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AN EMPIRE OF OTHERS Creating Ethnographic Knowledge in Imperial Russia and the USSR Edited by Roland Cvetkovski and Alexis HofmeiSter An Empire of Others An Empire of Others Creating Ethnographic Knowledge in Imperial Russia and the USSR Edited by Roland Cvetkovski and Alexis Hofmeister Central European University Press Budapest–New York © 2014 Roland Cvetkovski, Alexis Hofmeister Published in 2014 by Central European University Press An imprint of the Central European University Limited Liability Company Nádor utca 11, H-1051 Budapest, Hungary Tel: +36-1-327-3138 or 327-3000 Fax: +36-1-327-3183 E-mail: ceupress@ceu.hu Website: www.ceupress.com 227 West 57th Street, New York NY 10019, USA Tel: +1-212-547-6932 Fax: +1-646-557-2416 E-mail: martin.greenwald@opensocietyfoundations.org All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the permission of the Publisher. ISBN 978-615-5225-76-5 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data An empire of others: creating ethnographic knowledge in imperial Russia and the USSR / edited by Roland Cvetkovski and Alexis Hofmeister. pages; cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-6155225765 (hardbound) 1. Ethnology--Russia--History. 2. Ethnology--Soviet Union--History. I. Cvetkovski, Roland, editor of compilation. II. Hofmeister, Alexis, editor of compilation. GN308.3.R8E47 2013 305.800947--dc23 2013025806 Printed in Hungary by Prime Rate Kft., Budapest Table of Contents Roland Cvetkovski Introduction: On the Making of Ethnographic Knowledge in Russia 1 Alexis Hofmeister Imperial Case Studies: Russian and British Ethnographic Theory 23 Part I: Paradigms Alexei Elfimov Russian Ethnography as a Science: Truths Claimed, Trails Followed 51 Marina Mogilner Beyond, against, and with Ethnography: Physical Anthropology as a Science of Russian Modernity 81 Sergei Alymov Ethnography, Marxism, and Soviet Ideology 121 Sergey Abashin Ethnogenesis and Historiography: Historical Narratives for Central Asia in the 1940s and 1950s 145 Part II: Representations Maike Sach Symbols, Conventions, and Practices: Visual Representation of Ethnographic Knowledge on Siberia in Early Modern Maps and Reports 171 vi Table of Contents Roland Cvetkovski Empire Complex: Arrangements in the Russian Ethnographic Museum, 1910 211 Catriona Kelly Learning about the Nation: Ethnographic Representations of Children, Representations of Ethnography for Children 253 Part III: Peoples Sergey Glebov Siberian Ruptures: Dilemmas of Ethnography in an Imperial Situation 281 Angela Rustemeyer Concepts of Ukrainian Folklore and the Transition from Imperial Russia to Stalin’s Soviet Empire 311 Christian Dettmering No Love Affair: Ingush and Chechen Imperial Ethnographies 341 Mikhail Kizilov National Inventions: The Imperial Emancipation of the Karaites from Jewishness 369 List of Contributors 395 Index 401 Introduction: On the Making of Ethnographic Knowledge in Russia Roland Cvetkovski ‘Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone, All just supply, and all relation. John Donne As globalization has started crossing common boundaries and has given priority to traffic, transfer, and communication, discontent has also arisen. The rapid circulation of ideas, goods, and values seemed to counteract the need for differentiation, since the previous emphasis on national entities had apparently made it easier to draw clear-cut lines between different cultures. So the distrust of the current processes gave rise to a growing feeling of cultural uncertainty that was partly accompanied even by skepticism towards the state and its agencies. In particular, their responsibility to create well-defined categories and to provide stabilizing guidance for society has been called into question. Recently the German folklorist Konrad Köstlin thus campaigned for alternatives to bring back these seemingly waning possibilities of differentiation. He suggested activating ethnographic knowledge in particular as a “grounding in humanity,” providing a specific “cultural technique” and offering “materials for a new 1 cultural framework.” He is definitely right when he points to the increasing significance that notions like “culture” and “ethnicity” have gained in recent decades in both academic and everyday milieus. Yet it is quite remarkable that in dividing politics and culture, Köstlin’s proposed solution obviously implies a separation between state affairs and ethnographic matters. Köstlin’s argument has obscured European colonial and imperial experiences, which were, at least in the eyes of a folklorist, so long ago 1 Konrad Köstlin, “Ethnographisches Wissen als Kulturtechnik” [Ethnographic knowledge as cultural technique], in Ethnographisches Wissen. Zu einer Kulturtechnik der Moderne [Ethnographic knowledge. On a cultural technique of modernity], eds. Konrad Köstlin and Herbert Nikitsch (Vienna: Selbstverlag des Instituts für Volkskunde, 1999), 9–30, here 10, 13–14. 