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Taras WozniakGalicia todayWhat usually comes to mind, for
Ukrainians, as well as Poles and Jews, when Galicia is mentioned, is the old “Austrian”
myth of Galicia: Maria Theresa, Franz Josef, the Spring of Nations, Lviv’s belle époque: the rise
of the University, the Technical University, the opera, the Main Railway
Station, the Church of St Elizabeth, and so forth. Although
each of these nations makes its own amendments to that myth. Poles, as justifiably as somewhat over-emphatically, emphasise
the role of Kraków – the cradle of Polishness. And they consider
Lviv a royal city, making reference to Casimir III. Ukrainians, as much justifiably
as along the lines of “a replica”, shift the focus to the “princely city of the
lion”. Admittedly, to this day they confuse the titles of the Galician rulers –
the same figures may once be called dukes, only to be referred to as kings a
moment later. And that without even mentioning the young Hungarian heirs apparent
who sat on the throne while it was still in Halych. Ordinary
people can’t keep track of all those Daniels, Leos, Kolomans,
and Casimirs. Jews, in turn, tend to build
their Galician identity on the famous tzadiks and a
plethora of magnificent writers working in various languages, beginning with Sholem Aleichem (שלום
עליכם,
Solomon Naumovich Rabinovich,
1859–1916), who wrote in Yiddish, via Joseph Roth (Moses Joseph Roth,
1894–1939), who worked in German, and Bruno Schulz (1892–1942), who employed
the Polish language, to the King of Hebrew, Shai
Agnon (שמואל יוסף עגנון, Shmuel Yosef Halevi Czaczkes, 1888–1970). And of course also, via the origin of
their families, to Sigmund Freud (1856–1939)
and even Karl (Heinrich) Marx (1818–1883). In a word, there comes a point
when the old “Austrian” myth of Galicia splits into three independent,
mythological narratives. They clearly form grand national
myths: the 20th century, the century of nationalisms, is approaching. Nations awake. And this
awakening often results in hecatombs and national tragedies. The situation is complicated
further by the fact that overlapping with nationalisms are the great social utopias:
socialist, communist, and national socialist. The winds of these utopias carry
entire sections of the Galician community away into oblivion. Nazism almost entirely destroyed
the specific Jewish world of Galicia. Literally only individuals were left: on both
the Soviet and Polish sides of the border. Even if a certain number of Jews come
to the “Soviet Galicia” – that is, four, and later three Soviet districts (Lviv,
Drohobych, Ivano-Frankivsk, and Ternopil), they are entirely different people,
from different regions. And, generally, they are “Soviet” people. The Polish-Ukrainian ethnic
conflict, and in fact the war of 1943–1945 and the “exchange of population”
between the USSR and the People’s Republic of Poland (PRL), left hardly
anything of what used to be a blossoming Polish life in the eastern parts of “the
good old” Galicia. The Habsburg myth evaporates. For a long time – practically almost the entire “Soviet” period. Many completely new people
arrive in Galicia in the Soviet days: Russians from central Russia, Eastern
Ukrainians. Early in the 1950s, Russians are the ethnic majority in Lviv. And
it is only early in the 1960s that Western Ukrainians return to the cities of
Galicia, and the cities clearly begin to Ukrainianise:
people return from Stalinist camps, from transportation, resettlement, exile;
the forms of deportations had been plenty. Late in the 1970s, the
Ukrainian Galicia finally assumes its contemporary shape. Even the break-up of
the USSR did not result in mass changes in its population structure. Yet nothing of what has been
written above describes what the Ukrainian part of Galicia was and what it
remains to this day. Obviously, what is meant here is the Ukrainian narrative
of Galicia; and it is on purpose that I do not refer to the territory, as it has
less distinct borders than the Polish narrative that encompasses the same
territory. As does the Jewish. Thus, in this text, I
shall rather speak of a narrative: the Ukrainian narrative. Obviously, the Ukrainian
narrative seeks its “foundations” in the virtual past: princely, royal,
Cossack. But the contemporary Ukrainian Galician narrative begins to take shape
with the Ukrainian national awakening: with Markiyan Shashkevych, with Ivan Franko. Due to the lack of wherewithal
to organise Ukrainian cultural life in Ukraine remaining under Russian rule, in
the Russian Empire, Eastern Galicia, functioning as part of the
