No Russian, No School

My pupils at the St. Petersburg Jewish Community Center’s RFL/RSL (Russian as a Foreign Language/Russian as a Second Language) program for immigrant children), 2016. This was the day we let our hair down. \\\ TRR


Living in circumstances in which evil is consciously perpetrated every day, it is difficult to keep getting bent out of shape over stupidity and injustice. This is also true of the new law prohibiting migrant children without a proficient command of Russian from attending school — a completely outrageous law that has caused little public outrage. I feel the need to write about it, and yet I sense the utter futility of arguing against it.

When I was at art school, we had our own local confrontation with the authorities: they dreamed of banning coil water boilers and other heating devices because they were a fire hazard. We dreamed of keeping them because of the fact that we were working in our studios late at night, which is inevitable if you are studying to be an artist. The authorities shamed us, they threatened us with expulsion, and they confiscated our boilers, but the boilers inevitably reappeared. This is an example of how you can’t solve a problem through bans without providing a solution. If the director, for example, had identified some place on the floor where water could be boiled, it is likely that many people would have stopped boiling water in their studios.

This applies to the populist bill as well. Teaching children who do not speak Russian is an actual problem. Our country has a rather complicated curriculum even in elementary school, which, of course, cannot be successfully navigated by someone who does not understand everyday vocabulary. I’ve been told that some teachers just give children plasticine out of hopelessness: if they’re sitting and molding things from playdough, at least they won’t be a bother to anyone else.

So here is a simple answer to this problem: let’s ban these children from going to school. They can go to school only after they have learned Russian.

The question immediately arises: where will they learn Russian? Do we have an extensive network of educational organizations with readymade programs (even ones for which parents would have to pay) for teaching Russian to children and teenagers, where they can be sent immediately after failing the language proficiency exam? No, there is no such network. Perhaps it will emerge one day, but it doesn’t exist right now.

But we have the know-how of other countries which have been trying to solve similar problems for a long time. We can choose something suitable based on foreign know-how, such as allocating extra classes, hiring visiting teachers, and instituting adaptation classes. But a ban is not a solution.

Besides, bans hit the most vulnerable groups the hardest. Loving parents will find a way to help their children with adaptation by paying for courses or tutors. Those for whom no one cares, those for whom school is the only chance to change their lives, will be left out. And it is not necessarily a matter of their turning to crime, although the rule that if you don’t want to invest in schools you’ll have to invest in prisons is inexorable. It will affect girls, for example: if they can read and write a bit (so the story goes) that’s enough for when they’re married.

Most importantly, children don’t choose to move to or choose a foreign country. It’s not their fault that they don’t know a new language. So why are you punishing them?

In fact, they are being punished for being newcomers, for being strangers. A clear xenophobic message is packed inside this entire caper: these migrants shouldn’t come to Russia, and if they do come (someone after all has to work for cheap), they shouldn’t drag their families here. Legislators are not worried about schoolteachers (who really do have it tough), but about smoking out all the “aliens” from our country. That’s how the matter actually stands. And that’s why all reasonable arguments are more or less useless.

Source: Natalia Vvedenskaya (Facebook), 12 December 2024. Translated by Thomas Campbell


Russia has banned children who do not speak Russian from being admitted to schools. This is a completely inhumane decision which could have terrible consequences.

For two years I taught Russian at the Russian Red Cross, where I had two groups of children and one group of adults. The adults were mostly women from Syria, Afghanistan, and Yemen, and they were often learning Russian from scratch and were unable to study it elsewhere.

But the children whom I taught came from a nearby school. Our lessons were supplementary Russian lessons to speed up their integration. And after six months they were already speaking Russian perfectly well.

The usual situation for children whose parents have come to Russia to work is seeing their parents at home only at night, when they hardly communicate, because the parents have to work like crazy to earn the bare minimum for survival, to pay for housing, food, and a work permit.

If these children are not able to go to school, they stay at home and play on their phones or tablets all year long. At best they go for walks in the yard. (Often these children get into trouble, suffering burns and other injuries, because they are left to their own devices.) It is impossible to learn a language on your own at their age, nor do migrant workers have the money to pay tutors to come to their homes and teach their children Russian.

