The world is full of stereotypes. From royals to rodents; lager drinkers to future thinkers; and PRs to porn stars. But there’s no greater stereotype than a country and its citizens. One word. One name. That’s all it takes to conjure up an image that is as detailed in its content as it is lacking in its accuracy.
The English are generically pompous and stuffy and the Irish are confused potato fanatics, they say. Australians overly relaxed beach lovers and New Zealanders over zealous sheep huggers. Americans have little idea where Europe ends and the Middle East begins. Oh, and South Africans are all hard-nosed aggressors without an ounce of empathy between them.
Our ability to take tens of millions of people from one land mass and graft them into a single, make-believe person is universal. More often than not, it’s done with a snigger and a chuckle and little comes from it. But they’ll always be those whose bigoted, obstinate intolerance of other nationalities fuels anger and rhetoric, forging hatred across generations and driving barriers between class, culture and race.
If you think this all poppycock and nothing more than a poorly veiled attempt to take the moral high ground as a preface my own stereotyping, you would of course be absolutely right. And let me tell you why. One word. Russia. Actually, two words. Russian Consulate.
It’s an innocent story and, in many respects, one of lost opportunity. It began with a few stolen moments earlier this week when I needed to submit a visa application to Consulate officials for a trip to St Petersburg later in the month. With the richness of the English language at my disposal, there are many ways I could delicately describe my experience within the imposing office building that sits precariously at heart of Sydney’s leafy eastern suburbs. But “energy vortex” sums it up nicely. Never in my 15,300 days on the planet have I stepped into a building that could sap the life from you once over the threshold. If you weren’t so instantly depressed, it would be a startling experience. Slumping is about as energetic as it gets in a place like this.
There’s no reason it should be this way. We often forget that Russia, the country, not the Consulate, is an extraordinary place steeped in layers of history, heritage and culture. From modest beginnings in the 14th Century principality of Moscow, Russia became the largest state in the world by the time Peter the Great took the leadership baton in 1672. Everything about it was epic. Its scale, wealth and intellectual capital was the envy of Europe. In those days Russia, despite the efforts of the French and Spanish to rewrite the history books since, was the hippest, most happening groove-station on earth. It was the star-child of the millennium. It was one of the most colourful and progressive nations for some 600 years. And then something happened.
It wasn’t Communism. That will go down in history as an ill-judged blip on Europe’s political map. Nor was it the loss of monarchy through Revolution. There have been plenty of those around and, generally speaking, they tended to be pretty successful. There’s some who suggest a lack of people and a rather over-bearing wind-chill factor hampered governmental efforts to keep up with the industrial revolutionists of the early 19th century. But blaming the weather is a terribly British thing and not easily given away as an excuse for economic meltdown.
No. What happened to Russia was an instantaneous dis-appreciation for colour. A thick veil of white was apparently pulled over everything with zero notice. Even rainbows were banished. Think about it for a moment. Stereotype Russia and pretty much everything weeps of grey and yellowy creams and translucent mauve. Sure, you might be inclined to pour in a dash of red and yellow and blue on occasion, but more often than not it’s a pretty grim mess. A kind of Edward Hopper meets Jeff Koons’ palette. Enticing, undoubtedly, but confusing all the same – to the point that you’re never really sure what you’re actually looking at.
Adding colour to the stereotype experience, so to speak, may sound quite barking, which it quite possibly is. But the fact is this stuff matters. It matters that when people stereotype (which they just do) they think Russia errs on bland; it matters that people think Russia is overly-bureaucratic and unrelentingly frosty; and it matters when, as a consequence, people decide to spend their holidays and their dollars in China or the Czech Republic or Chile.
My visit to the Consulate in Sydney is a case in point. Taupe walls with a burgundy detail aside, no one smiled once. Not so much as a “good morning”. Or a “can I help you”. All I got was “booth 5”. And it was not as if the place was heaving. My company that Monday lunchtime was two drab brown plastic sofas gathered around an endless loop of Russian reality TV and a peroxide blond receptionist crouched behind yellow scratched bulletproof glass. Booth 5 was empty too, except for the small stapler lying sideways on the grubby Formica bench top. The only hint of life was the aging cashier huddled behind booth 7, dressed in scarily revealing blue and yellow polyester. I thought she’d spontaneously combust is she got up too quickly, such was the static buzzing around her neck. But sudden movement of any kind was mere wishful thinking and the best I got was a grunt as I queued behind the stapler begging for some attention.
I left the Russian Consulate utterly depressed. Here is a country positively buckling under the weight of its heritage and past splendour. And yet the experience, in what amounts to its Australian tourist office (because you have to go there if you want to get a visa), was utterly life sapping. Things were put into perspective by the fact that, back in the office, I was slap bang in the middle of launching the Country Brand Index, Weber Shandwick and (sister agency) FutureBrand’s annual analysis and ranking of country’s brand attributes. Here I was reviewing research that celebrated more than 2,600 travellers and travel expert’s commentary on what makes a country great and good, having just emerged pale and exhausted from one of the most uninspiring places on earth.
I have to say, I don’t get it. At a time when 90% of purchasing decisions are made through word of mouth, governments must know that the experience of the visitor is paramount, regardless of whether it’s a remote representative office or the State Capital theatre. Country perception has to be brand managed. Just like any consumer product, if you work for and garner brand loyalty you will reap sustained and long-term economic benefit. That’s Communication 101.
Of course the issue is not isolated to Russia. Travel through any American customs declaration point nowadays and you’re more likely to get a Spanish Inquisition than a warm and heart-felt, “Welcome to America, Sir”. Security fears have put paid to the chance of anything else. But I’m an eternal optimist. Even if it means drawing on past antagonisms to get anywhere.
Here’s a thought. With the Space Race all but dead, why not create the Face Chase in its place – a daily dash to attract the most people to the right country. Imagine the possibilities, as Russia and the US went head to head to ensure the world’s business and tourist travellers decided to go East over West, or vice versa. What fun it would be for an utterly stunned public. The cast of American Idol would be dragged in to serenade visitors at LAX, whilst, in a far away country, chocolate Faberge eggs would be tucked into your passport at Moscow airport. Visitor numbers would go through the roof, inward investment would follow by the truck load and stereotypes would shatter. “Your Slice of American Pie”, could be the first salvo of campaigning from the West. “From Russia With Love”, would be the Eastern rhetoric. It’s a mind bogglingly exciting prospect.
And meanwhile, back at the Consulate, the chirpy officials would be painting their walls, hanging Kramskoy prints from the rafters and humming Tchaikovsky as they whistled through the paperwork and waited happily for me to return so they could decline my visa application. Rejection with a smile. It would be so much nicer.
