Last night at O'Brien's we came face to face with the new shenanigans taking place at Ukrainian Customs. The waitress informed us that there was no Irish beer available. I read the list on the menu aloud and at each stop the waitress simply said no. Kilkenny? No. Murphy's? No. Guinness? No. Harp? No. What gives?
According to the waitress all Irish beer is imported to Ukraine by a single importer and said importer is having issues with Ukrainian customs. This is clearly a Yanukovych regime minus. Under the Yushchenko and Kuchma regimes the Guinness flowed freely. Alas.
Showing posts with label Corruption. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Corruption. Show all posts
30 October 2008
"Buy a Driver's License"
Received in my e-mail today.
КУПИ ПРАВА!
Помощь в получении ВОДИТЕЛЬСКОГО УДОСТОВЕРЕНИЯ
8 9О6 794 nn nn, 8 9O6 794 nn nn Владимир
And DAI wonders why there are so many accidents on the road.
КУПИ ПРАВА!
Помощь в получении ВОДИТЕЛЬСКОГО УДОСТОВЕРЕНИЯ
8 9О6 794 nn nn, 8 9O6 794 nn nn Владимир
And DAI wonders why there are so many accidents on the road.
27 October 2008
Pawn to King 4: The Prosecutor’s Opening
From the tone of the official letters that I received demanding my presence, one would think I was meeting the top Prosecutor in the country. As it happens, it is one of the Prosecutor’s assistants that will take my deposition. He opens the door to the small office he shares with another assistant and invites my lawyer and me to sit down opposite him at his small desk. It strikes me that this office is impressively equipped relative to the other government offices I’ve been in. A personal computer sits on each desk; an air-conditioning unit hangs above a large window.
He is young, though well schooled in the bureaucratic manner of the old pros twice, or even three times his age. The opening is standard. It involves setting up the immensity of the crude, blatant, and negligent violation that Ministry X’s diligent Inspectorate has documented in their official “Protocols of Inspection”.
“Are you familiar with the contents of Article 63 of the Constitution of Ukraine?” he asks.
“Yes” I reply. I was briefed earlier.
“And do you consciously waive those rights? If so, sign here.”
Ok, even though I am fully aware that I am playing my role in a corruption dance there is still a little room in my psyche for fear to creep in. After all, he does have the power to incarcerate me on whatever charges he wishes to trump up. Seeing the inside of a Ukrainian prison, even for an hour, is not on my “to do before I die” list. I sign the document.
“Well,” he starts, “as a foreigner our laws may seem a little primitive to you. I fully agree. In fact it pains me that the legislation is so confusing with so many contradictory instructions and clarifications. I really feel for people like you who run businesses but there is little I can do. I have to play by the rules right? I have to enforce the law as it is.”
“Of course,” I reply, “the laws are there to protect Ukraine and its citizens. We, at the company bend over backwards to comply with every regulation no matter how arcane and seemingly illogical. We learned early on that to do otherwise would simply open us up to a continuous revolving door of inspectors and fines.” then dropping the volume of my voice I add “official and otherwise”.
“I’m glad you agree”, he nods ignoring the last phrase, “sometimes I get the impression that you Americans do things in Ukraine they would never think of doing in America for fear of the strict fines there.” He muses for moment. “I was in Chicago once you know.”
“Nice city.” My mind conjures images of Ministry X bureaucrats and their counterparts from other countries at a lakeside convention hall checking out each other’s new Armani suits. This is going well I think to myself naively. Maybe it was ok to say no to paying that bribe last week?
“Now about the facts of the matter at hand. Our Inspectorate has pictures of your violation. If you add up the damages, it’s over twenty thousand Hryvnia. That means, that we are not discussing the simple matter of an administrative fine. No indeed, you as General Director of the company, are criminally liable. Are you aware of this?” he asks arching his eyebrows and looking over the top of his glasses.
“Are you opening a criminal case against my client?” pipes up my lawyer, suddenly awake and alert.
When speaking with a Ukrainian government official I’d rather not even be part of a conversation with word “criminal” in it.
“Well, not at this point. I need to ask some questions.” answers the Prosecutor.
I can sense the smugness in his demeanor. He is satisfied with the way the opening is playing out. From the numerous piles of legal paperwork he picks up one in particular and starts flipping through the pages.
“It’s a shame,” sighs the Prosecutor “now that the Protocols of Inspection have been filed with my office I have to investigate”. The implication being that I had my chance to make a deal at the Inspectorate level at a reasonable rate, and that now it’s going to cost me.
“Now. Let’s get started. Passport please.”
He is young, though well schooled in the bureaucratic manner of the old pros twice, or even three times his age. The opening is standard. It involves setting up the immensity of the crude, blatant, and negligent violation that Ministry X’s diligent Inspectorate has documented in their official “Protocols of Inspection”.
