Ab Imperio, 1/2005 òåìà ãîäà 2005 annual theme: ßÇÛÊÈ ÑÀÌÎÎÏÈÑÀÍÈß ÈÌÏÅÐÈÈ

È ÌÍÎÃÎÍÀÖÈÎÍÀËÜÍÎÃÎ ÃÎÑÓÄÀÐÑÒÂÀ

LANGUAGES OF SELF-DESCRIPTION IN EMPIRE AND MULTINATIONAL STATE

Ñîäåðæàíèå Contents

“ÈÌÏÅÐÈß: ËÅÊÑÈÊÀ ÏÐÀÊÒÈÊÈ È ÃÐÀÌÌÀÒÈÊÀ ÀÍÀËÈÇÀ”

“EMPIRE: THE LEXICON OF PRAXIS AND THE GRAMMAR OF ANALYSIS”

ÌÅÒÎÄÎËÎÃÈß È ÒÅÎÐÈß I. METHODOLOGY AND THEORY 10 Îò ðåäàêöèè ßçûêè ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè è íàöèè êàê èññëåäî- âàòåëüñêàÿ ïðîáëåìà è ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ äèëåììà 11 From the Editors Languages of Self-Description of Empire and Nation as a Research Problem and a Political Dilemma 23 I. Gerasimov, S. Glebov, A. Kaplunovski, M. Mogilner, A. Semyonov In Search of New Imperial History 33 È. Ãåðàñèìîâ, Ñ. Ãëåáîâ, À. Êàïëóíîâñêèé, Ì. Ìîãèëüíåð, À. Ñåì¸íîâ  ïîèñêàõ íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè Àëåêñàíäð Êàìåíñêèé Íåêîòîðûå êîììåíòàðèè ê ðåäàêöèîííîìó ïðåäèñëîâèþ “ ïîèñêàõ íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè” 57 Alexander Kamenskii Some Comments on the Foreword to “New Imperial History” Alan Sked Empire: A Few Thoughts 65 Àëàí Ñêåä Èìïåðèÿ: íåêîòîðûå ðàçìûøëåíèÿ Richard T. Chu The “New Imperial History” and U.S. Imperialism 69 Ðè÷àðä ×ó “Íîâàÿ èìïåðñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ” è èìïåðèàëèçì ÑØÀ 3 Ñîäåðæàíèå/Contents Äîìèíèê Ëèâåí Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê 75 Dominic Lieven Empire, History, and the Contemporary Global Order Interview with Anthony Pagden “There Is a Real Problem with the Semantic Field of Empire ” 117 Èíòåðâüþ ñ Ýíòîíè Ïàãäåíîì “Ñ ñåìàíòè÷åñêèì ïîëåì ‘èìïåðèè’ ñóùåñòâóåò ðåàëüíàÿ ïðîáëåìà ”

ÈÑÒÎÐÈß II. HISTORY 136 Marina Mogilner On Cabbages, Kings, and Jews (Yuri Slezkine. The Jewish Century. Princeton, 2004; Yu. Selzkine. Era Merkuriia: evrei v sovre- mennom mire. Moskva, 2005) 137 Ìàðèíà Ìîãèëüíåð Î êîðîëÿõ, êàïóñòå è åâðåÿõ (Yuri Slezkine. The Jewish Century. Princeton, 2004; Þ. Ñë¸çêèí. Ýðà Ìåðêóðèÿ: åâðåè â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðå. Ìîñêâà, 2005) Eugene M. Avrutin Visibility and Invisibility in Modern Jewish History: a Comment on “The Jewish Century” 151 Þäæèí Àâðóòèí ×òî ìû âèäèì è ÷åãî íå âèäèì â ñîâðåìåííîé åâðåéñêîé èñòîðèè: êîììåíòèðóÿ êíèãó “The Jewish Century” David Shneer When Jewish Grandmothers Ruled the World 157 Äýâèä Øíèð Êîãäà åâðåéñêèå áàáóøêè ïðàâèëè ìèðîì Àëåêñàíäð Ýòêèíä Çà ñîþç Ìåðêóðèÿ è Ìíåìîçèíû 165 Alexander Etkind For the Union of Mercury and Mnemosyne Natan Meir The Jewish Century: “What Does Being a Jew Matter?” 171 Íàòàí Ìåèð Åâðåéñêîå ñòîëåòèå: “÷òî çíà÷èò áûòü åâðååì?” John Klier Jews Are From Mercury, Apollonians Are From... Mercury? 175 Äæîí Êëèåð Åâðåè ñ Ìåðêóðèÿ, àïïîëîíèéöû òîæå ñ Ìåðêóðèÿ? Þðèé Ñë¸çêèí îòâå÷àåò... 179 Yuri Slezkin Responds...

ÀÐÕÈ III. ARCHIVE 190 Yohanan Petrovsky-Shtern The Construction of an Improbable Identity: The Case of Hryts’ko Kernerenko 191 Éîõàíàí Ïåòðîâñêèé-Øòåðí Êîíñòðóèðîâàíèå íåâåðîÿòíîé èäåíòè÷- íîñòè: ñëó÷àé Ãðûöüêî Êåðíåðåíêî From Hryts’ko Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage 241 Èç ëèòåðàòóðíîãî íàñëåäèÿ Ãðûöüêî Êåðíåðåíêî 4 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

ÑÎÖÈÎËÎÃÈß, ÝÒÍÎËÎÃÈß, IV. SOCIOLOGY, ETHNOLOGY, 256 ÏÎËÈÒÎËÎÃÈß POLITICAL SCIENCE

Dmitry Gorenburg Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective: Why Some Revivals Fail and Some Succeed 257 Äìèòðèé Ãîðåíáóðã Òàòàðñêàÿ ÿçûêîâàÿ ïîëèòèêà â ñðàâíèòåëüíîé ïåðñ- ïåêòèâå: ïî÷åìó èíîãäà âîçðîæäåíèå áûâàåò óñïåøíûì, à èíîãäà íåò Joan F. Chevalier Language Policy in the Russian Federation: Russian as the “State” Language 285 Äæîàí Øåâàëüå ßçûêîâàÿ ïîëèòèêà â Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè: ðóññêèé êàê “ãîñóäàðñòâåííûé” ÿçûê

ÀÂÑ: ÈÑÑËÅÄÎÂÀÍÈß ÈÌÏÅÐÈÈ V. ABC: EMPIRE & NATIONALISM 304 È ÍÀÖÈÎÍÀËÈÇÌÀ STUDIES

Ìåæäóíàðîäíàÿ îáðàçîâàòåëüíàÿ èíèöèàòèâà Ab Imperio: îáðàçîâàòåëüíîå ïàðòíåðñòâî ìåæäó Êàçàíñêèì ãîñóäàð- ñòâåííûì óíèâåðñèòåòîì è Óíèâåðñèòåòîì Ðàòãåðñ (ÑØÀ) International Educational Initiative of Ab Imperio: Educational Partnership of Kazan State University and Rutgers University (USA) 305

ÍÎÂÅÉØÈÅ ÌÈÔÎËÎÃÈÈ VI. NEWEST MYTHOLOGIES 310

Æàííà Êîðìèíà Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè: ñèìïòîìû êîëëåêòèâíîé òðàâìû â íàðîäíûõ ïåñíÿõ Âåëèêîé Îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû 311 Zhanna Kormina Heroes and Traitors: Collective Trauma Symptoms in Popular Songs of the Great Patriotic War

ÐÅÖÅÍÇÈÈ È ÁÈÁËÈÎÃÐÀÔÈß VII. BOOK REVIEWS 347

Ðåöåíçèè Reviews 347

David Hoffmann, Stalinist Values: The Cultural Norms of Soviet Modernity, 1917-1941 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2003). xiii + 247 pp. Index. ISBN: 0-8014-8821-4. Jukka Gronow, Caviar with Champagne: Common Luxury and the Ideals of the Good Life in Stalin’s Russia (New York: Berg, 2003). xi + 196 pp. Subject Index. ISBN: 1-85973-638-6. Ñåðãåé Åêåëü÷èê 347 5 Ñîäåðæàíèå/Contents Dmitry P. Gorenburg, Minority Ethnic Mobilization in the Russian Federation (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 297 pp. Bibliography, Index. ISBN: 0-521-81807-9. Thomas Goumenos 353 Èâýð Íîéìàíí. Èñïîëüçîâàíèå “Äðóãîãî”. Îáðàçû Âîñòîêà â ôîðìèðîâàíèè åâðîïåéñêèõ èäåíòè÷íîñòåé / Ïåð. ñ àíãë. Â. Á. Ëèòâèíîâà è È. À. Ïèëüùèêîâà. Ïðåäèñë. À. È. Ìèëëåðà. Ìîñêâà: “Íîâîå èçäàòåëüñòâî”, 2004. 335 ñ. ISBN: 5-98379-007-2. Èâàí Ãîëîëîáîâ 358 Stephen D. Shenfield, Russian Fascism: Traditions. Tendencies. Move- ments (New York and London: M. E. Sharpe, 2001). 336 pp. Bibliography, Index. ISBN: 0-7656-0635-6. Âÿ÷åñëàâ Ëèõà÷åâ 365 Yale Richmond, Cultural Exchange and the Cold War: Raising the Iron Curtain (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 2003). 264 pp. ISBN: 0-271-02302-3. Wim van Meurs 371 Å. Î. Õàáåíñêàÿ. Òàòàðû î òàòàðñêîì: áóíòóþùàÿ ýòíè÷íîñòü. Ìîñêâà: Èçäàòåëüñòâî “Íàòàëèñ”, 2003. 206 ñ. ISBN: 5-8062- 0063-9. Matthew Romaniello 374 Ïîñòñîâåòñêàÿ êóëüòóðíàÿ òðàíñôîðìàöèÿ: ìåäèà è ýòíè÷íîñòü â Òàòàðñòàíå 1990-õ ãã. / Ïîä ðåäàêöèåé Ñ. À. Åðîôååâà è Ë. Ï. Íèçàìîâîé. Êàçàíü, 2001. 292 ñ. ISBN: 5-7464-0998-7. Sebastian Cwiklinski 377 Äæîí Äàíëîï. Ðîññèÿ è ×å÷íÿ: èñòîðèÿ ïðîòèâîáîðñòâà. Êîðíè ñåïàðàòèñòñêîãî êîíôëèêòà. Ìîñêâà: “Ð. Âàëåíò”, 1998. Ïåð. ñ àíãë. 232 c. ISBN: 5-93439-065-1. (John B. Dunlop, Russia Confronts Chechnya: Roots of a Separatist Conflict (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 248 pp. ISBN: 0-52163-619-1). Èðèíà Ðîëäóãèíà 381 Molly W. Wesling, Napoleon in Russian Cultural Mythology (New York: Peter Lang, 2001). 256 pp. Bibliography, Index. ISBN: 0-8204-4982-2. Ìàðèàííà Ìóðàâüåâà 389 6 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Â. Êîøåëåâ. Àëåêñåé Ñòåïàíîâè÷ Õîìÿêîâ, æèçíåîïèñàíèå â äîêóìåíòàõ, ðàññóæäåíèÿõ è ðàçûñêàíèÿõ. Ìîñêâà: “Íîâîå ëèòåðàòóðíîå îáîçðåíèå”, 2000. 512 ñ. ISBN: 5-86793-078-5. Íîííà Ñìåëîâà 398 Joachim Zweynert. Eine Geschichte des ökonomischen Denkens in Russland, 1805-1905. Marburg: Metropolis Verlag, 2002. 475 S. ISBN: 3-89518-395-4. Êèðèëë Ïîñòîóòåíêî 403 Ñîáñòâåííîñòü íà çåìëþ â Ðîññèè: Èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííîñòü / Ïîä îáù. ðåä. Ä. Ô. Àÿöêîâà. Ìîñêâà: ÐÎÑÑÏÝÍ, 2002. 592 ñ. ISBN: 5-8243-0363-0. Elizabeth White 407 È. È. Áîäþë. Äîðîãîé æèçíè. Âðåìÿ, ñîáûòèÿ, ðàçäóìüÿ. Âîñ- ïîìèíàíèÿ. Êíèãà âòîðàÿ. Êèøèíåâ: Èçä. “Êóøíèð è Êî”, 2001. 496 c. ISBN: 9975-9640-0-1. Ëèëèÿ Êðóäó 411 Àêòóàëüíûå ïðîáëåìû ìèãðàöèè. Ìåæäóíàðîäíûå ìåõàíèçìû çàùèòû ïðàâ áåæåíöåâ. Ìàòåðèàëû ÷åòâåðòîãî ñåìèíàðà, ïðî- âåäåííîãî Ïðàâîçàùèòíûì öåíòðîì “Ìåìîðèàë” 24-26 àïðåëÿ 1998 ãîäà ïî ïðîãðàììå “Îðãàíèçàöèÿ ñåòè þðèäè÷åñêèõ êîí- ñóëüòàöèé ‘Ìèãðàöèÿ è ïðàâî’ äëÿ áåæåíöåâ è âûíóæäåííûõ ïå- ðåñåëåíöåâ â Ðîññèè”. Ìîñêâà, 1999, 207 ñ.; Ïðàâîâîå è ñîöèàëüíîå ïîëîæåíèå âûíóæäåííûõ ìèãðàíòîâ â Ðîññèè. Ìèíèìàëüíûå ìåæäóíàðîäíûå ãàðàíòèè. Ìàòåðèàëû îäèííàäöàòîãî ñåìèíàðà, ïðîâåäåííîãî Ïðàâîçàùèòíûì öåíò- ðîì “Ìåìîðèàë” ïî ïðîãðàììå “Ìèãðàöèÿ è ïðàâî” 28-30 àï- ðåëÿ 2001 ãîäà. Ìîñêâà, 2001, 167 ñ. Ëàðèñà Ëåùåíêî 417 “Ìàëåíüêèé Ïàðèæ”, “Êðàñàâèöà þãà” èëè “Þæíàÿ Ïàëü- ìèðà”? Îáîçðåíèå íîâûõ ïóáëèêàöèé îá Îäåññå. Ëþö Õýôíåð 424 Ñïèñîê àâòîðîâ 442 List of Contributors 446 Miscellaneous 449 7 Ñîäåðæàíèå/Contents Ab Imperio – V: 467 Óêàçàòåëü ìàòåðèàëîâ, îïóáëèêîâàííûõ â Ab Imperio, 2000-2004 ãã. 467 Index of Articles, Published in Ab Imperio, 2000-2004 Óêàçàòåëü àâòîðîâ 539 Index of Authors Óêàçàòåëü àâòîðîâ è ðåäàêòîðîâ êíèã, ðåöåíçèðîâàííûõ â Ab Imperio, 2000-2004 ãã. 577 Index of Authors and Editors of Books Reviewed in Ab Imperio, 2000-2004 Ïðåäìåòíî-ãåîãðàôè÷åñêèé óêàçàòåëü 580 Subject and Geographical Index Ab Imperio – 2005 587 Íîâàÿ èìïåðñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ / New Imperial History 591 Êíèãè íà ðåöåíçèþ/Books for Review 597

8 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

ÎÒ ÐÅÄÀÊÖÈÈ

ßÇÛÊÈ ÑÀÌÎÎÏÈÑÀÍÈß ÈÌÏÅÐÈÈ È ÍÀÖÈÈ ÊÀÊ ÈÑÑËÅÄÎÂÀÒÅËÜÑÊÀß ÏÐÎÁËÅÌÀ È ÏÎËÈÒÈ×ÅÑÊÀß ÄÈËÅÌÌÀ

Ýòîò íîìåð Ab Imperio îòêðûâàåò íîâóþ ãîäîâóþ òåìó è ïîäâîäèò èòîãè ïåðâîãî ïÿòèëåòèÿ èçäàíèÿ æóðíàëà. Ñîáñòâåííî, ãëàâíûì ðåçóëüòàòîì íàøåé ïÿòèëåòíåé ðàáîòû è ÿâëÿåòñÿ âûõîä íà ïðîáëåìó, êîòîðîé áóäóò ïîñâÿùåíû ÷åòûðå òåìàòè÷åñêèõ íîìåðà 2005 ãîäà: “ßçûêè ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè è ìíîãîíàöèîíàëüíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà”. Ýòà òåìà, êàê è ñàì ïðèíöèï òåìàòè÷åñêîãî ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ æóðíàëü- íûõ íîìåðîâ, íå ìîãëà ïðîñòî “âîçíèêíóòü”, áåç ïðåäâàðèòåëüíîãî ïåðèîäà ñèñòåìàòè÷åñêîãî è ðàçíîñòîðîííåãî àíàëèçà “èìïåðñêîé” ïðîáëåìàòèêè, êîãäà çà ïÿòü ëåò â íàøåì æóðíàëå áûëè îïóáëè- êîâàíû ñòàòüè ïîëóòûñÿ÷è èññëåäîâàòåëåé èç áîëåå ÷åì òðåõ äåñÿòêîâ ñòðàí. Ab Imperio âîçíèê êàê ïðîåêò òðàíñëÿöèè çàïàäíîé äèñöèïëèíû nationalism studies â ïîñòñîâåòñêóþ àêàäåìè÷åñêóþ òðàäèöèþ. Îäíàêî ïåðâûå æå ïîïûòêè ïðîåöèðîâàíèÿ ìåòîäîëîãè÷åñêèõ ïîäõîäîâ è èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêèõ ìîäåëåé nationalism studies íà ìàòåðèàë ðîññèéñêîé (èìïåðñêîé/ñîâåòñêîé) èñòîðèè ïîêàçàëè îãðàíè÷åííîñòü ïðèìåíåíèÿ íàðàáîòîê òåîðèè íàöèîíàëèçìà â ðîññèéñêîì êîíòåêñòå. Ðîññèéñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ è äàæå ÑÑÑÐ íå ÿâëÿ- ëèñü âñåãî ëèøü ïîëèòè÷åñêèì îáúåäèíåíèåì íàöèé èëè “ïðîòî- íàöèé”; ó ïîñòñîâåòñêèõ íàöèîíàëüíûõ ãîñóäàðñòâ íåò ÷åòêîé 11 Îò Ðåäàêöèè, ßçûêè ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè è íàöèè... ãåíåàëîãèè â èìïåðñêîì è äîèìïåðñêîì ïåðèîäå; êàòåãîðèÿ ýòíè÷- íîñòè è äàæå êîíôåññèè áûëà îäíèì èç èñòî÷íèêîâ êîìïëåêñíîé ñîöèàëüíîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè â Ðîññèéñêîé èìïåðèè (è îò÷àñòè â ÑÑÑÐ), íàðÿäó ñ ÷èíîì, ñîñëîâèåì, çàíÿòîñòüþ, ïðîôåññèåé, êëàññîì, èìó- ùåñòâåííûì ïîëîæåíèåì, ñòàòóñîì, ïîëèòè÷åñêîé îðèåíòàöèåé, ãåíäåðîì è ò.ï., è íåâîçìîæíî ïðèâåñòè ýòè ýëåìåíòû â åäèíóþ è óíèâåðñàëüíóþ èåðàðõèþ. Ñòàíîâèëîñü ïîíÿòíî, ÷òî “èìïåðèÿ” – íå ïðîñòî ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ ôîðìà, à îòêðûòàÿ ñèñòåìà ñîöèàëüíûõ, ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ è êóëüòóðíûõ îòíîøåíèé. Èìåííî ïîýòîìó ñïîð îá îïðåäåëåíèè “ñóùíîñòè èìïåðèè” èìååò âòîðîñòåïåííîå çíà÷åíèå, òàê êàê èìïåðèÿ ïðåäñòàåò ñèñòåìîé îòíîøåíèé, à íå ñòðóêòóðîé, èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîé ñèòóàöèåé, à íå ôåíîìåíîì. Íàïðàâëåíèå èññëåäîâàíèé, êîòîðîå ðåäàêòîðû æóðíàëà ñîáèðàëèñü ïîïóëÿðè- çèðîâàòü â Ðîññèè, íåîæèäàííî äëÿ âñåõ îêàçàëîñü ïðîáëåìíîé çîíîé, ïðàêòè÷åñêè íå èçó÷åííîé è íå îñìûñëåííîé. Íà÷èíàÿ ñ ïåðâûõ íîìåðîâ, Ab Imperio ðàçâèâàëñÿ êàê êîëëåê- òèâíûé èññëåäîâàòåëüñêèé ïðîåêò, îäíîâðåìåííî çàäàâàÿ ïàðàìåòðû äèñöèïëèíû, êîòîðóþ óñëîâíî ìîæíî íàçâàòü “íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèåé Ðîññèè è ïîñòñîâåòñêîãî ïðîñòðàíñòâà”. Ñî÷åòàíèå ÷åòêîé ñòðóêòóðû ðóáðèê è òåìàòè÷åñêîãî ïðèíöèïà îðãàíèçàöèè íîìåðîâ áûëî ïåðâûì øàãîì íà ïóòè ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ èññëåäîâà- òåëüñêîãî ïðîöåññà: êëþ÷åâûå ñþæåòû èñòîðèîãðàôèè ðîññèéñêîé èìïåðèè/ÑÑÑÐ (“íàöèîíàëèçì è ðåëèãèÿ”, “íàöèîíàëèçì è ëèáå- ðàëèçì”, “èìïåðèÿ è âîéíà” è äð.) ïîäâåðãàëèñü îáñóæäåíèþ ìåæäóíàðîäíûì ñîñòàâîì àâòîðîâ æóðíàëà â íåèçìåííîì ôîðìàòå (ìåòîäîëîãè÷åñêèé àñïåêò, èñòîðè÷åñêèå èññëåäîâàíèÿ, ñîöèîëîãè- ÷åñêîå/ïîëèòîëîãè÷åñêîå èçìåðåíèå, õàðàêòåðíûå àðõèâíûå ñâèäå- òåëüñòâà è ò.ä.). Âîçíèêøàÿ ad hoc òðàäèöèÿ ñïåöèàëüíûõ ôîðóìîâ è ñàì ïðèíöèï òåìàòè÷åñêîãî ïîäáîðà ñòàòåé â ðàìêàõ äàæå îòäåëüíîé ðóáðèêè ïðèâåëè ê òîìó, ÷òî êàæäûé íîìåð AI ôóíê- öèîíèðîâàë êàê âèðòóàëüíàÿ êîíôåðåíöèÿ, ñ ÷åòêîé òåìàòè÷åñêîé íàïðàâëåííîñòüþ è ìîäåðèðîâàíèåì “ñåêöèé”. Ïðîâåäåíèå ïðèìåðíî ðàç â ãîä ðåàëüíûõ ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ êîíôåðåíöèé è ñåìèíàðîâ, îðãàíèçîâàííûõ æóðíàëîì, ÿâëÿëîñü ïðîäîëæåíèåì æóðíàëüíîé èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîé ïðîãðàììû â äðóãîì ôîðìàòå.1

1 Ïîëíóþ èíôîðìàöèþ î êîíôåðåíöèÿõ ñì. â èíòåðíåòå ïî àäðåñó: http:// abimperio.net/scgi-bin/aishow.pl?state=portal/outreach/conferencer&idlang=2. Ïîñëåäíåå ïîñåùåíèå 1 ìàÿ 2005 ã. 12 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Íà÷èíàÿ ñ 2002 ã. ëîãèêà èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî ïðîåêòà AI ïðèâåëà ê ââåäåíèþ ïðèíöèïà ãîäîâûõ òåì, êîòîðûå ðàñêðûâàëèñü â ÷åòûðåõ òåìàòè÷åñêèõ êâàðòàëüíûõ íîìåðàõ â ñîîòâåòñòâèè ñ ãîäîâîé ïðîãðàììîé æóðíàëà. Ýòî íîâîââåäåíèå áûëî ñâÿçàíî ñ èñ÷åðïà- íèåì äàëüíåéøèõ âîçìîæíîñòåé “äîèññëåäîâàíèÿ” òðàäèöèîííûõ èñòîðè÷åñêèõ ñþæåòîâ ïîä ñïåöèôè÷åñêèì “èìïåðñêèì óãëîì çðåíèÿ”. Åùå áîëåå âàæíûì ôàêòîðîì áûëî ñòðåìëåíèå ïðîòèâîñòîÿòü ðàñòóùåé ñàìîèçîëÿöèè “íàöèîíàëüíûõ øòóäèé”, êîòîðûå âñå áîëåå çàìûêàëèñü íà ôèêñèðîâàííûõ ñþæåòàõ è àâòîðåôåðåíòíûõ ìåòîäîëîãè÷åñêèõ ñõåìàõ.2 Äëÿ äàëüíåéøåãî èçó÷åíèÿ èñòîðèè ïîñòñîâåòñêîãî ïðîñòðàí- ñòâà êàê èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè òðåáîâàëîñü ïåðåéòè îò êîíêðåòíûõ èñòîðè÷åñêèõ ñèòóàöèé ê îáùèì èññëåäîâàòåëüñêèì ïàðàäèãìàì, îñìûñëåííûì èìåííî â èìïåðñêîì êîíòåêñòå. Ãîäîâûå òåìû ôîðìóëèðîâàëèñü íà îñíîâå òàêèõ ìåòàèñòîðè÷åñêèõ òðîïîâ, êàê “ìîäåðíèçàöèÿ” (“Ðîññèéñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ/ÑÑÑÐ è ïàðàäîêñû ìîäåð- íèçàöèè”, 2002 ã.), “ãðàíèöà” (“Ãðàíè è ãðàíèöû èìïåðèè”, 2003 ã.), “ïàìÿòü” (“Àðõåîëîãèÿ ïàìÿòè èìïåðèè è íàöèè”, 2004 ã.). Òàêèì îáðàçîì, â ðàìêàõ èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî ïðîåêòà Ab Imperio ñêëàäûâàëîñü ïðåäñòàâëåíèå îá îñíîâíûõ ýëåìåíòàõ ïðîãðàììû ôîðìèðóþùåéñÿ íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè è åå ìåñòå ñðåäè îñíîâíûõ èññëåäîâàòåëüñêèõ ïàðàäèãì. Ñïåöèàëüíî ñîáðàííûé ñáîðíèê ñòàòåé àâòîðîâ èç øåñòè ñòðàí “Íîâàÿ èìïåðñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ ïîñòñîâåòñêîãî ïðîñòðàíñòâà” (Êàçàíü, 2004), ñíàáæåííûé áèáëèîãðàôè÷åñêèìè îáçîðàìè “èìïåðñêèõ øòóäèé” íà ÷åòûðåõ ÿçûêàõ, áûë ïðèçâàí çàôèêñèðîâàòü ìîìåíò ôîðìóëèðîâàíèÿ ãðàíèö è çàäà÷ íîâîãî èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî íàïðàâëåíèÿ.3

2 Òàê, íàïðèìåð, èññëåäîâàíèÿ ýòíè÷íîñòè ïîðîé èãíîðèðîâàëè èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêóþ äèñêóññèþ î ñîöèàëüíîì ïîðÿäêå Ðîññèéñêîé èìïåðèè è, â ÷àñòíîñòè, î äèíàìèêå êàòåãîðèè “ñîñëîâèå”; èñòîðèêè íàöèîíàëüíûõ äâèæåíèé çàìûêàëèñü íà óçêîé ñõåìå ìîäåðíèçàöèè, ïåðåðàáîòàííîé äëÿ èíòåðïðåòàöèè íàöèîíàëèçìà Ý. Ãåëëíåðîì è, îñîáåííî, Ì. Õðîõîì, à äèñêóññèÿ îá îêðàèíàõ Ðîññèéñêîé èìïåðèè èãíîðèðîâàëà îáùóþ ïðîáëåìàòèêó ñîöèàëüíî-êóëüòóðíîãî êîíñòðóèðîâàíèÿ ãðàíèöû. 3 Íîâàÿ èìïåðñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ ïîñòñîâåòñêîãî ïðîñòðàíñòâà: Ñáîðíèê íàó÷íûõ ñòàòåé / Ïîä ðåä. È. Ãåðàñèìîâà, Ñ. Ãëåáîâà, À. Êàïëóíîâñêîãî, Ì. Ìîãèëüíåð, À. Ñåì¸íîâà. Êàçàíü: Öåíòð èññëåäîâàíèé íàöèîíàëèçìà è èìïåðèè, 2004. Ñì. ïîäðîáíóþ èíôîðìàöèþ î êíèãå â ýòîì íîìåðå. 13 Îò Ðåäàêöèè, ßçûêè ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè è íàöèè... Òàêîâà êðàòêàÿ ïðåäûñòîðèÿ “ëèíãâèñòè÷åñêîãî ïîâîðîòà”, êîòîðûé Ab Imperio äåëàåò â ÷åòûðåõ íîìåðàõ 2005 ã. (ñì. ðàçâåð- íóòóþ ïðîãðàììó ãîäà â êîíöå íîìåðà). Íàøå îáðàùåíèå ê ïðîáëåìå ÿçûêà è ìîäóñà îïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè ñòàëî ðåçóëüòàòîì ïîñëåäîâà- òåëüíîãî ïðèìåíåíèÿ îñíîâíûõ èñòîðè÷åñêèõ ãðàíä-íàððàòèâîâ ê èìïåðñêîé ñèòóàöèè. Äàæå ñ ó÷åòîì òîãî, ÷òî “èìïåðèÿ” îêàçàëàñü âïîëíå ëåãèòèìíûì îáúåêòîì ïðèëîæåíèÿ òðîïî⠓ìîäåðíèçàöèè” èëè “ïàìÿòè”, è íà âûõîäå ìû ïîëó÷èëè ðåàëüíîå ïðèðàùåíèå èñòîðè÷åñêîãî çíàíèÿ è ïîíèìàíèÿ ïðîøëîãî, ìû íàòîëêíóëèñü íà ïðèíöèïèàëüíîå îãðàíè÷åíèå ïðèìåíèìîñòè ñîâðåìåííûõ àíàëèòè÷åñêèõ êàòåãîðèé (“íàöèè”, “íàöèîíàëèçìà”, “ýëèòû”, “ïîëèòèêè” è ïð.) ê äîìîäåðíîìó ôåíîìåíó èìïåðèè, îêàçàâøå- ìóñÿ â óñëîâèÿõ Íîâîãî âðåìåíè. Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, èñòîðè÷åñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ íå îñòàâèëà â íàñëåäèå ïîñëåäóþùèì ïîêîëåíèÿì “èìïåðèî- ëîãèè” èëè õîòÿ áû ðàçâåðíóòîãî ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ, ïîä÷åðêèâàþùåãî ñïåöèôèêó ýòîé ôîðìû ïîëèòèè è ïðåäëàãàþùåãî ñîáñòâåííûé ÿçûê àíàëèçà. Çà èñêëþ÷åíèåì íàèâíî-öèíè÷íûõ àôîðèçìîâ âðîäå divide et impera, íå ñîõðàíèëîñü ðåêîìåíäàöèé ïî ñîçäàíèþ èëè ñîõðàíåíèþ èìåííî èìïåðèè – à íå äèíàñòè÷åñêîé èëè ëè÷íîé âëàñòè âîîáùå. Íå ñëó÷àéíî, ÷òî ïîïûòêè îñìûñëèòü èìïåðèþ êàê íåêèé åäèíûé ôåíîìåí ñòðîèëèñü â ïîñëåäíèå äåñÿòèëåòèÿ ïî îáùåìó ñöåíàðèþ, èíäóêòèâíî âûñòðàèâàÿ óíèâåðñàëüíóþ ìîäåëü íà îñíîâå àíàëèçà îñîáåííîñòåé îòäåëüíûõ èìïåðèé ïðî- øåäøèõ ýïîõ.4 Ïðè ýòîì èãíîðèðóåòñÿ îñíîâà ñàìîâîñïðèÿòèÿ ëþáîé èìïåðèè êàê óíèêàëüíîãî ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî îáðàçîâàíèÿ, óïîðÿäî÷èâàþùåãî ñîöèàëüíîå ïðîñòðàíñòâî è ëàíäøàôò ïî îáðàçó êîñìè÷åñêîãî ïîðÿäêà, âî èñïîëíåíèå âîëè áîãîâ èëè ðåêîìåíäàöèé íîâåéøåé ñîöèàëüíîé òåîðèè. Çàèìñòâóÿ ó ñîñåäåé õîçÿéñòâåííóþ èëè âîåííóþ îðãàíèçàöèþ, ïðèäâîðíûé ýòèêåò

4 Íå âñå èç îáùåïðèçíàííûõ “èìïåðèé” ôîðìàëüíî íàçûâàëèñü ýòèì ëàòèíñêèì ñëîâîì, ñîöèàëüíóþ è ïîëèòè÷åñêóþ îðãàíèçàöèþ èìïåðàòîðñêîãî Ðèìà è, ê ïðèìåðó, äåðæàâû ×èíãèñõàíà òðóäíî íàçâàòü ïîõîæèìè, îäíàêî ýìïèðè÷åñêè èìïåðèþ ëåãêî “óçíàòü” ïî åå ãðàíäèîçíîñòè íà ôîíå îêðóæàþùèõ ãîñóäàðñòâåííûõ îáðàçîâàíèé, ÷óâñòâó ìåññèàíñêîé èçáðàííîñòè ó åå ïðàâÿùåé ýëèòû è òåñíîìó ïåðåïëåòåíèþ êîñìîãîíèè è ñèìâîëè÷åñêîé ðåïðåçåíòàöèè âåðõîâíîé âëàñòè. Îñòàåòñÿ ëèøü ñîïîñòàâèòü îáíàðóæåííûå ïî òåì èëè èíûì ïðèíöèïàì “èìïåðèè” è íàéòè “îáùåå è îñîáåííîå” â èõ ñòðîåíèè è ôóíêöèîíèðîâàíèè. 14 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 è äàæå ýëåìåíòû ñèìâîëèêè, êàæäàÿ èìïåðèÿ ðàññìàòðèâàåò ñåáÿ êàê óëó÷øåííóþ è åäèíñòâåííóþ ìîäåëü àáñîëþòíîãî ïîðÿäêà.5 Âîò ïî÷åìó ñàì ïî ñåáå “èìïåðñêèé êîìïàðàòè┠íå ìîæåò ðàññìàòðèâàòüñÿ êàê óíèâåðñàëüíûé ìåòîä ñîçäàíèÿ àíàëèòè÷åñ- êîé ìîäåëè èìïåðèè: ïðÿìîìó ñðàâíåíèþ ïîääàåòñÿ ëèøü òî, ÷òî áûëî ïðèñóùå âîîáùå âñåì ñîöèàëüíî-ïîëèòè÷åñêèì îðãà- íèçàöèÿì ýïîõè, à óíèêàëüíûé âíóòðåííèé ìèð èìïåðèè îñòàåòñÿ âåùüþ â ñåáå, èáî íå áûë ñôîðìóëèðîâàí ðàöèîíàëüíî è ïîýòîìó íå âñòðàèâàåòñÿ â ñîâðåìåííóþ ñèñòåìó óíèâåðñàëüíîãî íàó÷- íîãî çíàíèÿ. Àëüòåðíàòèâîé âûÿâëåíèþ “èìïåðñêîñòè” ïðè ïîìîùè äèñòèë- ëÿöèè “òèïè÷åñêè èìïåðñêîãî” èç ñðàâíåíèÿ ðàçëè÷íûõ èñòîðè÷åñêèõ èìïåðèé ìîæåò áûòü áîëåå äîâåð÷èâîå è ñåðüåçíîå îòíîøåíèå ê ïîïûòêàì ñàìîðåïðåçåíòàöèè è ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ êàæäîé êîíêðåòíîé èìïåðèè. Êàê óæå ãîâîðèëîñü, íàèáîëåå àðòèêóëèðîâàííûå “äèñêóðñû èìïåðèè” íå ñîäåðæàò íèêàêîé ñïåöèôè÷åñêîé èìïåð- ñêîé èäåîëîãèè â ñîâðåìåííîì ïîíèìàíèè, â ëó÷øåì ñëó÷àå êîìáèíèðóÿ äèíàñòè÷åñêèé ìèô è ðåëèãèîçíûé ìåññèàíèçì. Îäíàêî ýòî íå îçíà÷àåò, ÷òî èìïåðèÿ âîâñå íå îñòàâèëà àóòåíòè÷íûõ ñâèäåòåëüñòâ ñâîåãî ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ è ïîòîìó ìîæåò ðàññìàòðèâàòüñÿ êàê ïàññèâíûé îáúåêò ïðîåêöèé ñîâðåìåííûõ êîíöåïòîâ è ìîäåëåé: “èìïåðèÿ – òþðüìà íàðîäîâ”, “èìïåðèÿ – ìíîãîíàöèîíàëüíîå ãîñóäàðñòâî”, è ò.ï. Ïðîáëåìà â òîì, ÷òî îñòàâëåííûå ñâèäåòåëü- ñòâà íåëüçÿ íåïîñðåäñòâåííî ñîîòíåñòè ñ ñîâðåìåííîé ñîöèàëüíî- ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ðåàëüíîñòüþ è îïûòîì àíàëèçà.  ýòîì ñìûñëå èçó÷åíèå èìïåðèè íå ÿâëÿåòñÿ “ãåíåàëîãèåé”, ïîñêîëüêó îòñóòñòâóåò íåïðåðûâíàÿ öåïî÷êà íàñëåäîâàíèÿ, êîíåö èìïåðèè âñåãäà êàòàñ- òðîôè÷åí è äàæå åñëè íà ìåñòå ñòàðîé èìïåðèè âîçíèêàåò íîâîå èìïåðñêîå îáðàçîâàíèå (ñð. Ðîññèéñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ – ÑÑÑÐ), î ïðÿìîì translatio imperii ãîâîðèòü íå ïðèõîäèòñÿ (êàê ñòàëî ÿñíî ïîñëå êëàññè÷åñêîãî èññëåäîâàíèÿ Ð. Ïàéïñà). Íî è “àðõåîëîãèåé” – â ñìûñëå, ñîîáùåííîì ýòîìó òåðìèíó Ì. Ôóêî – èìïåðñêèå øòóäèè â ïîëíîé ìåðå íå ÿâëÿþòñÿ: èìïåðèÿ íå ïðèñóòñòâóåò â ñîâðå- ìåííîì ñîöèàëüíîì îïûòå íåïîñðåäñòâåííî íè â ñêðûòîì, íè ⠓ñíÿòîì” âèäå. Ñêîðåå, ïðèõîäèòñÿ ãîâîðèòü î ïàëåîíòîëîãèè èìïåðèè, èçó÷åíèè îáùåñòâåííûõ îðãàíèçìîâ, êîòîðûå ñîâåðøåííî

5 Ñð. ðàññóæäåíèÿ Ý. Ïàãäåíà â ýòîì íîìåðå. 15 Îò Ðåäàêöèè, ßçûêè ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè è íàöèè... íåïîõîæè íà çíàêîìûå íàì ôîðìû è êîòîðûå ñóùåñòâîâàëè â ñîâåðøåííî èíûõ óñëîâèÿõ. Ìû ïðåäëàãàåì âçãëÿíóòü íà “èì- ïåðñêèé òåêñò” êàê íà ìåðòâûé ÿçûê, ãðàììàòèêà è ñåìàíòèêà êîòîðîãî íàâñåãäà îñòàëèñü óêîðåíåííûìè â ïðîøëîì. Áåçóñ- ëîâíî, ïðîáëåìà àäåêâàòíîãî “ïåðåâîäà” ðàñøèôðîâàííîãî òåêñòà íà ÿçûê ñîâðåìåííîãî îáùåñòâîâåäåíèÿ îñòàåòñÿ àêòó- àëüíîé. Îäíàêî ýïèñòåìîëîãè÷åñêè ýòà çàäà÷à èìååò èññëåäî- âàòåëüñêèé âåêòîð, îáðàòíûé àðõåîëîãèè çíàíèÿ: íàñ èíòåðåñóþò íå èñòîêè ñîâðåìåííîãî áûòîâàíèÿ ïîíÿòèÿ “èìïåðèÿ” â ïðî- øëûõ ôîðìàõ è íå ñåìàíòè÷åñêèå èíâàðèàíòû óïîòðåáëåíèÿ ýòîãî ïîíÿòèÿ â ïðîøëîì – âûÿâëåííûå ïðè ïîìîùè íàøåãî ñåãîäíÿøíåãî ïîíÿòèéíîãî àïïàðàòà è òåîðåòè÷åñêèõ ìîäåëåé, ò.å. íå “îïðîêèäûâàíèå” ñîâðåìåííîé ñèòóàöèè â èñòîðèþ. Ñêîðåå, íàñ âîëíóåò âîïðîñ î òîì, êàê ïðî÷èòàòü “ìåðòâûé ÿçûê” èìïåðèè, àáñòðàãèðîâàâøèñü îò íàñëîåíèé ïîçäíåéøèõ ÿçûêîâûõ íîðì è ïðàêòèê. Ýòî íå çíà÷èò, ÷òî òåì ñàìûì ìû ïðèáëèçèìñÿ ê ïîñòèæåíèþ ïðîøëîãî “êàê îíî áûëî íà ñàìîì äåëå”, îäíàêî ó íàñ ïîÿâèòñÿ øàíñ ëó÷øå ïîíÿòü, êàêàÿ êàðòèíà ìèðà è ðàöèîíàëüíîñòü ñîöèàëüíîãî ïîâåäåíèÿ êîíñòðóèðîâàëàñü â èìïåðèè. Òàêèì îáðàçîì, ðåêîíñòðóêöèÿ “ìåðòâûõ ÿçûêî┠è óòðà÷åííûõ çíà÷åíèé èìïåðèè – ïåðâûé àñïåêò ïðîáëåìû “ÿçûêîâ ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè è íàöèè”, êîòîðîé áóäóò ïîñâÿùåíû òåìàòè÷åñêèå íîìåðà æóðíàëà Ab Imperio â 2005 ã. Î÷åâèäíî, ÷òî ýòî íàïðàâëåíèå èññëåäîâàíèé äîëæíî îñíîâûâàòüñÿ íà ìàêñèìàëüíî ðàñøèðåííîé òðàêòîâêå ôåíîìåíà ÿçûêîâ ñàìî- îïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè, âêëþ÷àÿ òóäà, íàðÿäó ñ çàêîíîòâîð÷åñêîé äåÿòåëüíîñòüþ, ïîëèòè÷åñêèì è õóäîæåñòâåííûì äèñêóðñîì, ïðàêòèêè ñîöèàëüíîé ñàìîîðãàíèçàöèè è âçàèìîäåéñòâèÿ: â óñëî- âèÿõ ãåòåðîãåííîãî îáùåñòâà ñ íèçêèì óðîâíåì ãðàìîòíîñòè, ñîöèàëüíûé ïîñòóïîê è äàæå æåñò îáðåòàþò äîïîëíèòåëüíóþ ñåìèîòè÷åñêóþ íàãðóçêó.6

6 Èññëåäîâàíèå ïðèäâîðíîãî ðèòóàëà Ð. Óîðòìàíîì ÿâëÿåòñÿ ÷àñòíûì ïðèìåðîì òîãî, êàê ÿçûê ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè ìîæåò ïðî÷èòûâàòüñÿ â ñîöèàëüíîì æåñòå (ðèòóàëå), ïîäîáíîãî ðîäà àíàëèç ìîæíî ïðîâåñòè è â îòíîøåíèè íåïðèâèëåãèðîâàííûõ ãðóïï íàñåëåíèÿ èìïåðèè. Ðè÷àðä Ñ. Óîðòìàí. Ñöåíàðèè âëàñòè: Ìèôû è öåðåìîíèè ðóññêîé ìîíàðõèè. Òîì 1-2. Ìîñêâà, 2004.

16 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Âòîðûì àñïåêòîì ïðîáëåìû, êîòîðûé ìû ïðåäëàãàåì îáñóäèòü íàøèì àâòîðàì è ÷èòàòåëÿì, ÿâëÿåòñÿ âîïðîñ î ÿçûêîâîì òðàíñ- ôåðå è “ïåðåâîäå”: êàêèì îáðàçîì èìïåðñêèé îïûò òðàíñëèðî- âàëñÿ – èëè íåïîïðàâèìî èñêàæàëñÿ – â èñòîðè÷åñêîé íàóêå è ñîöèîëîãèè Íîâåéøåãî âðåìåíè. Ïðåæäå âñåãî, íàñ èíòåðåñóåò ñèòóàöèÿ ðàçðûâà ÿçûêîâîé ïðååìñòâåííîñòè. Ñîâðåìåííîå îáùåñòâîâåäåíèå âîçíèêëî â ñåðåäèíå-êîíöå XIX âåêà â ðàìêàõ íàöèîíàëüíûõ ãîñóäàðñòâ Çàïàäíîé Åâðîïû è áûëî îðèåíòèðî- âàíî íà èíòåðïðåòàöèþ ñîöèàëüíîé ðåàëüíîñòè ÷åðåç ïðèçìó íàöèè-ãîñóäàðñòâà êàê íîðìàòèâíîãî è “åñòåñòâåííîãî” ñîñòîÿíèÿ ñîöèàëüíî-ïîëèòè÷åñêîé îðãàíèçàöèè. Ñîîòâåòñòâåííî, êîíòè- íåíòàëüíûå ìíîãîíàöèîíàëüíûå èìïåðèè âîñïðèíèìàëèñü êàê àðõàè÷åñêèå è ðåàêöèîííûå ôîðìû ãîñóäàðñòâåííîñòè åùå äî òîãî, êàê èìïåðèè ðåàëüíî îêàçàëèñü â êðèçèñíîé ñèòóàöèè. Âîçíèêàåò âîïðîñ – êàêîâ áûë ìåõàíèçì ðàçðûâà ïðååìñòâåííîñòè â âîñïðèÿòèè èìïåðèè, áûë ëè ïàðòèêóëÿðèñòñêèé “èìïåðñêèé ÿçûê” çàáûò, âûòåñíåí èëè ïåðåêîäèðîâàí â ïðîöåññå óòâåðæäåíèÿ óíèâåðñàëüíîãî “íàöèîíàëüíîãî” ÿçûêà? Ñâÿçàííûé ñ ýòèì âîïðîñ – ïî÷åìó âïîëíå ìîäåðíèçèðîâàííûå èíòåëëåêòóàëû åâðîïåéñêèõ èìïåðèé êîíöà XIX â. íå ñìîãëè (èëè íå çàõîòåëè) ïðîòèâîïîñòàâèòü íåêóþ àëüòåðíàòèâó íàöèîíàëè- çèðóþùåé ïàðàäèãìå? Äàæå òàêèå êðóïíûå è âëèÿòåëüíûå íàó÷íûå öåíòðû êîíòèíåíòàëüíûõ èìïåðèé êàê Âåíà èëè Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðã îêàçàëèñü â ïëåíó íàöèîíàëüíîãî äèñêóðñà. Âîçìîæíî, ýòî ìîæíî îáúÿñíèòü òåì, ÷òî ôîðìèðóþùàÿñÿ ïîçèòèâèñòñêàÿ ïðåäñòðóê- òóðàëèñòñêàÿ ïàðàäèãìà â îáùåñòâåííûõ íàóêàõ îðèåíòèðîâàëà èññëåäîâàòåëåé íà ïîèñê íåêèõ îáúåêòèâíûõ ïåðâîýëåìåíòîâ, èç êîòîðûõ ñêëàäûâàåòñÿ ñëîæíîå îáùåñòâî ïîäîáíî ïåðèîäè÷åñêîé ñèñòåìå õèìè÷åñêèõ ýëåìåíòîâ. “Íàðîä” è “íàöèÿ” îêàçûâàëèñü îñíîâíûìè êàíäèäàòàìè íà ðîëü òàêèõ ñîöèàëüíûõ ñòðîèòåëüíûõ áëîêîâ. Òàêèì îáðàçîì, èìïåðñêîå îáùåñòâîâåäåíèå XIX – íà÷àëà ÕÕ ââ., íåñìîòðÿ íà ñóùåñòâîâàíèå ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî çàêàçà íà ëåãèòè- ìèçàöèþ ìíîãîíàöèîíàëüíûõ ïîëèòèé, áûëî íåñïîñîáíî ïðåäëîæèòü àëüòåðíàòèâíóþ ñèíòåòè÷åñêóþ ìîäåëü, êîòîðàÿ èñõîäèëà áû èç ñàìîäîñòàòî÷íîñòè “öåëîãî” è âû÷ëåíÿëà áû åãî “ýëåìåíòû” àíà- ëèòè÷åñêè è â ðàìêàõ îäíîâðåìåííî íåñêîëüêèõ àëüòåðíàòèâíûõ ñèñòåì êëàññèôèêàöèè (e.g. íàðîäû/êîíôåññèè/ñîöèàëüíûå ãðóïïû/

17 Îò Ðåäàêöèè, ßçûêè ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè è íàöèè... ýêîíîìè÷åñêèå êëàññû è ïð.). Âìåñòî ýòîãî, ñèíòåç îñóùåñòâëÿëñÿ “ñíèçó-ââåðõ”, “îò ÷àñòíîãî ê öåëîìó”, è â ðàìêàõ òîëüêî îäíîé êîíöåïòóàëüíîé ïàðàäèãìû (ýòíîñ-íàðîä-íàöèÿ). Òàêèì îáðàçîì, èìïåðñêèé ñèíòåç ÿâëÿëñÿ ìåõàíè÷åñêèì è èçíà÷àëüíî ñîäåðæàë â ñåáå âîçìîæíîñòü äåêîíñòðóêöèè áåç íàðóøåíèÿ ïðèíöèïîâ èñõîäíîé öåëîñòíîñòè. Ïðîâîçãëàøåíèå ïðèíöèïà ïðàâà íàöèé íà ñàìîîïðåäåëåíèå íà çàâåðøàþùåì ýòàïå Ïåðâîé ìèðîâîé âîéíû îêàçàëîñü, ïî ñóòè, ëèøü ïîëèòè÷åñêè ýêñïëèöèòíîé ôîðìóëèðîâêîé àíàëèòè÷åñêè î÷åâèäíîãî âûâîäà, âûòåêàâøåãî èç ïðåäøåñòâóþ- ùåãî ïåðèîäà ðàçâèòèÿ çàïàäíîãî îáùåñòâîâåäåíèÿ.  ðåçóëüòàòå, íåñìîòðÿ íà òî, ÷òî èìïåðñêîå îáùåñòâîâåäåíèå ðàñïîëàãàëî íåêîòîðûìè óíèêàëüíûìè “âîçìîæíîñòÿìè ïðåäñòàâëåíèÿ” äëÿ êîíöåïòóàëèçàöèè ôåíîìåíà èìïåðèè, îíî íå ñìîãëî ïðåäëîæèòü ïîëíîöåííóþ àëüòåðíàòèâó íàöèîíàëèçèðóþùåé ïàðàäèãìå, ïðåæäå âñåãî, èç-çà îòñóòñòâèÿ ñîáñòâåííîãî íàó÷íîãî ÿçûêà (à çíà÷èò, è ñïîñîáîâ ôèêñàöèè è èíòåðïðåòàöèè ñâîåãî âèäåíèÿ ïðîáëåìû). Îäíàêî çíà÷èò ëè ýòî, ÷òî “íàöèîíàëèçèðóþùåå” îáùåñòâîâåäåíèå Íîâîãî âðåìåíè â ñòàðûõ êîíòèíåíòàëüíûõ èìïåðèÿõ íè ÷åì íå îòëè÷àëîñü îò ìîäåðíîãî îáùåñòâîâåäåíèÿ â íîâûõ íàöèî- íàëüíûõ ãîñóäàðñòâàõ Åâðîïû? Ìîæíî ëè ñ÷èòàòü îòñóòñòâèå àëüòåðíàòèâíîãî ÿçûêà îïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè èçíóòðè ñâèäåòåëü- ñòâîì òîãî, ÷òî ìåñòíûå èíòåëëåêòóàëû è íå âèäåëè íèêàêîé ñïåöèôèêè èìïåðñêèõ îáùåñòâ? Ïàðàäîêñàëüíûì îáðàçîì, ñîâðå- ìåííûì èññëåäîâàòåëÿì ïðèõîäèòñÿ ðåêîíñòðóèðîâàòü âîçìîæíûå “ÿçûêè ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè” òî÷íî òàê æå, êàê â ðàìêàõ êîí- âåíöèîííûõ èñòîðè÷åñêèõ èññëåäîâàíèé êîíñòðóèðóþòñÿ ìåòà- íàððàòèâû, îïèñûâàþùèå îáúåêò èññëåäîâàíèÿ ðåòðîñïåêòèâíî. Åñëè îáû÷íî èñòîðèêè ïûòàþòñÿ äèñòàíöèðîâàòüñÿ îò ÿçûêîâ ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ, “ïðîøèòûõ” â èñòî÷íèêàõ, â íàøåì ñëó÷àå çàäà÷åé äîëæíî áûòü âîññîçäàíèå âíóòðèèìïåðñêîãî êîíòåêñòà, òåõ òðîïîâ è ñïîñîáîâ ïðåäñòàâëåíèé (ïóñòü óæå è íà ýòàïå äîìèíè- ðîâàíèÿ ìîäåðíîãî ÿçûêà “íàöèîíàëüíîãî”), êîòîðûå îïðåäåëÿëè èìïåðñêèå ïðàêòèêè. Íàêîíåö, òðåòèé àñïåêò ïðîáëåìû èìïåðñêèõ ÿçûêîâ ñàìîîïè- ñàíèÿ (êàê è “èìïåðñêèõ øòóäèé” â öåëîì) ìîæíî îïðåäåëèòü êàê èìïëèêàöèè òåîðèè â ïðèêëàäíîé ïëîñêîñòè: áóäü òî ïðàêòè÷åñêèå ïîëèòè÷åñêèå ðåöåïòû èëè âîçäåéñòâèå íà ìàññîâîå ñîçíàíèå â

18 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ðåçóëüòàòå èíòåðèîðèçàöèè íàó÷íîé êîíöåïöèè àâòîðàìè øêîëüíûõ ó÷åáíèêîâ èëè ñîçäàòåëÿìè ìåäèà-ïðîäóêöèè (òåëåñåðèàëîâ, êèíîôèëüìîâ, ïîïóëÿðíîãî ÷òèâà).  òî âðåìÿ êàê èñòîðèêè íå ìîãóò êîíòðîëèðîâàòü èñïîëüçîâàíèå ðåçóëüòàòîâ èõ èññëåäî- âàíèé çà ïðåäåëàìè àêàäåìè÷åñêîãî ñîîáùåñòâà, ýòî íå îñâîáîæ- äàåò èõ îò îòâåòñòâåííîñòè çà ïîñëåäñòâèÿ. Íàáëþäàþùèéñÿ áóì èìïåðñêèõ èññëåäîâàíèé ìîæåò èìåòü íåïðåäñêàçóåìîå âëèÿíèå íà îáùåñòâåííûå íàñòðîåíèÿ. Èìïåðèÿ, êîòîðàÿ èíòåðåñóåò íàñ â ðàìêàõ ãîäîâîé ïðîãðàììû æóðíàëà, – ôåíîìåí äðóãîé ýïîõè, êîòîðûé ñâÿçûâàåò ñ äíåì ñåãîäíÿøíèì òîëüêî íàçâàíèå. Íî è ýòî îáñòîÿ- òåëüñòâî ÷ðåâàòî îñëîæíåíèÿìè, ïîñêîëüêó “èìïåðèÿ” – ñ îïðåäå- ëåííûì íàáîðîì êîííîòàöèé – ÿâëÿåòñÿ òàêæå ÷àñòüþ ñîâðåìåííîé ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ðèòîðèêè è êîíöåïòóàëüíîé äèíàìèêè Íîâîãî âðåìåíè â öåëîì.  òî âðåìÿ, êàê íàñ èíòåðåñóåò èíîé óðîâåíü ôóíêöèîíèðîâàíèÿ ÿçûêà – “èìïåðèÿ” êàê àíàëèòè÷åñêàÿ êàòåãîðèÿ ãóìàíèòàðíûõ íàóê, îïèñûâàþùàÿ áåçâîçâðàòíî óøåäøóþ êàòå- ãîðèþ ïðàêòèêè, – ýòà ýïèñòåìîëîãè÷åñêàÿ ñèòóàöèÿ â ïðèíöèïå îáðàòèìà è ìîæåò ïîñëóæèòü îñíîâàíèåì äëÿ ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ íåêèõ íîâûõ èìïåðñêèõ ïðàêòèê íà îñíîâå ïðîâåäåííîãî èññëåäî- âàòåëÿìè àíàëèçà. Òàêàÿ âîçìîæíîñòü çàëîæåíà â ñàìîì èíòåðåñå ñîâðåìåííûõ èñòîðèêîâ è îáùåñòâîâåäîâ ê èìïåðèè (à çíà÷èò – ê àêòóàëèçàöèè èìïåðñêîãî íàñëåäèÿ). Íàó÷íûé èíòåðåñ íå ïîääàåòñÿ ýôôåêòèâíîé öåíçóðå, íî ïðåäó- ãàäûâàÿ âîçìîæíûå íåãàòèâíûå ïîñëåäñòâèÿ “èìïåðñêèõ øòóäèé” äëÿ ñîâðåìåííîé ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ñèòóàöèè âàæíî ïîä÷åðêíóòü òå ïðàêòè÷åñêèå èìïëèêàöèè òåîðèè, êîòîðûå ìû ñ÷èòàåì ïîçèòèâ- íûìè. Ïðåæäå âñåãî, ðå÷ü èäåò î êðèòè÷åñêîì êîìïîíåíòå òåîðèè, îðèåíòèðîâàííîé íà èçó÷åíèå “èìïåðèè” êàê ñèòóàöèè, à íå ñòðóê- òóðû. Òåì ñàìûì ïîÿâëÿåòñÿ âîçìîæíîñòü ñîõðàíåíèÿ äèñòàíöèè îò îáúåêòà èññëåäîâàíèÿ, îáðàùåíèÿ ê ïðîøëîìó áåç èäåàëèçàöèè “ñâîåãî” èñòîðè÷åñêîãî ìàòåðèàëà. Àíàëèç èìïåðñêèõ ïðàêòèê ïîçâîëÿåò óâèäåòü èëëþçîðíîñòü âíåøíåé ìîíîëèòíîñòè è êàæó- ùåãîñÿ âñåìîãóùåñòâà èìïåðñêîãî àïïàðàòà, ãèïíîòèçèðóþùèõ ìíîãèõ íàøèõ ñîâðåìåííèêîâ, è îöåíèòü ðîëü äèâåðñèôèêàöèè ðåàëüíîé âëàñòè ìåæäó ëîêàëüíûìè ýëèòàìè. Íå ìåíåå âàæíà ðîëü ñàìîîðãàíèçóþùèõñÿ ñîöèàëüíûõ ãðóïï â ïîääåðæàíèè ñòàáèëü- íîñòè ãåòåðîãåííûõ ïîëèòèé. Èçó÷àÿ èìïåðèþ ÷åðåç ïðèçìó

19 Îò Ðåäàêöèè, ßçûêè ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè è íàöèè... “èìïåðñêèõ ïðàêòèê” èëè “èìïåðñêèõ ÿçûêîâ ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ”, ìû ïîëó÷àåì âîçìîæíîñòü ïðåîäîëåòü âíåøíèé êîíòóð èíñòè- òóöèîíàëüíîé èñòîðèè è ðàçãëÿäåòü ñòîÿùèå çà ýòèìè ïðàêòè- êàìè è ÿçûêàìè ñóáúåêòû – ñîöèàëüíûå ãðóïïû èëè àêòîðû. Èç ýòîãî ñëåäóåò ïðèíöèïèàëüíàÿ óñòàíîâêà íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè íà âûÿâëåíèå ìíîæåñòâåííûõ “ñóáúåêòîâ”, äåéñòâóþùèõ çà÷àñòóþ íåñîãëàñîâàííî è äàæå âîïðåêè èíòåðåñàì äðóã äðóãà, â ðåçóëüòàòå ÷åãî òå èëè èíûå îáùåèìïåðñêèå òðîïû èëè ñòðà- òåãèè ïîâåäåíèÿ ðîæäàþòñÿ â õîäå âçàèìîäåéñòâèÿ ïðåäñòàâëåíèé è óñòðåìëåíèé îòäåëüíûõ ñóáúåêòîâ. Òàêèì îáðàçîì, ìîæíî óòâåðæäàòü, ÷òî ïîëèòè÷åñêèå èìïëèêàöèè íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè ñêîðåå ïðîòèâîðå÷àò àâòîðèòàðíî-õîëèñòñêèì èäåîëî- ãè÷åñêèì ïîñòðîåíèÿì. Ïðåæäå ÷åì ïåðåéòè ê äåòàëüíîìó ðàññìîòðåíèþ ôåíîìåíà ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî ÿçûêà èìïåðèè è íàöèè â íîìåðå 2/2005, ìîäóñîâ ñîöèàëüíî-ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî è êóëüòóðíîãî ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ â íîìåðå 3/2005 è ïðîáëåìû èìïåðñêîãî íàñëåäèÿ â íîìåðå 4/2005, â íàñòîÿ- ùåì íîìåðå (1/2005) ìû õîòèì âïèñàòü ïðîáëåìàòèêó “ëèíãâèñòè- ÷åñêîãî ïîâîðîòà” â êîíòåêñò íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè. Ñæèìàÿ ïÿòèëåòíèé îïûò èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî ïðîåêòà Ab Imperio äî ðàçìåðîâ îäíîãî ðàçäåëà æóðíàëà, ìû îòâîäèì ðóáðèêó Ìåòîäîëîãèÿ è òåîðèÿ îáñóæäåíèþ ïðîãðàììû íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè. Ýòîò áëîê ìàòåðèàëîâ îòêðûâàåòñÿ ðåäàêòîðñêèì Ââåäåíèåì â ñáîðíèê “Íîâàÿ èìïåðñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ”, ïåðåâåäåííûì íà àíãëèéñêèé ÿçûê; çà íèì ñëåäóþò êîììåíòàðèè èñòîðèêîâ, çàíèìàþùèõñÿ èìïåðñêèì ôåíîìåíîì â êîíòåêñòå ðîññèéñêîé, åâðîïåéñêîé è àìåðèêàíñêîé èñòîðèè (À. Êàìåíñêèé, À. Ñêèä, Ð. ×ó). Äîìèíèê Ëèâåí ïðåäëàãàåò àëüòåðíàòèâíîå âèäåíèå äàëüíåéøåãî íàïðàâëåíèÿ “èìïåðñêèõ øòóäèé”, âî ìíîãîì îñíîâàííîå íà ðåâèçèè òðàäèöèè òèïîëîãè- çàöèè è ñðàâíèòåëüíîãî èçó÷åíèÿ èìïåðèé. Ñâîåîáðàçíûì ñèíòåçîì îêàçûâàåòñÿ çàâåðøàþùåå ðóáðèêó èíòåðâüþ ñ Ýíòîíè Ïàãäåíîì, êîòîðûé ïðåäëàãàåò ñâîå ïðî÷òåíèå ôåíîìåíà “ÿçûêà” èìïåðèè êàê ðàçâèòèÿ êîíöåïöèé ðàçäåëåííîãî ñóâåðåíèòåòà â èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîé èñòîðèè ðàííåãî Íîâîãî âðåìåíè è îáñóæäàåò âîçìîæíîñòè ñèíòå- çèðîâàíèÿ èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêèõ òåíäåíöèé ïîñëåäíèõ äåñÿòèëåòèé (ïîëèòè÷åñêîé èñòîðèè èìïåðèé è ïîñòêîëîíèàëüíîé ïàðàäèãìû) êàê îäèí èç ñïîñîáîâ èçó÷åíèÿ ÿçûêîâ èìïåðñêîãî ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ.

20 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Òðàäèöèîííî çàïîëíåííàÿ îðèãèíàëüíûìè èñòîðè÷åñêèìè èññëåäîâàíèÿìè, ðóáðèêà Èñòîðèÿ â ýòîò ðàç öåëèêîì îòäàíà èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêîìó ôîðóìó, ïîñâÿùåííîìó êíèãå Þðèÿ Ñë¸ç- êèíà The Jewish Century (“Ýðà Ìåðêóðèÿ” â ðóññêîì èçäàíèè). Ñ íàøåé òî÷êè çðåíèÿ, êíèãà Þðèÿ Ñë¸çêèíà ÿâëÿåòñÿ îäíîé èç ñàìûõ çíà÷èòåëüíûõ çà ïîñëåäíåå âðåìÿ ïîïûòîê íàùóïàòü ñïîñîá âçàèìíîãî ïåðåâîäà äîìîäåðíûõ è ìîäåðíûõ êàòåãîðèé ïðè ïîìîùè íåêèõ ìåòàèñòîðè÷åñêèõ òðîïîâ (â äàííîì ñëó÷àå, ðå÷ü èäåò îá îïèñàíèè ôåíîìåíà Ìîäåðíîñòè ïðè ïîìîùè äîìî- äåðíîé ôèãóðû “åâðåÿ”). Ïî÷òè îäíîâðåìåííî èçäàííàÿ â ÑØÀ è â Ðîññèè, êíèãà Ñë¸çêèíà îêàçàëàñü èäåàëüíûì “èñòîðèîã- ðàôè÷åñêèì ñîáûòèåì” ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ íàøåãî æóðíàëà, ïðèíöèïè- àëüíî îðèåíòèðîâàííîãî íà ïîääåðæàíèå åäèíîãî àêàäåìè÷åñêîãî ïðîñòðàíñòâà, ïåðåêðûâàþùåãî íàöèîíàëüíûå èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêèå òðàäèöèè.  ðóáðèêå Àðõèâ ìû ïóáëèêóåì ñòàòüþ Éîõàíàíà Ïåòðîâñ- êîãî-Øòåðíà è ïðåäñòàâëåííûå èì äîêóìåíòû, ñîîòâåòñòâóþùèå íàøåìó ïðåäñòàâëåíèþ î ñïåöèôèêå èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî âçãëÿäà â ïàðàäèãìå íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè. É. Ïåòðîâñêèé-Øòåðí íå îãðàíè÷èâàåòñÿ àíàëèçîì “âåðòèêàëüíûõ” èçîëèðîâàííûõ ñâÿçåé ìåæäó ìåòðîïîëèåé è êîëîíèÿìè / öåíòðîì è ïåðèôåðèåé / ñóáúåêòîì äèñêóðñà è ïîä÷èíåííûì Äðóãèì (“ñóáàëüòåðíîì”). Åäâà ëè íå ãëàâíîå âíèìàíèå îí óäåëÿåò “ãîðèçîíòàëüíûì” ñâÿçÿì ìåæäó íåïðèâèëåãèðîâàííûìè àêòîðàìè (è ýòè ñâÿçè íå îáÿçàòåëüíî îïîñðåäîâàííû ìåòðîïîëèåé èëè åå àãåíòàìè). Òàê, ãëàâíûé ãåðîé ïóáëèêàöèè Ïåòðîâñêîãî-Øòåðíà, ïðåäñòà- âèòåëü êëàíà åâðåéñêèõ êàïèòàëèñòîâ èç óêðàèíñêîãî Ãóëÿé- Ïîëÿ, Ãðèãîðèé Êåðíåð, â êîíöå XIX â. âûáèðàåò ïóòü èíòåã- ðàöèè â ôîðìèðóþùèéñÿ óêðàèíñêèé íàöèîíàëüíûé ïðîåêò. Âîïðåêè ñîâðåìåííûì òåîðèÿì íàöèîíàëèçìà, êîòîðûå èñõîäÿò èç íåèçáåæíîñòè èíòåãðàöèè “óãíåòàåìîãî ìåíüøèíñòâà” â äîìèíèðóþùóþ íàöèîíàëüíóþ êóëüòóðó (â äàííîì ñëó÷àå, â îôèöèàëüíóþ ðóññêóþ èëè ñòîëü æå ïðåñòèæíóþ è áîëåå èíê- ëþçèâíóþ ïîëüñêóþ), Êåðíåð ïðèíÿë èìÿ “Ãðûöüêî Êåðíåðåíêî” è íà÷àë ïèñàòü ñòèõè íà óêðàèíñêîì ÿçûêå, îáëåêàÿ ñâîþ åâðåé- ñêóþ èäåíòè÷íîñòü â òåðìèíû óêðàèíñêîãî íàöèîíàëüíîãî âîçðîæäåíèÿ.

21 Îò Ðåäàêöèè, ßçûêè ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè è íàöèè... Ðóáðèêà Ïîëèòîëîãèÿ âêëþ÷àåò ñòàòüþ Ä. Ãîðåíáóðãà î ÿçûêî- âîé ïîëèòèêå â Òàòàðñòàíå è ñòàòüþ Äæ. Øåâàëüå î ÿçûêîâîé ñèòóàöèè â Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè â öåëîì è ñòàòóñå ðóññêîãî ÿçûêà. Êàê âñåãäà â íàøåì æóðíàëå, ìû èñõîäèì èç òîãî, ÷òî ìîäåëè îáùåñòâîâåäîâ ðåëåâàíòíû äëÿ èñòîðèêîâ, è íàîáîðîò.  íîìåðå òàêæå ñîäåðæèòñÿ èíôîðìàöèÿ î íîâîé ìåæäóíàðîäíîé èíèöèàòèâå Ab Imperio (ïðîãðàììà ïðåïîäàâàòåëüñêîãî ïàðòíåðñòâà ìåæäó Êàçàíñêèì ãîñóäàðñòâåííûì óíèâåðñèòåòîì è Óíèâåð- ñèòåòîì Ðàòãåðñ, ÑØÀ) è óêàçàòåëè ê âûøåäøèì íîìåðàì æóð- íàëà çà ïÿòü ëåò.  öåëîì, ìû ðàññìàòðèâàåì ïðåäëàãàåìûé âíèìàíèþ ÷èòàòåëåé íîìåð êàê òî÷êó îòñ÷åòà äëÿ íîâîãî ýòàïà â ðàçâèòèè êîëëåêòèâíîãî èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî ïðîåêòà AI.

Ðåäàêöèÿ Ab Imperio: È. Ãåðàñèìîâ Ñ. Ãëåáîâ A. Êàïëóíîâñêèé M. Ìîãèëüíåð A. Ñåìåíîâ

22 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

I. GERASIMOV, S. GLEBOV, A. KAPLUNOVSKI, M. MOGILNER, A. SEMYONOV

IN SEARCH OF A NEW IMPERIAL HISTORY*

The semantics of the term “empire” is overloaded with superlatives and loud epithets. The concept of empire is so universal and all-encompassing that it appears to have no particular meaning at all. Indeed, empire embodies the grim totality of unlimited domination and coercion; at the same time, it turns out to be a synonym for the clumsy neologism of “world-system” (or “world civilization”) and evokes a unifying principle for a universe surrounded by the destructive elements of chaos and barbarism. Empire is simultaneously associated with the bygone splendor of upper classes in metropolises and with exploitation and domination in the colonies. An empire is at once a tireless and undefeatable aggressor and expansionist, and a colossus standing on clay feet, unable to keep in check the centrifugal forces that lead to its downfall, and always ready to collapse from a minor disturbance. Empire is the “the prison of peoples,” but it is also the guarantor of the preservation of local originality and difference in the face of stan- dardizing projects. What, then, is the purpose of using the term empire (apart from the fact that for the two millennia of Anno Domini it had been employed to describe the legal status of the greatest polities of the Old World, and, retrospectively or by analogy, of the entire world)?

* Original Russian version of this article first appeared as an Introduction in I. Gerasimov, S. Glebov, A. Kaplunovski, M. Mogilner, A. Semyonov (Eds.). Novaia imperskaia istoriia postsovetskogo prostranstva. Kazan, 2004. Pp. 7-29 (for more information on the book please visit www.abimperio.net). 33 In Search of a New Imperial History The Post-National Situation The nation-state, which only recently appeared to be the “natural primary element” of the world political order and of national self-realization, is currently facing a crisis. It would seem that the collapse of the Soviet Union and the emergence of the newly independent states in Eastern Europe and Eurasia have reconfirmed traditional assumptions about the unavoidable disintegration of multinational polities. However, this disintegration was followed by studies of “new nationalism” and of crises in the post-World War II balance in interna- tional relations, which questioned both the unconditional legitimacy and the self-evident nature of the nation-state principle. The nation-state became an object for reconsideration in the context of discussions of historical and contemporary processes in the world.1 On the other hand, the European Union, with its principle of voluntary partial renunciation of sovereignty by the partici- pating states, has led many observers to again question the nation-state as the basic unit of international political space. Ongoing discussions of the relevance of intervention in the affairs of sovereign states in the name of humanitarianism have underscored doubts about nation-states and their legitimacy.2

1 Political processes of national self-determination and nation-building coincided with the active phase in the development of nationalism theories. Within this theorizing, the nation was seen not as an ontological entity and a political and social reality, but as a system of practices determining its perception (R. Brubaker. Nationalism Reframed. Cambridge, 1996; J. Hutchinson and A. Smith (Eds.). Nationalism. Critical Concepts in Political Science. Vols. 1-5. Routledge, 2000). At the same time, one cannot tie constructivist approaches to the phenomenon of nationhood with the politically inspired doubts in the irresistible force of the principle of nationality and nation-state for the discursive nature of modern nationalist practices does not necessarily mean that nations lack “real” influence on the world of social and political relations. (The classic summary of this thesis was offered by Benedict Anderson in B. Anderson. Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London, 1983; A. Semyonov. Interview with Benedict Anderson: “We Study Empires as We Do Dinosaurs,” Nations, Nationalism, and Empire in a Critical Perspective // Ab Imperio. 2003. No. 3. Pp. 57-73). This is why a radically oriented and politically relevant research into the possibility of the nation-state’s adjustment to the realities of the “post-national” world appears perfectly compatible with a constructivist approach to theories of nationalism: Will Kymlicka. Multicultural Citizenship. A Liberal Theory of Minority Rights. Oxford, 1995. 2 See, for example, Mabel Berezin and Martin Schain (Eds.). Europe without Borders. Remapping Territory, Citizenship, and Identity in a Transnational Age. Baltimore, 2003; T. V. Paul, G. John Ikenberry, and John A. Hall (Eds.). The Nation-state in Question. Princeton, NJ, 2003. On humanitarian intervention and national sovereignty, see works by the British philosopher Mary Kaldor. New and Old Wars. Organised Violence in a Global Era. Cambridge, 1999. 34 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Against the background of globalization and the unprecedented intensi- fication of contacts between different cultures, the category “empire” all too often appears as a semi-conscious attempt to employ a pre-national category to designate the realities of an emerging post-national situation, characterized by a hierarchically consolidated system of sovereign polities, specific economic regimes, and ethno-confessional areas and subcultures within the framework of a given political space.3 It is not accidental that empire has become a fashionable topic of scholarly debate and of political writing, provoking ambiguous attempts to turn empire into a category of analysis.4 A short excursion into the history of the conceptual evolution of empire should guide us better through the causes and the character of today’s boom in “empire studies.”

Ab Imperio In the political rhetoric of recent times the empire label has often been used as an important element in discrediting a political regime and as a symbol of repressive and undemocratic political organization. It suffices to invoke Ronald Reagan’s

3 Such a view of empire was offered in Dominic Lieven. Empire. The Russian Empire and Its Rivals. London, 2000. In a similar vein, researchers address the category of empire when working on histories of multiethnic and spatial polities or when contemporizing “global” or “world” history as a “historical precedent” of contemporary globalization. William McNeill. A Defense of World History // Transactions of the Royal Historical Society. 1982. Vol. 5. No. 32. Pp. 75-89; Michael Geyer and Charles Bright. World History in a Global Age // American Historical Review. 1995. Vol. 100. No. 4. Pp. 1034-1060; Anthony Pagden. Peoples and Empires. A Short History of European Migration, Exploration, and Conquest, from Greece to the Present. London, 2001; J. Muldoon. Empire and Order. The Concept of Empire. 800-1800. New York, 1999. A separate place in the literature belongs to the work of Michael Doyle, who offered the first post-Cold War version of a sociologically comparative theory of empire, thus furthering the intellectual tradition of Samuel Eisenstadt. M. Doyle. Empires. Ithaca, London, 1986; S. M. Eisenstadt. The Political Systems of Empires. London, 1992. 4 More and more often we see attempts to conceptualize the contemporary United States or European Union as empires: Niall Ferguson. Empire. The Rise and Demise of the British World Order and the Lessons for Global Power. New York, 2003; N. Ferguson. Colossus. The Price of America’s Empire. New York, 2004; Jim Garrison. America as Empire. Global Leader or Rogue Power? San Francisco, 2004; Andrew J. Bacevich (Ed.). The Imperial Tense. Prospects and Problems of American Empire. Chicago, 2003; A. Bacevich. American Empire. The Realities and Consequences of US Diplomacy. Cambridge, 2003; Paul A. Passavant and Jodi Dean (Eds.). Empire’s New Clothes. Reading Hardt and Negri. New York, London, 2004; Michael Mann. Incoherent Empire. London, New York, 2003; József Böröcz and Melinda Kovács (Eds.). Empire’s New Clothes: Unveiling EU Enlargement. Central European Review (Electronic Book). , 2001. 35 In Search of a New Imperial History “evil empire” speech to demonstrate the entire cargo of negative connotations associated in mass consciousness with the historical or metaphorical phenomenon of empire.5 However, the image of empire as one overloaded by negative associa- tions is not only endemic to rhetorical and popular myths: for the most part, empire is also presented in modern political language as a despotic (and therefore illegitimate) political regime, incompatible with human rights, democracy, and the rule of law. A normative judgment of empire easily transcends the boundary between foreign and domestic policy. In international relations discourse, empire is represented as an aggressive state aimed at conquest of and control over vast spaces and numerous peoples (see the critique of imperialism).6 If from the point of view of contemporary political culture the internal structure of empire is illegiti- mate because of the regime’s appropriation of legitimacy rightfully belonging to the civic nation, then empire’s external expansion is assessed negatively for infringing upon yet another fundamental political principle of the modern era – the principle of nation-state sovereignty. The political language of modernity is pregnant with particular assumptions about empires’ historically predetermined doom, at least since the classic works by Eduard Gibbon and Charles Montesquieu.7

5 It is possible that the American president was referring to the popular film series Star Wars, the imperial semantics of which has been reflected upon in scholarly works focusing on empires: R. Suny. The Empire Strikes Out. Imperial Russia, “National” Identity, and Theories of Empire // T. Martin, R. Suny (Eds.). Empire and Nation-Making in the Age of Lenin and Stalin. Oxford, 2002; Dominic Lieven pointed out that the movie reflected the popular myth of empire as opposed to the free world. D. Lieven. Empire. The Russian Empire and its Rivals. Pp. 6-7. 6 Imperialism as a phenomenon has provoked significant scholarly output. At the source of this literature is the work: J. A. Hobson. Imperialism. A Study. London, 1902. The field of imperialism studies underwent essential evolution under the impact of the work of Lenin and the Marxist branch of social sciences in general. Due to these works, the initial focus on the expansion of European states outside the boundaries of the national state has been expanded. Imperialist expansion came to be viewed as a factor in determining the transfor- mation of the social and economic regime of capitalist societies themselves. At the same time, scholars of imperialism did not reflect upon the problem of boundaries between the subject of imperialism and the subjugated space. As Antonio Negri points out, the contemporary relevance of the category of empire is related to the fact that it fixes the type of political and social space in which not only one imperialist hegemon replaces the other, but also the very key foundation of modern imperialism, sovereignty, is transformed. Michael Hardt, Antonio Negri. Empire. Harvard, 2000. Pp. vii, 31, 232. 7 R. McKitterick and R. Quinault (Eds.). Edward Gibbon and Empire. Cambridge, 1997. The metaphor of decline, downfall, and disintegration was attached to empire to a large extent due to efforts by Enlightenment thinkers. Despite the fact that Voltaire, who believed in absolutism as an instrument for the rational ordering of the world, wrote a celebratory history of Peter the Great, and the ideologues of Napoleonic France saw in the First Empire a means to spread Enlightenment, it was the nation-state, which combined rationalism and 36 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Obviously, contemporary political discourse describes empire as an archaic object alien to modern man. This description is based upon philosophical assumptions about the “norm” of modernity (including the concept of “normal” political organization). Evidently, the norm of modernity incorporated the right of nation-states to exercise colonial domination throughout the world. Hence, the British and French empires were perceived as justified and morally defensible introductions of civilization to “backward” and unenlightened corners of the planet. At the same time, from the point of view of the symbolic positioning of the norm, it is quite revealing that the concept of empire served to describe the extra-European political experiences of Europeans (as was the case with the coronation of Queen Victoria as the “Empress of India”), or was employed to overcome crises of modern political forms (as was the case with the Napoleonic empire, which put an end to attempts to realize the republican ideal in the course of the French Revolution). The 20th century completed the process of the de-modernization of empire, which became an archaic term, partly against the background of the results of World War I and partly in the course of the disintegration of colonial systems. Even as early as the 19th century, though, the idea of imperial legitimacy and benevolence did not preclude a harsh critique of the empires that incorporated more or less “European” peoples, and which were understood as composite multiethnic polities. The emergence and accumulation of these negative connotations of empire continued gradually and irregularly as the political, international, and socio-cultural order of modernity was being born.

Summa imperii: Empire as a Political Category Initially, empire (imperium) designated supreme authority built upon military prowess and success. Subsequently, the specific semantics of empire was determined by the political thought of each given epoch. During the Renaissance and the beginning of the fragmentation of the single West European cultural space, the tradition of classical republicanism, especially in Niccolo Machiavelli’s version, formulated a thorough critique of empire. This tradition preserved its influence on the emergence of early modern European political language, during the formation of the first British Empire, universalism of the Enlightenment with the Romantic belief in the people’s spirit, that became the main “proto-element” of our perceptions of the teleological and normative social and political order of the world. 37 In Search of a New Imperial History and upon the Enlightenment up until the American Revolution.8 Classical republicanism criticized empire as the opposite of its republican political ideal. For classical republicanism, empire was an illegitimate political construct prone to crises and decline.9 Later, British publicists saw the develop- ment of colonial commerce as a possible threat leading to the moral decomposition of the domestic political regime, even as they celebrated the grandeur, might, and expanse of their empire.10 American revolutionaries viewed empire as an obstacle on the way toward a new political regime (the mixed constitution) in the colonies, which moreover created opportunities for abuse by the crown administration and for the moral degradation of civic virtues.11 European adepts of the Enlightenment perceived empire through the magic lantern of Orientalism, as they attempted to prove the fundamental

8 In the peculiar world of classical republican political discourse, the key problem of political theory consisted of the stability of the political regime and its relation to the system of moral relations within a given political community. Many believed that stability could be guaranteed by the preservation of civic virtues through participation in the political life of the community based on a mixed constitution. Such a community would contain mutually balancing elements of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy. Machiavelli’s image of empire acquired two opposed meanings, both drawn from the Roman Empire, the archetypical empire experience for Western Europe. On the one hand, empire emerges as a field for the exercise of civic virtues. It is created by the citizen-warrior and thus secures participation of citizens in the administration of the republic, preventing civic apathy. On the other hand, the expansion of the republic leads to moral degradation due to the replacement of civic virtues by the emperors’ desire to enrich themselves through conquest and usurpation of political action. (J. G. A. Pocock. The Machiavellian Moment. Florentine Political Thought and the Atlantic Republican Tradition. Princeton, 1975, See also Q. Skinner. Liberty Before Liberalism. Cambridge, 1997; G. Bock, Q. Skinner, M. Viroli (Eds.). Machiavelli and Republicanism. Cambridge, 1990). In order to understand the methodological foundations for such an interpretation of Machiavelli, one has to take into account the turn towards the historicization of political philosophy under the impact of works by Pocock and Skinner, and the so-called Cambridge School of intellectual history. J. Tully and Q. Skinner. (Eds.). Meanings and Context. Quentin Skinner and his Critics. Princeton, 1988; Q. Skinner. Visions of Politics. Vol. 1. Cambridge, 2002; M. Richter. The History of Social and Political Concepts: A Critical Introduction. Oxford, 1995. 9 J. G. A. Pocock. Virtue, Commerce, and History. Cambridge, 1985; Idem. Civic Humanism and Its Role In Anglo-American Thought // Idem. Politics, Language, and Time. New York, 1971; R. Tuck. Philosophy and Government, 1572-1651. Cambridge, 1993. 10 J. G. A. Pocock. Virtue, Commerce, and History; St. Pincus. Neither Machiavellian Moment nor Possessive Individualism. Commercial Society and the Defenders of the English Republic // American Historical Review. 1998. Vol. 103. No. 3. Pp. 705-736. 11 J. G. A. Pocock. Empire, Revolution, and an End of Early Modernity // Pocock (Ed.). The Varieties of British Political Thought. Cambridge, 1994; T. Ball, J. G. A. Pocock (Eds.). Conceptual Change and the Constitution. Lawrence, KS, 1988. 38 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 difference between European monarchies and Oriental despotic kingdoms, which lacked a proper balance between the power of the sovereign and the rights of the noble estate.12 We can still see echoes of this political dele- gitimization of empire in the public discussions of our own day. It reverberates in a critique of globalization as a process leading to corporations becoming more concerned about overseas markets than their own domestic economies, or in warnings that human rights abuses in international military conflicts will undermine rights domestically in the participating democracies. It was the classic Roman Empire of antiquity that played the role of the archetypical empire for the republican thinkers who outlined early modern theories of constitutionalism and democracy. The second key tradition of modern political language was rooted in the historical experiences of the Holy Roman Empire. The disintegration of the Holy Roman Empire, accompanied by the disintegration of the pre-modern worldview, gave rise to contemporary con- ceptions of sovereignty. The Holy Roman Empire, which, according to Voltaire’s sarcastic remark, was “neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire,” formed perceptions of an imperial political and cultural regime among thinkers of the modern period. Das Heilige Römische Reich Deutscher Nation carried a certain contradiction in its very name, between the legacy of the Christian tradition of political authority, on the one hand, and the crisis of Europe’s reli- gious unity, on the other. The Christian tradition presupposed a transcendental vision of authority, in which empire functioned as a worldly form of God’s Kingdom. The crisis of Europe’s religious unity clashed with that vision as it related to the abundance in Germanies of local, popular, and Protestant principles.13

12 Ch. L. Montesquieu. De l’Esprit des lois. Paris, 1962; Idem. The Persian Letters. London, 1897; Judith Shklar. Montesquieu. Oxford, 1987. On the “orientalist” view of non-European periphery by the Enlightenment, see L. Wolff. Inventing Eastern Europe. The Map of Civilization on the Mind of the Enlightenment. Stanford, CA, 1994. 13 On the special relationship between the transcendental conception of imperial sovereignty and the pre-modern perception of historical time flow see R. Koselleck. Modernity and the Planes of Historicity // Idem. Future’s Past. On the Semantics of Historical Time. Cambridge, 1985. Some scholars view the Holy Roman Empire as a forerunner of German federalism: Joachim Whaley. Federal Habits. The Holy Roman Empire and the Continuity of German Federalism // Maiken Umbach (Ed.). German Federalism: Past, Present, Future. New York, 2002. Pp. 15-41; see also the work that connects the crisis of the Empire with the crisis of the Church: C. Scott Dixon. The Reformation in Germany. Oxford, 2002. On constitutional history of the Holy Roman Empire in early modern Europe see John G. Gagliardo. Reich and Nation. The Holy Roman Empire as Idea and Reality, 1763-1806. Bloomington, In., 1980; Bernd Roeck. Reichssystem und Reichsherkommen. Die Diskussion über die Staatlichkeit des Reiches in der politischen Publizistik des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts. Wiesbaden, 1984. 39 In Search of a New Imperial History The recognition of empire as an illegitimate political form incapable of securing religious order or promoting true religiosity coincided with the growing secularization of the language with which political reality was described. The possibility to condition political legitimacy on existing social and cultural realities – including national categories – emerged. Thus were modern politics and political conceptions born, among them the concept of sovereignty. The “first death” of the Holy Roman Empire was legally inscribed in the Peace of Westphalia signed in 1648. The conditions of the peace, which together with the UN Human Rights Charter and the decisions of the Nuremberg tribunal, constitute the foundations of the international order up to our day, began the process of “sovereignization” of perceptions of political reality. These processes fundamentally altered the very bases of legitimacy in domestic and foreign affairs.14 The French Revolution triumphantly completed the process: the nation took the place of the territorial dynasty as the carrier of sovereignty. It was this new sovereign that Renan famously defined as an “everyday plebiscite.”15 The principle of national sovereignty acquired broad support with the spread of Romanticism in Europe. The people as the subject of sovereignty defined through the exercise of civic rights and duties now received a spiritual and mystic body, inspired by a national spirit particular to a specific

14 One of the results of the crisis of the Holy Roman Empire was the redefining of the concept of “sovereignty” through national and territorial principles. If the power of the emperor was conditioned by the Christian tradition in the Holy Roman Empire, in post-Westphalian Europe religious principles became subject to political ones as reflected in the formula cuius regio ius religio. Heinz Duchhardt (Hrsg.). Der Westfälische Friede. Diplomatie, politische Zäsur, kulturelles Umfeld, Rezeptionsgeschichte. München, 1998; see also the long duree history of sovereignty from the peace of Westphalia to the end of the British empire in Daniel Philpott. Revolutions in Sovereignty. How Ideas Shaped Modern International Relations. Princeton, NJ, 2001. On the birth of the modern concept of the political, see Quentin Skinner. The Foundations of Modern Political Thought. 2 Vols. Cambridge, 1975. An attempt at a “frontal” description of the evolution of basic political concepts of modernity in accordance, to a greater or lesser degree, with R. Koselleck’s vision of intellectual history and conception of modern semantic transformation can be found in: Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe: historisches Lexikon zur politisch-sozialen Sprache in Deutschland. Stuttgart, 1972-1997. 15 See, in particular, Renée Waldinger, Philip Dawson, and Isser Woloch (Eds.). The French Revolution and the Meaning of Citizenship. Westport, CT, 1984. See also the study of the evolution of the regime of citizenship and naturalization in pre- and post-revolutionary France in Peter Sahlins. Unnaturally French. Foreign Citizens in the Old Regime and After. Ithaca, NY, 2004. Sahlins critically treats the thesis of the civic character of French nation-building based on his research into policies towards foreigners. 40 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 people.16 This sovereignty – even when it remained a potential sovereignty as with the movements headed by Mazzini, Garibaldi, Ypsilanti, Kossuth, or Kosciusko – throughout the modern history of Europe pitted itself against empire, be it that of the Habsburgs, the Romanovs, the Hohenzollerns, or the Ottomans. European Romanticism helped to bring about a state of mind according to which the multinational, single-state societies of the 19th cen- tury were viewed as atavisms of the imperial past, as obstacles on the path of progress, civilization, and freedom. Such polities were perceived as doomed for collapse and disintegration. Since modern nationalism provided the main framework through which political, social, and cultural reality were interpreted in the overwhelming majority of the economically and socially most developed countries of Europe that constituted what Ernest Gellner has called “the Atlantic belt,”17 the mainstream development of humanities and social sciences took place within the framework of the national paradigm.18 This explains why empire

16 Obviously, it is hard to speak of Romantisicm as a single and homogeneous movement in European thought. Some scholars prefer to use the term in the plural. Arthur Lovejoy. On the Discrimination of Romanticisms // A. Lovejoy. Essays in the History of Ideas. Westport, CT, 1948. Pp. 228-253. In application to the study of nationalism, see the classic H. Kohn. The Idea of Nationalism. New York, 1944. Studies of Russian and East European branches of Romanticism are presented in Nicholas Riasanovsky. Russia and the West in the Teaching of the Slavophiles. A Study of Romantic Ideology. Cambridge, MA, 1952; A. Walicki. Philosophy of Romantic Nationalism, The Case of Poland. Oxford, 1982; Idem. The Slavophile Controversy: History of a Conservative Utopia in Nineteenth- Century Russian Thought. Oxford, 1975. 17 Ernest Gellner. Nationalism. New York, 1997. 18 To John Stuart Mill, a patriarch of liberalism and founder of the modern theory of society, a multinational state appeared as nonsense, despite the fact that in his time, as well as throughout much of human history, the overwhelming majority of human beings lived in such polities. J. S. Mill. On Representative Government // Idem. On Liberty and Other Essays. Oxford, 1998. G. W. F. Hegel further discredited empire. Hegel appeared to take philosophical and political positions diametrically opposed to that of Mill. He saw Napoleon’s empire as the end of history, for it was the first empire that most fully realized the civic and universal ideal, thus transcending modernity understood as the specific perception of the unstoppable flow of historical time from the past to the future. In that sense, empire and the end of history brought about by it remained anti-modern categories, even when moved from the archaic past to the utopian future. The quick defeat of the Napoleonic empire and its disintegration led to a modification of the Hegelian tradition, with its dialectics and teleology of the historical process coupled with the Romantic national spirit, which became one of the foundations of the modern national discourse. 41 In Search of a New Imperial History never became one of the basic concepts of modernity, on a par with state, society, or even nation.19 We cannot claim that empire disappeared altogether from the conceptual horizon. It appears that it has been incorporated in modern political and cultural discourse as the “other” of modern politics, international order, and progress. What else can explain the fact that in today’s world no states exist (with the exception of the now passed Bokassa’s “empire”) that openly identify themselves with hypothetical or historical empires in order to legiti- mate their domestic or foreign policies? One cannot fail to note, though, that the status of the concept of empire in contemporary political discourse is being altered under the impact of stormy changes brought about by the era of globalization and the struggle against international terrorism. We can only guess whether empire will become a basic political category of the “new world order” in the form of a synthesis of revisionist attempts to put forward empire as a real political alternative to the inefficient regime of nation-state sovereignty and the body of international law founded on that regime. It is quite possible that future scholars of political semantics will fail to understand the rhetorical device of the American diplomat John Brady Kiesling, who in 2003 compared the US invasion of Iraq to “the Russia of the late Romanovs a selfish, superstitious empire thrashing toward self destruction”. It is also possible that future scholars will not understand the archaic and Orientalist connotations that Kiesling ascribed to empire.20

19 On the connection between the conceptual apparatus of modern social sciences and humanities with the historical experiences of modern Europe, see R. Koselleck. Future’s Past. On the Semantics of Historical Time; especially in R. Koselleck. Concepts of Historical Time and Social History // Idem. The Practice of Conceptual History. Timing History, Spacing Concepts. Stanford, 2002; P. Ricoeur. History and Narrative. Vol. 1 // Idem. Time and Narrative. 3 Vols. Chicago, 1984. An example of a study more focused on the problem of influences exercised by the discursive regime of nationalism on the social sciences and humanities, see C. Crossley. French Historians and Romanticism: Thierry, Guizot, the Saint-Simonians, Quinet, Michelet. London, 1993; I. Wallerstein. Does India Exist? // Idem. Unthinking Social Science. The Limits of Nineteenth-Century Paradigms. Cambridge, 1991. See also works by Pierre Bourdieu, which question the categorical apparatus of social sciences in relation to mental cartography and historiography: Pierre Bourdieu. L’identité et la représentation. Éléments pour une réflexion critique sur l’idée de région // Actes de la Recherche en sciences sociales. 1980. T. 35. P. 64-72; Idem. Ce que parler veut dire. Paris, 1982. 20 See Kiesling’s Open Letter to the US State Secretary Colin Powell published in The New York Times. 2003. February 27 (http://www.alternatives.ca/article447.html. Last visit 10 November 2003). 42 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Pro Imperio: Empire as a Cultural Category The growth of interest in empire and the imperial over the past decade is to a large extent the result of the obvious exhaustion of resources at the disposal of the conceptual apparatus of modernity, which is supposed to describe processes of the “post-modern” era. Curiously, this interest emerged at the very dawn of an era that witnessed the disintegration of the great colonial empires of the West. As it turned out, the colonial empire disappeared, but left its ineffaceable mark on the world. The need to conceptualize the develop- ment of nationalism in the post-colonial states and struggles against remnants of the colonial order forced theorists in the former colonies, and later in the former imperial capitals, to address the history of Western overseas empires. However, post-colonialism did not create its own conceptual frame- works and methodologies for the systematic analysis of the imperial phenomenon.21 Partly, this can be explained by the fact that post-colonial studies treat empire (equated with colonial power) as an essential charac- teristic of Western society as such, thus making no distinction between the imperial center and the colonies.22 Post-colonial critique focuses exclusively on the cultural practices through which empire as a form of power was realized, while ignoring the problem of the relations between structures, such as nations, states, and collective identities.23 Accordingly, no “post-colonial” history of the British Empire provides a narrative of the direct interaction (not mediated by London) or mutual influences between the groups, peoples, and territories included in the empire has been written. Post-colonial studies, despite their significant achievements in the study of cultural practices in situations of predetermined unequal cultural or social contact, were not interested in empire as a special form for organizing multi-confessional and multi-ethnic polities. They tended to overlook

21 See the collection of relevant articles by Antoinette Burton (Ed.). After the Imperial Turn. Thinking With and Through the Nation. Durham, 2003, which essentially proclaims a return to the nation due to the inadequacy of the conceptual apparatus of post-colonial studies. 22 Empire penetrates every locus of social life as a non-institutional function of Western modernity. Frederick Cooper and Ann Laura Stoler (Eds.). Tensions of Empire. Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World. Berkeley, 1997. 23 Partly it can be explained by the fact that post-colonial studies attempt to deconstruct dominant narratives of the past that were imposed upon the colonized by the colonizers. Hence, the main thrust of post-colonial studies is aimed at deciphering cultural meanings and at revealing the in-built mechanisms of power. See, for example, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. Subaltern Studies: Deconstructing Historiography // Ranajit Guha and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (Eds.). Selected Subaltern Studies. Dehli, 1988. Pp. 3-34. 43 In Search of a New Imperial History empire as a situation of undetermined boundaries and mutually open channels of influence that emanate not only from the culturally and technologically dominant center, but also from the imperial periphery. These mutual influences, a factor overlooked by post-colonial studies, would have allowed for a reconsideration of the phenomenon of “imperial context”, which often promoted the realization of a classic scenario of Western nation-building in situations best described as imperial (e.g., the emergence of a British identity on the Isles).24 On the other hand, increased attention paid by colonial studies to cultural practices and power in the context of modern Western society led to the reification of the discursive boundary between the “East” and the “West”,

24 Pondering the problem of the post-structuralist paradigm of social sciences and humanities, some authors have noted the dialectical phenomenon when the conceptual framework of the dominant discourse is reproduced despite the fact that it was against this very discourse that the conceptual change and deconstruction was directed. (H. A. Veeser. The New Historicism // Idem. (Ed.). The New Historicism Reader. New York, London, 1994). The leading theorists of post-colonial studies partly admitted to this: Partha Chatterjee. Nationalist Thought and the Colonial World. A Derivative Discourse. Minneapolis, 1986. Thus, post-colonial studies have clearly reproduced demarcations (including racial ones) between the center and the periphery. This boundary certainly prevents proper reflection upon the empire as a zone of interaction. The need to overcome this impasse is well postulated in A. Stoler, F. Cooper. Between Metropol and Colony. Rethinking a Research Agenda // Frederick Cooper and Ann Laura Stoler (Eds.). Tensions of Empire. Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World. Berkeley, 1997. See also research into this problem in Linda Colley. Britons. Forging a Nation, 1707-1837. New Haven, 1992. A different approach to the problem of imperial contexts in Western Europe was offered by J. G. A. Pocock (Pocock was born in New Zealand and his attempt to alter the national format of writing British history is a result of both intellectual propositions and personal biography). J. G. A. Pocock. British History. A Plea for a New Subject // Journal of Modern History. 1975. Vol. 47. No. 4. Pp. 601-621. Instead of a post-colonial vision of the metropol as a homogeneous subject of colonialism, Pocock puts forward an idea of a complex and composite nucleus of the British empire, which allows him to include into this de-centralized space of the imperial center “white” colonies. These colonies, according to Pocock, cannot be written into the exclusionist narrative of English history due to the presence of the Scottish, Irish, and English elements and a new culture formed by the immigrants in the their contacts with each other. See a discussion of this approach in the special issue on “Britishness and Europeanness” of the Journal of British Studies. 1992. Vol. 31. No. 4. See also Kathleen Wilson (Ed.). A New Imperial History: Culture, Identity and Modernity in Britain and the Empire, 1660-1840. Cambridge, 2004.

44 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 despite the a priori proclaimed intention by theorists of post-colonialism to deconstruct this line of separation.25 Thus, the reluctance of post-colonial studies to pay attention to the problem of horizontal interactions between different elements and their obsession with the opposition East and West in the concept of Orientalism forces us to search for new models to rethink the uneven space circumscribed by indefinite and porous boundaries.26 It appears to us that studies of continental European empires provide rich material for analyses of the processes we are witnessing on the global scene today. Correspondingly, the very concept of empire should move from the category of a historical term empirically fixating the reality of the past (multinational dynastic empires) to a category of a modern

25 In particular, this is one reproach for Edward Said’s concept of “orientalism”, which opposes a homogenous “West” to a diverse “East”. E. Said. Orientalism. New York, 1978. On the concept of “orientalism”, see the forum “Orientalism: 20 Years On” // American Historical Review. 2000. Vol. 105. N. 4. Pp. 1204-1249. See also methodologically important work on the creation of the image of the “Balkans”: Maria Todorova. Imagining the Balkans. New York, 1997; Milica Bakic-Hayden and Robert Hayden. Orientalist Variations on the Theme “Balkans” in Symbolic Geography in Recent Yugoslav Cultural Politics // Slavic Review. 1992. Vol. 51. Pp. 1-15. For a study of the symbolic geography of Central and Eastern Europe in an era of change, see in Sorin Antohi. Habits of the Mind: Europe’s Post-1989 Symbolic Geographies // S. Antohi (Ed.). Between Past and Future. The Revolutions of 1989 and Their Aftermath. Budapest, 2000. Pp. 61-79. For a discussion of the applicability of “orientalism” to Russian history, see Adeeb Khalid. Russian History and the Debate over Orientalism; and Nathaniel Knight. On Russian Orientalism: A Response to Adeeb Khalid // Kritika. 2000. Vol. 1. No. 4. Pp.701-715. There is a subsequent discussion that takes into account a problematic relationship between European modernity and the Russian historical experience (with the participation of D. Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, I. Gerasimov, A. Etkind, N. Knight, E. Vorobieva, S. Velychenko) in Ab Imperio. 2002. Vol. 3. N. 1. Pp. 239-367. An interesting perspective that does not deny Said’s contribution to the study of the cultural mechanisms of domination and subjugation, and yet attempts to overcome the ontologized boundary between “East” and “West” on the example of Ottoman history U. Makdisi. Ottoman Orientalism // American Historical Review. 2002. Vol. 107. No. 3. Pp. 768-796. 26 For example, the erosion of classical sovereignty and the boundaries of national and social cultures in Europe illustrated by the development of the European Union is paralleled by the emergence of new nationalism, which re-formatted the legacy of 19th century nationalism and put forward new priorities, such as issues of migration, distribution of social welfare, and intercultural/inter-confessional dialogue. See, for example, Rogers Brubaker. Nationalism Reframed: Nationhood and the National Question in the New Europe. New York, 1996.

45 In Search of a New Imperial History analytical model that helps to understand historical experiences in an era marked by a crisis of modern categories of analysis and politics. Following Negri’s logic, empire is needed today not in order to reestablish it as a category of political practice, but as an analytical conception to explore various processes in a rapidly changing world, in which the problem of “managing diversity” has become a leading priority.27

Empire in Russian Studies: Limits of the National Paradigm Despite the fact that historians of Russia have had to deal with a state that proclaimed itself the “Russian Empire”, the problem of the functioning of a heterogeneous political, social, and cultural space has not been at the heart of the discipline. Studies of Russia as a multinational empire were partly a result of the renewed interest in the nationalist perspective after the Revolution and of the temporary disintegration of the empire. For the most part, representa- tives of this renewed interest focused on the legal status of peoples incorpo- rated into the empire.28 Later, Richard Pipes offered his concept of the for- mation of the Soviet Union as an exclusively forced and repressive restora- tion of the Russian Empire by the Bolshevik Party, an idea that proved ex- tremely influential during the Cold War. Many German scholars shared this concept.29 The growing crisis of the USSR in the late 1980s again brought to the fore the question of the heterogeneity of the Russian and Soviet historical experiences, as a result of which the first studies of Russia as a multinational empire appeared. The most important of these was undoubtedly the work of Andreas Kappeler.30 However, it focused more on the sum of national expe-

27 Michael Hardt, Antonio Negri. Empire. P. XIV. 28 For example, Georg von Rauch, the author of one of the first western studies of Russian imperial history, reiterated the specific views of the Baltic Germans. See G. von Rauch. Rußland. Staatliche Einheit und nationale Vielfalt; föderalistische Kräfte und Ideen in der russischen Geschichte. München, 1953; Idem. Geschichte der baltischen Staaten. Stuttgart, 1970; Idem. Geschichte der Sowjetunion. Stuttgart, 1990; Idem. Zarenreich und Sowjetstaat im Spiegel der Geschichte. Aufsätze und Vorträge // M. Garleff (Hrsg.). Göttingen, 1980. Another pioneer of Russian imperial history, Leonid Strakhovsky, analyzed the status of non- Russian peoples of empire from the point of view of their legal status. Nevertheless, he perceived Russia as a national state, which, moreover, “tolerantly” handled its “minorities. Leonid Strakhovsky. Constitutional Aspects of the Imperial Russian Government’s Policy Toward National Minorities // The Journal of Modern History. 1941. Vol. 4. No. 13. Pp. 467-492. 29 G. Simon. Nationalismus und Nationalitätenpolitk in der Sowjetunion. Baden-Baden, 1986; Idem. Verfall und Untergang des sowjetischen Imperiums. München, 1993. 30 Andreas Kappeler. Russland als Vielvölkerreich. Entstehung, Geschichte, Zerfall. München, 1993. 46 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 riences of the peoples incorporated into the Russian empire rather than on the problem of imperial space. The work reduced the complex configurations of national, confessional, and estate relations to binary oppositions between the “Russifying center” and the national borderlands (with the possible excep- tion of the Baltic provinces).31 Kappeler’s Rußland als Vielvoelkerreich un- doubtedly opened a new stage in the historiography of the Russian Empire, but it could not set itself entirely free from the then dominant climate of the “renaissance of national history”, which proliferated in the post-Soviet peri- od and which tended to use retrospectively ethnic research frameworks.32 By that time, Western researchers had accumulated a certain amount of material on the history of particular peoples and ethnic, confessional, and cultural groups in the Russian Empire. Emigration by representatives of national intelligentsias facilitated this process. Among the most important works, one can point to studies of the histories of Siberia, Central Asia, the Caucasus, the Baltics, the Volga region, and Ukraine.33 The sum of separate national histories did not in itself create an imperial perspective, but it was an important precon- dition for further syntheses. For example, crossing the boundaries of Russian history proper, the history of Russia’s Jews placed processes in Russia and the USSR into European and world contexts.34 On the other hand, the powerful historiographic tradition of Ukrainian studies that emerged in the diaspora created the preconditions for further reflection upon the dynamic (and bound-

31 See A. Kapeller. Mazepintsy, malorossy, khokhly. Ukraintsy v etnicheskoi ierarkhii Rossiiskoi imperii // Rossiia – Ukraina: istoriia vzaimootnoshenii / Ed. by A. Miller, V. Reprintsev, B. Floria. Moscow, 1997. Pp. 125-144. 32 See also Kapeller’s discussion of the reception of his work in the post-Soviet world: A. Kapeller. Rossiia – mnogonatsional’naia imperiia. Nekotorye razmyshleniia vosem’ let spustia posle publikatsii // Ab Imperio. 2000. No. 1. Pp. 9-22. 33 See bibliographies in I. Gerasimov, S. Glebov, A. Kaplunovskii, M. Mogilner, A. Semyonov (Eds.). Novaia imperskaia istoriia postsovetskogo prostranstva. Kazan, 2004. Pp. 575-628. 34 J. D. Klier. Russia Gathers Her Jews. The Origins of the “Jewish Question” in Russia 1772-1825. DeKalb, 1985. Idem. Imperial Russia’s Jewish Question, 1855-1881. Cambridge, 1995; Idem and Shlomo Lambroza (Eds.). Pogroms. Anti-Jewish Violence in Modern Jewish History. Cambridge, 1991; J. Frankel. Prophesy and Politics. Socialism, Nationalism and the Russian Jews, 1862-1917. Cambridge, 1981; Eli Lederhendler. The Road to Modern Jewish Politics. Political Tradition and Political Reconsruction in the Jewish Community of Tsarist Russia. Oxford, 1989; S. J. Zipperstein. The Jews of Odessa. A Cultural History, 1794-1881. Stanford, 1985; Idem. Ahad Ha’am and the Origins of Zionism. Halban, 1993; Michael Stanislawski. Zionism and the Fin de Siecle. Cosmopolitanism and Nationalism from Nordau to Jabotinsky. Berkeley, 2001 and others. A more detailed discussion is to be found in an issue of Ab Imperio dedicated to this topic. “The Limits of Marginality: Jews as Inorodtsy of Continental Empires.” Ab Imperio. 2003. No. 4. 47 In Search of a New Imperial History aries) between “us” and “them” within the empire.35 If the history of the Russian Jews, who traditionally served as the archetypical “other,” has helped to clarify (or, to be more precise, to complicate) the external contours of the empire, the history of Ukrainians in the Russian Empire and the USSR has problematized the idea that some homogeneous/primordial/fundamental “nucleus” opposed to the periphery existed. The disintegration of the Soviet Union – the last multinational empire in Europe – became one of the factors determining the renewed interest in empire in the late 20th century. In this way, the particular situation of Russian studies over the past decade was that the problem of “regional studies” was superimposed upon a new global research agenda in the study of Russia and the USSR. Historians of Russia and the USSR are today in search of a new narrative and new conceptual frameworks for researching and describing the past of a complex and composite imperial entity. As the dynamics of the development of this research have demonstrated, this geographic and temporal entity cannot in principle be reduced to any of the paradigms that has emerged over the past decade: neither the conception of a composite multinational empire36 nor attribution of the social and political working of the empire to the distant past can be seen as optimal models capturing the heterogeneity of the Russian Empire and the USSR. The discussion of the limits and foundations of the application of the classic colonial empire model to the historical experiences of Russia and the Soviet Union has not ended in definite consensus. In particular, it remains to be seen whether the post- structuralist genealogy of the basic concept of this model – that of the modern subject and its power – can be successfully employed in the Russian and Soviet contexts. The 1990s passed in the shadow of a radical deconstruction of traditional explanatory schemes and analytical models in Russian studies in the West and the emerging national historiographies.37 Yet, no adequate integrating interpretative structure was found to match the traditional ones. Nevertheless, some general contours of a new methodology for analyzing Russia’s hetero-

35 See a more detailed discussion in the Ukrainian historiographic forum (N. Iakovenko, Ia. Hrytsak, G. Kasianov, Th. Prymak, A. Zayarnyuk) of Ab Imperio. 2003. No. 2. Pp. 376-519. 36 Andreas Kappeler. Russland als Vielvölkerreich: Entstehung, Geschichte, Zerfall. München, 1993. 37 These processes have been reflected upon in the permanent rubric of Ab Imperio, which is dedicated to the emergence of new national historiographies in relation to the politics of identity and the new academic markets. So far, the journal has hosted debates on Baltic, Moldovan, Ukrainian, Tatar, Kazakh, and Cossack histories. 48 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 geneous imperial society have become clearer and are defined by the needs of the current research agenda. We are lacking theory to understand how archaic institutions manage to preserve their specific character while being trans- formed under the impact of modernization processes and the intrusion of normative modernity from the West; we still cannot answer for certain the question about the character of nation-building processes in multinational contexts, taking into account the various horizontal and vertical ties penetrating imperial society. We do not have a model describing the dynamics of society’s development in the imperial context. Should the boundaries of that society necessarily coincide with that of the state? Or do we need to determine the degree of integration of each ethnic, social, or cultural segment into the empire on a case-by-case basis? Finally, scholars lack a theory to explain the empire’s disintegration (the question of the unavoidable/relative prede- termination of disintegration remains open). We also need more theory to understand the specifics of the post-imperial situation, in which many imperial practices have been inherited by the newly independent successor nation-states.

A New Imperial History of Russia and the Soviet Union We offered the reader a collection of articles that attempted to reflect on the state of the art in an emerging field within Russian and Soviet studies.38 As we hope, this field will grow into a New Imperial History of Russia. As the articles in this collection illustrate, several research paradigms exist simultaneously in the field of Russian studies. First, the tendency to uncover “white spots” of history, which began during the perestroika years, remains highly relevant. This tendency attempts to explore various specific historical subjects and to help erode the “centripetal” narrative of Russian history. It is within this paradigm that we detect traditional perceptions of history as, first of all, a history of the nation. The latter appears as an entity that equals itself throughout the centuries and lives on through “formations” within the framework of a homogeneous “national body.” One encounters the Romantic narrative in its pure form quite seldom today. However, the narrative remains a significant part of many studies, especially at the level of methodological assumptions and research frameworks, which arti- ficially separate one’s “own” subject of research from that of the “others”

38 I. Gerasimov, S. Glebov, A. Kaplunovski, M. Mogilner, A. Semyonov (Eds.). Novaia imperskaia istoriia postsovetskogo prostranstva. Kazan, 2004. 49 In Search of a New Imperial History (empire, other ethnic groups, “non-national” elite behavior, etc). While criticizing such an approach, we have to admit that our new imperial history ought to rely upon the multiplicity of situations in which groups interact with each other (including interaction between nations) and therefore it should always remain involved in a dialogue with the national perspective.39 Besides, the national perspective compensates for one of the shortcomings of the concept of empire; that is, the tendency to treat the latter as a historical experience frozen in an archaic form. This tendency, as we attempted to show above, is built into the political language of modernity. An alternative and broadly generalizing research perspective is repre- sented by the collection of articles in the New Imperial History of Post- Soviet Space.40 This perspective is rooted in traditional political and institu- tional histories. Originally, this tradition of scholarship substituted the study of central organs of power through their archives for the history of the enormous and infinitely diverse country. However, a modified version of this histo- riographic perspective is relevant for the formation of New Imperial History. It counterbalances the perspective of national history, which precludes research on such phenomena as diasporas, displaced and non-titular (in the defini- tion of nation-builders) groups of population (with the Jews being the most conspicuous example in the Western provinces of the empire).41 National

39 It is interesting that in the peculiar post-Soviet situation – perceived as a liberation from the “prison of peoples” – national histories are identified with “history from below”, which is in direct opposition to the West European understanding of national history as the dominant discourse of violence, exclusion, and suppression. It would suffice to recall Pierre Nora’s project of lieux de memoir, the revisionist pathos of which was directed at the historicization of memory and the unraveling of historiography’s role as an agent in memory construction. However, even in the East European context, national history gives rise to a meta-narrative that maintains overtly rigid and exclusive boundaries. This meta-narrative represses the heterogeneity of the past by creating a progressive map of the nation’s development. 40 I. Gerasimov, S. Glebov, A. Kaplunovski, M. Mogilner, A. Semyonov (Eds.). Novaia imperskaia istoriia postsovetskogo prostranstva. Kazan, 2004. 41 In that sense the concept of “imperialist historiography” loses its analytical meaning because both the “scheme of Russian history” (as distinct from the earlier historiographic experiments with Russian [rossiiskaia] history by I. Georgi and even N. M. Karamzin) and the ethno-populist historical canons of Russian (regionalists in Siberia) and non-Russian (proto)national movements are constructed on a common Romantic and positivist interpretation of history as an evolution of a single national body. We can detect today a scholarly interest in those directions of Russian history that did not follow the nation- centered narrative of Russia’s past. For example, A. Kapeller looks at the pre-national discourse of Russia as a multiethnic state (I. G. Georgi. Opisanie vsekh v Rossiiskom gosudarstve obitaiushchikh narodov, a takzhe ikh zhiteiskikh obriadov, ver, obyknovenii, zhilishch, odezhd, I prochikh dostoprimechatel’nostei. 3 Vols. Sankt-Peterburg, 1776-1777). 50 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 history also excludes research into proto-national identities, which were formed on the basis of regional, confessional, and estate markers in the East European region of belated and incomplete modernization. These identities did not necessarily connect their carriers with the national language, national territory, or the national past. National history does not presuppose a study of how empire stimulated the nation-building of non-titular nationalities through policies of preservation or even strengthened traditional institu- tions and customs in the course of conscious attempts by the imperial center to balance competing national projects. Finally, the nation-oriented frame- work of analysis ignores the supranational identities that formed as a result of co-habitation by various ethnic populations in given regions or as the empire attempted to implement social and political practices of imperial citizenship. All these subjects require a panoramic and pan-imperial view and perspective. In reality both approaches – the “exclusive” national and the comparative, generalizing imperial – are merged and mixed in most of the articles that were included in our collection. It seems to us that it is in this coming together

Interesting ideas on pre-national conceptualizations of Russia’s history were put forward by Paul Bushkovich. The Formation of a National Consciousness in Early Modern Russia // Harvard Ukrainian Studies. 1986. No. 10. Pp. 355-376. Mark von Hagen pays special attention to the problem of the “federalist tradition” in Russian political thought. According to von Hagen, it contains a range of alternatives to the nation-centered historical narrative. M. von Hagen. Writing History of Russia as Empire. The Perspective of Federalism // Kazan, Moskva, Peterburg. Rossiiskaia imperiia vzgliadom iz raznykh uglov / Ed. by B. Gasparov, C. Evtuhov, A. Ospovat, M. Von Hagen. Moscow, 1997. Pp. 393-410. At the same time, it is clear that we lack works that treat the intellectual genealogy and consolidation of the national narrative of Russian history in the same way such exploration were conducted on West European material. See, for example, C. Crossley. French Historians and Romanticism. Thierry, Guizot, the Saint-Simonians, Quinet, Michelet. London, 1993. The existing literature either follows the established tradition of discussing major schools of Russian historiography or simply makes no distinction between imperial and national characteristics of historiographic canons. T. Emmons. On the Problem of Russia’s “Separate Path” in Late Imperial Historiography // Th. Sanders (Ed.). Historiography of Imperial Russia. The Profession and Writing of History in a Multinational State. Armonk, 1999. Pp. 163-187 and other articles in this collection focusing on Russian historiography. See also M. Bassin. Turner, Solov’ev, and the “Frontier Hypothesis”. The Nationalist Signification of Open Spaces // The Journal of Modern History. 1993. Vol. 65. No. 3. Pp. 473-511. A notable exception is the works by S. Becker, which explore political and cultural functions of the nation centered narrative of Russian history. S. Becker. Contributing to a Nationalist Ideology. Histories of Russia in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century // Russian History. 1986. Vol. 13. No. 4. Pp. 331-353. 51 In Search of a New Imperial History of different research perspectives that we can identify the most powerful potential for a New Imperial History. A New Imperial History allows us to focus on problems of method for the analysis of empire and not on classi- fications and definitions. Indeed, as many attempts have clearly demonstrated, no “imperiology”, a universal theory of empire equally applicable to Russia, Great Britain, Ancient Rome, or the Aztecs, is possible, and the very undertaking is absurd. In recent years such attempts at a structural and typological imperiology have been made in the framework of increasingly popular comparative studies of empires. The basic assumption here is that having left the boundaries of a particular empire, having compared certain empires identified on a number of certain features, having discovered “the general and the particular” in their functioning, one can distill the structural element of the empire and explain the mechanisms of its operation.42 No doubt, comparative studies of empires can alter our perceptions of the uniqueness or specificity of certain processes and phenomena; they suggest mutual “borrowing” by empires or even (in some cases) their logic of development. The principal methodological weakness of this approach is caused by a conceptual “natal trauma.” It is genealogically connected to the structuralist paradigm of social analysis. Structuralism leads to the reification of borders between objects necessary to run comparisons, which damages the exploration of areas of interactions (boundaries or regions that untied rather than separated popula- tions). It also tends to perceive common social and cultural characteristics as the result of typologically similar autonomous development, but not as the potential product of mutual influences, common experiences, and reactions to common challenges. It is exactly because of the need to compare single objects rather than complex composite hierarchies that the structural and typological comparative studies ascribe internal homogeneity to the extremely

42 Rossiiskaiia imperiia v sravnitel’noi perspektive. Sbornik statei / Ed. by A. Miller. Moscow, 2004. This collection was a result of the conference “History of Empires. Comparative Methods of Studying and Teaching” held in Moscow on June 7-9, 2003. This conference, in turn reflecting the thematic and methodological orientation of the “imperial” project, was supported by The Open Society Institute. A “structuralist” reading of comparative studies of empire, see in A. Miller. Between Local and Inter-Imperial: Russian Imperial History in Search of Scope and Paradigm // Kritika. 2004. No. 1. Pp. 7-26. A parallel project is being realized in Vienna by the Austrian Academy of Sciences, which held a conference in March 2004 on “Power and Subjects in Comparative History of Continental Empires, 1700-1920”. See http://www.oeaw.ac.at/shared/news/2004/pdf/ historische_einladung.pdf. Last visited July 15, 2004.

52 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 heterogeneous and dynamically changing territory of empire. Besides, existing comparative history projects limit themselves to the experiences of continental empires, such as that of the Romanovs, the Habsburgs, or the Ottomans, thus tending to downplay the cultural component of imperial history, which is already suffering from an overt inclination toward conven- tional political and social historical methods. An approach that compares the Russian Empire exclusively to continental empires precludes investigation of processes of Europeanization, without which one cannot adequately assess practices of cultural colonization, mapping, and description of the territory and interpret imperial ideologies. Thus, “imperial comparativism” as such cannot be seen as a universal method for the creation of an analytical model of empire. One can only compare directly those phenomena that were characteristic of all social and political structures of a given era,43 whereas the sought after historical semantics of empire remains a Ding an sich. Its reconstruction requires a totally different framework for “thick description.” As a result, comparative studies tend to reduce the meaning of empire to aggressive foreign policy and to various schemes for the mobilization and distribution of resources, both of which are equally characteristic of “non-imperial” states (the differences are really in the scale of these actions). Often, these characteristics were simply borrowed from the more efficient nation-states of Western Europe. The inadequacy of the research paradigms described above obviously cannot be “aufgehoben” through a mechanistic synthesis. Such a synthesis, moreover, is precluded by the indefinite epistemological status of empire in modern social sciences and humanities. Is empire a historical category, an analytical concept, a metaphor for heterogeneity, or simultaneously all of the above? In our view, empire is a research context rather than a structure, a problem rather than a diagnosis. Any society can be “thought of” as an empire, just as features characteristic of nation-states – indeed characteristic of entire epochs – can be discerned in any empire.44 The key to the paradox

43 Both Sultan Mukhammed II and Empress Catherine II annexed bordering territories, and yet just comparing the expansionist foreign policy and regimes of governing annexed lands in the Ottoman and the Russian empires does not reveal any imperial “specifics.” Outside of the concrete and unique circumstances, we can only compare technologies, which are determined by the level of development of material and spiritual culture. 44 It was this approach that inspired the organizers of yet another “imperial” conference which took place in Warsaw in September 2004 on “Problem Imperium Rosyjskiego w Historii Rosji, Polski, Litwy i Ukrainy (XVIII-pocz¹tek XXI w.)” The main sponsor of the conference was the Institute of History of the Polish Academy of Sciences. 53 In Search of a New Imperial History is the fact that the analytical apparatus of modernity is entirely “national” and thus empire cannot be described within any single model or meta- narrative. One can see empire only by combining different research frame- works. By pointing to the redundancy of scholastic debates about the “true” essence of this or that term, new imperial history offers a multidimensional view of social, political, and cultural actors, and of the spaces in which they function. At the same time, it takes into account specific effects of modernization in the Eurasian territory, where a particular mixing of modern and pre-modern social identities took place.45 Thus, new imperial history appears in the form of an “archeology” of knowledge about empire. We understand “archeology” in the sense of a Foucauldian post-structuralist paradigm, which deconstructs basic and normative concepts of the social sciences and humanities.46 Despite the lack of consensus on the applicability of Foucauldian approaches to Russia’s imperial history, this method has immense potential for a revision of the recently formed orthodoxy in evaluating the Russian empire as a political, cultural, and social space neatly divided by national – and only national – lines and boundaries. An archeology of knowledge about empire allows the demon- stration of how a “common” past is appropriated in multiethnic regions and cities (St. Petersburg, Warsaw, Odessa, Vilna, , Kiev, etc). This archeology of knowledge permits the restoration of the palimpsest of social identities (regional, confessional, estate, etc.) that are usually narrated into the teleo- logical and mono-logical paradigm of the building of a nation, class, or confession. The archeology of knowledge renders possible a contextualization

45 These aspects of the history of the Russian empire and USSR were discussed in the four issues of Ab Imperio published in 2002 within the framework of the annual theme of “Russian Empire/USSR and the Paradoxes of Modernization”. 46 Another reading of Foucault can be found in A. Miller’s introduction to his “Ukrainskii vopros” v politike vlastei i russkom obshchestvennom mnenii. Vtoria polovina XIX veka. Petersburg, 2000. Miller accepts a Foucauldian understanding of discourse as the normative version of modernity. In application to the topic treated by the author, such a discourse divides the modern world along national lines. The task of new imperial history is formulated on the basis of the critical part of Foucault’s legacy, at the center of which is the deconstruction of normative versions of modernity through historicization of the emergence of modern practices and norms of social life. On ignoring the critical component of the post-structuralist theory in post-Soviet humanities see S. Glebov, M. Mogilner, A. Semenov. “The Story of Us.” Proshloe i perspektivy modernizatsii gumanitarnogo znania glazami istorikov // Novoe Literaturnoe Obozrenie. 2003. ¹ 59. Pp. 190-210.

54 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 of the contemporary processes of constructing the national past through historiography as a purposeful act and an instrument of political struggles. One note is in order on this particular aspect of the post-structuralist mode of writing new imperial history. Quite often the concept of “imperial history” is perceived as an attempt to interpret or even to resurrect the political space of empire through a rejection of clear national lines of division in a diachronic perspective. Of course, it is upon the assertion of these lines of division that the logic of any national history rests. Such a perception clearly points to the positivist and Marxist foundations of the methodological prin- ciples of post-Soviet historiography and reveals an inability on the part of many professional historians to distance their scholarly research from political discourses. The latter point once again demonstrates specific features of the political language of nationalism in Eastern Europe (at least currently), which is determined more by national images of the past than, for example, by legal discourses. This professional position also appears to be impacted by a traditional paradigm of historical knowledge untroubled by innovative approaches, such as “history from below”, micro-history, post-structuralist anthropology, and oral history – in other words, by critical and democratizing approaches within Marxist and post-Marxist thought. Within the frame- work of the traditional historical paradigm, the history of stateless peoples (however remote in time and ambiguous the desired statehood) with no aristocracy and elite culture was perceived as not entirely legitimate because it was based on insufficiently rich historical experience. Such an attitude by professional historians is often transformed into myth-making and, even more importantly, it precludes exploration of potentially fruitful directions of analyses into an empire’s national, supranational, and non- national aspects of historical processes. We hope that the emerging field of New Imperial History will not become a political battleground. We envision a dynamic area of scholarly research and theoretical reflection, especially important at a time when issues of interethnic communication and imperial legacies have become increasingly acute.

SUMMARY

Íàñòîÿùàÿ ïóáëèêàöèÿ ÿâëÿåòñÿ àíãëîÿçû÷íîé âåðñèåé ââåäå- íèÿ ê ñáîðíèêó “Íîâàÿ èìïåðñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ ïîñòñîâåòñêîãî ïðî- ñòðàíñòâà” (Êàçàíü, 2004). Àâòîðû ïðåäëàãàþò èñòîðè÷åñêóþ

55 In Search of a New Imperial History ãåíåàëîãèþ òåðìèíà “èìïåðèÿ” è àíàëèçèðóþò ñîâðåìåííûå èñòî- ðèîãðàôè÷åñêèå íàïðàâëåíèÿ â îáëàñòè èçó÷åíèÿ èìïåðèé. Îäèí èç îñíîâíûõ òåçèñîâ ñòàòüè ñîñòîèò â òîì, ÷òî ñîâðåìåííàÿ íàì ñåìàíòèêà êîíöåïòà èìïåðèè, ñî âñåìè ïðèñóùèìè åé íåãàòèâíûìè êîííîòàöèÿìè, ñôîðìèðîâàëàñü â ýïîõó íàöèîíàëüíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà è îòðàæàëà ïðåäñòàâëåíèÿ î ïîëèòèêî-ñîöèàëüíîé íîðìå è ïðîãðåññå, õàðàêòåðíûå äëÿ “ýïîõè íàöèé è íàöèîíàëèçìà”. Ñîâðåìåííàÿ àêòóàëèçàöèÿ èíòåðåñà ê èìïåðèè (â ñâÿçè ñ ïðîöåññàìè åâðîïåéñêîãî ðàñøèðåíèÿ, ïðîÿâëåíèåì èìïåðèàëèçìà âî âíåøíåé ïîëèòèêå ÑØÀ, ñ ðàñïàäîì ÑÑÑÐ è ñîâåòñêîãî áëîêà â öåëîì) íå ïðèâîäèò ê ïåðåîñìûñëåíèþ ÿçûêà íàó÷íîãî àíàëèçà.  ñòàòüå ñòàâèòñÿ âîïðîñ î òîì, êàê ïðîèñõîäèò ýòîò ïðîöåññ â ðàìêàõ îáùåñòâåííûõ è ãóìàíè- òàðíûõ íàóê – îò ñðàâíèòåëüíîé “èìïåðèîëîãèè” äî ïîñòêîëîíèàëü- íûõ èññëåäîâàíèé. Âûÿâëÿÿ îãðàíè÷åíèÿ ðàçíûõ èññëåäîâàòåëüñêèõ ïàðàäèãì, àâòîðû ïðèõîäÿò ê âûâîäó, ÷òî êîíöåïò èìïåðèè äîëæåí ïåðåéòè èç êàòåãîðèè èñòîðè÷åñêîãî òåðìèíà, ýìïèðè÷åñêè ôèêñè- ðóþùåãî óñêîëüçíóâøóþ îò âíèìàíèÿ ìîäåðíîãî çíàíèÿ ðåàëüíîñòü ïðîøëîãî (ìíîãîíàöèîíàëüíûå äèíàñòè÷åñêèå èìïåðèè), â ñòàòóñ ñîâðåìåííîé àíàëèòè÷åñêîé ìîäåëè, ïîçâîëÿþùåé îñìûñëèòü èñòîðè÷åñêèé îïûò â ýïîõó êðèçèñà ìîäåðíûõ êàòåãîðèé àíàëèçà è ïîëèòèêè. Èñõîäÿ èç ýòîãî, ôîðìóëèðóåòñÿ èäåÿ Íîâîé Èìïåðñêîé Èñòîðèè, ãäå èìïåðèÿ ïðåäñòàåò êàê èññëåäîâàòåëüñêàÿ ñèòóàöèÿ, à íå ñòðóêòóðà, ïðîáëåìà, à íå äèàãíîç. “Ïîìûñëèòü êàê èìïåðèþ” ìîæíî ëþáîå îáùåñòâî, òî÷íî òàê æå êàê â íîìèíàëüíîé “èìïåðèè” ìîæíî îáíàðóæèòü ÷åðòû – èëè öåëûå ýïîõè – íàöèîíàëüíîãî. Íîâàÿ Èìïåðñêàÿ Èñòîðèÿ âûñòóïàåò â ðîëè “àðõåîëîãèè” çíàíèÿ îá èìïåðèè, ïîíèìàåìîé â äóõå ïîñòñòðóêòóðàëèñòñêîé ôóêîëäèàí- ñêîé ïàðàäèãìû, ïîäâåðãàþùåé äåêîíñòðóêöèè áàçîâûå è íîðìà- òèâíûå èäåè ñîöèàëüíûõ íàóê. Àðõåîëîãèÿ çíàíèÿ îá èìïåðèè ïîçâîëÿåò íàãëÿäíî óâèäåòü, êàê ïðîèñõîäèò íàöèîíàëüíàÿ àïðîï- ðèàöèÿ “îáùåãî” ïðîøëîãî â ïîëèýòíè÷íûõ ðåãèîíàõ è èìïåðñêèõ ãîðîäàõ. Èìåííî àðõåîëîãèÿ çíàíèÿ îá èìïåðèè ïîçâîëÿåò âîññòàíî- âèòü ïàëèìïñåñò ñîöèàëüíûõ èäåíòè÷íîñòåé (ðåãèîíàëüíûõ, êîíôåññèîíàëüíûõ, ñîñëîâíûõ), êîòîðûå îáû÷íî âñòðàèâàþò â òåëåîëîãè÷åñêóþ è ìîíîëîãè÷åñêóþ ïàðàäèãìó ñòðîèòåëüñòâà íàöèè èëè êëàññà/êîíôåññèè. Îíà æå äåëàåò âîçìîæíûì êîíòåêñòóàëè- çàöèþ ñîâðåìåííîãî ïðîöåññà êîíñòðóèðîâàíèÿ íàöèîíàëüíîãî ïðîøëîãî ÷åðåç èñòîðèîãðàôèþ êàê öåëåíàïðàâëåííîå äåéñòâèå è èíñòðóìåíò ïîëèòè÷åñêîé áîðüáû.

56 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Àëåêñàíäð ÊÀÌÅÍÑÊÈÉ

ÍÅÊÎÒÎÐÛÅ ÊÎÌÌÅÍÒÀÐÈÈ Ê ÐÅÄÀÊÖÈÎÍÍÎÌÓ ÏÐÅÄÈÑËÎÂÈÞ “Â ÏÎÈÑÊÀÕ ÍÎÂÎÉ ÈÌÏÅÐÑÊÎÉ ÈÑÒÎÐÈȔ

Åñëè áû äàííûé òåêñò ïðåäíàçíà÷àëñÿ ê ïóáëèêàöèè íå íà ñòðà- íèöàõ Ab Imperio, à êàêîãî-òî èíîãî èçäàíèÿ, òî íà÷àòü, âåðîÿòíî, ñòîèëî áû ñ âîñõâàëåíèÿ ðåäàêöèè, â î÷åðåäíîé ðàç ïîäòâåðäèâ- øåé ñâîþ ðåïóòàöèþ ìàñòåðîâ èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîé ïðîâîêàöèè. Îäíàêî èçâåñòíàÿ ñêðîìíîñòü ãîñïîä ðåäàêòîðîâ, êîòîðàÿ, ñêîðåå âñåãî, íå ïîçâîëèò èì íàïå÷àòàòü ñëàâîñëîâèÿ â ñâîé àäðåñ, çàñ- òàâëÿåò âîçäåðæàòüñÿ îò èçëèøíèõ ýìîöèé è îãðàíè÷èòüñÿ ëèøü êîíñòàòàöèåé âïîëíå î÷åâèäíîãî ôàêòà: çà íåñêîëüêî ëåò ñâîåãî ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ Ab Imperio óäàëîñü íå òîëüêî çàíÿòü âèäíîå ìåñòî â îòå÷åñòâåííîé ñîöèîãóìàíèòàðíîé ïåðèîäèêå, ïðèâëå÷ü ê ñîòðóäíè÷åñòâó è îáúåäèíèòü ïîä îäíîé îáëîæêîé î÷åíü ðàçíûõ ïî èíòåðåñàì, âîçðàñòó è ìåñòó îáèòàíèÿ àâòîðîâ, íî è ïî ñóùå- ñòâó ñîçäàòü ôàêòè÷åñêè íîâîå äëÿ íàøåé íàóêè ïðîáëåìíîå ïîëå. Âðÿä ëè ñåãîäíÿ â Ðîññèè ñóùåñòâóåò äðóãîé ñòîëü æå ìàñøòàá- íûé, ñòîëü æå àìáèöèîçíûé è ñòîëü óñïåøíûé ïðîåêò. Ìîæíî íå ñîìíåâàòüñÿ, ÷òî ïðîéäåò íåìíîãî âðåìåíè, è óíèêàëüíûé îïûò ðåäàêòîðîâ æóðíàëà è åãî èñòîðèÿ ñòàíóò òåìîé ñïåöèàëüíûõ èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêèõ, â òîì ÷èñëå äèññåðòàöèîííûõ èññëåäîâàíèé. Ïðè ýòîì îäíèì èç âàæíåéøèõ èñòî÷íèêîâ äëÿ áóäóùèõ êàíäèäàòîâ

57 À. Êàìåíñêèé, Íåêîòîðûå êîììåíòàðèè ê ðåäàêöèîííîìó ïðåäèñëîâèþ... íàóê ñòàíåò, êîíå÷íî æå, òåêñò ïîä çàãîëîâêîì “Â ïîèñêàõ íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè”, êîòîðûé ìîæíî ðàññìàòðèâàòü êàê ñâîåãî ðîäà ðåäàêöèîííûé ìàíèôåñò. Òåêñò ýòîò âåñüìà ïðèìå÷àòåëåí âî ìíîãèõ îòíîøåíèÿõ. Ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû, îí ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñâîåãî ðîäà “ïàìÿòíèêîì èñòîðè÷åñêîé ìûñëè”, ïîñêîëüêó â íåì äåëàåòñÿ ïîïûòêà îïèñàòü ïðè÷èíû âîçíèêíîâå- íèÿ è ðàçâèòèÿ èíòåðåñà ê îïðåäåëåííîé íàó÷íîé ïðîáëåìàòèêå, à òàêæå âûÿâèâøèõñÿ ïóòåé åå èçó÷åíèÿ. Ïî ñóòè, ìû èìååì äåëî ñ àíàëèçîì ñîñòîÿíèÿ äåë â îïðåäåëåííîé ñôåðå íàó÷íîãî çíàíèÿ íà îïðåäåëåííîì ýòàïå åå ðàçâèòèÿ, îñîáåííî èíòåðåñíûì áóäóùèì ñîèñêàòåëÿì ó÷åíûõ ñòåïåíåé åùå è ïîòîìó ÷òî îíè, â îòëè÷èå îò íàñ ñåãîäíÿøíèõ, áóäóò çíàòü, êàê ðàçâèâàëàñü ýòà ñôåðà âïîñëåä- ñòâèè. Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, ïåðåä íàìè íå ïðîñòî õîëîäíûé àíàëèç, âçãëÿä ñî ñòîðîíû, íî ñàìîðåôëåêñèÿ, ïîñêîëüêó àíàëèçèðóþò àâòîðû ñîáñòâåííîå òâîðåíèå – òî, íàä ÷åì îíè îñîçíàííî òðóäè- ëèñü â òå÷åíèå íåñêîëüêèõ ëåò. Ñàìî ïî ñåáå ýòî ÿâëåíèå, âïðî÷åì, õàðàêòåðíîå äëÿ íûíåøíåãî ýòàïà ðàçâèòèÿ èñòîðè÷åñêîé íàóêè, ïî-ñâîåìó óíèêàëüíî. Íàâåðíîå, íèêîãäà åùå çà âñþ åå èñòîðèþ ñàìîðåôëåêñèÿ, ïðèñòàëüíûé èíòåðåñ è âíèìàíèå ê ìåòîäó, ê òîìó ÷òî, êàê è çà÷åì äåëàþò èñòîðèêè, íå áûëè ñòîëü âûñîêè, à â äèñ- êóññèè âîêðóã ýòîãî íå áûë âîâëå÷åí òàêîé áîëüøîé ïðîöåíò àêòèâíî ðàáîòàþùèõ èññëåäîâàòåëåé, òðàäèöèîííî äàëåêèõ îò òåîðåòèêî-ìåòîäîëîãè÷åñêèõ è òåì áîëåå èñòîðèîñîôñêèõ èçûñêà- íèé. Ñîáñòâåííî, “êëàññè÷åñêèé” ïóòü ðàçâèòèÿ èñòîðè÷åñêîé íàóêè íà ïðîòÿæåíèè ñòîëåòèé áûë ïðåèìóùåñòâåííî òàêîâûì, ÷òî íîâûå ìåòîäû è ïîäõîäû ðîæäàëèñü â ïðîöåññå ýìïèðè÷åñêîé èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîé ðàáîòû è îïðåäåëÿëèñü îñîáåííîñòÿìè èçó÷àåìîé ïðîáëåìû, ïðèâëåêàåìûõ èñòî÷íèêîâ è ôîðìóëèðóåìûõ çàäà÷, à èõ êîíöåïòóàëèçàöèÿ è ïðåâðàùåíèå â òåîðèþ ïðîèñõîäèëè ïîçæå, ïîñëå êðèòè÷åñêîãî îñìûñëåíèÿ ïîëó÷åííûõ ðåçóëüòàòîâ. Ïðè÷åì, íåðåäêî èññëåäîâàíèÿìè çàíèìàëèñü îäíè, à êîíöåïòóàëèçàöèåé ñîâñåì äðóãèå.  íàøå âðåìÿ äâà ýòè ïðîöåññà çà÷àñòóþ ïðîòåêàþò ñèíõðîííî, à íåðåäêî âûðàáîòêà êîíöåïöèè è ìåòîäà íà òåîðåòè- ÷åñêîì óðîâíå îïåðåæàåò îïûò èõ ïðàêòè÷åñêîé àïðîáàöèè è ïðèìåíåíèÿ.  ýòîé ñâÿçè ìíîãèå êîíêðåòíûå èññëåäîâàíèÿ íîñÿò õàðàêòåð ýêñïåðèìåíòà ïî ïðèìåíåíèþ òîãî èëè èíîãî ìåòîäà, à èõ îöåíêà èíîãäà ñâîäèòñÿ íå ñòîëüêî ê çíà÷èìîñòè ïîëó÷åííûõ

58 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ðåçóëüòàòîâ ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ ïîëó÷åíèÿ íîâîãî çíàíèÿ, ñêîëüêî ê ñòåïåíè îâëàäåíèÿ àâòîðîì èçáðàííûì èì ìåòîäîì. Ïîíÿòíî, ÷òî ýòî ñâÿçàíî è ñ îáùåé ïîñòìîäåðíèñòñêîé îöåíêîé ïîçíàâàòåëüíûõ âîçìîæíîñòåé èñòîðèè, íèçâîäÿùåé ñîáñòâåííî èññëåäîâàíèå äî ñâîåãî ðîäà èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîé èãðû, ïðè÷åì “èãðû â áèñåð”, è ëèøàþùåé åãî ïðåòåíçèé íà êàêóþ-ëèáî îáùåñòâåííî çíà÷èìóþ ðîëü. Âïðî÷åì, ýòî âñå æå êðàéíîñòü, ê íàøåìó ñëó÷àþ ïðÿìîãî îòíîøåíèÿ íå èìåþùàÿ, ïîñêîëüêó íåò ñîìíåíèÿ â òîì, ÷òî àâòîðû ïðåäëîæåííîãî ê îáñóæäåíèþ òåêñòà íåñîìíåííî ñîçíàþò âñïî- ìîãàòåëüíóþ, èíñòðóìåíòàëüíóþ ðîëü ìåòîäà ïî îòíîøåíèþ ê êîíê- ðåòíîìó ìàòåðèàëó, ïîëó÷àåìîìó ñ åãî ïîìîùüþ. Ðå÷ü èäåò ëèøü î òîì, ÷òî ïîâûøåííîå âíèìàíèå ê òåîðèè, ñàìî ïî ñåáå çàñëóæè- âàþùåå âñÿ÷åñêîãî óâàæåíèÿ, ÷ðåâàòî è îïðåäåëåííûìè îïàñíîñ- òÿìè. È â ýòîé ñâÿçè îáðàùàåò íà ñåáÿ âíèìàíèå, ÷òî, ïûòàÿñü ïîäâåñòè íåêîòîðûå èòîãè ðàçâèòèÿ “íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè”, àâòîðû ñîñðåäîòà÷èâàþò âíèìàíèå â ïåðâóþ î÷åðåäü íà òåîðèè, â çíà÷èòåëüíîé ìåðå îñòàâëÿÿ çà ñêîáêàìè êîíêðåòíûå ðåçóëüòàòû èññëåäîâàíèé ïîñëåäíèõ ëåò. Äðóãàÿ îñîáåííîñòü íûíåøíåãî ìîìåíòà ñâÿçàíà ñ òåì, ÷òî, åñëè ïðåäøåñòâóþùóþ èñòîðèþ èñòîðè÷åñêîé íàóêè ìîæíî ïðåäñòàâèòü ñåáå â âèäå ïîñëåäîâàòåëüíî ñìåíÿâøèõ äðóã ýòàïîâ, äëÿ êàæäîãî èç êîòîðûõ áûëî õàðàêòåðíî ïðåîáëàäàíèå îïðåäåëåííîé èññëå- äîâàòåëüñêîé ïàðàäèãìû, òî â íàøè äíè óòâåðæäàåòñÿ, à âîçìîæíî, óæå è óòâåðäèëîñü ðàâíîïðàâíîå ñîñóùåñòâîâàíèå ðàçëè÷íûõ ïîä- õîäîâ, ñîòðóäíè÷àþùèõ íà îñíîâå âçàèìîäîïîëíÿåìîñòè. Ýòî ïðè- çíàþò è àâòîðû îáñóæäàåìîãî òåêñòà, îòìå÷àþùèå, ÷òî “èìïåðèþ íåëüçÿ îïèñàòü â ðàìêàõ îäíîé ìîäåëè, ñ ïîìîùüþ êàêîãî-òî îäíîãî ìåòàíàððàòèâà “óâèäåòü” èìïåðèþ ìîæíî, òîëüêî îñîçíàííî è êîíòåêòóàëèçèðîâàííî ñîâìåñòèâ ðàçíûå èññëåäîâà- òåëüñêèå “îïòèêè”, à “åäèíñòâåííûì ïðîäóêòèâíûì ðåøåíèåì áóäåò ïðèìåíåíèå ëþáîé èç äîñòóïíûõ êàòåãîðèé, íàèáîëåå ñîîò- âåòñòâóþùèõ êîíêðåòíîé èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîé çàäà÷å”. Áîëåå òîãî, àâòîðû ñîâåðøåííî ñïðàâåäëèâî ïðåäîñòåðåãàþò èññëåäîâàòåëåé îò àáñîëþòèçàöèè èçáðàííîãî èìè ìàñøòàáà àíàëèçà, “ñîçíàâàÿ, ÷òî ñìåíà ìàñøòàáà/åäèíèöû èçìåðåíèÿ ìîæåò ñóùåñòâåííî ñêîð- ðåêòèðîâàòü ïîëó÷åííûå ðåçóëüòàòû”. Îäíàêî îäíîâðåìåííî ñ ýòèì, óïîìèíàÿ î “ðàäèêàëüíîé äåêîíñòðóêöèè òðàäèöèîííûõ

59 À. Êàìåíñêèé, Íåêîòîðûå êîììåíòàðèè ê ðåäàêöèîííîìó ïðåäèñëîâèþ... îáúÿñíÿþùèõ ñõåì è àíàëèòè÷åñêèõ ìîäåëåé” â 1990-å ãã., îíè ñ íåêîòîðûì ñîæàëåíèåì ïèøóò, ÷òî “ïîêà íå óäàëîñü ñîçäàòü íåêóþ ðàâíîöåííóþ ïðåæíèì èíòåðïðåòàöèîííóþ ñõåìó”.  ýòîì ìíå âèäèòñÿ îïðåäåëåííîå ïðîòèâîðå÷èå â ïîçèöèè àâòîðîâ, ïðè÷åì ïðîòèâîðå÷èå òðåâîæíîå è íåîæèäàííîå â òîì ñìûñëå, ÷òî ó ýòèõ àâòîðîâ ìåíåå âñåãî îæèäàåøü ñ íèì ñòîëêíóòüñÿ. Ïðåæäå âñåãî, ñàìî ñëîâîñî÷åòàíèå “èíòåïðåòàöèîííàÿ ñõåìà” ëè÷íî ó ìåíÿ âûçûâàåò ðåàêöèþ îòòîðæåíèÿ. Íà ìîé âçãëÿä, âåñü íàø ïðåäøå- ñòâóþùèé îïûò äîñòàòî÷íî ÿñíî äåìîíñòðèðóåò, ÷òî ïðîøëîå ñëèøêîì ìíîãîîáðàçíî è ïðîòèâîðå÷èâî, ÷òîáû ïîìåñòèòüñÿ â ïðîêðóñòîâî ëîæå ëþáîé ñõåìû. Íà ìîé âçãëÿä, ñàìî ñòðåìëåíèå îáðåñòè ïîäîáíóþ ñõåìó è íàäåÿòüñÿ, ÷òî ñ åå ïîìîùüþ ìîæíî áóäåò ïîëó÷èòü îòâåòû íà âñå âîïðîñû ðóññêîé ëè èñòîðèè â öåëîì èëè èñòîðèè Ðîññèéñêîé èìïåðèè – ýòî ëîæíûé ïóòü, âåäóùèé ê ñõåìàòèçìó, îäíîáîêîñòè, óùåðáíîñòè, ò.å. ïóòü â íèêóäà. Ìåæäó òåì, àâòîðû ðåäàêöèîííîãî ïðåäèñëîâèÿ èäóò äàëüøå, ïåðå÷èñëÿÿ êëþ÷åâûå ïðîáëåìû “íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè”, äëÿ ðåøåíèÿ êîòîðûõ íàì, êàê îíè ñ÷èòàþò, íå õâàòàåò “òåîðèè”. Âîò åñëè áû îíà ó íàñ áûëà, òîãäà, ïî èõ ìíåíèþ, ìû áû ñìîãëè “èñ÷åðïûâàþùå îòâåòèòü íà âîïðîñ, êàê ïðîòåêàåò íàöèåñòðîè- òåëüñòâî â ìíîãîíàöèîíàëüíîì êîíòåêñòå”, îïèñàòü “äèíàìèêó ðàçâèòèÿ îáùåñòâà â èìïåðñêîì ïðîñòðàíñòâå”, à òàêæå îáúÿñíèòü ôàêò ðàñïàäà èìïåðèè è ñïåöèôèêó ïîñòèìïåðñêîé ñèòóàöèè. Óâû, çà ïîäîáíîé âåðîé â ìàãè÷åñêóþ ñèëó “òåîðèè” òîð÷àò óøè, ðàñòóùèå èç ïðîñâåùåí÷åñêîãî âîñïðèÿòèÿ èñòîðèè è åå çàäà÷. È íåóæåëè àâòîðû äåéñòâèòåëüíî âåðÿò, ÷òî ñ ïîìîùüþ êàêîé-ëèáî “òåîðèè” ìîæíî ïîëó÷èòü “èñ÷åðïûâàþùèé” îòâåò íà êàêîé-ëèáî âîïðîñ, èìåþùèé îòíîøåíèå ê ïðîøëîìó? Îñìåëþñü ïðåäïîëîæèòü, ÷òî íåò, è ÷òî â äàííîì ñëó÷àå â ñâîåì ñòðåìëåíèè ñïðîâîöèðîâàòü ÷èòàòåëüñêóþ àóäèòîðèþ îíè ïîïðîñòó íåñêîëüêî óâëåêëèñü. Îäíàêî â îïðåäåëåííîì ñìûñëå – ýòî “îãîâîðêà ïî Ôðåéäó”. Äåëî â òîì, ÷òî àâòîðû àáñîëþòíî òî÷íî ñâÿçûâàþò âîçíèêíîâåíèå èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî èíòåðåñà ê èìïåðèè ñ ïðîöåññàìè â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðå è â òîì ÷èñëå ñ ïðîöåññîì ãëîáàëèçàöèè.  íåêîòîðîì ðîäå ýòî êëàññè÷åñêèé ïðèìåð òîãî, êàê íîâûå âîïðîñû, çàäàâàåìûå èñòîðèêàìè ïðîøëîìó, âîçíèêàþò èç ñåãîäíÿøíåãî äíÿ. È èìåííî ïîòîìó, ÷òî ïðîáëåìû “ìåæýòíè÷åñêèõ îòíîøåíèé è èìïåðñêîãî

60 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 íàñëåäèÿ ñòàíîâÿòñÿ âñå áîëåå àêòóàëüíûìè è áîëåçíåííî ÷óâñòâè- òåëüíûìè”, òàê õî÷åòñÿ ïîëó÷èòü íà ýòè âîïðîñû èñ÷åðïûâàþùèå îòâåòû. Íî èìåííî ïîýòîìó òùåòíû è íàäåæäû íà òî, ÷òî íîâàÿ èìïåðñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ “íå ñòàíåò ïîëåì ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ áàòàëèé”. Ðàçâå ÷òî ìîæíî áûòü óâåðåííûì, ÷òî ðåäàêòîðû Ab Imperio íå äîïóñòÿò èõ íà ñòðàíèöàõ ñâîåãî æóðíàëà. Îäíàêî ïîâòîðþ åùå ðàç: îäíî äåëî îáúÿñíèòü âîçíèêíîâåíèå èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî èíòåðåñà, íîâîãî ïðîáëåìíîãî ïîëÿ, íîâîãî íàïðàâëåíèÿ èëè äàæå íîâîé äèñöèïëèíû (íà ìîé âçãëÿä, íå ñòîëü óæ ïðèíöèïèàëüíî, ÷åì ÿâëÿåòñÿ “íîâàÿ èìïåðñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ”) àêòóàëüíûìè ïðîöåññàìè è ïðîáëåìàìè è ñîâñåì äðóãîå – íàäåÿòüñÿ, ÷òî â ðåçóëüòàòå áóäåò âûðàáîòàí ìåõàíèçì èõ ðàçðåøåíèÿ. Âåäü, åñëè ñëåäîâàòü ïîäîá- íîé ëîãèêå, òî îò èçó÷åíèÿ, íàïðèìåð, èñòîðèè ïîâñåäíåâíîñòè (òîæå îòíîñèòåëüíî íîâîå íàïðàâëåíèå èñòîðè÷åñêîé íàóêè) ñëåäóåò îæèäàòü ðåøåíèÿ ïðîáëåì áûòà, à îò èñòîðèè ñåìüè è ÷àñòíîé æèçíè – óìåíüøåíèÿ ÷èñëà ðàçâîäîâ. Êîíå÷íî, õîòåëîñü áû, ÷òîáû ðåçóëüòàòû èññëåäîâàíèé â ðàìêàõ “íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè” áûëè õîòÿ áû ÷àñòè÷íî âîñòðåáîâàíû ïîëèòèêàìè, äà è îáùåñòâîì â öåëîì, íî âñå ðàâíî ýòî áûë áû ëèøü êîñâåííûé ðåçóëüòàò óñèëèé èññëåäîâàòåëåé, èáî îáùåñòâåí- íàÿ ðîëü èñòîðè÷åñêîé íàóêè íå â òîì, ÷òîáû ëå÷èòü ñîöèàëüíûå ÿçâû, à, êàê ó äðóãèõ íàóê, ïðîäóöèðîâàòü íîâîå çíàíèå. È êàê ñ ëþáûì íàó÷íûì çíàíèåì âñåãäà åñòü îïàñíîñòü, ÷òî åãî èñïîëüçóþò íå ïî íàçíà÷åíèþ. Êîñíóñü åùå îäíîãî çàòðîíóòîãî ðåäàêòîðàìè Ab Imperio ñþæåòà. Íåëüçÿ íå ñîãëàñèòüñÿ ñ ñàìûì ïåðâûì èç âûñêàçûâàåìûõ èìè ïîëîæåíèé: “ïîíÿòèå èìïåðèè ñòîëü âñåîáúåìëþùå, ÷òî ïî÷òè íå èìååò îñîáîãî ñìûñëà”. Íåñîìíåííî, ïðàâû îíè è â òîì, ÷òî “êîíöåïò “èìïåðèè” äîëæåí ïåðåéòè èç êàòåãîðèè èñòîðè÷åñêîãî òåðìèíà â ñòàòóñ ñîâðåìåííîé àíàëèòè÷åñêîé ìîäåëè”. Îäíàêî ñâîåîáðàçèå ñëîæèâøåéñÿ ñèòóàöèè â òîì, ÷òî çíà÷èòåëüíàÿ ÷àñòü èññëåäîâàòåëåé, ðàáîòàþùèõ â ðàññìàòðèâàåìîì ïðîáëåìíîì ïîëå, ïî ñóùåñòâó ðàñïèñàëàñü â ñâîåì áåññèëèè îïðåäåëèòü îáúåêò ñâîèõ èññëåäîâàíèé. Íè÷åãî ñòðàøíîãî â ýòîì íåò (âî âñÿêîì ñëó÷àå, ïîêóäà èññëåäîâàíèå ïðåäíàçíà÷åíî íå äëÿ ÂÀÊà) è ìîæíî áûëî áû íàäåÿòüñÿ, ÷òî, åñëè íå æåñòêàÿ äåôèíèöèÿ, òî, ïî êðàéíåé ìåðå, âûÿâëåíèå âàæíåéøèõ òèïîëîãè÷åñêèõ ÷åðò èìïåðèè, à áåç ýòîãî

61 À. Êàìåíñêèé, Íåêîòîðûå êîììåíòàðèè ê ðåäàêöèîííîìó ïðåäèñëîâèþ... îíà íå ñìîæåò ñòàòü è àíàëèòè÷åñêîé ìîäåëüþ, ïðîèçîéäåò èìåííî â ïðîöåññå èññëåäîâàíèÿ.  äåéñòâèòåëüíîñòè òàê è ïðîèñõîäèò. Íî äåëî â òîì, ÷òî âûÿâëåíèå ýòèõ òèïîëîãè÷åñêèõ ÷åðò, ïî-âèäè- ìîìó, ìîæåò áûòü îñóùåñòâëåíî ëèøü ïóòåì ñðàâíèòåëüíîãî àíàëèçà. Ìåæäó òåì, èìåííî “èìïåðñêàÿ êîìïàðàòèâèñòèêà” ïîäâåðãàåòñÿ àâòîðàìè íàèáîëåå æåñòêîé êðèòèêå.  ÷àñòíîñòè, ïîä÷åðêèâàåòñÿ, ÷òî “ñóùåñòâóþùèå ïðîåêòû ñðàâíèòåëüíîé èñòîðèè îãðàíè÷èâàþòñÿ òèïîëîãèÿìè êîíòèíåíòàëüíûõ èìïåðèé” è òîëüêî ñ êîíòèíåíòàëüíûìè èìïåðèÿìè ñðàâíèâàåòñÿ Ðîññèéñ- êàÿ èìïåðèÿ.  ðåçóëüòàòå äåëàåòñÿ âûâîä, ÷òî ïîäîáíûé ïîäõîä “íå ìîæåò ðàññìàòðèâàòüñÿ êàê óíèâåðñàëüíûé ìåòîä ñîçäàíèÿ àíà- ëèòè÷åñêîé ìîäåëè èìïåðèè”. Êîíå÷íî, íå ìîæåò, à ðàçâå êòî-òî èç çàíèìàþùèõñÿ “èìïåðñêîé êîìïàðàòèâèñòèêîé” íà ýòî ïðåòåí- äóåò? Áîëåå òîãî, áóäó÷è ó÷àñòíèêîì îäíîãî èç óïîìèíàåìûõ êîìïàðàòèâèñòñêèõ ïðîåêòîâ, ñâèäåòåëüñòâóþ: îãðàíè÷åíèå ïðîåêòà ðàìêàìè êîíòèíåíòàëüíûõ èìïåðèé, äà è òî íå âñåõ, èçíà÷àëüíî ðàññìàòðèâàëîñü êàê âûíóæäåííîå â ñèëó ïðîñòî ôèçè÷åñêîé íåâîçìîæíîñòè îõâàòèòü âñå è ñðàçó, íî âåäü è íà÷èíàòü ñ ÷åãî-òî íàäî. Ìåæäó òåì, äàæå â ýòèõ ðàìêàõ ïîëó÷åííûå ðåçóëüòàòû, îòðà- çèâøèåñÿ â ïðîâåäåííîé â 2003 ã. ìåæäóíàðîäíîé êîíôåðåíöèè è èçäàííîì ñáîðíèêå “Ðîññèéñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ â ñðàâíèòåëüíîé ïåðñ- ïåêòèâå”, íà ìîé âçãëÿä, îêàçàëèñü ñêðîìíåå, ÷åì îæèäàëîñü, ïîñêîëüêó â õîäå ðåàëèçàöèè ïðîåêòà âûÿâèëîñü ìíîæåñòâî ñëîæíîñòåé, ïðè÷åì ñëîæíîñòåé íå òîëüêî îðãàíèçàöèîííîãî, íî, ïðåæäå âñåãî, èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî õàðàêòåðà. Îäíàêî áûëî áû íåâåðíûì ïîëàãàòü, ÷òî ðåçóëüòàòîâ íåò âîâñå. È åñëè, íàïðèìåð, âûÿñíèëîñü, ÷òî èñïîëüçîâàâøèåñÿ â èìïåðèÿõ “ñõåìû ìîáèëèçàöèè è ðàñïðåäåëåíèÿ ðåñóðñî┠áûëè õàðàêòåðíû íå òîëüêî äëÿ èìïåðèé, à òàêæå çàèìñòâîâàëèñü “ó áîëåå ýôôåêòèâíûõ íàöèîíàëüíûõ ãîñóäàðñòâ Çàïàäíîé Åâðîïû”, òî ýòî òîæå ðåçóëüòàò, çàñëóæèâà- þùèé âíèìàíèÿ è îñìûñëåíèÿ, õîòÿ è íåÿñíî, êàêèå èìåííî íàöèî- íàëüíûå ãîñóäàðñòâà Çàïàäíîé Åâðîïû, íå áûâøèå èìïåðèÿìè, èìåþò â âèäó àâòîðû. Íå âïîëíå ïîíÿòíî ìíå è âûñêàçàííîå àâòîðàìè ñîîáðàæåíèå î òîì, ÷òî ñðàâíåíèå Ðîññèéñêîé èìïåðèè ëèøü ñ êîíòèíåíòàëüíû- ìè “èñêëþ÷àåò èç îáëàñòè ðàññìîòðåíèÿ ïðîöåññû åâðîïåèçàöèè”. Âî-ïåðâûõ, îá ýòîì íàïèñàíî òàê, áóäòî “åâðîïåèçàöèÿ” – ýòî

62 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñîâåðøåííî ÿñíàÿ è áåññïîðíàÿ êàòåãîðèÿ. Âî-âòîðûõ, åñëè â ðàìêàõ èçâåñòíûõ íà ñåãîäíÿøíèé äåíü êîìïàðàòèâíûõ ïðîåêòîâ òàêàÿ çàäà÷à íå ñòàâèëàñü, òî ýòî âîâñå íå îçíà÷àåò, ÷òî åå íåëüçÿ ïîñòà- âèòü èëè ÷òî åå ðåøåíèå íåâîçìîæíî. Çàìå÷ó òàêæå, ÷òî íåêîòîðûå ïîïûòêè ñðàâíåíèÿ ïðîöåññîâ åâðîïåèçàöèè â Ðîññèè è, íàïðèìåð, â Îñìàíñêîé èìïåðèè óæå ïðåäïðèíèìàëèñü, õîòÿ è íå ñ ïîìîùüþ èìïåðñêîé îïòèêè, à äëÿ òîãî, ÷òîáû îñóùåñòâèòü ïîäîáíîå èññëåäîâàíèå íà áîëåå øèðîêîì ìàòåðèàëå, âêëþ÷àþùåì è ìîðñêèå èìïåðèè, íàâåðíîå, åùå íàêîïëåíî íåäîñòàòî÷íî ýìïèðè÷åñêîãî ìàòåðèàëà.  çàêëþ÷åíèå õîòåë áû ïîä÷åðêíóòü, ÷òî âñå âûñêàçàííûå âûøå ñîîáðàæåíèÿ íå êàñàþòñÿ áàçîâûõ, ïðèíöèïèàëüíûõ ïîëîæåíèé îáñóæäàåìîãî òåêñòà. “Íîâàÿ èìïåðñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ”, íà ìîé âçãëÿä, óæå ñóùåñòâóåò. Ïðè÷èíû åå âîçíèêíîâåíèÿ, îñíîâàíèÿ äëÿ ñóùå- ñòâîâàíèÿ è äàëüíåéøåãî ðàçâèòèÿ, êàê è ïóòè ýòîãî ðàçâèòèÿ, òî÷íî è âïîëíå êîððåêòíî îïèñàíû àâòîðàìè. È åñëè êàêèå-òî íþàíñû èõ ïîçèöèè âûçûâàþò æåëàíèå ïîñïîðèòü, òî ëèøü ïîòîìó, ÷òî îíè ñàìè îá ýòîì ïðîñÿò.

SUMMARY

Alexander Kamenskii starts his commentary with a reflection on the “post-modern” research situation, which is characterized by a high degree of reciprocity between theoretical reflection and empirical research and by synthetic treatment of different research methods. He continues to expli- cate the impact of this research situation on the field of imperial studies, in which there is a great deal of polyphony of analytical models and approaches, and warns against aspirations to find a single interpretative scheme for the varieties of imperial and national experience. This appre- hension is even more important for Kamenskii due to the growing politici- zation of the concept of empire in contemporary Russia, which might result in the perception that imperial studies advocate empire as a model for solving ethnic conflict and the problems of globalization. Kamenskii criticizes

63 À. Êàìåíñêèé, Íåêîòîðûå êîììåíòàðèè ê ðåäàêöèîííîìó ïðåäèñëîâèþ... the authors of the introduction to “New Imperial History” for their neglect of the added value of empirical research and asserts that a more precise definition of empire would result from a typological analysis of imperial experience. In this respect he defends the rationale behind the comparative study of the history of continental empires and opines that it has achieved tangible results in the form of a typology of national and imperial historical experience.

64 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Alan SKED

EMPIRE: A FEW THOUGHTS

Today “empire,” like “fascism,” is often used as a term of abuse. Political enemies use both terms deliberately and unscientifically to place their opponents on the rhetorical and intellectual defensive. Already there is a growing tendency, for example, to talk of the US’s “imperial agenda” in the Middle East. Ironically, some defenders of the US even wish this were true, since in their eyes the Middle East and other parts of the world would be better off politically and economically under US rule. Yet the US has never been an empire in the sense of wanting to incorporate subject peoples as client states into an overarching imperium. Marxist-Leninist theories of imperialism may be used to reach the opposite conclusion, but these are now intellectually discredited. George Washington, it is true, often did refer to the US as an empire, but by that he meant merely that it was an independent country – just as Henry VIII, after his break with Rome, had parliament declare that “this realm of England is an empire.” Washington was also aware that the new US represented a great experiment in republicanism that would be closely scrutinized by the rest of the world. Yet he was optimistic of success. Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg demonstrated his own awareness that the experiment was still continuing (although it was now the future of democracy not just republicanism that was at stake) and in my opinion

65 A. Sked, Empire: A Few Thoughts American presidents thereafter, aware of their responsibility to make democracy work, were more interested in promoting it abroad by example rather than by force. Unfortunately, German policy and the two world wars dragged the US into world affairs and a more active role. It is noteworthy that no president before Woodrow Wilson in 1917 felt the need to address foreign policy in an inaugural address. Critics may counter that the US nonetheless exterminated many tribes of Indians, seized the Philippines in 1898, opened up Japan to international trade, and interfered regularly in the affairs of Central American and Caribbean states. All this is true, but most Indian tribes had already died out from disease, the remaining ones were numerically insignificant compared to the millions of immigrants arriving from Europe, so that they had little alternative but accept US concepts of “manifest destiny.” (Canadians and Latin Americans are not regarded as “imperialists” on account of similar pasts). As for the Philippines, US politicians soon realized that annexation had been a mistake and they promised independence as soon as possible. (World War Two delayed it.) Japan, despite Commodore Perry, never became a colony or protectorate (in fact, it was to become a great power rival), while the US felt compelled to interfere so often in Central America, precisely because it refused to establish an empire there. (It never gave backing to the “filibustering expeditions” of the 1850s either.) It took decades before the US agreed to annex Hawaii, and Cuba was not annexed after the war of 1898 (which the US understood as a war to save Cuba from Spanish imperialism). The truth is that the US does not want territory abroad, likes to pull its boys back home quickly after any wars it fights, and has been ideologically opposed to “empire” since 1776. Its position in Western Europe after 1945 was famously referred to by a Scandinavian historian as “empire by invitation” – the invite coming from Western Europeans who were terrified of a Soviet takeover. So much for the US. Real empires do annex or occupy territory abroad and for a variety of reasons – strategic, economic, religious, ideological, cultural, or a combination of these factors. Annexation may come about as a result of planning, war, preemption, or competition, or even by accident. In all cases, empire is rationalized, usually in terms of some kind of civilizing mission – bearing the white man’s burden, bringing peace, order, and stability, abolishing the slave trade, converting heathen, introducing medicine and technology, or bringing learning, civilization, humanity, and progress to weaker peoples or inferior cultures. All empires from the Roman to the British

66 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 to the Chinese have claimed (or still claim) this civilizing purpose. Moreover, there is often an element of truth involved, sometimes a con- siderable one. Who can deny the benefits of the Pax Romana or the Pax Britannica? The British Empire did bring about the abolition of slavery in most of the world (although it had encouraged the trade in the first place). The world’s most stable and largest democracies – the US, India, Canada, Australia, New Zealand (and South Africa?) – are all the products of the British Empire. Yet nobody asked for empire to be imposed. It was always imposed by force – and the degree of brutality involved has varied enormously. Force, however, would eventually give way to accommodation, and accommodation would always be regulated by collaboration. The modali- ties of collaboration, however, would later become absolutely crucial when empire approached its end. If collaboration took the form of assimilation (e.g., as in the French Empire) decolonization became much more problematic (cf., Algeria and Vietnam). However, if – as in the case of the British Empire – collaboration left local elites a fairly free hand domestically, there was little trouble. Britain also had few worries about decolonization since, first, she had accommodated herself to the idea of colonial territories gaining independence after the American War (Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa all had indepen- dence by the early twentieth century, and Macaulay in the 1830s had already said that the greatest day in the history of the Empire would be when India got her independence – a project set back, unfortunately, by the 1857 Mutiny) and secondly, by the fact that the Empire repre- sented no economic advantage. Decolonization or end of empire came outside Europe partly as a result of World War Two, but more often because ideas of democracy, parlia- mentarianism, nationalism, socialism, and self-rule had spread from the metropolises to native elites, who, armed with western ideals, could no longer be politically resisted. Economics in the end proved less potent than culture and cultural exchanges in determining imperialism’s demise. The Habsburg Empire was an anomaly in all this. A collection of hereditary possessions, largely inherited through marriage (Bosnia-Herzegovina, Galicia, and Lombardy-Venetia were the exceptions), and ruled over benignly by a popular dynasty, there was no need for its dissolution before 1914. Like the other economically, politically, culturally, and socially absolutely viable empires of Eastern and Central Europe (see the last chapter of the second

67 A. Sked, Empire: A Few Thoughts and enlarged edition of my Decline and Fall of the Habsburg Empire, 1815-1918. London and New York, 2001), it was killed off by the First World War. Clearly it had had its weaknesses and domestic critics before 1914, but all these critics called merely for some measure of reform under the Habsburg dynasty.

SUMMARY

Àëàí Ñêåä îáðàùàåòñÿ ê èíòåðïðåòàöèè ñîâðåìåííîé ïîëèòèêè ÑØÀ ñêâîçü ïðèçìó êîíöåïöèè èìïåðèè. Îí îòìå÷àåò âàæíóþ îñîáåííîñòü èñòîðè÷åñêîãî íàñëåäèÿ è ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ðåïðåçåíòàöèè àìåðèêàíñêîé ïîëèòèêè, êîòîðûå ÿâëÿþòñÿ àíòàãîíèñòàìè èìïåð- ñêîé èäåîëîãèè, õîòÿ âíåøíå ïîëèòèêà ÑØÀ ìîæåò âûçûâàòü àññîöèàöèè ñ èìïåðñêîé ýêñïàíñèåé è êîíòðîëåì. Àâòîð îáðàùàåò âíèìàíèå íà òî, ÷òî òðàäèöèîííûå èñòîðè÷åñêèå èìïåðèè ñòðå- ìèëèñü íå ñòîëüêî ê êîíòðîëþ, ñêîëüêî ê àííåêñèè è èíòåãðàöèè íîâûõ òåððèòîðèé â åäèíîå èìïåðñêîå ïðîñòðàíñòâî. Çàêëþ÷èòåëüíàÿ ðåïëèêà êîììåíòàðèÿ Ñêåäà ïðèçûâàåò ó÷èòûâàòü èñòîðè÷åñêîå ðàçíîîáðàçèå èìïåðñêèõ ñòðàòåãèé èíòåãðàöèè è êîíòðîëÿ, õàðàê- òåðíîå äëÿ êîëîíèàëüíûõ è êîíòèíåíòàëüíûõ èìïåðèé, à òàêæå ïàðàäîêñ äåêîëîíèçàöèè, êîòîðàÿ ÷åðïàëà èñòî÷íèêè âäîõíîâåíèÿ è ëåãèòèìàöèè â ñîâðåìåííîé åâðîïåéñêîé öèâèëèçàöèè êîëîíè- çàòîðîâ.

68 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Richard T. CHU

THE “NEW IMPERIAL HISTORY” AND U.S. IMPERIALISM

My positionality In writing this essay, I would like to start out by saying something about my “positionality.” First, it is as someone who teaches and researches about US and other Pacific empires in the 19th and 20th centuries. In introducing my students (mostly undergraduates) to the concept of empire, I use Stephen Howe’s Empire: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford University Press, 2002). In his first chapter, Howe lays out several characteristics of modern empires: control over a vast territory (whether linked by land or by sea; and this control can be direct or indirect, formal or informal); the establishment of an unequal relationship of power between itself and those that it “rules” or controls; and the creation of a heterogeneous “multi-ethnic” empire. But the most important characteristics for me are: 1) the processes often involved in the creation of such a modern empire, namely, the quest for more markets, which was often accompanied by violence inflicted upon indigenous peoples; 2) the use of cultural ideologies presupposing racial and cultural superiority to justify such conquests; and 3) a genealogy and history that is linked to the rise of European capitalist expansion and colo- nization back in the 15th century, reaching its apex in the 19th century and continuing with American imperialist projects from the 19th to the 21st centuries.

69 R. Chu, The “New Imperial History” and U.S. Imperialism I make no bones about my “positionality” when talking to my students: the United States is an empire. The problems, “nature,” manifestations, cultures, and history of the American Empire have been written and delineated in many works by a wide range of scholars (e.g., William Appleman Williams, the Americanists Amy Kaplan and Donald Pease, the historian Chalmers Johnson, and Filipino post-colonial scholars like Oscar Campomanes and Martin Manalansan). In my own work on the history of the Chinese in the Philippines, I examine how the anti-Chinese and racist policies of the American colonial government contributed to the creation of the dichoto- mous and oppositional relationship that exists today between the Chinese and the Filipinos. My professional career also extends beyond my teaching and writing to my membership in the Critical Filipina/o Studies Collective, which is composed of young Filipino/Filipino-American scholars actively engaged in intellectual and political work critical of the US empire, both past and present. All of the scholars mentioned above, to varying degrees, implicate the United States as – to use Stephen Howe’s words – the “undis- puted leader, symbol, and greatest force of modern-day imperialism.” My “positionality” is also one of a neo- or post-colonial subject of modern- day US imperialism. As a citizen of a country that has been colonized by not one but four empires (Spanish, British, American, Japanese) since 1565, and one that continues to struggle to shape itself as a strong and united nation-state while trying to shake off its colonial legacies, I can not help but be critical of the role that our colonial past and the US empire played and continues to play in my country’s history and society. I see the “hand” of the US empire continuing to hold sway in the political, economic, and social lives of its former colony: from the agreement it signed in 2002 with the Macapagal government to conduct “joint” military exercises in Mindanao (where there is a Muslim-led insurgency) and fight “global terrorism” to its insistence on the Philippines to follow World Bank and International Monetary Fund guidelines on how to restructure its economy in exchange for loans and more loans; and from its flooding our country with American consumer goods, films, books, and music, to the way it has systematically deported Filipinos in the United States after 9/11 (see Homeland Security Report-CFFSC). All these follow on the heels of a century-long history of US control over the Philippines: its takeover from Spain in spite of the indige- nous revolutionary movement that had won its independence; its policy of “benevolent assimilation” while engaging in a bloody campaign to suppress native anti-American resistance in the first decade of American colonial rule in the Philippines; the subsequent “mis-education” of Filipinos, which 70 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 erased from their historical memory (and from those of Americans as well) the Philippine-American War; the systematic exploitation of the Philippines’ natural resources and the restructuring of its economy designed to benefit and make it dependent upon the American economy; the establishment of military bases, which protected nothing but American interests in the Asia- Pacific region; and its complicity in and support of the Marcos dictatorship, which imprisoned, tortured, and killed thousands of Filipinos and saddled the country with a foreign debt that cannot be paid off. Thus, my experience with “empire” in all its negative aspects was not borne out of associating it with Star Wars or any media-created image of “evil” empires, but rather from my personal experience of having lived in a country whose sordid state is inextricably linked and was mainly a result of its colonial past and neo-colonial relationship with the US empire. This is not to say that the solution to the country’s woes is simply to blame its colonial legacies and excise them from the face of its society in the name of nationalism. Such an approach has largely been debated in the past by academics and politicians in the Philippines, applied in various acts and policies, and found not only to be foolhardy but also impossible. But I believe that there are a couple of important steps that the Philippines has to take in its efforts at nation-building: 1) to change its educational program in order to make its people aware of the insidious nature of their country’s colonial and neo-colonial relationship with the US; and 2) to challenge its people to find creative but radical ways to change this unequal balance of power. José Rizal, the national hero of the Philippines, once wrote: “Ang hindi marunong lumingon sa kanyang pinanggalingan ay hindi makakarating sa kanyang paroroonan” (One who does not look back to the past cannot under- stand the future). Without an understanding of how colonialism created a state of dependency in their country, the Filipinos cannot really begin to carve out a future that would place them on equal footing with their former colonial masters. Furthermore, I believe that a change in the educational system of the US needs to be undertaken in order to wipe out the collective amnesia of Americans about their imperial past (see Campomanes).

The “New Imperial History” and Its Application to the Philippine Experience – Points of Agreement In writing my thoughts about the editorial essay, I would like to start out with what I deem as “points of agreement.” I do agree with the essay’s assessment that the field of post-colonial studies tends to focus “exclusively 71 R. Chu, The “New Imperial History” and U.S. Imperialism on cultural practices through which empire as a form of power is realized, while ignoring the problem of the relations between structures, such as nations, states, collective identities, etc.” But this certainly does not mean that works in this field are unimportant. The importance of post-colonial scholarship lies in its power to challenge dominant discourses that are often skewed toward maintaining an imbalanced status quo. Combined with other studies that are more structural in their approach, post-colonial studies has the capacity to truly transform a society by retrieving the voices of historically subju- gated groups of peoples. Moreover, if the problem with post-colonial studies, as the essay points out, is its “reluctance to pay attention to the problem of horizontal interactions between different elements and their ‘fetishization’ of the opposition East-West in the conception of Orientalism,” I dare say that in the case of the Philippines, we need more post-colonial scholarship because too much attention has been given to the horizontal interactions between the US and the Philippines, and the lack of the “fetishization” of the opposition between the two. I further agree with the statement that the negative connotations of empire were borne in the 19th century, and that these “continued gradually and irregularly as the political, international, and socio-cultural order of moder- nity was being born.” But while it may be true that the “nationalists” in post-colonial societies and those found in the “former metropolises” had a hand in constructing “empire” in a negative way in order to “conceptualize the development of nationalism” in their newly independent states, this does not mean that their analyses were erroneous. Their analyses are particularly important if they can serve to help remove or understand the ills facing post-colonial states. As I mentioned earlier, there have been many debates within academic and political circles in the Philippines as to whether the problems in the country were caused by its long history of colonialism, or by the indigenous people/leaders themselves, who seemingly cannot simply follow the example of other post-colonial states whose citizens managed to “advance” or improve themselves. But it is precisely in my own experience as a Filipino that I cannot subscribe to the idea that “if you only work hard enough then you’ll progress,” because I can see how mired we are in a situa- tion from which it is very difficult to extricate ourselves, i.e., a situation of perpetual poverty and dependency. For many Philippine colonial historians like myself, “empire” is both a structure and a diagnosis (albeit not the only one) in trying to understand the problems of the country. We are hard pressed to find a new “theory” to “explain the fact of empire’s disintegration” when

72 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 millions of Filipinos continue to be affected by the prevalence and persis- tence of empire. I must point out, then, that the one glaring difference between the posi- tion of the writers of this essay and mine is this: that they are writing from the vantage point of European (particularly Russian) experiences of “empire” and “the nation-state.” Thus, they have a point when they write that recent developments in Europe, such as the creation of the European Union, and the encroachment of some states over the sovereignty of other states, put into question the preponderance of the “nation-state” over “empire” and the “nation-state” as the “basic instrument in the organization of political space.” However, in the Philippine experience, one cannot even speak of a sovereign nation-state, because it is still in the process of defining itself as one, and its relationship with the United States cannot be compared with the relationship of, say, Poland with the European Union. It is from my “positionality” that I still have to comprehend what the essay means by “zones of interaction,” and “mutual influences, common experiences and reactions to common challenges” that need to be explored, and that will hopefully lead us to the “investigation of processes of Europeaniza- tion,” or to what it refers to as “the problem of ‘horizontal’ interactions between different elements” that we need to pay attention to. In my opinion, this new “imperial theory” may be applicable to Europe, but not to the US and its imperial reach in different countries or regions like the Philippines, Latin America, and the Middle East. Nevertheless, I would be very interested in finding out more about what the essay refers to as this new imperial history’s “multidimensional view of social, political, and cultural actors, and of spaces in which they function.” It might help me understand other dimensions of empire as they relate to the US empire and its relation- ship with countries like the Philippines.1

1 How this new approach could be applied to the case of China and its autonomous regions would also be interesting.

73 R. Chu, The “New Imperial History” and U.S. Imperialism

SUMMARY

Ñâîé êîììåíòàðèé î ïðîáëåìàõ ïîíèìàíèÿ ñîâðåìåííîãî ìèðà è àðòèêóëÿöèè èìïåðèè êàê àíàëèòè÷åñêîé êàòåãîðèè Ðè÷àðä ×ó íà÷èíàåò ñ îáúÿñíåíèÿ ñîáñòâåííîé ïîçèöèè è îïûòà â êîëîíè- àëüíîì êîíòåêñòå îòíîøåíèé ìåæäó Ôèëèïïèíàìè è ÑØÀ è â ïîñòêîëîíèàëüíîì êîíòåêñòå ôèëèïïèíñêîãî îáùåñòâà. Àâòîð îòìå÷àåò ïðàêòè÷åñêóþ íåîáõîäèìîñòü àðòèêóëÿöèè êîíöåïöèè èìïåðèè è çàùèùàåò ïîñòêîëîíèàëüíóþ òåîðèþ. Ïî åãî ìíåíèþ, âàæíîé ôóíêöèåé ñîöèàëüíûõ íàóê îñòàåòñÿ êðèòèêà ãîñïîäñòâó- þùèõ äèñêóðñîâ, êîòîðûå ñîñòàâëÿþò ÷àñòü ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî è ýêî- íîìè÷åñêîãî ãîñïîäñòâà ìîãóùåñòâåííûõ äåðæàâ íàä áûâøåé èëè íûíåøíåé êîëîíèàëüíîé ïåðèôåðèåé (êàê â ñëó÷àå ñ Ôèëèïïèíàìè). Àâòîð òàêæå âûñêàçûâàåòñÿ çà áîëüøåå âíèìàíèå ê èñòîðè÷åñêîìó è ñîâðåìåííîìó ïîëèòè÷åñêîìó êîíòåêñòó, çà ó÷åò ñïåöèôè÷åñêîé ïîçèöèè òðåòüåãî ìèðà ïî îòíîøåíèþ ê Åâðîïå (êóäà îí âêëþ÷àåò Ðîññèþ). Ñ ýòîé òî÷êè çðåíèÿ âîïðîñ îá èñ÷åðïàíèè ëåãèòèìíîñòè íàöèîíàëüíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà ÿâëÿåòñÿ íåïðàâîìåðíûì, òàê êàê â òðåòüåì ìèðå åùå íå äîñòèãíóòà çàäà÷à ñîçäàíèÿ ñóâåðåííîãî è íàöèîíàëüíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà.

