March 18, 2016

What is Sovok?

More

The other day, my old friend Prof. Dr. Dr. (he has two doctorates) Ilarion Khvalko-Yerundovych was poking along Second Avenue when, just as he was about to cross East Seventh Street, he saw his acquaintance Pani Kvasniuk advancing down the sidewalk. Her grey hair was tied up in a bun, and her plump figure was wrapped in a glossy green raincoat that made her look like a cucumber.

“What brings you to town?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Oh, it’s a 40th birthday party for my second cousin’s daughter-in-law,” she muttered. “Dreadful creature.”

“I take it you don’t care for her?” said Prof. Dr. Dr. Khvalko-Yerundovych.

“Well,” said Pani Kvasniuk, looking around furtively, “you know, she’s from Ukraine. Eastern Ukraine. A Sovok.”

“Sovok? You know,” observed the professor, “it’s been nearly a quarter of a century since the Soviet Union collapsed. If she’s 40 now, she must have been just a teenager then.”

“She had that Communist upbringing all the same. Once a Sovok, always a Sovok. OK, post-Sovok. Probably doesn’t even believe in God. Uliana says she never sees her in church, and Uliana always sits at the back of the pews, so she sees who comes in and out.”

“I see,” said the professor. “Do they have children?”

“Oh, she’s spawned a whole brood,” replied Pani Kvasniuk. “It gives her an excuse not to work. I bet she hasn’t worked a day in her life. I don’t think she even speaks English. At least I’ve never heard her.”

“But is her husband happy?” asked the professor. “Is she attractive?”

“Oh, you know how those Sovok women like to get all tarted up. Uliana says she even wears high heels to the laundromat. I’ll bet that’s how she caught poor Petro. She smelled money – they’re all gold-diggers, you know. And he’s so intelligent and hard-working… Of course she pretends to be very intellectual, always talking about art and quoting poets like that Nina Kostenko. So pretentious. And poor Petro was taken in by all that. Why couldn’t he find a nice diaspora girl to support him? You know he always wanted to be a musician. He was in Plast, after all. Well, I must be going.”

Pani Kvasniuk waddled off down Second Avenue, and Dr. Dr. Khvalko-Yerundovych crossed the street and continued pensively on his way. It was true, he reflected, that Soviet rule had left an indelible mark on our people. Once you’ve destroyed a people’s culture and customs, you can’t expect them to recover the minute the regime changes. Why, it takes three generations just to develop decent table manners. Maybe the post-Soviets really were cynical and materialistic. Communism had erased personal morality. And having lived under that regime, how could they be expected to trust any leaders or respect any institutions? How could they believe in any ideals? You could say they were very post-modern in that respect. It was everyone for himself. He had often marveled at how focused the Fourth Generation were on money and careers. They couldn’t understand why anyone would volunteer for some social movement or community organization unless he could get something out of it. The professor wistfully recalled his parents’ generation, who had worked so selflessly for Ukraine, devoting their time, their energy and their hard-earned savings for “the cause.”

On the other hand, he ruminated, there were fine people in the Fourth Wave too. They had founded their own newspapers and organizations, they collected funds to support Ukraine, they observed national holidays as enthusiastically as the previous emigrations. So you couldn’t paint them all with the same brush. In some communities, they filled the empty pews of the parishes, as the children of the Third Wave assimilated with American society. True, they seemed more interested in personal spirituality than in broader church affairs. And many came to services only for Christmas and Easter – if at all. But was that so surprising? Communism had deadened their spirits. Once a culture has lost its sense of mystery and wonder, of miracles and epiphanies, can it ever recover it? You can no more restore lost faith than you can regain lost innocence.

And yet, the professor asked himself, had the diaspora done better? If communism had destroyed ethics and morality by a direct assault, wasn’t consumerism subverting them by subtle subversion? Communism was dead, but consumerism was alive. And the diaspora, far from resisting it, was enthusiastically participating in it, even promoting it in the homeland.

Suddenly he saw a familiar figure in a bright blue parka, with Kozak whiskers, square dark glasses and a baseball cap ambling down the street. It was his school-mate Orest, whom he hadn’t seen in many years.

“How have you been?” asked Professor Dr. Dr. Khvalko-Yerundovych. “How is your family,” he added, though he didn’t remember whether Orest had ever gotten married.

“Our son is doing great. Married, three kids – two boys and a girl. He met his wife in Ukraine…”

“Indeed? Why, I was just talking with…” The professor stopped, deciding not to pursue that line of thought. “So your son is happy?”

“Absolutely. Svitlana’s an elegant woman, always dresses nicely – not like those sloppy Americans who wear curlers to the supermarket. But she’s not shallow. She reads a lot, speaks beautiful Ukrainian, and you can talk to her about music, art, literature…”

“Most edifying for the children,” commented the professor.

“And you know what, she’s a computer engineer, she could have gotten a good job and made lots of money, but she decided it was more important to stay home and bring up the kids.”

“Very commendable.”

“And she’s got a beautiful voice too. Every Sunday she’s up in the church choir singing like an angel. In fact, why don’t you come along with me, and I’ll introduce you. We’re throwing a 40th birthday party for her.”

Comments are closed.