Living History, or "Nothing About Us Without Us"
Decolonial activist Danhaya Khovalyg on historical memory in six Asian republics
Memory is the little that is available, relying on which one can still learn one’s history.
"When we came from Siberia, we felt as if we were somehow to blame. Not us, but our ancestors. The Soviet regime was oppressive. Every Russian boy or woman constantly reminded us of this. At the market, or on the bus, or somewhere in Friendship Park, people would always say, 'You're a Kalmyk! You're traitors!' On the other hand, life was normal: Young Pioneer groups, school groups. Then, every now and then, there would be fights, constant fights." says An anonymous native named Danzan Davaevich in the episode "Kalmykia: Life and Memory After Deportation."
Living speech: native inhabitant Danzan Davaevich (0:23:51 — 25:26)
The The Republic speaks"_," which Dankhayaa launched in December 2022, explores life, history, and memory in the republics of Kalmykia, Buryatia, Tuva, Sakha, Khakassia, and Altai. Why is "friendship of peoples" a myth? Are the republics independent socially, economically, and politically today? Can their residents freely speak their languages and study the history of their people? Dankhayaa spoke to NeMoskva about this and much more.
"Not a republic, but a colony"
Speaking about her native Tuva, Dankhayaa Khovalyg believes exactly this. Economic and political dependence, Moscow's protégés in power, the Kremlin's exploitation of the republics' natural resources without regard for the opinions and interests of local residents, the propaganda of the "Russian world," minimal and censored information about the history of the indigenous people, the disadvantaged status of her native language compared to Russian, and much more. Dankhayaa absorbed all of this from childhood, without understanding at the time why.
The exiles and deportations of entire peoples that occurred in the first half of the last century were officially recognized as genocide in 1991. This has long-lasting consequences: for example, due to stigma, deported peoples had far fewer opportunities to receive an education and quality medical care locally. People were forced to assimilate as much as possible, erasing their own national identity as much as possible.
This couldn't help but impact future generations. The deportation of entire nations is a long, drawn-out, sprawling, and terribly difficult, yet important story, one that's not mentioned in school textbooks—they usually only have a couple of lines about it.
Live speech: TuvSU lecturer, Doctor of Historical Sciences, Professor Zoya Dorzhu (0:31:20 — 33:47)
Tuva was colonized back in the days of the Russian Empire, I wrote about this in detail in the text “Exceptional good"The annexation of Tuva to the USSR was the dream and idea of the Stalinist Salchak Toki, who studied at the Stalin Communist University of the Toilers of the East and began implementing the practices of collectivization, dispossession, and repression.
It's probably fair to say he managed to annex Tuva to the USSR almost single-handedly. It wasn't a people's decision.
Tuva is currently the poorest region in Russia, and this is a direct consequence of the state's colonial policies. Moreover, a significant portion of the population works in the public sector and cannot afford to lose their jobs due to high unemployment, meaning they are often forced (whether they like it or not) to make various compromises.
It is also important to add that in Tuva, propaganda channels and the repressive apparatus operate on an extremely large scale and therefore effectively, systematically and consistently suppressing any noticeable manifestations of public discontent with government policies.
The republic is completely economically and politically dependent, with the indigenous people enjoying incomparably fewer rights than residents of the metropolis. Everything related to national identity—language, history, and culture—is marginalized, and the socioeconomic problems and needs of the republic's residents are completely ignored. Natural and human resources are mercilessly exploited. This became especially evident with the onset of "partial mobilization"—men from the republics were mobilized disproportionately in greater numbers than from the rest of Russia. We still haven't received a railway, although the project has been discussed since the 1980s. This is not beneficial for the federal government.
The Kremlin fears any ethnic sentiment, which is why the flywheel of repression in the republics operates with greater speed and force. When anti-mobilization rallies took place in Sakha, Tyva, Ingushetia, Buryatia, and Dagestan, police officers from other regions were brought in, even additional police vans—that's how important it was for the Kremlin to nip any protest sentiments in the bud.
The same thing happened with the environmental protests in Bashkortostan, which led to administrative and criminal charges against over a hundred people, not to mention the brutality of the reprisals against them. Therefore, it's crucial to understand that human rights advocacy is more difficult here, and working with memory is more difficult. As soon as you start working with identity, you risk being labeled a "nationalist," a "separatist," and so on.
