Comparing the incomparable: multicultural Swedishness versus national statehood of the Baltic States II

Här följer den andra och avslutande delen av mitt och statsvetaren Andreas Johansson Heinös samtal med den litauiske filosofen Tomas Kavaliauskas om Sverige och de baltiska staterna, som finns publicerat i boken Conversations about European Transcultural Memory (Vilnius 2014).

Frågorna och titeln på samtalet har formulerats av Tomas Kavaliauskas.

Första delen kan läsas här, och hela boken kan laddas ner här.

T. Kavaliauskas

The ethnic tensions in the Baltic States also revolve around the issue of occupation or liberation in 1945 on May 9th. Memory politics whether May 9th denotes liberation or occupation do not coincide in Russia and the Baltic States. Neither Polish nor Lithuanian national narratives coincide on Vilnius territory and its cultural heritage. Recently Belarusians are active claiming the rights of Lithuanian Grand Duchy and there are ideas of changing the name of the state from Belarus to Litva.

Thus, on the one hand, having in mind the significance of memory politics for the Baltic States, it would be unwise to conclude that the Baltic States should copy/paste Swedish effort to deconstruct essentialism of the fatherland as the context here is very different; but on the other hand, nationalism is a myopic ideology that often promotes xenophobic views, therefore, its tolerance is also unwise no matter what the context is. Justification of nationalistic sentiments sooner or later lead to territorial disputes and destructive desires to restore “justice” of the distant past, which leads Europe nowhere. Thus, if we agree that the prerequisite for peaceful Europe is transcultural memory politics, then the Baltic States should be more open for a new way of identity construction.

But the challenge is to overcome conflicting memories between the Baltics and Russia, between Lithuania and Poland and Belarus. Could Swedish case provide examples of successful management of historical self-contradictory narratives?

A. J. Heinö

To some extent, I guess it is fair to describe Sweden as a success story in this field. While century-old grievances still haunt large parts of the continent, few in Sweden even have the most basic knowledge about 17th and 18th century wars with Russia and Denmark. The fate of the Swedish minority in Finland is politically dead. In most European countries, the loss of rights for co-ethnics in a neighbouring country would cause a political reaction but Sweden is probably the only country in Europe totally lacking of what Rogers Brubaker once termed ”homeland nationalism”, i.e. nation-states acting in the name of the nation, even outside of its borders.

But there is a downside to this as well. No society can do without the tools necessary for handling group related conflicts. ”Memory politics” is a peaceful tool for this. In Uppsala, the fourth biggest city in Sweden and home to quite a large number of Kurdish immigrants, there have been several attempts to erase a monument for Fadime Sahindal, a young Swedish-born women of Kurdish background who was the victim of a high-profiled honour killing in 2002, being shot dead by her father. The Kurdish groups have protested against this, claiming that although it was wrong that she was killed, she should still not be regarded as a role model for young women and that a monument celebrating her work – she was politically active, once even holding a speech in the national parliament – would be regarded as an institutionalized disrespect for the Kurdish minority.

This is a type of conflict common in all multicultural immigrant societies. The values of minority and majority sometimes clashes, and in a democracy you can deal with it in a peaceful and hopefully constructive way. But the problem in Sweden is that we lack the tools for a constructive dialogue. Instead of learning to deal with difficulties, Sweden has chosen to neglect the problems.

Remember, even though the ‘official’ self-image of Sweden is that of a multicultural society, Swedishness is not being regarded as a part of that cultural pluralism. Instead, Swedishness is understood as something ‘un-cultural’, as a progressive and modern identity having been transformed beyond the state of being a particular culture, instead now being a reflection of universal ideas. And that is a very troublesome starting point if you want to formulate a common, inclusive narrative.

N. Bernsand

In terms of relations with countries which historically have been Sweden’s significant others with repeated wars and changes of common state borders, first and foremost Russia and Denmark, the legacy of the past has been largely successfully overcome. Toxic memories from 20th century wars and expulsions on the former Eastern border are rather part of the complex of Russo-Finnish relations. In the case of the Southern border you could indeed find a few regional patriots somewhere around Lund who would argue that the former Danish provinces should be awarded cultural autonomy based on history and ethno-regional cultural specificities. In this province, starting in the 1980s a local memory literature has emerged describing the atrocities associated with the Swedish take-over in the 17th century. This literature is widely available in local public libraries all over the region of Skåne – and nowadays on websites – and is certainly read by some; but this nascent regional movement has failed to gain any political weight whatsoever and is represented to a much lesser degree in local public debates than 15 or 20 years ago. In short, the debate space that theoretically could have been awarded to these issues from the 1990s has been taken up by larger Swedish identity politics relating to national identity, immigration and integration. To put it a bit crudely, the potential political exploitation of regional past grievances in Skåne was killed off by immigration without any real battles ever being fought.

It is more questionable, however, whether Sweden has been successful in overcoming internal toxic memories. The Swedish Travellers, a group of Sinti Roma origin that in 2012 celebrated its 500th anniversary in Sweden and was one of the few ethnic minorities in the country before the large-scale immigration waves took place in the late 20th century, is a case in point. Although historically the relations between this group, the Swedish peasant population and local and state authorities have been, to say the least, complex, during the 20th century Travellers were most severely affected by the darker aspects of the establishment of a modern, rational welfare state. Travellers were greatly overrepresented among children that forcefully and often on dubious grounds were taken by the authorities from their families to be placed in foster homes or orphanages, where they often faced abuse and humiliation. Although laws and regulations did not specifically single out this group, in actual practice Travellers were also overrepresented as victims of sterilisations, enforced or “voluntary”, from the 1930s up until 1975. Traumatic individual and family memories are abundant in this group. On the collective level, Travellers showed remarkable strength in keeping the group intact as an ethnic community in times of acute assimilatory pressure. However, intergenerational cultural transmission, not the least in the field of language, was significantly disturbed, resulting in often weak knowledge of Traveller Romani among the younger generation. In fact, the Travellers I have met personally who have a native command of the language learnt it growing up with their grandparents.
At the moment some progress has been made in the field of transitional justice in relation to the Travellers, as e.g. some individual victims of enforced adoptions are finally granted economic compensation. Work is ongoing, with the involvement of representatives of Travellers, on a White Book (Truth Commission) on the abuse of Roma and Travellers by Swedish authorities, although some of the assumptions behind this endeavour have been questioned. However, the lack so far of a thoroughly popularized, properly contextualised and specific apology from the Swedish state for historical abuse and injustice against Travellers causes resentment in the community.

Again, as for drawing on the Swedish experience as a source of inspiration for the management of Baltic memory conflicts, it is not obvious how this experience would be relevant. Firstly, as was seen in the example of the Travellers, Sweden cannot be said to have handled the more acute and vivid memory issues in an exemplary way. Secondly, whereas in the Baltic States the most toxic memory conflicts relate to events of the 20th century, Sweden’s wars of the 17th and 18th centuries were fought before the advent of modern mass politics and the political instrumentalisation of national identities. Thirdly, as for possible later instrumentalisation of historical conflictual relations with external others it is disputable to which extent the historical legacies have been overcome by specific memory policies. They were indeed affected by the advent of modernist Swedish identity, which in general terms was forward-looking and discarded the past as irrelevant. For sure, there has since the 1990s been an upsurge of interest in Swedish history, including the Great Power era, and in 2011 came the first modern book, written not by a professional historian but by journalist John Crispinsson, on Swedish historical memories from the eastern shores of the Baltic Sea. However, this has not had any political implications, and even marginal Swedish ethno-nationalist discourses are thoroughly focused on the territory of contemporary Sweden.