74 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Äîìèíèê ËÈÂÅÍ

ÈÌÏÅÐÈß, ÈÑÒÎÐÈß È ÑÎÂÐÅÌÅÍÍÛÉ ÌÈÐÎÂÎÉ ÏÎÐßÄÎÊ*

Èìïåðèÿ íå áûëà â ÷åñòè ó èñòîðèêîâ ïðåäûäóùåãî ïîêîëåíèÿ, à â ðàáîòàõ ïîëèòîëîãîâ è ñïåöèàëèñòîâ â îáëàñòè ìåæäóíàðîä- íûõ îòíîøåíèé îíà çàíèìàëà ìàðãèíàëüíîå ïîëîæåíèå. Ñåé÷àñ èìïåðèÿ ñíîâà îêàçàëàñü â ÷èñëå ïðèîðèòåòíûõ òåì. ×òî êàñàåòñÿ ôàêóëüòåòîâ ïîëèòîëîãèè è ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ îòíîøåíèé, òî èõ èíòåðåñ ê ýòèì ñþæåòàì â çíà÷èòåëüíîé ìåðå îáúÿñíÿåòñÿ ñîâðå- ìåííûìè ïîëèòè÷åñêèìè ðåàëèÿìè. Ïðîáëåìû ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé âëàñòè, áåçîïàñíîñòè ãîñóäàðñòâà è îáùåñòâà, ïðîáëåìû ðàçâèòèÿ, ñòîÿùèå ïåðåä ìíîãèìè áûâøèìè êîëîíèÿìè, ñäåëàëè àêòóàëüíûì èçó÷åíèå íåêîòîðûõ àñïåêòîâ èìïåðèé â èñòîðè÷åñêîé ïåðñïåêòèâå. Çà ïîëèòêîððåêòíîé òåðìèíîëîãèåé ãëîáàëüíîãî óïðàâëåíèÿ è ãóìàíèòàðíîé èíòåðâåíöèè ïðîñìàòðèâàþòñÿ íåêîòîðûå ñòàðûå (è, â ïðèíöèïå, çà÷àñòóþ âïîëíå äîáðîæåëàòåëüíûå) èìïåðñêèå ïðåòåíçèè.1 Åùå âàæíåå òî, ÷òî ðàñïàä Ñîâåòñêîãî Ñîþçà ïîçâîëèë Ñîåäèíåííûì Øòàòàì äîñòè÷ü áåñïðåöåäåíòíîãî ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêîãî è èäåîëîãè÷åñêîãî ãîñïîäñòâà ïî âñåìó çåìíîìó øàðó. Îòíîñè- òåëüíûé ýêîíîìè÷åñêèé óïàäîê â ßïîíèè è Ãåðìàíèè â 1990-å ãã., ïðîèçîøåäøèé íà ôîíå ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî áóìà â ÑØÀ, ïî êðàéíåé

* Ïåðåâîä ñ àíãëèéñêîãî Ì. Ëîñêóòîâîé 1 Õîðîøèì ïðèìåðîì ìîæåò ñëóæèòü ñòàòüÿ Ðîáåðòà Êóïåðà: Robert Cooper. The Next Empire // Prospect. 2004. April. Pp. 16-20. 75 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê ìåðå, íà êàêîå-òî âðåìÿ ïîëîæèë êîíåö äèñêóññèÿì îá óïàäêå è ÷ðåçìåðíîì ïåðåíàïðÿæåíèè ñèë Àìåðèêè – ñïîðàì, êîòîðûå áûëè â ìîäå â 1970-å è 1980-å ãã.2 Ìåæäó òåì, âòîðàÿ àäìèíèñòðàöèÿ ïðåçèäåíòà Äæ. Áóøà ñ ãîðàçäî ìåíüøåé ñäåðæàííîñòüþ, ÷åì åå ïðåäøåñòâåííèêè, ïðîâîçãëàñèëà è ðåàëèçóåò ãîñïîäñòâî Àìåðèêè âî âñåì ìèðå. Âñå ýòè ôàêòîðû îáúÿñíÿþò, ïî÷åìó ñïåöèàëèñòû ïî ìåæäóíàðîäíûì îòíîøåíèÿì çàèíòåðåñîâàëèñü èìïåðèÿìè êàê ñðåäñòâîì êîíöåïòóàëèçàöèè è îñìûñëåíèÿ ñîâðåìåííîãî ìèðî- âîãî ïîðÿäêà.3 Íîâûé âñïëåñê èíòåðåñà èñòîðèêîâ ê ïðîáëåìàòèêå èìïåðèè çà÷àñòóþ îáúÿñíÿåòñÿ äðóãèìè ïðè÷èíàìè. Ñðåäè èñòîðèêîâ èçó÷åíèå âëàñòè â åå ãðóáûõ, çðèìûõ ôîðìàõ – âëàñòè ýêîíîìè- ÷åñêîé, ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêîé è ïðåæäå âñåãî âîåííîé – íå ïîëüçóåòñÿ îñîáîé ïîïóëÿðíîñòüþ. Îäíàêî “èìïåðñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ” ðàñøèðèëà ñâîè ãðàíèöû, âêëþ÷èâ â íèõ íå òîëüêî ýòè òðàäèöèîííûå âîïðîñû, íî òàêæå è íîâûå íàïðàâëåíèÿ, òàêèå êàê ýêîëîãèÿ, ãåíäåðíûå ïðîáëåìû, ïðîáëåìû èäåíòè÷íîñòè. Êàê ïðàâèëüíî îòìåòèëà Ëèíäà Êîëëè, “ ‘Èìïåðèÿ’ âûèãðàëà îò ïðèìåíåíèÿ èñòîðè÷åñêîé íàóêîé áîëåå øèðîêîãî ïîäõîäà ê ïðåäìåòó ñâîåãî èçó÷åíèÿ”.4 Ïîìèìî ïåðå÷èñëåííûõ íàïðàâëåíèé èññëåäîâàíèÿ, èçó÷åíèå èìïåðèé âîñïðèíÿëî òàêæå è êîå-÷òî èç íàñëåäèÿ “âñåîáùåé”, èëè ãëîáàëüíîé, èñòîðèè. Çäåñü ñïåöèàëèñòû â îáëàñòè èñòîðèè èìïåðèé â èçâåñòíîé ìåðå øëè íàâñòðå÷ó èíòåðåñó îáùåñòâà ê ñîáûòèÿì è ïðîöåññàì êðóïíîãî ìàñøòàáà, ê òàêîé èñòîðèè, êîòîðàÿ ïîïûòàëàñü áû îáúåäèíèòü ñòðåìèòåëüíî ðàñøèðÿþùèéñÿ ñïåêòð îòäåëüíûõ óçêî- ñïåöèàëüíûõ îáëàñòåé, ê èñòîðèè, êîòîðàÿ îòêëèêàåòñÿ íà ïðîáëåìû

2 Áèáëèåé ýòîé íàó÷íîé øêîëû áûëà ðàáîòà Ïîëà Êåííåäè “Âîñõîä è ïàäåíèå âåëè- êèõ äåðæàâ. Ýêîíîìè÷åñêèå èçìåíåíèÿ è âîåííûå êîíôëèêòû ñ 1500 äî 2000 ãã.” (Ñì.: Paul Kennedy. The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers. Economic Change and Military Conflict from 1500 to 2000. New York, 1987). 3 Íà ýòó òåìó íàïèñàíî îãðîìíîå ÷èñëî ìîíîãðàôèé, íàó÷íûõ è ïîïóëÿðíûõ ñòàòåé, à â 2004 ã. äàæå âûøëî ñïåöèàëüíîå èçäàíèå Ïðîñïåêòà (íà CD-Rom). Âîçìîæíî, ñàìîå èíòåðåñíîå â ýòîé ëèòåðàòóðå òî, ÷òî íåêîòîðûå àìåðèêàíñêèå èíòåëëåêòóàëû, ïðåòåíäóþùèå íà îáùåñòâåííóþ èçâåñòíîñòü, óñâîèëè è äàæå ïðèâåòñòâîâàëè èñïîëüçîâàíèå òåðìèíà “èìïåðèÿ” äëÿ îïèñàíèÿ ñîâðåìåííîãî ïîëîæåíèÿ ÑØÀ, ÷òî ñàìî ïî ñåáå óæå ÿâëÿåòñÿ ðàçðûâîì ñ àìåðèêàíñêîé òðàäèöèåé. 4 Linda Colley. What is Imperial History Now? // David Cannadine (Ed). What is History Now? Palgrave, 2002. P. 135. 76 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñîâðåìåííîñòè. Ïîñêîëüêó âûæèâàíèå èñòîðè÷åñêèõ ôàêóëüòåòîâ â áðèòàíñêèõ óíèâåðñèòåòàõ, â êîíå÷íîì ñ÷åòå, çàâèñèò îò èíòåðåñà è áëàãîñêëîííîñòè îáùåñòâà ê ýòîé íàóêå, ïîñëåäíåå îáñòîÿòåëüñòâî ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ ìíå åùå îäíèì àðãóìåíòîì â ïîëüçó íîâåéøèõ òåíäåíöèé â èçó÷åíèè èñòîðèè èìïåðèé.  ýòîé ñòàòüå ÿ ñòàâëþ ïåðåä ñîáîé íåñêîëüêî çàäà÷. ß ïîïûòàþñü ðàññìîòðåòü èìïåðèþ êàê òèïîëîãè÷åñêîå ïîíÿòèå âî âñåì ðàçíî- îáðàçèè åå ïðîÿâëåíèé íà ïðîòÿæåíèè òûñÿ÷åëåòèé â ðàçíûõ îáëàñòÿõ çåìíîãî øàðà. Ïðè ýòîì ÿ ïîñòàðàþñü èçáåæàòü òðàäè- öèîííîãî ïîäõîäà, ïðè êîòîðîì â ôîêóñå âíèìàíèÿ â ïåðâóþ î÷åðåäü íàõîäèòñÿ ìîðñêàÿ çàïàäíîåâðîïåéñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ íîâîãî âðåìåíè. ×ðåçìåðíîå óâëå÷åíèå ýòîé ïîñëåäíåé âåäåò ê èçâåñòíûì ïåðåêîñàì â íàøèõ îïðåäåëåíèÿõ è ïîäõîäàõ ê ïðåäìåòó. Ïîä÷åðêèâàÿ ìíîãîîáðàçèå ðàçíûõ çíà÷åíèé ïîíÿòèÿ “èìïåðèÿ”, ñóùåñòâîâàâøèõ â ðàçíûå ñòîëåòèÿ â ðàçíûõ ðåãèîíàõ ìèðà, ìíîãîîáðàçèå èìïåðñêèõ ïîëèòèê, ÿ óòâåðæäàþ, ÷òî ñóùíîñòüþ èìïåðèè, åå öåíòðàëüíûì ïîíÿòèåì ÿâëÿåòñÿ âëàñòü â ðàçíûõ åå ïðîÿâëåíèÿõ.  íàñòîÿùåé ñòàòüå ÿ õîòåë áû âûñêàçàòüñÿ ïî âîïðîñàì, êîòîðûå âîëíóþò êàê èñòîðèêîâ, òàê è ñïåöèàëèñòîâ â îáëàñòè ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ îòíî- øåíèé. ß íàäåþñü, ÷òî ýòà ñòàòüÿ ïîìîæåò ïðèâíåñòè íåäîñòàþùèå èñòîðè÷åñêóþ êîíêðåòíîñòü è âîîáðàæåíèå, ïðèäàñò áóëüøóþ ãëóáèíó òåì ñïîðàì, êîòîðûå âåäóòñÿ âîêðóã èìïåðèè ñðåäè ñïåöèàëèñòîâ â îáëàñòè ñîöèàëüíûõ íàóê.  òî æå âðåìÿ ÿ íàäåþñü, ÷òî ìíå óäàñòñÿ ïîä÷åðêíóòü êëþ÷åâóþ çíà÷èìîñòü âëàñòè – êàê â åå ãðóáûõ, æåñòêèõ, òàê è â åå áîëåå ìÿãêèõ ôîðìàõ; âëàñòè, èçó÷åíèåì êîòîðîé ÷àñòî ïðåíåáðåãàþò ìíîãèå ñîâðåìåííûå èñòîðèêè èìïåðèé. Íî ïðåæäå âñåãî â ýòîé ñòàòüå ÿ íàäåþñü ïðîäåìîíñòðèðîâàòü äâå âåùè: âî-ïåðâûõ, òî, êàêîå îãðîìíîå çíà÷åíèå èìïåðèÿ èìåëà è èìååò äëÿ ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ ñîâðåìåííîãî ìèðîâîãî ïîðÿäêà; è âî-âòî- ðûõ, ÷òî ìîæåò äàòü èìïåðèÿ êàê àíàëèòè÷åñêàÿ êàòåãîðèÿ äëÿ ïî- íèìàíèÿ ïðèðîäû ñåãîäíÿøíåé ìåæäóíàðîäíîé ïîëèòèêè. Äëÿ ëþáîãî îñìûñëåííîãî îáñóæäåíèÿ âîïðîñà î òîì, ÷òî òàêîå èìïåðèÿ, ñîâåðøåííî íåîáõîäèìî îòðåøèòüñÿ îò ñîâðåìåííîé ïîëåìèêè âîêðóã ýòîãî ñëîâà è ïîíÿòèÿ. Êàêèå áû ñîâðåìåííûå àññîöèàöèè íè âûçûâàë ñàì òåðìèí “èìïåðèÿ”, î÷åíü âàæíî îñîçíàòü, ÷òî íà ïðîòÿæåíèè òûñÿ÷åëåòèé èìïåðèè çà÷àñòóþ îáåñïå÷èâàëè ñâîå íàñåëåíèå îñíîâíûìè îáùåñòâåííûìè áëàãàìè. Èìïåðèè ïîääåðæèâàëè ïîðÿäîê è áåçîïàñíîñòü íà îãðîìíûõ ïðîñòðàíñòâàõ 77 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê çåìíîãî øàðà. Òåì ñàìûì îíè ïîîùðÿëè ðàçâèòèå òîðãîâëè ñ äàëü- íèìè ñòðàíàìè è ñîâåðøåíñòâîâàíèå ôèíàíñîâûõ îïåðàöèé, íåîáõî- äèìûõ äëÿ åå âåäåíèÿ. Õîòÿ çàïàäíûå (è íå òîëüêî) èñòîðèêè5 ñêëîííû ïîä÷åðêèâàòü òå îãðàíè÷åíèÿ, êîòîðûå èìïåðñêàÿ èäåîëîãèÿ ââîäèëà, ÷òîáû ïîìåøàòü ñâîáîäíîé êîíêóðåíöèè èäåé, â ðåàëüíîñòè äåëà îáñòîÿëè íå ñòîëü îäíîçíà÷íî. Ñîçäàíèå áëàãî- ïðèÿòíûõ óñëîâèé äëÿ òîðãîâëè ñ äàëüíèìè ñòðàíàìè ïîìîãàëî ðàñïðîñòðàíåíèþ íå òîëüêî òîâàðîâ, íî è èäåé. Èìïåðèè çàùèùàëè è ôèíàíñèðîâàëè ìíîãèå èç âåëè÷àéøèõ ìèðîâûõ öèâèëèçàöèé è ïàìÿòíèêîâ êóëüòóðû, ñëóæèëè èñòî÷íèêîì âäîõíîâåíèÿ äëÿ èõ òâîðöîâ. Îòíþäü íå î÷åâèäíî, ÷òî âñå ýòè îáùåñòâåííûå áëàãà ìîãëè áûòü îáåñïå÷åíû â äîëãîâðåìåííîé ïåðñïåêòèâå êàêèìè- ëèáî äðóãèìè, íåèìïåðñêèìè ñðåäñòâàìè. Õîòÿ âñå ýòî î÷åíü âàæíûå èñòèíû, îíè ñ òðóäîì ïðèíèìàþòñÿ â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðå. Ñëîâî “èìïåðèÿ” ïðåâðàòèëîñü â ïîëèòèêå â ðîä ðóãàòåëüñòâà. Èñïîëüçîâàíèå ýòîãî òåðìèíà äëÿ îïèñàíèÿ ëþáîé ïîëèòè÷åñêîé îáùíîñòè îáû÷íî îçíà÷àåò îñóæäåíèå äàííîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà, ïðèçíàíèå åãî íåçàêîííûì, óñòàðåëûì, îáðå÷åííûì íà èñ÷åçíîâåíèå. Äëÿ áîëüøèíñòâà ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé ñòðàí òðåòüåãî ìèðà “èìïåðèÿ” àññîöèèðóåòñÿ ñ îáðàçàìè åâðîïåéñêèõ êîëîíèçà- òîðîâ, ñ ïðåíåáðåæèòåëüíûì îòíîøåíèåì ê êóëüòóðå àáîðèãåíîâ, ñ íàâÿçàííûì èçâíå ïðàâëåíèåì ÷óæåñòðàíöåâ. Êàê è ïîëàãàåòñÿ, ýòè îáðàçû ïîçäíåå àêòèâíî èñïîëüçîâàëè íîâûå íîñèòåëè âëàñòè â öåëÿõ ëåãèòèìàöèè ïîñòèìïåðñêèõ ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ ðåæèìîâ. Ñêàçàííîå, âïðî÷åì, íå îçíà÷àåò, ÷òî ýòè îáðàçû â áîëüøèíñòâå ñëó÷àåâ íå îòðàæàþò èñòîðè÷åñêóþ ðåàëüíîñòü. Îäíàêî ãîðàçäî áîëåå çíà÷èìî òî, ÷òî èìïåðèÿ â ðàâíîé ìåðå ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ ÷åì-òî íåçàêîííûì â ãëàçàõ àìåðèêàíöå⠖ èíûìè ñëîâàìè, â ãëàçàõ åäèíñòâåííîãî íàðîäà, ÷üÿ ñòðàíà íà ñåãîäíÿ äîñòàòî÷íî ìîãóùåñòâåííà, ÷òîáû íàçûâàòüñÿ íàñòîÿùåé èìïåðèåé. Èñòîðè÷åñêèé ìèô î ñîçäàíèè Ñîåäèíåííûõ Øòàòîâ ïðîíèçàí ïàôîñîì áîðüáû ñ èìïåðèåé. Õîòÿ âïîñëåäñòâèè ÑØÀ ïîêîðèëè öåëûé êîíòèíåíò, èñòðåáèâ åãî êîðåííîå íàñåëåíèå, áîëüøèíñòâî àìåðèêàíöåâ ïîëàãàëè, ÷òî îíè ñîçäàâàëè íàöèþ.  ýòîì îíè

5 Ðå÷ü èäåò íå òîëüêî î çàïàäíûõ èñòîðèêàõ. Ìàî Öçå Äóí áûë ñ íèìè ñîãëàñåí â òîì, ÷òî êàñàåòñÿ íå÷åñòèâîãî âîçäåéñòâèÿ èìïåðèè íà Êèòàé, ïðîòèâîïîñòàâëÿÿ ýòî âîçäåéñòâèå äîñòîèíñòâàì åâðîïåéñêîé ìíîãîïîëþñíîé ñèñòåìû. Ñì.: L. J. Moser. The Chinese Mosaic. The Peoples and Provinces of China. Boulder, CO, 1985. P. 136. 78 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 îòëè÷àëèñü îò ñâîèõ ðîäñòâåííèêîâ-åâðîïåéöåâ, ÷üè çàîêåàíñêèå çàâîåâàíèÿ è ñàìè çàõâàò÷èêè, è äðóãèå íàðîäû âîñïðèíèìàëè êàê ñòðîèòåëüñòâî èìïåðèè. Êàê ýòî âñåãäà áûâàåò, çíà÷åíèå èìååò âîñïðèÿòèå ïîáåäèòåëåé, à íå ïîáåæäåííûõ. Âîçìîæíî, åùå âàæíåå òî îáñòîÿòåëüñòâî, ÷òî ñîâðåìåííîå ñàìîñîçíàíèå àìåðèêàíöåâ îñíîâûâàåòñÿ íà äåìîêðàòè÷åñêîé èäåîëîãèè. Àìåðèêàíñêîå îáùåñòâî è îôèöèàëüíûé ïîëèòè÷åñêèé îáðàç ýòîé ñòðàíû ñåãîäíÿ óæå âûøëè èç ñêîðëóïû ïåðâîíà÷àëüíûõ àíãëîñàêñîíñêèõ, ïðîòåñòàíòñêèõ ýòíîêóëüòóðíûõ ñòàíäàðòîâ. Êàê ïî ïðè÷èíàì âíóòðèïîëèòè÷åñêîãî õàðàêòåðà, òàê è â ñèëó ñâîåãî ëèäåðñòâà ñðåäè ñòðàí “ñâîáîäíîãî ìèðà”, Ñîåäèíåííûå Øòàòû äîëæíû óòâåðæäàòü ñâîþ èäåîëîãèþ ãðîì÷å, ÷åì áîëüøèíñòâî äðóãèõ ëèáåðàëüíûõ äåìîêðàòèé. Èìïåðèÿ ïî îïðåäåëåíèþ ÿâëÿåòñÿ àíòèïîäîì äåìîêðàòèè, íàðîäíîãî ñóâåðåíèòåòà è íàöèîíàëüíîãî ñàìîîïðåäåëåíèÿ. Âëàñòü íàä ìíîãèìè íàðîäàìè áåç èõ íà òî ñîãëàñèÿ – âîò ÷òî îòëè÷àëî âñå âåëèêèå èìïåðèè ïðîøëîãî è ÷òî ïðåäïîëàãàþò âñå ðàçóìíûå îïðåäåëåíèÿ ýòîãî ïîíÿòèÿ. Íàðîäû, âõîäÿùèå â ñîñòàâ èìïåðèè, â áîëüøèíñòâå ñâîåì ãîâîðÿò íà ÷óæîì äëÿ åå ïðàâèòåëåé ÿçûêå, ïðèíàäëåæàò èíîé êóëüòóðå, à ïîä÷àñ è èñïîâåäóþò èíóþ ðåëèãèþ. Èìåííî ýòè àñïåêòû èìïåðèè âî ìíîãîì è îòëè÷àþò åå îò ïîëèýò- íè÷íûõ ôåäåðàöèé èëè îò íàöèîíàëüíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà.  òî æå ñàìîå âðåìÿ èìïåðèÿ, îïðåäåëÿåìàÿ â òàêèõ êàòåãîðèÿõ, ïëîõî ñî- âìåñòèìà ñ ïðèíöèïîì ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî ñóâåðåíèòåòà, óñòàíîâèâ- øèìñÿ â Åâðîïå ïîñëå Âåñòôàëüñêîãî ìèðà (1648 ã.). Âî âñÿêîì ñëó÷àå, îíà ïåðåñòàåò ñ íèì ñî÷åòàòüñÿ ñ òåõ ïîð, êàê ïîä ñóâåðåííûì ãîñóäàðñòâîì ñòàëî ïîíèìàòüñÿ íàöèîíàëüíîå ãîñóäàðñòâî, ñî âñåìè åãî ïîñëåäñòâèÿìè, âûòåêàþùèìè èç âîçíèêøåãî ïîñëå 1789 ã. ïðèíöèïà íàðîäíîãî ñóâåðåíèòåòà. Áîëüøèíñòâî íàöèé îáû÷íî ïðåòåíäóþò íà òî, ÷òî îíè íå ïðîñòî ÿâëÿþòñÿ ðåàëèçàöèåé êîí- öåïöèè äåìîêðàòè÷åñêîãî ãðàæäàíñòâà, íî è äî íåêîòîðîé ñòåïåíè ïðåäñòàâëÿþò ñîáîé ýòíîêóëüòóðíóþ îáùíîñòü. Ýòî åùå ðàç ïðîòè- âîðå÷èò ñàìîé ñóùíîñòè èçâåñòíûõ èìïåðèé ïðîøëîãî, ïðàâèòåëè êîòîðûõ îáû÷íî îáîñíîâûâàëè çàêîííîñòü ñâîèõ ïðèòÿçàíèé, õâàëÿñü âëàñòüþ íàä ìíîãèìè ïîêîðåííûìè çåìëÿìè è íàðîäàìè.  èñòîðèè íàì, âîçìîæíî, è óäàñòñÿ ïðîâåñòè íåêîòîðîå ðàçëè÷èå ìåæäó “ïëîõèìè” è “õîðîøèìè” èìïåðèÿìè. Îäíàêî ê êîíöó XX â. âñå èìïåðèè ñîãðåøèëè ïðîòèâ ãîñïîäñòâóþùèõ èäåîëîãèé – äåìîêðàòèè, ïðèíöèïîâ íàðîäíîãî ñóâåðåíèòåòà è íàöèîíàëüíîãî

79 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê ñàìîîïðåäåëåíèÿ – è ïîòîìó áûëè ïðåäàíû ïðîêëÿòèþ. Èìåííî ýòî îáñòîÿòåëüñòâî è ñòàëî îñíîâíîé ïðè÷èíîé, ïî÷åìó XX â. áûë ñâèäåòåëåì íå ïðîñòî ðàñïàäà èìïåðèé, íî ïîëíîãî èñ÷åçíîâåíèÿ (âïåðâûå â èñòîðèè!) ñ êàðòû ìèðà ñòðàí, êîòîðûå ðàíåå ñ ãîðäîñ- òüþ íàçûâàëè ñåáÿ èìïåðèÿìè.6 Ïîìèìî ñîâðåìåííîé ïîëåìèêè âîêðóã ïîíÿòèÿ “èìïåðèÿ”, åãî èñïîëüçîâàíèå âûçûâàåò çíà÷èòåëüíûå çàòðóäíåíèÿ åùå è ïîòîìó, ÷òî ñ òîãî ñàìîãî ìîìåíòà, êàê äâå òûñÿ÷è ëåò íàçàä â ëàòèíñêîì ÿçûêå ïîÿâèëîñü ñëîâî imperium, îíî ïîñòåïåííî ïðèîáðåëî ìíî- æåñòâî ñìûñëîâûõ çíà÷åíèé.  äðåâíåì Ðèìå – âïîëíå â äóõå ýòîé êóëüòóðû – òåðìèí imperium èìåë ÷åòêî îïðåäåëåííûé ïîëèòè÷åñêèé è èíñòèòóöèîíàëüíûé ñìûñë, áëèçêèé ê ñîâðåìåííîìó ïîíÿòèþ çàêîííîãî ñóâåðåíèòåòà.7  ñèëó ñâîèõ ñâÿçåé ñ ðèìñêèì èìïåðñêèì ãîñóäàðñòâåííûì óñòðîéñòâîì, ñ ïðåòåíçèÿìè Ðèìà íà ìèðîâîå ãîñïîäñòâî, à âïîñëåäñòâèè ñî âñåì õðèñòèàíñêèì ìèðîì, ýòî ñëîâî âñêîðå ñòàëî îáîçíà÷àòü âëàñòü, ïðåòåíäóþùóþ íà âñåîáùèé õà- ðàêòåð, èëè, ïî êðàéíåé ìåðå, âëàñòü íàä îãðîìíûìè ïðîñòðàí- ñòâàìè.8  òå÷åíèå ïîñëåäíèõ äâóõ òûñÿ÷ ëåò ñëîâî “èìïåðèÿ” ÷àñòî ñîõðàíÿëî ýòîò ñìûñë ñóâåðåííîãî ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî îáðà- çîâàíèÿ, îáëàäàþùåãî ïîëèòè÷åñêîé âëàñòüþ íàä äîìèíèîíàìè, óäàëåííûìè íà áîëüøîå ðàññòîÿíèå îò ñâîåé ìåòðîïîëèè. Îäíàêî “èìïåðèÿ” è ïðîèçâîäíûé îò íåå “èìïåðèàëèçì” ÷àñòî ïðèîáðåòàëè ñîâåðøåííî äðóãîé ñìûñë. Òàê, íàïðèìåð, çíà÷èìàÿ äëÿ ïîçäíåãî ñðåäíåâåêîâüÿ è ýïîõè Âîçðîæäåíèÿ ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ òåîðèÿ, ñîãëàñíî êîòîðîé êîðîëü ÿâëÿåòñÿ èìïåðàòîðîì â ñâîèõ âëàäåíèÿõ, âîçíèêëà ñ öåëüþ îáîñíîâàòü ìíîãîïîëþñíûé, àíòè- èìïåðñêèé ïîðÿäîê â Åâðîïå.9 Ìíîãî ñòîëåòèé ñïóñòÿ â ëåíèíñêîì

6 Ïîëåçíûì ââåäåíèåì â òåìó íàöèé ìîæåò ñëóæèòü ñëåäóþùàÿ ðàáîòà: Geoff Eley and Ronald Suny (Eds). Becoming National. New York, 1996. 7 Ïîëåçíîå ââåäåíèå â èñòîðèþ ðèìñêîãî ìèðà è ýòîãî ïîíÿòèÿ ìîæíî íàéòè â ñòàòüå Imperium. Ñì.: Simon Hornblower and Antony Spawforth (Eds). The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Oxford, 1996. Pp.751-752. 8 Ñì., íàïðèìåð: R. Folz. The Concept of Empire in Western Europe from the Fifth to the Fifteenth Century. Westport, 1969. 9 Îá ýòîì è ìíîãèõ äðóãèõ çíà÷åíèÿõ ïîíÿòèÿ “èìïåðèÿ” â Åâðîïå ðàííåãî íîâîãî âðåìåíè ñì.: Anthony Pagden. Lords of All the World. New Haven, 1995; James Muldoon. Empire and Order. The Concept of Empire, 800-1800. Houndmills, 1999; à òàêæå: J. Robertson. Gibbon’s Roman Empire as a Universal Monarchy. The Decline and Fall and the Imperial Idea in Early Modern Europe // R. McKitterick and R. Quinault (Eds). Edward Gibbon and Empire. Cambridge, 1997. 80 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 îïðåäåëåíèè èìïåðèàëèçìà íå ïðîñòî ïðîâîçãëàøàëîñü, ÷òî ñóùíîñòü èìïåðèè ñëåäóåò èñêàòü â ýêîíîìè÷åñêèõ îòíîøåíèÿõ, à íå â ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ñôåðå, â íåì ïðÿìî îòðèöàëîñü òî, ÷òî ñîâðå- ìåííûé êàïèòàëèñòè÷åñêèé èìïåðèàëèçì èìååò ÷òî-ëèáî îáùåå ñ âåëèêèìè àðèñòîêðàòè÷åñêèìè, âîåííûìè è ðåëèãèîçíûìè èìïåðèÿìè ïðîøëîãî.10 Ïîñêîëüêó èìåííî ýòî îïðåäåëåíèå îêàçà- ëîñü â öåíòðå ïîëåìèêè âîêðóã ïîíÿòèÿ “èìïåðèÿ” âî âðåìÿ õîëîäíîé âîéíû è äî ñèõ ïîð îñòàåòñÿ âëèÿòåëüíûì â ëåâîé èñòî- ðèîãðàôèè, çàïóòàòüñÿ â ñóòè ýòîé ïîëåìèêè î÷åíü ëåãêî.11 Êîãäà ïîñòìàðêñèçì ïðèîáðåòàåò ïîñòìîäåðíèñòñêèå ÷åðòû è âòîðãàåòñÿ â îáëàñòü èñòîðèè êóëüòóðû, îí òàê äàëåêî óâîäèò íàñ îò ïðîáëåì, ïî êîòîðûì îáû÷íî ñïîðÿò èñòîðèêè èìïåðèé, ÷òî êîíñòðóêòèâíûé äèàëîã ìåæäó ýòèìè äâóìÿ ãðóïïàìè èññëåäîâàòåëåé ñòàíîâèòñÿ ïðàêòè÷åñêè íåâîçìîæíûì12 – è íå â ïîñëåäíþþ î÷åðåäü ïîòîìó, ÷òî ÿçûê, íà êîòîðîì âåäóòñÿ ïîñòìàðêñèñòñêèå ïîñòìîäåðíèñòñêèå äèñêóññèè, ìàëî ïîõîæ íà îáû÷íûé àíãëèéñêèé ÿçûê. Ñàìûé ïîñëåäíèé îïóñ, ïðåòåíäóþùèé íà ðîëü íîâîãî ñèìâîëà âåðû ýòîãî íàïðàâëåíèÿ, âíåñ åùå áîëüøóþ ñóìÿòèöó â óìû: äëÿ òîãî, ÷òîáû êîíöåïòóàëèçèðîâàòü êóëüòóðíóþ è ýêîíîìè÷åñêóþ ãåãåìîíèþ â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðîâîì ïîðÿäêå, àâòîðû èíòåðåñóþùåãî íàñ òðóäà èñïîëüçóþò òåðìèí “èìïåðèÿ” ïðàêòè÷åñêè â êà÷åñòâå àíòîíèìà ïîíÿòèÿ “èìïåðèàëèçì”.13 Åñëè â àíãëèéñêîì ÿçûêå ñëîâî “èìïåðèÿ” èìååò íåñêîëüêî çíà- ÷åíèé è ìíîæåñòâî ïîëåìè÷åñêèõ êîííîòàöèé, ñèòóàöèÿ ñòàíîâèòñÿ åùå áîëåå çàïóòàííîé â ïåðåâîäå. “Ðåéõ” (Reich) – òàê îáû÷íî ïåðåâîäèòñÿ “èìïåðèÿ” íà íåìåöêèé. Áëàãîäàðÿ Ãèòëåðó ýòî ñëîâî ìîìåíòàëüíî óçíàþò âî âñåì ìèðå. Èíòåðåñíî, ÷òî áëèæàéøèì ÿçûêîâûì ýêâèâàëåíòîì íåìåöêîãî òåðìèíà “ðåéõ” (Reich) â àíã- ëèéñêîì ÿçûêå, – êàê ñîîáùàåò Îòòî ôîí Ãàáñáóðã, – ÿâëÿåòñÿ

10 Â. È. Ëåíèí. Èìïåðèàëèçì êàê âûñøàÿ ñòàäèÿ êàïèòàëèçìà // ÏÑÑ. Èçä. 5. Ò. 27. Ñ. 299-426. 11 Wolfgang Mommsen. Theories of Imperialism. London, 1981. Ýòà ðàáîòà ìîæåò ñëóæèòü ïðåâîñõîäíûì ââåäåíèåì â äèñêóññèþ îá èìïåðèàëèçìå, ðàçâåðíóâøóþñÿ âî âðåìÿ õîëîäíîé âîéíû. 12 Èëè, ïî êðàéíåé ìåðå, ñòàíîâèòñÿ äîñòàòî÷íî ðåçêèì è íåòåðïèìûì. Ñì., íàïðèìåð: David Washbrook. Orients and Occidents. Colonial Discourse Theory and the Historiography of the British Empire // William Roger Louis (Ed.). The Oxford History of the British Empire. Vol. 5. Historiography / Ed. by Robin Winks. Oxford, 1999. 13 Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri. Empire. Cambridge, MA, 2000. 81 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê “commonwealth”.14 Ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ ä-ðà ôîí Ãàáñáóðãà, íàñòîÿùèì ãåðìàíñêèì “ðåéõîì” áûë òàê íàçûâàåìûé Ïåðâûé ðåéõ – Ñâÿ- ùåííàÿ ðèìñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ ãåðìàíñêîé íàöèè. Îí ñîâåðøåííî ñïðàâåäëèâî îòìå÷àåò, ÷òî Ñâÿùåííàÿ ðèìñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ ãîðàçäî áîëåå ïîõîäèëà íà Áðèòàíñêîå Ñîäðóæåñòâî (“áåëûõ”) Íàöèé XX â., íåæåëè íà ïîäàâëÿþùåå áîëüøèíñòâî èçâåñòíûõ íàì èìïåðèé ïðîøëîãî. Ñâÿùåííàÿ ðèìñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ áûëà êîíôåäåðàöèåé ñëàáî ñâÿçàííûõ ìåæäó ñîáîþ ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ îáðàçîâàíèé, â êîòîðîé ñóâåðåíèòåò ïî-íàñòîÿùåìó ïðèíàäëåæàë åå îòäåëüíûì ñîñòàâíûì ÷àñòÿì. Ýòè ÷àñòè, îäíàêî, îáúåäèíÿëè ìíîãèå îáùèå äëÿ íèõ çàêîíû, ïðåäàííîñòü îäíèì è òåì æå èíñòèòóòàì è èäåÿì, íåêîòîðàÿ îáùàÿ äëÿ âñåõ êóëüòóðà, à òàêæå ñïîñîáíîñòü ýòèõ ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ îáðàçîâàíèé îáúåäèíèòüñÿ ïåðåä ëèöîì âíåøíåé óãðîçû.15 Òàê íàçûâàåìûé Âòîðîé ðåéõ, âîçíèêøèé ïî âîëå Áèñìàðêà â 1871 ã., áûë ñîâåðøåííî äðóãèì òèïîì ãîñóäàðñòâåííîñòè. Îí îäíî- âðåìåííî ÿâëÿëñÿ è ãåðìàíñêèì ãîñóäàðñòâîì, è ãåðìàíñêîé íàöèåé. Îñíîâíûì èñòî÷íèêîì åãî ëåãèòèìíîñòè áûëî óäîâëåòâîðåíèå ïîòðåá- íîñòåé ãåðìàíñêîãî ýòíîíàöèîíàëèçìà ýïîõè íîâîãî âðåìåíè. Ýòî íàöèîíàëüíîå ãîñóäàðñòâî íàçûâàëî ñåáÿ èìïåðèåé ïî ìíîãèì ïðè÷èíàì. “Èìïåðèÿ” ïîäðàçóìåâàëà, ÷òî ïðóññêàÿ äèíàñòèÿ Ãîãåí- öîëëåðíîâ è ïðîòåñòàíòñêàÿ òðàäèöèÿ ñåâåðîãåðìàíñêèõ çåìåëü, âîï- ëîùåíèåì êîòîðîé áûëà ýòà äèíàñòèÿ, ïðèøëè íà ñìåíó àâñòðèéñ- êèì Ãàáñáóðãàì â êà÷åñòâå âîæäåé íåìåöêîãî íàðîäà è âåäóùåé ïîëè- òè÷åñêîé ñèëû Öåíòðàëüíîé Åâðîïû. “Èìïåðèÿ” îëèöåòâîðÿëà ïðè- òÿçàíèÿ íà íàñëåäèå Ñâÿùåííîé ðèìñêîé èìïåðèè, – õîòÿ çäåñü ðå÷ü øëà íå ñòîëüêî î íàñëåäèè ïîñëåäíèõ ñòîëåòèé ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ ýòîé äîñòàòî÷íî àìîðôíîé êîíôåäåðàöèè, ñêîëüêî î òðàäèöèÿõ ðàííåé èìïåðèè ýïîõè Ñàêñîíñêîé äèíàñòèè è äèíàñòèè Ãîãåíøòàóôåíîâ. Èìåííî â Ñâÿùåííîé ðèìñêîé èìïåðèè ýòîãî ðàííåãî ïåðèîäà íåìåöêèå íàöèîíàëèñòû âèäåëè òàêóþ äåðæàâó, êîòîðàÿ ìîãëà áû

14 Ïåðåâîä ýòîãî ïîñëåäíåãî ñëîâà íà ðóññêèé ÿçûê ïðåäñòàâëÿåò íåìåíüøóþ ïðîáëåìó. “Commonwealth” – ýòî äîñëîâíûé ïåðåâîä ëàòèíñêîãî res publica (áóêâàëüíî “îáùåå äåëî”, “îáùàÿ âåùü”). Ýòèì ïîíÿòèåì îáîçíà÷àëñÿ è ðåñïóáëèêàíñêèé ðåæèì ýïîõè Àíãëèéñêîé ðåâîëþöèè (1649-1660 ãã.), è Áðèòàíñêîå Ñîäðóæåñòâî Íàöèé â XX â. Ñîîòâåòñòâåííî, íåëüçÿ ïîäîáðàòü åäèíñòâåííûé ýêâèâàëåíò äëÿ ïåðåäà÷è èñòîðè÷åñêè ìåíÿâøèõñÿ çíà÷åíèé ýòîãî ïîíÿòèÿ, õîòÿ â ñâåòå ðåàëèé ñîâðåìåííîñòè “commonwealth” ðóòèííî ïåðåâîäèòñÿ êàê “ñîäðóæåñòâî”. – Ïðèì. ïåðåâ. 15 Otto von Habsburg. Die Reichsidee. Geschichte und Zukunft einer übernationalen Ordnung. Wien, 1986. 82 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñòàòü íàöèîíàëüíîé èìïåðèåé, íî êîòîðóþ óíè÷òîæèëî âìåøàòåëü- ñòâî ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ ñèë (èíà÷å ãîâîðÿ, âìåøàòåëüñòâî ïàïñòâà). Âïîëíå â ñîîòâåòñòâèè ñ îäíèì èç ñàìûõ ñòàðûõ çíà÷åíèé ñëîâà “èìïåðèÿ” ìîíàðõè äèíàñòèè Ãîãåíöîëëåðíîâ èìåíîâàëèñü òàêæå èìïåðàòîðàìè, ïîñêîëüêó îíè âëàñòâîâàëè íàä ïðîñòûìè êîðîëÿìè – â äàííîì ñëó÷àå, ïðàâèòåëÿìè Ñàêñîíèè, Áàâàðèè è Âþðòåìáåðãà.16  ýïîõó “âûñîêîãî èìïåðèàëèçìà” íàçûâàòü ñåáÿ “èìïåðèåé” îçíà- ÷àëî âñåãî ëèøü çàÿâèòü ñâîè ïðåòåíçèè íà ïðèíàäëåæíîñòü ê óçêîìó êðóãó âåëèêèõ äåðæàâ, äåëèâøèõ ìåæäó ñîáîþ âåñü îñòàëüíîé ìèð. Êàçàëîñü, ýòèì äåðæàâàì áûëî ñóæäåíî îïðåäåëÿòü ñóäüáó ÷åëîâå÷å- ñòâà. Âîçìîæíî, ýòîò ñìûñë íå èìåë áîëüøîãî çíà÷åíèÿ äëÿ Áèñìàðêà â 1871 ã., îäíàêî èìåííî òàêèå êîííîòàöèè ïðèîáðåëî ïîíÿòèå “èìïåðèÿ” äëÿ ìíîãèõ íåìöåâ êîíöà XIX – íà÷àëà XX â.â. ïî ìåðå òîãî, êàê Ãåðìàíèÿ âñå áîëåå ïðèòÿçàëà íà âåäóùóþ ðîëü â ìèðîâîé ïîëèòèêå. Ïî ñõîäíûì ïðè÷èíàì â 1876 ã. Äèçðàýëè ïðîâîçãëàñèë êîðîëåâó Âèêòîðèþ èìïåðàòðèöåé Èíäèè, à â ßïîíèè ñëîâîì “èìïåðàòîð” ñòàëè íàçûâàòü íàñëåäñòâåííîãî ïåðâîñâÿùåííèêà, òýííî, äàáû âîçâûñèòü åãî â ãëàçàõ çàïàäíûõ âåëèêèõ äåðæàâ. Òðåòèé ðåéõ Ãèòëåðà óíàñëåäîâàë íåêîòîðûå èìïåðñêèå àòðè- áóòû Âòîðîãî ðåéõà. Òðåòèé ðåéõ áûë ãîñóäàðñòâîì ãåðìàíñêîé íàöèè è ïîòåíöèàëüíî ìîã ñòàòü ìèðîâîé èìïåðèåé. Ãèòëåð ïðèâåë â ñèñòåìó è ñäåëàë ñîâåðøåííî îìåðçèòåëüíûì ñòðàñòíîå ñòðåì- ëåíèå Ãåðìàíèè çàíÿòü ïîëîæåíèå ìèðîâîé èìïåðèè, çàðîäèâøååñÿ óæå âî âðåìåíà Âèëüãåëüìà II. Òàê, íàïðèìåð, èäåÿ “æèçíåííîãî ïðîñòðàíñòâà” (Lebensraum) îòðàæàëà âïîëíå ïðàâèëüíîå ïîíèìàíèå òîãî, ÷òî ìåñòî Àìåðèêè, Ðîññèè è Âåëèêîáðèòàíèè â ðÿäó ìèðîâûõ äåðæàâ áûëî îáóñëîâëåíî çàíèìàåìûìè èìè îãðîìíûìè êîíòè- íåíòàëüíûìè ïðîñòðàíñòâàìè, à ïîä÷àñ è èñ÷åçíîâåíèåì íà ýòîé òåððèòîðèè áîëüøåé ÷àñòè êîðåííîãî íàñåëåíèÿ. Ãèòëåð îáúåäèíèë â ñèñòåìó èìïåðñêîé, ðàñèñòñêîé ãåîïîëèòèêè âñå õóäøèå ýëåìåíòû åâðîïåéñêîãî èìïåðèàëèçìà, ïðèìåíÿâøèåñÿ â äðóãèõ ÷àñòÿõ çåìíîãî øàðà, à çàòåì èñïîëüçîâàë ýòó ñèñòåìó â Åâðîïå.17 Ìíå ïðåäñòàâ-

16 Ìûñëü îá ýòîì ïîäñêàçàë ìíå Äæîí Ðîë (John Rohl). 17 Ýòî äîñòàòî÷íî ÿâñòâåííî ñëåäóåò èç ïðî÷òåíèÿ Mein Kampf. Ñì. òàêæå: Michael Burleigh. Germany Turns Eastwards. A Study of Ostforschung in the Third Reich. Cambridge, 1988. Ïîñëåäíÿÿ ðàáîòà ñîäåðæèò èíòåðåñíûå ìûñëè îòíîñèòåëüíî òîãî, êàêèìè áûëè âçãëÿäû íàöèñòîâ ïî ïîâîäó ñâîåé èìïåðèè íà âîñòîêå. 83 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê ëÿåòñÿ, ÷òî ðàññìîòðåíèå Òðåòüåãî ðåéõà â êîíòåêñòå çàïàäíîãî èìïåðèàëèçìà XIX–XX ââ. âïîëíå ïðàâîìåðíî è ïîìîãàåò ëó÷øå ïîíÿòü ìíîãèå ïðîáëåìû. Òåì íå ìåíåå, î÷åâèäíî òàêæå, ÷òî ãîñó- äàðñòâî, ñîçäàííîå Ãèòëåðîì, èìåëî ñâîþ, ñîâåðøåííî îñîáóþ ïðèðîäó â ãîðàçäî áîëüøåé ñòåïåíè, íåæåëè áîëüøèíñòâî äðóãèõ èìïåðèé. Ïðèìåðîì òîìó ìîæåò ñëóæèòü îäíî èç ñàìûõ ñòðàøíûõ ïðåñòóï- ëåíèé ýòîãî ðåæèìà – èñòðåáëåíèå åâðååâ. Åâðîïåéñêèå åâðåè, îñîáåí- íî åâðåè Âîñòî÷íîé è Öåíòðàëüíîé Åâðîïû, áûëè åñòåñòâåííûìè ñîþçíèêàìè èìïåðèè â ïðèíöèïå è Ãåðìàíñêîé èìïåðèè – â îñîáåí- íîñòè. Ó íèõ áûëè âåñüìà âåñêèå èñòîðè÷åñêèå ïðè÷èíû îïàñàòüñÿ óçêîëîáîãî ýòíîíàöèîíàëèçìà, îñîáåííî ñî ñòîðîíû ñëàâÿí ýòîãî ðåãèîíà. Åâðåè áûëè âåðíûìè ïîääàííûìè Îñìàíñêîé èìïåðèè, Ãàáñáóðãñêîé èìïåðèè, èìïåðèè Ãîãåíöîëëåðíîâ. Âî âñåõ ýòèõ ãîñóäàðñòâàõ îòäåëüíûì åâðåÿì óäàëîñü âåñüìà è âåñüìà ïðåóñïåòü, â òî âðåìÿ êàê âñÿ îñòàëüíàÿ ìàññà åâðåéñêîãî íàñåëåíèÿ ïîëüçîâàëàñü òàêèìè áëàãàìè, êàê äîñòàòî÷íàÿ ê íèì òåðïèìîñòü è áåçîïàñíîñòü.18 Íàçâàòü åâðååâ ãëàâíûìè îïïîíåíòàìè ïëàíîâ ïî âêëþ÷åíèþ âñåé Åâðîïû â ñîñòàâ Ãåðìàíñêîé èìïåðèè áûëî íå òîëüêî ïðåñòóïíî, íî è ãëóïî. Íàöèîíàë-ñîöèàëèçì íèêîèì îáðàçîì íå ñâîäèëñÿ ê èìïåðñêîé èäåîëîãèè è ðàöèîíàëüíûì ïîëèòè÷åñêèì ïëàíàì. Èñòîðèÿ Ãåðìàíèè, òàêèì îáðàçîì, íàãëÿäíî ïîêàçûâàåò, ÷òî èìïåðèåé ìîãóò íàçûâàòüñÿ î÷åíü ðàçíûå ïîëèòè÷åñêèå îáðàçî- âàíèÿ. Êîíå÷íî, ýòîò âûâîä ñïðàâåäëèâ è çà ïðåäåëàìè Ãåðìàíèè – è ýòî òîæå î÷åíü âàæíûé ìîìåíò. Óäèâèòåëüíîå ñêîïëåíèå ðàçëè÷íûõ çåìåëü, óíàñëåäîâàííûõ Êàðëîì V â ðåçóëüòàòå äëèííîé öåïè äèíàñòè÷åñêèõ áðàêîâ, âîçíèêëî ñîâåðøåííî ñëó÷àéíî. Ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ ñîâðåìåííûõ îïðåäåëåíèé, “èìïåðèÿ” Êàðëà V áûëà â ãîðàçäî áîëüøåé ñòåïåíè ñèñòåìîé àíòèôðàíöóçñêèõ ñîþçîâ, íåæåëè ÷åì-òî

18 Î åâðåÿõ â Îñìàíñêîé èìïåðèè ñì., íàïðèìåð: S. S. Shaw. The Jews of the Ottoman Empire and the Turkish Republic. Houndmills, 1991. Î åâðåÿõ â Ãàáñáóðãñêîé ìîíàðõèè ñì.: W. O. McCagg. A History of the Habsburg Jews 1670-1918. Bloomington, 1992. Ñðàâíåíèå ñ äðóãèìè ñòðàíàìè Åâðîïû ìîæíî íàéòè â: J. Frankel and S. J. Zipperstein (Eds). Assimilation and Community. The Jews in Nineteenth-Century Europe. Cambridge, 1993. Èíòåðåñíî, ÷òî â 1913 ã. òðèíàäöàòü åâðååâ-ìèëëèîíåðîâ (åñëè èñ÷èñëÿòü èõ ñîñòîÿíèå â ôóíòàõ ñòåðëèíãîâ) áûëè ïðóññêèìè äâîðÿíàìè. Âñå åâðåè-ìèëëèîíåðû ïîëó÷èëè äâîðÿíñòâî, â òî âðåìÿ êàê ìíîãèå “íîâûå” ìèëëèîíåðû-õðèñòèàíå òàê è íå áûëè âîçâåäåíû â äâîðÿíñêîå äîñòîèíñòâî. Ñì.: Dominic Lieven. The Aristocracy in Europe 1815-1914. Houndmills, 1992. Pp. 63-64. 84 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 îòäàëåííî íàïîìèíàþùèì åäèíûé ãîñóäàðñòâåííûé îðãàíèçì. Îòíîøåíèÿ Êàðëà V ñ åãî íåìåöêèìè èëè èòàëüÿíñêèìè ïîääàí- íûìè – ïðèíöàìè è àðèñòîêðàòèåé – ãîðàçäî áîëüøå íàïîìèíàþò íàì îòíîøåíèÿ Äæ. Áóøà II ñ êîðîëåì Ñàóäîâñêîé Àðàâèè, íåæåëè îòíîøåíèÿ òîãî æå Áóøà ñ ãóáåðíàòîðîì øòàòà Àéäàõî. Ñâÿùåííàÿ ðèìñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ, âî ãëàâå êîòîðîé ñòîÿë Êàðë V, áûëà âñåãî ëèøü îäíîé èç ñîñòàâëÿþùèõ åãî “ñèñòåìû àëüÿíñîâ”. Êàê óæå îòìå÷àëîñü ðàíåå, ýòî áûëî î÷åíü ðûõëîå ïîëèòè÷åñêîå îáúåäèíåíèå, íàñòîÿùèé ëàáèðèíò ïåðåñåêàþùèõñÿ ïðàâ è ñóâåðåíèòåòîâ.19 Òåîðåòèêè ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ îòíîøåíèé ñîâåðøåííî ñïðàâåäëèâî óñìàòðèâàþò ïðèíöèïèàëüíóþ ðàçíèöó ìåæäó åâðîïåéñêèì ïîðÿäêîì, âîïëîùåííûì â èìïåðèè Êàðëà V, è ñèñòåìîé ñóâåðåííûõ ãîñó- äàðñòâ, âîçíèêøåé â Åâðîïå ïîñëå Âåñòôàëüñêîãî ìèðà. Ìíîãèå èìïåðèè äðåâíîñòè è ñðåäíèõ âåêîâ, îäíàêî, â íåêîòîðûõ ñâîèõ êëþ÷åâûõ àñïåêòàõ ïðåäñòàâëÿëè ñîáîþ ãîñóäàðñòâà â òîì ñìûñëå, â êàêîì ìû ïðèìåíÿåì ýòî ñëîâî ê åâðîïåéñêèì ñòðàíàì ñî âòîðîé ïîëîâèíû XVII â. Ýòî ñïðàâåäëèâî ïî îòíîøåíèþ ê äðåâíåðèìñêîé èìïåðèè, ãäå ñóùåñòâîâàëî î÷åíü ÷åòêîå ïðåäñòàâëåíèå î ñóâåðå- íèòåòå, ãðàíèöàõ è ïóáëè÷íîé âëàñòè. Ïîäîáíî Ðèìñêîé èìïåðèè, èìïåðèè Òàí è Ñóí â äðåâíåì Êèòàå íå áûëè âïîëíå ïîñòâåñòôàëü- ñêèìè ãîñóäàðñòâàìè, ïîñêîëüêó ñ þðèäè÷åñêîé òî÷êè çðåíèÿ îíè íå ïðèçíàâàëè íèêàêîå äðóãîå ãîñóäàðñòâî ðàâíûì ñåáå.  ýòîì îíè ïî ñàìîé ñâîåé ñóòè áûëè èìïåðèÿìè. Îäíàêî â òî æå ñàìîå âðåìÿ ïðîôåññèîíàëüíàÿ áþðîêðàòèÿ è ñëîæíàÿ àäìèíèñòðàòèâíàÿ ñèñòåìà ÿâëÿþòñÿ íåîòúåìëåìûìè ÷åðòàìè ýôôåêòèâíîé ãîñóäàðñòâåí- íîé âëàñòè, à ðàííèé èìïåðñêèé Êèòàé óñîâåðøåíñòâîâàë èõ íàñòîëüêî, ÷òî ðàâíûõ èì íå áûëî â Åâðîïå âïëîòü äî XVIII â.20 Ïîëåçíûé ñïîñîá êëàññèôèêàöèè èìïåðèé – êëàññèôèêàöèÿ ïî èõ èñòîðè÷åñêîìó çíà÷åíèþ â äîëãîâðåìåííîé ïåðñïåêòèâå. Çäåñü èìååò çíà÷åíèå ïðîäîëæèòåëüíîñòü ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ èìïåðèè.

19 Ïîêàçàòåëüíû òàêæå âçãëÿäû ñàìîãî Êàðëà V íà ìàñøòàáíûå ïëàíû Ãàáñáóðãîâ. Ñì.: Geoffrey Parker. The Grand Strategy of Philip II. New Haven, 1998. Pp. 77-90, à òàêæå: Mia Rodriguez-Salgado. The Changing Face of Empire. Charles V, Philip II and Habsburg Authority 1551-1559. Cambridge, 1988. Ñh. 1; Peter H. Wilson. The Holy Roman Empire 1495-1806. Houndmills, 1999. Ïîñëåäíÿÿ ðàáîòà ñëóæèò õîðîøèì ââåäåíèåì â ýòó ïðîáëåìàòèêó. 20 Ñì., íàïðèìåð: Sam Finer. The History of Government. Oxford, 1997. Vol. 1. Ancient Monarchies and Empires. Book 2. Chs. 5 and 6; Vol. 2. The Intermediate Age. Part 2. Ch. 3.

85 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê Âàæíî òàêæå ó÷èòûâàòü è òî, íàñêîëüêî âëàñòü ñàìîãî èìïåðàòîðà ïðîíèêàëà â òîëùó òåõ îáùåñòâ, êîòîðûìè îí ïîâåëåâàë. Òàêîå ïðîíèêíîâåíèå â èçâåñòíîé ìåðå ïðèâîäèëî ê ñîçäàíèþ èíñòèòóòîâ óïðàâëåíèÿ. Òàê, íàïðèìåð, áþðîêðàòè÷åñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ Êèòàÿ èëè Îñìàíñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ íà ïèêå ñâîåãî ðàçâèòèÿ, â ïðèíöèïå, îêàçûâàëè çíà÷èòåëüíî áîëüøåå âëèÿíèå íà ïîâñåäíåâíóþ æèçíü íàñåëåíèÿ, ÷åì ýòî áûëî îáû÷íî â ðàçëè÷íûõ âàðèàíòàõ àðèñòîêðàòè÷åñêîé èìïå- ðèè, ãäå ìåæäó èìïåðàòîðñêîé âëàñòüþ è íàñåëåíèåì ñòîÿëè ìåñòíûå íàñëåäñòâåííûå ýëèòû ñî ñâîèìè ñèñòåìàìè ñâÿçåé, îáúåäèíÿâøèõ ïàòðîíà è åãî êëèåíòîâ.21 Î÷åâèäíî, îäíàêî, ÷òî â äîëãîâðåìåííîé ïåðñïåêòèâå âîçäåéñòâèå èìïåðèè îïðåäåëÿ- ëîñü íå òîëüêî ïðîöåññàìè, ïðîèñõîäèâøèìè â ñôåðå ÷èñòîé ïîëèòèêè èëè ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî óïðàâëåíèÿ. Ãîðàçäî áîëüøå çäåñü çàâèñåëî îò öåëåé äàííîé êîíêðåòíîé èìïåðèè. Òå ïðàâèòåëè, êòî ñòðåìèëñÿ îáðàòèòü ïîääàííûõ â ñâîþ âåðó, îêàçûâàëè áîëüøåå âîçäåéñòâèå, íåæåëè òå, êòî îãðàíè÷èâàëñÿ ëèøü ñáîðîì äàíè. Ñêîðåå âñåãî, ñàìîå áîëüøîå âîçäåéñòâèå îêàçûâàëè èìïåðèè, êîòîðûå ñîçäàâàëè ïåðåñåëåí÷åñêèå êîëîíèè, ïðèçâàííûå ïîëíîñòüþ èëè ÷àñòè÷íî çàìåíèòü ñîáîþ ñóùåñòâîâàâøèå äî ïðèõîäà êîëîíèñòîâ êîðåííûå îáùåñòâà. Îäíàêî âñåãäà íóæíî ïðîâîäèòü ðàçëè÷èå ìåæäó ïðèòÿçàíèÿìè è ðåàëüíûìè ðåçóëüòàòàìè. Èìïåðèÿ ìîãëà ïûòàòüñÿ îáðàòèòü â äðóãóþ ðåëèãèþ ñâîèõ ïîääàííûõ, íî íå ïðåóñïåòü â ýòîì. Ïîëíîå ðàçðóøåíèå êîðåííîãî îáùåñòâà â êîëîíèÿõ, îñíîâàííûõ ïåðåñåëåíöàìè èç Åâðîïû, ìîãëî â òîé æå ìåðå áûòü íåïðåäâèäåííûì ïîñëåäñòâèåì èíôåêöèîííûõ çàáîëåâàíèé, ïðèíå- ñåííûõ ñ ñîáîþ çàâîåâàòåëÿìè, â êàêîé îíî áûëî è ñîçíàòåëüíîé ïîëèòèêîé ýòíîöèäà èëè ãåíîöèäà.22 Áîëåå òîãî, íå ñëåäóåò òîðîïèòüñÿ ñáðàñûâàòü ñî ñ÷åòîâ çíà÷åíèå äàæå íåêîòîðûõ “äàííè÷åñêèõ èìïåðèé”. Íàïðèìåð, ïî ìåðêàì ëþáîãî ñðàâíèòåëüíîãî àíàëèçà èìïåðèé ìîíãîëüñêàÿ “èìïåðèÿ” íà Ðóñè äîëæíà áûëà áû èìåòü ìèíèìàëüíûå èñòîðè÷åñêèå ïîñëåä- ñòâèÿ. Ìîíãîëû íå èíòåðåñîâàëèñü ãîñóäàðñòâåííûì óïðàâëåíèåì

21 Ýòî êëþ÷åâîé àñïåêò ðàáîòû: S. Eisenstadt. The Political Systems of Empires. New Brunswick, 1992. 22 Alfred Crosby. Ecological Imperialism. The Biological Expansion of Europe, 900-1900. Cambridge, 1986. Äàííàÿ ðàáîòà îñòàåòñÿ êëàññè÷åñêèì èññëåäîâàíèåì ïî âñåì àñïåêòàì íàñòîÿùåãî âîïðîñà. Ñì. òàêæå: Mark Cocker. Rivers of Blood, Rivers of Gold. Europe’s Conflict with Tribal Peoples. London, 1999. 86 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ýòèìè çåìëÿìè, íå ãîâîðÿ óæå îá îáðàùåíèè Ðóñè â èíóþ âåðó. Îíè ïðàâèëè íà ðàññòîÿíèè, ÷åðåç ìåñòíûõ êíÿçåé. Âëèÿíèå ýòèõ ïðàâèòåëåé-êî÷åâíèêîâ, à çàòåì èñëàìñêèõ ïðàâèòåëåé, íà õðèñ- òèàíñêóþ ðóññêóþ êóëüòóðó áûëî íåâåëèêî. È òåì íå ìåíåå äî ñåãî äíÿ ïðîäîëæàþòñÿ æàðêèå ñïîðû î òîì, íå èçâðàòèëà ëè ìîíãîëü- ñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ âåñü õîä ðóññêîé èñòîðèè, íà äâåñòè ëåò íàñèëüíî îáðàòèâ âçãëÿä ðóññêèõ ýëèò íà Âîñòîê è òåì ñàìûì åùå áîëåå îòäà- ëèâ Ðîññèþ îò èíòåëëåêòóàëüíûõ è êóëüòóðíûõ òå÷åíèé Åâðîïû, êîòîðûå âñêîðå ïðèâåëè òàì ê Âîçðîæäåíèþ è Ðåôîðìàöèè. Äî íåêîòîðîé ñòåïåíè çäåñü ìû èìååì ïðèìåð òîãî, êàê íàðîäû, ïåðåæèâøèå ðàñïàä èìïåðèè, çàäíèì ÷èñëîì, àíàõðîíè÷íî ñâÿ- çûâàþò ñâîè òåêóùèå ïðîáëåìû è íàâÿç÷èâûå èäåè (â ñëó÷àå Ðîññèè ýòî ïðîáëåìà åå ïðèíàäëåæíîñòè åâðîïåéñêîìó/çàïàäíîìó ìèðó) ñ íàñëåäèåì ÷óæäîãî, èìïåðñêîãî ïðàâëåíèÿ. Îäíàêî ïîñêîëüêó äîëãîâðåìåííîå çíà÷åíèå èìïåðèè çàêëþ÷àåòñÿ íå ïðîñòî â åå “îáúåêòèâíîì” íàñëåäèè, íî òàêæå è â òîì âîçäåéñòâèè, êîòîðîå îíà îêàçàëà íà âîñïðèÿòèå ñîáûòèé ïðîøëîãî, ïðèìåð Ðîññèè âåñüìà ïîêàçàòåëåí.23  íåêîòîðûõ ñëó÷àÿõ äîëãîâðåìåííîå âîçäåéñòâèå èìïåðèè ìîæíî îïðåäåëèòü îäíîçíà÷íî. Ýòî ñïðàâåäëèâî â îòíîøåíèè ñîâðåìåííûõ âåëè÷àéøèõ ãîñóäàðñòâ Àçèè – Èíäèè è Êèòàÿ. Íå òîëüêî ãðàíèöû Êèòàÿ, íî è â çíà÷èòåëüíîé ìåðå åãî ñàìîñîçíàíèå áûëè îïðåäåëåíû èìïåðèåé, èìïåðñêèìè áþðîêðàòè÷åñêèìè ýëèòàìè, âûñîêîé êóëüòóðîé è èäåîëîãèåé, êîòîðóþ ýòè ýëèòû è èìïåðèÿ âîïëîùàëè. È äèíàñòèÿ Âåëèêèõ Ìîãîëîâ, è äèíàñòèÿ Öèí ïðèøëè èç ïîëóêî÷åâîãî ìèðà, ëåæàâøåãî çà ïðåäåëàìè Êèòàÿ è ñåâåðíûõ ãðàíèö Èíäèè. Îäíàêî ìîãîëàì òàê íèêîãäà è íå óäàëîñü çàâîå- âàòü âñþ “Èíäèþ”, ðàâíî êàê è ñàìè îíè íå áûëè àññèìèëèðîâàíû ãîñïîäñòâóþùåé “êîðåííîé” ðåëèãèåé è êóëüòóðîé, õîòÿ ïîä èõ ðóêîâîäñòâîì çíà÷èòåëüíîå ÷èñëî èíäóñîâ è îáðàòèëîñü â èñëàì. Êàê áû òî íè áûëî, ìîãîëû íå ïóñòèëè â Èíäèè òàêèå ãëóáîêèå èíñòèòóöèîíàëüíûå êîðíè, êàê ýòî ïðîèçîøëî â Êèòàå, â ÷àñòíîñòè,

23 Î òîì âëèÿíèè, êàêîå ìîíãîëû îêàçàëè íà Ðîññèþ, ñì. òàêæå ïðîòèâîïîëîæíûå òî÷êè çðåíèÿ, ïðåäñòàâëåííûå â: Charles Halperin. Russia and the Golden Horde. London, 1985; è Donald Ostrowski. Muscovy and the Mongols. Cambridge, 1998. 87 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê ñ äèíàñòèåé Öèí, è â öåëîì ñ òðàäèöèåé “áþðîêðàòè÷åñêîé èìïåðèè”. Íå ãîâîðÿ äàæå î ðîëè áðèòàíñêîãî âëèÿíèÿ â Èíäèè, ñîâåðøåííî î÷åâèäíî, ÷òî îòíîñèòåëüíî äåöåíòðàëèçîâàííàÿ (â ñðàâíåíèè ñ Êèòàåì) ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ ñèñòåìà Èíäèè è åå ýòíîêîíôåññèîíàëüíàÿ ãåòåðîãåííîñòü âî ìíîãîì îáÿçàíû ñîâåðøåííî èíûì èìïåðñêèì òðàäèöèÿì. Ïðèìåíèòåëüíî ê Åâðîïå ìîæíî óòâåðæäàòü, ÷òî ñàìûé çíà÷è- ìûé àñïåêò èìïåðèè â ýòîì ðåãèîíå – ýòî åå îòñóòñòâèå. Äâå òûñÿ÷è ëåò íàçàä íà ïðîòèâîïîëîæíûõ êîíöàõ Åâðàçèè ãîñïîäñòâîâàëè äâå âåëèêèå èìïåðèè (Õàíü è Ðèìñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ). Äî ñåãîäíÿøíåãî äíÿ ïðèíöèïèàëüíî çíà÷èìûì îñòàåòñÿ ñëåäóþùèé ôàêò: â òî âðåìÿ êàê íà ïðîòÿæåíèè áîëüøåé ÷àñòè ïîñëåäíèõ äâóõ òûñÿ÷åëåòèé â Âîñòî÷íîé Àçèè ïðåîáëàäàëà èìïåðèÿ, â Åâðîïå â ýòîò ïåðèîä óñòàíîâèëàñü ìíîãîïîëþñíàÿ ñèñòåìà. Ýòî ÿâëåíèå îáúÿñíÿåòñÿ ìíîãèìè ôàêòîðàìè, íå ïîñëåäíþþ ðîëü çäåñü èãðàåò èñòîðè÷åñêàÿ ñëó÷àéíîñòü. Ïåðâûé êèòàéñêèé èìïåðàòîð èç äèíàñòèè Öèíü íå ïðîñòî îáúåäèíèë Êèòàé ïîëèòè÷åñêè – îí òàêæå èñêîðåíèë ðåãèîíàëüíûå ñèñòåìû ïèñüìà íà ìåñòíûõ ÿçûêàõ, êîòîðûå â èíîì ñëó÷àå ìîãëè áû ñ áîëüøîé ñòåïåíüþ âåðîÿòíîñòè ïðèâåñòè ê âîçíèê- íîâåíèþ â ìàòåðèêîâîé ÷àñòè Âîñòî÷íîé Àçèè ìíîãîïîëþñíîãî ìèðà, ñîñòîÿùåãî èç ñàìîñòîÿòåëüíûõ ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ îáðàçîâàíèé ñî ñâîåé âûñîêîé êóëüòóðîé. Ñýì Ôèííåð íàçûâàåò “ïåðâûì èìïå- ðàòîðîì” ïðàâèòåëÿ, îêàçàâøåãî (êàê ëè÷íîñòü) ñàìîå áîëüøîå äîëãîâðåìåííîå âëèÿíèå íà ïîëèòè÷åñêóþ èñòîðèþ.24 Îäíàêî áîëüøîå çíà÷åíèå òàêæå èìåþò è “ñòðóêòóðíûå” ôàê- òîðû – íàïðèìåð, ãåîïîëèòèêà.  XIX-XX ââ. Íàïîëåîí è Ãèòëåð ïîïûòàëèñü ñîçäàòü ïàíåâðîïåéñêèå èìïåðèè. Èì ïîìåøàëà ãåîïî- ëèòèêà. Õîòÿ îíè è ñìîãëè çàâîåâàòü “êàðîëèíãñêîå ÿäðî” êîíòè- íåíòà, èì îáîèì çàòåì ïðèøëîñü ñòîëêíóòüñÿ ñ ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêèìè ñèëàìè, ëåæàùèìè íà ïåðèôåðèè Åâðîïû (Âåëèêîáðèòàíèÿ è Ðîññèÿ) è íåäîñòóïíûìè ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ ãåîãðàôèè. Îäíîâðåìåííàÿ ìîáèëèçàöèÿ ìîðñêèõ ñèë äëÿ çàâîåâàíèÿ Áðèòàíèè è ñóõîïóòíûõ ñèë äëÿ ïîêîðåíèÿ Ìîñêîâñêî-óðàëüñêîãî ðåãèîíà îêàçàëàñü çà ïðåäåëàìè âîçìîæíîãî äàæå äëÿ ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî îáðàçîâàíèÿ,

24 Sam Finer. Ancient Monarchies. P. 473. Áîëåå ïîäðîáíàÿ õàðàêòåðèñòèêà ïîëèòèêè è âîçäåéñòâèÿ “ïåðâîãî èìïåðàòîðà” ñì.: D. Bodde. The State and Empire of Ch’in // D. Twitchett and M. Loewe (Eds.). The Cambridge History of China. Vol. 1. The Ch’in and Han Empires 221 BC – AD 220. Cambridge, 1986. Ch. 1. Pp. 21-102. 88 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 êîíòðîëèðîâàâøåãî âñå “êàðîëèíãñêîå ÿäðî” êîíòèíåíòà.  áîëåå ðàííèå ýïîõè ïîëèòè÷åñêèå è èäåîëîãè÷åñêèå ôàêòîðû èãðàëè ðåøàþùóþ ðîëü â ñóäüáàõ èìïåðèè â Åâðîïå è Âîñòî÷íîé Àçèè. Ïðîõîäÿùàÿ êðàñíîé íèòüþ ÷åðåç åâðîïåéñêîå ñðåäíåâåêîâüå áîðüáà äóõîâíûõ (ïàïñòâî) è ñâåòñêèõ ïðåòåíäåíòîâ íà èìïåðñêîå ãîñïîä- ñòâî ñïîñîáñòâîâàëà âîçíèêíîâåíèþ ìíîãîïîëþñíîãî ìèðà â Åâðîïå.  Êèòàå èìïåðàòîð è êîíôóöèàíñêàÿ áþðîêðàòèÿ îëèöåòâîðÿëè ñîáîé îäíîâðåìåííî ñâåòñêóþ è äóõîâíóþ âëàñòü. Íà ïðîòÿæåíèè ìíîãèõ ñòîëåòèé êèòàéöû (õàíü) ìîãëè ïîïàñòü íà âûñøèå ñòóïåíè âëàñòè, äàâàâøèå íå òîëüêî ïî÷åò, íî òàêæå è çíà÷èòåëüíîå áîãàò- ñòâî, ñäàâ îñîáûå ýêçàìåíû äëÿ ïîñòóïëåíèÿ íà ãîñóäàðñòâåííóþ ñëóæáó, êîòîðóþ êîíòðîëèðîâàëà áþðîêðàòèÿ. Ïîñêîëüêó áëà- ãîïîëó÷èå áþðîêðàòèè âñåöåëî çàâèñåëî îò èìïåðèè, êîòîðàÿ âîñïðèíèìàëàñü áþðîêðàòèåé êàê åäèíñòâåííî çàêîííàÿ ôîðìà ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî óñòðîéñòâà, íåñëîæíî ïîíÿòü, ïî÷åìó ýòà ñèñòåìà äîïóñêàëà ëèøü “îäíî ãîñóäàðñòâî â ïîäíåáåñüå”.25 Òåì íå ìåíåå, áûëî áû ñòðàííî îïðåäåëÿòü âîçäåéñòâèå èìïåðèè íà Åâðîïó èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî â íåãàòèâíûõ òåðìèíàõ.  êîíöå êîíöîâ, áåç íàñëåäèÿ Ðèìà “Åâðîïà” êàê îñîáàÿ êîíöåïòóàëüíàÿ êàòåãîðèÿ, êàê îñîáàÿ èäåíòè÷íîñòü èëè öèâèëèçàöèÿ, âîçìîæíî áû íå ñóùå- ñòâîâàëà. Ñàìà Ðèìñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ, ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ åå ãåîãðàôè÷åñêîãî ïîëîæåíèÿ è êóëüòóðû, áûëà ñðåäèçåìíîìîðñêèì, à íå åâðîïåéñêèì ãîñóäàðñòâåííûì îáðàçîâàíèåì. Îäíàêî ïîñëåäóþùåå îïðåäåëåíèå ãðàíèö Åâðîïû âî ìíîãîì áûëî ñâÿçàíî ñ èìïåðèåé. Çàâîåâàíèå èñëàìñêîé èìïåðèåé âñåãî þæíîãî ïîáåðåæüÿ Ñðåäèçåìíîãî ìîðÿ è ïîñëåäóþùèé ðàñêîë ýòîãî ðåãèîíà íà õðèñòèàíñêèé Ñåâåð è èñëàìñêèé Þã èìåëè êîëîññàëüíûå ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêèå ïîñëåäñòâèÿ, îòçâóêè êîòîðûõ ñëûøíû è ïî ñåé äåíü. Òàêèå æå, è äàæå åùå áîëåå î÷åâèäíûå ïîñëåäñòâèÿ èìåëè åâðîïåéñêèå èìïåðèè, âîçíèêøèå çà ïðåäåëàìè Åâðîïû. Íà êàêîå-òî âðåìÿ åâðîïåéñêàÿ ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ è êóëüòóðíàÿ ãåãåìîíèÿ ðàñïðîñòðàíèëàñü ïî÷òè ïî âñåìó çåìíîìó øàðó. Êîíå÷íî æå, íè ðàñêîë ìåæäó õðèñòèàíñêèì è èñëàìñêèì ìèðîì, íè åâðîïåéñêàÿ ãåãåìîíèÿ íå áûëè ñòîëü àáñîëþòíû, êàê ïðåäïîëàãàåòñÿ â íàøèõ ñìåëûõ îáîáùåíèÿõ. Îäíàêî ýòè îáîáùåíèÿ ïî áîëüøåé ÷àñòè âåðíû è èìåþò êîëîññàëüíîå çíà÷åíèå äëÿ ñîâðåìåííîãî ìèðà. Ïðåæäå âñåãî, îãðîìíóþ ðîëü ñûãðàëà

25 Îá ýêçàìåíàöèîííîé ñèñòåìå ñì., â ÷àñòíîñòè: Benjamin A. Elman. A Cultural History of Civil Examinations in Late Imperial China. Berkeley, 2000. 89 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê Áðèòàíñêàÿ êîëîíèàëüíàÿ èìïåðèÿ, ïîñêîëüêó ðàçëè÷íûå “íîâûå Àíãëèè”, êîòîðûå ýòà èìïåðèÿ ñîçäàâàëà â Àìåðèêå, Àâñòðàëèè è Þãî-Âîñòî÷íîé Àçèè, ÿâèëèñü òîé ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêîé áàçîé, íà êîòî- ðîé îñíîâûâàåòñÿ ñîâðåìåííîå ãîñïîäñòâî íà âñåé ïëàíåòå àíãëî- ÿçû÷íûõ ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ è ýêîíîìè÷åñêèõ èäåîëîãèé è èíñòèòóòîâ. Íàñèëüñòâåííàÿ èíòåãðàöèÿ Íîâîãî Ñâåòà â åäèíîå òîðãîâîå ïðî- ñòðàíñòâî, â êîòîðîì Åâðîïà çàíèìàëà ãîñïîäñòâóþùèå ïîçèöèè, íà èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî áëàãîïðèÿòíûõ äëÿ åâðîïåéöåâ óñëîâèÿõ òàêæå çíà÷èòåëüíî ðàñøèðèëà âëàñòü Åâðîïû íàä èñëàìñêèì è êèòàéñêèì ìèðàìè è ñïîñîáñòâîâàëà ïîñëåäóþùåìó äîìèíèðîâàíèþ Çàïàäà â ìèðîâîé ýêîíîìèêå – äîìèíèðîâàíèþ, êîòîðîå ñîõðàíÿåòñÿ è ïî ñåé äåíü.26 ×òîáû óïîðÿäî÷èòü è ïðèâåñòè â ñèñòåìó øèðîêèé ñïåêòð ãîñóäàðñòâåííûõ îáðàçîâàíèé è èñòîðè÷åñêèõ ñîáûòèé, î êîòîðûõ óæå øëà ðå÷ü â íàñòîÿùåé ñòàòüå, íåîáõîäèìî äàòü èìïåðèè íåêîå îïðåäåëåíèå. Ìíå êàæåòñÿ, ÷àùå âñåãî âñòðå÷àþùèåñÿ â íàó÷íîé ëèòåðàòóðå îïðåäåëåíèÿ íå ãîäÿòñÿ äëÿ ýòîé öåëè.27 Îíè îñíîâû- âàþòñÿ íà ïðîòèâîïîñòàâëåíèè ìåòðîïîëèè è ïðîâèíöèé èëè êîëîíèé, ëåæàùèõ íà ïåðèôåðèè èìïåðèè è àêöåíòèðóþò ïîëèòè- ÷åñêîå ãîñïîäñòâî, à òàêæå – ôàêò ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé ýêñïëóàòàöèè ìåòðîïîëèåé ïåðèôåðèè. Óâëå÷åíèå èñòîðèåé êóëüòóðû â ïîñëåäíèå ãîäû ïðèâåëî ê òîìó, ÷òî èññëåäîâàòåëè ñòàëè ïîä÷åðêèâàòü êóëü- òóðíóþ ãåãåìîíèþ ìåòðîïîëèè êàê åùå îäèí îòëè÷èòåëüíûé øòðèõ èìïåðèè. Çäåñü âàæíî îòìåòèòü, ÷òî äàííîå îïðåäåëåíèå ðàáîòàåò â îñíîâíîì ëèøü ïðèìåíèòåëüíî ê ñîâðåìåííûì çàïàäíî- åâðîïåéñêèì çàìîðñêèì èìïåðèÿì.  Áðèòàíñêîé, ôðàíöóçñêîé èëè ãîëëàíäñêîé èìïåðèÿõ îáðàçöà 1900 ã. ìåòðîïîëèþ îò ïåðèôå- ðèè îòäåëÿëè îêåàí, ðàñîâûå ðàçëè÷èÿ íàñåëåíèÿ è âñå âîçðàñòàþùèé ðàçðûâ â óðîâíå áëàãîñîñòîÿíèÿ è ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî ðàçâèòèÿ.

26 Ýòîò âîïðîñ ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñîñòàâíîé ÷àñòüþ ñïîðîâ âîêðóã ïðîèñõîæäåíèÿ çàïàäíîãî ãîñïîäñòâà â ìèðå. Ãðóáî ãîâîðÿ, îäíà ñòîðîíà íàçûâàåò â êà÷åñòâå òàêèõ ïðè÷èí àãðåññèþ Çàïàäà è óñïåøíóþ àííåêñèþ ðåñóðñîâ Íîâîãî Ñâåòà, äðóãàÿ – ïîä÷åðêèâàåò òàêèå ñòîðîíû çàïàäíîé òðàäèöèè, êàê èíäèâèäóàëèçì, ïûòëèâîñòü óìà è “ðàöèîíàëüíîñòü”.  ïîñëåäíåå âðåìÿ ñóùåñòâóþùàÿ ëèòåðàòóðà â ýòîé îáëàñòè ïîïîëíèëàñü íîâîé ðàáîòîé: John M. Hobson. The Eastern Origins of Western Civilisation. Cambridge, 2004. Äæîí Ì. Õîáñîí âûñòóïàåò â ïîääåðæêó ïåðâîãî íàïðàâëåíèÿ. 27 Îïðåäåëåíèå, êîòîðîå öèòèðóåòñÿ ÷àùå âñåãî, äàíî â ðàáîòå: Michael Doyle. Empires. Ithaca, 1986. Pp. 19-21. 90 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ êóëüòóðû, “Åâðîïà” îêàçàëà ãîðàçäî áîëüøåå âîçäåéñòâèå íà æèçíü è ñîçíàíèå êîëîíèçîâàííûõ íàðîäîâ, íåæåëè íà æèçíü è ñîçíàíèå êîëîíèçàòîðîâ. Ñàìî ýòî îáñòîÿòåëüñòâî ñ òå÷å- íèåì âðåìåíè ïðåâðàòèëîñü â ïðè÷èíó âîçìóùåíèÿ ïðîòèâ êîëîíè- çàòîðîâ. Âîçìîæíî, âàæíåå âñåãî áûëî òî, ÷òî âçðîñëîå ìóæñêîå íàñåëåíèå ìåòðîïîëèè èìåëî ãðàæäàíñêèå ïðàâà, â òî âðåìÿ êàê æèòåëè ïåðèôåðèè â ïðèíöèïå áûëè ëèøü ïîääàííûìè èìïåðèè. Ïî ñîâîêóïíîñòè âñåõ ýòèõ ïðè÷èí Áðèòàíñêóþ, ôðàíöóçñêóþ è ãîëëàíäñêóþ èìïåðèè ìîæíî ñ÷èòàòü “íàöèîíàëüíûìè èìïåðè- ÿìè” – â òîì ñìûñëå, ÷òî â íèõ äîìèíèðóþùåå ïîëîæåíèå çàíèìàëè öåëûå íàöèè. ×òî êàñàåòñÿ âåëèêèõ ñóõîïóòíûõ èìïåðèé ïðîøëîãî, òî ïðè- ìåíèòåëüíî ê íèì îïðåäåëåíèå èìïåðèè êàê ñèñòåìû îòíîøåíèé öåíòðà-ïåðèôåðèè èìååò ãîðàçäî ìåíüøå îñíîâàíèé, è íå òîëüêî ïîòîìó, ÷òî íèêàêîé îêåàí â ýòîì ñëó÷àå íå îòäåëÿë ìåòðîïîëèþ îò åå êîëîíèé. Ìíîãèå èç ñóõîïóòíûõ èìïåðèé ìîãóò áûòü îõàðàê- òåðèçîâàíû êàê “àðèñòîêðàòè÷åñêèå”.  íèõ ãîñïîäñòâîâàë è èõ ýêñïëóàòèðîâàë êëàññ, à íå ñîîáùåñòâî, è òåì áîëåå íå íàöèÿ. ×ëåíû àðèñòîêðàòè÷åñêîé ýëèòû èìïåðñêîãî öåíòðà ãîðàçäî áîëåå îòîæ- äåñòâëÿëè ñåáÿ è âñòóïàëè â ñîþç ñî ñâîèìè ñîáðàòüÿìè-àðèñòîê- ðàòàìè (îñîáåííî â ðàìêàõ îäíîé öèâèëèçàöèè), ÷åì ñ ïëåáåÿìè èç ñâîåãî ñîáñòâåííîãî ýòíîñà. Êðîìå òîãî, òàêàÿ èìïåðèÿ çà÷àñòóþ ãîðàçäî áîëåå æåñòîêî ýêñïëóàòèðîâàëà íèçøèå êëàññû “öåíòðà”, íåæåëè íèçøèå êëàññû ïåðèôåðèè, ïîñêîëüêó ýòî áûëî ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ ëîãèñòèêè ãîðàçäî ïðîùå è ïîëèòè÷åñêè áåçîïàñíåå. Õîðî- øèì ïðèìåðîì çäåñü ñëóæèò öàðñêàÿ Ðîññèÿ, íà÷èíàÿ ñ ýïîõè Ïåòðà I è äî 1860-õ ãã.  ýòîò ïåðèîä Ðîññèÿ ïðåäñòàâëÿëà ñîáîé ñîþç ðàçëè÷íûõ ãðóïï çåìëåâëàäåëüöåâ âîêðóã ðóññêîãî ïîìåñòíîãî äâîðÿíñòâà, ÿâëÿâøåãîñÿ öåíòðîì ñèñòåìû. Ýëèòà ýòîãî îáùåñòâà ïîä÷àñ ãîðàçäî ëó÷øå ãîâîðèëà ïî-ôðàíöóçñêè, ÷åì ïî-ðóññêè, è âîñïðèíèìàëà ñåáÿ íå òîëüêî êàê ÷ëåíîâ ïðàâÿùåãî êëàññà Ðîññèè, íî òàêæå êàê ÷àñòü åâðîïåéñêîé êîñìîïîëèòè÷íîé àðèñòîêðàòèè. Äîñòàòî÷íî î÷åâèäíî, ÷òî îñòçåéñêèå íåìöû-àðèñòîêðàòû ïîëó- ÷àëè îò ýòîé èìïåðèè ãîðàçäî áîëüøå áëàã, íåæåëè îáðàùåííàÿ â êðåïîñòíîå ñîñòîÿíèå ìàññà âåëèêîðóññêîãî íàñåëåíèÿ.28

28 Î ìåæýòíè÷åñêèõ îòíîøåíèÿõ â öàðñêîé Ðîññèè ñì.: Andreas Kappeler. The Russian Empire. A Multiethnic History. New York, 2001. Äëÿ ñðàâíåíèÿ ñì.: Dominic Lieven. Empire. The Russian Empire and its Rivals. London, 2000. 91 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê Îñìàíñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ íå áûëà àðèñòîêðàòè÷åñêèì ãîñóäàðñòâåííûì îáðàçîâàíèåì, íî èìåëà íåêîòîðûå îáùèå ÷åðòû ñ öàðèçìîì. Àíàòîëèÿ – ñàìîå ñåðäöå ñòðàíû – ÿâëÿëàñü îäíîé èç ñàìûõ áåäíûõ è ñàìûõ ýêñïëóàòèðóåìûõ îáëàñòåé èìïåðèè. Îñìàíñêàÿ ýëèòà ãîâîðèëà íà ÿçûêå, ïîäâåðãøåìñÿ ïåðñèäñêîìó âëèÿíèþ, êîòîðûé íå ïîíèìàëî áîëüøèíñòâî òóðîê. Äëÿ ýòîé ýëèòû ñàìî íàçâàíèå “òóðîê” áûëî ñèíîíèìîì äåðåâåíùèíû. ßäðî Îñìàíñêîé ýëèòû òîé ýïîõè, êîãäà èìïåðèÿ íàõîäèëàñü íà ïèêå ñâîåãî ðàçâèòèÿ, ñîñòîÿëî èç îáðàùåííûõ â èñëàì ðàáîâ-õðèñòèàí – ñèòóàöèÿ, èçâåñòíàÿ â ìóñóëüìàíñêîì ìèðå, íî ñîâåðøåííî íåâîçìîæíàÿ â åâðîïåéñêèõ ìîðñêèõ èìïåðèÿõ. Îñìàíñêîå ãîñóäàðñòâî ìîæåò ñëóæèòü ïðåêðàñíûì ïðèìåðîì èìïåðèè, ÷üÿ èäåíòè÷íîñòü ñòðîè- ëàñü íà âåðíîñòè ðåëèãèè è äèíàñòèè, à íå íà ïðèíàäëåæíîñòè ê îïðåäåëåííîìó ýòíîñó. Ïîòåíöèàëüíî èñëàì è Îñìàíñêàÿ äèíàñòèÿ ñëóæèëè îñíîâîé îáùåãî ñàìîñîçíàíèÿ, ïðåäàííîñòè îäíèì è òåì æå ïîëèòè÷åñêèì èäåàëàì è èíñòèòóòàì, îáúåäèíÿÿ âîêðóã ñåáÿ òóðåöêèå, àðàáñêèå è êóðäñêèå ýëèòû. Ïðîäâèíóòüñÿ íàâåðõ ïî ñîöèàëüíîé ëåñòíèöå è âñòóïèòü â ðÿäû ýòîé ýëèòû áûëî ãîðàçäî ïðîùå, íåæåëè â àðèñòîêðàòè÷åñêîé Åâðîïå, õîòÿ äëÿ ýòîãî îáû÷íî òðåáîâàëîñü ïðèíÿòü èñëàì.29 Íà ðàííåì ýòàïå ñâîåé èñòîðèè ãîñóäàðñòâî òóðîê-îñìàí òàêæå ïðåäñòàâëÿëî ñîáîé è äðóãóþ, âåñüìà òèïè÷íóþ ðàçíîâèäíîñòü ñóõîïóòíîé èìïåðèè, îñîáåííî õàðàêòåðíóþ äëÿ èñëàìñêîãî ìèðà: èìïåðèþ, ñîçäàííóþ êî÷åâíèêàìè. Âåëèêèé ïîëèòè÷åñêèé ìûñëèòåëü Èáí-Õàëäóí ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñàìûì èçâåñòíûì åå òåîðåòèêîì.30  òðàäèöèÿõ èìïåðèè êî÷åâíèêîâ íàðîäû íà ïåðèôåðèè òàêîé öèâèëèçàöèè ñîõðàíÿþò âîèíñêóþ äîáëåñòü è ïåðèîäè÷åñêè çàâîå- âûâàþò ãîðîäñêèå öåíòðû äàííîé öèâèëèçàöèè. Ñî âðåìåíåì îíè ñàìè ïîêîðÿþòñÿ êóëüòóðå è ñîáëàçíàì ýòîé öèâèëèçàöèè è ñòàíîâÿòñÿ æåðòâàìè íîâîé âîëíû âîèòåëåé-êî÷åâíèêîâ. Õîòÿ ìíîãèå èç íàðîäîâ, çàâîåâûâàâøèõ Êèòàé ñ ñåâåðà (âêëþ÷àÿ è ìàí÷æóðîâ (Öèí), áûëè ñàìîå áîëüøåå ïîëóêî÷åâíèêàìè, ñõîäíàÿ ìîäåëü ìîæåò ïðèìåíÿòüñÿ è â ýòîì ñëó÷àå. Èñòîðèÿ âñåõ ýòèõ

29 Îá Îñìàíñêîé èìïåðèè äî 1700 ã. ñì.: H. Inalcik. The Ottoman Empire. The Classical Age 1300-1600. London, 1973; Suraiya Faroqui. The Ottoman Empire and the World Around It. London, 2004. 30 Ñì., íàïðèìåð: Anthony Black. The History of Islamic Political Thought. Edinburgh, 2001. Ñh. 18. 92 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 èìïåðèé ïåðåâîðà÷èâàåò ñ íîã íà ãîëîâó êîíöåïöèþ êóëüòóðíîé ãåãåìîíèè. Äëÿ ìàí÷æóðîâ öåíîé çàõâàòà âëàñòè â èìïåðèè â êîíå÷íîì èòîãå ñòàëà êóëüòóðíàÿ àññèìèëÿöèÿ è, â èçâåñòíîì ñìûñëå, èñ÷åçíîâåíèå êàê íàöèè ñîáñòâåííî ìàí÷æóðîâ.31 Ïðåäëàãàåìîå ìíîþ îïðåäåëåíèå èìïåðèè ïîñòðîåíî òàê, ÷òîáû èçáåæàòü ñàìîãî ðàññìîòðåíèÿ âîïðîñà î ñîîòíîøåíèè ìåòðîïîëèè è ïåðèôåðèè. Îíî äîñòàòî÷íî ïðîñòîå è ñòðåìèòñÿ îõâàòèòü âñå èçâåñòíûå ðàçíîâèäíîñòè èìïåðèè. Êàê ìíå ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ, èìïåðèÿ îáëàäàåò ÷åòûðüìÿ ãëàâíûìè õàðàêòåðèñòèêàìè. Âî-ïåðâûõ, îíà äîëæíà áûòü îáøèðíîé – ïîñêîëüêó óïðàâëåíèå çíà÷èòåëüíûìè ïðîñòðàíñòâàìè, ðàñïðîñòðàíåíèå âëàñòè íà áîëüøèå ðàññòîÿíèÿ âñåãäà áûëî îäíîé èç ñàìûõ ñëîæíûõ ïðîáëåì, êîòîðûå ïðèõîäèëîñü ðåøàòü èìïåðèè. Âî-âòîðûõ, èìïåðèÿ âêëþ÷àåò â ñåáÿ ìíîãèå íàðîäû – ïîñêîëüêó ïðîáëåìà óïðàâëåíèÿ ðàçíûìè ýòíîñàìè ÷àñòî âñòàâàëà ïåðåä èìïåðèåé. Ýòà ïðîáëåìà ïðè÷èíÿåò áîëüøå âñåãî íåïðèÿòíîñòåé èìïåðèÿì â ñîâðåìåííóþ íàì ýïîõó íàöèîíàëèçìà è íàðîäíîãî ñóâåðåíèòåòà. Â-òðåòüèõ, êàê ìíå êàæåòñÿ, èìïåðèÿ íå ñòðîèòñÿ ñ ïðÿìîãî ñîãëàñèÿ åå ïîääàííûõ. Ïîâòîðèì: ýòîò àñïåêò ïðèîáðåë çíà÷åíèå ëèøü â ñîâðåìåííóþ ýïîõó, ïîñêîëüêó î÷åíü íåìíîãèå ãîñóäàðñòâåííûå îáðàçîâàíèÿ äðåâíîñòè, ñðåä- íåâåêîâüÿ è ðàííåãî íîâîãî âðåìåíè ñòðîèëèñü íà îñíîâå òàêîãî ñîãëàñèÿ. Íàêîíåö, ñàìîå âàæíîå – èìïåðèÿ äîëæíà îáëàäàòü áîëüøèì ìîãóùåñòâîì, èãðàòü êëþ÷åâóþ ðîëü â ðåãèîíàëüíîé èëè ãëîáàëüíîé ïîëèòèêå ñâîåãî âðåìåíè. Ê ýòîìó ïîñëåäíåìó ïóíêòó ÿ áû äîáàâèë òàêæå òî, ÷òî ñàìûå çíà÷èìûå èìïåðèè – òå èìïåðèè, êîòîðûå âîïëîùàþò ñîáîé è ðàñïðîñòðàíÿþò íåêîòîðóþ ïîòåíöè- àëüíî óíèâåðñàëüíóþ âûñîêóþ êóëüòóðó, ðåëèãèþ èëè èäåîëîãèþ. Ñàìà âëàñòü ïðîÿâëÿåòñÿ â ðàçíûõ îáëè÷èÿõ è ôîðìàõ, êîòîðûå òîæå òðåáóþò íåêîòîðîãî îïðåäåëåíèÿ. Êàê ìíå ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ, ñàìûì ïîëåçíûì äëÿ àíàëèçà øèðîêîãî ñïåêòðà èçâåñòíûõ íàóêå äàííûõ, ïðèíöèïèàëüíî çíà÷èìûõ äëÿ íàñòîÿùåãî îáñóæäåíèÿ ïðîáëåìû èìïåðèè, ìîæåò îêàçàòüñÿ îïðåäåëåíèå, äàííîå Ìàéêëîì

31 Ñïîð âûçûâàåò óæå ñàì âîïðîñ, êàêîãî ðîäà íàöèåé áûëè ìàí÷æóðû. Ñîâåòñêèå ýòíîãðàôû ñòîëêíóëèñü ñ ïîõîæèìè ïðîáëåìàìè, êîãäà èì ïðèøëîñü äàòü îïðåäåëåíèå ñðåäíåàçèàòñêèõ íàöèé â êàòåãîðèÿõ êîëëåêòèâíîãî âîñïðèÿòèÿ äèíàñòè÷åñêèõ è êëàíîâûõ ðîäñòâåííûõ ñâÿçåé. Î ìàí÷æóðàõ ñì.: Pamela Kyle Crossley. Orphan Warriors. Three Manchu Generations and the End of the Qing World. Princeton, 1990; Eadem. The Manchus. Oxford, 1997. 93 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê Ìàííîì. Ìàéêë Ìàíí íàçûâàåò ÷åòûðå èñòî÷íèêà ñîöèàëüíîé âëàñòè – ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ âëàñòü, âîåííàÿ âëàñòü, ýêîíîìè÷åñêàÿ âëàñòü è êóëüòóðíàÿ/èäåîëîãè÷åñêàÿ.32 Îäíàêî ìîè ñîáñòâåííûå èçûñêàíèÿ â îáëàñòè èçó÷åíèÿ èìïåðèé óáåäèëè ìåíÿ â íåîáõîäèìîñòè äîïîëíèòü ýòîò ñïèñîê äâóìÿ äðóãèìè èñòî÷íèêàìè âëàñòè – ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêèì è äåìîãðàôè÷åñêèì.33 Áîëüøèíñòâî èìïåðèé íà ðàçíûõ ýòàïàõ ñâîåãî ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ â òîé èëè èíîé ñòåïåíè ñî÷åòàëè âñå èëè ïî÷òè âñå ýòè èñòî÷íèêè âëàñòè. Îäíàêî äàæå â ðàìêàõ îäíîé èìïåðèè ðàçíûå ïåðèîäû èñòîðèè è ðàçíûå ðåãèîíû ìîãóò îòëè÷àòüñÿ äðóã îò äðóãà â çàâèñèìîñòè îò òîãî, êàêîé èñòî÷íèê âëàñòè âûõîäèò â íèõ íà ïåðâûé ïëàí. Èçó÷åíèå òîãî, êàê ìåíÿëîñü ñîîòíîøåíèå ýòèõ èñòî÷íèêîâ âëàñòè, ìîæåò ñòàòü õîðîøèì íà÷àëîì äëÿ êîìïàðàòèâíîé èñòîðèè èìïåðèé è ïîìî÷ü ñîâðåìåííîìó ìèðó îñìûñëèòü óðîêè ýòîé èñòîðèè. Âîçüìåì, íàïðèìåð, âîåííóþ âëàñòü. Âîåííàÿ èñòîðèÿ â íàñòîÿùåå âðåìÿ êðàéíå íåïîïóëÿðíà ñðåäè ó÷åíûõ. Ñîâðåìåííîå ïðîñâåùåííîå îáùåñòâåííîå ìíåíèå â öåëîì òàêæå ñêëîííî ê òîìó, ÷òîáû ðàññìàò- ðèâàòü âîåííóþ ñèëó â êà÷åñòâå ïðîäóêòà ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé âëàñòè, è ñîîòâåòñòâåííî, êàê ïðîäóêò òåõíîëîãè÷åñêîãî ãîñïîäñòâà.  ýòîì, ïî âñåé âèäèìîñòè, ñîñòîèò óðîê äâóõ ìèðîâûõ âîéí è äàæå äâóõ âîéí â Ïåðñèäñêîì çàëèâå. Îäíàêî ñòîèò âñïîìíèòü, ÷òî íà ïðîòÿæå- íèè áîëüøåé ÷àñòè èñòîðèè ÷åëîâå÷åñòâà âîåííîå ïðåâîñõîäñòâî âîâñå íå áûëî ñâÿçàíî ñ ýêîíîìè÷åñêèì èëè êóëüòóðíûì ïðåâîñõîäñòâîì.34 Êàê óæå îòìå÷àëîñü âûøå, äëÿ èìïåðèé êî÷åâíèêîâ ïî÷òè âñåãäà áûëà õàðàêòåðíà îáðàòíàÿ ñèòóàöèÿ. Äàæå óâåí÷àâøàÿñÿ óñïåõîì ýêñïàíñèÿ åâðîïåéöåâ â äðóãèõ ÷àñòÿõ ñâåòà îñóùåñòâëÿëàñü äî íà÷àëà XIX â. îòíþäü íå áëàãîäàðÿ âîåííî-òåõíîëîãè÷åñêèì ôàêòîðàì.35

32 Michael Mann. The Four Sources of Social Power. 2 vols. Cambridge, 1986. 33 Ñì.: Lieven. Empire. Pp. 413-422. 34 Ñì.: John Keegan. A History of Warfare. London, 1993. Ýòà ðàáîòà ïðåäñòàâëÿåò ñîáîé ïîðàçèòåëüíî îðèãèíàëüíîå ïðî÷òåíèå âîåííîé èñòîðèè, ðàññìîòðåííîé â äîëãîâðåìåííîé ïåðñïåêòèâå. 35 Îáùèé îáçîð ñì., íàïðèìåð: Jeremy Black. War and the World. Military Power and the Fate of Continents 1450-2000. New Haven, 1998. Ñì. òàêæå: R. G. S. Cooper. The Anglo-Maratha Campaigns and the Contest for India. Cambridge, 2003.  ïîñëåäíåé ðàáîòå äàí àíàëèç êîíêðåòíîé âîéíû. Íà ýòîì ïðèìåðå ìû âèäèì, êàê ãîñóäàðñòâà, ÷üè ïðàâèòåëè ïî âíóòðèïîëèòè÷åñêèì ïðè÷èíàì äîëæíû áûëè ïîëàãàòüñÿ íà íàåìíûå âîéñêà, ñîñòîÿùèå èç ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé äðóãèõ íàðîäîâ, ñòîëêíóëèñü ñ îãðîìíûìè ïðîáëåìàìè, êîãäà èì ïðèøëîñü áîðîòüñÿ ñ åâðîïåéñêèìè äåðæàâàìè. 94 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Îäíàêî èñòîðèÿ äåéñòâèòåëüíî äàåò íàì ìíîæåñòâî ïðèìåðîâ òîãî, êàê ñäâèãè â îáëàñòè âîåííûõ òåõíîëîãèé è îðãàíèçàöèè àðìèè ïðèâîäèëè ê ïîäúåìó è óïàäêó ãîñóäàðñòâåííûõ îáðàçîâàíèé è ê èçìåíåíèÿì â ñîîòíîøåíèè ñèë ìåæäó ðàçëè÷íûìè êëàññàìè âíóòðè íèõ. Ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ ìàëîâåðîÿòíûì – íî îòíþäü íå íåâîçìîæíûì â ïðèíöèïå – ÷òî ïðèîáðåòåíèå íåêèìè íåãîñóäàðñòâåííûìè ñèëàìè îðóæèÿ ìàññîâîãî óíè÷òîæåíèÿ íàíåñëî áû ðîêîâîé óäàð ïî ñîâðåìåííûì çàïàäíûì ãîñóäàðñòâàì è îáùåñòâàì. Ãîðàçäî áîëåå âåðîÿòíî, ÷òî òàêîå ðàçâèòèå ñîáûòèé ïðèíöèïèàëüíî èçìåíèëî áû ñàìó ïðèðîäó ýòèõ ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ ñèñòåì çà ñ÷åò ðåçêî âîçðîñøèõ çàòðàò (ñêîðåå ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî, íåæåëè ôèíàíñîâîãî õàðàêòåðà), ñâÿçàííûõ ñ îáåñïå÷åíèåì áåçîïàñíîñòè. Ìîäåëü, ïðåäëîæåííàÿ Ìàéêëîì Ìàííîì, ïîçâîëÿåò óâèäåòü íå ñòîëü àïîêàëèïòè÷íûå è ãîðàçäî ìåíåå î÷åâèäíûå ñîñòàâëÿþùèå èìïåðñêîé è ñîâðåìåííîé âëàñòè. Âîçüìåì, íàïðèìåð, ðîëü æåíùèí. Î÷åâèäíî, ÷òî âîïðîñ î ðîëè æåíùèí ëåæèò â îñíîâå êîíôëèêòà ìåæäó “Çàïàäîì” è íåêîòîðûìè äðóãèìè êóëüòóðàìè, à òàêæå â îñíîâå êîíôëèêòîâ âíóòðè ìíîãèõ çàïàäíûõ îáùåñòâ.  öåëîì, êàê ìíå ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ, îòêðûâøååñÿ ïåðåä æåíùèíàìè îãðîìíîå ìíîæåñòâî âîçìîæíîñòåé ÿâëÿåòñÿ çíà÷èìûì ôàêòîðîì àìåðèêàíñêîé (è â äàííîì ñëó÷àå – çàïàäíîé) èäåîëîãè÷åñêîé è ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé âëàñòè. Åñëè ìîáèëèçàöèÿ æåíùèí íà ôàáðèêè áûëà âàæíûì èñòî÷íèêîì ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé âëàñòè â ýïîõó ïðîìûøëåííîé ðåâîëþ- öèè, òî íàñêîëüêî áîëåå çíà÷èìîé ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñîâðåìåííàÿ ìîáèëèçàöèÿ æåíñêèõ óìîâ è àìáèöèé íà êîìàíäíûõ âåðøèíàõ “ýêîíîìèêè çíàíèé”! Îäíàêî äåìîãðàôèÿ òàêæå ÿâëÿåòñÿ èñòî÷íèêîì âëàñòè.  ðàçâè- òûõ ñòðàíàõ ó æåíùèí íåò áîëåå íóæäû ðàññìàòðèâàòü áðàê è ìàòåðèíñòâî êàê îñíîâíîé ñïîñîá îáåñïå÷åíèÿ ñâîåé áåçîïàñíîñòè, áëàãîïîëó÷èÿ è ïîëîæåíèÿ â îáùåñòâå.  ñî÷åòàíèè ñ ñîâðåìåííûìè òåõíîëîãèÿìè ýòè èçìåíåíèÿ â ñîçíàíèè ïîçâîëÿþò íàì îáúÿñíèòü ðåçêîå ñîêðàùåíèå ðîæäàåìîñòè.  1800 ã. ëþäè åâðîïåéñêîãî ïðîèñ- õîæäåíèÿ ñîñòàâëÿëè îêîëî 20% íàñåëåíèÿ çåìíîãî øàðà. Ê 2050 ã. èõ äîëÿ ñîêðàòèòñÿ ïðèáëèçèòåëüíî äî 6%. Ýòî ïîñëåäíåå îáñòîÿ- òåëüñòâî äîëæíî, î÷åâèäíî, èìåòü êàêîå-òî çíà÷åíèå äëÿ ïîëèòèêè. Îäíàêî êîíêðåòíûå ïîëèòè÷åñêèå ïîñëåäñòâèÿ ýòîãî ñäâèãà çàâèñÿò îò äðóãèõ ôàêòîðîâ, à íå îò äåìîãðàôèè. Âîçìîæíî, ÷òî òà ðîëü, êîòîðóþ èììèãðàöèÿ èãðàëà â àìåðèêàíñêîé èñòîðèè, â ôîðìèðî- âàíèè àìåðèêàíñêîãî ñàìîñîçíàíèÿ, ïîçâîëèò Ñîåäèíåííûì Øòàòàì 95 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê ñ áîëüøåé ëåãêîñòüþ ïðèíÿòü è àññèìèëèðîâàòü èììèãðàíòîâ, ÷åì ýòî óäàåòñÿ Åâðîïå è òåì áîëåå ßïîíèè. Åñëè ýòè èììèãðàíòû áóäóò “çàâîåâàíû” àìåðèêàíñêîé êóëüòóðîé, ïðåäàíû àìåðèêàíñêèì èäåàëàì è èíñòèòóòàì, òî ýòî äåéñòâèòåëüíî ñòàíåò çíàêîì àìåðè- êàíñêîé ñîöèàëüíîé âëàñòè. Îáðàùàÿñü ê èìïåðñêîìó êîíòåêñòó, ìîæíî ñêàçàòü, ÷òî æåëàíèå è ñïîñîáíîñòü ÑØÀ ïðèíÿòü è “çàâîå- âàòü” èììèãðàíòîâ ïîçâîëèò îòíåñòè Àìåðèêó ê ÷èñëó âåëèêèõ ñóõîïóòíûõ èìïåðèé, íå òàêèõ, êàê Áðèòàíñêàÿ èëè ãîëëàíäñêàÿ. Ðèìñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ îïðåäåëÿëà ñåáÿ ÷åðåç êóëüòóðó. Îíà ÷åðïàëà ñâîå ìîãóùåñòâî â òîì, ÷òî êî II â. í.ý. íå òîëüêî ñåíàòîðû, íî äàæå ñàìè ðèìñêèå èìïåðàòîðû ìîãëè è íå áûòü óðîæåíöàìè Èòàëèè. Íàïðîòèâ, Âåëèêîáðèòàíèÿ è Íèäåðëàíäû âðåìåí èìïåðèè ÿâëÿëèñü íàöèÿìè, îïðåäåëÿåìûìè ïî ýòíè÷åñêîìó ïðèçíàêó: èõ îòêàç àññèìèëèðîâàòü íåáåëîå íàñåëåíèå è ðåøèìîñòü ñîõðàíèòü ñòðîãî îïðåäåëåííóþ ðàñîâóþ èåðàðõèþ ñòàëè èñòî÷íèêîì èõ ñëàáîñòè êàê èìïåðèé.36 Ãëàâíàÿ ïðîáëåìà, ñòîÿùàÿ ïåðåä èìïåðèÿìè íîâîãî âðåìåíè, ñîñòîèò â òîì, ÷òî, íà÷èíàÿ ñ ñåðåäèíû XIX â., ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêèå èñòî÷íèêè âëàñòè òîëêàëè èìïåðèþ â îäíîì íàïðàâëåíèè, à ïîëè- òè÷åñêèå è èäåîëîãè÷åñêèå – â äðóãîì. Ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû, ê ñåìèäå- ñÿòûì ãîäàì XIX âåêà âñå ïîëèòè÷åñêèå íàáëþäàòåëè ñõîäèëèñü íà òîì, ÷òî áóäóùåå ïðèíàäëåæèò ñòðàíàì, âëàäåþùèì çíà÷èòåëüíûìè ïðîñòðàíñòâàìè ìàòåðèêà è êîíòèíåíòàëüíûìè ðåñóðñàìè. Åùå â ïåð- âîé ïîëîâèíå XIX â. À. Ãåðöåí è À. äå Òîêâèëü óêàçûâàëè íà òó ðîëü, êîòîðóþ â áóäóùåì áóäóò èãðàòü ÑØÀ è Ðîññèÿ. Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, íàöèîíàëèçì ñòàë ñàìîé óáåäèòåëüíîé èäåîëîãèåé ðàçâèòîãî ìèðà – íå â ïîñëåäíþþ î÷åðåäü â ãëàçàõ åâðîïåéñêèõ ýëèò, êîòîðûå âèäåëè â íàöèîíàëèçìå çàùèòó îò ñîöèàëèçìà â íàñòó- ïàþùèé âåê ìàññîâîé ïîëèòèêè. Íàöèÿ, íàãëÿäíûì âîïëîùåíèåì êîòîðîé ñòàëè íîâîå äèíàìè÷íîå áðèòàíñêîå èëè ôðàíöóçñêîå îáùåñòâà, à òàêæå îáúåäèíåíèå Ãåðìàíèè è Èòàëèè, ïðåäñòàâëÿëàñü çíàìåíèåì áóäóùåãî. Êàçàëîñü, ÷òî ìíîãîíàöèîíàëüíûå Ãàáñ- áóðãñêàÿ è Îñìàíñêàÿ èìïåðèè îñóæäåíû íà óïàäîê. Ïåðåä ïðàâè- òåëÿìè ìíîãîíàöèîíàëüíîé Ðîññèè âñòàâàë âûáîð: ê êàêîé èç ýòèõ äâóõ ãðóïï ãîñóäàðñòâ ïðèñîåäèíèòñÿ èõ èìïåðèÿ. Îäíàêî ãëàâíàÿ

36 Ýòî ñòàâèò ïîä ñîìíåíèå íåêîòîðûå àñïåêòû èíòåðåñíîé ãèïîòåçû, âûäâèíóòîé Ñýìþýëåì Õàíòèíãòîíîì. Ñì.: Samuel Huntington. The Clash of Civilisations and the Remaking of World Order. London, 1997. 96 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ïðîáëåìà, ñòîÿâøàÿ ïåðåä ðîññèéñêîé ýëèòîé, êàê, âïðî÷åì, è ïåðåä âñåìè äðóãèìè ýëèòàìè, çàêëþ÷àëàñü â òîì, ÷òî îãðîìíîå êîíòèíåí- òàëüíîå ïðîñòðàíñòâî èìïåðèè íåîáõîäèìî ïðåäïîëàãàëî ïîëèýò- íè÷íûé ñîñòàâ åå íàñåëåíèÿ, à ýòî ïîñëåäíåå îáñòîÿòåëüñòâî ñîçäà- âàëî áîëüøèå òðóäíîñòè â ýïîõó íàöèîíàëèçìà. Êàê çàìåòèë áðèòàíñêèé èñòîðèê è èìïåðèàëèñò Àðòóð Ñèëè, “êîãäà ãîñóäàðñòâî âûõîäèò çà ãðàíèöû îäíîé íàöèîíàëüíîñòè, åãî âëàñòü ïîäâåðãà- åòñÿ îïàñíîñòè è ñòàíîâèòñÿ èñêóññòâåííîé”.37 Áåçóñëîâíî, ñàìûé ðàäèêàëüíûé îòâåò íà âûçîâ, êîòîðûé áðî- ñàåò ìîäåðíîñòü èìïåðèè, äàëî ðóêîâîäñòâî Ñîâåòñêîãî Ñîþçà.38 Ñòðîÿ ñâîå ãîñóäàðñòâî íà íîâîé, óíèâåðñàëèñòñêîé ñâåòñêîé ðåëèãèè – ìàðêñèñòñêîì ñîöèàëèçìå – îíî íàäåÿëîñü ïîáåäèòü íàöèîíàëèçì. Ïðåäïîëàãàëîñü, ÷òî ïî ìåðå ñîçèäàíèÿ óñïåøíîãî, ñîâðåìåííîãî ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêîãî îáùåñòâà âîçíèêíåò è íîâîå ñîâåòñêîå ñàìîñîçíàíèå. Ïîêîëåíèå, âûðîñøåå óæå â ñîâðåìåííûõ ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêèõ óñëîâèÿõ, ãîðäÿùååñÿ äîñòèæåíèÿìè ñîöèàëèçìà, áóäåò îáëàäàòü èíûì ìåíòàëèòåòîì, èíîé ñèñòåìîé öåííîñòåé, íåæåëè ñòàðîå, ïî ïðåèìóùåñòâó êðåñòüÿíñêîå îáùåñòâî. Ýòîìó ïðîöåññó áóäåò ñïîñîáñòâîâàòü ýìèãðàöèÿ è èñ÷åçíîâåíèå ñòàðûõ ýëèò. Ñèìâîëîì ðàçðûâà íîâîé ñîâåòñêîé öèâèëèçàöèè ñ ïðîøëûì ñòàëè èìåíà, êîòîðûå âåðíûå ãðàæäàíå íîâîé ñòðàíû äàâàëè ñâîèì äåòÿì – òàêèå, íàïðèìåð êàê “Âëàäëåí” – ïîäîáíî ïðàâîâåðíûì ìóñóëüìàíàì, â ïåðâûå âåêà ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ Àðàáñêîãî õàëèôàòà ÷àñòî íàðåêàâøèì ñâîèõ äåòåé èìåíåì Ìóõàììåä.

37 Arthur Seeley. The Expansion of England. London, 1885. Pp. 46, 51, 75. Ñì., íàïðèìåð: Peter J. Taylor. Political Geography. World-Economy, Nation-State and Locality. Harlow, 1989, à òàêæå: Claude Raffestin. Geopolitique et Histoire. , 1995.  ïîñëåäíèõ äâóõ ðàáîòàõ ìîæíî íàéòè îïèñàíèå ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêèõ äèñêóññèé è ïðîðî÷åñòâ XIX-XX ââ. Î Ìàêèíäåðå è Ìàõàíå, ñíèñêàâøèõ â íà÷àëå XX â. ñëàâó äâóõ ñàìûõ êðóïíûõ ìûñëèòåëåé â îáëàñòè ãåîïîëèòèêè, èç ÷èñëà àíãëîÿçû÷íûõ àâòîðîâ, ñì.: W. D. Puleston. Mahan. The Life and Work of Captain Alfred Thayer Mahan. London, 1939, à òàêæå: W. H. Parker. Mackinder. Geography as an Aid to Statecraft. Oxford, 1982. 38 Ëèòåðàòóðà, ïîñâÿùåííàÿ ñîâåòñêîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè (ñàìîñîçíàíèþ) è ñîâåòñêèì íàöèîíàëüíîñòÿì, âåñüìà îáøèðíà. Îáùèé îáçîð ìîæíî íàéòè â: Terry Martin. The Affirmative Action Empire. Ithaca, 2001; G. Simon. Nationalism and Policy towards the Nationalities in the Soviet Union. Boulder, 1991; Y. Slezkine. The USSR as a Communal Apartment, or How a Socialist State Promoted Ethnic Particularism // Slavic Review. 1994. Vol. 53. No. 2. Pp. 414-452. 97 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê Íà çàðå ñâîåãî ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ ñîâåòñêèé ðåæèì íå ïûòàëñÿ èñêîðåíèòü ýòíè÷íîñòü. Íàïðîòèâ, îí ñîçäàë ðåñïóáëèêè, îïðåäå- ëåííûå ïî ýòíè÷åñêîìó ïðèíöèïó, ïðîäâèãàë “êîðåííûå” íàðîäû íà âåäóùèå ïîñòû è ïîîùðÿë ÿçûêè è êóëüòóðó ýòèõ íàðîäîâ. Îò÷àñòè ðåæèì ïîñòóïàë òàê ðàäè òîãî, ÷òîáû íåðóññêèå íàðîäû ïðèçíàëè åãî ëåãèòèìíîñòü. Îäíàêî â òî æå ñàìîå âðåìÿ ñîâåòñêàÿ âëàñòü äåéñòâèòåëüíî âåðèëà, ÷òî ðîäíîé ÿçûê ïîìîæåò ýòèì íàðîäàì áûñòðåå è ëåã÷å âñòóïèòü â ñîâðåìåííîñòü, â ñîöèàëèçì.  XX â. Áðèòàíñêàÿ è ôðàíöóçñêàÿ èìïåðèè ÷àñòî ïðîïîâåäîâàëè ñâîþ ìîäåðíèçàòîðñêóþ è öèâèëèçàòîðñêóþ ìèññèþ, íî Ñîâåòñêèé Ñîþç óøåë ãîðàçäî äàëüøå íèõ ïî ýòîìó ïóòè íå òîëüêî â ðèòîðèêå, íî è íà ïðàêòèêå. Óæå â ñëåäóþùåì ïîêîëåíèè, âñòóïèâøåì â æèçíü ïîñëå âîçíèêíîâåíèÿ ýòîãî ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî ðåæèìà, äàæå â Ñðåäíåé Àçèè áîëüøèíñòâî æåíùèí ïîñåùàëî øêîëó. Áðèòàíñêîé è ôðàíöóçñêîé èìïåðèè â Àôðèêå è Àçèè ðåäêî óäàâàëîñü ïðîíèê- íóòü â ãëóáü êîðåííûõ îáùåñòâ. Îáû÷íî ýòè èìïåðèè äåéñòâîâàëè çäåñü ÷åðåç ïîñðåäñòâî ìåñòíûõ êîíñåðâàòèâíî íàñòðîåííûõ ýëèò.  ñðàâíåíèè ñ íèìè, è äàæå ïî÷òè ñî âñåìè äðóãèìè èçâåñòíûìè èìïåðèÿìè, âîëÿ è ñïîñîáíîñòü ñîâåòñêîé âëàñòè ê ïðîíèêíîâåíèþ âãëóáü îáùåñòâà è ê åãî ïðåîáðàçîâàíèþ áûëè äåéñòâèòåëüíî î÷åíü âåëèêè. Ïîäîáíî áîëüøèíñòâó èìïåðèé, ñîâåòñêàÿ âëàñòü â èòîãå ïàëà ïîä âîçäåéñòâèåì ñî÷åòàíèÿ öåëîãî ðÿäà âíåøíåïîëèòè÷åñêèõ ïðîáëåì è âíóòðåííåé ñëàáîñòè ðåæèìà. Ñîâåòñêàÿ èäåîëîãèÿ ïðÿìî ñâÿçûâàëà ëåãèòèìíîñòü ðåæèìà ñî ñâåðæåíèåì êàïèòàëèçìà è çàìåíîé åãî ïëàíîâîé ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêîé ýêîíîìèêîé. Î÷åâèäíàÿ ê 1980 ã. íåóäà÷à ðåæèìà â äîñòèæåíèè ýòîé öåëè ñòàëà ðîêîâîé.  1917-1918 ãã. áîëüøåâèêè íå ñìîãëè áû óäåðæàòüñÿ ó âëàñòè, åñëè áû âåëèêèå êàïèòàëèñòè÷åñêèå äåðæàâû íå ñöåïèëèñü áû â ýòîò ìîìåíò â ñìåðòåëüíîé ñõâàòêå äðóã ñ äðóãîì. Ñîöèàëèçì íå ðàñïðî- ñòðàíèëñÿ áû â Âîñòî÷íîé è Öåíòðàëüíîé Åâðîïå è Êèòàå, åñëè áû íå Âòîðàÿ ìèðîâàÿ âîéíà ìåæäó âåäóùèìè êàïèòàëèñòè÷åñêèìè ãîñóäàðñòâàìè. Îäíàêî ïîñëå 1945 ã. êîðåííûì îáðàçîì èçìåíèëàñü ïðèðîäà ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ êîíôëèêòîâ, âåñü êàïèòàëèñòè÷åñêèé ìèð ñïëîòèëñÿ âîêðóã ÑØÀ ïðîòèâ ÑÑÑÐ. Ìàðêñèçì-ëåíèíèçì òîæå ðàñêîëîëñÿ íà íåñêîëüêî ñîïåðíè÷àþùèõ ìåæäó ñîáîé ðåãèîíàëüíûõ òå÷åíèé, êàæäîå èç êîòîðûõ ïðîïîâåäîâàëî ñâîé âàðèàíò ýòîé èäåîëîãèè, – ìîäåëü, âåñüìà íàïîìèíàþùàÿ ïðîöåññû, ïðîèñõî- äèâøèå íåêîãäà ñ ìèðîâûìè ìîíîòåèñòè÷åñêèìè ðåëèãèÿìè. 98 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Áîðüáà ñ òàêèì ñîïåðíèêîì, êàê åðåòè÷åñêèé ðåæèì â Êèòàå, ñòðàíîé, èìåþùåé ñ ÑÑÑÐ îäíó èç ñàìûõ ïðîòÿæåííûõ â ìèðå ãðàíèö, – ñîçäàâàëà äîïîëíèòåëüíûå ïðîáëåìû äëÿ ñîâåòñêîãî îáîðîííîãî áþäæåòà, êîòîðûé è òàê áûë íåïîìåðíî ðàçäóò â ãîäû õîëîäíîé âîéíû.39 Íèêàêîå äðóãîå ãîñóäàðñòâåííîå îáðàçîâàíèå äàæå è íå ìå÷òàëî îòâåòèòü íà ïðîáëåìû, ñòîÿâøèå ïåðåä èìïåðèåé, ñòîëü æå ðàäèêàëüíî, êàê Ñîâåòñêèé Ñîþç. Îäíàêî ïðè ïîñëåäíåì èç ñâîèõ ñóëòàíîâ, ïðîâîäèâøèõ äåéñòâèòåëüíî ýôôåêòèâíóþ ïîëèòèêó, Àáäóë-Õàìèäå II, Îñìàíñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ âñå æå ïîïûòàëàñü îáûãðàòü ýòíè÷åñêèé íàöèîíàëèçì, ïîä÷åðêèâàÿ ðîëü èñëàìà è èñïîëüçóÿ åãî äëÿ ëåãè- òèìàöèè ñâîåãî ðåæèìà è ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ ó ïîääàííûõ èìïåðèè îáúåäèíÿþùåãî ñàìîñîçíàíèÿ, ïðåäàííîñòè îáùèì èäåàëàì è èíñòèòóòàì.40 Ïîñêîëüêó òåððèòîðèàëüíûå ïîòåðè íà Áàëêàíàõ ïðèâåëè ê òîìó, ÷òî ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêèé öåíòð èìïåðèè ïîñòåïåííî ïåðåìåñòèëñÿ â èñëàìñêèå ïðîâèíöèè ñòðàíû, ýòà ñòðàòåãèÿ áûëà äîñòàòî÷íî ðàçóìíîé, ïîçâîëÿÿ îáúåäèíèòü òóðîê, àðàáîâ è êóðäîâ. Ó÷èòûâàÿ, ÷òî áîëüøèíñòâî ìóñóëüìàíñêèõ ïîääàííûõ èìïåðèè äàæå â íà÷àëå XX â. âñå åùå áûëè ãîðàçäî áîëüøèìè ïðèâåðæåíöàìè ðåëèãèè è äèíàñòèè, íåæåëè èäåîëîãèè ýòíè÷åñêîãî íàöèîíàëèçìà, ýòà ñòðàòåãèÿ ñóëòàíà êàçàëàñü âïîëíå ðåàëèñòè÷íîé.  ïðèíöèïå, ïîä÷åðêèâàÿ ñîáñòâåííóþ ðîëü çàùèòíèêà èñëàìà ïåðåä ëèöîì ãëîáàëüíîé õðèñòèàíñêîé óãðîçû, Àáäóë-Õàìèä ìîã äîáèòüñÿ ïðèçíàíèÿ ëåãèòèìíîñòè ñâîåé âëàñòè âíóòðè ñòðàíû. Àïåëëÿöèÿ

39 Ñðåäè óæå äîñòàòî÷íî îáøèðíîé ëèòåðàòóðû, ïîñâÿùåííîé ðàñïàäó ÑÑÑÐ, âûäåëÿåòñÿ ðàáîòà: J. Hough. Democratisation and Revolution in the USSR 1985-1991. Washington, 1997. Õîòÿ ïîÿâèëèñü èíòåðåñíûå èññëåäîâàíèÿ, â êîòîðûõ ðàñïàä ÑÑÑÐ ñðàâíèâàåòñÿ ñ ñóäüáîé äðóãèõ èìïåðèé. Ñ ìîåé òî÷êè çðåíèÿ, ðàáîòà Ï. Äèááà (P. Dibb. The Soviet Union. The Incomplete Superpower. London, 1988), ïî-ïðåæíåìó, ìîæåò áûòü èñïîëüçîâàíà êàê õîðîøàÿ îòïðàâíàÿ òî÷êà äëÿ ðàçìûøëåíèé îá ýòîé ïðîáëåìå, ïîñêîëüêó Äèáá ïðÿìî ðàññìàòðèâàåò èìïåðñêóþ ïðîáëåìàòèêó è â òî æå ñàìîå âðåìÿ ïèøåò î ñèëüíûõ è ñëàáûõ ñòîðîíàõ ÑÑÑÐ, åùå íå çíàÿ î òîì, ÷òî ïðîèçîéäåò ñ ýòîé ñòðàíîé ÷åðåç íåñêîëüêî ëåò. 40 Kemal Karpat. The Politicisation of Islam. Oxford, 2002. Ýòà ðàáîòà ÿâëÿåòñÿ âûäàþùèìñÿ èññëåäîâàíèåì ïîçäíåîñìàíñêèõ ñòðàòåãèé. Ñì. òàêæå: H. Kayagli. Arabs and Young Turks. Ottomanism, Arabism and Islamism in the Ottoman Empire 1908-1918. Berkeley, 1997; M. Kent (Ed.). The Great Powers and the End of the Ottoman Empire. London, 1996; à òàêæå: S. Deringil. The Well-Protected Domains. Ideology and the Legitimation of Power in the Ottoman Empire. London, 1998. 99 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê ê ðåëèãèîçíîìó ÷óâñòâó åäèíîâåðöåâ-ìóñóëüìàí, ïðîæèâàâøèõ â Áðèòàíñêîé, Ðîññèéñêîé è ôðàíöóçñêîé èìïåðèÿõ, ïîçâîëèëà áû ñóëòàíó ñîçäàòü ïðîòèâîâåñ âìåøàòåëüñòâó õðèñòèàíñêèõ äåðæàâ âî âíóòðåííèå äåëà Îñìàíñêîé èìïåðèè. Íàïîìèíàíèÿ î òîì, ÷òî Àáäóë-Õàìèä ÿâëÿëñÿ òàêæå è õàëèôîì – äóõîâíîé ãëàâîé ìóñóëü- ìàí â èìïåðèè, – âîçâûøàëè ìîíàðõèþ íàä íîâûìè âîåííûìè è áþðîêðàòè÷åñêèìè ýëèòàìè, óãðîæàâøèìè ïðåâðàòèòü ñóëòàíà â ñâîþ ìàðèîíåòêó. Îäíàêî â 1908 ã. ðåæèì Àáäóë-Õàìèäà áûë ñâåðãíóò ìëàäîòóðêàìè.  ïîñëåäíåå äåñÿòèëåòèå ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ Îñìàíñêîé èìïåðèè âëàñòü â ñòðàíå ïîñòåïåííî ïåðåøëà â ðóêè òóðåöêèõ íàöèîíàëèñòè÷åñêèõ ëèäåðîâ. Êàê è âî âñåõ èìïåðèÿõ, âîçðàñòàþùåå âëèÿíèå, êîòîðûì ïîëüçîâàëñÿ ñðåäè èìïåðñêîé ýëèòû ýòíè÷åñêèé íàöèîíàëèçì “ìåòðîïîëèè”, îò÷óæäàëî äðóãèå íàöèîíàëüíîñòè è ïîäðûâàëî â èõ ãëàçàõ ëåãèòèìíîñòü èìïåðèè. Îäíàêî åùå çàäîëãî äî òîãî, êàê ýòîò ïðîöåññ ñòàë ïðèíîñèòü ñâîè ïëîäû, Îñìàíñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ ïîòåðïåëà ïîðàæåíèå è ðàñ- ïàëàñü èç-çà âñòóïëåíèÿ â Ïåðâóþ ìèðîâóþ âîéíó íà ñòîðîíå òîãî àëüÿíñà, êîòîðûé â èòîãå îêàçàëñÿ ïðîèãðàâøèì. Íàäî ïðèçíàòü, ÷òî, ó÷èòûâàÿ ñëàáîñòü Îñìàíñêîé èìïåðèè è åå ñòðàòåãè÷åñêîå ïîëîæåíèå, øàíñû ñîõðàíèòü íåéòðàëèòåò ó íåå áûëè íåçíà- ÷èòåëüíû. Ñàìûé òèïè÷íûé îòâåò èìïåðèè íà ñòîÿùóþ ïåðåä íåé äèëåììó – ïîïûòêà ïðåâðàòèòü èìïåðèþ, íàñêîëüêî ýòî âîçìîæíî, â íå÷òî, íàïîìèíàþùåå íàöèþ. Öàðñêàÿ Ðîññèÿ â ïîñëåäíèå äåñÿòèëåòèÿ ñâîåãî ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ äàåò èíòåðåñíûé ïðèìåð ïîäîáíîé ñòðàòåãèè. Êàê óæå ãîâîðèëîñü ðàíåå, äî 1860-õ ãã. öàðèçì áûë ñêîðåå äèíàñòè- ÷åñêîé è àðèñòîêðàòè÷åñêîé èìïåðèåé, íåæåëè èìïåðèåé íàöèî- íàëüíîé. Îäíàêî ñ 1860-õ ãã. öàðèçì äåëàåò øàãè â íàïðàâëåíèè íàöèîíàëèçàöèè. Îò÷àñòè, òàêàÿ ýâîëþöèÿ áûëà îòâåòîì íà äàâëå- íèå ðóññêîãî íàöèîíàëèçìà, à îò÷àñòè îíà ñîîòâåòñòâîâàëà òîé ìîäåëè, êîòîðóþ óæå îïðîáîâàëè â Åâðîïå: åâðîïåéñêèå ýëèòû, âñòóïàÿ â ýïîõó ìàññîâîé ïîëèòèêè, ïûòàëèñü çàíîâî îáîñíîâàòü ñâîå ïðàâî íà âëàñòü â êàòåãîðèÿõ íàöèîíàëèçìà. Ñ÷èòàëîñü òàêæå, ÷òî â íîâóþ ýïîõó òîëüêî íàöèîíàëèçì ìîæåò óáåäèòü ïîääàííûõ îòîæäåñòâëÿòü ñåáÿ ñî ñâîèì ãîñóäàðñòâîì, à åñëè íóæíî, òî è óìåðåòü çà íåãî. Ãëàâíûì ïðèîðèòåòîì ñòðàòåãèè öàðèçìà ïî ñîõðàíåíèþ èìïåðèè áûëî îáåñïå÷åíèå òîãî, ÷òîáû óêðàèíöû è áåëîðóñû – ïî ìåðå ïðåâðàùåíèÿ èõ â ãðàìîòíûõ ìîäåðíûõ “ãðàæäàí” – íå îáðåëè ïðè ýòîì ñâîþ ñîáñòâåííóþ âûñîêóþ êóëüòóðó è íåçàâèñèìóþ 100 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ïîëèòè÷åñêóþ ëîÿëüíîñòü. Ïîñêîëüêó â 1900 ã. ðóññêèå ñîñòàâëÿëè âñåãî ëèøü 44% íàñåëåíèÿ èìïåðèè, à åùå 22% ýòîãî íàñåëåíèÿ áûëè óêðàèíöàìè èëè áåëîðóñàìè, ëîãèêà äàííîé ïîëèòèêè î÷åâèäíà. Ñòðàòåãèÿ öàðèçìà ïðîâàëèëàñü ïî òåì æå ñàìûì ïðè÷èíàì, ïî êàêèì íå óäàëèñü çàìûñëû ìëàäîòóðîê. Âîéíà â öåëîì è Ïåðâàÿ ìèðîâàÿ âîéíà â ÷àñòíîñòè, êàê îêàçàëîñü, ãóáèòåëüíû äëÿ èìïåðèé. Êðîìå òîãî, ðîññèéñêèé ïðîåêò ñîçäàíèÿ “íàöèè-èìïåðèè” ïîêî- èëñÿ ìåæäó äâóõ ñòóëüåâ. Ãîñóäàðñòâåííàÿ ïîëèòèêà “ðóñèôèêàöèè” âûçûâàëà îò÷óæäåíèå ìíîãèõ íåðóññêèõ íàðîäîâ.  òî æå ñàìîå âðåìÿ äèíàñòè÷åñêîå ãîñóäàðñòâî íèêîãäà íå äåðæàëî îòâåò ïåðåä ðóññêîé íàöèåé, à øèðîêèå ñëîè ðóññêîãî îáùåñòâà íå äîâåðÿëè ýòîìó ãîñóäàðñòâó. Êàäðû, êîòîðûå ñîñòàâëÿþò ãëàâíóþ îïîðó ëþáîãî ìîäåðíèçèðóþùåãîñÿ ãîñóäàðñòâà â äåëå âîñïèòàíèÿ ó íàñåëåíèÿ íàöèîíàëüíîãî ñàìîñîçíàíèÿ, – òàêèå, íàïðèìåð, êàê ó÷èòåëÿ, – íåíàâèäåëè öàðèçì è íå ðàçäåëÿëè ïðåäëàãàåìûé èì âàðèàíò ðóññêîãî ïàòðèîòèçìà.41 Ãîñóäàðñòâî Ãàáñáóðãîâ ïðåäñòàâëÿåò ñîáîé åùå îäíó âàðèàöèþ íà òåìó íàöèè è èìïåðèè.  ïåðèîä ìåæäó 1867 è 1918 ãã. âåíãåðñ- êàÿ ïîëîâèíà Ãàáñáóðãñêîé ìîíàðõèè äàåò íàì, âîçìîæíî, ñàìûé áëåñòÿùèé ïðèìåð òîãî, êàê íàöèîíàëèçì ìåòðîïîëèè ìîæåò ïîäîðâàòü è ïîãóáèòü ëåãèòèìíîñòü èìïåðèè âíóòðè ñòðàíû è åå ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêîå ïîëîæåíèå. Àâñòðî-âåíãåðñêàÿ ìîíàðõèÿ íå ñìîãëà ïîñòàâèòü çàñëîí íàöèîíàëèñòè÷åñêèì íàñòðîåíèÿì. Ýòî îáñòîÿ- òåëüñòâî îò÷àñòè îáúÿñíÿåò, ïî÷åìó ñðåäè âåëèêèõ äåðæàâ îíà îêàçà- ëàñü ñàìîé íåýôôåêòèâíîé ïî ÷àñòè ìîáèëèçàöèè ýêîíîìè÷åñêèõ ðåñóðñîâ äëÿ íóæä âîåííîãî áþäæåòà.42  òî æå ñàìîå âðåìÿ, ïîñëå 1867 ã. “àâñòðèéñêàÿ” ïîëîâèíà èìïåðèè ñòàëà ïîäëèííûì íîâàòîðîì â ïîëèòèêå, îïðîáîâàâ ìíîãèå èäåè è ïîäõîäû, ñòàâøèå ïîçäíåå ÷àñòüþ ñòðàòåãèè, ïîëó÷èâøåé

41 Îá ýòîì ñì.: èçâåñòíóþ ðàáîòó À. Êàïïåëåðà (A. Kappeler. Russian Empire.), à òàêæå: T. Weeks. Nation and State in Late Imperial Russia. DeKalb, 1996; Àëåêñåé Ìèëëåð. “Óêðàèíñêèé âîïðîñ” â ïîëèòèêå âëàñòåé è ðóññêîì îáùåñòâåííîì ìíåíèè. Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðã, 2000.  íèõ ïîäðîáíî ðàññìàòðèâàþòñÿ âîïðîñû íàöèîíàëüíîãî ñòðîèòåëüñòâà è ïðîáëåìû, ñ êîòîðûìè çäåñü ïðèøëîñü ñòîëêíóòüñÿ Ðîññèéñêîé èìïåðèè. 42 Î Ãàáñáóðãñêîé ìîíàðõèè êàê î âåëèêîé äåðæàâå â ïîñëåäíèå äåñÿòèëåòèÿ ñâîåãî ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ ñì.: Roy Bridge. The Habsburg Monarchy among the Great Powers 1815-1918. Oxford, 1990; à òàêæå: S. R. Williamson. Austria- and the Origins of the First World War. London, 1991. 101 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê íàçâàíèå “êîíñîöèàòèâíîé äåìîêðàòèè”. Êîíå÷íî, ïðàâäà è òî, ÷òî èìïåðàòîð Ôðàíö-Èîñèô â èçâåñòíîé ñòåïåíè îáðàòèëñÿ ê ýòîé ñòðàòåãèè íå ïî ñâîåé âîëå. Ïîñêîëüêó íåìöû ñîñòàâëÿëè âñåãî ëèøü ÷åòâåðòü íàñåëåíèÿ èìïåðèè, ñòðîèòü íàöèîíàëüíóþ èìïåðèþ îêàçûâàëîñü íåâîçìîæíî.  ëþáîì ñëó÷àå, ïîñëå 1871 ã. ëîãè÷åñêèì êîíöîì ïîäîáíîé ïîëèòèêè ñòàëî áû îáúåäèíåíèå íåìåöêèõ ïðîâèí- öèé Ãàáñáóðãñêîé ìîíàðõèè ïîä èìïåðñêîé âëàñòüþ Áåðëèíà.  ñâîèõ íåóâåðåííûõ ïîïûòêàõ íàùóïàòü “êîíñîöèàòèâíóþ ñòðà- òåãèþ” ãàáñáóðãñêèé ðåæèì ñòàëêèâàëñÿ ñî ìíîãèìè ïðåïÿòñòâèÿìè. Ãàáñáóðãè ïðàâèëè “ëîñêóòíîé ìîíàðõèåé”, ñîñòîÿùåé èç ìíîæåñòâà ðàçíûõ íàðîäîâ, â òî âðåìÿ, êîãäà â Åâðîïå ïîâñþäó îäåðæèâàëè ïîáåäó ìîëîäûå, íàïîðèñòûå íàöèîíàëèñòè÷åñêèå äâèæåíèÿ è èäåîëîãèè. Èíäóñòðèàëèçàöèÿ, óðáàíèçàöèÿ è ìàññîâàÿ ãðàìîò- íîñòü íàñåëåíèÿ ïðèâåëè ê òîìó, ÷òî ðåçêî âîçðîñëà âåðîÿòíîñòü âîçíèêíîâåíèÿ ýòíîíàöèîíàëüíûõ êîíôëèêòîâ. Ñõîäíûå ïî- ñëåäñòâèÿ èìåëî âîçíèêíîâåíèå ìàññîâîé ïîëèòèêè: â 1907 ã. áûëî ââåäåíî âñåîáùåå èçáèðàòåëüíîå ïðàâî äëÿ ìóæ÷èí. Ãî- ñóäàðñòâî ïåðåæèâàëî ýêñïîíåíöèàëüíûé ðîñò: òåïåðü îíî ñòðå- ìèëîñü íå ïðîñòî çàáðàòü ñâîèõ ïîääàííûõ â àðìèþ, íî òàêæå äàòü èì íåêîòîðîå îáðàçîâàíèå è ïðåäîñòàâèòü øèðîêèé ñïåêòð äðóãèõ ñîâðåìåííûõ óñëóã.  ðåçóëüòàòå ðàçëè÷íûå íàöèî- íàëüíûå äâèæåíèÿ âñå íàñòîé÷èâåå ñòðåìèëèñü âçÿòü ïîä ñâîé êîíòðîëü ìåñòíóþ àäìèíèñòðàöèþ, ÷òî ñðàçó äàâàëî èì ìíîãèå ïðåèìóùåñòâà.  äîìîäåðíóþ ýïîõó ìíîãèå èìïåðèè ïðàâèëè ñâîèìè ïîääàííûìè, èñõîäÿ ëèøü èç âîåííûõ è ôèíàíñîâûõ ïðèîðèòåòîâ. Êîíòðîëü çà ñåìüåé, êóëüòóðíîé, ðåëèãèîçíîé è äàæå ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé æèçíüþ îíè îñòàâëÿëè ëèäåðàì ìåñòíûõ îáùèí.43 Õîòÿ “àâñòðî-ìàðêèñòñêèå” âîæäè è ïûòàëèñü ðàçâèâàòü òðàäèöèþ â íàïðàâëåíèè, êîòîðîå îêàçàëîñü áû æèçíåñïîñîáíûì â ñîâðåìåííîì îáùåñòâå, ðåøèòü ýòó çàäà÷ó îêàçàëîñü âåñüìà çàòðóäíèòåëüíî.44  ýòèõ ñëîæíûõ óñëîâèÿõ ñòðàòåãèÿ Ãàáñáóðãîâ ðàáîòàëà äîñòàòî÷íî óñïåøíî. Íè îäèí èç ÿçûêîâ íå çàíèìàë ïðèâèëåãèðîâàííîãî

43 Ñàìûé èçâåñòíûé ïðèìåð òàêîãî ïîäõîäà – îñìàíñêèé ìèëëåò. 44 Î ìèëëåòàõ â Îñìàíñêîé èìïåðèè ñì., â ÷àñòíîñòè: Benjamin Braude and Bernard Lewis (Eds). Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Empire. The Functioning of a Plural Society. 2 vols. New York, 1982. 102 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ïîëîæåíèÿ. Êàê ïðàâèëî, ïîääàííûå Ãàáñáóðãñêîé ìîíàðõèè ìîãëè íà ñâîåì ðîäíîì ÿçûêå îáðàùàòüñÿ â ñóä è àäìèíèñòðàòèâíûå îðãàíû, îáó÷àòü íà íåì äåòåé â ãîñóäàðñòâåííûõ øêîëàõ. Óñòàíîâèëñÿ òàêîé ïîðÿäîê, ïðè êîòîðîì ñëîæíûå ýòíîêóëüòóðíûå âîïðîñû ðåøàëèñü ïî ñîãëàøåíèþ ñòîðîí, à íå ïîä äàâëåíèåì áîëüøèíñòâà. Ê 1914 ã. â íåêîòîðûõ ïðîâèíöèÿõ èìïåðèè ìåñòíûå îáùèíû ñîãëàñèëèñü âîéòè â àäìèíèñòðàöèþ è âçÿòü íà ñåáÿ äîëþ âëàñòè. Âîçìîæíî, îäèí èç ñàìûõ âàæíûõ àñïåêòîâ àâñòðèéñêîãî “êîíñîöèî- íàëèçìà” ñîñòîÿë â òîì, ÷òî ïðàâà îòäåëüíîãî ÷åëîâåêà è îòäåëüíûõ ãðóïï íàñåëåíèÿ áûëè íå òîëüêî çàêðåïëåíû çàêîíîäàòåëüíî, íî è îñóùåñòâëÿëèñü íà ïðàêòèêå, ïîñëåäîâàòåëüíî çàùèùàëèñü ñóäàìè è ïîëèöèåé.45 Áûë, îäíàêî, âî âñåì ýòîì íåêîòîðûé íåïðèÿòíûé ìîìåíò. Êàê óòâåðæäàåò Ìàéêë Ìàíí, ãîâîðÿ î êîëîíèÿõ, îáðàçîâàííûõ áåëûìè ïîñåëåíöàìè, ÷åì áîëåå äåìîêðàòè÷íûìè áûëè ýòè ïîëèòè÷åñêèå îáðàçîâàíèÿ, òåì õóæå îíè îáðàùàëèñü ñ öâåòíûì è ÷åðíûì íàñå- ëåíèåì. Ïðàâà ýòèõ ïîñëåäíèõ ãðóïï (íàïðèìåð, èìóùåñòâåííûå ïðàâà), êàê ïðàâèëî, ïîñòîÿííî íàðóøàëèñü, ìàñøòàáíûå ýòíè÷åñ- êèå ÷èñòêè áûëè íîðìîé, íåðåäêî ñëûøàëèñü ïðèçûâû ê ìàññîâûì óáèéñòâàì.46 Îäíà èç îñíîâíûõ ïðè÷èí, óáåðåãøèõ Àâñòðèþ íå òîëüêî îò ïîãðîìîâ ïî òèïó èìåâøèõ ìåñòî â Ðîññèè, íî è îò ñâîåé âåðñèè Êó-êëóñ-êëàíà èëè àâñòðàëèéñêîãî “ðàññåÿíèÿ” àáîðèãåíîâ, ñîñòîÿëà â òîì, ÷òî Ãàáñáóðãñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ áûëà Rechtsstaat (“ïðà- âîâûì ãîñóäàðñòâîì”), íî îòíþäü íå äåìîêðàòèåé. Ïîëèöèÿ, ÿäðî ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé àäìèíèñòðàöèè, ñóäüè è àðìèÿ íåñëè îòâåòñòâåí- íîñòü ïåðåä èìïåðàòîðîì, à íå ïåðåä ÷èñëåííî äîìèíèðóþùèìè ýòíè÷åñêèìè ãðóïïàìè íà ìåñòàõ. Îäíàêî â êîíöå êîíöîâ ýòíîíà- öèîíàëüíûé ïîïóëèçì ïîëó÷èë âîçìîæíîñòü ðåâàíøà. Íà ýòîì ðàííåì ýòàïå ýïîõè ëèáåðàëüíîé ãëîáàëèçàöèè Âåíà îñòàâàëàñü îäíèì èç ñàìûõ âïå÷àòëÿþùèõ êîñìîïîëèòè÷íûõ êóëüòóðíûõ

45 Ñàìûì ëó÷øèì èñòî÷íèêîì èíôîðìàöèè ïî ýòèì âîïðîñàì ìîãóò ñëóæèòü âûäàþùèåñÿ ãëàâû 1 ÷àñòè III òîìà “Ãàáñáóðãñêîé ìîíàðõèè” (Die Habsburger Monarchie), èçäàííîé Àêàäåìèåé Íàóê Àâñòðèè ïîä îáùåé ðåäàêöèåé À. Âàíä- ðóøêè (A. Wandruzska). Òîì III, îçàãëàâëåííûé “Íàðîäû èìïåðèè” (Die Volker des Reiches) âûøåë â ñâåò â 1980 ã. Ñì. òàêæå: Ephraim Ninni (Ed.). Otto Bauer. The Question of Nationalities and Social Democracy. Minneapolis, 2000. 46 Michael Mann. The Dark Side of Democracy. Cambridge, 2005. P. 70; ñì. òàêæå ãë. 4 (Pp. 70-110). 103 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê öåíòðîâ. Íî â òî æå ñàìîå âðåìÿ èìåííî çäåñü âîçíèêëà ïåðâàÿ â Åâðîïå ìàññîâàÿ àíòèñåìèòñêàÿ ïàðòèÿ. Èìåííî Âåíà ñòàëà êîëûáåëüþ Ãèòëåðà. Åìó è åìó ïîäîáíûì ìàññîâàÿ èììèãðàöèÿ ñîâåðøåííî ÷óæèõ, íèùèõ ãàëèöèéñêèõ åâðååâ êàçàëàñü âðåäíûì ÿâëåíèåì. Áîãàòñòâî è âûñîêîå îáùåñòâåííîå ïîëîæåíèå åâðåéñêèõ ýëèò, ãîñ- ïîäñòâîâàâøèõ â ôèíàíñîâîì ìèðå, æóðíàëèñòèêå è êóëüòóðíîé æèçíè Âåíû, ïðåäñòàâëÿëèñü èì åùå áîëüøèì çëîì. Êîíå÷íûì èòîãîì ðàçâàëà Àâñòðî-Âåíãåðñêîé èìïåðèè ñòàëè óíè÷òîæåíèå åå ñàìîé áîëüøîé äèàñïîðû – åâðååâ, è ìàñøòàáíûå ýòíè÷åñêèå ÷èñòêè, íàïðàâëåííûå ïðîòèâ àâñòðèéñêèõ íåìöåâ, êîòîðûå ïðîâîäèëèñü â áîëüøèíñòâå áûâøèõ ïðîâèíöèé Ãàáñáóðãñêîé ìîíàðõèè.47 Ïîñêîëüêó âñå èìïåðèè, êîòîðûå ìû ðàññìàòðèâàëè âûøå, ðàñ- ïàëèñü, ñðàâíåíèå èñïîëüçîâàííûõ èìè ñòðàòåãèé ñàìîñîõðàíåíèÿ ìîæåò ïîêàçàòüñÿ ñîâåðøåííî èçëèøíèì. Çäåñü íóæíî, îäíàêî, íàïîìíèòü, ÷òî Ãàáñáóðãñêóþ, Ðîññèéñêóþ è Îñìàíñêóþ èìïåðèè ðàçðóøèëà Ïåðâàÿ ìèðîâàÿ âîéíà. Ïîðàæåíèå Ãåðìàíèè â ýòîé âîéíå îáðåêëî íà ãèáåëü åå èìïåðñêèõ ñîþçíèêîâ, à ýòî ïîðàæåíèå îòíþäü íå áûëî íåèçáåæíûì. Åñëè áû ïðîñ÷åòû Ãåðìàíèè íå âîâëåêëè ÑØÀ â ýòó âîéíó â òîò ñàìûé ìîìåíò, êîãäà ðåâîëþöèÿ ïðèâåëà ê ðàñïàäó Ðîññèè, øàíñû íà ïîáåäó Ãåðìàíèè (èëè, ïî êðàéíåé ìåðå, íà êðàéíå âûãîäíûå äëÿ íåå óñëîâèÿ ìèðà) áûëè áû äîñòà- òî÷íî âåëèêè. Îõâà÷åííàÿ ðåâîëþöèåé Ðîññèÿ è ïîÿâëåíèå íà ìåæäóíàðîäíîé àðåíå Óêðàèíû â âèäå ãåðìàíñêîãî ïðîòåêòîðàòà îçíà÷àëè ðåçêîå ñìåùåíèå ðàâíîâåñèÿ ñèë â Åâðîïå â ïîëüçó Ãåðìà- íèè.  ñëó÷àå ïîáåäû Ãåðìàíèè Ãàáñáóðãñêàÿ è Îñìàíñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ óöåëåëè áû â êà÷åñòâå ìëàäøèõ ïàðòíåðîâ ïîáåäèòåëüíèöû, äîìèíèðóþùåé â Öåíòðàëüíîé è Âîñòî÷íîé Åâðîïå.  òàêîì ñëó÷àå ðàçâèòèå ýòîãî ðåãèîíà ïîøëî áû ïî áîëåå ãîñóäàðñòâåííè÷åñêîìó, ìåíåå äåìîêðàòè÷åñêîìó è èíäèâèäóàëèñòè÷åñêîìó ïóòè óñïåøíîé êàïèòàëèñòè÷åñêîé ìîäåðíèçàöèè – ïî ñðàâíåíèþ ñ òîé ìîäåëüþ, êîòîðàÿ â èòîãå âîçîáëàäàëà, áëàãîäàðÿ ïîáåäå Ñîåäèíåííûõ Øòàòîâ â êðóïíåéøèõ âîîðóæåííûõ êîíôëèêòàõ XX â. Âîçìîæíî, ýòîò íåñîñòîÿâøèéñÿ âàðèàíò ñòàë áû ðåàëèçàöèåé òîãî ïóòè ðàç- âèòèÿ, êîòîðûé èíîãäà íàçûâàþò “àçèàòñêèì êàïèòàëèçìîì”.

47 Îá ýòîì ñì., íàïðèìåð: Brigitte Hamann. Hitler’s Vienna. A Dictator’s Apprenticeship. Oxford, 1999; S. Beller. Vienna and the Jews 1867-1938. A Cultural History. Cambridge, 1989. 104 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Íåñîìíåííî, ýòîò âàðèàíò áûë áû ãîðàçäî ìåíåå âðàæäåáåí èìïåðèè, íåæåëè àìåðèêàíñêàÿ èäåîëîãèÿ.48 Òðàäèöèîííàÿ, íå ñêðûâàþùàÿ ñâîåé ïðèðîäû èìïåðèÿ ðàçðó- øèëà è äèñêðåäèòèðîâàëà ñàìó ñåáÿ â äâóõ ìèðîâûõ âîéíàõ. Ìèð ïîïàë ïîä âëàñòü äâóõ ñâåðõäåðæàâ, êîòîðûå ïðîâîçãëàñèëè ñåáÿ âðàãàìè èìïåðèé. Ïî ìåðå òîãî êàê áûâøèå íå-áåëûå êîëîíèè ïîñòåïåííî ñòàëè ñîñòàâëÿòü áîëüøèíñòâî ãîñóäàðñòâ â ÎÎÍ, “èìïåðèÿ” ïîòåðÿëà íà ýòîì ãëàâíîì ìåæäóíàðîäíîì ôîðóìå âñÿêóþ ëåãèòèìíîñòü. Ëþáîå ãîñóäàðñòâî, èìåâøåå ãëóïîñòü íàçâàòüñÿ èìïåðèåé, àâòîìàòè÷åñêè âûçûâàëî ïðîòèâ ñåáÿ ðåçîëþöèè ÎÎÍ î äåêîëîíèçàöèè. Òðè âåäóùèõ äåðæàâû ñåãîäíÿøíåãî ìèðà ñòàðàòåëüíî èçáåãàþò íàçûâàòüñÿ èìïåðèÿìè. È â ýòîì îíè ñîâåðøåííî ïðàâû, ïîñêîëüêó â ëó÷øåì ñëó÷àå ïðåäñòàâëÿþò ñîáîé âåñüìà ýêñöåíòðè÷íûé òèï èìïåðèè, åñëè èõ îöåíèâàòü ïî ìåðêàì èñòîðèè. Òåì íå ìåíåå, âñå ýòè òðè ãîñóäàðñòâåííûõ îáðàçîâàíèÿ îáëàäàþò íåêîòîðûìè ÷åð- òàìè è ñòàëêèâàþòñÿ ñî ìíîãèìè ïðîáëåìàìè, ñòîÿâøèìè ïåðåä èìïåðèÿìè. Åùå âàæíåå òî, ÷òî ðàññìàòðèâàÿ ýòè ãîñóäàðñòâà ñêâîçü ïðèçìó èìïåðèè, ìîæíî ñäåëàòü íåêîòîðûå âåñüìà ïîëåçíûå íàáëþäåíèÿ, êàñàþùèåñÿ êàê ïðèðîäû âëàñòè â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðîâîì ïîðÿäêå, òàê è òåõ ïðîáëåì, ñ êîòîðûìè ñòàëêèâàåòñÿ ýòà âëàñòü. Î÷åâèäíî, ÷òî èç ýòèõ òðåõ ãîñóäàðñòâ èìåííî Êèòàé áîëüøå âñåãî íàïîìèíàåò èìïåðèþ.  ýòîì íåò íè÷åãî óäèâèòåëüíîãî: íà ïðîòÿæåíèè äâóõ òûñÿ÷åëåòèé èìïåðèÿ íàõîäèëàñü â ñàìîì öåíòðå êèòàéñêîé èñòîðèè. Ñâîèì íàçâàíèåì (China) ñòðàíà îáÿçàíà ñâîåé

48  ÷èñëå ïîñëåäíèõ èíòåðåñíûõ ïóáëèêàöèé ïî ýòîé áîëüøîé ïðîáëåìå ìîæíî íàçâàòü: H. E. Goemans. War and Punishment. The Causes of War Termination and the First World War. Princeton, 2000.  ýòîé ðàáîòå àâòîð ïðèâîäèò óáåäèòåëüíûå äîâîäû â ïîëüçó òîãî, ÷òî íà ïðèíÿòèå ðåøåíèé â Ãåðìàíèè îêàçàëè âëèÿíèå âíóòðèïîëèòè÷åñêèå ñîîáðàæåíèÿ. Ñì. òàêæå: R. T. Foley. German Strategy and the Path to Verdun. Cambridge, 2005.  ïîñëåäíåé ðàáîòå îáñóæäàåòñÿ ïðîâàë ãåðìàíñêîé ñòðàòåãèè â 1916 ã. Èññëåäîâàíèå Ìàðêà Õüþèòñîíà (Mark Hewitson. Germany and the Causes of the First World War. Oxford, 2004) ìîæåò áûòü èñïîëüçîâàíî êàê õîðîøèé îáçîð íåìåöêîé ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ìûñëè äîâîåííîé ýïîõè ïî ïðîáëåìàì Weltpolitik. Ñì. òàêæå: H. C. Meyer. Mitteleuropa in German Thought and Action 1815-1945. The Hague, 1955. Ïîñëåäíÿÿ ðàáîòà íå ïîòåðÿëà ñâîåãî çíà÷åíèÿ êàê îáçîð ðàçëè÷íûõ íåìåöêèõ ïëàíîâ ñîçäàíèÿ åâðîïåéñêîé èìïåðèè. 105 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê ïåðâîé èìïåðàòîðñêîé äèíàñòèè Öèíü (Chin), à êèòàéöû (õàíü) íàçûâàþòñÿ ïî èìåíè åå âòîðîé äèíàñòèè – Õàíü. Ãðàíèöû Êèòàÿ â îñíîâíîì áûëè óñòàíîâëåíû ïðè ïîñëåäíåé èìïåðàòîðñêîé äèíà- ñòèè – Öèí.  ñîñòàâ ñîâðåìåííîãî Êèòàÿ âîøåë, íàïðèìåð, Ñèíöçÿí, êîòîðûé áûë îêîí÷àòåëüíî çàâîåâàí êèòàéöàìè äâà âåêà ñïóñòÿ ïîñëå èñïàíñêîé êîëîíèçàöèè Íîâîãî Ñâåòà. Ïðèìåðíî ïîëîâèíà òåððèòîðèè Êèòàÿ äàæå ñåãîäíÿ íàñåëåíà ëþäüìè, çíà÷èòåëüíàÿ ÷àñòü êîòîðûõ íå ÿâëÿåòñÿ êèòàéöàìè (õàíü). Ïðàâèòåëüñòâî, êîòî- ðîå ïî ñåé äåíü îñòàåòñÿ íåäåìîêðàòè÷åñêèì, íèêîãäà íå ñïðàøèâàëî ó íèõ, ñîãëàñíû ëè îíè âîéòè â ñîñòàâ Êèòàÿ. Èñòîðèÿ âîñïèòàëà ó âñåõ êèòàéñêèõ ýëèò òâåðäóþ óáåæäåííîñòü â ìèðîâîì çíà÷åíèè ñâîåé ñòðàíû, à òàêæå â çàêîííîñòè è åñòåñòâåííîñòè åå ïðèòÿçàíèé íà ëèäåðñòâî â Âîñòî÷íîé Àçèè. Ïðèíèìàÿ â ðàñ÷åò îãðîìíóþ òåððèòîðèþ è ðåñóðñû Êèòàÿ, ìîæíî îæèäàòü, ÷òî â íåäàëåêîì áóäóùåì ýòî ãîñóäàðñòâî çàéìåò ïîëîæåíèå ñâåðõäåðæàâû.  êîíöå XIX â. àìåðèêàíñêèé ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêèé ìûñëèòåëü Àëüôðåä Ìàõýí ïèñàë, ÷òî áóäóùåå ìèðà çàâèñèò îò ñïîñîáíîñòè àíãëî-àìåðèêàíöåâ îáðàòèòü àçèàòñêèå ñðåäíèå êëàññû â ñâîþ ñèñòåìó öåííîñòåé.49 Âûçîâ, áðîøåííûé XXI âåêîì Àìåðèêå, ñîñòîèò â òîì, ÷òîáû èíòåãðèðîâàòü Êèòàé â ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê, â êîòîðîì äîìèíèðóþò ÑØÀ. Ýòà çàäà÷à ìîæåò îêàçàòüñÿ íå ìåíåå ñëîæíîé, ÷åì çàäà÷à, ñòîÿâøàÿ â íà÷àëå ÕÕ âåêà, êîãäà íóæíî áûëî âîâëå÷ü Ãåðìàíèþ Âèëüãåëüìà II â ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê, ëèäåðñòâî â êîòîðîì ïðèíàäëå- æàëî Âåëèêîáðèòàíèè. Åñëè çàäàòüñÿ öåëüþ íàéòè â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðå î÷àã òðàäèöèîííîãî ïî ñâîåìó òèïó êîíôëèêòà, êîòîðûé ìîã áû ïîãóáèòü “Àìåðèêàíñêóþ èìïåðèþ”, ïî÷òè åäèíñòâåííûì (ìàëî- âåðîÿòíûì, íî â ïðèíöèïå äîïóñòèìûì) “ïðåòåíäåíòîì” áóäåò âàðèàíò âîéíû Êèòàÿ è Àìåðèêè èç-çà Òàéâàíÿ. Êàê è â 1914 ã., ýòî ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêîå ñòîëêíîâåíèå íàñëîèëîñü áû íà âíóòðèïî- ëèòè÷åñêèå ïðîöåññû â Àìåðèêå è Êèòàå. Åùå ïå÷àëüíåå òî, ÷òî â ýòîì ñëó÷àå âåñü ìèð ìîã áû ñòàòü çàëîæíèêîì âíóòðåííåé ïîëè- òèêè Òàéâàíÿ, – ïîäîáíî òîìó, êàê â 1914 ã. Åâðîïà âñòóïèëà â âîéíó â èçâåñòíîé ìåðå áëàãîäàðÿ óñèëèÿì ãëàâû ñåðáñêîé âîåííîé ðàçâåäêè, ñòðåìèâøåãîñÿ ïîäîðâàòü ïîëîæåíèå ñâîåãî ñîáñòâåííîãî ïðåìüåðà è ðàäè ýòîãî îðãàíèçîâàâøåãî óáèéñòâî íàñëåäíèêà àâñòðèéñêîãî ïðåñòîëà.

49 Ñì.: A. T. Mahan. The Interest of America in Sea-Power. Present and Future. London, 1897. Ch. 1. A Twentieth-Century Outlook. 106 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Òåì íå ìåíåå, áåãëîå ñðàâíåíèå ñ ýïîõîé ìàí÷æóðñêîé äèíàñòèè Öèí ïîêàçûâàåò, ïî÷åìó ñîâðåìåííûé Êèòàé íåëüçÿ íàçâàòü èìïå- ðèåé â ïîëíîì, òðàäèöèîííîì ñìûñëå ýòîãî ñëîâà.50 Èìïåðàòîðû äèíàñòèè Öèí áûëè èçâåñòíû òåì, ÷òî îíè óñòàíîâèëè ñâîþ âëàñòü íàä ìíîãèìè çàâîåâàííûìè èìè íàðîäàìè. Ìåíåå âñåãî îíè ñòðå- ìèëèñü ê ïðåâðàùåíèþ ýòèõ íàðîäîâ â ãîìîãåííóþ “êèòàéñêóþ” íàöèþ.  îñíîâå êàê ëåãèòèìíîñòè èõ âëàñòè, òàê è ñèñòåìû èõ ïðàâëåíèÿ ëåæàëî ðàçíîîáðàçèå. Îíè çàïðåòèëè êèòàéöàì (õàíü) ñåëèòüñÿ â Ìàí÷æóðèè è öåëåíàïðàâëåííî îáîñíîâûâàëè ñâîå ïðàâî íà âëàñòü íàä ðàçëè÷íûìè ïîêîðåííûìè íàðîäàìè, ïðèáåãàÿ äëÿ ýòîãî ê ðàçíûì ðåëèãèîçíî-êóëüòóðíûì èäèîìàì. Ñîâåðøåííî î÷åâèäíî, ÷òî îíè èñïîëüçîâàëè ìàí÷æóðîâ â êà÷åñòâå ïîëèòè- ÷åñêîãî è âîåííîãî ïðîòèâîâåñà êèòàéñêîìó áîëüøèíñòâó. Ïîäîáíàÿ ïîëèòèêà ÿâíî ïðîòèâîðå÷èò ñîâðåìåííîé òåîðèè íàöèîíàëüíîé ñîëèäàðíîñòè êàê èñòî÷íèêà ëåãèòèìíîñòè è ýôôåêòèâíîñòè ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé âëàñòè. Ïîñëåäóþùèå ïðàâèòåëè Êèòàÿ ïûòàëèñü èñïîëüçîâàòü èíñòèòóòû ìîäåðíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà äëÿ ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ íàöèè. Òàê, íàïðèìåð, îíè ðàñïðîñòðàíÿëè ñðåäè ñâîèõ ïîääàííûõ åäèíóþ ñèñòåìó ïèñüìà è âîñïèòûâàëè ó íèõ ñîëèäàðíîñòü ïðîòèâ îáùåãî âðàãà – êàê çàïàäíîãî, òàê è ÿïîíñêîãî èìïåðèàëèçìà.  îñíîâó ñîáñòâåííîé ëåãèòèìíîñòè íûíåøíåå ïðàâèòåëüñòâî ÊÍÐ ïîëîæèëî ïðèíöèï íàöèîíàëèçìà. Îí ÿâëÿåòñÿ ìîùíûì îðóæèåì â áîðüáå ñ îïàñíûìè ïîñëåäñòâèÿìè áûñòðîé êàïèòàëèñòè÷åñêîé ìîäåðíèçàöèè, ÷ðåâàòûìè ðàñïàäîì ñòðàíû. Ñîâðåìåííûé Êèòàé íåëüçÿ íàçâàòü èìïåðèåé. Ñêîðåå, ýòî – èìïåðèÿ, êîòîðàÿ óñïåøíåå äðóãèõ ñîâåðøèëà ïåðåõîä ê íàöèîíàëüíîìó ãîñóäàðñòâó. Îäíàêî ïðîöåññ ïåðåõîäà åùå äàëåê îò çàâåðøåíèÿ è íàöèÿ, âîçíèêøàÿ èç èìïåðèè, îòëè÷àåòñÿ íåêîòîðûìè îñîáåííîñòÿìè. Íå â ïîñëåäíþþ î÷åðåäü ê ýòèì îñîáåííîñòÿì ìîæíî îòíåñòè òî, ÷òî Êèòàé ñîõðà- íÿåò ñàìûé ãëàâíûé ïðèçíàê èìïåðèè – ïîòåíöèàë ñòàòü ìèðîâîé äåðæàâîé. Åâðîïåéñêèé Ñîþç â ãîðàçäî ìåíüøåé ñòåïåíè ïðåäñòàâëÿåò ñîáîé èìïåðèþ – äàæå ïî ñðàâíåíèþ ñ Êèòàåì. Òåì íå ìåíåå, ÅÑ ìîæíî ðàññìàòðèâàòü êàê ìîäåðíèçèðîâàííûé âàðèàíò êðàéíå

50 Îá ýòîì ñì., â ÷àñòíîñòè, äâå íåäàâíî ïîÿâèâøèåñÿ ìîíîãðàôèè, ïîñâÿùåííûå öèíñêîìó Êèòàþ: Pamela Kyle Crossley. A Translucent Mirror. History and Identity in Qing Imperial Ideology. Berkeley, 1999; à òàêæå: Laura Hostetler. Qing Colonial Enterprise. Ethnography and Cartography in Early Modern China. Chicago, 2001. 107 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê íåòèïè÷íîé èìïåðñêîé òðàäèöèè, âîïëîùåííîé â Ñâÿùåííîé Ðèìñêîé èìïåðèè,51 è íåêîòîðûå èç öåëåé è ïðîáëåì, ñòîÿùèõ ïåðåä Åâðîñîþçîì, íåñîìíåííî ÿâëÿþòñÿ èìïåðñêèìè. Åâðîïåéñêèé Ñîþç ñóùåñòâóåò ðàäè ìîáèëèçàöèè è îáúåäèíåíèÿ ðåñóðñîâ âñåãî êîíòèíåíòà. Ýòî íóæíî íå òîëüêî äëÿ òîãî, ÷òîáû åâðîïåéöû ìîãëè íàñëàæäàòüñÿ áëàãîñîñòîÿíèåì, êîòîðîå îáåñïå÷èâàåò èì áîëüøîé ðûíîê, íî òàêæå è äëÿ ðåøåíèÿ òèïè÷íî èìïåðñêèõ öåëåé – äîñòèæåíèÿ âëàñòè è îáåñïå÷åíèÿ áåçîïàñíîñòè. Çàñëóãà ñîçäàíèÿ ïðîòèâîâåñà Ñîåäèíåííûì Øòàòàì â ñôåðå ìåæäóíàðîäíîé òîðãîâëè íà ñåãîä- íÿøíèé äåíü ïðèíàäëåæèò èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî Åâðîñîþçó. Âîçìîæíî, ÷òî åäèíàÿ åâðîïåéñêàÿ âàëþòà – åâðî – ñî âðåìåíåì áðîñèò âûçîâ ãîñïîäñòâó äîëëàðà â ñôåðå ôèíàíñîâ.  íàñòîÿùåå âðåìÿ, îäíàêî, ñàìàÿ áîëüøàÿ ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ ïðîáëåìà, ñ êîòîðîé ñòàëêèâàåòñÿ Åâðîïåéñêèé Ñîþç, èñõîäèò ñ âîñòîêà.  íà÷àëå XX â. Åâðîïà ñîñòîÿëà èç äâóõ ÷àñòåé – åâðîïåéñêîãî öåíòðà (ñòðàíû “ïåðâîãî ìèðà”) è åâðîïåéñêîé ïåðèôåðèè (ñòðàíû “âòîðîãî ìèðà”), âêëþ÷àâøåé â ñåáÿ ñòðàíû Çàïàäíîé (Èðëàíäèÿ è Ïîðòóãàëèÿ), Þæíîé (Èñïàíèÿ è Èòàëèÿ) è Âîñòî÷íîé (Ãàáñáóðãñêàÿ è Ðîññèéñêàÿ èìïåðèè) Åâðîïû. Ñ 1945 ã. þæíàÿ è çàïàäíàÿ ïåðèôåðèè âîøëè â ñîñòàâ åâðîïåéñêîãî öåíòðà. Ñàìàÿ áîëüøàÿ ïðîáëåìà íà ñåãîäíÿø- íèé äåíü – óäàñòñÿ ëè ïîâòîðèòü ýòîò óñïåõ â âîñòî÷íîé ïåðèôåðèè Åâðîïû. Ïîñêîëüêó ñî÷åòàíèå íàöèîíàëèçìà è ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêîãî ïðîòèâîñòîÿíèÿ Ðîññèè è Ãåðìàíèè â Âîñòî÷íîé è Öåíòðàëüíîé Åâðîïå ïðèâåëî ê äâóì ìèðîâûì âîéíàì, ðåøåíèå ýòîé ïðîáëåìû íå òåðïèò îòëàãàòåëüñòâà.  2004-2005 ãã. ïîëèòè÷åñêèé êðèçèñ â Óêðàèíå íàïîìíèë î òîì, íàñêîëüêî âàæíûìè ÿâëÿþòñÿ ñòîÿùèå íà ïîâåñòêå äíÿ âîïðîñû ãåîïîëèòèêè è êàêèì ïîòåíöèàëîì äëÿ äåñòàáèëèçàöèè îáñòàíîâêè îíè îáëàäàþò. Âëàñòü Ãåðìàíèè ñåãîäíÿ îñóùåñòâëÿåòñÿ ïîä ôëàãîì Åâðîïåéñêîãî Ñîþçà. Ñàìà âëàñòü Åâðîïû â íàñòîÿùèé ìîìåíò íîñèò ñêîðåå ýêîíîìè÷åñêèé è êóëüòóð- íûé, íåæåëè âîåííûé õàðàêòåð. Íî èç ýòîãî âîâñå íå ñëåäóåò, ÷òî âëàñòü èëè ãåîïîëèòèêà áîëåå íå ñóùåñòâóþò. Âîçìîæíî, ýòî îçíà÷àåò, ÷òî â áëàãîïðèÿòíûõ îáñòîÿòåëüñòâàõ òðàäèöèîííûå èìïåðñêèå öåëè ìîãóò â áóäóùåì äîñòèãàòüñÿ áîëåå ýôôåêòèâíî, áåç êîíôðîíòàöèè è ñ ìåíüøèìè æåðòâàìè ñ îáåèõ ñòîðîí.

51 Ëèòåðàòóðà, íàïèñàííàÿ ïî ýòîìó âîïðîñó, òàêæå âåñüìà îáøèðíà. Ïîëåçíîå èñòîðè÷åñêîå ââåäåíèå â ïðîáëåìó ïðîøëîãî è áóäóùåãî ðàçíûõ “Åâðîï” ìîæíî íàéòè â: Michael Heffernan. The Meaning of Europe. Geography and Geopolitics. London, 1998. 108 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Ïûòàÿñü íàéòè ðåøåíèå íåêîòîðûõ òðàäèöèîííî ñòîÿùèõ ïåðåä èìïåðèåé ïðîáëåì, Åâðîïåéñêèé Ñîþç èìååò îïðåäåëåííûå ïðåèìó- ùåñòâà ïî ñðàâíåíèþ ñ èìïåðèÿìè, ñóùåñòâîâàâøèìè â 1900 ã. Äâå ìèðîâûå âîéíû èçðÿäíî îáåñêðîâèëè åâðîïåéñêèå íàöèîíà- ëèñòè÷åñêèå äâèæåíèÿ è èäåîëîãèè. Íàñåëåíèå, ïðîíèêíóòîå äóõîì èíäèâèäóàëèçìà è ïîñòìîäåðíèçìà, íå æåëàåò áîëåå ïðèíîñèòü ñåáÿ â æåðòâó ÷åìó áû òî íè áûëî – â òîì ÷èñëå è æåðòâîâàòü ñîáîþ ðàäè íàöèè. Âíóøåííàÿ ÿêîáèíöàìè è Êëàóçåâèòöåì, ïðîäèêòîâàííàÿ ïîëèòèêîé ñèëû ëîãèêà íàöèîíàëèçìà – èäåÿ âîîðóæåííîé íàöèè – ïåðåñòàëà ðàáîòàòü â ýïîõó, êîãäà “Ïåðâîìó ìèðó” áîëüøå íå òðå- áóþòñÿ ìàññîâûå àðìèè, ñîñòîÿùèå èç ìîáèëèçîâàííûõ ãðàæäàí. Íà ñìåíó èì ïðèøëè àðìèè íîâîãî ïîêîëåíèÿ. ×òîáû óáåäèòü ñâîèõ ãðàæäàí ïðèíÿòü åäèíóþ åâðîïåéñêóþ âàëþòó, ïîëèòè÷åñêîìó ðåæèìó íå òðåáóåòñÿ äîêàçûâàòü ñâîþ ëåãèòèìíîñòü òàê, êàê ýòî íóæíî äëÿ òîãî, ÷òîáû çàñòàâèòü èõ ñðàæàòüñÿ è óìèðàòü çà íåãî â ìèðîâîé âîéíå. Òåì íå ìåíåå, ó÷èòûâàÿ ñòåïåíü ïðîíèêíîâåíèÿ íîâîãî åâðîïåéñêîãî ðåæèìà â êëþ÷åâûå ñôåðû ïîâñåäíåâíîé æèçíè, Åâðîñîþç äåéñòâèòåëüíî äîëæåí îáëàäàòü çíà÷èòåëüíîé ëåãèòèìíîñòüþ äëÿ òîãî, ÷òîáû ïðîäîëæàòü ýôôåêòèâíî óïðàâëÿòü ñâîèì íàñåëåíèåì. Ñîâðåìåííàÿ èìïåðèÿ ïî-ïðåæíåìó ñòîèò ïåðåä ïðîáëåìîé: êàê ïðèìèðèòü êîíòèíåíòàëüíûé ìàñøòàá ñ òðåáîâàíèÿìè íàðîäíîãî ñóâåðåíèòåòà è ýòíîíàöèîíàëüíûì ñàìîñîçíàíèåì.  ïðåäëîæåííîì ìíîþ îïðåäåëåíèè èìïåðèè àêöåíò ïîñòàâëåí íà âëàñòè è ïîòîìó îí ïîòåíöèàëüíî ïîçâîëÿåò ðàññìàòðèâàòü ÑØÀ â èìïåðñêèõ êàòåãîðèÿõ. Íèêòî íå ñîìíåâàåòñÿ â òîì, ÷òî ÑØÀ ÿâëÿåòñÿ ÷ðåçâû÷àéíî ìîãóùåñòâåííîé äåðæàâîé. Ïî áîëüøèí- ñòâó èç øåñòè ïàðàìåòðîâ-èñòî÷íèêîâ ñîöèàëüíîé âëàñòè Àìåðèêà ÿâíî îïåðåæàåò Êèòàé, Åâðîñîþç èëè ëþáîãî äðóãîãî ïîòåíöè- àëüíîãî ñîïåðíèêà.  òî æå ñàìîå âðåìÿ äîñòàòî÷íî î÷åâèäíî, ÷òî ïî÷òè êàæäûé îòäåëüíî âçÿòûé èñòî÷íèê âëàñòè ÑØÀ îòëè÷àåòñÿ óÿçâèìîñòüþ. Òàê, íàïðèìåð, ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêèì îñíîâàíèåì àìåðè- êàíñêîé âëàñòè ÿâëÿåòñÿ îãðîìíàÿ òåððèòîðèÿ ýòîé ñòðàíû, ñîïîñ- òàâèìàÿ ñ öåëûì êîíòèíåíòîì è ãðàíè÷àùàÿ ñ äâóìÿ âåëè÷àéøèìè îêåàíàìè ìèðà. Ôåäåðàëüíàÿ ñèñòåìà ÑØÀ ÿâèëàñü ïðèìåðîì áëåñòÿùåãî êîìïðîìèññà ìåæäó ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêèìè òðåáîâàíèÿìè êîíòèíåíòàëüíîãî ìàñøòàáà ñòðàíû è èäåîëîãè÷åñêîé ïðåäàííîñòüþ ðåñïóáëèêàíñêîìó ñàìîóïðàâëåíèþ. Òåì ñàìûì Ñîåäèíåííûå Øòàòû, ëó÷øå âñåõ ñâîèõ ïðîòèâíèêîâ, îòâåòèëè íà âûçîâ, ñòîÿùèé ïåðåä ñîâðåìåííîé èìïåðèåé. Çà ýòî, îäíàêî, èì ïðèøëîñü çàïëàòèòü 109 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê íåèçáåæíóþ öåíó.  äåìîêðàòè÷åñêîì ãîñóäàðñòâå êîíòèíåíòàëüíîãî ìàñøòàáà î÷åíü òðóäíî äîñòè÷ü êàêîãî áû òî íè áûëî êîíñåíñóñà ìåæäó ïðîòèâîáîðñòâóþùèìè èíòåðåñàìè è öåííîñòÿìè. Ñîâðå- ìåííàÿ Àìåðèêà âåñüìà íàïîìèíàåò Ãåðìàíèþ ýïîõè Âèëüãåëüìà II òåì, ÷òî â íåé ñî÷åòàþòñÿ ñàìûé äèíàìè÷íûé, ñàìûé äåñòàáèëè- çèðóþùèé âàðèàíò ðàçâèòèÿ êàïèòàëèçìà è ìíîæåñòâî ëîêàëüíûõ ñîîáùåñòâ, ñîõðàíÿþùèõ ãëóáîêóþ ïðåäàííîñòü òðàäèöèîííûì öåííîñòÿì. Òàêîå ñî÷åòàíèå íåèçáåæíî ïîðîæäàåò îñòðûå êîíô- ëèêòû. Ôåäåðàëüíàÿ ñèñòåìà, ïîñûëàþùàÿ ñâîèõ ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé â Êîíãðåññ, íåïîäêîíòðîëüíûé èñïîëíèòåëüíîé âëàñòè, âðÿä ëè óïðîùàåò æèçíü ïðàâèòåëÿì Àìåðèêè.52 Íåîáõîäèìî, îäíàêî, âçãëÿíóòü íà ñïîðû ïî ïîâîäó àìåðèêàíñêîé èìïåðèè – åå ìîùè è åå óÿçâèìîñòè – ñ èñòîðè÷åñêîé òî÷êè çðåíèÿ. Èìïåðèè ñèëüíî îòëè÷àþòñÿ äðóã îò äðóãà ïðåäåëàìè ñâîåé âëàñòè.  æàðêèõ äèñêóññèÿõ ïîñëåäíèõ ëåò àìåðèêàíñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ èçîá- ðàæàëàñü êàê ïîäîáèå äðåâíåãî Ðèìà – èìïåðèè, ïîä÷èíèâøåé ñåáå âåñü ìèð. Ïðè ýòîì äàííîå ñðàâíåíèå (áëåñòÿùèé ïðèìåð åâðîïî- öåíòðè÷íîãî ïîäõîäà!) ñîâåðøåííî èãíîðèðóåò òî îáñòîÿòåëüñòâî, ÷òî ó Ðèìà áûë ìîãóùåñòâåííûé ñîñåä – Ïàðôÿíñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ, ïîêàçàâøàÿ áëåñòÿùóþ ñïîñîáíîñòü çàùèùàòü ñâîè èíòåðåñû îò ïîñÿãàòåëüñòâ Ðèìà.53 Îäíàêî äàæå ïðåäëàãàåìîå ìíîé îïðåäåëåíèå èìïåðèè ïðåä- ïîëàãàåò íå÷òî áîëüøåå, ÷åì ïðîñòî âëàñòü. Ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ äâóõ äðóãèõ êðèòåðèåâ, ñîäåðæàùèõñÿ â ýòîì îïðåäåëåíèè, – âëàñòü íàä ìíîãèìè íàðîäàìè áåç èõ ñîãëàñèÿ – ÑØÀ î÷åâèäíî íå ÿâëÿþòñÿ èìïåðèåé. Ïîëèêóëüòóðíàÿ àìåðèêàíñêàÿ äåìîêðàòèÿ ïðîøëà

52 Ýòèìè ìûñëÿìè (è â îñîáåííîñòè ñðàâíåíèåì ñ Ãåðìàíèåé âðåìåí êàéçåðà Âèëüãåëüìà) ÿ îáÿçàí ìîåìó áðàòó Àíàòîëþ Ëèâåíó. Ñì.: A. Lieven. America Right or Wrong. An Anatomy of American Nationalism. London, 2004. ß íå ñòàíó çäåñü ïðèâîäèòü äëèííûé ïåðå÷åíü ïîÿâèâøèõñÿ çà ïîñëåäíèå ÷åòûðå ãîäà ðàáîò î âëàñòè Ñîåäèíåííûõ Øòàòîâ. Íàçîâó ëèøü îäíó èç êíèã, öåííîñòü êîòîðîé, âîçìîæíî, îêàæåòñÿ íå ñòîëü ìèìîëåòíîé, êàê ó äðóãèõ ðàáîò: Andrew Bacevich. American Empire. Cambridge, MA, 2002. 53 Ñì., íàïðèìåð: Michael Ignatieff. Empire Lite. London, 2003. Ýòà ðàáîòà îòêðûâàåòñÿ ñëåäóþùèì óòâåðæäåíèåì: “Ìû æèâåì â ìèðå, êîòîðîìó íåâîçìîæíî íàéòè ïðåöåäåíò ñî âðåìåí ïîçäíåé Ðèìñêîé èìïåðèè. Ðå÷ü èäåò íå òîëüêî î òîì, ÷òî îäíà äåðæàâà ãîñïîäñòâóåò íàä âñåì ìèðîì...”. Íà ñàìîì äåëå ðàáîòû Ì. Èãíàòüåâà – îäèí èç ëó÷øèõ ðåçóëüòàòîâ íàó÷íûõ è íå âïîëíå íàó÷íûõ ñïîðîâ ïî ïîâîäó Àìåðèêàíñêîé èìïåðèè. 110 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 îïðåäåëåííûé ïóòü ïî ñðàâíåíèþ ñ õàðàêòåðíûìè äëÿ XIX â. íàöèîíàëèñòè÷åñêèìè ïðåäñòàâëåíèÿìè îá èäåàëüíîì ïîëèòè÷åñêîì ñîîáùåñòâå. Àìåðèêàíñêèå ýëèòû, âîçìîæíî, íàó÷èëèñü êîå-÷åìó íà ïðèìåðå äðóãèõ ìîäåðíûõ èìïåðèé, ñòðåìèâøèõñÿ ñîõðàíèòü âíóòðè ñòðàíû, ñîñòîÿùåé èç “íåïðèìèðèìûõ ïëåìåí” (èñïîëüçóåì çäåñü ýòî âûðàæåíèå ýïîõè êîëîíèàëèçìà – áëåñòÿùèé ïðèìåð ïîëèòè÷åñêîé íåêîððåêòíîñòè), ïðåäàííîñòü îáùèì ïîëèòè÷åñêèì èäåàëàì è èíñòèòóòàì. Ïîñëåäíèé êðèòåðèé íå ïîçâîëÿåò îòíåñòè ÑØÀ ê èìïåðèÿì. Ïîëåçíî, îäíàêî, âçãëÿíóòü íà “àìåðèêàíñêóþ èìïåðèþ” ñêâîçü ïðèçìó ãëîáàëèçàöèè.54  òîé ìåðå, â êàêîé ñóäüáà ìåñòíûõ ñîîáùåñòâ çàâèñèò îò ýêîíîìè÷åñêèõ è êóëüòóðíûõ ñèë ìèðîâîãî ìàñøòàáà (ýòè ñèëû ÷àñòî íàçûâàþò “ïðîàìåðèêàíñêèìè”, îíè íåïîäêîíòðîëüíû ïî÷òè íè îäíîìó èç ïðàâèòåëüñòâ), êðèòåðèé “ñîãëàñèÿ”, âîçìîæíî, óæå óòðàòèë ñâîå çíà÷åíèå. Íèêòî èç íàñ íå äàâàë ñâîåãî ñîãëàñèÿ æèòü íà ýòîé ïëàíåòå, îäíàêî äî ñèõ ïîð ó íàñ íåò èíîãî âûáîðà – íåò äðóãîé ïëàíåòû, êóäà ìû ìîãëè áû ýìèãðèðîâàòü. Äðóãîé ñïîñîá âçãëÿíóòü íà ñïîðû âîêðó㠓àìåðè- êàíñêîé èìïåðèè” – ñðàâíèòü ïîñëåäñòâèÿ ãëîáàëèçàöèè â ñåãîä- íÿøíåì ìèðå ñî ñòåïåíüþ ïðîíèêíîâåíèÿ èìïåðèé ïðîøëîãî âãëóáü òåõ îáùåñòâ, íàä êîòîðûìè îíè ïðîâîçãëàøàëè ñóâåðåííóþ âëàñòü. Áðèòàíñêàÿ àäìèíèñòðàöèÿ â Èíäèè áûëà â íåêîòîðîì îòíîøåíèè âåñüìà âïå÷àòëÿþùèì ïðèìåðîì èìïåðñêîé âëàñòè, îäíàêî áîëüøèíñòâî èíäèéñêèõ êðåñòüÿí íè ðàçó â æèçíè íå ñòàë- êèâàëîñü ñ áðèòàíñêèì ÷èíîâíèêîì. Çà âåñü ïåðèîä èìïåðñêîãî ãîñïîäñòâà â Èíäèè áðèòàíöû âëîæèëè òóäà ìåíüøå ñðåäñòâ, ÷åì ÿïîíöû èíâåñòèðîâàëè â Ìàí÷æóðèþ òîëüêî ëèøü çà 1930-å ãîäû.55 Ñåãîäíÿøíÿÿ ãëîáàëüíàÿ ëèáåðàëüíàÿ êàïèòàëèñòè÷åñêàÿ ýêîíîìèêà è àìåðèêàíñêàÿ ìàññîâàÿ êóëüòóðà íå ïðåòåíäóþò íà ñóâåðåííóþ âëàñòü â Èíäèè, îäíàêî îíè ãîðàçäî ãëóáæå ïðîíèêàþò â èíäèéñêîå îáùåñòâî è áðîñàþò åìó îòêðûòûé âûçîâ. Ãëîáàëèçàöèÿ òàêæå ôîðìèðóåò îòâåòíóþ ðåàêöèþ íà ýòî ïðîíèêíîâåíèå. Ïåðèôåðèÿ Îñìàíñêîé è Áðèòàíñêîé èìïåðèé ïîäâåðãàëàñü àòàêàì ðàäèêàëüíûõ èñëàìèñòîâ. Îíè óáèëè ãåíåðàëà Ãîðäîíà â Õàðòóìå è ïîäîðâàëè

54 Ëó÷øåå èñòîðè÷åñêîå ââåäåíèå â ýòó ïðîáëåìó ñì. â: A. G. Hopkins (Ed.). Globalization in World History. London, 2002. 55 Ñì.: Peter Liberman. Does Conquest Pay? The Exploitation of Conquered Industrial Societies. Princeton, 1996, îñîáåííî P. 109. 111 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê ëåãèòèìíîñòü âëàñòè ñóëòàíà, çàâîåâàâ â êîíöå XIX â. Ìåäèíó è Ìåêêó, ÷òî ïðèâåëî ê ñòðàøíûì äëÿ Îñìàíñêîé èìïåðèè ïîñëåä- ñòâèÿì. Ñîâåðøåííî î÷åâèäíî, îäíàêî, ÷òî ó íèõ íå áûëî âîçìîæ- íîñòè ñåñòü â àýðîïëàí è íàíåñòè ñîêðóøèòåëüíûé óäàð ïî ñàìûì öåíòðàì èìïåðñêîé âëàñòè. Êîëü ñêîðî ãëîáàëèçàöèÿ âåäåò ê òåñíîìó ïåðåïëåòåíèþ âîïðîñî⠓èìïåðñêîé” è âíóòðèãîñóäàðñòâåííîé áåçîïàñíîñòè, îíà â ïðèí- öèïå ìîæåò ñóùåñòâåííî âëèÿòü íà îòíîøåíèÿ ìåæäó “èìïåðèåé” è äåìîêðàòèåé. Äåìîêðàòè÷åñêèé ýëåêòîðàò òðàäèöèîííî íå èñïû- òûâàë îñîáîãî æåëàíèÿ ïðîëèâàòü ñâîþ êðîâü è òðàòèòü ñâîè äåíüãè ðàäè èìïåðèè. Îò÷àñòè èìåííî ïîýòîìó ïîñëåäíèìè èìïåðèÿìè, íå ñêðûâàâøèìè ýòîãî, áûëè â Åâðîïå Ñîâåòñêèé Ñîþç è Ïîðòó- ãàëèÿ – íè òà, íè äðóãàÿ èç íèõ íå íóæäàëàñü â òîì, ÷òîáû ïðèíè- ìàòü ðåøåíèÿ ïî âîïðîñàì ñâîåé èìïåðñêîé ïîëèòèêè ïóòåì äåìîêðàòè÷åñêîãî ãîëîñîâàíèÿ.56 Ïîýòîìó ãëîáàëèçàöèÿ ìîæåò ñûãðàòü ïîëåçíóþ ðîëü, ïîíóæäàÿ äåìîêðàòè÷åñêèé ýëåêòîðàò ïîéòè íà íåêîòîðûå æåðòâû âî èìÿ îáåñïå÷åíèÿ ãëîáàëüíîé áåçîïàñ- íîñòè. Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, òàêàÿ ãîòîâíîñòü ñêîðåå âñåãî ïðèìåò ÿðêî âûðàæåííûå íàöèîíàëèñòè÷åñêèå ôîðìû, à íàöèîíàëèçì ìåòðîïî- ëèè ñåãîäíÿ, êàê è â ïðîøëîì, î÷åíü ÷àñòî âñòóïàåò â ïðîòèâîðå÷èå ñ ðàöèîíàëüíûìè ñòðàòåãèÿìè, íàïðàâëåííûìè íà ñîõðàíåíèå èìïåðñêîé âëàñòè. Äåìîêðàòè÷åñêèì èìïåðèÿì òàêæå ïðèñóùè íåêîòîðûå ïðîáëå- ìû. Ëþáîé ãîñóäàðñòâåííûé ñòðîé ñóùåñòâóåò áëàãîäàðÿ âåðå â äîáðîòó è ìóäðîñòü âåðõîâíîé âëàñòè.  äåìîêðàòèÿõ ýòà âåðà îñî- áåííî ñèëüíà, ïîñêîëüêó ýòè äîáðîäåòåëè çäåñü ìû ïðèïèñûâàåì ñàìèì ñåáå. Îäíàêî, êàê óæå îòìå÷àëîñü âûøå, ñàìûå äåìîêðà- òè÷íûå ïîëèòè÷åñêèå ðåæèìû XIX – íà÷àëà XX â. áûëè â òî æå ñàìîå âðåìÿ è ñàìûìè áåñïîùàäíûìè â òîì, êàê îíè îáðàùàëèñü ñ æèçíÿìè, èìóùåñòâîì è êóëüòóðîé ÷åðíîãî è öâåòíîãî íàñåëåíèÿ, èñêëþ÷åííîãî èç îáùåñòâåííîé æèçíè, ëèøåííîãî ãðàæäàíñêèõ ïðàâ. Òàêîå ïîâåäåíèå íå áûëî ñâîéñòâåííî ëèøü æèòåëÿì àíãëî- ÿçû÷íûõ ïåðåñåëåí÷åñêèõ êîëîíèé. Ôðàíöóçñêèå âëàñòè â öåëîì ãîðàçäî ëó÷øå îáðàùàëèñü ñ êîðåííûì íàñåëåíèåì Àëæèðà âî âðå- ìåíà äåñïîòè÷íîãî ïðàâëåíèÿ âîåííîé àäìèíèñòðàöèè Íàïîëåîíà III,

56 Î âîññòàíèè ïðîòèâ èìïåðèè â ñàìîé Ïîðòóãàëèè è åå êîëîíèÿõ ñì.: Norris McQueen. The Decolonisation of Portuguese Africa. London, 1997; à òàêæå: Kenneth Maxwell. The Making of Portuguese Democracy. Cambridge, 1995. 112 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ÷åì ïðè Òðåòüåé ðåñïóáëèêå57 – ÷òî íè÷óòü íå óäèâèëî áû íè Äýâèäà Þìà, íè èòàëüÿíñêèõ ìûñëèòåëåé ýïîõè Âîçðîæäåíèÿ. Ïîñëåäíèå â îñîáåííîñòè ïîä÷åðêèâàëè, ÷òî ëó÷øå áûòü ãðàæäàíèíîì, íåæåëè ïîääàííûì, íî åñëè óæ ÷åëîâåêó ñóæäåíî áûòü ïîääàííûì, òî â åãî èíòåðåñàõ áûòü ïîääàííûì ãîñóäàðÿ è íàõîäèòüñÿ ïîä åãî çàùèòîé, íåæåëè áûòü ïîääàííûì è íàõîäèòüñÿ ïîä çàùèòîé ñóâåðåííîé ðåñïóáëèêè ñâîáîäíûõ ãðàæäàí.58 Äåìîêðàòèÿ ñóùå- ñòâóåò äëÿ çàùèòû èíòåðåñîâ ñâîèõ ãðàæäàí. Âûáîðíûé ïðîöåññ âîïëîùàåò ýòîò ïðèíöèï â ñàìîé ÿðêîé ôîðìå è îáû÷íî ïðèâîäèò ê òîìó, ÷òî ýòè èíòåðåñû îïðåäåëÿþòñÿ ñ ñàìûõ ìåñòå÷êîâûõ, ñàìûõ îãðàíè÷åííûõ, ñàìûõ íåäàëüíîâèäíûõ ïîçèöèé. Ïîñêîëüêó ãëîáàëèçàöèÿ îçíà÷àåò, ÷òî ìû âñå æèâåì â îäíîì âçàèìîçàâèñèìîì ìèðå, â êîòîðîì âëàñòü êðàéíå íåðàâíîìåðíî ðàñïðåäåëåíà ìåæäó ñîîáùåñòâàìè, ìû ìîæåì äàæå ãîâîðèòü î ãëîáàëüíîé “èìïåðèè”, ñîñòîÿùåé èç ãðàæäàí “ïåðâîãî ìèðà” è “ïîääàííûõ” ïåðèôåðèè. Íè÷òî â èñòîðèè íå óêàçûâàåò íà òî, ÷òî äåìîêðàòè÷åñêèé ðåæèì, îáúåäèíÿþùèé ãðàæäàí èìïåðèè, áóäåò çàùèùàòü èíòåðåñû ïîääàííûõ. Íàïðîòèâ, ìîæíî ñ ëåãêîñòüþ ïðåäñêàçàòü, ÷òî îáëà- äàþùèå çíà÷èòåëüíîé âëàñòüþ ñîîáùåñòâà çàõîòÿò ñäåëàòü òàê, ÷òîáû áðåìÿ ðàñõîäîâ, âûçâàííûõ, íàïðèìåð, ýêîëîãè÷åñêèì êðèçèñîì, íåñëè íà ñåáå áîëåå ñëàáûå ñîîáùåñòâà. Ýòà òåíäåíöèÿ, â ñâîþ î÷åðåäü, ìîæåò ïîâëå÷ü çà ñîáîþ îïàñíûå ïîñëåäñòâèÿ ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ âîçðàñòàíèÿ íåñòàáèëüíîñòè íà ïëàíåòå.  êîíå÷íîì ñ÷åòå, îäíàêî, èñòîðèê íå îáëàäàåò íèêàêèìè ïðåèìó- ùåñòâàìè ïî ñðàâíåíèþ ñî ñïåöèàëèñòàìè â ëþáîé äðóãîé îáëàñòè â òîì, ÷òî êàñàåòñÿ ïðîãíîçîâ íà áóäóùåå. Ñàìîå î÷åâèäíîå ñðàâíåíèå, êîòîðîå íàïðàøèâàåòñÿ ñåãîäíÿ, ýòî ñðàâíåíèå ñîâðåìåííîãî ïîëîæåíèÿ ÑØÀ ñ ïîëîæåíèåì, êîòîðîå çàíèìàëà Áðèòàíñêàÿ èìïåðèÿ â 1830 ã.59

57 Ñì., íàïðèìåð, ãë. 4 â êí.: Ian Lustick. State-Building Failure in British Ireland and French Algeria. Berkeley, 1985. 58 Ñì., íàïðèìåð: Saul R. Epstein. The Rise and Fall of Italian City-States // M. H. Hansen (Ed.). A Comparative Study of Thirty City-State Cultures. Copenhagen, 2000. Ýïñòàéí çäåñü öèòèðóåò è Ãâè÷÷àðäèíè, è Þìà. 59 Ñ ýòîé òî÷êè çðåíèÿ ñðàâíåíèå ñ Ãåðìàíèåé âðåìåí êàéçåðà Âèëüãåëüìà íå ðàáîòàåò. Àäìèíèñòðàöèÿ Äæ. Áóøà II, âîçìîæíî, è íàïîìèíàåò êàéçåðîâñêóþ â òîì, êàê íàñòîé÷èâî îíà äåëàåò âñå, ÷òîáû íàñòðîèòü ïðîòèâ ñåáÿ âñå îñòàëüíûå ñòðàíû. Îäíàêî â íàñòîÿùèé ìîìåíò Àìåðèêà ìîæåò ïîçâîëèòü ñåáå ñîâåðøèòü ãîðàçäî áîëüøå îøèáîê, ÷åì ýòî áûëî äîïóñòèìî äëÿ Ãåðìàíèè – ñòðàíû, îêðóæåííîé ñîïåðíè÷àþùèìè ñ íåé âåëèêèìè äåðæàâàìè â ýïîõó äî íà÷àëà Ïåðâîé ìèðîâîé. 113 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê Ïåðèîä ñ 1860 ïî 1991 ã. (ãðàæäàíñêàÿ âîéíà â ÑØÀ, äâå ìèðîâûå âîéíû, õîëîäíàÿ âîéíà) – ýòî ïîäîáèå ýïîõè, ïðîäëèâøåéñÿ â Àíãëèè ñ 1640 ã. ïî 1815 ã., êîãäà ýòà äåðæàâà êîíñîëèäèðîâàëà îñíîâû ñâîåãî ìèðîâîãî ìîãóùåñòâà âíóòðè ñòðàíû, à çàòåì ðàçãðîìèëà ãëàâíîãî ïðîòèâíèêà â áîðüáå çà òîðãîâîå è èìïåðñêîå ãîñïîäñòâî â äðóãèõ ÷àñòÿõ ñâåòà – Ôðàíöèþ.  òàêèå ýïîõè, êîãäà ñîçäàåòñÿ èìïåðèÿ, âîåííàÿ âëàñòü èìååò êîëîññàëüíîå çíà÷åíèå.  òå÷åíèå ñòà ëåò, ïðîøåäøèõ ïîñëå 1815 ã., áðèòàíöû, äîñòèãíóâ âåðøèí ìîãóùåñòâà, ïîëüçîâàëèñü âñåìè áëàãàìè èìïåðèè ïî÷òè äàðîì. Âîåííàÿ âëàñòü îòîäâèíóëàñü íà âòîðîé ïëàí – äî òåõ ïîð, ïîêà ñîâîêóïíîñòü âíåøíèõ ôàêòîðîâ è îòíîñèòåëüíàÿ âíóòðåííÿÿ ñëàáîñòü Âåëèêîáðèòàíèè íå ïðèâåëè ê ðåçêîìó âîçðàñòàíèþ çàòðàò íà èìïåðèþ â XX â. Âîçìîæíî, ýòî ñàìûé âåðîÿòíûé ñöåíàðèé ðàçâèòèÿ ñîáûòèé äëÿ Ñîåäèíåííûõ Øòàòîâ. Åñëè âçãëÿíóòü íà 11 ñåíòÿáðÿ èëè âòîðæåíèå â Èðàê â èñòîðè÷åñêîé ïåðñïåêòèâå, òî ýòè ñîáûòèÿ íàïîìíÿò ìíîãèå êàòàñòðîôû è ïîëèöåéñêèå àêöèè ìåíüøåãî ìàñøòàáà, èìåâøèå ìåñòî â èìïåðèè XIX â. Îäíàêî èñòîðèÿ èìïåðèè ìîæåò áûòü è âîïëîùåíèåì èñòîðè- ÷åñêîé ïàðàäèãìû íåîïðåäåëåííîñòè.  VII â. í. ý. âèçàíòèéöû íàêîíåö îäåðæàëè ïîáåäó íàä äàâíèì ïðîòèâíèêîì Ðèìñêîé èìïåðèè, Èðàíîì. Îäíàêî ðåçóëüòàòîì ýòîé ïîáåäû ñòàëî íåçàìåäëèòåëüíîå ïîÿâëåíèå â äîòîëå íå èìåâøåì ñîâåðøåííî íèêàêîé çíà÷èìîñòè ðåãèîíå íîâîé, áåñïðåöåäåíòíîé ôîðìû âëàñòè – èñëàìà, ðàñïðî- ñòðàíèâøåãîñÿ âñêîðå äàëåêî çà ïðåäåëàìè Àðàâèéñêîãî ïîëóîñ- òðîâà è åäâà íå ïîãóáèâøåãî Âèçàíòèéñêóþ èìïåðèþ. Ïî÷òè òûñÿ÷ó ëåò ñïóñòÿ ïîñëå ýòîãî äèíàñòèÿ Öèí çàâîåâàëà âîñòî÷íî- àçèàòñêèå ñòåïè è â èòîãå èçãíàëà ñâîèõ âðàãîâ-êî÷åâíèêîâ, ïîä óäàðàìè êîòîðûõ ðàíåå ïàëî íå îäíî êèòàéñêîå ãîñóäàðñòâî, â ñåâåð- íûå ïðåäåëû èìïåðèè. Îäíàêî ñïóñòÿ âñåãî íåñêîëüêî äåñÿòèëåòèé íîâàÿ, ñîâåðøåííî áåñïðåöåäåíòíàÿ óãðîçà íàâèñëà íàä ðàíåå ñîâåðøåííî áåçîïàñíûìè ìîðñêèìè ãðàíèöàìè Êèòàÿ – ýòî áûëî âòîðæåíèå åâðîïåéöåâ, êîòîðîå ñòàëî âîçìîæíûì áëàãîäàðÿ ðåâîëþ- öèîííîìó ïîòåíöèàëó ïðîìûøëåííîé ðåâîëþöèè.  ñëó÷àå Êèòàÿ ïîðàæåíèå áûëî îñîáåííî ãîðüêèì, ïîñêîëüêó ïåðâûå èìïåðàòîðû èç äèíàñòèè Öèí ïî÷òè ñî âñåõ òî÷åê çðåíèÿ ÿâëÿëèñü ãîðàçäî áîëåå èñêóñíûìè è äîáðîäåòåëüíûìè ïðàâèòåëÿìè – êîíå÷íî, ïî ìåðêàì èõ ñîáñòâåííîé ñèñòåìû öåííîñòåé – íåæåëè âñå äðóãèå äèíàñòè÷åñêèå ïðàâèòåëè, êàêèõ ìû çíàåì èç èñòîðèè. 114 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Îïòèìèñòû ìîãóò ñêàçàòü, ÷òî â îòëè÷èå îò êèòàéñêèõ èëè âèçàíòèéñêèõ èìïåðñêèõ ýëèò, ìû, ñåãîäíÿøíèå, ãîðàçäî áûñòðåå çàìå÷àåì íàçðåâàíèå ðåâîëþöèîííûõ èçìåíåíèé. Íà ÷òî ïåññè- ìèñòû âîçðàçÿò, ÷òî ó íàñ åñòü ñâîè èíòåëëåêòóàëüíûå øîðû è ñâîè èíòåðåñû â ñîõðàíåíèè ñóùåñòâóþùèõ èíñòèòóòîâ, ÷òî áåñïðåöå- äåíòíîå ïî ñâîèì ìàñøòàáàì äàâëåíèå íà ïðèðîäíóþ ñðåäó çàâîäèò ÷åëîâå÷åñòâî â íåèçâåäàííûå ïðåäåëû, ãäå íàñ ìîãóò ïîäæèäàòü âñåâîçìîæíûå îïàñíîñòè. Âêëàä èñòîðèêîâ â ýòó äèñêóññèþ ìîæåò ñîñòîÿòü ëèøü â ïðèâëå÷åíèè âíèìàíèÿ ê òîìó ïðèñêîðáíîìó îáñòîÿòåëüñòâó, ÷òî ïîòîìñòâî ðåäêî íàõîäèò ó âëàñòèòåëåé èìïåðèé òå äîáðîäåòåëè, êàêèå îíè ñàìè ñåáå ïðèïèñûâàþò.  ëþáîì ñëó÷àå, äîáðîäåòåëü, äàæå â òîì ñêåïòè÷åñêîì ñìûñëå, êàêèì íàäåëÿë ýòî ïîíÿòèå Ìàêèàâåëëè, ÿâëÿåòñÿ ëèøü îäíèì èç ñðåäñòâ ñîõðàíåíèÿ èìïåðèè. Ñðåäè äðóãèõ ôàêòîðî⠓ôîðòóíà” çíà÷èò ãîðàçäî áîëüøå, ÷åì íàì õîòåëîñü áû âåðèòü.60

SUMMARY

Dominic Lieven chose to respond to the discussion piece “New Imperial History” in the form of a review article on the current debates on the concep- tualization of empire as an analytical category in the disciplines of political science, international relations, and history. Lieven continues to stress the centrality of power in the conception of empire and envisages a mutually beneficial dialogue between historians and political scientists in the process of explicating the relationship of power in the history of empires and the world and making the analysis of power sensitive to the variety of historical contexts. Lieven contends that it is possible to form a precise definition of the analytical concept of empire, the prerequisite for which is the uncoupling of two concepts: empire and imperialism. For Lieven, the elaboration of a more precise definition of empire is linked to a reconstruction of meanings of

60 Ïî çàìå÷àíèþ Ìàêèàâåëëè, “ôîðòóíà” îïðåäåëÿåò ïîñëåäñòâèÿ ïîëîâèíû íàøèõ ïîñòóïêîâ. Niccolo Machiavelli. The Prince. Cambridge, 1998. Pp. 84-85 (Èçäàíèå âûøëî ïîä ðåäàêöèåé Êâåíòèíà Ñêèííåðà (Quentin Skinner) è Ðàññåëà Ïðàéñà (R. Price)). 115 Ä. Ëèâåí, Èìïåðèÿ, èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèðîâîé ïîðÿäîê the concept of empire in the long term and in different cultural contexts, the most distinctive of which is the German concept of Reich. However, Lieven argues that this analysis does not yield an unambiguous picture and therefore he resorts to conceptualizing the structural features of power, geopolitics, the management of multiethnicity, rule without consent, and military, cultural, and ideological hegemony. Overall, Lieven brings up the longevity of empires and defines empires as historical phenomena that underpin the contemporary state of international relations and political configurations in former imperial regions of the world. In this respect, empire evolves into a legacy and a model that might help scholars understand the genesis and dilemmas of the three imperial centers in the present world: China, the EU and the US.

