LANGUAGE AND IDENTITY (PART 4)
by Anne Nivat and others

     THE 'INSURMOUNTABLE POLARIZATION' OF MOLDOVAN SOCIETY

     In Moldova, the Soviet Policy of Russification Was Highly Successful, and There Are Few Signs That Its Effects Are Being Reversed. In a Recent Interview with Anne Nivat, Moldovan Sociologist Tudor Danii Explains How the Country's Media Landscape Is Connected to the Polarization of Society, with Native-Language Media Promoting Moldovan Nation-Building and Russian-Language Media Acting to Preserve Soviet Culture

     Although, like most other former Soviet republics, Moldova has designated its indigenous language as the sole state language, in Moldova there is relatively little resentment of the Soviet policies that made those republics largely Russian-speaking. The situation is related to Moldovans' unclear feelings about their national identity, in particular their ambivalent attitude toward Romania. Some Moldovans advocate union with Romania, but most prefer to keep a certain distance from their neighbor. The country's constitution designates "Moldovan" as the sole state language, although most scholars consider the language traditionally spoken in the country to be a dialect of Romanian.

     As Tudor Danii, president of the Opinia sociological research institute in Chisinau, explained in a recent interview, the Moldovan people as a whole continue to use Russian in all aspects of their daily lives, including in the media. Whereas Ukraine recently abolished broadcasts of Russian Public Television (ORT) on its territory, such a move is unimaginable in Moldova, where the Russian state channel continues to be the most popular source of news and entertainment. Danii blames that situation partly on a lack of professionalism and worldliness among journalists working in his native language, which--like most Moldovans--he alternately calls Moldovan and Romanian. The influence of Russian-language media, Danii argues, unfortunately hampers Moldovans' ability to understand their history as a whole and restore the country's traditional European orientation.

     OMRI: How does language divide the media landscape in Moldova?

     DANII: In Moldova, 40 percent of the population speaks Russian [as a mother tongue]. The most popular daily newspapers are Russian-language newspapers such as NEZAVISIMAYA MOLDOVA and CHISINOVSKYE VESTI. They are read by both the urban and rural populations. Among weeklies, a Romanian-language one, SAPTAMANA, is the most popular, probably because it's so cheap. As for local publications, they are almost all in Russian, not to mention the Russian-only bias imposed by Transdniestria [the breakaway part of Moldova, which rejects Moldovan authority and seeks reunification with Russia]. In the last five years, several Moldovan-language publications have appeared, but their circulation remains much lower than that of the Russian-language ones.

     I can explain this situation very simply: here in Moldova, at least in the cultural spheres, the process of nation-building is only just beginning. Our written language has been using Cyrillic letters for so long that it is extremely difficult for the 40-and-over generation to get used to the Latin alphabet. They more or less understand the Romanian language, it sounds familiar, but it's another thing to really be able to speak Romanian. In addition, Russian remains the language used for literature. I would also like to add that only 50 percent of the population reads newspapers at all, and really only a few of them, the so-called intelligentsia, read in Romanian. The rest of the population reads only in Russian.

     OMRI: Does the Russian culture influence Moldova through all those publications?

     DANII: Certainly. But it happens quietly, without any confrontation. According to our institute's regularly conducted polls, the average Moldovan is less and less aggressive about the national issue. He is obviously much quieter now than in 1992.

     The Russian influence through the media contributes above all to the preservation of the former [Soviet] culture. So, how do our Moldovan-language publications react to that situation? Of course, they are full of articles praising our national spirit, our Moldovan state, our history, our culture, our religion, and so on. That is especially the case with local publications. And at the republican level, newspapers like MOLDOVA SUVEREANA and TARA subscribe to the same editorial policy. But they are very professional media outlets, and important issues such as patriotism, the history of our state, and the history of our political and social life are dealt with very well in their columns. They do a remarkable job of educating the populace, teaching what we have already forgotten from our past. They also educate the people about culture and democracy.

     This fight between Russian-language and Romanian-language publications is very much a reality in Moldova, but it isn't fought openly and assertively. However, one can find polarized points of view on certain crucial questions. Sometimes, when I read through two different newspapers--one in Russian and one in Moldovan--I find radically opposed opinions, two different interpretations of the same phenomenon, that highlight the two different cultures.

