Nicholas Seay Participates in American Councils’ Eurasian Regional Language Program

By Nicholas Seay

Nicholas Seay, a second-year PhD Student in the Department of History spent two months this summer learning Tajik through the American Councils Eurasian Regional Language Program (ERLP). The ERLP program provides high-quality language instruction and specially designed cultural programming for students studying the languages of Central Asia, the South Caucasus, Russia, Ukraine, and Moldova. Languages available to study include Armenian, Azerbaijani, Turkish, Georgian, Chechen, Kazakh, Kyrgyz, Romanian, Bashkir, Buryat, Tatar, Yakut, Persian (Dari, Farsi, Tajik), Pashto, Uzbek, and Ukrainian.

Karakul Lake, Tajikistan

While the COVID-19 pandemic led American Councils to cancel in-person language learning programs, the majority of classes were still offered online. “The ability to continue to work towards the language skills necessary for my research while ensuring that students, staff, and instructors had the opportunity to work safely during the pandemic made this a unique opportunity. I am very happy to see American Councils working so hard to ensure that all programs are carried out safely,” Nicholas explained. In both Fall 2020 and Spring 2021 American Councils programming will continue to operate online.

Nicholas Seay Giving an Uzbek Language Presentation

Nicholas first traveled to Tajikistan in 2017 as part of the State Department’s Critical Language Scholarship program for the study of Persian. Iranian Persian (sometimes called Farsi) and Tajik Persian are closely related. While Iranian Persian served as Nicholas’ initial encounter with Persian, his research interests in the history of cotton production in Soviet Tajikistan have led him to redirect his focus towards Tajik. As Nicholas described, “One advantage of studying with ERLP was the ability to study the specifics of the Tajik language and begin to understand regional dialects within Tajikistan.”

In the future, Nicholas hopes to combine his Russian and Tajik language skills in archival and oral history work in Russia and Tajikistan. His summer online studies were partially funded by support from the History Department at Ohio State and with the support of a Fulbright-Hays Fellowship from the U.S. Department of Education. Nicholas will be hosting a virtual information session on October 5th at 3:00 PM for undergraduate, graduate, and professional students interested in pursuing similar opportunities with American Councils ERLP and related programs. To RSVP for this information session, follow the link here.

Philip Kopatz’s Fulbright Experience

By Philip Kopatz

September 7th, 2019: I had been in Kharkiv, Ukraine on a Fulbright English Teaching Assistantship (ETA) for a week and was finally getting my teaching schedule. I had been assigned to the history faculty and my advisor told me “Your first class is on Monday. You’ll be teaching by yourself which is nice since you won’t have to report to anybody.” I replied in utter disbelief, “You know I have no teaching experience, right?” He calmly replied, “You won’t have anybody breathing down your neck.”

Man standing on a rock at the beach

Sunrise in Odesa

I spent the weekend frantically googling lesson plans and ideas. The two-day seminar on teaching at the orientation did not prepare me for this! I strung together a semi-coherent lesson plan and walked into the classroom on Monday not knowing what to expect. When I asked the history professors about the level of the students’ English, they laughingly replied, “not great.” The classroom had about 20 students of mixed levels. Some could not understand or speak English, some were advanced, and most were somewhere in the middle. The class went better than expected, but I knew I needed help. I pulled aside one of the advanced students, and to my pleasant surprise, it turned out she used to be an English teacher. With her help, I learned how to write lesson plans centered around fun and engaging activities such as “guess the lyrics” or video comprehension. Although the numbers dwindled throughout the semester because my class was optional, I found a core group of students who were motivated and saw a dramatic increase in their English proficiency over the next seven months.

Once I figured out how to teach, I turned my attention to “what should I do outside of the university?” As if she read my thoughts, a Ukrainian Fulbright alumna messaged me on Facebook to introduce herself and mentioned that she had an English school for lawyers and would love to have me. Two or three times a week I would spend evenings there talking to her students about topics from education in the U.S. to holiday traditions. It was refreshing to be surrounded by people who genuinely wanted to learn English as opposed to many of the university students who only studied English to pass the exit exam for graduation.