116 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Interview with Anthony PAGDEN

“THERE IS A REAL PROBLEM

WITH THE SEMANTIC FIELD OF EMPIRE ”*

Serguei GLEBOV. Historically, the term “empire” survived only as a designator for what scholars and observers perceived to be pre-modern, archaic, repressive and doomed for dissolution polities. In the project for new imperial history of Russia and Eurasia we assumed that this develop- ment was greatly influenced by the fact that the very emergence of modern humanities and social sciences in Europe occurred against the background of the rise of the nation-state as the key (and normative) concept to describe human polities. Do you think that “empire” still has a potential as a category of scholarly analysis (of course, distinct from the category of political prac- tice)? On the other hand, how can we use an archaic concept as a category of scholarly analysis without first exploring its genealogy? Anthony PAGDEN. Certainly. First, in the answer to the last part of this question: I am fairly well persuaded that one needs some kind of genealogy to understand what it is we are actually talking about and how it can best be used. The other thing I would like to say is that this then throws into relief something else, which is the extent to which the term like “empire” actually is something that is, as it were, shouldered aside by the rise of the social sciences and of the concept of the nation state. First of all, it seems to me,

* Interviewer Serguei Glebov.

117 Interview with A. Pagden, “There Is a Real Problem With the Semantic Field ” no definition is going to be very helpful here And I have written one down, which I have used before, which is “an extensive state in which one ethnic or tribal group by one means or another rules over several others;” this is roughly what in the first century AD Roman historian Tacitus meant when he spoke of the Roman world as an immense body of empire; that would do as a rough definition but it’s so rough as to be almost useless. And it raises immediately the question which is at the center of this discussion, which is the question of sovereignty, because when Tacitus talks about “immensum imperii corpus,” the word “empire” there is being used in the terms not of extensive territoriality but in terms of a concept of sovereignty: sovereign “imperium” is, effectively, sovereignty. The first thing I want to say then is that we really need to look at the ways in which those people who have been in some sense involved in the imperial project (and this can come in many different types and forms) use the word. How do they use the word, what significance do they give to the term? Because it seems to me that what any genealogy is going to reveal is that first of all “empire” is effectively a rather late phenomenon, that’s to say that talk about a polity being an “empire” is something that doesn’t really come into being in Europe at least (in Western Europe – I can’t speak for Asia, and I can’t speak for Russia) until the later part of the 18th century. I mean there are people in the 18th century who are still speaking of empire as, in the terms of one 18th century British theorist, a “peculiar term,” alien to the English language. When Adam Smith uses it about the British empire he says the British empire is nothing more than a half-baked project, “shadow of an empire,” which has never been fulfilled. So the notion that there exists an empire – any sort of empire – in the early modern period is already problematical. As you probably know the Romans themselves don’t use the term for the state they’re talking about: it’s a “republic” and then later it becomes the “principate.” That is to say what is crucial here is the regime type that’s being used, it is the forms of sovereignty that’s being exercised and not, as it were, the extent or kinds of peoples over whom it is being exercised. The other point is of course that empire becomes a description of inclusion and that seems to me to evolve much more obviously after Rome and Christendom become harnessed together. In the sense then the Roman empire, as we understand it, is an invention of St. Augustine, I mean, that’s putting it too boldly, but in some sense, it is an invention of the Christian world. The idea that there is one unifying place on earth, which somehow will absorb the entire world, is already there in Cicero but it’s extremely vague. It becomes much more emphatic and makes much more sense when it’s linked to the idea of Christian 118 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 eschatology. And then of course there is the reality, if you like, the political reality of the re-invention of the Roman empire by Charlemagne when it becomes eventually linked to the idea of the empire being not only Roman, but literally holy. And it’s worth reminding that during most of the early modern period we are talking about, that is to say before the creation of the nation state, the Holy Roman Empire is the only empire. So, the Spanish never use the term, the Portuguese never use the term to describe themselves. Interestingly, the only other large polity, which is ever described in Western Europe as an empire other than the Holy Roman Empire, is the Ottoman. So, I think that what emerges in the 18th century when, as it were, the nation state begins to come into focus, so to say, is a series of condem- nations of empire as archaic, in the sense that you are describing. Just three points taken randomly: Adam Smith in 1776 in the Wealth of Nations talks of empire as being something that is essentially part of the previous military culture, which is no longer viable and is due to be replaced by the new commercial society. In 1813, after the apparent collapse of the Napoleonic empire Benjamin Constant says the same thing, and then in 1918 we get Joseph Schumpeter saying again much the same thing. At each phase you have the idea, that empire is a form of archaism that belongs to a previous phase in the development of humanity, and will never return. Yet each time of course it returns again in a different mode. Which brings me back to the point I made earlier, namely that the word “empire” is used most consistently, most emphatically in the 19th century, when of course the nation states of Western Europe are fully formed. The largest extent of imperial expansion, or expansion overseas, by the English, and the French, and the Germans, and the Russians, all took place during that period. The empires of Britain and France and Germany, certainly, are expressions of nationalism, they are nationalist empires. There is indeed a sense in which being a large and powerful nation state requires you to have empire. So I don’t think you can, as it were, separate these two out. I think there is a possibility that you could say that in the languages of the social sciences as they evolved in the 18th century there was a firm belief in the triumph of commercialism, what is called “commercial society,” what we would call, roughly speaking, capitalism, and a conviction that this was going to erase all these archaic forms of polity from the face of the earth. That certainly is true. But it’s only true up until the 1820s and 1830s, and what then comes back is a completely new phase of empire building, which is very much linked to the evolution of the nation state and, it should be said, to a new form of thinking about social sciences. 119 Interview with A. Pagden, “There Is a Real Problem With the Semantic Field ” SG. If you had to write the history of “empire” as a concept in European history, how would you determine the semantic fields that delimit this concept (and contribute to its formation)? How was “empire” related to discourses of religion, colonialism, civilization? How can we make a distinction between “empire” and “imperialism”? AP. I think there is a real problem about the semantic field. Obviously, if you start, as I did in one book I wrote, by looking at what the word originally meant, you’re likely to get trapped, – as I did – trapped with the linguistics of it too easily, I mean the word very soon escapes its original meaning, but it’s worth but it’s nevertheless I think important to note that the original meaning is about who holds sovereignty. And so I think we have to look very carefully at the whole development of the concept of “sovereignty” in Europe and beyond Europe in the period, say, from the 17th century, when the question of sovereignty becomes the central political theoretical problem within Europe, with the creation of, indeed, the nation state after the civil wars and wars of religion, leading up to the Treaty of Westphalia. After 1648 two different concepts of sovereignty emerge. One is the notion, which is very much confined to Europe, which is the sort of Hobbesian, Bodinian notion of sovereignty as being, to quote Bodin, “indivisible as the point in geometry.” The idea that the state is entirely sovereign, there can exist no sovereign bodies outside the state, and crucially, that sovereignty is not something that can ever be shared with anyone else or with any other political body. Then, on the other hand, there existed the imperial struc- tures, which do gradually accept the idea that an empire is in fact a system of divided and shared sovereignty. I want to come back to this point later, for it seems to me crucial that the idea develops in legal terms within the context most clearly of the British occupation of India, that you cannot rule an empire, as Romans themselves discovered, without sharing sovereignty, with at least some of its overseas or dependent elites. Therefore you are forced into this idea that there is no single national sovereign entity within an imperial structure. I think this is one way in which this history can be traced – in terms of the evolving notions of sovereignty both within the European sphere itself and then beyond Europe. The attempts to create empires within Europe, in which sovereignty would be restricted in this way – I am thinking here about the most obvious case, which is the Third Reich, – rapidly came to an end for various reasons. The idea that sovereignty can be shared with anybody at all becomes impossible within the European context. And the same is very largely true, although it is not entirely clear

120 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 what the final definition would have been of it, for the Napoleonic Empire . The idea that there should be one central authority within Europe itself has always come to grief. But in Europe’s relationship with the non-European world, the world beyond Europe, shared sovereignty was a necessity of survival. The other aspect that I think needs to be looked at in this context (probably it belongs to the first question you asked) consists of two questions actually. The first is the issue of mimesis: there is a certain tendency to imitate. The translatio imperii – the translation of empire – is in some sense the idea that there is one single source of authority and sovereignty in the world, which derives from God and which is handed down from one group of persons to another throughout time. That notion itself involves the idea of some sense of mimeticism, or copying, if you like. The image of Rome, in particular, as the great civilizing power par excellence within European history has given enormous emphasis to this, and so have these other elements that you talk about – religion, for instance, colonialism, civilization. If we take the question of religion, I think I have already touched upon it, as far as Christianity is concerned, empire and Christianity go hand in hand. The Roman empire was a creation of Christianity. But equally Christianity was a creation of, in the Roman world (I mean the Church as it emerged after Constantine; not the original heresy of Judaism). Christianity came to be embodied in the Church, as the creation of the Roman world, the creation of the Roman imperial world; it identifies with the Roman imperial world, and cannot really be detached from it. And then there is a notion that evolves in the 18th century, (and John Pocock has written about this recently) that empire is a term which as almost identical with civility, that “civilization” – itself a curious coinage of the second part of the 18th century. But this empire is intended to be something new what Edmund Burke will call “the empire of liberty,” an empire involving, as it were, full cooperation of all its parts, all its members, and one that existed for the good of all of its members. Again, an empire in which sovereignty is fully shared among all. So civilization and religion, I think, certainly go hand in hand with empire, although the stages at which they do, and the ways in which they do, change over time. Because the 18th century conception of empire as civilization is largely a secular one, whereas the earlier Christian view of empire as Christendom and therefore also in some sense a civilization of course is very much predi- cated upon the notion of all persons, all people in that empire eventually becoming Christians, predicated that is upon the conversion of the whole world So, you have, I think, a transition, from empire as religion to empire

121 Interview with A. Pagden, “There Is a Real Problem With the Semantic Field ” as civilization, a secularization of it in the course of the 18th and then into the 19th century, when notions of things like democracy and so on become involved in the process of civilizing other peoples, bringing them European institutions As for colonialism, it always seems to me a somewhat problematic term, because obviously, colonialism is something different. When we talk about empire and religion, empire and civilization, the implication is that the peoples who make up this empire are, again, all in some sense involved in a shared project. Once you start talking about colonialism, you are talking about something different, you are talking about the creation of large settler populations, which displace indigenous peoples, or occupy lands which are literally empty, as in the case of large areas of Australia, and you create new hybrid societies, and this can go hand in hand, in the rhetoric of the imperial process – and throughout the early modern period it did go hand in hand – with some notion of “civilizing of the indigenous peoples,” but it was always about civilizing them once they had in some sense been displaced. So I see colonialism as, as it were, running uncomfortably, counter to, and against the grain of, the rhetoric, at least, the descriptive analytical rhetoric, of what might be described as the European imperial process. So there are two different things in a sense that are going on, and I think they are largely in conflict with one another, which is what leads in a sense in the 19th century to this curious hybrid phenomenon, which is the British empire, where all these things are present at once and nobody can find a satisfactory description for any of them. This brings me to one other point here, concerning the sense in which we can talk about the word “empire” and about using it as an analytical category. We have to bear in mind that if you look at domestic land empires of Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries, “empire” becomes a way of describing and giving an identity, a political identity, which is rather significant, to conglomerates, which otherwise would lack them. Take, for instance, the Habsburg Empire. The Habsburgs adopt this term, “imperium,” and use it very extensively, and adopt imperial titles (Caesar, Augustus, and so on and so on), they do this partly because of the connections with the Holy Roman Empire, which in a sense licenses them to do this – the ideas of being defendants of faith and so on. It’s part of the dynastic myth, it is what gives legitimacy to the dynasty, but it also is one which attempts to give a descriptive and analytical content to a polity which otherwise would not possess one. And in the process, at least around the court, so to speak, to give a political coherence to the society which would otherwise lacked language in which to represent itself to itself. 122 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 SG. Traditionally, historians of empire distinguished between “over- seas and colonial” empires and “land and dynastic” empires. How useful is this distinction? Does it prevent us from seeing common features of large polities with diverse populations? Does it obscure similarities, such as colo- nialism and Orientalism in land empires? AP. I think it largely depends on what your point of analysis is. I would say that the distinction is not so much between land and overseas as between colonial and dynastic. These terms really need to be disaggregated because although most overseas empires are colonial and most dynastic ones are land empires, it’s not universally the case, nor need it be so. Many land empires are not dynastic and a number of land empires were colonial. The distinction here I think is the one I tried to suggest before, which is the distinction between an empire which is colonial, that is to say which has a large settler population, and an empire which is one in which there is either no settler population or a very small settler population, of an adminis- trative kind, or where a settler population, as it were, merges into the indige- nous population. This would be the rough description, for instance, of the Ottoman empire, and the Roman empire. The Ottomans practiced quite extensive forced migration, moving peoples from Eastern Anatolia into the Balkans as a way of stabilizing these outlying regions, but these populations quite soon merged in with the locals, intermarried with the local peoples, and created new hybrid societies. So there is that process on the one hand, and then there is a process I was mentioning earlier, which is usually confined, it should be said, to states where there is a huge disparity in technological achievement, for instance, between Europeans and Amerindians, Europeans and Africans, and so on, where the settler population is able at least in the long term if not in the short, to displace, or enslave, or suborn in some way the indigenous population. And there you create a very-very different kind of societies, societies where there is virtually no intermarriage between the two groups, where a new hybrid society does not grow up or (take the case of Latin America) it does not grow up until after the imperial powers have departed, and where you have a clear distinction between the rulers and the ruled, and, again, in which sovereignty is in no way divided between them. So, I think, the distinction, as you put it, it is actually a rough and ready one, it is useful, but it shouldn’t be allowed confuse us about the similarities that can exist between both dynastic empires of, say, the Habsburg variety, on the one hand, and overseas empires (the Habsburg empire was both, of course), and it shouldn’t be allowed to obscure the fact that land 123 Interview with A. Pagden, “There Is a Real Problem With the Semantic Field ” empires, although they face very different technical problems than the overseas empires, at least in the early modern period, can often pursue exactly the same policies as overseas empires. As I said, the behavior of the Spanish, for instance, in parts of Europe, as a land based empire, or the Ottomans in the Balkans, is not very different from the policies pursued and the attitudes taken by the British in places like India. That would be my take on the issue of that distinction. SG. Many explain the current rise of interest in empires by the contempo- rary political changes, such as the unprecedented expansion of American power, or the emergence of the European Union with its promise of over- coming the sovereignty of the nation state. In the project for new imperial history, we suggested that empires with their diverse populations, horizontal connections between groups, and cross-cultural contacts, offer a unique model to study processes strikingly similar to globalization. Can you comment on this recent interest in empires and on the possibility to gain insight into globalization through the study of empires? AP. I think you’re obviously right. The interest in the history of empires in the last decade, more strikingly so, perhaps, in the last three or four years, has a great deal to do with the current political themes. I mean, it tends to be the case with histories – they tend to follow current political events in that way. It’s certainly true that 20 years ago nobody in Europe was much interested in the imperial process at all and the study of empires was relegated to the sidelines, at least within the academy. And it’s certainly true, I think, that the expansion of the American power and more significantly perhaps and more emphatically recently, the ways in which certain sectors of American society have embraced the idea of empire – not imperialism, I should say, but embraced the idea of empire as a description of what America is or might want or wish to become, particularly since the current administration came to power, has enormous amount to do with the current resuscitation of interest in empire. Having said that, I want to add that I do not think that America is an empire in a traditional sense. It doesn’t fit many of the features I described above – it doesn’t share sovereignty with overseas populations – doesn’t have any overseas populations of its own. It seeks to influence and control world events, that’s perfectly true, but that doesn’t necessarily make it into an empire. I think there is certainly an influence there on the rise of interest in empires, but I am not sure that empire, as an analytical category, is going to get us very far when discussing modern international relations. I do think that empire (and empire is currently understood in various and

124 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 different ways) remains a category for analyzing past political and social structures. However, the fact that it has come back as a part of the modern vocabulary of international relations (and is increasingly being so used at least at the popular level) does demand that we take it very seriously, it does demand the kind of genealogical thinking I was talking about, because if you are a political agent, you are, say, an American Secretary of State, and you think that what you are doing is creating an empire, than it’s important to know what it is you think an empire is. So I think the historians and the new history has a lot to say about the current state of the evolution of modern international relations between the major powers. As for globaliza- tion, I see globalization as primarily an economic phenomenon. Because I think of empires as essentially political structures – it is true that the word is often used loosely, and the word “imperialism” even more loosely, to describe economic relationships, in particular economic relations of dependency – I don’t see globalization in terms of dependency, certainly not in terms of political dependency, so I am not entirely sure that empire is very helpful in that sense. Any time you try to examine with any detail what globalization actually means in terms of its outcome, you find that what we are talking about is an extremely loose set of trading regulations and rarely if ever more than that. As far as the European Union is concerned, you’re right in saying that it’s enemies often talk about it in these terms, in part because, of course, the word “empire” has been used as a dirty word for so long, so let’s never overlook that calling something an empire is often only a form of insult, an attempt to reduce a state’s political legitimacy. So, leaving that aside I think that the European Union is not an empire in the sense I under- stand it because here we have a case in which sovereignty is shared equally between all member states, it’s a federal union of states, and I don’t think that there is any model for that which might be described as imperial in the early modern world, or, say, before the 20th century. The only analogy I can think of, actually, paradoxically, is what Napoleon claimed from St. Helena he was trying to create, – although, certainly, it was not how he conducted his campaigns. But what he claimed, in retrospect, was that he had hoped to create something closer to the League of the Greek city states. And this model, (leaving aside for a moment that it was one of this league which was eventually transformed into the Athenian empire) this model of the League of the Greek city states is also the one that Madison and Hamilton referred to in conceptualizing the new United States in the period immediately after independence. So the idea of a large scale federation of states seems to

125 Interview with A. Pagden, “There Is a Real Problem With the Semantic Field ” me to be essentially an anti-imperial move, and if you think that the European Union as a political entity came into being in the aftermath of the collapse of the Third Reich and as an attempt to make sure that no further attempts would be made to create anything resembling an imperial structure within Europe, I see it very much as being an anti-imperial move. SG. Well, if I may come back to this notion of globalization and the study of globalization through the optics provided by empire. What I probably had in mind is that within large imperial polities, and I of course tend to think about imperial polities in Eurasia first of all, you had situations, quite unprecedented elsewhere, such as the existence of Islamic societies within a state with a modernizing European regime, and for a relatively long period of time, which of course creates a unique relationship between the European state (with its discourses of European style modernization) and Islamic communities. It’s such contacts and interactions, cultural, political, and economic, within the diverse imperial polities that we had in mind as a quasi- model for globalization. AP. I see. Yes, I think, in that case yes. I think one of the things you could say is that if you look at the histories of, say, the Austro-Hungarian empire, the former imperial structures were in fact very much better at handling this kind of divergences within their borders than modern nation states. So it’s possible that one can think of empire as having this property, certainly the empires within Europe, is that actually they were a great deal more tolerant to divergence within their borders – they have to be, it’s a question of necessity rather than choice, but they have to be rather tolerant to divergences within their nominal frontiers than was the case with the nation states. And this has a lot to do with what I was saying earlier: I think because sovereignty is divided you have to rely upon the compliance and the support of local elites to a far greater extent than in the nation state, where those local elites have been suborned or absorbed into the state itself. The existence of the need to cooperate in this way means that minorities fare a great deal better, or traditionally and historically have fared a great deal better under such societies. Now, what this tells us about the future, I don’t quite know. I think that the only modern state (or a modern commu- nity) which faces this problem to the same extent is precisely the European Union, and it might be supposed that in the future, say, minority groups that wish in some way to negotiate a way of preserving their traditional anti- modern stances (to cite Islamic cases), while benefiting from the modernizing process, are in the stronger position to do that while appealing to a European

126 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 federation than they are to a nation state. The models for this, or the analogy for this, – because this hasn’t yet happened but it might well given the large numbers of immigrants flooding into the Union every day, – the model for this probably would be something along the lines of minority nations within Europe, Basques, Catalans, and so on, who have found it very convenient for their uses to be able to appeal beyond limits of the nation state to the Union itself. In any federalized state you have two sources of authority and of course it may well be the case that the federal authority – Strasbourg, Brussels, etc., – has a more sympathetic ear than whatever the local state sovereign authority may be. So I think in that case, if we see empires as entities which revolve, which I have been trying to suggest is the most useful way of seeing them, around the notion of where sovereign power lies, then I think they probably can tell us, or the study of their past can tell us, a great deal about the ways in which it might be profitable to proceed in the future with regard to this increasing phenomenon, which, as you are right to point out, is not just something which happened in the Ottoman state or the Russian empire but is becoming more and more a fact of life in Europe itself, where you have these host populations, which are nestling within societies with whom they have very problematic relationships. And I think that those relations can probably be resolved much more easily at the level of the federal government or the empire, whichever phase of history we are talking about, than it can be at the level of the nation state. SG. My last question is relatively long and fairly theoretical even against the background of this highly theoretical discussion. We can assume that by attempting to describe empire, at least genealogically a pre-modern phenomenon, in terms of a modern language of humanities and social sciences with its logic of the nation-state as an ultimate goal of the historical process, we tend to inscribe into empire something that is not characteristic of it. At the same time, these modern categories prevent us, we might assume, from seeing something important. How can we compensate for this situation of the gap between our scholarly apparatus and the historical phenomenon? One possibility presupposes a search for some hypothetical “language of self-description” of empires. Most likely, it is not a developed self-reflection of a polity but some “visions” in geographic imaginations, literary discourses, historical metaphors, etc. Another research alternative requires a reconstruc- tion of this language of self-description from a range of sources, possibly through the reading of languages of subaltern groups and social loci, the synthesis of these languages with self-representations of dominant groups,

127 Interview with A. Pagden, “There Is a Real Problem With the Semantic Field ” and the subsequent proclamation of points of intersection of these descriptions as representative of the language of imperial self-description. How can you comment on this research situation and can you offer some suggestions as to the contours of the future research agenda in this sphere? AP. Yes, I think I have touched upon this already a little bit. As I said earlier, we must never overlook the fact that empire is a mimetic process, and I think that there is a sense, certainly within Europe, that there is a model. How that model is conceived over time and how it is changed and modified over time seems to me crucial. It’s no accident that the basic model is always Rome, it’s no accident that that’s the model that is so often trotted out nowadays with regard to the American empire, the new American empire as the new Roman empire, which is taken quite literally by people in the State Department who have actually commissioned an inquiry about three years ago looking at various empires to decide how close America comes, and it’s Rome and Britain that seem to be the two models that always emerge. It’s no accident that the British Empire to a very great extent derived its inspiration from Roman imperial models, not least of all in the use of what you described as the self-representation. So I think it’s a very fruitful, potentially fruitful research agenda. It’s also, as I tried to suggest, in certain areas, ways in which the existing polity or series of polities that can be brought together and given a coherence, a political coherence, an image which serves distinct political purposes, to bring together persons who might otherwise be opposed to it, and you can see this very clearly in the 19th century, for instance, the empire becomes a term which is used almost in the way that great power is used today: if you don’t have an empire, you don’t belong to some sort of a club, which is why the Americans get dragged into the imperial process in 1898, it’s why the Japanese insist on being referred to as empire right until and indeed through the Second World War, although the word empire is an importation from Western Europe. So the idea that there exist some kind of an image or model of empire, varied and diverse though it is, that we can track through a whole diversity, as you rightly point out, of languages and literatures, looking at, I think, different ways in which this is being perceived, and how those ways relate to each other, and you are certainly right about it in that we have a lot of writing about the ways in which, particularly recently, the British empire was conceived by people in Britain, about the ways in which the empire was perceived by settler populations overseas, which were often

128 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 very different, and the ways in which it was perceived by subaltern groups of one sort or another, the way the conqueror is perceived by the conquered, and the conquered perceived by the conqueror. Through looking at these differing literatures of representation, one would arrive at a clearer under- standing of, in a sense, why this concept has been so important for so long? Because it would be very easy to, in a sense, take all of those states that tradition described as empires throughout most of European history, and give them some other name. In fact, it has been done, words like “composite monarchy” and so on, these phrases have been used by various states in Europe during this period, in an attempt as it were to dispense with the idea of empire, because empire was seeing as simply muddling and archaic. But nevertheless, the actors involved at a number of different levels seemed determined to represent themselves as being engaged in something which looked like an imperial process, so I am entirely agree with you and it seems to me the most profitable source of research agenda, and, as you say, exactly in the study of the self-representation of these different groups and the ways in which they act together. And there has certainly been a series of books recently that look at different groups What seems to be lacking in the historical literature so far is one, which attempts to integrate them, and this I think has a lot to do with the ideological charge related to empire. We are talking about it as if it is a mere academic interest but of course this is a highly charged area, and what we have seen is the rise of post-colonial studies, the rise of subaltern studies, and so on, which always stigmatizes the European imperial process as the kind of rampant evil. And I agree with what you suggested in the piece on the new imperial history of Russia that the ways the followers of Edward Said have tended to look at empires – they are monochrome, there is no divergence between them, there is no difference between different imperial processes, they all act and react in exactly the same way. Difference and variety comes only the side of the victim and never of the victor. This is obviously absurd. So we have to think very clearly about the myriad different kinds of imperial discourses, if you will, within all sections of the empire, and I think it is important to stress what I said earlier that no European empire could possibly have existed for long, for longer than the Third Reich did, unless it had very largely persuaded very large sections of its subordinate population that it was in its own interest to be part of that empire. So the processes by which the subaltern groups, if you like, themselves are drawn into the imperial process as active

129 Interview with A. Pagden, “There Is a Real Problem With the Semantic Field ” agents is also important. There is a historiography growing up now in Asia (I have a close colleague here, a very brilliant Indian historian, Sanjay Subrahmanyam*, who regards post-colonial studies as completely mistaken) – the idea that you should treat these very rich Asian cultures as if they were mere toys in the hands of superiur but malign Europeans is not only to present an entirely false picture of the relationships between the Europeans and the Indians, or the Asians in the Indian Ocean, but it’s also to denigrate and belittle these indigenous cultures themselves. They are enormously rich and enormously powerful and didn’t simply sit down un- der superior European technology. This is the point that I think is emerging now and what I would like finally to stress is that we have to get away from

* Sanjay Subrahmanyam was born in New Delhi, and received his Ph.D. in Economic History in 1987 at the Delhi School of Economics for his thesis on “Trade and the Regional Economy of South India, c. 1550-1650”. From 1983, he had begun to teach economic history and comparative economic development at the Delhi School of Economics, where he continued until 1995 as first Associate Professor and then Professor of Economic History (1993-1995). In these years, his interests broadened from economic and commercial history, to the study of the interplay of political and economic history, to the study of political culture and cultural history. This is already reflected in his first set of books: The Political Economy of Commerce: Southern India, 1500-1650. Cambridge, 1990; Improvising Empire: Portuguese Trade and Settlement in the Bay of Bengal, 1500-1700. Oxford, 1990; a joint work with V. Narayana Rao and David Shulman, Symbols of Substance: Court and State in Nayaka-period Tamilnadu. Oxford, 1992, and The Portuguese Empire in Asia, 1500-1700: A Political and Economic History. London, 1993. In the course of the 1990s, Subrahmanyam’s work has embraced new sources and archives, not only those from South India, or of the Portuguese and Spanish empires and the Dutch and English East India Companies, but also materials reflecting his growing interest in the history of the Mughal empire, and the comparative history of early modern empires. This accompanied his move to Paris as Directeur d’etudes in the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, where his position from 1995-2002 was defined as “Histoire économique et sociale de l’Inde et de l’Ocean Indien, XVe-XVIIIe siècles”. A second set of books reflects his later interests: The Mughal State, 1526-1750 edited jointly with Muzaffar Alam (Oxford, 1998); The Career and Legend of Vasco da Gama. Cambridge, 1998; Penumbral Visions: Making Polities in Early Modern South India (Ann Arbor, MI, 2001); and another joint work with V. Narayana Rao and David Shulman, Textures of Time: Writing History in South India, 1600-1800. Delhi, 2001. In 2002, Subrahmanyam was appointed as the first holder of the newly created Chair in Indian History and Culture at the University of Oxford. His most recent work, published by Oxford University Press, in 2004, is entitled Explorations in Connected History (Vol. I is entitled Mughals and Franks, and Vol. II, From the Tagus to the Ganges).

130 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 the idea these historical analyses are merely a way of apportioning blame to Europeans, to get away from the idea that all empires are necessarily evil structures and to see them much more widely in terms of what relationships existed between the conqueror and the conquered, between the empire-builder and the colonist and the colonizer, between the imperial administrator and the groups he or she was administrating, and to look at the relationship between subaltern and non-subaltern groups, for instance, and to try and do this, as it were, without seeing it as in some sense an ideological project that is an attempt to re-write the historical process from a different perspective. Having said that, I can see the value of post-colonial studies and subaltern studies (which seems to me to be a more serious and a better constructed enterprise): they were enormously influential in that they forced a new con- ception of empire upon imperial historians. What existed 20 years ago was a form of writing about empire, which was entirely top down, which was entirely viewed, as it were, from the colonial administrators’ point of view. We now have two historiographies, that old historiography, and we have a new historiography, which wants to see everything from the subaltern’s point of view, everything from the conquered, the colonized’ point of view, and wishes to see the subaltern and the colonized as essentially the victim of an historical process, which now needs to be reversed. What I think we now need to do is put these two together, to learn from what post-colonial stud- ies have taught us, to look much more sensitively, to look much more deep- ly at what was going on in the minds of and the perceptions of those who were being colonized, those who were being occupied. But we also need to see it as a relationship between these two groups, and not one of mere antipathy or hostility.

Northampton – Los-Angeles, April 29, 2005.

131 Interview with A. Pagden, “There Is a Real Problem With the Semantic Field ”

SUMMARY

 ðàìêàõ îòêðûâàþùåé íîìåð 1/2005 äèñêóññèè î ïåðñïåêòè- âàõ ðàçâèòèÿ Íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè Ðîññèè è Åâðàçèè, ðåäàêöèÿ Ab Imperio ïîïðîñèëà Ýíòîíè Ïàãäåíà, îäíîãî èç âåäóùèõ èñòîðèêîâ çàïàäíîåâðîïåéñêèõ èìïåðèé, äàòü èíòåðâüþ æóðíàëó. Íà ïåðâûé âîïðîñ, êàñàþùèéñÿ âîçìîæíîñòè èñïîëüçîâàíèÿ òåðìèíà “èìïåðèÿ” êàê àíàëèòè÷åñêîé êàòåãîðèè ïîñëå äîëãîãî ïåðèîäà äåëèãèòèìèçàöèè êîíöåïòà èìïåðèè â ðàìêàõ ñîöè- àëüíûõ è ãóìàíèòàðíûõ íàóê, âîçíèêøèõ â ïåðèîä ðàñöâåòà íàöèîíàëüíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà, Ïàãäåí îòìåòèë, ÷òî ïîãîíÿ çà äåôèíèöèÿìè “èìïåðèè” âðÿä ëè ñìîæåò ïîìî÷ü íàì â îïðåäå- ëåíèè ñìûñëîâîé íàãðóçêè òåðìèíà. Ý. Ïàãäåí íàïîìíèë ñâîå ñîáñòâåííîå îïðåäåëåíèå èìïåðèè êàê ïðîòÿæåííîãî ãîñóäàð- ñòâà, â êîòîðîì îäíà ýòíè÷åñêàÿ èëè ïëåìåííàÿ ãðóïïà óïðàâ- ëÿåò äðóãèìè ãðóïïàìè ïðè ïîìîùè òåõ èëè èíûõ ñðåäñòâ. Ïî ìíåíèþ Ïàãäåíà, íàì ñëåäóåò ïðîñëåäèòü, êàêèå ñìûñëû èñòîðè÷åñêè ïðèäàâàëèñü êîíöåïòó èìïåðèè, â ÷àñòíîñòè, îñîáîå çíà÷åíèå çäåñü èìååò âîïðîñ ñóâåðåíèòåòà, êîòîðûé ÿâëÿåòñÿ öåíòðàëüíûì äëÿ ïîíèìàíèÿ ôåíîìåíà èìïåðèè.  ýòîì ñìûñëå “èìïåðèÿ” – îòíîñèòåëüíî ïîçäíèé ôåíîìåí, ïîÿâëÿþùèéñÿ ëèøü â êîíöå XVIII âåêà. Äàæå ðèìëÿíå íàçûâàëè ñâîå ãîñóäàð- ñòâî “ðåñïóáëèêîé” èëè “ïðèíöèïàòîì”, è â òîì è â äðóãîì ñëó÷àå èìåÿ â âèäó òèï ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî ðåæèìà, à íå ïðîòÿæåí- íîñòü è íå ñëîæíîñîñòàâíîé õàðàêòåð ãîñóäàðñòâà. Âçàèìíîå âëèÿíèå èìïåðèè è õðèñòèàíñòâà ïðèâåëî ê íîâîìó èçîáðåòåíèþ Ðèìñêîé èìïåðèè ïðè Êàðëå Âåëèêîì, à âïîñëåäñòâèè, è ê âîçíèêíîâåíèþ Ñâÿùåííîé Ðèìñêîé èìïåðèè. Ê XVIII âåêó, ïàðàëëåëüíî ðàçâèòèþ íàöèîíàëüíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà, ñêëàäûâà- åòñÿ òðàäèöèÿ îñóæäåíèÿ èìïåðèè êàê àðõàè÷íîãî ïîðÿäêà.  òî æå âðåìÿ, óïîòðåáëåíèå òåðìèíà “èìïåðèÿ” ñòàíîâèòñÿ ïîâñåìåñòíûì èìåííî â XIX âåêå, êîãäà íîâûå èìïåðèè ñòàíî- âÿòñÿ àòðèáóòîì ìîãóùåñòâåííîãî íàöèîíàëüíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà,

132 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ýòî íîâûå “íàöèîíàëèñòè÷åñêèå” èìïåðèè, íàëè÷èå êîòîðûõ ÿâëÿåòñÿ óñëîâèåì ñòàòóñà âåëèêîé äåðæàâû.  îòâåò íà âòîðîé âîïðîñ î ãðàíèöàõ ñåìàíòè÷åñêîãî ïîëÿ êîíöåïöèè “èìïåðèè” è åå âçàèìîîòíîøåíèÿõ ñ òàêèìè ïîíÿ- òèÿìè êàê “öèâèëèçàöèÿ”, “ðåëèãèÿ” è “êîëîíèàëèçì”, Ý. Ïàãäåí îòìå÷àåò, ÷òî èñòîðèÿ êîíöåïòà èìïåðèè – ýòî èñòîðèÿ ðàçâèòèÿ êîíöåïöèé ñóâåðåíèòåòà. Ïðè÷åì, âàæíî òî, ÷òî â ïåðåäåëàõ Åâðîïû íå ïðåäïîëàãàëîñü âîçìîæíîñòè ðàçäåëåíèÿ ñóâåðåíè- òåòà, òîãäà êàê çà ïðåäåëàìè Åâðîïû, â çàìîðñêèõ èìïåðèÿõ – ñóâåðåíèòåò äåëèëñÿ ñ ìåñòíûìè ýëèòàìè. Ïàãäåí òàêæå ñ÷èòàåò, ÷òî ðåëèãèÿ è èìïåðèÿ áûëè âçàèìîñâÿçàíû òåñíåéøèì îáðàçîì, ïî êðàéíåé ìåðå, â Åâðîïå, âåäü èìïåðèÿ Ðèìà – ýòî (äèñêóð- ñèâíîå) ïîðîæäåíèå õðèñòèàíñòâà, à õðèñòèàíñêàÿ öåðêîâü (êàê èíñòèòóò) – èìåííî èìïåðñêèé ôåíîìåí. Ê XVIII âåêó ïðî- èñõîäèò ñâîåîáðàçíàÿ ñåêóëÿðèçàöèÿ èìïåðèè, êîòîðàÿ ñâÿçû- âàåòñÿ èìåííî ñ ïîíÿòèåì öèâèëèçàöèè è ãðàæäàíñòâåííîñòè, ïîíèìàåìûìè êàê ñâîéñòâà íîâîãî “êîììåð÷åñêîãî” îáùåñòâà. Ïðè ýòîì ïîäîáíîå ïîíèìàíèå èìïåðèè, êàê ó Áóðêå, ãîâîðèâ- øåì îá “èìïåðèè ñâîáîäû”, ïðåäïîëàãàåò ó÷àñòèå âñåõ ÷àñòåé èìïåðèè â îáùåì èìïåðñêîì ïðîåêòå. Ïàãäåí îòìå÷àåò, ÷òî â èñòîðèè èìïåðèè âàæåí ìîìåíò ìèìåçèñà è êîïèðîâàíèÿ, îòðàæàâ- øèéñÿ, â ÷àñòíîñòè, â àðõåòèïè÷åñêîì îáðàçå Ðèìñêîé èìïåðèè êàê âåëèêîé öèâèëèçèðóþùåé ñèëû. Êîëîíèàëèçì ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ Ïàãäåíó îòäåëüíûì ôåíîìåíîì, ïðåäïîëàãàþùèì ñóùåñòâîâàíèå îáøèðíûõ îòäàëåííûõ ïîñåëåíèé, êîòîðûå óíè÷òîæàþò ëèáî ïîðàáîùàþò ìåñòíîå íàñåëåíèå è ïîääåðæèâàåò ñ íèì î÷åíü ñëàáîå âçàèìîäåéñòâèå.  íåêîòîðûõ ñëó÷àÿõ – â Ëàòèíñêîé Àìå- ðèêå è â Ñåâåðíîé Àìåðèêå, â Àôðèêå, â Àâñòðàëèè, – åâðîïåéñêèå êîëîíèçàòîðû îïèðàþòñÿ íà òåõíîëîãè÷åñêîå ïðåâîñõîäñòâî äëÿ îñóùåñòâëåíèÿ ñâîåãî ãîñïîäñòâà. Ïîñêîëüêó ðå÷ü çäåñü íå èäåò î ðàçäåëåíèè ñóâåðåíèòåòà, Ïàãäåí ðàññìàòðèâàåò êîëîíèàëèçì êàê íåêîòîðîå ïðîòèâîðå÷èå ñàìîìó åâðîïåéñêîìó èìïåðñêîìó ïðîöåññó. Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, êîíöåïöèÿ èìïåðèè â XIX âåêå ïðè- ìåíèòåëüíî ê êîíòèíåíòàëüíûì èìïåðèÿì Åâðîïû èìååò åùå îäíî çíà÷åíèå – èìïåðèÿ ïðèäàåò íåêóþ îáùóþ ïîëèòè÷åñêóþ èäåíòè÷íîñòü ðàçëè÷íûì çåìëÿì è îáùåñòâàì, êîòîðûå èíà÷å íå îáëàäàëè áû îùóùåíèåì åäèíñòâà (íàïðèìåð, â ñëó÷àå Ãàáñáóðãîâ).

133 Interview with A. Pagden, “There Is a Real Problem With the Semantic Field ” Îòâå÷àÿ íà ñëåäóþùèé âîïðîñ î òîì, íàñêîëüêî ïîëåçíî â àíàëèòè÷åñêîì ïëàíå ðàçëè÷èå ìåæäó “çàìîðñêèìè è êîëîíè- àëüíûìè” èìïåðèÿìè ìîðñêèõ äåðæàâ çàïàäà è “êîíòèíåí- òàëüíûìè è äèíàñòè÷åñêèìè” èìïåðèÿìè, Ý. Ïàãäåí âûäåëÿåò êàê áîëåå ïëîäîòâîðíîå ðàçëè÷èå ìåæäó êîëîíèàëüíûìè (ñî çíà- ÷èòåëüíûì íàñåëåíèåì ïåðåñåëåíöåâ) èìïåðèÿìè è èìïåðèÿìè, â êîòîðûõ òàêîå íàñåëåíèå èëè ìèíèìàëüíî, èëè ñìåøèâàåòñÿ ñ íàñåëåíèåì àâòîõòîííûì (êàê â ñëó÷àÿõ ñ Îòòîìàíñêîé èìïåðèåé). Ðàññóæäàÿ î ñîâðåìåííîì èíòåðåñå ê èññëåäîâàíèÿì èìïåðèè, Ý. Ïàãäåí óòâåðæäàåò, ÷òî ýòîò èíòåðåñ, áåçóñëîâíî, ïîäîãðå- âàåòñÿ òåêóùèìè ïîëèòè÷åñêèìè ñîáûòèÿìè, â ÷àñòíîñòè, ðîñòîì àìåðèêàíñêîãî ìîãóùåñòâà â ìèðå è äèñêóññèÿìè âíóòðè àìå- ðèêàíñêîãî îáùåñòâà î ðîëè è ìåñòå ÑØÀ â ìèðå.  òî æå âðåìÿ, Ïàãäåí íå ñ÷èòàåò âîçìîæíûì ðàññìàòðèâàòü ÑØÀ êàê èìïåðèþ, òàê êàê ñîâðåìåííàÿ Àìåðèêà íå äåëèò ñóâåðåíèòåò ñ çàìîðñêèìè òåððèòîðèÿìè. Òàêèì æå îáðàçîì è ñîâðåìåííûé Åâðîïåéñêèé Ñîþç íå ìîæåò, ïî ìíåíèþ Ý. Ïàãäåíà, ðàññìàò- ðèâàòüñÿ êàê èìïåðèÿ, ïîñêîëüêó ðå÷ü èäåò î äîáðîâîëüíîì è ðàâíîïðàâíîì ôåäåðàòèâíîì ñîþçå ãîñóäàðñòâ. Ïàãäåí íå âèäèò âîçìîæíîñòè èñïîëüçîâàòü èñòîðè÷åñêèé îïûò èìïåðèé â èññëå- äîâàíèÿõ ãëîáàëèçàöèè, òàê êàê ãëîáàëèçàöèÿ åñòü ëèøü ýêî- íîìè÷åñêèé ïðîöåññ, à èìïåðèÿ – ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ îðãàíèçàöèÿ, ñâÿçàííàÿ ñ ñóâåðåíèòåòîì. Íà óòî÷íÿþùèé âîïðîñ ðåäàêöèè î âîçìîæíîñòè èñïîëüçîâàòü îïûò âçàèìîäåéñòâèÿ è âçàèìîâëè- ÿíèÿ ðàçëè÷íûõ êóëüòóðíûõ ôåíîìåíîâ âíóòðè èìïåðñêîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà (íàïðèìåð, åâðîïåéñêîãî ìîäåðíèçèðóþùåãî ãîñó- äàðñòâà è èñëàìñêèõ îáùåñòâ â Ðîññèéñêîé èìïåðèè), Ý. Ïàãäåí ñîãëàøàåòñÿ ñ òåì, ÷òî ïðè òàêîì âçãëÿäå, áåçóñëîâíî, èìïåðèè ïðîøëîãî ìîãóò äàòü ìíîãî ëþáîïûòíîãî ìàòåðèàëà î ñïîñîáàõ âûæèâàíèè è àäàïòàöèè êóëüòóðíûõ è ýòíè÷åñêèõ ìåíüøèíñòâ. Îòâå÷àÿ íà âîïðîñ ðåäàêöèè î âîçìîæíîñòè è íåîáõîäèìîñòè èññëåäîâàíèÿ ÿçûêîâ ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè íå êàê îòðåôëåê- òèðîâàííîãî “èìïåðñêîãî ñîçíàíèÿ”, íî êàê ðàçëè÷íûõ ïî ïðîèñõîæäåíèþ äèñêóðñîâ, ãåíåðèðóåìûõ ðàçíûìè àêòîðàìè â èìïåðèè, Ý. Ïàãäåí îòìå÷àåò ïîòåíöèàëüíóþ ïëîäîòâîðíîñòü òàêîãî ïîäõîäà.  ÷àñòíîñòè, ïî åãî ìíåíèþ, ñàìîðåïðåçåíòàöèÿ

134 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 èìïåðèè èìååò áîëüøîå çíà÷åíèå.  ýòîì êîíòåêñòå áîëüøóþ ðîëü èìååò ïðåîäîëåíèå äèõîòîìèè ìåæäó ïîñòêîëîíèàëüíûìè èññëåäîâàíèÿìè è subaltern studies ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû, è ïîëèòè- ÷åñêîé èñòîðèåé èìïåðèè – ñ äðóãîé. Êðèòèêóÿ îäíîñòîðîííèé ïîäõîä îáåèõ èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêèõ òðàäèöèé, Ý. Ïàãäåí ïðèçû- âàåò ê òàêèì èññëåäîâàíèÿì ÿçûêîâ ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè, â êîòîðûõ íàèáîëåå øèðîêî îòðàæàëèñü áû ñàìûå ðàçëè÷íûå àêòîðû ýòèõ ñëîæíûõ ïîëèòèé.

135 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Marina MOGILNER

ON CABBAGES, KINGS, AND JEWS

(YURI SLEZKINE, THE JEWISH CENTURY. PRINCETON, 2004) YU. SELZKINE. ERA MERKURIIA:

EVREI V SOVREMENNOM MIRE. MOSKVA, 2005)

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Ìàðèíà ÌÎÃÈËÜÍÅÐ

Î ÊÎÐÎËßÕ, ÊÀÏÓÑÒÅ È ÅÂÐÅßÕ

(YURI SLEZKINE, THE JEWISH CENTURY. PRINCETON, 2004) Þ. Ñ˨ÇÊÈÍ. ÝÐÀ ÌÅÐÊÓÐÈß: ÅÂÐÅÈ Â ÑÎÂÐÅÌÅÍÍÎÌ ÌÈÐÅ. ÌÎÑÊÂÀ, 2005)

137 M. Mogilner, On Cabbages, Kings, and Jews... “The time has come To talk of many things: Of shoes – and ships – and sealing-wax Of cabbages – and kings And why the sea is boiling hot And whether pigs have wings.” Lewis Carroll. Alice through the Looking Glass

Having opened this large, emotionally charged, and imaginatively written book with its respectable bibliography, the unbiased reader will first of all be intrigued by the crisp title that obviously requires a clarifying subtitle. What exactly is the “Jewish century” and how does it correspond to other “titular” versions of the 20th century, which have been the subject of so many books: The German Century (London, 1999), The Russian Century (New York, 1994), The Chinese Century (the Library of Congress has three ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a “Ïðèøëà ïîðà Ïîäóìàòü î äåëàõ: Î áàøìàêàõ è ñóðãó÷å, Êàïóñòå, êîðîëÿõ, È ïî÷åìó, êàê ñóï â êîòëå, Êèïèò âîäà â ìîðÿõ”. Ëüþèñ Êýððîëë. Àëèñà â Çàçåðêàëüå

Îòêðûâàÿ ýòó áîëüøóþ, íàïèñàííóþ îáðàçíî è ýìîöèîíàëüíî êíèãó ñ îáøèðíûì ñïðàâî÷íûì àïïàðàòîì è âíóøàþùåé óâàæåíèå áèáëèîãðàôèåé, íåïðåäâçÿòûé ÷èòàòåëü, ïðåæäå âñåãî, áóäåò çàèíò- ðèãîâàí åìêèì êîðîòêèì íàçâàíèåì, ÿâíî òðåáóþùèì êîíêðåòè- çèðóþùåãî ïîäçàãîëîâêà. ×òî æå ýòî òàêîå – “åâðåéñêèé âåê”, è êàê îí ñîîòíîñèòñÿ ñ äðóãèìè “èìåííûìè” âåðñèÿìè XX ñòîëåòèÿ, î êîòîðûõ íàïèñàíî íåìàëî êíèã: “German Century” (London, 1999), “Russian Century” (New York, 1994), “Chinese Century” (Áèáëèîòåêà Êîíãðåññà ÑØÀ õðàíèò 3 ðàçíûå êíèãè ïîä ýòèì íàçâàíèåì) èëè 138 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 different books of that title) or The American Century (at least a dozen of works)? What can these 438 pages of small print contain? There appears to be no direct and simple answer to these questions. Yuri Slezkine himself, a master of the narrative, warns his reader right away that the book cannot be read quickly from the introduction to the conclusion, and that each chapter is in fact a separate book distinct from other chapters in method and perspective. This is certainly warranted. The first chapter bewilders the reader by its somewhat old fashioned structuralism, when the hypothetical universal “Otherness” (Mercurianism)1 is constructed from

1 Mercurians, Slezkin explains, were groups of “nonprimary producers specializing in the delivery of goods and services to the surrounding agricultural or pastoral populations. ...They were the descendants or predecessors – of Hermes (Mercury), the god of all those who did not herd animals, till the soil, or live by the sword; the patron of rule breakers, border crossers, and go-betweens; the protector of people who lived by their wit, craft, and art. One could choose to emphasize heroism, dexterity, deviousness, or foreignness, but what all of Hermes’ followers had in common was their mercuriality, or impermanence. In the case of nations, it meant that they were all transients and wanderers – from fully nomadic Gypsy groups, to mostly commercial communities divided into fixed brokers and traveling agents, to permanently settled populations who though of themselves as exiles”. (Pp. 7-8). ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a “American Century” (ñóùåñòâóåò íåñêîëüêî äþæèí êíèã ïîä òàêèì íàçâàíèåì)? Î ÷åì æå ïîâåñòâóåòñÿ â ýòîé êíèãå íà 438 ñòðàíèöàõ ìåëêîãî òåêñòà? Íàì êàæåòñÿ, ÷òî íà ýòè âîïðîñû íåò ïðÿìîãî è ïðîñòîãî îòâåòà. Äà è ñàì Þðèé Ñë¸çêèí – ìàñòåð íàððàòèâà – ñðàçó ïðåäóïðåæäàåò ñâîåãî ÷èòàòåëÿ, ÷òî åãî êíèãó íå “ïðîìîòàåøü” îò ââåäåíèÿ ê çàêëþ- ÷åíèþ, ÷òî êàæäàÿ ãëàâà – îòäåëüíàÿ êíèãà, äà åùå è îòëè÷àþùàÿñÿ îò ñîñåäíåé êíèãè-ãëàâû ïî ìåòîäó è ïåðñïåêòèâå. Òàê îíî è åñòü: ïåðâàÿ ãëàâà îçàäà÷èâàåò ñâîèì íåñêîëüêî ñòàðîìîäíûì ñòðóêòóðàëèçìîì, êîãäà ãèïîòåòè÷åñêàÿ óíèâåðñàëüíàÿ “÷óæäîñòü” – ìåðêóðèàíñòâî1 – êîíñòðóèðóåòñÿ èç ñòðóêòóðíî ïîäîáíûõ ýëåìåíòîâ ñîöèàëüíîãî

1 Ñë¸çêèí ïîÿñíÿåò, ÷òî ìåðêóðèàíöàìè áûëè òå ãðóïïû íàñåëåíèÿ, êîòîðûå “íå ÿâëÿëèñü íåïîñðåäñòâåííûìè ïðîèçâîäèòåëÿìè, à ñïåöèàëèçèðîâàëèñü íà äîñòàâêå òîâàðîâ è ïðåäîñòàâëåíèè óñëóã îêðóæàþùèì ñåëüñêîõîçÿéñòâåííûì èëè ïàñòóøåñêèì íàðîäàì. ...Îíè áûëè íàñëåäíèêàìè èëè ïðåäøåñòâåííèêàìè Ãåðìåñà (Ìåðêóðèÿ) – áîãà âñåõ òåõ, êòî íå ñîáèðàë â ñòàäà æèâîòíûõ, íå îáðàáàòûâàë ïî÷âó è íå çàðàáàòûâàë íà æèçíü ìå÷îì; ïîêðîâèòåëü çàêîíîîñëóøíèêîâ, íàðóøèòåëåé ãðàíèö è ïðîíûð; çàùèòíèê ëþäåé, 139 M. Mogilner, On Cabbages, Kings, and Jews... structurally similar elements of the social conduct of Roma, Jews, the Chinese, African tribes and Indian castes. The “Mercurian” concept is lively peppered with quotes from V. Rozanov as well as with the author’s own visions.2 The following chapters refer to epos (Tevie had five daughters ), while the last chapter is almost free from the metaphoric Mercurian-Apollonian3 language and is distinguished by rational judgment and a realistic view of the always observant and honest person who reflects upon his personal existential experience. In addition, the book has no formal conclusion which would have solved the reader’s doubts

2 Ñð.: “A Jewish house in Ukraine did not resemble the peasant hut next door, not because it was Jewish in architecture (there was no such thing) but because it was never painted, mended, or decorated. It did not belong to the landscape; it was a dry husk that contained the real treasure – the children of and their memory”. (P. 9). 3 Apollonianism is used as a metaphor-antipode to Mercurianism. Apollonians – the descendants of Apollo, who “possessed most things in the universe because he was god of both livestock and agriculture. As the patron of food production, Apollo owned much of the land, directed the flow of time, protected sailors and warriors, and inspired true poets. He was both manly and eternally young, athletic and artistic, prophetic and dignified ” (P. 24). ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a

ïîâåäåíèÿ öûãàí, åâðååâ, êèòàéöåâ, ïëåìåí Àôðèêè è èíäèéñêèõ êàñò, à äëÿ ïóùåé æèâîñòè êîíñòðóêò “ìåðêóðèàíñòâà” ðàñöâå÷èâàåòñÿ öèòà- òàìè èç Â. Ðîçàíîâà è ñîáñòâåííûìè âèäåíèÿìè àâòîðà.2 Ñëåäóþùèå ãëàâû îòñûëàþò ê ýïîñó (“Ó Òåâüå áûëî ïÿòü äî÷åê ”), à ïîñëåäíÿÿ ãëàâà, ïî÷òè ñâîáîäíàÿ îò ìåòàôîðè÷åñêîãî ìåðêóðèàíñêî-àïîëëî-

îáåñïå÷èâàâøèõ ñåáå ñóùåñòâîâàíèå çà ñ÷åò îñòðîãî óìà, ìàñòåðñòâà è âëàäåíèÿ èñêóññòâàìè... Ïîñëåäîâàòåëåé Ãåðìåñà ìîæíî îïèñàòü ñ ïîìîùüþ òàêèõ õàðàêòåðèñòèê, êàê ãåðîèçì, óìåëîñòü, êîâàðñòâî, ÷óæäîñòü, íî âñåõ èõ îáúåäèíÿëî, ïðåæäå âñåãî, ìåðêóðèàíñòâî, íåïîñòîÿíñòâî. Ïðèìåíèòåëüíî ê íàðîäàì ýòî îçíà÷àëî, ÷òî îíè áûëè ïåðåñåëåíöàìè è ïóòåøåñòâåííèêàìè – íà÷èíàÿ ñ êî÷åâíèêîâ öûãàí, âêëþ÷àÿ ïðåèìóùåñòâåííî êîììåð÷åñêèå ñîîáùåñòâà, ðàçäåëåííûå íà îñåäëûõ áðîêåðîâ è ïóòåøåñòâóþùèõ àãåíòîâ, è çàêàí÷èâàÿ îñåäëûì íàñåëåíèåì, êîòîðîå âîñïðèíèìàëî ñåáÿ êàê ýìèãðàíòîâ.” (C. 7-8.) 2 Ñð.: “Åâðåéñêèé äîì íà Óêðàèíå íå íàïîìèíàë ñîñåäíþþ êðåñòüÿíñêóþ õàòó, è íå ïîòîìó ÷òî åãî àðõèòåêòóðà áûëà åâðåéñêîé (òàêîãî ïîíÿòèÿ íå ñóùåñòâîâàëî), íî ïîòîìó, ÷òî îí íèêîãäà íå êðàñèëñÿ, íå ðåìîíòèðîâàëñÿ è íå óêðàøàëñÿ. Îí íå ïðèíàäëåæàë îêðóæàþùåìó ïðîñòðàíñòâó; îí ÿâëÿëñÿ ñóõèì êàðêàñîì, õðàíèâøèì íàñòîÿùåå ñîêðîâèùå – äåòåé Èçðàèëÿ è èõ ïàìÿòü”. (Ñ. 9.) 140 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Even the chronological framework of the “Jewish century” is hard to es- tablish – apparently it has not yet come to an end. Slezkine describes the Soviet scenario of the 1920s and 1930s, when the Jews, as the “most Soviet” nation, became the most “political” and “cultural” and therefore successful “elite” within the nation. This scenario is being repeated now in the United States because the country is “Mercurian” by definition and the “Jewish cen- tury” is projected to last here forever. This, at least, follows logically from the author argument since the “postmodern condition” is not reflected in the book from the point of view of the “Jewish Mercurianism”’ evolution. It is also not quite clear who the Jews discussed in the book are exactly. The difference between a Jew and a non-Jew is equally left open given that such a Jewish/non-Jewish difference has lost its meaning against the back- ground of global metaphors of “Mercurianism” and “Apollonianism”.4 It is not accidental that the book ends with an artistic metaphor, characteristic of the author who prefers the symbolism of metaphors and out-of-context quotations to decisive analytical conclusions:

4 The basic difference between Apollonians and Mercurians “is the all-important difference between those who grow food and those who create concepts and artifacts.” (P. 24.) ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a íèàíñêîãî ÿçûêà,3 îòëè÷àåòñÿ ðàöèîíàëüíîñòüþ ñóæäåíèé è ðåàëèçìîì âçãëÿäà íàáëþäàòåëüíîãî è ÷åñòíîãî ÷åëîâåêà, ðàçìûøëÿþùåãî íàä ñîáñòâåííûì æèçíåííûì îïûòîì. Ïðè ýòîì ó êíèãè íåò ôîðìàëüíîãî çàêëþ÷åíèÿ, êîòîðîå, íàêîíåö, ðàçðåøèëî áû ñîìíåíèÿ ÷èòàòåëÿ Äàæå õðîíîëîãè÷åñêèå ðàìêè “åâðåéñêîãî âåêà” òðóäíî óñòàíîâèòü: ñóäÿ ïî âñåìó, åâðåéñêîå ñòîëåòèå âñå åùå ïðîäîëæàåòñÿ. Ñîâåòñêèé ñöåíàðèé 1920-õ – íà÷àëà 1930-õ ãîäîâ, êîãäà, ïî ìíåíèþ Ñë¸çêèíà, åâðåè, êàê “ñàìàÿ ñîâåòñêàÿ” íàöèÿ, ñòàëè ñàìîé “ïîëèòè÷åñêîé” è “êóëüòóðíîé”, à ïîòîìó – óñïåøíîé “ýëèòíîé” íàöèåé, íûíå ïîâòî- ðÿåòñÿ â ÑØÀ, è ïîñêîëüêó ýòà ñòðàíà “ìåðêóðèàíñêàÿ” ïî îïðåäå- ëåíèþ, åâðåéñêèé âåê çäåñü áóäåò äëèòüñÿ âñåãäà. Ïî êðàéíåé ìåðå,

3 Àïîëëîíèéñòâî èñïîëüçóåòñÿ êàê ìåòàôîðà-àíòèïîä ìåðêóðèàíñòâà. Àïîëëîíèéöû – ïîòîìêè Àïîëëîíà, “êîòîðûé îáëàäàë ïî÷òè âñåì íà ñâåòå, ïîòîìó ÷òî áûë áîãîì óðîæàÿ è ñåëüñêîãî õîçÿéñòâà. Ïîêðîâèòåëüñòâóÿ ïðîèçâîäñòâó ïðîäóêòîâ, Àïîëëîí âëàäåë áîëüøåé ÷àñòüþ çåìåëüíûõ óãîäèé, ðåãóëèðîâàë òå÷åíèå âðåìåíè, çàùèùàë ìîðåïëàâàòåëåé è âîèíîâ è âäîõíîâëÿë íàñòîÿùèõ ïîýòîâ. Îí áûë ìóæåñòâåííûì è âå÷íî ìîëîäûì, àòëåòè÷åñêèì è àðòèñòè÷íûì, ïðîôåòè÷åñêèì è èñïîëíåííûì äîñòîèíñòâà...” (Ñ. 24.) 141 M. Mogilner, On Cabbages, Kings, and Jews... For better or for worse? Tevye was not sure. Why raise Jewish daughters if they were going “to break away in the end like the leaves that fall from a tree and are carried off by the wind?” But then again, “what did being a Jew or not a Jew matter? Why did God have to create both?” (P. 371). The relativism evident in this concluding quotation from Sholom Aleichem bewilders the reader for it retrospectively relativizes the entire book’s theses, in which citations, plot lines and images are undoubtedly interesting, but owe their presence in the book to the author’s voluntary research and artistic logic. Yuri Slezkine’s encyclopedic knowledge and the riches of the book’s bibliography are hardly used to develop one argument or another. Nor do they form the basis for conclusions that are far from obvious. This is not accidental either: the ambivalent character of writing may reflect an unclear position with respect to the narrated material. Slezkine simultaneously selects the material and groups it “from outside” (as an “objective researcher”) ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a

ýòî ñëåäóåò èç àâòîðñêîé ëîãèêè, ïîñêîëüêó “óñëîâèå ïîñòìîäåðíà” íå íàõîäèò â êíèãå ñâîåãî îñìûñëåíèÿ ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ ýâîëþöèè “åâðåéñêîãî ìåðêóðèàíñòâà”. Íå ÿñíî òàêæå, êòî òàêèå “åâðåè”, î êîòîðûõ ãîâîðèòñÿ â êíèãå, ïîñêîëüêó ðàçíèöà ìåæäó åâðååì è íå-åâðååì, åâðåéñêèì è íå-åâðåéñêèì òåðÿåò ñâîþ çíà÷èìîñòü íà ôîíå ãëîáàëüíûõ ìåòàôîð “ìåðêóðèàíñòâà” è “àïïîëîíèéñòâà”.4 Íåñëó÷àéíî êíèãà çàêàí÷èâàåòñÿ õóäîæåñòâåííîé ìåòàôîðîé, ñòîëü õàðàêòåðíîé äëÿ ñòèëÿ ýòîãî àâòîðà, ïðåäïî÷èòàþùåãî ñèìâîëèçì ìåòàôîð è âíå- êîíòåêñòíûõ öèòàò îäíîçíà÷íûì àíàëèòè÷åñêèì âûâîäàì: Ðàäè ÷åãî? Òåâüå íå áûë óâåðåí. Çà÷åì ðàñòèòü åâðåéñêèõ äî÷åðåé, ÷òîáû îíè ïîòîì “âäðóã îòðûâàëèñü è îïàäàëè, ñëîâíî øèøêè ñ äåðåâà, è ÷òîáû çàíîñèëî èõ âåòðîì íåâåñòü êóäà?” Íî, îïÿòü æå, “À ÷òî òàêîå åâðåé è íååâðåé? È çà÷åì áîã ñîçäàë åâðååâ è íååâðååâ?” (P. 371) Ðåëÿòèâèçì ýòîé çàâåðøàþùåé êíèãó öèòàòû èç Øîëîì-Àëåéõåìà îêîí÷àòåëüíî îáåñêóðàæèâàåò, ðåòðîñïåêòèâíî ðåëÿòèâèçèðóÿ âñå ïîñòðîåíèÿ êíèãè, â êîòîðîé öèòàòû, ñþæåòû è îáðàçû, áåçóñëîâíî, èíòåðåñíû, íî ñâîèì ïðèñóòñòâèåì â òåêñòå îáÿçàíû èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîìó ïðîèçâîëó è õóäîæåñòâåííîé ëîãèêå àâòîðà.

4 Îñíîâíîå ðàçëè÷èå ìåæäó àïïîëîíèéöàìè è ìåðêóðèàíöàìè – áàçîâîå ðàçëè÷èå “ìåæäó òåìè, êòî âûðàùèâàåò åäó è òåìè, êòî ñîçäàåò êîíöåïòû è àðòåôàêòû”. (Ñ. 24.) 142 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 and periodically demonstrates his personal involvement with and integration into the texts (including the biographical ones) with which he works. If we take this method to be anthropological, then we will have to admit that Slezkine is inconsistent in his anthropology because he refuses to explore the original web of meanings of the culture being studied. If this is “Jewish history”, then it is a secondary history constructed on interpretations of historiography. And if this is an attempt at historiosophy, then why does it contain a solid scholarly apparatus, numerous footnotes and interpretations of historiographic contexts? If it’s a form of autobiographic writing, which is hinted in the dedi- cations at the beginning of the book, then how appropriate it is to use conventions of professional scholarly writing, appealing to the scholarly community and allowing the book’s data and conclusions to be verified? Which method allows metaphors to be given the status of analytical concepts (and for giving birth to monsters like “Mercurian Apollonians”)? ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a Ýíöèêëîïåäèçì Þ. Ñë¸çêèíà è áîãàòñòâî áèáëèîãðàôè÷åñêîãî àïïàðàòà êíèãè ïî÷òè íå èñïîëüçóþòñÿ äëÿ ðàçâèòèÿ òîãî èëè èíîãî àðãóìåíòà èëè îáîñíîâàíèÿ íåî÷åâèäíîãî âûâîäà. È ýòî íå ñëó÷àéíî: íåïîñëåäîâàòåëüíîñòü àâòîðñêîãî ïèñüìà ìîæåò áûòü ñëåäñòâèåì íåÿñíîñòè àâòîðñêîé ïîçèöèè ïî îòíîøåíèþ ê èçëàãàåìîìó ìàòåðèàëó. Ñë¸çêèí îäíîâðåìåííî âîëþíòàðèñòñêè åãî îòáèðàåò è ãðóïïèðóåò “èçâíå” (êàê “îáúåêòèâíûé èññëåäîâàòåëü”), â òî æå âðåìÿ ïåðèî- äè÷åñêè äåìîíñòðèðóÿ ñîáñòâåííóþ ïðè÷àñòíîñòü è âêëþ÷åííîñòü “èçíóòðè” â òåêñòû (â òîì ÷èñëå, áèîãðàôè÷åñêèå), ñ êîòîðûìè ðàáîòàåò. Åñëè ðàññìàòðèâàòü ýòîò ìåòîä êàê àíòðîïîëîãè÷åñêèé, òî ïðèäåòñÿ ïðèçíàòü òàêóþ àíòðîïîëîãèþ íåïîñëåäîâàòåëüíîé – Ñë¸çêèí îòêàçûâàåòñÿ ðåêîíñòðóèðîâàòü îðèãèíàëüíóþ ñåòêó çíà÷åíèé èçó÷àåìîé êóëüòóðû. Åñëè ýòî “åâðåéñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ”, òî âòîðè÷íàÿ, ïîñòðîåííàÿ íà èíòåðïðåòàöèè èñòîðèîãðàôèè. À åñëè ïåðåä íàìè ïîïûòêà èñòîðèîñîôèè, òî ê ÷åìó ñòîëü ñîëèäíûé íàó÷íûé àïïàðàò â âèäå ìíîæåñòâà ñíîñîê è ðåêîíñòðóêöèè èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêèõ êîíòåêñòîâ? Åñëè æå ýòî – ôîðìà àâòîáèîã- ðàôè÷åñêîãî ïèñüìà, íà ÷òî íàìåêàþò ïîñâÿùåíèÿ â íà÷àëå êíèãè, âîçíèêàåò çàêîíîìåðíûé âîïðîñ î ïðàâîìî÷íîñòè èñïîëüçîâàíèÿ â äàííîì ñëó÷àå êîíâåíöèé ïðîôåññèîíàëüíîãî íàó÷íîãî ïèñüìà, ïðåäïîëàãàþùåãî àïåëëÿöèþ ê íàó÷íîìó ñîîáùåñòâó è ïîçâî- ëÿþùåìó âåðèôèêàöèþ äàííûõ è âûâîäîâ ðàáîòû. È êàêîé âîîáùå ìåòîä ðàöèîíàëüíîãî äèñêóðñà äîïóñêàåò ïðèäàíèå ìåòàôîðàì

143 M. Mogilner, On Cabbages, Kings, and Jews... Numerous facts and works cited in the book can be compared to an enor- mous mosaic that needs to be perceived “aesthetically” as a whole (for it has many parts which make little sense on their own). The holistic vision of modernity/Mercurianism of this complex mosaic ignores properly Jewish tendencies of development, Jewish intellectual and political currents (for example, the Idishist ideologies in their Jewish and not Soviet “koreni- zatsia” contexts). It ignores practices of acculturation or retreat from the impact of universal values of the modern. The Holocaust, undoubtedly a modern phenomenon – is also pushed somewhat to the margins since, if we follow Slezkine’s metaphorical line, the Holocaust ought to mean the end of the “Jewish century”, literally “the final solution” in favor of the Apollonian principle (although, can there be limits to playing with metaphors? – why not proclaim the Nazis inspired by an idea to be Mercurians?). Zionism, an ideology of modern Jewish nationalism, is also relatively marginalized in the book, acquiring importance only in connection with the fact of the Zionist ideal being realized in the state of Israel. Slezkine proclaims Zionism to be a reaction to modernity, an anti-modern phenomenon because “Zionists ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a ñòàòóñà àíàëèòè÷åñêèõ êîíöåïòîâ (ïîðîæäàÿ ìîíñòðîâ òèïà “ìåðêó- ðèàíñêèõ àïîëëîíèéöåâ”)? Ìíîãî÷èñëåííûå ôàêòû è ðàáîòû, óïîìèíàåìûå â êíèãå, ìîæíî óïîäîáèòü, ñêîðåå, îãðîìíîé ìîçàèêå, êîòîðóþ íåîáõîäèìî âîñïðè- íèìàòü öåëèêîì (òàê êàê îíà ñîñòîèò èç ÷àñòåé, èìåþùèõ ìàëî ñìûñëà ïî îòäåëüíîñòè) è “õóäîæåñòâåííî”. Õîëèñòñêàÿ êàðòèíà ìîäåðíîñòè/ ìåðêóðèàíñòâà ýòîé ñëîæíîé ìîçàèêè èãíîðèðóåò ñîáñòâåííî åâðåé- ñêèå òåíäåíöèè ðàçâèòèÿ, åâðåéñêèå èäåéíûå è ïîëèòè÷åñêèå òå÷åíèÿ (íàïðèìåð, èäèøèñòñêèå èäåîëîãèè â èõ åâðåéñêîì, à íå ñîâåòñêîì “êîðåíèçàöèîííîì” êîíòåêñòå), ïðàêòèêè àêêóëüòóðàöèè èëè óõîäà îò âëèÿíèÿ óíèâåðñàëüíûõ öåííîñòåé “ìîäåðíà”. Õîëîêîñò – áåçóñ- ëîâíûé ôåíîìåí “ìîäåðíà” – òîæå âûòåñíÿåòñÿ êóäà-òî çà ðàìêè êàð- òèíû, ïîñêîëüêó, åñëè ñëåäîâàòü ìåòàôîðè÷åñêîìó ðÿäó Ñë¸çêèíà, îí äîëæåí çíàìåíîâàòü êîíåö “åâðåéñêîãî âåêà”, áóêâàëüíî “îêîí- ÷àòåëüíîå ðåøåíèå” â ïîëüçó “àïïîëîíèñòè÷åñêîãî” íà÷àëà (õîòÿ – åñòü ëè ïðåäåëû ó èãðû ñ ìåòàôîðàìè! – ïî÷åìó îäóõîòâîðåííûõ èäååé íàöèñòîâ íåëüçÿ îáúÿâèòü “ìåðêóðèàíöàìè”?). Ñèîíèçì – èäåîëîãèÿ ìîäåðíîãî åâðåéñêîãî íàöèîíàëèçìà, òàêæå ïðåäñòàâëÿåò ñîáîé îòíîñèòåëüíî ìàðãèíàëèçèðîâàííûé ñþæåò êíèãè, îáðåòàþùèé âàæ- íîñòü ëèøü â ñâÿçè ñ ôàêòîì îñóùåñòâëåíèÿ ñèîíèñòñêîãî èäåàëà

144 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 were trying to transform Mercurians into Appolonians” (P. 269). At the end of the day, the principle boundaries between “modernity in general” and Jewish strategies of modernization, between “revolution” and Jewish participation in the revolution, between Marxism and Jewish contributions to Marxism vanish. This disappearance follows from a logic, according to which all of these are merely various incarnations of the general phenomenon of modernity (the universal Mercurianism) with the Jews being the Mercurians par exellence. It is hard to assume that Yuri Slezkine, the author of one of the best works on the impact of korenizatsia on the history of smaller peoples of the North as well as an entire range of influential articles (suffice it to recall the famous metaphor of the communal apartment he used to describe Soviet nationalities policy), has consciously left so many specific episodes and important judgments in a book which aspires to be part of professional Jewish historiography to the mercy of pedantic critics and Jewish history experts. It is more likely that the author of the Jewish Century is not specifically interested in the Jews. The Jewish context simply appeared the most suitable way for him to capture and localize the truly boundless problem of modernity ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a â ãîñóäàðñòâå Èçðàèëü. Ñë¸çêèí îáúÿâëÿåò ñèîíèçì ðåàêöèåé íà ìîäåð- íîñòü, àíòèìîäåðíèñòñêèì ôåíîìåíîì, ïîñêîëüêó “Ñèîíèñòû ïûòà- ëèñü ïðåâðàòèòü ìåðêóðèàíöåâ â àïîëëîíèéöå┠(P. 269).  êîíå÷íîì èòîãå, â êíèãå ñòèðàåòñÿ ïðèíöèïèàëüíàÿ ðàçíèöà ìåæäó “ìîäåðíîì âîîáùå” è åâðåéñêèìè ñòðàòåãèÿìè ìîäåðíèçàöèè; ìåæäó “ðåâîëþ- öèåé” è åâðåéñêèì ó÷àñòèåì â ðåâîëþöèè; ìåæäó ìàðêñèçìîì è åâðåé- ñêèì âêëàäîì â ìàðêñèçì – êîëü ñêîðî âñå ýòî ëèøü ðàçëè÷íûå ïðîÿâëåíèÿ îáùåãî ôåíîìåíà ìîäåðíà/óíèâåðñàëüíîãî “ìåðêóðèàí- ñòâà”, à åâðåè ñóòü îáðàçöîâûå ìåðêóðèàíöû. Òðóäíî äîïóñòèòü, ÷òî Þ. Ñë¸çêèí, àâòîð îäíîé èç ëó÷øèõ ðàáîò ïî èñòîðèè ìàëûõ íàðîäîâ Ñåâåðà â êîíòåêñòå êîðåíèçàöèîííîé ïîëèòèêè è öåëîãî ðÿäà âëèÿòåëüíûõ ñòàòåé (÷åãî ñòîèò îäíà ìåòà- ôîðà “êîììóíàëüíîé êâàðòèðû”!) ñîçíàòåëüíî îñòàâèë íà ðàñòåðçàíèå äîòîøíûì êðèòèêàì-ñïåöèàëèñòàì ïî åâðåéñêîé èñòîðèè òàê ìíîãî ÷àñòíûõ ýïèçîäîâ è ïðèíöèïèàëüíûõ ñóæäåíèé â êíèãå, êîòîðàÿ ôîð- ìàëüíî ïðåòåíäóåò íà òî, ÷òîáû ñ÷èòàòüñÿ ÷àñòüþ ïðîôåññèîíàëüíîé åâðåéñêîé èñòîðèîãðàôèè. Ñêîðåå âñåãî, àâòîðà “Åâðåéñêîãî âåêà” èíòåðåñóþò íå ñòîëüêî åâðåè, ñêîëüêî ôåíîìåí ìîäåðíîñòè, à åâðåéñêèé êîíòåêñò ïîêàçàëñÿ åìó íàèáîëåå ïîäõîäÿùèì ñïîñîáîì ëîêàëèçîâàòü ïîèñòèíå íåîõâàòíóþ ïðîáëåìó ìîäåðíà è, ãëàâíîå, åãî ñóáúåêòà.

145 M. Mogilner, On Cabbages, Kings, and Jews... and, most importantly, of its subject. Analyzing Jewish self-consciousness, Slezkine is constructing a new myth, his own metaphor of the Jew as the inspired carrier of modernity. Thus, this strange text has a method and objective that reach far beyond the rewriting Jewish history in the 20th century. The deliberately informal structure and ambivalent text reveal the main fear of the author (in comparison to which the fear of becoming the target of professional “Jewish” historians may appear as a minor evil or even a marketing tool). Analyzing modernity, Slezkine does not want to become dependent on the language of self-description of the modern. This fear, at times bordering on paranoia (see, for example, R. Barthes’ texts from the 1960s) in general accompanies traditions of post-structuralist and post-modernist thought. Yuri Slezkine offers his own recipe for disenchanting modernity. He positions the observer in a special, virtual space, expecting that she will therefore avoid dictates of language and the optics of “modernity”. Indeed, habitually modern categories and models of analysis are applied to pre- modern and modern phenomena alike, “primordialist” structures are inter- preted in a constructivist vein, what had seemed unchangeable and eternal ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a Àíàëèçèðóÿ åâðåéñêîå ñàìîñîçíàíèå, Ñë¸çêèí êîíñòðóèðóåò íîâûé ìèô, ñâîþ ìåòàôîðó “åâðåÿ-ïàññèîíàðèÿ ìîäåðíà”. Òàê ÷òî â ýòîì ñòðàííîì òåêñòå åñòü ìåòîä è öåëü, äàëåêî âûõîäÿùèå çà ðàìêè ïåðå- ïèñûâàíèÿ èñòîðèè åâðååâ â ÕÕ âåêå. Íàðî÷èòàÿ íåôîðìàëüíîñòü ñòðóêòóðû è äâóñìûñëåííîñòü òåêñòà âûäàåò ãëàâíîå îïàñåíèå àâòîðà (ïî ñðàâíåíèþ ñ êîòîðûì ðèñê îêàçàòüñÿ ìèøåíüþ ïðîôåññèîíàëü- íûõ “åâðåéñêèõ” èñòîðèêîâ ìîæåò ïîêàçàòüñÿ ìåíüøèì çëîì èëè äàæå ñîçíàòåëüíûì ìàðêåòèíãîâûì ïðèåìîì): àíàëèçèðóÿ ìîäåðí, íå ïîïàñòü â çàâèñèìîñòü îò ÿçûêà ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ ìîäåðíà Ýòîò ñòðàõ, ïîä÷àñ äîõîäÿùèé äî ïàðàíîéè (ñð., íàïðèìåð, òåêñòû Ð. Áàðòà 1960-õ ãã.), âîîáùå ñîïóòñòâóåò òðàäèöèè ïîñòñòðóêòóðàëèñòñêîé è ïîñòìîäåð- íèñòñêîé ìûñëè. Þðèé Ñë¸çêèí ïðåäëàãàåò ñâîé ðåöåïò “ðàñêîëäî- âûâàíèÿ” ìîäåðíà: â ñâîåé êíèãå îí ñîçäàåò îñîáîå âèðòóàëüíîå ïðî- ñòðàíñòâî äëÿ ïîçèöèè íàáëþäàòåëÿ, êîòîðûé, êàê îæèäàåòñÿ, òåì ñàìûì èçáåæèò äèêòàòà ÿçûêà è îïòèêè “ñîâðåìåííîñòè”. Äåéñòâè- òåëüíî, îáû÷íî ìîäåðíûå êàòåãîðèè è ìîäåëè àíàëèçà ïðèìåíÿþòñÿ ê äîìîäåðíûì è ìîäåðíûì ôåíîìåíàì, “ïðèìîðäèàëèñòñêèå” ñòðóê- òóðû èíòåðïðåòèðóþòñÿ â êîíñòðóêòèâèñòñêîì êëþ÷å, òî, ÷òî êàçà- ëîñü íåèçìåííûì è ïîñòîÿííûì îïèñûâàåòñÿ êàê êîíå÷íîå è äèíà- ìè÷íî ðàçâèâàþùååñÿ. Î÷åâèäíî, ÷òî â ñëó÷àå ñ ÕÕ âåêîì ýòîò ÿçûê

146 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 is treated as final and dynamically developing. In the case of the 20th century, this language of external description obviously fully coincides with the main elements of the era’s language of self-description. Modernity therefore becomes epistemologically impenetrable (similarly to the situation of imperial societies that lacked self-descriptive languages until the advent of nationalist discourse). Yuri. Slezkine turns traditional approaches upside down. In order to understand permanently changing modernity, he introduces quite “primor- dialist” categories of “Mercurianism” and “Apollonianism”, while the ancient and presumably unchanged community of “Jews” is proclaimed to be both a metaphor and simultaneously the quintessence of modernity. Thus, a new meta-language is created which allows for analyzing the object not on its own terms. Constants are introduced into a world, which is presumably deprived of permanent and universal characteristics. In this sense, The Jewish Century is of great interest far beyond professional Jewish studies, for the problem of the interaction between language used for analytical description of the object and the object’s own languages of self-description (at times incredibly powerful) is one of the most profound in social sciences and ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a âíåøíåãî îïèñàíèÿ ïîëíîñòüþ ñîâïàäåò ñ îñíîâíûìè ýëåìåíòàìè ÿçûêà ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ ýïîõè, è òåì ñàìûì “ìîäåðí” îêàçûâàåòñÿ ýïèñòåìî- ëîãè÷åñêè íåïðîíèöàåìûì (ïîäîáíî òîìó, êàê â èìïåðñêèõ îáùå- ñòâàõ íå ñóùåñòâîâàëî êîìïëåêñíîãî ÿçûêà îïèñàíèÿ èìïåðèè – âïëîòü äî ïîÿâëåíèÿ ñàìîñòîÿòåëüíîãî íàöèîíàëüíîãî äèñêóðñà). Þ. Ñë¸çêèí ïåðåâîðà÷èâàåò òðàäèöèîííûå ïîäõîäû: äëÿ îñìûñëåíèÿ ïîñòîÿííî èçìåí÷èâîãî ìîäåðíà ââîäÿòñÿ âïîëíå “ïðèìîðäèàëèñòñêèå” êàòåãîðèè “ìåðêóðèàíñòâà” è “àïîëëîíñòâà”, à íàèáîëåå äðåâíÿÿ è (áóäòî áû) íåèçìåííàÿ îáùíîñòü “åâðåå┠îáúÿâëÿåòñÿ ìåòàôîðîé è îäíîâðåìåííî êâèíòýññåíöèåé ìîäåðíà. Òåì ñàìûì ñîçäàåòñÿ íîâûé ìåòàÿçûê, ïîçâîëÿþùèé àíàëèçèðîâàòü îáúåêò íå â åãî ñîáñòâåííûõ òåðìèíàõ, ââîäÿòñÿ êîíñòàíòû â ìèðå, êàçà- ëîñü áû, ïðèíöèïèàëüíî ëèøåííîì ïîñòîÿííûõ è óíèâåðñàëüíûõ ìåðèë.  ýòîì îòíîøåíèè “Åâðåéñêèé âåê” ïðåäñòàâëÿåò èíòåðåñ äàëåêî çà ïðåäåëàìè ïðîôåññèîíàëüíûõ åâðåéñêèõ èññëåäîâàíèé, ïîñêîëüêó ïðîáëåìà âçàèìîäåéñòâèÿ ÿçûêà àíàëèòè÷åñêîãî îïèñàíèÿ îáúåêòà ñ åãî ñîáñòâåííûìè ÿçûêàìè ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ (ïîä÷àñ íåîáûêíîâåííî ìîãóùå- ñòâåííûìè) ÿâëÿåòñÿ îäíîé èç ôóíäàìåíòàëüíûõ â îáùåñòâåííûõ íàóêàõ. È çäåñü âîçíèêàþò âîïðîñû, ïîæàëóé, åùå áîëåå èíòðèãóþùèå, ÷åì òå, êîòîðûå ñòàâèò ïåðåä ÷èòàòåëåì ïîâåðõíîñòíûé “åâðåéñêèé” ïëàñò êíèãè.

147 M. Mogilner, On Cabbages, Kings, and Jews... the humanities. Here we encounter questions more intriguing than those posed by the superficial “Jewish” subject matter laid over the book. First of all, what does the author achieve, having paid the price of resurrecting “new essences” (Mercuarianism/Apollonianism) pushed out from the scholarly lexi- con of the twentieth (“Jewish”) century by the “blade of Occam” and develop- ment of social sciences and humanities? What new things can we learn about modernity if we refute some of its logic? How does Slezkine’s moder- nity appear from the point of view of his chronology and geography?5

5 Contemporary interpretations of modernity focus on characteristic cultural practices, individual and societal strategies and narratives. However, a historical approach requires that these practices and narratives be related to grand structural changes and ruptures in modernity, such as industrialization or the French Revolution. Slezkine’s modernity in this sense is atypical: it is simultaneously universal (Mercurianism and Apollonianism are metaphors with no geographic or chronological boundaries) and European. As a European phenomenon, it is geographically located, for the most part, on territories with a maximum Jewish presence. To be more specific, Slezkine’s modernity generates tendencies which he notes in Russia (both the empire and the USSR), in Austro-Hungary (which the author knows only superficially), and to a lesser extent in Poland and Germany. The industrial revolution falls out from this interpretation altogether along with the country considered its birthplace (England and ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a Ïðåæäå âñåãî – ÷åãî óäàåòñÿ äîñòè÷ü àâòîðó äîðîãîé öåíîé âîññîçäàíèÿ “íîâûõ ñóùíîñòåé” (ìåðêóðèàíñòâî/àïîëëîíèéñòâî), êîòîðûå “ëåçâèå Îêêàìà” è ðàçâèòèå îáùåñòâîâåäåíèÿ óïðàçäíèëî èç íàó÷íîãî ëåêñèêîíà ÕÕ (“åâðåéñêîãî”) âåêà? ×òî íîâîãî óäàëîñü óçíàòü î ìîäåðíå, îòêàçàâøèñü ÷àñòè÷íî îò åãî ëîãèêè? Êàêèì ïðåä- ñòàåò ìîäåðí Ñë¸çêèíà ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ åãî õðîíîëîãèè è ãåîãðàôèè?5

5 Ñîâðåìåííûå òðàêòîâêè ìîäåðíà êîíöåíòðèðóþòñÿ íà õàðàêòåðíûõ äëÿ íåãî êóëüòóðíûõ ïðàêòèêàõ, èíäèâèäóàëüíûõ è îáùåñòâåííûõ ñòðàòåãèÿõ è íàððàòèâàõ, è, òåì íå ìåíåå, èñòîðèçàöèÿ êîíöåïòà ïðåäïîëàãàåò íåêóþ ïðèâÿçêó ýòèõ ïðàêòèê è íàððàòèâîâ ê áîëüøèì ñòðóêòóðíûì èçìåíåíèÿì è ñëîìàì òèïà èíäóñòðèàëèçàöèè èëè Ôðàíöóçñêîé ðåâîëþöèè. Ìîäåðí Ñë¸çêèíà, â ýòîì ñìûñëå, ñîâåðøåííî íåòèïè÷åí: îí îäíîâðåìåííî óíèâåðñàëåí (èáî ìåðêóðèàíñòâî è àïîëëîíèéñòâî ñóòü ìåòàôîðû, íå èìåþùèå ãåîãðàôè÷åñêèõ è õðîíîëîãè÷åñêèõ îãðàíè÷åíèé) è â òî æå âðåìÿ îí – åâðîïåéñêèé ôåíîìåí; â êà÷åñòâå åâðîïåéñêîãî ôåíîìåíà îí ãåîãðà- ôè÷åñêè ëîêàëèçóåòñÿ, ãëàâíûì îáðàçîì, íà òåððèòîðèÿõ ñ ìàêñèìàëüíûì åâðåéñêèì ïðèñóòñòâèåì. Åñëè æå ãîâîðèòü åùå êîíêðåòíåå, òî ìîäåðí Ñë¸çêèíà îáðàçóþò òåíäåíöèè, îòìå÷åííûå èì â Ðîññèè (â èìïåðèè è çàòåì – â ÑÑÑÐ), â Àâñòðî- Âåíãðèè (î÷åíü ïîâåðõíîñòíî çíàêîìîé àâòîðó) è â çíà÷èòåëüíî ìåíüøåé ñòåïåíè – â Ïîëüøå è â Ãåðìàíèè. Èíäóñòðèàëüíàÿ ðåâîëþöèÿ âûïàäàåò èç ýòîé òðàêòîâêè ìîäåðíà âìåñòå ñ ãîñóäàðñòâîì, ñ÷èòàþùèìñÿ åå “êîëûáåëüþ” – 148 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 A queston, which is no less important, concerns how far Yuri Slezkine’s constructions depend on the choice of the metaphor of the “Eternal Jew” as a key to understanding twentieth century Jewry and, therefore, modernity? In the classic debate on “the essence of Jewry” (Jews as pioneers of capitalism and modernity, or the archaic entrepreneurs in a rapidly changing world), Slezkine has actually accepted Sombart’s position.6 This allows the author to “freeze” modernity and quietly describe it as a timeless structure. What remains of this analysis if Sombart’s is convincingly discredited and what sense does this analysis make if Sombart’s position is accepted as having the right to exist (i.e., why study modernity if it is eternal as the “Eternal Jew”)? the English Jews). The French Revolution and France do not appear “Jewish” to Slezkine (although it’s hard to deny “Mercurianism” to the Revolution) and are not included in his vision of modernity. The Jews of the Mediterranean (say, of Italy) do not take their place in the Jewish century, which similarly does not know the Renaissance. However, modernity as a “European phenomenon” acquires two important poles outside of geographical Europe, in US and Israel. Slezkine’s modernity is the unconditional triumph of the Mercurian principle and of the Mercurians. Since both are metaphors, we should be free to interpret them broadly. 6 Slezkine does not declare his preferences in the part of the book where this debate is mentioned together with thousand of other episodes of the Jews’ richest history. ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a Íå ìåíåå ñóùåñòâåííûé âîïðîñ – íàñêîëüêî çàâèñÿò âñå ïîñòðîåíèÿ Þ. Ñë¸çêèíà îò âûáîðà ìåòàôîðû “Âå÷íîãî æèäà” êàê êëþ÷à ê ïîíè- ìàíèþ åâðåéñòâ(à) ÕÕ âåêà, à çíà÷èò è ìîäåðíà?  êëàññè÷åñêîì ñïîðå Â. Çîìáàðòà è Ì. Âåáåðà î “ñóòè åâðåéñòâà” (åâðåè – ïèîíåðû êàïèòà- ëèçìà è ìîäåðíà èëè àðõàè÷åñêèå ïðåäïðèíèìàòåëè â ñòðåìèòåëüíî ìåíÿþùåìñÿ ìèðå) Þ. Ñë¸çêèí, ôàêòè÷åñêè, ïðèíÿë ïîçèöèþ Çîìáàðòà.6 Ýòî ïîçâîëèëî àâòîðó “çàìîðîçèòü” ìîäåðí è íåñïåøíî îïèñàòü åãî êàê âíåâðåìåííóþ ñòðóêòóðó. Íî ÷òî îñòàåòñÿ îò ýòîãî àíàëèçà, åñëè

Àíãëèåé (è àíãëèéñêèìè åâðåÿìè). Ôðàíöóçñêàÿ ðåâîëþöèÿ è, ñîîòâåòñòâåííî, Ôðàíöèÿ, òàêæå íå êàæóòñÿ Ñë¸çêèíó “åâðåéñêèìè” (õîòÿ Ðåâîëþöèè ñëîæíî îòêàçàòü ⠓ìåðêóðèàíñòâå”) è ïîòîìó íå âêëþ÷àþòñÿ â êàðòèíó ìîäåðíà. Åâðåè ñðåäèçåìíîìîðüÿ (ñêàæåì, Èòàëèè) âîîáùå íå èìåþò ñâîåãî ìåñòà ⠓åâðåéñêîì âåêå”, êîòîðûé íå çíàåò Ðåíåññàíñà. Çàòî ìîäåðí êàê “åâðîïåéñêèé ôåíîìåí” îáðåòàåò äâà âàæíåéøèõ ïîëþñà çà ïðåäåëàìè ãåîãðàôè÷åñêîé Åâðîïû – ÑØÀ è Èçðàèëü. Ìîäåðí Ñë¸çêèíà – ýòî áåçóñëîâíîå òîðæåñòâî ìåðêóðèàíñêîãî íà÷àëà è ìåðêóðèàíöåâ. Ïîñêîëüêó è òî è äðóãîå – ìåòàôîðû, ìû ñâîáîäíû äîñòàòî÷íî øèðîêî åãî èíòåðïðåòèðîâàòü. 6 Õîòÿ â ðàçäåëå êíèãè, ãäå óïîìèíàåòñÿ è ýòîò ñïîð – íàðÿäó ñ òûñÿ÷àìè äðóãèõ ýïèçîäîâ áîãàòåéøåé èñòîðèè åâðååâ è “åâðåéñêîãî âîïðîñà” – Ñë¸çêèí îòêðûòî íèêàê ñâîè ïðåäïî÷òåíèÿ íå äåêëàðèðóåò. 149 M. Mogilner, On Cabbages, Kings, and Jews... Finally, to what extent did Slezkine solve the universal language problem, namely that of the mutual dependence of languages of self-description and languages of analysis? Using the anachronistic categories for his analysis of modernity, Slezkine reproduces the main epistemological problem of the New Imperial History: that is, the necessity to describe with the help of a contemporary language the situation of the archaic structures and practices “growing into” modern society, which in itself generated an entire range of meta-narratives: the archaic; the archaic with modern borrowings; the modern with archaic borrowings; and the completely modern. The question is to what extent the author consciously and successfully resolves the problem of interaction between anachronistic phenomena and analytical categories? Does he succeed in overcoming the temptation to resolve the above mentioned contradictions of total relativism in a myth? These questions have direct relevance for the problems discussed in Ab Imperio and its annual thematic topic. Thus, Yuri Slezkine’s book is of special interest to our journal. ú ù ø ÷ õ ö ó ô ò ñ ï ð í î ì ê ë é è ç æ å ä ã â á a ïîçèöèÿ Çîìáàðòà óáåäèòåëüíî äèñêðåäèòèðóåòñÿ – è êàêîé â ýòîì àíàëèçå ñìûñë, åñëè îíà ïðèíèìàåòñÿ êàê èìåþùàÿ ïðàâî íà ñóùåñòâî- âàíèå (çà÷åì èçó÷àòü “ìîäåðí”, åñëè îí – êàê è Âå÷íûé æèä – èçâå÷åí)? Íàêîíåö, íàñêîëüêî óäàëîñü Þ. Ñë¸çêèíó ðåøèòü óíèâåðñàëüíóþ ÿçûêîâóþ ïðîáëåìó, à èìåííî – ñîïîä÷èíåíèå ÿçûêà ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ è ÿçûêà àíàëèçà? Ïðèâëåêàÿ äëÿ àíàëèçà ôåíîìåíà ìîäåðíà ïðèíöèïè- àëüíî àíàõðîíè÷íûå êàòåãîðèè è ôåíîìåíû, Ñë¸çêèí âîñïðîèçâîäèò îñíîâíóþ ýïèñòåìîëîãè÷åñêóþ ïðîáëåìó Íîâîé èìïåðñêîé èñòîðèè – íåîáõîäèìîñòü îïèñàòü ïðè ïîìîùè ñîâðåìåííîãî ÿçûêà ñèòóàöèþ “âðàñòàíèÿ” àðõàè÷åñêèõ ñòðóêòóð è ïðàêòèê â ìîäåðíîå îáùåñòâî, êîòîðîå ñàìî ïîðîæäàëî öåëûé ñïåêòð ìåòàíàððàòèâîâ: àðõàè÷åñ- êèõ; àðõàè÷åñêèõ ñ èñïîëüçîâàíèåì ìîäåðíûõ çàèìñòâîâàíèé; ìîäåð- íûõ ñ âêëþ÷åíèåì àðõàè÷åñêèõ ýëåìåíòîâ; ïîëíîñòüþ ìîäåðíûõ. Âîïðîñ – íàñêîëüêî ñîçíàòåëüíî (è íàñêîëüêî óäà÷íî) ðåøàåò àâòîð ïðîáëåìó âçàèìîäåéñòâèÿ àíàõðîíè÷íûõ ôåíîìåíîâ è àíàëèòè÷åñ- êèõ êàòåãîðèé, óäàåòñÿ ëè åìó ïðåîäîëåòü ñîáëàçí ñíÿòèÿ ïåðå÷èñ- ëåííûõ âûøå ïðîòèâîðå÷èé â òîòàëüíîì ðåëÿòèâèçìå è ñîïóòñòâóþ- ùåì åìó êîëëàïñå “èñòîðèè” â “ìèô”? Ïîñòàâëåííûå âîïðîñû èìåþò ïðÿìîå îòíîøåíèå ê ïðîáëåìàòèêå æóðíàëà Ab Imperio è çàÿâëåííîé òåìå 2005 ãîäà, èìåííî ïîýòîìó íîâàÿ êíèãà Þ. Ñë¸çêèíà ïðåäñòàâëÿåò îñîáûé èíòåðåñ äëÿ íàøåãî æóðíàëà. 150 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Eugene M. AVRUTIN

VISIBILITY AND INVISIBILITY IN MODERN JEWISH HISTORY: A COMMENT ON THE JEWISH CENTURY

The collapse of the Soviet Union precipitated an archival revolution in the history and culture of Jews in the Russian and Soviet Empires. The newly available materials have allowed a new generation of scholars to fill in many of the blank spaces of the social, cultural, and religious dimensions of the Russian-Jewish experience. These previously unavailable documents have also led to a variety of new approaches and to a number of fundamental revisions of traditional analytical paradigms. The archival revolution and the burgeoning interest in the Jews of Russia paralleled two other important developments that shaped the field in the past decade: the emergence of Jewish Studies as a respected, well-funded, and highly visible area studies concentration in the American academy, and the reconstitution of Russian and Soviet history in light of broader global histories of empires and imperialist politics. Suddenly, the largest community of Jews in the world began to matter not only to scholars trained in Jewish Studies programs, but to Russian and East European historians as well. In other words, just as Russian historians have realized that Russian imperial history cannot be written without the Jews, Jewish historians have concluded that Russian-Jewish history needs to be firmly

151 E. Avrutin, Visibility and Invisibility in Modern Jewish History... contextualized within the broader narratives of Russian imperial culture and politics.1 Unlike the highly focused post-Soviet works that have appeared in the past decade, Yuri Slezkine’s The Jewish Century is a bold, imaginative, and sweeping interpretative synthesis that relies on much of the new archive- based studies in Russian imperial and Jewish history and incorporates a wealth of published primary sources. The Jewish Century examines one of the most fundamental and important questions in modern Jewish history – the transfor- mation of the Jewish people from a world of corporate autonomy and rabbinic Judaism to their participation as individuals in a modern, secular world. Although the bulk of the book concentrates on Russian and especially Soviet Jewry, Slezkine should not be italicized across traditional geographic boundaries by analyzing the modernization process within a truly global context. Yet The Jewish Century is not only about the history of the Jews in the modern world; it is also about the modern world itself and the many visible and prominent roles that Jews played in its development and trans- formation. Slezkine uses literary metaphors to divide the world into two distinct groups: the Mercurians who represented the entrepreneurial service nomads, and the Apollonians who represented the food-producing laborers. Since Jews were the quintessential Mercurians, they quickly became the “model moderns” and epitomized Western civilization because they were more urban, mobile, articulate and occupationally flexible than everyone else. Although Jews “did not launch the Modern Age,” Slezkine argues, they “adjusted better than most” and “reshaped the modern world as a conse- quence.” Jews became more visible in professional and cultural spheres and enjoyed more economic prosperity at precisely the same time that they became more anonymous and more invisible in everyday life, that is, when Jewishness ceased to be a clearly defined and visually recognized public

1 For a review of the recent literature, see Olga Litvak. You Can Take the Historian Out of the Pale, But Can You Take the Pale Out of the Historian? New Trends in the Study of Russian Jewry // AJS Review. 2003. Vol. 27. No. 2. Pp. 301-312; John Klier. “Otkuda i kuda idem”. Izuchenie dorevolyutsionnoi istorii rossiiskogo evreistva v Soedinennykh Shtatakh v XX veke // Oleg Budnitskii et al (Eds.). Istoriia i kul’tura rossiiskogo i vostochnoevropeiskogo evreistva. Novye istochniki, novye podkhody. Moscow, 2004. For a review of the historiography on Russian Jewry in the English language before the collapse of the Soviet Union, see Alexander Orbach. Russian Jewish History // Modern Judaism. 1990. Vol. 10. No. 3. Pp. 325-342. 152 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 identity. In Germany, America, imperial Russia, and the Soviet Union, Slezkine documents the meteoric rise of Jews in all those traditional Jewish pursuits that dealt with money, learning and cleverness, pursuits that Slezkine associates with their so-called Mercurianism. In institutions of learning, liberal professions, entrepreneurial occupations, as well in music, film and the arts, Jews quickly gained prominence as many of their well-known and visible members. Yet, at the same time, Jews also stood at the very center of the European crisis in the fin de siècle – they symbolized both the discon- tents as well as the accomplishments of modernity. And it is precisely this tension between Jewish exclusion and liberation that Slezkine explores so masterfully. The boundaries, however, between Mercurianism and Apollonianism (or Jewish and non-Jewish “types”) were never as neatly constituted as Slezkine would like his readers to believe. In fact, these divisions remind me so much of the myriad debates that took place during the age of Enlightenment and later during the age of race science that dealt with the meanings of Jewishness and Jewish exceptionalism. To the author’s credit, “Jews” are never clearly and concisely defined in the book, even if their cultural, religious and occupational transformations seem far too linear, straightforward and, in the end, unproblematic. As a number of Jewish social historians have demonstrated in the past two decades, the “long” Jewish century constituted a fierce contest (or a series of debates) among Jews of all cultural, religious and ideological persuasions over the very meaning of what it meant to be Jewish in the modern age. To put it slightly differently, modernity may have redefined the relatively stable, autonomous structures and worldviews of Jewish communities, but not all Jews embraced social integration and not all Jews readapted their views, behaviors and occupations to fit a single all-embracing model. From this perspective, then, it may make more sense to speak about the diversity of Jewish responses to modernity and the variety of different frameworks that shaped the process of assimilation.2

2 Some of the most influential of the work on the social history of the Jews are: Todd M. Endelman. The Jews of Georgian England, 1714-1830. Tradition and Change in a Liberal Society. Philadelphia, 1979; Marsha Rozenblit. The Jews of Vienna, 1867-1914. Assimilation and Identity. Albany, 1983; Steven Zipperstein. The Jews of Odessa. A Cultural History, 1794-1870. Stanford, 1985. For a review essay, see Paula Hyman. The Ideological Transformation of Modern Jewish Historiography // Shaye J. D. Cohen and Edward L. Greenstein (Eds.). The State of Jewish Studies. Detroit, 1990. 153 E. Avrutin, Visibility and Invisibility in Modern Jewish History... It may be true that (male) Jews in Western and Central Europe took advantage of the unprecedented educational and professional opportunities and as a result discarded ritual observance with abandon. But recent studies of gender and assimilation have shown that women retained and preserved religious piety and observance at precisely the time that modern Jewish men created, consumed and participated in middle-class culture. “The conser- vative role of maternal keeper of the domestic flame of Judaism,” the historian Paula Hyman writes, “became a fundamental aspect of the project of assimila- tion.”3 By working in philanthropic societies, women’s clubs and educa- tional institutions, women reshaped, renegotiated and preserved the boundaries of Jewish identity. The assimilation process, in other words, had its limits: Jewish learning and observance may have declined with each succeeding generation, yet women continued to impart a sense of Jewishness to their family and community not only in the domestic sphere, but through their work in social and educational institutions as well.4 To be sure, the contradictions of Jewish daily life – the tensions between social integration and group prejudices, on the one hand, and secularization and religiosity, on the other – have been analyzed in a far more sophisticated and compelling manner for Western and Central European Jewry than for their eastern counterparts.5 Yet even if a social history of Jewish daily life has yet to be written for imperial Russia (or the Soviet Union), we should not equate modernization with complete secularization. Religion continued to play a powerful, if still misunderstood, role in everyday life long after the Revolution of 1917. Something similar can be said about the sense of alienation that Slezkine suggests prevailed among the Jewish people in the imperial period: that everyone (Jews and non-Jews alike) considered Jews nonnative and foreign. In fact, as Gershon Hundert has argued recently, at the end of the eighteenth century both Jews and their neighbors “felt that the Jewish community was a rooted and permanent one.”6 Moshe Rosman

3 Paula Hyman. Gender and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History. The Roles and Representation of Women. Seattle, 1995. P. 27. 4 On these issues, see Marion Kaplan. The Making of the Jewish Middle Class. Women, Family, and Identity in Imperial Germany. Oxford, 1991; and Hyman. Gender and Assimilation in Modern Jewish History. Ch. 1 (Paradoxes of Assimilation). 5 See, for example, the recent research on Jewish daily life by Marion Kaplan. Friendship on the Margins. Jewish Social Relations in Imperial Germany // Central European History. 2001. Vol. 34. No. 4. Pp. 471-501. 6 Gershon David Hundert. Jews in Poland-Lithuania in the Eighteenth Century. A Genealogy of Modernity. Berkeley, 2004. P. 7. 154 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 has similarly shown for the same period that, despite linguistic, religious, and even social distancing, Jews participated in a wide spectrum of economic activities and were also influenced by, and shared in, Polish culture.7 The parting of the ways (or the tensions between vertical integration and Jewish radi- calism) that began to transpire in the late imperial period thus needs to be explained rather than assumed. For most Russian and early Soviet Jews, the Jewish century meant not so much a conversion to the “Pushkin faith” or participation in revolutionary movements, but rather the reconciliation of the world of “tradition” with the challenges, opportunities and tempta- tions of contemporary life. However, as Jews confronted these challenges (at first in Western Europe and later in the east), their stable and clearly defined ways of life began to transform. Their visibility in professional and associational spheres took place as Jewishness began to be fragmented, destabilized, and made invisible to their host societies. And as the tensions between Jewish visibility and invisibility increased, so did the modern Jewish predicament.8 Ultimately, Jews were excluded from bourgeois Europe because, as Yuri Slezkine argues, “they were the only ones without the cover of state nationalism.” In an age of national belonging (or “tribalism,” to use Slezkine’s felicitous term), Jews stood abandoned “as a ghostly tribe of powerful strangers.” The Jewish century is therefore a story of three pilgrimages, or “a story of one Hell [Germany] and three promised Lands [America, Palestine and the Soviet Union].” It is this powerful thesis that will undoubtedly make an important and lasting contribution to modern Jewish historiography.

7 Moshe Rosman. Innovative Tradition. Jewish Culture in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth // David Biale (Ed.). Cultures of the Jews. A New History. New York, 2002. Pp. 519-570. 8 On the tensions between Jewish visibility and invisibility, see the excellent piece by Mary Gluck. The Budapest Flaneur. Urban Modernity, Popular Culture, and the “Jewish Question” in Fin-de-Siècle Hungary // Jewish Social Studies. 2004. Vol. 10. No. 3. Pp. 1-22.

155 E. Avrutin, Visibility and Invisibility in Modern Jewish History... SUMMARY

Å. Àâðóòèí ñ÷èòàåò êíèãó Þ. Ñë¸çêèíà âîïëîùåíèåì òåêóùåé ñìåíû èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêèõ ïàðàäèãì: â òî âðåìÿ êàê èññëåäîâàòåëè Ðîññèè íà÷èíàþò îñîçíàâàòü âàæíîñòü åâðåéñêîé èñòîðèè êàê èíòåãðàëüíîé ÷àñòè èìïåðñêîãî ïðîøëîãî, èñòîðèêè åâðåéñòâà ðàññìàòðèâàþò ñâîé ïðåäìåò â êîíòåêñòå “áîëüøîãî” íàððàòèâà èìïåðñêîé êóëüòóðû è ïîëèòèêè. Þ. Ñë¸çêèí óáåäèòåëüíî àíàëè- çèðóåò ôóíäàìåíòàëüíûé ïðîöåññ òðàíñôîðìàöèè òðàäèöèîííûõ åâðååâ â ëþäåé ìîäåðíà, èíäèâèäóàëüíî ïðîÿâëÿþùèõ ñåáÿ â ñîâðå- ìåííîì ñåêóëÿðèçîâàííîì îáùåñòâå.  òî æå âðåìÿ îí ïèøåò êíèãó î ìèðå ìîäåðíà è î òîé ðîëè, êîòîðóþ ñûãðàëè åâðåè â åãî ñòàíîâ- ëåíèè. Ïðèíèìàÿ îñíîâíûå âûâîäû àâòîðà, Àâðóòèí ïðîáëåìà- òèçèðóåò ÷åòêîñòü ãðàíèöû ìåæäó ìåðêóðèàíñòâîì è àïîëëîíèàíñòâîì. Îí îáðàùàåò âíèìàíèå íà ãåíäåðíûå, ñîöèàëüíûå è ïðî÷èå ðàçëè÷èÿ åâðåéñêèõ ñòðàòåãèé âçàèìîäåéñòâèÿ ñ ìîäåðíîì. Àâðóòèí ïðåäîñòå- ðåãàåò îò ñëèøêîì îäíîëèíåéíîãî ïðåäñòàâëåíèÿ î òðàåêòîðèè îñâîåíèÿ “ìîäåðíîñòè” ðîññèéñêèìè åâðåÿìè, êîòîðûå, ïî êíèãå, îáðàùàëèñü ⠓âåðó Ïóøêèíà” èëè øëè â ðåâîëþöèþ. Íåðâîì ìîäåðíîé èñòîðèè ðîññèéñêèõ åâðååâ Àâðóòèí ñ÷èòàåò ïîïûòêè ïðèìèðèòü “òðàäèöèþ” ñ âûçîâàìè, âîçìîæíîñòÿìè è ñîáëàçíàìè íîâîé ýïîõè.

156 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

David SHNEER

WHEN JEWISH GRANDMOTHERS RULED THE WORLD

“She considered most of her life to have been a mistake.” Yuri Slezkine about his Soviet Jewish grandmother, Brokhe Kostrinskaia

In 1926, David Bergelson, arguably the most important Yiddish prose writer of his generation, published Three Centers, an essay that divided the world into three ideologically distinct Jewish cultures. Blazing a path into the Jewish future was the Communist Soviet Union, a country whose ideology, Bergelson thought, would build a modern Jewish culture for the modern Soviet Jewish nation. In America, his second center – and here he was really talking about New York – Bergelson envisioned a country driven by wealth and social mobility, a world in which one’s Jewishness would soon become irrelevant. As an ideological system, capitalist America could not ensure a bright Jewish future. It encouraged assimilation, rather than a progressive Jewish identity. Finally, Poland (note that for Bergelson the Zionist Yishuv in Palestine of the 1920s was not yet worthy of the name “center”), was the land of a decaying economy, primitive nationalism, and a passé ideology, a place in which Jewishness was stale and quickly 157 D. Shneer, When Jewish Grandmothers Ruled the World becoming ossified and parochial. Neither Poland nor the United States, let alone Palestine, were places with a shining Jewish future. Bergelson eventually voted with his feet and moved back to the Soviet Union in 1933 as Hitler came to power in Germany. He chose Communism, an ideology that, as Yuri Slezkine shows, eventually turned against its most vociferous supporters. Bergelson’s Communist center – the land that, through univer- salism, would save Jews and Jewishness – killed him in 1952. In 2004, Yuri Slezkine, professor of history at University of California, Berkeley and Soviet (Jewish) émigré published a book arguing that Bergel- son’s 1920s Jewish map was not so far off. Like Bergelson, Slezkine argues that the twentieth century was divided up into an ideological map with three centers each representing the apotheosis of a particular ideology. Each center’s ideology was a response to modernity, to an age when the traditional boundaries between groups broke down and new boundaries formed. Bergelson lived and wrote in the middle of this ideological revolution that Slezkine writes about from the vantage point of hindsight. Bergelson was himself ideological, still passionate about examining the possibilities of a Jewish future in an age when anything seemed possible. His work, written in Yiddish for an exclusively Jewish audience, is strident and, like all polemic essays that force people to think, overly simplistic. Slezkine writes in English after the ideological revolution, and writes with irony about the choices of people like Bergelson. He is not especially interested in the possibilities of a Jewish future, because he believes that future has already been decided. For Slezkine, the Jewish century is over. But why did the Jewish century happen when it did? Slezkine relies on Greek typology to describe what changed in the modern world. He uses the figures of Apollo – rooted in the soil, agricultural, tribal, territorial, and physical, – and Mercury – god of ideas, movement, and trade – as foils around which to examine modern history. In Slezkine’s paradigm, modernity was about the slow decline of the Apollonians, the real (not imagined) rise of the Mercurians, and the Apollonians’ subsequent violent response to this real shift in power. Twentieth-century ideologies – like Communism, nationalism, Freudianism, and liberal capitalism – were all responses to this transfer of power. Some ideological responses celebrated the evaporation of boundaries; others recreated old tribal boundaries in new modern guises. Slezkine argues that Jews themselves, the quintessential Mercurians, propagated these ideologies. He brilliantly shows how the twentieth century, what his publishers call The Jewish Century, was a time of new ideas, new 158 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 places, and new senses of self. And most importantly, the twentieth century was a time when Jewish Mercurianism came to rule the world, despite the most violent attempts of Apollonians to end Mercury’s reign. The Jewish century (the time, not the book) opens with the largest population of Jews in history, Eastern European Jewry at the end of the nine- teenth century, on the move, a very Mercurian act. In Slezkine’s three centers’ scheme, these Jews-on-the-move-once-again had three potential destinations, which were not merely physical places but were also spaces occupied by particular ideological responses to modernity. He explains these migratory choices using the Yiddish writer Sholem Aleichem’s canonical story about the end of traditional Jewish life in Eastern Europe – “Tevye the Milkman.” The story is about the effects modernity has had on the imagined Jewish past and on Sholem Aleichem’s typical Jewish literary family. Slez- kine’s own final chapter is a long epilogue to the Tevye story – what happens to Tevye the Milkman’s daughters, each of whom chooses a different path from the Jewish past into the Jewish future? One daughter chose to remain in Tevye’s small Jewish town. This was Tsaytl’s choice. Her story ends with the Holocaust. Another daughter, like Slezkine’s grandmother, followed the path of urbanization in Russia and moved to Moscow, the capital of Commu- nism and became Russian. Her story ends with the World-War-II revolt of ethno-Stalinism against universal Mercurian Communism, and the crushing of her dreams of “being Russian.” This was Hodl’s choice. She hangs her head in shame for her failed choice. Her children then rebel, in the form of the Soviet dissident movement, and in the 1970s-1990s, looked for refuge from the children of Hodl’s wiser Jewish sisters who chose different paths in the Jewish century. Slezkine’s epilogue to the Tevye story is titled “Hodl’s Choice,” because he believes it is her story that has been left out of the history of 20th century Jews. One daughter, Slezkine imagines, rejected her father’s life and “returned home” by migrating to the land of Apollonian Jewish nationalism, Israel. Her story ends with the 1967 Six-Day War, the occupation of Palestinian territories, and the end of the Zionist dream. As Slezkine reads the text, this was Chava’s choice. She now speaks Hebrew, welcomes Hodl’s children to Israel, but at the same time considers moving to the United States for better work opportunities and less potential for violence. Finally, the last daughter, Beilke, like my grandparents, rejected naked ideology entirely and moved to the Mercurian United States, the land that 159 D. Shneer, When Jewish Grandmothers Ruled the World embraced modernity, non-ethnic nationalism, and celebrated capitalism. Unlike Hodl’s children, who spurned their mother’s decision; unlike Chava’s children, who serve in the Israeli army, often bitterly, and prefer to work for an internet company than on a kibbutz; Beilke’s children celebrate their parents’ choice. They have a house, two cars, a membership in a syna- gogue, and simultaneously saved Soviet Jewry, memorialized the Holo- caust, and almost singlehandedly funded the Zionist dream. They have succeeded in the United States beyond their parents’ wildest imagination by being both the most integrated and successful of Mercurians, while also playing the Apollonians’ tribal game by marking themselves as the most victimized group among American ethnic groups. This was Beilke’s choice, and it is not a coincidence that she and her children are the ones nostalgically propagating Tevye’s story. (And perhaps it is not a coincidence that I, one of Beilke’s grandchildren, am writing a more idealistic Jewish response to one of Hodl’s more pessimistic émigré grandchildren.) Slezkine’s vision of twentieth century Jewish history is not entirely new. He acknowledges his indebtedness to Karl Marx’s vision of Jews as the pre- modern bearers of capitalism and to Israeli scholar Benjamin Harshav, whose book Language in Time of Revolution, suggests, like Slezkine, that the 20th century was nothing less than a “modern Jewish revolution.” It marked the moment in history when the traditional position of Jews in other peoples’ societies changed dramatically as modernity and capitalism (or in Slezkine’s words the Mercurians) came to rule the world. Slezkine goes one step further and argues that the 20th century is not just a revolution for and among Jews, but that this world revolution is a Jewish revolution. Harshav and Slezkine however part ways on determining the winner in this ideological battle. For Harshav it is in Israel that the Jewish future lay, for its resurrection of linguistic and cultural boundaries between Jews and the rest of the world, a division marked by the Hebrew language and Hebrew culture. For Slezkine, only in America, the land that went all the way in embracing modernity in the form of Mercurianism, does a Jewish future thrive, because it followed and embraced the trend of history unlike Zionism which tried to overthrow and revolt against history. When reflecting on the failure of the Nazis’ genocidal Apollonian revolt against the Jewish Mercurians and the postwar reaction against European Apollonian nationalism, Slezkine writes, “Only Israel continued to live in the European 1930s: only Israel still belonged to the eternally young, worshiped athleti- cism and inarticulateness, celebrated combat and secret police, promoted 160 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 hiking and scouting, despised doubt and introspection, embodied the seamless unity of the chosen, and rejected most traits traditionally associated with Jewishness” (P. 327). Israel was a place out of time. It was Apollonian when the rest of the world was becoming Mercurian. It was becoming “non-Jewish” at the same time that the rest of the world was becoming Jewish. It is upsetting for many Jews to read some of Slezkine’s well-argued and highly polemical conclusions that suggest a real rise in Jewish power in the twentieth century to which Apollonians responded: 1) that Jews were deeply involved and invested in the Communist Revo- lution in Russia 2) that Jews were overrepresented in the Soviet secret police 3) that Jews were not more oppressed than the rest of the Soviet popu- lation, but they simply felt more humiliated “because of their peculiarly exalted and vulnerable position in Soviet society,” as being the quintessential Mercurians 4) that Jews were overrepresented in the American Communist Party 5) that Jews were and are the most successful, privileged, upwardly mobile American minority of the 20th century 6) that just as they were becoming upwardly mobile, American Jews situated themselves as the most historically oppressed ethnic group in the United States, and they did this by placing the Holocaust at the center of their collective identity 7) that Israel’s guiding Apollonian ideology was parochial and out-of-step with the ideological trends that became popular in those countries to which Israel compares itself. In the final chapter, in my mind the most important, Slezkine makes the seemingly shocking revelation that the Soviet Union was incredibly Jewish, arguing that in 1932 “Jewish and Russian were virtually inter- changeable.” At the same time, he makes the equally polemic statement that in the same period, in many Americans’ minds Jewish and Communist were virtually interchangeable. Rather than seeing these statements or the arguments above as anti-semitic stereotypes propagated by the likes of J. Edgar Hoover in the U.S., fascists in Europe, or the conservative Russian émigré community after the Russian Revolution, Slezkine takes these claims seriously. What if it were true that Russian and Jewish were interchangeable in the first decades of the Soviet Union? What if statistics showed that most Communists in the U.S. were, like Ethel Rosenberg, Jews? 161 D. Shneer, When Jewish Grandmothers Ruled the World Slezkine shows that it was in the Soviet Union and the United States, the two beacons of Mercurianism, that Jews thrived. But the U.S. and the Soviet Union part ways in how each society responded to Jewish success: “In both places, Jews had entered crucial sectors of the establishment: in the Soviet Union, the Jewishness of the elite members was seen by the newly Russified state (and eventually by some Jews too) as a threat and a paradox; in the United States, it appeared to be a sign of perfect fulfillment – both for the liberal state and for the new elite members” (P. 327). Using his sharp ironic wit, Slezkine states that in the 1950s and 1960s, “The United States began to catch up with the Soviet Union in the realm of Jewish accomplishment at the very same time that the Kremlin set out to reverse the Jewish accomplishment in the Soviet Union. Within two decades, both had achieved a great deal of success” (P. 318). When the Soviet Union pushed Jews out of the Mercu- rian revolution, Soviet Jews turned to liberalism and nationalism, and to two paths of emigration – the U.S. and Israel. Slezkine believes that the era of ideological revolutions is over. Commu- nism lost, liberal capitalism with a hint of nationalism won. In his words, “At the beginning of the twentieth century, Tevye’s daughters had three promised lands to choose from. At the turn of the twenty-first, there are only two. Communism lost out to both liberalism and nationalism and then died of exhaustion. The Russian part of the Jewish Century is over. The home of the world’s largest Jewish population has become a small and remote province of Jewish life; the most Jewish of all states since the Second Temple has disappeared from the face of the earth” (Pp. 359-360). Slezkine’s con- clusion that capitalist America, and secondarily nationalist Israel, triumphs in the war of ideologies is not a new idea. It is in fact a deeply conservative conclusion that echoes the conclusions drawn by people as diverse as Sovietologist Martin Malia and liberal theorist Francis Fukuyama, who pro- claimed the End of History with the end of Communism. In many ways, Slezkine is proclaiming the end of Jewish history. (Again, as one of Beilke’s grandchildren, this does not sit well with me.) Slezkine quotes Tsafira Meromskaia, who maudlinly supports the conclu- sion that Jewish life in Russia, the birthplace of the Jewish century and Slezkine’s own birthplace, is dead. “I lived in Moscow for more than forty years. I loved it as passionately as one loves a human being. I thought I would not be able to live a single day without it. And yet I have left it forever – consciously, calmly, even joyfully, without a chance to see it again or any desire to return. I live without nostalgia, without looking back. Moscow, 162 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 such as it is, is gone from my soul, and that is the best proof of the correct- ness of my decision” (P. 359). Well, such was Meromskaia’s choice, and perhaps Slezkine’s choice, but it does not mean the end of Jewish history. Take journalist Masha Gessen, whose recent book, Esther and Ruzya, explores Hodl’s choice with more empathy and less irony than Slezkine. The teenage-émigré Gessen chose to return to Moscow in the early 1990s, because she thought it was a great place to live for a young Jewish writer and journalist, not unlike Bergelson’s choice to return to Moscow in the 1930s, because he thought it would provide him a bright future as a writer. I make this analogy not to suggest that Gessen’s and Bergelson’s circumstances were similar. Bergelson left Depression-era Europe, Gessen left wealthy liberal America. Nor do I want to suggest that Gessen is deluding herself into thinking that there is a positive Jewish future in Russia. Let’s hope, no let’s presume, that her story does not end like Bergelson’s. I draw the comparison to show that in writing history, we already know how the story ends, and at the same time, we must be humble in not knowing what the future of Jewish life in Russia may be. Bergelson did not think he was deluding himself in 1926, otherwise he would not have written Three Centers. To presume that future stories will end the same way as past ones is to risk playing Cassandra. I am generally suspicious of ends to stories that are constantly unfolding, though I am perhaps too much the optimist. Looking at some of the latest statistics about Israeli émigrés to Russia, with more people going to Russia from Israel than the other way around, provides yet another reason to envision a future Jewish life in Russia. Or the fact that Jewish organizations – especially those connected with the most visible propagator of global Jewish identities, Chabad Lubavitch Hasidism – are springing up throughout the former Soviet Union, especially in the economically vibrant capitals of Moscow and Kiev. Slezkine is correct that the forms of Jewish identity (or lack thereof) propagated by the Yiddish poet Bergelson, the Russified intelligent Meroms- kaia, and the fictional Hodl are doomed to the trashbin of history, and Slez- kine is correct that liberalism and nationalism have proved more lasting than ethno-Communism. But in a global (Jewish) world, in which Hodl’s Russian-speaking grandchildren have completely transformed what it means to be Israeli and are now the largest Jewish émigré population in the United States, there are also opportunities to bring their American and Israeli selves back to Moscow to build new Jewish lives. This post-ideological moment allows us to abandon the idea of ideological centers in favor of a more Mercurian approach to Jewish identity in the twenty first century. 163 D. Shneer, When Jewish Grandmothers Ruled the World SUMMARY

Ýññå Äýâèäà Øíèðà îòêðûâàåòñÿ ññûëêîé íà ñòàòüþ îäíîãî èç âåäóùèõ èäèøèñòñêèõ ïèñàòåëåé äîâîåííîãî ïîêîëåíèÿ – Äàâèäà Áåðãåëüñîíà “Òðè öåíòðà” (1926 ã.). Ïîäîáíî Þ. Ñë¸çêèíó ñåãîäíÿ, Áåðãåëüñîí äåëèë ìèð íà òðè èäåîëîãè÷åñêèå åâðåéñêèå “êóëüòóðíûå çîíû”: ÑØÀ, ãäå åâðåéñòâó ãðîçèëà ïîëíàÿ àññèìèëÿöèÿ; Ïîëüøà, ãäå òðàäèöèîííûé åâðåéñêèé îáðàç æèçíè îêîñòåíåâàë; è ÑÑÑÐ, êîòîðîìó ïðèíàäëåæàëî åâðåéñêîå áóäóùåå (è êóäà îòïðàâèëñÿ Áåð- ãåëüñîí â 1933 ã., ÷òîáû ïîãèáíóòü â 1952 ã.). Êíèãà Ñë¸çêèíà îò÷àñòè âîñïðîèçâîäèò è ïîäòâåðæäàåò ìåíòàëüíóþ êàðòó Áåðãåëüñîíà, óáåäèòåëüíî ðåêîíñòðóèðóÿ òðè åâðåéñêèå öåíòðà, âîïëîùàâøèå îïðåäåëåííóþ èäåîëîãè÷åñêóþ ðåàêöèþ íà ìîäåðíîñòü. Ä. Øíèð ðàçäåëÿåò ïðåäëîæåííîå â êíèãå ïðî÷òåíèå è äîìûñëèâàíèå ñþæåòà “Òåâüå Ìîëî÷íèêà” Øîëîì-Àëåéõåìà – âûáîð êàæäîé èç äî÷å- ðåé Òåâüå ó Ñë¸çêèíà âîïëîùàåò îäíó èç ëîãèê ìîäåðíà è âåäåò â îäèí èç åãî “öåíòðîâ”. Øíèð òàêæå ïîä÷åðêèâàåò ïàðàëëåëè ìåæäó âçãëÿ- äàìè Ñë¸çêèíà è èçðàèëüñêîãî èñòîðèêà Á. Õàðøàâà íà ÕÕ âåê êàê íà ýïîõó “ñîâðåìåííîé åâðåéñêîé ðåâîëþöèè”. Ðàçíèöà ìåæäó íèìè ëåæèò â îöåíêå ãîñóäàðñòâà Èçðàèëü (ïîïûòêè óòâåðäèòü åâðååâ êàê àïïîëîíèéöåâ) êàê îäíîãî èç çàâîåâàíèé ýòîé ðåâîëþöèè. Øíèð ïåðå÷èñëÿåò ïðîáëåìàòè÷íûå äëÿ ìàññîâîãî âîñïðèÿòèÿ âûâîäû Ñë¸çêèíà îòíîñèòåëüíî âûñîêîé äîëè ó÷àñòèÿ åâðååâ â ðåâî- ëþöèîííîì è êîììóíèñòè÷åñêîì äâèæåíèÿõ, îðãàíàõ íàñèëèÿ (è óñïåø- íîãî ñàìîðåïðåçåíòèðîâàíèÿ êàê æåðòâ ðåæèìîâ ÕÕ âåêà), ñ÷èòàÿ ýòè âûâîäû, òåì íå ìåíåå, õîðîøî îáîñíîâàííûìè. Çàñëóãó Ñë¸çêèíà îí âèäèò â òîì, ÷òî îí ñóìåë ïîäîéòè ê äàííûì ôàêòàì âíå àíòèñå- ìèòñêîãî äèñêóðñà, ñåðüåçíî çàäóìàâøèñü íàä èõ çíà÷åíèåì. Íåêîòîðûå âîçðàæåíèÿ âûçûâàåò ó Øíèðà âûâîä Ñë¸çêèíà î êîíöå âåêà èäåî- ëîãè÷åñêèõ ðåâîëþöèé, ÷òî, â ëîãèêå êíèãè, îçíà÷àåò, ñîáñòâåííî, êîíåö ñîâðåìåííîé åâðåéñêîé èñòîðèè. Øíèð ïðèçûâàåò âèäåòü “åâðåéñêèé âåê” êàê äëÿùèéñÿ ïðîöåññ ñ îòêðûòûì êîíöîì.

164 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Àëåêñàíäð ÝÒÊÈÍÄ

ÇÀ ÑÎÞÇ ÌÅÐÊÓÐÈß È ÌÍÅÌÎÇÈÍÛ

Êíèãà Þðèÿ Ñë¸çêèíà – ïðîðûâ. Ïîñëå ÷òåíèÿ åå ó âàñ èçìå- íèòñÿ ïîíèìàíèå òîãî, êòî òàêèå åâðåè è ÷òî òàêîå ñîâðåìåííîñòü. Äâå íåïîäúåìíûå èñòîðèè, åâðååâ è ñîâðåìåííîñòè, ïðåîáðàæåíû è ñâÿçàíû íåñêîëüêèìè îòêðûòèÿìè. Ñíàáæåííûå äåðçêèìè, ïîýòè- ÷åñêèìè ìåòàôîðàìè, ýòè îòêðûòèÿ âåäóò çà ñîáîé ìíîæåñòâî ôàêòîâ. Òàê åâðåéñêèå þíîøè íà êàçàöêèõ ëîøàäÿõ âåëè â áîé êðåñòüÿíñêèå ïîëêè. È ïîáåæäàëè. Ïåðâîå è ãëàâíîå èç ðàññóæäåíèé Ñë¸çêèíà âûäåëÿåò â èñòîðèè ìèðîçäàíèÿ äâå íîâûå, äâå âå÷íûå ñòèõèè. Ó åãî ïðåäøåñòâåííèêà ïî ýòîé ÷àñòè äèõîòîìèÿ àïîëëîíèéñêîãî è äèîíèñèéñêîãî âûòåñ- íÿëà âñå ìåðêàíòèëüíîå è åâðåéñêîå. Áëàãîðîäíîå ñîñëîâèå íå íóæ- äàëîñü â ìðàìîðå äëÿ âàÿíèÿ è â âèíå äëÿ ïèðøåñòâà óæå ïîòîìó, ÷òî èõ èìåëî. Âûáðàñûâàÿ îäíó èç òðàãè÷åñêèõ ñòèõèé, äèîíèñèé- ñêóþ, íà ñâàëêó èñòîðèè, Ñë¸çêèí ðàñøèðÿåò çíà÷åíèå äðóãîé, àïîëëîíèéñêîé, è ïðîòèâîïîñòàâëÿåò åé ñàìîäåëüíóþ ìåðêóðèàëüíóþ. Ñë¸çêèí ñòàâèò Íèöøå ñ ãîëîâû íà íîãè, à ïîòîì ñðàçó ê ñòåíêå. Òðîôåÿìè, îäíàêî, îí ðàñïîðÿæàåòñÿ ìåðêóðèàëüíî. Çàõâà÷åííîå îðóæèå ìîäåðíèçèðîâàíî è âíîâü èäåò â áîé. Ñëîâ íåò, òðîôåé ñòðåëÿåò; à âñå æå âûãëÿäèò ñòàðîìîäíî, äà è íåïîâîðîòëèâ. Íèö- øåàíñêàÿ ðèòîðèêà “âå÷íûõ ñòèõèé” çàáàâíî âûãëÿäèò âî âñåãäà èðîíè÷åñêîì (íî íå âñåãäà ñàìîèðîíè÷íîì) òåêñòå Ñë¸çêèíà. Ìåðêóðèàíñòâî “îáñëóæèâàþùèõ êî÷åâíèêîâ”, ñâîéñòâåííîå âñåì âðåìåíàì è ðàñàì, ïðåâðàùàåòñÿ â ìåòàôèçè÷åñêóþ ñóùíîñòü. 165 À. Ýòêèíä, Çà ñîþç Ìåðêóðèÿ è Ìíåìîçèíû Èíòåðåñíî ñïðîñèòü, êòî ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñëåçêèíñêèì Âàãíåðîì, àðòèñ- òè÷åñêèì èñòî÷íèêîì èñòîðèîñîôñêîãî âäîõíîâåíèÿ. Ïî àíàëîãèè äîãàäàåìñÿ, ÷òî ìåðêóðèàíñòâî ðîäèëîñü èç äóõà êîìåäèè. Ìîæåò áûòü, åãî íàäî ïðîèçâîäèòü (äî Øîëîìà-Àëåéõåìà) èç Áîìàðøå, ÷åé Ôèãàðî ñòàë ïðîòîòèïîì ñëóãè, ïðåâðàùàþùåãîñÿ â ãîñïîäèíà, äëÿ Ãåãåëÿ è Êîæåâà; íî Ñë¸çêèí èçáåãàåò ýòîé ëèíèè, êîòîðàÿ ïîñòàâèëà áû íîâûå âîïðîñû.  ñàìîì äåëå, “òðåòüå ñîñëîâèå” Ôðàíöóçñêîé ðåâîëþöèè, – Ôèãàðî, ïðåâðàùàâøèåñÿ â Ìàðàòî⠖ îíè æå íå áûëè åâðåÿìè... Âñÿêàÿ ëè áóðæóàçèÿ ìåðêóðèàëüíà? Òîãäà Ñë¸çêèí óäâàèâàåò ñóùíîñòè áåç íåîáõîäèìîñòè, ÷òîáû îáîéòè ìàðêñèçì èëè, ñêîðåå, ïðåäñòàâèòü åìó íîâóþ àëüòåðíàòèâó. Èñòîðè÷åñêèé ìàòåðèàëèçì Ìàðêñà îäóøåâëÿë êëàññû è èãíîðè- ðîâàë íàöèè; èñòîðè÷åñêèé ýòíîãðàôèçì Ñë¸çêèíà îäóøåâëÿåò íàöèè è èãíîðèðóåò êëàññû. Íî, ìîæåò áûòü, íå âñÿêàÿ áóðæóàçèÿ ìåðêóðèàëüíà? Òîãäà ïîëó÷àåì äèêèé åâðåéñêèé êàïèòàëèçì, íàõîäÿùèéñÿ â âå÷íîì êîíôëèêòå ñ íàöèîíàëüíûì ãîñêàïèòàëèçìîì. Ñòðàøíî è âîîáðàçèòü, êàê ÷èòàòåëè ìîãóò ïðèìåíèòü Ñë¸çêèíà; ñ åãî ïðåäøåñòâåííèêàìè ñëó÷àëîñü òàêîå, ÷òî è íå âîîáðàçèøü. Ìåðêóðèàíöàìè áûëè åâðåè è íååâðåè – òîðãîâöû, øèíêàðè, ìàêëåðû, òîëìà÷è, ïóòåøåñòâåííèêè, øïèîíû, èñòîðèêè... Ýòî âñå, êòî äåëàåò äåíüãè íå èç çåìëè, à èç âîçäóõà. Àïïàðàò íàñèëèÿ, êàêèì ÿâëÿåòñÿ íàöèîíàëüíîå ãîñóäàðñòâî, Ñë¸çêèí çà÷èñëÿåò â àïîëëî- íèéñòâî. Íî è ýòè ëþäè çåìëþ íå ïàøóò, åñëè íå ñ÷èòàòü ñòðîéáàòà. Ôèíàíñîâàÿ ñèñòåìà ìåðêóðèàëüíà ïî îïðåäåëåíèþ; íî îíà îñíîâàíà íà àïîëëëîíèéñêîì çàêîíå è åãî èñïîëíèòåëÿõ. Êòî áëèæå ê ïðîèç- âîäñòâó, øèíêàðü èëè ìûòàðü? Êîíå÷íî, ïåðâûé; íî òîãäà â ñëåç- êèíñêîé òîïîëîãèè ïîÿâëÿþòñÿ íåïðèÿòíûå ðàçðûâû.  ïîñëåäíèõ ãëàâàõ Ñë¸çêèí ïðè÷èñëÿåò ñîâåòñêîå ×Ê-ÊÃÁ, à îñîáåííî åãî åâðåéñêèõ îòöîâ-îñíîâàòåëåé, ê ìåðêóðèàíöàì. ×òî æ, àðìèÿ õîäèò ïîä Àïîëëîíîì, à ïîëèöèÿ ïîä Ìåðêóðèåì? Èëè ó òàéíîé ïîëè- öèè îñîáåííûå áîãè?  ïðèìåíåíèè ê ãîñóäàðñòâó, òâîð÷åñêîå ñîåäèíåíèå Íèöøå ñ Ãåëëíåðîì – ïàòåíòîâàííîå èçäåëèå Ñë¸çêèíà – äàåò ñáîè. Èòàê, ñîâðåìåííîñòü ñòàëà ìåðêóðèàëüíîé, à åâðåè âñåãäà áûëè òàêîâûìè. Åâðåè ïîòîìó ïðåîáëàäàþò â ñîâðåìåííîñòè, ÷òî èìåëè èñòîðè÷åñêóþ ôîðó – ðàíüøå íà÷àëè, ëó÷øå ïîäãîòîâèëèñü, áîëüøå ïðàêòèêîâàëèñü. Ó åâðååâ è ñîâðåìåííîñòè îáùèå äðóçüÿ (íàïðè- ìåð, âåáåðîâñêèå ïðîòåñòàíòû) è îáùèå âðàãè (íàïðèìåð, ãèòëå- ðîâñêèå íàöèñòû). Îò ïîãðîìîâ äî Õîëîêîñòà, âðàãè óáèâàëè 166 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 åâðååâ ïîòîìó, ÷òî õîòåëè îñòàíîâèòü ñîâðåìåííîñòü.  ýòîì ðàññóæ- äåíèè, öåíòðàëüíîì äëÿ Ñë¸çêèíà, ñîâðåìåííîñòü ïðèîáðåòàåò âèä, âêóñ è çàïàõ. Òàêàÿ ñîâðåìåííîñòü ïîõîæà íà åâðååâ, à åùå îíà ïàõíåò ìåòàôèçèêîé. Äåêîíñòðóèðóÿ ìíîãîå äðóãîå, Ñë¸çêèí ýññåíöèàëèçèðóåò ìåðêóðèàíñòâî è ñîâðåìåííîñòü. Îíè ñòàíîâÿòñÿ ñóùíîñòÿìè, êîòîðûå ìîæíî ëþáèòü èëè íåíàâèäèòü. Ñîâðåìåí- íîñòü ìîæíî ãðîìèòü, êàê ìåñòå÷êî, îñòàíîâèòü, êàê ïðîãðåññ, è óáèòü, êàê åâðåÿ.  ñîâðåìåííîñòè æèâóò ìíîãèå, íî íå âñå. Âðàãî⠖ êàçàêîâ, òåððîðèñòî⠖ ìîæíî îáâèíÿòü íå òîëüêî â òîì, ÷òî îíè âðàãè åâðååâ, íî è â òîì, ÷òî îíè âðàãè ñîâðåìåííîñòè. Òàê ñîâðå- ìåííîñòü ñòàíîâèòñÿ èìïåðèåé.  XXI âåêå òàê îíî è ïðîèñõîäèò. Çàùèùàÿñü, ñîâðåìåííîñòü ñòàíîâèòñÿ èìïåðèåé, à èìïåðèÿ ñîâðåìåííîñòüþ. Íî òàê ëè áûëî â òå÷åíèå “åâðåéñêîãî” XX âåêà? Ñë¸çêèí óáåäèòåëüíî ïåðåîïè- ñûâàåò äîëãèé ïåðèîä Ñîâåòñêîé èñòîðèè, ñ 1917 è ïî êðàéíåé ìåðå äî 1949, êàê âðåìÿ åâðåéñêîé ñâåðõïðåäñòàâëåííîñòè èëè, ãîâîðÿ äðóãèì ÿçûêîì, ãåãåìîíèè. Îñòàëîñü âûÿñíèòü, êàêîå îòíîøåíèå ýòîò ïåðèîä èìåë ê ñîâðåìåííîñòè. Äëÿ òîãî, ÷òîáû ïîääåðæàòü ñâîþ ñèñòåìó òåîðåòè÷åñêèõ óðàâíåíèé, Ñë¸çêèí âûíóæäåí ñêàçàòü, ÷òî ñòàëèíñêîå ãîñóäàðñòâî â Ðîññèè òàê æå ïðèíàäëåæàëî ñîâðå- ìåííîñòè, êàê ñèîíèñòñêîå ãîñóäàðñòâî â Ïàëåñòèíå è ëèáåðàëüíîå ãîñóäàðñòâî â ÑØÀ. Çà ýòèìè ðàññóæäåíèÿìè ñòîèò òðàäèöèÿ, – íå óñòàðåëà ëè îíà? Àìåðèêàíñêèå ïîïóò÷èêè ýïîõè Äåïðåññèè âîîáðàæàëè Ñîâåòû êàê îáðàçåö äëÿ ñîâðåìåííîñòè. Àìåðèêàíñêèå ëèáåðàëû ýïîõè Äåòàíòà ðàññóæäàëè îá àëüòåðíàòèâíûõ ñîâðå- ìåííîñòÿõ.  XXI âåêå ñîâðåìåííîñòü îêàçàëàñü ìíîãîêîëåéíîé, íî îäíîíàïðàâëåííîé. Ó ñîâðåìåííîñòè åñòü îòêðûòûå âðàãè è òàéíûå âðåäèòåëè; åñòü ñàáîòàæíèêè, êîòîðûå äåëàþò âèä, ÷òî äâèæóòñÿ, è åñòü “çàéöû”, êîòîðûå äâèæóòñÿ, íî íå ïëàòÿò. Åñëè Ñîâåòñêèé ïåðèîä òðàêòîâàòü êàê âåðøèíó è îáðàçåö êîíòð- ñîâðåìåííîñòè, ñâåðõïðåäñòàâëåííîñòü åâðååâ â Ñîâåòñêîé ýëèòå íå ïîäòâåðæäàåò, íî îïðîâåðãàåò ñàìûé áîëüøîé íàððàòèâ Ñë¸çêèíà, ñîãëàñíî êîòîðîìó åâðåéñòâî ðàâíî ñîâðåìåííîñòè. Ñîñðåäîòî÷èâøèñü íà XX âåêå, Ñë¸çêèí óêîðîòèë ðåòðîñïåêòèâó è íåñêîëüêî òåì îñòàâèë áåç ðàññìîòðåíèÿ. Îäíà èç òàêèõ òåì – èóäåè-õàçàðû è ïîïûòêà èõ ðåâèçèîíèñòñêîé èíòåðïðåòàöèè, êîòîðàÿ áûëà ïðåäïðèíÿòà Àðòóðîì Êåñòëåðîì â åãî “Òðèíàäöàòîì êîëåíå”. Êåñòëåð ïûòàëñÿ äîêàçàòü, ÷òî âîñòî÷íî-åâðîïåéñêèå àøêåíàçè ïðîèçîøëè íå îò èñïàíñêèõ åâðååâ, íî îò âîëæñêèõ õàçàð. 167 À. Ýòêèíä, Çà ñîþç Ìåðêóðèÿ è Ìíåìîçèíû Õàçàðû íå áûëè ìåðêóðèàëüíû, è èõ ãîñóäàðñòâî ïîõîäèëî ñêîðåå íà Èçðàèëü, ÷åì íà ×åðòó. Îíè, îäíàêî, ïîäâåðãëèñü êàòàñòðîôå, ïîõîæåé íà Õîëîêîñò. Îá èõ äèàñïîðå íè÷åãî íå èçâåñòíî; îíà è ïðåäñòàâëÿåò ïðåäìåò ñïåêóëÿöèé. Ìîæåò áûòü, îòòóäà (à íå ïðÿìî èç ìîèñååâà Èñõîäà) ñòîèò íà÷èíàòü èñòîðèþ áëóæäàíèÿ è ïîñðåä- íè÷åñòâà? Åùå îäíà òåìà, êîòîðîé Ñë¸çêèí íå çàíèìàåòñÿ – åâðåé- ñêèé êàãàë. Êàãàë íå áûë íè ìåðêóðèàëüíûì, íè ñîâðåìåííûì èíñòèòóòîì; íî â ×åðòå åâðåè æèëè êàãàëàìè, à óõîäÿ èç ×åðòû, êàê-òî ïðåîäîëåâàëè ýòî íàñëåäñòâî. Îòíîøåíèÿ êàãàëà è ãîñóäàð- ñòâà ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû, êàãàëà è íóêëåàðíîé ñåìüè ñ äðóãîé (îòíî- øåíèÿ â ðàâíîé ñòåïåíè íåñîâðåìåííûå, ïîòîìó ÷òî îïîñðåäîâàëè ïðÿìûå îòíîøåíèÿ èíäèâèäà ñ ãîñóäàðñòâîì è ñåìüåé), çàñëóæè- âàþò ðàñìîòðåíèÿ â òåðìèíàõ Ñë¸çêèíà.  ïîñëåäíèõ ãëàâàõ Ñë¸çêèí ïåðåîïèñûâàåò âñå, ÷òî ñëó÷èëîñü ñ åâðåÿìè â XX âåêå, êàê èñòîðèþ òðåõ ýìèãðàöèé. Âûáîð äåëàëñÿ â ×åðòå îñåäëîñòè. Îäíè óåõàëè â Ïàëåñòèíó, äðóãèå â Àìåðèêó, òðåòüè â Ðîññèþ, ÷åòâåðòûå îñòàëèñü, ÷òîáû ïîãèáíóòü â Õîëîêîñòå. Èäåÿ òîãî, ÷òî ðîññèéñêèå åâðåè òàêèå æå èììèãðàíòû, êàê åâðåè â Àìåðèêå èëè â Èçðàèëå – ýôôåêòèâíàÿ êîíñòðóêöèÿ, ðàäèêàëüíî ïåðåîïèñûâàþùåå ïðîøëîå.  ñèëó ïðèâû÷êè, íî åùå â áîëüøåé ñòåïåíè äëÿ òîãî, ÷òîáû ïðîòèâîïîñòàâèòü ñåáÿ òåì, êòî óåçæàë âíîâü, ðîññèéñêèå åâðåè ñêëîííû ñ÷èòàòü ñåáÿ ìåñòíûìè, îñåäëûìè ñòàðîæèëàìè. Íî ýòî íå òàê, è ïîñëå Ñë¸çêèíà íèêîãäà óæå òàê íå áóäåò. Ïî áîëüøîìó ñ÷åòó, åäèíñòâåííàÿ ïðîáëåìà, â îòíîøåíèè êîòîðîé ÿ íå ñîãëàñåí ñî Ñë¸çêèíûì – ïðîáëåìà êîëëåêòèâíîé (èëè ýòíè÷åñêîé) âèíû. Îòðèöàÿ ýòó ïðîáëåìó â ñîîòâåòñòâèè ñî ñâîèìè ïîíÿòíûìè èíòåðåñàìè, îí èñõîäèò, êàê ìíå êàæåòñÿ, èç ñëèøêîì óçêîãî ïîíèìàíèÿ îòâåòñòâåííîñòè è èñêóïëåíèÿ. Ñ ôàêòàìè â ðóêàõ Ñë¸çêèí äîêàçûâàåò ñâåðõïðåäñòàâëåííîñòü, à âðåìåíàìè è ïðÿìîå ëèäåðñòâî, åâðååâ â ðóññêîé ðåâîëþöèè è òåððîðå. Íå çíà÷èò ëè ýòî, ñïðîñèò Ñë¸çêèíà äàæå è íå ðóññêèé øîâèíèñò, à ïðîñòî ïîòîìîê ïîñòðàäàâøèõ, ÷òî åâðåè äîëæíû íåñòè èñòîðè÷åñêóþ îòâåòñòâåííîñòü òîãî æå òèïà, êàêóþ îíè, åâðåè, îæèäàþò è òðåáóþò îò íåìöåâ? Âîïðîñ î÷åíü íåïðèÿòíûé, à îòâåò òðåáóåò åùå áîëüøåé ñìåëîñòè, ÷åì âñå ïðåäûäóùåå. Ìíå êàæåòñÿ, ýòà òåìà äîëæíà áûëà èìåòü ñòðàòåãè÷åñêîå çíà÷åíèå äëÿ ýòîé êíèãè íàðàâíå ñ äâóìÿ-òðåìÿ äðóãèìè âàæíåéøèìè òåìàìè. Ìåæäó íåìåöêèìè íàöèñòàìè è ðóññêî-åâðåéñêî-ëàòûøñêèìè 168 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 áîëüøåâèêàìè íåò ñèììåòðèè. Íåò ñèììåòðèè è ìåæäó èõ æåðòâàìè. Íàñëåäíèêè æåðòâ íàöèçìà, áîëåå îäíîðîäíûå, ÷åì íàñëåäíèêè æåðòâ êîììóíèçìà, îêàçàëèñü íàñòîëüêî æå áîëåå ýôôåêòèâíûìè â äåëàõ ïàìÿòè. Åñëè ãîâîðèòü òîëüêî î åâðåÿõ, òî è îíè â ðîëè íàñëåäíèêîâ æåðòâ îêàçàëèñü áîëåå àêòèâíû, ÷åì â ðîëè íàñëåäíèêîâ ïàëà÷åé. Ñë¸çêèí óõîäèò îò òåìû, óòâåðæäàÿ, ÷òî êîëëåêòèâíàÿ âèíà ïîäëåæèò èñêóïëåíèþ â ðèòóàëå, à íå â òåêñòå, è â îòñóòñòâèè Âûñøåãî ñóäèè íå ïîäëåæèò ðàöèîíàëüíîìó àíàëèçó. Íî â ñâåòñêîé êóëüòóðå êîëëåêòèâíàÿ âèíà âîïëîùàåòñÿ â ðàáîòå ïàìÿòè. Ïàìÿòü î ÃÓËÀÃå ïî ñâîåìó çíà÷åíèþ ñðàâíèìà ñ ïàìÿòüþ î Õîëîêîñòå, íî áîëåå ñëîæíà è íåñðàâíåííî ìåíåå ðàçðàáîòàííà. Èñòîðèÿ êîëëåêòèâíîé âèíû è åñòü æàíð, â êîòîðîì ïèøåò Ñë¸çêèí. Åãî êíèãà – öåííûé âêëàä â ðàáîòó ïàìÿòè; ýòî óñèëèå èñêóïëåíèÿ, êîòîðîìó íå õâàòàåò ïîíèìàíèÿ ñîáñòâåííîé ðîëè. Äëÿ àíàëèçà âèíû è ïàìÿòè òîæå ñóùåñòâóþò êëàññè÷åñêèå ïàðàäèãìû. Íèöøå è Ãåëëíåðà íàäî áûëî äîïîëíèòü ßñïåðñîì. Òîãäà ýòî áûëà áû âåëèêàÿ êíèãà, êîòîðàÿ áû ïîíÿëà ñâîå çíà÷åíèå. Äëÿ åâðåÿ è íååâðåÿ, òàêàÿ êíèãà îïðåäåëèëà áû ÷åðòû ïîñòðåâî- ëþöèîííîãî âåêà.

SUMMARY

Slezkine’s book is a breakthrough. Borrowing from and then rejecting Nietzsche’s paradigm of the Apollonian and the Dionysian, Slezkine posits the opposition between the Mercurial, meaning mobile, cosmopolitan, modern, and the Apollonian, meaning land-bound, aristocratic or peasant, and anti-modern. Jews exemplify the mercurial. Whereas Marx animates classes and ignores ethnicities, Slezkine animates ethnicities and ignores classes. Slezkine avoids dealing with the question of how to account for a classical bourgeoisie (Tier État) that shared the same ethnic back- ground as their Apollonian counterparts. The compelling center of his argu- ment, however, is the attribution of modernity to Jews and the suggestion that those who have murdered Jews, from the Russian pogroms to the Holocaust, have been struggling to stop modernity. Essentializing the mercurial and 169 À. Ýòêèíä, Çà ñîþç Ìåðêóðèÿ è Ìíåìîçèíû modernity, Slezkine gives them a taste and smell that can be loved or hated. Modernity can be destroyed in its personification, the Jew. In the 21st century, modernity becomes an empire and vice versa, but was this true in the “Jewish” 20th century? Slezkine’s argues that the fact that Jews equal modernity is exemplified by their overrepresentation in the Bolshevik regime from 1917-1949. But were Bolsheviks modern? Slezkine takes the positive answer for granted. Taking into account the Soviet’s actual resistance to modernity, Jewish participation in Stalinist Russia (as well as in similar affairs such as the movement of “the fellow travelers” in the U.S.) does not confirm but rather undermines Slezkine’s central argument. Slezkine redefines the history of the Jews in the 20th century as the his- tory of three emigrations from the Pale: to America, to Israel, and to Russia’s cities. The fourth group was annihilated in the Holocaust. The concept of Russian Jews being immigrants in the same way as American or Israeli Jews transforms the conventional conception and self-conception of Russian Jews as local residents. With this new construction, Slezkine has irreversibly altered our understanding of the Diaspora. In Slezkine’s well-grounded emphasis upon the overrepresentation of Jews in the Russian revolution, he provokes the unpleasant question of historical responsibility for its terror. Jews demand an acknowledgement of German responsibility for the Holocaust; can they avoid a similar debate in respect to their role in the Revolution? Ethnic diversity makes the issue of Soviet guilt more complex than the issue of the German guilt. It does not make this issue irresolvable or undebatable. Slezkine avoids these questions. He asserts that in the absence of a divine judge, collective guilt is not subject to analysis. But in secular culture, collective guilt is embodied in the work of memory. Slezkine’s work is actually written in this genre of collective (in this case, ethnic) memory. Rather than writing another book on the role of Jews in modern history, Slezkine has launched a pioneering contribution to the debate on Jewish responsibility. Such a book, for the Jew and non- Jew alike, would define the features of the post-revolutionary century. Unfortunately, Slezkine did not fully realize his own message. However, what he has done is a remarkable advance against the forces of hypocrisy and oblivion.

170 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Natan MEIR

THE JEWISH CENTURY: “WHAT DOES BEING A JEW MATTER?”

In The Jewish Century are woven two intertwined narratives: the one a standard though tremendously insightful historical narrative, the other an idiosyncratic rumination on the meaning of modernity. Both are thought- provoking, and both are problematic. One of the most compelling facets of the historical narrative (for there are many) is Slezkine’s “big-picture” explication of modern Jewish history, in the course of which he manages to demonstrate those furtive connec- tions between the various Jewish cultures in the three homelands that he discusses. Having felt and ruminated upon the sometimes eerie parallels between the Jewish experience in the U.S., Israel, and the (former) Soviet Union, I am grateful to Slezkine for making some of those similarities clear. The journeys that Jewish migrants to these countries undertook led them to remarkably similar destinations. And the transformation of the “Mercurian” Jew into “Apollonian” native does indeed seem to have the same roots, whether it is as a Sabra in Mandatory Palestine, a commissar in Soviet Russia, or a hale baseball player in an American suburb. Moreover, Slezkine knits together the historical experiences of Soviet, American, and Israeli Jews into a conceptual unity in a manner that is not only intellectually con- vincing but that also feels accurate to those of us familiar with all three contexts who always sensed the correspondences among them but could never quite put our collective finger on them. 171 N. Meir, The Jewish Century: “What Does Being a Jew Matter?” But as Marina Mogilner indicates, however suggestive this picture, it is drawn with too wide a brush. From afar the portrait is exquisite and at times even breathtaking in its breadth, its analytical dexterity, and its rich hues (thanks especially to the imaginative use of fiction and poetry); but when viewed more closely, it is clearly overly schematized, especially those portions attempting to place American and Palestinian/Israeli Jewry into the same historiosophical framework as Soviet Jews. Yes, there were young Jews in the interwar United States who rebelled against their parents by becoming Communists, but then again, many did not. Yes, Judaism took a new turn in the U.S., but what does it mean to say that this “strategy” was “to retain the Jewishness, recover it if it seemed lost, and possibly reform it by means of a peculiarly American procedure called the ‘Protestantization’ of Judaism” (P. 263)? Wonderfully pithy, but without much historical meaning. Indeed, the schema of Mercurianism versus Apollonianism that pervades the entire book seems to lose its usefulness by virtue of its ubiquity. The terms are fascinating in the first chapter, valuable as an analytical tool in the second (especially in the discussion of nationalism), but a little tired by the third, when Slezkine starts to talk about real people. And that is one of the primary flaws of the book; for all of its rich detail when discussing individuals, both real and fictional, one senses that they must in the end sacrifice their individuality for the greater good of the author’s systematization of the modernity that defined and gave meaning to their lives (is it coincidental that they sacrificed that individuality – for the first time – on the altars of the very ideologies that Slezkine is analyzing here?). Even if we concede that Jews were “the main representatives of modernity and secularism,” we cannot stop there. For Jews did not only represent, they also were – they lived lives worthy of consideration apart from the whirl- wind to which they devoted their lives (or found themselves caught up in). Over and over again we hear that “Most X were not Jews, and most Jews were not X – but Jews had a higher proportion of X than any other group;” and we are treated to many statistics showing how many professors of Marxism- Leninism were Jewish, how many Chekists were Jewish, how many American journalists and politicians are Jewish (for example, P. 236 and P. 368). Thus the subject here is indeed the Jew as carrier of modernity – and brilliantly expressed it is, too – but the Jew as Jew, or as human, is somehow lost. What of those Russian Jews who did not devote themselves wholeheartedly to the Bolshevik cause? What of the young Sabras who found themselves indifferent to the propaganda of Zionism? What of American Jews who did not succeed in the Golden Land? 172 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 This, I think, points up a recent, and to my mind troubling, phenomenon in Jewish Studies: taking the Jews as an “emblem” – of modernity, of hybridity, of liminality, of empire and imperial practices. This approach may (and sometimes does) yield interesting results, but does it not in some way replicate the millennial European attitude towards Jews? To put it crudely: use the Jews for what they are useful for. To say that the Jewish story is the European story – fine, good. But to say that you’re telling the Jewish story when really you are using that story to talk about something else entirely – that is indeed problematic. So much for the individual Jew. But as it turns out, even “Jewishness” itself – though it is referred to throughout the work and explicated again and again – gets short shrift. As Slezkine ponders contemporary Jewish existence in Russia, he notes that “in the age of universal Mercurianism (the Jewish Age), the main question is whether the Russians will learn how to become Jews.” Given the thrust of the book’s argument, this question makes a good deal of sense. But stepping back for a moment, I cannot help but wonder, if Jews = Mercurians = consummate moderns = Russians, then has not the very word “Jew” been stripped of its original meaning, or indeed any real meaning at all? Perhaps the real problem here is the book’s failure adequately to define “Jewishness,” or conversely, that the concept is so overdetermined as to be meaningless. For even if Freudianism, Zionism, Marxism, and Nazism were all based on or centered around Jewishness in some way, we are still no closer to understanding what “Jewishness” means, because each one of those ideologies defined it in a different and idiosyncratic way. It is in that light that we might interpret Tevye’s plaintive question cited by Slezkine in his last paragraph: “What did being a Jew or not a Jew matter? Why did God have to create both?” (P. 371). What, indeed, does being a Jew matter if one is only instrumental, symbolic, illustrative, paradigmatic? And what does Jewishness matter if it can mean anything, or nothing at all?

173 N. Meir, The Jewish Century: “What Does Being a Jew Matter?” SUMMARY

Íàòàí Ìåèð ñ÷èòàåò ãëàâíîé çàñëóãîé Þ. Ñë¸çêèíà òî, ÷òî îí ïîêàçàë íåî÷åâèäíûå íà ïåðâûé âçãëÿä ïàðàëëåëè ìåæäó åâðåéñêèì èñòîðè÷åñêèì îïûòîì â ÑØÀ, Èçðàèëå è áûâøåì ÑÑÑÐ.  òî æå âðåìÿ, ýòè ñâÿçè íàìå÷åíû ïîðîé ñëèøêîì ñõåìàòè÷íî è àáñò- ðàêòíî, îíè ëèøåíû èñòîðè÷åñêîé êîíêðåòíîñòè. Ïîýòîìó ýâðèñ- òè÷åñêè èíòåðåñíàÿ îïïîçèöèÿ ìåðêóðèàíñòâà-àïïîëîíèéñòâà ïî ìåðå ðàçâèòèÿ ïîâåñòâîâàíèÿ òåðÿåò ñâîþ ïîëåçíîñòü: ýòà îïïî- çèöèÿ óâëåêàåò â ïåðâîé ãëàâå, ðàáîòàåò â êà÷åñòâå àíàëèòè÷åñêîãî èíñòðóìåíòà âî âòîðîé (îñîáåííî ïðèìåíèòåëüíî ê äèñêóññèè î íàöèîíàëèçìå) è èñ÷åðïûâàåò ñåáÿ ê òðåòüåé, ãäå ðå÷ü èäåò î ñóäüáàõ ðåàëüíûõ ëþäåé. Èìåííî çäåñü Í. Ìåèð óñìàòðèâàåò ãëàâíóþ ïðîáëåìó ìåòîäà Þ. Ñë¸çêèíà (è ïðåäñòàâëÿåìîé èì èñòîðèîãðà- ôè÷åñêîé òåíäåíöèè), êîòîðûé æåðòâóåò èíäèâèäóàëüíîñòüþ ñâîèõ ãåðîåâ ðàäè âûÿâëåíèÿ ìåõàíèçìîâ ìîäåðíîñòè. Åâðåè íå òîëüêî ðåïðåçåíòèðîâàëè íå÷òî è ÿâëÿëèñü íîñèòåëÿìè ìîäåðíîñòè, íàñòàèâàåò Ìåèð, îíè áûëè, ñóùåñòâîâàëè, è ýòî ñóùåñòâîâàíèå çàñëóæèâàåò èçó÷åíèÿ â ñâîèõ ñîáñòâåííûõ òåðìèíàõ.  ñâÿçè ñ ýòèì âñòàåò è âîïðîñ îá èñïîëüçîâàíèè â êíèãå êàòåãîðèé “åâðåé”, “åâðåéñêîñòü”, çíà÷åíèå êîòîðûõ ðàçìûâàåòñÿ, êîëü ñêîðî îíè ïðèðàâíèâàþòñÿ ê ìåðêóðèàíñòâó, ìîäåðíîñòè, ðåâîëþöèè, ôðåéäèçìó è ïðî÷. ×òî çíà÷èò áûòü åâðååì, åñëè “åâðåé” ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñèìâîëîì, èëëþñòðàöèåé, ðåïðåçåíòàíòîì? Ìåèð çàâåðøàåò ñâîé îòçûâ âîïðîñîì î êîððåêòíîñòè ïîäîáíîãî èñïîëüçîâàíèÿ êàòå- ãîðèè “åâðåé”, êîòîðîå ïîçâîëÿåò âïèñûâàòü â íåãî ëþáûå ñìûñëû.

174 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

John Doyle KLIER

JEWS ARE FROM MERCURY, APOLLONIANS ARE FROM MERCURY?

The Jewish Century is an intriguing book to read, but a difficult one to review. It is a quintessentially Mercurian work, a tour de force which blends aphorisms with conundrums. The trickster-author appears to offer something for everyone: “the reader who does not like chapter 1 may like chapter 2 and the other way around ” It is, in fact, just what one would expect from a Mercurian, a Russian Jewish emigré to the United States, who is teaching history – that most slippery and disputatious of “disciplines” – to the fat-cheeked sons and daughters of the Golden State’s Apollonians. (The sons and daughters of the Asian Mercurians are in other classrooms studying maths and science.) I count myself a wannabe Mercurian [qualifications: ex-Catholic, ex-German-Irish-ethnic, ex-American from Rust Belt US] who currently resides in London teaching Jewish History – that most slippery and dispu- tatious of slippery and disputatious “disciplines” – to the elite sons and daughters of Mercurians who long to be British (and therefore Apollonians). As such, I particularly enjoyed chapter one, “Mercury’s Sandals”. It shows how easy it is to be a Mercurian by offering a Cook’s Tour through the world’s Mercurians, ranging from the Koli such’ok, to the Eta, the Yabir, the Fuga, and on and on to the modern European Gypsies/Travellers. Is it only by chance that, against the background of the 2005 British parliamentary elections, the latter are under attack for allegedly undermining the (Apollonian) 175 J. Klier, Jews Are from Mercury, Apollonians Are from Mercury? property rights of the Great British Public? Their sneaky, devious crime is to buy land and move their caravans on to it without securing planning permission – Mercurians trying to become Apollonians. This “threat” has been identified, and opposed, by the Leader of the Opposition, the Right Honourable Michael Howard, MP, the son and grandson of Mercurians twice over: Romanian Jewish emigrants illegally resident in pre-war Britain. Chapter one demonstrates the universality of the phenomenon of Mercu- rianism, both territorially and chronologically. Indeed, Slezkine’s world is very much a bi-polar one, filled with antipodes, where Yin (Mercurianism) and Yang (Apollonianism) are locked in an eternal embrace – as opposed to Thesis and Antithesis, which inevitably produce progeny. But if Mercu- rianism is such a universal phenomenon, why does just one set of its rep- resentatives, Jews, serve as its archetype? Why was there a “Jewish Century?” The answer is to be found in the triumph of “Europe” (broadly defined) as the first modern, capitalist entity, which ushered in the “Age of Universal Mercurianism.” While there was nothing unusual about the social and economic position of the Jews in medieval and modern Europe, their situation as the “scriptural Mercurians of Europe” made them both the beneficiaries and scapegoats of modernity, its symbol throughout the world. “Modernity was about everybody becoming a service nomad: mobile, clever, articulate, occupationally flexible, and good at being a stranger” (P. 30). This was overtly recognized by a Chinese advocate of modernization at the turn of the 19th century. “Let us Chinese become the Jews of the twentieth century!” he exhorted. I read chapters 1 and 2 for fun, but chapter 3 for work, since the study of Russian Jewry is how I earn my keep. Chapter 3 underlines one of the con- ceptual flaws of the work, which we might term the problem of metamorphosis. Slezkine continually invokes this phenomenon: at every turn, Apollonians turn into (or try to turn into) Mercurians, while Mercurians turn into (or try to turn into) Apollonians. But already in chapter 1 he notes that “there is no consensus on why some recently uprooted Apollonians seem able and willing to transform themselves into Mercurians” (P. 33). Despite an assort- ment of suggestions on this score, we never receive a satisfactory answer. In the situation of the Jews in the Russian Empire he suggests another prob- lematical aspect of this phenomenon – that Jews are one group that never achieves a successful metamorphosis. Young Jews of the Pale, it seems, could move to “Pushkin Street,” where their “first love” was Russian culture. They could attempt to turn into Apollonians by pledging their loyalty to somebody else’s narod, the Russian peasantry. Yet they inevitably brought 176 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 their Mercurian practices into the movement, improving it and making it better (i.e., more Mercurian). It is no surprise that Slezkine utilizes Eric Haberer’s undervalued study Jews and Revolution in Nineteenth-Century Russia (Cambridge, 1995), which demonstrates the crucial contribution of Jews to Russian Populism. Haberer shows the extent to which the success of the Populist movement depended on the organizational principles advocated by Mark Natanson. The Jews were good at revolution, but only by bringing into Populism values they had absorbed from the Haskalah, the Central and East European Jewish enlightenment movement. It is no sur- prise that Isaac Deutscher’s concept of the “non-Jewish Jew,” who brings a Jewish ethical sensibility to the movement, is also invoked. Can Jews ever become Apollonians? Slezkine seems to answer “yes” in his observations on Israelis and American Jews. Yet at the same time they never seem to be very good at Apollonianism, even when they own subur- ban homes with manicured lawns and take their children to Little League practice. Witness how the children of Apollonian American Jews have a disturbing tendency to go off the reservation and become student radicals, at places like Berkeley. If Jews are fated always to be Mercurians, then Weber, Sombart, Freud, and a whole host of Antisemites are right – and Herzl and his Zionists are wrong: there must be something distinctive and eternal about the Jews. They apparently carry Mercurianism around with them in their portmanteaux. Consider the figure that looms over this book like Hermes himself – the consummate representative of the modern, Mercurian revolutionary, Lev Bronstein/Trotsky. Why not take him at his word when he declares that “I am a Social Democrat, not a Jew!” The corollary, of course, is the im- mediate need to explain how he lost one identity and gained the other. What were Bronstein/Trotsky’s Jewish/Mercurian credentials except his blood? Son of an (Apollonian) farmer, never as clever in cheder as he was everywhere else, how did the non-Jewish Bronstein turn into the Jewish Trosky? (And let’s not get started on Marx!) To take one last example: contemporary Russian nationalists are not surprised to discover Lenin’s Jewish grandfather – blood will out! We modern Mercurians, on the other hand, must be more sceptical about how Mercurianism is genetically determined. I don’t think that Slezkine means us to understand that, in the Jewish Century, everything is “Jewish” (i.e. Mercurian), but at times the book seems to imply exactly that. All Mercurians are Mercurians forever, however hard they try to escape, while Apollonians are just Mercurians who haven’t got 177 J. Klier, Jews Are from Mercury, Apollonians Are from Mercury? there yet. The Mercurian/Apollonian dichotomy offers an interesting, thought-provoking and clever model; it ultimately fails to explain why modern Jews, of all Mercurians, are so modern.

SUMMARY

Äëÿ Äæîíà Êëèåðà, îïèñûâàþùåãî ñåáÿ êàê ìåðêóðèàíöà, óøåä- øåãî îò èçíà÷àëüíî äàííûõ åìó òðàäèöèîííûõ õàðàêòåðèñòèê (ðåëèãèÿ, ýòíè÷åñêîå ïðîèñõîæäåíèå è ïðî÷.), êíèãà Ñë¸çêèíà ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ òðóäíî ïîääàþùèìñÿ îïèñàíèþ, ëîâêèì è èçîá- ðåòàòåëüíûì ñî÷èíåíèåì, â êîòîðîì àôîðèñòè÷íîñòü âûðàæåíèÿ ïîðîé ðàñòâîðÿåòñÿ â ãîëîâîëîìíîì ñîäåðæàíèè. Ïðè ÷òåíèè äâóõ ïåðâûõ ãëàâ êíèãè, â êîòîðûõ ââîäèòñÿ îñíîâíàÿ àíòðîïîëîãè- ÷åñêàÿ ìîäåëü (äåëåíèå ÷åëîâå÷åñòâà íà ìåðêóðèàíöåâ è àïîëëîíè- àíöåâ), Êëèåðîì äâèãàëî ëþáîïûòñòâî.  òî æå âðåìÿ òðåòüÿ ãëàâà, ïîñâÿùåííàÿ ñóäüáå ðîññèéñêèõ åâðååâ â ÑÑÑÐ, âîñïðèíèìàåòñÿ èì â ðàìêàõ ïðîôåññèîíàëüíûõ ñòàíäàðòîâ è ïîòîìó îöåíåíà íàèáîëåå êðèòè÷åñêè. Ýòà ÷àñòü ÿâëÿåòñÿ, ïî ìíåíèþ Êëèåðà, ìàëîóáåäèòåëüíîé ïîïûòêîé ïðîèëëþñòðèðîâàòü ìîäåðíûé ïðîöåññ ìåðêóðèàíèçàöèè è îäíîâðåìåííî òåíäåíöèþ ìåðêóðèàíöåâ ê àïîëëîíèéñòâó. Òðåòüÿ ãëàâà íå äàåò ðàçðåøåíèÿ ýòîé, ïî âûðàæåíèþ Êëèåðà, “ïðîáëåìû ìåòàìîðôîçû”. Ïðèìåðîâ, êîãäà òðàäèöèîííûå îñåäëûå àïîëëîíèàíöû ïðåâðàùàþòñÿ â ñâîþ ìåðêóðèàëüíóþ ïðîòèâîïîëîæíîñòü, ìàññà; ìåðêóðèàíåö æå, ïîõîæå, ñîõðàíÿåò ëîÿëüíîñòü ñâîåìó äðåâíåìó ïðîèñõîæäåíèþ. Ïðåäëîæåííàÿ Þ. Ñë¸çêèíûì äèõîòîìèÿ, ïî ìíåíèþ Êëèåðà, èíòåðåñíà è áóäî- ðàæèò ìûñëü, íî íå îáúÿñíÿåò, ïî÷åìó èç âñåõ ìåðêóðèàíöåâ èìåí- íî ñîâðåìåííûå åâðåè îêàçàëèñü ñàìûìè äåÿòåëüíûìè è ýôôåêòèâ- íûìè ïðåäñòàâèòåëÿìè ìîäåðíîñòè.

178 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

ÞÐÈÉ Ñ˨ÇÊÈÍ ÎÒÂÅ×ÀÅÒ...

Ñïàñèáî âñåì çà âîïðîñû, ñîâåòû è êîíñòðóêòèâíóþ êðèòèêó. Íà÷íó ñ êîðîëåé è êàïóñòû. Ïåðâàÿ ãëàâà “ñòàðîìîäíà”, ïèøóò ðåäàêòîðû, à ìåðêóðèàíöû ñ àïîëëîíèéöàìè “ïðèìîðäèàëüíû”. È òî, è äðóãîå ïðàâäà, íî ãðåõà ÿ â ýòîì íå âèæó. Ñòàðîìîäíû íûí÷å ýòíîãðàôèÿ, ãåîãðàôèÿ, ïàëåîãðàôèÿ, àðõåîëîãèÿ è ñàìàÿ ðàçíàÿ èñòîðèÿ (ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ, äèïëîìàòè÷åñêàÿ, ñîöèàëüíàÿ), íî êàê æå íàì áåç íèõ? Äà è åâðåè íå “âå÷íû”, êîíå÷íî (êàê ïðåäïîëàãàåò Äæîí Êëèåð), íî âïîëíå ñòàðèííû è ñòàðîìîäíû â ñìûñëå ïîâåäåíèÿ è ñïåöèàëèçàöèè. Íàöèîíàëüíîñòü ìîæíî “ñêîíñòðóèðîâàòü”, òðàäèöèþ “èçîáðåñòè”, à íàöèþ “âîîáðà- çèòü”, íî íå âñå îíè ñäåëàíû â Îäåññå íà Ìàëîé Àðíàóòñêîé óëèöå. Áûâàåò ïîëåçíî, ê ïðèìåðó, ðàçäåëèòü îáùåñòâà íà èíäóñò- ðèàëüíûå è òðàäèöèîííûå, à òðàäèöèîííûå – íà îõîòíèêîâ, ñêîòîâîäîâ è çåìëåïàøöåâ. Ñëèøêîì àêêóðàòíî? Óíèâåðñàëüíî? Âíåèñòîðè÷íî? Ïîæàëóé. Íî ñìîãóò ëè ðåäàêòîðû (à òàêæå Í. Ìåèð è Þ. Àâðóòèí) íàïèñàòü èñòîðèþ ðîäà ÷åëîâå÷åñêîãî, íå ïîëüçóÿñü ïîäîáíûìè ïîíÿòèÿìè? Òàê æå è ñ ìåðêóðèàíöàìè è àïîëëîíèéöàìè. Î÷åíü ïðîäóê- òèâíî, íà ìîé âçãëÿä, ðàçäåëèòü òðàäèöèîííûå îáùåñòâà íà ïðîèç- âîäèòåëåé ïèùè è ñïåöèàëèñòîâ ïî îáñëóæèâàíèþ. Íå ïðîñòî íà êëàññû è ñîñëîâèÿ (ýòî è òàê âñå âñåãäà äåëàþò, áîëåå èëè ìåíåå

179 Þðèé Ñë¸çêèí îòâå÷àåò... ñòàðîìîäíûì îáðàçîì), à íà öåëûå ïëåìåíà. À. Ýòêèíä ïèøåò, ÷òî ÿ (â îòëè÷èå îò Ìàðêñà) îäóøåâëÿþ íàöèè è èãíîðèðóþ êëàññû. Íî âåäü ìîè íàöèè – â íåêîòîðîì ñìûñëå êëàññû, à êëàññû – âñåãäà ïîòåíöèàëüíûå êàñòû. Ãëàâíûå ãåðîè êíèãè – ýòíèçèðîâàííûå ñïåöèàëèñòû (èëè íàîáîðîò). Èòàê, â ðåàëüíîì òðàäèöèîííîì ìèðå áûëè è åñòü êî÷åâûå ïîñðåäíèêè, èëè ìåðêóðèàíöû. Ó íèõ – êàê ó êðåñòüÿí, íàïðèìåð, – î÷åíü ìíîãî îáùåãî, ãäå áû îíè íè æèëè. È ñóäüáû ó íèõ âî ìíîãîì ñõîæèå, è ïîòîìêè èõ (â ìèðå, îòðèöàþùåì ïëåìåííûå ìîíîïîëèè) ÷ðåçâû÷àéíî ïîõîæè äðóã íà äðóãà. Åâðåè – îäíà èç òàêèõ ãðóïï, îäíîâðåìåííî òèïè÷íàÿ è èñêëþ÷èòåëüíàÿ. Ìåðêóðèàíöû è àïîëëîíèéöû – ýòî ëþäè, ïðèíàäëåæàùèå ê îïðåäåëåííîé òðàäèöèè. À òàêæå êàòåãîðèè, îïèñûâàþùèå ýòèõ ëþäåé. À òàêæå ìåòàôîðû, ïðèëîæèìûå ê äðóãèì ëþäÿì è ïîíÿ- òèÿì ïî ïðèíöèïó ïðåäïîëàãàåìîãî ñõîäñòâà. “Êàêîé âîîáùå ìåòîä ðàöèîíàëüíîãî äèñêóðñà äîïóñêàåò ïðèäàíèå ìåòàôîðàì ñòàòóñà àíàëèòè÷åñêèõ êîíöåïòîâ?”, ïèøåò Ì. Ìîãèëüíåð, âûðàæàÿ ìíåíèå ðåäàêöèè Ab Imperio. Äà ëþáîé. Êàê áûòü ñ “ïðîëåòàðèÿìè”, “áîëüøåâèêàìè”, “áðàìèíàìè”, “êàïèòàëèñòàìè”, “ìóæ÷èíàìè è æåíùèíàìè”, “îòöàìè è äåòüìè”? Âñå îíè ëþäè, âñå ïîíÿòèÿ, è âñå èñïîëüçóþòñÿ êàê ìåòàôîðû. È íè÷åãî, íèêòî íå æàëóåòñÿ. Òî åñòü, æàëóþòñÿ, êîíå÷íî, íî íå áðåçãóþò. “Íå ÿñíî òàêæå,” – ïèøóò ðåäàêòîðû, – “êòî òàêèå ‘åâðåè’, î êîòî- ðûõ ãîâîðèòñÿ â êíèãå, ïîñêîëüêó ðàçíèöà ìåæäó åâðååì è íå-åâðååì, åâðåéñêèì è íå-åâðåéñêèì òåðÿåò ñâîþ çíà÷èìîñòü íà ôîíå ãëîáàëü- íûõ ìåòàôîð ‘ìåðêóðèàíñòâà’ è ‘àïîëëîíñòâà’”. À ïî-ìîåìó íå òåðÿþò. Ïî-ìîåìó, åâðåÿ òàê æå ëåãêî îòëè÷èòü îò ìåðêóðèàíñòâà, êàê êàëüâèíèñòà îò ïðîòåñòàíñêîé ýòèêè. Êàê ÿ ïèøó âî ââåäåíèè, êíèãà ìîÿ  òàêîé æå ìåðå î åâðåÿõ, â êàêîé î åâðåéñêîé ýðå. Ñëîâîì “åâðåè” îáîçíà÷àþòñÿ â íåé ÷ëåíû òðàäèöèîííûõ åâðåéñêèõ îáùèí (åâðåè ïî ðîæäåíèþ, âåðå, íàçâàíèþ, ÿçûêó, çàíÿòèÿì, ñàìîîïèñàíèþ è ôîðìàëüíîìó ñòàòóñó), à òàêæå èõ äåòè è âíóêè (êåì áû îíè íè áûëè ïî âåðå, íàçâàíèþ, ÿçûêó, çàíÿòèÿì, ñàìîîïèñàíèþ è ôîðìàëüíîìó ñòàòóñó). Ãëàâíàÿ öåëü ðàññêàçà – ïîêàçàòü, ÷òî ïðîèçîøëî ñ äåòüìè Òåâüå, íåçàâèñèìî îò òîãî, êàê îíè îòíîñèëèñü ê Òåâüå è åãî âåðå. Ãëàâíûå ãåðîè ðàññêàçà –

180 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 òå èç äåòåé Òåâüå, êîòîðûå îñòàâèëè åãî è åãî âåðó è áûëè – íà âðåìÿ è ïî ýòîé ïðè÷èíå – çàáûòû ïðî÷èìè ÷ëåíàìè ñåìüè (C. 3). Íî â êàêîì ñìûñëå äåòè è âíóêè åâðåå⠖ åâðåè? Íå ïî êðîâè ëè? – ñïðàøèâàåò Äæîí Êëèåð â èãðèâî-ìåðêóðèàíñêîì êîììåíòàðèè ðàñêàÿâøåãîñÿ àïîëëîíèéöà. Êîíå÷íî, ïî êðîâè – òî åñòü, â òîì æå ñìûñëå, â êàêîì ðîäèòåëè Êëèåðà – íåìåöêèå è èðëàíäñêèå àìåðè- êàíöû (äà è ñàì Êëèåð, ÷åñòíî ãîâîðÿ, òîæå).  òîì ñàìîì ñìûñëå, â êàêîì â Èçðàèëå íåêîòîðûõ áûâøèõ “ñîöèàë-äåìîêðàòî┠ñ÷èòàþò åâðåÿìè, à íåêîòîðûõ íå ñ÷èòàþò.  òîì ãëàâíîì, ïëåìåííîì ñìûñëå, â êàêîì åâðåé âñåãäà ñ÷èòàëñÿ åâðååì.  òîì ñìûñëå, â êàêîì ïèøåòñÿ âñÿ èñòîðèÿ èììèãðàöèé: èñòîðèÿ î òîì, êàê ïîëÿêè, êîðåéöû è ìåêñèêàíöû ïðèåçæàþò â ÑØÀ, è êàê ïî-ðàçíîìó ñêëà- äûâàþòñÿ ñóäüáû èõ äåòåé è âíóêîâ. Ïî÷åìó ïî-ðàçíîìó? Ïîòîìó, ñðåäè ïðî÷åãî, ÷òî ÷åëîâå÷åñêèå êóëüòóðû ïåðåäàþòñÿ ïî íàñëåäñòâó îò ðîäèòåëåé äåòÿì, è ïîòîìó ÷òî êóëüòóðû áûâàþò ðàçíûå. Ìîæíî, êîíå÷íî, ñêàçàòü, ÷òî ðàç Òðîöêèé õî÷åò áûòü ïî íàöèîíàëüíîñòè ñîöèàë-äåìîê- ðàòîì, òî è áîã ñ íèì, ïóñêàé áóäåò ñîöèàë-äåìîêðàòîì. Íî ÷òî îñòàíåòñÿ îò èñòîðèè, åñëè ìû îãðàíè÷èì åå òóçåìíûìè êàòåãî- ðèÿìè? Áîëüøèíñòâî òðàäèöèîííûõ ñàìîíàçâàíèé çíà÷èò “ëþäè”. Âîò è áóäåì ïèñàòü, êàê ëþäè ñ ëþäüìè âðàæäîâàëè, à ëþäè ñ ëþäüìè òîðãîâàëè. À ãëàâíîå, êàê áû ìû óçíàëè, ÷òî ðîâåñíèêè Òðîöêîãî èç åâðåéñêèõ ñåìåé çàìå÷àòåëüíû òåì, ÷òî î÷åíü ìíîãèå èç íèõ íå õîòåëè áûòü åâðåÿìè, à õîòåëè áûòü ñîöèàë-äåìîêðàòàìè? È êàê áû ìû çàìåòèëè, ÷òî ìîñêîâñêèå ñîöèàë-äåìîêðàòû ïîëüñêîãî ïðîèñõîæäåíèÿ ÷àñòî ó÷èëè ñâîèõ äåòåé ïîëüñêîìó ÿçûêó, ÷èòàëè èì Ìèöêåâè÷à è íå âèäåëè ïðîòèâîðå÷èÿ ìåæäó ïðîëåòàðñêèì èíòåðíàöèîíàëèçìîì è ïîëüñêîé íàöèîíàëüíîñòüþ, à èõ òîâàðèùè èç åâðåéñêèõ ñåìåé ïîñòóïàëè ñîâñåì ïî-äðóãîìó? Êàê áû ìû ïîíÿëè, ÷òî ñîöèàë-äåìîêðàò Òðîöêèé – â êàêîì-òî ñìûñëå òèïè÷- íûé åâðåé? Çíà÷èò ëè ýòî, ÷òî åâðåè, ãäå áû îíè íè áûëè, “íîñÿò ìåðêóðè- àíñòâî â ÷åìîäàí÷èêàõ”? Ïî-ìîåìó, äà (ÿ öåëóþ êíèæêó îá ýòîì íàïèñàë). È çíà÷èò ëè ýòî, ÷òî âñÿêèé åâðåé “îáðå÷åí” íà âå÷íîå ìåðêóðèàíñòâî? Ïî-ìîåìó, íåò (îá ýòîì òîæå â êíèæêå íàïèñàíî).

