New Geography

Author: Andrea Gregovich

  • Ukrainian and Russian: The Geo-Politics of Language

    The Russian-speaking population of Ukraine has been at a disadvantage since the collapse of the Soviet Union. In the Ukrainian parliament, this occasionally erupts in violent brawls caught on YouTube; for average citizens, it is a humanitarian problem. Early on in this conflict the Peace Corps instructed its volunteers in Ukraine to avoid speaking Russian whenever possible. This almost certainly stoked the tensions that have now, years later, destabilized the country.

    In the fall of 1997, just after graduating from college with a degree in English and Russian Studies, I completed Peace Corps training in the city of Cherkassy, then was sent north to Chernigov, my placement city. I then spent several weeks in Kiev before “early terminating” – that’s Peace Corps jargon for leaving your assignment before completing the customary two years of volunteer service.

    The cities where I clocked time in Ukraine are all situated along the northern section of the Dnieper River, which serves as a dividing line between the Ukrainian-dominant west and the Russian-speaking east. Most of the people I met in this central region preferred conversing with me in Russian, or lapsing into Surzhik, the cozy colloquial hodge-podge of both languages. Yet Peace Corps maintained a rather adamant policy that Ukrainian was the preferred language for all our interactions with the Ukrainian public in this part of the country. Ukrainian had become the country’s only official language after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

    This never sat well with me. Peace Corps Ukraine volunteers were instructed to side with a single language in a bilingual country. Now that Russia has annexed Crimea and is threatening a military invasion of eastern Ukraine, I can’t help but see the Peace Corps’ approach as evidence of America’s interference in a cultural conflict in which it should never have been a player.

    Other volunteers told me that in its early years, Peace Corps taught everyone Ukrainian, even the volunteers who were placed in Crimea and the far eastern cities like Donetsk, Kharkov, and Lugansk, where almost all of the locals spoke little or no Ukrainian. Eventually, Peace Corps conceded that these volunteers were better off learning Russian, when it became clear that they were being sent into the field woefully unprepared to communicate.

    In the central part of the country, where both languages were relevant, we were told that we needed to be role models for the citizens who knew Ukrainian but were more comfortable speaking Russian. These people were complacent, they told us; lazy, even. They only spoke Russian because the Soviet Union had forced it on them in school for several generations. If they heard Americans speaking Ukrainian better than they did, they would feel ashamed of themselves, and that was a good thing (or so we were told).

    We were also warned to keep an eye out for that ugly plague of Surzhik, and not to let it infect our use of either language. And Surzhik was everywhere – on the trolleys, in the stores, on the local television news. Even the intelligent mother and daughter I lived with during training used it to speak with each other. They had been warned by the Peace Corps about modeling sloppy language for us, though, so they mostly spoke to me in clean Russian, except for a few days when we made a token effort to converse in Ukrainian after somebody from Peace Corps scolded them for letting me speak so much Russian.

    As somebody with an academic interest in linguistics and language history, I knew that forcing a language on a population, even a language that may have been at one time forced out of them, was an age-old recipe for discontent and conflict. I even had a hard time thinking ill of Surzhik, though I could hear it corrupting both languages as people spoke. Much as we may try to pin down correct usage with grammatical rules, dictionaries, and textbooks, language is ultimately democratic, its evolution driven by the people who speak it. It may have been ugly to some people’s ears, but from a linguistic point of view Surzhik was a perfectly natural development for speakers torn between two rival languages.

    Mine wasn’t necessarily a majority view of the country’s language politics. Plenty of Peace Corps volunteers believed they were benefitting the country by speaking textbook Ukrainian, even when people struggled to converse with them. These folks would respond with friendly scorn when I expressed a preference for speaking Russian because it was easier for me to communicate with people and forge relationships. There were other language problems, too: One woman assigned near the border in southwestern Ukraine told me most people in her town spoke Romanian. Other parts of the west had strongly Polish-influenced dialects.

    The more urgent stories of language oppression, though, came from Ukrainians themselves: a university student during the Soviet Union collapse, for example. She considered herself Ukrainian, but her family and friends only ever spoke Russian. The Ukrainian language was a minor academic requirement for her in school; she never learned to speak it with any fluency. When Ukraine gained its independence and Ukrainian was declared the official language, she and other Russian-speaking students suddenly found themselves in classes conducted strictly in Ukrainian.

