Vieras väärästä maasta

The topic for this article is the age old antagonism within Finland towards Russians as people. I've already written vaguely on the same subject exclusively in Russian. Since the topic is as specific as it is I feel like it is time for me to write in Finnish. So, the next piece of brain flow is dedicated to my Finnish friends.

   

Ryssänä Suomessa 

Syyttömänä syntymään sattui hän
tähän maahan pohjoiseen ja kylmään,
jossa jo esi-isät juovuksissa tottakai
hakkasivat vaimot, lapset jos ne kiinni sai

                                         

                                         - Eppu Normaali

Sain hiljattain käsiini Suomen Moskovan suurlähetystössä Inna Latischevan kirjoittaman kirjan Ryssänä Suomessa - Vieras väärästä maasta. Eräs ystäväni neuvoi minua kerran jättämään kirjan väliin. Hänen mukaansa minun ei kannattanut kirjaa lukea sillä se saattaisi vain katkeroittaa minua. Itselleni tyypilliseen jääräpäiseen tapaan päätin kirjaan kuitenkin tarttua: olipahan jotain mitä lukea työmatkoilla Moskovan metrossa. Tämä kirjoitus on siis ensinnäkin ko. kirjan analyysi sekä toisekseen itseanalyysi. Odotan lukijalta ensisijaisesti kriittistä lähestymistä artikkelin sisältöön.
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[Ennen kuin varsinaisesti aloitan tahdon korostaa kahta asiaa. Ensinnäkin sitä että olen suomalainen. En ole sitä erityisesti suurella mielihyvällä sillä en ole tähän lopputulokseen varsinaisen helpoin ponnistuksin päässyt. Toisekseen tahdon korostaa että olen varsin isänmaallinen suomalainen. Minulle isänmaallisuus tatkoittaa ensisijaisesti sitä että kykenee suhtautumaan hyvin kriittisesti kotimaahansa. Tämä siksi että jos esim. isänmaallinen suomalainen ei osaa nähdä kotimaansa epäkohtia tai puuttua niihin - millainen patriootti hän silloin oikeastaan onkaan? Varsin kehno kehtaan sanoa.]

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Inna Latischevan teos Ryssänä Suomessa on ensisijaisesti maahanmuuttajataustaisen businessnaisen autobiografinen tilitys. Vaikka teos onkin kirjallisesti varsin kehno, kerronta paikoitellen varsin epäjohdonmukainen ja otsakkeen lupailemat pohdinnat suomenvenäläisyydestä kirjassa usein varsin toisarvoisia - ei kirjan tärkeys hälvene eikä sen "pointti" katoa. Kirja on ensimmäinen laatuaan Suomen kansallisten vähemmistöjen ja valtaväestö välisessä diskurssista. Se on ilmeisesti kirjoitettu Espanjan auringon alla sillä sinne kirjan kertoja päätyy kärvisteltyään ja tuskailtuaan ensin kuusitoista vuotta Suomessa. Kirjassa minua harmittaa erityisesti se, että tämä käytännössä katsoen ensimmäinen suomenvenäläinen puheenvuoro on laadultaan niin heikko ja jo pelkästään siksi on helppoa olla noteeraamatta sitä millään tavalla. Toisaalta vaikeaa on olla noteeraamatta kirjan aiheuttamia reaktioita. Päätin googlettaa ko. kirjan ja tässäpä hakutuloksista ensimmäinen: http://satuvirtala.puheenvuoro.uusisuomi.fi/30563-ryssana-suomessa .

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Lukiessani kirjaa en voinut välttyä peilaamasta Latischevan kokemuksia ja tietoja omiini, mutta uskallan väittää että oma läpileikkaukseni lähes 23 vuodelta Suomea ja suomalaisuutta on kattavampi ja ehyempi kuin hänen. Toisaalta uskallan väittää ingretoituneeni henkisesti osaksi suomalaisuutta varsin myöhään. Itse asissa tuo prosessi alkoi minun ollessani noin viidentoista vuoden ikäinen. Siitä kuitenkin myöhemmin lisää.

Kirjan keskeisiä argumentteja tai ajatuksia ovat: 

a) Suomessa ei ole mitään merkitystä sillä, millainen ihminen olet. Jos olet ulkomaalainen et voi koskaan olla yksi suomalaisista. Muualla maailmassa, kuten kirjan esimerkeissä Espanjasta, olet osa "meitä" heti kun sinusta opitaan pitämään. Suomessa ulkomaalainen pysyy ulkomaalaisena vaikka hänestä pidettäisiinkin.

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b) Suomessa asuva venäläinen joutuu aina tuntemaan alemmuutta venäläisyydestään (olkoonkin että alemmuutta ei voi väitetysti tuntea jollei siihen itse anna lupaa). Itse asiassa Suomessa venäläiset ja muut "huonommat" ulkomaalaiset (kuten somalit ja arabit) ovat B-luokan kansalaisia.

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c) Jokaisessa maassa tai kansassa on hyviä ja pahoja ihmisiä, ja joskus hyvät ihmiset tekevät pahoja asioita. Se on elämää ja sen kanssa täytyy oppia elämään vailla sen suurempaa kiihkoa, sulkeutuneisuutta tai ennakkoluuloa.

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d) Suomessa ulkomaalaiset jaotellaan kahteen kategoriaan seuraavasti: on niitä joita katsotaan alaspäin - kuten venäläiset, somalit ja arabit - ja niitä, joita katsotaan ylöspäin kuten britit ja amerikkalaiset. Suomalaisilla on huonon itsetunnon takia tarve saada katsoa jotakuta alaspäin, siten he saavat oman itsetuntonsa nousemaan.

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e) Suomi on hyvä maa, mutta se on hyvä vain suomalaisille. Tilastojen mukaan noin 96% Suomessa asuvista on suomalaisia. On oltava jokin syy siihen, miksi tässä maassa on niin vähän ulkomaalaisia. Tilaa maassa kyllä olisi, sillä Suomessa on (ilmeisesti Islannin jälkeen) Euroopan pienin väentiheys: silti siellä ei ole tilaa ulkomaalaisille, varsinkaan venäläisille.

