Simmering Troubles in Sofia

Frankfurt, December 2008

Dear Family and Friends,

Am writing to you from Frankfurt airport after almost two weeks visiting Bulgaria. Last month, one of my correspondents wrote asking if I was ok, fearing that I had encountered troubles in my travels and not made my way back home. Indeed I am still traveling and have resolved to go back to writing when I have a free evening and no one with whom to share dinner.

“Sue, put on your seatbelt,” was the instruction of my colleagues, Alex and Francesco, as we rode in a taxi through Sofia one afternoon this week. “He might slam on the breaks,” they warned, referring to the taxi-driver and worrying that I might be thrown through the windshield. I had taken the front seat, as I usually do when traveling, since the front seat usually has more support than those in the back. When I entered the cab, I saw on the dashboard two big signs, with the sign in English three times the size of the Bulgarian version. The English sign explained that the driver was obliged to put his id on the dashboard and that I, as a passenger, should ask for it. So I did. “Where is the id?” I inquired of the 30-something young man with an emerging beard. “It’s in the back,” he said and waived toward Alex and Francesco. I looked back and couldn’t see it. “No, it’s there,” the driver pointed to the glove compartment in front of my seat. I took the driver up on his invitation and opened the compartment to find only a car registration and similar documents. This is when Alex and Francesco started to worry. They explained later that they thought I might find a gun or narcotics and then we would all be in deep trouble.

The taxi industry in Sofia is famous for its poor regulation. In 2001, when I was there for two weeks, I discovered that some taxi companies impersonate others, using logos that look similar to reputable companies but charge rates that are four times higher. “Then the taxi industry was unregulated,” explained the officials from the Competition Commission in an earlier meeting. “Now it is properly regulated.” From a passenger’s perspective, it didn’t seem that they had improved all that much.

Having put on the seatbelt, I decided to test the credibility of government institutions for the man on the street--in this case, our taxi-driver. “What is your opinion about the government?” I asked. “They are all crooks. If I had a gun, I would kill 12,000 of them.” I was too stunned to ask why 12,000 but pleased to hear that he didn’t have a gun. I decided to keep probing. “You have an election in a few months. You can elect a new government.” “They are all the same,” was the response. He went on to explain that it was the same Communist-parties that controlled the country in 1989 before the Berlin Wall. It was also the same clans and in some case, the same individuals. “They all steal,” complained the driver, suddenly becoming law-abiding himself. “We are ready to march on the streets … anytime …”

By then, Francesco was getting very unnerved. “Here, here, please stop,” he impatiently instructed. The driver had to move to the curb and then get past the bus stop with its many waiting passengers. We then were obliged to walk several blocks in the rain to find our meeting since Francesco had cut the ride short.

It was a similar story last night in the hotel bar. When time is pressed, I often have a light salad as dinner in the bar late in the evening. It was the third or fourth time this week that I had ordered a Balkan Shopska Salad with wine and bread. The bartender with his colored earrings in both ears told me that he was studying economics at the university and was acting as a part-time adviser to the mayor of one of the towns. “We want to change everything,” he said. “Five years ago, the student town was clean. Now it is run by the mafia. They have drugs, prostitution, everything. We are ready to march in the streets,” suggesting that such public protests could solve the problems of organized crime in Bulgaria.

Organized crime even arose in one of our official meetings with government ministry counterparts. For one senior official, I gave my usual presentation of the need for simple consumer information, fair business practices, an efficient method of resolving consumer disputes, and a system of financial education. All this is part of our program on consumer protection and financial literacy. When I came to the discussion about out-of-court dispute resolution, he became incensed and defensive and said, “Everywhere in the world, they have these problems. It is not just in Bulgaria.” It took me a moment to realize that he thought I was suggesting the presence of organized crime in the financial sector.

Last Spring the European Commission halted disbursement of grants for Bulgaria, arguing that the problems of organized crime are so pervasive that the Commission could not be sure that some of the funds would be stolen. As governments worldwide are searching for new revenues to cover their deficits, a loss of funds (and international public criticism) has hit hard in Sofia.

In my travels, I have been in Tbilisi, Georgia and Kyiv, Ukraine as brave journalists wrote about government corruption and were subject to contract-style murder. Tens of thousands, including many from the professional middle-classes, braved snow and cold and police mistreatment to make a public statement. One can wonder if the same will come to Sofia.

In the meantime, I can only wonder about the restaurant that Francesco, Alex and I walked into another evening this week. It was in residential area and had only one partially hidden sign. Francesco was certain it was a restaurant and walked in. He and Alex checked to make sure that it was not a “gentlemen’s club”. It was not but it had no customers even at 8:30 in the evening. When we asked for the near-disco music to be turned down, it took three requests and still was louder than I wished. The staff hid in the kitchen and we had to find them to obtain service. They did their best to ignore us. My guess was that we had wondered into a private restaurant masquerading as a public facility open to the public. As I ate my puree potatoes made from a mix, I wondered why even criminals would not want well-prepared food.

In the meantime, I can only think about Georgi Markov, the famous Bulgarian dissident who is thought to have been killed by the Russian secret police. As confirmed by several high-profile defectors, Georgi Markov was stabbed by an umbrella with a ricin-coated pellet. Of all the countries in central Europe, only Bulgaria had such a famous story with ties to Russian secret police.

Sue