I don’t understand why the Russian government is doing this. Why are they now, in an apparent effort to save money, cancelling these children’s futures, their prospects, their opportunities?

So that in a few years we have a group of young people who can’t read and write? To reinforce racism? To reinforce the social divide — one set of occupations for locals, another set for migrant workers?

The very notion that there are certain others who are not supposed to study in mainstream classes unless they know the language is harmful to the locals as well. It is vital that children see other children with special needs, with immigrant backgrounds and other experiences of life.

At that age, language is easiest to learn at school, and ethnically mixed classes are a wonderful experience for children for later life. I know what I’m talking about: I live in emigration with my children. My youngest son has always been in multi-ethnic classes, and he has no concept of “us” and “them.” (It was funny: in the first grade he had a friend with whom he played all year long, but it was only at the end of the year that Rodion found out his friend’s ethnicity.)

Poor children, poor adults: what a mess our lawmakers have made of things. Recently it was Human Rights Day, and every time I think about it, I realize that migration is dangerous terrain where human rights lead a piecemeal existence.

Source: Daria Apahonchich (Facebook), 11 December 2024. Translated by Thomas Campbell


Russian lawmakers voted Wednesday to ban migrant children from attending school unless they pass a Russian language proficiency exam.

The lower-house State Duma passed the bill in a 409-1 vote.

“Before enrolling the children in school, there will be mandatory checks of their legal status in Russia and their Russian language proficiency,” Duma Speaker Vyacheslav Volodin said.

The new rules will take effect on April 1, 2025, after upper-house Federation Council senators vote for the bill and President Vladimir Putin signs it into law.

Volodin claimed 41% of migrant children experienced “difficulties” with Russian language skills at the start of this school year.

The latest ban comes amid renewed anti-migrant sentiment following the deadly Moscow concert hall attack in March, which was claimed by the Islamic State and allegedly carried out by citizens of Tajikistan.

The fallout from the attack included police raids and deportations of migrants, a majority of whom come from poor former Soviet Central Asian republics.

Volodin said the Duma had passed a total of 14 bills aimed at “improving” Russia’s migration policy and combating illegal immigration since the start of 2024.

Source: “Russia to Introduce Language Exams for Migrant Children to Enroll in School,” Moscow Times, 11 December 2024


The draft law banning the enrollment in school of immigrant children who do not speak Russian has caused a flurry of outrage, its critics claiming that the decision will establish an insurmountable barrier to the integration of immigrants in Russia. However, if we shift our perspective and look at the bill not in a normative but in a positivе light, it pursues a quite rational goal — to institutionalize the exclusion of immigrants from Russian society. Their integration is not only seen as needless by the authorities and a considerable number of citizens (and yes, not only Russian citizens, but also citizens in many other countries), but is seen as an extremely undesirable process. That is, the presence of migrant workers as such is generally regarded as an unavoidable evil, but at the same time the political preferences are such that migrant workers should not be granted any rights at all while all possible obligations (including military service) should be imposed on them. Thus, the goal of policy toward migrant workers is to hire them only for unattractive jobs and pay them the less the better, never grant them or their children citizenship, never provide them with any social benefits (such as pensions and insurance), and if they squeak, hit them the full range of possible penalties. From this point of view, educating the children of migrant workers only generates needless complexities toward achieving this goal.

Source: Vladimir G’elman (Facebook), 12 December 2024. Translated by the Russian Reader

Language Lessons

More on grammatical gender.

The kids dressed up in monster costumes. Draw in the details that are missing.

He’s striped and she’s spotted. (Gleb and Sonya)

He’s cheerful and she’s sad. (Agata and Timur)

He’s three-eyed and she’s one-eyed. (Diana and Andrei)

He’s horned and she’s big-eared. (Mark and Nastya)

Source: Natalia Vvedenskaya (Facebook), 20 August 2024


I’d like to say I was first drawn to Russia by a fascination with late Soviet politics under Gorbachev, or the great works of Russian literature. But for me the initial interest was the language itself, as taught by an eccentric but effective teacher called Mr Criddle. Short and bearded, even a little gnome-like, he usually dressed in sandals and socks and ran his classes at Worcester Sixth Form College with old-fashioned discipline. Before we started the course, he had handed out copies of the thirty-three character Cyrillic script at our college open day with instructions to learn it or not bother turning up for class.