I share your arguments about intolerance, and perhaps indeed a peace-building memory politics, e.g. in the Baltic States, would be facilitated by the search for new ways of identity construction. Certainly, a proper discussion of this aspect of your question would demand at least an article of its own. Just a short suggestion that might work with the hermeneutic perspective you propose in your article about Russian and Baltic narratives on the May 9th Victory Day celebrations: perhaps it would be productive to build on the identities that already exist and are truly felt by individuals and groups in society. At least one might be careful with the lurking Utopian temptation, underpinned by universalist liberalism or whatever else, to crusade against the plurality of meaningful identities and self-images – be they ethnic, religious, regional, national or imperial – in the hope of engineering new and better ways to identify and connect. As with modernist Swedish identity, when the larger circumstances change the assumptions supporting them, such identities might change anyway. Perhaps trust in the positive qualities of collective identities combined with a smaller degree of situational policing would be preferable to radical reform requiring major policing and system-level social engineering.

T. Kavaliauskas

Carl Ulrik Schierup and Aleksandra Ålund in the article ”The end of Swedish exceptionalism” identify the year 2008 as the end of peaceful multiculturalism due to riots that disclosed incongruities and ethnic tensions. Gottsunda area in Uppsala was creatively called as Ghettosunda. If Sweden ends being a role model for multicultural success story, and for that we do have a date – the year 2008, then should we conclude that we should be even more careful introducing Swedish anti-essentialism to the Baltic States?
Is it possible to find here sort of Aristotelian golden mean between extreme multiculturalism and ultra-nationalism blending the two into sort of ethnic-cosmopolitanism? Ethnic cosmopolitanism then would mean ethnic diversity and heterogeneous society with such a respect to the individual‘s cultural context that his or her ethnic essentialism would be cherished, however, on the condition that this individual and his/her group does the same regarding other ethnic cultures in overlapping neighbourhoods, thus, maintaining cosmopolitan diversity and integrity.

To what extent has Swedish multiculturalism crossed the balance between national identity and cosmopolitan culture building? Do you accept the thesis of C. U. Schierup and A. Ålund that 2008 is the year of backward multiculturalism? What does it mean then for Swedish identity memory of its 20th and 21st centuries? Is it somehow reflected in school history books?

A. J. Heinö

Standing in the middle of the action, it is always tempting to over-emphasize the historical importance of what is going on. No, I don’t see 2008 as a turning point. Five years on, few in Sweden even remember the riots in Gottsunda, and there have been other similar events during the last decade.

If one should identify one event that marks the beginning of something new, it is the murder of Fadime Sahindal in January 2002. She was a Swedish-born woman of ethnic Kurdish background who was active in the case of honour culture and eventually was shot dead by her father. Just two weeks earlier, Mrs Gudrun Schyman, the leader of the socialist Left Party held an infamous speech at a party congress there she argued that women in Sweden lived under similar patriarchal structures as the women in the Taliban ruled Afghanistan (her speech afterwards being remembered as ‘The Taliban Speech”). Although attracting immediate criticism, it was still something that a leading Swedish politician could say, and get away with. Many leading intellectuals at the same time argued along similar lines that it was racist to claim that certain cultures treated their women worse than others, and that the whole concept of ”honor killings” were racist. But the murder of Sahindal did change all that. It opened up for a more critical discussion on the downside of cultural relativism, such as the alleged reluctance of authorities to act in cases where the perpetrators belonged to ethnic minorities. To some extent, it was our Ground Zero for Multiculturalism and the start of a return of more open discussion on assimilation (although it is called ‘integration’ in the Swedish discourse).

But, the question is whether Sweden ever really did enter the multicultural way. I wrote an article a few years ago with the title ”We have never been multicultural” – meant as a paraphrase to Nathan Glazer’s classic “We are all multiculturalists now”. My argument was that although Sweden adopted a multicultural policy towards immigrants in the mid 1970s not that much changed in reality. Yes, non-citizens achieved the right to vote in municipal and regional elections, and yes, immigrant children were offered a few hours of free education in their mother tongue every week. But Sweden never truly became multicultural in terms of offering minority cultures a specific role in Swedish society. Except for the Sami minority, no immigrant groups of minorities have held any group rights. The state did expect immigrants to assimilate, or return to their homelands, the legislation was merely meant to offer equal rights for the immigrants while they remained in Sweden. No Swedish political party have ever argued for a multiculturalism that would give group rights to minorities, or that would truly challenge the monocultural model of the Swedish society.

N. Bernsand

The most interesting thing about the quoted article is the authors’ concerned predictions about the end of the Swedish Sonderweg, and, as has already been mentioned in this conversation, Swedish society is clearly much less sure of itself and its ability to handle present challenges. In some policy areas discussed in the article, such as citizenship, Swedish exceptionalism is however alive and kicking: no language tests for citizenship, contradictory laws granting asylum-seekers who are denied residence permit and expected to leave the country far-reaching social rights and benefits if they chose to hide from the authorities, bizarrely enough with the simultaneous risk of being deported by other Swedish authorities at any moment.

As for the riots in the suburbs, I wouldn’t say that 2008 was such a fundamental year, and I doubt it is remembered in school text books. What the suburbs reveal is a tendency of various groups and individuals in Sweden to vote with their feet. Suburbs in Stockholm, Gothenburg, Malmö, and in later years also in many mid-size cities originally constructed for migrants from the Swedish countryside, have in the last decades seen rapid out-migration of ethnic Swedes, as well as of many others who have been able to move up the scale socially. Predictably the newcomers often tend to settle in those areas where their ethnic kin and relatives already live, however many Swedes, if they can afford it, also tend to settle in socially and fairly ethnically homogenous Swedish middle-class areas. Often this social act is coded in terms of ‘safe area for the kids to grow up in’, ‘good schools’ etc. This tendency points to an important way Swedish society deals with large-scale immigration outside of the political field and beyond surveys on toleration.

Your proposed ideal of a blend between multiculturalism and nationalism uniting recognition of cultural diversity, harmonious inter-group relations and, I suppose, respect for individual freedom, sounds on the first glance not very different from some common academic varieties of normative multiculturalism. It is noteworthy in this regard that high-lighting similarities between multiculturalism and nationalism is a key feature of the pro-immigration liberal critique aimed at multiculturalism (i.e. not at cultural diversity itself but at certain normative conceptualisations) that has been a common feature in the Western European, including Swedish, political and medial debates. To provide an academic example, I recently visited a conference on the future of multiculturalism in Great Britain where multiculturalism was challenged by some participants under the banner of interculturalism, a term that occasionally can be heard in various Swedish contexts as well. Normative multiculturalism was in this liberal discourse portrayed as groupist, essentialist and disrespectful of human rights discourse, as engendering alienation rather than integration and as driving otherwise liberally inclined citizens in the hands of the critics of immigration. Basically, liberal discourse on nasty nationalism here reoccurs as discourse on nasty multiculturalism.

