Any attempt to present a narrative of the traumatic past of a people depends upon resurrecting fragments of historical discourse which are often forgotten, ignored, disclaimed as fantasy, or denied as true. The dominant discourse of Ukraine and its people has been largely written by its historical oppressors, and it is only within the last 20 years that the veracity of émigré accounts of the past has been confirmed by scholars who have been granted access to archives. The approach of the literature review is to engage in an archaeological resurrection of images of the oppressive history of the Ukrainian people, a history essentially unacknowledged by the mainstream. The inspiration for such an approach is grounded in the works of Michel Foucault who notes that this endeavor is an abandonment of a dominant power discourse with the intention of foregrounding discourses of specificity and histories of oppression.
Foucault’s archaeological analysis complements James Hillman’s (1975) concept of notitia. In the practice of depth psychology, noticing has been historically limited to subjective psychological states, and to the description of affect and behavior of individuals in relation to the external world. For Hillman, notitia moves beyond subjective affect and engages images. Just as a therapist initially feels clueless when starting to work with a new client, Hillman’s imaginal psychology necessitates constant noticing, slowing down, and patient listening until images, metaphors, and representations begin to appear. Through the practice of notitia, one sits with images and fantasies of sickness leaving them uncured and untreated allowing the root metaphors and archetypal principles to come forth.
The literature review is designed to blend an archeological unearthing of past images with the soulful practice of notitia in three domains of the psychosocial history of Ukraine: 1) the period of Russian imperialism and the colonial conquest of the Ukrainian people, 2) its extension during the Soviet period and acts of genocide, and 3) expressions of social resilience and collective pathologies.
The history of imperial Russia presents two distinctly opposing narratives: the dominant narrative of imperial expansion and enlightenment, and the narrative of economic impoverishment, misery, illiteracy, despair, and unbridled violence. Scholars have tended to prefer one story over the other, and it is of little surprise that the heroic narrative of Russian imperial brilliance has been given precedence. Alexander Etkind in his groundbreaking work Internal Colonization: Russia’s Imperial Experience (2011) states that the two narratives need to be read as one, i.e. as a montage of images which resulted from internal colonization. He attributes this insight to Vasilli Kliuchevsky, a historian who in 1904 stated that Russia is “a country that colonizes itself” (p. 2).
Traditional discourse on the topics of imperialism and colonialism are grounded in images of geographic separation, distance, and exoticism: colonizers utilized naval fleets to travel across oceans in order to “discover” new worlds and conquer indigenous peoples with the fantasy of enlightenment, civilization, and salvation, but the reality was one of subjugation, enslavement, and economic exploitation. Certainly, the lack of oceanic distance notable in Russian imperialism distinguishes it from its Western European counterparts. However, the assertion that Russian colonization is essentially internal (Etkind, 2011) betrays a perspective which simplistically identifies Russians, Ukrainians, and Belarusians as one ethnic group. It also overlooks the colonization of dozens of ethnic groups located in the Asiatic portion of the empire. Perhaps it is far more appropriate to frame this in terms of a colonization which began with the formation of a Russian imperial self-identity aggressively realized during the early 18th century through policies which co-opted Western European culture.
The historical image of Russian imperialism and colonialism was undeniably embodied by its first emperor, Peter the Great. Robert K. Massie’s (2012) biography of this physically and politically towering figure is replete with images which abundantly constellate the archetype of the hero figure. In tracing Peter’s life course, Massie extensively foregrounds significant details which other historical biographers pay scant attention to. For example, during Peter’s childhood his favorite toy was a model sailboat. After his father’s death, Peter and his mother were effectively exiled to a country estate where the young Tsar created and built an imaginary fortress and conducted battles with playmates assigned to keep him company. A few years later, he discovered a decaying sailboat on the grounds of a lake near the estate and requested that a boat builder be summoned from a German suburb of Moscow to restore the boat. The Dutch boat restorer not only renovated the boat but apprenticed the young Tsar who learned the art of building sailing vessels, navigation, and using a sextant. Peter’s youthful soul was stoked with naval and military images which would later set him on a life course of imperial conquest.
This education compensated for Peter’s lack of a formal education which his half-brother and sister benefited from. He was not tutored by scholars in grammar, classical studies, and foreign languages. But his intense curiosity in armaments, military and political strategies, architecture, and models of imperial governance fueled incognito trips to the capital cities of Western Europe where he would study and learn from the best. These trips also became the rationale for Peter’s insistence that Russian aristocrats shave their beards, adopt European dress, abandon their native language for French, and for moving the Russian capital to the newly constructed city of St. Petersburg named in honor of the apostle Peter, but understood to have been named in the honor of the Tsar himself (Massie, 2012).
