Oral History: Dialogue With Society / Mutvārdu vēsture: dialogs ar sabiedrību

Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia Association of Latvian Oral History Researchers Dzīvesstāsts

MUTVĀRDU VĒSTURE: DIALOGS AR SABIEDRĪBU

ORAL HISTORY: DIALOGUE WITH SOCIETY

Edited by: Ieva Garda Rozenberga, Mara Zirnite Edited by Ieva Garda–Rozenberga

UDK 929+316(474.3)(063) Ga 570 This collection of papers has been approved by the “Institute of Philosophy and Sociology” Agency of the University of Latvia at the scientific advisory council meeting on September 26, 2012.

Edited by Ieva Garda–Rozenberga Language editors Amanda M. Jātniece, Indra Orleja Page layout and cover design by Mārcis Gubāts Cover photo by Edmunds Šūpulis

Cover photo: Oral historians Anita Timans, Robert Brian Perks and Māra Zirnīte conversing at the British Library, London, 2010.

Project No. 3 of the National Research Programme “National identity (language, history of Latvia, culture and human safety)”

The Baltic–German University Liaison Office

©Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, 2013 ©Association of Latvian Oral History Researchers Dzīvesstāsts, 2013 ©Authors, 2013 ISBN 978–9934–506–14–7

CONTENTS Ievads ...................................................................................................... 6 Introducion .......................................................................................... 10

Methodology and Interpretation Vieda Skultans. What Difference Does “Being There” Make to the Production of History and Life Histories? ............................... 15 Anne Heimo. Online Memories of Migration ..................................... 27 Thomas Loer. “Dzīvesstāsts”: Method and Praxis – A Genre of Social Science Data between Advances of Scientific Knowledge and Practical Empowerment, and How Objective Hermeneutics Can Serve Both .................................................................................. 39 Stephan Dudeck. Oral History of Empires by Elders in the Arctic (ORHELIA): A Common History, a Common Economy, Common Language Roots, and Different Practices among Four Arctic Indigenous Peoples .............................................................................. 56 Maarja Merivoo–Parro. Oral History as Source and Methodology: Aspects of Multidirectional Communication ................ 77 Ieva Garda–Rozenberga. Life Story and Dialectics of Folklore Genre .................................................................................... 83

Oral History and Movement Aivar Jürgenson. Broken Connections to the Home: Escape to the West and Refugee Camp Memoirs of Estonians in Argentina ..... 96 Ulla Savolainen. Journey, Home and Absence – the Narratives of Karelian Evacuees ......................................................................... 106 Helena Jerman. Dialogues in Social Contexts: Belonging or Otherness beyond the Finnish–Russian Border ................................................. 116

Wiktoria Kudela–Świątek. Forgotten Poles: Narratives of Modern Repatriates from Kazakhstan about their Past and Present Polishness ............................................................................. 126 Arbnora Dushi. Dialogue with Our Painful Past: Personal Narratives of Elderly Kosovar Albanians ......................................... 137 Janīna Kursīte. Baltkrievija: diasporas latviešu un vietējo baltkrievu stāsti par Otro pasaules karu .......................................................... 144 Maija Krūmiņa. Refugees from Latvia in 1944–1945: The Experiences of Exiles and Those who Stayed Behind a Reflected in Life Stories ................................................................................... 154

Memories and Dialogue Sanita Reinsone. Rebuilding the Bridge between Families: Life Story Interviews with Latvian National Partisans and their Family Members ..................................................................... 164 Marta Kurkowska–Budzan. Conflicting Memory Discourses: Oral History and Situational Analysis at Work .............................. 179 Maruta Pranka. “We Did not Tell Anything to the Strangers”.

Communication between Private and Soviet Public Space ............... 188 Dagmāra Beitnere–Le Galla. Dialogs, dzīvesstāsts un “trešā balss” ...................................................................................... 195 Kristīne Rubina. Vecvecāku un mazbērnu attiecību aspekti dzīvesstāstos ................................................................................... 214 Edmunds Šūpulis. Grand Historic Narrative and Decentralization of Memory in Oral History Practice ................................................ 224

Archives and Researchers Jyrki Pöysä. Oral History Interview as Identity Negotation ............. 235 Tiiu Jaago. Dynamics in the Images of History: Narrators, Archives, and Researchers ................................................................... 247

Malin Thor Tureby. The Semantic Genealogy of the Archive.

A Discussion on the “Jewish Memories” Archive at the Nordiska Museet in Sweden ............................................................................. 257 Pauliina Latvala. Positioning Power: The Veteran Members of Parliament’s Oral History Interviews ......................................... 268 Irēna Saleniece, Zigrīda Rusiņa. Mutvārdu vēstures dialoģiskā daba: daži aspekti ............................................................................ 276

Circulation of Memories Knut Djupedal. The Interreg Project “New in Inner Scandinavia” Thoughts about the Practical Application of Oral History in a Museum Exhibition .................................................................... 288 Kirsten Linde. Party Swedes – “New in Inner Scandinavia” ................... 298 Mathias Nilsson. Migration Stories – Selection and Method ............ 308 Maija Hinkle. Returning an Emigre Narrative to its Country of Origin. Community–based Public Oral History Projects with Latvian–Americans ................................................................. 316 Candice Lau. Accessing Estonian Memories: the “Memories Passed” Exhibition ........................................................................................ 336 Anu Korb. Narated Personal Histories and Their Rendition and Interpretations .................................................................................. 345 Māra Zirnīte. Dzīvesstāstu interviju un ekspedīciju pieredze Nacionālās mutvārdu vēstures pētījuma 20 gados ............................ 355 Authors / Autori ................................................................................. 365

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IEVADS Rakstu krājuma uzmanības centrā izvirzīts skatījums uz mutvārdu vēsturi dialogā ar sabiedrību, tostarp aplūkota sabiedrības iesaiste pētniecības procesā – no avotu tapšanas līdz atgriezeniskai saitei ar sabiedrību, kad pētnieki dalās pētījumu rezultātos. Līdztekus krājumā skarti jautājumi arī par pētnieka ētiku, par mutvārdu vēstures metodoloģiju un pieeju aktuālu, sociāli jūtīgu problēmu pētījumos, kā arī par inovatīvām publikācijām un projektiem.

Rakstu krājums Mutvārdu vēsture: dialogs ar sabiedrību piedāvā 31 rakstu, kas sagatavoti, balstoties uz 2012. gadā LU aģentūras LU Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūta, Stokholmas Universitātes Vēstures nodaļas un Latvijas Mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācijas Dzīvesstāsts organizētajā konferencē lasītajiem ziņojumiem.1 Raksti sakārtoti piecās nodaļās, kas katra veltīta kādam ar mutvārdu vēstures izpēti saistītam jautājumam.

Pirmajā nodaļā Metodoloģija un interpretācija aplūkoti atsevišķi mutvārdu vēstures metodoloģijas un interpretācijas jautājumi. Vieda Skultāne savā rakstā aicina vērtēt pašrefleksivitātes priekšrocības un trūkumus mutvārdu vēstures analīzē un interpretācijā. Anne Heimo, pievēršoties somu izceļotāju stāstiem, pēta interneta vides ietekmi uz privāto un publisko atminēšanās procesu, kas piedalās sociālās vēstures konstruēšanā un nekad nebeidzas, savukārt Tomass Loers izceļ objektīvās hermeneitikas priekšrocības socioloģisko gadījumu analīzē.

Analizējot pētījumu par Arktikas vecākās paaudzes kopienu, Stefans Dudeks aplūko, kā mutvārdu vēstures avota nozīmes rašanos ietekmē izpildījums, konteksts un klausītāji. Viņa rakstā skarta arī pētījuma ētikas un mutvārdu vēstures avotu publiskošanas problemātika, kam savā rakstā pievēršas arī Mārja Merivo–Paro. Nodaļas noslēgumā Ieva

Konference notika ar Eiropas Reģionālās attīstības fonda finansiālu atbalstu; projekta Nr. 2010/0195/2DP/2.1.1.2.0./10/APIA/VIAA/008 “Latvijas Universitātes Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūta kapacitātes attīstība un starptautiskās sadarbības veicināšana”; ar Baltijas–Vācijas Augstskolu biroja un Latvijas Universitātes atbalstu.

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Garda–Rozenberga velta uzmanību vēl kādai analīzes un interpretācijas iespējai – mutvārdu stāstījuma intertekstuālās iedabas izpētei.

Otrā nodaļa Mutvārdu vēsture un pārvietošanās atvēlēta mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku dialogam ar izceļotāju kopienām – gan kopienu dalībnieku savstarpējam dialogam, gan kopienas dialogam ar mītnes zemi un izcelsmes valsti. Uzmanības centrā ir gan Argentīnas igauņu atmiņas (Aivars Jirgensons), gan evakuēto karēļu (Ulla Savolainena) stāsti, aplūkojot dažādos stāstīšanas, piederības, identitātes un prombūtnes pieredzes veidus. Lasāms par Kosovas albāņiem (Arbnora Duši), Somijas krievu kopienu un tās atspoguļojumu dokumentālajās filmās Somijas televīzijā (Helēna Jermana). Savukārt poļu zinātniece Viktorija Kudela–Švjateka analizējusi aizmirsto poļu – Kazahstānas repatriantu stāstījumus par poliskumu pagātnē un tagadnē, konfrontējot repatriantu stāstīto ar sabiedrībā izplatītiem priekšstatiem. Šajā nodaļā lasāms arī Janīnas Kursītes raksts par intervijām Baltkrievijā, kurās skaidrotas diasporas latviešu un vietējo baltkrievu atmiņas gan par vācu okupācijas laiku, gan padomju represijās izdzīvojušo latviešu kolonistu masveida atgriešanos Latvijā. Nodaļas noslēgumā Maija Krūmiņa analizē, kā dzīvesstāstos atklājas Latvijas iedzīvotāju – Otrā pasaules kara bēgļu un palicēju – pieredze. Dokumentāro avotu trūkumu kompensē dzīvesstāsti, kas ļauj pētīt ne tikai kopējo bēgšanas procesu, bet arī cilvēku individuālo pieredzi un izdzīvošanas stratēģijas kara apstākļos.

Trešā nodaļa Atmiņas un dialogs pievēršas noteiktu vēstures periodu izpētes problēmām, skatot tos plašākā konflikta, dialoga un/ vai klusēšanas kontekstā. Latviešu folkloras krātuves pētnieces Sanitas Reinsones raksta uzmanības centrā ir intervijas ar sievietēm, kuru ierastā dzīve aprāvās, pretojoties režīmam pēc Otrā pasaules kara.

Viņas savus dzīvesstāstus veidojušas kā ģimenes stāstu, tādējādi kompensējot vecāku, brāļu un māsu neizstāstītās atmiņas. Plašākā dialogā ar sabiedrību iesaista poļu zinātnieces Martas Kurkovskas–Budzanas raksts, kurā aplūkots, kā radikālas pārmaiņas – īpaši komunistiskās sistēmas sabrukums Polijā pēc 1989. gada – ir ietekmējušas publisko un privāto diskursu attieksmē pret nacionālajiem partizāniem. Privātā un publiskā nošķīrumam veltīts arī socioloģes Marutas Prankas raksts, kas skaidro, kā un kāpēc padomju okupācijas apstākļos notika

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personiskās komunikācijas ierobežošana un izslēgšana no publiskās telpas. Privātā/publiskā un dialoga/konflikta dihotomiju analizē Dagmāra Beitnere–Le Galla, pētot vienas paaudzes cilvēku radikāli pretējus redzējumus par sevi un savu vietu Latvijas vēsturē un šodienā. Paaudžu dialogam pievērsusies Kristīne Rubina; savukārt nodaļas noslēgumā Edmunds Šūpulis meklē atbildes uz jautājumiem, kā tuvināt atšķirīgas atmiņu kopienas. Pēc autora domām, mutvārdu vēsture ir viena no iespējām, kā novērst pretrunas, vēsturiskiem priekšstatiem polarizējoties.

Ceturtajā nodaļā Arhīvi un pētnieki uzmanība pievērsta pētnieku dialogam ar avotiem arhīvos. Jirki Poisa pēta tās metodoloģiskās iespējas, kas paveras dažādos analītiskos diskursos. Somu zinātnieks izvirza arī jautājumu, kā leģimitizēt intervijas notikumu un kā dzīves vēsturiskos faktus iekļaut arhīvā. Igauņu mutvārdu vēstures pētniece Tīu Jāgo aplūko, kā dažādos laikmetos mainījusies attieksme pret 1905. gada revolūcijas atcerēšanos. Viņa pievērš uzmanību stāstījuma ierakstīšanas situācijai, laika distancei starp notikumu un tā atcerēšanos, kā arī vēsturiskās izpētes un politiskā konteksta ietekmei uz pagātnes interpretāciju. Vienlaikus uzmanība veltīta jautājumam, kādi metodoloģiskie aspekti pētniekam jāņem vērā, mūsdienās analizējot 20. gadsimta 20.–30. gados savāktās atmiņas. Par to, kā pētniekam vērtēt, analizēt un atlasīt intervijas no kolekcijām, ko radījuši citi pētnieki, raksta arī Paulīna Latvala no Somijas un Malina Tūra Turebija no Zviedrijas. Nodaļas noslēgumā lasītāji varēs iepazīties ar Daugavpils Universitātes Mutvārdu vēstures centra arhīvā rodamo liecību izmantošanu Latvijas vēstures pētījumos (Irēna Saleniece, Zigrīda Rusiņa).

Viens no veidiem, kā iesaistīt sabiedrību dialogā, ir mutvārdu vēstures avotu paniegšana muzeju ekspozīcijās un grāmatu publikācijās.

Atmiņu apritei veltīta grāmatas pēdējā nodaļa Atmiņu cirkulācija. Knuts Djupedāls no Norvēģu emigrācijas muzeja kopā ar kolēģiem Kirstenu Lindi un Matiasu Nilsonu iepazīstina ar Norvēģijas un Zviedrijas sadarbības projektu Jaunienācēji Iekšskandināvijā. Atsevišķa tā daļa veltīta mutvārdu vēstures avotu sniegumam interaktīvā izstādē. Jautājumu par mutvārdu vēstures avotu izmantošanu muzeja veidošanā turpina biedrības Latvieši pasaulē – muzejs un pētniecības centrs dibinātāja Maija Hinkle, rakstot par latviešu, Otrā pasaules kara bēgļu,

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pieredzes un atmiņu stāstu atpakaļceļu uz Latviju. Savukārt Kendisa Laua, uzmanības centrā novietojot igauņu stāstus, meklē veidus, kā stiprināt emocionālo saikni starp muzeju un tā apmeklētājiem. Par to, kā pētnieks uzklausīto var īstenot publikācijās un grāmatās, vēsta Anu Korbas raksts par Sibīrijas igauņu stāstu grāmatu. Nodaļas noslēgumā Māra Zirnīte iepazīstina ar Nacionālā mutvārdu vēstures krājuma 20 gadu interviju un ekspedīciju pieredzi, pievēršot aizvien lielāku uzmanību atgriezeniskās saites veidošanai ar sabiedrību.

Rakstu autori aicina lasītājus domāt un diskutēt par pētnieka lomu pētījuma procesā, objektivitātes un subjektivitātes jautājumiem analīzē, par pētnieka attieksmi pret emocionāli piesātinātām atmiņām un jūtīgiem jautājumiem, bet visvairāk – kā mutvārdu vēsture var kļūt par vidutāju dialogā starp dažādām iedzīvotāju grupām sabiedrībā.

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INTRODUCTION This collection of papers focuses on oral history in dialogue with society, including society’s involvement in the research process from the source material to its link back to society, when researchers share the results of their research. At the same time, this collection also touches on issues of research ethics and oral history methodology and its approach to the study of topical, socially sensitive issues as well as innovative publications and projects.

The Oral History: Dialogue with Society collection contains 31 papers prepared for a conference organised by the “Institute of Philosophy and Sociology” Agency of the University of Latvia, the Department of History at Stockholm University and the Association of Latvian Oral History Researchers Dzīvesstāsts.2 The papers are organised into five sections, each dedicated to an issue pertaining to oral history research.

The first section, Methodology and Interpretation, is about issues and possibilities related to methodology and interpretation of oral history. Vieda Skultans invites the reader to evaluate the advantages and disadvantages of self–reflection in oral history analysis and interpretation. In focusing on the stories of Finnish emigrants, Anne Heimo examines the influence of the Internet on the public and private processes of remembering, a never–ending process that participates in the constructing of social history. Thomas Loer explains the advantages of objective hermeneutics when analysing sociological topics.

In his study of an Arctic community of older–generation inhabitants, Stephan Dudeck looks at the role of execution/performance, context and the listener in the creation of meaning for oral history sources. His paper, as well as the paper by Maarja Merivoo–Parro, touches on issues of research ethics and the publication of oral history sources. At the

The conference took place with the financial support of the European Regional Development Fund, project no. 2010/0195/2DP/2.1.1.2.0./10/APIA/VIAA/008 “The development of capacity and promotion of international cooperation of the Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia” and the support of the Baltic–German University Liaison Office and the University of Latvia.

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end of the section Ieva Garda–Rozenberga focuses on another area of analysis and interpretation, namely, a study of the intertextual nature of oral narrative.

The second section, Oral History and Movement, focuses on oral history researchers’ dialogue with emigrant communities as well as dialogue between members of a community and the dialogue of a community with its countries of residence and origin. The section includes studies of the memories of Estonians living in Argentina (Aivar Jürgenson) and Karelian evacuee stories (Ulla Savolainen) that examine various types of experiences related to narrative, home, sense of belonging, identity and absence. Other authors have studied Kosovar Albanians (Arbnora Dushi) and the Russian community in Finland and how it is represented in Finnish documentary TV programmes (Helena Jerman). Polish researcher Wiktoria Kudela–Świątek analyses the narratives of the forgotten Polish repatriates from Kazakhstan regarding Polishness in the past and present, countering common notions in society about Polish deportees with actual narratives by the repatriates themselves. In this section one can also read Janīna Kursīte’s article about interviews conducted in Belarus in which local Belarusians and Latvians living in Belarus recall the German occupation and the mass return to Latvia of Latvian settlers who survived the Soviet repressions of the 1930s. The final paper in the section is Maija Krūmiņa’s analysis of how the experiences of refugees and those who remained in Latvia during and following World War II is revealed in life stories. Insufficient documentary sources are compensated by life stories, which allow not only the refugees’ process of flight to be studied but also individual experiences and various strategies for survival in wartime conditions.

The third section, Memories and Dialogue, turns to the issues of studying specific historical time periods, viewing them in the broader context of conflict, dialogue and/or silence. Sanita Reinsone, a researcher at the Archives of Latvian Folklore, concentrates on interviews with two women whose lives were dramatically altered because of their resistance to the Soviet regime after World War II. Both of them use the interview to tell about the destiny of their families, that is, as a family–story, thus redeeming the untold memories of their

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parents, brothers and sisters. Polish researcher Marta Kurkowska– Budzan’s paper involves society in a broader dialogue; in it she describes how radical changes – especially the collapse of the Soviet system in Poland after 1989 – have influenced the public and private discourse regarding national partisans. Private and public separation is the focus of sociologist Maruta Pranka’s paper, in which she explains how and why personal communication was restricted during the Soviet occupation and even shut out from the public space. Dagmāra Beitnere–Le Galla has also analysed this dichotomy between private/public and dialogue/conflict in her study of the radically opposing views encountered within one generation regarding the self and one’s place in Latvia’s past and present. Kristīne Rubina focuses on dialogue between generations; and the section ends with Edmunds Šūpulis’ search for answers on how to bring together different communities of memory that may otherwise lead to ethnic discord. Šūpulis believes oral history is one of the possibilities that can help to divert conflicts that arise as views of history polarise.

The fourth section, Archives and Researchers, focuses on the dialogue between researchers and sources in archives. Jyrki Pöysä studies the methodological possibilities that arise when oral history interviews are studied in the various analytical discourses. The Finnish researcher poses the question of how to legitimise the event of the interview and how to include the historical facts of a life into an archive. In the context of the 1905 revolution, Estonian oral history researcher Tiiu Jaago examines how external factors influence the remembering of an event. She turns the reader’s attention to the conditions of the narrative’s recording/collection and the distance of time between the actual event and the remembering of it as well as the influence of historical research and the political context on the interpretation of the past. She also touches on the issue of what methodological aspects a contemporary researcher must take into account when analysing memories collected in the 1920–30s. Pauliina Latvala from Finland and Malin Thor Tureby from Sweden also tackle the issue of how a researcher should evaluate, analyse and select interviews from collections created by other researchers. Finally, readers can familiarise themselves with the way in which materials from the archives of the Centre of Oral

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History at Daugavpils University in Latvia are being used in studies of Latvian history (Irēna Saleniece, Zigrīda Rusiņa).

One of the ways to involve society in a dialogue is to use oral history sources to create expositions and publish books. The final section of the book, Circulation of Memories, is devoted to this movement of memories. Knut Djupedal of the Norwegian Emigrant Museum and colleagues Kirsten Linde and Mathias Nilsson introduce readers with Norway and Sweden’s joint project New in Inner Scandinavia. A separate section of the project is devoted to the use of oral history sources to create an interactive exhibition. The topic of using oral history sources in the creation of a museum is continued by Maija Hinkle, founder of the Latvians Abroad – Museum and Research Centre, who writes about the return to Latvia of memories and stories told by Latvian refugees from World War II. Candice Lau concentrates on Estonian stories and searches for ways to promote the acquisition of history and strengthen the emotional link between a museum and its visitors. In her paper about a book of Estonian–Siberian memories, Anu Korb writes about how a researcher can turn original source material into publications and books. The section ends with Māra Zirnīte’s paper about the National Oral History collection’s two decades of interviews and field works and its increasing attention precisely on establishing a connection with society.

The authors invite readers to think about and discuss the researcher’s role in the research process, issues of objectivity and subjectivity in analysis and how a researcher should work with very emotional memories and sensitive topics, but mainly, how oral history could work as a mediator in a dialogue between various groups in society.

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Methodology and Interpretation

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Methodology and Interpretation

Vieda Skultans

What Difference Does “Being There� Make to the Production of History and Life Histories?

15 I enter this debate with some diffidence. The intensification of polarised views can do no service to either side. If we take our cue from the debate between qualitative and quantitative approaches in the social sciences, where a kind of truce has been achieved, then we must recognise that there is room for both large–scale oral history projects and for individual researchers who do both the interviewing and the writing. In that spirit, however, in these pages I will be defending a position in which the interviewer and the ethnographer/historian are one and the same person. Indeed, I will be extolling the advantages of this position. In doing so, I will be drawing upon the arguments of standpoint theorists as well as some of my own work in Latvia and Ukraine.

It seems curious that theoretical problems that have engaged philosophers, social scientists, and feminist epistemologists for the past

Methodology and Interpretation few decades seem to have by–passed historians using oral history methods. The arguments revolve around issues relating to objectivity versus subjectivity, the erasure of personal fingerprints, and the relationship between power and representation. The problems with objectivity versus subjectivity are posed in their starkest form by the feminist philosopher Linda Code. She writes: “For standpoint theorists [in contrast to objectivists] observers are not interchangeable units – ‘detached and faceless cognitive agents’ of the empiricist tradition” (Code 1993, 26). In its most pared–down form the empiricist tradition has its roots in the behaviourist stimulus–response theory.

Interviewers are instructed to give precisely the same questions, the same probes in order to produce replicable, reliable answers. There are pluses to this kind of work, not least the huge grasp of their work.

And yet what is left out are the personal fingerprints and the relationship between the researcher and the research results. These should be open to public scrutiny, in a way that is difficult when large numbers of interviewers, however skilled, are employed.

Objective approaches to subjectivity are inappropriate and their quest may prove to be a mirage. As the philosopher Thomas Nagel has argued, being objective about subjectivity is logically impossible. No amount of knowledge about a bat’s cerebral anatomy will answer the question “What does it feel like to be a bat”? Rather, recognising and responding to the subjectivity of the other involves acknowledging one’s own subjective perspective and emotional contribution to the research process.

As anthropologists have been arguing for some time, researchers are themselves embodied research instruments. The social background, life trajectories, personal qualities, and indeed the emotional involvement of the researchers will all affect the stories that are told.

No two researchers will obtain precisely identical stories. The emotional commitment of the researcher to the story of those being interviewed also plays a formative role. The “mm” of one person may be quite different from the “mm” of another person. Social scientists have long been wary of too much emotion and too much involvement. But lack of emotion may also be inappropriate. So–called neutrality, even coldness, can be a disguise for emotions such as fear and anger. The

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Methodology and Interpretation question that should be asked is not how much or how little is the appropriate amount of emotion, but what one does with that emotion (Kleinman and Copp 1993, 45). A degree of self–awareness is necessary here – what is referred to as self–reflexivity in a literature that has received its fair share of disparagement. But contrary to some critics, self–awareness is not a form of narcissism. The tragedy of Narcissus was not his absorption in his own image but his inability to recognise the image for what it was, namely his own, and to examine it. The fault lay not in looking at himself, but in not looking long and hard enough.

There are now a growing number of examples from anthropology that evidence the disastrous results of an unexamined researcher’s self, among the most notorious being Margaret Mead’s study of sexual mores among adolescent girls in Samoa in the 1920s. The kind of misleading stories Mead obtained might not have been taken at face value had Mead been more attuned to the relational aspects of ethnographic work (Mead 1928). Feminist philosophers refer to these contextual influences with the argument that all knowledge is situated.

Amongst the most important aspects impinging upon situated knowledge are gender, class, ethnicity, and age, but there are many others.

We can trace the outlines of these epistemological situations in which we have some background information about the researcher and the context of the research. A good example of such retrospective re–interpretation is provided by the Writing Culture debate and the reassessment of Evans–Pritchard’s ethnographic writing. However, as I already stated, these kinds of critical pathways are difficult to pursue in research involving large numbers of interviewers. The interpretation and use of life histories is divorced from the circumstances of their acquisition, facilitating their appropriation for our own academic or professional purposes. An Oxford anthropologist referred to this process as “the slaughter of experience”. What I think he meant was that experiential knowledge acquired through all the senses was reduced to propositional knowledge. Feminist developmental psychologists have pointed out that traditional approaches to child development have focused on the child’s acquisition of propositions. Far more important, they suggest, is the acquisition of emotional knowledge: learning to read the feelings in their mothers’ faces. This kind of analysis and use of

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Methodology and Interpretation experience must of necessity be absent from large scale projects involving many interviewers.

Doing oral history interviews for oneself creates a moral obligation to represent the story of the researched in a way that is acceptable to the people being researched. Of course, this kind of moral responsibility can be evaded in any circumstances but it is more likely to be evaded when the writer has not had face–to–face contact in interview situations. However, revisiting a life history many years after the original interview may also loosen the moral prescriptiveness of the original human exchange. I am thinking here of the posthumous existence of Burt, a working class man suffering from multiple sclerosis and first interviewed by Catherine Riessman in the 1980s (Riessman 1990; 2003). What would he make of the re–analysis of his failing sexuality and disability so many years after his death? Of course, he is no longer here to tell us. What the philosopher Levinas refers to as “the face of the other” becomes fainter over time.

Each oral history interview opens up the possibility of a posthumous existence. The nature of that existence is in large measure shaped by the circumstances in which a life–history was elicited. This is particularly true for the peoples of the former Soviet Union, many of whose lives are marked by scars that are beyond the experience, if not the comprehension, of most Westerners. The site and setting of the interview therefore come to acquire both an experientially enlarging and an ethically directive role. In other words, the experience of the interview imposes constraints on how life history material is presented.

Not all oral historians are in agreement with this position. An extreme example of decontextualisation is seen in some of the work of the oral historian Alessandro Portelli and his study of steel workers in the industrial town of Terni in central Italy, which is, as it happens, also his birth town. Portelli claimed that he refused to enter the steelworks where the accounts of his informants were set because he did not want to contaminate their voices with his own subjective perceptions. He wanted the poetic power and drama of the narrative texts to stand untampered and unscathed. Indeed, he likens the steelworkers’ descriptions of the furnaces and of the emerging white hot metal to

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Methodology and Interpretation Shakespeare’s poetry. There is a laudable aspect to this approach insofar as it democratises and honours the creativity of everyday experience. Portelli is aware that the physical and social context can distract and diminish the power of words (Portelli 1991; 1997).

On the other hand, R. Bauman and C. Briggs claim that it is precisely the strong tendency of stories to break loose from their moorings that fuels the urgency to pin stories to particular contexts (Bauman & Briggs 1990). This tendency can lead in diverse directions.

It may focus attention on the teller and the narrative strategies that he or she uses to convince the listener of their preferred identity. Or it may lead to a reinterpretation of narrative stories in the light of changed historical understandings and circumstances. These successive re–encounters with the narrative past feed into a posthumous existence over which the original speaker has little control. Riessman’s repeated revisiting of Burt’s illness trajectory provides a good example of how such recontextualisation works. But such extension of the life history interview poses ethical dilemmas. We can guess, but we cannot be sure. How might Burt have felt about the posthumous re–examination of his failing sexual abilities?

Such examples demonstrate the transformative tasks of interviews as they move between the dualities of voice towards a text. Jonathan Rée in I See a Voice reminds us of the dual qualities of voices: they are both expressive and symbolic/communicative (Rée 1999). Interviews offer us the opportunity of getting closer to experience through the presence of voice. Voices are used to moan, to sigh, and to yell as well as to communicate via a symbolic verbal system. Thus, voice has a dual nature, at once bodily and ideological. The bodily voice can be used to subvert the explicit meaning as in my interviews of elderly Latvian women whose words such as “God has stood by me all my life” or “I have been lucky all my life” are belied both by the story told and the fragile emotional timbre of the voice telling it.

Voices unfold both in time and in space. Texts exist only in space. Saussure spoke of langue and parole, which we can roughly translate as ‘language’ and ‘speech’. The difference can be understood in terms of a chess game, in which rules exist in timeless space, but particular moves in a game, though governed by rules, are played out

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Methodology and Interpretation in time. So, too, language is governed by rules, but the unfolding of speech over time leaves room for individual choice. The interview is where these complex dualisms come together and the particularities and embeddedness of speech demand the presence of the researcher at the interview.

In transcribing and analysing our interview material we both reveal and conceal. The concealment is facilitated by the readiness with which aural documents are transcribed and turned into visual documents. In using other interviewers we are not in control of the processes of concealment and revelation. Portelli writes of “the disregard of the orality of oral sources” and compares it to doing art criticism on reproductions (Portelli 1981, 97). In translating oral/aural documents into visual objects we open up new possibilities for their analysis and understanding but at the expense of other more personal, embodied meanings. Indeed, in order to pass ethics committees these days researchers often have to guarantee that they will destroy aural tapes. In so doing they are, of course, left with a much diminished version of voice.

In creating an interpretive text on the basis of interviews, the ethnographer is leaving behind the physical voice and moving into a different order of reality. This is where issues to do with the politics of quotation and the hermeneutics of suspicion dominate. According to Aristotle, the basic linguistic conjunction of noun and verb mirrors human action. But, of course, language is not a mirror. The idea of mirroring has long since been discarded as a misleading metaphor. Rather, the complexities of interviewing occupy this interstitial space between experience and language and speak to the lyricism of marginality. We are more likely to examine our interview carefully where we have been in on the scene than to take it on trust.

More generally, life history studies have a long lineage within the human sciences that stretches back to the mid–nineteenth century.

These studies deal with the neglected and marginal elements of society and the dilemmas of this kind of work are present from the outset. They are already to be found in the work of the nineteenth century social researcher, journalist, and advocate Henry Mayhew. His “street biographies” of the destitute and outcast in London first appeared in book

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Methodology and Interpretation form in 1851. These are written from a position of passion and rage; they are rhetorical and persuasive in intent, challenging stereotypes of the poor and inviting empathy and identification with the lives of the poor. They are played out against a background of rapid social change and urbanisation that shapes their plot and thus invites a delineation of character. Thus, these biographies combine drama with a human and social perspective. There is in Mayhew’s writing, particularly when talking with the little watercress girl, something of what Foucault described as “the lyricism of marginality”, which has remained a feature of oral history writing to this day (Foucault 1977, 301).

There is a significant contrast between Mayhew’s writing, based as it is in personal encounters, and early twentieth century life history research carried out by sociologists of the Chicago school and using multiple sources. Thomas and Znaniecki’s The Polish Peasant in Europe and America was a landmark study in five volumes that was first published between 1918 and 1920. It was based on personal documents such as letters and diaries and included an extended life history of a Polish peasant called Wladek. The aim of the life history was to further scientific generalisation by offering a representative case or social type rather than simply facilitating an understanding of the subjectivity and life experience of a Polish immigrant. Indeed, the life history approach was seen as having a role similar to that of the microscope in the biological sciences (Bulmer 1984, 106). The approach yielded a number of rich ethnographic studies that have since become classics. By and large, they were studies of the underside of urban life; delinquency, thieving, organised crime, and homelessness were viewed through the prism of individual lives (Shaw 1966; Sutherland 1956; Landesco 1968; Anderson 1923). The life history studies aimed to “tell it like it is” and also to make deviant behaviour intelligible in relation to its social context. This genre of work is ably summarised by James Bennett (1981). Thus, for example, organised crime was seen as having its roots in the difficulties of urban living rather than in the negative qualities of individuals or groups. Aiming for scientific respectability, these life history studies lacked the moral involvement and passion that fired Mayhew’s writing.

How do these reflections on orality and textuality relate to research in post–Soviet societies, particularly Latvia and Ukraine?

There are two principal arguments for the researcher doing his or her

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Methodology and Interpretation own oral history interviews. The first argument relates to self–reflexivity and the opportunities that “being there” offers for delineating the personal contribution of the interviewer to the life story. The second argument is the enrichment offered by contextualisation.

Let me expand on these points. In Latvia I was received as a returning exile. The fact of being bilingual and having a base in a university department of psychiatry promoted my acceptance both by clinicians and ordinary people. The timing of the research before and immediately after independence created a sense of belonging from different perspectives but nevertheless belonging to the same historical processes. Research in Latvia involved interviewing, interpretation, and writing. In Ukraine, by contrast, I was a Western foreigner and most of my interviews were conducted, recorded, and transcribed by two young psychiatrists. The result is that the interview material was squeezed through the prism of Soviet diagnostic categories. The recordings were also, I suspect, chosen to prove the thoroughness and compassion of Ukrainian psychiatry. Although this situation has some unique features, it also illustrates the problems of getting others to do one’s interviewing.

Contextualisation is rarely present where others do the interviewing. And yet, we ourselves can also inadvertently do much of this decontextualising. So let me give a few personal illustrations of decontextualisation. In doing so, may we be left with the grin without the Cheshire Cat, as in Alice in Wonderland? This is my first example.

Between 1992 and 1993 I carried out an oral history study of one particular civil parish, Drusti, in the northern province of Vidzeme in Latvia. I chose this civil parish because I had met a wonderful storyteller from there. I also chose it because I could be accommodated in a room above the pharmacy. But, above all, I chose Drusti because it was beautiful. At the time of my study, the civil parish covered an area of some seventy square miles. Reversals of historical fortune made Drusti particularly interesting for me.

Drusti civil parish had been one of the most prosperous farming parishes during the independence period between 1918 and 1938, with some 274 farms and a population of 1521 in 1935. It boasted a handsome secondary school built in 1930 on the edge of a beautiful

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Methodology and Interpretation lake, a pharmacy, and a resident doctor. Because of its relative prosperity, Drusti suffered disproportionately during the forced collectivisation of the late 1940s. In March 1949, 180 farmers were deported to labour camps in Siberia, among them twenty children. As a result, forty–five farms were left empty. Not surprisingly, the remaining farmers responded quickly to the pressure to join the collective farms and in many cases to abandon outlying farms and move into flats in the centre of the village. At the time of my study, thirty–eight farms lay abandoned. I was keen to have a visual record of all abandoned farms and to visit owners of existing farmsteads, particularly the more distant outlying farmsteads. I travelled around on a borrowed bicycle with my camera and tape–recorder in a plastic bag strapped to the back of the bike. On one occasion on a fine September day I was overtaken by a storm of the kind not experienced in Western Europe and described so brilliantly by Chekhov in his story The Steppe. For the first time in my life I understood what it meant to be soaked to the skin, particularly as I ended up falling into the stream I was attempting to ford. When I reached my destination, having had to guess which tracks led to the farmhouse, I felt heroic, particularly when this was reinforced by the surprise and admiration of the farmhouse dwellers. I was lent clothes to wear while mine dried out in front of the stove. Of course, none of this compares with the difficulties and risks faced by anthropologists working in more exotic and distant parts of the world.

However, it is interesting that it is now impossible to tell an arrival story in all innocence. Not surprisingly, my adventures on the bicycle and my sightings of real and imagined wolves play no part in my writing about Drusti. Had they done so, they might have opened up a greater understanding of the transformations of landscape during the years of Soviet occupation: not least the absence of maps, the ploughing up of roads to remote farmsteads, and the filling up of wells.

My second example also comes from Drusti civil parish, but this time a much more accessible farmstead just off a gravelled road. Mara was one of my first informants who had responded to my newspaper advertisement inviting people who felt that their nerves were damaged to write to me. Indeed, it was Mara who first introduced me to Drusti civil parish and I have written about her in several publications. However, I always omitted the specific circumstances of her storytelling.

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Methodology and Interpretation Mara was around 70 years old at the time of my first interview with her in 1991. For the most part she lived alone, although her son intermittently returned to live with her. Mara had a telephone and I was therefore able to pre–arrange a visit. The house was otherwise sparingly equipped and sparsely furnished. Mara had boiled potatoes in honour of my visit and a substantial amount of gravy warmed in what looked like an enamelled chamber pot. I kept my shock at this unlikely juxtaposition of gravy and bedpan to myself. The gravy tasted nice and I persuaded myself that the bedpan would not be used for any other purpose. Mara must have been short of saucepans. But again, the circumstances of this lunch made no appearance in print. I suppose I was afraid of taking a path to another form of cheap heroism. But over and above that there was an incongruity between the accomplished simplicity and power of her story and the make–do nature of her cooking utensils. The chamber pot was matter out of place and yet there was nothing out of place in her narrative.

In addition to giving me her life story, Mara also talked about the difficult circumstances of her present life. A major obstacle to her peace of mind was her daughter–in–law’s influence over her son. The daughter–in–law prevented Mara’s son from staying with her for any length of time. But Mara was now too old to manage the farm work by herself. The son lived alternatively with his mother and with his wife and her mother. I omitted this aspect of our conversation because I saw it merely as reflecting an intergenerational struggle over intimacy and emotional control and I felt it would be unseemly to dwell on it. Of course, this is an important aspect of mother/son/daughter–in–law relationships, but over and above emotional rivalry Mara’s predicament by an ageing female population eking out a living in the sparsely populated countryside.

My third and last example is of a sprightly ninety–year–old woman called Emma. Her story described the eight years she and her husband had spent hiding in the forests of northern Kurzeme. Emerging after the death of Stalin, the KGB officers came to stare at her naked skeletal form in the shower. Emma was always delighted to welcome me in her small country house. I would bring buns and cheesecake and she would make us both herbal tea. On one occasion she said she wanted to give

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Methodology and Interpretation me something in return for the cakes I had bought. It was the most exquisitely tightly woven vessel made of fine reeds and grasses. She had made these kinds of objects while she was in hiding and exchanged them for whatever food was available from farmers going to market.

There was, of course, considerable risk involved in such exchanges, but hunger drove her. The vessel was covetable and I accepted it as a trophy. I knew it really belonged in a museum and I can now describe the event because I have given it to the Museum of the Occupation of Latvia in Riga. But the sense of coming away from an interview with far more than you have given has pursued me in much of my work and must be quite familiar to other anthropologists.

As any ethnographer or oral historian will testify, face–to–face encounters in post–dictatorship countries challenge many of the foundational myths of qualitative approaches. And yet, although the qualities of the researcher may determine how much and what version of a story is told, we are not in any real sense co–constructors of the story.

Our duty is to listen and to remember the circumstances of the interview: the grain of the voice as well as the physical presence of the other.

This may make the process of ordering the material and representing it more difficult, but ultimately this path is enriching. I remember listening to a tape recording of a life history told by Skaidrite, a forester’s daughter in her seventies at the time of the interview and living with her mentally disabled sister in their original farmhouse in Drusti. Her story revolved around her father’s arrest and imprisonment because he was not able to pay the increased tax levies exacted from farmers in the lead up to collectivisation. Skaidrite’s sister lost her ability to speak after the arrest. Skaidrite herself was highly articulate and musical.

She accompanied herself on the piano as she sang hymns such “Nearer my God to Thee” and I recorded these. However, these recordings presented problems when I came to transcribe the interviews. Listening to the tremulous voice reduced me to a repeated state of tears and, of course, delayed my work. Ultimately, however, her singing heightened the respect I felt for her words and the need to pass them on.

“Relativism is a way of being nowhere but claiming to be everywhere, but absolutism [i. e. objectivity] is a way of being everywhere while pretending to be nowhere – and neither one in its starkest articulation will do” (Code 1993, 40).

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References Anderson, N. Hobo: The Sociology of the Homeless Man. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1923. 338 p.

Bauman, R., Briggs, C. Poetics and Performance as Critical Perspectives on Language and Social Life. Annual Review Anthropology. 1990, Vol. 19, pp. 59–88.

Bennett, J. Oral History and Delinquency: The Rhetoric of Criminology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981. 380 p.

Bulmer, M. The Chicago School of Sociology: Institutionalization, Diversity, and the Rise of Sociological Research. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1984. 306 p.

Foucault, M. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. New York : Pantheon Books, 1977. 333 p.

Mead, M. Coming of Age in Samoa: a psychological study of primitive youth for western civilization. New York: American Museum of Natural History, 1928, 170 p.

Landesco, J. Organized crime in Chicago. Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1968.

293 p.

Code, L. Taking Subjectivity into Account. In: Feminist Epistemologies. Ed. by: L. Alcoff & E. Potter. London: Routledge, 1993, pp. 15–48.

Kleinman, S., Copp, M. Emotions and Fieldwork. Newbury Park, CA: SAGE Publications, Inc, 1993. 80 p.

Nagel, T. What Is It Like to Be a Bat. Philosophical Review. 1974, Vol. 83, pp. 435–450.

Portelli, A. The Peculiarities of Oral History. History Workshop Journal. 1981, Vol. 12 (1), pp. 96–107.

Portelli, A. The Death of Luigi Trastulli and Other Stories: Form and Meaning in Oral History. Albany, NY/US: State University of New York Press, 1991. 341 p.

Portelli, A. The Battle of Valle Giulia: Oral History and the Art of Dialogue. Wisconsin/US: University of Wisconsin Press, 1997. 368 p.

Rée, J. I See a Voice: Deafness, Language and the Senses. New York: Metropolitan Books, 1999. 399 p.

Riessman, C. K. Strategic uses of narrative in the presentation of self and illness – a research note. Social Science & Medicine. 1990, Vol. 30, pp. 1195–1200.

Riessman, C. K. Performing identities in illness narrative: masculinity and multiple sclerosis.

Qualitative Research. 2003, Vol. 3 (1), pp. 5–33.

Shaw, C. R. The Jack–Roller: A Delinquent Boy’s Own Story. 2nd ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966. 225 p.

Sutherland, E. H. The Professional Thief. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1956. 256 p.

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Methodology and Interpretation

Anne Heimo

Online Memories of Migration 27 Moving stories According to Alistair Thomson, oral history is an excellent way to understand more profoundly the personal experiences of migration, because it offers a way to personalize both history and migration and, therefore, helps migrants to integrate (Thomson 1999). In his recent study, Thomson (2011) refers to life stories of migration as moving stories, because according to him migration stories: 1) narrate physical movement between places; 2) because they are about departure and separation, they are deeply moving for the narrator and for the narrator’s audience; and 3) like all life stories, they are constantly evolving and moving. One’s recollection of migration is bound to change as time passes.

Methodology and Interpretation

Fig. 1. The Finnish Memorial Park at Bli Bli, Nambour, Queensland.

(Screenshot: Anne Heimo 23.3.2012: http://www.dundernews.com/kuvat/main.php?g2_itemId=1621)

This paper is related to my ongoing study on transnational family heritage online and offline in which I examine migration memories of Finnish–Australians.1 By transnational families I mean “families that live some or most of the time separated from each other, yet hold together and create something that can be seen as a feeling of collective welfare and unity, namely “familyhood”, even across national borders” (Bryceson & Vuorela 2002). Global migration is not a new thing, nor is the fact that families live temporally and spatially separated because of work or education. Instead, what is new are all the different ways these transnational families can today communicate and maintain close connections with each other on a regular if not daily basis with Internet– and mobile phone–based platforms (Madianou & Miller 2012).

The Academy of Finland project (250307): “Our Place? Constructing family heritage in a global context” (2011–2014). The study is transdisciplinary and combines theories, methods, and concepts of several fields: folkloristics, ethnography, oral history, and memory studies. The research material consists of multiple types of sources: interviews, participate observation, autobiographical materials, online materials such as blogs, websites, social networking forums, etc.

1

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Methodology and Interpretation Family history is a broader term than genealogy. Family history is about narrating, passing on familial heritage and situating one’s identity in space and time. Family history comprehends different types of research and presentations, whereas genealogy is mainly about tracing lines of descent. “Getting it right” and “hunting” for bygone relatives is important for the practitioners of both family history and genealogy.

Both also have a strong sense of discovery and feel an obligation to act as keeper and communicator of the past (Ashton & Hamilton 2007).

In my study I examine the construction of family history as a never–ending process, which I call the social process of history–making in reference to social historian Raphael Samuel’s (1994) idea of history as a social form of knowledge, which may be presented by anyone and which is mediated through numerous forms: academic history, films, novels, plays, museums, school textbooks, memorials, family histories, etc. This process comprises the interplay of public, popular, and scholarly histories.

Family matters Since the 1990s the publishing and producing of local, village, and especially family histories and genealogy in print and online has blossomed all over the Western world because, as it seems, for many “the familial and intimate past” revealed in individual and family memories “matters most”. The family heritage industry is an essential part of this new phase. Numerous associations, museums, archives, memorials, the media, and online projects are actively participating in the collection of family history and memory to preserve this heritage for future generations.

This unprecedented interest in family heritage has been explained in several ways. In addition to the importance for self–making, self– exploration, and self–understanding, this emergent interest in one’s own roots has been seen to spring from the need to personalize and democratize history, as a reaction to depersonalize modernity and mobile lifestyles, social dislocation – including migration – or as a response to a crisis of belonging in post–colonial societies (Ashton & Hamilton 2007; Srigley & Zembryski 2009; Kramer 2011).

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Methodology and Interpretation Although blood ties are commonly thought to be the most significant thing that unites family members and relatives to each other, this is not the case. Family ties are before anything dependent on choice; we acknowledge some relatives and disown others, and we may also include in our families people to whom we are not biologically connected. Therefore, families may be described as imagined communities. All families have a sense of belonging to a lineage, in other words, a sense of previous and forthcoming generations to which we belong in different ways. According to sociologist Carol Smart (2011), families are as much collections of memories as they are of actual related people and kin.

People tend to trust family memories and narratives highly, but though personal experience and eyewitnesses are often understood as certain guarantees of truth, memory is never only private and internal, but always draws on knowledge and information from the surrounding culture. Like all narratives, memories are shaped according to the requirements of storytelling, which means that some parts of the original experience are left out while some are highlighted to make the story more interesting and more understandable. This requires the shaping of narratives according to popular stories and the use of folklore and public representations.

Digital memories The development and popularity of information and social networking technology has also substantially contributed to the boom in family history. Alistair Thomson stated already in 2007 that we are currently in the middle of a fourth paradigm of oral history,2 which he called the “digital revolution”. According to Thomson, new digital technologies will radically transform the ways in which we record, preserve, catalogue, interpret, share, and present oral histories – and as

The three other paradigmatic revolutions in theory and method Thomson (2007) mentions are: 1) the postwar renaissance of memory as a source for ‘people’s history’; 2) the development, from the late 1970s, of ‘post–positivist’ approaches to memory and subjectivity; 3) and, from the late 1980s, a transformation in perceptions about the role of the oral historian as interviewer and analyst.

2

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Methodology and Interpretation we all know, this has happened in more ways than one. One interesting example is Memoro: The Bank of Memories, which describes itself as “a non–profit project available as an online archive in which the stories of memories and experiences of people born before 1950 are collected, classified, and shared on the web by short videos/audio interviews”.

One thing Thomson – or anyone else, for that matter – probably did not at the time predict is the volume of people “doing history” for themselves and by themselves on the Internet. In the collection of essays Saved as… Digital Memories (2009) Joanne Garde–Hansen, Andrew Hoskins, and Anna Reading name various forms of digital memories, e. g. …online mementos, photographs taken with digital cameras or camera phones, memorial web pages, digital shrines, text messages, digital archives (institutional and personal), online museums, online condolence message boards, virtual candles, souvenirs and memorabilia traded on eBay, social networking and alumni websites, digital television news broadcasts of major events, broadcaster websites of archival material, blogs, digital storytelling, passwords, computer games based on past wars, fan sites and digital scrapbooks (Garde–Hansen, Hoskins & Reading 2009).

Though the list of examples is endless, all of these examples fulfill an age old function, the need to “control time, recollection, grief, and trauma”3 and deal like all memories do with the past’s relationship to the present. Nevertheless, something has also changed irreversibly. New technology has created an “archive fever”, a strong craving to keep track, record, retrieve, archive, back–up, and save, more intense than ever before. In addition to feverish archiving, many have been surprised how willingly and how many people actually want to share their private memories in public now that it is technically possible.

This means that digital memories are open to continuous remediation, reformulation, reformatting, recycling, and remixing to the extent that it has been suggested that there is no longer any need to talk of

In times of trauma, crisis, grief, and mourning, digital media has been seen to offer a “comfort culture”, which allows us, “tourists of history”, immediate access to sites of memory (Garde–Hansen, Hoskins & Reading 2009).

3

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Methodology and Interpretation private and public memories as separate categories4 (Garde–Hansen, Hoskins & Reading 2009).

Thanks to the Internet, our essential desire “to understand who we are and where we come from is just a click away”, as Katrina Srigley and Stacey Zembryski (2009) state. It has never been as easy as today to access historical records in archives both material and digital, to build (virtual) family trees on social networking and genealogy websites, or to discuss your mutual heritage with people around the world who you have only met virtually over the Internet on websites like “ancestry.com” or social networking sites such as the Facebook group “Finnish genealogy”. Many of these are particularly aimed at migrants or expatriates, e. g. the Nordic Museum’s (Nordiska Museet) Att minnas migrationen project in Sweden or the Terveisiä maailmalta, a service of Finland’s largest newspaper Helsingin Sanomat, just to name a few.

One interesting newcomer in this field is the Expatriate Archive Centre founded in The Hague in 2008, which “collects, preserves, promotes, and makes accessible a collection of primary source materials, documenting the global social history of expatriate life” regardless of the expatriate’s original home country.

32 Finns in Australia It has been estimated that over one million Finns have migrated abroad. According to the statistics of the Migration Institute, most of this migration has been directed to North–America (over 400,000) and Sweden (over 600,000), but only a few thousand to Australia.5 The first Finn to visit Australia was Herman Dietrich Spöring, who accompanied James Cook on his first voyage to Australia in 1770.

The first Finnish settlers in Australia were sailors who deserted their ships to pursue a better life and found their way to the goldfields of Victoria and New South Wales in the 1850s and 1860s. The first wave of Finnish immigration to Australia occurred in the 1920s when the

E. g., social network memory has been described as a new hybrid form of private and public memory (Garde–Hansen, Hoskins & Reading 2009).

5 See also: http://www.migrationinstitute.fi/stat/Emigration_MAP_1860-2010. jpg 4

Methodology and Interpretation United States imposed an immigration quota and unemployment in Finland made Australia an attractive destination, particularly for single men. The second wave occurred in the 1950s to 1970s when Australia assisted migration by offering free or cheap trips to suitable immigrants. Women and whole families began to move to Australia at this time (Koivukangas 1998; Tanni 2006).

The Assisted Passage Scheme was introduced by the Australian government in 1945 to increase both industry and population in postwar Australia. The Scheme was especially aimed at attracting Western European and Nordic people, who were believed to be the most capable of adapting to life in Australia. At this point, the ideal Australian was considered to be of “Nordic descent and British culture, of rural background and enterprising character”. This policy to welcome Nordic people was not a new thing. “Nordic racial cousins” had been welcomed to the country since the late 19th century. Due to the postwar conditions in Finland, Finns accepted the invitation to migrate to Australia more eagerly than other Scandinavians (Tanni 2006; Jupp 2007).

Compared to other ethnic communities in Australia, the Finnish community is tiny. The Finnish community in Australia is estimated to consist of 21,000 to 30,000 people, of which only about 8000 are Finnish–born and the rest of Finnish descent.6

Online memories of Finnish–Australians Online autobiographies of Finnish–Australians can be found on two websites founded to honor, celebrate, and commemorate those six million immigrants who have migrated to Australia since 1788: the Welcome Wall register of the Australian National Maritime Museum

The current population of Australia is estimated to be 21 million, of which 5 million residents were born outside Australia (e. g. over one million people from the United Kingdom, nearly 500,000 from New Zealand, and over 200,000 from Italy and China). The latest census in 2006 recorded 7950 Finnish–born people in Australia, of which almost 33% (2630) lived in Queensland, followed

by New South Wales (2300), Victoria (1180), and Australian Capital Territory (590).

6

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Methodology and Interpretation in Sydney and the Migration Book of the Immigration Place Bridge project in Canberra. Both of these sites are related to concrete physical memorials: the Welcome Wall monument situated at Sydney Harbor with the names of thousands of immigrants engraved onto it, and the future memorial to be erected at Parliamentary Triangle in Canberra.

34 Fig. 2. The Welcome Wall, Australian National Maritime Museum, Sydney (Screenshot: Anne Heimo 23.3.2012: http://welcomewall.anmm.gov.au/Events)

The Welcome Wall register includes thousands of entries, of which 72 (in March 2012) are of Finnish immigrants (31 female, 41 male). Most of these registrations have been made by the children or grandchildren of the migrant. The register consists of basic information concerning the person migrating and details of his or her migration, e. g. year and place of birth, year of migration, occupation, etc.

Some entries also include a mini–biography of the person in question.

So far a total of 1638 stories of migration to Australia have been published on the website of the Immigration Bridge project. The search word “Finland” gives 12 results of which 10 are actually by Finnish migrants or their descendants (2 female, 8 male). Eight of the one to

Methodology and Interpretation two page long stories are written by the children or grandchildren of the migrant; only two were written by the migrant him– or herself.

Most of the stories carefully follow the guidelines given on the website to give the writings some degree of uniformity: the “5 w’s: who, what, when, where, and why”.

Fig. 3. Website of the Immigration Place Bridge project (Screenshot: Anne Heimo 23.3.2012: http://www.immigrationplace.com.au/)

Among the entries on both of the websites only a few may be referred to as expatriates or who portray their families as transnational and multi–ethnic. Most identify themselves as “typical” immigrants who left Finland because of unemployment and sometimes because of adventure and the climate. Many also mention the possibilities that Australia provided for their children. Though most Finns in Australia worked as carpenters or miners, there seem to be an above–average number of firm owners, constructors, and clerical workers among the entries. As one can expect, there are no mentions of extreme difficulties, e. g. unemployment, homesickness, and alcoholism, all of which have been so common among Finnish–Australians that about 50% of all who migrated to Australia eventually returned to Finland (Koivukangas 1998; Tanni 2006). Though nearly all declare being more than content with what they have achieved in Australia, most entries mention the importance of their Finnish heritage to them. For many, this means mentioning that they have a sauna or keep in contact with relatives in Finland.

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Conclusions Though in Finland life writings are usually referred to as oral history, I would not call these texts oral history, even though some of them do contain personal memories or at least post–memories inherited from generation to generation. These stories are written for the public record and can be characterized more or less as success stories in which, despite initial hardships like poor language skills or the hot climate, all succeed in making Australia their new home, for which they are deeply grateful – as, according to Tiiu Jaago (2011), good immigrants are expected to be and, like good emigrants, they also show sufficient, but not too much, nostalgia and longing for their home country.

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References Ancestory.com: http://www.ancestry.com/ [Accessed 26.3.2012].

Australian National Maritime Museum, Welcome Wall: http://welcomewall.anmm. gov.au/ [Accessed 26.3.2012].

Garde–Hansen, J., Hoskins, A. & Reading, A. Introduction. In: Save as…Digital Memories. Ed. by Joanne Garde–Hansen, Andrew Hoskins and Anna Reading.

Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009, pp. 1–21.

Ashton, P. & Hamilton, P. History at the Crossroads. Australians and the Past. Ultimo & Braddon: Halstead Press, 2007. 174 p.

Bryceson, D. & Vuorela, U. Transnational Families in the Twenty–First Century.

In: The Transnational Family. New European Frontiers and Global Networks. Ed. by Deborah Bryceson and Ulla Vuorela. Oxford & New York: Berg, 2002, pp. 3–30.

Dundernews, Suomalaisuuden Muistomerkki albumi: http://www.dundernews.com/ kuvat/main.php?g2_itemId=1621 [Accessed 26.3.2012].

Expatriate Archive Centre: http://www.xpatarchive.com/ [Accessed 26.3.2012].

Facebook, Finnish Genealogy: http://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/groups/ 14108279806/ [Accessed 26.3.2012].

Helsingin Sanomat, Terveisiä maailmalta: http://terveisiamaailmalta.hs.fi/ [Accessed 26.3.2012].

Immigration Place: http://www.immigrationplace.com.au/ [Accessed 26.3.2012].

Jaago, T. Migration: Stereotypes and Experience from a Folkloristic Viewpoint. In: Oral History: Migration and Local Identities. Ed. by Ieva Garda Rozenberga and Mara Zirnite. Riga: University of Latvia, 2011, pp. 69–81. [Online] Available at: http://www.google.fi/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&sqi=2&v ed=0CCYQFjAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Facademia.lndb.lv%2Fxmlui%2Fbitstre am%2Fhandle%2F123456789%2F10%2FOral_History_2011.pdf%3Fsequenc e%3D1&ei=8ctxT9SYBuLb4QT1te2oDw&usg=AFQjCNGHmSXsRDtgwCb9UE hEpKYBoHlp6w&sig2=ZNYF8PHAFffK42pvPtPeNQ [Accessed at 20.3.2012].

Jupp, J. From White Australia to Woomera: The Story of Australian Immigration. (2nd ed.)

Cambridge etc.: Cambridge University Press, 2007. 256 p.

Koivukangas, O. Kaukomaiden kaipuu. Suomalaiset Afrikassa, Australiassa, Uudessa– Seelannissa ja Latinalaisessa Amerikassa. Turku: Siirtolaisuusinstituutti, 1998.

418 p.

Kramer, A. M. Kinship, Affinity and Connectedness. Exploring the Role of Genealogy in Personal lives. Sociology. 2011, Vol. 45 (3), pp. 379–395. Available at: http:// soc.sagepub.com/content/45/3/379 [Accessed at 4.11.2011].

Madianou, M. & Miller, D. Migration and New Media. Transnational Families and Polymedia. London & New York: Routledge, 2012. 192 p.

Memoro: Bank of Memories: http://www.memoro.org/ [Accessed 26.3.2012].

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Methodology and Interpretation Migration Institute, Emigration 1860–2010: http://www.migrationinstitute.fi/stat/ Emigration_MAP_1860-2010.jpg [Accessed 26.3.2012].

Nordic Museum (Nordiska Museet), Att Minnas Migrationen: http://www.attminnas. nu/ [Accessed 26.3.2012].

Samuel, R. Theatres of Memory. Past and Present in Contemporary Culture. London & New York: Verso, 1994. 496 p.

Smart, C. Families, Secrets and Memories. Sociology. 2011, Vol. 45 (4), pp. 539– 553. Available at: http://soc.sagepub.com/content/45/4/539 [Accessed at 4.11.2011].

Srigley, K. & Zembrzycki, S. Remembering Family, Analyzing Home: Oral History and the Family. Oral History Forum d’histoire orale. 2009, Vol. 29, pp. 1–29. Available at: http://www.oralhistoryforum.ca/index.php/ohf/issue/view/10 [Accessed at 20.3.2012].

Tanni, K. Perspectives on Australian Multiculturalism. In: Passages Westward. Ed.

by Maria Lähteenmäki and Hanna Snellman. Studia Fennica, Ethnologica 9.

Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2006, pp. 64–76.

Thomson, A. Moving Stories: An Intimate History of Four Women across Two Countries.

Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2011. 352 p.

Thomson, A. Four Paradigm Transformations in Oral History. Oral History Review.

2007, Vol. 34 (1), pp. 49–70. Available at: http://ohr.oxfordjournals.org/ content/34/1/49.short [Accessed at 20.3.2012].

Thomson, A. Moving Stories: Oral History and Migration Studies. Oral History. 1999, Vol. 27 (1), pp. 24–36.

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Methodology and Interpretation

Thomas Loer “Dzīvesstāsts”: Method and Praxis – A Genre of Social Science Data between Advances of Scientific Knowledge and Practical Empowerment, and How Objective Hermeneutics Can Serve Both

Preliminary remarks As far as I understand, the efforts of the “Dzīvesstāsts” project have always been driven by at least two interests: one of them scientific, the other practical.1 Two different descriptions can be found on the homepage of the project. The first description represents the scientific interest2 of the “Dzīvesstāsts” project: “Lifestories are rich resources for

The emblem of the University of Latvia and its maxim – “Universitas Latvensis Scientiae et Patriae” – makes clear that this twofold interest is not only one of the “Dzīvesstāsts” project.

2 Use of the English term “science” or “scientific” must not be misunderstood. In English, the term “science” is mostly used congruently with the term “natural science”; what in English is called “humanities” normally is excluded. In contrast, here the term “science” is used in the sense of the German term “Wissenschaft” 1

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Methodology and Interpretation a wide range of cultural studies and research. Lifestories present the interaction between daily and professional cultures, family and ethnic cultures, and the diversity of social and historical relationships found in each person’s life. NOH (the Latvian National Oral History Centre) provides resources to all fields of academic research: sociology, social and cultural anthropology, linguistics, individual and social history, ethnology, folklore psychology.”3 The second description represents the practical interest of the “Dzīvesstāsts” project: “But it [sc.: NOH] is also a resource for the greater community. The oral history collection gives a voice and a sense of empowerment to individuals, ethnic groups, and minorities and helps them define their place in society and history.”4 Furthermore, there is a description that does not belong neatly to one or the other side: “The lifestories in the collection reveal the dynamic between the individual and life in society: standards, style, fashion, conflicts, ideas, and spiritual life. NOH observes how individuals define themselves and their position in history, opens ways for understanding based on the individual’s ability to comprehend and to understand the value of others’ different experiences.”5 I do not wish to go into the details of the history of the life history project itself here, nor do I have the expertise to do so. But I think it does not mean mistaking history if the beginning of the “Dzīvesstāsts” project in 1992 is related to the restoration of Latvia’s independence in 1991 and if it is said that the regained national self–consciousness was the hand that rocked the cradle of the “Dzīvesstāsts” project and continues to rule its efforts today.

As a scientific project this constellation bears some risks, because national self–consciousness as a practical issue is always an issue of interested groups. Practical interests make an object a hot one, but the and the Latvian term “zinātne”. Both of these terms also include the “Geistes–” and “Sozialwissenschaften” (humanities/arts and social sciences, respectively).

So, for example, objective hermeneutics is a social science method that does not refer to “natural laws” as natural science does, but nevertheless claims to be methodically reliable and valid, without neglecting the specifity of the social world.

3 http://www.dzivesstasts.lv/en/free.php?main=2001; [Accessed 17.02.2012].

4 Ibid.

5 Ibid.

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Methodology and Interpretation scientist must cool it down in order to study it sine ira et studio. From a practical point of view, a scientist with this attitude can be criticised as being too lukewarm a fellow, not joining forces with the good cause or running with the hare and hunting with the hounds, or he can be blamed for joining forces with the bad cause if he reveals aspects of history the interested group would rather sink into the orcus of oblivion. But the scientist needs to take a look at his object in a way Lévi– Strauss once called le regard éloigné (Lévi–Strauss 1983)6 – and this is incompatible with siding with any party in the struggle of life.

In order to fulfil practical interests the “Dzīvesstāsts” project has to focus on other aspects than it has to in order to answer scientific questions. Analytically this must be told apart neatly in order to ask for possible convergences of both tasks.

Introductory remarks on the method of objective hermeneutics This method was developed by the German sociologist Ulrich Oevermann, who was a professor of sociology and social psychology at Frankfurt University from 1977 to 2008 (Oevermann et al. 1979; Oevermann 1973/2001, 1986, 1991, 1993, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2004, 2008, 2009; Oevermann/Müller 2010; Sutter 1994, 1997; Loer 2006; Wernet 2006). As the term implies, objective hermeneutics claims the objectivity of hermeneutical understanding of human expressions.

The constitution theory supporting this claim conceives of acting as rule following constituted by two types of rules; in short, we call them parameter 1 and parameter 2. The first type of rules opens up options to act and defines their meaning by determining their consequences; the second type of rules, on the other hand, is responsible for

Cf.: “C’est un titre emprunter au japonais, qui m’est venu en lisant Zeami, le créateur du nô. Il dit que pour etre bon acteur, il faut savoir se regarder soi– même de la façon que les spectateurs vous regardent, et il emploie l’expression de regard éloigné. J’ai trouvé qu’elle représentait très bien l’attitude de l’ethnoloque regardant sa propre société, non comme il la voit en tant qu’il en est membre, mais comme d’autres observateurs, placés loin d’elle dans le temps ou dans l’espace, la regarderaient” (Lévi–Strauss 1988, 249).

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Methodology and Interpretation choosing one of the options opened up by parameter 1. An easy example follows. If two persons – let’s call them Ainars and Gunnars – meet in a train compartment and Ainars says, “Sveiks”, then Gunnars objectively has two options, which are opened up by the parameter 1 rules: he can answer the greeting or deny answering it. Before choosing one of these options, the meaning of them is already objectively defined by parameter 1: answering means accepting the offer of sharing the period of travel as a common praxis, for example, filled with chatting (and this means that if Ainars started chatting and Gunnars wanted to keep on reading his book, it would be Gunnars who had to keep Ainars from chatting); denying to answer means refusing the offer of sharing the period of travel as a common praxis (and this means that if Ainars wanted to chat with Gunnars, it would be Ainars who had to start anew in order to motivate Gunnars participating in the chat).

Parameter 2 contains all the principles and norms Gunnars follows in his life, and this parameter 2 – we call it “case structure” – generates Gunnars’ choice.

Methodologically we have now defined an objective base for analysis: parameter 1, which allows us to reconstruct parameter 2, because we know if Gunnars chose the option of answering, his preferences were politeness and socialising, and we know if Gunnars chose the option of denying to answer, his preferences were social distance and intellectual activity. (For the sake of brevity, important details and explications in this example must be skipped.)

These methodological consequences of the constitution theory found a method, the core of which is sequential analysis. As we have seen in the example – and as we know from our everyday experience – acting processes sequentially: one action opens up possible consequential actions according to respective rules (parameter 1), one of the options is chosen by a participating agent generated by his case structure (parameter 2), and this chosen option is then the starting point for a new loop. Sequential analysis makes use of this sequential structure of acting processes. By analysing the acting process, the researcher always develops the possible consequential actions and explicates their objective meaning (the implications defined by the respective rules) and the preferences, which could presumably generate the choice of

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Methodology and Interpretation the different specific options. Then the researcher looks at the record of the actual acting process and can conclude the Gestalt of parameter 2: the case structure of the agent at the focus of his analysis. Regretfully, the explanation of the method must be kept short here.

On pragmatic framing and the pragmatic frames of the “Dzīvesstāsts” project But the method yields one important result we will have to take a look at here. If acting is choosing one out of a bundle of rule–generated options, this choice, on the other hand, is always solving a problem. And as Paul Watzlawick states: “One cannot not communicate” as “a metacommunicational axiom of the pragmatics of communication” (Watzlawick/Beavin/Jackson 1967, 51), so we can state “one cannot not decide” as a basic axiom of human behaviour. So, each behaviour is an answer to a question the situation poses. If we now record the behaviour of someone, whatever he does is always an answer not only to those parts of the situation that existed even if we did not record them, but it is an answer to the whole situation, including the recording, the asking of questions, and so on. This is what we call pragmatic framing – the aspects of the situation that frame the action going on.

Pragmatic framing must be analysed separately and in advance in order to avoid biases in the reconstruction of parameter 2.

I will try to develop by thought experiment what kind of frames and influences enter into the production of dzīvesstāsts (a lifestory) and how this can and must be controlled methodically.

At least two levels of pragmatic framing must be taken into account here: A) the type of question that shall be answered by the collection of data, and B) the type of conversation the interviewer and interviewee are involved in.

The first level (A) frames the conversation recorded as dzīvesstāsts by (a) the institution that appears as the affiliation of the researcher, (b) the justification for collecting data and for collecting the lifestory of this specific person given in the first contact, and – at least in part –

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Methodology and Interpretation by (c) the personal features of the researcher (age, gender, ethnic background).7 To make this a bit more telling, let us have a look at the difference between introducing the researcher as (a1) a sociologist from the “Latvijas Universitātes Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts” (Institute of Philosophy and Sociology at the University of Latvia) and introducing him as (a2) a researcher from “Nacionālās mutvārdu vēstures projekts” (the National Oral History Project). They seem to be very similar, if not the same. But the implications of each are rather different. The first introduction (a1: “Latvijas Universitāte”) clearly signifies a scientific context, while the second introduction (a2) is much less clear on this point. It claims to be a “national” project, so the national interest – a practical one – is connoted. Furthermore, the Latvian word “mutvārdu” (oral) in “mutvārdu vēsture” (oral history) not only denotatively refers to the technical aspect of presenting the history orally but also connotes the aspect of “giving voice” and of a more personal and trustful history. So, in the first case the subsequent conversation is clearly framed as a scientific one and the interviewee is regarded – and must regard himsel – as just an interviewee: anything personal to hide, anything personal to demand. In the second case, an understanding of the subsequent conversation as an opportunity to demand one’s right from the national community is much more likely. I do not wish to claim my interpretation of the different implications the different institutional assignments of the researcher introduced to the interviewee have been correct in all details. Instead, what I wish to make clear at this point is that different introductions have different implications and that these different implications frame the conversations differently. As the debate Vieda Skultans also referred to has shown, this cannot be avoided but it must be taken into account during the analysis of the conversation. If, for example, the interviewee focuses the narration on unjust treatments he or she has experienced, this, in the first case, would tell us much more about the interviewee’s interpretation pattern (conceiving of himself as a victim) than it would in the second case, in which we would find the interviewee rationally trying to bring his interest into play.

In her talk at the conference Vieda Skultans referred to this and stressed its relevance (Skultans 2012).

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Methodology and Interpretation The second level (B) of pragmatic framing, namely, the type of conversation the interviewer and interviewee are involved in, frames the conversation by the way the interviewer greets the interviewee and introduces himself, by the question the researcher begins with, and by the way he asks questions and reacts to answers or to the interviewee’s utterances in general. So, for example, we have different levels of standardisation of the conversation – from a pre–formulated questionnaire to the trial of letting the interviewee narrate totally free and uninterrupted (so–called “narrative interview”)8 – which have different implications for the conversation. In the case of a questionnaire–type interview the interviewee is treated as a kind of information reference agency and if he would not reveal personal perspectives onto the history in question this were to be regarded as an effect of the type of interview (parameter 1, here: pragmatic framing) and not as an expression of his preferences (parameter 2). The so–called “narrative interview”, on the other hand, can cause confusion on the part of the interviewee because the interviewer does not show interest in the story. If the interviewee talks about fiddling events, this could be just a response to the interviewer’s silence and would not necessarily show that those events were actually important for the interviewee.

At this point, a remark about the interview practice may be helpful.9 Roland Girtler, an Austrian sociologist and professor at the University of Vienna, coined the term “ero–epic conversation”.10 I will use this term in order to describe a type of research–oriented conversation that aims at generating an oral Ausdrucksgestalt that is particularly suitable for reconstructing the interviewee’s interpretation patterns as well as his habitus, especially referring to his own life history. The term “ero–epic conversation” tries to make clear that in this type of research–oriented conversation both asking (Greek: ερειυ) and narrating (Greek: επειυ) are structuring the conversation. As I conceive

See, for example, Karakalos 1979; Schütze 1983; Haupert 1991; Rosenthal 2004; Rosenthal et al. 2006.

9 I leave the discussion of method here and change to the art of practicing research.

10 “Die Fragen in einem “ero–epischen Gespräch“ ergeben sich aus dem Gespräch und der jeweiligen Situation, sie werden nicht von vornherein festgelegt” (Girtler 1992, 149).

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Methodology and Interpretation of it,11 this type of conversation wants the interviewer to listen thoroughly to what the interviewee tells him, and he must be keen on understanding what the interviewee objectively expresses by telling his story. In order to do so, the interviewer must analyse the utterances in an abbreviated manner – like the psychoanalyst analyses the utterances of his patient by “listening to him with the third ear”, as Theodor Reik (1948) called it – and then ask his questions based on what he finds in need of explanation. By this the interviewee experiences himself and what he has to tell as being taken seriously, and is therefore keen on answering the interviewer’s questions by narrating relevant stories.12 However, regardless what type of conversation the interviewer performs, it must be analysed in order to make clear what kind of frame it sets up for the conversation. Only by doing so can the effects produced by the frame be attributed correctly to the frame (type of conversation, questions asked, etc.) (parameter 1) instead of incorrectly attributing it to the case structure of the interviewee (parameter 2).

On re–presenting the past Concerning conversations conducted in order to collect a lifestory, different levels must be taken into account. I will not discuss here the issue of memory as such (e. g. Weinrich 1964; Assmann/Hölscher 1988), but tell apart the aspects of (C) the told, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, (D) the interpretation patterns that enter into the production of dzīvesstāsti. Furthermore, within this second aspect we must distinguish between (a) the ancient and (b) the actual interpretation pattern.

This is not the way Roland Girtler conceives of it. I owe him thanks for the term and some hints concerning the liveliness of the conversation, but I alone am responsible for the further features of my concept. This type of conversation resembles Robert Miller’s “biographic narrative interpretive method” (BNIM) (Miller 2000, 2012), but it must be kept clear that this is a mode of collecting data and not an “interpretive method”.

12 I cannot expand on this here, but I at least wish to remark that this type of conversation in itself can have the practical effect of transforming the interviewee’s self and developing his self–consciousness (cf. n. 25).

