Tatyana Panteleyeva

Mark Markov – Where did you live before you came here?

Tatyana Panteleyeva – I lived in Tbilisi; I was born there. I lived there until I was 55. It is Georgia. As I think everyone knows, it is the capital of Georgia. I lived in the military town because my father was an officer: that is how he ended up there. He was Russian but my grandmother was Georgian. It was a mixed Georgian-Russian family. But it was more Russian, of course, because my grandfather was also a Russian officer who served in the Caucasus.

MM – Grandfather on the maternal side?

TP – On the maternal side. Dad was an orphan from a young age. He was one of a couple of children, and their elder sister took care of them. Then there was the Revolution, the Civil War… All of them ended up in different places and he lost everybody and was essentially a very lonely person, without relatives. What I was talking about comes from my maternal side.

MM – What did you do in Tbilisi?

TP – I studied, went to kindergarten… [laughing]. Later, I went to work. I worked a lot all over Russia (after studying, young specialists were sent far afield). I worked in communications but it was not my thing. I ended up back in Tbilisi and worked as a draftswoman at a factory. I learned to do a lot of practical things at the factory: I am very grateful for it. I worked there for 30 years; I would have worked there longer if not for political upheavals: the fall of the Soviet Union and so forth. Finally it led to forced immigration.

MM – Can you talk about the political upheavals?

TP – In Georgia it was very difficult, because there is the writer [Konstantine] Gamsakhurdia; that is, was. He is a classic of Georgian literature, but he was a very nationalistic person and raised his son [Zviad] in the same manner. And so, that [Zviad] Gamsakhurdia raised the national question in Georgia: that Georgia is for Georgians. And in general, many were annoyed with Soviet rule and the pressure of Russia on Georgia… For those who did not speak Georgian, it was quite a trying period, because the slogans were “Georgia for Georgians,” there were marches… There were many uncomfortable things, but, nevertheless, the people, the people themselves… [laughing] The very same people looked completely different, when they went on a demonstration and screamed Sakartvelo! Sakartvelo![1] Some kind of fanaticism appeared in them, and these people were absolutely different when they left. And we worked together with them us not Georgians. I, despite having a Georgian grandmother was not considered Georgian. She married a Russian officer at a very young age spent all her life among Russians: we almost spoke no Georgian in the family. Since she married a Russian officer and we lived in military towns, Russian speech was predominant. My Georgian was at minimum and I was considered Russian. And to listen to people saying that “the Russians came, sat on our necks, dangled their legs and breathed our air” was burdensome. At the same time they helped and rescued. Assistance to [friends and neighbors] is very developed there: just decent human help between people. I am very grateful to Georgia and Georgians. I lived among them for all my and worked for 30 years – I cannot say anything bad about them. But when the national question is raised, you know, in the clearly ethnic sense, then among all nations nothing good can happen.

Because of all this, many began to leave, even though Gamsakhurdia was later kicked out and everything. Things went downhill and the Georgians started fighting amongst themselves. The city center was bombed out and it became impossible to live in the city even in material terms. It so happened that my children lived in different parts of the former Soviet Union and I was alone in Georgia, in Tbilisi. When Georgia separated, relations with Russia went in the way everyone knows (they became hostile), and my children could not help me from Russia (I have two sons). I was in a very difficult situation.

I immigrated here because my younger son was married to a Jewish girl. The Jewish question is also difficult, I will not talk more of it: everyone knows it. Their close relatives left to America a lot earlier, in the first wave of immigration (I do not mean the Revolutionary period but in our time). Because the situation in Russia was also not great and [interethnic] relations were also not good – they had their own Russian national question raised that is for all of us uncomfortable (even if we are considered Russian, [laughing] we are not supporters), my daughter-in-law received an invitation. Her grandmother wrote the invitation and we, that is, my son, his family, my grandchildren and me (from Georgia) went to America.

MM – How was life in America at first?

