The wonderful world of Zetdom

I’m a splitski zet, which in English simply means I am married to a woman from Split. But, it really doesn’t translate that easily because in English we have no other way of saying I am married to a woman from Split other than saying I am married to a woman from Split. So, there is no English equivalent to the phrase splitski zet. Back in the States, if I called my wife a daughter-in-law of Tulsa, people would have absolutely no idea what I was talking about. They would think my wife had received some honorary title, bestowed on her by the mayor and the city council at a ceremony involving flowers, a sash, and maybe even a parade. The idea that one’s attachment to their homeland is transferable to their spouse is a strange concept to Americans. In the US, you don’t have to marry in to become an American (of course you can), but most of us come from someone who, at some point, just showed up and stayed.

In a country where skepticism could be described as a national past time, being a zet helps you get your foot in the door. It’s like a vetting process. If a girl from Split (or Croatia) has already accepted me into the club, than you can rest assured I’m not all bad. It says: Hey, I’m not just some dumb foreigner just asking for something.

In my experience the world of zetdom helps with almost every kind of social transaction in Croatia. Explaining that I’m a zet breathes a bit of patience into my conversation with the doctor, waitress, or saleswoman, or bureaucrat (yes, even the bureaucrat!). My zet card has gotten me expedited customer service, endearing looks from old ladies, wherever they work, and even helped me land some interviews with former right-wing paramilitary members for a research project. Conversely, in the US, if you tried to explain to someone that they should listen to you patiently as you massacre the English language and make wild hand gestures in hopes that your moving hands will somehow help you be understood, simply because you are married to an American, Tulsan, or Oklahoman... well, that person could give a shit. Your matrimonial bond with our country or land means little, if anything.

Another facet of zet-ness is how it emphasizes the importance my spouse, family, and fellow residents place on where they are from. Again, this is less important in the US (unless you’re from Pittsburgh, people from Pittsburgh are OBSESSED with being from Pittsburgh). The love people have for the place they are from in Croatia cannot be compared to anything I have felt in the US (not even Pittsburgh). As a zet some of this affection rubs off on me. I have a more complicated relationship with Split than I do with Zadar (I’ve lived in both). Both are Dalmatian, both are old, and both are on the sea, but, Split is like family and Zadar is just an acquaintance.

By having the label of zet, a term of inclusion in what is ultimately a bounded and limited community, I am invited (maaaaaybe even expected?) to experience the love for the hometown or homeland as much as my family from there. And it works. Split is important to me because it is important to my wife. It is where I proposed to her. It is where my daughter was born. And most of all it is where I truly fell in love with her. Until I saw her in Split, amid the memories and familiarity the surround her here, I didn’t really know her. Now, partly because of the city’s own timelessness, but more from the effects of being a zet, I feel as if I am a part of this city and those memories.

Like I said, the term splitski zet doesn’t really translate well. It means much more than marrying a woman from Split.

Free-riding or Dodging ZET Inspectors

One of the more peculiar things about living in Croatia is the distance between what is legally permissible and what is socially permissible. To a certain extent gaps between the law and following the law exist everywhere. In Oklahoma there is the “five over rule,” meaning most police allow you to exceed the posted speed limit by five miles. In Croatia such discrepancies between the law and following the law appear much more pervasive. They range from avoiding parking infractions to under-the-table employment and under reporting payment in order to avoid taxes. This topic will come up again and again, yet for the purposes of this post I focus on what is probably the most ubiquitous illegal activity in Zagreb: free riding on public transport.

I first have to say that Zagreb has a fantastic tram system. The trains are new, clean, and well maintained. They run frequently and travel extensively throughout the city. There is nothing comparable to this type of service in Oklahoma, or most of the US for that matter. In Tulsa the buses come once every hour, stop running at five p.m. and don’t really take you anywhere all that useful. One of the few time I rode a bus was in preschool as a class, and I think that was just so we would know what a bus was. Unlike in Tulsa where you can live most of your life without engaging in public transit, the tramway in Zagreb is an integral part of life.

Of course this makes the reality of the tramway all the more ironic: Zagreb has a great tram system, and yet most people ride it for free. Riding the tram depends mostly on the honor system. There is no fee for entering the tram, no turnstile, gate, nothing. You just hop on; however, you are supposed to buy a ticket in advance at a nearby kiosk or purchase one with a text message from you mobile phone. There is some level of enforcement. Uniformed inspectors come around from time to time and check your tickets. If you cannot show them one you are fined 200 kuna (roughly $40).

