Fake Words: Problems of Transliteration from Russian and Ukrainian

The late Fred Halliday – a Professor who once warned the London School of Economics against entangling itself with the Gaddafi regime – thought that the role of diasporas in the politics of their homelands is always negative. The idea is expressed in a posthumous collection of his essays, Political Journeys (Saqi 2011). Diasporas, especially moneyed ones, adopt a proprietorial attitude towards a homeland to which they have little or no intention of returning, whether the land is Armenia, Ireland or Israel. Diaspora organisations use their influence to support hardline positions against local politicians when those are inevitably tempted to pragmatic adjustments aimed at making peace with neighbours who, in the diaspora view of things, are supposed to remain enemies forever.

When it comes to soft power, to culture rather than guns, diasporas unite around traditionalist, conservative positions. Culture is something to be upheld and to remain the same, brought out for high days and holidays but otherwise preserved in a well-funded museum. Living cultures, of course, change all the time and those who inhabit them are lax about the boundaries between their own and those of their supposed enemies.

In Ukraine, for example, inhabitants are frequently polled and asked to identify themselves as either Ukrainian or Russian speakers and willingly do so. However, those who thus identify themselves are very often found mixing the two supposedly distinct languages, with or without awareness of what they are doing. This may well be true for a majority of the population, though those who are formally classified as speakers of a mixed language, labelled Surzhyk, are counted at between 10 and 20 % of the population. I think there is little doubt that is an under-estimate.

Left to their own devices, most speakers gravitate towards mixing and that is something language purists cannot tolerate. In France, the Academie Française fights an unending rearguard action against it.

In relation to Ukrainian, diasporas, notably in the USA, are on permanent alert to ensure that in writing about Ukraine, English language authors transliterate from good Ukrainian versions of words rather than equivalent but bad Russian ones. Thus it is that we have come to write about Kyiv not Kiev. If you don’t want to annoy your Ukrainian friends, but want to keep life simple, you can get by with a very simple App which converts the G in your translation to H and O to I, and so on. So Kharkov (a transliteration from the Russian version of the city name) becomes Kharkiv and the place name ending which indicates a town goes from –gorod to –horod. The list isn’t that long. 

The trouble with this way of trying to keep your friends happy is that you may end up using words which are not simply anachronistic but, worse, may never have been used by anyone until linguistic ideologues armed with their App inserted them into the pages of Wikipedia and other online sources. An ideologue and still less an App does not recognise that the road to error is paved with the mechanical application of things which may be good enough for everyday rules of thumb but not for more serious calculation.

Early on in her book, Red Famine: Stalin’s War On Ukraine (2017), Anne Applebaum mentions the well-known fact that “John Hughes, a Welshman, founded the city now known as Donetsk”, about the spelling of which there seems to be no argument, and goes on to say that it was “originally called ‘Yuzivka’ in  his honour” (p 9).

Oh no, it wasn’t! Hughes had been invited to the Donbass [Ukrainian Donbas] by Russia’s Tsarist government in 1869. It was no modest undertaking that was projected: Hughes formed an English company to raise three hundred thousand pounds for the construction of an iron smelter, a rail-producing plant, the development of coal mines, and the building of a long branch railway line to connect to the main Russian network. All this is documented in fascinating detail in Theodore H. Friedgut’s two volume work, published in 1989 and 1994 by Princeton University Press, under the title Iuzovka and Revolution, transliterating from the Russian Юзовка the name of this company town named after its founder. The Iu  at the front can be replaced by Yu to avoid the un-English feel of the former, but what tells us that this is a Russian word is the O in both the Russian original and the English transliteration.

Iuzovka or Yuzovka was briefly called Trotsk [after Trotsky] in 1923 though even now that’s hard to document, was officially renamed Stalino in 1924, and converted to Donetsk in 1961. I don’t think anyone ever called it Yuzivka. Yuzivka is an invention. It’s a fake word and to use it anachronistically is to allow a historical falsification. But when I googled Yuzivka I got 17 500 results, slightly ahead of Yuzovka, well ahead of Iuzovka. The ideologues have been very busy. It’s rather as if Flemish nationalists had gone through the Internet converting all occurrences of the very old French-speaking city name Liége into Luik which is what road signs in Flemish-speaking parts of Belgium now call it, sometimes to the confusion of naïve foreign motorists (they confused me first time I tried to drive there).

