How Tim Kirby became ‘the most Russian American’

Tim Kirby from Cleveland (State of Ohio, U.S.) has been living in Moscow for 17 years now. He has a Russian wife and two children, he speaks excellent Russian (albeit with an accent) and is happy in Russia. Tim has worked as a presenter on Mayak Radio and political analyst at RT and now he posts a video travel blog and he has already visited half the country. In 2018, he was granted citizenship of the Russian Federation.

But, every time he pops into a store to buy a pirozhok (plural: pirozhki - small filled pies) or travels by train, he is inevitably asked where he is from and people are invariably very surprised. Tim gets very upset that people living in Russia do not, by and large, appreciate what they have. For some reason, Russians think that America is a real paradise full of rich people with big houses and big cars.

‘Why Russia? My Move from an American House in the Ghetto to a Russian Khrushchevka in Moscow’

So, he decided to write a book: ‘Why Russia?’. He declares at the very beginning of the book: “I voluntarily, that is, of my own free will, being of sound mind and solid memory, left the U.S. for Russia. To live. Forever.”

Are you intrigued? Then here is an excerpt from the book, which, incidentally, he proudly admits he wrote entirely in Russian!

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There is a sort of collective mentality in Russia. Living in these parts you often hear people saying things like “everyone steals” or “everyone wants to live in America”.

For Russians, it is very important what this mysterious “everyone” thinks and does. Many people even believe that, if everyone is doing something, a Russian can and even must do the same. Even if that something is not so morally virtuous. 

This attitude is much less common among ordinary Americans and since you are now reading something written by a person from America, I would like to begin my big answer to the question of why I moved to Russia by stating a fact that you would think more of us would understand - different people have different ideas about life, and, if for one person, America is paradise and Russia is hell, for someone else it is the exact opposite. For me as an American, it is easier to understand this, than it is for Russians living in downtown Moscow. This simple logic is beyond their comprehension.

Those living in Moscow who are shocked by my move to Russia expect a simple answer from me as to why I decided to emigrate. They believe that a Westerner would only go to Russia to become an “expat” with a salary of at least $30,000 a month working for an oil company. The fact that I came to Moscow on the same base salary as their former fellow citizens from Tajikistan disappoints and confuses Muscovites a lot.

In general, people expect to hear an answer along the lines of: “I had to come to Russia and put up with the ‘Russian extremes’ of Moscow in order to somehow get my hands on a suitcase of money or marry a Russian model.”

As a matter of fact, the expression “Russian Extreme" (русский экстрим) which has frequently been used in my presence is complete nonsense. What “Russian Extreme” could there possibly be in Moscow? Foreigners here work in posh offices and drink imported coffee. They live in heated modern apartments and the temperature rarely drops below -20°C on the streets of Moscow anyways. The snow is plowed/shoveled everywhere and my British counterparts can easily find a pub where English is spoken and where they can watch Chelsea play on TV. If they want to watch Machnester they may have to order a cheap taxi to take them there via a phone app. The Moscow life of office-working foreigners is a very cushy one, but, on the other hand, the local McDonald's doesn’t give out free ketchup! Now that's truly an example of “Russian Extreme” in action!  

Most frequently, of course, we see everything from our own point of view and expect everyone else to think the same way. Some Russians who hate Russia and dream of “bailing” (“свалить”)  are motivated by their limp-wristed addiction to a “high quality of life” level.

Their natural and sole understanding of what a high quality of life is, is defined solely by material things: more money, more things, more physical comfort.

It was very strange and quite repulsive when I first started coming across this sort of behavior and attitude from people in Moscow: These Russian citizens are supposedly the descendants of a nation that was willing to burn down its homes, property and capital to make Napoleon die of starvation. These, I was told, are the progeny of those who fought in minus 40 degrees temperatures to defend a state founded on values far removed from individual comfort against the Third Reich. 

These ‘Piglet Peters’ (‘Porosenok Petr’ - ‘Piglet Peter’ - is a character in a series of children’s books who became a Russian internet meme for emigration from Russia) are always ready to go anywhere in search of a comfortable life and easy money. Can these people really be Russian?

I’ve come across a lot of people with this attitude both in real life and in the boundless expanses of the internet. Let me recount an incident from my travels as the perfect example.  

When I’m on a train, it’s impossible to avoid conversations about my decision to emigrate. Trapped in that cabin with usually three other people, one of whom is always an accursed “extrovert” eventually someone will hear my accent and try to force me to answer the same questions that I do every day of my life ad nauseam (with heavy emphasis on the nauseam).

One time on a visa-run (this was in 2011, thankfully I will never have to do another one), a skinny hot blonde and her unpleasantly plump mother were traveling in my compartment. Naturally, just like all the pirozhki vendors before them, they were shocked and horrified by my decision to live in Russia. The only difference was that I had not been compelled to share a compartment spending 12 hours in an enclosed space with a pirozhki vendor who was unable to understand my decision, and quite frankly, disgusted by it.

After several hours of intensive interrogation, the blonde erupted, particularly when I said that I had a Russian wife, that we already had a child (kid #2 was born a bit later), and that we saw our future in Russia.

“You must be joking! How can you be so cruel to your child?” she said.

“Cruel?” I asked

“How can you condemn your own child to live in this country? Everyone is always killing everyone else here, there is no education and if your daughter falls ill she will die in an ordinary Russian hospital. It’s a land of lowlifes and thieves…”

To this, I replied sarcastically that, in that case, Russia is very similar to my home town of Cleveland, so it would be pointless to return at this point.

“And how can your Russian wife support you in this madness?” she asked, annoyed.

“Well, as of today, she chooses Russia.”

“You're lying! Any normal (example of collective mentality in action) Russian girl would only marry you for your passport.” This statement revealed her true motivations behind wanting to marry a European, which she mentioned earlier. She said her mission was to ideally target a Norwegian because they had the highest quality of life while having easy migration so she could get her mom over the fence with her. She never mentioned one word about having a passion for Norwegian food, or architecture, or the landscape, or anything. Much like the drunk guy during last call at a bar she was “looking for one thing”. 

“No, she is with me because she loves me and regards me as a good father.” I replied. 

“If your wife married you and didn’t do it for an American passport, she really must be nuts!”

That was the killing blow to my patience and I went into a rage. You can call me a “d*ckhead” if you like, but keep my chick’s name out of your mouth! You can take the Clevelander out of the ghetto but you can't take the ghetto out of the Clevelander I guess. So with my face turning red, my reply was blunt.

“She may be nuts, but you’re a ***** for sale, that’ll **** any **** for money you ****** ****. 

And then came a wave of quiet awkwardness, a silence fell over the cabin of the train car so quiet that it was deafening. And with that, there remained still five hours to go before we were due to arrive in Moscow.