Justice for Russia

  In recent weeks Russian media has been actively reporting efforts by the World Anti-Doping Agency, various sports federations and athletes from other countries to try to get the entire Russian Olympic team disqualified. The accusations against coaches, athletes and sports bureaucrats (most damningly from the Mclaren Report) are very serious, so much so that it is understandable that all those concerned about clean sports and fair competition would seek a way to insure that those responsible would be punished and that others would think twice before cheating.
  And yet... Russian athletes are in Rio. Some of them. The clean ones. Maybe. But probably not. Probably we will find out later that one or another or half a dozen others had been taking some forbidden substance. And we will find out similar things about other athletes from other parts of the world. So far no method has been found to exclude all those who refuse to abide by the rules of fair play. 

  But this is not what concerns me. What concerns me is the large number of clean athletes (including the entire track and field team, many of whom have never even been suspected of doping) who have become the victims of the inconsistent and unjust search for a scapegoat in this situation. Russian athletes do not train together as one national team, nor do the sports federations (e.g., track and field) even spend that much time together. Even if Russia's problems with doping are worse than anyone else's (and that has yet to be proven) that still does not mean that the only solution was to exclude athletes from the Games. 
  And now, as of yesterday, the entire Paralympic team has been disqualified. This despite the fact that most of the problems with the Russian Paralympic team had to do with athletes for the Winter Games, and so these athletes have nothing to do with that situation.  
  From my perspective this reminds me of first grade, when our teacher, Ms. Helt, punished the whole class because someone knocked down one of her posters. Now sometimes such an approach might be necessary, but there should be no illusions about this having anything to do with justice. In fact this sort of punishment undermines the very idea that a just solution can be found. 
  I reflect upon this situation in particular as a person who attempts to teach Christian ethics in Russia. This has been one of the more interesting (and, to be honest, frustrating) parts of my ministry. When teaching for the full-time program at the Theological Seminary I taught two courses for all of our students, and it remains a relevant topic for my work with laity in my current call – I look forward to returning to the theme this winter, for example, when I visit congregations in south-central Siberia this winter. 
  One of the central aspects of any course on ethics is “justice.” Usually I approach the subject in this way: in coming to understand whether or not or judgments are just, we begin with the basic equality of all people. We then consider consider rewards and punishments based on actions, and finally take into account relevant qualifiers. Of course this relatively-easy-sounding formula becomes quite complicated when applied to concrete situations, but this framework can at least help us to sense where grave injustices lie and can help lead us into the theme of personal responsibility.
  And it is when we approach responsibility where I ran into serious challenges as a teacher, especially with the younger students in Novosaratovka. (As an aside, I must say that many people in our church understand responsibility quite well – in fact, this is especially true among the laity with whom I work; they are grown adults who have had to make many responsible decisions, including the responsibility of being a member of a church that is not well understood in their society.) Many of the full time seminary students had serious doubts about the initial premise of my approach to justice – equality. Their own experience frequently confirmed what the older generation had learned after the disillusionment following the Communist period – even when everyone is equal, some are more equal than others. 

The smallest fish says "there is no justice in the world."
The middle fish says,"you can't say that the world is completely injustice."
The largest fish says, "the world is just."

  In terms of justice as it relates to their own person and own interests, many seem resigned to Fate. But when it comes to international affairs (and this can bee anything to visa rules to the results of Eurovision to world politics) many people here have a heightened sense of lack of justice in regards to their country; they are convinced that the world has it “out for them.” Sometimes these concerns seem to me as an outsider to be unfounded, but other times (and the scandal around doping seems to be one of those times) it seems that if the country involved were not Russia (but some country with a better reputation or, lacking that, more clout, worldwide) the reaction to the problem would be quite different. In this case, if there is no basic equality, any conversation about merits or faults becomes meaningless. How can we say that the standard is “innocent until proven guilty” when the case with the Russian Olympians has been just the opposite? How can we talk about personal responsibility when just for being a paralympic athlete with a Russian passport, you are immediately disqualified from competition? 
  This is not just about a country, but about real individuals. There is a “human cost” for those whose countries are disqualified from competing, as the Washington Post pointed out. The story of this athlete is from Kuwait, but there are dozens of similar stories from here.  

Pole Vaulter Elena Isinbaeva, one of the those athletes whose dreams were shattered
 by the decisions made about the Rio Olympics.  

  I do not claim to have a perfect solution to the problems raised recently about doping in Russian sports. But what I do know is that the current actions of those in the West fighting for Russian disqualification should realize that such an approach undermines efforts to be seen as fair and unbiased and instead reinforces the sense of many here that justice is at best an illusion and at worst a tool the powerful use against their opponents. 
  And that makes it not only more difficult to teach Christian ethics, it also hinders the Christian churches' efforts to work for justice in this place. Perhaps the world should be less concerned with justice for Russia and more concerned about justice for Russians. 

Learning in the Northern Caucasus

      It all felt vaguely familiar, until it felt not that familiar at all. The rolling hills, the scrub brush, the empty roads... Yet roaming this landscape were Saiga Antelope instead of the Western Pronghorn of my Montana home.

 

When we did see people, it became clear that not only was I far from the American West, I was far from the Slavic-majority parts of Russia. Instead of the churches (many of them new) dotting the landscape over the previous hundreds of kilometers from St.Petersburg, here the places of worship were Buddhist temples - Kalmykia is the only region in Europe where Buddhism is the most widely practiced religion.