T. Kavaliauskas

How does fiction literature, documentary films or entertainment films or art exhibitions reflect transformations of Swedish multiculturalism or shifts in national self-perception? For instance, if the word “fatherland” has become derogative, perhaps there is postmodern intertextual usage of this word in an ironic and playful way, be it in art exhibitions or in literature or in film?

A. J. Heinö

It used to be, in the 1960s at least, but today, I hardly think that many Swedes even would understand a reference to the word ”fatherland”. It is something related to American movies, but totally absent in Sweden. It is now so old-fashioned, it is even too old for irony.
But instead, we see the emergence of a discourse on Swedish racism which demonstrates quite an impressing naivety among Swedish intellectuals. As many other European nations, we have had our own debate on Hergé’s infamous colonial narrative about “Tintin in Congo”. The trouble with these debates is that the arguments are not homegrown but imported from America. Of course it would be wrong to only look at the national context, but the problem is that artists and intellectuals are looking to far away for inspiration and thus drawing the wrong conclusions. White and Black are not relevant identity categories in Sweden, as they are in the United States or even Great Britain. But due to the lack of understanding of how categories of nationality and ethnicity function – a direct result of the anti-nationalist norm – many are left with just the simple categories of skin colour. When the Swedish prime minister commented on mass unemployment in Sweden and claimed that there was not mass unemployment since unemployment among “middle aged ethnic Swedes” were very low, he was just making a basic fact. Sweden has, comparative to other European countries, a high unemployment for youth and for immigrants, but comparatively low for other groups. But the comment triggered a totally senseless debate on the word ”ethnic Swedes”. Many, otherwise intelligent people, were arguing that there was no such thing as an ethnic Swede, and that the prime minister was racially dividing the population into the categories of us and them.

N. Bernsand

A fairly large corpus of books and films exploiting themes of multiculturalism and ethnic relations has emerged in the last decade, in different genres and styles. While some of these books and films, like Marjaneh Bakhtiari’s Shibboleth, Jonas Hassen Khemiri’s Ett öga rött or Ruben Östlund’s Play are intelligent and thought-provoking, they often engender debates of a more dubious quality, taking interesting and complex works as starting-points for high-pitched and predictable discussions.

Furthermore, changes in and challenges to prevalent concepts of national identity can be portrayed more or less overtly. It has e.g. been argued that the huge popularity (in Sweden too, by the way) of British crime series like Midsomer Murders can partly be explained by a kind of pre-super diversity escapism, seen in their overwhelmingly traditional English scenery with few references to current everyday multi-ethnic realities. Maybe, in a similar vein, it is no coincidence that the most prominent authors of the Swedish crime fiction boom (often with books subsequently being made into films and TV series and exported to international markets) focus on ethnically Swedish characters and settings. From this perspective, it does not really matter that the protagonists of quite a few of those books join the fight against prejudice, intolerance, and the fictionally omnipresent old Swedish village Nazi. What does matter is that the protagonists and the milieus are predominantly Swedish. If the bad guys are Swedish racists the good guys are Swedish anti-racists (sometimes with the token non-Swede of course). And that is indeed a very Swedish story.


Comparing the incomparable: multicultural Swedishness versus national statehood of the Baltic States I

2014 har för min del främst ägnats åt Ukrainarelaterade saker, både medialt och populärvetenskapligt kring den nu pågående konflikten i landet, och forskningsmässigt om minnet av förkrigstida kulturell mångfald i en stad i västra Ukraina. Det har inte funnits mycket tid att fundera över ett annat av bloggens huvudfokus, nämligen tankar om den svenska utvecklingen och de ideologiska och identitetsmässiga landskap som avtecknar sig här.

Jag publicerar därför nu på bloggen i två avsnitt ett kapitel ur den litauiske filosofen och författaren Tomas Kavaliauskas bok Conversations about European Transcultural Memory (Vilnius 2014). I boken samtalar Kavaliauskas med forskare och intellektuella från olika europeiska länder om minnespolitik, identiteter, och politiska och socio-kulturella transformationer.

I nedan publicerade kapitel diskuterar han Sverige och Baltikum, men nog i första hand Sverige, med mig och statsvetaren Andreas Johansson Heinö. Kavaliauskas ställde fem frågor och här följer samtalet kring de två första. Den avslutande delen publicerar jag om någon vecka. Frågorna och titeln på samtalet har formulerats av Tomas Kavaliauskas.

Samtalet ägde rum under våren 2013.


Conversations about Transcultural European Memory

Hela boken kan laddas ner här.


Comparing the incomparable: multicultural Swedishness versus national statehood of the Baltic States. Tomas Kavaliauskas conducts an academic conversation with Andreas Johansson Heinö and Niklas Bernsand

Tomas Kavaliauskas

Let me start this intriguing conversation with a reference to Andreas’ article “Democracy between collectivism and individualism: De-nationalization and individualization in Swedish national identity.” There we learn that the discourse of Swedish cultural and political elite has been anti-nationalist and pro-multiculturalist. The article emphasizes that Swedish national identity has been deconstructed and the words like “patriotism” or “fatherland” have acquired a negative meaning. Thus, if “patriotism” and “fatherland” have a negative connotation, how do we then explain Swedish love for the royal family and monarchy, which represents Swedish honour?

Andreas Johansson Heinö

First, one has to understand that there are at least two competing, or rather, unrelated but co-existing, discourses in Sweden when it comes to the question of the monarchy. There is an elite discourse, which I mention in the article you refer to, which strongly rejects the monarchy and despises the whole idea of royalism. The monarchy is repeatedly described in terms such as ”reactionary”, ”old-fashioned”, ”un-modern” and not seldom understood to be shameful for a country that in so many other aspects are considered to be very modern and progressive. It is for Swedish intellectuals an annoying distortion to the otherwise beautiful self-image of Swedes.

But at the same time there also exists a completely opposite attitude. Although the rates are decreasing, the royal family is still very popular among Swedes and a stable majority of them wants to maintain the monarchy. That is of course the only reason why almost no politicians seriously advocate to get rid of the monarchy.

In fact, pictures of the royal family are one of very few nationalist symbols that are available for use in Sweden. These pictures are common on birthday greeting cards, many people in middle-class neighbourhoods hoist their flags on the birthdays of the members of the royal family and they are always on the front pages of the best-selling weekly magazines.
What is interesting from a multicultural perspective is that the official Swedish discourse is out of touch with large parts of the new Sweden. The national holiday, introduced as lately as the 1980s and not becoming a work-free holiday until the 2000s are in fact celebrated more among non-native Swedes. So when intellectuals in Sweden ridicule the royal family, they are playing a risky game of offending immigrants who appreciate one of the few available symbols for national integration. In fact, immigrants trying to integrate into Sweden face a real choice, not between the ethnic and the civic, but between the elitist and the popular.