In a historical work to use Iuzovka / Yuzovka does  not suppress the Ukrainian language or Ukrainian identity; it reflects the fact that in the period of its existence until its name was changed, Iuzovka / Yuzovka was an overwhelmingly Russian town, planted in the Donbass by the Imperial government and built and managed by foreigners, of whom there were many. Hughes himself died in St Petersburg in 1889, but he was only there because he was negotiating deals for the Iuzovka plant.

Only by acknowledging that they did things differently in the past, even named differently, can one then go on to consider how the inhabitants of Iuzovka related to the surrounding and undoubtedly Ukrainian countryside. Friedgut is blunt:

“The nearby Ukrainian peasants were not on the best of terms with the mining settlements and viewed them as foreign both ethically and ethnically…. The relatively few Ukrainians employed in the mines and metallurgy works were also embroiled in ethnic tensions despite their acculturation to the dominant Russian milieu of the region” (volume 1, page 208)

“The separation of Russians and Ukrainians remained throughout the entire period [1869-1924]. Until the Soviet regime brought him by force majeure, the Ukrainian peasant was least inclined to enter the mines or factories as a hired worker, and first to leave it in time of crisis. His ties to his village were strong and directly at hand.  The Donbass thus remained within the Ukraine but not of it” (vol 1, page 331)

There was never a Ukrainian Yuzivka, only a Russian Iuzovka, and that is one reason why we have a problem still today, not only with names but with the guns of the Donetsk People’s Republic.

Review: Anne Applebaum, Red Famine

Anne Applebaum’s becomes a very readable book and impresses as very well documented and argued, but it starts badly. The bad start has something to do with her own prejudices and something to do with a language problem compounded in all probability by a surfeit of uncoordinated research assistance. I will focus on these two problems.

At page 19, we read that the Bolsheviks’  “coup d’état in October (7 November according to the ‘new calendar’ they later adopted) put them in power amidst conditions of total chaos. Led by Lenin, a paranoid, conspiratorial and fundamentally undemocratic man, the Bolsheviks …”

Now I am only going to argue with one part of this. Why the snide scare quotes around ‘new calendar’?  In Bolshevik-controlled Russia, the 31 January 1918 was followed by 14 February. This switch from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar replaced a less accurate with a more accurate calendar: both calendars involve slippage but the Julian slips at the rate of one day in 128 years, the Gregorian by one day in 3030 years. More importantly, all of Russia’s neighbours already used the Gregorian calendar and the Bolsheviks simply brought their country into line with the norm in Europe’s – er, capitalist – countries. When you wrote a letter, personal or business, to someone in those countries you no longer needed to use dual dating to prevent confusion. The only remarkable feature about Russia’s ‘new calendar’ is that it took a bloody upheaval to bring about an overdue administrative reform and that incidentally tells us something interesting and important about the old regime. In the same way, my own country would probably need a revolution to arrive at a fixed date for Easter but, fortunately, there is no chance of any such thing here.

The language problem is more complex. Applebaum has written her book with the support of what are or were Ukrainian diaspora organisations in Canada and the USA, notably the Harvard Ukrainian Research Institute. They have protocols to tell you how to transliterate from Ukrainian to English, which is excellent, and Applebaum tells us that she is going to use them. What is not excellent is that some of the Ukrainian words your friends point you towards are essentially recent inventions which are simply anachronistic when used in historical discussions. The most egregious example appears at page 9, where Applebaum tells us that the city of what is now called Donetsk was originally called ‘Yuzivka’ in honour of its founder, the Welshman John Hughes. It wasn’t. It was called ‘Yuzovka’ or ‘Iuzovka’, which are standard transliterations from the Russian original. Applebaum has instead transliterated from a modern Ukrainian word which is essentially an invention. Yuzovka was a Russian company town and remained so until it was renamed ‘Trotsk’ in 1923 (after Trotsky) and then ‘Stalino’ (after Stalin) and finally in 1961 ‘Donetsk’ which is the name by which it is known today, and helpfully by both  Russians and Ukrainians. The word Yuzivka has no historical purchase, merely an ideological one.

