bribery vs the 'rule of law'

Ok, let's take a break from alphabets for a while. I want to tell you about a few things that have happened recently, starting with my brief run-in with a member of Odessa's notorious miltsia.

First, a bit of context. When western commentators turn their eyes to the former USSR (especially to the Central Asian republics) they often talk about the bribery and the 'culture of corruption'. Both of these things are undeniable problems, but it really irritates me when westerners complain about them – particularly the bribery part. They usually have little or no idea of what they're talking about, but even when they do, I still get annoyed. I hope these examples will help explain why.

A couple of months ago I visited my friend Scott in Odessa, on Ukraine's southern Black Sea Coast. It was a very entertaining weekend, at the end of which I had to get on a train for the overnight journey to Lviv, up in the country's northwest.

I arrived at the station in Odessa with a bit of spare time and a pre-bought ticket. I had no idea of whether or not I'd be allowed to smoke on-board the train (regulations change all the time in Ukraine), so I lit up on the station steps and began savouring what I thought may well be my last cigarette for the evening.

As I was doing this, a militsia man came through the main doors and saw me. He pointed to an expertly concealed 'No Smoking' sign, then motioned for me to come inside the station with him. At that moment my heart sank; I could see a potential nightmare unfolding, with me standing in a 'militsia post' (the equivalent of a railway police station), trying to justify myself while my train pulled out of the platform.

As we marched through the grand main hall, the officer started ranting about how I'd need to go to court. Then he changed his tune, telling me instead that I'd have to pay a 300 Euro on-the-spot fine.

When we came to the post, and Mr Militsia told his chief what had happened. The chief winced as if to say "Oh dear ... you've landed yourself in a lot of trouble, sonny boy". They both sensed that I was a foreigner, and they checked my passport to find out what flavour I was, also waving it under a scanner that was probably connected to nothing in particular. Then they chatted a bit more about the seriousness of my situation, while I fretted about inflated fines and missed trains.

At that point, my militsia guy decided to move to the next stage of the process, saying words to this effect: "Look, this is a serious matter, but if you come behind the station with me now, you can give me 100 hryvnia (about $12) and I can make the problem disappear".

So now let me ask you: what would you have done in my situation? Would you have risked going behind the station into a darkened area, with a guy who carries a baton and who knows you're not from 'round here? Or would you have refused, risking a missed train and a larger fine? 

Before you answer, consider three things: first, in former Soviet countries, being a foreigner equates in many people's minds to being vastly wealthy compared to the locals, whether it's actually true or not (and it quite often isn't). This can of course make you, the traveller, a bit of a target for scams etc.. Second, Odessa's militsia used to have a fierce reputation as one of the worst in any part of the former USSR, and at least an echo of that reputation still remains. 

Lastly, bear in mind that the salaries received by most militsia put them firmly below the poverty line, which of course is the reason why so many of them ask for bribes in the first place. It is, in fact, more or less expected that they'll ask, given the pitifully small pay-packets they take home in return for doing a rather dangerous job.

So now, taking all that into account ... what would you have done? 

Let me tell you what I did: conscious of the risk involved, I nonetheless went with him behind the station. There inevitably followed a very tense moment of standing in the dark with an armed man, and with no-one else around to see what he might do next. And then, an exchange of money. 

The next thing that happened isn't new for me, but every time I experience it, I find myself a little stunned. Our serious business concluded, all trace of authoritarian severity disappeared from the militsia guy's face, and he became my friend.

A second-and-a-half later, having examined my ticket then grabbed hold of my wheelie bag, my new protector was racing towards my platform, making noises of concern about me missing the train. Actually we had almost ten minutes to go, so I tried to explain that I needed to stop and buy some food for the journey. He refused to allow it, worried that I might not have time to find my carriage before the train set off. I was too surprised to take charge of the situation, so I just followed him meekly.

We parted with a friendly "Goodbye and good luck!" – rather a different farewell to what these western commentators who write about 'bribe culture' would lead you to expect.

Something similar happened to me once in Lviv, when I was walking home after a big night and was stopped by four policemen in a car. They made quite a show of checking my passport with grave expressions on their faces. In order to be allowed to go, they told me, I'd need to hand over some cash. (They said the money was "for coffee", but we all understood the implication.) I willingly paid the small sum they asked for, surprised and thankful that they hadn't asked for more. And just like my militsia guy in Odessa, they immediately became concerned for my welfare, debating amongst themselves which would be the safest route for me to take to my flat. It was friendly smiles and fatherly advice all around.

I must admit, I find this behaviour utterly fascinating. There's nothing like it in English-speaking cultures. I never come away feeling annoyed – rather it's a mixture of relief that things didn't get more serious, and a sense of "Wow, that was just SO weird!"

