Food for Financial Thought

Remember the days when the International Bank for This and the European Bank for That used to talk fondly about "the arrival of the marketplace?" Well, all I can say is I wish it would hurry up and get here. Unless, of course, this is it; it is here already. In which case, I want to shout foul. For where on earth are all those things that are supposed to arrive with the marketplace, like service, choice, competition and the laws of supply and demand? I mean, don't those laws say that when commodities are in high demand and short supply they tend to be expensive? Don't they say when goods are plentiful that sellers chase buyers with good service and competitive cost as lures? Don't they further add that consumers have both rights and power in the old economic two-step? If a seller of goods or services charges astronomical prices for second-rate stuff, aren't we supposed to move away from him in droves till he either lowers his charges or gets the hell out of business?I know this is not exactly Harvard Business School stuff. (I read Latin and Greek at university. That is my excuse.) But I went to a Moscow restaurant the other day, and so ridiculously, horrifically expensive was it that I was forced to choose what I could remember of economics -- instead of tiramisu or cassata siciliana, or whatever other souped-up farrago they were offering -- for dessert. I mean, this place was a turkey, a lulu. It was mutton dressed up as lamb. The waitresses, who were got up as high-class courtesans, had no idea what they were doing; and the food was what you might have to endure on a very bad night out in Peoria, Illinois. Still, it had pretensions. It had finger bowls and foppery, napery and drapery for days. But the most pretentious thing about it was the check, which arrived for inspection in a little leather-and-velvet bed all its own. My wife almost wept for shame at the sight of it, in front of the courteous British cameraman who was paying. If I had had to pay it myself, I would probably have had to pawn my children.And this is what happens wherever -- wherever! -- you eat out in Moscow. Where is the little neighborhood bistro? Or the small cafe with gingham tablecloths, decent coffee and a palatable house wine? They do not exist. All that appears in Moscow's restaurant "marketplace" are these overblown, gussied-up clunkers, which don't even serve good Russian food, but pretend to be Italian, French, Peorian or whatever.(The same, while I'm at it, is true of new Moscow hotels. These are all "international" -- which means, when translated, that they are twice as expensive as the Ritz in London or the Plaza in New York, have uniforms designed by the ubiquitous Slava Zaitsev and offer standards of service that would not shame a U.S. Marines' mess hall.)Why on earth should this be so? I think it is because all the foreigners who come here to advise the Russians on the creation of their marketplace, or else have come here to take advantage of its arrival, are simply not subject to the laws of the marketplace themselves. If they are advisors from agencies and governments and international banks, or Moscow-based managers of foreign companies, they are on expenses. They really don't spend their own money at all. They can pay any money they like, live high on the hog, and call it "local costs" or "prevailing economic conditions."Which leaves us with another of those nice little East-West ironies: The people who come to Moscow to help create its marketplace actually delay its arrival. The West pays these people hundreds of thousands of dollars each -- in travel costs, salaries and expenses -- and call the resultant hundreds of millions of dollars "aid" to Russia, when actually it is "obstacle." For what these advisors and businessmen are doing through their presence here is creating an artificial, closed-shop marketplace in which prices are so high that few tourists and no Russians -- except hoods -- can actually afford it. I am not sure what can be done about this by ordinary people, except to remind these happy-go-lucky "helpers" of Russia that Western ideas, when imported here, tend to get bent out of shape and turn quickly into their opposites. (Look what happened to lovely Western capitalism. It fast became piracy -- the Yukon, circa 1880 -- here.) The only alternative is to accept, with a rueful grin, my friend Marjie's dictum, made years ago: "You show me a Russian, and I'll show you a broke Westerner."