11

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Methodology and Interpretation We can never get access to records of acting that are in no way influenced by the method in which we record them. This raises no problems as far as we analyse this influence as pragmatic framing of the recorded acting. The same applies to information about the past: even if we had footprints of people’s past paths, we would have to take into account that the footprints lasted until today, so what we have are not actual past footprints but present footprints re–presenting the past.13 According to these thoughts, it is clear that the told past event is not the past event itself but a present story re–presenting the past event, and that the told past thought is not the actual past thought but a present re–presentation of the past thought. As objective hermeneutics conceives of utterances (for example, utterances made during an ero–epic conversation) never directly as statements but always as acting (Austin 1962; Searle 1970), the narrating of the past must also always be analysed as acting. By this the re–presented past event and the re–presented past interpretation pattern that ruled the experience of the past event can be reconstructed by distinguishing it from the present interpretation pattern that rules the present re–presenting of the past. Unfortunately, I cannot exemplify this methodical process here due to a lack of time.14

See: “Mag auch das Material aus der Vergangenheit stammen, es ist nur dadurch, daß es noch gegenwärtig und zugänglich ist, für unsere Zwecke geeignet. Wir wollen ja mit der Forschung statt der Leere, die hinter dem Heute liegt, in unserem Geist eine Vorstellung von dem, was war und für immer vergangen ist, wieder erwecken” (Droysen 1937/1960, 37).

14 If there were ample time, an example could be taken from the interview with Rozmarija Bärsdele (ROBA–LD1ce.doc) in which she talks about her knowledge of Russian (195 Krieviski ar mēs nepratām). Concerning the cohort of Germans born around 1930, a biographical case study could show how an actual habitus and interpretation pattern originated in the historical situation and how reality was experienced in the past (Loer 1999). Here I can only give an absolutely insufficient hint at another implication of objective hermeneutics important for the Dzīvesstāsts project, namely, that every individual development is a biographical process of new identity structures emerging as answers to biographical constellations (including the historical situation) and by this opening up new future options of development for individuals and society (see below, n. 25). Objective hermeneutics by sequentially analysing biographical material (like dzīvesstāsti) reveals the possibilities of the historical situation simultaneously with the developing case structure of the individual (cf.

Oevermann 2009, 44–47).

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Methodology and Interpretation

On different ways of using the “dzīvesstāsti” Let us now turn to the different ways the collected dzīvesstāsti can be used.15 The three uses are: (1) analysis in order to obtain scientific knowledge, (2) narrative history in order to obtain historical narrations, and (3) pragmatic history in order to obtain interested presentations. The second and third uses are not my focus here; it may be that they are only two poles of one dimension of a practical use of historical data, at least it would take some trouble to tell them apart. The second use may be represented by von Ranke’s demand “zu zeigen wie es eigentlich gewesen ist” (to show how things actually were),16 while the third use may be represented by Polybios’ concept of instruction by history.17 I will focus on the first use here. If we take life history recordings – recordings of conversations from the “Dzīvesstāsti un mutvārdu vēstures avoti”, for example – and analyse them according to the method of objective hermeneutics, we can (1) reconstruct the present interpretation pattern and habitus of the interviewee (parameter 2), we can (2) reconstruct the ancient interpretation pattern and habitus of the interviewee (parameter 2), and by comparing both we can determine the transformation or reproduction of his case structure. Furthermore,

Here the type of question that shall be answered by collecting life stories is not regarded as the way the collection is pragmatically framed in advance and during the conversation and its recording, but as the way the collected data, entered into and kept ready in the “Dzīvesstāsti un mutvārdu vēstures avoti” (Lifestories and Sources of Oral History), are used.

16 von Ranke 1824/1885: Vorrede; zit. n. http://germanhistorydocs.ghi-dc.org/ pdf/deu/13_SE_Ranke.pdf [Accessed 24.02.2012].

17 “For these and sundry other reasons I (..) determined on writing a history of actions (πραγµατικοσ τροποσ): first, because they are continually new and require a new narrative – as, of course, one generation cannot give us the history of the next – and second, because such a narrative is of all others the most instructive” In: Polybios, Histories, chapter 2, book 9: http://pace.mcmaster.ca/ york/york/showTextPolybius?book=9&chapter=2&direction=&version=shuck &tab=&layout=split; [Accessed 24.02.2012]. Hegel makes clear that this kind of history depends definitely on the author: “Ob nun soche Reflexionen wirklich interessant und belebend seien, kommt auf den eigenen Geist des Schriftstellers an” (Hegel 1982, 17).

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Methodology and Interpretation by taking into account the interpretation patterns as a framing of the narrated events, we can grasp these events and reconstruct their objective meaning for the life and the lifestory of the interviewee.

Finally, we can draw generalising conclusions from this for types of events and types of life histories.

On different ways of using research results We must distinguish two main different uses of the knowledge yielded by methodical analysis: the scientific use and the practical use.

The first use is simple and I can describe it quickly: we as scientists either use the gained knowledge to answer our old questions or we use it to develop new questions and ways to answer them. Here I will focus on the second use, the practical use of the gained knowledge. We can distinguish three different types of the practical use.

At first, every praxis (dzīvesprakse) can use the scientific knowledge by itself as far as it is published. Everyone can use any scientific outcomes that are available to the public; science journalists can support this use.

We as scientists do not know what people will do with our results.

If we as citizens see them using the results in a way we regard as wrong, or even if we fear they could do so, or if we think they should use the knowledge and see them not using it at all, then we must act as intellectuals, that is, practically relying on our own civic values in order to hinder false use and to support correct use. This is the second type of use, a use in which the scientist gets involved with all his knowledge, not as a scientist, but as citizen, relying on specific, openly declared values.

The intellectual in this strict sense can give voice to silent people and fight for their interest in the political arena.

The third type of use requires people willing to use the research results with professional support; this is what I call clinical sociology.18 If a scientist acts as a clinical sociologist, he consults people who

Here I do not use the term in Bourdieu’s sense, who conceives of it as “auto– analyse collective” of scientists (Bourdieu 1997, 11) or sometimes as political

18

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Methodology and Interpretation ask him for help; they want him to support them to solve practical problems that they feel unready to cope with on their own. For example, a small community asks for help because of social–cultural conflicts that people cannot solve on their own. If this community asked researchers from the “Dzīvesstāsts” project to help them, let us say because some months ago they collected dzīvesstāsti in this village, what could the researchers do? They could provide workshops for the conflicting parties, in which they analysed excerpts from the dzīvesstāsti together. These excerpts would have had to be selected in advance by the researchers according to the criteria of relevance and vividness in relation to the conflict. This, of course, presupposes that the researchers have analysed the conflict structure in advance and that they have ascertained whether the dzīvesstāsti contain respective sequences. In the workshop itself the researcher does not assume the role of a scientist but rather that of a mediator. This mediator maeutically helps people to develop insights into the reasons of the conflict by reflecting on the structure and genesis of the interpretation patterns of the conflicting parties. These patterns can be reconstructed in the dzīvesstāsti and the starting points for overcoming the conflict can be revealed there. The process of maeutically enabling people to develop relevant insights is clinical in so far as it focuses on the practical concern; this implies that the insights are not only cognitive findings but are practical in themselves, too: realizing the reasons of the Gestalt of one’s self practically means a Bildungsprozess: transforming one’s self as well as reconstructing one’s history.19 The process is sociological in so commitment motivated by “obligation civique” (l. c., 76); this instead resembles our second type of use, the use of the intellectual.

19 This is the fundamental process of socialisation and social transformation that is focused by Mead (cf.: “Social reconstruction and self or personality reconstruction are the two sides of a single process – the process of human social evolution” (Mead 1934, 309); cf.: “Die Dialektik von Emergenz und Determination (..) wird innerhalb der je individuellen Sozialisation, gesehen als Prozess der Individuierung, je individuell amplifiziert nach Maßgabe der Dichte und Differenziertheit, mit der strukturell optimistisch in der bewussten Wahrnehmung der Herausforderung durch Krisen der Emergenz jeweils Raum gegeben und das Emergente jeweils nachträglich rekonstruktiv bearbeitet wird” (Oevermann 2009, 39). In our example this process is reactivated by subjects facing a crisis, mediated by a clinical sociologist.

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Methodology and Interpretation far as the methodical analysis makes sure that the practical process is initiated by and relies on the valid insights.

This clearly shows that the mediator’s methodical training and his methodically analysing the respective excerpt from the data in advance make his work as a clinical sociologist much easier, if not at least in this precise and helpful understanding possible at all. Clinical sociology proves to be not science but praxis; nevertheless, it is a form of praxis that is scientifically informed and acts in ordinary of the autonomous praxis (dzīvesprakse) that asks for help.

Concluding remarks I have tried to show that the dilemma of the “Dzīvesstāsts” project – being clamped between scientific and practical interests – is literally a di–lemma, a thing with two sides, and that by telling both of these sides apart neatly instead of mixing them, the two sides do not interfere with each other but can be worked out, each according to its own logic. If a scientist with his methodical faculty and his scientific knowledge then acts in a practical frame – be it as an intellectual or as a clinical sociologist – and if this frame is respected adequately, then both science and society can benefit mutually.20

From the papers presented at the conference and the discussions there I learned that the entanglement of the researchers from the “Dzīvesstāsts” project with practical interests is so strong that distinguishing scientia and patria not only analytically but also in their practice as researchers is hardly possible. On the one hand, they are themselves so deeply involved in the history they study (often personally related; see, for example, the deep emotional involvement in the history of her family that Sanita Reinsone (2012) presented at the same time as the starting point and the objective of her study), and, on the other hand, they are so strongly committed to improving the situation of their country and of the people studied that they are unable for the time being to take the “regard éloigné” (see above, n. 12). From the standpoint of a mediator between knowledge and political and cultural practice, from the standpoint of enlightenment, wholeheartedly and respectably taken by Dagmāra Beitnere–Le Galla (2012), my efforts in conceptual clarification seem even “decadent”. This overdrawn valuation may be excused by a deep love of the patria.

20

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Stephan Dudeck Oral History of Empires by Elders in the Arctic (ORHELIA): A Common History, a Common Economy, Common Language Roots, and Different Practices among Four Arctic Indigenous Peoples

In this paper I present the results of the first stage of a comparative project of oral history in the North. The project is funded by the Research Council for Society and Culture at the Academy of Finland and includes the research of several anthropologists based at the Arctic Centre of the University in Rovaniemi in collaboration with native communities in four different regions of the North.

The ORHELIA project develops a comparative history of relations between remote people and states through the eyes of Arctic indigenous elders by using the method of life history analysis and oral history fieldwork combined with anthropological participant observation.

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Methodology and Interpretation Doing so, the project will also contribute to preserve intangible cultural heritage among Uralic speaking northern minorities of Europe and study the transmission of historical heritage between different generations.

The 20th century brought life–changing events to even the remotest corners of our planet, especially generated by the quest for industrial development and the rise and fall of empires and colonial states, for example, the Soviet Union. In the early 21st century we are in a position to analyse such life–changing events for northern residents not as snapshots, but as longer processes with a beginning and an end, for example, both the coming and the leaving of an empire or the displacement and emplacement of people. The lifetime of the Soviet Union, which lasted about 70+ years, corresponds roughly to one human lifetime. This research proposes the human lifespan as a methodological time–window to analyse world–relevant processes literally “from the North”, through the eyes of Arctic elders. The way in which individuals who spent their whole lives in the North experienced and influenced these processes will reveal significant new insights into the nature of the relation between states and their remote subjects.

This paper will focus on certain topics that are important for us in the first stage of the research project.

We will develop a common framework of thematic fields of comparison as far as all four communities involved in the research – Skolt Sámi, Kola Sámi, European Nenets, and Yamal Nenets – experienced similar interference by the state regarding, for instance, political and economic restructuring, education, or relocation.

An important aim of the project is to develop collaboration not only between indigenous communities and research institutions but also between indigenous communities themselves. Therefore, the issue of the intergenerational and interregional transmission of experiences and knowledge by the performance of oral history and the dissemination of oral history research results is an important research topic.

According to research ethics, we try to find ways out of the dilemma that some information about historical events, the story tellers,

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Methodology and Interpretation and their personal evaluation of events is important to share with the wider public and some is not and should remain private or anonymous.

I will also discuss the issue of the relationship of form and context of oral recollections and how important the performativity, the social context of storytelling, and the audience as a co–producer of the story are for an understanding of oral history. This last point is the focus of the present paper because it defines the methodological starting point of our work.

Four Arctic indigenous peoples People living in the Arctic have had decisions made for them, far away in southern capital cities, be it in Russia, Finland, or any other Northern country. Our project would like to take a bottom–up approach to the writing and reading of the histories of four indigenous groups of reindeer herders in the Barents Sea Region and how their lives changed in the 20th century.

These four groups are the Skolt Sámi of Finland and Murmansk region, the Kola Sámi of Murmansk region, the European Nenets, and the Yamal Nenets of western Siberia. All four groups share some similarities, for example, in terms of livelihood, environment, history, roots, and belief systems, being a mix of Orthodox Christianity (Skolt Sámi and all groups in Russia), deep animist spirituality, and Soviet atheism among the Nenets and Russian Sámi. In our project we would like to facilitate the exchange of everybody’s experience in livelihood changes and find out the similarities and differences across all four peoples in a large area of the North.

The Skolt Sámi live in the Inari municipality in northern Finnish Lapland. Around 700 Skolt Sámi settle in the villages of Sevettijärvi, Nellim, and Keväjärvi, while a few settle in Neiden (Norway) and Tuloma, Verkhnetulomsk, and Jona villages in the far northwest of Russia.

Their original territories until World War II were in the Petsämö (Russ.

Pechenga) region. When their territory had to be ceded back to the Soviet Union, most of the Skolt Sámi were resettled to Finland, where they live now. The Skolt Sámi language is spoken by approximately

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Methodology and Interpretation 350 speakers. Their earlier livelihood was based on reindeer herding, hunting, fishing, and gathering. Nowadays only reindeer herding and fishing have retained some economic relevance; these are practised in an extensive form in the two Skolt herding districts of Näätämö and Vätsäri in which they manage about 6500 reindeer.

The Kola Sámi live in Murmansk Oblast in northwest Russia.

There are 2000 Kola Sámi, a third of whom live in Lovozero village. The most widespread Sámi language among these people is Kildin Sámi.

67,000 domesticated reindeer are kept on the Kola Peninsula, of which 7000 are in private ownership. Most reindeer herding is done on the successors of state farms. Herding is done in work shifts of men out on the tundra, in loose herding. Reindeer are released for the summer after the closely monitored calving campaign and then rounded up in the fall before slaughtering. Fishing and hunting in spring and autumn are of equal importance. The Sámi on the Kola Peninsula live together with the Komi and Nenets, and their material culture, clothing, and religion are incorporated into this mixture.

The European Nenets live in Nenets Autonomous Okrug in northwest Russia. There are 6400 Nenets people, of whom around 1500 live in the tundra. Their nomadic and semi–nomadic life revolves around herding reindeer, fishing, and hunting. Their native language is spoken mostly by elders. They manage around 180,000 reindeer, the majority in collective farms, but increasingly in family based communities (obshina). Herding is done with close herd supervision for most of the year, including work 24 hours a day. Other than among full– time nomads, the rest of the herding is done by village based men for whom the tundra is a place of employment.

The so–called Yamal1 Nenets live in Yamal–Nenets Autonomous Okrug, east of the Ural Mountains in western Siberia. 28,000 Nenets people live there, of which roughly 10,000 lead a nomadic way of life on the tundra herding reindeer, fishing, and hunting. The Tundra Nenets language is widely spoken among herders. They manage around 500,000 reindeer, the world’s largest number in one region, mostly in private ownership. Herding is done in close herd supervision

Yamal is the huge peninsula after which the whole region is named.

1

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Methodology and Interpretation for most of the year. Yamal–Nenets herding is considered the best preserved form of reindeer nomadism on the planet.

The researchers working in the project are based at the Arctic Centre in Rovaniemi, which has a long history of collaboration with northern indigenous people and a good reputation among the Nenets and Sámi. The anthropology research team recruited for the ORHELIA project includes researchers with longstanding contacts and experience in the North. Expertise in northern indigenous livelihoods is of crucial importance in this project, which will contain long term fieldwork among nomadic and semi–nomadic reindeer herders. People with a long history of colonial exploitation, enabled not least by scientific research, are cautious about every newcomer with the plan to inquire or research the natives. Only in close cooperation with local partners and with the ability to build up rapport and even friendship with reindeer herding families are we able to reach the domains of cultural intimacy (Herzfeld 1997) that are crucial for our endeavour.

Besides linguistic competence, the researchers must show competence in the peculiarities of local history, which is not so well explored by historians. The result is a very multicultural group of researchers with life background as diverse as Yakutia, western Siberia, European Russia, Sicily, Great Britain, Germany, and Finland.

The story of the origin of ORHELIA and the idea of the co–production of oral history The idea for this project arose long ago, when the anthropologist Florian Stammler, the project leader, met Pupta Pudanasevich Yamal and his wife in their nomad tent on the Yamal peninsula in western Siberia in 2001. As they told their life story, their grandchildren could not believe how much they had gone through. They then asked if Stammler could record more of such history to bring some of this wealth of memory to the younger people. Obviously, the foreign guest with his tape recorder was the catalyst to inspire historical storytelling in the family. But the anthropologist among reindeer herders was also

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Methodology and Interpretation constantly asked about the living conditions and experiences of other reindeer herding groups he visited; northern indigenous people show a great interest in similar livelihoods around the Arctic. So it was no wonder that the idea of a project to collect oral history, to compare the historical experiences of neighbouring groups, and to use scientific work to facilitate the transmission of historical knowledge was born.

Collecting oral history seems so easy if people just tell thrilling stories about the past and the anthropologist has nothing more to do than push the “record” button. That seems to be all about oral history.

Somebody gives first–hand testimony about events in the past and the researcher produces a text by transcribing the recorded story. These testimonies could then be used, of course, with a necessary critique of sources and historical evidence, just like other written or material historical sources.

Early researchers of oral traditions like Jan Vansina (Vansina 1965) fought for the recognition of oral history as an equal valid historical source beside traditional historical sources (against, for instance, Lowie 1915). In anthropology it took a long way to recognise that oral cultures transmit some valid historical knowledge against the opinion of such powerful authorities like Malinowski or Radcliff Brown (cited in Cruikshank 1990, 52).

It is ironic that nowadays historical documentaries use eyewitness reports as the ultimate guarantor of authenticity and historical truth. But the everyday conception of historical testimony by eyewitnesses is misleading even if this concept is used again and again in historytainment in popular TV. The emancipation of oral history seems a pyrrhic victory. If one would try to collect oral testimonies as they are presented in TV documentaries, one would probably fail already with the first interview.

Such interviews are artistically staged and highly edited performances to evoke the authenticity of an eyewitness.

I would like to come back to my initial story to develop a model for our understanding of oral history in the context of the communities we are working with. Of course, the situation in the nomads’ tent with the anthropologist asking, the elders talking, and the younger

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Methodology and Interpretation generation listening is quite an idealised situation. In most of the cases we find ourselves alone with some elder beside the kitchen table recording sad stories about broken families or youngsters who send their grandmothers away when they want to chat because grannies have no clue about what’s going on in the life of the younger generations. In other situations the elders are hardly able to get their memory working and their children are telling what their parents, due to partial amnesia, can only confirm with a nod. But all of these situations, even the refusal to tell something, have something in common: they are acts of communication. And there are different actors involved in the occurrence of the story. In its folk etymology, the term “history” suggests that it is always his–story, the story of somebody.2 But, the real etymology of the word reveals an origin that is linked to the process of knowledge transmission; in Greek “historia” means learning or knowing by inquiry.

I therefore see oral history as a co–production of stories with different people involved: the one who asks, the one who tells, and the one who listens. This involvement of different actors reminds me of the way Roland Barthes sees the operator (photographer), the spectator of the picture, and the spectrum (the depicted person or thing) as co– producers of a photograph (Barthes 1981). There, the communication through the lens of the camera and the paper–print let a meaningful picture occur. Obviously, good photography needs more than just the skills of the photographer, and a picture tells more than the message the photographer had in mind when he or she released the shutter. The same is true for a told story: the text knows more than the author (Müller 1994, 257). What is true for written stories is all the more true for the spoken performance. Here I can also refer to Bakhtin’s understanding of multivocality, in which he writes about Dostojevsky’s novel that “is constructed not as the whole of a single consciousness, absorbing other consciousnesses as objects into itself, but as a whole formed by the interaction of several consciousnesses, none of which entirely becomes an object for the other” (Bakhtin 1984, 18).

That history is always written from the perspective of somebody is illustrated by Brecht’s poem “Questions From a Worker Who Reads “Who Built Thebes of the Seven Gates?”” (Brecht 1976).

2

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Methodology and Interpretation What I am aiming at with my work is not only to grasp and to analyse the multiplicity of voices that could be present in the stories I document. This polyphony can be easily lost and reduced to a linear consistent narrative that would serve the task to illustrate a single and in most of the cases the official meaning of an historical event or experience, sanctioned by powerful social institutions. Using the example of Clifford Shaw’s “The Jack–Roller: A Deliquent Boy’s Own Story” (1930/1966) (cited after Chambon 1995, 126), Adrienne S. Chambon explained that a life story can easily be reduced to a single plot line with a simplified narrative structure, corresponding to “the institutional markers of Stanley’s criminal career as documented in official records of arrests, commitments to residential homes, jail sentences, and the use of probation services” (Chambon 1995, 127). This could lead to the trap of “the biographical illusion” (Bourdieu 2000) and unintentionally produce stories according to an official legitimised and hegemonic perception of a biography as a coherent, consecutive, and logical evolution of a single consistent personality.

From my point of view there are several conclusions to be drawn.

First of all, if we understand our role as participants in the process of communicating oral history correctly, we have the obligation to foster the multivocality already in the way storytelling is performed instead of searching for one single historical truth or detaching the story from the performance as a transcribed text.

But this also means to learn a good bit of the context in which the stories are embedded. The conversation mentioned above seemed to happen only in the round conical nomads’ tent with the family and the anthropologist present. But one should not forget that the tent was not located in a vacuum. Communication is embedded in a social world embracing the native communities as well as state controlled educational institutions and mass media. The storyteller has in his mind (and in his story) the voices of his ancestors and contemporary witnesses of past events as well as the scientific discourse he is anticipating in the anthropologist. Oral history is a history built around people. It circles around three basic entities: the individual life, the family (and their ancestors – the time dimension), and the village (locality and environment – the spatial dimension) (Thompson 2000).

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Methodology and Interpretation The individual story of one’s own biography involves a cultural distinctive construction of the self and ideas about agency that are collectively and socially framed (Maynes, Pierce, and Laslett 2008).

This means that the researcher must learn to distinguish the voices available in the field, because not all of them are easily understandable; some of the voices are whispering, some are even hiding.

There exists something like an “official collective memory” (Wertsch 2002) and official historical narratives. The layers of oral history, often interwoven, contain official and informal, hegemonic and marginal, dominant and subordinated versions and interpretations of history.

The researcher must understand the collective memory of the community, the common sense of the storyteller’s social group, and the pool of stereotypes, motives, and conventions the storyteller has access to (Wertsch 2002, 16). Different “defining communities” (Hønneland 2010) are available in the social field the narrator and the listeners are acting in. People have the ability to relate to different reference frames of meaning; they are even able to use different benchmarks of identification, refer to different lifestyles, and switch between languages. And historical knowledge is sometimes distributed in the community like complementary skills among the crew of a ship (Wertsch 2002).

The only methodology I believe is able to provide the researcher with the needed cultural sensitivity to grasp the meaning the stories make for the listeners in a given cultural context is the anthropological fieldwork method of participant observation. This method requires participation not only in the initial phase to build up rapport, but also allows for part–time immersion into the social context to learn the skills needed in order to hear, to pose the right questions, and to understand the context of actions and performances.

The anthropological researcher is then able to become a middleman and even an accomplice, a political ally, who can be used for the manipulation of the official forms of representation of indigenous people as exotic subjects in the ethnic hierarchy of society. Native public performance aims at gaining respect of differences, recognition of status and identity, and legitimation of the claims of the marginalised reindeer herders. We must interpret even the very individual

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Methodology and Interpretation wish that something of the personal memory should be documented and archived somewhere either in Europe or in the local museum as a wish that life should matter for society. Telling a story is representing oneself; the deprivation of official recognition of social identity or misrepresentation is often expressed in the feelings of uncertainty that appear in connection with the documentation of life histories. People had to learn that legitimacy and competence in representing their lives is claimed by specialists – teachers, museum workers, scientists, politicians – and their understandable reaction was withdrawal in the situation of powerlessness. They build up a boundary, where knowledge is kept secret and only partially submitted in the form of officially recognised folklore forms. These staged versions of identity have a double face – cementing the marginalised status as the exotic other but also trying to ensure the indigenous status for making political claims of exclusive access to resources.

I can generally allocate different interests or needs to the three groups involved in the encounter at the occasion of transmission of oral history. I am coming back here to the scheme developed above of the encounter of the elders, the anthropologist, and the younger generation. In the following, I will draw my first conclusions from the initial phase of fieldwork among the European Nenets in February 2012.

The old people were interested, first of all, in the bare fact of telling their personal stories. They wanted to present themselves and their lives to others. They complained a lot about the reluctance of the younger generation to communicate with them and the lack of interest in their stories and in the history of the community in general. But there were also complaints about the reluctance of their grandparents to let them hear their stories in the old days. Their elders, they told, sent the children away when they were telling stories among themselves. But, in contrast to the present day, the children then seemed to be more curious about knowledge that was hidden from them. The stories of the elders evolved around the unusual and remarkable, things that stick out of the everyday. Exceptional misery or fun, the traumatic interference of state institutions, resistance against the institutions, or the legitimation of the powers in charge as well as the legitimation of one’s own aspirations and claims lie behind the motivation to tell

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Methodology and Interpretation life events. It was clear that tragedies or events of over–individual importance, such as the war, appeared often in these stories.

The younger generation was interested, first of all, in stories that matter for the present day, that are somehow relevant for them to gain pride or legitimation or material for identification. Another significant motivation, and maybe the main motivation, for listening to the stories of the elders is just entertainment. Remarkable stories and stories about the unusual, the exotic, or the tragic are appealing for listeners.

By listening to such stories, they can ensure their own normality in contrast to the abnormal, the transgression of rules and normality.

But our interest as researchers is again different from both of these groups. We search first of all for material for scientific analysis and, in this case, for the understanding of peculiarities and similarities in the historical experiences of the groups under research. We are looking for stories that would shed light on the relationship of the people with state agents and institutions. We are looking for collective experiences in individual stories and for the ways these experiences are shared. And, last but not least, we try to understand how all these different interests intermingle in the process of storytelling, when, together with their recollections, people also transmit their different needs. How is multivocality produced in the told stories? Everybody involved has an idea about what the others think is of importance for the conversation and reacts accordingly. There is no way for even the researcher to hide his plans because people will force him to make sense of his presence in the given context.

At this early stage, I can already provide some conclusions about the way the anthropologist can gain rapport in the northern communities. An important task is to become part of the informal networks that are built on trust, but to also ensure the trust that is needed to be included quite quickly in the social world, the cultural intimacy of the people. The main role played already existing connections to common friends, mostly colleagues who were already working in the region and with whom people have built up trust. No less important is to explain the scientific endeavour in such a way that people can understand the practical value for their communities of the results of the research.

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Methodology and Interpretation A crucial aspect of a fruitful relationship proved to be not only the ensuring of a material return in the form of the results of the project, but the physical return of the researcher himself or herself. The people have experienced many foreigners coming and going and getting quite superficial impressions about life in the indigenous settlements or taking data and producing scientific knowledge about which the people have no idea. Just coming back after an initial informal tea drinking and getting to know each other another day for a proper interview proves that the researcher is not one of those kind of researchers who just drops by, asks silly questions, and leaves. Several periods of fieldwork over the following years will capitalise on that effect.

When going beyond the stage of a superficial encounter, one must overcome a serious obstacle experienced by everyone doing interviews in the former Soviet Union, namely, the problem of how to overcome the official discourse when a foreigner is present. A similar problem is avoiding the hierarchy of perceived historical competence that is associated with the researcher as a scientist. Both make people fall silent who do not feel competent in giving an official legitimated version of the past. Several times, when asking people whether I could record their life stories for an oral history project, they replied to me that their lives had no connection to history and that they did not think they would have anything worthy to tell me. I learned to avoid the term “history” completely and tried to ensure that I was interested in their personal experiences and life circumstances. It was important to evoke the feeling of competence and legitimation in some interview partners, who were first reluctant but then proved to be the most important interlocutors. This was only possible due to the proof that the researcher was able to understand the context of a reindeer herder’s experiences and that he had competence in the lifestyle himself.

The subsequent conversations were always an exchange of stories. The interlocutors did not only demand an explanation of the scientific outcome and of the practical relevance of the researchers’ work but were also interested in the personal experiences of the researcher among northern indigenous groups. Some just wanted to exchange information about the lives of their neighbours for purposes of comparison. In this context it is also of utmost importance to prove that

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Methodology and Interpretation one can handle sensitive information accordingly and remain confidential about certain topics. People wish to ensure that certain knowledge gained in the realm of intimate spaces should not be transmitted beyond its borders. In this context, questions about immediate neighbours can be used as a test for the reliability of the researcher.

To understand the communication process as an exchange of stories means to also be prepared to present one’s own life story and that of one’s ancestors to one’s informants.

Some of the interview partners needed a period of silence to dig up deeply buried memories, and often the interesting stories moved to the surface only after a certain time of silent contemplation without the posing of any questions. But the cultural meaning of silence differs, and the researcher must be aware of the specific ways of communication. He or she must gain competence in the skills of politeness and discretion in the given culture. But the research must not be afraid of making mistakes if they are not too grave. Researchers often learn the most about a culture’s different understanding of the rules of communication by the blunders they commit.

The way people remember differs individually. It is an art to let the interview partner find his or her own pathways to memory and his or her own way down to the bottom of the remembered past. Visual material in the form of photographs presented during the interviews proved very useful in this sense. Photographs help people remember certain people, often relatives, and the places that the life of the interlocutor was bound with. There is a great amount of literature in visual anthropology derived from the pure production of visual materials about native people through studying the cultural practices linked with visual material to the point of using visual production as a way of collaboration with indigenous people facilitating in this way new entry points for interpretation. The documentation of old photographs in private collections and local museums as well as the production of audio–visual materials is therefore not only important for the possible outcome and dissemination of results of my work. I use these materials during the actual research process for the elicitation of the oral history I document.

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Methodology and Interpretation Another important medium to facilitate the mnemonic process proved to be geographical maps. Maps allow imagined travel and in this way the remembering of events linked to places. In contrast to urban cultures, landscape is the most important mnemonic device for historical memory in livelihoods based on nature use. As Julie Cruikshank has mentioned, points in space in the form of place names are often more important than points in time in the form of dates (Cruikshank 1990).

Collaboration with indigenous communities From the above mentioned the methodological conclusion can be drawn that our work is not possible without close collaboration with partners from the indigenous communities. This is especially important for the dissemination phase of the results of the project. There are no ready–made ethical guidelines for how do deal with material received in the sphere of cultural and personal intimacy. The way the collected and archived oral history should be presented must be negotiated according to the ethical standards of the people involved individually as well as collectively. Researchers are obliged to take into account the intellectual property rights of indigenous people not because they ensure any material revenues, but because they defend the cultural sovereignty of communities threatened by processes of exoticisation and commodification.

But we must be aware that, especially in Russia, there are no independent and representative bodies that could fully represent the indigenous communities. Local associations of indigenous people are nevertheless important partners. They function today as gate–keepers but also help us to solve many practical and logistical problems in remote communities on the fringes of Europe. At the end of the project we will jointly develop publicly available oral history materials that should serve the needs of the native communities. At the present stage, we have already collected existing forms of public dissemination of ethnographic material involving oral history and discussed it with our partners. Certain trends and tendencies can already be

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Methodology and Interpretation summarised. Geographical maps seem to be a very appealing way to organise material. They allow the linking of the toponymy of indigenous groups, which is something like their intellectual footprint in the landscape, with stories about the past. Photography also seems to be an indispensable part of published oral history materials in northern communities. We assume that visual material can help to overcome the obstacle of a lack of the actual verbal performance of the story teller and his or her ability to evoke vivid pictures in the imagination of the public. Photographs can help to associate the stories with images of the people involved in them and let the story tellers be the owners of the stories or the people appearing in the stories.

A third point to mention here is the growing importance of new media in northern indigenous communities. Many families, including reindeer nomads, own DVD–players and personal computers or notebooks and a growing number of them have access to the Internet.

An important question will be how to gain funding for popular forms of dissemination of oral history materials. Funding of scientific work requires the publication of scientific articles but does not include the much more demanding and labor–intensive preparation of Internet materials and popular literature.

Thematic fields of inquiry As a first step, and accompanying the initial phase of fieldwork, we tried to identify thematic fields of historical inquiry common for all four indigenous groups involved in the project. In face of the long–lasting discussion about the relationship of history as a discipline and oral history, and considering our phenomenological approach, one could wonder if we do not introduce a ready–made and official concept of history to people whose experience of history supposedly deviates from the official textbook version of history. For a long time scientific discussion was preoccupied with the question of whether oral history records and oral tradition is a reliable historical source or not. Now, of course, we acknowledge the importance of indigenous perspectives and their authentic voices even for the writing of official history textbooks. The recognition of the historical perspective of groups that

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Methodology and Interpretation were ignored by classical historiography was an important motor for oral history studies. I think that questioning the value of indigenous accounts on history is obsolete and nobody refers to a reified history approach anymore, but the question of reliability and bias occurs again and again. An important evaluator of the reliability of told stories is the public, the communities the stories are told for and which have the competence and power to sanction them. This is again a reason why I consider the anthropological method of participant observation a prerequisite for research, which allows us to navigate in the practices of representation of oral history in the given society.

Before shortly introducing the present version of our thematic fields, I will try to provide some reasons for developing them. First of all, even before our fieldwork, we had to acquire knowledge about the geography, the settlement history, and the colonisation process of the corresponding regions in order to enter into conversions with local partners and to prove our competence in understanding what people speak about.

Keeping in mind our aim to compare the oral history of the four regions, it was then natural for us to use our background knowledge about historical processes to build up a framework for comparison.

We will encounter a broad variety of stories in the field and the common thematic framework should lead us to collect a certain amount of stories about common themes.

Another function of the outline of fields of inquiry is to help us to keep in mind the broad variety of developments, innovations, and elements of the colonising process. Many things are so obvious and trivial for the local people that they hardly often reflect on them. Everybody is, for instance, aware of the revolutionising effect of the introduction of snowmobiles or mobile phones on the lifestyle of reindeer herders, but no one hardly ever mentions, for instance, the no less important introduction of rubber boots as summer footwear.

To conceptualise our thematic fields to compare the relationship of indigenous communities with the influence of the state, I use the threefold character of colonial policy in the North itself. The process of establishing political power was accompanied by changes in local economies to incorporate them into the economy of the empire and by

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Methodology and Interpretation interventions to try to change the worldview of the indigenous people.

These three steps of integration can be observed in the policy of the Russian Empire before the Revolution, but they were repeated by the Soviet Union to establish its power in the North.

What unites, first of all, the four groups and almost all people we have insofar recorded are the experiences of dislocation and resettlement. The Sįmi in Finland and Russia as well as the Nenets on both sides of the Ural Mountains experienced the loss of settlements several times in the 20th century. The Soviet past includes several waves of reorganisation of the administrative and economic structures, which were accompanied by the merging of settlements, the formation of collective farms, and the liquidation of supply for remote outposts.

Economic integration into the Soviet economy was aimed, first of all, at the destruction of traditional forms of ownership with the consequence of the expropriation of private reindeer herders. But reindeer were confiscated at various times during the 20th century. The fact that the majority of reindeer in Russia are now in private hands of herders again proves the failure of that policy, which nevertheless had a different effect in different regions.

This policy of economic change took quite violent forms when it came to the persecution and repression of so–called kulaks, supposedly extraordinarily rich reindeer herders who were often sentenced with confiscation and deportation to distant places if not killed. Religious specialists, so–called shamans, or people accused of being such faced the same kind of persecution as “enemies of the people”. Their repression was part of the ideological integration of northern indigenous people encompassing also the introduction of compulsory school education and Soviet cultural institutions.

Almost all indigenous people in the Russian North remember the boarding school as an important experience in their childhood but with varying evaluations, especially if it resulted in language loss. Educators also had different approaches to markers of ethnic difference such as language, clothing, and food.

The Soviet Union established a broad range of cultural and educational institutions aimed at ideological incorporation into the Soviet

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Methodology and Interpretation system. The ways these institutions were locally adopted and adapted varies. The “Red Tent” for the nomads and the “House of Culture” in the village introduced cinema and other public cultural forms to the reindeer herders.

Official celebrations were introduced to replace former religious feasts and rituals. Besides the political holidays such as the “Day of Victory” and “May Day” (May 1st), there was also the official celebration of reindeer herding on the occasion of the “Day of the Reindeer Herder”.

As one form of reaction we know of several instances of open resistance against Soviet policy in the form of uprisings and open protest that were usually brutally suppressed. More widespread were tactics of evasion and avoidance. A whole group of Nenets reindeer herders succeeded in disappearing from the official accounts and lived unregistered and almost untouched until the end of the Soviet Union in the northern Ural region.

Some religious rituals were practised secretly, but the traditional religion and belief system changed seriously due to the repression as well as the forms of Christianity that were introduced during the Russian Empire. Memories about them are nevertheless still strong and important for the indigenous communities.

World War II was an important historical turning point in the 20th century for all indigenous people. Reindeer herders from all the regions under study were already involved in the Winter War between the Soviet Union and Finland. During this time reindeer transport and the skills of reindeer herders were used for the first time in modern warfare.

Later, on the Murmansk front, the Soviet army established specialised reindeer transport troops to fight the Germans under Arctic conditions.

But native people also witnessed the theatre of war on the Barents Sea and were used to produce supplies for the front lines, resulting in consequences for the local economy but also for traditional gender roles.

The traditional kinship system underwent changes as the forms of travel in search of brides and establishing marriage ties changed.

Some forms of internal leadership survived but underwent considerable change, together with customary law, when it interfered with the newly introduced state law.

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Methodology and Interpretation All regions in which we do research were affected by the processes of industrialisation due to subsurface resource extraction. The Kola Peninsula underwent industrialisation already in Stalinist times and the oil and gas industry arrived in the Nenets tundra only in the 1970s and 1980s. Indigenous people have varying experiences with encounters with industrial workers and geologists. They learned to recycle material left by the industry for their own purposes, but they also had to deal with a lot of destructive effects of its presence.

Economic change also took place in the kolkhozes and in the traditional economy, which was meant to be industrialised and commodified to become more productive. Cattle and horse breeding were introduced together with hay making to feed them during the long winters.

Fur farms were established as well as new forms of fishing. Nomadic reindeer herding was changed in several regions by sedentarising the families of the herders and transferring the pastures from a living environment to a male workspace.

Together with the economic changes, many innovations and changes in infrastructure appreared as well. Mobility underwent drastic changes with the new means of transportation and the new roads established. Clothing and housing underwent changes with the introduction of new materials and commodities. The state organised the supply of outposts with trade goods as well as heating and building materials and effected indigenous livelihoods changed over time.

Summary The focus of my collaborative and comparative project to document the oral history of four indigenous groups in the Barents Sea region is to explore their specific historical experience of their relationship with the state and to uncover indigenous perspectives through oral story telling. I believe that the anthropological fieldwork methodology of participant observation is the only way to build up a relationship between scientists and indigenous communities, which enable researchers to not only document oral history but also to understand it.

I understand the process of oral history storytelling as a co–production between the storyteller, the researcher, and the younger generation.

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Methodology and Interpretation For the purpose of interpretation of the told stories, it is important to acknowledge the different needs and strategies of the people involved in this process. I introduce the concept of multivocality, which should be not only discovered and recognised in the stories, but must be facilitated to avoid the pitfalls of the official discourse about the self, biography, and history. Oral history should be understood as a form of communication inside society that is influenced by the culturally specific communication practices, which must also be revealed in the research. Our task is to develop specific techniques to facilitate the process of remembering, storytelling, and presenting oral history in written form. Visual material and representations of the landscape in the form of maps or toponymy seem crucial here. To accomplish our project, we need to establish close collaboration with the indigenous communities we are working with. At the end of the paper I introduce our endeavour to develop a common thematic field of inquiry. This is an on–going process, beginning with state policies to integrate indigenous people into the empire, but we will adjust it after every period of fieldwork and constantly enrich it with indigenous perspectives.

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References Bakhtin, M. M. Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics. Ed. Caryl Emerson. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984. 333 p.

Barthes, R. Camera Lucida: reflections on photography. New York: Hill and Wang, 1981.

119 p.

Bourdieu, P. The Biographical Illusion. In: Identity: A Reader. Ed. by Paul du Gay, Jessica Evans, and Peter Redman. London; Thousand Oaks, Calif.: SAGE Publications, 2000, pp. 297–303.

Brecht, B. Poems 1913–1956. Ed. John Willet and Ralph Manheim. New York: Methuen, 1976, 627 p.

Chambon, A. S. Life History as Dialogical Activity: “If You Ask Me the Right Questions, I Could Tell You”. Current Sociology. 1995, Vol. 43 (2), pp. 125–135.

Cruikshank, J. Getting the Words Right: Perspectives on Naming and Places in Athapaskan Oral History. Arctic Anthropology. 1990, Vol. 27 (1), pp. 52–65.

Herzfeld, Mi. Cultural Intimacy: Social Poetics in the Nation–State. New York: Routledge, 1997. 226 p.

Hønneland, G. Borderland Russians: Identity, Narrative, and International Relations.

Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire; New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010.

174 p.

Lowie, R. H. Oral Tradition and History. American Anthropologist. 1915, Vol. 17 (3), pp. 597–599.

Maynes, M. J., Pierce J. L., Laslett, B. Telling Stories: The Use of Personal Narratives in the Social Sciences and History. Ithaca: Cornell Univ Press, 2008. 186 p.

Müller, H. Krieg Ohne Schlacht: Leben in Zwei Diktaturen: Eine Autobiographie. Koln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1994. 504 p.

Thompson, P. R. The Voice of the Past. 3rd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.

368 p.

Vansina, J. Oral Tradition: a Study in Historical Methodology. London: Routledge & Paul, 1965. 226 p.

Wertsch, J. V. Voices of Collective Remembering. Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002. 202 p.

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Maarja Merivoo–Parro Oral History as Source and Methodology: Aspects of Multidirectional Communication The paradigm shifts that oral history as both theory and practice has gone over the last 60 years (Perks & Thomson 2006) have transformed it into a quotidian element of historical research at large. Its protagonists have even argued that, as a tool, oral history is the “most important single method of historical research� (Joyner 1979). Its potency has also been recognized outside the realm of practitioners.

For example, in his treatment of postmodernism and history, Willie Thompson ascertains that historians who have opted not to interview live witnesses of the events and processes under investigation ought to be criticized for their lack of proper action (Thompson 2004). This being said, oral history both as a source for historical analysis and a methodology of obtaining information for creating said sources is intrinsically loaded with a set of unique controversies that can be generalized as problems pertaining to the realm of communication.

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Informants never lie It is obvious that what makes oral history testimonies so unique is the fact that there is a certain agency to them, because more often than not they are “deliberately created solely for historical purposes” (Starr 1977). However, as Alessandro Portelli has famously pointed out, “false” is not a category that can be used to diagnose the malaise of oral history work – there are simply no wrong answers. Oral history is about meaning, and subjectivity is what empowers the manifold perspectives that it can help seek and find (Portelli 1979). Perhaps a telling way of rethinking oral history would be to divorce the notion of proof from evidence. Whereas the former pertains to the interviewee’s deliberate agenda that can be heard in the testimony by everyone, the latter is a realm of resources that can only be tapped into after careful consideration of the historical and socio–cultural context, the mundane aspects of the interview situation itself and active conscientious listening to the informant. Charles Joyner would agree, having stated that “informants never lie to a good historian (although they may try to); they just reveal the truth in some unique ways” (Joyner 1979).

78 The matrix of meaning Agency is of course nothing unique to the interviewee, being even more so recognizable in the activity of the interviewer. It is widely recognized that the oral historian responsible for the interview process is not a mere bystander in the creation of the narrative the informant utters, but a participant of everything caught on tape and subsequently transcribed into a text. Peter Friedlander has gone so far as to suggest that both parties of the interview are essential to the creation and thus also the interpretation of any historical facts within the matrix of meaning that he delineates as the manner in which they came to be (Friedlander 1975). For Portelli, oral history’s inherent diversity of perspectives is a product of the confrontation1 between different partialities (Portelli 1979). Arguably, this unique dynamic is what gives oral history its discursive energy.

Here, confrontation stands both for conflict and a search for unity.

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Aural becomes written Any researcher who has ever embarked on a study that involves oral history in any form will have undoubtedly pondered the question of ethical conduct – it is imperative that ethnographic disclosure does not transform into a form of surveillance (De Genova 2002). There are different schools of thought about the level of direct engagement the interviewer ought to have, the nature of the questions she should ask, etc. Whether one advocates (quasi–) objective nonintervention or an openly subjective interrogative model as the main method of operation within the context of the interview, what happens to the aural information post factum is an issue in which all members of the oral history ensemble can be argued to have a stake. When it comes to transcribing, things are relatively simple. There either does or does not exist a need to exclude or time–lock something in the narrative and, although hypothetically and actually there can be rather difficult cases (see Fry 1975), the options and actions of the oral history creator or curator are relatively well founded within the pool of good practices, codes of ethics, and sometimes even contracts.

The case of the researcher, however, is somewhat more complex.

When writing an account on history and basing even some of the argumentation upon oral sources, the question of ethics will quickly prevail, often in liaison with the privilege or obligation to provide informants with (a certain level of or complete) anonymity within the text corps and/or list of sources (Jessee 2011). The problem is that there exists a certain discrepancy regarding when anonymity is expected and when it is allowed. On the one hand, when putting the informant’s interests first it is obvious that anonymity is a prerequisite of any and all writings on the subject that might harm them in any way – thus, it is expected. On the other hand, when the subject matter is not objectively evaluated as a sensitive one, then a researcher’s decision to provide anonymity for the sake of the informants can produce serious repercussions. Thus, it can be said that aural sources that are contextualized and treated as oral history have a large impact on the written word and even go so far as to determine the nature and content of any publication connected with the research. Moreover, to a certain

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Methodology and Interpretation degree, oral history may even determine the reception of the research and consequently guide further treatment of a subject or further academic actions and aspirations of a researcher. In her efforts to protect the informant, the researcher can become a target herself, or in other words – when aural becomes written, the vulnerability of the informant can transform into the vulnerability of the researcher.

Performing communication The quest to find a golden mean between just enough communication to get the message through to interested audiences and less than would compromise the integrity of informants or the community they have been chosen to represent is essentially a question that permeates all layers of the realm of oral history. When recognizing the symmetry of input within the context of an interview, it is only natural to export the notion of symmetry elsewhere as well. It is common practice for oral historians to either draw up a contract with their informant or consult regularly on a need basis about the status, utilization, maintenance, and future of the interviews created together, which in no uncertain terms suggests the potential for mutual rights to tapes and transcripts. This reality, joined by the practice of asking informants to read and correct (!) written transcripts gives way to a type of multi–directional communication that has received relatively little attention in mainstream oral history discourse. A rare but nevertheless possible result of this process can bring about a turning of the tables through which the researcher with her questions, disposition, strategies, and actions becomes the subject of not only self–reflection, but also rigorous analysis from her interview–partner leading to surprising and potentially enlightening results.

Conclusion There is a myriad of different ways in which one can utilize oral history – from treating it as a factual data pool or encompassing it in an argument of a wider historical interpretation, to questioning the very notions and narratives naturalized by the building blocks upon

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Methodology and Interpretation which our view of the world is constructed. The palette of possibilities is colorful and vast, but not without its unique pitfalls. The Scylla and Charybdis inhabiting the dire straits a researcher can find herself in are the often conflicting notions of informant well–being and researcher credibility that are independently easy to adhere to, but in combination may on occasion create impossible situations. The fact that oral history as a source and oral history as methodology both need to constantly deal with the multi–layered question of what gets communicated to whom, where, and why makes them moving targets both from a practical and an epistemological perspective.

This article is connected to the grant ETF 9066 “Etniline ja rahvuslik eesti diasporaakogukondades”

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References De Genova, N. P. Migrant “illegality” and deportability in everyday life. Annual Review of Anthropology. 2002, Vol. 31, pp. 419–447.

Friedlander, P. Theory, method and oral history (1975). In: Oral history. An interdisciplinary anthology. 2nd ed. Ed. by David K. Dunaway, Willa K. Baum.

Walnut Creek: AltaMira press, 1996, pp.150–160.

Fry, A. Reflections on Ethics (1975). In: Oral history. An interdisciplinary anthology. 2nd ed. Ed. by David K. Dunaway, Willa K. Baum. Walnut Creek: AltaMira press, 1996, pp.161–172.

Jessee, E. The limits of oral history: ethics and methodology amid highly politicized research settings. The Oral History Review. 2011, Vol. 38 (2), pp. 287–307.

Joyner, C. Oral history as communicative event (1979). In: Oral history. An interdisciplinary anthology. 2nd ed. Ed. by David K. Dunaway, Willa K. Baum.

Walnut Creek: AltaMira press, 1996, pp.292–297.

Oral history. An interdisciplinary anthology. 2nd ed. Ed. by David K. Dunaway, Willa K. Baum. Walnut Creek: AltaMira press, 1996. 432 p.

Portelli, A. What makes oral history different (1979). In: Oral history. An interdisciplinary anthology. 2nd ed. Ed. by David K. Dunaway, Willa K. Baum. Walnut Creek: AltaMira press, 1996, pp. 32–42.

Starr, L. Oral history (1977). In: Oral history. An interdisciplinary anthology. 2nd ed. Ed.

by David K. Dunaway, Willa K. Baum. Walnut Creek: AltaMira press, 1996. pp. 39–61.

The oral history reader. 2nd ed. Ed. by Robert Perks and Alistair Thomson. 2006.

London; New York: Routledge, 2006. 578 p.

Thompson, P. The voice of the past. 3rd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000.

368 p.

Thompson, W. Postmodernism and history. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004.

161 p.

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Ieva Garda–Rozenberga Life Story and Dialectics of Folklore Genre The biographical method, in which the researcher listens to an individual’s narrative about himself/herself and his/her life (in other words, his/her life story), is being used more and more often as one of the forms of reference in humanities and social sciences research regarding collective memory, the Latvian way of life, cultural history, and identity self–references.

A narrative of a person’s life and what he/she has experienced is a complicated, intriguing, and exciting process for both the narrator as well as the listener because the narrator has most likely never before told such a narrative of his/her experiences in life story form to anyone before the researcher’s arrival. The social contact between the narrator and listener is an important aspect of the creation of the story because the questions asked during the interview and the reaction to these questions influence both the content of the life story as well as the

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Methodology and Interpretation way in which it is told (Harring 1972; Clements 1980; Briggs 1986).

But the life story is something more than just a conversation between two people. A biographical interview is a communicative event that is in large part structured by the belonging of the listener and narrator to specific cultural traditions, the presence of which determine the pace and sequence of the narrative event as well as influence the language of the narrative and the choice of events included in the narrative (Bela–Krūmiņa 2004). That is to say, when creating a new, personal story, a narrator often uses already recognised models, texts, strategies, and even genres from his/her culture. As a result, the study of the intertextual nature of an oral history narrative becomes increasingly significant.

The article introduces listeners to Anna Eciņa (born 1914) – a narrator included in one of the collections within the National Oral History archive, and focuses on how Eciņa makes use of narrative models recognised in the culture when transforming her experiences into a story.

Anna Eciņa was born in 1914 in Jūrkalne; and she was 88 years old at the time of her interview. Even though Eciņa was bedridden and her hearing was poor, she gladly agreed to the interview. She begins the story of her life with an account of her childhood in which she reveals that her father was conscripted into the army and sent to the front lines, leaving her mother alone with the children. As a result, the narrator’s story about her childhood mainly revolves around descriptions of living in poverty. Eciņa remembers having to borrow nicer clothes from relatives every time the family had to look presentable, for example, when the minister came to visit. She and her siblings could not go outside in the winter because they had no coats or footwear. One time she wanted to go sledding so badly that she went outside in her bare feet and then caught a very bad chill.

Because the family was so poor, Eciņa began working as a shepherd and maid for other families while still very young. Living conditions only improved after she got married and she and her husband settled into their own house and farm. But this feeling of security did not last long, because her husband was arrested in 1941. He was sent to the concentration camp in Salaspils and later to the Stutthof

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Methodology and Interpretation camp in Germany, where he died. Even though Eciņa remembers her husband’s arrest as the biggest tragedy of her life, she does not wish to speak much about those events and how they influenced her subsequent life. We find out about this time in Eciņa’s life from the life story told by her daughter, Marija. Marija remembers the family falling into poverty again after her father’s arrest because her mother was left alone with three children to care for and a fourth one on the way.

They had to leave their home and the children could no longer attend school because the family lacked money, clothing, and food. Anna Eciņa earned some money by weaving.

A few years later Eciņa married a second time and life seemed to regain some sense of order. But tragedy struck the family once again due to the arrest and deportation to Siberia of Eciņa’s second husband in 1949. There is little information about the course of Eciņa’s life afterwards; all that is known is that Eciņa worked in the forestry sector after the war. All in all, the fate of one inhabitant of a small district during the turbulent 20th century is revealed in Eciņa’s stories about a difficult childhood, life and work in the homes of others, and the subsequent tragedies involving her husbands, all of which resulted in a life dominated by loneliness.

The interview with Eciņa took place in 2002 in her home in Jūrkalne during field work organised by the National Oral History archive and the Faculty of Philology of the University of Latvia. Eciņa was suggested for an interview by her daughter, who also supported the interviewers (two students from the University of Liepāja) by introducing them to narrators and often also serving as a mediator or even one of the interviewers herself.

At the beginning of the interview it seems Marija has asked her mother to tell about certain stages in her life, especially daily life and her experiences working for others. For this reason Eciņa’s life story is one of the most thorough and most detailed stories in the National Oral History archive collection, delving into and seemingly bringing the listener right into life on a farm in the 1920–1930s. However, as opposed to other stories, which usually depict an idealised version of country life, Eciņa focuses on the relationships between servants, labourers, and their employers. In addition, Eciņa does not tell only

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Methodology and Interpretation about herself, but also about things her friends, acquaintances, and even strangers experienced. She tells about stingy employers who forbid their maid to eat in the evening because lunch ought to be enough; about the mistress who always laughed at her maids; and also, of course, about very resourceful maids – most often the narrator herself – who always knew how to escape safely or achieve what they intended. Such stories about working for others make up the majority of the interview; Eciņa devotes only a couple of minutes to the post– war period of her life and her marriages. The voice of Eciņa’s daughter can be heard once more at the end of the interview, when she asks her mother whether she has told about such–and–such an incident from the time when she was working as a maid – favourite family stories, apparently – and also asks her mother to tell about the poverty in wartime.

Eciņa shapes her life story as a social message, which pays significant attention to historical and social events. But, in order to tell about her experiences, the narrator makes use of well known genres and motifs from narrative culture as well as a form of expression that is close to the folklore tradition by using only a few formulas or allusions to recognisable folklore texts. As a result, the study of the intertextual nature of the narrator’s story takes on ever greater meaning.

Intertextuality as a concept and aspect of study entered the field of folkloristics in the second half of the 20th century and emerged from Mikhail Bakhtin’s ideas about the dialogism and multivoiced nature of texts and the literary word, which gained a widespread response in humanitarian thought when conceptualised by the post–structuralism theorist Julia Kristeva. In looking over the history of the interpretation of intertextuality (the ideas of Bakhtin, Barthes, Genette), Viktors Freibergs has concluded that “intertextuality should be perceived as a theoretical concept that links each individual text with other systems of reflecting reality, thereby allowing us to doubt the possibility for each individual text to lay claim to some all–encompassing revelation of the truth. The concept of intertextuality lets us see the process of art in its continuity and wholeness and connect the characters that resemble fragments of the surrounding world into one united structure” (Freibergs 2000, 116). From this aspect, a life story can also be

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Methodology and Interpretation considered to be one of systems reflecting reality – a narrator links together separate fragments of memory and various genres of speech during a speech event. In addition, the speech event may also include not only narrative forms that have already become fixed in the narrator’s memory, for example, personal experience stories or memorates the narrator has already told before, but the narrator may also yield to the flow of the story and his/her memory and thus also include narrative forms and stories he/she has never before told a wider audience and are therefore being used for the first time.

Regarding the ability of a life story to unite various genres of speech, oral historian Alessandro Portelli concluded that a life story that has been created during the course of a biographical interview (that is, in a conversation between an interviewee and a researcher) can be both an independent genre of narrative (including a discourse of history) and a set of a number of different genres. This, according to Portelli, allows the life story to be analysed in mutually related but also subordinated text paradigms (Portelli 1998). From this it may be concluded that the interview and the recorded story resulting from it should be analysed as a complex genre and it displays the general ability of oral tradition to “bring characteristics of several genres together into one text, thereby often creating texts of a mixed–genre nature” (Bula 2011, 251).

The notion of the life story as a complex genre derives from Mikhail Bakhtin’s theoretical conclusions. In his 1950s essay “Problems of Speech Genres”, Bakhtin identified two types of speech genre: the first type is complex systems (secondary genres), the second type is identifiable speech forms that comprise complex systems (primary genres). These genres are different in their mutual relationships as well as in their form and creation (Bakhtin 1986, 61–67). Even though this conclusion applies mostly to literary texts, Bakhtin’s ideas have also resounded in the field of folkloristics (Bauman 2004; Gilman 2009), especially in the aspects of performance, genre and intertextuality. For example, in her analysis of pre– election campaigns in Malawi, Lisa Gilman studied these campaigns as a complex performance (secondary genre) consisting of political speeches, songs of praise and clothing (primary genres). Gilman

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Methodology and Interpretation also concluded that these primary genres often also exist outside of the secondary event, or, the complex performance. This allows the participants of the event to freely manipulate and use those same genres in a different performance situation to create a new/different performance in terms of content and chronology. It is also concluded that each meaning created in performance is intertextually tied with those meanings that have been created in previous performance situations (Gilman 2009, 337–338; see also: Bauman 2004, 4; Bauman & Briggs 1990, 73). In other words, performers are influenced by past performances, while the audience interprets performances based on their previous knowledge or experience with this genre. In addition to these sources of influence, the creation of life stories also involves other influences, for example, the aspect1 of the narrative’s performance and execution stressing the moment of the narrator’s individual creation, the situational context of the interview, the narrator’s (and interviewer’s) personality and the narrator’s narrative ability and motivation in taking part in the interview.

Due to these often numerous sources of influence, the life story can be considered an aleatoric result, that is, the result of various chance or random elements characterised by a “dialectic of innovation and tradition” (Titon 1980, 439).

From this it can be concluded that, using Bakhtin’s idea and terminology, the interview and the resulting recorded story should be considered as a secondary, or complex, genre, for which the narrator has made use of primary genres, namely, other recognised forms of speech (Bakhtin 1986, 61–67). Thus, for example, Anna Eciņa uses traditional folklore forms when telling about her childhood experiences and to describe the above–mentioned life of a servant as well as her childhood visions of the Saviour, souls, angels, lost objects that were

According to Richard Bauman, each performance has a definite normative structure consisting of: event, action, genre and the roles of the participants of the performance (performer, listener or viewer). At the same time, he points out that attention must also be paid to the narrator’s individual creation, because each performance is different even though they may all structurally be created according to to the same system (Bauman 1975). In examining text comprehension and research aspects of folkloristics, folklore researcher Jeff Titon has also concluded that it is impossible to study a text separately from its execution. Instead, folklore researchers try to understand the individual at the moment of his or her creation (performance) of the text (Titon 1980).

1

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Methodology and Interpretation later found, and so on. All in all, the three–hour–long recorded conversation with Eciņa includes her life story, four legends, seven personal experience stories, and nine memorates.

In characterising her interview as a whole, it has been observed that Eciņa employs an associative and successive narrative structure. Thus, all of the legends included in the interview are told in sequence, without the narrator waiting for the interviewer to ask questions or to ask for another story to be told. Similarly, Eciņa also tells her personal experience stories and memorates in chronological order, with no digression or pauses. At the same time, all of the stories included in her interview are arranged in thematic groups, and furthermore, Eciņa observes the thematic group boundaries she creates herself. For example, in the introduction to her life story Eciņa tells several personal experience stories about the relationship between a maid (Eciņa) and her employers. Only after telling all of the incidents related to this topic does she move on to tell about other events, for example, her experiences with the dead, her visions, lost objects, and so on. In addition, she uses a strategy that is directed towards textualisation when genre boundaries are clearly understood, but she also uses a strategy directed towards contextualisation (Bula 2011, 261). In other words, Eciņa incorporates recognised units of folklore both by informing the listeners beforehand (by using labels such as event, occurrence, and even life stories) that she is about to tell about something that once happened to her, but also by allowing the listeners themselves to recognise and interpret certain events as belonging to folklore. In these cases it is important that the narrator and listener both belong to a shared cultural tradition because the listener recognises in the story both the “personal reference frames that allow the listener to understand the content of the narrative” and the “genre agreement, themes, and folkloristic allusions” (Dolby 2008, xvii).

Most recognisable in Eciņa’s story are the memorates, which allow us a closer look in the dialectics of the life story and folklore genres, because although memorates tell about a narrator’s religious views, they are nevertheless based on his/her personal experience.

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Methodology and Interpretation The issue of genre boundaries in relation to memorates and personal experience stories have been examined in the field of folkloristics since the 1960–1970s, when the researchers Juha Pentikäinen, Lauri Honko, and Linda Dégh turned their attention to the issue (Pentikäinen 1973; Honko 1964; Dégh & Vázsonyi 1974). I believe the boundary between memorates and personal experience stories cannot be clearly defined and depends on the focus chosen by the narrator – whether the narration revolves around the narrator’s personal experience and his/her emotions and faith in the truth of the vision or the opposite, namely, that the narration revolves around the narrator’s religious views and a description of the vision he/she has seen. Eciņa’s biographical interview also includes some stories that focus more on personal experience and other stories that revolve around the experience of a supernatural object.

I would like to turn my attention to Eciņa’s story about the miraculous healing of her great–grandchild. It must however be noted that the child may in fact not have been ill (in this case, blind), but the narrator truly believed he was. This story, then, focuses not on reality but rather on the narrator’s assumption and actual belief in the occurrence. In short, the story goes like this.

One time Eciņa went to visit her grandson. She does not understand why, but as she entered the house, she asked his wife whether it’s better to have a blind child or a deaf child? The wife suddenly grasped her own stomach – it turned out she was pregnant at the time. Eciņa was tormented by the event and prayed to God every day because she truly believed she had cursed the unborn child and he would be born blind or deaf. Later, she went to visit the new baby and saw that her curse had been fulfilled – the child did not open his eyes. But when she visited the young family about a week later, the baby finally opened his eyes. As Eciņa continues her story, she explains how a miracle like this could have taken place. She was so tormented by the fact that she was responsible for the child’s blindness that she prayed for God’s mercy every single day. During one of her prayers she saw Jesus Christ and his disciples and – just as in the Bible story about the healing of the blind – Eciņa threw herself at Christ’s feet and said, I will not let go of you until you tell me that child is healthy. Christ responded to her bitter

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Methodology and Interpretation tears and prayers by saying that the child was healthy and she should go home.

In terms of genre, the first half of the story is a self–contained personal experience story consisting of an introduction (the conversation with her grandson and his wife), a conflict (the wife is four months pregnant), an escalation (emotional torment that the child may be born blind), a resolution (the child can see), and a conclusion to the story with a value judgement (And I believe it was the grace of God, have mercy!). At the centre of this story is the narrator’s emotional torment resulting from an unintentional coincidence of circumstances. In addition, the experience was so powerful that the narrator cannot hold back her tears when telling the story, even though many years have passed since the event.

Because the story is a structural and compositional whole, the narrator’s inclusion of a second part, or continuation, to the structure of an already whole story seems unusual. As a result, the personal experience story in this performance acts not as a self–contained narrative, but rather as an introduction to another story – as an announcement of a main event. In the second half of the story the narrator makes reference to the Biblical story of the healing of the blind when she tells of her meeting and conversation with Jesus Christ, which results (in the mind of the narrator) in the child regaining his sight. The narrator does not mark a clear boundary between the truth and her vision (It’s as if I see it, they appear to me, as I’m sitting there on the side of the road. I even see myself sitting there on the side of the road and all of them [Christ and his disciples] walking past). The narrator interprets the event as a miracle of God that she has experienced herself, and therefore the second half of the narrative is considered a memorate in terms of both content and function, which reflects the narrator’s religious views.

Both halves of the story could be analysed separately as two independent narrative units, but, as the narrator finishes the second half of the story, she nonetheless includes a sort of synthesizing conclusion to the whole story, in which she returns to the value judgement offered in the first half.

The narrator has thereby integrated two stories into one, which have certain connections between them in terms of both genre and

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Methodology and Interpretation form. On the whole, it is evident that the narrator’s personal experience, emotions, and faith in the truth of the event are at the centre of the story; her religious views play a secondary role, and therefore the story is more likely to be considered a personal experience story.

In analysing Eciņa’s story in terms of the dialectics of the life story and the folklore genre, it can be concluded that, in any narrative, a person naturally searches for support in existing, stable forms of expression and creatively interprets the available cultural resources – he/she echoes things others have said, uses accepted models of behaviour in speech situations, and uses familiar linguistic forms. This individual practice of using shared cultural resources can be called a dialogue between the person and the culture, which turns life stories into significant social messages (Bela–Krūmiņa 2004, 38). In addition, if in the past biographies were used to reveal and explain folklore, then today folklore is often considered to be a mediator in the exposing of a personal life (Kirshenblatt–Gimblett 1989).

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Sources National Oral History Project Archive – interviews NMV–1579 and NMV–1586.

References Bakhtin, M. The problem of Speech Genres. In: Speech Genres and Other Late Essays.

Austin: University of Texas Press, 1986, pp. 60–102.

Bauman, R. Verbal Art as Performance. American Anthropologist. 1975, Vol. 77 (2), pp.

290–311.

Bauman, R. A World of Others’ Words: Cross–Cultural Perspectives on Intertextuality.

Malden–Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2004. 184 p.

Bauman, R., Briggs, Ch. Poetics and Performance as Critical Perspectives on Language and Social Life. Annual Review Anthropology. 1990, Vol. 19, pp. 59–88.

Bela–Krūmiņa, B. Dzīvesstāsti kā sociāli vēstījumi: disertācija. Rīga: Latvijas Universitāte, 2004. 188 lpp.

Briggs, C. Learning How to Ask: A Sociolinguistic Appraisal of the Role of the Interview in Social Science Research. United States of America: Cambridge University Press, 1986.

155 p.

Bula, D. Mūsdienu folkloristika: paradigmas maiņa. Rīga: Zinātne, 2011. 318 lpp.

Clements, W. Personal Narrative, the Interview Context, and the Question of Tradition. Western Folklore. 1980, Vol. 39, (2), pp. 106–112.

Dégh, L., Vázsonyi, A. The Memorate and the Proto–Memorate. The Journal of American Folklore. 1974, Vol. 87 (345), pp. 225–239.

Dolby, S. K. Literary Folkloristics and the Personal Narrative. Bloomington, IN: Trickster Press, 2008. 195 p.

Freibergs, V. Postmodernisms un intertekstualitāte. Kino raksti. 2000, Nr. 1, 113.–116. lpp.

Gilman, L. Genre, Agency, and Meaning in the Analysis of Complex Performances: The Case of a Malawian Political Rally. Journal of American Folklore. 2009, Vol. 122 (485), pp. 335–362.

Haring, L. Performing for the Interviewer: A Study of the Structure of Context.

Southern Folklore Quarterly. 1972, Vol. 36, pp. 383–398.

Honko, L. Memorates and the Study of Folk Beliefs. The Journal of Folklore Institute.

1964, Vol. 1 (1/2), pp. 5–19.

Kirshenblatt–Gimblett, B. Authoring Lives. Journal of Folklore Research. 1989, Vol. 26 (2), pp. 123–149.

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Methodology and Interpretation Pentikäinen, J. Belief, Memorate, and Legend. Folklore Forum. 1973, Vol. VI (4), pp.

217–241.

Portelli, A. Oral History as Genre. In: Narrative and Genre. Ed. by Mary Chamberlain and Paul Thompson. London, New York: Routledge, 1998, pp. 23–45.

Titon, J. The Life Story. The Journal of American Folklore. 1980, Vol. 93 (369), pp.

276–292.

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Aivar J端rgenson Broken Connections to the Home: Escape to the West and Refugee Camp Memoirs of Estonians in Argentina My paper deals with narratives of Estonian exiles in Argentina. I will concentrate on the problems: how and why the people tell about escape and what can be the reason that some people refused to tell about it for many decades. Also, some comments on life in DP and refugee camps.

Mass escape is an event in Estonian history in which tens of thousands of Estonians left for the West. Although there were already people leaving earlier, the mass escape is usually dated as autumn 1944 (J端rjo 1996), when Soviet troops reoccupied Estonia. One escape route was to Sweden, the second to Germany, together with Austria and Denmark. The majority of those who arrived in Germany and

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Oral History and Movement Sweden continued their journey to other Western countries, including Argentina.

After World War II, approximately 800–900 Estonians went to Argentina. During the late 1950s and the 1960s, a large number of Estonians, who at that time were living in Argentina, migrated further to the USA and Canada. Today there are less than 50 persons speaking Estonian in Argentina, most of them war refugees and their descendants. I conducted interviews among these people in 2007 and 2011.

The interviews dealt with emigrating from Estonia, life in camps, arriving in Argentina, and adjusting to life in the new homeland. The majority of the war refugees who are still alive were children when they experienced these events. Some interviews were also conducted with those who were born in refugee camps in Sweden, Germany, or Denmark or even later, in Argentina – in these cases we are not talking about direct, but passed–on, memories. But I was lucky to make some interviews with those who were already adults at the time of the escape.

Talking about the escape In connection with mass emigration, we are dealing with a so– called foundation tale in the exiled Estonian communities, which is also the basis of the mission of the exiled Estonians: to preserve Estonian culture, to carry it forward, and to fight for freedom. Traumatisation of the events into a canonical tale of suffering took place. This tale is being told earlier and, even today, it expresses the reasons and process of leaving.

Why did the people leave their homeland? Most of the informants expressed the main reason as being a fear of the Russians. This reason belongs to the canonical story of refugees: it was written about in written memoirs by exile Estonians, newspapers, etc. so the canonical story started to influence the biographical stories of persons. But it is worth emphasising the need to take concrete personal contexts into consideration. For example, one informant (born in 1926) talked about her parents’ divorce, about how her mother found a new husband during the war, and about how she felt as if she was “surplus to

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Oral History and Movement requirements”. Of course, the decision to leave can be influenced by distancing oneself from the family (see Freund 2004).

At the micro level of migration it is worth emphasising the importance of the attachment to place that can be a crucial reason for leaving. The positive affective tide between person and place means emotional attractiveness, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, the existence of material ressources, social networks, and the freedom to make personal decisions (Shumaker & Conti 1985). Connections with a certain place have an important meaning in the decision of a person either to stay or to leave. When the connection is broken, the person can decide to leave. Attachment to place can be influenced by personal biographical events, but for most of the refugees the dominant reason was the political one – the occupation of their home country.

It is very important that the decision to leave was usually taken at the very last moment, which is an obvious sign of the fact that leaving the home was not taken lightly. The rapid change of events diminished the number of realistic choices. Political events that had, unexpectedly, broken into people’s lives could cast people into situations that, for decades, could not be foreseen at all. The decisive moment could be lost within one day, sometimes even within only a few hours. Did people manage to escape from the approaching front or not? Was there space on the boat or not?

In one example, we see how a confused refugee mixed up the boats and reached Germany instead of Sweden.

For a time I also worked in the Estonian... Estonian criminal police during the German period. And I heard that we were supposed to have a ship there. And I went there and I looked for it – see, if you are upset, then you do not see. And on this side of the quay there was a ship going to Stockholm, and I went on this one. This was closer to me, and this went to Germany. So, I went to Germany but I had already prepared papers in Estonia to go to Sweden. And then I went [in Germany] to the Swedish embassy and handed in an application and for that long I had to be in Germany. I was more in the Polish area... (woman, born 1924).

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Oral History and Movement One can continue the story using one’s imagination, how a single mistake could decide the pattern of a person’s future life. The number of choices were, at times, diminished by the hour.

Most of the collected escape stories of Estonians in Argentina are of people who were children at the time, but old enough in order to thematically arrange the events of that time through the prism of their own memory and were generally ten years old or older at the time.

Children were able to talk in detail about their journeys of escape and had deep memories of the stormy seas and the new places, people, and events seen in Sweden and Germany. However, young children did not know much about and could not talk much retrospectively about their family’s preparations for escape, about their parents’ internal contradictory fight, and their motives for leaving, in other words, things that are especially interesting for scholars of migration studies.

The children know about these events only very fragmentally and schematically, for example: They [the parents] escaped because they were afraid of the Russians. Here the question might arise: Did the parents fail to tell their children about the events of that time? And if not, then why not?

Remaining silent about the escape Several Estonians in Argentina, with whom I conducted interviews, justified their ignorance about these events by blaming silent parents. When I asked: mother, tell me [about escaping] – she didn’t want to know anything (man, born 1943).

In the following extract it becomes evident how keeping silent about an escape could be far more expressive than actually talking about it. One woman, born in Argentina after the war, illustrates this with her story: expressing the trauma experienced by her parents during the escape.

My father never said a word about the war. He talked very little, he talked very little. But I do not forget. I say, I do not remember what I was doing this morning. That I do not remember. At that moment

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Oral History and Movement when you [points to her mother] had been here for twenty five years, I do not know, I might have been sixteen, seventeen years old. And we were there, in my room, and my godfather and my father, who came [to Argentina] together with my father, had bought a bottle of whiskey and said – or he was given it or something – he said, when twenty five years will have passed, that I have been here, I will open this. And of course, when it was twenty five years, there was a big party at home and we opened... father opened. And at one moment my father and my godfather went to sit in a room and started talking. I remember it was the first time, the only time, I heard my godfather and my father talk about those years. This was something terrible! How they had to go...

My godfather, I remember, Ruudi, started... My godfather started to cry.

My godfather was eighteen years old when he left Estonia. And I did not know what he hoped for. My father was thirty three. He said: “I trust in my Heavenly Father and he brings me where he needs to.” He... with a Bible and Heavenly Father and... went. My godfather was eighteen.

They were babies and they came here! I remember how they were talking among themselves about what had happened.

When you ask from Mati [the informant’s godfather’s son]: “Listen, has your father told you anything?” Mati will surely say no. They did not talk about it! They did not talk about this! This is... this is so difficult for them (woman, born 1952).

All this expressive description of the past is, once more, summarised by the interviewee: All these things, these things... these little things, few things; they were not many that my father and mother have told me, I simply hate Russians. This is bigger than myself because, thanks to them, I do not have a grandmother. I have a photo of my grandmother, I have a photo of my grandfather, but I have never known them. I do not know what is...