2 Roland Cvetkovski that they could easily fall into oblivion. But it was precisely these experiences that made ethnographic categories largely impinge on state policies, at least in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and provided definite classification patterns according to which cultures of national as well as imperial state formations tried to describe others and themselves. Irrespective of the historical circumstances and protagonists by which these patterns have been developed, such ethnographic conceptions continuously determined the construction of identities and were circulating as a (so to speak) universal tool of distinctiveness between several agencies. Against this background, we need not be in complete agreement with Werner Petermann’s provocative statement that ethnology represents “a bastard of Enlightenment and colonialism” to understand that ethnography mostly 2 had the aura of being contaminated and sometimes even corrupted. This politicization of the ethnographic episteme is certainly an effect of its rather institutional and thus instrumental understanding, not least because imperial powers in particular were heavily engaged in a quasiethnographic engineering of their state affairs and also, to a certain degree, supported ethnography’s academic development. Assuming that the outcomes of a nascent discipline should provide imperial authorities with new instruments of control, ethnography appears to be a significant part of the tool kit for the exercise of power. Even though it was primarily the centrifugal threat of national movements that motivated state intervention in these affairs, particularly in the late nineteenth century, the political instrumentalization of ethnic categories likewise gave imperial rulership the opportunity to appear as an omnipotent power in the peripheries. Due to Moscow’s steady expansion, starting in the late Middle Ages and reaching its first climax with the rapid conquest of nearly all Siberia during the seventeenth century, tsarist rule had to deal with increasing cultural, ethnic, and religious heterogeneity up to the twentieth century. Given the focus on the various strategies to cope with as well as to integrate the category of difference in official state policies, it is no coincidence that research often treated Russia’s multitude in this power-oriented 3 context of politics. In the face of the diverse peoples and their different 2 Werner Petermann, Die Geschichte der Ethnologie [History of ethnology] (Wuppertal: Edition Trickster im Hammer-Verlag, 2004), 13. 3 See, for example, Catherine Black Clay, Ethos and Empire: The Ethnographic Expedition of the Imperial Naval Ministry, 1855–1862 (Ann Arbor: UMI, 1989); Yuri Slezkine, Arctic Mirrors: Russia and the Small Peoples of the North (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994); Daniel R. Brower and Edward J. Lazzerini, eds., Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–1917 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997); 3 Introduction political and social traditions, the empire’s main task was to secure the viability of the multinational state. Rooted in the early modern age, the organization of imperial society by estates guaranteed the functioning of the Russian polity up to the collapse of the ancien regime in 1917, even though this vertical stratification pattern was gradually subverted by the categories of class and nation in the second half of the nineteenth century. But likewise, the cultural concepts of religion and ethnicity made difference horizontally visible, gradually hardening over the course of the nineteenth century. However, only the all-Russian census of 1897 gave a first official classification of the empire, listing 130 nationalities and identify4 as many as 260 different languages. The emergence of the national T.D. Solovei, Ot “burzhuaznoi” etnologii k “sovetskoi” etnografii. Istoriia otechestvennoi etnologii pervoi treti XX veka [From “bourgeois” ethnology to “Soviet” ethnography. History of Russian ethnology in the first third of the twentieth century] (Moscow: RAN, 1998); Nathaniel Knight, “Ethnicity, Nationality, and the Masses: Narodnost’ and Modernity in Imperial Russia,” in Russian Modernity: Politics, Knowledge, Practices, eds. David L. Hoffmann and Yanni Kotsonis (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 2000), 41–64; Charles Steinwedel, “To Make a Difference: The Category of Ethnicity in Late Imperial Russian Politics, 1861–1917,” in Russian Modernity, 67–86; Robert Geraci, Window on the East: National and Imperial Identities in Late Tsarist Russia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001); Francine Hirsch, Empire of Nations: Ethnographic Knowledge and the Making of the Soviet Union (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2005); Michael David-Fox, Peter Holquist, and Alexander Martin, eds., Orientalism and Empire in Russia (Bloomington, IN: Slavica, 2006); David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Russian Orientalism: Asia in the Russian Mind from Peter the Great to the Emigration (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010); Vera Tolz, Russia’s Own Orient: The Politics of Identity and Oriental Studies in the Late Imperial and Early Soviet Periods (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). 