Mr Criddle had learned his own Russian in the mid-sixties at the Liverpool College of Commerce, taught by a graduate of a Cold War creation known as the Joint Services School for Linguists (JSSL). The JSSL had taken around 5,000 conscripted men from military boot camps in the 1950s and produced a whole generation of Russianists. The kadety, as the students called themselves, were trained to be high-level interpreters, ready to interrogate Soviet prisoners, decipher classified documents and run counter-propaganda operations should the USSR ever invade. As it never did, many ended up teaching the language in UK universities and schools.

The JSSL method was fast, deep and tough, with heavy emphasis on repetition and rote-learning. Its students had a skukometer, a made-up word from the Russian for boredom, to measure how brain-numbing a class was, and I would come to know how they felt. Mr Criddle had picked up the JSSL military style from his own teacher. Ignoring any official syllabus, he had a giant library of homemade flash cards which he used to drill us relentlessly. He’d cut all the images out of magazines and glued them to one side of the cards, writing the correct adjective endings or verb declensions on the back. He kept them in recycled envelopes at the back of the room. It was the exact opposite of how I’d learned French and German, where we chose a ‘foreign’ name and then role-played trips to the bakery or camp-site shop. For Russian, Mr Criddle had us create our own carefully indexed grammar books and then he dictated every page. It was a whole year before we learned anything practical like how to introduce ourselves perhaps partly because no one was planning a summer holiday in the Soviet Union, but we could soon form the genitive plural in our sleep.

Source: Sarah Rainsford, Goodbye to Russia (2024)


The Booker Prize: “Nonso Anozie reads from ‘James’”

Watch Nonso Anozie read from Booker Prize 2024-shortlisted James, written by Percival Everett.

The story so far: It’s 1861 and Jim, a slave and soon-to-be companion of Huckleberry Finn on a dangerous journey along the Mississippi River, is a man driven by a fierce instinct to survive and to protect his family. This includes teaching his own and other children the behavioural and language skills needed to avoid antagonising the white people who have made their lives hell.

Source: The Booker Prizes (YouTube), 12 October 2024


All traces of Ukraine are being expunged. Schools have switched to the Russian curriculum, and Russian youth and paramilitary organisations work in the territories. Repression combined with Russification aims to transform the social and political fabric of the territories, says Nikolay Petrov, the author of a new report for the German Institute for International and Security Affairs.

Source: “Kremlin-occupied Ukraine is now a totalitarian hell,” The Economist, 10 November 2024


Source: Rotten Tomatoes Coming Soon (YouTube), 18 October 2024


“I dreamed that I was talking in my dream and to be safe was speaking Russian. (I don’t speak any Russian, and also I never talk in my sleep.) I was speaking Russian so that I wouldn’t understand myself and no one else would understand me either.”

Source: Charlotte Beradt, The Third Reich of Dreams: The Nightmares of a Nation, trans. Damion Searls (Princeton UP, 2025), quoted in Zadie Smith, “The Dream of the Raised Arm,” New York Review of Books, 5 December 2024

Guilty

I made a terrible mistake. I addressed a Ukrainian film director in Russian, and he recoiled from me in such a way that I felt like the girl in the Charles Perrault fairy tale from whose mouth snakes and 🐸 fell.

Mikhail Epstein said that Russia is a crime in itself, a country-slash-crime.

Now I’m wondering whether the Russian language is a weapon in a crime. It’s a pretty unbearable thought. It’s like someone was scalped with a knife that you’ve been innocently peeling potatoes with all your life. But yes, this bloody knife was bagged and admitted into evidence, and a verdict will soon be returned.

Source: Dmitry Volchek (Facebook), 7 March 2023. Translated by the Russian Reader


“guilty”
This so-called vanity card appears on screen in the final second of season 12, episode 10 of “The Big Bang Theory.”
Source: Chuck Lorre Productions

My native tongue is Russian.

It is a language of violence and murder. A language of war and death. The language of an empire in the throes of death.

I’ve said it before, but I often think with a shudder that the last thing the people killed in Ukraine heard were the sounds of my native language — commands barked out, probably, and most likely interlarded with obscenities. This conjecture once frightened me, but I know from reading the investigations that it’s true.