So that's my militsia story. The next thing I want to tell you about may seem totally unconnected and irrelevant, but if you'll bear with me, I'll explain in a sec.

I study online at an Australian uni called the University of New England (UNE). I receive most of my course materials via the uni's website, and submit nearly all my work electronically. At the end of every semester, UNE pays someone (usually the British Council) to set up an exam room for me in whatever city I happen to be in at the time. It's a great system ... and I didn't realise how rare it was, and hence how lucky I am to have chosen this particular uni, until recently.

Some time ago I decided that I wanted to study Russian in an academic context, which unfortunately isn't offered at UNE. I looked around for other options and discovered that Macquarie University in Sydney does offer it, so I applied to study with them. I started the extraordinarily long and complex application process in June 2011, having read on the internet that the deadline was in September.

When September rolled around, I was just about ready to submit everything, but the university said "No. Since you're an overseas external student, you should wait until December". I queried this, because I'd read on their website that applying any later would mean that I had to pay an extra fee. But the helpful souls at Macquarie assured me that the late fee wouldn't apply to me.

Later in the process, the question of payment came up. I was initially told that I couldn't apply for government assistance because I was living abroad, and I would have to pay in advance for my studies. The fee was absurdly high, but I saw no other option, and I really wanted to study Russian. So I agreed.

More time passed, and I submitted the application on December 1st as instructed. Macquarie then suddenly informed me that, if I could get the right forms, I could receive government assistance after all. This would mean that the government would pay my fees now, and I would pay the government back later in instalments. It was the opposite of what Macquarie had told me much earlier, but still, it was amazing news!

Or at least, it was until I understood the timing.

See, after letting me believe for almost half a year that I was going to pay in advance, Macquarie had explained the government assistance option too late. The forms I needed couldn't be filled in online, because they're the old ones that make an automatic carbon copy of everything you write. They had to be posted from Australia. No-one at the uni could (or would) tell me where I could get them, and in any case, there wasn't time to post them to Kazakhstan and back.

Suddenly, I was asked to pay $3,000 in course fees right now. I objected, because I felt it was the uni's inefficiency that had put me in this situation. And then, super hero masks, capes and externally visible underpants in place, Macquarie University's student services swooped magnificently down from the heavens to 'save' me from my desperate circumstances.

Remember the late fee I mentioned above ... the one which the uni had advised not to worry about? Well, now they said that I should give them the fee (somewhere between $150 and $200), and that if I paid them this money, they would make the larger $3,000 problem disappear.

I have no idea how they can do that – I mean rules are rules and laws are laws, right? Well, apparently not. Or rather, when there are so many rules and laws in a society, it seems that they can often be made to cancel each other out. Or to guarantee that someone along the line gets money from you that they don't deserve.

In any case, it was clear: if I gave Macquarie $150, I would delay the bigger $3,000 payment until much later. In actual fact, though, this was a deception. The possibility of delaying payment had been present all along, and the only amount of money in question was the $150.

In short, I'd been scammed.

In the end, I didn't pay them the money, because I found out about something else they hadn't told me. I mentioned above that my university can set up examination centres for their students living abroad. Macquarie uni, despite offering 'online external' units with a special code ("X"), doesn't do this. And do you know how I found that out? I asked.

Had I not asked, Macquarie would have happily taken my $150 and committed me to a $3,000 debt to the Australian government. No-one at the uni was going to refuse my money, regardless of the fact that I was clearly not in a position to pass a Macquarie exam and thereby successfully complete a Macquarie course. No-one.

At this point I would dearly like to write the much, much worse things that are going through my head right now, but I'll content myself (at least for the time being) with this.

BASTARDS! SNEAKY, DISHONEST, BUREAUCRATIC BASTARDS!!!

I hate them and I wish them ill.

Ok, so now let me try and explain why these two experiences are inhabiting the same page of my blog.

To do this, I want to look at the 'anatomy' of bribes. Keep in mind that I'm not an expert in this area, 'cause I really haven't paid such a vast number of bribes in my time. So maybe my perception of how they work is accurate, or maybe not. Also, I'm only talknng about private individuals who are bribed, not businesses or their owners. With that in mind ... let's go!


THE ANATOMY OF A BRIBE

Step 1: Identify (or create) a problem.

This usually relates to a transgression of rules. A classic example is the militsia who used to patrol Red Square in Moscow. I never saw this happen, but they would apparently stop foreigners and do a 'passport check'. The check would reveal some kind of visa problem (usually one of the militsia men's own making), and the tourist would suddenly find him or herself accused of being in Russia illegally – something guaranteed to frighten pretty much any Westerner.


Step 2: Explain the consequences.