Niklas Bernsand

As you mention in your question, our fellow conversationalist’s article focuses on elite discourses of national identity, which might or might not coincide with popular views. The monarchy in Sweden as an institution has a very stable level of support, while personal trust in the king and other members of the royal family shows more variation over time. Although support for abolishing the monarchy has increased somewhat since the mid-1970s, in the most reliable survey only about 20% of the population were in 2011 in favour of such a reform, and the monarchy was supported by a majority of respondents from all sociological categories. Interestingly, surveys also show that support for and trust in the monarchy is significantly lower among elite groups such as parliamentarians and journalists than in the population at large. So there seem to be a disagreement between elite and popular views on this matter, although many critics of the monarchy argue in terms of principle and do not see this as an issue of immediate political importance. Since the monarchy is a genuinely popular institution with functions restricted to the symbolic and ceremonial sphere the passive republicanism of important political actors does not translate into political action, and there are few signs that the long-established political consensus on the monarchy will be seriously challenged in the foreseeable future.
Some researchers have argued that Swedish political and media discourse on national identity and multiculturalism long remained inside the framework of a hegemonic multiculturalism, while others have pointed to the comparatively low level of actual institutionalisation in Swedish society of multiculturalist policies. Andreas Johansson Heinö argues that “tolerant” Swedish political and media discourse celebrating cultural diversity and the cultural contributions of immigrants to Swedish society and fighting to keep xenophobic rhetoric out of public space to a large extent has masked expectations that immigrants eventually will succumb to progressive and modern Swedish norms and values. In this view, the Swedish self-image of tolerance while not being outright false is a serious distortion that prevents a better understanding of the changes Swedish society is going through.

This Swedish anti-nationalist discourse should rather be understood as a modernist Swedish nation-building that included nationalist assumptions about the specific moral content of Swedishness. If earlier conservative and particularistic versions of Swedishness were based on a perceived unity of monarchy, church, fatherland and people, modernist Swedishness had universalist ambitions, and was seen as reflecting the building a new democratic and progressive Sweden that was to be a role model for other countries and peoples. Modernist Swedish national identity was conceived as rational and modern, with no need for old-school national self-aggrandisement and explicit nationalist manifestations, and it was, paradoxically, implied that Swedes carried those virtues to a larger extent than other nations, and thus had been able to move exceptionally far on the road to a mature, decent and fair society.

As for pro-multiculturalism, if you allow me to paraphrase the famous slogan from Soviet nationality policies, much Swedish discourse praising cultural diversity can be seen as multiculturalist in form, but the expectations and assumptions behind it have often rather been Swedish modernist in content. Diversity in terms of food, music and other safe markers of ethno cultural otherness was encouraged, but it was expected that newcomers eventually would embrace the hegemonic rational and progressive norms of modern Swedish society.

Modernist Swedishness took shape in an ethnically homogenous society where ethnos and demos to a very large extent overlapped – with the exception of a few small ethnic minority groups – and the actual experience of handling widespread everyday ethno-cultural diversity was limited. This is still felt even in debates on immigration and cultural diversity in the profoundly heterogeneous Swedish society that has emerged over the last decades. Obviously, today national identity discourses are much less stable and homogenous then during the heyday of modernist Swedishness in the 1970s or 1980s, with both new evolving postnational elite discourses on Swedishness and anti-elite counter discourses emphasising ethno-cultural notions of Swedishness. All those visions of Swedishness seem, though, to conceive of Swedishness as a one-layered identity. Johansson Heinö in fact is one of the few participants of contemporary Swedish identity debates who sometimes argue in terms of the parallel existence of two layers of Swedishness – an ethno-cultural one being the equivalent of the various immigrant ethnic cultures, and an inclusive civic form encompassing all Swedish citizens irrespective of ethno-cultural background. It is quite amusing to see how almost everyone – anti-immigration activists, pro-immigration multiculturalists or liberals – is united in a complete lack of understanding of such an identity concept. Even now, when Swedish identity discourse slowly grows accustomed to the fact that otherness actually can mean something and that not everyone wants to identify with (all the more divergent) Swedish norms, Swedish thinking on cultural diversity is still structured by assumptions inherited from the not too distant past when there was much less diversity to deal with.

T. Kavaliauskas

By comparing Swedish anti-essentialist politics with the Baltic States – Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania – where politics are based on essentialist ethnic-national identity, we face a striking cleavage. On one coast of the Baltic Sea we have dismantled (or an attempt to dismantle) essence of national identity, on the other shore we have a continuous tradition of ethnic essence. Then the question is: should the Baltic States take lessons from Sweden?

If yes, then we run into major problems, for instance, what to do with the legacy of the Singing or Velvet Revolutions of the 1989? What I mean is that 1989 is the sacred year for the entire East Central Europe that celebrates the fall of the Berlin Wall/Iron Curtain, which was accompanied with patriotic-fatherland symbolism and national movements claiming independence. The second independence of the Baltic States signified the end of the Soviet Union. The collapse of the latter is unimaginable without National fronts of Latvia and Estonia and of Lithuanian Sąjūdis just as Solidarność in Poland. Moreover, the second independence is understood as a restoration of the independence of the interwar period between1918-1939. Needless to say, this period is very nationalistic as at the time national projects were flourishing as a modern idea.

However, in Sweden already in the 1960‘s national identity was under criticism, whereas in the Baltic States a critique of nationalism even today is precarious, since national identity here is directly linked to sovereignty discourse and statehood. The Russian language referendum in Latvia in 2012 that raised so many tensions between Latvian Russians and ethnic Latvians sheds light on how mentally and politically the Baltic States are unprepared for multiculturalism. The word “unprepared“ is misguiding, since the issue here is not only psychological, but also geopolitical. Any linguistic or cultural cleavages between Latvians and Latvian Russians or Estonians and Estonian Russians (suffice to recall riots in Tallinn in 2007 due to the removal of Alyosha monument) has been instrumentalized and over politicized by Moscow, which leads to geopolitical games of protecting Russian minorities in “hostile” Pribaltika. The same problem was facing Lithuania between 2010 and 2012 having a cold war with Lithuanian Polish over “w” letter, street names, and bilingual education programs.

Would you see then the Baltic States and Sweden as living in different paradigms and in even different time horizons (using Hans George Gadamer’s term)? If so, is it because of a different history or is it because of different levels of open-mindedness? After all, it probably also has to do with a sense of security – insecure nations are reluctant to abandon their national identity based on fatherland’s essentialism? So where does the secret of Sweden lie?

