the eXile - Other Shite

Issue #22/103, November 9 - 23, 2000

Other Shite

Beard/Counterbeard

By Boris Kagarlitsky

About twenty years ago, radical beardedness represented an alternative to the smooth shaven bourgeoisie. In every sense, the symbolism of the beards of Che Guevara and Fidel Castro was accepted by reasonably educated people everywhere. It was easy to assume a beard as an extension of your political persona. Alas, that is not the way it is.

My beard is an entirely apolitical entity. It is, so to speak, there out of laziness. And the occasional lack of hot water.

In 1970, I was a student of the State Institute of Theatrical Arts and, like all real Soviet students, had to not only study science but to dig potatoes. Now, it seems as though the intelligensia’s potato obligation was the unfortunate fate of Russians who received higher educations and an entirely ineffective approach to agriculture. But, guys and girls from the capital loved the “potato” time, and it basically marked the beginning of adult life.

When students got accepted in institutes and universities, they only received letters of acceptance and nothing else. But, when they had to go for out for potatoes, they learned about freedom. They were liberated from the control of parents and society and tasted forbidden fruits - vodka, free love and tobacco. It was not an entirely virgin enviornment, but it was nature unspoiled by civilization. The only society was a bunch of drunken kolkhozniki who didn’t worry at all about what happened in the barracks after the working day ended.

The barracks were split evenly between men and women, sometimes separated only by a curtain. A few lucky people even ended up in an empty house with just two or three people. There was no hot water, of course, and the toilet was about ten meters away. Everything had to be done on our own and these young Muscovites learned many skills, like how to chop wood and heat up a banya. Many did it all happily and others slacked off. It was pointless, for example, to assign Volodya Gusinsky to chop wood. He couldn’t or wouldn’t do any chopping. Volodya Gusinsky is the same Gusinsky who later became a banker, media magnate and sat in a luxury cell in Butursky prison. But, then he was only a student studying to be a director. Without any particularly striking aspirations.

In short, shaving in those conditions was neither possible nor an attractive alternative. There weren’t even mirrors. And, therefore I grew a medium length beard over the “potato” month. When I returned to Moscow and looked at myself in a mirror, the image was horrible. The worst part was that my beard had grown, but my mustachio had not. I was faced with a decision: either I shave everything, or I could even it up. Since I had already gotten used to not shaving, with the help of a scissors and a razor, I molded a reasonably long, skipper-like beard. And it’s here to this day.

Several years after, the situation with my beard again spun out of control. This time it definitely was mixed with politics. Because of my connection with samizdat literature, I was thrown in Lefortovsky Prison, where again there was neither hot water, mirrors or, for that matter, razors. There was a prison barber who was also the photographer and librarian. He came by once a week, but to mess around under the view of the other prisoners, especially to trim a beard, was definitely not part of the plan. My beard grew in all different directions. It was, perhaps, a secret strategy of the jail keepers - with it, even thinking about escape was impossible. But, to my joy, not even a year went by before Comrade Brezhnev died. The new administration definitely didn’t want to mess around with our “young revolutionary business.” After a few months they had decided what to do with us and, in the end simply let us out without a trial. Upon arriving home, I looked in the mirror, and immediately called for a razor and a scissors. But, laziness again conquered. Now, they call my beard an image.

It seems to me that all legends about how Che and Fidel vowed never to shave until they overthrew Cuba’s hated dictator are just fiction. In fact, in Sierra Maestra there simply was no hot water and no mirror.

Boris Kagarlitsky is a noted Moscow based independant journalist.