But Fulbright is not completely about working; it is about cultural exchange and immersion. With eight other ETAs across Ukraine, we took the opportunity to travel as much as possible. From the beaches of Odesa, to the baroque and Renaissance inspired architecture of Lviv, I immersed myself in Ukraine. There are numerous stories I could write about, but I’ll leave it off with my last trip in March before COVID changed our lives. My Ukrainian friend, who had never been west of Kyiv, and I jumped on a train to western Ukraine to visit some of my Fulbright friends and do some sightseeing for the weekend of March 6th. We did the normal things while traveling: ate good food and saw some cool sights. But we also did some extraordinary things: one day we were visiting a Soviet prison in Ternopil and heard the experiences from a man who spent eight years in that small prison cell, and the next night we were drinking wine on the shores of the Dnipro river in Kyiv.

Students cooking

Making Vareniki and Borscht in Lviv

In the words of the late Fulbright director in Ukraine: “you need to have patience and a sense of humor here.” Those words could not be truer. Living in another country, even if its government sponsored, requires one to be flexible and adaptable. Most of the time things will not go how you planned or imagined, but if you just go with it and enjoy the process, you may just have the best experience of your life.

Unexpected Thoughts from a Trip to Poland

A view across an open plaza, bordered by multicolored buildings and people standing

Old City, Warsaw

By Brenden Wood

My grandmother was a heritage speaker of Polish, and I had always admired her ability to speak in another language. When I came of college age, I wanted to pursue Polish, but I was not able to during my undergraduate career for a host of reasons, the foremost being that it just isn’t widely taught. So, when I arrived to OSU last year to start my M.A. at the Slavic Center, I jumped at the chance to finally study Polish. I had studied Russian at that point for four years, and I was excited to be able to start in on a new Slavic language. Unlike with Russian, however, I had no career goal or aspirations with the language. The language is simply something that I have wanted to learn for a long time, and I am excited to finally have the opportunity to thoroughly explore the language. Therefore, when I had the chance to travel to Poland this past December, I didn’t hesitate.

Weirdly, I had no personal expectations for the trip. My family came from southeastern Poland, by Zamosc, but we have retained no connection with family in the area. My great-grandfather did not leave on happy terms. I did not have any glorious or romantic ideas to reach back into a forgotten past, and hopefully pull something forward. I figured that I would enjoy the journey, and see where it took me.

I toured Warsaw and Krakow and I went on an excursion to Auschwitz. Writing about what is there does not do it justice, but suffice to say that I did not walk away any more distraught or calmly than when I arrived. I instead got an unsettling sensation that I was a witness, and I felt a sense of odd displacement. It wasn’t that they didn’t make a great impression on me, quite the opposite. I think that it was more that I didn’t have any idea how I would feel after seeing these places, ravaged as they all were by history. It was easy to imagine that seeing Auschwitz would give me a sense of closure or understanding, but instead it just left me with a pensive feeling, as if I had left with more questions than when I had arrived. However, these questions now are still not clear.

A white, horse drawn carriage, with lighted Christmas tree in the background

Stary Rynek, Krakow

One particular event sticks out in my head as I attempt to come to terms with everything. I had the chance to sit down for a meal with relatives of a family friend who are natives of Poland, now living in the small town of Siedlec. As most know, Poland has had a difficult century in terms of political independence and stability. After being ravaged by the Third Reich in the 1940’s, Poland fell behind the Iron Curtain, and was subjected in many ways to the authority of the Soviet Union. Sparing everyone the well-known history lesson here, I’ll just say that as a result of this political situation, learning Russian became mandatory, which is what brings me back to my curious dinner in Siedlec.

My host and hostess both spoke broken English, but each commanded a decent vocabulary and passive understanding of the language. My host spoke excellent Russian, while my hostess had a better command of English. Naturally, they both spoke Polish pretty well. My command of English is that of a native, and my abilities in Russian, although by no means native, are not paltry. My Polish is definitely more primitive, but I can communicate and understand. What ensued over dinner was a conversation in a mixture of three languages, a conversation which conveyed to me sadness, anger, fear, but, above all, great pride. My hosts love their country dearly, and are proud of all that has happened there. What was odd for me, was that I understood the events we discussed not as a student of Poland, but as somebody who has long studied Russia and the Soviet Union. When at a loss for a word, my host and I would revert to Russia to clarify a word, while I would revert to English with my hostess. It was a bit disconcerting to use Russian at the table, as it clearly made everyone a bit uncomfortable. My hostess did not retain her knowledge of the language, and it clearly had been something that she had not made a point to remember. My host, who used Russian at work, had been forced by the nature of his profession to retain a technical command of the language. However, it clearly made him too uncomfortable to have to rely on Russian with me when we were all at a loss for words.