I had such a big thing, when I saw that my girlfriends: “Oh, yes, I’ll go to my grandmother’s.” Maybe grandmother was the biggest porquería [obscenity], let’s say so. She was the biggest arse – pero [but] she was the grandmother! She had a grandmother, she had a grandfather, she had an uncle, she had an aunt, she had a family. I told Helju or Kalju: “Hola, uncle Kalju!”, “Hola, aunt Helju!”, but they were not my aunt or uncle. I have no family. My only family were my mother and my father.

Part – I just hate Russians! Russians, not the Communists, Russians! I think that all Russians are the same thing. Maybe Russians... there are

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Oral History and Movement some Russians who are not Communists and hate Communists. I hate Russians! I simply hate! (woman, born 1952).

Escape from Estonia has been a consolidating story in refugee Estonian communities. It was talked about by celebrating national anniversaries, it was written about in exile newspapers, etc., but it was not talked about in the homes of many families. The traumatic nature of the events and the memories they left have shifted the story to a certain sphere of taboo. In the literature, there are references to the fact that trauma causes a process of memory suppression, i. e. certain processes in the subconscious preclude the traumatic memories from entering the consciousness. Also mentioned are the “silent memories”, those that are voluntarily forgotten (Anepaio 2001). I still believe that, in many such cases, instead of memory lapses we are dealing with the taboo of talking about them.

Emotions and their connection with the narrative The stories of people who left Estonia are similar, regardless of the generation. In answering the questions about the reasons for the escape, people mainly cited fear of the Russians and justified it with the events that took place in Estonia in 1940–41: arrests, executions, deportations, expropriation of assets. In short, repression,1 which left people with little or no choice. In justifying their leaving, rhetoric that tries to show Estonians as a group that reacts and behaves uniformly has been used. As one informant expressed in justifying the events: All Estonians knew what they were fleeing from (Jürgenson 2008, 106).

These and similar, analogically categorised, statements about escape present evidence about the escape canon that has been selected over the years. People undoubtedly passed such a canon on to following generations, undoubtedly together with the appropriate emotional background. Or, to use the wording of Jüri Linask at the symposium of the Global Estonian Central Council that took place in Tallinn on 3 April 2009, a “holy wrath” was what carried the exiled Estonian

According to Mart Laar, during 1940–41 52,750 people were repressed in Estonia (Laar 2005).

1

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Oral History and Movement mentality forward during the post–war decades – a holy wrath to what happened in Estonia during the 1940s. Or, as Marie Under expressed years before in the form of poetry: A lot has been taken from us still we kept our pride, honour, and wrath – let us stand strong (Under 1956).

Feelings are not just an intra–psychological phenomenon, and studying them does not necessarily require a condition–controlled experiment. Feelings, emotions, cognitions, and affectations can also be studied through the social processes taking place in everyday lives.

Even if one considers not only how big an influence and emotional meaning talking has for a person, but also the act of keeping silent.

M. Svašek distinguishes, among others, re–experienced feelings.

These are feelings that evoke, under the influence of the memory, an emotional re–experiencing of a past situation, despite the fact that the feelings of that time are not interpreted or explained by anyone (Svašek 2002). From here we come to another level in the meaning of the escape story for the refugees of that time. Memories of the traumas during and after the war and the loss of their homeland are experienced over and over again with ritualistic connections. The information network created by exiled Estonians, in post–war Europe and elsewhere in the world, emphasises the tragedy of escape in the published media, in the scout movement, in social and church life. State and national festivals periodically helped to relive the trauma of escape and losing the homeland.

Memories of the time of refugee camps Although refugee camp memoirs are not as colourful and full of details as the escape stories, they still form a significant place in the autobiographies of refugees. The main emotion, as in the escape stories, is fear: fear of the Russians, fear of the continuation of the terrible

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Oral History and Movement events of the war, fear of the outbreak of a new war, and – once again – fear of the Russians.

An important aspect in the daily life of the refugee camps and in the retelling of that life is the lack of stability. The main key words in refugee camp life are separation from the near and dear homeland but also separation from the receiving country’s society, lack of privacy, overcrowdedness, and a limited movement area. This caused frustration, fear, and emotional disturbances, from which release was sought.

On the one hand, in such a situation release could be found in hopelessness and alcohol abuse; but on the other hand, a heightened interest in one’s identity could also be a release. The latter crystallised as the notion of the lost homeland; the violent robbery of the geographical and cultural dimension of one’s homeland made the refugees cling to that social dimension. The lack of all that was familiar was expressed in the organisational activity, activity that preserved and developed the national culture.

Conclusion The main question in migration studies is: why do people emigrate? Based mainly on economic analysis, migration researchers have traditionally concentrated on the economic trigger for emigration in analysing the decisions of emigrants. From a micro–perspective, researchers emphasise cognitive, i. e. subjective, changes that trigger individuals or families to emigrate. Because the economic trigger has generally been taken as the basis for the analysis of the decision, it is no wonder that these decisions are projected as rational. Recent studies of migration decisions, based on narrated interviews, leave the rationality of the decision aside. The more important a decision is, the more things are to be considered, the less it is possible to make a decision rationally (Freund 2004). In 1944, the traditional homeland of the Estonians was torn by war and, in addition, occupied by a foreign power that had severely repressed the native population before the war. Would this repression continue after the war? Will it concern me?

People who were planning to leave Estonia under those complicated conditions were forced to calculate what they had to win. Whatever the

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Oral History and Movement decision, it could not be utterly rational, because the decision makers did not know what the further consequences of one or another decision might be. I showed that at least part of the motive stems from the individual, psychological, and biographical development of the person. But although the personal stories can differ, the canonical version of the story mostly emphasizes one main reason: fear of the Russians and of a new occupation of the home country.

Escaping was a traumatic event for thousands of people who left Estonia in 1944. In many families these specific events were not discussed for decades. There were many difficult questions: Did we make the right decision by leaving the homeland? Did we have any alternatives?

These questions needed to be answered and they were answered first in the public sphere: in refugee community newspapers, public speeches, church sermons, etc. The refugee communities formed a collective story of the event of the escape: a story that functioned as something of an anchor of identity for the refugee communities. It was a story that had to show there were actually no alternatives for the escape.

This research was supported by the Estonian Science Foundation grants under 9066, SF0130038s09.

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References Anepaio, T. Trauma ja mälu. Mineviku ületamisest represseeritute kogemuses. In: Kultuur ja mälu: konverentsi materjale. Ed. by Ene Kõresaar and Terje Anepaio.

Tartu: Tartu Ülikool, 2001, pp. 198–213.

Freund, A. Aufbrüche nach dem Zusammenbruch. Die deutsche Nordamerika–Wanderung nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg. Göttingen: V&R Uniperss, 2004. 580 s.

Jürgenson, A. Vabatahtliku ja sunniviisilise migratsiooni dihhotoomiast migratsiooni makro– ning mikroteooriate taustal. Acta Historica Tallinnensia. 2008, Vol. 13, pp. 92–117.

Jürjo, I. Pagulus ja Nõukogude Eesti. Vaateid KGB, EKP ja VEKSA arhiividokumentide põhjal. Tallinn: Umara, 1996. 358 lk.

Laar, M. Punane terror. Nõukogude okupatsioonivõimu repressioonid Eestis. Tallinn: Grenader, 2005. 47 lk.

Shumaker, S., Conti, G. J. Understanding Mobility in America. In: Home Environments.

Ed. by Irwin Altman and Carol Werner. New York, London: Plenum Press, 1985, pp. 237–253.

Svašek, M. Gewähltes Trauma: der erinnerten (wieder–)erhfahrenen Emotion. In: Zur Ikonographie des Heimwehs. Ed. by Elisabeth Fendl. Freiburg: Johannes–Künzig– Institut für ostdeutsche Volkskunde, 2002, pp. 55–78.

Under, M. Punane aasta. In: Eesti riik ja rahvas II Maailmasõjas. III. Punane aasta.

Stockholm: EMP, 1956.

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Ulla Savolainen Journey, Home and Absence – the Narratives of Karelian Evacuees This paper investigates the diverse ways of reminiscing and narrating about home, belonging, identity, and absence in the case of writings about evacuation journey(s) experienced by evacuated Karelian children during and after the Second World War. These narratives have been written decades after the wars, in 2004. In this paper I will concentrate on how the writers build and maintain a relationship to Karelia, their former home, and how they describe and perceive Karelia and handle the questions of feelings of home and belonging in their writings. This paper is a part of my ongoing PhD research.

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Karelia, evacuees, and the evacuation journey writings Karelia is situated in eastern Finland and Russia. Between 1939 and 1944 Finland fought two wars against the Soviet Union, which both led to the cession of parts of the Finnish Karelian region, among other portions of Finland, to the Soviet Union. After both wars, the Finnish population living in the ceded part of Karelia was evacuated behind the new Finnish border and this group of Karelian migrants – the Karelian evacuees – came into being. There were 407,000 Karelian evacuees, which was nearly 11% of the national population at the time.

The Karelian evacuees were resettled to their new dwelling places while Finland paid reparations to the Allied governments. The loss of Karelia in 1939 and 1944 did not concern only Karelians; it concerned all of Finland. The loss of Karelia and the resettling of the Karelian population has been considered as one of the “master narratives” of Finland and the resettling is often considered to have been a success (Fingerroos 2008; Armstrong 2004; Raninen–Siiskonen 1999).

The children’s evacuation journey writings are a part of the collection created by the Finnish Karelian League in 2004. The call for narratives was published in several newspapers in Finland and asked for Karelian child evacuees to write about their memories and experiences of the evacuation journey(s). A total of 182 people answered, and the answers were filed in the Folklore Archives of the Finnish Literature Society (archival sign: SKS, KRA, LEM 2004). Writing collections and competitions are organized frequently in Finland by various organizations. During the last few decades the Folklore Archives of the Finnish Literature Society has collected writings concentrating on numerous themes relating to the past, the present, and the future (Latvala 2005; Pöysä 2006).

For a long time, Karelia has been considered as a sort of mythical place of Finnishness and Finnish origins. In common discourse in Finland, Karelia is often described as a homogeneous place, and the fact that it is a large and diversified area located in the territory of two countries is typically bypassed. In common Finnish discourse the

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Oral History and Movement image of Karelia is still often a strongly Finnish one and the influence and presence of Russia has not been taken into account. In addition to this homogeneous image, much controversy and inconsistency surrounds the topics related to the loss of Karelia. During the Cold War, Karelia was a politically difficult subject, and for a long time the discussion about the loss of Karelia was tense. Often everything related to the lost areas was considered either anti–Soviet (which it, of course, sometimes was) or, on the other hand, anti–Finnish. Due to this, some of the Karelian evacuees feel that for a long time they could not discuss and grieve their loss of home. Kirsi Niukko (2009) has called the remembrance of Karelia in postwar Finland as a counterculture.

However, over the last 20 years conversations around the topics of evacuations and Karelia and the war in general have diversified and many evacuees find the changed atmosphere liberating. While Karelians themselves often feel that they had to keep silent, a fairly common conception in Finland is that the evacuees speak a lot about their paradise–like Karelia. It is good to mention that even nowadays every once in a while the “question of Karelia”, or in other words should Karelia belong to Finland or Russia, comes up in public discussion and there is at least one organization, ProKarelia (www.prokarelia.net), that openly aims at returning the ceded territories back to Finland (Fingerroos 2008; Alasuutari & Alasuutari 2007; Sihvo 2003; Paasi 1996).

Distance and concreteness of place and the past According to Maurice Halbwachs (1992), a concrete significant place, which exists in the past and in the present, is often the basis for a community and for the individual who belongs to that community.

A place in the past supports the community, especially in the case of diasporic groups and groups without a shared dwelling place. Absent places of origins, home, and important events become symbolic constructions, and in narratives these places or memorials represent a shared past and a collective memory and thus also the present and the future. In this process, absent places cannot attain change and decay; in other words, they become eternal in a way (Halbwachs 1992;

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Oral History and Movement Lowenthal 1985). Anthropologist Karen Armstrong (2004) has said that, in the case of Karelian evacuees, the unattainability of the physical place has turned the Karelia of narratives into a mythical and timeless place that the memory preserves. In spite of its unattainability, the place is still the basis of Karelian identity and roots (Armstrong 2004; Raninen–Siiskonen 1999). In other words, the lost place in the past becomes nostalgic as it often does in the diasporic discourse in general (Niukko 2009; Huttunen 2007). I also want to emphasize that Karelia is not always merely an absent and distant place in the past. The children’s evacuation journey writings show that despite its absence, writers have and create new links to Karelia, to their past, and to their roots. These links are concrete and contemporary, but they are still in strong connection with the past.

Ways of representing Karelia, identity, and the evacuations Next I will elaborate on how Karelia, evacuations, and the identity of an evacuee are presented in the evacuation journey writings.

Some of the writers describe the Karelia of their childhood as “Golden Karelia”, which represents childhood, innocence, peace, and harmony.

A timeless tile prevails in Karelia, people live in harmony with nature and animals, and life in general is natural in a sublime way. These writings typically have a nostalgic, longing, and lyrical tone and are often also highly coherent and finalized texts that sometimes bear resemblance to literary idylls (about idyll see: e. g. Bakhtin 1981).

Describing Karelia and childhood as idyllic creates and highlights a contrast between the time prior to the evacuation journey and the time after it. The evacuation journey represents an essential borderline of the narrative of life. The evacuation journey is the end of the golden time of childhood in Karelia and the start of troubles and misery. This boundary is also expressed in the changes of style and tone in narration. In these narratives Karelia is located in the distant past, but it also represents very clearly a place of the writer’s identity and roots.

This narrative or idea complex of a “Golden Karelia” is also shared by the community and the nostalgic sentiment recurs in books and

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Oral History and Movement other artwork about Karelia (Raninen–Siiskonen 1999). As Karen Armstrong (2004) has stated, “narratives bring Karelia near through details which everyone who is not there, and even those who have never been there, can recognize as their own” (Armstrong 2004). Writing about childhood in a nostalgic, admirable, and elaborate way can also be one way of going back to the experiences and feelings of childhood (Lehto & Timonen 1993; Korkiakangas 1996). It is important, however, to notice that individuals do not just passively absorb the nostalgia and idea complex of “Golden Karelia”, but also apply it to their own memories and experiences, which are presented in their narratives. In other words, writers simultaneously contribute to the shared idea complex and sentiment and adapt them as something personally important.

The experience of displacement from Karelia has been considered as a collective feeling and an essential feature of the sense of place of the Karelian evacuees (Kuusisto–Arponen 2008; 2009). However, not all the writers have a clear conception of Karelia as a basis of identity and a place of a communally shared past. For some writers the evacuations not only caused the loss of a concrete place of dwelling, but also the loss of a connection to their roots. They tell that they have lost the feeling of belonging to a community and this is often linked to a lack of self understanding. Many writers describe how they do not know where they are from and where they belong.

However, this feeling of fundamental homelessness and not belonging is not necessarily eternal. Concrete places in Karelia have become significant in a new way for migrant Karelians and their offspring since in the late 1980s the Soviet Union allowed trips to the formerly Finnish regions in Karelia. After that, thousands of evacuees visited their former home regions. Due to these trips some of the writers of the evacuation journey narratives describe that after decades they have been able to discover their Karelian identity and feel the connection to the former home place. For most of the people just seeing the changed home place again is a good and emotional experience. What is interesting in some of these accounts is that the decay of the place in Karelia does not seem to matter. Experiencing the concrete place and landscape enables the narrators to build a continuum from the

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Oral History and Movement past to the present and to link themselves to the chain of generations.

Kirsi Niukko (2009) has said that the images of Karelia then and now have begun to merge, as the region and its new inhabitants have become familiar during repeated home–region visits. This shows that, despite the change, the place can become meaningful for writers as a concrete and contemporary place, not only as a place of memories that belongs to the past and must therefore be unchangeable. This is a concrete example of how migrant Karelians also build up new relationships to their former home places in Karelia. I also want to mention that not all writers describe the change of the childhood environment as a positive experience. Instead, when they travel back they feel that their Karelia no longer exists. The actual concrete place has become alien and strange, and their Karelia – “the genuine Karelia” – is located in memories, the past, and stories (Lehto & Timonen 1993; Fingerroos 2007).

Making the past concrete Writers of evacuation journey narratives tend to make Karelia, the past, and belonging to the chain of generations something concrete in many ways without the actual presence of the place. Writers include concrete evidence or “relics” of the past in their narratives.

This evidence can be, for example, different kinds of sources that testify to past events. Sources can be personal, such as old journals, photographs, or letters, or they can be similar to the sources used by historians or, for example, references to literature about war history. These sources have three functions. Firstly, they give the narrative credibility.

Exact time, place, and name information has the function of convincing and evidencing the truth – at some level past events do exist in the present time, too. Writers can also emphasize the lack of factual information with the purpose of convincing their intention to tell truthfully. In some cases, exact information may also highlight the political relevance of the events and places (Huttunen 2007). Secondly, sources highlight the collective nature of the past events, memories, and narrating because dates and names promote the comparing of experiences and the locating of events in the shared history and map. Thirdly, these

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Oral History and Movement sources function as tools of memory and narration. They provide the writer with a point of reference or a basic structure to which they can attach their own memories and build a narrative about the past. The sources can in a way integrate to the writer’s memories and their narratives of childhood and life.

Writers also include mementos in their narratives. Mementos are concrete objects from childhood and Karelia that connect the present time to the past. These connections between different times appear in the writings as deviations from the temporally sequential representation or chronology or, in other words, as associations between the time level of childhood and the time level of the writing (Savolainen 2007). Migrant Karelians also create and discover mementos when they visit their former dwelling places decades after the wars. For instance, it is a relatively common practice to take sand, rocks, roots, or cuttings of plants from Karelia and bring them home as a reminder of the old home, landscape, and meaningful places behind the border.

Interestingly, the transportation of these objects is not only one–way traffic, and migrant Karelians may also bring objects from Finland to Karelia.

112 Conclusion The evacuation journey and the loss of home are the central topics or principal narratives for the community of migrant Karelians. They are important subjects, regardless of whether the Karelian identity of the writer is strong and clear or not. Sources, mementos, and concrete places create a continuum from the past to the present because they embody a particular event in a particular time and setting, and they also extend beyond it. They preserve the meaning of a certain moment, such as leaving home for the last time, but above all they manifest the continuation between the past, the present, and the future. In addition, they represent the writer’s personal connection to this spatiotemporal continuum and to the chain of generations and fundamentally to the community entwined with these places, sources, and mementos. Sources and mementos also attach themselves to

Oral History and Movement memories and hence operate as points of references for narrating and memory.

When these places, sources, and mementos are examined as textual representations, it is apparent that they also embody spatiotemporal continuums at the level of narration. They appear as breaks in the temporal linearity of the plot, where several time levels, such as different pasts, presents, and futures, come together in the writing.

Places, sources, or mementos connect different time levels together, but the role of these time levels as a part of the plot of an evacuation journey story is not always so evident because they may not obviously promote narrative coherence. Merging these different time levels creates coherence in the writer’s life story and positions the writer in relation to the community of migrant Karelians. Events in different time levels are important for the writer and they associate with the evacuation journey, which is the essential event in the shared past of the Karelian community.

When the concrete places, landscapes, and objects that legitimize the community and its past no longer self–evidently exist, Karelian evacuees create new concrete links that manifest the spatiotemporal continuum. Writing and narrating is one way of creating and enforcing the roots and togetherness of the community. In many cases the contemporary community and the one in the past are different communities, but nonetheless in connection to each other.

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References Alasuutari, P., Alasuutari, M. Second Generation Karelian Migrants. Narrating Belonging and Displacement. In: On Foreign Ground. Moving Between Countries and Categories. Ed. by Minna Ruckenstein, Marie–Louise Karttunen. Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2007, pp. 89–101.

Armstrong, K. Remembering Karelia. A Family’s Story of Displacement During and After the Finnish Wars. New York & Oxford: Berghahn Book, 2004. 160 p.

Bahtin, M. Dialogic Imagination. Four Essays. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981.

444 p.

Fingerroos, O. Uuskareliaanit nyky–Karjalassa. In: Nykytulkintojen Karjala. Ed. by Outi Fingerroos and Jaana Loipponen. Jyväskylä: Jyväskylän yliopisto, 2007, pp.

16–32.

Fingerroos, O. Karelia, A Place of Memories and Utopias. Oral Tradition. 2008, Vol. 23 (2), pp. 235–254. Available: http://journal.oraltradition.org/issues/23ii/ fingerroos [Accessed 1 March 2012].

Halbwachs, M. On Collective Memory. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1992.

244 p.

Huttunen, L. Between ‘the World’ and a Pear Tree. Memory and Belonging in Bosnian Diaspora. In: On Foreign Ground. Moving Between Countries and Categories. Ed.

by Minna Ruckenstein, Marie–Louise Karttunen. Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2007, pp. 174–187.

Korkiakangas, P. Muistoista rakentuva lapsuus. Agraarinen perintö lapsuuden työnteon ja leikkien muistelussa. Helsinki: Suomen Muinaismuistoyhdistys, 1996. 352 p.

Kuusisto–Arponen, A. Identiteettipoliittista rajankäyntiä: muistot evakko– ja sotalasten paikkatunteen rakentajina. Terra. 2008, Vol. 120 (3), pp. 169–181.

Kuusisto–Arponen, A. The mobilities of forced displacement: commemorating Karelian evacuation in Finland. Social & Cultural Geography. 2009, Vol. 10 (5), pp. 545–563.

Latvala, P. Katse menneisyyteen. Folkloristinen tutkimus suvun muistitiedosta. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 2005. 311 p.

Lehto, L., Timonen, S. Kertomus matkasta kotiin. Karjalaiset vieraina omilla maillaan.

In: Kauas on pitkä matka. Ed. by Pekka Laaksonen and Sirkka–Liisa Mettomäki.

Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 1993, pp. 88–105.

Lowenthal, D. The Past is a Foreign Country. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985. 489 p.

Niukko, K. The Concept of Landscape among Karelian Migrants in Finland. Journal of Borderlands Studies. 2009, Vol. 24 (2), pp. 62–77.

Paasi, A. Territories, boundaries and consciousness. The changing boundaries of the Finnish– Russian border. Chechester: John Wiley & Sons, 1996. 353 p.

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Oral History and Movement Pöysä, J. Kilpakirjoitukset muistitietotutkimuksessa. In: Muistitietotutkimus.

Metodologisia kysymyksiä. Ed. by Outi Fingerroos, Riina Haanpää, Anne Heimo and Ulla–Maija Peltonen. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 2006, pp.

221–244.

Raninen–Siiskonen, T. Vieraana omalla maalla. Tutkimus karjalaisen siirtoväen muistelukerronnasta. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 1999. 387 p.

Savolainen, U. Koti, Menetys, Paluu. Koti kannakselaisten lapsievakkojen evakkomatkakertomuksissa [Master’s thesis]. Helsinki: Helsingin yliopisto, Kulttuurien tutkimuksen laitos, folkloristiikka, 2007. Available: http://urn.fi/ URN:NBN:fi–fe200808051761 [Accessed 1 March 2012].

Sihvo, H. Karjalan kuva: Karelianismin taustaa ja vaiheita autonomian aikana. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 2003. 513 p.

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Helena Jerman Dialogues in Social Contexts: Belonging or Otherness beyond the Finnish–Russian Border With his book Europe and the People without History (1982) Eric Wolf emphasized the connections and linkages in history, urging us to learn to visualize human societies and cultures in their interrelationships in space and time. Accordingly, he emphasized that ethnography is urgently needed in order to know the answers to questions related to global capitalist expansion and the responses of people in the new condition. Having been inspired by Wolf, I argue that there is a need to understand the long–term effects of migration. Ethnographic studies can provide more understanding of social and cultural dynamics that are often hidden from the public arenas where the public has produced reified notions of cultural difference and integration.

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Oral History and Movement My paper explores informants’ reflections on the mental and actual crossing of national borders. It focuses on perceptions of belonging and/or otherness. Studying transnational human existence implies a multi–sited research perspective suggesting a fundamental change, above all, in the conceptualization of movement and belonging.

The study focuses on members of the Russian minority in Finland, more specifically members of the so–called old Russian minority (and their descendants) who arrived in the country after 1917 and a much larger group of Russians who have arrived in Finland since the 1990s, including the Ingrians.1 The minority is socially, economically, politically, and culturally heterogeneous.

When I started my research (see Jerman 2006; 2007) ten years ago, I wanted to find out why this Russian minority is a hidden one from an outside as well as an inside perspective. This hidden aspect of the minority as an Other was enacted during discussions with informants. My subsequent studies on Movement and Belonging in a transnational context have thus delved deeper into an analysis of the ways in which cultural knowledge is related to memory. Throughout history a number of Russians (and Finns) have crossed the national borders between the two countries both mentally and physically. This mobility has taken different forms, ranging from cooperation and coexistence to warfare and image constructions. With the fall of the Soviet Union, an increasing number of people cross these borders more or less permanently.

My paper thus provides ethnographic insights into the ways in which people manage complex belonging within various contesting discourses in their present existence. I think that what is relevant in ethnographic research is what people themselves find important and that, notably, it cannot be identified in advance. The researcher has to follow the informants. John Middelton emphasizes that we can “do

Ingrians are descendants of Finns who moved to the area around St. Petersburg in the seventeenth century. When Germans occupied the region during World War II, more than 60,000 Ingrians were evacuated to Finland. After the war, Finland had to send the Ingrians back home. These people were, however, deported to Siberia and other parts of the Soviet Union. Ingrians were granted the status of “returned emigrants” by the Finnish government in 1990.

1

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Oral History and Movement utterly nothing without people telling you what they want to tell you” (Pellow 1999). Recollecting his fieldwork in Africa in the 1950s, Middleton says: “People tell you what they want you to learn. Why should they tell you anything?” (ibid). To put this another way, it means that the informants have a considerable impact on the emphasis of a study.

Methodological considerations and methods The field of my study is a complex configuration of time, space, and a series of events: •

Finnish resistance during the Tsarist regime was mainly directed towards the Russian administration and its representatives, not the people;

•

However, after the Finnish Civil War, hatred of Russians in Finland became an attitude shared by the entire Finnish nation in the 1920s. Russians were branded as Others;

•

Wars between 1939–1949 and 1941–1944. The population of Karelia in eastern Finland was evacuated twice within four years (11 % of the population);

•

Finland lost 10 % of its territory;

•

New emigrants from the Soviet Union 1990–present.

The social and political integration process of evacuees and refugees following the wars between the Soviet Union and Finland as well as the integration process of emigrants from the former Soviet Union during the past 20 years is a historically specific project and constitutes a large context for my research. Past and present are intertwined.

The realization that fieldwork encounters are learning processes has also provided a new experience for myself as a researcher. Due to my upbringing, i. e. my parents and grandparents arrived in Finland a few years after the Russian Revolution; I am familiar with a variety of cultural forms in which the life of the Russian minority is enacted.

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Oral History and Movement Sensitive anthropology emphasizes “the self to understand the other” (Okely 1996; Skultans 2006).

My study emphasizes knowledge obtained from different sources and methodologically the research process includes more than ethnographic fieldwork. Thus the media, in this case TV documentaries about the Russians diaspora in Finland, provide important material for the analysis.

A projective anthropological method I have tried to use a projective anthropological method, making an attempt to avoid the informants’ relating predictable matters. In an anthropological sense the approach aims to objectify a piece of the informant’s culture. During interviews in people’s homes or elsewhere, the analysis focuses on the informant’s response to a thing – an object or photo selected by the informant herself (helping the informant project her or his identity). During journeys, these objectified pieces are, for example, monuments, food, or the landscape itself. They draw memory and place together.

When informants in my study disclose a creation of belonging or otherness, they do so in a multitemporal perspective.

Media as a site of othering The media play a crucial role in constructing definitions of national and ethnic identities. Certain ideas are favoured and certain ones are excluded. What often happens is a certain determinism meaning that immigrants’ behaviour is explained with ethnic or cultural factors. Given representations form a strategy of negotiating power relations in the present national and public sphere (Erikson 2002, 278). This is the reason why I suggest that it is necessary to explore messages and images of immigrants’ situations on TV. A recent example, in another context, was the gayness debate on Finnish TV. As a result of this debate,

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Where interviews with Russians in Finland took place on television in the early 2000s, the context was often derived from the prevailing stereotypes of Russians.2 Moreover, programs like “The Russians came”3 allude to the old fear of the worldwide spread of communism.

Visually, the title of the film is displayed in red capital letters against a black background, adding an anarchic flavour to the phenomenon.

The rapidly increasing number of TV documentaries on Russians in Finland, on the one hand, and Russians in the former Soviet Union, on the other hand, seems to be more heterogeneous as to themes during the past four years compared to earlier years. However, the images shown in current affairs programmes still convey stereotypical clichés, especially those that deal with the relationship between Finland and Russia, with Russian land purchases in Finland being the main topic.4 This is, of course, a highly topical question because Russians make up 80 %5 of all foreign land purchasers in Finland.

The rhetoric by both reporters and interviewees often includes sinister military concepts. One programme6 was introduced with: “Russians occupy Finland with accelerating speed...” and a local group of pensioners who initiated an address against Russian land purchases in Finland address themselves as a local striking force.7 At the beginning of every New Year the main Finnish TV channel shows a current affairs programme with excerpts about Russian

The ‘Russian theme’ on TV constitutes one of the contexts for the construction of identity in my study (see Jerman 2004).

3 Tositarina: Ryssarna kom [The True Story: The Russians came]. 6 February 2001, TV1.

4 See, for example, inserts in 45 minuuttia [45 Minutes] 15 October, 19 October, 26 October 2008, MTV 3. My intention here is not to evaluate the ethics of policy and the justice of foreign land transactions either in Finland or Russia.

These issues are outside the scope of my analysis.

5 45 minuuttia [45 Minutes]. 15 October 2008, MTV 3.

6 An insert in the programme 45 minuuttia [45 Minutes]. 15 October 2008, MTV 3.

7 An insert in the programme Suomi Express [Finland Express]. 10 December 2008, Yle TV2.

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Oral History and Movement tourists flowing into Finland between the New Year and Epiphany. It is true that a number of tourists do arrive in Finland at that time. A similar film was announced with the following words: “There are so many Russians coming that the sun darkens.” Also, in this case the reporter alluded to military events such as “Russians are arriving from land and air”.

Is it possible that a feeling of ‘we’ or self among the Russians can resist the externally indicated criteria of identity provided, for example, by the media? Seen from the outside, belonging – be it ethnicity or not – can be conceptualised as imaginary, partly based on an invisible subjective process of negotiation (meaning a person’s negotiation with herself) and partly on negotiation between a number of persons, including authorities and the media in an ever–present historical perspective.

National exclusion and local belonging?

A gap between non–belonging at the national macro level and belonging at the local community level is occasionally obvious from my material. Non–belonging, or rather otherness, in the former case is predominantly felt among informants when they nota bene having gained Finnish citizenship are forced to meet the image of Russians in the media, public regulations, and law, in other words, in the public discourse. Hence, the construction of otherness can be different at the national and local levels. This phenomenon has been thoroughly documented in, for example, a Danish context among immigrants from various countries (Christensen and Jensen 2011).

Reflecting on power relations in a multi–national social space I will present one example that shows how encounters with the complexity of everyday life position informants as strangers of the nation. How is citizenship related to otherness and or to belonging?

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Oral History and Movement Vieda Skultans has in another context (2006) explored that informants’ narratives are profoundly knowing. This insight is conspicuous in my following example.

Alla has lived in Finland for almost 20 years and is married to a Finnish man. Her 82–year–old mother lives alone in Russia. Alla’s idea was to get her mother to Finland to live with her. In short, we could ask a rhetorical question: what’s the issue? Russia is not a member of the European Union and residence permits are given to people coming from outside the EU only under very specific conditions. But this does not prevent us to explore more closely Alla’s narrative, which contains a number of frustrating national, that is, Finnish social practices and legal issues. In a way, these force a person to lead a transnational existence in a concrete sense, something that is rarely talked about in research on transnational life. On the contrary, transnational life is often described as a free choice or something to strive for.

First of all, a mother living in Russia is not regarded as close kin to an adult daughter in Finland. Instead, she is classified as muu omainen (other relative), with an emphasis on “other”. Alla applied for family reunification at all levels but her applications have been turned down.

With the help of a lawyer she understood that, according to the Finnish law, she had the right to apply to get her mother to Finland because the mother is totally alone. However, the mother should in that case be fully dependent on the daughter in Finland.8 This was a hard nut to crack for Alla. What did that expression mean? Interestingly, Alla happened to watch a current affairs TV program. A representative of the Finnish Immigration Board was asked: “How sick and old should you be in order to fit the term fully dependent?” According to Alla, the man had replied that there are people’s homes in Russia and, accordingly, you cannot be fully dependent on a kin member.

After this, Alla was several times in contact with the then Minister of Migration (2010), and the Minister’s office told Alla that they were working on changing the expression in the law from fully dependent to substantially dependent. This has not happened, however, and Alla says: This is how we do it. Mother has the right to live in Finland for 180 days per year. She stays one month here and one month there. Then

See: http://www.migri.fi/netcomm/content.asp?path=8,2472,2495.

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Oral History and Movement one month here and again one month there. One month here, one month there. And this is how we have been doing it for already ten years.

Alla herself also travels to St. Petersburg to visit her mother, which means that Alla’s employment contracts are always very short.

Alla is knowing about other European countries’ regulations in similar cases: You are allowed to take your parents into Germany; Norway takes any relatives, even those who are not old; Sweden grants visas for 360 days compared to Finland’s 180 days. You can bring parents into France from Russia. This means that some European countries have donated residence permits (this) to people. But not Finland.

The web site of the Finnish Immigration Service provides a laconic statement: “The Finnish idea of family is more restricted than in many other countries.”9 Alla wrote to the Minister of Migration: “I have no future in Finland because if something happens [to my mother], I put a cross on my training courses here... my Finnish family will also disunite. My husband is an invalid, you see. Whatever the truth – it is such a mess.”

Discussion: Two dimensions of citizenship It is common to differentiate between two dimensions of citizenship, one being “citizenship by status” and the other “citizenship by practice” (see, e. g., Siim 2000). In my empirical material these dimensions of citizenship are very much intertwined. Those who received Finnish citizenship in the 1920s or later and those who gained their Finnish citizenship during the past 15 years both emphasize how the legally granted citizenship is a major entry to their agency in Finnish society. In defining society as social interaction, this also pertains to an agency in a transnational sense. For Russians who arrived in Finland in the aftermath of the Russian Revolution, the granting of Finnish citizenship to them or their parents was a particular source of pride and, more specifically, it was also an outcome of an act of agency. It

See: http://www.migri.fi/netcomm/content.asp?path=8.

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Oral History and Movement was a conscious choice to take that side.10 However, citizenship was not an easy gateway to Belonging. This was something most of the elderly informants reflected on their whole lives; perceptions of Otherness loomed large in their lives. The wars between the Soviet Union and Finland had left deep marks.

My personal cautious remark concerns the differences in attitudes and policies in dealing with migration issues, including transnationalism across the world. The example of Alla and her mother shows that there is not a “one size fits all” strategy to deal with questions such as the re–uniting of families affected by migration, not even within European Union countries. Belonging and Otherness are two sides of the same coin. Citizenship seems to fit both sides of the coin. Evidently,

Admittedly, a number of the refugees and evacuees never applied for Finnish citizenship during their whole lifetime and held “Nansen passports” instead.

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References Christensen, A. D., Jensen, S. Q. Roots and Routes: migration, belonging, and everyday life. Nordic Journal of Migration Research. 2011, Vol. 1 (3), pp. 146–155.

Erikson, T. H. Small Places, Large Issues. An Introduction to Social and Cultural Anthropology. London: Pluto, 2002. 352 p.

Jerman, H. Mobilitet och kulturella resurser: socialt minne och tillhörlighet i det finsk–ryska gränslandskapet. Nordisk Østforum. 2011, Vol. 25 (2), pp.139–154.

Jerman, H. Memory Crossing Borders: A Transition in Space and Time among Second and Third Generation Russians in Finland. In: Anthropological Perspectives on Social Memory (Anthropological Yearbook of European Cultures 15). Ed. by Petri Hautaniemi, Helena Jerman, Sharon Macdonald. Münster: LIT Verlag, 2007, pp.117–141.

Jerman, H. Russians as Presented in TV Documentaries. Global Review of Ethnopolitics.

2004, Vol. 3 (2), pp. 79–88.

Okely, J. Privileged, Schooled, and Finished: Boarding Education for Girls. In: Okely, J. Own or Other Culture. London/New York: Routledge, 1996, pp. 133–160.

Pellow, D. An interview with John Middleton. Current Anthropology. 1999, Vol. 40 (2), pp. 217–230.

Siim, B. Politics Matters. Gender and Citizenship in France, Britain, and Denmark.

Paper for the COST 13A Working Group Gender Issues. Workshop on Labour Marginalisation/Exclusion and Caring in Berlin, (November 24/25, 2000).

Available: http://www.socsci.aau.dk/cost/gender/Workingpapers/siim.pdf [Accessed 24 March 2012].

Skultans, V. Between Experience and Text in Ethnography and Oral History. Elore, Vol. 1, pp. 1–15. Available: http://www.elore.fi/arkisto/1_06/sku1_06.pdf [Accessed 26 March 2012].

Wolf, E. R. Europe and the People without History: with a new preface. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. 503 p. Йерман, Е. Опыт диалогического изучения идентичности русского меньшинства в Финляндии. [Reflections on Identity in Dialogues. Experience of Sessions with Members of the Hidden Russian Minority in Finland]. Диаспоры [Diasporas].

2006, Но. 1, с. 148–170.

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Wiktoria Kudela–Świątek Forgotten Poles: Narratives of Modern Repatriates from Kazakhstan about their Past and Present Polishness In one of his interviews given to “Przegląd Powszechny” Zygmunt Bauman has said: “When changes take a reversible pace, questions such as “who am I” or “who I would like to be” return many times through a human life. They are not being asked merely once in a lifetime, at its dawn. It is difficult to expect a single identity to last for the whole life” (Naliwajko 1999). Sometimes such changes take place by themselves, almost unnoticeably, to every one of us. More often, however, they are caused by critical events in our lives. At such times, in order to keep on living, we are forced to destroy our previous selves and build our worlds anew. It is especially severe when the changes are caused by social rejection, questioning the right to existence of our identity.

In my opinion, this is happening in the minds of many modern repatriates from Kazakhstan to Poland. They represent a special case of a

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Oral History and Movement constraint diaspora. Its formation as a social group is largely connected with the painful history of the relationships between Poland and the Russian Empire and later the Soviet Union (Kudela–Świątek 2010).

Their attempts to preserve their identity are dramatically interesting to point out. The clash of their specific kind of Polishness (diaspora) with the reality of modern Poland and modern Poles’ feelings of national identity often adds to the repatriates resigning from their declared Polishness and urges them to search for a new self–identification.

The issue of the return of Soviet Poles to their historical fatherland has always caused much controversy in Polish society. I will therefore attempt to discuss the way the social and scientific discourse in our country determines the transformations of their identity. In this case, I will use the results of my own field research. During July and August 2009 I went on a field research expedition to Akmola and the northern provinces of Kazakhstan that resulted in 50 narrative interviews.

Before leaving and after my return to Poland I have been interviewing repatriates living in Krakow for several years. The aim of my interviews was not to capture a picture of history in general, but to focus more on what happened to my interviewees and their own individual experiences. My interviews did not focus on reinterpreting objective, previously written information (which is, as we know, very different from individual experiences) but rather on interpretation through the first hand accounts of the past experiences of my interviewees.

Identificational dilemmas of the repatriates Before coming to Poland, the representatives of my group of interest had been raised in Polish households, where they had learnt Polish customs and the Catholic religion and from where they brought the conviction of their Polishness and of belonging to the Polish nation.

But they also felt close to their small fatherlands – not to Kazakhstan as a country, but to the village or town they were coming from. Everyone there had known each other for generations; everyone shared the same fate and the same experiences of the past. On the other hand, they perceived going to Poland as an opportunity for their descendants

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Oral History and Movement to grow in their national religion and culture and as an attempt to prevent them from losing their own national identity (Gorbaniuk 2008).

Migration implies radical changes in life, changes that require a revision of previous life orientations and ways of conduct. Ruth Leiserowitz has described migration as a type of turning point in a life. The decision to migrate also shapes the expectations towards the new role the newcomers are to play in the new environment (Leiserowitz 2002).

The collapse of the “Polish diaspora identity” of the representatives of this society after moving to Poland seems to be a complex phenomenon that causes confusion, frustration, and finally the search for a new self–identification. Those of my interviewees whom I have known before and after the repatriation seem to have a paradoxical way of reasoning. Before the repatriation, their inner problem was the fact that Polish identity and Kazakhstani citizenship obviously did not overlap.

After settling in the land of their ancestors, it appears that they still notice the same, if not a deeper, dichotomy of identity.

The representatives of the oldest generation are the ones to most deeply experience the period of confusion, from which the new identity can only emerge (if it ever does). Their narrations tend therefore to be overly reflexive. The main question they ask themselves while talking about their past is to prove their right to repatriation by describing the suffering caused by the repressions of the Soviet authorities.

Especially in long narrations I have noticed the tendency to use their biographies as a tool of fighting Polish xenophobia; they stress only those elements that prove that treating them currently as foreigners is unfair, that they are more Polish than the Poles in Poland, that they are unique due to their biographical experiences. One of my narrators, Mr. Jan, has often emphasised his inability to understand why the repatriates are not accepted by Polish society, because Poles from the East are more persistent and more patriotic–oriented than the Poles in Poland due to the fact that the former, having faced more ordeals and tests of character, managed to keep their Polish identity in the face of danger, an identity that is so easily and mercilessly rejected by the latter. Other narrators have brought up a great number of examples confirming their courage and suffering. It is impossible to tell to what degree this is a conscious attempt, but they try to get the oral historian involved

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Oral History and Movement in the endless discussion about them not being accepted as Poles in the land of their ancestors. One of my narrators, Mrs. Maria, has often repeated the following sequence: Why were they terrorising us so much... and the children, and the youths, indeed... so we would be afraid to call ourselves Poles. We did differ from the Kazakhs; well, it was visible we were not Kazakhs... They used to tell us that if we came from Ukraine, then we’re Ukrainians...

What is that... Wasn’t it visible we were Poles? Why was it like this?

Mine were all Poles: my father and my mother, grandfather, great– grandfather... And now they don’t believe us here, either, and again they are saying the same thing, that if we were evicted from Ukraine, then we are Ukrainians... (Murawicka 2007).

Another narrator, Mrs. Anna, reached for an even more powerful weapon, which was her family memory. Although the stories of bravery and courage in her narration sound like well–known anecdotes, with many ambiguities, but the consistency of the story plays here just a secondary role; more important is the impression it makes on the listener. As it has been pointed out by Harald Welzer, in such situations the narration of a mother, grandmother, or an aunt is better than a film or a book because it is more connected to the narrator as a part of his or her history; it is their own history (Welzer 2011).

The family memory allows for a spiritual connection with the generations who were repressed – I am a part of them, I am the continuation of their history, I am Polish, I will prove it to all of you. In my opinion, in this case the family memory becomes the driving force that, even after the confrontation with the Polish stereotype of “an Easterner”, allows them to fight for their Polish identity, to remain a Pole in spite of their lack of similarity with native Poles. It becomes an inner pillar for the narrator, which replaces all the other values and strengthens the reactance among the Kazakhstani Poles.

Repatriation is also a challenge for many representatives of the middle generation. Adaptation problems in Poland, as opposed to other countries also experiencing this same issue (Germany, Finland), are caused by the fact that most people immigrating to Poland have a higher education. And the higher the education, the harder it is to adapt in a new environment due to higher expectations. We are therefore

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Oral History and Movement dealing with a great problem of degradation of repatriates among the local community (Hut 2002). It has been shown by the research led

by Paweł Hut, as all interviewed repatriates from Kazakhstan, in this case representatives of the intellectuals, had been forced to taking on physical jobs such as receptionists, cleaners, or technical and building professionals (Hut 2006). It is conductive with the fact that after the arrival to their historical fatherland they are in fact treated as foreigners by that society. In effect, a part of them identify themselves with the group who has a similar experience and present difficulties of the bureaucratic character. Thus, a type of nationalistic separation emanating in multiple directions is very common. First of all, interviewees define themselves as “Kazakhs” (meaning by this term not the nation, but the country) or as Russians, but only in the context of language and anthropological features, which differentiate them from the native inhabitants of Kazakhstan. There are, however, also people who completely cannot cope with the social pressure and such a deep revaluation of their previous life, and who therefore rebel against the compulsion of self–identification in regard to nationality by choosing an identity such as “a cosmopolite” or “a common man”. Another kind of such individualisation is defining oneself as “a Pole from Kazakhstan” or “a Ukrainian/Kazakhstani Pole”. Not everyone has enough persistence and not everyone perceives his or her life as a constant battle, nor should everyone do so. This relates to the second and third generation. I have also met such people among the participants of this project; however, they have rejected to give their consent for using their narrations in my work.

Researchers of this subject have determined a number of personality traits that facilitate a good adaptation to the new conditions of living in the country of repatriation. They are as follows: an open attitude to living, emotional stability, an inner feeling of directing their own fate, and self–acceptance. Among my narrators, such traits are shown mainly by young people, while for the older generation the main factor supporting the feeling of Polish identity in the country are religious and patriotic values, which in a way level mental differences and give the narrator a feeling of commune with the Polish nation and allow him or her to consider himself/herself an important and inseparable part of it. In this context, repatriation has the same effect as other

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Oral History and Movement types of migration, namely, that success in the new home is achieved only by strong people.

The last factor to slow down the adaptation process is the lack of or insufficient knowledge of the Polish language. According to the results of research by Paweł Hut, the lack of knowledge of the Polish language among the repatriates coming to Poland during the period of 1992–2000 was the biggest barrier to their adaptation. He states that only 10% of 290 questionnaires returned to his address were written in correct Polish. 18 people responded in the Russian language, which was caused more by the emotional need to tell about their situation in a deeper way and it was easier for them to express the multitude of overflowing emotions in Russian. Learning the language is hardest for mixed Polish–Russian and Ukrainian couples; Polish–German couples prefer repatriation to Germany. Knowledge of the Polish language among repatriates is not deep in general, and in the case of mixed marriages the problem is even more severe, because the repatriate lacks the motivation for leaning; there is no other stimulus to use the language, which in other cases would most often be the necessity of using Polish language in everyday communication (Hut 2002).

In spite of significant methodological differences, my research has led to the same conclusion. I have noticed that my narrators often switched the language of narration from Polish to Russian and back.

This was not caused by a lack of relevant words, but rather by the lack of appropriate tools in each language to express their identity in the full complexity of it. In my opinion this is also the cause of the issue of calling Poland their fatherland. In the Russian language there are two terms, which relate to the difference between nationality and citizenship. On the linguistic level my narrators have visibly distinguished that Poland is their historical fatherland (Rus. otchizna) but not their real fatherland (Rus. rodina), which would be Kazakhstan or Ukraine.

To understand their own attitude towards Poland as the fatherland, my narrators complete the mythical image of historical fatherland with their own details resulting from their direct experience of Poland. Often they discover that for the majority of them the attachment to Polishness was caused by a difficult family history. In general, it appears that for them the term “Poland” is identical with the term

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Oral History and Movement “Poles in Kazakhstan”. And, surprisingly, they feel more Polish when they are abroad. As a country, Poland is perceived negatively, and as a place inhabited by their nation it is not close to them. They often stress the feeling of not being at home. They are still guests of Poland; they do not fully feel like citizens.

What is Poland for me? The country I have friends in (he smiles), maybe like this... Because if I were to say it’s my fatherland, for example, I would have lied. I have studied there, I have friends there. I like the country.

I like some of the people. Not all of them, because various things have happened. Like in any other country, anyway, there are no bad countries, only bad people. In Poland things varied as well. I have my pals; I have people I would like to meet up with. It’s the same in Russia, the same in Kazakhstan. I have my true friends, the ones I gained during the eight years in Poland. And now I live in Russia and I have none. I have acquaintances, but friends, no... (Plat 2009).

Many Kazakhstani Poles decided to repatriate after becoming married and brought along their elderly parents. Some of the children have been born in Kazakhstan, some already in Poland. Therefore, only the youngest generation and school children are being fully assimilated.

The current subject literature describes the relationship of the third generation of Kazakhstani Poles towards Polishness as two radical attitudes. On the one hand, oral historians have noticed a visible return to the Polish roots of the grandfathers by the assimilation in Polish society in the case of people living in Poland permanently or during their studies. This also relates to families that had lost their connection with Polish culture during Soviet times. On the other hand, it is easy to notice the disappointment and retiring from Polish identity, not only among the young people, but among the whole families. This is most common in families who for generations kept the image of Poland as the ideological fatherland of their ancestors and who did not endure the trial of clashing with the culture of modern Poland. Young people from Polish families in Kazakhstan, who are presently studying in the country, are usually a special interest for oral historians. This group has found themselves under the influence of Ukrainian and Polish (Kresy) culture (the values of their grandfathers), Soviet and Russian culture (the values of their parents), and Kazakh and Polish culture (the values of their peers). The most important for them are the

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Oral History and Movement Polish and Russian cultures. Moreover, through the interests of their children, the parents of these students (the aforementioned middle generation) also begin to seek for the Polish roots of their own families (Kamocki 1998).

In this context I would like to present excerpts from the narration of Mrs. Ninela. The narrator comes from a mixed, Polish–Russian family. Her leaving to Poland, the lack of acceptance from fellow students, and changing the course of studies have caused significant dilemmas regarding her identity. She has arrived in the country deeply convinced of her Polish identity, inculcated in her by her father since she was little.

In Poland I don’t feel I am Polish. In Poland I’m Russian, and in Kazakhstan I’m a Pole. At school everybody was saying I don’t look Russian. I’m a Pole instead. They used to ask, say something in Polish? And when are you leaving to Poland? And when I have finally arrived in Poland, I was Polish no more. And Poles, for example, immediately started saying that I look like a typical Russian girl (Kaminska 2009).

Interesting is the fact that the narrator is presently using the name Nina, not Ninel. This name change is significant in the context of her search for identity. Ninel (Rus. Нинель) is a Soviet neologism created by reading backwards the surname Lenin (Rus. Ленин). It gained popularity due to its exotic, Western sound. In the case of the narrator, the name change was a conscious rejection of her home values of the Soviet Poles, who had adjusted to the system. They stopped speaking Polish, adopted new national values, and became a part of Soviet society so much that their only child bore the name which was the symbol of victory over their own nation.

Artur Kozłowski expressed the opinion that one of the most important successes of the repatriation policy is “the fast integration of the youngest generation” (Kozlowski 2004). In this context the important question is what should we understand as the term “integration”. In the case of the youngest generation, in my opinion, integration means the erasing of individual qualities, the loss of bond between generations connecting them with their families and the whole group of Kazakhstani Poles and merging them into the environment of their peers. The meaning we commonly give to this term

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Oral History and Movement is reflected by Michael Morineau, who described the human need for social acceptance as “the joy of being included”. He therefore wrote: “The term itself in a way says it all; it answers the primary desire to belong, to belong to a group, to be accepted by someone else, by the others, to be accepted, remain reassured of having support, of having allies” (Morineau 1987). To gain such approval it was necessary, in the opinion of my narrators, to possess an extremely interesting national lineage, noble ancestors who had not spared themselves but had fought the communist system; they call it the “proper biography of a repatriate”. In other words, integration for them means being the way others want to perceive them. The main question that arises: Is that what is expected from them in their historical fatherland?

Face to face with the myth (instead of the conclusion...)

The ideas repatriates and the citizens of the country have about each other often have little in common with the real state of affairs.

The repatriates expect to arrive in a country with a better economic situation and undoubtedly it is so; however, life in Poland is not as “fairy–tale” simple as it would have appeared before coming to Poland.

Moreover, the citizens of Poland discover that their new fellow citizens have a different experience of the past, a different mentality, and a poor knowledge of the Polish language. In both cases, expectations are not being fulfilled, the myth is replaced by disappointment. In my perception, granting the right of repatriation to Kazakhstani Poles assumes the acceptance of their Polishness or accepting as sufficient their feeling of belonging to the Polish nation by the Polish government. It is therefore difficult to understand the pretentious attitude of Polish society towards the newly arrived fellow citizens and discussions of the term repatriation in relation to Kazakhstani Poles.

In private conversations, the repatriates often confirm that before leaving they did indeed understand the problems connected with repatriation. They had not, however, realised the scope and severity of this phenomenon, the socio–cultural and mental differences between them and their fellow citizens in Poland. Often they overestimate their

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Oral History and Movement own persistence and physical resistance and, not being able to cope with the crisis situation, they return to Kazakhstan.

Regardless of the age of the repatriates, the first years of living in Poland are the biographical period, when repatriates think over their identity and the rationality of their decision to return to their historical homeland. Most of my narrators have been in this period of life when I met them. In my perception, the critical character of the life situation connected with the necessity to understand the attitudes of Polish society and their own national self–identification and their identification with the previous country of residence gave the narrations a character of a contemplation of identity, in which I was a listener and a participant. Their own biographical stories and the stories of family history played a utilitarian function in the narrations of repatriates, because they were intended to prove first of all to themselves and secondly to myself, as well as to the society of fellow citizens in the country (whom I represented for my narrators), the rightness of the repatriation policy and their personal identification with Polishness.

In this case, Polishness was understood by them as being in accordance with a defined ideal (canonical image) of the representatives of the Polish nation, which is characteristic for Kazakhstani Polish society, from which the repatriates come.

I stand by the opinion that the repatriates feel lost, because they must define themselves in regard to their nationality and, because they are not perceived in Poland as fellow citizens anyway – the differences are too significant, especially in the case of Polish people in the East – is there any point in remaining Polish? Another unanswered question arises: Do Polish people in Poland have the right to set any demands towards the Polish diaspora and Polish minorities abroad and to set the standard for being a proper Pole?

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Interviews Kaminska, Ninela. Interview by author 16 Feb 2009 in Krakow, 6.14–7.25.

Murawicka, Maria. Interview by author 15 Jan 2007 in Krakow, c. 8, side B. Plat, Aleksander. Interview by author 7 Aug 2009 in Kellerowka (Kazakhstan), 27.58–35.40.

References Hut, P. Warunki życia i proces adaptacji repatriantów w Polsce w latach 1992–2000. Warszawa: Oficyna Wydawnicza “Aspra–JR”, 2002. 270 p.

Hut, P. Polska wobec rodaków na wschodzie. In: Polska i Niemcy wobec Polaków na wschodzie.

Ed. by Jennifer Elrick, Justyna Frelak, Paweł Hut. Warszawa: Instytut Spraw Publicznych, 2006, pp. 14–22.

Gorbaniuk, J. Psychospołeczne uwarunkowania zadowolenia z repatriacji. Lublin: Wydawn.

KUL, 2008. 250 p.

Leiserowitz, R. Pozytywne doświadczenie granicy. Życiorysy Żydów z pogranicza polsko–litewskiego. Borussia. 2002, Vol. 26, p. 192.

Kamocki, J. Świadomość narodowa Polaków Kazachstanie. In: Polska droga do Kazachstanu.

Ed. by Tadeusz Kiesielewski. Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Instytutu Historii PAN, 1998, pp. 130–134.

Kozłowski, A. Repatriacja jako element polityki migracyjny, w zestawienie z doświadczenie m innych państw. In: Repatriacja jako element polityki demograficznej Polski. Poznań: Stow. “Wspólnota Polska” 2004.

Kudela–Świątek, W. Między wyobrażeniem a rzeczywistością. Obraz ojczyzny w pamięci zbiorowej kazachtańskich Polaków i repatriantów z Kazachstanu. In: Stałość i zmienność tożsamości. Ed. by Leon Dyczewski; Justyna Szulich–Kałuża; Robert Szwed. Lublin: Wydawnictwo KUL, 2010, pp. 189–207.

Morineau, M. La douceur d’être inclus. In: Sociabilité, pouvoirs et société, Actes du Coloque de Rouen, 24/26 Novembre 1983. Ed. by Françoise Thelamon. Rouen: Université de Rouen, 1987, pp. 19–32.

Naliwajko, J. To, co najważniejsze nie zostało jeszcze powiedziane: an interview with Zygmunt Bauman. Przegląd Powszechny. 1999, No. 1, p. 41.

Welzer, H. Family Memories of World War II and the Holocaust in Europe, or Is There a European Memory? Cultural Memories. 2011, Vol. 4, pp. 171–188.

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Arbnora Dushi Dialogue with Our Painful Past: Personal Narratives of Elderly Kosovar Albanians Historical Studies/Border Studies Major changes that occurred during the last couple of decades have shifted the emphasis of historical studies, so that now many issues concerning the past are called into question. Studies of identity politics, especially those in political anthropology, an important part of which concerns the anthropology of the border (Wilson & Donnan 1998), allow us to investigate many issues which could not be clarified until now. Research in border areas provides case studies of the relations between the state and the nation, because in these areas we have the greatest access to relevant reports. Objects of study within anthropologies of borders include the everyday relations of the residents of border areas with state officials, and with state, cultural, economic, historical,

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Oral History and Movement and political borders. At the same time, they include a sense of nationhood along with questions of the preservation of national identity and assimilation. We can also study the relations between residents and state institutions and the administrative structures designed to maintain and reinforce the status quo. Of course, these relations produce on a daily basis objects of study for anthropologists and other scholars of culture, and of the social sciences. The most difficult areas to study and review are those where the borders have affected consanguinity or cultural links. These include the borders between the two Germanys, Turkey’s borders with Syria and Georgia, the borders between Israel and its Arab neighbours, the border between England and Ireland, Spain and France, and so on (Wilson & Donnan 1998). Certainly within this category comes the Albanian border with Yugoslavia, incorporating the border that has isolated the Kosovo Albanian population, which has blood ties as well as historical and cultural ties with Albania. This border divided the Albanian people so that the part of the Albanian population living in Kosovo,1 belonging administratively to the Yugoslav state, was detached from the ethnic and territorial Albanian state.

This political boundary “stayed” in this area for many decades, and living in these conditions produced many personal and family narratives, the opening up of which then cast light on this moment of history. Opening the border with Albania gave the opportunity to integrate Albanians internally, allowing them to develop their own culture and their own traditions in ways that were attuned to the origins and ethnicity of the people.

Seeing folklore as a creative continuity, and recognizing oral history as one dimension of the discipline of border studies (a relatively new field within the wider discipline of anthropology), prompted this study of the personal experiences of Kosovo Albanians when political division led to their separation along ethnic lines. Residents of the border areas with Albania still retain alive in their memory the infamous year of 1948, when many of their personal fortunes were lost and their families were forced into separation. Consequently, couples were separated, children parted from their families, and parents from

Kosovo is the newest European state that declared its independence on October 17, 2008. It is surrounded by Albania, Serbia, Macedonia, and Montenegro.

Albanians comprise more than 90% of the country’s population. Until 1999 it belonged to Former Yugoslavia.

1

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Oral History and Movement children, to say nothing of the damage done to other areas of life. The personal stories of these individuals, reflecting their oral autobiographies, provide concrete evidence of the emotional dimension of their national history, and they represent important sources for the definition of their cultural identity and for the collective determination of their national values.

The fact of the Albanian border inevitably loomed large in the life stories of the residents of the border areas, especially those already in their eighties, who were children and youths during World War II and who registered major changes affecting their lives in the post–war years. Moreover, the border topic was taboo for fifty years, so that “the registration of personal memories today, filling emptiness with the hidden memories of the community, should play an important role in the writing of general history” (Anepaio 2003).

The topic of the border constitutes not only a cultural and emotional problem, as in our case, but also a political, economic, and educational problem, and the possibilities for researching it along these lines are unlimited (see Barth 1969; Michaelsen & Johnson 2003).

The working methodology I undertook qualitative research in this border region as part of the project “Personal oral narratives as a genre of Albanian folklore”.

The research had to do with the collection of personal stories from elderly people over eighty, men and women, whose childhood memories were related to the establishment of the political border between Yugoslavia and Albania. Two towns and villages in the border area inhabited by Kosovo Albanians – Prizren and Gjakova – are major centres that were historically affected by this national border.

The memories of the elderly residents of these cities, as expressed through the personal narratives I collected – their life stories and their memories of childhood, youth, and old age – are inevitably dominated by the border, as we can see from any reports that have been made on or by these people: it is manifested in families that visit relatives living across the border; in the difficulties that arise over cross–border education,

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Oral History and Movement where Yugoslav residents whose mother tongue is Albanian were forced to go to school in a foreign language; in relations with the state of Yugoslavia, where Albanians felt badly treated by a government that was not their own; and so on and so forth. All of these relationships were stratified in the mentalities of the inhabitants of the border areas and were built into the narratives of their personal lives. New understandings of history through the memory of those who created that history have become possible, and new possibilities for research into the folklore and history of Albanians have been opened up.

I managed to contact fifty storytellers, with whom I had to arrange more than one meeting before recording the interview. The first meeting was with the narrator as well as with his/her family. At these meetings the narrators and their families wanted to find out more about me, seeking information about my origins – my parents, my grandparents, etc. – so that they could feel confident they could trust this person to whom they were confiding their childhood memories and their life stories. From my initial contact I managed to get confirmation of 44 meetings. I made appointments with these respondents lasting between two and two and a half hours, but I managed to reduce this to an hour and a half for each interview, so that the material could be recorded on a mini–disk. The interview began with open questions during which I could inform them about how they should orientate their story. I tried not to ask many questions because the goal was to register their personal narratives and not to extract facts. During interviews the narrators expressed their emotions freely, allowing themselves to cry occasionally as they recalled distressing memories, and in this way I was able to register something of the emotional world of this particular historical reality. I managed to establish a dialogue with their past, bringing that past forward into the present.

After recording the narrative, I asked everyone to confirm in writing whether they would agree to have their interviews published and whether they would agree to have their identity revealed. Of the 44 potential personal stories I managed to secure only 37, because four of the narrators refused to give me an interview, arguing that they did not feel well enough. A further four interviews failed due to problems

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Oral History and Movement with the technical equipment (I managed to re–record only one of these, while the other three were lost).

After the interviews, the next stage was the transcription process, with each recording needing 10–12 hours to transcribe. At the end of this process I managed to obtain for each successful interview an audio copy of the transcribed version of the story, a picture of the narrator, and a confirmation letter from the narrator regarding publication of the story as well as a statement about whether or not his or her identity should be revealed.

Some extracts of narratives The desire for a connection with, and contact with, Albania was omnipresent among the populations of these towns and villages, all of which were located in the border area. Both during the periods when it was possible to go there and during the periods when contact with Albania was impossible, the feeling of being together with and connected with the Albanian state remained very strong among this population. Even the persistent conviction that emerges from these stories that people in Albania were more cultured, that there was an abundance of goods, that the education system was more developed, that teachers who came from there were better, that there was law and order, etc., can be explained by a continuing desire to be together with Albania.

However, freedom of movement and easy border crossing were not always the same thing, because the question of the border was by no means fixed; much depended on daily politics, and for this reason the border was vividly manifested in personal experiences. One such experience involved storytellers from Gjakova: Yes, when I went to Albania, I was little girl. My aunt lived there. I was with my mother. The family of my aunt was rich and had their own property in Kukes [a city in North Albania]… To go to Albania we had to pass two check points, one in Gjakova and the other in Kukes. In both places we had to show our identity cards. As I remember, we went by truck… I am not sure, either by truck or by bus. I was around ten years old… There people were more cultured, they dressed more fashionably

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Oral History and Movement than we did. Our aunt bought us new fashionable dresses, similar to those worn in Albania…. I remember that I went one other time, just before my marriage. I remember that we stayed only ten days… no more, because the authorities gave us only limited residence (84–year– old woman, interview by author, Gjakova, May, 2005).

Long after the border was closed, there was a strong desire among the youth of this area to cross the border illegally, even at the risk of life. Young boys had a great desire to visit Albania. (Why did they want to go to Albania? Long after the border was closed A. D.) How do I know? ...

They wanted to go where everybody was Albanian. They wanted to study in their own language (85–year–old woman, interview by author, Gjakova, April 2005).

During the period of the political border between Yugoslavia and Albania, the destiny of many young Albanian people in these areas was trapped within Yugoslavia. The inability to cross over into Albania made this goal seem even more desirable, resulting in a large number of fatalities, some of them occurring under mysterious circumstances.

This very fact produced some exceptionally raw narratives, and as such created valuable material for folklorists, oral historians, and even anthropologists.

Publication of the project After finishing my project on “Oral personal narratives as a genre of Albanian folklore”, I published a book, the first part of which is theoretical (arguing for oral personal narratives as folklore) and the second part of which is practical (bringing to the readers the personal narratives of elderly Albanians in Kosovo). Materials were analyzed according to their narrative structure, identity formations that could be identified by the narratives, linguistic structure, and psycho–biographical approaches. The final part was an interpretation of history as seen through the lens of emotionally charged personal stories. This book was well received after publication, not least because it consolidated a new genre of Albanian folklore and also opened a pathway for the inclusion of oral autobiography as an oral genre.

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References Anepaio, T. Boundaries in the Soviet Union – The case of the repressed. In: Making and Breaking of Borders: ethnological interpretations, presentations, representations.

Studia Fennica. Ethnologica 7. Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, Helsinki, 2003, pp. 67–78.

Barth, F. Ethnic groups and boundaries: the social organization of cultural difference.

Boston: Little Brown and Company, 1969. 151 p.

Border theory: the limits of cultural politics. Ed. by Scott Michaelsen and David E. Johnson. Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1997. 266 p.

Wilson, Th. M., Donnan, H. Nation, state and identity at international borders.

In: Border identities: Nation and state at international frontier. Ed. by Wilson, Th. M. and H. Donnan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998, pp. 1–30.

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Janīna Kursīte Baltkrievija: diasporas latviešu un vietējo baltkrievu stāsti par Otro pasaules karu 144 Zem mierīgās virskārtas, dziļākās sarunās ar baltkrieviem un Baltkrievijas latviešiem atklājas pirmskara un kara laiku dzīvesstāstu traģika. Dzīvesstāsti savākti Latvijas Universitātes rīkotajās folkloras ekspedīcijās Baltkrievijā 2007., 2008., 2010. un 2011. gadā Gomeļas, Mogiļovas un Vitebskas apgabalā. Kaut arī ekspedīcijas dalībniekus interesējusi tradicionālā kultūra un latviešu 19. gs. koloniju likteņi, Otrais pasaules karš, gribot negribot, ienāca stāstījumos. Bija jādomā par jēdzienu “partizāni”, “bandīti”, “vācu soda vienības” nosacītību.

Latvieši Baltkrievijā Atsevišķi jāaplūko jautājums par latviešiem (latgaliešiem), kas dzīvoja ārpus Latgales – Baltkrievijā. Joprojām tagadējā Baltkrievijas teritorijā var atrast vietu nosaukumus Latigoliči, Latiševo, bet

Oral History and Movement arī vietu nosaukumus ar baltiskām (latviskām) saknēm. Agrāk tādu, īpaši Vitebskas apgabalā, bija vēl vairāk (Krasnais 1938, 183). Latvieši un baltkrievi dzīvojuši līdzās. Kad tika nodibināta Latvijas valsts un novilktas robežas starp Latviju, no vienas puses, un Baltkrieviju, no otras puses, samērā daudz latviešu palika ārpus iezīmētās valsts teritorijas. Taču rakstā ir runa par citiem latviešiem, tiem, kas 19. gs. vidū un otrajā pusē no Latgales, Vidzemes un Kurzemes pārcēlās uz Baltkrieviju kā kolonisti, nespēdami dzimtenē nopirkt zemi. Kā raksta Vilberts Krasnais savā grāmatā Latviešu kolonijas (Krasnais 1938, 184), pēc poļu nemieriem krievu valdība 1865. gadā izdeva noteikumus, ka poļu muižnieki vairs nedrīkst pirkt jaunas muižas un palielināt savus īpašumus. Līdz ar to daudzu izputējušo poļu muižnieku zemes iepirka kolonisti no Latvijas, kur tajā laikā daudziem no dzimtbūšanas atbrīvotajiem zemniekiem joprojām nebija izdevies tikt pie savas zemes. Baltkrievijā zemes cenas tobrīd bija daudz zemākas, un tiem, kas negribēja doties uz tālo Sibīriju, kur zemi varēja iegūt par velti, izdevās to samērā lēti iegādāties tepat, kaimiņos – Baltkrievijā, tādējādi mazāk zaudējot saikni ar mājām. Parasti latvieši apvienojās pa 10–20 un nopirka kādas izputējušas muižas zemes, kurās izveidoja savas saimniecības un dzīvoja kaimiņos, radot mazas latviešu saliņas blakus pamatiedzīvotājiem baltkrieviem. Pēc 1897. gada tautas skaitīšanas datiem samērā daudz latviešu koloniju bija Vitebskas, Polockas un Oršas apriņķos. Kopumā Vitebskas guberņā mita 26 404 abu dzimumu latvieši, lielākā daļa no tiem runāja dzimtajā valodā un pēc ticības bija protestanti (Dorofejevs 2009, 188).

Pēc V. Krasnā ziņām latviešu skaits Vitebskas apgabalā minētajā laikposmā (19. gs. beigās) tomēr bija mazāks (10 270), Mogiļovas apgabalā – 7027, Minskas apgabalā – 1686 (Krasnais 1938, 186). Taču latviešu skaitam Baltkrievijā bija tendence pieaugt. Statistika liecina, ka no visu cilvēku skaita, kas 1878.–1887. g. pārcēlušies uz Vitebskas guberņu, 51,5% bijuši latvieši, 16,9% lietuvieši un 31,6% citi (Tugajs 2006, 66).

Latvieši, iepirkuši Baltkrievijā zemi, ļoti ātri kļuva turīgi.

Saimniecības uzplauka, pateicoties augstākām lauksaimniecības tehnoloģijām, salīdzinot ar vietējiem baltkrieviem: “Latviešu saimniecības ātri nostiprinājās un ieguva kulturālu izskatu (..) Latvieši

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Ekspedīcijā (2008) Vitebskas apgabala bijušajā latviešu kolonijā Potašņā to pašu stāstīja 82 gadus vecais baltkrievs Grigorijs Kuprijanovs, kurš par sievu apņēmis latvieti Elvīru Liepiņu. Viņš joprojām atcerējās daudzus latviešus un to, cik prasmīgi viņi saimniekojuši.

Pirmskara represijas Ar kādām noskaņām Otro pasaules karu varēja sagaidīt Baltkrievijas latvieši? Diemžēl latviešu saimnieciskie panākumi bija arī viens no galvenajiem iemesliem, kāpēc mūsdienās latviešu Baltkrievijā ir atlicis tik maz. Nākot pie varas lieliniekiem, vairākums latviešu, kuru saimniecības pārsvarā bija diezgan turīgas, tika fiziski iznīcināti vai izsūtīti uz Sibīriju. Jau pagājušā gadsimta 20. gados latvieši piedzīvoja pirmās vajāšanas no komunistiem un vairākas latviešu kolonijas tika gandrīz pilnībā iznīcinātas (Krasnais 1938, 189). Otrs terora vilnis sākās ar kolektivizāciju Krievijā un briesmīgus apjomus pieņēma 30. gadu otrajā pusē, kulmināciju sasniedzot 1938. un 1939. gadā, kad tika iznīcināta lielākā daļa latviešu, nopostītas baznīcas un aizvērtas skolas. Pēc varmācīgās kolonistu sadzīšanas kolhozos notika represijas – galvenokārt pret vīriešiem, pret izglītotajiem, vadošajos amatos strādājošajiem: Tēvs bija grāmatvedis kolhozā. 1937. g. savāca NKVD [VDK], aizveda, nošāva, ne tikai tēvu, bet arī vēl citus 24 vīriešus no apkārtnes. Es biju tautas ienaidnieka dēls, ko atzīmēja jebkurā izziņā, ko vajadzēja kaut kur iesniegt, arī armijā (Artūrs Lejasmeiers, dz. 1933. g.; Galičmiza, 2008). Savukārt Arnolds Rīgels stāsta: Visi latvieši pirms kara bija ļoti iebiedēti. Kuropatos starp nošautajiem daudz arī latviešu.

Dzīvus apraka, rokas sasietas (Arnolds Rīgels, dz. 1951. g., Galičmiza, 2008). Arī Elza Matisone atminas: No apkārtnes NKVD [VDK] paņēma 35 cilvēkus, vairāk no latviešiem. Neviens neatgriezās atpakaļ, vīrieši tie galvenokārt bija (Elza Matisone, dz. 1925. g. Gomeļas apg. Zaļesjes c., bij. Rudobelkas kolonija, 2007).

Lidija Veisa (dz. 1925. g. Gomeļas apg. Zaļesjes c., bij. Rudobelkas kolonija) stāsta: 1937. g. visus vīriešus, gandrīz visus vīriešus, NKVD

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Oral History and Movement [VDK] savāca, gandrīz neviens neatgriezās. No Zirņu saimes paņēma ciet veco Zirni, kas bija kolhoza priekšsēdētājs, māsu, kas strādāja avīzes redakcijā, sievu Zelmu, kas bija skolotāja, līdz ar bērniem. No viņiem tikai dēls atgriezās no Sibīrijas, pārējie gāja bojā. Visi Zirņi bija komunisti.

Palikušos, nerepresētos, kas dzīvoja pierobežā ar Latviju, 30. gadu beigās pārcēla no Vitebskas apgabala prom uz Mogiļevas u. c. apgabaliem. Atgriezās, ļāva atgriezties tikai 60. gados.

Karš starp partizāniem un vāciešiem Latvijas vidusmēra latvietim jēdziens ”partizāns” saistās ar nacionālajiem partizāniem, kas kara laikā un pēc kara cīnījās pret padomju varu. Oficiālajā padomju literatūrā figurēja arī jēdziens “latviešu sarkanie partizāni”. Baltkrievijā ar partizāna jēdzienu nācās saskarties no citas, no otras puses. Partizāni bija ne tikai vietējie, kas vairījās no vāciešiem, bet arī no Maskavas iesūtītie, kas nodarbojās ar diversijām. Kamēr partizāni aktīvi nedarbojās, cik varēja saprast no aculiecinieku atmiņām, sadzīvošana ar vāciešiem un sadzīvošana ar partizāniem bija normāla. Taču, līdzko sākās partizānu diversijas, vācieši sāka sūtīt soda vienības. Partizāni nebija viegli notverami, tāpēc vienkāršāk bija atriebties mierīgajiem iedzīvotājiem. Sākās izrēķināšanās ar neaizsargātiem cilvēkiem. Nereti iznāca, ka latvieši no policijas bataljoniem iznīcināja Baltkrievijas latviešus – vietējos iedzīvotājus.

Antons Francevičs Bubalo – tautība grūti nosakāma, katolis, sirds inteliģents no Verhnedvinskas (Drisas), stāstīja par Rosicas traģēdiju.