181 Þðèé Ñë¸çêèí îòâå÷àåò... È ïðàâäà ëè, ïðîäîëæàåò Êëèåð, ÷òî åâðåþ òðóäíåå ñòàòü àïîëëî- íèéöåì, ÷åì àïîëëîíèéöó ìåðêóðèàíöåì? Ïî-ìîåìó, îäèíàêîâî òðóäíî. Íî íå îäèíàêîâî âàæíî. Àãðàðíûå îáùåñòâà èíîãäà ïðåâðàùàþòñÿ â èíäóñòðèàëüíûå, à èíäóñòðèàëüíûå íèêîãäà íå ïðåâðàùàþòñÿ â àãðàðíûå. Íàáëþ- äåíèå ýòî ñòàðîìîäíî, íî, ïî-ìîåìó, âåðíî. Ó èñòîðèè ìîæåò íå áûòü ñìûñëà, íî ó íåå áûâàþò íàïðàâëåíèÿ. (Äàæå ïîñòìîäåðíèñòó âàæíî áûòü “ïîñò”, à òî ÷åãî îãîðîä ãîðîäèòü?). Ñòóäåíòó âîëüíî ïîïðîáîâàòü ñòàòü êðåñòüÿíèíîì, äëÿ çàáàâû èëè ïî óáåæäåíèþ. Êðåñòüÿíèíó ðàíî èëè ïîçäíî ïðèäåòñÿ ñòàòü ñòóäåíòîì – ïî íåîá- õîäèìîñòè. Íàòàíó Ìåèðó âñå ýòî êàæåòñÿ “áåññìûñëåííûì”. Òî åñòü, âî-ïåðâûõ, åìó êàæåòñÿ “ïðàêòè÷åñêè áåññìûñëåííûì” óòâåðæäåíèå, ÷òî â Àìåðèêå “ñòðàòåãèÿ ñîñòîÿëà â òîì, ÷òîáû ñîõðàíèòü åâðåé- ñòâî, âîññòàíîâèòü åãî, åñëè îíî áûëî óòðà÷åíî, èëè ðåôîðìèðîâàòü åãî ïðè ïîìîùè ñïåöèôè÷åñêè àìåðèêàíñêîé ïðîöåäóðû, êîòîðàÿ íàçûâàåòñÿ ‘ïðîòåñòàíòèçàöèåé èóäàèçìà’” (C. 263). Ïîíÿòü, äåéñòâè- òåëüíî, òðóäíî, íî åñëè ïðîöèòèðîâàòü ïðàâèëüíî (íå “ñòðàòåãèÿ”, à “îäíà èç ñòðàòåãèé”, è íå “êîòîðàÿ íàçûâàåòñÿ”, à “êîòîðóþ Áðîì- áåðã íàçâàë”), è åñëè ÷èòàòü ïî ïîðÿäêó äî C. 263, òî ñòàíåò ÿñíî, ïî-ìîåìó, î êàêîé ñòðàòåãèè èäåò ðå÷ü, êòî òàêîé Áðîìáåðã, ÷òî îí èìåë â âèäó ïîä “ïðîòåñòàíòèçàöèåé èóäàèçìà”, è ÷òî ÿ èìåþ â âèäó, ïîëüçóÿñü åãî îïðåäåëåíèåì. Íå êðèñòàëüíî ÿñíî, áûòü ìîæåò, è íå âñåì áåç èñêëþ÷åíèÿ, íî âîâñå íå áåññìûñëåííî. Êàê ãîâîðèë Êîçüìà Ïðóòêîâ, “íå ïîíÿâøè ñìûñëà ìûñëè, íå íàçîâè ìûñëü áåññìûñëåííîé”. Âî-âòîðûõ, Ìåèðó êàæåòñÿ áåññìûñëåííûì ìîå îïðåäåëåíèå åâðååâ è åâðåéñòâà. Ïîòîìó ÷òî åñëè ÿ ïîëàãàþ, ÷òî ãëàâíûé âîïðîñ â ñîâðåìåííîé Ðîññèè – ýòî “ñìîãóò ëè ðóññêèå ïðåâðà- òèòüñÿ â åâðååâ”, è åñëè, òàêèì îáðàçîì (ïèøåò Ìåèð), “åâðåè = ìåðêóðèàíöû = óñïåõ â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðå = ðóññêèå”, òî òåðìèíû “åâðåé” è “åâðåéñòâî” “òåðÿþò âñÿêèé ñìûñë” (òåì áîëåå, ÷òî ôðåéäèçì, ñèîíèçì, ìàðêñèçì è íàöèçì îïðåäåëÿëè åâðååâ ñîâåð- øåííî ïî-ðàçíîìó). Êòî-òî ÷òî-òî ñêàçàë ïðî áåññìûñëèöó? ß, êîíå÷íî, ïîíèìàþ, ÷òî ÷åëîâåêà íå âñåãäà ëåãêî îòëè÷èòü îò ìåòà- ôîðû (åâðåÿ, íàïðèìåð, îò óñïåõà â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðå, öûãàíà – îò áðîäÿæíè÷åñòâà, à ïðîôåññîðà – îò êèñëûõ ùåé), íî êàê æå áûòü

182 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñ ëîãèêîé? Åñëè ðóññêèå íèêàê íå ìîãóò ïðåâðàòèòüñÿ â åâðååâ (òî åñòü, äîáèòüñÿ óñïåõà â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðå), òî êàêèì îáðàçîì îíè ðàâíû åâðåÿì è óñïåõó â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðå? È êòî ñêàçàë, ÷òî Ôðåéä, Ìàðêñ, Ãèòëåð è ñèîíèñòû îïðåäåëÿëè åâðååâ ñîâåðøåííî ïî-ðàçíîìó? ß òàêîãî íå ãîâîðèë. Íî çàáóäåì íà ìèíóòó î êàïóñòå è ïîãîâîðèì îòäåëüíî î êîðîëÿõ, òî åñòü, î “ðåàëüíûõ ëþäÿõ”, à íå ìåòàôîðàõ (íàñêîëüêî ýòî âîçìîæíî). ×èòàòåëþ ìîåé êíèãè íå ìîæåò íå ïîêàçàòüñÿ, ïèøåò Ìåèð, ÷òî îïèñàííûå ìíîé ëþäè “â êîíå÷íîì ñ÷åòå, æåðòâóþò ñâîåé èíäèâèäóàëüíîñòüþ â óãîäó àâòîðñêîé ñèñòåìàòèçàöèè ñîâðåìåííîãî ìèðà”. Êîíå÷íî, æåðòâóþò! À êóäà æå èì äåâàòüñÿ? È èçâåñòåí ëè Ìåèðó èñòîðè÷åñêèé æàíð, êðîìå áèîãðàôèè (òî åñòü èñòîðèè îäíîãî ÷åëîâåêà), êîòîðûé íå æåðòâîâàë áû èíäèâèäó- àëüíîñòüþ ñâîèõ ãåðîåâ â óãîäó ïðåäìåòó ñâîåãî èññëåäîâàíèÿ? Ìåèð, íàïðèìåð, ïîæåðòâîâàë ìîåé èíäèâèäóàëüíîñòüþ â óãîäó ñâîåìó ïðî÷òåíèþ ìîåé êíèãè î åâðåÿõ (è åâðåÿìè òîæå ïîæåðòâîâàë). È ÿ âîò, nolens volens, æåðòâóþ åãî èíäèâèäóàëüíîñòüþ â ñâîåì îòâåòå. È åâðåÿìè òîæå. “Ñîâïàäåíèå ëè ýòî, – ñïðàøèâàåò Ìåèð, – ÷òî îíè æåðòâóþò ñâîåé èíäèâèäóàëüíîñòüþ íà àëòàðå òåõ ñàìûõ èäåîëîãèé, êîòîðûå Ñë¸çêèí çäåñü àíàëèçèðóåò?” Äà êîíå÷íî íå ñîâïàäåíèå! Êíèãà ìîÿ – îá èäåîëîãèÿõ, êîòîðûì åâðåè ñëåäîâàëè: âîò ÿ è ïèøó îá ýòèõ èäåîëîãèÿõ è î òîì, êàê è ïî÷åìó åâðåè èì ñëåäîâàëè. Ñîâïàäåíèå ëè, ÷òî ãëàâíûå ãåðîè “Ñêàçêè î ïîïå è î ðàáîòíèêå åãî Áàëäå” – ïîï è ðàáîòíèê åãî Áàëäà? “Íàñ ïîò÷óþò áîëüøèì êîëè÷åñòâîì ñòàòèñòèêè,” ïèøåò Ìåèð íå áåç èðîíèè, – “î òîì, ñêîëüêî ïðîôåññîðîâ ìàðêñèçìà-ëåíèíèçìà áûëè åâðåÿìè, ñêîëüêî ÷åêèñòîâ áûëè åâðåÿìè, ñêîëüêî àìåðè- êàíñêèõ æóðíàëèñòîâ è ïîëèòèêî⠖ åâðåè. Òî åñòü, ïðåäìåòîì èññëåäîâàíèÿ ÿâëÿåòñÿ åâðåé êàê íîñèòåëü ñîâðåìåííîñòè , à åâðåé êàê åâðåé, êàê ÷åëîâå÷åñêîå ñóùåñòâî, ïðîïàäàåò”. Äà ïî÷åìó æå “òî åñòü”, è ïî÷åìó ïðîïàäàåò? ß ïèøó î ðåàëüíîì âûáîðå, êîòîðûé ñäåëàëè ñîâåðøåííî ðåàëüíûå åâðåè: î òîì, ñðåäè ïðî÷åãî, ÷òî çíà÷èòåëüíîå êîëè÷åñòâî ñîâåðøåííî ðåàëüíûõ åâðååâ ïðåïîäà- âàëè ìàðêñèçì-ëåíèíèçì è ñëóæèëè â ×åêà, è î òîì, ïî÷åìó îíè ýòî äåëàëè. “À êàê æå òå ðóññêèå åâðåè, – ïðîäîëæàåò Ìåèð, – êîòîðûå íå ïîñâÿòèëè ñåáÿ âñåöåëî áîëüøåâèçìó?” Òî åñòü, åâðåè- ÷åêèñòû – íå ðåàëüíûå ëþäè èëè íå åâðåè (ìîå îïðåäåëåíèå, íàïîìíþ –

183 Þðèé Ñë¸çêèí îòâå÷àåò... øèðîêî äî “áåññìûñëåííîñòè”), à òå, äðóãèå – è òî, è äðóãîå. Êàê ãîâîðèëà ìàòü Ëüâà Êîïåëåâà, “Õðèñòîñ, Êàðë Ìàðêñ, ïîýò Íàäñîí, äîêòîð Ëàçàðåâ (ëó÷øèé äåòñêèé âðà÷ Êèåâà), ïåâèöà Èçà Êðåìåð è íàøà ñåìüÿ – ýòî åâðåè, à âîò òå, êòî ñóåòÿòñÿ íà áàçàðå, íà ÷åðíîé áèðæå èëè êîìèññàðñòâóþò â ×åêà, – ýòî æèäû”. Èëè, íà õóäîé êîíåö, áåñïëîòíûå íîñèòåëè ñîâðåìåííîñòè. À êàê æå, â ñàìîì äåëå, òå äðóãèå åâðåè? Âîïðîñ õîðîøèé, íî íå êî ìíå. Ãëàâà, î êîòîðîé ïèøåò Ìåèð, íàçûâàåòñÿ “Âûáîð Ãîäë”, è ïîñâÿùåíà îíà, ãîâîðÿ ìåòàôîðè÷åñêè, Ãîäë è åå äåòÿì è âíóêàì. Î Öàéòë – çàùèòíèöå òðàäèöèè è æåðòâå Õîëîêîñòà – åñòü äðóãèå êíèãè. Î÷åíü è î÷åíü ìíîãî êíèã: áîëüøàÿ ÷àñòü âûõîäÿùèõ íûí÷å êíèã ïî åâðåéñêîé èñòîðèè. À ÿ íàïèñàë î òåõ, î êîì áîëüøå íèêòî ïèñàòü íå õî÷åò. È ÷åñòíî âñåõ ïðåäóïðåäèë: “Ãëàâíûå ãåðîè ðàññêàçà – òå èç äåòåé Òåâüå, êîòîðûå îñòàâèëè åãî è åãî âåðó è áûëè – íà âðåìÿ è ïî ýòîé ïðè÷èíå – çàáûòû ïðî÷èìè ÷ëåíàìè ñåìüè”. Âîò è Þäæèí Àâðóòèí ìíå íàïîìèíàåò, ÷òî åñòü ìíîãî ðàçíûõ äðóãèõ åâðååâ, è ÷òî åñòü íîâåéøèå ãåíäåðíûå èññëåäîâàíèÿ î òîì, êàê åâðåéñêèå æåíùèíû ñîõðàíÿëè ðåëèãèîçíîñòü. È ñëàâà áîãó, ÷òî åñòü. È ÿ îáÿçàòåëüíî ïðî÷èòàþ êíèãó Àâðóòèíà î ðàçíûõ äðóãèõ åâðåÿõ è î ðåçóëüòàòàõ íîâåéøèõ ãåíäåðíûõ èññëåäîâàíèé. È îáåùàþ íå ñïðàøèâàòü åãî â ñâîåé ðåöåíçèè: à êàê æå ïðîôåññîðà ìàðêñèçìà-ëåíèíèçìà? À êàê æå òå, êòî ñóåòÿòñÿ íà áàçàðå, íà ÷åðíîé áèðæå èëè êîìèññàðñòâóþò â ×åêà? À êàê æå ìîÿ áàáóøêà, à íå âàøà? Äýâèä Øíèð ñóììèðîâàë ìîþ êíèãó ãîðàçäî ëó÷øå, ÷åì ñìîã áû ñäåëàòü ýòî ÿ ñàì, íî ïî÷åìó-òî ðåøèë, ÷òî ÿ ïðîâîçãëàñèë êîíåö åâðåéñêîé èñòîðèè; ÷òî ÿ ñ÷èòàþ, ÷òî åâðåÿì â Ðîññèè äåëàòü áîëüøå íå÷åãî; è ÷òî ÿ, âîçìîæíî, ðàçäåëÿþ “âûáîð Ìåðîìñêîé”. Íåò, íåò è íåò! ß ïðîâîçãëàñèë î÷åâèäíîå: êîíåö êîììóíèçìà âîîáùå è êîíåö êîììóíèçìà êàê âàæíîé åâðåéñêîé èäåîëîãèè â ÷àñòíîñòè. È, òàêèì îáðàçîì, êîíåö åâðåéñêîé ýðû â èñòîðèè Ðîññèè è êîíåö ðóññêîé ýðû â èñòîðèè åâðååâ.  òîì ñìûñëå, ÷òî Ðîññèÿ áîëåå íå ÿâëÿåòñÿ àëüòåðíàòèâîé íàöèîíàëèçìó è êàïèòàëèçìó, à Ìîñêâà áîëåå íå ÿâëÿåòñÿ íîâûì Èåðóñàëèìîì, à ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñòîëèöåé ÷óæîãî íàöèîíàëüíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà. È ÷òî ïîýòîìó åâðåÿì â Ðîññèè ïðåä- ñòîèò îáû÷íûé âûáîð ìåæäó àññèìèëÿöèåé ñðåäè áîëüøèíñòâà è ñòàòóñîì íàöèîíàëüíîãî ìåíüøèíñòâà. Ìàøà Ãåññåí, åñëè âåðèòü Øíèðó, âûáðàëà âòîðîå. ß âûáðàë ìîäèôèöèðîâàííûé âàðèàíò

184 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ïåðâîãî: “Ïóøêèíñêóþ âåðó” â Àìåðèêå. Òàê èëè èíà÷å, âûáîð Ìåðîìñêîé (“æèâó áåç íîñòàëüãèè, íå îáîðà÷èâàÿñü íàçàä. Ìîñêâà, òàêàÿ êàê îíà åñòü, èñ÷åðïàíà äëÿ ìåíÿ äóøåâíî, è ýòî óáåäèòåëüíåé âñåãî ïîäòâåðæäàåò ïðàâèëüíîñòü ìîåãî ðåøåíèÿ”) ìíå ÷óæä è êðàéíå íåñèìïàòè÷åí. Ëó÷øå Ìîñêâû, íà ìîé âêóñ, òîëüêî Ïîä- ìîñêîâüå. Íåæíî ëåëåþ ÿ ñâîþ íîñòàëüãèþ. È, íàêîíåö, îá ýòíè÷åñêîé âèíå. Àëåêñàíäð Ýòêèíä ïèøåò, ÷òî êíèãà ìîÿ “ïîíÿëà áû ñâîå çíà÷åíèå”, åñëè áû ÿ ïðÿìî îòâåòèë íà âîïðîñ î ñòåïåíè åâðåéñêîé êîëëåêòèâíîé îòâåòñòâåííîñòè çà ðóññêóþ ðåâîëþöèþ è ïðåäúÿâèë ñîâåòñêèì åâðåÿì òîò æå ìîðàëüíûé ñ÷åò, êîòîðûé Êàðë ßñïåðñ ïðåäúÿâèë â 1945 ñâîèì íåìåöêèì ñîîòå÷å- ñòâåííèêàì. ×òî æå ïèøåò ßñïåðñ? “Ñîâåðøåííî î÷åâèäíî, – ïèøåò îí, – ÷òî âñå ãðàæäàíå ñòðàíû îòâå÷àþò çà ïîñëåäñòâèÿ äåéñòâèé, ïðåä- ïðèíÿòûõ èõ ãîñóäàðñòâîì”. Âñå íåìöû, èíà÷å ãîâîðÿ, âèíîâíû “ïîëèòè÷åñêè”. Íî “íèêàêîé äðóãîé êîëëåêòèâíîé âèíû íàöèè èëè ãðóïïû âíóòðè íàöèè áûòü íå ìîæåò. Íàçâàòü ãðóïïó âèíîâíîé â óãîëîâíîì, ìîðàëüíîì èëè ìåòàôèçè÷åñêîì ñìûñëå åñòü îøèáêà, àíàëîãè÷íàÿ ëåíè è ñàìîíàäåÿííîñòè áûòîâîãî, íåêðèòè÷åñêîãî ìûøëåíèÿ”. Òî åñòü, “ìîðàëüíûå è ìåòàôèçè÷åñêèå îáâèíåíèÿ â ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ öåëÿõ [à äðóãèõ íåò, èáî “íè îäíà âëàñòü íà çåìëå íå ïðåäñòàâëÿåò Áîãà”] äîëæíû áûòü îòâåðãíóòû áåçóñëîâíî Ïðèíÿòû äîëæíû áûòü ïîëèòè÷åñêîå íàêàçàíèå è ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ îòâåòñòâåííîñòü (ðåïàðàöèè), íî íå òðåáîâàíèÿ ðàñêàÿíèÿ è âîçðîæäåíèÿ, êîòîðûå ìîãóò çàðîäèòüñÿ ëèøü â äóøå îòäåëüíîãî ÷åëîâåêà”.1 ßñïåðñ íå ïðèçûâàë íåìöåâ ê ïóáëè÷íîìó ïîêàÿíèþ: îí ãîâîðèë ñ íèìè – íå êàê ïðîðîê, ïðåäñòàâëÿþùèé áîãà, à êàê ñîãðàæäàíèí è ñîïëåìåííèê – î íðàâñòâåííîé ðåôëåêñèè è èíäèâèäóàëüíîé îòâåòñòâåííîñòè. “Íàâåðíîå, ó êàæäîãî íåìöà åñòü ïðè÷èíû – ó êàæäîãî ñâîè – ïîäâåðãíóòü ñåáÿ ìîðàëüíîìó àíàëèçó. È â ýòîé ðàáîòå åäèíñòâåííûé åãî ñóäüÿ – åãî ñîâåñòü”.2 Äðóãèõ, äåéñòâèòåëüíî, íå áûëî è áûòü íå ìîãëî (íþðåíáåðãñêèå ïðîêóðîðû, â òîì ÷èñëå ñòàëèíñêèå, îáâèíÿëè îòäåëüíûõ ëþäåé è

1 Karl Jaspers. The Question of German Guilt. New York, 2000. Ðð. 33-34, 36, 39. 2 Ibid. Pp. 67-68.

185 Þðèé Ñë¸çêèí îòâå÷àåò... áþðîêðàòè÷åñêèå îðãàíèçàöèè). Åñëè ó íàöèé áûâàåò âèíà, òî îíà íåèçáûâíà. ßçûê ãëàøàòàåâ ïëåìåííîé îòâåòñòâåííîñòè åñòü, ïî-ìîåìó, “õðèñòèàíñêèé ÿçûê ãðåõà, ðàñêàÿíèÿ è ïîêàÿíèÿ, îáðàùåííûé ê ñìåðòíûì îáëàäàòåëÿì áåññìåðòíûõ äóø. Ëþäè, îáðàçóþùèå íàöèþ, ìîãóò èñïûòûâàòü ñòûä, íî íàöèè êàê òàêîâûå íå â ñîñòîÿíèè ïîéòè ê èñïîâåäè, ñîâåðøèòü ïîêàÿíèå è ïðåäñòàòü ïåðåä òâîðöîì ñâîèì”. (C. 185). Íî, ìîæåò áûòü, ýòî íåâàæíî? Ìîæåò áûòü, ëó÷øå êàÿòüñÿ âå÷íî, áåññóäíî è êîëëåêòèâíî, ÷åì íå êàÿòüñÿ ñîâñåì? Ìîæåò áûòü, ýòî è åñòü ðàáîòà ïàìÿòè, î êîòîðîé ãîâîðèò Ýòêèíä? Èçâèíÿþòñÿ æå âñå âðåìÿ ãåðìàíñêèå êàíöëåðû (îò èìåíè ãîñó- äàðñòâà è îò èìåíè íàöèè); ÷óâñòâóþò æå ñåáÿ âèíîâàòûìè íåêîòîðûå íåìöû ïðîñòî ïîòîìó, ÷òî îíè íåìöû; ïîíèìàåì æå ìû, íàêîíåö, ÷òî âñÿêîìó ÷åëîâåêó ñòûäíî çà ïðåñòóïëåíèå, ñîâåðøåííîå ëþáûì ÷ëåíîì åãî ñåìüè, â òîì ÷èñëå ìåòàôîðè- ÷åñêîé (íàöèîíàëüíîé)? Åñëè ðàññìàòðèâàòü ñòàëèíñêèé òåððîð â êà÷åñòâå àíàëîãà Õîëîêîñòà – îñòàåòñÿ íå î÷åíü ïîíÿòíî, êòî äîëæåí êàÿòüñÿ. Êîììóíèñòû? Âñå ìû áåç èñêëþ÷åíèÿ ïåðåä âñåìè áåç èñêëþ÷åíèÿ? Âîò ÷òî ÿ ïèøó â ñâîåé êíèãå: Àêòû íàñèëèÿ, íå ñîâåðøàåìûå îäíèì ïëåìåíåì ïðîòèâ äðóãîãî, îòáðàñûâàþò î÷åíü êîðîòêóþ òåíü.  îòëè÷èå îò ãåíî- öèäà, îíè íå ïîðîæäàþò çàêîííûõ íàñëåäíèêî⠖ íè ó ïðåñòóïíèêîâ, íè ó æåðòâ. “Íåìöåâ”, êàê áèîëîãè÷åñêèõ èëè ìåòàôîðè÷åñêèõ äåòåé íàöèñòîâ, ìîæíî ïðèçâàòü ê ïîêàÿíèþ èëè èñêóïëåíèþ; “åâðåè”, êàê áèîëîãè÷åñêèå èëè ìåòàôîðè- ÷åñêèå äåòè õîëîêîñòà, ìîãóò òðåáîâàòü êîìïåíñàöèè èëè èçâèíåíèÿ. Êîììóíèñòû (ïîäîáíî àíèìèñòàì, êàëüâèíèñòàì è äðóãèì íåýòíè÷åñêèì ãðóïïàì) íå èìåþò äåòåé – êðîìå òåõ, êîòîðûå ñàìè ïîæåëàëè áûòü óñûíîâëåííûìè. Åäèíñòâåííûå îïîçíàâàåìûå êîëëåêòèâíûå ïîòîìêè æåðòâ ñòàëèíñêîãî íàñè- ëèÿ – ýòî íàöèè: ïðåæäå âñåãî íåðóññêèå íàðîäû ñîâåòñêîé èìïåðèè (âêëþ÷àÿ åâðååâ), íî òàêæå, ïî íåêîòîðûì âåðñèÿì, ðóññêèå (êàê ãëàâíàÿ ìèøåíü áîëüøåâèñòñêîé âîéíû ñ äåðå- âåíñêîé îòñòàëîñòüþ è ðåëèãèåé). Åäèíñòâåííûå îïîçíàâàåìûå êîëëåêòèâíûå ïîòîìêè âåðøèòåëåé ñòàëèíñêîãî íàñèëèÿ – òîæå íàöèè: ïðåæäå âñåãî ðóññêèå, íî òàêæå, ïî íåêîòîðûì

186 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 âåðñèÿì, åâðåè (êàê ñàìûå ãîðÿ÷èå ñòîðîííèêè Ñîâåòñêîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà). Ïðèòÿçàíèÿ íà ðîëü ýòíè÷åñêèõ æåðòâ âïîëíå óáåäèòåëüíû, íî – ñ ó÷åòîì ðàçìàõà è ïðèðîäû ñòàëèíñêîãî íàñèëèÿ – îòíîñèòåëüíî ìàðãèíàëüíû; íàöèîíàëüíàÿ êëàññè- ôèêàöèÿ ïàëà÷åé ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ ñîìíèòåëüíîé. Êîíöåïöèÿ íàöèîíàëüíîé îòâåòñòâåííîñòè ñòîëü æå íåîòâðàòèìà (÷òî òàêîå “íàöèÿ”, åñëè çà äåÿíèÿ “îòöî┠íèêòî íå îòâå÷àåò?), ñêîëü è íðàâñòâåííî íåîïðåäåëåííà (÷òî òàêîå ïîêàÿíèå è èñêóïëåíèå, åñëè íå ñóùåñòâóåò äóõîâíîãî èëè áîæåñòâåííîãî àâòîðèòåòà, îòïóñêàþùåãî ãðåõè?). È óæ òåì áîëåå íåîïðåäå- ëåííà – à çíà÷èò, ëåãêî è îïðàâäàííî îòâðàòèìà – â îòíîøåíèè íàñëåäèÿ êîììóíèçìà, êîòîðûé ïðîïîâåäîâàë êîñìîïîëèòèçì ïî÷òè òàê æå ñòðàñòíî, êàê ìàññîâîå êðîâîïðîëèòèå (C. 345-346). Íî ïðåäïîëîæèì, ÷òî è ýòî íåâàæíî. Áûëè æå ëàòûøè è åâðåè “ñâåðõïðåäñòàâëåíû” â òàéíîé ïîëèöèè äâàäöàòûõ è òðèäöàòûõ ãîäîâ? Áûëè. Âîò ïóñòü è êàþòñÿ (êàê õî÷åò òîãî Ñîëæåíèöûí). Òî åñòü ïðèäåòñÿ, âèäèìî, ñëîæèòü âñåõ ëàòûøåé-÷åêèñòîâ, ïðè- áàâèòü ê íèì ëàòûøåé-ýñåñîâöåâ, à ïîòîì âû÷åñòü ðàññòðåëÿííûõ (áûëà âåäü ñïåöèàëüíàÿ “ëàòûøñêàÿ îïåðàöèÿ” ïðè Åæîâå), à òàê- æå ñîñëàííûõ, îáìîðîæåííûõ, çàìó÷åííûõ È ñ åâðåÿìè òàê æå ïîñòóïèòü, è ñ ïîëÿêàìè. À çà äåïîðòèðîâàííûå â 1940-å ãîäû íàðîäû îòâå÷àòü áóäóò ðóññêèå (êàê òîãäàøíèå ñòàðøèå áðàòüÿ) è, íàâåðíîå, ãðóçèíû (Ñòàëèí ïðèêàçàë, à Áåðèÿ ïðîñëåäèë). È òàê äàëåå. Âîëîñû âñòàþò äûáîì. Âïðî÷åì, ÿ óâåðåí, ÷òî Ýòêèíä íå ýòî èìåë â âèäó, êîãäà ïðèçûâàë ìåíÿ ê íåëèöåïðèÿòíîìó îñìûñëåíèþ “ïðîáëåìû êîëëåêòèâíîé (èëè ýòíè÷åñêîé) âèíû” è ê ðàáîòå ïàìÿòè, “ñðàâíèìîé ñ ïàìÿòüþ î Õîëîêîñòå”. È âðÿä ëè îí èìåë â âèäó èçúÿòèå ÷àñòè ñîâåòñêîé èñòîðèè èç Èñòîðèè (êàê ñîáûòèå, íå ñîïîñòàâèìîå ñ äðóãèìè ñîáûòèÿìè) è ïðåâðàùåíèå åå â ñèìâîë àáñîëþòíîãî çëà è ïðåäìåò êâàçè-ðåëèãèîçíîãî êóëüòà, ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî áèëëèàðäà è êðóïíî- ìàñøòàáíîé êèò÷åâîé èíäóñòðèè. Äà åùå ñ åâðåéñêèìè êîìèññà- ðàìè â ðîëè íàöèñòîâ â êîæàíûõ êóðòêàõ. Íåò, îí (ìíå êàæåòñÿ) èìåë â âèäó, ÷òî ïðîøëîå íå äîëæíî ïðåäàâàòüñÿ çàáâåíèþ; ÷òî ïîñòóïêè – õîðîøèå è äóðíûå – èìåþò ïîñëåäñòâèÿ; ÷òî ó ëþäåé – è íàöèé – åñòü ïîòîìêè; è ÷òî ïàìÿòü î ïàëà÷àõ ïî÷òè òàê æå âàæíà, êàê ïàìÿòü î æåðòâàõ.

187 Þðèé Ñë¸çêèí îòâå÷àåò... ×òî ÿ è ïûòàëñÿ ñäåëàòü – íå êàê ïðîðîê, à êàê èñòîðèê. À ýòî çíà÷èò, ÷òî ÷àñòü “ðàáîòû ïàìÿòè” ïðåäñòîèò ñäåëàòü ÷èòàòåëþ. “Íàâåðíîå, ó êàæäîãî íåìöà, – ïèøåò ßñïåðñ, – åñòü ïðè÷èíû – ó êàæäîãî ñâîè – ïîäâåðãíóòü ñåáÿ ìîðàëüíîìó àíàëèçó. È â ýòîé ðàáîòå åäèíñòâåííûé åãî ñóäüÿ – åãî ñîâåñòü. È, íàâåðíîå, âñÿêèé íåìåö, ñïîñîáíûé ê îñîçíàíèþ ðåàëüíîñòè, ïåðåñìîòðèò ñâîå îòíîøåíèå ê ìèðó è ê ñàìîìó ñåáå â ðåçóëüòàòå ìåòàôèçè÷åñêîãî ó÷àñòèÿ â ïîäîáíîé êàòàñòðîôå. Êàê åìó ýòî ñäåëàòü, íèêòî íå ìîæåò ïðåäïèñàòü, è íèêòî íå ìîæåò ïðåäâèäåòü. Ýòî – âîïðîñ ëè÷íîãî îäèíî÷åñòâà”.3

SUMMARY

Yuri Slezkine thanks all the participants; admits that Chapter 1 is old-fashioned but offers no apology for it (other than to say that most useful knowledge is old-fashioned); defends his use of metaphors as analytical concepts (on the grounds that some of the world’s most use- ful analytical concepts are metaphors); argues that “a Jew” is as easy to distinguish from “Mercurianism” as “a Puritan” from “the Protestant ethic”; quotes from the book’s introduction to the effect that the book is about members of traditional Jewish communities and their children and grandchildren (especially those who sought to reject the traditional Jewish communities); claims that Jewishness “by blood” is not a particu- larly eccentric concept; explains why a peasant may be under greater pressure to become a student than a student, to become a peasant; refuses to let Trotsky bully historians into considering him a “social-democrat by nationality”; points out to Natan Meir that it is no coincidence that The Jewish Century is about what it says it is about; considers Eugene Avrutin’s questions to be worth pursuing in another book; assures David Shneer that he (Slezkine) did not mean to proclaim the end of Jewish

3 Ibid.

188 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 history (as opposed to the end of Communism as a Jewish ideology); and ends by disagreeing with Alexander Etkind on the question of ethnic guilt and collective responsibility – or rather, by agreeing with Karl Jaspers that “probably every German [Russian, Jew] capable of understanding will transform his approach to the world and himself in the metaphysical experiences of such a disaster. How that happens none can prescribe, and none anticipate. It is a matter of individual solitude.”

189 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Yohanan PETROVSKY-SHTERN

THE CONSTRUCTION OF AN IMPROBABLE IDENTITY:

THE CASE OF HRYTS’KO KERNERENKO*

The propensity of modern Jews to integrate into metropolitan cultures has become so deeply embedded in modern historiographic narratives that the few yet significant examples of Jewish integration into colonial cultures have been routinely ignored by scholars. Those Jews who lived in the Russian or Austro-Hungarian empires and sought to assimilate into the dominant Russian- or German-language milieu have become part and parcel of the research of modern double identities.1 But students of modernity have

* I gratefully acknowledge the generous and timely help of Dr. Stepan Zakharkin from the Shevchenko Institute of Literature of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine (Kyiv). My special thanks to Victoria Zahrobsky from the Northwestern University Interlibrary Loan Department and to the staff of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library Slavic Division and of the Phillips Reading Room at Widener Library at Harvard University. Special thanks to the staff of the Huliai-pole Historical Museum, the Chernihiv Historical Museum, and the Department of Manuscripts of the Shevchenko Institute of Literature (Kyiv). 1 On the integration of Austro-Hungarian and Austro-Galician Jews to German culture, see Lois Dubin. The Port Jews of Habsburg Trieste: Absolutist Politics and Enlightenment Culture. Stanford, CA, 1999; Peter Hanak. The Garden and the Workshop: Essays on the Cultural History of Vienna and Budapest. Princeton, 1998. Pp. 44-62, 174-172; William McCagg, Jr. A History of Habsburg Jews, 1670-1918. Bloomington, 1989; Hillel J. Kieval. The Making

191 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... expressed little interest in those Jews who, preferring to be part of the colonial rather than metropolitan discourse, already in the nineteenth century chose to integrate into Lithuanian, Slovak, or Ukrainian (Ruthenian) culture. Whatever the significance of the Jewish contribution to Ukrainian culture, the choice of the Ukrainian language by Jewish writers should be considered highly charged with a profound, albeit implicit, anti-colonial message. For a former shtetl Jew from the Pale of Settlement to identify with another persecuted minority such as the Ukrainians or Lithuanians, rather than to seek a safe haven under the aegis of the Russian-language imperial or Soviet culture, was unusual, if not abnormal. The rise of East Central and Eastern European national movements, followed by the establishment of a number of independent states such as Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Poland, radically altered the Jews’ self-identification and, subsequently, their choice of lan- guage in the corresponding countries.2 In Soviet Ukraine, even after the unsuc- cessful yet significant Ukrainian state-building experiment in the late 1910s, most Jewish literary figures who did not work in Yiddish or Hebrew chose the Russian language, sought a Russian readership, and competed with one another to be the next Pushkin or Tolstoy.3 The success of poets and writers of Czech Jewry: National Conflict and Jewish Society in Bohemia, 1870-1918. New York and Oxford, 1988; Marsha Rozenblit. The Jews of Vienna, 1867-1914: Assimilation and Identity. Albany, NY, 1983; Jerzy Tomaszewski (Ed.). Najnowsze dzeje ¿ydow z Polsce w zarysie. Warsaw, 1993. Pp. 79-122. On the assimilation of Jews in the Russian Empire to Russian culture, see John D. Klier. Imperial Russia’s Jewish Question, 1855-1881. Cambridge, 1995; Benjamin Nathans. Beyond the Pale: the Jewish Encounter with Late Imperial Russia. Berkeley, 2002; Alexander Orbach. New Voices of Russian Jewry. A Study of the Russian-Jewish Press of Odessa in the Era of Great Reforms, 1860-1871. Leiden, 1980; Michael Stanislawski. For Whom Do I Toil? Judah Leib Gordon and the Crisis of Russian Jewry. New York, 1988; Steven Zipperstein. The Jews of Odessa: A Cultural History, 1794-1881. Stanford, CA., 1986. 2 See Kinga Frojmovics. Ha-Zeramim ha-datiyim be-Yahadut Hungaryah: ortodoksya, neologyah ve-status kvo ante: ben ha-shanim 1868/1896-1950. Ramat Gan, 2002; Ezra Mendelsohn. On Modern Jewish Politics. New York and Oxford, 1993; Idem. The Jews of East Central Europe Between the World Wars. Bloomington, 1983; Antony Polonsky and Michael Riff. Poles, Czechoslovaks, and the “Jewish Question”, 1914-1921: A Comparative Study // Volker Berghann and Martin Kitchen (Eds.). Germany in the Age of Total War. London and Totowa, NJ., 1981. Pp. 63-101; Liekis Sarunas. A State Within a State? Jewish Autonomy in Lithuania, 1918-1925. Vilnius, 2003; Jerzy Tomaszewski. Zarys dziejów ¯ydów w Polsce w latach 1918-1939. Warsaw, 1990. 3 I do not include here those literary figures who lived in or came to Ukraine and wrote in Yiddish, such as David Gofshteyn, Leyb Kvitko, and Itsik Fefer. See Gennady Estraikh.

192 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 like and Ilia Ehrenburg with sophisticated Russian audiences was proverbial, and their contribution to the formation of Russian-Jewish literature is much-acclaimed and well-studied.4 Jewish involvement with Polish culture has also recently received a good deal of scholarly attention,5 while

In Harness: Yiddish Writers’ Romance with Communism. Syracuse, NY, 2005. On Soviet Yiddish writers, see Dafna Clifford. “Dovid Bergelson’s ‘Bam Dnieper’; a passport to Moscow” // Politics of Yiddish. 1998. Pp. 157-170; Joseph Sherman. Creative Freedom and the Party Line: the Case of Dovid Bergelson // Midstream. 2001. Vol. 47. No. 8. Pp. 20-23; Susan A. Slotnick. David Bergelson and the Metamorphosis of Tradition // JBA. 1983. Vo l . 41. Pp. 122-132; Lawrence Rosenwald. The Implications of a New Bergelson Translation // Prooftexts. 2001. Vol. 21. No. 2. Pp. 237-247; Seth Wolitz. Language as Ideology in Bergelson’s “Nokh Alemen”// WCJS. 1982. Vol. 8. No. 3. Pp. 171-175; Gennady Estraikh. Itsik Fefer: a Yiddish “Wunderkind” of the Bolshevik Revolution // Shofar. 2002. Vol. 20. No. 3. Pp. 14-31; Joshua Rubenstein. A Portrait of Itsik Fefer // Midstream. 2002. Vol. 48. No. 5. Pp. 9-11; Mikhail Krutikov. Between Mysticism and Marxism: Meir Wiener as Writer, Critic, and Literary Historian // Jews in Eastern Europe. 1994. Vol. 25. Pp. 34-40. On Ukraine, and Kyiv in particular, as the new center of Yiddish culture, see Alfred Abraham Greenbaum. Jewish Scholarship and Scholarly Institutions in Soviet Russia, 1918-1953. Jerusalem, 1978; Gillel Kazovskii. Khudozhniki kul’tur-ligi. Moscow, 2003; Mykola Rybakov (Ed.). Pravda istoryi: diial’nist’ evreis’koi kul’turno- prosvitnyts’koi orhanizatsii “Kul’turliga” u Kyievi (1918-1925): zbirnyk dokumentiv i materialiv. Kyiv, 2001. 4 For an analysis of Jewish themes and motifs in the works of Russian-Jewish writers and poets, see Rita Genzeleva. Puti evreiskogo samosoznania. Jerusalem and Moscow, 1999; Leonid Katsis. Osip Mandelshtam: muskus iudeistva. Jerusalem and Moscow, 2002; Vladimir Khazan. Osobennyi evreiskii-russkii vozdukh: k problematike i poetike russko-evreiskogo literaturnogo dialoga v XX veke. Jerusalem and Moscow, 2001; Simon Markish. A propos de l’Histoire et de la methologique de l’Etude de la Litterature Juive d’expression Russe // CMRS. 1985. Vol. 26. No. 2. Pp. 139-152; Alice S. Nakhimovsky. Russian-Jewish Literature and Identity: Jabotinsky, Babel, Grossman, Galich, Roziner, Markish. Baltimor, 1992; Maxim Shrayer. Russian Poet/Soviet Jew: the Legacy of Eduard Bagritskii. Lanham, Md., 2000; Harriet Murav. A Curse on Russia: Gorenshtein’s Anti- ‘Psalom’ and the Critics // Russian Review. 2000. Vol. 52. No. 2. Pp. 212-227. 5 For a standard survey of the nineteenth-century representation of Jews in Polish literature, see Mieczys³aw Inglot. Postaæ ¿yda w literaturze polskiej lat 1822-1864. Wroc³aw, 1999, as well as Magdalena Opalski and Israel Bartal. Poles and Jews: A Failed Brotherhood. Hanover, 1992; for contributions from the first half of the twentieth century, see Eugenia Prokop-Janiec. Polish-Jewish Literature in the Interwar Years / Transl. from the Polish by Abe Shenitzer. Syracuse, 2003. An interesting conceptual framework for Polish-Jewish rapprochement is offered in Ryszard Löw. Znaki obecnoœci: o polsko-hebrajskich i polsko- ¿ydowskich zwi¹zkach literackich. Kraków, 1995; for a recent collection of Jewish contributions to Polish literature, see Antony Polonsky and Monika Adamczyk-Garbowska (Eds.). Contemporary Jewish Writing in Poland: An Anthology. Lincoln, 2001, as well as Henryk Markiewicz (Ed.). ¯ydzi w Polsce: Antologia Literacka. Kraków, 1997.

193 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... the Jewish-Ukrainian interaction has not moved past basic discussions of Jewish participation in Ukrainian politics.6 Not only did colonialism (first Polish, then Russian) for centuries suppress the development of Ukrainian culture, it also took a heavy toll on scholarship. Students of East European Jewish history have tended to focus on assimilation to “things imperial,” while neglecting to discuss Jewish involvement in Ukrainian culture.7 As a result, we know virtually nothing about the attempt to construct a Jewish identity in Ukrainian literature, culture, and politics. Having become accustomed to discussing the East European Jewish inter- action as Russian-Jewish or Polish-Jewish, we are not even able to answer superficially the question of whether there is or ever has been a Ukrainian- Jewish literature, or to come up with a list of texts that might fall under the rubric “Ukrainian-Jewish.” To fill in this gap, this paper traces the patterns of Ukrainian-Jewish identity by looking at the case of Hryts’ko Kernerenko,8 perhaps the first Ukrainian poet of Jewish descent to contribute to what could be cautiously dubbed the Ukrainian-Jewish literary tradition. This tradition was estab- lished in the 1880s, developed in the 1920s-1930s by such figures as Ivan Kulyk (b. Izrail Iudovych Kúlik, 1897-1937), brought to fruition by writers like Leonid Pervomais’kyi (b. Il’ia Shliomovych Hurevych, 1908-1973) and Sava Ovsiiovych Holovanivs’kyi (1910-1992), rediscovered late in the

6 See, for example, Henry Abramson. Prayer for the Government: Ukrainians and Jews in Revolutionary Times, 1917-1920. Cambridge, 1999; Shimon Redlich. Together and Apart in Brzezany: Poles, Jews, and Ukrainians, 1919-1945. Bloomington, 2002; Polin: A journal of Polish-Jewish studies. Vol. 12 (Focusing on Galicia: Jews, Poles, and Ukrainians, 1772-1919). London, 1999. As for the literary interaction an issue of “Jews and Slavs” dedicated to the Ukrainian-Jewish cultural rapprochement hardly filled the gap. See: Jews and Slavs. 1993. Vol. 5. 7 To a certain extent this reluctance is informed by the received perception of the historical “encounter” between Jews and Ukrainians, according to which Ukrainian-Jewish history is nothing but one prolonged pogrom. It begins with gezerot takh ve-tat, the 1648-1649 Khmel’nyts’kyi (Chmelnicki) massacres, continues to the 1756 haidamaky pogroms, the pogroms of 1881, 1905, and 1919, and, finally, the Holocaust. For a criticism of this grand historiographic narrative, which ignores Ukraine’s status as a colonial territory, see Yohanan Petrovsky-Shtern. In Search of a Lost People: Jews in Modern Ukrainian Historiography // East European Jewish Affairs. 2003. Vol. 1. Pp. 67-82. 8 Hryts’ko Kernerenko was a pseudonym. In Ukrainian, his name was Hryhoryi Borysovych Kerner; in Russian, Grigorii Borisovich Kerner; and in Hebrew/Yiddish, Hirsch ben Borukh Kerner.

194 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 late 1980s by poets Abram Isaakovych Katsnelson (1914-2003) and Naum Tykhyi (b. Naum Myronovych Shtilerman, 1912-1996), and canonized in the 1980s-2000s by the Ukrainian-Jewish poet Moisei Fishbein (b. 1946).9

Lingua laudata and lingua peccata Grigorii Kerner began composing Ukrainian verse under the name Hryts’ko Kernerenko in an era unreceptive to Ukrainian cultural endeavors. The brief political thaw in the late 1850s and early 1860s – when Ukrainian books and primers appeared for the first time in modern era, Taras Shevchenko was allowed back into the capital, and a couple of Ukrainian periodicals were authorized, albeit in the Russian language10 – was followed by an almost total ban on things Ukrainian.11 The 1863 Valuev decree12 and 1876 Ems edict13 uprooted the timid Ukrainian revival by dramatically limiting the legally endorsed culture of Little Russia (Malorossia), which is how the imperial bureaucrats euphemistically referred to the altogether redundant concept of Ukraine.14 The authorities grudgingly endorsed Ukrainian discourse only if it contained no hint of the nation-making fervor of the Jena romantics, let alone of the revolutionary enthusiasm of Sturm und Drang. The notorious

9 For the most comprehensive overview of this theme, see Vadim Skuratovskii. Ukrainskaia literatura // Kratkaia evreiskaia entsiklopedia. Vol. 8. Jerusalem, 1976-1999. Pp. 1268-1276; see also Yohanan Petrovsky-Shtern. Moisei Fishbein // Glenda Abramson (Ed.). Encyclopedia of Modern Jewish Culture. Vol. 1. London and New York, 2005. Pp. 270-271. 10 Osnova (1861-1862) and Chernyhovs’kyi lystok (1861-1863). I do not refer here to Russian language publications that randomly published some materials in Ukrainian such as Gubernskie vedomosti (established in South-Western provinces in 1838). For more detail, see Paul Robert Magocsi. A History of Ukraine. Toronto and Buffalo, 1996. Pp. 366-367. 11 For a detailed discussion of this period, see Alexei Miller. The Ukrainian Question: The Russian Empire and Nationalism in the Nineteenth Century. Budapest and New York, 2003. Pp. 60-95. 12 For the English version see Magosci. History of Ukraine. Pp. 369-370. 13 For the English version, see Miller. Ukrainian Question. Pp. 267-269. 14 Olga Andriewsky discusses these decrees in the context of the “politicization” of the Ukrainian question in the Russian empire after the 1863 Polish revolt. See her “The Russian-Ukrainian Discourse and the Failure of the ‘Little Russian’ Solution, 1782-1917” // Andreas Kappeler et al. (Eds.). Culture, Nation, and Identity. The Ukrainian-Russian Encounter 1600-1945. Edmonton and Toronto, 2003. Pp. 182-214, esp. 208-213. 195 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... claim that the Ukrainian language “has not, does not, and cannot exist” defined and exhausted the situation of Ukrainian culture in tsarist Russia.15 For those Ukrainian writers who sought publishers within the borders of the Russian Empire, moderate Ukrainian populism of a vaudevillian character or bucolic lyricism became the only relatively innocuous forms of expression available. At the same time, Austrian-published Ukrainian books and periodicals were forbidden to be brought into Russia, translations from Western European languages were put under a total ban, and the Ukrainian theater repertoire was altogether eliminated.16 Afraid that Ukrainian publications would sooner or later trigger separatist tendencies detrimental to the integ- rity of the empire, the authorities also uprooted Ukrainian from education, liturgy, and the press.17 Some changes took place under the brief term of Minister of Interior Loris-Melikov toward the end of Alexander II’s reign (1856-1881). Whatever was allowed to be published in the Malorosskii (Little Russian) dialect, as Russian authorities condescendingly dubbed Ukrainian, had necessarily to be transcribed in iaryzhka, in which the characteristically Ukrainian vowels were substituted by Russian equivalents to make the language

15 Though historians argue that the ostracism of Ukrainian language and culture was unique in Late Imperial Russia, another language was partially outlawed, namely, Yiddish. There is a striking parallel in the tsarist authorities’ attitudes to Ukrainian and Yiddish. While the latter was scornfully dubbed a “jargon,” segregated as a third-rate subject of the empire, and never considered a genuine language, the former was also despised as “jargon” and was denied the mere right of residence. Also, it is illuminating that both the Ukrainian and Russian-Jewish press of the 1860s were short-lived and abruptly terminated under the ever increasing pressure of censorship. On the fate of Yiddish in Russia, see Sara Abrevaya Stein. Making Jews Modern: Yiddish and Ladino Press in Russian and Ottoman Empires. Bloomington, 2004; for the Russian-Jewish press, see Alexander Orbach. New Voices of Russian Jewry: a Study of the Russian-Jewish Press of Odessa in the Era of Great Reforms, 1860-1971. Leiden, 1980. For a brief discussion of the negative Russian imperial attitude to the languages that “generally lacked a literary standard,” see Andreas Kappeler. Mazepintsy, Malorossy, Khokhly: Ukrainians in the Ethnic Hierarchy of the Russian Empire // Kappeler et al. (Eds.). Ukrainian-Russian Encounter. Pp. 166-167. 16 The situation with “foreign” (Galician Ukrainian) publications was not stable. In the 1890s, a meager circulation of several periodicals such as Zoria and Literaturno-naukovyi vistnyk (hereafter – LNV) was allowed to be sent by mail to a number of Russian cities, but in the late 1890s and in early 1900 the authorities enforced the ban, preventing the circulation of some 400 issues of Zoria and some 150-200 of LNV. See Ivan Franko. Zaborona Literat.-Nauk. Vistnyka v Rosii // LNV. 1901. No. 16. Pp. 94-98. 17 Magocsi. History of Ukraine. Pp. 363-382. 196 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 font look similar to Russian.18 Ukrainian scholarship such as ethnography was endorsed only if it was in Russian.19 The suppressed literature subli- mated into collecting Ukrainian folklore, predominantly folk songs and ballads, or imitations thereof. When several national-minded women reacted against the anti-Ukrainian stance of the authorities by appearing in the streets of Kyiv donned in Ukrainian attire, the general-governor of Kyiv immediately responded by publicly allowing city prostitutes to wear the national dress.20 In this context, the Russian authorities considered suspicious – and the liberal- minded Russian intelligentsia ridiculous – any attempts to promote Ukrainian literature. Ukrainian was stigmatized as a lingua peccata: even the Bible could not be translated into Ukrainian or used by village parish priests. To paraphrase a medieval rabbinic metaphor, the Ukrainian language was a devaluated currency with no apparent signs of recovery. What, then, were Grigorii Kerner’s reasons for investing in it? Nor were Ukrainian-Jewish relations stimulating any mutual rapproche- ment. An unexpected manifestation of what could be called, ex post facto, the first stage of the Ukrainian-Jewish cultural encounter ended in an abrupt and ugly manner. While in 1859 Ukrainian figures such as Taras Shevchenko and Panteleimon Kulish had denounced the notorious antisemitic Russian journal Illustratsia,21 in 1861-1862 the Ukrainian press canonized the image of the Jew as a rapacious capitalist entrepreneur and greedy exploiter of the Ukrainian peasantry.22 In 1875, Panas Myrnyi portrayed a quintessential

18 Iaroslav Hrytsak. Narys istorii Ukrainy: formuvannia modernoi ukrains’koi natsii XIX- XX stolittia. Kyiv, 1996. P. 70. 19 For more detail, see chapters 9 and 10 of Miller. Ukrainian Question. Pp. 179-210. On the persecution of Ukrainian ethnography, particularly of one of its founders, Pavlo Chubyns’kyi (1839-1884), see Omeljan Prytsak (Ed.). Fedir Savchenko. Zaborona Ukrains’tva 1876 r. / Reprint of the 1930 Kiev edition. München, 1970. Index. 20 I owe this archival-based information to Yuri Shcherbak, who in the early 1980s planned to use it in his play devoted to Lesia Ukrainka, Contra spem spero. 21 John Klier. Imperial Russia’s Jewish Question, 1855-1881. Cambridge, 1995. Pp. 51-62. 22 On Jewish inn-keepers humiliating poor Ukrainians, see Anna Barvinok. S Volyni // Osnova. 1861. No. 1. Pp. 282-292; on an anti-Jewish hatred among Ukrainians, see Panteleimon Kulish. Drugoi chelovek (iz vospominanii bylogo) // Osnova. 1861. No. 2. Pp. 64-67; on the legitimization of the anti-Jewish stance of the Ukrainian press, N. Kostomarov. Iudeiam // Osnova. 1862. No. 1. Pp. 38-58; on Jewish factors (lease-holders) exploiting local Ukrainians, see Hromada. 1878. No. 2. Pp. 50-51, 62-63, 77-78; on Jewish army purveyors whose activities ruined the army and local economy, Ibid. Pp. 357-359; on rapacious Jewish stock-exchange adventurers, see Hromada. 1879. No. 4. Pp. 23-24; on Jewish nouveau riches and landowners in Ukraine, see Hromada. 1882. No. 5. Pp. 2-5. 197 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... Ukrainian village in which a Jew (and a German) mistreat and rob the Ukrainians, former serfs.23 In the 1870s and 1880s, Ukrainian publications in Austrian Galicia (subjected to a more lenient Austrian censorship) expressed even less sympathy for the Jewish cause.24 The arguments of enlightened Jewish polemicists for the abolition of the Pale of Settlement and the emanci- pation of Russian Jews, inundating the Russian-Jewish press at the time, seem to have not resonated among Ukrainian public figures. The Vienna- based Hromada journal’s initial reports on the 1881 pogroms in Ukraine, unique in their moderate sympathy toward the Jewish victims, perhaps conveyed Mykhailo Drahomanov’s solitary viewpoint rather than the feelings of the Ukrainian intelligentsia, which was quantitatively insignificant and bereft of its own media in the Russian empire.25 On the grassroots level, the climate was far from benevolent to the idea of Ukrainian-Jewish rapprochement.26 In the 1880s, the philosemitism of Ivan Franko and Lesia

23 See Panas Myrnyi. Tvory v 5-ty tomakh. Kyiv, 1960. Pp. 216-217. In 1883, in the aftermath of the pogroms in the southwestern part of the Russian empire (predominantly in Malorossia), Myrnyi penned a story “Za vodoiu” (On the Other Side of the Waters) with Ivan Bilyk about a Jewish lease-holder, Leyba, who becomes a new Ukrainian blood-sucking lord exploiting rural dwellers and triggering anti-Jewish pogroms. This story was not published until 1918. See Panas Myrnyi. Tvory v 2-kh tomakh. Kyiv, 1989. Vol. 1. Pp. 197-262. 24 See Israel Bartal and Antony Polonsky. The Jews in Galicia under Habsburgs, and Józef Buszko. The Consequences of Galician Autonomy after 1867 // Polin: A Journal of Polish-Jewish Studies. 1999. Vol. 12. Pp. 3-24 and 86-99. See also Ivan L. Rudnytsky. Essays in Modern Ukrainian History. Cambridge, 1987. Pp. 299-314. 25 See Ukrains’ki seliane v nespokoini roky // Hromada. 1882. Vol. 5. Pp. 253-258. For more detail on Drahomanov’s stance on Jewish issues, see Rudnytsky. Essays in Modern Ukrainian History. Pp. 283-298. 26 For example, Panteleimon Kulish, an ardent adept of the Ukrainian-Jewish encounter who at first wholeheartedly supported and publicly praised the literary endeavors of Kesar Bilylovs’kyi, a Jew eager to entirely sacrifice his Jewishness for the sake of his newly adopted Ukrainian identity, became disillusioned, claiming that a Jew cannot become a Ukrainian any more than a camel can pass through the eye of a needle, and his sudden switch naturally caused Bilylovs’kyi’s consternation, bitterness, and distress. See Bilylovs’kyi’s complaints about Kulish’s bigotry in his letter to Mykhailo Lobodovs’kyi, the Department of Manuscripts of the Institute of Literature of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine (hereafter – DMIL). F. 182 (the letter is dated February 3, 1895; unprocessed collection of Yeremiia Aizenshtok). For a detailed analysis of Kulish-Bilylovs’kyi relations and the reasons for their quarrel, different from those indicated by Bilylovs’kyi, see Stepan Zakharkin’s commentary on Bilylovs’kyi’s memoirs: Kyivs’ka starovyna. 2003. No. 1. Pp. 152-153 n50 and the extensive bibliography Zakharkin amasses there. 198 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Ukrainka, who at the beginning of the twentieth century challenged the inherited bias of Ukrainian anti-Jewish attitudes, had not yet become part of the new Ukrainian sensibilities.27 And there was no Volodymyr Vynny- chenko to create the complex, predominantly positive Jewish characters that appeared in his plays and prose only in the 1910s and after.28 To say that Grigorii Kerner emerged as the Ukrainian poet Hryts’ko Kernerenko from a welcoming milieu that fostered a Ukrainian-Jewish dialogue is completely to misunderstand his bold, independent, and apparently lonely deed. Kerner was no less a curious figure among those Jewish intellectuals who, from Osip Rabinovich in Odessa to Arnold Margolin in Kharkiv, routinely associated with, and integrated into, the Russian cultural milieu.29 For those maskilim (enlightened Jews) who sought integration into the general society and who argued against any ghettoized Yiddish-based and shtetl-shaped Jewish mentality, Russian was a praiseworthy language, a lingua laudata. This is not surprising, given that in the new burgeoning urban centers of Ukraine (Kharkiv, Zhytomyr, and Odessa) Russian was the spoken lan- guage of the overwhelming majority, Jews included, whereas Ukrainian was unheard of.30 Yevhen Chykalenko poignantly noticed that in the 1900s

27 On Franko’s stance on ethnic problems in Galicia, see Yaroslav Hrytsak. A Ukrainian Answer to the Galician Ethnic Triangle: The Case of Ivan Franko // Polin: Studies in Polish Jewry. 1999. No. 12. Pp. 137-146. 28 Vynnychenko’s philosemitic writings have not been subjected to scholarly analysis. Among the most important pieces containing complex, contradictory yet in most cases positive Jewish images, see his short story “Talisman” and his plays “Between Two Fires” and “Israel’s Melody.” In addition, Vynnychenko seems to have been one of the first who traced parallels in the mistreatment of the Jews and Ukrainians in the Russian empire. See his Otkrytoe pis’mo k russkim pisateliam // Ukrainskaia zhizn. 1913. No. 10. Pp. 29-33. For the later development of Vynnychenko’s philosemitic stance, see his 1923 essay “Evreis’ke pytannia na Ukraini,” reproduced in: Suchasnist’. 1992. Vol. 8. Pp. 116-125. 29 Among the most important publications on this issue are: Benjamin Nathans. Beyond the Pale: the Jewish Encounter with Late Imperial Russia. Berkeley, 2003; Jonathan Frankel and Steven Zipperstein. Assimilation and Community: Jews in 19th Century Europe. Cambridge, 1992; John Klier. Imperial Russia’s Jewish Question, 1855-1881. Cambridge and New York, 1995; Gabriella Safran. Rewriting the Jew: Assimilation Narratives in the Russian Empire. Stanford, 2000; Michael Stanislawski. For Whom Do I Toil? Judah Leib Gordon and the Crisis of Russian Jewry. New York, 1988; Steven Zipperstein. The Jews of Odessa: A Cultural History, 1794-1881. Stanford, 1986. 30 I rely on Patricia Herlihy’s insightful observation that the bigger the city in the 19th cen- tury Ukraine, the less it was Ukrainian. See her Ukrainian Cities in the Nineteenth Century // Ivan Rudnytsky (Ed.). Rethinking Ukrainian History. Edmonton, 1981. Pp. 135-149. 199 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... there were only eight families in Kiev that spoke Ukrainian. In the hierarchy of Jewish linguistic preferences, German, the language of the Haskalah (Jewish Enlightenment), and later Russian occupied the first and foremost position, followed by Hebrew and Yiddish, the last being the least impor- tant. Ukrainian was simply not in the Jewish linguistic repertoire, despite the fact that Ukrainian words and colloquial expressions were prominently present in both spoken and written Yiddish and were well familiar to Jews.31 For the Jews, Russian was not only the official language of the empire but also the language of high culture, university education, and public discourse, whereas Ukrainian was at best the language of the peasantry. They found Shevchenko rough and uncombed, though talented. For an urban dwelling, petty-bourgeois German- or Russian-oriented Jew, the Ukrainian language signified nothing but a marketplace babble of no cultural value. To use David Roskies’s metaphor, in the shtetl-based Jewish linguistic imagina- tion, Russian functioned as a High Goyish while Ukrainian as a Low Goyish dialect (goyish referring to the non-Jewish or Gentile). Yet already in the second half of the nineteenth century East European Yiddish writers, above all Mendele Moykher-Sforim, included in their prose narratives many colorful, albeit episodic, Ukrainian characters and even brief dialogues in Ukrainian.32 Later in the 1900s, Isaac Leibush Perets and Sholem Aleichem traced humorous parallels between the Ukrainians and the Jews in their short stories. Ukraine-born Ze’ev Jabotinsky’s arduous defense of the Ukrainian language, articulated in his impeccable Russian, was but another important episode of the Jewish-Ukrainian cultural rap- prochement in the late 1900s and early 1910s.33 Later in the 20th century the Hebrew writer Shmuel Iosef Agnon (born in Buchach) presented a benign and mutually respectful encounter between Oleksa Dovbush, a leader

31 Max Weinreich. History of the Yiddish Language / Transl. by Shlomo Noble. Chicago, 1980. Pp. 548-550, 587-595. 32 I am grateful to Mikhail Krutikov for bringing this information to my attention. 33 On Jabotinsky’s sympathies to the Ukrainian cause and his criticism of Russian chauvinistic quasi-liberals, see Israel Kleiner. From Nationalism to Universalism: Vladimir (Ze’ev) Jabotinsky and the Ukrainian Question. Edmonton and Toronto, 2000, and Alexei Miller’s review in KRITIKA: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History. 2003. Vol. 4. No. 1. Pp. 232-238; Olga Andriewsky. “Medved’” iz berlogi: Vladimir Jabotinsky and the Ukrainian Question, 1904-1914 // Harvard Ukrainian Studies. Vol. 14. No. 3-4. Pp. 249-267. For Jabotinsky’s Ukrainophile essays, see Volodymyr Zhabotyns’kyi. Vybrani statti z natsional’noho pytannia / Transl., preface, and commentary by Izrail Kleiner. Kyiv, 1991. 200 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 of the Ukrainian peasant revolt, and the Galician Jews, only half-a-century after Kerner’s entry into Ukrainian literature. After the Holocaust, L’viv-born Piotr Rawicz in his French-language novel Blood from the Sky made the survival of his Jewish protagonist during the Holocaust depend on his profound knowledge of the Ukrainian language and literature.34 Yet Ukrainian- Jewish literary parallels did not yet signify the integration of Jewish writers into the Ukrainian milieu. And in the 1880s, it was simply inconceivable for a Jew – as well as for an acculturated urban dweller with a university degree – to be willing to associate with, or acculturate into, the Ukrainian language and culture. To paraphrase an acclaimed post-colonial metaphor, the Ukrainian was a subaltern who could not and should not speak.35 There seemed to be no reason for a Jew, who occupied a rank lower than the subaltern in the imaginary Russian imperial hierarchy, to identify with those mute, rustic, uncultivated subalterns, the Ukrainians, bereft of their own voice and tongue. But Grigorii Borisovich Kerner, the descendant of an affluent Jewish family, thought otherwise.

Apologia pro vita sua Biographical data on Kerner is insufficient for a coherent narrative. What is known about him raises more questions than provides answers. Ihor Kachurovs’kyi’s short yet very informative note on Kerner’s itinerary,36 and a brief note included in Kerner’s file at the National Academy of Sciences Institute of Literature manuscript collection,37 with some variation, simply follow the succinct introduction to Kernerenko’s poetry from the 1908

34 Ruth Wisse. The Modern Jewish Canon: A Journey through Language and Culture. New York and London, 2000. Pp. 207-216, 220-223. 35 See Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. Can the Subaltern Speak? // Patric Williams and Laura Chrisman (Eds.). Colonial Discourse and Post-Colonial Theory. New York, 1994. Pp. 66-111. 36 Kachurovs’kyi has to be credited for his attempt to conceptualize Kernerenko as one of the first Ukrainian poets of Jewish descent. For his pioneering essay, see Ihor Kachurovs’kyi. Pro Hryts’ka Kernerenka // Khronika 2000. 1998. Pp. 174-176. 37 See Yulia Mirmovich (Ed.). Obzor dokumental’nykh istochnikov po istorii evreiskoi literatury v fondakh arkhivokhranilishch Kieva: Gosudarstvennyi arkhiv-muzei literatury i iskusstva Ukrainy, Otdel rukopisei Instituta literatury im. T. Shevchenko Natsional’noi Akademii Nauk Ukrainy. Moscow, 1996. Pp. 20-22 [“Jewish archive” series], available on the web: http://www.jewish-heritage.org/sea6.htm 201 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... anthology The Ukrainian Muse.38 From these sources we learn that Hryts’ko Kernerenko was born in 1863 in Huliai-pole, Ekaterynoslav Province. He graduated from Simferopol high school (gimnazia). The notorious numerus clausus introduced and enforced in the Russian empire in the early 1880s dramatically limited educational opportunities for Jews, making university education very problematic for Kerner, who, instead of a Russian university, chose the agronomy department of a polytechnic college in Munich.39 Kerner’s choice, however, was not an uncommon one for heirs of the Ukrainian bour- geoisie.40 In 1883, Kerner traveled through Europe and visited Austria and Italy.41 The few available sources lead us to believe that upon finishing his studies abroad, Kernerenko returned to Huliai-pole, where he managed his own estate.42

38 Oleksa Kovalenko (Ed.). Ukrains’ka muza. Poetychna antolohia. Kyiv, 1908. P. 797. This anthology of Ukrainian poetry has been reprinted partially (Buenos Aires, 1973) and in full prefaced and edited by Fedir Pohrebennyk (Kyiv, 1993). These scarce biographic details go back to a short autobiography that Oleksa Kovalenko commissioned Kernerenko to write for his anthology Rozvaha. Kernerenko was not too eloquent depicting his life and career. What he penned was a modest biographic entry that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. “Dear Mister Oleksa Kuz’mych, I am promptly answering your kind request. I was born in 1863 in Huliaipole sloboda, Katerynoslav Province. I studied in Simferopol high school, then studied agriculture in Munich Polytechnical School. I have published only four books [ ]. I am sending you my picture and also this small notebook of my already published and yet unpublished works. Will you be so kind as to return this notebook to me as soon as you make some use of it for your almanac. Thank you very much for remembering me. Most respectfully yours, Hryts’ko Kernerenko.” See Chernihiv Local History Museum (Chernihivs’kyi istorychnyi muzei, hereafter – ChHM). Al 52-147/1/539 (Kernerenko to Kovalenko, December 26, 1906). L. 1-1ob. For the Ukrainian original, see in this issue of AI “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” III, 2. 39 For the anti-Jewish educational restrictions that followed the infamous Ignatiev 1882 May laws, see Heinz-Dietrich Löwe. Antisemitism at the Close of the Czarist Era // Herbert A. Strauss (Ed.). Hostages of Modernization. Studies of Modern Antisemitism, 1870-1933/39. 3 vols. Berlin and New York, 1993. Vol. 3/2. Pp. 1188-1207; see also Benjamin Nathans. Beyond the Pale. Pp. 268-282 and Alexander Orbach. The Development of the Russian- Jewish Community, 1881-1903 // John Klier and Shlomo Lambroza (Eds.). Pogroms: Anti- Jewish Violence in Modern Russian History. Cambridge, 1992. Pp. 137-163. 40 Suffice it to mention Dmytro Dontsov, who studied in Vienna, and Viacheslav Lypyns’kyi, who studied in . Both became prominent 20th-century Ukrainian thinkers. 41 See references to places where his early poems were written in Hryts’ko Kernerenko. Nevelychkyi zbirnyk tvoriv. Kharkov: Zilberberg, 1880. Pp. 22, 24. 42 At that time, Huliai-pole, situated in the center of a triangle formed by the three cities Ekaterinoslav (Dnipropetrovs’k), Yuzovo (Donets’k), and Melitopol, was a nicely planned town. By 1898, it boasted 76 plants, factories, and artisan shops, and some 20 stores. By 1914, it had 16,150 inhabitants, three churches, one synagogue, five primary schools, one parish 202 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Kerner’s family was not atypical for the Jewish nouveaux riches that emerged in the 1870s-1880s. Kerner’s grandfather, perhaps involved in the century-old propinatsia business (distilling of and trading in alcohol), had amassed enough capital that by the time of Alexander II’s liberal reforms,

Fig. 1. Huliai-pole, City council (Duma), former Althausen Hotel. he was able to invest his entrepreneurial skills into the burgeoning Russian industry. In the 1870s, together with the merchant A. A. Ostrovs’kyi, he built a comparatively large liquor plant that employed 32 workers and earned 32,000 rubles annually. In 1892, Kerner established his family company, Kerner B. S. and Sons, and built a second machine-building factory in Huliai- pole (the first belonged to a certain Krieger). By the end of the century there were 70 workers at Kerner’s factory, which generated revenues of school, one workers’ school, one German and two Jewish schools, a library, a theater, and a cinema. See A. V. Belash and V. F. Belash. Dorogi Nestora Makhno: istoricheskoe povestvovanie. Kiev, 1993. P. 577 n2. According to the 1897 census, there were 1,173 Jews in Huliai-pole. See R. I. Goldshtein. Materialy k istorii evreiskoi obshchiny Dnepropetrovshchiny. Dnipropetrovs’k, 1992. P. 9. Later in 20th century Jewish literature, Huliai-pole became an example of an essential Jewish collective farm (kolkhoz) and of the social and cultural encounter between Jewish and Ukrainian peasants. See Note Lurye. Der step ruft. Minsk, 1934. 203 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... 65,000 rubles and was marketed through the local Kerner-owned Trade House. In 1901, together with other wealthy merchants and industrialists, the Kerners sponsored Mutual Credit Bank, built in the center of the town. Later under the Soviets, the building hosted the Jewish Colonization Society (Agro-Joint), which supported Jewish agricultural settlements in left-bank Ukraine.43 Anatol Hak (b. Ivan Antypenko), a Ukrainian writer, literary critic, and journalist born in 1893 in Huliai-pole personally knew the Kerners and provided elucidating insights into Kerner’s life. Among other things, Hak notes that Kerner’s family was comprised of a father and his three sons. The family owned an agricultural machinery plant, a vapor mill, a large store, and about 500 hectares of land outside Huliai-pole, which they leased to German colonists.44

Fig. 2. Huliai-pole, Mutual Credit Bank, ca. 1901, the Kerners were among its sponsors. In the 1920s it hosted Jewish Colonization Society. Now Huliai-pole Historical Museum.

43 Several buildings belonging to Huliai-pole Jews remain intact to this day, including the Althausen Hotel (now the city council), a two-storied mill (now an oil and grain mill), the central synagogue (now the district hospital), and Mutual Credit Bank (now the local museum). 44 Anatol Hak (Martyn Zadeka). Vid Huliai-polia do Niu-Iorku: spohady. Philadelphia, 1973. P. 24, note. 204 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Here is Hak: As to the rich dwellers of Huliai-pole, who shared pro-Ukrainian sympathies, it is worthwhile to mention the poet Hryts’ko Kernerenko. Unfortunately, there is not a word about him in the Ukrainian Encyclopedia. A member of a rich Jewish family (his real name is Kerner), Kernerenko, who got his higher education degree in Munich and Kharkiv, composed genuine Ukrainian poetry, and also translated into Ukrainian the poetry of Heine, Pushkin, etc. In 1909, he published in Huliai-pole a collection of his poetry The Moments of Inspiration (Menty natkhnennia). Yet it is obvious that his nationality and social position prevented Kernerenko from having firm contacts with Huliai- pole’s intelligentsia, let alone with the peasants. However, when my relatively “Ukrainian” moustache began bristling, I found my way to Kernerenko: I used to go to him for Ukrainian books. Hryhorii Borysovych [Kernerenko] treated me benevolently. Besides the books he gave me to read, I remember him giving me the address of the bookstore Ukrainian Antiquities [Ukrainskaia starina, based in Kyiv], from which I eventually began ordering Ukrainian books.45

Fig. 3. Huliai-pole, “Nadiia” (Hope) Mill, former Shreder Mill, ca. 1894.

45 Ibid. Pp. 24-25. 205 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... Hak’s insights are illuminating in different ways. They suggest that Ker- nerenko belonged to the well-to-do of Huliai-pole; that he was known to be a lonely Jewish Ukrainophile at odds with his bourgeois Jewish, Russified Cossack, and intellectual Ukrainian milieu; that he had a collection of Ukrai- nian books; and that he seems to have inspired and encouraged those interested in things Ukrainian. Unfortunately, except for a brief reference to the post-1917 turmoil, when Kerner was made to pay ransom to local anarchists, Hak does not provide any details on Kerner’s later years.46 Though we do not know why and how Grigorii Kerner started to compose Ukrainian verse, we do know that Kernerenko’s poetry, appearing between 1890 and 1910 in four diffe- rent collections, did not go unnoticed by Ukraini- Fig. 4. Huliai-pole, Big Synagogue, 19th century. an literary figures.47 Ivan Now one of the attached buildings of the District Franko included a couple Hospital.

46 Ibid. Pp. 26-30. 47 Kernerenko penned at least five books, all of which are rare: the short tale Pravdyva kazka (1886 and 1890), and four books of poetry: Nevelychkyi zbirnyk tvoriv (1890), Shchetynnyk (1891), V dosuzhyi chas (1894), Menty natkhnennia (1910). Though almost all texts analyzed in this paper appeared in the book collections, I quote them from the available journal reprints. In selecting Kernerenko’s texts for this paper, I did not pursue the task of introducing the whole plethora of his themes and images. Rather, I focused on Ukrainian and Jewish national issues.

206 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 of Kernerenko’s poems in his representative anthology The Accords (1903).48 Oleksa Kovalenko, himself a poet and translator, published three of Ker- nerenko’s poems in his literary anthology Entertainment (1905)49 and seven poems prefaced by a biographical note and a portrait in his classic anthology Ukrainian Muse (1908).50 Even in the 1920s some of Kernerenko’s verse made its way into the diaspora-edited collection The Strings.51 In addition, Kernerenko’s verse appeared in Ukrainian periodicals such as Ukrains’ka khata, Hromads’ka dumka, and Rada, and also in Skladka in the 1890s and Literaturno-naukovyi vistnyk in the 1900s, where first, Aleksandrov and second, Franko noticed Kernerenko and found his voice worthy of joining the select Ukrainian literary milieu. Volodymyr Stepanovych Aleksandrov (1825-1893), a medical doctor, writer, and folklorist from Kharkiv, belonged to the “old style” Ukrainian-oriented intel- ligentsia generated from the clergy and integrated into the East European populist movement of the 1870s. Aleksandrov served as a military doctor in left-bank Ukraine and was known for The People’s Songbook (1887)52 and his populist folklore-based plays.53 Apparently he studied Hebrew and translated such parts

48 Ivan Franko (Ed.). Akordy: antoliohia [sic!] Ukrains’koi liryky vid smerty Shevchenka. L’viv: Ukrains’ko-rus’ka vydavnycha spilka, 1903. P. 274. The fact that the Akordy anthology was published by Mykhailo Il’nyts’kyi in a facsimile edition (Kyiv, 1993) testifies to its particular importance in the history of Ukrainian culture. 49 Ukrains’kyi deklamator: rozvaha. Artystychnyi zbirnyk poezii, opovidan’ v prozi, monolohiv, zhartiv i humoresok naivydatnishykh ukrains’kykh poetiv i pys’menykiv (Ukrainian Declaimer: an entertainment. An artistic collection of poetry, prose short stories, monologues, jokes and anecdotes of the most prominent Ukrainian poets and writers). Kyiv: Kul’zhenko, 1905 and 1908. Vol. 1. Pp. 89-93, 271; 2: 226-227, 268, 330. 50 Oleska Kovalenko (Ed.). Ukrains’ka muza. Poetychna antolohia od pochatku do nashikh dniv (Ukrainian muse: a poetic anthology from the beginning to the present). Kyiv, 1908 [1909]. Pp. 797-806. Zerov mentions it among the last pre-1920s anthologies of Ukrainian poetry. See Mykola Zerov. Ukrains’ke pys’menstvo. Kyiv, 2003. P. 228. On Kernerenko-Kovalenko relations, see Kernerenko’s letters to Oleksa Kuz’mych Kovalenko in the ChHM. Al 52-147/1/539 (Kernerenko to Kovalenko, December 26, 1906). L. 1-2; Al 52-147/5/539 (December 26 [in fact, November 27], 1906). L. 1; Al 52-147/2/539 (February 2, 1907). L. 1-1ob., Al 52-147/3/539 (November 10, 1908). L. 1; Al 52-147/4/539 (November 5, 1907). L. 1. 1-2a. 51 B. Lepkyi. Struny: antoliohia ukrains’koi poezii vid naidavnishykh do nynishnikh chasiv. 2 vols. Berlin, 1922. Vol. 2. Pp. 74-76. 52 Narodnyi pisennyk z naikrashchykh ukrains’kykh pisen, iaki teper naichastish spivaiutsia, z notamy (The People’s Songbook of the best Ukrainian songs that are most- often sung nowadays, with scores). Kharkov: Mikhailov, 1887. 53 For a short biography of Aleksandrov, see Zerov. Ukrains’ke pys’menstvo. P. 983. For archival material, see Putivnyk po fondu viddily rukopysiv Instytutu Literatury. Kyiv, 1999. Pp. 23-25. 207 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... of the Bible as the Books of Genesis, Psalms, and Job into Ukrainian.54 In the 1880s, he edited two issues of the rare and therefore highly representative almanac The Collection (Skladka).55 A memoirist notes that Aleksandrov’s house in Kharkiv served for irregular meetings of some old-style Ukrainians.56 Kernerenko, who shared the same principles of Ukrainian populism and imitated Ukrainian folk poetry, seems to have been very close to Aleksandrov, calling himself the latter’s disciple and perceiving his death as a personal loss. It is likely that Aleksandrov introduced Kernerenko to local publishers (all of Kernerenko’s books but one appeared in Kharkiv’s Zilberberg printing-press, apparently owned by a Jew) and to the cast of Ukrainian actors at the famous Kharkiv theater, for which probably Kernerenko penned his folklore-based play.57 Perhaps without knowing he was writing to the only contemporary Ukrainian-Jewish poet other than himself, in February, 1898, Kernerenko penned a letter to Kesar Bilylovs’kyi,58 who continued editing the

54 See DMIL. F. 22. D. 11-13, 37, 38, 49, 50, 54-56, 87, 88, 90-96, 157 (for 1877-1892). 55 Alexandrov’s own verse, imbued with romantic motifs, is indebted to Schiller, Heine, Lermontov, and their epigones. See Skladka: almanakh. Kharkiv: Adolf Darre, 1886. Pp. 5-6, 44, 46, 69, 81, 91, 169, 218. 56 Yevhen Chykalenko. Spohady (1861-1907). New York, 1955. P. 238. 57 For the Ukrainian original of Kernerenko’s letter to Kovalenko, see in this issue of AI “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” III, 2. 58 Kesar Oleksandrovych Bilylovs’kyi, whose Jewish descent and literary interests have been neglected by students of both East European Jewish and Ukrainian culture, deserves a separate scholarly discussion. For a biography that excludes references to Bilylovs’kyi’s Jewish identity, see P. A. Dehtiarev. Zaliublenyi v krasu ridnoho slova // Kesar Bilylovs’kyi. V charakh kokhannia. Kyiv, 1981. Pp. 3-24; Idem. Kesar Bilylovs’kyi // Pys’mennyki radians’koi Ukrainy: Literaturno-krytychni narysy. 1987. Vol. 13. Pp. 38-112. In an autobiographical essay, Bilylovs’kyi avoided the discussion of his Jewish identity. See Isai Zaslavs’kyi and Stepan Zakharkin. Spohady Kesaria Bilylovs’koho // Kyivs’ka starovyna. 2003. No. 1. Pp. 134-154; 2003. No. 2. Pp. 84-102; 2003. No. 3. Pp. 118-145. However, in his letters to prominent Ukrainian literary figures he complained of having been misunderstood, and even mistreated, because of his Jewish origins by such outstanding Ukrainian poets as Panteleimon Kulish. Mention should be made of Bilylovs’kyi’s consistent attempts to translate notions and motifs of the Musar (ethical) Jewish tradition into Ukrainian verse. He extensively draws from Kohelet (Ecclesiastes), Mishle (Proverbs), some explicitly didactic Tehillim (Psalms), and perhaps even from Pirke Avot (“Fragments of Our Fathers,” an ethical tractate of the Talmud). Bilylovs’kyi universalizes Judaic ethics in his Ukrainian poetic version and not unsuccessfully circumvents apparently indispensable Christian connotations. See his “Life Wisdom” (Zhyteis’ka mudrist’), “Life Experience” (Zhyteis’kyi dosvid), “The Red Wedding” (Chervonyi shliub), “Let Me Live” (Daite-bo zhyt’!), and “Elegy” (Elehia), in: Ukrains’kyi deklamator. Pp. 263-64, 305-06, 384-85, 411, 486-87. Also see Bilylovs’kyi’s ethical and didactical poems with some Judaic flavor such as “Ten Wordly Gifts” (Desiat’ dariv na sviti), “Klym Haneba,” and “Let Me Live!” (Daite-bo zhyt’) in: V. Aleksandrov (Ed.). Skladka: almanakh. Kharkiv, 1887. Pp. 7, 82-84, 131-132. 208 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Skladka.59 The letter seems to suggest that Kernerenko (unlike Bilylovs’kyi) was not part of the narrow circle of Ukrainian literary figures rallying around Aleksandrov’s almanac and that he was not even known to the friends of the person whose disciple he considered himself. Kernerenko’s spiritual solitude is further corroborated by the letter’s closing: as he did in many other cases, he signed the letter with his pen name, but asked Bilylovs’kyi to respond to Hryhorii Borysovych Kerner in Huliai-pole.60 While perhaps a mere convenience or formality, it may also suggest that in his native town, Kerner, the author of three books in Ukrainian, was hardly known to anybody as the Ukrainian poet Hryts’ko Kernerenko.61 However, in the 1900s the constellations on the literary firmament were more benevolent toward Kernereko, who was then blessed with the acquaintance of Ivan Franko.

59 “I would like to thank you for starting your good job of enlightenment by having already brought to light two almanacs. May God help you! It is really a pity that I could not have joined the participants in the collection in memory of the late Vladymyr Stepanovych. Had I known that you have such a dear soul and had I known where you live I would have written to you and sent something: since I am one of the acquaintances and disciples of the late Vl[adymyr] Stepanovych; alas, what has passed cannot be returned! At this point I would like to ask you, your kindness, should you plan to publish something literary in memory of the late Vl[adymyr] St[epanovych], do not exclude me....” Kernerenko’s letter was attached to his collection of poetry. See MDIL. F. 72 (Kesar Bilylovs’kyi). D. 243. Pp. 1-2. Unfortunately, the collaboration between Kernerenko and Bilylovs’kyi did not bring fruit because in 1897 Bilylovs’kyi stopped publishing the Skladka almanac. On Skladka, see Zakharkin’s commentaries to Bilylovs’ky’s memoirs: Kyivs’ka starovyna. 2000. No. 2. Pp. 100-101, n128-139; 2000. No. 3. Pp. 141-142, n231. For the original Ukrainian of Kernerenko’s letter to Bilylovs’kyi, see this issue of AI “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” III, 1. 60 Thus Bilylovs’kyi could not ignore Hryts’ko Kernerenko’s Jewish origin. The fact that he referred neither to Kernerenko nor to Kernerenko’s writings may suggest that identifying with things Ukrainian-Jewish were beyond his interests. Perhaps this is the reason Bilylovs’kyi does not even mention Kernerenko among Aleksandrov’s circle of Ukrainian intellectuals in his much detailed memoirs. See Spohady Kesaria Bilylovs’koho // Kyivs’ka starovyna. 2003. No. 2. Pp. 90-91. 61 There might be some additional evidence that Kernerenko was not considered a respected contributor: his letters to LNV remained unanswered for years; his forthcoming publications were announced in the journal and never published; and his author’s copies, for example, of The Accords anthology were never sent to him. Though those could have been cases of mere negligence by the editors, and may have had nothing to do with Kernerenko personally, it is yet commendable to ask whether we are not imposing later 20th century author-publisher relations in East Europe on pre-1917 realities. For the letters containing Kernerenko’s complaints of disrespect, see DMIL. F. 3. D. 1620. Pp. 70, 142-143, 525, 527. 209 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... Kernerenko’s encounter with Ivan Franko requires a brief digression. Back in 1880, the Kiev governor-general Dondukov-Korsakov had allowed Ukrainian plays to be staged if they were not about the intelligentsia and if the cast could simultaneously dilute any Ukrainian performance in the Russian repertoire also offered to the public. Apparently in the mid-1880s, Kernerenko tried his pen as a playwright. For the plot of his play – the only one we know he penned – Kernerenko chose a village-based love story entitled Those Who Conceal the Truth, God Punishes; or You Can’t Force Love (Khto pravdy vkryvaie – toho Boh karaie, abo Liubov syloiu ne vizmesh).62 The play, ornamented with all the accessories of a sentimental folk drama, may have been written for the Kharkiv Ukrainian Theater. Kernerenko’s cast of characters includes the astute and cruel village clerk, Rad’ko (pysar’), and his romantic-minded sister Nastia, the ambitious nouveau riche, Mykyta Syla, and his rebellious daughter Horpyna, the village orphan Levko, the inn-keeper Lukeria, who is engaged in witchcraft, and Semen, a handsome young man about to be drafted into the army. The play was set in the safe and distant first half of the 19th century: in the opening scene potential village draftees discuss the humiliating custom of “forehead shaving” (zabryiut’), the marking of conscripts in the Russian Army (cancelled as part of Alexander II’s Great Reforms). But neither the inoffensive plot nor the artificial characters could help Kernerenko.63 Both Russian and Ukrainian literature have long portrayed the horrors of Nikolaevan conscription, the arbitrariness of communal

62 One of the earlier versions was entitled A Strong Love Brings Murky Punishment (Liubov pevna – kara temna). 63 Kernerenko’s drama (sometimes he calls it “drama etude”) is built around a complex system of love relations and rivalry. Semen, the orphaned son of a district clerk, is going to be drafted into the army. His name has been forged onto a conscription list due by Rad’ko, the clerk, whose sister Nastia is in love with Semen, and who seeks to marry Horpyna, who also loves Semen. Sending Semen into the army, Rad’ko plans to kill two birds with one stone, paving the way for his future marriage with Horpyna, the daughter of Mykyta Syla, the local rich man, and for his further control over his sister Nastia. But Horpyna, who now moves into the focus of the plot, rejects Rad’ko’s unscrupulous advances and plans to inform the authorities about the forgery. To bring Semen back to her and to make Nastia, whose love Semen reciprocates, an inappropriate match for him, Horpyna turns to Lukeria, the inn keeper, who supplies her with magic herbs. A moving fare-thee-well before the draft brings Semen and Nastia together for what happens to be their final embrace, marking the end of the first part of the play. The second, shorter part, which takes place two-and-a-half years later in a nearby provincial town, finds Horpyna in prison, accused of poisoning Nastia and making her blind. On the day 210 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Fig. 5. The title page of Kenrerenko’s play sent to, and marked by, the censor.

211 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... elders, the corruption of the administration, the prejudices of the peasants, the passions of the simple folk, and witchery.64 But, quod licet jovi non licet bovi: Ukrainian authors had to be content with the beauties of the Ukrainian landscape and the pastoral innocence of the Ukrainian peasantry. The censor closely followed Kernerenko’s play, painstakingly identifying and angrily marking each and every socially explosive theme. The censor did not like Rad’ko’s deliberate forging of the conscription lists to include Semen, his twice rival, the object of passionate love of both his sister Nastia and of Syla’s daughter Horpyna. The censor also angrily underlined those lines in which Kernerenko echoed Ukrainian folk songs by criticizing the Nikolaevan draft and by depicting draftees streaming into a local inn to “waste their freedom in drink.” And the entire act two of the play, according to the aggressive red-pencil marginal notes, simply enraged the censor: he had no desire to authorize the portrayal of the horrible conditions of female inmates in the Russian prison system and the sexual harassment and brutal language of the prison supervisor.65 The play was forbidden and returned to the author despite that its more than moderate social criticism never went as far as the classical drama of the Russian Aleksandr Ostrovskii (1823-1887) or the Ukrainian Ivan Karpenko-Karyi (1845-1907). To Kernerenko’s good fortune, in the last quarter of the 19th century the center of Ukrainian culture moved across the border of the Russian empire to Ukrainian Galicia, part of the Austrian empire.66 In the 1880s, of the trial, Semen, temporarily released from the army, goes through the town toward his native village in search of Nastia. In the town square in front of a church, Semen meets a blind woman and her guide asking for alms, and recognizes his Nastia and embraces her. At the same moment, convoyed to the court, Horpyna pushes aside the soldiers, rushes toward Semen and Nastia, prostrates herself in front of them, confesses her crime, prays for clemency, and dies. See DMIL. F. 70 (Kantseliariia kyivs’koho okremoho tsenzora). D. 57. Pp. 1-37 (first version, November 18, 1887); F. 70. D. 58. Pp. 1-38 (second version, February 1, 1896). 64 For an example of a Ukrainian recruit drafted into the army despite his married status, see D. Mordovtsev. Saldatka // Osnova. 1861. No. 4. Pp. 15-32. 65 DMIL. F. 70. D. 57. Pp. 3-5, 12, 33-34. 66 For a brief introduction, see Timothy Snyder. The Reconstruction of Nations: Poland, Ukraine, Lithuania, Belarus, 1569-1999. New Haven and London, 2003. Pp. 122-132. For the Ukrainian cultural revival in Galicia, see Magosci. A History of Ukraine. Pp. 436-457; Rudnytsky. Essays in Modern Ukrainian History. Pp. 315-352. For Russian imperial policies in Galicia, see Miller. Ukrainian Question. Pp. 211-220. On Jewish-Ukrainian relations in turn-of-the-century Galicia, see Yaroslav Hrytsak. Dimension of a Triangle: Polish-Ukrainian-Jewish Relationships in Austrian Galicia // Polin: A Journal of Polish- Jewish Studies. 1999. Vol. 12. Pp. 2-48. 212 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 known as the “dead years” (Hrytsak) for the development of Ukrainian culture, most literati either had to emigrate, like Mykhailo Drahomanov, who began his Hromada (first published as a collection of articles, then made into a journal) in Vienna, or remain in the Russian Empire and take the risk of sending their works for publication to L’viv, where in 1898 Mykhailo Hrushevs’kyi and Ivan Franko launched Literaturno-Naukovyi Vistnyk (Literary and Scholarly Herald, hereafter LNV), a journal of para- mount significance for 20th-century Ukrainian thought. On June 13, 1899, Kernerenko penned a self-disparaging letter to the editorial board of LNV, asking for publication his translations and poetry, and promising a play.67 The editors welcomed Kernerenko, publishing him twice in the course of a year.68 Inspired by this new opportunity, on May 1, 1900, Kernerenko apparently made some changes in his play, shortened its somewhat pretentious and cumbersome title to the more concise The Power of Truth (Syla pravdy) and sent it to the LNV editors.69 In January 1901, LNV informed Kernerenko that his poetry and play would be published, yet two years passed without any publication. Kernerenko sent one inquiry after another, then asked that his manuscripts be returned (he even sent payment for the return postage, but again received no response). Finally, in February 1903, he turned to Ivan Franko.70 By the 1900s, Ivan Franko had drifted from depicting Jews as corrupt capitalist entrepreneurs to sympathetic portrayals of rank-and-file Jews. He also became personally acquainted with Theodor Herzl and developed a deep appreciation for the Zionist cause.71 Franko’s interest in Haskalah

67 “I reverently beseech the respected Editorial Board to publish my translations from N. Minsky and Sully-Prudhomme and a couple of my own verses that I am sending you now. Soon I will send you my dramatic etude for here it has been twice forbidden for publication.” See DMIL. F. 3 (Ivan Franko). D. 1620. Pp. 141-142 (June 13, 1899). 68 See LNV. 1900. No. 9. Pp. 116-17; No. 12. P. 125. 69 DMIL. F. 3. D. 1620. Pp. 219-220 (May 1, 1900). 70 DMIL. F. 3. D. 1620. Pp. 463-464 (February 7, 1903). 71 Although the theme “Ivan Franko and the Jewish Question” is still awaiting a multifaceted scholarly analysis, several attempts have been made to scrutinize its various aspects. For the literary aspects of Franko’s interest in Zionism, see Asher Wilcher. Ivan Franko and Theodor Herzl: to the genesis of Franko’s Moisej // Harvard Ukrainian Studies. 1982. Vol. 6. No. 2. Pp. 233-243; scattered references to Franko’s buttressing the Ukrainian- Jewish contacts are to be found in Marten Feller. Poshuky, rozdumy i spohady ievreia, iakyi pam’ataie svoikh didiv, pro ievreis’ko ukrains’ki vzaiemyny, osoblyvo zh pro movy i stavlennia do nykh (Searches, thoughts, and memoirs of a Jew who remembers his grandfathers, on Ukrainian Jewish relations, in particular about languages and the attitude 213 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... (Jewish enlightenment) suggests that the Galician thinker and poet supported and was ready to promote a Jewish encounter with the vernacular language and culture, be it German, Polish, or Ukrainian.72 Kernerenko represented for him a rare yet commendable Ukrainian case. Franko’s acquaintance with Kernerenko hardly changed Franko’s perception of the East European Jewish problem, yet it widened Franko’s vision of Jewish intellectual endeavors. Though Franko’s answer to Kernerenko is not extant, nor do we know how their relations evolved between 1903 and 1906, one of Kerner- enko’s later letters helps us to understand the character of his epistolary relations with Franko: I thank you so much for your kind letter. You have asked who Sholem-Aleichem is. This is the pen-name of S. Rabinovych, one of the most outstanding modern writers in jargon [Yiddish]. S. G. Frug is no less talented in poetry, also in jargon. On Sholem-Aleichem and S. G. Frug you may learn a bit from the encyclopedic dictionary Brokhaus, vol. 22, page 495 “Jewish-German dialect or jargon.” I am sending you a poem “Wine” that I translated from S. Frug’s Yiddish poetry. The tale I have sent you is entitled “Der veter Pini toward them). Drohobych, 1994. Pp. 138-140, 149-153, 182-184. For one of the earliest publications on this issue, see L. Zhygmailo. Natsional’nye motivy v proizvedeniakh Bialika i Franka // Ukrainskaia zhizn’. 1916. No. 4-5. Pp. 41-64. The most significant, though somewhat outdated, article on the issue is Pavlo Kudriavtsev. Evreistvo, evrei ta evreis’ka sprava v tvorakh Ivana Franka // Zbirnyk prats evreis’koi istoryko- arkheohrafichnoi komisii. 2 vols. Kyiv, 1929. Vol. 2. Pp. 1-81. During the 1900s, perhaps under the impact of his personal encounter with Herzl, Franko revisited his perception of Jews and Judaism, discovering classical Jewish texts he had previously overlooked. See his notes on and from the Hebrew Bible and the Talmud recorded in his private notebook reflecting his interest in rabbinic Judaism, DMIL. F. 3. D. 202. Pp. 4-11. 72 In the 1880s, Franko penned a number of articles on “Jews in Their Life and Literature” focusing on such new tendencies in Jewish life as the Haskalah (Enlightenment). See, for example, his analysis of the impact of Moses Mendelsohn on the development of European Jewish enlightenment in: Zoria. 1886. No. 7. 1 [13] April. Pp. 114-115. At the same time, he expressed deep interest in Yiddish (zhydivs’ka) language and literature, befriended the Jewish scholar Isidor Bernfeld and commissioned him to write a review of modern Hebrew and Yiddish literature later published in Zoria (1889). With Bernfeld’s help, Franko obtained books of Yiddish poetry and translated from Yiddish into Ukrainian several poems of the rational-minded maskil Wolf Erenkrantz Zbyrasky, written in the genre of pseudo-epigraphy and containing sharp anti-Hasidic criticism. It is significant, though, that Franko’s translations from the Yiddish poet appeared after his epistolary acquaintance with Kernerenko. See Franko’s preface to, and publication of, Erenkrantz’s verse in LNV. 1905. Vol. 35. No. 10. Pp. 87-94. 214 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 mit der mume Reizi,” though I translated “Reizi” as “Khyvria” – it seems to sound better in our language (bil’sh po-nashomu). As for an article on the most recent Jewish literature, I am afraid I would not be able, nor would I dare, to write it, yet as for translations from Yiddish (z ievreis’koi) I will be sending you from time to time poetry and prose, and also something from my own writings [ ].73 Kernerenko’s answer to Franko is remarkable in many ways. It demonstrates that Kernerenko apparently was responsible for introducing Franko to such classic Yiddish writers as Sholem-Aleichem and Frug, and eventually to the phenomenon of Yiddish as a national Jewish language possessing high quality literature and outstanding literati.74 Also, Kernerenko emerges from his letter as a modest, even shy individual, who understands both his capabilities and his limitations and who addresses Ukrainian as his mother tongue. Unlike the situation in the 1910s, LNV publications in the 1900s imply that in Franko’s milieu at that time, no Jews except Kernerenko were able to write in Ukrainian and were familiar with modern Jewish culture.75 Finally, Franko welcomed Kernerenko both as a poet and as a translator who helped enrich the LNV rubric “From Foreign Literatures” that Franko launched and edited.76 It is not clear whether Franko

73 See DMIL. F. 3. D. 1630. Pp. 527-530, “Hryts’ko Kernerenko to Ivan Franko,” January 17 (30), 1906. Significantly, Franko did not follow Kernerenko’s stylistic “innovation” and changed the Ukrainian “Khyvria” back to the Yiddish “Reizi.” See Kernerenko’s translation of Sholem-Aleichem’s tale “Diad’ko Pini ta titka Reizia” in LNV. 1906. Vol. 33. No. 3. Pp. 544-551. For the original Ukrainian of Kernerenko’s letter to Franko, see in this issue of AI “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” III, 3. 74 Franko consistently encouraged Kernerenko, advising him to continue his translating activities and publishing his Ukrainian versions in LNV. In 1906, Kernerenko cautiously asked Franko if he was still interested in Yiddish literature. Franko’s answer is not extant but the frequency with which LNV continued to publish Kernerenko’s translations from Yiddish between 1906 and 1908 testifies to Franko’s wholehearted support. See DMIL. F. 3. D. 1630. Pp. 531-534 (Hryts’ko Kernerenko to Ivan Franko, March 16, 1906). 75 Later, however, individuals appeared who provided the journal with essays on East European Jewish themes, especially political ones. See, for example, M[ykhailo] Lozyns’kyi. Zhydivs’ka sotsial’na demokratia v Halychyni // LNV. 1905. Vol. 32. No. 10. Pp. 1-21; M. Hekhter. Za syntezom (storinka z istorii rosiis’koho evreistva) // LNV. 1908. Vol. 43. No. 7. Pp. 84-99. 76 See Iu. G. Shapoval. Literaturno-naukovyi vistnyk” (1898-1932): tvorennia derzhavnoi ideolohii Ukrainstva. L’viv, 2000. Pp. 58-59.

215 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... knew Kernerenko before 1903, but there is little doubt that he eagerly supported the Huliai-pole poet: between 1904 and 1908, Kernerenko’s publications appeared at least ten times in LNV, sometimes twice in one issue.77 Kernerenko was not the only Jew published in a major Ukrainian journal, but he was the only Jewish literary figure who merited the regular attention and readership of the Ukrainian audience of LNV, serving as a conduit between Jewish literature and the Ukrainian reader. Kernerenko’s active collaboration with LNV is the last more or less documented episode of his life.78 No surviving evidence would allow us to reconstruct his life and literary endeavors after his last publication in LNV appeared in the 1908 issue. Perhaps inspired by his relations with LNV, some time around 1907 Kernerenko began planning his Menty natkhnennia. It seems that with all his contacts with editorial boards and his rising number of publications in periodical press, Kernerenko still did not belong to any literary circles and remained outside the Ukrainian literary mainstream. His letter to Oleksa Kovalenko of November 5, 1907 implies that he did not even know how to go about getting his book published: Dear Mister Oleksa Kuz’mych! It occurred to me to publish my writings (though not numerous) in a separate book, yet I do not know what to begin with. Will you be so kind as to instruct me where and to what censor committee I have to send my writings first to obtain from them permission for publication? Many things have changed since the time I published my small books, and together with them, indeed, conditions for publication have changed. You, my dear sir, are an expert in this field, therefore I turn to you for advice on how to start this issue.79 Perhaps Kovalenko did help Kernerenko to find a publisher: the book Menty natkhnennia appeared in 1910 and, as will be discussed momentarily,

77 See his short story “Tsiliushche zillia” (“The Healing Herb”) in: LNV. 1904. Vol. 28. Pp. 95-99; Ibid. 1905. Vol. 29. P. 138; the translation of Nadson’s “Mri,i” // LNV. 1906. Vol. 33. Pp. 280-283, Sholem Aleichem’s tale // Ibid. Pp. 544-550; the translation of Frug. From the Jewish Melodies: Adam’s Rim // Ibid. 1906. Vol. 34. P. 264; the translation of Frug. From the Jewish melodies: “Heritage” and “Sand and Stars // Ibid. 1906. Vol. 35. Pp. 28, 212; the translation of Frug. Two Troikas // Ibid. 1907. Vol. 37. Pp. 495-496; the translation of Frug. The New Year // Ibid. 1908. Vol. 41. P. 187. 78 See DMIL. F. 3. D. 1630. Pp. 623-624 (February 11, 1904), 525-526 (January 4 (17), 1906). 79 See ChHM. Al 52-147/4/539 (letter of Kernerenko to Kovalenko, November 5, 1907). L. 1-1a. s 216 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 was extensively reviewed by the most prominent Ukrainian literary critics. Yet we know virtually nothing about the life of the poet after the 1910s. It is not difficult to imagine what might have happened to Kerner, a Jew and capitalist, in the midst of the Civil War turmoil, the White Army advance and retreat, the military campaign of the Ukrainian Directory, the Red Army advance, and Makhno’s anarchist revolt, each of which coincided with or was followed by pogroms and Jewish casualties. Whatever the circumstances of Hryts’ko Kernerenko’s death, it is significant that before 1934 there was a grave with an inscription “Kernerenko” at the local Huliai-pole cemetery.80 There is little doubt that neither Hryts’ko’s brothers nor his father would have wanted to have this name inscribed on their grave- stones. It could have only belonged to Hryts’ko, who in his life was routinely addressed as Hryhorii Borysovych, but whose last wish apparently was to be buried as a Ukrainian poet.

Judeo sum, ucrainum nihil a me alienum puto Before the 1900s, three themes permeated Kernerenko’s poetry: love, Ukraine, and Shevchenko. Common to a good many Ukrainian poets at the turn of the 19th century, these themes had an unexpected spin in Kernerenko’s writings. Kernerenko praised love as a family or at least family-making feeling, different from the topical 19th-century romantic Eros. He depicted Ukraine as a utopian country of redemption and lofty freedom rather than a godforsaken land of spiritual and economic slavery. And he worshipped Shevchenko as the Messiah of the Ukrainians. The focal role of the family in the preservation and reenactment of the Judaic tradition, the centrality of the Holy Land as the country of freedom, milk, and honey, and the redemptive function of the national poet and prophet were among the ideas Kernerenko translated into Ukrainian, making Jewish concepts serve the Ukrainian cause. Not surprisingly, only the first theme (love) found its way into Ukrainian anthologies; the love poems “Everything has its Time” (Na vse svoia pora), “A Vain Expectation” (Marne dozhydannia), “To a True Friend,” (Pevnomu druhovi), “Mädchens Wunsch,” and “On a Borrowed Tune” (Na pozychenyi motyv) represent Kernerenko’s whole universe. Other Kernerenko poems, especially those dedicated to Ukraine and to Shevchenko (whose very name infuriated Russian authorities), could not make it through the censor.

80 I am grateful to Liubov Hryhorivna Hen’ba, the director of the Huliai-pole local museum (Kraieznavchyi muzei) for this information. 217 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... For example, in 1894 a Russian censor allowed Kernerenko’s collection V dosuzhyi chas to be published on the condition that the poet remove a poem entitled “The 31th Anniversary of Shevchenko’s Death.”81 To a great extent these circumstances explain the anger of Pavlo Hrabovs’kyi, who in his acclaimed essay “On Poetic Creativity” (Deshcho pro tvorchist poetychnu, 1896) – to be discussed later – pronounced his verdict on Kernerenko, finding him guilty of pursuing “art for art’s sake.”82 In fact, Kernerenko’s poetry to a great extent exonerates him as no rhapsodist of pure love and broken hearts. The images of Ukraine, his motherland, are crucial in Kernerenko’s writings. His poem “Abroad” (Na chuzhyni, 1909) introduces the dichotomy “Ukraine” and “Europe.” The unnamed but recognizable Europe is “sunny,” “sociable,” and “warm,” yet it does not alleviate the poet’s profound solitude and sorrow. Kernerenko compares himself to a bird in a golden cage: the allegory significantly suggests that Ukraine, and only Ukraine, is the poet’s freedom. In his “And again in Ukraine” (I znov na Vkraini, ca. 1900), Kernerenko associates his native land with an island of utopia: there no evil exists, no calamity, no sorrow, only immense happiness. Kernerenko uses the Biblical metaphor of the Promised Land flowing with milk and honey, but recasts it as a different promised land, Ukraine. For Kernerenko, Ukraine allows for poetic enthusiasm and creativity. Ukraine, a metaphysical rather than social category, is about holiness and freedom. It is associated with the dearest and most humane images. Not only is Ukraine its people’s “mother” but also the poet’s own “mom,” his nurse, his closest and dearest kin. The poet is overwhelmed with the joy of return: “And now, again, my holy Ukraine, /I returned to your sacred land; /Do accept me, my nurse, for I am your child, /And for you I sing my song!”83 Yet Kernerenko’s love does not

81 O. L. Nadtochii. Do istorii tsenzurnykh zaboron tvoriv T. H. Shevchenka” (1861- 1900) // http://journlib.univ.kiev.ua (accessed August 18, 2004; the website of the Kyiv Institute of Journalism). Later Kernerenko wrote to the editors of LNV: “The 37th anniversary of Shevchenko’s death is approaching. I am sending you poems that I wrote to commemorate the anniversary. If you find fit, please publish them for we cannot do it here: censorship does not allow it, and there is neither a journal nor a periodical.” See DMIL. F. 3. D. 3354. P. 401/78 (January 12, 1899). Earlier D. Mordovtsev published Kernerenko’s piece anonymously (“I got from Southern Russia a very nice piece by a young poet devoted to Shevchenko”), in the Russian-language newspaper, see Novosti. 1896. February 26. For the original Ukrainian, see “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” I, 2. 82 Pavlo Hrabovs’kyi. Vybrani tvory v dvokh tomakh. Kyiv, 1985. Vol. 2. Pp. 105-109. 83 LNV. 1900. Vol. 12. Pp. 116-117. See “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” I, 3. 218 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 blind him: he is aware of Ukraine’s colonial underprivileged and humiliated status. Kernerenko conveys this vision through the Shevchenkian peasant metaphors (and even direct quotes). An itinerant Truth wanders throughout the land and sings the song bemoaning its native Ukraine, a decaying flower: the sun burns it, the winter dries it out, and the people abandon it. With a hidden rebuke to the negligent listeners, Truth depicts Ukraine as a field covered by weeds, preventing the growth of its grain-bearing stems. The final stanza is a crescendo of the national idea: uproot the weeds and let the field grow!84 Placed in a broader context, this second-person-singular vocatives seems to suggest that it was Russification that prevented the Ukrainian field from growing – a dangerous and not inoffensive idea for a turn-of-the-century Ukrainian poet, let alone for a Jew. As for most Ukrainian poets of his generation, Shevchenko had become for Kernerenko coterminous with both poetry and the Ukrainian people. In his “Shevchenko’s Death Anniversary” (Rokovyny smerty Shevchenko, 1890), Kernerenko makes everybody in Ukraine aware of Shevchenko’s omni- presence. A redeemer who suffered for his people and died an untimely death, Shevchenko is on everybody’s mind and tongue. His word is that of a Messiah who heals the dumb. Under his impact, the ability of speech miraculously returns to a poor widow, an illiterate orphan, a child, as well as to the Ukrainian mountains, their endless steppes, and sharp slopes. What Shevchenko ascribed to his native land and his language, Kernerenko ascribes to the author of the Kobzar. Through Shevchenko Ukrainian nature learns to speak.85 In his poem Kernerenko resorts to Biblical agricultural imagery with strong messianic overtones: Shevchenko planted a redeeming Word, and is followed by “us,” new planters who sow the seeds of the Ukrainian language and consciousness, and who pray for a crop.86 This “us” should not be lost on the readers: Kernerenko emphasizes Shevchenko’s all-encom- passing, universalistic and humane character, calling the author of the Kobzar “a fighter for the common good.” There is little doubt that Kernerenko

84 “Iakby vysylyt’ osot toi/ pishla b rosty vhoru!” See “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” I, 4. 85 DMIL. F. 35 (Sabo). D. 48. Pp. 5-6. See “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” I, 2. 86 The imagery of a sower imbued with Biblical and Christian connotations is characteristic of many poets of that period, such as Franko, Aleksandrov, Hrynchenko, and others. See Iryna Betko. Resteptsia Biblii v ukrains’kii poezii kintsia XIX - pochatku XX stolittia // Jews and Slavs (Jerusalem). 1996. Vol. 5. P. 134. Also see Iryna Betko. Bibliini siuzhety i motyvy v ukrains’kii poezii: XIX – pochatku XX stolittia (monohrafichne doslidzhennia). Zielona Góra, 1999. 219 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... ignores those Shevchenko writings, such as Haidamaky, in which Jews are “them” and Ukrainians “us.” He boldly includes himself, a Jew, among those associated with Ukraine and with “us.”87 Continuing to elaborate the idea of Shevchenko’s all-embracing humanity, Kernerenko resorts to the Kobzar’s “family” metaphors, conveying his own self-identification with the Ukrainian people, in “To Shevchenko’s Memory” (Pam’ati Shevchenka, 1909). As human beings are children of God, all Ukrainians are Shevchenko’s children (“Usi na Vkraiini /Buly ioho dity”). Shevchenko, sensitive to human suffering and grief, is a fighter for universal freedom (“za spil’nuiu voliu”). His death was the greatest sorrow for the Ukrainian people, but his immor- tal soul continues to live in the songs and in the “houses and palaces of Ukraine.”

Traduttore – tradittore It is difficult to identify which factor was more likely to trigger Kernerenko’s sudden national awakening: the rising Zionism, the Jewish socialist movement, or the fin-de-siècle reinvention of self that made many Jews across Europe use their experience as acculturated intellectuals to construct their new Jewish identities.88 Whatever the reason, it is obvious that in the 1900s Kernerenko unexpectedly switched to Jewish themes with articulated social if not political overtones, making use of his entire arsenal as a Ukrainian lyrical poet. Some of his Jewish motifs could have been inspired by his friend Ia. D. Revzin, to whom he devoted a passionate and romantic-minded panegyric “Kaznodievi-sionistovi” (To a Zionist Treasurer), which praised his friend’s message as one that restores hope, returns faith, strengthens the sinner, and promises the time of the Messiah.89 The poet

87 For the complex imagery of Haidamaky, see the nuanced analysis in Ivan Dziuba. Shevchenko i “Haidamaky” z vidstani chasu // Suchasnist’. 2004. Vol. 6. Pp. 67-92. 88 See, for example, Emily Bilski. Berlin Metropolis: Jews and New Culture, 1890- 1918. Berkeley, 2001; Harriet Murav. Identity Theft: the Jew in Imperial Russia and the Case of Avraam Uri Kovner. Stanford, 2003; Scott Spector. Prague Territories: National Conflict and Cultural Innovation in Franz Kafka’s fin de siecle. Berkeley, 2000; Michael Stanislawski. Zionism and the fin de siecle: Cosmopolitanism and Nationalism from Nordau to Jabotinsky. Berkeley, CA., 2001. 89 In order to convey the importance of the Zionist message (unnamed yet quite clear from the poem’s dedication) Kernerenko resorts to traditional liturgical Judaic metaphors. See DMIL. F. 3. D. 3353. Pp. 10-11 (a collection of verse sent to Ivan Franko). See “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” I, 7. 220 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 resorts to canonic, almost clichéd Judaic liturgical references, secularizing religious metaphors and sanctifying the Zionist cause. Although Kernerenko’s treatment of traditional Jewish concepts was not uncommon for the turn-of-the century Zionist discourse, it should not be lost on us that before Kernerenko, no one had ever tried to make Jewish liturgy speak Ukrainian. It turns out, however, that some of his “Jewish” poems, which occasionally appeared in journals and anthologies as his own, were in fact his transla- tions of Semen Frug (1860-1916), who wrote in Russian and Yiddish.90 Kernerenko turned to Frug for a number of reasons. Frug, nowadays semi- forgotten, was one of the most popular Jewish poets in Russia at the turn of the 19th century.91 His songs commemorating the 1881 and 1903 pogroms were sung at public meetings and demonstrations throughout Russia. Perhaps much more important for Kernerenko was that Frug, like Kernerenko

90 In some cases Kernerenko rebuked his editors, demanding that they should correct the mistake indicating that a poem published under his name was written by Frug. See, for example, DMIL. Op. 3. D. 1630. Pp. 537-538 (“To the editorial board of LNV,” December 26, 1906). 91 Commemorating Frug, S. An-sky (1863-1920), his contemporary and himself a Russia- Yiddish writer, was among the first who understood and explained this phenomenon: “Frug entered the literary scene when our European-educated intelligentsia achieved the highest level of assimilation and self-negation; when things Jewish were banished as backward and dead. To this intelligentsia Frug brought his bright, powerful, and proud Jewish Word, with his call for national revival, with his hymn to the lofty past of the God-carrying people. And he immediately echoed in the Jewish hearts, even in those who had lost their pulse of national feeling. At once Frug was acknowledged as a national poet and was greeted by the Jewish intelligentsia. Frug might be considered not only one of the first harbingers but also one of the first creators of our national renaissance.” See S. A. An-sky. Sholem Aleichem, Peretz and Frug // Yehupets. 1995. Vol. 1. P. 85. A good study of Frug’s impact on Yiddish and Russian-Jewish literature has not yet been written. For a brief introduction to his life and works, see I. L. Klauzner. Eolova arfa // S. G. Frug. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii. 3 vols. Odessa: Sherman, 1917. Vol. 1. Pp. 6-21; Shimon Shmuel Frug: hayav vi-yetsirato. Jerusalem, 1976; Nahman Mayzil (Ed.). Tsum hundertstn geboyrntog fun Shimen Frug: zamlung. New York, 1960; for some biographic data on Frug’s cooperation with the Rassvet journal, see Shaul Ginzburg. Historishe verk. 3 vols. New York, 1937. Vol. 2. Pp. 60-61. For more recent publications, see Nelly Portnova. From the correspondence of S. G. Frug // Jews and Slavs (Jerusalem). 1995. Vol. 4. Pp. 179-192; Idem. Evreiskii poet Rossii // Semen Frug. Iudeiskaia smokovnitsa. Jerusalem, 1995. Pp. 5-32; Olena Beskrovna. Poezii Semena Hryhorovycha Fruha (1860-1916): Avtoreferat dyssertatsii k. f. n. Kharkiv, 1996; Claudia Waldhans- Nys. Das Schofar und die Klarinette; jüdische Lebenswelt in der russischsprachigen Prosa Semen Frugs // Evrei v Rossii. 1998. Vol. 5. Pp. 315-340. 221 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... himself, was born in southern Ukraine, in a free settlement (and not in a shtetl), that he was a self-educated man, and, like Kernerenko, was not indifferent to the charms of the Ukrainian landscapes.92 That Frug was the first Jewish poet to write in Russian was perhaps significant for Kernerenko, who considered himself the first Jewish poet to write in Ukrainian. No less important for Kernerenko was Frug’s enthusiasm for, and spiritual attach- ment to, Ukraine and the Ukrainian language.93 Kernerenko’s translation repertoire is telling. Frug’s famous poetic lamentations and cumbersome Biblical epic verses were of little interest to Kernerenko. On the contrary, some of Frug’s brief, ironic, and almost apoc- ryphal reinterpretations of Biblical plots, and especially his strong national and patriotic content, inspired Kernerenko’s talents. From a considerable amount of Frug’s lyrics, Kernerenko picked those that encouraged national thinking and ignited Zionist enthusiasm. Kernerenko chose those Yiddish poems in which Frug views Jewish historical experience in the diaspora as nothing but galut (Yiddish: golus): exile, life under oppression outside the Promised Land, and perennial and unresolved anguish. Thus Kernerenko translated “Two Troikas,” a poem depicting a Jew Srul (Yiddish diminutive for Israel) who, through times and epochs of the galut, across lands and countries, is riding in his Gogol-like troika, a symbolic van of Jewish fate driven by three horses named Faith, Hope, and Endurance.94 Also, Kernerenko penned a version of Frug’s poem “A New Year,” in which galut is symbolized

92 Frug’s poems are permeated with a profound sense of spiritual attachment to Ukraine. See, for example, “Na rodine” (In the Motherland), “V Ukraine” (In Ukraine), “V pole” (In the Field), and especially “Pamiati T. G. Shevchenko” (In Memory of T. G. Shevchenko) in which Frug praises the Ukrainian language: “And may the language of my beloved Ukraine /In which your [Shevchenko’s] grieved melodies flow /Resonate now with a renewed strength /But only in the songs of peace and love.” See S. G. Frug. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii. Vol. 1. Pp. 94-96; Vol. 2. Pp. 63-65; Vol. 3. Pp. 194-196. 93 Before Frug published his Yiddish verse in 1904, he had gained renown as a Russian- Jewish poet whose collected verse had appeared in three-volume edition. See S. Frug. Stikhotvorenia v 3-kh tt. St. Petersburg: Goldberg, 1897. 94 Dve troiki (Two Troikas) // LNV. 1907. Vol. 3, see also DMIL. F. 35. D. 48. P. 43-46. Kernerenko creates a Slavic version of Frug’s Yiddish poem, de-Judaizing its Hebrew- language finale. Frug’s “three horses” personify three Judaic terms teshuvah, u-tefilah, and ve-tsedakah, which are repeatedly evoked during the Day of Atonement liturgy and which stand for “repentance, prayer, and charity [cancel the divine decree].” Kernerenko translates these notions into Ukrainian as vira, nadiia, and terpinnia, simultaneously neutralizing both their Judaic liturgical and their Christian colloquial ramifications by substituting a more common third notion liubov (Love) with the Stoic terpinnia (Endurance or Patience). Cf. Sh. Frug. Ale shriftn. 3 Band. New York, 1910. Vol. 1. Pp. 12-15. 222 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 in the metaphor of a harp hung on a tree that knows only one type of song – a classic image from the famous Psalm “By the Babylonian Rivers.” The forlorn exilic song bemoans the loss of the Zion and constantly reminds Jews of a distant yet imminent happiness, freedom, and liberation from bondage.95 Frug’s vision of galut had a refreshing impact on Kernerenko’s utopian perception of Ukraine as the land of joy and freedom. At least in the 1900s, Kernerenko’s own poetry on Ukraine appears less flattering, and more critical and socially engaged, as in the already discussed “And again in Ukraine.” Kernerenko’s fascination with the classic Frug poem “Zamd un Shtern” (The Sand and the Stars; Ukr.: Pisok ta zirky) suggests that he perceived “national” issues not only in a socio-political but also in a theological sense.96 In the poem, Frug addressed the Almighty’s prophecy of Abraham’s magnificent future, which, according to the plain sense of the Hebrew Bible, extended to all the chosen people. The quote that generates the metaphors and shapes the imagery of “The Sand and the Stars” originates in the Book of Genesis, 22:17: “I will indeed bless you and I will multiply your descendants as the stars of heaven and as the sand which is upon the sea shore.” There are numerous exegetical insights in this verse, as well as traditional medieval midrashim (compilations of homiletic narratives), which explain on various levels the apparent contradiction between the stars and the sand. Frug discusses the second part of the verse, challenging Providence’s control over the prophecy. The Jewish people, he argues, did become as useless and scattered as the sand that everybody disgraces and mercilessly tram- ples down. The first part of the prophecy was fulfilled: Jews have been turned into sand. Yet, should not everything that God promises come true? What about the stars? Frug boldly challenges the power and omnipotence of the Almighty – “Di shtern, di shtern – vu zaynen zei, Got?”97 – yet Kernerneko’s theological humility does not allow him boldly to follow Frugs. Instead, he submis- sively pleads to the Almighty to expose the Jews to the light of the stars,

95 Novyi rik (New Year) // LNV. 1908. Vol. 1, see also DMIL. F. 35. D. 48. Pp. 47-48. Cf. Yiddish text in Frug. Ale shriftn. Vol. 1. Pp. 81-82. 96 While they did publish Kernerenko’s version of this Frug poem, the editors of LNV forgot to indicate that it was a translation (Kernerenko protested this error in a letter to the editor). Because of this omission, some scholars hold that “Pisok ta zirky” is an original poem. For example, see Kachurovs’kyi. Pro Hryts’ka Kernerenka. Pp. 174-175. 97 See Frug. Ale shriftn. Vol. 1. P. 43. 223 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... if the fate of the stars is unattainable.98 Frug challenges, Kernerenko begs. As we will see later, however theologically indecisive, Kernerenko seems to have resorted to the revolutionary motifs of Ukrainian poetry in order to find an appropriate Ukrainian vocabulary for Frug’s imagery. Kernerenko’s evolution in the 1900s suggests that his translations from Frug should be placed in the context of his consistent search for a better synthesis of his Ukrainian poetic upbringing and his Jewish themes. By the late 1900s the national theme in Kernerenko’s work gained momentum. In 1909 Kernerenko published his version of Frug’s Zionist poem “Shtey oyf,” which could have very well become the Jewish national anthem had it been penned in Hebrew.99 The poem is written as a rhymed political motto. Frug claims that galut, a new kind of Egyptian bondage, with its hard labor, suffering, and oppression, has enslaved the Jew not only physically but also mentally. The sweat has covered the Jew’s eyes, making him blind. Wake up, Jew, trumpets Frug, recognize your old mother’s voice calling you back home, raise your old banner, the banner of Zion, and trium- phantly return home. To convey Frug’s message in Ukrainian, Kernerenko resorts to commonly used revolutionary metaphors articulated in the Ukrainian language by Lesia Ukrainka and Ivan Franko. “Raise, whoever is alive, whoever’s thought has rebelled,” (Vstavai, khto zhyvyi, v koho dumka povstala) wrote Lesia Ukrainka in her celebrated “Pre-dawn Lights” (Dosvitni vohni). “Forward, for the native land and freedom,” (Upered za krai ridnyi ta voliu) penned Hrabovs’kyi. Kernerenko coins his version in the language of the approaching national revolutionary awakening, reworking the same metaphors: it is the banner of Zion that has to be “raised,” whereas his somewhat conservative movement “back home” is the opposite of Hrabovs’kyi’s socialist-minded “forward.” It would not be an exaggeration

98 Ukrains’ka muza: poetychna antolohia. Kyiv, 1908. Pp. 804-805. 99 Ukrains’ka khata. 1909. Vol. 4. P. 207. Dee DMIL. F. 35. D. 48. Pp. 49-50. In fact, Frug’s poem was to a certain extent an early Zionist anthem: members of the Bilu colonization group were reported to have departed in 1882 to the Land of Israel from Odessa singing the Russian version of Frug’s poem, which draws, among other things, from biblical imagery (Exodus 14: 15). For the discussion of Frug’s Palestinophilic poetry, see N. Portnova. Evreiskii poet Rossii // Semen Frug. Iudeiskaia smokovnitsa. Pp. 11-13. An Italian scholar mentions, however, that Frug drifted to Zionism from an assimilatory stance critical of the Palestinophiles. See Laura Salmon. Una voce dal deserto: Ben-Ami, uno scrittore dimenticato. Bologna, 1995. P. 70. Reinterpreting Frug in Ukrainian, Kernerenko is amazingly close to the original. For the Yiddish version, see Frug. Ale shriften. Vol. 2. P. 20. 224 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 to say that translating Frug’s verse into Ukrainian and finding equivalents in Ukrainian turn-of-the-century revolutionary metaphors, Kernerenko began shaping Ukrainian-Jewish poetry. And just as he started to forge the Ukrainian- Jewish poetic language, he realized that the point of the encounter between the two was also the point of departure. Kernerenko cast this idea in his “A Step-son” (Ne ridnyi syn). Kernerenko firmly placed the poem within his own personal, intimate relations with Ukraine. One could find in “A Step-son” various confessions of loyalty to, and love of, Ukraine typical of Kernerenko’s earlier writings. But it is more subtle. In “A Step-son,” Kernerenko juxtaposes the romantic Shevchenkian image of the lonely poet-orphan with the populist image of Ukraine as a mother-nurse, creating an unprecedented dichotomy: a step-son who is a Ukrainian poet of Jewish descent, and Ukraine, his step-mother.100 An orphaned child under custody, the poet dedicates his muse, his love, and his life to his step-mother (za tebe ia otdav zhyttia i voliu i dushu) who, in turn, segregates him among her own children, poisoning his life with mockery (pro mizh dryuhykh ditei tvoikh ia ne zhvy – strazhdaiu). The poet does not hesitate to realize that his faith—different from the faith of the other children in the family – is the only reason for the scornful attitude toward him (zate shcho ia i tvoi syny ne odnu maem viru). Attached to his family, but no longer able to withstand humiliation, the poet pronounces his final farewell to his step-mother, who apparently had done nothing to protect her child from the insults of her own offspring (proshchai, Ukraino moia). Nevertheless, though scorned, mocked, and humiliated, the poet is far from accepting the tone of an accuser. He claims that mistreatment and misunderstanding will never prevent him from eternally loving his step-mother (tebe zh Ukraino moia /Ia budu vik kokhaty).101 Here Kernerenko articulates his Ukrainian-Jewish identity as an impossible cultural concoction that has no chance to survive outside his poetically shaped feeling, and that perhaps is not shared by anybody in his imaginary family, including his step-mother. Two last lines of the poem, almost a prophecy, became what could be dubbed the paradigm of Ukrainian-Jewish identity for a century to come. Their pathos transforms the bitterness of a humiliated yet egotistic self into the lofty hymn of a truly disinterested, selfless, and unrequited platonic love of a magnanimous poet. A Byron-like romantic

100 On the orphan theme in Shevchenko, see Kornei Chukovskii. Litsa i maski. SPb., 1914. Pp. 40-75. 101 See “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” I, 1. 225 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... hero adapted to Ukrainian folklore imagery, Kernerenko claims that although Ukraine treats him as her step-son, he rejects addressing her only as his legal guardian and insists on considering her his own “mom.” He overcomes his socio-cultural segregation, his profound solitude, and his national bias, elevating his feeling to the level of European romantic humanism.102 A Jew and a poet, he is rejected – but does this imply that the object of his desire should not be cherished and poetically uplifted? His personal Ukrainian- Jewish identity is utopian through and through, yet is not Ukraine a universal value that supercedes personal ambitions? One can only guess whether Kernerenko sent this poem to the editors of LNV or to Franko himself. It is evident, however, that his Ukrainian fellows did not rush to publish the poem, which appeared only once in Rada (no. 6, 1908), and unlike other Kernerenko verses it was not reproduced in poetic anthologies. The reason seems to be self-evident. Not only did Kernerenko forge in this poem an unheard of Ukrainian-Jewish identity, but he also pointed to its imminent, if not incipient, dramatic end, and to its romantically-shaped utopian nature. This could hardly have pleased Ivan Franko, who argued for a feasible Ukrainian-Jewish rapprochement. Not without bitterness, Kernerenko seems to have lost his hope.

Ars poetica denudata Because of the inclement censorship, it took Kernerenko’s nationally- oriented symbolism some fifteen years to make its way into the Ukrainian press. And the publication of those verses imbued with folk eroticism made him an easy target for the literary adepts of social positivism and utilitari- anism. Though most of Kernerenko’s critics agreed upon his very secondary significance for Ukrainian literature, the more they were aware of Kernerenko’s nationally-shaped Ukrainophile imagery and his Jewish themes, the higher they assessed his contribution. The lifting of the ban on Ukrainian publica- tions in 1905, which opened the pages of the newly established Ukrainian

102 Here is my line-by-line translation of the poem, by no means pretending to substitute a genuine poetic version of it: “Fare-thee-well, my Ukraine /I need to leave you /Though for you I have sacrificed /My life and freedom and soul! / But I am your step-son /And I know this only too well /Among your other children /I live not but I suffer /I cannot any more /Tolerate their mockery /Of the fact that your sons and I/Are of different faiths. / Yet you, my Ukraine, /I will love forever: /Albeit you treat me as a step-son, /Still you are my mom!” See DMIL. F. 35. D. 48. Pp. 37-38. Kernerenko’s notebooks indicate that it was written in Huliai-pole in 1909. 226 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 periodicals to previously unpublished Kernerenko verses, could not save him from critical attacks, yet it certainly allowed his critics to revisit the received perception of the poet. In the 1890s, hardly aware of possible attacks against him, Kernerenko unintentionally triggered the sharp criticism of Pavlo Hrabovs’kyi (1864-1902), one of the democratically-oriented 19th-century Ukrainian poets. Hrabovs’kyi’s only reflection on Kernerenko was his famous pamphlet On Poetic Creativity (1896), which has since become a manifesto of the social trend in Ukrainian poetry. Hrabovs’kyi penned it after having read a review of Kernerenko’s collection In the Time of Leisure (V dosuzhyi chas). The review was signed “M.K.” and published in the Odessa-based journal Po moriu i sushe (On the Sea and Land). Hrabovs’kyi was not personally familiar with Kernerenko’s poetry, nor did he know the poet: in his critical essay he did not quote a single line of Kernerenko, relying solely on Mykhailo Komarov’s review.103 It is even more certain that Kernerenko’s Jewish origins were unknown to Hrabovs’kyi, whose philosemitic stance has not gone unnoticed in 20th-century Ukrainian thought.104 However, the fact that his essay targeted Kernerenko, whom Hrabovs’kyi apparently judged solely on the basis of a negative review, is of particular importance. Mykhailo Komarov’s review, apparently reprinted in the Galician bimonthly Zoria, singled out Kernerenko as an inept author of weak verse, in which poor poetic motifs were almost entirely limited to erotic coquetry (horobtsiu- vannia) and in which “limpy” rhymes and lengthy nonsensical plots revealed nothing but the poet’s graphomania.105 Indeed, Kernerenko was neither a first- class poet nor an influential thinker. But one has to keep in mind that Kernerenko served as a pretext for Hrabovs’kyi’s pondering the goals of positivistic- oriented poetry rather than as the immediate target of his critique. Ironically, Hrabovs’kyi used Kernerenko as an example of one of the most egregious examples of what he himself considered a purely aesthetic and antisocial turn-of-the-century trend, “art for art’s sake.” Hrabovs’kyi associated this trend with Kernerenko, basing his critique on unshakable positivistic grounds. For Hrabovs’kyi, poetry was synonymous with socially-

103 “M.K.,” the author of a review of Kernerenko’s collection is identified as Mykhailo Komarov (1844-1913), Ukrainian bibliographer, critic, folklorist, and doctor. See Pavlo Hrabovs’kyi. Tvory. Vol. 2. P. 309. 104 See Yohanan Petrovsky-Shtern. Reconceptualizing the Alien: Jews in Ukrainian Thought // Ab Imperio. 2003. No. 4. P. 571 n132. 105 M[ykhailo] K[omarov], review of “V dosyzhyi chas. Lyrna poeziia Hryts’ka Kernerenka” // Zoria. 1891. No. 15. August 1/15. Pp. 338-339. 227 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... defined utility.106 If it was useless, it was not poetry. Utilitarian purpose defined and exhausted the quality of art. The verdict that he meted out on Kernerenko, irrelevant from the perspective of what his reviewer was reticent about and what Kernerenko managed to publish in the 1900s, was ultimate and merciless. As a poet, argued Hrabovs’kyi, Kernerenko lacked three major features: a humanistic education, a sober and civil worldview, and an understanding of poetic goals. Not knowing anything about Kernerenko’s attempt to build bridges between Ukrainian and Jewish cultures, Hrabovs’kyi wrongly suggested that Kernerenko, as well as all poets who stand for “art for art’s sake,” failed to show the reader “the way to follow.” His poetic concoction had nothing to do with the genuine goal set before the poet, which Hrabovs’kyi defined as “the struggle against universal falsehood.” Ignoring Kernerenko’s defense of the Ukrainian cause and of colonial Ukrai- nian culture, Hrabovs’kyi argued that his verse was not a “brave voice for all the oppressed and slandered.” Kernerenko did not correspond to a positivistic (that is, the only trustworthy) vision of poetic utility, and therefore deserved nothing but admonition. Kernerenko’s alleged “art for art’s sake” Hrabovs’kyi defined as vociferous tendentiousness, the satiated landlord’s whim, and negligence toward contemporary empiric reality. The more Ukrainian poets educated themselves and turn their attention toward contemporary events, claimed Hrabovs’kyi, the less were the chances for such collections as Kernerenko’s to emerge on the Ukrainian literary landscape. In the early 1900s, Kernerenko vividly demonstrated that Hrabovs’kyi’s (and Komarov’s) criticism was partially misplaced, when among other things he sent to LNV his highly charged socially-oriented poem “The Monopoly” (Monopolia).107 Ivan Franko liked it so much that he placed it on the first page of LNV. In “Monopoly,” Kernerenko pondered the ramifications of the prohibition on Jewish engagement in propinatsia. The privilege to keep inns, and to distill and sell liquor, dated back to the earliest privileges given to Jews by Polish magnates in the 14th and 15th centuries.108 With some modifi-

106 “Poetry should be one of the factors of the progress of the humanity, and in the native land in particular – of the people (zahal’nonarodnoho), a means of the fighting universal falsehood, a brave voice for all the oppressed and slandered.” See Pavlo Hrabovs’kyi. Tvory. Vol. 2. P. 107. 107 See “From Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage,” I, 6. 108 For a discussion of Jewish predominance in liquor trade in the Polish context, see M. J. Rosman. The Lords’ Jews: Magnate-Jewish Relations in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth During the Eighteenth Century. Cambridge, Mass., 1990. Pp. 106-142. On the situation of inn-keeping and the liquor trade before and after the introduction of the state monopoly, see Michael Aronson. Troubled Waters: The Origins of the 1881 Anti-Jewish Pogroms in Russia. Pittsburgh, Pa., 1990. Pp. 108-124. 228 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 cations, the Russian government endorsed Jewish propinatsia until the anti- Jewish pogroms of 1881-1883. In the wake of the pogroms, the Minister of Interior Ignatiev, who blamed the Jews for triggering the violence, issued the ignominious 1882 May Laws, which banished Jews from the villages, significantly limited their presence Russian colleges, and introduced a state monopoly on alcohol production. Amazingly, what seemed a dreadful economic blow to the thousands of Jewish families that earned their meager income in fierce competition in the Pale of Settlement, and that became immediately impoverished as the result of the decree, had different repercussions for Kernerenko.109 Very much sympathetic to the Jews, Kernerenko assessed the post-1882 situation not so much from the Jewish viewpoint as from that of the Ukrai- nian peasant. Kernerenko found more important that from then on no one had the right to insult a Jew with the nickname shynkar, an inn-keeper, usually associated with one who exploited peasants by making them drunk. This unexpected conclusion (placed at the very end of the poem) demon- strates that Kernerenko, without betraying his Jewish concerns, identified with the social concerns of the Ukrainian peasantry and, significantly, called Jews by the normative Galician ethnonym (zhydy) that was used by Ukrainian peasants and not by the urban Russified equivalent (ievrei).110 In a way, Kernerenko claimed that whatever was ethically more appropriate was, in a way, more appropriate for the Jews. He therefore suggested that egoistic and national economic concerns be sacrificed for the sake of the ethical reputation of his nation.

109 See B. Brutskus. Ocherki po voprosam ekonomicheskoi deiatel’nosti evreeev Rossii. Vyp. 1. SPb: Ganzburg, 1913. P. 11. 110 Here is a tentative translation of the poem: “Who could think that this could happen?/ The lords have entirely fallen from grace/ And have begun running the inns!/ On top of that, they have started lending money on interest! / Although the lords have spent everything they had on drink,/ They obtained more loans, and the banks opened for them their accounts / It did not help: the lords and quasi-lords/ Have lost their lands and their garb because of vodka. / But the lords are special, for they are the lords, — / Unlike the Jews, those notorious beggars! — /The lords’ clothes are clean, their pants have stripes, their jackets have buttons and their badges are sparkling!/ How could these pristine people fall so low /Whereas a Yid is sitting in an inn making his big buck!/ Therefore Jews were kicked out of the inns / And the lords became inn-keepers in their stead. Would they be able to manage?/ Whatever the lords do there, run inns or drink,/ It is not our business: time is the best judge. / However, Jews are no more selling vodka/ And nobody can insult a Jew calling him [with a derogatory] ‘inn-keeper’!” See LNV. 1902. Vol. 18. No. 5. P. 1. 229 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... Once his socially and politically-sharpened poetry on Ukrainian and Jewish themes appeared in such Ukrainian periodicals as Ukrains’ka khata, LNV, Rada, and especially after the publication of what is presumably his last collection, Menty natkhnennia (1910), the reviews of Kernerenko’s poetry became more balanced. Yet the attitude toward Kernerenko depended on whether his critics cared about his unusual Ukrainian-Jewish identity, whether they noticed his Ukrainian-Jewish motifs, and whether they were ready to ponder the patriotic Ukrainian lyrics of a Jew. For example, Mykola Yevshan, an amazingly mature literary critic and one of the harbingers of Ukrainian modernism,111 passed over those motifs. He placed Kernerenko together with other fin-de-siècle poets, such as Marko Kropyvnyts’kyi (1840-1910) and Platon Panchenko, whose poetry is permeated with an outdated Ukrainophile romanticism, a sense of tiredness and weakness, and an absence of élan. With his Nietzschean ideals firm in hand, Yevshan criticized Kernerenko (among other representatives of the “old” poetic school) for blindly imitating Ukrainian 19th-century romantics. The sarcastic Yevshan argued that Kernerenko, one of the elders, did not even attempt to alter their dead stereotypes.112 Serhii Yefremov, a prominent literary historian, was also quite skeptical of Kernerenko’s talents. In his review of Kernerenko’s Moments of Inspiration for the Kyiv daily Rada113 he argued that inspira- tion “is exactly what is lacking in Mr. Kernerenko’s book” and that there was no reason for publishing those epigone love verses.114 Amazingly, Yefremov, who was usually quite sensitive to Jewish issues, did not see in Kernerenko anything worth mentioning except his erotic verse. On the other hand, Khrystia Alchevs’ka, herself a Ukrainian poet, focused above all on Kernerenko’s Ukrainian-Jewish stance – therefore her review was perhaps the most positive of his poetry. Reviewing Kernerenko for the influential Ukrains’ka khata, she called the poet from Huliai-pole a “nice and generous person” whose verse is imbued with “dramatic obser- vations and philosophic ponderings” and “marked by poetic talent”:

111 Yuri Luts’ky. Literaturna polityka v radians’kii Ukraini, 1917-1934. Kyiv, 2000. P. 33. 112 Mykola Yevshan. Krytyka. Literaturoznavstvo. Estetyka / Ed. by Natalia Shumylo. Kyiv, 1998. Pp. 240-241, 248-250. 113 On Rada in the context of Ukrainian press, see O. V. Lysenko. Rol’ presy u formuvanni ukrains’koi natsional’noi idei // Problemy istorii Ukrainy XIX-pochatku XX st. Vyp. 1. Kyiv, 2000. Pp. 217-227. 114 See S[erhii] Ye[fremov]. [review of Menty natkhnennia. Tvory Hryts’ka Kernerenka] // Rada. 1910. No. 164. P. 4. 230 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Those of our patriots who in their indignation against Jews confuse in one impossible mixture their uncountable national-cultural thoughts and their uncountable national-economic concerns should, I suggest, look through the book by Hryts’ko Kernerenko. This book eloquently proves that in fact a contradiction between the cultural goals of both people – Ukrainian and Jewish – does not exist and that on the grounds of the ideals of an entire humankind (idealiv vseliuds’kosti) to which they strive, they can both meet and stretch a hand to one another. In front of the Ukrainian verse of this alien by his origin, we feel even more acute pain, and recollect our own brethren, “also Little Ukrainians.”115 That Ukrainian-Jewish “stretching of hands” emphasized in Alchevs’ka review became the focus of Mykyta Shapoval’s extensive reflection on Kernerenko’s poetry, too. Shapoval, whose articles were dubbed “the pinnacle of contemporary Ukrainian journalism,”116 pointed to the centrality of “Ukrainian patriotic sympathies” in Kernerenko’s poetry, stressed how unusual a Jew with Ukrainian sympathies was in the early 1900s, and lamented that Kernerenko’s verse does not allow one to trace the evolution of his “Ukrai- nian identity.” It was particularly crucial, argued Shapoval, that Kernerenko managed to overcome the barriers of faith and entirely identify with Ukraine and the Ukrainians. Shapoval did not hesitate to underscore the major paradox of the phenomenon of Kernerenko, centered in the choice of language, by no means trivial: To be brief: why did Kernerenko write in Ukrainian? Given [ ] Ukraine’s situation, he could have easily written in the “cultural language,” that is to say, in Russian. Certainly, he could have. But his

115 The words entre parenthesis are in Russian with a derogatory sense. See Khrystia (Khrystyna Alchevs’ka). [Review of Hryts’ko Kernerenko, Menty natkhnennia, Huliai- Pole, 1910. – 208 P.] // Ukrains’ka khata. 1910. No. 1. Pp. 75-76. Alchevs’ka quotes almost the entire text of Kernerenko’s poem “Fare-thee-Well, my Ukraine” discussed above emphasizing that it is one of the poet’s best. Significantly, Alchevs’ka points out that Ukrainians can easily identify with this particular verse with its profound Jewish overtones. On the key role of the Ukrain’ska khata journal in the rise of new Ukrainian literature, see Ihor Kachurovs’kyi. Rolia “khatian” u rozvytkovi ukrains’koi literatury (Do semydesiatyrichchia zasnuvannia zhurnalu “Ukrains’ka khata”) (The Role of the Editorial Board of the Ukrains’ka khata in the Development of Ukrainian Literature) // I. Kachurovs’kyi. Promenysti syl’vety: Lektsii dopovidi, statti, esei, rozvidky (Beaming Silhouettes: lectures, reports, articles, essays, researches). Munich, 2002. Pp. 83-123. 116 Kachyrovs’kyi. Promenysti sil’vety. P. 103. 231 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... Ukrainian aesthetic and psychological element had its upper hand over the “culture,” casting his humanistic ethical convictions into the Ukrainian mold.117 Despite his emphasis on Kernerenko’s Ukrainian-Jewish aspects, Shapoval found it crucial to distinguish between Kernerenko’s praiseworthy civil stance and his artistic qualities, which left much to be desired. His opinion, however, was not supported by Bohdan Lepkyi, the editor of the Ukrainian poetic anthology Strings, who emphasized that Kernerenko’s verse mani- fests a high-level “literary culture.”118 Thus, Kernerenko’s deliberate deviation from the Russian-Jewish acculturation trend and his Ukrainian schism through philosophic language noticed by Alchevs’ka and Shapoval shaped one of the features of the rising Ukrainian-Jewish literary tradition. What Hrabovs’kyi did not like in Kernerenko was exactly the feature that a quarter of a century later a number of Ukrainian poets of Jewish descent, such as Leonid Pervomais’kyi, independently and perhaps without any knowledge of the “Hrabovs’kyi – Kernerenko” case, began to develop and cherish.

Poeta redivivus Completely erased from Jewish popular memory, Kernerenko was resurrected again in the 1990s as one of the significant figures in the utopian discourse on Ukrainian-Jewish rapprochement, rather than as a solitary Ukrainian poet of Jewish descent. More precisely, Kernerenko emerged as a paramount Jewish supporter of the Ukrainian anarchist movement in David Markish’s Russian-language novel Poliushko-pole (1991).119 Markish’s novel betrays the author’s unrestricted sympathy for, and support of, the anarchist Ukrainian movement led by the warlord Makhno. Out of three Jews, the Veselovskii brothers, who in the wake of the Civil War joined

117 At the same time Shapoval oxymoronically portrayed Kernerenko as a provincial snob (khutors’kyi estet) whose imagery generated from intellectualism rather then from profound sensitivity. He found Kernerenko’s verse lacking originality and negligent toward contemporary poetic innovations. See M[ykyta] Shapoval. Novyny nashoi literatury (Menty natkhnennia Hryts’ka Kernerenka) // LNV. 1910. Vol. 4. Pp. 124-129. 118 Struny: antoliohia ukrains’koi poezii. P. 74. 119 The Israeli-based award-winning writer David Markish is the son of the famous Yiddish poet Perets Markish, known for his strong pro-Ukrainian sympathies. See Vadim Skuratovskii. Ukrainskaia literatura // Kratkaia evreiskaia entsiklopedia. Jerusalem, 1976- 1999. Vol. 8. Pp. 1274-1275. 232 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 correspondingly the White Guards, the Red Army, and the anarchists, only Semen, the last one, manages to survive and preserve the strong ethical principles of a democratic-minded Ukrainian patriot and a good Jew. For Markish, Makhno was no murderer, no reckless politician, and no anti- semitic popular leader.120 On the contrary, assisted by such Jews as Liova Zadov, his “minister” of counter-intelligence, Makhno emerges as a key figure of Ukrainian-Jewish rapprochement. Born in the midst of the Ukrai- nian peasantry, Makhno imagines his utopian community of workers and peasants as a Ukrainian version of the Degania kibbutz in Palestine. Chased from Ukraine, Makhno addresses his adept Semen Veselovskii with a Zionist final blessing. The leader of Ukrainian anarchism argues that despite the failure in Ukraine, Semen should go and try to find Degania, a Jewish settlement that throughout the novel serves for Makhno as an essential Ukrai- nian socialist utopia. Thus, Markish places Kernerenko in the benign context of Ukrainian- Jewish interaction. Semen Veselovskii, eager to join the Ukrainian anarchists,

120 Markish’s presentation of Makhno as a revolutionary leader who deeply hated chauvinists and antisemites, who had many Jews in high positions at his headquarters, and who mercilessly and personally shot point-blank anyone inciting anti-Jewish pogroms, is well- grounded. For a recent sympathetic portrayal of Makhno that reverses the traditional Soviet (and Jewish) perception of his guerilla leadership, see Moshe (Mikhail) Goncharok. Vek voli: russkii anarkhizm i evrei (XIX-XX vv.). Jerusalem, 1996. Pp. 29-62. Yet reconstructed on the basis of available data, Kernerenko’s Weltanschauung seems to have been very close to the national-democratic program that after 1917 was represented by the Central Rada. At the same time Makhno was fighting the Rada as conspicuously nationalistic, bourgeois, and anti-socialist. This might have triggered an additional consternation between him and Hryts’ko Kernerenko. Generally speaking, the relations between Kernerenko and Makhno, if any, might not have been that friendly, as Markish depicts them, especially given that Makhno’s father “was hired as a coachman by the Jewish industrialist and merchant, B. Kerner.” See Michael Palij. The Anarchism of Nestor Makhno, 1918-1921. Seattle and London, 1976. P. 67. On the other hand, Makhno recalled that Mikhail Borisovich Kerner, the brother of the poet and the “owner of the biggest factory in Huliai-pole” was the first among local capitalists to support the demands of the workers and to meet the requirements of the social program of the anarchists. For more detail on this episode, see Nestor Makhno. Russkaia revoliutsia na Ukraine. 3 vols. Paris: Biblioteka makhnovtsev; Federatsia anarkho-kommunisticheskikh grupp Severnoi Ameriki i Kanady, 1929. Vol. 1. Pp. 38-39. Mikhael Malet, however, argues that Makhno considered Kerner as his personal enemy and was trying to settle accounts with him. Yet even he indicates that Huliai-pole anarchists obtained their money from Kernerenko, whom he identifies as a local nationalist poet and a “distant relative of Kerner.” See Michael Malet. Nestor Makhno in the Russian Civil War. London, 1982. Pp. xxi-xxii. 233 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... arrives in Huliai-pole, Makhno’s headquarters. While approaching the village, he talks to his companion, the anarchist Terentii, learns about the village’s rich men who “readily” share with people, and casts doubt on Terentii’s answer. – Readily? Seems improbable! – Why not! – exclaimed Terentii, as if he was offended for his rich fellow countrymen. — What about Kernerenko Hryts’ko? – He looked at Semen: does he know who this Hryts’ko is? – Who is he? – Semen did not know. – Our poet, he writes songs! – explained Terentii. – There has been nobody in Huliai-pole richer than the Kernerenkos: they own a factory, and steam mill, and a store, and some five hundred acres of land. It was Semeniuta himself, about ten years ago, who hinted: so, Hryts’ko – one thousand rubles on the table for the world revolution! And Hryts’ko gave him five hundred, he did not have more at that time. [ ] – And what about that poet? – asked Semen. – About Hryts’ko? – He lives here, – informed Terentii. – And in general, he is no Kernerenko – How come? – So. – Ternetii glanced somewhat suspiciously at Semen. – He is Kerner Grigorii Borisovich. His dad sits in our synagogue, in the first row. “Hersch Borukhovich,” – Semen noted to himself and immediately felt shame for his untimely joy. What difference does it make who gave money first for the anarchist movement, a Jew or not a Jew? But a pleasing feeling remained despite his attempt to suppress it. – Are they friendly? – Semen asked somewhat hesitantly. – Nestor Ivanovich [Makhno – YPS] and the poet? – What’s the friendship between a horse and a rider? – Terentii smiled. – The rider rides, the horse carries and composes songs: “Black banner, red fire ” “Poemhorse,” – Semen thought with sympathy for the writer. – “Poor Jewish Hershversemaker (Gersheplet).”121 Some details, such as the brief inventory of Kerner’s ownership, the expro- priated 1,000 rubles of which only 500 were given back, and the Ukraino- phile stance of the poet, as well as the name of the anarchist Semeniuta,

121 David Markish. Poliushko-pole. Donor: romany. Moscow, 1991. Pp. 40-41.

234 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 suggest that David Markish was quite familiar with Anatol Hak’s memoir on Kernerenko, discussed earlier. Perhaps the late Shimon Markish (1932-2004), a renowned Geneva-based professor of Russian literature, another son of Perets Markish and David’s brother, introduced David Markish to Hak’s important memoir. If this assumption holds, then it is clear that the novelist closely follows the memoirist but alters the way the town-dwellers perceived Kernerenko. For them, Kernerenko is a populist poet, he “writes songs,” a preeminent genre of Ukrainian folklore, he is referred to as “our” poet, he praises the revolution, and he “readily” helps the peasant rebellion. In a word, Markish creates for Kernerenko a welcoming atmosphere of respect and admiration about which the poet could only dream – a utopia of mutually beneficial Ukrainian-Jewish literary, economic, and political interaction. It also seems that Markish attempted to recast Kernerenko in the mold of a Ukrainian-Jewish Alexander Blok, who had morphed from symbolist lyrics to the revolutionary epic The Twelve. Recently Ukrainian literary critics have made an overt attempt to revive Kernerenko and overcome centennial Jewish-Ukrainian animosity. First, the Zaporizhzhia-based Ukrainian poet Petro Rebro published an enthusiastic essay on Kernerenko, in which he attempted to solve what he considered a puzzle: can a Jew be a Ukrainian poet? If yes, is it possible to consider genuine his feelings toward Ukraine? Rebro analyzed some of Kernerenko’s poetic writings and emphasized that his “open-minded yet sometimes naïve” poetry was imbued with a profound empathy toward Ukraine. Considering the relation of Kernerenko to Ukraine and paraphrasing Kernerenko’s famous lines, Rebro stated that Kernerenko was “Ukraine’s son, not a step-son” and called for reprinting his best works, commemorating him as the Huliai-pole poet, and researching his later fate.122 Following Rebro, Kush- nirenko and Zhylyns’kyi, two Ukrainian “local historians” (kraieznavtsi), picked up Rebro’s question and answered it in a short essay on Kernerenko included in their representative anthology The Huliai-pole Region Litera- ture.123 Curiously enough, the editors spent most of their essay defending Kernerenko against Hrabovs’ky’s invectives. The authors emphasized that

122 Zaporizs’ka Pravda. 1999. April 20. 123 See Ivan Kushnirenko, Volodymyr Zhylins’kyi. Literatura Huliaipil’shchyny (Na pruhkykh vitrakh). Ch. 1. Dnipropetrovs’k, 2002. Pp. 11-20. Unfortunately, the circulation of this anthology, some 200 copies, placed it beyond the reach of big libraries and, what is particularly regretful, beyond the reach of bibliographers.

235 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... Hrabovs’kyi was wrong: he did not see a single line written by Kernerenko and he used Kernerenko to convey his own literary mottoes. They dubbed Hbabovs’kyi a “hurray”-critic and summed up by saying, “we feel bitter and shameful for Hrabovs’ky.” This was a bold step by the editors, given Hrabovs’kyi’s reputation as a staunch democrat and a martyr of tsardom. Significantly, the editors selected eight poems from the legacy of the Huliai- pole poet (one of them, Frug’s “The Sand and the Stars,” is erroneously attributed to Kernerenko), pointing to the predominance of Ukrainian and Jewish themes in his writings.124

De lingua ucrainica ascensione Perhaps Kernerenko was among the first, if not the first, to discover that the Ukrainian language suits Jewish political, social, and cultural concerns. This was not the same as making such a claim in Prague about the Czech language or in Paris about French. Even in Russian, Austrian, or Prussian Poland the Polish language was not as despised as the Little Ukrainian in the Russian empire. Kernerenko’s discovery suggests that the Ukrainian- Jewish poet treated Ukrainian as any other European language, and perhaps on a par with Hebrew and Yiddish. Trying to teach the Ukrainian “subaltern” to speak, Kernerenko resorted to an alternative, non-Ukrainian discourse, either Russian-Jewish or Yiddish. Although it was also shaped by colonial imagery, it offered a wider array of literary devices that did not exist at that time in Ukrainian culture. Simultaneously, Kernerenko reinforced his Ukrai- nian poetry with a romanticized Jewish imagery drawn from the Hebrew Bible that knew not the colonial yoke. He also uplifted East European Jewish discourse by infusing it with an anti-colonial revolutionary vocabulary borrowed from the no-less-despised Ukrainian poetry. One subaltern could not speak, Kernerenko would perhaps agree, but two could find their voice creating a “narrative of subaltern freedom.”125 However, one should not make far-fetched conclusions from this discovery: Menty natkhnennia (1910) was

124 Among the selected texts there were “On the 37th Anniversary of Shevchenko’s Death,” “To a Certain Friend,” “Monopoly,” “Everything has its Own Season,” “A Vain Expectation,” “In the Foreign Land,” “The Sand and the Stars,” “Mädchens wunsch,” see Ibid. Pp. 16-21. 125 Gayatri Chakravorti Spivak. A Critique of Postcolonial Reason: Toward a History of the Vanishing Present. Cambridge, Mass., 1999. P. 144.

236 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 apparently Kernerenko’s last collection. Whether he continued his search for a better synthesis of Ukrainian lyrics and Jewish themes is unknown. Yet there is hardly any doubt that he was the first to move toward a Ukrainian- Jewish literary identity. By doing this, Kernerenko underscored similarities between the national agendas of the Jews and Ukrainians. He seems to have elevated the Ukrainian language, making it into a medium suitable for the expression of national concerns of non-Ukrainians. If the despised, oppressed, forcefully Russified, grammatically and phonetically mutilated Ukrainian language conveyed Jewish sensibilities, it could then fit any national concern and ideology. In other words, it was not only a language of freedom, it was a free language. Not only did Kernerenko’s verse surpass the obstacles of mutual Ukrainian-Jewish animosity but it also created a language of cultural rapprochement.126 Since Ukrainian and Jewish national agendas required similar if not identical metaphors, the Ukrainians and the Jews had a lot to share and learn from one another. Kernerenko’s old banner of Zion and Lesia Ukrainka’s pre-dawn lights both pointed to the “new way” of bolstering national interests. Therefore, a mere “translation” from a Jewish poet triggered the birth of a new type of discourse, one that students of East European Jewish history a hundred years later are advised to call “Ukrainian- Jewish.” A Ukrainian thinker, in his article on Moisei Fishbein, a Kyiv- based Ukrainian poet of Jewish descent, has noted that “for the first time in history in Fishbein’s poetry, Judaism speaks Ukrainian.”127 Hryts’ko Kernerenko seems to have been the first who merited this compliment, exactly a century before his distant and illustrious successor. Kernerenko was not only among the first to start constructing Ukrainian- Jewish identity as a literary narrative and a lifestyle, but also among the first

126 It is this language of cultural rapprochement that nurtured such famous adepts of the Ukrainian national cause and Ukrainian-Jewish dialogue in the short period of Ukrainian independence as Solomon Goldelman (1885-1974), Arnold Margolin (1877-1956), Avraam Revuts’kyi (1889-1946), and Moshe Zilberfarb (1876-1934). Their personal contribution to the Ukrainian struggle for independence still awaits scholarly analysis. 127 Vadym Skurativs’kyi. Na perekhrestiakh dushi (At the Crossroads of the Soul) // Suchasnist. 1996. No. 12. Pp. 86-89. On Moisei Fishbein, see M. Strikha. “Apokryf” Moiseia Fishbeina // Khronika-2000: Ukrains’kyi kul’turolohichnyi al’manakh. 1998. No. 21-22. P. 462; Iurii Sheveliov. U sprobi nazvaty (In an Attempt to Name). Moisei Fishbein. Zbirka bez nazvy (An Unnamed Collection) // Suchasnist. 1984. Pp. 7-14; Yohanan Petrovsky-Shtern. The Coming of a New Moses // East European Jewish Affairs. 2004. Vol. 1. Pp. 12-28.

237 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... obliquely to underscore its profoundly imaginary nature. Kernerenko witnessed the 1881-1883 pogroms, which destroyed thousands of Jewish households in Malorossia (the Ukraine) and were carried out by the local déclassé population. Kernerenko was well familiar with the far right accusa- tions against Jews, alleged destroyers of Russian Orthodox peasantry, which loomed large in the imperial political discourse of the 1880s and 1890s, and in particular, in the Kievan press. Kernerenko could not have ignored that the Russo-Japanese War and the first Russian Revolution triggered a wave of the most horrible pogroms in Russian imperial history, and in which the rural Ukrainian population and the Russian army (80% of which was comprised by the peasantry) played a significant role. For sure he knew that the deteriorating economic situation of the East European Jews pushed hundred of thousands of them outside the Russian Empire. And yet he called Ukraine “the land of joy and freedom”! Kernerenko’s case is even more complex. An avid reader of Ukrainian books, Kernerenko probably also learned that Ukrainian writers were not necessarily as philosemitic as Lesia Ukrainka or Ivan Franko and that an antisemitic bias shaped to a great degree the images of Jews in nineteenth- century Ukrainian literature. One may assume Kernerenko realized that most Ukrainian literary critics held a low opinion of his poetic talents and even questioned his sincere pro-Ukrainian empathy. Kernerenko’s available epistolary heritage testifies to the weak and random contacts between him and Ukrainian intellectuals. In addition, apparently Kenrerenko left neither disciples nor admirers. He was marginalized among Russian Jews as a Kernerenko and among conscientious Ukrainians as a Kerner. And yet, Kernerenko seemed to have deliberately ignored social reality, which consis- tently enticed Ukrainians and Jews to act against one another. Kernerenko continued polishing his Ukrainian language, construing his Ukrainian imagery, attempting a Ukrainian-Jewish concoction, bringing his Ukrainian books to press, establishing contacts with Ukrainian literary figures, and hoping, against all odds, that his literary creativity and social stance would merit either acceptance or sympathy. In historical perspective Kernerenko’s case seems to indicate that a Ukrainian-Jewish rapprochement could exist only in the realm of fragile personal relations. Apparently there was no chance to institutionalize them socially or canonize them literally. Hence, unaware of his major discovery, Kernerenko informed the utopian character of the Ukrainian-Jewish discourse. His case seems to prove that Jews and

238 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Ukrainians could sing their lyrics together while the doors of their utopian realm were tightly shut and bloodthirsty epical history stayed outdoors. The following hundred years of the Ukrainian-Jewish poetic tradition, predominantly lyrical, as well as the cultural solitude of the Ukrainian poets of Jewish descent, has only too well emphasized the quintessential character of Kernerenko’s case.

* * * Hryts’ko Kernerenko, alias Grigorii Borisovich Kerner, was perhaps the first Jew to start composing Ukrainian verse and to articulate Jewish national strivings in the Ukrainian language as early as the 1880s. As such, he deserves interest from both a historical and cultural viewpoint. A second (if not third rank) poet, with the exception of two or three poems of better quality, Kernerenko left several hundred poems, poetic translations, a couple of short stories and tales, and at least one play. The five books that he pub- lished (Pravdyva kazka, 1886, Nevelychkyi zbirnyk tvoriv, 1890; Shchetynnyk, 1891; V dosuzhyi chas, 1894; Menty natkhnennia, 1910) are rarities and have never been reproduced. Some of his poems appeared between 1899 and 1910 in Ukrainian periodicals such as Literaturno-naukovyi vistnyk, Rada, Hromads’ka dumka, and Nasha khata. Although in the 1900s and 1910s half-a-dozen of Kernerenko’s poems were regularly reproduced in Ukrainian poetic anthologies (Akordy, 1903; Ukrains’kyi deklamator, 1905; Ukrains’ka muza, 1908; Struny, 1922), after the 1920s his poetic legacy was generally neglected – not only because great Ukrainian poets eclipsed him but also because his major themes, such as Ukrainian and Jewish national revival, made him an outcast among the endorsed pre-1917 Ukrainian poets. Kernerenko’s private archive was apparently destroyed during World War I. The local museum in Huliaipole holds no documents from Ker- nerenko’s private collection. So far, local historians’ attempts to uncover Kernerenko’s family archive have brought no results. Kernerenko’s literary documents are scattered throughout the collections of turn-of-the-century Ukrainian literary figures and located in the Chernihiv Historical Museum, and the Department of Manuscripts of the Institute of Literature of the Na- tional Academy of Sciences of Ukraine (Kyiv). The AI reader is offered seven of Kernerenko’s poems, three poetic translations, and three letters.

239 Y. Petrovsky-Shtern, The Construction of an Improbable Identity... This selection does not represent the entire Kernerenko’s legacy, but it pur- sues a modest goal of demonstrating Kernerenko’s attempts (to a great ex- tent utopian) to construct Jewish identity in the Ukrainian language, and points out the linguistic, cultural, religious, and social challenges he en- countered.

240 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

FROM HRYTS’KO KERNERENKO’S LITERARY HERITAGE

I. POETRY

1. ÍÅ ÐIÄÍÈÉ ÑÈÍ Ïðîùàé, Óêðàéíî ìîÿ – Òåáå ÿ êèíóòü ìóøó; Õî÷à çà òåáå ÿ á îääàâ Æèòòÿ i âîëþ é äóøó! Àëå ÿ ïàñèíîê òîái, Íà æàëü, öå äîáðå çíàþ. É ïðîìiæ äðóãèõ äiòåé òâî¿õ ß íå æèâó – ñòðàæäàþ. Íå ñèëà çíåñòè âæå ìåíi Ãëóìëiíü òèõ ïîíàä ìiðó Çà òå, ùî ÿ é òâî¿ ñèíè Íå îäíó ìàºì âiðó. Òåáå æ, Óêðàéíî ìîÿ, ß áóäó âiê êîõàòè: Áî òè õî÷ ìà÷óõà ìåíi, À âñå æ òè ìåíi – ìàòè! “Ðàäà”. No. 6 (1908). 241 From Hryts’ko Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage

2. ÐÎÊÎÂÈÍÈ ÑÌÅÐÒI Ò. Ã. ØÅÂ×ÅÍÊÀ Âäîâà áåçòàëàííà É ïîêðèòêà âiä ïàíà, Ùî ñëüîçè çà íèõ ïðîëèâàâ òè, Áàéñòðÿ íå îáóòå, Ïiä òèíîì çàáóòå, Ùî áàòüêà íå çíà, ÿê i çâàòè, ² ãîðè âèñîêi, ² êðó÷i ãëèáîêi, Ñòåïè òi øèðîêi, áåçêðà¿, I âñÿ Óêðà¿íà I íàâiòü äèòèíà – Ñüîãîäíi òåáå ïîìèíàþòü! Ãëàãîë òâ³é ìîãó÷èé Ðîçí³ñ Äí³ïð ðåâó÷èé, Ç Äí³ïðà âæå ³ â³òåð ðîçâ³ÿâ, I çåðíî çäîðîâå – Òâîº ùèðå ñëîâî Ó íàøîìó ñåðö³ ïîñ³ÿâ. Òå ñëîâî âåëèêå Íàì, ëþäÿì-êàë³êàì, Òè â ï³ñíÿõ òà â äóìàõ îñòàâèâ, I â ñâ³ò³ ÿê æèòè, ßê òðåáà ëþáèòè – Ñåáå òè íàâ³êè ïðîñëàâèâ. À ìè âæå õîäîþ Éäåìî çà òîáîþ Òà ñ³ºì òâîþ áàòüê³âùèíó, I ï³ñí³ ñï³âàºì,  íèõ Áîãà áëàãàºì, Ùîá äàâ íàì çåðíà õî÷ ñòåáëèíó. É ìîæå íàñòàíå Òå âðåì’ÿ æàäàíå É ñòåáëî ó öâ³ò ðîç³â’ºòüñÿ:— “Îáíèìå áðàò áðàòà, É çàïëàêàíà ìàòè Ïîãëÿíå íà íèõ òà é âñì³õíåòüñÿ!” “Íåâåëè÷êèé çá³ðíèê òâîð³â” (1890). 242 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 3. ÇÍÎÂÓ ÍÀ ÂÊÐÀ¯ÍI ß çíîâó ïîáà÷èâ ñòåïè Óêðà¿íè, ß çíîâó çåëåíèé ãàé òåìíèé óçäð³â, Ãàé òåìíèé, äå ëó÷ø³ é ùàñëèâ³ õâèëèíè, Íàéêðàù³¿ ë³òà ñâî¿ ÿ ïðîæèâ. Äå ùàñòþ ãðàíèö³ íå çíàâ ÿ í³êîëè, Ñï³âàâ ñâî¿ ï³ñí³ é ñë³çüìè îáëèâàâ, Ùå ïåðøèìè, ñåðöå; ³ æèâ ÿ íà âîë³: ͳÿêîãî ãîðÿ òîä³ ÿ íå çíàâ. ß ïëàêàâ, êàæó ÿ, òà ðàä³ñí³ ñëüîçè Ëèëèñÿ ³ ÷èñò³ ìîâ ïåðëè áóëè. Ò³ ñëüîçè – òî ïåðø³ áóëè ìî¿ ðîçè: Âîíè âæå í³êîëè òàê á³ëüø íå öâ³ëè! I ëåãøàëî ñåðäöþ áóëî, ÿê çàïëà÷ó, I ï³ñíÿ ïîëëºòüñÿ, ³ ñëàâíî ìåí³ Òåïåð æå íåìຠòèõ ñë³ç ³ íåíà÷å Ðîñà òà íà ñîíöå, òàê âèñõëè âîíè. Ñï³âàâ ÿ â ãàéî÷êó, ñï³âàâ ó îñåë³ – Áî çâ³ñíî, â ìåí³ ìîëîäà ãðàëà êðîâ, I âñå, ùî ÿ áà÷èâ, çäàâàëîñü âåñåëèì ß äóìàâ, ùî â ñâ³ò³ º ùèðà ëþáîâ ß äóìàâ, êàæó ÿ. ×îìó æ ÿ íå ìàþ Òåïåð á³ëüø òèõ äóìîê ³ ñë³ç òèõ ñâÿòèõ? À ñåðöå ³ç æàëþ âñå á³ëüø çàìèðàº, I ìåíò³â ùàñëèâèõ íåìຠâæå òèõ!... I çíîâó òåïåð ÿ, ñâÿòà Óêðà¿íî, Íà çåìëþ ïðè¿õàâ ñâÿòóþ òâîþ; Ïðèìè æ ìåíå íåíüêî, òâîÿ ÿ äèòèíà, Äëÿ òåáå é ï³ñíþ ñï³âàþ ñâîþ! “˳òåðàòóðíî-íàóêîâèé â³ñíèê”. No. 11 (1900).

243 From Hryts’ko Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage

4. ÍÀ ÑÒÅÏÀÕ ÓÊÐÀ¯ÍÈ Ùî çà ïîëå ðîçëÿãëîñÿ I íå ñêèíåø îêîì? Ïîäèâèøñÿ – ò³ëüêè ì𳺠Âåëèêå í³âðîêó! Îòîæ òàÿ Óêðà¿íà, Äå ïðàâäà áëóêຠÒà âñ³ì ëþäÿì òàêó ï³ñíþ Ç äîêîðîì ñï³âàº. “Äîáð³ ëþäå, Óêðà¿íà ßê êâ³ò ãèíå, â’ÿíå, Ñîíöå ïàëèòü, â³òåð ñóøå, ͳõòî é íå äîãëÿíå. Âæå é ïàøíþ îí ñêð³çü ïî íèâ³ Îñîò çàñòèëàº, I ç îñîòó ëåäâå-ëåäâå Ïàøíÿ ïðîðîñòàº. Ðîçðîñëàñü âîíà á ãàðíåíüêî, ßêáè á³ëüø ïðîñòîðó: ßê áè âèñèëèòü îñîò òîé – ϳøëà á ðîñòè âãîðó!” “Ãðîìàäñüêà äóìêà“. No. 67 (1906).

5. ÄÈÒß×À ϲÑÍß Îé ÿ øàáëþ-ãàê³âíèöþ Íà ñåáå íàêèíó, Íà ïëå÷å â³çüìó ðóøíèöþ É êóíòóø ñâ³é íàä³íó. À øòàíè ñâî³ øèðîê³ Â õàëÿâêè çàñóíó, ³çüìó ëþëüêó êðèâîáîêó Ùå é â ëþëüêó òþòþíó. Ùå é ï³ñòîëü â³çüìó ó áàòüêà, Ùå é ïîðîõîâíèöþ, —

244 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Òà é ïîäàìñü äî ñâîãî äÿäüêà, Äî ìèëîãî Ãðèöÿ. À â³í ìåí³: “̳é ð³äíåíüêèé Çäîðîâ áóâ êîçà÷å. Çäðàñòâóé, îðëå, ì³é ìàëåíüêèé!” Ç ðàäîñò³ é çàïëà÷å. Iíñòèòóò Ëiòåðàòóðè ÍÀÍ Óêðà¿íè ³ì. Ò.Ã. Øåâ÷åíêà. Âiääië ðóêîïèñiâ. Ô. 3. Ä. 3354. Ëë. 401/78 (1-2).

6. ÌÎÍÎÏÎË²ß I õòî ïîâiðèâ áè, ùîá îòòàêå ïðèéøëîñü, Ùî ïàíñüêèé ðiä óâåñü çí³âå÷èâñÿ äî ùåíòó: Ùî ïàíñòâî çà øèíêè òåïåð óæå âçÿëîñü, Íå òiëüêè çà øèíêè – âçÿëîñü i çà ïðîöåíòè! Ïðîïèëè âñå, ÿê º, äîáðî ñâîº ïàíè! Âiäêðèëè ¿ì êðåäèò, ïðèéøëè íà ïîìi÷ áàíêè... I òå íå ïîìîãëîñü: i çåìëþ, é æóïàíè – Ïðîïèëè ÷èñòî âñå ïàíè òà ïîëóïàíêè. À êðîâ â íèõ íå ïðîñòà – âîíè-æ òàêè ïàíè, Íå òî ùî òi Æèäè – âñåñâiòíi áiäîëàõè; Îäåæà ÷èñòà â íèõ, ç ëàìïàñàìè øòàíè, Íà êóðòêàõ ãóäçèêè é ÿêi áëèñêó÷i áëÿõè! I ÷èñòà êðîâ òàêà ïîâèííà áiäóâàòü! À Æèä â øèíêó ñèäèòü i ãðîøi çàãðiáàº... I çâåëåíî â Æèäiâ øèíêàðñòâî îäiáðàòü I ïîñàäèòü ïàíi⠖ âîíè õàé çàïðàâëÿþòü! ×è ïðàâëÿòü òàì âîíè ñàìi, ÷è ìîæå ï’þòü, Òî äiëî íå ïðî íàñ, òî âðåìÿ÷êî ïîêàæå... Çà òå-æ ãîðiëêè âæå Æèäè íå ïðîäàþòü, I Æèäîâi “øèíêàð” íiõòî òåïåð íå êàæå! “˳òåðàòóðíî-íàóêîâèé â³ñíèê”. No. 5 (1902).

245 From Hryts’ko Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage

7. ÊÀÇÍÎIJªÂ²-ѲÎͲÑÒβ ß. Ä. Ðåâçèíó Ñï³âàé æå ì³é îðëå ̳é îðëå ìîãó÷èé!.. Íå çíàþòü òåáå ùå áðàòè, Íå âçíàëè âîíè, ùå ÿêèé òè ï³âó÷èé, Íå çíàþòü âîíè ùå, õòî òè! Áàãàòî ïîåò³â ì³æ íàìè ñï³âຠI â êîæíîãî ï³ñíÿ – ñâîÿ, Òà êðàùî¿ ç âñ³õ òèõ ï³ñåíü ³ íåìàº, ßê ï³ñíÿ, ì³é äðóæå, òâîÿ. ³ä ùèðîãî ñåðöÿ, ÿê ÿíãîë ïðàâäèâà, Ç ëþáîâ³ òà ïðàâäè ò³¿ Îòèì-òî ³ ï³ñíÿ òâîÿ óðàçëèâà Äëÿ òèõ, õòî ïî÷óº ¿¿! Õòî ñåðöåì-äóøåþ ó ãðÿçü âæå ïîðèíóâ, Ó êîãî íà䳿 íåìà, Õòî Áîãà ³ â³ðó çîâñ³ì âæå ïîêèíó⠖  òîìó âîíà äóõ ï³ä³éìà. I ñèëó íîâó òîìó ï³ñíÿ ïðèíîñå, I ãð³øíèêà äóøó êð³ïèòü I çíîâó â³í Áîãà ªäèíîãî ïðîñèòü, Ùîá ñèëè äàâ â³ðèòü, ëþáèòü Íå ë³êàðþ é ç³ëëþ òîãî íå çðîáèòè, Ùî ðîáëÿòü òâî¿ ò³ ñëîâà: ³ä íèõ ïî÷èíຠé âñÿê çëîä³é ëþáèòè, I ïàäøà äóøà îæèâà. Ñï³âàé æå, ì³é îðëå, áðàòàì ñâî¿ì ð³äíèì, Ç áðàòàìè ó êóï³ é ìîëèñü: I ìîæå íå ñêîðî, à âñå æ òàêè ïðèéäå I âðåì’ÿ Ìåññ³¿ êîëèñü!... Iíñòèòóò Ëiòåðàòóðè ÍÀÍ Óêðà¿íè ³ì. Ò.Ã. Øåâ÷åíêà, Âiääië ðóêîïèñiâ. Ô. 3. Ä. 3354. Ëë. 401/78 (10-11).

246 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 II. TRANSLATIONS FROM S. G. FRUG

1. Ç ªÂÐÅÉÑÜÊÈÕ ÌÅËÎÄ²É Ñ. Ã. ÔÐÓÃÀ Ïðîêèíñü, á³äíÿ÷å, ãåé âñòàâàé! Íà ñâ³ò³ ùå Ãîñïîäü ïàíóº Òîé ñàìèé, ùî æèòòÿ äàðóº, Ùî ðîáèòü â³ëüíèìè óñ³õ, Ç íåâîë³ – âîëþ, ç ãîðÿ – ñì³õ, Iç á³äíèõ – äóê³â ãåé âñòàâàé! ³ä äóê³â òè òà â³ä ïàí³â Íå æäè ïîðàäè: øëÿõ ïîêàæå Òîá³ íåäîëÿ é âñå ðîçêàæå, Êóäè ³ ÿê ³òè ó ñâ³ò Ïðîêèíñü, îáìèé áî òè ñâ³é ï³ò. Ùî î÷³ âæå òâî¿ çàëèâ. Æèâåø â õàòèí³ òè ÷óæ³é: Äî äîìó, ÷óºøü, êëè÷å ìàòè Ïðîêèíñü, ïîðà òîá³ âñòàâàòè – Ãëÿäè: äëÿ òåáå øëÿõ íîâèé Çâåäè-æ òè ïðàïîð òâ³é ñòàðèé – ѳîíà äàâí³é ïðàïîð òâ³é! “Óêðà¿íñüêà õàòà”. No. 3-4 (1909).

2. ÏIÑÎÊ ÒÀ ÇIÐÊÈ Ì³ñÿöü òà ç³ðêè ñ³ÿþòü íà íåá³ I í³÷êà ïàíóº ãàðàçä ß æ âñå ÷èòàþ Ïèñüìî Ñâÿòå íàøå, ×èòàþ âæå â òèñÿ÷íèé ðàç. Ãàðí³ é ïðàâäèâ³ ñëîâà ÿ ÷èòàþ É ìîâ ãîëîñ ÿ ÷óþ ñâÿòèé: “Áóäåø òè ñêð³çü ÿê ï³ñîê, ùî êðàé ìîðÿ, ßê ç³ðêè, íàðîäå òè ì³é!” Ïðàâåäíèé Áîæå!  ñëîâàõ òâî¿õ ïðàâèõ Ñïîâíÿòèñü ïîâèííî òîìó, Ùîá íå ñêàçàâ Òè â ñâî¿õ îá³öÿíêàõ – Òà ìàáóòü ïîðà º âñ³ìó.

247 From Hryts’ko Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage Äåùî çáóëîñü âæå ç Òâî¿õ ñë³â âåëèêèõ, I ñïðàâä³ âîíî âèéøëî òàê: Ñòàëè ï³ñêîì ìè í³ê÷åìíèì òà ò³ëüêè Áåç æàëþ íàñ òîï÷å óñÿê. Ïðàâäà òâîÿ: ÿê ï³ñîê òà êàì³ííÿ Íà ïîñüì³õ ðîçêèäàíî íàñ Àëå äå æ ç³ðêè? Õî÷à á ¿õ ïðîì³ííÿ Ñâ³òèëî á õî÷ òðîøêè äëÿ íàñ! “˳òåðàòóðíî-íàóêîâèé â³ñíèê”. Òo. 7 (1906).

3. ÍÎÂÈÉ ÐIÊ Ð³ê íîâèé! Ñòàðà áàíäóðî, Òè çàãðàé íàì íå ïîíóðî – ϳñíþ ãàðíó íàì çàãðàé, Ñòðóíè õàé òâî¿ ñï³âàþòü, Ñåðöå íàøå çâåñåëÿþòü, Äàâíèíó òè íàì çãàäàé! É îäïîâ³äóº áàíäóðà, Òà íå âåñåëî – ïîíóðî: “Íà ð³êàõ äå Âàâ³ëîí ß íà äåðåâ³ âèñ³ëà I äðóãèõ ï³ñåíü íå âì³ëà, ßê ñóìíèõ ïðî íàø ѳîí ͳ áðàòè, íîâèõ íå çíàþ, Áî ñòàðèõ íå çàáóâàþ, Àëå ÷àñ äàâíî òîé áóâ À òåïåð ÿ âàì áàæàþ  ð³ê íîâèé, â íîâîìó êðà¿, Ùîá Ãîñïîäü Âàñ íå çàáóâ I ùîá ùàñòÿ, ³ ùîá âîëþ Âàì, çàíåäáàíèì â íåâîë³, Ùå êîëèøíþ âàì çâåðíóâ!” “˳òåðàòóðíî-íàóêîâèé â³ñíèê”. No. 1 (1908).

248 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 III. CORRESPONDENCE

1. TO KESAR OLEKSANDROVYCH BILYLOVS’KYI

Áàãàòîøàíîâíèé Êåñàðü Àëåêñàíäðîâè÷!

Âèáà÷òå, äîáðîä³þ, ùî ÿ, íåçíàêîìèé ç Âàìè, ïèøó äî Âàñ: õî÷ó ïîçíàêîìèòèñü, ùå é õî÷ó ïîäÿêóâàòè Âàñ, ùî ïðèéíÿëèñü çà äîáðå ä³ëî ïðîñâ³òè, ñïîðóäèâøè âæå äâà àëüìàíàõè. Ïîìîæè Âàì ³ äàë³ Áîæå! Äóæå ìåí³ æàëêî, ùî íå çì³ã ÿ ïðèñòàòè äî ãóðòó â ñêëàäö³ íà ñïîìèí ïîê³éíîãî Âëàäèìèðà Ñòåïàíîâè÷à [Àëåêñàíäðîâà]; ÿê áè çíàâ, ùî ó Âàñ òàêà äîðîãà äóìêà òà ùå ÿê áè çíàâ, äå Âè æèâåòå, òî íàïèñàâ áè Âàì ³ äåùî íàä³ñëàâ áè: áî é ÿ îäèí ç ïðèÿòåë³â ³ ç ó÷åíèê³â íåá³æ÷èêà Âë. Ñòåïàíîâè÷à; àëå ùî ïðîéøëî – òîãî íå âåðíóòè! Òåïåð æå ìàþ íà óâàç³ ïðîñèòè Âàñ, äîáðîä³þ, ìîæå Âè ùå ùîñü çàì³ðÿºòåñü ñïîðóäèòè ë³òåðàòóðíå íà ñïîìèí ïîê³éíîãî Âë[àäèìèðà] Ñòåï[àíîâè÷à], òî é ìåíå íå ìèíàéòå – ìîæå íå ïîãóäèòå, ÿêùî íàä³øëþ Âàì. Íåá³æ÷èê ìåí³ áàãàòî ðîçñêàçóâàâ ïðî Âàñ ³ ïàòðåòà Âàøîãî íàä³ñëàâ, òà íå çíàþ, äå â³í ä³âñÿ – ïðîïàâ äåñü, à ìîæå õòî ³ âêðàâ Æàëêî ìåí³, äóæå æàëêî ö³º¿ ïðîïàæ³! ßêùî áóäå Âàøà ëàñêà ìåí³ íàïèñàòè, òî ïèø³òü òàê: ñ. Ãóëÿéïîëå, ªêàòåðèíîñë. Ãóá. Ãðèãîð³þ Áîðèñîâè÷ó Êåðíåðó

Ñ ïîâàæàí³ºì Ãðèöüêî Êåðíåðåíêî Ñë. Ãóëÿé Ïîëå 23 ëþòîãî, Ðîêó Áîæîãî 98-ãî.

Iíñòèòóò Ëiòåðàòóðè ÍÀÍ Óêðà¿íè ³ì. Ò.Ã. Øåâ÷åíêà. Âiääië ðóêîïèñiâ. Ô. 72. Ä. 243. Ëë. 1–2.

249 From Hryts’ko Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage

2. TO IVAN IAKOVLEVYCH FRANKO

Ñ. Ãóëÿéïîëå, 17 (30) ñ³÷íÿ Ðîêó Áîæîãî 1906.

Âèñîêîïîâàæíèé Äîáðîä³þ Iâàíå ßêîâëåâè÷ó!

Äóæå ³ ùèðî äÿêóþ çà Âàø ëàñêàâèé ëèñò. Âè ïèòàºòå, õòî òàêèé Øîëåì-Àëåéõåì? Öå – ïñåâäîí³ì Ñ. Ðàáèíîâè÷à, îäíîãî ç ñàìèõ âèäàòíèõ ñó÷àñíèõ ïèñüìåííèê³â íà æàðãîí³; íå ìåíøå óñòóïà éîìó â ïîå糿 òåæ íà æàðãîí³ – Ñ. Ã. Ôðóã. Ïðî Øîëåì-Àëåéõåìà òà ïðî Ñ. Ã. Ôðóãà Âè òðîõè äîâ³äàºòåñü ç Ýíöèêëîïåäè÷åñêîãî ñëîâàðÿ Áðîêãàóçà ò. 22, ñòîð. 485 “Åâðåéñêî-íåìåöêèé äèàëåêò èëè æàðãîí”. Íàäñèëàþ Âàì çà äëÿ “˳ò[åðàòóðíî]-íàóê[îâîãî] ³ñò[íèêà]” â³ðø³ ç ºâðåéñüêîãî “Âèíî”; öå æ ÿ é ïåðåêëàâ ç â³ðø³â Ôðóãà. Êàçêà, ùî ÿ Âàì íàä³ñëàâ, çâåòüñÿ “Der veter Pini mit der mume Rejsi”, àëå ÿ “Rejs’þ” ïåðåêëà⠓ճâðÿ”, öå, çäàºòüñÿ ìåí³, á³ëüøå ïî-íàøîìó. Ñòàòò³ ïðî íîâ³éøó ºâðåéñüêó ë³òåðàòóðó íà ïðåâåëèêèé æàëü íàïèñàòè ÿ íå áåðóñü, íå îñì³ëþñü, àëå ïåðåêëàäè ç ºâðåéñüêîãî êîëè íå êîëè áóäó Âàì îõî÷å íàäñèëàòè ïîåç³þ ³ ïðîçó, à òàêîæ äåùî ç ñâî¿õ îðèãèíàëüíèõ òâîð³â. Ïîêîðíî ïðîñþ çàì³ñòü ãîíîðàðà ïðèñèëàéòå ìåí³ “˳ò[åðàòóðíî]- íàóêîâ[èé] ³ñòíèê”, áî ãðîø³ áîþñü íàäñèëàòè: ùå 26 ãðóäíÿ ïð. ðîêó íàä³ñëàâ ÿ äî ðåäàêö³¿ “˳ò[åðàòóðíî]-íàóê[îâîãî] ³ñòí[èêà]” òðè êàðáîâ. ç ïðîõàííÿì ïðèñëàòè ìåí³ “Àêîðäè”, àëå ïî ñþ ïîðó í³÷îãî íå îäåðæàâ; îäíî ç äâîõ: àáî ãðîø³ ïðîïàëè é íå ä³éøëè, àáî íà êîðäîí³ íàøà öåíçóðà “Àêîðäè” ìî¿ ïðîêîâòíóëà áî ³ â íàñ æå òåïåð – êîíñòèòóö³ÿ êàçàâ ïàí “êîæóõà äàì” — ñëîâî éîãî òåïëå!... îòòàê³ æ â íàñ ³ äîñ³ ïîðÿäêè!...

Ç ãëóáîêèì óøàíóâàííÿì îñòàþñü ïðèõèëüíèé äî Âàñ òà âäÿ÷íèé Ãðèöüêî Êåðíåðåíêî

Iíñòèòóò Ëiòåðàòóðè ÍÀÍ Óêðà¿íè ³ì. Ò.Ã. Øåâ÷åíêà. Âiääië ðóêîïèñiâ. Ô. 3, 72. Ä. 1630. Ëë. 527-530.

250 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Fig. 1. First page of Kernerenko’s letter to Ivan Franko (courtesy of the Department of Manuscripts, Institute of Literature, NAN of Ukraine), 1906. 251 From Hryts’ko Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage

3. TO OLEKSA KUZMYCH KOVALENKO

Ñë. Ãóëÿéïîëå, Êàòåðèíîñëàâùèíà 26 ãðóäíÿ 1906 ðîêó

Øàíîâíèé äîáðîä³þ Îëåêñ³þ Êóçüìè÷ó!

Íà Âàøå ëàñêàâå çàïèòàííÿ, ïîñï³øàþ Âàì îäïîâ³äàòè. Óðîäèâñÿ ÿ 1863 ð. â ñëîáîä³ Ãóëÿéïîë³ â Êàòåðèíîñëàâùèí³; ó÷èâñÿ â Ñèìôå- ðîïîëüñê³é ã³ìíà糿, à ïîò³ì òîãî ó÷èâñÿ ÿ ñ³ëüñêîìó õàçÿéñòâó â Ìþíõåíñüêîìó ïîë³òåõí³êóì³. Íàäðóêîâàí³ â ìåíå âñüîãî ò³ëüêè ÷îòèðè êíèæå÷êè [ ]. Øëþ Âàì ñâîþ ôîòîãðàô³÷íó êàðòêó, òàêîæ öåé íåâåëè÷êèé çøèòîê äåÿêèõ âæå äðóêîâàíèõ ³ ùå í³äå íåäðóêî- âàíèõ òâîð³â. Çøèòîê öåé ïðîõàþ ïîê³ðíî çâåðíóòè ìåí³, ÿê áóâà ÷èì ïîêîðèñòóºòåñü äëÿ Âàøîãî àëüìàíàõà. Çà òå ùî é ìåíå çãàäàëè, äÿêóþ.

Ç ùèðèì óøàíóâàííÿì Ãðèöüêî Êåðíåðåíêî Ìîÿ àäðåñà: ñ. Ãóëÿéïîëå, Åêàòåð. ãóá. Ãðèãîð³þ Áîðèñîâè÷ó Êåðíåðó

×åðí³ã³âñüê³é iñòîðè÷íèé ìóçåé. Al 52-147/1/539. Ëë. 1–2.

Fig. 2. Kernerenko’s signature, ca. 1888.