     One finds very different kinds of journalists in Moldova today, and that's very positive. Our institute has conducted several polls focused on the attitudes of journalists. How do journalists feel in Moldova these days? How and how well are they informed? What is the most popular media outlet? And so on. We also met with 350 journalists and tried to rank them according to their professionalism. That was a total fiasco; it was too difficult to implement. We had already put Romanian-language journalists in the top 20 spots of the list [before finishing it], so Russian-language publications sharply criticized us. We had to give up. We tried to explain to them that our aim was not to judge journalists according to which language they wrote in but according to the quality of their work. We wanted to show how many professional journalists we have in this country.

     OMRI: Are all the Russian-language publications pro-Moscow in their content?

     DANII: No, I wouldn't say they are directly influenced by Moscow. They are sometimes edited or co-edited by shadowy people we know nothing about and don't really understand where their money comes from. But they would never spread direct propaganda coming from Moscow. Besides, is there anything clear coming from Moscow these days?

     OMRI: So what is their editorial policy, for those that have one?

     DANII: Basically, they try to show the reader how bad our current situation is. They stress the negative aspects of the transition, praise the past and ignore what is positive in that evolution. They are always drawing parallels between the past and the present, without acknowledging that, in such a murky period of history, nobody has the right to declare what was better or worse in the past.

     We are living in a period of transition. Our society is deeply different today from what it used to be, and we have to admit that our country simply chose the path of independence. Let's praise what was good in the past, of course, but without forgetting what was very bad. Our priority today should be the human being, the individual, and no longer society. We have to wake up the individual because he is the only one able to decide the fate of his country, his children, and so on. But, at the same time, we should not forget where we come from, our history as a whole--not only the past 70 years. Where do our nation, our language, and our traditions come from? We live here in the heart of Europe. Europe is our mother; we were born here, in Europe.

     Journalists today have the possibility to draw comparisons, and they should use it. People must know the truth. People must have the opportunity to see with their own eyes how other people live, in the Czech Republic, in Poland, or in Slovakia. But our journalists still suffer from a certain bias; they haven't yet reached the level of professionalism of their West European colleagues. They definitely know the journalistic structures of their own state, but they still ignore those of other states, and even pan-European ones.

     OMRI: Is the image of Moldova presented in the press different for a Moldovan-language reader and a Russian-language reader?

     DANII: Yes, because those publications have two different kinds of readers. For the time being, this polarization of Moldovan society is insurmountable.

     OMRI: As for television, do you know approximately who watches what on which channel?

     DANII: Yes, the situation is as follows: ORT is losing popularity, but still remains number one with 60 percent of the Moldovan population watching it. Then comes our Moldovan state channel with 45 percent, and Romanian [state] television comes third, watched by less than 10 percent of the population.

     That might seem surprising, but it has been confirmed by other [organizations'] polls. It's surprising, but explainable: I repeat that 40 percent of our population is Russian-speaking. If [to ethnic Russians] we add Ukrainians and other [non-Moldovan] former Soviet nationalities, we come up with a large number of Russian-speaking people. I know that in several former Soviet republics the population speaks very bad Russian, and priority is given to the native language. In Moldova, the opposite is true.

     The second reason is the relative quality of the available television channels. ORT has considerably improved in recent years. It broadcasts a lot more movies than the other channels, and everyone is fond of those South American serials. According to our most recent studies, Moldovans find their state television unprofessional and almost 40 percent think it "doesn't tell the truth."

     Here are the findings of one of our most recent studies, concerning the influence of television in our country: to the question "Do you think that [Moldovan] state television objectively reflects the real situation in Moldova or not?" 30 percent answered no, 10 percent yes, and 72 percent "yes and no." To the question, "Which channel do you watch more often?" 54 percent replied ORT, 33 percent replied Moldovan state television, 4 percent Romanian television, 3 percent cable television, and less than 1 percent Catalan-TV [the only private national channel]. As for news programs, 61 percent preferred ORT, while 39 percent said they watch the Moldovan state channel and 5 percent the Romanian channel.

     In particular with the Moldovan state channel, it is still very unclear whether viewers are satisfied: to "Are you satisfied with the state channel's behavior?" 48 percent of respondents answered yes and 47 percent no. As a sociologist but also as a viewer, it seems obvious to me that the professional level of our [Moldovan] programs is much lower than that of our competitors. Of course, that's above all a matter of technology, but also of management and personnel policy. We would like our television journalists to be more energetic and to have far more moral principles.