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Vaikka nämä väitteet vaikuttaisivatkin asiattomilta tai jopa banaaleilta voin vakuuttaa etteivät ne ole täysin tuulesta temmattuja. Vastaavia lausuntoja olen kuullut ruotsinsuomalaisilta koskien Ruotsia ja ruotsalaisia. Minulla itselläni on osoittaa omasta elämästäni esimerkkejä jotka tukevat useimpia em. ajatuksia.

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Lyhyt katsaus historiaan: synnyin Suomen kansalaisena, Tampereen TAYS:ssa ja sain jo syntyessäni Suomen kansalaisuuden sillä äitini oli suomalainen. Isäni sitä vastoin oli neuvostoliittolainen maahanmuuttoja. Hänen sukunimensä oli venäläistautainen vaikka itse hän ei itseänsä välttämättä edes määrittelisi kovinkaan venäläiseksi. Todettakoon vielä että Venäjällä ja Neuvostoliitolla ei ollut koskaan mitään muuta yhteistä kuin kieli ja samoin kuin entisessä Jugoslaviassa kehittyi (tai kehitettiin) erityinen jugoslavialainen identiteetti saattaa jokunen ihminen maailmassa edelleenkin tuntea itsensä neuvostoliittolaiseksi.
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Vaikka voitinkin lotossa jättipotin syntyessäni Suomeen (ja päästen samalla osakkaaksi maailman parasta sosiaalijärjestelmää, koulutusta ja elintasoa) sen kantaväestöllä kesti pitkään osoittaa minulle että olen osa sitä. Minulla oli (ja on yhä) Suomen kansalaisuus ja kaikki samat oikeudet sekä velvollisuudet mitä muillakin maani kansalaisilla, mutta siitä pitäen kun itseni muistan on minulle tehty selväksi erilaisuuteni tai jopa eriarvoisuuteni muihin nähden. Kohtaamisilla kantaväestön kanssa tarkoitan etupäässä peruskoulua, asepalvelustani ja arkipäiväistä kadunihmisten kohtaamista.
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Alle kuoluikäisenä asuin Etelä-Hervannan ghettossa ja elämäni oli keskittynyt taloyhtiömme pihan leikkien ympärille. Tuolloin elin varsin pienessä ja suljetussa ympäristössä. Parhaimpia ystäviäni olivat maahanmuuttajien lapset, vaikka kaveerasinkin myös suomalaisperheiden lapsien kanssa. Tuolta ajalta minuun iskostui jo ajatus antagonistisesta konfliktista eli aloin ymmärtää maailman "me" vastaan "ne/he". Tällä en kuitenkaan tarkoita kantasuomalaisia vs. maahanmuttajia vaan Etelä-Hervannan ghetton asukkaita vs. kantakaupungin keskiluokkaa. Kuvio säilyi tällaisena pitkään. Aina siihen asti kunnes muutimme ghettosta pois keskelle sitä em. keskiluokkaa Tampereen Kalevaan.
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Uudessa koulussani en enää ollut yksi muista niin kuin Etelä-Hervannassa vaan nyt olin aluksi se uusi poika ja myöhemmin ryssä. Asetelma jatkui samanlaisena peruskoulun loppuun asti kouluista ja asuinpaikoista huolimatta. Kaikissa kouluyhteisöissä oli ilmeinen tarve rakentaa rintamia, jaotella ihmiset "meihin" ja "niihin". Hyvää oli sopeutuminen/alistuminen. Pahaa oli hangoittelu/erilaisuus. Minun kohdallani tämä tarkoitti irtisanoutumista nimestäni ja syntyperästäni. Muutoin ehkä olisinkin pyrkinyt sopeutumaan, mutta kyseessä ei ollut esim. vääränlainen vaatetus tai ujous - kyseessä oli syntyperä. Miten minä sitä olisin voinut muuttaa? Selvennykseksi vielä todettakoon että olen lähes aina pitänyt ihmisen syntyperään puuttumista tai sille minkäänlaisen merkityksen antamista eugeniikkaan eli rotuoppiin verrattavana.
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Peruskoulun jälkeen alkoi a) adoptoitumisprosessi uuteen sukuun ja b) identiteettini etsintä lähes yhdeksän vuotta jatkuneen konfliktin jälkeen. Siihen mennessä se minkä olin kokenut edustavan suomalaisuutta oli tehnyt minulle selväksi ulkopuolisuuteni eikä rauhanteko siis ottanut syntyäkseen. Lukioajan ystäväni saattavat tämän muistaa.
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On mahdollista että ovet suomalaisuuteen olivat jo lukiossa auki mutta minä en sitä huomannut. Totta puhuakseni en siinä iässä olisi välittänytkään huomata. Olin liian kiireinen määritellessäni omaa suhdettani uuteen ympäristöön johon olin pöllähtänyt kaunaisena ja vihaisena viisitoistavuotiaana. Tuolloin kaiken määritteleminen kävi vielä vanhojen tapojen mukaisesti rakentamalla rintamia, ristiriitoja ja konflikteja. Ei liene siis ihme että lukioympäristöni vastaanotti minut valkoisena (tai pikemminkin punaisena) variksena. Jos ympäristöni oli lähtökohdiltaan keskiluokkainen ja valkosuomalainen piti minun (omalla logiikallani) siis olla jotain täysin päinvastaista. Tästäkin huolimatta lukioaika ja se upouusi ympäristö sai minut lauhtumaan ja lientymään. Saatoin oppiakin jotain uutta. Aloin jo vaivihkaa hivuttautua kohti suomalaisuutta. Itse asissa niinkin paljon että päätin suorittaa siviilipalveluksen sijasta asepalveluksen (taustalla edelleen vastakkainasetteluun perustuva logiikka).
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Intissä koin kohtaavani jälleen kantaväestön ja sitä edeltänyt kolmen vuoden taival kohti sopeutumista oli vähällä valua hukkaan: ensin kypäräpappi opetti että minulla oli velvollisuus tappaa ryssiä (tarvittaessa myös isoveljeni) jos halusin Suomen säilyvän vapaana ja demokraattisena maana. Myöhemmin alokaskauden jälkeen meidät jaettiin uusiin ryhmiin ja jouduin tekemisiin muun patterin ja rykmentinkin kanssa. Jälleen sain kuulla niin vertaisiltani kuin ryhmänjohtajilta mikä olen ja minne minun kuuluisi painua. Todettakoon että kypäräpappia lukuunottamatta en kuullut kantahenkilökunnalta muuta kuin muutamia huomautuksia ja vitsejä koskien idän uhkaa tai sen maan asukkaita. Toisaalta simputus tai syrjintä palvelustehtävissä on heille rangaistava teko. Ehkäpä he olivat vain tarpeeksi fiksuja pitääkseen suunsa kiinni (mikä sekin näytti tuottavan silloin tällöin ongelmia)?
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Armeijan päätyttyä selitin positiiviset kokemukset suomalaisuuden parissa itselleni sillä etteivät suomalaiset ystäväni tai sukulaiseni edusta enemmistöä suomalaisista vaan ainoastaan häviävää tai lähes merkityksetöntä vähemmistöä, joka on jollain ihmeellä pystynyt välttymään ryssävihalta. Olen edelleen taipuvainen ajattelemaan näin vaikka järkiargumenttien loihtiminen tämän ajatuksen tuoeksi onkin varsin haastaavaa. Tässäpä kuitenkin muutama esimerkki pro argumenteista:

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Siitä pitäen kun muutin Helsinkiin on minua lääkärillä käydessäni säännönmukaisesti puhuteltu englanniksi. Hammaslääkärit ja yleislääkärit kummastelevat aina äkillistä kielenvaihdosta kun parin englannin sanan jälkeen vaihdankin keskustelun kielen suomeen. Samoin aina työhaastatteluissa ensimmäinen kehu, jonka saan koskee erinomaista suomen kielen taitoani. Aiemmin kirjoitin tähän blogiin jutun siitä kuinka olen kyllästynyt yllättyneisiin ilmeisiin mm. Helsingin lähijunissa kun käytän ensin venäjää esim. puhelimessa ja sitten puhuttelenkin kanssamatkustajaani suomeksi. Tai ehkäpä Suomessa vain ei ole tapana puhutella ketään julkisessa kulkuneuvossa?
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Tällaiset reaktiot muualla kuin yliopiston norsunluutorneissa ja varsin huolella valitussa ystäväpiirissä saavat minut kummastelemaan ainakin yhtä seikkaa: miten Suomessa voisikaan olla hyvää/positiivista (eli käytännössä assimiloivaa) maahanmuttoa jos valtio pyrkii sen kaikin keinoin mahdollistamaan ja kantaväestöä puolestaan pyrkii toiminnallaan tekemään sen mahdottomaksi? Rohkenen nyt jopa väittää (näitä omakohtaisia tuloksia tarkastellessani) että Suomi ei edes ole sivistysvaltio vaan jonkinlainen nurkkakuntainen sovitus Tolkienin Keski-Maan Konnusta.

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Latischevan teos päättyy Espanjaan. Siellä kertoja tapaa nuoren venezuelalaisen naisen, jolla on useita haasteita espanjalaisessa yhteiskunnassa. Eikä vähiten siksi että hän on sudaka (vrt. ryssä) eli maahanmuuttaja Etelä-Amerikasta. Latischevan kehottaessa naista jättämään Espanja ja siirtymään varmemmille vesille venezuelalaistyttö vastaa:  "Vielä jonakin päivänä espanjalaiset muuttavat mielipiteensä kansastani ja tuohon muutokseen vaikuttaa myös minun panokseni. Aion tehdä parhaani muuttaakseni heidän mielipiteensä. Siitä ei tule helppoa, mutten aio paeta."

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Samaiseen lopputulokseen viimeiset neljä vuotta yliopistolla ovat minut johtaneet. En enää aja virvatulta. Paras on tyytyä siihen mitä on jo tullut saavutettua eikä sekään ole mielestäni kovin vähän. Mutta samalla kun koetan edelleen raivata itselleni omaa paikkaa osana suomalaista yhteiskuntaa en kuitenkaan aio tinkiä suomenvenäläisyydestäni - identiteetistä jonka piiriin suomalaiset itse ovat minut vaihtelevin keinoin johdattaneet.
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Päätän tämän hajatelman minulle oleellisimpaan otteeseen Latischevan kirjasta:

Tänä kesänä vietimme muutaman päivän yhdessä Suomessa, ja hän [tytär] sanoi minulle, että häntä ei enää hävetä puhua venäjää täyteen ääneen. Vastasin, ettei minuakaan, ja me katsoimme toisiamme kasvoillamme erityinen ilme, jonka voivat jakaa vain pitkästä sairaudesta toipumassa olevat ihmiset. 

Häpeilemättä sinun,


Stefan

Streetwise in Moscow Metro

What would we get if we first take twelve million people from allover Eurasia and fence them into an area about the size of Tahiti or Martinique right in the middle of East European Plain? While collecting these people we give them enough time to mix with each other (about 900 years should do the trick), then, finally, we add the highest amount of billionaires in the world, insanely huge and controversial Socialist legacy and rampant corruption. Now, the outcome should be something similar to the city of Moscow. 

In deed the Russian capital is huge. It's almost incomprehensible (as is Russia for many people). But there's still something highly comprehensible in the Third Rome (one of many nicknames Moscow's got in due course of those nine centuries of its existence). Moscow can boast with many things but from the perspective of an average Muscovite there's nothing quite like the Moscow metro or the metropolitan as it's called more officially.

