My days following last week's Moscow subway attacks were busy with sending e-mails, Facebook messages, and positive wishes to friends and loved ones in that corner of the world. Having ascertained the security of my Russian followers, I was able to sit back and think more critically about the implications of the events for the city and that country. Clifford J. Levy had an interesting
article in Sunday's New York Times about the unlikely-hood of Russia's higher-ups - particularly Vladimir Putin - facing harsh mass criticism for the country's pre-attack behavior. Similarly, it is unlikely that in the explosions' aftermath Russians will turn a critical eye to themselves. This attitude differs from the perspectives and discourse that arose following terrorist attacks in places like the United States, the UK, and elsewhere. The mere existence of civilian dialogue after these attacks shows us two very important things: on some level, citizens take ownership of their country's situation, and believe they have the power, and the responsibility, to play a role in it.
This attitude differs greatly from the average Russian, and this questioning is not meant to imply that the every day
russki chelovyek is to be held accountable for what happened. What is disturbing about this situation, however, is the lack of impetus among the Russian population to begin a national dialogue, a civic engagement process, to address the tragic issue that took place and take steps, as citizens and as a country, to foster a nation that does not bring upon itself such hate.
The Russian populace's passivity stems from a variety of historical factors, and on a particular run through St. Petersburg this summer, I became caught up by them. From that run came the following essay, an excerpt out of
BTG's
Running Commentaries (book release - December 2010).
Running Commentaries, by the way, will be another
BTG publication that addresses issues of international importance from the perspective of one whose voice isn't always heard - the runner.
Anyway. Citizen engagement. From the statue of the Bronze Horseman, pictured above, this essay begins to explore Russia's perplexing problems regarding this issue:
Proud charger, whither art thou ridden
Where leapest thou? And where, on whom,
Will plant thy hoof?
- A.S. Pushkin
“The Bronze Horseman”
“Kyda” is the Russian word for where, as in, “Where are you running?” Following the add-on of the Tour des Jardins takes you past a statue of a rider on a horse whose hooves strike west across the Neva. This monument, the “Bronze Horseman”, was erected in 1782 in honor of the city’s founder, Peter the Great. But it was only in 1833, when the great Russian poet Alexander Pushkin wrote the epic poem by this name, that the figure was etched into Russian identity.
Pushkin’s poem is not about Peter. The hero of his tale is Evgenii, a young man of an ordinary 19th-century existence. He lives in a small house, he works an unglamorous job, and his greatest ambition is to marry Parasha, the widow’s daughter. But one night a flood ravages St. Petersburg, and in it Evgenii loses everything he has – his house, his work, his love, and his mind. Overcome by anguish, our hero lets lose a string of curses at Peter’s statue, whereupon the horse and rider come to life and chase him through the streets. From that day on, Evgenii only approaches the Bronze Horseman with terrified reverence.
Evgenii is seen as the archetypical “little man” of Russian literature. The “Bronze Horseman” is read as a metaphor for the unbalanced power relations between everyday people and 19th-century Russia’s nobility. But when running by this statue in the early-morning light, one can’t help but wonder whether there’s still an element of literary truth to the poem today.
It’s been a tough past twenty years for Russians. A future that was once hoped to be marked by democratization, economic opportunity, and social mobility has seen the tanks of liberty turn against it and open fire; it has been hijacked by the few quick enough, bold enough, and ruthless enough to seize entire industries; it has crash-landed with the ruble and left today’s Evegniis clinging to cups of tea or cashing in what capital they have. With a past like theirs no one knows what tomorrow will bring, and today’s comforts are the most for which most ask.
This reality is tough to discern behind international reporting about today’s Russia and the posturing of their political elite. Because of the country’s clampdown on non-governmental organizations, journalistic investigation, and civil liberties, it’s a situation that can only be understood by listening to what is not said – in the pauses of Kremlin spokesmen, in the newspaper stories that don’t get written, in the views of everyday people that hang on sighs of resignation.
Most Russians know this; they are practiced in reading between lines and understanding the unsaid. After all, Evgeniis of all eras are used to approaching their Russia, “proud charger”, with lowered eyes and doffed hats. In silence hides hope that the Bronze Horseman will sweep them up and gallop away to better tomorrows, and not leave them to be trampled underfoot.
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