Kaputt… Hände hoch… Ein, zwei, drei… Wasn’t it us who, as Soviet schoolchildren playing in the courtyard, used to associate the German language with SS squads in movies about the Second World War? This is the now the Russian language’s plight.

Every time I speak Russian outside the house, I remember this. I must remember. It doesn’t matter that I speak five languages and write in [Russian and] three others. I still have only one native language.

I think in its words. And about its words.

Life in the mother tongue is so emphatic that in a way which is rationally not conceivable, which is even rationally refutable, I feel co-responsible for what Russians do and have done.

The last paragraph that you read was not written by me. It is a quotation. Just replace “Russians” with “Germans” and you will get an excerpt from Karl Jaspers’s book The Question of German Guilt [trans. D.B. Ashton (New York: Fordham University Press, 2000), p. 74.]

What comes next?

Does the language of empire — a language of violence and murder, of war and death — have any future at all?

What about the Russian language of Ukrainians, a native language for many of them?

Alas, even here the war has not left much room for maneuver.

In response to my texts on social media, I’ve been getting a lot of letters from Ukraine, sometimes in Ukrainian, but more often in Russian. The letters begin with the indispensable proviso. The Russian language is off-putting… I thought I would never be able to read anything or anyone in Russian… The sounds of the Russian language are nauseating, but out of personal respect (gratitude, as a sign of support) I have been reading you and am writing in Russian.

According to polls, since the start of the invasion, a significant percentage of people in Ukraine have switched completely to Ukrainian, while people who were originally Russophones (members of the older generation mainly, that is, people over forty-five) have strenuously been learning to use it as their primary language or studying it nearly from scratch. Many refuse to read anything in Russian on principle.

Recently, I received this testimony: “There is the phrase my daughter used in 2014 […]: ‘Mom, thank you very much for raising me on Russian literature. Chekhov, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky are a wonderful tuning fork, a catalyst that helps me to distinguish good from evil. Thanks, it has come in handy. Now I’m ready for battle.”

(It is telling that the function of classical Russian literature as an ethical tuning fork, as noted in the above passage, is exactly the opposite of the anti-ethical rhetoric — “culture is not to blame” — that Russians have been practicing vis-a-vis the selfsame literature, which they call their own.)

In the spring, when I translated for the first refugees, blushing and apologizing, I babbled that, unfortunately, I didn’t know Ukrainian. I could only translate from Italian into Russian or, if push came to shove, into Polish. I always heard the same response: “Are you kidding? Thank you, but it’s your language after all.”

Shortly after February 24, one of my correspondents, having written the first part of his message to me in Ukrainian, switched to Russian himself and invited me to do the same — “You can speak Russian, it’s our language too” — thereby completely turning the language situation around. It was as if he had removed the curse of the Russian language from the conversation by inviting me to speak in his (!) Russian and thus delicately rescuing me from a situation where I would have imposed on him the need to speak the same language, but as the language of empire and occupiers.

Later, it happened quite often. But in the midst of a war, amidst the smoking ruins, it can only be a one-time individual communicative act of goodwill. It cannot and should not become an indulgence.

I have repeatedly observed how Ukrainians speaking to each other in their native Russian in the presence of a third person (whether me or when asked a question by a Russophone outsider of unknown origin) instantly responded in Ukrainian. Switching to it, they would continue the interrupted conversation amongst themselves in Ukrainian.

The bilingualism of Ukraine and the fate of this bilingualism is a purely Ukrainian matter.

But what should I do? As I have said, I speak five languages fluently, and I write in four, but I have only one native language. And only in Russian am I me to my last syllable and my last breath.

“Preserve my speech…” But how?

How to preserve Russian speech with all its rhetoric about the special, “mighty, truthful and free” Russian language, rhetoric that has glommed onto and penetrated it and today is tragicomically outdated? (How can it even occur to us to write about ourselves like that?) How to preserve a language poisoned by the criminal argot of the last decades, which always turns into a shiv in the back? How to liberate it so that it becomes the language of a continuous, uninterrupted tradition and simultaneously open to the new, which is much bigger than it and us?