In her work on the Russian symbolist Aleksandr Blok (1996), Nina Berberova makes notes of Peter the Great’s contribution to Russian culture which “lagged a century behind… (and that) he was everywhere at once, never stopping to consider the consequences of his thoughts and actions” (pp. 1-2). For historians who laud his heroism, the building of St. Petersburg was a crowning achievement. However, it was built on the marshlands of the Neva River by over 540,000 serfs, many of them the Ukrainian Hetman Ivan Mazepa’s Cossacks, who lost at the Battle of Poltava in 1709 to free Ukraine from Russian imperial rule. Most of the slave laborers died of malaria, scurvy, or froze to death during winter (Fedynsky, 2003). The tragic legacy of the construction of this city was the topic of a news article report on the G8 summit which was held there in 2006 reminding readers that under the fashionable boulevards and palaces lay the skeletons of its builders (Osborn, 2006).
The image of Peter the Great remains ambivalent. His embrace of Western Europe placed Russia on equal footing with other imperial powers. His rule as absolute monarch drove a wedge between himself and his subjects, and the subjugation of Ukrainians and the Baltic peoples solidified his image as tyrant. The imperial goal was expansion and colonization, but this required that Peter acquire the technology, diplomatic skills, contacts, and support needed to do so. The imaginal perception of Peter in the courts of Europe who would assist him in this enterprise was of a “monarch of a vast, remote, semi-Oriental land” (Massie, 2012, p. 187).
Massie’s (2012) description of Peter’s territory as “semi-Oriental” situated the Russian imperial imagination within the gaze of a growing western outlook on eastern expansionism and confirms Edward Said’s (1994) reference to Michael Doyle’s definition of empire as a relationship in which one political entity asserts power over another group through the mechanisms of economic, political, social and cultural domination. Peter’s embrace and mimicry of western imperialism helped define his political trajectory as “colonizer,” but also suggests that in his adaptation of Western dress, language, and even the usage of tobacco (which he introduced in Russia) he himself was also “colonized.” Etkind’s (2011) assertions on Russian internal colonization may stem from this image of Peter the Great. The complexity of this figure does allude to the polarities of Said’s (1978) orient and occident, and the binary relationship of Memmi’s (1967) colonizer and colonized.
The battle for granting the Orthodox Church in Ukraine autocephaly by the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople, His Holiness Bartholomew, is shrouded by centuries of the Tsarist and Soviet regimes political suppression of Ukrainians and other ethnic groups. Granting autocephaly is not only a canonical act but at a psychological level a declaration of independence. Long overdue, granting the Ukrainian people the right to ecclesial self-government is liberating.
We have grown up with the reality of being invisible. All of us experienced the frustration of being identified as Russians. Through the years, colleagues, professors, co-workers, and others would confuse Ukraine with Russia. The dominant political and sociological narrative continually subverts the existential truth: we are a distinct people who speak a different language.
The fall of the Soviet Union, the Orange Revolution, and the Revolution of Dignity are historical moments which address the ravages of colonialism. The request for autocephaly reinforces the need for Ukrainians to shed light on and fight against enslavement by the Russian master.
The Moscow Patriarchy claims that Ukraine is its territory, i.e. Russian territory. In regards to the existence of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic church, Russian hierarchs have maintained a political stance that this church has no place in Ukraine and that the Vatican recognize their demand that the Ukrainian GGC surrender territory to the Russians. If the Pope wants to visit Russia, he must recognize that the UGCC is an obstacle that must be resolved before good relations can be established.
Let’s not forget that Putin has stated that Ukraine does not exist and its government was the result of political sabotage by the United States. The world knows that Putin wants to aggressively reclaim all former territory and rebuild the Soviet Union; the Russian Empire. He represses, murders, and eliminates all opponents. Those who do not recognize this truth are blinded by propaganda and supportive of evil.
In order to understand this situation, it is important to revisit the philosophical works of Hegel. Hegel identified and wrote about the master/slave dialectic. He brilliantly pointed out the relation of power between master and slave. Freedom demands mutual recognition. My needs and desires can only be satisfied through mutual recognition in a world in which freedom exists. The master demands recognition from the slave who exists to work, to produce. Slaves are cogs in the wheels of industry. The master does not recognize the slave as anything else. What follows is an excerpt from my dissertation that illustrates the master/slave dyad in the writings of Mykola Hohol (Nikolai Gogol).
