I’m getting really good, interesting questions on the USSR. Thank you, everybody, for participating.
Reader Pen asks:
“Is there a cursive form of the Cyrillic alphabet?”
Yes, there is. And it’s a total bitch. I recently tried to write a note to my husband and discovered that I don’t remember how to write cursive Cyrillic any longer. That was embarrassing.
Also, you’ve talked a bit about the schooling conditions in the USSR while you were growing up. I know you said you went to a fancy expensive school where they taught you English. What were the schools like for students whose parents couldn’t afford something like that? Is this in any way similar to the schooling situation now?
Now, the schools in the USSR were free. We didn’t have to pay anything to the government or the school to attend. However, at my fancy high school, bribery was rampant, shameless, and pervasive. Teachers extorted bribes very openly. They simply refused to give you a passing grade – irrespective of the quality of your work – unless you gave them a bribe.
All of the students who were from really poor families were squeezed out of this school by the 8th grade. Those who remained either gave bribes or accepted low grades. But it isn’t like anybody had to stay at that school. People could choose to go to regular schools where everybody was equally poor and unable to offer bribes.
That school didn’t teach me English because my English was already better than that of all the teachers combined and multiplied by 11 by the time I came to that school (at the age of 11, actually.) Once, back in 1988, we had a delegation of British doctors visit our school. I was invited to serve tea and coffee to the group. The British doctors suffered through an hour of the teachers’ broken English until one of the doctors dropped something and I picked it up, saying, “Here you go, ma’am”, or something of the kind. After that, the British doctors started yelling, “Oh my God, look at the little one! She speaks English!” And I was the center of attention of that encounter until it ended.
And two years later, I was able to visit two of the nicest among these doctors at their house in Kent. The house was more like a mansion, and I remember being very confused as to how somebody of such a lowly, unprestigious profession could live like that and have a collection of antiques at home. When I brought photos of the doctors’ (actually, they were a doctor and a nurse) mansion back home to the USSR, my Soviet relatives and acquaintances kept persecuting me with questions of the “Are you really sure he is a doctor???” variety.
I love these questions. We should do this more often.

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