4 Even the ninth revision of 1851, carried out by the statistician Peter von Köppen, was structured mainly by corporate categories. See Petr I. Keppen, Deviatia reviziia. Izsledovanie o chisle zhitelei Rossii v 1851 godu [Ninth revision. Inquiry of the population figure in Russia in 1851] (St. Petersburg: Imperatorskaia akademiia nauk, 1857). He mentions the ethnic category only once when turning to the allogenic inhabitants, known as the inorodtsy: see ibid., 221. For more detailed information about the 1897 census, see the two volumes of Henning Bauer, Andreas Kappeler, and Brigitte Roth, eds., Die Nationalitäten des Russischen Reiches in der Volkszählung von 1897 [The nationalities of the Russian Empire in the census of 1897] (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1991). See also Darius Staliūnas, “National Census in the Service of the Russian Empire: The Western Borderlands in the Mid-Nineteenth Century, 1830–1870,” in Defining Self: Essays on Emergent Identities in Russia: Seventeenth to Nineteenth Centuries (Studia Fennica Ethnologica, 10), ed. Michael Branch (Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2009), 435–448. For the Soviet period, see Juliette Cadiot, “Les relations entre le centre et les régions en URSS à travers les débats sur les nationalités dans le recensement de 1926,” Cahiers du monde russe 38, no. 4 (October–December 1997): 601–616. 4 Roland Cvetkovski idea in the nineteenth century finally led to the continuous involvement of the imperial state in ethnographic differentiation on that level. Petersburg’s attempt to create a nationalized empire by a policy of Russification in the second half of the nineteenth century showed that the ethnic argument had conspicuously intruded into the general alignment of imperial policy. Its consequences, though, materialized in the national movements erupting at the fringes of the empire in the Revolution of 1905 and challenging—at least for a while—the tradition of imperial-autocratic rulership. Especially for the late tsarist period, alongside distinctions such as religious confession, economic stage, degree of civilization, or infrastructural relevance, ethnicity in particular was largely used as a political instrument for branding intra-imperial difference. While ethnic differentiation gained ground over the course of the nineteenth century and in some regions emerged in colonial conditions, the October Revolution marked a strict departure to this policy. The Bolsheviks hurried to renounce the “imperialistic” tsarist approach to nationalities. After the liberals of the February Revolution declared all Russian subjects to be free and equal citizens regardless of their religious, ethnic, or racial backgrounds, the Bolsheviks introduced a policy of increased universalism immediately upon their seizure of power in October 1917, advocating the Marxist evolutionary model of change. The Bolsheviks, too, sought to unite all citizens irrespective of their origins, but this time under the umbrella of socialism and classless utopia. Whereas imperial rulers never really succeeded in incorporating multiethnicity—even though it was constantly confronted with it—as a coherent factor into an official policy, the Soviet regime, conversely, developed a clear concept 5 of nationality precisely because it wanted to overcome it. If the present was characterized by ethnic difference, which still carried the imperial burden of an implicit civilizing gradient, the socialist future would instead come up with universal features of non-discrimination covering all national individualities and provide all elements of society with the most powerful cohesion. But unlike tsarist policy, which emphasized (and strengthened) heterogeneity, the Soviets, implying a directional course of 5 Yuri Slezkine, “The USSR as a Communal Apartment, or How a Socialist State Promoted Ethnic Particularism,” Slavic Review 53, no. 2 (Summer 1994): 414–452; Ronald Grigor Suny, “The Empire Strikes Out: Imperial Russia, ‘National’ Identity, and Theories of Empire,” in A State of Nations: Empire and Nation-Making in the Age of Lenin and Stalin, eds. Ronald Grigor Suny and Terry Martin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 23–66. 13 Introduction 19 suming an “insider” perspective. Similar to Abashin’s approach, Alymov chooses both a biographical and generational avenue to elucidate the conversion of the early Soviet ethnographers to Marxism, explains their reasons, and outlines the outcomes of this intellectual shift in their works. Reflecting the politically motivated abandonment of a “bourgeois” attitude to science, the converts all soon showed a general distrust both of an essentializing concept of ethnos and of the relativistic notion of culture. Irrespective of the diverse interferences, Alymov shows that on the whole, the change to a Marxist-sociological approach to ethnography cannot solely be interpreted as a shift to ossified teleological theory. In light of the different biographies, it seems more likely that this process was a reinvention of ethnography. Alymov’s main argument is that more than a few of the Marxist ethnographers were not simply legitimizing the Party line with their research but actually strove to generally take part in Stalin’s great modernization project. Some maintain that the specific paradigm elaborated in this early phase, which highlighted the primacy of clan, kinship, and commune as a basic economic unit of “primitive societies,” represented only a blend of “old-fashioned” evolutionism with Friedrich Engels’s and Lewis H. Morgan’s concept of family. Nonetheless, it per20 until the end of the Soviet Union. Representations The second part attempts to broaden the understanding of knowledge so that our focus is not only on knowledge disciplines, as was the case in the previous chapter, but on knowledge formats, with particular attention to the variety of specific representations and the inherent logics in which 21 ethnographic knowledge manifested itself. Even the format of the 19 Hirsch, Empire of Nations. 