    Of course, Ukrainians in the western part of the country had plenty of legitimate complaints about being forced to learn Russian when Ukraine was part of the Soviet Union, and about the disadvantages they faced in the many communities where Ukrainian was and still is the primary or even sole language. Neither side of the country has had an easy linguistic ride over the last century.

    What I was witnessing, though, looked like a regulatory pendulum swing from one extreme position to another, not a benevolent policy change aimed at benefitting the population as a whole. I found myself in an awkward position — the language I’d studied for years turned out to be as frowned upon as it was useful. I remember looking up chess terminology, memorizing the phrase “politicheskaya peshka”, so I could explain in Russian, if the need arose, that I — because of the language I spoke — felt like a political pawn.

    Flickr photo by Dieter Zirnig: Ukraine, 2010

    Since her brief stint in the Peace Corps, Andrea Gregovich earned an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from University of Nevada Las Vegas and has been honing her skills as a translator of Russian literature.

  • Alaska To Stimulus Funds: Yup, We’ll Take ‘Em

    Earlier this month the Alaska state legislature, in a special session, voted 44-14 to accept $28.6 million in stimulus funds that Sarah Palin had rejected in May. Sean Parnell, Alaska’s governor since Palin’s resignation, says the money will be used primarily for energy efficiency improvements in public buildings.

    The tale of the showdown between Palin, the state legislature, and the federal Department of Energy may ultimately reveal as much about state sovereignty under the current administration in Washington as it does about Alaska’s internal politics.

    Palin has more than once made her case for rejecting the stimulus money — or at least a portion of it — clear: her objection is that the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act calls for the adoption of the International Energy Conservation Code in exchange for the funds, which would set new standards for things like window fenestration and lighting equipment in new and remodeled commercial and residential buildings. Such codes, however, could be a logistical nightmare for some communities to adopt and for the state to enforce.

    Alaskan buildings are architecturally diverse, each constructed for a particular climate and geography. Homeowners in Ketchikan, for example, where it rains nearly every day of the year, have different concerns than those in Valdez, where the average yearly snowfall is 325 inches. Many communities in the state are only accessible by boat or plane, so the shipping of supplies is costly and inefficient. Economic hardship and subsistence are also the normal standard of living in many of the remote, rugged Alaskan towns and villages.

    Because of these circumstances, the state has always permitted local governments to set their own building codes. Most of the villages choose not to have building codes at all. All things considered, monitoring energy code compliance in perpetuity would easily cost the state more than $28.6 million. Palin also has noted that the state has hundreds of millions of dollars already budgeted for energy efficiency and renewable energy projects, so the less than $30 million in stimulus funds really aren’t a substantial addition to the state’s effort.

    Her rejection of the funds sparked a debate that was carried out in press releases, official letters, and Anchorage Daily News editorials. A legislator from Anchorage claimed in an op-ed piece that Palin was “denying” Alaskans much needed funds, and that rejecting money from the stimulus package brings to mind the old saying, “two wrongs don’t make a right.” The co-chairs of the state senate resources committee wrote a letter urging Palin to consider Missouri’s proposal (accepted by the Department of Energy) which would fulfill the mandate with a 90% compliance rate on the local level, exempting communities with populations under 2,500 and structures without plumbing and electricity. There are enough major Alaska communities that have already adopted energy codes, they said, that the state either already meets or could easily meet the federal requirements in the necessary time frame.

    Palin responded to these opponents with her own editorial and press releases, and an Anchorage architect agreed with her in another op-ed, suggesting that while Alaska has long built energy efficient buildings out of cold weather necessity, the two senators’ numbers for 90 percent compliance didn’t add up. The primary result of taking the money, he claimed, would be “a new regulatory requirement to verify compliance.”

    The disagreement hinged on everyone’s interpretation of the DOE’s language. The initial mandate required “assurances” from the governor that local communities with the authority to do so “will implement” the codes. Because there is no statewide energy code in Alaska and the state constitution supports local self-government, Palin took the stance that this requirement would put her outside of her jurisdiction as governor. She and her staff exchanged letters with the DOE in attempt to clarify the possibility of the Missouri option, and the degree to which the state would be required to oversee code implementation and compliance.