“Are you familiar with the contents of Article 63 of the Constitution of Ukraine?” he asks.
“Yes” I reply. I was briefed earlier.
“And do you consciously waive those rights? If so, sign here.”
Ok, even though I am fully aware that I am playing my role in a corruption dance there is still a little room in my psyche for fear to creep in. After all, he does have the power to incarcerate me on whatever charges he wishes to trump up. Seeing the inside of a Ukrainian prison, even for an hour, is not on my “to do before I die” list. I sign the document.
“Well,” he starts, “as a foreigner our laws may seem a little primitive to you. I fully agree. In fact it pains me that the legislation is so confusing with so many contradictory instructions and clarifications. I really feel for people like you who run businesses but there is little I can do. I have to play by the rules right? I have to enforce the law as it is.”
“Of course,” I reply, “the laws are there to protect Ukraine and its citizens. We, at the company bend over backwards to comply with every regulation no matter how arcane and seemingly illogical. We learned early on that to do otherwise would simply open us up to a continuous revolving door of inspectors and fines.” then dropping the volume of my voice I add “official and otherwise”.
“I’m glad you agree”, he nods ignoring the last phrase, “sometimes I get the impression that you Americans do things in Ukraine they would never think of doing in America for fear of the strict fines there.” He muses for moment. “I was in Chicago once you know.”
“Nice city.” My mind conjures images of Ministry X bureaucrats and their counterparts from other countries at a lakeside convention hall checking out each other’s new Armani suits. This is going well I think to myself naively. Maybe it was ok to say no to paying that bribe last week?
“Now about the facts of the matter at hand. Our Inspectorate has pictures of your violation. If you add up the damages, it’s over twenty thousand Hryvnia. That means, that we are not discussing the simple matter of an administrative fine. No indeed, you as General Director of the company, are criminally liable. Are you aware of this?” he asks arching his eyebrows and looking over the top of his glasses.
“Are you opening a criminal case against my client?” pipes up my lawyer, suddenly awake and alert.
When speaking with a Ukrainian government official I’d rather not even be part of a conversation with word “criminal” in it.
“Well, not at this point. I need to ask some questions.” answers the Prosecutor.
I can sense the smugness in his demeanor. He is satisfied with the way the opening is playing out. From the numerous piles of legal paperwork he picks up one in particular and starts flipping through the pages.
“It’s a shame,” sighs the Prosecutor “now that the Protocols of Inspection have been filed with my office I have to investigate”. The implication being that I had my chance to make a deal at the Inspectorate level at a reasonable rate, and that now it’s going to cost me.
“Now. Let’s get started. Passport please.”
Finding the Prosecutor's Office
I am searching for the address of the specialized prosecutor from a ministry that I’ll refer to as “Ministry X” for the purposes of this entry. The location is not obvious from the street so the lawyer and I enter the most logical choice of archways into a courtyard to continue our search. My planned supply of searching time is eroding and I am in danger of being late. They love it when you are late because it gives them license to make you wait for a hugely disproportionate amount of time. They relish this part of the corruption dance.
Finally, among a collection of weather-beaten, plastic signs next to a non-descript door we find a small “Office of the Prosecutor of Ministry X” sign. With a minute to go we enter the jumble of half-renovated office space and begin the game of trying to find the office we need. We approach a secretary with our plight and after the requisite “you are nobody to me” delay she finally turns away from the television to look at us. Her demeanor can only be described as the personification of the phrase “You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone that gives a crap”. With a scowl she motions toward a hallway that we quickly shuffle down while reading the signs on the doors. Deputy This and Deputy That all the way down the hall. The last door has the last name we are looking for on it. I am about to knock on the door when the lawyer stops me.
“Remember, the prosecutor has the right to ask for your attorney not to be present. In that case you should refuse to answer on the grounds that you might incriminate yourself. Say something about being a foreigner and not fully understanding the language. Then mention Article 63 of the constitution.”
“Article 63? Ok.”
Finally, among a collection of weather-beaten, plastic signs next to a non-descript door we find a small “Office of the Prosecutor of Ministry X” sign. With a minute to go we enter the jumble of half-renovated office space and begin the game of trying to find the office we need. We approach a secretary with our plight and after the requisite “you are nobody to me” delay she finally turns away from the television to look at us. Her demeanor can only be described as the personification of the phrase “You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone that gives a crap”. With a scowl she motions toward a hallway that we quickly shuffle down while reading the signs on the doors. Deputy This and Deputy That all the way down the hall. The last door has the last name we are looking for on it. I am about to knock on the door when the lawyer stops me.
“Remember, the prosecutor has the right to ask for your attorney not to be present. In that case you should refuse to answer on the grounds that you might incriminate yourself. Say something about being a foreigner and not fully understanding the language. Then mention Article 63 of the constitution.”
“Article 63? Ok.”
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