The tradition of woe

I am taking a trip tomorrow to Chernobyl, in the company (for reasons too complex and tedious to explain) of a group of journalists from Israel, Palestine, Syria and Egypt. Of course I will report back on this excursion - I am really not sure what to expect (of the place, that is - I have already met my travelling companions and they seem a great bunch).

But the prospect recalls a visit I paid a few years ago to the Chernobyl Museum here in Kyiv. It extensively set out the terrible damage that had occurred - loss of life, mass evacuation, children's illnesses, devastation of the environment though radiation, and so forth - but there was not the slightest attempt at analysis or explanation - why and how did the disaster happen? why was the reactor built at Pripyat (actually about 10 miles from Chernobyl, and now an extensive ghost town), what implications might the disaster have for the nuclear policy of Ukraine and its neighbours (which still rely extensively on atomic power for electricity generation)? It simply slotted nicely into the Russo-Ukrainian tradition of passively recounting woes loudly and at great length (and to some extent revelling in them). This sometimes seems to me something embedded in the Slav soul. When I first visited Russia in 1992 I was astonished to find in the precincts of monasteries and holy places old women begging for alms and wailing elaborately in the tradition which I had learnt of in 19th-century Russian novels. This practice of wailing had obviously been suppressed throughout the Communist era - but now it had sprung back, perfectly formed, having somehow survived underground. Misery must run in the blood.

A propos, having mentioned Ilf and Petrov's 'Golden Calf' in my last post, I should add that it features a band of con-men who form a 'League of Nephews of Lieutenant Schmidt' (a hero of the Revolution after whom a bridge in St. Peterburg is named), and divide up the territory of the Soviet Union so that only one in each area can claim alms on the basis of having this notable uncle. This tradition still lives on; apparently a number of people have made or still make a living claiming to have been one of the 'liquidators' who cleared the Pripyat reactor site. In fact around 750,000 people from the present Ukraine, Russia and Belarus were employed to carry out this task; of these genuine liquidators, maybe 30% or more are now dead or disabled.