Probably the most interesting takeaway from this pleasant dinner was when we discussed how things had changed in Krakow. They told me that prior to the 1990s, Krakow had fallen into disrepair. They were not specific as to why the city was allowed to literally crumble, but it was clear that it was the result of a lack of funding and motivation under the communist regime.  The answers are clear: feeling trapped by communism, the Poles were more focused on survival than maintaining the city and allowing the communists to enjoy the beauty and pride of Krakow. What was a bit perplexing was that the people of Krakow, who so clearly loved their city, allowed it decline to the point of shame leading up the 1990s, but immediately began to rejuvenate the city once Poland was once more democratic. The people of Warsaw had leapt to repair Warsaw after the war, even though they were at that time falling under the yoke of communist rule. This perhaps seems as if I am running circles around something with a clear answer, but I still pause and think. The anger toward the communists and the Soviet Union was tangible from the conversation, but so too was the pride at how Krakow has been revived. What is unclear to me is how this pride was maintained as a beacon and hope for all those years, but now seems to render itself both positively and negatively. It is positive in that they revived a beautiful city rich in history and culture, but negative in that this beauty is now viewed as a reminder of vindication for decades of being wronged. That is at least how it is seems to a humble foreigner.

A poster with writing in Polish with a skull at the top and a red star with a hammer and sickle in it

A 1940s Anti-Soviet poster

I am still mulling over a lot of what I saw and discussed with people when I was there, but I nevertheless keep returning to that unsettling sensation I got while there. As I said, I felt a witness in a distant way to everything that has happened there. I see the logic and reasoning behind the fear, anger, and sadness. I also understand the pride. Being a student of post-Soviet space, I understand the importance of historical memory, and the difficulty that it poses to each individual. It was odd to be connected to Poland by blood, albeit distantly, but to understand it better through the lens of the Russian language and post-Soviet politics and memory. It was a very interesting trip, and I look forward to return.

Learning Russian at a U.S. Based Summer Language Program

By Steven Kenworthy, MA student in Slavic and East European studies and public policy

My name is Steven Kenworthy and I’m a grad student striving to complete a dual master’s degree in two years. Being in a unique situation where I would need to achieve 4 years of Russian knowledge within this 24-month window, I knew that my summers would be spent in immersive language programs. As much as I would love to have spent both in Eastern Europe, I knew that it was an unlikely option with a wife and two pets back in Columbus.

On top of that, we were down to a single income, which doesn’t exactly promote overseas study. I wasn’t aware as to whether or not I would receive a fellowship or scholarship for the summer, so I opted for the affordable route. I would enroll at Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana.

Like any other course, I had heard mixed reviews from classmates on the “Indiana Experience”. Some said it was challenging, some easy, some said they loved it. I got a variety blend of the typical reactions. Me being an optimist, I assumed the best and took my positive hopes to Bloomington in late May.

Our nine-week course took off out of the gates, not speaking a dribble of English from day one. Mind you, this was Russian two. We were relatively new to the language and probably weren’t quite ready for this just yet. Okay, we were overwhelmed. Thankfully my class consisted of four other Buckeyes who beside me ground through the first couple of adjustment weeks.

I’d be lying if I said it was a smooth ride at the outset. It was uncomfortable. There were times when all five of us were completely lost. There were moments of defeat. There were days when we felt like we might never get caught up. But we did.

By week three or four, I felt more comfortable. I was beginning to understand everything the professors were saying and my Russian was coming along. It was finally slowing down for me. Not only were my language skills evolving, but rather quickly I might say. Of course, I’m still far from my goal of buttery-smooth fluency, but hey – you have to start somewhere.

To think that I struggled to say where I was from in the first days makes me laugh. To go from that hopeless state to being able to carry on basic conversations for upwards of 15 or 20 minutes is pretty remarkable. I’m nobody special either. My classmates achieved similar results and I think we were all pretty overwhelmed by the amount of content we’d absorbed in our brief time in Bloomington.

By the end of the semester I felt a sense of relief, accomplishment, surprise even. Through the discomfort of week one, to the finish line in week nine, I’d come quite far. Not only did I accumulate a year’s worth of Russian in just over two months, but I grew as a person as well. Sometimes we have to accept the lumps of discomfort to grow.

