Some 10 years ago I would have been absolutely happy to jump at any chance to speak English as this language used to be the very essence of my life. This is why I took Russian, my first language, for granted and saw it as a solid part of my identity — if only I had known all ingredients making up who I am are actually fluid… „My „Russianness“ is here to stay’, I used to think, worried it was actually standing in the way of internationalism I was aiming to nurture in myself while traveling and meeting people in different places outside my home country…
Baсk in 2019 after my brief trip to the neighboring Republic of Belarus when the world was or at least seemed a much more stable place than it is these days, inspired by my extended stay in the US on the Fulbright program, I started developing an interest in politics and had a few (humble) thoughts about language policy and Russian as a lingua franca in the post-Soviet space in particular. It was actually the only political issue someone with my background could explore without feeling too much of an impostor. In the Belarussian capital I played a bit of an ethnographer, doing some „metrolingualism“ inspired by an Australian linguist’s book I had just finished. I spent a big chunk of my limited time in Minsk studying street signs, listening closely to conversations happening around me. Little did I know I would be contemplating Russian as a lingua franca in the post-Soviet space a lot more later…
COVID put us in claustrophobic prisons of our homes (i.e., countries and homes) – not only physically, but mentally. Rigid travel restrictions forced us to explore those places not far from home. A lot of hypocrisy surfaced in how different countries treated those restrictions around the world. Still, there were still those with fewer chances for travellers to get stuck and not being able to return to our own private claustrophobic worlds. That was when the former Soviet republics making up the post-Soviet space got on Russian travellers’ radar. For some reason most of us used to explore places with less shared historic past… Ironically, my interest in language policies was also sparked by one of my COVID-era domestic trip to Kazan, the capital of the Republic of Tatarstan.
Then February 24 happened making it a bare and brutal necessity to rethink our «Russianness» as the whole world seemed to be against us — at least that was what the national propaganda got us to believe. For the Western world – with their own sort of propaganda – Russian seemed to have become the language of terror and aggression. As an English teacher revisiting my attitude to the job I’d been doing for more than 10 years, I started thinking how somehow no one had ever questioned the origin of the ever-so-powerful English. In the turbulent political situation being able to visit a few remaining friendly countries gained extra significance. At that point those Russians who were still travelling sought for psychological comfort which is, among other things, facilitated by language. Or is this just me overestimating language as a whole, because it is my job to teach it..? Of course, relations with the post-Soviet countries haven’t been all rosy and bright since the collapse of the Soviet Union, but since February we have seemingly been putting them behind us as all the disputes and grievances have blurred in significance compared to that large-scalehatred or at least misunderstanding we were more likely to face outside the friendlier post-Soviet space.
Having travelled to different places around the world, finally here I was – landing in Armenia for the first time in May 2022. Being told «Добро пожаловать в Армению!» („Welcome to Armenia!“) in perfect Russian felt like such a relief and comfort — yes, this is what a single basic phrase can do! Traveling with a European friend and being able to speak Russian at the same time brought me a lot closer to Armenians than I would have ever thought. Of course, the power of the shared past which is largely manifested through Russian, which was so much present through multiple street signs I was watching even more closely now than I did back in Minsk in the late 2019. My heart also warmed and melted when I heard perfect Russian spoken by almost every Armenian we met. I couldn’t help feeling we had that something to share that brought our nations a lot of centimeters (not inches, sorry) closer, something not accessible to the Westerners or anyone outside the post-Soviet (i.e., largely Russian-speaking) space…
Some might say this kind of thinking is imperialistic and I should have preferred the language I teach for a living, which is English. But at this insane time of rejection and alienation (at least it feels like that) it is essential to feel this increased level of proximity with another nation. Of course, as I said, our shared Soviet past is ambiguous. But what about the Western future some former Soviet republics are so eagerly pursuing as well? I am not the one to decide to which level of hospitality (which is famously high here) Armenians would greet me and someone from outside our common space, but I’d like to think this past (which is yet again not so black and white) would grant me an extra key to their hearts.