A. J. Heinö

Indeed, the differences between Sweden and the Baltic States are huge. One way to illustrate the cleavage is to look closer at the Swedish nationalist party, the Sweden Democrats, that entered parliament in 2010 after five failed attempts, the longest road to a European parliament for any – eventually successful – anti-immigrant party.
The Sweden Democrats are regularly described as an extreme party in Sweden. And the distance between them and the other established parties in terms of both ideology and policy is huge. In fact, the Sweden Democrats are commonly rejected as being ”un-Swedish”, due to their intolerant attitude towards minorities, in particular Muslims, and their support for ethnic nationalism. You still cannot find a singular leading Swedish intellectual who even with reservations would say that this party is not bad in all respects. I think Belgium is the only country where the established parties have successfully maintained a similarly clear distance towards an anti-immigrant party. In other cases – Denmark, Netherlands and Austria for example, these parties have been able to influence policy through direct cooperation and negotiation with other parties.
But, and this is my point, if you really look at the ideas and policies of the Sweden Democrats, from a Baltic perspective you would have a hard time to find any extreme standpoints. I would rather claim that in a Central and East European perspective, they represent a mainstream centre-right attitude towards nationalism. When it comes to immigration policy, citizenship laws and minority policies, they argue for what is already the norm in the Eastern half of Europe: restrictive asylum laws, language test for citizenship.

To understand the anti-nationalist norm in Sweden, you have to look at our history. The main reason is fairly simple and has to do with the homogeneity of the Swedish society up until the 1960s. Few other European countries could compete with Sweden in the first half of the 19th century in terms of ethnic homogeneity – Iceland of course, and maybe Portugal among similar-sized nations. Frankly, the degree of ethnic homogeneity made political nationalism irrelevant. There was a quite strong rightist nationalist movement in the first decades of the century, but already in the 1920s and the 1930s, Swedish nationalism became obsolete. With no obvious threats to the national sovereignty, there were no incentives to mobilize around the nationalist issue. And then, in the late 1960s, anti-nationalism came to accompany multiculturalism as the new ideology of the political and intellectual elites.

So before even considering whether Sweden might be a normatively attractive model for the Baltic States, I think one has to realize that it is only in a context where all threats against both the national sovereignty and the ethnic homogeneity have been removed, that such an attitude may become the norm. This is, of course, the main reason why Sweden has seen an increase in political nationalism the last decades. The Sweden Democrats are a reaction against increasing cultural diversity.

N. Bernsand

No, the starting points when it comes to national identity discourses differ so profoundly between Sweden and The Baltic States that is hard to conceive of how the former could function as a role model for the latter. There might also be a time lag inherent in the posing of such a question, since it seems to be inspired by how Swedish identity discourse worked under previous conditions of comparatively high levels of perceived cultural security, a factor which you correctly bring into the game. In contemporary culturally diverse Sweden, however, public discourse reflects a society being very much at loss as for how to deal with national identity. If you feel you need a role model maybe you should look somewhere else.

But if we start with the notion of Swedish anti-essentialism, in connection with the previous question we saw that the modernist project on the one hand was critical to more conservative projections of Swedishness but on the other hand was not anti-essentialist in the sense that Swedishness and the Swedish nation as such were deconstructed. Swedishness was perceived as very real and tangible, although its content was supposed to differ radically from earlier models. Modernist Swedishness really did emerge in conditions of great cultural security: it was connected to social optimism and widespread faith in a bright future, and was born in a time of rapid and stable economic growth and greatly increased living standards for ordinary Swedes. It also took place in a society which was only accepting the first waves of work immigration from various European countries, but was still very ethno-culturally homogenous. In such conditions this kind of national identity could, for several decades, thrive.

Modernist Swedishness lingers on as a deeper cultural text, but it is increasingly challenged by various competing liberal universalist, postmodern and postcolonial strands and by ethno-cultural anti-elite discourses. Swedish identity discourse is presently in a state of flux, and if modernist Swedishness emerged in conditions of cultural security now the context is rather marked by deep-felt cultural insecurity, triggered by processes of economic and cultural globalisation and the loss of faith in ever-increasing prosperity, the transfer of significant powers of the Swedish nation-state to the European Union, large-scale immigration transforming the ethno-demographic make-up of the country, and last but not least individualisation and subcultural and socio-economic fragmentation.

In this context, anti-essentialism in the sense of a more fundamental deconstruction indeed has become an important component of political and medial discourses in the last 10 or 15 years. This happened after the breakthrough of social constructivism, first in academic circles, and then, often in strikingly superficial and inconsequential interpretations, in political and media discourse. The notion that national identities are socially constructed is unfortunately here often misunderstood as if such identities are less ‘true’, something that better informed people know does not really ‘exist’, but, that in any case ought to be properly managed by the social engineering of language use. Here the linguistic turn in the social sciences enters Swedish public debates as a kind of magical thinking.

Constructivist thinking is selectively applied to those social occurrences which are found to be, for various reasons, unpleasant or dangerous. What is worse, the actual social rootedness in Swedish society of various national identity constructs as, in Brubaker’s terms, ‘categories of practice’, are sometimes poorly understood, which is not helpful for coming to terms with the complex realities of contemporary culturally diverse Sweden. Furthermore, constructivism is often selectively applied to some groups but not to others, as in a well-known case when the chairman of the Swedish National Heritage Federation a few years ago in a debate with a representative of the nationalist Sweden Democrats political party deconstructed the notion of (ethnic) Swedish culture because of the multiple origins of its various expressions, while taking the existence of a – seemingly holistic – immigrant Kurdish culture for granted. Certainly, in the self-image of some participants in the public debates on Swedish identity one could trace continuity back to modernist Swedishness, as they perceive themselves as being the bearers of the most advanced social visions, both in relation to those whose sense of Swedishness is more traditionally rooted, and to some immigrant groups who still are perceived to ‘have’ a culture which should be supported by society in the name of diversity. The chairman of Religious Social Democrats of Sweden recently argued that organizations for young Muslims, Catholics and Christian Orthodox cannot at the moment be expected to show the same degree of tolerance towards sexual minorities as the Swedish majority ought to show, but implied that those groups can change thanks to cooperation with progressive believers from the majority.

To borrow another concept from Soviet nationality policy, the majority should here allow minority cultures to flourish in order for the latter, dialectically, eventually to overcome their backwardness. Simultaneously, many younger representatives of immigrant communities, who were born or raised in Sweden, not any longer seem to accept the implicit leading role of progressive Swedes in managing and conceptualizing cultural diversity. They insist on having their own voices. In my opinion, rightly so.

So, the national identity concept that worked well for several decades now is challenged since society has changed and grown more diverse. It has become more individualistic and less confident in eternally never-ending progress and prosperity.

You are very much to the point when you mention how national liberation and democracy were intertwined as parts of the same struggle in large parts of Central and Eastern Europe in the 1980s and early 1990s. The movement for democracy and for national liberation in the Baltic States went hand in hand, and the same can be said about e.g. Ukraine. This movement is inconceivable without nationalism, and could not have stood as firmly on purely liberal grounds. And, as you mention, since statehood was re-established in the Baltics, there has not – even after NATO membership was won – emerged a sense of security that would have allowed for a real weakening of the link between ethnic nationalism and statehood.

Sure, Sweden and the Baltic States live in different paradigms in these issues. Furthermore, the paradigm of the Baltic States is more recognizable in a wider European context, not only in an Eastern Central European. Indeed, if you look into some specific cultural skirmishes of recent years between Swedish journalists and their Norwegian or Danish colleagues, Swedish exceptionalism is sometimes felt to such an extent that it seems as if Sweden lives in a different paradigm also from our Scandinavian neighbours.