252 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 SUMMARY

Éîõàíàí Ïåòðîâñêèé-Øòåðí ðàçáèðàåò ìàëîîñâîåííûé èñòî- ðèîãðàôèåé ïðîöåññ åâðåéñêîé àêêóëüòóðàöèè â êîëîíèàëüíûé äèñêóðñ (íàïð. ëèòîâñêèé, ñëîâàöêèé), êîòîðûé ñîçíàòåëüíî ïðåä- ïî÷èòàåòñÿ “âûñîêèì ÿçûêàì” èìïåðñêîé êóëüòóðû (íàïð., ðóñ- ñêîìó èëè íåìåöêîìó).  ÷àñòíîñòè, âûáîð åâðåéñêèìè ïèñàòåëÿìè óêðàèíñêîãî ÿçûêà àâòîð ðàññìàòðèâàåò êàê ÿâíûé àíòèêîëîíèàëü- íûé æåñò. Àíàëèçèðóÿ êîíêðåòíûé ïðèìåð òàêîãî “æåñòà”, àâòîð âûõîäèò íà ïðîáëåìó ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ åâðåéñêîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè ñ ïîìîùüþ óêðàèíñêèõ êóëüòóðíûõ òðîïîâ è ñòàâèò âîïðîñ î ñóùåñòâîâàíèè åâðåéñêî-óêðàèíñêîãî òåêñòà (ïî àíàëîãèè ñ ðóññêî- åâðåéñêîé ëèòåðàòóðîé). Ñòàòüÿ ïîñâÿùåíà àíàëèçó æèçíè è òâîð÷åñòâà Ãðèãîðèÿ Áîðèñî- âè÷à Êåðíåðà (Ãèðø áåí Áîðóõ Êåðíåð, 1863-?), ïåðâîãî óêðàèíñêîãî ïîýòà åâðåéñêîãî ïðîèñõîæäåíèÿ, ïèñàâøåãî ïîä ïñåâäîíèìîì Ãðûöüêî Êåðíåðåíêî. Ïåòðîâñêèé-Øòåðí ñ÷èòàåò åãî îñíîâàòåëåì óêðàèíñêî-åâðåéñêîé ëèòåðàòóðíîé òðàäèöèè, çàðîäèâøåéñÿ â 1880-õ ãã. Àâòîð ðèñóåò ïîëèòè÷åñêóþ è êóëüòóðíóþ ñèòóàöèþ â èìïåðñêîì è óêðàèíñêîì îáùåñòâå âòîðîé ïîëîâèíû XIX âåêà, êîòîðàÿ ìàëî ñïîñîáñòâîâàëà èíòåãðàöèè åâðååâ â êîëîíèàëüíóþ óêðàèíñêóþ êóëüòóðó. Íà ýòîì ôîíå, èç ðåä÷àéøèõ ðàçðîçíåííûõ äàííûõ, îáíàðóæåííûõ â ðàçëè÷íûõ àðõèâàõ Óêðàèíû, îí âîññîçäàåò áèîãðàôèþ Êåðíåðåíêî/Êåðíåðà, ïðîâèíöèàëüíîãî åâðåÿ-óêðàèíñ- êîãî ïîýòà, ñîöèàëèçèðîâàâøåãîñÿ â óêðàèíñêîé êóëüòóðíîé ñðåäå, íà óêðàèíñêîì ÿçûêå, è îñòàâàâøåãîñÿ â íåé ìàðãèíàëüíîé ôèãóðîé. Óêðàèíñêàÿ êóëüòóðíàÿ îðèåíòàöèÿ îïðåäåëèëà ìàðãèíàëüíûé ñòàòóñ Êðåíåðåíêî è â ðîäíîì Ãóëÿé-Ïîëå, õîòÿ îí ïðèíàäëåæàë ê îäíîìó èç ñàìûõ áîãàòûõ è ýêîíîìè÷åñêè âëèÿòåëüíûõ ìåñòíûõ ñåìåéñòâ. Ïåòðîâñêèé-Øòåðí âñêðûâàåò íåîäíîçíà÷íûé õàðàêòåð èäåí- òè÷íîñòè Êåðíåðà íà ñàìûõ ðàçíûõ óðîâíÿõ: îò åãî íåïîñðåä- ñòâåííîãî êðóãà îáùåíèÿ äî ïîýòè÷åñêîãî è ýïèñòîëÿðíîãî íàñëåäèÿ. Îòäåëüíûé áîëüøîé ñþæåò ñòàòüè ïîñâÿùåí àíàëèçó âçàèìîîò- íîøåíèé Êåðíåðà è Èâàíà Ôðàíêî, êîòîðûå áûëè âàæíåéøèì ýïè- çîäîì óêðàèíñêîé ñîöèàëèçàöèè Êåðíåðà. Ôðàíêî æèâî èíòåðå- ñîâàëñÿ åâðåéñêèì ïðîñâåùåíèåì (Õàñêàëîé) è ñèîíèçìîì, îí ïðè- 253 From Hryts’ko Kernerenko’s Literary Heritage âëåê Êåðíåðåíêî ê ñîòðóäíè÷åñòâó â æóðíàëå “Ëèòåðàòóðíî-íàó- êîâûé âèñòíûê” è ïîìîã åìó îáðåñòè ãîëîñ ïåðåâîä÷èêà-ïîñðåä- íèêà ìåæäó óêðàèíñêîé è èäèøèñòñêîé êóëüòóðàìè. Äî 1900 ã. ñðåäè îñíîâíûõ òåì ïîýçèè Êåðíåðåíêî äîìèíèðîâàëè ýðîòèêà è Óêðàèíà. Ïåòðîâñêèé-Øòåðí ïîêàçûâàåò, êàê â èíòåðïðåòàöèè Êåðíåðà ýòè òåìû ïðèîáðåòàëè õàðàêòåðíîå åâðåéñêîå çâó÷àíèå áëàãîäàðÿ òðàíñëÿöèè åâðåéñêèõ êîíöåïòîâ â óêðàèíñêèé êîíòåêñò.  1900-õ ãã. â Êåðíåðå ïðîáóæäàåòñÿ èíòåðåñ ê åâðåéñêîé òåìàòèêå, â òîì ÷èñëå ê ñèîíèçìó, è îí èñïîëüçóåò âåñü äîñòóïíûé óêðàèíñêîìó ïîýòó ëèðè÷åñêèé ïîòåíöèàë äëÿ âûðàæåíèÿ ñâîåé åâðåéñêîé èäåí- òè÷íîñòè. Èìåííî ñ ýòîé òî÷êè çðåíèÿ â ñòàòüå ðàçáèðàþòñÿ êàê îðèãèíàëüíûå ïðîèçâåäåíèÿ Êåðíåðåíêî, òàê è åãî ïåðåâîäû åâðåéñêèõ ïîýòîâ, ïðåæäå âñåãî, Ñåìåíà Ôðóãà.  ýòèõ ïåðåâîäàõ îôîðìëÿëàñü ïàðàäèãìà óêðàèíñêî-åâðåéñêîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè – “ïàñûíêà”, êîòîðûé âîñïðèíèìàåò Óêðàèíó êàê “ìàòü”.  ñòàòüå àíàëèçèðóåòñÿ ðåàêöèÿ íà òâîð÷åñòâî Êåðíåðåíêî óêðàèíñêîé êðèòèêè ðóáåæà âåêîâ, êîòîðàÿ ðàññìàòðèâàëà åãî â äèàïàçîíå îò ýñòåòñòâóþùåãî ïîýòà äî ïðåäñòàâèòåëÿ óíèêàëüíîé óêðàèíñêî- åâðåéñêîé ëèòåðàòóðíîé òðàäèöèè.  ñîâðåìåííîé Óêðàèíå ôèãóðà Êåðíåðåíêî ïèòàåò èñòîðè÷åñêîå âîîáðàæåíèå êàê òåõ åâðååâ è óêðàèíöåâ, êòî îïòèìèñòè÷åñêè ðîìàíòèçèðóåò ïåðñïåêòèâû óêðàèíî-åâðåéñêîãî ñáëèæåíèÿ, òàê è òåõ, êòî ïûòàåòñÿ îöåíèòü åãî “ïîçèòèâíî-îáúåêòèâíî”.  çàêëþ÷åíèè Ïåòðîâñêèé-Øòåðí îòìå÷àåò, ÷òî âîïðåêè ðåàëüíîé ëèíãâèñòè÷åñêîé è ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ñèòóàöèè, Êåðíåðåíêî ðàññìàòðèâàë óêðàèíñêèé ÿçûê êàê óíèâåðñàëü- íûé ÿçûê íàöèîíàëüíîãî ñàìîâûðàæåíèÿ, êàê äèñêóðñ, îòêðûòûé òàêèì “ìàëûì” íàðîäàì, êàê åâðåéñêèé. Àâòîð ìåòîäîëîãè÷åñêè óãëóáëÿåò ýòîò âûâîä, ïðèâëåêàÿ ïåðñïåêòèâó ïîñòêîëîíèàëüíûõ èññëåäîâàíèé. Ëèòåðàòóðíîå íàñëåäèå Êåðíåðåíêî ñîñòàâëÿþò íåñêîëüêî ñîò ñòèõîòâîðåíèé, ïîýòè÷åñêèõ ïåðåâîäîâ, íåñêîëüêî êîðîòêèõ ðàñ- ñêàçîâ è ñêàçîê è îäíà ïüåñà. Íàïå÷àòàííûå ïðè æèçíè ïîýòà ñáîð- íèêè åãî ðàáîò ÿâëÿþòñÿ ñåãîäíÿ áèáëèîãðàôè÷åñêîé ðåäêîñòüþ. Îíè íå ïåðåèçäàâàëèñü ïîñëå âûõîäà ïîñëåäíåãî ñáîðíèêà â 1910 ãîäó. Íåñìîòðÿ íà òî, ÷òî îòäåëüíûå ñòèõè Êåðíåðåíêî â 1900-õ ãã. ïå÷àòàëèñü â óêðàèíñêèõ ïåðèîäè÷åñêèõ èçäàíèÿõ è âîøëè â óêðàèíñêèå ïîýòè÷åñêèå àíòîëîãèè, â êîíöå 1920-õ ãã. åãî èìÿ îêà- çàëîñü çàáûòûì. Ëè÷íûé àðõèâ Êåðíåðåíêî, ïî âèäèìîìó, ïîãèá

254 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 â ãîäû Ïåðâîé ìèðîâîé âîéíû. Äîêóìåíòû, ïîçâîëÿþùèå ðåêîí- ñòðóèðîâàòü ëèòåðàòóðíóþ áèîãðàôèþ Êåðíåðåíêî, íàõîäÿòñÿ â êîëëåêöèÿõ óêðàèíñêèõ êóëüòóðíûõ äåÿòåëåé ðóáåæà âåêî⠖ Îëåêñû Êîâàëåíêî, Êåñàðèÿ Áèëûëîâñüêîãî, Èâàíà Ôðàíêî. Äîêó- ìåíòû äëÿ íàñòîÿùåé ñòàòüè è àðõèâíîé ïóáëèêàöèè ñîáèðàëèñü â àðõèâàõ è ìóçåéíûõ õðàíèëèùàõ Êèåâà, ×åðíèãîâà, Ãóëÿé-Ïîëÿ.  ïðåäëàãàåìóþ ÷èòàòåëÿì AI àðõèâíóþ ïóáëèêàöèþ âîøëè ñåìü ñòèõîòâîðåíèé Êåðíåðåíêî, òðè ïîýòè÷åñêèõ ïåðåâîäà è òðè ïèñüìà (ïîñëåäíèå ïóáëèêóþòñÿ âïåðâûå).  ñâîåé ñîâîêóïíîñòè îíè ïîçâîëÿþò ëó÷øå ïîíÿòü ñâÿçàííûé ñ åãî èìåíåì â çíà÷èòåëüíîé ñòåïåíè óòîïè÷åñêèé ïðîåêò ñîçäàíèÿ åâðåéñêîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè íà óêðàèíñêîì ÿçûêå è â óêðàèíñêîì êîëîíèàëüíîì (ñîãëàñíî àâòîðó ïóáëèêàöèè) êóëüòóðíîì êîíòåêñòå.

255 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Dmitry GORENBURG

TATAR LANGUAGE POLICIES IN COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVE: WHY SOME REVIVALS FAIL AND SOME SUCCEED

Introduction For minority nationalist activists at the dawn of perestroika, the decline of titular languages was one of the most pressing problems facing their republics. By the late 1980s in the urban areas of most Soviet republics, minority languages had been largely supplanted by Russian.1 Members of minority ethnic groups used the Russian language in public more than they used their “native” languages. To some extent, this was the case at home as well, especially among younger cohorts.2 The fear of continuing language shift was one of the main mobilizing factors in the nationalist movements that deve- loped in virtually all ethnic regions of the Soviet Union in the late 1980s.3 While

1 I use the term minority to refer to the groups’ status within the Soviet Union as a whole. Some of the groups comprised majorities of the population of “their” territorial homelands. 2 Lenore A. Grenoble. Language Policy in the Soviet Union. Boston, 2003. Pp. 193-197. 3 Dmitry P. Gorenburg. Minority Ethnic Mobilization in the Russian Federation. New York, 2003; Mark R. Beissinger. Nationalist Mobilization and the Collapse of the Soviet State. New York, 2002. 257 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... the political success of these movements varied greatly, all of the former union republics of the Soviet Union and a majority of the former autono- mous republics undertook language revival programs after independence. This occurred even in those regions where former Communist elites retained power in the 1990s.4 In this article, I seek to examine the extent to which government-sponsored language revival programs are able to change the language-use situation in a region that is part of a large state with a different majority language. For this reason, I focus on Tatarstan, one of the ethnic republics that remained a part of Russia and did not become independent in 1991. Given its status as part of the Russian Federation and the even split between Tatars and Russians in the republic population, Tatarstan presents a good case for examining the extent to which government efforts to revive a language can succeed in a situation where another language continues to be widely spoken and is perceived by a large part of the population as more prestigious and more useful than the language being revived. I examine the process of language revival in Tatarstan in the context of the eight-stage Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale (GIDS) devised by Joshua Fishman.5 This scale measures the extent to which intergenera- tional language transmission has been disrupted by looking at the extent to which the threatened language is used in various private and public contexts. GIDS stages 6-8 address the extent to which a language continues to be spoken in the home. Stage 5 addresses literacy, stage 4 focuses on compulsory education, stage 3 on the work environment (including interaction with speakers of the majority language), and stages 1-2 include the use of the language in government and media. The first section of the article examines the extent to which a language shift had occurred in Tatarstan at the end of the Soviet period. The second section traces the efforts of the Tatarstan government to revive the language, while the third section addresses the extent to which these efforts were successful in reversing the Tatar to Russian language shift. Finding that these efforts have not been as successful as cultural activists and govern- ment language planners had hoped, I make a preliminary effort to examine possible causes of the success or failure of language revival programs in

4 Dmitry P. Gorenburg. Regional Separatism in Russia: Ethnic Mobilisation or Power Grab? // Europe-Asia Studies. 1999. Vol. 51. No. 2. Pp. 245-274. 5 Joshua Fishman. Reversing Language Shift: Theoretical and Empirical Foundations of Assistance to Threatened Languages. Clevedon, UK, 1991. Pp. 87-109. 258 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 minority ethnic regions by comparing language revival in Tatarstan to similar but far more successful programs in Spain.

Status Quo Ante: the Language Situation in Tatarstan at the Dawn of Perestroika6 When the Tatar nationalist movement was being established in 1988-89, the members of the Tatar cultural elite that served as its founders primarily blamed the Soviet government for the decline of Tatar culture and lan- guage. They noted that the Tatar language was being used less than at any time in modern history, pointing out that the number of books and newspapers being published in Tatar annually in the late 1980s was lower than the number published in 1913. Furthermore, they noted that Tatar had been virtually excluded from the public sphere in Tatarstan. It was not used in govern- ment (except in a few rural districts), on public transport, or in higher education. While the Tatar-language primary and secondary education system that had been established in the 1920s continued to function, it had largely been relegated to rural areas; virtually all Tatar children in urban areas were being educated in Russian. Tatars were expected to use Russian in public, especially where Russians were present, such as in stores, on the street, or on public transport. In many cases, Tatars speaking the Tatar language among themselves while riding on a bus or walking along the street were told by passing Russians to stop using that language in public. The combi- nation of state policy aimed at reducing the spheres in which the Tatar language was used and of the potential that someone speaking Tatar in public might face condemnation from passersby ensured that the Tatar language would rapidly disappear from the public sphere and would also be used less often in private settings.

6 In this article, I focus on the extent to which the Tatar language was used in various contexts at various points in time. I do not examine the extent to which the language had incorporated borrowings from Russian, nor do I examine the phenomenon of code- switching among Tatar-speakers. Suzanne Wertheim has done excellent work on these topics. See: Suzanne Wertheim. Language Ideologies and the “Purification” of Post- Soviet Tatar // Ab Imperio. 2003. No.1. Pp. 347-369; Eadem. Linguistic Purism, Language Shift and Contact-Induced Change in Tatar. University of California, Berkeley, 2003. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. Available at http://ling.northwestern.edu/~wertheim/; Eadem. Islam and the Construction of Tatar Sociolinguistic Identity // B. Forest, J. Johnson and M. Stepaniants (Eds.). Religion and Identity in Modern Russia: The Revival of Orthodoxy and Islam. London, 2005. Pp. 106-123.

259 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... Although Soviet censuses continued to show that the Tatar language retained a dominant position among ethnic Tatars, the reality was more complicated. While 96.6 percent of Tatars living in Tatarstan claimed Tatar as their native language in the 1989 census, a decrease of only one percent from the previous census in 1979, it has been widely recognized in Soviet censuses that the response to the native language question usually repre- sented simply a restatement of the respondent’s ethnicity.7 Thus the extent to which Tatars had come to use the Russian language in various contexts is better analyzed through sociolinguistic surveys, a number of which were carried out in Tatarstan in the mid-1980s and early 1990s. These surveys provide us with the status quo ante that shows both the extent to which the concerns of Tatar activists were valid and the extent to which the Tatarstan government was successful in reversing linguistic assimilation through the language revival program described in section two of this paper. Taken as a whole, these surveys show that while the Tatar language remained dominant in Tatar-populated rural districts, a large number of urban Tatars had switched to Russian as their primary language of commu- nication, both at work and at home. Thus a 1990 survey showed that about 10 percent of urban Tatars considered both Russian and Tatar to be their native languages,8 while 4 percent claimed Russian and the remaining 86 percent Tatar. The same survey showed that while 97.4 percent of rural Tatars could speak, read, and write Tatar fluently, only 65.1 percent of urban Tatars had the same level of facility with the Tatar language. By comparison, 84 percent of urban Tatars were fluent in Russian. Another 23.3 percent of urban Tatars said that they were fluent speakers of the language but could read and write it only with difficulty. As for the rest, 7.8 percent noted that they spoke Tatar only with difficulty, 2.7 percent could understand but did

7 Throughout the paper, the term “native language” refers to the Russian term rodnoi iazyk, which does not necessarily imply actual ability to speak the language. Native language, as used in this context, is often simply a statement of the respondent’s linguistic identity, which usually (but not always) mirrors his/her ethnic identity. Brian Silver. The Ethnic and Language Dimensions in Russian and Soviet Censuses // Ralph S. Clem (Ed.). Research Guide to the Russian and Soviet Censuses. Ithaca, NY., 1986. Pp. 70-97. 8 Researchers from the Tatarstan Institute of Language, Literature and History conducted the survey discussed in this paragraph. They surveyed 1000 Russian and 1000 Tatar respondents from 12 cities and towns throughout Tatarstan. A second survey examined language use among 800 Tatars in Kazan. For more on the methodology of the surveys, see: Z. A. Iskhakova. Dvuiazychie v gorodakh Tatarstana (1980-90-e gody). Kazan, 2001. Pp. 9-10. 260 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 not speak the language, and the final 1.1 percent said that they did not know any Tatar whatsoever. The number of Tatar speakers was even lower in Kazan, the capital of Tatarstan, as compared to other urban areas in the republic. In Kazan, just over half of the respondents said they were fully fluent in Tatar, and almost 30 percent were unable to speak the language or spoke it only with difficulty.9 Given that most Tatars worked in ethnically mixed environments and few Russians spoke Tatar, it was not surprising that Tatars tended to use Russian or to mix languages in the workplace. However, Tatars tended to speak Russian at work even when conversing with other Tatars (Table 1). Furthermore, Russian had become the dominant language among urban Tatars in most private contexts as well. As shown in Table 1, although urban Tatars continued to speak Tatar with their parents, Russian played a much bigger role in other contexts, particularly when speaking with children. Furthermore, 46.5 percent of Tatar children spoke Russian exclusively among themselves, while only 19.4 percent spoke Tatar. The rest used both languages.10 The survey also showed that even Tatars who spoke Tatar at home and at work received information from Russian sources. Again, in

TABLE 1. LANGUAGE USE AMONG URBAN TATARS, BY CONTEXT (1990)

With With With pre- With older At work Reading Wat- parents spouse school- children with news- ching aged Tatars papers TV children Tatar 72.9 57.8 32.5 26.2 29.1 14.1 9.8 Both 18.2 22.1 36.6 40.7 36.0 36.3 75.6 Russian 8.6 19.9 30.8 33.034.8 6 14.6 49. Source: Z. A. Iskhakova. Dvuiazychie v gorodakh Tatarstana (1980-90-e gody). Pp. 42-44, 50.

TABLE 2. LANGUAGE USE AMONG KAZAN TATARS, BY CONTEXT (1990)

With With With pre- With older At work Reading Wat- parents spouse school- children with news- ching aged Tatars papers TV children Tatar 66.8 52.0 30.7 24.8 26.0 1 11. 9.8 Both 20.6 22.0 33.7 38.6 32.6 30.9 69.2 Russian 12.6 26.0 35.6 36.6 41.4 58.1 21.1 Source: Eadem. Pp. 59, 62.

9 Eadem. Pp. 39-40. 10 Eadem. Pp. 43. 261 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... the capital city of Kazan, the position of the Tatar language was slightly weaker in all contexts compared with other cities in the republic (Table 2). The extent to which urban Tatars used Tatar or Russian depended on several factors, including the language in which they were educated, their age, and their place of birth (urban versus rural). Surveys conducted in several cities in the mid-1980s show the extent to which these factors affect the use of Tatar in various settings.11 Language of education was a particu- larly important factor. Whereas over half of Tatars educated in the Tatar language used it exclusively with their Tatar friends, just over a third of those educated in both languages and only about one-seventh of Tatars educated in Russian did so. Similarly, respondents educated in Tatar were almost five times more likely to speak Tatar at work than those educated in Russian (Table 3). Younger Tatars were more likely than older ones to use the Russian language in various personal contexts, including speaking with parents, spouses, and children.12 Similarly, Tatars born in rural areas were 2.5 times more likely to speak Tatar both with friends and at work than those born in the city.13 At the same time, the length of time a person had lived in the city did not seem to have an appreciable effect on the likelihood of using the Tatar language in various contexts.14 TABLE 3. LANGUAGE USE AMONG URBAN TATARS BY LANGUAGE OF EDUCATION (1985) Language First Tatar of education Tatar then Russian Russian Language used Tatar Both Russian Tatar Both Russian Tatar Both Russian With friends 50.9 45.6 3.5 36.8 60.5 2.6 13.7 61.8 23.6 At work 36.7 53.3 9.7 31.8 54.4 13.2 7.5 63.4 28.9 Listen to radio 5.4 90.3 4.2 1.0 94.2 4.8 0 73.1 26.8 Read literature 16.96.6 76.9 81.08.0 16.0 1.5 24.5 67.9 Read newspapers 6.6 86.3 7.1 0 76.3 23.6 0 32.5 67.5 Write letters 56.9 33.7 4.3 40.4 45.7 13.8 5.9 24.5 65.4 Source: N. Kh. Sharypova. Kultura russkoi rechi u tatar. Pp. 114-116.

11 Unfortunately, the authors of the survey did not use modern statistical methods, so it difficult to determine how these factors correlate with each other or which ones might show statistical significance in a multivariate regression. N. Kh. Sharypova. Kultura russkoi rechi u tatar. Moscow, 1989. See Pp. 68-75 for a discussion of this survey’s methodology. 12 N. Kh. Sharypova. Kultura russkoi rechi u tatar. Pp. 80-84. 13 Eadem. Pp. 85-86. 14 Eadem. Pp. 87-96. 262 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Obviously, factors such as age, language of education, and place of birth are all highly correlated, given that the availability of Tatar language edu- cation had declined over time during the late Soviet period and had always been more widely available in rural areas, and that younger Tatars are some- what more likely to have been born in the city than their elders, given the low proportion of Tatars in urban areas prior to the 1960s. While the available information does not allow one to determine the relative significance of these factors, it is clear that some combination of native language education, rural origin, and age explains a great deal of the variation in language use among urban Tatars. In terms of the GIDS scale, Tatar was almost entirely unused in stages 1-3. In urban areas, government services were not available in Tatar.15 Even in Tatar villages, where village council meetings often used the Tatar lan- guage, official records and correspondence with other government agencies took place in Russian. There were a number of Tatar newspapers and a mini- mal level of Tatar television and radio broadcasting, but these were of rela- tively low quality and were designed to appeal to a rural audience. Tatar was also rarely used in the industrial and service economy, in which pre- vailing language norms ensured that the presence of any non-speakers of Tatar would require Tatar-speakers to shift to Russian even in private conver- sations. As of the late 1980s, it was gradually losing ground in the areas of inter- generational language transmission (stage 6), widespread literacy (stage 5), and use in lower education (stage 4). At the same time, Tatar had clearly not reached GIDS stages 7-8, in which intergenerational language trans- mission is almost entirely lost. In rural areas, the language was secure in all three intermediate stages: Tatar language education was available through the high school level guaranteeing literacy, and the combination of native language education and a predominantly Tatar linguistic environment ensured intergenerational language transmission. Given the almost total elimination of Tatar language education from urban areas, Tatar had largely disappeared from stage 4 there. Tatar literacy (stage 5) was still common among older urban residents, who had either received their education in Tatar in the 1970s or earlier or had migrated to the cities from rural areas. Finally, the oral transmission of Tatar to younger generations in urban areas,

15 The occasional Tatar-speaking government employee could reply to questions in Tatar, but given that almost all Tatars spoke Russian, such situations occurred rarely if at all. 263 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... while not completely eliminated, was in great danger, as about one third of Tatars spoke Russian exclusively with their children and almost half of Tatar youth never spoke Tatar among themselves. The survey data discussed in this section thus show that prior to the commencement of Tatarstan’s language revival program, the Tatar language was relatively secure among rural Tatars, but in decline among Tatarstan’s urban population. More urban Tatars were fluent in Russian than in Tatar and even those who spoke Tatar fluently were at least as likely to use Russian to speak to their coworkers and their children. The future of the language also seemed relatively bleak, as urban Tatar children were being educated almost entirely in Russian and spoke Russian almost exclusively among themselves.

The Tatarstan Language Revival Program and its Implementation Given the extent to which Russian had displaced the Tatar language, Tatar cultural and political elites were united in their desire to reverse the decline in the use and status of the Tatar language. The republic’s leaders took concrete measures to spur the revival of Tatar, including expanding the reach of Tatar education, mandating the equal use of Tatar in government, and promoting Tatar language use in the public sphere. In terms of the GIDS language revival scale, most of the revival effort was focused on stages 4 and 5 (education and literacy) and stages 1 and 2 (use in government and media). Relatively little effort was devoted to ensuring language revival in private business (stage 3). Both Tatar and Russian inhabitants of the republic by and large accepted this program, although some Russian activists expressed concern about the potential for discrimination based on language knowledge.

The Revival of Tatar Education The government’s efforts to revive the Tatar language were initially focused on increasing the number of Tatar children who received their primary and secondary education in Tatar. While the percentage of Tatar children being educated in Tatar language schools had been as high as 70 per- cent as recently as 1970, by 1990 it had dropped to 24 percent, and was only 3 percent in urban areas. Sociolinguistic studies of language use in Tatarstan had showed that Tatar children educated in Russian were far less likely to be fluent in Tatar than their Tatar-educated peers and tended to speak Russian in most contexts.16 For this reason, Tatar leaders decided

16 N. Kh. Sharypova. Kultura russkoi rechi u tatar. 264 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 that if they wanted to ensure the survival of Tatar as a language of mass communication in the republic, restoring Tatar-language education had to be their top priority. After the republic’s declaration of sovereignty in 1990, the proportion of Tatar children educated in Tatar-language schools grew at a rate faster than at any time since the establishment of mass public educa- tion in the 1920s. Between 1990 and 2001, the proportion of Tatar students who study all subjects in Tatar increased from 24 percent to 49.3 percent and this continues to rise. The fastest increase, from 28.5 to 41 percent, occurred between 1992 and 1994. Whereas by the end of the Soviet period, Tatar schools were virtually nonexistent in urban areas (only 3 percent of urban students were educated in Tatar in 1990), by 1995 28 percent of them were receiving a Tatar language education.17 The change in Kazan is particu- larly striking: over half of Tatar students were receiving education in Tatar by 1998.18 While many new Tatar schools were opened in cities during the 1990s, a large part of the increase in the percentage of Tatar children attending Tatar-language schools is the result of the establishment of mixed Russian/Tatar language schools through the creation of Tatar-language streams in what were previously purely Russian language schools. Similar changes occurred in education for younger children; 70 percent of Tatar children attended Tatar language preschools and kindergartens in 1999, up from 23.5 percent in 1992.19 At the same time, Tatar officials responsible for education were not fully satisfied with the increase in Tatar language education. Some complained that just over half of Tatar schoolchildren continued to attend Russian- language schools. The greatest challenges to increasing Tatar-language education included a dearth of qualified teachers with the necessary knowledge of the Tatar language and a lack of Tatar-language textbooks. In both cases, math and science were particularly affected.20 Furthermore, officials complained about the difficulty of convincing parents to send children to Tatar language schools, because many parents believed that their

17 Republic of Tatarstan Ministry of Education Data. 18 F. G. Akhmadeev. Problemy realizatsii zakonodatelstva Respubliki Tatarstan o iazykakh v g. Kazani // Iazykovaia Situatsiia v Respublike Tatarstan: Sostoianie i Perspektivy. Chast’ 1. Kazan, 1999. P. 49. 19 I. G. Khadiullin. Realizatsiia Zakona “O iazykakh narodov Respubliki Tatarstan” v obrazovatelnykh uchrezhdeniiakh // Iazykovaia Situatsiia v Respublike Tatarstan: Sostoianie i Perspektivy. Chast’ 1. Kazan, 1999. P. 62. 20 Kh. G. Aminova. Podgotovka pedagogicheskikh kadrov dlia uchrezhdenii natsionalnogo obrazovaniia respubliki // Ibid. Pp. 97-101. 265 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... children’s career prospects would be damaged by an insufficient command of the Russian language.21 Officials believed that the only way to change this perception was to expand Tatar-language higher education. Prior to 1991, higher education in Tatarstan functioned almost exclusively in Russian (the Kazan Pedagogical Institute’s Faculty of Tatar Philology being the only exception). Graduates of Tatar-language schools were at a disadvantage in having to pass entrance exams in Russian to gain admission to these universities. After the republic’s language law was passed in 1992, students applying to Russian-language universities were allowed to take their entrance exams in Tatar, largely resolving this problem. However, Tatar leaders still sought to expand the range of instruction offered in Tatar. The opening of the Tatar State Humanities Institute in 1996 provided an impetus for other universities to offer instruction in Tatar. In the following years, all pedagogical institutes and most other universities opened sections with instruction in Tatar, although only about 10 percent of the total number of students was enrolled in these sections. In Kazan, university- level instruction in Tatar remained limited to the Tatar department of the Pedagogical Institute, and the Tatar and Journalism departments of Kazan State University. Furthermore, instruction in the sciences and in technical fields remained almost entirely the domain of Russian language instruction, with only a few exceptions at three or four universities, including the Kazan Architectural Construction Academy. As of 1998, only about 1,000 stu- dents were being educated in Tatar in technical and scientific fields. Tatar academics and cultural elites hope that the eventual establishment of a Tatar State National University will eliminate this gap by establishing a high quality university providing a complete education in the Tatar language in any field. The Tatarstan parliament ordered in 1997 that such a university should be established by 2000.22 However, given the lack of funding and the extent to which higher education is controlled by the central government in Moscow, such a university is unlikely to be established in the near future.23

21 F. Sagdeeva. Problemy kultury tatarskoi rechi v usloviiakh aktivnogo dvuiazychiia. Kazan, 2003. 22 K. M. Minnullin, L. G. Sharifullina (Eds.). Iazykovaia politika v Respublike Tatarstan: Dokumenty i materially (80-90-e gody). Kazan, 1999. P. 49. 23 G. Khasanova, K. Minnullin. O iazykovoi politike v vysshem obrazovanii v Tatarstane // Ibid. Pp. 326-337; G. G. Badrutdinova. Problemy primeneniia tatarskogo iazyka v sfere nauki i vysshei shkoly // Problemy iazyka, literatury, i narodnogo tvorchestva. Vyp. 2. Kazan, 2002. Pp. 115-118; L. K. Bairamova. Tatarstan: Iazykovaia simmetriia i asimmetriia. Kazan, 2001. P. 54. 266 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Tatar officials and scholars have argued that Tatar will not achieve equal status with Russian in the republic as long as all Tatars speak the Russian language but virtually no Russians speak Tatar. To end this asymmetrical bilingualism, the Tatarstan government introduced Tatar language, litera- ture, and history as required subjects in all of the republic’s schools. Prior to 1993, virtually no non-Tatar schoolchildren studied the Tatar language. Study plans introduced at the time by the Ministry of Education called for four to five hours per week of Tatar language instruction in all grades in all Russian-language schools. Tatar-language schools were to devote seven hours per week to Tatar in early grades and four hours per week in high school. All schoolchildren in the republic were furthermore required to devote one hour per week in grades 5, 8, and 9 to the history of Tatarstan and its people.24 The implementation of these plans was to be overseen by assistant directors for national education, who were assigned to each Russian-speaking and mixed Tatar-Russian school in the republic.25 Once introduced, the Tatar language requirement quickly became part of the curriculum in almost all republic schools. By 1995, 92 percent of school- children in Tatarstan were studying the Tatar language. This number went up to 98 percent by 1998 and has since reached 99.1 percent.26 The main limita- tion on extending Tatar language instruction to all Russian language schools proved to be a shortfall in qualified teachers of Tatar language and literature. Many of the teachers initially sent to teach Tatar in Russian-language schools were not qualified as language teachers, but were simply teachers of other subjects who happened to speak Tatar. The quality of instruction in many of these schools in the early years of the program consequently left much to be desired. The government recognized the problem and estimated that the intro- duction of mandatory Tatar language classes in all of the republic’s schools required the training of almost 5,000 additional teachers. Although the increase in the number of Tatar language sections in the republic’s pedagogical insti- tutes and other institutions of higher learning covered most of this shortfall, the problem was not expected to be completely resolved until 2005.27

24 Vestnik Ministerstva Narodnogo Obrazovaniia Respubliki Tatarstan, August 1993. Pp. 10, 51-55. 25 Katherine E. Graney. Education Reform in Tatarstan and Bashkortostan: Sovereignty Projects in Post-Soviet Russia // Europe-Asia Studies. 1999. Vol. 51. No. 4. P. 617. 26 Z. A. Iskhakova. Funktsionalnoe vzaimodeistvie tatarskogo i russkogo iazykov v sovremennom Tatarstane // Iazyk i etnos na rubezhe vekov. Etnosotsiologicheskie ocherki o iazykovoi situatsii v Respublike Tatarstan. Kazan, 2002. P. 21. 27 Kh. G. Aminova. Podgotovka pedagogicheskikh kadrov dlia uchrezhdenii natsionalnogo obrazovaniia respubliki. P. 100. 267 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... All of these innovations are based on principles that were first developed in the “Plan for the Development of Tatar Education” and then enshrined in the republic’s language and education laws. The education law describes the philosophy and purpose of Tatar ethnic education as follows, “The activity of Tatar ethnic educational institutions is directed toward the revival of individual ethnic consciousness, based on the priority of common human values. In Tatar ethnic educational institutions, education is based on the Plan for the Development of Tatar Education.” The formulation of this plan began as early as 1989. The Education Ministry approved it in 1991. Its basic principles state that the educational process must be based on the idea of Tatar national rebirth, that each child is part of the future of the nation, that education and ethnic upbringing are part of a single process, that education should occur in the child’s native language, and that a Tatar environment needs to be fostered in all Tatar schools. The plan calls for the creation of a special state fund for the development of Tatar schools, which should receive priority in funding until they reach the level of development of ethnic schools in the former union republics of the Soviet Union. The plan also provides for mandatory Tatar language instruction for Russian children.28 This provision was codified in article 10 of the language law and article 6 of the education law, which require that Russian and Tatar be studied in equal measure in all schools and kindergartens in Tatarstan.29 Because of the revival program, cultural activists and the government made significant progress in solidifying the Tatar language’s position in public education at the primary and secondary school level. The adoption and success- ful implementation of the requirement that all students attending public schools study the Tatar language was designed to ensure widespread basic literacy in the language (GIDS stage 5). Furthermore, whereas Tatar language education was almost entirely absent from urban areas in 1990, ten years later more than a third of ethnically Tatar children living in urban areas were receiving their education in Tatar. In this way, the government moved toward ensuring the widespread presence of Tatar education throughout Tatarstan (GIDS stage 4).

EXPANDING THE USE OF TATAR IN GOVERNMENT AND THE PUBLIC SPHERE After education, the most significant efforts in Tatar language revival were focused in large part on restoring (or introducing) Tatar language use in government and the media (GIDS stages 1-2). The legal basis for promoting

28 Panorama. 1991. No. 8. Pp. 15-30. 29 Vedomosti Verkhovnogo Soveta Tatarstana. June 1992; Vedomosti Verkhovnogo Soveta Tatarstana. October 1993. 268 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 the use of the Tatar language in the public sphere began with the adoption of a language law in July 1992. After heated argument, the parliament rejected the idea of making Tatar the republic’s sole state language, instead giving it and Russian equal rights. Nonetheless, the law significantly increased the status of the Tatar language, requiring that the government conduct its business and publish its laws in Tatar as well as Russian. The courts, media, industrial enterprises, public transport, and scientific and cultural institutions were also required to use both languages in conducting their affairs and in interacting with the public. The law mandated the formula- tion of a program for the preservation and development of the Tatar lan- guage that was to include opening Tatar language kindergartens, broadening Tatar-language education, expanding Tatar publishing, television, and radio broadcasting, and translating important non-Tatar works of literature into Tatar and Tatar literature into Russian.30 The implementation of this law began slowly. Many of the key provi- sions were designed to be implemented over a ten-year period. Some of the others foundered due to a lack of qualified specialists and financial problems. Nonetheless, a report on the law’s implementation in Naberezhnye Chelny, Tatarstan’s second largest city, found that the city government was conducting business in both languages, taking measures to expand Tatar- language education, and increasing access to Tatar language materials in city libraries. The picture looked far less rosy outside the state sphere. Most industrial and commercial enterprises, the report found, had made no effort to conform to the language law and were continuing to conduct business exclusively in Russian.31 To speed up implementation, the Supreme Soviet adopted the State Program for the Preservation, Study, and Development of the Languages of the Peoples of the Tatarstan Republic in the summer of 1994. Despite its name, this program is almost entirely devoted to the preservation, study, and development of a single language, Tatar. Of the 126 points in the program, 67 are devoted explicitly to Tatar. Another 26 do not mention Tatar but in light of existing conditions can be assumed to address it primarily. Only 33 points address all of the languages spoken in Tatarstan in equal measure and none address Russian exclusively. The program addresses all aspects of language revival. Some of its most important recommendations include the creation of a list of professions

30 Law on Languages // Vedomosti Verkhovnogo Soveta Tatarstana. 1992. No. 6. Pp. 3-10. 31 Vedomosti Verkhovnogo Soveta Tatarstana. 1993. No. 6-7. Pp. 46-48. 269 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... that will require the knowledge of both state languages, a 15% salary bonus for workers in these professions who know both languages, the creation of facilities in places of work, study, and leisure for the study of Tatar, the expansion of Tatar-language education at all levels, the opening of a Tatar national state university, and the expansion of all forms of Tatar-language publication and media.32 This program led to a rapid increase in the spread of Tatar throughout public life. Tatar language classes for adults were introduced in the republic’s larger cities. These classes were primarily designed for Russians and Tatars with little to no ability to speak Tatar and were supplemented with newspaper columns and short television programs designed to assist people studying Tatar on their own. Synchronous translation became available for parlia- mentary debates. Bilingual street signs are now ubiquitous and public transport drivers frequently make announcements in both languages.33 A 1998 law required all products sold in the republic to have descriptions and ingredients listed in both Russian and Tatar.34 Several new Tatar-language journals and newspapers are now available, including children’s periodicals. Radio and television broadcasting in Tatar has increased by several hours per week.35 Traditional Tatar place-names are replacing Russian and Soviet ones throughout the republic.36 The results of this campaign for a Tatar revival can be seen in an increase in the use of Tatar outside the home, both on the street in private conversation and at school and work.37 At the same time, officials in charge of the language revival program remain dissatisfied with many aspects of its progress. They note that many decisions and laws are obeyed only superficially. While Tatar and Russian are supposed to have equal status in the conduct of government business, in reality all official documents are composed in Russian and are then trans- lated into Tatar for publication. Although government workers and teachers who speak both Russian and Tatar receive a 10-15 percent salary increase,

32 Vedomosti Verkhovnogo Soveta Tatarstana. 1994. No. 8-9. Pp. 3-19. 33 Interviews and personal observation during research trips in 1995, 1996, 1998 and 2002. 34 K. M. Minnullin, L.G. Sharifullina (Eds.). Iazykovaia politika v Respublike Tatarstan: Dokumenty i materially (80-90-e gody). Kazan, 1999. Pp. 55-56. 35 R. A. Iusupov. Gosudarstvennye iazyki i razvitie narodov Respubliki Tatarstan // Tatarskoe vozrozhdenie: epokha i lichnosti. Kazan, 2000. P. 211. 36 F. G. Garipova. Toponimy: sviaz proshlogo i nastoiashchego // Mezhetnicheskie i Mezhkonfessionalnye otnosheniia v respublike Tatarstan. Kazan, 1993. P. 214. 37 Personal observation and N. Kh. Sharypova. Problema izucheniia tatarskogo iazyka v respublike // Ibid. P. 194. 270 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 few Russians have chosen to learn Tatar as a result. Most of the facilities for adult learning of the Tatar language that were opened in the early 1990s have closed due to lack of interest and most Russians think that the salary bonus is just a way for the government to favor ethnic Tatars (most of whom are bilingual) over Russians.38 Commercial enterprises have made few efforts to ensure the availability of Tatar speakers for contact with customers who would prefer to speak Tatar. But despite the officials’ frustration with the slow pace of some aspects of Tatar language revival, both the status and the range of functions of the language are much higher than they were fifteen years ago.

ATTITUDES TOWARD THE TATAR LANGUAGE REVIVAL PROGRAM Efforts to increase the status of the Tatar language and to stem the decline of its use among the Tatar population received broad support among both Tatar and Russian inhabitants of the republic. Furthermore, a large number of ethnic Russians in Tatarstan quickly came to support the notion that they should make an effort to learn the Tatar language. Not surprisingly, support for ensuring the continued use of the Tatar language was very strong among Tatars. Surveys conducted during the 1990s showed that approximately 80 percent of Tatars believed that Tatar children should study the Tatar language in school. A similar share of the Tatar population wanted their own children to be able to speak Tatar. At the same time, most Tatars accepted the dominant role of the Russian language in their society and sought only to give the Tatar language a similar status, rather than elevating Tatar at the expense of Russian. Only about 20 percent thought that Tatar should be the sole state language in the republic, whereas about 72 percent believed that there should be two state languages. Just under 90 percent thought that all state workers should be able to speak both Tatar and Russian, while over 90 percent thought the president of the republic should speak both languages.39 The consensus for bilingualism among the Tatar population made the language revival program an easy sell among the republic’s titular inhabitants.

38 F. A. Ganiev. Tatarskii iazyk: problemy i issledovaniia. Kazan, 2000. Pp. 364-365. 39 G. F. Gabdrakhmanova. Iazykovoe iskliuchenie: prichiny i formy proiavleniia // Iazyk i etnos na rubezhe vekov: Etnosotsiologicheskie ocherki o iazykovoi situatsii v Respublike Tatarstan. Kazan, 2002. Pp. 110-147; Z. A. Iskhakova. Funktsionalnoe vzaimodeistvie tatarskogo i russkogo iazykov v sovremennom Tatarstane // Iazyk i etnos na rubezhe vekov: Etnosotsiologicheskie ocherki o iazykovoi situatsii v Respublike Tatarstan. Kazan, 2002. Pp. 13-41. 271 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... Tatar politicians were more concerned about potential opposition toward the Tatar language revival among the ethnic Russian population, who had for decades gotten by without learning any Tatar and who had seen the introduction of anti-Russian language policies in the Baltic states even before the break-up of the Soviet Union. But while some Russian activists did oppose efforts to introduce the mandatory study of Tatar in Russian schools and spoke out about the potential consequences of mandatory bilingualism in certain professions, the vast majority of Tatarstan’s Russian population accepted the policy of two state languages promulgated by the republic’s government. This change of opinion came early in the revival process. Thus, support among Russians for the study of both languages in school rose from 13 percent in 1990 to 61 percent in 1993 and has hovered around the 60 percent mark ever since. A 1997 survey showed that 70 percent of urban Russians and 92 percent of rural Russians wanted their children to learn to speak Tatar.40 About 43 percent of urban Russians surveyed in 1990 wanted to learn Tatar themselves and a similar percentage believed that Russians should be able to speak Tatar in a 2001 survey. Acceptance of official bilin- gualism has also reached high levels, with over 70 percent of Russians supporting the idea that state workers must speak both Russian and Tatar, according to surveys carried out in 1993 and 2001.41

TATAR LANGUAGE REVIVAL IN THE GIDS FRAMEWORK Given the high levels of support among both Russians and Tatars for bilingualism in the republic, it is not surprising that the government was able to implement a fairly extensive language revival program during the 1990s. Compared to the status of the language at the dawn of perestroika, the government and cultural activists made significant progress in reviving the Tatar language. Prior to the adoption of the revival program, Tatar was almost unused in government, higher education, or linguistically mixed work environments, and had a fairly limited presence in local media (GIDS

40 This percentage has declined in subsequent surveys to 60 percent among the entire Russian population in 1999 and 50 percent in 2001. Z. A. Iskhakova. Funktsionalnoe vzaimodeistvie tatarskogo i russkogo iazykov v sovremennom Tatarstane; G. F. Gabdrakhmanova. Iazykovoe iskliuchenie: prichiny i formy proiavleniia. 41 An even higher percentage, 77 percent in 1993 and 83 percent in 2001, believed that the president of the republic should speak both languages. Z. A. Iskhakova. Funktsionalnoe vzaimodeistvie tatarskogo i russkogo iazykov v sovremennom Tatarstane; Ibid. Iazyk kak faktor stabilnosti i konfrontatsii // Aktualnye voprosy Tatarskogo iazykoznaniia. Vyp. 2. Kazan, 2003. Pp. 112-119. 272 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 stages 1-3). It was also retreating in education (stages 4-5) and in intergenera- tional language transmission (stage 6). The revival effort focused in large part on restoring or introducing Tatar language use in government and the media (stages 1-2) and in education (stages 4-5): the hope was that these efforts would increase Tatar language use and stop the erosion of intergenera- tional language transmission. The revival program was quite successful in reversing language shift in those areas on which it directly focused and in changing popular attitudes toward greater support for the use of Tatar in various contexts. However, greater support for bilingualism and even an increase in the range of functions of the Tatar language did not necessarily translate into changes in linguistic behavior among members of either ethnic group. In the next section, I will examine the extent to which this language revival program has succeeded in its primary aim of increasing the proportion of the population that knows Tatar and actively uses it in various contexts.

The Failure of GIDS Stage 6 Revival: Continuing Decline in Tatar Language Use among Tatars Despite government officials’ successes in implementing a language revival program during the 1990s, the percentage of Tatars using the Tatar language continued to decline throughout this period. Low levels of lan- guage competence and use were particularly endemic among younger Tatars, indicating the continuing erosion of intergenerational language transmis- sion, especially in urban areas. The proportion of Tatars who considered Tatar to be their native language remained relatively unchanged at 88.3 percent, including 96.4 of rural and 84 percent of urban Tatars.42 At the same time, a 2000 survey showed that one-fifth of Tatar youth considered both Russian and Tatar as their native languages, while 72 percent listed only Tatar and the remaining eight percent listed only Russian.43 Given the likelihood that

42 Unlike the 1990 survey, the 2001 survey did not give “both Tatar and Russian” as a response option. Without this option, the percentage of respondents who listed Russian as their native language increased from 3.9 to 8.8, while those who listed Tatar increased from 85.7 to 88.3 percent. This survey was based on a representative sample of the adult population of Tatarstan. Z. A. Iskhakova. Funktsionalnoe vzaimodeistvie tatarskogo i russkogo iazykov v sovremennom Tatarstane. P. 28. 43 This survey sample included 1000 inhabitants of Tatarstan aged 15-29. R. I. Zinurova. Rol rodnogo iazyka v protsesse etnicheskoi sotsializatsii molodogo pokaleniia v Respublike Tatarstan // Iazyk i etnos na rubezhe vekov: Etnosotsiologicheskie ocherki o iazykovoi situatsii v Respublike Tatarstan. Kazan, 2002. P. 94. 273 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... survey questions about native language significantly overstate language competence due to the connection between language and ethnicity, the per- centage of Tatars that consider Tatar to be the language they speak best may be a better measure of the extent of ability to speak Tatar. A 2000 survey of Tatar youth showed that only 20.5 percent of Tatars under age 30 speak Tatar better than they speak Russian. An additional 42.9 percent declared that they speak both languages equally well, while 36.6 percent claimed greater fluency in Russian than in Tatar.44 Speaking ability among Tatars had, if anything, declined in the years since the start of the language revival program.45 While complete 2001 data for urban Tatars is not available, published results from this survey indicate that only 58.8 percent of urban Tatars are completely fluent in the Tatar language, as compared to 65.1 percent in 1990. A similar decline is regis- tered among rural Tatars, of whom 91.6 percent considered themselves able to speak, read, and write in Tatar in 2001, as compared to 97.4 percent in 1990.46 The use of Tatar also continued to erode during the 1990s: the per- centage of Tatars using the Russian language at work increased from 35 to 43.5 percent, while the percentage of respondents who used either Tatar or both languages declined. The percentage of urban Tatars using Tatar exclusively

TABLE 4. PRIMARY SPEAKING LANGUAGE (2001 SURVEY) Urban Rural At home At work At home At work Tatar 36.1 9.6 89.8 69.5 Both 37.1 41.5 4.8 13.8 Russian 24.3 43.5 3.0 12.0 Source: Z. A. Iskhakova. Funktsionalnoe vzaimodeistvie tatarskogo i russkogo iazykov v sovremennom Tatarstane. P. 31.

44 Idem. P. 94. 45 Some of this decline may be attributed to the aging of the population. Older urban residents with high Tatar competence who have died since 1990 have been replaced by younger generations with less competence in Tatar. This phenomenon cannot explain the entire decline, however. Furthermore, if language revival efforts had been successful, the youngest generations would show higher levels of Tatar competence, compensating for the deaths of the oldest generations. See the data on Catalonia, below, for an example of this process at work. 46 Z. A. Iskhakova. Funktsionalnoe vzaimodeistvie tatarskogo i russkogo iazykov v sovremennom Tatarstane // Iazyk i etnos na rubezhe vekov. P. 30.

274 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 at home also declined, from 48 percent in 1994 to 36 percent in 2001, while the proportion using Russian increased from 22 to 24 percent and those using both languages went from 30 to 38 percent. Tatar language use de- clined even among rural Tatars, who went from 98.6 percent Tatar speak- ing at home in 1994 to 89.8 percent in 2001. At work, the decline was even steeper, from 92 percent in 1994 to 69.5 percent in 2001 (Table 4). After ten years, the increase in Tatar language education for ethnic Tatars has not had an appreciable impact on Tatar language use among Tatar youth. The majority of Tatars under age 30 use Russian when speaking with friends and when reading, while use in the home is almost evenly split between Tatar, Russian, and both equally (Table 5). Given that surveys in the mid-1990s showed more than half of Tatar youth speaking Tatar at home, it appears that Russian is continuing to make inroads among Tatar children in both rural and urban areas. TABLE 5. PREFERRED LANGUAGE AMONG TATARS UNDER AGE 30 BY CONTEXT (2000) At home With friends Reading Tatar only 20.7 6.9 3.9 Mostly Tatar 15.6 8.7 4.5 Tatar and Russian equally 35.9 37.2 35.0 Mostly Russian 19.1 32.4 29.7 Russian only 8.7 14.6 26.4 Source: R. I. Zinurova. Rol’ rodnogo iazyka v protsesse etnicheskoi sotsializatsii molodogo pokaleniia v Respublike Tatarstan. Pp. 99, 104, 106. The Tatar linguistic revival program has not been entirely fruitless in affecting language knowledge and use in Tatarstan. The introduction of mandatory Tatar language classes for all schoolchildren has been effective in increasing Tatar language knowledge among that part of the population that does not study in Tatar schools. Surveys show a substantial increase in the number of Russians with at least some knowledge of the Tatar lan- guage, although the total number of Russians fluent in Tatar is still quite tiny. The total percentage of urban Russians with at least some ability to speak Tatar almost doubled, from 6.2 percent in 1990 to 12.3 percent in 2001. The percentage of urban Russians who can understand Tatar but can- not speak it also increased, from 12.1 to 16.8 percent.47 The extent of Tatar

47 G. F. Gabdrakhmanova. Iazykovoe iskliuchenie: prichiny i formy proiavleniia // Iazyk i etnos na rubezhe vekov. P. 121. 275 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... language knowledge is even greater among Russian youth, of whom 22 per- cent can speak Tatar at some level and an additional 21 percent can under- stand Tatar but do not speak it.48 This is not surprising, given that few Russians have studied Tatar in the last fifteen years outside of school. The increase in knowledge of Tatar among Russians thus appears to be the direct result of the language revival program. Prior to the 1990s, most Tatarstani Russians had no opportunity to learn Tatar, since it was not offered in Russian schools and the government did not encourage its study. The lan- guage revival led to a huge increase in the opportunities available to Russians for Tatar language study. Furthermore, some Russians have sought to learn some Tatar because they believed that knowing the language would benefit their career prospects.49 In other words, given the minuscule number of Russians who spoke Tatar prior to the start of language revival, the benefits of being one of the early adopters of the Tatar language were sufficiently high that a number of Russians learned the language once the opportunity to do so presented itself. However, Russians who have learned Tatar rarely use it in public contexts, except when they want to keep information secret from Russian monolinguals. Most of them also have a fairly low level of linguistic competence.50 The Russians who have learned Tatar in the last fifteen years have done so largely for pragmatic reasons and this knowledge has not led to changes in their linguistic behavior.

Why Failure? A Comparative Explanation The virtual impossibility of enacting policies that directly impact individual language choices is the greatest difficulty faced by language revival programs. While the goal is usually to increase the number of speakers and the range of contexts in which these speakers use the endangered language, language revival policies focus on improving the status of the language by increasing its use in government, education, the media, and the workplace. The hope is that if people have more opportunities to learn the language and feel that

48 Ibid. P. 121. 49 Most Tatars who rarely used the Tatar language nonetheless knew it sufficiently well to get a job that required some knowledge of both languages, so this new incentive did not significantly change their calculus in deciding which languages to study. 50 Unfortunately, little survey or observation data is available on the extent of Tatar- language competence among Russians in Tatarstan for the last decade. My conclusions are based on informal personal observations during repeated visits to the region from 1995 to 2002. 276 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 the language is undergoing a revival, they will be more likely to learn it and to use it. The primary goals of Tatarstan’s language revival program were to ensure that Tatar language use increased in the public sphere and that the next generation of Tatars continued to use the Tatar language as their primary means of communication. The program proved to be moderately successful in expanding the use of Tatar in the public sphere but unsuccessful in reversing the trend toward a decrease in Tatar language knowledge and use among ethnic Tatars. The majority of the resources devoted to cultural issues in Tatarstan during the 1990s were devoted to expanding education in the Tatar language at all levels, increasing the use of Tatar in government offices and in the public sphere, and replacing Russian language signs with bilingual ones throughout the republic. Increasing knowledge of Tatar among the republic’s Russian population was a secondary goal that did not receive nearly as much attention. The Tatar language classes for adults that were started in the early 1990s disappeared almost immediately. Plans to require members of certain professions to speak both languages remained incomplete for over a decade. Tatar language classes were made mandatory for all schoolchildren, however. And this last effort proved to be the only part of the Tatar language revival program that had an appreciable impact on language use and knowledge patterns in the republic a decade after the revival began. How do the results of Tatarstan’s language revival program compare with those in other parts of the world? While a full comparative study is outside the scope of this article, some preliminary comparative observa- tions from Spain may help us explain why language use and knowledge in Tatarstan has continued to decline despite the significant improvement in the language’s status and range of functions. The Spanish cases of Catalonia and Euskadi (the Basque Country) are particularly relevant. Spain, like the Soviet Union, was for several decades a repressive state that sought to replace regional languages with the nation- al language. To this end, Castilian Spanish was the only language allowed in the classroom and in government during the Franco period. Also, like in the Soviet Union, wealthy minority regions attracted large numbers of im- migrants, most of whom belonged to the majority linguistic group. In both cases, immigration largely stopped at the beginning of the democratization period. Finally, as in Russia, the end of the dictatorship allowed regional cultural and political leaders to enact linguistic revival programs beginning in the late 1970s, which were particularly far-reaching in Catalonia and Euskadi. 277 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... The 1983 Catalan language law required Catalan school instruction for a minimum of two subjects and encouraged all schooling to gradually shift to instruction in Catalan. The ability to pass a Catalan language exam became a high school graduation requirement for all students. Schooling was not segregated by ethnicity or mother tongue; all children in a particular neighborhood studied together. Furthermore, Catalan immersion programs were started in predominantly Castilian neighborhoods. These programs could be implemented despite the constitutional requirement that all children be guaranteed an opportunity to be educated in their native language because Castilian-speaking parents wanted their children to learn Catalan and were willing to enroll them in Catalan-speaking schools.51 The language revival program also extended to the government and the media. Whereas in the late 1970s very few civil servants could speak Catalan, by the mid-1980s Catalan became the exclusive language in parliament, all laws were written in Catalan, and regional government officials always spoke Catalan in public. The government began a serious effort at providing language-training courses for civil servants, although Castilian continued to be used in regional branch offices of the central government, as well as in the army, police, and judiciary.52 At the same time, the government established Catalan-language television and expanded Catalan radio broadcasting.53 The 1997 language law went even further, stating that all official forms and documents would be issued only in Catalan, and would be made available in Castilian only upon request. Admission to the Catalan civil service required oral and written fluency in Catalan. Firms receiving subsidies from the regional government were required to interact with that government exclusively in Catalan. Finally, Catalan language quotas were introduced for film, radio, and private television broadcasting.54 The focus throughout the two decades of language revival implementation was on ensuring the freedom of Catalan-speakers to use Catalan in any and every context, even if measures to ensure this freedom were taken at the expense of the rights of Castilian monolinguals to employment in government, education, and the media.

51 Jude Webber, Miquel Strubell i Trueta. The Catalan Language: Progress Toward Normalization // The Anglo-Catalan Society Occasional Publications. 1991. Vol. 7. 52 Miquel Siguan. Multilingual Spain. Amsterdam, 1993. Pp. 154-156. 53 Clare Mar-Molinero. The Teaching of Catalan in Catalonia // Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development. 1989. Vol. 10. No. 4. Pp. 307-320. 54 Elisa Roller. The 1997 Llei del Catala: A Pandora’s Box in Catalonia? // Regional & Federal Studies. 2001. Vol. 11. No. 1. P. 46.

278 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 The results of the Catalan language revival program in increasing language knowledge and use were impressive and appeared quickly after the commence- ment of the program. The ability to understand Catalan increased from 81 per- cent in 1981, to 90 percent of the population in 1986, and to 95 percent of the population by 1996. Speaking, reading, and writing abilities rose more gradually (Table 6). The impact of the education program on knowledge of Catalan is shown by the high rates of Catalan knowledge among 15-29 year olds, who were 15 percent more likely to know Catalan than 30-44 year olds and 27 percent more likely than 45-64 year olds.55 Overall use of Catalan has also increased, with linguistically mixed couples now four times more likely to raise their children in Catalan or bilingually than solely in Spanish.56 TABLE 6. LINGUISTIC ABILITY IN CATALAN (PERCENT) 1981 1986 1991 1996 2001 Understand 81 90.3 93.8 95.0 94.5 Speak 64 64.0 68.3 75.3 74.5 Read 61 60.5 67.6 72.4 74.3 Write 32 31.5 39.9 45.8 49.8 Don’t understand 19 9.4 6.2 5.0 5.5

Source: Catalan census data. See: http://www.idescat.net/en/poblacio/poblcensling.html While the Basque region was even wealthier than Catalonia, it was more similar to Tatarstan, since the Basques had a lower status than immigrant Castilians. Furthermore, the Basque and Castilian languages were completely unrelated. Both of these factors made the linguistic environment in Euskadi prior to the start of the revival program quite similar to that found in Tatarstan. In 1975, only 40 percent of the native- born Basque population understood Basque, while 30 percent could speak it.57 The language revival program in the region was not as extensive as that of Catalonia. While all schools were required to teach the Basque language, it initially became the language of instruction only in a minority

55 Miquel Strubell. Catalan a Decade Later // Joshua A. Fishman (Ed.). Can Threatened Languages Be Saved? Reversing Language Shift, Revisited: A 21st Century Perspective. Clevedon, UK., 2000. P. 276. 56 Idem. P. 278. 57 Robert P. Clark. Language and Politics in Spain’s Basque Provinces // West European Politics. 1981. Vol. 4. No. 1. Pp. 85-103.

279 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... of schools.58 While new civil servants were required to pass a Basque language exam, the government essentially continued to function in Castilian, with the exception of the language and culture departments. Despite the limits of the language revival program in Euskadi, about half of respondents in a 1986 survey thought that knowledge of Basque helped in finding work, while almost two-thirds thought that Basque speakers had better jobs than Castilian monolinguals. Although the initial linguistic situation was not very favorable for Basque and the linguistic revival program in Euskadi was not as extensive as that of Catalonia, Basque language knowledge and use has nevertheless increased substantially in the region over the last two decades. The percentage of the population who consider themselves Basque-speakers has increased from 21.6 percent of the population in 1981 to 32.3 percent in 2001. Partial speakers also increased, from 14.5 percent to 23 percent, during this time period (Table 7). Most interestingly, the percentage of respondents who declared Castilian to be their mother tongue and who considered themselves fluent in Basque increased from 4.7 percent in 1986 to 14.6 percent in 2001. This shows that the Basque language is, for the first time, beginning to make some inroads among the Castilian immigrant community. The use of the Basque language among those fluent in it has also increased, although to a smaller extent. Surveys using direct observation of language use show that the percentage of the population using Basque in their everyday commu- nication has increased from 7.6 percent in 1989 to 10 percent in 1997. Furthermore, the highest values and fastest rates of increase in Basque- language use were found among children and young adults.59 TABLE 7. BASQUE LANGUAGE KNOWLEDGE (PERCENT) 1981 1986 1991 1996 2001 Basque-speakers 21.6 24.6 26.3 30.9 32.3 Partial speakers 14.5 17.4 19.8 19.7 23.1 Spanish monolinguals 64.0 58.0 53.9 49.4 4.6 Source: Basque census data. See: http://www.eustat.es/bancopx/spanish/indice.asp

58 In 1986, 20 percent of public schools taught entirely in Basque, and an additional 16 percent taught some subjects in Basque. Basque language education did become dominant over the next decade, and by 1998, 45 percent of schools taught entirely in Basque, while a further 28 percent taught in both languages. David Lasagabaster. Bilingualism, Immersion Programmes and Language Learning in the Basque Country // Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development. 2001. Vol. 22. No. 5. P. 411. 59 Idem. P. 405. 280 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 How can we explain the success of efforts to reverse language shift in Catalonia and Euskadi, and the failure of similar efforts to stem the decline in language knowledge and use in Tatarstan? Scholars of Catalan sociol- inguistics have attributed the success of the Catalan linguistic revival program to several factors. They argue that, most importantly, the Catalan language benefited from the high social status of Catalan-speakers in the region. Because Catalonia was one of the wealthiest regions in Spain, it attracted a large number of Castilian immigrants and by 1975 about half of its popu- lation was made up of Castilians. However, native Catalans dominated its economy, whereas the immigrants tended to hold positions in unskilled labor and other low-status occupations. Even though Castilian was the primary language in most workplaces, learning Catalan was therefore seen as a pathway to social mobility and most Castilian-speaking parents were happy to have their children learn Catalan. Furthermore, the Catalan and Castilian language are closely related, reducing the costs and time required to learn Catalan. Given the status benefits of learning Catalan and the relative ease with which the language could be learned, it is perhaps not surprising that Catalan revival policies succeeded in reversing the language shift. Furthermore, the Catalan government engaged in a public campaign to encourage Castilian- speakers to learn Catalan, emphasizing that to be Catalan one simply had to learn the language and accept the identity of belonging to the region. This open identity, combined with the ease of learning Catalan for Spanish-speakers and the status and economic advantages of speaking the official language, meant that there were high incentives and low costs for Spanish-speakers to learn Catalan. Explaining success in the Basque case is somewhat more challenging. Virtually none of the favorable factors present in the Catalan case apply to Basque. The language is quite difficult for Spanish speakers to learn and the Basque identity is largely closed to immigrants, since it is based primarily on ethnic descent rather than region and language. The percentage of Basque speakers in the region is much lower than the percent of Catalan speakers in Catalonia (or even Tatar speakers in Tatarstan), and since the linguistic revival program in the region was not as far-reaching as Catalonia’s, there were fewer economic incentives to learn Basque. Yet the rates of Basque language knowledge have been increasing, both among ethnic Basques and among Spanish immigrants. The main factor appears to be the increase in the language’s status in the region. For Basques, the ideology of nationalism and ethnic revival has led to a renewed focus on maintaining Basque culture, 281 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... including the language. For non-Basques, the recognition that Basque is the official language of the Basque Country has, in some cases, led to a willingness to learn it. This is especially true for younger non-Basques, who are increasingly exposed to the Basque language in their schooling. Do the Spanish cases help us shed light on the reasons for the continuing decline of Tatar language use? Tatarstan shares some characteristics with both Spanish regions. First, the continuing pressure of the dominant Russian linguistic environment is the cause of the continued decline of Tatar language use among Tatars, and especially among urban youth. Although the revival program has increased the visibility (and audibility) of Tatar in public places, most of Tatarstan’s cities are still predominantly Russian-speaking zones. In large part, this is the result of simple demographics. Most of the larger cities are predominantly Russian, and Russians comprise over 50 percent of the population in Kazan. In addition to the ethnic Russians and Russian- speaking Slavs, a minority of urban Tatar adults are linguistically Russified. Altogether, about two-thirds of Tatarstan’s urban population speak Russian as their primary language. This Russophone linguistic environment cannot be changed in a relatively short period of time by measures such as the introduction of Tatar language street signs and the publication of republic legislation in Tatar. The expansion of Tatar language education for children may have some impact in the long run, but it affects neither the Russo- phone Tatars who are already out of school nor the 50 percent of Tatar children who are still being educated in Russian language schools. Furthermore, the Tatar case shares most of the difficulties faced by Basque. It is in a different language family from Russian, and therefore quite difficult for Russians to learn. Tatar identity is based on ethnicity and is not open to Russian assimilation. Given the continuing dominance of Russian in both government and private employment, economic incentives for learning Tatar are quite low. It appears that the main difference between Tatar and Basque is that the status of Tatar vis-à-vis Russian has not increased greatly since the language revival began. Outside of the numerically small cultural elite, Tatar continues to be viewed by urban Tatars as a language most suitable for use in the home or the village, rather than in high culture, science, and government.60

60 Z. A. Iskhakova. Funktsionalnoe vzaimodeistvie tatarskogo i russkogo iazykov v sovremennom Tatarstane // Iazyk i etnos na rubezhe vekov. Pp. 13-41.

282 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 These findings suggest that success in reversing language shift depends greatly on the extent to which cultural activists are able to increase the status of the endangered language vis-à-vis the newly dominant language. Language revival programs are unlikely to change linguistic behavior when they are undertaken in an environment where the language being revived remains subordinate to and less prestigious than another language. They may, however, encourage some members of other ethnic groups to learn the language for pragmatic reasons, such as to improve their employment prospects or to increase their status with the ruling ethnic group that is undertaking the language revival program.

SUMMARY

 ñòàòüå Äìèòðèÿ Ãîðåíáóðãà ðàçáèðàåòñÿ âîïðîñ î òîì, íàñêîëüêî ïðîâîäèìûå ïî èíèöèàòèâå è ïðè ïîääåðæêå ïðàâèòåëüñòâà ïðîãðàììû ÿçûêîâîãî âîçðîæäåíèÿ ñïîñîáíû èçìåíèòü ëèíãâèñ- òè÷åñêóþ ñèòóàöèþ â ðåãèîíå, âõîäÿùåì â áîëüøîå ãåòåðîãåííîå ãîñóäàðñòâî ñ îòëè÷íûì (îò òèòóëüíîãî ðåãèîíàëüíîãî) ÿçûêîì áîëüøèíñòâà.  ïîèñêàõ îòâåòà àâòîð îáðàùàåòñÿ ê èññëåäîâàíèþ ÿçûêîâîé ïîëèòèêè â îäíîì èç ðåãèîíîâ Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè – Òàòàðñòàíå, íàñåëåíèå êîòîðîãî ïî÷òè ïîðîâíó ðàçäåëåíî íà òàòàð è ðóññêèõ. Òàòàðñòàí, òàêèì îáðàçîì, ïîçâîëÿåò óâèäåòü, â êàêîé ñòåïåíè ïðàâèòåëüñòâåííûå óñèëèÿ ïî âîçðîæäåíèþ òàòàðñêîãî ÿçûêà ìîãóò áûòü óñïåøíûìè â ñèòóàöèè, êîãäà íàñåëåíèå ïðî- äîëæàåò øèðîêî ïîëüçîâàòüñÿ ðóññêèì ÿçûêîì è ðàññìàòðèâàòü åãî êàê áîëåå ïðåñòèæíûé è ïîëåçíûé. Îñíîâíîé öåëüþ ïîëèòèêè âîçðîæäåíèÿ â Òàòàðñòàíå òàòàðñ- êîãî ÿçûêà ÿâëÿëîñü ðàñøèðåíèå åãî èñïîëüçîâàíèÿ â ïóáëè÷íîé ñôåðå è âîñïèòàíèå ïîêîëåíèÿ, êîòîðîå áû ñ÷èòàëî òàòàðñêèé îñíîâ- íûì ÿçûêîì â ïîâñåäíåâíîì îáùåíèè. Àâòîð îöåíèâàåò óñïåõ ýòîé ïðîãðàììû ñäåðæàííî: îíà ïðèâåëà ê ðàñøèðåíèþ ïóáëè÷íîé ñôåðû èñïîëüçîâàíèÿ òàòàðñêîãî ÿçûêà, íî íå ñëîìèëà òåíäåíöèþ ê ñîêðàùåíèþ ÷èñëà ãðàìîòíûõ òàòàðîôîíîâ è ýòíè÷åñêèõ òàòàð, îáùàþùèõñÿ ìåæäó ñîáîé ïðåèìóùåñòâåííî ïî-òàòàðñêè. Ïðîâîäÿ ñðàâíèòåëüíûé àíàëèç ìåæäó òèïîëîãè÷åñêè ñõîæèìè ñèòóàöèÿìè â ðàçíûõ ðåãèîíàõ è ñòðàíàõ, Ãîðåíáóðã ïîêàçûâàåò, ÷òî óñïåõ

283 D. Gorenburg, Tatar Language Policies in Comparative Perspective... ïðàâèòåëüñòâåííîé ïîëèòèêè âîçðîæäåíèÿ ÿçûêà â çíà÷èòåëüíîé ñòåïåíè çàâèñèò îò òîãî, íàñêîëüêî ìåñòíûå êóëüòóðíûå àêòèâèñòû ñïîñîáíû ïîâûñèòü ñòàòóñ “óùåìëåííîãî” ÿçûêà, èíà÷å ó ïðàâè- òåëüñòâåííûõ ïðîãðàìì íåò øàíñîâ èçìåíèòü ëèíãâèñòè÷åñêîå ïîâåäåíèå íàñåëåíèÿ. Îäíàêî äàæå â ýòîì ñëó÷àå óñèëèÿ ïðàâè- òåëüñòâà ìîãóò ñòèìóëèðîâàòü ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé íåòèòóëüíûõ ýòíè- ÷åñêèõ ãðóïï èçó÷àòü òèòóëüíûé ÿçûê ïî ïðàãìàòè÷åñêèì ñîîáðà- æåíèÿì (êàðüåðíûì, ñòàòóñíûì).

284 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Joan F. CHEVALIER

LANGUAGE POLICY IN THE RUSSIAN FEDERATION:

RUSSIAN AS THE “STATE” LANGUAGE*

Introduction In March of 2001 a draft law entitled “On the Russian language” was first introduced to the Duma of the Russian Federation. The law was controversial in several respects. The draft proposed banning the use of “derogatory, and obscene words and expressions” in the public forum, including any form of mass media. A prohibition against the use of foreign lexicon if commonly accepted Russian equivalents exist was also in the draft. The law declared Russian to be the “state” language of federal government. The law was passed by the Duma in February of 2003 and was renamed to “On the state language of the Russian Federation.” The Federation Council subsequently rejected it, sending it back to the Duma for revision. During the process of revision the ban on obscene and offensive language was replaced with an article forbidding the use of “non-normative” language. The final revision of the draft law was completed after the last round of national elections in October of 2004. Scheduled to be discussed later that month, it has not yet been debated. The fate of this law is uncertain at present.

* This research was made possible by a grant from the Kennan Institute. 285 J. Chevalier, Language Policy in the Russian Federation... The draft bill merits close scrutiny even if it never comes to a vote. It is the first major piece of legislation dealing with language planning to appear at the federal level in recent years. Analysis of the evolution of the bill and comparison of various redactions, as I will establish, provide insight into current trends in language policy at the federal level. The public debate engendered by the legislation provided a forum for popular opinion about the current status of Russian and broader language planning issues, and thereby affords insight into the role of language in the formation of national identity. This article begins by introducing the issue of language policy and official languages and their status and function within the larger framework of language planning. An overview of the development of language policies in the Russian Federation since 1989 argues that “On the state language of the Russian Federation” is best understood as a reaction to legislation adopted at both the federal and republic level since the breakup of the Soviet Union. Russian was first declared the “official” (ofitsial’nyi) language of the USSR in 1990. The Constitution of the Russian Federation adopted in 1993 granted former autonomous republics the right to establish state languages (gosu- darstvennye iazyki) at the republic level. Since 1990 all twenty-one republics have adopted some form of legislation designating a state language or languages. The new legislation was drafted in 2001 in response to potential conflicts between language policies at the republic level and the federal level. Analysis of the content of the draft law in the second half of the article shows that the most recent versions of the law echo the general political trend of centralization currently observed at the federal level. The evolution of language policy within the Russian Federation since 1989 has swung away from a legal recognition of bilingualism in the private and public spheres towards a more restrictive application of the notion of promotion- oriented policies (defined below).

Definitions Three Russian terms are commonly used in discussions of language policy: titul’nyi iazyk, “titular language,” ofitsial’nyi iazyk, “official language”1 and gosudarstvenyi iazyk, “state language.” The term “official language”

1 The term “official language” appeared in article 4 of the 1990 draft of the law “On the languages of the peoples of the USSR.”

286 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 has been widely used worldwide in language legislation granting languages legal status, but it has rarely been used in Russian language legislation.2 The designation “national language” is also used in language policy docu- ments outside of Russia, although it appears less frequently than the designation “official language.” The term natsional’nyi iazyk or “national language” rarely appears in discussions of language policy in Russia. Titul’nyi iazyk, “titular language,” refers to the language spoken by the ethnolinguistic group sharing the name of the republic. The term most frequently used in federal Russian language policy is gosudarstvennyi iazyk, “state language.”3 Twenty of the twenty-one republics in the Russian Federation have granted languages (in most cases the titular language(s) in addition to Russian) status as “state languages.”4 One of the architects of language laws drafted after the breakup of the Soviet Union, V. P. Neroznak, cites UNESCO definitions in his discussions of current language policies in the Russian Federation (hence- forth RF).5 He defines an “official language” as one that is used for “state management, legislation, and court procedures,” whereas a state language “realizes the integrating, consolidating function in the political, social-economic, and cultural spheres within one state and serves as one of the symbols of the state”.6 Neroznak’s definitions provide some clue about the possible motivations for the use of the term “state language” in earlier pieces of Russian legislation. Nevertheless, these key terms used in language legislation in the RF have never been legally defined. The legislation under discussion in this article was drafted, in part, in an attempt to establish a legal definition of the state language (gosudarstvennyi iazyk) at the federal level.

2 The term “official language” is used, for example, in the Official Languages Act of Canada. 3 I have provided a literal translation of the Russian term gosudarstvennyi, “state,” throughout the article. 4 The Republic of Karelia is the only exception. The “Languages in the Republic of Karelia Act,” enacted in 2000, designated Russian as the language of state, while Karelian, Vespian, and Finnish are recognized as regional languages. T. V. Kryuchkova. Effective Language Politics: The Case of Karelian. Paper read at World Congress on Language Policy, at Barcelona, Spain (2002). http://www.linguapax.org/congres/taller/taller3/ Krjuchkova.html. (accessed June 2, 2004). 5 V. P. Neroznak. Language Laws of the Peoples of the Russian Federation and Programming Language Development (1999). Paper read at Minority Languages in Russia: Perspectives for Development, 2000, at Elista, Kalmykiia. 6 V. P. Neroznak. Gosudarstvennye i titul’nye iazyki Rossii. Moscow, 2002. P. 456.

287 J. Chevalier, Language Policy in the Russian Federation... Language Policies and Language Planning: The Larger Picture Language policy can be divided into three subsets: language practices; language planning, efforts to modify or manage language practices; and language ideology or beliefs about language use.7 Sociolinguist Robert Cooper defines language planning as “deliberate efforts to influence the behavior of others with respect to the acquisition, structure, or functional allocation of their language codes”.8 Cooper’s tripartite subdivision of language planning includes: status planning, selection of language norms; corpus planning, codification of language forms; and acquisition planning, policies about the teaching and learning of language. Language is a core component of ethnic and cultural identity. Language policies can affect the identity of communities and they can influence patterns of political participation.9 Granting a language legal status as an official or national language comes under the general rubric of status planning. In the modern global arena the practice of granting languages some kind of official status is quite common. Approximately 100 of the world’s constitutions grant one or more languages special status as “national” or “official” languages.10 Yet only 4% of the world’s languages have any official status11 and very few countries in the world are monolingual. Declaring an official language is, as May observes, “a deliberate, political act”12 since it can polarize a multilingual society into winners and losers. Supporters of a single official language typically claim that use of a single legally recognized language in official spheres is more efficient, that it unifies citizens of a multilingual and multiethnic society, and that it promotes identity with a larger national, interethnic community. As Patten and Kimlicka note: “linguistic homoge- nization has been one of the central mechanisms that states have used to inculcate a common civic identity in diverse societies”.13 Opponents of national

7 Bernard Spolsky. Language Policy. Cambridge, 2004. P. 5. 8 Robert Leon Cooper. Language Planning and Social Change. Cambridge & New York, 1989. P. 45. 9 Brian Weinstein. Language Policy and Political Development, An Overview // B. Weinstein (Ed.). Language Policy and Political Development. NJ, 1990. 10 Bernard Spolsky. Language Policy. Cambridge, 2004. Pp. 11-12. 11 Suzanne Romaine. The Impact of Language Policy on Endangered Languages // International Journal of Multicultural Studies. 2002. Vol. 4. No. 1. P. 1. 12 Stephen May. Misconceiving Minority Language Rights // Language Rights and Political Theory. Oxford, 2003. P. 127. 13 Alan Patten, Will Kimlicka. Language Rights and Political Theory: Introduction: Context, Issues and Approaches // Will Kimlicka, Alan Patten (Eds.). Language Rights and Political Theory. Oxford, 2003. P. 13. 288 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 languages argue that the consequence of such designations is that profi- ciency in the official language becomes a precondition for services (health, education, employment, etc.).14 Thus the debate about official languages within multilingual states has been characterized as a conflict of the principles of efficiency and fairness.15 Opponents claim that language policies that recognize a single official language are unfair since they discriminate against linguistic minorities, while policies that give all languages official recognition are criticized as impractical and inefficient. Linguistic minorities often seek official recognition of their language in hopes that political or legal status will boost efforts to resist and counteract pressures of language shift, thus supporting the continued vitality of minority languages, and in hopes that it will facilitate minority access to economic and political power. Granting more than one language official status should, in theory, accord all speakers of official languages equal rights.16 Equal status in practice, however, may not be an achievable goal. Minority languages lacking a codified written language or that do not have a well-developed literary tradition may not have the lexical or stylistic resources to be used across a full spectrum of functional spheres.17 The issue of official languages in a multilingual state can be framed by the larger problem of minority language policies and rights. Patten and Kymlicka’s paradigm18 of policy options highlights some of the difficult choices language policy makers must make when balancing minority versus majority rights. The classification of language policy introduced by Patten and Kymlicka juxtaposes choices between tolerance-oriented rights and promotion-oriented rights; norm-and-accommodation rights and granting languages official status; and between rights based on territory and those based on the personality principle. Tolerance-oriented rights guarantee the individual right to language choice in the private sphere. Promotion-oriented rights permit the use of minority languages in the public sphere such as in

14 Fernand de Varennes. Language Minorities and Human Rights. The Hague, 1996. Pp. 86-87. 15 Jonathan Pool. The Official Language Problem // The American Political Science Review. 1991. Vol. 85. No. 2. P. 496. 16 Bruno de Witte. Conclusion: A Legal Perspective // S. G. Vilfan, L. Wils (Eds.). Ethnic Groups and Language Rights. New York, NY, 1993. 17 For a discussion of the issue of stylistics and functional spheres for Turkic languages in the RF, see A. N. Baskakov, O. D. Nasyrova. Iazykovye situatsiia v tiurkoiazychnykh respublikakh Rossiiskoi Federatsii // V. Mikhalchenko (Ed.). Iazyki RF i novogo zarubezh’ia: status i funktsii. Mokscow, 2000. 18 Patten and Kimlicka. Op. Cit. Pp. 26-31. 289 J. Chevalier, Language Policy in the Russian Federation... administration, the courts, and in the education system. Within this frame- work different groups may be granted different types of rights. For example, immigrants may be accorded tolerance-oriented rights but not promotion- oriented rights. According to Patten and Kymlicka’s classification of language policy,19 the norm-and-accommodation approach typically recog- nizes the use of the majority, or dominant language, within the public sphere. Accommodations are made for those who lack proficiency in the majority language to provide them with sufficient resources (such as interpreters) to function in the public sphere. Patten and Kymlicka juxtapose the norm- and-accommodation approach and the policy of granting certain languages official status. The designation of language rights may also be based on territory. In Belgium, for example, language rights vary according to territory, so that the multilingual state is divided into unilingual areas. Language policies based on the personality principle, such as in Canada, accord all citizens the right to language choice no matter where they happen to be. The analysis of language policies in the Russian Federation since 1989, including the draft law presented below, shows a fundamental change in the way federal lawmakers approach language rights. Policies have shifted away from legally recognized multilingualism to a more restrictive interpre- tation of promotion-oriented rights. The draft law “On the state language of the Russian Federation” grants promotion-oriented rights to speakers of the majority language, Russian, while minority languages speakers are granted primarily tolerance-oriented rights.

Language Planning in the Russian Federation 1989–1999 In the late eighties and early nineties nationalist independence movements in the Soviet republics initially rallied around the language issue. In January of 1989 Estonia became the first republic to pass a language law, declaring Estonian as the “official” language of Estonia. Latvia, Lithuania and Byelorussia quickly followed.20 By May of 1990 all of the Soviet republics except for the Russian SFSR had passed language laws. Thus the language issue in general, and language laws in particular, were the initial salvo in the “bloodless revolution”21 that led to the breakup of the Soviet Union.

19 Idem. Pp. 27-29. 20 Both Russian and Byelorussian were established as state languages in Byelorussia in 1996. 21 M. N. Guboglo. Perelomnye gody. (Seriia “Natisionalnye dvizheniia v SSSR i v postsovetskom prostranstve”). Moscow, 1993. 290 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 The movement to secure official status for titular languages subsequently spread to autonomous republics within the Russian Federation, although in a less radical form. The Russian language was not granted any privileged legal status during the Soviet period until October of 1990 when the legislation “On the languages of the peoples of the USSR” was passed. The law was the first official document to legally recognize and guarantee the language rights of linguistic minorities in the USSR.22 It was passed only after language laws had been passed in eleven Soviet republics.23 Thus the 1990 law “On the languages of the peoples of the USSR” can be viewed as the central government’s belated response to deal with widespread mobilization and, in some cases, radicalization of ethnolinguistic minorities.24 The law established Russian language as the “official” language of the USSR (Article 4). However, the law failed to provide a legal definition of the term “official language.” The law also gave union and autonomous republics the right to do what most of the union republics had already done: grant the titular languages legal status as state languages. This initial version of the law (it was revised in 1991 and in 1998) pledged a state guarantee of “linguistic sovereignty.”25 The law established a legal basis for a territorial distribution of language rights within official spheres, guaranteeing citizens the right to communicate with the government in their native language and giving local courts the right to conduct business in the language of spoken by the majority of the population (Article 10). The law pledged government support of minority languages (Article 5) and it guaranteed freedom of language choice in education (Article 6).

22 Alexei A. Leontiev. Multilingualism for All – Russians? // T. Skutnabb-Kangas (Ed.). Multilingualism for All. Lisse, 1995. P. 206. 23 Three of the four republics (the fourth being the Russian SFSR) that did not pass languages laws, Armenian SSR, Azerbaijani SSR, and the Georgian SSR, ratified constitutions in 1978 that granted titular languages official status. 24 For more on language law and ethnic mobilization see Dmitry P. Gorenburg. Minority Ethnic Mobilization in the Russian Federation. Cambridge, UK; New York, 2003. Grenoble (Language policy in the Soviet Union. Pp. 206-207) states that “the law was in some ways redundant and in some reactionary, and it represented a futile attempt to regain control of language legislation in the republics.” Nevertheless, comparative analysis of language laws provides evidence that this law was used a model for many of the language laws drafted by individual republics within the RF after 1991. 25 This provision was revised in 1998, replacing the term “linguistic sovereignty” with the term “linguistic equality (ravnopravie).”

291 J. Chevalier, Language Policy in the Russian Federation... After the breakup of the USSR in 1991, the law was expanded and renamed to reflect the new political reality: “On the languages of the peoples of the Russian Federated Socialist Republic.”26 Article 3 was amended to declare Russian as the “state” language of the RF. The new version of the law retained articles granting republics the right to declare titular languages as state languages, it retained all of the provisions guaranteeing basic language rights, and articles were rephrased and expanded to allow for the use of other “state” languages in addition to Russian in government at the local and republic level (Articles 14-19). For example, articles 12 and 13 specify that laws can be printed in the titular languages of the republics as well as in Russian. Article 13 also states that election materials may be printed in titular languages as well as Russian. Thus, the law provided, at least in theory, the legal basis for multilingualism within the Russian Federation.27 Although this updated version of the law outlines some of the spheres of use of the state language of the RF, it did not provide a legal definition of the term “state language.” The next piece of federal legislation containing provisions affecting national language policy, the Constitution of the RF, was passed in 1993. Article 68 (par. 1) of the Constitution reiterates the status of Russian as the “state” language of the federation. The Constitution also includes provisions protecting language rights, including individual freedom of language choice. Article 26 states: “Everyone has the right to use his native language, and to the freedom of language choice in communication, education, and in creative work.” The Constitution (Article 68) also guarantees for all peoples the right to the “preservation of one’s native language and for the creation of conditions for its study and development.” The former autonomous republics, granted the right to establish titular languages as state languages, began to pass language laws beginning in 1990 with Chuvashia and Tyva, republics in which titular ethnic groups constitute the majority of the population. Language laws in the former autonomous republics, although in some cases initially inspired by the reforms

26 The law was renamed to “On the languages of the peoples of the Russian Federation” in 1998. 27 For a detailed discussion of how “On the languages of the peoples of the Russian Federation” provides a legal basis for multilingualism within the Russian Federation see G. Ermoshkin. Gosudarstvenno-pravovye askpekty iazykovykh otnoshenii // Rossiiskaia iustitsiia. 1999. No. 3. Pp. 19-21.

292 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 in the union republics, significantly recognize both Russian and the titular language as the state languages.28 Regional language laws were motivated, in part, by a move to strengthen and widen the base of local languages, retaking ground lost after decades of Russification and language shift. For the period of 1970-1989, for example, the number of Buriats, Komis, Maris, Tatar, Udmurts, Chuvash and Yakuts who did not know their mother tongue doubled.29 In the 1960s Yakut was used in 94.3% of Yakut families in Yakutia. Current data suggests that the younger generation in Sakha (Yakutia) is exhibiting preliminary signs of shift to Russian; the present rate of Yakut-Russian bilingualism is three times higher among Yakut youth (up to fifteen years of age) than any other age group in Sakha.30 The republic language laws vary in substance, scope, and form, reflecting the extraordinary ethnic and linguistic diversity within the RF.31 The language law of Tyva, for example, passed in 1990, attempts to map out parallel spheres of function for Tyvan and Russian in the official sphere, giving a legal basis for bilingualism.32 Some republics, such as Mari El and Mordovia, name three state languages (Russian and two local languages). Dagestan also embraces multilingualism, designating all languages spoken within Dagestan as state languages (seventeen plus Russian). In Karelia, the only republic not to grant the titular language status as a state language (it has the status of a “regional” language), the republican government discussed making Karelian the state language even though less than ten percent of the local population identified themselves as Karelian in the 1989 census.33

28 Language laws in Tyva and Chuvashia initially named Russian as the language of interethnic communication but the laws were later changed, recognizing Russian as a state language. 29 V. Mikhalchenko. Language Policy in the Russian Federation. Paper read at World Congress on Language Policies, in Barcelona (2002). http://www.linguapax.org/congres/ taller/taller3/Krjuchkova.html. (Accessed June 2, 2004). 30 A. N. Baskakov, O. D. Nasyrova. Iazykovye situatsiia v tiurkoiazychnykh respublikakh Rossiiskoi Federatsii // V. Mikhalchenko (Ed.). Iazyki RF i novogo zarubezh’ia: status i funktsii. Moscow, 2000. P. 97. 31 For texts of the republic language laws see M. N. Guboglo. Perelomnye gody, and V. P. Neroznak. Gosudarstvennye i titul’nye iazyki Rossii. Moscow, 2002. 32 The Tyvan Constitution was amended in 1993 so that both Russian and Tyvan are legally identified as the state languages of the republic (Article 3). 33 T. V. Kryuchkova. Effective Language Politics: The Case of Karelian. Paper read at World Congress on Language Policy, at Barcelona, Spain (2002). http:// www.linguapax.org/congres/taller/taller3/Krjuchkova.html. (Accessed June 2, 2004).

293 J. Chevalier, Language Policy in the Russian Federation... Most republic language policies are codified both in the republic Constitutions and in specific language laws dealing with language policy.34 For some republics language policy is presented only in republic constitutions.35 Despite the variety of forms, republic language laws all contain articles pledging government support for and preservation of titular and minority languages. In some cases, such statements are accompanied by general state- ments about the importance of language as a manifestation of culture. For example the preamble of the law “On the languages of the peoples of the Republic of Adygei,” adopted in 1994, states that the “preservation and development of the nation is first and foremost linked to the preservation and function of its language. The preservation and development of one’s native languages is the duty and obligation of every citizen.” Similarly, the preamble of the law “On languages” adopted in Altai in 1993 states that the state languages of Altai (Russian and Altai) are an important “spiritual tradition of the people” and the preamble of Buriat language law (O iazykakh narodov Buriatii, 1992) states that language is the “spiritual basis of the existence of any nation.” In addition to provisions pledging government support for titular and minority languages, the republic language laws typically recognize individual right to language choice, including the right to language choice in education. Like the RF law “On the languages of the peoples of the Russian Federation,” most republic language laws contain provisions legally sanctioning bi- or multilingualism within official spheres, guaranteeing the use of all of the republic “state” languages in specific spheres: in laws, in the courts, in government documents, in elections, road signs, mass media, and education. In summary, in the decade beginning just before the breakup of the Soviet Union (1989-1999) language rights became a pivotal issue. With the forma- tion of the RF, a patchwork of language laws was passed. While all of the laws contained provisions pledging support of titular and minority languages and guaranteeing freedom of language choice, none of the laws defined the term “state language” in legal terms. While the law “On the languages of

34 For example, the Constitution (Article 5) of the Republic of Adygei, ratified in 1995, designates Adygean and Russian as state languages of the republic. The law “On the languages of the peoples of Adygei,” passed in 1994, also grants Adygean and Russian official status as state languages of the republic. V. Solntsev, Iu. Mikhalchenko, and G. D. MacConnell. Pismennye iazyki mira. Iazyki Rossiiskoi Federatsii. Sotsiolingvisticheskaia èntsiklopedia. Kn. 1. Moscow, 2000. P. 50. 35 The language statutes of the republics of Altai, Bashkortostan, Ingushetia, Mordovia, Dagestan, and Severnaia Ossetia are contained solely in their Constitutions. Ibid. P. XXXVI. 294 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 the peoples of the USSR” laid a legal framework for multilingualism, the revision of the law in 1991 designated Russian as the “state” language of the RF without defining the term. At the same time, republic laws typically granted more than one language status as “state” languages, yet they, too, failed to provide a legal definition of state language. This is the context that provided the backdrop for the emergence of language legislation in the new millennium.

“On the State Language of the Russian Federation” In 1995 President Yeltsin formed the “Council on Russian Language” made up of prominent politicians and academics. The stated goal of the Council was to strengthen the Russian language, thereby fostering a “spiritual rebirth and renewal of Russian.” The mandate of the council was to develop government policy supporting the Russian language on three levels: (1) Russian language as the state language, with the aim of developing language policies designed to encourage the “development and support of the Russian language as the national language of the Russian people” since “the Russian language is the foundation of the Russian people’s artistic and spiritual culture”; (2) Russian as a world language; and (3) Russian in educa- tion and in mass media. It was from this council, reconstituted by Putin in 2000, that drafts of the new language law, “On the Russian language” emerged.36 The law was revised several times between 2000 and February of 2003, when it was renamed as “On the state language of the Russian Federation” and passed in the Duma. The primary goal of the law (see also the bulleted list below), according to the members of the Duma committee that drafted it, was to fill prominent gaps in the federal language policy (presented above) and provide a solid legal definition of Russian as the state language, estab- lishing its spheres of use.37 A comparison of the first draft, accepted in 2001, with the third draft that passed the Duma in 2003 and its subsequent revisions in 2004, reveals a marked shift in the thrust of the law from reiterating promotion-oriented rights of minority ethnolingual groups and the legal recognition of multilingualism established in “On the languages

36 V. P. Neroznak, M. V. Oreshkina, R. B. Sabatkoev. Russkii iazyk v rossiiskom zakonodatel’stve // Polilog. 2001. No. 1. Pp. 15-30. 37 Kaadyr Bicheldei. Interview by Ol’ga Seversakaia and Marina Koroleva // Ekho Moskvy. 19 December 2000; Interview by M. Ganapol’skii // Ibid. 6 June 2002. 295 J. Chevalier, Language Policy in the Russian Federation... of the peoples of the Russian Federation,” to a more focused interpretation of promotion-oriented rights.38 The first version of the law contained twenty- three articles while the third draft of the law, considerably shorter than the first draft, consisted of only seven articles. The preamble in the 2001 draft presented a list of seven goals that the law was designed to achieve including: · to strengthen the consolidating role of the Russian languages as the state language of the RF... fostering the preservation of unity within the multiethnic Russian State. · to guarantee the use of Russian as a means of interethnic communication. · to strengthen the legal basis for the use of the Russian language as the state language of the RF within the domain of the federal organs of state and the organs of state power within the RF, including local government. · to establish a basic requirement for those in responsible positions in government in the RF vis-à-vis the use, development, improvement and distribution of Russian language as the state language of the RF. · to delimit the spheres of use of Russian as the state language of the RF both within the federal organs of state and in the organs of state within the administrative units of the RF. The potential conflict between the federal language legislation estab- lishing Russian as the state language and the republic laws is raised in the last point. These seven points are condensed into a single paragraph in the preamble of the third version of the law, stating the aim simply: “to guarantee the use of the state language of the Russian Federation throughout the territory of the RF.” References to language laws at the republic level and to languages other than Russian are notably less frequent in the more recent versions of the law. For example, article 2 of the 2001 version of the law, which reiterated the provision originally contained in “On the languages of the peoples of the RSFSR” granting republics the right to establish their own state languages, is omitted from the 2003 version of the law. Article 2 in the 2003 draft states that language law is based in part on the Constitution and on the law “On the languages of the peoples,” but the existence of state languages other than Russian at the republic level is hardly mentioned, with the exception of provisions that allow for the use of the state languages of the republics in mass media. Rather, the role of the state language as a unifying force in

38 The 2004 revision made substantive changes to only two of the articles in the bill. Therefore, all comments made in the discussion about the 2003 draft also apply to the 2004 draft, except where indicated. 296 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 the multilingual state of the RF is stressed. Article 1 (par. 5) of the 2003 draft, providing a definition of the function of the state language, makes a reference to the multicultural makeup of the RF, proclaiming that “the protection and support of the Russian language as the state language of the Russian Federation fosters the augmentation and mutual enrichment of the spiritual culture of the peoples of the Russian Federation.” In contrast, the 2001 version of the law draft (Article 2) states that it is illegal to restrict the use of Russian as the state language or the “other languages of the peoples of Russia.” The core of the 2003 version of the law is contained in Article 3, listing the functions of the state language of the RF. This article specifies that the state language is to be used in federal organs of state (including local governance), elections, courts, international laws, interaction between various branches of government, road signs, official documents, and in mass media. The equiva- lent provisions in the 2001 draft of the law (Articles 10 and 11) similarly define three spheres of use for the state languages: within the federal organs of state and in its administrative units (including republics), in elec- tions, and in the courts. In contrast with the later draft, each provision outlining the function of the state languages in the 2001 version states that, in addi- tion to Russian, the state languages of the republics may also be used in official spheres. Thus a systematic effort to recognize the existence of state languages at the republic level and to grant speakers of these languages promotion-oriented rights was reversed in the later drafts of the law.39 In the 2003 version of the law, promotion-oriented rights are restricted to the state language of the Russian Federation, Russian. The most contentious sections of the law raise the issue of language norms and the protection and promotion of language standards. The primary goal of the law, according to Kaadyr Bicheldei, one of its authors and most outspoken proponents in the Duma, is to provide a legal mechanism for “protecting” Russian as the state language.40 The preamble of the 2003 version of the law states that the purpose of the law is to “guarantee the rights of citizens of the RF to the use of the state language and to the protection and development of “language culture.” Bicheldei argued that by providing

39 Article 3 of the 2003 draft, defining of the spheres of use of the state language, Russian, makes no reference to promotion-oriented rights for minority languages. Yet paragraph 2 of article 3 seems to imply that languages other than Russian may appear in the official sphere as it states such languages used in spheres of function restricted for the state language must be accompanied with a translation into Russian. 40 Kaadyr Bicheldei. Interview by Ol’ga Seversakaia and Marina Koroleva // Ekho Moskvy. 19 December 2000; Interview by M. Ganapol’skii // Ibid. 6 June 2002.

297 J. Chevalier, Language Policy in the Russian Federation... legal norms for spheres of use, the law would increase “the respect of the Russian people themselves for their own Russian language.”41 These views are a more radical expression of a generally accepted opinion that Russian has lost ground. The number of learners dropped radically world- wide after the breakup of the Soviet Union. According to S. I. Shvetsova,42 in 1982-1983 there were 23 million students of Russian in 101 countries; by the 1990s this number was reduced to 10-12 million. As a result, Russian is perceived to have lost its status as one of the more important languages of the world. In the press, academics, journalists, and activists point to globalization as another cause of the perceived language crisis. The popular perception is that English proliferates and dominates in the globalization process while Russian loses ground.43 Language laws in the Baltic republics designed to expand the functional sphere of the titular language and to encourage monolingualism have also had a psychological impact, contributing to the perception that Russian has lost status. Language policies in the former Soviet republics designed to encourage language shift among the Russian speaking population, such as the measures in Latvia requiring government workers to have proficiency certifi- cation in Latvian and a multi-year plan to switch schools over to Latvian as the language of instruction, have produced negative reactions in the Russian press. The controversy over language policy has not been limited to the former Soviet republics. In March of 1999 a law was passed in the Republic of Tatarstan establishing the Latin alphabet as the basis of the Tatar language. In November of 2002 the Duma of the RF passed an amendment to the law “On the languages of the peoples of the Russian Federation” stating that the alphabets of the Rus- sian Federation’s state languages must be based on the Cyrillic alphabet.44 Along with loss of prestige, there has been a great deal of recent press about the “degradation” of Russian.45 The changes that have occurred in

41 Kaadyr Bicheldei. Interview by Ol’ga Seversakaia and Marina Koroleva. 42 S. I. Shvetsova. O rasprostranenii russkogo iazyka v zarubezhnykh stranakh // E. P. Chelysheva (Ed.). Reshenie natsional’no-iazykovykh voprosov v sovremennom mire. St. Petersburg, 2003. P. 439. 43 For an example see Zamir Tarlanov. Russkii iazyk v mire: faktor splocheniia Rossii // Russkaia rech’. 2002. No. 6. Pp. 48-52, and discussions of the law in the Duma (Stenogramma russkoi dumy. 2003. 6 June). 44 See the federal law O vnesenii dopolnenii v stat’iu 3 Zakona Rossiisskoi Federatsii “O iazykakh narodov Rossiiskoi Federatsii,” 12 Dec. 2002. 45 For examples see M. Krasilnikov. Kul’tura rechi: slovom mozhno ubit’ - slovom mozhno spasti // Russkaia rech’. 2003. No. 6. Pp. 52-67; M. A. Grachev. V pogone za effektom // Russkaia rech’. 2001. No. 5. Pp. 67-72; M. L. Remneva. Lingvodidaktika. Otsenka kachestva i urovnia vladeniia russkim iazykom // Voprosy filologii. 2001. No. 1. Pp. 82-88. 298 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Russian have been well documented in a number of recent linguistic studies.46 Prominent among these changes is stylistic mixing or “stylistic chaos,” particularly in the mass media, with lower style language and jargon appearing in spheres that during the Communist era were restricted to stan- dard language. Changes in the language reflect the cataclysmic social and political upheaval since the breakup of the Soviet Union. The public percep- tion of these changes as reflected in the press and academic journals have focused on two spheres: the large influx of English lexicon into Russian and the loosening of language standards or norms. The authors of the “On the state language of the Russian Federation” hoped that by defining and strengthening Russian’s legal status as the state language, delineating its spheres of use, the law would enhance the prestige of the Russian lan- guage within the RF and throughout the world. The law included contro- versial provisions designed to support Russian and to protect it from the flood of English loan words and from slipping standards. The encroachment of English is addressed in two provisions in the law pertaining to language use in public signs and advertisements and to the use of obscene, sub-standard, and foreign lexicon. The 2001 version of the law (Article 16, par. 1-3) states that if any languages other than the state lan- guage of the RF or the state languages of the republics are used in signs and advertisements, they must be translated into Russian. The 2003 version of the bill contains a reworking of the provision about use of language in signs and advertisements, but the requirement to provide translations of foreign lexicon effectively remains in place (Article 3). These provisions were modeled after the 1994 French law “On the Use of French,” or Toubon’s law, as it was known popularly, named after its initiator Jacques Toubon. Members of the Federal Council on Russian Language traveled to Paris in October of 2001 for a joint seminar with the Committee on International Francophonie about language politics. The Toubon Act declares French language to be the basis of French cultural tradition and, like the Russian law, it attempted to clarify the functional spheres (government, education, workplace, commerce, leisure, etc.) where the use of French is mandatory.

46 E. A. Zemskaia (Ed.). Russkii iazyk kontsa XX stoletiia (1985–1995). Moskow, 2000; Larissa Ryazanova-Clarke, Terence Wade. The Russian Language Today. New York, 1999; Bernard Comrie, Gerald Stone, Maria Polonsky. Russian Language in the Twentieth Century. 2nd ed. Oxford, 1996; J. A. Dunn. Transformation of Russian from a Language of the Soviet Type to a Language of the Western Type // J. A. Dunn (Ed.). Language and Society in Post-Communist Europe. New York, 1995.

299 J. Chevalier, Language Policy in the Russian Federation... It established a system of sanctions in the form of fines to protect French from the encroachment of Americanisms. The law features detailed regulations for language use in advertising, requiring French translation of foreign lexical items. The aim of the law was to raise the status of French not just by labeling it as the official language of state but by imposing its use in specific domains (Ager 1999, 135). These are identical to the stated goals of the Russian law “On the state language of the Russian Federation.” The Russian legislation “On the state language of the Russian Federa- tion” goes significantly farther than the Toubon Act in its regulation of language use in the public sphere. The law contains controversial provi- sions regulating the use of obscenity and non-normative lexicon. Article 1, paragraph 6 of the 2003 draft bans “the use of sub-standard lexicon, obscenity, swear words, and expressions” in the public sphere. It also bans the use of foreign words in the public sphere when there exist generally accepted Russian equivalents. Bicheldei, in a public interview on the radio station Echo Moskvy in 2002, explained that the motivation for these measures was slipping standards. “The first point is that the Russian must be defended, not from us, but from our overly lax use of it as a means of communication. In what way? Today we all know about the fact that there are three styles of the Russian language: high, middle, and low. Usually it is assumed that the middle style is used to communicate in the official sphere... As it has turned out, the high style has, in principle, passed out of popular use. In the mass media and in official speeches very often the lower style is used. That is, a stylistic lowering of Russian can be observed in society”.47 The issue of slipping standards raises the question of norms. By whom and by what means are the boundaries between the substandard and the stan- dard, vulgar and acceptable language to be defined? The 2001 version of the law contained a vaguely worded provision (Article 19, par. 5) that could have allowed the establishment of a governmental body with the purpose of regulating language. But the article did not provide specifics about what form the regulating body would take. In the 2003 draft, the issue of norms is addressed only in the first article (par. 3): “The establishment of norms for the use of contemporary Russian in its capacity as the state language of the Russian Federation, rules of orthography and spelling are determined by the government of the Russian Federation.” How the use of specific types of language use or lexicon would be regulated is not addressed in the law.

47 Kaadyr Bicheldei. Interview by M. Ganapol’skii // Ekho Moskvy. 6 June 2002.

300 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Unlike the Toubon Act, “On the state language of the Russian Federation” does not contain any measures concerned with enforcement. The 2003 draft version of the law was passed by the Duma on February 3, 2003. On February 12th the Federation Council rejected the draft and recommended that it be revised. Opponents of the bill criticized provisions that required use of Russian in the courts as well as in regional municipalities. Critics were also skeptical about the articles banning the use of foreign lexicon. One senator remarked that the bill itself contained as many as sixteen foreign loan words (Parlamentskaia khronika, Sovet Federatsii, 103 zase- danii). In November of 2003 the committee charged with revising the bill proposed two major changes. The ban on obscene and offensive language was replaced with an article forbidding the use of “non-normative” language. In an effort to ease concern about the potential legal conflict between federal language policy and language laws in the republics, a paragraph was added stating that the “obligatory use of the state language of the Russian Federa- tion should not be interpreted as a denial or denigration of the right to use state languages of the republics” (Article 1, par. 7). Despite the addition of paragraph 7, the body of the law outlines a narrowed interpretation of promo- tion-oriented rights, requiring the use of Russian in courts and in regional government. While the fate of the bill is uncertain, the debate surrounding it provides evidence of the role that language plays in the perception of national identity. Supporters of the bill commonly refer to the Russian language as one of the central pillars of Russian culture, the spiritual foundation of the Russian people.48 Another popular argument used in favor of the bill is the historical role of Russian as a factor unifying a multiethnic and multilingual state. A thread appearing in public discussions of the bill, expressed even by some opponents, is the notion that the Russian language is in need of protec- tion and preservation. The themes of the defense of the language, of the need to protect the language from corrupting, foreign influences and from negative forces from within, such as the proliferation of sub-standard and obscene lexicon, raise the issue of language purity. As Thomas observes,49 the drive for purism in language has two main thrusts: an opposition to foreign influences on the native language and a striving to retain the language in an unchanged

48 For an example see: Stenogramma parlamentskikh slushanii. 22 October 2001. 49 George Thomas. The Relationship Between Slavic Nationalism and Linguistic Purism // Canadian Review of Studies in Nationalism. 1989. Vol. XVI. Pp. 5-13; Idem. Linguistic Purism. London, 1991.

301 J. Chevalier, Language Policy in the Russian Federation... traditional form – a nostalgia for past forms. Mary Douglas, in her analysis of concepts of pollution and taboo, argues that “the distinction between clean and dirty rises out of a basic human need to make sense of the chaos around us.”50 The notion of pure and not pure is a way of categorizing or ordering the world; what is impure is other and it is rejected. The drive for linguistic purity can be understood as a reaction to “change and ambiguity” and as a way of “creating order out of chaos”.51 Thus, the push for language purity is reflective of an identity crisis in post-Soviet space.52 The dissolution of the Soviet Union and the chimera of Soviet national unity have given rise to insecurity, not about what it means to be Russian (russkii), but about what it means to be rossiiskii, that is, what it means to be part of a multiethnic, multilingual federation. The draft bill “On the state language of the Russian Federation” and the controversy surrounding it underscore the importance of language as an anchor of the imagined community. The impetus for the bill came from the legal confusion about the status of Russian as the state language of the RF and the state languages of the republics. Nevertheless, the discussion of the bill and some of the bill’s more radical provisions are permeated by strains of Russian ethnic nationalism, perhaps symptomatic of an on-going national identity crisis. “On the state language of the Russian Federation” signals a major shift in the orientation of language policy at the federal level. Previous federal language laws featured measures granting promotion-oriented rights to lan- guage minorities. Drafted in the wake of ethnic unrest and mobilization, “On the languages of the peoples of the USSR” sought to appease language nationalism in the union republics by recognizing minority language rights. Significantly, revisions of this law, produced in 1991 and 1998, retained measures granting promotion-oriented rights to minority language groups. The agenda for the Federal Council on the Russian Language, responsible for drafting future national language policy, began to turn the focus away

50 Mary Douglas. Purity and danger: an analysis of concepts of pollution and taboo. London, 1966. P. 35. 51 George Thomas. The Relationship Between Slavic Nationalism and Linguistic Purism // Canadian Review of Studies in Nationalism. 1989. Vol. XVI. P. 33. 52 See Olga Strietska-Ilina. Quo Vadis? The Case of Russia // C. Lord and O. Strietska- Ilina (Eds.). Parallel Cultures: Majority/Minority Relations in the Countries of the Former Eastern Bloc. Aldershot, 2001; V. A. Achikov, S. A. Babaev. Mobilizirovannaia etnichnost’: etnicheskoe izmerenie politicheskoi kul’tury sovremennoi Rossii. St. Petersburg, 2000; for discussions of the post-Soviet identity crisis. 302 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 from minority language rights to Russian as the state language as early as 1995. These efforts culminated in the draft law “On the state language of the Russian Federation.” Any attempt to reinvigorate Russian’s status as the state language is bound to be problematic since most republic language laws recognize more than one state language, and they typically allow use of two or more languages in many of the same official spheres of use that are covered in the federal draft law. The most controversial provisions of the law, directed at “protecting” the Russian language, are aimed at bolstering the prestige of the language. The law and the debate surrounding it point to public insecurity about the status of the Russian language and its role in a multilingual state.

SUMMARY

Íàñòîÿùàÿ ñòàòüÿ ïîñâÿùåíà àíàëèçó íîâåéøåãî çàêîíîäàòåëü- ñòâà, ðåãóëèðóþùåãî ÿçûêîâóþ ïîëèòèêó â Ðîññèè.  öåíòðå âíèìà- íèÿ àâòîðà – ïðîåêò çàêîíà “Î ãîñóäàðñòâåííîì ÿçûêå Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè” â êîíòåêñòå ÿçûêîâîé ïîëèòèêè íà÷èíàÿ ñ 1990 ã. Îíà èíòåðïðåòèðóåò ýòîò çàêîí êàê ïîïûòêó ðàçðåøèòü ïîòåíöèàëüíûé êîíôëèêò ìåæäó ôåäåðàëüíîé è ðåñïóáëèêàíñêèìè ÿçûêîâûìè ïîëèòèêàìè.  ñòàòüå ïðîâîäèòñÿ ñðàâíåíèå ïðîåêòîâ çàêîíà è àíàëèç åãî îáñóæäåíèÿ, êîòîðûå äåìîíñòðèðóþò òåíäåíöèþ ê öåíòðàëèçàöèè ôåäåðàëüíîé ïîëèòèêè â ñôåðå ÿçûêà íà ôîíå îáîñòðå- íèÿ ïóáëè÷íûõ äèñêóññèé î ñòàòóñå ðóññêîãî ÿçûêà â Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè. Ýòî, â ñâîþ î÷åðåäü, ïîçâîëÿåò àâòîðó äåëàòü âûâîäû î òîì, êàê îáùåñòâåííîå ìíåíèå ïîíèìàåò ðîëü ÿçûêà â ôîðìèðî- âàíèè íàöèîíàëüíîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè.

303 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Ab Imperio ïðåäñòàâëÿåò ïðîãðàììó, êîòîðàÿ ñòàëà ëîãè÷åñêèì ïðîäîëæåíèåì óñèëèé æóð- íàëà, íàïðàâëåííûõ íà âíåäðåíèå íîâûõ ïîä- õîäîâ ê èñòîðèè èìïåðèè è íàöèè â âûñøåì îáðàçîâàíèè.

ÎÁÐÀÇÎÂÀÒÅËÜÍÎÅ ÏÀÐÒÍÅÐÑÒÂÎ ÌÅÆÄÓ ÊÀÇÀÍÑÊÈÌ ÃÎÑÓÄÀÐÑÒÂÅÍÍÛÌ ÓÍÈÂÅÐÑÈÒÅÒÎÌ (ÐÎÑÑÈß) È ÓÍÈÂÅÐÑÈÒÅÒÎÌ ÐÀÒÃÅÐÑ (ÑØÀ) “ÑÒÐÎÈÒÅËÜÑÒÂÎ ÄÅÌÎÊÐÀÒÈÈ Â ÌÓËÜÒÈÝÒÍÈ×ÅÑÊÈÕ ÎÁÙÅÑÒÂÀՔ

FREEDOM SUPPORT EDUCATIONAL PARTNERSHIPS PROGRAM WITH EURASIA BUILDING DEMOCRACIES IN MULTI-ETHNIC SOCIETIES

Ïðîãðàììà îñóùåñòâëÿåòñÿ ïðè ôèíàíñîâîé ïîääåðæêå Áþðî Îáðàçîâàòåëüíûõ è Êóëüòóðíûõ Äåë Ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî Äåïàðòàìåíòà ÑØÀ íà ñðîê ñ îêòÿáðÿ 2004 ïî ñåíòÿáðü 2007 ãã. (ïðè êî-ñïîíñîðñòâå ÊÃÓ è Óíèâåðñèòåòà Ðàòãåðñ).

Èäåÿ ïðîåêòà âûðîñëà èç ëè÷íîãî îáùåíèÿ ïðåïîäàâàòåëåé Êàçàíñêîãî Ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî Óíèâåðñèòåòà (ÊÃÓ) è Óíèâåðñèòåòà Ðàòãåðñ, èç ñîâìåñòíîãî ó÷àñòèÿ â ñåìèíàðàõ è êîíôåðåíöèÿõ, èç ôîðóìîâ, îðãàíèçóåìûõ æóðíàëîì Ab Imperio, à òàêæå èç îñîçíàíèÿ îáùíîñòè ñòîÿùèõ ïåðåä ïðåïîäàâàòåëÿìè ñîâðåìåííîé âûñøåé øêîëû ïðîáëåì. Çàäà÷à ïàðòíåðñòâà – ýòî â ïåðâóþ î÷åðåäü îáíîâëåíèå ïðîãðàìì ïðåïîäàâàíèÿ èñòîðèè è ñîöèàëüíûõ íàóê â ÊÃÓ; âíåäðåíèå íîâûõ êóðñîâ, â òîì ÷èñëå ìåæäèñöèïëèíàðíûõ; ôîðìèðîâàíèå íîâîé 305 Îáðàçîâàòåëüíîå ïàðòíåðñòâî... ïðîáëåìàòèêè è íîâîé êóëüòóðû âçàèìîäåéñòâèÿ ìåæäó ñòóäåíòàìè è ïðåïîäàâàòåëÿìè; äîñòèæåíèå áîëüøåé îòêðûòîñòè òåíäåíöèÿì òåêóùåé ïîëèòè÷åñêîé è ñîöèàëüíîé æèçíè çà ñòåíàìè óíèâåðñè- òåòà. Ïðîåêò ïîääåðæèâàåò èññëåäîâàòåëåé è ïðåïîäàâàòåëåé, ðàáîòàþùèõ â îäíîé èç òðåõ îáëàñòåé: ôåäåðàëèçì, ýòíè÷íîñòü/ íàöèîíàëèçì è ãåíäåðíûå èññëåäîâàíèÿ. Îí ïîçâîëÿåò ñîçäàòü èíñòèòóöèîíàëüíûå ðàìêè äëÿ ââåäåíèÿ ñîîòâåòñòâóþùèõ êóðñîâ â ó÷åáíûå ïëàíû ôàêóëüòåòîâ Èñòîðèè, Òàòàðñêîé èñòîðèè è êóëü- òóðû, Ñîöèîëîãèè, Ïîëèòîëîãèè è äð.  ðîññèéñêîé àêàäåìè÷åñêîé íàóêå ñåãîäíÿ ïðîèñõîäèò ñìåíà èññëåäîâàòåëüñêèõ ïàðàäèãì, ôîðìèðóþòñÿ íîâûå íàïðàâëåíèÿ â èçó÷åíèè èñòîðèè èìïåðèè, íàöèåñòðîèòåëüñòâà è ôåäåðàëèçìà. Ãåíäåðíûå èññëåäîâàíèÿ ïîñòåïåííî ñòàíîâÿòñÿ ïëîäîòâîðíîé îáëàñòüþ ìåæäèñöèïëèíàðíîãî àêàäåìè÷åñêîãî âçàèìîäåéñòâèÿ. Ñîâðåìåííîå ðîññèéñêîå íàó÷íîå ñîîáùåñòâî ãîâîðèò íà îäíîì ÿçûêå ñî ñâîèìè çàïàäíûìè êîëëåãàìè, íî ïðè ýòîì ñîõðàíÿþòñÿ ñóùåñòâåííûå ðàçëè÷èÿ â ñòàíäàðòàõ è ñîäåðæàíèè âûñøåãî îáðà- çîâàíèÿ. Âîïðîñ î òîì, êàê ïåðåíîñèòü íîâûå ïîäõîäû â óíèâåð- ñèòåòñêîå ïðåïîäàâàíèå ÿâëÿåòñÿ äàëåêî íå ðèòîðè÷åñêèì, è â ýòîì ñìûñëå îïûò àìåðèêàíñêèõ óíèâåðñèòåòñêèõ ó÷åíûõ ïðåäñòàâëÿåò áåçóñëîâíûé èíòåðåñ. Îáðàçîâàòåëüíîå ïàðòíåðñòâî ìåæäó ÊÃÓ è Óíèâåðñèòåòîì Ðàòãåðñ äîëæíî ñòàòü îäíèì èç êàíàëîâ òðàíñëÿöèè ïîäîáíîãî îïûòà è ñîçäàòü ôîðóì äëÿ åãî îñìûñëåíèÿ â ðîññèéñêîì êîíòåêñòå. Ïðîãðàììà ïîçâîëÿåò ïðåïîäàâàòåëÿì îáîèõ óíèâåðñèòåòîâ ïëîäîòâîðíî îáùàòüñÿ íà ïðîôåññèîíàëüíîì è ëè÷íîì óðîâíå, ôèíàíñèðóåò îáìåíû, âçàèìíûå êîíñóëüòàöèè è ðåöåíçèðîâàíèå, ïîäãîòîâêó “ðèäåðî┠è ñèëëàáóñîâ, ïðèîáðåòåíèå íåîáõîäèìîé äëÿ ñîçäàíèÿ íîâûõ êóðñîâ ëèòåðàòóðû.  Êàçàíè â ðåçóëüòàòå ïðîåêòà äîëæíà îáðàçîâàòüñÿ áèáëèîòåêà çàïàäíîé è ðîññèéñêîé ëèòåðàòóðû ïî òåìàòèêå ïðîåêòà, áèáëèîòåêà ñèëëàáóñîâ ïî ÷èòà- åìûì â Êàçàíè è â Ðàòãåðñå êóðñàì. Ab Imperio â êà÷åñòâå ïàðòíåðà è ó÷àñòíèêà ïðîåêòà âûñòóïàåò êàê åùå îäèí ðåñóðñíûé öåíòð, à òàêæå êàê îðãàí, ñ ïîìîùüþ êîòîðîãî ðåçóëüòàòû ñîòðóäíè÷åñòâà áóäóò ðàñïðîñòðàíÿòüñÿ çà ïðåäåëû ÊÃÓ è Ðàòãåðñà.  ðàìêàõ ïàðòíåðñòâà â Êàçàíè è â Ðàòãåðñå ðàáîòàþò ìåæäèñ- öèïëèíàðíûå ñåìèíàðû äëÿ ïðåïîäàâàòåëåé è àñïèðàíòîâ, ãäå îáñóæäàþòñÿ òåêóùèå èññëåäîâàòåëüñêèå ïðîåêòû, à òàêæå èäåè è

306 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ïðîãðàììû íîâûõ è ïåðåñìàòðèâàåìûõ êóðñîâ.  ðàáîòå êàçàíñ- êîãî ñåìèíàðà ïðèíèìàþò ó÷àñòèå êîëëåãè èç Ðàòãåðñà, â òî âðåìÿ êàê â Ðàòãåðñå ñ äîêëàäàìè âûñòóïàþò êàçàíñêèå ó÷àñòíèêè ïðîåêòà. Åñëè êàçàíñêèé ñåìèíàð ñîçíàòåëüíî ðàáîòàåò êàê ìåæäèñöèïëè- íàðíûé ôîðóì, ñåìèíàð â Ðàòãåðñå òåìàòè÷åñêè ÷åòêî îðèåíòèðîâàí: â 2005-2006 ãîäàõ îí ïðîéäåò ïîä íàçâàíèåì “Ãåíäåðíûå òåîðèè è íàöèîíàëèçì”; â 2006-2007 ãîäàõ áóäåò îáñóæäàòüñÿ òåìà “Íàöèî- íàëèçì è ôåäåðàëèçì”. Íà ýòèõ ñåìèíàðàõ îæèäàþòñÿ äîêëàäû êàê ïðåïîäàâàòåëåé Ðàòãåðñà, òàê è êîëëåã èç Êàçàíñêîãî Óíèâåðñèòåòà. Âîçìîæíîñòü íàëàäèòü ïîäîáíûé îáìåí – îäèí èç íàèáîëåå âàæíûõ àñïåêòîâ ïàðòíåðñòâà. Ïðåïîäàâàòåëè ÊÃÓ ïðèåçæàþò â Ðàòãåðñ íà ñðîê äî 3 ìåñÿöåâ. Îíè ïîëó÷àþò âîçìîæíîñòü ïîñåùàòü ñåìè- íàðû è ëåêöèè, ó÷àñòâîâàòü â ðàáîòå íàó÷íî-èññëåäîâàòåëüñêèõ öåíòðîâ Ðàòãåðñà, çàíèìàòüñÿ â óíèâåðñèòåòñêîé áèáëèîòåêå, çíàêîìèòüñÿ ñ àêàäåìè÷åñêîé êóëüòóðîé ýòîãî áîëüøîãî è óñïåø- íîãî àìåðèêàíñêîãî ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî óíèâåðñèòåòà. Îñîáåííî öåíåí äëÿ ÊÃÓ îïûò Ðàòãåðñà â ïðåïîäàâàíèè ïðåäìåòîâ ãåíäåð- íîãî, ïîëèòîëîãè÷åñêîãî (ôåäåðàëèçì) è àíòðîïîëîãè÷åñêîãî öèêëîâ. Ïðîôåññîðà èç Ðàòãåðñà ïðèåçæàþò â Êàçàíü íà áîëåå êîðîòêèé ñðîê ñ öåëüþ ïîçíàêîìèòüñÿ ñ ñèòóàöèåé â ðåãèîíå, ñ àêàäåìè÷åñêîé êóëüòóðîé “ïåðåõîäíîãî ïåðèîäà”, ñ íîâûìè ïîäõîäàìè â ñôåðå ïðåïîäàâàíèÿ èñòîðèè èìïåðèè è íàöèîíàëèçìà, ñ ôîðìèðîâàíèåì íàððàòèâà òàòàðñêîé íàöèîíàëüíîé èñòîðèè, ñî ñòàíîâëåíèåì ñïåöèàëèçàöèè èóäàèêà, à òàêæå ñ âíåäðåíèåì â óíè- âåðñèòåòñêèå ïðîãðàììû òåìàòèêè ôåäåðàëèçìà. Êàçàíñêèé óíèâåðñèòåò ÿâëÿåòñÿ íàñëåäíèêîì îïðåäåëåííîé òðàäèöèè: äîðåâîëþöèîííûé Êàçàíñêèé Èìïåðàòîðñêèé Óíèâåð- ñèòåò áûë ðîññèéñêèì “îêíîì íà âîñòîê”; ïîñòñîâåòñêèé ÊÃÓ îêà- çàëñÿ â öåíòðå äèñêóññèé î òàòàðñêîì íàöèîíàëüíîì âîçðîæäåíèè. Ñåãîäíÿ íà ãóìàíèòàðíûå è ñîöèàëüíûå ôàêóëüòåòû óíèâåðñèòåòà ïðèõîäÿò ñòóäåíòû, äëÿ êîòîðûõ ïðîáëåìû èäåíòè÷íîñòè – íàöèî- íàëüíîé, ðåãèîíàëüíîé – èìåþò ïåðâîñòåïåííîå çíà÷åíèå. Îíè æèâóò â ïîëèýòíè÷åñêîì ðåãèîíå â öåíòðå Ðîññèè, êîòîðûé ïî÷òè â ðàâíîé ïðîïîðöèè íàñåëÿþò ìóñóëüìàíå è õðèñòèàíå.  ìíîãîîá- ðàçíîé è ïîëèòèçèðîâàííîé êóëüòóðå ñîâðåìåííîãî ãîðîäà – ñòîëèöû Òàòàðñòàíà, ñðåäè òàòàð, ðóññêèõ, ÷óâàø, ìàðèéöåâ è ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé äðóãèõ íàöèîíàëüíîñòåé ÷èòàòü êóðñû ïî íàöèîíàëüíîé è èìïåð- ñêîé èñòîðèè, ïî ãåíäåðíîé ïðîáëåìàòèêå è ôåäåðàëüíîìó óñòðîéñòâó

307 Îáðàçîâàòåëüíîå ïàðòíåðñòâî... ñîâðåìåííîé Ðîññèè îñîáåííî ñëîæíî è îòâåòñòâåííî. Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, ñïåöèôèêà ðåãèîíà îêàçûâàåò âëèÿíèå è íà èäåîëîãè- ÷åñêèå ïðåäïî÷òåíèÿ ïðåïîäàâàòåëåé óíèâåðñèòåòà, ÷òî íåèçáåæíî ñêàçûâàåòñÿ â ÷èòàåìûõ èìè êóðñàõ. Ïîýòîìó îäíà èç çàäà÷ ïàðò- íåðñòâà ìåæäó ÊÃÓ è Ðàòãåðñîì ñîñòîèò â ñîâìåñòíîì èçó÷åíèè ñèòóàöèè íà ìåñòå è âûðàáîòêå îïòèìàëüíûõ ìîäåëåé åå îñìûñëåíèÿ. Ñðåäè íîâûõ è ïåðåðàáîòàííûõ êóðñîâ, êîòîðûå áóäóò ÷èòàòüñÿ â ÊÃÓ â ðàìêàõ ïàðòíåðñòâà, ïðåäïîëàãàþòñÿ ñëåäóþùèå: – ãåíäåðíîå íàïðàâëåíèå – “Æåíñêèé íàððàòèâ â àíòè÷íîñòè: ñïåöèôèêà ïèñüìà è èíòåðïðåòàöèè”; “Ðîëü âèçóàëüíûõ îáðàçîâ â ãåíäåðíûõ èññëåäîâàíèÿõ”; “Æåíùèíà â òàòàðñêîé êóëüòóðå (êîíåö XIX – íà÷àëî XX â.)”; “Ãåíäåðíûå àñïåêòû ïîâñåäíåâíîñòè Ðîññèè ÕÕ âåêà”; “Àíòðîïîëîãèÿ ãåíäåðà” è äð. – íàïðàâëåíèå “Ôåäåðàëèçì” – “Ôåäåðàëèñòñêàÿ òðàäèöèÿ â ðîññèéñêîé èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîé èñòîðèè”; “Ôåäåðàëüíûå âëàñòè è ñîöèàëüíûå ïðîáëåìû: êîíñòðóèðîâàíèå ñîöèàëüíûõ ïðîáëåì êàê ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ ïðàêòèêà”; “Ðåãèîíàëüíûå îòâåòû íà âûçîâû ãëîáà- ëèçàöèè: íîâûå êóëüòóðíûå ïðàêòèêè è êóëüòóðíûå ïîñðåäíèêè â ïîñòñîâåòñêîé Ðîññèè”; “Ôåäåðàëèçì â Çàïàäíîé Åâðîïå: ñðàâíè- òåëüíàÿ ïåðñïåêòèâà” è äð. – íàïðàâëåíèå “Ýòíè÷íîñòü/íàöèîíàëèçì” – “Áîëüøèå òåîðèè – èñòîðè÷åñêàÿ êîíòåêñòóàëèçàöèÿ: ãîñóäàðñòâî, îáùåñòâî è êóëü- òóðà â ïðîöåññàõ íàöèåñòðîèòåëüñòâà è ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ íàöèîíàëüíîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè. Ñîöèîëîãè÷åñêàÿ è èñòîðè÷åñêàÿ ïåðñïåêòèâû”; “Âîñïðèÿòèå ðèìñêîãî èìïåðñêîãî íàñëåäèÿ â Åâðîïå è Ðîññèè”; “Ïóòåøåñòâèÿ Åêàòåðèíû II – îñâîåíèå èìïåðñêîãî ïðîñòðàíñòâà”; “Ýòíè÷íîñòü è íàöèîíàëèçì â ïîñòñîâåòñêîì êîíòåêñòå”; “Ñîöèàëüíàÿ èñòîðèÿ ýòíè÷åñêîé êðèìèíàëüíîñòè â Ðîññèè”; “Èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðå- ìåííîñòü òàòàðñêîãî íàðîäà”; “Ôåíîìåí íàöèîíàëüíîé äèàñïîðû: òàòàðñêàÿ äèàñïîðà è òàòàðñêàÿ ýìèãðàöèÿ â XIX-XX ââ.”; “Ðåëè- ãèîçíàÿ è ýòíè÷åñêàÿ èäåíòè÷íîñòè â Ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé Äóìå. Íà÷àëî ÕÕ âåêà”; “Ðóññêî-òàòàðñêèé êóëüòóðíûé äèàëîã: ìåæýòíè- ÷åñêîå è ìåæêóëüòóðíîå âçàèìîäåéñòâèå â Âîëæñêî-Êàìñêîì ðåãèîíå”; “Ê èñòîðèè çíàíèé î íàöèè: ôèçè÷åñêàÿ àíòðîïîëîãèÿ â Ðîññèè. XIX-XX ââ.”; “Èñëàìñêîå îáðàçîâàíèå â ïîçäíåèìïåðñêîé Ðîññèè, ÑÑÑÐ è â ïîñòñîâåòñêîé Ðîññèè (ÕÕ â.)”.  óíèâåðñèòåòå Ðàòãåðñ îñíîâíûì ïàðòíåðîì â ïðîåêòå âûñòó- ïàåò Öåíòð Ñðàâíèòåëüíîé Åâðîïåéñêîé Èñòîðèè, âîêðóã êîòîðîãî

308 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñôîðìèðîâàëñÿ ìåæäèñöèïëèíàðíûé êîíñîðöèóì ïðåïîäàâàòåëåé.  Êàçàíè îñíîâíûì ïàðòíåðîì Ðàòãåðñà ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñîçäàííûé â ðàìêàõ ïðîãðàììû Öåíòð Äåìîêðàòèçàöèè Îáðàçîâàíèÿ – îðãàí ìåæäèñ- öèïëèíàðíîãî êîíñîðöèóìà ïðåïîäàâàòåëåé ãóìàíèòàðíûõ è ñî- öèàëüíûõ äèñöèïëèí.  ðàáîòå ïðîåêòà ñ êàçàíñêîé ñòîðîíû ó÷à- ñòâóþò òàêæå “Öåíòð àíòðîïîëîãèè êóëüòóðû”, èìåþùèé çíà÷è- òåëüíûé îïûò ó÷àñòèÿ â ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ àêàäåìè÷åñêèõ ïðîãðàì- ìàõ è êóðèðóþùèé ìíîãèå àêàäåìè÷åñêèå èíèöèàòèâû â ÊÃÓ, à òàêæå “Öåíòð èññëåäîâàíèé íàöèîíàëèçìà è èìïåðèè”, èññëåäî- âàòåëüñêèé èíñòèòóò, îñíîâàííûé ïðè ìåæäóíàðîäíîì åæåêâàð- òàëüíèêå Ab Imperio. Ïàðòíåðñòâî, èíèöèàòèâà êîòîðîãî âîçíèêëà “ñíèçó”, ïîëó÷èëî îôèöèàëüíóþ ïîääåðæêó ðåêòîðà ÊÃÓ è Ïðåçèäåíòà óíèâåðñèòåòà Ðàòãåðñ.

309 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Íàñòîÿùàÿ ïóáëèêàöèÿ – äàíü ïàìÿòè Âåëèêîé Îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíå, êîòîðàÿ óõîäèò âìåñòå ñ åå ó÷àñòíèêàìè è âíîâü öåíçóðèðóåòñÿ èäåîëîãàìè íûíåøíåãî ðåæèìà. “60-ëåòèþ ïîáåäû ñîâåòñêîãî íàðîäà ïîñâÿùàåòñÿ ” Ðåäàêöèÿ Ab Imperio

Æàííà ÊÎÐÌÈÍÀ

ÃÅÐÎÈ È ÏÐÅÄÀÒÅËÈ ÑÈÌÏÒÎÌÛ ÊÎËËÅÊÒÈÂÍÎÉ ÒÐÀÂÌÛ Â ÍÀÐÎÄÍÛÕ ÏÅÑÍßÕ ÂÅËÈÊÎÉ ÎÒÅ×ÅÑÒÂÅÍÍÎÉ ÂÎÉÍÛ

Ýòîò ñëó÷àé ñîâñåì áûë íåäàâíî  Ëåíèíãðàäå â Ãåðìàíñêó âîéíó. Ëåéòåíàíò Óêðàèíñêîãî ôðîíòà Ïîêèäàåò ðîäíóþ æåíó. Íàðîäíàÿ ïåñíÿ

Âåëèêàÿ Îòå÷åñòâåííàÿ âîéíà îñòàåòñÿ îäíèì èç íåìíîãèõ èñòîðè÷åñêèõ ñîáûòèé, êîòîðîå ïðîäîëæàåò ñëóæèòü îïîðîé â ïîääåðæàíèè êîëëåêòèâíîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè æèòåëåé Ðîññèè. 311 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... Îáíàðîäîâàíèå â ïîñëåäíèå äâàäöàòü ëåò íîâûõ ôàêòîâ è öèôð, ñâèäåòåëüñòâóþùèõ î ðàçìåðàõ íàïðàñíûõ æåðòâ, ñëó÷èâøèõñÿ ïî âèíå ñîâåòñêîãî ïðàâèòåëüñòâà, íå òîëüêî íå ëèøèëî îáðàç âîéíû îðåîëà ñâÿòîñòè, à, íàîáîðîò, óïðî÷èëî åãî, îòêðûâ íîâûå âîçìîæ- íîñòè äëÿ ðàçðàáîòêè òîïèêè ñòðàäàíèÿ. Îôèöèàëüíûé äèñêóðñ âîéíû êàê îáùåãî äåëà íàöèè îêàçàëñÿ ïðî÷íî óñâîåííûì – áëàãîäàðÿ ôèëüìàì è õóäîæåñòâåííîé ëèòåðàòóðå, âêëþ÷åííîé â îáÿçàòåëüíûé øêîëüíûé êóðñ, à òàêæå ñïåöèàëüíûì ìåðîïðèÿòèÿì îáùåãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî ìàñøòàáà, âðîäå ñòàíäàðòèçîâàííûõ ïîìè- íàëüíûõ ïðàêòèê ó ìåñòíûõ êåíîòàôîâ èëè ìîãèë Íåèçâåñòíîãî ñîëäàòà, “Ïîõîäîâ ïî ìåñòàì áîåâîé ñëàâû”, “Óðîêîâ ìóæåñòâà” è ò. ï. Ïàìÿòü âîéíû ïîñëóæèëà áëàãîäàòíûì ìàòåðèàëîì äëÿ êîíñòðóèðîâàíèÿ òðàäèöèè, íà êîòîðîé âî ìíîãîì çèæäèëàñü èäåíòè÷íîñòü ñîâåòñêîãî ÷åëîâåêà, – òðàäèöèè, ñîõðàíèâøåé ñâîþ àêòóàëüíîñòü äî íàøåãî âðåìåíè. Îäíàêî íàðÿäó ñ îôèöèàëüíûì ãåðîè÷åñêèì äèñêóðñîì ñôîðìè- ðîâàëñÿ èíîé, êîòîðûé ÿ ïðåäëàãàþ íàçûâàòü “íàðîäíûì”. Îí ïðåä- ñòàâëåí, â ÷àñòíîñòè, â óñòíûõ ðàññêàçàõ è ïåñíÿõ î âîéíå, êîòîðûå ôèêñèðóþòñÿ â îñíîâíîì ôîëüêëîðèñòàìè è õðàíÿòñÿ â ñîîòâåò- ñòâóþùèõ àðõèâàõ. ×òîáû ïîêàçàòü íåêîòîðûå ÷åðòû “íàðîäíîãî” äèñêóðñà âîéíû, ÿ îáðàùóñü ê âîçíèêøèì â âîåííîå è ïåðâîå ïîñëåâî- åííîå âðåìÿ ôîëüêëîðíûì ïåñíÿì î âîçâðàùåíèè ñîëäàòà äîìîé. Íà èõ ïðèìåðå ÿ ïîïûòàþñü ïðîàíàëèçèðîâàòü ðàñïðîñòðàíåííîå â ðàìêàõ ýòîãî äèñêóðñà ïðåäñòàâëåíèå î âîéíå êàê ïðè÷èíå äåçèíòåãðàöèè îáùåñòâà è òîòàëüíîì íåäîâåðèè êàê ãëàâíîé ñîöèàëü- íîé òðàâìå, ïåðåæèâàåìîé â ïîñëåâîåííîå âðåìÿ. Ïåñíè, î êîòîðûõ ïîéäåò ðå÷ü, ÿâëÿþòñÿ â îñíîâíîì ïåðåäåë- êàìè ïîïóëÿðíûõ ïåñåí, íàïèñàííûõ ïðîôåññèîíàëüíûìè ïîýòàìè è êîìïîçèòîðàìè, ïðåäñòàâëÿÿ ñîáîé ïðèìåð ñâîåîáðàçíîãî îñìûñëå- íèÿ è ïåðåèíà÷èâàíèÿ îôèöèàëüíîãî äèñêóðñà. Ñëåäóåò ïîä÷åðêíóòü, ÷òî ïðè âñåé ðàçíèöå â ðåïðåçåíòàöèè âîéíû íàðîäíûé è îôèöè- àëüíûé äèñêóðñû íå áûëè îïïîçèöèîííû è âðÿä ëè êîíêóðèðîâàëè. Êàæäûé êîíêðåòíûé ÷åëîâåê âïîëíå ìîã âëàäåòü îáîèìè – îíè ðàçëè÷àëèñü ñôåðàìè ïðèìåíåíèÿ, ïîñêîëüêó ïåðâûé èç íèõ ïðåä- íàçíà÷àëñÿ äëÿ ïðèâàòíîãî, âòîðîé äëÿ ïóáëè÷íîãî ïîëüçîâàíèÿ. Ïðè ýòîì îôèöèàëüíûì ÿçûêîì îáû÷íûé ÷åëîâåê â íîðìå, ïî-âèäè- ìîìó, âëàäåë ñêîðåå ïàññèâíî, ò.å. áûë ñïîñîáåí âîñïðîèçâîäèòü ãîòîâûå èäåîëîãåìû â âèäå ðå÷åâûõ êëèøå, íî íå ãåíåðèðîâàòü íîâûå ôîðìóëû è òåêñòû ïî ïðåäëàãàåìûì ïðàâèëàì. 312 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Ïåñíè äëÿ íàðîäà è íàðîäíûå ïåñíè 19 àïðåëÿ 1943 ãîäà â ãàçåòå “Ïðàâäà” ïîÿâèëîñü ñòèõîòâîðåíèå Ì. Â. Èñàêîâñêîãî “Îãîíåê” ñ ïîäçàãîëîâêîì “ïåñíÿ”. Ýòîò òåêñò äåéñòâèòåëüíî â ñêîðîì âðåìåíè ïðåâðàòèëñÿ â ïåñíþ, ñòàâøóþ íåâåðîÿòíî ïîïóëÿðíîé. Õîòÿ ñòèõîòâîðåíèå áûëî ïîëîæåíî íà ìóçûêó îäíîâðåìåííî íåñêîëüêèìè èçâåñòíûìè êîìïîçèòîðàìè, â òîì ÷èñëå ñîàâòîðîì Èñàêîâñêîãî ïî ïðåäâîåííîìó øëÿãåðó “Êàòþøà” Ìàòâååì Áëàíòåðîì, “â áûò âîøëà ìåëîäèÿ, íèãäå íå îïóáëèêîâàííàÿ”.1 Åñòü ìíåíèå, ÷òî ìåëîäèÿ ïåñíè áûëà íàâåÿíà ïîïóëÿðíûì â ïðåäâîåííûå ãîäû òàíãî “Ñòåëëà”, íàïèñàííûì ïîëüñêèì êîìïîçèòîðîì Åæè Ïåòåðáóðãñêèì.2 Âî âñÿêîì ñëó÷àå, â áîëüøèíñòâå ïóáëèêàöèé èìÿ êîìïîçèòîðà íå óêàçûâàåòñÿ èëè îòìå÷àåòñÿ, ÷òî ìóçûêà íàðîäíàÿ. Ñî ñòèõîòâîðåíèåì-ïåñíåé Èñàêîâñêîãî ïðîèçîøëî òî æå, ÷òî ñ öåëûì ðÿäîì äðóãèõ ïîïóëÿðíûõ ïåñåí, íàïèñàííûõ â ïðåäâîåííîå è âîåííîå âðåìÿ: îíî îðãàíè÷íî âîøëî â ïîâñåäíåâíûé îáèõîä, ñòàâ ÷àñòüþ íàðîäíîé êóëüòóðû. Òàêîå óñâîåíèå è äàæå ïðèñâîåíèå ìàññîâîé ïåñíè3 íàñåëåíèåì áûëî ðåçóëüòàòîì äîâîëüíî ïðî- äîëæèòåëüíîãî ñîâåòñêîãî ïðîåêòà ïî ñîçäàíèþ ðåïåðòóàðà äëÿ íàðîäà.  ñåðåäèíå 1920-õ ãîäîâ íà ñòðàíèöàõ ìóçûêîâåä÷åñêèõ èçäàíèé ðàçâåðíóëàñü äèñêóññèÿ î òîì, êàêîé äîëæíà áûòü ïåñíÿ

1 È. Íåñòüåâ. Ñîâåòñêàÿ ìàññîâàÿ ïåñíÿ. Ìîñêâà-Ëåíèíãðàä, 1946. Ñ. 15. 2 R. A. Rothstein. Homeland, Home Town, and Battlefield. The Popular Song // R. Stites (Ed.). Culture and Entertainment in Wartime Russia. Bloomington and Indianopolis, 1995. P. 82. Åæè Ïåòåðáóðãñêèé, ïîëüñêèé êîìïîçèòîð åâðåéñêîãî ïðîèñõîæäåíèÿ, áåæàë â Ñîâåòñêèé Ñîþç â 1939 ãîäó èç îêêóïèðîâàííîé Âàðøàâû. Øèðîêî èçâåñòíû äâà åãî øëÿãåðà êîíöà 1930-õ ãã.: “Ñèíèé ïëàòî÷åê” è “Óòîìëåííîå ñîëíöå”. 3 Ïî îïðåäåëåíèþ îäíîãî èç âåäóùèõ ñîâåòñêèõ ìóçûêîâåäîâ 1920-30-õ ãã. Ëüâà Ëåáåäèíñêîãî ìàññîâàÿ ïåñíÿ – ýòî òà, ÷òî ïîåòñÿ ìàññàìè íà óëèöå (Ë. Ëåáåäèíñêèé. Çàìåòêè î ìàññîâîé ïåñíå // Ìóçûêàëüíàÿ ñàìîäåÿòåëüíîñòü. 1933. ¹ 4. Ñ. 10). Óòî÷íèì ôîðìóëèðîâêó: ýòî ïåñíÿ, íàïèñàííàÿ ïðîôåññèîíàëüíûìè àâòîðàìè, íàõîäÿùèìèñÿ íà ñëóæáå ó ãîñóäàðñòâà, äëÿ øèðîêîé àóäèòîðèè è âîøåäøàÿ â íàðîäíûé ðåïåðòóàð. Àíàëèç ñîñòîÿâøåéñÿ â 1920-å ãã. äèñêóññèè î ñîçäàíèè ìóçûêè äëÿ ïðîëåòàðñêîé àóäèòîðèè ñì., íàïð., â ñòàòüå N. Edmunds. “Lenin is Always with Us”. Soviet Musical Propaganda and its Composers During the 1920s // N. Edmunds (Ed.). Soviet Music and Society under Lenin and Stalin. The Baton and Sickle. London and New York, 2004. Pp. 105-122.

313 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... äëÿ íàðîäà. Ãëàâíîå òðåáîâàíèå ïðåäïîëàãàëî, ÷òî ïåñíÿ óñâàèâàåòñÿ áåç ñïåöèàëüíûõ óñèëèé,4 ò. å. ÿâëÿåòñÿ ïðîñòîé â ìóçûêàëüíîì îòíîøåíèè è áëèçêîé è ïîíÿòíîé ïî ñîäåðæàíèþ. Íóæíî áûëî ñîçäàòü ïåñíþ, âûðàæàþùóþ “áûòîâûå íàñòðîåíèÿ, òåìíûå è ñâåòëûå ñòîðîíû áûòà”, çàìåíèâ ìåùàíñêèé ðåïåðòóàð,5 êîòîðûì, çà íåèìå- íèåì ñîáñòâåííîãî, ïîëüçîâàëñÿ ðàáî÷èé êëàññ.6 Ïåðâûé êîíêóðñ ìàññîâîé ïåñíè, îðãàíèçîâàííûé â 1928 ãîäó ÷åðåç öåíòðàëüíûå ãàçåòû “Ïðàâäà” è “Êîìñîìîëüñêàÿ ïðàâäà”, ïîêàçàë, ÷òî íàïèñàòü ïåñíþ, îòâå÷àþùóþ ýòèì òðåáîâàíèÿì, íå ïðîñòî. Îðãàíèçàòîðû êîíêóðñà êîíñòàòèðîâàëè, ÷òî ïðèñëàííûå ïåñíè “ëèáî òðóäíû äëÿ èñïîëíåíèÿ, ëèáî ñëàáûå”.7 Òàêîé ðåïåðòóàð íå ìîã áûòü ñîçäàí íè “ñåðüåçíûìè” êîìïîçèòîðàìè, íè ðàáîòíèêàìè êëóáîâ; ìàññîâàÿ ïåñíÿ òðåáîâàëà îñîáûõ íàâûêîâ è òàëàíòîâ è ïîðîäèëà ñïåöèàëüíûå ïðîôåññèè – êîìïîçèòîðà-ïåñåííèêà è ïîýòà-ïåñåííèêà. Ê êîíöó 1930-õ ãîäî⠓ìåùàíñêèé” ðåïåðòóàð áûë ïîòåñíåí è äîïîëíåí (íî íå âûòåñíåí îêîí÷àòåëüíî) íîâîé ñîâåòñêîé ëèðè÷åñêîé ïåñíåé. Ñôîðìèðîâàëñÿ ïñåâäîíàðîäíûé ìóçûêàëüíûé è ïîýòè- ÷åñêèé ÿçûê, ñïîñîáñòâîâàâøèé óñâîåíèþ íîâûõ ïåñåí è ïîñòå- ïåííîìó ïðåâðàùåíèþ ïåñåí äëÿ íàðîäà â íàðîäíûå ïåñíè. Ñëåäóåò îòìåòèòü, ÷òî ê íà÷àëó âîéíû ñàì “íàðîä”, âîâëå÷åííûé â ïðîöåññû èíäóñòðèàëèçàöèè è óðáàíèçàöèè, ñóùåñòâåííî èçìå- íèëñÿ. Íåäàâíèå êðåñòüÿíå, ïåðåáðàâøèåñÿ â ãîðîäà, àêòèâíî îñâàèâàëè íîâûå êóëüòóðíûå ïðàêòèêè, îò ãèãèåíè÷åñêèõ äî äîñó- ãîâûõ.8 Ïðè ýòîì íîâûå êóëüòóðíûå íàâûêè óæèâàëèñü ñ òðàäè- öèîííûìè ïðèâû÷êàìè è ìèðîïîíèìàíèåì. Óñâàèâàÿñü êàê íîâûå ñëîâà â ÿçûêå, îíè íå ìåíÿëè – èëè, òî÷íåå, ìåíÿëè î÷åíü ìåäëåííî –

4 Ë. Øóëüãèí. Ìàññîâàÿ ïåñíÿ // Ìóçûêà è ðåâîëþöèÿ. 1926. ¹ 2. Ñ. 18. 5 Ïðåæäå âñåãî èìååòñÿ â âèäó æåñòîêèé ðîìàíñ, êðàéíå ïîïóëÿðíûé âî âðåìåíà ÍÝÏà. Ñì. íàïð., R. A. Rothstein. Popular Song in the NEP Era // S. Fitspatrick, A. Rabinowitch, and R. Stites (Eds.). Russia in the NEP Era. Exploration in Soviet Society and Culture. Bloomington and Indianopolis, 1991. Pp. 268-294. 6 Ë. Ëåáåäèíñêèé. Î ïðîëåòàðñêîé ìàññîâîé ïåñíå // Ïðîëåòàðñêèé ìóçûêàíò. ¹ 3. Ñ. 5-6. 7 Ä. Á. Î êîíêóðñå ìàññîâîé ïåñíè // Ïðîëåòàðñêèé ìóçûêàíò. 1929. ¹ 2. Ñ. 33. 8 Î êîíöåïöèè è ïîëèòèêå êóëüòóðíîñòè, îêàçàâøåé âëèÿíèå íà èçìåíåíèå ïîâñåäíåâíûõ ïðàêòèê ñîâåòñêîãî ÷åëîâåêà, ñì. íàïð.: Â. Â. Âîëêîâ. Êîíöåïöèÿ êóëüòóðíîñòè, 1935-38 ãã. Ñîâåòñêàÿ öèâèëèçàöèÿ è ïîâñåäíåâíîñòü ñòàëèíñêîãî âðåìåíè // Ñîöèîëîãè÷åñêèé æóðíàë. 1996. ¹ 1-2. Ñ. 203-221. 314 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñèñòåìó êóëüòóðíûõ ïàðàäèãì.9 Õîðîøèé ïðèìåð òàêîé àäàïòèâíîé ñïîñîáíîñòè – âîçíèêíîâåíèå ïèñüìåííîãî ôîëüêëîðà. Íàðîä, íàó÷èâ- øèéñÿ ÷èòàòü è ïèñàòü, ñîçäàåò íîâóþ ôîðìó òðàäèöèè – çàïèñàííûå òåêñòû, êîòîðûå æèâóò ïî âïîëíå òðàäèöèîííûì ôîëüêëîðíûì çàêî- íàì ñ òîé ðàçíèöåé, ÷òî ïåðåäàþòñÿ íå èç óñò â óñòà, à èç òåòðàäêè â òåòðàäêó (ðóêîïèñíûé ïåñåííèê, äåâè÷èé àëüáîì, ôðîíòîâîé áëîê- íîò è ò.ï.).10 Ìíîãèå èç òåêñòîâ, î êîòîðûõ ïîéäåò ðå÷ü, âåðîÿòíåå âñåãî, íå ïåëèñü: èõ çà÷èòûâàëè (íåîáÿçàòåëüíî âñëóõ) è ïåðåïèñûâàëè. Âêëþ÷åíèå àâòîðñêîé ïåñíè â ôîëüêëîðíóþ êóëüòóðó ïðîèñõîäèëî íåñêîëüêèìè ñïîñîáàìè. Âî-ïåðâûõ, íîâàÿ ïåñíÿ ìîãëà ôóíêöèî- íèðîâàòü êàê ÷àñòü òðàäèöèîííîé îáðÿäîâîé ïðàêòèêè. Òàê, ÷ëåíû ýêñïåäèöèè Èíñòèòóòà ýòíîãðàôèè ÐÀÍ â Çàêàðïàòñêóþ Óêðàèíó îáíàðóæèëè, ÷òî ïîä ïåñíþ “Îãîíåê” â 1945-1946 ãã. òàì íå òîëüêî òàíöåâàëè, íî è õîäèëè êîëÿäîâàòü íà ñâÿòêàõ.11 Âî-âòîðûõ, ôðàã- ìåíòû èçâåñòíîãî àâòîðñêîãî òåêñòà ìîãëè öèòèðîâàòüñÿ â äðóãèõ ïåñåííûõ æàíðàõ, íàïðèìåð, â ÷àñòóøêàõ. Ñåðîãëàçîãî çàëåòî÷êó Èç àðìèè äîæäóñü, Ïîòîìó ÷òî îí ìíå ïèøåò: Æäè ìåíÿ è âåðíóñü.12 Ïîñëåäíÿÿ ñòðîêà ÷àñòóøêè – öèòàòà èç èçâåñòíîãî ñòèõîò- âîðåíèÿ-ïåñíè Êîíñòàíòèíà Ñèìîíîâà. Ñëåäóþùàÿ ÷àñòóøêà íà÷èíàåòñÿ ñ îòñûëêè ê ïåñíå “Îãîíåê”: Íà îêîøå÷êå ó äåâóøêè Ãîðèò âñå îãîíåê,  Êðàñíîé àðìèè íàõîäèòñÿ Ëþáèìûé ïàðåíåê.13

9 Îáñóæäåíèå àäàïòèâíûõ ñïîñîáíîñòåé êðåñòüÿíñêîé êóëüòóðû ñì. â ñòàòüå S. P. Frank. “Simple Folk, Savage Customs?” Youth, Sociability, and the Dynamics of Culture in Rural Russia, 1856-1914 // Journal of Social History. 1992. Vol. 25. Pp. 711-736. 10 Ñì. ïîäðîáíåå: Ñ. Þ. Íåêëþäîâ. Óñòíûå òðàäèöèè ñîâðåìåííîãî ãîðîäà: ñìåíà ôîëüêëîðíîé ïàðàäèãìû. Ñòàòüÿ ðàçìåùåíà â Èíòåðíåò: http:// www.ruthenia.ru/folklore/neckludov7.htm. Ïîñëåäíèé ðàç ïðîâåðÿëàñü 17 ÿíâàðÿ 2005. 11 Â. Þ. Êðóïÿíñêàÿ, Ñ. È. Ìèíö. Ìàòåðèàëû ïî èñòîðèè ïåñíè Âåëèêîé Îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû. Ìîñêâà, 1953. Ñ. 122. 12 Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ (Èíñòèòóò ðóññêîé ëèòåðàòóðû, Ïóøêèíñêèé äîì). Êîëëåêöèÿ 139. Ïàïêà 1. Åä. õð. 3. Ïåñíÿ çàïèñàíà â Êàëèíèíñêîé îáë., èñïîëíÿëàñü ïðè ïðîâîäàõ â àðìèþ ïðèçûâíèêîâ 1928 ãîäà ðîæäåíèÿ. 13 Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 166. Ïàïêà 2. Åä. õð. 1. Ë. 5.

315 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... Íàêîíåö, åùå îäèí ñïîñîá àäàïòàöèè ìàññîâîé ïåñíè íàðîäíîé êóëüòóðîé – ïåðåäåëêà îðèãèíàëüíîãî òåêñòà ïåñíè. Ê. Â. ×èñòîâ â ñâîåé êíèãå î ôîëüêëîðå îñòàðáàéòåðîâ äëÿ îáîçíà÷åíèÿ ýòîãî øèðîêî ðàñïðîñòðàíåííîãî â ãîäû âîéíû ÿâëåíèÿ ââîäèò òåðìèí “ïåðåòåêñòîâêà”.14  òàêèõ ïåðåäåëêàõ ïðîèñõîäèò ðàçâèòèå íàìå÷åí- íîãî â îðèãèíàëå ñþæåòà. Îáèëüíîå öèòèðîâàíèå îðèãèíàëà è ñîõðàíåíèå èçíà÷àëüíîãî ñòèõîòâîðíîãî ðàçìåðà – îñíîâíûå ïðèåìû îáðàçîâàíèÿ òàêèõ ïåñåí ñ ïðîäîëæåíèåì. Îäíî èç ïåðâûõ ïåñåííûõ ãíåçä15 ñôîðìèðîâàëîñü âîêðóã ïåñíè Ì. È. Áëàíòåðà íà ñòèõè Ì. Â. Èñàêîâñêîãî “Êàòþøà”, íàïèñàííîé â 1938 ãîäó. Åñòü ìíåíèå, ÷òî èìåííî ñ “Êàòþøè” íà÷àëàñü ìîäà íà ñîçäàíèå ïåñåííûõ ïåðåäåëîê. Âî âñÿêîì ñëó÷àå, ïåðâûå îòâåòû ïîãðàíè÷íèêà íà “ïëà- ìåííûé ïðèâåò” è ïîæåëàíèÿ Êàòþøè ïîÿâèëèñü åùå â ìèðíîå âðåìÿ. Òåìîé èõ áûëà îõðàíà ãðàíèö è îáåùàíèå “áåðå÷ü çåìëþ ðîäíóþ”, íåêîòîðûå “îòâåòû” äàæå ïå÷àòàëè â ãàçåòàõ.16 Ôîëüêëîðíûå ïåðåäåëêè ïîïóëÿðíûõ ïåñåí ðàñïðîñòðàíÿþòñÿ åäâà ëè íå òàê æå øèðîêî, êàê òåêñòû îðèãèíàëüíûå. Ýòî, ïî-âèäè- ìîìó, îçíà÷àåò, ÷òî â êîíöå 1930-õ – íà÷àëå 1940-õ ãã. ñîâåòñêàÿ ìàññîâàÿ ïåñíÿ ñòàíîâèòñÿ îáùèì êóëüòóðíûì áàãàæîì æèòåëåé ñòðàíû, ñïåöèôè÷åñêèì íàöèîíàëüíûì ôîëüêëîðîì. Òî, ÷òî æèòåëè ðàçíûõ ðåãèîíîâ ñòðàíû, íîñèòåëè ðàçëè÷íûõ äèàëåêòîâ è ôîëüêëîðíûõ òðàäèöèé íà÷èíàþò ïåòü îäíè è òå æå ïåñíè, ãîâîðèò îá óñïåøíîñòè ñîöèàëüíîãî ïðîåêòà ïî îáðàçîâàíèþ åäèíîãî ñîîáùåñòâà â ðàìêàõ ñîâåòñêîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà. Èíûìè ñëîâàìè, âîçíèêíîâåíèå îáùåãî êóëüòóðíîãî êîíòåêñòà ñâèäåòåëüñòâóåò è î ïîñòåïåííîì îáðàçîâàíèè íîâîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè. Îïðåäåëåííî, ýòîò ïðîöåññ â áîëüøåé ñòåïåíè êàñàëñÿ ãîðîäîâ, ÷åì äåðåâåíü, îäíàêî íîâûå ïåñíè óñâàèâàëèñü ïðàêòè÷åñêè ïîâñåìåñòíî. Áîëüøóþ ðîëü ⠓îáúåäèíåíèè êëàññîâ è ðåãèîíî┠Ðîññèè, êàê ïîêàçàë â íåäàâíåé ñòàòüå ßíóñ ôîí Ãåëäåðí, ñûãðàëî ðàäèî.17

14 Ê. Â. ×èñòîâ. Ïðåîäîëåíèå ðàáñòâà. Ôîëüêëîð è ÿçûê îñòàðáàéòåðîâ. Ìîñêâà, 1998. 15 Òåðìèí ïðåäëîæåí â ñòàòüå: Ñ. È. Ìèíö, À. Á. Ãðå÷èíà, Á. Ì. Äîáðîâîëüñêàÿ. Ìàññîâîå ïåñåííîå òâîð÷åñòâî // Ðóññêèé ôîëüêëîð Âåëèêîé Îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû / Îòâ. ðåä. Â. Å. Ãóñåâ. Ìîñêâà-Ëåíèíãðàä, 1964. Ñ. 103-148. 16 È. Í. Ðîçàíîâ. Ïåñíè î Êàòþøå êàê íîâûé òèï íàðîäíîãî òâîð÷åñòâà // Ðóññêèé ôîëüêëîð Âåëèêîé Îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû. Ñ. 310. 17 J. von Geldern. Radio Moscow. The Voice from the Center // R. Stites (Ed.). Culture and Entertainment in Wartime Russia. Bloomington and Indianopolis, 1995. Pp. 44-61. Èìåííî ðàäèî áûëî, ïîæàëóé, ãëàâíûì ñðåäñòâîì ýêñïàíñèè ìàññîâîé

316 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Íîâûå òåêñòû ê ïîïóëÿðíûì äîâîåííûì ìåëîäèÿì, è íàðîäíûì, è øëÿãåðàì 1930-õ ãã., ïèñàëè è ïðîôåññèîíàëüíûå ïîýòû, íî èõ ïåðåäåëêè, â îòëè÷èå îò òåêñòîâ áåçâåñòíûõ àâòîðîâ, íå ïðèæèâà- ëèñü.18 Ïðè÷èíû âîçíèêíîâåíèÿ è ïîïóëÿðíîñòè ýòîãî íîâîãî ÿâëåíèÿ – íàðîäíûõ ïåðåäåëîê – âåðîÿòíî, ñâÿçàíû ñ íîâûìè êóëü- òóðíûìè ïðàêòèêàìè, âîøåäøèìè â îáèõîä ñîâåòñêîãî ÷åëîâåêà. Îäíèì èç îáúÿñíåíèé âûñîêîé òâîð÷åñêîé àêòèâíîñòè è ãîòîâíîñòè âñòóïèòü â äèàëîã ñ íåâåäîìûì àâòîðîì ìîæåò áûòü ïîÿâëåíèå ïðàêòèêè ïèñüìåííîãî îáùåíèÿ ñ èíñòàíöèÿìè, îò ïèñåì â ãàçåòó äî äîíîñîâ. Îïðåäåëåííóþ ðîëü ìîãëî ñûãðàòü ñïåöèàëüíîå ñòèìóëèðîâàíèå íàðîäíîãî òâîð÷åñòâà â ôîðìå õóäîæåñòâåííîé ñàìîäåÿòåëüíîñòè. Ïðè ýòîì âàæíî îòìåòèòü, ÷òî ïåñíè, êîòîðûå ïîëó÷èëè ïðîäîëæåíèå â íàðîäíûõ ïåðåòåêñòîâêàõ, ïîõîæå, íà ñàìîì äåëå ìíîãèìè âîñïðèíèìàëèñü êàê ôîëüêëîðíûå.19 Òàê ÷òî â ïîÿâëåíèè ïåðåòåêñòîâîê áîëüøóþ ðîëü ñûãðàë è òàëàíò èñïîëíèòå- ëåé ýòîãî ñîöèàëüíîãî çàêàçà: êîìïîçèòîðîâ è ïîýòîâ-ïåñåííèêîâ. Ïåðåäåëêè ïîïóëÿðíûõ ìàññîâûõ ïåñåí ïðåäñòàâëÿþò ñîáîé ýïèôåíîìåí òàêèõ áîëüøèõ è ñëîæíûõ ñèñòåì, êàê ìàññîâàÿ êóëüòóðà è íàðîäíàÿ êóëüòóðà. Èç ïåðâîé áåðóòñÿ ãîòîâûå ôîðìû – ìåëîäèÿ, è, ñëåäîâàòåëüíî, ðèòìè÷åñêàÿ îðãàíèçàöèÿ ñòèõà, çàèìñòâóþòñÿ íåêîòîðûå àâòîðñêèå ìåòàôîðû è îáðàçû. Íàïðèìåð, îãîíåê ãîðÿ- ùèé – ñèìâîë âåðíîñòè, ïîãàñøèé – èçìåíû. Âòîðàÿ äàåò ìàòåðèàë äëÿ íàïîëíåíèÿ ôîðì – íå òîëüêî ñþæåòû è õàðàêòåðû, íî òàêæå îöåíêè ïîñòóïêîâ è ïîâåäåí÷åñêèõ ñòðàòåãèé, òàê ÷òî àíàëèç òàêîãî ðîäà òåêñòîâ ïîçâîëÿåò ãîâîðèòü, â ÷àñòíîñòè, î íîðìàòèâíîé ñèñòåìå ïîðîäèâøåé èõ êóëüòóðû. Íå âäàâàÿñü â òîíêîñòè äèñêóññèè

êóëüòóðû. Ðàñïðîñòðàíåíèå ðàäèîâåùàíèÿ áûëî íåðàâíîìåðíûì: ê íà÷àëó 1941 ãîäà íà òûñÿ÷ó ÷åëîâåê â ãîðîäàõ ïðèõîäèëîñü 67 ïðèåìíèêîâ, à â ñåëüñêîé ìåñòíîñòè òîëüêî 8 (von Geldern. P. 45). Áûëè è äðóãèå ñïîñîáû ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ è ôîðìû ðàñïðîñòðàíåíèÿ ìàññîâîé êóëüòóðû: ôèëüìû, ãàçåòû, ïëàêàòû. Îäíàêî ðàäèî â óñëîâèÿõ âîéíû áûëî íàèáîëåå äåéñòâåííûì è äåìîêðàòè÷íûì. Ñì. R. Stites. Soviet Popular Culture. Entertainment and Society since 1900. Cambridge, 1992. Pp. 109-116. 18 R. A. Rothstein. Homeland, Home Town, and Battlefield. Pp. 80-82. 19 Ëþáîïûòíûé ôàêò: â ñáîðíèêå ôîëüêëîðà Âåëèêîé îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû ïðèâîäèòñÿ î÷åíü áëèçêèé îðèãèíàëó òåêñò ïåñíè “Îãîíåê”, ïðèñëàííûé â Ãîñóäàðñòâåííûé ëèòåðàòóðíûé ìóçåé â ÿíâàðå 1944 ãîäà ÷åëîâåêîì, èñêðåííå ñ÷èòàâøèì ýòó ïåñíþ íàðîäíîé (Â. Þ. Êðóïÿíñêàÿ, Ñ. È. Ìèíö. Ìàòåðèàëû ïî èñòîðèè ïåñíè Âåëèêîé Îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû. Ñ. 120-121).

317 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... î ñîäåðæàíèè òåðìèíà “ìàññîâàÿ êóëüòóðà”,20 îòìå÷ó, ÷òî ÿ áóäó èñïîëüçîâàòü åãî ïðèìåíèòåëüíî ê Ñîâåòñêîìó Ñîþçó äëÿ îáîçíà- ÷åíèÿ êóëüòóðíîé ïðîäóêöèè, ïðîèçâîäèìîé ïðîôåññèîíàëàìè äëÿ øèðîêîé àóäèòîðèè ïîä êîíòðîëåì è íà ñðåäñòâà ãîñóäàðñòâà – ôèëüìû, õóäîæåñòâåííóþ ëèòåðàòóðó, ìóçûêó è ïðî÷. Ïåðåäåëêè ïåñåí ïðåäñòàâëÿþò ñîáîé ñâîåîáðàçíûé ïîáî÷íûé ïðîäóêò ôóíêöèîíèðîâàíèÿ “áîëüøèõ” êóëüòóðíûõ ñèñòåì, âîç- íèêàþùèé â çàçîðå ìåæäó èäåîëîãèçèðîâàííîé ìàññîâîé êóëüòóðîé è òðàäèöèîííûì ôîëüêëîðîì. Çäåñü îáðàçîâàëîñü ïîëå îòíîñè- òåëüíîé ñâîáîäû, äàþùåé âîçìîæíîñòü äëÿ íàðîäíîãî òâîð÷åñòâà – ñâîáîäû îò ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé èäåîëîãèè, ïðîíèçûâàþùåé ïîïóëÿðíûå ïåñíè 1930-1940-õ ãã. Îäíàêî áûëî áû óïðîùåíèåì ñ÷èòàòü òàêèå ïåðåäåëêè ïàðîäèÿìè íà îôèöèàëüíûå âåðñèè ïåñåí.  êîëëåêöèè íàðîäíûõ ïåñåí âîåííîãî âðåìåíè, ñîñòàâëåííîé ôîëüêëîðèñòàìè Èíñòèòóòà ðóññêîé ëèòåðàòóðû ÐÀÍ Â. Þ. Êðóïÿíñêîé è Ñ. È. Ìèíö, áîëüøèíñòâî òåêñòîâ, êàê ýïèêî-ãåðîè÷åñêèõ, òàê è ëèðè÷åñêèõ, ðèñóþò èäåàëüíûå îòíîøåíèÿ è èäåàëüíûõ ãåðîåâ.21 Õîòÿ ñáîðíèê òðåáóåò êðèòè÷åñêîãî ê ñåáå îòíîøåíèÿ ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ åãî ïðåäñòà- âèòåëüíîñòè, íåò îñíîâàíèé ñîìíåâàòüñÿ â ïîäëèííîñòè áîëüøèíñòâà âîøåäøèõ â íåãî ïåñåí. Äðóãîé ðàçãîâîð, ÷òî òåêñòû, âêëþ÷åííûå â ñáîðíèê, âïîñëåäñòâèè íå ïðîøëè èñïûòàíèÿ âðåìåíåì, íå ñòàëè ÷àñòüþ ôîëüêëîðíîé òðàäèöèè.22  òî æå âðåìÿ íîâûå íàðîäíûå

20 Ñîäåðæàíèå òåðìèíà “ìàññîâàÿ êóëüòóðà” áëèæå âñåãî àíãëèéñêîìó “popular culture”. Èìåííî òàê, íàïðèìåð, íàçûâàåòñÿ êíèãà Ð. Ñòàéòñà î ñîâåòñêîé ìàññîâîé êóëüòóðå – ýñòðàäå, ôèëüìàõ è ïðî÷. (R. Stites. Soviet Popular Culture. Entertainment and Society since 1900). Îáñóæäåíèå òåðìèíà “popular culture” ïðèìåíèòåëüíî ê ñòàëèíñêîìó âðåìåíè ñì. â ñòàòüå R. Robin. Stalinism and Popular Culture // H. Gunter (Ed.). The Culture of the Stalin Period. Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, London, 1990. Pp. 14-40. 21 Â. Þ. Êðóïÿíñêàÿ, Ñ. È. Ìèíö. Ìàòåðèàëû ïî èñòîðèè ïåñíè Âåëèêîé Îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû. 22 Íàïðèìåð, îäíà èç íåìíîãèõ îïóáëèêîâàííûõ ïåðåäåëîê “Îãîíüêà” ñ íàçâàíèåì “Ïèñüìî” ðàññêàçûâàåò î ïåðåæèâàíèÿõ äåâóøêè ïî ïîâîäó îòñóòñòâèÿ ïèñåì ñ ôðîíòà “Èëü çàáûë ñâîé ëþáèìûé // Çîëîòîé îãîíåê?” è ïèñüìå, êîòîðîå ïèøåò åé “ôðîíòîâàÿ ñåñòðà” – âèäèìî, ìåäñåñòðà – “È òÿæåëûå ðàíû // Ïåðåíåñòü îí íå ñìîã. // Íî ïðè ñìåðòè îí ïîìíèë // Çîëîòîé îãîíåê” (Ïåñíè è ñêàçêè Ïåíçåíñêîé îáëàñòè / Ñîñò. À. Ï. Àíèñèìîâà. Ïîä ðåä. Ý. Â. Ïîìåðàíöåâîé. Ïåíçà, 1953. Ñ. 203-204. Çàïèñü ñäåëàíà â 1948 ã. â Ïåíçåíñêîé îáë.). Äåâóøêà ñîìíåâàåòñÿ â âåðíîñòè ëþáèìîãî – è ïîëó÷àåò, ïèñüìîì, äîêàçàòåëüñòâî òîãî, ÷òî îí ïîìíèë î “çîëîòîì îãîíüêå” äî ñàìîé ñìåðòè. 318 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ïåñíè, î êîòîðûõ ïîéäåò ðå÷ü íèæå (÷àñòü èç íèõ ïðîäîëæàåò ñóùåñòâîâàòü â æèâîé ôîëüêëîðíîé òðàäèöèè ïî ñåé äåíü), â ñáîðíèê íå âîøëè. Ïðè÷èíà, âåðîÿòíî, íå â îòñóòñòâèè ôîëüêëîðèñòè÷åñêîãî ÷óòüÿ, à â öåíçóðå, ìîæåò áûòü, äàæå ñàìîöåíçóðå ïóáëèêàòîðîâ, íå ðåøèâøèõñÿ â íà÷àëå 1950-õ ãã. ïîìåñòèòü â àêàäåìè÷åñêîå èçäàíèå íåïàòðèîòè÷åñêèå òåêñòû. Ýòè íå âîøåäøèå â ñáîðíèê âîåííîãî ôîëüêëîðà ïåñíè íå àíòè-, íî àïàòðèîòè÷íû è àïîëè- òè÷íû. Íîâûé ôîëüêëîð íå êðèòèêóåò ðåæèì. Åãî íå èíòåðåñóåò áîëüøîé ìèð; îí ñîñðåäîòî÷åí íà ëè÷íûõ ïåðåæèâàíèÿõ, íà ÷àñòíîé æèçíè. Îäíàêî ðàññêàçàííàÿ â ýòèõ ïåñíÿõ ïðîñòàÿ, êàê áóäòî âíåâðåìåííàÿ, ÷åëîâå÷åñêàÿ èñòîðèÿ ÿâëÿåòñÿ ÷àñòüþ ñîâðåìåííîé åé ñîöèàëüíîé ðåàëüíîñòè è ìîæåò ñëóæèòü êëþ÷îì ê ïîíèìà- íèþ ýïîõè.

“Êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó” Ñþæåò ïåñíè “Îãîíåê” ñâÿçàí ñ ïðîâîäàìè íà âîéíó (ïîëíûé òåêñò ñì. â Ïðèëîæåíèè). Ïðîâîäèâøàÿ áîéöà äåâóøêà øëåò åìó ïèñüìî, îáåùàÿ, “÷òî ëþáîâü åå äåâè÷üÿ íèêîãäà íå óìðåò” è “âñå, ÷òî áûëî çàãàäàíî, â ñâîé èñïîëíèòñÿ ñðîê”. Ïèñüìî ìîðàëüíî ïîääåðæèâàåò ñîëäàòà, ïîìîãàÿ åìó ñðàæàòüñÿ “çà Ñîâåòñêóþ Ðîäèíó, çà ðîäíîé îãîíåê”. Èäåÿ ïåñíè ïðîñòà: äàæå âîþÿ âäàëåêå îò äîìà, ñîëäàò çàùèùàåò ñâîé î÷àã. È èìåííî óâåðåííîñòü â òîì, ÷òî äîìà âñå â ïîðÿäêå, ÿâëÿåòñÿ íåîáõîäèìûì óñëîâèåì äóøåâíîãî ñïîêîéñòâèÿ ñîëäàòà, – à çíà÷èò, è ïîáåäû.  ñâÿçè ñ ýòèì íà æäóùóþ åãî æåíùèíó âîçëàãàåòñÿ äâîéíàÿ îòâåòñòâåííîñòü: áûòü âåðíîé ñâîåìó ìóæ÷èíå îçíà÷àåò áûòü âåðíîé îáùåìó äåëó, âûïîëíÿòü ñâîé ãðàæäàíñêèé äîëã. Èäåÿ ñèììåòðè÷íîñòè ñóäåá è âìåñòå ñ òåì ðàçäåëåíèÿ ñôåð îòâåòñòâåííîñòè ïî ãåíäåðíîìó ïðèíöèïó òèïè÷íà äëÿ ñîâåòñêîé ìàññîâîé ïåñíè.  “Êàòþøå” (ïåðâîíà÷àëüíîì âàðèàíòå) ïîãðàíè÷íèê “çåìëþ ñáåðåæåò ðîäíóþ”, â òî âðåìÿ êàê “ëþáîâü Êàòþøà ñáåðåæåò”; â ïåñíå “Òåìíàÿ íî÷ü”23 ãîâîðèòñÿ î òîì, ÷òî íàäåæíîñòü âîçëþáëåííîé – óñëîâèå âûæèâàíèÿ íà âîéíå: “òû ìåíÿ æäåøü... è ïîýòîìó, çíàþ, ñî ìíîé íè÷åãî íå ñëó÷èòñÿ”. Íåìåäëåííî ïîñëå ïîÿâëåíèÿ ïåñíè “Îãîíåê” âîçíèêàåò åå íàðîäíîå ïðîäîëæåíèå, â êîòîðîì ãîâîðèòñÿ î òîì, ÷òî ïðîèçîøëî

23 Ìóç. Í. Áîãîñëîâñêîãî, ñëîâà Â. Àãàòîâà. Áûëà íàïèñàíà äëÿ ôèëüìà “Äâà áîéöà” (1943 ã.). 319 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... ñ ãåðîÿìè ïîñëå ïðîâîäîâ íà ôðîíò (ñì. Ïðèëîæåíèå).24 “Íå óñïåë çà òóìàíàìè äîãîðåòü îãîíåê, – íà êðûëå÷êå ó äåâóøêè óæ äðóãîé ïàðåíåê”. Ó íåãî âíåøíîñòü âîäåâèëüíîãî ñîáëàçíèòåëÿ: “çîëîòûå ïîãîíû” è “ïàïèðîñêà â çóáàõ”. Âñêîðå “ïàðåíü øëåò ïèñüìåöî, ÷òî ïîðàíèëî íîæåíüêó, îáîæãëî âñå ëèöî” è çîâåò ïðèåõàòü ê íåìó. Äåâóøêà ïèøåò â îòâåò, ÷òî îíà âñòðåòèëà äðóãîãî: “Êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó, ïðî ìåíÿ ïîçàáóäü. Çàæèâåò òâîÿ íîæåíüêà, ïðîæèâåøü êàê-íèáóäü”. ×åðåç íåêîòîðîå âðåìÿ, ïîïðàâèâøèñü, ìîëîäîé ÷åëîâåê ïðèåçæàåò â ðîäíîé ãîðîä – “è ñ íàãðàäîé ãåðîéñêîþ îí âñòóïèë íà êðûëüöî”.25 Ãåðîé îòêàçûâàåòñÿ ïðîñòèòü ïðîâèíèâøóþñÿ äåâóøêó è íà ïîïûòêó ïðèìèðåíèÿ îòâå÷àåò åé òîé æå ôðàçîé: “êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó ”.  ïîçäíèõ âàðèàíòàõ ñþæåò ñòàíîâèòñÿ áîëåå æåñòêèì. Èñ÷å- çàåò ñîïåðíèê, “äðóãîé ïàðåíåê”, èç-çà êîòîðîãî äåâóøêà çàáûëà ñâîåãî âîçëþáëåííîãî, è ïîÿâëÿåòñÿ ìîòèâ ïðîâåðêè íà âåðíîñòü. Ìîëîäîé ÷åëîâåê ñîîáùàåò äåâóøêå î ñâîåé íåñóùåñòâóþùåé èíâàëèäíîñòè (“îòîðâàëî ìíå íîæåíüêó, îáîæãëî âñå ëèöî”). Ôèíàë òîò æå: îíà ïðîâåðêè íå âûäåðæèâàåò è îñòàåòñÿ îäíà.  ýòîì âàðèàíòå ïîÿâëÿåòñÿ åùå îäèí æåíñêèé ïåðñîíàæ. Ýòî ìàòü ãåðîÿ, êîòîðàÿ ïðîòèâîïîñòàâëÿåòñÿ äåâóøêå êàê âåðíàÿ è äîæäàâøàÿñÿ (ñì. Ïðèëîæåíèå).  ïåðåäåëêå ïåñíè ãîâîðèòñÿ î âîçâðàùåíèè ñ âîéíû. Ãåðîé çàâåðøàåò ñâîé ïóòü íà òîì ñàìîì ìåñòå, ñ êîòîðîãî îí êîãäà-òî óøåë. Íî ñ÷àñòëèâîãî ôèíàëà – ñîçäàíèÿ (â äðóãèõ âàðèàíòàõ ñþæåòà – âîññîåäèíåíèÿ) ñåìüè, êîòîðîå ñèìâîëèçèðîâàëî áû âîçâðàò ê äîâîåííîé æèçíè – íå ïðîèñõîäèò. Èçìåíèëñÿ ñàì âîçâðàùàþ- ùèéñÿ, ñòàâøèé ãåðîåì-îðäåíîíîñöåì; èçìåíèëñÿ è åãî äîì. Ðîäíîå ñòàëî ÷óæèì. Âîéíà – ýòî òàêîé ðàçðûâ âî âðåìåíè è ÷åëîâå÷åñêèõ îòíîøåíèÿõ, êîòîðûé çàëàòàòü íåâîçìîæíî. Ñþæåò î ïðîâåðêå íà âåðíîñòü – è íåñïîñîáíîñòè æåíùèíû âûäåðæàòü ýòó ïðîâåðêó – â ïîñëåâîåííîì îáùåñòâå îêàçàëñÿ ïî-íàñòîÿùåìó âîñòðåáîâàííûì. Êðîìå ïåðåäåëêè “Îãîíüêà”,

24 Ñì. ïóáëèêàöèþ ïåñíè â: Ãîðîäñêèå ïåñíè, áàëëàäû è ðîìàíñû / Ñîñò., ïîäãîòîâêà òåêñòà è êîììåíòàðèè À. Â. Êóëàãèíîé, Ô. Ì. Ñåëèâàíîâà. Ìîñêâà, 1999. Ñ. 81-82. 25 Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 127. Ïàïêà 1. Åä. õð. 7. Ðóêîïèñíûé àëüáîì. 1947 ã.

320 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ïîÿâèëèñü äðóãèå íàðîäíûå ïåñíè íà òó æå òåìó.  êà÷åñòâå ïðèìåðà ïðèâåäó ôðàãìåíòû òåêñòà èç ðóêîïèñíîãî ïåñåííèêà, îáíàðóæåííîãî ó÷àñòíèêàìè ôîëüêëîðíîé ýêñïåäèöèè â Íîâãîðîäñêîé îáëàñòè â 1949 ã. Îòëè÷èå îò ïðåäûäóùåãî ïðèìåðà ñîñòîèò â òîì, ÷òî çäåñü ãåðîè ïåñíè îêàçûâàþòñÿ ñóïðóãàìè, èìåþùèìè ðåáåíêà, òàê ÷òî äðàìà ïðèîáðåòàåò îñîáûé ñìûñë. Ýòîò ñëó÷àé ñîâñåì áûë íåäàâíî  Ëåíèíãðàäå âîò â ýòó âîéíó. Ëåéòåíàíò óêðàèíñêîãî ôðîíòà Èçâåùàåò ðîäíóþ æåíó. Äîðîãàÿ ìîÿ, ÿ êàëåêà, Ó ìåíÿ íåòó ïðàâîé ðóêè. Íåòó íîã, îíè ÷åñòíî ñëóæèëè Äëÿ çàùèòû ðîäíîé ñòîðîíû. Æåíà ïèøåò â îòâåò, ÷òî “êàëåêà, íå íóæåí òû ìíå”: Ìíå âñåãî òîëüêî 33 ãîäà ß õî÷ó òàíöåâàòü è ãóëÿòü À òû ýòîãî ñäåëàòü íå ñìîæåøü, Òîëüêî áóäåøü â ïîñòåëè ëåæàòü. Äî÷êà æå òàéêîì ïðèïèñûâàåò îò ñåáÿ, ÷òî ñ íåòåðïåíèåì æäåò âîçâðàùåíèÿ îòöà: È â êîëÿñêå êàòàòü òåáÿ áóäó, È öâåòû äëÿ òåáÿ áóäó ðâàòü,  ëåòíèé äåíü, êîãäà áóäåò òàê æàðêî, Áóäó íåæíî òåáÿ êîëûõàòü. Ðàçâÿçêà òà æå, ÷òî â ïåñíå “Êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó” – äîæäàâ- øàÿñÿ (çäåñü – äî÷êà) âîçíàãðàæäåíà âîçâðàùåíèåì îòöà, ïðåäà- òåëüíèöà-æåíà ïîñðàìëåíà è íàêàçàíà íåâîçâðàùåíèåì ìóæà, ïðèøåäøåãî ñ âîéíû íåâðåäèìûì: Ïàïà, ïàïî÷êà, ÷òî æå òàêîå? Ðóêè, íîãè îáîè öåëû. Îðäåí Êðàñíîãî Çíàìÿ ñèÿåò, Ðàñïîëîæåí íà ëåâîé ãðóäè.  ôèíàëå îòåö ïðèçûâàåò äî÷êó îòêàçàòüñÿ îò ìàòåðè: ðàç ìàìà íå âûøëà åãî âñòðå÷àòü, çíà÷èò, “îíà íàì ÷óæàÿ, è íå áóäåì î íåé

321 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... âñïîìèíàòü”.26 Îòêàçûâàÿñü îò âûïîëíåíèÿ ñîöèàëüíîé ðîëè ñóïðóãè, ïðåäàòåëüíèöà óòðà÷èâàåò è ïðàâî íà ñâîþ âòîðóþ, îñíîâ- íóþ, ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ òðàäèöèîííîé ìîðàëè, ðîëü – ìàòåðè. Âèäèìî, äî÷ü îñòàåòñÿ ñ îòöîì – õîòÿ â ïåñíå îá ýòîì ïðÿìî íå ãîâîðèòñÿ. Ïðîòèâîïîñòàâëåíèå æåíà-äî÷ü êàê íåâåðíàÿ/âåðíàÿ ïðåäåëüíî äðàìàòèçèðóåòñÿ â äðóãîé ïåñíå ñ àíàëîãè÷íûì ñþæåòîì. Äî÷êà (â îäíèõ âàðèàíòàõ – Àëëî÷êà, â äðóãèõ – Ðàå÷êà) ïèøåò óøåäøåìó íà ôðîíò îòöó î íåâåðíîñòè ìàòåðè: “ìàìà ñòàëà òåáÿ çàáûâàòü: ñòàëà ìîäíè÷àòü è êîêåòíè÷àòü, ñ ãåíåðàëàìè ñòàëà ãóëÿòü”.  âàðè- àíòå, ðàñïðîñòðàíåííîì â äåâè÷üèõ ðóêîïèñíûõ ïåñåííèêàõ íà÷àëà 1980-õ ãã. ìàòü, ïåðåõâàòèâ ïèñüìî, óáèâàåò äî÷êó: “È âîíçèëà íîæ â ñåðäöå àëîå, òîëüêî Àëëî÷êà êðèêíóëà “Àé!”. Äëÿ ýòîé àóäèòîðèè ãëàâíîé ãåðîèíåé ïåñíè áûëà äî÷êà, ðîâåñíèöà õîçÿåê è ÷èòàòåëü- íèö ïåñåííèêî⠖ “è ïîøåë åé äâåíàäöàòûé ãîä”. Âåðíîñòü â ýòîì òåêñòå ñòàíîâèòñÿ ïðè÷èíîé ìó÷åíè÷åñêîé ñìåðòè, íåâåðíîñòü îêàçûâàåòñÿ ÷ðåâàòîé ïðåñòóïëåíèåì – óáèéñòâîì.  äðóãîì âàðè- àíòå ïåñíè, ðàññ÷èòàííîé íà âçðîñëóþ àóäèòîðèþ, ïðåäëàãàåòñÿ èíàÿ êîíöîâêà: “äî÷êà Àëëî÷êà” ïèøåò îòöó, ÷òî “â÷åðàøíèé äåíü ìàòü âåëåëà ìíå äÿäþ Ïåòþ îòöîì íàçûâàòü”.  ýòîì âàðèàíòå ïîãèáàåò íå äî÷êà, à îòåö. Ïðåäàòåëüñòâî æåíû ëèøàåò ñìûñëà åãî âîåííûé ïîäâè㠖 îí óõîäèë “íà ôðîíò äðàòüñÿ ñ íåìöàìè, è òåáÿ (ò.å. æåíó – Æ.Ê.), è ñòðàíó çàùèùàòü” – è òîëêàåò ê ãèáåëè, ïðàêòè÷åñêè ñàìîóáèéñòâó. Ïîëó÷èâ ïèñüìî, ïðî÷èòàâ åãî, Ìóæ íå ñòàë óæ ñîáîé äîðîæèòü. È â ïîñëåäíèé áîé ïàë îí ñìåðòèþ, È ñåé÷àñ îí â ìîãèëå ëåæèò.27 Ôîëüêëîð ÿâëÿåòñÿ çàìå÷àòåëüíûì, õîòÿ è ñïåöèôè÷åñêèì, èñòî÷íèêîì ïî èñòîðèè Âåëèêîé îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû. Íåëåïî èñêàòü â íåì îòðàæåíèå ñîáûòèéíîé ñòîðîíû âîéíû, ýòè ñâèäåòåëüñòâà

26 Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 139. Ïàïêà 1. Åä. õð. 11. Ë. 24-25. Âàðèàíòû ýòîé ïåñíè áûëè çàïèñàíû â Àðõàíãåëüñêîé îáë. â 1981 ã. (Ñîâðåìåííàÿ áàëëàäà è æåñòîêèé ðîìàíñ / Ñîñò. Ñ. Àäîíüåâà, Í. Ãåðàñèìîâà. Ñàíêò- Ïåòåðáóðã, 1996. Ñ. 44-45), â Êàëóæñêîé îáë. â 1972 ã. (Ãîðîäñêèå ïåñíè, áàëëàäû è ðîìàíñû. Ñ. 332-333). Ñì. òàêæå ïóáëèêàöèþ áåç àòðèáóòàöèè â ñáîðíèêå:  íàøó ãàâàíü çàõîäèëè êîðàáëè. Ïåñíè / Ñîñò. Ý. Í. Óñïåíñêèé, Ý. Í. Ôèëèíà. Ìîñêâà, 1995. Ñ. 276-277. 27 Ñì. âàðèàíò ýòîé ïåñíè â: Ãîðîäñêèå ïåñíè, áàëëàäû è ðîìàíñû. Ñ. 330-331. 322 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 äàþò ïðåäñòàâëåíèå ïðåæäå âñåãî î ñèñòåìå íîðì è ïðàâèë, ðåëå- âàíòíûõ äëÿ îáùåñòâà âîåííîãî è ïåðâîãî ïîñëåâîåííîãî âðåìåíè.28 Øèðîêàÿ ðàñïðîñòðàíåííîñòü ïåñåí î æåíñêîé íåâåðíîñòè ïîçâî- ëÿåò ïðåäïîëàãàòü, ÷òî ïðåäñòàâëåííûå â íèõ êëèøèðîâàííûå îáðàçû è ìîäåëè ïîâåäåíèÿ äîëæíû áûëè óñâàèâàòüñÿ è âîñïðîèçâîäèòüñÿ – âî âñÿêîì ñëó÷àå, íà óðîâíå ðàññêàçîâ î ñëó÷àÿõ èç æèçíè. È äåéñòâè- òåëüíî, êðîìå ïîýòè÷åñêèõ òåêñòîâ ñþæåò î ïðîâåðêå íà âåðíîñòü ïðåäñòàâëåí â óñòíûõ ðàññêàçàõ, îïèñûâàþùèõ ðåàëüíûå – èëè âîîáðàæàåìûå, íî ñòåðåîòèïíûå – æèçíåííûå ñèòóàöèè. Îá ýòîì ïèøóò àâòîðû ñòàòüè î ïåñíÿõ Âåëèêîé îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû: “â ïèñüìàõ ôðîíòîâèêîâ, ñîïðîâîæäàþùèõ îáû÷íî òåêñò ïåñíè, ñîîáùàþòñÿ ôàêòû æèçíè ñàìîãî àâòîðà ïèñüìà èëè åãî òîâàðèùà, ïîðîäèâøèå äàííûé ñàòèðè÷åñêèé ñþæåò”.29 Èñòîðèÿ, ðàññêàçàííàÿ ìíå â ôîðìå ìåìîðàòà (íàððàòèâà î ðåàëüíûõ ëþäÿõ è ìåñòàõ), â êîòîðîì ðàññêàç÷èöà, 1920 ã.ð., îòâîäèëà ñåáå ìåñòî ñâèäåòåëÿ ôèíàëüíîé ñöåíû è ðîëü ïîäðóãè íåâåðíîé äåâóøêè, îòíîñèòñÿ êî âðåìåíè îêîí÷àíèÿ âîéíû. Ïî ïóòè äîìîé, ñ ôðîíòà (äåëî ïðîèñ- õîäèò â Ñâåðäëîâñêå) ìîëîäîé ÷åëîâåê ïîñûëàåò ñâîåé äåâóøêå ïèñüìî ñ ñîîáùåíèåì î òîì, ÷òî îí ñòàë êàëåêîé (ëèøèëñÿ íîã), è ïî âîçâðàùåíèè íàçíà÷àåò åé ñâèäàíèå, íà êîòîðîå åãî ïðèâîçÿò íà ìàøèíå. Äåâóøêà ãîâîðèò åìó, ÷òî åé íå íóæåí èíâàëèä, è òóò îí – êðàñàâåö ñ îðäåíàìè, ñîâåðøåííî çäîðîâûé – âûõîäèò èç ìàøèíû. Îíà ðàñêàèâàåòñÿ, îí åå íå ïðîùàåò. Ë. Í. Ïóøêàðåâ â ñâîèõ âîñïîìèíàíèÿõ ïðèâîäèò àíàëîãè÷íûé ðàññêàç, óñëûøàííûé èì âî âðåìÿ âîéíû. Îí ñ÷èòàåò ýòó èñòîðèþ åäèíè÷íûì ïðîçàè÷åñêèì ïåðåñêàçîì ïåñíè “Îãîíåê”, òî÷íåå, ðàçâèòèåì ñþæåòà ïåñíè – îá èçìåíèâøåé ñâîåìó âîçëþáëåííîìó- ôðîíòîâèêó äåâóøêå è åå ïîñðàìëåíèè.30 Î÷åíü ìîæåò áûòü, ÷òî óñëûøàííàÿ èì èñòîðèÿ – íå ôàíòàçèè íà òåìó ïåñíè, à õóäîæå- ñòâåííûé ïåðåñêàç óæå ñóùåñòâîâàâøåé ïåðåäåëêè èëè æå ìåìîðàò,

28 Êðîìå òîãî, ôîëüêëîð ïîçâîëÿåò ñîñòàâèòü ïðåäñòàâëåíèå è î ñîâðåìåííûõ åìó êóëüòóðíûõ ïðàêòèêàõ. Ñþæåò ïðîâåðêè íà âåðíîñòü, íàïðèìåð, ïðåäïîëàãàåò íàëè÷èå ïðàêòèêè îáìåíà ïèñüìàìè è, ñëåäîâàòåëüíî, îïðåäåëåííûé óðîâåíü ãðàìîòíîñòè è ãåðîåâ ïåñåí, è àóäèòîðèè. 29 Ñ. È. Ìèíö, À. Á. Ãðå÷èíà, Á. Ì. Äîáðîâîëüñêàÿ. Ìàññîâîå ïåñåííîå òâîð÷åñòâî. Ñ. 143. 30 Ë. Í. Ïóøêàðåâ. Âñïîìèíàíèÿ ôîëüêëîðèñòà-ôðîíòîâèêà. Ìîñêâà, 1995. Ñ. 154-158.