At Indiana, I not only got to learn a beautiful language, but I proved to myself that I can overcome my own doubt in the face of adversity.

Learning Russian in Kazakhstan

By Brenden Wood, MA student in Slavic and East European Studies

Bright blue lake between mountain peaks

Big Almaty Lake

When I told people that I was going to Kazakhstan this summer on a fellowship to study Russian, I got funny looks and funnier attempts at saying “Kazakhstan.” Most people would just take a gander at the spelling or think through the pronunciation, and instead ask why was I not going to Russia, since I was going to study Russian. I was never really sure how to respond. I had a hard time putting my finger on “why Kazakhstan to study Russian?”

Upon arriving, my question was soon answered by my host-mother, who said it was “because Kazakhs speak the best Russian.” I admit that I scoffed at this, and I’m sure that there are a few people north of Kazakhstan who would as well. Full of answers as always, she, with the help of her son, gave me a very interesting answer, one now that I do not dismiss as the mere words of a woman who is proud of her country.

Kazakhstan is a multilingual land. Generalization is never good, but I would hazard that almost all Kazakhs speak Kazakh and Russian, obviously with varying degrees of proficiency. That being said, Kazakhs typically spoke Kazakh with each other at home, although they often spoke on the streets in Kazakh as well. That isn’t to say that Kazakhs don’t speak Russian at home, but it seemed from my experience, along with what I gathered from others in my two months there, that most Kazakhs spoke Kazakh at home. However, there still remains a large population of ethnic Russians, and Kazakhs make up a relatively narrow majority in their own country, accounting for roughly 10 million of the 18 million citizens. Don’t forget the Soviet legacy either, where Russian was, and still is, the language of official and business communication. Knowledge of Russian, if you want mobility and opportunity, is essential, and is a bone of contention as Kazakhstan works to define itself in Central Asia and the post-Soviet space.

Rolling mountains with grass and trees with a bright blue sky and clouds

Medeu

Not following where they were going, my host brother clarified for me quite well here. He said that since Russian is the language of official communication, Kazakhs speak Russian almost exclusively in formal settings, meaning that they speak less colloquially, using Russian primarily only in circumstances that demand proper grammar. Therefore, your average Kazakh speaks Russian correctly and articulately, better, my host family thought, than your average Russian.

A lake bordered by mountain slopes

Lake Kolsay

This obviously is an opinion, but it nevertheless made me pause to think, and, I shall admit, that I don’t necessarily disagree. Granted I was only there for two months, living in Almaty, where official language is much more prevalent than in the countryside. They did not contend that Kazakhs produce better literature or art with the Russian language, and they spoke strictly from a communicative point of view: for a foreigner or a native speaker, Kazakhs are easier to understand. It was a thought provoking conversation, and one in which I am glad that I had the opportunity to engage. It made me think a little deeper about travelling to a country to study a foreign language that is a foreign language there, even though the people speak it as if it is their native tongue.

Reflections on the October Revolution from the World Festival of Youth and Students in Sochi

By Brenden Wood, MA student at the Center for Slavic and East European Studies

2017 was a monumental year in Russia’s history, marking the 100th anniversary of the October Revolution. It marked the beginning of a transition of astronomical proportions for Russia, making the leap from the rubble of autocracy, into the unknown of the communist era as part of the Soviet Union. 1917 was a springboard for Russia and her people, as they witnessed the greatest conflict the world has ever seen, the dawn of the nuclear age, the Space Race, and the Cold War, all concluding with the “end of history,” and its aftermath.

I thought of this all, ironically, at the 21st hour of my 23 hour trip to Sochi, Russia. It was October 12, 2017. I was en route to take part in the 19th World Festival of Youth and Students. The festival, organized and facilitated by the World Federation of Democratic Youth (WFDY), was being hosted by the Russian Federation. The federation was initially founded in 1945 in an effort by the allied nations to promote peace, democracy, and friendship among the youth of the world. However, after being labelled as a means for the Kremlin to spread communism, many western affiliates and participants withdrew, leaving predominantly socialist and Soviet backed organizations and members. The first festival was held in 1947 in Prague, and from its start adopted a pro-peace, anti-imperialist agenda. I had no inkling prior to September of that year of the festival’s traditional agenda, not until I received an email from the commission in Sochi and the U.S. signed “In Solidarity.”

