Nationalism has turned Scotland into a place of whisperers.
All through the referendum campaign I’ve been
working on other writings. However interesting the machinations of Scottish
politics may be, it is after all necessary to think of other things. I
sometimes write about philosophy/theology and Russian literature, I sometimes
write a little fiction. It’s for this reason that I haven’t been able to write
a blog for the past few weeks. We all need a bit of a break sometimes.
There’s
been a lot of curiosity about me, some from
friendly sources, some from less friendly sources. There will be the
chance
soon to find out some back story. Fiction is fiction, but it’s all
grounded in
experience. No-one makes anything up ex nihilo. So a little patience,
nationalist friends, and you can dig around some more. One way to tell a
story
is to reverse everything and imagine what it would have been like from
the
opposite perspective. It’s quite an interesting experiment. Try to see
things
from the other person’s point of view. You often find out something
interesting. Anyway, when my book is ready, I shall announce it here and
those
who want to read further may do so.
I know that it disappoints my nationalist friends
that they have been unable to find me in the telephone directory. No doubt you
intended to offer congratulations. It’s almost universally assumed that I write
under a pseudonym. But this is not true. I was born with this name and still
use it in everyday life. My father’s surname was Deans and my mother loved
Walter Scott. They named me Effie because she was beautiful and flawed. We are
all flawed.
I also acquired a long Russian surname from my husband.
I was married in the Soviet Union, and for the first few years I lived in a city
where foreigners were not supposed to live. For complex reasons, that it is
unnecessary to go into, we were given exceptional permission, but I could not obviously
advertise myself as a foreigner. My Soviet passport had a Russian first name
and patronymic that would not immediately tell people that I was from somewhere
else. If you introduce yourself as Effie with a patronymic formed from a name like Alan it’s
pretty obvious you’re not from Gorky. I used this name professionally in Russia
and I do here. But friends and my husband have always called me Effie Deans.
That’s also what’s still on my British passport. It’s one heck of a lot easier
anyway to use that name here when phoning up for a hairdresser’s appointment.
I’m
terribly disappointed to tell you, my dear
nationalist friends. But no I’m not going to tell you my long Russian
name. You
may hunt if you please. But the creepiness of your hunting is a good
enough reason
for my coyness, don’t you think? Besides, I attended something as close
as I ever thought possible to a Komsomol meeting in Aberdeen a couple of
weeks before the
referendum.
The Komsomol was the Soviet Youth organisation. As
well as the Marxism-Leninism lectures, you had to attend meetings. I learned to
keep silent and be very coy and shy while living in a land where you had to be
careful what you said. People have the wrong idea of the Soviet Union. In some
respects it was far better than Russia today. Most people were much better off
then than now. There was much less crime and there were better opportunities for
achieving success through study. But you had to tow the party line and I had to
remain silent. As Wittgenstein put it “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one
must be silent.” Until my Russian was good enough, so that no-one could guess
where I was from, I spoke as little as possible. I had a persona that was very,
very shy, that hid in the corner at parties. Later people believed I was from
one of the Baltic states and was speaking Russian as a second language. But
still I remained silent about what I could not speak about. Everyone did. We
whispered when we were very sure of who we were talking to. Even then we were
careful.
Well, my Komsomol meeting in Aberdeen involved a
planted question from someone who I strongly suspect is a nationalist, and a
thinly veiled lecture on the merits of independence from someone very senior.
This person had not been in Scotland very long and I doubt very much knew any
of the arguments for independence a year or two earlier. But suddenly I was
listening to an independence convert. Everyone in the room kept silent. No-one
including me put forward a counter argument. We, too, knew when it was necessary
to speak and when it was necessary to keep silent.
26.10.14