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Rosica atrodas Drisas, tagad Verhnedvinskas rajonā. Partizāni rīkoja diversijas uz dzelzceļa, vācieši atriebās, arestējot vietējos ļaudis. Rosicas katoļu baznīcā bija sadales punkts. Rosicā dažādās vietās sadedzināja vairāk nekā 1500 cilvēku no Osvejas un Rosicas apkaimē aizturētajiem. Starp viņiem nāvi sadegot labprātīgi pieņēma arī divi katoļu priesteri Jurijs Kašira un Antonijs Leščevičs. Tas notika 1943. gada februārī. Vācieši viņus, tāpat kā septiņas mūķenes, sūtīja prom, bet mācītāji izvēlējās iet moku ceļu kopā ar citiem dievticīgajiem.

Tagad viņi ir beatificēti. Fiziski iznīcināja galvenokārt mazos bērnus un vecos cilvēkus, bet tos, kas bija spēka gados, sūtīja uz Salaspils koncentrācijas nometni. Antonam Bubalo tobrīd bija pieci mēneši, viņš varēja tikt sadedzināts, bet kopā ar māti nokļuva Salaspilī. Maskavā uzņēma filmu par “briesmīgajiem latviešiem” – policijas vienību dalībniekiem, pie reizes, kā Bubalo stāstīja, viņus vainojot arī Rosicas pareizticīgo baznīcas izdemolēšanā, lai gan baznīcu, kā liecināja Bubalo, iznīcināja padomju vara 30. gados. Savukārt soda ekspedīcijās šajās vietās piedalījās gan baltieši, gan ukraiņi un krievi no Vlasova armijas.

Tas gan nepadara latviešus, kas šajās vienībās bija un pildīja briesmīgās pavēles, par labākiem. Bubalo vajadzētu nīst latviešus, vāciešus, jo kā zīdainis viņš izgāja Salaspils nometni kopā ar māti. Bet Antons Bubalo mīl Latviju, zina Latviju, tiecas uz Latviju. Izlīdzinājumam – pēc kara Antona ģimenei palīdzēja kaimiņi – latvieši.

Citā Baltkrievijas pusē – Gomeļas apgabalā 19. gs. latviešu kolonijā, kas tagad saucas Zaļesje, par karu stāstīja Zenta Štāla.

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Latvieši Ramati dzīvoja Perkalē, viņus nošāva partizāni – gan veco, gan viņa dēlu Rūdi. Vecākais dēls Gluzskā pie vāciešiem aizgāja, tāpēc. Bet arī krievu un baltkrievu brīvprātīgie esesieši bija, lamājās krievu mēlē, to mēs dzirdējām (2007). Zentas Štālas brāli Gotfrīdu partizāni gribēja nošaut: Māte ar onkuli brauca pakaļ izlūgties: “Ko jūs karojat ar puišeļiem, karojiet ar vāciešiem!” Atbrīvoja, Gotfrīds kādu nedēļu nespēja ne ēst, ne dzert. Viņam bija 16 gadi, bet varbūt arī vēl nebija.

Osvalds Vinters (dz. 1936. g. Zaļesjē): Kara laikā tēvs savāca ģimeni uz mežu, vectēvs teica, ka neies, ka večus taču neaiztiks. Vācieši tos, kas bija palikuši ciemā, savāca un rijā sadedzināja. Pēc iznākšanas no meža vācieši tomēr arī pārējo ģimeni saķēra, veda uz citu ciemu, pa ceļam deva pienu viņu mazākajam bērnam. [..] Vācieši tāpat ir visādi (2007).

Elza Matisone (dz. 1925. g. Gomeļas apg. Zaļesjes c., bij. Rudobelkas kolonija) stāsta, ka Gluzskā bija vācieši un čehi, netālu no viņu ciema rīkojās partizāni: Pie mums Perkalē stāvēja partizāni. Kā nāca vācieši, cilvēki aizbēga uz mežu. Vēl bija tāds muļķīgs prāts, ka govi ar paņēma uz mežu. Bija kumeliņš, to ar. Bet nav, ar ko ēdināt, līdām pa kluso kartupeļus no lauka ņemt. Bijām veselu nedēļu mežā, vācieši pēc tam pārdzina atpakaļ. 1942. g. sadedzināja istabas un ļaudis. Arī latviešus sadedzināja. Laikam tāpēc, ka te kādi čehi, kas pie vāciešiem bija, iemaldījās, partizāni viņus nošāva. Tad nāca karateļnyj otrjad (soda vienība), un par to dedzināja ļaudis un viņu istabas. Kolbikā stāv pamjatņiks sadedzinātajiem ļaudīm. Bet Jārčerē vācieši [atlaida] ļaudis atpakaļ dzīvus, nesadedzinājuši.

Partizāņos bija savi ļaudis – tie mūs nešāva un nededzināja (2007).

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Oral History and Movement Lidija Veisa (dz. 1925. g. Gomeļas apg. Zaļesjes c., bij. Rudobelkas kolonija): Memmi sadedzināja 1942. g. vācieši, a papus bija frontē, viņš tur krita. Šeit mums apkārtnē bija četras partizānu nodaļas, latvieši tur ar bija.

Mums no policajiem bija bailes, bylo strashno (bija baisi).

Bijušajos latviešu ciemos uzliktas piemiņas zīmes sadedzinātajiem ciema iedzīvotājiem. Kolbikā sadedzināti 30, Perekaljē – 70, Bulkavā – 40 cilvēki. Blakus ir arī krusts, ko savējiem uzlikuši Grīnbergu radi no Bobruiskas.

150 Kādas cilvēkiem bija izvēles iespējas karā?

Vīriešiem: •

Paredzēt, kura no armijām uzvarēs, lai ietu uzvarētājas pusē armijā un, ja palaimētos izdzīvot (īpaši padomju armijā), būtu pareizajā pusē, un pēc gadiem saņemtu kara veterāna pensiju;

•

Neiet nevienā no armijām, slēpties mežā. Bet attiecībā uz uzvarētājiem, ja izdzīvosi, no partizāna kļūsi par dezertieri.

Tāpat nošaus;

Oral History and Movement •

Iet, kur ņem, paļaujoties uz likteni, pildīt pavēles. Iet, kur ņem, bet necilvēcīgas pavēles nepildīt. Cik tas iespējams, karojot vienā vai otrā pusē? Cik tas vispār iespējams karā?

Sievietēm, sirmgalvjiem, bērniem: •

Slēpties, slēpties, slēpties, censties sadzīvot ar visām varām, nekaitināt. Bet tas reāli nav iespējams;

•

Braukt uz Latviju, uz dzimteni. Diezgan daudzi, citi pat kājām, devās uz Latviju. Šķiet, ka viņi bija ieguvēji, kara laikus pārlaida mierīgāk. Žeņa Upīte (dz. 1938. g.) no Mogiļovas apg. Latbirzs kolonijas; Zina Titova (dz. 1935. g.) no Grudinovkas, 2008): Kara laikā daudzi latvieši aizdevās atpakaļ uz Latviju (2008).

Kāpēc, nebūdama vēsturniece, izvēlējos runāt par sev svešu tematu? Pirmkārt, tāpēc, ka atšķirībā no daiļliteratūrā rakstītā un vēl jo vairāk atšķirībā no padomju propagandas sacerējumiem vienkāršo cilvēku stāsti pārliecināja ar savu skaudrumu, ar kara eksistenciālo izjūtu. Otrkārt, tādēļ, lai mēs, vidusmēra latvieši, mēģinātu saprast, ka ‘partizāni’, ‘vācieši’, ‘krievi’, ‘latvieši’ karā un pēc kara varēja būt “gan melns, gan balts”. Treškārt, nāk prātā Dantes Dievišķās komēdijas rindas: Mēs izdzēruši dzīves kausu rūgtu; Un, kamēr visi elles vēji klusē, Mēs runāsim – kaut stāsts šis nepārtrūktu.

(DK, 1994, 30)

Vairāk jārunā, jāstāsta, jādalās atmiņās, mazāk jāapkaro un mazāk jāpretendē uz vienīgo patiesību, īpaši par karu. Kāds vīrs reiz gribēja panākt, lai Saeimā pieņemtu likumu par patiesību. Vai ir iespējams ar vienu taisnu līniju novilkts patiesības likums?

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Vēres Dante, A. Dievišķā komēdija. Rīga: Vaidelote, 1994. 480 lpp.

Dorofejevs, A. Latvieši Gorodokas apkaimē. No: Baltu un slāvu kultūrkontakti. Sast.

Janīna Kursīte. Rīga: Madris, 2009, 188.–199. lpp.

Krasnais, V. Latviešu kolonijas. Rīga: Latvju nacionālās jaunatnes savienība, 1938.

578 lpp. Šķilters, K. Latkoloniju vēsture. Maskava: Prometejs, 1928. 141 lpp.

Tugajs, V. Latvieši Baltkrievijā. Rīga: VIRIS, 2006. 127 lpp.

Belarus: Stories of the Latvian Diaspora and Local Belarusians about World War II Since 2006 researchers from the University of Latvia have headed to Belarus together with folkloristics students and doctoral students to participate in six large field work expeditions. Even though the main focus of this field work has been to study relics of Baltic traditional culture (Mičerevskis 2006; Mičerevskis 2007; Kursīte 2006; Kursīte 2008) and aspects of folklore in the life stories of the descendants of 19th century Latvian emigrants (Mežs 2008; Mičerevskis 2006a), the researchers also listened to and recorded tragic life stories from the World War II era as told by Latvian colonists and local Belarusians.

This article focuses on the life stories of the Latvian inhabitants of Zalesye (Gomel province) and life stories about the German occupation as told by Latvians and Belarusians living in Rositsa and Potashnya (both in Vitebsk province). The beauty of the Holy Trinity Catholic Church in Rositsa, built in the early 20th century, has provoked the aggression of various regimes. The Communists demolished the church’s towers in 1930, and the Germans used the church to hold local prisoners in 1943.

Two Catholic Marian priests, Antony L’ashchevich and Yuri Kashiro, voluntarily joined the prisoners as did seven nuns. They were burned along with the more than 1000 inhabitants who had become hostages between the partisans that had been imported from Moscow and the German army they were attacking. Unable to defeat the Red partisans, the German penal battalions took merciless revenge on the peaceful villagers. Unfortunately, according to witnesses there were also uniformed Latvians among those who set fire to the prisoners. Near Zalesye, the inhabitants of two villages of Latvian colonists (Perekale and Kolbinka) were burned to death in 1942. In the article I try to trace the accounts of Latvian life stories: how and why did the Belarusian Latvians, on the one hand, and the Latvians in the German penal battalions (not all, but some), on the other hand, act the way they did and not in some other way. The article also examines the accounts told by Belarusian Latvians about those Latvian colonists

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Kursīte, J. Poļesjē pie akmens bābām. Kultūras Diena, 2006.17.11, pp. 10–11.

Kursīte, J. Sfumato nesfumato: ekspedīciju ceļi un neceļi. Rīga: Madris, 2008. 264 p.

Mežs, I. Baltkrievijas latvieši. Latvijas Avīze, 2008.14.03, pp. 32–36.

Mičerevskis, M. Uz “zudušo pasauli” kaimiņvalstī. Latvijas Avīze, 2006. 21.10, p. 21.

Mičerevskis, M. Lieka nav, bet dzīvo iztikuši. Latvijas Avīze, 2006.8.07, p. 27.

Mičerevskis, M. Pa baltu pēdām Baltkrievijā. Latvijas Avīze, 2007.12.11, p. 13.

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Maija Krūmiņa Refugees from Latvia in 1944–1945: the experiences of exiles and those who stayed behind a reflected in life stories

Fearing the return of Soviet forces and a new wave of terror, approximately 250,000 (Veigners 2009) people fled from Latvia during World War II. This mass flight of refugees began in mid 1944, when the Red Army began to approach Latvia for the second time. An important factor in this emigration was the decision made by the German occupying forces to evacuate the majority of the Estonian and Latvian populations; thereby many people living in those countries had the opportunity to flee to Germany.

So far, Latvian historians have studied the advance of the Red Army into Latvian territory and the resulting implementation of the evacuation plan of Latvia. However, less attention has been paid to a detailed study of the actual flight process and the individual experiences of refugees. This is understandable, because few documentary sources pertaining to the refugee period exist. For this reason researchers need

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Oral History and Movement to make use of new methods and sources with which it might be possible to reconstruct the flight process in full detail.

Oral history sources are one of the groups of sources that allow historical processes to be reconstructed in cases where not much documentary material is available; they also allow such aspects to be studied that are not recorded in written materials. It must be acknowledged, however, that oral history, which got its start Latvia in the early 1990s and has since become a respected area of study in such fields as sociology and folkloristics, has nevertheless been used unjustifiably little in history research, which is traditionally based on documentary sources.

Therefore, I wish to illustrate that the specific topic at hand – Latvian refugees during World War II – can be studied based on sources from the National Oral History archive. At the beginning, I will describe the National Oral History archive and its sources and then I will address the issue of interview selection, which confronts a researcher working with such a large corpus of materials and which is essential to do a representative study. Further, I will examine the variety of issues that can be analyzed while using these interviews.

Source selection Even though the 4000 life stories contained in the above–mentioned archive reflect the experiences of the widest variety of people and provide historians with a very broad field of study, such a large quantity nevertheless also creates certain methodological complications because a selection of the material must be made. Clearly, a single study cannot, nor need it, encompass all of the sources available in this archive, and therefore the issue of which interviews to use for this particular study becomes quite significant. It should be noted that all of the interviews in the archive database have been divided into separate collections (currently 57), which are arranged in the order of acquisition and named after the corresponding study, expedition, or interviewer who created the collection. Significantly for this study, one of the NOH project’s areas of study since its creation has been Latvians living in exile; currently, seven of the archive’s collections consist of interviews that were recorded outside of Latvia, for example, England

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Oral History and Movement and the United States. In selecting sources for the study of World War II refugees, it is precisely these exile collections that command the greatest attention, assuming that the refugee experience plays an important role in the life story of almost every person living in exile (not counting those who were born outside of Latvia) and will therefore most likely be mentioned during an interview. But the exile collections contain over 550 interviews, making it nearly impossible to examine all of them in detail.

For this research I chose to analyse two of these collections, namely, Collection III “Latvians in England” and Collection VII “Latvians in Norway”. The decision was determined, firstly, by the fact that these were some of the first exile collections to be included in the NOH archive. Secondly, it is significant to the study that the collection of Latvians living in England consists of two parts: interviews recorded in the early 1990s and interviews recorded almost twenty years later, in 2009 and 2011. The collection thereby contains interviews with two generations of Latvians living in exile, which gives the researcher the opportunity to study different age groups and also different experience groups. The Norwegian Latvian collection contains interviews with several people who fled straight across the Baltic Sea to Sweden instead of first to Germany, and therefore the study can also touch upon this direction of flight. In total, the two collections contain 85 interviews, which is a manageable number of sources for a study of this kind.

Experience of flight in the exile collections After a systematic study of both collections, it was concluded that only 36 of the narrators in the interviews – less than expected – spoke about the actual process of fleeing from their homeland. Most often this topic was not touched upon because the narrator fled from Latvia not as a refugee, but while serving in the German military. Also, some of the narrators were born after the war or were not living in Latvia during the war.

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Oral History and Movement There could be several reasons for why those narrators who did flee from Latvia as refugees did not speak about the experience in their interviews, for example, the narrator was too young to remember or be able to describe the experience. But some interviews, especially those recorded in 1990 and 1992, cannot be considered life story interviews because the narrators were questioned only about certain life experiences, which did not include the process of fleeing as a refugee. There are also rare cases in which it is obvious that the narrator chose not to speak about the refugee experience. For example, when asked: And how about the time of migration and being refugees from the war? Rozālija Adlere (NOH–58) gives only a short and indefinite answer: And that whole time of fleeing and everything... And the transits, I spent two weeks at a time on trains. Well, but eventually it was over... She then promptly moves on to describe the post–war period and immigration to England, never returning to the topic of fleeing as a refugee. The rest of the interview proves that Adlere’s memory is good and she enjoys telling about her childhood and her memories of the post–war period in detail. Her evasive answer above therefore leads me to believe that the process of fleeing from Latvia is a topic she does not wish to remember or discuss in the specific interview situation.

Such an attitude, however, is fairly rare, because on the whole it is observed that Latvians living in exile gladly tell about their experiences as refugees, which is most likely explained by the fact that this period in their lives plays an extremely important role as the one moment that completely changed the direction of their lives. Also undeniably important is the fact that emigration during World War II was most likely a traumatic event and thereby usually remains in a person’s memory.

The motivation for escape One of the aspects of the flight process I wish to highlight in this paper is the conditions and motives that caused people to leave their homes and become refugees. This topic can be studied by an in–depth analysis of not only the moment when a person left his/her home but also of the narrator’s experiences during the first Soviet occupation in

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Oral History and Movement 1940. Only thus is it possible to gain an understanding of the complex nature of the motivation to emigrate. But first it must be noted that in not all 36 interviews is it possible to determine the person’s motivation to become a refugee, because in certain instances the interviewees give no direct explanations for their decisions. Also, where reasons are provided or implied, it is almost impossible to draw distinct boundaries between the most common of them, namely, fleeing from a war zone and fleeing from the return of the Soviets. For example, if the interviewee states an approaching front line as the only reason for fleeing, but earlier in the interview has spoken about how he or a family member tried to avoid the deportations on June 14, 1941, it is apparent that this factor must also be taken into account as a motivation for fleeing. And vice versa: if an interviewee says that her main reason for fleeing was that she did not wish to live under Soviet rule, then it was precisely the approach of the front line that determined the moment she decided to flee. In addition, we must not forget the results of the evacuation policy of the German occupying force because, albeit relatively rarely, references to the receiving of evacuation orders do appear in the sources analysed. However, additional motives can be found in these cases as well.

On the whole, according to the memories of the exile Latvians, the dominating motive for fleeing one’s home and becoming a refugee was the threat of Soviet occupation and the resulting fear for the safety and survival of oneself and one’s family, which was in turn based on people’s experiences from the year 1940. Some of these negative experiences include: a) the arrest and/or murder of loved ones, friends, or acquaintances; b) fear of deportation; c) a dislike of communist ideology; d) disapproval by the communist regime of certain high–level professional positions held during the pre–war period or membership in political organisations, which almost always meant the person could expect repressions to be carried out against him or her.

Latvian historian Kārlis Kangeris has written that it is difficult to explain the motivations of Latvian refugees because later, when evaluating their condition, all of these people felt like refugees from communism and no longer cared to clarify specific reasons or circumstances for fleeing from their homeland (Kangeris 2009). On the one hand, it is evident that the results from the analysis of the above–mentioned

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Oral History and Movement group of sources agree with Kangeris’ conclusion in as much as they confirm that the main motivation these people state for fleeing their homes was the experiences they had had during the Soviet occupation, that is, they truly wished to escape the return of communism to Latvia. But on the other hand, a more detailed analysis of the life story uncovers not only the primary reason for fleeing, but also additional factors that influenced this decision, thereby revealing the complexity of the term “refugees from communism”. Of course, the question of how much influence later events and the subsequent 45 years of Soviet occupation had on the present–day memories of fleeing and explanations thereof provided by the Latvians living in exile is still open.

Those who stayed behind If the experiences of those residents of Latvia who stayed behind were ignored, the scope of the study would be restricted as it would not be possible to compare the different experiences and come to conclusions regarding the reasons or circumstances that led a part of the population to not flee their homes. Therefore a small number of life story interviews recorded with those Latvians who stayed behind was also analysed, namely, 46 interviews from Collection XXXXVI “Anita Timan’s interviews”.1 It must be noted that only six of the 46 interviews reveal that the interviewees fled from their homes during wartime and relocated nearer or further from home but still within the borders of Latvia. Even though initially this number seems small, one must remember that approximately 10% of Latvia’s population fled from the country and in this context the number seems acceptable.

Besides, a small part of the interviewees were born after the war ended and therefore their life stories could not reflect wartime experiences. In addition, the majority of the interviewed men were conscripted into one or the other army during the war and therefore their experiences do not pertain to the research topic at hand. Also

The particular collection was chosen because it is not arranged on a geographic basis as most of the other collections (and in such cases the study would be restricted to the experience of people from one specific region), but rather includes interviews of people from different places in Latvia.

1

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Oral History and Movement important is the possibility that some interviewees who actually did flee their homes may simply not have spoken about that fact during the interview. This brings up the issue of how large a role the interviewer plays, because even though the creator of this particular collection was interested in the entire course of interviewees’ lives, she nevertheless paid more attention to topics that were of greater interest to herself, such as family life, and therefore did not always ask specific questions about wartime experiences. This then demonstrates one of the main problems with using oral history materials that have been collected by other people for other purposes, because the researcher must accept the amount of information about his/ her topic that either has or has not been offered in that particular interview situation.

On the other hand, one can also come to certain conclusions by the number of interviewees who were not asked specific questions about war and fleeing their homes and who paid only secondary or even no attention to the events of 1944–1945 in the context of their life stories. For example, when using only the exile collections, one can come to an impression that the people who to a lesser or greater extent experienced repressions during the first Soviet occupation usually made the decision to flee their homes in 1944. But, after becoming acquainted with not–exile interviews, it becomes clear that this was not necessarily the case, because many of those interviewees also experienced a variety of repressions but do not even mention that they had considered becoming refugees. Also, many of the Latvians living in exile state that one of the main reasons they fled their homes was that their families managed to avoid the first deportations to Siberia on June 14, 1941, or that their names were on the second list of people to be deported. But when analysing the experiences of those people who did not flee from Latvia, it can be seen that others in identical situations did in fact not flee their homes. Instead, despite repressions and the advancing front line, these people remained in their homes.

Of course, in many cases there were various reasons (newborn children, illness, etc.) that physically prevented them from making this decision. But on the other hand, there were also women who had just given birth, as well as old and sick people, among the actual refugees, so this cannot be considered a decisive factor. It is also interesting to

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Oral History and Movement note that in certain cases the interviewees were forced to evacuate their homes and leave Latvia, but they categorically refused to do so (I said, “I will not leave Latvia, even if it means I have to wade into the sea!”

(NOH–3021)).

Conclusion On the whole, this small glimpse2 into the memories of people who stayed in Latvia shows that in order to study the refugee flight process in 1944–1945 it is necessary to use as broad a base of oral history sources as possible. This is the only way to obtain credible and diverse results and to compare the experiences of those people who fled Latvia with those who did not. By using both of these experience groups, the researcher is also able to uncover the primary issues affecting the entire society during wartime, not only the emigrants. In doing further research, it would be important to study how this diverse experience may have influenced wartime memories and the retelling of such memories today.

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This study is only the first attempt at researching the possibilities of including the experiences of those people who remained at home in a study about World War II refugees.

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Archival sources NOH, Collection III “Latvians in England: interviews recorded by Mara Zirnite and Edmunds Supulis in 1990, 1992, 2009, and 2011”.

NOH, Collection VII “Latvians in Norway: interviews recorded by Arta Savdona (1993–1996)”.

NOH, Collection XXXXVI “Anita Timan’s interviews: 1990–1996”.

References Kangeris, K. Pēcvārds. In: Žīgure, A. Viņi. Ceļā. Riga: Jumava, 2009, pp. 219–227.

Veigners, I. Latvieši rietumzemēs: un vēl dažās zemēs. Rīga: Drukātava, 2009. 978 p.

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Sanita Reinsone Rebuilding the bridge between families: life story interviews with Latvian national partisans and their family members This paper is based on life story interviews and my communication with two women: Mihalčna Supe (1923) and Margarita Krastiņa (born Sprukulis, 1932). Both of them have spent their childhood and youth in the northern part of Latgale region in Latvia, relatively close to each other, in the villages of Purmvala and Meirova, both located in the former Abrene district.1 The Supe and Sprukulis families were large, socially active, and had progressive and prosperous households.

A few members of both families were mutually connected in various periods; they sang in the same church choir and were classmates and colleagues. Towards the end of World War II some of them took to the

Six eastern civil parishes (among them Purvmala civil parish, where the Supe family lived) of Abrene district as well as the town of Abrene with its 35,500 inhabitants were annexed to the Russian Soviet Federative Socialistic Republic in 1944.

1

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Memories and Dialogue forest where they met each other once again but this time as national partisans or, as they are called in Latvia, “forest brothers”.2 Both families were almost completely destroyed during the post–war period; some members were shot dead in the forest, others were sentenced to imprisonment in forced labor camps or deported to Siberia in 1949.

Those few who stayed in Latvia were called “bandits”3 and treated with suspicion and disloyalty by Soviet authorities. Communication between the two families was interrupted by these events. In Latvia only Mihalīna and Margarita remain of the generation who were in their teens and 20s–30s in the years right after WWII. The relationship between the families was renewed in the course of the fieldwork.

Context Life story interviews carried out with Margarita and Mihalīna form the part of my fieldwork, called “Forest as Home”, begun in 2011.

Its aim is to acknowledge the experiences of living in the forest, regardless of how long – five days, one summer, or nine years. I turn my attention to the relationship between human and forest, the changing meanings of the forest and the sense of home and attachment to place,

The term forest brothers (“meža brāļi” in Latvian) was used in Latvia and Estonia, although the forest brothers themselves rather preferred the name partisans in their inner communication as well as in the documents produced by the national partisan groups. The meaning of the term forest brothers is metaphorical and related to Latvian mythical traditions. In folksongs, a forest man (“meža vīrs”, also “meža cilvēks”) or bushwacker (“meženieks”) signified a person that came out of the forest and/or lived in a forest or in a clearing in the forest; they are considered guards of the forest or also woodcutters, that is, men who are more familiar with the forest than others and who have access to the very special goods the forest provides. Nowadays the term forest brothers is widely used in society as an alternative and poetically sounding name for the Latvian national partisans and has a more official sound and usage. For more about the history and usage of the term see: Turčinskis 2011, 9.

3 National partisans were called bandits (“bandīti” in Latvian) by Soviet authorities in their official documentation. The image of bandits was propagated by local periodicals, Soviet fiction, and movies, which depicted them as traitors of the Motherland, German fascists, enemies of the Soviet Union, and people with low moral values and poor virtues. For a more detailed overview of the image of national partisans construed during the Soviet occupation see: Ločmele 2011, 20–25 and also Skultans 1998, 183.

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Memories and Dialogue and the survival praxis – the emotional and physical adaptation to living in forest.

At the end of World War II, when the Red Army occupied Latvia for the second time, many Latvians escaped to the forest in the hope of regaining Latvia’s independence. They expected that the Allied forces would defeat the Soviets4 and tried to find shelter and an escape from the arrests and other dangers posed by the Soviet authorities. Partisan organisations were established throughout the Baltic States.5 Among the interviewees are both men and women, people who were armed and fighting against the occupation as well as people who were just hiding in the forest and waiting for changes to occur.6 In particular cases I carried out interviews with the relatives of national partisans who supported their family members by helping to provide food and clothes. There are not many forest brothers still alive today. Most of the interviewees are already in their 90s and therefore the interviews with Latvian forest brothers carried out by Vieda Skultāne and Māra Zirnīte in the 1990s and early 2000s are valuable supplements to the present fieldwork.7

That help that would come from the “outside” is one of the most frequently mentioned expectations the national partisans believed in. The forest period was regarded as an interregnum between the Second and the supposed Third World War, and these expectations kept people optimistic and motivated to not surrender.

5 USSR authorities estimated that 82,000 persons in Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania were participating in the partisan movement as of January 1947 (see Strods 2006, 25). In Latvia the partisan resistance lasted from 1944 to 1956.

According to NKVD data given by historian Zigmārs Turčinskis, 12,250 persons participated in the Latvian national partisan movement; 45% of them were arrested (4% of arrested partisans were sentenced to death, others were sent to the GULAG); 35% accepted the offer of amnesty (most of them were later deported to Siberia); and 20% were killed (Turčinskis 2007, 91–113).

6 People living in the forest who did not actively participate in armed partisan resistance groups were usually called illegal persons (“nelegālisti”). According to historian Henrijs Strods, around 20,000 persons had illegal status during the first years of occupation, including those few hundred people who illegalised themselves to avoid the deportations in 1949 (see Strods 1996, 234–235).

7 The interviews are archived by the National Oral History Project at the Institute of Philosophy and Sociology of the University of Latvia.

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Margarita and the Sprukulis family About one year ago I visited and recorded a life story interview of Margarita Krastiņa, born Sprukulis. She is a sister of my husband’s grandmother. I had not met her before, nor did she know of my existence. But we have not yet finished our conversation – memories of past people and episodes appear again and again and our discussion continues. I interviewed Margarita because she is the only one of her brothers and sisters still alive and living in Latvia. There were twelve children in the Sprukulis family. Margarita was the youngest child.

She was born in 1932, twenty three years after the birth of her eldest brother.

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Fig. 1 Margarita Krastiņa, born Sprukulis (1932).

Photographed in Ogre, September 2011.

Although Margarita is a skilful storyteller and the way she revives the past and people with her stories is admiringly impressive,8 it was not easy for her to tell a coherent life story. At least, “your life story” was my answer when she asked, “What do you want me to tell about?”

Constant use of the present tense, which makes the impression of reporting from the scene, and detailed descriptions of settings and visually emotional portraits of persons along with persistent characterisation of emotions, yet showing almost no emotions during the narratin – all of these are specific features that characterise Margarita’s narrating style, and together they allow the listener to easily visualise and embody (imaginary) the taleworld (Young 1987).

8

Memories and Dialogue It is quite common and natural that in stories about the very first period of life – childhood and sometimes even school days – the narrative “I” is depicted as acting together with or among his/her immediate family. In Margarita’s life story the very first period of her life resembles a careful observation. She was only a child while most of her siblings are already youths or young adults.

Fig. 2 Margarita at age 8 among her sisters and brothers in 1940 (at her mother’s funeral).

Margarita’s narrative “I” keenly observes her grown–up brothers and sisters, their lifestyles, habits, social lives, and pastimes. One has the impression that her narrative “I” – the ten–year–old little sister Margarita – is just in “waiting mode”; she knows and expects that soon she will participate in all the activities her brothers and sisters participate in, and she is going to be like them. In her life story, this period of living with the family and its dominating pastoral theme consistently remains the brightest side of the contrast she uses to depict the darkest moments of her life.

“So, what do I have to tell now – about myself or about them?”

Margarita asks me when her narrative “I” appears to be at the crossroad where the family members’ paths split. I am not a helpful adviser.

I try to perceive it as a rhetorical question. Margarita decides herself.

Keeping the focus of her narrative on her family members and events in which she does not directly participate but rather observes, Margarita manages to give a vivid impression about her own feelings being there at the time when her family and their farmstead “Čilipi” were destroyed.

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Memories and Dialogue And now Russians are here again. My eldest brother has to go in the army. But he doesn’t want to serve in the Russian army. He escapes in the forest. (..) There were a lot of Latgalians in the forest! And everybody knew that they are making some organisation there. It’s 1945. And Malvīne [brother’s wife] stays at home. The Cheka finds out that Donats [her brother, Malvīne’s husband] is in the forest. Malvīne is forced to go to the Cheka, they arrest her, and they beat her up. She spends there two weeks there, then comes home. She doesn’t tell me anything. Meanwhile, Kosta [sister Konstance] is arrested. She’s a student at the high school. Broņislavs [brother] is away, too. Aloizs [brother] serves in the legion.

There are only three of us at home. The Cheka arrests Malvīne once again. There she is beaten up again. Then they let her go and say, “Bring your husband out of the forest!” She comes home. In the evening she milks the cows, then takes her jacket and leaves for the forest. She went and never turned back. After that, Leons [brother] is also arrested. They arrested him and released him, and arrested him and released him. He was a young boy; he wasn’t even sixteen years old. He was beaten up brutally several times and then the troika convicted him. I am left alone at home. (Excerpt from the interview with Margarita Krastiņa, recorded 27.05.2011)

Nobody talked about where they were or what was done to them.

But she knew. She was in her early teens. “Some might say that children are stupid! But they are not,” she points out. In the projected period her narrative “I” appears like an anchor, physically attached to her farmstead. Meanwhile, her relatives leave home one by one, either arrested or forced to escape in the forest.

The dilemma of whether to tell about herself or about them ceases to exist when Margarita’s life story reaches March 25, 1949 – the day she and her sister Anna and her nephew, who is only a few years old, are deported to Siberia. Within six months her brother Donats and his wife, Malvīne, are shot dead in the forest, just a few months after she has given birth to their first child. And just like her brother, Jānis, and three cousins who were shot dead a year ago. Her sister Konstance, a high school graduate, is arrested for participating in a high school student resistance group and sentenced to imprisonment in a GULAG camp. Her brother Leons, a boy of sixteen years, is arrested and tortured several times and then sentenced to imprisonment in a GULAG

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Memories and Dialogue camp. Her brother Broņislavs is sentenced to a forced labor camp at a gold mine in the Russian Far East. Her sister Paulīne Logina9 is the only one of the Sprukulis children to continue living in the nearby village of Bahmatova. In subsequent years Paulīne becomes the information “center” and the mediator of information between her brothers and sisters.

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Fig 3. Margarita’s eldest brother, Donats, with his wife, Malvīne, on their wedding day in 1941. Both were killed in the forest in 1950.

The post–war events and deportation interrupted Margarita’s relationship with her elder siblings, some of whom she never met again, as well as with the society and the home to which she never returned.

Paulīne Logina, born Sprukulis, is my husband’s grandmother; her husband Aloizs Logins was sentenced to ten years of imprisonment in the GULAG for being a participant in the national partisan movement during the first years of Soviet occupation and being a supporter of the forest partisans in later years.

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Mihalīna and the Supe family Mihalīna Supe, born in 1923, is the sister of Pēteris Supe, the founder and leader of the National Partisan Association of Latvia.10 She escaped to the forest together with her family when she was 22 years old. Mihalīna spent nine years there, leaving the forest at the age of 31. Then she spent seven years in a GULAG camp. She laughs ironically, “I lived among the wolves for nine years. And then I lived for seven years among the deer.” She is now 89 years old and lives in Bauska.

When I called on Mihalīna for the first time, she was already informed that I am a relative of the Sprukulis family. Māra Zirnīte had told her who I am and had asked Mihalīna if I may visit her. From the very first words I heard Mihalīna speak, I was fascinated by the sincerity and welcoming familiarity of our communication. In some sense, the very first phone call I made to her renewed the relationship between the Sprukulis and Supe families. Mihalīna thought and hoped I was the daughter of Donats and Malvīne Sprukulis, who was born in the forest.11 Although I was not and although I am not even a blood relative of the Sprukulis family, the familiarity and tenderness did not disappear from our relationship and conversations.

It was not the first time Mihalīna told her life story. On the contrary, she had been interviewed for several times12 and her life story

The National Partisan Association of Latvia (“Latvijas Nacionālo partizānu apvienība”) was the first and one of the largest armed national resistance movement organisations after WWII in Latvia. Pēteris Supe (1920–1946), the former senior agronomist of Abrene district, undertook its organisation and leadership in 1944. The leaders of the organisation coordinated partisan groups in northern Latgale and some parts of Vidzeme; there were 1000 persons participating in the organisation as of the autumn of 1945, including the Catholic priest Ludvigs Štagars (see Turčinskis 2004; 2007, 95–97).

11 According to some accounts, the baby daughter of Donats and Malvīne Sprukulis had been left for upbringing by some local person, though the fate of the child is uncertain.

12 Māra Zirnīte had interviewed Mihalīna Supe in 2003 (NMV–3129). Interviews were made by historians Inese Dreimane and Zigmārs Turčinskis as well.

10

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Memories and Dialogue and family story even had been published in a small book.13 Our first conversation began with the remembering of Sprukulis family. Their house in Meirova parish was on the way to the parish Mihalīna’s relatives lived at. She used to look at it passing by. Nice, painted veranda, wealthy farmstead. The lad from the church choir lives there – tall and handsome. The one who later was met in the forest, here known as “Tarzāns” (Jānis Sprukulis). She knew who he was and vice versa but the partisan regulations prohibited to manifest their identities in the forest. Donats and Malvīne, known as “Kaspars” and “Laima”, used to keep together in the forest, somewhere aside from others.

Like a couple. They didn’t speak much around. Somebody was saying “Kaspars” complained: “Nine years we lived hoping to have a child, but the one has come only here in the forest.” – “It is terrible. Isn’t it?” she says. I have to agree. She has met also Leons – the youngest brother of Sprukulis family – tall and cheerful. He searched out Mihalīna in Vorkuta GULAG camp and tried to find out the fate of his family members who were in the forest. These are the ties with Sprukulis family she keeps in her memory.

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Fig. 4 Mihalīna (in the center) with her sisters Genoveva and Broņislava.

Photographed in 1943 on the Supe’s farmstead “Jaunais Dārzs”.

When the links with the Sprukulis family is established, Mihalīna focuses on her own life narrative – emotionally hard and sometimes full of tears. Similarly to Margarita the first part of Mihalīna’s life narrative actually is her family story where the land, farmstead with

Supe, M. Tālā Purvmala sapņos sērst nāk ... Rēzekne: Latgales Kultūras centra izdevniecība, 1997.

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Memories and Dialogue symbolical name “The New Garden” (in Latvian “Jaunais Dārzs”) and family is meaningful entirety. The narrative time has lost its chronological paradigm; it’s blurred and generalized. No particular events are put in the centre of the narrative rather a set of interconnected episodes associatively vary to reflect the family warmth and emotional attachment to the home. Mihalīna doesn’t have a dilemma to tell about herself or about her family. Self–dependent narrative “I” appears very seldom and is not individualized, “we” dominates instead. “We” worked, we grew bacon pigs and flax, we bought equipment, we were raised to believe and obey God etc. The first convinced narrative “I” in Mihalīna’s story appears when being 22 years old girl she suddenly appears in a situation of moral choice. She has to decide whether her father is shot dead by local authorities or she intervenes and fights. Mihalīna considers this episode and her spontaneous decision to be the most important one in her life.

My father always said: “I will never give up alive, never! Let they shoot me dead, but I will never give up alive.” (..) And now a chekist says to my father: “You are arrested!” The chekist turned back. I saw it! And my father grabs his neck. They both are fighting. But another chekist is sighting on my father with his gun. And I just think… To let my father be shoot dead in front of me?!??! I didn’t think that things will happen like this. I turned his gun aside. A little. And he [the chekist] falls down like a sausage. I jump on him and the gun is between us. I had a strength! I was healthy! <laughing> So my father is fighting with one and I am holding another one. He takes out the handgun and tries to shoot me, but again I push his hand aside. (Excerpt from the interview with Mihalīna Supe, recorded 15.09.2011.)

Supe family managed to escape from the arrest. Immediately parents with two daughters decided to take in the forest.

Mihalīna was the only person from her family who survived in the forest. Her parents, brother and sister were killed in the first forest years. She joined one partisan group after another. The number of forest brothers became less and less. Last two years of the forest period she lived together with her fiancé Arvīds. One day he didn’t show up after the meeting with his cousin in the “aside”.14 Arvīds was killed by chekists. Mihalīna was left alone in the forest.

Terms forest and aside (‘mala’)/ coast (‘krasts’) are main dichotomy of space in forest narratives. Aside/coast may mark both the border between forest and

14

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Memories and Dialogue Where... How long can I live alone among the birds? And birds are chattering and tweeting. I chase them away. I cry. They sing ... (Excerpt from the interview with Mihalīna Supe, recorded 15.09.2011.)

Fig. 5 29–year–old Mihalīna and her fiancé, Arvīds, as forest partisans.

Photographed by Arvīds’ cousin in Vecumi forest near Viļaka, 1952.

After spending nine years in the forest, she came out and went to her sister, who lived in another part of Latvia. Then she was arrested and spent half a year in prison. Mihalīna was sentenced to 25 years in a labour camp in Vorkuta. Her sentence was later reduced to seven years, allowing her to return to Latvia earlier.

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Fig. 6 Mihalīna (first from the left) doing road construction work in Vorkuta, 1956. human space and the human space in general. This meaning of the word has direct relationship with idiomatic expression characteristic to sailor lexicon where aside/coast is used to designate a land – space opposite to sea.

Memories and Dialogue Vieda Skultāne has noticed that the descriptions of the beauty and moral order of the past, as well as the beauty and strength of childhood and youth, are one of the principal thematic dimensions that are common in forest narratives (Skultans 1998, 82). These themes form the great part of Mihalīna’s narrative along with descriptions of pastoral life in her family farmstead. Her attachment to the place where she spent her childhood and youth is what geographer Edward Relph calls existential insidenes – knowing implicitly that this place is where you belong (Relph 1976, 53–55), a deep, un–selfconscious immersion in place (Seamon&Sowers 2008, 45). Awareness of the insideness turned to be self–conscious and so important due to the loss of home and family and to the permanent feeling of outsideness – the sense of strangeness and alienation where ever she was, homelessness (Relph 1976, 51).

Looking back on her life at the age of 89, the forest – to which she and her family and livestock escaped and which served as a home for many years – becomes a symbolic substitute of the lost paradise to which the moral order of the past and Latvianness is transferred.15 (This point is asserted by Margarita, too. She says, “After the war, the real Latgale was in the forest!”) In Mihalīna’s narrative, this meaning of the forest is sharpened and emphasized by the frequent references to the Sprukulis brothers; she perceives them as representatives of the past–time youth to which she also belonged. By the death of her immediate family and the Sprukulis family members as well as other forest people from the local community, the symbolic meaning of the forest seems encapsulated because it remains the last place where they who shared the aspirations of normal family and peasant life16 could exist. But the image of the forest as a last place called “home” in the symbolical meaning of the word is sharply contrasted by constant fear, uncertainty, and betrayals – the senses witnessed by many forest people I have interviewed (see also Skultans 1998, 82–83). Nine years in the forest is indeed exile, a forced absence from home; even though

This thematic feature of narratives about forest life and forest society (particularly about the very first years of the Soviet occupation, when the forests were “full of people”) is quite similar to the feature in narratives by Latvian émigrés, in which transferred and real Latvianness is discussed.

16 As asserted by historians, 80% of national partisans were former peasants (Strods 2006, 23).

15

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Memories and Dialogue the temporary residence is not in another country, it is nevertheless another space, physically located just over here, next to home.

Just like with Margarita, my conversation with Mihalīna did not finish after the first interview. We regularly call each other up and mostly speak about the Supe and Sprukulis families in the past.

From mediated to direct communication Mihalīna and Margarita had never met before, although soon after the first interviews with both of them I unexpectedly became a messenger and a mediator between the two women. “How is Mihalīna doing? Have you called her recently?” asks Margarita in our telephone conversations and keenly grabs anything I tell her about what Mihalīna has told me about the life of her brothers in the forest. Mihalīna, in turn, wants to know everything about Margarita and the Sprukulis family descendants. I was contantly bringing greetings from Margarita to Mihalīna and from Mihalīna to Margarita. This mediated communication between them lasted for half a year. Certainly, there was no other choice than to bring them together. They agreed with pleasure.

On a sunny Saturday morning, holding yellow daffodils in her hands, Margarita took a seat in my car. An hour later we crossed the threshold of Mihalīna’s apartment. She is no longer able to walk, but she was well prepared for our visit. We were served vegetable stew with swedes, cooked by her friend. Margarita is surprised, “It tastes like in the old days in Latgale!” Mihalīna agrees. It is another thing they have in common.

We spent four hours together discussing family affairs and the years spent in Abrene district. Different versions of past incidents turned up, but this raised no inconveniences; they both tried to reach an agreement. The conversation was more than friendly and cheerful and it was a real adventure not only for them but also for me. I had a unique opportunity to get a better understanding of the past discourse that unites them. “Mihalīna, you are the only person to whom I can say “Donats and Jānis” and you know what the names mean! You

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Memories and Dialogue have seen my brothers in the forest!” These were the very first words Margarita said to Mihalīna, asserting that in some way Mihalīna represents the life and the side of her brothers she did not know much about. A key that reveals the meaning of Margarita and the Sprukulis family for Mihalīna probably lies in the brief statement told to Margarita: “We were the same! The same!” meaning the ones with whom to share the tragic lines of the past, who form her sense of insideness in the lost home and epoch.

177 Fig. 7 Mihalīna and Margarita at their first meeting on 17.03.2012.

During the course of this field work, two Latgalian families that had been tied together in the past found the way back to each other.

Two planned and carried out dialogues eventually melded together into a united trialogue, merging two separate family discourses and sifting through different versions of the past truth.

Memories and Dialogue

References Ločmele, K. (Ne)izstāstītā vēsture. Skola. Mājas. Atmiņa. Rīga: LU Sociālo un politisko pētījumu institūts, 2011. 143 lpp.

Relph, E. Place and Placelessness. London: Pion, 1976. 156 p.

Seamon, D., Sowers, J. Place and Placelessness (1976), Edward Relph. In: Key Texts in Human Geography. Ed. by Phil Hubbard, Rob Kitchin, and Gill Valentine.

London: Sage, 2008, pp. 43–51.

Skultans, V. The Testimony of Lives: Narrative and Memory in Post–Soviet Latvia. London: Routledge, 1998. 217 p.

Strods, H. Latvijas nacionālo partizānu karš. 1994–1955. 3 sēj. Rīga: Preses nams, 1996.

Strods, H. Nacionālie un padomju partizāni Baltijā 1941.–1956. gadā: kopējais un atšķirīgais. No: Latvijas vēsturnieku komisijas raksti. 17. sējums: Nacionālā pretošanās komunistiskajiem režīmiem Austrumeiropā pēc Otrā pasaules kara. Rīga: Latvijas vēstures institūta apgāds, 2006, 19.–35. lpp.

Turčinskis, Z. Karš pēc kara: Latvijas nacionālo partizānu cīņas 20. gadsimta 40. gadu beigās – 50. gadu sākumā. No: Latvijas Okupācijas muzeja gadagrāmata 2006. Karš pēc kara 1944–1945. Rīga: Latvijas Okupācijas muzeja biedrība, 2007, 91.–114. lpp.

Turčinskis, Z. Latvijas Nacionālo partizānu apvienības izveidošanās un darbība Stampaku periodā (1944. gada oktobris – 1945. gada marts). Latvijas Vēsturnieku komisijas raksti. 10. sējums: Okupācijas režīmi Latvijā 1940.–1959. gadā. Rīga: Latvijas vēstures institūta apgāds, 2004, 433.–482. lpp.

Turčinskis, Z. Ziemeļvidzemes mežabrāļi: Latvijas nacionālo partizānu cīņas Valkas apriņķī un Alūksnes apriņķa rietumu daļā: 1944.–1953. gads. Rīga: Latvijas vēstures institūta apgāds, 2011. 399 lpp.

Young, K. Taleworlds and Storyrealms. The Phenomenology of Narrative. Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers, 1987. 268 p.

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Marta Kurkowska–Budzan Conflicting Memory Discourses: Oral History and Situational Analysis at Work The past each time becomes a different past in each of the presents, in which we reconstruct it.

(Mead, G. H. The Philosophy of Act, 1938)

I have taken up one of my recent studies with the purpose of testing how attractive and how efficient the social science theory called “grounded” might be in the daily practice of a historian. Equipped with its postmodern version – “situational analysis” (Clarke 2005) – and my oral history tools and experience I have worked on the subject of the present symbolization of the anti–communist, particularly nationalist, armed underground operating in eastern Poland from 1944 to 1956.

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Memories and Dialogue Situational analysis is the new grounded theory approach that takes into account the postmodern turn. Building upon Anselm Strauss’s social worlds/arenas theory, it offers three main cartographic approaches: •

Situational maps that lay out the major human, nonhuman, discursive, and other elements in the research situation of inquiry and provoke analysis of relations among them;

•

Social world/arena maps that lay out the collective actors, key nonhuman elements, and the arena(s) of commitment and discourse within which they are engaged in ongoing negotiations;

•

Positional maps that lay out the major positions taken, and not taken, in the data vis–à–vis particular axes of difference, concern, and controversy around issues in the situation of inquiry.

All three kinds of maps are intended as analytic exercises, fresh ways into social science data that are especially well suited to contemporary studies from solely interview–based to multi–sited research. In my research I have used the situational theory to study the past in the present.

Looking for “social worlds” engaged in the process of symbolization of the national underground I have been interested how they expressed themselves in social situations. Anselm Strauss defined social worlds as groups with shared commitments to certain activities sharing sources of many kinds to achieve their goals and building shared ideologies about how to go about their business (Strauss 1978; Becker 1974). Social words – these “universes of discourse” (Mead [1938] 1972, 518) – are most vivid in moments of conflict: when different narratives and opinions about the past confront each other.

Following Strauss’ definition of social worlds, I would like to sketch in this paper two cases of conflicts of discourses: the first is the so–called the carters’ case, in which at least one determined social world has been shown, where local and private discourse entered on the public level, also supralocal, involving institutional actors and even the central authority of the state. The second is definitely local and

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Memories and Dialogue quiet, the conflict of private and public discourse in the village called Łady Borowe. This conflict is in the phase in which a specified social world and its dominant discourse are not publicly threatened with any action – they are presently confrontational narratives of private actors who, in accordance with the situational terminology, are “mute” and their narratives appear only on the borderland of the public sphere.

“Carters’ case” refers to the massacre of the Belarusian carters transporting the National Military Union (NZW) of Romuald Rajs called “Bury” and the pacification of a few Belarusian villages of the Bielsk Podlaski district by this unit in the winter of 1946 (Kułak 2007, 231–259). The “carters’ case” is a significant element in the process of symbolization of the national underground in the area of Białystok.

This is visible even in far–reaching divergences in the interpretation of these events by Polish and Belarusian historians. Neither party questions the facts, but the measure of differences might be the fact that historians read the same sources in a different way. Therefore, for some of them, for example, the underground ran “the requisition activities”, which was “shrewd” (Kalisz & Łapiński 2005, 91–92). For others, the same is a mass “repression” against a population that was ethnically and religiously different (Iwaniuk 2005, 98–99). Some people assess the underground as being “independence”, as fighting with the regime, as “trying to punish individuals for specific acts” and this was not due to “ethnic or religious reasons”, and that the massacre and pacification were the exception (Kalisz & Łapiński 2005, 96). Others write that, in the context of Polish and Belarusian relations, “one should reject patriotic motives of actions of the members of the armed underground” and that repeating “practices” of this type “cannot be considered as “acting in favour of the independent existence of the Polish State” but as “crimes with no justification”” (Iwaniuk 2005, 102).

For nearly 50 years, the families of murdered carters did not know where the graves of their loved ones were located. In 1994 they were informed that they were buried at the Catholic parish cemetery in Kielce. They were brought there at night from the place of execution at the end of August and the beginning of September 1951. The place of execution was the forest in the district of Brańsk. The families organized pilgrimages there. After the exhumation of corpses and the

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Memories and Dialogue reburial in the military cemetery in Bielsk Podlaski, the Social Committee wanted to place a monument there. Its design also assumed paying a tribute to the victims of the pacification of Belarusian villages, however, the construction encountered resistance from the authorities of the province, who did not want to agree on the inscription “In tribute of those murdered by the armed underground” due to the fact that it was considered too general a statement (Frey 2002). In the end, the monument was unveiled in 2002. The aim of the social world of the families of the murdered was the reburial and commemoration of the massacre. For the wider social world, which is integrated around non–governmental organisations (e. g. the Belarusian Youth Association), the Orthodox church, and the Belarusian minority, the aim was to uncover the historical truth about the underprivileged position of the Belarusian minority in pre–WWII Poland and the intolerance stemming from this tradition of the Polish underground.

The Belarusian community, which mobilized to action for a dignified reburial of their loved ones and for a financial effort to build the monument, expressed, and continues to strongly express, its opinion regarding the Polish underground, which, according to this community, was guided by hatred against the Orthodox, and that the crime committed and the brutal attacks on the Belarusians took place only because of their religion and nationality. The monument still is a problem, at least locally, and this is proven by the fact that a few days after its unveiling the perpetrators threw hot paraffin over it (Karta 2004, 20).

The second case of the conflict of discourses that I would like to present takes place in the western part of present–day Podlaskie province. In the parish church of Puchały, on one of the pillars, is a small plaque with the following inscription.

In tribute to soldiers of national units of the National Military Organization (NOW), the National Armed Forces (NSZ), the National Military Union (NZW), the sons of the land of Puchały, faithful to God and Poland, fallen in the fight and murdered by the Gestapo, NKWD, and the Department of Security (UB) in the years 1939–1956. Let them rest with God. The Association of Soldiers of the National Armed Forces (ZŻ NSZ), District of Łomża. July 2001.

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Memories and Dialogue In 2003 a book was released about the partisans of these areas – a collection of memories of its participants. Both of these undertakings reversed the existing symbolism of the national underground of this region. Communist propaganda had a negative hero here – Henryk Gawkowski, called “Rola”, who in 1947 killed the first communist staroste/governor of Łomża. During the interview in Łomża with the person from Puchały parish, I raised the issue of the plaque. This provoked an avalanche. Soon I was in contact with a few eyewitnesses of the events of 22 February 1947, which took place in the nearby village of Łady Borowe. These people cannot come to terms with the fact that, many years later, the perpetrators of the crime committed there were honoured with the commemorating plaque. The people of Łady Borowe still have in their minds a vivid image of the execution of the Myślińscy family by Hanryk Gawkowski’s (“Rola”) unit. The murdered family consisted of women and children aged from six to eighteen. The cause for which they were murdered was, according to the words of the people living there, an accidental finding of the father’s body, who was shot by the same partisans a few months earlier, and the disclosure of this murder to the authorities. Wincenty Myśliński was seen to be disloyal towards the partisans with whom he worked. This is the version of events that I heard during my several visits to Łady Borowe from people who live there or come from that place. After the murder, the Myślińscy household was taken over by the perpetrators of this massacre. My interlocutors claimed that the robbery was in fact the motive of the perpetrators. I do not know whether this is a historical truth. But it is not significant for the purpose of this research, because it deals not with the real fact but with the point of people’s thoughts, beliefs, and stories causing such social consequences and inducing them to perform actions here and now.

The memory of individuals, even the best – “documentational” or “photographic” (some would even say “objective”) – is mostly sensitive to the moral dimension of the events. The murder of the Myślińscy children set among the witnesses – the people of Łady Borowe – the following opinion regarding the local anti–communist underground represented according to them by the National Military Union and “Rola’s” unit: the anticommunist partisans were murderers and thieves.

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Memories and Dialogue It should be emphasized that the opinions stated do not include any expressions or words that would point at a simple and direct translation from the language of discourse of the communist propaganda into a private one. When talking about the partisans, they talk about specific people coming right from their own village or parish or about the events that took place in the near vicinity. An example might be the following narration, which was presented to me in order to characterize the partisans from “Rola’s” unit. The interlocutor indicated in the introduction that the story came straight from the horse’s mouth because it was told by the housewife from the house in which the events took place. He was told the story in return of the account from the Myślińscy murder, which was seen by Zenon Z. According to the narrator, such an exchange of information was at that time risky because people were afraid of revealing the fact that they knew anything. Breaking a conspiracy of silence might bring the consequences of both the partisans and the Department of Security (UB). This is the second case, after the murder of Myślińscy family that outrages the older generation of residents. (..) they brought the man tied with a barbed wire to their house, laid him on the floor, were drunk, climbed onto the table, capered around him, until he [unintelligible word], and finally they cut his throat with a knife, you know... So they were chased away to the Nowowiejscy home.

And then Ferdek Nowowiejski and Łada (..) the boys were told to dig the pothole, at the Nowowiejscy’s, under the birches, [unintelligible word] bury; if not, they would be hit in the head (..) The next day the woman came, with a child on in her arms, to look for him but each of them were afraid to say where he was buried. And he is there until today. Everyone was afraid because they appeared right away and killed and that’s it.

(Zenon Z.)

It might appear that the crimes commenced many years ago have been “publicly forgotten” in Łady Borowe. Their perpetrators were able to function normally in the local community. How was it possible that for so many years the people who committed such a crime and the witnesses were living next to each other? The answer is simple, but very complicated as well. People at such occasions say: The harm was remembered by everyone... and the thefts and everything, but everyone had to live somehow (Mirosława Z.). In the opinion of the villagers, the acts have

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Memories and Dialogue never been punished. At least in terms of human justice. As in Jedwabne, where the people transmitted putative rumours and stories about the murderers who were punished only by the God’s justice, as in the neighbourhood of Łady Borowe, some accidents are interpreted in a way that is characteristic for this type of thinking (Kurkowska–Budzan 2004).

– Stasiek (..) made a command... But look what happened. He had one son and he was killed. A few years ago.

– God punished him. − And she [the wife] went crazy.

– They were punished by God, for fighting, for blood shed. There is some justice anyway.

– Look, how it is, in these families who did this, terrible tragedies now.

They had car accidents, and so on...drowned, incredible.

– The mills of God grind slowly... (Łukasz W., Zenon Z., Stanisława H.) Killed the children’s father at home. And for what? They killed him the other day (..) And now his son drowned. (Zenon Z.)

The picture in the memory of the local people shows the stiff bodies of the children, together with the youngest, Sabinka, who was only a few years old. It was strengthened by the photography recolled until today, made by the secret police/UB, which was displayed on the board of the police building. The officer of the Department of Security held the body of the child in his hands.

Until now, no public confrontation was sought by the local community because the period of war and post–war years was closed and the symbolism connected with them faded as the result of the continuous use of communist propaganda in the official discourse. Only the introduction of new, opposing symbols inspired activity and revived the memories: bandits or heroes? Placing the plaque in church, as the national tribute to the underground of the Puchały region, drew public attention because the new symbolism presented appeared to be a contradiction of the experiences of the witnesses and the contradiction of its moral meaning: The devil shouldn’t be put up in church! (..) They will never leave hell because of those children! (Zenon Z.) In the protest against placing the plaque in the church, the men of the older generation refused to wear a baldachin over the priest during the Corpus Christi procession. In private conversations with a new parish priest they asked for the removal of the plaque, but the priest refused

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Memories and Dialogue by explaining that he was not allowed to remove a plaque if he hadn’t placed it there. The priest acted in a careful way, while the simple people unceremoniously required an explicit moral true assessment, unanimous with their experience: The priest says, “Those were such years...”

And I tell him, “Dear priest, the years were warm and cold, and the people should know what they [the partisans] did!’” (Zenon Z.) The protest eventually died because of a lack of official support from the most important local authority – the priest. The community so far, as before, counts on God’s justice. According to the residents’ comments, the pillar in the church in Puchały on which the plaque is placed is cracking because God cannot bear the lawlessness.

The Belarusians, so involved in a social situation in which the symbolisation of the anti–communist Polish armed underground takes place, had two advantages allowing this group to take an important position in the act: they had a leader, who was a former officer of the Polish Army, i. e. an educated person, previously active in the public sphere; and they had a strong and culturally justified motive of fighting for another burial and commemoration of their closest family members. There is no person in Puchały – Łady Borowe who would be able to take over the function of the leader and strongly demand the truth – the truth they require. In this case, the motivation might be weaker because even values such as truth and morality cannot be compared with the feeling of obligation to bury loved ones. It is not, however, out of the question that due to some interference in the situation (and every instance of field research is such an interference) the local people might try to reverse the symbolism presented by the commemorating plaque placed in the church.

As a metaphoric summary: Modzelewska’s grave remains neglected, although it is not forgotten. And it will not be forgotten while the people who saw her death are still alive. How the plaque will be treated by the next generation depends on the process of the symbolisation of the underground on the supralocal level, which eliminates the participation of the individual memories of the witnesses.

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Interviews Łukasz W. and Bolesława W., interviews by author, Łady Borowe, August – September 2007, May 2008, October 2009.

Mirosława Z., interview by author, Zanklewo, September 2005.

Stanisława H., interviews by author, Łomża, June 2007, June – July 2008, October 2009.

Zenon Z., interviews by author, Łady Borowe, August – September 2007, May 2008, October 2009.

References Becker, H. S. Photography and Sociology. Studies in the Anthropology of Visual Communication. 1974, Vol. 1, pp. 3–26.

Clarke, A. E. Situational Analysis. Grounded Theory after the Postmodern Turn. Thousand Oaks – London – New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2005. 365 p.

Frey, D. Najpierw kompromis, potem pomnik. Rzeczpospolita. 21.03.2002. Available: Rzeczpospolita online archive [Accessed 18 September 2011].

Iwaniuk, S. Represje polskiego podziemia wobec ludności białoruskiej na Białostocczyźnie po lipcu 1944 roku. In: Stosunki polsko–białoruskie w województwie białostockim w latach 1939 – 1956. Ed. by Jerzy Milewski and Anna Pyżewska. Warszawa: Instytut Pamięci Narodowej, 2005, pp. 97–103.

Kalisz, P., Łapiński, P. Polskie podziemie niepodległościowe wobec ludności białoruskiej na Białostocczyźnie po 1944 r. (zarys problematyki), In: In: Stosunki polsko–białoruskie w województwie białostockim w latach 1939 – 1956. Ed. by Jerzy Milewski and Anna Pyżewska. Warszawa: Instytut Pamięci Narodowej, 2005, pp. 86–96.

Karta. 2004, Nr 43.

Kułak, J. Rozstrzelany oddział. Monografia 3 Wileńskiej Brygady NZW – Białostocczyzna 1945 – 1946. Białystok. 2007. 475 p.

Kurkowska–Budzan, M. My Jedwabne, In: The Neighbors Respond. The Controversy over the Jedwabne Massacre in Poland. Ed. by Joanna Michlic and Antony Polonsky.

New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2004, pp. 200–208.

Malanowska, A. Z dziejów walk z okupantami w powiecie zambrowskim w latach 1939– 1945. Warszawa: Oficyna Wydawnicza “Rytm”, 2003. 221 p.

Mead, G. H. The Philosophy of the Act. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, [1938] 1972. 696 p.

Strauss, A. L. A Social Worlds Perspective. Studies in Symbolic Interactions. 1978, Vol. 1, pp. 119–128.

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Maruta Pranka “We did not tell anything to the strangers”.

Communication between private and Soviet public spaces The paper focuses on the problems and some aspects of separating the private space from the public space, being consequences of biographical disruption or a turning–point in life or a fatal moment, responding to the terminology of Anthony Giddens (Giddens 1991).

Under the circumstances of the Soviet regime, excluding a large amount of experience from individual and collective memory and from public space was not only a way of retaining identity; it was a survival strategy.

People tried to “forget” their own origins and the origins of their families; they hid their former identities. The disruption of the former life narrative was determined by the need to survive. In cases of

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In the Soviet era people did not engage openly in the search for their roots. Biographical research conducted in Russia discusses situations in which people changed their family names so as not to be identified as Jews or Germans or Finns. “It was safer to live with an anonymous individual biography – to be a Soviet orphan, a mankurt (a person without memory), as the Soviet writer Chingiz Aitmatov put in his utopia” (Miller et al 2005, 128).

According to Pjotr Sztompka, the normative changes caused by radical violent political events lead to a break in historical continuity. But a break in historical continuity could bring about a break in, or even the collapse of, the former identity. Instability and changes can destroy the normal life course and turn into a situation of trauma (Sztompka 2000).

In an analysis of migration as a life break caused by historical changes – whether political, economic or social – it can be seen that the external identity must always be adapted to the new institutional demands. This applies especially to forced migration or deportation.

Individuals or social groups must integrate and socialise into the new place of residence or place of deportation. The life break compels the person or persons to hide their former identities and replace them with another identity corresponding with the new institutional demands.

Re–socialisation and adaptation are also necessary after returning to the homeland if the violent and repressive system has maintained its position there.

I will speak about three aspects of the segregation of private space from public space: •

Denial of the overall past, denial of one’s own experience and personal life course;

•

Denial in the public sphere of one’s own family, relatives and close social network and inclusion of them only in the personal space. Why? Because expressing the truth could lead to the individual’s exclusion from employment, studies, etc. The truth could lead to marginalisation or even stigmatisation;

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The communal flat as the breaking of the public space into private space.

The Estonian researcher Rutt Hinrikus writes: “Mass repressions included a whole generation. It was the silent generation. Their experience was not accepted as existing. The most tragic in the deportation stories is not only the tragic events but the fact that this experience changed their world outlook” (Hinrikus 2004, 67).

Fragments from two women’s life stories from the National Oral History archive will be presented in the paper.

In the life story told by VK, she remembers her and her two brothers’ experience relating to two deportations: in 1941 and 1949.

During the first deportation the eldest brother was mobilised into the Labour Army. Because VK and her younger brother were in the same deportation place, they asked to be allowed to follow their eldest brother. Consequently, they were also involved in the Labour Army. These three young people “quit the Labour Army” after the war. Even though after the first deportation they had signed a document stating that they would not return to their homeland for 25 years, they returned to Latvia. They “lost” their passports on the way because their passports contained evidence of their past as deportees.

When receiving new passports, they declared themselves as “persons who voluntarily entered the Labour Army”. But this interpretation of the past did not save them from a second deportation. VK remembers: We returned. We did not tell anything about our pasts. We were much cleverer than before. We had graduated from our “Life Universities”, as the Russian writer Gorky had written. We knew that we must not tell the truth. We did not tell we were deported. We had been far from here, we had evacuated during war time. We said that our parents had died during war time. And it was the truth, wasn’t it? And we entered the Labour Army in the Far East voluntarily and helped to build Communism. And it was so. And we have returned and have lost our documents and we have spravka – references that we had been in the Far East.

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Memories and Dialogue For 50 years information about these processes in the Soviet space was kept only in oral form, discussed in closed circles. Private space was separated from the public space with the Iron Curtain. “The main theme for the Second Generation (born 1920–1940) is that of balancing the different mental atmospheres at home and in society” (Aarelaid–Tart 2006). VK says: We did not tell anything to strangers. There were some of our relatives and friends from the Far East times. They knew about us, we did not have to talk about it. We knew how to keep our mouths closed. It is a big acquisition that we can talk now.

VK’s brother married a deported Latvian woman in Siberia. Her brother’s son was three years old when the family returned to Latvia.

The boy spoke only Russian for more than a year after returning. VK remembers: It’s interesting – the father and mother are Latvians and they speak only Latvian in the family, but the boy answers them only in Russian.

In the life story told by LV, she remembers she was ten years old in 1941 when her parents were deported. It was a miracle she was left with her grandmother and not deported because LV was ill at the time of her parents’ deportation.

LV’s mother returned illegally from deportation. LV hid her mother in her small room for many years, till the mother’s death. They were afraid of every doorbell. LV tells: I do not want to touch that time. It continued for many years and it was terrible. Every doorbell was a beat. My mother sometimes went to our friends in the countryside to be in safety there. That was a terrible time.

Mother said, ‘Siberia did not break me.’ These terrible years broke me – living illegally. It was living partly.

LV’s mother had no public space; she was locked in a private space only. LV was a stenographer in the Supreme Council, and though she kept her mother only in the private space, her mother helped LV at home with tape writing of the speeches done by Soviet power representatives. LV tells that still today she wakes up from evil nightmares of Soviet soldiers arriving to take her mother away.

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Memories and Dialogue After the death of Stalin it was possible to buy another passport with a different name for LV’s mother and for her to become legal. LV remembers the situation: My mother was baptised with three names: Erīna, Marija, Brunhilde.

She had the name Erīna in her Soviet passport, and everybody had forgotten her other names. And then it was decided to buy the passport with the name Marija and the surname she had before the marriage.

According to the new documents, she was now LV’s aunt. LV still suffers from the fact that she could not call her mother as mother. Deportation was the factor for marginalisation both in the place of deportation and also in the homeland after returning. There was reduced access to economic, cultural and social resources both for the persons who had been deported as well as for their families. Deportation as biographical break forbade the realisation and development of different kinds of capital relating to individual resources, plans, expectations and traditions of the individual’s former social group. LV’s public space was restricted because of her necessity to hide her mother. She had to be very attentive in choosing contacts with friends and to avoid inviting them to her home.

The experience of communal flats was the Soviet experience.

Strangers entered the private space. Communal flats mean the narrowing or even losing of private space. Newcomers from Russia had quite different perceptions of privacy. It is told in the life story that one family bought a TV, which was a scarcity in the early 1960s. The neighbours in the communal flat arrived every evening without knocking at the door to spend time watching TV for many hours. To the objection of the TV owners, the neighbours answered, But we assumed it. It must be stressed that these neighbours were former Soviet military personnel. Life in a communal flat is connected with the permanent possibility of someone breaking into the flat.

To reduce the risk of break–in, the inhabitants tried to organise communal flats by inviting relatives to live in them. Such a process allowed people to retain some social homogeneity, identity and safety. LV told that the authorities did not receive information about her mother’s illegal life because their flat was inhabited by relatives.

Nevertheless, different cultures, traditions and values interacted in the

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Memories and Dialogue majority of communal flats and it was difficult to retain one’s privacy in such a space. Basically, the formation of communal flats by lodging Soviet military personnel was the breaking of the ruling power into private territory. The social diffusion of different social groups and cultures in the limited space of communal flats endangered traditions and the identity of every social group and tried to develop a culture of socialism, barrack–life and identity as homo sovieticus. The symbolic meaning of communal flats was that the aggregation of private space and social space is hidden behind the geographical, physical space aggregation (Семёновa 1996).

On the one hand, a private space existed in the Soviet system with memories of the past, family narratives and individual identities formed and influenced by traditions and inherited values. But on the other hand, individual identity had to correspond with the rules of the repressive Soviet system for existing in the public space. In situations when an identity did not satisfy these rules, the private space had to be separated strictly from the public space and information from the private space was not communicated in the public space for the sake of the security and survival of the individual. Of course, this caused both individual and collective psychological stress and a double–faced situation. In such a permanent situation, there existed the risk of losing historical information and historical memory.

The possibility of connecting private and public spaces occurred during the radical political and social changes of the 1980–90s, when biographical investigations made the contribution of building a bridge of communication from the private to the public space.

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Sources National Oral History Project Archive – interviews NMV 301 and NMV 302/2.

References Aarelaid–Tart, A. A Cultural Trauma and Life Stories. Kikimora Publications 15.

Vaajakoski: Gummerus Printing, 2006. 339 p.

Giddens, A. Modernity and Self– Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991. 256 p.

Hinrikus, R. Deportation, Siberia, Suffering, Love. The Story of Heli. In: She Who Remembers Survives. Interpreting Estonian Women’s Post–Soviet Life Stories. Ed.

by Tina Kirss, Ene Kõresaar and Marju Lauristin. Tartu: Tartu University Press, 2004, pp. 62–77.

Miller, R., Humphrey, R., Zdravomyslova, E. Biographical Research and Historical Watersheds. In: Biographical Research Methods: Time and Biographical Research.

Ed. by Robert Miller. London: SAGE, 2005, pp. 113–122.

Sztompka P. Cultural Trauma. The Other Face of Social Change. European Journal of Social Theory. 2000, Vol. 3, pp. 449–466. Семёновa, В. Равенство в нищeте: символическое значение “камуналок”. Судьбы людей. Россия ХХ век. Ред. Семёновa В., Фотеева Е. Москва: Институт социoлогии РАН, 1996, c. 373–389.

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Dagmāra Beitnere–Le Galla Dialogs, dzīvesstāsts un “trešā balss” Mūsdienu ekonomiskais klimats un sociālās ainavas izmaiņas aktualizē jautājumus par vērtībām un identitāti, – kā tie tiek saprasti, praktizēti un aizstāvēti. Eiropas sociālā ainava ir ne tikai nemierīga, tajā arvien biežāk uzliesmo asiņainas konfrontācijas, sadursmes un terorisms. 2012. gada 22. martā Muhameda Merā (Muhammed Merah) terorakti Tulūzā liek pārdomāt ne tikai multikulturālisma un tolerances lomu un vietu sabiedrībā, bet arī pieaugošo risku, kuram piemīt tendence parādīties negaidītās vietās un situācijās. Francijas televīzija tūlīt pēc terorista neitralizācijas bija sagatavojusi plašu stāstījumu par Muhameda Merā dzīvi. Viņa dzīvesstāsts apraujas 23 gadu vecumā. Kas bija pirms tam? Dzīve šķirtā ģimenē, bez tēva, svešumā. Lai arī dzimis Francijā, tās vērtību sistēmā M. Merā neiekļāvās un savu identitāti izprata un piepildīja ar salafītu vērtībām.1

Arābu valodā islāmisti sauc sevi par salafītiem jeb “dievbijīgo senču sekotājiem” (salaf al–salih), atsaucoties uz agrīnā islāma salafītu tradīciju. Salafīti bija Muhameds un viņa tuvākie līdzgaitnieki, tātad pirmie cīnītāji pret neticīgajiem.

1

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Memories and Dialogue Viņam to iemācīja radikālā islāma piekritēji cietumā, kurā viņš nokļuva pusaudža gados. Televīzijas pētnieciskās žurnālistikas vēstījums izgaismoja apstākļus, kā stāsti ienāk cilvēka apziņā, rada pārliecību un kļūst par darbību, kas iespaido ne viena cilvēka dzīvi vien. Muhameds Merā izdzēsa vairāku nevainīgu cilvēku dzīvības, jo radikālā salafisma idejas viņu pārliecināja tā rīkoties. No sabiedrības drošības viedokļa ir svarīgi uzturēt dialogu, tie bija viņa advokāta pirmie vārdi sabiedrībai, domājot par policijas specvienību rīcību, pirms terorists tika nogalināts. Neatbildēts gan paliek jautājums, vai agresijas izraisītāji risināja dialogu ar sabiedrību, ar tiem cilvēkiem, pret kuriem bija pavērsts ierocis? Šā gada marta notikumu iespaidā jūtu nepieciešamību turpināt pārdomas par dialogu, kas Latvijā, lai veicinātu sapratni par dažādiem politikas, vēstures un sociālās dzīves jautājumiem, ir bieži piesaukts.

Latvija uz citu valstu fona pagaidām izskatās mierīga un toleranta, taču, lai arī neredzami, tomēr katru gadu veidojas viedokļu un uzskatu konfrontācija par vēstures notikumiem, arī to, kā sevi saprast šodien – vērtību un identitātes nozīmē.

Raksts veltīts diviem dzīvesstāstiem, kuru dialogs ir socioloģiskās iztēles radīts, lai pietuvotos vienas paaudzes cilvēku diviem radikāli pretējiem redzējumiem par sevi un savu vietu Latvijas vēsturē un šodienā. Vai tas palīdzēs veidot nākotni?

Pētījuma vēsture Čikāgas ekonomistu skolas pārstāve Dierdre Makloskija (Deirdre N. McCloskey) norāda, ka kultūra ir stāstu stāstīšana, jo ar stāstiem veido, atgādina un saskaņo sabiedrības izpratni par sevi, ienes noklusējumu vai rada izmaiņas. Stāstus stāsta ne tikai literatūra un māksla, stāstu stāstītāji ir arī ekonomisti, politiķi, mediju telpa un visa cilvēku radītā kultūra tās plašākajā nozīmē (McCloskey 1994, 9). Tā atgādina un sasaucas ar sociologa Emila Dirkema (Émile Durkheim) atziņu, ka mēs dzīvojam kultūras stāstu ielenkumā un cilvēks nespēj izstāstīt sevi bez kultūras konteksta – valodas, vēstures, pieredzes. Valodu mantojam no iepriekšējām paaudzēm, un tā ir daļa mūsu identitātes. Valodu var iemācīties, kā M. Merā, tomēr var palikt ārpus kultūras. Arī vēsturi var mācīties, bet nepieņemt kā savu. Cilvēka personīgā pieredze? Kā

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Memories and Dialogue šie komponenti – valoda, vēsture un pieredze iekļaujas identitātē, ja cilvēks nedzīvo savā etniskajā dzimtenē? Tie ir jautājumi, kurus arvien biežāk uzdod pētnieki un kuri kļūst arvien aktuālāki visai sabiedrībai.