Olympic Park in Sochi, Russia, where the World Festival of Youth and Students was held. Photo by Brenden Wood.

I had applied simply out of interest in a trip to Russia, where I would be able to meet with other students and young professionals from across the globe. As a graduate student at the Slavic Center, I have a strong personal interest in Russia and particularly in the Russian language. Admittedly, I had a little trepidation about the festival. Not because I was concerned with my safety or to travelling to an unknown land (I had been to Russia before), but because I had no idea what I ought to expect. Traditionally, the festival has a strong socialist character. Even if I had not read up on the history of the festival prior to coming, it would not have taken long to figure out some of this tradition: pictures of Che Guevara peered at me from all angles, I was asked multiple times which American communist organization I represented, and I even bumped into a delegate from North Korea.

Brenden Wood with three time Olympic gold medalist wrestler Aleksandr Karelin

However, there was much more to the festival than anti-imperialist seminars and rhetoric. Among the participants, I felt there to be a genuine interest in learning about where you were from, what you were doing there, and your personal history, regardless of ideology, nationality, or gender. Over 20,000 people from over 180 countries took part. I was able to share brief moments on a common ground with people from all walks of life. For some, I was the first American they had ever met. I can only hope that I represented our country well, and made as good an impression on them as they all made on me. It was a valuable opportunity to create a good impression, and the Russian Federation seized the opportunity to facilitate a spectacle of enormous proportions. As the host country, Russians were the largest group represented. I had the chance to become acquainted with many, and I even got to finally meet a pen pal I have had since I was a sophomore at the University of Vermont.

A kiosk station inside one of the event centers

The opportunity to travel to Sochi gave me a chance to truly reflect on what I am studying. As charming as the Russian language and culture are, they are but a part of the experience I endeavor to understand. I was in Russia for roughly 10 days, departing October 12th and returning on the 22nd. By no means is 10 days a long time, but neither is it a stretch which can be dismissed. Monumental events, such as those of 1917, can transpire in such a period of time. The festival was not by any means reminiscent of the events of that fateful year, but considering my journey relative to the events of 1917 puts things in perspective. Moving 5,600 miles one way and back and taking part in a global festival with over 20,000 participants in less than 10 days is no insignificant event in the context of an individual’s life. But, contrasted with the events of 1917, my journey is as negligible as a flake of snow in a blizzard, a part of a broader, far greater experience, an experience which has touched, and still touches, millions. It is a humbling thought.

Delving into Dissertation Research: A PSI Summer Experience

*We are republishing this post from autumn 2017 on an older blog that CSEES maintained on its website.

Nikki Freeman is a PhD student at OSU in the Department of History.

Woman standing under a large red sign spelling "Warszawa"

Nikki Freeman in Warsaw, Poland

 

Receiving a research grant from the Polish Studies Initiative allowed me to spend six weeks in Poland conducting research for my dissertation, “A Time to Rebuild: The Education and Rehabilitation of Jewish Children in Postwar Germany and Poland, 1945 – 1953.” My research explores how the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee worked alongside the Central Committee of Jews in Poland on behalf of Jewish children to reconstruct Jewish life after the Holocaust. In Warsaw, I studied archival documents that detailed the creation of children’s homes, schools, and summer camps. I also gained access to important Polish-language secondary literature at POLIN Museum of the History of Polish Jews. In addition to conducting research for my dissertation, I took a short weekend trip to Gdańsk where I visited the brand new Museum of the Second World War. I am so excited to share these experiences with OSU students as I prepare to teach my own courses on the Holocaust and the Second World War. Thanks to the Polish Studies Initiative, I was given the opportunity to start research that is absolutely essential to my dissertation and in November, I plan to return to Poland for a longterm research trip.

A red brick building with large glass front.

POLIN Museum

A Summer in Warsaw at the Institute of Aviation

We are republishing this post from autumn 2017 on an older blog that CSEES maintained on its website.

By Jason Scheele

This summer I worked in at the Institute of Aviation in Warsaw, Poland. During my time at the Institute of Aviation, I worked on modeling the forces on a helicopter blade during flight using a series of computer programs called Computational Fluid Dynamics. The work I completed this summer granted me an in depth look at the programs used in the aerospace industry today. I also gained first-hand experience solving real-world problems from start to finish, which will benefit me for the rest of my career in aerospace engineering.