323 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... íàâåÿííûé ñþæåòîì ïåñíè. Î òîì, ÷òî ïåðåäåëêà áûëà ñëó÷àéíîìó èíôîðìàíòó Ë. Í. Ïóøêàðåâà (èëè åìó ñàìîìó) çíàêîìà, ñâèäåòåëü- ñòâóåò ôèíàëüíàÿ ôðàçà ðàññêàçà, êëþ÷åâàÿ â ïåðåäåëêå ïåñíè – îòâåò íåâåðíîé äåâóøêå “êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó”. Ïåðå÷èñëåíèå èçâåñòíûõ ìíå ïðîçàè÷åñêèõ âàðèàíòîâ ñþæåòà çàâåðøó òåì, ñ ÷åãî ñëåäîâàëî áû, ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ õðîíîëîãè÷åñêîé ëîãèêè, íà÷àòü.  1940 ã. Ìèõàèë Çîùåíêî íàïèñàë ðàññêàç “Èñïû- òàíèå”, ãåðîé êîòîðîãî, Èâàí Íèêîëàåâè÷, íåçàäîëãî äî ôèíñêîé âîéíû îñòàâèâøèé ñåìüþ è æåíèâøèéñÿ íà ìîëîäåíüêîé ñîñåäêå, ïåðåä âîçâðàùåíèåì ïèøåò äâà ïèñüìà ñ ñîîáùåíèåì î òîì, ÷òî åìó àìïóòèðîâàëè íîãó – ìîëîäîé æåíå è æåíå áûâøåé. Ïåðâàÿ îòâå÷àåò, ÷òî íå ãîòîâà ñâÿçàòü ñâîþ ñóäüáó ñ èíâàëèäîì è äîëæíà áóäåò ïåðåäàòü åãî íà ïîïå÷åíèå ãîñóäàðñòâó, à âòîðàÿ – ÷òî ðàäà åãî ïðèíÿòü äàæå òàêèì. “È âîò ÷òî ýòî? Ê âîðîòàì ïîäúåçæàåò ìàøèíà. È èç íåå âûõîäèò Èâàí Íèêîëàåâè÷. Îí öåë è íåâðåäèì. Íîãè ó íåãî íà ìåñòå. È íà ãðóäè ó íåãî ñâåðêàåò íîâåíüêèé îðäåí”. Îáùåñòâåííîñòü îñóæäàåò îáìàí, íà êîòîðûé ïîøåë ãëàâíûé ãå- ðîé, îí ïðèíîñèò èçâèíåíèÿ ñâîåé ìîëîäîé æåíå – è âîçâðàùà- åòñÿ ê òîé, êîòîðàÿ âûäåðæàëà èñïûòàíèå. Äîêàçàòü ïðÿìîå ãåíåòè÷åñêîå ðîäñòâî ìåæäó ðàññêàçîì Çîùåíêî è ïåðåäåëêîé ïåñíè “Îãîíåê” íåâîçìîæíî – îäíàêî è îòðèöàòü åãî òðóäíî. Ñëèøêîì ïîõîæèìè âûãëÿäÿò è ñàìè èñòîðèè, è èõ ìîðàëü. Òàê ÷òî î÷åíü ìîæåò áûòü, ÷òî ïîÿâèâøèéñÿ âî âðåìÿ äðóãîé âîéíû, ñîâåòñêî-ôèíñêîé, ýòîò ðàññêàç ïîâëèÿë íà âîçíèêíîâåíèå èëè ðàñïðîñòðàíåíèå ñþæåòà î ïðîâåðêå íà âåðíîñòü â íàðîäíûõ ïåñíÿõ è ïðîçàè÷åñêèõ íàððàòèâàõ Âåëèêîé îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû. Ïðèìåð îôèöèàëüíîé òðàêòîâêè ýòîãî ñþæåòà – èçâåñòíàÿ êàæäîìó ïîëó÷èâøåìó øêîëüíîå îáðàçîâàíèå æèòåëþ ÑÑÑÐ “Ïîâåñòü î íàñòîÿùåì ÷åëîâåêå” Áîðèñà Ïîëåâîãî (1946 ã.). Ëåò÷èê Àëåêñåé Ìåðåñüåâ, ïîòåðÿâøèé íà ôðîíòå íîãè, íà ïðîòÿæåíèè êíèãè áîðåòñÿ ñî ñâîåé èíâàëèäíîñòüþ, ÷òî îäíîâðåìåííî ðàñöå- íèâàåòñÿ èì êàê áîðüáà çà ïðàâî íà ñ÷àñòüå ñ ëþáèìîé äåâóøêîé Îëåé. Îí íå ñïåøèò ñîîáùàòü åé î ñâîåì ðàíåíèè äî òåõ ïîð, ïîêà íå äîêàçûâàåò ñåáå è îêðóæàþùèì, ÷òî îí íå èíâàëèä.  åãî ñëó÷àå ýòî îçíà÷àëî ñïîñîáíîñòü ñíîâà ñòàòü ëåò÷èêîì-èñòðåáèòåëåì. Ìåðåñüåâ, â îòëè÷èå îò ôîëüêëîðíûõ ãåðîåâ, âåäåò ñåáÿ áëàãîðîäíî: îí íå õî÷åò èñïûòûâàòü ÷óâñòâà ñâîåé âîçëþáëåííîé. Îí óâåðåí, ÷òî Îëüãà ïðèìåò åãî ëþáûì è íå æåëàåò, ÷òîáû ïðè÷èíîé ýòîãî ðåøåíèÿ áûëà íå ëþáîâü, à ãîòîâíîñòü ê ñàìîïîæåðòâîâàíèþ.

324 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Äðóãîé ãåðîé ïîâåñòè, òîâàðèù Ìåðåñüåâà ïî ïàëàòå òàíêèñò ñ îáåçîáðàæåííûì îæîãîì ëèöîì, çíàêîìèòñÿ ïî ïåðåïèñêå ñ äåâóø- êîé-ìîñêâè÷êîé èç õîðîøåé ñåìüè è òîæå îñòîðîæíè÷àåò, áîÿñü ïðèíÿòü ñîñòðàäàíèå çà ëþáîâü. Åãî Àíþòå ïî ñîáñòâåííîìó ïî÷èíó ïðèõîäèòñÿ äîêàçûâàòü åìó èñêðåííîñòü ñâîèõ ÷óâñòâ. Ðîìàíòè- ÷åñêèå ãåðîè Ïîëåâîãî (êîòîðûé, ðàáîòàÿ âîåííûì êîððåñïîíäåíòîì, íå ìîã íå çíàòü ïîïóëÿðíîãî íàðîäíîãî ñþæåòà î ìíèìîé èíâà- ëèäíîñòè è ïðîâåðêå íà âåðíîñòü) ðàçèòåëüíî îòëè÷àþòñÿ îò ãåðîåâ ñåíòèìåíòàëüíûõ æåñòîêèõ ôîëüêëîðíûõ òåêñòîâ. Çäåñü îò÷åòëèâî ïðîñòóïàåò ðàçíèöà â ðåïðåçåíòàöèè âîéíû â ìàññ-êóëüòóðå, îðèåí- òèðîâàííîé íà îïðåäåëåííûé èäåîëîãè÷åñêèé ñòàíäàðò, è êóëüòóðå íàðîäíîé, êîòîðàÿ, êàê óæå îòìå÷àëàñü, ðàâíîäóøíà ê èäåîëîãèè è ïîëèòèêå. Åñëè â ïåðâîì ñëó÷àå âîéíà ñîåäèíÿåò ñóäüáû (òàíêèñò è Àíþòà) è ñáëèæàåò ëþäåé, ïðåâðàùàÿ þíîøåñêîå óâëå÷åíèå â ñåðüåçíîå ÷óâñòâî (Ìåðåñüåâ è Îëüãà), òî âî âòîðîì âîéíà ðàçúåäèíÿåò è ðàçðóøàåò, ïîäâåðãàÿ ñîìíåíèþ óñòîé÷èâîñòü ìîðàëüíûõ íîðì è ìèðîïîðÿäêà.

Âîçâðàùàþùèéñÿ äîìîé Ïîïðîáóåì ðàçîáðàòüñÿ â ïðè÷èíàõ óñòîé÷èâîñòè ðàññìàòðè- âàåìîãî ñþæåòà. Ñëåäóåò îòìåòèòü, ÷òî òåìà èíâàëèäíîñòè âîîáùå íîâà äëÿ ðóññêîãî ôîëüêëîðà. Îá ýòîì íå ïåëè íè ïîñëå ïåðâîé ìèðîâîé âîéíû, íè ïîñëå, íàïðèìåð, ðóññêî-òóðåöêîé. Ðèñêíó ïðåä- ïîëîæèòü, ÷òî ïîÿâëåíèå òåìû èíâàëèäíîñòè ñâÿçàíî ñ óñòîé÷èâûì äëÿ îáùåñòâåííîãî äèñêóðñà ýòîãî âðåìåíè ïðîòèâîïîñòàâëåíèåì ôðîíòà è òûëà. Ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû, ó÷àñòíèêîì âîéíû òàêèì îáðàçîì ñòàíîâèòñÿ êàæäûé æèòåëü ñòðàíû. Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, âêëàä â îáùåå äåëî ôðîíòîâèêîâ è òðóæåíèêîâ òûëà ïîíèìàåòñÿ êàê íåðàâíîç- íà÷íûé. Ìíåíèå î òîì, ÷òî âîåâàâøèå ïîñòðàäàëè áîëüøå, ÷åì “ñðàæàâøèåñÿ” íà òðóäîâîì ôðîíòå, âîëüíî èëè íåâîëüíî ïîääåð- æèâàëîñü ãîñóäàðñòâîì, âûäåëÿâøèì òåõ, êòî ïðèíèìàë ó÷àñòèå â áîåâûõ äåéñòâèÿõ, ïóòåì ðàñïðåäåëåíèÿ ñîöèàëüíûõ ëüãîò è ïîñîáèé. Òàê ÷òî èíâàëèäíîñòü çäåñü – çíàê ïðèíàäëåæíîñòè ê ñòàòóñíîé ñîöèàëüíîé ãðóïïå (ôðîíòîâèêè). Äðóãîå îáúÿñíåíèå ñâÿçàíî ñ ðèòîðèêîé ïîäâèãà, êîòîðàÿ ñëîæèëàñü â îôèöèàëüíîì äèñêóðñå åùå â 1920-å ãã. è îêàçàëàñü âîñòðåáîâàííîé â ñèòóàöèè âîéíû. Äæåôôðè Áðóêñ îòìå÷àåò, ÷òî áîëüøåâèêè â 1920-å ãã. è ðàíüøå ïîñëåäîâàòåëüíî ðåïðåçåíòèðî-

325 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... âàëè ñåáÿ êàê ìó÷åíèêîâ; â 1930-å ãã. ìîòèâû ïîäâèãîâ è ìó÷åíè- ÷åñòâà âî èìÿ èäåè â ñðåäñòâàõ ìàññîâîé èíôîðìàöèè óñòóïàþò ìåñòî ãåäîíèñòè÷åñêèì íàñòðîåíèÿì, íî âî âðåìÿ âîéíû ïðîèñõîäèò âïîëíå îæèäàåìûé âîçâðàò ê ìîòèâàì ñòðàäàíèÿ.31  îôèöèàëüíîì âîåííîì äèñêóðñå ðèòîðèêà æåðòâû, èìåþùàÿ äîâîëüíî îò÷åòëèâûå îòñûëêè ê õðèñòèàíñêîé ñèìâîëèêå, â ÷àñòíîñòè, ê èäåå ñïàñåíèÿ ìèðà ÷åðåç ñòðàäàíèÿ è ñìåðòü îòäåëüíîãî ÷åëîâåêà, ñíîâà çàíè- ìàåò öåíòðàëüíîå ìåñòî. È íåóäèâèòåëüíî, ÷òî â íîâîì ôîëüêëîðå èíâàëèäíîñòü ñòàíîâèòñÿ ÿðêîé è ïîíÿòíîé ìåòàôîðîé ñòðàäàíèÿ – è âîéíû. Ïîíÿòíî, ÷òî ãåðîé ñòàë êàëåêîé “íà çàùèòå ðîäíîé ñòîðîíû”, ò.å. òåõ, ê êîìó îí âîçâðàùàåòñÿ. Àíàëèçèðóÿ èëëþñòðàöèè â ãàçåòå “Ïðàâäà” çà âðåìÿ âîéíû, Äæ. Áðóêñ îòìå÷àåò ïîñòåïåííûå èçìåíåíèÿ â âèçóàëüíîé ðèòîðèêå ÷åñòè. Ïðèáëèçèòåëüíî ñ ëåòà 1942 ãîäà ìàññ-ìåäèà íà÷èíàþò îáðàùàòüñÿ íå ê ïàòðèîòó, êîòîðîãî ïðèçûâàþò ê ïîáåäå ïàðòèÿ è Ñòàëèí, à ê ÷åëîâåêó, ñïîñîáíîìó ñîïåðåæèâàòü, ÷óâñòâîâàòü óíèæå- íèå, áîëü è ñòðàõ. Ñ òðåáîâàíèåì îòîìñòèòü è çàùèòèòü ñ ïëàêàòîâ è ãàçåòíûõ èëëþñòðàöèé âçûâàåò ìèðíîå íàñåëåíèå, ÷àùå âñåãî æåíùèíû.32 Íà ïëàêàòå Â. Êîðåöêîãî “Âîèí Êðàñíîé àðìèè, ñïàñè” (1942 ã.) íà æåíùèíó ñ ðåáåíêîì íà ðóêàõ íàïðàâëåí îêðîâàâëåííûé øòûê ñî ñâàñòèêîé; íà ïëàêàòå “Çà Ðîäèíó-ìàòü” (È. Òîèäçå, 1943 ã.) ïîçàäè ñîëäàò, êîòîðûå èäóò â àòàêó, èçîáðàæåíà æåíùèíà ñ ðåáåíêîì (ìàëü÷èêîì) íà ðóêàõ, çàêóòàííàÿ â êðàñíûé ôëà㠖 î÷åâèäíàÿ îòñûëêà ê çíàìåíèòîìó ïëàêàòó òîãî æå õóäîæíèêà “Ðîäèíà-ìàòü çîâåò”.33 Íåêîòîðûå ïëàêàòû ïðÿìî îáðàùàëèñü

31 J. Brooks. Thank you, Comrade Stalin! Soviet Public Culture from Revolution to Cold War. Princeton, New Jersey, 1999. P. 183. Ñì. òàêæå ëþáîïûòíîå èññëåäîâàíèå Åëåíû Ìàðêàñîâîé î ðåïðåçåíòàöèè ñåëüêîðà êàê ìó÷åíèêà â ãàçåòàõ âòîðîé ïîëîâèíû 1920-õ ãã.: Å. Â. Ìàðêàñîâà. “Ñåëüêîð ïîä îáñòðåëîì”. Ñòåðåîòèïû âðàæäåáíîãî îêðóæåíèÿ è æåðòâåííîñòè â êîììóíèêàöèîííîì çàâîåâàíèè äåðåâíè (1920-å – 1930-å ãã.), ñòàòüÿ îïóáëèêîâàíà â Èíòåðíåòå: http:// www.iek.edu.ru/groups/airo/markas.pdf, ïîñëåäíåå ïîñåùåíèå 17 ÿíâàðÿ 2005 ã., è ñòàòüþ Ìàðêà Ñòåéíáåðãà îá àêòèâíîì èñïîëüçîâàíèè àíàëîãè÷íîé ìåòàôîðèêè â ëèòåðàòóðíîì òâîð÷åñòâå ðàáî÷èõ ðåâîëþöèîííîé Ðîññèè: M. D. Steinberg. Workers on the Cross. Religious Imagination in the Writings of Russian Workers, 1910-1920 // Russian Review. 1994. Vol. 53. Pp. 213-239. 32 J. Brooks. Thank You, Comrade Stalin! Pp. 178-179. 33 Æåíùèíà ñ ðåáåíêîì íà ïëàêàòàõ îïðåäåëåííî âûçûâàåò àññîöèàöèè ñ îáðàçîì Áîãîðîäèöû, îòñûëàâøèì è ê èäåÿì ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî ïîðÿäêà (Áîãîðîäèöà êàê ïîêðîâèòåëüíèöà è çàùèòíèöà Ðóñè), è ê öåííîñòÿì ïðèâàòíîé æèçíè (ìåòàôîðà ñåìüè, äîìà). 326 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ê ñîëäàòó êàê îòöó è ìóæó. Íàïðèìåð, íà ïëàêàòå Íåñòåðîâîé “Ïàïà, óáåé íåìöà!” (1942 ã.) íà ïåðåäíåì ïëàíå èçîáðàæåí ìàëåíüêèé ìàëü÷èê, çà íèì ìåðòâàÿ æåíùèíà, âèäèìî ìàòü, è ãîðÿùàÿ äåðåâíÿ.  ýòî æå âðåìÿ ïîÿâëÿåòñÿ öåëàÿ ñåðèÿ ëèðè÷åñêèõ ïåñåí (íàïð., óæå óïîìèíàâøàÿñÿ “Òåìíàÿ íî÷ü”), â êîòîðûõ âîéíà ïðåäñòàâëåíà ñêâîçü ïðèçìó ãëóáîêî èíäèâèäóàëüíûõ ïåðåæèâàíèé.34 Ñëîâîì, ôîðìèðóåòñÿ íîâûé íàâûê ãîâîðèòü î âîéíå â òåðìèíàõ ëè÷íîãî ýìîöèîíàëüíîãî îïûòà. È ðàñïðîñòðàíåíèå ïåñåí âðîäå “Êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó” – ïî-âèäèìîìó, ðåçóëüòàò ýòîãî ïîâîðîòà â îáùåñòâåí- íîì äèñêóðñå.  ñâîåé êëàññè÷åñêîé ðàáîòå “Âîçâðàùàþùèéñÿ äîìîé” À. Øþòö çàìå÷àåò, ÷òî âîçâðàùåíèå äîìîé ïîñëå äîëãîãî îòñóòñòâèÿ âñåãäà òðàâìàòè÷íî.35 Ïðîáëåìà çàêëþ÷àåòñÿ â òîì, ÷òî äîì, êóäà ïðèõîäèò îòñóòñòâîâàâøèé, âîñïðèíèìàåòñÿ íå òåì äîìîì, èç êîòîðîãî îí êîãäà-òî óõîäèë. Îæèäàíèå ïîëíîãî óçíàâàíèÿ îêàçûâàåòñÿ îáìàíóòûì. Âìåñòî òîãî ÷òîáû âîéòè â ïðèâû÷íûé ðîäíîé äîì (çíàêîìûé ïîðÿ- äîê âåùåé, êóëüòóðíûõ ïðàêòèê è ñîöèàëüíûõ ñâÿçåé), âîçâðàùà- þùèéñÿ âûíóæäåí ñòðîèòü – èëè õîòÿ áû îñâàèâàòü – åãî çàíîâî. Íå òîëüêî äîì îêàçûâàåòñÿ èçìåíèâøèìñÿ è ÷óæèì. Äðóãèì ñòàë ñàì âîçâðàùàþùèéñÿ. Èíâàëèäíîñòü – âïîëíå ïðîçðà÷íàÿ ìåòàôîðà, îáîçíà÷àþùàÿ ñóùåñòâåííûå, íåîáðàòèìûå èçìåíåíèÿ ëè÷íîñòè.  ÷àñòíîñòè, êàê áûëî îòìå÷åíî â íåäàâíåé ðàáîòå Å. Ð. ßðñêîé-Ñìèðíîâîé, ñòàíîâÿñü èíâàëèäîì, ÷åëîâåê óòðà÷èâàåò ñâîé ãåíäåð.36 Îí êàê áû ñòàíîâèòñÿ áåñïîëûì – íà äèñêóðñèâíîì óðîâíå; â ðÿäå ñèòóàöèé åìó íåò ìåñòà íè ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû îïïîçèöèè ìóæñêîå/æåíñêîå. Ýòè íàáëþäåíèÿ î ïðîáëåìàòè÷íîñòè ãåíäåðà â ñëó÷àå èíâàëèäíîñòè ïîäòâåðæäàþòñÿ ôðàãìåíòîì ïåñíè, ïîâå- ñòâóþùåì î âîçâðàùåíèè ãåðîÿ äîìîé. Îí ïðèõîäèò “íà îáåèõ íîãàõ” è ñ îðäåíîì íà ãðóäè. Ìíèìàÿ èíâàëèäíîñòü (áåñïîëîñòü) îáîðà÷èâàåòñÿ òðèóìôîì ìóæåñòâåííîñòè.37

34 R. A. Rothstein. Homeland, Home Town, and Battlefield. Pp. 90-91. 35 À. Øþòö. Ñìûñëîâàÿ ñòðóêòóðà ïîâñåäíåâíîãî ìèðà. Î÷åðêè ïî ôåíîìåíîëîãè÷åñêîé ñîöèîëîãèè. Ìîñêâà, 2003. Ñ. 207-221. 36 Å. ßðñêàÿ-Ñìèðíîâà. Ñòèãìà “èíâàëèäíîé” ñåêñóàëüíîñòè //  ïîèñêàõ ñåêñóàëüíîñòè / Ïîä ðåä. Å. Çäðàâîìûñëîâîé è À. Òåìêèíîé. Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðã, 2002. Ñ. 230. 37 Ëþáîïûòíî, ÷òî â ðóññêîì ÿçûêå äëÿ îáîçíà÷åíèÿ èíâàëèäà èñïîëüçîâàëîñü ñëîâî îáùåãî ðîäà “êàëåêà”, íå íåñóùåå èíôîðìàöèè î ïîëå ÷åëîâåêà è òåì ñàìûì ñîîáùàþùåå î ïðîáëåìàòè÷íîñòè – èëè íåðåëåâàíòíîñòè – ïðèïèñûâàíèÿ åìó ãåíäåðà. 327 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... Óòðàòà (òî÷íåå, èçìåíåíèå) ãåíäåðà – òîëüêî îäèí èç àñïåêòîâ èçìåíåíèÿ ëè÷íîñòè – ìîæåò áûòü, íàèáîëåå î÷åâèäíûé è ëåãêî àðòèêóëèðóåìûé. Âåðîÿòíî, èíâàëèäíîñòü ñèìâîëèçèðóåò íàðóøåíèå ïîðÿäêà, ñîðàçìåðíîñòè è ïðèâû÷íîãî õîäà âåùåé. À îòêàç â ïîìîùè èíâàëèäó ãîâîðèò î ðàçðóøåíèè áàçîâûõ ýòè÷åñêèõ ïðàâèë. Îíè ïðåäïîëàãàþò îêàçàíèå ïîìîùè ñëàáîìó, ñîñòðàäàíèå, ëþáîâü ê áëèæíåìó. Ïðèâîäÿ ïðèìåð íàðóøåíèÿ íîðì ÷åëîâå÷åñêîãî îáùåæèòèÿ è ñîîáùàÿ î åãî ïîñëåäñòâèÿõ, ôîëüêëîð òðàíñëèðóåò è îáùåñòâåííóþ îöåíêó òàêèõ íàðóøåíèé, âûïîëíÿÿ òåì ñàìûì îïðåäåëåííóþ âîñïèòàòåëüíóþ ôóíêöèþ.

Ãåíäåðíûé ïîðÿäîê Ñðåäè ñóùåñòâåííûõ èçìåíåíèé, ïðîèçîøåäøèõ çà âðåìÿ è âñëåä- ñòâèå âîéíû, ñëåäóåò îòìåòèòü äåôîðìàöèþ òðàäèöèîííûõ ãåíäåðíûõ îòíîøåíèé, ãåíäåðíîãî ïîðÿäêà. Íà íåêîòîðîå âðåìÿ îáùåñòâî ñòàíîâèòñÿ ïðàêòè÷åñêè ãîìîñîöèàëüíûì: Âîò îêîí÷èëàñü âîéíà, È îñòàëàñü ÿ îäíà. ß è ëîøàäü, ÿ è áûê, ß è áàáà, è ìóæèê.38 Èíîãäà îíî ðåïðåçåíòèðóåòñÿ êàê ñîñòîÿùåå òîëüêî èç æåíùèí (ñì. òå æå ïëàêàòû), èíîãäà – êàê ëèøåííîå ñîöèàëüíîé ãðóïïû ìóæ÷èí, êàê îáùåñòâî “ñòàðèêîâ, æåíùèí è äåòåé”. Ïîíÿòíî, ÷òî ýòî íå âïîëíå ñîîòâåòñòâóåò äåéñòâèòåëüíîñòè: áûëè è æåíùèíû íà ôðîíòå, è ìóæ÷èíû â òûëó. Îäíàêî ñòåðåîòèïíîå ïðåäñòàâëåíèå î òûëå, îòðàçèâøååñÿ â ðàññìàòðèâàåìûõ íàìè òåêñòàõ, ýòî ïðåäñòàâ- ëåíèå îá îáùåñòâå áåç ìóæ÷èí. Âîéíà îêîí÷èëàñü, è ìóæ÷èíû âîçâðàùàþòñÿ â ìèð, ãäå èõ ïðèâû÷íûå ãåíäåðíûå ðîëè êàêèì-òî îáðàçîì âûïîëíÿëèñü áåç íèõ èëè íå âûïîëíÿëèñü âîâñå. Âî âñÿêîì ñëó÷àå, ñåìüÿ (äîì) íàó÷è- ëàñü âûæèâàòü áåç ìóæ÷èíû-õîçÿèíà.  ïåñíÿõ èçìåíåíèå ãåíäåðíûõ îòíîøåíèé ðåïðåçåíòèðóåòñÿ ïóòåì ñâîåîáðàçíîé òðàâåñòèè: ìóæ÷èíå ïðèïèñûâàþòñÿ òðàäèöèîííî æåíñêèå õàðàêòåðèñòèêè, è íàîáîðîò.

38 Òðåòüÿ è ÷åòâåðòàÿ ñòðî÷êè ýòîé ÷àñòóøêè ìîãóò ñóùåñòâîâàòü è îòäåëüíî êàê ïðèñëîâüå. Íàñòîÿùèé òåêñò âçÿò èç èíòåðâüþ, êîòîðîå Å. Åâòóøåíêî äàë “Íîâûì èçâåñòèÿì”. Îïóáëèêîâàíî â Èíòåðíåòå: http://8-04.olo.ru/news/culture/ 22788.html. Ïîñëåäíåå ïîñåùåíèå 17 ÿíâàðÿ 2005 ã. 328 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Òàê, ñîãëàñíî òðàäèöèîííûì ïðåäñòàâëåíèÿì, îòðàçèâøèìñÿ ðàâíî â ôîëüêëîðå è ëèòåðàòóðå, ìóæ÷èíà äîëæåí çàâîåâàòü, çàñëóæèòü æåíùèíó. Íà ýòîé èíòðèãå, â ÷àñòíîñòè, ñòðîèòñÿ âîëøåáíàÿ ñêàçêà,39 ýòà èäåÿ ìíîãîêðàòíî îáûãðûâàåòñÿ â òðàäèöèîííîì ñâàäåáíîì îáðÿäå.40 Ñîâåðøàÿ ïî äîðîãå â òðèäåñÿòîå öàðñòâî ìíîãî÷èñëåííûå ïîäâèãè, ãåðîé âîëøåáíîé ñêàçêè ïîäòâåðæäàåò ñâîå ïðàâî íàçûâàòüñÿ ìóæ÷èíîé. Áðàê, êîòîðûì çàêàí÷èâàåòñÿ ñêàçêà, è åñòü ïðèçíàíèå èñêîìîãî ñîöèàëüíîãî ñòàòóñà.  ôîëüêëîðå âîåííîãî âðåìåíè ïðèçîì, êîòîðûé íóæíî çàñëóæèòü, îêàçûâàåòñÿ ìóæ÷èíà. Áîëåå òîãî, îí ïîëó÷àåò ïðàâî íà èñïûòàíèå, íà ïðîâåðêó òîãî, äîñòîéíà ëè åãî æåíà èëè íåâåñòà, â òî âðåìÿ êàê â ñêàçêå, íàîáîðîò, íåâåñòà ïðîâåðÿåò æåíèõà. Òàêèì îáðàçîì, ïðîèñõîäèò èíâåðñèÿ òðàäè- öèîííîãî ñþæåòà, ëèòåðàòóðíîãî è æèçíåííîãî. È òàêîé ïîâîðîò âïîëíå îáúÿñíèì. Îãðîìíîå êîëè÷åñòâî ìóæ÷èí íå âåðíóëèñü ñ âîéíû, òàê ÷òî “öåííîñòü” îñòàâøèõñÿ â æèâûõ áûëà î÷åíü âûñîêà. Îá ýòîé ñèòóàöèè íåäâóñìûñëåííî ãîâîðèòñÿ â ÷àñòóøêå êîíöà âîéíû: Îé, ìîëèñü òû, Âàíÿ, Áîãó, Çà ñ÷àñòëèâóþ âîéíó. Ðàíüøå áûë áû òû â ïîðîãå [ò.å. íå ïóñòèëè áû äàëüøå ïîðîãà – Æ. Ê.], À òåïåðü â áîëüøîì óãëó.41 Äðóãîé óðîâåíü èíâåðñèè ñâÿçàí ñî ñïåöèôèêîé æàíðà îáñóæ- äàåìûõ òåêñòîâ. Ýòî áàëëàäû – ýïè÷åñêèå (ïîâåñòâîâàòåëüíûå) ïåñíè äðàìàòè÷åñêîãî õàðàêòåðà, â êîòîðûõ ñîáûòèÿ îáùåíàðîä- íîãî çíà÷åíèÿ, âîïðîñû ýòè÷åñêèå, ñîöèàëüíûå, ôèëîñîôñêèå âîñïðîèçâîäÿòñÿ ñêâîçü ïðèçìó ëè÷íûõ ÷åëîâå÷åñêèõ îòíîøåíèé è ñóäåá.42  êîíöå XIX – íà÷àëå XX ââ. áàëëàäà èñïûòàëà çàìåòíîå âëèÿíèå æåñòîêîãî ðîìàíñà, ñîõðàíèâ âñå æå ñâîþ æàíðîâóþ ñïå- öèôèêó.  áàëëàäå, êàê â ýïîñå, ðàññêàç âåäåòñÿ îò òðåòüåãî ëèöà, “â òîíå îáúåêòèâíîãî è ïîñëåäîâàòåëüíîãî ïîâåñòâîâàíèÿ î

39 Â. ß. Ïðîïï. Ìîðôîëîãèÿ ñêàçêè. Ëåíèíãðàä, 1928. 40 Ñì. îá ýòîì: À. Ê. Áàéáóðèí, Ã. À. Ëåâèíòîí. Ïîõîðîíû è ñâàäüáà // Èññëåäîâàíèÿ â îáëàñòè áàëòî-ñëàâÿíñêîé äóõîâíîé êóëüòóðû. Ïîãðåáàëüíûé îáðÿä. Ìîñêâà, 1990. Ñ. 64-99. 41 Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 166. Ïàïêà 2. Åä. õð. 1. Ë. 8 îá. 42 Ä. Ì. Áàëàøîâ. Ðóññêàÿ íàðîäíàÿ áàëëàäà // Íàðîäíûå áàëëàäû. Âñòóïèò. ñòàòüÿ, ïîäã. òåêñòà è ïðèì. Ä. Ì. Áàëàøîâà. Ñ. 7. 329 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... ñîáûòèÿõ”,43 â òî âðåìÿ êàê â ëèðè÷åñêèõ æàíðàõ, ê êîòîðûì îòíî- ñèòñÿ è æåñòîêèé ðîìàíñ, ïîâåñòâîâàíèå ïðîèñõîäèò îò ïåðâîãî ëèöà è â öåíòðå âíèìàíèÿ íàõîäÿòñÿ ïåðåæèâàíèÿ ëèðè÷åñêîãî ãåðîÿ, à íå äðàìàòèçì ñþæåòà.44  äîâîåííîì áàëëàäíîì ñþæåòå öåíòðàëüíûì ïåðñîíàæåì îáû÷íî ÿâëÿåòñÿ ãåðîèíÿ, êîòîðóþ ïîêèäàåò âîçëþáëåííûé, à ãëàâíîé òåìîé – åå ãèáåëü.  ïåñíÿõ âîåííîãî âðåìåíè ïðîèñõîäèò èíâåðñèÿ òðàäèöèîííîé èñòîðèè ïðî ëþáîâü è èçìåíó: íà ìåñòå ñòðàäàþùåãî ïåðñîíàæà è, ñëåäîâàòåëüíî, ïîëîæèòåëüíîãî ãåðîÿ îêàçûâàåòñÿ ìóæ÷èíà. Èñòîðèÿ íàêàçàíèÿ çà íåâåðíîñòü ðàññêàçûâàåòñÿ êàê áû ñ åãî òî÷êè çðåíèÿ. Åùå îäíî îòëè÷èå îò òðàäèöèîííîé áàëëàäû çàêëþ÷àåòñÿ â òîì, ÷òî ôèíàë ïåñåí âðîäå “Êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó” îïòèìèñòè÷åí. Ñåìåéíûå (èëè ëþáîâíûå) óçû íå âûäåðæàëè ïðîâåðêè, íî æèçíü ãëàâíîãî ãåðîÿ íà ýòîì íå çàêàí÷èâàåòñÿ. Ïðàâäà, îí îïòèìèñòè÷åí ëèøü äëÿ ãåðîÿ. Êàê è ïîëàãàåòñÿ ïî çàêîíó æàíðà, ñòðàäàåò ãåðîèíÿ, ëèøåííàÿ ñ÷àñòëèâîé âîçìîæíîñòè âûéòè çàìóæ èëè âåðíóòü ïðèøåäøåãî ñ âîéíû ìóæà.  ïðîäîëæåíèå òåìû î òðàíñôîðìàöèè ãåíäåðíûõ îòíîøåíèé ñëåäóåò óïîìÿíóòü óäèâèòåëüíîå, ïðàêòè÷åñêè íåâîçìîæíîå äëÿ òðàäèöèîííîé ãåíäåðíîé ñèñòåìû ðåøåíèå ãåðîÿ îäíîé èç ïåñåí çàáðàòü äî÷ü ó åå ìàòåðè. Îáû÷íûì ÿâëåíèåì ïîñëåâîåííîãî âðåìåíè áûëà ìàòü-îäèíî÷êà – æåíùèíà, ÷åé ìóæ íå âåðíóëñÿ ñ âîéíû, èëè ðåøèâøàÿñÿ ðîäèòü ïîñëå âîéíû áåç ìóæà. Íî íå ñëåäóåò îæèäàòü îò ôîëüêëîðíîãî òåêñòà ïðîñòîãî îïèñàíèÿ ñîöèàëüíîé ðåàëüíîñòè. Ñ ïîìîùüþ ýòîãî íåòðèâèàëüíîãî õîäà àóäèòîðèè, çíàêîìîé ñ ñîâåðøåííî èíîé æèçíåííîé ïðàâäîé, ïåñíÿ ñîîáùàåò î êàòàñò-

43 Òàì æå. Ñ. 8. 44 Ñïåöèôèêà ñîâðåìåííîé ðóññêîé áàëëàäû îáñóæäàëàñü â öåëîé ñåðèè ôîëüêëîðèñòè÷åñêèõ ðàáîò. Ñì. íàïð.: Ý. Â. Ïîìåðàíöåâà. Áàëëàäà è æåñòîêèé ðîìàíñ // Ðóññêèé ôîëüêëîð. Âûï. XVI. Ëåíèíãðàä, 1974; Ñ. Àäîíüåâà, Í. Ãåðàñèìîâà. “Íèêòî ìåíÿ íå ïîæàëååò ” Áàëëàäà è æåñòîêèé ðîìàíñ êàê ôåíîìåí íàðîäíîé êóëüòóðû íîâîãî âðåìåíè // Ñîâðåìåííàÿ áàëëàäà è æåñòîêèé ðîìàíñ / Ñîñò. Ñ. Àäîíüåâà, Í. Ãåðàñèìîâà. Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðã, 1996. Ñ. 339-365; À. Â. Êóëàãèíà. Íîâàÿ ñèñòåìà ïåñåííûõ æàíðîâ ôîëüêëîðà // Ñëàâÿíñêàÿ òðàäèöèîííàÿ êóëüòóðà è ñîâðåìåííûé ìèð. Ñáîðíèê ìàòåðèàëîâ íàó÷íî-ïðàêòè÷åñêîé êîíôåðåíöèè. Âûï. 2. Ìîñêâà, 1997. Ñ. 39-53; Ô. Ì. Ñåëè- âàíîâ. Íàðîäíûå ãîðîäñêèå ïåñíè // Ãîðîäñêèå ïåñíè, áàëëàäû è ðîìàíñû / Ñîñò., ïîäãîòîâêà òåêñòà è êîììåíòàðèè À. Â. Êóëàãèíîé, Ô. Ì. Ñåëèâàíîâà. Ìîñêâà, 1999. Ñ. 5-28. 330 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ðîôè÷íîñòè èçìåíåíèé, ïðîèçîøåäøèõ ñ ìèðîì. Äîáàâèì, ÷òî ìóæ÷èíà-ïðèç (ò.å. áðà÷íûé ïàðòíåð) íå äîñòàåòñÿ, â ïðåäåëàõ ðàññìàòðèâàåìîãî ñþæåòà, íèêîìó. Ýòî òàêæå äîëæíî áûëî âîë- íîâàòü ñëóøàòåëåé. Âìåñòî íåóäàâøåéñÿ ðîëè ìóæà èëè æåíèõà àêòóàëèçèðóåòñÿ åãî ðîëü îòöà èëè ñûíà. Êðîâíûå ðîäñòâåííûå ñâÿçè îêàçûâàþòñÿ áîëåå ïðî÷íûìè, ÷åì áðàê. Ôèíàë îäíîãî èç âàðèàíòîâ óïîìèíàâøåéñÿ âûøå ïåñíè “Â îäíîì ãîðîäå æèëà ïàðî÷êà” ñîäåðæèò ìîðàëü, îáðàùåííóþ ê íåâåðíûì æåíàì: “Âû åùå ñåáå ìóæà âñòðåòèòå, à äåòÿì îí íåðîäíûé îòåö”.45 Çàìå÷ó, ÷òî ýòî ñâîéñòâî áðàêà îáñóæäàåòñÿ è â äðóãèõ, áîëåå ðàííèõ íàðîäíûõ ïåñíÿõ, íàïðèìåð â ïåñíå “Áåæàë áðîäÿãà ñ Ñàõàëèíà”: “Æåíà íàéäåò ñåáå äðóãîãî, à ìàòü ñûíî÷êà íèêîãäà”. Ïîêàçàòåëüíî, ÷òî åñëè èçìåííèêîì îêàçûâàåòñÿ ìóæ÷èíà, ïåñíÿ ïîëó÷àåò èíîé ôèíàë. Ãåíäåðíàÿ àñèììåòðèÿ, âîîáùå íîðìàëüíàÿ äëÿ ëþáîãî îáùåñòâà, â ñèòóàöèè âîéíû óñèëèâàåòñÿ. Ïðè ýòîì, ïîæàëóé, íå ïðîèñõîäèò êàêèõ-òî êàðäèíàëüíûõ èçìåíåíèé â òðàäè- öèîííîì ãåíäåðíîì ïîðÿäêå, ïðîñòî ñòàíîâÿòñÿ áîëåå îò÷åòëèâûìè, îáíàæàþòñÿ òðàäèöèîííî ïðîáëåìíûå óçëû ãåíäåðíûõ îòíîøåíèé. Îäèí èç íèõ – ïðèíöèï äâîéíîãî ñòàíäàðòà. Æåíùèíà íå ìîæåò áûòü ïðîùåíà çà íåâåðíîñòü – à ìóæ÷èíà ìîæåò. Ïðèìåðîì òîìó – ïåñíÿ “Ìàðóñÿ”.46 Ìóæ óõîäèò íà âîéíó äîáðîâîëüöåì, äîìà îñòàåòñÿ æåíà Ìàðóñÿ è òðîå äåòåé; âî âðåìÿ îêêóïàöèè îíè îêàçû- âàþòñÿ áåç êðîâà è ïèùè: è â ëåñó åé ïðèøëîñÿ ñêèòàòüñÿ îñòðîé áîëè ñòóïàòü íà íîãó (òàê!) è îòáðîñîì ïðèøëîñü èì ïèòàòüñÿ – ëèøü áû òîëüêî íå ñäàòüñÿ âðàãó. Ìóæ, íå èìåÿ âåñòåé îò Ìàðóñè, çàâîäèò ñåáå íîâóþ æåíó, Þëèþ. Ïîñëå îêîí÷àíèÿ âîéíû îí, äîñëóæèâøèéñÿ äî çâàíèÿ ìàéîðà, âîçâðàùàåòñÿ äîìîé è íà ñòàíöèè áëèç ßðîñëàâëÿ â ïðîñèâ- øåì ìèëîñòûíþ “ìàëü÷èêå äðÿõëîì â ëàïòèøêàõ” óçíàåò ñâîåãî ñûíà. Òîãäà îí ðåøàåò ðàññòàòüñÿ ñ æåíîé Þëèåé, îòïðàâëÿåòñÿ â áîëüíèöó ê Ìàðóñå, êîòîðàÿ íàçûâàåò åãî “èçìåíùèêîì” è õî÷åò ïðîãíàòü. Îäíàêî âñå êîí÷àåòñÿ, ïî èíèöèàòèâå ìóæ÷èíû, áëàãî- ïîëó÷íûì âîññîåäèíåíèåì ñåìüè:

45  íàøó ãàâàíü çàõîäèëè êîðàáëè. Ñ. 275. 46 Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 166. Ïàïêà 2. Åä. õð. 174. Çàï. â Êîñòðîìñêîé îáë. â 1959 ã. 331 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... ÷òî æå äåëàòü, ðîäíàÿ Ìàðóñÿ, åñëè ñ Þëüåé ïðèøëîñÿ ïîæèòü. À òåïåðü ÿ åå ïîçàáóäó È òåáÿ áóäó òîëüêî ëþáèòü. Îäíàêî âîåííûé ôîëüêëîð çíàåò êàòåãîðèþ ãåðîèíü, äëÿ êîòîðûõ ïðèíöèï ãåíäåðíîé àñèììåòðèè íå ðàáîòàåò. Êðîìå íåâåñò è æåí, à òàêæå ýïèçîäè÷åñêèõ ìàòåðåé è ìàëîëåòíèõ äî÷åê, â ïåñíÿõ âîåííûõ ëåò èìååòñÿ îáðàç “íåçàêîííîé” âîçëþáëåííîé. Ýòî – ðîëü æåíùèíû ñèëüíîé è ñâîáîäíîé, ïðåòåíäóþùåé â îòíîøåíèÿõ ñ ìóæ÷èíîé íà ðàâåíñòâî. Îáðàòèìñÿ ê åùå îäíîé ïåðåäåëêå – ïåðåòåêñòîâêå ïåñíè “Ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ”.47  áîëüøèíñòâå èçâåñòíûõ ìíå âàðèàíòî⠓ïðîäîë- æåíèå” ïåñíè èìååò ôîðìó äâóõ ïèñåì – îò ìóæ÷èíû ê æåíùèíå è îòâåòíîå, îò æåíùèíû ê ìóæ÷èíå. “Ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ” – íå æåíà, à âîçëþáëåííàÿ, êîòîðóþ ïðèøëî âðåìÿ ïîêèíóòü, ïîñêîëüêó âîéíà çàêîí÷èëàñü è ïîðà âîçâðàùàòüñÿ äîìîé.  “ìóæñêîì” ïèñüìå (âçÿòî èç ôðîíòîâîé òåòðàäè, õîçÿèí êîòîðîé – ìóæ÷èíà) ãîâîðèòñÿ î òîì, ÷òî: êàê ìíîãî èõ, íå ïåðå÷òåøü, æäóò ïèñåì îò ìåíÿ è â Ðîñòå åñòü, è â Ñàéäå48 åñòü ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Òåì æå, êòî áóäåò èíòåðåñîâàòüñÿ îòöîì èõ ìàëåíüêîé äî÷êè, ëèðè÷åñêèé ãåðîé ñîâåòóåò îòâå÷àòü, ÷òî îí ïîãèá íà âîéíå.49  îòâåòíîì ïèñüìå æåíùèíà çàÿâëÿåò, ÷òî îòåö ðåáåíêà íå îí, à “êòî-íèáóäü äðóãîé”, ÷òî ó íåå òîæå åñòü “ìóæ÷èí äåñÿòêà äâà” è ÷òî çàâòðà îíà âñòðå÷àåò ìóæà ñ âîéíû (â äðóãîì âàðèàíòå – âñòðåòèëà â÷åðà). Âûñòðàèâàåòñÿ ñèììåòðè÷íàÿ ñèòóàöèÿ: îáà ëþáîâíèêà æåíàòû è îáà èìåþò ïàðàëëåëüíûå ñâÿçè. Òåì íå ìåíåå ìóæ÷èíà-àâòîð ïèñüìà îáúÿâëÿåòñÿ ïîäëåöîì: Òàêèõ êàê òû íå ïåðå÷åñòü, Òàêîâ çàêîí âîéíû. È â Îìñêå åñòü, è â Òîìñêå åñòü Òàêîé ïîäëåö, êàê òû.50

47 Ìóç. Ì. Áëàíòåðà, ñë. Å. Äîëìàòîâñêîãî. Ïåñíÿ çàïèñàíà íà ïëàñòèíêó â 1942 ã. â èñïîëíåíèè Ñåðãåÿ Ëåìåøåâà. 48 Ñàéäà – ãîðîäîê â Ìóðìàíñêîé îáëàñòè, èäåíòèôèöèðîâàòü Ðîñò (èëè Ðîñòó) ìíå íå óäàëîñü. Íàçâàíèÿ ãîðîäîâ ìîãóò èçìåíÿòüñÿ – âèäèìî, â çàâèñèìîñòè îò òîãî, êàêàÿ ãåîãðàôèÿ àêòóàëüíà äëÿ õîçÿèíà àëüáîìà èëè èñïîëíèòåëÿ ïåñíè. 49 Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 127. Ïàïêà 1. Åä. õð. 120. Ë. 5 îá.-6. 50 Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 127. Ïàïêà 1. Åä. õð. 120. Ë. 25. Çàïèñàíî íà ñò. Êîçëî-ðóäà, Ëèòâà â äåêàáðå 1944 ã. 332 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Ïðàâäà, òåêñò æåíñêîãî ïèñüìà âûãëÿäèò ñêîðåå êàê âûíóæäåííàÿ çàùèòà. Íàïîìíþ, ÷òî ýòî îòâåò íà ïðîùàëüíîå ïèñüìî áûâøåãî âîçëþáëåííîãî. È î÷åâèäíî, ÷òî ñèìïàòèè àíîíèìíûõ àâòîðîâ, ðàâíî êàê èñïîëíèòåëåé è ÷èòàòåëåé, íà ñòîðîíå ýòîé íåçàâèñèìîé æåíùèíû, êîòîðàÿ îòêàçûâàåòñÿ îò ðîëè æåðòâû, à íå íà ñòîðîíå ìóæ÷èíû. Õîòÿ, ñòðîãî ãîâîðÿ, åå ïîâåäåíèå äîëæíî áû, ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ òðàäèöèîííîé ìîðàëè, îðèåíòèðîâàííîé íà öåííîñòè ñåìüè, áûòü îñóæäàåìî. Ïðàâäà (è ýòî ñóùåñòâåííî), ëèðè÷åñêèå ãåðîè ýòîé ïåñíè – íå ìóæ è æåíà èëè æåíèõ è íåâåñòà. Îíè ëþáîâíèêè, ñîåäèíåííûå âîéíîé. Âåðîÿòíî, çäåñü íàøëî îòðàæåíèå òàêîå ñîöèàëüíîå ÿâëåíèå êàê ÏÏÆ (ïîõîäíî-ïîëåâàÿ æåíà) – æåíùèíà, íà âðåìÿ âîéíû ñòàíîâèâøàÿñÿ ôàêòè÷åñêè æåíîé, îáû÷íî îôèöåðà. È ðàç ôîëüêëîðîì, ïðåäïîëàãàþùèì öåíçóðó êîëëåêòèâà, ýòà ñâÿçü íå îñóæäàåòñÿ, íå îñóæäàåòñÿ îíà è îáùåñòâîì.

Ïåñåííàÿ ïîëåìèêà Ôîðìà îáìåíà ìíåíèÿìè – îáû÷íî â âèäå ïèñåì – áûëà äîâîëüíî òèïè÷íà äëÿ ïåðåäåëîê ìàññîâûõ ïåñåí.51  ïðèâåäåííîì ïðèìåðå æåíñêîå è ìóæñêîå “ïèñüìà” âûðàæàþò, ñ íåñêîëüêî öèíè÷íîé îòêðîâåííîñòüþ, æåíñêóþ è ìóæñêóþ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ, âèäèìî, ðàçäå- ëÿåìûå ìíîãèìè. Âîçíèêíîâåíèå ýòîé ôîðìû îïðåäåëåííî ñâÿçàíî ñ ðàñïðîñòðàíåíèåì âî âðåìÿ âîéíû ïðàêòèêè îáìåíà ïèñüìàìè. Êðîìå òîãî, ïðÿìîå âëèÿíèå íà ïîÿâëåíèå òàêèõ òåêñòîâ ìîãëî îêàçàòü âñå òî æå ðàäèî. Âî âðåìÿ âîéíû íà ðàäèî áûëà îðãàíèçîâàíà ïåðåäà÷à, âî âðåìÿ êîòîðîé çà÷èòûâàëèñü ïèñüìà, ïðèñëàííûå èç ôðîíòà è èç òûëà îò ëþäåé, ðàçûñêèâàþùèõ ÷ëåíîâ ñâîåé ñåìüè. Ïî ñâåäåíèÿì, êîòîðûå ïðèâîäèò ôîí Ãåëäåðí, íà ðàäèî åæåìåñÿ÷íî ïðèõîäèëî îêîëî 50.000 òàêèõ ïèñåì. Ïðèáëèçèòåëüíî äåñÿòàÿ ÷àñòü èç íèõ çà÷èòûâàëàñü â ýôèðå. Ïîíà÷àëó êîððåêòèðîâàëñÿ ñòèëü, è ïèñüìà ÷èòàëè ïðîôåññèîíàëüíûå äèêòîðû, íî ïî ïðîñüáàì ñëó- øàòåëåé ïîñòåïåííî ïðàâêà ñòàëà ñâîäèòüñÿ ê ìèíèìóìó, è ïèñüìà èíîãäà ñòàëè çà÷èòûâàòü ñàìè àâòîðû.52 Òàêèì îáðàçîì, ïðèâàòíàÿ æèçíü ïðåâðàùàåòñÿ â îáùåñòâåííîå äåëî.

51 Ñì. îá ýòîì: Ï. Ô. Ëåáåäåâ. Ïåñíè, çâàâøèå íà ïîäâèã. Ñàðàòîâ, 1978. Ñ. 142-162; R. A. Rothstein. Homeland, Home Town, and Battlefield. Pp. 82-85. 52 J. von Geldern. Radio Moscow. The Voice from the Center. P. 51.

333 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... Âî âðåìÿ âîéíû ïðîèñõîäèò ïåðåðàñïðåäåëåíèå è ÷àñòè÷íîå ñìåøåíèå ïóáëè÷íîé è ïðèâàòíîé ñôåð æèçíè (ñð. óæå óïîìèíàâ- øååñÿ èñïîëüçîâàíèå êâàçèñåìåéíûõ îáðàçîâ â ïàòðèîòè÷åñêîé ðèòîðèêå, îáðàùåííîé ê âîèíàì). Ëè÷íûå ïðîáëåìû îáñóæäàþòñÿ ïóáëè÷íî, ÷àñòíàÿ æèçíü ñòàíîâèòñÿ ïðåäìåòîì îáùåñòâåííîãî äèñêóðñà, â òîì ÷èñëå è â åãî íàðîäíîé ðåäàêöèè – ôîëüêëîðå.  òî æå âðåìÿ ïðîèñõîäèò è “ïðèâàòèçàöèÿ” îáùåãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî ñîáûòèÿ (âîéíû), ïîñòåïåííîå óñâîåíèå îôèöèàëüíîãî äèñêóðñà è ïåðåâîä åãî íà ïîíÿòíûé ÿçûê. Ñåðèþ îòêëèêîâ â ïåñåííîé ôîðìå âûçâàëà ïåðåäåëêà “Îãîíüêà”. Ïî ñâèäåòåëüñòâó àâòîðîâ, ïîæàëóé, åäèíñòâåííîãî ñåðüåçíîãî èññëåäîâàíèÿ î ìàññîâîì ïåñåííîì òâîð÷åñòâå âòîðîé ìèðîâîé âîéíû, “ñðåäè ôðîíòîâèêîâ áîëüøîé ïîïóëÿðíîñòüþ ïîëüçîâàëñÿ “Îòâåò” íà “Îãîíåê”, â êîòîðîì îñóæäàëàñü äåâóøêà, îòêàçàâøàÿ ñâîåìó æåíèõó, ñòàâøåìó èíâàëèäîì. Ñþæåò ýòîò èçâåñòåí â ìíîãî- ÷èñëåííûõ âàðèàíòàõ, ïðèñëàííûõ ñ ôðîíòà... Ðåàêöèåé íà ýòó ïåñíþ áûëè äðóãèå “Îòâåòû”, âîññòàíàâëèâàþùèå èäåàëüíûé îáðàç ãåðîèíè “Îãîíüêà”: áîéöà, âîçâðàùàþùåãîñÿ äîìîé, “íåæíî” âñòðå÷àåò “íà çíàêîìîì êðûëüöå” ëþáèìàÿ è âåðíàÿ ïîäðóãà”.53 Ýòè “îïòèìèñòè÷åñêèå” îòâåòû íå ïðèæèëèñü â ôîëüêëîðå, íî ôàêò èõ ïîÿâëåíèÿ çàñëóæèâàåò âíèìàíèÿ. Âîîáùå ãîâîðÿ, ïåñåííàÿ ïîëåìèêà èìååò íåêîòîðûå àíàëîãèè â òðàäèöèîííîé äåðåâåíñêîé êóëüòóðå. Èìåííî â ýòîì æàíðå ìîãëè ïðîèñõîäèòü ÷àñòóøå÷íûå “ñåññèè” – ñâîåîáðàçíîå ñîðåâíîâàíèå, â êîòîðîì ïðèíèìàëè ó÷àñòèå äåâóøêè-ñîïåðíèöû, èëè ïàðíè, èëè äåâóøêà è ïàðåíü. Îíè ñîñòÿçàëèñü â íàõîä÷èâîñòè, îñòðîóìèè è, âèäèìî, èñêóññòâå ïåíèÿ. Îäíàêî ýòî äîâîëüíî äàëåêàÿ àíàëîãèÿ. Îáìåí ïåñíÿìè-ïèñüìàìè – ÿâëåíèå äðóãîé ïðèðîäû. Ó÷àñòíèêè ïîëåìèêè àíîíèìíû (â îòëè÷èå îò èñïîëíèòåëåé ÷àñòóøåê), è ïðåäìåò ñïîðà àáñòðàêòåí: ïðîèñõîäèò áîðüáà íå çà âíèìàíèå êîíêðåòíîãî ìîëîäîãî ÷åëîâåêà èëè äåâóøêè, èëè äàæå âñåé äåðåâíè; îñïàðè- âàåòñÿ èëè çàùèùàåòñÿ – ïîä âèäîì ðåïóòàöèè æåí è íåâåñò, æåíùèí âîþþùåé íàöèè – ñòàáèëüíîñòü ìèðîïîðÿäêà. Õîðîøèé ïðèìåð – ïåðåäåëêà ïîïóëÿðíîé äîâîåííîé ïåñíè î øàõòåðàõ “Ñïÿò êóðãàíû òåìíûå” (1939 ã.)54 – “Ìîëîäàÿ äåâóøêà íåìöàì óëûáàåòñÿ”

53 Ñ. È. Ìèíö, À. Á. Ãðå÷èíà, Á. Ì. Äîáðîâîëüñêàÿ. Ìàññîâîå ïåñåííîå òâîð÷åñòâî. Ñ. 143. 54 Ñë. Á. Ëàñêèíà, ìóç. Í. Áîãîñëîâñêîãî. Áûëà íàïèñàíà äëÿ êèíîôèëüìà “Áîëüøàÿ æèçíü”. 334 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 (ñì. Ïðèëîæåíèå).55  íåé ðèñóåòñÿ îáîáùåííûé îáðàç äåâóøêè, êîòîðàÿ æèâåò íà îêêóïèðîâàííîé òåððèòîðèè è êîêåòíè÷àåò ñ íåìöàìè. Çà òàêèõ, êàê îíà, “â ïåðâîì æå ñðàæåíèè êðîâü ïðî- ëèë ãîðÿ÷óþ, ïàðåíü ìîëîäîé”. Íå ñîõðàíèâ êëÿòâó âåðíîñòè, îíà “çà ïàéêó õëåáà íåìöàì ïðîäàëàñü”. Ïåñíÿ ïðåäñêàçûâàåò äåâóøêå ïå÷àëüíóþ ó÷àñòü: êîãäà “âåðíóòñÿ ñîêîëû, ñìåëûå, îòâàæíûå”, îíà áóäåò ïîñðàìëåíà è “ïðîéäåò (ìèìî – Æ. Ê.) ñ ïðåçðåíèåì ïàðåíü ìîëîäîé”.56  îòâåò íà ýòî îáâèíåíèå âîçíèêàëè îïðàâäàòåëüíûå òåêñòû. Âàðèàíò ïîä íàçâàíèåì “Îòâåò äåâóøåê” îòðèöàåò îáâèíå- íèÿ â íåâåðíîñòè ìóæ÷èíàì ñâîåé íàöèè: Íè÷åãî ïîäîáíîãî, Íè÷åãî è íå áûëî, Íå çàáûëè æåíùèíû Î ñâîèõ ìóæüÿõ. È õîòÿ àíîíèìíûìè àâòîðàìè ýòîé ïåñåííîé ðåïëèêè ïðèçíàþòñÿ îòäåëüíûå íåïðèãëÿäíûå ôàêòû – “î÷åíü ìàëî äåâóøåê íåìöàì ïðîäàëèñü”, âñå æå îáðàç äåâóøêè, ïîòåíöèàëüíîé íåâåñòû “ñîêîëîâ”, ðåàáèëèòèðóåòñÿ: Ïðèëåòàéòå, ñîêîëû, Ïðèëåòàéòå, ìèëûå. Äåâóøêà ëþáèìàÿ Âàì âñåãäà âåðíà.57 Âîçíèêíîâåíèå ïåñåííîé ïîëåìèêè ñâèäåòåëüñòâóåò î ñóùåñòâî- âàíèè ðàçíûõ ìíåíèé è òåíäåíöèé ñðåäè íîñèòåëåé ôîëüêëîðíîé êóëüòóðû, îáû÷íûõ ëþäåé. Îáùåñòâî, ðàçäåëåííîå âîéíîé íà âîåâàâ- øèõ è ïîïàâøèõ â ïëåí, æèâøèõ íà îêêóïèðîâàííîé òåððèòîðèè è îêàçàâøèõñÿ â ñîâåòñêîì òûëó, â ñâîåì ôîëüêëîðå îäíîâðåìåííî îáíàæàåò ðàíû è ïëàíèðóåò æèòü äàëüøå, ñòàðàÿñü ýòèõ ðàí íå çàìå÷àòü. Îäíà èç îñíîâíûõ ïðîáëåì, ñ êîòîðîé ñòàëêèâàåòñÿ îáùåñòâî, ïåðåæèâøåå âîéíó, åñëè âåðèòü ôîëüêëîðíîìó ìàòåðèàëó, – ñòðàõ ìóæ÷èíû îêàçàòüñÿ íåóçíàííûì, ÷óæèì â ñâîåì äîìå. Ýòîò ñòðàõ

55 Âàðèàíò ïåñíè ñì. òàêæå:  íàøó ãàâàíü çàõîäèëè êîðàáëè. Ñ. 237. 56 Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 166. Ïàïêà 2. Åä. õð. 23. 1959 ã. Êîñòðîìñêàÿ îáë. Èç ðóêîïèñíîãî àëüáîìà. 57 ß. È. Ãóäîøíèêîâ. Ðóññêèå íàðîäíûå ïåñíè è ÷àñòóøêè Âåëèêîé Îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû. Òàìáîâ, 1997. Ñ. 28. 335 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... ñâÿçàí ñ èçìåíåíèåì åãî èäåíòè÷íîñòè, íåèçáåæíûì çà ãîäû âîéíû. Èíâàëèäíîñòü – ýòî ÿðêèé îáðàç èçìåíåííîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè, ñïîñîá ãåðîÿ ñîîáùèòü î òîì, ÷òî îí ñòàë äðóãèì ÷åëîâåêîì. Äîìîé âîçâðàùàåòñÿ íå ÷àñòíîå ëèöî, à ãîñóäàðñòâåííûé ÷åëîâåê. Îá ýòîì ñîîáùàåò “ýêñòåðüåð” âîçâðàùàþùåãîñÿ: ó íåãî “ãðóäü â îðäåíàõ” èëè “îðäåí Êðàñíîãî Çíàìÿ ñèÿåò”. Îí ñòàë ãåðîåì. Îäíàêî ýòîò ñòàòóñ ìàëî ïðèãîäåí äëÿ ÷àñòíîé æèçíè, åé íóæíî ó÷èòüñÿ çàíîâî. Ìîæåò áûòü, ãëàâíàÿ îáùåñòâåííàÿ òðàâìà âîéíû, ò.å. ñóùåñòâåí- íàÿ ñîöèàëüíàÿ äåôîðìàöèÿ, êîòîðàÿ îòêëàäûâàåòñÿ, ðóáöóÿñü, â ñîöèàëüíîé ïàìÿòè, – ðàçíûé îïûò âîéíû ó ðàçëè÷íûõ ãðóïï íàñåëåíèÿ. Ñèìïòîì êîëëåêòèâíîé òðàâìû, âûçâàííîé âîéíîé, – íåäîâåðèå. Çäåñü ýòî íåäîâåðèå ê ïàðòíåðó ïî áðàêó, ñèãíàëèçè- ðóþùåå î âðåìåííîì êðèçèñå èíñòèòóòà ñåìüè. Îäíàêî çíàÿ êóëü- òóðíûé êîíòåêñò áûòîâàíèÿ ðàññìàòðèâàåìûõ ïåñåí, ìû ìîæåì ãîâîðèòü î íåäîâåðèè â áîëåå øèðîêîì ñìûñëå: î ñîöèàëüíîé ðàçîáùåííîñòè êàê ñëåäñòâèè âîéíû. Îäíîâðåìåííî âûñòðàèâàåòñÿ îôèöèàëüíûé îáðàç âîéíû, öåëü êîòîðîãî íå ðàçúåäèíÿòü, à îáúåäè- íÿòü ëþäåé. Âòîðàÿ ìèðîâàÿ âîéíà ñòàíåò ïîñëåäîâàòåëüíî ðåïðåçåíòèðîâàòüñÿ êàê îáùèé îïûò íàöèè è èñïîëüçîâàòüñÿ äëÿ ñòðîèòåëüñòâà ñîâåòñêîé íàöèîíàëüíîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè. Îíà ñëîæèëàñü ïîñëå è â ðåçóëüòàòå âîéíû â òîì ïðèáëèçèòåëüíî âèäå, â êàêîì åå óíàñëåäîâàëî ïîñëåäíåå ñîâåòñêîå ïîêîëåíèå è â êàêîì îíà ÷àñòè÷íî áûëà çàèìñòâîâàíà íûíåøíèì, ïîñòñîâåòñêèì îáùåñòâîì. Îñòàåòñÿ áîëüøèì âîïðîñîì, êàê ñèìâîëè÷åñêóþ ýêñïàíñèþ ýòîãî ðîäà âîñïðèíèìàëè æèòåëè ðàçíûõ ÷àñòåé îãðîìíîãî ïîëè- ýòíè÷íîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà; ëþáîïûòíî áûëî áû ïîñìîòðåòü, â êàêèõ íîâûõ íàöèîíàëüíûõ ïðîåêòàõ, çà èñêëþ÷åíèåì ðîññèéñêîãî, èñïîëü- çóåòñÿ ðàçðàáîòàííàÿ â ñîâåòñêîå âðåìÿ ìèôîëîãèÿ Âåëèêîé îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû. Ìîé ìàòåðèàë ïîçâîëÿåò ìíå äåëàòü âûâîäû ëèøü îòíîñèòåëüíî ðóññêîÿçû÷íîãî íàñåëåíèÿ. Ìîæíî êîíñòàòèðî- âàòü, ÷òî â ýòîé ñðåäå íàðÿäó ñ âîéíîé èç êèíîôèëüìîâ è ó÷åáíèêîâ èñòîðèè, âîéíîé, ñîçäàþùåé íàöèþ, ïðîäîëæèëà ñóùåñòâîâàíèå ïàìÿòü î âîéíå â æàíðå áàëëàäû. Ïåñíè î âîéíå è âåðíîñòè ïåðå- ìåùàþòñÿ èç “âçðîñëîãî” â ïîäðîñòêîâûé ïåñåííûé ðåïåðòóàð, ñòàíîâÿñü òàê íàçûâàåìûìè “äâîðîâûìè ïåñíÿìè”.  ñåðåäèíå 1990-õ ãã. ïåñíþ “Êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó” èñïîëíèëà ñðåäíåé ðóêè ïîï-ãðóïïà “Àäðåíàëèí” èç Ìîñêîâñêîé îáëàñòè. Àâòîðñòâî áûëî ïðèïèñàíî ñîëèñòó ýòîé ãðóïïû, íî â äåéñòâèòåëüíîñòè òåêñò ÿâëÿåòñÿ îäíèì èç âàðèàíòîâ ïåðåäåëîê “Îãîíüêà”, çàôèêñèðîâàííûõ 336 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 â 1940-å ãã. Ýòî ãîâîðèò î òîì, ÷òî ïåñíÿ ïðîäîëæàëà ñâîþ ôîëüê- ëîðíóþ æèçíü äîáðûå ïîëâåêà. Ñïåòàÿ â ìàíåðå äâîðîâîé ïåñåííîé ëèðèêè, îíà íåêîòîðîå âðåìÿ ïîëüçîâàëàñü áîëüøîé ïîïóëÿðíîñòüþ â îïðåäåëåííîé ñëóøàòåëüñêîé ñðåäå – òîé ñàìîé, èç êîòîðîé â íàñòîÿùåå âðåìÿ ôîðìèðóåòñÿ â Ðîññèè àðìèÿ. Î÷åíü ìîæåò áûòü, ÷òî ïîïóëÿðíîñòü ýòîãî îïóñà ñâÿçàíà ñ ïåðâîé ÷å÷åíñêîé âîéíîé, ñäåëàâøåé àêòóàëüíûìè çàòðàãèâàåìûå â ïåñíå òåìû. ßçûê ñòðàõà è îäèíî÷åñòâà, íåóâåðåííîñòè è íåäîâåðèÿ îñòàåòñÿ îäíèì èç ñïî- ñîáîâ êîíöåïòóàëèçàöèè âîéíû â ôîëüêëîðíîì äèñêóðñå è ïî- íÿòíûì ñïîñîáîì ãîâîðèòü è äóìàòü î âîéíå.

ÏÐÈËÎÆÅÍÈÅ

1. ÎÃÎͨÊ. Ì. Èñàêîâñêèé. 1942 ã. Íà ïîçèöèè äåâóøêà Ïðîâîæàëà áîéöà, Òåìíîé íî÷üþ ïðîñòèëàñÿ Íà ñòóïåíüêàõ êðûëüöà. È ïîêà çà òóìàíàìè Âèäåòü ìîã ïàðåíåê, Íà îêîøêå íà äåâè÷üåì Âñ¸ ãîðåë îãîíåê. Ïàðíÿ âñòðåòèëà ñëàâíàÿ Ôðîíòîâàÿ ñåìüÿ, Âñþäó áûëè òîâàðèùè, Âñþäó áûëè äðóçüÿ. Íî çíàêîìóþ óëèöó Ïîçàáûòü îí íå ìîã: – Ãäå æ òû, äåâóøêà ìèëàÿ, Ãäå æ òû, ìîé îãîíåê? È ïîäðóãà äàëåêàÿ Ïàðíþ âåñòî÷êó øëåò, ×òî ëþáîâü åå äåâè÷üÿ Íèêîãäà íå óìðåò; 337 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... Âñ¸, ÷òî áûëî çàãàäàíî,  ñâîé èñïîëíèòñÿ ñðîê, – Íå ïîãàñíåò áåç âðåìåíè Çîëîòîé îãîíåê. È ïðîñòîðíî è ðàäîñòíî Íà äóøå ó áîéöà Îò òàêîãî õîðîøåãî Îò åå ïèñüìåöà. È âðàãà íåíàâèñòíîãî Êðåï÷å áüåò ïàðåíåê Çà Ñîâåòñêóþ ðîäèíó, Çà ðîäíîé îãîíåê.

2. ÎÒÂÅÒ ÍÀ “ÎÃÎÍÅʔ. Íå óñïåë çà òóìàíàìè ïðîìåëüêíóòü îãîíåê, Íà êðûëå÷êå ó äåâóøêè óæ äðóãîé ïàðåíåê – Ñ çîëîòûìè ïîãîíàìè, è âñÿ ãðóäü â îðäåíàõ, Îí ñ óëûáêîé åõèäíîþ, ñ ïàïèðîñîé â çóáàõ. Íå ïðîøëî è ïîëìåñÿöà, ïàðåíü øëåò ïèñüìåöî: “Îòîðâàëî ìíå íîæåíüêó è ïîáèëî ëèöî. Åñëè ëþáèøü ïî-ïðåæíåìó è ãîðèò îãîíåê, Ïðèåçæàé, çàáåðè ìåíÿ, ìîé ëþáèìûé äðóæîê”. È ïîäðóãà äàëåêàÿ ïàðíþ ïèøåò îòâåò: “Ìåæäó íàìè âñå êîí÷åíî, è ëþáâè áîëüøå íåò. Êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó, ïðî ìåíÿ ïîçàáóäü. Åñëè âûëå÷èøü íîæåíüêó, ïðîæèâåøü êàê-íèáóäü”. À íàóòðî, íà çîðåíüêå, ãäå ãîðåë îãîíåê, Èç áîåâ âîçâðàùàåòñÿ ìîëîäîé ïàðåíåê. È ëèöî òî æå ñàìîå, è âñÿ ãðóäü â îðäåíàõ, Îí ïîõîäêîþ òâåðäîþ íà îáîèõ íîãàõ. Ïîçäíî âå÷åðîì âñòðåòèëà íà ñòóïåíüêàõ êðûëüöà, Ãîâîðèò îíà: “Ìèëåíüêèé, óæ ïðîñòè òû ìåíÿ. Íàïèñàëà ïî ãëóïîñòè, è òåïåðü óæå ÿ È ëþáëþ, âñå ïî-ïðåæíåìó, è íàâåêè òâîÿ.”

338 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 È îòâåòèë åé ñ ãîðäîñòüþ ìîëîäîé ïàðåíåê: “Ìåæäó íàìè âñå êîí÷åíî, è ïîãàñ îãîíåê. Òû ëþáîâü íàñòîÿùóþ ïðîìåíÿëà íà ëîæü, Êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó, êàê-íèáóäü ïðîæèâåøü”. Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 166. Ïàïêà 2. Åä. õð. 21. Èç àëüáîìà Èðàèäû Ïåòóõîâîé, 20 ë. Çàïèñü 1956-57 ãã., äåð. Ïîíèçîâüå ×óõëîìñêèé ð-îí Êîñòðîìñêîé îáë.

3. ÊÎÂÛËßÉ ÏÎÒÈÕÎÍÅ×ÊÓ. Ðàííèì ñîëíå÷íûì óòðå÷êîì Ïðîâîæàëà îíà Ñâîåãî íåíàãëÿäíîãî Ñâîåãî ïàðåíüêà: “Òû ñëóæè íåíàãëÿäíûé ìîé Îáî ìíå íå òóæè. Åñëè ÷òî-òî ñëó÷èòñÿ âäðó㠖 Îáî âñ¸ì íàïèøè”. Íå ïðîõîäèò è ãîäèêà, Ïàðåíü âåñòî÷êó øë¸ò: “Ïåðåáèëî ìíå íîæåíüêè, Îáîæãëî âñ¸ ëèöî. Êîëè ëþáèøü ïî-ïðåæíåìó È ãîðèò îãîí¸ê, Ïðèåçæàé çàáåðè ìåíÿ”, – Ïèøåò åé ïàðåí¸ê. Íî îòâåòèëà äåâóøêà, ×òî ëþáâè áîëüøå íåò, ×òî ëþáîâü óæ ïîòåðÿíà – Âîò òàêîé áûë îòâåò. “Êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó, À ìåíÿ òû çàáóäü. Çàðàñòóò òâîè íîæåíüêè, Ïðîæèâ¸øü êàê-íèáóäü”.

339 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... Ðàííèì ñîëíå÷íûì óòðå÷êîì Âîçâðàùàëñÿ äîìîé Ñêîðûì äåìáåëüñêèì ïîåçäîì Ïàðåí¸ê ìîëîäîé Ñ ãîëóáûìè ïîãîíàìè, Ñ ñèãàðåòîé â çóáàõ ظë ïîõîäêîþ áîäðîþ Íà îáåèõ íîãàõ. È ñ óëûáêîé è ðàäîñòüþ Ïàðíÿ âñòðåòèëà ìàòü. Ïðèáåæàëà òà äåâóøêà È õîòåëà îáíÿòü: “Ðàññêàæè, íåíàãëÿäíûé ìîé, Ñêîëüêî áåä ïîâèäàë”. À ñîëäàò îòòîëêíóë å¸ È òèõîíüêî ñêàçàë: “Êîâûëÿé ïîòèõîíå÷êó, À ìåíÿ òû çàáóäü – Çàðîñëè ìîè íîæåíüêè Ïðîæèâó êàê-íèáóäü”. Ïîï-ãðóïïà “Àäðåíàëèí”. Ñåðåäèíà 1990-õ.

4. ËÅÉÒÅÍÀÍÒ. Ýòîò ñëó÷àé ñîâñåì áûë íåäàâíî  Ëåíèíãðàäå âîò â ýòó âîéíó. Ëåéòåíàíò óêðàèíñêîãî ôðîíòà Èçâåùàåò ðîäíóþ æåíó. Äîðîãàÿ ìîÿ, ÿ êàëåêà, Ó ìåíÿ íåòó ïðàâîé ðóêè. Íåòó íîã, îíè ÷åñòíî ñëóæèëè Äëÿ çàùèòû ðîäíîé ñòîðîíû. À çà ýòî ìåíÿ íàãðàäèëè, Ãîðäî âñòðåòèëà Ðîäèíà-ìàòü. Íåóæåëè ìåíÿ òû çàáûëà È íå âûéäåøü êàëåêó âñòðå÷àòü? 340 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Âîò æåíà òóò ïèñüìî ïîëó÷èëà, Ïðîæèëà òîëüêî ñ ìóæåì 7 ëåò. È â îòâåòå åìó íàïèñàëà, ×òî êàëåêà íå íóæåí òû ìíå. Ìíå âñåãî òîëüêî 33 ãîäà, ß õî÷ó òàíöåâàòü è ãóëÿòü, À òû ýòîãî ñäåëàòü íå ñìîæåøü, Òîëüêî áóäåøü â ïîñòåëè ëåæàòü. À âíèçó áûë êàðàêóëåì ïèñàí Ýòîò ïî÷åðê ñîâñåì áûë äðóãîé, Ýòîò ïî÷åðê ëþáèìîé äî÷óðêè, È çîâåò îíà ïàïó äîìîé. Ìèëûé ïàïà, íå ñëóøàé òû ìàìó, Ïðèåçæàé ïîñêîðåå äîìîé. Ýòîé âñòðå÷å ÿ áóäó òàê ðàäà, Ìèëûé ïàïî÷êà, áóäåøü ñî ìíîé. È â êîëÿñêå êàòàòü òåáÿ áóäó, È öâåòû äëÿ òåáÿ áóäó ðâàòü,  ëåòíèé äåíü, êîãäà áóäåò òàê æàðêî, Áóäó íåæíî òåáÿ êîëûõàòü. Âîò ïðîì÷àëèñü îçåðà è ñåëà, Ïîåçä áûñòðî ïîì÷àëñÿ ñòðåëîé.  ýòîì ïîåçäå ãîðå è ðàäîñòü, Ëåéòåíàíò âîçâðàùàëñÿ äîìîé. Âîò óæ ïîåçä ê ïåððîíó ïîäõîäèò, Íà ïåððîíå äî÷óðêà ñòîèò, Äî÷ü ñâîèìè ãëàçàìè íå âåðèò, “Ïàïà òû èëè íåò?” – ãîâîðèò. Ïàïà, ïàïî÷êà, ÷òî æå òàêîå? Ðóêè, íîãè îáîè öåëû. Îðäåí Êðàñíîãî Çíàìÿ ñèÿåò Ðàñïîëîæåí íà ëåâîé ãðóäè. Îáîæäè, äîðîãàÿ äî÷óðêà, Âèäèøü, ìàìà íå âûøëà âñòðå÷àòü, Çíà÷èò, ìàìà ñîâñåì íàì ÷óæàÿ. È íå áóäåì î íåé âñïîìèíàòü. 341 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... Ýòîò ñëó÷àé ñîâñåì áûë íåäàâíî  Ëåíèíãðàäå â Ãåðìàíñêó âîéíó. Ëåéòåíàíò Óêðàèíñêîãî ôðîíòà Ïîêèäàåò ðîäíóþ æåíó. Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 139. Åä. õð. 1. Ë. 24-25. Ïåðåïèñàíî èç òåòðàäè äëÿ ïåñåí Ìàð- êîâîé Ëèäèè; äåð. Áîðèñîâî Áîðèñîâñêîãî ñåëüñ- êîãî ñîâåòà Íîâãîðîäñêîé îáë. â èþëå 1949 ã.

5. ÌÎß ËÞÁÈÌÀß. Å. Äîëìàòîâñêèé. 1941 ã. ß óõîäèë òîãäà â ïîõîä  äàëåêèå êðàÿ. Ïëàòêîì âçìàõíóëà ó âîðîò Ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Âòîðîé ñòðåëêîâûé õðàáðûé âçâîä Òåïåðü ìîÿ ñåìüÿ Ïðèâåò-ïîêëîí òåáå îí øëåò, Ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. ×òîá äíè ìîè áûñòðåé íåñëèñü  ïîõîäàõ è áîÿõ, Èçäàëåêà ìíå óëûáíèñü, Ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ.  êàðìàíå ìàëåíüêîì ìîåì Åñòü êàðòî÷êà òâîÿ. Òàê, çíà÷èò, ìû âñåãäà âäâîåì, Ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ.

6. ÌÎß ËÞÁÈÌÀß. Ñ îáèäîé ïèñüìà ïèøåøü ìíå, ÷òî ÿ çàáûë òåáÿ, Íî ïîìíè, ÿ âåäü íà âîéíå, ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Êàê ìíîãî èõ, íå ïåðå÷òåøü, æäóò ïèñåì îò ìåíÿ: È â Ðîñòå åñòü, è â Ñàéäå åñòü ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Åùå òû ïèøåøü, ÷òî åñòü äî÷ü – ïîõîæà íà ìåíÿ. Íî ïóñòü ðàñòåò, âåäü ÿ íå ïðî÷ü, ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. 342 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 À ãäå îòåö ìàëþòêè òîé, êòî ñïðîñèò ó òåáÿ, Ñêàæè – ïîãèá îí íà âîéíå, ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Õîòÿ òîáîé âñåãäà ãîðæóñü, íî æäåò ìåíÿ ñåìüÿ. Ê òåáå ÿ áîëüøå íå âåðíóñü, ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. È æäåò ìåíÿ óæå äàâíî çàêîííàÿ æåíà, Ê òåáå ÿ áîëüøå íå âåðíóñü, ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Íî ÷òî îñòàëîñü ó òåáÿ íà ïàìÿòü ó ìåíÿ, Õðàíè è äîðîæè, ìîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 127. Ïàïêà 1. Åä. õð. 20. Ë.5 îá-6. Ïåðåïèñàíî èç ìóæñêîé ôðîíòîâîé òåòðàäè

7. ÌÎß ËÞÁÈÌÀß (ÎÒÂÅÒ). ß ïîëó÷èëà òâîé îòâåò, Ìîé ìèëûé äîðîãîé, È ÷òî æ õî÷ó òåáå ñêàçàòü, Ëþáèìûé ìîé ðîäíîé. Òû ïèøåøü, ÷òî íå ïåðå÷åñòü Âñåõ æåíùèí ó òåáÿ, È ó ìåíÿ îäíàêî åñòü Ìóæ÷èí äåñÿòêà äâà. Åùå òû ïèøåøü, ÷òî âàñ æäåò Çàêîííàÿ æåíà. Ïðî÷òè òû ýòî è óçíàé: Âñòðå÷àþ ìóæà ÿ. Íî ïðàâäà ýòî, ÷òî äî÷ü ðàñòåò, Ìîé ìèëûé äîðîãîé, Íî òîëüêî òû åé íå îòåö, À êòî-íèáóäü äðóãîé. Íå äóìàé òû, ìîé äîðîãîé, ×òî ÿ ëþáëþ òåáÿ. È òû ìåíÿ íå íàçûâàé “Ëþáèìàÿ ìîÿ”. Òû ïðàâ, ÷òî âñå èäåò âîéíà, Âîéíà, ÿ íå ñåðæóñü.

343 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... Íî åñëè òû ìåíÿ çàáûë, È ÿ íå ïîãîíþñü. Òàêèõ êàê òû íå ïåðå÷åñòü, Òàêîâ çàêîí âîéíû. È â Îìñêå åñòü, è â Òîìñêå åñòü òàêîé ïîäëåö, êàê òû. Òåïåðü ïîâåðü, ÷òî íå âîéíà Ïðè÷èíîþ áûëà. Ïðèðîäà ýòî, äîðîãîé, Âçÿëà ñâîè ïðàâà. Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 127. Ïàïêà 1. Åä. õð. 22. Ë. 25. Ðóêîïèñíûé ñáîðíèê ïåñåí, ðîìàíñîâ, ñòèõîâ Á. Í. Êàëèñòðàòîâà.

8. ÎÒÂÅÒ. “ÒÂÎß ËÞÁÈÌÀߔ. Íàïðàñíî äóìàåøü î òîì, Îäèí òû ó ìåíÿ. Òåáÿ ñîâñåì íå æäó ÿ â äîì. Òâîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Ñ òîáîþ âìåñòå ïèøóò ìíå Ñîñåäíèõ æåí ìóæüÿ. À òàêæå ìóæ ìîé íà âîéíå. Òâîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Íî åñëè á òû ñîáðàëñÿ âäðóã Äà íàâåñòèòü ìåíÿ, Ñîâñåì ñ óìà áû ÿ ñîøëà. Òâîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Ñåé÷àñ â áîëüíèöå òû ëåæèøü, Æäåøü ïèñüìà îò ìåíÿ. Íà êîé æå ÷åðò òåïåðü òû ìíå. Òâîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Íàïðàñíî äóìàåøü î òîì, ×òî æäåò òåáÿ æåíà. Ïîéìè, îíà óæå ñ äðóãèì. Òâîÿ ëþáèìàÿ.

344 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Ìåíÿ òû áîëüøå íå âèíè. Âñåìó âèíîé âîéíà. Òåáÿ ÿ áîëüøå â äîì íå æäó. Òâîÿ ëþáèìàÿ. Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëëåêöèÿ 139. Åä. õð. 10. Ë. 13 îá.-14. Àëüáîì Àííû Êàïóñòèíîé, 22 ãîäà. 1944 ã. ñ. Ëþáíèöà Âàëäàéñêîãî ð-íà Íîâãîðîä- ñêîé îáë.

9. ÏÎÇÎÐ ÄÅÂÓØÊÈ. Ìîëîäàÿ äåâóøêà íåìöó óëûáàåòñÿ, Ïîçàáûëà äåâóøêà î ñâîèõ äðóçüÿõ. Òîëüêî ëèøü ðîäèòåëÿì ãîðå ïðèáàâëÿåòñÿ – Ãîðüêî ïëà÷óò áåäíûå î ìèëûõ ñûíîâüÿõ. Ìîëîäàÿ äåâóøêà, ñêîðî ïîçàáûëà òû, ×òî êîãäà çà Ðîäèíó äëèëñÿ òÿæêèé áîé, ×òî çà âàñ, çà äåâóøåê â ïåðâîì æå ñðàæåíèè Êðîâü ïðîëèë ãîðÿ÷óþ ïàðåíü ìîëîäîé. Ãäå-òî òàì íàä ðå÷êîþ, íàä øèðîêîé Âîëãîþ Áûë óáèò çà Ðîäèíó ìîëîäîé ãåðîé. Òîëüêî âåòåð âîëîñû ðàçâåâàåò ðóñûå, Ñëîâíî èõ ëþáèìàÿ òåðåáèò ðóêîé. Âûìîåò ñòàðàòåëüíî äîæäèê êîñòè áåëûå, È çàñûïëåò ìåäëåííî ìàòü ñûðà çåìëÿ. Òàê ïîãèáëè þíûå, òàê ïîãèáëè ñìåëûå, ×òî äðàëèñü çà Ðîäèíó, æèçíè íå ùàäÿ. Ëåéòåíàíòó-ëåò÷èêó ìîëîäàÿ äåâóøêà Ñî ñëåçàìè âåðíîñòè âåñíîþ ïîêëÿëàñü, Íî â ïîðó òÿæåëóþ ñîêîëà çàáûëà òû È çà ïàéêó õëåáà íåìöó ïðîäàëàñü. Ïîä íåìåöêèõ êóêîëîê ïðè÷åñêó òû ñäåëàëà, Êðàñêàìè íàêðàñèëàñü, âåðòèøüñÿ èãëîé, Íî íå íóæíû ñîêîëàì êðàñêè òâîè, ëîêîíû, È ïðîéäåò ñ ïðåçðåíèåì ïàðåíü ìîëîäîé. Äà, âåðíóòñÿ ñîêîëû, ñìåëûå, îòâàæíûå, Êàê òîãäà òû âûéäåøü ìîëîäöà âñòðå÷àòü?

345 Æ. Êîðìèíà, Ãåðîè è ïðåäàòåëè... Âåäü òîðãîâëþ ëàñêàìè è òîðãîâëþ ÷óâñòâàìè Íåâîçìîæíî äåâóøêå áóäåò îïðàâäàòü. Àðõèâ ÈÐËÈ ÐÀÍ. Êîëë. 166, ïàïêà 2, ¹23. Èç àëüáîìà Íèíû Ëåáåäåâîé. ×óõëîìñêîé ð-îí Êîñòðîìñêîé îáë. Ëë. 1-2.

SUMMARY

Zhanna Kormina’s article is devoted to an analysis of folklore songs that revolve around the theme of a soldier’s return from the Great Patriotic War. Kormina explores the differences between the popular perceptions of war and the official discourse. The author argues that as a result of the war, a large segment of the Soviet population internalized aspects of national identity. The key factor was the distinctive language with which the state spoke to, engaged, and mobilized the population for the war effort. A peculiar feature of this new language was the rendition of abstract patriotic slogans into images and terms taken from the sphere of everyday life, such as those of motherhood and spousal faithfulness. The author demonstrates how the common imagery was used in officially sponsored lyrics and popular ballads to the effect of telling different stories about the war.

346 Ab Imperio, 1/2005

Ñåðãåé ÅÊÅËÜ×ÈÊ îò ðåâîëþöèè äî íà÷àëà Âåëèêîé Îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû, à òàêæå David Hoffmann, Stalinist Values: ïðîâîäèò ïàðàëëåëè ñî ñõîäíûìè The Cultural Norms of Soviet Moder- ïðîöåññàìè, êîòîðûå èìåëè nity, 1917-1941 (Ithaca: Cornell ìåñòî â åâðîïåéñêèõ ñòðàíàõ. University Press, 2003). xiii + 247 pp. Ãðîíîâ æå èçáðàë ìèêðîèñòîðè- Index. ISBN: 0-8014-8821-4. ÷åñêèé ïîäõîä. Îí ñîñðåäîòî- Jukka Gronow, Caviar with Cham- ÷èë ñâîå îñíîâíîå âíèìàíèå íà pagne: Common Luxury and the Ideals ïåðèîäå 1933-1937 ãã. è, â ÷àñòíî- of the Good Life in Stalin’s Russia ñòè, íà ïîÿâëåíèè íîâûõ ïîòðå- (New York: Berg, 2003). xi + 196 pp. áèòåëüñêèõ òîâàðîâ, êîòîðûå Subject Index. ISBN: 1-85973-638-6. ñòàëè ñèìâîëàìè “ñòàëèíñêîãî èçîáèëèÿ”. Êíèãè Äýâèäà Õîôôìàíà è Èçìåíåíèÿ â êóëüòóðíîé Þêêè Ãðîíîâà èäåàëüíî äîïîë- àòìîñôåðå ñåðåäèíû 1930-õ ãã. íÿþò äðóã äðóãà: îáå ïîñâÿùåíû áûëè çàìå÷åíû åùå ñîâðåìåííè- ïåðåìåíàì, ïðîèñõîäèâøèì â êàìè. Îòêàò îò ðåâîëþöèîííîãî ñîâåòñêîé èäåîëîãèè è îáùå- ðàäèêàëèçìà ïðåäûäóùåãî äåñÿ- ñòâåííûõ öåííîñòÿõ â ñåðåäèíå òèëåòèÿ âûðàæàëñÿ â íîâîì îòíî- 1930-õ ãã. Îäíàêî àâòîðû ìîíî- øåíèè ê ñåìüå è øêîëå, àáîðòàì ãðàôèé àíàëèçèðóþò ýòè òðàíñ- è ãîìîñåêñóàëèçìó, öàðñêîìó ôîðìàöèè ïî-ðàçíîìó. Ó Õîô- ïðîøëîìó è ëèòåðàòóðíîé êëàñ- ôìàíà ïåðåìåíû â ñîâåòñêîì ñèêå, ñòèëþ îäåæäû è íîðìàì êóëüòóðíîì ëàíäøàôòå èçîáðà- ïîâåäåíèÿ. Ëåâ Òðîöêèé çàêëåé- æåíû øèðîêèìè ìàçêàìè. Îí íå ìèë, êàê èçâåñòíî, ýòîò ïîâîðîò òîëüêî ñòàðàåòñÿ îõâàòèòü âñå ê êîíñåðâàòèçìó è áëàãîïðèñòîé- ñôåðû îáùåñòâåííîé æèçíè, íî íîñòè êàê ñîâåòñêèé Òåðìèäîð – è ðàññìàòðèâàåò áîëüøîé ïåðèîä ïðåäàòåëüñòâî ñòàëèíñêîé áþðîê- 347 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews ðàòèåé ðåâîëþöèîííûõ èäåà- ýêñïåðèìåíò ñ ñàìîãî íà÷àëà ëîâ. Äðóãîé ñîâðåìåííûé êîì- áûë íå îòðèöàíèåì çàïàäíîé ìåíòàòîð, àìåðèêàíñêèé ñîöèî- ìîäåëè ñîâðåìåííîãî îáùåñòâåí- ëîã ðóññêîãî ïðîèñõîæäåíèÿ íîãî ðàçâèòèÿ (òàê ïðèõîäèòñÿ Íèêîëàé Òèìàøåâ, èíòåðïðåòè- ïåðåâîäèòü óäîáíûé àíãëèéñ- ðîâàë ýòè èçìåíåíèÿ êàê “âåëèêîå êèé òåðìèí “modernity”), à åå îòñòóïëåíèå” îò êîììóíèçìà ñîñòàâíîé ÷àñòüþ. Âîâëå÷åíèå íàçàä, ê òðàäèöèîííûì ðóññêèì ìàññ â ïîëèòèêó è ñòðåìëåíèå öåííîñòÿì. Ïîçäíåéøèå çàïàäíûå ïðàâèòåëüñòâà ê ðàöèîíàëüíîìó èññëåäîâàòåëè øëè ïî òîìó æå óïðàâëåíèþ îáùåñòâîì áûëî ïóòè. Áîëüøèíñòâî èç íèõ óñìàò- ïðèñóùå ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêîé ðèâàëî â ñòàëèíñêèõ êóëüòóðíûõ ñèñòåìå â òîé æå ìåðå, ÷òî è äðó- òðàíñôîðìàöèÿõ îòñòóïëåíèå îò ãèì íàñëåäíèêàì èäåé Ïðîñâå- ðåâîëþöèîííîãî ðàäèêàëèçìà ùåíèÿ. Ýôôåêòèâíîñòü, ãèãèåíà, èëè äàæå îò ñîöèàëèçìà êàê òðåçâûé îáðàç æèçíè è êóëü- òàêîâîãî. Ñîöèàëüíóþ æå ïîäî- òóðíûå áëàãà áûëè â ñïèñêå ïëåêó ýòèõ ïðîöåññîâ íàõîäèëè îáùåñòâåííûõ öåííîñòåé êàê â íåôîðìàëüíîì ñîãëàøåíèè ñîöèàëèçìà, òàê è êàïèòàëèçìà. ìåæäó âëàñòÿìè è “íîâûì ñðåä- Íåñìîòðÿ íà êîëëåêòèâèñòñêèé íèì êëàññîì”. ïàôîñ, ñîâåòñêàÿ ìàññîâàÿ êóëü- Õîôôìàí, îäíàêî, èñõîäèò òóðà áûëà ëèøü âàðèàíòîì ìàñ- èç òîãî, ÷òî ñòàëèíèçì íå èìåë ñîâîé êóëüòóðû ñîâðåìåííîñòè. íè÷åãî îáùåãî ñ îòêàçîì îò ñîöè- Õîôôìàí ïðàêòè÷åñêè íå àëèñòè÷åñêèõ èäåàëîâ. Ñòàëèí- óäåëÿåò âíèìàíèÿ êóëüòóðå â åå ñêèé ðåæèì íèêîãäà íå îòêàçû- óçêîì çíà÷åíèè (ëèòåðàòóðà è âàëñÿ îò òàêèõ îñíîâîïîëàãàþ- èñêóññòâî). Ïîíèìàíèå ýòîãî ùèõ ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêèõ ïðîåêòîâ òåðìèíà â åãî ðàáîòå áëèæå ê êàê ñîçäàíèå íîâîãî îáùåñòâà è áîëåå øèðîêîìó çíà÷åíèþ, êîòî- ñîâåòñêîãî ÷åëîâåêà. Ïî âñåé ðûì îïåðèðóåò ñîâðåìåííàÿ âèäèìîñòè, ê ñåðåäèíå 1930-õ ãã. àíòðîïîëîãèÿ: êóëüòóðà êàê îáðàç èçìåíèëèñü ëèøü ñðåäñòâà äîñ- æèçíè, îáùåñòâåííûå öåííîñòè òèæåíèÿ ýòèõ öåëåé: ïàðòèéíîå è ìèðîâîççðåí÷åñêèå îðèåíòàöèè. ðóêîâîäñòâî âîçðîäèëî òðàäè- Ïåðâàÿ ãëàâà êíèãè, íàïðèìåð, öèîííûå îáùåñòâåííûå ñòðóê- ïîñâÿùåíà óñèëèÿì ñîâåòñêîãî òóðû è öåííîñòè â îáíîâëåííîé ãîñóäàðñòâà ïî ïðèó÷åíèþ ìàññ ôîðìå êàê íàèáîëåå ýôôåêòèâíûå ê ïîðÿäêó è ãèãèåíå. Ïîíÿòèå èíñòðóìåíòû ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî “êóëüòóðíîñòè”, ðàíî âîøåäøåå êîíòðîëÿ (Hoffmann, P. 9). â áîëüøåâèñòñêèé ëåêñèêîí, Õîôôìàí ñ÷èòàåò, ÷òî ñîâåòñêèé ïîäðàçóìåâàëî âîñïèòàíèå íîâîé 348 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ëè÷íîñòè, ÿâëÿâøååñÿ ÷àñòüþ è âçÿòî÷íè÷åñòâå ÷àñòî èñïîëü- ïðîöåññà îáùåñòâåííûõ ïðåîá- çîâàëèñü äëÿ äîïîëíèòåëüíîé ðàçîâàíèé. Ëè÷íàÿ ãèãèåíà è êîìïðîìåòàöèè ÷ëåíîâ ïàðòèè, ÷èñòàÿ îäåæäà îòâå÷àëè íå êîòîðûå àðåñòîâûâàëèñü êàê òîëüêî ýñòåòè÷åñêèì, íî è ýêî- “òðîöêèñòû”, “øïèîíû” è “âðå- íîìè÷åñêèì òðåáîâàíèÿì ñîâåò- äèòåëè” (Hoffmann, P. 76). ñêîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà; ïðîáëåìû Ïîñëåäíèå òðè ãëàâû êíèãè ãèãèåíû, òðóäà è òðåçâîñòè â Õîôôìàíà ïîñâÿùåíû ñîá- ïîâñåäíåâíîé æèçíè áûëè òåñíî ñòâåííî ðåôîðìàì ñåðåäèíû âçàèìîñâÿçàíû.  1920-å ãã. èäå- 1930-õ ãã. Ñ íàèáîëüøåé êîíòðà- îëîãè îñóæäàëè ïüÿíñòâî, èãðó ñòíîñòüþ îíè ïðîÿâèëèñü â ãîñó- â êàðòû, áèëüÿðä è òàíöû êàê äàðñòâåííîé ïîëèòèêå ïî îòíî- óïàäíè÷åñêîå âðåìÿïðîâîæäåíèå. øåíèþ ê ñåìüå.  ïåðâûå ãîäû Ñîçíàòåëüíûå ñîâåòñêèå ëþäè ðåâîëþöèè ñåìüÿ ïðåäñòàâëÿ- äîëæíû áûëè ïðåäàâàòüñÿ “êóëü- ëàñü áóðæóàçíûì îáùåñòâåí- òóðíîìó îòäûõó”, êîòîðûé ìîã íûì èíñòèòóòîì, îñâÿùàâøèì âêëþ÷àòü çàíÿòèÿ ôèçêóëüòóðîé, ïîðàáîùåíèå æåíùèíû. Ðàííåå ïðîñìîòð ôèëüìîâ è ïüåñ, ó÷àñ- ñîâåòñêîå çàêîíîäàòåëüñòâî òèå â ðàçëè÷íûõ êðóæêàõ è ò.ï. îáëåã÷èëî ðàçâîä è óçàêîíèëî Êàê ïîêàçàíî âî âòîðîé àáîðòû, íî â 1930-å ãã. ñîâåòñêîå ãëàâå, â íà÷àëå 1920-õ ãã. ïàðòèÿ ïðàâèòåëüñòâî óäàðèëîñü â ïðî- óñòàíîâèëà êîíòðîëü íàä ìîðàëü- òèâîïîëîæíóþ êðàéíîñòü. íûì îáëèêîì ñâîèõ ÷ëåíîâ, Áûëî ëè ýòî âîçâðàòîì ê òðàäè- êîòîðûå äîëæíû áûëè ñëóæèòü öèîííûì öåííîñòÿì? Õîôôìàí ïðèìåðîì îñòàëüíîìó íàñåëåíèþ. ñ÷èòàåò, ÷òî ñòàëèíñêîå ðóêî- Íåñìîòðÿ íà òî, ÷òî “ìîðàëüíûé âîäñòâî íå âîññòàíîâèëî òðàäè- êîäåêñ ñòðîèòåëÿ êîììóíèçìà” öèîííóþ ïàòðèàðõàëüíóþ ñåìüþ, áûë, êàê èçâåñòíî, ïðèíÿò íàìíîãî à èñïîëüçîâàëî ýòó ôîðìó îáùå- ïîçæå, íåïèñàíûé ñâîä ïîâåäåí- ñòâåííîé îðãàíèçàöèè äëÿ äîñ- ÷åñêèõ íîðì óñòàíîâèëñÿ åùå â òèæåíèÿ ñâîèõ ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ äîâîåííûé ïåðèîä. Çà åãî ñîáëþ- öåëåé: óêðåïëåíèÿ äèñöèïëèíû, äåíèåì ñëåäèëè êîìèññèè áîëåå ïîëíîé èäåîëîãè÷åñêîé ïàðòèéíîãî êîíòðîëÿ, à “Áîëü- èíäîêòðèíàöèè è óâåëè÷åíèÿ øîé Òåððîð” êîíöà 1930-õ ãã. ðîæäàåìîñòè. Ïî ñóòè, ïîäîáíîå ñâèäåòåëüñòâîâàë î òîì, ÷òî âîçðîæäåíèå àâòîðèòåòà ñåìüè ïàðòèéíûå èäåîëîãè ñâÿçûâàëè ïðîèñõîäèëî è â äðóãèõ ñòðàíàõ. ìîðàëüíîå ðàçëîæåíèå ñ ïîëè- Èç áàñòèîíà, çàùèùàâøåãî òè÷åñêîé íåáëàãîíàäåæíîñòüþ. ÷àñòíóþ æèçíü îò âòîðæåíèÿ Îáâèíåíèÿ â ïüÿíñòâå, ðàçâðàòå ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé âëàñòè, ñåìüÿ 349 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews ïðåâðàùàëàñü â ïåðâè÷íóþ øèì îáúåäèíÿþùèì ýëåìåíòîì ÿ÷åéêó ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî âîñïèòàíèÿ îôèöèàëüíîãî äèñêóðñà. Ðåàáè- è îáùåñòâåííîé ìîáèëèçàöèè. ëèòàöèÿ ðóññêîé ëèòåðàòóðíîé Ïîñëå ïðîäîëæèòåëüíîé êëàññèêè è íàöèîíàëüíûõ ãåðîåâ ïðîïàãàíäû ðåâîëþöèîííîãî îáåñïå÷èëà íàöèîíàëüíîå åäèí- àñêåòèçìà, â ñåðåäèíå 1930-õ ãã. ñòâî, õîòÿ äðóãèå ðåñïóáëèêè Ñòàëèí ñìåíèë êóðñ è ïðèçâàë ÷åñòâîâàëè ñâîèõ ñîáñòâåííûõ ê óâåëè÷åíèþ îáúåìîâ ïðîèç- èñòîðè÷åñêèõ ëèäåðîâ è âåëèêèõ âîäñòâà ïîòðåáèòåëüñêèõ òîâàðîâ. ïèñàòåëåé – ðàçóìååòñÿ, åñëè òå Ïîñòðîåííûé â ÑÑÑÐ ñîöèà- áûëè äðóçüÿìè Ðîññèè. Êàê è â ëèçì – íåñìîòðÿ íà òî, ÷òî íàöèñòñêîé Ãåðìàíèè, â ÑÑÑÐ ïàðòèÿ ñ÷èòàëà çàêîí÷åííîé ôîëüêëîð ñòàë îðóäèåì ïîëèòè- òîëüêî êîíñòðóêöèþ åãî “îñ- ÷åñêîé ìîáèëèçàöèè. íîâàíèé” – óæå ïðåäñòàâëÿëñÿ Åñëè öåëè è ìåòîäû ñòàëèíñ- îáùåñòâîì, â êîòîðîì âîöàðè- êîãî ðóêîâîäñòâà èìåëè òàê ëèñü áû èçîáèëèå è ñ÷àñòüå. ìíîãî îáùåãî ñ ñîâðåìåííûìè Õîôôìàí ñïðàâåäëèâî îòìå÷àåò, ñîöèàëüíûìè ïðîöåññàìè â äðó- ÷òî ýòî îïðåäåëåííî ñîâïàäàëî ãèõ ñòðàíàõ, êàêîâû æå áûëè ñ ïîæåëàíèÿìè íàñåëåíèÿ, íî îòëè÷èòåëüíûå ÷åðòû ñîâåòñêîé ïðîáëåìà áûëà â íåñîîòâåò- ñîöèàëüíîé èíæåíåðèè 1930-õ ñòâèè ðåàëüíîñòè ìå÷òàì. Ýëèòà ãîäîâ? Õîôôìàí óêàçûâàåò, ñòàëèíñêîãî îáùåñòâà ìîãëà ïðåæäå âñåãî, íà èäåîëîãèþ íàñëàæäàòüñÿ ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêèì êîëëåêòèâèçìà è íà íàñèëü- èçîáèëèåì, â òî âðåìÿ êàê ãàçåò- ñòâåííûå ìåòîäû äîñòèæåíèÿ íàÿ ðåêëàìà ïðåäìåòîâ ðîñêîøè ñîöèàëüíîãî åäèíñòâà. Åãî òåîðèÿ òîëüêî ðàçäðàæàëà ìàññû ïîçâîëÿåò òàêæå ïî-íîâîìó (Hoffmann, P. 131). Êàê óâèäèì âçãëÿíóòü íà ïîñëåâîåííûé íèæå, Ãðîíîâ èíòåðïðåòèðóåò êðèçèñ ñîâåòñêîé ñèñòåìû. Åñëè “ñòàëèíñêîå èçîáèëèå” ïî- Ñîâåòñêèé Ñîþç ÿâëÿë ñîáîé äðóãîìó. îäèí èç ïðîåêòîâ, íàöåëåííûõ Íàêîíåö, Õîôôìàí ïîêàçû- íà âîïëîùåíèå èäåàëà ðàöèî- âàåò, ÷òî çðåëûé ñòàëèíèçì áûë íàëüíîãî ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî ïåðèîäîì ïîä÷åðêíóòîãî ñîöèàëü- óñòðîéñòâà, ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî íîãî åäèíñòâà. Ïîñëå âñòóïëå- êîíòðîëÿ è ñîöèàëüíîé çàùèòû, íèÿ â ñèëó Êîíñòèòóöèè 1936 ã., òî âåñüìà çàêîíîìåðíûì äåëåíèå ñîâåòñêîãî îáùåñòâà íà âûãëÿäèò òî, ÷òî ÑÑÑÐ ðàñïàëñÿ êëàññû óòðàòèëî ïðåæíåå èäåî- èìåííî â ýïîõó, êîãäà çàïàäíûå ëîãè÷åñêîå çíà÷åíèå. Êóëüò ãîñóäàðñòâà îòêàçàëèñü îò àêòèâ- ëè÷íîñòè Ñòàëèíà ñòàë âàæíåé- íîãî âìåøàòåëüñòâà â ýòè ñôåðû, 350 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 òî åñòü â ýïîõó Òýò÷åð è Ðåéãàíà ìàññîâîå ïðîèçâîäñòâî òîâàðîâ, (Hoffmann, P. 188). êîòîðûå ðàíüøå ñ÷èòàëèñü Åäèíñòâåííûì íåäîñòàòêîì “ïðåäìåòàìè ðîñêîøè”. Òåçèñ êíèãè Õîôôìàíà ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ Ãðîíîâà ñîñòîèò â òîì, ÷òî øàì- òî, ÷òî åå ñîäåðæàíèå íå âïîëíå ïàíñêîå, ÷åðíàÿ èêðà, øîêîëàä- ñîîòâåòñòâóåò íàçâàíèþ. “Îáùå- íûå êîíôåòû, äóõè è ïàòåôîíû ñòâåííûå öåííîñòè ñòàëèíèçìà” áûëè ïðåâðàùåíû â ñèìâîëû ìåíÿëèñü è âî âðåìÿ âîéíû, è áëàãîïîëó÷èÿ âíå çàâèñèìîñòè ïîñëå íåå. Îäíàêî ïîñëåäíèå îò òîãî, äåéñòâèòåëüíî ëè áîëü- äâåíàäöàòü ëåò ñòàëèíñêîãî øèíñòâî ñîâåòñêèõ ñåìåé ðåæèìà íàõîäÿòñÿ âíå ïîëÿ ïîëüçîâàëèñü èìè. Îíè áûëè çðåíèÿ àâòîðà.  ðåçóëüòàòå ÷èòà- ñèìâîëàìè ãðÿäóùåãî èçîáèëèÿ òåëü íå èìååò âîçìîæíîñòè óçíàòü (Gronow, Pp. 9, 14-15). î òàêèõ ÷åðòàõ êóëüòóðû ïîçäíåãî Âïðî÷åì, Ãðîíîâ ïîêàçûâàåò, ñòàëèíèçìà, êàê, íàïðèìåð, àíòè- ÷òî â êîíöå 1930-õ ãã., êîãäà ñåìèòèçì è àíòèàìåðèêàíèçì. ñîâåòñêèå çàâîäû óæå ïðîèçâî-  òî æå âðåìÿ, ïåðâûå ãëàâû äèëè ìèëëèîíû ïàòåôîíîâ è êíèãè àíàëèçèðóþò, â îñíîâ- áóòûëîê øàìïàíñêîãî, ýòè íîì, îáùåñòâåííûå ïðîöåññû ñèìâîëû ëó÷øåé æèçíè äåéñòâè- 1920-õ ãã., íå èìåþùèå íåïîñ- òåëüíî ïðåâðàùàþòñÿ â òîâàðû ðåäñòâåííîãî îòíîøåíèÿ ê ñòà- øèðîêîãî ïîòðåáëåíèÿ, íî íå íîâëåíèþ ñòàëèíèçìà êàê êóëü- òåðÿþò ïðè ýòîì ñâîåé ñèìâîëè- òóðíîé ñèñòåìû. ÷åñêîé ôóíêöèè. Íàïðèìåð, Êíèãà Þêêè Ãðîíîâà, íàïðî- ïðàâèòåëüñòâî íèêîãäà íå òèâ, îòëè÷àåòñÿ ÷åòêèì õðîíî- îáðàùàëî òàêîãî æå âíèìàíèÿ ëîãè÷åñêèì ôîêóñîì íà ñîáû- íà ïðîèçâîäñòâî ïèâà (áóäíè÷- òèÿõ 1930-õ ãã. Ãðîíîâ íå íîãî íàïèòêà áåç àóðû àðèñòîê- ïðåòåíäóåò íà îáúÿñíåíèå ðàòèçìà), êàê íà ïðîèçâîäñòâî ãëîáàëüíûõ ïðîöåññîâ. Ãëàâíîå øàìïàíñêîãî, õîðîøèõ âèí è äîñòîèíñòâî åãî àíàëèçà – â êîíüÿêîâ (Gronow, Ñ. 30). Âåäü óìåíèè èñïîëüçîâàòü íåçíà÷è- áûâøèå “ïðåäìåòû ðîñêîøè” òåëüíûå äåòàëè äëÿ íîâîãî îñâå- íà ïîëêàõ ñîâåòñêèõ ìàãàçèíîâ ùåíèÿ ñîöèàëüíûõ ïåðåìåí ïîä÷åðêèâàëè, ÷òî ïðè ñîöèà- ñòàëèíñêîãî âðåìåíè. Îí ñîñðå- ëèçìå âñå ñîâåòñêèå ëþäè æèâóò – äîòî÷èë ñâîå âíèìàíèå íà ïåðå- èëè ñêîðî áóäóò æèòü – êàê ðàíü- ìåíàõ, ïðîèçîøåäøèõ â îòíîøå- øå æèëè àðèñòîêðàòû è áîãà÷è. íèè ãîñóäàðñòâà ê ïîòðåáèòåëþ Ïðîïàãàíäèñòñêèé ýôôåêò â ãîäû, êîãäà ñîâåòñêîå ðóêî- ïîÿâëåíèÿ íîâûõ ñîâåòñêèõ âîäñòâî ñîçíàòåëüíî íà÷àëî ïîòðåáèòåëüñêèõ òîâàðîâ óñèëè- 351 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews âàëñÿ òåì, ÷òî èõ ïðîèçâîäèëà è ìîã îáèäåòüñÿ íà ñîâåòñêóþ ýôôåêòèâíàÿ è ìåõàíèçèðîâàííàÿ ñèñòåìó, åñëè åãî ÷àÿíèÿ íå îïðàâ- ñîâåòñêàÿ ïðîìûøëåííîñòü. äûâàëèñü (Gronow, P. 146). Íà ñìåíó ìîðîæåíîìó, äåëàâ- Ê ñîæàëåíèþ, â êíèãå Ãðî- øåìóñÿ âðó÷íóþ íà ìàëåíüêèõ íîâà íå ïîÿñíÿåòñÿ, êàêèå ïðåäïðèÿòèÿõ, ïðèøëî ìîðîæå- èìåííî òðàíñôîðìàöèè â ïðè- íîå èç õîëîäèëüíûõ ìàøèí, ðîäå ñòàëèíèçìà âûçâàëè ïîÿâ- ïåðâîå ïîêîëåíèå êîòîðûõ áûëî ëåíèå “ñèìâîëîâ èçîáèëèÿ”. çàêóïëåíî â Àìåðèêå. Âî âðåìÿ Åå àâòîð óòâåðæäàåò, ÷òî ñ ñåðå- âèçèòà â ÑØÀ â 1936 ã. Àíàñòàñ äèíû 1930-õ ãã. ãîñóäàðñòâî Ìèêîÿí áûë âîñõèùåí ìàññîâûì “èñïîëüçîâàëî íå òîëüêî êíóò, ïðîèçâîäñòâîì ãàìáóðãåðîâ. íî è ïðÿíèê” (Gronow, P. 5), Ïåðåä âîéíîé â Ìîñêâå óæå íî íå óêàçûâàåò íà ïðè÷èíû ïîÿâèëèñü êèîñêè, òîðãóþùèå ýòîãî. Ìû óçíàåì, ÷òî òåìà ãàìáóðãåðàìè, íî ýòà òðàäèöèÿ “èçîáèëèÿ” ìóññèðîâàëàñü â íå óñïåëà ïðèâèòüñÿ. ñîâåòñêîé ïå÷àòè âî âðåìÿ îáñóæ- Ïîñêîëüêó “ñòàëèíñêîå èçî- äåíèÿ Êîíñòèòóöèè 1936 ã. è áèëèå” áûëî íîâûì ôåíîìåíîì, ïåðåä âûáîðàìè 1937 ã. (Gronow, îðãàíû ÍÊÂÄ íå âïîëíå ñîðè- P. 2); îäíàêî îñòàåòñÿ íåÿñíûì, åíòèðîâàëèñü, â ÷åì èìåííî ïî÷åìó îíà ïîïàëà â ôîêóñ ïîëè- ñëåäîâàëî îáâèíÿòü “âðàãîâ òè÷åñêîé ïðîïàãàíäû.  êíèãå íàðîäà”, ðàáîòàâøèõ â ïèùåâîé òàêæå óòâåðæäàåòñÿ, ÷òî ïðîèç- ïðîìûøëåííîñòè.  ðåçóëüòàòå, âîäñòâî êà÷åñòâåííûõ ïîòðåáè- îäíè îêàçàëèñü âèíîâíûìè â òåëüñêèõ òîâàðîâ â Ñîâåòñêîì óíè÷òîæåíèè öåííûõ ñîðòîâ Ñîþçå ìîãëî áû ñëóæèòü åùå âèíîãðàäà ñ öåëüþ ñîðâàòü îäíèì äîêàçàòåëüñòâîì åãî ìàññîâîå ïðîèçâîäñòâî âûñîêî- âûäàþùåéñÿ ðîëè â ìèðå êà÷åñòâåííîãî øàìïàíñêîãî (Gronow, P. 3), íî ëîãè÷åñêàÿ (Gronow, Pp. 17-21). Äðóãèå, ñâÿçü â äàííîì ñëó÷àå íå âïîëíå íàïðîòèâ, âðåäèòåëüñêè ñîçäà- ÿñíà. Ñêàçûâàåòñÿ òî, ÷òî àâòîð âàëè õîðîøèå ðåñòîðàíû, ÷òîáû íå ñîîòíîñèò èçìåíåíèÿ â ïîòðå- âûçâàòü íåäîâîëüñòâî ïðîñòûõ áèòåëüñêîé ñôåðå ñ ñîâðåìåí- ðàáî÷èõ (Gronow, Pp. 111-113). íûìè èì äîêóìåíòàìè èäåîëîãè- Íî ãëàâíàÿ îïàñíîñòü ïðîøëà ÷åñêîãî õàðàêòåðà è ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ìèìî âíèìàíèÿ äîáëåñòíûõ ÷åêè- ðèòîðèêîé. Íàïðèìåð, çàÿâëåíèÿ ñòîâ: íîâûå ñèìâîëû èçîáèëèÿ ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî ðóêîâîäñòâà î ôîðìèðîâàëè íîâîãî ñîâåòñêîãî ïîñòðîåíèè îñíîâ ñîöèàëèçìà ïîòðåáèòåëÿ, êîòîðûé òåïåðü â ÑÑÑÐ ìîãëè íàõîäèòüñÿ â îæèäàë áîëüøåãî îò ãîñóäàðñòâà ïðÿìîé ñâÿçè ñ ïåðåìåíàìè è 352 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 â ðåàëüíîé, è â ñèìâîëè÷åñêîé The study of ethnic mobilization ïîëèòèêå ïî îòíîøåíèþ ê ðÿäî- has received a rather unbalanced âîìó ïîòðåáèòåëþ. interest in the growing literature on  öåëîì è Õîôôìàí, è Ãðîíîâ nationalism and ethnic politics. ñóùåñòâåííî ðàñøèðÿþò íàøå On the one hand, the term “mobiliza- ïðåäñòàâëåíèå î ïîâñåäíåâíîé tion” appears quite often in the various æèçíè è êóëüòóðíûõ öåííîñòÿõ studies of nationalism. However, ñòàëèíñêîãî âðåìåíè. Íåñìîòðÿ in most cases this concept is not íà ðàçíèöó â ïîäõîäå è ìåòîäî- thoroughly examined and it is employed ëîãèè, îáå êíèãè ïî-ñâîåìó óáå- in a vague way. Moreover, the books äèòåëüíû. Îíè, íåñîìíåííî, and articles dealing with the issue ïðîèçâåäóò âïå÷àòëåíèå íà ñïå- of nationalist mobilization try, as a rule, öèàëèñòîâ-èñòîðèêîâ. Õîòåëîñü to relate mobilization to the causes áû íàäåÿòüñÿ, ÷òî ñî âðåìåíåì of the emergence of nationalism. îáå ìîíîãðàôèè ïîÿâÿòñÿ è â Dmitry Gorenburg’s book is an ðóññêîì ïåðåâîäå. eloquent attempt to overcome both these shortcomings as it locates at the center of his analysis the mobi- lization process of nationalist move- ments and changes the orientation of the core research question from why ethnic mobilization occurs to how this develops and what specific form Thomas GOUMENOS it acquires. His research can be viewed as part of a recent historiographical Dmitry P. Gorenburg, Minority tendency to tackle the issue of ethnic Ethnic Mobilization in the Russian mobilization explicitly and directly, Federation (New York: Cambridge especially with regard to post-com- University Press, 2003). 297 pp. munist Eastern Europe.1 Bibliography, index. ISBN: 0-521- Gorenburg integrates into his theo- 81807-9. retical framework the political-pro-

1 The most similar endeavour is Mark Beissinger’s Nationalist Mobilization and the Collapse of the Soviet State. A Tidal Approach to the Study of Nationalism. New York, 2002. See also: Jonathan P. Stein. The Politics of National Minority Participation in Post-Communist Europe. State-building, Democracy, and Ethnic Mobilization. New York, 2000; Zoltan Barany. Ethnic Mobilization Without Prerequisites. The East European Gypsies // World Politics. 2002. Vol. 54. Pp. 277-307; Philip Roeder. Soviet Federalism and Ethnic Mobilization // World Politics. 1991. Vol. 43. Pp. 196-232 and David D. Laitin. The National Uprisings in the Soviet Union // World Politics. 1991. Vol. 44(I). Pp. 139-177. 353 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 â ðåàëüíîé, è â ñèìâîëè÷åñêîé The study of ethnic mobilization ïîëèòèêå ïî îòíîøåíèþ ê ðÿäî- has received a rather unbalanced âîìó ïîòðåáèòåëþ. interest in the growing literature on  öåëîì è Õîôôìàí, è Ãðîíîâ nationalism and ethnic politics. ñóùåñòâåííî ðàñøèðÿþò íàøå On the one hand, the term “mobiliza- ïðåäñòàâëåíèå î ïîâñåäíåâíîé tion” appears quite often in the various æèçíè è êóëüòóðíûõ öåííîñòÿõ studies of nationalism. However, ñòàëèíñêîãî âðåìåíè. Íåñìîòðÿ in most cases this concept is not íà ðàçíèöó â ïîäõîäå è ìåòîäî- thoroughly examined and it is employed ëîãèè, îáå êíèãè ïî-ñâîåìó óáå- in a vague way. Moreover, the books äèòåëüíû. Îíè, íåñîìíåííî, and articles dealing with the issue ïðîèçâåäóò âïå÷àòëåíèå íà ñïå- of nationalist mobilization try, as a rule, öèàëèñòîâ-èñòîðèêîâ. Õîòåëîñü to relate mobilization to the causes áû íàäåÿòüñÿ, ÷òî ñî âðåìåíåì of the emergence of nationalism. îáå ìîíîãðàôèè ïîÿâÿòñÿ è â Dmitry Gorenburg’s book is an ðóññêîì ïåðåâîäå. eloquent attempt to overcome both these shortcomings as it locates at the center of his analysis the mobi- lization process of nationalist move- ments and changes the orientation of the core research question from why ethnic mobilization occurs to how this develops and what specific form Thomas GOUMENOS it acquires. His research can be viewed as part of a recent historiographical Dmitry P. Gorenburg, Minority tendency to tackle the issue of ethnic Ethnic Mobilization in the Russian mobilization explicitly and directly, Federation (New York: Cambridge especially with regard to post-com- University Press, 2003). 297 pp. munist Eastern Europe.1 Bibliography, index. ISBN: 0-521- Gorenburg integrates into his theo- 81807-9. retical framework the political-pro-

1 The most similar endeavour is Mark Beissinger’s Nationalist Mobilization and the Collapse of the Soviet State. A Tidal Approach to the Study of Nationalism. New York, 2002. See also: Jonathan P. Stein. The Politics of National Minority Participation in Post-Communist Europe. State-building, Democracy, and Ethnic Mobilization. New York, 2000; Zoltan Barany. Ethnic Mobilization Without Prerequisites. The East European Gypsies // World Politics. 2002. Vol. 54. Pp. 277-307; Philip Roeder. Soviet Federalism and Ethnic Mobilization // World Politics. 1991. Vol. 43. Pp. 196-232 and David D. Laitin. The National Uprisings in the Soviet Union // World Politics. 1991. Vol. 44(I). Pp. 139-177. 353 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews cess model, which has been widely institutions in each region depended used in the study of social movements, mostly on the position that the region and the historical institutionalist held in the federal hierarchy of the model. The study focuses on the period Soviet state. Hence, Tatarstan, between 1988 and 1993 and covers Bashkortostan, and Chuvashia, as the intense last period of the Soviet autonomous republics, had increased Union as well as the early days of prospects for more developed ethnic the independent Russian Federation. institutions – and therefore stronger The objective of the book is to explore nationalist movements – compared how and to what extent the ethnic with Khakassia, which possessed a institutions of the Soviet Union lower administrative status. Howev- affected: i) the emergence and, er, he points out certain differences primarily, the development of in the strength of ethnic institutions minority nationalist movements; and even among regions of equal status. ii) the popular support that these An additional finding that appears movements received. In order to in many parts of the book is that one address his research questions, ethnic institution in particular deter- Gorenburg selects four ethnic repub- mined which groups would support lics in Russia – Tatarstan, Chuvashia, nationalist movements, namely, the Bashkortostan and Khakassia – and extent of native language education. examines comparatively the (non-vio- One might indicate three broader lent) nationalist movements of their theoretical implications of Goren- titular ethnic groups. burg’s analysis: first is his ascertain- The core argument of the book ment of institutional continuity. is that the ethnic institutions of Even if institutions as such change the Soviet Union, which were estab- or cease, their logic continues to lished rather arbitrarily in the 1920s frame the goals and beliefs of political and 1930s, constitute the dominant actors for a considerable period of explaining force of both the form of time. That means that the “old” logic minority mobilization and the popular informs to a large extent, according support for the nationalist move- to Gorenburg, the content and the ments. Similarly, these ethnic insti- direction of change. tutions determined extensively Gorenburg’s second theoretical which specific social categories innovation is that he consciously were more favourably disposed to focuses on the role of popular mobili- support nationalist ideology and zation and support, rather than on support the movements. One of the elite strategies. James Fearon and author’s core findings is that the David Laitin point out that one of strength and number of the ethnic the most difficult but meaningful and 354 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 essential questions that scholars of Apart from the above theoretical ethnic collective action confront is issues, Gorenburg’s book constitutes why and how publics follow elites.2 a mainly empirical study of nationalist Gorenburg firmly challenges the instru- mobilization. Only in the introductory mentalist view of elite manipulation and last chapters does he present his and insists that in the case of the Soviet theoretical model and discuss some Union publics initiated the conten- broader implications relevant to his tious movements and elites followed. analysis. Each of the main chapters His reply to Fearon and Laitin’s of the book tackles one aspect of question is that institutions perform the mobilization process, and the four the pivotal role of connecting masses case studies are analyzed compara- and elites in the mobilization process. tively. The third theoretical achievement In the first chapter, after presenting of the book is its balanced treatment his theoretical framework, Goren- of ethnic identity. The author does burg refers to four key ethnic insti- not treat ethnic groups as self-sub- tutions of the Soviet state: territo- sistent, homogeneous, and uncontro- rialized ethnicity, republic boundaries, versial entities that act in one voice. ethnic hierarchy, and passport identity. That is manifested by the fact that The ethno-federal structure of the state, he tries to evaluate intra-group varia- he continues in chapter 2, created tion of nationalist support. However, a four-tier hierarchical arrangement, he does not drift to perceive ethnic in which “each constituent region identities as fake and effortlessly was supposed to represent a particular manipulated. In other words, he asserts ethnic group” (P. 30). Ethnicity in that ethnicity is not a mere epiphe- the Soviet state was conceived, nomenon, but can perform an autono- standardized and institutionalized: mous function. One could argue that i) in terms of personal identification, Gorenburg agrees with Craig Calhoun’s through the issue of internal pass- claim that collective identities, ports, in which each citizen should though not solid and homogeneous, declare, once and for all, his are real and that it is unfruitful “to think nationality, thereby rendering iden- that the reality of nations depends tity shift rather difficult; and ii) in ter- on the accuracy of their collective ritorial terms, by assigning to most representations.”3 ethnic groups an administrative

2 James D. Fearon and David D. Laitin. Violence and the Social Construction of Ethnic Identity // International Organization. 2000. Vol. 54. No. 4. Pp. 845-877. 3 Craig Calhoun. The Variability of Belonging. A Reply to Rogers Brubaker // Ethnicities. 2003. Vol. 3. No. 4. Pp. 558-568. 355 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews region, the status of which was rele- status, but also on the small number vant to its perceived “importance”. of ethnic Khakass, who comprised Gorenburg asserts that the higher only 11% of the region’s population. the administrative status of a region, In the third chapter, the author the more developed and autonomous comparatively describes the emergence were the ethnic institutions, like and formation of the nationalist native language education, the number movement organizations and offers of ethnic newspapers, titular higher a lucid, and more theory-informed, education and research, and affirma- analysis. He broadly employs concepts tive-action policies. However, even from the political-process approach, among regions of equal status some like that of political opportunities had a higher “functional status”, like structure. He effectively points out in the case of Tatarstan and Bashkor- that, although the liberalization policies tostan, in contrast with Chuvashia (P. 38). of perestroika enabled the collective The common findings for all four articulation of demands by large seg- regions include the provision for ments of the population, these oppor- native language education and tunities were not equally distributed. the overrepresentation of titular ethnic These differences in regional oppor- groups in the administration. tunity structures resulted in diverse However, after 1959 and especially organizational developments of the in urban centres the percentage of respective nationalist movements. children who received education in However, Gorenburg could have the titular language steadily decreased, conceived of the opportunities struc- whereas the Russian population of tures in a less static way and put the four regions was overrepresented an emphasis on public conceptions with regards to managerial employ- of the unfolding political change. ment in industry. Although Goren- In this way, the adoption of the similar burg points out these antithetical pro- concept of collective attribution of cesses (i.e., ethnicization and assimi- threat and opportunity4 could have lation/“Russification”) in the last been helpful. Gorenburg employs chapter, he fails to incorporate their the concept of pre-existing social interplay in the main part of his analy- networks in order to explain the emer- sis. Moreover, the weaker develop- gence and expansion of the move- ment of ethnic institutions in Kha- ments. His detailed qualitative analysis kassia might have not depended finds that the nationalist movements solely on its inferior administrative flourished in academic and cultural

4 Doug McAdam, Sidney Tarrow and Charles Tilly. Dynamics of Contention. Cambridge, 2001. Pp.95-96. 356 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 institutions, and intellectuals consti- mechanistic way, since norms in tuted the movement elite. Gorenburg certain cases served the specific shows how the density of work- interests of the movements, as the case place-based networks of trust rein- of Bashkortostan indicates (P. 102). forced a common identity among The following chapters focus on the participants and how networks measuring popular support for the and interpersonal ties were instru- nationalist movements. In chapter 5, mental in the flow of information through the assessment of protest and in employing selective benefits participation, election results, and in order to attract active support. opinion polls, Gorenburg finds that After outlining the organizational nationalist support peaked between resources of the nationalist movements, 1989 and 1991. This support was in chapter 4 Gorenburg examines stronger and more active in the two their framing. His theoretical starting more institutionally developed repub- point is that the leaders of social move- lics, Tatarstan and Bashkortostan. ments tend to adapt their claims and Gorenburg productively distinguishes demands to the preexisting mentalities between support for a cultural/ of the addressed public. These collec- moderate nationalist agenda, and a tive mentalities and perceptions are separatist/radical one, which was shaped by the long-term function of less popular. In chapter 6, primarily the ethnic institutions. Cultural through quantitative analysis, the elites, and later on political ones, author assesses which social groups used a normative framing that was were more likely to support nation- compatible with the political culture alism. The multivariate regressions of the Soviet public and did not fun- he composes are subject to various damentally challenge the legitimacy of conclusions, although one should not the institutions. Although Gorenburg overestimate their explanatory power, offers a detailed study of the nationalist as Gorenburg himself admits. framing in each region, one gets However, it is indicated that those the impression that he overstates groups that were more exposed to the ability of ethnic institutions to native language education, that is condition the dominant political intellectuals, rural inhabitants, and ideas and values. Mentalities include migrants from rural areas, as well as intersubjective meanings, common older respondents, were more likely experiences, and discursive and cul- to support nationalism (P. 196). tural formations that cannot be solely An indication of particular importance reduced to state institutions. Even if is that political elites remained rela- institutional norms were widely tively indifferent to cultural nationalism, accepted, this was not done in a but were more supportive of separatist 357 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews demands, obviously anticipating institutions. However, this book increases of their political power. undoubtedly is a paradigmatic, and, In chapter 8, Gorenburg repeats his to a large extent, innovative study regressions on a much larger sample of the micro-processes of nationalist (18 ethnic regions of the Russian mobilization. Its empirical examina- Federation) in order to test if his tion and its epistemological impli- analysis has a broader relevance. cations delimit the general orienta- Indeed, his core findings seem to be tion of the study of comparative na- more or less valid. tionalist mobilization. Finally, in chapter 7, Gorenburg assesses the achievements of the four nationalist movements. Their strength was responsible for several important successes, such as the reaffir- mation of regional sovereignty through declarations, the expansion of the titular language education, and increased job opportunities for titu- Èâàí ÃÎËÎËÎÁΠlar ethnics (Pp. 226-227). However, demographic factors, i.e., the impor- Èâýð Íîéìàíí. Èñïîëüçî- tant presence of ethnic Russians in âàíèå “Äðóãîãî”. Îáðàçû Âîñ- each region, maintained the territo- òîêà â ôîðìèðîâàíèè åâðîïåéñ- rial, rather than ethnic, character of êèõ èäåíòè÷íîñòåé / Ïåð. ñ àíãë. the regional constitutions and averted Â. Á. Ëèòâèíîâà è È. À. Ïèëü- the dominance of more separatist or ùèêîâà. Ïðåäèñë. À. È. Ìèëëåðà. radical agendas. Gorenburg’s ex- Ìîñêâà: “Íîâîå èçäàòåëüñòâî”, pectation is that in the long term, 2004. 335 ñ. ISBN: 5-98379007-2. primarily due to the “ethnic revival” policies in the ethnic regions, a new Êíèãà Èâýðà Íîéìàííà ïðåä- wave of nationalist mobilization is ñòàâëÿåò äëÿ ðîññèéñêîãî ÷èòà- likely to emerge (P. 233). òåëÿ èíòåðåñ ïî äâóì ïðè÷èíàì. The shortcomings of Goren- Ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû, åå àâòîð ïðåä- burg’s analysis are of secondary im- ëàãàåò îðèãèíàëüíûé âçãëÿä íà portance, perhaps except for the lack ïðèðîäó ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ îòíî- of a more dialectical relationship øåíèé, âûäåëÿþùèéñÿ íà ôîíå between theoretical and empirical ïåðåâîäíûõ ðàáîò, ïðèíàäëåæà- analysis at certain parts of the book ùèõ ê ò. í. èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîìó and a limited ontological inquiry into ìýéíñòðèìó “ðåàëèñòîâ” è “èäåà- the constitution of ethnicity and ëèñòîâ”. Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, 358 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews demands, obviously anticipating institutions. However, this book increases of their political power. undoubtedly is a paradigmatic, and, In chapter 8, Gorenburg repeats his to a large extent, innovative study regressions on a much larger sample of the micro-processes of nationalist (18 ethnic regions of the Russian mobilization. Its empirical examina- Federation) in order to test if his tion and its epistemological impli- analysis has a broader relevance. cations delimit the general orienta- Indeed, his core findings seem to be tion of the study of comparative na- more or less valid. tionalist mobilization. Finally, in chapter 7, Gorenburg assesses the achievements of the four nationalist movements. Their strength was responsible for several important successes, such as the reaffir- mation of regional sovereignty through declarations, the expansion of the titular language education, and increased job opportunities for titu- Èâàí ÃÎËÎËÎÁΠlar ethnics (Pp. 226-227). However, demographic factors, i.e., the impor- Èâýð Íîéìàíí. Èñïîëüçî- tant presence of ethnic Russians in âàíèå “Äðóãîãî”. Îáðàçû Âîñ- each region, maintained the territo- òîêà â ôîðìèðîâàíèè åâðîïåéñ- rial, rather than ethnic, character of êèõ èäåíòè÷íîñòåé / Ïåð. ñ àíãë. the regional constitutions and averted Â. Á. Ëèòâèíîâà è È. À. Ïèëü- the dominance of more separatist or ùèêîâà. Ïðåäèñë. À. È. Ìèëëåðà. radical agendas. Gorenburg’s ex- Ìîñêâà: “Íîâîå èçäàòåëüñòâî”, pectation is that in the long term, 2004. 335 ñ. ISBN: 5-98379007-2. primarily due to the “ethnic revival” policies in the ethnic regions, a new Êíèãà Èâýðà Íîéìàííà ïðåä- wave of nationalist mobilization is ñòàâëÿåò äëÿ ðîññèéñêîãî ÷èòà- likely to emerge (P. 233). òåëÿ èíòåðåñ ïî äâóì ïðè÷èíàì. The shortcomings of Goren- Ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû, åå àâòîð ïðåä- burg’s analysis are of secondary im- ëàãàåò îðèãèíàëüíûé âçãëÿä íà portance, perhaps except for the lack ïðèðîäó ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ îòíî- of a more dialectical relationship øåíèé, âûäåëÿþùèéñÿ íà ôîíå between theoretical and empirical ïåðåâîäíûõ ðàáîò, ïðèíàäëåæà- analysis at certain parts of the book ùèõ ê ò. í. èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîìó and a limited ontological inquiry into ìýéíñòðèìó “ðåàëèñòîâ” è “èäåà- the constitution of ethnicity and ëèñòîâ”. Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, 358 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Íîéìàíí ïðèâîäèò óäèâèòåëüíî íåé ìåðå, â òåõ åå îáëàñòÿõ, êîòî- òðåçâûé è, â òî æå âðåìÿ, êðèòè- ðûå îêàçûâàþòñÿ íàèáîëåå ñâÿ- ÷åñêèé àíàëèç ðîññèéñêîé èñòî- çàííûìè ñ òåîðèåé ìåæäóíàðîä- ðèè è åå ìåñòà â ñîâðåìåííîì íûõ îòíîøåíèé, ìîæíî âûäåëèòü ìèðå, – êàê çàìå÷àåò Àëåêñåé íåñêîëüêî òðàêòîâîê ýòîãî ïîíÿ- Ìèëëåð â ñâîåì ïðåäèñëîâèè, – òèÿ. Îíè óñëîâíî ïðåäñòàâëÿþò “ñëèøêîì òðåçâûé” äëÿ ðîññèéñ- äâà òèïà. Ïåðâûé âêëþ÷àåò â ñåáÿ êîé àóäèòîðèè è “ñëèøêîì êðè- “ýòíîãðàôè÷åñêèé” (Ô. Áàðò) è òè÷åñêèé” äëÿ ìíîãèõ èíîñò- “ïñèõîëîãè÷åñêèé” (Ý. Íîðòîí) ðàííûõ ñïåöèàëèñòîâ (Ñ. 7). ïîäõîäû, à òàêæå íàðàáîòêè  îñíîâíîì ôîêóñå èññëåäîâà- ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé “êîíòèíåíòàëüíîé íèÿ – ñîçäàíèå åâðîïåéñêèõ èäåí- ôèëîñîôèè” (Ã. Çèììåëü, Þ. Õà- òè÷íîñòåé (èìåííî èäåíòè÷íîñ- áåðìàñ, ×. Òýéëîð). Âòîðîé ïðåä- òåé, à íå èäåíòè÷íîñòè). Íîéìàíí ñòàâëåí “âîñòî÷íûì ýêñêóðñîì” ñ÷èòàåò, ÷òî identity â ñèñòåìå è âêëþ÷àåò â ñåáÿ èäåè Ô. Íèöøå, ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ îòíîøåíèé – ýòî Ì. Áàõòèíà, Ý. Ëåâèíàñà, Ö. Òî- íå ïðîñòî øèðìà Realpolitik, äîðîâà è Þ. Êðèñòåâîé. Ýòè äâà raison d’Etat èëè rational choice. ïîäõîäà ïðèíöèïèàëüíî îòëè÷à- Ýòî – ïðåäñòàâëåíèÿ î òîì, ÷òî þòñÿ âî âçãëÿäàõ íà ïðèðîäó è òàêîå ñîáñòâåííîå “ß”. Îíè ëåæàò ìåñòî “Äðóãîãî” â íàøåé æèçíè. â îñíîâå ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ îòíîøå-  ïåðâîì ñëó÷àå “Äðóãîé” – ýòî íèé è ïðèíÿòèÿ ðåøåíèé â îáëàñòè “åùå îäèí”. Çäåñü èíàêîâîñòü ìèðîâîé ïîëèòèêè. Ïîäâèæ- ðàññìàòðèâàåòñÿ êàê àíîìàëèÿ íîñòü, ïîñòîÿííîå ïåðåîïðåäåëåíèå îäèíàêîâîñòè, êàê ïðîáëåìà, êîòî- ñîáñòâåííîãî “ß” ÿâëÿþòñÿ êëþ- ðóþ íàäî ïðåîäîëåòü. “Âîñòî÷íûé ÷åâûì ôàêòîðîì, îïðåäåëÿþùèì ýêñêóðñ”, íàïðîòèâ, ïîíèìàåò äðó- èõ äèíàìèêó. ãîãî êàê “èíîãî”. Èíàêîâîñòü â Îñîáåííî âàæíûì ýëåìåíòîì ýòîì ñëó÷àå ÿâëÿåòñÿ îñîáîé öåí- ïîíÿòèÿ èäåíòè÷íîñòè â ìåæäó- íîñòüþ, ëåæàùåé â îñíîâå âñåé íàðîäíûõ îòíîøåíèÿõ, êàê ñ÷è- íàøåé æèçíè, à ñîñóùåñòâîâàíèå òàåò Íîéìàíí, ÿâëÿåòñÿ îïðåäå- â ðåæèìå èíàêîâîñòè – ñâîåîáðàç- ëåíèå “Äðóãîãî”. Èìåííî ïîýòîìó íûì ìîðàëüíûì èìïåðàòèâîì àâòîð âêëþ÷àåò âî ââåäåíèå îáçîð áàõòèíñêîãî äèàëîãà, ê êîòîðîìó òåîðèé, ïîçâîëÿþùèõ êîíöåïòó- ìû âñå äîëæíû ñòðåìèòüñÿ èëè, àëèçèðîâàòü “Äðóãîãî” ïîñðåä- ïî êðàéíåé ìåðå, óìåòü ñ íèì æèòü. ñòâîì ÿçûêà, èñïîëüçóåìîãî ïðè Èìåííî ýòà èíàêîâîñòü, “Äðóãîãî” èçó÷åíèè ìèðîâîé ïîëèòèêè. Ïî äåëàåò âîçìîæíûì ñóùåñòâîâà- ìíåíèþ Íîéìàííà, â ñîâðåìåííîé íèå íàøåãî “ß”, êàêèì áû îíî ñîöèàëüíîé íàóêå, èëè, ïî êðàé- íàì íå ïðåäñòàâëÿëîñü. 359 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews  ðåöåíçèðóåìîé êíèãå ïðè- Åâðîïà, äëÿ êîòîðîé “Äðóãèì” âîäÿòñÿ ýìïèðè÷åñêèå äîêàçà- ÿâëÿëñÿ êîíôåññèîíàëüíî ÷óæäûé òåëüñòâà ðåëåâàíòíîñòè èäåé “ìàâð”, “ñàðàöèí”, à çàòåì “âîñòî÷íîãî ýêñêóðñà” äëÿ ïîíè- “òóðîê”, – ýòî îáðàçîâàíèå, ìàíèÿ ïðèðîäû ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ âêëþ÷àþùåå âñå õðèñòèàíñêèå îòíîøåíèé. Èñïîëüçóÿ ÷ðåçâû- íàðîäû êîíòèíåíòà. Åâðîïà, ÷àéíî áîãàòûé èñòîðè÷åñêèé äëÿ êîòîðîé “Äðóãèì” ÿâëÿåòñÿ ìàòåðèàë, Íîéìàíí ïîêàçûâàåò, Ðîññèÿ, êîòîðàÿ â óñëîâèÿõ íåâîç- êàê èñïîëüçîâàíèå “âîñòî÷íîãî” ìîæíîñòè ÿâíîãî êîíôåññèî- “Äðóãîãî” îïðåäåëÿëî è îïðåäå- íàëüíîãî ïðîòèâîïîñòàâëåíèÿ ëÿåò ôîðìèðîâàíèå è ñàìîãî îêàçûâàåòñÿ îòäåëåííîé â äèàõ- ïîíÿòèÿ “Åâðîïà” êàê òàêîâîãî, ðîíè÷åñêîé ïëîñêîñòè êàê êóëü- è åâðîïåéñêèõ èäåíòè÷íîñòåé. òóðíî, ïîëèòè÷åñêè è ýêîíîìè- Ãîâîðÿ î ïîñëåäíèõ, àâòîð ÷åñêè “íåäîðîñøàÿ” äî “åâðî- èìååò â âèäó èäåíòè÷íîñòü ïåéñêîãî óðîâíÿ”, – ýòî óæå íå÷òî “Åâðîïû” â öåëîì, åâðîïåéñêèõ ñîâñåì äðóãîå.  òàêîé Åâðîïå ðåãèîíîâ (Ñåâåðíîãî/Íîðäè- óæå íåò íå òîëüêî ñàìîé Ðîññèè, ÷åñêîãî/Áàëòèéñêîãî è Öåíò- íî è ñòðàí, íàõîäÿùèõñÿ â çîíå ðàëüíîåâðîïåéñêîãî), à òàêæå åå âëèÿíèÿ. Íîéìàíí ïîêàçûâàåò, èäåíòè÷íîñòü íàöèé, èñïîëüçó- ÷òî ïîíÿòèå åâðîïåéñêîãî “ß” þùèõ òåìó “åâðîïåéñêîñòè” â è ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ ìàòåðèàëè- îôîðìëåíèè ñâîåãî íàöèîíàëü- çàöèÿ Åâðîïû âî ìíîãîì çàâèñÿò íîãî “ß”. Ãëàâíîé çàäà÷åé èññëå- îò òîãî, ãäå è êàê âûäåëÿåòñÿ äîâàòåëÿ, ïðåäîïðåäåëèâøåé åâðîïåéñêèé “Äðóãîé” ñî âñåìè âûáîð îáúåêòîâ äëÿ ñðàâíåíèÿ åãî “íåãàòèâíûìè” ñîöèàëüíûìè, (â êà÷åñòâå òàêîâûõ èñïîëüçó- ïîëèòè÷åñêèìè è èñòîðè÷åñêèìè þòñÿ Ðîññèÿ è Áàøêîðòîñòàí, îñîáåííîñòè. ÷òî ñàìî ïî ñåáå ìîæåò âûçâàòü Ïî ìûñëè àâòîðà, òà æå ñõåìà, áîëüøîé èíòåðåñ ó îòå÷åñòâåí- â ïðèíöèïå, õàðàêòåðèçóåò è íîãî ÷èòàòåëÿ) ÿâëÿåòñÿ äåìîí- ïðîöåññ ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ åâðî- ñòðàöèÿ èñòîðè÷åñêîé, ãåîãðà- ïåéñêèõ ðåãèîíîâ.  ïðîòèâîïî- ôè÷åñêîé è ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ïîä- ñòàâëåíèè âåëèêèì ìèðîâûì âèæíîñòè êîíöåïòà “Åâðîïû” è äåðæàâàì ñòðàíû áàëòèéñêîãî “åâðîïåéñêîñòè”. Ýòà ïîäâèæ- áàññåéíà ôîðìèðóþò îäèí íîñòü ñòàíîâèòñÿ îò÷åòëèâî ðåãèîí.  ïðîòèâîïîñòàâëåíèè âèäíà òîãäà, êîãäà ïðîèñõîäèò àêòèâíûì åâðîïåéñêèì – äðóãîé, ðàçãðàíè÷åíèå ìåæäó åâðîïåéñ- èç êîòîðîãî èñêëþ÷àåòñÿ, íàïðè- êèì “ß” è åâðîïåéñêèì “Äðóãèì”. ìåð, Øâåöèÿ, íå òîëüêî êàê âåëè- Íîéìàíí ïîêàçûâàåò, ÷òî êàÿ åâðîïåéñêàÿ äåðæàâà â ïðî- 360 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 øëîì, íî è êàê ñòðàíà, ñåïàðàòíî Äåìîíñòðàöèÿ äèñêóðñèâíîé ñîòðóäíè÷àâøàÿ ñ ôàøèñòñêîé êîíòåêñòóàëüíîñòè ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ Ãåðìàíèåé â ãîäû Âòîðîé ìèðî- ðåãèîíîâ íåèçáåæíî ïîäâîäèò âîé âîéíû è òåì ñàìûì íàðó- ÷èòàòåëÿ ê âîïðîñó: ÷òî æå ëåæèò øèâøàÿ ïðèíöèï íîðäè÷åñêîé â îñíîâå âûäåëåíèÿ “Äðóãîãî”? íåéòðàëüíîñòè. Ïî ýòîé æå ïðè- Åãî îáúåêòèâíàÿ èíàêîâîñòü ÷èíå äàííàÿ êîíñòðóêöèÿ èñêëþ- èëè ñóáúåêòèâíàÿ èíòåíöèÿ ÷àåò è Ôèíëÿíäèþ.  ïðîòèâî- íàéòè “äåìîíà”? Íîéìàíí íå ïîñòàâëåíèè “âîñòî÷íîìó” äàåò ÷åòêîãî îòâåòà.  îäíîì “Äðóãîìó” âîçíèêàåò òðåòèé ñëó÷àå îí ïîêàçûâàåò, ÷òî ðåàëü- îáðàç ðåãèîíà, â êîòîðîì, íà íîå îñëàáëåíèå ìîùè Îñìàíñ- ýòîò ðàç, íåò óæå Ðîññèè. Ïîñëå- êîé èìïåðèè íà ôîíå óñèëåíèÿ äíÿÿ, òåì íå ìåíåå, âêëþ÷àåòñÿ Ðîññèè äåéñòâèòåëüíî ñïîñîá- â ðåãèîí Ñåâåðíîé Åâðîïû, ãðà- ñòâîâàëè òðàíñôîðìàöèè òóðåö- íèöà êîòîðîãî ïðîâîäèòñÿ ïî êîãî “Äðóãîãî” â òóðåöêîãî ôàðâàòåðó Áàëòèéñêîãî ìîðÿ è “áîëüíîãî” Åâðîïû.  “äðóãîì” – îòäåëÿåò åãî îò Þæíîé è Öåíò- íàïðÿìóþ óâÿçûâàåò äåìîíèçà- ðàëüíîé Åâðîïû. öèþ Ðîññèè íîâûìè ÷ëåíàìè Èñòîðèÿ ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ öåí- ÅÑ èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî ñ ðåøåíèåì òðàëüíî-åâðîïåéñêîãî ðåãèîíà ïðîáëåìû ñîáñòâåííîãî êîìï- òàê æå ïîêàçûâàåò åãî âåñüìà ëåêñà åâðîïåéñêîé íåïîëíîöåí- äèíàìè÷åñêóþ ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêóþ íîñòè ïîñëåäíèõ. ïîäâèæíîñòü. Ïðîòèâîïîñòàâ- Èíòåðåñíûì ïðîäîëæåíèåì ëåíèå ýòîãî âîîáðàæàåìîãî äèñêóññèè îá èñòîêàõ èíàêîâîñòè îáðàçîâàíèÿ Çàïàäíîé Åâðîïå ÿâëÿþòñÿ ãëàâû êíèãè, ïîñâÿ- ôîðìèðóåò åãî ãåîãðàôè÷åñêèå ùåííûå èññëåäîâàíèþ ðîëè ãðàíèöû, âêëþ÷àþùèå â ñåáÿ îáðàçà “Äðóãîãî” â îïðåäåëåíèè Àâñòðèþ è, ïîëíîñòüþ èëè ÷àñ- èäåíòè÷íîñòè òåõ îáðàçîâàíèé, òè÷íî, Ãåðìàíèþ. Âîçìîæíà è êîòîðûå â ñèëó èñòîðè÷åñêèõ è àëüòåðíàòèâíàÿ êîíôèãóðàöèÿ ãåîãðàôè÷åñêèõ ôàêòîðîâ áåñ- ýòîãî ïðîñòðàíñòâà, ñ âêëþ÷åíèåì ñïîðíî ïðèíàäëåæàò ê “Âîñòîêó”. â íåå ñòðàí Áåíèëþêñà. Àðòè- Îäíèì èç òàêèõ ïðèìåðîâ ÿâëÿ- êóëÿöèÿ æå èíàêîâîñòè Ðîññèè åòñÿ Ðîññèÿ, ãäå ïî ìíåíèþ êàê “âàðâàðà, ñòîÿùåãî ó âîðîò àâòîðà, èäåò íåïðåêðàùàþùååñÿ Åâðîïû”, îáúåäèíÿåò ãîñóäàðñòâà, ïðîòèâîñòîÿíèå ñëàâÿíîôèëîâ, íåäàâíî âûøåäøèå èç-ïîä îïåêè âûäåëÿþùèõ Åâðîïó êàê “Äðó- Ðîññèè è âñòóïèâøèå â Åâðîïåé- ãîãî”, è çàïàäíèêîâ, äëÿ êîòî- ñêèé Ñîþç: Ïîëüøó, ×åõèþ, ðûõ ýòèì “Äðóãèì” ÿâëÿåòñÿ Ñëîâàêèþ è Âåíãðèþ. ðîññèéñêàÿ “âîñòî÷íîñòü”, åå 361 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews “àçèàòñêîñòü”. Äåéñòâèòåëüíî Íîéìàíí ïðèõîäèò ê âûâîäó, ïàðàäîêñàëüíûì â ýòîì îòíî- ÷òî íà êîíôèãóðàöèþ âåêòîðà øåíèè âûãëÿäèò ïðèìåð Áàø- èíàêîâîñòè îêàçûâàåò âëèÿíèå íå êîðòîñòàíà, êîòîðûé, íàõîäÿñü òîëüêî ðåàëüíîñòü ïðèñóòñòâèÿ â ãåîãðàôè÷åñêè âîñòî÷íåå Òàòàð- ìèðîâîé ïîëèòèêå è ïåðñîíàëüíûå ñòàíà, ïðåäñòàâëÿåò ñîñåäíþþ èíòåíöèè àêòîðîâ, íî è äèñêóðñû ðåñïóáëèêó â êà÷åñòâå “âîñòî÷- “Äðóãîãî”, ôîðìèðóþùèå îñî- íîãî” “Äðóãîãî” ïî ïðè÷èíå åå áåííîñòè êîíêðåòíûõ èäåíòè÷íî- “áîëüøåãî” èñëàìèçìà. ñòåé. Èìåííî êîíôèãóðàöèÿ Íîéìàíí ïîêàçûâàåò, êàê ðàçíûõ äèñêóðñîâ è âçàèìîíàëî- ðàçíûå ïðîåêòû ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ æåíèÿ ìîåãî “Äðóãîãî” íà ÷üå-òî “ß” âëèÿþò íà ñàìîèäåíòèôè- “ß” è îïðåäåëÿþò â êîíå÷íîì êàöèþ òåõ, êîãî îíè ñ÷èòàþò èòîãå èåðàðõèçàöèþ è äîìèíèðî- “Äðóãèì”. Ïîðàæåíèå âîèíñòâó- âàíèå òåõ èëè èíûõ îáðàçîâ àêòî- þùåãî çàïàäíè÷åñòâà â åëüöèí- ðîâ â èñòîðè÷åñêèõ óñëîâèÿõ. ñêîé Ðîññèè è ðîñò íàöèîíàëè- Ìîìåíò ïðèçíàíèÿ èíòåðäèñ- ñòè÷åñêèõ è âåëèêîäåðæàâíûõ êóðñèâíîé ïðèðîäû “Äðóãîãî”, òåíäåíöèé, ïî åãî ìíåíèþ, íå â áåçóñëîâíî, ÿâëÿåòñÿ íîâàòîðñêèì ïîñëåäíþþ î÷åðåäü ïðåäîïðå- ïîäõîäîì, ó÷èòûâàÿ òîò ôàêò, äåëåíû îïðåäåëåííûì âîñïðèÿ- ÷òî òåîðèÿ ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ òèåì Ðîññèè íà Çàïàäå. Ãîðáà- îòíîøåíèé äîñòàòî÷íî êîíñåð- ÷åâñêèé ëîçóí㠓Åâðîïà îò âàòèâíà ñàìà ïî ñåáå. Îäíàêî Àòëàíòèêè äî Óðàëà” îêàçàëñÿ íåñêîëüêî ñìóùàåò ìåòîäîëî- òàì íå ïîíÿò. Ðîññèÿ òàê è íå ãè÷åñêàÿ ðîáîñòü àâòîðà, åãî ñòàëà “ñâîèì” â Åâðîïå. Ðîëü äîâîëüíî ëîÿëüíîå îòíîøåíèå ê “ñïîñîáíîãî, íî ñòðîïòèâîãî äðóãèì, íå-äèñêóðñèâíûì ïðèí- ó÷åíèêà”, îòâåäåííàÿ åé Çàïàäîì öèïàì âûäåëåíèÿ èíàêîâîñòè, â ïîñòñîâåòñêîì ãåîïîëèòè÷åñêîì ÷òî âíîñèò íåêîòîðûé ìåòîäîëî- ïðîñòðàíñòâå êîíòèíåíòà, ãè÷åñêèé äèññîíàíñ.  ñòðóêòóðå ïðåâðàùàåò çàïàäíè÷åñêèå àíàëèçà óðîâíè “ðåàëüíûé” óñòðåìëåíèÿ ðîññèéñêîé èíòåë- (ýêîíîìè÷åñêèé, êóëüòóðíûé è ëèãåíöèè âñåãî ëèøü â ïðåòåí- âîåííûé) è “äèñêóðñèâíûé” öèîçíûå íàìåðåíèÿ. “Ìîæåò (ñìûñë è âîñïðèÿòèå îíûõ) áûòü, Ðîññèÿ è Åâðîïà, íî òîëüêî èçîáðàæàþòñÿ êàê áû ïàðàë- íå äëÿ åâðîïåéöå┠– èìåííî ëåëüíî. Ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû, âîåí- ýòîò àðãóìåíò ëåæèò â îñíîâå íàÿ ìîùü Îñìàíñêîé èìïåðèè, ìíîæåñòâà ïðîãðàìì ñòîðîí- ê ïðèìåðó, “ðåàëüíî” îïðåäåëÿåò íèêîâ ðîññèéñêîé “åâðàçèéñ- âûäåëåíèå åå êàê “Äðóãîãî”, êîñòè”. îäíàêî, ñ äðóãîé – èìåííî ñ 362 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 âîåííî-ýêîíîìè÷åñêèì óïàäêîì òè÷íîñòè. Îäíàêî çäåñü, è ýòî Áëèñòàòåëüíîé Ïîðòû Íîéìàíí êðàéíå èíòåðåñíûé ïîâîðîò ñâÿçûâàåò ðàçìûâàíèå åå îáðàçà ìûñëè, “Äðóãîé” íå äîëæåí çàñ- êàê “Äðóãîãî”.  äðóãîì ñëó÷àå, ëîíÿòü “Íàñ”. Ïðèíèìàÿ îñíîâ- “êóëüòóðíàÿ” èëè “öèâèëèçà- íûå ïîñò-ñòðóêòóðàëèñòñêèå öèîííàÿ îòñòàëîñòü” Ðîññèè ÿâëÿ- èäåè î êîíòåêñòóàëüíîñòè è þòñÿ êàòåãîðèÿìè, ñêîíñòðóè- ïðîöåññóàëüíîì õàðàêòåðå ðîâàííûìè èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî ëþáîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè, Íîéìàíí, äèñêóðñèâíî. Îòñóòñòâèå âíÿòíîé òåì íå ìåíåå, íå ñîãëàøàåòñÿ ñ òàêñîíîìèè äèñêóðñèâíûõ è íå/ ïîñòñòðóêòóðàëèñòàìè, äåñóáú- âíå/èíîäèñêóðñèâíûõ ïðàêòèê åêòèâèçèðóþùèìè êîëëåêòèâ- ñòàâèò ÷èòàòåëÿ ïåðåä äèëåììàìè, íûå èäåíòè÷íîñòè. “Ðåãèîí èëè êîòîðûå î÷åíü ñëîæíî ðàçðå- íàöèÿ ñòàíîâÿòñÿ ðåàëèåé, êîãäà øèòü â ðàìêàõ çàòðîíóòîé îíè íà÷èíàþò îçíà÷àòü...”? ïðîáëåìàòèêè. Íå îáñóæäàåòñÿ “Íî äëÿ êîãî íà÷èíàþò îçíà- Íîéìàííîì âîçìîæíîñòü íå- ÷àòü?! Çà÷åì èì ýòî îçíà÷åíèå?!” – ýññåíöèàëèñòñêîãî ðåøåíèÿ ïîñòîÿííî ñïðàøèâàåò àâòîð. ïðîáëåìû – îïðåäåëåíèÿ íå- Ïðèíèìàÿ âî âíèìàíèå âëèÿíèå äèñêóðñèâíîãî ÷åðåç èíòåãðàöèþ èäåé Ì. Áàõòèíà íà Íîéìàííà ïîíÿòèé “õàîñà”, “ïðîìåæóòêà” (ïîñëåäíèé ýòîãî, êñòàòè, íå è “äèñëîêàöèè” â îïèñàíèå äèñ- ñêðûâàåò), äàííîå ñîìíåíèå ñòà- êóðñèâíîãî óïîðÿäî÷èâàíèÿ íîâèòüñÿ ïîíÿòíûì. Ïðè âñåì ìèðà, ðàâíî êàê è ïîðîæäåíèå ñõîäñòâå ïîäõîäîâ áàõòèíñêîãî íîâûõ ñèñòåì ñîöèàëüíîãî êðóãà è ïîñòñòðóêòóðàëèçìà ê àêòîðñòâà, èíèöèèðîâàííîãî ïîíèìàíèþ ðîëè ÿçûêà â îáùå- ýòèìè ïðîöåññàìè. ñòâåííîé æèçíè, îíè ñóùåñòâåííî Òåì íå ìåíåå, îòìå÷åííûå ðàñõîäÿòñÿ â îïðåäåëåíèè ðîëè ìåòîäîëîãè÷åñêèå íåÿñíîñòè íå ëè÷íîñòè â ÿçûêå. Ôèëîñîô ìåøàþò åìó ïðèéòè ê ðÿäó âåñüìà æèçíè, òðèáóí Àâòîðà è òåîðåòèê èíòåðåñíûõ âûâîäîâ, êàñàþ- ïîñòóïêà, âñåãäà ïèøóùèé “ß” ùèõñÿ òåîðèè è ïðàêòèêè ìåæ- ñ áîëüøîé áóêâû, Áàõòèí ñòîèò äóíàðîäíûõ îòíîøåíèé, à òàê- â æåñòêîé îïïîçèöèè àïîëîãå- æå ñîöèàëüíîé òåîðèè è ïðàê- òàì èäåè “ñìåðòè àâòîðà”.  òàêîé òèêè â öåëîì. Íîéìàíí çàÿâëÿåò, æå îïïîçèöèè íàõîäèòñÿ è Íîé- ÷òî èçìåí÷èâîñòü èäåíòè÷íîñòè ìàíí, ïðè÷åì äàæå ê òåì ïîä- (äèíàìèêà “Äðóãîãî”) èìååò õîäàì, ãäå ïðîáëåìà ñóáúåê- ïîëèòè÷åñêèé õàðàêòåð â ñâîåé òà ïîëó÷àåò ñâîå ðàçðåøåíèå îñíîâå, ïîñêîëüêó èìåííî ïîëè- ïîñðåäñòâîì ñâåäåíèÿ åå ê ìî- òèêà ó÷èò íàñ ðàçëè÷àòü èäåí- ìåíòó ëàêàíîâñêîãî “ðåàëü- 363 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews íîãî”, ê íàäëîìó ñèìâîëè÷åñêîãî åâðîïåéñêèå êîíêèñòàäîðû ïîðÿäêà, âûðûâàþùåãî èíäèâè- áóêâàëüíî ñìåëè ñ ëèöà êîíòè- äóàëüíîå ñîçíàíèå èç ïóò äîâëå- íåíòà óíèêàëüíûå â ñâîåì ðàç- þùåé ñòðóêòóðû. ëè÷èè, îðèåíòèðîâàííûå äðóã Ïðîäîëæåíèåì ýòîé îïïîçè- íà äðóãà èíäåéñêèå êóëüòóðû öèè ÿâëÿåòñÿ êðèòèêà èñêëþ÷è- Ñåâåðíîé Àìåðèêè, ëþáîé òåëüíîé êîíòåêñòóàëüíîñòè ïðîåêò, îòíîñÿùèéñÿ ê “Äðóãîìó” ñóáúåêòà, îïðåäåëÿåìîãî, âî èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî èíñòðóìåíòàëüíî, ìíîãîì ñëó÷àéíî. Çäåñü Íîé- âûãëÿäèò ñèëüíåå èìåííî áëà- ìàíí ïîäìå÷àåò î÷åíü âàæíûé ãîäàðÿ óâåðåííîñòè â ñâîåì “ß”. ýëåìåíò àíàëèçà ñîâðåìåííîãî Îäíàêî òðàãèçì äàííîé ñèòó- ïîñòñòðóêòóðàëèñòñêîãî ìàðê- àöèè íåáåçûñõîäåí. Ìîíîÿçû÷- ñèçìà – êîíôèãóðàöèþ àíòàãî- íûé ìèð íåâîçìîæåí â ïðèíöèïå. íèñòè÷åñêîãî äèñêóðñà. Ïî åãî Âîçìîæíû ëèáî äâå èëè áîëåå ìíåíèþ, ñëó÷àéíîñòü, êîíå÷íî, êóëüòóðû, ëèáî íè îäíîé, – ñëîâíî èìååò ìåñòî, îäíàêî òî, ÷òî, âòîðèò Íîéìàíí Þ. Ëîòìàíó. ïîñòñòðóêòóðàëèñòû íàçûâàþò Ïîýòîìó íåîáõîäèìî íàéòè íîâûå “îòñóòñòâóþùèì îáùåñòâîì”, ôîðìû îïèñàíèÿ íàøåé èäåí- èëè íåâîçìîæíîñòüþ åãî çàêîí- òè÷íîñòè; ôîðìû, îòâå÷àþùèå ÷åííîé îðãàíèçàöèè, íå åñòü âûçîâàì íûíåøíåé “íè÷åãî- îòñóòñòâèå îáùåñòâà êàê òàêî- êðîìå-ñåáÿ-íå-âèäÿùåé” ýññåí- âîãî. Ýòî âñåãî ëèøü íåâîçìîæ- öèàëèçàöèè. Ðåøåíèåì äàííîé íîñòü çàâåðøåíèÿ îïðåäåëåííîãî ïðîáëåìû, ïî ìûñëè Íîéìàííà, ïðîåêòà åãî îðãàíèçàöèè, áóäåò òðàíñôîðìàöèÿ òðàíñ- îáúÿñíÿåìàÿ “ïîðàæåíèåì” êîíòåêñòóàëüíûõ èñòîðèé î äàííîãî ïðîåêòà ⠓áîðüáå çà “âå÷íîì” “ß” ⠓èñòîðèè â ñî- ðåàëüíîñòü” ñ äðóãèìè, áîëåå ñëàãàòåëüíîì íàêëîíåíèè”, â óñòîé÷èâûìè äèñêóðñèâíûìè “êàê-áû” èñòîðèè (Ñ. 275). Çäåñü ïðåäïðèÿòèÿìè. Ïðè÷åì, óñòîé- ìû ñòàëêèâàåìñÿ ñ àðãóìåíòèðó- ÷èâûìè ïðîåêòàìè ÿâëÿþòñÿ åìûì è, ÷òî îñîáåííîé âàæíî, – êàê ðàç òå, êîòîðûå íå ó÷èòûâàþò ìîðàëüíî îïðàâäàííûì – êîíòåêñòóàëüíîñòü. “ß” äëÿ íèõ êîíòð-ïîçèòèâèñòñêèì âûïàäîì, ñàìèõ – òðàíñêîíòåêñòóàëüíî. òðåáóþùèì ïðèçíàíèÿ óñëîâ-  ýòîì ìîìåíòå Íîéìàíí êðè- íîñòè ýññåíöèàëèçèðóþùèõ òè÷åí è äàæå íåìíîãî òðàãè÷åí: íàððàòèâîâ íå òîëüêî ïî ïðè- óíèâåðñàëèñòñêèå ìîäåëè ïîñò- ÷èíå èõ íàó÷íîé îãðàíè÷åííîñòè, ðîåíèÿ îáùåñòâà îêàçûâàþòñÿ íî è ââèäó ðåàëüíîé îáùåñòâåííî- ñèëüíåå ìîäåëåé ñîîáùåñòâ ïîëèòè÷åñêîé îïàñíîñòè, ïðîÿâ- ðàçëè÷èÿ. Ïîäîáíî òîìó, êàê ëåíèÿ êîòîðîé âñå ìû â íàñòîÿ- 364 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ùåå âðåìÿ íàáëþäàåì íà ïðèìåðå Âÿ÷åñëàâ ËÈÕÀ×Å íàñèëüñòâåííîé ðàêåòíî-áîìáî- âîé äåìîêðàòèçàöèè âî èìÿ Stephen D. Shenfield, Russian áëàãà åå æåðòâ. Fascism: Traditions. Tendencies. Òîëüêî òàê, ðàñøèðèâ íàø Movements (New York and London: âçãëÿä íà ñåáÿ ñàìèõ (âíå çàâè- M. E. Sharpe, 2001). 336 pp. Bibliog- ñèìîñòè îò êîíêðåòíîãî ñëó÷àÿ raphy, index. ISBN: 0-7656-0635-6. “ñàìîñòè”), ïîìåñòèâ èñòîðèè î ñåáå â êîíòåêñò äðóãèõ âîçìîæíûõ Çàðóáåæíàÿ ëèòåðàòóðà, ïîñâÿ- èñòîðèé, âñòàâèâ îïèñàíèå ùåííàÿ òîìó, ÷òî íà Çàïàäå “ñåáÿ” â îïðåäåëåííûé ñîñëàãà- íàçûâàåòñÿ “ðóññêèì ôàøèç- òåëüíûé êîíòåêñò, ïðåäñòàâèâ ìîì”, ñàìà ïî ñåáå ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñîáñòâåííîå “ß” íà ïåðåïóòüå íåáåçûíòåðåñíûì îáúåêòîì äëÿ ìíîæåñòâåííîñòè îòíîøåíèé ñ èçó÷åíèÿ.1 Çà ðåäêèì èñêëþ÷å- “Äðóãèì” è, òåì ñàìûì, îòêðûâ íèåì,2 çàïàäíûå èññëåäîâàíèÿ â âîçìîæíîñòü ê ïîÿâëåíèþ äðóãèõ ýòîé îáëàñòè ïî îïðåäåëåíèþ âîçìîæíûõ “ß”, ìû ìîæåì âòîðè÷íû. Àâòîðû êíèã è ñòàòåé, àäåêâàòíî ïðîòèâîñòîÿòü ñàìî- êàê ïðàâèëî, íèêîãäà â ãëàçà íå óáèéñòâåííîìó ðàñïðîñòðàíå- âèäåëè “ðóññêîãî ôàøèñòà”, íå íèþ óíèâåðñàëèçèðóþùåãî äåðæàëè â ðóêàõ íè îðèãèíàëû âçãëÿäà íà ìèð. Èìåííî íà ýòîé êíèã èäåîëîãîâ ôàøèçìà, íè íîòå Íîéìàíí çàêàí÷èâàåò ñâîå êîïèè ãàçåò, èçäàâàåìûõ ïðèâåð- èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîå ïóòåøåñòâèå, æåíöàìè äâèæåíèÿ, îïðåäåëÿå- îñòàâëÿÿ ÷èòàòåëÿ íàåäèíå ñ åãî ìîãî êàê “ôàøèñòñêîå”. Çàïàäíûå ñîáñòâåííûìè ðàçìûøëåíèÿìè êîììåíòàòîðû áîëüøåé ÷àñòüþ íàä âîïðîñàìè, ïîäíÿòûìè â äîâîëüñòâóþòñÿ áàíàëüíûìè ðåöåíçèðóåìîé ðàáîòå. ïåðåñêàçàìè ñîäåðæàíèÿ ïîäîá-

1 Íàèáîëåå ïðåäñòàâèòåëüíûé îáçîð çàðóáåæíîé èñòîðèîãðàôèè, ïîñâÿùåííîé ðóññêîìó ïðàâîìó ðàäèêàëèçìó, ñì.: A. Umland. The Post-Soviet Russian Extreme Right // Problems of Post-Communism. July – August 1997. Vol. 44. No. 4. Pp. 53-61. Îáíîâëåííóþ ðóññêóþ âåðñèþ ñòàòüè ñì.: À. Óìëàíä. Ïðàâûé ýêñòðåìèçì â ïîñòñîâåòñêîé Ðîññèè // Îáùåñòâåííûå íàóêè è ñîâðåìåííîñòü. 2001. ¹ 4. Ñ. 71-84. Îáçîð çàðóáåæíûõ ðàáîò, ïîñâÿùåííûõ êîíöó ñîâåòñêîãî ïåðèîäà èñòîðèè îòå÷åñòâåííîãî íàöèîíàë-ðàäèêàëèçìà ñì.: Â. Ñîëîâåé. Ðóññêîå íàöèîíàëüíîå äâèæåíèå 60-80-õ ãîäîâ ÕÕ âåêà â îñâåùåíèè çàðóáåæíîé èñòîðèîãðàôèè // Îòå÷åñòâåííàÿ èñòîðèÿ. 1993. ¹ 2. 2 Ìîæíî óïîìÿíóòü àíãëèéñêóþ èññëåäîâàòåëüíèöó Ñòåëëó Ðîê, çàíèìàþùóþñÿ ðóññêèìè ïðàâîñëàâíûìè ôóíäàìåíòàëèñòàìè (ñì. íàïð.: S. Rock. Saints and Symbols. Post-Soviet Orthodoxy and the Russian Nationalist Movement. Report on the Congress of the American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies (AAASS). December 2002; S. Rock. “Militant Piety”. Fundamentalist Tendencies 365 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ùåå âðåìÿ íàáëþäàåì íà ïðèìåðå Âÿ÷åñëàâ ËÈÕÀ×Å íàñèëüñòâåííîé ðàêåòíî-áîìáî- âîé äåìîêðàòèçàöèè âî èìÿ Stephen D. Shenfield, Russian áëàãà åå æåðòâ. Fascism: Traditions. Tendencies. Òîëüêî òàê, ðàñøèðèâ íàø Movements (New York and London: âçãëÿä íà ñåáÿ ñàìèõ (âíå çàâè- M. E. Sharpe, 2001). 336 pp. Bibliog- ñèìîñòè îò êîíêðåòíîãî ñëó÷àÿ raphy, index. ISBN: 0-7656-0635-6. “ñàìîñòè”), ïîìåñòèâ èñòîðèè î ñåáå â êîíòåêñò äðóãèõ âîçìîæíûõ Çàðóáåæíàÿ ëèòåðàòóðà, ïîñâÿ- èñòîðèé, âñòàâèâ îïèñàíèå ùåííàÿ òîìó, ÷òî íà Çàïàäå “ñåáÿ” â îïðåäåëåííûé ñîñëàãà- íàçûâàåòñÿ “ðóññêèì ôàøèç- òåëüíûé êîíòåêñò, ïðåäñòàâèâ ìîì”, ñàìà ïî ñåáå ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñîáñòâåííîå “ß” íà ïåðåïóòüå íåáåçûíòåðåñíûì îáúåêòîì äëÿ ìíîæåñòâåííîñòè îòíîøåíèé ñ èçó÷åíèÿ.1 Çà ðåäêèì èñêëþ÷å- “Äðóãèì” è, òåì ñàìûì, îòêðûâ íèåì,2 çàïàäíûå èññëåäîâàíèÿ â âîçìîæíîñòü ê ïîÿâëåíèþ äðóãèõ ýòîé îáëàñòè ïî îïðåäåëåíèþ âîçìîæíûõ “ß”, ìû ìîæåì âòîðè÷íû. Àâòîðû êíèã è ñòàòåé, àäåêâàòíî ïðîòèâîñòîÿòü ñàìî- êàê ïðàâèëî, íèêîãäà â ãëàçà íå óáèéñòâåííîìó ðàñïðîñòðàíå- âèäåëè “ðóññêîãî ôàøèñòà”, íå íèþ óíèâåðñàëèçèðóþùåãî äåðæàëè â ðóêàõ íè îðèãèíàëû âçãëÿäà íà ìèð. Èìåííî íà ýòîé êíèã èäåîëîãîâ ôàøèçìà, íè íîòå Íîéìàíí çàêàí÷èâàåò ñâîå êîïèè ãàçåò, èçäàâàåìûõ ïðèâåð- èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîå ïóòåøåñòâèå, æåíöàìè äâèæåíèÿ, îïðåäåëÿå- îñòàâëÿÿ ÷èòàòåëÿ íàåäèíå ñ åãî ìîãî êàê “ôàøèñòñêîå”. Çàïàäíûå ñîáñòâåííûìè ðàçìûøëåíèÿìè êîììåíòàòîðû áîëüøåé ÷àñòüþ íàä âîïðîñàìè, ïîäíÿòûìè â äîâîëüñòâóþòñÿ áàíàëüíûìè ðåöåíçèðóåìîé ðàáîòå. ïåðåñêàçàìè ñîäåðæàíèÿ ïîäîá-

1 Íàèáîëåå ïðåäñòàâèòåëüíûé îáçîð çàðóáåæíîé èñòîðèîãðàôèè, ïîñâÿùåííîé ðóññêîìó ïðàâîìó ðàäèêàëèçìó, ñì.: A. Umland. The Post-Soviet Russian Extreme Right // Problems of Post-Communism. July – August 1997. Vol. 44. No. 4. Pp. 53-61. Îáíîâëåííóþ ðóññêóþ âåðñèþ ñòàòüè ñì.: À. Óìëàíä. Ïðàâûé ýêñòðåìèçì â ïîñòñîâåòñêîé Ðîññèè // Îáùåñòâåííûå íàóêè è ñîâðåìåííîñòü. 2001. ¹ 4. Ñ. 71-84. Îáçîð çàðóáåæíûõ ðàáîò, ïîñâÿùåííûõ êîíöó ñîâåòñêîãî ïåðèîäà èñòîðèè îòå÷åñòâåííîãî íàöèîíàë-ðàäèêàëèçìà ñì.: Â. Ñîëîâåé. Ðóññêîå íàöèîíàëüíîå äâèæåíèå 60-80-õ ãîäîâ ÕÕ âåêà â îñâåùåíèè çàðóáåæíîé èñòîðèîãðàôèè // Îòå÷åñòâåííàÿ èñòîðèÿ. 1993. ¹ 2. 2 Ìîæíî óïîìÿíóòü àíãëèéñêóþ èññëåäîâàòåëüíèöó Ñòåëëó Ðîê, çàíèìàþùóþñÿ ðóññêèìè ïðàâîñëàâíûìè ôóíäàìåíòàëèñòàìè (ñì. íàïð.: S. Rock. Saints and Symbols. Post-Soviet Orthodoxy and the Russian Nationalist Movement. Report on the Congress of the American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies (AAASS). December 2002; S. Rock. “Militant Piety”. Fundamentalist Tendencies 365 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews íûõ èçäàíèé â ëèòåðàòóðå ðàçíîé ïðîèñõîæäåíèå ðóññêîãî ôàøèç- ñòåïåíè íàó÷íîñòè è â ïóáëèêà- ìà.”4 Ìåæäó òåì, èìåííî ýòà öèÿõ ÑÌÈ ðàçíîé ñòåïåíè ïðàâ- êíèãà, êîòîðàÿ, ïî ìíåíèþ Íèêî- äîïîäîáíîñòè.3  êà÷åñòâå õðå- ëàÿ Ìèòðîõèíà, “ïðèíàäëåæèò ñòîìàòèéíîãî ïðèìåðà ïîäîá- ê êàòåãîðèè ðàáîò, ñîçäàííûõ íîãî ïîâåðõíîñòíîãî ïîäõîäà ê áåç íåïîñðåäñòâåííîãî êîíòàêòà ïðîáëåìå ìîæíî ïðèâåñòè êíèãó ñ îáúåêòîì èçó÷åíèÿ”,5 íà ïðîòÿ- Óîëòåðà Ëàêåðà “×åðíàÿ ñîòíÿ: æåíèè ïî÷òè äåñÿòè ëåò ÿâëÿëàñü in the Russian Orthodox Brotherhood Movement // Religion in Eastern Europe. 2002. Vol. 22. No. 3). Íåìàëîâàæíî, ÷òî ðàáîòû Ñòåëëû Ðîê çàñëóæèâàþò âíèìàíèÿ íå òîëüêî êàê èñòî÷íèê èíôîðìàöèè. Îñîáûé èíòåðåñ ïðåäñòàâëÿåò åå êîíöåïòóàëüíûé ïîäõîä, îñíîâàííûé íà ñðàâíåíèè ìèðîâîççðåíèÿ ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé ðîññèéñêîãî “ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî ïðàâîñëàâèÿ” (òåðìèí Àëåêñàíäðà Âåðõîâñêîãî, ñì.: À. Âåðõîâñêèé. Ïîëèòè÷åñêîå ïðàâîñëàâèå. Ðóññêèå ïðàâîñëàâíûå íàöèîíàëèñòû è ôóíäàìåíòàëèñòû, 1995-2001 ãã. Ìîñêâà, 2003) ñ ôóíäàìåíòàëèñòñêèìè ìîäåëÿìè, ïðîàíàëèçèðîâàííûìè â êîíòåêñòå ðàçëè÷íûõ ðåëèãèîçíûõ òðàäèöèé â ïÿòèòîìíèêå: M. Marty and S. Appleby (Eds.). Fundamentalism Project. Chicago and London, 1993-1996. Vols. 1-5). 3 Íåîáõîäèìî îòìåòèòü, ÷òî ýòî æå ìîæåò áûòü ñêàçàíî è î çíà÷èòåëüíîé ÷àñòè îòå÷åñòâåííûõ ðàáîò â ýòîé îáëàñòè.  êà÷åñòâå ïðèìåðà ïîäîáíîãî ïîäõîäà ó ðîññèéñêèõ èññëåäîâàòåëåé, êîòîðûå, â ïðèíöèïå, íå äîëæíû èìåòü îáúåêòèâíûõ ïðåïÿòñòâèé â èçó÷åíèè äîìîðîùåííîãî ôàøèçìà, ìîæíî ïðèâåñòè ìíîãî÷èñ- ëåííûå ñòàòüè Ëèîíåëÿ Äàäèàíè (ñì., íàïð.: Ë. Äàäèàíè. Ôàøèçì â Ðîññèè. Ìèôû è ðåàëüíîñòü // Ñîöèîëîãè÷åñêèå èññëåäîâàíèÿ. 2002. ¹ 3. Ñ. 103-111; ñì. òàêæå åãî ðàáîòó: Ðàçìûøëåíèÿ î ñîâðåìåííîì ðóññêîì ôàøèçìå // Ñîöèàëüíîå ñîãëàñèå è òîëåðàíòíîñòü â ñîâðåìåííîì ìèðå. Âûï. 3. Î ïðàâîì ýêñòðåìèçìå íà ñîâðåìåííîì ýòàïå / Ïîä ðåä. Ë. ß. Äàäèàíè. Ìîñêâà, 2002. Ñ. 172-191).Çàìåòíûì èñêëþ÷åíèåì, îáëàäàþùèì îïðåäåëåííûì îòòåíêîì ýòíîãðàôè÷åñêîãî ïîëåâîãî èññëåäîâàíèÿ, âûãëÿäÿò ðàáîòû, àâòîðû êîòîðûõ äåéñòâèòåëüíî âèäåëè “ðóññêèõ ôàøèñòîâ”. Ñì. íàïðèìåð: À. Âåðõîâñêèé, Â. Ïðèáûëîâñêèé. Íàöèîíàë- ïàòðèîòè÷åñêèå îðãàíèçàöèè â Ðîññèè. Èñòîðèÿ, èäåîëîãèÿ, ýêñòðåìèñòñêèå òåíäåíöèè. Ìîñêâà, 1996; Â. Ëèõà÷åâ. Íàöèçì â Ðîññèè. Ìîñêâà, 2002. 4 W. Laquer. Black Hundred. The Rise of the Extreme Right in Russia. New York, 1993 (êíèãà áûëà ïåðåâåäåíà íà ðóññêèé: Ó. Ëàêåð. ×åðíàÿ ñîòíÿ. Ïðîèñõîæäåíèå ôàøèçìà â Ðîññèè. Ìîñêâà, 1994). Ñëåäóåò îòìåòèòü, ÷òî Óîëòåð Ëàêåð èçó÷èë è îáîáùèë âïå÷àòëÿþùèé îáúåì ìàòåðèàëà. Îäíàêî, ïî åõèäíîìó çàìå÷àíèþ À. Çàêàòîâà, “êíèãó Ó. Ëàêåðà “×åðíàÿ ñîòíÿ” ñëåäóåò ðàññìàòðèâàòü ëèøü â êà÷åñòâå êóðüåçà, òàê êàê òàì, ïðè îáèëèè èíôîðìàöèè, ïåðåïóòàíî è èñêàæåíî âñå, ÷òî ìîæíî è íåëüçÿ áûëî ïåðåïóòàòü è èñêàçèòü” (À. Çàêàòîâ. Àðõåîãðàôè÷åñêîå îñâîåíèå èñòî÷íèêîâ ïî èñòîðèè ïàðòèè ìëàäîðîññîâ, 1923-1941 ãã. [Íà ïðàâàõ ðóêîïèñè]. Ìîñêâà, 1995. Ñ. 19.). Ïî ìíåíèþ À. Óìëàíäà, “â ìîíîãðàôèè Ëàêåðà ñîäåðæèòñÿ ðÿä îøèáî÷íûõ ÿðëûêîâ, íåâåðíûõ äàò è èìåí” (À. Óìëàíä. Ïðàâûé ýêñòðåìèçì. Ñ. 72.) 5 Í. Ìèòðîõèí. Ðóññêàÿ ïàðòèÿ. Äâèæåíèå ðóññêèõ íàöèîíàëèñòîâ â ÑÑÑÐ. 1953-1985 ãîäû. Ìîñêâà, 2003. Ñ. 20. 366 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 äëÿ èíîñòðàííîãî ÷èòàòåëÿ îñíîâ- âïåðåä ïî ñðàâíåíèþ ñ ïðåäûäóùåé íûì èñòî÷íèêîì èíôîðìàöèè î îáîáùàþùåé ðàáîòîé Ëàêåðà. ðóññêîì ïðàâîì ðàäèêàëèçìå. Òåïåðü çàðóáåæíûå ñïåöèàëèñòû Âûøåäøàÿ â 2001 ã. êíèãà è ïðîñòî èíòåðåñóþùèåñÿ Ñòèâåíà Øåíôèëäà “Ðóññêèé âîïðîñîì ðóññêîãî ïðàâîãî ðàäè- ôàøèçì: Òðàäèöèè. Òåíäåíöèè. êàëèçìà èíòåëëåêòóàëû ñìîãóò Äâèæåíèÿ” âî ìíîãîì íåñåò íà ñóäèòü î ïðåäìåòå ñ áîëüøåé ñåáå îòïå÷àòîê âûøåíàçâàííîãî äîëåé îáúåêòèâíîñòè. ìåòîäîëîãè÷åñêîãî íåñîâåð- Îòíþäü íå áåññìûñëåííûì øåíñòâà, êàêîâûì, íà íàø ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ ïåðåâîä êíèãè âçãëÿä, ñòðàäàþò â áîëüøèíñòâå Øåíôèëäà íà ðóññêèé ÿçûê,6 ñâîåì çàïàäíûå èññëåäîâàíèÿ, ïðè óñëîâèè (íå ñîáëþäåííûì, ïîñâÿùåííûå “ðóññêîìó ôàøèç- ê ñîæàëåíèþ, ïðè èçäàíèè ïåðå- ìó”. Îäíàêî íåîáõîäèìî îòìå- âîäà óïîìÿíóòîé êíèãè Ëàêåðà), òèòü, ÷òî êíèãà Øåíôèëäà ïðåä- ÷òî òåêñò áóäåò îñíîâàòåëüíî ñòàâëÿåò ñîáîé çàìåòíûé øàã ïðîðàáîòàí íàó÷íûì ðåäàêòîðîì,

6 Ê ñîæàëåíèþ, íåñìîòðÿ íà ìíîãî÷èñëåííîñòü âûøåäøèõ çà ïîñëåäíèå äåñÿòü ëåò èññëåäîâàíèé ïî ñîâðåìåííîìó ïðàâîìó ðàäèêàëèçìó â Ðîññèè, ÷àñòî áåçóïðå÷íûõ ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ êà÷åñòâà, îáîáùàþùèé è ñâîäÿùèé âîåäèíî ðàçíîîáðàçèå èäåîëîãè÷åñêèõ è îðãàíèçàöèîííûõ ôîðì ôàøèçìà òðóä, óâû, åùå íå íàïèñàí. Áëèæå âñåãî ê ðåøåíèþ ýòîé çàäà÷è ïîäîøåë íåñêîëüêî ëåò íàçàä êîëëåêòèâ ýêñïåðòîâ Èíôîðìàöèîííî-èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî öåíòðà “Ïàíîðàìà” (ñì.: À. Âåðõîâñêèé, À. Ïàïï, Â. Ïðèáûëîâñêèé. Ïîëèòè÷åñêèé ýêñòðåìèçì â Ðîññèè. Ìîñêâà, 1996; À. Âåðõîâñêèé, Â. Ïðèáûëîâñêèé. Íàöèîíàë-ïàòðèîòè÷åñêèå îðãàíèçàöèè â Ðîññèè. Èñòîðèÿ, èäåîëîãèÿ, ýêñòðåìèñòñêèå òåíäåíöèè. Ìîñêâà, 1996; À. Âåðõîâñêèé, Å. Ìèõàéëîâñêàÿ, Â. Ïðèáûëîâñêèé. Íàöèîíàëèçì è êñåíîôîáèÿ â ðîññèéñêîì îáùåñòâå. Ìîñêâà, 1998; îíè æå. Ïîëèòè÷åñêàÿ êñåíîôîáèÿ. Ðàäèêàëüíûå ãðóïïû, ïðåäñòàâëåíèÿ ëèäåðîâ, ðîëü Öåðêâè. Ìîñêâà, 1999). Îäíàêî, âî-ïåðâûõ, èçäàíèÿ “Ïàíîðàìû” – ýòî, ñêîðåå, ñïðàâî÷íèêè, â êîòîðûõ îïèñàòåëüíàÿ êàíâà äðîáèòñÿ íà ôðàãìåíòû-ýññå, ïîñâÿùåííûå îòäåëüíûì îðãàíèçàöèÿì è ïåðñîíàëèÿì. Âî-âòîðûõ, ïðè àíàëèçå òåîðåòè÷åñêèõ âîïðîñîâ àâòîðû ïî÷òè íå èñïîëüçîâàëè ðåëåâàíòíûé îïûò çàðóáåæíîé èñòîðèîãðàôèè, îñâåùàþùåé èñòîðèþ ñîâðåìåííûõ ïðàâîðàäèêàëüíûõ äâèæåíèé â ìèðå, ÷òî ïîçâîëèëî áû âûéòè íà ïðèíöèïèàëüíî áîëåå âûñîêèé óðîâåíü îñìûñëåíèÿ ïðîáëåìàòèêè. Íàêîíåö, óïîìÿíóòûå èçäàíèÿ “Ïàíîðàìû”, âûõîäèâøèå â ðàìêàõ ïðîåêòà èçó÷åíèÿ ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî ýêñòðåìèçìà, óæå çíà÷èòåëüíî óñòàðåëè, à ñ òåõ ïîð ýêñïåðòû ýòîãî Öåíòðà íå ïðåäïðèíèìàëè ïîïûòîê âñåîáúåìëþùåãî îïèñàíèÿ ïðàâîðàäèêàëüíîé ÷àñòè ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî ñïåêòðà ñîâðåìåííîé Ðîññèè, ñîñðåäîòî÷èâøèñü íà èçó÷åíèè îòäåëüíûõ òå÷åíèé.  êà÷åñòâå ïðèìåðà îäíîé èç ïîñëåäíèõ ðàáîò ýòîãî êðóãà àâòîðîâ ñì. óïîìÿíóòóþ âûøå ìîíîãðàôèþ “Ïîëèòè÷åñêîå ïðàâîñëàâèå” Àëåêñàíäðà Âåðõîâñêîãî, íûíå äèðåêòîðà Èíôîðìàöèîííî-èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîãî öåíòðà “Ñîâà”. 367 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews âñå èçíà÷àëüíî ðóññêîÿçû÷íûå ãëàâó, â êîòîðîé ïðèõîäèò ê öèòàòû ñâåðåíû ñ îðèãèíàëîì, âûâîäó, ÷òî Ðîññèÿ, áåçóñëîâíî, à íå ïåðåâåäåíû îáðàòíî ñ àíã- îáëàäàåò áîãàòîé òðàäèöèåé ëèéñêîãî ÿçûêà, è ò. ï. Íàäî àâòîðèòàðèçìà, èìïåðèàëèçìà, îòìåòèòü, ÷òî â ðåöåíçèðóåìîì ìèëèòàðèçìà, ãåíîöèäà, ðàâíî èçäàíèè ñïðàâî÷íûé àïïàðàò êàê è îõðàíèòåëüíî-ðåàêöèîííûõ îôîðìëåí áåçóïðå÷íî – òðåáóþ- äâèæåíèé. Îäíàêî âñå ýòî èñòî- ùèå êðîïîòëèâîé ðàáîòû ïðè- ðè÷åñêîå íàñëåäèå íå ìîæåò ìå÷àíèÿ, ññûëêè, ñêðóïóëåçíî áûòü íàçâàíî “ôàøèñòñêèì” â ïîäîáðàííàÿ áèáëèîãðàôèÿ íàó÷íîì ñìûñëå: ñîáñòâåííî îñòàâëÿþò ó ÷èòàòåëÿ õîðîøåå ôàøèçì êàê èäåîëîãèþ ïðîïî- âïå÷àòëåíèå. âåäîâàëè òîëüêî íåêîòîðûå Ïåðâàÿ ãëàâà êíèãè ïîñâÿùåíà òå÷åíèÿ â ýìèãðàöèè. Áîëüøèí- îïðåäåëåíèþ òåðìèíà “ôàøèçì”, ñòâî ñîâðåìåííûõ ðóññêèõ ÷òî ïðåäñòàâëÿåò äëÿ àâòîðà ôàøèñòîâ èãíîðèðóþò îïûò ïðèíöèïèàëüíî âàæíûé âîïðîñ. ýìèãðàíòñêèõ ôàøèñòñêèõ ãðóï- Îòòàëêèâàÿñü îò óæå îáùåïðè- ïèðîâîê. Íåóäèâèòåëüíî, ÷òî íÿòîãî íà Çàïàäå òîëêîâàíèÿ ïðè âûÿâëåíèè ìíîãî÷èñëåííûõ òåðìèíà, äàííîãî Ðîäæåðîì ïðè÷èí îòíîñèòåëüíîé ïîïó- Ãðèôôèíûì,7 Øåíôèëä îïðåäå- ëÿðíîñòè ôàøèçìà â ñîâðåìåííîé ëÿåò ôàøèçì êàê “àâòîðèòàðíîå Ðîññèè ññûëêè íà ôàêòîð èñòî- ïîïóëèñòñêîå äâèæåíèå, êîòîðîå ðè÷åñêîé òðàäèöèè èãðàþò âòî- ñòðåìèòñÿ ñîõðàíèòü èëè âîññòà- ðîñòåïåííóþ ðîëü (Pp. 46–47). íîâèòü äî-ìîäåðíèçàöèîííîå Âî âòîðîé ãëàâå àâòîð ðàñ- ïàòðèàðõàëüíîå óñòðîéñòâî, ñìàòðèâàåò ôàøèñòñêèå òåíäåíöèè îñíîâàííîå íà îðãàíèçîâàííîé â ðàìêàõ ÷åòûðåõ èäåîëîãè÷åñêèõ ïî-íîâîìó îáùíîñòè íàöèè, òå÷åíèé ñîâðåìåííîé Ðîññèè – ðàñû èëè âåðû” (P. 17).  ðàìêàõ êîììóíèçìà, íàöèîíàëèçìà, ýòîãî – íà íàø âçãëÿä, íåîïðàâ- ïðàâîñëàâèÿ è íåîÿçû÷åñòâà. äàííî øèðîêîãî – îïðåäåëåíèÿ Íàäî îòìåòèòü, ÷òî ïîäîáíîå ðàñ- àâòîð çàäàåòñÿ âîïðîñîì: “À åñòü ñìîòðåíèå ôàøèçìà â êîíòåêñòå ëè ó Ðîññèè ôàøèñòñêàÿ òðàäè- áîëåå øèðîêèõ èäåîëîãè÷åñêèõ öèÿ?” Ïîèñêó îòâåòà íà íåãî äâèæåíèé è, âîîáùå, â êîíòåêñòå Øåíôèëä ïîñâÿùàåò âòîðóþ ñîöèàëüíîãî, ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî è

7 R. Griffin. The Nature of Fascism. London, 1991. Ñì. ðåöåíçèþ íà ýòó êíèãó: À. Óìëàíä. Ñòàðûé âîïðîñ, ïîñòàâëåííûé çàíîâî: ×òî òàêîå ôàøèçì? (Êîíöåïöèÿ ôàøèçìà Ðîäæåðà Ãðèôôèíà) // Ïîëèòè÷åñêèå èññëåäîâàíèÿ. 1996. ¹ 1. Ñ.175-176. Ñì. òàêæå: R. Griffin (Ed.). Fascism. Oxford; New York, 1995. 368 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ìèðîâîççðåí÷åñêîãî ïåéçàæà çà÷üè ãðóïïèðîâêè âìåñòå ñî ïîñòñîâåòñêîé Ðîññèè – îäíà èç ñõîäíûìè ïî ìèðîâîççðåíèþ ñèëüíûõ ñòîðîí èññëåäîâàíèÿ. íåî÷åðíîñîòåííûìè äâèæåíèÿìè,  òðåòüåé ãëàâå Øåíôèëä à ñêèíõåäî⠖ âìåñòå ñ íåîôàøè- àíàëèçèðóåò îòäåëüíûå îáùå- ñòñêèìè ðàñèñòñêèìè ìîëîäåæ- ñòâåííûå äâèæåíèÿ, êîòîðûå íûìè îðãàíèçàöèÿìè òèïà Ðóñ- èìåþò ÿâíûé êðåí â ñòîðîíó ñêîãî íàöèîíàëüíîãî ñîþçà. ôàøèçìà èëè îòêðûòî äåìîíñò- Êðîìå òîãî, àâòîð íå îáðàùàåò ðèðóþò ôàøèñòñêîå ìèðîâîç- âíèìàíèÿ íà äèíàìèêó ðàçâè- çðåíèå. Çäåñü àâòîð ìîíîãðàôèè òèÿ íåîêàçà÷üåãî äâèæåíèÿ. ñìåøèâàåò âñå è âñÿ – íåîêàçà÷üè Ìåæäó òåì, çà ïÿòíàäöàòü ëåò ñòðóêòóðû, ôóòáîëüíûõ ôàíàòîâ ñâîåãî ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ îíî ïðåòåð- è ñêèíõåäîâ. Áåçóñëîâíî, ââåäåíèå ïåëî çàìåòíóþ ýâîëþöèþ, è óæå â èññëåäîâàòåëüñêèé ôîêóñ íå â 2001 ã. îáîáùåííî ïèñàòü î òîëüêî ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ ïàðòèé è êàçà÷åñòâå “â öåëîì” áûëî áû äâèæåíèé, íî è îòíîñèòåëüíî áåññìûñëåííûì çàíÿòèåì. àìîðôíûõ îáùåñòâåííûõ òå÷åíèé Ïîñëåäóþùèå ãëàâû êíèãè ñîâåðøåííî îïðàâäàíî. Îäíàêî, ïîñâÿùåíû ïîäðîáíîìó ðàñ- íà íàø âçãëÿä, ìåòîäîëîãè÷åñêè ñìîòðåíèþ îòäåëüíûõ îðãàíè- íåâåðíà ïîñòàíîâêà âîïðîñà â çàöèé è ãðóïï: Ëèáåðàëüíî- ïîäîáíîì âèäå, äîïóñêàþùàÿ äåìîêðàòè÷åñêîé ïàðòèè Ðîññèè óñëîâíîå îáúåäèíåíèå ñîâåð- (õîòÿ àâòîð è äåëàåò îãîâîðêó, øåííî ðàçëè÷íûõ ïî ñâîåé ñóòè ÷òî îíà ÿâëÿåòñÿ “ôàøèñòñêîé” ÿâëåíèé (íåîêàçà÷åñòâî è àãðåñ- òîëüêî â áûòîâîì, øèðîêîì ñèâíûå ïîäðîñòêîâûå ñóáêóëü- ñìûñëå ýòîãî ñëîâà), Ðóññêîãî òóðû) òîëüêî íà îñíîâàíèè òîãî íàöèîíàëüíîãî åäèíñòâà, Íàöèî- ôîðìàëüíîãî êðèòåðèÿ, ÷òî âñå íàë-áîëüøåâèñòñêîé ïàðòèè8 è îíè íå ÿâëÿþòñÿ ïîëèòè÷åñêèìè íåêîòîðûõ äðóãèõ (áåç ïîïûòêè â ñîáñòâåííîì ñìûñëå. Ëîãè÷íåå âíóòðåííåé êëàññèôèêàöèè áûëî áû ðàññìàòðèâàòü íåîêà- ìíîãîîáðàçíûõ ãðóïïèðîâîê).

