Clinton Visits, But Moscow Does Not Believe in Cheers

By John Kohan/Moscow

In the thick of Moscow's midwinter gloom, the pupils of Special English Language School No. 20 at Vspolny Lane in central Moscow have good reason to be cheerful. First of all, their New Year's vacation was extended four days to Jan. 14. During that time their classrooms will be painted and spruced up. Then upon their return the students are hoping to have some special English- speaking guests: President and Hillary Rodham Clinton. Children in the lower grades have been eagerly preparing a musical program.

The cheerful surroundings and youthful excitement, however, are a false window into the mood of most Muscovites. Apart from a few cosmetic changes, the city is literally a mess, giving citizens far more immediate problems to worry about than Kremlin intrigues and superpower summitry. Injuries from slips, falls and other pedestrian mishaps were reported to be running as high as 1,200 a day because the city can no longer afford enough tools and workers to clear the filthy, slush-filled streets. Mountains of sodden cardboard boxes are piling up behind new sheet-metal stands, where vendors sell cigarettes, candy and drinks at train and metro stations.

For most Muscovites, the city's budding consumer culture has produced nothing but frustration. While shopping for goodies for the Russian Orthodox Christmas holiday, consumers encountered shops in the capital filled with a dazzling array of hitherto unknown products, from kiwi fruit to Tabasco sauce. The trouble is, prices are so high that the minimum monthly wage of about 15,000 rubles does not even cover the cost of a kilogram of high-quality smoked salami, which sells for more than 16,000 rubles in one downtown Moscow gastronom store.

Muscovites living at the upper end of the social ladder have their own problems. Russia's new entrepreneurs were struggling last week to cope with a government order that went into effect Jan. 1 banning trade in currencies other than the Russian ruble -- notably the American dollar, which accounts for the lion's share of sales. The move to get dollars out of circulation is intended to bolster confidence in the faltering Russian currency, but it has proved a real headache for Russia's novy rich, who have got used to earning greenbacks through lucrative foreign business connections and using the proceeds to buy luxury goods at exclusive hard-currency stores. With the official exchange rate hovering around 1,260 rubles to the dollar, they face the humiliating experience of running short of large-denomination Russian bank notes, especially when picking up inflated tabs at nightclubs or lobster restaurants.

Boris Yeltsin's government narrowly averted the embarrassment of a newspaper strike, which would have blacked out coverage of the summit. Angered by a directive that could raise the cost of paper and printing services as much as 600%, the editors of some of Moscow's most influential publications accused the government of trying to bankrupt the media and called for a strike during summit week. Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin summoned the rebellious journalists to his new office to remind them that they had championed the very market reforms that were pushing them into the red. They relented when Chernomyrdin suspended provisions in the decree that would have imposed heavy property taxes on printing plants.

Yet even the most world-weary Muscovites find diversion in the antics of their politicians. They are particularly bemused by the squabble about where the new parliament is supposed to meet. With a Russian Orthodox bishop in attendance to offer his blessings and perhaps exorcise the ghosts of the past, Chernomyrdin hastily occupied a renovated office suite last week at the White House, the former parliament building damaged last October when armed forces loyal to Yeltsin put down a revolt of hard-line deputies. The move was intended to forestall any claims on the space by the new Federal Assembly, whose members are unhappy over a Kremlin proposal to house the two chambers in separate buildings until a new complex can be built on an abandoned sports field just behind the White House. The reported price tag left Russians gagging: $500 million.

Most Russians see the Clinton visit as having little impact on their lives. They believe all they have got out of improved relations with Washington has been a lot of empty promises of help. "I don't think anyone expects too much from America now," explains Alexander Konovalov of Moscow's Institute for the U.S.A. and Canada. "The romantic period in Russian-American relations is over."

When the Clintons come to town, they will sample traditional Russian hospitality with all the Potemkin-village trimmings. But the real Moscow will probably elude them. This suits the city just fine. Russians may have problems aplenty, but at least the Americans are now among the least of them.