MOSCOW--What's the point of a census if nobody wants to ask or answer
the questions? Russians will find out next week, when the country conducts
its first census since the Soviet Union collapsed 11 years ago.
The Kremlin has launched an $ 8 million advertising blitz to persuade
citizens to participate. Will they do it? Doubtful. Russians are fearful
that anything they say will be used against them. They're also skeptical
that the census will reflect reality, mindful of the Soviet penchant for
doctoring or simply ignoring results that didn't back up the official line.
(Like in 1937, when Stalin banned the publication of census results in
part because they showed a majority in the officially atheist country believed
in God.) Official statisticians say this time will be different--and Russians
will finally learn who they are. Maybe. At just 13 questions, the long
form (to be used with every fourth person) is a quarter the length of the
U.S. one. And the absence of questions on things like religious affiliation
and native language won't help. There's also the matter of whether Russians
will divulge certain data, like how they make their money--or whether they'll
talk at all if they're in violation of residence-registration laws. In
many areas, census takers will be escorted by local cops--the same people
who extort bribes from unfortunates who lack proper registration papers.
Respondents aren't the only reluctant ones. It has also been kind of
tough finding folks to ask the questions. Not surprising, considering that
census takers are paid a measly 1,500 to 2,000 rubles ($ 47-$ 63) for a
month's work--a paltry sum even by Russia's depressed standards. The government's
fix: Draft public-university students for the task. "If I have to work
the census, I won't be able to keep my work hours and will probably get
fired," balked one student forced into service. "But it's either that or
get kicked out of school."