20 On the evolutionist reading of late imperial ethnography, see Bruce Grant, “Empire and Savagery: The Politics of Primitivism in Late Imperial Russia,” in Russia’s Orient, eds. Brower and Lazzerini, 292–310. Concerning the self-ascribed high status of ethnography in the late Soviet period, see Iu. V. Bromlei and M.V. Kriukov, “Etnografiia. Mesto v sisteme nauk, shkoly, metody” [Ethnography. Place in the system of sciences, schools, and methods], Sovetskaia Etnografiia, no. 3 (1987): 45–60. For the argument defending a “rich intellectual legacy” for the Soviet period, see B.N. Basilov, “Traditsii otechestvennoi etnografii” [Traditions of national ethnography], Etnograficheskoe obozrenie, no. 2 (1998): 18–45. 21 We adopt the concept of “format” from a recent German publication on that topic. See Ina Dietzsch, Wolfgang Kaschuba, and Leonore Scholze-Irrlitz, eds., Horizonte 14 Roland Cvetkovski written word actually contains, aside from scientific texts, a range of further subdivisions in which knowledge could materialize and be processed differently, such as in novels, school books, or travel guides, not least because each addressed a specific public. But furthermore, there are numerous other knowledge formats: pictures, maps, photographs, songs, expeditions, museums, and exhibitions. Not only do they all represent a broader array of platforms on which ethnographic knowledge was negotiated, elaborated, and disseminated, but the formats themselves also produced a unique epistemological as well as material logic and correspondingly affected the further processing, comprehension, and assessment of 22 ethnography’s content. A quite illustrative case in point for an intrinsic logic is photography. This new and, as it were, shocking means of grasping reality immediately attracted the ethnographers’ attention. It was rapidly integrated into ethnographic work by the Imperial Geographical Society at a time when it was still highly contested as a new art form. In the 1850s Nikolai I. Vtorov used this medium in his fieldwork on the popular customs in the guberniia of Voronezh and even initiated the publication of a photo album. The success story of the ethnographic photograph seemed unstoppable—the all-Russian ethnographic exposition in Moscow in 1867 already showed more than 2,000 pictures, and five years later the Imperial Geographical Society officially distinguished between physiognomic and ethnographic photographs. And at the same time a photo album of Turkestan was published depicting the rites, ceremonies, and customs of the region. Right away the famous literary critic Vladimir V. Stasov expressed his enthusiasm for this new kind of grasping difference. Heretofore, he said, this compilation would represent the very first systematic 23 and thorough depiction of a part of the Russian Empire. Stasov’s exethnografischen Wissens. Eine Bestandsaufnahme [Horizons of ethnographic knowledge. A survey] (Cologne: Böhlau, 2009), esp. 7–15. 22 Media and literary theory have long since pointed to the significance of the material storage medium as a necessary intermediary to express meaning in general. This is most provocatively contended by Friedrich A. Kittler, Discourse Networks 1800/1900 (Stanford: Stanford UP, 1990). 23 Turkestanskii al’bom, po rasporiazheniiu Turkestanskogo general-gubernatora General-ad”iutanta K. P. fon Kaufmana [Turkestan album, by order of the Turkestan general-governor adjutant general K.P. von Kaufmann] (Tashkent, 1871–1872); Margaret Dikovitskaya, “Central Asia in Early Photographs: Colonial Attitudes and Visual Culture,” in Empire, Islam, and Politics in Central Eurasia, ed. Tomohiko Uyama (Hokkaido: Slavic Research Center, 2007), 99–136; Elena Barkhatova, “Realism and Document: Photography as Fact,” in Photography in Russia, 1840–1940: Published to Coincide with the Touring Exhibition “Photography in Russia 1840–1940” Organised by the 41 Imperial Case Studies 43 travels in Siberia and northern Russia (1840, 1843–1845), and Matthias Alexander Castrén’s linguistic explorations of the peoples of Karelia, 44 northern Russia and Siberia (1838–1839, 1841–1844, 1845–1849). The continuously gathered ethnographic data were concentrated in the capital of the Russian Empire, where the Academy of Sciences coordinated the efforts to order and analyze the vast amounts of material. It was not only the sheer amount of the collections that was responsible for an early and abundant institutionalization of ethnographic curiosity in imperial Russia. In 1837 St. Petersburg saw the opening