Nacionālās mutvārdu vēstures arhīva Latvijas Universitātes Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūtā lielāko kolekciju veido latviešu dzīvesstāsti, kuros dokumentētas liecības latviešu valodā. Dzīvesstāsta autors un pētnieks parasti pieder pie vienas valodas un kultūras, tos vieno arī kopēja sociālā atmiņa, kas veido tādu kā neredzamu kopības sajūtu. Šajā rakstā viena intervija uzklausīta krievu valodā, savukārt dzīvesstāsta autorei tā bija intervija ar intervētāju latvieti – tā mēs abas tiecāmies pēc atklātības un dialoga.

Uzklausot dzīvesstāstus, svarīga ir valoda, tās daudznozīmība (vārdu krājums, izlase – ikdienas vai reprezentatīvā), arī stāstnieka intonācija, kura ne tikai rada stāstu, bet paver iespēju arī sapratnei.

Pētījuma pamatā ir divi dzīvesstāsti: viens pieder 16. marta leģionāru piemiņas pasākuma dalībniekam, otrs – 9. maija dalībniecei, kad Rīgā atzīmē uzvaras dienu pēc Krievijas valsts parauga. Apmeklējot abus pasākumus, ar ietvertā novērojuma metodi un nejaušās atlases rezultātā uzrunāju vairākus cilvēkus. Pētījumam ieguvu divus izvērstus stāstījumus par dzīves pieredzi, kas skaidro viņu dalību šajos piemiņas pasākumos. Intervijās meklēju arī atbildi, kā šie cilvēki redz un saprot viens otru. Proti, vai starp šiem dzīvesstāstiem ir iespējams dialogs.

Domu par dialogu starp dzīvesstāstiem raisīja mana pasniedzēja – vēstures profesora, Otrā pasaules kara veterāna Pētera Krupņikova dzīvesstāsts. Viņš stāstīja par karalaika pieredzi, esot padomju armijas sastāvā, un cīņām pie Daugavas Jēkabpils–Krustpils rajonā.

Pēkšņi viņš pārtrauca savu stāstījumu par kara dienām un atstāstīja sarunu, kas bija notikusi pirms divdesmit gadiem kādā Vācijas Federatīvās Republikas bibliotēkā. Viņš bija pasūtījis kādas grāmatas kopiju, un šī pakalpojuma veicējs bijis vīrs P. Krupņikova gados. Bibliotēkas darbinieks nomērījis viņu ar vērīgu skatienu un, zinot, ka profesors ir no Austrumeiropas, vaicājis, vai profesors bijis kara dalībnieks, jo arī viņš esot karojis Austrumu frontē. Vārds pa vārdam, līdz abi noskaidrojuši, ka vienā laikā atradušies katrs sava karaspēka ierakumos pie Jēkabpils–Krustpils, pretējos Daugavas krastos. Var teikt, ka bijušie ienaidnieki bija satikušies aci pret aci. Vācu kara veterāns uz to teicis:

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Memories and Dialogue “Nu ko? Tas ir viena konjaka vērts!” Tā, saskandinot glāzes, viņi noslēdza kādu svarīgu savas dzīves pieredzi, un pēc tik daudziem gadiem starp bijušajiem ienaidniekiem miera laikā bija notikusi divu vienas paaudzes un atšķirīgas pieredzes cilvēku saruna.

Tā bija ne tikai divu kara veterānu saruna, bet arī liela politiska procesa noslēgums individuālā līmenī. Sabiedrība pēckara Vācijā bija atzinusi savu vainu divu pasaules karu izraisīšanā, nosodījusi nacionālsociālismu un apzinājusies atbildību par valsts vēsturi. Vācijas valdības daudzu gadu garumā ir atvainojušās tautām un valstīm par pāri darījumiem, dodot iespēju un piemēru, kā katram pilsonim pieņemt savas tautas vēsturi un caur to meklēt izlīdzinājumu starp pagātni un šodienu. Šeit minētais atmiņu stāsts demonstrē cilvēka vēlmi neslēpties no savas tautas vēstures, redzēt savu vietu tajā, kā arī parāda spēku izlīgumam. Mana pasniedzēja P. Krupņikova dzīvesstāsta epizode pavēra skatījumu uz cilvēcības un kultūras rezervēm – aiz ideoloģijām, aizspriedumiem un nezināšanas ir jāsaglabā spēja saskatīt, ka otra cilvēka dzīvība ir tāda pati vērtība.

Ko sniedz dzīvesstāsts?

Vai tas ir tikai humanitārs resurss, kuru sabiedrība uzkrāj kā arhīvu par sevi, – kā sabiedrības dalībnieki redz, saprot un izprot sevi, kādu pieredzi guvuši; kā no individuālas pašrefleksijas izveidojas paaudžu ieskatītās vērtības, attiecības ar ģimeni, tuvāko apkārtni un arī valsti? Kādi aspekti dzīvesstāstā kļūst nozīmīgi sabiedrībai? Vai uzdotie jautājumi un to uzklausīšana dod iespēju tvert stāsta vēstījumu – ko stāstītājs gribēja pateikt, kāds bija sacītā dziļākais motīvs? Dzīvesstāsta stāstīšana un uzklausīšana ir pirmais dialogs – starp vēstītāju un klausītāju. Tā ir komunikācija, kas spēj notikt starp laika barjerām, un tāpēc dialoga loma sabiedrībā vienmēr augstu vērtēta. Vai ir iespējams dialogs starp pretēju uzskatu cilvēkiem vai konfliktējošām pusēm?

Dialogs nereti piesaukts arī kā vēlamais, kā vajadzība. Mēs varam arī katrs sev pajautāt, vai bieži ikdienā piedzīvojam dialogu?

Dialogs ietver divu līdztiesīgu sarunu partneru komunikāciju, ko mēs, pētnieki, tiecamies iedzīvināt savā profesionālajā darbībā.

Proti, dzīvesstāsts dod iespēju sarunājoties dzirdēt vienam otru, ir ceļš

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Memories and Dialogue sapratnei, ar kuras palīdzību sabiedrība var iegūt redzējumu par sevi.

Sabiedrību veido daudz un dažādas pašizpratnes grupas, kā šajā gadījumā – latvietes un krievietes stāsts. Katrai no tām ir sava dzīves gaitā gūtā sapratne par sevi, savu vietu sabiedrībā un kultūrā, arī Latvijas valsts vēstures un politiskajā kontekstā.

Sapratni par sevi cilvēks veido visu mūžu, jo tā indivīds, grupa un arī sabiedrība iegūst paštēlu, kuram ir it kā neredzama loma dzīvē, taču tas ir svarīgs faktors, kas nosaka darbības limitus. Sistēmteorijā to dēvē par pašaprakstu. Lai arī mūsdienu modernā sabiedrība ir strukturāli diferencēta, Niklasa Lūmana (Niklas Luhmann) vārdiem sakot, tai nav vienota centra, no kura veidot sabiedrībai kopējo pašraksturojumu.

Tomēr sabiedrībai ir svarīgi meklēt aprakstus, kuri savienotu iespējamību/neiespējamību, – tā grāmatas Risks. Sociālā teorija nobeigumā secina N. Lūmans. No vienas pieredzes var rasties iespēja to bagātināt ar skaidrojumu, ko izmantot daudz sarežģītākām parādībām, un darīt to saprotamāku, neraugoties uz pieaugošajām pretrunām, arī tad, ja tas neienes tūlītēju skaidrību par procesiem, kurus novēro pētnieki (Luhmann 2007, 230).

Sabiedrības priekšstatu par sevi veido vēsture, kultūras stāsti, tostarp literatūra, kā arī ikdienas cilvēku redzējums par savu dzīvi.

Sabiedrības saziņas telpā arvien ir darbīgs komunikācijas kanāls, kurā rit apmaiņa par pašizpratni – kas mēs esam. Sabiedrības pašizpratne tiek pausta ne tikai vienskaitlī, ir tendence to vispārināt un iekļaut tajā visu tautu. Latvijas vēsture ir sarežģīta un pretrunīga, tajā dominē zaudētāja stāsts, ko dokumentētu varam atrast Nacionālās mutvārdu vēstures krātuvē. Dzīvesstāstu kolekcijā, protams, netrūkst individuālo uzvaras stāstu, taču latviešu sabiedrībā dominē rezignācija par vēsturi. No uzvaras Neatkarības kaujās un savas valsts veidošanas līdz laikam, kad dzīvesstāstos ieskanas rūgtums un vilšanās par nenosargāto neatkarību 1939.–1940. gadā; deportācijas, izsūtīšanas, staļiniskais terors; 50. gados Latvija piedzīvoja nacionālkomunistu vajāšanas, arī tā dēvētā Hruščova laika “atkušņa” vietā sākās masveida industrializācija un darbaspēka iepludināšana no citām PSRS teritorijām. Notikumi veidoja nepārtrauktu politisku neveiksmju lejupejošu spirāli.

Protams, cilvēka dzīve rit arī šādos apstākļos, un atmiņa vēsta, ka tā bija mūsu jaunība, mēs dzīvojām dzīvi, kāda tā bija. Pār daudziem

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Memories and Dialogue vēstures notikumiem bija pārklāts publiskās “neatcerēšanās plīvurs”, arī pār sarežģītajām attiecībām ar vēsturi. Latvijā grūti atrast ģimeni, kuru nebūtu kādā veidā skāris karš, nereti ar dalību pretējās karojušās pusēs. Sociālās atmiņas samierināšanai, izlīdzinājumam veltīti pētījumi (Divas) puses: Latviešu kara stāsti un Karojošā piemiņa 16. marts un 9. maijs, nācijas sašķeltai atmiņai veltīta arī Rīgas Jaunā teātra izrāde Vectēvs. Latviešu sabiedrībā nav vienādas attieksmes pret leģionāru piemiņas dienu 16. martā, vēl pretrunīgāka ir attieksme pret 9. maija svinēšanu. Vairāk nekā 60 gadu pēc Otrā pasaules kara un 22 neatkarības gadiem jautājums par vēstures notikumu izvērtējumu katru gadu iegūst politisku un starptautisku uzmanību. Tāpēc raksts meklē atbildi divu cilvēku dzīvesstāstos un uzdod jautājumu, kā viņi redz sevi un viens otru. Vai šie stāsti var satikties dialogam? Vai uzvarētājs spēj saprast zaudētāju, vai kādreizējie naidnieki spēj paraudzīties vienā virzienā un aiz pretējām ideoloģijām saskatīt cilvēku ciešanas, saskatīt, ka zaudētāji, iespējams, ir abi, savukārt vēsturē uzvarētājs ne vienmēr ir uzvarējis?

Iedomātā saruna – dialogs starp diviem dzīvesstāstiem – nav domāta kā provokācija, bet gan kā mēģinājums tuvoties izlīdzinājumam starp paaudzēm, kuras piedalījās Otrajā pasaules karā. Ja reiz kas tāds bija iespējams starp diviem frontē karojošiem vīriešiem, kuri savā pašizpratnē ir spējuši integrēt savas tautas vēsturi un ieraudzīt savu dzīvi vēsturē. Vēl lielāka interese ir meklēt dialogu starp cilvēkiem, kuri dzīvo vienā valstī, pilsētā un, iespējams, iepērkas vienos un tajos pašos veikalos. Cik spēcīgas jūtas liek atmiņai atcerēties kara notikumus – vieniem par zaudēto neatkarību pēc kara, otriem sargāt teritoriju kā savu kara laupījumu.

16. marta piemiņas pasākuma dalībnieka stāsts Intervijai tiekamies dažas dienas vēlāk, kad nedaudz balējuši tās dienas iespaidi. Dzīvesstāsts mijas ar mutvārdu vēsturi, atminoties, kas piedzīvots un saprasts no kara beigu posma. Lai izprastu viņa pārdomas par to dienu notikumiem un kā viņš redz situāciju šodienas acīm, interviju esmu klausījusies vairākas reizes. Balss un stāstījuma

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Memories and Dialogue intonācija vedina domāt par apslāpētām emocijām, rūgtumu un vilšanos. Tomēr vienlaikus šajā stāstījumā ir kaut kas spītīgs un neuzvarams. Stāsts pieskaras 20. gadsimta latviešu cīņu vēsturei, īpaši atgādinot, ka nepretošanās, lai arī ievērojamam militāram pārspēkam, 1939./1940. gadā radīja smagas pārdomas, kas notika un varēja nenotikt. Tāpēc 16. marts, pēc respondenta domām, ir tikai viens posms lielajā nodevību un gļēvulības virknē: 16. marts man ir piemiņas diena, par cik es esmu redzējis visu to tuvplānā un jutis, kādas bija cerības un domas vācu okupācijas laikā.

Kā vīri mierināja viens otru ar domu, ka nekas, – mēs iesim cīnīties, mums būs ieroči, mēs iegūsim pieredzi un mēs te [Latvijā] varēsim nostiprināties. Bet nekas no tā visa nesanāca. Domāju, ka bija kāda nodevība, jo bija paredzēts, ka 19. divīzija atkāpsies cauri Rīgai, bet tos novirzīja citur. Igauņiem veicās, viņiem kādas pāris dienas, pirms atkal ienāca krievi, bija neatkarīga valdība, bet pēc tam to visu aizmirsa, jo sabiedrotajiem tas toreiz nebija izdevīgi [..], to visu “ierullēja” asfaltā.

Dzīvesstāsts pārvēršas mutvārdu vēsturē, jo stāstā ievijas autora viedoklis par kara beigu periodu, par kureliešiem, kas, viņaprāt, ir cits stāsts nekā par leģionāriem. Viņš atceras un šaubās par precīzu gadskaitli un min, ka, iespējams, 1943. gadā vācu okupācijas vara atļāva atjaunot aizsargu organizācijas ar saviem formas tērpiem un viņi pat esot devuši Latvijas armijas zvērestu. Protams, tur bija arī tie, kas bija vācu armijā. Un viņš piebilst, ka īstā patiesība vēl līdz šai dienai nav izdibināta:2 Kureliešu vadību nošāva Liepājas jūrmalā, arī Upelnieku, kuru es redzēju kādreiz sava tēva mājā viesojamies. 19. divīzija palika šeit. Visam vajadzēja būt citādāk. (Gara pauze.) Līdz ar to man šī diena [16. marts] ir piemiņas diena visiem tiem, kas ir krituši. Es tur klāt 16. marta kaujās nebiju, bet man tā ir pārdomu diena par mūsu tautas likteni. Man tas tieši neko neizsaka, bet man tas ir svarīgi, domājot tā plašāk par mūsu tautas likteni. Tāda tā saplosītā vēsture ir, tāpēc man ir 16. marts.

Kad es pārdomāju, kas ar mums vēsturē noticis, ka mums vienmēr bijis jākaro zem svešiem karogiem, ka neesam spējuši nosargāt savu valsti.

Tā man ir tāda pārdomu diena par visiem latviešu karavīriem, kuriem bija netaisni jāmirst, ka bija jācīnās pretējās armijās. Tad es domāju par

H. Biezais darbā Kurelieši. Nacionālās pretestības liecinieki ([1991; 1993] 2011) min nodevību un arī pēckara padomju aģentu nojauktās pēdas, lai izzinātu patiesos notikumus kara beigās Kurzemē.

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Memories and Dialogue latviešu strēlnieku pulkiem Pirmā pasaules kara laikā, kur arī bija apelēts pie patriotiskām jūtām, un arī viņi visi aizgāja bojā. Es domāju par nodevību, kas bija pret Latviju 1939. gada rudenī. Var jau desmit reizes aizbildināties, ka tas bija labi domāts, ka mēs tikpat nebūtu varējuši noturēties. Es par to neesmu pārliecināts. Ja mēs, visas trīs Baltijas valstis, kopā ar Somiju būtu turējušās pretī... kas to lai zina. Tad mums nevarētu teikt, ka esam brīvprātīgi iestājušies Padomju Savienībā.

Atmiņa nedod mieru un atgādina svarīgu apstākli par Baltijas valstu nespēju toreiz vienoties un cīnīties kopā ar somiem, tad mūsu vēsture šodien būtu citāda. Dzīvesstāsta autors uzsver, ka toreiz vajadzēja karot kopā ar somiem, jo mums bija gatavots kopīgs liktenis, kuru somi atvairīja ar drosmīgu pretošanos.

Staļins jau bija sagatavojies uz daudz ko. Viņš, piemēram, pirms Ziemas kara bija uzdevis komponistam D. Šostakovičam uzrakstīt mūziku Padomju Somijas nodibināšanai.3 Bet, ja atgriežamies pie 16. marta, tad jāsaka, ka tā bija liela traģēdija un neviens īsti visu nezina, jo daudzi saraksti ir pazuduši. Domāju, ka aizgāja bojā no 60 līdz 80 tūkstošiem karavīru. Tā ka es domāju, ka 16. marts man ir pārdomu diena, jo pats neesmu tais kaujās piedalījies, bet man ir svarīgi šai dienā tur būt ar visiem kopā. Zinu, ka mēs būtu laimīgi, ja varētu būt Latvijas armijas uniformā un cīnīties par mūsu valsti.

Uz jautājumu, vai citās zemēs arī ir leģionāru piemiņas pasākumi, autors saka, ka Somijai bija leģionāri, kuri aizgāja līdz Kaukāzam, bet tad tos atgrieza atpakaļ Mannerheims. Somijā ir piemiņas pasākumi, uz tiem iet valdības pārstāvji un viņi no savas vēstures nekaunas.

Uz jautājumu par 9. maiju, kā viņš saprot uzvaras dienas svinības Rīgā, viņš atzīst, ka šodien nekas vairs nav darāms, lai situāciju mainītu. Latvijas valdība 90. gadu sākumā pieņēma līgumu par Krievijas virsnieku ģimeņu atstāšanu Latvijā. Un tagad pie Uzvaras pieminekļa pulcējas cilvēki, kurus iespaido Krievijas plašsaziņas līdzekļi. Uz jautājumu, vai redzat izlīgumu starp tiem, kas karojuši dažādās kara frontēs, viņš atbild: Domāju, ka tas ir neveiksmīgi izvēlēts datums. Jo mūsu attieksme pret 9. maiju ir pilnīgi skaidra. Tas ir grūti pārciešams. Tā kliegšana, bļaušana un ālēšanās notiek manu māju tuvumā. Šodien tur nekas vairāk nav

Intervijas autors pastāstīja, ka kādā sarunā viņam bijusi izdevība par šo faktu jautāt pašam komponistam, kurš kautrējoties to atzina par patiesu notikumu.

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Memories and Dialogue darāms. Pirmkārt, vajadzēja visus padomju armijas virsniekus ar ģimenēm 90. gadu sākumā atdot Krievijai. Atbildība ir jāuzņemas delegācijai, kas vadīja sarunas ar Krieviju. Un, otrkārt, to pieminekli [uzvarētājiem] vajadzēja nojaukt tūdaļ pēc neatkarības, tāpat kā Ļeņina pieminekli. Vajadzēja uzcelt kādu skaistu ēku, piemēram, koncertzāli.

Bet toreiz bija bailes. Tagad jau ir par vēlu, un tur vairāk neko nevar darīt.

– Vai ir iespējams izlīgums tai paaudzei, kas karoja pretējās frontēs?

Ja visu laiku biksta un neļauj aizdzīt [brūcei], un biksta jau cilvēkus no abām pusēm. Rietumos tas ir tā kā apklāts ar attieksmi “nu, tā bija, un tas ir pagājis”. Es nedomāju, ka tas ir aizmirsts. To nevar aizmirst. Bet pie mums jau to izmanto no abām pusēm, un Krievijas varas aparāts to arī izmanto. Te joprojām ir bijušo Krievijas virsnieku organizācijas, to es zinu ļoti labi, un to zina arī mūsu Drošības policija, bet viņi klusē. Faktiski viņi [Krievijas virsnieku organizācija] jau ir tas lielākais spēks, viņi gaida savu stundu. Un viņi ir tas lielākais spēks, ar iespaidu ģimenēs, jo tās ir diezgan patriarhālas. Tā mūsu nelaime, ka Rīga bija centrs Baltijas kara apgabalam. Te jau bija doma pārejai uz kirilicu 70. gadu beigās, izveidot Pribaltijskaja respublika.

Skopos teikumos ietvertas daudzu gadu pārdomas par Otrā pasaules kara atskaņām Rīgā, un tās katru gadu no jauna uzplēš vecās rētas. Tad atmiņā uzjundī arī rusifikācijas draudu ēna, kas pavīdēja 70. gadu beigās.

Sarunas laikā bija daudz paužu, visgarākā – pirms pēdējā teikuma par izlīgumu ar vēsturi un 9. maija svinētājiem: ...taču šodien galvenais ir nesākt nīst.

2011. gada 16. marta piemiņas dienas gājienu pie Brīvības pieminekļa pavadīja skaļš troksnis, ko organizēja t. s. antifašisti.

Leģionāru piemiņas diena man bija pirmā reize, kad tajā piedalījos, tomēr ietvertā novērojuma metode neļāva distancēties no pētniecības lauka.

Agresivitāte izsaucienos, policijas kordons un metāla norobežojumi piemiņas pasākumā liecināja par neiecietību un konfrontāciju. Tāpēc jautāju leģionāru piemiņas pasākuma dalībniekam, kā viņš uztvēra cilvēku grupas trokšņošanu piemiņas pasākumā. Mana reakcija bija: ak, nelaimīgie nopirktie muļķi. Tur nav ko runāt. Manuprāt, tas ir absolūti misguided (cilvēki, kas ir maldināti).

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Memories and Dialogue Par dialoga iespējamību ar 9. maija svinētājiem vaicāju arī citiem 16. marta pasākumā satiktiem dalībniekiem, kuri atzinās, ka centušies runāt par 16. marta vēsturi un skaidrojuši savu redzējumu, bet pagaidām pretējā pusē neredz sapratni. Bet reakcija bija, ka mēs gaidīsim, līdz viņiem nāks izpratne par vēstures notikumiem.

Dialogs ir iespējams demokrātiskā un tolerantā sabiedrībā, tāpēc ar interesi gaidīju 9. maiju – uzvaras dienu, kuru Latvijā svin krievvalodīgie. Lai turpinātu meklējumus par dialoga iespējamību/ neiespējamību, tur cerēju sastapt respondentu sarunai par 9. maiju un 16. martu, lai rastu atbildi, vai ir iespējams sameklēt pavedienus starp atšķirīgām atmiņām un pieredzēm.

Uzvaras diena Tā bija saulaina un silta. Cilvēki straumēm plūda uz pieminekļa pusi, un jau pa ceļam uz pulcēšanās vietu uzsāku sarunu ar gados jaunu pāri, kuri ar ziediem rokās devās Atbrīvotāju pieminekļa virzienā.

Jautāju, ko viņiem nozīmē šie svētki. Saruna nevedās, jo manā krievu valodā viņi dzirdēja akcentu, bet latviski teicās runājam slikti. Diktofonu neļāva ieslēgt un atzina, ka nāk pieminēt savus vectēvus, kuri krituši karā. Saruna bija izvairīga un vērtējama kā neizdevusies, – viņi nevēlējās to arī turpināt. Vairākus kara veterānus uzrunāju intervijai tuvāk jau pie pieminekļa, daži iedeva savus tālruņa numurus, taču tie nekad neatbildēja. To sapratu kā sarunas atteikumu. Kādu sievieti, kuru uzrunāju 9. maijā, sazvanīju tikai pēc ilgāka laika, un mēs sarunājām tikšanos, lai uzklausītu viņas dzīvesstāstu. Viņa ieradās mazliet uztraukusies, bet atvērta sarunai, jo, šķiet, bija pieradusi pie žurnālistu uzmanības uzvaras svētku sakarā. Stāstījumu viņa sāka ar šķietami izstrādātu repertuāru, raiti stāstot par savu bērnību: ģimenē bijusi septiņpadsmitais bērns, dzīve bijusi grūta, vecākiem netālu no Ņižņijnovgorodas piederējusi koka māja un dārziņš. Kara laikā, uzreiz pēc skolas beigšanas, iesaukta armijā. Uz jautājumu, vai bija bailes, atbild: Nē, bailes nebija. Mamma nomira pirms kara, tēvs mira pirms manas dzimšanas, es biju dzīves norūdīta. Pie Gorkijas aizstāvējām autorūpnīcu

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Memories and Dialogue pretgaisa aizsardzībā. Kad atbrīvojām Rīgu, tad ar karaspēku te ierados.

[Viņa uzsver.] Atbrīvojām Rīgu.

Stāstā nav daudz kara laika epizožu, tikai noprotams, ka karš vēl nesaudzīgāk par vecāku zaudējumu liek būt pieaugušai: Kad ar fronti atbrīvojām Rīgu, te arī paliku. Biju ļoti slima, kara laikā saslimu ar malāriju, ārsti neticēja, ka palikšu dzīva, bet paņēma līdzi uz fronti, ja izdzīvos, dzīvos, ja ne, ne. Dzirdēju, kā ārsts saka, ka viņai nav ne tēva, ne mātes, ka viņai neviena nav, lai paliek. Ja izdzīvos, izdzīvos, bet sūtīt uz aizmuguri nav vērts. Ja nomirs, nu tad nomirs. Karš ir karš.

Pēc malārijas biju tik vārga, ka paliku šeit [Latvijā]. Man bija skaists rokraksts, tā mani paturēja šeit, štābā, kā rakstvedi.

Viņas balsī pavīdēja atsvešinātības sajūta, jo sieviete stāstīja par savu dzīvi bez izjūtām, lietišķi, kas rada jautājumu, vai tas ir tāpēc, ka kara pieredze daudzkārt jau stāstīta un viņa sevi ir norūdījusi. Vai arī tas ir uzvarētājas stāsts – par sevi un apstākļiem, kas viņu nav salauzuši.

Pēc kara tomēr aizbraucu pie māsas uz Maskavu, jo te nejutos labi. Māsa ar ģimeni dzīvoja mazā 15 kvadrātmetru dzīvoklī – dzīvojām 6 cilvēki.

Es gulēju zem galda, jo nebija citur vietas. Tā es tur paliku, līdz māsas ģimenē sākās strīdi, tā bija tiešām liela šaurība, un nolēmu atgriezties Rīgā. Iepazinos te ar vienu sievieti, kura mani uzlūkoja kā savu meitu un emocionāli atbalstīja palikt šeit Rīgā.

Jautāta, kā viņa jutās, vai bija grūti sākt dzīvot Rīgā, vai juta, ka te ir bijusi cita valsts, ka pēc kara nonākusi citas valsts pilsētā, viņas atbilde bija pārsteidzoša: Nē, man neviens nebija mācījis, ka te ir bijusi cita valsts. Nē, arī skolā mums neviens nemācīja, ka ir bijusi Latvija. Es nekad neko tādu nejutu.

Mūs neviens neaiztika, te viss bija mierīgi.

Bet tad, kā atcerēdamās, viņa min, ka pēc kara armijas vadība viņus stingri instruējusi nekad neiet mājās, kur nevienu nepazīst, būt īpaši uzmanīgiem. Atmiņas par instruktāžu, kā pēc kara uzvesties uz ielas, kā izturēties pret pamatiedzīvotājiem (padomju laika apzīmējums), ir it kā pagaisušas. Vai viņa bija vienīgā vai tādu bija daudz, kuri ienāca Latvijā, staigāja pa Rīgu kā Padomju Savienības sastāvdaļu, vai arī tā ir kāda iemācīta amnēzija – neatcerēties to, kas ir traumējoši un nepatīkami? Stāstījuma atklātība ļauj noticēt, ka viņa nezināja, ka pirms kara

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Memories and Dialogue Rīga bijusi neatkarīgas valsts – Latvijas galvaspilsēta. Vēstures nezināšana sasaucas ar vācu rakstnieka Bernharda Šlinka (Bernhard Schlink) darbu Lasītājs.4 Intervijas autorei ir vidējā izglītība, un salīdzinājums ar analfabēti Hannu no vācu autora darba ir nevietā. Tomēr nezināšana vai patstāvīgas domāšanas trūkums ir padomju sistēmas izglītības un totalitāras sistēmas piemērs vai arī sava veida attaisnojums par atgriešanos uz dzīvi Rīgā. Tādā pat stingrā, apzinīgā balsī viņa stāsta, ka šeit iepazinusies ar savu nākamo vīru un apprecējusies: Dzīvoju labi, jo vīrs bija armijas cilvēks, labi pelnīja, biju nodrošināta. Dzīvoju arī komunālā dzīvoklī, kādreiz arī mēģināju runāt latviski, bet reakcija bija – nevajag, mēs gribam runāt krieviski. Dzīvesstāsta autore min, ka vēlējusies iemācīties runāt latviski, bet nav sastapusi atbalstu no latviešu puses, kuri vienmēr pasteigušies sarunu uzturēt krievu valodā. Ar šodienas pieredzi varam jautāt, kāpēc latvieši neveicināja latviešu valodas prasmes ienācējiem, kāpēc pasteidzās demonstrēt savas svešvalodu zināšanas? Vai šodien varam izprast latviešu situāciju staļiniskajā pēckara Latvijā?

Cilvēki bija spiesti ne tikai dzīvot komunālos dzīvokļos, bet nereti arī sadzīvot ar pretēju pasaules uzskatu un pārliecības cilvēkiem.

Komunālā dzīve ienesa padomju sistēmai raksturīgo sadzīves stilu – toni noteica uzvarētāju stāja, valoda un izpratne par jūtīgumu.

Pēckara staļiniskais terors un latviešu nacionālkomunistu sagrāve Latvijā veidoja situācijas, kurās līdztiesīgas attiecības ne tikai komunālā dzīvoklī, bet arī ārpus tā nebija iedomājamas. Uzvarētāju psiholoģija ir noturīga, un stāsta autore atzīstas: 1990. gadā, kad Latvija ieguva neatkarību, biju Krievijā klases salidojumā. Toreiz biju kareivīgi noskaņota un par Latvijas neatkarības centieniem teicu, ka mēs fašistus uzvarējām, gan jau arī viņiem parādīsim. Bet, ja tomēr vēstures notikumi mainās un mainās arī ierasto lietu kārtība, viņa ir gatava atzīt: Bet te jau tagad ir cita politika. Tad ir jāpieņem. Kopš Latvija ir neatkarīga, daudzi kaimiņi manam “labdien” sveicienam kāpņu telpā ir atsaucīgi, citi – ne. Cilvēki jau ir dažādi, tas jau nav saistīts ar tautību.

Romāna Der Vorleser (‘Lasītājs’) varone Hanna Šmitca kara laikā bija uzraudze koncentrācijas nometnē, un pēc kara 60. gados, kad tika tiesāti holokausta realizētāji, viņa baidījās atklāt, ka ir analfabēte. Romānā risināts jautājums, vai nezināšana, šajā gadījumā analfabētisms, atbrīvo no līdzatbildības par necilvēcīgu rīcību.

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Memories and Dialogue Jautāta par leģionāriem, viņa ieņem pozīciju, ka leģionāri ir leģionāri, cik cilvēkus nobendējuši. Kad ieminos, ka karā jau abas puses nogalināja cilvēkus, tad viņa pirmo reizi sarunā atļaujas emocionālu attieksmi: Man nepatīk šie gājieni, televīzija jau tos vienmēr parāda. Kad jautāju, vai televīzija parādīja arī piemiņas gājiena traucētājus ar cūkas galvām uz mietiem un nacistu simboliku, tad viņa atbild, ka neko tādu neesot redzējusi. Viņas reakcija parāda, ka sadalītā mediju telpa vienus un tos pašus pasākumus atspoguļo tik pretējos aspektos, ka nav atpazīstama pat vietas un notikumu loģika. Mainot tematu, viņa izstāsta par savām izjūtām: Te tādas noskaņas 1997. gadā bija, ka gribēju atgriezties Krievijā, bet īsti nebija, kur atgriezties, radu tikpat kā vairāk nav dzīvu. Te bija runas laikrakstos, televīzijā, ka krievus deportēs. Man viena kaimiņiene tulkoja no latviešu valodas, kur bija rakstīs, ka deportēs. Nodomāju, nu, ja deportēs, deportēs. Laikam jau leģionāri to gribēja.

Pēdējais teikums norāda, ka leģionāru tēls ir pacelts līdz lēmuma virzītājiem par krievu tautības cilvēku deportāciju no Latvijas. Lai mazinātu spriedzi, kas iezagās intervijas laikā, pajautāju viņas domas par 16. martu kā kritušo piemiņas dienu. Nu, viņiem jau to valdība atļauj. Un turpat tālāk viņa atceras: Kad Vaira [Vīķe–Freiberga] bija prezidente, viņa jau aizliedza uzvaras dienas ordeņus publiski nēsāt. Bet neviens neklausīja, visi tos tomēr bija piesprauduši. Kad Vaira redzēja, ka tas numurs neiet cauri, tad arī Zatlers nekam nepievērsa uzmanību. Tagad bija pienākusi mana kārta izbrīnam, jo latviešu valodā iznākošajos medijos nebiju dzirdējusi par deportāciju draudiem, tāpat arī par aizliegumu nēsāt piemiņas medaļas uzvaras dienā. Iespējams, ka viņas rokās bija nonācis radikālas grupas izdevums DDD, ko pārstāv A. Garda un kura iestājas par dekolonizāciju, deokupāciju un deboļševizāciju.

Jautāta, kādus televīzijas kanālus skatās, viņa atbild: Tikai Baltijas pirmo kanālu un Maskavas ziņas, par Latvijas ziņām vai kultūru neinteresējos. 9. maijā vienmēr eju pie pieminekļa un aizeju arī uz Maskavas namu – tur parasti ir koncerts. Latvijas krievu auditorijas daļas nevēlēšanās ieklausīties Latvijas medijos, bet dzīvot savas etniskās dzimtenes mediju telpas ziņās rada atsvešinātību un arī naidīgumu.

Tādā vidē viegli izplatīt maldinošu informāciju un veicināt neadekvātu izpratni par realitāti. Dzīvot Latvijā, bet klausīties ziņas no Krievijas nozīmē dzīvot pagātnē vai nekurienē.

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Memories and Dialogue Kad tomēr atgriezos pie sarunas par 16. martu un iejautājos, vai leģionāriem ir tiesības pieminēt savus kritušos biedrus, viņa nopūtās un atbildēja: Jā, mirušos vajag pieminēt.

Divi stāsti un pētnieka pozīcija Vai kādreiz šo divu stāstu autori varētu sarunāties savā starpā?

Pagaidām šāds dialogs pastāv tikai socioloģiskajā iztēlē. Vai pētniecībā ir iespējams gūt “trešo balsi” – sadarbības balsi, kā to formulējusi Barbara Meierhofa (Barbara Myerhoff). Viņas jēdzienu “trešā balss” izmantoju, lai rastu pieeju šo divu stāstītāju dialogam, spējai savā starpā runāt, jo abi dzīvo vienā valstī. Vai galveno lomu kādreiz nospēlēs lielākais režisors – laiks un katra nākamā paaudze arvien mazāk atcerēsies šos datumus? Gan jā, gan nē. Abas grupas uztur sociālo atmiņu ar stāstiem par izpostītām dzīvēm, zaudētām dzīvībām, ģimeņu traģēdijām un karā nestajiem upuriem. Šie stāsti tiek mācīti nākamajām paaudzēm, tie ir kā kara brūces, kas tiek pārnestas uz nākotni, tās dzīvo vienā valstī, nereti pat vienā kāpņu laukumā kādā daudzdzīvokļu namā. Stāstu mantinieki iepērkas vienā veikalā, bet skatās atšķirīgus ziņu kanālus.

Jautājums paliek atvērts, kā, pētot divus dzīvesstāstus, iegūt neitrālu pozīciju, ja pētnieks pieder latviešu sabiedrībai. Kā iegūt trešo, sadarbības, balsi no diviem stāstiem – starp 16. martu un 9. maiju?

2012. gada konferences tēma – dialogs ar sabiedrību ir pozicionēta ar pozitīvu iespējamību pretēji ikdienas notikumu virknējumam – referendums par valsts valodu, dažādie atceres rituāli (16. marts un 9. maijs) turpina šķelt sabiedrību.

Sociologa Niklasa Lūmana sistēmteorijas pamatpostulāts ir, ka sabiedrības attīstību un atjaunotni nosaka komunikācija. Viņš arī uzsver, ka sabiedrībā varam runāt gan par komunikācijas trūkumu (nekomunikāciju), gan arī sarunu un dialoga iespējamību. Divi dažādi dzīvesstāsti, kurus uzklausīju no abu pasākumu apmeklētājiem, vedināja mani kā pētnieci jautāt, kas ir un būs aktuāls Latvijā: vai iespējams dialogs, sapratne par pagātni cilvēkiem, kuri karojuši dažādās frontes pusēs? Vai dzīvesstāstā atrodam kādus saskares punktus? Kā veidot dialogu starp dzīvesstāstiem, esot pētnieka pozīcijā?

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Memories and Dialogue Var, protams, izlikties, ka pētniecības uzdevums nav meklēt sociālu izlīgumu un ka viss kaut kā nokārtosies pats no sevis. Un tomēr.

Niklass Lūmans uzsver, ka sabiedrība laika gaitā spēj vienoties par pasaules redzējumu, saskaņot to. Viņa skatījumā komunikāciju strukturāli iedala šādi: 1) informācijas raidīšana, 2) uztveršana (kā saprot informāciju), 3) informācijas lietošana. Tieši otrajā līmenī notiek pārrāvums, jo raidīto informāciju uztver caur katra indivīda personiskās pieredzes, izglītības un emocionālās inteliģences slieksni, prizmu un fokusu. N. Lūmans secina, ka vēsturē varam saskatīt nekomunikāciju, jo raidītais tiek saprasts atšķirīgi. Un tomēr sabiedrība ir pastāvējusi, spējusi vienoties vai saskaņoties par kādu ideju, vai, plašāk sakot, radīt informācijas uztveres kopējo segmentu. Paradoksāli, ka vēsturē nereti “saprašanu” vai “vienošanos” ievada iebaidīšana, represijas, soda bīstamība utt. Tas redzams pēckara paaudzes dzīvesstāstos, jo to stāstītājiem bija jāpiedzīvo represijas, apcietināšana, tiesāšana, piemērojot absurdus soda formulējumus, un deportācijas. Arī atgriežoties no soda izciešanas, cilvēkiem bija jāparakstās, ka neko nestāstīs par apcietinājumā piedzīvoto, tā veidojot klusēšanas zonas. Vācot materiālus pētījumam par intelektuāļu represijām, vēl šodien radinieki atteicās minēt nodevēju uzvārdus, lai arī tie ir zināmi. Tas ir piemērs, kā viena veida informācijas raidīšana, kas var būt uzspiesta vai arī uztverta ar noteiktiem nosacījumiem, rada nākamās informācijas deformāciju – noklusēšanu. Var teikt, ka sabiedrība komunicējot neizbēgami piedzīvo un arī rada deformācijas. Strukturāli informācijas raidīšanu var aprakstīt kā platjoslas plūsmu, kurā ir daudz blakņu, filtru, jaušu un nejaušu pārpratumu, vienā vārdā – riski, ko N. Lūmans apraksta kā slēgtus un paškonstituējošus notikumus (Luhmann 2007, xvii). Tie ir sociāli, bet neveido morālu vienotību (moral unity), tie veidojas no izrietošas komunikācijas, proti, ko saprot no raidītās informācijas. Tas ir sarežģīts, daudzslāņains process, arī uzklausot dzīvesstāstu. Teorētiski tas nozīmē, ka ir iegūti divi atsevišķi objekti, kuri ir it kā ārēji savienoti.

Tāpēc nemainīgs paliek jautājums, kā veidot sabiedrības pašaprakstu, ja tas sastāv no neskaitāmiem individuāliem pašaprakstiem, kuri nereti konfrontējas savā starpā.

N. Lūmans norāda uz zinātni kā risku radītāju, turklāt ne tikai eksakto zinātņu jomā, kur rodas arvien jauni atklājumi, veidojas

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Memories and Dialogue jaunas zināšanu jomas, radot pieaugošus riskus pasaulei. Zinātne sistēmteorētiski ir autopoietiska subsistēma sabiedrībā, tā spēj attīstīties vienīgi pati “savā valstī” un tā lieto savas struktūras (teorijas un metodes), kas rodas savas darbības rezultātā (Luhmann 2007, 206).

Zinātne par sevi runā trešajā personā un vēlas būt objektīva un vērtību nozīmē neitrāla. Taču šodien, N. Lūmans ironizē, nav vairāk “jūras kauju” par interpretāciju un arī vērtību neitralitāte ir apstrīdama.

Protams, viņš piebilst, zinātne var paglābties no šāda riska vai arī zaudēt savu autoritāti (Luhmann 2007, 215). Tāpēc, viņaprāt, svarīgi iekļaut otrā līmeņa novērotāju, kura iespējas ir papildināt sabiedrības aprakstu ar divām patiesības vērtībām (var runāt par sava veida “konstruktīvismu”). Otrā līmeņa novērotāja devums var būt par kādu savstarpēji konfliktējošu redzējumu vai arī kalpot kā psiholoģisks vai sociāls dziļurbums par kādu jautājumu. Daudzo sociālo risku analīze parāda, ka racionalitāte var tikt sasniegta, ja iekļauj tajā temporālo aspektu, vērojumā iekļauto notikuma laiku, jo dzīvesstāstos atbalsojas politiski notikumi. N. Lūmans arī atgādina, ka politika vienmēr ir saistīta ar iracionālo, kura rada darbības, kas iespaido dzīves. Konfliktu gadījumos ir pieņemts izmantot mediatora pakalpojumu. Taču tas var notikt, ja abas konflikta puses vēlas iegūt kādu rezumējumu, kas palīdzētu rast kopsaucēju, vienprātību. Tāda vēlme, domāju, ir ne tikai pētniekiem, bet arī sabiedrībai, jo konflikts nogurdina, rada liekus enerģijas zaudējumus un veicina valstī nestabilitāti.

Atmiņām par Otro pasaules karu bijusi un ir noteicoša loma sabiedrības atmiņas kultūrā, taču sakāves piemiņai veltītu atmiņu politiku ir grūti realizēt, uzsver franču vēsturnieks Olivjē Vīijorka (Olivier Wieviorka). Ja arī mūsdienu Eiropas sabiedrības identitātes pamatu veido Otrā pasaules kara atstātais mantojums, tad Latvijai, tāpat kā citviet, šis mantojums ir vēl smagāks, jo atmiņu kultūra nav tikai etniska, t. i., tāda, kas attiecas tikai uz latviešiem. Izlīdzinājumu sabiedrība meklē ne tikai latviešu vidū, kas karojuši dažādās frontes pusēs. Ne visiem kara laika lieciniekiem bija pieņemams leģionāra tēla traktējums Jaunā Rīgas teātra monoizrādē Vectēvs, kas balstījās pretējās pusēs karojošu vīru dzīvesstāstos. Kā saskaņot dzīvesstāstu autoru balsis, lai tajās izdzirdētu “trešo balsi”, kas sadarbojas, spēj klausītājos un lasītājos modināt cerību, ka savstarpēja izpratne tomēr ir iespējama?

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Memories and Dialogue O. Vīijorka rakstījis: “Atmiņas, kā zināms, var šķelt, taču tās spēj arī vienot – un tas ir mierinošs secinājums” (Vīijorka 2010, 79).

Vai uzvarētāja tiesības ietver arī izpratnes pienākumu pret tiem, kuri zaudēja? Tās ir morālas izvēles ne tikai tiem, kuri bija dažādās frontes pusēs, bet arī mums katram šodien pēckara Eiropā.

Dzīvesstāstos mēs satiekam cilvēkus dažādās morāles izvēles situācijās, kuras testē ne tikai viņu tikumus. Atmiņas var mācīt saprast kļūdas, apzināt morālos kaitējumus, ko var nodarīt citiem un tādējādi arī skart savas dzīves. Riska mazināšanai mūsdienu sabiedrībā N. Lūmans piedāvā apdomību (prudence) kā cilvēka individuālo tikumu. Apdomība, kas var ietvert tādu refleksijas veidu, kas sabiedrībai kā sistēmai var piedāvāt vienojošas references. Latviešu sabiedrība šobrīd vairāk tiecas pieminēt upurus nekā varoņus, kas palīdzētu atmiņas par Otro pasaules karu demilitarizēt. Šiem diviem dzīvesstāstiem es varu ieraudzīt tikai vienu kopēju referenci – karš ir samalis viņu un tuvinieku dzīves, tāpēc nav uzvarētāju vai zaudētāju. Taču dzīvesstāstu autoru balsis atgādina, ka tomēr ir saglabājies nošķīrums starp zaudētājiem un uzvarētājiem: 9. maija svētku dalībniecei balss mainījās, kad viņa atcerējās 1991. gadu un Latvijas neatkarības pasludināšanu – tobrīd viņa bijusi Krievijā klases salidojumā un, dzirdot ziņu, kareivīgi solījusies klases biedriem tikt galā arī ar latviešu neatkarību. Viņas stāsts liek atcerēties Džeimsa Verča (James Wertsch) konceptu par “vienas balss oficiālo kolektīvo atmiņu”, ko rada padomju izglītības sistēma, plašsaziņas līdzekļi, ideoloģija, represijas un bailes (Wertsch 2002, 67–68). Vienas balss vēstures sabiedrībai ir problēmas satikt savu vēsturi un būt dialogā vēl ar kādu.

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Vēres (Divas) puses. Latviešu kara stāsti. Otrais pasaules karš karavīru dienasgrāmatās. Red. Uldis Neiburgs, Vita Zelče. Rīga: Mansards, 2011. 424 lpp.

Luhmann, N. Risk: A Sociological Theory. With a new introduction by Nico Stehr and Gotthard Bechmann. New Brunswick: Aldine Transaction, 2007. 203 p.

McCloskey, D. N. Storytelling in Economics. In: Narrative and Culture. The Uses of Storytelling in the Sciences, Philosophy, and Literature. Ed. by Cristopher Nash.

London: Routledge, 1994, pp. 5–22.

Karojošā piemiņa. 16. marts un 9. maijs. Red. Nils Muižnieks, Vita Zelče. Rīga: Zinātne, 2011. 398 lpp.

Deklarācija par latviešu leģionāriem Otrajā pasaules karā. Izskatīta un pieņemta Latvijas Republikas 6. Saeimas rudens sesijas četrpadsmitajā sēdē 1998. gada 29. oktobrī.

Schlink, B. Der Vorleser. Zürich: Diogenes, 1995, 208 S. Vīijorka, O. Otrā pasaules kara piemiņa Francijā (1945–2007). No: Okupācija, koloborācija, pretošanās. Vēsture un vēstures izpratne. Latvijas Vēsturnieku Komisijas Raksti. 26. sēj. Rīga: Latvijas Okupācijas muzeja biedrība, 2010, 69.–80. lpp.

Wertsch, J. V. Voices of collective remembering. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002, 203 p.

Dialogue, Life Story, and the “Third Voice” The current economic climate and globalisation have brought the issues of values and identity to the fore. According to Deirdre N. McCloskey approach, culture consists of the telling of stories. Stories remind a society of its understanding of itself; but stories may also be a means of suppression and a way to show changes in society. What does a life story offer? Is a life story only a humanities resource that a society collects to serve as an archive about itself? In what aspects is a life story important to society?

Niklas Luhmann discussed the role of communication in society. He believed communication helps society reach a vision of itself in order to create a self–characterisation and also provides the opportunity for society to develop its self–reference, which in turn promotes the self–renewal of the society. According to Luhmann’s approach, society is what it is, but it is also that which it has not yet noticed about itself. Society’s view of itself is formed by history, cultural stories (including literature), and also the views of the average people about society.

Academic history views a society’s history through an interpretation of facts.

Literature reflects the way writers view society, which, under the influence of post–

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Communication is a dialogue between the interviewer and the author of the life story. When telling his/her life story, the author does not represent only him/ herself. In an indirect way, the life story is also the author’s dialogue with his/her own society and the time in which he/she is living. The humanities and social sciences sum up this many–voiced dialogue and interpret the representations. How best to obtain this shared voice, which Barbara Myerhoff has called the “third voice”, or, the voice of society? By studying the society and culture to which we the researchers belong, we will obtain the point of view that Luhmann describes as “second level observer”.

The task of this article is to study the approach used by the life story researcher and his/her responsibility in this dialogue.

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Memories and Dialogue

Kristīne Rubina Vecvecāku un mazbērnu attiecību aspekti dzīvesstāstos 214 Vecvecāku un mazbērnu savstarpējās attiecības iezīmē daudzpusīgas radniecības nianses un privātās ģimenes dzīves kontūras. Vecvecāku un mazbērnu garīgā saikne un jūtu pasaule izpaužas relatīvi, jo viņu attiecību dinamika ir atkarīga no dažādiem sociālajiem, vides un kultūras faktoriem.

Vairākas humanitāro un eksakto zinātņu nozares pievērsušās radniecības izpausmju pētīšanai. Jurisprudencē ģimenes tiesību institūtā vecvecāku un mazbērnu radniecību nosaka kā otro radniecības pakāpi taisnā līnijā (Civillikums 1937, 21). Radniecības pētniecība mūsdienās ir arīdzan viens no antropoloģijas kā akadēmiskas disciplīnas pamatvirzieniem (Ķīlis 2001, 198). Savukārt no vēstures skatpunkta minams vēsturnieka Edgara Dunsdorfa redakcijā vairākos sējumos izdotais periodiskais izdevums Archīvs (Dunsdorfs 1988, 32). Ņemot vērā nostādni par cilvēku kā dabas sastāvdaļu, mūsdienu evolucionārais biologs Viljams Hamiltons (William Donald Hamilton)

Memories and Dialogue norāda, ka altruisms radniecībā nav anomāla parādība. Gēni vēlas maksimāli palielināt savu skaitu kopiju nākamajām paaudzēm, tāpēc tie altruistiski izturas pret sava gēna nesējiem (Hamilton 1972).

Vecvecāku un mazbērnu mijiedarbība savā būtībā ir īpašs saskarsmes veids. Filozofijas doktors Augusts Milts mijiedarbību, tāpat kā komunikāciju un uztveri, dēvē par saziņas komponenti. Pievēršoties mūsdienu saskarsmes izpētei, A. Milts runā par lietišķo un dvēselisko saskarsmi (Milts 2004, 4–9). Dvēseliskā saskarsme radnieciskajās attiecībās attiecināma tiešā veidā – apliecināta ar emocionāliem izteiksmes līdzekļiem, taču nereti dvēseliskā saskarsme paliek neizteikta vārdos un ir tikai nojaušama.

Ar dzīvesstāstu palīdzību ceļš uz ģimenes iekšienes pētniecību noris niansēti. Intervijas laikā stāstījumu sekvence iedveš atmiņas par savu radinieku dzīves gaitām un savstarpējo attiecību līkločiem, kā arī vispārējā notikumu jūklī atklāj personīgās pieredzes stāstus. Intervijām lielākoties notiekot teicējiem ierastā, pazīstamā vidē, veidojas nepiespiesta sarunu gaisotne. Psiholoģe Sandra Sebre atklāj fonu, kādā vecmāmiņa mēdza viņai stāstīt dzīvesstāsta fragmentus: Vakaros viņa [vecmāmiņa] apsēdās manā guļamistabā un, uguni nodzēsusi, man par kaut ko stāstīja. Bieži vien tas bija par Sibīriju. Man bija ļoti interesanti, it īpaši tāpēc, ka lejas stāvā pie kopējā ēdamgalda par Sibīriju netika runāts. (..) Vecmāmiņas stāstījumos atceros nevis traģisko, bet to, ka viņa saskatīja skaisto (Sebre 2001, 208–209).

Rakstā par avotiem izvēlēti mutvārdu intervijās ierakstītie dzīvesstāsti, kur izvērstos biogrāfiskos stāstījumos iekļautas atmiņas par dzimtas senču klātbūtni un darbošanos. Mazbērnu apzinātā vecuma iestāšanās atklāj mazbērnu un vecvecāku attiecību posmu, kurā dialoga formā notiek aktīva viedokļu apmaiņa, prasmju un pieredzes pārmantošana, apgūtas vai iedzīvinātas dzimtas tradīcijas. Lai metodiski uzlabotu stāstījumu un iedrošinātu pašu teicēju, par avotu stāstījuma ierosmei nereti kalpo dzimtas fotoalbumi, hronikas, vecvecāku ar roku rakstītie materiāli, liecības periodikā.

Dzīvesstāstu izpētes procesā vienlīdzīga loma piešķirta gan tiem dzīvesstāstiem, kuros teicēji pārstāsta formā pauž no citiem dzirdētās liecības, gan tie atmiņu stāstījumi, kuros vecvecāki bijuši aktīvi izstāstītā notikuma veicēji. Lielākajā daļā dzīvesstāstu saruna par

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Memories and Dialogue vecvecākiem aizsākas stāstījumā par bērnības gaitām, kas lielā mērā sasaucas ar teicēja lineāro cilvēka dzīves ritējumu. Tā, piemēram, vietu, laiku un noskaņu, kā arī kopības sajūtu ar vectēvu pauž asūnietis: Atcerūs, vactāvs, tāva tāvs, myra 1928. goda 1. maja. Maņ 8 godu nabeja.

Kūpā iz cepļa siedejom. Kurieja. Es atnasu jam peipi ci kū, mes pa draugam.

Kļupovā dzeda dzeds nūpierka Ušacka zemis 50 ha – trejim dālim kotram pa učastkys zemis. Man vactāvs tai stuosteja (NMV–3711).

Izvēloties laikposmā no 20. gs. 20. līdz 40. gadiem dzimušos teicējus, nevienam no viņiem dzīvesstāsta ieraksta brīdī vecvecāki vairs nebija dzīvi, likumsakarīgi – viņu vecvecāki ir ne tikai 20. gs., bet arī 19. gs. liecinieki. Teicēji, kavējoties atmiņās, bieži vien vecvecākus raksturo šādi: gudrs, prasmīgs, saimniecisks. Dzīvesstāstu pētniece Baiba Bela disertācijā Dzīvesstāsti kā sociāli vēstījumi šādas situatīvas pazīmes apraksta ar jēdzienu “adaptācijas stratēģijas” (Bela–Krūmiņa 2004).

Vairākās paaudzēs vienuviet dzīvojošā jersikiete savu vecomāti Agnesi atceras šādi: Staigāja ar nūju. Stāstīja pasakas, īpaši par bāreņiem, parasti sēdēja kopā uz mūrīša ar mazbērniem. Mācēja bērnus pieņemt, “nelabumus” ārstēt, meklēja jumīšus tīrumā. Mācēja aust jostas un liet sveces. Vecaimātei bija no jēriņu vilnas austi kāzu brunči. Vecaimātei bija grezelīte, tur glabāja vara naudu (NMV–2612). Savukārt rīdzinieks, kurš 2001. gadā ir atguvis vecātēva mājas Klosteres pagastā un ir uzsācis darbu pie tās atjaunošanas, atminas: Vecaistēvs skaitījās budzis, viens no trijiem bagātākajiem pagastā. Viņš bija drosmīgs vecītis. Viņš aizgāja uz ciema padomi un teica: “Jūs varat ņemt visu, kas ir, bet neaiztieciet mani un manu ģimeni.” Tas bija 1949. g. Pēc kaut kādiem n–tiem gadiem, kad traktoristi bija aruši laukus, uzaruši tola kasti. Tās ir sprāgstvielas. Viņš bija nomīnējis tiltiņu, gaidījis šķūnī, kad brauks pakaļ (NMV–2593).

Ne visi teicēji veido plašus, hronoloģiskus stāstījumus, tāpēc daudzos dzīvesstāstos atmiņas par vecvecākiem ir fragmentāras. Arī fragmentāros stāstījumos altruisma līnija jeb rūpes vienam par otru saglabājas. Ir stāstījumi gan par to, kā mazbērni pieskata vecvecākus, gan arī tādi, kur vecvecāki pieskata mazbērnus, piemēram: Mājās mums vecs vectēvs bija, viņam pāri 80 gadu, vajadzēja pieskatīt (NMV–3720); Vecāmamma pieskatīja, kad augu. Bija vaļēja aka. Man stāstīja, ka tur ir melns suns ar sarkanu mēli, lai es neiekrītu iekšā (NMV–955). Dzīvesstāstos atrodami stāstījumi arī par pārdabiskās pasaules liecībām –

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Memories and Dialogue mirušo vecvecāku klātbūtne garu izskatā var būt kā priekšvēstnesis kādam turpmākam notikumam (NMV–1572).

Tomēr visplašāko atmiņu diapazonu vecvecāku un mazbērnu attiecībās saista ar kopējo ģimenes un dzimtas tradīciju pārmantošanu.

Par klasiskiem jēdzieniem kļūst tādi apzīmējumi kā vecmāmiņas ārstniecības recepte, kulinārijas recepte, vecmāmiņas padoms. Apliecinājumi atrodami visos Latvijas novados: paaudzēs pārmantota laivu gatavošanas māka Mērsragā (NMV–3671), biškopības iemaņu pārmantošana Rimicānos (NMV–1968), vecmāmiņas īpašie cimdi ar cilpām Aknīstē (NMV–1077), vecāsmātes vārītie kartupeļi ar mundieri un mērcētā avīzē uz oglēm cepta siļķe Turlavā (NMV–2584), vecmāmiņas tradicionālās dziedāšanas maniere ar locījumiem Mazirbē (NMV–2150) u. c.

Dzīvesstāstu fragmentos atklājas arī vecvecāku autoritārā ietekme svarīgos dzīves brīžos. Tā, piemēram, dagdēniete stāsta, ka izsūtījumā vecāmāte ar radinieku atsūtīto svētīto ūdeni ārkārtas situācijā krustījusi savu mazbērnu. Kad teicējai, esot atpakaļ dzimtenē, piedzimis otrs bērns, vīramāte teikusi: Ja divu nedēļu laikā bērniņš nebūs nokristīts baznīcā, viņa tādu pagānu rokās neņemšot (NMV–3741).

Cilvēka mūža gaitā pastāvot līdzsvaram starp labo un ļauno, tāpat kā vienojošam starp ārdošo, vērojams, ka vienas ģimenes lokā epizodiski rodas arī nesaskaņas. Maza bērna acīm raugoties, nesaskaņas tiek uztvertas citādi nekā pieaugušo skatījumā, tāpēc vēl jo vairāk interesanti uzzināt, kā attiecību ēnas pusi mūsdienās pusmūžā un briedumā esošie cilvēki atceras bērnu acīm. Dzīvesstāstos reti saklausāmas klaja naida izpausmes vai riebums, lai gan raksturīgākie nesaskaņu cēloņi ir identificējami. Viena no tām – etniskā dažādība. 20. gs. sākumā Latvijas teritorijā dzīvoja daudz citu tautu pēcteču: vācu, arī poļu un baltkrievu. Kāda ventspilniece par savu vecomāti veido plašu stāstījumu, vienlaikus norādot, ka viņas ietekmē ģimenē valdījuši strikti noteikumi: Mammas māte kā viena veca vāciete bija ļoti enerģiska – punktīga. Nodarbojās ar bulciņu cepšanu, no rītiem iznēsāja svaigas bulciņas zināmiem cilvēkiem. Mamma no rītiem sēdējusi klāt maiznīcā, kad viņa cepusi un taisījusi kūkas. Vecā māte atgriezusi atgriezumus, tos viņa varējusi ēst. Nodevusi mammai zināmu daudzumu cukura un teikusi: “Te ir tava tiesa, te ir mana tiesa, un mācies ar to iztikt.” Viņa bija ļoti kašķīga, nevarēja satikt. Mans tēvs teica: “Veca vācu froilene.” (NMV–3365).

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Memories and Dialogue Līdzīgas notikumu epizodes ģimenēs iezīmējas arī pierobežas daļā. Tā, piemēram, Dagdas iedzīvotājs atceras: Tēva māte bija no pierobežas. Mātes māte neprata krieviski, tēva māte – latviski. Es augu ar vienu un ar otru. Ja kura grib iztapt, sāk runāt, kā vajag. [..] Nāk tēva māte pēc kāda mēneša vai vairāk. Tajos laikos vienmēr skrienu priekšā, jo bērnam ciema kukulīts. Šī sāk runāt ar mani: “Oi, gospadzi, rebjonok čista zalatvel!”

(NMV–3716).

Pašiem paaudžu pārstāvjiem neapzinoties, mūsdienās par objektīvu nesaskaņu avotu bieži vien kļūst laikmeta atšķirības. Vadakstiete ir tieša un strikta savā attieksmē pret mazbērniem: [Mazbērni] jau lieli, bet tik grūstās, neko nedara. Ne lasa, ne raksta, ne ada, ne tamborē. [..]

Speķi negrib, bet jāēd tas, ko dod (NMV–344).

Jaunu savstarpējo attiecību statusu regulē ar mantošanu saistītie notikumi, un ne vienmēr iesaistītās puses vaļsirdīgi par to stāsta.

Kundze no Tilgales pagasta atklāj savas emocijas: Man kopā 16 mazbērni. Agrāk visi brauca biežāk ciemos, bet tagad saistībā ar mājas mantošanu ciemošanās retāka. Mājas novēlēju Jurim, jo viņš šais mājās dzīvo (NMV–378).

Dzīvesstāstos gūstams arī apliecinājums attiecību nesaskaņām, kurās, izmantojot mazbērnu vecumu un apziņu, tiek ietekmēta mazbērnu attieksme pret pārējiem ģimenes locekļiem. Pieredzē dalās teicēja no Viesītes pagasta: [Vecā māte] bija ļoti strādīga, ļoti labus un garšīgus ēdienus taisīja, bet nesatika ar savu vīru. Viņa bija ļoti spītīga un arī uz mani par vismazāko nieciņu bļāva, sauca mani visādos lamu vārdos. [..]

Vecaistēvs priekš manis bija dikti labs. Mana vecāmāte gribēja mani sakūdīt pret viņu, un man tā sāpēja sirds. Man kādreiz bija tā, ka slepus vajadzēja ar vectēvu runāt (NMV–1114). Teicēja norāda, ka vienlaikus centusies saglabāt labas attiecības ar abiem precētajiem vecvecākiem, kas viņai daļēji arī izdevies līdz laikam, kad nācies ievākties mājā uz palikšanu.

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Secinājumi Dzīvesstāstu pētniecībā vecvecāku un mazbērnu attiecības parasti nepēta atsevišķi, bet skata kopainā ar vēsturiskiem un sabiedriskiem procesiem. Folkloriste Ieva Garda–Rozenberga savos pētījumos secina, ka vecākā paaudze, dzīvesstāstos raksturojot ikdienu, nereti dalās priekā par saviem mazbērniem (Garda–Rozenberga 2011). Apstiprinājums iepriekšminētajam novērojumam tika rasts arī šī raksta avotos, jo vecvecāki gan ar lepnumu, gan rūpēm izteikušies par dzimtas mazbērniem, tostarp arī mazmazbērniem. Uzklausot dažādu novadu teicējus, izskan apliecinājumi, ka vecmāmiņas mazmeitām rada rokdarbus speciālā tehnikā (NMV–1077), dalās priekos par mazbērnu biznesu (NMV–2280), skolas gaitām (NMV–2040), mazbērni nāk sūdzēties, ja sastrīdas ar vecākiem (NMV–341). Tas norāda uz augstu altruisma pakāpi neatkarīgi no dzīvesvietas attāluma, jo vecvecāki un mazbērni vairākumā gadījumu rūpējas cits par citu. Tomēr dzīvesstāstos atrodami arī pretēji viedokļi, kuros vai nu pragmatisma, vai raksturu nesaderības dēļ iezīmējas savstarpēja radinieku konfrontācija.

Pētījuma gaitā gūts apstiprinājums tam, ka vecvecāki darbojas kā mediatori dzimtas tradīciju turpināšanā un pārmantošanā. Mazbērni vienas dzimtas ietvaros pārmanto tradīcijas gan tieši no vecvecākiem, gan pastarpināti, jo vecvecāki sākotnēji tradīcijas iemācījuši saviem bērniem. Šajā ziņā savstarpējo attiecību nostādne ir skaidra, var pat teikt – universāla, kas sastopama gandrīz visos Latvijas novados.

Aplūkotajā laikposmā, kas ietiecas vecvecāku atmiņā 19. gs., vairākumā gadījumu novērojama vecvecāku dominējošā loma. Ar biogrāfisko metodi iegūtie mutvārdu stāstījumi norāda, ka laikmeta gars un vēsturiskie notikumi vecvecākiem veidojuši stingru nostāju un spēcīgus raksturus, tādējādi jaunākie dzimtas pārstāvji kritiskās situācijās varēja droši paļauties uz viņu pieredzi. Tas lielā mērā skaidrojams ar to, ka norādītajā laikposmā daudzi vecvecāki dzīvoja vienkopus vai tuvumā savas dzimtas jaunākajām paaudzēm, kas sekmēja ciešāku savstarpējo mijiedarbību un biežāku komunikāciju.

Jāatzīmē, ka turpmākai pētījuma attīstībai nepieciešams izvērsti pētīt vecvecāku un mazbērnu attiecības ne tikai ģimenes attiecību

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Memories and Dialogue lokā, bet arī sociālo attieksmju mērogā, jo psihologi norāda: “Svarīga ir arī cilvēka sociālā loma, jo tā ir uzvedība, kuru no mums gaida apkārtējie, ņemot vērā mūsu statusu un izpildāmās funkcijas konkrētā vietā un apstākļos” (Stoligvo 2007). Šī ievirze ļautu papildus pētīt teicēju radiniekus un viņu attiecības pavisam citā kontekstā, papildus tam objektīvākai pētījuma gaitai noskaidrojot otras puses – mazbērnu attieksmi pret vecvecākiem.

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Avoti NMV–341, Ārija Zēmlere (intervēja B. Bela, M. Hinkle Vadakstē, 1996. gadā) NMV–344, Feodosija Mihejeva (intervēja G. Elksne Vadakstē, 1996. gadā) NMV–378, Milda Peniķe (intervēja G. Roberta, I. Bērziņa Turlavā, 1996. gadā) NMV–955, Zenta Voigt (intervēja I. Tihovska Vadakstē, 1999. gadā) NMV–1077, Aina Dubinska (intervēja G. Elksne Aknīstē, 2000. gadā) NMV–1114, Zenta Dobelniece (intervēja I. Tihovska Viesītē, 2000. gadā) NMV–1572, Marija Lūse (intervēja I. Garda, J. Upeniece Alsungā, 2002. gadā) NMV–1968, Filomona Neiceniece (intervēja K. Rubina, S. Henele, V. Rūsiņš, S. Rūsiņa Rimicānos, 2004. gadā) NMV–2040, Aina Vinogradova (intervēja B. Abuls, G. Hārvija Alūksnē, 2004. gadā) NMV–2150, Lonija Stefenberga (intervēja M. Zirnīte Mazirbē, 2004. gadā) NMV–2280, Genovefa Kalniņa (intervēja I. Garda, D. Leimane, A. Puķe, A. Simanova Vārkavā, 2005. gadā) NMV–2584, Sarmīte Pūtele (intervēja K. Rubina Ķikuros, 2006. gadā) NMV–2593, Indriķis Alksnis (intervēja K. Rubina, D. Leimane, M. Vesperis Klosterē, 2006. gadā) NMV–2612, Alvīna Vucina (intervēja K. Rubina Jersikā, 2004. gadā) NMV–3365, Aina Zīle (intervēja M. Zirnīte Ventspilī, 2008. gadā) NMV–3671, Gunārs Ozols (intervēja I. Meiere Mērsragā, 2011. gadā) NMV–3711, Antons Juhņevičs (intervēja I. Dukaļska, Z. Dukaļska, K. Korde, J. Kursītis Asūnē, 2011. gadā) NMV–3716, Antons Rubīns (intervēja I. Fridrihsone, R. Jansone Asūnē, 2011. gadā) NMV–3720, Leongina Grizāne (intervēja I. Ervalde, S. Rumpe, I. Barovskis Dagdā, 2011. gadā) NMV–3741, Janīna Baltiņa (intervēja J. Stauga, S. Kušnere, B. Gintere, L. Rātfeldere Dagdā, 2011. gadā)

Vēres Bela–Krūmiņa, B. Dzīvesstāsti kā sociāli vēstījumi: disertācija. Rīga: Latvijas Universitāte, 2004. 188 lpp.

Dunsdorfs, E. Gadi, gadi. No: Archīvs. 28. sēj. Melburna: Pasaules brīvo latviešu apvienība un Kārļa Zariņa fonds, 1988, 31.–72. lpp.

Garda–Rozenberga, I. Personiskie stāstījumi Alsungas novadā 21. gadsimtā: disertācija.

Rīga: Latvijas Universitāte, 2011. 236 lpp.

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Memories and Dialogue Hamilton, W. D. Altruism and related phenomena, mainly in social insects. Annual Review of Ecology & Systematics. 1972, Vol. 3, pp. 193–232. Ķīlis, R. Sociālās un kultūras antropoloģijas perspektīvas. No: Spogulis. Sast. Māra Zirnīte. Rīga: Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācija “Dzīvesstāsts”, 2001, 198.–207. lpp.

LR likums. Civillikums. Pirmā daļa. Ģimenes tiesības. Pieejams: http://www.likumi.lv/ doc.php?id=90223 (skatīts 15.03.2012.).

Milts, A. Saskarsmes ētika. Rīga: Zvaigzne ABC, 2004, 4.–9. lpp.

Sebre, S. Psihoanalītiskie un hermeneitiskie principi dzīvesstāstu analīzē. No: Spogulis.

Sast. Māra Zirnīte. Rīga: LU Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācija “Dzīvesstāsts”, 2001, 208.–222. lpp.

Stoligvo, L. Mēs mācāmies izspiest jūtas nemanāmi. Latvijas Ārsts. 2007, Nr. 1., 52.– 56. lpp.

Aspects of the Relationship Between Grandparents and Grandchildren as Revealed in Life Stories Interviews from the NMV (National Oral History) collection have been used in this life story study about contact and relationships between grandchildren and grandparents. The interviews were recorded in various regions of Latvia, and the interviewees are of the generation born in the 1940s and 1950s. The relationship between those of this generation who are now grandparents and their grandchildren has been studied in the selected interviews. For this article author has focused on communication between the generations and conflict–forming situations as well as family traditions.

The study reveals that inter–generational relationships are quite individual and difficult to generalise and that no significant differences in the relationships exist between the various regions of Latvia.

Interviews, field work, and personal observation all show that the knowledge and “life lessons” acquired by grandparents during their lifetimes are indirectly inherited by their grandchildren. In response to 20th century social biologist Dr. W. Hamilton’s theory of familial (kin) altruism, the article searches for answers as to why certain issues unite or alienate the generations within the context of one family.

Considering that the relationship between a grandparent and grandchild is often constrained by time (difference in age) and space (distance from one another), research was based on the study of memoir narratives as well as descriptions of specific situations (vacations, family reunions, cemetery festivals).

The topicality of this research is seen in the current trend of using modern communication technologies to help form relationships. Interaction with the older generation thereby decreases and objective obstacles are formed in regards to the passing on

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Memories and Dialogue of family traditions and the knowledge and skills accumulated by grandparents. At the same time, however, modern communication technologies provide unique opportunities, such as access to old church records on the Internet, in which the names of ancestors living centuries ago may be found.

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Edmunds Šūpulis Grand Historic Narrative and the Decentralization of Memory in Oral History Practice In this paper I am looking at the potential of oral history for social dialogue by seeing oral history and life story studies within the modern debates over “re–description of the word” (Rorty 1989) during “the crisis of legitimacy of grand–narratives” (Lyotard 1984).

There are two stimuli behind my choice to write this paper in connection with the given overall topic of “dialogue with society”. The first stimulus, as long as life story is related to memory, my special interest is concerned with observations on how memory as social phenomenon became a subject of political contest, and society gets its “commemoration wars”.1 Secondly, I combine my study of social memory

For more detail on the situation in Latvia, see: Karojošā piemiņa (2011).

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Memories and Dialogue with reflections on the place of oral history research in the current cultural and intellectual trends known as postmodernity.2 First, some contextual points that provide my understanding of the mission which oral history practice might have.

The changing of political regimes also requires more or less significant shifts in historical memory. These include a new understanding of past events, new meanings of processes, and the rethinking of the role different groups and individualities played in the course of the history of the nation. After the collapse of the Soviet empire, we can perceive the birth of new memory regimes in former Soviet states and the Warsaw Pact countries.

At the beginning of the 1990s, after the re–establishment of Latvia’s independence, there was a need to shake down Soviet historiography and to rewrite the history according to the needs of the new state ideology, which accented the continuity of the Latvian state from its first period of independence beginning in 1918. Much work has already been done in Latvia to make a more complete picture of the history of Latvia and its people in the 20th century. The excavation and commemoration of tragic events of the past have been brought to the forefront – there is a museum of the occupation, a centre for the documentation of totalitarian crimes, memorials to victims, and so on. It was a forging of a new grand historic narrative, which was essential for the state to draw a distance from its Soviet past, to detach itself from Soviet heritage, and to build a new collective identity. There was a need to restore and to save memories that were not sympathetic to the Soviet regime and had thus been expelled from textbooks and repressed. We brought these silenced voices to the forefront in our project “Latvian national oral history”. The obtained memories and collected stories range from recollections about the pre–war Republic of Latvia, the establishment of Soviet rule, the movement of refugees and then prolonged exile, forced collectivization in the late 1940s, resistance movements in forests, and memories of those who were the target of persecutions.

Zygmunt Bauman, a British sociologist, states: “Postmodernity is modernity coming of age: modernity looking at itself from a distance rather than from inside, making a full inventory of its gains and losses, psychoanalysing itself, discovering the intentions it never before spelled out, finding them mutually cancelling and incongruous” (Bauman 1991, 272).

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Memories and Dialogue To carry out research on our recent past under the Soviet regime is a rather delicate task because the research can hardly be separated from value judgements regarding the current ideology and prevailing discourses. We have to take into account changing or even conflicting identities in the transition processes from one regime to another, including changes in social position and status of particular groups in society. This all causes the attachment of different meanings to the past, thereby affecting the process of memory and forgetting – what and how something should be remembered or discarded from memory.

Mnemonic practice (commemoration, remembrance, and oblivion) is not uniform in society (Misztal 2003), and it differs from group to group in Latvia, too. It can be said that groups and their boundaries are formed because of different views and opinions regarding the recent past under the Soviet regime. In such a case we can employ the notion of “communities of memory”, which are most visible in the manifestations near the Freedom Monument and the Monument to Soviet Soldiers. Moreover, the discourse on national identity in Latvia has structured these communities according to ethnicity.

