By Neil Trent
Russia has a serious drug problem, and I'm not talking about
narcotics.
Veterinarians the world over use ketamine, in combination
with other drugs, to minimize pain to pets before they go under
the knife. In Russia, there are no comparable anesthetics. Yet,
thanks to a Soviet-style snafu, ketamine is illegal, and
authorities have launched an aggressive campaign against
veterinarians who commit the crime of providing a safe,
pain-free operation to animals.
For years, Russian veterinarians used ketamine without
hassle. Then, in 1998, the Ministry of Agriculture undertook a
sweeping review of drugs permitted for use in veterinary
medicine. Ketamine didn't make the cut. Why? Ministry employees
"simply forgot" to include it.
Instead of simply admitting their error and adding ketamine
to the list of approved drugs, Russian authorities have begun
systematically hounding the country's vets. Since 2003, 19 have
been charged with using the banned drug. Of those, three
recently were acquitted because the quantities they possessed
were minimal. But 16 others still face up to 15 years in
jail.
The police-state tactics have had tragic consequences. In
April, drug enforcement agents burst in on a veterinarian in
the city of Vladimir, while he was performing an urgent
operation to remove a dog's womb. They subjected the doctor
(and the pet's owner) to relentless questioning while the furry
patient lay cut open on the operating table. The dog died as a
result of the interruption.
Having just returned from St. Petersburg, I can report
firsthand that such horrors fly in the face of Russia's real
progress on a range of animal welfare issues. Humane Society
International, in conjunction with the Royal Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, the World Society for the
Protection of Animals and the International Fund for Animal
Welfare, organized a conference that brought together some 45
leading animal protection advocates from 13 countries, mostly
of the former Soviet bloc. The event, a follow-up to last
year's workshop in
Moscow, featured presentations and roundtable discussions
about a range of topics, from spay and neuter programs to
running a humane shelter.
During the Soviet era, animal control more often than not
meant bludgeoning or shooting hapless strays. After the fall of
the Soviet Union, policies swung to the other extreme: A
no-kill movement spread with religious fervor. Happily, in St.
Petersburg, we found an animal welfare community poised to
embrace a more balanced approach, one that includes euthanasia
for sick and suffering creatures. Bureaucrats, too, are open to
new ideas. Representatives from Moscow's animal control
department came to the conference, and, in the words of one
attendee, "convinced us that not all officials are indifferent
and corrupt, and that they are worth trying to cooperate
with."
Open minds and a spirit of cooperation bode well for the
future of animal welfare in the region. But we must not grow
complacent. The great bear of Russian bureaucracy can still
throw its weight around, and knock the country back to the
Stone Age. Look no further than the sordid ketamine affair.
VITA, a leading Russian animal welfare organization, has led
a valiant fight to make ketamine legal, galvanizing the public
through protests, press conferences and a vigorous
letter-writing campaign. Its efforts seemed to pay off in
January when the Ministry of Agriculture lifted the ban on
ketamine. But the ministry also required vets to obtain a
license before using the anesthetic. According to VITA, not a
single license has been issued, making the use of ketamine a
crime in Russia to this day. The good vets awaiting prosecution
have learned that lesson the hard way.
Despite a flood of protest letters from animal lovers in
Russia and overseas, this issue may not have reached the
Kremlin yet. I have no idea if President Vladimir Putin is an
animal lover, or even a pet owner, but if he is, I'm confident
he would immediately resolve this dilemma with a stroke of his
pen.