Luckily, I lived close to the center of Warsaw, only having to travel 20 minutes on the tram. Nearly every day after work, I traveled downtown to explore Warsaw and experience the Polish culture. I very quickly fell in love with the city of Warsaw because of its amazing public transportation system, cleanliness and of course the delicious traditional food that could be found all over the city. I found the Polish people to be extremely friendly and I was quite relived that nearly everyone spoke English, especially if they were under 30.

I also traveled to the Polish cities of Krakow and Lublin. I enjoyed the lively nature of Krakow and had the opportunity to visit Auschwitz. I believe that everyone should travel to Auschwitz once in their lifetime because the absolute magnitude of the death camp cannot be portrayed through any media, only by going there personally. Lublin, on a brighter note, was an amazing small town in the southeast of Poland and seemed to be a great place to raise a family or attend a university.

Outside of Poland, I also traveled to Amsterdam, Brussels, Prague, Budapest and Lviv, Ukraine.

I am extremely grateful to the Center for Slavic and East European Studies at the Ohio State University and especially the Polish Studies Initiative for the amazing opportunities that it provided to me, traveling through Europe this summer truly gave me a much broader prospective of the world, all of the different cultures, languages, and individuals that live here. It was a truly amazing summer thanks to the PSI.

Learning Russian in Central Asia: Hayden Hayes Explores Kyrgyzstan

By Hayden Hayes, undergraduate student majoring in International Studies and Russian

The decision to study abroad in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan was one of the most important decisions of my life and it was made possible by the Foreign Language and Area Studies (FLAS) fellowship that I received for the summer of 2017.  It was my first time leaving the country, as well as flying, and I did not know what to expect.  Many of my friends and family had never heard of the Central Asian country I was traveling to and wondered why I had chosen Bishkek to enhance my Russian language skills, rather than Moscow or St. Petersburg.  Prior to departure for my 30 hours of travel, I began to ask myself these same questions.  However, upon arrival in Bishkek I realized why Kyrgyzstan was the perfect place to study Russian.

Downtown Bishkek

After settling in with my host family, I began my intensive study of Russian at the London School of Languages and Cultures located in central Bishkek.  My weekly schedule usually consisted of 20 hours of class every week, with lessons specializing in grammar, writing, reading, and conversation.  In addition, we participated in individualized tutor  sessions and excursions to cultural destinations on a weekly basis.  Each class session was entirely in Russian, which was coupled with the complete immersion of living with a host family.  This immersion in the language at all times contributed toward a rapid development in my language skills.

While in Bishkek, I lived in an apartment building from the Soviet era on the outskirts of the city with a Kyrgyz family, which spoke both Russian and Kyrgyz.  My host family was definitely a rewarding part of the trip, as they were eager to help me practice the correct pronunciation of new words and discuss the news of both Kyrgyzstan and the United States.  One of my favorite memories will be the long conversations that took place with my host dad after dinner about various topics of politics, culture, and life.  Some of the most interesting talks centered around the upcoming Presidential elections in Kyrgyzstan, as well as the nostalgia for the Soviet past that is shared among the many members of the older generation in the country that lived during the Soviet era.

Ala Archa National Park

During my time there, I noticed that most individuals in Bishkek speak both languages, but some of the people I met spoke only Russian.  The appearance of Russian in Bishkek is due to the migration of Russian speakers to the area during the Soviet era, however, in recent years there has been a push to focus more on Kyrgyz language education in schools, as well as the implementation of a Kyrgyz proficiency requirement for possible Presidential candidates in the Kyrgyz Republic.

Part of the reason that I chose to study in Bishkek was due to the fact that there are fewer English speakers in the city

My host family did not speak English, which forced me to learn the language at an even faster pace.  In conjunction with this, my daily twenty-five minute commute by marshrutka (local shuttle vans) also forced me to use the language in a colloquial context as I communicated with fellow passengers.  The minimal amount of English speakers in Bishkek proved vital as it forced me to improve my weakest language area: speaking.  Prior to the program, I found myself being able to understand the grammatical concepts of the language, but having a difficult time expressing my thoughts in spoken language.