In addition, simplistic and anachronistic language purists never actually achieve the ideological consistency they want. Human beings just can’t cope with their demands. This is obvious from Applebaum’s very sloppy maps.  I have no desire to wear you down, so I will take just one, her map titled Ukraine, 1922. The old Imperial Russian guberniyas had been slightly re-organised by that date to create the Ukrainian SSR but the map gives them their names in a mix of versions, some transliterated from Ukrainian (Kyiv, Kharkiv) and some from Russian (Podolia, Odessa). Town and city names are also mixed. Some versions are Ukrainian (Proskuriv not  Proskurov) others are Russian (Melitopol, Mariupol not Melitopil, Mariupil). Yuzovka is given its post-1961 name, Donetsk. I am sure Applebaum has been inundated with emails picking up on these and other points but we should probably acknowledge that we are never gong to get it right. She does use maps which exclude Crimea from Ukraine, which is historically accurate: the administrative transfer to Ukraine was made in 1954.

Some years ago I was asked to prepare for auction in Switzerland what was probably the largest collection of Ukrainian stamps and postal history ever assembled. The catalogue was going to be written in English. When it became known that I was going to do this work, I got emails from diaspora Ukrainians reminding me of spellings and transliterations I should employ. That was helpful, but I had to point out that I was keen to avoid anachronism and falsification. At the time of the first Ukrainian stamp issues in 1918, language questions were not much of a priority in Ukraine and old Imperial Russian postal cancellations continued in use for some years (something which, in contrast, did not happen in the newly independent Baltic countries which were keen to switch from Cyrillic to Roman immediately). Before the early or even mid 1920s, only a couple of cities produced any Ukrainian language postmarks (Kyiv and Kharkiv) and even those were simply used alongside the old ones. So I ended up writing catalogue entries which read, for example, “Letter from Kyiv with cancellation KIEV 10.10.18”, the capitalised letters transliterating the Russian of the postmark. But I am sure I slipped up from time to time, just as most people do when they alternate between civilisation and civilization without even noticing. And in my view, most of the time we should relax and live with the slippage unless some question of historical accuracy is at stake.

*

When we get past all this, we get a book which I think is more tightly argued than her book on the Gulag. She assembles a great deal of material but is cautious about using the word genocide and gives a reasoned estimate for the numbers who died in the Holodomor, the artificial famine of 1932 – 33, designed in Moscow but implemented on the ground by Ukrainians as well as Russians. The photographs she uses are important and some of them will be new to readers. [ Added 3 July 2018: see also my review of Philippe Sands, East West Street on this Blog, 5 February 2018. Sands thinks that in general the concept of crimes against humanity has more to commend it than the concept of genocide. In that perspective (I am extrapolating), the burden passes from proving that Stalin targetted Ukrainian peasants to proving (much more easily) that he targetted peasants whose way of doing things stood in the way of a megalomaniac agricultural policy, rather in the way that Mao was later to do in China. The national, ethnic, cultural or linguistic categories into which the peasant fell was irrelevant to Mao. But that did not stop them starving to death].

One thing she does not discuss but which I think is relevant is this. Like Russia, Ukraine has a major boundary problem. The creation of Ukrainian identity has been difficult because there are not enough mountain ranges and rivers creating natural boundaries. After Imperial Russia collapsed in 1917, Ukrainian nationalists laid claim to territories extending considerably beyond today’s boundaries (especially in the north and east). When you look at their maps, you start to see straight lines reminiscent of those favoured by Europe’s imperial powers when they carved up Africa and the Middle East. In the absence of natural boundaries, cultural nationalism assumes exaggerated importance and so does the tendency towards cultural imposition. In the present instance, both Russian and Ukrainian nationalisms came into conflict over territories whose people, left to their own devices,  would probably have ended up living in the kind of inconsistent and compromising ways which enrage bureaucrats, imperialists and pedants.