    The DOE admitted that the code mandate wasn’t appropriate for all states, but said the Missouri option was part of the Missouri governor’s “broader commitment” to “work proactively” with communities and the legislature to improve energy efficiency, implying, perhaps, that despite Alaska’s success in these areas, the governor’s personal involvement was non-negotiable. Revisions were offered, but Palin was still dissatisfied with the DOE’s language. Proponents of taking the money suggested that the DOE’s revisions required the governor to work “within the extent of her authority” to promote the building codes, not to actively enforce them. Palin didn’t agree with this interpretation, saying she didn’t want the role of dictating or influencing local policies.

    As a state with a cold climate and an economy vulnerable to volatile fuel prices, Alaska has indeed taken its own steps to improve energy efficiency in recent years. In addition to independently adopted energy codes in most of the major cities and hundreds of millions budgeted for state energy projects, there has been an admirable home energy rebate program in place for several years; homeowners can have their houses audited for energy efficiency and be reimbursed up to $10,000 for making recommended improvements.

    It’s hard to imagine, though, that the legislature’s motives in opposing Palin’s decision were entirely pure. Palin and the legislature had a combative relationship over budget issues for most of her tenure as governor, and this was an opportunity for them to demonstrate their clout. It’s telling, too, that the legislature rejected Parnell’s proposal to extend their special session (which was held primarily to overturn Palin’s veto) by one day in order to extend a year-long suspension of the state’s 8-cent gas tax, which will now be reinstated September 1. The legislature may choose to suspend the gas tax again when the regular session begins in January, but their lack of urgency to act on the issue undermines their claim that the stimulus funds are urgently necessary to help keep Alaskans’ energy costs down.

    Of course, Palin’s own stance has been calculated as well. She initially wanted to decline roughly half of Alaska’s $930 million allotment, and her vocal anti-stimulus statements garnered national attention, which helped establish her as a critic of the Obama administration in her own right, independent of her role in McCain’s presidential campaign. By the time the smoke cleared, however, she was rejecting only this $28.6 million. Critics have said that it looks like a token amount, chosen to make a strategic political statement.

    In her op-ed piece, she noted that during her time as a Wasilla city council member and then mayor, the city experienced a boom in growth that made building codes an issue of great contention. Wasilla is notably missing on the list of major communities that have independently adopted energy codes, which would suggest that it would be one of the key cities that would have problems with a statewide energy code.

    After the legislature’s vote, Sean Parnell wrote to the DOE accepting the funds, noting his own disapproval of the mandates. He quoted an August DOE statement that the state legislature “does not need to adopt, impose and enforce a statewide building code in order to qualify,” making clear that he was accepting the funds on the basis of that statement. He also provided the DOE with “assurances”, not that state or local codes would be adopted, but that the Regulatory Commission of Alaska “will seek to implement general policies to promote energy efficiency and maintain just and reasonable rates while protecting the public.”

    Ultimately, if Alaska holds its ground and does not adopt the IECC, Palin and the legislature may have unwittingly conspired to successfully challenge the federal government’s encroaching influence on the state’s affairs. Perhaps not coincidentally, the legislature unanimously passed a 10th amendment state sovereignty resolution while they were hashing out the stimulus funds controversy, and Palin signed it weeks before resigning as governor. It will be interesting to see how the DOE handles Alaska’s obstinance…and how the Alaska legislature responds if the DOE calls their bluff down the road and asks how the codes are coming along.

    Andrea Gregovich is a writer and translator living in Anchorage.

  • “Cash For Clunkers” Doesn’t Utilize Junkyard Efficiency

    My father owned and operated a junkyard in Tucson for a number of years, and I learned a lot about the auto recycling industry helping around the office and as a delivery driver. So as a junkyard enthusiast, the “Cash For Clunkers” program naturally caught my interest lately. Though it looks to be the product of good intentions, I don’t think the legislation understands that junkyards already comprise an efficient, well developed recycling system for salvaging vehicles, with a beneficial result for the environment overall. I’m skeptical that quickly scrapping so many government-defined “clunkers” and replacing them with new, fuel-efficient models will have a substantial environmental benefit, because the plan has the potential to waste many useful materials in these cars.

    A junkyard may appear to be little more than a landfill for old cars if you’re just driving by, but in fact, to succeed, it must function as a highly efficient recycling operation. Junkyards sell parts to other junkyards, mechanics, and directly to consumers, and attempt to make as much of a profit as possible from each part on every car in their inventories.

