No Longer a Comrade ... Not Yet a Mister

Хоть горшком назови, только в печку не ставь.
Call me a hot pot if you want, just don’t put me in the oven.
– Russian proverb

If someone tells you that Russians are no good at paying compliments to the fairer sex, don’t take their word for it. Have you never heard a Moskvich call a 50-60-year-old shop assistant девушка (devushka – young lady)? Few shop assistants find this flattering, though, and you might even hear one snap back, “Я тебе в матери гожусь!” (“I’m old enough to be your mother!”), or “Тоже мне девушку нашёл?” (“I don’t see any girls here!”). But what’s a poor muzhik to do? He might call her женщина (woman), but this isn’t very flattering, either. People just don’t know what to call each other any more in the new Russia.

The Revolution of 1917 set itself the task of sweeping away old bourgeois forms of address. The resulting vacuum was plugged on every occasion with товарищ (comrade). As a matter of fact, very few people know that in the 1920’s and 1930’s, there was even a special noun for the female comrade (товарка). The name was so awkward that it didn’t last long.

An exception to the товарищ rule was made for those under investigation or in prison. These souls lost the privilege of being called товарищ and were relegated to гражданин or гражданка (citizen). In Soviet detective movies, militia officers would make a point of harassing suspects with expressions like “Тамбовский волк тебе товарищ” (“Your comrade is a wolf from Tambov”) or “Кому ‘товарищ,’ а тебе ‘гражданин’” (“Some people are ‘comrades’ but you’re just a ‘citizen’”).

Гражданин is mostly used today in official situations. The word has an urgency about it, as if a cool reminder of some higher authority. Ticket inspectors on buses like to say “Гражданин, Ваш билет!” (“Your ticket, citizen!”). Or a babushka demanding a seat in the metro might say “Гражданин, подвиньтесь!” (“Citizen, make some room for me!”).

The problem today is that since the latest Russian Revolution, labels like “comrade” and “citizen” no longer seem appropriate, and no consensus has emerged over what should replace them.

Long gone are the pleasant сударыня or барышня (madam) from czarist times, which were applied to commoners as well as nobles. Russian men have hardly been any luckier: gone, too, are the courtly male identifiers любезнейший (most courteous), сударь (sir), or the beautiful милостивый государь (merciful monarch). Instead, nowadays you can still be in your early fifties and be called молодой человек (young man), or occasionally the more direct мужчина (man).

Some of the 20-something kiosk-Rockefellers have invented their own classifications, but these are hardly suitable for normal conversation. How can a gentleman call his devushka a клюшка (hockey stick), a мочалка (loofah) or мартышка (monkey)? The same goes for men, with чувак (no translation), мэн (man), or братва (brethren). Along more traditional lines, there has been a slow revival among all strata of the population of the old words мужик and баба, which, depending on their use, can be endearing or insulting.

The post-Soviet generation hasn’t done much to remedy the situation, either. In business conversations, in official letters, on TV, and in parliamentary debates, товарищ has simply become господин (mister). For example, ultra-nationalist Duma deputy Vladimir Zhirinovsky would be addressed as “mister,” even though, by civilized peoples’ standards, he behaves like a “comrade” or even a “citizen.”

The most commonly used tovarishch replacements seem to be господин (mister) and госпожа (madam), reserved in Soviet times for foreigners from capitalist countries. But no matter how hard ex-Soviet nomenklatura and fledgling bourgeoisie try to use these once-forgotten terms, old habits die hard.

Even old museum guides resort to the trusty “comrade” in a pinch: “Дамы и господа, минуточку внимания!” (“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention for a minute!”) But the group keeps on chattering. “Граждане, потише пожалуйста!” (“Citizens, quiet please!”) No effect. Finally, in exasperation the guide sighs “Я не могу работать в такой обстановке, товарищи!” (“I just can’t work in these conditions, comrades!”) Finally, she has made herself clear. The visitors come to order and the tour resumes.