Japanese Cassette Player and a Sheepskin Coat
I asked a friend from Kazakhstan not long ago about the Soviet intervention into Afghanistan in the late 1970’s. Living in a post Soviet country and having family that lived during Soviet times, I was curious to get a direct opinion. She mentioned that the impression people had was that the Soviets were going to help the Afghan people, but when the soldiers returned, they didn’t feel like they achieved much.
While I was familiar with the historical background on these events, I asked her anyway: what help was the Soviet Union meant to offer?
In which she replied cynically: ‘Don't you know that the Soviet Union brought only good to other countries! Look how happy we all are! Usually soldiers were awarded with certificates and medals, and the rest of their shaken psyche and pain was of no particular interest to anyone.’
Macedonians, Mongols, British, Soviets and Americans have all crossed their armies into Afghanistan throughout history. Powerful forces, all with different ideas and agendas. When the Soviets arrived in the late 70’s, many used the insertion as an opportunity to make money. Not as a means to make money on a soldier's wage, but to buy, collect or steal what they could to sell back in the USSR.
To a Soviet citizen, the ability to obtain items and goods from Western or NATO aligned countries was almost impossible, unless you went to a place that acted as a gateway. So for many, Afghanistan was that gateway.
Belarusian author, Svetlana Alexievich, conducted many interviews and memoirs of Soviet citizens who were involved in Afghanistan through the 70s and 80s, compiling them into a publication titled Boys in Zinc (that is, the coffins of dead soldiers were made of zinc).
In Afghanistan, commodities were a hot topic. Many Soviets came to obtain items they could sell at a higher price back home in the Soviet Union. Makeup, swimming trunks, denim jeans, American cigarettes to name a few. Anything you couldn’t obtain within the Soviet Union had a price or buyer.
In one of her interviews, a signaller stated: ‘People I know meet me and ask, did you bring a sheepskin coat? Did you bring a Japanese cassette player? You didn't bring anything? Were you really in Afghanistan?’
Another soldier added: ‘Some brought things back: China, precious stones, jewellery, carpets. That was from combat missions, when we went into the kishlaks.’
Mission into the kishlaks were also opportunities to buy and sell, or swap weapons and bullets for things like makeup.
But the confusion between the supposed goal of bringing socialism while enjoying the Afghan free market was evident. Though some were still bent on ideology.
The signaller continued: ‘I talked to this shop keeper: “You weren't living right. We’ll teach you now. We’re going to build socialism!” He smiled: “I was buying and selling before the revolution and I’m still buying and selling now. Go home. These are our mountains. We’ll work things out ourselves.”.’
The signaller’s nihilism culminated: ‘How can I become a better man when I’ve seen guys buy two glasses of a hepatitis patient’s urine from a doctor for hard currency checks? Then drink it. And fall ill. And get invalided out […]. And flying back home in the same plane as the zinc coffins and the suitcases full of sheepskin coats, jeans, women’s panties and Chinese tea.’
What legacy remains today?
My Kazakh friend was correct: a shaken psyche and pain.
And the Soviet tanks and helicopters that are still silently rotting out in the Afghan hills.
While I was familiar with the historical background on these events, I asked her anyway: what help was the Soviet Union meant to offer?
In which she replied cynically: ‘Don't you know that the Soviet Union brought only good to other countries! Look how happy we all are! Usually soldiers were awarded with certificates and medals, and the rest of their shaken psyche and pain was of no particular interest to anyone.’
Macedonians, Mongols, British, Soviets and Americans have all crossed their armies into Afghanistan throughout history. Powerful forces, all with different ideas and agendas. When the Soviets arrived in the late 70’s, many used the insertion as an opportunity to make money. Not as a means to make money on a soldier's wage, but to buy, collect or steal what they could to sell back in the USSR.
To a Soviet citizen, the ability to obtain items and goods from Western or NATO aligned countries was almost impossible, unless you went to a place that acted as a gateway. So for many, Afghanistan was that gateway.
Belarusian author, Svetlana Alexievich, conducted many interviews and memoirs of Soviet citizens who were involved in Afghanistan through the 70s and 80s, compiling them into a publication titled Boys in Zinc (that is, the coffins of dead soldiers were made of zinc).
In Afghanistan, commodities were a hot topic. Many Soviets came to obtain items they could sell at a higher price back home in the Soviet Union. Makeup, swimming trunks, denim jeans, American cigarettes to name a few. Anything you couldn’t obtain within the Soviet Union had a price or buyer.
In one of her interviews, a signaller stated: ‘People I know meet me and ask, did you bring a sheepskin coat? Did you bring a Japanese cassette player? You didn't bring anything? Were you really in Afghanistan?’
Another soldier added: ‘Some brought things back: China, precious stones, jewellery, carpets. That was from combat missions, when we went into the kishlaks.’
Mission into the kishlaks were also opportunities to buy and sell, or swap weapons and bullets for things like makeup.
But the confusion between the supposed goal of bringing socialism while enjoying the Afghan free market was evident. Though some were still bent on ideology.
The signaller continued: ‘I talked to this shop keeper: “You weren't living right. We’ll teach you now. We’re going to build socialism!” He smiled: “I was buying and selling before the revolution and I’m still buying and selling now. Go home. These are our mountains. We’ll work things out ourselves.”.’
The signaller’s nihilism culminated: ‘How can I become a better man when I’ve seen guys buy two glasses of a hepatitis patient’s urine from a doctor for hard currency checks? Then drink it. And fall ill. And get invalided out […]. And flying back home in the same plane as the zinc coffins and the suitcases full of sheepskin coats, jeans, women’s panties and Chinese tea.’
What legacy remains today?
My Kazakh friend was correct: a shaken psyche and pain.
And the Soviet tanks and helicopters that are still silently rotting out in the Afghan hills.
Clark has been writing poetry for the past few years before branching into both fiction and non-fiction essay writing. He has an interest in the works of dissident writers and the lesser known parts of history. Clark is originally from Tasmania.