Talking to residents of Zagreb you hear all kinds of stories about how people have attempted to get of out paying the fine. One of the more clever ones I’ve heard involved a friend who had already been riding on the tram when an inspector (called Kontrol in Croatian) entered. Once the tram started moving he ran up to her, pretending to be nervous and asked her if he still had time to purchase his ticket on his phone. The inspector a little shocked at being directly approached replied in a relaxing tone that of course there was still time.

When you’re caught inspectors exit the tram with you and write you a ticket on the side of the street. Another friend, an American married to a Croatian, related to me how once when he was caught he played dumb, acting like he didn’t speak Croatian, was only here for a conference, and couldn’t understand this “crazy” tram system. As he was on the cusp of success, having almost convinced the inspectors he was just a dumb tourist when a tram full of his former students stopped and they all yelled: “Hi Dave!” He ended up paying the fine. I’ve heard from other foreigners that they too act as foreign as possible. According to these stories the inspectors will get so frustrated trying to get you to understand them that they will eventually just let you go.

Usually, you just try to dodge the inspectors. When they enter, you exit. They are pretty easy to spot. They wear blue jackets with stripped blue button-down shirts, and have a way of parting the most densely packed crowds like Moses parted the Red Sea. The other alternative is to enter a text message into your phone and then only send it when you see an inspector.

Another preoccupation among free riders is trying to anticipate the inspectors’ behavior. It is assumed that inspectors don’t work after 8 or 9 p.m. or early on weekends, some assume they don’t work weekends at all. I’ve also been told that inspectors won’t work when its raining, snowy, or frigidly cold. I’m not sure if it is assumed that inspectors don’t want to stand in the rain, snow or cold when writing a ticket or if would it would be socially unacceptable to make a passenger stand in bad weather when getting a fine. In any case it assumed that fines for free riding are canceled due to inclement weather. I’m not sure if any of this is true.

Why all the free riding? Well, its logical. The economists tell us that few will pay for something if they can obtain it for free. Given the paltry system of enforcement its rational that few people pay for a tram ride. Since the fine is 200 kuna and a tram ride itself costs 15 kuna, if you can ride for free 13 or more times without paying, then its worth risking the fine. The times I do buy a ticket are when I’m either riding with my daughter or mother-in-law. And these are social inducements. I don’t want people to think that I’m a bad father when they see me holding my little girl and getting fined by the inspectors on the side of the street. (Also, since she speaks Croatian she would blow my cover as a dumb tourist.) My other friends have related similar reasons. One woman told me that since she was now over 35 (and on TV) she would be embarrassed if she was seen being fined.

But there is also another economic argument and this returns to the discrepancy between policy and practice. A tram ride costs 15 kuna, which is about three dollars. Now imagine if you had to ride the tram twice a day to get to work and back. That would be six dollars a day, $30 a week, $120 a month, $1,200 a year. In a country where the average monthly salary is between $800 and $1,000 a month, that’s 10 percent or more of your annual income, just to get to work. What’s more is that ZET (the tram operator) knows that most people do not or cannot pay this fare. Danas.hr reported that while 298 million people rode the tram (and buses) last year, revenue was only at 319 million kuna! That’s less than 1.5 kuna per person, roughly $0.25 a passenger.

I’d like to say that this is a case of an enduring status quo where the price was fixed and remains fixed given a set of circumstances, but its actually worse than that. The price just went up from 10 to 15 kuna via text message and from 8 to 12 kuna for tickets purchased from a kiosk. And since then revenue has stayed roughly the same. ZET is now earning less than it was before if you consider the price increase. Its as if Joseph Heller and Franz Kafka jointly designed this policy. ZET raises the price to make less money!! The politicians know no one is paying the price, the passengers know it, ZET knows it, and yet the price that no one pays endures.

Thats how life is here. We exist in a world where policy after policy, law after law attempt to impose an impossible standard on our reality. As a result, our daily life is learning how to dodge the rules, and to define the actual distance between the imaginary and the real, to discern the actual difference between what is demanded and what is permissible. For all that, Croatia pays a greater price; a fare-less ride on the tram only sounds free.
Here is an even more outrageous comparison. A ride on the NY subway costs $2.50 and the city's average income is $6,317.00 a month. In Zagreb a ride on the tram is $3.00 and the average monthly income is $1,356.00! Moreover, the income for Zagreb is from 2008. Since the financial crisis the average income has certainly declined while the tram price has been increased.