Having loved how linguistically and emotionally accommodating the brotherly Armenia was, I decided to return this autumn. This time there were even more reflections – including those related to langauges – as I was on my own.During my first days here I felt somewhat intrusive breaking in into what sounded like very lively conversations in Armenian with my Russian. I also found myself feelng like a stupid kid not knowing what to say after exchanging the typical Armenian greeting Barev dzes („Hello“) with strangers. Was it even right for me to use it or should I have started with a Russian one instead and disappoint Armenians at once?
As I was choosing either option, I observed (practicing some ethnographic methods I guess) people’s faces as they had to switch to Russian for me as I had to say this somewhat imperialistic phrase „По-русски, пожалуйста!» („In Russian, please!“) Most of the time I could hear perfect Russian in response. I have to say everyone was mostly neutral or friendly – regardless of a speaker’s age or a conversation setting. Probably due to my appearance, to some Armenians my Russianness wasn’t so obvious so every once in a while they addressed me (even asking for directions) in Armenian. In these cases saying this imperialistic phrase seemed even more harsh.
Being on my own this time, I could also more mindfully listen to the sound of Armenian everywhere around me. This language seemed like some sort of oriental magic, something I thought I might not even come closer to start comprehending. Honestly, with all due respect to the country’s official language, it felt comforting I had my own magic „stick“ I used to get Armenians to switch to Russian for me…
Some Armenians I met said „We speak Russian with you because you don’t speak Armenian.“ That is fair enough and it was tempting to fall into the comfort zone of Russian rather than at least make an effort to pick up some local language as I would anywhere outside the post-Soviet space. But is it possible that a nation of around 150 mln would learn the language of a country much smaller? It is not condescending, but just pure pragmatics, which is often involved in language learning…
As a language teacher I also understand the pointlessness of learning Armenian as I know I won’t succeed much. First, because the language is simply too difficult and not similar to any language I speak with varying levels of proficiency at all. Secondly, most Armenians speak such great Russian that there will hardly be any opportunities to practice Armenian with them — at least without me sounding like a stupid kid. I can of course give it a try – just to make my local friends laugh over a glass of wine as they watch me butchering their ancient unique language. But I don’t mind being that stupid kid asking them to teach me at least some Armenian out of sheer respect for them and their first language. But I was recently gently reminded that if I wanted to stay for longer and make a commitment to the country, it would be a good idea for me to stop relying on my first language alone and get more serious about Armenian, which I understand is also fair enough…
In regards to Armenia’s language policy, according to the country’s constitution, it has one official language, which is Armenian. Even any vague suggestions about giving Russian any official status have been reported to have caused emotional reactions or deemed purely imperialistic and threatening to the Armenian national identity. After the collapse of the Soviet Union all state schools in Armenia started using Armenian as the only language of instruction even though before that some Armenians even went to Russian schools as they were thought to offer higher education quality. Russian is still the first mandatory foreign language taught at Armenian schools. A lot of textbooks used at educational institutions of different levels are also in Russian. According to statistics, around a half of Armenians are fluent in Russian. As a person in Humanities, I am sort of sceptical of attempting to quantify individual and collective levels of language proficiency. Based on my experience of personal interactions with Armenians, I can say that Russian seemed such a natural part of the linguistic repertoire of the people I met in Yerevan or smaller towns. There are still educational institutions where Russian is used as one of the languages of instruction. There is Russian-Armenian University where I was amazed at how effortlessly professors and students switched from Armenian into Russian and back. As a foreign language teacher, I never felt my mother tongue was in any way „foreign“ to Armenians. If any of my students could achieve such a level of proficiency in the foreign language I am teaching, I would be beyond proud. I am not being pessimistic, but I can’t possibly imagine it being a common outcome of foreign language instruction.