     OMRI: According to your polls, are people happy with what has been happening in their country in recent years?

     DANII: Not really. They complain more and more and keep referring to the past. But when asked if they want to go back and live as they used to, they overwhelmingly answer no, explaining that they support reforms, democracy, and freedom. Which means that they support the efforts made by our young, independent, European state.--Anne Nivat

     * * *

     A LINGUISTIC DILEMMA IN KYRGYZSTAN

     Some People in Kyrgyzstan Do Speak Kyrgyz--The Official State Language--But Only in the Remote Areas Is It Possible to Get by Without Russian, the Language That Has Dominated the Region for More Than a Century

     When Kyrgyzstan declared its independence from the disintegrating Soviet Union in August 1991, it seemed only natural that the new constitution should designate Kyrgyz the official language. But that idealistic choice has so far turned out to be an impractical one.

     Just over half--52 percent--of the population is ethnic Kyrgyz; more than 90 ethnic groups with at least that many languages make up the other 48 percent. Ethnic Russians make up about 21 percent, Uzbeks 13 percent, Ukrainians 3 percent, and Germans 2.5 percent, according to 1994 figures.

     No significant additions have been made to the Kyrgyz vocabulary in this century; the language still reflects the simple lifestyle of the Kyrgyz, a tribal, nomadic people. Terms for Western ideas of government and philosophy exist only as corrupted, borrowed words from neighboring cultures. There is no Kyrgyz word for "taxation," for example, except for traditional Islamic terms. Their vocabulary was focused more on such traditional activities as herding and hunting.

     Kyrgyz, a member of the Turkic language group, was never officially banned, but under Russian domination, which began before the Soviet Union absorbed Central Asia in 1917, its use was discouraged. The Soviets first demanded that Kyrgyz be written in Latin rather than Arabic script; 15 years later, that was changed to Cyrillic.

     It was possible to study Kyrgyz under the Soviets, but it was not a required subject. Some books--not many--were printed in Kyrgyz, and there were only infrequent Kyrgyz-language radio broadcasts.

     Russian, however, is spoken by everyone, with the exception of a few elderly people and very young children. Only in remote regions--often without electricity or running water--do people speak solely Kyrgyz.

     So for Russians, Germans, and other European peoples of Kyrgyzstan, the designation of Kyrgyz as the official language was yet another reminder that their position in society was changing along with the gradual elimination of the legacy of the strongly Russian-biased Soviet rule. Fears that the ethnic Kyrgyz would make those comparative newcomers second-class citizens--if not worse--prompted more than 100,000 of them to leave. Unfortunately for Kyrgyzstan, the young nation's skilled work force was made up almost entirely of ethnic Russians and other Europeans.

     The Kyrgyz government has responded to that brain drain by trying to reassure the nonindigenous populace that its rights will be protected. But the steps it has taken to date have been halfhearted and insufficient, and the legal status of the Russian language still remains nebulous.

     PERCEIVED DISCRIMINATION

     There is a perception among the non-Kyrgyz, and particularly the Russians, that their inability to speak the state language provides the Kyrgyz with an excuse to fill top-level positions with their own ethnic brethren; to some extent, that is what has happened. Some local Slavs argue that "it is no secret that in real life, all non-Kyrgyz continue to be pushed out of leading positions and are being discriminated against in commerce and the financial sphere."(1) The non-Kyrgyz speakers seek the official acceptance of Russian in the constitution in order to have all official documents also written in a language familiar to all.

     The government of multiethnic Kyrgyzstan seems reluctant to elevate Russian to the status of a full-blown official language, second to Kyrgyz. The Kyrgyz leadership apparently fears that in such a case, similar calls might follow from other ethnic groups, such as the Uzbeks. Still, the departure of so many skilled workers has led the government to make a couple of encouraging gestures and pass several rather halfhearted amendments to the part of the constitution that deals with language. Among the first of those moves was the opening of the Slavic University in Bishkek in September 1992. The event was largely symbolic, as it simply established that the pre-existing curriculum in Russian would be maintained, at least in one institution. The constitutional amendments, for their part, have stopped short of giving Russian an unequivocal official status and thus failed to resolve the issue.