TP – At first it was very difficult. Why? Because at first it so happened that we had nothing to sell. I left Georgia with only two bags of luggage. In that time it was impossible to… — With the help of those same Georgians, my good friends, I was able to get an airplane ticket. At the time this was nearly impossible: there was no fuel; planes flew rarely. Therefore, to get those tickets, I do not know how many hoops they had to jump. They really helped me.

MM – What year was this?

TP – This was in 1994. And so we got here. We had no capital of any kind, no money. The things that people suggested we bring with us [laughing], turned out to be completely useless here: there is a different way of life here, different everything. People even dress differently. And so my son and daughter-in-law (this daughter-in-law is to be like a daughter – I cannot really call her a daughter-in-law [laughing]), would work and take classes (to better their English and get a profession) in order to get on their feet somehow. I was left with the children. I was their home front. I looked after the kids and would walk them to school: you cannot leave children of that age on their own here (the girl was nine and the boy was five and a half). All that was on me, and so was, of course, the housework. I also took some classes: while the kids were in school, I took some classes in Touro College to at least understand some basic English. I, of course, did not completely master the language; I learned just enough to go to a store and talk a little bit.

MM – What do you do now?

TP – I am now 76 years old and my health is not what is used to be (I have been on SSI for a long time). I take care of my nest and help my grandchildren when I can. I even have a great grandson. When there is a need, I, like Chip and Dale, rush to the rescue [laughing]. I am not bored at home because I love to do things at home. I am always sewing, weaving or fixing things about the house (bookshelves, doors). I do it on my own and I really enjoy it. When I finish, I am very proud of the result of my work. Moreover, I rent an apartment with a backyard. At first it had wild, unkempt grass and the landlord told me: “Please, do whatever you want in the backyard. Do whatever you want as long as it stays clean,” And I, who did not have any experience with gardening or the earth (I lived in Tbilisi, that is, on the asphalt), took on horticulture as well and made quite a pleasant little garden. Everyone enjoys it, when I show it to them and everyone comes and visits it: my friends, family members. That is how I spend my time.

MM – What did you find the most surprising when you moved to America?

TP – It so happened that we first moved not to New York but to New Jersey: into a quiet provincial place, where there are private areas, one family homes, and so on. We lived with the relatives for about twenty days, not doing anything and waiting for our documents to be processed by NYANA [New York Association for New Americans] so that we could go to New York, because in New York there are more opportunities for immigrants to adapt, find some courses (language or professional), find employment and everything else. For the twenty days that we lived there, we found many things strange. At first everything was strange, even the smallest things. We got there in at noon and our relatives came back from work at around eight. While we hugged and kissed, said, “Hello! How? What? When?” it was soon past nine. Suddenly our relatives said, “That’s it, we need to go to the store and buy enough supplies to last us a week.” We looked at the time: “isn’t it closed now?” “24-7.” [laughing] We also found this very surprising. We expected that everyone would go searching for shopping bags and containers [laughing], but our relatives went (they left us at home) with empty bags. In about an hour, less even, they returned and asked us to help them unpack.

MM – Really?

TP – Everything was packed in shopping bags. For us this was very strange, because when we left, you needed to pay for every bag, obviously. Everyone tried to save money [on shopping bags] in Russia — the former Soviet Union (not just Russia; in Georgia or any other country as well). We tried to save literally everything: we washed and dried these cellophane bags and reused them often, until they ripped. And they also said, “Yeah, we have no time, we are working people. We have no time to spend on shopping.” That is not what we were used to: after work we would go to the bazaar, the store, wait in line (to try to get something). And here they arrived, stacked for a whole week. This of course delighted us. Later, during the day, we were left to our own devices. While our documents were being processed all we could do was wait. We would take walks in the neighborhood. There is no sidewalk there: just the road and private property. We were walking along a road (a clean, empty road). We were two adults and two children. We were walking, talking, discussing, and suddenly one of us turned around and saw that a whole line of cars was following us. They were moving behind us as slowly as we were moving. [laughing]

MM – Wow [laughing]

