Somebody asked me if I’m in touch with the Ukrainian immigrant community. There is a very large Ukrainian Diaspora in Canada, and I did hang out with with people belonging to it when I first emigrated to Canada.
Ukrainian Diaspora deserves admiration for a variety of things. The way these immigrants – who mostly left Ukraine generations ago – preserve their culture is worthy of every respect. I spent time with a group of young people of my age (this was in 1999-2000) whose great-grandparents had left Ukraine around the time of the October Revolution. These great-grandchildren, however, all spoke and read fluent, albeit somewhat outdated, Ukrainian. How many immigrant communities do you know where this happens?
There were reasons, though, why I parted ways with the Ukrainian Diaspora. The first reason was the pervasive anti-Semitism that sounded very shocking in the environment of the ultra-tolerant Montreal. I felt that, in a way, Diasporans believed that anti-Semitism was an integral part of Ukrainian identity. They didn’t realy have anything against Jews, but simply acted out their Ukrainianness in this way.
Another problem I had with the Diaspora was that its members hadn’t managed to snap out of the “I have been cruelly separated from my Homeland” role that made very little sense after 1991. I was once interviewed by a Ukrainian radio station in Montreal. Unlike everybody else at the station, I was a very recent immigrant.
“You must miss our beautiful Mother Ukraine terribly,” the interviewer said with real tears glistening in her eyes. “It must have been so painful to be forced to leave!”
“No, I chose to emigrate,” I explained. “I hated living there.”
I was approached later by somebody who had heard the interview.
“How could you say you chose to leave Ukraine?” he exclaimed. “Oh, what wouldn’t I give to go back to our lovely country!”
I decided not to inform this kind but somewhat deluded gentleman that since 1991 there was absolutely nothing preventing him from traveling to Ukraine or even moving there if he so wished.
[To be continued. . .]
Clarissa's Blog 
Ukrainians welcomed Hitler, from what I have heard. They didn’t want to be Slavic, or appear so, or something like that.
Zim diaspora is even worse, all full of belief in Christianity and market economics. Apes in capes.
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Yes, this is an old myth created initially by Goebbels and his propaganda machine.
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Black Zim diaspora, or White Zim diaspora?
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Try to keep up. Black and white don’t exist in that way any more. Something has changed.
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There’s maybe something else about the Snowden case: http://www.chronicle.su/news/snowden-uncovers-shocking-truth-behind-chemtrails/
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That’s a satire site.
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Trivia: I felt I was leaving Russian culture, FSU, but not Ukraine and definitely not its’ uniquely Ukrainian (rather than FSU & Russian) culture, which I never had to begin with.
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Of course! After 350 years, there was no Ukrainian culture except what was hidden in the libraries and archives with the stamp “Don’t release.”
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Interestingly, I found this type of behavior quite common when I worked in a hospital around Montreal many years ago. The funny part was listening to Czechs trash the Polish, the Polish trash the Ukranians, the Ukranians trash the Russians and all of this was happening in a Jewish hospital. Jews trashing each other, quite amusing actually.
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That’s wonderful! I wish that had happened in my family.
My great-grandmother, an immigrant, spoke Czech. My grandmother spoke Czech and English, my mother only English. 😦
(I think it was fairly common then for immigrants to want their children to be as fully American as possible, so there wasn’t as much interest in passing on the ancestral language.)
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I have friends who have made every effort to make sure their kids speak their native language but the kids refuse Children want to fit in with their peer group and they see the culture of their parents as an obstacle to that. 😦 Grandchildren of those who immigrated, however, are more likely to feel interest in the culture.
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Ah, yes, that makes sense too.
(I know I feel an interest in my ancestral cultures — more for the more recent two on my mother’s side than for my dad’s, because they feel more immediate to me.)
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