The problem identified or created must have tangible consequences, and it is now up to the bribe-taker to explain these. In the Red Square case, it could be something quite extreme, like prison or deportation or whatever. In many cases, though, it's an extremely large fine or fee. It must be large enough to set off alarm bells in the victim's head, because they know they're unable to pay on the spot, and therefore they begin to fear the harsher fate which awaits them.


Step 3: Let your target stew in his/her own fear for a while.

A bribe won't work, it seems, if the solution to the problem is offered too quickly. The victim needs time to think over the horrible consequences of being 'caught', and all the inconveniences (or worse) that are going to result. This will, presumably, increase the effectiveness of step four, as the victim's thoughts become more gloomy and/or desperate.


Step 4: Offer yourself as a saviour.

Once your victim has had some time to consider all the catastrophic implications of what has just occurred, it's time to offer the hand of mercy. You simply point out that a small fee, paid directly and in cash, will make it worth your while to help them avoid the larger, much more serious problem. By this time, the person you're dealing with is only too happy to pay, knowing that it's a much better deal than the alternative. So money changes hands, and the victim is duly 'saved'.

And that's it*.

Before I go any further, I want to say that there are many kinds of bribes, and I'm sure that not all of them fit this model. Still, it does seem to be a common pattern.

Let's now examine this pattern with reference to the Odessa militsia and Macquarie University.

Step 1: The Problem

Militsia says        "Smoking here is illegal"
Macquarie says:  "Oh dear, you've applied to study externally?"
                                    (sounding surprised, though they've had this
                                     information for three months)
                                    "Hmmm ... that's a big problem."

Step 2: The Terrible Consequences

Militsia says         "You're going to court" / "You need to pay a fine"
Macquarie says:  "We need $3,000 from you right now."

Step 3: The stew

Militsia says          "Wait here while I speak to my chief."
Macquarie says:    Nothing. (Doesn't answer emails for a week, to
                                     prolong the agony.)

Step 4: Enter Your Saviour

Militsia says         "Come out the back with me, bring some cash, and 
                                       I'll make the problem go away."
Macquarie says:  "Hand us the $150 fee which we previously said was
                                      unnecessary, and we'll make the problem go
                                      away".

See any similarities here?

Skeptics may say "Oh come on, Anthony, this really isn't the same thing at all". True, there are some differences ... the biggest one being where your bribe money goes. In the Odessa case, it goes into the pocket of a hugely underpaid worker, who probably spends it on a good bottle of vodka to share with his buddies, or (if he's a nice guy) buys a little present for his wife/girlfriend/mistress which he otherwise couldn't afford.

In the Macquarie case, meanwhile, your money goes into the bank account of a self-perpetuating bureacracy. None of the employees of said bureacracy get richer from this – only the organisation itself. So if you believe that it's ok to extort money for the benefit of an organisation, but not for the benefit of an individual, then you'll favour the Macquarie approach. If, on the other hand, you'd prefer your money to go to a real person than to a vast bureacracy, you might feel more comfortable and less offended going behind the railway station than dealing with academic apparatchiks who scam you on behalf of their employer.

A second difference is that bribery usually works. As I said, the moment your militsia guy gets his little payoff, he not only stops hassling you but actually tries to help you. Compare that to Macquarie, who were prepared to take my money and still screw me assways by enrolling me in expensive subjects which I had no hope of passing, because I was prohibited from taking an exam.

Lastly, there's the 'lawfulness' issue. The Australian government's treatment of international students who study in Australia is a fitting example of this. Every time a student changes any detail of their plans in Australia – for example, moving from one kind of English course to another, when they realise that they need more specific language skills to help them achieve the aims of their über-expensive stay abroad – the government slugs them with a previously unmentioned fee. And it's a big one.***

If you define "extortion" as "taking advantage of a person's relatively weak position in order to extract money from that person", then this is extortion, pure and simple. The thing is, though, unlike the 'under the table' stuff that goes on in the former USSR, this particular kind of exploitation has the backing of law. Buried deep in the pages of Australia's vast legislative corpus, there are plenty of obscure regulations that allow the authorities to suddenly demand an extra $2,000 of struggling students, or else kick them out of the country with a nasty stamp in their passport.

In light of all this, my question is as follows: does the fact that something is done in accordance with regulations automatically make it fairier or more morally upright? 

In my particular case, the question looks like this: Macquarie can suck money out of me behind a facade of legality, whereas my Ukrainian militsia man has to do it behind a railway station. Conclusion: Ukrainian institutions are 'corrupt', whereas Australian institutions are 'open and fair'. But is it really as simple as that, or is there something more insidious in the 'lawful' way of doing things?