Fairy Tale Canyon

After completing the program, I found that my speaking and listening abilities greatly improved as I can now hold substantial conversations on everyday topics.  Part of this was due to being constantly immersed in Russian everywhere I went in Bishkek, but the most beneficial part of the program were the Language Partner sessions that were organized through the London School.  These two-hour peer tutoring sessions took place three times a week after classes.  During these sessions, we would meet with a local student and explore the city together while only speaking Russian.  These activities greatly improved my speaking ability and provided an insight into the cultural and political views of my generation in a country 7,500 miles away from home.

Now that the program is finished and I have returned to Ohio after my two-months in Bishkek, I plan to continue studying advanced-level Russian at Ohio State and hope to improve my language skills even more while at home.  In addition to this, I plan to study more about the politics and culture of the area as it is truly fascinating.  I hope that I can return to this country someday and once again enjoy its beautiful landscape and the hospitality of its people.

 

Banned in the USSR

By Pietro Shakarian, graduate student in the Department of History

Tengiz Abuladze’s Repentance is the story of a woman, a family, a village, and a dictator, a film so fantastic, absurd, dark, and subversive that it was ultimately banned in the Soviet Union, perhaps fittingly, in the year 1984.

 

Sofiko Chiaureli as Pupala in Abuladze’s “The Wishing Tree”

The backstory of Repentance is a classic yet not unfamiliar one, a tale of a struggle between artistic freedom and state censorship.  Produced by Gruziafilm, the state film company of Soviet Georgia, the film was conceived as one of a trilogy of films directed by Abuladze that highlight the human condition.  The other two earlier films included The Plea in 1967, about a centuries-old feud between two Georgian villages, and The Wishing Tree in 1976, the story of a romance destroyed by social tradition.  The third and final installment of Abuladze’s series, Repentance, is a blistering attack on authoritarianism in general and on Stalinism in particular.  For Abuladze, Stalin was of special significance because he was not an ethnic Russian but, like Abuladze himself, an ethnic Georgian.

From here, Abuladze and his daughter-in-law, Nana Janelidze, set to work on writing the film.   At the time, the Soviet Union was under the rule of Leonid Brezhnev and the leader of Soviet Georgia was Eduard Shevardnadze.  Abuladze presented his script to the Georgian leader.  Shevardnadze, whose own family had been victims of Stalin’s terror, immediately fell in love with it and gave Abuladze his blessing.  After casting the actors and laying the groundwork for the production, Abuladze proceeded to shoot the film and, within five months in 1984, finished it.

Unfortunately for Abuladze, Konstatin Chernenko, a protégé of Brezhnev, banned the film for its subversive “anti-Soviet” content and even attempted to have it destroyed.   However, for better or worse, Chernenko’s tenure was extremely short-lived.  After barely one year in office, the ailing 74-year-old Ukrainian died of heart failure and in his place came reform-minded Mikhail Gorbachev who, upon ascending to power, appointed Eduard Shevardnadze to the Politburo.

Seizing the moment, Abuladze immediately phoned Shevardnadze and asked if he could use his newfound influence to encourage release of the film.  Shevardnadze agreed and arranged a screening with Gorbachev.  When the film ended, Gorbachev, recalling his own grandfather’s arrest during the Stalin years, apparently had tears in his eyes.  He expressed his enthusiasm for the film and gave the go-ahead for its release.

It was decided by Aleksandr Yakovlev to gradually leak the film to Soviet audiences. The first screenings were held in October 1986 and eventually spread throughout the country.  Attracting tens of millions of people, the film quickly became, in Gorbachev’s words, “a real bombshell,” an “artistic and a political phenomenon” that paved the way for more frank and open public discussions on Stalinism.  Indeed, the film served as cultural flagship for glasnost.

 

Ketevan's cakes (left) decorated in the style of churches found in the Caucasus (right)

Ketevan’s cakes (left) decorated in the style of churches found in the Caucasus (right)

Repentance encompasses drama, comedy, fantasy, and surrealism into one tight-knit package. Its message is extremely subversive, hitting at the very core of the Soviet Communist Party’s raison d’être.  It opens on Ketevan Barateli (Zeinab Botsvadze), a middle-aged woman who decorates cakes with Caucasus-style churches.  From a newspaper, she learns of the death of the local mayor, a provincial despot named Varlam Aravidze (Avtandil Makharadze).  With a Stalinist personality cult, a Hitlerian mustache, a touch of Mussolini bravado, and the pince-nez of Stalin’s secret police chief Lavrentiy Beria, Aravidze was the quintessential dictator whose very surname “Aravidze” literally translates as “no one” in the Georgian language.