TP – We blocked the street and they patiently waited for us to leave the road. No one was screaming or cursing at us [laughing]. We, of course, moved to the corner of the road and let the cars pass. This was another shock for us – people’s behavior. In our original setting, we would of course have been awarded with some pretty epithets [laughing]. Finally, when we moved to New York, we were pleasantly surprised by NYANA (we did not know much about it). We came as real refugees in the real sense of the word: without money, without anything to sell, or any capital to transfer. We came with just a few suitcases, filled with such rubbish, that it turned out to be useless here. Sometimes ordinary people helped us, gave us proper clothing. Our friends also helped us, as our relatives were in New Jersey and we had no one in New York. But people talked to each other and said that there are those who are in need. Our fellow immigrants helped us with this. For other things, we received help from NYANA, which gave us the necessary furniture for our new apartment. It might not have been new, not from the store, but we were endlessly grateful for everything. Over the years, as economic situation grew better, we of course updated everything according to our tastes. But at that time, this a great present; it was priceless. We are also thankful for food stamps, because this was great help for us to start off, to move upwards.

When we started making some money, our first foray outside was into the Museum of Natural History. We were pleasantly surprised by what we saw there. Firstly, by the way… — well, actually we saw this a bit earlier. We saw how buses are fit for disabled people: how they are brought into the bus and how they are tied on. We understood that invalids have no limitations here. Later we saw that in theaters provisions are made and in museums as well. We saw how disabled people use all the amenities that healthy, well-to-do people use. We were very touched, to tears even, because one involuntarily sees a parallel with out people, our relatives, who were left there. They became almost paralytic, and were practically forced to stay in the closed confines of their apartments. This had a large impact on us.

Negatively, we were surprised by the subway – the metro. After being used to the underground rapid transit in Moscow, Tbilisi, Leningrad, Kiev (all those cities where there is a metro), this New York subway left us with a very depressing impression. [laughing] Of course one has to take into consideration the colossal reach of the subway, especially in terms of the number of people that use it in the great metropolis. One has to take into account the age — though in London the underground is actually even more ancient than in New York. It is in fact the older underground rapid transit system in the world but it is nevertheless in wonderful shape. Well, this impression was not great! [laughing] Well, we are used to it now, we’re ok with it. It is unfortunate that it does not work regularly: sometimes it comes quickly; sometimes you have to wait for a while. One would think that in such a place as the underground, were trains have to come and go like clockwork in order to make sure there are no accidents or anything, [instead] there are endless delays, endless construction projects and, yet, many parts of the system are in a decrepit state.

MM – You said earlier that when you lived in Tbilisi, it was a multiethnic city. But you moved to New York, which if of course also very diverse, but in a different layout.

TP – The layout is completely different, of course. There is a different assemblage of different ethnicities – it is a lot more diverse than Tbilisi. Of course in Tbilisi there were plenty of different type of people, but to find so many ethnicities and races… That which we say in America is of course a lot more diverse. What amazed us and pleasantly surprised us was that on the street, in daily life, everyone (even people who were at first glance not well educated), was so polite, so well-intentioned. When people knocked into each other, as sometimes happens on the street, in the crowd. For example, when you sit in on a crowded bus, then get up and accidently walk into someone or step on someone’s feet, the victim turns around and says “I am sorry,” [laughing] instead of swearing at you and saying “Look where you’re going! Open you’re eyes wider! Where do you think you’re going?” You then get shoved to and fro, as everyone tries to get there first. After that, what we saw [in America] pleasantly surprised us. The lag of jostling in lines… — It is all so civilized: people calmly stand, do not push each other and it is all very cultured.

MM – Even in New York?

TP – Even in New York. Well, I do not mean those moments when something is being given out: during Black Friday, when sales are colossal, and when people are in a hurry. They form crowds and are almost ready to spray something in their competitors’ eyes in order to get something. I guess human nature makes a show here: it seems we all came from there. [laughing] We are all animals in a way, except with reasoning power. That is an extreme situation. But I can honestly tell you that when I was treated with rudeness was by my own former compatriots.