Austro-Hungarian Empire, developed the
first myth of the Ukrainian Galician Piedmont, from which the Ukrainian
national revival began. And to a certain degree, it became the truth. Yet it did
not crystallise until the early 20th century. Intertwined into it were the
myths of the Ukrainian struggle for the independence of the West Ukrainian
People’s Republic in 1919–1923, of the Ukrainian Sich
Riflemen, of the uprising in Lviv on 1st November 1918 (when the Ukrainian units
of the Austrian army took power). Then the Ukrainian Galician narrative was
invaded by force, whether anyone likes it or not, by the myth of Ukrainian
nationalism and its struggle for the independence of Ukraine. The blue-and-yellow
national flag was resolutely joined by the revolutionary black-and-red. Beyond
doubt, this was the Ukrainian Galician narrative, which originated from conflict
with the Polish one. It would be difficult to say that the Polish narrative was
“Galician” or had a clear “Galician” undertone. But what took shape in Ukraine
was the “Galician” variety of the Ukrainian narrative, with very clear and very
precise contours. It was this that shaped today’s Galicia: the Galicia that for
23 years has been part of independent Ukraine. External observers frequently
fail to see this Galician specificity; nevertheless, it was in its clash with
both interwar Poland and the Stalinist regime of the USSR that today’s
Ukrainian Galicia (possibly to some extent also with neighbouring Volhynia and Bukovina)
developed its clear perception of Ukraine, and of Galicia as one of the
cornerstones of a future independent Ukraine. Partially, this clear perception
borders on myth. Yet to a great extent it is founded on solid, almost rock-hard,
foundation. The awareness and mentality of
the Galician Ukrainians were noticeably crystallised in the 20th century. What
occurred was not only a gentle national awakening of the Galician Ruthenians, but the crystallisation of the national
identity. Certainly, a contribution to this was the failure of the Ukrainian
fight for freedom in the 1920s, which the Galician Ukrainians initially accepted
as a national tragedy, but later transformed into a mobilising stimulus. To
some degree, the Ukrainian Galician narrative was a mirror image of the same
Polish narrative from between the two world wars. To a great extent, the
Galician Ukrainians followed in the footsteps of the Poles and the Czechs, starting
with institutions and ending with rhetoric. For the two decades between the
wars, a Polish-Ukrainian fracas, both invisible and open, raged in Galicia. Though
we should not dramatise everything; there was also a shared life. This process of mobilisation
and eventual reconstitution of the Galician Ruthenians
into Ukrainians ended in a powerful mobilisation within the the
nationalistic and national liberation movements of the 1940s and 1950s. There
were plenty of errors, and even crimes, in that movement, yet this by no means alters
the fact that it was responsible for the shape of the extremely acute Galician
form of the Ukrainian identity. This was not broken even by the Stalinist
repressions, which is no metaphor but a fact. This is how the myth of the second Ukrainian Galician
Piedmont originated. Much
in the same way, today in now independent Ukraine, it is the people from
Galicia and Volhynia who have been and still remain the main source of
mobilisation in the national “reconquista” and the
orange revolution of 2004, and the Euromaidan of
2013/2014. Without this venture into the 20th-century
Galician past, it is impossible to understand what today’s Galicia is, for both
Ukraine and itself. I believe it necessary to repeat
here with due emphasis that the history of 20th-century Galicia seen by
Ukrainians may or may not be to our liking; after all,
what we are discussing here is not “facts” but a narrative. This is not what it
is all about. Much like it is not about “who was right in all that fuss” either.
It is about the origin of the Ukrainian Galician narrative, which programmed
plenty of events that were to happen for many decades after its origin. There
is no doubt: today’s Galician narrative will continue to define the development
of today’s Galicia, and will even have a significant impact on the development
of Ukraine, for more than a decade. And again, whether or not
it is to my liking or anybody else’s. The attainment of independence
came to a highly diversified Ukraine. In certain aspects, it was reminiscent of
interwar Poland: possibly only the national minorities in Ukraine are smaller.
