TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/120390/1203006.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 4.7 KB | 106 lines

                                                                                WORLD, Page 75

SOVIET UNION 

Give Us Our Daily Bread


Consumers face a hungry winter as supplies run short and state
food production and distribution turn to crumbs

By JOHN KOHAN/MOSCOW


    The Molodezhny milk store in the Frunze District of
northwest Moscow used to be famous for its dairy products.
Nowadays, almost no customers are seen there during peak
afternoon shopping hours. No wonder. Refrigerator cases offer
bottles of a sour apple-grape drink instead of butter and
cheese. In a touch of the absurd, otherwise barren shelves
display seltzer-water dispensers and brightly colored plastic
Little Drummer Rabbit dolls, presumably for toddlers who will
have to do without fresh milk.

    Molodezhny, at least, has something to sell. Some shops
open at 8 a.m. but close by lunchtime, when the day's allotment
of food is gone. Other state-run outlets are closed
indefinitely for "renovations."

    A headline last week on the front page of Pravda, the
Communist Party daily, posed the question haunting all Soviet
consumers as they prepare for the coming winter: ARE WE
THREATENED WITH HUNGER? President Mikhail Gorbachev has roundly
dismissed what he calls "conjectures of a coming famine." In
industrial centers like Leningrad, however, local authorities
plan to introduce wide-scale rationing to avert the worst
consumer shortages since the end of World War II.

    Soviet cows are still giving milk and chickens are still
laying eggs, as they always have, with or without orders from
the Kremlin. The great scandal is how these products are
disappearing on the way to the store. Much of the blame rests
with an antiquated state distribution system. Other reasons
Soviet cupboards are suddenly bare:


    THE FUMBLING CENTER. There is little confidence outside
Moscow that the central government can mend the economy. A
decision this year to increase the price the state will pay for
grain and meat has not led to more production. Farmers, who have
no incentive to accumulate more worthless rubles, have even
taken land out of cultivation. Agricultural markets have also
been disrupted by government schemes that allow producers of
some products to make deals directly with buyers. In parts of
the Ukraine, peasants waiting for a better price have turned
over only 5% of the grain harvest to the state.

    REGIONAL SEPARATISM. Calls from republics and regions for
greater political sovereignty have caused economic protectionism
and strangled supply lines. The balance sheet at Moscow's No.
14 meat-packing plant tells the story. So far this year, the
factory has received only 410 tons of meat, well short of the
planned 2,920 tons. The Belorussians have sent 120 tons instead
of 970. Nothing has come from Kazakhstan, Latvia or Lithuania.
During the past nine months, the agricultural regions around
Sverdlovsk have held back one-third of their scheduled
deliveries of produce and sold the products on local markets.

    PROFITEERING. While state-run stores are empty, the
country's free farmers' markets offer an abundance of everything
from mandarin oranges and pickled garlic to sunflower oil.
Prices, though, are staggering. The average annual income of
Soviets is only 250 rubles, and so few can afford the luxury of
tomatoes at 10 rubles for about two pounds, or beef at 30 rubles
a cut. Peasants gripe that free markets in Moscow are under the
control of black-marketeering middlemen from the Caucasian
republics who are deliberately limiting supplies to keep prices
high. Managers of state-run shops also hold back scarce goods
from open sale and make a hefty profit by selling them out the
back door.

    HOARDING. Stores have been battered in recent weeks by
waves of panic buying that have periodically cleaned shelves of
sugar, milk, flour, matches and other staples. As a Moscow
housewife sheepishly confesses, "My kitchen is loaded with
cereals, and my bathroom is piled with soap. I can barely turn
around in my apartment." The hysteria often reflects fears about
the future, but it creates immediate problems.

    Gorbachev hopes he can cure the food crisis with a
combination of strong presidential leadership and help from
abroad. He privately approached Western leaders at last week's
Paris summit conference with a grocery list that included such
staples as pork, butter and powdered milk. The Supreme Soviet
has given Gorbachev two weeks to prepare emergency measures to
ensure that the state receives ample supplies of food from
producers. Meanwhile, grumbling consumers have no choice but to
continue playing the grim new national sport: scavenger hunting.