8 Ñëåäóåò îòìåòèòü, ÷òî, õîòÿ ëèäåð Íàöèîíàë-áîëüøåâèñòñêîé ïàðòèè (ÍÁÏ) Ýäóàðä Ëèìîíîâ è èìåíîâàë ñàì ñåáÿ ôàøèñòîì â 1998 ãîäó, è ìû ðàíåå îïðåäåëÿëè èäåîëîãèþ ÍÁÏ êàê ôàøèñòñêóþ è äàæå íàöèñòñêóþ (ñì.: Â. Ëèõà÷åâ. Íàöèçì â Ðîññèè. Ìîñêâà, 2002. Ñ. 7, 66 è äàëåå.), ýâîëþöèÿ, ïðîäåëàííàÿ ïàðòèåé çà ïîñëåäíèå ãîäû òàêîâà, ÷òî åå èäåîëîãèþ ñåãîäíÿ óæå êàòåãîðè÷åñêè íåëüçÿ íàçûâàòü ôàøèñòñêîé. Äëÿ ïîíèìàíèÿ ýâîëþöèè ÍÁÏ äîñòàòî÷íî ñðàâíèòü èäåîëîãè÷åñêèå ñî÷èíåíèÿ ëèäåðà ïàðòèè çà ïîñëåäíèå øåñòü-ñåìü ëåò (ñì., íàïð.: Ý. Ëèìîíîâ. Àíàòîìèÿ ãåðîÿ. Ñìîëåíñê, 1998; åãî æå. Äðóãàÿ Ðîññèÿ. Ìîñêâà, 2004). 369 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews  çàãîëîâêå çàêëþ÷åíèÿ àâòîð çàöèé, íî è ïîäâåðãíóòü êîìïëåê- ìîíîãðàôèè ñòàâèò âîïðîñ: ñíîìó ðàññìîòðåíèþ ïîëèòè÷åñ- “Âåéìàðñêàÿ ëè Ðîññèÿ?” (P. 260). êóþ, ýêîíîìè÷åñêóþ, ñîöèàëüíóþ Óæå â ñàìîé ôîðìóëèðîâêå çàê- (äîáàâèì – è êóëüòóðíóþ) ñèòóà- ëþ÷åíà ïîëåìèêà ñ À. ßíîâûì, öèþ â ñîâðåìåííîé Ðîññèè. Ïîñëå êîòîðûé â ñâîåé íàøóìåâøåé ýòîãî ñòàíåò ÿñíî, ÷òî ðåàëèçàöèÿ êíèãå9 ïðåäðåêàë ïðèõîä ôàøèñ- âåéìàðñêîãî ñöåíàðèÿ, î÷åâèäíî, òîâ ê âëàñòè â Ðîññèè. Êàê æå îò- îòêëàäûâàåòñÿ. âå÷àåò Øåíôèëä íà ýòîò âîïðîñ? Ðàáîòà Øåíôèëäà çàñëóæè- Ôàøèñòñêàÿ òðàäèöèÿ â Ðîññèè âàåò âûñîêîé îöåíêè. Ýòî êàñà- ñëàáà. Ôàøèñòñêèå òåíäåíöèè åòñÿ íå òîëüêî ñîáðàííîãî è äåéñòâèòåëüíî íàáëþäàþòñÿ â îáîáùåííîãî â íåé ôàêòè÷åñêîãî èäåîëîãè÷åñêèõ ïðîãðàììàõ è ìàòåðèàëà, íî è òåîðåòè÷åñêîé ñîöèàëüíî-ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ïðàêòèêå ïîñòàíîâêè âîïðîñà. Âñå æå, ðÿäà øèðîêèõ ñîöèàëüíî-ïîëè- íåñìîòðÿ íà êà÷åñòâåííûé è òè÷åñêèõ òå÷åíèé, îñîáåííî Êîì- äîáðîñîâåñòíûé àíàëèç ïðîáëåìû ìóíèñòè÷åñêîé ïàðòèè è Ðóññêîé è âïîëíå çäðàâûé âûâîä, ê êîòî- ïðàâîñëàâíîé öåðêâè, íî íå ÿâëÿ- ðîìó ïðèõîäèò àâòîð, õîòåëîñü þòñÿ îïðåäåëÿþùèìè â äåÿòåëü- áû âûñêàçàòü íåñêîëüêî çàìå÷à- íîñòè ýòèõ ñòðóêòóð. Ñîáñòâåííî íèé ê åãî èññëåäîâàíèþ â öåëîì. ôàøèñòñêèå îðãàíèçàöèè è Íà íàø âçãëÿä, Øåíôèëä èçíà- ãðóïïû – îò ËÄÏÐ äî ñêèíõåäî⠖ ÷àëüíî íàïðàâèë ñâîþ ýíåðãèþ è íå ïðåäñòàâëÿþò ñîáîé óãðîçû; èññëåäîâàòåëüñêèé òàëàíò íå â òî îíè íå ñïîñîáíû ðåàëüíî çàõâà- ðóñëî. Ïîñòàíîâêà âîïðîñà î òîì, òèòü âëàñòü èëè äàæå çàìåòíî ÷òî æå ìîæíî èìåíîâàòü “ðóñ- âëèÿòü íà ïîëèòèêó. Ïðàâäà, ñêèì ôàøèçìîì” (ðàâíî êàê è Øåíôèëä îãîâàðèâàåòñÿ: äëÿ ñïîð, ÷òî ÿâëÿåòñÿ ôàøèçìîì â òîãî, ÷òîáû ïîëíîñòüþ èñêëþ÷èòü ðîññèéñêîé èñòîðèè è ñîâðåìåí- âîçìîæíîñòü ïðèõîäà ôàøèñòîâ íîñòè) ñòîëü æå íàäóìàíà, ñêîëü ê âëàñòè, ñëåäóåò íå òîëüêî ïðî- è áåññìûñëåííà. Ïðè èçó÷åíèè àíàëèçèðîâàòü ôóíêöèîíèðîâàíèå ñîâðåìåííîãî ðîññèéñêîãî ðåâîëþ- ñîáñòâåííî ôàøèñòñêèõ îðãàíè- öèîííîãî ïðàâîãî ðàäèêàëèçìà10

9 Ñì. îòëè÷àþùèåñÿ ìåæäó ñîáîé àíãëèéñêóþ è ðóññêóþ âåðñèè êíèãè: A. Yanov. Weimar Russia and What We Can Do About It. New York, 1995; À. ßíîâ. Ïîñëå Åëüöèíà. Âåéìàðñêàÿ Ðîññèÿ. Ìîñêâà, 1995. 10 Íà íàø âçãëÿä, â îïðåäåëåíèè ôàøèçìà, ïðåäëîæåííîì Øåíôèëäîì, íå õâàòàåò õàðàêòåðèñòèêè “ðåâîëþöèîííîñòè”, êîìïîíåíòà, ïðèñóùåãî ôàøèçìó îáíîâëåí÷åñêîãî (ïàëèíãåíåòè÷åñêîãî) ïàôîñà. Òàêàÿ õàðàêòåðèñòèêà ïðèñóòñòâóåò, êñòàòè, â îïðåäåëåíèè, äàííîì â ðàáîòå Ðîäæåðà Ãðèôôèíà. Ñì.: R. Griffin. The Nature of Fascism. London, 1991. Pp. xii-xiii. 370 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñëåäóåò ðàññìàòðèâàòü áîëåå “Ðóññêîå íàöèîíàëüíîå åäèíñòâî”? èíòåðåñíûå ïðîáëåìû, íåæåëè Ïîðîé ñêëàäûâàåòñÿ âïå÷àòëåíèå, âîïðîñ, ìîæíî ëè ñ÷èòàòü ÷åð- ÷òî ïîïóëÿðíîñòü ôàøèñòñêèõ íîñîòåííóþ òðàäèöèþ ôàøèñò- îðãàíèçàöèé â ïîñòñîâåòñêîé ñêîé èëè íåëüçÿ, îòâåò íà êîòîðûé Ðîññèè îáðàòíî ïðîïîðöèî- ôàêòè÷åñêè ïðåäîïðåäåëåí òåì íàëüíà ïîïóëÿðíîñòè èäåé, êîòî- îïðåäåëåíèåì “ôàøèçìà”, êîòî- ðûå èõ ÷ëåíû ïðîïîâåäóþò. ðûì îïåðèðóåò èññëåäîâàòåëü â Ïîõîæå, ÷òî îáûâàòåëü â ñîâðå- êàæäîì êîíêðåòíîì ñëó÷àå. ìåííîé Ðîññèè “ôàøèñòî┠íå Íàïðèìåð, ïî÷åìó îáùåñòâî, â ëþáèò â òîé æå ñòåïåíè, ÷òî è çíà÷èòåëüíîé ñòåïåíè êñåíî- “êàâêàçöåâ”... ôîáñêîå è ðàçäåëÿþùåå àãðåñ- Õîòÿ, êîíå÷íî, âñå ýòè âîï- ñèâíûå èìïåðèàëèñòè÷åñêèå ðîñû ñëåäóåò îáðàùàòü íå ê óñòàíîâêè, ïðîäóöèðóåìûå àâòîðó áåçóñëîâíî ïîëåçíîé ìî- íàöèîíàë-ðàäèêàëüíûìè èäåî- íîãðàôèè “Ðóññêèé ôàøèçì”, à ëîãàìè, îòêàçûâàåò ðàäèêàëàì ê íàñòîÿùèì è áóäóùèì èññëå- â ýëåêòîðàëüíîé ïîääåðæêå? äîâàòåëÿì ýêñòðåìèçìà, êîòî- Èëè äðóãàÿ ïðîáëåìà – ïî÷åìó ðûå â ñâîèõ èçûñêàíèÿõ ñìîãóò ïðè âïîëíå âîçìîæíîì “ñïîëçà- óâåðåííî îïèðàòüñÿ, â ÷àñòíîñòè, íèè” Ðîññèè ê âåéìàðñêîìó è íà ðàáîòó Øåíôèëäà. ñöåíàðèþ, êàê êàçàëîñü ìíîãèì èññëåäîâàòåëÿì è ïóáëèöèñòàì â ñèëó öåëîãî ðÿäà ôàêòîðîâ åùå â ñåðåäèíå 1990-õ ãã., ôàøè- ñòñêîå äâèæåíèå ñåãîäíÿ íàõî- äèòñÿ â åùå áîëåå ìàðãèíàëüíîì ïîëîæåíèè, ÷åì äåñÿòü ëåò íàçàä? Ñàìà ïî ñåáå êîíñòàòàöèÿ ôàêòà, ÷òî Ðîññèÿ “íå Âåéìàðñêàÿ”, Wim van MEURS íåäîñòàòî÷íà. Êàê è ïî÷åìó ïîëó- ÷èëîñü, ÷òî íà ôîíå ðàçãóëà êñå- Yale Richmond, Cultural Exchange íîôîáèè è ðåçêîãî îáîñòðåíèÿ and the Cold War: Raising the Iron ìåæíàöèîíàëüíûõ îòíîøåíèé â Curtain (University Park, PA: Penn ñòðàíå ïðàêòè÷åñêè óøëè â State University Press, 2003). 264 pp. íåáûòèå äàæå òå îòíîñèòåëüíî ISBN: 0-271-02302-3. çàìåòíûå ïðàâîðàäèêàëüíûå îðãàíèçàöèè, êîòîðûå àêòèâíî On the back cover Allen Kassof ðàçâèâàëèñü íà ïðîòÿæåíèè beats the drum for this book on Soviet- 1990-õ ãîäî⠖ íàïðèìåð, òî æå American cultural exchange in the Cold 371 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñëåäóåò ðàññìàòðèâàòü áîëåå “Ðóññêîå íàöèîíàëüíîå åäèíñòâî”? èíòåðåñíûå ïðîáëåìû, íåæåëè Ïîðîé ñêëàäûâàåòñÿ âïå÷àòëåíèå, âîïðîñ, ìîæíî ëè ñ÷èòàòü ÷åð- ÷òî ïîïóëÿðíîñòü ôàøèñòñêèõ íîñîòåííóþ òðàäèöèþ ôàøèñò- îðãàíèçàöèé â ïîñòñîâåòñêîé ñêîé èëè íåëüçÿ, îòâåò íà êîòîðûé Ðîññèè îáðàòíî ïðîïîðöèî- ôàêòè÷åñêè ïðåäîïðåäåëåí òåì íàëüíà ïîïóëÿðíîñòè èäåé, êîòî- îïðåäåëåíèåì “ôàøèçìà”, êîòî- ðûå èõ ÷ëåíû ïðîïîâåäóþò. ðûì îïåðèðóåò èññëåäîâàòåëü â Ïîõîæå, ÷òî îáûâàòåëü â ñîâðå- êàæäîì êîíêðåòíîì ñëó÷àå. ìåííîé Ðîññèè “ôàøèñòî┠íå Íàïðèìåð, ïî÷åìó îáùåñòâî, â ëþáèò â òîé æå ñòåïåíè, ÷òî è çíà÷èòåëüíîé ñòåïåíè êñåíî- “êàâêàçöåâ”... ôîáñêîå è ðàçäåëÿþùåå àãðåñ- Õîòÿ, êîíå÷íî, âñå ýòè âîï- ñèâíûå èìïåðèàëèñòè÷åñêèå ðîñû ñëåäóåò îáðàùàòü íå ê óñòàíîâêè, ïðîäóöèðóåìûå àâòîðó áåçóñëîâíî ïîëåçíîé ìî- íàöèîíàë-ðàäèêàëüíûìè èäåî- íîãðàôèè “Ðóññêèé ôàøèçì”, à ëîãàìè, îòêàçûâàåò ðàäèêàëàì ê íàñòîÿùèì è áóäóùèì èññëå- â ýëåêòîðàëüíîé ïîääåðæêå? äîâàòåëÿì ýêñòðåìèçìà, êîòî- Èëè äðóãàÿ ïðîáëåìà – ïî÷åìó ðûå â ñâîèõ èçûñêàíèÿõ ñìîãóò ïðè âïîëíå âîçìîæíîì “ñïîëçà- óâåðåííî îïèðàòüñÿ, â ÷àñòíîñòè, íèè” Ðîññèè ê âåéìàðñêîìó è íà ðàáîòó Øåíôèëäà. ñöåíàðèþ, êàê êàçàëîñü ìíîãèì èññëåäîâàòåëÿì è ïóáëèöèñòàì â ñèëó öåëîãî ðÿäà ôàêòîðîâ åùå â ñåðåäèíå 1990-õ ãã., ôàøè- ñòñêîå äâèæåíèå ñåãîäíÿ íàõî- äèòñÿ â åùå áîëåå ìàðãèíàëüíîì ïîëîæåíèè, ÷åì äåñÿòü ëåò íàçàä? Ñàìà ïî ñåáå êîíñòàòàöèÿ ôàêòà, ÷òî Ðîññèÿ “íå Âåéìàðñêàÿ”, Wim van MEURS íåäîñòàòî÷íà. Êàê è ïî÷åìó ïîëó- ÷èëîñü, ÷òî íà ôîíå ðàçãóëà êñå- Yale Richmond, Cultural Exchange íîôîáèè è ðåçêîãî îáîñòðåíèÿ and the Cold War: Raising the Iron ìåæíàöèîíàëüíûõ îòíîøåíèé â Curtain (University Park, PA: Penn ñòðàíå ïðàêòè÷åñêè óøëè â State University Press, 2003). 264 pp. íåáûòèå äàæå òå îòíîñèòåëüíî ISBN: 0-271-02302-3. çàìåòíûå ïðàâîðàäèêàëüíûå îðãàíèçàöèè, êîòîðûå àêòèâíî On the back cover Allen Kassof ðàçâèâàëèñü íà ïðîòÿæåíèè beats the drum for this book on Soviet- 1990-õ ãîäî⠖ íàïðèìåð, òî æå American cultural exchange in the Cold 371 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews War era. “Yale Richmond records the exchanges to the demise of the a highly significant chapter in Soviet- Soviet system seems plausible, American relations. An [ ] account for it cannot be really verified or of the cultural exchanges that were substantiated (as Richmond tries to). such important channels of influence Both the quoted confirmations of the and persuasion during those years.” decisive impact of their programs by The fact that Allen Kassof personally relevant key officials from the US headed IREX – the pivotal US exchange and ex-post statements by key figures organization – from 1968 to 1992 of detente and perestroika on the Soviet gives his praise a strong pro-domo side are highly subjective. The famous bias. Richmond himself, a retired case of Aleksandr Yakovlev, who was Foreign Service officer mostly in among the first group of exchange communist countries, has been directly students in 1958, may be illustrative, involved in the initiation and imple- but fails to prove Richmond’s claim mentation of cultural exchanges that this first-hand experience of the across the ideological divide. Having American way of life “planted the read the book, one has to agree with seeds of reform.” What of the many Kassof’s assessment. Richmond has reformers who never traveled indeed recorded the history of the cul- abroad, or the hardliners and hawks tural exchanges, but now it is time who spent many years in the West? for professional historians to step in. Typically, Richmond highlights The lack of professionalism and Mikhail Gorbachev, although he in-depth knowledge of the Soviet never participated in any of the Soviet- system are obvious in this study, e.g., American cultural or educational the irritating and highly selective exchange programs. Therefore, his references to academic experts to contacts with communist students state the obvious, interspersed with from eastern Europe, his vacations quotes from US newspapers and in Western Europe as a party appa- magazines. It is also obvious from ratchik, and his trip on invitation by the author’s claim that the opening Western communist parties are “con- of the exchange programs consti- sidered a form of cultural exchange,” tutes almost an alternative rather too (P. 192). Not only Gorbachev, than a complementary explanation despite his merits as the architect of for the fall of the USSR. They perestroika and glasnost, has since opened the eyes of Soviet citizens demonstrated the persistence of old-style to the falsity of Soviet propaganda thinking; many younger Russians and the superiority of the Ameri- with free access to Western media, can system in terms of wealth and free- youth, and universities have baffled us doms. The alleged contribution of with nationalist or communist views. 372 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Apart from this exaggerated states and societies are stereotypical claim, the book is nothing more (and and, to some extent, ahistorical and nothing less!) than a comprehensive most of all one-sided. From Rich- and well-written record of half a cen- mond’s point of view, the Soviet tury of exchange programs and or- Union was evidently struggling to ganized people-to-people initiatives contain and control the exchange across the Iron Curtain. Diligently, programs and those participating in Richmond records and systematizes them. His analysis of Soviet motives the exchange programs, ranging and concerns is largely limited to from academic lecturers to artists, speculations by Western Sovietolo- from youth festivals to art exhibi- gists. An alternative and potentially tions. Although the author does not interesting source of information (in explicitly prioritize some forms of the State Archive of the Russian Federa- exchange over others, some chapters tion) – the official reports by Soviet are quite long (ch. 7 on Moscow scholars who had participated in think-tanks is 15 pages) and others exchange programs to their superiors too short (e.g., ch. 12 on exhibitions, in the party and state apparatus – are three pages). The length and depth referred to only once (Pp. 73-75). of the chapters seem to depend not Conversely, US society and politics so much on the importance of the appear natural and unperturbed as topic, but rather on the amount of ever by the threats of communism, information readily available to the nuclear Armageddon, Soviet spies, author. The non-hierarchical struc- and agitprop. Only the very atten- ture of the book (with 25 chapters) tive reader will notice the role of the tends to underrate the change over CIA in the preparation of some of time in the exchange programs for the exchanges and National Security the sake of describing the various Council deliberations in the initial forms and institutional set-ups of phase. Moreover, Richmond’s conclu- Soviet-American connections. The one- sion (again quoting Kassof) “that and-a-half-page chapter on Radio many of the Soviet Americanists Liberty and other broadcasters of who came to do research on the United “Western propaganda” can hardly be States as adversaries developed a very subsumed under “cultural exchange.” complex symbiotic relationship with Essentially, this book is presented their subjects” (P. 91) mutates as a success story of the long-term mutandis certainly applies to Ameri- US policy of cultural exchange as a can Sovietologists as well! “weapon” to defeat the communist Recent research on the Cold War regime in Moscow. Overall, the images tends to look beyond the fundamen- of the two ideologically competing tal differences between the US and 373 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews the USSR in political and social Matthew ROMANIELLO institutions and traditions. The Cold War impacted US daily life, political Å. Î. Õàáåíñêàÿ. Òàòàðû î behavior, and even academic thinking, òàòàðñêîì: Áóíòóþùàÿ ýòíè÷- in many barely explored ways. The íîñòü. Ìîñêâà: Èçä-âî “Íàòàëèñ”, cultural exchanges (involving up to 2003. 206 ñ. ISBN: 5-8062-0063-9. 100,000 persons since 1958) are part of that larger story and thus the real According to the author, the pur- question is not whether Soviet citi- pose of this study is to explain the zens involved lost their faith in the components of Tatar national iden- communist system. The current tity, in particular the relative impor- book provides a wealth of informa- tance of its various dimensions – lan- tion, but merely scratches the surface guage, culture, tradition, and religion. of many interesting questions. Only Her research includes numerous one chapter, for instance, pays atten- interviews with self-identified Tatar tion to the American critics of the nationalists in Kazan, Saratov, and exchange programs (most promi- Moscow, and the book reproduces nently Richard Perle), but instead of many of these interviews with exten- sive quotations that in fact comprise analyzing and contextualizing their much of its text. Her approach is arguments, the author sets out to refute sociological rather than historical, their assertions passionately. History pushing her to search for models or may have proven him right, but this patterns of nationalism among her should never be the objective of his- subjects. tory writing. At this point profes- In her introduction, the author sional historians ought to take over explains that contemporary Tatar from those personally involved. nationalism is an ongoing reaction to the economic, social, political, and psychological crises that accompa- nied the collapse of the Soviet Union. Khabenskaia argues that the post-Soviet economy allowed a new group of intellectuals to rise from the ranks of the professionals based on their ability and talents, displacing the previous Soviet intellectual group. The new intelligentsia includes scientists, politicians, and the artistic

374 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews the USSR in political and social Matthew ROMANIELLO institutions and traditions. The Cold War impacted US daily life, political Å. Î. Õàáåíñêàÿ. Òàòàðû î behavior, and even academic thinking, òàòàðñêîì: Áóíòóþùàÿ ýòíè÷- in many barely explored ways. The íîñòü. Ìîñêâà: Èçä-âî “Íàòàëèñ”, cultural exchanges (involving up to 2003. 206 ñ. ISBN: 5-8062-0063-9. 100,000 persons since 1958) are part of that larger story and thus the real According to the author, the pur- question is not whether Soviet citi- pose of this study is to explain the zens involved lost their faith in the components of Tatar national iden- communist system. The current tity, in particular the relative impor- book provides a wealth of informa- tance of its various dimensions – lan- tion, but merely scratches the surface guage, culture, tradition, and religion. of many interesting questions. Only Her research includes numerous one chapter, for instance, pays atten- interviews with self-identified Tatar tion to the American critics of the nationalists in Kazan, Saratov, and exchange programs (most promi- Moscow, and the book reproduces nently Richard Perle), but instead of many of these interviews with exten- sive quotations that in fact comprise analyzing and contextualizing their much of its text. Her approach is arguments, the author sets out to refute sociological rather than historical, their assertions passionately. History pushing her to search for models or may have proven him right, but this patterns of nationalism among her should never be the objective of his- subjects. tory writing. At this point profes- In her introduction, the author sional historians ought to take over explains that contemporary Tatar from those personally involved. nationalism is an ongoing reaction to the economic, social, political, and psychological crises that accompa- nied the collapse of the Soviet Union. Khabenskaia argues that the post-Soviet economy allowed a new group of intellectuals to rise from the ranks of the professionals based on their ability and talents, displacing the previous Soviet intellectual group. The new intelligentsia includes scientists, politicians, and the artistic

374 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 elite, from which Khabenskaia opposition to the dominant Russian draws her interview subjects. Kha- culture, which Khabenskaia argues benskaia’s subjects experienced the failed to prepare the Tatars for inde- same Soviet decline, but responded pendence from Moscow’s influence. to it in different ways, creating diverse Therefore, a primary education in opinions about the nature of Tatar Tatar is the necessary prerequisite nationalism and the relative impor- toward embracing “traditional ethnic tance of its cultural components. culture,” which the political nationalists While her conclusion attempts to believe will result in their indepen- classify the divergent opinions about dence. This statement of intent Tatar nationalism into several distinct reiterates the conclusion of the “types,” her material reveals a differ- “Conception of the Development of ent division arising from geography – Tatar National Education” that Tatar- Tatars inside Tatarstan as opposed to stan’s Ministry of Education adopt- those outside. The general consensus ed in 1991. Furthermore, Khabens- of those interviewed from Kazan is kaia’s subjects believe Tatarstan’s that Tatar nationalism must serve an nationalist education must extend agenda of state-building and eventual beyond the region’s boundaries, in independence from Russia. Tatars in order to rebuild the ethnic diaspora Saratov and Moscow believe that of Tatars into a larger, unified commu- Tatar nationalism does not necessarily nity, thereby overcoming differences have a political component, but that have developed among Tatars instead grows from a respect for in Bashkortostan and in the Russian Tatar traditional culture, including its provinces of Nizhegorod and Penza. folklore, language, and religion. The remaining chapters examine Khabenskaia does not address the the various components of Tatar basic divide between political and nationalism and identity and the cultural nationalists, but her evi- resulting differences of opinion dence reveals this essential delinea- between Kazan on the one hand, and tion in the ensuing debate about the Moscow and Saratov on the other. future of Tatarstan. All of the Tatars interviewed agree In her first chapters, Khabenskaia that there is nothing more important indirectly reveals her own posi- for developing future Tatar nationalism tion in this debate in her assessment than basic education in their lan- of education’s role in developing guage. However, even this consensus Tatar nationalism. Before the col- creates an overwhelming divide lapse of the Soviet Union, Tatars between Tatars in Tatarstan, where defined their own unique culture in the language has official status, and

375 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews those outside struggling to educate purpose. The conflicting viewpoints themselves and their children. This between the two sides define the divide is the first of several points of con- between the political nationalists of tention, where Tatars in Tatarstan Tatarstan and the cultural nationalists enjoy their superior position and outside of Tatarstan. connection to a Tatar identity in com- Khabenskaia concludes her study parison with Tatars in the diaspora. by diagnosing several psychological Another debate highlighted in the types of Tatar nationalism. Khaben- interviews concerns how different skaia believes nationalism is a psycho- groups value the historical legacy of logical condition, which allows her Tatar culture. Both camps agree that to pass judgement on those with Islam is a necessary part of any more “developed” nationalism and Tatar’s self-identification, but they suggest paths to improve those who deny that it was a mode of resistance are lacking by “deconstructing” their to the Soviet state. Instead, Khaben- emotional connection to Tatar culture. skaia concludes from her interviews Relying on such conclusions, that Islam has a primary place in Khabenskaia is not interested in Tatar identity because of the centuries- maintaining scholarly objectivity in old tradition of Muslim culture in the her work, as she overtly supports the region. Khabenskaia’s interviews agenda of the political nationalists indicate that Tatars in Saratov and in pursuing Tatarstan’s indepen- Moscow embrace most other aspects dence from Russia. This limits the of their traditional culture, including utility of the work, as it fails to raise its folklore, which is attacked specifi- some important questions. Can we cally by the nationalists in Kazan. comprehend the role of Tatar Indeed, the nationalists in Kazan nationalists in Tatarstan’s indepen- deny the importance of all other aspects dence movement without under- of Tatar traditional culture, as it con- standing the views of non-Tatars in tributes little to their struggle for inde- Tatarstan? Do Russians, Maris, and pendence. These political nationalists Chuvashes support the Tatars’ reject a connection to the folklore goal of independence? Similarly, and traditions of Tatars as an outdated, how can we understand the role “emotional” connection to the past. of education in rebuilding the They argue that “actualized” Tatar Tatar community, since Khaben- nationalists must pursue the indepen- skaia did not include any of the dence of Tatarstan as their only goal, diaspora Tatars of Bashkortostan and an appreciation of Tatar culture or Nizhegorod province among distracts from this more important her interview subjects?

376 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 For historians, another troubling Sebastian CWIKLINSKI issue of Khabenskaia’s work is her outdated classification of nationalism Ïîñòñîâåòñêàÿ êóëüòóðíàÿ as a psychological condition, which òðàíñôîðìàöèÿ: ìåäèà è ýòíè÷- ignores all contemporary Western íîñòü â Òàòàðñòàíå 1990-õ ãã. / Ïîä scholarship on nationalism and ethnic ðåä. Ñ. À. Åðîôååâà è Ë. Ï. Íèçà- identity. Recent works on Tatarstan ìîâîé. Êàçàíü, 2001. 292 ñ. such as Sergei Kondrashov’s Nationalism ISBN: 5-7464-0998-7. and the Drive for Sovereignty in Tatarstan, 1988-92 (2000) or Dmitry The unique fate of Tatarstan in P. Gorenburg’s Minority Ethnic Mobi- the post-Soviet era has attracted a lization in the Russian Federation fair amount of scholarly interest. (2003) provide a more rigorous analy- Given that political developments sis of Tatarstan’s nationalist move- have dominated the agenda, scholars ments. Political scientists and sociolo- have focused on political events and gists, however, should not neglect subjects like center-periphery rela- Khabenskaia’s work, as it provides tions, while research on Russian extensive material on self-identified federalism has mainly dwelled on Tatar nationalists’ understanding of the Tatarstan case. their own political struggle, largely Accordingly, there has not been in their own words. Many issues of much research on the cultural aspects Tatarstan’s potential independence of post-Soviet changes in Tatarstan. are laid bare. The reaction of the Only the renewed use of ancient political nationalists to the “emo- historical discourses has triggered tional” nationalism of those living discussion,1 and a lot of gaps remain. outside of Tatarstan, for example, The authors of Post-Soviet Cultural suggests a more ominous future for Transformation try to fill some of Tatarstan than Khabenskaia hopes. them from a sociological perspec- While she praises Tatarstan for its tive. Prepared by a project at the tolerance of diverse cultures and Center for the Sociology of Culture people, it seems Tatars with an appre- at Kazan State University, the book ciation for their own history and cul- seeks to analyze cultural develop- ture may not be among them. ments in several fields.

1 For discussion of the historiographical disputes in Tatarstan in the 1990s see: Sebastian Cwiklinski. Tatarism vs. bulgarism. “Pervyi spor” v tatarskoi istoriografii // Ab Imperio. 2003. No. 3. Pp. 361-392.

377 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 For historians, another troubling Sebastian CWIKLINSKI issue of Khabenskaia’s work is her outdated classification of nationalism Ïîñòñîâåòñêàÿ êóëüòóðíàÿ as a psychological condition, which òðàíñôîðìàöèÿ: ìåäèà è ýòíè÷- ignores all contemporary Western íîñòü â Òàòàðñòàíå 1990-õ ãã. / Ïîä scholarship on nationalism and ethnic ðåä. Ñ. À. Åðîôååâà è Ë. Ï. Íèçà- identity. Recent works on Tatarstan ìîâîé. Êàçàíü, 2001. 292 ñ. such as Sergei Kondrashov’s Nationalism ISBN: 5-7464-0998-7. and the Drive for Sovereignty in Tatarstan, 1988-92 (2000) or Dmitry The unique fate of Tatarstan in P. Gorenburg’s Minority Ethnic Mobi- the post-Soviet era has attracted a lization in the Russian Federation fair amount of scholarly interest. (2003) provide a more rigorous analy- Given that political developments sis of Tatarstan’s nationalist move- have dominated the agenda, scholars ments. Political scientists and sociolo- have focused on political events and gists, however, should not neglect subjects like center-periphery rela- Khabenskaia’s work, as it provides tions, while research on Russian extensive material on self-identified federalism has mainly dwelled on Tatar nationalists’ understanding of the Tatarstan case. their own political struggle, largely Accordingly, there has not been in their own words. Many issues of much research on the cultural aspects Tatarstan’s potential independence of post-Soviet changes in Tatarstan. are laid bare. The reaction of the Only the renewed use of ancient political nationalists to the “emo- historical discourses has triggered tional” nationalism of those living discussion,1 and a lot of gaps remain. outside of Tatarstan, for example, The authors of Post-Soviet Cultural suggests a more ominous future for Transformation try to fill some of Tatarstan than Khabenskaia hopes. them from a sociological perspec- While she praises Tatarstan for its tive. Prepared by a project at the tolerance of diverse cultures and Center for the Sociology of Culture people, it seems Tatars with an appre- at Kazan State University, the book ciation for their own history and cul- seeks to analyze cultural develop- ture may not be among them. ments in several fields.

1 For discussion of the historiographical disputes in Tatarstan in the 1990s see: Sebastian Cwiklinski. Tatarism vs. bulgarism. “Pervyi spor” v tatarskoi istoriografii // Ab Imperio. 2003. No. 3. Pp. 361-392.

377 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews Its first part is centered on the whereas the attachment to “national” theoretical framework of the analysis values varies, depending on the occu- of cultural processes: the first two pational statuses of the respondents articles focus on theoretical issues within the cultural sector. and examine the possibility of applying Alexander Kudriavtsev dwells in qualitative methods to the analysis his analysis on Tatar music in the of cultural processes in Tatarstan, 1980s and 1990s. In a theoretical which is innovative as this is still far introduction, he asks how (Western) from the norm in Russian sociology. European artists started to develop The third article sheds some light on “national languages” in their artistic a more concrete issue, namely, the expressive discourses: while in the connection between language policy seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and media in Tatarstan. As the article images like the Turk, the Saracen, was originally published in English,2 and the Italian were used and under- I will content myself with just naming stood by the public as caricatures, its main subjects: the development in the nineteenth century the Roman- of Tatar-language media and the ticists started to use and to develop attempts to change the Tatar alpha- these stereotypes further by integrating bet from Cyrillic to Latin.3 folklore elements, and in time they The second part of the book acquired features of a “national lan- switches to applied analysis: Svet- guage.” From this time on, European lana Shaikhitdinova examines the artists could and did make use of a ethno-national orientations of leading repertoire of national items, which representatives of Tatarstan’s cultural consisted mainly of decorative ele- elite. In free interviews, she sorts out ments shaped by professional and the conditions under which respon- modern composers. As Kudriavtsev dents acquire a national identity: states, Soviet nationalities policy apparently, Tatar-language inter- was founded on the same assump- viewees cling to it more often than tion that underlay European artistic Russian-language or bilingual ones,4 discourse since the nineteenth cen-

2 H. Davis, Ph. Hammond, and L. Nizamova. Media, Language Policy and Cultural Change in Tatarstan. Historic vs. Pragmatic Claims to Nationhood // Nations and Nationalism. 2000. No. 6(2). Pp. 203-226. 3 It might be noted that the information given in the article became outdated in 2002 following Moscow’s rejection of the idea of introducing the Latin alphabet for the Tatar language. 4 Shaikhitdinova’s terminology still makes it clear that a Russian-language respondent may cling to “Tatar national values” or a “Tatar national culture” and identify himself as “Tatar” even without speaking Tatar. 378 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 tury: specific “national artistic lan- shop, and obviously the latter develop- guages” really do exist. The Soviet ment was beginning to dominate. In formula that cultures be “national in the final analysis, Kudriavtsev con- their form, but socialist in their content” cludes, one might observe the “death referred directly to this assumption. of the national” in the modern arts. The growth of a national Tatar musi- Mikhail Rudenko investigates the cal tradition in the 1990s was built development of new FM radio sta- upon this new academically supported tions in Kazan, which have to navi- concept, and it was marked by the gate between commercial and artistic development of a musical language interests. Right from the beginning independent from the applied music of commercial broadcasting in Tatar- forms that had dominated earlier. stan in the early 1990s, the develop- Yet parallel to this, an all-European ment of Kazan radio stations quickly development in the arts since the followed the course of commercial beginning of the twentieth century stations in other countries, but within began to matter: composers started a few years began to adapt them- to liberate themselves from “national selves to the specific conditions in languages” in their artistic expres- Tatarstan. First, it was necessary to sion – a development that was observed take into account the importance of with mistrust by the Soviet authori- commercial interests – the audience ties and condemned as “formalism.” had to be chosen according to the As Kudriavtsev maintains, these two possibility of attracting as many adver- developments – the question of tisers as possible. Not surprisingly, developing and preserving the national all the radio stations officially state language and the opposite tendency that they have and prefer a financially to overcome it – could still be observed powerful audience, although the real in Tatar cultural life in the 1990s. picture looks different. The second To support his assumption, he gives aspect Rudenko dwells on is the the example of two festivals held in question of how the broadcasters Kazan in 1992 and 1993: while the relate to “national issues”: while in Festival of Tatar and Japanese music the first years broadcasters could in 1992 had the typical features of a play international pop music without national platform and focused almost taking “national” (i.e. Russian and/ entirely on the classical and folkloris- or Tatar) music into account, they tic forms of national culture, the then became aware of the listeners’ chamber music festival Europe- wish to hear (as some broadcasters Asia, which was held in 1993 and put it) Soviet heritage. “Music from again in 1997, looked more like a Russia” comprises both Russian and Western European cultural work- Tatar traditions. Thus broadcasters 379 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews have had to take the bicultural situa- not only in Tatarstan itself, but also tion of Tatarstan into account: even in Russia, especially the relationship Russkoe Radio (Russian Radio), between Moscow and Tatarstan. which Rudenko places at the fore- In her conclusion, Nizamova refers front of Russian cultural nationalism to three major developments within in Tatarstan, has a special Tatarstan the WTC. First, she observes its news feature. In the end Rudenko central role in the development of concludes that FM radio stations trans-regional and even trans-national might be regarded not only as a Tatar and pan-Turkic solidarities. means to satisfy the cultural needs The claim to a central role in estab- of the audience under market con- lishing these relationships was fostered ditions, but also as a way to develop by the organization of a Turkological civil society. conference during the first con- The third part of the book con- gress.5 Apart from this, the contin- sists of Lilia Nizamova’s lengthy ued presentation of Azerbaijanis, case study on the World Tatar Con- Crimean Tatars, and Bashkirs as gresses (WTC) and the coverage “brother peoples” and the idea of they received in the mass media. switching to the Latin alphabet may On the one hand, Nizamova confines be regarded as indicators of the herself to quantitative methods charac- WTC’s wish to unite with the Turkic terized by the editors of the book world outside Tatarstan. Secondly, themselves as traditional and some- the WTC was a catalyst in making how old-fashioned; still her detailed Tatarstan an actor on the international analysis goes far beyond quantita- stage. Both President Shaimiev’s tive methodology. As she compares address to the UN and persistent the reaction of the mass media to the attempts to underline Tatarstan’s first and second congresses, the reader economic and political successes can trace the development of the sought to enhance Tatarstan’s posi- WTC over five years. Nizamova tion in the world. The third develop- demonstrates that the representation ment Nizamova observes concerns in the media depended heavily on Tatarstan’s reconciliatory attitude political and social developments toward the Russian leadership in

5 A minor correction to Shaikhitdinova’s presentation of the congress is to be made: as one can trace from the proceedings of the conference (Iazyki, duhovnaia kul'tura i istoriia tiurkov: traditsii i sovremennost'. Trudy mezhdunarodnoi konferentsii v 3-kh tomakh. Iyun' 9-13, 1992, g. Kazan', 1997. T. 1. S. 3) , the congress had been organized independently from the WTC, so one should rather talk about a (surely intended) temporal coincidence. 380 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Moscow, which for example found rial for further research, as the its expression in Tatarstan’s partici- book’s appendices offer detailed data pation in the festivities of Moscow’s drawn from a survey on the ethno- 850th anniversary. Underlying all national identity of the population. these tendencies, concludes Nizamova, The book may receive its due interest was the idea of Eurasianism, which among scholars of the transforma- was actively promoted by the Tatar tion processes that encompass not elite in the course of the 1990s. only the territory of the former Soviet Post-Soviet Cultural Transfor- Union, but also other parts of the world. mation might be evaluated in a twofold perspective: on the one hand, it is confined to the applied study of cul- tural developments in just one region in Russia, but, on the other hand, the theoretical approaches go far beyond the presented case studies. As the editors themselves state in the English- language summary, “issues of cultural Èðèíà ÐÎËÄÓÃÈÍÀ creativity, ethnic identity, political change and conceptualisation of Äæîí Äàíëîï. Ðîññèÿ è ×å÷íÿ: culture and media [ ] have impli- Èñòîðèÿ ïðîòèâîáîðñòâà. Êîðíè cations for the study of culture and ñåïàðàòèñòñêîãî êîíôëèêòà / media on a wider scale.” Further- Ïåð. ñ àíãë. Ìîñêâà: “Ð. Âàëåíò”, more, the book demonstrates the 1998. 232 c. ISBN: 5-93439-065-1. importance and usefulness of inves- (John B.Dunlop, Russia Confronts tigating those areas of cultural pro- Chechnya: Roots of a Separatist Con- duction that usually do not get studied: flict (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer- even research on seemingly marginal sity Press, 1998). 248 pp. ISBN: issues like broadcasting may shed 0-52163-619-1). light on the development of ethnicity discourses in transitional societies. Ñ ìîìåíòà ñâîåãî îáðàçîâà- Application of the suggested íèÿ â 1991 ã. Ðîññèéñêàÿ Ôåäå- methods might be transferred toward ðàöèÿ îôèöèàëüíî íå âåäåò an analysis of the representation of âîéí íà ñâîåé òåððèòîðèè. Òåì the “national” in Tatar fictional íå ìåíåå, íà ïðîòÿæåíèè äåñÿòè literature. In addition, sociologists ëåò ðîññèéñêàÿ àðìèÿ åæåãîäíî with a special interest in Tatarstan íåñåò ðåàëüíûå ëþäñêèå ïîòåðè, are provided with interesting mate- óñìèðÿÿ è íàâîäÿ ïîðÿäîê ⠓ìÿ-

381 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Moscow, which for example found rial for further research, as the its expression in Tatarstan’s partici- book’s appendices offer detailed data pation in the festivities of Moscow’s drawn from a survey on the ethno- 850th anniversary. Underlying all national identity of the population. these tendencies, concludes Nizamova, The book may receive its due interest was the idea of Eurasianism, which among scholars of the transforma- was actively promoted by the Tatar tion processes that encompass not elite in the course of the 1990s. only the territory of the former Soviet Post-Soviet Cultural Transfor- Union, but also other parts of the world. mation might be evaluated in a twofold perspective: on the one hand, it is confined to the applied study of cul- tural developments in just one region in Russia, but, on the other hand, the theoretical approaches go far beyond the presented case studies. As the editors themselves state in the English- language summary, “issues of cultural Èðèíà ÐÎËÄÓÃÈÍÀ creativity, ethnic identity, political change and conceptualisation of Äæîí Äàíëîï. Ðîññèÿ è ×å÷íÿ: culture and media [ ] have impli- Èñòîðèÿ ïðîòèâîáîðñòâà. Êîðíè cations for the study of culture and ñåïàðàòèñòñêîãî êîíôëèêòà / media on a wider scale.” Further- Ïåð. ñ àíãë. Ìîñêâà: “Ð. Âàëåíò”, more, the book demonstrates the 1998. 232 c. ISBN: 5-93439-065-1. importance and usefulness of inves- (John B.Dunlop, Russia Confronts tigating those areas of cultural pro- Chechnya: Roots of a Separatist Con- duction that usually do not get studied: flict (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer- even research on seemingly marginal sity Press, 1998). 248 pp. ISBN: issues like broadcasting may shed 0-52163-619-1). light on the development of ethnicity discourses in transitional societies. Ñ ìîìåíòà ñâîåãî îáðàçîâà- Application of the suggested íèÿ â 1991 ã. Ðîññèéñêàÿ Ôåäå- methods might be transferred toward ðàöèÿ îôèöèàëüíî íå âåäåò an analysis of the representation of âîéí íà ñâîåé òåððèòîðèè. Òåì the “national” in Tatar fictional íå ìåíåå, íà ïðîòÿæåíèè äåñÿòè literature. In addition, sociologists ëåò ðîññèéñêàÿ àðìèÿ åæåãîäíî with a special interest in Tatarstan íåñåò ðåàëüíûå ëþäñêèå ïîòåðè, are provided with interesting mate- óñìèðÿÿ è íàâîäÿ ïîðÿäîê ⠓ìÿ-

381 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews òåæíîì ñóáúåêòå Ðîññèéñêîé çàêàçó,1 à ïîòîìó êàñàþùèåñÿ Ôåäåðàöèè” – íåïðèçíàííîé îïèñàíèÿ è àíàëèçà ëèøü îäíîé ðåñïóáëèêå È÷êåðèÿ. Äåéñòâèÿ èç ñòîðîí ðåàëüíîñòè, è æóðíà- ðîññèéñêèõ âëàñòåé íå îñòàþòñÿ ëèñòñêàÿ ïóáëèöèñòèêà,2 íåïîä- íåçàìå÷åííûìè: íà ìåæäóíà- öåíçóðíî îñâåùàþùàÿ âîéíó, è ðîäíîé àðåíå Ðîññèÿ ðåãóëÿðíî ìåìóàðû ñàìèõ ó÷àñòíèêîâ âîåí- ïîäâåðãàåòñÿ æåñòêîé êðèòèêå íûõ äåéñòâèé.3 Îäíàêî íè îäíà ñî ñòîðîíû Åâðîïåéñêîãî ñîþçà èç èçâåñòíûõ ðàáîò íå ñîäåðæèò è ÑØÀ.  õðîíîëîãèè ðîññèéñêî- öåëîñòíîãî âçãëÿäà íà ïðîáëåìà- ÷å÷åíñêîãî êîíôëèêòà êîíöà òèêó è ñîäåðæàíèå êîíôëèêòà. XX â. âûäåëÿþòñÿ äâà ýòàïà:  ýòîì ìàññèâå ëèòåðàòóðû àíàëè- ïåðâàÿ ÷å÷åíñêàÿ âîéíà íà÷à- çèðóåòñÿ íåñêîëüêî ïëàñòîâ ðåàëü- ëàñü â 1994 ã. è çàâåðøèëàñü â íîñòè, çà÷àñòóþ ðåïðåçåíòàòèâíî 1996 ã. ïîäïèñàíèåì Õàñàâþðò- ïðîòèâîðå÷àùèõ äðóã äðóãó. ñêîãî ìèðíîãî ñîãëàøåíèÿ. Æóðíàëèñòû ïèøóò î ÷óäîâèù- Âòîðàÿ ÷å÷åíñêàÿ âîéíà ðàçðà- íûõ áóäíÿõ âîéíû, âîåííûå – çèëàñü íàêàíóíå âûáîðîâ íîâîãî î ãåðîè÷åñêîì è îòâàæíîì ïîäàâ- ïðåçèäåíòà ÐÔ è, ïî îáùåìó ëåíèè ñîïðîòèâëåíèÿ ìÿòåæíîé ìíåíèþ ýêñïåðòîâ, ÿâèëàñü ðåñïóáëèêè, ñàìè ñåïàðàòèñòû4 – îòâåòîì âëàñòåé íà òåðàêòû â î ïðîäàæíîñòè ðîññèéñêîãî ðóêî- ñòîëèöå, ïîâëåêøèå ãèáåëü ñîòåí âîäñòâà, ñïðîâîöèðîâàâøåãî ëþäåé â ðåçóëüòàòå âçðûâîâ íà÷àëî âîåííîãî êîíôëèêòà. æèëûõ äîìîâ. Îòñóòñòâèå âçâåøåííîãî è îáúåê- Îòå÷åñòâåííàÿ èñòîðèîãðàôèÿ òèâíîãî íàððàòèâà îáúÿñíÿåòñÿ èñòîðèè ðîññèéñêî-÷å÷åíñêîãî òåì, ÷òî âñå àâòîðû, òàê èëè èíà÷å, êîíôëèêòà, îôèöèàëüíî èìåíóå- âîâëå÷åíû â äèñêóðñ âîéíû è ìîãî âëàñòÿìè “êîíòðòåððîðèñ- òðàíñëèðóþò ñâîå âèäåíèå ïðîèñ- òè÷åñêîé îïåðàöèåé ïî íàâåäå- õîäÿùåãî â çàâèñèìîñòè, ãëàâ- íèþ ïîðÿäêà â ñóáúåêòå ÐԔ, íûì îáðàçîì, îò ìåñòà, êîòîðîå âåñüìà îáøèðíà è â òåìàòè÷åñ- îíè çàíèìàþò â èåðàðõèè âîéíû. êîì, è æàíðîâîì îòíîøåíèè. Ýòî – Ñëåäñòâèåì ýòîãî îáñòîÿòåëüñòâà è ìîíóìåíòàëüíûå òðóäû, íàïè- ÿâëÿåòñÿ íàáëþäàåìàÿ àíãàæèðî- ñàííûå ïî ãîñóäàðñòâåííîìó âàííîñòü ìíîãèõ ñâèäåòåëüñòâ.

1 Ñì., íàïðèìåð, èçäàíèå Ñîâåòà Ôåäåðàöèè Ôåäåðàëüíîãî Ñîáðàíèÿ ÐÔ: ×å÷íÿ. Òðàãåäèÿ Ðîññèè. Ìîñêâà, 1995. 2 À. Ïîëèòêîâñêàÿ. Âòîðàÿ ×å÷åíñêàÿ. Ìîñêâà, 2002. 3 Ã. Òðîøåâ. Ìîÿ âîéíà. ×å÷åíñêèé äíåâíèê îêîïíîãî ãåíåðàëà. Ìîñêâà, 2001. 4 Ç. ßíäàðáèåâ. ×å÷åíèÿ – áèòâà çà ñâîáîäó. Ëüâîâ, 1996. 382 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Î÷åâèäíûì ïðåïÿòñòâèåì â ÷åñêîãî èññëåäîâàíèÿ îòñóòñòâó- îñìûñëåíèè ïðîòèâîñòîÿíèÿ è åò, åñòü òîëüêî èíôîðìàöèîííûå ñîçäàíèè èñòîðèîãðàôèè êà÷å- ñâîäêè îá óíè÷òîæåíèè “áîåâè- ñòâåííî èíîãî óðîâíÿ, îòëè÷à- êîâ”, ïèòàþùèõñÿ çà ñ÷åò ñðåäñòâ þùåéñÿ áîëåå îáúåêòèâíûì “ìåæäóíàðîäíîãî òåððîðèçìà”. ïîäõîäîì ê ïðåäìåòó èññëåäî-  ïîäîáíûõ óñëîâèÿõ ðîñ- âàíèÿ, ÿâëÿåòñÿ íàëè÷èå “áåëûõ ñèéñêèé ó÷åíûé, êîòîðûé ïóá- ïÿòåí” â èñòîðèè êîíôëèêòà. ëè÷íî îñìåëèëñÿ áû çàíÿòüñÿ Îòñóòñòâèå èíôîðìàöèè èëè æå ýòèì âîïðîñîì, ïîïàë áû â åå ÷àñòè÷íîå çàñåêðå÷èâàíèå êðàéíå íåëîâêîå ïîëîæåíèå, âëàñòüþ ñäåëàëî íåâîçìîæíûì ïîäñòàâèâ ïîä óäàð è ñâîþ íàó÷- äàæå ñîñòàâëåíèå öåëîñòíîãî íóþ êàðüåðó, è ðåïóòàöèþ. Íè òî, ôàêòîëîãè÷åñêîãî ðÿäà, ÷òî íè äðóãîå íå ãðîçèëî èçâåñòíîìó êðàéíå çàòðóäíÿåò ðåêîíñòðóê- àìåðèêàíñêîìó ñîâåòîëîãó, öèþ ñîáûòèé. ïðîôåññîðó Éåëüñêîãî óíèâåð- Áîëåå ñóùåñòâåííàÿ ïðîáëåìà, ñèòåòà Äæîíó Äàíëîïó, àâòîðó îäíàêî, îáóñëîâëåíà ïðèíöèïè- íåñêîëüêèõ ìîíîãðàôèé, ïîñâÿùåí- àëüíîé íåèçìåííîé ïîçèöèåé íûõ èäåîëîãèè íàöèîíàëèçìà â âëàñòè, ìîíîïîëèçèðîâàâøåé áûâøåì ÑÑÑÐ.5 Åãî ðàáîòà âñå ëåãàëüíûå ïîäñòóïû ê âîç- “Ðîññèÿ è ×å÷íÿ: èñòîðèÿ ïðî- ìîæíîìó äèàëîãó, íåîáõîäèìîìó òèâîáîðñòâà” – ïåðâàÿ ÷àñòü äëÿ ðåøåíèÿ ýòîé ïðîáëåìû, äâóõòîìíîãî èññëåäîâàíèÿ î ëåæàùåé â îñíîâàíèè âíóòðåí- “÷å÷åíñêîé âîéíå”.  îòëè÷èå íåé ïîëèòèêè ÐÔ è âî ìíîãîì îò ðîññèéñêîé èñòîðèîãðàôèè îïðåäåëÿþùåé ñòðàòåãèþ åå ðîññèéñêî-÷å÷åíñêîãî êîíôëèêòà âíåøíåé ïîëèòèêè. Äî ñèõ ïîð 1990-õ ãã., íîñÿùåé ïî áîëüøåé îôèöèàëüíî íå ïðèçíàâàÿ âîéíû, ÷àñòè ïóáëèöèñòè÷åñêèé õàðàê- âëàñòü ñâîäèò íà íåò ïîïûòêè òåð, íà çàïàäå òåìà ïðîòèâîñòî- ñåðüåçíîãî èçó÷åíèÿ ïðîáëåìû. ÿíèÿ öàðñêîé Ðîññèè è ×å÷íè,6 Ïî åå ìíåíèþ, èçó÷àòü, ñîá- ñîâåòñêîé âëàñòè è ãîðöåâ,7 ñòâåííî, íå÷åãî – ïðåäìåò àêàäåìè- ñîâðåìåííîé Ðîññèè è ÷å÷åíñ-

5 John Dunlop. The New Russian Nationalism. New York, 1985; Idem. The Faces of Contemporary Russian Nationalism. Princeton, 1983. 6 Austin Jersild. Orientalism and Empire. North Caucasus Mountain Peoples and the Georgian Frontier, 1845-1917. Montreal, 2002; Thomas Sanders et al. Russian-Muslim Confrontation in the Caucasus. Alternative Visions of the Conflict between Imam Shamil and the Russians, 1830-1859. London, 2004. 7 Marie Bennigsen Broxup. The Last Ghazavat. The 1920-1921 Uprising. New York, 1992. 383 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews êèõ ñåïàðàòèñòîâ8 äîñòàòî÷íî ãàòü ê ýçîïîâó ÿçûêó, ðåøèòåëüíî õîðîøî èññëåäîâàíà.  îòå÷å- ïðîòèâîñòîèò ñòðåìëåíèþ ðàñ- ñòâåííîì êàâêàçîâåäåíèè òåìà öåíèâàòü êîíôëèêò íà Êàâêàçå âçàèìîîòíîøåíèé èìïåðñêèõ êàê “àíòèòåððîðèñòè÷åñêóþ âëàñòåé è ×å÷íè òàêæå íàøëà ïðîôèëàêòèêó”.  ïðåäèñëîâèè ñâîå îòðàæåíèå.9 Îäíàêî èçó÷å- Äàíëîï ñïðàâåäëèâî çàìå÷àåò, íèå ïîëèòèêè ñîâåòñêîãî ðóêî- ÷òî äàííàÿ êíèãà – ïåðâàÿ ïî- âîäñòâà ïîêà îãðàíè÷åíî èññëå- ïûòêà íàó÷íîãî èññëåäîâàíèÿ äîâàíèÿìè î äåïîðòàöèè ÷å÷åí- ïðè÷èí è ôàêòîðîâ, ïðèâåäøèõ öåâ10 è àíàëèçîì àðõèâíûõ ìàòå- ê âîéíå. Ãëàâíîé çàäà÷åé äëÿ ðèàëîâ, ñòàâøèõ äîñòóïíûìè àâòîðà ÿâèëàñü êàê ìîæíî áîëåå äëÿ èçó÷åíèÿ ñîâñåì íåäàâíî.11 ïîëíàÿ ðåêîíñòðóêöèÿ õîäà ïåð- Äàíëîï, ýêñïåðò Ãóâåðîâñêîãî âîé ÷å÷åíñêîé âîéíû è ïðåäøå- èíñòèòóòà, âûñòóïàåò êàòåãîðè- ñòâóþùèõ åé ñîáûòèé, à òàêæå ÷åñêè ïðîòèâ îôèöèàëüíîé ïîçè- ïðèâëå÷åíèå ê èññëåäîâàíèþ öèè ðîññèéñêîé âëàñòè, îòêàçû- âñåõ äîñòóïíûõ èñòî÷íèêîâ, âàþùåéñÿ íàçûâàòü äåñÿòèëåò- âíå çàâèñèìîñòè îò èõ èäåîëî- íåå êðîâàâîå ïðîòèâîñòîÿíèå íà ãè÷åñêîé íàïðàâëåííîñòè. Êàâêàçå âîéíîé. Ýòî ñâèäåòåëü- Ïîñòðîåííîå â ñîîòâåòñòâèè ñòâóåò î òîì, ÷òî àâòîðèòåòíûé ñ õðîíîëîãè÷åñêîì ïðèíöèïîì èñòîðèê, ñâîáîäíûé îò íàâÿçû- èññëåäîâàíèå ïðîñëåæèâàåò ñîáû- âàåìûõ ðîññèÿíàì ñòåðåîòèïîâ, òèÿ îò IV â. í.ý., âðåìåíè ïîÿâëå- êîòîðîìó áåñêîíå÷íî ÷óæä íèÿ íà Ñåâåðíîì Êàâêàçå äàëåêèõ îïûò ñîâåòñêîé íàó÷íîé øêîëû ïðåäêîâ ñîâðåìåííûõ ÷å÷åíöåâ, æèçíè, âûíóæäàþùåé ó÷åíûõ â äî êîíöà 1994 ã., êîãäà Ðîññèéñêàÿ ñâîèõ òðóäàõ òî è äåëî ïðèáå- Ôåäåðàöèÿ íà÷àëà íåìèíóåìî

8 Fiona Hill. Russia’s Tinderbox. Conflict in the North Caucasus and Its Implications for the Future of the Russian Federation. Cambridge, 1995; Ben Fowkes (Ed.). Russia and Chechnia. The Permanent Crisis. Essays on Russo-Chechen relations. New York, 1998; Tracey C. German. Russia’s Chechen War. New York, 2003; Anatol Lieven. Chechnya. Tombstone of Russian Power. New Haven, 1998. 9 Ì. Ì. Áëèåâ, Â. Â. Äåãîåâ. Êàâêàçñêàÿ âîéíà. Ìîñêâà, 1994; Êàâêàçñêàÿ âîéíà. Èñòîêè è íà÷àëî, 1770-1820 ãîäû / Ñîñò. ß. À. Ãîðäèí è Á. Ï. Ìèëîâèäîâ. Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðã, 2002. 10 Í. Ô. Áóãàé. Ïðàâäà î äåïîðòàöèè ÷å÷åíñêîãî è èíãóøñêîãî íàðîäîâ // Âîïðîñû èñòîðèè. 1990. ¹ 7; Alexander M. Nekrich. The Punished People. The Deportation and Fate of Soviet Minorities at the End of the Second World War. New York, 1978. 11 Ñì., íàïðèìåð: Ï. Ïîëÿí. Íå ïî ñâîåé âîëå Èñòîðèÿ è ãåîãðàôèÿ ïðèíóäèòåëüíûõ ìèãðàöèé â ÑÑÑÐ. Ìîñêâà, 2001. 384 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñïîëçàòü ê âîåííîìó êîíôëèêòó. âðåìåíè ñ ïåðåäâèæåíèåì ÷å÷åíñ- Èñòî÷íèêîâîé áàçîé â äàííîì êèõ ïëåìåí. Îáðàùàÿñü ê âíåøíåé ñëó÷àå ïîñëóæèëè ìíîãî÷èñ- ïîëèòèêå Ðîññèè íà Ñåâåðíîì ëåííûå èíòåðâüþ ó÷àñòíèêîâ Êàâêàçå â XVI – XVII ââ., Äàíëîï êîíôëèêòà, èõ âîñïîìèíàíèÿ è îïèñûâàåò ïåðâûé ýòàï ïîñëå- ìåìóàðû, îòêðûòûå äëÿ èçó÷åíèÿ äîâàòåëüíîãî ïðîíèêíîâåíèÿ àðõèâíûå ôîíäû è äàæå äîêó- ðóññêèõ â ðåãèîí, âàæíûé äëÿ ìåíòû, ïðåäîñòàâëåííûå Áþðî Ðîññèè êàê â ñòðàòåãè÷åñêîì, ðàçâåäêè è èññëåäîâàíèé Ãîñäå- òàê è â òîðãîâîì ïëàíå. Óïîìè- ïàðòàìåíòà ÑØÀ, â ÷àñòíîñòè, íàíèåì î ïðèåõàâøèõ â 1559 ã. äâå êàðòû, ñîçäàííûå àìåðèêàí- â Ìîñêâó ïîñëàííèêàõ èç Àäûãåè, ñêèìè âîåííûìè.  öåëîì æå, ñòðàíû íà çàïàäå Ñåâåðî-Êàâêàç- ñòðåìëåíèå ó÷åíîãî “îòîáðàòü è ñêîãî ðåãèîíà, è èõ ïðîñüáå ê ðàññìîòðåòü êàê ìîæíî áîëåå âëàñòÿì ïðèñëàòü ê íèì ïðàâî- øèðîêèé êðóã èñòî÷íèêîâ, êàñà- ñëàâíûõ ñâÿùåííèêîâ, Äàíëîï þùèõñÿ ñîáûòèé è ïîëèòè÷åñ- äàåò ïîíÿòü, ÷òî êóëüòóðíàÿ êèõ ðåøåíèé, ïðèâåäøèõ ê âîéíå”, ýêñïàíñèÿ è ìèññèîíåðñêàÿ äåÿ- äîñòîéíî âûñîêîé îöåíêè. òåëüíîñòü ÿâëÿëèñü íåðåàëèçî- Õîòÿ, êàê ïðèçíàåòñÿ ñàì Äàíëîï, âàííûì, íî íåîáõîäèìûì è äîêóìåíòû, îòðàæàþùèå òî÷êó òàêòè÷åñêè îïðàâäàííûì ïðè- çðåíèÿ ïðèâåðæåíöåâ îòäåëåíèÿ åìîì â äåëå çàâîåâàíèÿ Êàâêàçà. ×å÷íè îò Ðîññèè, â áîëüøèíñòâå Öåíòðàëüíîå ìåñòî â çàâîåâà- ñâîåì áûëè åìó íåäîñòóïíû. À âîò íèè öàðñêîé Ðîññèåé Êàâêàçà Äàí- òåêñòîâ, âûðàæàþùèõ îôèöè- ëîï îòâîäèò ãåíåðàëó À. Ï. Åðìî- àëüíóþ ïîçèöèþ ðîññèéñêîé ëîâó. Ðàñ÷åòëèâûé, æåñòêèé è âëàñòè, áûëî áîëåå ÷åì äîñòà- áåçóäåðæíî æåñòîêèé ïî îòíîøå- òî÷íî. Îäíàêî ýòî, ïî åãî ìíå- íèþ ê ìàëûì íàðîäàì Êàâêàçà, íèþ, íå ïîâëèÿëî íà êà÷åñòâî èìåííî îí ïåðâûì â èñòîðèè èññëåäîâàíèÿ. ðàçðàáîòàë äåïîðòàöèîííóþ  ïåðâîé ãëàâå êíèãè Äàíëîï ïîëèòèêó, ññûëàÿ ïëåíåííûõ ðàññêàçûâàåò î ïðåäêàõ ñîâðå- ÷å÷åíöåâ â Ñèáèðü. Äðóãîé ôîð- ìåííûõ ÷å÷åíöàõ, îá èñëàìèçà- ìîé ïîäàâëåíèÿ ñîïðîòèâëåíèÿ öèè Êàâêàçà â VIII â. è î ïîñòå- ñâîáîäîëþáèâûõ êàâêàçöåâ ÿâè- ïåííîì ïåðåìåùåíèè íàñåëåíèÿ ëàñü âîåííàÿ è ýêîíîìè÷åñêàÿ êàâêàçñêèõ ãîð â äîëèíû. Íà÷àëî áëîêàäà ïîñðåäñòâîì ñòðîè- ëåòîïèñè ñòîëêíîâåíèé ðóññêèõ òåëüñòâà óêðåïèòåëüíûõ ëèíèé ñ ÷å÷åíöàìè ñëåäóåò óâÿçûâàòü ñ îïîðíûìè ïóíêòàìè-êðåïîñ- ñ àêòèâíîé ìèãðàöèåé êàçàêîâ òÿìè. Âïîñëåäñòâèè âëàñòè êîïè- â ýòîò ðåãèîí, ñîâïàäàþùåé ïî ðîâàëè ïîëèòèêó Åðìîëîâà, íî 385 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews äîñòèãíóòü ñõîäíîé ñòåïåíè íèêàëè, êàæäûé ðàç âûõîäÿ íà æåñòîêîñòè è ÿðîñòè ïî îòíîøå- íîâûé óðîâåíü. Èìàì Øàìèëü, íèþ ê íåïîêîðíûì íàðîäàì ñàìûé âûäàþùèéñÿ ïîëèòè÷åñ- óäàëîñü ëèøü Ñòàëèíó è åãî êèé è âîåííûé âîæäü Êàâêàçà, àïïàðàòó, èñêîðåæèâøåìó æèçíè ïûòàëñÿ äîãîâîðèòüñÿ ñ ðóññêèìè íåñêîëüêèõ ïîêîëåíèé êàâêàçñêèõ è äàæå ñîãëàøàëñÿ íà ïîä÷èíåíèå íàðîäîâ.  ýòîé ãëàâå Äàíëîï ×å÷íè Ðîññèè, ñîáèðàëñÿ ïðå- ðàçâèâàåò äîâîëüíî ïðîñòóþ è êðàòèòü íàáåãè íà ïðåäãîðíûå âïîëíå ïîíÿòíóþ ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ çåìëè, çàíèìàåìûå êàçàêàìè. õðèñòèàíñêîé ýòèêè ìûñëü: áåñ- Íî íà âñå ýòî îí áûë ãîòîâ ëèøü ïîùàäíàÿ ïîëèòèêà óãíåòåíèÿ è ïðè óñëîâèè, ÷òî ðóññêèå ñîãëà- ïîäàâëåíèÿ êàâêàçñêèõ íàðîäîâ, ñÿòñÿ íà ââåäåíèå øàðèàòà íà Ñåâåð- âî-ïåðâûõ, ñïëîòèëà èõ, ïðåâðàòèâ íîì Êàâêàçå. Ãåíåðàë Ã. Â. Ðîçåí, â åäèíûé ìîùíûé êóëàê; âî- â òó ïîðó êîìàíäóþùèé Êàâêàç- âòîðûõ, ÷ðåçâû÷àéíî îçëîáèëà ñêèì êîðïóñîì, íå ïîâåðèë íà ãåíåòè÷åñêîì óðîâíå. Ïðèñó- Øàìèëþ, ïîòðåáîâàâ îò íåãî ùèé êàâêàçöàì äóõ ôàíàòèçìà áåçîãîâîðî÷íîé êàïèòóëÿöèè. è íåçàâèñèìîñòè óêðåïèëñÿ “Ìû íèêîãäà íå èìåëè íà Êàâ- íàñòîëüêî, ÷òî êàæäûé íîâûé êàçå áîëåå ãðîçíîãî è îïàñíîãî èìïåðñêèé íàòèñê âûçûâàë âðàãà, ÷åì Øàìèëü”,12 – ïèñàë òîëüêî áîëüøóþ ñèëó îòâåòíîãî ðîññèéñêèé ãåíåðàë Å. À. Ãîëî- ñîïðîòèâëåíèÿ. âèí â 1841 ã. Ôàêòè÷åñêè, ïðè Åðìîëîâå  XIX â. ãëàâíûì èñòî÷íè- êîíôëèêò íà Êàâêàçå ïðèîáðåë êîì íàïðÿæåíèÿ ìåæäó Ðîññèåé íåîáðàòèìûé õàðàêòåð. Âîçìîæ- è Êàâêàçîì áûë çåìåëüíûé íûìè åãî ðåøåíèÿìè ñòàíîâèëèñü âîïðîñ: ñîòíè òûñÿ÷ ãåêòàðîâ èëè ïðèìåíåíèå åùå áîëüøåé ïëîäîðîäíûõ óãîäèé öàðñêàÿ ñèëû è æåñòîêîñòè (÷òî è ïðî- âëàñòü îòäàëà êàçàêàì, ÷òî íå èñõîäèëî), èëè áåñïðåöåäåíòíûå ìîãëî íå âîçìóòèòü ìàëîçåìåëü- óñòóïêè ñ ñèëüíîé ñòîðîíû, êîòî- íûõ ãîðöåâ, ÷üÿ ÷èñëåííîñòü ðîé, áåçóñëîâíî, âñåãäà ÿâëÿëàñü áûëà â íåñêîëüêî ðàç áîëüøå Ðîññèÿ (ýòîò âàðèàíò íèêîãäà íå ÷èñëåííîñòè êàçàêîâ. Åùå îäíà ðåàëèçîâàëñÿ äî êîíöà). Òàêèå íåñïðàâåäëèâîñòü ïî îòíîøå- âîçìîæíîñòè ïåðèîäè÷åñêè âîç- íèþ ê ãîðöàì áûëà çàëîæåíà â

12 Moshe Gammer. Muslim Resistance to the Tsar. Shamil and the Conquest of Chechnia and Daghestan. London, 1994; ñì. òàêæå ðóññêèé ïåðåâîä êíèãè: Ì. Ãàììåð. Øàìèëü. Ìóñóëüìàíñêîå ñîïðîòèâëåíèå öàðèçìó. Çàâîåâàíèå ×å÷íè è Äàãåñòàíà. Ìîñêâà, 1998. 386 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 îñîáåííîñòÿõ ñóäåáíîé ñèñòåìû: ê àññèìèëÿöèè; îòëó÷åíèå ãîðöåâ åñëè ñóäèëè ðóññêîãî èëè êàçàêà, îò àðàáñêîãî ÿçûêà ïóòåì êîí- òî îí ïåðåäàâàëñÿ â ðóêè ãðàæ- ñòðóèðîâàíèÿ äëÿ âñåõ ñåâåðî- äàíñêîé àäìèíèñòðàöèè. ×å÷åí- êàâêàçñêèõ ÿçûêîâ àëôàâèòîâ öåâ æå ñóäèëè òîëüêî âîåííûå íà ëàòèíèöå; áåñïðåðûâíîå âëàñòè, ÷àñòî âûíîñÿ ñìåðòíûå èçìåíåíèå ãðàíèö àâòîíîìíûõ ïðèãîâîðû. îáëàñòåé è ðåñïóáëèê ñ öåëüþ Âî âòîðîé ãëàâå (“Ñîâåòñêèé ñíèçèòü âåñ ÷å÷åíñêîãî è èíãóø- ãåíîöèä”) Äàíëîï ðàçâèâàåò ñêîãî íàñåëåíèÿ âî âíîâü òåçèñ î òîì, ÷òî ñî âðåìåí ãåíå- îáðàçîâàííîé â 1936 ã. ×å÷åíî- ðàëà Åðìîëîâà ïîëèòèêà Ðîññèè Èíãóøñêîé ÀÑÑÐ â ñîñòàâå íà Êàâêàçå èçìåíÿëàñü òîëüêî â Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè.  ðåçóëü- îäíó ñòîðîíó – â ñòîðîíó óæåñ- òàòå, îòìå÷àåò Äàíëîï, áûëè òî÷åíèÿ. Íèêàêèõ ïðèíöèïèàëü- ïîäãîòîâëåíû óñëîâèÿ äëÿ ïðî- íî íîâûõ ñòðàòåãèé â ïîäàâëåíèè áóæäåíèÿ íàöèîíàëèñòè÷åñêèõ è ïðèñîåäèíåíèè ìÿòåæíîãî ÷óâñòâ ñðåäè íàðîäíîñòåé ðåãèîíà íå èñïîëüçîâàëîñü. Ñåâåðíîãî Êàâêàçà, ó êîòîðûõ Íåäîñòàòêè è óùåðáíîñòü ðîññèé- äî 1930 ã. íå áûëî àðòèêóëèðî- ñêîé ïîëèòèêè â ×å÷íå îí óñìàò- âàííîãî ðàçâèòîãî íàöèîíàëü- ðèâàåò â îòñóòñòâèè æåëàíèÿ íîãî ñàìîñîçíàíèÿ. Ñîâåòñêàÿ èñêàòü ïðèåìëåìûå ôîðìû âëàñòü ñòàëà ïðååìíèöåé öàðñ- êîìïðîìèññà, øàíñû íà äîñòè- êîãî ðåæèìà íà ïðàêòèêå è íà æåíèå êîòîðîãî êàæäûé ðàç ñëîâàõ. Ïàðòèéíîå ðóêîâîäñòâî óïóñêàëè èìåííî ðîññèéñêèå â âîññòàíîâëåííîé ðåñïóáëèêå âëàñòè, îòêàçûâàÿñü èäòè íà ïîä÷åðêèâàëî “ïîëîæèòåëüíûé óñòóïêè äëÿ ñïðàâåäëèâîé îðãà- ýôôåêò” íàñëåäèÿ èìïåðñêîé íèçàöèè ñîñåäñòâà è, òåì ñàìûì, ïîëèòèêè íà Êàâêàçå è ïðåâîç- ñòèìóëèðóÿ ýñêàëàöèþ íàñèëèÿ. íîñèëî “ïîäâèãè” ãåíåðàëà Àíàëèçèðóÿ ïðååìñòâåí- Åðìîëîâà. Íî, êàê è â XIX â., íîñòü â èìïåðñêîé è ñîâåòñêîé äèñêðèìèíàöèîííàÿ ïîëèòèêà ïîëèòèêè, Äàíëîï âûäåëÿåò ñîâåòñêèõ âëàñòåé ïðèâåëà ê íåñêîëüêî êëþ÷åâûõ ìîìåíòîâ ðåçóëüòàòàì, ïðÿìî ïðîòèâî- â òàêòèêå ðóñèôèêàöèè ðåãèîíà, ïîëîæíûì îæèäàåìûì. Òàêèì ïîñëåäîâàâøåé çà ïîäàâëåíèåì, îáðàçîì, çàêëþ÷àåò Äàíëîï, ê à çàòåì ðàçîðóæåíèåì íàñåëåíèÿ: êîíöó 1980-õ ãã. ÷å÷åíöû èìåëè ñîçäàíèå âíóòðè íàöèîíàëüíîé âíóøèòåëüíûé ñïèñîê îáèä è îáùíîñòè íåáîëüøîãî ÷èñëà ïðåòåíçèé ê âëàñòÿì. ëîÿëüíûõ ðåæèìó ãðóïï ïóòåì  ãëàâå “Çàðîæäåíèå ‘÷å÷åíñêîé ïîáóæäåíèÿ ìàëûõ íàðîäíîñòåé ðåâîëþöè蒔 ðàññìàòðèâàþòñÿ 387 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews âçàèìîñâÿçàííûå ýêîíîìè÷åñêèå, îòðàñëè, òàê êàê èì áûëà ýêî- ñîöèàëüíûå è äåìîãðàôè÷åñêèå íîìè÷åñêè âûãîäíà íåçàâèñè- ïðîöåññû, ñïîñîáñòâîâàâøèå ìîñòü îò Ðîññèè. Êëþ÷åâîé òåçèñ “÷å÷åíñêîé ðåâîëþöèè” 1990- ãëàâû ñîñòîèò â òîì, ÷òî áóðëÿùàÿ 1991 ãã. è ñòðåìèòåëüíîìó âîñ- ×å÷íÿ ñòàëà îðóæèåì, êîòîðîå õîæäåíèþ ãåíåðàëà Äæ. Äóäàåâà Á. Åëüöèí èñïîëüçîâàë ïðîòèâ ê âëàñòè.  ðåçóëüòàòå ðàçäåëåíèÿ Ì. Ãîðáà÷åâà è êîììóíèñòè÷åñêîé ýêîíîìèêè íà äâà ñåêòîðà – âëàñòè. Îäíàêî, âûïîëíèâ ñâîþ “ðóññêèé” (íåôòåäîáûâàþùàÿ ðîëü, Äóäàåâ çàõîòåë áîëüøåãî – ïðîìûøëåííîñòü è ìàøèíî- ðåàëüíîé íåçàâèñèìîñòè ×å÷íè. ñòðîåíèå) è “íàöèîíàëüíûé” Äàíëîï ïîäðîáíî èññëåäóåò (ìåëêîòîâàðíîå ñåëüñêîå õîçÿé- ñþæåò, ñâÿçàííûé ñ âîîðóæåíèåì ñòâî è îòõîæèå ïðîìûñëû) – Äóäàåâà è åãî âîéñê, êîòîðîå â ïðîìûøëåííîñòè ×å÷åíî-Èí- ïðîèçîøëî ïðè ïðÿìîì ó÷àñòèè ãóøåòèè îáðàçîâàëñÿ îñòðûé òîãäàøíåãî ìèíèñòðà îáîðîíû äåôèöèò ðàáî÷åé ñèëû. Ñåëüñêîå Ðîññèè, ãåíåðàëà Ï. Ãðà÷åâà, õîçÿéñòâî ðåñïóáëèêè, íàïðîòèâ, êîòîðûé “ïîäåëèëñÿ” îðóæèåì ïîëó÷àëî åå â òàêîì èçáûòêå, ñ áûâøèì êîëëåãîé â îáìåí íà ÷òî íå ìîãëî òðóäîóñòðîèòü ãàðàíòèè áåçîïàñíîñòè äëÿ ïðî- âñåõ. Ïîâûøåíèå ðîæäàåìîñòè, öåññà ñâåðòûâàíèÿ ðîññèéñêîãî âî- ðîñò áåçðàáîòèöû, êðàéíå íèçêîå îðóæåííîãî ïðèñóòñòâèÿ â ×å÷íå. ñîöèàëüíîå îáåñïå÷åíèå è, êàê ×åòâåðòàÿ ãëàâà èññëåäîâàíèÿ ñëåäñòâèå, âûñîêàÿ ñìåðòíîñòü, “Äóäàåâ ó âëàñòè. 1992-1994” îçëîáëÿëè è êðèìèíàëèçèðîâàëè ïîñâÿùåíà àíàëèçó âíóòðåííåé îáùåñòâî. Ñîâîêóïíîñòü ýòèõ è ïîëèòèêè Äóäàåâà. Äàíëîï äðóãèõ ôàêòîðîâ, ïî ìíåíèþ äåëàåò íåóòåøèòåëüíûé âûâîä – Äàíëîïà, è ÿâèëàñü âçðûâîîïàñ- ýêîíîìè÷åñêèå ïëàíû Äóäàåâà íîé ñìåñüþ, ïðèâåäøåé ê “÷å- áûëè óòîïè÷íû è íåðåàëèçóåìû, ÷åíñêîé ðåâîëþöèè”. Îí îòìå- óïàäîê ïðîìûøëåííîãî è ñåëü- ÷àåò, ÷òî â ñîáûòèÿõ 1991 ã. ÿâíî ñêîãî ïðîèçâîäñòâà îêàçàëñÿ ïðîñëåæèâàþòñÿ “ýëåìåíòû íåèçáåæåí. ×óäîâèùíàÿ êîð- ñîöèàëüíîé ðåâîëþöèè”, îïðî- ðóïöèÿ ÷å÷åíñêèõ ðóêîâîäèòåëåé âåðãàÿ, òåì ñàìûì, ìûñëü íåêî- è ïîïóñòèòåëüñòâî ñî ñòîðîíû òîðûõ ðîññèéñêèõ ýêñïåðòîâ, Äóäàåâà, áîëüøå çàíÿòîãî áîðü- ÷òî íèêàêîãî “÷å÷åíñêîãî äâè- áîé ñ Ðîññèåé, ÷åì íàâåäåíèåì æåíèÿ” íå ñóùåñòâîâàëî, âëàñòü, ïîðÿäêà â ðåãèîíå, óñóãóáëÿëè ìîë, óçóðïèðîâàë Äóäàåâ, êîòî- ïîëîæåíèå âíóòðè ðåñïóáëèêè. ðîãî ïîääåðæàëè ìåñòíûå ìîãó- Äàíëîï, êàæåòñÿ, óáåæäåí â òîì, ùåñòâåííûå äåëüöû íåôòÿíîé ÷òî êîððóïöèÿ â ×å÷íå ïîäïèòû- 388 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 âàëàñü ïðîäàæíîñòüþ ìîñêîâñ- ùåíèé, êîòîðûå, òåì íå ìåíåå, êèõ ÷èíîâíèêîâ, ÷üèìè “ìëàä- ñàìè íàïðàøèâàþòñÿ ïðè ïðî÷òå- øèìè” ïàðòíåðàìè â øèðîêî- íèè êíèãè. ìàñøòàáíûì êîììåð÷åñêèõ îïå- Îäíàêî íåëüçÿ íå çàìåòèòü, ðàöèÿõ, â òîì ÷èñëå è ñ íåôòüþ, ÷òî Äàíëîï íå ðàçäåëÿåò ìíåíèå áûëè ÷å÷åíñêèå ðóêîâîäèòåëè. íåêîòîðûõ ðîññèéñêèõ ýêñïåð-  çàêëþ÷èòåëüíîé ãëàâå òîâ è ïîëèòèêîâ î íåèçáåæíîñòè (“Êîíôðîíòàöèÿ Ðîññèè ñ ñåïà- âîéíû ìåæäó ×å÷íåé è Ðîññèåé, ðàòèñòñêîé ×å÷íåé. 1992-1994”) îòâåòñòâåííîñòü çà êîòîðóþ âîññòàíàâëèâàåòñÿ õîä ñîáûòèé àâòîð êíèãè âîçëàãàåò íà Ðîñ- òîãî ïåðèîäà è îïèñûâàþòñÿ ñèþ êàê íà áîëåå ñèëüíóþ ñòî- ïîñòîÿííûå ïîïûòêè íàëàæèâà- ðîíó, ñïîñîáíóþ ñòàáèëèçèðî- íèÿ ïåðåãîâîðíîãî ïðîöåññà, âàòü îáñòàíîâêó è íå äîïóñòèòü êàæäûé ðàç ñðûâàâøèåñÿ ïî êðîâîïðîëèòèå. Î÷åâèäíî, ìíî- âèíå îáåèõ ñòîðîí. Äàíëîï ññû- ãîå îáúÿñíÿåòñÿ â äàííîì ñëó÷àå ëàåòñÿ â îñíîâíîì íà ðàññëåäî- òåì, ÷òî Ðîññèÿ âûáðàëà â 1990-õ ãã. âàíèÿ âîåííûõ æóðíàëèñòîâ òó æå ñàìóþ ñòðàòåãèþ, êîòî- Ï. Ôåëüãåíãàóýðà è Ì. Ýéñìîíò ðóþ èñïîëüçîâàëà è ïðè öàðñ- è îòìå÷àåò, ÷òî â ýòîò ïåðèîä êîé âëàñòè, è ïðè ñîâåòñêîé. ðîññèéñêîå ðóêîâîäñòâî, â ÷àñòíî- ñòè, ïðåçèäåíò Åëüöèí, íåñêîëüêî ðàç íàðóøàëî Êîíñòèòóöèþ, èçäà- âàÿ ñåêðåòíûå óêàçû î ñèëîâûõ àêöèÿõ ïðîòèâ ×å÷íè. Òàê íà÷à- ëàñü ïîëíîìàñøòàáíàÿ âîéíà. Öåííîñòü èññëåäîâàíèÿ àìå- ðèêàíñêîãî ó÷åíîãî ñîñòîèò â ñòðåìëåíèè ê áåñïðèñòðàñòíîñòè Ìàðèàííà ÌÓÐÀÂÜÅÂÀ è êðîïîòëèâîì èçó÷åíèè âñåõ äîñòóïíûõ äîêóìåíòîâ, èìåþ- Molly W. Wesling, Napoleon in ùèõ îòíîøåíèå ê ðîññèéñêî- Russian Cultural Mythology (New ÷å÷åíñêîìó êîíôëèêòó. Ðàáîòà York: Peter Lang, 2001). 256 pp. Äàíëîïà ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñâîåîáðàç- Bibliography, Index. ISBN: 0-8204- íûì “ìîçàè÷íûì çåðêàëîì”: 4982-2. ñîáðàâ âîåäèíî ôðàãìåíòû èí- ôîðìàöèè, îí ñäåëàë êàê ìîæ- “Îòäàþ âàì, Ã. Èñòîðèîãðàô, íî áîëåå ïîëíûé îáçîð ñîáûòèé íà çàìå÷àíèå, ÷òî ìíå âåñüìà íåäàâíåãî ïðîøëîãî, îòêàçàâ- áûëî áû ïðèÿòíî ÷àùå âñòðå- øèñü ïðè ýòîì îò æåñòêèõ îáîá- ÷àòüñÿ â îïèñàíèè ìîåé èñòîðèè 389 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 âàëàñü ïðîäàæíîñòüþ ìîñêîâñ- ùåíèé, êîòîðûå, òåì íå ìåíåå, êèõ ÷èíîâíèêîâ, ÷üèìè “ìëàä- ñàìè íàïðàøèâàþòñÿ ïðè ïðî÷òå- øèìè” ïàðòíåðàìè â øèðîêî- íèè êíèãè. ìàñøòàáíûì êîììåð÷åñêèõ îïå- Îäíàêî íåëüçÿ íå çàìåòèòü, ðàöèÿõ, â òîì ÷èñëå è ñ íåôòüþ, ÷òî Äàíëîï íå ðàçäåëÿåò ìíåíèå áûëè ÷å÷åíñêèå ðóêîâîäèòåëè. íåêîòîðûõ ðîññèéñêèõ ýêñïåð-  çàêëþ÷èòåëüíîé ãëàâå òîâ è ïîëèòèêîâ î íåèçáåæíîñòè (“Êîíôðîíòàöèÿ Ðîññèè ñ ñåïà- âîéíû ìåæäó ×å÷íåé è Ðîññèåé, ðàòèñòñêîé ×å÷íåé. 1992-1994”) îòâåòñòâåííîñòü çà êîòîðóþ âîññòàíàâëèâàåòñÿ õîä ñîáûòèé àâòîð êíèãè âîçëàãàåò íà Ðîñ- òîãî ïåðèîäà è îïèñûâàþòñÿ ñèþ êàê íà áîëåå ñèëüíóþ ñòî- ïîñòîÿííûå ïîïûòêè íàëàæèâà- ðîíó, ñïîñîáíóþ ñòàáèëèçèðî- íèÿ ïåðåãîâîðíîãî ïðîöåññà, âàòü îáñòàíîâêó è íå äîïóñòèòü êàæäûé ðàç ñðûâàâøèåñÿ ïî êðîâîïðîëèòèå. Î÷åâèäíî, ìíî- âèíå îáåèõ ñòîðîí. Äàíëîï ññû- ãîå îáúÿñíÿåòñÿ â äàííîì ñëó÷àå ëàåòñÿ â îñíîâíîì íà ðàññëåäî- òåì, ÷òî Ðîññèÿ âûáðàëà â 1990-õ ãã. âàíèÿ âîåííûõ æóðíàëèñòîâ òó æå ñàìóþ ñòðàòåãèþ, êîòî- Ï. Ôåëüãåíãàóýðà è Ì. Ýéñìîíò ðóþ èñïîëüçîâàëà è ïðè öàðñ- è îòìå÷àåò, ÷òî â ýòîò ïåðèîä êîé âëàñòè, è ïðè ñîâåòñêîé. ðîññèéñêîå ðóêîâîäñòâî, â ÷àñòíî- ñòè, ïðåçèäåíò Åëüöèí, íåñêîëüêî ðàç íàðóøàëî Êîíñòèòóöèþ, èçäà- âàÿ ñåêðåòíûå óêàçû î ñèëîâûõ àêöèÿõ ïðîòèâ ×å÷íè. Òàê íà÷à- ëàñü ïîëíîìàñøòàáíàÿ âîéíà. Öåííîñòü èññëåäîâàíèÿ àìå- ðèêàíñêîãî ó÷åíîãî ñîñòîèò â ñòðåìëåíèè ê áåñïðèñòðàñòíîñòè Ìàðèàííà ÌÓÐÀÂÜÅÂÀ è êðîïîòëèâîì èçó÷åíèè âñåõ äîñòóïíûõ äîêóìåíòîâ, èìåþ- Molly W. Wesling, Napoleon in ùèõ îòíîøåíèå ê ðîññèéñêî- Russian Cultural Mythology (New ÷å÷åíñêîìó êîíôëèêòó. Ðàáîòà York: Peter Lang, 2001). 256 pp. Äàíëîïà ÿâëÿåòñÿ ñâîåîáðàç- Bibliography, Index. ISBN: 0-8204- íûì “ìîçàè÷íûì çåðêàëîì”: 4982-2. ñîáðàâ âîåäèíî ôðàãìåíòû èí- ôîðìàöèè, îí ñäåëàë êàê ìîæ- “Îòäàþ âàì, Ã. Èñòîðèîãðàô, íî áîëåå ïîëíûé îáçîð ñîáûòèé íà çàìå÷àíèå, ÷òî ìíå âåñüìà íåäàâíåãî ïðîøëîãî, îòêàçàâ- áûëî áû ïðèÿòíî ÷àùå âñòðå- øèñü ïðè ýòîì îò æåñòêèõ îáîá- ÷àòüñÿ â îïèñàíèè ìîåé èñòîðèè 389 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews ñ íàèìåíîâàíèÿìè, ìíå ëåñòíûìè, èññëåäîâàòåëüíèöû Ìîëëè à èìåííî: Íàïîëåîí åäèíñòâåí- Óýñëèíã: “Íàïîëåîí â ðóññêîé íûé, âåëèêèé ìóæ, âñåîáúåìëþ- êóëüòóðíîé ìèôîëîãèè”. Ñàìà ùèé ãåíèé, öàðñòâåííûé ãåðîé, èññëåäîâàòåëüíèöà âèäèò ñâîþ âåí÷àííûé ïîëêîâîäåö è çàäà÷ó ⠓èçó÷åíèè ôèãóðû Íàïî- ïðî÷.”1 ëåîíà â êîíòåêñòå ïàðàäèãì è Òàê àâòîð ïàìôëåòà, ïîÿâèâ- ìèôîâ, õàðàêòåðíûõ èñêëþ÷è- øåãîñÿ â 1814 ã., äîâîëüíî òî÷íî òåëüíî äëÿ Ðîññèè”. Ìîëëèíã íå ïðåäóãàäàë îñíîâíûå ïàðàìåòðû îãðàíè÷èâàåòñÿ ïðè ýòîì èññëå- ðàçâèòèÿ è ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ ëåãåí- äîâàíèåì êëþ÷åâûõ òåêñòîâ äû î Íàïîëåîíå I Áîíàïàðòå, ëèòåðàòóðíîãî õàðàêòåðà. Åå çàäà- “âåëèêîì ïîëêîâîäöå”, “÷åëî- ÷à áîëåå ñóùåñòâåííà – âïèñàòü èõ âåêå, èçìåíèâøåì èñòîðèþ”, â îïðåäåëåííûå “ñèìâîëè÷åñêèå “âåëèêîì êîëîññå”, “âåëèêîì ñèñòåìû”, äëÿ ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ êî- èçãíàííèêå” è ò.ä. “Áîíàïàðòè- òîðûõ îáðàç Íàïîëåîíà ÿâèëñÿ ñòñêèé ìèô” íàñòîëüêî ïðî÷íî öåíòðàëüíûì îðãàíèçóþùèì äèñ- ïóñòèë ñâîè êîðíè â êóëüòóðàõ êóðñîì (Pp. xii-xiii). ìíîãèõ åâðîïåéñêèõ ñòðàí, è äî Êíèãà ïðåäñòàâëÿåò ñîáîé, ñèõ ïîð ïèòàåò òàéíûå òùåñëàâ- ñêîðåå, ñáîðíèê ýññå, ïîä÷èíÿ- íûå ïîìûñëû ñîâðåìåííûõ ïîëè- þùèõñÿ õðîíîëîãè÷åñêîìó òèêîâ è èíòåëëåêòóàëîâ (÷åãî ïðèíöèïó, íåæåëè öåëîñòíîå òîëüêî ñòîèò æåëàíèå Ø. äå Ãîëëÿ èññëåäîâàíèå. Âïðî÷åì, ýòî áûòü “âòîðûì Íàïîëåîíîì” ñîâåðøåííî íå ïðåïÿòñòâóåò ðåà- èëè ïîÿâëåíèå â 2000 ã. â îáî- ëèçàöèè ïîñòàâëåííîé àâòîðîì ðîòå ìîíåòû ñ ðåëüåôîì Ïóòèíà, çàäà÷è. Èñïîëüçóÿ áàðòîâñêóþ ìå- òàê íàïîìèíàþùèì çíàìåíè- òîäîëîãèþ, ïîäõîäû Þ. Ì. Ëîòìà- òûé îðëèíûé ïðîôèëü Íàïîëå- íà è Í. Ê. Ãðóíñêîãî, à òàêæå îíà). Ýòî íåâîëüíî çàñòàâëÿåò ðåçóëüòàòû èññëåäîâàíèé î Íàïî- çàäóìàòüñÿ íå ñòîëüêî îá èñòî- ëåîíå àìåðèêàíñêèõ ó÷åíûõ, ðèè ïðîèñõîæäåíèÿ ìèôà, îíà ðàçáèâàåò ñâîé èññëåäîâà- ñêîëüêî î òåõ åå ñîñòàâëÿþùèõ, òåëüñêèé ìàòåðèàë íà ïÿòü ýññå, êîòîðûå ïîçâîëÿþò åé âûäåð- â öåíòðå êàæäîãî èç êîòîðûõ æèâàòü ïðîâåðêó âðåìåíåì. íàõîäèòñÿ îäèí èç àñïåêòîâ Ýòîé ïðîáëåìå, ñîáñòâåííî, è ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ îáðàçà Íàïîëåîíà ïîñâÿùåíà êíèãà àìåðèêàíñêîé â ðóññêîé êóëüòóðíîé ìèôîëî-

1 Ïèñüìåííîå íàñòàâëåíèå Íàïîëåîíà ñâîåìó èñòîðèîãðàôó, êàê îí äîëæåí ïèñàòü åãî Èñòîðèþ. Íàéäåíî íà äîðîãå âî âðåìÿ ïóòåøåñòâèÿ Íàïîëåîíà èç Ëåéïöèãà â Ïàðèæ 1813 ãîäà. Ìîñêâà, 1814. Ñ. 21. 390 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ãèè. Èññëåäîâàòåëüíèöà ïûòà- è ñòèõè (÷àñòî â êà÷åñòâå “íàðîäà” åòñÿ âûÿñíèòü, êàêèì îáðàçîì âûñòóïàë òîò èëè èíîé àâòîð èç ñïîñîáû è ìåòîäû âûðàæåíèÿ, ðàçíî÷èíöåâ èëè áûâøèõ âåòå- ñ ïîìîùüþ êîòîðûõ ðóññêèå ðàíîâ ñàìîé âîéíû 1812 ã.). îïèñûâàëè “÷óæîãî”, ïðåâðà- Ìíîãèå èç ýòèõ èñòî÷íèêîâ ùàëèñü â îñíîâó ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ ïðåäñòàþò ïåðåä íàìè â ñîâåð- îáðàçà “ñåáÿ” è ñâîåãî ãîñóäàðñòâà. øåííî íîâîì ñâåòå, òàê êàê â Ïåðâàÿ ãëàâà “Allons en îáðàùåíèè ñ íèìè àâòîðîì Russie: ïîäãîòîâêà ñöåíû äëÿ ìîíîãðàôèè ñòàâÿòñÿ íåòðàäè- íàïîëåîíîâñêîé ìèôîëîãèè”2 öèîííûå (â ñðàâíåíèè ñ îòå÷å- ñôîêóñèðîâàíà íà èñòî÷íèêàõ è ñòâåííûìè èññëåäîâàíèÿìè) ëèòåðàòóðíîé òðàäèöèè, âîçíè- çàäà÷è: íàïðèìåð, îñóùåñòâèòü êàþùåé â ïåðèîä Îòå÷åñòâåí- ãåíäåðíûé àíàëèç ïðîïàãàíäè- íîé âîéíû 1812 ã., è âû÷ëåíåíèè ñòñêèõ ìàòåðèàëîâ àíòèíàïîëå- â íåé ýëåìåíòîâ ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ îíîâñêîãî õàðàêòåðà. Ïðåêðàñ- ðóññêîé íàöèîíàëüíîé èäåíòè÷- íîå çíàíèå ðóññêîãî ÿçûêà è íîñòè. Ïî ñâîåìó çàìûñëó, ýòîò ëèòåðàòóðû, à òàêæå ðàçíîîáðàçèå ìàòåðèàë äîëæåí áûë áû ïîäãî- èñòî÷íèêîâ ïîçâîëÿþò, íà ïåð- òîâèòü ÷èòàòåëÿ ê ïîíèìàíèþ âûé âçãëÿä, ïðèéòè ê èíòåðåñíûì ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî è ñîöèàëüíîãî âûâîäàì.  ÷àñòíîñòè, Óýñëèíã êîíòåêñòà ðàçâèòèÿ ðóññêîé ëè- çàêëþ÷àåò, ÷òî â íà÷àëå XIX â. òåðàòóðû â êîíöå XIX âåêà, òàê îáðàç Íàïîëåîíà åùå íå ñóùå- êàê ðàñöâåò “íàïîëåîíîâñêîãî ñòâîâàë ñàìîñòîÿòåëüíî, à áûë ìèôà” ïðèõîäèòñÿ èìåííî íà òåñíî ñâÿçàí ñ ïîíÿòèåì “ôðàí- ýòîò ïåðèîä. öóçû”. Õàðàêòåðíàÿ äëÿ ðóññêîãî Íàäî îòìåòèòü, ÷òî èñòî÷íèêî- îáùåñòâà íà÷àëà XIX â. ãàëëîìà- âàÿ áàçà äàííîé ãëàâû íåñêîëüêî íèÿ íîñèëà ñïåöèôè÷íûé ðîÿëè- “ðàçíîøåðñòíà”, íî èíòåðåñíà. ñòñêèé õàðàêòåð, íå ïîçâîëÿÿ Åå ñîñòàâëÿþò: ýïèñòîëÿðíàÿ âîñïðèíèìàòü âñåðüåç “âûñêî÷êó- ëèòåðàòóðà (ïèñüìà Ì. Âîëêî- êîðñèêàíöà”. Ñèòóàöèÿ ìåíÿåòñÿ, âîé), ìåìóàðû (îò Ø. Ìàññîíà äî êîãäà â êðèòèêå ãàëëîìàíèè Ô. Âèãåëÿ), àôèøè ãðàôà Ô. Ðîñ- íà÷èíàþò òåñíî ïåðåïëåòàòüñÿ òîï÷èíà, ïóáëèöèñòèêà (àíòè- êñåíîôîáñêèå íàñòðîåíèÿ îïïî- íàïîëåîíîâñêèå ïàìôëåòû è íåíòîâ Ôðàíöóçñêîé ðåâîëþ- ïóáëèêàöèè â æóðíàëå “Ñûí öèè è ïðîáëåìû ãåíäåðíîãî Îòå÷åñòâà”), “íàðîäíûå” ïåñíè ñâîéñòâà, ñâÿçàííûå ñî “ñëèø-

2 ß ïðèâîæó çäåñü òî÷íûé è ïðÿìîé ïåðåâîä íàçâàíèÿ ãëàâ, òàê êàê ðå÷ü èäåò î êðèòè÷åñêîì ðàçáîðå ìîíîãðàôèè. – Ïðèì. àâò. 391 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews êîì áîëüøîé âëàñòüþ æåíùèí” âîðå÷èå ìåæäó èçîáðàæåíèåì (ïî ìíåíèþ ìíîãèõ ôðàíöóçñêèõ ñàìîãî Íàïîëåîíà è åãî àðìèè ñîâðåìåííèêîâ, èìåâøåé ìåñòî êàæåòñÿ íàì áîëåå âàæíûì, â Ðîññèè).  îáîñíîâàíèè äàííûõ íåæåëè êîíñòàòàöèÿ íåãàòèâíîãî ïîëîæåíèé è ïðîÿâëÿþòñÿ îòíîøåíèÿ â ðóññêîì îáùåñòâå ïåðâûå íåäîñòàòêè, ñâîéñòâåííûå ê çíàòíûì æåíùèíàì, êóëüòè- èññëåäîâàíèþ Óýñëèíã. âèðîâàâøèì ôðàíöóçñêóþ êóëü- Àâòîð ëèøü ôèêñèðóåò âûâîäû, òóðíóþ òðàäèöèþ. Èñòî÷íèêè ñäåëàííûå íà îñíîâàíèè èçó÷å- òîé ïîðû, îñîáåííî ëèòåðàòóð- íèÿ èñòî÷íèêîâ, îãðàíè÷èâàÿñü íûå è ïîýòè÷åñêèå ïðîèçâåäåíèÿ, â äàëüíåéøåì îòñûëêîé ê íèì ÷àñòî èñïîëüçîâàëè ãåíäåðíóþ è îòêàçûâàÿñü îò ïîìåùåíèÿ èõ ðèòîðèêó ñ öåëüþ íå ñòîëüêî â êîíòåêñò “êóëüòóðíîé ñèñòåìû”, íàêàçàòü ñâîèõ æåíùèí çà “ïðåäà- î ñîçäàíèè êîòîðîé Óýñëèíã òåëüñòâî” (åùå îäíà êóëüòóðíàÿ ãîâîðèò â ïðåäèñëîâèè. Òàê, êàòåãîðèÿ, êîòîðóþ Óýñëèíã ðàñêðûâàÿ ãåíäåðíóþ òåìó è ñ÷èòàåò âàæíîé äëÿ ïîíèìàíèÿ îïèñûâàÿ êðèòèêó ïðèâÿçàííîñòè îáðàçà Íàïîëåîíà), ñêîëüêî, â ðóññêèõ æåíùèí êî âñåìó ôðàí- äåéñòâèòåëüíîñòè, ïðåîäîëåòü öóçñêîìó íà îñíîâå êîìåäèé ñîáñòâåííûé êðèçèñ ìûøëåíèÿ. È. À. Êðûëîâà (“Óðîê äî÷êàì” Àâòîðîâ, ïî÷èòàþùèõ ôðàíöóç- (1806) è “Ìîäíàÿ ëàâêà” (1807), ñêèå êóëüòóðíûå íîðìû îòíî- Óýñëèíã êîíñòàòèðóåò ñâÿçü øåíèÿ ê æåíùèíå (÷èòàé – çíàò- ìåæäó “òåì, êàê ðóññêèå âîñïðè- íîé æåíùèíå), íî ïûëàþùèõ íèìàëè äîìèíèðîâàíèå æåíùèí íåíàâèñòüþ ê èíîçåìíîìó çàõ- â îáëàñòè êóëüòóðû, è äèñêóðñîì, âàò÷èêó-âðàãó, ñóìåâøåìó ÷åðåç îêðóæàâøèé ôðàíöóçñêèõ çàõ- ñâîé ÿçûê è êóëüòóðó ïðèâëå÷ü âàò÷èêîâ”, ò. å. ïîÿâëåíèåì ïîñ- íà ñâîþ ñòîðîíó ýòèõ ñàìûõ ëå óõîäà Íàïîëåîíà èç Ìîñêâû æåíùèí, çàáîòèëà, ñêîðåå, ïðî- öåëîé ñåðèè ýïèòåòîâ, àíåêäî- áëåìà âëàñòè è ïîâåäåíèÿ ïðè- òîâ è êàðèêàòóð, â êîòîðûõ íàäëåæàùåé ê èñòýáëèøìåíòó ôðàíöóçñêèå ñîëäàòû èçîáðàæà- æåíùèíû, ÷üè ïîñòóïêè íå ïîä- ëèñü æåíñòâåííûìè ïèæîíàìè, äàþòñÿ êîíòðîëþ. Íèêîìó è â ñëàáûìè è óÿçâèìûìè (P. 13). ãîëîâó íå ïðèõîäèëî (íàïðèìåð, Òåì íå ìåíåå, ñàì Íàïîëåîí äàæå Ô. Ðîñòîï÷èíó) êðèòèêî- âïåðâûå ïðèîáðåòàåò æåíñêèå âàòü èìïåðàòîðà Àëåêñàíäðà I, ÷åðòû òîëüêî â ïðîèçâåäåíèÿõ Ãåíøòàá è ñåáÿ ëè÷íî çà òî, ÷òî Ë. Òîëñòîãî, ðèñóþùåãî åãî íå- âñå îíè ïðåêðàñíî ãîâîðèëè ïî- ðâíûì, èñòåðè÷íûì, ÷àñòî íèê- ôðàíöóçñêè, çàêàçûâàëè îäåæäó ÷åìíûì àêòåðîì. Òàêîå ïðîòè- ó ôðàíöóçñêèõ ïîðòíûõ è âåëè 392 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 âîåííóþ ïåðåïèñêó òàêæå ïî- ìåðåíèÿ ïðè ñîçäàíèè ïðîèçâå- ôðàíöóçñêè. äåíèé òàêîãî ðîäà. Ïóáëèöèñòû òîé ïîðû, Ô. Ðîñ-  ÷àñòíîñòè, óïîìèíàåìûé òîï÷èí, Ñ. Óâàðîâ, À. Øèøêîâ êàê ïðèìåð èñïîëüçîâàíèÿ áû- è äð., òðóäèâøèåñÿ íà äàííîé ëèííîãî ÿçûêà ïàìôëåò “Äóõ íèâå, ðàçâèâàëè àíòèíàïîëåî- Íàïîëåîíà Áîíàïàðòå èëè Èñ- íîâñêóþ òåìó, ïîä÷åðêèâàÿ óíè- òèííîå è áåçïðèñòðàòíîå îïèñà- êàëüíîñòü, èçáðàííîñòü è îòâåò- íèå âñåõ åãî ñâîéñòâ”3 ïðèíàä- ñòâåííîñòü ðóññêîãî íàðîäà è ëåæàë ïåðó ãðàôà Ñ. Óâàðîâà. ñîçäàâàÿ ïðîïàãàíäèñòñêèìè Îí áûë ñîñòàâëåí ïî ïðèìåðó ìåòîäàìè íàöèîíàëüíóþ èäåí- àíãëèéñêèõ è ôðàíöóçñêèõ ïàì- òè÷íîñòü íå äëÿ ñåáÿ ëè÷íî (îíè ôëåòîâ êîíöà XVII â., â êîòîðûõ ìàëî îá ýòîì çàäóìûâàëèñü), íî âåñüìà ïîïóëÿðíûì áûë æàíð äëÿ “íàðîäà”. Çäåñü-òî, âïðî- áåñåäû ìåæäó ðàçëè÷íûìè êà÷å- ÷åì, îïÿòü èìåëîñü ñåðüåçíîå ñòâàìè: íàïðèìåð, Ñîâåñòüþ è ïðîòèâîðå÷èå: ðóññêèé íàðîä íà Êîâàðñòâîì, Áåñ÷åñòüåì è Äåð- òîò ìîìåíò áûë â îñíîâíîì íå- çîñòüþ è ò.ä.4 Ñîçäàííûé â èòîãå ãðàìîòíûì. Âèäèìî ïîýòîìó îáðàç ðóññêîãî íàðîäà, ñêîíñò- Óýñëèíã îòìå÷àåò õàðàêòåðíûå ðóèðîâàííûé, áåçóñëîâíî, äëÿ ïóáëèöèñòèêè òîé ïîðû ìåòîäîì áèíàðíûõ îïïîçèöèé, ôîëüêëîðíûå è êâàçèðåëèãèîç- îòòàëêèâàëñÿ îò Äðóãîãî, ×óæîãî. íûå íàñòðîåíèÿ, â êîòîðûõ ýõîì  ðèòîðè÷åñêîì àñïåêòå ÿçûê îòçûâàåòñÿ áèáëåéñêàÿ ôðàçåî- ýòîãî îáðàçà ñîñòàâèë çàòåì ëîãèÿ è ýëåìåíòû áûëèííîé îñíîâó îôèöèàëüíîé èäåîëîãèè òðàäèöèè (Ð. 21), íî íå ðàññìàò- “ïðàâîñëàâèÿ, ñàìîäåðæàâèÿ è ðèâàåò ñåðüåçíî àâòîðñòâî äàí- íàðîäíîñòè”, ïðåäíàçíà÷åííîé íûõ ïàìôëåòîâ. Àíàëèç ÿçûêà, äëÿ íàðîäà (âñïîìíèì çíàìåíè- êîòîðûì îíè íàïèñàíû, åùå íå òîå âûñêàçûâàíèå Óâàðîâà: ïîçâîëÿåò íàì äåëàòü âûâîäî⠓Îáùàÿ íàøà îáÿçàííîñòü î êóëüòóðíîé ìèôîëîãèè, èáî, ñîñòîèò â òîì, ÷òîáû íàðîäíîå â îòëè÷èå îò ïîñòìîäåðíà, ãäå îáðàçîâàíèå ñîâåðøàëîñü â ñî- àâòîð, âîçìîæíî, ìåðòâ, àâòîðû åäèíåííîì äóõå ïðàâîñëàâèÿ, òîé ïîðû áûëè èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî ñàìîäåðæàâèÿ è íàðîäíîñòè”), æèâû è èìåëè îïðåäåëåííûå íà- à íå äëÿ èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîé ýëèòû.

3 Äóõ Íàïîëåîíà Áîíàïàðòå èëè Èñòèííîå è áåçïðèñòðàòíîå îïèñàíèå âñåõ åãî ñâîéñòâ. Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðã, 1813. 4 Ìûñëè Íàïîëåîíà ïðè âñòóïëåíèè â Ìîñêâó, èëè Ðàçãîâîð Ñîâåñòè ñ ðàçëè÷íûìè åãî ñòðàñòÿìè. Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðã, 1813. 393 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews Ýëèòà æå, íàîáîðîò, ïîíèìàÿ ìåññèÿ è Àíòèõðèñò) è ïðî- óñëîâíîñòü è ïðîïàãàíäèñòñêèé ñòðàíñòâåííàÿ (Íàïîëåîí è õàðàêòåð äàííîãî îáðàçà, ãîðüêî Ìîñêâà) ÷àñòè ìèôà. Èíòåðåñíà ñåòîâàëà íà öåíçóðíûå çàïðåòû îáíàðóæåííàÿ âçàèìîñâÿçü ñòà- è ðåàêöèþ íèêîëàåâñêîãî öàð- ðîîáðÿä÷åñêîé ëèòåðàòóðû è ñòâîâàíèÿ, ïåðåøëà â æåñòêóþ íàïîëåîíîâñêîãî îáðàçà. Óýñëèíã îïïîçèöèþ, âûäâèíóâ èäåàëû óêàçûâàåò, ÷òî äëÿ ðàçëè÷íûõ ñâîáîäû, è èçáðàëà ñâîèì êóìè- ñòàðîîáðÿä÷åñêèõ ñåêò (íàïðèìåð, ðîì òåïåðü óæå ìèôîëîãèçèðî- “íàïîëåîíèñòîâ”, ïîêëîíÿâ- âàííóþ ôèãóðó Íàïîëåîíà. øèõñÿ Íàïîëåîíó êàê ìåññèè, è Âòîðàÿ ãëàâà èññëåäîâàíèÿ ñêîïöîâ, îòâåðãàâøèõ Íàïîëåîíà- Óýñëèí㠓Íàïîëåîí â Ðîññèè Àíòèõðèñòà è ñ÷èòàâøèõ åãî ïåðèîäà ðîìàíòèçìà: èñ÷åçàþ- íåçàêîííîðîæäåííûì ñûíîì ùàÿ ìå÷òà” ïîñâÿùåíà îáðàçó Åêàòåðèíû II) îáùèì ÿâëÿëîñü Íàïîëåîíà â ðîìàíòè÷åñêîé ïðåäñòàâëåíèå î áåññìåðòèè ðóññêîé ëèòåðàòóðå è ïîýçèè. èìïåðàòîðà. Åìó áûëî óãîòîâàíî Çäåñü Íàïîëåîí ïðåäñòàåò ïåðåä ñûãðàòü îïðåäåëåííóþ ðîëü â íàìè êàê îáðàçåö äëÿ ïîäðàæà- áóäóùåì Ðîññèè, à èìåííî – íèÿ äëÿ ïðîòèâíèêîâ ðåæèìà, âíîâü ñ òðèóìôîì âåðíóòüñÿ â äåêàáðèñòîâ, èëè íåäîâîëüíûõ Ìîñêâó ëèáî êàê ìåññèè, ëèáî “äàâÿùåé ïîâñåäíåâíîñòüþ è êàê Àíòèõðèñòó (P. 88). Çäåñü áûòîì” ìîëîäûõ ëþäåé, æèâó- àâòîð, âïðî÷åì, íå èäåò äàëüøå ùèõ â çàìêíóòûõ ïðîñòðàíñòâàõ êîíñòàòàöèè î÷åâèäíîãî è íå óñ- ñòîëè÷íîãî ïèòåðñêîãî äíà (êàê òàíàâëèâàåò ñâÿçü ñ ïîñëåäóþùèì Ðàñêîëüíèêîâ) èëè ïðîâèíöèàëü- ïîâåñòâîâàíèåì: áóëãàêîâñêèì íûõ ãîðîäêîâ. Èññëåäóÿ äèñêóðñ îïèñàíèåì Ìîñêâû íà÷àëà 1920-õ ãã. àñòðîíîìè÷åñêèõ è ïîãîäíûõ ⠓Ìàñòåðå è Ìàðãàðèòå” è ïðî- ÿâëåíèé â êîíòåêñòå ðîìàíòè- ïàãàíäèñòñêèì âîçðîæäåíèåì ÷åñêîé è ìåìóàðíîé ëèòåðàòóðû õðàìà Õðèñòà Ñïàñèòåëÿ, ïîñò- 1820-30-õ ãã., Óýñëèíã óêàçûâàåò ðîåííîãî â ÷åñòü ïîáåäû íàä íà âðåìÿ îêîí÷àòåëüíîãî ôîðìè- Íàïîëåîíîì â 1812 ã. è ðàçðó- ðîâàíèÿ ìèôà î Íàïîëåîíå â øåííîãî â 1930-å ãã. Ìîñêâà ðóññêîé êóëüòóðå. çäåñü ïðåäñòàåò êàê “äâîéñòâåííîå Ýòà òåìà òåñíî ñìûêàåòñÿ ñ ìåñòî íàöèîíàëüíîãî òðèóìôà ñîäåðæàíèåì òðåòüåé ãëàâû è òðàãåäèè” (Ðð. 89-90), áåçäóø- “Íåïðèêîñíîâåííîå ïðîñòðàí- íûé ãîðîä. Ïàðàäîêñàëüíûì ñòâî: Íàïîëåîí â ðóññêîì ãîðîäå”, îáðàçîì, ðèòîðèêà “ìàòåðè ãî- â êîòîðîé ðàññìàòðèâàþòñÿ ðîäîâ Ðóññêèõ” õîòÿ è èñïîëüçó- ðåëèãèîçíàÿ (Íàïîëåîí êàê åòñÿ, îäíàêî ðåôëåêñèÿ íà ýòîò 394 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 óñòîÿâøèéñÿ îáðàç îòñóòñòâóåò. íèå Ìîñêâû è çàñëóæåííîå Äàæå ⠓Ìåäíîì âñàäíèêå” íàêàçàíèå. Ñòðàñòü ìîñêîâñêîãî ìîæíî óâèäåòü ñîâåðøåííî ìýðà Þ. Ëóæêîâà ê âîññòàíîâ- èíûå îòíîøåíèÿ Íàïîëåîíà è ëåíèþ áûëîãî âåëè÷èÿ “Ïåðâî- Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðãà, íîâîé âèðãè- ïðåñòîëüíîé” èíòåðåñíî âïèñû- íàëüíîé ñòîëèöû, íå äîñòàâ- âàåòñÿ â äàííûé êîíòåêñò: Íàïî- øåéñÿ Íàïîëåîíó. ëåîí âåðíóëñÿ, âñå íàïîìèíàåò Ó ñòàðîîáðÿäöåâ, äà è â äðóãèõ î íåì, à îñîáåííî õðàì Õðèñòà èñòî÷íèêàõ âçàèìîîòíîøåíèÿ Ñïàñèòåëÿ.6 “Íàïîëåîí – Ìîñêâà” – ýòî Äâå ïîñëåäíèõ ãëàâû “Óäà÷à âçàèìîîòíîøåíèå ñèëû è ïîä÷è- è ïðîâàë: áàíêðîòñòâî íàïîëå- íåíèÿ, î÷åíü ïîõîæåå íà äèñêóðñ îíîâñêîé èäåè” è “1912 ãîä: ñåêñóàëüíîãî íàñèëèÿ. Íàïîëåîí ñòîëåòèå ãîäîâùèíû è äàëåå” ìàòóøêó Ìîñêâó “èçíàñèëèë”, ïîñâÿùåíû ìèôó î Íàïîëåîíå â çàâîåâàë, ðàçîðèë è óøåë, áðîñèë, êîíöå XIX – íà÷àëå XX âåêîâ, à íî îíà âñå ðàâíî ïîäíÿëàñü. òàêæå åãî ðàçâèòèþ â 1930-õ ãã. “Ïðàâåäíàÿ ðóêà Áîæèÿ îòÿãî- Ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ èíòåðïðåòàöèè, òåëà íàä íàìè è ïîïóñòèëà ðàç- íàððàòèâ â ýòèõ ãëàâàõ íè÷åãî ñûïàòåëÿ ê ñòåíàì ìîñêîâñêèì. íîâîãî íå äîáàâëÿåò ê ñóùåñòâó- Ýòà îñèðîòåâøàÿ âäîâà ðóñêàãî þùåé îòå÷åñòâåííîé ëèòåðàòó- öàðñòâà äîëæíà áûëà ïî÷óâ- ðîâåä÷åñêîé òðàäèöèè. Îáðàç ñòâîâàòü ñòðîãóþ êàçíü ãíåâà Íàïîëåîíà êàê èãðîêà, êîòîðûé Áîæèÿ. Îíà óæå íåñêîëüêî ëåò äîñòîéíî âûèãðûâàåò è ïðîèã- êàê ñäåëàëàñü ãíåçäîì áåççàêîíèÿ; ðûâàåò, Íàïîëåîí Ô. Òþò÷åâà, â íåé íå ñòûäèëèñü îïîãàíèòü Ô. Äîñòîåâñêîãî, Ë. Òîëñòîãî è áðà÷íîå ëîæå êîìó ñëó÷èëîñü Ä. Ìåðåæêîâñêîãî, ïðåäñòàåò íàïåðåä ìóæó èëè æåíå, â íåé íå òî÷íî òàêèì æå, êàê â õðåñòîìà- ñòûäèëèñü îïîãàíèòü ñàìûé òèéíûõ ðàáîòàõ, ïîñâÿùåííûõ õðàì Áîæèé âî âðåìÿ îòïðàâëå- òâîð÷åñòâó ýòèõ âûäàþùèõñÿ íèÿ ñâÿòàÿ ñâÿòûì äåëàÿ åãî ïèñàòåëåé. ñõîäáèùåì ëþáîñòðàñòèþ”.5 Áîëüøèì ñþðïðèçîì ÿâëÿåòñÿ Òàê îïèñûâàåò îäèí èç ñòàðîîá- îáðàùåíèå ê èñòîðè÷åñêîé áèî- ðÿä÷åñêèõ ïóáëèöèñòîâ ñîñòîÿ- ãðàôèè Íàïîëåîíà, íàïèñàííîé

5 Âçãëÿä íà òåïåðåøíþþ áåäó. Ñåíòÿáðü, 1812 ãîäà. Èç Àëüÿáüåâñêîãî àðõèâà // Ï. È. Ùóêèí. Áóìàãè, îòíîñÿùèåñÿ äî Îòå÷åñòâåííîé âîéíû 1812 ãîäà. ×. I-X. Ìîñêâà, 1897-1908. ×. V. Ñ. 279. 6 Âñïîìíèì êëàññè÷åñêóþ áèîãðàôèþ Íàïîëåîíà, íàïèñàííóþ Æ. Òþëàðîì. Ñì.: Æ. Òþëàð. Íàïîëåîí èëè Ìèô î “Ñïàñèòåëå”. Ìîñêâà, 1997. 395 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews àêàäåìèêîì Å. Òàðëå è îïóáëè- Ïðåêðàñíîå íà÷àëî è èíòå- êîâàííîé â 1936 ã., ïîñêîëüêó ðåñíûå çàäà÷è â êîíå÷íîì èòîãå èñòîðè÷åñêèå òðóäû î Íàïîëåîíå áûëè ñâåäåíû íà íåò î÷åðåäíûì îñòàâàëèñü âîîáùå íå çàòðîíóòûìè óãëóáëåíèåì â èíòåðïðåòàöèè Óýñëèíã. Ëèòåðàòóðíî-èñòîðè- ëèòåðàòóðíîãî òâîð÷åñòâà êëàñ- ÷åñêîé òðèëîãèè À. Ðûáàêîâà ñèêîâ XIX âåêà, êîòîðûå ïîëó- óäåëÿåòñÿ ãîðàçäî áîëüøå âíè- ÷èëèñü äîâîëüíî òðàäèöèîííûìè. ìàíèÿ, ÷åì òðóäó Òàðëå, – èç ÷åãî Ñóùåñòâåííûì íåäîñòàòêîì ìîæíî ñäåëàòü âûâîä î áîëüøåé äàííîé ðàáîòû íàì âèäèòñÿ âàæíîñòè â êóëüòóðíîé ìèôîëî- îãðàíè÷åííîå ïîíèìàíèå êóëü- ãèè ëèòåðàòóðíîãî îáðàçà, ÷åì òóðû, îñíîâó êîòîðîé, ñóäÿ ïî íàó÷íûõ øòóäèé. Ìíåíèå æå èñòî÷íèêàì è èñïîëüçóåìûì Óýñëèíã î òîì, ÷òî ðûáàêîâñêàÿ ðàáîòàì, ñîñòàâëÿåò õóäîæå- èðîíèÿ çàêëþ÷àåòñÿ â òîì, ÷òî ñòâåííàÿ ëèòåðàòóðà. Îáðàç äàæå Ñòàëèí “ãëÿäåë â íàïîëåî- Íàïîëåîíà (èëè ëþáîãî äðóãîãî íû”, âûãëÿäèò âåñüìà òðèâèàëüíî. ëèöà, êàòåãîðèè èëè ÿâëåíèÿ)  ïàðàãðàôå î ñîâðåìåííûõ îñòàíåòñÿ íåïîëíûì, åñëè èññëå- îáðàçàõ Íàïîëåîíà àâòîð óäèâ- äîâàòåëü ðàáîòàåò òîëüêî ñ õóäî- ëÿåòñÿ, ÷òî Íàïîëåîí “ÿâëÿâ- æåñòâåííûì âûìûñëîì. Î÷åíü øèéñÿ â Ðîññèè âðåìåíàìè ñèì- âëèÿòåëüíîé áûëà òðàäèöèÿ âîëîì àïîêàëèïñèñà, èíîãäà èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêîãî èçîáðà- çàïàäíîãî èíäèâèäóàëèçìà è æåíèÿ Íàïîëåîíà.  ýòîì îòíî- (áëèæå ê äåëó) îñêâåðíèòåëåì øåíèè, ðàáîòà Òàðëå – ëèøü Ìîñêâû, òåïåðü ïðåâðàòèëñÿ â îäíî èç çâåíüåâ çàâîðàæèâàþ- ñðåäå ýëèòû â îáùåïðèíÿòûé ùåãî èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêîãî äëÿ ÷èíîâíè÷åñòâà ñèìâîë, ìèôà î âåëèêîì ïîëêîâîäöå è îáúåäèíÿþùèé ñàìûõ âëèÿòåëü- ãîñóäàðñòâåííîì ãåíèè, íàïðàâ- íûõ â Ðîññèè ëþäåé” (Ð. 153). ëåííîãî íà ïðîïàãàíäèñòñêîå  êðàòêîì àáçàöå âûâîäîâ ìû âîçâåëè÷èâàíèå “ðóññêîãî äóõà” ÷èòàåì: “ äåéñòâèòåëüíîñòè, è ñîçäàíèå òàêîé êîíöåïöèè ìîæíî ðàññìàòðèâàòü ðóññêóþ íàöèîíàëüíîé èäåíòè÷íîñòè, ëèòåðàòóðó î Íàïîëåîíå êàê êîòîðàÿ áû ïîçâîëÿëà âûñòó- ðàçâåðíóòûé îòâåò Ïóøêèíó, ïàòü Ðîññèè íà ðàâíûõ ñ äðóãèìè âèä êîëëåêòèâíîãî ðàçìûøëå- åâðîïåéñêèìè äåðæàâàìè. Ñ äàí- íèÿ ïî ïîâîäó ïóøêèíñêîãî íîé êîíöåïöèåé ñòûêóåòñÿ âè- âîïðîñà, îáðàùåííîãî ê Íàïî- çóàëüíûé îáðàç Íàïîëåîíà, ëåîíó: ‘Çà÷åì òû ïîñëàí áûë è êîòîðîãî ìû âîñïðèíèìàåì â êòî òåáÿ ïîñëàë?’” âåðåùàãèíñêîì âàðèàíòå.

396 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Èìåííî èñòîðèîãðàôè÷åñêèé, à ðóññêèõ æåíùèí è èõ ìåñòà â íå ëèòåðàòóðíûé ìèô îêàçàë è ëåãåíäå – òàêæå íå íàøëà ñâîåãî îêàçûâàåò ðåøàþùåå âëèÿíèå ïîëíîöåííîãî ðàñêðûòèÿ â õîäå íà íàïîëåîíîâñêèå ïðèòÿçàíèÿ èññëåäîâàíèÿ. Âèäèìî, ãåíäåð- îòå÷åñòâåííûõ ãîñóäàðñòâåííûõ íûé àíàëèç ìèôà î Íàïîëåîíå äåÿòåëåé: ñëàâà ïîëêîâîäöà- åùå òîëüêî æäåò ñâîèõ èññëåäî- ïîáåäèòåëÿ íå äàåò èì ïîêîÿ. âàòåëåé. ×åãî òîëüêî ñòîèò Íî, óâû, èìåííî ýòîò àñïåêò ñðàâíåíèå Íàïîëåîíà è Æàííû ìèôà è âûïàäàåò èç ôîêóñà èññëå- ä’Àðê, ïðåäïðèíÿòîå Ì. È. Äðà- äîâàíèÿ Óýñëèíã. ãîìèðîâûì â ñâîèõ êðèòè÷åñêèõ Õîòÿ ñàìà ðàáîòà ïóáëèêóåòñÿ çàìåòêàõ 1907 ã.7 â ñåðèè “Ýïîõà ðåâîëþöèé è Ðåöåíçèðóåìàÿ ìîíîãðàôèÿ, ðîìàíòèçìà: ìåæäèñöèïëèíàð- ÿâëÿþùàÿñÿ, êñòàòè, ïåðåðàáî- íûå èññëåäîâàíèÿ”, ìåæäèñöèï- òàííîé äîêòîðñêîé äèññåðòàöèåé, ëèíàðíûé ïîäõîä àâòîðó íå óäà- çàùèùåííîé â Áåðêëè, òàêæå íå ëîñü èñïîëüçîâàòü â ïîëíîé ñâîáîäíà îò ôåíîìåíà “íåðàâåí- ìåðå. Âûâîäû â ìîíîãðàôèè ñòâà ÿçûêîâ”, î êîòîðîì íåäàâíî ëèøåíû àíàëèçà ñîñòàâëÿþùèõ ïèñàë Ñ. Óøàêèí â ñâîåé ðåöåí- “íàïîëåîíîâñêîãî ìèôà”, çèè íà èçäàííóþ çàïàäíûìè ñïîñîáñòâîâàâøèõ æèâó÷åñòè êîëëåãàìè êíèãó “Ðóññêèå ìàñ- ëåãåíäû. Âîñõèùåíèå Íàïîëåî- êóëèííîñòè â èñòîðèè è êóëü- íîì ñóòü ïîðîæäåíèå ìîäåðíà, òóðå”.8 Óýñëèíã, êàê è ìíîãèå ðåàëèçàöèÿ îñíîâíîé èäåè äðóãèå çàïàäíûå èññëåäîâàòåëè, Âîçðîæäåíèÿ î íîâîì, ñàìîäî- èñïîëüçóåò ðîññèéñêîå ãóìàíè- ñòàòî÷íîì Òâîðöå è Ãåðîå, òàðíîå çíàíèå â êà÷åñòâå èñòî÷- ñïîñîáíîì ëþáûìè ñðåäñòâàìè, íèêîâîé áàçû, à íå êàê êîíöåï- åñëè òîëüêî îíè âî áëàãî, äîñòè÷ü òóàëüíîå ïîëå äëÿ èíòåðïðåòà- ñâîåé öåëè. Íàïîëåîí ïî-ïðå- öèè, áîëüøå äîâåðÿÿ èñòîðèîã- æíåìó ÿâëÿåòñÿ ãåðîåì íàøåãî ðàôè÷åñêèì ïîäõîäàì çàïàäíûõ âðåìåíè, êîòîðîå çèæäåòñÿ íà ñëàâèñòîâ. îñòàòêàõ ïîçèòèâèçìà è âäîõ- Î÷åâèäíî, Óýñëèíã, êàê è íîâëÿåòñÿ íîâîé íàöèîíàëüíîé ìíîãèå äðóãèå, ïîääàëàñü îáàÿíèþ èäååé. óíèâåðñàëüíîñòè íàïîëåîíîâñ- Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, îäíà èç êîé ëåãåíäû: êàæäûé ïîëèòèê, çàÿâëåííûõ àâòîðîì òåì – òåìà ïèñàòåëü, ïîýò èëè èíòåëëåêòóàë

7 Ì. È. Äðàãîìèðîâ. Íàïîëåîí è Âåëëèíãòîí. Êèåâ, 1907. Ñ. 5, 15-17. 8 Ñ. Óøàêèí. Ïîçíàâàÿ â ñðàâíåíèè: Î åâðîñòàíäàðòàõ, ìóæ÷èíàõ è èñòîðèè // Íîâîå ëèòåðàòóðíîå îáîçðåíèå. 2003. ¹ 64. Ñ. 334-345.

397 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews

âèäåë è âèäèò â Íàïîëåîíå- Íîííà ÑÌÅËÎÂÀ ìèôå òîò îáðàç, êîòîðûé èì íåîáõîäèì. Â. A. Êîøåëåâ. Àëåêñåé Ñòå- Ðàáîòà Óýñëèíã ïîçâîëÿåò ïàíîâè÷ Õîìÿêîâ: Æèçíåîïèñà- îáðàòèòü âíèìàíèå íà òå àñïåêòû íèå â äîêóìåíòàõ, ðàññóæäåíèÿõ îòå÷åñòâåííîé êóëüòóðíîé è ðàçûñêàíèÿõ. Ìîñêâà: “Íîâîå ìèôîëîãèè, êîòîðûå ìàëî èëè ëèòåðàòóðíîå îáîçðåíèå”, 2000. âîîáùå íå èññëåäóþòñÿ íàøèìè 512 ñ. ISBN: 5-86793-078-5. ó÷åíûìè. Êíèãà ýòà õîðîøà êàê îòïðàâíàÿ òî÷êà êðèòè÷åñêîãî Ðåöåíçèðóåìàÿ êíèãà “Àëåêñåé àíàëèçà, ïîñêîëüêó, ïðåæäå âñåãî, Ñòåïàíîâè÷ Õîìÿêîâ: æèçíåîïè- çàñòàâëÿåò çàäóìàòüñÿ íàä òåì, ñàíèå â äîêóìåíòàõ, ðàññóæäåíèÿõ ïî÷åìó ïðîáëåìå ñîçäàíèÿ è è ðàçûñêàíèÿõ”, ÿâëÿåòñÿ, íåñîì- ôóíêöèîíèðîâàíèÿ ìèôà î Íàïî- íåííî, îäíèì èç çíà÷èòåëüíûõ ëåîíå óäåëÿåòñÿ ìàëî âíèìàíèÿ íîâåéøèõ èññëåäîâàíèé æèçíè ñî ñòîðîíû ðîññèéñêèõ èñòîðèêîâ è òâîð÷åñòâà âèäíîãî ïðåäñòàâè- è ëèòåðàòóðîâåäîâ â îáëàñòè òåëÿ ðóññêîé ìûñëè. Ýòà ðàáîòà – ìîíîãðàôè÷åñêèõ èññëåäîâà- èòîã ìíîãîëåòíåãî èçó÷åíèÿ íèé. Õîòÿ òåìà ìèôîëîãèçàöèè Â. À. Êîøåëåâûì ìèðîâîççðå- Íàïîëåîíà â îòå÷åñòâåííîé íèÿ ñëàâÿíîôèëîâ. ëèòåðàòóðå îñâåùåíà õîðîøî, Ñëåäóåò îòìåòèòü, ÷òî èíòåðåñ ýòîãî íå ñêàæåøü îá èñòîðèîã- ê ôèãóðå Õîìÿêîâà çàêîíîìåðåí, ðàôèè. ×óâñòâóåòñÿ íåäîñòàòîê ïîñêîëüêó îí ñòîèò ó èñòîêîâ ôóíäàìåíòàëüíûõ èññëåäîâà- äâèæåíèÿ ñëàâÿíîôèëîâ â Ðîññèè. íèé, ïîñâÿùåííûõ ïðîáëåìå Íåñìîòðÿ íà ýòî, ïðèõîäèòñÿ ìèôà î Íàïîëåîíå â ðóññêîé ïðèçíàòü, ÷òî Àëåêñåé Ñòåïàíî- êóëüòóðå. âè÷ áûë îáäåëåí âíèìàíèåì îòå÷åñòâåííûõ áèîãðàôîâ: ôóí- äàìåíòàëüíûõ èññëåäîâàíèé òâîð÷åñòâà ôèëîñîôà è áîãîñëî- âà èñòîðèîãðàôèÿ XX ñòîëåòèÿ íå çàôèêñèðîâàëà. Âñå ñêîëüêî- íèáóäü çíà÷èòåëüíûå ðàáîòû îïóáëèêîâàíû â XIX – íà÷àëå XX âåêà. Ðåöåíçèðóåìàÿ êíèãà âîñïîëíÿåò ýòîò íåäîñòàòîê, ÿâëÿÿñü â ðîññèéñêîé èñòîðè-

398 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews

âèäåë è âèäèò â Íàïîëåîíå- Íîííà ÑÌÅËÎÂÀ ìèôå òîò îáðàç, êîòîðûé èì íåîáõîäèì. Â. A. Êîøåëåâ. Àëåêñåé Ñòå- Ðàáîòà Óýñëèíã ïîçâîëÿåò ïàíîâè÷ Õîìÿêîâ: Æèçíåîïèñà- îáðàòèòü âíèìàíèå íà òå àñïåêòû íèå â äîêóìåíòàõ, ðàññóæäåíèÿõ îòå÷åñòâåííîé êóëüòóðíîé è ðàçûñêàíèÿõ. Ìîñêâà: “Íîâîå ìèôîëîãèè, êîòîðûå ìàëî èëè ëèòåðàòóðíîå îáîçðåíèå”, 2000. âîîáùå íå èññëåäóþòñÿ íàøèìè 512 ñ. ISBN: 5-86793-078-5. ó÷åíûìè. Êíèãà ýòà õîðîøà êàê îòïðàâíàÿ òî÷êà êðèòè÷åñêîãî Ðåöåíçèðóåìàÿ êíèãà “Àëåêñåé àíàëèçà, ïîñêîëüêó, ïðåæäå âñåãî, Ñòåïàíîâè÷ Õîìÿêîâ: æèçíåîïè- çàñòàâëÿåò çàäóìàòüñÿ íàä òåì, ñàíèå â äîêóìåíòàõ, ðàññóæäåíèÿõ ïî÷åìó ïðîáëåìå ñîçäàíèÿ è è ðàçûñêàíèÿõ”, ÿâëÿåòñÿ, íåñîì- ôóíêöèîíèðîâàíèÿ ìèôà î Íàïî- íåííî, îäíèì èç çíà÷èòåëüíûõ ëåîíå óäåëÿåòñÿ ìàëî âíèìàíèÿ íîâåéøèõ èññëåäîâàíèé æèçíè ñî ñòîðîíû ðîññèéñêèõ èñòîðèêîâ è òâîð÷åñòâà âèäíîãî ïðåäñòàâè- è ëèòåðàòóðîâåäîâ â îáëàñòè òåëÿ ðóññêîé ìûñëè. Ýòà ðàáîòà – ìîíîãðàôè÷åñêèõ èññëåäîâà- èòîã ìíîãîëåòíåãî èçó÷åíèÿ íèé. Õîòÿ òåìà ìèôîëîãèçàöèè Â. À. Êîøåëåâûì ìèðîâîççðå- Íàïîëåîíà â îòå÷åñòâåííîé íèÿ ñëàâÿíîôèëîâ. ëèòåðàòóðå îñâåùåíà õîðîøî, Ñëåäóåò îòìåòèòü, ÷òî èíòåðåñ ýòîãî íå ñêàæåøü îá èñòîðèîã- ê ôèãóðå Õîìÿêîâà çàêîíîìåðåí, ðàôèè. ×óâñòâóåòñÿ íåäîñòàòîê ïîñêîëüêó îí ñòîèò ó èñòîêîâ ôóíäàìåíòàëüíûõ èññëåäîâà- äâèæåíèÿ ñëàâÿíîôèëîâ â Ðîññèè. íèé, ïîñâÿùåííûõ ïðîáëåìå Íåñìîòðÿ íà ýòî, ïðèõîäèòñÿ ìèôà î Íàïîëåîíå â ðóññêîé ïðèçíàòü, ÷òî Àëåêñåé Ñòåïàíî- êóëüòóðå. âè÷ áûë îáäåëåí âíèìàíèåì îòå÷åñòâåííûõ áèîãðàôîâ: ôóí- äàìåíòàëüíûõ èññëåäîâàíèé òâîð÷åñòâà ôèëîñîôà è áîãîñëî- âà èñòîðèîãðàôèÿ XX ñòîëåòèÿ íå çàôèêñèðîâàëà. Âñå ñêîëüêî- íèáóäü çíà÷èòåëüíûå ðàáîòû îïóáëèêîâàíû â XIX – íà÷àëå XX âåêà. Ðåöåíçèðóåìàÿ êíèãà âîñïîëíÿåò ýòîò íåäîñòàòîê, ÿâëÿÿñü â ðîññèéñêîé èñòîðè-

398 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ÷åñêîé íàóêå ïåðâîé öåëîñòíîé íåîáõîäèìîñòüþ ñëóæèòü è ïðè- ìîíîãðàôèåé î Õîìÿêîâå. ñëóæèâàòü, æèâóùèé äëÿ ñåáÿ â Ñòðóêòóðà èçäàíèÿ ñîñòîèò ïîëíîì ñîîòâåòñòâèè ñ ñîá- èç íåáîëüøèõ ãëàâ, â êîòîðûõ ñòâåííûì ïðåäñòàâëåíèåì î óäà÷íî ñî÷åòàåòñÿ õðîíîëîãè- æèçíè” (Ñ. 16). Ýòî îáñòîÿòåëüñòâî, ÷åñêèé (áèîãðàôè÷åñêèé) ïðèí- à òàêæå õîðîøåå äîìàøíåå âîñ- öèï èçëîæåíèÿ ìàòåðèàëà ñ ïèòàíèå, áëåñòÿùèå ñïîñîáíîñòè âûäåëåíèåì îñíîâíûõ âåõ è ãåíèàëüíûå çàäàòêè îáåñïå÷èëè òâîð÷åñòâà ìûñëèòåëÿ. Ïðåæäå íåçàâèñèìîñòü ìûøëåíèÿ, øè- âñåãî, îáðàòèì âíèìàíèå íà êîí- ðîòó èíòåðåñîâ. ñòðóêòèâíóþ ïîçèöèþ àâòîðà ïî Àâòîð ðàçðóøàåò öåëûé ðÿä îòíîøåíèþ ê êëàññè÷åñêîìó ìèôîâ î Õîìÿêîâå. Êîøåëåâ íàñëåäèþ Õîìÿêîâà. Êîøåëåâ àðãóìåíòèðîâàíî äîêàçûâàåò, àíàëèçèðóåò ñî÷èíåíèÿ ôèëîñîôà, ÷òî ñòåðåîòèïû, ñâîéñòâåííûå â ñæàòîì âèäå ïðåäñòàâëÿåò îòå÷åñòâåííîé èñòîðèîãðàôèè, ëîãèêó åãî ðàçìûøëåíèé, âûñ- îñíîâàíû íà íåïîíèìàíèè è âå÷èâàÿ îñíîâíûå ïîëîæåíèÿ íåäîðàçóìåíèÿõ. Ïðè÷åì ýòî åãî êîíöåïöèè, çàîñòðÿåò âíèìà- ñòåðåîòèïû, ñëîæèâøèåñÿ íå íèå íà òåíäåíöèîçíîñòè ñóùå- òîëüêî âîêðóã Õîìÿêîâà, íî è ñòâóþùèõ ïðåäñòàâëåíèé î ôèëî- î ñëàâÿíîôèëàõ âîîáùå.  îòå- ñîôèè îäíîãî èç îñíîâàòåëåé ÷åñòâåííîé ëèòåðàòóðå ïðèâûê- ñëàâÿíîôèëüñòâà. ëè óïîìèíàòü î ñëàâÿíîôèëàõ â Æèçíåííûé îïûò Õîìÿêîâà, ñâÿçè ñ âîïðîñîì îá èñòîðè÷åñ- âûõîäöà èç ñòàðèííîãî ðóññêîãî êèõ ïóòÿõ ðàçâèòèÿ Ðîññèè è äâîðÿíñêîãî ðîäà, “êîðåííîãî íåïðèåìëåìîñòè äëÿ Ðîññèè ðóññêîãî ÷åëîâåêà” (Ñ. 7), áûë çàïàäíîãî îïûòà. Òàêîå îãðà- óíèêàëüíûì, ÷òî íå ìîãëî íå íè÷åíèå îáåäíÿåò èäåè ïðåäñòà- îòðàçèòüñÿ íà åãî íàó÷íîì òâîð- âèòåëåé ýòîãî ôèëîñîôñêîãî ÷åñòâå. Èçó÷åíèå áèîãðàôèè íàïðàâëåíèÿ, ïðåäñòàâëÿåò èõ ÿâëÿåòñÿ îäíèì èç êëþ÷åé ê ïîíè- îðòîäîêñàìè, îòâåðãàþùèìè ìàíèþ èäåé ôèëîñîôà, åãî äó- èííîâàöèè. Êàê ïðàâèëî, ñëàâÿ- õîâíîé ýâîëþöèè è îáíàðóæèâàåò íîôèëüñòâî èíòåðïðåòèðóåòñÿ ýêçèñòåíöèàëüíûé ôîí âîçíèêíî- èñòîðèîãðàôàìè êàê “êîíñåðâà- âåíèÿ ìíîãèõ åãî èäåé. Õîìÿêîâ òèâíîå ïîëèòè÷åñêîå è èäåàëè- ïðåäñòàåò íà ñòðàíèöàõ êíèãè ñòè÷åñêîå ôèëîñîôñêîå òå÷åíèå êàê ðóññêèé áàðèí, “íå èñïîð- ðóññêîé îáùåñòâåííîé ìûñëè ÷åííûé çàâèñèìîñòüþ îò äðóãîãî XIX âåêà”. Ýòà õàðàêòåðèñòèêà ÷åëîâåêà, íå ñòîëêíóâøèéñÿ ñ ïîÿâèëàñü â ñîâåòñêèå âðåìåíà

399 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews è ñ òåõ ïîð ïðàêòè÷åñêè íå èç- êîãî èãà â 1821 ã., âîññòàíèå ìåíèëàñü. Ýòî ìîæíî îáúÿñíèòü äåêàáðèñòîâ, ïîäãîòîâêà ïðîåêòà òåì, ÷òî, õîòÿ ñî÷èíåíèÿ ñàìèõ ýìàíñèïàöèè êðåñòüÿí è ò.ä.), è ñëàâÿíîôèëîâ íà÷àëè ïåðåèçäà- ëþäè, ñ êîòîðûìè ìûñëèòåëü âàòüñÿ, íî ïî-íàñòîÿùåìó îáùàëñÿ íà ïðîòÿæåíèè ñâîåé îáúåêòèâíîãî, íåïðåäâçÿòîãî æèçíè. Áåç ó÷åòà ñîöèîêóëüòóðíîé îñìûñëåíèÿ èõ íàñëåäèÿ òàê è íå ñèòóàöèè â Ðîññèè íåâîçìîæíî ïðîèçîøëî. ïîíÿòü òó îñîáóþ íàïðàâëåííîñòü Êíèãó ìîæíî ðàññìàòðèâàòü èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîé ðàáîòû ñëàâÿ- â äâóõ àñïåêòàõ: êàê èñòîðè÷åñ- íîôèëîâ, êîòîðàÿ êîíöåíòðèðî- êîå èññëåäîâàíèå è êàê èçó÷åíèå âàëàñü íà ôîðìèðîâàíèè íàöèî- ëè÷íîñòíîé ïîçèöèè ìûñëèòåëÿ. íàëüíîãî ñàìîñîçíàíèÿ, ÷èñòîòû  êà÷åñòâå èñòîðè÷åñêîãî èññëå- è öåëüíîñòè ïàòðèîòè÷åñêîé è äîâàíèÿ êíèãà íå îãðàíè÷åíà íðàâñòâåííîé ïîçèöèè ÷åëîâåêà, àíàëèçîì ìàòåðèàëà, ñîäåðæà- åãî óñòðåìëåííîñòè ê èäåàëàì ùåãîñÿ â îáøèðíûõ ëèòåðà- îáùåñòâà, ñâîáîäíîãî îò ðàáñòâà. òóðíûõ èñòî÷íèêàõ. Åå àâòîð Äóõîâíûé ïîäúåì ñòèìóëèðîâàë èñïîëüçóåò ïèñüìà, äíåâíèêè, òâîð÷åñêèå èçûñêàíèÿ, ñòàâøèå ïîýçèþ, âîñïîìèíàíèÿ, ïîëè- íàèáîëåå öåííûì äîñòîÿíèåì â öåéñêèå äîíåñåíèÿ, èçó÷åíèå ôîíäå êóëüòóðû ïåðâîé ïîëîâèíû êîòîðûõ ïîçâîëÿåò âûñâåòèòü XIX âåêà. Ê íèì îòíîñèëàñü è ïðåëîìèâøèåñÿ ÷åðåç ñóäüáó ôèëîñîôñêî-áîãîñëîâñêàÿ êîí- îòäåëüíîé ëè÷íîñòè îáúåêòèâíûå öåïöèÿ Õîìÿêîâà. Ôîðìèðóÿñü òåíäåíöèè â ðàçâèòèè Ðîññèè. êàê ìûñëèòåëü, îí ïðîøåë õîðî- Çíà÷èòåëüíûé èíòåðåñ ïðåä- øóþ ôèëîñîôñêóþ øêîëó, óñâîèë ñòàâëÿåò èíôîðìàöèÿ, êàñàþ- êàê èäåè çàïàäíûõ ôèëîñîôî⠖ ùàÿñÿ ëè÷íîñòíîé ïîçèöèè Õîìÿ- Ãåãåëÿ, Øåëëèíãà, Ãåðäåðà, òàê êîâà, êðóãà åãî îïïîíåíòîâ è è èçûñêàíèÿ ñâîèõ ñîîòå÷åñòâåí- ìîòèâàöèè, ñâÿçàííîé ñ âûáîðîì íèêîâ. Äâèæåíèå ñëàâÿíîôèëîâ òîé èëè èíîé ôèëîñîôñêîé ïðî- ïðåäñòàåò â êíèãå êàê êðóæîê, áëåìàòèêè. íèêîãäà ñïåöèàëüíî íå ñîáèðàâ- Ïðèäàâàÿ áîëüøîå çíà÷åíèå øèéñÿ è íå èìåâøèé óñòàâà. Åãî èñòîðè÷åñêîìó êîíòåêñòó, Êîøå- ÷ëåíû áàëàíñèðîâàëè, êàê îòìå- ëåâ ñòàðàåòñÿ âîññîçäàòü íåîáû- ÷àåò àâòîð ìîíîãðàôèè, “íà ãðà- ÷àéíî øèðîêóþ ïàíîðàìó ýïîõè. íè çàïðåòíîãî è äîçâîëåííîãî”. Ýòî è ñîáûòèÿ, ó÷àñòíèêîì è Êîøåëåâ ïîêàçûâàåò, ÷òî ñëàâÿ- íàáëþäàòåëåì êîòîðûõ áûë íîôèëüñòâî ïðåáûâàëî êàê áû Õîìÿêîâ (“ñòî äíåé Íàïîëåîíà”, ìåæäó äâóìÿ ïîëþñàìè. Ñ îäíîé âîññòàíèå â Ãðåöèè ïðîòèâ òóðåö- ñòîðîíû, îíè íàõîäèëèñü ïîä 400 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ïîäîçðåíèåì ó âëàñòåé, êîòî- îäèí èç èäåéíûõ âäîõíîâèòåëåé ðûå, íå èìåÿ ïîâîäà îáâèíèòü ïðîåêòà îñâîáîæäåíèÿ êðåñòü- ñëàâÿíîôèëîâ â ÷åì-ëèáî íåäî- ÿí. Àâòîð âïîëíå îáîñíîâàíî çâîëåííîì, ÷óâñòâîâàëè â èõ îòìå÷àåò îãðàíè÷åííîñòü îäíî- äåéñòâèÿõ ýòó íåóëîâèìóþ “íåäî- çíà÷íî êðèòè÷åñêîãî âçãëÿäà íà çâîëåííîñòü” è îïàñíîñòü äëÿ ýòó ðåôîðìó. Îöåíèâàÿ åå, îí ñåáÿ (Ñ. 254). Ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû, óêàçûâàåò: “Íå íàäîáíî çàáû- ïîñëåäîâàòåëè Õîìÿêîâà ñòàë- âàòü, ÷òî îíà ïîøëà “ñâåðõó”, êèâàëèñü ñ íàïàäêàìè çàïàäíè- ÷òî îíà ìîãëà áûòü ìíîãî õóæå, êîâ, îáâèíÿâøèõ èõ â òîì, ÷òî ÷òî îêîí÷àòåëüíûé ïðîåêò áûë îíè “îòâðàùàþòñÿ” îò Åâðîïû, íàìíîãî ðàäèêàëüíåå, ÷åì âñå íîñèòåëüíèöû ïðîãðåññà. Òàêàÿ ïðåäâàðèòåëüíûå” (Ñ. 460). Õî- ñèòóàöèÿ áûëà îáóñëîâëåíà æåñ- ìÿêîâ êàê ïàòðèîò íå îñòàëñÿ â òêèì ïðîòèâîñòîÿíèåì ìåæäó ñòîðîíå îò îáñóæäåíèÿ ðåôîð- âëàñòüþ è îáùåñòâîì. Ïîëè- ìû, õîòÿ è íå âõîäèë íè â êàêèå öåéñêî-èäåîëîãè÷åñêèé äèêòàò êîìèòåòû.  ìîíîãðàôèè èçëà- òîãî âðåìåíè æåñòêî ïîä÷èíÿë ãàåòñÿ ñîäåðæàíèå åãî çàïèñêè ñåáå ëèòåðàòóðó, ôèëîñîôèþ, ïîä íàçâàíèåì “Îá îòìåíå êðå- âñþ îáùåñòâåííóþ ìûñëü. Íî ïîñòíîãî ïðàâà â Ðîññèè”.  ýòî íå îçíà÷àëî, êîíå÷íî, ÷òî èõ ýòîì äîêóìåíòå íàìå÷åí ïóòü, àêòèâíîñòü áûëà ïàðàëèçîâàíà. ïî êîòîðîìó çàêîíîäàòåëè ïî- Íàîáîðîò, â ðàìêàõ îôèöèàëüíîé øëè â äàëüíåéøåì. Ðåôîðìû èäåîëîãèè ñòàâèëèñü è ðåøà- äåéñòâèòåëüíî âûçâàëè âñïëåñê ëèñü âåñüìà âàæíûå è àêòóàëüíûå îáùåñòâåííîãî è íàöèîíàëüíî- ïðîáëåìû ãóìàíèòàðíîãî çíà- ãî ñàìîñîçíàíèÿ. Èäåè “íàðîä- íèÿ è îáùåñòâåííîé æèçíè. íîñòè” è “ñëàâÿíñòâà” ïîëó÷è- Âåðîÿòíî, ïîýòîìó Êîøåëåâ íå ëè ïðèçíàíèå è øèðîêîå ðàñ- óñòàåò ïîä÷åðêèâàòü ïàðàäîê- ïðîñòðàíåíèå.  ðåöåíçèðóåìîé ñàëüíîñòü ìûøëåíèÿ Õîìÿêîâà. ìîíîãðàôèè ãëàâà, ãäå îïèñûâà- Îäíèì èç åãî ïðîÿâëåíèé áûëà åòñÿ ïîäãîòîâêà ðåôîðì è ó÷àñ- ëþáîâü ê Ðîññèè, ÷óæäàÿ êàêèì- òèå â íåé Õîìÿêîâà, ïîëó÷èëà ëèáî ïðîÿâëåíèÿì íàöèîíàëèç- ìíîãîçíà÷èòåëüíîå íàçâàíèå: ìà. Òåì áîëåå ñòðàííûì ïðåä- “Íàäåæäà”. Àëåêñåé Ñòåïàíî- ñòàâëÿåòñÿ, ÷òî “ïðèâåðæåíöû âè÷, ïðîÿâëÿâøèé ê ðåôîðìå íàöèîíàëüíîé ãîðäûíè” “ïðî- áîëüøîé èíòåðåñ, àâòîðîì êíè- âîçãëàñèëè Õîìÿêîâà ÷óòü ëè íå ãè óïîäîáëåí Ìîèñåþ. Äîâåäÿ çíàìåíåì ñâîèì ” (Ñ. 15). ñâîé íàðîä äî çåìëè îáåòîâàí-  ðåöåíçèðóåìîé ìîíîãðà- íîé, îí òàê è íå âîøåë â íåå è ôèè Õîìÿêîâ ïðåäñòàåò êàê íå óâèäåë ïëîäû ñâîèõ óñèëèé. 401 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews Îäíàêî òðóäíî ñîãëàñèòüñÿ ñ ïðàâîñëàâíóþ ïîçèöèþ (Ñ. 447). Êîøåëåâûì, êîãäà îí ãîâîðèò, Êîøåëåâûì îòìå÷àåòñÿ îäíî- ÷òî Ðîññèÿ ñóìåëà â ðåçóëüòàòå ñòîðîííîñòü ïîëåìè÷åñêîãî ðåôîðìû âûéòè èç æåñòî÷àéøåãî ïîäõîäà Õîìÿêîâà, ïîä÷åðêè- êðèçèñà è îáîéòèñü ìèíèìàëü- âàâøåãî îòëè÷èÿ ïðàâîñëàâèÿ íûìè ïîòåðÿìè. Îùóùåíèå îò çàïàäíûõ èñïîâåäàíèé. øàòêîñòè ïîðåôîðìåííîãî Íåëüçÿ íå ñîãëàñèòüñÿ ñ àâòîðîì ñòðîÿ îáîñòðèëîñü â ðåçóëüòàòå â ñëåäóþùåì çàìå÷àíèè: ãîâîðÿ âîéíû 1877-1878 ãã., óáèéñòâà î ïðàâîñëàâèè, ìûñëèòåëü “îá- Àëåêñàíäðà II è íåïîñëåäîâà- ðàùàåòñÿ íå ñòîëüêî ê ðåàëüíî- òåëüíîñòè ïðàâèòåëüñòâà. ìó, ðóññêîìó ïðàâîñëàâèþ, Ïîñëåäíåå îäíîâðåìåííî ñ ñêîëüêî ê åãî èäåàëüíûì íà÷à- êóðñîì ïðåîáðàçîâàíèé ïðîÿâ- ëàì” (C. 435). ëÿëî òåíäåíöèþ ê îòñðî÷èâàíèþ Îùóùåíèå íåçàâåðøåííîñòè è èñêàæåíèþ ðåôîðì. Îñòàåòñÿ â ðåöåíçèðóåìîé ðàáîòå âûçû- áåç îòâåòà âîïðîñ: çàìåäëèëà ëè âàåò òî, ÷òî àâòîð îáîøåë ñâîèì îòìåíà êðåïîñòíîãî ïðàâà íà- âíèìàíèåì ôèëîñîôñêèå âçãëÿäû ñòóïëåíèå ïîñëåäóþùèõ êàòàê- Õîìÿêîâà. Îíè ìîãëè áûòü èçëî- ëèçìîâ èëè óñêîðèëà èõ. æåíû â îáùèõ ÷åðòàõ, ó÷èòûâàÿ Ìû íå çàòðîíóëè ñàìîãî òî, ÷òî ãíîñåîëîãèÿ Õîìÿêîâà ãëàâíîãî è öåííîãî â íàñëåäèè íàïðÿìóþ ñâÿçàíà ñ åãî ó÷åíè- Õîìÿêîâà – åãî áîãîñëîâñêèõ åì î Öåðêâè. Áûëî áû òàêæå âçãëÿäîâ. Äåéñòâèòåëüíî, êàê óìåñòíûì ïîäðîáíåå îñòàíî- îòìå÷àåò àâòîð ìîíîãðàôèè, âèòüñÿ íà òåõ èäåéíûõ èñòî÷íè- èìåííî ýòîò àñïåêò âûçûâàåò êàõ, êîòîðûå îêàçàëè âëèÿíèå íàèáîëüøèé èíòåðåñ, çíà÷è- íà ôîðìèðîâàíèå Õîìÿêîâà êàê òåëüíî âîçðîñøèé â ÕÕ ñòîëå- ìûñëèòåëÿ. Êîøåëåâ, ê ñîæàëå- òèè, “â ýïîõó ìîäåðíèñòñêîãî íèþ, îãðàíè÷èâàåòñÿ óêàçàíèåì ïåðåîñìûñëåíèÿ öåðêîâíûõ òîëüêî íà âëèÿíèå îòå÷åñòâåííîãî äîãìàòîâ, ñîçäàíèÿ íîâûõ ðåëè- ñîöèîêóëüòóðíîãî îêðóæåíèÿ ãèîçíûõ è öåðêîâíûõ ó÷åíèé” Õîìÿêîâà. Íî íå ñòîèò çàáû- (Ñ. 435). Èç õîäà ðàçìûøëåíèé âàòü, ÷òî çàïàäíûå ìûñëèòåëè, àâòîðà êíèãè ñëåäóåò, ÷òî ãëàâ- íàïðèìåð, Ãåãåëü, íàëîæèëè íà íûå äîñòèæåíèÿ â îáëàñòè áîãî- òâîð÷åñòâî ôèëîñîôà ñâîé îòïå- ñëîâèÿ ó Õîìÿêîâà ñëåäóþùèå: ÷àòîê. Ñàì Õîìÿêîâ îòìå÷àë, îí ðàçðàáîòàë èäåþ Öåðêâè è ÷òî ñëàâÿíîôèëû âîñïðèíÿëè ñîçäàë ðóññêóþ áîãîñëîâñêóþ Ãåãåëÿ “ñ êàêîþ-òî ðåëèãèîç- øêîëó, îïðåäåëèâ åå ñîáñòâåííî íîþ âåðîþ”. Íà ýòî óêàçûâàåò

402 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 è Â. Çåíüêîâñêèé: “Ôèëîñîôèÿ Êèðèëë ÏÎÑÒÎÓÒÅÍÊÎ èñòîðèè ó Õîìÿêîâà ôîðìàëüíà è ïî äóõó âåñüìà áëèçêà ê ãåãå- Joachim Zweynert. Eine Ge- ëüÿíñêèì ñõåìàì Äàæå äèà- schichte des ökonomischen Denkens ëåêòè÷åñêèé ìåòîä ïðèìåíÿåòñÿ in Russland, 1805-1905 (Marburg: Õîìÿêîâûì ê èñòîëêîâàíèþ Metropolis Verlag, 2002). 475 S. èñòîðè÷åñêîãî ïðîöåññà”.1 ISBN: 3-89518-395-4. Ðåöåíçèðóåìàÿ êíèãà, íåñîì- íåííî, ñïîñîáñòâóåò äàëüíåéøåìó Êíèãà Éîàõèìà Öâàéíåðòà ðàçâèòèþ è èçó÷åíèþ ðîññèéñêîé (Èíñòèòóò ýêîíîìè÷åñêèõ ñèñ- êóëüòóðû âîîáùå è ôèëîñîôèè òåì Ãàìáóðãñêîãî óíèâåðñèòåòà) â ÷àñòíîñòè. Ðàáîòà Êîøåëåâà ïðèìå÷àòåëüíà ïî íåñêîëüêèì ñâèäåòåëüñòâóåò, ÷òî Ðîññèÿ íå ïðè÷èíàì. Ïåðâàÿ èç íèõ, íàè- óñòóïàëà Åâðîïå â ïîðîæäåíèè áîëåå î÷åâèäíàÿ, óêàçàíà ñàìèì ëè÷íîñòåé, îáëàäàâøèõ áîëü- àâòîðîì â ðàçäåëå “Ïîñòàíîâêà øèì òâîð÷åñêèì ïîòåíöèàëîì. âîïðîñà è ìåòîäèêà”: â íàó÷íîé Çíàêîìÿñü ñ äàííîé ìîíîãðàôèåé, ëèòåðàòóðå, êàê èñòîðè÷åñêîé, ÷èòàòåëü íà÷èíàåò ëó÷øå ïîíè- òàê è ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé, äî ìîìåíòà ìàòü õàðàêòåð îòå÷åñòâåííîé íàïèñàíèÿ êíèãè îòñóòñòâîâàëî êóëüòóðû, ïðèðîäó íàøåãî ñàìî- ñâÿçíîå, ñàìîñòîÿòåëüíîå è èäå- ñîçíàíèÿ è äàëüíåéøåå ðàçâèòèå îëîãè÷åñêè íåïðåäâçÿòîå îïèñà- íàöèîíàëüíîé ìûñëè. Õîìÿêî⠖ íèå èñòîðèè ðóññêîé ýêîíîìè- ìûñëèòåëü ìèðîâîãî ìàñøòàáà, ÷åñêîé ìûñëè (S. 17). Âòîðàÿ ÷åëîâåê, îêàçàâøèé âëèÿíèå íà ïðè÷èíà êîðåíèòñÿ â ñïåöèôèêå ôîðìèðîâàíèå ðóññêîé ôèëîñî- òîëêîâàíèÿ Öâàéíåðòîì ïîíÿòèÿ ôèè. Óñèëèÿìè Êîøåëåâà îí êàê “èñòîðèÿ ìûøëåíèÿ”. áû âîññòàíàâëèâàåòñÿ â ñâîèõ Íàèáîëåå ïðîñòîé (íî è íàè- ïðàâàõ. Ýòî îïðàâäàíî è òåì, ìåíåå ïðîäóêòèâíîé) ïàðàäèãìîé ÷òî òðóäû Õîìÿêîâà ïðåäñòàâ- îïèñàíèÿ ïîäîáíîé “èñòîðèè” ëÿþò èíòåðåñ íå òîëüêî äëÿ ÿâëÿåòñÿ èñòîðèÿ èäåé â äóõå ïðîôåññèîíàëüíûõ ôèëîñîôîâ Àðòóðà Ëàâäæîÿ: íà îñíîâàíèè è èñòîðèêîâ, íî è äëÿ ëþäåé, àïðèîðíî çàäàííîãî èçâíå ïîíÿ- ñåðüåçíî îáåñïîêîåííûõ êðè- òèÿ, áàçîâàÿ ñåìàíòèêà êîòîðîãî çèñíûì ñîñòîÿíèåì ñîâðåìåííîé ìûñëèòñÿ íåèçìåííîé âñåãäà è êóëüòóðû. âåçäå, âûñòðàèâàåòñÿ â ýâîëþöè-

1 Â. Çåíüêîâñêèé. Èñòîðèÿ ðóññêîé ôèëîñîôèè.  2-õ òò. Ðîñòîâ-íà-Äîíó, 1999. Ò. 1. Ñ. 238. 403 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 è Â. Çåíüêîâñêèé: “Ôèëîñîôèÿ Êèðèëë ÏÎÑÒÎÓÒÅÍÊÎ èñòîðèè ó Õîìÿêîâà ôîðìàëüíà è ïî äóõó âåñüìà áëèçêà ê ãåãå- Joachim Zweynert. Eine Ge- ëüÿíñêèì ñõåìàì Äàæå äèà- schichte des ökonomischen Denkens ëåêòè÷åñêèé ìåòîä ïðèìåíÿåòñÿ in Russland, 1805-1905 (Marburg: Õîìÿêîâûì ê èñòîëêîâàíèþ Metropolis Verlag, 2002). 475 S. èñòîðè÷åñêîãî ïðîöåññà”.1 ISBN: 3-89518-395-4. Ðåöåíçèðóåìàÿ êíèãà, íåñîì- íåííî, ñïîñîáñòâóåò äàëüíåéøåìó Êíèãà Éîàõèìà Öâàéíåðòà ðàçâèòèþ è èçó÷åíèþ ðîññèéñêîé (Èíñòèòóò ýêîíîìè÷åñêèõ ñèñ- êóëüòóðû âîîáùå è ôèëîñîôèè òåì Ãàìáóðãñêîãî óíèâåðñèòåòà) â ÷àñòíîñòè. Ðàáîòà Êîøåëåâà ïðèìå÷àòåëüíà ïî íåñêîëüêèì ñâèäåòåëüñòâóåò, ÷òî Ðîññèÿ íå ïðè÷èíàì. Ïåðâàÿ èç íèõ, íàè- óñòóïàëà Åâðîïå â ïîðîæäåíèè áîëåå î÷åâèäíàÿ, óêàçàíà ñàìèì ëè÷íîñòåé, îáëàäàâøèõ áîëü- àâòîðîì â ðàçäåëå “Ïîñòàíîâêà øèì òâîð÷åñêèì ïîòåíöèàëîì. âîïðîñà è ìåòîäèêà”: â íàó÷íîé Çíàêîìÿñü ñ äàííîé ìîíîãðàôèåé, ëèòåðàòóðå, êàê èñòîðè÷åñêîé, ÷èòàòåëü íà÷èíàåò ëó÷øå ïîíè- òàê è ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé, äî ìîìåíòà ìàòü õàðàêòåð îòå÷åñòâåííîé íàïèñàíèÿ êíèãè îòñóòñòâîâàëî êóëüòóðû, ïðèðîäó íàøåãî ñàìî- ñâÿçíîå, ñàìîñòîÿòåëüíîå è èäå- ñîçíàíèÿ è äàëüíåéøåå ðàçâèòèå îëîãè÷åñêè íåïðåäâçÿòîå îïèñà- íàöèîíàëüíîé ìûñëè. Õîìÿêî⠖ íèå èñòîðèè ðóññêîé ýêîíîìè- ìûñëèòåëü ìèðîâîãî ìàñøòàáà, ÷åñêîé ìûñëè (S. 17). Âòîðàÿ ÷åëîâåê, îêàçàâøèé âëèÿíèå íà ïðè÷èíà êîðåíèòñÿ â ñïåöèôèêå ôîðìèðîâàíèå ðóññêîé ôèëîñî- òîëêîâàíèÿ Öâàéíåðòîì ïîíÿòèÿ ôèè. Óñèëèÿìè Êîøåëåâà îí êàê “èñòîðèÿ ìûøëåíèÿ”. áû âîññòàíàâëèâàåòñÿ â ñâîèõ Íàèáîëåå ïðîñòîé (íî è íàè- ïðàâàõ. Ýòî îïðàâäàíî è òåì, ìåíåå ïðîäóêòèâíîé) ïàðàäèãìîé ÷òî òðóäû Õîìÿêîâà ïðåäñòàâ- îïèñàíèÿ ïîäîáíîé “èñòîðèè” ëÿþò èíòåðåñ íå òîëüêî äëÿ ÿâëÿåòñÿ èñòîðèÿ èäåé â äóõå ïðîôåññèîíàëüíûõ ôèëîñîôîâ Àðòóðà Ëàâäæîÿ: íà îñíîâàíèè è èñòîðèêîâ, íî è äëÿ ëþäåé, àïðèîðíî çàäàííîãî èçâíå ïîíÿ- ñåðüåçíî îáåñïîêîåííûõ êðè- òèÿ, áàçîâàÿ ñåìàíòèêà êîòîðîãî çèñíûì ñîñòîÿíèåì ñîâðåìåííîé ìûñëèòñÿ íåèçìåííîé âñåãäà è êóëüòóðû. âåçäå, âûñòðàèâàåòñÿ â ýâîëþöè-