Just think of this new law designating the non-existent "anti-Russian separatist movement" as an extremist organization. This Supreme Court decision threatens the activities of activists from Russia's ethnic republics, wherever they are and whatever they do. This means that any project related to identity, any activity related to the popularization of, for example, national culture, puts these activities and the people themselves at risk. The law is subject to such broad interpretation that anything can be categorized as "extremism." And this is also one of the most glaring examples of discrimination.
Not a Russian, but an "outsider"
Dankhaya went to study in Moscow, and her "genetic memory" made itself felt: she didn't feel safe there, always harboring a subconscious fear of possible attack, unmotivated aggression—simply because she wasn't Russian ("You're slant-eyed, go home to China"). There was reason for this: from the late 1990s to the early 2010s, cases of violence against non-Russians, most often non-Slavs, by far-right nationalist groups were common in major Russian cities.
The Russians who insulted her didn't care where she was from, whether she held a Russian passport, or whether she spoke Russian—the important thing was that she was "different," an "outsider." Dankhayaa cites examples of how, despite any denials, discrimination in Russia exists at a horrific level and is supported by federal government policies.
"National history is taught very little in our republics, and it's censored to the extreme. As a schoolgirl, I studied the history of the Russian state—the Vyatichi, the Rurikids, all that stuff. You study and study, and then you realize: you yourself aren't there. Who are you, where is your place in history, how is it that we're not in this space? A simple example: there are a lot of cartoons being produced in Russia now, but our children don't find themselves in them. Just like I didn't find myself in the old cartoons. It's a feeling of loneliness... a feeling of being unrepresented in everything. It's the same with films.
In films, it's usually only "white" people who get leading, interesting roles. I know some Asian girls—they're very talented and dreamed of going to drama school. But they themselves say, "Well, who will I play there? Only migrant roles?" They worry about their "glass ceiling," and rightfully so.
I've often encountered racism and chauvinism in Moscow, including outright physical violence motivated by ethnic intolerance. But I'll give you a simple, everyday example: I once went to the MFC to get some information, misheard the word the clerk said at the counter, and she immediately, as irritated as possible, loudly and clearly said, "But I'm speaking Russian to you! Or don't you understand?!" I doubt she would have responded so harshly to my Slavic husband.
And what is that one worth? caseWhen Tuvan Kuderek Soskal was detained in St. Petersburg in 2013 for a fake registration certificate, which by that point was no longer legally required. The man had a Russian passport, but it didn't satisfy law enforcement. The case was quickly brought to court, even though he wasn't actually a criminal. In court, the chief prosecutor scolded him for his poor Russian and demanded to know where he'd purchased his Russian passport, since there's no such thing as a Tuvan nation. Unfortunately, this kind of thing happens all the time, on varying scales. Sometimes people tell me, "Oh, come on, don't pay attention!" But that's not normal. Why should we let this happen?
The media also loves to speculate on the topic of nationality: "A native of Tuva broke the law," "A Buryat did this," and so on. However, seeing a similar headline but in the opposite direction—"A Russian did this and that"—is extremely unlikely, since, as a rule, the nationality of the criminal is emphasized if he is not Russian.
It's very easy for people to insult non-white migrants, who often find themselves working in the service sector in low-paid positions as couriers, waitresses, cleaners, janitors, and so on.
They don't care whether you're from Central Asia or a Russian republic. For most people, you're simply a non-Russian who's just "come here."
The authorities, too, have been toying with xenophobia against all non-Russians for many years. For example, we can recall the "Russian Marches" that took place annually since the 1990s—the authorities did nothing about them. It's hard to imagine holding a similar "Chechen March" or "Tuvan March." They would never have allowed it, and even if it had happened, it would have been immediately considered extremist. I can already imagine the media headlines.
Not a history textbook, but a memory
The more Dankhayaa felt "different" in Moscow, the more she wanted to learn the history of her people. How they became one of the republics of the USSR, why they were so dependent on the "center." Dankhayaa began searching for information and relevant literature and realized there was very little of it, and most of it was written in an extremely pro-Russian vein. Dankhayaa decided to "turn to memory"—that of older relatives, neighbors, and acquaintances. However, this memory was dwindling, and there was no other information to be found—it was all sealed off.