I'd argue that, when you're suddenly and forcibly demanding that people hand over their money, the fact that you can wave a piece of paper at them and say "Sorry, but it's the law!" doesn't make it any less of a bastard act. In fact, I'd suggest that maybe governments in countries like Australia might consider being a little more honest about their objectives in future, and calling new pieces of legislation things like "The 2011 Bastard Act".

Just one opinion ... that's all :-)

Having said all of this, though, I do want to point out that there are certain kinds of bribery in the former USSR which I think are shocking, and worse than what I've described above. Anything that compromises people's safety would be an obvious example ... which is why I still find it appalling that you can buy a driver's license in Russia, Ukraine, KZ and so on.

More subtly, many university students in these countries (especially Ukraine) report that their lecturers set prices for giving certain grades. The reason for this is clear: namely that, apart from police and doctors, academics are among the most horribly underpaid people in the country.

(A brief aside: at my school in KZ, we had a receptionst who was a fully qualified doctor, but she earned more money answering phones than she would've done performing surgery, so she decided not to pursue a medical career. Even now, that astonishes me.)

Grade-buying is kind of an open secret, and it tarnishes everyone who attends the universities where it takes place, because obviously having a degree from one of these universities doesn't actually prove that you successfully passed any subjects. So this, I think, is quite a different case to my little run-ins with militsia guys, who just want to make a little extra for themselves or their families at the (minimal) expense of a silly foreigner.

One more thing: as most of you know, Yuliya and I recently had our first child, the handsome young Timur Antonovich Cook. I mention this because, when you go to a Ukrainian hospital to give birth, your visit is peppered with payoffs. Yuliya actually prepared a pile of money in different currencies and denominations before the visit, so that she could slip appropriate amounts to the main doctor, the midwife, the ward nurse, and all kinds of other people who played minor roles during her stay. Plus, any medication required during the procedure had to be hastily bought from the on-site pharmacy and paid for over the counter. You can even pay someone to carry your newborn baby to a waiting taxi at the end of it all!

This may seem bizarre to some readers – as indeed, it did to me – but the result is this: you top up the salaries of medical professionals who sorely need it, you get the Gold Standard service, and you end up paying far less than you would in a Western country. Medical care is so cheap here that no-one has medical insurance ... unless they're, y'know, the president or something.

(Quick example: I had root canal therapy in KZ last year, the quality of work was equivalent to what you'd receive in Australia, and it cost me about $100. And Yuliya thought that was expensive!)

Imagine that: a world in which your insurance company has no role whatsoever. It's a beautiful thought, isn't it?

But what, if anything, can we take away from all of this? Well, the first thing would be "Real friends don't enrol at universities who try to extort friends". I'm therefore asking the Australians who read this: unless you have no other option at all, please don't ever give Macquarie University a single cent of your money.

More broadly, I hope I've adequately explained to you why I get so cranky when I hear condemnation of bribery and corruption, whether it comes from here or from the West. It's not that there aren't problems with this system – there are lots, believe me! In some republics, corruption is a real albatros for the small business community, and bribery is so rife that it noticeably advantages the already-rich, while locking everyone else out of whatever opportunities exist for advancement. So the message is definitely not "Yay bribery!" .

On the other hand, since I'm not a small business, I see things mostly at the level of private individuals and their interaction with 'the state'. At this level, I don't like the oft-heard implication that these societies are somehow less moral than the ones where people are constantly extorted by organs of government and other organisations who have the blessing of law or regulation on their side. To my way of thinking, the less civil society is arguably the one in which your money disappears into the cogs of faceless bureacratic machines, not the one where it disappears into the pockets of regular working people with regular working-people's concerns. Do you see what I'm saying? Am I making any sense here?

Oh, and btw, one minor follow-up point: when you're dealing with 'legal' institutions, the sums are usually much greater. Last week I saw an official at a registry office here being 'bribed' with a box of chocolates. Try that trick at the Australian Tax Office and see how far you get!

So that's my two cents' worth.

Now ... off you go with your counter-arguments ...

:-)



* Btw, you may note a similarity here to marketing, which very often relies on identifying a problem, informing consumers about it, then telling those consumers that there's a product, a service or a political ideology that will solve the problem. If you did notice that, then all I can say is: we're clearly on the same wavelength, sib**


** I just invented the word "sib", because we already have "bro" for brother and "sis" for sister, so to me it seems logical that we should have a similar form for sibling :-)


*** Just wanted to point out that while most international students are reasonably well-off, they're certainly not all millionaires. Not every chinese student who lands in Sydney is an 'Asian Princess' with a gold credit card, and in many cases her family has staked years of hard-earned savings on her education abroad. The government fees she's hit with can equate to a few months' worth of her father's salary, or even more.