1 Â. Çåíüêîâñêèé. Èñòîðèÿ ðóññêîé ôèëîñîôèè.  2-õ òò. Ðîñòîâ-íà-Äîíó, 1999. Ò. 1. Ñ. 238. 403 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews îííûé ðÿä ñèñòåìà ÷àñòíûõ çíà- ðîìàííóþ ôîðìó, êîòîðîå ïðåä- ÷åíèé ýòîãî òåðìèíà. Ïîíÿòíî, ëîæåíî Õåéäåíîì Óàéòîì. Îíî ÷òî êîãíèòèâíûé ïîòåíöèàë íàâÿçûâàåò êóëüòóðå ëèòåðàòó- òàêîãî îïèñàíèÿ ñâåäåí ê ìèíè- ðîöåíòðè÷íîñòü åå ðîìàíòè÷åñêè ìóìó òðåìÿ ôóíäàìåíòàëüíûìè íàñòðîåííûõ èíòåðïðåòàòîðîâ, íåäîñòàòêàìè: îïîðîé íà òðàíñ- îòêàçûâàÿ ðàöèîíàëüíîìó ðàñ- öåíäåíòàëüíûé, âñåãäà è âåçäå ñóæäåíèþ â ñîáñòâåííûõ ôîð- ïðèñóùèé è âñåì â ðàâíîé ìàëüíî-êîììóíèêàòèâíûõ ñòåïåíè îòêðûòûé ñìûñë èçó÷à- ïðèçíàêàõ. Òåì áîëåå ñóùå- åìîãî ïîíÿòèÿ (“ýêîíîìè÷åñêîå ñòâåííîé îêàçûâàåòñÿ íàñòðîéêà ìûøëåíèå” – ýòî âñåãäà è äëÿ èíòåðïðåòàöèîííûõ ìåõàíèç- âñåõ ïðèìåðíî îäíî è òî æå), ìîâ íà êîíêðåòíûå æàíðû âûñ- áåçðàçëè÷èåì ê âçàèìîäåé- êàçûâàíèé ñîöèàëüíîé ñèñòåìû ñòâèþ äàííîãî ïîíÿòèÿ ñ äðóãèìè î ñàìîé ñåáå. Îäíèì èõ âàæíåé- ýëåìåíòàìè ñóììàðíîãî ñîöè- øèõ ýëåìåíòîâ ýòîé íàñòðîéêè àëüíîãî ñîçíàíèÿ (ñòðóêòóðà è ìîæíî ñ÷èòàòü áàëàíñ ìåæäó ýâîëþöèÿ “ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî ìûø- îïèñàíèÿìè, ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû, ëåíèÿ” çàâèñÿò òîëüêî îò íåãî ýâîëþöèîííîãî, ôîðìàëèçî- ñàìîãî) è, íàêîíåö, íåâíèìàíèåì âàííîãî (îòíîñèòåëüíî ïðîñòîãî ê ñðåäñòâàì è ñòðàòåãèÿì êîì- è ñòàíäàðòíîãî) ïîòåíöèàëà ìóíèêàòèâíîé ðåàëèçàöèè ðàñ- æàíðà êàê òàêîâîãî è, ñ äðóãîé ñìàòðèâàåìîãî ïîíÿòèÿ (“ýêîíî- ñòîðîíû, ñóììû âíåøíèõ âëèÿ- ìè÷åñêîå ìûøëåíèå” âûðàæà- íèé äðóãèõ ýëåìåíòîâ ñîöèàëüíîé åòñÿ â ðå÷åâûõ äåéñòâèÿõ ïðè- ñèñòåìû, ïðèâîäÿùåé ê èçìåíå- ìåðíî òàê æå, êàê ëþáàÿ äðóãàÿ íèþ èììàíåíòíûõ êîäîâ æàíðà. èñòîðè÷åñêàÿ èäåÿ). Ñîáëþäàòü äàííûé áàëàíñ Ñòðåìëåíèå óñòðàíèòü ýòè àâòîðó “Èñòîðèè ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé íåäîñòàòêè ïðè ïîìîùè ãîòî- ìûñëè â Ðîññèè 1805-1905 ãã.” âûõ èíòåðïðåòàöèîííûõ ìîäå- óäàåòñÿ öåíîé íåîáõîäèìûõ ëåé èç àðñåíàëà ñîöèàëüíûõ è óïðîùåíèé â îäíèõ ñëó÷àÿõ è èñòîðè÷åñêèõ íàóê ëåãêî ìîæåò ñîñòàâëåíèÿ ñòîëü æå îïðàâ- ïðèâåñòè ê ðàñòâîðåíèþ “ýêîíî- äàííûõ äåòàëüíûõ îïèñàíèé â ìè÷åñêîãî ìûøëåíèÿ” â íåïðå- äðóãèõ. Òàê, ïåðåñå÷åíèå ðûâíîñòè ñîöèàëüíîãî è êîììó- âíóòðåííåãî âðåìåíè “èñòîðèè íèêàòèâíîãî ïîëÿ, ïðåâðàùå- ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî ìûøëåíèÿ” è íèþ åãî â alter ego äðóãèõ ôîðì àáñîëþòíîãî ìèðîâîãî âðåìåíè ñåìèîòè÷åñêîé ñàìîðåàëèçàöèè îïèñàíî â ëàïèäàðíûõ òåðìè- ñîöèóìà, íàïðèìåð, â÷èòûâà- íàõ, ïîä÷èíÿþùèõ õðîíîëîãèþ íèè ôèëîñîôñêîãî íàððàòèâà â âíåøíåé (è, â ìåíüøåé ñòåïåíè, 404 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 âíóòðåííåé) íàððàòèâíîé, ïîëè- îáùåñòâà “ðàñêîëó” çàïàäíîé òè÷åñêîé è ñîöèàëüíîé èñòîðèè. êóëüòóðû) è “àíòðîïîöåíòðèçì” Òàê, ïåðâàÿ ãëàâà êíèãè (“Ðóñ- (óïîð íà íîðìàòèâíóþ – â îñîáåí- ñêàÿ ýêîíîìè÷åñêàÿ ìûñëü: íîñòè ñîöèàëüíóþ – ïîñòàíîâêó 1805-1825 ãã.”) îãðàíè÷åíà, ñ èíòåëëåêòóàëüíûõ âîïðîñîâ, îäíîé ñòîðîíû, ïåðâîé ïóáëèêà- ñóùåñòâóþùèé â ñèìáèîçå ñ öèåé íà ðóññêîì ÿçûêå ó÷åáíèêà “õîëèçìîì”) (S. 40). È òåðìèíî- ïîëèòè÷åñêîé ýêîíîìèè (“Íà- ëîãè÷åñêè, è ñòðóêòóðíî âûá- ÷àëüíûå îñíîâàíèÿ ãîñóäàð- ðàííûå Öâàéíåðòîì ïîíÿòèÿ íå ñòâåííîãî õîçÿéñòâà” Õðèñòèàíà âïîëíå îäíîðîäíû: íåòðóäíî ôîí Øëåöåðà), à ñ äðóãîé – âîñ- çàìåòèòü, ÷òî “õîëèçì” èíòåð- ñòàíèåì äåêàáðèñòîâ. Âòîðàÿ ïðåòèðóåòñÿ, ïðåæäå âñåãî, êàê ãëàâà, â ñâîþ î÷åðåäü, çàâåðøà- íàáëþäàåìàÿ èññëåäîâàòåëåì åòñÿ ãîäîì îòìåíû êðåïîñòíîãî àâòî-ðåôåðåíöèÿ ñèñòåìû (“Ðîñ- ïðàâà.  òðåòüåé ïîâåñòâîâàíèå ñèÿ”) ïî îòíîøåíèþ ê ñåáå è äîâîäèòñÿ äî íà÷àëà èíäóñòðè- äðóãèì, â òî âðåìÿ êàê “àíòðî- àëèçàöèè â Ðîññèè. Íàêîíåö, ïîöåíòðèçì” âñåöåëî ÿâëÿåòñÿ ÷åòâåðòàÿ ãëàâà çàêàí÷èâàåòñÿ âíåøíåé èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîé ïåðâîé ðóññêîé ðåâîëþöèåé. õàðàêòåðèñòèêîé èçó÷àåìîãî Ðàçíîðîäíîñòü êðèòåðèåâ, îáúåêòà. Äàííàÿ íåïîñëåäîâà- ïðèìåíÿåìûõ Öâàéíåðòîì äëÿ òåëüíîñòü, îäíàêî, ñãëàæèâàåòñÿ âíóòðåííåãî ÷ëåíåíèÿ èñòîðèè ñòðîãî ïàðàëëåëüíûì ðàññìîò- ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé ìûñëè â Ðîññèè, ðåíèåì âëèÿíèÿ ýòèõ ñîöèîêóëü- óêàçûâàåò íà òî, ÷òî îáîáùåííî- òóðíûõ òåíäåíöèé íà èñòîðèþ òåëåîëîãè÷åñêîé èíòåðïðåòàöèè ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé ìûñëè â Ðîññèè. èñòîðè÷åñêèõ èçìåíåíèé ðàñ- Çäåñü íþàíñèðîâàííîñòü èññëå- ñìàòðèâàåìîãî ïðåäìåòà â äóõå äîâàòåëüñêèõ ìåòîäèê, ïîìíî- “ôèëîñîôèè èñòîðèè” îí ïðåä- æåííàÿ íà çàõâàòûâàþùèé ïî÷èòàåò àíàëèç êîíêðåòíî- êóëüòóðíûé äèàïàçîí îáîáùå- ñîöèàëüíîé îáóñëîâëåííîñòè íèé è íàáëþäåíèé, ïðèâîäèò åãî ôîðì. Ýòà êîíêðåòíîñòü, â èññëåäîâàòåëÿ ê íàó÷íûì îòêðû- ñâîþ î÷åðåäü, ïîäàíà äâîÿêî. òèÿì, ÷àñòî âûõîäÿùèì çà ïðå- Åå îáùèé õàðàêòåð, èìåíóåìûé äåëû ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé èñòîðèè. â ðàáîòå “äóõîâíûìè è êóëüòóðíî- Ñðåäè îñíîâíûõ ýëåìåíòîâ èñòîðè÷åñêèìè îñíîâàíèÿìè” “õîëèñòè÷åñêîé” ñòðàòåãèè ðóññêîé êóëüòóðû (S. 31), îõàðàê- ñàìîîïèñàíèÿ ðóññêîé êóëüòóðû òåðèçîâàí ïðè ïîìîùè òåðìèíîâ Öâàéíåðò óïîìèíàåò ïðåæäå “õîëèçì” (ïðîòèâîïîñòàâëåíèå âñåãî áîðüáó ñ àòðèáóòèðóåìûì ðóññêîãî èäåàëà öåëîñòíîãî Çàïàäó àíàëèòè÷åñêèì ðàñ÷ëå- 405 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews íåíèåì ðåàëüíîñòè, íà÷àòóþ ñîïðîòèâëåíèè ðóññêîãî ïðàâî- ðóññêèì áîãîñëîâèåì â XVIII â. ñëàâèÿ ðàöèîíàëèçìó çàïàäíûõ (S. 32) è åùå âëèÿòåëüíóþ â öåðêâåé, îáðåòøåìó ñòàáèëüíûå XIX â. êàê â îáùåêóëüòóðíûõ ðèòîðè÷åñêèå ôîðìû óæå â XVI- ðàññóæäåíèÿõ (ïðîòåñò çàïàäíèêà XVII ââ. (S. 35) è ñîõðàíèâøåìó Àëåêñàíäðà Ãåðöåíà ïðîòèâ âëèÿíèå äàæå â ðåâîëþöèîííîì àòîìèçàöèè ðåëèãèè (S. 218)), çàïàäíè÷åñòâå âòîðîé ïîëîâèíû òàê è â èõ ïðîåêöèè íà ýêîíî- XIX â. (ïðèîðèòåò, îòäàâàåìûé ìè÷åñêóþ ìûñëü (ñîïðîòèâëåíèå À. Ãåðöåíîì “ðåëèãèè” ïåðåä ñëàâÿíîôèëà Èâàíà Êèðååâñêîãî “ðàññóæäåíèåì” (S. 217). Îäíèì âû÷ëåíåíèþ ýêîíîìèêè êàê èç íàèáîëåå èíòåðåñíûõ ïîñëåä- ñàìîñòîÿòåëüíîé äèñöèïëèíû ñòâèé ýòîãî ñîïðîòèâëåíèÿ (S. 199)).  êà÷åñòâå íåïîñðåä- ÿâëÿåòñÿ äîêóìåíòèðîâàííàÿ ñòâåííûõ èñòî÷íèêîâ ýòîé èäåî- Öâàéíåðòîì ìîðàëèçàöèÿ ýêî- ëîãèè â XIX â., ïîìèìî ñî÷èíå- íîìè÷åñêîé òåîðèè, çàìåòíàÿ íèé îòöîâ öåðêâè, Öâàéíåðò äàæå â ýïîõó “ïåðåîöåíêè âñåõ ñïðàâåäëèâî óïîìèíàåò ôèëîñî- öåííîñòåé” ó Ïåòðà Ëàâðîâà ôèþ îðãàíèöèçìà, ðàçðàáàòûâàâ- (S. 250) è Ñåðãåÿ Áóëãàêîâà (S. 411). øóþñÿ, â ÷àñòíîñòè, ïîïóëÿðíûì Àíàëèç òèïîâûõ ñåìàíòè÷åñêèõ â Ðîññèè Ô. Â. Øåëëèíãîì (S. 193). ñòðóêòóð è ïðåîáëàäàþùèõ Ê äàííîé âåðñèè “õîëèçìà”, ôîðì ñîöèàëüíîãî áûòîâàíèÿ âïðî÷åì, ìîæíî äîáàâèòü è ýêîíîìè÷åñêèõ òåêñòîâ ïðîâåäåí áîðüáó ñ èäåàëèñòè÷åñêèì ðàñ÷ëå- Öâàéíåðòîì åùå ñ áîëüøåé íåíèåì îñîçíàâàåìîé ðåàëüíî- òùàòåëüíîñòüþ è ðåçóëüòàòèâ- ñòè íà îáîçíà÷àåìîå è îáîçíà- íîñòüþ, ÷åì îõàðàêòåðèçîâàííàÿ ÷àþùåå, èìåâøóþ ïîñëåäñòâèÿ âûøå ïðîåêöèÿ êîíêðåòíî-ñîöè- è äëÿ åâðîïåéñêîé ñîöèàëüíî- àëüíûõ ôîðì ðóññêîé êóëüòóðû ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé ìûñëè (áîðüáà è ðóññêîãî îáùåñòâà â öåëîì íà Æ. Æ. Ðóññî ïðîòèâ îò÷óæäåíèÿ ýêîíîìè÷åñêîå ìûøëåíèå. Îñî- âëàñòè îò åå ôèçè÷åñêîãî íîñè- áåííî ëþáîïûòíûì âûãëÿäèò òåëÿ), è äëÿ åå ñïåöèôè÷åñêè àíàëèç ïðîáëåìû àâòîðñòâà â ðóññêîé (ÿçû÷åñêè îêðàøåííîé) êîììóíèêàòèâíîé ñèñòåìå XIX â. èíòåðïðåòàöèè (áîðüáà Ôåäîðà Çäåñü èññëåäîâàòåëþ, âî-ïåðâûõ, Äîñòîåâñêîãî ïðîòèâ îò÷óæäåíèÿ óäàåòñÿ îáíàðóæèòü è çàïîçäàëîå çåìëè îò åå äóõîâíîãî ïîðîæäå- (ñðàâíèòåëüíî ñ îñòàëüíîé çíà- íèÿ – êðåñòüÿíèíà).  ñâîþ î÷å- êîâîé êóëüòóðîé) âûçðåâàíèå â ðåäü, èñòîêè “àíòðîïîöåíòðèçìà” ýêîíîìè÷åñêîì äèñêóðñå òðå- âèäÿòñÿ àâòîðó “Èñòîðèè ýêîíî- áîâàíèÿ îðèãèíàëüíîñòè êàê ìè÷åñêîé ìûñëè â Ðîññèè” â êðèòåðèÿ àâòîðñòâà: ê ïðèìåðó, 406 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 òàêîé ÿðêèé ïðåäñòàâèòåëü ðóñ- ñòîèìîñòü”) (S. 343), è, ñ äðóãîé ñêîé ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé íàóêè íà÷à- ñòîðîíû, ìíîæåñòâåííîñòü ëà XIX â., êàê Íèêîëàé Òóðãåíåâ, ýêñïåðèìåíòîâ ïî êîíêðåòíî- ñ÷èòàë ðàçóìíûì è îïðàâäàííûì ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé ðåàëèçàöèè âñòàâêó òåêñòîâ çàïàäíûõ ýêîíî- ëèòåðàòóðíûõ óòîïèé (âðîäå ìèñòîâ â ñâîé “Îïûò òåîðèè ôóðüåðèñòñêèõ êîììóí Íèêîëàÿ íàëîãî┠áåç êàêèõ áû òî íè Ñïåøíåâà). Ëþáàÿ èññëåäîâà- áûëî îãîâîðîê (S. 128). Îáðàòíûé òåëüñêàÿ äåÿòåëüíîñòü â ýòîì ïðèìåð (âêëþ÷åíèå Åêàòåðè- íàïðàâëåíèè ïîòðåáóåò îáðàùå- íîé II â ñâîé íàêàç 1767 ã. îò- íèÿ ê êíèãå Éîàõèìà Öâàéíåðòà, ðûâêîâ èç ðàáîòû Ñåìåíà Äåñ- èçäàííîé â Ìàðáóðãå èçäàòåëü- íèöêîãî, ïðåäñòàâëÿâøåé ñîáîé ñòâîì “Ìåòðîïîëèñ”. ïåðåðàáîòêó ëåêöèé Àäàìà Ñìèòà) óêàçûâàåò, íàïðîòèâ, íà ðåëåâàíòíîñòü òðàäèöèîííîé áþðîêðàòè÷åñêîé ìîäåëè îòêàçà îò àâòîðñòâà â ïîëüçó âûøåñòî- ÿùåãî, “èíòåãðàëüíîãî” àâòîðà äëÿ ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî äèñêóðñà â Ðîññèè XVIII-XIX ââ. (S. 53). Íîâàòîðñòâî è òùàòåëüíîñòü Elizabeth WHITE ïðåäïðèíÿòîé Éîàõèìîì Öâàé- íåðòîì ðàáîòû îòêðûâàåò ïóòü Ñîáñòâåííîñòü íà çåìëþ â ê ñëåäóþùåé ñòðàíèöå èñòîðèè Ðîññèè: Èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåí- ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî äèñêóðñà â Ðîñ- íîñòü / Ïîä îáù. ðåä. Ä. Ô. Àÿö- ñèè – èçó÷åíèþ åãî âëèÿíèÿ íà êîâà. Ìîñêâà: ÐÎÑÑÏÝÍ, 2002. ýêîíîìè÷åñêóþ è ñîöèàëüíóþ 592 ñ. ISBN: 5-8243-0363-0. ïðàêòèêó îáùåñòâà â öåëîì. Ñêëîííîñòü ðóññêîãî ÷èòàòåëÿ This collection of articles on land (çðèòåëÿ, ñëóøàòåëÿ) ê íåêðèòè- ownership begins appropriately with ÷åñêîìó (â ÷àñòíîñòè – èìïåðà- Piotr Stolypin’s statement that “land òèâíîìó) âîñïðèÿòèþ òåêñòîâ, is the guarantee of our strength in èñõîäÿùèõ îò íîñèòåëåé õàðèç- the future; the land is Russia.” Appro- ìàòè÷åñêîãî àâòîðèòåòà, îáúÿñ- priately, not just because the con- íÿåò è æèâó÷åñòü êóðüåçíîé tributors would concur in his assess- îøèáêè â ïåðåâîäå “Êàïèòàëà” ment of the cardinal importance of (èñïîëüçóåìûé Ê. Ìàðêñîì land in Russia, nor because his name òåðìèí Mehrwert áûë ïåðåâåäåí is associated with the agrarian reform íà ðóññêèé êàê “ïðèáàâî÷íàÿ begun in 1906, but also because 407 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 òàêîé ÿðêèé ïðåäñòàâèòåëü ðóñ- ñòîèìîñòü”) (S. 343), è, ñ äðóãîé ñêîé ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé íàóêè íà÷à- ñòîðîíû, ìíîæåñòâåííîñòü ëà XIX â., êàê Íèêîëàé Òóðãåíåâ, ýêñïåðèìåíòîâ ïî êîíêðåòíî- ñ÷èòàë ðàçóìíûì è îïðàâäàííûì ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé ðåàëèçàöèè âñòàâêó òåêñòîâ çàïàäíûõ ýêîíî- ëèòåðàòóðíûõ óòîïèé (âðîäå ìèñòîâ â ñâîé “Îïûò òåîðèè ôóðüåðèñòñêèõ êîììóí Íèêîëàÿ íàëîãî┠áåç êàêèõ áû òî íè Ñïåøíåâà). Ëþáàÿ èññëåäîâà- áûëî îãîâîðîê (S. 128). Îáðàòíûé òåëüñêàÿ äåÿòåëüíîñòü â ýòîì ïðèìåð (âêëþ÷åíèå Åêàòåðè- íàïðàâëåíèè ïîòðåáóåò îáðàùå- íîé II â ñâîé íàêàç 1767 ã. îò- íèÿ ê êíèãå Éîàõèìà Öâàéíåðòà, ðûâêîâ èç ðàáîòû Ñåìåíà Äåñ- èçäàííîé â Ìàðáóðãå èçäàòåëü- íèöêîãî, ïðåäñòàâëÿâøåé ñîáîé ñòâîì “Ìåòðîïîëèñ”. ïåðåðàáîòêó ëåêöèé Àäàìà Ñìèòà) óêàçûâàåò, íàïðîòèâ, íà ðåëåâàíòíîñòü òðàäèöèîííîé áþðîêðàòè÷åñêîé ìîäåëè îòêàçà îò àâòîðñòâà â ïîëüçó âûøåñòî- ÿùåãî, “èíòåãðàëüíîãî” àâòîðà äëÿ ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî äèñêóðñà â Ðîññèè XVIII-XIX ââ. (S. 53). Íîâàòîðñòâî è òùàòåëüíîñòü Elizabeth WHITE ïðåäïðèíÿòîé Éîàõèìîì Öâàé- íåðòîì ðàáîòû îòêðûâàåò ïóòü Ñîáñòâåííîñòü íà çåìëþ â ê ñëåäóþùåé ñòðàíèöå èñòîðèè Ðîññèè: Èñòîðèÿ è ñîâðåìåí- ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî äèñêóðñà â Ðîñ- íîñòü / Ïîä îáù. ðåä. Ä. Ô. Àÿö- ñèè – èçó÷åíèþ åãî âëèÿíèÿ íà êîâà. Ìîñêâà: ÐÎÑÑÏÝÍ, 2002. ýêîíîìè÷åñêóþ è ñîöèàëüíóþ 592 ñ. ISBN: 5-8243-0363-0. ïðàêòèêó îáùåñòâà â öåëîì. Ñêëîííîñòü ðóññêîãî ÷èòàòåëÿ This collection of articles on land (çðèòåëÿ, ñëóøàòåëÿ) ê íåêðèòè- ownership begins appropriately with ÷åñêîìó (â ÷àñòíîñòè – èìïåðà- Piotr Stolypin’s statement that “land òèâíîìó) âîñïðèÿòèþ òåêñòîâ, is the guarantee of our strength in èñõîäÿùèõ îò íîñèòåëåé õàðèç- the future; the land is Russia.” Appro- ìàòè÷åñêîãî àâòîðèòåòà, îáúÿñ- priately, not just because the con- íÿåò è æèâó÷åñòü êóðüåçíîé tributors would concur in his assess- îøèáêè â ïåðåâîäå “Êàïèòàëà” ment of the cardinal importance of (èñïîëüçóåìûé Ê. Ìàðêñîì land in Russia, nor because his name òåðìèí Mehrwert áûë ïåðåâåäåí is associated with the agrarian reform íà ðóññêèé êàê “ïðèáàâî÷íàÿ begun in 1906, but also because 407 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews Stolypin had been Governor of Sa- draw on archival material to illustrate ratov, where the idea for this book the situation from below, or give was generated. Indeed, the collection good statistical overviews of the has a contemporary political colouring, state of agriculture at various times. introduced as it is by Saratov’s current In her article “Property in Feudal governor, Dmitrii Ayatskov. Ayatskov Russia,” N. A. Gorskaia outlines the was the executor of the “Saratov specificities of land ownership in Experiment” in the mid 1990s, Russia, which then reverberate which legalized for the first time in throughout the book. She concludes Russian history a free market in that there was no concept of land agricultural land. About a third of ownership in medieval Russia, in the the book is devoted to post-Soviet modern sense of the word. Owner- agrarian reform. However, this ship of land by the state, the coloring adds to rather than detracts votchinniki, and the nobility was from the whole, showing how the connected to control over the peasants, conflict over models of land owner- “power over the direct producer, ship continues to this day. As one of ownership of a human being.” the contributors points out, interest Another feature was the wide scale in the history of land ownership was of state ownership, which reached actually rekindled by proposals for its apogee in the twentieth-century land reform under Yeltsin. A sys- nationalization, and which was aided tematization and elucidation of the by the monarchy’s early evolution deep historical reasons for the existence into autocracy and absolutism. of a specifically Russian concept of Between the sixteenth and eigh- property ownership, especially in the teenth centuries, the state’s priority agrarian sphere, became of great sig- was to guarantee its own preroga- nificance as battles over proposed tives to land. Another basic feature legislation raged fiercely in the 1990s. was the peasant commune. The idea Sobstvennost’ na zemliu v Rossii that the “land belongs to God,” that traces the development of various is, to society as a whole, was fun- conceptualizations of land owner- damental to the psychology of the ship and models for resolution of the Russian peasant. Communal land “land problem” developed by Rus- use prevented the development of a sian elites, nobles, bureaucrats, pol- concept of private property not just iticians and political thinkers, revo- among peasants but also the nobility. lutionaries, agrarian experts, and the Even in the nineteenth century, educated public. It is conceptualiza- noble status was judged not by the tions and projects that they are most amount of land held but the number concerned with, although some do of serfs owned. M. D. Dolbilov’s 408 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 contribution “Land Ownership and bourgeois property rights; they the Emancipation of the Peasants” hoped not only for state regulation picks up on the lack of clarity of in their favour but also wanted to landownership among the nobility. keep the estate system intact. He claims the nobility saw “owner- In his study of post-reform reparti- ship” of land as conditional and tion, P. N. Zyrianov makes a point involving a duty of care to the about the commune, which is in turn peasants. This awareness that they developed by other contributors. were organizers of peasant labor The basic principle of the commune deprived them of a fixed concept of was that of the collective ownership private property. During land registra- of land combined with individual tion many nobles were found to have household labour. Although he is not a very unclear idea of what exactly mentioned, this is similar to narod- their properties consisted of, and nik K. A. Kacharovskii’s work of Dolbilov conjectures that if one were 1906, which showed that there were to conceptualize a topographical two contradictory elements to peasant map of Russia with the noble estates customary law: the rights of labour projected on it, the result would be (pravo truda) and the rights to (one’s not so much a network of clear own) labour (pravo na trud). As boundary lines as areas of cloudy V. V. Zhuravlev later in the collec- patches and overlapping contours. tion states, the agrarian reform This “openness” of the concept of projects of both the tsarist and the property allowed for rich and complex Soviet regime were based on only discussions in government and society. one of these two elements. Russia’s He challenges the notion that the rulers never managed to crack the nobles’ response to the proposed code of peasant mentality and solve emancipation was the defense of the riddle of whether the peasant was their rights to property ownership. a collective individualist or an indi- Only a small circle of aristocrats held vidual collectivist. The rest of the to the inalienability of noble property articles describe the attempts by politi- rights on the basis of estate exclu- cal parties and regimes to develop sivity. Most nobles preferred the solu- agrarian projects. tion of the razviazka; their property In his two articles on party rights would be guaranteed and they programs and agrarian debates in the would be freed from limitations and Duma, V. V. Zhuravlev claims that duty of care to the peasants. However, it was the Kadet “Program of the 42” this “individualistic pathos” should put to the First Duma that had the not necessarily be seen as a poten- greatest chance of success in recon- tial basis for the development of ciling social forces and creating a frame- 409 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews work for evolutionary change. The blinkered agrarian policies since blinkeredness of the Tsarist regime 1861 robbed Russia of the time it and the demagogy of the left parties needed to give a capitalist impulse destroyed this chance. Although he to the development of agriculture. accepts that the SRs had the most In his overview of the Soviet govern- detailed land program, he dismisses ment’s land policies, V. N. Kolo- it as an illusory social utopia pro- dezhnyi shows how the Bolshevik duced by Chernov. In fact, research regime briefly adopted the SR program by the Finnish historian Hannu of the socialization of the land in Immonen has shown that Chernov order to win peasant support, but had little to do with the working out then as soon as it tried to move of the details, which was done largely toward its own program of the by experienced agronomists and not nationalization of the land, putting at all the result of “demagogy.”1 it under central state control. A parallel In addition, Zhuravlev goes on to development throughout NEP was describe how easily the Kadets aban- the support for collective forms of doned their radical program in the agriculture, which was not confined face of tsarist repression and the to the Party, but widespread among waning of revolutionary activity. agrarian specialists, particularly Echoing the notion that govern- after 1925, who, he implies, may ment reforms in agriculture were have also been the ones really pushing never accurately based on a true for all-out collectivization in 1929. understanding of the peasants, A. P. Ko- The final contributions to this relin, in his assessment of the impact book are two dramatic and informative of Stolypin’s reforms, suggests that articles about “The Land Question they may have even strengthened the in the Context of the New Agrarian commune, as they freed it from its Reform, 1989-2002,” and the richest and poorest layers, therefore “Saratov Experiment.” increasing its stability. Yet despite The central thesis linking many this, Stolypin’s agrarian reforms contributions to Sobstvennost’ na were the most progressive and realistic zemliu is that the failure of both the possible. If they had been given time Tsarist regime and the Provisional and proper support, they could have Government to solve the land prob- helped avoid the October Revolu- lem caused what Victor Danilov has tion. Again, the Tsarist regime’s called “the Great Peasant Revolution

1 Hannu Immonen. The Agrarian Program of the Russian Socialist Revolutionary Party, 1900-1914. Helsinki, 1988. 410 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 of 1902-1922,” during which power Ëèëèÿ ÊÐÓÄÓ was assumed by a group of political actors who probably had the least È. È. Áîäþë. Äîðîãîé æèçíè. worked out proposals for Russian Âðåìÿ, ñîáûòèÿ, ðàçäóìüÿ. Âîñ- agriculture. None of the work touches ïîìèíàíèÿ. Êíèãà âòîðàÿ. Êè- on the period 1932-1989, an omission øèíåâ: Èçä. “Êóøíèð è Ê0”, that implies the period lacks genuine 2001. 496 c. ISBN: 9-97596400-1. material to cover. The contemporary political slant to the book is rein- Èâàí Èâàíîâè÷ Áîäþë ÿâëÿ- forced by calls for open debate and åòñÿ îäíîé èç öåíòðàëüíûõ ôèãóð political compromise. â èñòîðèè Ìîëäîâû 1960-õ- íà- The articles in this collection go ÷àëà 1980-õ ãã. Îí ïðîðàáîòàë well together. It would be interesting â Ìîëäîâå áîëåå 20 ëåò, çàíèìàÿ to read in conjunction with them a äîëæíîñòü âòîðîãî, à çàòåì ïåð- work on the social practices of land âîãî ñåêðåòàðÿ ÖÊ ÊÏ Ìîëäàâèè. ownership. Even while the peasants Îòìåòèì, ÷òî åãî ïðîäâèæåíèå called the land “God’s”, they were ïî ïàðòèéíîé ëèíèè êîñâåííî doing a brisk trade in it. And, as any îáÿçàíî ðåïðåññèÿì â 1937 ã., student of Russian and Soviet history êîòîðûì ïîäâåðãàëàñü “ïîëèòè- knows, and as is referred to in this ÷åñêàÿ ýëèòà”, ñôîðìèðîâàííàÿ collection, legislation and the wishes â 1920-å ãã. â ÌÀÑÑÐ. Ñâîåé êà- and desires of the central govern- ðüåðîé Áîäþë áûë òàêæå îáÿ- ment were in practice often challenged, çàí ïàðàäîêñàì êàäðîâîé ïîëè- subverted, or simply ignored. Overall òèêè â ðåñïóáëèêå, âûðàæàâ- though, this collection presents a øèìñÿ â òîì, ÷òî êîììóíèñòû- series of fascinating, well-written, ïîäïîëüùèêè, àêòèâíî äåé- and solidly researched overviews of ñòâîâàâøèå íà òåððèòîðèè Áåñ- a vital aspect of Russian political, ñàðàáèè â ìåæâîåííûé ïåðèîä, economic, and social history. ïîñëå 1940 ã. íå íàçíà÷àëèñü íà ðóêîâîäÿùèå äîëæíîñòè. Ñûãðàëà ñâîþ ðîëü è ïîëèòèêà êîðåíèçàöèè, ñïîñîáñòâîâàâøàÿ ïðîäâèæåíèþ êàäðîâ, ïðèíàäëå- æàâøèõ ê òèòóëüíîé íàöèè. Òàêèì îáðàçîì, ïîñëå íåîäíîê- ðàòíûõ ÷èñòîê ïàðòèéíîé îðãà- íèçàöèè ïîÿâèëàñü âîçìîæ- íîñòü áûñòðîãî ïðîäâèæåíèÿ êàäðîâ ñðåäíåãî çâåíà, â ñîñòàâ 411 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 of 1902-1922,” during which power Ëèëèÿ ÊÐÓÄÓ was assumed by a group of political actors who probably had the least È. È. Áîäþë. Äîðîãîé æèçíè. worked out proposals for Russian Âðåìÿ, ñîáûòèÿ, ðàçäóìüÿ. Âîñ- agriculture. None of the work touches ïîìèíàíèÿ. Êíèãà âòîðàÿ. Êè- on the period 1932-1989, an omission øèíåâ: Èçä. “Êóøíèð è Ê0”, that implies the period lacks genuine 2001. 496 c. ISBN: 9-97596400-1. material to cover. The contemporary political slant to the book is rein- Èâàí Èâàíîâè÷ Áîäþë ÿâëÿ- forced by calls for open debate and åòñÿ îäíîé èç öåíòðàëüíûõ ôèãóð political compromise. â èñòîðèè Ìîëäîâû 1960-õ- íà- The articles in this collection go ÷àëà 1980-õ ãã. Îí ïðîðàáîòàë well together. It would be interesting â Ìîëäîâå áîëåå 20 ëåò, çàíèìàÿ to read in conjunction with them a äîëæíîñòü âòîðîãî, à çàòåì ïåð- work on the social practices of land âîãî ñåêðåòàðÿ ÖÊ ÊÏ Ìîëäàâèè. ownership. Even while the peasants Îòìåòèì, ÷òî åãî ïðîäâèæåíèå called the land “God’s”, they were ïî ïàðòèéíîé ëèíèè êîñâåííî doing a brisk trade in it. And, as any îáÿçàíî ðåïðåññèÿì â 1937 ã., student of Russian and Soviet history êîòîðûì ïîäâåðãàëàñü “ïîëèòè- knows, and as is referred to in this ÷åñêàÿ ýëèòà”, ñôîðìèðîâàííàÿ collection, legislation and the wishes â 1920-å ãã. â ÌÀÑÑÐ. Ñâîåé êà- and desires of the central govern- ðüåðîé Áîäþë áûë òàêæå îáÿ- ment were in practice often challenged, çàí ïàðàäîêñàì êàäðîâîé ïîëè- subverted, or simply ignored. Overall òèêè â ðåñïóáëèêå, âûðàæàâ- though, this collection presents a øèìñÿ â òîì, ÷òî êîììóíèñòû- series of fascinating, well-written, ïîäïîëüùèêè, àêòèâíî äåé- and solidly researched overviews of ñòâîâàâøèå íà òåððèòîðèè Áåñ- a vital aspect of Russian political, ñàðàáèè â ìåæâîåííûé ïåðèîä, economic, and social history. ïîñëå 1940 ã. íå íàçíà÷àëèñü íà ðóêîâîäÿùèå äîëæíîñòè. Ñûãðàëà ñâîþ ðîëü è ïîëèòèêà êîðåíèçàöèè, ñïîñîáñòâîâàâøàÿ ïðîäâèæåíèþ êàäðîâ, ïðèíàäëå- æàâøèõ ê òèòóëüíîé íàöèè. Òàêèì îáðàçîì, ïîñëå íåîäíîê- ðàòíûõ ÷èñòîê ïàðòèéíîé îðãà- íèçàöèè ïîÿâèëàñü âîçìîæ- íîñòü áûñòðîãî ïðîäâèæåíèÿ êàäðîâ ñðåäíåãî çâåíà, â ñîñòàâ 411 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews êîòîðûõ è âõîäèë Áîäþë. Îòìå- ïîëíîñòüþ ðåàáèëèòèðîâàí óæå òèì, ÷òî ïðèíàäëåæíîñòü ê â 1992 ã.  2003 ã. Ïðåçèäåíòîì òèòóëüíîé íàöèè ðóêîâîäÿùèõ Ìîëäîâû Â. Âîðîíèíûì Áîäþëó ðàáîòíèêîâ â ñîâåòñêîé Ìîëäàâèè áûëà âðó÷åíà âûñøàÿ íàãðàäà – íîñèëà ÷àñòî äåêëàðàòèâíûé Îðäåí Ðåñïóáëèêè (çà “âêëàä â õàðàêòåð. Áîäþë â ýòîì îòíîøå- ðàçâèòèå Ìîëäîâû”). Ýòî, ïî íèè íå ïðåäñòàâëÿë èñêëþ÷åíèÿ. ñóùåñòâó, îçíà÷àëî ïîëèòè÷åñ- Ñ 1980 ã. îí âõîäèë â ñîñòàâ êóþ ðåàáèëèòàöèþ áûâøåãî ïðàâèòåëüñòâà Ñîâåòñêîãî Ñîþçà, ïåðâîãî ïàðòñåêðåòàðÿ. áóäó÷è çàìåñòèòåëåì Ïðåäñåäà- Ê ñîæàëåíèþ, â ñâîèõ ìåìóà- òåëÿ Ñîâåòà Ìèíèñòðîâ ÑÑÑÐ. ðàõ àâòîð äîïóñêàåò ìíîæåñòâî Îäíàêî â 1984 ã., â ïðåääâåðèè ôàêòè÷åñêèõ íåòî÷íîñòåé è ðåôîðì è íà÷àëà ïðîöåññà ñìåíû ñïîðíûõ êîíñòàòàöèé, èçáåãàÿ ñòàðûõ êàäðîâ, Áîäþë ñ ïîëèòè- êðèòè÷åñêîãî ïåðåîñìûñëåíèÿ ÷åñêîé àðåíû óøåë, â òî âðåìÿ ïðîøëîãî. Òàê, íàïðèìåð, 1940 ã. êàê áûâøèå ëèäåðû ñîþçíûõ Áîäþë îïèñûâàåò êàê “ïåðâûé ðåñïóáëèê è ïîñëå ïåðåñòðîéêè ãîä ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ ÌÑÑÐ, êîòî- ïðîäîëæàëè àêòèâíî ó÷àñòâî- ðûé ïðîøåë â ïàôîñå. Ðàáî÷èå, âàòü â ïîëèòè÷åñêîé æèçíè ñâîèõ àáñîëþòíîå áîëüøèíñòâî êðåñ- ðåãèîíîâ (Ã. Àëèåâ â Àçåéðáàé- òüÿí è îñíîâíàÿ ÷àñòü èíòåëëè- äæàíå, Ý. Øåâàðäíàäçå â Ãðó- ãåíöèè ðàäîâàëèñü îñâîáîæäå- çèè, Í. Íàçàðáàåâ â Êàçàõñòàíå íèþ è âõîæäåíèþ â ñîñòàâ è äð.).  1982 ã. Þ. Àíäðîïîâ, ÑÑÑÐ “ (Ñ. 22). Àâòîð ìåìóà- êàê èçâåñòíî, íà÷àë ðåøèòåëüíóþ ðîâ, îäíàêî, íå óïîìèíàåò î áîðüáó ñ êîððóïöèåé è ïðåâû- ìàññîâîé ìèãðàöèè íàñåëåíèÿ øåíèåì ïîëíîìî÷èé ñðåäè Áåññàðàáèè â Ðóìûíèþ è î ïðè- ïàðòèéíûõ ðàáîòíèêîâ. Îäíè òîêå åâðåéñêîãî íàñåëåíèÿ â ðóêîâîäèòåëè ñîþçíûõ ðåñïóáëèê Áåññàðàáèþ èç Ðóìûíèè, ÷òî, áûëè îáâèíåíû â íåêîìïåòåíò- íåñîìíåííî, ïîâëèÿëî íà èçìå- íîñòè (ýòî, â ïåðâóþ î÷åðåäü, íåíèÿ ñîöèàëüíîãî ñîñòàâà ðåñ- êîñíóëîñü Òóðêìåíèè, Êèðãè- ïóáëèêè. Ðÿä âàæíûõ ñîáûòèé çèè è Òàäæèêèñòàíà), äðóãèå æå â èñòîðèè ðåñïóáëèêè Áîäþëîì- ïîäâåðãàëèñü êðèòèêå çà ñâîè ìåìóàðèñòîì âîîáùå èãíîðèðó- “ïðîøëûå îøèáêè” (ê ïðèìåðó, åòñÿ, êàê, íàïðèìåð, ðåïðåññèè Øàðàô Ðàøèäîâ, áûâøèé ïåðâûé â 1937 ã. â ÌÀÑÑÐ, äåïîðòàöèè ñåêðåòàðü ÖÊ ÊÏ Óçáåêèñòàíà, áåññàðàáñêîãî êðåñòüÿíñòâà â è Èâàí Áîäþë, áûâøèé ïåðâûé 1940 è 1949 ãã., ãîëîä â 1947 ã., ñåêðåòàðü ÖÊ ÊÏ Ìîëäîâû). ïðåñëåäîâàíèÿ è àðåñò “íåáëà- Ø. Ðàøèäîâ, íàïðèìåð, áûë ãîíàäåæíûõ è êîíòððåâîëþöè- 412 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 îííûõ ýëåìåíòîâ”, âêëþ÷àÿ îòìåòèì òàêèå ðèòîðè÷åñêèå áûâøèõ ÷ëåíî⠓áóðæóàçíûõ” ïàññàæè: “âåëèêèå ñâåðøåíèÿ ïàðòèé, áåññàðàáñêîãî ïðàâèòåëü- íàðîäà”, “íàðîä óñòàë îò ñëî- ñòâà, ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé èíòåëëèãåí- âåñíîé äåìàãîãèè”, “ó íàðîäà öèè è äð. Òàêîé “âûáîðî÷íûé” èìååòñÿ äîñòàòî÷íî ÿñíîå ïðåä- ïîäõîä â ìåìóàðàõ Áîäþëà âûã- ñòàâëåíèå î âîçìîæíîñòÿõ ñîçäà- ëÿäèò íåñêîëüêî ñòðàííûì, ó÷è- íèÿ îáíîâëåííîãî ñîöèàëèçìà”, òûâàÿ ÷òî, èññëåäîâàíèÿ “áåëûõ “íàðîä Ìîëäîâû âîçëàãàë ïÿòåí” â èñòîðèè èìåëè áîëüøîé áîëüøèå íàäåæäû íà ñîöèàëèñ- îáùåñòâåííûé ðåçîíàíñ åùå â òè÷åñêèé ñïîñîá ïðîèçâîäñòâà” êîíöå 1980-õ ãã.  íàñòîÿùåå è äð. Íåîáõîäèìî îòìåòèòü, ÷òî âðåìÿ â Ìîëäîâå èìååòñÿ îáøèð- àâòîð ïðèäåðæèâàåòñÿ îäíî- íàÿ èñòîðèîãðàôèÿ, ñâÿçàííàÿ ñ çíà÷íî íåãàòèâíîé òðàêòîâêè èññëåäîâàíèåì ðàíåå òàáóèðî- ïðîøëîãî Áåññàðàáèè, öàðñêîé âàííûõ òåì, êîòîðàÿ ìîãëà áû Ðîññèè è “áóðæóàçíîé” Ðóìû- ïîìî÷ü àâòîðó ïðîàíàëèçèðîâàòü íèè. Ïðè÷åì, åñëè çà ïîñëåäíåé ïðîøëîå.1 çàêðåïëåí ýïèòåò “îêêóïàíòà” è Îäíàêî Áîäþë íå äåëàåò îáðàç âðàãà (íåñìîòðÿ íà òî, ÷òî ñîîòâåòñòâóþùèõ êîððåêòèðî- Ðóìûíèÿ ÿâëÿëàñü ïàðòíåðîì âîê íè â ïåðâîì èçäàíèè ðàáîòû, ÑÑÑÐ ïî ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêîìó âûïóùåííîì â Òèðàñïîëå â 1999 ã., ëàãåðþ), òî îòíîøåíèÿ ìåæäó íè âî âòîðîì èçäàíèè, óâèäåâ- Ðîññèåé è Ìîëäîâîé îöåíèâà- øèé ñâåò â Êèøèíåâå â 2001 ã. þòñÿ àâòîðîì ñ ïîçèöèè “âåêî- Ïîýòîìó åãî ðàáîòà íàïîìèíàåò, âîé äðóæáû ðóññêîãî è ìîëäàâ- ñêîðåå, ñïðàâî÷íîå èçäàíèå ñêîãî íàðîäà”. ñîâåòñêîãî âðåìåíè, ÷åì àêêó- Áîäþëîâñêàÿ èíòåðïðåòàöèÿ ðàòíîå è äîñòîâåðíîå ñâèäåòåëü- “ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêîãî ïðîøëîãî” ñòâî î÷åâèäöà.  íåé çàìåòíà ïîçâîëÿåò íàì ïîíÿòü îñîáåí- òåíäåíöèÿ íå òîëüêî ïðåäñòàâëÿòü íîñòü ìåíòàëèòåòà “ñòàðîé ñîáûòèÿ â ñîîòâåòñòâèè ñ îöåí- ãâàðäèè” è, âîçìîæíî, íàéòè êàìè, ïðèíÿòûìè â îôèöèàëü- îòâåò íà âîïðîñ, ïî÷åìó â Ìîë- íîé ñîâåòñêîé èñòîðèîãðàôèè, äîâå â 1960-70-õ ãã. ïàðòèéíûå íî è èñïîëüçîâàòü ôðàçåîëîãèþ ôóíêöèîíåðû íå èñïîëüçîâàëè ñîâåòñêîé ýïîõè. Íàïðèìåð, ÷ëåíñòâî â ïàðòèè äëÿ ïðîäâè-

1 Ñòîèò óïîìÿíóòü íåêîòîðûå èç íåäàâíèõ ðàáîò: À. Öýðàíó, Ã. Ðóñíàê, È. Øèøêàíó. Ãîëîä â Ìîëäîâå. 1946-1947 ãã. Ñáîðíèê äîêóìåíòîâ. Êèøèíåâ, 1993; Â. È. Ïàñàò. Òðóäíûå ñòðàíèöû èñòîðèè Ìîëäîâû. 1940-1950 ãã. Ìîñêâà, 1994; Â. È. Ïàñàò. Ñóðîâàÿ ïðàâäà èñòîðèè. Äåïîðòàöèè ñ òåððèòîðèè Ìîëäàâñêîé ÑÑÐ â 1940-50-õ ãã. Êèøèíåâ, 1998. 413 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews æåíèÿ íàöèîíàëüíûõ èíòåðå- òåëüíîå âðåìÿ çàíèìàëè ìåñòíûå ñîâ, êàê ýòî áûëî, íàïðèìåð, â ôóíêöèîíåðû, êàê, íàïðèìåð Ëèòâå. Îñîáûé èíòåðåñ äëÿ Í. Òåñòåìèöèàíó (ìèíèñòð çäðà- èññëåäîâàòåëåé ïðåäñòàâëÿþò âîîõðàíåíèÿ ÌÑÑÐ), À. Íåãðó- øåñòàÿ è ñåäüìàÿ ãëàâû, ïîñâÿ- Âîäý (ìèíèñòð ñåëüñêîãî õîçÿé- ùåííûå êàäðîâîé ïîëèòèêå è ñòâà ÌÑÑÐ), Ä. Êîðíîâàí (ñåê- ëè÷íîñòÿì, êîòîðûõ àâòîð çíàë ðåòàðü ÖÊ ÊÏÌ ïî ïðîïàãàíäå) ëè÷íî. Êðèòèêà çà ñîâåðøåííûå è äð. Îäíàêî Áîäþë íå ïîÿñíÿåò, îøèáêè íå ïðîøëà äëÿ Áîäþëà ïî÷åìó â ýòîò ïåðèîä ìíîãèå äàðîì.  âîñïîìèíàíèÿõ îí âèäíûå ãîñóäàðñòâåííûå äåÿòåëè, ïðèçíàåòñÿ, ÷òî “ðàíüøå íå ïðåäñòàâëÿþùèå òèòóëüíóþ áûëî ïðèíÿòî ñåðüåçíî èçó÷àòü íàöèþ, âäðóã áûëè îòñòðàíåíû è ñìåëî âûäâèãàòü íà ðóêîâî- îò çàíèìàåìûõ äîëæíîñòåé èëè äÿùóþ ðàáîòó ìåñòíûå êàäðû. ïåðåâåäåíû íà äðóãèå. Îñòàåòñÿ  1960-õ ãã. â ÌÑÑÐ íà ìèíèñòåð- áåç îòâåòà è äðóãîé âîïðîñ: ñêèõ äîëæíîñòÿõ è âûøå íå áûëî ïî÷åìó äåÿòåëè êóëüòóðû è íàöè- íè îäíîãî áåññàðàáöà” (Ñ. 84). îíàëüíàÿ èíòåëëèãåíöèÿ Ãðó- Ñèòóàöèÿ îñëîæíÿëàñü òåì ôàê- çèè, Ëèòâû è äðóãèõ ðåñïóáëèê òîì, ÷òî “âûñøèå ðóêîâîäÿùèå áûëè ïîääåðæàíû ìåñòíûì äîëæíîñòè çàíèìàëè ïðåèìóùå- ðóêîâîäñòâîì, à â Ìîëäîâå îíè ñòâåííî ïðèãëàøåííûå èç äðóãèõ íå íàøëè ïîääåðæêè? Ïî÷åìó, ðåãèîíîâ Ñîâåòñêîãî Ñîþçà, â èìåÿ ñîëèäíûé âíóòðåííèé êàä- îñíîâíîì èç îáëàñòåé è êðàåâ ðîâûé ïîòåíöèàë, ìåñòíîå ðóêî- Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè. Îíè âîäñòâî ïðîäîëæàëî îòäàâàòü áûëè ãðàìîòíûìè ðàáîòíèêàìè, ïðåäïî÷òåíèå “ïðèãëàøåííûì ...íî íå çíàëè ÿçûêà è íå ìîãëè êàäðàì”? íîðìàëüíî îáùàòüñÿ ñ íàñåëå- Áûëî áû èíòåðåñíî òàêæå íèåì” (Ñ. 84). óçíàòü, êàê “ìîëäàâñêèå” êàäðû, Ñëåäóåò îòìåòèòü, ÷òî ýòî ïåðåâåäåííûå íà áîëåå îòâåò- ïîëîæåíèå äåë â êàäðîâîé ïîëè- ñòâåííóþ ðàáîòó â Ìîñêâó, â òèêå íàõîäèëîñü â öåíòðå âíè- òîì ÷èñëå è àâòîð ìåìóàðîâ, ìàíèÿ öåíòðàëüíûõ ïàðòèéíûõ ñïîñîáñòâîâàëè ðàçâèòèþ Ìîë- îðãàíîâ, íà÷èíàÿ ñ 1940 ã. è íà äîâû è ïðåîäîëåíèþ ïîëèòè÷åñ- ïðîòÿæåíèè âñåãî ñîâåòñêîãî êîãî è ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî êðèçèñà ïåðèîäà. Óæå ê 1970 ã., îòìå÷àåò íà÷àëà 1990-õ ãã.? Êàê ñêëàäû- Áîäþë, áûëà ðåøåíà ïðîáëåìà âàëèñü â Ìîñêâå îòíîøåíèÿ íàöèîíàëüíîãî ñîñòàâà ïàðòèé- Áîäþëà ñ “ìîëäàâñêèìè” êàä- íûõ êàäðîâ. Äåéñòâèòåëüíî, ðàìè è èíòåëëèãåíöèåé? Áûëè íåêîòîðûå ïîñòû íåïðîäîëæè- ëè ñ åãî ñòîðîíû ïîïûòêè îñòà- 414 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 íîâèòü “êàìïàíèþ ïî èçáèåíèþ çà îøèáêè, äîïóùåííûå â êàä- ìîëäàâñêèõ êàäðîâ”, ðàçâåðíóòóþ ðîâîé ïîëèòèêå. Ýòî êðèòè÷åñêîå âòîðûì ñåêðåòàðåì ÖÊ ÊÏÌ îòíîøåíèå àâòîðà ê Áðåæíåâó â 1984 ã.? Êàê îòðåàãèðîâàë Áîäþë íîñèò ïðîòèâîðå÷èâûé õàðàêòåð, íà ñíÿòèå ñ äîëæíîñòåé 490 “÷åñ- ïîñêîëüêó âî âðåìÿ èõ ñîâìåñòíîé òíûõ è äîáðîïîðÿäî÷íûõ ðàáîò- ðàáîòû àâòîð íå îñìåëèëñÿ íè íèêîâ”? Áûëà ëè âîçìîæíîñòü ðàçó ïîäâåðãíóòü êðèòèêå ãåíå- íå äîïóñòèòü ïîêàçàòåëüíûé ðàëüíîãî ñåêðåòàðÿ è, áîëåå “ïðîöåññ Â. Âûøêó”? òîãî, âñåìè ñèëàìè ñòàðàëñÿ óãî- Ìåìóàðèñò íàçûâàåò “òðàãå- äèòü åìó. Îòíîøåíèå ê Ì. Ãîðáà- äèåé” äëÿ Ìîëäîâû ïîòåðþ ÷åâó àâòîð âûðàæàåò ñêâîçü “ïðîôåññèîíàëî┠â ïåðèîä íàöè- ïðèçìó ïåðåñòðîéêè. Åñëè â îíàëüíîãî âîçðîæäåíèÿ. Îíè 1988 ã. â èíòåðâüþ æóðíàëó ñòàëè òåðÿòü ñâîþ äîìèíèðóþ- “Íèñòðó” Áîäþë âûñòóïàë â ùóþ ðîëü â ìîëäàâñêîì îáùå- ïîääåðæêó êóðñà ïðåîáðàçîâà- ñòâå èç-çà íåçíàíèÿ ðóìûíñêîãî íèé, òî â 1999 ã. (ïåðâîå èçäàíèå ÿçûêà. Îäíàêî ñòîèò íàïîì- ìåìóàðîâ) è 2001 ã. (âòîðîå èçäà- íèòü, ÷òî åùå â 1988 ã., â ðàçãàð íèå), íå êîììåíòèðóÿ ïåðåìåíû ïåðåñòðîéêè, â èíòåðâüþ æóðíàëó ñâîåé ïîçèöèè, âûðàæàë òî÷êó “Íèñòðó” Áîäþë îòìå÷àë, ÷òî çðåíèÿ êîíñåðâàòèâíîãî êðûëà “êàäðû âûðàùåííûå è ïðîäâè- ÊÏÑÑ, ïîä÷åðêèâàÿ, ÷òî ïåðå- íóòûå ïðè íåì, îñòàëèñü íà ñâîèõ ñòðîéêà ðàçâàëèëà ÑÑÑÐ. Ì. Ãîð- ìåñòàõ”, ñóìåâ ïðèñïîñîáèòüñÿ áà÷åâ, ïî ìíåíèþ àâòîðà, “íå ê íîâûì óñëîâèÿì.  ýòîé ñâÿçè, èìåë çà äóøîé àáñîëþòíî íèêà- âåðîÿòíî, áîëåå ñåðüåçíîé ïðîáëå- êèõ èäåé î ïåðåñòðîéêå îáùå- ìîé äëÿ Ìîëäîâû áûëî òî, êàê ñòâà”, “íå âëàäåë íàóêîé î ñî- óäàëîñü èñïîëüçîâàòü øàíñû, öèàëèçìå è íå ïðîÿâëÿë ïðåäàí- ïðåäîñòàâëåííûå ýëèòàì ïåðå- íîñòè ñîöèàëèçìó”. ñòðîéêîé, êòî âûèãðàë â äàííîé Ýòè çàìå÷àíèÿ ïîçâîëÿþò èñòîðè÷åñêîé ñèòóàöèè. íàì ñóäèòü î òîì, êàê ñêëàäû-  ñâîèõ ìåìóàðàõ Áîäþë âàëèñü îòíîøåíèÿ ðóêîâîäÿùèõ äàåò õàðàêòåðèñòèêè ëèäåðàì êàäðîâ Ìîñêâû è Ìîëäîâû â Ñîâåòñêîãî Ñîþçà è ÌÑÑÐ, à 1980-å ãã. Èíòåðåñåí â ýòîé ñâÿçè òàêæå àïïàðàò÷èêàì ÖÊ ÊÏÌ, âîïðîñ î òîì, ïî÷åìó Ãîðáà÷åâ, ñ êîòîðûìè åìó ïðèøëîñü ðàáî- ÿâëÿÿñü ãåíåðàëüíûì ñåêðåòà- òàòü. Òàê, Ë. Áðåæíåâà îí íàçû- ðåì ÖÊ ÊÏÑÑ, íå ïîñåòèë Ìîë- âàåò “ïîñðåäñòâåííûì ðóêîâî- äîâó ñ ðàáî÷èì âèçèòîì. Áûëî äèòåëåì” è “àâàíòþðèñòîì”, ëè ýòî ñâÿçàíî ñ òåì, ÷òî êëþ÷å- âîçëàãàÿ íà íåãî îòâåòñòâåííîñòü âûå ïîñòû â Ìîëäîâå ïî-ïðå- 415 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews æíåìó çàíèìàëè êîíñåðâàòèâíûå ñîáûòèÿ òàêèì îáðàçîì, êàê êàäðû, â òî âðåìÿ êàê â Ìîñêâå áóäòî “äî íåãî áûëà ïóñòûíÿ, îíè áûëè äîâåðåíû íîâûì ïðèøåë îí – è íà÷àëàñü æèçíü” ëþäÿì? Êàê ñêëàäûâàëèñü âçàè- (çäåñü ìû ñîãëàñíû ñ òàêîé ìîîòíîøåíèÿ ðóêîâîäÿùèõ îöåíêîé È. Äðóöý). ðàáîòíèêîâ Ìîëäîâû è ëèäå- Ðÿä âàæíûõ àñïåêòîâ ýêîíî- ðîâ ñîþçíûõ ðåñïóáëèê? Ñ êåì ìè÷åñêîé ïîëèòèêè, ïðîâîäè- èç ëèäåðîâ ñîþçíûõ ðåñïóáëèê ìîé â ÌÑÑÐ, íå íàøåë äîëæíîãî è ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêèõ ñòðàí Áîäþë îñâåùåíèÿ â ìåìóàðàõ. Òàê, èõ ïîääåðæèâàë áëèçêèå, äðóæåñêèå àâòîð íå óêàçûâàåò, ñ ÷üåé èíè- îòíîøåíèÿ? Äëÿ èññëåäîâàòåëåé öèàòèâû êðóïíûå èíäóñòðèàëü- ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ ýëèò áûëî áû íûå îòðàñëè ïðîìûøëåííîñòè èíòåðåñíî òàêæå óçíàòü, êàê áûëè ñêîíöåíòðèðîâàíû â Ïðè- ðàáîòàëîñü Áîäþëó ñ ïðåäñòà- äíåñòðîâüå, íàñêîëüêî áûëè âèòåëÿìè ò.í. “ìîëäàâñêîé ðåíòàáåëüíû “ãèãàíòû” â àãðàð- êîìàíäû” – Ñ. Òðàïåçíèêîâûì, íîì è èíäóñòðèàëüíîì ñåêòîðå. Ñ. Öâèãóíîì, Í. Ùåëîêîâûì, è, Êîíå÷íî, ó ñîâðåìåííûõ èññëå- íàêîíåö, êàê ñëîæèëèñü âçàèìî- äîâàòåëåé åñòü îñíîâàíèÿ ñîìíå- îòíîøåíèÿ ñ ñàìèì Áðåæíåâûì? âàòüñÿ è â òîì, ÷òî êîëõîç ÿâëÿ- Ñðàâíèâàÿ ñîâåòñêèõ ëèäåðîâ, åòñÿ ëó÷øåé ôîðìîé õîçÿéñòâî- Áîäþë âûÿâëÿåò îáùóþ ÷åðòó âàíèÿ (ðåêîìåíäóåìîé Áîäþ- ïñèõîëîãè÷åñêèõ ïîðòðåòîâ ëîì äëÿ Ìîëäîâû), ÿêîáû ñõîä- Áðåæíåâà è Ãîðáà÷åâà, çàìå÷àÿ, íîé ñ îðãàíèçàöèåé àãðàðíîãî ÷òî îáà áûëè çàíÿòû ëèøü ñåêòîðà öèâèëèçîâàííûõ ñòðàí. ïîèñêîì ñëàâû, îäíàêî, ïîëíî- Õîòÿ ðåöåíçèðóåìûå ìåìóàðû ñòüþ èãíîðèðóåò âîñïðèÿòèå è ïîçâîëÿþò íàì ñîñòàâèòü èìèäæà ýòèõ ëèäåðîâ íà ìåæäó- ïðåäñòàâëåíèå î òîì, êàê àâòîð íàðîäíîé àðåíå è èõ óìåíèå îá- õàðàêòåðèçóåò ñàìîãî ñåáÿ, ùàòüñÿ ñ ìàññàìè. ñîçäàåòñÿ âïå÷àòëåíèå, ÷òî îí Îñîáûé èíòåðåñ äëÿ ñïåöèà- íå äî êîíöà èñêðåíåí ïåðåä ÷è- ëèñòîâ ïðåäñòàâëÿþò àíàëèç òàòåëåì. Áîäþë ïîïûòàëñÿ ýêîíîìè÷åñêèõ ïåðåìåí Ìîëäîâû ïðåäñòàâèòü ñåáÿ òîëüêî ñ ïîëî- â ýïîõó ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêèõ ïðå- æèòåëüíîé ñòîðîíû. Ýòî âèäíî, îáðàçîâàíèé è ðàçìûøëåíèÿ íàïðèìåð, â óòâåðæäåíèè, ÷òî àâòîðà ìåìóàðîâ î ïåðñïåêòèâàõ åãî ëè÷íûå îòíîøåíèÿ ñ êîëëå- ýêîíîìè÷åñêîãî ðàçâèòèÿ ðåñ- ãàìè ñòðîèëèñü “íà ïðèíöèïàõ ïóáëèêè. Áîäþë ðèñóåò ÿðêóþ ïîëíîãî äîâåðèÿ è âçàèìíîãî êàðòèíó äîñòèæåíèé Ìîëäîâû ïîíèìàíèÿ”. Îí íå ñòåñíÿåòñÿ ê íà÷àëó 1980-õ ãã., ïðåäñòàâëÿÿ ïîä÷åðêèâàòü, ÷òî “íå ïðèñëó- 416 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 øèâàëñÿ ê äîíîñàì è àíîíèì- Ëàðèñà ËÅÙÅÍÊÎ êàì... íèêîãäà íå ïðèâëåêàë ðàáîòíèêîâ ÊÃÁ ê ïðîâåðêå Àêòóàëüíûå ïðîáëåìû ìèã- ïîëèòè÷åñêîé áëàãîíàäåæíîñòè ðàöèè. Ìåæäóíàðîäíûå ìåõà- êàäðîâ, ñ÷èòàë ýòî óíèçèòåëüíûì íèçìû çàùèòû ïðàâ áåæåíöåâ: è îñêîðáèòåëüíûì çàíÿòèåì” Ìàòåðèàëû ÷åòâåðòîãî ñåìèíàðà, (Ñ. 151). Òàêæå íàñòîé÷èâî ïîä- ïðîâåäåííîãî Ïðàâîçàùèòíûì ÷åðêèâàåòñÿ “íå ó÷àñòèå â èíòðè- öåíòðîì “Ìåìîðèàë” 24-26 àï- ãàõ è çàêóëèñíîé áîðüáå” (Ñ. 128). ðåëÿ 1998 ã. ïî ïðîãðàììå “Îðãà- Âïðî÷åì, ýòî “êà÷åñòâî” ìîæíî íèçàöèÿ ñåòè þðèäè÷åñêèõ êîí- îáúÿñíèòü òåì, ÷òî Áîäþë íå ñóëüòàöèé “Ìèãðàöèÿ è ïðàâî” îáëàäàë çíà÷èòåëüíûì ïîëèòè- äëÿ áåæåíöåâ è âûíóæäåííûõ ÷åñêèì âëèÿíèåì è, ñëåäîâà- ïåðåñåëåíöåâ â Ðîññèè”. Ìîñêâà: òåëüíî, íå ìîã èçìåíèòü õîä “Ìåìîðèàë”, 1999. 207 ñ. áîðüáû â ïàðòèéíîé èåðàðõèè. Ïðàâîâîå è ñîöèàëüíîå ïîëî- Ïîýòîìó îí ÷àñòî çàíèìàë âûæè- æåíèå âûíóæäåííûõ ìèãðàíòîâ äàòåëüíóþ ïîçèöèþ, ÷òîáû âîñ- â Ðîññèè. Ìèíèìàëüíûå ìåæäó- ïîëüçîâàòüñÿ ðåçóëüòàòàìè ýòîé íàðîäíûå ãàðàíòèè: Ìàòåðèàëû áîðüáû äëÿ ñâîåé êàðüåðû. È, îäèííàäöàòîãî ñåìèíàðà “Îðãà- ìîæåò áûòü, èìåííî áëàãîäàðÿ íèçàöèÿ ñåòè þðèäè÷åñêèõ êîí- äðóãîìó êà÷åñòâó – “óìåíèþ ñóëüòàöèé â Ðîññèè äëÿ áåæåíöåâ ìîë÷àòü” (Ñ. 128), íå çàäàâàòü è âûíóæäåííûõ ïåðåñåëåíöåâ”, ëèøíèõ âîïðîñîâ è âûïîëíÿòü ïðîâåäåííîãî Ïðàâîçàùèòíûì äèðåêòèâû öåíòðà – îí è áûë öåíòðîì “Ìåìîðèàë” ïî ïðî- íàçíà÷åí ïåðâûì ñåêðåòàðåì. ãðàììå “Ìèãðàöèÿ è ïðàâî” Â öåëîì, íåñìîòðÿ íà òî, ÷òî 28-30 àïðåëÿ 2001 ã. Ìîñêâà: ðåöåíçèðóåìàÿ ðàáîòà íîñèò “Ìåìîðèàë”, 2001. 167 ñ. ìåìóàðíûé (à ÷àñòî è îò÷åò- ëèâî ñóáúåêòèâíûé) õàðàêòåð, Ìèãðàöèè ëþäåé ñóùåñòâóþò îíà ïðåäñòàâëÿåò áîëüøîé èí- ñòîëüêî æå, ñêîëüêî ñóùåñòâóåò òåðåñ äëÿ èññëåäîâàòåëåé, çàíè- ñàìî ÷åëîâå÷åñòâî. Áåæåíöû è ìàþùèõñÿ èçó÷åíèåì ïñèõîëî- ìèãðàíòû ÿâëÿþòñÿ ñèìâîëîì ãèè ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé ðåãèîíàëü- ñîâðåìåííîé öèâèëèçàöèè. Åùå íîé ñîâåòñêîé ïîëèòè÷åñêîé â ïðîøëîì ñòîëåòèè ïðîáëåìà ýëèòû è îñîáåííîñòåé ýêîíî- îêàçàëàñü íàñòîëüêî âàæíîé, ìè÷åñêîé è íàöèîíàëüíîé ïî- ÷òî âûðàáîòêîé þðèäè÷åñêèõ ëèòèêè â áûâøåé ñîâåòñêîé ñòàíäàðòîâ ïðè îïðåäåëåíèè Ìîëäàâèè. ñòàòóñà áåæåíöà áûëè âûíóæäåíû 417 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 øèâàëñÿ ê äîíîñàì è àíîíèì- Ëàðèñà ËÅÙÅÍÊÎ êàì... íèêîãäà íå ïðèâëåêàë ðàáîòíèêîâ ÊÃÁ ê ïðîâåðêå Àêòóàëüíûå ïðîáëåìû ìèã- ïîëèòè÷åñêîé áëàãîíàäåæíîñòè ðàöèè. Ìåæäóíàðîäíûå ìåõà- êàäðîâ, ñ÷èòàë ýòî óíèçèòåëüíûì íèçìû çàùèòû ïðàâ áåæåíöåâ: è îñêîðáèòåëüíûì çàíÿòèåì” Ìàòåðèàëû ÷åòâåðòîãî ñåìèíàðà, (Ñ. 151). Òàêæå íàñòîé÷èâî ïîä- ïðîâåäåííîãî Ïðàâîçàùèòíûì ÷åðêèâàåòñÿ “íå ó÷àñòèå â èíòðè- öåíòðîì “Ìåìîðèàë” 24-26 àï- ãàõ è çàêóëèñíîé áîðüáå” (Ñ. 128). ðåëÿ 1998 ã. ïî ïðîãðàììå “Îðãà- Âïðî÷åì, ýòî “êà÷åñòâî” ìîæíî íèçàöèÿ ñåòè þðèäè÷åñêèõ êîí- îáúÿñíèòü òåì, ÷òî Áîäþë íå ñóëüòàöèé “Ìèãðàöèÿ è ïðàâî” îáëàäàë çíà÷èòåëüíûì ïîëèòè- äëÿ áåæåíöåâ è âûíóæäåííûõ ÷åñêèì âëèÿíèåì è, ñëåäîâà- ïåðåñåëåíöåâ â Ðîññèè”. Ìîñêâà: òåëüíî, íå ìîã èçìåíèòü õîä “Ìåìîðèàë”, 1999. 207 ñ. áîðüáû â ïàðòèéíîé èåðàðõèè. Ïðàâîâîå è ñîöèàëüíîå ïîëî- Ïîýòîìó îí ÷àñòî çàíèìàë âûæè- æåíèå âûíóæäåííûõ ìèãðàíòîâ äàòåëüíóþ ïîçèöèþ, ÷òîáû âîñ- â Ðîññèè. Ìèíèìàëüíûå ìåæäó- ïîëüçîâàòüñÿ ðåçóëüòàòàìè ýòîé íàðîäíûå ãàðàíòèè: Ìàòåðèàëû áîðüáû äëÿ ñâîåé êàðüåðû. È, îäèííàäöàòîãî ñåìèíàðà “Îðãà- ìîæåò áûòü, èìåííî áëàãîäàðÿ íèçàöèÿ ñåòè þðèäè÷åñêèõ êîí- äðóãîìó êà÷åñòâó – “óìåíèþ ñóëüòàöèé â Ðîññèè äëÿ áåæåíöåâ ìîë÷àòü” (Ñ. 128), íå çàäàâàòü è âûíóæäåííûõ ïåðåñåëåíöåâ”, ëèøíèõ âîïðîñîâ è âûïîëíÿòü ïðîâåäåííîãî Ïðàâîçàùèòíûì äèðåêòèâû öåíòðà – îí è áûë öåíòðîì “Ìåìîðèàë” ïî ïðî- íàçíà÷åí ïåðâûì ñåêðåòàðåì. ãðàììå “Ìèãðàöèÿ è ïðàâî” Â öåëîì, íåñìîòðÿ íà òî, ÷òî 28-30 àïðåëÿ 2001 ã. Ìîñêâà: ðåöåíçèðóåìàÿ ðàáîòà íîñèò “Ìåìîðèàë”, 2001. 167 ñ. ìåìóàðíûé (à ÷àñòî è îò÷åò- ëèâî ñóáúåêòèâíûé) õàðàêòåð, Ìèãðàöèè ëþäåé ñóùåñòâóþò îíà ïðåäñòàâëÿåò áîëüøîé èí- ñòîëüêî æå, ñêîëüêî ñóùåñòâóåò òåðåñ äëÿ èññëåäîâàòåëåé, çàíè- ñàìî ÷åëîâå÷åñòâî. Áåæåíöû è ìàþùèõñÿ èçó÷åíèåì ïñèõîëî- ìèãðàíòû ÿâëÿþòñÿ ñèìâîëîì ãèè ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé ðåãèîíàëü- ñîâðåìåííîé öèâèëèçàöèè. Åùå íîé ñîâåòñêîé ïîëèòè÷åñêîé â ïðîøëîì ñòîëåòèè ïðîáëåìà ýëèòû è îñîáåííîñòåé ýêîíî- îêàçàëàñü íàñòîëüêî âàæíîé, ìè÷åñêîé è íàöèîíàëüíîé ïî- ÷òî âûðàáîòêîé þðèäè÷åñêèõ ëèòèêè â áûâøåé ñîâåòñêîé ñòàíäàðòîâ ïðè îïðåäåëåíèè Ìîëäàâèè. ñòàòóñà áåæåíöà áûëè âûíóæäåíû 417 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews çàíèìàòüñÿ ìíîãèå ãîñóäàðñòâà. öèîííûå ïðîöåññû ïðàâîâûìè Âåõîé â ýòîì îòíîøåíèè ÿâèëîñü ïðîöåäóðàìè íå ðåãóëèðîâà- óòâåðæäåíèå â 1951 ã. Æåíåâñêîé ëèñü. Ñîçäàíèå íîðìàòèâíîé êîíâåíöèè î áåæåíöàõ.1 çàêîíîäàòåëüíîé áàçû â íîâûõ Èç ãîäà â ãîä ÷èñëî áåæåíöåâ ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ óñëîâèÿõ â êðàò- â ìèðå ïî-ïðåæíåìó âîçðàñòàåò. êèå ñðîêè áûëî è îñòàåòñÿ çàäà- Ïðè÷èíû îñòàþòñÿ ïðåæíèå: íèåì äîñòàòî÷íî ñëîæíûì. âîéíû, âíóòðåííèå êîíôëèêòû, Ñòðàíû Öåíòðàëüíîé è Âîñòî÷- ãîëîä, ýêîëîãè÷åñêèå êàòàê- íîé Åâðîïû íà÷èíàëè ðàòèôè- ëèçìû. Ñîãëàñíî ñòàòèñòèêå öèðîâàòü Æåíåâñêóþ êîíâåí- Óïðàâëåíèÿ Âåðõîâíîãî êîìèñ- öèþ òîëüêî ïîñëå 1991 ã. (çà èñ- ñàðà ïî äåëàì áåæåíöåâ Îðãàíè- êëþ÷åíèåì Âåíãðèè, ðàòèôèöè- çàöèè Îáúåäèíåííûõ Íàöèé ðîâàâøåé Êîíâåíöèþ â 1989 ã.) (ÓÂÊÁ ÎÎÍ), â íà÷àëå 2003 ã. â è, òåì ñàìûì, ñòàëè ãîñóäàð- ìèðå íàñ÷èòûâàëîñü 10 ìèëëè- ñòâàìè, ïðèíèìàþùèìè áåæåí- îíîâ áåæåíöåâ; âñåãî æå ñôåðîé öåâ â ñîîòâåòñòâèè ñ íîðìàìè äåÿòåëüíîñòè ÓÂÊÁ ÎÎÍ áûëî ìåæäóíàðîäíîãî çàêîíîäàòåëü- îõâà÷åíî â òî âðåìÿ 20 ìèëëè- ñòâà. “Ðîññèÿ ïðèñîåäèíèëàñü ê îíîâ ÷åëîâåê.2 Êîíâåíöèè â ïîëíîì îáúåìå â Ïîëèòè÷åñêèå èçìåíåíèÿ â 1992 ã., íî ïî÷åìó-òî â Ðîññèéñ- Öåíòðàëüíîé è Âîñòî÷íîé Åâðîïå êîé Ôåäåðàöèè íå áûëî ïðèíÿòî â 1989-1991 ãã. ïðèíåñëè ñ ñîáîé âî âíèìàíèå, ÷òî Êîíâåíöèÿ òàêæå âîëíó áåæåíöåâ. Ìàññî- äîïóñêàåò îãîâîðêè, – ñ÷èòàåò âûå ìèãðàöèè íà òåððèòîðèè À. Ì. Àëåêñååâà. – Ìíîãèå ñòðàíû áûâøåãî ÑÑÑÐ ñàìè ïî ñåáå îá ýòîì íå çàáûëè è, òàêèì îáðà- ñòàëè ïðè÷èíîé êîíôëèêòîâ, çîì, ïîñòàâèëè ñåáÿ â áîëåå ïðîÿâëåíèé êñåíîôîáèè è íåíà- âûãîäíîå ïîëîæåíèå òåì, ÷òî, âèñòè ê ëþäÿì, êîòîðûå âûíóæ- îöåíèâ ðåàëüíî ñèòóàöèþ â äåíû áûëè ïîêèíóòü ñâîè äîìà. ñòðàíå, ñäåëàëè îïðåäåëåííûå  ïåðèîä ðàñïàäà ÑÑÑÐ ìèãðà- îãîâîðêè, êîãäà ðàññìàòðèâàëè

1 Êîíâåíöèÿ óñòàíàâëèâàåò ñòàòóñ áåæåíöà ñëåäóþùèì îáðàçîì: “Áåæåíåö – ýòî ëèöî, êîòîðîå íàõîäèòñÿ âíå ñòðàíû ñâîåé ãðàæäàíñêîé ïðèíàäëåæíîñòè èëè âíå ñòðàíû ñâîåãî ïðåæíåãî ïîñòîÿííîãî ìåñòà æèòåëüñòâà, èìååò âïîëíå îáîñíîâàííûå îïàñåíèÿ ñòàòü æåðòâîé ïðåñëåäîâàíèÿ ïî ïðèçíàêó ðàñû, âåðîèñïîâåäàíèÿ, ãðàæäàíñòâà, ïðèíàäëåæíîñòè ê îïðåäåëåííîé ñîöèàëüíîé ãðóïïå èëè ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ óáåæäåíèé è íå ìîæåò èëè íå æåëàåò ïîëüçîâàòüñÿ çàùèòîé ýòîé ñòðàíû, èëè íå æåëàåò ïîëüçîâàòüñÿ òàêîé çàùèòîé âñëåäñòâèå òàêèõ îïàñåíèé”. (Ñòàòüÿ I “Êîíâåíöèè î ñòàòóñå áåæåíöå┠1951 ã.). 2 R. Lubbers. Azyl w Europie // Rzeczpospolita. 21-22 czerwca 2003. S. A4. 418 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 âîïðîñ î ïðèñîåäèíåíèè ê ñâÿçè ñ ýòèì íîðìû Æåíåâñêîé Êîíâåíöèè è î òîì, ÷òî ñòðàíà- êîíâåíöèè î áåæåíöàõ íå âñåãäà óáåæèùå äîëæíà âçÿòü íà ñåáÿ ñîîòâåòñòâóþò ðåàëüíîé ñèòóà- äîñòàòî÷íî ñåðüåçíûå îáÿçà- öèè, ñëîæèâøåéñÿ â ÐÔ. òåëüñòâà â ñîáëþäåíèè ñòàíäàð- Áåæåíöû èç ×å÷íè â ïîèñêàõ òîâ îáðàùåíèÿ ñ áåæåíöàìè” áåçîïàñíûõ ìåñò óåçæàþò èç ÐÔ, (Ïðàâîâîå è ñîöèàëüíîå ïîëî- ìíîãèå èç íèõ îñòàíàâëèâàþòñÿ æåíèå âûíóæäåííûõ ìèãðàíòîâ â Ïîëüøå, ×åõèè èëè Âåíãðèè â Ðîññèè. Ñ. 19). (÷àùå âñåãî ýòî òîëüêî îñòàíîâ-  ÐÔ ñèòóàöèÿ óñëîæíåíà êà ïåðåä ïåðåìåùåíèåì äàëåå íà òåì, ÷òî êðîìå áåæåíöåâ èç òàê Çàïàä).4 Ýòè ñòðàíû äîñòàòî÷íî íàçûâàåìîãî “äàëüíåãî çàðó- áûñòðî ïðèíÿëè îáÿçàòåëüñòâà, áåæüÿ”, â ñòðàíå ïîÿâèëîñü íàëàãàåìûå Æåíåâñêîé êîíâåí- áîëüøîå êîëè÷åñòâî ò.í. âûíóæ- öèåé, à òàêæå ââåëè â ñâîå çàêî- äåííûõ ïåðåñåëåíöåâ.3  ýòó êà- íîäàòåëüñòâî íîðìû, ðåãëàìåí- òåãîðèþ âõîäÿò áûâøèå ãðàæ- òèðóþùèå ïðåäîñòàâëåíèå ñòà- äàíå íåñóùåñòâóþùåãî ãîñóäàð- òóñà áåæåíöà. Áëèæàéøèå ñîñåäè ñòâà (ÑÑÑÐ), à òàêæå ãðàæäàíå ÐÔ íå ñïåøèëè ñ ðàòèôèêàöèåé ÐÔ, ïðîæèâàâøèå íà òåððèòîðèè Æåíåâñêîé êîíâåíöèè è, ñîîò- ×å÷íè, ãäå âåäóòñÿ âîåííûå äåé- âåòñòâåííî, èìåëè áîëüøå îñíî- ñòâèÿ. Ïîñëå òîãî, êàê Ðîññèéñ- âàíèé îòêàçûâàòü â ïðåäîñòàâ- êàÿ Ôåäåðàöèÿ ñòàëà ïðàâîïðå- ëåíèè ñòàòóñà áåæåíöà ëèöàì, åìíèöåé ÑÑÑÐ, îñíîâíàÿ ìàññà êîòîðûå ñòîÿò ïåðåä ïðîáëåìîé áåæåíöåâ íàïðàâèëàñü â öåíò- ïîèñêà ïîñòîÿííîãî èëè âðå- ðàëüíûå ðåãèîíû Ðîññèè.  ìåííîãî óáåæèùà.5

3 “Âûíóæäåííûé ïåðåñåëåíåö – ãðàæäàíèí Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè, ïîêèíóâøèé ìåñòî æèòåëüñòâà âñëåäñòâèå ðåàëüíîé îïàñíîñòè ïîäâåðãíóòüñÿ ïðåñëåäîâàíèþ ïî ïðèçíàêó ðàñîâîé èëè íàöèîíàëüíîé ïðèíàäëåæíîñòè, âåðîèñïîâåäàíèÿ, ÿçûêà, à òàêæå ïî ïðèçíàêó ïðèíàäëåæíîñòè ê îïðåäåëåííîé ñîöèàëüíîé ãðóïïå èëè ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ óáåæäåíèé, ñòàâøèõ ïîâîäàìè äëÿ ïðîâåäåíèÿ âðàæäåáíûõ êàìïàíèé â îòíîøåíèè êîíêðåòíîãî ëèöà èëè ãðóïïû ëèö, ìàññîâûõ íàðóøåíèé îáùåñòâåííîãî ïîðÿäêà” (Ñòàòüÿ I, “Çàêîí î âûíóæäåííûõ ïåðåñåëåíöàõ ÐԔ). 4  ïåðèîä ñ 1992 ïî 2003 ã. â Ïîëüøå áûëî çàðåãèñòðèðîâàíî 8.535 çàÿâëåíèé ãðàæäàí ÐÔ (98% èç íèõ áûëî ïîäàíî ÷å÷åíöàìè) î ïðåäîñòàâëåíèÿ ñòàòóñà áåæåíöà; òîëüêî 583 ÷åëîâåêà òàêîé ñòàòóñ ïîëó÷èëè. 5 Óêðàèíà ðàòèôèöèðîâàëà Æåíåâñêóþ êîíâåíöèþ 1951 ã. è Ïðîòîêîë 1967 ã. òîëüêî â 2002 ã., Áåëàðóñü ïðèñîåäèíèëàñü ê Êîíâåíöèè î ñòàòóñå áåæåíöåâ è Ïðîòîêîëó â 2001 ã.

419 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews Ïðîáëåìû, êîòîðûå îáñóæ- ÷òî èçúÿòèå ïàñïîðòà ó êîãî- äàëèñü íà îáùåñòâåííûõ ñåìè- ëèáî ÿâëÿåòñÿ íåçàêîííûì. íàðàõ, ïðîâåäåííûõ â ðàìêàõ Ìíîãîëåòíèé îïûò ðàáîòû ïðîãðàììû “Ìèãðàöèÿ è ïðàâî” ÎÎÍ è Ñîâåòà Åâðîïû, îñâå- ïîä ýãèäîé ïðàâîçàùèòíîãî ùàâøèéñÿ â äîêëàäàõ, ÿâëÿåòñÿ îáùåñòâà “Ìåìîðèàë” â (1998- õîðîøåé áàçîé äëÿ ðåøåíèÿ íå- 2001 ãã.), êàñàëèñü âûïëàòû êîòîðûõ ïðîáëåì, âîçíèêøèõ â êîìïåíñàöèé çà óòðà÷åííîå ðîññèéñêîé ïðàâîâîé ïðàêòèêå. æèëüå è èìóùåñòâî ãðàæäàíàì,  äîêëàäå Ò. Ñìèò, ñïåöèàëèñòà ïîêèíóâøèì ×å÷åíñêóþ Ðåñ- Óïðàâëåíèÿ Âåðõîâíîãî êîìèñ- ïóáëèêó (äîêëàäû À. Êîðîòêîâà, ñàðà ÎÎÍ ïî ïðàâàì ÷åëîâåêà, È. Ôåäîòîâîé, Î. Îñèïîâîé); îáñóæäàëàñü âîçìîæíîñòü çà- ïðàâîâûõ àñïåêòîâ ðåãèñòðàöèè äåéñòâîâàíèÿ ñèñòåìû ÎÎÍ äëÿ ïî ìåñòó æèòåëüñòâà è ìåñòó çàùèòû ýòèõ ïðàâ ÷åëîâåêà. ïðåáûâàíèÿ áåæåíöåâ, âûíóæ- Ìíîãî ïîëåçíîé èíôîðìàöèè äåííûõ ïåðåñåëåíöåâ, èíîñòðàí- ñëóøàòåëè ïîëó÷èëè â õîäå íûõ ãðàæäàí è ãðàæäàí áûâøåãî îáñóæäåíèÿ êîíêðåòíûõ ïðèìå- ÑÑÑÐ (À. Ãàííóøêèíà, Â. Êðèâ- ðîâ èõ íàðóøåíèé ïðàâ ÷åëîâåêà öîâ, Ñ. Ïàøèí); ÷àñòü âûñòóï- è âîçìîæíîñòè èñïîëüçîâàíèÿ ëåíèé áûëà ñêîíöåíòðèðîâàíà ïðîöåäóð ÎÎÍ â ñëó÷àÿõ, êîãäà íà ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ ìåõàíèçìàõ âíóòðèãîñóäàðñòâåííûå ìåõà- çàùèòû ïðàâ áåæåíöåâ.  äîêëà- íèçìû çàùèòû ïðàâ ãðàæäàí äàõ óêàçûâàëîñü íà íåäîðàáîòêè îêàçûâàþòñÿ íåýôôåêòèâíûìè. çàêîíîäàòåëüíîé è èñïîëíè- Ïðîãðàììíûé êîîðäèíàòîð òåëüíîé âëàñòåé â îáëàñòè ìèã- “INTERIGHTS” ïî Öåíòðàëü- ðàöèîííîé ïîëèòèêè. Èíòåðåñ- íîé è Âîñòî÷íîé Åâðîïå Á. Ïåò- íîé ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ äèñêóññèÿ, ðàíîâ ïðîèíôîðìèðîâàë, êàêèå êàñàþùàÿñÿ äîêëàäà, ñäåëàííîãî ðåøåíèÿ ïðèíèìàþòñÿ Åâðî- çàìåñòèòåëåì íà÷àëüíèêà Ïàñ- ïåéñêèì ñóäîì ïî ïðàâàì ÷åëî- ïîðòíî-âèçîâîãî óïðàâëåíèÿ âåêà â ìèãðàöèîííîé ñôåðå. ÌÂÄ ÐÔ Â. Êðèâöîâà “Î ðåãè- Ñëåäóåò çàìåòèòü, ÷òî â 1998 ã., ñòðàöèè ïî ìåñòó æèòåëüñòâà è êîãäà ïðîâîäèëñÿ ÷åòâåðòûé ìåñòó ïðåáûâàíèÿ â ñâåòå ïîñòà- ñåìèíàð, â Åâðîïåéñêîì ñóäå ïî íîâëåíèé Êîíñòèòóöèîííîãî ïðàâàì ÷åëîâåêà â Ñòðàñáóðãå Ñóäà ÐԔ. Ó÷àñòíèêàìè ñåìè- åùå íå ðàññìàòðèâàëèñü èíäè- íàðà áûëî îáðàùåíî âíèìàíèå âèäóàëüíûå æàëîáû ãðàæäàí íà ñëó÷àè íåçíàíèÿ ðàáîòíèêà- ÐÔ.  íàñòîÿùåå âðåìÿ, êîãäà èç ìè ìèëèöèè ïðîñòîãî ïðàâèëà, ÐÔ õëûíóë ïîòîê èíäèâèäóàëü-

420 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 íûõ æàëîá, ñòðàíà äîëæíà áûòü è ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ ïðàâàõ”) è Ñîâåòà ãîòîâà ê âûïëàòå êîìïåíñàöèé Åâðîïû (“Åâðîïåéñêàÿ Êîíâåí- èëè æå óñêîðåííîìó óñòðàíåíèþ öèÿ î çàùèòå ïðàâ ÷åëîâåêà è ïðîòèâîðå÷èé ìåæäó âíóòðåí- îñíîâíûõ ñâîáîä”), êîòîðûå íèìè çàêîíîäàòåëüíûìè íîð- áûëè ðàòèôèöèðîâàíû ÐÔ. ìàìè è åâðîïåéñêèìè ïðàâîâûìè Âî âòîðîì ñáîðíèêå ïðåä- ñòàíäàðòàìè.  2002 ã. èòîãè ñòàâëåíû äîêóìåíòû, íåïîñðåä- øåñòèëåòíåãî ÷ëåíñòâà Ðîññèè â ñòâåííî êàñàþùèåñÿ ðàçíûõ Ñîâåòå Åâðîïû áûëè ïîäâåäåíû ñôåð æèçíè âûíóæäåííûõ ïåðå- â Ñïåöèàëüíîì äîêëàäå Óïîëíî- ñåëåíöåâ è áåæåíöåâ, íàõîäÿ- ìî÷åííîãî ïî ïðàâàì ÷åëîâåêà â ùèõñÿ íà òåððèòîðèè ÐÔ. Êîëè- Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè. Î. Ìè- ÷åñòâî ïîÿâèâøèõñÿ â êðàòêèé ðîíîâ îáðàùàë âíèìàíèå íà òî, ïåðèîä âðåìåíè (â îñíîâíîì, â ÷òî “ñ òî÷êè çðåíèÿ ìåæäóíà- 2001 ã.) äîêóìåíòîâ, âûøåäøèõ ðîäíîãî ïðàâà ÷àñòè÷íîå èëè èç ïîä ïåðà ïðàâèòåëüñòâà, ïðå- íåïîëíîå âûïîëíåíèå ãîñóäàð- çèäåíòà èëè ìèíèñòðà, êàæåòñÿ ñòâîì ñâîèõ îáÿçàòåëüñòâ åñòü øîêèðóþùèì.  ìèðîâîé ïðàê- èõ íåâûïîëíåíèå – êàêèìè ñîîá- òèêå ÷åòêèå ïðàâèëà âçàèìîîòíî- ðàæåíèÿìè ýòî íè ïûòàëèñü áû øåíèé íà óðîâíå “ãðàæäàíèí – çàòóøåâàòü”.6 ãîñóäàðñòâî” ñâèäåòåëüñòâóþò î  ïåðâîì è âòîðîì ñáîðíè- ñëàæåííîé ðàáîòå ãîñóäàð- êàõ, êðîìå âûñòóïëåíèé ó÷àñò- ñòâåííîãî ìåõàíèçìà.  äàííîì íèêîâ ñåìèíàðà, îïóáëèêîâàíû æå ñëó÷àå îá ýòîì ãîâîðèòü íå î÷åíü âàæíûå ïðèëîæåíèÿ.  ïðèõîäèòñÿ. ïåðâîì ñáîðíèêå – ýòî äîêó- Õîòåëîñü áû îáðàòèòü âíè- ìåíòû Îðãàíèçàöèè Îáúåäè- ìàíèå íà ïîëîæåíèå “Î æèëèù- íåííûõ Íàöèé (“Êîíâåíöèÿ íîì îáóñòðîéñòâå âûíóæäåííûõ ïðîòèâ ïûòîê è äðóãèõ æåñòî- ïåðåñåëåíöåâ â Ðîññèéñêîé Ôå- êèõ, áåñ÷åëîâå÷íûõ èëè óíèæà- äåðàöèè”, â îñîáåííîñòè íà åãî þùèõ äîñòîèíñòâî âèäîâ îáðà- IV ðàçäåë “Ñîäåéñòâèå âûíóæ- ùåíèÿ è íàêàçàíèÿ”, “Ìåæäóíà- äåííûì ïåðåñåëåíöàì â îðãàíè- ðîäíûé Ïàêò î ãðàæäàíñêèõ è çàöèè êîìïàêòíûõ ïîñåëåíèé, ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ ïðàâàõ”, “Ôàêóëü- ñòðîèòåëüñòâå æèëüÿ, ñîçäàíèè òàòèâíûé Ïðîòîêîë ê Ìåæäó- èíæåíåðíîé è ñîöèàëüíîé èíô- íàðîäíîìó ïàêòó î ãðàæäàíñêèõ ðàñòðóêòóðû”.  íåì ïðåäëàãà-

6 Ñïåöèàëüíûé äîêëàä Óïîëíîìî÷åííîãî ïî ïðàâàì ÷åëîâåêà â Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè “Î âûïîëíåíèè Ðîññèåé îáÿçàòåëüñòâ, ïðèíÿòûõ ïðè âñòóïëåíèè â Ñîâåò Åâðîïû”. 20 ìàÿ 2002 ã.

421 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews åòñÿ ñëåäóþùåå îïðåäåëåíèå: íà òî, ÷òî õîòÿ “çàêîíû ñîçäà- “Ïîä êîìïàêòíûì ïîñåëåíèåì âàëèñü ïî çàïàäíûì îáðàçöàì, ïîíèìàåòñÿ äîáðîâîëüíî ñîçäà- îäíàêî îíè âûðàæàëè ñêîðåå âàåìîå ïîñåëåíèå äëÿ ïîñòîÿí- ñòðåìëåíèå ðóêîâîäñòâà ñòðàíû íîãî ïðîæèâàíèÿ, êàê ïðàâèëî, îáåñïå÷èòü ìåæäóíàðîäíîå â ñåëüñêîé ìåñòíîñòè íåñêîëüêèõ ïðèçíàíèå Ðîññèè êàê öèâèëè- ñåìåé âûíóæäåííûõ ïåðåñåëåí- çîâàííîãî åâðîïåéñêîãî ãîñó- öåâ îáùåé ÷èñëåííîñòüþ íå ìåíåå äàðñòâà, ÷åì ñåðüåçíîå íàìåðå- 50 ÷åëîâåê”. Îòìåòèì, ÷òî òàêîé íèå ñîçäàòü â ñòðàíå ïðàâîâîå ïîäõîä íå ìîæåò íå àññîöèèðî- ïîëå”. Ãàííóøêèíà ïîä÷åðêè- âàòüñÿ ñ ïîïûòêîé èçîëèðîâà- âàëà, ÷òî “â ïîñëåäíèå ãîäû íèÿ âûíóæäåííûõ ïåðåñåëåíöåâ ïðàâîâîå ïîëîæåíèå ìèãðàíòîâ îò îñòàëüíûõ ãðàæäàí ÐÔ, ÷òî â Ðîññèè íå òîëüêî íå áûëî óðå- ÿâíî íå ñïîñîáñòâóåò ïðåîäîëå- ãóëèðîâàíî, íî ñòàëî áîëåå íèþ íåãàòèâíûõ ñòåðåîòèïîâ, íåîïðåäåëåííûì, ÷åì â 1993- ñâÿçàííûõ ñ îáðàçîì “âûíóæ- 1997 ãã., êîãäà îíî òîëüêî íà÷è- äåííîãî ïåðåñåëåíöà” (Ïðàâî- íàëî ïðèîáðåòàòü çàêîíîäàòåëü- âîå è ñîöèàëüíîå ïîëîæåíèå íûå ðàìêè” (Ïðàâîâîå è ñîöèàëü- âûíóæäåííûõ ìèãðàíòîâ â íîå ïîëîæåíèå âûíóæäåííûõ Ðîññèè. Ñ. 161). ìèãðàíòîâ â Ðîññèè. Ñ. 84-98). Ó÷àñòíèêè îäèííàäöàòîãî Íà÷àëîì ðåøåíèÿ ïðîáëåì ñåìèíàðà íåîäíîêðàòíî îòìå÷àëè ìèãðàíòîâ äîëæíà áûëî ñòàòü ñëó÷àè íåñîîòâåòñòâèé â ôåäå- ïðèíÿòèå Ôåäåðàëüíîé ìèãðà- ðàëüíîì çàêîíîäàòåëüñòâå è çà- öèîííîé ïðîãðàììû, ðàáîòà êîíîäàòåëüñòâå ñóáúåêòîâ ÐÔ â íàä êîòîðîé íà÷àëàñü â 1998 ãîäó. ñôåðå ìèãðàöèîííîé ïîëèòèêè. Îäíàêî â 2001 ã. ïðîãðàììà òàê Ñâîåîáðàçíûì “ãîñóäàðñòâîì â è íå áûëà ïðèíÿòà.  ìàðòå 2003 ã. ãîñóäàðñòâå” îñòàåòñÿ Ìîñêâà, Ïðàâèòåëüñòâî ÐÔ îäîáðèëî ãäå ìíîãèå ðàñïîðÿæåíèÿ ãîðîä- íîâûé äîêóìåíò – “Êîíöåïöèþ ñêèõ âëàñòåé ñâèäåòåëüñòâóþò î ðåãóëèðîâàíèÿ ìèãðàöèîííûõ ÿâíîì íàðóøåíèè êîíñòèòóöèîí- ïðîöåññîâ â Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðà- íûõ ïðàâ ãðàæäàí. öèè”, ïðàâîâóþ îñíîâó êîòîðîé Ñèòóàöèÿ, ñâÿçàííàÿ ñ âûíóæ- “ñîñòàâëÿþò Êîíñòèòóöèÿ ÐÔ, äåííîé ìèãðàöèåé â ÐÔ, îñâå- ôåäåðàëüíûå çàêîíû è äðóãèå ùàëàñü â äîêëàäå Ñ. À. Ãàííóø- íîðìàòèâíûå ïðàâîâûå àêòû, à êèíîé, ðóêîâîäèòåëÿ Ñåòè òàêæå îáùåïðèçíàííûå ïðèíöèïû “Ìèãðàöèÿ è ïðàâî” Ïðàâîçà- è íîðìû ìåæäóíàðîäíîãî ïðàâà”. ùèòíîãî öåíòðà “Ìåìîðèàë”. Ïîñëå îçíàêîìëåíèÿ ñ ìàòå-  äîêëàäå îáðàùåíî âíèìàíèå ðèàëàìè ñáîðíèêîâ âûðèñîâûâà- 422 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 åòñÿ äàëåêî íå îïòèìèñòè÷åñêàÿ îðãàíèçàöèé. Îäíàêî ïîëîæè- êàðòèíà. Ïî ìíåíèþ ÷ëåíîâ òåëüíûì ÿâëåíèåì ÿâëÿåòñÿ òîò ïðàâîçàùèòíûõ îðãàíèçàöèé, ôàêò, ÷òî ãîñóäàðñòâåííûå ÷èíîâ- “ìèãðàöèîííàÿ ïîëèòèêà ðóêî- íèêè è ÷ëåíû íåïðàâèòåëüñòâåí- âîäñòâà Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè íûõ îðãàíèçàöèé âñå æå ïðîáóþò ÿâëÿåòñÿ êàðàòåëüíîé â îòíîøå- íàéòè îáùèé ÿçûê. íèè ìèëëèîíîâ ìèãðàíòîâ, íå- Ñåìèíàðû, îðãàíèçîâàííûå çàâèñèìî îò èõ ãðàæäàíñòâà, ⠓Ìåìîðèàëîì”, èìåþò áîëüøîå òîì ÷èñëå ðîññèéñêîãî, íàöèî- èíôîðìàöèîííîå è îáðàçîâà- íàëüíîé ïðèíàäëåæíîñòè è òåëüíîå çíà÷åíèå. Îíè âàæíû ñòðàíû èñõîäà”.7 Ïðîáëåìà êàê äëÿ îòäåëüíûõ ëèö, èíòåðå- ñîáëþäåíèÿ áàëàíñà ìåæäó ñóþùèõñÿ ïðàâàìè ÷åëîâåêà, ïðîÿâëåíèåì ãóìàííîñòè, ãîñó- òàê è äëÿ ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé îáùå- äàðñòâåííîé áåçîïàñíîñòüþ è ñòâåííîñòè è âëàñòè. Áûëî áû ýêîíîìè÷åñêèìè èíòåðåñàìè â îøèáî÷íî óòâåðæäàòü, ÷òî íåïðà- íàñòîÿùåå âðåìÿ ÿâëÿåòñÿ íå âèòåëüñòâåííûå îðãàíèçàöèè ñòîëüêî ðîññèéñêîé, ñêîëüêî çàíèìàþòñÿ òîëüêî êðèòèêîé ãëîáàëüíîé ïðîáëåìîé.  äàííîì ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé ïîëèòèêè. Âî ñëó÷àå òàêîé áàëàíñ íàðóøåí. ìíîãèõ ñòðàíàõ ìèðà îíè ñòîÿò Îñîáîå âíèìàíèå íåîáõîäèìî íà ñòðàæå ïðàâ ÷åëîâåêà, ñòàðàÿñü îáðàòèòü íà òî, ÷òî ñîòðóäíèêè ïðåäîòâðàòèòü èõ âîçìîæíûå è ÷ëåíû Ïðàâîçàùèòíîãî öåíòðà íàðóøåíèÿ. Òàê, â äîêëàäå “Ìåìîðèàë” ïðîäåëûâàþò Ò. Ñìèò, ñïåöèàëèñòà Óïðàâ- îãðîìíóþ ðàáîòó â îáëàñòè çà- ëåíèÿ Âåðõîâíîãî êîìèññàðà ùèòû ïðàâ è ñâîáîä ÷åëîâåêà. ÎÎÍ ïî ïðàâàì ÷åëîâåêà, ïîä- Äåÿòåëüíîñòü “Ìåìîðèàëà” ÷åðêèâàåòñÿ âàæíîñòü äèàëîãà çàìåòíà íå òîëüêî â ñòðàíå, íî âëàñòåé è ïðàâîçàùèòíèêîâ, è çà ðóáåæîì.  õîäå äèñêóññèé, êîòîðûé ñâèäåòåëüñòâóåò î ïðåäñòàâëåííûõ â ìàòåðèàëàõ òîì, “íàñêîëüêî äåìîêðàòè÷íà ñåìèíàðîâ, ìîæíî áûëî çàìå- ñòðàíà è îáùåñòâî” (Ïðàâîâîå òèòü íåñîâïàäåíèå ìíåíèé ïðåä- è ñîöèàëüíîå ïîëîæåíèå âû- ñòàâèòåëåé ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé íóæäåííûõ ìèãðàíòîâ â Ðîñ- âëàñòè è íåïðàâèòåëüñòâåííûõ ñèè. Ñ. 88).

7 Ì. Àðóòþíîâ. Ìèãðàöèîííàÿ ïîëèòèêà ðóêîâîäñòâà Ðîññèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè // Âñåðîññèéñêàÿ êîíôåðåíöèÿ ãðàæäàíñêèõ îðãàíèçàöèé, ñåêöèÿ “Ãðàæäàíñêîå îáùåñòâî, ïðîáëåìû ìèãðàöèè è ðåïàòðèàöèè, áîðüáà ñ êñåíîôîáèåé”. Ìîñêâà, 27-28 îêòÿáðÿ 2003 ã. (Ñì.: http://kolokol.ru/pogroms/48806.html. Ïîñëåäíåå ïîñåùåíèå 15 ìàðòà 2005 ã.) 423 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews Ëþö ÕÝÔÍÅÐ “ Øèðîêèå, ïðÿìîóãîëüíî íàðåçàííûå óëèöû, ñ äîáðîò- “ÌÀËÅÍÜÊÈÉ ÏÀÐÈƔ, “ÊÐÀÑÀÂÈÖÀ íûì ãðàíèòíûì ìîùåíèåì è ÞÃÀ” ÈËÈ “ÞÆÍÀß ÏÀËÜÌÈÐÀ”? ñòîÿùèìè âäîëü íèõ çåëåíûìè ÎÁÎÇÐÅÍÈÅ ÍÎÂÛÕ ÏÓÁËÈÊÀÖÈÉ äåðåâüÿìè äåëàþò ýòîò ãîðîä ÎÁ ÎÄÅÑÑÅ* îäíèì èç íàèáîëåå ðåãóëÿðíûõ Patricia Herlihy, Odessa: A His- è êðàñèâûõ ãîðîäîâ Ðîññèè tory 1794-1914 (Cambridge, MA: ñàìóþ êðàñèâóþ ÷àñòü îáðàçó- Harvard University Press, 1991) åò Íèêîëàåâñêèé áóëüâàð (=Harvard Ukrainian Research In- ïîâñþäó ñ ðîñêîøíîé ìîðñêîé stitute, Monograph Series). xviii ïàíîðàìîé, ãäå âåñíîé ñîáèðà- åòñÿ àðèñòîêðàòè÷åñêèé ìèð +411 pp. ISBN: 0-91645-843-1. Îäåññû”.1 Òàêîé ïðåäñòàâëÿëàñü Robert Weinberg, The Revolution òóðèñòàì ÷åðíîìîðñêàÿ ìåòðî- of 1905 in Odessa: Blood on the ïîëèÿ íåçàäîëãî äî íà÷àëà Ïåð- Steps (Bloomington: Indiana Uni- âîé ìèðîâîé âîéíû. Åñëè versity Press, 1993) (=Indiana- âñïîìíèòü, ÷òî Îäåññà, çàëî- Michigan Series in Russian and east æåííàÿ â 1794 ã., óæå â íà÷àëå European Studies). xvi+302 pp. ÕÕ â. ñòàëà ïî ÷èñëåííîñòè ISBN: 0-25336-381-0. íàñåëåíèÿ (600 òûñ. ÷åëîâåê) Guido Hausmann. Universität (ñì. Ò. Pentner. S. 33) ÷åòâåðòûì und städtische Gesellschaft in Odessa, ãîðîäîì Ðîññèéñêîé èìïåðèè 1865-1917. Soziale und nationale (ïîñëå Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðãà, Selbstorganisation an der Peripherie Ìîñêâû è Âàðøàâû), òî ñòðåìè- des Zarenreiches (Stuttgart: Franz òåëüíûå òåìïû åå ðàçâèòèÿ Steiner Verlag, 1998) (=Quellen und âïîëíå î÷åâèäíû. Studien zur Geschichte des östlichen Îäåññà áûñòðî ïðåâðàòèëàñü Europa, Bd. 49). 699 S. ISBN: 3- â öåíòð êîëîíèé â Íîâîðîññèè 51507-068-0. è Òàâðèäå, êóäà íîâûõ ïîñåëåí- Tanja Penter. Odessa 1917: Revo- öåâ ïðèâëåêàëè ïëîäîðîäíûå lution an der Peripherie. Köln: çåìëè. Êðîìå òîãî, îíà âñêîðå Böhlau Verlag, 2000) (=Beiträge zur ñòàëà îäíèì èç íàèáîëåå âàæ- Geschichte Osteuropas, Bd. 32). íûõ ïîðòîâûõ ãîðîäîâ ñòðàíû. xi+469 S. ISBN: 3-41202-200-4. Î÷åâèäíî, ñòîëü óñïåøíîå è

* Ïåðåâîä Ã. Ñíåæèíñêîé, ïîä ðåä. À. Êàïëóíîâñêîãî. 1 Karl Baedecker. Russland nebst Teheran? Port Arthur? Peking? Handbuch für Reisende. 7. Aufl. Leipzig, 1912. S. 380 è ñëåä.

424 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñâîåîáðàçíîå ðàçâèòèå è áûëî öèè. Çàòåì âíèìàíèå ó÷åíûõ ïðè÷èíîé òîãî, ÷òî èç âñåõ ãîðî- ïðèâëåêëè ïðîáëåìû ñîöèàëü- äîâ Ðîññèéñêîé èìïåðèè, çà íîé èñòîðèè: ýêîíîìè÷åñêîå èñêëþ÷åíèåì Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðãà çíà÷åíèå ãîðîäîâ, èõ ýòíè÷åñ- è Ìîñêâû, íè îäèí íå ïðèâëå- êèé ñîñòàâ, îòäåëüíûå ãðóïïû è êàë â òàêîé æå ìåðå èíòåðåñ çàïàä- ñëîè íàñåëåíèÿ, ïðåæäå âñåãî íûõ èññëåäîâàòåëåé.2 êóïå÷åñòâî, ïðåäïðèíèìàòåëè, à Çà ïîñëåäíèå äâàäöàòü ëåò òàêæå ðàáî÷èå è êðåñòüÿíå. çàìåòíî ó÷àñòèëîñü îáðàùåíèå Ìîæíî êîíñòàòèðîâàòü, ÷òî â èñòîðè÷åñêîé íàóêå, ïîëèòî- ðåêîíñòðóêöèÿ ìîçàè÷íîé êàð- ëîãèè, ñîöèîëîãèè è ãåîãðàôèè òèíû èñòîðè÷åñêîé äåéñòâè- ê âîïðîñàì ðàçâèòèÿ ãîðîäîâ è òåëüíîñòè Îäåññû ïðè ýòîì îñòà- ãîðîäñêîãî íàñåëåíèÿ â ïîçäíå- åòñÿ íåóäîâëåòâîðèòåëüíîé. èìïåðñêèé ïåðèîä. Îäíàêî ðîñ- Äàííûé óðîâåíü èçó÷åííîñòè ñèéñêèé ãîðîä è, òåì áîëåå, âîïðîñà îòðàæàþò ÷åòûðå ðåöåí- ïðîâèíöèàëüíûé ãîðîä, áûë è çèðóåìûå ìîíîãðàôèè, ïîñâÿ- îñòàåòñÿ terra incognita. Íå â ùåííûå Îäåññå.  ýòèõ ñîöè- ïîñëåäíþþ î÷åðåäü çäåñü ñûã- àëüíî-èñòîðè÷åñêèõ ðàáîòàõ ðàëà ðîëü îáøèðíîñòü è íåîäíî- ðàññìàòðèâàþòñÿ ðàçíûå õðî- ðîäíîñòü ïðåäìåòà íàó÷íîãî íîëîãè÷åñêèå îòðåçêè è ðàçëè÷- èññëåäîâàíèÿ, îáóñëîâèâøàÿ íûå ïðîáëåìû ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ ãî- òðóäíîñòè ìåòîäîëîãè÷åñêîãî ðîäà. Òî÷êè ñîïðèêîñíîâåíèÿ õàðàêòåðà.  òå÷åíèå äîëãîãî îáíàðóæèâàþòñÿ òîëüêî â ðàç- âðåìåíè èíòåðåñ áûë ñîñðåäîòî- äåëàõ îá ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé ñòðóê- ÷åí íà äåìîãðàôè÷åñêèõ ïðî- òóðå è ñîñòàâå íàñåëåíèÿ.  äàí- áëåìàõ è âîïðîñàõ óðáàíèçà- íîì ñëó÷àå ýòè âîïðîñû èññëåäî-

2 V. W. Koschmal (Hrsg.). Odessa. Kapitel aus der Kulturgeschichte. Regensburg, 1998; A. Orbach. New Voices of Russian Jewry. A Study of Russian-Jewisch Press of Odessa in the Era of the Great Reforms 1870-1871. Leiden, 1980; L. Siegelbaum. The Odessa Grain Trade. A Case Study in Urban Growth and Development in Tsarist Russia // Journal of European Economic History. 1980. Vol. 9. Ðð. 113-151; F. W. Skinner. Trends in Planning Practices. The Building of Odessa, 1794-1917 // M. F. Hamm (Ed.). The City in Russian History. Lexington, 1976. Pp. 129-159; Idem. Odessa and the Problem of Urban Modernisation // M. F. Hamm (Ed.). The City in Late Imperial Russia. Bloomington, 1986. Pp. 209-248; R. P. Sylvester. Cultural Transgressions, Bourgeois Fears. Violent Crime in Odessa’s Central Entertainment District // Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas. 1996. Bd. 44. S. 503-552; Idem. Crime, Masquerade, and Anxiety. The Public Creation of Middle Class Identity in Pre-revolutionary Odessa, 1912-1916 / Ph. D. Dissertation, Yale University, 1998; S. J. Zipperstein. Jewish Enlightenment in Odessa. A Cultural History, 1794-1881. Stanford, 1985.

425 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews âàíû äîñòàòî÷íî õîðîøî, â îò- âåðõóøêîé “ìåñòíîãî îáùå- ëè÷èå îò ïðèìåðîâ äðóãèõ íàñå- ñòâà”. Êàêîâà áûëà ÷èñëåííîñòü ëåííûõ ïóíêòîâ Ðîññèéñêîé èçó÷àåìûõ ãðóïï, çà ñ÷åò êàêèõ èìïåðèè. Îòìåòèì òàêæå, ÷òî èç ëþäåé îíè ïîïîëíÿëèñü è êàêèì âñåõ ñîöèàëüíûõ ãðóïï íàñåëå- îáðàçîì? Ãäå èõ ïðåäñòàâèòåëè íèÿ áîëüøèõ ãîðîäîâ ãëóáîêî âñòðå÷àëèñü äðóã ñ äðóãîì, êà- èçó÷åí ëèøü ïðîëåòàðèàò. êèìè áûëè ñôåðû èõ îáùåíèÿ, Îäåññêèå íèçû ñòàëè, â ÷àñò- îñîáåííîñòè áðà÷íûõ è ðåëèãè- íîñòè, ïðåäìåòîì èññëåäîâàíèÿ îçíî–ñåìåéíûõ îòíîøåíèé, ÷òî â ðàáîòàõ Ðîáåðòà Âàéíáåðãà è è êàêèì îáðàçîì ñâÿçûâàëî èõ Òàíè Ïåíòåð. Àíàëîãè÷íûõ ñ ãîðîäñêîé îáùåñòâåííîñòüþ? äåòàëüíûõ èññëåäîâàíèé î äðó-  êàêîé ìåðå ìåñòíûå ýëèòû ãèõ ñëîÿõ íàñåëåíèÿ Îäåññû, â ìîãëè ôîðìèðîâàòü ãîðîäñêèå îñîáåííîñòè î ãîðîäñêèõ ýëè- èíòåðåñû â ðàìêàõ ãîðîäñêîãî òàõ, – âíå çàâèñèìîñòè îò òîãî, óïðàâëåíèÿ, êàêèì áûëî èõ îò- ïðèíàäëåæàëè ëè îíè ê äâîðÿí- íîøåíèå ê ìåñòíûì ïðåäñòàâè- ñòâó èëè ê âåðõóøêå òîðãîâöåâ òåëÿì öåíòðàëüíîé ãîñóäàð- è ïðîìûøëåííèêî⠖ íåò äî ñèõ ñòâåííîé âëàñòè? Èçó÷èâ ýòè ïîð. Ã. Õàóñìàí âîñïîëíÿåò ïðîáëåìû, ìîæíî îòâåòèòü è íà ýòîò ïðîáåë, ðàññìàòðèâàÿ òðè âîïðîñ, ñóùåñòâîâàëî ëè è ìîãëî àêàäåìè÷åñêèå ïðîôåññèîíàëü- ëè ñóùåñòâîâàòü â Ðîññèè äî íûå ãðóïïû, êîòîðûå ñîñòàâëÿëè ôåâðàëÿ 1917 ã. ãðàæäàíñêîå çíà÷èòåëüíóþ ÷àñòü âñåãî îáðà- îáùåñòâî – âîïðîñ, ñòàâøèé çîâàííîãî íàñåëåíèÿ Îäåññû. ìîäíûì â èññëåäîâàíèÿõ ïîñëå- Çà ðàìêàìè èññëåäîâàíèÿ, ÷òî, äíåãî äåñÿòèëåòèÿ. âïðî÷åì, íàðóøèëî áû öåëü- Ðàáîòà Ïàòðèøè Õåðëèõè, íîñòü ðàáîòû, îñòàëèñü ñâÿçè îïóáëèêîâàííàÿ â 1986 ã. è ïåðå- äàííîãî êîíòèíãåíòà ñ ïðî÷èìè èçäàííàÿ â 1991 ã., ïîäâîäèò ýëèòàìè, íàïðèìåð, àäìèíèñò- èòîã ìíîãîëåòíèì èññëåäîâàíèÿì ðàòèâíûìè, ýêîíîìè÷åñêèìè è àâòîðà.3 Ýòî íå ïðîñòî èñòîðèÿ

3 P. Herlihy. Death in Odessa. A Study of Population Movements in a Nineteenth-Century City // Harvard Ukrainian Studies. 1978. Vol. 2. Pp. 417-442; Eadem. The Ethnic Composition of the City of Odessa in the Nineteenth Century // Harvard Ukrainian Studies. 1977. Vol. 1. Pp. 53-78; Eadem. The Greek Community in Odessa, 1861-1917 // Journal of Modern Greek Studies. 1989. Vol. 7. Pp. 235-252; Eadem. Greek Merchants in Odessa in the Nineteenth Century // Harvard Ukrainian Studies. 1979-1980. Vol. 3-4. Pp. 399-420; Eadem. The South Ukraine as an Economic Region in the Nineteenth century // I. S. Koropeckyj (Ed.). Ukrainian Economic History. Interpretive Essays. Cambridge, MA, 1991. Pp. 310-338; Eadem. Staple Trade and Urbanization in New Russia // Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas. 1973. Bd. 21. S. 184-195. 426 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ãîðîäà. Ýòî îáùèé îáçîð ðàçâè- ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ Îäåññû. Âî âòî- òèÿ ýêîíîìèêè è îáùåñòâà âñåãî ðîé ãëàâå ðàññìîòðåí ïåðèîä ñ ðåãèîíà, ÷òî âïîëíå îïðàâäàíî, 1803 äî 1814 ãã.  ýòî âðåìÿ ðàç- åñëè ó÷åñòü, ÷òî Îäåññà îáÿçàíà âèòèå ãîðîäà è âñåé îáëàñòè ñâîèì ñòðåìèòåëüíûì ïîäúå- îïðåäåëÿëîñü äåÿòåëüíîñòüþ ìîì òîðãîâëå çåðíîì, à, çíà÷èò, ïåðâîãî ãóáåðíàòîðà, ôðàíöóçà è òåñíûì ñâÿçÿì ñ àãðàðíûì ñåê- ïî ïðîèñõîæäåíèþ, ãåðöîãà òîðîì. À. Ý. äå Ðèøåëüå.  êíèãå èññëå-  îñíîâó èññëåäîâàíèÿ ïîëî- äóþòñÿ, â ÷àñòíîñòè, ïðîáëåìû æåíû ìàòåðèàëû èç âîñüìè àð- ôîðìèðîâàíèÿ íàñåëåíèÿ, ïðè- õèâîâ, íàõîäÿùèõñÿ â ïÿòè ñòðà- òîêà â Îäåññó èíîñòðàíöåâ, íàõ, à òàêæå äîêóìåíòû êîí- ñèòóàöèÿ â òîðãîâëå, ñòðîèòåëü- ñóëüñòâ è çàïèñêè ïóòåøåñòâåí- ñòâî øêîë, êóëüòóðíàÿ æèçíü. íèêîâ. Ïðèâëå÷åíèå â êà÷åñòâå  òðåòüåé ãëàâå íà ïåðâûé ïëàí èñòî÷íèêîâ äîêóìåíòîâ êîí- âûõîäÿò âîïðîñû î çåìëåäåëèè ñóëüñòâ è çàïèñîê ïóòåøåñòâåí- è òðàíñïîðòå.  ÷åòâåðòîé – èçó- íèêîâ ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ ïðîáëå- ÷àþòñÿ àñïåêòû, ñâÿçàííûå ñ ñî- ìàòè÷íûì ïî äâóì ïðè÷èíàì. Âî- öèàëüíûìè ãðóïïàìè, çàíÿòûì ïåðâûõ, àâòîð èíîãäà ïðèäàåò â ñåëüñêîì õîçÿéñòâå è òîðãîâëå. ñëèøêîì áîëüøîå çíà÷åíèå Èññëåäîâàòåëüíèöà ñ÷èòàåò, ÷òî âçãëÿäàì èíîñòðàíöåâ, íå çíàêî- îäíó òðåòü âñåõ æèòåëåé Îäåññû ìûõ ñ îñîáåííîñòÿìè Ðîññèè è â ñåðåäèíå XIX â. ñîñòàâëÿëè Îäåññû. Âî-âòîðûõ, èññëåäîâà- òîðãîâöû è ÷ëåíû èõ ñåìåé – òåëüíèöà ÷åðåñ÷óð óâëåêàåòñÿ ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ, ÷òî ýòà öèôðà öèòèðîâàíèåì èëè ïîäðîáíûì ñèëüíî çàâûøåíà.  ïÿòîé ãëà- èçëîæåíèåì èñòî÷íèêîâ. Àâòîð- âå ðå÷ü èäåò î âíåøíåé òîðãîâ- ñêèé àíàëèç ïðè ýòîì îòñòóïàåò ëå è ðåìåñëàõ. Ïîñòîÿííî âîç- íà âòîðîé ïëàí. ðàñòàâøèé â òå÷åíèå èññëåäóå- Ñòðóêòóðà ìîíîãðàôèè îòðà- ìîãî ïåðèîäà ñïðîñ íà çåðíî â æàåò øèðîòó èññëåäîâàòåëüñêîé ñòðàíàõ Çàïàäíîé Åâðîïû ñîçäà- çàäà÷è. Äâåíàäöàòü ãëàâ, èç êî- âàë áëàãîïðèÿòíûå óñëîâèÿ äëÿ òîðûõ ñîñòîèò êíèãà, ðàñïîëî- ýêñïîðòà. Ïðàâäà, ïîëèòè÷åñ- æåíû îò÷àñòè â õðîíîëîãè÷åñ- êèå êðèçèñû íåðåäêî îñëîæíÿëè êîé ïîñëåäîâàòåëüíîñòè, îò÷à- ñóäîõîäñòâî â Áîñôîðå è Äàðäà- ñòè ñèñòåìàòè÷åñêè. Ïåðâàÿ ãëà- íåëëàõ. Ëèøü ïîñëå çàêëþ÷åíèÿ âà ïîñâÿùåíà èñòîðèè ïëàíèðî- äîãîâîðà 1829 ã. çäåñü áûëè âàíèÿ ãîðîäà è ãîñóäàðñòâåí- ñîçäàíû íîðìàëüíûå óñëîâèÿ íûì ìåðîïðèÿòèÿì, ïîîùðÿâ- äëÿ ïåðåïðàâêè ãðóçîâ ìîðåì. øèì åãî ðîñò â ïåðâûå ãîäû Íî çàòåì â Íîâîðîññèè íà÷à- 427 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews ëèñü íåóðîæàè, è ïðåâðàùåíèå çàðàáîòàòü, ñëîâíî ìàãíèò, ïðè- Îäåññû â ãëàâíûé ïîðò ýêñïîðòà òÿãèâàëè â Îäåññó ìíîãèõ ïåðå- çåðíîâûõ îêîí÷àòåëüíî ñîñòîÿ- ñåëåíöåâ. Ýòî îòíîñèòñÿ íå ëîñü ëèøü ê 1835 ã. òîëüêî ê èíîñòðàííûì ãðàæäà-  øåñòîé ãëàâå ðàáîòû ðàñ- íàì, ïðåæäå âñåãî, ãðåêàì, êî- ñìîòðåíû äâà àñïåêòà, ñëàáî òîðûå â òå÷åíèå äåñÿòèëåòèé ñâÿçàííûå ìåæäó ñîáîé. Çäåñü èãðàëè ãëàâåíñòâóþùóþ ðîëü â àíàëèçèðóåòñÿ áûñòðûé ðîñò ýêñïîðòå çåðíîâûõ, íî òàêæå, â ãîðîäà â ïåðèîä ñ 1815 ïî 1861 ãã., ïåðâóþ î÷åðåäü, ê åâðåÿì, êîòî- ÿâèâøèéñÿ çíà÷èòåëüíîé çàñëó- ðûì íå òðåáîâàëîñü îñîáîãî ãîé ãåíåðàë-ãóáåðíàòîðîâ ðàçðåøåíèÿ, òàê êàê Îäåññà íà- Îäåññû, îòëè÷àâøèõñÿ äàëüíî- õîäèëàñü â òàê íàçûâàåìîé âèäíîñòüþ è ïîëèòè÷åñêèì “÷åðòå îñåäëîñòè”. èñêóññòâîì. Ðå÷ü èäåò îá óæå Âòîðûì àñïåêòîì, çàòðàãèâà- óïîìèíàâøåìñÿ ãåðöîãå Ðèøåëüå åìûì â øåñòîé ãëàâå, ÿâëÿåòñÿ è êíÿçå Ì. Ñ. Âîðîíöîâå. Îáà êóëüòóðíàÿ æèçíü ãîðîäà. àäìèíèñòðàòîðà èìåëè ñâÿçè ñ Îäíàêî àâòîð óäåëÿåò ëèøü ïåòåðáóðãñêèì äâîðîì, îäíàêî íåçíà÷èòåëüíîå âíèìàíèå ðàç- Ï. Õåðëèõè íå îáúÿñíÿåò, íà- íîîáðàçíîìó è áîãàòîìó òåàò- ñêîëüêî ýòè ñâÿçè áûëè ñóùå- ðàëüíîìó, ìóçûêàëüíîìó, à òàê- ñòâåííû äëÿ ñòðåìèòåëüíîãî æå èçîáðàçèòåëüíîìó èñêóññòâó. ïîäúåìà è ïîñëåäîâàâøåãî çàòåì Ñåäüìàÿ ãëàâà ïîñâÿùåíà óïàäêà â ðàçâèòèè Îäåññû. âîïðîñàì ãîðîäñêîãî óïðàâëå- ×èòàòåëþ îñòàåòñÿ ñàìîìó ãà- íèÿ è ôèíàíñàì âòîðîé ïîëî- äàòü, èìåëèñü ëè, êðîìå íèõ, âèíû XIX â. Ïðè òîì, ÷òî îñíîâ- êàêèå-òî äðóãèå ïðè÷èíû, ñêà- íîå âíèìàíèå ïî-ïðåæíåìó óäå- æåì, íåêîìïåòåíòíîñòü ãîñóäàð- ëÿåòñÿ “ïåðâûì ëèöàì” (ãóáåð- ñòâåííûõ è ìåñòíûõ âëàñòåé, íàòîðàì, ãîðîäñêèì ãîëîâàì), ñèòóàöèÿ íà ìèðîâîì ðûíêå ó÷àñòèå íàñåëåíèÿ â êîììóíàëü- çåðíà, íåçíà÷èòåëüíàÿ äîëÿ ðóñ- íîì ñàìîóïðàâëåíèè îñòàåòñÿ, â ñêèõ â îáùåì ÷èñëå çàíÿòûõ â öåëîì, òàêæå â ôîêóñå èññëåäî- òîðãîâëå – îêîëî 50% (ïðè îä- âàíèÿ.  âîñüìîé ãëàâå èññëåäó- íîé òðåòè åâðååâ è 6% óêðàèí- åòñÿ ðàçâèòèå ñåëüñêîãî õîçÿé- öåâ) èëè æå ëèáåðàëüíûé ïîëè- ñòâà è ïðîìûøëåííîñòè â ïåðèîä òè÷åñêèé êëèìàò (P. Herlihy. ñ 1861 ïî 1914 ãîä. Íàïðèìåð, Ð. 282). Âî âñÿêîì ñëó÷àå, íåòè- êàê îòìåíà êðåïîñòíîãî ïðàâà ïè÷íàÿ äëÿ âñåé Ðîññèè ëèáå- ñêàçàëàñü íà ïðîèçâîäèòåëüíîñòè ðàëüíàÿ àòìîñôåðà è áëàãîïðè- ñåëüñêîãî õîçÿéñòâà è íà ôóíê- ÿòíûå óñëîâèÿ äëÿ æåëàþùèõ öèîíèðîâàíèè çåìåëüíîãî ðûíêà. 428 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Àâòîð ðàáîòû êîíñòàòèðóåò, ðàçâèòèÿ ãîðîäà è ðåãèîíà, ïðî- ÷òî, íà÷èíàÿ ñ 1875 ã., öåíû íà èëëþñòðèðîâàííîå íåêîòîðûìè çåìëþ îïðåäåëÿëèñü óæå íå ñîâðåìåííûìè ôîòîãðàôèÿìè. óðîæàéíîñòüþ âíóòðè ñòðàíû, Åñëè Ïåòåðáóðã áûë “îêíîì â à êîíúþíêòóðîé íà ìèðîâîì Åâðîïó”, òî Îäåññà áûëà ýòíè- ðûíêå (P. Herlihy. Ð. 177). Äåâÿ- ÷åñêèìè è êîíôåññèîíàëüíûìè òàÿ ãëàâà ïîñâÿùåíà ýêñïîðòó. âîðîòàìè Ðîññèè êàê â Åâðîïó,  äåñÿòîé è îäèííàäöàòîé ãëà- òàê è â Àçèþ. Îäíàêî Õåðëèõè âàõ ðàññìàòðèâàþòñÿ íàñóùíûå ïðèäåðæèâàåòñÿ òîãî âçãëÿäà, ïðîáëåìû êîììóíàëüíîãî õîçÿé- ÷òî âî âòîðîé ïîëîâèíå XIX â. ñòâà – çäðàâîîõðàíåíèå, ïðîôè- Îäåññà èãðàëà ýòó ðîëü óæå ìå- ëàêòèêà ýïèäåìèé, ïðîêëàäêà íåå óñïåøíî, è ëèáåðàëèçì, â ñåòåé âîäîïðîâîäà è êàíàëèçà- òå÷åíèå ðÿäà äåñÿòèëåòèé ÿâëÿâ- öèè, èíôðàñòðóêòóðà ãîðîäñêîãî øèéñÿ õàðàêòåðíîé îñîáåííîñ- òðàíñïîðòà è ñîöèàëüíàÿ òîïîã- òüþ îáùåñòâåííîé æèçíè ýòîãî ðàôèÿ.  çàêëþ÷èòåëüíîé ãëàâå ãîðîäà, ïîñòåïåííî ïîøåë íà àâòîð îïèñûâàåò êàíóí Ïåðâîé óáûëü. ìèðîâîé âîéíû êàê ïåðèîä ñîöè- Îäåññêèé ìàêëåð Ñ. Áåðíø- àëüíûõ âîëíåíèé, ïðåäñòàâëÿÿ òåéí â 1881 ã. â î÷åðêå îá ýêî- èõ êàê ïðîäîëæåíèå ðåâîëþöè- íîìè÷åñêîì ðàçâèòèè ãîðîäà4 îííûõ âîëíåíèé, çàáàñòîâîê è îòìåòèë, ÷òî î ñòóäåíòàõ è ïîãðîìà 1905 ã., êîòîðûé Õåð- îáðàçîâàííûõ ëþäÿõ åìó íå÷åãî ëèõè ñòàâèò â îäèí ðÿä ñ ïðåä- ñêàçàòü, òàê êàê îíè ïî÷òè íå øåñòâîâàâøèìè åìó ïîãðîìàìè ïðîÿâëÿþò ñåáÿ â îáùåñòâåííîé 1871 è 1881 ãã. æèçíè. Ãâèäî Õàóñìàí, àâòîð  öåëîì, àâòîðó óäàëîñü ìíîãèõ ðàáîò ïî èçó÷àåìîé æèâîå è êðàñî÷íîå îïèñàíèå òåìå,5 îïèðàÿñü íà ýòî çàìå÷àíèå,

4 Ñì.: Ñ. Áåðíøòåéí. Îäåññà. Èñòîðè÷åñêèé è òîðãîâî-ýêîíîìè÷åñêèé î÷åðê Îäåññû â ñâÿçè ñ Íîâîðîññèéñêèì êðàåì. Îäåññà, 1881. Ñ. 112. 5 G. Hausmann. Akademische Berufsgruppen in Odessa, 1850-1917 // C. McClelland, S. Merl, H. Siegriest (Hrsg.). Professionen im modernen Osteuropa. Professions in Modern Eastern Europe. Berlin, 1995. S. 427-463; Idem. Der Numerus clausus für jüdische Studenten im Zarenreich // Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas. 1993. Bd. 41. S. 509-531; Idem. Deutsche kaufleute und Unternehmer im Wirtschaftsleben Odessas Ende des 19. und zu Beginn des 20. Jahrhundert // V. D. Dahlmann und C. Scheide (Hrsg.).“ das einzige Land in Europa, das eine grosse Zukunft vor sich hat”. Deutsche Unternehmen und Unternehmer im Russischen Reich im 19. und frühen 20. Jahrhundert. Essen, 1998. S. 523-540; Idem. Die wohlhabenden Kaufleute und Unternehmer von Odessa. Zur Rekonstruktion bürgerlicher Identitäten im ausgehenden Zarenreich // Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas. 2000. Bd. 48. S. 41-65.

429 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews â ñâîåé äèññåðòàöèè ïûòàåòñÿ àëüíûìè ïîëþñàìè, ïðåäñòàâ- íàéòè îòâåò íà âîïðîñ, íàñêîëü- ëåííûìè, ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû, êî îñíîâàíèå Îäåññêîãî óíèâåð- âëàäåëüöàìè êóëüòóðíîãî è ýêî- ñèòåòà çàâèñåëî îò ïîÿâëåíèÿ è íîìè÷åñêîãî êàïèòàëà, êîòîðûå ðàçâèòèÿ ñëîÿ îáðàçîâàííûõ êîíòàêòèðîâàëè äðóã ñ äðóãîì ëþäåé (G. Hausmann. S. 35). â ñîöèàëüíîì ïðîñòðàíñòâå Èññëåäîâàòåëü, òàêèì îáðàçîì, ãîðîäà, íî íå ïðèíàäëåæàëè íè ïðèäåðæèâàåòñÿ ñîâåðøåííî ê äâîðÿíñòâó, íè ê ãîðîäñêèì äðóãîãî ïîäõîäà, ÷åì Ï. Õåð- íèçàì; à ñ äðóãîé – ðîññèéñêèìè ëèõè: îí ñòðåìèòñÿ ïîêàçàòü, ïîääàííûìè è èíîñòðàíöàìè. ÷òî îáðàçîâàííûå ýëèòû, êàê  öåëîì, äëÿ ðàñøèðåíèÿ ñîá- âëàäåëüöû êóëüòóðíîãî êàïèòàëà ñòâåííûõ ïîçèöèé ó ýòîãî ñëîÿ è ðåñóðñîâ, ïûòàëèñü ïðåîäî- èìåëèñü ðàçëè÷íûå ôîðìû ñîöè- ëåòü ñâîå èçîëèðîâàííîå è ìàð- àöèè (Vergesellschaftungsformen) è ãèíàëüíîå ïîëîæåíèå â îáùå- ñîöèàëüíûõ äâèæåíèé. Ñóùå- ñòâå ïî ñðàâíåíèþ ñ òîðãîâöàìè ñòâåííûì ôàêòîðîì áûëî òî, è ïðîìûøëåííèêàìè, êîòîðûå ÷òî âî âòîðîé ïîëîâèíå XIX â òîðãîâîì ãîðîäå Îäåññå èãðàëè ñòîëåòèÿ â õîäå ñîöèàëüíûõ èç- ãëàâåíñòâóþùóþ ðîëü.6 Èíòåðå- ìåíåíèé âîçðîñëî çíà÷åíèå ñóþùèé àâòîðà ïåðèîä – íå òîëüêî êóëüòóðíûõ ðåñóðñîâ îáðàçî- ïîñëåäíèå ïÿòüäåñÿò ëåò ñàìîäåð- âàííûõ ñëîåâ. Ðåâîëþöèÿ 1905 ã., æàâèÿ, íî è ñîáûòèÿ, èìåâøèå ïî ìíåíèþ àâòîðà, ìîæåò ñ÷è- ìåñòî â ïåðâûå ìåñÿöû ïîñëå òàòüñÿ ïîïûòêîé èíòåëëåêòóà- áîëüøåâèñòñêîãî ïåðåâîðîòà. ëîâ âûéòè èç ñîöèàëüíîé èçîëÿ- Êîíöåïòóàëüíî ýòà ðàáîòà öèè è ïðåîáðàçîâàòü ñâîè ñïå- âîñõîäèò ê èññëåäîâàíèÿì öèàëüíûå çíàíèÿ â èíñòðóìåíò ôðàíöóçñêîãî ñîöèîëîãà Ïüåðà ïîëèòè÷åñêîé âëàñòè. Áóðäüå. Åãî òåîðåòè÷åñêóþ ìîäåëü Ýòèì ðàññóæäåíèÿì ïîñâÿ- îáùåñòâåííîãî ðàññëîåíèÿ, ùåíû øåñòü ãëàâ äèññåðòàöèè. ñîçäàííóþ äëÿ àíàëèçà ïîñëåâî- Ïîñëå ïîäðîáíîãî îïèñàíèÿ åííîé Ôðàíöèè, Õàóñìàí ïåðå- ãîðîäà êàê ñîöèàëüíîãî ïðî- íîñèò íà Ðîññèþ (G. Hausmann. ñòðàíñòâà â ïåðâûõ äâóõ ãëàâàõ, S. 26-31). Ôîðìèðîâàíèå ñëîÿ àâòîð ðàññìàòðèâàåò âûñøèå îáðàçîâàííîé ýëèòû, ïî åãî ó÷åáíûå ó÷ðåæäåíèÿ è, âìåñòå ñ ìíåíèþ, ïðîèñõîäèëî â ïðî- òåì, óñòðåìëåíèÿ è èíòåðåñû ãî- ñòðàíñòâå ìåæäó äâóìÿ ñîöè- ñóäàðñòâåííîé áþðîêðàòèè è

6 Ñì.: P. Bourdieu. Die verborgenen Mechanismen der Macht // V. M. Steinrücke (Hrsg.). Schriften zur Politik und Kultur 1. Hamburg, 1992. S. 49-79. 430 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ìåñòíîãî îáùåñòâà â îáëàñòè ýòíè÷åñêîé è êîíôåññèîíàëüíîé ïðîôåññèîíàëèçàöèè. Ïîñëåäó- äèñêðèìèíàöèè íåðóññêèõ íàðî- þùèå òðè ãëàâû ïîñâÿùåíû äîâ, èëè, íàêîíåö, èç-çà ôàêòè- îáùåìó ðàçâèòèþ Îäåññû êàê ÷åñêîãî îãðàíè÷åíèÿ ïðàâà íà èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîãî öåíòðà.  ÷åò- ó÷àñòèå â ïîëèòè÷åñêîé æèçíè. âåðòîé ãëàâå àâòîð èçó÷àåò Õàóñìàí ïîä÷åðêèâàåò íåäî- æèçíü ñòóäåí÷åñòâà, â ïÿòîé è ñòàòî÷íóþ ìàòåðèàëüíóþ îáåñ- øåñòîé – àêàäåìè÷åñêèå ïðîôåñ- ïå÷åííîñòü âðà÷åé è àäâîêàòîâ ñèîíàëüíûå ãðóïïû: ïðîôåññî- Îäåññû. Ñ êîíöà 1880-õ ãã. ðîñò ðîâ, âðà÷åé è àäâîêàòîâ. Îí ðàñ- êîíêóðåíöèè ñðåäè àäâîêàòîâ ñìîòðåë ýòè ÷àñòè ñîöèóìà ñ ïðèâîäèò ê êîíôëèêòàì ìåæäó òî÷êè çðåíèÿ ñîöèàëüíîãî ïðî- ðóññêèìè è åâðåéñêèìè þðèñ- èñõîæäåíèÿ, ýòíè÷åñêîãî è êîí- òàìè. Ýòî ñòàëî îäíîé èç ïðè- ôåññèîíàëüíîãî ñîñòàâà, ïðî- ÷èí ââåäåíèÿ â 1889 ã. çàïðåòà ôèëÿ èõ êîðïîðàòèâíûõ èëè íà àäâîêàòñêóþ ïðàêòèêó äëÿ ïðîôåññèîíàëüíûõ îáúåäèíå- åâðåéñêèõ þðèñòîâ, êîòîðîå íèé è ñîþçîâ.  ïîñëåäíåé ãëàâå ïîñëåäîâàëî ïðè ñîãëàñèè íåêî- àíàëèçèðóþòñÿ ïðîöåññû ôîð- òîðûõ êîëëåã íååâðåéñêîãî ìèðîâàíèÿ îáùåñòâ è íàöèåñò- ïðîèñõîæäåíèÿ. Ê ñîæàëåíèþ, ðîèòåëüñòâà, òî åñòü ôîðìû ñîöè- Õàóñìàí íå ïîäòâåðæäàåò ñâîè àöèè, îòëè÷íûå îò ïðîôåññèî- ðàññóæäåíèÿ äàííûìè î ðàçìåðàõ íàëüíûõ êîðïîðàöèé èëè ñîþçîâ. äîõîäîâ àäâîêàòîâ (G. Hausmann. Õàóñìàí ïûòàåòñÿ îòâåòèòü íà S. 364 è ñëåä.). Íå ñêðûâàþò ëè âîïðîñ, ÿâëÿëàñü ëè ïðèíàäëåæ- êðàñíîðå÷èâûå æàëîáû íàìåðå- íîñòü ê ìåñòíîé êóëüòóðíîé èëè íèå íåêîòîðûõ âðà÷åé, àäâîêà- êàêîé-ëèáî íàöèîíàëüíîé ýëèòå òîâ è áëèçêèõ ê íèì æóðíàëèñ- áîëåå çíà÷èìîé äëÿ ýòèõ ãðóïï, òàì ñîçäàòü íåêèé âèðòóàëüíûé ÷åì ïðèíàäëåæíîñòü ê ñâîèì îáðàç? Íå ïðîèñõîäèëà ëè íà ïðîôåññèîíàëüíûì îáúåäèíå- ñàìîì äåëå áîðüáà çà ðàñïðåäå- íèÿì. Èññëåäîâàòåëü çàêëþ÷àåò, ëåíèå áëàã ìåæäó íà÷èíàþùè- ÷òî ïðîáëåìà ïðîôåññèîíàëüíîé ìè è óæå óòâåðäèâøèìèñÿ ïðî- ñàìîðåàëèçàöèè äëÿ âûïóñêíè- ôåññèîíàëàìè? Ìîæåò áûòü, êîâ óíèâåðñèòåòà èìåëà âòîðîñòå- äèñêðèìèíèðîâàííûå ãðóïïû, ïåííîå çíà÷åíèå, ïîñêîëüêó îíè êîòîðûå ñâûøå ÷åì íà îäíó íå áûëè èíòåãðèðîâàíû â îáùå- òðåòü ñîñòîÿëè èç âûõîäöåâ èç ñòâî â ýêîíîìè÷åñêîì è êóëü- ìåùàíñòâà èëè åâðåéñêîãî òóðíîì îòíîøåíèè èëè â ñèëó ìåíüøèíñòâà,7 ñòðåìèëèñü ê

7 Äîëÿ åâðååâ óìåíüøèëàñü âñëåäñòâèå ìèíèñòåðñêîãî çàïðåòà íà ïðîôåññèþ ñ 30,5% â 1890 ã. äî 16,8% â 1896 ã. 431 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews îáùåñòâåííîìó ïðèçíàíèþ, êîíôåññèîíàëüíûå îáùèíû, à êóëüòóðíîé àññèìèëÿöèè è èí- òàêæå ðÿä íåôîðìàëüíûõ êðóæ- òåãðàöèè â ðîññèéñêîå îáùå- êîâ è ãðóïï.  òî âðåìÿ â ìåñò- ñòâî? Íå áûëî ëè çäåñü ñãóùå- íîé ïðåññå âñå ÷àùå âñòðå÷àþòñÿ íèÿ êðàñîê, äëÿ òîãî, ÷òîáû ñîîáùåíèÿ, ñâèäåòåëüñòâóþùèå ïîëó÷èòü ãîñóäàðñòâåííûå ïîñî- î òîì, ÷òî âûñîêàÿ ÷èñëåííîñòü áèÿ èëè äîáèòüñÿ óñòóïîê îò ýòíè÷åñêèõ è êîíôåññèîíàëü- “ñ÷àñòëèâûõ âëàäåëüöå┠ëèöåí- íûõ ãðóïï, ñêîðåå, ïðåïÿòñòâóåò çèé, êàê è ñëó÷èëîñü ïîñëå ôåâ- îáðàçîâàíèþ â ãîðîäå êóëüòóð- ðàëÿ 1917 ã., êîãäà äèñêðèìèíà- íûõ öåíòðîâ, â çíà÷èòåëüíîé öèÿ åâðååâ â àäâîêàòóðå áûëà ìåðå ñïîñîáñòâóþùèõ èíòåãðà- ëèêâèäèðîâàíà îäåññêèìè àäâî- öèîííûì ïðîöåññàì. êàòàìè? Êàê, ó÷èòûâàÿ ýòè îáñòî- Ïîñëå 1905 ã. áîðüáà çà îáùå- ÿòåëüñòâà, ìîæíî îáúÿñíèòü ñòâåííîå è èíòåëëåêòóàëüíîå ñòðåìèòåëüíóþ êàðüåðó íåêîòîðûõ ëèäåðñòâî, ïðåæäå ïðîèñõîäèâ- ìîëîäûõ åâðåéñêèõ àäâîêàòîâ, øàÿ â ðàçëè÷íûõ îäåññêèõ îáúå- ïðèíÿâøèõ ïðàâîñëàâèå èëè äèíåíèÿõ, áûëà ïðîäîëæåíà âî êóëüòóðíî àññèìèëèðîâàâøèõñÿ, âðåìÿ âûáîðîâ â ãîðîäñêóþ è íàïðèìåð, Ã. Áëþìåíôåëüäà, Ãîñóäàðñòâåííóþ äóìû. Ïðè âïîñëåäñòâèè ñåíàòîðà, èëè äåïó- ýòîì ñòàë î÷åâèäåí ðàñêîë â òàòîâ Ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé äóìû îáùåñòâå íà ïðîðóññêè îðèåí- Î. ß. Ïåðãàìåíòà è À. Å. Áðîä- òèðîâàííóþ ôðàêöèþ, êîòîðàÿ ñêîãî? Êàê ñàìè îíè èíòåðïðå- ðåêðóòèðîâàëà ñòîðîííèêîâ, òèðîâàëè ñîáñòâåííûé óñïåõ è ïðåæäå âñåãî, â ñðåäå ìåñòíîé íåóäà÷è êîëëåã-åâðååâ? Êàêîé áþðîêðàòèè è ïîëüçîâàëàñü èõ áûëà ðåàêöèÿ ðóññêèõ êîëëåã? ïîääåðæêîé, è íà ëèáåðàëüíóþ Õàóñìàí íå äàåò îòâåòà íà ýòè ðóññêóþ îïïîçèöèþ, ê êîòîðîé âîïðîñû è íå óïîìèíàåò â ñâîåì ïðèìêíóëè ìíîãèå ïðåäñòàâèòåëè èññëåäîâàíèè î òîì, êàêèå àðãó- êóëüòóðíî-àññèìèëèðîâàâøèõñÿ ìåíòû èñïîëüçîâàëè òå èëè åâðååâ, óêðàèíöû, ïîëÿêè è äð. èíûå ëèöà. Áëàãîäàðÿ âûáîðàì, èìóùèå Âî âòîðîé ïîëîâèíå XIX â. â ñëîè íàñåëåíèÿ áûëè âòÿíóòû â ÷èñëå áàçîâûõ èíñòèòóòîâ ìå- ïðîòèâîáîðñòâî èíòåëëåêòóàëîâ. ñòíîãî îáùåñòâà, ïîìèìî óíè- Ñåòü ñîöèàëüíûõ ñâÿçåé ñòàëà âåðñèòåòà, ñëåäóåò íàçâàòü áîëåå ïëîòíîé, ïðîèçîøëà òàêæå, ðàçâèâàþùóþñÿ ïå÷àòü, ïðîôåñ- ïî ìåíüøåé ìåðå, ÷àñòè÷íàÿ ñèîíàëüíûå ñîþçû, áëàãîòâîðè- èíòåãðàöèÿ óêàçàííûõ ãðóïï. òåëüíûå îáùåñòâà, ýòíè÷åñêèå è Ïîíà÷àëó äîìèíèðîâàëè êàäåòû.

432 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Èõ ïàðòèÿ èìåëà ïîääåðæêó ýêçåìïëÿðîâ. Áûëè ëè ïðè÷è- ñðåäè æèòåëåé “áóëüâàðíîé” íîé òîãî ïîëèòè÷åñêèå ïðåñëå- (áóðæóàçíîé) ÷àñòè ãîðîäà, ëþäåé äîâàíèÿ ïàðòèè ñî ñòîðîíû ñ âûñøèì îáðàçîâàíèåì, ïðåä- ãîñóäàðñòâåííûõ îðãàíîâ, êîòî- ïðèíèìàòåëåé, à òàêæå ó åâðåé- ðûå äî 1917 ã. íå ïðèçíàâàëè åå ñêîãî íàñåëåíèÿ, â òî âðåìÿ êàê çàêîííîé, èëè æå äåëî îêàçà- êîíñåðâàòèâíûå êàíäèäàòû ëîñü â îáùåé ñëàáîñòè ïîëèòè- ïîëó÷èëè áîëüøèíñòâî ãîëîñîâ ÷åñêîé ñàìîîðãàíèçàöèè íàñå- íà âûáîðàõ â Ãîñóäàðñòâåííóþ ëåíèÿ â ïîñëåäíèå ãîäû ñóùå- äóìó â 1909 ã. íà ãîðîäñêîé ïåðè- ñòâîâàíèÿ öàðñêîãî ðåæèìà? ôåðèè (G. Hausmann. S. 496, 498 Ìîæåò áûòü, ïðîáëåìà çàêëþ- è ñëåä.).  1909 ã. ëèäåðñòâî ïåðå- ÷àëàñü â îñîáåííîñòÿõ âíóòðè- øëî ê ïðåäñòàâèòåëÿì ðóññêèõ ïàðòèéíîé ñòðóêòóðû, êîòîðûå íàöèîíàëèñòîâ, ïîëó÷èâøèì Õàóñìàí èãíîðèðóåò. Êàäåòû áîëüøèíñòâî áëàãîäàðÿ ìàññè- îñòàâàëèñü, ïî ñóùåñòâó, ïðåä- ðîâàííîé è äàæå íåëåãàëüíîé âûáîðíûì îáúåäèíåíèåì, ôèíàí- ïîääåðæêå ñî ñòîðîíû ðåàêöèîí- ñèðîâàâøèìñÿ îòöàìè ãîðîäà, è íîãî ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî àïïàðàòà. íå çàíèìàëèñü ïîñòîÿííîé ïîëè- ×èñëåííîñòü îäåññêèõ êàäå- òè÷åñêîé äåÿòåëüíîñòüþ â êîìè- òîâ âåñíîé 1906 ã., ïî äàííûì òåòàõ (G. Hausmann. S. 490 è Õàóñìàíà, äîñòèãàëà 13.000 ÷ëå- ñëåä.). Îäíàêî è äàííûì îáñòî- íîâ, òî åñòü áûëà âûøå, ÷åì â ÿòåëüñòâîì âðÿä ëè ìîæíî Ìîñêâå è Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðãå. îáúÿñíèòü îòñóòñòâèå ó ãîðîæàí Îòìåòèì, ÷òî, îäèí èç àâòîðè- øèðîêîãî èíòåðåñà ê ïîëèòè- òåòíûõ ðîññèéñêèõ èñòîðèêîâ, ÷åñêèì öåííîñòÿì è ïðîãðàììå Â. Â. Øåëîõàåâ, ïðèâîäèò äðó- êàäåòîâ. ãóþ öèôðó – âñåãî 600 ÷åëîâåê.8 Õàóñìàí íàçûâàåò Îäåññó Ê ñîæàëåíèþ, Õàóñìàí íèêàê íå “îñîáûì” ñîöèàëüíûì è êóëü- êîììåíòèðóåò ýòî ðàñõîæäåíèå òóðíûì ïðîñòðàíñòâîì, îäíàêî äàííûõ. Îí òàêæå íå îáúÿñíÿåò, íå îïðåäåëÿåò ìåñòíîå îáùåñòâî ïî÷åìó êàäåòû ñìîãëè äîáèòüñÿ êàê æèâóùóþ â ýòîì ïðîñòðàí- ëèøü âåñüìà îòíîñèòåëüíîãî ñòâå ñîöèàëüíóþ ôîðìàöèþ. ïîëèòè÷åñêîãî óñïåõà, íåñìîòðÿ ßñíî òîëüêî, ÷òî ìåñòíàÿ áþðîê- íà òî, ÷òî èìåëè â ñâîåì ðàñïî- ðàòèÿ íå áûëà ñîñòàâíûì ýëå- ðÿæåíèè êðóïíåéøèå ãàçåòû ñ ìåíòîì ìåñòíîãî îáùåñòâà îáùèì òèðàæîì ñâûøå 20.000 (Ñð.: G. Hausmann. S. 97 è ñëåä.).

8 Â. Â. Øåëîõàåâ. Êàäåòû – ãëàâíàÿ ïàðòèÿ ëèáåðàëüíîé áóðæóàçèè â áîðüáå ñ ðåâîëþöèåé 1905-1907 ãã. Ìîñêâà, 1983. Ñ. 308. 433 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews Íî, â öåëîì, îí ñêåïòè÷åñêè ïðèîáðåòàë ôîðìó àíòàãîíèçìà îòíîñèòñÿ ê âîçìîæíîñòè ôîð- ìåæäó ðóññêèìè è åâðåÿìè. Åñëè ìèðîâàíèÿ ìåñòíîãî îáùåñòâà, ïîäàâëÿþùåå áîëüøèíñòâî êîòîðîå õàðàêòåðèçîâàëîñü áû ÷èíîâíèêîâ ñîñòàâëÿëè ðóñ- îáðàçîâàííîñòüþ è îïðåäåëåí- ñêèå, òî êóëüòóðíî àññèìèëèðî- íûì ñòèëåì æèçíè. Ýòîìó ïðå- âàâøèåñÿ åâðåéñêèå èíòåëëèãåíòû ïÿòñòâîâàëè, ïî åãî ìíåíèþ, âîçãëàâëÿëè êîðïîðàöèè èëè ìíîãîíàöèîíàëüíîñòü è ñëîæ- ñîþçû âðà÷åé9 è àäâîêàòîâ è íûé êîíôåññèîíàëüíûé ñîñòàâ ïðèíàäëåæàëè ê ìåñòíîé êóëü- íàñåëåíèÿ ãîðîäà, ïîñòîÿííàÿ òóðíîé ýëèòå. Èìåííî ýòî îáñòî- áîðüáà âîêðóã íåáîëüøîãî ýêî- ÿòåëüñòâî, à òàêæå ñîöèàëüíàÿ è íîìè÷åñêîãî ñåêòîðà, à òàêæå ýòíî-êîíôåññèîíàëüíàÿ ñòðóêòóðà ñëàáîñòü ëèáåðàëüíûõ ïîçèöèé àññîöèàöèé (åñëè íå ïðèíè- ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé ðóññêîé íàöèè ìàòü âî âíèìàíèå íàöèî- (G. Hausmann. S. 510). Áîðüáà íàëüíûå êëóáû), ñîçäàâàëè íà îãðàíè÷åííîì ðûíêå ìåæäó âïå÷àòëåíèå óñïåøíîé ñîöèà- ïðåäëàãàâøèìè ñâîè óñëóãè öèè (Vergesellschaftung). Îäíàêî âðà÷àìè è àäâîêàòàìè áûëà íåÿñíî, ÿâëÿëèñü ëè ýòè àññîöè- ÷ðåâàòà êîíôëèêòàìè. Èç-çà àöèè èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî ôåíîìåíîì ýòîãî ïðèîáðåòàëà áîëüøóþ êðàéíå íåìíîãî÷èñëåííîé ýëè- çíà÷èìîñòü ãðàíèöà ñôåðû ãîñó- òû îäåññêîãî îáùåñòâà? äàðñòâåííîé ñëóæáû; ãîñ÷èíîâ- Ïîíÿòèéíûé àïïàðàò Õàóñ- íèêè áûëè ëó÷øå îáåñïå÷åíû â ìàíà íå âñåãäà îòëè÷àåòñÿ äîñ- ìàòåðèàëüíîì îòíîøåíèè. Âî òàòî÷íîé ÷åòêîñòüþ. Îïðàâäà- ìíîãîì, ýòà ãðàíèöà îïðåäåëÿëà íî ëè òî, ÷òî “áóðæóàçèÿ” è “èí- ñîöèàëüíûé, ýòíè÷åñêèé è êîí- òåëëèãåíöèÿ” â íåêîòîðûõ ñëó- ôåññèîíàëüíûé ñîñòàâ ïðåäñòà- ÷àÿõ ñòàíîâÿòñÿ ñèíîíèìè÷íûìè âèòåëåé àêàäåìè÷åñêèõ ïðîôåñ- òåðìèíàìè? Âåäü ïåðâàÿ êàòåãî- ñèé. Òàêèì îáðàçîì, êîíôëèêò ðèÿ ïðåäïîëàãàåò ñâÿçü ñ ýêîíî- ìåæäó ãîñóäàðñòâîì è îáùåñòâîì ìè÷åñêèì ïîëîæåíèåì, âòîðàÿ –

9 Êðóïíåéøàÿ è ïåðâàÿ ïî çíà÷åíèþ àññîöèàöèÿ îäåññêèõ âðà÷åé – ýòî îñíîâàííîå â 1842 ã. “Îáùåñòâî îäåññêèõ âðà÷åé”. Îò íåãî â 1893 ã. îòäåëèëàñü ãðóïïà, îðãàíèçîâàâøàÿ “Îáùåñòâî ðóññêèõ âðà÷åé Îäåññû”. Îíî îáúåäèíÿëî â îñíîâíîì ìåäèêîâ ðóññêîé è óêðàèíñêîé íàöèîíàëüíîñòè, ðàáîòàâøèõ â ãîðîäñêîé áîëüíèöå.  1905 ã. “Îáùåñòâî îäåññêèõ âðà÷åé” ñáëèçèëîñü ñ êàäåòàìè è ïåðåøëî òàêèì îáðàçîì â ëàãåðü ïîëèòè÷åñêîé îïïîçèöèè, à “Îáùåñòâî ðóññêèõ âðà÷åé Îäåññû” ðàñïàëîñü íà äâå ôðàêöèè. Ñòîðîííèêè ñàìîäåðæàâèÿ è ðóññêèå íàöèîíàëèñòû îêàçàëèñü áîëåå ñèëüíûìè, è â 1905 ã. “Îáùåñòâî” âîçãëàâèë ïðîôåññîð Ñ. Â. Ëåâàøîâ. 434 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ñ îáðàçîâàíèåì (G. Hausmann. Ïåòåðáóðãà. Ýòà ðàáîòà íà ìíî- S. 500). Âûçûâàåò, êðîìå òîãî, ãèå ãîäû îñòàíåòñÿ âàæíåéøèì ñîìíåíèÿ ïðàâîìåðíîñòü ïðè- òðóäîì ïî èñòîðèè Îäåññû â ìåíåíèÿ Õàóñìàíîì ê “ëèáå- ïîñëåäíèå ïîëâåêà ñóùåñòâîâà- ðàëüíîé” Îäåññå îïðåäåëåíèÿ íèÿ öàðñêîé Ðîññèè. “ñðåäû”, âîñõîäÿùåãî ê òåîðå-  ñðàâíåíèè ñ äèññåðòàöèåé òè÷åñêîìó êîíöåïòó Ì. Ð. Ëåï- Õàóñìàíà ìîíîãðàôèÿ Ðîáåðòà ñèóñà. (G. Hausmann. S. 505.) Âàéíáåðãà, ÿâëÿþùàÿñÿ ðå- Ýòî òðóäíî äåôèíèðóåìîå è íå- çóëüòàòîì åãî ìíîãîëåòíåãî äîñòàòî÷íî ñïåöèôè÷íîå ïîíÿ- òâîð÷åñòâà,11 ïðåäñòàâëÿåò ñîáîé òèå îêàçàëîñü íåïëîäîòâîðíûì ðàáîòó, ïîñâÿùåííóþ ïðåäìåòó â ñìûñëå îïåðàöèîííûõ âîç- ãîðàçäî áîëåå óçêîìó è òåìàòè÷åñ- ìîæíîñòåé.  ïîñëåäíåå âðåìÿ êè, è õðîíîëîãè÷åñêè, à èìåííî – â íåìåöêîé íàóêå îáîçíà÷èëàñü îäåññêîìó ðàáî÷åìó äâèæåíèþ òåíäåíöèÿ ê îãðàíè÷åííîìó âî âðåìÿ ðåâîëþöèè 1905 ã. èñïîëüçîâàíèþ äàííîãî òåðìè- Èññëåäîâàíèå ñîñòîèò èç âîñüìè íà, êîòîðûé Ìàêñ Âåáåð íàçâàë ãëàâ.  òðåõ ïåðâûõ ãëàâàõ ñèñ- “ñëîâî–ïóñòûøêà” (“Unwort”). òåìíî ïðåäñòàâëåíû êîíöåïòó-  îñíîâíîì îíî âñòðå÷àåòñÿ â àëüíûå ïîëîæåíèÿ, íà êîòîðûõ èññëåäîâàíèÿõ, ñâÿçàííûõ ñ îñíîâûâàþòñÿ ñëåäóþùèå ïÿòü ïðîáëåìàìè êàòîëèöèçìà è ñî- ãëàâ. öèàëèçìà.10  ïåðâûõ òðåõ ãëàâàõ Âàéí- Âñå ýòè çàìå÷àíèÿ íå ñíèæàþò áåðã ðàññìàòðèâàåò ýêîíîìè- îáùåé âûñîêîé îöåíêè ìîíîãðà- ÷åñêóþ ñòðóêòóðó, ðîñò ÷èñëåí- ôèè Õàóñìàíà, ïðåäñòàâëÿþùåé íîñòè ãîðîäñêîãî íàñåëåíèÿ è åãî ñîáîé îñíîâàòåëüíîå ñåðüåçíîå ýòíè÷åñêèé ñîñòàâ. Õîòÿ óñëîâèÿ èññëåäîâàíèå, àâòîð êîòîðîãî òðóäà è æèçíè ðàáî÷èõ-ìèãðàí- èñïîëüçîâàë íå òîëüêî ìàòåðè- òîâ íà ðóáåæå âåêîâ íèêîèì àëû îäåññêîé ïå÷àòè, íî òàêæå îáðàçîì íå èçìåíèëèñü ê ëó÷- àðõèâû Îäåññû, Êèåâà è Ñàíêò- øåìó, à áåçðàáîòèöà áûëà óæå

10 K. Tenfelde. Historische Milieus – Erblichkeit und Konkurrenz // V. V.M.Hettling und P. Nolte (Hrsg.). Nation und Gesellschaft in Deutschland. Historische Essays. München, 1996. S. 247-268; S. 247 è ñëåä. 11 R. Weinberg. The Pogrom of 1905 in Odessa. A Case Study // J. D. Klier and S. Lambroza (Eds.). Pogroms. Anti-Jewish Violence in Modern Russian History. Cambridge 1992. Pp. 248-289; Idem. The Politization of Labor in 1905. The Case of Odessa Salesclerks // Slavic Review. 1990. Vol. 49. Pp. 427-445; Idem. Visualising Pogroms in Russian History // Jewish History. 1998. Vol. 12. Pp. 71-92. 435 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews øèðîêî èçâåñòíûì ÿâëåíèåì â ñûïü, ãäå îíè ñîñòàâëÿëè òîëüêî ýêîíîìèêå Îäåññû, ãîðîä âñå îäíó ïÿòóþ ÷àñòü íàñåëåíèÿ, è åùå èìåë ðåïóòàöèþ ðîññèéñêîãî åâðåéñêèé öåíòð, Ìîëäàâàíêó. “ýëüäîðàäî” è îáëàäàë ìàãè÷åñ- Ýòíè÷åñêèå, ðåëèãèîçíûå, êóëü- êîé ïðèòÿãàòåëüíîñòüþ äëÿ òóðíûå ðàçëè÷èÿ, à òàêæå ðàçëè- ïðèåçæèõ, èñêàâøèõ çäåñü óäà÷ó. ÷èÿ â ïðîôåññèîíàëüíîì îáðà-  îòëè÷èå îò Òèôëèñà è Áàêó, â çîâàíèè è ðîäå äåÿòåëüíîñòè, Îäåññå ýòíè÷åñêàÿ èëè êîíôåñ- òåì íå ìåíåå, ïðåïÿòñòâîâàëè ñèîíàëüíàÿ ïðèíàäëåæíîñòü “ñïàéêå” ðóññêèõ è åâðåéñêèõ ëþäåé íå âëèÿëà íà êëàññîâóþ ðàáî÷èõ. ïðèíàäëåæíîñòü, ñòàòóñ è îáëàäà- Çàòðîíóâ âàæíûé âîïðîñ ñàìî- íèå âëàñòüþ (R. Weinberg. Ð. 19). îðãàíèçàöèè òîðãîâûõ ñëóæà- Ïî äàííûì Âàéíáåðãà, â ùèõ, Âàéíáåðã ïîäíÿë òåìó, Îäåññå íàêàíóíå ðåâîëþöèè êîòîðîé â èñòîðè÷åñêèõ èññëå- 1905 ã. áûëî 188.000 ðàáî÷èõ, â äîâàíèÿõ äîëãîå âðåìÿ íå óäå- òîì ÷èñëå 25.300 ôàáðè÷íûõ, ëÿëîñü âíèìàíèÿ. Íî î ïîëèòè- 46.000 ðåìåñëåííèêîâ, 14.700 ÷åñêîé îðãàíèçàöèè, îí, êàê è ñòðîèòåëüíûõ è 13.800 òðàíñ- åãî ïðåäøåñòâåííèêè, ïèøåò ïîðòíûõ ðàáî÷èõ è ìàòðîñîâ, à êðàéíå ñêóïî, ê òîìó æå, èãíî- òàêæå 16.200 ïîäåíùèêîâ. Ê ðèðóÿ ñîöèàëüíî-ðåâîëþöèîí- “ðàáî÷èì” Âàéíáåðã îòíîñèò íîå äâèæåíèå (ýñåðîâ). Äåñÿòü òàêæå 33.000 òîðãîâûõ ñëóæà- ñòðàíèö â åãî ðàáîòå ïîñâÿùåíû ùèõ è 39.200 çàíÿòûõ â ñôåðå ñîöèàë-äåìîêðàòàì, è âñåãî äâå óñëóã (R. Weinberg. Ð. 32). ïðî÷èì ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêèì Ñêîëüêî-íèáóäü ïðèåìëåìûõ îðãàíèçàöèÿì. Íàó÷íàÿ ëèòåðà- îñíîâàíèé â ïîëüçó ñòîëü øèðî- òóðà î ïàðòèè ýñåðîâ âîîáùå íå êîé òðàêòîâêè òåðìèíà “ðàáî- ïðèâëåêàåòñÿ. Âàéíáåðã ñ÷èòàåò, ÷èé” Âàéíáåðã íå ïðèâîäèò. ÷òî âëèÿíèå ñîöèàëèñòè÷åñêèõ Óáåäèòåëüíû âûâîäû èññëå- ïàðòèé íà ðàáî÷èõ Îäåññû íå äîâàòåëÿ îá ýòíè÷åñêèõ è ñîöè- èìåëî áîëüøîãî çíà÷åíèÿ. Ðàçó- àëüíûõ îñîáåííîñòÿõ òåððèòîðèè ìååòñÿ, îíè îêàçûâàëè îðãàíè- Îäåññû (R. Weinberg. Ðp. 35-53). çàöèîííóþ ïîìîùü è îïðåäåëÿëè  Îäåññå íå áûëî ÿâíîé ñåãðå- ãëàâíûå çàäà÷è äâèæåíèÿ, íî ãàöèè ïî ýòíè÷åñêîìó ïðèçíàêó. ðàáî÷èå, òåì íå ìåíåå, äåéñòâîâà- Åâðåè ðàâíîìåðíî ðàñïðåäåëÿ- ëè ñàìîñòîÿòåëüíî (R. Weinberg. ëèñü ïî âñåì ðàéîíàì ãîðîäà. Ðp. 124, 127, 228, etc.). Ñîáûòèÿ Èñêëþ÷åíèÿìè ìîæíî ñ÷èòàòü 1905 ã., êàê ñ÷èòàåò Âàéíáåðã, “ïðîëåòàðñêèé” ðàéîí Ïåðå- òîëüêî ïîäòâåðäèëè ýòî.  îòëè-

436 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 ÷èå îò ìíîãèõ äðóãèõ ãîðîäîâ, ïðåäñòàâèòåëåé ãîñóäàðñòâåí- â Îäåññå ïåòåðáóðãñêîå “Êðîâà- íîé âëàñòè è, â ïåðâóþ î÷åðåäü, âîå âîñêðåñåíüå” íå âûçâàëî ðîäñòâåííèêà Ï. À. Ñòîëûïèíà âîëíû çàáàñòîâîê, íåñìîòðÿ íà ãîðîäñêîãî êîìåíäàíòà Ä. Â. Íåé- ïðèçûâû ñîöèàëèñòîâ. Îíè íà÷à- ãàðäòà è íà÷àëüíèêà ïîëèöèè ëèñü ëèøü â ôåâðàëå, åùå äî áàðîíà À. ôîí Êàóëüáàðñà.12 òîãî, êàê ïîìîùíèêè àïòåêà- Òàêæå îòìå÷àåòñÿ, ÷òî ìàññó ðåé, âûäâèíóâ ýêîíîìè÷åñêèå ïîãðîìùèêîâ ñîñòàâëÿëè íåîáðà- òðåáîâàíèÿ, íà÷àëè ñòà÷êó è çîâàííûå ðàáî÷èå, ïîäåíùèêè è òàêèì îáðàçîì ïîáóäèëè äðóãèõ äîêåðû, êîòîðûå â ðåçóëüòàòå òðóäÿùèõñÿ áàñòîâàòü. Íåñìîòðÿ ýêîíîìè÷åñêîé äåïðåññèè òåð- íà ðàäèêàëèçì òðåáîâàíèé áàñ- ïåëè òÿæåëûå ëèøåíèÿ è îñî- òóþùèõ, äî îáùåé ãîðîäñêîé áåííî îïàñàëèñü êîíêóðåíöèè ñòà÷êè äåëî íå äîøëî, òàê êàê ñî ñòîðîíû åâðååâ. Æàëü, ÷òî ðóêîâîäèòåëè ìåëêèõ è ñðåäíèõ Âàéíáåðã íå ðàññìàòðèâàåò ýòíè- ïðåäïðèÿòèé ïðîÿâèëè ãîòîâ- ÷åñêèé ñîñòàâ ïîãðîìùèêîâ. íîñòü ïîéòè íà óñòóïêè. Êðèòè- Ïîäåíùèêè è äîêåðû áûëè, êàê ÷åñêàÿ ñèòóàöèÿ ïîòåðÿëà ñâîþ ïðàâèëî, ñåçîííûìè ðàáî÷èìè, îñòðîòó. Äàæå ìÿòåæ íà “Ïî- ïîýòîìó ìîæíî ïðåäïîëàãàòü, òåìêèíå” íè÷åì íå ïîìîã çàáà- ÷òî â îñíîâíîì ýòî áûëè óêðà- ñòîâùèêàì, à, ñêîðåå, íàîáîðîò, èíñêèå êðåñòüÿíå, óðîæåíöû îñëàáèë ðåâîëþöèîííîå äâèæå- Õåðñîíñêîé ãóáåðíèè. Îäíàêî íèå, ïîñêîëüêó åäèíñòâà ìåæäó Âàéíáåðã âèäèò ïðè÷èíó ïîãðîìà âîññòàâøèìè ìàòðîñàìè è ãîðîä- âî âðàæäå ìåæäó åâðåÿìè è ðóñ- ñêèìè çàáàñòîâùèêàìè äîáèòüñÿ ñêèìè (R. Weinberg. Ðp. 164-187). íå óäàëîñü. Òùàòåëüíî âûïîëíåííîå èñ-  ãëàâå, ïîñâÿùåííîé ïîãðîìó ñëåäîâàíèå Âàéíáåðãà, îòëè÷à- â îêòÿáðå 1905 ã., ïîä÷åðêèâàåòñÿ þùååñÿ õîðîøèì ñòèëåì èçëî- íå òîëüêî íåêîìïåòåíòíîñòü æåíèÿ, íå ñîäåðæèò êàêèõ-ëèáî

12 Ñð.: Herlihy. Ð. 305 è ñëåä. Ñóäåáíîå ïðåñëåäîâàíèå Íåéãàðäòà è Êàóëüáàðñà ïî ñòàòüå 341 “Óëîæåíèÿ î íàêàçàíèÿõ” (“áåçäåÿòåëüíîñòü ãîñóäàðñòâåííîé âëàñòè”), íåñìîòðÿ íà óñòàíîâëåííóþ âèíó îáîèõ, áûëî ïðåêðàùåíî ïî íàñòîÿíèþ ìèíèñòðà âíóòðåííèõ äåë, ÷òî ñëåäóåò ðàññìàòðèâàòü êàê åùå îäíî äîêàçàòåëüñòâî îòñóòñòâèÿ ðàçâèòûõ ôîðì ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî ïðàâîñîçíàíèÿ è ïîäòâåðæäåíèå âûâîäà Ì. Âåáåðà î ìíèìîì êîíñòèòóöèîííîì ñòðîå. Ñì.: M. Weber. Zur Russischen Revolution von 1905. Schriften und Reden 1905-1912 // W. Mommsen in Zusammenarbeit mit D.Dahlmann (Hrsg.). Tübingen, 1996 (= Max Weber Gesamtausgabe Abt. 1. Bd. 10). S. 105-328, îñîáåííî S. 112.

437 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews íåîæèäàííûõ ïîëîæåíèé. Õîòÿ íå âëèÿþò íà îáùåå ïîëîæè- ýòî íå äèñêðåäèòèðóåò ðàáîòó, ó òåëüíîå âïå÷àòëåíèå, êîòîðîå ÷èòàòåëÿ, òåì íå ìåíåå, âîçíèêàåò îñòàâëÿåò åãî ðàáîòà. âïå÷àòëåíèå “óæå ãäå-òî ïðî÷è- Êíèãà Òàíè Ïåíòåð13 ïðîäîë- òàííîãî”. Æàëü, ÷òî àâòîð íå æàåò òðàäèöèþ ðåãèîíàëüíûõ èññëåäîâàë îñîáåííîñòè ñóùå- èññëåäîâàíèé, êîòîðûå â ïîñëå- ñòâîâàíèÿ ðàáî÷èõ çà ñòåíàìè äíèå äâàäöàòü ëåò ñòàëè äîâîëüíî ôàáðèê è ïðåäïðèÿòèé. Èõ äîñóã, ÷àñòûìè â çàïàäíîé ëèòåðàòóðå êðóã îáùåíèÿ è æèçíü â ãîðîäå î ðåâîëþöèîííûõ ñîáûòèÿõ îñòàëèñü âíå ïîëÿ çðåíèÿ èññëå- 1917 ã.14 Åå ðàáîòà îòêðûâàåò äîâàòåëÿ. Íåáîëüøèå íåòî÷íîñòè – òàê íàçûâàåìóþ “êðàñíóþ öåëè- íàïðèìåð, Âàéíáåðã ïîëàãàåò, íó”, ïîñêîëüêó ìíîãîíàöèî- ÷òî â íà÷àëå XX ñò. â Ðîññèè íàëüíàÿ Îäåññà íå áûëà ïðåäìå- ñóùåñòâîâàëè òðè êóïå÷åñêèå òîì èññëåäîâàíèÿ äàæå â ðàííèõ ãèëüäèè (R. Weinberg. Ð. 17) – ðàáîòàõ ñîâåòñêèõ èñòîðèêîâ.

13 T. Penter. Der Sowjet der Arbeitslosen in Odessa. Soziale Polarisierung in der Revolution von 1917 // Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas. 1998. Bd. 46. S. 351-375. 14 O. Figes. Peasant Russia, Civil War. The Volga Countryside in Revolution (1917-1921). Oxford, 1989; T. H. Freidgut. Iuzovka and Revolution. Vol. 1. Life and Work in Russia’s Donbass, 1869-1924. Princeton, 1989; Vol. 2. Politics and Revolution in Russia’s Donbass, 1869-1924. Princeton, 1994; I. Getzler. Kronstadt, 1917-1921. The Fate of a Soviet Democracy. Cambridge, 1983; M. C. Hickey. Discourses of Public Identity and Liberalism in the February Revolution. Smolensk, Spring 1917 // Russian Review. 1996. Vol. 55. Pp. 615-637; Idem. The Establishment of Soviet Power in Smolensk Province, 1917-1918 / Ph. D. Dissertation, Northern Illinois University, 1993; Idem. Local Government and State Authority in the Provinces. Smolensk, February-June 1917 // Slavic Review. 1996. Vol. 55. Pp. 863-881; Idem. Peasant Autonomy, Soviet Power and land Distribution in Smolensk Province, November 1917 – May 1918 // Revolutionary Russia. 1996. Vol. 7. No. 1. Pp. 19-21; Idem. Revolution on the Jewish Street. Smolensk, 1917 // Journal of Social History. 1998. Vol. 31. Pp. 823-285; Idem. Urban Zemliachestva and Rural Revolution. Petrograd and the Smolensk Countryside in 1917 // Soviet and Post Soviet Review. 1996. Vol. 23. Pp. 143-160; D. Mandel. October in the Ivanovo-Kineshma Industrial Region // E. R. Frankel, J. Frankel, and B. Knei-Paz (Eds.). Revolution in Russia. Reassessments of 1917. Cambridge, 1992. Pp. 157-187; D. J. Raleigh. The Impact of World War I on Saratov and Its Revolutionary Movement // R. A. Wade and S. J. Seregny (Eds.). Politics and Society in Provincial Russia: Saratov, 1590-1917. Columbus, 1989. Pp. 277-306; Idem. Revolution on the Volga. 1917 in Saratov. Ithaca, 1986; Idem. Revolutionary Politics in Provincial Russia: The Tsaritsin “Republic” in 1917 // Slavic Review. 1981. Vol. 40. Pp. 194-209; R. G. Suny. The Baku Commune 1917-1918. Class and Nationality in the Russian Revolution. Princeton, 1972; R. A. Wade. The Revolution in the Provinces. Khar’kov and the Varieties of Response to the October Revolution // Revolutionary Russia. 1991. Vol. 4. Pp. 132-142. 438 Ab Imperio, 1/2005  öåíòðå âíèìàíèÿ íàõîäèòñÿ äèññåðòàöèè. Ïîìèìî òðåõ äå- âîïðîñ î òîì, â êàêèõ ðàéîíàõ ñÿòêîâ íàèìåíîâàíèé îäåññêèõ è àêòèâèñòû è îðãàíû ìåñòíîé óêðàèíñêèõ ãàçåò è æóðíàëîâ âëàñòè âûñòóïàëè ïðîòèâ öåíò- òîãî âðåìåíè, àâòîðîì ïðèâëå÷å- ðàëüíîãî ïðàâèòåëüñòâà. Ïðè íû äîêóìåíòû äâóõ óêðàèíñêèõ ýòîì ðå÷ü èäåò íå òîëüêî îá ó÷à- àðõèâîâ (Ãîñóäàðñòâåííûé àðõèâ ñòèè íàñåëåíèÿ â ïðåîáðàçîâàíèè Îäåññêîé îáëàñòè, Öåíòðàëüíûé îáùåñòâà, íî è î âçàèìîäåéñòâèè ãîñóäàðñòâåííûé àðõèâ îáùå- ñîöèàëüíîé è íàöèîíàëüíîé ñòâåííûõ îáúåäèíåíèé Óêðàèíû) ðåâîëþöèé, òî åñòü î ïðîáëåìå è òðåõ ìîñêîâñêèõ àðõèâîâ ïîòåíöèàëà ñàìîîïðåäåëåíèÿ ó (Ãîñóäàðñòâåííûé àðõèâ Ðîñ- òàêèõ ìàêðîêàòåãîðèé, êàê ñèéñêîé Ôåäåðàöèè, Öåíòðàëü- “êëàññ” è “íàöèÿ” (T. Penter. S. íûé ãîñóäàðñòâåííûé âîåííî- 3, 9). Ïîñòàíîâêà âîïðîñà ó Ïåí- èñòîðè÷åñêèé àðõèâ, Ðîññèéñêèé òåð, îäíàêî, ïðåäñòàâëÿåòñÿ íàì öåíòð õðàíåíèÿ è èçó÷åíèÿ îøèáî÷íîé: âàæíûì ÿâëÿåòñÿ äîêóìåíòîâ íîâåéøåé èñòîðèè). íå ñòîëüêî “èññëåäîâàíèå ñîöè- Òàê æå êàê è â ðàáîòå Âàéíáåðãà, àëüíûõ è íàöèîíàëüíûõ è, âîç- ïðè îòáîðå äîêóìåíòîâ èç áûâ- ìîæíî, ìåñòíûõ àñïåêòîâ èäåí- øåãî ïàðòèéíîãî àðõèâà ÊÏÑÑ òè÷íîñòè”, ñêîëüêî àíàëèç îá- (ÐÃÀÑÏÈ) ïåðñïåêòèâà èçó÷å- ðàçîâàíèÿ ìåñòíîé èäåíòè÷íî- íèÿ îêàçàëàñü îãðàíè÷åííîé, ñòè; çàòåì ëîãè÷åñêè äîëæåí ñîñðåäîòî÷åííîé èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî ïîñëåäîâàòü âòîðîé ýòàï èññëåäî- íà ðîëè áîëüøåâèêîâ. Èç-çà ýòîãî âàíèÿ, ñâÿçàííûé ñ âûÿñíåíèåì íå óäàëîñü ïîêàçàòü, â êàêîé ñòå- òîãî, â êàêîé ìåðå ìîãëè óòâåð- ïåíè íà ôîðìèðîâàíèå èäåíòè÷- äèòüñÿ ïîíÿòèÿ îá èäåíòè÷íîñòè íîñòè ó íàñåëåíèÿ Îäåññû âëèÿ- áîëåå âûñîêîãî óðîâíÿ. ëè äðóãèå ïîëèòè÷åñêèå ãðóïïè- Ìîíîãðàôèÿ Ïåíòåð ñîñòîèò ðîâêè – ìåíüøåâèêè, Áóíä, àíàð- èç ÷åòûðåõ ãëàâ. Ïåðâàÿ íàçû- õèñòû, êàäåòû è ýñåðû. Ïî÷åìó âàåòñÿ “Ïðåäðåâîëþöèîííàÿ àâòîð ïðèâëåêëà ê èçó÷åíèþ Îäåññà”, âòîðàÿ – “Ñîáûòèÿ èìåííî ýòè, à íå äðóãèå àðõèâíûå 1917 ã. â Îäåññå”, òðåòüÿ è ÷åòâåð- ôîíäû, ÷èòàòåëü íå óçíàåò. òàÿ “Ñîöèàëüíàÿ ðåâîëþöèÿ”, Äîâîëüíî ñêóäíà â ðàáîòå “Íàöèîíàëüíàÿ ðåâîëþöèÿ: èñòîðèîãðàôèÿ âîïðîñà. Ê òîìó Îäåññà ìåæäó Êèåâîì è Ïåòðîã- æå â íåé îòñóòñòâóþò íåêîòîðûå ðàäîì”, ñîîòâåòñòâåííî. âàæíûå ðàáîòû, íàïðèìåð, ×èòàòåëÿ ïîðàæàåò îáúåì èññëåäîâàíèå Ì. Õèëüäåðìåéåðà ìàòåðèàëà, èñïîëüçîâàííîãî â î ðóññêîé ðåâîëþöèè èëè 439 Ðåöåíçèè/Reviews “Ñîöèàëüíàÿ èäåíòè÷íîñòü” òåðïðåòèðóÿ ñîöèàëüíóþ ñòðà- Ý. Ê. Âèðòøàôòåð.15 òèôèêàöèþ îäåññêîãî íàñåëå- Ïðåäñòàâëÿþòñÿ óäà÷íûìè íèÿ â 1914 ã. êàê “êëàññîâóþ”, ñòðàíèöû ðàáîòû, ïîñâÿùåííûå Ïåíòåð ãîâîðèò î ðàáî÷èõ, ìåë- ôàáðè÷íûì ðàáî÷èì è îðãàíè- êîé áóðæóàçèè, èíòåëëèãåíöèè, çàöèè áåçðàáîòíûõ àíàðõèñòà ëþìïåí-ïðîëåòàðèÿõ, ñðåäíåé è Õàéìà Ðèòà (T. Penter. S. 221-252). êðóïíîé áóðæóàçèè. Ýòà ñõåìà Çäåñü äåòàëèçèðîâàíû è òîíêî îñòàâëÿåò æåëàòü ëó÷øåãî, è íå îïèñàíû ôàáðè÷íûå áóäíè, òîëüêî ïîòîìó, ÷òî â åå îñíîâå äèíàìèêà îáîñòðåíèÿ êîíô- ëåæèò êëàññîâûé ïîäõîä. ×èòà- ëèêòîâ ìåæäó ðàáî÷èìè è òåëþ íå ñîîáùàåòñÿ, êàêèå ñîöè- ïðîôñîþçàìè, ðàçíîãëàñèÿ àëüíûå ãðóïïû ïðåäñòàâëåíû â ìåæäó ïðîôñîþçàìè è ôàáðè÷íî- êàæäîì èç êëàññîâ. Êàê è Âàéí- çàâîäñêèìè ðàáî÷èìè ñîâåòàìè. áåðã (R. Weinberg. Ð. XV), Ïåíòåð Íî îñòàëîñü íåÿñíûì, êàêîâî èñïîëüçóåò øèðîêîå ïîíÿòèå áûëî âëèÿíèå ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ “íàåìíûå ðàáî÷èå”, â êîòîðîå ïàðòèé íà ðàáî÷èõ. Èìåííî âêëþ÷àþòñÿ ðàáî÷èå-ñïåöèàëè- çäåñü è ïðîÿâëÿåòñÿ ãëàâíûé ñòû, ïîäåíùèêè, ðåìåñëåííèêè íåäîñòàòîê ðàáîòû: Ïåíòåð íå è äàæå òîðãîâûå ñëóæàùèå è óäàëîñü îïèñàòü ñòîëü æå äåòàëü- ñëóæàùèå ãîðîäñêèõ ó÷ðåæäåíèé. íî íè îäíîé äðóãîé ãðóïïû íàñå- Íà ìîé âçãëÿä, ýòà êàòåãîðèÿ íå- ëåíèÿ Îäåññû, êðîìå ðàáî÷èõ. ïðèãîäíà â êà÷åñòâå îïåðàöèîí- Áåññîäåðæàòåëüíûìè îêàçàëèñü íîãî ïîíÿòèÿ. Íåîäíîðîäíà è ðàññóæäåíèÿ î ãîðîäñêèõ âûñ- êàòåãîðèÿ “ãîðîäñêèõ ñëóæà- øèõ è ñðåäíèõ ñëîÿõ. Íàêîíåö, ùèõ”, òàê êàê ê íèì îòíîñèëèñü â ðàáîòå ïðèâîäÿòñÿ öèòàòû è àðõèòåêòîðû, èíæåíåðû, âðà÷è èçëàãàþòñÿ íåêîòîðûå ïîäõîäû è ãîðîäñêèå þðèñêîíñóëüòû. Íà ñîâðåìåííîé èñòîðèîãðàôèè, òàêîì íåîäíîðîäíîì ñîñòàâå, íî íå äàåòñÿ èõ àíàëèç è îòñóòñòâó- íåâîçìîæíî ïîñòðîèòü ñîöè- åò êðèòè÷åñêàÿ îöåíêà. Îñòàþòñÿ àëüíóþ ôîðìàöèþ, îáëàäàþ- âîïðîñû: ÷åì õàðàêòåðèçîâàëàñü ùóþ îáùåé èäåíòè÷íîñòüþ. ñèñòåìà öåííîñòåé è ÷åì îïðåäå- Ïåíòåð íå ðàñêðûëà îáøèðíîå ëÿëàñü èäåíòè÷íîñòü ãîðîæàí? ïîíÿòèå “ðàáî÷èå” (T. Penter. (T. Penter. S. 177 è ñëåä., 198) S. 37 è ñëåä.), ïðè÷èñëèâ â òðåòüåé Àâòîð îïåðèðóåò ïîíÿòèÿìè, ãëàâå ñëóæàùèõ ê âûñøèìè è èçáåãàÿ èõ îïðåäåëåíèé. Èí- ñðåäíèì ñëîÿì (T. Penter. S. 200).

15 M. Hildermeier. Die Russische Revolution 1905-1921. Frankfurt a. M., 1989; E. K. Wirtschafter. Social Identity in Imperial Russia. DeKalb, 1997.

440 Ab Imperio, 1/2005  äàëüíåéøåì èçëîæåíèè ÿâëÿåòñÿ òàêîé ìèíèìàëüíî òàêæå ìîæíî îòìåòèòü òåðìèíî- íåîáõîäèìûé êîíñåíñóñ, òåì ëîãè÷åñêóþ íå÷åòêîñòü. Óïîìè- áîëåå, ÷òî èññëåäîâàòåëü ñàìà íàþòñÿ íåêèå ñðåäíèå ñëîè ãî- óêàçûâàåò íà ïðîòèâîðå÷èÿ, ðîäñêîãî íàñåëåíèÿ è “èäåíòè÷- ñóùåñòâîâàâøèå ìåæäó ðàáîòà- íîñòü ñðåäíåãî ñîñëîâèÿ”. ×òî þùèìè è áåçðàáîòíûìè. Áåçîñ- ïðè ýòîì èìååò â âèäó àâòîð? íîâàòåëüíî è óòâåðæäåíèå, ÷òî ×òî îí ïîíèìàåò ïîä “ñðåäíèì îäåññêèå ðàáî÷èå èäåíòèôèöè- ñîñëîâèåì”? Èñïîëüçóåò ëè ðîâàëè ñåáÿ ñ ãîðîäñêîé êóëüòó- Ïåíòåð àóòåíòè÷íûé òåðìèí ðîé. ×òî ïîä ýòèì ïîíèìàåòñÿ? èëè îïåðèðóåò îïðåäåëåíèåì, Êëóáû, êèíîòåàòðû, ïîñåùåíèå äàííûì ñîâðåìåííûìè èñòî- ëåêöèé èëè ïèâíûõ? (T. Penter. ðèêàìè? S. 173). Îòìåòèì, ÷òî îñíîâíûå ïîëî-  öåëîì, äèññåðòàöèÿ îñòàâ- æåíèÿ ðàáîòû ôîðìóëèðóþòñÿ ëÿåò äâîéñòâåííîå âïå÷àòëåíèå: àâòîðîì êàê àêñèîìû, íå ïîä- èññëåäîâàíèå íàñûùåíî ôàêòè- òâåðæäåííûå ýìïèðè÷åñêèìè ÷åñêèì ìàòåðèàëîì, îíî ëåãêî äàííûìè. Íàïðèìåð: “Ïîëó÷à- âîñïðèíèìàåòñÿ, íî íå âñåãäà þùèé æàëîâàíèå îùóùàë ñåáÿ õîðîøî ïðîäóìàíî. íå òîëüêî ÷ëåíîì âñåãî ðàáî÷åãî Õîòÿ â ÷åòûðåõ ðàññìîòðåí- êëàññà ” Âêëþ÷àåò ëè àâòîð â íûõ ìîíîãðàôèÿõ â öåëîì âîñ- ÷èñëî ïîëó÷àþùèõ æàëîâàíèå ñîçäàíà ìíîãîñòîðîííÿÿ è êîìï- ñïåöèàëèñòîâ ñ âûñøèì îáðàçî- ëåêñíàÿ ïàíîðàìà Îäåññû äî âàíèåì? Îòêóäà âîîáùå âçÿëèñü 1918 ã., îáøèðíûå îáëàñòè ñî- ýòè ñâåäåíèÿ? Ñêîëüêî ñâèäå- öèàëüíîé è êóëüòóðíîé èñòîðèè òåëüñòâ àâòîð ìîæåò ïðèâåñòè â ýòîãî ãîðîäà âñå åùå îñòàþòñÿ äîêàçàòåëüñòâî èõ ïðàâèëüíîñòè? íåèçó÷åííûìè. Îáùåñòâåííàÿ Îòíîñèòñÿ ëè ñêàçàííîå â ðàâíîé æèçíü “âåðõóøêè” è “íèçîâ”, èõ ìåðå è ê íåêâàëèôèöèðîâàííûì îáùåñòâåííûé ïîòåíöèàë, çíà- ðàáî÷èì, è ñïåöèàëèñòàì, è íà- ÷åíèå ñàìîäåÿòåëüíûõ îðãàíè- äîìíèêàì? Ê ìóæ÷èíàì è æåí- çàöèé è îáúåäèíåíèé, à òàêæå ùèíàì, ìîëîäûì è ëèöàì ñðåä- ñâîáîäà ïðåññû – ýòè ïðîáëåìû íåãî âîçðàñòà, ê ðóññêèì, åâðåÿì, íà ôîíå ïðîäîëæàþùåéñÿ äèñ- íåìöàì è óêðàèíöàì?  ïðîòè- êóññèè î ñóùåñòâîâàíèè èëè âîïîñòàâëåíèè ñåáÿ ñâîåìó âðàãó – âîçìîæíîñòè ñóùåñòâîâàíèÿ áóðæóàçèè – ó ðàáî÷èõ ïðîÿâ- ãðàæäàíñêîãî îáùåñòâà â ïîñëå- ëÿëàñü ëèøü íåãàòèâíàÿ äíåé ôàçå öàðñêîé Ðîññèè, êàê èäåíòè÷íîñòü.  äàííîì ñëó÷àå è ðàíüøå, æäóò ñâîåãî èññëåäî- íåïîíÿòíî, íàñêîëüêî ïðî÷íûì âàíèÿ. 441 Íàøè àâòîðû

ÍÀØÈ ÀÂÒÎÐÛ

Þäæèí ÀÂÐÓÒÈÍ, ïðèãëàøåííûé ïðîôåññîð, èñòîðè÷åñêèé ôà- êóëüòåò, Êîëáè Êîëëåäæ, Óîòåðâèëü, Ìåéí, ÑØÀ. [email protected] Èëüÿ ÃÅÐÀÑÈÌÎÂ, Ph.D. in History, îòâåòñòâåííûé ðåäàêòîð æóðíàëà Ab Imperio, Êàçàíü, Ðîññèÿ. [email protected] Ñåðãåé ÃËÅÁÎÂ, ðåäàêòîð îòäåëà ÑØÀ è Êàíàäû æóðíàëà Ab Imperio, ïðîôåññîð Ñìèò Êîëëåäæ, Íîðòõýìïòîí, Ìàññà÷óñåòñ, ÑØÀ. [email protected] Èâàí ÃÎËÎËÎÁÎÂ, äîêòîðàíò, Ýññåêñêèé óíèâåðñèòåò, Óèâåíõîý Ïàðê, Êîëü÷åñòåð, Âåëèêîáðèòàíèÿ. [email protected] Äìèòðèé ÃÎÐÅÍÁÓÐÃ, Ph.D. in Political Science, àññîöèèðîâàí- íûé ñîòðóäíèê Öåíòðà Äýâèñà äëÿ ðîññèéñêèõ è åâðàçèéñêèõ èññëåäîâàíèé ïðè Ãàðâàðäñêîì óíèâåðñèòåòå, Êåìáðèäæ, Ìàññà- ÷óñåòñ, ÑØÀ. [email protected] Òîìàñ ÃÓÌÅÍÎÑ, äîêòîðàíò ôàêóëüòåòà ïîëèòîëîãèè è èñòîðèè, Óíèâåðñèòåò Ïàíòåéîíà, Àôèíû, Ãðåöèÿ. [email protected] Ñåðãåé ÅÊÅËÜ×ÈÊ, ïðîôåññîð èñòîðèè, ôàêóëüòåò èñòîðèè, Óíèâåðñèòåò Âèêòîðèè, Âèêòîðèÿ, Êàíàäà. [email protected] Àëåêñàíäð ÊÀÌÅÍÑÊÈÉ, ïðîôåññîð, çàâ. êàôåäðîé îòå÷å- ñòâåííîé èñòîðèè äðåâíåãî ìèðà è ñðåäíèõ âåêîâ, ôàêóëüòåò àðõè- âíîãî äåëà Èñòîðèêî-àðõèâíîãî èíñòèòóòà ÐÃÃÓ, Ìîñêâà, Ðîññèÿ. [email protected] Àëåêñàíäð ÊÀÏËÓÍÎÂÑÊÈÉ, ðåäàêòîð îòäåëà Çàïàäíîé Åâðîïû æóðíàëà Ab Imperio, Óíèâåðñèòåò Ìàéíöà, Ãåðìàíèÿ. [email protected]

442 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Äæîí ÊËÈÅÐ, ïðîôåññîð ñîâðåìåííîé åâðåéñêîé èñòîðèè, Óíèâåðñèòåòñêèé Êîëëåäæ Ëîíäîíà, Âåëèêîáðèòàíèÿ. [email protected] Æàííà ÊÎÐÌÈÍÀ, êàíäèäàò êóëüòóðîëîãèè, çàâ. êàôåäðîé ãóìàíèòàðíûõ íàóê, ôàêóëüòåò ñîöèîëîãèè, Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðãñêèé ôèëèàë Âûñøåé Øêîëû Ýêîíîìèêè, Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðã, Ðîññèÿ. [email protected] Ëèëèÿ ÊÐÓÄÓ, ïðåïîäàâàòåëü ôàêóëüòåòà ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ îòíî- øåíèé, ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ è àäìèíèñòðàòèâíûõ íàóê, Ìîëäàâñêèé ãîñó- äàðñòâåííûé óíèâåðñèòåò, Êèøèíåâ, Ìîëäîâà. [email protected] Ëàðèñà ËÅÙÅÍÊÎ, ïðåïîäàâàòåëü Èíñòèòóòà ìåæäóíàðîäíûõ èññëåäîâàíèé Âðîöëàâñêîãî óíèâåðñèòåòà, Âðîöëàâ, Ïîëüøà. [email protected] Äîìèíèê ËÈÂÅÍ, ïðîôåññîð ôàêóëüòåòà óïðàâëåíèÿ, Ëîíäîí- ñêàÿ øêîëà ýêîíîìèêè è ïîëèòè÷åñêîé íàóêè, Ëîíäîí, Âåëèêîá- ðèòàíèÿ. [email protected] Âÿ÷åñëàâ ËÈÕÀ×ÅÂ, ïðåïîäàâàòåëü ãóìàíèòàðíîãî ôàêóëüòåòà Íàöèîíàëüíîãî óíèâåðñèòåòà “Êèåâî-Ìîãèëÿíñêàÿ àêàäåìèÿ”, Êèåâ, Óêðàèíà. [email protected] Íàòàí ÌÅÈÐ, Ph.D. in History, ëåêòîð ïî èñòîðèè è êóëüòóðå âîñòî÷íîåâðîïåéñêèõ åâðååâ, Óíèâåðñèòåò Ñàóòãåìïòîíà, Âåëèêîá- ðèòàíèÿ. [email protected] Âèì âàí ̨ÉÐÑ, äîöåíò åâðîïåéñêîé èñòîðèè è ïîëèòèêè, Óíèâåðñèòåò Ðàäáàóä, Íàéìåãåí, Íèäåðëàíäû. [email protected] Ìàðèíà ÌÎÃÈËÜÍÅÐ, Ph.D., ðåäàêòîð îòäåëà Ðîññèè è ÑÍà æóðíàëà Ab Imperio, Êàçàíñêèé óíèâåðñèòåò, Ðîññèÿ. [email protected] Ìàðèàííà ÌÓÐÀÂÜÅÂÀ, ê.è.í., äîöåíò, Ðîññèéñêèé ãîñóäàð- ñòâåííûé ïåäàãîãè÷åñêèé óíèâåðñèòåò èì. À. È. Ãåðöåíà, Ñàíêò- Ïåòåðáóðã, Ðîññèÿ. [email protected] Ýíòîíè ÏÀÃÄÅÍ, ïðîôåññîð ôàêóëüòåòîâ èñòîðèè è ïîëèòî- ëîãèè, Óíèâåðñèòåò Êàëèôîðíèè â Ëîñ-Àíäæåëåñå, Êàëèôîðíèÿ, ÑØÀ. [email protected] Éîõàíàí ÏÅÒÐÎÂÑÊÈÉ-ØÒÅÐÍ, ïðîôåññîð Íîâîé åâðåéñêîé èñòîðèè, èñòîðè÷åñêèé ôàêóëüòåò è Öåíòð åâðåéñêèõ èññëåäîâàíèé èì. ñåìüè Êðàóí, Ñåâåðî-Çàïàäíûé Óíèâåðñèòåò, ×èêàãî, Èëëè- íîéñ, ÑØÀ. [email protected]

443 Íàøè àâòîðû Êèðèëë ÏÎÑÒÎÓÒÅÍÊÎ, ïðîôåññîð ôàêóëüòåòà ñëàâÿíñêèõ ÿçûêîâ è ëèòåðàòóðû, Óíèâåðñèòåò Þæíîé Êàëèôîðíèè, Ëîñ-Àí- äæåëåñ, ÑØÀ. [email protected] Èðèíà ÐÎËÄÓÃÈÍÀ, M.A., æóðíàëèñò, Èíòåðíåò-èçäàíèå “Ïîëèò.Ðó”, Ìîñêâà, Ðîññèÿ. [email protected] Ìýòüþ ÐÎÌÀÍÈÝËËÎ, Ph.D., ïðèãëàøåííûé ïðîôåññîð èñòîðè÷åñêîãî ôàêóëüòåòà, Êîëëåäæ Ãàìèëüòîíà, Êëèíòîí, ÑØÀ. [email protected] Àëàí ÑÊÅÄ, ñòàðøèé ïðåïîäàâàòåëü âñåìèðíîé èñòîðèè, ôàêóëüòåò âñåìèðíîé èñòîðèè, Ëîíäîíñêàÿ øêîëà ýêîíîìèêè è ïîëèòè÷åñêîé íàóêè, Ëîíäîí, Âåëèêîáðèòàíèÿ. [email protected] Àëåêñàíäð ÑĄ̊ÍÎÂ, ðåäàêòîð îòäåëà Öåíòðàëüíîé è Âîñ- òî÷íîé Åâðîïû æóðíàëà Ab Imperio; ïðåïîäàâàòåëü Ñìîëüíîãî Êîëëåäæà Ñâîáîäíûõ Èñêóññòâ è Íàóê, Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðã, Ðîññèÿ. [email protected] Þðèé Ñ˨ÇÊÈÍ, ïðîôåññîð èñòîðè÷åñêîãî ôàêóëüòåòà, Óíè- âåðñèòåò Êàëèôîðíèè â Áåðêëè, ÑØÀ. [email protected] Íîííà ÑÌÅËÎÂÀ, ê.ô.í., äîöåíò, ôèëîñîôñêèé ôàêóëüòåò Ðóáöîâñêîãî èíäóñòðèàëüíîãî èíñòèòóòà, Ðóáöîâñê, Ðîññèÿ. [email protected] Ýëèçàáåò ÓÀÉÒ, äîêòîðàíò Öåíòðà ðîññèéñêèõ è âîñòî÷íî-åâðî- ïåéñêèõ èññëåäîâàíèé Áèðìèíãåìñêîãî óíèâåðñèòåòà, Áèðìèíãåì, Âåëèêîáðèòàíèÿ. [email protected] Ëþö ÕÝÔÍÅÐ, Dr. habil., ïðèâàòäîöåíò, è.î. ïðîôåññîðà Îòäå- ëåíèÿ èñòîðèè Âîñòî÷íîé è Þãî-Âîñòî÷íîé Åâðîïû, óíèâåðñèòåò Ëåéïöèãà, Ãåðìàíèÿ. [email protected] Ñåáàñòèàí ÖÂÈÊËÈÍÑÊÈ, äîêòîðàíò Èíñòèòóòà òþðêîëî- ãèè, Ñâîáîäíûé óíèâåðñèòåò Áåðëèíà, Ãåðìàíèÿ. [email protected] Ðè÷àðä ×Ó, ïðîôåññîð, ôàêóëüòåò èñòîðèè, Óíèâåðñèòåò Ìàññà- ÷óñåòñà â Àìõåðñòå, Ìàññà÷óñåòñ, ÑØÀ. [email protected] Äæîàí ØÅÂÀËÜÅ, ëåêòîð è êîîðäèíàòîð ïðåïîäàâàíèÿ ðóñ- ñêîãî ÿçûêà, ôàêóëüòåò íåìåöêîãî, ðóññêîãî è âîñòî÷íî-àçèàòñêèõ ÿçûêîâ è ëèòåðàòóð, Óíèâåðñèòåò Áðàíäàéç, Óîëòõýì, Ìàññà÷óñåòñ, ÑØÀ. [email protected]

444 Ab Imperio, 1/2005 Äýâèä ØÍÈÐ, äèðåêòîð Öåíòðà èññëåäîâàíèé ïî èóäàèêå; ïðîôåññîð èñòîðè÷åñêîãî ôàêóëüòåòà, Óíèâåðñèòåò Äåíâåðà, Äåíâåð, Êîëîðàäî, ÑØÀ. [email protected] Àëåêñàíäð ÝÒÊÈÍÄ, ïðîôåññîð ôàêóëüòåòà ïîëèòè÷åñêèõ íàóê è ñîöèîëîãèè Åâðîïåéñêîãî óíèâåðñèòåòà â Ñàíêò-Ïåòåðáóðãå, Ðîññèÿ. [email protected]

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