Popular discourse on national identity comprises historical representations, myths, and narratives about the enslavement of Latvians

by Germans, Swedes, and Russians, then the national awakening and the fight for freedom, followed by a destructive occupation and heavy suffering along with constant resistance to Soviet power. In my mind, this version of national history expressed in a grand historic narrative has two downsides: it reinforces the discourse on trauma and largely portrays Latvia as a mono–ethnic country. For Russians and other minorities there is little, marginal space or even negative representation due to the sensitive perception of the occupation that caused massive immigration, endangering the persistence of the Latvian nation.

Although the centralization of memory around the official grand narrative and traumatic experiences unites particular groups, it also simultaneously splits society at large. Discourse is never established as a monolith entity (Fairclough 1992); within each society can be found more or less salient alternative movements – public communication that represents counter–discourses and abandoned narratives.

I just summarize the main frontline between the two opposing grand

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Memories and Dialogue narratives in Latvia, which split and disintegrate the nation’s collective memory. We can distinguish several contentious themes concerning the recent past that constantly appear in the public sphere, in the mass media and political agendas. The sharpest among them are: 1) the aggressive occupation of the independent Latvian state versus the peaceful incorporation into the Soviet Union; 2) legionnaires – freedom fighters or Nazi criminals? The Red army – liberators or occupants; and 3) the extent of collaboration with the Soviet regime on the one hand, and more or less active resistance against an alien power on the other hand.

For researchers and experts the current politics of memory leads to the question of how to draw together distinctive communities of memory in spite of conflicting historical representations. Certainly, there are no quick and obvious solutions.

In our field, it is possible to study the features of grand narrative, the manifestations of collective memory, and various discursively created subject positions using both analysis of public discussions on historical topics and individual biographical interviews from oral history collections. The focus of this paper, however, is on “dialogue with society” to accent the role of the oral history approach in the creation of one or another relevant effect within society. I will put my point like this: “Does oral history as a research practice have any particular resources to stimulate the dissemination of attitudes and modes of thinking that might prevent conflict–raising relations caused by the polarization of historical views in the public space?”

To not simplify the answer by saying, “let’s just talk and share experiences, and everything will be fine”, I am taking a step aside. My intention is to comprehend oral history practice from a distance in order to see the social perspective within which it takes place. I use the notion “practice” (not simply research or even study) because the best part of oral history and the collection of life stories is its special approach to the people, to data, and to the result. Otherwise, it is just history, folklore, anthropology, or sociology. But I propose examining oral history from another perspective. And I found this perspective in association with what is developed in postmodern philosophical tradition. In other words – in oral history I see some embedded practical,

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Memories and Dialogue ethical, worldview, and methodological points of departure, reflexions, and conceptualizations that correspond to stances in many ways discussed in the texts of poststructuralists or postmodern thinkers (see Sarup 1993).

In brief, postmodernism is characterized by radical pluralisation, de–fundamentalization of knowledge, and relativization of the truth; de–centration of power and subversion of hierarchies. Ihab Hassan, an American literary theorist, has provided several contrasts between modernist and postmodernist thought (Hassan 1987). Below I adapted his famous table listing the main differences between modernism and postmodernism.3 Modernism

Postmodernism

Purpose Design Hierarchy Mastery/Logos Art object/Finished work Distance Centering Genre/Boundary Selection Root/Depth Narrative/Grand Histoire Master Code Determinacy

Play Chance Anarchy Exhaustion/Silence Process/Performance/Happening Participation Dispersal Text/Intertext Combination Rhizome/Surface Anti–narrative/Petite Histoire Idiolect Indeterminacy

Table 1. Schematic differences between Modernism and Postmodernism.

Within this article it is not a task to discuss which of the mentioned strange terms are more or less relevant to oral history practice.

I just put in bold type those terms that to my mind match more. It is also hard to measure exactly the proportion of classical (scientifically traditional) and post–classical methodology in oral history studies.

It may vary from study to study. Of course, to a great extent we rely on the classical notions of how to carry out a correct and accountable research–work. However, there can be detected one postmodern (or,

The whole table can be seen on the Internet: http://www.english.txstate.edu/ cohen_p/postmodern/Hassan.html [accessed 10 October 2012].

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Memories and Dialogue principally, poststructuralist) feature that is implicitly essential for oral history, too – it is a subversion of binary oppositions. Binary oppositions belong to the structure of semantic field of language – one thing can be expressed because there is an opposite one, like light/dark, friend/enemy, clean/dirty etc. Similarly, some dichotomies concerning science and knowledge can also be distinguished: fact and opinion, reason and intuition, objective versus subjective, quantitative versus qualitative, and so on.

Modernity, with its stake in rationalism and positivistic scientific discourse, had established a hierarchy between different epistemological notions due to assigning dominant and subordinate positions or even excluding some from the scientific sphere. For instance, in given circumstances giving privilege to objectivism over subjectivism and history over memory, the oral history and life story research practice can hardly be possible. Hence, one can notice that oral history entered into academic circles along with the wave of reassessing the legacy of modernity, thanks to postmodern thinking.

In the rest of the paper I will show where I find oral historians appear – intentionally or not – as deconstructionists of binary oppositions. I will point out three directions in which to look for subversion.

These arise from the question: Whose perspective is told, by whom, and in what form?

The first part of the question indicates the duality of the self and the Other. Whose story is announced? Is this a dominant narrative or a marginal one?

I perceive oral history in the context of postmodernity as a part of activities towards the renewal of the Enlightenment project. While modernity and its Enlightenment ideology are criticized for cultivating abstract humanism, I think oral history might be closer to so– called critical humanism, which is far more inclusive than the former.

Feminists, post–colonial theorists, postmodernists, and others have attacked humanism for a variety of reasons. At the core of the critique is the argument that humanism as we know it has attempted to universalize the values and experiences of white, western, heterosexual, middle–class males and has thereby negated the experiences ofanyone who does not fit into this category.

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Memories and Dialogue If we look at the topics chosen in oral history research, it is evident that the focus is on obtaining the viewpoints of non–elite people who do not leave written traces, memoirs, or have biographers.

Paul Thompson’s classic book reminds us that among the main aims of oral history is a desire to “give voice” to marginalized or forgotten people by listening to their stories and allowing their perspective to be heard (Thompson 2000). Actually, we are following the steps of Richard Rorty, the neopragmatism philosopher and public intellectual. In his book on solidarity (Rorty 1989) he urges to expand our definition of “we” to include more and more human groups until no one can be considered less–than–human. He also proposed a program for how to reach this goal, which is associated with his “liberal ironist” and “final vocabulary” concept. Rorty argues that everyone has his/ her own so–called vocabulary to describe the world, to justify actions, to ground a viewpoint, and so on. Liberal ironists, as he understood it, are interested in other peoples’ final vocabularies to see that each one is limited. I would say that the sharing of life stories can also serve this purpose – it extends the ability to capture and be aware of other peoples’ “vocabularies” in describing their experiences. Oral history as a research practice is at the same time an effort to see people belonging to the same historical process. Here, I believe, is great potential for making society more democratic.

In the second part of the question we ask for the author behind the story. I call it the dichotomy of the expert (professional) and volunteer. Usually it is a scientifically trained person, a historian, who is authorized to speak on matters concerning the past; it is an expertise holding a dominant position in the web of power. To my mind, these power relations are questioned and partly subverted in oral history practice. Moreover, in the stronger version, oral history becomes a praxis that turns people into experts – experts about their lives, about particular situations and events associated with their everyday life experience. All over the world ordinary people voluntarily carry out studies related to oral history in their families and communities and thus empower each other.

Classical epistemology keeps a strong distinction between the object and subject of a study to find an explanation. It requires only

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Memories and Dialogue one consciousness, one agency in analysis – a scientifically trained person. The academic roots of our approach, on the contrary, are in the qualitative methodology of sociology and anthropology. We are on the path crafted by Wilhelm Dilthey, Max Weber, and Georg Simmel, who introduced theories of interpretive understanding (seeDenzin 2001; Bryman 2008). The principle Verstehen (meaningful understanding) anticipates two consciousnesses, two mutual subjects in a dialogical study, and it distinguishes the qualitative approach from the more rigid traditional (quantitative) one. In the field of oral history, Michael Frisch (1990) captures it in the notion “shared authority”, which reveals the collaborative nature of oral history, and emphasises the direction our enterprise should look to become a more democratic cultural practice.

Lastly, we may ask in what form the past is told. The basis for plurality of experiences is given in oral history by reversing another hierarchic dichotomy – history and memory. Although history has always prevailed over memory in academic research, the turn to memory as valid research matter gains more and more support in scholar circles.

History was served to societies and nations as the master narrative, which selected the content of social memory. The turning point might be traced to Jean–François Lyotard’s discussions on the “postmodern condition”. In his famous book, he defines the main feature of postmodernity as a scepsis toward different metanarratives: “In contemporary society and culture... the grand narrative has lost its credibility, regardless of what mode of unification it uses, regardless of whether it is a speculative narrative or a narrative of emancipation…” (Lyotard 1984, 37). He propounded that we are witnessing the disintegration of big ideas and histories. The thinking that there is one history (and one truth behind it) to be discovered was also discredited in the works of Foucault, who illustrated how the “regimes of truth” are moulded by discourses (Foucault 1980). History is one story among many (White 1978; Carr 1991). Oral history prefers memory instead of history to collect everyday experiences and local stories and to democratize history by representing everyone as a creative part of it.

I perceive these three main peculiarities and subversions as being the strengths of oral history, and in such a way it is an icebreaker

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Memories and Dialogue towards a new understanding of history, its representation, and its role in our lives. I consider that changing the paradigm for looking at things concerning history is a way to smooth down present contradictions that arise from totalizing grand historic narratives. In my mind, a “dialogue with society” is not just another dialogue between individuals but rather communication with a system of relations (which is a society, in fact). My article recommends searching for the potential to impact the worldview paradigm with the help of ideas developed in the poststructuralist stance. It is not a proposal to become postmodernist, but to recognize our congeniality to postmodern thinking as a critical view to the shortages of the “Enlightenment project”. Finally, my thesis is that oral history practice already contains a criticism of Modernity, and if we reflect on that and bring it to the forefront, then it could compensate the reproduction of different power hierarchies and confrontations. It is so far not a complete remedy for society, but otherwise oral history has the risk of being merged into grand narratives and serving an ideological need.

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References Bauman, Z. Modernity and Ambivalence. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991. 285 p.

Bryman, A. Social Research Methods. New York: Oxford University Press, 2008. 748 p.

Carr, D. Time, Narrative, and History. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991.

189 p.

Denzin, N. Interpretive interactionism. Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications, 2001. 160 p.

Fairclough, N. Discourse and Social Change. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1992. 259 p.

Foucault, M. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972–77. New York: Pantheon Books, 1980. 207 p.

Frisch, M. A Shared Authority: Essays on the Craft and Meaning of Oral and Public History.

Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990. 273 p.

Hassan, I. The Postmodern Turn: Essays in Postmodern Theory and Culture. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1987. 267 p.

Karojošā piemiņa: 16. marts un 9. maijs. Sast. Nils Muižnieks un Vita Zelče. Rīga: Zinātne, 2011. 398 lpp.

Lyotard, J.–F. The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. Translated by Geoff Bennington and Brian Massumi. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1984. 110 p.

Misztal, B. Theories of Social Remembering. Theorizing Society Series. Maidenhead: Open University Press, 2003. 190 p.

Rorty, R. Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. 201 p.

Sarup, M. An Introductory Guide to Post–Structuralism and Postmodernism. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1993.206 p.

Thompson, P. The Voice of the Past. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. 368 p.

White, H. Historical Text as Literary Artifact. In: The Writing of History. Literary Form and Historical Understanding. Ed. by Robert H. Canary, Henry Kozicki. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1978, pp.41–62.

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Jyrki Pöysä

Oral History Interview as Identity Negotation 235 My paper is intended to be a methodological experiment in the interpretation of oral history interviews with the help of discursive psychological theories of positional identities and conversation analytical close reading of taped encounters between the researcher and the informant in the field. The context of the study is a Russian Karelian village, where I have been doing fieldwork since 1999. The idea of this paper is to study the methodological possibilities in analyzing oral history interview materials within a discourse analytical framework, in which every turn of speech can be interpreted as a social act. The method of close reading is directed specially to encounters in which I as a researcher and they as informants are “negotiating” positions of researcher and researched (compared to the positions of, for example, guest and host or Finn and Karelian). I’m also interested in the ways the whole act of interview and the archiving of the jointly produced

Archives and Researchers cultural and life–historical “facts” are negotiated and legitimated during the encounter.

Oral history interview as a part of ethnographic fieldwork

Ethnographic fieldwork consists of repeated encounters between the researcher and researched. The situation is different from a series of oral history interviews made historically and spatially far away from the environment under study. At the same time, oral history interviews as part of ethnographic field work open up the borders of local communities in a way participant observation would not. It often happens that if you ask the “local” Karelian people about their relatives and neighbours, the perspective soon broadens to cover all the areas of the former Soviet Union, Scandinavia, and even Canada and the USA. The first encounters between a researcher and informant already produce a series of situational identifications and membership categorizations. Finnish registration plates on a Russian car driving on a village road reveal the newcomer as do his/her physical appearance, clothes, and all the equipment necessary for travelling. Also the language used during the encounters hints at the background of the participants.

Oral history interviews as situations for identity negotiation make up only a small part of all situational identity negotiations in the field. The taped encounters, however, provide the opportunity to study identity questions in a much more detailed way. There is a strong tendency in the field to form stereotypical insights about the local life and people’s ideas about it. In field situations, the hermeneutical strategy of abstaining from judgments (epokhē) is difficult to maintain while the mind is constantly trying to produce interpretations for new situations. Detailed research, close reading, of taped encounters could therefore act as an important counter–evidence to personal experiences and field notes of the researcher. Recorders and cameras don’t lose their concentration as people often do during the long and intensive days of field work.

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Theories of positional identities

In discursive psychology the role of language and especially the role of speaking as interaction has been taken as a starting point for criticizing the standard concepts of social psychology. Discursive psychology wants to study the subject as a situational occurrence, through positions taken in an interaction. Positional analysis also gives us a framework for studying subjectivity with the help of discourse analysis (see Harré & van Lagenhove 1999).

From a conversation–analytical perspective, identities are dynamic positions negotiated interactively (Sprechels 2008, 395).

Studying discursive positions taken in interview interaction is a way of finding out what kind of identity positions are at hand in the field work situation and where they are coming from. What kind of role have the personal histories of interviewer and interviewee to play and what role have the age, education, and social and cultural background of the participants to play?

It is my hope that through this kind of restricted empirical view we can sketch a picture of a much larger cultural landscape. In the most recent versions of discourse analysis, the role of cultural and historical context has been emphasized; what we study is language in use, in real, specific situations that have a history for the participants of the situation. Strict versions of conversation analysis exclude interviews as non–authentic speech situations. In my paper I will treat the interview as a real, authentic situation worth analyzing as conversation.

Encounters in Russian (“Viena”) Karelia – contextual background for the analysis

The north–western Russian Karelian villages opened up for researchers in the late 1980s. The first experiences of Finnish visitors had a certain kind of pilgrimage feeling; Elias Lönnrot, the creator of the Kalevala, and national romantic photographer I. K. Inha formed the holy landscape for Finnish folklorists and other national enthusiasts. For a long time, during the Soviet era, these areas, romantically named “poetry (rune) areas” (Finnish: runoalue) by Inha and

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Archives and Researchers other Finns, had been closed for most of the people living in the West.

The area was part of the state border between Finland and the Soviet Union and only some privileged specialists were allowed to visit these areas. Tourists or relatives did not belong to this group of people (see PÜysä 2001).

Everything changed in the late 1980s; the borders opened up and travel from and to Finland was allowed for the common people. The local inhabitants welcomed these new contacts. Those who could speak some Finnish were allowed to accommodate tourists and fieldworkers on bed & breakfast contracts. Money from the Western visitors comprised an important income for the villagers while the economic structures in the villages were collapsing one after another. The forest and floating companies gave up floating timber in the rivers, collective farms were closed down, and the number of unemployed people rose to a level never experienced in Soviet times. The money tourists and researchers brought to villages was really needed to help the people to survive.

While the ethnic background of the travellers and researches was quite homogenous, the same could not be said of the villagers. The majority of the villagers were ethnic Karelians, but most villages also had many people of different ethnic backgrounds, the largest of them Russian, Belorussian, and Ukrainian, but also Finnish, for example. In the 1950s, Soviet Karelia was organised economically as the producer of timber for a country (the Soviet Union) recovering from World War II. The forest and floating sites were urgently in need of a fresh work force. While the local Karelian population returning from the war was not able to offer all the workers needed, large campaigns recruited young workers from Belorussia and Ukraine. In many cases these recruited people settled down in the villages, married Karelians and other nationalities, and formed the basis for a modern ethnic mixture.

According to the memories of the villagers, such an ethnic composition was not considered a problem; the Soviet ideology offered a common national identity for everyone participating in the building of the moral unity of the workersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; nation.

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The framework for identity negotiations in interviews The framework for identity negotiations in interviews consists of different identity roles (see also Stark 2003):

Interviewer and Interviewee

Positional identity roles have different levels of stability. In the interview situation the roles of interviewer and interviewee are constantly negotiated (see Pöysä 2010). It is up to the interaction whether the situation can be defined as an interview at all. Some of the villagers have already got tired of living in a specific post–Soviet & pro–Karelian & pro–folklore interview society, and they systematically refuse to give interviews any more. A tea party and a discussion is OK for them, but recording is not allowed during the discussion. Likewise, some of villagers also refuse to be photographed. Walking around and taking photos of the landscape, houses, and the people is the most visible “tourist act” of visitors. With good reason, the villagers do not want to act as ethnographic or tourist objects.

Guest and Host

In many cases interviewing seems to require a certain amount of strangeness between interviewer and interviewee. The positional roles of guest and host often tend to dissolve into friendship roles. The role of being a family friend sometimes makes it difficult to arrange formal interview situations any more. Regarding fieldwork as ethnographic practice, the dissolution of roles could be seen as an advancement.

Everyday discussions, joint walking tours around the village, visits to neighbour villages by car, etc. make the field contact deeper and more dialogical. But this advancement can also be seen as an improvement regarding the “collection” of oral histories on tape. In many cases asking for an interview is easier between strangers than between friends.

In a field situation, asking for an interview is also a shrewd way to get an invitation to enter people’s houses.

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Ethnic and linguistic otherness

Potential ethnic and linguistic borders can be found between visitors and villagers, but also between villagers of different ethnic backgrounds or between villagers and other kinds of outsiders such as travelling salesmen (see Stark 2003).

Otherness between local villagers and researchers varies from strong to light. The strongest version of linguistic otherness can be found between persons not being able to communicate with each other without an interpreter. The modern lingua franca, English, is spoken somewhat by school children but not by the older villagers. Another lingua franca, Russian (actually the mother tongue for many of the inhabitants of the village), is not usually spoken by the foreigners coming from Finland. In many cases the only possible common language between the villagers and the visitors remains Finnish or a mixture of Karelian and Finnish.

Examples of identity negotiations in interviews In the last part of my paper I will give some examples of positional identity negotiations in a specific interview situation. Excerpts are taken from an interview with an old woman working as a janitor at the Cultural House (“Club”) in Jyskyjärvi village. Like many elderly and retired people in modern–day Russia, she still works part–time due to an insufficient pension (and also for the social and personal meaning her job provides).

Interview roles

The interview consists of the basic roles of interviewer and interviewee. On the tape recording of 46 and a half minutes (46:31) the roles of interviewer and interviewee are maintained throughout the whole period of recording; in other words, for example, the interview does not dissolve into a plain discussion. The act of matching the interview

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Archives and Researchers is not recorded, which is quite a normal situation in oral history interviews, which are typically arranged beforehand. However, there is an interesting act of matching regarding the total documentation, when I ask the interviewee for permission to take a photo of her. She acts reluctantly, but I don’t seem to take her seriously, judging from the sound of the camera shutter on the tape.

Excerpt 1:

(18:26à) 1.

2.

I1: 3. J:

4.

5.

I2: 6. J:

Positioning the interviewee to the role of photographed (I1: me, I2: my colleague, J: janitor, interviewee) (sound of opening the camera cover) I could take a photo, if you don’t mind = Oi, please don’t, don’t, I am only dressed (0.5) in working clothes, don’t bother, [don’t bother [(sound of camera taking photo (“diminishing” laughter of the college), Ehh- it is, it isNo prohibition, (Russian) kogda pretila (“although I prohibited”) (somewhat nervous laughter of the interviewee)

In another excerpt, at the beginning of the tape, there is a dialogue in which the second interviewer (my colleague) explains the tape recording while I am arranging the recorder and the microphone to a better position.

Excerpt 2: (0:25à)

Negotiating about tape recording

1.

J: 2. I2:

3.

I1:

Please don’t record- (0.5) Ehhh, (0.5) it is, we have such a poor memory, if we don’t record, we don’t [remember [You don’t have to be- (scared)

Apart from these references to documentation, there are no hints on the tape about asking permission for using the material for research or archiving it at the Finnish Literature Society Folklore Archives in Joensuu. I really hope there has been more discussion about this topic off record. From the standpoint of the interviewee, the act of recording village and life histories could be associated with the special local variant of interview society: the villagers already knew we were researchers coming from Finland and interested in Karelian culture. In the field

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Archives and Researchers situation above, the reluctance of the interviewee towards recording and photographing was evidently interpreted by us as unnecessary shyness. The benign continuation of the discourse on the tape also supports this interpretation, although the transcripted verbal part of the interaction does look more like squeezing than negotiating.

Three life historical positions

The last three excerpts deal with the life historical continuum created in the interview. These could be seen as versions of self positioning (see Harré & van Lagenhove 1999) created during the interview vis–à–vis the age of the interviewee: seeing oneself as young girl, seeing oneself as wife (adulthood, working life), and seeing oneself as mother and grandmother.

Memories of youth are coloured with happiness, dance, and active cultural life in the village and at the old Cultural House (demolished in the 1970s when the new Cultural House was built). The special colour of the voice and interjections (“Oi!”) represent the happiness and liveliness of the memories about the youth and early adulthood of the interviewee.

Excerpt 3: Memories of the old cultural club and own youth (17:26à) 1.

I1: Do you remember (.) the old club, that was [there [Remember, [remember 2. J: 3. I1: [What kind of [place4. J: [We there (unclear), it was our first cultural club (.)

(laughter), we had cinema

there, later we had cinema here too, but now everything

has been closed down, we don’t have (.) it any more 5. I1: Yes 6. J: It was, o:i, we had so many people, loggers, o:i, we were

so happy 7. I1: You had dancing too, [did you?

8. J: [Yes we had, even in seretoi, on Wednesday, yes we had, yes.

We had then Katri (as the head of the club), Katja

Nikuliina, Uljaanova, Naadja was also working there,

I can’t remember other people, but– (0,5), yes, we were really vesjoolii (happy) we (.) at the cultural club, the young

people, we were so: so: many (with a singing tone)

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Archives and Researchers 9. I1: 10. J:

The relationships with the loggers were good?

Good! The relationships were good-

An interesting episode describing the adulthood of the interviewee comes up when I ask if she has an outboard motor of her own.

Before this she has been telling about herding the cattle and mowing hay in faraway places because of the scarcity of fields near the village.

The hay bales had to be carried home with boats equipped with outboard motors. When I ask about it, she tells eagerly and proudly that she had her own motor, bought just for her. Her outboard motor was actually one of the earliest in the village. From a discourse analytical point, her remarks could be seen as an expression of full agency, typical for adulthood in life histories.

Excerpt 4: Own outboard motor 1.

I1: 2. J:

3.

I1: 4. J: 5.

I1: 6. J:

7.

I1: 8. J:

9.

I1: 10. J:

11. I1: 12. J:

Herding cattle is [hard work[Hay–making, I’m doing it by myself, reaping by myself, carrying everything with the motor, by boat, [manyYou have an outboard motor and a [boat?

[Yes [You use to go[I use to go-, I am (unclear) to be honest, with Streloj (name of a motor) a small one, with a 5 liter tank, I am: the first here in Jyskyjärve driving such a motor (0.5) I see, or i Veterok [vosem (also Veterok 8, name of another motor) [In what, what year? ka, vot, ee: yes:, pitdesjat sest-, sedm-, vasmoj gadah, na, na tak, na- (year 1956–8) Where did you get those motors then?

Oh we, they were selling them in our local shop, I guess they were not expensive in those days, we bought (.) My husband was working in floating, he had to have his own, but I also needed a motor, I must get a motor (0.5) I bought it for myself (laughter) (.) He has to have, I have to have (.) Because he was working and he needed it while arranging beams and for travelling to the working site (.) So: I had to have it to be able to go to the forest together with my child (to pick berries)

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Archives and Researchers This third example of life historical positioning has an interesting language change from Karelian to Russian. At the beginning of the interview I have told her that she can also use Russian, if it is easier for her to find certain terms in Russian (I1: also po–ruski možno, orJ: Hot’ po[ ruski?-I1: [You can say it also in Russian). Most people in Karelian villages are bilinguals; apart their mother tongue, they use Russian fluently in encounters with people of different ethnic backgrounds, with outsiders, and with their grandchildren. While talking about her grandchildren living in the nearby small town of Borovoi, she suddenly changes the language into Russian, citing her dialogue with the grandchildren.

Excerpt 5: Dialogue with grandchildren 1.

J:

Everything goes well Growing up here (.)

Working, living together with own families, and (.)

Son is living well (.) daughter is living well vot at Borovoi (1.0) Grandchild said today (0.5) pojehali, pojehali babuska (come here grandma), we are speaking Russian I say ne pojedu, ne pojedu (I am not coming today) mama prikaz ostala stobi ti prijehala (mother asked you to come) I say niet! (no) Then I say ladno (okey), I say today I have a meeting, but after that- (0.5) on Saturday, when I get (unclear), then I come

Transcription Symbols (modified from Kurri & Wahlström 2003, 208) Symbol Explanation [ Left brackets indicate the point at which the current

inter locutor’s speech is overlapped by another’s speech (.)

A dot in parentheses indicates a tiny pause, less than

half a second (0.5) Numbers in parentheses indicate the length of a pause in seconds _ Underscoring indicates stress in an uttered word or part

of a word

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() -

Colons indicate prolongation of the immediately prior sound Explanations in parentheses Hyphen indicates an abrupt cutâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;off of the word in progress

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References Harré, R., Lagenhove, L. van. Positioning Theory: Moral Contexts of Intentional Action.

Blackwell: Oxford, 1999. 216 p.

Hoffman, A., Peeren, E. Introduction: representation matters. In: Representation Matters: (Re) Articulating Collective Identities in a Postcolonial World. Ed. by Anette Hoffman and Esther Peeren. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2010, pp. 9–30.

Kurri, K., Wahlström, J. Negotiating clienthood and the moral order of a relationship in couple therapy. In: Constructing Clienthood in Social Work and Human Services: Interaction, Identities and Practices. Ed. by Christopher Hall, Kirsi Juhila, Nigel Parton and Tarja Pösö. London and New York: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2003, pp. 62–82.

Pöysä, J. Histories in the field. Suomen Antropologi. 2001, Vol. 26 (2), pp. 58–71.

Pöysä, J. Asemointinäkökulma haastattelujen kerronnallisuuden tarkastelussa. In: Haastattelun analyysi. Ed. by Johanna Ruusuvuori, Pirjo Nikander, and Matti Hyvärinen. Tampere: Vastapaino, 2010, pp. 153–179.

Spreckels, J. Identity negotiation in small stories among German adolescent girls.

Narrative Inquiry. 2008, Vol. 18 (2), pp. 393–413.

Stark, L. Ethnic dynamics and the Finnish factor: the view from a post–Soviet Karelian village. Ethnologia Fennica. 2003, Vol. 30, pp. 63–76.

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Tiiu Jaago Dynamics in the Images of History: Narrators, Archives, and Researchers 247 In the frame of the ESF project “Practices of memory: continuities and discontinuities of remembering the 20th century” my aim is to analyse the mutual synchronic and diachronic relations between images of history. My research focuses on the popular image of history, which, naturally, is not intrinsically uniform and which is related to other images of history (originating, for example, from fiction, films, the academic approach to history, and textbooks). Therefore, the research of the popular image of history requires a complex approach.

My research questions are: (1) how changes in the historical– political framework of Estonia have affected the narrating of history; (2) how it is related to the public and the private aspects of narrating; (3) how the dialogue between the narrator and the interviewer (or researcher) is reflected in archival texts, where the different images of history meet to create a unified text (cf. Portelli 1997, 3; Grele 2000, 44–45; 2007, 13; Welzer 2000).

Archives and Researchers In the following presentation I have chosen the topic of the year 1905 as an example to introduce the above mentioned approach.

Memories of the events of 1905 come from four different sources: studies and memories published by local amateur historians and people who participated in the events (Jürisson 1907; Aitsam 1937; Laikmaa 1991 [1938]; Jõgisalu 2005), recordings from my folkloristic fieldwork in 1990 and 1993 (EKRK I 89; MK: Keremann/Karemaa), materials from family archives (Karema 1953; 1970; Uring 1979), and archival texts created in the 1920s–1930s (EKLA f 172; 199 and 200).

In my presentation I first introduce the problems of the historical–political framework as the general background to this study. This concerns two problems: the choice of events creating the image of history and the linguistic level of narrating the events, including how the events are named. Thereafter, I observe one way of understanding the year 1905 in Estonian society; this is a person–centred (not event– centred) view and is associated with the rise of political self–awareness and human dignity in the modernising society.

Background of the study When I read the dissertation by Anne Heimo about the 1918 Finnish Civil War (Heimo 2010), I noticed the continuity in dividing the fighters into the Reds and the Whites despite the relatively dynamic treatment of the images of history. In the Estonian context such consistent use of vocabulary and to some extent also ideology (two opposing parties with a clear view of the world) would not be conceivable.

This is caused by the political frames of 20th century events, which have changed in 180–degree turns. These turns are first expressed by the selection of historical events. The selectivity of events is described, for example, by historian David Vseviov, using the image of a journey, in which the treatment of history moves along the main road of history, marked by certain stops (historical events). However, the main road could become a side road; for example, although during the Soviet period the Narva [Estonian Workers’] Commune was on the main road, today even most historians need to look it up to understand exactly what it was (Vseviov 2001).

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Archives and Researchers It is important that the events of 1905 were never a forbidden topic of discussion in any political period in Estonia (as opposed to, for example, the Narva Commune or the War of Independence), but the position of this event in the general political framework (as well as in the oral history approach) has been different. This enables me to ask how the images of history are positioned with respect to one another in different political frameworks.

Another aspect besides the selection of historical events and meanings ascribed to these events, and partly related to it, is the language level. For example, it depends on the more general framework of the treatment of history to say whether there was “ülestõus” (an uprising) or “mäss” (a riot) in Estonia on 1 December 1924 (the former has a progressive connotation in Estonian, the latter a negative connotation); or whether the Republic of Estonia or the dictatorship of the bourgeoisie existed in Estonia from 1918 to 1940. Literary researcher Jaan Undusk underlines the characteristic rhetorical features of the Soviet Estonian historiography and also shows why the critical treatment of some topics was allowed (e. g. Russification during the Czarist period), while in the case of other topics criticism was out of the question (anything connected with the war). This was because the former was related with the system and especially with the bureaucratic level of the Czarist period and, according to Undusk, “the bureaucratic body of the state mechanism could and can always be severely criticised in Russia”. The same was not true for wars, because the war hero was not a chinovnik (a minor official) but rather a “simple Russian person, i. e. people (folk, nation)”. In connection with the wars, it appears that in Soviet Estonian literature the Russian soldier never “robbed” or “ravaged”, but instead “it was done by the Germans, Latvians, Danes, Poles, and, of course, also by Estonians” in Estonia (Undusk 2003, 43, 51). In Estonian texts, as opposed to Finnish texts, the rhetoric (including the use of words) used for narrating the same events is remarkably important for understanding the ideological or more general background of the event.

In the texts four names are used for the events of 1905: revolutsioon “revolution”, liikumine “movement”, just 1905. aasta sündmused “events of 1905”, or metaphorical names like “the red years”, “a year of

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Archives and Researchers great riot and beating”, “what Mahtra it was”.1 The latter two expressions or names represent the popular literature and the popular view, but what about the usage of the words “revolution” and “movement”?

In history research, the events of 1905 are concentrated into a period called “the First Russian Revolution” (e. g. Jaanson 2005; Raun 2005; Rosenberg 2006, 31). In the description of the event, the term “movement” emerges: “the 1905 movement was, generally speaking, a riot movement – largely disorganised and spreading in waves, gradually growing” (Rosenberg 2006, 32). Viewing the names of the period from the interpretational aspect, it appears that in the 1920s–1930s (i. e. before the Soviet period) historians described the events (or revolution) of 1905 as a preparation for creating the independent Estonian state. Early Soviet Estonian historiography followed the Leninist concept of revolution, which, according to historian Tiit Rosenberg, featured, for example, the schematic depiction of events, the clearly delineated parties of the revolution, the idealisation of bolsheviks, the overestimation of the impact of the Russian Revolution on events in foreign countries, etc. In later Soviet and post–Soviet historiography, the focus was on the research of individual sites related to the events of 1905, and outside Estonia, on the interrelations between the local and general movement (See Rosenberg 2006, 38–43). The naming of the events of 1905 refers, on the one hand, to the viewpoint of the narrator of a historical story: while a historian describes a movement or revolution, the narrator, who relies on personal experiences, uses metaphors or just talks of “the events of 1905” (for example, the collection of archival texts titled “Historical Tradition”, topics for interview; Uring 1979, 30). The official name (“revolution”, “movement”) primarily follows the neutrality or the ideological charge of the term.

When the writing is neutral, the events are referred to as “revolution” in the general context and “movement” in the local context (see e. g.

Kruus 1932; Raun 2005; Jaanson 2005).

Mahtra, or the so–called Mahtra war, are the conflicts between the Estonian peasants and soldiers on 2 July 1858 in Mahtra. See a metaphorical expression of Mahtra in Kõnekäänud ja fraseologismid [Sayings and Phraseology: Electronic Database]: http://www.folklore.ee/rl/date/robotid/leht3.html [Accessed on 19 March 2012].

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Archives and Researchers Because the topic of the year 1905 has never been a forbidden topic (to use the metaphor by Vseviov: it has always been a stop on the main road of history), neither can the names of the period be replaced.

The semantic shifts spring from the context of the specific era.

However, speaking of the popular image of history, its specific feature is that narrators do not observe the events of 1905 in the context of the revolution (coup, etc.), but rather in the context of the fate of people leading their everyday lives, which is also similar to the interpretation of history expressed in the arts (see Jaago 2011). In the following part of the presentation I will expand on these topics more closely.

Local and public, “own” and “foreign” In interpreting the events of 1905, the topic of the emergence of new political culture and modernisation appeared in the speech of the educated people of Estonia during the first quarter of the 20th century (Kallas 1908; Kruus 1932; Laikmaa 1991 [1938], 79; Jaago 2006, 114).

In the following I will introduce the relation between this approach and the popular approach to history, paying attention to three topics: punishment, the “evil” coming from outside the local community, and disorder versus everyday life.

During fieldwork in western Estonia in the early 1990s I experienced that when people talked about the events of 1905 they mainly discussed the penalties following the unrest and its consequences. The same is apparent in the “Historical Tradition” collection, created in the 1920s–1930s. In the latter collection I found the writings of Rudolf Põldmäe, a former student and later researcher of Estonian cultural history, from Vaivara civil parish of 1931. In the “Historical Tradition” collection, texts are built in chronological sequence and, among others, they include a question about the events of 1905. Among the transcripts made by Rudolf Põldmäe there was also a detailed description about the shooting of my grandmother’s grandfather. This gave me a key for joining the anchor points from my family lore, school learning, and fieldwork experience, which in my mind were all still scattered about. For example, my mother kept discussing what her

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Archives and Researchers great–grandfather might have felt before he was killed. The question was particularly brought up in the short story “Bernhard Riives” by Aino Kallas (1908), whose prototype for the main character in the story, Bernhard Laipmann, was allegedly a man who was shot under the same circumstances in western Estonia. The interpretation by Aino Kallas focused on the most important aspect of the unrest in 1905 for educated people, namely, the moral aspect related to human rights and the development of a modern society. For this reason the author Aino Kallas allowed the character to choose between corporal punishment and shooting (these were actually the methods of punishment imposed on the participants in the events of 1905). The protagonist chose capital punishment, declaring, “I shall not be beaten!” (Kallas 1984, 75). The version presented in the short story by Aino Kallas coincides with the version of the shooting of the historical person Bernhard Laipmann, published in the media after the event. For example, ten days after B. Laipmann was shot, the Päevaleht (Daily Newspaper) wrote (27.01.1906): The court–martial trial was short – Laipmann was sentenced to 100 blows. Laipmann argued against it and declared he regarded being shot more honourable than this kind of disgrace. The poor man was shot.

Presumably, the story of the shooting of Bernhard Laipmann spread among the educated people of Estonia thanks to his brother, who lived in Tallinn and was a relatively well–known artist. The fate of Bernhard Laipmann has been studied in this matter (for example, the studies of local history by Mihkel Aitsam in the 1930s and the interviews with relatives by Aleksander Looring in the 1930s) and nothing has been found to prove that he actually could have chosen a method of punishment (EKLA f 210, m 6: 10; Jaago 2006, 113). Helmi Ottenson, who recorded historical lore at Vigala, the home place of Bernhard Laipmann in 1924, describes that local people did not tell any stories of Bernhard Laipmann that had not already been discussed in public.

When she tried to ask something more specific about Laipmann’s personality, people remained silent. The local parish scribe explained that one must not confuse Laipmann as the victim of 1905 and a nationalist with Laipmann as a person. Laipmann’s personality was not opened through the local lore to the interviewer who came from Tartu (EKLA f 199, m 9, p. 157; cf. Heimo 2010, 203).

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Archives and Researchers The topic of punishing innocent people is more widespread among people: the guilty ones are the strangers who move around in the country, do campaigning work, and violate the means of communication, but they are not captured because they are constantly on the move. So it is the local innocent people who are punished. The figure of a Stranger in the local interpretation of a political conflict situation seems to be a universal one; for example, this figure was also in the foreground in Anne Heimo’s research study Kapina Sammatissa (Rebellion in Sammatti) in connection with the events of 1918 (Heimo 2010, 252). The figure of a Stranger is also central in the descriptions of events that took place in the 1940s in Estonia, an example of which is given by Eda Kalmre in her monograph Hirm ja võõraviha sõjajärgses Tartus (Fear and Xenophobia in Post–War Tartu), published in 2007.

So also in the stories of the year 1905, punishment for actions performed by strangers fell on the local people. But how is this unfairness of punishment emphasised in the narrative? In popular narrated stories the characters of the events are depicted doing their normal activities. For example, Bernhard Laipmann came from his brother’s place in Tallinn and was about to go to the miller for feed flour, when he was arrested at home at the dinner table. In another example, Mihkel Keremann was coming home from the parish centre where he sold potatoes after Christmas and was arrested on his way home. Or, Tõnis Uring was organising the funeral of a family member. The characters – who, according to the stories, were away from home, on the way home, at a funeral – are warned that they will be punished, but they all decide that since they have done nothing wrong, why should they hide? I– have–done–nothing–wrong–why–should–I–escape is also a familiar topic from the stories of arrests in the 1940s in Estonia. The stories culminate in actual shooting, arrest, or repression.

Summary None of the 1905 topics is completely and in an isolated manner included as compact information in any one source material – neither in academic research studies, archival materials, nor oral narratives.

As such, these topics meet in the researcher’s work and also in public

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Archives and Researchers discussions, re–emerging now and then, in renewed contexts. The narrators (narratives) spring from the listener. Archival texts serve as a bridge between popular and public versions, including versions “verified” by researchers or publicly. Popular interpretations of events are repeated for analogous historical situations.

This research was supported by the project ESF 8190.

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Archival sources EKLA f 172 – The Year 1905 Society collection, Estonian Cultural History Archives, Estonian Literary Museum, Tartu.

EKLA f 199 and 200 – The collection of the scholars of the Academic History Society and the Estonian Literary Society’s working group on history, “Historical Tradition” from Estonian civil parishes, Estonian Cultural History Archives, Estonian Literary Museum, Tartu.

EKRK I 89 – Fieldwork materials of the Department of Estonian Literature and Folklore (Lääne County 1990). Estonian Folklore Archives at the Estonian Literary Museum, Tartu.

MK: Keremann / Karemaa (1993) – Fieldwork materials collected by Tiiu Jaago.

Department of Estonian and Comparative Folklore at the University of Tartu.

References Aitsam, M. 1905. aasta Läänemaal. Eel– ja järellugudega. Isiklikke mälestusi ja uurimusi.

Tallinn: Autori kirjastus, 1937. 423 lk.

Grele, R. J. Movement without aim. Methodological and theoretical problems in oral history. In: The Oral History Reader. 2. Ed.by Robert Perks, Alistair Thomson.

London, New York: Routledge, 2000, pp. 38–52.

Grele, R. J. Reflections on the practice of oral history. Retrieving what we can from an earlier critique. Suomen Antropologi. Journal of the Finnish Anthropological Society.

2007, Vol. 32 (4), pp. 11–23.

Heimo, A. Kapina Sammatissa. Vuoden 1918 paikalliset tulkinnat osana historian yhteiskunnallisen rakentamisen prosessia. Summary in English: Rebellion in Sammatti. Local Interpretations of the 1918 Finnish Civil War as Part of the Social Process of History Making. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seuran Toimituksia 1275. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 2010. 295 p.

Jaago, T. “Maha lastud kui revolutsionäär”. 1905. aasta sündmuste ohver lugude tegelasena. In: Paar sammukest XXII. Eesti Kirjandusmuuseumi aastaraamat 2005. Ed. by Mall Hiiemäe, Ergo–Hart Västrik. Tartu: Eesti Kirjandusmuuseum, 2006, pp. 87–126.

Jaago, T. Family lore in the meeting space of the individual and the collective, the private and the public. Humanitāro Zinātņu Vēstnesis. 2011, Vol. 19, pp. 51–65.

Jaanson, K. Algus ehk nõndanimetatud Esimene vene revolutsioon. Summary in English: The Beginning, or the So–Called First Russian Revolution. Tuna.

Ajalookultuuri Ajakiri. 2005, Vol. 1, pp. 44–77.

Jõgisalu, H. Tõnis Ervin ja ühe mälestusmärgi lugu. In: Velise Vabariik 100. Konverents Velisel–Valgus, 3.12.2005. Teesid. Copy of manuscript in the possession of the author. 2005.

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Archives and Researchers Jürisson [Martna], M. Punased aastad Eestis. 1905–1906. Eesti revolutsioonilise liikumise ajaloolikud ja majanduslikud põhjused. Peterburi: Tuleviku kirjastus, 1907. 215 lk.

Kallas, A. Valitud proosat Friedebert Tuglase tõlkes. Tallinn: Eesti Raamat, 1984. 227 lk.

Kalmre, E. Hirm ja võõraviha sõjajärgses Tartus. Pärimuslooline uurimus kannibalistlikest kuulujuttudest. Summary in English: Fear and Hatred of the “Other” in Post– War Tartu. A Folkloristic Study of Cannibalistic Rumours. Tartu: EKM Teaduskirjastus, 2007. 239 p.

Karema, A. Mälestused. Copy of manuscript in the possession of the author. 1953.

Karema, A. Minu mälestusi mööduva elu konarlistelt teedelt. Copy of manuscript in the possession of the author. 1970.

Kruus, H. Punased aastad. Mälestisi ja dokumente 1905. aasta liikumisest Eestis I. Tartu: Eesti Kirjanduse Selts, 1932. 252 lk.

Laikmaa, A. Mõteldes tagasi. 2. ed. Tallinn: Kunst, 1991 [1938]. 127 lk.

Portelli, A. Battle of Valle Giulia. Oral History and the Art of Dialogue. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1997. 354 p.

Raun, T. 1905. aasta revolutsioon Balti provintsides ja Soomes. Summary in English: The Revolution of 1905 in the Baltic Provinces and Finland. Tuna. Ajalookultuuri Ajakiri. 2005, Vol. 1, pp. 32–43.

Rosenberg, T. Sotsiaalsest, poliitilisest ja rahvuslikust aspektist Eestis 1905. aastal.

In: Paar sammukest XXII. Eesti Kirjandusmuuseumi aastaraamat 2005. Ed. by Mall Hiiemäe, Ergo–Hart Västrik. Tartu: Eesti Kirjandusmuuseum, 2006,

pp. 31–44.

Undusk, J. Retooriline sund Eesti nõukogude ajalookirjutuses. In: Võim ja kultuur.

Ed. by Arvo Krikmann, Sirje Olesk. Tartu: Eesti Kirjandusmuuseum, 2003, pp.

41–68.

Uring, F. Mälestuste kaust. I. Copy of manuscript in the possession of the author. 1979.

Vseviov, D. Kas ajalugu “mäletab”? Summary in English: Does history “remember”? In: Kultuur ja mälu. SET 4. Ed. by Ene Kõresaar, Terje Anepaio. Tartu: Tartu Ülikooli Kirjastus, 2001, pp. 257–266.

Welzer, H. Das Interview als Artefakt. Zur Kritik der Zeitzeugenforschung. BIOS. Zeitschrift für Biographieforschung, Oral History und Lebensverlaufsanalysen.

2000, Vol. 1 (13), pp. 51–63.

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Malin Thor Tureby The semantic genealogy of the archive.

A discussion on the “Jewish memories” archive at the Nordiska Museet in Sweden

Textbooks about oral history usually discuss methods for how to collect and analyze interviews in which the researcher has participated in creating and collecting. Very little has been written on how to re– use interviews already collected by another researcher or interviews created and collected by an archive, museum, or other cultural institution. There has been some discussion on the ways in which oral history has informed the creation of cultural heritage and has contributed to the production of public or collective memories that make certain versions of the past public and render other versions invisible. These discussions have often concerned oral history in museums and to some extent in archives (see, for example, Hamilton et al. 2002; Hamilton & Shopes 2008).

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Archives and Researchers In the research project “Swedish–Jewish refugee receptions. Narratives and negations of “Jewish” identities and communities in Sweden 1933–2013” (funded by the Swedish Research Council), I work with different narratives about and from Jews in Sweden. Among other materials, I am working with the “Jewish Memories” archive at the Nordiska museet. During the years 1994–1998 the museum collected autobiographical material (interviews and written life stories) for the “Jewish Memories” archive. This article will suggest a method for how to problematize and work with interviews that have been created/ collected by a cultural institution such as Nordiska museet.

The semantic genealogy of the archive In an article reflecting the development of women’s oral history, Sherna Gluck stresses the importance of contextualizing, to historize the narrative, both the conditions of the people’s lives we write about but also the political and social contexts in which the narratives are collected (Armitage & Gluck 2006). I agree with Gluck completely. But I also think that it is of equal importance to discuss what happens before and after the interviews are collected, especially when working with interviews that are collected and kept at a cultural institution such as the Nordiska museet. How do we approach interviews that may have been collected 50, 20, or 10 years before we use them, interviews that have been collected by someone else in a different social, political, and scientific context and/or purpose than we have as contemporary researchers?

Interviewing and archiving entails selecting what should and what should not be kept. A small part of all records and narratives become parts of archives. In oral history, the researcher usually decides on whom to interview or not. But what happens and who is selecting when an archive decides to collect narratives from certain groups or individuals in society? Dutch professor emeritus of archival studies Eric Ketelaar argues that the creation of an archive has different phases. He distinguishes between archivization (the capture of the documents) and the archivalization (the conscious or unconscious choice

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Archives and Researchers determined by social and cultural factors to consider something worth archiving) (Ketelaar 2001). With Ketelaar’s approach the context of the collecting of the narratives does not only refer to the creation of the interviews or the archives, but also what precedes the collecting and what happens afterwards. Following Jacques Derrida (1996), he argues that a recontextualization takes place every time a record, document, or archive is used. Derrida argues that every reading is an extension of the archive. The archive is never closed. It does not only accommodate the past, but also harbors an expectancy of the future. Every activation of the archive adds to the record and to the archive, but also changes the significance of previous activations, argues Eric Ketelaar.

He calls this process the semantic genealogy of the record and the archive (Ketelaar 2001). In this article I will discuss the semantic genealogy of the “Jewish Memories” archive and discuss the archivalization and the archivization of the archive as well as my own recontextualization of “Jewish Memories”.

The archivalization of “Jewish Memories” The term archivalization refers to the conscious or unconscious choice (determined by social and cultural factors) to consider something worth archiving. To understand the archivalization of “Jewish memories” we must investigate by whom, when, why, and how the archive was created. In addition, it is also significant to discuss public discourses about Jewish identities in the 1990s in order to understand the form and content of the narratives collected within the “Jewish Memories” project during the years 1994–1998.

Administrative records and documents from the time before the project was initiated mainly consist of letters from the author Pia Garde to the staff at Nordiska museet. Garde was at the time employed as a librarian in the museum’s library. The letters entail an explanation of how Garde wanted to make an exhibition about the 50th anniversary of the white buses in 1995.1 Her idea with the exhibition was to reach

Nordiska museet, Judiska minnen D375:387. Projektets bakgrund. Material från tiden före projektstart. Mapp: Bakgrund, idéer till projektet.

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Archives and Researchers out and collect stories (she proposed that query lists should be handed out to the visitors to the exhibition) from as many people as possible: both in rural and urban areas, young and old people, Jews and Gentiles, refugees, survivors, and also people who had worked with the refugees and survivors during the 1940s as well as people who had never been in contact with them.2 Pia Garde’s planning for the commemorative exhibition in 1995 was the prelude to a “Jewish memory archive” to be created at the museum. But when the museum well decided to create a memory archive, this would become a Jewish memory archive. There are no texts that reveal whether there was a discussion about reducing Garde’s initial broader approach (for the exhibition) to create an archive that only documented “the Jewish experiences” of World War II. However, there are several documents that clarify the museum’s motivation for why the project and “Jewish Memories” archive were initiated. The archive was motivated by the desire to create a counterbalance to the voices that claimed that the Holocaust never occurred and by the fact that the generation that experienced and witnessed the Nazi crimes was about to die out and it was time to take advantage of their testimony before the opportunity disappeared: Increasing hostility towards foreigners and the racist tendencies that are becoming more and more noticeable in society require measures. One method is to raise the level of knowledge about different ethnic groups, as well as about the Swedes’ way of coping with other cultures. … A documentation of Jewish memories would, therefore, be a very important contribution and tool in the fight against hostility and racism.3

The social and political context in Sweden contributed to the conscious or unconscious choice to consider “Jewish Memories” worth archiving. During the 1980s and 1990s anti–Semitism and xenophobia became visible in several ways in the Swedish public. The Holocaust was denied or belittled in international debates, and this was also echoed in Sweden. In the early 1990s “the laser man” John

Nordiska museet, Judiska minnen D375:387. Projektets bakgrund. Material från tiden före projektstart. Mapp: Bakgrund, idéer till projektet.

3 Nordiska museet, Judiska minnen D375:387, Projektets bakgrund.

Mapp: underlag för ansökningar om fondmedel; mapp: Judiska minnen – ett dokumentations–och forskningsprojekt (odaterat underlag för ansökningar om fondmedel).

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Archives and Researchers Asonius shot people of foreign origin; militant Nazi groups held public meetings and demonstrations and also received a lot of space in the media. Refugee accommodation centers in several places throughout Sweden were burned and a political party with an anti–immigrant profile, New Democracy, made its way into Parliament. In addition, a survey among Swedish youth indicated a lack of knowledge about the Holocaust and the Swedish government started a campaign that resulted in a book describing Nazi crimes that was distributed for free to all households in Sweden. This campaign later resulted in the establishment of the department “Forum för levande historia” (Bachner 2004; Tamas 2003). The Israeli historian Manuela Consonni argues that the contemporary use of narratives about the Holocaust as a counterbalance to xenophobia and the persecution of people has led to “the Jews” becoming a symbol par excellence of persecution and as a representative for all oppressed minorities. Therefore, argues Consonni, the Holocaust has played and continues to play a central role in constructing the European historical narrative, a narrative that continues to depict the Jews as Europe’s “other” (Consonni 2010).

From an international perspective, the majority of survivor testimony collections have been founded since 1977 and the great majority of these were established by the mid–1980s. Henry Greenspan argues that this trend can been seen as part of what he calls “the celebrating discourse” on survivors. Greenspan argues that “the survivor” became a kind of fashion resulting in survivors everywhere being invited to “bear witness”. The celebrating discourse honors the narratives the survivors tell and the “legacies” they bestow. What is celebrated is the act of telling, the act of witnessing, congratulating survivors for giving narratives, and congratulating ourselves for obtaining them. But Greenspan argues that the specific content of what the survivors say is left in the background (Greenspan 2010).

The celebrating discourse entails a vision of “never again”. If we (or our youth) listen to the survivors’ narratives of the Holocaust, they will be vaccinated against evil. They will then understand the danger in distinguishing and discriminating against other persons.

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Archivization – the capture, categorization, and storing of interviews The political and social contexts together with the discourses of the legacy of the Holocaust definitely played a role in why “Jewish Memories” were collected, but the creators of the archive also stressed the great value for the Jewish community as well as the museum’s responsibility to include the memories of all the people of Sweden: Everyone has the same right to have their history preserved in the Memory Bank and to have access to knowledge about their backgrounds and their roots. The collected material would have great significance for future research. This project would also be a possible entry to documenting Jewish life today.4

The archival institution in itself thus contains a tacit narrative that must be deconstructed in order to understand the meanings of the archives (Ketelaar 2001). From an international perspective, there exist around 139 oral history collections about the Holocaust, although actually there are probably more. The majority of these collections are kept in institutions devoted to Jewish culture and/or the Holocaust. But in Sweden the “Jewish Memories” collection was created within and is kept in the archive of Sweden’s largest cultural museum, a cultural institution with a long ethnographic tradition. The capture, categorization, codification, and labeling has thus occurred in an institutional context where collections of Swedish traditions have been collected. The capture and keeping of the “Jewish Memories” at Nordiska museet includes them within the grand narrative about “Swedish life and folklore”. But at the same time, on the museum’s website the Jewish archive is categorized together with the Sami archive as archives about “ethnic minorities”. The labeling of the Jewish and Sami archives, both together and in relation to the labeling of other collections that are categorized and labeled according to occupations, Nordiska museet, Judiska minnen D375:387, Projektets bakgrund.

Mapp: underlag för ansökningar om fondmedel; mapp: Judiska minnen – ett dokumentations– och forskningsprojekt (odaterat underlag för ansökningar om fondmedel).

4

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Archives and Researchers locations, etc., narrate about otherness and particularity in relation to a supposed “Swedish ethnicity” that is neither Sami nor Jewish.

In total, 383 life stories were collected within the “Jewish Memories” project between the years 1994 and 1998. In early 1995 a meeting took place at which the selection criteria for who should be interviewed were discussed. The notes from the meeting are very brief but reveal that the documentation concerns three categories of people of Jewish origin: Jews who were born in Sweden, Jews who fled to Sweden before and during the war, and Jews who came to Sweden from the concentration camps. An overriding criterion for all three categories was that the persons should be verbal and 65 years of age or older.

The materials I work with are the 41 interviews and written life stories from the category labeled “Swedish–born” in the registry. Of these 41 life stories, 18 are in the form of interviews and the other 23 are written life stories. The collection of narratives from persons called “Swedish–born Jews” as well as from refugees that arrived in Sweden during the 1930s was done in order to counteract what was said to be a common belief among Jews born in Sweden or refugees who arrived before the war, namely, that their experiences do not deserve to be told with regard to the “real victims” of the Holocaust. The director of the collection project argues that there was, and perhaps still is, a sort of notion that everyday life in the shadow of the Holocaust is of less historical value: In this project, it was extremely important to document how the Swedish–born Jews and refugees experienced their situation in Sweden during the war years. Their experience is a chapter in Swedish history; it is a chapter that has previously been neglected in the analysis and understanding of Swedish society’s views and acts during World War II. At the same time, their memories are a chapter in the Swedish–Jewish history.

Interviews with Jews who were leaders of the congregation/community or were otherwise active during the war years show the severe situations the Jewish minority in Sweden were exposed to (Lomfors 2000).

The collection and labeling of material has thus been made in a social context where Jewishness is primarily understood in relation to the legacy of the Holocaust, which is clearly demonstrated by

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Archives and Researchers the title of the book Jewish Memories – Narratives from the Holocaust [Judiskaminnen – berättelserfrånFörintelsen], published by Nordiska museet, which contains some of the life stories collected for the archive (Johansson 2000). As the Israeli historian Consonni argues, the Holocaust has indeed become the existential reference point for every Jew and is often conceived as the focal point where the relationship between Jews and non–Jews is at stake. But the collection has also been conducted in an institutional context with a long tradition of collecting materials. The list of questions that have been used in both the collection of the written life stories and the collection of interviews are designed to collect narratives and interviews in the form of life stories and thus include questions, for example, about family and childhood.

Both contemporary discourses on Jewishness, anti–Semitism, and the Holocaust as well as discourses on how to collect life stories and the institution responsible for the collection, preservation, and labeling of the material have thus left their mark on the materials, what form they are in, and how they are labeled. All these contexts must thus be considered when a researcher approaches the “Jewish Memory” archive. On the one hand the archive appears to be just one collection among many other oral history collections about the Holocaust, but on the other hand the archive seems to be a unique collection of stories about what it was like to live as a Jew in Sweden during the 1900s. I am working with the material from the latter perspective, while only and especially focusing on the 41 narratives collected from people who are categorized as “Swedish–born Jews”.

Recontextualization – an understanding of the interviews as entities My own use of the material involves recontextualization, both considering my choice to only use the interviews and written life stories from the category “Swedish–born Jews” as well as considering my method of working with the material. I am working with the interviews almost 20 years after they were collected. My research

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Archives and Researchers questions and perspectives on the material are affected by my contemporary scientific context, upon which the narrative turn and post–structuralism has had a major impact.

Within the research field of Holocaust studies there is still a tendency to regard interviews with mainly (camp) survivors as testimonies. In oral history, an initial approach regarded interviews in a similar way. The interviewees were often called informants or respondents, indicating that they were regarded as persons who could provide information and facts. A similar approach is represented in the collection of material for the “Jewish Memories” archive. The same questionnaire structured the collection of written life stories and interviews, putting the interviewee’s answers in focus in the interviews.

My own approach is to analyze the interviews as entities. This makes it equally important to listen to the stories and categories created by the interviewers in the interviews as well as to the person being interviewed.

I regard the interviews as possible narratives about what it was like to live in Sweden during the 1900s. The collection framework is “Jewish Memories”, which implies that both the interviewee and the interviewer define the interviewee as “Jewish” in some way. In my analysis of the interviews, I listen for how this “Jewishness” is narrated and negotiated during the interviews. I am interested in both content (what do the interviewee and interviewer talk about during the interviews) and contexts and relationships (how does the interaction between the interviewee, interviewer, and the social and cultural contexts create different narratives about Jewishness). The analysis of the content of the interviews aims at emphasizing the interviewee’s and interviewer’s personal stories. What do they chose/not chose to ask and narrate in the interviews? The context and relationship analysis is a problematizing on the contents of the interviews. What available positions and discourses are the interviewee and interviewer using, choosing, negotiating, or rejecting when they ask and narrate about different themes?

What social categories are the interviewer and interviewee using when narrating themselves and others?

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Concluding remarks This article has suggested a method for working with and analyzing interviews that have already been collected and stored at a cultural institution such as Nordiska museet. I have stressed the importance of discussing the initializing and archivalization processes of oral history collections as well as the researchersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; need to reflect their own use and recontextualization of previously collected material.

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Sources Nordiska Museets arkiv Judiska minnen D375: 387. Projektets bakgrund. Material från tiden före projektstart.

Mapp: Bakgrund, idéer till projektet.

Mapp: underlag för ansökningar om fondmedel, Judiska minnen – ett dokumentations– och forskningsprojekt (odaterat underlag för ansökningar om fondmedel).

References Armitage, S. H., Gluck, S. B. Reflections on women’s oral history: an exchange. In: The Oral History Reader, 2nd edition. Ed. by Robert Perks and Alistair Thomson.

London: Routledge, 2006, pp. 73–82.

Bachner, H. Återkomsten. Antisemitism i Sverige efter 1945, 2nd edition. Stockholm: Natur och kultur, 2004. 607 p.

Consonni, M. The new grammar of Otherness: Europe, the Shoah, and the Jews.

Jewish History. 2010, Vol. 24, pp. 105–126.

Derrida, J. Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996. 113 p.

Greenspan, H. On Listening to Holocaust Survivors: Beyond Testimony, 2nd edition.

St Paul: Paragon House, 2010. 316 p.

Hamilton, C., Verne, H., Reid, G. Refiguring the Archive. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2002. 368 p.

Hamilton, P., Shopes, L. Oral History and Public Memories. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2008. 302 p.

Johansson, B. Judiska minnen. Berättelser från Förintelsen. Stockholm: Nordiska museet, 2000. 182 p.

Ketelaar, E. Tacit narratives: the meanings of the archives. Archival Science. 2001, Vol. 1, pp. 131–141.

Lomfors, I. Inledning. In: Judiska minnen – berättelser från Förintelsen. Ed. by Britta Johansson. Stockholm: Nordiska museet, 2000, pp. 7–14.

Tamas, G. Lasermannen. En berättelse om Sverige. Stockholm: Ordfront förlag, 2003.

406 p.

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Pauliina Latvala Positioning Power: The Veteran Members of Parliament’s Oral History Interviews In this paper I will outline some dimensions and tentative methodological viewpoints on the analysis of “elite” oral history interviews.

By paying special attention to the position of the interviewer as an active participant, the research aims at illuminating the dynamics of an interview as a communicative act. Although the data I am investigating belongs to the “question–response–type interview”, it is meaningful to ask whether the transcriptions reflect “the narrative interview” (for example, Hyvärinen 2010). By that he emphasizes that even theme interviews consist of narratives and several text types such as descriptions, explanations, and so on. In my research I am concerned primarily with those discursive practices that produce the positions of nation (people, folk), power, and representation. Within the time restriction today, I will concentrate only on the concept of power and the way the questions concerned with it are asked in the interviews.

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Archives and Researchers Professor of Communication Studies Eva McMahan (2000) lists two reasons for writing her book titled Elite Oral History Discourse.

The first reason stresses the examination of the relationship between the process of oral history interviewing and the product of the interview (the oral text). The second reason is that communication theory could be very useful for understanding the communicative experience of oral history interviewing. These interesting and important notions are more or less addressed in dialogical anthropology, where the central idea of a shared practice has been that the researcher participates actively in the production of data, context, knowledge, and meanings, which are always time–, place–, and encounter–specific (Vasenkari 2000, 243–248; Crapanzano 1992).

Oral historian Alessandro Portelli ([1991] 2001) has profoundly analyzed the process of oral history from this viewpoint. He stresses that the interviewer has quite a powerful role in the process and although the oral text is a shared product, it is not necessarily equally shared. The questions that are posed can actually lead to different output than the interviewee had intended. The interviewer is able to maneuver the interaction. Is the product – “the tape” that eventually will be saved in the archive or in the researcher’s computer – a compromise in which both parties have affected each other or a compromise in which only the informant has been flexible?

These standpoints fit well to the positioning theory, which has its roots in social psychology. According to Rom Harré and Nikki Slocum (2003, 100–102), “Positioning theory is the basis of one of the current research techniques with which the dynamics of the creation of patterns of meanings can be brought to light.” They continue by determining the concept: “It seems that what people are taken to mean by what they say and do is partly a matter of what the various people involved in a social episode believe that persons of this or that category are entitled to say and do. Such entitlements are called “positions”.”

By that concept, Rom Harré and Bronwyn Davies (1990) have wanted to highlight the dynamic aspect of encounter (positions are situation– specific) instead of using the somewhat static and formal term “role”.

The above–mentioned views and questions have been on my mind while spending time in the Library of the Parliament and reading

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Archives and Researchers transcriptions of the oral history interviews of former members of the Finnish Parliament (MPs). The Veteran Members of Parliament Oral History Archive collections started in 1988. Today, the archive comprises over 330 in–depth interviews conducted by political experts and nowadays by a researcher of political history. So far, I have acquainted myself with one third of the total (110 interviews). As the views of positioning theory and dialogical anthropology are connected to fieldwork or/and the dialogical nature of the interviewer and the interview, the situation in which the researcher has not participated in the collection of the data nor been the interviewer is quite different. How can the research material be analysed when there have been many interviewers over the decades, when interviews have been moved to transcriptions on CD–ROMs, and when the researcher has not participated in the interview process nor planned the themes for the interview? Furthermore, studying politically–themed oral history from the perspective of cultural studies and oral history, as opposed to political studies, may also be challenging. But, is this basis inexorably negative or too challenging? Could it be regarded as positive and fruitful because it allows the researcher to examine more closely the two–way interaction: the role of the interviewer and the impact of the questions and means of steering discussion as well as the interviewers’ speech?

If the overriding goal in oral history is, as Eva McMahan (2000, 18) writes, “to obtain testimony about a memorable, lived–through experience”, the goal of MP interviews (not necessarily shared by the interviewees) could be formulated as testifying the lived–through political culture in Parliament and providing a particular interpretation of political history. The politician, on the other hand, may be seeking to establish a “particular image for him/herself” with regard to political power. In fact, both of the counterparts can have multiple goals, both implicit and explicit, which are represented at two levels of discourse: at the propositional level (what is said) and at the performative level (what is done by saying) (ibid).

In my research the lengths of the transcriptions are usually over 200 pages because the interviews have lasted about six to eight or even more hours. Furthermore, some of the interviews have been done in two parts. Does long and profound memorizing lead to a less

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Archives and Researchers controlled performance act, in which negotiation is possible and positions are not fixed? All the interviews have been put into practice with the same theme interview form. However, this does not mean that they all consist of the same type of narratives or that the transcriptions perform exactly the same data as the original tapes. The transcriptions have saved some elements of the non–verbal communications. Laughing and the use of dialect have been marked in at least some transcriptions, but not, for example, pauses or speed. It goes without saying that listening would reveal this (see also Portelli 2001, 48). In principle, the interviews follow a general script. Each interview situation starts with the childhood of the MP and touches upon certain general areas concerning a career and political culture in Parliament, but there is variation on the length and depth of the themes discussed. In addition, the interview form was updated a year ago.

Jyrki Pöysä (2010) has introduced the use of positioning theory in the interviews as a part of an ethnographic data collection. According to Pöysä, the interpretation of interviews must include all the other information (perceptions, field diary, visual documentation) that has been formed during the fieldwork. He stresses that the positioning theory seldom works as a concrete analysis method; instead, it can be utilised as an additional interpretative frame for the perceptions. In my research there is no access to the perceptions of the interviewer other than what is recorded on the tape, because I have access only to the transcriptions of the interviews done by other persons between 1988 and 2011. In spite of that, there are many intriguing aspects in positioning theory that are meaningful to investigate even without the voices of the interviewee and interviewer. Let me shortly present an example of the main aspects of what Pöysä (2010, 173) calls close– analysis of the interviews (perhaps compared to close reading – a method familiar from literary studies, although he does not mention it).

What kind of positioning do the interviews create in regard to the concept of power and the place and use of power? What is included/excluded? Does the retrospective memorizing allow them to talk about power differently than if they were still in Parliament? Previous research on rhetoric, media texts, and the construction of power (done, for example, by sociologists in Finland) has also been useful

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Archives and Researchers (see Hyvärinen 1996) while examining the positioning of power in the MP interviews. For example, previous research has asked: Is the power regarded as negative, neutral, or positive? Is the power represented against some sort of contrast? Is power one entirety or is it chopped up into multiple elements? All of these questions are also relevant in the “elite” oral history material.

The interviewees in the MP interviews have posed questions concerning power in many ways. I have chosen some, the most common, examples here. The questions below are posed to seven former members of Parliament. On first look, they all seem to ask the same question. But if we look carefully, different sorts of categorizing and stereotyping can be found as rhetorical devices in order to position the interviewee and power.

•

As a member of Parliament, did you perceive yourself as a user of power? And what was your view about the use of power then? Here the informant is positioned back in the past, as a member of Parliament and as a possible user of power. It is not asked whether it was considered positive or negative to power.

•

But I’ll ask quite a simple question: What do you think: Does the MP have power and have you had power? What kind of power? The second question starts at the general level without attaching to (past) time (and past position) at all; instead, it can be understood to relate to the present day and other members of Parliament (those who still work there). Only after the general level does the interviewer point to the interviewee’s own past experiences. He does not actually ask how the power was used, although he asks the interviewee to specify what kind of power he had. There is an assumption that power cannot be seen as one of a kind or that it is not clear to others what kind of power MPs have.

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How do you feel about being a power user? Some politicians even enjoy using power. The third interview example appears to go straight to the question, but the additional comment right after the question is essential. The argument assumes that the nature of power is positive, something that can be – and

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Archives and Researchers is allowed to be – enjoyable. This can be regarded as a humorous or rhetoric hook that invites a reply.

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You must have felt that you had power. So, how did you relate to power and the use of it? In the fourth question the interviewer has a somewhat aggressive style when addressing the question, because the interviewee is a party leader (who is supposed to have more power that an ordinary MP). The interviewee is put in a position in which he must deny the argument very strongly if he disagrees with the given stereotype (that power is inevitable).

•

What kind of thoughts cross your mind when speaking about words like politics and power? The fifth type of question is an opposite of the previous questions: it represents a fairly short, kind, and open positioning (general level) containing only one question whereas the previous examples have two questions at the same time or at least two sentences.

•

Do the people experience that politician’s misuse power, that they don’t take responsibility over their solutions? The sixth question is posed to an MP who belongs to a party whose public image is associated with the “ordinary, agrarian people”. For him, the interviewee formulates the question on power quite differently than to others. The interviewer asks the MP what the people feel about the misuse of power. So, in this case, the opinion considering power is situated outside the politician, among the ordinary people, at the collective and cultural level, and it has its presumed (negative) significance as it is seen outside Parliament.

•

Politicians are said to be in power, and, in some sense, it must be true that each politician can agree with that. Here the interviewer generalises the assumption and by choosing his subsequent words carefully, he denies the possibility of disagreeing. By claiming that each politician can agree with it, he is producing a feeling that a politician without power is somewhat of a non–politician. Power is so pertinent a tool that in some sense it must be present. The opening line of the interview provokes this discussion.

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Closing remarks It would take an hour to conclude the answers, but it must be said that the discourse concerning power is very diverse and heterogenic. According to the present data, not all the MPs felt they had any power or even wanted it. Nor did they agree on what is the realization of power (collective or individual, economic, political, or discourse power). They also talked about dirty vs fair power. It depended on how they positioned themselves and other colleagues (ordinary MP, poor MP, minister, etc.) It was quite common for the MPs to distance themselves from power and refer to their personal, minor amount of power; “a drop in the ocean of power”; the power is in Brussels; or “democracy is a system in which power is nowhere”. Distance was also taken by changing the “I –position” to a passive position (“when one has the power” or “because you have the power, you must…”) or by using elements of humor such as “I have been the mutt dog of power” (examples are from the Parliament Library’s Veteran Members of Parliament Oral History Archive).

These preliminary notions will be the basis for examining the data covering the years 1988 to 2011. In addition to power, I will in the future also concentrate on the concepts of nation/folk and representation.

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Sources Parliament Library, Veteran Members of Parliament Oral History Archive. Helsinki, Finland.

References Crapanzano, V. Hermes’ Dilemma and Hamlet’s Desire. On the Epistemology of Interpretation. Cambrige: Harvard University Press, 1992. 386 p.

Davies, B., Harré, R. Positioning: The Discursive Production of Selves. Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour. 1990, Vol. 20 (1), pp. 43–65.

Harré, R., Slocum, N. Disputes as Complex Social Events. On the Uses of Positioning Theory. Common Knowledge. 2003, Vol. 9 (1), pp. 100–118.

Hyvärinen, M. Vallan retorinen konstruktiointi. In: Pelkkää retoriikkaa. Tutkimuksen ja politiikan retoriikat. Ed. by Kari Palonen and Hilkka. Tampere: Vastapaino, 1996, pp. 175–196.

Hyvärinen, M. Haastattelukertomuksen analyysi. In: Haastattelun analyysi. Ed.

by Johanna Ruusuvuori, Nikander Pirjo and Hyvärinen Matti. Tampere: Vastapaino, 2010, pp. 90–118.

Lagenhove, L. van, Harré, R. Positioning as the Production and Use of Stereotypes. In: Positioning Theory. Ed. by Rom Harré and Luk van Lagenhove. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers Ltd., 1999, pp. 127–137.

McMahan, E. Elite Oral History Discourse. A Study of Cooperation and Coherence.

Tuscaloosa (AL): University of Alabama Press, 2000. 167 p.

Portelli, A. The Death of Luigi Trastulli and Other Stories. Form and Meaning in Oral History. Albany: State University of New York Press, [1991] 2001. 341 p.

Pöysä, J. Asemointinäkökulma haastattelujen kerronnallisuuden tarkastelussa.

In: Haastattelun analyysi. Ed. by Johanna Ruusuvuori, Nikander Pirjo and Hyvärinen Matti. Tampere: Vastapaino, 2010, pp. 153–179.

Vasenkari, M. Dialogic Methodology. In: Thick Corpus, Organic Variation and Textuality in Oral Tradition. Ed. by Lauri Honko. Studia Fennica, Folkloristica 7. Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2000, pp. 243–254.

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Irēna Saleniece, Zigrīda Rusiņa Mutvārdu vēstures dialoģiskā daba: daži aspekti Iepriekšējā gadsimta 90. gados kļuva skaidrs: pētot mūsdienu (t. i., 20. gadsimta) Latvijas vēsturi, nav iespējams iztikt bez mutvārdu liecībām. Tās ir nepieciešamas ne tikai nedokumentētu pagātnes faktu atklāšanai (piemēram, pagrīdes organizāciju darbība), bet arī priekšstatu par pagātnes notikumiem konkretizācijai un precizēšanai, laikmeta sociālpsiholoģiskās gaisotnes atveidošanai, “vienkāršo cilvēku” vēsturiskās apziņas īpatnību atklāšanai. Lai mutiskās liecības kļūtu par pilnvērtīgiem vēstures avotiem, ir nepieciešama to fiksācija un pieejamība pētniekiem. Abas šīs funkcijas īsteno Mutvārdu vēstures centrs (DU MVC), kas dibināts Daugavpils Universitātē 2003. gadā.