of the world’s first ethno45 museum, whose collections date from the days of Tsar Peter I. Contrary to the claims of Vermeulen, a chair for etnografiia under the auspices of the Academy of the Sciences was probably not established in 46 the same year. Another important step towards the professionalization of ethnographic research in the Russian Empire was taken with the foundation of the Russian Geographic Society (Russkoe Geograficheskoe Obshchestvo, RGO) in 1845. Even if this institution was not an official body of the imperial state, it received regular and significant funding. As a sign of its importance, from 1849 onwards the RGO was allowed to call itself 47 “Imperial.” Due to backing from high places, the RGO represented one 43 A. Th. von Middendorf, Reise in den äussersten Norden und Osten Sibiriens [Journey into the northernmost and easternmost parts of Siberia], 7 vols. (St. Petersburg: Kaiserliche Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1847–1875). 44 M.A. Castrén, Nordische Reisen und Forschungen [Nordic travels and investigations], 12 vols. (St. Petersburg: Kaiserliche Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1853–1862). 45 Respective museums were founded in Copenhagen in 1848, in Leipzig and Berlin in 1873, in Dresden and Rome in 1874, in Paris (Trocadéro) in 1878, and in Vienna and Oxford in 1884. Cf. Petermann, Die Geschichte der Ethnologie, 414. 46 Vermeulen, “Ethnographie und Ethnologie in Mittel- und Osteuropa,” 406. The most reliable depictions of these early developments of the subject do not mention this chair. Cf. A.N. Pypin, Istoriia russkoi etnografii [The history of Russian ethnography] (St. Petersburg: Stasjulevič, 1890, 1891); Konstantin V. Ostrovitianov, ed., Istoriia akademii nauk SSSR [The history of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR], vol. 2: 1803–1917 (Moscow and Leningrad: Nauka, 1964), 209–218, 612–621. However, a chair of anthropology was founded at Moscow University in 1880. Its first holder was Dmitry N. Anuchin (1843–1923), a member of the RGO. Cf. H. Schulz and St. P. Dunn, “Mensch– Anthropologie” [Man–anthropology], in Sowjetsystem und Demokratische Gesellschaft. Eine vergleichende Enzyklopädie [Soviet system and democratic society. A comparative encyclopedia], vol. 4 (Freiburg, Basel, and Vienna: Herder, 1971), 461–491, 476–477. 47 It was now called Imperatorskoe Russkoe Geograficheskoe Obshchestvo. Nathaniel Knight, “Science, Empire, and Nationality: Ethnography in the Russian Geographical Society 1845–1855,” in Imperial Russia: New Histories for the Empire, eds. J. Burbank 42 Alexis Hofmeister of the leading research institutions of the country. For the academicians and enlightened bureaucrats who together joined the ranks of the RGO, ethnography was an important field of research, and it therefore had to be counted among the RGO’s major challenges. This specific field of research, previously considered a subfield on the border between science and humanities, was now to be studied in its own right. Therefore, a separate ethnographic section of the RGO was created. The other three sections were general geography, the geography of the Russian Empire, and statistics. As scientific objects, Russian peasants were of the same interest to the members of the ethnographic section of the RGO as the indigenous peoples of Siberia. To gain voluntary informants in the provinces of the empire, the RGO in 1852 issued a call via educational institutions and administrative channels. Brief instructions on how to write ethnographic descriptions were distributed in more than 7,000 copies. Even if the quality of the resulting descriptions was not fully adequate, the quantity of answers was impressive. About 2,000 descriptions of ethnographic conditions of diverse places and groups of the empire, most of them written by members of the mi48 clergy, teachers, and lower ranks of the aristocracy, were received. The instructions included common European categories of ethnographic questionnaires: appearance, language, domestic life, and characteristics of social life, manners, and education, as well as folklore and material remnants. Additionally, a revised version of the questionnaire drew the attention of the informants to questions of economic practice and social change. Unlike in the Central and Western European perspective, however, the collection of ethnographic knowledge was separated from its evaluation and utilization. The St. Petersburg RGO, in contrast to the Ethnological or the Anthropological Society of London, was not particularly interested in the prehistory of mankind. Its surveys of the ethnic and social heterogeneity of the Russian Empire owed a great deal to the belief that with its help, imperial rule could be exercised in a more enlightened and efficient manner. Even if the communication between the RGO and various administrative agencies has to be examined in greater detail, the use and D.L. Ransel (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1998), 108– 141. 48 The results were partially published under the title Sobranie mestnikh etnograficheskikh opisanii Rossii. Etnograficheskiy sbornik, izdavaemii Imperatorskim Russkim Geograficheskim Obshchestvom [Collection of local ethnographic descriptions of Russia. Ethnographic reader, published by the Imperial Russian Geographic Society], vol. 1 (St. Petersburg: RGO, 1853). 