Varlam

It is gradually revealed that Ketevan’s parents were victims of Varlam’s terror and, in her daydream, she imagines digging up his corpse to ensure that his crimes are never forgotten.  Eventually discovered, she is immediately taken to trial, where an assembly of offbeat judges (including one who is preoccupied with a Rubik’s Cube), debate her ultimate destiny.  Ketevan tells the court how Varlam came to power, how he terrorized the town and her family, how he blew-up a beautiful medieval Georgian church to make way for “more grand, scientific constructions,” and how his armor-clad, Oprichniki-esque secret police arrested her parents Sandro (Edisher Giorgobiani) and Nino (Ketevan Abuladze).

Sandro Barateli as Christ

Sandro Barateli as Christ

Her father Sandro, an artist, was a defender of the church that was ultimately destroyed (recalling Stalin’s 1931 demolition of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow).  He becomes a Christ-like figure and a martyr to Varlam’s repressive and paranoid policies.  His ultimate death is, as film scholar Birgit Beumers wrote, “paralleled with the death of Christ, by the coincidence of his death with the destruction of the church and his position of a crucified man.  Christian morality is annihilated together with the individual defending it.”

The sequence of Varlam’s coming to poweris one of the most iconic in the entire film.  It opens on Ketevan at the age of eight, blowing soap bubbles from her parents’ apartment window.  Varlam has just been elected (or appointed) mayor, an event that causes much pomp and circumstance.  Locals gather to hear the grand speeches, as a Dziga Vertov-esque “man with a movie camera” films the scene, and an effigy of a top-hatted capitalist fat cat is burned.

Suddenly, sewer workers hit a water leak that rains on everyone and everything (Abuladze’s tongue-in-cheek way of saying that “the system is broken”).  Accompanied by classical music, the speeches become nonsense, ridiculous paeans to the “dear leader” Varlam.  The speeches must be transcribed on-the-spot by a female typist, who like the speakers, is getting soaked by water.  As the audience enthusiastically applauds, Varlam takes the stand and begins to speak as a hangman’s noose ominously stands in the background, foreshadowing the terror to come.  Sandro the artist is unimpressed.  He takes in Nino and Ketevan and shuts the apartment window on Varlam’s blustery speech – a detail that Varlam does not miss.

The most powerful shots in the film occur after Sandro is arrested.  Nino, his wife and Ketevan’s mother, is hysterical with bereavement.  In desperation, she and her daughter search for any trace of Sandro.  They head to a long, seemingly endless “grievous line of women (future widows) and children (future orphans) waiting at the prison windows,” to send him a letter.

One of Ketevan's judges, preoccupied with a Rubik's Cube

One of Ketevan’s judges, preoccupied with a Rubik’s Cube

As the haunting sound of 1930s Soviet-era waltzes echoes in the background, one older woman is coolly told that her husband has been “exiled without correspondence.”  In response, she screams to the official “stop torturing us! Say that he’s dead!  Say that he’s dead!”  She is taken away sobbing by the ominous hand of the secret police.  When Nino and Ketevan are also told that Sandro is “exiled without correspondence,” they quietly decide not to make a fuss.

Later, Nino’s young nephew (Ketevan’s cousin) tells them that lumber produced from the forced labor camp bearing the names of the exiled has arrived at the local railroad station.  Desperately hoping to find a mark from Sandro, Nino runs to the station with Ketevan.  Sadly, no trace of him can be found, and symbolically, the lumber is shredded into sawdust, just as the memories of Varlam’s – and by extension Stalin’s – victims are shredded into obscurity.  In cruel irony, paper will be made from the sawdust and portraits of Varlam will be printed on them.  As one Soviet critic wrote at the time of the film’s release, “This is our own history.  This is 1937.”

Considering its powerful message, biting political commentary, artistic historical illusions, master theatricality, superb acting, camera, and brilliant use of magical realism, Repentance is a milestone.  It is a milestone not only in the history of Soviet, Russian, and Georgian cinema, but also in world cinema.  It is an underrated classic, a film that deserves to be discovered by all.  The full film can be viewed here.