The title and the subject of this unique book entail a double paradox. Whereas anthropology (or ethnography, as it is known in Russian) is often associated with exotic far-away cultures, this volume contains 13 contributions by native anthropologists on their own home-regions in the non-Russian periphery. Whereas anthropology is often associated with primitive cultures untouched by the pressures of Western modernization, the topic of each chapter is not so much the aboriginal cultures as their transformation by the forced modernization of the Soviet era, against the backdrop of post-Soviet transition.
The editor’s introduction suggests that the book contains “new voices” and “native anthropologists representing their own cultures,” who are “struggling through unavoidable processes of change without total acculturation of Russian, Soviet, industrial, and ‘postmodern’ ways” (pp. 3, 16). The editor’s empathy for her colleagues and their native regions may have enticed them to share personal and professional identity crises at the kitchen table. The articles in the volume, however, are mostly ironclad, lacking reflection and bewilderment in a changing world. The “editor’s endnotes” to each chapter, with comments and critique are a poor substitute.
The first section on ethnogenesis and self-identity deals with Khakas, Yakuts and Mordva. The contribution on Mordva is the most traditional chapter in the book (and, to be fair, the oldest – originally printed in 1991). The author, Nikolai Mokshin, makes an erudite effort to determine whether the ancient aboriginal ethnos of the Mordva should be distinguished in the Maksha and Erzia tribes. With the certainty of an eyewitness and undisturbed by any constructivist doubts, he retraces the Mordva to the first millennium B.C., repeating the typical Soviet formula for the well-known historical turning points (with a Lenin quote and all). “At the start of the second millennium A.D., the formation of the Mordva nationality on the basis of the ancient Mordva tribes can be discerned” or “The incorporation of the Mordva into Russia had great progressive significance” (pp.34-35).
Next, the book deals with a topic tabooed for decades under the Soviet myth of the friendship of peoples – ethnic conflicts. Since the early 1990s, the more market-oriented ethnographers have identified “ethnic-conflict monitoring” as their best bet for institutional survival. Galina Soldatova, writing on Chechen-Ingushetian relations, certainly belongs to this school. Having done extensive field research in Ossetia, she moved to the Moscow Institute of Ethnology and Anthropology, now under Valery Tishkov the Russian Center for Early Warning on Ethnic Conflict in the post-Soviet states. Unfortunately, Soldatova’s Russian manuscript was completed in 1993, before the outbreak of the first Chechen War. Thus, in hindsight not only some of her assumptions (“in 1934 a united Chechen-Ingushetian Republic was formed by the common wish of these peoples”, p. 84), but also her focus on ethno-historic relations between Ingush, Chechen, Ossetian, Nogai and other peoples seems slightly out-of-date in view of Moscow’s decisive role in actual conflicts. Along similar lines, Roza Musina (from Kazan, but belonging to the same school) addresses the drive for economic and political sovereignty for the Republic of Tatarstan. Her contribution is equally descriptive and her conclusion, a plea for Tatar sovereignty, is political instead of analytical.
The third section of the book deals with the symbols and values of native cultures, ranging from birth and marriage rituals to Eskimo beliefs and Shamanic folklore. Evdokiya Gaer, a graduate of the Moscow Institute of Ethnography, typically combines academic research and political activism for the peoples of the North. Her largely descriptive chapter on the birth rituals of the Nanai (a people of a few thousand along the Amur River), however, lacks any indication as to when the listed rituals related to pregnancy and birth were observed. Therefore, her abrupt conclusion that the “birth rituals of the Nanai and their neighbors go back to deep antiquity” fails to convince.
When Marjorie Mandelstam Balzer indicates in the introduction that in her case “native anthropology” would mean to write about the suburbs of Washington DC, one wonders where the non-Russian academics of the book feel at home – in the Soviet institutions of the Academy of Sciences in Moscow and Novosibirsk or in the villages of Yakutia and Mordva. The result of this endeavor could have been a fascinating multi-layered book on “primitive cultures,” Soviet socialization, post-communist despondency, and the merger of Western and Russian scholarly traditions. Yet, the Soviet factor clearly predominates, as most articles were originally written (and published) in 1991-1993. In sum, paradoxically, the book was published too early and too late: too early for insights in the process of post-Soviet reorientation and too late for even a glimpse at the clash of indigenous civilizations and forced modernization.