This is Stu's own account of his recent arrest in Siberia.
Mind you, this is the SECOND altercation he has had in as many weeks.
Stu Writes:
Greetings from Vladivsotok,
We have returned from another week of travel as our journey here winds down, but not without some harrowing experiences and some run-ins with the police. It was much more severe than last week's travel and this time it cost me more than just inconvenience.
We started our week of travels on Monday in Vladivostok , shooting interviews at the future Bible college that is being built from the shell of a large brick house north of town.
However, our return journey this morning from Chuguveka, we faced our first good snow (snik) of the year and a normally four hour drive back to Vlad that turned into seven hours of sliding around the rough highway. We saw countless wrecks and cars down embankments, fortunately we weren't one of them, that despite Yuri's overly aggressive speed. Bill and I took turns riding in the front seat of the van, which we changed from "the very scary seat," to "the Jesus seat," since it made us feel closer to meeting Jesus just riding there. Frankly, it wasn't the fear of death that was the problem, it was the fear of surviving and ending up in a remote Russian hospital manned by old pensioned doctors, whose only calling in life, I am told by locals, seems to be that you just die more slowly under their care. Still, while riding up front as passenger, I worked as hard as Yuri, using body English to try to get us around each corner and truck that we passed on the icy highway.
Earlier in the week we left Vlad under clear autumn skies with travel five hours north to the industrial city of Spaask-Daliny. As I gathered up my camera gear to go out and shoot up the town, I was a bit more paranoid of the militia having had a run-in with them the week before in Olga, yet felt confident that it was just a blip on the radar screen. Still, our Paravorchetsa (translator) Irena, and companion Bill Chesley, insisted on accompanying me on a walk around town to gather lifestyle footage. Frankly, it was tough to find good images. There weren't a lot of people on the streets in this town, that made its name producing concrete to build the Soviet Union of the Far East & Siberia. The town is facing high unemployment and has cut back on production of the only major construction material of every apartment we ever saw. There is always present the pall of concrete dust in the air in Spaask. Lung conditions are not uncommon here.
The only real fun I had that afternoon was when I stopped in a gift store to buy a watch (about $5) and the lady couldn't get either of the two I liked to work. Oh, well. I did have an amusing time with about a half-dozen boys and girls who were about 12 years of age outside some nearby apartments. I made Polaroid photos of them for gifts, which they thoroughly enjoyed. We were also welcome curiosities as the first Americans they have ever met. They didn't want us to leave and even invited us to a school program they were performing in that evening, which we couldn't attend because of my shooting schedule that night at a Bible study at the local church where I would gather footage of the ministry of pastor/missionary, Sasha Zimin. He's a good man, ministering in a tough place with a small band of 60 committed believers in this town 40,000. It's not a pleasant place to live and when I asked Sasha's wife, Anna, about Spassk, she remarked, with a content smile on her face, that they felt certain it was where God would have them minister for now. Their apartment on the fifth floor is Spartan. Bill and I slept on the floor, but as always we were made to feel welcome at the small table we huddled around for meals of borscht, bread, sausage and chi.
The next couple of days were frustrating on the shooting end of things. We went to the closed military city of Novosisoyevka. MiG jets raced overhead and old Russian fighter aircraft stood anchored to the ground as display relics between the labyrinth of worn-out concrete apartment buildings.
We were warned not to loiter, not to speak English in public, and not photograph outside of the apartment we were staying for the night. Now, that is frustrating for a guy whose soul purpose is to be documenting the people and places of Primorski. Still, if I would have known the secret lurking inside my travel papers, I would have been more than happy to keep a low profile. We got a good interview with a young Pastor Piotr, and his wife Olga, who minister to many families here in this military town, where like most cities, alcohol and drugs are a huge problem. It is an aimless life in a dreary place, where real hope is a scarce commodity.
I asked Pastor Piotr why it was difficult for Christian work to take hold and he remarked that old ways die hard and that people are still generally suspicious of new ideas. Many regard Evangelical Christianity as an American import, which the Russian Orthodox Church is more than happy to perpetrate.
When we traveled east an hour to the town of Chuguyevka the real troubles started for me. I was anxious to get caught up on footage that showed Russia towns and villages. I struck out on my own down the main street shooting picturesque houses with their brightly painted, distinctive Russian shutters, people drawing water from the well and stacking firewood for the winter. A man emerged from his house and gave me a cold stare. I ignored him and kept on shooting. Soon a white sedan pulled up to where I was standing and the same man emerged, demanding to see my passport. At first I was a bit reluctant, but then thought, "I'm legal, so why not?" Well, he looked at my immigration paper and I'm guessing by a few key words I knew, was wondering why I hadn't had a registration stamp for Chuguyevka. As far as I knew I didn't need one, only if I was staying for three days or more. I had been in town two hours. I quickly turned to my Russian phrase book, but couldn't find anything appropriate to say except, "This dress doesn't fit, do you have it in another size?" I'm sure that would not have impressed him. This was a guy who was bespectacled in his mid-fifties and looked very disappointed that communism had failed. He loaded me and my gear into his sedan for the very short trip to the police station. He seemed to know everyone there, greeting them by name and shaking hands. It was later I found out I was shooting video outside of his house, the chief weapons officer for this police district. Oh, great. He led me down some dank, gray hallways and into the office of a very serious thirty-something woman adorned in the no-nonsense olive drab uniform, the only other color being the starred gold and crimson bars she wore on her shoulders. The officer exchanged words with the woman and left. I was on my own.