Moscow metro consists of 182 stations, twelve lines (which extend far out onto the suburban railways system), 301 kilometers of tracks and it transports daily from six to nine million people. The only more heavily used rapid transport system in the world is Greater Tokyo's twin subway. The Moscow metro is indeed undoubtedly one of the wonders of the man-made world. Have look at the map:

 

Apart from the facts and figures the Moscow metro is by now a system I use and handle every day. It took some time for me to learn just how exactly it works. For example (unlike in so many other rapid transport systems I've used so far) the junction stations almost never share the same name. In other words this means that confusingly enough every platform on a junction station has its own name (as is the case e.g. with the quartet junction of Alexandrovsky Sad, Arbatskaya, Smolenskaya and Kiyevskaya stations). This has to do with the history of the metro system: the first five lines where constructed primarily during Stalin's regime in the 30's and 40's (as a matter of fact so was most of modern Moscow). This meant that any notable projects received a certain scale and grandeur. Thus every new metro station gave an exceptionally good possibility to build yet an other monument to commemorate the achievements of the young Socialist state and the brave Soviet project of which the Moscow metropolitan was part of. 

Although the Soviet engineers and the construction workers who build the metro system considered themselves to be pioneers of the technical progress of mankind they still couldn't do it completely on their own: some assistance was invited  from the city of London (a city that can boast with the oldest underground rapid transport system in the world). As a reminder of this brief Anglo-Soviet cooperation there is an entire subway station in London's Gants Hill (mind the link!). I'll make sure to go and see it next time I'm in London.

When strolling around in the Moscow metro one cannot avoid being astonished by the diversity and richness of art: there are mosaics, frescoes and statues almost on every one of the older metro stations. My personal favorite is the Площадь революции (Ploshchad Revolyutsii meaning the Revolution Square) and, as you can see in the picture below, there's more to the station than just the name. The station reflects perfectly the spirit of the age when it was build: there's a statue for every trade and profession there was in Soviet Union in the early 1930's (before the brunt of Stalin's repressions began). What is even more noteworthy about these statues is that there are always both male and female counterparts for every profession (yes, including engineers, farmers, firefighters, officers, journalists etc.). There also few examples of different nationalities or, if I may say so, races (Caucasians, Northern Natives and Asians):

Apart from the wonders of the metro system there's the reality and because I haven't whined about anything here on my blog for a while now, I think, now's a good time for that. So, please bare with me, while I tell you in depth about an adventure I have to undertake every day.

As I told you earlier in June I live in the leafy suburb of Uhtomskaya and the closest metro station for me is the one in Vykhino (the last station on the purple line). In order to get there I need to take a commuter train which goes directly to that aforementioned station. The first inconvenience on my way to work is the fact that these commuter trains are practically always crammed with people. And when I say crammed I do not mean that there are not enough seats for everybody to sit. I mean the train is so ******* full that one hardly can get in it! By now I'm accustomed to use some soft form of violence in order to push those fat grannies and muscular hood gangstas more tightly in and to fit my scrawny body and my rucksack into the aisle. Usually the doors slam shut so close to my nose that I'm honestly scared that some part of my body might get crumple or stuck. Luckily I've been fortunate enough to avoid this. So far.

The next annoyance is the heat. In the aisle between the two doors there's no draft what-so-ever (the opened windows are further away). There's only heat and sweaty skin of your fellow passengers rubbing against your own. At this point I always regret that I took a shower before leaving for work: once I get out of the train in Vykhino I'm so ******* sweaty that I cant stand it even myself. Blah!

Thirdly there's the Vykhino station itself. This is how it looks like on any average morning: 

It's useless to comment the amount of people on the platform in Vykhino. There's just a lot of folk there, okay? Just ridiculously amount. By now I've learn to ignore or even grin at the situation but I must point out that there were few occasions, in the beginning of my time here in Moscow, when all did not work out that well. To be bumped would have been the least of my worries then. Once I even got kicked in the ass (apparently some drunkard found my face displeasing). Now, that's enough for Vykhino.

During the rush hour Moscow metro operates extremely well: there's a metro train twice within a minute. That might sound like an exaggeration or even dangerous to have so many moving trains simultaneously in the underground system but trust me - it's fine. In fact it is just enough to take care of those nine million people using this system daily. The Russian state or the Moscow municipality might have many flaws but when it comes to public transport the Soviet heritage is still substantial: everything works to the best of the systems abilities which, at least in the case of Moscow, means fairly good indeed. So, to be honest, I haven't really got anything more to whine about (except the incomprehensible crowdedness).

Still, we have the most grim topic left. Besides Vykhino I use two metro stations daily. First one is the Lubyanka station (where I change from the purple line to the red one) and the other one is Park Kul'tury (the station closest to the embassy). Both of these stations were scenes to a suicide bombing on the 29th of March in 2010 (have a look at the map):

Honestly, I try not to think of the risk I take daily when getting into the metro: there has been one act of terror in the Moscow metro and frankly speaking the Moscow police doesn't have any real means to prevent an other one from happening. With nine million people pouring in and out of the underground daily there are no ways of controlling who gets in and who doesn't. But acts like these (just as the ones that took place yesterday in Oslo and Utöya) cannot possible be ignored. At least I cannot.

The world is a deranged place where no one seems to be interested in anything else than their own well-being. It seems that one of the few things that can truly drag our attention away from ourselves (even for a moment!) is an act of most horrifying violence. This, I believe, is the ultimate problem of our time: our own numbness and lack of compassion. Believe it or not but the political and economical system we're a part of and the very world we keep in shape is based on ideas that are fundamentally twisted and wrong. The Kremlin, while dealing with the problems on the Caucasus solely on the basis of its own political and economical interests, does not and will not understand this. Neither will the Norwegian government or any government in the industrialized world for that matter. And nothing will change unless we make it happen. As always the choice is yours and mine or in a word - ours.

Yours in turmoil,

Stefan

PS. I was writing this with a extremely cuddly cat on my lap. Hence the hasty mistakes.

