The End and the Beginning

A Georgian family celebrates New Year’s in 1993 Moscow

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Photo: Misha Friedman, from “Moscow Doesn’t Believe in Anything?” Stranger’s Guide: Moscow

Thousands of people have taken to the streets in Georgia, protesting Russia's attempt to inflict control of their country. Watching the protests I was reminded of a New Year’s Eve in 1993 that I spent with a Georgian family living in a Stalin-era high-rise on the outskirts of Moscow during the Georgina Civil War.

—Kira Brunner Don

Irina was a Georgian and a good communist. She was in her mid-30s but looked years older. Her blond hair was dyed one too many times, and there were thick dark rings under her eyes. She believed in the grandeur of the Soviet Union, and now that it was dissolving all around her at an alarming pace, she was not sure what to believe in. Georgia was in the midst of a civil war and every day, she thought of returning to the country of her childhood. 

It was 1993, and I was in Moscow working as the assistant teacher in Irina’s English class where she taught 16-year old trade school students in a drab suburb. I had gained the job by simply showing up. This was in the early days after the fall of the Soviet Union, when simply being an American could create a kind of spectacle in and of itself. From the moment I set foot on Russian soil I received special status. People went out of their way to talk to me or they stole glances and scoffed at me with their friends. But either way, whether hated or revered, I was never ignored.

In the classroom Irina was a tyrant. She scolded and mocked her students mercilessly; then with just as much enthusiasm, she’d break into a girlish smile when they got something right. From the first, Irina made me her pet. She’d whisk me back to the teacher’s lounge, even if we only had 5 minutes between the bells. “Who cares if we’re late?” she’d say tossing her hand out towards the hall full of students. “They most certainly don’t.”