    There is also a network of scavengers who travel around to junkyards gathering large core items, like alternators and starters, and a number of precious metals in small amounts that most don’t even recognize as in our cars. (Catalytic converters, for example, contain platinum and palladium, which are quite valuable when salvaged.) But a car needs to sit on the lot for a considerable period of time for this recycling process to work itself through. Parts from a car are usually sold one at a time over a period of months or even years; scavengers work on their own schedules. A scavenger may only come by a junkyard a few times a year to core out a particular metal or gather the useful components. Meanwhile, the junkyard needs to be selling parts off the car for it to be financially worth keeping in the inventory. A car is only sent off to be crushed for scrap metal when it no longer retains enough value to justify filling the space on the lot.

    If the Cash For Clunkers program is successful, it has the potential to throw a wrench into the system. The program’s rules require that the engine of a trade-in car be destroyed with an injection of sodium silicate so that the car won’t be resold and put back on the road. The rules seem to encourage the immediate crushing and shredding of the trade-in cars, but should they remain on junkyard lots, their inventory value would take an immediate hit with a non-functioning engine (the most valuable part of the car). To what degree the value decreases depends on the extent of the engine damage, the demand for the particular engine, and the age of the engine.

    A genuine old clunker would be likely to have a well used, and therefore less valuable engine, but then, the “clunker” program nickname (its official title is the “Car Allowance Rebate System”) is something of a misnomer. To be eligible for the program, cars must fall into certain categories of fuel inefficiency, be less than 25 years old, and worth less than $4500. This includes a number of models from the nineties. A working engine in many of the models targeted for the program is likely to have fewer miles on it, and therefore a higher inventory value, than a more traditionally defined clunker.

    But engine issues aside, if the program succeeds in taking a large number of particular models off the road, it could have an even more drastic effect on the junkyard value of those models, simply by lowering the demand for their parts. If there are only a few of a given model on the road, few consumers will buy parts for them from junkyards. Many junkyards are picky about which models they purchase for inventory, and won’t even bother with a model if there is little or no demand for its parts. So if Cash For Clunkers leaves some car models without junkyard value, those models would start going directly to the crusher, taking many of their valuable components with them. The scrap metal from crushed cars is used to make things like rebar and fence posts, so it isn’t as though the scrap winds up in the landfill. But it’s still a waste for precious metals and other valuable components to be crushed down with the low-end materials for low-end product.

    And even beyond the metals, something mundane like a plastic glove box has its own environmental impact. The overall junkyard process, where cars without “street” value become parts donors for cars still in use, prevents a great deal of after-market manufacturing of glove boxes and all the other parts that wear out or get damaged in cars on the road. If entire models are abruptly taken off the road, devalued at the junkyard, and crushed, it means that many new glove boxes must be manufactured – both for the new cars replacing the model, and for any other models and even makes still on the road for which that model of glove box, or stereo, or steering column fits (and many parts are surprisingly versatile this way). That could mean a boost in manufacturing, sure – but it also means an environmental impact that offsets some of the gains from the new fuel-efficient car that replaces the clunker.

    Cash For Clunkers is scheduled to end November 1, so it’s unlikely to have a long-term effect on the auto recycling industry beyond burdening it with a glut of devalued inventory. But so far the program is popular, and may be expanded or set a precedent for future programs. If this happens it could take a toll on the junkyards and their ability to recycle effectively. If there are suddenly millions of brand new car models on the road, there would be a period of hardship for the auto recycling industry, as the new cars would be running well, with any repairs done mostly under warranty at the dealerships with new parts. This whole scenario could also, by extension, tax the junkyard consumer base of low income, self-sufficient individuals whose cars are older, skillfully maintained, and perhaps most importantly, paid off.

    It’s beyond my pay rate to comprehensively evaluate the net difference in environmental impact between manufacturing and selling new, fuel-efficient cars for these quick “clunker” trade-ins and letting the older models stay on the road. But a legitimate evaluation would clearly involve more complex factors than a simple comparison of fuel efficiencies. Yet it’s clear that the program doesn’t appear to insert any innovative solutions into an already dynamic and effective recycling system. Even if it has some positive outcomes, it doesn’t look like Cash For Clunkers will utilize the industry’s full potential for environmental benefit.

    Perhaps its primary motive lies elsewhere, in its attempt to jump-start the auto industry with a “green” marketing gimmick. But in the process we may have reaped some unintended damage on a sometimes unsightly but remarkably environmentally resourceful industry.

    Andrea Gregovich lives in Anchorage, Alaska. She has written a novel about a junkyard called Martyred Cars and is looking for a publisher.