Cities like people

At first I wanted to write you something new about St.Petersburg, or to be bit more precise I wanted to write about the soul or the atmosphere the Northern Capital possesses especially during summertime (the very thing I'm so eager to re-experience within few days!). But then again - I've taken you to St.Petersburg already on this blog once and right now I see no reason in doing so once again. So rather than ponder upon what has been said already I would like to take you on a tour to visit a certain group of cities and towns. And this time it won't be photos or memories - this time it'll be people. Or to be completely frank: cities embodied as people. So, without further ado, let us begin!

I'm not sure if you are familiar with the idea that cities, not unlike people, have different faces, moods, personalities and even (I'm reluctant to say this but what the heck:) souls. I personally came first across this idea when a colleague of mine wrote and article (http://kopeekka.blogspot.com/2009/12/blog-post_8670.html) on this very same subject. To some extent the ideas I will share now with you are originally my colleague's and they sort of belong to him. But I suppose I'm not breaking any copyrights here so no one should get offended.

When one has the chance not just to live in a city but to experience it and to share one's life with it - then there's a possibility of becoming a particle of the organism that is called Amsterdam, Istanbul, Boston, New Delhi (you name it!). And thus one will experience it not just as a passer-by but build a relationship with the city. And when one has a relationship with a city, town or any place for that matter - then one can also say that "this is something I know", "this is something that's mine".

If there are any places that you can claim to have a relationship with - then I say that you ought to know those places like you know your friends. And as you can describe your friends you should be also able to define those aforementioned places as if they were people. I must underline that just as there are no two completely identical people there certainly are no two identical views on e.g. the city of Berlin as a person. For everybody the concept of a place is as individual as is a relationship with an other person. I suppose you get my drift. (I hope I wrote this paragraph as complex as possible, my apologizes!).

If you're lost by now I'll give you few (ugly but truthful) examples. Now I live in Moscow and by now we (Moscow and I) have established a relationship. It's not cordial by any means but we both seem to have worked hard on it already. For me Moscow (as a person!) is a vain old lady, covered in jewelry, make up, glamour and fashion. She's been through a lot of plastic operations and at times she might dress up and look like a young beautiful woman in here early twenties. But as soon as the ball is over and the midnight magic has run out you see what she really is: a sad old lady that's lost all that was dear to her and now she's got nothing and no one except the show that must go on. And what might be even more sad is the fact that she still considers herself to be the dancing queen of that show.

Moscow

Then there's is Sankt-Peterburg, Leningrad, Petrograd, Pietari, the Northern Venice. I see St. Petersburg, the bastard son of Moscow, as a man of indeterminable age. Physically he's not old. At times he seem really young and definitely, when you look at his lifestyle and tempo, he seems to be an energetic, determined and even virile man. But then again he's got a shadow of gloomy and murky past constantly lurking over him. He's become wise not by years but by his own experiences and when you look him in the eyes you see, on one hand: sadness, disappointment and suffering but yet, on the other hand: constant uncompromising and resilient hope. My St.Petersburg's motto is: times there are a-changing and we ought to change with them.

St.Petersburg

And Helsinki: my dear beloved and hated Helsinki. She's a quiet and modest old bat. But there was a time when she used to be a fine and attractive woman. She was never really that feminine and never had she the bosom of those ladies a sailor might have met on the Southern shores but then again she was (and to some extent she still is) devoted, caring and naive. When Helsinki was young she was madly in love with the guy next door called St.Peterburg. They had their romance but with time St.Peterburg became overly patronizing with this independent woman and finally the couple broke apart. Heartbroken she fled into the arms of a handsome Prussian officer (might have been called Berlin, dunno) and was oh-so-devoted to him until he used her for his own selfish purposes. Since then Helsinki has lived on her own. She has grown old, lost the little feminine she had and is now suspicions towards everyone. I meet her every morning while I'm there in Helsinki: she's focused on minding her own business, mumbling something illegible on her own and every once in a while she might be whistling "I will survive".

Helsinki

I cannot carry on without my native Tampere, Helsinki's kid brother. He's is a middle aged manager with stubbly beard, few teeth missing (with shining new dental implants there instead) and slightly puffy face (due to the regular consumption of alcohol). The suit he's now wearing doesn't suit him. His biography is a Cinderella story: he used to be an exploited, young and angry factory worker who knew his rights and would go out on a strike in a whim. Then, after certain changes, he sold his believes for money and has now become part of that plump middle class he so fiercely used to hate. Now he's living his Happily Ever After although deep down he understands that he'll never fit in to his newly adopted circles, neither will he become accustomed to his white collar outfit. On Friday nights he's singing Tapio Rautavaara (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WjPl2wkn30A) on karaoke with a half-empty pint in his hand.

Tampere

And last but not least there's London. To be honest I don't know London all that well but my two encounters with this chap have been enough for me to leave me with a distinct impression. London is a dangerous man with many faces: he's an old philanderer and a young playboy - he always changes his form according to his needs. Out in the daytime he's an impeccable businessman, clerk or just an ordinary gentleman but once he gets out to the dark streets of his native city - beware! Then he might be just after you money, pleasurable company or even you life - you never know for sure. In a word: in the face of London I see Mr. Dorian Gray. Why then I feel so comfortable in his company? Because, while being tricky and cunning, he really is the best of hosts. He buys you a round after round while pub music is playing on the background and he offers you all you could ever wish for: drinks, gamble, music, conversations - everything! Of course he has his own well-hidden purpose and in the end you'll (for better or for worse) probably find it out. But before you succumb yourself to his inducements you ought to think twice.

London

In due course of the next twelve months or so I will have the change to meet Berlin, Prague, Amsterdam and Paris. Perhaps even few more places. And if I do get a hold on them and will meet them in person - I'll surely let you know. But to conclude this nocturnal writing of mine I would like to challenge YOU to tell me right here, in this very blog, about your relationships with cities and towns. I would also like to encourage you to depict these cities I mentioned here in this article and share your own views on Moscow, St.Peterburg, Helsinki, Tampere and London with me and the rest who are reading this. The stage is yours and the show will go own!

Yours in Moscow,

Stefan

Pics from Moscow

If you'd follow the Moskva like the Scorpions once did this is what you'd probably see..

