The Benefits of Having a Positive Attitude to Police Harassment in Kiev

The Benefits of Having a Positive Attitude to Police Harassment in Kiev   

I was at a new nightclub that had recently opened.  It was the first high-end club to open in Kiev post-independence and it was walking distance from my apartment.  The locals called it “elitny,” which meant it was only for the rich (and for some stunning ladies trying to meet the rich).  The problem was, back then, foreigners in Kiev were a real anomaly and the girls at the club were only looking to meet wealthy locals, so it was hard to make any inroads.  It was pretty late and my buddy had left, so I got one more drink hoping to pull a rabbit from a hat, but it wasn’t meant to be.  I finished my drink and headed out.  It was around 3:30am by the time I started walking down the street toward home. 

As I got around the corner from the club, a cop car passed by, flipped a U-turn, pulled up beside me and stopped.  Two policemen got out and came straight to me and asked for my passport.  I gave it to them.  They then asked me to show them what was in my pockets, which I did.  They said there was a “problem” and told me to get into the car.  I hesitated, as I knew my passport, visa and registration were in order, but they were the police, and since this was my first real run-in with the authorities, I decided to do what I was told.

Once in the car they started driving around.  There were four cops- two in front and two in back.  I was riding the hump in the back seat between two of them.  I was strangely calm and blithe about the whole thing.  It must have been the alcohol, or just plain ignorance of what was happening.  The cop to my right was doing all the talking, in Russian.  This made it more difficult, as my language skills were still quite remedial. 

After some sentences that didn’t register, the cop ended his rambling with “sto dollarov,” which I knew meant $100 (they had seen my emergency USD stash when I emptied my pockets).  I replied in my broken Russian that I wouldn’t give them $100 and asked why they were asking for such money.  He said I was drunk and needed to pay them.  I told him in Russian, “We are in Ukraine- it’s not a problem to get drunk!”  No one said a word to that.

Then they started driving off the main boulevard and behind buildings where it was dark and no one could see us.  The cops were clearly trying to freak me out, but for the most part, it wasn’t working.  In my American life, I didn’t fear the police, so I just kept talking to them in my bad Russian and was having a good time enjoying the experience.  It was all something new for me.

After about twenty minutes of this late night tour, they realized that I was not suited for their corruption, so the cop to my right, who first asked for the $100, now asked if I could buy them some vodka and cigarettes.  He was actually very nice and polite about it.  This was a victory in itself, as vodka and cigarettes would cost me less than $10.  I was getting tired and the romantic allure of police harassment was wearing off, so I was about to say Ok, but right then the car turned behind the State Philharmonic

Kiev Philharmonic Building

Building and we saw two young girls, both wearing very short skirts and high heels sitting in the back corner of the parking lot.  The driver said something that must have been akin to, “Oh, what do we have here?” and the entire car’s focus immediately shifted from vodka and cigarettes to the ladies.  The cops started talking fast amongst each other about how they were going to play this one.  I couldn’t really understand what they were saying, but that much was clear.  They drove straight up toward the ladies.

While I’ve said my Russian was still pretty weak, I had built up a vocabulary of some funny things to say, mostly as jokes to help pick up girls at the bars or to make people laugh.  For example, I’d memorized how to say “the toilet doesn’t flush” or  “I have an octopus at home,” and other things like that from a Russian phrasebook I had.  I also learned some funny ailments that tourists get from bad food and the like, which I found really made the crowd at my regular hangout bar erupt and go nuts over.  As the car approached the two girls, the incessant chatter between the cops continued and I had become something as insignificant as a cockroach behind the refrigerator.  The girls were so out of it that they didn’t even notice us approaching. 

As we got within fifteen yards of the ladies, one girl started vomiting. It was obvious that the girls had too much to drink at the nightclub I was just at and they stumbled back here to sober up a bit before heading home.  When the cops saw the puking, they reacted like they hit the jackpot.  Just then, one of my guidebook lines popped into my head, so as the car stopped about ten yards in front of the ladies and within only a few seconds of seeing the girl vomit, I said in my heavily American accented Russian, “Oh, she has tapeworms.”  I then added, “Maybe also very strong diarrhea.”  This threw all the cops for a loop since my Russian up until then was very basic stuff, so everyone in the car turned to me immediately.  I was beaming happily with a broad smile at my wittiness, in a foreign language no less, and when they saw that, the whole car erupted in hearty laughter, including myself.  We all really had a good laugh at that one.

As things calmed down, the two cops in front got out, still laughing a bit and approached the girls.  After a couple minutes the other two cops got out to see what was going on with one of them approaching the group, while the other stayed back with me.  I waited in the back of the car for a minute, but it was clear that they were all totally engrossed by the hot young ladies who were clearly drunk as hell.  I got out of the car.  The one cop that stayed behind looked my way.  I lit a cigarette, offered him one, which he took and I lit, and then I stared over at what was happening with the girls.  He also turned back to the girls trying to hear the conversation being had. 

A minute or two passed with the cops talking to the girls and looking through their papers and documents.  My cop then moved over to the group and I was standing next to the car by myself smoking while they were all talking.  After another minute, I realized a window of opportunity had opened and figured it was now or never.  I started walking away, quietly, but hurried.  I expected someone to shout at me or something, but they didn’t notice and when I got around the corner of the Philharmonic, I trotted quickly to the street and hailed the first car I saw to get the hell out of there. 

I was home within ten minutes, but I learned a most valuable lesson that night: never- ever let the cops see you sweat or you’ll lose the upper hand in the game of power.  Also, if you can make them laugh, as I did with my line about the worms and diarrhea, it breaks down their façade of authority and they deal with you in a much more friendly and civil manner.  At this time, racism was rampant in Ukraine (a Soviet legacy) and the cops loved to hassle dark haired people with olive skin like myself, and once they would see my U.S. passport, the hassle immediately turned into a bribe situation.  This happened to me all the time back then, in many different manifestations.  It was something I had to live with.  It was the price of entry for living in such a dynamic place; but having such a pleasant first experience saved me a lot of cash (and stress) over time. 

At the end of the day, we’re all in this shit show together, so if we can break down the barriers between us, we can always then try to find some common ground.  I have found that humor is one of the best ways of doing that.  I really miss those days, and those wild experiences. 

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If you like these tales from early Kiev, check out this one:  Young Love in my Kiev Storage Apartment