MM – Excuse me, you said that in Georgia assistance to friends and relatives is very developed.

TP – Yes, very much so. Here people live much more separate, individualistic lives. To tell you the truth, that is what I saw in Moscow as well. There people are more closed, live in their own apartments. When I was visiting relatives once, I remember sitting on a bench near a lobby entrance and saw a man being carried out to a funeral. I asked, “Who died here?” They told me, “We don’t know. Either on the ninth or eighth floor, some old man used to live.” No one could tell me anything comprehensible, despite living in the same house as that man. In Georgia, it is completely different: if something happens, the whole house, the whole neighborhood even, begins to collect money and help with what they can. And, if, god forbid, a person dies, they organize a funeral feast. This is a national tradition. All the neighbors will watch the stove, cover the tables, and aid the devastated family, which is in grief. Later they will help clean up. I admire this greatly. Every nation, every country, every race, has its own traditions. A nation is used to its own tradition and we, ending up in another culture, unwittingly begin to compare what is better and what is worse. But always something is better there and something is better here; something is worse there and something is worse here. What can you do? Nevertheless, having worked with many people, our [Russian speaking] immigrants and just Americans and I would prefer to work with the Americans. I do not mean absolutely everybody. I found myself in very uncomfortable situations that Americans generally do not stoop down to. Still, among our group I have many friends that I found in the first days of our immigration that also floundered about, like someone who does not know how to swim who ended up in the middle of a lake. [laughing] In these common flounderings in social organizations, which were trying to help us, I found likeminded people, who are my friends to this day. We gained a few new friends and so did I personally. I met families that I greatly admire and love. From my side, if something happens and my help is needed, will wholeheartedly help them, because I feel our bonds are mutual.

MM – Do you have nostalgia for some things?

TP – There is nostalgia, of course, for my native city. I really want to take a walk along my street. But I know that I will not see anybody, because many immigrated before me when the national questions erupted and they started fighting among themselves — this conflict led to nothing good: the party in power and the opposition and so on. These were hard times, when bread was rationed out but it was impossible to get bread even for the ration cards. I am not even talking about other products. Many left long before me; some left after me. But all the people my age I knew have passed away. If I stayed at that period, which went for a while after I left, I know that I would not have survived. The facilities in which I lived because my father was an officer (we lived, as I said, in the military town)… When the military was there, they took care of everything, of the buildings and so one. When the left, the roofs started to leak: no one cared. The building began to founder and sink: no one cared. My ceiling was leaking in six places. I have no idea how the wet plaster did not cave in and fall on my head. There were absolutely no resources to fix it. I sold the apartment and for that money I was able to move from Tbilisi to Moscow. [laughing] That was all the money I could get and when I came here from Moscow I had nothing. The apartment was bought by wonderful people who bought it almost for free because it was in terrible shape and, as I said before, there were many people were moving out and selling. Thus, the price for real estate fell. Of course, my apartment, with its leaking roof and crooked walls, fell even more. It was bought by humble people, they are Georgians, for a humble price. I am very grateful to them and still keep in touch with them, despite the fact that I only met them because they bought my apartment. [Recently] they sent me photographs of my old street, my old house – I wish I did not see any of it because everything is in such decay. Even the city center, which in Tbilisi was really beautified – they say it is not a remarkable city (it always was a beautiful and singular city and now especially) – but that is not mine anymore; it is not the same thing. And cities are formed not just by streets but by people – they are no longer there. Everything dissipated like smoke as a classic said: what smoke? It is in poetry.

MM – I do not remember.

TP – I went for high poetry and it did not work out. [laughing] So there is of course nostalgia for those memories. I was young then and when I came here, I came to grow old. Of course, the nostalgia is also very complex. In any case, I do not want to go back anywhere. America gave me everything despite the fact that I personally – my children work hard for the country and pay their taxes – I personally gave America nothing. It gave me something I never saw before. In the place where I worked for forty years (the duration of my employment), it turned out no one cared about me and I was no longer needed.