 The Red Square!!..

...and some BEER! 

In the hood

On a hot summer afternoon some people like to swim in the fountains.. can't blame them! :) 

Unlike in all those American motion pictures it doesn't actually snow that much in Moscow during the summer. This white stuff you see is in fact poplar's pollen and during June there was a LOT of it everywhere.

Lomonosov's university aka the MGU. Highly impressive.

Some shopping glamour in Охотный рад

Victory Park and some newer Moscow on a holiday June the 12th. 

Dancing party on the docks. Join in!

The Moskva City.

And a rural bonus from 2009

Yours on a warm July evening,

Stefan

PS. Since I do not posses a functional camera my friend and colleague gave me some of his pictures. The best ones from June are now here on my blog for you guys to see. Enjoy them and enjoy the summer!

PPS. Just bought tickets to St.Petersburg. I'm going there on 15th of this month. If you'd be interested in finding out something new about the Northern Venice - stay tuned!

Не хожу я больше за призрачными огнями...

For those of you who do not know any Russian this following piece of writing I'll start today (let's see if I'll ever finish it) will remain outside the boundaries of comprehension. So let it suffice to say that Yaroslavl' did in fact offer me some answers but, alas, to write about those answers in English would be too tedious and to write them in Finnish would be completely unthinkable (perhaps even suicidal) so I choose a third path life has blessed me with: I'll write in Russian and as always we'll start with a lyrical deviation..

Ночная песня

Голос коростеля в моих ушах,

Полная луна над колосьями,

Дым долины укрывает -

Этим и счастлив я в летнюю ночь.

Не радуюсь, не горюю и не вздыхаю я;

Нужны мне лишь сумрак леса,

Облака, в которых утопает солнце,

Синь холмов, что с ветром уснули,

Запахи линнеи и тени в воде:

Из них сочиню песню я в сердце моём.

Я тебе пою, дева летней травы,

С великой тишиной моего сердца,

Моя вера, звучит мелодией,

Как зелёный венок молодого дуба.

Не хожу я больше за призрачными огнями,

Ведь золото счастья у меня в руках;

Уж сужается кольцо жизни вокруг меня,

Встало время, засыпает флюгер;

Перед мной темнистий путь,

Введёт в неизвестную избу.

- Эйно Лейно, Ноктюрн

Да, Лейно это наше всё. И не в коем случай мой перевод является лирическим, а всего лишь дословным (хотя и в этом плане я перевёл ноктюрн больше согласно своему вкусу и желанию чем положено для даже начинающего филолога). Но эта песня всего лишь (полу)лирическое отступление от основной темы, которая заключается в следующих вопросах:

1. Как отличаются друг от друга ночь Иваны Купалы на хуторе Карвиа в Финляндии и в деревне Левцово в России?

2. В чём заключается принадлежность того или иного человека к культуре, языку или ментальности той или иной среды (а тем более как должен я определить себя именно в рамках данных знаменателей)?

Прежде чем ответить прямо и сурово на вышеуказанные вопросы мне надо кое что объяснит. Потерпите, пожалуйста!

Раньше, т.е. детстве и в юности, я очень резко замечал разницы между Россией и Финляндией. Мне кажется, что это полностью объясняется положением в моей жизни в те, теперь уж дальние, годы. На этот раз я не стану углубляться в прошлом. То кто его знает может судить сам.

Тем не менее, с тех пор как я начал активно изучать русский язык и Россию вообще, т.е. осеню 2008 года, я всё чаще нахожу себя в России или просто в российской обстановке. Тогда, в начале учебной пути, меня вдохновила идея о возможности научиться думать и ощущать мир так как его воспринимает носитель русского языка. Таким образом, считал я тогда, может и постороннее лицо присоединиться к чужому языковому обществу и может расширить себе мир в духе Витгенштейна. Ведь по словам Людвига "границы моего языка означают также границы моего мира". И так, согласно Витгенштейну, я надеялся "стать" русским путем освоения русского языка. В самом начале я даже мечтал о том, что когда-то в будущем перееду жить в Россию, прочь от недружественной Финляндии.

Но увы! В моём плане оказалась ошибка, тем более крупная: выходить, что Витгенштейн был прав, но я его интерпретировал не правильно, так как владение языком всё-таки не меняет личность человека. Человек может только сам себя изменить, но делает он это крайне редко и неохотно. Обычно даже, как мне кажется, только при чрезвычайных обстоятельствах. Как-то я об этом тогда в начале и не подумал...

И так, после первого этапа моей учёбы, я убедился в том, что даже освоение языка не предоставляет возможности думать или ощущать мир как носитель изучаемого языка. Большинство из примеров вокруг меня, т.е. мои однокурсники, видимо даже отошли дальше от возможности, уже не говоря о желании, воспринимать мир как носитель русского языка. Сначала это меня удивило и бесило, потом я к этому привык, а больше я на это и внимания не обращаю поскольку убедился в невозможности и в противоречивости собственной идеи.

Несмотря на то, что мой первоначальный план не получилось - мне предоставилось возможность достаточно тщательно исследовать систему языков, а также те культуры и те интерпретаций которые языки, как воплощения культур и ментальностей, якобы, представляют. И при исследовании России, Финляндии, Балканов и прочем всего мира я становлюсь всё больше и больше равнодушным к этим же разницам, но а также аргументом и мнениям о антагонизме культур, вер и ментальностей.

А как же быть мне сейчас? Ведь та первоначальная цель моя недостигнутая. Зачем я продолжаю изучать русистику и вообще славистику? С этого мы и можем, наконец-то, продолжить к этим двум вопросом которые я задал в начале: 

Как отличаются друг от друга ночь Иваны Купалы на хуторе Карвиа в Финляндии и в деревне Левцово в России?