Poland, on the other hand, did not have the experience of a large share of non-Polish-speaking,
though ethnically Polish, population. Galicia was one of the centres
that sent the impulses that finally upset and destroyed the USSR. Naturally,
its significance should not be overestimated. The USSR collapsed for more important
reasons: economic insufficiency, lack of competitive edge, etc. Yet there were
only a handful of regions that “upset” the USSR: Moscow itself (now it sounds
strange), the Baltics – Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, Galicia, and the
Caucasus. The major part of Ukraine was asleep. To a drum beaten by Galicia,
and partially Volhynia, Kyiv followed, and heated the atmosphere up. Later,
Kyiv was the epicentre of events, yet with clear participation of none other
but the Galicians. That was the time when the backbone of today’s independent Ukraine,
based on the alliance of Kyiv and Galicia, originated. Obviously, it does
not make sense here to fall into not-too-well justified Galiciomania,
as other regions significantly contributed to the development of the Ukrainianness of independent Ukraine too, though it was
long a post-Soviet territorial creation. Nevertheless, the tandem of Kyiv and
Lviv was strengthening from year to year and becoming ever more obvious. In the late 1980s and early 1990s,
Galicia was gripped by mass national democratic enthusiasm. And it is the democratic
constituent of these mass movements that needs emphasising here. Even before
the disintegration of the USSR, the people of Galicia were the first to elect the
organs of power anew: district, municipal, and regional councils, and executive
committees at various levels. Later, the democratically elected district
councils of three Galician districts – Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk, and Ternopil – set
up the Galician Diet, being something akin to a regional parliament. To a
certain degree, this echoed the establishment of the West Ukrainian People’s
Republic. The district councils of other, non-Galician western districts were
also ready to join this union. This was a major scare both for the marionette
government in Kyiv, and for the central authorities of the USSR. This is how, on the eve of
gaining independence, Galicia created
the third myth of the Galician Ukrainian Piedmont. Nevertheless, after Ukraine
gained independence, the centre of political life and decision-making suddenly
shifted to Kyiv. To a great extent, Galicia began to grow provincial. During
the presidencies of Leonid Kravchuk and Leonid Kuchma,
major takeovers of former state property took place, and the first incredible
fortunes were established. Galicia was remaining somewhat on the margins of this
process due to both the structure of its economy and its mentality. Similarly,
it did not participate very actively in the political life of the country: 6 million
people out of the 48 million living in Ukraine were, after all, a minority. As
a result, an oligarchic state had developed in Ukraine by 2000, governed by a
number of oligarchic families, with Leonid Kravchuk at
the helm. Nevertheless, that was when
the middle class began to develop in Ukraine. Its main bases were – again –
Galicia, Volhynia, Bukovina, and Kyiv. The clash of the middle class with the
oligarchs ended in fireworks during the Orange Revolution of 2004. Galicia
played a visible role in those events. And not only in Kyiv, but also “at the
rear”: in Lviv, in Ivano-Frankivsk, and Ternopil – this is where the Orange
Maidan of 2004 had its base. Yet the Orange Maidan ended
the way it did, dissatisfaction led to counterrevolution, which set Ukraine
back for four years. To a degree, this recalled the beginning of the 1920s,
when Galicians felt shattered. Frustration reigned
for four years, and much like in the 1930s, it helped the transformation to stalwart
opposition against the regime. From the spring to the autumn of 2013, local,
semi-clandestine associations sprang up in Lviv at nearly every step, with
continuing heated discussions about “What is to be done?”.
Protest was in the air again. Quite obviously, the same Galician narrative made
itself known. Besides the good
fruit, the mythological structure of that narrative brought plenty of
deviations: for example, attempts to revive nationalistic practices from the
1930s in today’s Galicia. And there were moments that this awarded the
demagogues, who styled themselves to the 1930s, tangible consequences at the
polls. But the very discourse of the
processes was fruitful. And it brought about the outbreak of a revolt late in
November 2013, when President Yanukovych refused to sign the Ukraine–European
Union Association Agreement. Initially it was a student
protest with the participation of many students from Galicia, although they
were not a majority. This was already Euromaidan. When they were brutally dispersed,
a large part of the country rose up, and it began in Kyiv, and Galicia and Volhynia.
The backbone of independent Ukraine revolted against the regime. What began was
the Maidan of honour, which transformed into the Ukrainian national revolution
of 2014. And again, Galicia, became the base for the
revolution at its most difficult moments. The Orange Maidan of 2004 and
the Maidan of 2014 developed the fourth
myth of the Galician Ukrainian Piedmont – the strong powerbase of Ukrainian
statehood. Are all these myths only
myths? No, not really. Yes, there is much exaggeration in them, and not
everything is consistent with the facts, and many elements are judgmental, if
not downright emotional. Sometimes there is too much Galician snobbery and
glorification. At times there is even borderline demonisation
of the Galicians and Galicianness:
the sly political manipulators from Moscow fall back upon this to scare the
residents of south-eastern Ukraine. And the stratagem frequently succeeds: the Galicians are presented not only as “awful”, “pro-American”,
and “pro-European” but also as unbelievably strong, virtually superheroes who “will
come and do something incredible, so save yourselves from them”. This was the demagogic
rhetoric of Putin when he annexed Crimea. Even in his throne speech in the
Kremlin’s Hall of St George to mark the “annexation” of Crimea to the Russian
Federation, he could not fail to mention the Galicians:
he reduced them to “awful Banderists”, to whom he was