She spoke zero English and my Russian phrases only included, "sure is cold out," and "thank you for the cabbage, it is delicious." Soon she found a young woman in the office who spoke limited English who explained to me that my travel visa was expired. They showed me the date on it. I was in disbelief and tried to plead my case, explaining that my visa was good for the entire month of October. She again pointed to the expiration date on the immigration document I received when I entered the country. At that time they had mistakenly put the wrong exit date on it. I was supposed to have left after my first week in the country, on the 10 th. I didn't really feel nervous, but I could see my hand trembling as I held the visa to show them the dates on it. It was getting close to my rendezvous time with Pastor Genya and Bill at nearby Lenin Square. They kept my passport and allowed me to leave to go get Genya. I brought him back and the long conversation started about why I was there, what I was shooting (they asked me to playback some of the tape I shot that day) and why I had not left the country on the 10 th. Genya was warm and friendly to them, but I picked up a hint of the great unknown in his voice, although he assured me it would be no problem, and that I wouldn't have to spend the night in jail. As the woman officer turned to work on her computer, ironically running the Windows operating system, Genya transitioned from why I was there, to document the work of Christians in Primorski, to giving the now three woman officers, and a Chinese businessman, the Gospel message. What an amazing guy, using every opportunity to share God's love with people.
After two hours of paperwork, writing and signing a confession, it was decided that I must pay a 1000 ruble fine and return to Vladivostok in the morning. The 1000 rubles was only about $30 so no big deal there, I had that, and we were heading to Vlad anyway the next day.
Still, I have never had more hassles in Russia than on this trip. It was probably good in several ways that I was arrested. Bill's immigration papers were also flawed. Fortunately he stayed hidden and didn't have to pay the fine. But if we arrived at the airport this Tuesday with expired visas we might be detained while they straightened things out and have to stay in Russia until the next twice-a-week flight took off for Seoul, if it wasn't already full. But the greater good was that people got to hear the Gospel in that police station who might not otherwise hear it and Pastor Genya got to make some good connections for future ministry. Still, I didn't shoot the amount of footage I was expecting, which was a huge disappointment.
When leaving Chuguyevka behind Friday morning, I turned to Bill and made the selfish remark, that, "well at least we can leave," speaking in broader terms, that at least we can leave this village and country. As I sit in the apartment in Vlad, it is bitterly cold outside. The wind (duyvetier) moves the curtains through two separate panes of glass. The coal-fired central heating plant in Vlad probably didn't see this storm coming. The heating radiators here in the apartment are as cold as it is outside. I'm wearing thermal underwear, a sweater, drinking chi, and still I'm a bit chilled. Still, I have the hope of leaving to another home.
This is a tough place. People age prematurely. Alcohol and the harshness of life often take their toll. However, this is the life they know, in their words, normalna. The Christians here though have a brightness about them, a real hope that reaches beyond the day to day toughness of making life work here. I think of the people in my own country who exist in normalna. If you don't know any better, whether in The Russia Far East or the USA , you don't know that you're missing the hope, joy and peace that Christ brings even in the most dreary of circumstances or in a life numbed by a preoccupation with the toys that affluence buys. Yes, I'll get to leave for a better home in a few days, however along with the Russian believers, the hope awaits of the ultimate home someday, for all of us who believe.
Tonight I venture out to shoot the youth group at the church across town, and then hopefully gather footage of the life around Vladivostok, and shoot a few more interviews before we leave for the states on Tuesday.
The believers here are strong and committed. They lack many resources, but have faith and heart to propel them. They experience a God who provides what is needed for the day.
I could fill many more pages here with the stories of hope I've heard, and tales about the nuances of a life and culture I find difficult to understand at times, but also the many laughs and smiles I've shared with new friends here. It is with anticipation I return to the states, and begin work on the documentary of what is happening in the lives of people in the Russia Far East. It is tinged though with a sharp melancholy for the people I leave behind, the memories of which I'll treasure greatly, and who will now be in my prayers.
Thank you for allowing me to share this trip with you and for making it possible for me to undertake this journey, and especially the experience, the wonder, of seeing God anew through the eyes of the people of the Primorski region of the Russia far East.
Much Love in Christ,
Stu
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