Paul
Goble
Staunton, November 21 – Both because
of the rise of ethnic sensitivities in the Russian Federation and Moscow’s
promotion of “rossiysky” as a term to describe people and things attached to
the Russian state politically, the word “russky” has become “finally and
irreversibly” limited to the Russian ethnic nation, according to a Moscow
scholar.
On the one hand, this development
reflects the strengthening of ethnic Russian identity in response to more
frequent contacts and conflicts with non-Russian groups. But on the other, by
eliminating a certain ambiguity, one that created a penumbra of ethnic
closeness between ethnic Russians and others, it drives another wedge between
the two communities.
And that in turn means that the
Russian government’s much-ballyhooed plan to push for a civic identity, however
philosophically justified it may be, is contributing to the promotion of the ethnicization
that it was intended to overcome less among the non-Russians than among the
ethnic Russians themselves.
In his new book, “Cultural
Differences and Political Borders in the Era of Global Migration” (in Russian;
Moscow: NLO, 2014), Vladimir Malakhov of the Moscow Institute of Philosophy,
discusses how “russky” came to be limited and why this matters for the future
of the country (hekupsa.com/raznoe/politika-i-obshchestvo/1988-slovo-russkij-okonchatelno-i-bespovorotno-etnizirovano).
Malakhov
begins to focusing on the issue of whether a nation embracing all the people of
the Russian Federation exists. He argues that it does “to the degree that those
who live there a) identify themselves as ‘rossiisky’ citizens and b) relate
themselves to a common communications space.”
These two things – citizenship and common communications – “permit residents
of the country to imagine themselves as members of one society.”
According to the Moscow scholar, “the
most adequate name of the cultural-political community which exists in
present-day Russia is the ‘rossiisky’ nation.
The adjective ‘rossiisky’ must not and cannot be replaced by the
adjective ‘russky.’” That is both normatively and practically impossible for
three reasons
First, there are “the ethnic
connotations of the term ‘russky’ which the latter acquired in the Soviet period of Russian history;” second,
there is “the poly-ethnic character of the cultural space of Russia;” and
third, there is “the specific nature of the (post) contemporary socio-cultural
situation, the most important aspect of which is the struggle for recognition.”
Each of these, Malakhov argues, need to be considered in
turn. Those “authors who propose to
interpret the adjective ‘russky’ in a super-ethnic sense are appealing to a
situation which existed in imperial Russia” when the term meant both loyalty to
the throne and cultural and religious identification with the dominant culture.
That
situation no longer exists and it “cannot be reconstructed above all because the
term ‘russky’ during the years of Soviet power acquired firm ethnic
connotations.” Under the Soviets, ethnicity was used “as a means of dividing
the population and dividing territory,” of distributing goods positive and
negative and thus of power.
That
contributed to the ethnicization of “russky,” Malakhov says, “but it was not
the only cause.” Another was “the war in
Chechnya (1994-1996 and 1999-2000). The Trauma connected with this was is so
deep and large” that it destroyed all “illusions” that somehow non-Russians and
Chechens in particular could at some point “accept the self-designator ‘russky.’”
However,
even if this possibility did exist, the Moscow scholar continues, “it is hardly
possible to hope that those residents of Central Russia who support the slogan ‘Russia
for the Ethnic Russians!’ would agree.”
And their numbers, he adds, “as is well known” are large and growing.
Consequently,
“whether we want it or not, we have to recognize that the word ‘russky’ has
been finally and irreversibly ethnicized,” that it is not a supra-ethnic term
but “the eclusive definition which separates one ethnic group from others.”
Some
writers nonetheless try to save this earlier and broader meaning by talking
about “’rossiskaya’ culture,” but the argument against that use was made
definitely by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn: “we have a ‘rossiiskoye’ state but a ‘russkaya’
culture.” That in turn means that
non-Russians have the right to “accept ‘russkaya’ culture” or “develop their
own.”
Such efforts reflect the fact that many non-Russians have
accepted “’russkaya’” culture and contributed to it, Malakhov says, but that
does not mean that all do or that the state can succeeded in making them all do
so, however hard it tries – or that mechanically combining all the cultures of the
country will produce a common “’rossiiskaya’ culture.”
Such
a culture if it appear is a “super-ethnic” one, a culture that combines ethnic
cultures and participation in a broader one, much as has already happened in
Great Britain, Austria and Turkey, Malakhov argues. It could happen in Russia,
but there are forces working against it, especially the media.
“Regional
and ethnic communities are positioning themselves in the media space ... not as
autonomous geographic and political (‘national’) units but as component parts
of nation states.” Representatives of
Wales, the Basque country, Corsica, and Buryatia all do this. They do not speak
as “representatives of Great Britain, Spain, France and Russia”
It
is “impossible” to reverse this trend, Malakhov says. “To propose, let us say,
to the Circassians or Kalmyks that they be assimilated into ‘russkaya’ culture
is an undertaking just as doubtful as suggesting to the Welsh or the Scots that
they be assimilated into ‘English culture.’” For most, this simply won’t work
but rather generate a negative reaction.
Consequently,
Malakhov concludes, “to classify the culture of contemporary Russia as ‘russkaya’
would be not only incorrect in a normative moral plane but also
counter-productive in a pragmatic and political one.”
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