     The debate over the status of the Russian language went to Kyrgyzstan's Supreme Soviet at the end of 1992, but the issue was simply tabled by the deputies.

     The power struggle in Moscow in early 1993 diverted attention from the language question, but later, when the constitution was amended on 5 May 1993, the issue regained some attention. Under the amended constitution, "All languages, including Russian, are guaranteed free development and use. Discrimination on grounds of nonfluency in the state language is not permitted."(2) Akayev added his own reassurance: "We need the great Russia our ancestors connected their fate with. The constitutional article gives the legal guarantee for preservation and development of the great Russian language. That is our guarantee of friendship."(3)

     For the rest of the year, however, the power struggle between Akayev and the Supreme Soviet kept the issue on the back burner. Akayev's powers as president were gradually being reduced through legislation, and he watched almost helplessly as Prime Minister Tursunbek Chyngysev and Vice President Felix Kulov resigned at the end of 1993. Akayev was equally helpless to stop the exodus of ethnic Russians and other Europeans.(4)

     At the beginning of 1994, the opposition Social Democratic Party of Kyrgyzstan published an open letter to the presidents of Russia and Kyrgyzstan. It mentioned "the Russian-speaking citizens' loss of confidence that they will be given social protection, and their worry for their children's future." The letter advocated a "guarantee that Russian-speaking citizens in Kyrgyzstan may receive education in the Russian language and...conclusion of an intergovernmental agreement on recognizing dual citizenship in Russia and Kyrgyzstan."(5)

     In June 1994, Akayev signed a decree making Russian an official language in areas where Russian speakers were in the majority. Those seeking some kind of legitimate status for the language rightly laughed at the decree, as, even without it, what language would one expect Russian speakers to use in areas where they dominated in number?

     In September 1994, Akayev ended his personal feud with the parliament by finding a pretext to dissolve it, and that once again set aside the issue of the Russian language. However, candidates for the new parliament frequently brought up the language question, thereby making it an important campaign issue. The parliament elected in February 1995 was largely dominated by deputies of Kyrgyz ethnicity, which again complicated the situation. The presidential election at the end of 1995 brought no immediate answer to the language problem, either.

     The People's Assembly of Kyrgyzstan, the lower house of the new parliament, finally took up the matter in March 1996. The body approved Russian as an official language--the first step in the constitution-revision process--and then sent the affair to the Constitutional Court for a ruling. The revised version of Article 5 stated that "In the Kyrgyz Republic, the Russian language can be used as an official language." But the Slavic Foundation--a branch of the Russian-based International Foundation of Slavic Culture, which has helped Russians in Kyrgyzstan move to Russia and promoted the idea of Russian as a second language in Kyrgyzstan--sarcastically noted, "What if no one wants to use it(!?)," and said that the half-hearted amendment was "humiliating to us."(6) Others questioned when exactly Russian "can" be used: always, or just in certain circumstances?(7)

     It is not clear whether the constitutional amendment was deliberately left vague in an attempt on the part of the Kyrgyz government to simply bide time until the issue burns itself out. The government is well aware not only that the emigration is slowing down but that many ethnic Russians are also returning to Kyrgyzstan after not being able to find anything better in other former Soviet republics. The frustration of the ethnic Russian returnees was perhaps best summed up by one young Russian who said he had gone to Moscow to look for work but the Russians there referred to him as "Kyrgyz."(8)

     THE FUTURE OF RUSSIAN

     The ethnic Kyrgyz, for their part, have little desire to restrict the use of the Russian language. Although the situation is changing, many urban Kyrgyz have depended upon Russian as the language of trade, work, and even friendship with other Kyrgyz, as many are not totally familiar with their own language. Some are even willing to admit that openly. According to a recent report on the issue, "Scholars and linguists are often forced to go to the hinterlands to add to and broaden their knowledge of the Kyrgyz language."(9)

     Those who do not speak Kyrgyz are in no immediate danger of being discriminated against. In fact, just the opposite is true. The bulk of printed material available in bookstores in the capital, Bishkek, or Kyrgyzstan's second-largest city, Osh, is in Russian. The great works of Western literature and science cannot be found in Kyrgyz. There are numerous newspapers in Russian, and more people watch television broadcasts emanating from Moscow and St. Petersburg than the local Kyrgyz stations. In fact, in southern Kyrgyzstan, because of the mountain ranges between Bishkek and the south, it is difficult to receive Kyrgyz programming. Instead, most local channels in the south of the country show retransmitted programs from Russia (in Russian) and Uzbekistan (in Uzbek).