"Memory is one of the few tools we have left. Official sources are far from reality; they're either subject to the Kremlin's horrific censorship, or they're written from the perspective of a "staple-traditional" history of friendship between peoples. The archives are closed. So, all that's left is memory, but it too tends to die along with its bearers. That's why I started collecting it."
The first season of the podcast is a kind of educational program, an introduction to the republics themselves and their history. I'm building my project on the principle of "nothing about us without us"—meaning the natives themselves tell stories about their republics, not someone else. Why?
Many media outlets—consciously or not—marginalize the republics, stereotype them, and exoticize them, eagerly relishing anything that can be tacked on to clannishness, shamanism, and other hyped-up themes. This creates an artificial, generalized, and highly simplified image of the region and its people.
In the podcast, people themselves, in interviews or by sending voice messages to a Telegram bot, talk about history, culture, and everyday life—and all of this is, on the one hand, ordinary, but also unique. For some, for example, it's a revelation that Tuvan is a Turkic language, while Buryats and Kalmyks, for example, speak Mongolian dialects. Such recognition can be quite inspiring, as our republics and peoples are vast worlds, civilizations that many of us, unfortunately, don't know as well as, say, Russian history.
Live speech: a conversation between the author and like-minded women Seseg и Rinchina (0:11.01 - 14:35)
The second season is dedicated to the research and preservation of memory. Unfortunately, there is still a lack of high-quality historical research sources, written by native speakers and without the forced scrutiny of the Kremlin, to adequately cover all periods of our history. Furthermore, many archives, especially those on the repressions, are classified or extremely difficult to access. The bearers of memory—our elder relatives—also disappear with time. And with them, the living memory of the past. It's good when there's a dialogue between generations about the past and the preservation of memory, but even this doesn't happen for everyone, as the trauma of the repressions is still too fresh for many elders. Some things we may never know.
For example, I've long been interested in how Tuva joined the USSR 80 years ago. What was it like? How did people who had no part in the decision perceive it? How soon and how did their lives begin to change? This is rarely described comprehensively and decolonially. I'm also increasingly beginning to worry that memory is such a fragile thing. And it can only be preserved by speaking about it. This is what the entire second season of the podcast is about.
В first episode In the second season, we talk about Kalmykia. It was disbanded; by 1944, it was no longer on maps; even the word "Kalmyk" was removed from the Great Soviet Encyclopedia. And now, after a decree granting the right to return to their homeland, the Kalmyk people, after 13 years of criminal exile, are finally going home. But what awaited them upon their return? Where did they go first? Where did they work? How did they regain their republican status? How did they achieve full rehabilitation? I was interested in absolutely everything. That's why this episode brings together voices and stories of people sharing their memories and the stories of their elders.
Live speech: historian and activist Aldar Erendzhenov (0:32:46 — 35:16)
Why all this? So that there's high-quality content created by people from the republics, free from the marginalization and stereotyping that plagues almost all media outlets and individual journalists writing about anything related to our republics. So that the Russian-language media space can develop a kind of archive of firsthand stories from the republics. So that people from the republics can be inspired by this and develop their own projects, creating their own communities within and across the republics—those who are inspired by such topics.
And also because memory only lasts for three generations. And we can't afford to end up in a place where that memory no longer exists.
I'm currently in exile, and there's a widespread belief here that Russia is a "scorched field of Putinists." Of course, that's not true. These are harmful narratives that make reasonable, thinking people feel even more alone. On the contrary, we need to say that there are many of us and that we will endure.
The first podcast quickly gained a lot of views on YouTube, and, what's encouraging, 70% of listeners were from Russia. Moreover, 30% of them came to the podcast from messaging apps, indicating that people are sharing the episode link with each other.
It also suggests that people need communities of like-minded people, that they need safe spaces in which they can share both such links and their thoughts and reflections on the content of those links.
Therefore, "The Republic Speaks" is not only a project for telling important stories and a platform for indigenous voices, but also a space where one can feel not alone, but part of a large and united community.
P.S. While the material was being prepared for publication, Danhaya released another episode of the podcast - about BuryatiaIt is dedicated to the memory of the conditions under which Buddhism existed throughout the history of the Russian state and how people (Buddhist lamas, secular Buddhists, and laypeople) preserved Buddhism in the territory of ethnic Buryatia.