Alexander Dolitsky: Lessons gleaned on the journey from being a political refugee to an American

By ALEXANDER DOLITSKY

PART 1

In 1972, as a student of history at the Kiev Pedagogical Institute, I participated in the archaeological excavation in Trans-Carpathia, an eastern part of the Carpathian Mountains.

The Carpathian Mountains form about a 1,000-mile-long range in Central and Eastern Europe. They stretch from west to east in an arc from the Czechia to Romania via Slovakia, Poland, Hungary and Ukraine.

It is an ethnically diverse region in the center of Europe, inhabited mostly by people who regard themselves as ethnic Ukrainians, Russians, Hungarians, Romanians, Slovaks, and Poles. It also has small communities of Jewish and Romani minorities.

Trans-Carpathia had reverted from Austro-Hungarian Empire to Hungary because of the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1918, then reverted from Hungary to Czechoslovakia in 1944 because of liberation of Czechoslovakia from the Nazi occupation, and later was ceded to Soviet Ukraine in 1945 by a Czech-Soviet government agreement.

That year we excavated approximately 25,000 years-old Late Paleolithic cave in the vicinity of the remote Uglyanka village. One of the frequent visitors to our archaeological camp was a local naturalist and historian Peter Sova. He was in his mid-80s; and he knew everything and everyone about this region.

At one point, I asked Peter Sova, “Comrade Sova, what is your nationality?” “I am Trans-Carpathian,” replied Peter Sova with pride and without any hesitation.

“How can that be?” I questioned. “There is no such nationality, Trans-Carpathian.” 

Peter Sova raised his eyebrows. “I was born and raised in the Austria-Hungarian Empire, in my youth years I lived under Hungarian and Czechoslovakian ruling and now it is the Soviet Ukraine; and all my life I lived in the same place—Trans-Carpathia,” he explained. 

“So, you tell me, young man, what is my nationality?” he asked.

I was silent; truly, Peter Sova changed his citizenry four times during his life, while never relocating to any of the countries that took control over his homeland. Indeed, Peter Sova’s tragic life experiences are not uncommon in Europe—a continent, despite its great accomplishments in science, literature and arts, has been notorious for never-ending wars, regional conflicts and bloody revolutions. In short, European multiculturalism could be described as “from one to many.”

In contrast to Europe, the United States is an immigrant-accepting country that historically formed a unique landscape of multiculturalism “from many to one.” On our national coinage is the inscription in Latin E pluribus Unum— “from many to one.”

PART 2

I first visited Alaska in 1981, while participating in archaeological field research for graduate school at Brown University. Then, I was one of few, if not the only Soviet–born person in Alaska since 1945. In fact, from 1946 to 1986, or during the Cold War between the U.S. and the Soviet Union, travels to Alaska were officially closed to Soviet citizens and likewise Siberia for American citizens. There was an exception for select scientists, visiting both places for research–related purposes under the auspices of the International Research Exchange Board. In 1981, I already was a permanent resident of the United States, with a green light for traveling to Alaska.

Then, as a recent political refugee from the Soviet Union, my behavior was still typically Russian—direct, impulsive, critical, opinionated and emotional (certainly, a very general stereotype of the Russian character). Fortunately, my sponsors and hosts in Alaska, Charles Holmes from Anchorage and Glenn Bacon from Fairbanks, were trained and professional anthropologists; they cross–culturally were able to understand my behavior and occasional awkward expressions; and guide me through rough waters and unfamiliar landscapes. After 44 years, Charles and Glenn are still my good and loyal friends.

On one occasion, a rather humorous cross–cultural incident took place in Fairbanks. Glenn’s in-laws invited me to their house for dinner. To experience Russian cuisine, they asked me to cook some traditional Russian meals. So, I managed to cook a borshch (beets and cabbage soup) and authentic salad olivye (boiled potatoes cut in cubes, green peas, boiled eggs, cooked carrots cut into cubes, cubed ham, olives, onion, large pickles cut into cubes, and ½ cup of mayonnaise—all mixed together).

After dinner, I played a guitar and performed several Russian songs for everyone. At some point, Glenn’s mother-in-law approached me and confessed, “I had always envisioned Russians as tall, dark, with shaking hands. But you are different.” I only smiled in my response and took her description of a “Russian man” without offense. After all, I was the first Russian she had ever met, except for the demonic Russian characters portrayed in Hollywood.

Indeed, the process of acculturation and assimilation can be long and turbulent for many newcomers. It is critical, therefore, for American society to be inclusive, tolerant and educated in cross–cultural communication to welcome legal newcomers to our multicultural and exceptional country.

PART 3

As a political refugee who arrived in the United States from the former Soviet Union, with its entirely different socio-economic and political system, I had to learn about American culture and traditions through observation and daily exposure to the American way of life, its traditions, customs and symbols. For me, as for other immigrants in a foreign land, cross-cultural miscommunications and misunderstandings were unfortunate and unavoidable, especially in understanding uniquely American cultural symbols.