There were several figures of Ukrainian origin, such as Teofan Prokopovich, Victor Kochubei, and Oleksander Bezborodko, who moved to St. Petersburg and served the imperial court for the purposes of advising the Tsar on a variety of matters including the integration of the Church and the maintenance of tight control of colonialized Ukrainian lands (Saunders, 1985). However, in terms of bridging the cultural vacuum noted above it was Nikolai Gogol’s contribution to the literary imagination which warrants separate attention. This contribution to Russian culture offered images of Ukrainian folklore and life in the countryside which were lacking in the imagination of the aristocratic elite. At the same time, Gogol’s works can be construed as a satirical critique of imperial hegemony.
An ethnic Ukrainian, Gogol moved to St. Petersburg in the 1830s. He described his new city of residence as something akin to a European colony in North America; its population composed primarily of foreigners and not native Russians (Etkind, 2011). Gogol’s keen eye to the colonialist social realities of the empire reflected his own sense of dual culture. He wrote to a colleague that he was unsure “whether his soul was Ukrainian or Russian” (Saunders, 1985, p. 166). This sense of dual identity offered his readers a plethora of images which captured the polarities of life in the Russian empire. For example, in his story of a Tsarist official who loses his nose, this body part becomes a metaphor for being an imperial functionary whose career dreams are thwarted. Without the nose, everything that is perceived as required by the whole in the relationship of empire and colony, i.e. power, title, women, and money, becomes unattainable. Gogol captures Homi Bhabha’s (1994) description of colonial discourse as “a splitting of hybridity that is less than one and double” (p. 166). The imperial subject is forced to deny indigenous culture, religiosity, language, and discourse (feelings less than whole), and becomes a mirror double of the Master.
One of Gogol’s most jarring literary insights into the relationship of the empire, its bureaucratic functionaries, and its vast population of indentured serfs is the metaphor of “dead souls.” Situated on the Ukrainian territory of Kherson, the satirical comedy Dead Souls (1842/2008) portrays the colonized as nothing more than taxable property. The protagonist, Chichikov, sets out to con the local authorities and landowners by purchasing their dead to relieve them of a tax burden which they were still obliged to pay. His true motive is to amass many serfs, albeit dead, with the intent of using them as collateral to take out a loan and retire as a rich man.
The economic speculation in “dead souls” is one of the most horrifying images of the imperial/colonialist project. In the context of both Russian and Ukrainian linguistic signifiers, the word “soul,’’ (dusha), is a term which predates the notion of a citizen. Any census taken during this time would have counted persons as “souls;” understood as living persons living within the territory of a village, town, or city. The oxymoron “dead souls” not only presents the readers of Gogol’s novel with his keen ability to satirize the corrupt financial practices of his day but with the image of imperial subjects lacking human representation. The indentured serf, the enslaved soul, is just another commodity of economic trade. Whether it was oil, furs, timber, or land (Etkind, 2011), the well-being and efficiency of the Russian imperial economy may have included the sale and purchase of the dead.
Frantz Fanon (1963/2004) framed the moral and ethical disregard for the colonized as “Manichean” and “totalitarian.” “Sometimes this Manichaeanism reached its logical conclusion and dehumanizes the colonized subject. In plain talk, he is reduced to the state of an animal” (p. 7). The Russian colonialist discourse was not exempt from disregarding the humanity of the peoples it colonized, whether they were animals without souls or “dead souls.” Ukrainian, Lithuanian, Swede, Jew (arrested and exiled during expansionist battles and wars), Kalmyk, Aleut, Chuckchi, Koryak (some of a large number of colonized indigenous tribes), all were subject to ethnic, religious, and/or racial discrimination. All of them were, and still are, regarded as “Other.” Perhaps there is a spectrum in colonial narratives of ethnic, religious, and racial “Others,” in which persons regarded as “white” and “Christian” were more readily Russified and assimilated into the Russian Orthodox faith than those considered non-white and non-Christian. But, as notable in Western European colonialist histories, the Church colluded with the State in unleashing grave harm and trauma upon the indigenous soul (Gambini, 2000).
Ukrainians are a colonized people. The Russian Orthodox Church continues this heinous politics. Autocephaly opens the door to self-reflection, the rejection of our own psychic enslavement, and the ability to support other enslaved peoples.