82 Marina Mogilner almost singular dominant language of human diversity in an empire that was immune to European “racial obsessions” seems to be driven by a Sonderweg perception of Russian history. In what follows, I attempt to challenge this perception by presenting a version of the story as the dynamic coexistence and interaction of racial-biological and cultural models of groupness (exemplified by anthropology and ethnography, respectively) in late imperial Russia. In the nineteenth century, narodnost’ definitely was not the main concept of Russian human sciences. It coexisted and, in a way, competed for academic prominence with such categories as tribe (plemia), race, and a 3 more politicized category, people (narod). In the Russian dictionaries of 4 the 1860s, race was used as a synonym for plemia, as both were conceptualized through a limited number of external biological indicators such as the color of skin, hair, and eyes, body height, and so on. Thus understood, race became an integral part of popular as well as academic ethnographic discourses. In the early twentieth century, more and more ethnographers tended to begin their studies with formal racial classifications and brief overviews of “physical types.” Multiple examples illustrate this emerging Review 61, no. 2 (Spring 2002): 1–65; Eli Weinerman, “Racism, Racial Prejudice and Jews in Late Imperial Russia,” Ethnic and Racial Studies 17, no. 3 (1994): 442–495; Hans Rogger, Jewish Policies and Right-Wing Politics in Imperial Russia (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986); Eugene M. Avrutin, “Racial Categories and the Politics of (Jewish) Difference in Late Imperial Russia,” Kritika: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 8, no. 1 (2007); Marina Mogilner, Homo Imperii: A History of Physical Anthropology in Russia (Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 2013); Svetlana Gorshenina and Sergey Abashin, eds., Turkestan russe: une colonie pas comme les autres? (Paris: Collection de l’IFEAC, 2008). Especially important examples of this new trend, which both establishes the presence of racial thinking in Russian scholarly discourses in a variety of disciplines, from history to Oriental studies, and from philosophy to political theory, and at the same time shows that the meaning of “race” was shifting and contextual, are Karl Hall, “‘Rasovye priznaki koreniatsia glubzhe v prirode chelovecheskogo organizma’: neulovimoe poniatie rasy v Rossiiskoi imperii,” in Poniatia o Rossii. K istoricheskoi semantike imperskogo perioda, vol. 2 (Moscow: Novoe Literaturnoe Obozrenie, 2012), 194−258; Vera Tolz, “Diskursy o rase: imperskaia Rossia i ‘Zapad’ v sravnenii,” in ibid., 145−193. Moreover, Tolz convincingly argues that Russia was not unique in such an incoherent and pluralistic application of “race” but rather followed the general European pattern. 3 A sophisticated analysis of this coexistence is offered in Karl Hall, “‘Rasovye priznaki koreniatsia glubzhe v prirode chelovecheskogo organizma.’” 4 Nastol’nyi slovar’ dlia spravok po vsem otrasliam znaniia, vol. 3 (St. Petersburg: F. Toll’, 1864), 269; Russkii entsiklopedicheskii slovar’, vol. 1, part 4 (St. Petersburg: I. Mordukhovskii, 1875), 90. For more, see Avrutin, “Racial Categories and the Politics of (Jewish) Difference,” 21. 83 Beyond, against, and with Ethnography fashion toward an ethnographic adaptation of “race.” One example is the 1906 survey Aliens in Russia (Inorodtsy v Rossii) by the ethnographer of Omsk and Orenburg Kyrgyz, and administrator of inorodtsy schools in Western Siberia, Alexander Alektorov. From the outset, he divided the whole Russian population into two “human races”—Caucasians (including Russians, Poles, and “Slav migrants” such as Bulgarians and Serbs; non-Slavic “tribes” such as Lithuanians, Moldavians, “Peoples of the Caucasus,” and “migrants” to Russia such as Germans, Swedes, Greeks, and Jews) and Mongoloids (“Turkish-Tatar tribes,” “Finnish tribes,” “Mongolo-Manchuria tribes,” and “Polar tribes”). His very general and inclusive racial grouping encompassed tribes and ethnicities whose designations were culturally determined. In addition, these ethnicities were classified on a purely ideological basis as natives and foreigners (migrants). In his subsequent work, Alektorov never again referred to the Caucasian and Mongoloid racial families; his invocation of race in the introduction signaled his scientific status as a modern expert capable of 5 systematizing his local data and going beyond narrative accounts. Parallel to this formal usage of race as a taxonomic category, which helped to account for differences but did not obstruct the building of cultural rather than biological boundaries or hierarchies (as in Alektorov’s case) between human collectives, another usage of race was taking shape. By the end of the nineteenth century, the articles on race in Russian encyclopedias were being composed by leading representatives of physical anthropology, who were not satisfied with a general descriptive taxonomy embodied in the race-tribe