It
seems that my native language is failing me. I've been in Russia a
long time, after all, and despite my accent and the grammar mistakes
that I continue to make, Russian is the language that I think in most
of the time. Writing this blog, therefore, is rather
challenging, especially considering that I'd like to write well.
When major events occur, then, I spend time first trying to interpret
the incident, and then I try to find words to express what I see,
hear, think, feel.
Lately
these major events have been coming faster than I can process them.
After an airplane full of tourists (most from St. Petersburg) was
downed over Egypt on October 31st, I did not feel ready to write
about the sadness and the anxiety that surrounded me, about how
Natasha
and I remembered our honeymoon there and realized just how many young
couples were on that plane. Many with children. And none of them
likely to have anything to do with the reasons behind the bomb that
was laid in the plane. It was clear - it could have been any of us. 
When
the controversial French satirical periodical Charlie
Hebdo
published caricatures of the crash that offended many Russians, I
thought of issues of sensitivity, empathy and healing and what a
missionary might have to say about all of that. But
I wasn't ready to write; I was still processing.
And
then there was Paris. And Beirut. And Bamako. Even if they are all
far away, we remembered again what could happen to any of us. We hear
terrorism as often as here as Americans hear “Trump.” As you
might imagine, we started using the subway less; I decided to wait
for a while before taking the boys to the nearby stadium to watch our
excellent local soccer team; we tried to get used to seeing riot
police patrols. We heard how President
Putin and President Hollande spoke about a "Grand coalition"
of overwhelming military force to fight terrorism. I saw all this,
and I thought about how Christians in this country and around the
world might respond. About how it appears that a distinctly Christian
approach has yet to emerge. But I couldn't find the words.
I'm
not ready to write today, either. I'd like more time to see how
things develop further, to analyze what might help readers understand
Russia and what we as people of faith might do to care for our
neighbors in these circumstances. Time would help.
And
maybe it will still. But that shouldn't stop me from sharing with you
what Russia feels like today. I'm not sure how to do that; maybe an
example would help. Let's imagine that U.S. bombers are engaged in
missions near some point of conflict. Let's pretend it's Afghanistan.
And then let's imagine for a minute that a "frenemy" state
bordering the conflict and in some way or another involved (that
would be Pakistan, I'd imagine) shoots down our plane. The pilots
eject, but one of them is shot dead in the air by locals; all this is
captured on film for the whole world to see. And then in this
imagined situation Pakistan says that it's America's fault. That they
warned us.... OK, perhaps this isn't the best example. Let's try,
instead, to replace Pakistan with Israel. Does that make you feel
uncomfortable / anxious / tense / irritated? Well, while the example
with Israel is even less likely and even less accurate in terms of
the political situation, it does do something to help one see the
emotions involved.
“Fever
pitch” and “boiling point” and words that describe the
seemingly countless hours dedicated by news programs and talk shows
to this incident. And while one frequently gets the impression that
the TV is an instrument for forming and controlling public opinion
here, in this particular case the TV seems to be speaking for the
“common man.”
Everyone is thinking about terrorists and Turkey and how Russia is always getting a raw deal. But they don't talk about it. People continue to go
about their business. In our family Matvey needs to build a model of
cell for school on Friday; Martin is relieved to have his first
skating competition of the year behind him; Lukas is busy opening
cupboards, playing whatever musical instruments and toys he can get
his hands on and repeating the words that are actively becoming a
part of his vocabulary. Streets are being swept and potatoes are
being purchased and people are getting married.
But
there is a general sense of...a sense of... and here I realize that
the English words don't do justice to what people feel – treVO-ga,
na-pryazh-EN-iye, raz-drazh-EN-iye (anxiety, tension, irritation).
There is a general sense of the need to otomSTIT (get revenge). Then
there are the words that Russian has in common with English. Words
that themselves carry u-GRO-za (a threat) - li-kwi-DA-tsi-ya (liquidation), es-ka-LA-tsi-ya (escalation)....
Words
are failing me. They seem to be failing all of us. And so we turn to
actions, actions that tend to be neither in our own long-term
interests nor the interests of our neighbors. The
problem, of course, is not with our fluency. Or with English or
Russian itself. The problem is with our minds, our hearts, our
imaginations. These failures are worldwide and, today, these failures
are manifest in the way Russians are feeling. It is a sad situation.
And, to be honest, is is situation the has the potential to become
even more dangerous.
What
can we do? We can do what religious leaders around the world are
calling for – remain calm. Think. Listen. Pray. More than that,
though, I think that we can remain present with one another. I think
that we can try to grow in empathy, that we can encourage our leaders
to reject threats and violence with the understanding that these
ultimately do little to provide the abundant living that God wants
for all of us. We can try to embody peace, becoming agents of peace
in our own communities. With words. Or without.