I learned a memorable lesson in the early 1980s, when I was a Ph.D. student in the Anthropology Department at Bryn Mawr College in Pennsylvania. At Bryn Mawr, the academic scholarship and stipend could cover only my immediate necessities. So, to supplement my $400 per month stipend, I worked as a security officer in the nearby St, Joseph’s University situated along the City Line Avenue of Philadelphia.

Then, St. Joseph’s was a medium-size private Catholic school, well-known for its basketball program, competing in the Atlantic 10 Conference. The school was also known for its Saturday night students’ parties on campus, followed by Sunday Mass and confession by most students at the Saint Joseph’s University Chapel. To my recollection, some 120 to 140 Catholic priests on the campus provided counselling to students and faculty members.

About 15–20 unarmed security officers, including myself, were employed by the University and were on duty 24/7 during different shifts. Among the officers were five supervisors—two sergeants, lieutenant, captain and a big boss—the chief of security. He was a retired high-ranking Philadelphia police officer. Most officers were black, but there was one Filipino and four or five Caucasians. I appreciated the multi-cultural environment of the group and learned a great deal about America’s ethnic diversity from this group.

One night, I was assigned to lower the American flag at the central location of the campus and bring it to headquarters. As I was performing my duty, the chief of security walked by, suddenly stopped, looked at me like an eagle at its prey, and commanded me to follow him to headquarters. I was lost in thoughts of what I had done wrong. Once at headquarters, he ordered all officers on duty to report there, immediately.

When everyone arrived, he pointed his index finger at me and firmly commanded, “I want this officer to never ever touch the American flag again. Do I make myself clear?” and he marched out of headquarters without further instructions.

The room was silent. I was absolutely puzzled and embarrassed by the scene, questioning myself— “Why me? What have I done? Will I be fired?”

The officers were confused and concerned about the incident. They quietly approached me, friendly tapping on my shoulders and expressing empathy with concerned faces. That day, I mentally wanted to go back to my former country—the Soviet Union. There, I, at least, knew what was culturally acceptable and what was not. And I questioned myself, “Is freedom worth all of this humiliation and prejudice?”

The next day, when the dust had settled, the lieutenant called me to his office and explained the nature of my mistake. “You know, when you lowered the flag, it touched the ground,” he said. “And it is a big no, no in our country. The chief is a Korean vet—he is a proud American.”

My ignorance about the treatment and respect of the essential U.S. symbol—the American Flag—was a critical experience in my understanding of its cultural significance. No grudges, no excuses, no going back to my former country.

Lesson learned, lesson appreciated, and lesson respected!

Alexander B. Dolitsky was born and raised in Kiev in the former Soviet Union. He received an M.A. in history from Kiev Pedagogical Institute, Ukraine, in 1976; an M.A. in anthropology and archaeology from Brown University in 1983; and was enroled in the Ph.D. program in Anthropology at Bryn Mawr College from 1983 to 1985, where he was also a lecturer in the Russian Center. In the U.S.S.R., he was a social studies teacher for three years, and an archaeologist for five years for the Ukranian Academy of Sciences. In 1978, he settled in the United States. Dolitsky visited Alaska for the first time in 1981, while conducting field research for graduate school at Brown. He lived first in Sitka in 1985 and then settled in Juneau in 1986. From 1985 to 1987, he was a U.S. Forest Service archaeologist and social scientist. He was an Adjunct Assistant Professor of Russian Studies at the University of Alaska Southeast from 1985 to 1999; Social Studies Instructor at the Alyeska Central School, Alaska Department of Education from 1988 to 2006; and has been the Director of the Alaska-Siberia Research Center (see www.aksrc.homestead.com) from 1990 to present. He has conducted about 30 field studies in various areas of the former Soviet Union (including Siberia), Central Asia, South America, Eastern Europe and the United States (including Alaska). Dolitsky has been a lecturer on the World Discoverer, Spirit of Oceanus, and Clipper Odyssey vessels in the Arctic and sub-Arctic regions. He was the Project Manager for the WWII Alaska-Siberia Lend Lease Memorial, which was erected in Fairbanks in 2006. He has published extensively in the fields of anthropology, history, archaeology, and ethnography. His more recent publications include Fairy Tales and Myths of the Bering Strait Chukchi, Ancient Tales of Kamchatka; Tales and Legends of the Yupik Eskimos of Siberia; Old Russia in Modern America: Russian Old Believers in Alaska; Allies in Wartime: The Alaska-Siberia Airway During WWII; Spirit of the Siberian Tiger: Folktales of the Russian Far East; Living Wisdom of the Far North: Tales and Legends from Chukotka and Alaska; Pipeline to Russia; The Alaska-Siberia Air Route in WWII; and Old Russia in Modern America: Living Traditions of the Russian Old Believers; Ancient Tales of Chukotka, and Ancient Tales of Kamchatka.

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