The language I teach for a living, which is English, is also gaining significance. English is taught as a second foreign language at schools. As it is becoming a foreign language of choice, some argue it must be made the first foreign language instead of Russian. Observing the street signs in Yerevan, I saw how apart from Armenian, mostly a mix of Russian and English is used. To the best of my knowledge, the order of languages (at least not on the facades of the state institutions) is not legally regulated, but personally, I loved to see Armenian, Russian and English (in that particular order). As I said, at this turbulent time as a Russian, I appreciate the economic and political ties between our nations and not seeing my first language in street signs made me somehow hurt — if not on the professional, but on the emotional level.
According to political scientists, being a small country offers more flexibility. Armenians also seemed not to have made their geopolitical choices yet. It can be perfectly well understood how they might be willing to keep their connections with the countries outside the post-Soviet space, the European Union and the USA in particular. There are different possible scenarios that specialists examine and one can safely say that the development of the relations between the South Caucasus and the USA is going to have a major effect on Armenia’s language policies and individual linguistic choices in the long run.
Even though some people living in the former Soviet republics might feel resentful about having to learn and speak Russian, any extra language increases one’s linguistic capital. I don’t think Armenians speak Russian just to please me as there are obviously economic benefits as well. I remember my Russian friend say when we first came here in summer just after an hour in Yerevan,„We are so stupid“ as we struggled just to learn how to say շնորհակալություն (Armenian for „thank you“) as we saw Armenians speak Russian so impressively well. Even though we are both linguists and speak English very fluently, our bilingualism seems to be something which is part of our career choices rather than something acquired earlier in life as it was for Armenians. This is something that makes us, imperialists as some might willingly label us, truly jealous.
Most of my local friends are fellow Fulbrighters so all of us speak English fluently. I don’t mind speaking English with some of them, but honestly, I feel somewhat closer to those I can speak ‘the language of my heart’ with. Probably after over ten years in the field, I have reached apoint when I don’t seek out extra opportunities to speak English. I am only willing to do that when there is no shared historic, economic or political past between us.
It might be far-fetched, but I feel those Armenians not willing to speak Russian have a sort of a negative attitude to Russia, which I am in no position to blame them for. I believe each individual is smart enough to master an extra language and there must have been something that put these intelligent people off. I know this attitude has nothing to do with me personally, but we do fall into trap of associating ourselves with collective national identities and start taking things personally. I have to admit feeling somewhat annoyed when people insist on speaking broken English with me rather than Russian. I know for sure that these people’s parents and grandparents must speak pretty good Russian, so why would these younger people resist at least making an effort to master this language like I did the Eastern Ukrainian dialect I picked up from my parents and grandparents growing up in the border region..?
I heard some fellow Russians say we act as colonizers by speaking Russian here in Armenia. But even as an English teacher, I am wondering if Anglo-Saxons ever felt like ones generating billions in the English-teaching industry where nativespeakerism is still dominant and traveling all around the world taking millions of people speaking their first language for granted… In my own defense, I can say I am not condenscending to Armenians speaking Russian and I am sure both our nations own this language in an equal manner.
Will politicians get to decide which language we speak with each other? Will there come a time when Westerners are more welcome here than Russians? As much as I understand Armenia’s international aspirations, I would be deeply unhappy to see that happen. I hope that this shared past largely shaped by Soviet films, cartoons and songs — as conversational as it was — will continue to bring us together no matter which path Armenia chooses to pursue in the future.
Finally, I hope the pleasure of naturally charming Armenians speak perfect Russian will not be taken away from us. People have all sorts of reasons to learn a foreign language and one of the irrational (but quite powerful) reasons is love. This should definitely be a reason enough for a Russian to learn Armenian…
I know Armenians might have mixed feelings about the current influx of Russians, but as a linguist and a Russian, I hope we will never be „foreigners foreigners“ in this beautiful brotherly country. շնորհակալություն /Спасибо!
olgacreateinspire 