pairing or with artificial adjustments of race classifications to the purposes of ethnographic analysis. Instead they advanced a much more specialized definition of race as the basic category of the natural history of humanity. As such, the study of race required strictly scientific and universal methods and was incompatible with a subjectivizing cultural approach. As the first Russian anthropology professor, Dmitrii Anuchin (1843–1923), explained on the pages of the Encyclopedic Dictionary of F.A. Brokgauz and I.E. Efron, only with the appearance of new scientific classifications based on a systemic approach to anthropological indicators (i.e., not on a fixation with observing a few descriptive visual traits) would it become possible to make sense of human diversity. For a broad Russian public, Anuchin spelled out a few basics of modern race science: that “racial traits do not coincide with tribal and national traits”; 5 A.E. Alektorov, Inorodtsy v Rossii. Sovremennye voprosy. Finliandtsy, Poliaki, Latyshi, Evrei, Nemtsy, Armiane, Tatary (St. Petersburg: Tipografia I.V. Leont’eva, 1906), 1–2. Ethnography, Marxism, and Soviet Ideology Sergei Alymov In the history of Soviet ethnography, the introduction of Marxism is among the few episodes that have repeatedly attracted the attention of scholars. Indeed it is (or appears to be) among the most exhaustively studied such episodes. This is quite understandable, for this turning point considerably shaped the development of the discipline throughout the entire Soviet period. The wave of discussions, congresses, and reorganizations that reached its peak in 1929–1932 was described in Soviet historiography as the “creative mastering of Marxism” and, of course, evaluated positively, although the calls of “leftists” to abandon ethnography were men1 with understandable disgust. Yuri Slezkine put this in the proper historical context of Stalin’s Great Break, his cultural revolution, and the 2 Bolsheviks’ takeover of the Academy. The results of this campaign were dramatic indeed: imposition of Marxism-Leninism as the only acceptable theoretical framework; various reorganizations in the institutional structure of the discipline; and rude, highly politicized, and often unproductive discussions. All of these were accompanied by repressions that decimated the ranks of new Bolshevik “cadres” perhaps even more than those of old “bourgeois specialists.” The narrative that Slezkine conveys, though, is that of a “fall” of the discipline, sinking into politicized and almost absurd The research for this article was supported by a European Visiting Research Fellowship held at the University of Aberdeen in 2013 sponsored by the Caledonian Research Foundation of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. 1 S.A. Tokarev, “Rannie etapy razvitiia sovetskoi etnograficheskoi nauki” [Early periods of the development of Soviet ethnographic science], Ocherki istorii rossiiskoi etnografii, fol’kloristiki i antropologii, vol. 5 (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo AN SSSR, 1971), 111–120. 2 Yuri Slezkine, “The Fall of Soviet Ethnography, 1928–1938,” Current Anthropology 32, no. 4 (1991): 476–484. 122 Sergei Alymov debates under the ideological pressure of Marxist newcomers. Francine Hirsch points out that “archival sources tell a more complicated story.” She argues that what happened “is not the fall but rather invention of ‘So3 ethnography.” Ethnography as a scholarly discipline did not perish in the 1930s. Expeditions and museum and research activities continued under those harsh circumstances. Marxism brought new theoretical agendas, research approaches, and intellectual and moral problems that the new generation of ethnographers would now try to tackle. Moreover, they were determined to serve the Soviet regime and the interests of the peoples they studied, assuming that these interests coincided. The picture is more complicated also in the sense that Marxists and those known as “Marrists” did not constitute a consolidated group. Not all Marxists shared enthusiasm for academician Nikolai Marr’s theories; nor did all “Marrists” use Marxist categories of socioeconomic analysis. A minority of both completely agreed to the critique of ethnology with the ensuing call for abandoning it that came from radicals. In the following, I will try to provide a kind of more personalized, “insider” account of the development of Soviet Marxist ethnography. I will try to assume the perspective of ethnographers themselves, and not that of a grand narrative that tends to remain oblivious to people’s motives, their intellectual and moral aspirations, and the predicaments they encountered. I will concentrate on the works and lives of a number of outstanding representatives of Marxist ethnography and analyze some episodes in their careers that seem typical and telling for the Great Break period and beyond. All these people are of the same generation that came into the profession around the late 1920s. I will try to show how this generation converted to Marxism and used it in their research, what results it yielded, and how it was subsequently transformed or arguably put to rest long before its “official” dismissal after the fall of the Soviet