not going to return Crimea. This may well have been the apotheosis of Galician
fame: in a last-ditch effort, “the tsar of All Russia” saved the Crimea from
them. One may wax ironic over this
coincidence or sneer of history, yet independently of all Putin’s conscious
manipulations, it seems that the Ukrainian Galician narrative proved not a
cabinet construct, not a figment of the mind of dwarfish Galician snobs, but an
unexpectedly efficient weapon that works effectively in living history. The modern Ukrainian Galician
narrative does not boil down to 19th-century peopleism
(narodnichestvo), although it grew out of it. The modern Ukrainian Galician
narrative does not boil down to 20th-century nationalism, although this contributed
greatly to its establishment. The modern Ukrainian Galician
narrative is highly vital today. It has found itself new democratic and neo-cosmopolitan
forms. Yes, there are still political profiteers who exploit old nationalistic
trends that have already gathered their moss. Yet the most attractive feature
of contemporary Galicia is the fact that developing within it – as in a melting
pot – is the latest (post-modernist, if you like) Ukrainian Galician identity. We say “Ukrainian Galician”,
as in fact it is both Ukrainian and Galician. And in its “Galician quality” it certainly
differs from that of other regions. These – Transcarpathian
Ruthenia and Bukovina, for instance, are developing their
own, interesting identities. To some degree these
identities compete with each other, and to some degree they complement each
other. In this paper we pay attention to the most general trends. They can be expanded,
with reference to more than just political or social factors, as we do below. The cultural and spiritual
factors are very interesting. As far as confession is
concerned, Galicia is a unique region of Ukraine. The great majority of the faithful
belong to the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church. The level of religiousness of Galicians, both real and ritual, is a number of orders of
magnitude higher than in other regions of Ukraine. The level of spiritual and
religious openness to the world, the world of religion included, is also a number
of orders of magnitude higher. This openness has roots both traditional and
institutional – in the Ukrainian Catholic University in Lviv, for one. As far as the cultural factor
is concerned, in the last decade the Galician quality has certainly been a
stylistic trend. In Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk, and Ternopil, everything Galician is
cultivated. Even Chernivtsi, which in the fairy-tale Habsburg days were also a
part of Galicia, may at times have Galician sentiments, at least in the styling
of its cafés. Nevertheless, besides the formal
and café Galicianness, a more serious tendency
has emerged. It hinges on the re-construction of the same “fairy-tale Austrian
Galicia” (Lviv, Kolomyia, Drohobych, and even Bolekhiv may be substituted for Galicia). When Galicia was “gutted like
a fish”, it could not but perish. I use that brutal comparison on purpose, as
what was done to this poly-ethnic, poly-cultural, and poly-confessional land in
the cruel 20th century can hardly be described by any other term. In fact,
Galicia was robbed of its essence: all its charm and originality. It was a terrible
trauma for the land, whatever the patriots of this or that hue considered it. Seventy
years later, it is no longer as painful. The people who experienced it have
passed away; all that remains are testimonies to the shock in the works of Stanisław
Lem (1921–2006), Zbigniew Herbert (1924–1998), Paul Celan
(Paul Antschel, 1920–1970), and Rose Ausländer (Rosalie Beatrice Scherzer,
1901–1988). But also of Yuri Andrukhovych
and Yuriy Vynnychuk. And thus it began to dawn on the
people of contemporary Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk, and Drohobych that the architectural spaces where they were
born and where they had lived their whole lives contain certain empty spots,
niches, syncopes. That there is someone missing from
alongside them. The contours of that “someone” gradually began to fade
away from being passed over, from a simple lack of knowledge. At a more
peaceful moment, once the pain of deportation, repression, and persecution has
long passed, there is more time and eagerness to just take a piece of chalk and
draw the outline of that “unmentioned figure” who has always been near us, on
the wall or the floor. But enough of this
poetic digression. At the time of independence the “problem of
re-construction” of the whole cultural Galician landscape, without exception, was
born and blossomed in Ukrainian Galician society – in its local varieties, of
course. Yes, it is impossible to
return the Polish, German, Jewish, or Czech populations. But someone must be
the guardian of the Galician cultural heritage. Yet who? There is no one in today’s
Galicia save for today’s people of Lviv, Ternopil, and Kolomyia.
That is why the answer is clear: it is we who are primarily responsible for the
Jewish, Polish, and Austrian cultural heritage of Galicia. Yes, there are small
national communities and associations. But it is beyond their strength. On the
other hand, this heritage is very much needed by today’s Galicians.
And that is why in Galicia in recent decades we have been able to observe
certain processes of the Galician majority becoming aware of their
responsibility not only for Ukrainian Galicia, but also for Jewish and Polish
Galicia. Obviously, such behaviour may
be expected only from people who no longer have to be afraid for what is “theirs”,
i.e. free people. In this sense, today’s Galicia has vast potential. And more
than only retrospectively: the “re-constructed Galicia” speaks out in the new
Galician culture; it is worth mentioning here once again Taras
Prokhasko, and Yuri Andrukhovych,
and Yuriy Vynnychuk, and Ostap Slivinski, but also a bevy of
fantastic translators, for example Andriy Pavlyshyn and Yurko Prokhasko; the list may be very long. They are all building
the contemporary culture of Galicia in the context of its “re-construction”.
And we ourselves have tried to contribute to that in our independent culturological journal Yi. In fact, since the turmoil
around Schultz, they all have been rebuilding the old Galician home. From the Polish translation by
Katarzyna Kotyńska |