Centra darbība ir orientēta uz dienvidaustrumu Latvijas (Latgales un Sēlijas) reģiona iedzīvotāju vēsturiskās pieredzes audio fiksāciju, kas ļauj atstāt liecības arī tiem cilvēkiem, kuri nekad nebūtu uzsākuši savu atmiņu pierakstīšanu. Ar pateicību jāatzīmē, ka teorētiskā un praktiskā

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Archives and Researchers pieredze smelta no Nacionālā Mutvārdu vēstures projekta LU Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūtā. DU MVC pastāvēšanas gados ir notikušas ekspedīcijas: Vabolē (2003), Salienā (2004), Dvietē (2005), Demenē (2006), Subatē (2007), kā arī Aknīstē (2008), Krāslavā (2009), Preiļos (2010) un Ilūkstē (2011). Centra mutvārdu vēstures avotu krājumā šobrīd ir vairāk nekā 1000 dzīvesstāstu. Lai gan mutvārdu vēstures starpdisciplinārā būtība ļauj cerēt, ka nākotnē šo krājumu aktīvāk izmantos arī citu nozaru zinātnieki, pagaidām tas pamatā kalpo vēstures pētījumu veikšanai.

Mutvārdu vēsturnieks Alessandro Portelli (Alessandro Portelli) mutvārdu vēsturi nodēvējis par dialoga mākslu. Skaidrojošā vārdnīcā “dialogs” ir līdzvērtīgs sarunai; vārdnīcā ir atzīmēta vēl viena nozīme – iepriekšēja viedokļu apmaiņa starp pusēm ar nolūku panākt vienošanos (Penguin 1969, 209). Tādējādi par būtisku dialoga īpašību var uzskatīt saprašanos, bet dialoga norisi – par ceļu uz sapratni. Tas atbilst tāda vēsturnieka nostājai, kuru “daudz mazāk rosina vēlme zināt nekā vēlme saprast” (Bloks 2010, 58), tāpēc viņš pievēršas mutvārdu vēsturei. Mēģināsim no vēsturnieka skatpunkta noteikt, kā sevi reprezentē mutvārdu vēstures dialoģiskā daba.

Jau mutvārdu vēstures avota veidošanās sākotnējā posmā – intervētāja un teicēja saskarsmē – ir jābūt dialoga pazīmēm. Tai jābūt sarunai, kuras laikā notiek viedokļu apmaiņa starp pusēm ar nolūku panākt savstarpēju saprašanos. Bet kas ir jāsaprot dialoga dalībniekiem?

Intervētājam ir jācenšas saprast un sarunas gaitā palīdzēt teicējam izgaismot ne tikai viņa tagadējo pasaules skatījumu, tostarp izpratni par pagātni, tās izvērtējumu un attieksmi pret to – savdabīgu skatu no malas uz paša dzīvi. Svarīgi atklāt arī pagātnē bijušas attieksmes, vērtējumus, toreizējos priekšstatus. Lai tā notiktu, intervētājam nepieciešama erudīcija – zināšanas par stāstītāja dzīves laiku, temata historiogrāfiskās izpētes stāvoklis (Varslavāns 2001, 9; 96), tā izmantojot izdevību uzzināt ko patiesi unikālu vai līdz šim nezināmu. Teicēja dziļāka saprašana prasa arī zināmu pašuzupurēšanos – sarunas laikā intervētājam nav jāseko dabiskai vēlmei izrādīt sevi (sava viedokļa aizstāvēšana, savu priekšstatu un vērtību uzspiešana), bet ar empātiju jāiedziļinās stāstījumā un teicēja personībā. Jāmēģina ieskatīties

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Archives and Researchers pagātnes notikumos ar šo notikumu dalībnieka vai laikabiedra acīm, ar viņam tolaik piemītošo priekšstatu sistēmu un vērtību skalu. Vēsturnieks parasti to dara, izmantojot rakstiskos un lietiskos avotus, bet saskaņā ar Marka Bloka metaforu “teksti vai arheoloģiskie atradumi, ārēji visskaidrāk saprotamie un vieglāk lasāmie, runā tikai tad, ja protam tiem uzdot jautājumus” (Bloks 2010, 116). Intervēšanas process ļauj šo metaforu skaidrot burtiski. Intervētājs var tieši uzdot jautājumus pagātnes lieciniekam un gūst lieliskas iespējas smelties no pirmavota. Tiesa, jārēķinās ar cilvēka atmiņas specifiku un neizbēgamiem neapzinātiem, kā arī ar ļoti iespējamiem apzinātiem sniegtās informācijas sagrozījumiem.

Teicējam jāsaprot, ka intervētāju patiesi interesē viņa dzīves peripetijas, novērojumi un vērtējumi. Domājams, ir labi, ja teicējs saskata intervētājā vidutāju starp sevi un plašāku sabiedrību, bet pašā intervijā – savu vēstījumu līdzcilvēkiem. Lai tā notiktu, vecam cilvēkam jāpārvar bailes, ar kurām, iespējams, sadzīvots visu mūžu. Sarunā ar Minnu Matildi Lazdiņu (dz. 1912. gadā Ilūkstes apriņķī, turīgas ģimenes atvase, par piederību aizsargu organizācijai 10 gadus pavadījusi lēģerī Čeļabinskā) ir redzama viņas attieksmes pret interviju evolūcija. Sākumā viņa jūt nedrošību un bailes: [M. L.] Jūs ierakstāt?

Jā, tagad ierakstām.

[M. L.] Nevar runāt...

Kāpēc?

[M. L.] Nu tā...

Par to nav jābaidās, jo mēs nedarām to [teikto] publiski plaši zināmu, mēs tikai izmantojam atmiņas, lai.. [nopūšas, meklējot vārdus], lai aprakstītu pagātni.. kā bija, kā dzīvoja cilvēki, jo dokumentos.. tur ir daudz kas, bet tur nav pateikts, ko cilvēki juta, kad viņi darbojās kaut kur, kādas bija viņu attiecības .. Viņš iestājās kolhozā tad un tad. Nu un?

Vai viņš to gribēja darīt vai negribēja? Nu, kā mēs varam uzzināt? Tikai pajautāt pašam cilvēkam.

[M. L.] Nu, skaidrs, ka negribēja!

(DU MV 196)

Iesaistoties sarunā, kundze vaļsirdīgi stāstīja par piedzīvoto.

Vēlāk, kad intervija bija jau pabeigta, viņa, pārtraucot sarunu ar citu teicēju, vaicāja intervētājai: Jums gribēju jautāt, atvainojiet, cik tālu ies

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Archives and Researchers tā mūsu saruna? Pēc kāda laika viņa nolēma vēlreiz atgriezties pie sava dzīvesstāsta un interesējās, vai notiek ieraksts, acīmredzami gribēdama, lai tā būtu. Sarunas beigās stāstītāja izteica vēlēšanos, lai viņas teiktais nonāktu līdz pašai Vairai Vīķei–Freibergai – toreizējai LR Valsts prezidentei. Tādas sarunas sniedz veciem, nereti vientuļiem cilvēkiem subjektīvo katarses pārdzīvojumu, bet, skatoties objektīvi, atkaro vēsturei vienu no klusējošā vairākuma – tiem miljardiem vienkāršo, ierindas cilvēku, kas aizgāja mūžībā, neatstājot tveramas liecības par savu iekšējo pasauli.

Vēsturnieka–pētnieka un mutvārdu vēstures avota mijiedarbībā dialoga ārējās pazīmes nav tik pamanāmas kā intervētāja un teicēja saskarsmē, tomēr parādās visā pilnībā. Vēsturnieks vēršas ar jautājumiem pie avotiem, lai caur tiem pieskartos pagātnei, jo “pagātnes nezināšana ne tikai kaitē tagadnes izpratnei, bet arī apdraud pašu darbību tagadnē” (Bloks 2010, 90). Tāpat kā jebkurš vēstures avots (Varslavāns 2001, 52–53), intervija vai dzīvesstāsts jāpakļauj pilnvērtīgai avotpētnieciskai kritikai – gan ārējai, gan iekšējai, lai noteiktu avota daudzveidīgas (tiešas, netiešas u. c.) informācijas drošumu un ticamību. No mutvārdu vēstures avotiem iegūtās informācijas precizēšanai nepieciešams izmantot citas vēstures liecības – arhīva dokumentus, presi, memuārus u. c. (Saleniece 2009).

Vēstures (arī mutvārdu vēstures) avotos savijas atbildes gan uz vispārcilvēciskiem (mūžīgiem), gan aktuāliem jautājumiem. Piemēram, 2012. gada referendums Latvijā par valsts valodas statusa piešķiršanu krievu valodai, kurā “par” nobalsoja ap 15% pilsoņu, liek domāt, kāpēc tā notika. Nepieciešams saprast, kāpēc cilvēki izdarīja šādu izvēli. Bet, lai par to atbildīgi spriestu, nepietiek tikai zināt valsts etnisko sastāvu, ir jājautā par etnisko grupu un to atsevišķu pārstāvju kolektīvo un individuālo pašapziņu un identitāti. Mutvārdu vēstures avoti ļauj konstatēt, ka pat vienas etniskās un vecuma grupas ietvaros vērojama pašidentifikācijas dažādība – krievu cilvēki Latvijā apzinās savu piederību dažādi un atkarībā no tā pieņem lēmumus.

Teicēja, kas dzimusi 1922. gadā un uzaugusi pirmskara Latvijā, padomju periodā sekoja izvestajam līgavainim uz Sibīriju, pēc atgriešanās dzimtenē jutās apspiesta reliģijas aizlieguma dēļ (DU MV 5). Viņa demonstrē izpratni par situāciju, kas raksturīga etniskās minoritātes

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Archives and Researchers pārstāvim, kurš izjūt piederību mītnes zemei: Es uzskatu, ka republikā ir jābūt vienai valsts valodai, latviešu. Kā tas arī stāv rakstīts likumā. Viņa nosodoši runā par pēckara migrāciju, kuras dēļ visās iestādēs Daugavpilī sāka strādāt cilvēki, kas neprata latviešu valodu, un pakāpeniski par dominējošo kļuva krievu valoda. Teicēja norobežojas no jaunpienācējiem, lai arī tie būtu etniski viņai tuvi: Starp mums nebija nekādas sapratnes, mēs uzskatījām, ka viņi ir padomju. Viņus sauca “padomju” [cilvēki], nevis “krievi”.

Taču šāda domāšana ļoti atšķiras no citas teicējas (dz. 1938. gadā Baltkrievijā, pēc Otrā pasaules kara atbrauca uz Daugavpili darba meklējumos) atmiņām, kurās dominē nostalģija par padomju pagātni (DU MV 924). Viņa nekad nav jutusi vajadzību apgūt latviešu valodu, un mūsdienās šāda prasība viņai šķiet absurda un aizskaroša: Visi bija vienādi. Visi draudzīgi strādāja [..] Latvieši nekad neko neteica [..] Visi šeit krieviski runāja, viss normāli [bija], [tagad] latviski jārunā, jārunā visur.

Un latvieši, es pazīstu daudzus labus latviešus [..] bet šī valdība.. viņi jāpakar, šaut šos neliešus. Jā, jā!

Ar ko izskaidrojama apmēram viena vecuma un tās pašas etniskās izcelsmes teicēju uzskatu diametrāla atšķirība? Daļēji ar vēsturiskiem un sociāliem apstākļiem, bet lielā mērā arī ar individuālajām īpašībām un individuālo izvēli: “Katrs laikmets reizēm apzināti, reizēm stihiski izraugās no pagātnes mantojuma tādas tradīcijas, kuras tam garīgajā ziņā tuvākas un var kalpot kā paša pieredzes korelāts” (Veinbergs 1988, 7). Kāpēc daļa Latvijas krievu (arī citu tautību pārstāvju) izvēlas padomju identitāti? Kāpēc tik atšķirīga izpratne par saikni ar valsti?

Jau minētie vēsturiskie un sociālie faktori, saistīti ar audzināšanu un indoktrinēšanu komunisma garā, informācijas trūkumu par pirmskara Latvijas krievu vērtībām, tomēr nedod atbildi par individuālajām izvēlēm. Lai tās saprastu, ir jāiedziļinās cilvēku pieredzē, kura slēpjas arī mutvārdu vēsturē un pakļaujas analīzei. Savukārt pētniecības rezultāti ir jādara zināmi plašai sabiedrībai. Tas ir iespējams dažādos veidos: gan gatavojot mutvārdu vēstures avotu publikācijas, gan publicējot uz mutvārdu vēstures avotiem balstītos pētījumus, gan izmantojot tos radio un televīzijas raidījumos, preses un interneta publikācijās, teātra izrādēs.

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Archives and Researchers Lai gan sākotnēji mutvārdu vēstures avotu vākšana Daugavpils Universitātē bija iecerēta pētnieciskām vajadzībām, to saturs un emocionālā aura mudināja dažādot darbības formas mutvārdu vēstures jomā. Piemēram, pirmās ekspedīcijas laikā 2003. gadā toreizējā Daugavpils rajona Vaboles pagastā intervētāji guva pozitīvas emocijas, sastopot teicēju pretimnākšanu, atvērtību, sirsnību, viņu dzīves gudrību un optimismu, un aizdomājās – kā to atlīdzināt? Nolēmām uzdāvināt vaboliešiem savu – vēsturnieku – pateicību par viņu pienesumu vēstures izpratnes padziļināšanā. 18. novembrī Vaboles kultūras namā skanēja kompozīcija Vabole – Latvijā, Latvija – Vabolē, kurā, liekot kopā (daļēji pretstatot) vēsturnieku darbu un vaboliešu dzīvesstāstu fragmentus, ļāvām tikties divām Latvijas vēstures versijām – zinātniskajai un individuālajai, balstītai vietējo cilvēku dzīves pieredzē. Efekts bija pārsteidzošs – kad zāle saprata, ka no skatuves skan īstie vārdi, iestājās absolūts klusums, klausītāji tvēra visiem zināmu Latvijas 20. gadsimta vēsturi, kas parādījās neparastā rakursā – savijoties ar viņu pašu dzīvi.

Vecākā gadagājuma cilvēki sāka atpazīt pašu teikto un revidēt savas atziņas, iekļaujot savu dzīvesstāstu tautas liktenī. Vēlāk, apspriežot redzēto, kāda teicēja brīnījās: Kāpēc es tik ļoti jūsmoju par tiem vāciešiem? Mūsuprāt, tas ir ļoti būtisks brīdis: vēsturniekiem dots signāls, ka nevar akli paļauties uz intervijas laikā teikto, jo stāstītājs var mainīt liecību. Tāpēc pat aptuvenu secinājumu izdarīšanai, īpaši, ja runa ir par sajūtām un attieksmēm, ir jāieklausās vairākos desmitos dzīvesstāstu, lai spētu nošķirt šā brīža emocijas, kādreizējās psiholoģiskās traumas, pārliekas indoktrinētības vai vienkārši nepietiekamas informētības iespaidā teikto, t. i., individuāli nosacīto no vēsturiski un sociāli nosacītā. Tieši vēsturiski un sociāli nosacīta attieksme pret pasauli raksturo visas sabiedrības kultūru, lai gan individuālais arī iekļaujas tajā (Veinbergs 1988, 12).

Jaunāko paaudžu pārstāvji, ieklausoties dzīvajās (autentiskajās) atmiņās, guva iespēju iejusties iepriekšējo paaudžu dzīves situācijā, salīdzināt ar pašu piedzīvoto un, iespējams, mazliet precīzāk izvērtēt, ko nozīmē ciest un grūti dzīvot, kas jāsaprot ar uzticību, nodevību, cieņu, mīlestību un citām vērtībām. 18. novembra kontekstā aktuāls kļuva arī jautājums par patriotismu, pilsoniskumu un ikviena cilvēka atbildību par savu valsti.

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Archives and Researchers Turpinot iesākto, DU MVC dalībnieki sāka konfrontēt mutvārdu liecības un arhīva dokumentus. Sadarbībā ar Latvijas Valsts arhīva darbiniekiem tika rīkoti semināri, kuru laikā klātesošie pārliecinājās, ka abu avotu veidu kompleksa izmantošana ļauj labāk saprast 1949. gada deportācijas būtību (Lipša 2005). Vēlāk gūtā pieredze izmantota uzvedumā Tās dienas acīm ar skolēnu un studentu piedalīšanos, kas norisinājās sākumā Latvijas Valsts arhīvā un pēc tam – Latvijas Okupācijas muzejā.

Kaut arī mutvārdu vēstures avoti ir daudzpusīgi izmantojams resurss mācību procesā – gan formālās, gan neformālās izglītības aktivitātēs – , vēstures mācību priekšmets jāatzīmē kā viena no prioritārajām izglītības jomām, kuras mērķa realizācijai nepieciešami mutvārdu vēstures avoti. Ministru kabineta noteikumi paredz, ka “mācību priekšmeta Latvijas vēsture mērķis ir pilnveidot izglītojamā izpratni par cilvēces attīstības pamattendencēm, sekmējot savas identitātes veidošanos un veicinot atbildīga un toleranta Latvijas demokrātiskās sabiedrības locekļa izaugsmi” (Latvijas vēsture. Mācību priekšmeta standarts 6.–9. klasei, 2011).

Pateicoties institūcijām, kuras veic mutvārdu vēstures avotu uzkrāšanu, pētniecību un popularizēšanu (piemēram, Nacionālās mutvārdu vēstures projekts, Latvijas Okupācijas muzejs, Daugavpils Universitātes Mutvārdu vēstures centrs), kā arī vēstures skolotāju iniciatīvai, mutvārdu vēstures avoti kļuvuši par mācību resursu arī Latvijas skolās. Skolēniem darbā ar mutvārdu vēstures avotiem ir iespēja pilnveidot analītiskās un sociālās prasmes, gūt jaunas zināšanas, veidot identitāti. Ivetas Bogdanovičas veiktā vēstures skolotāju aptauja rāda, ka no 28 respondentiem1 mutvārdu vēstures avotus vēstures mācību procesā izmanto 20 (71%) skolotāji (Bogdanoviča 2011).

Apzinoties mutvārdu vēstures avotu izmantošanas ieguvumus un riskus mācību procesā (Dūra, Gundare 2007, 162–164), jāuzsver, ka šobrīd tieši vēstures skolotājs izvēlas, vai skolēni iepazīsies ar mutvārdu vēstures avotiem. Skolotāja funkcija ir būt par ceļvedi skolēniem mutvārdu vēstures avotu izmantošanā, lai audzēkņi varētu attīstīt

Aptaujātie skolotāji strādā Liepājas, Salacgrīvas, Limbažu, Pārgaujas, Alūksnes, Ķeguma, Jēkabpils, Rēzeknes un Daugavpils novadā, lauku un pilsētu vidusskolās, dažādu valodu skolās: latviešu un bilingvālās (latviešu–krievu, latviešu–poļu), arī darba stāžs ir dažāds – no 1 līdz 30 gadiem.

1

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Archives and Researchers prasmes veikt avotu ārējo un iekšējo kritiku, tādējādi veidot priekšstatus, iegūt jaunas zināšanas par pagātni, piemēram, izzināt lokālās vēstures jautājumus, sadzīves reālijas, cilvēku vēsturiskās apziņas faktus. Izmantojot mutvārdu vēstures avotus mācību stundās, laika ierobežotības dēļ nozīmīga ir avotu fragmentu atlase. Piemēram, vēstures stundās par 1949. gada deportāciju vidusskolēni, analizējot Zelmas Redzobas dzīvesstāsta fragmentu par kāzām Sibīrijā (Saleniece 2008, 207–209), lauza stereotipu par to, ka izsūtījuma gadus deportētie aizvadīja tikai kā cietēji, ka tās ir bijušas vienīgi melnās lappuses viņu dzīvē. Daugavpils Valsts ģimnāzijas 10. klases skolniece stundas darba pašvērtējumā raksta: Stundā es sapratu, ka izvestie cilvēki Sibīrijā, neskatoties uz grūtībām, dzīvoja – svinēja kāzas, dziedāja, spēja cīnīties par savu ģimenes laimi (skolniece acīmredzot domājusi Zelmas Redzobas sūdzību PSRS Ministru Padomes priekšsēdētājam par šķēršļiem ģimenes apvienošanā (Saleniece 2008, 224)), priecāties par mazām lietām.

Dialoga prasmju attīstīšanai mutvārdu vēstures kontekstā skolēni var veikt intervijas. Līdzās iespējām – komunikācijas prasmju attīstīšana, dzimtas un citu vēstures jautājumu izzināšanas, identitātes veidošanas u. c. – skolotājam jāņem vērā riska faktori. Nebūtu ieteicams uzdot veikt interviju skolēniem, kas ir jaunāki par 9. klases vecumgrupu, jo intervētājam jābūt spējīgam sarunāties par 20. gs. vēsturi – teicēju dzīves laiku, ko skolēni apgūst 9. klasē. Intervētājam jāspēj adekvāti uztvert un reaģēt uz teicēja stāstījumu, turklāt saskarsme ar ļoti sāpīgu pieredzi var skolēnus traumēt (Dūra, Gundare 2007, 164). Pamatskolā ieteicams uzdot veikt strukturēto interviju, kas, salīdzinot ar dzīvesstāsta ierakstu, aizņem mazāk laika un ir prognozējamāka. Drošības un efektīvas komunikācijas vides radīšanas nolūkos, kas pamatskolas skolēniem sagādā grūtības, kā teicēju skolēniem ieteicams izvēlēties radinieku. Šāda intervija varētu kalpot par ierosmi turpmākai komunikācijai ar radiniekiem dzimtas vēstures izzināšanā. Dzimtu pētīšana ne tikai izglīto, bet arī audzina. Tiek apjausta atbildība pret saviem senčiem, veidojas ciešāka saikne starp paaudzēm, to savstarpējā sapratne (Milts 2001, 36).

Kad skolēni analizē ierakstīto interviju, skolotājam jābūt gatavam uzņemties moderatora lomu, īpaši, ja audzēknis identificējas ar teicēja tendenciozi interpretētajiem pretrunīgi vērtējamiem vēstures

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Archives and Researchers notikumiem. Piemēram, intervijas iespaidā skolēni var nonākt dažādu etnisko stereotipu varā un sākt ignorēt vai apkarot informāciju, kas tiek piedāvāta vēstures stundās. Šādās situācijās efektīva metode ir skolotāja vadīta diskusija, mudinot skolēnus pievērst uzmanību netiešajai informācijai avotā, respektīvi, kādi faktori ietekmēja teicēja vēsturiskās apziņas formēšanos. Kad audzēknis ir radis atbildi uz šo jautājumu, vēlams rosināt skolēnu izvērtēt faktorus, kas viņam lika aizstāvēt teicēja viedokli kā pieņemamu un cīņas vērtu patiesību.

Atis Klimovičs grāmatā Personiskā Latvija rakstīja: “Viņai (vecmammai) vienmēr paticis stāstīt, bet man – klausīties, un ar laiku šie stāsti jau kļuvuši par mana dzīvesstāsta sastāvdaļām, no vecāsmātes un vecātēva dzīves satecējuši manējā un plūst tālāk, sajaucoties ar visu, ko esmu pieredzējis pats” (Klimovičs 2011, 9). Līdzās kompetenta ceļveža un moderatora lomai vēstures skolotājam pašam jāapzinās, ka viņš ir potenciālais teicējs, kuram nākamajām paaudzēm būs jāvēsta par tagadni, jāveido atmiņu tilts starp paaudzēm un jārosina skolēni reflektēt par komunikācijas nepieciešamību paaudžu starpā, lai nākamajām paaudzēm tiek sniegta iespēja uzzināt priekšteču pieredzi dažādos Latvijas vēstures notikumos, kas varētu tām palīdzēt savas patības izpratnē (Ločmele 2011, 131). Latvijas situācijā, kad daudzās ģimenēs padomju varas gados baiļu iespaidā uzsāktā klusēšana par pagātni turpinās (turpat), skolotājam jāuzņemas dialoga rosinātāja loma paaudžu starpā, kas ir vitāli nepieciešama gan abiem dialoga veidotājiem, gan sabiedrībai.

Tādējādi mutvārdu vēsture spēj salauzt barjeras starp paaudzēm, izglītības iestādēm un ārpus tām esošo pasauli (Thompson 2000, 15).

Dzīvesstāsti ir “brīnumatslēga, kas atver durvis uz paradoksu un labirintu pilno cilvēku attiecību pasauli uz neizmantoto iespēju dārgumu krātuvi cilvēka personībā, tautā, sabiedrībā, vēsturē” (Milts 1996, 144). Mutvārdu vēstures respektēšana var veicināt tādas sabiedrības veidošanos, kas būs spējīga dialoģiskai komunikācijai.

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Avoti DU MV 196, Minnas Matildes Lazdiņas dzīvesstāsts, intervējusi I. Saleniece Daugavpils rajona Salienā 2004. gadā.

Vēres Bloks, M. Vēstures apoloģija jeb Vēsturnieka amats. Rīga: Zvaigzne ABC, 2010. 288 lpp.

Bogdanoviča, I. Mutvārdu vēstures avoti vidusskolā: to vieta un izmantošanas iespējas vēstures mācību procesā. Maģistra darbs. Vad. Dr. soc. sc. Ilze Šenberga.

Daugavpils: Daugavpils Universitāte, 2011. 67 lpp.

Dūra, D., Gundare, I. Dzīvesstāsts vēstures mācīšanā. No: Dzīvesstāsti: Vēsture, kultūra, sabiedrība. Latvijas mutvārdu vēsture: Spogulis. Sast. Māra Zirnīte. Rīga: LU Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācija “Dzīvesstāsts”, 2007, 162.–168. lpp.

Klimovičs, A. Personiskā Latvija. Divdesmitā gadsimta stāsti. Rīga: Dienas Grāmata, 2011. 606 lpp.

Latvijas vēsture. Mācību priekšmeta standarts 6.–9. klasei. 2011. Pieejams: http://www. likumi.lv/doc.php?id=150407&from=off (skatīts 02.03.2012).

Lipša, I. 25. marta sāpes un sapņi. Latvijas Avīze, 2005. gada 24. marts.

Ločmele, K. (Ne)izstāstītā vēsture: Skola. Mājas. Atmiņa. Rīga: LU SZF SPPI, 2011. 144 lpp.

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Māra Zirnīte. Rīga: LU Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācija “Dzīvesstāsts”, 2001, 33.–39. lpp.

Milts, A. Garīgās vērtības cilvēku dzīvesstāstos. Latvijas Zinātņu Akadēmijas Vēstis.

A daļa 50. sēj., 1996, Nr. 4/5, 143.–149. lpp.

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Daugavpils: DU Akadēmiskais apgāds “Saule”, 2008. 400 lpp.

Saleniece, I. Arhīva dokumentu un mutvārdu vēstures avotu kompleksa publikācijas problēmas. Vēsture: avoti un cilvēki: Daugavpils Universitātes Humanitārās fakultātes XVII starptautisko zinātnisko lasījumu materiāli = Proceedings of the 17th International Scientific Readings of the Faculty of Humanities: Vēsture XI = History XI. Daugavpils: DU Akadēmiskais apgāds “Saule”, 2009, 212.–221. lpp.

The Penguin Concise English Dictionary. Compiled by G. N. Garmonsway with Jacqueline Simpson. Revised edition. London: Bloomsbury Books, 1969. 842 p.

Thompson, P. The Voice of the Past: Oral History. Oxford: An Opus book, 2000.

384 p.

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Archives and Researchers Varslavāns, A. Ievads vēstures zinātnē. Rīga: LU, 2001. 156 lpp.

Veinbergs, J. Piramīdu un zikurātu ēnā: Cilvēks seno Tuvo Austrumu kultūrā. Rīga: Zinātne, 1988. 238 lpp.

Aspects of Oral History as a Dialogue The present does not exist without the past. The two are connected very closely, but for people to become acquainted with the past, they need mediators: evidence of the past and historical sources. Oral history can be considered a source of historical information and thereby an unavoidable mediator in the dialogue between the present and the past. Moreover, oral history (“the art of dialogue”, A. Portelli) itself has a dialogical nature that is represented in various aspects. First, oral history sources are “born” as the result of a dialogue between a narrator and an interviewer. Second, representatives of many different fields of study (historians, anthropologists, sociologists, linguists, psychologists, etc.) are involved in a dialogue with oral history sources. According to their particular interests, researchers disclose and interpret the diverse information contained in these sources. It is at least possible to start a dialogue between oral history and society. This has been proven by publications of scholarly books and fiction based on oral history, the use of oral history in the teaching of history in schools, in the mass media, in theatres, etc.

The aim of the article is to summarize and substantiate the research and methodological approaches of using oral history sources in various different fields on the basis of the experience of the Oral History Centre of Daugavpils University. This is necessary in order to better reveal and use with greater responsibility the potential of the dialogue represented in oral history.

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Knut Djupedal The Interreg project “New in Inner Scandinavia” Thoughts about the practical application of oral history in a museum exhibition

As the title states, this paper will concern the practical application of oral history in a museum exhibition that is being planned as a part of the Interreg project New in Inner Scandinavia. This is an oral history project funded through the European Union’s program for Interregional Cooperation and the counties of Hedmark in Norway and Värmland in Sweden – two counties that lie on either side of the international border between southern Norway and south/ central Sweden. The project is to last 30 months (July 2011 – December 2013) and has two major goals: to interview modern emigrants into the border areas of the two respective countries – in other words, to create a sound archive for inner Scandinavia – and to create two exhibitions, one in Sweden and one in Norway, based on the material collected in the interviews.

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Circulation of Memories The project also has a third goal, however, which is integration.

It is a well–known fact that many immigrants to our countries bring with them an excellent education, which for one reason or another they cannot use in Sweden or Norway. Therefore, the project is also designed to acquaint new immigrants with Scandinavian cultural institutions while at the same time making those institutions aware of the cultural resources to be found among new immigrants.

The project leader on the Swedish side is located at the Sweden– America Center in Karlstad, while the Norwegian project coordinator is at the Norwegian Emigrant Museum in Ottestad. In addition to these two institutions, Dalarnas Museum in Falun and the Science Museum in Borlänge, both in the county of Dalarna, and Karlstad University in Karlstad are the Swedish partners. The Oppland Archives in Lillehammer (Oppland county), the Multicultural Center at Glomdal Museum in Elverum, (Hedmark county) and the Akershusmuseum in Lillestrøm, (Akershus county) are the Norwegian partners. The exhibitions will be built at Dalarnas Museum in Sweden.

After this introduction, let me quote two well–known institutions: the International Council of Museums (ICOM) and Albert Einstein.

The statutes of the International Council of Museums (ICOM) state that: A museum… acquires, conserves, researches, communicates, and exhibits the tangible and intangible heritage of humanity and its environment for the purposes of education, study, and enjoyment (ICOM 2007, 2).

In 1948, Albert Einstein wrote: It is of great importance that the general public be given the opportunity to experience, consciously and intelligently, the efforts and results of scientific research. It is not sufficient that each result be taken up, elaborated, and applied by few specialists in the field. Restricting the body of knowledge to a small group deadens the philosophical spirit of a people and leads to spiritual poverty (Einstein 1948, 5).

While Einstein was referring to what in English is usually called “the hard sciences” (for example, physics), his statement is actually the foundation of that part of a museum’s work mentioned by ICOM in

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Circulation of Memories the words: “communicates and exhibits… for the purposes of education, study, and enjoyment.” ICOM’s Code of Ethics adds that museums and their collections should be “available to all during reasonable hours and for regular periods” (ICOM 2006, 1).

Museums, then, are by definition not only supposed to collect, conserve, research, and communicate. They are also supposed to provide the general public with an opportunity to experience – consciously and intelligently – the efforts and results of scientific research. Furthermore, they are supposed to do so in a manner that will provide visitors with opportunities to become better educated and to study as well as provide some opportunity for enjoyment.

Essentially, museums are arenas for the popularization of scientific research. Their potential customers can be anyone from a retired professor of physics out for a morning stroll to a vacationing family driving past the museum entrance just as one of the children announces that he has to go to the bathroom. Their preferred method of meeting these requirements – popularization for anyone – is the museum exhibit. The American David Dean writes that: “Designing museum exhibitions is the art and science of arranging the visual, spatial, and material elements of an environment into a composition that visitors move through” (Dean 1996, 9–11).

A museum exhibition can take many forms and, indeed, a large part of museology concerns recipes for the creation of good exhibitions. Essentially, however, all exhibitions do the same thing: they tell a story. The stories may be told in many different ways to many different audiences, but the central element is always the same – a story. This is, of course, the foundation of the oral interview as well – someone telling his or her story to someone else, who records it for posterity.

Museum exhibitions also have other similarities. They are, as mentioned earlier, aimed at the popularization of knowledge for very heterogeneous audiences. They are as a rule based on a visual presentation in an open and public setting. The target audience is usually a large number of people present in one location more or less simultaneously.

For this reason, large posters, television monitors, sound effects, large free–standing objects, and artifacts placed in cabinets designed to be viewed from several different directions are relatively more important

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Circulation of Memories for museum exhibitions than written texts. (This is not to say that a monograph, a collection of articles, a film, an Internet exhibit, or a television program cannot be enjoyed in a public sphere, but most often they are enjoyed privately.)

Finally, the process of creating modern museum exhibitions is usually treated as a project. David Dean, for example, describes what he calls an “Exhibition Project Model” consisting of four steps: a conceptual phase, a development phase, a functional phase, and an assessment phase (Dean 1996, 32). Briefly, the conceptual phase is the discussion of an idea for an exhibition; the development is the time during which the idea is turned into reality; the functional phase is the time during which the exhibit is actually shown to the public; and the assessment phase is the aftermath, when the museum’s staff discusses the lessons to be learned from the process. In our case, we are presently in the conceptual phase of the project.

This phase includes establishing the parameters of the exhibition.

In our case, several parameters are given by the fact that this is an Interreg project, and all project activity must be seen in relation to the Interreg Project Grant Letter. This provides details of the conditions upon which funding has been granted. Any changes here must be reported and any planned activities that one intends to change must be approved. A case in point is the project’s participation in the present seminar in Riga. The project leadership had to apply – and receive approval – for a change in our plans before we could participate in this seminar as representatives of an Interreg project.

We have established other parameters through several decisions, the first of which was to create an exhibition based on the material collected from new immigrants as opposed to writing a monograph or creating a television program. A second decision was to try, insofar as possible, to interview the immigrants in their native language. This means, of course, that some, if not all, of our interviewers must speak the language in question and that all interview material must be translated into Norwegian or Swedish if it is to be used in our exhibition.

Other decisions concerned the groups to be interviewed. These decisions essentially delineated the base upon which our exhibition would be founded. For example, the Norwegian group decided to use

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Circulation of Memories interviews with Polish immigrants, most of whom originally have come to Norway as labor migrants; young Swedes who have come to Norway first and foremost to work in cafés and restaurants in and around our large cities; so–called “lifestyle” immigrants, who have come to Norway due to a perception that the lifestyle in Norway is less hectic and more healthy than in more urban societies; and refugees.

The last group brings with it one particular challenge in the creation of an exhibition, namely, personal security for our informants.

We have also made some decisions concerning the nature of our potential audience. One of the stated goals of all museums is to educate the public and, as approved by the Interreg system, this project is required to make the results of its investigation available to schools in Norway and Sweden. Therefore, we had to make decisions concerning our target audience. We decided to aim the exhibition at 12–year– olds. We feel that by using this age group as our target, the exhibition could be shown to other age groups without becoming uninteresting for them.

Another decision with great effect on the nature of the exhibition concerned the amount of time our informants had lived in Scandinavia and in a sense, their age. With some specific exceptions, we decided to interview only people who entered Scandinavia after the year 2000. While this may include seniors, in most cases this means that our informants are relatively young people.

Finally, we have decided that there will be two travelling exhibitions – one in Swedish, one in Norwegian – which will be built in 2013 and opened simultaneously in Sweden and Norway in January 2014.

Thus, beginning with a decision to create an exhibition, we have now considerably refined our project. We expect to gather much more material during the course of 2012, and we plan to make some final decisions concerning the shape and scope of the exhibition in November 2012. By this time we also expect to have begun the second, or development, phase of the exhibition.

As I see it, then, the exhibition is on track according to our plans and according to the four phases mentioned by Dr. Dean. There is, however, one central question we have not yet addressed, and it is

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Circulation of Memories through this question that oral history enters our discussion. This is a project based on oral interviews with new immigrants into central Scandinavia. Yet all museum exhibitions are ultimately founded on visual media. Our challenge is to answer the question: how do we create a visual product from an oral foundation?

Consider the usual museum exhibition. It will be found in a single space or a connected series of rooms. It will consist of paintings, pictures, and perhaps a film shown on a flat screen monitor. The exhibition will almost always be designed to lead the audience from one position to another, perhaps with written information at selected points along the way. Lighting will be designed to concentrate the viewer’s attention on whatever is being exhibited.

Consider the usual museum audience. It may consist of a few individuals or many; but the most important aspect of the audience is that it is always changing. Someone is always entering the exhibition arena, someone is always leaving. The number of persons actually viewing any one part of the exhibition at any one time always remains fluid.

If an exhibition includes audio elements, they will usually be presented in one of four ways or in a combination of the four: hidden speakers that fill most of the exhibition space with sound; a soundtrack attached to a visual program such as a film or television program; hand–held audio guides; or so–called “audio showers”, directional speakers providing sound effects within a very limited area in the exhibit. All, however, are adjuncts to visual media and to a visual experience. Indeed, while multimedia exhibitions deliberately use sound as an integral part of the audience experience, in most cases, museums only use audio elements as a sort of digital museum guide.

To return to our challenge, then, how do we turn oral interviews into visual exhibitions?

Quite simply, we need to use a different starting point. Instead of beginning – as most exhibitions do – with some form of visual media to which we add auditory or tactile elements, we need to begin with the thought that this is multimedia, and if it has a single starting point, that point is sound. This may seem both simple and obvious, but it is not. It requires us to think hard about the beginnings of our

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Circulation of Memories exhibitions, because if audio media is the primary element and starting point, then pictures, film and/or television media, artifacts, and texts are all secondary to presenting sound. The usual museum practice of using written texts and audio elements to illustrate visual material, is turned on its head.

This will require the project leadership and our interviewers to always have in mind that an oral interview is not enough for our purposes. We must also collect photographs. We must plan on re–recording some interviews on video tape, and on borrowing artifacts from our informants with a view to using them in the exhibition. Also, we should plan to accept almost anything that our informants will donate to us, if it possibly can be used in our exhibition. Indeed, in a more general sense, any museum or other institution that wishes to create an exhibition based on oral sources should probably plan along the same lines right from the start – and make room for the necessary consequences in the exhibition’s design and budget.

As a small example of how the simple addition of an audio shower can influence the exhibition, the Norwegian–American film producer Steinar Hybertsen, in a conversation with this author, pointed out that in television or film a sound bite lasting two minutes is a very, very long time.1 This fact raises several questions of interest for the exhibition, for example, if an audio shower consisting of audio clips from an interview is placed in front of a photograph, will members of a viewing public stand still under it for two minutes or not? If they are willing to do so, must one plan the use of space in such a manner that others can circulate around the listener while he or she stands relatively undisturbed in one place? If one changes the size or shape of the exhibition space, will this have budgetary consequences?

There is one further aspect of modern multimedia that must be addressed – the Internet. This is not only a matter of announcing an exhibition on a home page or creating a separate online Internet exhibition. It concerns the creation of an extended Internet presence for the whole project.

An Internet exhibition will be very different from the usual museum exhibition and will have different limits and different

Steinar Hybertsen, interview by author, October, 2009.

1

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Circulation of Memories opportunities. One cannot, for example, display original artifacts in such a manner that the audience can walk around them. Rather, such an exhibition would have to consist of texts, pictures, and sound designed to be viewed on a small flat surface, not an open space consisting of one or several rooms. Insofar as three–dimensional objects could be exhibited, one would have to computer–generate holography to do so.

The exhibition’s viewer is not able to wander at will within a three–dimensional space, in the company of others, all of them surrounded by the small sounds created by people simultaneously sharing a public space. Rather, the exhibition will usually be viewed by one person at a time, and he or she will be located in their private sphere instead of an open space shared with others.

On the other hand, the number and length of the written texts, the number of pictures, and not the least, the number and length of audio tracks could be increased relative to the usual museum exhibition. One can, for example, publish the interviews in full text or even the actual recorded interviews on museum home pages and link them to the exhibition – given that the informants agree. One can also publish interview material on YouTube or add a Facebook or Twitter account to it.

In most cases, the addition of such elements to an exhibition is now taken for granted in Norway and Sweden, if the project has the necessary funds and if the informants permit information about themselves to be published in such media. Indeed, the New in Inner Scandinavia project is presently discussing this issue. In our particular case, however, publication of photographs or other personal information on the Internet or in the exhibition itself raises certain questions of security, and these questions cannot be taken lightly.

Many of our informants come from countries with dictatorial governments. Some are refugees from countries in which government agencies or, indeed, anyone at all who asks personal questions is seen as – and often is – a possible arm of political oppression. Many such governments place informers into exile communities so as to keep themselves informed of inimical political activity or even to track and eliminate perceived threats to the regime. Therefore, publication on

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Circulation of Memories the Internet of information taken from interviews with such exiles, and in particular publication of their photographs or names, can result in a genuine security problem for our informants or for their relatives at home. Such questions must be addressed as we build our exhibition, and the answers will certainly affect the final result of our work.

These and many more issues must be answered as our project continues. As mentioned above, the project consists of several goals; the exhibition is just one of them and that part of the whole is still in the conceptual stage. We are, however, on track and I expect that these many issues will be satisfactorily answered when the exhibition is finished.

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References Dean, D. Museum Exhibition: Theory and Practice. London: Routledge, 1996. 177 p.

Einstein, A. Forward. In: Barnett, L. The Universe and Dr. Einstein. London: Victor Gollancz Ltd, 1948, pp. 5â&#x20AC;&#x201C;6.

ICOM: The World Museum Community. Code of Ethics for Museums. France, 2006.

16 p. Available at: http://icom.museum/fileadmin/user_upload/pdf/Codes/ code2006_eng.pdf [Accessed 22 March 2012].

ICOM: The World Museum Community. ICOM Statutes. Vienna, 2007. 15 p. Available at: http://icom.museum/fileadmin/user_upload/pdf/Statuts/Statutes_eng.pdf [Accessed 22 March 2012].

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Kirsten Linde PARTY SWEDES – “New in Inner Scandinavia” 298 Background

Akershus County Museum is one of the participants in the project New in Inner Scandinavia. The area called “Inner Scandinavia” consists of the five bordering counties of Akershus, Hedmark, and Oppland in Norway and Wärmland and Dalarna in Sweden. The New in Inner Scandinavia project is an Interreg project with support from the European Union. The project is designed to help make our area an attractive one for settlement. Supporting this design, the project has two goals.

The first is to collect material related to migration into the area, so as to build a research database. The second is to use the collected material to build two exhibits, one in Sweden and one in Norway. They will pass on information about the variety of immigrants that live in this region, not only to the general population, but also to the immigrants themselves.

Circulation of Memories Akershus County Museum is a consolidated museum consisting of 19 departments, all located in Akershus county, which surrounds the capital city of Oslo. The museum’s research field is characterised by the proximity to the capital, Oslo, but at the same time, most of the museum’s many departments are situated in semi–urban or rural surroundings. The parts of the museum’s geographic areas that are situated closest to Oslo are characterised by urban culture, with strong immigration from across the country and immigration from both European and non–European countries. The areas that are located furthest from the capital are characterised by lesser economic growth and no population growth.

The New in Inner Scandinavia project was initiated by two institutions, The Swedish American Center in Karlstad, Sweden, and the Norwegian Emigrant Museum in Ottestad, Norway, and six other partners. All the institutions are museums, and the project’s main thematic focus is to create material within the oral history tradition for both research and communication purposes.

Life histories will be collected from immigrants on both sides of the border. The immigrants are an extremely diverse group, consisting of Scandinavians, Europeans, and immigrants from across the world.

Akershus County Museum’s contribution to these collection activities is a project about young Swedish immigrants in the area around Oslo.

This group are cross–border migrants, who typically move from the counties Dalarna, Wärmland, and Bohuslän into Norway. They are in a pre–establishment phase, and many return to Sweden again following a period of work in the Oslo area.

Museum and research angles in Akershus County Museum’s project Contemporary history

Akershus County Museum works with contemporary history as one of its priority areas. This is because the museum wishes to be a dialogue museum (Freire 2000), which constantly focuses on current

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Circulation of Memories issues. Our starting point for contemporary themes is that the subject shall have some form of newsworthiness, and be of great significance for a large proportion of the population in Akershus county. Immigration is such a topic. Immigration from all countries is relevant, but this time the immigration of young Swedes, who have been dubbed “Party Swedes” by the media, is particularly relevant.

Research similarities and differences – the museum angle

Museum research uses the same overall methodology as all other cultural and historical research. A collection of material is undertaken – followed by analysis work – and finally, a synthesis emerges.

What makes museum research a little different is that the museum as an institution has five basic pillars that form the basis for its operations – acquires, conserves, researches, communicates, and exhibits – which are all weighted equally (ICOM 2007). This has consequences for the practices that are undertaken during the research work.

Creating sources

In the collection of the material, in this instance life histories, the museum researcher is aware that the material shall be stored and made accessible to researchers and other interested parties over several hundred years. When we interview informants, we create source material for the future. This sets great requirements for the quality of the material, requirements relating to the storage conditions, and a requirement that we must consider how the material can be made accessible to the general public and researchers.

Collection of material and immaterial cultural expression

As an institution, the research field of a museum is rooted in the research of material and immaterial cultural history. Inherent in this is a strong focus on the collection of material objects and the documentation of immaterial cultural expression.

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Circulation of Memories In connection with a project about Swedish immigrants, the museum researcher will therefore also seek to collect physical material objects that have contextual relevance to the life situation described by the informants. These will typically be objects that the informants donate to the museum, and contemporary objects that are collected in connection with an exhibition about the project. The museum will store these objects for future generations, and they will be a testimony to Swedish immigration.

A documentation element will also form a part of the museum collection activities, where one endeavours to capture the immaterial in the life histories of the informants. In this instance, the documentation work will consist of photographic documentation of the Swedish immigrantsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; work situations and, in some cases, living situations.

Research in relation to presentation

The application of the research results has a great impact on how one interprets the research material. A museumâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s foremost arena in which to display the research results is preferably a museum exhibition, and possibly subsequent web exhibitions. Here, the research results and analyses are collated and presented for an extremely diverse public. Usually, researchâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;based exhibitions are accompanied by exhibition catalogues, and in some cases books and articles are published.

As many museum researchers experience, there are great variations in how research results can be presented, depending on the media that is used. The exhibition media has requirements relating to pedagogical design and the level of information with regard to the public. Written media, such as catalogues, books, and articles, have other specific requirements relating to the level of information and detail, depending on the target readership.

For the New in Inner Scandinavia project, the aim of the collection work is that the material shall satisfy the requirements that both an exhibition presentation and a written, scientific presentation will set. I will first focus on research in New in Inner Scandinavia targeted towards a written, scientific presentation, and thereafter return to research targeted towards the planned exhibitions, one in Sweden and one in Norway.

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Research collaborations Collaborative research across institutions and national borders

One of the main goals of the New in Inner Scandinavia project is to collect material related to migration into the area, so as to build a research database. The project partners have slightly different approaches to meeting this goal. Some are concentrating on immigrant groups with particular characteristics, some have selected immigrants from a specific nationality, and others are collecting from many nationalities from across a broad field. Some examples that can be mentioned: the Oppland archive in Norway that collects life histories from so–called lifestyle immigrants – particularly Hollanders that settle in agricultural areas in order to live out their dream of living more in harmony with nature as opposed to an urban existence in a densely populated country on the continent. The Multicultural Center at Glomdal Museum in Norway focuses on refugees from Somalia, and Akershus County Museum works with young Swedish immigrant workers. The Swedish American Center in Karlstad, Sweden, collects information from different immigrants from all corners of the world.

Facilitating a research database with such diversity requires coordination. Much work has therefore been done with the lists of questions that form the basis for the interviews that are carried out. The lists of questions are prepared for qualitative interviews of a duration between ½ to 4 hours, depending on the informant’s desire to tell his/her story.

In the work with the preparation of questions, the project’s partners have used the Oppland archive’s experiences as support, because the archive has extensive experience with interview work. The question lists that will be used in the New in Inner Scandinavia project contain the same basic questions, so that the many interviews undertaken in the two countries will be comparable and thereby provide an opportunity for comparable, cross–border research.

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Akershus County Museumâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s project within the project

Akershus County Museum has chosen to focus on young Swedish immigrants in the area around Oslo. The project has the working title â&#x20AC;&#x153;Party Swedesâ&#x20AC;?.

Swedes are the second largest migrant group in Norwegian society today. This development is a fairly recent one, and it stems mainly, but not only, from the fact that Sweden struggles with higher unemployment rates than Norway. Wages are higher and opportunities are better for young Swedes if they migrate to Norway.

Academic research has not been previously undertaken on young Swedish immigrants as a group. This may be due to the fact that they constitute a relatively new wave of immigration that occurred after the year 2000. Or perhaps they are considered an unproblematic immigrant group and therefore not interesting? Or perhaps they are not particularly distinguishable from Norwegians, because the cultures in Norway and Sweden are extremely similar?

So why do we find them interesting? Young Swedes in the Oslo area are interesting because they have attracted significant attention in the media and popular culture, even though they have not attracted the same attention in research. They characterise countless workplaces, particularly in restaurants and stores, but also in the care and transport sectors. Both highly educated and uneducated individuals are found within the group. They are portrayed in the media as popular and competent workers. At the same time, they are also regarded as vain, snobbish youths who like to party hard. The term Party Swedes is only four years old (Partysvenske 2011), but already so ingrained in popular language that the expression is used on NRK (the state TV and radio station in Norway).

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PhD student linked to the project

Akershus County Museum has entered into a collaboration with PhD student Ida Tolgensbakk, who studies at the Department of Culture Studies and Oriental Languages at the University in Oslo (UIO).

Tolgensbakk calls her project “Us, Party Swedes? A cultural analytical study of young Swedish migrant workers in Oslo”. She has a narratological approach to the project and, through interviews with life histories, media coverage, and statements in popular culture/folklore, aims to interpret how the young Swedes see themselves in relation to the Norwegian discourse around immigration, and what it means to be Swedish and Norwegian.

The collaboration between Tolgensbakk and Akershus County Museum has so far concentrated on common efforts in connection with the collection of interviews. The collaboration will eventually be expanded to include common written projects. Tolgensbakk’s PhD thesis will be completed in 2014.

What interesting focus points can already be seen in the material?

The project about the Party Swedes is currently in the start phase.

Tolgensbakk has worked with the project’s theme since September 2011, and Akershus County Museum started its project at the end of November 2011. However, we can already see several interesting aspects that with a greater amount of material (in total) may result in very interesting analyses and syntheses.

Before we look at the findings, we must explain that the cultural differences in the Scandinavian countries are small. The three languages – Norwegian, Swedish, and Danish – are very similar and usually mutually comprehensible. All Scandinavians have equal rights and access to social support, health care, pensions, work, education, and social benefits no matter which of the three Scandinavian countries they live in. The only formalities that separate Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians are nationality and voting rights.

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Humour and power

The term Party Swedes appeared on the wall of a house in central Oslo in 2008. The text read: Party Swedes – go home – a phrase that built upon the racially motivated statements of the 1980s and 1990s, which encouraged immigrants in Norway to go home. In 2010, a popular rap group “Jaa9 & OnklP” released the single Partysvenske with a video that features fairly inebriated Swedish youths out on the town (Jaa9 & OnklP 2010). In the single, the rappers rap about how they are tired of Swedes who like to party hard and who work everywhere. Parts of the video’s content would be regarded as explicitly racist if the video had been about other immigrant or minority groups in Norway. Why is it permissible to make fun of Swedes, but not other immigrants in Norway?

Short life stories – on the edge of the future

Our informants are relatively young. The life stories will therefore be relatively short, and perspectives on the future so much larger. This makes the interviews interesting from a narratological perspective.

How a life story is told when one is far from reaching a conclusion on life’s events?

Language as tool and problem

The three Scandinavian languages – Norwegian, Swedish, and Danish – are extremely similar and most Scandinavians can understand the main content in each other’s speech and written communications without great problems. But it is not so easy to speak one of the other Scandinavian languages without an easily recognisable accent.

A Swede who has lived in Norway for several decades will therefore usually be recognised as a native Swedish speaker due to the sound of his/her speech. Scandinavians who live in one of the other Scandinavian countries often develop a mixed language. The languages mix together, so that the person speaks neither one nor the other correctly.

In conversations with the young Swedes, it emerges that language is a sore point for many of them. They call the mixed language Svorsk and use this term almost as an insult. There are interesting issues here

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Circulation of Memories surrounding the tactics that young Swedes use with regard to the “invasion” of their Swedish language by Norwegian.

The little differences – the story of the Norwegians

Young Swedes understand everything that they experience in Norway within a common Scandinavian cultural framework. This makes them very good observers. They understand what is happening in Norwegian society, and they can interpret and have very reflective opinions on the differences between the Norwegians and the Swedes.

Since they are familiar with the common Scandinavian cultural framework, they are able to see small distinctive differences. When we interview young Swedes, they make us wiser about Norwegians.

Exhibition collaboration As its second goal, the New in Inner Scandinavia project aims to organise a common exhibition that shall travel on both sides of the border. Common criteria for the submission of material for the exhibition are currently being developed. The target group for the exhibition is children of around 12 years of age. The exhibition will feature integrated interactive elements that make public involvement possible.

This is a demanding and exciting process. How the material from the Akershus County Museum’s project “Party Swedes” shall be incorporated into the exhibition has therefore not yet been decided.

Of course, we feel that “our” immigrants – the Party Swedes – can function as a point of entry for visitors to the exhibition in both of the collaborating countries. One can imagine that it will be interesting for people in Sweden to see how young Swedes live in Norway. And likewise, one can imagine that it will be interesting for people in Norway to obtain an insight into the thoughts that young Swedish immigrants have about Norwegians, Norwegian culture, and what it means to live in Norway as a Swede.

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References Freire, P. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Continuum, 2000. 183 p.

ICOM: The World Museum Community. Museum Definition. 2007. Available: http:// icom.museum/who-we-are/the-vision/museum-definition.html Jaa9

& OnkIP. Partysvenske, watch?v=tRRS8iH4Qo8

Partysvenske,

2011.

Available:

2010.

Available:

http://www.youtube.com/

http://lokalhistoriewiki.no/index.php/Partysvenske

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Mathias Nilsson Migration Stories – Selection and method 308 This paper highlights the documentation part of the project New in inner Scandinavia. But before getting into that I would like to say a few words about the Swedish American Center, which I represent.

The Swedish American Center (SAC) in Karlstad, Sweden, is the oldest emigration archive in Sweden, founded in 1960. Originally, the purpose was to document the Swedish migration history primarily to North America and to strengthen the ties between Swedish–Americans and Sweden. Today, this heritage is preserved as a research visitor center with archives, reading hall, library, and exhibition and conference rooms. SAC publishes a newspaper called “Sweden & America” four times a year. SAC is also the Swedish office for the organization “Swedish Council of America”, which is an umbrella organization for Swedish–American organizations.

Together with seven other organizations in Sweden and Norway, SAC started a project called New in inner Scandinavia in 2011. This

Circulation of Memories project aims to document today’s immigration to five neighbouring provinces in eastern Norway and western Sweden. The results of the project are to be presented through an exhibition built by the Museum of Dalarna in cooperation with other museum partners in the project.

SAC’s part in the project is to manage the documentation phase on the Swedish side.

Has anyone done any work on documenting immigration today to western Sweden and eastern Norway? This is one question we asked ourselves when planning for future projects. After starting to ask cultural institutions (such as museums and archives), we realized that there had been very little, almost nothing, done in this area. There are of course exceptions, but we felt that this matter concerns all cultural organizations. The Swedish American Center has for many years documented the historic emigration from Sweden to North America. By doing that we have seen the importance of preserving the history for future generations. For example, people seeking their roots or wanting to know more about when their ancestors came to the new country can turn to us for help. But we realized a piece of the puzzle was missing.

What will happen in 75 years when descendants of today’s immigrants want to know more about where their ancestors came from? Cultural institutions today should reflect society, which will not happen if we do not include today’s immigration in our work.

Another important reason why this project was started is because Sweden is no longer an emigration country, but rather a receiving country (Statistics Sweden 2010). Migration institutions therefore need to shift focus. SAC considers this to be the start of a new track and aims to continue this work permanently in the future.

The first step taken in the project was the selection phase. A strategy had to be developed for the interviews. Representatives from the project visited several organizations who did work in this area earlier to get inspiration. SAC worked closely with the department of history at Karlstad University in this process on the Swedish side. An interdisciplinary team was formed with historians, archivists, engineers, and unemployment agency officials. As a base for this work we looked at the following projects:

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Circulation of Memories •

Vardagsliv och arbete I Hemlandet, a project run by Örebro University with the aim to document stories from the home country (Strömberg [n. d.]);

•

Hele Verden I Oppland, a project run by Opplandsarkiv at Maihaugen, Lillehammer, Norway, with the aim to collect migration stories in the province of Oppland in Norway (Hosar 2011);

•

Hjemvendte emigranter, a project run by the Norwegian Emigrant Museum with the aim to document stories from Norwegian emigrants returning to Norway (Djupedal 1993; 1996).

Unfortunately, we did not have as many economic resources as we would have liked, which meant we needed to make a selection that the project could manage. We had numerous discussions with the project partners. It seemed that the need for information and knowledge was mostly during the last 10–12 years. This time period is also poorly documented among the contacted cultural organizations in the area.

A decision was made to focus on the 21th century. We also decided to aim to cover all different types of migration: labor–related migration, love–related migration, lifestyle migration, and refugees. We set a goal of conducting 500 interviews during the project period until 30 November 2013.

Questions that needed to be answered were defined: •

How to interview migrants who arrived recently and have very little or no knowledge of the Swedish and/or English languages?

•

How do we reach migrant environments?

•

How do we avoid problems related to cultural differences?

The project in Örebro had successfully made interviews in which immigrants interview immigrants, mainly people with the same language skills as themselves. We decided to use this model because we needed to find a way of interviewing immigrants that had recently arrived in Sweden. By doing this we avoided language problems.

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Circulation of Memories However, we needed to have transcriptions made for the material to be usable.

By adopting this model we thought we had also solved the problem of reaching migrant environments. They would know people in their surroundings and might also have contact with associations. We defined a number of ways to reach informants: •

Immigrant interviewers

•

Snowball effect

•

Unemployment agencies

•

Schools (especially Foreign Language Education)

•

Associations (e. g. culture and sport)

•

Provincial governments

•

Municipalities

The next step was to define an interview guide with questions that interviewers would use as a basis for doing interviews. The idea with this guide was that it should be used as support in the interview situation. It shouldn’t be followed strictly, making the interview very static. The idea was that informants should be able to talk freely and tell stories. These stories might answer several questions in the interview guide. An information letter was written to be used as further information for interested informants wanting to know more about the project. Further on an agreement document was written. This agreement was based on the Lillehammer project but optimized and adapted to Swedish society. Because we were dealing with sometimes sensitive matters, we needed to make sure legal rights were clarified.

We therefore developed a contract in which every informant had the chance to tell us how the interview could be used, if it could be published, and so on. All of these documents were translated into multiple languages in order to make it easier for informants to understand the content.

The interview guide included 66 questions with sub–questions covering the following areas: •

Life in the home country

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The trip to Sweden

•

Arriving in Sweden

•

Life in Sweden

•

The future

As mentioned above, we had a problem concerning the economy; we had high ambitions and not a lot of economic resources. The project therefore needed a solution for how to collect material without it costing a lot of money. Now the process started to recruit interviewers for the project. Because the project’s resources were insufficient to cover costs for employing people for the job, we had to find other solutions.

The solution we found was by a cooperation with Karlstad University.

Currently the university has an education program for foreign academics, which provides language education and also intends to help students with an existing academic education to convert their education so that it is accepted by and works within the Swedish system. It also provides help for students to get in touch with companies that are looking to recruit personnel. One part of the education is practice. We discussed with the university program whether it would be possible for students having a relevant background to do interviews for our project as their practice. We found out that this was certainly possible, and it turned out to be a very good idea.

By the beginning of November 2011 we had eight students ready to start working with the project. The students represented the following countries: Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, Russia, Ukraine, Japan/China, Egypt, and the Philippines. The agreement was that they would do six to eight weeks of practice.

Before the students started, we provided education in interview techniques and methods from a multicultural perspective. This education was given by Karlstad University in cooperation with the rest of the project partners. The education consisted of two parts: lecture and practical exercise, in which students did test interviews.

Before Christmas 2011 we gathered to look at the results. By then the students had made a total of 74 interviews with informants from 24 countries speaking 11 languages. We asked the interviewers

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Circulation of Memories how they got in touch with their informants and came up with the following results: How interviewer reached informant Work Friends and family The Swedish American Center Snowball effect Associations Schools Foreign academics program Not specified

Quantity 2 23 2 4 2 7 7 27

Percentage 2.70 31.08 2.70 5.41 2.70 9.46 9.46 36.49

From this we drew some conclusions (Gren 2011). Since all of the interviewers were academics and they mostly found informants via family, friends, and other students, we suspected that academics were over–represented. Having said that, we have not yet analyzed all of the interviews. We also understood from talking to interviewers that cultural differences have a huge impact on certain questions, for example, the themes of death and funerals. Questions about how they came to Sweden turned out to be sensitive as well, and some informants declined publishing after telling stories about that topic. Another issue was the problem of explaining why we were doing this. Informants had possibly never have heard of SAC before and sometimes thought we were government officials looking for information to give to the Immigration Office. This despite the fact that the interviewers were able to very clearly explain in the informants’ native languages that this was not the case. However, language skills turned out to be successful. Interviewers said that in some cases informants would not have given the interview if they had not been provided with information and agreement documents in their own language.

Another issue was the interview guide and the fact that we were engaging students who had possibly never done any interviewing before. The interviews therefore varied in quality and interviewers tended to follow the guide too strictly, especially in the beginning. This might restrict the “storytelling” of the informant, and sometimes it might prevent sub–questions from being asked.

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Circulation of Memories In the end, most of the people who participated and told their migration stories were very positive towards the project. Interviewers claim (Gharni 2011) that in several cases the informants said they had never told these stories to anyone before. 64 of the 74 interviews gave permission for us to publish the content of their interviews, which is very good for the exhibition part of the project.

This project is still a work in progress and we have now completed about one fifth of the goal we set. We will continue working until 30 November 2013, not only by doing interviews but also analyzing the material we have received so far. We also plan to extend the geographical area to include the province of Västra GÜtaland (GÜteborg) in western Sweden.

At the end of 2012 we will deliver what we have so far prepared to the exhibition builders to start working on the exhibition. We hope that the exhibition will be one important step when it comes to presenting a nuanced picture of migration today and hope that it helps research and development to move forward.

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Interviews Gharni, M. – 2011, December; M. Nilsson, interviewer.

Gren, M. – 2011, December; M. Nilsson, interviewer.

References Djupedal, K. Hjemvendte emigranter i Nordland [Returned Emigrants in Nordland].

In: Norwegian–American Essays. Ed. by Øyvind Gulliksen, David Mauk, Dina Tolfsby. Oslo: NAHA–Norway, 1996, pp. 157–170.

Djupedal, K. Some Conclusions from the Norwegian Returned Emigrants Project. In: On distant shores: proceedings of the Marcus Lee Hansen Immigration Conference, Aalborg, Denmark, June 29–July 1, 1992.

Ed. by Birgit Larsen, Henning Bender, and Karen Veien. Aalborg: Danes Worldwide Archives in collaboration with the Danish Society for Emigration History, 1993, pp. 355–360.

Hosar, M. Hele Verden i Oppland. Lillehammer: Norsk Kulturråd, 2011. 89 p.

New in inner Scandinavia. Project home page: www.niis.se. [Accesed 28 March 2012].

Statistics Sweden. Invandringen sjönk och antalet utvandrade ökade under 2010. Örebro, 2010. 10 p. Available: http://www.scb.se/Statistik/BE/BE0101/2010A01L/In_och_utvandring.pdf [Accesed 28 March 2012].

Strömberg, T. Arbete och vardagsliv i hemlandet. Available: http://www.arkivcentrum. se/projekt2/projekt2.html [Accesed 28 March 2012].

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Maija Hinkle

Returning an Emigre Narrative to its Country of Origin.

Community–based Public Oral History Projects with Latvian–Americans

In this paper I will describe and evaluate a series of public oral history projects with Latvian–Americans in which I have attempted to engage the Latvian–American community in documenting its own history and experiences by: 1) recruiting, training, and organizing community oral historians in the Latvian–American and Latvian communities; 2) conducting group and public interviews with Latvian–Americans, and 3) returning the oral histories to the community and the wider public in public presentations, poster exhibits, and most importantly, museum exhibitions in both the USA and Latvia, all according to high professional standards. These projects speak directly to the theme of this conference: 1) society directly in dialog with oral

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Circulation of Memories history as the community members try to recontextualize their past and reinvent their identity and 2) oral history in direct dialog with society in the museum exhibitions. I suggest that a useful framework for this type of oral history activity is community–based public oral history.

“Public history” has been differentiated from academic history and historians, both by the nature and space where the history is practiced and by the audience at which it is aimed. It has been described as a “set of procedures undertaken by historians, who are not employed by academic institutions” (Smith 2011, 429), which produce “historical interpretations that are intended for consumption by particular audiences” (Yow 2005, 144) or by the widest possible audience (Reckon 1993, 188). As Donald Ritchie has pointed out, “Public history is the organized effort to bring accurate, meaningful history to the public audience and oral history is a natural tool for reaching that goal.” Both movements attract practitioners and audiences different from those for more traditional history–writing and both “have experimented with videotape, slide–tape, and even interactive videos, in museum exhibitions, dramatic performances, and other applications outside the classroom and in publications” (Ritchie 2003, 42), especially in the USA, Great Britain, and Australia (Smith 2011, 432). A major difference is one of scale; public history is usually concerned with national and even international themes, oral history with more localized, community ones.

In both the United States and Great Britain a number of significant, pioneering oral historians began their careers in community projects. Community historians have made significant contribution to both the practice and theory of oral history. Yet the effort to engage community groups to create their own histories has stalled, maybe partly because of the difficulties of creating a truly informed community–based public oral history that will take into account a theoretical understanding of memory and not treat recollections as “self–evident, empirical truths, rather than socially constructed representations of the past that were being made in the present” (Smith 2011, 411). In the United States, establishing training programs in the use of oral history for the wider public has been especially problematic, as evidenced

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Circulation of Memories in 2003, when David King Dunaway could not find four professional oral historians in the whole United States who train the public at large (Dunaway 2006, 123). Thus, the projects that I shall describe may be more unusual for the United States than I had at first imagined.

Historical background Most Latvian–Americans in the project entered the US as refugees after World War II from Displaced Persons (DP) camps in Germany.1 There they created still active transnational, national, and local communities based on shared history, traditions, culture, and language rather than on a geographical space, and on the common goals of reminding the world of Latvia’s occupation and keeping alive pre– war Latvian traditions and language.

I am part of this community. I was born in Latvia, but fled as a young child with my family to escape the Soviet army as it reoccupied Latvia in 1944. After six years in DP camps in Germany, I arrived in the USA in 1950 and settled in the Washington, DC, area.

My father was the minister at the Latvian church in Washington, and I grew up in two worlds and two cultures: in school and eventually my profession I was part of the American world, but my home and social life were totally Latvian. Community activities emphasized the importance of remaining Latvian and telling the world about Latvia’s occupation, because the people in Latvia could not do so themselves because their culture, language, and identity were being suppressed.

At the end of World War II more than 200 000 refugees, soldiers and forced migrants from Latvia ended up in the West, the vast majority in Germany.

After concerted, but unsuccessful efforts to repatriate the refugees to the now Soviet occupied Latvia, the Western Allies (France, Britain and the USA) organized the UNRRA (United Nations Refugee and Rehabilitation Agency), later renamed IRO (International Relief Organization) to form refugee camps (named Displaced Person’s camps) and provide their inhabitants (the DPs) with the basic necessities of life. Latvians were scattered among some 294 different DP camps, which ran from 1945–1951, when the last camps were closed and administration of migrant affairs was taken over by the Germans. Between 1947–1951 most Latvians emigrated to host countries, most to Britain, USA, Australia, Canada, Venezuela, Argentina, Brazil. About 40 000 came the USA.

1

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Circulation of Memories I visited Latvia again for the first time in 1981 and 1983, and saw for myself the situation of my relatives and the people whom I met – how isolated they were, deprived of information about the outside world and even about their own history and situation, eager to learn about the experiences of my emigre community and people. The coming of perestroika in the 1980s and eventually the awakening of Latvian identity in Latvia provided opportunities to at least start to change the lack of information in Latvia about emigre communities, experiences, and people.

First attempts at community–based public oral history with Latvian–Americans In order to increase information in Latvia about diaspora life and history, one needed information that would connect with people and good ways to disseminate it. Up to now several academicians had carried out extensive, in–depth studies and interviews of diaspora Latvians, most notably professors Inta Carpenter (Carpenter 1990; 1996; 2007), Solveiga Miezīte, and Sandra Sebre, but these interviews were not generally available and the results were mostly confined to professional publications. I felt that much more was needed.

In 1989 I learned that Māra Zirnīte was doing oral history at the Latvian Cultural Foundation, where she had formed a “People’s Archive” (Cilvēkarhīvs) with life story audiorecordings from common people in Latvia. I felt that Cilvēkarhīvs should include the voices of diaspora Latvians, too. Even though my professional expertise was in the exact sciences, I decided to try to organize an oral history gathering project with Latvian–Americans with three specific goals: 1) to document from an individual’s perspective the experiences of diaspora Latvians; 2) to involve community members in all aspects of the project, including interviewing in their own communities, and 3) to disseminate the resulting narratives in Latvia so that they would become part of Latvian history and societal memory on the premise that all Latvians, no matter where they live, are part of the Latvian story.

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Circulation of Memories In the beginning, the emphasis was on the first two goals while the third goal was to be met by the deposition of the interviews in Cilvēkarhīvs, from which some would be published in the Likteņarhīvs series.2 The decision to recruit volunteer interviewers from Latvian– American communities was made for both practical and ideological reasons.3 It, however, created a problem: the potential volunteers had to be inspired to take part and they had to be trained. To inspire people, together with members of the Syracuse (NY) Latvian People’s Support Group,4 I organized a lecture tour by Māra Zirnīte in 1990 through 13 cities in the USA and Canada.5 To train potential interviewers, we recruited several professional folklorists6 to give a week–long oral history workshop at the annual “3 x 3” Latvian cultural immersion camp in the Catskills,7 where participants learned how to do oral history,

A series of transcribed, edited individual life story narrations published in book format by the Latvian Cultural Foundation.

3 The major practical reason was to maximize the number of stories collected within a very limited budget, necessitating the need for volunteers. Since Latvian communities are scattered all over the United States, the emphasis on local interviewers also minimized travel expenses and the fact that the first generation refugee Latvian–Americans were aging quickly gave urgency to the whole project. Another reason for engaging community members in collecting their community’s stories was to give everyone a “stake”, a voice in the stories that will be conveyed to Latvia about their experiences, to inspire community members to re–examine their identity and recontextualize their story, maybe even to start a conversation about those experiences.

4 After the Popular Front and Latvian Cultural Foundation were formed in Latvia in the late 1980’s, support groups for these two Latvian organizations sprung up in almost all of the Latvian communities in the West. Members of the Latvian community in Syracuse, NY, USA, founded one support group, the Syracuse Latvian People’s Support Group, which actively participated in both Popular Front and Cultural Foundation projects.

5 In each city she gave a talk, interviewed people and met community activists.

6 Aija Beldava of Indiana University and Guntis Šmidchens, University of Washington.

7 The week–long camps are called “3 x 3” to indicate that they are meant for all three generations, parents, grandparents and children, and that they cover the basics in Latvian traditions, history, crafts, etc. under the guidance of experts in their fields. In a typical year 10 different daily workshops may be offered in parallel sessions, each at least 1½ hours long for five or six days, some crafts workshops lasting the whole day. In any one year some 100–250 people participate in the Catskills camp. Most come from the East Coast of the USA or Canada and are repeat campers. Since the language of lecture–style workshops is Latvian, 2

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Circulation of Memories followed by a planning meeting for creating a long–term community– based public oral history project.

Although Zirnīte’s tour, the workshop, and the planning meeting aroused much enthusiasm, the long–term results were disappointing. Only in one city8 were additional interviews carried out. When I approached the people I had recruited to host Zirnīte’s visit in each city and inquired about follow–up, the most common response was: “This is a wonderful project, but right now our impossible dream is coming true; Latvia is regaining its independence. Our priority now is to help rebuild Latvia. Forget about the diaspora.”

Among the lessons I learned from this first attempt was: 1) in order for a community–based oral history project to succeed, it has to be constantly nurtured on–site and 2) the community has to be ready to have its stories recorded.

Oral history field–work in the Latvian countryside with emigre volunteer interviewers and with emigre community funding, 1995–2003 In the early 1990s oral history with Latvian–Americans had stalled, but in Latvia it had undergone remarkable development and expansion.9 Here I will mention only that part of the Latvian National Oral History program (LNOH) that had a direct impact on the oral history program in the United States. most are Latvian–speakers of the middle and especially the older generation, although increasingly efforts are being made to accommodate non–speakers and attract children. Thus camp participants form a rather homogeneous group of emigre Latvians, who might live apart, yet form a community of individuals, interested in their Latvian heritage.

8 The interviews were carried out by Ilze Raudseps, who had also conducted interviews before Zirnīte’s visit.

9 In 1992 the oral history program was accepted into the Institute of Philosophy and Sociology at the University of Latvia (LU). The scientific director of the project was professor Augusts Milts and the administrator and coordinator, Māra Zirnīte.

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Circulation of Memories Although by 1995 the LNOH contained about 300 life stories in audio format, the participants in an oral history planning session the same year thought that many more should be collected. The impediments to recording more stories were the same as in the Latvian– American project: too few interviewers and too little money.

Seeing an opportunity to apply and improve the method that we had tried in the United States with trained volunteers, I proposed that we recruit and train volunteer interviewers from the Latvian emigre community and send them out into the Latvian countryside to record life stories in week–long field expeditions to specific sites. This would not only let the Latvian project obtain more life stories, but it would give an opportunity for the emigres to participate in a Latvian project and in the rebuilding of Latvia in a meaningful, personal way. The money would also come from emigre sources, funds, and organizations.

My proposal was enthusiastically accepted and ran for the next seven years, co–chaired by Māra Zirnīte of LNOH, prof. Paulis Lazda10, and me. Māra Zirnīte organized the training and the expeditions, professors Lazda, Augusts Milts, and Anita Timans from Great Britain supplied the initial content of the interviews, and I found the volunteers from abroad and the funding. For me that meant a lot of grant– writing, very active outreach, and talks all over the United States to give people the results year by year and recruit both new people and funds. Each expedition also included colleagues and some volunteers from Latvia. Over the years, new partners contributed their expertise to the training, including professors Janīna Kursīte, Inta Gāle– Carpenter, Dagmāra Beitnere, and others.

In the first year, 16 volunteers from the USA and Canada and 23 staff and volunteers from Latvia participated in the project.

Occupation Museum, Chairman of the Board and Professor of History at University of Wisconsin at Eau Claire.

10

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Fig. 1. Participants in the first field work project in Latvia with volunteer emigre interviewers from abroad, summer, 1996.