Forskningsartikel om minneskulturer i Lviv och Tjernivtsi

Har tillsammans med Eleonora Narvselius (som även skrivit för Österifrån) publicerat en artikel om minneskulturer i västra Ukraina, i Lviv och Tjernivtsi. Artikeln ingår i det första numret av den nystartade tidskriften EWJUS (East/West: Journal of Ukrainian Studies) vid University of Alberta.

Detta nummer av tidskriften kan läsas gratis i fulltext efter registrering på tidskriften:[0]=Narvserlius-Bernsand

Om den svenska mediebevakningen av Ukraina för Russian Journal of Communication

Jag blev inbjuden att delta i Russian Journal of Communication’s forum om medierna och krisen i Ukraina, och valde att skriva denna korta text om hur jag uppfattade att denna skildrats i svenska media.

Tänk på att texten är skriven i slutet av mars 2014 och inte förhåller sig till saker som hänt därefter. För den slutgiltiga, något längre, texten får man gå till

Russian Journal of Communication Vol. 6 No. 2 2014, pp. 166-168.


My answer focuses on how the events in Ukraine, starting with the emergence of the Euromaidan in the end of November 2013 and continuing into the Russian intervention in Crimea, have been reflected and portrayed in the Swedish media. Although I follow the events mainly from Ukrainian media outlets, including social media, I have also tried to keep an eye on the perspectives offered by Swedish news media in this regard. This I have done both as a news consumer and as a researcher in Ukrainian Studies repeatedly approached during this period by the media for commentaries on various aspects of the unfolding situation.

My conclusion after having followed more than three months of reporting is that Swedish media coverage of the events has not been dominated by one single interpretative frame, but rather by a few competing perspectives and questions. There is also a difference between the coverage during the first months, when the situation was viewed mostly as an internal Ukrainian conflict albeit with important implications for international relations, and the period of the Russian take-over of Crimea, which changed the perspective to that of an inter-state conflict with far-reaching consequences for international security. This change of perspectives also affected the frames through which internal Ukrainian politics were understood.

Initially the most used frame for Swedish reporting was probably quite similar to the “freedom-seeking Eastern Europeans looking to Europe”-view summarized in the question. This depended not only on dominant negative views of the authoritarianism of the present Russian regime, which was identified as supporting the Yanukovych side, but also on a more general Swedish media frame for understanding upheavals in authoritarian countries less familiar for journalists and their audiences: the people striving for freedom and democracy versus the brutal and corrupt dictator clinging to his power. This frame is recognizable from the initial stages of covering events in e.g. Libya, Egypt and Syria. In the Ukrainian case the integrity of the first element of this frame – the people – was subsequently qualified with wide-spread references to a perceived (and often unproblematised) dividedness of Ukrainian society into vaguely conceived “pro-European and nationalist” Western and “pro-Russian” Eastern parts, and to the support the regime was believed to have in the East. Basically, one simplification with some merits was qualified with another simplification with some merits. In connection with this point it is noticeable how the Swedish media had to come to terms with highly politicized concepts such as “Russian-speakers” – a term used by Russian diplomacy to establish a would-be homogenous sociolinguistic category on behalf of which, Russia could act as protector. In some cases the media discourse allowed for the deconstruction of this skewed and manipulative notion, while at other times it was merely reproduced and naturalized as self-evident without any contextualization.

The second element of the frame, the brutal and corrupt dictator – remained in place during all the events and was strengthened, not surprisingly, after the mass killings in Kyiv and the opening-up of the fled dictator’s luxurious estate in Mezhyhirya to the eyes of Kyivans and media consumers.

Already during the first weeks of the protests another frame significantly interfered with the previous one – the strong focus on the role and influence of the Ukrainian far right, first in the demonstrations and later in the new government, mainly through the parliamentary opposition party Svoboda and later also through the Right Sector activist network that emerged as an important street actor in conjunction with the growing authoritarianism of the regime from mid-January. This focus was also part of a previously established media frame: “the threat from the xenophobic far right in Europe”. The medialization of this perspective was further strengthened by much attention to a small group of Swedish far righters who took off to Ukraine to assist activists from Svoboda and the Right Sector. The overall function of this frame was to undermine the image of a democratic and European (in the sense of “EU values”) protest movement. While in some cases this focus may have contributed to a more nuanced covering of the events, what often was achieved was rather distortion, as some journalists and columnists clearly overstressed – both analytically and in terms of the media attention devoted to the issue – the significance of those groups for the protests. Interestingly, one characteristic feature of this frame, in spite of its ubiquity, was that its proponents often portrayed themselves as representing a repressed opinion on the Ukrainian events. In terms of largely absent perspectives one could perhaps add that the participation of activists from the Russian far right in street fights in Kharkiv and Donetsk in March 2014, the far right elements in the intellectual underpinnings of the Russian regime, as well as the Pro-Russian position of many European far right parties have largely been ignored in the Swedish media.

The relative weight of the “far right influence” frame somewhat diminished, however, after Russia began the process of annexation of Crimea, which shifted the general focus to an inter-state conflict involving an aggressive and authoritarian Russia threatening a weak Ukrainian state. The only media outlets that explicitly supported the Russian position was on-line editions associated with the far right, such as Fria Tider, not the least by referring their readers to news items from Russia Today. In mainstream media some voices from the political left, while not being explicitly Pro-Russian, downplayed the Russian aggression and focused on the Ukrainian far right. In the case of the leading Swedish tabloid Aftonbladet, these divisions stroke right through the edition, as the op-eds defended consistently Ukrainian state sovereignty while the culture section criticized alleged Western anti-Russian bias and preferred to talk about the dangers of Ukrainian fascism.

As a final point here it is quite striking how commonsensical media understandings of political institutions such as elections and referenda effect the reporting on current events in situations when what takes place is rather the imitation of such institutions. Although the particular circumstances of the Crimean “referendum” on March 16 was covered quite extensively, when “exit-polls” and “results” came in they were often reported as if they concerned a routine parliamentary election in an established democracy.


Artikel om Ukraina och Bukovina i Neo

Har med en kort artikel om Ukraina och Bukovina i senaste Neo, 4/2014. Diskuterar utifrån den svenska Ukrainadebatten hur östra Europa gärna reduceras till projektionsytor för andras drömmar och farhågor, och berättar en historia som sällan hörs.