It is already too late for us to speak it without being tongue-tied, but our children and students still have a chance. What the language of civilization and education will be in the life of a particular student — Ukrainian, Georgian, Kazakh, Italian, Turkmen, Kyrgyz, French, Chuvash, Udmurt, Estonian, English, or German — is a technical matter more than anything.

In days of doubt and painful reflection, moved to despair by everything happening at home, it is difficult to believe. However, as I continue to write and teach, including in Russian, it is impossible not to believe at all that our native language is given to us not only as an eternal reproach, but also as a gift: to once and for all evict the word “great” from it and be able to put Russia at least somewhere in the above list.

There won’t be another chance.

Update. I quoted it not so long ago, but I will do it again. Recently, I read this original reflection by Hanna Perekhoda in her article “Can Russia become non-imperial?”

“The war has pushed those who had not made a conscious choice earlier to make an uncompromising choice in favor of Ukrainian identity. It has also given millions of Ukrainians the experience of grassroots solidarity, self-organization and horizontal cooperation, in the process of which a ‘nation’ is formed, if we understand it as a political community of solidarity. These Ukrainians could tell Russians in their own language how to build a political community and how to live without empire. Ukrainians could use the Russian language, which is not the property of [ethnic] Russians, and even less so Putin’s property, in order to create a radically decolonial and emancipatory culture in Russian. Perhaps it could be the key to turning the space of the former empire into a space of radical liberation.”

From today’s perspective it seems like a beautiful utopia. But the future is in a fog.

The future is really foggy, but if we don’t try to take a hard look at ourselves, then there will be no way.

Here is the link to an interview [in which Margolis discusses this issue at length with Russian liberal journalist Yevgeny Kiselyov]:

Russian journalist in exile Yevgeny Kiselyov interviews Katia Margolis in February 2023

Source: Katia Margolis (Facebook), 19 February 2023. Translated by the Russian Reader. A much longer French version of this essay, which I discovered because the author cited both it and this text in a comment to Mr. Volchek’s Facebook post, above, has been published by Desk Russie.

She Hates Long Words

Panel 1. “Zoo.”
Panel 2. “Lion.”
Panel 3. “She hates long words.” “Giraffe.”
Panel 4. “Ca-mel.”
Panel 5. “Cro-co-dile.”
Panel 6. “Tortoises.”
Panel 7. “Sor-ce-ress.”
Panel 8. “Should we go paste her back together?” “Lunch comes first.”

I borrowed this educational comic strip from the Facebook page of Natalia Vvedenskaya, whose name Russian Readers with long memories will recognize as a Petersburg historic preservationist and grassroots activist whose passionate writings have been featured on three occasions in the last four years. Ms. Vvedenskaya is also a marvelous teacher of the Russian language who enjoys sharing on social media the games, comics, and other teaching aids she herselfs draws, builds, and devises for making the language more accessible to her pupils and learning it more fun. In this case, her task was to make the onerous business of dividing words into syllables into a little adventure.

While I had the honor and pleasure to study Russian with many inspiring teachers, a little part of me wishes I could unlearn Russian and starting studying all over again with her. I thank her for permission to reproduce this comic strip here.

Translated by the Russian Reader. To help me continue producing this website you can donate at your discretion at paypal.me/avvakum

Weaponizing Russian: The Gasan Gusejnov Controversy

guseynovGasan Gusejnov. Photo courtesy of Radio Svoboda

Gasan Gusejnov Refuses to Apologize for Remarks About Russian Language
Radio Svoboda
November 8, 2019

Gasan Gusejnov, a lecturer at the Higher School of Economics, has refused to apologize publicly for a post on Facebook in which he called the Russian language “miserable” and “cesspool-like.” According to Gazeta.Ru, the professor believes it would not be ethical for him to respond to the decision of a university commission, which had advised him to apologize.

The ethics commission at the Higher School of Economics recommended the professor apologize for his remarks. They were “ill-considered and irresponsible,” said the commission, which also claimed they had harmed the university’s reputation.

Gusejnov, in turn, told journalists he already given university administrators all necessary explanations and had no plans to apologize to anyone. He stressed that he had written the post as a private individual and had not yet received any official demands from the university.

A lecturer in the humanities faculty and a doctor of philology, Gusejnov published his post on Facebook in late October.

