VIEW FROM THE TREMBITA LOUNGE: We are not alone (07/17/05)

VIEW FROM THE TREMBITA LOUNGE

by Taras Szmagala Jr.

We are not alone

Even by "first date" standards, this was a unique first date. Having become somewhat of an expert on first dates (comparatively more so, I might add, than on second dates), it seemed to me that, this time, something was different.

Across the table from me sat an intriguing woman named Helen that I had met some months earlier at a lawyer's conference. We struck up a conversation at the conference, and lunch plans were made. Now that the lunch was upon us, I quickly discovered that this "get to know you" conversation was unlike any other in my past.

"What kind of a name is Szmagala?" she asked. "Ukrainian," I replied. And I then prepared to enter into the "Predictable Discussion." The Predictable Discussion, you see, is the discussion that inevitably occurs immediately after someone expresses interest in my ethnic heritage. It goes something like this: "So, you're Ukrainian? Do you speak Russian?" Diplomatic efforts to enlighten the inquirer follow, as I explain our community, the way we maintain our language and culture through Saturday schools, dance groups, choirs, fraternal organizations, etc. The explanation is generally met with mild interest and, sometimes, thinly veiled condescension. "Why do you do all that?" is the essence of the reply. (In retrospect, this may explain why I am more of an expert on first, rather than second, dates ... but I digress.)

Alas, this time the Predictable Discussion was not to be had. Rather, Helen replied: "Oh, you're Ukrainian. Interesting. I'm 100 percent Slovenian." She proceeded to explain how her parents came to Cleveland from European displaced person camps after World War II, how she attended Slovenian Saturday school every weekend, danced with the Slovenian dance group, and sang in the Slovenian choir. She even attended the national conventions of the KSKJ (the Slovenian equivalent of our Ukrainian National Association), for which her father served as treasurer.

On an intellectual level, I had always known that there were other ethnic communities out there much like our own. But I was surprised to learn how alike our communities really are, and how they evolved in similar ways. Like the UNA, for example, Slovenian fraternal organizations were born of the first immigration in the early 1900s, and are now facing challenges as the descendants of that immigration assimilate. The Church played an important role in keeping that early community together; the creation of Roman Catholic "ethnic parishes" on Cleveland's East Side enabled newly arrived Slovenians to preserve their ethnic religious traditions.

Similarly, the post-World War II Slovenian immigrants brought with them a sense of identity and organization developed in the displaced person camps, which they used to build vibrant cultural organizations, Saturday schools and the like. The post-war immigrants were also deeply divided politically, as a civil conflict in wartime Slovenia generated animosity that lived on within Slovenian American organizations for decades. Does all this sound familiar?

To be sure, there are quite a few differences between our communities. For one, Slovenia is a nation of only 2 million people; as a result, the Slovenian diaspora is smaller than that of Ukraine. The Slovenians also did not establish national scouting organizations in America comparable to Plast. As a result, a Slovenian American teenager is not likely to have many Slovenian acquaintances outside his or her home city. Religious differences among Slovenians are much less pronounced, as well, with Roman Catholicism being the dominant faith within the community.

So it was that the Predictable Discussion became the Mutual Admiration Society. I wonder at the fact that the small but organized Slovenian diaspora has produced one of the best Cleveland mayors and one of the finest United States senators that Ohio has ever sent to Washington, Frank Lausche and current Sen. George Voinovich. I'm impressed that the Slovenian campground outside of Cleveland has a membership that is growing, and at a brisk rate, to boot. And any Slovenian organization in Cleveland that holds a fund-raiser or zabava (yes, they call them "zabavas," too) can be guaranteed a turnout of 600, rain or shine, with or without advertising.

From the perspective of a Slovenian American, the fact that Ukrainian Americans from Detroit go to a zabava in Toronto is impressive. ("How in the heck do you all know each other?" Helen once asked me. "Because we all dated one another at some point in our lives" was my not-so-intelligent reply.) SUM and Plast, which unite us across geographic boundaries, really set us apart from many other ethnic groups, and are invaluable community assets. But my favorite call came one morning after Helen finished reading an article in The New York Times Arts section on the new Ukrainian Museum: "Okay," she said jealously, "so you Ukes are trendy in the New York arts scene now, too?" Hey, I take my victories where I can get them.

Yet in so many ways, looking at the Cleveland Slovenian community is like looking at a mirror. Their values are our values - faith, family and heritage being foremost. Reflecting on this, I guess I should not have been surprised by this. After all, whether it be the Ukrainian community or the Slovenian community, it is still community. By participating in our community, whatever community that may be, we strengthen our bonds between one another - something that is in short supply in today's American culture. As we become more independent and more isolated from one another, these bonds are more important than ever before. And as I get older, I am beginning to suspect that reason for the bond is less important than the bond itself.

Taras Szmagala Jr. may be reached at Szmagala@yahoo.com.

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