Uppdatering 2014-08-28: Artikeln kan nu läsas i fulltext:

Om karaimerna i Trakai

Här följer ett mycket anspråkslöst inlägg från mitt senaste besök i Litauen. Jag deltog som medförfattare på en bokpresentation på bokmässan i februari i Vilnius – den största i sitt slag i Baltikum. Det var mycket intressant att besöka bokmässan, även om den får beskrivas som tämligen enspråkigt litauisk, vilket förvisso också är sympatiskt då det visar på en strävan att med egen produktion och översättningar ge ett litet språk som litauiskan maximal funktionell räckvidd. Jag hittade dock några två- och trespråkiga volymer av intresse (en tunn sak om stadsplanering i Vilnius och en imponerande foliant om det s.k. Lilla Litauen, alltså de etniskt litauiska delarna av gamla Ostpreussen, som idag delas av Litauen med Klaipeda (Memel) och Ryssland med Kaliningrad (Königsberg)). Tvåspråkig, med en engelsk och en litauisk textvariant, var också den bok vi presenterade – författaren och filosofen Tomas Kavaliauskas bok med samtal med europeiska forskare och intellektuella om minnespolitik, identiteter och andra angelägna teman. Här samtalar jag och statsvetaren Andreas Johansson Heinö i boken med Tomas om Sverige och Baltikum.

Men detta inlägg ska inte handla om bokmässan, utan följer i stället på en utflykt jag gjorde tillsammans med Tomas till småstaden Trakai ungefär två mil från Vilnius. Trakai har en viktig roll i litauisk historia och var ett tidigt centrum för det litauiska storfurstendöme som kom att sträcka sig mellan Östersjön och Svarta Havet, och senare ingick i personal- och senare realunion med Polen och formade det polsk-litauiska samväldet. Men inte minst är Trakai känt som hemvist för en av Europas minsta etniska minoriteter, karaimerna. Den som liksom bloggens ägare en gång i tiden med stort nöje läste ambassadör Ingmar Karlssons kolumner i Tidningen Z om olika europeiska minoritetsfolk får här möjlighet till en liten nostalgitripp. Ett stycke nordösteuropeisk traditionell kulturell mångfald kommer alltså här.

Karaimerna i Trakai bor främst på näset som via träbroar är förbundet med slottet (bild från

Karaimerna i Trakai bor främst på näset som via träbroar är förbundet med slottet. Karaimska gatan löper längs den del av näset som är närmast i bild. Från

Det finns på sin höjd ett par tusen karaimer i världen. I Litauen lever enligt senaste folkräkningen 241 karaimer, förutom i Trakai även i Vilnius, och tidigare fanns en församling runt en kenesa (karaimsk synagoga) även i Panevezis. I den polska folkräkningen 2011 identifierade sig 346 personer i första eller andra hand som karaimer. I den ukrainska folkräkningen från 2001 såg sig 1196 ukrainska medborgare som karaimer. Av dessa bodde 671 på Krim (många i Jevpatorija och i Simferopol’), som av många antas vara hela gruppens ursprungsterritorium, och ett drygt hundratal finns kvar i västukrainska Galicien (medan den tidigare gemenskapen i Lutsk tycks ha försvunnit). De tre karaimska synagogor, kenesor, som ännu är i bruk är belägna i Trakai, Vilnius och i Jevpatorija på Krim (fast det hävdas att även kenesan i Simferopol’ tagits i bruk 2012). Betydligt fler kenesor, och därmed församlingar, fanns tidigare på flera håll i Ukraina (se kartan), men på de flesta håll tycks bara själva byggnaderna och lokala kyrkogårdar finnas kvar. Den sista galiciska kenesan, för karaimerna i Halytj, revs av sovjetmakten 1985. I Kyiv ligger den f.d. kenesan mitt i centrum på Jaroslaviv Val, och tjänade sedan sovjettiden länge som Skådespelarnas hus. För några år sedan ska staden dock fattat ett beslut om att byggnaden ska återgå till den karaimska gemenskapen, som i Kyiv utgörs av några tiotals personer. Då jag själv flera gånger bott alldeles i närheten noterar jag att även en uppmärksam besökare kan gå förbi en byggnad många gånger utan att förstå vad det är man ser. Idkar härmed officiellt självkritik och hänvisar en smula förstulet till dogmen om det livslånga lärandet.

Kenesan i sympatiska trähusområdet Zverynas invigdes 1923 i det då polska Vilnius. Den stängdes av sovjetmakten 1949 och omvandlades till både arkiv och bostadshus. Den återlämnades till den karaimska gemenskapen 1989 och öppnades igen 1993.

Kenesan i Vilnius ligger på Liubarto gatve i sympatiska trähusområdet Zverynas, och invigdes 1923 i den då polska staden. Den stängdes av sovjetmakten 1949 och omvandlades till både arkiv och bostadshus. Den återlämnades till den karaimska gemenskapen 1989 och öppnades igen 1993.

Till Trakai kom karaimerna 1397 i sällskap med den litauiske storfursten Vytautas den store som var på väg hem efter ett fälttåg på Krim. Männen i de 380 inbjudna familjerna skulle tjänstgöra som soldater, vakter, skrivare och tolkar vid slottet i Trakai, ett av de viktigaste i landet. De bosatte sig där de flesta lokala karaimer idag fortfarande bor, i området längs Karaimska gatan på ett långsmalt näs mellan två sjöar, alldeles intill träbron ut till det på en holme belägna medeltidsslottet. Längs Karaimska gatan står de flesta bostadshus och alla gruppens gemensamma byggnader, så som kenesan, muséet, den karaimska föreningens hus och ett par etniska restauranger som serverar karaimsk mat till de många turisterna.

Det karaimska muséet, det enda av slag i världen, invigdes 1938 och består av en liten samling föremål i tre små rum.

Det karaimska muséet, som ska vara det enda i sitt slag i världen, invigdes 1938 och består av en liten etnografisk samling i tre små rum. Muséet är uppkallat efter gruppens ledare under första halvan av 1900-talet, krimfödde Seraja Khan Sjapsjal.

Denna lilla hyllning till storfurst Vytautas den store, som bjöd in karaimerna till Litauen 1398 och hålls i står aktning, syns i ett fönster på muséet.

Denna hyllning till storfurst Vytautas den store, som bjöd in karaimerna till Litauen 1398, syns i ett fönster på muséet.

Samtidigt med karaimerna kom en grupp muslimska tatarer, en annan fascinerande lokal minoritetsgrupp, som dock lämnade Trakai i början på 1600-talet. Idag lever några tusen lipkatatarer främst i Vilnius och i ett par byar utanför staden (liksom i Vitryssland och Polen), men en moské byggdes 1930 för gruppen även i Litauens dåvarande huvudstad Kaunas). De har förlorat sitt tatariska språk och är idag helt litauisktalande, men de har bevarat sin muslimska religion.

Så här de flesta hus längs Karaimska gatan ut: små trähus med tre fönster på första våningen. Enligt traditionen är det första fönstret tillägnat Gud, det andra storfurst Vytautas och det tredje gästen.

Så här ser de flesta hus längs Karaimska gatan ut: små trähus med tre fönster på första våningen. Enligt traditionen är det första fönstret tillägnat Gud, det andra storfurst Vytautas och det tredje gästen.