     The constitutional amendment regarding the official status of the Russian language will be formally addressed by the Legislative Assembly of Kyrgyzstan, the upper house of parliament, later this fall. But regardless of the official verdict, the physical presence of large non-Kyrgyz minorities guarantees that, even without a clear official status, Russian will remain the lingua franca of Kyrgyzstan for some time to come.--Bruce Pannier

     NOTES

     1. PRAVDA, 29 April 1994, p. 1.

     2. IZVESTIYA, 6 May 1993, p. 2.

     3. ITAR-TASS, 4 May 1993.

     4. SELSKAYA ZHIZN, 3 February 1994, p. 3.

     5. Mayak Radio (Moscow), 3 January 1994.

     6. RES PUBLICA, 25 June 1996, p. 1.

     7. VECHERNY BISHKEK, 27 June 1996, p. 1.

     8. Author interview, Bishkek, September 1996.

     9. SLOVO KYRGYZSTANA, 21-22 June 1996, p. 7.

     * * *

     EAST-CENTRAL EUROPEANS FORGET THEIR RUSSIAN

     Decades of Soviet-Inspired Compulsory Schooling in Russian Taught Most East-Central Europeans to Resent Any Visible Sign of the Language in Their Country and to Shun Its Use. Since the Region Opened Up to the West, English and German Have Quickly Replaced Russian As Favored Second Languages

     It was only a few years ago that Czechs bristled at the sight of bilingual signs that placed their language beside Russian in their own country's airports and train stations. Today, the Czech language has found a new partner amid the colorful advertisements at Prague's Ruzyne Airport: English. And one of the last remaining signs of Russian in the city is the factory insignia stamped on the Soviet-made subway cars.

     Virtually the same holds true across East-Central Europe, where the outward signs of the USSR's policy of Russification have neatly disappeared. They have been replaced with a tremendous explosion of interest in English and German as second languages that has marked the region in a way compulsory schooling in Russian could never have done. It has come in the form of private and public language courses for millions of people and a flood of American and Western European pop culture.

     The new linguistic era was announced with missionary zeal in 1990 by then-British Foreign Minister Douglas Hurd, who proclaimed: "Our aim is to replace Russian with English as the second language throughout Eastern Europe."(1) Hurd backed up the statement with an announcement that the British government would spend 6 million pounds on its "education-for-democracy program" in East-Central Europe, of which 400,000 pounds would be used to provide English-language teachers to Poland alone. Hundreds and then thousands of young people from Great Britain, the United States, Canada, and Australia--often with little or no experience in teaching--started arriving in Central and Eastern Europe and teaching English to schoolchildren, university students, factory workers, desk clerks, and deputy ministers. Their students were mostly happy just to have a native speaker as a teacher, or at least to avoid the probable alternative: a former teacher of Russian not much farther along in English or German than his or her class.

     While the situation is much less chaotic today than it was five years ago, many of the countries in the region are still unable to meet the demand for English- and German-language schooling. And assistance keeps coming. The Canadian government, for example, recently announced that it would contribute $500,000 Canadian to help 20 Polish academic institutions establish new curricula in English.(2) To a certain extent, Hurd's prediction of six years ago has come true. English is now widely popular in every East-Central European country, while Russian has all but disappeared from elementary-school curricula in most countries. Even the Russian and Eastern European Studies Department at Prague's Charles University encourages its students to learn English as well as a language from that region.

     The main competitor to English in Central Europe, though, is not Russian but German. The German government, despite recent budget cuts, has made a concerted effort to push the German language in the region. Residents of East-Central Europe and the former Soviet Union make up 13.5 million of the 20 million people now learning German around the world. Chancellor Helmut Kohl's government actually closed down branches of the Goethe Institute in Scandinavia in order to open 13 new ones in Central and Eastern Europe. The institute, with 160 branches in 78 countries around the world, is the primary official promoter of German culture and language abroad.(3)

     For most East-Central Europeans, German is the language of the nearest Western European country, as well as one of the most important languages of business and culture in Europe. In the Czech Republic, for example, since 1991 more students at elementary schools and vocational high schools have chosen to study German than English. In the 1994-1995 school year, 54 percent of elementary-school students chose German, while just 44 percent chose English; Russian, meanwhile, had plummeted from being the choice of 4.6 percent in 1991-1992 to a paltry 0.3 percent in 1994-1995. English, however, dominates in the higher-level high schools and in universities.(4) There are also thousands of private language schools and tutors teaching English and German.

