Illicit Enrichment

The whole thing had the air of unnecessary harrassment. In the U.S., the issue probably would have been that we were drinking beer in the street at 1am. Not so in Ukraine, where open beers are almost as ubiquitous as identification papers. Because I was being gratuitously searched while strolling with two black men, my first thought was, "even in Ukraine? I bet we can't get a taxi either" cliche as the idea might have been.

"What's in your pockets? What's in your wallets?" The officer offered, helpfully. (This was mostly in Russian.) I showed him my Colorado driver's license. Take that. Push me any further and we'll disinclude your country from the Coalition.

Jason, a Nigerian aerospace engineering student, tried to sweet talk him in Russian. He later told me that his line was something like, "You know, guys, we really love you. You're the reason we can walk around the streets so safely at night." Many flashbacks to childhood.

Midas didn't have his passport, but Jason convinced the police to let him go back to his apartment and get it, then run back to show them. He later described the situation as unreal. He had a chance to go to the bathroom and take a bite of one of the cheeseburgers he'd cooked in his apartment while the police were waiting.

At this point, it seemed like the police had hit a wall. They kept asking us the same questions about our papers and threatening halfheartedly to take us to jail. Meanwhile, Ukranians would walk by unmolested and give them the equivalent of thumbs-up and high fives. But they just couldn't seem to get to yes. "Aw, shucks, I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to, uh, go with me to the prom..." Why didn't they just ask us for money?

Meanwhile, I had the pleasure of complaining amusedly about unequal treatment to their faces while enjoying both a zero percent chance that they would understand me and a beer. Finally, Midas came back and showed them his passport. They grilled us about whether we were students and where we lived. They couldn't think of anything more to grill us about. There was some awkward shuffling. Then they let us go.

Midas later guessed that, with the 15th anniversary of Ukranian independence that weekend, Kiev had called in a bunch of cops from smaller, local police forces who weren't well trained. Possibly, but I'm more of the mind that this is common practice in Ukraine.

Four days later, I got off a bus in the central part of Kiev. Walking down the street with an Austrian in the gray early morning, I noted two bored cops sitting on a park bench. "Here it comes," I told my companion. Three. Two. One. "You! Papers! Passport!" These guys spoke better English. And so the whole charade went again.

"Here's my passport."

"Bomb. Bomb in your bag. You have bomb in your bag?"

"No, I don't have a bomb in my bag."

"Open you bag. Open there. Open there."

"See, see. No bomb."

"You have drug in your bag? Open."

"Nope. No drugs."

"You have drugs in your wallet? Open your wallet. Drugs? Money?" They must have attended police training school.

I grinned. "No drugs in my wallet. No money. No money." I literally didn't have a cent (kopeck) in cash to my name.

"No drugs? Open bag. No money?"

"Sorry."

More awkward shuffling, then they left us alone. So that's the demeanor of the authorities in Urkaine, for you transnational corruption junkies. I haven't yet seen any cops performing police functions in the country, but I guess it's true: you pay for what you get.