Karaimerna talar traditionellt ett turkiskt språk, som tillhör den kyptjakiska gruppen liksom t.ex. krimtatariska och nu utdöda polovetsiskan. Språket lever idag starkast i Trakai, som fungerar som något av karaimernas huvudstad. Likväl är antalet talare sannolikt inte mycket mer än ett hundratal. Guiden på det lilla karaimska muséet vi besökte berättade att det främst är de riktigt gamla och den unga generationen som talar språket – medelålders som levde större delen av sina liv i sovjetiska Litauen har det svårare med språkkunskaperna. Även om språket främst används  inom och mellan karaimska familjer och vid gudstjänster finns det numera i Trakai en sommarskola dit karaimska barn från hela världen reser för att lära sig språket. Lärarinnan för denna lilla transnationella språkgemenskap är en fransk karaimska från Paris. Språkrevitalisering pågår alltså i någon mån. Enligt den ukrainska folkräkningen uppger en stor majoritet av de ukrainska karaimerna ryska som modersmål, några ukrainska och bara sex procent karaimska (eftersom modersmål kan vara en identifikationsmässig snarare än pragmatisk kategori kan man dock fråga sig hur många av de senare som verkligen kan och använder språket). Karaimskan anses vara relevant för turkologer då det bevarat vissa arkaiska drag (förutom att här finns intressanta språkkontaktfenomen med litauiska och polska; se Galina Kobeckaites Kratkij otjerk o karaimach v Litve, men för att se den behöver ni sannolikt antingen besöka det karaimska muséet eller mig).

Jag lär mig karaimska, skriven 1996 av lokale prästen Firkovicius, här i en monter på muséet.

Läroboken Jag lär mig karaimska, skriven 1996 av lokale prästen Firkovicius, här i en monter på muséet.

Vad som förutom språket främst utmärker denna nordösteuropeiska minoritetsgrupp är att man utövar en variant av judendomen, karaismen, som bygger på Gamla Testamentet men inte erkänner Talmud eller tolkningar av de heliga skrifterna. Läran uppstod i Främre Orienten på 700-talet och har ett betydligt större antal utövare än den turkisktalande etniska gruppen karaimer. Vad jag förstår finns det olika uppfattningar om förhållandet mellan karaimernas judiska religion och etniska ursprung. Vissa hävdar att karaimerna härstammar från en grupp judar från Mellanöstern som flyttat till Krim och där tagit till sig en turkisk dialekt (tydligen ska här finnas genetiska undersökningar som delvis bekräftar denna hypotes). Vissa karaimska ledare har dock hävdat att gruppen inte är judisk i etnobiologisk mening utan härstammar från khazarerna, turkisktalande nomader mellan Don och Volga vilkas översta skikt antog judendomen. Denna teori har dock mött kritik av såväl språkvetenskapliga som teologiska skäl. Enligt en annan teori kommer karaimerna från kyptjakiska grupper inom Gyllene Horden som ankom till Krim så sent som i slutet av 1200-talet. Banden till den turkiskspråkiga världen var dock ett faktum som bidrog till att nazisterna drog slutsatsen att karaimerna inte var judar, varför de också skonades från förintelsen.

Kenesan i Trakai på Karaimu gatve uppfördes vid förra sekelskiftet av samma arkitekt som ritade kenesan i Vilnius. Den lokala gemenskapens kenesa har dock stått på samma plats sedan 1400-talet. Byggnaden är bara öppen för gudstjänst och den karaimska gemenskapens ceremonier.

Kenesan i Trakai på Karaimu gatve uppfördes vid förra sekelskiftet av samma arkitekt som ritade kenesan i Vilnius. Den lokala gemenskapens kenesa har dock stått på samma plats sedan 1400-talet. Byggnaden är bara öppen för gudstjänst och den karaimska gemenskapens ceremonier.

På den gamla karaimska kyrkogården en kort promenad utanför den karaimska bosättningen finns gravinskriptioner på det hebreiska, latinska och kyrilliska alfabetet, och på hebreiska, polska och ryska.

På den gamla karaimska kyrkogården en kort promenad utanför den karaimska bosättningen finns gravinskriptioner på det hebreiska, latinska och kyrilliska alfabetet, och på hebreiska, polska och ryska.



Småskalighet och etniskt entreprenörskap

Det som slår en besökare i Trakai är den höga graden av etniskt entreprenörskap i förhållande till gruppens ringa storlek. Här skulle man verkligen vilja stanna ett tag och bedriva om aldrig så blygsamt fältarbete. Några timmars besök väcker åtminstone frågor. Med etniskt entreprenörskap menar jag här inte i största allmänhet affärsverksamhet som bedrivs av medlemmar av en viss etnisk grupp, utan en kommersialisering av den egna gruppen anpassad för turister och andra besökare. Ungefär som Gena i gamla sovjetiska Drutten och Krokodilen som inte bara är krokodil utan även arbetar som sådan på zoo. Man lägger alltså en metanivå, en representationsnivå, till sin egen identitet och spelar ut den till personligt gagn.

Etnokitsch utanför den mest profilerade karaimska restaurangen.

Etnokitsch utanför den mest profilerade karaimska restaurangen. Kybynlar, på litauiska kibinai, ett slags piroger ofta med kål- eller köttfärsfyllning, är den mest kända karaimska maträtten, som spridits som lokal snabbmat över hela Vilnius. Restaurangen, som var fullsatt en vanlig lördag i februari, säljer även egentillverkad karaimsk örtlikör och andra varor för turisten att ta med hem. Örtlikören smakar som etnisk örtlikör brukar göra, d.v.s. etniskt med bismak av ört.

Lite längre bort på samma gata stoltserar en annan restaurang stoltserar med sina kybynlar.

Lite längre bort på samma gata stoltserar en annan restaurang med sina kybynlar/kibinai.

Kafé och värdshus på Karaimska gatan.

Kafé och värdshus på Karaimska gatan.

Fenomenet förekommer naturligtvis i många minoritetssammanhang (och inte bara där), men blir särskilt intressant i en så liten grupp, där färre än två hundra karaimer driver museum (även om vår guide inte var karaimska) och flera etniska restauranger, säljer folkhantverk o.s.v. Rimligen torde många lokala karaimer därmed kunna tjäna sitt uppehälle på sin karaimska identitet och sitt kulturarv, eller omvänt, de kan ägna mycket tid åt sin kultur genom att de lyckas omsätta delar av den kommersiellt.  Om man lägger till att enstaka karaimer från Trakai arbetar som forskare i karaimskt språk och kultur blir det metakaraimska inslaget ännu starkare.

En annan restaurang helgarderar globaliserat genom att erbjuda pizza vid sidan av kybynlar.

En annan restaurang helgarderar globaliserat genom att erbjuda pizza vid sidan av kybynlar.

Associationen mellan karaimer och de små degknytena tycks vara så stark att en lyrisk besökare (låt oss anta det) understryket sambandet på gatskylten som berättar att

Associationen mellan karaimer och de ovannämnda små degknytena tycks vara så stark att en lyrisk besökare (låt oss anta det) valt att med klotter understryka sambandet på skylten som markerar Karaimska gatan.

En möjligen något mindre lyrisk besökare meddelar på väggen till ett lokalt gästhus att polacker är parasiter.

En möjligen något mindre lyrisk besökare, eller samme besökare på mindre lyriskt humör,  meddelar på väggen till ett lokalt gästhus att polacker är parasiter.