     Meanwhile, the region has seen an onslaught of mainly English-language pop culture. From the American movies that predominate in the cinemas to the English- or German-language packaging on consumer goods, the presence of these two Western languages is felt everywhere from Warsaw to Sofia. Many shop owners and restaurateurs in Central and Eastern Europe believe that identifying their establishment as a "secondhand" shop or "snack bar" will improve business. English- and German-language newspapers have sprung up in nearly every Central and Eastern European capital, boasting readerships that include both English-speaking expatriates and natives who want to practice their reading skills or see what foreigners think about local events.

     Along with the flood of Western consumer goods and modern technology has come a number of fashionable new English and German words to describe the new environment. Poles are now sprinkling their speech with compact disc and talk show, while Czechs have taken to calling Ukrainian migrant laborers gastarbajtery. Forty-plus years of Russification under the communists had far less impact on the local vernaculars. Polish party officials may have adopted such terms as partorg for party secretary for their work purposes, but most Poles had little reason to adopt new Russian terms. The recent widespread use of English and German in daily life, however, so alarmed the Polish government's Socioeconomic Committee that it proposed a bill requiring that all consumer-goods packaging and shop signs be in Polish.

     The few remaining proponents of the Russian language in the region have noted a slight rebound from the early 1990s, when Russian was hurriedly shoved to the background. The Russian Center of Science and Culture in Prague recently inaugurated a language program after receiving several inquiries from Czechs wanting to take courses. The director of the center, Oleg Ksenofontov, said the interest comes mainly from entrepreneurs who see the former Soviet Union as a huge market with enormous potential. Advocates of learning Russian also point to the fact that the language of Pushkin is still the most popular language in Europe, with 35 percent of Europe's 455 million inhabitants saying they understand Russian, while only 28 percent say they understand English and 20 percent German.(5) But that lead is shrinking as time passes, and no one expects Russian to regain the position artificially created for it during the Cold War.

     Instead, many Russophiles in the region have taken on less ambitious projects. The Czech Association of Specialists in Russia has been publishing the works of former Soviet dissidents or exiled writers in translation, taking pride in the fact that most such books never appeared in East-Central Europe during the Soviet era. The association's deputy chairman, Jiri Klapka, said all the communist-era opportunists left the group after 1989, and it is now made up of people who propagate the Russian language for the pure love of it. Klapka and his associates believe that in time their compatriots will come to realize that Russian is a great world language on a par with English.

     For the moment, though, Klapka's group is just short of a fringe movement. Most Czechs identify with the protagonist in this year's popular film "Kolja," who proudly proclaims that he can barely speak a word of Russian. There are dozens of such examples of disdain for Russian across the former Soviet bloc. Before this year's local elections in Romania, for example, international tennis star Ilie Nastase, who ran unsuccessfully for mayor in Bucharest, derided former Prime Minister Petre Roman by referring to his knowledge of the Russian language. Nastase said that as the son of working-class parents, he only learned one Russian word, nyet, while Roman, the son of a former high-ranking communist official, picked up a fluent mastery of the Russian language at home. Even in areas where Russian was until recently the main language of tourism, such as the Black Sea coast in Bulgaria, visitors are usually better off trying English or German first.

     Such feelings toward Russian are understandable in light of recent history. But even assuming that time will blunt old resentments--and dull fascination with all things Western--geographic and economic realities in East-Central Europe make the continuing rise of English and German as second languages inevitable. Someday, the Russian language may regain some importance in the region, but, for the time being, it remains the interest of few in a part of the world that looks west, not east.--Victor Gomez

     NOTES

     1. THE TIMES, 3 July 1990.

     2. Canada News Wire, 3 May 1996.

     3. Reuters, 10 June 1996.

     4. MLADA FRONTA DNES, 6 November 1995.

     5. Ibid.