“In Moscow, with its hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians and Tatars, Kyrgyz and Uzbeks, Chinese and Germans, it is utterly impossible to find anything in other languages, except for the miserable, cesspool-like Russian that this country now speaks and writes,” he wrote.

Gusejnov’s post sparked a controversy on social media and in the media. Facebook deleted his post for violating its rules. The professor himself later explained that he had meant the language of hatred and aggression used in the media, social networks, and opinion journalism. According to Gusejnov, it was “an extremely dangerous environment and an extremely dangerous tool.”

This week, as the public debate about Gusejnov’s remarks continued, Vladimir Putin spoke at a meeting of the Russian Language Council. According to the Russian president, war had been declared on the Russian language worldwide in order to reduce its space [sic]. As Putin said, this was being done by “boorish Russophobes,” “fringe groups,” and “aggressive nationalists.”

The president did not specify what threats he had in mind. But he did instruct the government to amend the current laws “On the State Language” and “On the Languages of the Peoples of Russia” and create a “single corpus of dictionaries and reference books” that would dictate how all government entities used the language. Putin did not mention Gusejnov in his remarks.

Thanks to Dmitry Kalugin for the heads-up. Translated by the Russian Reader

Me Talk Pretty One Day

67392734_2292618164188215_3196602514246783151_nPopular Russian blogger Dr. Philipp Kuzmenko might style himself the Russian “Doctor Phil,” but the title of his new book admirably owes nothing to modern English. Image courtesy of Feedler

The wholesale destruction of the Russian language at the hands of intellectuals and hipsters trying to look more worldly than they really are is not distressing only because what they do to their mother tongue looks and sounds awful and needless, but also because they pilfer the most threadbare, unattractive bits of modern English to gussy up their own perfectly pedestrian thoughts, e.g.,

В школьников по-прежнему запихивают объем информации, а сегодня надо учить компетенциям, трекам, по которым ребенок сможет добывать знания сам.

Schoolchildren are, as before, crammed with a volume of information, but today it is necessary to teach competencies, tracks with which the child will be able to obtain knowledge himself.

This is not the most egregious example I could find (it popped up on my Facebook newsfeed a few minutes ago), but it nicely shows the kind of wild register switching that happens when people talk and write like this.

There are at least three registers in the sentence quoted above: colloquial Russian (“crammed,” “schoolchildren”), bureaucratese (“as before,” “volume,” “information,” “obtain”), and avoidable, undigested Anglicisms (“competencies,” “tracks”).

Topping this progressivist cake is the cherry of Russian’s inbuilt sexism, if we can call it that, which means that a “child” is always a “he,” not a “she” or “it” or “they.”

Sometimes, the outcome of this permanent mental confusion is almost worthy of the greatest Russian literary register switcher of all time, Andrei Platonov. But he was making a very big tragicomic point, unlike his tin-eared descendants, who are unconsciously turning his uncanny nightmares into linguistic norms.

Why should this bother me, a non-native Russian speaker? Because I work as a translator. Much of the stuff I translate, nearly all of it written by highly educated, extraordinarily well-read Russians, resembles the hodgepodge quoted above, although it is usually even more unintentionally funny, chockablock with so many half-baked, misunderstood Anglicisms that I could think the authors were pulling my leg.

In fact, they are deadly serious.

To spare my readers the same sense that the writers are having a laugh at their expense, I have to translate their hipster worldliness signaling into what they might have said had they been real English speakers with no penchant for tiresome jargon and bureaucratese.

Does this mean I translate their “I’m so clever I’m also thinking in English as I write this” Russian into idiomatic Russian before translating it into real English?

Of course not. But in this case, I could venture such a translation, just for fun.

Мы все еще запихиваем в школьников большие куски информации, но сегодня мы должны учить их умениям, способам, с помощью которых они могли бы учиться сами.

It’s hardly perfect, but at least I used twenty-four Russian words—and one foreign borrowing, naturalized ages ago—to say what a native Russian speaker wanted but failed to say.

Tellingly, Yandex Translate had no trouble translating my hasty rewrite into perfectly decent English.

We still cram large chunks of information into schoolchildren, but today we have to teach them skills, ways in which they could learn for themselves. // TRR