В прошлые выходные я поехал в Ярославль чтобы отдохнуть и отметить финский праздник Юханнус или русский праздник Ивана Купала. В этот праздничный вечер я покатался на велосипеде через поля окружающие деревню Левцово не далеко от самого города Ярославль. И думал сначала я примерно так: Боже, как же это панорама напоминает о хуторе близ Карвиа не далеко от того села где теперь живут мои родители. След за этой мыслей я задал себе вопрос: а чём же заключается разница этих панорам или людей живущих здесь и там? Ведь летный вечер такой же красивы что там, что здесь!

Единственный ответ который я могу дать этим же своим вопросам такой: Нет разницы. А что? Люди такие же простые, честные и доверчивые что в Левцове, что в Карвиа. Природа в этих местностях как две капли воды. Но и ментальности не столь разные что бы из стоило бы особо разделять

Что я этим хочу сказать не то, что разницы как бы нет, а то что мне, честно говоря, наплевать на эти разницы поскольку суть жизни у людей в разных странах не изменяется, тем более у двух настолько близких народов как финны и россияни. Хватит делить людей и разделять мир по полочкам! Тем более поскольку не имеет смысла так делать.

В чём заключается принадлежность того или иного человека к культуре, языку или ментальности той или иной среды (а тем более как должен я определить себя именно в рамках данных знаменателей)?

И так, чем чаще и больше я нахожусь в России - тем меньше я отличаю разницы между той средой от куда я родом и тем что я вижу вокруг себя. Наиболее чётко я замечаю это именно сейчас живя в Москве, но и конечно же я ощутил это в тот вечер в деревне Левцово. Но в тот момент когда солнце садилось над полями и заря постепенно превращалась в сумрак летней ночи, а я стал петь ночную песню Эйно Лейно, я понял ещё кое что другое: я чувствую себя одинаково комфортно что в Карвиа, что в Левцове. Вернее, словом: я чувствую себя как дома, где бы я не был - здесь или там. Именно к этому меня привела учёба славистики в университете и именно из-за этого мне и стоило продолжать даже если моя идея и мой план не осуществились.

Но засыпая, в эту летную ночь, я понял и ещё кое что. Я понял, что и сам не способен изменить себя. Как я родился и вырос в финской среде, так я и остаюсь представителем той среды, не смотря на то, что было время (и от части то время всё же продолжается!) когда я хотел изменить не только себя но и свою среду и жить совершенно в другой обстановке.
'

Тем кто не знают те прошлые времена о которых я в начале говорил не понять и суть и значение этих мыслей. Но что бы они не остались полностью невежественными я просто скажу, что русскоязычному (и даже его потомкам!) как любому эмигранту не легко выжить и остаться сам собой в чужом, тем более в финской, среде. В этом ничего удивительного нет, процесс ассимиляций неизбежен! Жаль только в том, что даже в наше время, после всех разборок XIX-го и XX-го века мы, люди, государства и нации, всё же ничего нового не выучили и так же продолжаем враждебно относится ко всему что для нас чужое и не понятное.

Вот и всё. Мир от этих моих мыслей не изменилось (если уж только кому-то мой перевод не понравился). Сам я только себя гонял и обнаружил себя тем кем в прочем всегда и был: представителям своего поколения (т.е. гражданином мира), своего времени (т.е. вечным и неуверенным бунтарём, а также псевдопофигистом) и своей культуры и языка (т.е. финской). И не куда от этого мне, кажется, уже не деться.

Но как однажды написал великий поэт: золото счастья у меня в руках. То что я для себя открыл возможно ценнее золота и возможно, что на основе этого я и могу построить для себя то хрупкое и непрочное, но всё же незаменимое чувство уверенности.

Вечно к Вашим услугам,

Стефан

Journey to the Past

Tonight I feel like a good old style Raskolnikovian self-analysis would be in order. So prepare yourself for a series of vague thoughts.

Despite my relatively young age I have a certain tendency towards nostalgia. I've had it as long as I can remember. This doesn't mean that I couldn't head towards the future as any open-minded or dynamic young person but I suppose that the whole concept of constantly glancing back to the past for some answers or for certainty of any kind makes me more serious, incredulous and of course, at times, clearly more absent-minded than I would otherwise be. Some of the original reasons for this quality of mine I can doubtlessly detect. And as always (you may correct me if I'm wrong!) in the case of human mind all of this derives from the experiences one has had earlier in life. Which brings us, as if in a vicious circle, back to the original dilemma of mine: a) the concept of time and b) placing yourself in it in order to get certainty.

Since I bought a one-way ticket to Dublin on the 5th of September in 2007 I feel as though I've been on a constant mission of finding certainty. My roaming once brought me also to the city of Tver' (seen in the picture below) where I spent many nights on Volga riverbank finding out constantly something new about Russia, myself, the people around me and perhaps about life itself.

Last Saturday I made a day trip with some of my friends and colleagues to Tver' only to realise that the town hadn't changed at all whereas I obviously had. I felt comfortable enough walking on the streets where I still knew every stone and pavement. All the alleys and yards were familiar and reminded me of the time I had spent there. I could quite clearly remember all the sounds, feelings, thoughts and visions I had then but still it wasn't the same as it used to be. Everything I saw was as though on the other side of a transparent membrane. Whole Tver' was there welcoming me but I couldn't cross the wall to embrace the town as I used to. This made me feel nostalgic.

 

But let's move back to the concept of time and into that question about certainty I brought up. One August night in 2009, just after I had returned from Tver' back to Finland, in due course of a very bitter night I realised that there was nothing certain in life. Nothing whatsoever. None, never was and that it would never get any better. Just in order to brake this realisation of mine into basics I give you a quote from Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. The quote is about two fictional characters of which one seems to have some amount of importance for people who are looking for certainty. These two figures are Babel fish and God:

Now it [the existence of Babel fish] is such a bizarrely improbable coincidence that anything so mindbogglingly useful could have evolved purely by chance that some thinkers have chosen to see it as a final and clinching proof of the non-existence of God.

The argument goes something like this: "I refuse to prove that I exist," says God, "for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing."

"But," says Man, "the Babel fish is a dead giveaway isn't it? It could not have evolved by chance. It proves that you exist, and so therefore, by your own arguments, you don't. QED."

