channel this unique mind to more productive uses!