The number of volunteers11 dropped off during the years, but some people participated year after year, until by 2003 more than 1000 life stories had been added to the LNOH collection. Over the years I had crisscrossed the United States with more than 40 presentations12 and lectures to the general public and professional audiences and obtained USD 32,000 from various funding sources for the project.13 The volunteers paid for their own transportation to Latvia, living expenses, etc.

As an especially valuable bonus, the project enabled a number of Latvian–Americans, myself included, to obtain excellent training in oral history methods from experts from various countries. It also

Starting in 2000 prof. Janīna Kursīte joined the field work with some of her students from the Folklore program at LU. In the last year of the program (2002) 52 interviewers participated, most of them LU students. Subsequently, professor Kursīte and others organized a more rigorous field–work program for the students, one including ample feedback and individual critique, aspects largely missing from the LNOH volunteer–based program, which used primarily the apprentice system for training.

12 In each presentation to general audiences I spent the last 15 minutes of the talk recounting the most haunting or dramatic parts of two different Latvian life stories, that had been recorded in the previous expedition, thus disseminating some of the Latvian stories to the Latvian–American audience. Interestingly, organizers and listeners always requested that I talk about the interviews and stories from Latvia, and not those that we had collected in the project with Latvian–Americans.

13 Funding came from the Daugavas Vanagi, Latvian Foundation, Inc., American Latvian Association Cultural Division, Syracuse Latvian People’s Support Group, individual donations.

11

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Circulation of Memories provided plenty of practice and inspiration, all of which were of great value as we returned to a more rigorously designed Latvian–American community–based oral history project.14

American Latvian Association Oral History Project (ALA–OH), 1996 to present By 1996 Latvia had been independent for five years and Latvians were getting very tired of emigres telling them how to do things. There was also increasing realization in the Latvian–American community that time was running out for the documentation of the emigres’ own experiences. Recognizing this, the chairwoman of the American Latvian Association (ALA) Cultural Division, Inta Šrāders, asked me at the end of 1996 to put together a task force for the documentation of the Latvian–American experience. I agreed to create an oral history program on the same model as we had already tried.

Inta Gāle–Carpenter (Indiana University) graciously agreed to co–chair the ALA–OH project with me, at least during the first years.

Starting with I. Gāle–Carpenter’s questionnaire for her Ph.D. thesis, we developed the focus of our interviews, the questions and topics we wanted the respondent to cover, our recommendations about whom to interview, and the documentation forms. We also researched the best repository for the interviews, finally settling on the Immigration History Research Center (IHRC) at the University of Minnesota in the USA for the originals, with copies at the LNOH collection in Latvia.

Thus, each audiotape had three copies: an original for IHRC and copies for LNOH, the user, and the author.

In the first year we recruited the volunteers who had participated in the OH expedition to the Latvian countryside, but for the rest of the project duration we trained the volunteers in two ways: 1) in OH training workshops at the annual “3 x 3” cultural immersion camps and

On the negative side – the training lacked feedback from the experts, resulting in somewhat haphazard interview quality and experience.

14

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Circulation of Memories 2) at weekend training seminars in communities that had requested training.15

Fig. 2. Participants in the ALA Oral History Project, sponsored oral history training workshop in Catskills, 3 x 3, 2000.

In the camp workshop the participants were expected to record interviews in the camp and after returning to their communities. Inta Gāle–Carpenter and Biruta Abuls ran the workshops at the “3 x 3” camp in Garezers while I did the “3 x 3” camp in the Catskills and the individual city weekend seminars.16 In 1999 the group at the “3 x 3” camp in Garezers translated a Cleveland community OH manual into Latvian,17 we added questions and topics specific for the Latvian– American experience, and ALA published it (Rokasgrāmata 1999).

From 1996 – 2004 we trained a total of 164 volunteers, 34 of whom eventually conducted or participated in an interview. The ALA– OH collection now has about 650 hours of individual interviews (from 1 – 20 hours long) with some 320 respondents (2/3 of them men, many of them community and professional leaders).

The quality of interviews varied and did not always include the recommended topics. About a third of the interviews have been transcribed; all have been digitalized. At present we are working on indexing all the interviews in preparation for their deposition at the IHRC

The six cities were: Boston, Chicago, Cleveland, Seattle, WA/”Kursa” educational center, East Orange, NJ, Washington, DC. 16 The “3 x 3” oral history training workshop was offered every year from 1996 – 2004 at the Catskills camp, less at Garezers.

17 The manual was based almost entirely on the Cleveland Heritage program.

15

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Fig. 3. Respondent Zigurds Miezītis, Aug. 2005, in Ithaca, NY. Interviewed by Maija Hinkle as part of the ALA–OH project.

digital library. They have been part of the LNOH collection from the beginning and are available according to the accessibility rules of the LNOH. (For a more thorough evaluation of the results, see Hinkle 2006; 2011.)

In 2005 I published a manual (Hinkle 2005) for use in Latvian– American Saturday schools, basing it on the American Oral History Association manual for secondary school students and teachers, but including themes and questions aimed at the Latvian exile experience.

The program has been applied in several schools but has not gained wide usage.

All the interview work, organizing, and travel were done on a volunteer basis, while ALA paid for all of the materials, some apparatus, transcriptions of many interviews, and in the last two years also

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Circulation of Memories the digitizing and indexing of the interviews for a total of about USD 20,000 over the years.18

Group and public interviews as part of ALA–OH, 2005 to present By 2004 it was clear that the volunteers had “burned out” so I decided to try another method: group interviews about specific topics of the emigre experience and life. The reason I thought it might work well was the great enthusiasm that was generated for the few public interviews that I had held during the OH training sessions and for the group interviews that I conducted as part of the training workshop.

The topics in the latter were on return migration to Latvia and the concept of “home”.

From 2005–2007 I offered a workshop at the “3 x 3” camp in the Catskills called “Exile history in life stories,” where the participants recounted their experiences on a certain topic, e. g. their reasons for leaving Latvia in 1944, what they brought with them and why, why they remained connected to Latvian society, why they didn’t return to Latvia to live, etc. The sessions usually started with a lecture from an expert on the given topic followed by participants’ contributions, which were always lively, sometimes contentious, and often spilled into the community. Since 2009 the workshop has consisted mainly of public interviews of leading participants in a certain area of exile life. Each week covers one area, e. g. the emigre written press, schools, camps, sports, music. The goal is to gradually document all aspects of diaspora life and communities.

More than 200 people participated over the years. A total of 64 hours of group and public interviews have been recorded in digital format, transcribed, and will be published in edited e–book format.

The interviews not only supplied varied, individual information but also served as a facilitator in the community, inspiring the community

Since all the work transcribing, digitizing and indexing was done in Latvia by LNOH colleagues and students, it has been much cheaper than it would’ve been in the United States.

18

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Circulation of Memories members to reassess their history, their values, and reimagine their identity (Hinkle 2011, 55–68).

Fig. 4. Participants in the “Exile History in Life Stories” workshop, Catskills, 2011, with guest lecturer Juris Zagarins, first from right.

Returning the interviews to the community The interviews have been disseminated in a number of ways.

Most commonly, they have been used in professional research papers in Latvia and abroad and in student dissertations. A book of selected interviews and excerpts has been published (Mutvārdu vēstures avoti 2003; Oral History Sources 2005) and a number of excerpts are available on the LNOH web site, www.dzivesstasts.lv, as part of an electronic book. In the United States the most common methods have been in my presentations to general audiences and in informative, photograph–rich posters that summarize the projects.

None of these products, however, have had much of a presence in Latvian society as a whole. Clearly, to reach a wide audience, more visible means were needed. Our answer was a diaspora museum in Latvia.

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Fig. 5. Posters to illustrate Latvian field work and ALA Oral History projects, displayed in presentations by Maija Hinkle in USA and other venues, 1996–2006.

As the project progressed, poster author Hinkle added panels with previous year’s results.

“Latvians Abroad – Museum and Research Centre” – “Latvieši pasaulē” (LaPa) Why a Latvian diaspora museum?

While the initial motivation was to increase the visibility of the Latvian diaspora narrative in Latvia, the more reality–based inspiration came from visits to the emigration museums in other countries, especially the Norwegian Emigrant Museum of Knut Djupedal in 2006. These institutions make one realize that the story of emigration from Latvia is a very big and powerful one, much bigger than can be revealed and treated with oral history alone.

Even though Latvia is a relatively small country with 1.6–2.7 million inhabitants at various times (Plakans 1995, 88), the footprints and descendants of Latvians can be found all over the world. In the 20th century alone, about 1.3 million Latvian inhabitants (Plakans 1995, 115–116; Hinkle 2008 (2009), 67–68) left Latvia, some for relatively short periods, others for their whole lives. Yet, in spite of

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Circulation of Memories emigration being a major aspect of Latvian history and a painful topic in present–day Latvia, Latvian inhabitants know very little about these migrations and about diaspora life, and the available information is scattered and not easily accessible.

Therefore, in 2007 a group of enthusiasts from USA, Canada, and Latvia founded a diaspora museum organization in Latvia called “Latvians Abroad – Museum and Research Centre”, or “Latvieši pasaulē” (LaPa), whose goal was to create a museum and diaspora center in Latvia that will: •

Collect, preserve, research, and disseminate information, artefacts, and documentation about emigration from Latvia and life and identity in diaspora during the last 200 – 300 years, incorporating it into the history and societal memory of Latvia, because all Latvians are part of the Latvian nation, irrespective of their country of residence;

•

Build bridges between Latvia and the diaspora community, inspiring each to value their cultural and historical heritage;

•

Add the Latvian story to the international discussion on migration.

Even though the organization does have a small professional staff, it is still partly a community–based institution, with community members donating money, hours of labour, and artefacts for the museum. LaPa’s activity is determined by the annual general membership meeting in Latvia and executed by a member–elected board of directors, which has an equal number of members from Latvia and from abroad. Efforts are under way to form active support groups for LaPa in all the cities in the USA, Canada, and Australia with significant Latvian populations. Even though the initial funding came from international grants, in the last few years almost all of the funding has come from Latvian–American organizations, foundations, and individuals.

During the first five years, the museum board and staff have focused their work on building a valuable and multifaceted collection, mounting exhibitions to inform and inspire the public, forming partnerships and joint projects with institutions inside and outside Latvia, obtaining funding, and finding and planning for a permanent home.

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Circulation of Memories The collection is partially available to the public on www.meandrs.lv.

Several exhibitions were most successful at addressing a wide audience. During LaPa’s first independent exhibit, held at the Occupation Museum, a second–generation Latvian–Australian, Anita Apine Hermane, demonstrated weaving on a loom built from bombed–out buildings in the DP camps.

Fig. 6. First LaPa independent, travelling exhibit “Latvians Abroad – Three Stories of War Refugees” at the Occupation Museum, June – Sept, 2010. Exhibit featured three objects, their stories and historical contexts.

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Fig. 7. Second generation Latvian–Australian weaver, Anita Apine Hermane, demonstrated weaving during the exhibit. The loom was made in DP camp from wood from bombed out buildings.

Circulation of Memories The second major endeavour was an Internet exhibit of six objects, their associated stories, and historical contexts for several waves of emigration to eight different countries. The internet exhibit is in Latvian and English, will be regularly expanded, and can be viewed at www.pedas.lapamuzejs.lv.

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Fig. 8. Evalds Inspeteris of Sigulda, Latvia, born in Bashkortostan, European Russia, at the opening of the LaPa internet exhibit, “Latvian Footprints in the World” 31 July 2011. His story is one of six featured stories, objects and contexts in the exhibit.

LaPa’s most recent exhibit on the far–reaching influence of the DP camps on subsequent diaspora life in host countries was commissioned by the Latvian Department of State and is currently travelling in North America.

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Fig. 9 & 10. Exhibit “The Charter for Latvians in Exile”, opened at the Latvian National Archive, and was displayed in their showroom windows, 20 Dec 2011–31 Jan 2012, currently travelling around North America.

With these exhibitions the third goal of the initial endeavour is in the process of being fulfilled, but in a much more expanded execution, which includes strong visual, and eventually also multimedia, components as well as historical contexts, not just texts from interviews. At the moment LaPa is negotiating for a museum site outside the capital city Riga. A number of other projects and exhibits are either ongoing or being planned, described on the LaPa web site: www.diasporamuseum.lv.

With the development of the museum the emphasis of the described projects has expanded from community–based oral history activities to a much more public dissemination of the results, geared to reaching and engaging as wide an audience as possible. It is definitely a long–term project.

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References Dunaway, D. K. Public Oral History: Reflections on Educating Citizen–Historians. In: Preparing the Next Generation of Oral Historians: An Anthology of Oral History Education. Ed. by Barry Lanman, Laura W. Wendling. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, 2006, pp. 123–130.

Gale–Carpenter, I. A Detour through America: the Latvian Emigre Experience in Jānis’ Jaunsudrabiņš’ “Tā mums iet”. In: Symposium Balticum. Ed. by Baiba Metuzale– Kangere, Helge Rinholm. Hamburg: Helmut Buske Ferlag, 1990, pp. 99–117.

Gale–Carpenter, I. Festival as Reconciliation: Latvian Exile Homecoming in 1990.

Journal of Folklore Research. 1996, Vol. 33 (2), pp. 93–124.

Gale–Carpenter, I. Memory–Theater as Cultural Generativity: Eslingena: A Musical in Toronto and Riga. Journal of Baltic Studies. 2007, Vol. 38 (3), pp. 317–347.

Hinkle, M. Mutvārdu vēsture: latviešu sestdienas skolu programmā. Washington, DC: ALA Kultūras nozare, 2005.

Hinkle, M. Latvian–Americans in the Post–Soviet Era: Cultural Factors on Return Migration in Oral History Interviews. Journal of Baltic Studies. 2006, Vol. 37 (1) pp. 48–67.

Hinkle, M. “Latvians Abroad”: A Planned Latvian Emigration Museum and Research Center. AEMI Journal. 2008 (2009), Vol. 6, pp. 66–73.

Hinkle, M. Creating a Collective Latvian–American Narrative from Group and Individual Life Story Interviews. In Oral History: Migration and Local Identities.

Online proceedings of papers presented at the Conference at the University of Latvia in Riga, June 27–29, 2008. Ed. by Ieva Garda Rozenberga and Mara Zirnite. Riga: Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, 2011, pp. 55–68.

Mutvārdu vēstures avoti, izlase. Sast. Māra Zirnīte, Maija Hinkle. Rīga: LU Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, 2003. 226 lpp.

Oral History Sources of Latvia, Second Edition. Ed. by Mara Zirnite and Maija Hinkle.

Riga: Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, 2005. 228 p.

Plakans, A. The Latvians: A Short History. Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1995.

257 p.

Reckon, S. L. Doing Public History: A Look at the How, But Especially the Why. American Quarterly. 1993, Vol. 45 (1), pp. 187–194.

Ritchie, D. A. Doing Oral History: A Practical Guide. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003. 318 p.

Rokasgrāmata intervētājiem. Sast.: Biruta Abula, Inta Carpenter, Maija Hinkle, Edīte Irbe un Lauris Kalniņš. USA: ALA, 1999.

Smith, G. Toward a Public Oral History. In: The Oxford Handbook of Oral History. Ed.

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by Donald A. Ritchie. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2011, pp.

429â&#x20AC;&#x201C;448.

Yow, V. Recording Oral History: A Guide for the Humanities and Social Sciences. Walnut Creek: AltaMira Press, 2005. 398 p.

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Candice Lau Accessing Estonian Memories: the “Memories Passed” Exhibition In 2003, I took a roadtrip through the Baltics. When I awoke in the back seat after several hours of driving, I realised we had arrived in Estonia, not too far from Tartu. The sky was clear, and across the flat terrain of the Estonian landscape I could see miles of snow–covered fields, the occasional farmhouse, and at moments, collectives of Soviet blocks. Once in Tartu, I meandered through the grand university buildings and amongst them, tucked away second hand shops selling remnants of the past.

Over time, the details of this memory faded into the whiteness of the snow–covered fields of my Estonian journey until a visit to the “Our New Home” exhibition at the Powerhouse Museum of Science and Design in 2007. Objects borrowed from the Estonian Archives in Sydney and the diaspora community were showcased to describe the Estonian people, stories of a common route from war–torn Estonia, to

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Circulation of Memories the displaced persons camps in Germany, and to their eventual home in Australia. This exhibition instantly triggered the memories of my 2003 journey through Estonia.

On this visit, I took some time to contemplate the objects in the exhibition. As a collective, these objects formed a general narrative of the movements of the diaspora community from Estonia to Australia.

I valued that, as with any given object, each one contained its own story like an organic, immaterial and intangible life force. The small sign with the name and date attributed to the object, however, told me little more than when this object was made and what it was. I was left to wonder about the narratives that could be found in these objects.

Furthermore, would this latent display of objects have inspired my curiosity if I had not had a prior experience in Estonia?

This singular visit to the “Our New Home” exhibition proffered two distinct thoughts. Firstly, the objects are inanimate and mute, thus they cannot describe from where they come and the stories that they have inhabited. Concurrent curatorial practices have shown that objects are often imposed into academic classifications, our “glass boxes” interpretation of diverse cultures (Ames 1994, 98–99). Its original context is therefore abstracted and at times unaccounted for and dismissed. The wider implication of this approach is that “curators literally make history by deciding what to collect and what to ignore, and by so doing dictating what should be remembered and what forgotten” (Kavanagh 2000, 98). Hence, the question begs, what “history” is being presented to the audience? History dictated by the curator or that of the people? Secondly, my experience through the exhibition was invariably my own, as it would be for anybody else. While the curator may intend to direct us through a specific narrative experience through the exhibition, we might not necessarily experience this, because we choose the information to intake or ignore. Our experience is subjective because it is dependent on our own framework for interpretation.

Based on these enquiries, the “Memories Passed” exhibition was created in response to the “Our New Home” exhibition. This was exhibited in October 2010 at Kiek in de Kök Museum in Tallinn, Estonia.

It was an interactive installation that enabled audiences to access the

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Circulation of Memories personal memories of four Estonian diasporans in Australia. The installation was conceived as a container of their oral recollections, stories of war–torn Estonia, and personal and unique accounts of harrowing escapes to the eventual home of Australia. Through physical interaction with a digitally tagged replica set of playing cards, it allowed visitors to elicit fragments of the stories as audio and visual projections.

This engendered intimate interactions and proffered a sense of dialogue and conversation with the storytellers.

This paper will discuss the notion of personal memories and material culture within the context of cultural historical exhibitions and the “Memories Passed” exhibition as a creative possibility for visitor–centered exhibitionary experiences.

Memory, materiality, and the collective Mnemonic techniques and metaphors for memory have been explored widely through the ages. One common memory metaphor is the memory as pertained in the individual itself. Laura Otis provides an entry point into this by calling it an organic memory, where the relation between the body and memory is “placed in the past, in the individual, in the body, in the nervous system” (Otis 1994, 3). The body is perceived as a storage device. Extending from this point to perhaps a more suitable metaphor for the museum is the contrary idea of memory as placed outside ourselves, in objects. As indicated by the Melanesian example, “objects may be considered to be external components of the person” (Jones 2007, 29). These objects as mnemonic devices are likened to the Dominican Giordano Bruno’s memory as fashioned upon the zodiac, or Sigmund Freud’s memory metaphor of the mystic writing pad (Hutton 1993; Yates 1966). Museums as storehouses for memory take these objects and display them to enable public access to knowledge and information about our past because in the object “the passing of time is made apparent and it is through the sensual and physical medium of material culture that times past are re–experienced” (Jones 2007, 61).

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Circulation of Memories Objects as mnemonic devices play an active role from the individual’s initial experience with it, to the making of the memory, and finally to the post–experience of remembrance. Latour explains this process through the context of language as when “in speaking a language we use words and concepts that exist prior to us, but in speaking words we give them life and the language endures” (Latour in Jones 2007, 37). In other words, objects embody the past, evoke the future, and their meaning is derived from and emitted through interaction with individuals.

The object does not, indeed cannot, exist without an interaction with someone. In order to create a sign, which is a physical unit–of–meaning (physical because it is encoded in an action of a sound, a vision, a touch, a smell, a taste) there must be some action of a human being which makes this physical unit into a sign, a unit of social meaning (Taborsky 1990, 53).

We, as individuals, belong to and exist in social groups that are “tentatively temporally and spatially bound within a specific material environment” (Taborsky 1990, 60). As a group, we assign indices to objects because we “share a language and possibly other forms of signification to communicate these behaviours and beliefs” (ibid, 67).

These objects become meaningful units. The power that the object has to trigger remembrance is pertained in the quality of the relationship we establish with it as well as to our social group. This notion of the social group as a pivotal part of remembering stems from the theoretical framework of Maurice Halbwachs. He states that personal memories are upheld by the life support system of the group, the collective entity. Personal and collective memories are therefore interconnected.

To remember, Halbwachs claims that we must situate ourselves within the current of collective thoughts (Halbwachs 1926). Hence, the character of individual recollections are influenced by the social group and triggered by the remains of its material culture. In the scope of the museum, social and cultural context of the group is therefore vital when representing their material culture.

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Embodied interaction in the context of the museum “The acts of remembering and forgetting are performed by material practices, not imprinted in material objects” (Jones 2007, 40–41).

Jones’ statement implies that, firstly, we associate a material object with recollection because it is an instigator for mental activity. However, in most cases, as it is highly unlikely that we would have had prior experiences with the objects exhibited in the museum, we cannot rely on the object’s mnemonic value to trigger memories that we do not possess to forge meaning. Secondly, we must remember that these mnemonic objects are inanimate and cannot speak for themselves.

Memories are not imprinted in the material objects, hence they cannot actively deliver this content.

Museologist Andrea Witcomb explains that, if effectively engaged, “the museum visitor undergoes a change from unknowing to knowing, from partial to holistic comprehension... this requires both imagination and the ability to empathise” (Witcomb 2007, 41). This is an affectual experience of embodied interactivity and it “occurs when physical reaction to an object involves an emotional response that leads to a greater degree of understanding” (ibid). Witcomb, amongst others, agrees that embodied interactivity transpires affect and inspires the visitor to feel a sense of shared relationship between himself and the cultural group that is implied in the exhibition (Hooper–Greenhill 2000; Messham–Muir 2008).

The notion of affect can be explained by referencing my own experience with the object of a set of Estonian playing cards at the “Our New Home” exhibition. This was the catalyst for the development of the “Memories Passed” exhibition. Set inside a glass box, four cards were laid side by side, adorned with images of kings and queens remnant of royals passed from Estonia. While I stood there contemplating the unique design that reminded me of those I have seen in Estonian second hand stores, I also remembered my childhood days with my brother on the living room floor playing childish card games. Despite the cards offering themselves to my own childhood habits as I kick–

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Circulation of Memories started my own memories, they also enabled me to share an intimate understanding with the Estonian man who possessed the same habit but with the cards in this exhibition. This experience was affectual because I could imagine and empathise with the man who had owned the cards. What this means is that an affectual experience need not necessarily cater to all the senses, but as Witcomb denotes, the embodied interactivity and the ultimate emotional reaction is what leads us to a greater degree of engagement.

Meanwhile, theorist Alison Griffiths denotes that “exhibits don’t just deliver content but shape that content into emotional, sensual, and memorable experiences that clearly affect the visitors’ expectations” (Griffiths 2008, 217–218). However, this is assuming that the way in which the exhibition is presented would automatically impel the visitor into a myriad of sensations that trigger emotional responses. As it has been emphasised since the study of new museology in the 1980s, in most cases, objects are glass–boxed, objectified, and barricaded from handling (Ames 1994; Bennett 2005; 2006). As a consequence, our experience remains solely a visual one, thus limiting the possible tactile, auditory, or olfactory experience that we normally expect to have with objects, therefore inhibiting the sensations to be felt.

Another issue that often limits our scope of engagement is the lack of context. This was affirmed in a study conducted at the “Our New Home” exhibition, in which subjects exclaimed that the lack of cultural and social context associated with the objects deterred them from giving themselves more time to contemplate and interpret their meaning. The reason being, as described by Didier Maleuvre, that “detaching works of art from their originating cultural contexts severs their connections with tradition and effective memory. Therefore, deprived of experiential content, the museum objects are mere vessels of dead knowledge, of alienated contemplation... Abstracted from any context, stripped of living history, and shrouded with scholarly history, artifacts lie in the museum as corpses in an ossuary” (Maleuvre in Bennett 2006, 520). These cultural objects are taken into an abstracted environment, linked, and assembled to fit within the spatial confines of white–washed exhibition spaces.

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“Memories Passed” exhibition From this theoretical investigation, the “Memories Passed” exhibition was created with a focus on interaction as an underlying framework for visitors’ experiences, and by making the cultural context more explicit. Visitors were invited to galvanise the personal memories/stories of the four Estonian diasporans by physically handling a replica set of digitally tagged Estonian playing cards, an object perceived as an extension of their personal and collective memories. The stories, recorded as digital audio, along with digitalised archival photographs and video of the Estonian landscape, were projected onto a table top within a darkened room. Each card contained different digital content, segments of the Estonians’ memories. Visitors were invited to pick up these digitally tagged playing cards that were placed along the table and bring them in close contact with the reader at the center so to trigger the audio and visual projection of the associated stories upon the table top.

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Fig. 1: Top view of “Memories Passed”, Kiek in de Kök Museum, Tallinn, Estonia (01.10.2010)

The cultural and social contexts of the installation were made apparent through the continuous video projection of the Estonian landscape, pivotal to the initial point of interpretation. As observed from the “Memories Passed” exhibition, visitors became immersed in

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Fig. 2: “Memories Passed”, Kiek in de Kök Museum, Tallinn, Estonia (01.10.2010)

the war experiences of these Estonians when they began to physically interact with the object in the multi–sensory space. The audio–visual projections stimulated their emotional responses and they became momentarily detached from the current moment and drawn into the space and time as described in the Estonian’s memories. When visitors were questioned about their experience with the exhibition, many gave thorough descriptions of their interpretations, often referring to parallels in their own family history. These responses clearly indicated that an affectual experience had occurred because each visitor was brought into contact with his or her own personal background, thus forging empathy and a deeper emotional understanding with the content of the exhibition.

The “Memories Passed” exhibition thus pushed the conventional display of glass–cased objects, TV–screened interviews, and textual display into a multi–sensory, experiential exhibition with the aim of triggering visitors’ emotional responses. By doing so, it fostered a more intimate engagement between the visitor and the objects and subjects of the exhibition.

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References Ames, M. Cannibal Tours, Glass Boxes and the Politics of Interpretation. In: Interpreting Objects and Collections. Ed. by Susan Pearce. United Kingdom: Routledge, 1994, pp. 98–106.

Bennett, T. Civic laboratories: museums, cultural objecthood and the governance of the social. Cultural Studies. 2005, Vol. 19 (5), pp. 512–547.

Bennett, T. Stored Virtue: Memory Body and the Evolutionary Museum. In: Visual Research Methods: Volume 3. Ed. by Peter Hamilton. London: Sage Publication Limited. 2006, pp. 171–188.

Candlin, F. Museums, Modernity and the Class Politics of Touching Objects. In: Touch in museums: policy and practice in object handling. Ed. by Helen Chatterjee. New York: Berg, 2008, pp 9–20.

Griffiths, A. Shivers Down Your Spine: Cinema, Museums, and the Immersive View. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. 372 p.

Halbwachs, M. The Collective Memory. Trans. F. Ditter. New York: Harper and Row, [1926, 1950] 1980. 186 p.

Hooper–Greenhill, E. Museums and the Interpretation of Culture. London: Routledge, 2000. 195 p.

Hutton, P. History as an Art of Memory. USA: University Press of New England, 1993.

229 p.

Jones, A. Memory and Material Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007.

272 p.

Kavanagh, G. Dream Spaces: Memory and the Museum. London and New York: Leicester University Press, 2000. 200 p.

Messham–Muir, K. Affect, interpretation and technology. Open Museum Journal.

2008, Vol. 7 (The Other Side), pp. 1–13. Available: http://amol.org.au/omj/ journal_index.asp [Accessed 3 March 2008] Otis, L. Organic Memory: History and the Body in the Late Nineteenth & Early Twentieth Centuries. Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 1994. 297 p.

Taborsky, E. The Discursive Object. In: Objects of Knowledge. Ed. by Susan Pearce.

London: The Athlone Press Ltd, 1990, pp. 50–77.

Witcomb, A. The Materiality of Virtual Technologies: A New Approach to Thinking about the Impact of Multimedia in Museums. In: Theorising Digital Cultural Heritage. Ed. by Fiona Cameron and Sarah Kenderdine. Massachusetts: MIT press, 2007, pp. 35–48.

Yates, F. A. The Art of Memory. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966. 400 p.

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Anu Korb Narrated Personal Histories and Their Rendition and Interpretations 345 Background At the end of 2010, the book Siberi eestlaste elud ja lood (The Lives and Stories of Estonians in Siberia) compiled by the author was published in the series Eesti asundused (Estonian Settlements). The first four volumes of the series, published between 1995 and 1999, discussed the folklore of Estonians living in different regions in Siberia.

The 2010 book, however, focuses on personal narratives rather than on folklore texts. The personal narratives were collected by myself, occasionally with an assistant, in the period from 2003 to 2009.

Authors of these narratives were born in Siberia and had repatriated to Estonia during or after the Second World War. Their ancestors had arrived in Siberia a century or more before, either as a result of voluntary or forced migration (e. g. as a deportee or a prisoner of war after the capitulation of Estonia and its integration into the Russian Empire in 1710).

Circulation of Memories When interviewing the Estonians who have returned from Siberia and popularizing the material collected from the Siberian villages (e. g. compiling popular scientific publications, holding lectures, and organizing thematic events), I realized that Estonians at home know very little about the history of Siberia’s Estonians – they either automatically view them as staunch supporters of the Soviet regime or narrowly identify the Estonians in Siberia as those deported from Estonia in the 1940s (Korb 2002, 150–151). My recent contacts with Estonians abroad confirm the same misconception – Siberia’s Estonians were directly associated with Estonian deportees to Siberia in the 1940s.

Recording personal and family narratives, their significance for the ingroup, and the researcher’s role The 1970s saw a convergence of the humanities and the social sciences, having brought closer together oral history, narratological research, and the biographical method. In the 1990s, this method of research emerged in Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania (Jaago & Kõresaar 2009, 10). The social historian Raphael Samuel believes that history is developed through collective activities, practices, and ideas. The Estonian researcher of oral history Ene Kõresaar (2005, 21) emphasizes the public role of memoirs and life stories in the period following the restoration of independence in Estonia in 1990. A collective narrative had to be constructed for both the generations to come and for Estonians abroad, as their experience differed considerably from that of Estonians in the homeland. Memoirs that have been published in large numbers in Estonia over the past few decades serve as if to balance the silent era in–between. The Estonians who fled to the Western countries identified themselves as collectively sharing the same destiny from the very beginning, their stories attracted media attention, they celebrated anniversaries of their departure from the homeland and other important community events (Kirss 2006, 626–627, 632). After the annexation of Estonia, the repatriated Estonians, descendants of the one–time emigrants, found themselves without any outside

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Circulation of Memories support. Of course, they made little effort to overcome the reciprocal misunderstanding: having often sensed the rejection by Estonians in the homeland, they preferred to keep information about their background to themselves in order to avoid being stigmatized. Family and village histories were usually told inside the tradition group.

The Estonian researcher Aili Aarelaid–Tart (2009, 172, 179) argues that as a result of major political turmoil, the accentuation of the events of the past is carried out on the national level; rules are applied to what needs to be forgotten. After the restoration of the Republic of Estonia, Siberia’s Estonians felt that their collective history deserved rehabilitation as well. They acknowledged the need to make these memories publicly known, but there were few among them who would have been prepared to record the stories; however, many were willing to recount the stories to the researcher.

The Estonians who had been born in Siberia found in me a confidante, a listener, and someone to record and thus perpetuate their tales. From the viewpoint of oral narrative history, personal contact with the informants and their living environment is considered one of the major advantages of interviewing (Pöysä 2009, 43). By the time I started collecting personal narratives for the book, I had been carrying out fieldwork in several Estonian settlements in Siberia for over a decade and had visited the villages where my informants had been born or used to live before returning to Estonia. The first contacts with repatriated Estonians were mediated by their relatives in Siberia. My previous fieldwork experience in Siberia proved immensely helpful in establishing mutual trust. The number of informants escalated, creating a positive snowball effect through social networking. I collected the stories, guiding the interview with open–ended questions and focusing on the following keywords: the ancestors’ journey to Siberia, settling in Siberia, the Russian Civil War, forced collectivization, repressions, the Second World War, the post–war period, repatriation to Estonia, and settling there. My interviews and inquiries stretched over the life cycles of several generations, from the emigration of ancestors to the return and resettling in Estonia. Therefore, next to mediating one’s memories about their life in Siberia, the informants also shared memories about the ruminations of their parents, grandparents, or other villagers. The narratives thus reach much further into

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Circulation of Memories the past than a traditional autobiography would, informing also about the context and journey of the ancestors’ emigration to Siberia. Since agrarian emigrants in their relatively isolated settlements are known to be able to preserve oral heritage and traditions for longer than the inhabitants of the motherland, who tend to be more willing to welcome innovation, my informants also offered detailed ethnographic descriptions about cultivating practices, tar production, building turf houses, popular treatment of diseases, etc. Detours into political history belong to the sphere of micro–history: the informants envisaged dramatic scenes of the terror of the Red and White Armies during the Russian Civil War, told about humorous episodes about the establishment of communes and their rapid downfall, recalled the establishment of collective farms and forced collectivization, and the major Stalinist repressions against ethnic minorities in the second half of the 1930s.

The sociologist Matti Hyvärinen (2006) notes that narratives enable us to understand and control the past, share experiences, establish trusting relationships, and achieve ingroup solidarity. Narratives also reflect people’s moral disposition towards the world. A memoir can be viewed as a process, in the course of which a group’s history is being reconstructed (Peltonen 1996, 27). During narration, the temporal distance from actual and/or experienced events generally contributes to the story’s informative value (see Kirss 2006, 633). Narrative history allows us to analyze stories, which, though based on real life events, are told using the narratological techniques of folk tradition. The narratives are not just about recounting the events – instead, the story evolves over time, incorporating elements heard from others or read about, and is prone to changing in the future. The greatest value of these tales lies in the conveyed emotions and evaluations.

This is why oral sources tell us not just what people did, but what they believed they were doing (Portelli 1991, 50) and also how the narrator understands and interprets the events. Alessandro Portelli (2006, 50–53) points out that in the study of oral sources, the transcription of sound–recorded material is not enough: the tone, volume range, rhythm, pauses, etc. carry implicit meaning and connotations. I agree that oral texts differ from written ones to a substantial degree. At the same time, unedited transcriptions are difficult to read, and it is

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Circulation of Memories impossible to render all the nuances of oral speech in writing. While for academic articles and studies I prefer to transcribe oral sources in a form as close to the original as possible, unedited transcriptions would not be suitable for a popular edition. In addition, seeing the literal transcription of recorded material in writing may negatively surprise the sources of information or informants – they may be embarrassed about their use of discursive fillers, repetitions, etc. Not all people are naturally gifted storytellers – even so, they may be well informed and make shrewd observations and it is therefore not practical to reject them as informants. As far as senior Estonians in Siberia are concerned, it is important to remember that they often use the colloquial language acquired in Siberian villages, which differs considerably from modern Estonian literary language. While it usually poses no problems in everyday communication, seeing one’s narration in print may come as an unpleasant surprise to the informant.

One of the most complicated things when putting a book together is making a selection from many good stories. A researcher/ book editor has a decisive role in choosing what he or she thinks people wish to read. My aim was to assemble a collection of stories that would also be an interesting read for people who have had no direct contact with Siberia. I employed the memories of Siberia’s Estonians to present as versatile a picture of several generations of Siberians as possible, illustrating the text with ethnographic descriptions, popular healing methods, etc. and did my best to avoid overusing statistics and names.

The result, of course, has inevitably been influenced by the compiler’s personal relations with subjects of the book and many other factors.

Another important consideration was that the informants would acknowledge the compiler’s selection (see Portelli 2006, 61).

For reasons of readability I edited the transcribed texts to sound more like literary Estonian, while trying to preserve the more characteristic features of the language used by speakers who have grown up in a foreign country. In addition to oral interviews, I also made use of a few recollections written down by Siberia’s Estonians – texts that I had asked them to put down, not previously existing texts. Satu Apo (1993) has introduced the concept of thematic writing. Thematicity indicates that the theme of writing is always limited to a certain extent (Pöysä 2009, 41). But then interviews also concentrate on a particular

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Circulation of Memories topic. The difference lies in that during writing the informants are on their own and can deviate from the discussed topic more freely. It seems to me that the meaning of a conveyed message is not dependent on whether the narrative is presented in oral or written form. Oral performance likewise relies on collective communal memory, often drawing from personal documents, photographs of family members and village life. Portelli argues that oral narrative tradition itself is a way of expression that has developed under the influence of other oral and written genres; here the narrators and the researcher employ the topics and forms offered by personal experience narratives, folklore, and media (Portelli 1991). All the sound recordings made during the fieldwork are preserved for possible future reference, as has been a general practice at the Estonian Folklore Archives.

I asked the authors/informants of the stories to review the edited transcripts. Some of them had such trust in me that they did not find it necessary. Those who expressed a wish to read their story before publication were given an opportunity to correct factual errors and minor inaccuracies made during narration. My editorial interventions into the stories were often quite extensive: I corrected wording, made cuts and transpositions in the narrated texts. Perhaps the greatest recognition to my editing came from the Estonians in Siberia themselves, who unanimously agreed that this is exactly how they talk. They perceived the edited text as their own. The few differences in the opinions of the community members stemmed mostly from facts that remain irrelevant for outgroup readers (for instance, whether the house depicted on a photograph belongs to the father or the son). The Estonians in Siberia were sincerely happy about the publication of the book and regarded it as the history of their community.

Stories about Siberia for the outgroup audience The book about the lives and stories of Estonians in Siberia also attracted the interest of an outgroup audience, offering them a chance to look in retrospect at the politically and economically difficult times from the perspective of Estonians in Siberia and perhaps to better

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Circulation of Memories understand those Estonians in Siberia who decided to return to Estonia. The book was also promoted by the historian Hillar Palamets, who introduced the life of Estonians in Siberia in four programmes on the Radio 2 series Ajalootund (The History Hour). Palamets used a selection of my book’s texts to illustrate the key historical events (resettlement in the second half of the 19th century, Bolshevik rule, the Russian Civil War, repressions, the Second World War), and though he informed me of his plans in advance, the final choice of texts for the radio programme remained his. This way, fragments of the book’s stories were broadcast in a very enjoyable, folk–like manner. The Estonians born in Siberia listened to these programmes as part of their community story, while for the outgroup listeners the narratives represented a segment of Estonian history.

The Estonians living in Toronto, Canada (whose population according to the 2006 census exceeds 10,000) heard about the book on the lives and histories of Estonians in Siberia during the thematic introduction week in autumn 2011. The theme week was initiated by Piret Noorhani, who runs the Baltic Heritage Network and is currently the chief archivist at Tartu College in Toronto, and the event was financed by culture foundations in Canada and Estonia. In Toronto we set up the exhibition “Siberian Estonians”, organized jointly by the Estonian Literary Museum and the Estonian Academy of Arts, I gave lectures on Estonians in Siberia, and we showed the documentary Võera maade sees (In foreign lands)

by Andres Korjus. The documentary was shot during several expeditions to Siberia and carried out by the Estonian Folklore Archives. Of course, Estonians in Canada, like Estonians elsewhere, lacked any background information about Estonians in Siberia. When advertising the opening of our exhibition in the local newspaper, I tried to find some points of convergence between Estonians in Siberia and those in Canada: for example, as in Siberia, the first Estonian settlers in Canada were farmers looking for a piece of land and an easier life, which they eventually found in southern Alberta (Freedom... 2010, 14–38). The first Estonian communities in Canada were small and not sustainable. Only after the next waves of migration following the Second World War did the Estonian immigrant population in Canada start to grow and has increasingly continued to do so before and after the restoration of the independent Republic of Estonia (Mürk 2010, 342–343). I tried to complement the

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Circulation of Memories exhibition texts from the viewpoint of Estonians in Canada, who had largely expected the exhibition to discuss the story of mass deportations of Estonians to Siberia. Some were disappointed to see that it was mostly about the descendants of emigrants who had left for Siberia in search of land of their own. Others expressed doubt whether the exhibition, which did not primarily tell about the Estonians’ suffering of hardships, would be even interesting for Estonians in Toronto. This is where my book on the lives and stories of Estonians in Siberia came in handy, as the stories of Estonians in Siberia nicely reflect the “passion narrative” of the Estonians who migrated to Siberia. Piret Noorhani, who has not researched Siberia’s Estonians herself, staged four stories in the book as a play for the Toronto Estonian drama group Ilutuli, complementing some of these stories with fragments borrowed from other stories in the book. I helped by choosing suitable songs and song fragments to serve as transitions from one story to another from the Songs of Siberian Estonians CD (2005). Staging a poetic story about a community’s past for the purpose of introducing the tradition and history for both the ingroup and the outgroup audience is a fairly common practice (see, e. g., Gale Carpenter 2011, 35). Community history was sometimes staged even at the folklore festivals of the Soviet period, although in a very modest form, for the purpose of strengthening national identity. The initiators were often active members of the community, but sometimes also from outside the group, for example, cultural activists. Estonians in Canada, however, had to adapt to completely unknown material. One of the actresses in the play was Ellen, who was born in Canada and had never studied Russian, but her text happened to contain a particularly large number of Russian words and place names. Ellen had to learn to pronounce the words, one by one, and did a brilliant job on the stage.

For the sake of the audience, the Russian words in the stories were translated into Estonian. For the actors of the Ilutuli drama group – Ellen Valter, Eda Oja, Merli Tamtik, and Eerik Purje – it was a stage act, a play.

Even so, they appeared emotionally absorbed in the stories of Siberian Estonians. The lighting designer and sound mixers did a great job and the audience was captivated.

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Conclusion The stories of Siberia are naturally regarded quite differently by members of Siberian communities and people outside the tradition group. For Siberian Estonians, a story, whether perpetuated in print or staged as a live performance, may represent the history of their family, their village, or more generally, the past of Estonians in Siberia.

For outsiders, it is more of an opportunity to peek into an unknown world. This inspires us to ask – to what degree are the stories changed by whether they are mediated by members of the ingroup or the outgroup? The number of mediators is always limited and frequently the opinions of members of the same tradition group may diverge considerably. Through emotional narration, staging the stories as a play, or retold in a radio programme, the information is probably more effectively conveyed, while the performance context inevitably changes.

Also, in published form the narrative texts are not final but are open to new interpretations.

I believe that the book served its purpose of crumbling the stereotypical view of a Russian–born Estonian, generally held by Estonians in the homeland, as a force sent to establish the new order in Estonia after the war. At the same time, it broadened the worldview of Estonians both at home and abroad, allowing them to delve into the lives of those who possibly suffered even more under Soviet rule. Members of the Estonian diaspora in the Western countries are perhaps not very different from Estonians living in the East – after all, they both share the universal experience of living outside their homeland.

This Article is supported by the Estonian Science Foundation (grant no 9066), the project “Ethnic and National in Estonian Diaspora Communities”, and by project No. SF0030180s08 “Folklore and Folklore Collections in Cultural Changes: Ideologies, Adaptation and Application Context”.

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Apo, S. Kirjoittavat kertojat. Teemakirjoittaminen – folkloristiikan “näkymätön” ainestonhankintamenetelmä. Elias. 1993, Vol. 4, pp. 12–15.

Freedom, Land, & Legacy. Alberta’s Estonians 1899–2009. Ed. by Dave Kiil and Eda McClung. Edmonton: Alberta Estonian Heritage Society, 2010. 298 p.

Gale Carpenter, I. Staged History in a Siberian Village. In: Oral History: Migration and Local Identities. Online proceedings of papers presented at the Conference at the University of Latvia in Riga, June 27–29, 2008. Ed. by Ieva Garda Rozenberga and Mara Zirnite. Riga: Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, 2011, pp. 34–54.

Hyvärinen, M. Kerronnallinen tutkimus. In: Matti Hyvärinen blog, 2006. Available: www.hyvarinen.info [Accessed 24 March 2007].

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Kirss, T. Rändlindude pesad. Eestlaste elulood võõrsil. Tartu: Eesti Kirjandusmuuseum, Toronto Ülikooli Eesti õppetool, 2006. 686 lk.

Korb, A. Eestlastest Vene Föderatsioonis 1990. aastail. Krimmi kogumik. Konverentsi “140 aastat eestlust Krimmis”ettekanded (09.–10.09.2001). Toim, koost: Viikberg, Jüri. Tallinn: Eesti Keele Sihtasutus, 2002, lk. 150–164.

Kõresaar, E. Elu ideoloogiad. Kollektiivne mälu ja autobiograafiline minevikutõlgendus eestlaste elulugudes. Eesti Rahva Muuseumi sari 6. Tartu: Eesti Rahva Muuseum, 2005. 240 lk.

Mürk, H. W. Eesti keel, ei! Ehk eesti keel ja meel Kanadas. Eestlased ja eesti keel välismaal. Toim, koost: Praakli, Kristiina, Viikberg, Jüri. Tallinn: Eesti Keele Sihtasutus, 2010, lk. 341–360.

Peltonen, U.–M. Punakapinan muistot: Tutkimus työväen muistelukerronan muotoutumisesta vuoden 1918 jälkeen. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seuran, Toimituksia 657. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 1996, 443 p.

Portelli, A. The Death of Luigi Trastulli and Other Stories: Form and Meaning in Oral History. Albany (New York): State University of New York Press, 1991. 341 p.

Portelli, A. Mikä tekee muistitiedotutkimuksesta erityisen? Muistitiedotutkimus.

Metodologisia kysymyksia. Toim: Outi Fingerroos, Riina Haanpää, Anne Heimo, Ulla–Maija Peltonen. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 2006, pp.

49–64.

Pöysä, J. Kogumisvõistlused pärimusliku ajaloo uurimises. Mäetagused. 2009, Vol. 43, pp. 39–58.

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Māra Zirnīte

Dzīvesstāstu interviju un ekspedīciju pieredze Nacionālās mutvārdu vēstures pētījuma 20 gados 355 Jau daudzus gadsimtus Hamlets atgādina, ka cilvēku nevar atraisīt atklātībai, nepārvaldot prasmes, – cik nepieciešamas, lai izvilinātu skaņas no stabules.

Sākumā gribu uzsvērt, ka dzīvesstāstu intervijas nav uzlūkojamas par jautājumu un atbilžu apmaiņu, tās var salīdzināt ar attiecībām, kas veidojas starp cilvēkiem kopīgi piedzīvotā notikumā.

Aplūkošu, kā Nacionālās mutvārdu vēstures (NMV) pētījuma 20 gadu gaitā veidojusies izpratne par intervijām un intervēšanu, par dzīvesstāstu ekspedīcijām, kas tajās iegūts un kā gūtais kļūst par avotu pētījumiem ar atgriezenisku saiti sabiedrībā. Iesākšu ar individuālo pieredzi, kas raisījās dialogā ar vecāko paaudzi lībiešu krastā un vēlāk pārnesta uz pieeju intervēšanā NMV pētījumā.

Pagājušā gadsimta 80. gados savai mūža robežai strauji tuvojās paaudze, kas dzimusi un augusi gadsimta sākumā savās lībiešu mājās.

Circulation of Memories Nonākot pie trim vadošajiem teicējiem, kuri bija palikuši pēdējie ne tikai savā ciemā, bet arī visā lībiešu valodas Rietumu dialekta apkaimē, bīstami skaidri iezīmējās robeža, aiz kuras kādai kultūrai vairs nebija turpinājuma. Cilvēka dzīves gājumu ietvēra dinamisks process, kas izraisījis skaitliski nelielās etniskās savdabības nivelēšanos un saplūšanu ar blakus esošo, šajā gadījumā latvisko kultūru. Bez politiskām un sociālām pārmaiņām, kas atstāja savu iespaidu uz cilvēku dzīvi visā Latvijā, krasta ļaudīm nācās agrāk kā citviet pieredzēt ciematu izzušanu, kaimiņu aizbraukšanu, dzimtās valodas un kultūras izsīkumu.

Militarizētā pierobežas zona ziemeļrietumu Latvijā izolēja vecos cilvēkus no mazbērniem un bērniem, kam nācās meklēt darbu ārpusē.

Bijušo lībiešu zvejniekciemu teritoriju iezīmēja ekoloģisko, sociālo un politisko problēmu koncentrācija: no vienas puses – Slīteres dabas rezervāta saudzētā daba, retu augu un dzīvnieku bagātība, no otras puses – militāro objektu koncentrācija, stingra pierobežas kontrole un darba trūkums vietējiem iedzīvotājiem.

Regulārās intervijas turpinājās līdz pat pēdējās stāstītājas aiziešanai no dzimtā ciema un pēc tam – mūžībā. Pētnieku klātbūtni vecie ļaudis uztvēra kā pašu par sevi saprotamu uzmanību viņu acu priekšā izzūdošā ciema vēturei. Mūsu – vērotāju un taujātāju izpratni tagad var raksturot kā citas pasaules atklāsmi un pakāpenisku tuvošanos tai, līdz varēja uztvert atmiņu sazarotās plūsmas, katras mājas savrupo dzīves kārtību, gadalaiku maiņai atbilstošo darbu soli. Periodiska atgriešanās tuvināja, cilvēki pierada un uzticējās, atklājās personīgie pārdzīvojumi, savstarpējās sadzīvošanas paradumi, attieksme pret ārējiem apstākļiem, apkārtējo vidi un savām vecumdienām.

Nepiespiestās, brīvās attiecības, kas radās starp pētnieku un teicēju, ļāva risināt sarunas, vadoties no iespējām (laika resursiem, dabas apstākļiem, neatliekamiem lauku darbiem). Līdztekus varējām piedalīties darbos un veco cilvēku dzīvē, vērot, censties saprast visu, kas bija svarīgs viņiem. Nereti ļāvāmies brīvam sarunas plūdumam, jo tajā pavērās aizvien jaunas līnijas, un, ja arī kaut kas atkārtojās, nāca klāt detaļas un negaidītas nianses. Savstarpēja cieņa un uzticēšanās veidoja pieeju, kas tuva Hansa Georga Gadamera (Hans–Georg Gadamer) atziņai par to, ka kvalitatīvajos pētījumos svarīgāk par metodiku ir psiholoģiskais takts (Gadamers 1999, 21). Turklāt mērķis nav

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Circulation of Memories tikai gūt zināšanas, bet gan pats cilvēks, personības atklāsme un vēstījums kā pašvērtība.

Rezultātā, vēl un vēlreiz atgriežoties un turpinot mantotās lībiskās kultūras nesēju intervēšanu, ir radies apjomīgs tekstu kopums, fotogrāfiju un video ierakstu kolekcija, kas izmantojama kā avots pētījumiem par skaitliski nelielās kultūras noturību uz izzušanas sliekšņa, par lībiskās un latviskās kultūras saplūsmi un mijiedarbību.

Tikai paejot laikam, kas ļāvis distancēties no emocionāli piesātinātās pieredzes, var īsti saprast, kas toreiz ticis piedzīvots un kā intervijas lībiešu krastā kalpojušas par pamatu MV un dzīvesstāstu pētnieciskās pieejas attītībai. Pētījuma pirmā fāze – materiālu vākšana apvienoja gan ekspedīcijas, lauka pētījuma, gan ietvertās novērošanas pazīmes, kurās pats galvenais ir klātbūtne cita dzīvē, savstarpēja uzticēšanās, draudzīgas sarunas, līdztekus ar uzmanīgu klausīšanos, vērīgu informācijas uztveri un atgriezeniskās saites veidošana sadarbības rezultātu publikācijās (Zirnīte 2011).

Dzīvesstāstu ekspedīcijas – NMV pētījuma mugurkauls Kā intervijās, tā ekspedīcijās ir svarīgi apzināties pakāpenību: pirmām kārtām, šķērsojot robežu, lai iekļūtu otra citādajā dzīves telpā; pēc tam iedzīvošanās, kad svešais kļūst par savējo, un beidzamais, distancēšanās posms – atvadīšanās pēc kopīgi piedzīvotās pieredzes.

Jo spilgti tas parādās ekspedīcijās, kad pētnieks tiek norūdīts, vispirms pārvarot svešas vietas pretestību, pēc tam noteiktu laiku uztverot atšķirīgos dzīvesstāstus, lai no tiem iegūtu citu saprašanu.

Dialogs tad kļūst par ekspedīcijas neatņemamu sastāvdaļu. Vispirms tiek uzsākts dialogs ar vietējiem ekspertiem, novada pazinējiem, tad ar sarunas partneri un vēlāk ar pētnieku grupas dalībniekiem, rezumējot gūtos iespaidus katras dienas beigās, kā arī noslēguma dialogs ar vietējo sabiedrību ekspedīcijas pārskata sarīkojumā.

Sabiedrības atsaucība bija viens no spēcīgākajiem argumentiem, lai pieteiktu pētījumu zinātniskā granta atbalstam 1992. gadā. Pārliecināja

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Circulation of Memories Latvijas Kultūras fonda Cilvēkarhīva veidošanā uzkrātā pieredze, arī interese no latviešiem Anglijā, ASV un Kanādā. Toreiz, 1990. gadā, vēl neatkarības atjaunošanas priekšnojautās latvieši ārzemēs bija tikpat liela saviļņojuma varā, kā mēs – dzimtenē. Katrs vēlējās sniegt savu ieguldījumu Latvijas atbrīvošanā no ilgstošās izolācijas, ikviens vēlējās būt līdzdalīgs un apliecināt piederību savai un senču dzimtenei. Profesionālu un praktisku palīdzību sniedza daudzi latvieši, starp pirmajiem jāmin Inese Auziņa–Smita, Latviešu dokumentācijas centra vadītāja Lielbritānijā, un Marija Ķeņģe–Ozoliņa, ilggadējā Daugavas Vanadžu priekšsēde Anglijā. Savukārt Latvijā mutvārdu vēstures pētījumus toreiz jau bija sākušas divas pētnieces no Anglijas: Vieda Skultāne (Skultans 1998), lektore Bristoles Universitātē, un Anita Timane, profesora Pola Tompsona studente Eseksas Universitātes maģistra studiju programmā. Abas vēlāk nepārtraukti līdzdarbojušās un sekmējušas NMV pētījuma zinātnisko attīstību.

Ieinteresēti sabiedrotie atsaucās arī latviešu centros ASV un Kanādā, sniedzot pārliecinošu atbalstu dzīvesstāstu intervēšanā.

Nepārejoša loma pētījuma attīstībā bijusi Latvijas Kultūras fonda Sirakūzu atbalsta kopai ar Maiju Hinkli priekšgalā. Pēc sadarbības mutvārdu vēstures ievirzē 3 × 3 nometnē Katskiļos noskaidrojās, ka daudzi latvieši no Ziemeļamerikas vēlas piedalīties un sekmēt atmiņu krājuma veidošanu. Starp Latvijā tobrīd tik vajadzīgiem profesionāliem padomdevējiem atsaucās psiholoģijas profesore Solveiga Miezīte no Toronto Universitātes un viņas studente, doktorante Sandra Sebre (Sebre 1998, 131; 2001, 208), tagad pasniedzēja Latvijas Universitātē; folkloristi Guntis Šmidchens un Aija Beldava, nedaudz vēlāk, toties jo cieši piepulcējās arī folkloras pētnieces Inta Gāle–Kārpentere (Gāle– Kārpentere 1994, 19; 2001, 162) un Ilze Akerberga, Indiānas Universitāte Blūmingtonā.

No ASV un Kanādas 1990. gadu sākumā pārvedu 20 ieskaņotas intervijas un apmēram tikpat daudz no latviešiem Anglijā. Tas bija pirmais latviešu sniegts vēstījums par savu dzīvi, ko uzklausīju un ieskaņoju ārvalstīs. Viss toreiz notika intensīvi un emocionālā spriedzē, bet tieši šī pieredze radīja skaidru priekšstatu gan par cilvēku atsaucību, gan par divu un mazliet vairāk stundu garas sarunas ietilpību. Daudzas no šīm intervijām otrreiz vairs nebija atkārtojamas. Latvieši, kas mani

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Circulation of Memories ar savu auto veda no viena stāstītāja pie otra, savā starpā saskaņojot brīvos brīžus, mainījās, bet nemainījās pārliecība par intervēšanas nepieciešamību. Lietišķs mērķis, guvis vispārēju sapratni un atbalstu, saliedēja iepriekš nepazītus cilvēkus un nostiprināja paļāvību vienam uz otru. Uzticēšanās gaisotnē risinājās sarunas ar latviešiem, noārdot laika un attāluma robežas. Pēc pašsaprotamā atbalsta, ko biju guvusi no vecajiem ļaudīm lībiešu krastā, ieklausījos latviešos, kas bija dzīvojuši ilgstoši šķirti no dzimtenes (Zirnīte 1995, 43). Tas mudināja dzīvesstāstu intervijas turpināt.

Liels solis NMV pētījuma attīstībā bija apvienotās ekspedīcijas Latvijā, kurās piedalījās talcinieki – brīvprātīgie intervētāji arī no ārzemēm. Ja atceramies, cik skopi Latvijā 90. gados tika finansēta zinātne, var saprast, kādu pavērsienu NMV krājuma tapšanā ienesa Amerikas Latviešu fonda septiņu gadu noturīgs atbalsts. To nodrošināja Maijas Hinkles sagatavotie projekti. Pateicoties sabiedrības līdzdalībai, pirmie NMV pētījuma darba gadi saistīti ar lielu emocionālu pacēlumu pēc nosacītās atkalredzēšanās ar otru 50 gadus neredzēto un nepazīto tautas daļu. Pētījums balstījās zinātniskā vadītāja ētikas speciālista Augusta Milta izstrādātajā pieejā cilvēka unikalitātei un vērtību sistēmas skatījumam dzīvesstāstu vēstījumos. Sekojot etnogrāfu un folkloras pētnieku paraugam, priekšroka tika dota vecākās paaudzes uzklausīšanai, kas paplašina dzīvesstāstos aizsniedzamā laika robežas. Tagad septiņas vērienīgās ekspedīcijas kļuvušas par vēsturi, kas papildināja krājumu ar septiņām apjomīgām kolekcijām (vairāk nekā 100 ierakstu katrā). Krājums ieguva plašāku teritoriālo pārstāvniecību un ar savu pirmo ierakstu tūkstoti jau varēja piedāvāt ieskatu dažādos dzīvesgājumos gan no visiem Latvijas kultūrvēsturiskajiem novadiem, gan no ārzemēm. Apvienoto ekspedīciju rezultātā tika nostiprināta sadarbība ar sabiedrību, kas sekmēja jaunu pētniecisku virzienu un atzarojumu attīstību.

Starp apvienoto ekspedīciju rezultātiem var minēt: •

Nostiprinājušies personīgie kontakti ar sabiedriskajiem intervētājiem un profesionāliem pētniekiem no ASV, Kanādas, Zviedrijas, Norvēģijas;

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Profesionāli sagatavoti vairāk nekā 60 talcinieki no Latvijas un ārzemēm, kuri patstāvīgi ieskaņo dzīvesstāstu intervijas savās mājvietās un mītnes zemēs;

•

Maijas Hinkles (Hinkle 2007) vadībā ar Amerikas latviešu apvienības atbalstu un sabiedrisko intervētāju spēkiem ieskaņotas vairāk nekā 500 dzīvesstāstu intervijas ASV un Kanādā;

•

Dzīvesstāstu pētījumos gūtā pieredze rosinājusi Maiju Hinkli veidot patstāvīgu muzeju un pētniecības centru Latvieši – pasaulē;

•

Pieredzi apvienoto ekspedīciju rīkošanā profesores Janīnas Kursītes vadībā pārņēmuši Latvijas Universitātes folkloras specialitātes studenti.

Izpratne par dzīvesstāstu intervijām un intervēšanu nostiprina ne tikai prasmi klausīties un iejusties otra stāstā, bet arī attīsta toleranci, cieņu pret otra citādo dzīvesveidu un uzskatiem. Tas ir guvums ar plašāku nozīmi personības tapšanā.

Intervijā personiskais nav atdalāms no sabiedriskā – katra personīgā dzīve gan tieši, gan kontekstuāli ierakstās sociālajā vidē. Ekspedīcijās gūtais ir ne tikai interviju teksti, bet arī pētnieku personīgie iespaidi, ar vērojumiem–salīdzinājumiem un pretstatījumiem, ar iesaistītu līdzdalību. Ekspedīciju prakse ļauj pieredzēt ģeogrāfiskās vietas, sociālās un kultūras vides atšķirības, pārvarēt sistēmas aklumu, sociālo nošķirtību, attīsta empātiju.

Avoti pētījumiem ar atgriezenisku saiti sabiedrībā Intensīvais ekspedīciju darbs 90. gados un šī gadsimta sākumā licis pamatu NMV krājuma saturam, ko ietekmējis gan interviju tapšanas laiks, gan intervētāja personība, motivācija un priekšvēsture. Krājums kārtots hronoloģiskā intervēšanas un avotu pievienošanas secībā – no pirmsatmodas intervijām, kurās nereti pirmoreiz tiek izteikts iepriekš noklusētais, caur Atmodas laika notikumiem līdz šai dienai.

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Circulation of Memories Brīvas, atvērtas intervijas nav pakļautas tematiskam ierobežojumam, tajās stāstītājam ļauts izvēlēties, ko un kā izpaust atmiņu stāstā. Pavērt dažādas sociālās, etniskās un vēsturiskās pieredzes palīdz sabiedrības iesaiste – sadarbība ar latviešiem ārzemēs; ar skolēniem etnisko minoritāšu skolās; ar augstskolu studentiem un pasniedzējiem; ar sabiedrību Latvijas novados; ar citzemju pētniekiem un Latvijas vēsturiskās pieredzes lieciniekiem citās tautās. Intervijas iesniedzas personīgās dzīves teritorijā un iespējamas tikai, ja interese ir abpusēja – kā no stāstītāja, tā klausītāja puses. Katra intervija un krājums kopumā ir tapis dialogā. Vienošanos par stāsta iekļaušanu NMV krājumā autors un intervētājs ar savu parakstu apliecina intervijas nobeigumā.

Apvienotajās ekspedīcijās Dagdā, Kuldīgā, Neretā, Viesītē, Jēkabpilī, Liepājā un Daugavpilī piedalījušies vietējo skolu audzēkņi, studenti, topošie speciālisti: gan tie, kuri vēlas paplašināt savu redzesloku, gan tie, kuri iecerējuši apgūt Latvijā relatīvi jauno kvalitatīvās pētniecības metodi sociālo vai humanitāro zinātņu nozarēs. Ekspedīcijās nostiprinātās intervētāju prasmes tiek turpinātas dzīvesvietās vai interešu grupās un reizēm atgriežas kā jauns avots NMV krājumā.

Nozīmīgs pienesums NMV krājumam ir individuālo pētnieku Viedas Skultānes, Solveigas Miezītes, Anitas Timanes, Ilzes Raudsepas dzīvesstāstu kolekcijas. Vēlos pieminēt atsaucīgo, vienmēr dzīvesprieka un humora pilno Dagmāru Vallenu, kas šovasar aizgāja mūžībā.

Viņas piemiņa saglabāta intervijās, kas ieskaņotas radio Brīvā Eiropa reportieres darba gados un veido atsevišķu kolekciju NMV krājumā.

Vērtīgs pienesums bijis pasniedzējas Rūtas Šēnbergas vadītās LU Bibliotēku zinātnes un informācijas specialitātes studentu prakses intervijas, folkloristikas specialitātes studentu ekspedīciju materiāli, Ukraiņu vidusskolas audzēkņu intervijas, kas tapušas saskaņā ar projektu Integrācijas prakses mutvārdu vēsturē: sociālās zinības skolā.

Apvienoto ekspedīciju rezultātiem jāpieskaita pirmā Latvijā mutvārdu vēsturē aizstāvētā doktora disertācija – Baibas Belas ikdienas dzīves pētījums vienā ar talcinieku līdzdalību ieskaņotā kolekcijā – dzīvesstāstos no Vadakstes. Intervijas un ekspedīciju pieredze Latvijā izmantotas pētījumos, ar kuriem vairāki ārzemju studenti: Māra Lazda, Irēna Elksne, Ilze Akerberga, Jānis Čakars aizstāvējuši doktora grādu ASV. Avotus no ekspedīcijām smēlušies arī jaunie filoloģijas

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Circulation of Memories zinātņu doktori: Ieva Garda–Rozenberga, Sanita Reinsone, Sandis Laime, Aigars Lielbārdis, doktoranti Maija Krūmiņa, Maruta Pranka, Edmunds Šūpulis.

Ekspedīcijās piedzīvoto aizvien no jauna atmodina avoti NMV krājumā. No dzīves iegūtie stāsti veido NMV pētniecisko pieeju jeb metodi, kas tiek izstrādāta, vadoties no paša pieredzētā un apzinātā, dialogā ar citu pētnieku atziņām un starptautisko zinātnisko vidi.

Ekspedīciju vākums ir ņemts par pamatu pētījumiem, iekļauts publikācijās un grāmatās (Zirnīte, Bela–Krūmiņa 2000, 123; Bela 2010). Jo tuvāk pētnieks piekļūst dzīves tiešamībai, jo spēcīgāka ir atgriezeniskā saite, kas stiprina pārmantojamās vēstures apziņu sabiedrībā. Ar pētnieka līdzdalību intervijas kā spogulis atgriežas dzīvē, no kurienes tās ņemtas, tādējādi pildot savu nacionālo uzdevumu.

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Vēres www.dzivesstasts.lv Dzīvesstāsti: vēsture, kultūra, sabiedrība. Sast. Māra Zirnīte. Rīga: Latvijas Universitātes Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācija “Dzīvesstāsts”, 2007. 357 lpp.

Gadamers, H. G. Patiesība un metode. Rīga: Jumava, 1999. 508 lpp.

Gāle–Kārpentere, I. Mutvārdu intervija: teorija un prakse. No: Spogulis. Latvijas mutvārdu vēsture. Sast. Māra Zirnīte. Rīga: Latvijas Universitātes Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācija “Dzīvesstāsts”, 2001, 162.–178. lpp.

Gāle–Kārpentere, I. Trimda kā dzīves attīstības modelis. Latvijas Zinātņu Akadēmijas Vēstis. 1994, Nr. 4, 19.–24. lpp.

Hinkle, M. ALA Mutvārdu vēstures projekts un trimdas identitāte Amerikas latviešu dzīvesstāstos. No: Dzīvesstāsti: vēsture, kultūra, sabiedrība. Sast. Māra Zirnīte.

Rīga: Latvijas Universitātes Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācija “Dzīvesstāsts”, 2007, 51.–66. lpp.

Mēs nebraucām uz Zviedriju, lai kļūtu par zviedriem. Zin. redaktore Baiba Bela. Rīga: Latvijas Universitātes Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, 2010. 335 lpp.

Sebre, S. Atmiņa, ideoloģija, identitāte: mijiedarbība indivīda un tautas psiholoģiskajā dinamikā. No: Atmiņa un vēsture no antropoloģijas līdz psiholoģijai: rakstu krājums.

Sast. Roberts Ķīlis. Rīga: N.I.M.S., 1998, 131.–139. lpp.

Sebre, S. Psihoanalītiskie un hermeneitiskie principi dzīvesstāstu analīzē. No: Spogulis.

Latvijas mutvārdu vēsture. Sast. Māra Zirnīte. Rīga: Latvijas Universitātes Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācija “Dzīvesstāsts”, 2001, 208.–222. lpp.

Skultans, V. The Testimony of Lives: Narrative and Memory. London & New York: Routledge, 1998. 217 p.

Spogulis: Latvijas mutvārdu vēsture. Sast. Māra Zirnīte. Rīga: Latvijas Universitātes Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācija “Dzīvesstāsts”, 2001. 294 lpp.

Zirnīte, M. Lībieši Ziemeļkurzemes ainavā. Rīga: Dabas aizsardzības pārvalde, 2011. 107 lpp.

Zirnīte, M. Trimdas latvieša dzīvesstāsts. Akadēmiskā Dzīve. 1995, Nr. 37, 43.–47. lpp.

Zirnīte, M., Bela–Krūmiņa, B. Latvijas un trimdas dzīvesstāstu apvienotās kolekcijas veidošana. No: Trimdas arhīvi atgriežas: latviešu bēgļu gaitas Vācijā 1944–1949.

Starptautiskas konferences referātu krājums. Rīga: Latvijas Valsts arhīvs, 2000, 123.–128. lpp.

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Twenty Years of Life Story Interview and Field Work Experience for the National Oral History Research Study Life story interviews should not be considered just an exchange of questions and answers; instead, they can be compared to a type of relationship that has formed between people who have shared an experience together. In this article I examine what the National Oral History (NOH) research study has learned over the past 20 years regarding interviews, the interview process, life story field work, what has been gained from field work, and how this trove of information becomes a source for research that resonates and forms a link with the community.

During an interview it is impossible to separate the personal from the public – each person’s life is a part of the surrounding social and cultural environment both directly and contextually. Field work provides an excellent opportunity for a researcher to become familiar with the context not only visually and aurally, but with all his or her senses.

Intensive field work performed in the 1990s and early 21st century serves as the foundation of the NOH archive. The field work has resulted in extensive cooperation with various social groups: Latvians living abroad, college students and universities in Latvia, rural populations in Latvia, students at minority language schools, as well as researchers from other countries and members of other ethnic groups who have witnessed episodes in Latvian history.

Sources from the NOH archive continue to keep alive the experiences gained during field work. Stories from people’s lives form the NOH research method, which is further developed through a dialogue with related methodologies and the international research environment. Materials gathered during field work have served as a foundation for several researches, including doctoral dissertations, as well as various publications and books.

The closer a researcher comes into contact with the reality of life, the stronger the feedback, which in turn strengthens the community’s awareness of heritable history. The interviews can be considered a part of life due to its close involvement with reality. With the participation of the researcher, interviews act like a mirror and return to the place they were recorded, thereby fulfilling the national task of the research.

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Authors / Autori Beitnere–Le Galla, Dagmāra – Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, Latvia / Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Universitāte, Latvija Djupedal, Knut – The Norwegian Emigrant Museum (Norsk Utvandrermuseum), Hedmark County Museum (Hedmark fylkesmuseum), Norway / Norvēģu emigrācijas muzejs, Hedmarkas novada muzejs, Norvēģija Dudeck, Stephan – Arctic Centre, University of Lapland, Rovaniemi, Finland / Arktikas centrs, Lapzemes Universitāte, Rovaniemi, Somija Dushi, Arbnora – Folklore Department, Institute of Albanology, Prishtina, Kosovo / Folkloras nodaļa, Albanoloģijas institūts, Priština, Kosova Garda–Rozenberga, Ieva – Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, Latvia / Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Universitāte, Latvija Heimo, Anne – Academy of Finland / School of History, Culture, and Art Studies, University of Turku, Finland / Somijas Akadēmija / Vēstures, kultūras un mākslas studiju skola, Turku Universitāte, Somija Hinkle, Maija – Latvians Abroad – Museum and Research Centre, Latvia; American Latvian Association Oral History Project, USA / Latviešu pasaule – muzejs un pētniecības centrs, Latvija; Amerikas latviešu asociācijas Mutvārdu vēstures projekts, ASV Jaago, Tiiu – Institute of Cultural Research and Fine Arts, University of Tartu, Estonia / Kultūras izpētes un tēlotājmākslas izpētes institūts, Tartu Universitāte, Igaunija Jerman, Helena – Department of Political and Economic Studies, University of Helsinki, Finland / Politikas un ekonomikas studiju nodaļa, Helsinku Universitāte, Somija Jürgenson, Aivar – Institute of History, University of Tallinn, Estonia / Vēstures institūts, Tallinas Universitāte, Igaunija Korb, Anu – Estonian Folklore Archives, Estonia / Igaunijas Folkloras arhīvs, Igaunija Krūmiņa, Maija – Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, Latvia / Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Universitāte, Latvija Kudela–Świątek, Wiktoria – National Science Centre, Poland / Nacionālais Zinātnes centrs, Polija Kurkowska–Budzan, Marta – Institute of History, Jagiellonian University, Poland / Vēstures institūts, Jagelonas Universitāte, Polija Kursīte, Janīna – Faculty of Humanities, University of Latvia, Latvia / Humanitāro zinātņu fakultāte, Latvijas Universitāte, Latvija Latvala, Pauliina – Folklore Studies, Department of Philosophy, History, Culture and Arts, University of Helsinki, Finland / Folkloras studijas, Filozofijas, vēstures, kultūras un mākslas nodaļa, Helsinku Universitāte, Somija

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Lau, Candice – University of Technology, Sydney / Tehniskā Universitāte, Sidneja Linde, Kirsten – Akershus County Museum (Akershusmuseet), Norway / Akerhūsas novada muzejs, Norvēģija Loer, Thomas – Technische Universität Dortmund, Germany / Dortmundes Tehniskā universitāte, Vācija Merivoo–Parro, Maarja – Institute of History, University of Tallinn, Estonia / Vēstures institūts, Tallinas Universitāte, Igaunija Nilsson, Mathias – The Swedish American Center (Sverige Amerika Centret), Sweden / Zviedru amerikāņu centrs, Zviedrija Pöysä, Jyrki – The Finnish Literature Society, Folklore Archives in Joensuu, Finland / Somu literatūras biedrība, Joensu Folkloras arhīvs, Somija Pranka, Maruta – Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, Latvia / Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Universitāte, Latvija Reinsone, Sanita – Archives of Latvian Folklore, Latvia / Latviešu folkloras krātuve, Latvija Rubina, Kristīne – Latvian Oral History researchers association Life Story, Latvia / Latvijas Mutvārdu vēstures pētnieku asociācija Dzīvesstāsts, Latvija Rusiņa, Zigrīda – Faculty of Humanities, University of Daugavpils, Latvia / Humanitārā fakultāte, Daugavpils Universitāte, Latvija Saleniece, Irēna – Oral History Centre, University of Daugavpils, Latvia / Mutvārdu vēstures centrs, Daugavpils Universitāte, Latvija Savolainen, Ulla – Folklore Studies, Department of Philosophy, History, Culture and Arts, University of Helsinki, Finland / Folkloras studijas, Filozofijas, vēstures, kultūras un mākslas nodaļa, Helsinku Universitāte, Somija Skultans, Vieda – Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, Latvia / Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Universitāte, Latvija Šūpulis, Edmunds – Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, Latvia / Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Universitāte, Latvija Tureby, Malin Thor – Historical studies, Malmö University, Sweden / Vēstures studijas, Malmes Universitāte, Zviedrija Zirnīte, Māra – Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia, Latvia / Filozofijas un socioloģijas institūts, Latvijas Universitāte, Latvija

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Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Latvia Association of Latvian Oral History Researchers Dzﾄｫvesstﾄ《ts Akademijas lauk. 1. Riga, LV 1940, Latvia