"Oh dear," says God, "I hadn't thought of that," and promptly disappears in a puff of logic.

"Oh, that was easy," says Man, and for an encore goes on to prove that black is white and gets himself killed on the next zebra crossing.

Sorry for the deviation. Now, soon after I came to the aforementioned conclusion I realised that some type of even a fragile or fake certainty is vital for any person who wishes to live a wholesome life with any meaning within it. Since then I have been in search for the tools with which I could build that mirage in the desert. That delicate feeling of certainty. By now I've learned few ways of building it up but I still lack many of the tools I need for this project. This makes me quite blue every now and then.

But let's continue with our vicious circle of time. Now follows the question or rather the concept of time. Time. Where is it? Or rather when is it? If I may be bold and frank about this I'd say that there is no time. It's a man made invention! There are no numbers in the sky. Believe me! I've looked. So there's no time. Just like there's no God. Simply because both of them are made up by man.

Those of you who know me well enough might know that I'm also fascinated by the way we, that is to say people, divide time into portions that are easy enough for us to handle. Best example of this, I suppose, is year. We celebrate New Year in order to part with the old year and to welcome the new one in. This is enough for me to like New Year the best of all the celebrations in the year.

And speaking of celebrations there's one at the door: The Midsummer Eve, Иван-Купала or Juhannus. As a Finn I like to celebrate it no matter where I am. This time I'm in Russia which means that I won't necessary get bonfires, sauna or skinny dipping, but hey! - I'm gonna try. And the place where I'm going to try this is Yaroslavl'. Just for the record Yaroslavl' is the same place where the idea of that one-way ticket to Dublin first accored to me on a summer night in July almost five years ago (as seen below):

I've been to Yarslavl' once since that first time in 2006 due to the fact that I have some (bit distant but dear!) relatives living there. But this time I feel as though the vicious circle might be closing in. Five years of an Odyssey that is bound to continue, perhaps until Doom's Day, should have at least an intermission. And I hope that this Midsummer break I'll have from tomorrow until next Tuesday could be that break I'm in need of. Who knows - it might even offer me some long-awaited answers. Or maybe I'm just dreaming once more..

Yours as a child in time,

Stefan

PS. Speaking of the devil here's a song for you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PfAWReBmxEs 

Moscow's got magic

The European cities seem to have a lot in common and this is not only due to the history, culture and cuisine the Old World possesses (or claims to posses) but, at least the way I see it, due to the simple fact of people living in an urban environment in a certain geographical area for several centuries. And even if that urban environment would have changed a lot, like in the case of Moscow (the city has completely renovated itself at least once in a century), certain things like the names of places, some buildings, customs, traditions and certain myths and tales about that environment seem to live on amongst the people that inhabit the city. 


What I want to say is that just as Paris has its hunchback and Opera ghost, London its Messrs. Todd, Hyde, Grey and Ripper or ghosts of Marley and of Christmas Yet to Come - Moscow fits this bill just as fine. Even if Moscow's face has changed due few fires, revolutions and autocrats it has a certain atmosphere that is characteristic for all old cities with vibrant life and vivid culture. But enough of theory - let's move on to the point. Bare with me, please.. you won't regret it!

First I need to tell you a bit about person called Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov (once more: mind the links!). He was a writer and a political dissident in Stalin's Russia. His novels are renowned all around the world but there is one book of his that has become more than just a novel. It is a phenomenon called Master and Margarita. Let it suffice to say that the plot of this novel consists of three different stories. The first is about how the Devil comes to Moscow and organises a legendary ball on Walpurgisnacht, the second is a rather unorthodox story of love and the third is more or less apocryphal tale of the last days of Jesus. And two more remarks: 1) the Devil is accompanied by several characters of whom one is huge black cat called Begemoth, 2) many of the scenes in Bulgakov's book are widely considered to be situated in the area of Old Arbat Street (in the picture above!).


Now we move on to my own story. Yesterday I spent some time with few of my friends from Helsinki. They were visiting Moscow from Tver' where they are currently studying just the way I was two years ago. We met close to Red Square and spent some time walking in Gorky Park, Moscow riverbank and finally made our way to Old Arbat Street. It was already evening (around 11 pm to be more exact) and twilight had just turned into summer night's darkness when we got out of the hostel (where my friends were staying) situated on one of the murky side alleys of Old Arbat Street. We had just discussed about Bulgakov's novel Master and Margarita and I had started to whistle a song called Orlandina (the song tells a story of a young man who's willing to sell his soul to the Devil in order to bed a woman he lusts and in the end of that song there's a revelation in the style of Bulgakov when the woman turns out to be Satan himself - coming to collect what is his). Here, try both the new version and the original version (mind the links!) of that song.


So, there we where - walking slowly on the dim-lit alley towards the light of Old Arbat street. The alley was completely empty. Only coldish summer breeze blowing to our backs and me whistling with enthusiasm the melody of this Bulgakovian song. Then, suddenly, from the shadows appeared a big black cat that ran quickly across the alley directly in front of us and disappeared into the shadows of the yard we had just came from.


We all stopped. I whistled no more. No one seemed to know what to do. After an odd moment of silence my two friends continued to pace hastily towards the lights ahead of us. I saw them going and just could bring myself to do the same. All of this just couldn't be a mere coincidence or what I had just seen and felt couldn't be true. It must have been a trick or a bad joke.


After a breath or two I thought of the absurdity of my reaction. What kind of an Atheist am I if a sight of a cat can make me stop in the middle of a dark alley like some daft old maid? "No", I thought. "I won't fool myself into such nonsense". I took one more breath and made my way in a hurry towards the light.


When I finally got to the crowded Arbat I looked up to the sky assuming perhaps to see naked Margarita flying across the sky on her broom. Indeed this city seems to trick and tease me almost at every turn. Moscow even seems to evoke my more inconsistent Russian side and indeed - Moscow's got magic of its own. 


Yours with superstition,


Stefan