Buddhist temple in Elista, the capital of Kalmykia

     As daylight faded away, we moved further south and west, closer to the Caucasus. It didn't feel like the mountains yet, but as we drove through Budyonnovsk in the pitch dark, we felt close to the region's recent, violent past; we have family friends that witnessed the terrorist occupation of a maternity hospital there in 1995. In the coming week again and again we would find ourselves in places which caused cognitive dissonance when we met with peaceful people in idyllic surroundings (Nalchik, Beslan), knowing the horrible tragedies that had happened there. We wondered frequently – have things really called down, or is it dangerous? Have the peoples of the Caucasus really decided that they feel better as a part of Russia than outside of it, or is the whole region a powder keg?

       But my family and I weren't there primarily to learn about politics; we had come to the Northern Caucasus at the invitation of area Dean Sergei Maramzin in order to take part in congregational events...and only second to get acquainted with the region's nature and culture. We arrived in the small city of Prokhladny (“cool” as in “cool weather”) in Kabardino-Balkaria in time to get settled and have some rest before guests began to arrive for the deanery gathering. That first morning two of our stereotypes were confirmed – yes, there really were a lot more Ladas (Russia-made cars) in the south than in the north. And, yes, Caucasians really know how to do hospitality – the congregation had a refrigerator full of food waiting for the guests who had come from afar. Reflecting back, however, it seems to me that it was only on the roads (where traffic police seem less informed about anti-corruption campaigns than in other parts of the country and where drivers tend to have rather vague understands of the traffic laws) where our stereotypes of the Caucases were once again confirmed. As a rule, we found ourselves surprised...
     One of the ways was through getting acquainted with the congregation in Prokhladny. 
While I knew that some German Russians had formed colonies in the N.Caucasus, I hadn't known that the foothills of Kabardino-Balkaria had become a gathering point for those who wanted to leave their places of Stalin-imposed exile in Siberia, Kazakhstan and Central Asia.

Caucasian generosity on display among Russian Germans in this picture
from the congregations annual harvest festival. 1970s.

The congregation was apparently visited by Bishop Kaunis from Latvia (center).

     The congregation that formed upon their return was strong in the pietist “brother” tradition, much like the congregation I served in Novosibirsk; when it was registered in 1971, it was the biggest Lutheran congregation in the Russian part of the USSR. It had become a gathering point for ethnic Germans since many found it impossible to return to their homelands (especially on the Volga). In Prokhladny Russian Germans purchased a single-residency home and transformed it into space for worship where probably 150 people could sit if they were willing to be stuffed in; they built on and added places for another 50 or so, but old timers told us that many times people would not find a place in the building and would participate in the service while standing in the courtyard. 
     Today the congregation, celebrating 45 years of existence, is small. They were hit hard by a very early wave  of emigration (already in the 1970s), but they did their best to remain true to what they knew. With time they moved the worship service into Russian (with the exception of the hymns, which still are usually taken from the Wolga Gesangbuch), and they try to be good stewards of what they have – taking care of the elderly, of their buildings (including a parsonage – very important if they are going to have a chance to attracting a full-time pastor), and their faith. One advantage they have over “brother” congregations in other places is that that in the Northern Caucasus valuing one's elders and one's heritage is considered very important. For that reason many more young people show up in church than in other comparable congregations; from my short contact with people there, I think that some of them are there to stay. It was a privilege to have a chance to talk with them (and with guests from neighboring Maisk and from other congregations in the region) about critical aspects of Reformation history that might be relevant for congregational life today.

Valery with the older boys at the amazing feast of local, Chechan
food that our new friend and host Said arranged for us.

     Part of long weekend together with believers in the region was a day trip to into mountains; our guide for the day (and our family's great helper for the rest of the week) was Valery Fogel, the head of the congregation in Maisk. Valery has played an important role in the region (and as a synod council member for the whole ELC-ER) for decades; he was born in Kazakhstan and still loves his hometown of Almata, but he's come to appreciate life as in the Northern Caucasus. He has great respect for those who take their faith seriously – whether they be Lutheran, Orthodox or Muslim. He knows the region and its people well; he showed us many sides of life in the region – from the Tsey glacier on the border with Georgia to the moving (beyond words moving, actually) monuments in Beslan (where over 300 children and adults where killed when terrorists occupied the school) to the quaint beauty of Nalchik to Grozny, the pride of the Chechen people as their republic is being rebuilt after the war. I learned much from each of these visits, and I also had a wonderful time growing to know Valery as a brother in faith. 
    A week's visit, though, certainly couldn't give me a clear and full impression of the Northern Caucasus. I was confused (and remain so) about how in Grozny there is now no sign of or memorial to the war that flattened the city just over a decade ago; in Northern Ossetia I wondered about the revival of traditional (shaministic?) forms of faith at the expense of the Orthodox church... I noticed time and again the tensions among the  Caucasian peoples – is there a chance for long-term peace when people have such heightened awareness of tradition (including traditions of disliking certain neighbors)? Why did we see so many positive images of Stalin in the region (on vodka bottles, car stickers, mountain murals) when so many of these very peoples who honor him were targets of repression?… On a less serious note, I still don't know what to think about all the drinking of and bathing in mineral water that seems to be a big part of local understandings of health...

A museum in downtown Grozny with tradition clan defense towers.
It seems that it, and everything else in the city, is brand new.

Martin testing out a mountain
mineral water bath.

     I'm not sure thaat I gained a handle on what is going on in the Northern Caucasus, but after visiting there I'm happy to join Dean Sergei Maramzin's encouraging words - “I wish you a happy upcoming Reformation anniversary, dear Church! You are young, fresh and fit, like a daughter of the Caucasus mountains!” With God's blessing, Sergei, Valery, and others will continue to work so that the message of peace and God's steadfast love continues to echo throughout the mountains and foothills of this beautiful and very interesting region.