Union. The “Great Break” in Soviet Ethnography Revisited Historians of ethnography have rightly argued that there were few, if any, Marxist ethnographers in the 1920s or earlier. Marxism penetrated the field from neighboring spheres of intellectual production, and by the end 3 Francine Hirsch, Empire of Nations: Ethnographic Knowledge and the Making of the Soviet Union (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2005). Ethnogenesis and Historiography: Historical Narratives for Central Asia 1 in the 1940s and 1950s Sergey Abashin In 1947, at the climax of Stalinist rule, the Academy of Sciences of the Uzbek SSR in Tashkent published the second volume of the History of the 2 Peoples of Uzbekistan. Of this three volumes planned for this work, the second volume was published earliest. The editor of the second volume was the renowned historian Sergei Bakhrushin, then a corresponding member of the Academy of Sciences of the Soviet Union (AN SSSR), head of the Department of Soviet History at the Historical Institute for the Period of Feudalism, and laureate of the Stalin State Prize. The author of the second volume was the corresponding member of the Academy of Sciences of the Uzbek SSR Aleksandr Semenov. Only in 1950 was the first volume of the History of the Peoples of Uzbekistan published. Its editor-in-chief, Sergei Tolstov, headed the Institute of Ethnography, while its main author was the corresponding member of the AN SSSR Aleksandr Iakubovskii. This volume was introduced by a short preface from the Institute of History and Archaeology of the Academy of Sciences of the Uzbek SSR, explaining that the previously published second volume was “the very first attempt” to produce “a major work” about “the origins (o dalekom proshlom) of the peoples of the USSR.” This, however, “could not help but affect the volume’s quality,” and, as could be read there, it actually turned out to be “not without a 1 I want to express my gratitude to S. Alymov and S. Sokolovskii as well as to R. Cvetkovski and A. Hofmeister for their helpful comments on this essay. I also wish to thank A. Il’khamov, with whom I discussed the subject of this article, and V. Germanov, who directed my attention to a number of useful sources. 2 Istoriia narodov Uzbekistana [History of the peoples of Uzbekistan], vol. 2 (Tashkent: Izdatel’stvo AN UzSSR, 1947). 146 Sergey Abashin number of serious deficiencies.” The text added that “further deepening exploration of Uzbekistan’s historical past, collective work, bold as well as open Bolshevik criticism and self-criticism, high standards, and irreconcilability towards the slightest aberration from the principles of Marxism-Leninism in science will enable the historiographers of the republic to solve the great task imposed on them to build the real Marxist3 history of the peoples of Uzbekistan […].” To me the History of the Peoples of Uzbekistan represents a curious example by which to ponder the reciprocity of ethnography and history. But why ethnography? First, among the main authors and editors of these two volumes were scholars who either wrote ethnographic works themselves as Semenov did, or to whose works ethnographers deemed important to make reference to, as was the case, for example, with Iakubovskii’s writings. Moreover, the editor of the second volume, as already mentioned, had been the director of the Institute of Ethnography of the AN SSSR for two decades. Second, the title of these two volumes was telling about “peoples”—obviously a concept that has always been crucial to, and even formative for, the discipline of ethnography. This concept attracted attention for several reasons. One of these was the measures adopted by the Bolsheviks in the 1920s to carry out the internal administrative-territorial organization of the Soviet state on the basis of national features. In the end, each of the newly constituted republics and regions was assigned a certain “titular” nationality, and accordingly the particular territories and everything they comprised were associated with a specific nation. Thus the thesis of autochthony and of the natural rights to a given territory became central for the demands of the national elites, so that in this specific political framework, historiography could only be national when it was conceived as the history of the “titular” people. As a result, the history of the Soviet Union was understood as the history of the officially recognized people. From the very beginning, academics were involved in the processes of making up directories of titular peoples, drawing boundaries between republics and regions, and of canonizing 4 national cultures and languages. And their very participation in these official state projects led to new debates about what a “people” actually was, brought about intellectual conflicts, and signaled differences that 3 Istoriia narodov Uzbekistana [History of the peoples of Uzbekistan] , vol. 1 (Tashkent: Izdatel’stvo AN UzSSR, 1950), 6. 4 Francine Hirsch, Empire of Nations: Ethnographic Knowledge and the Making of the Soviet Union (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2005). Symbols, Conventions, and Practices: Visual Representation of Ethnographic Knowledge on Siberia in Early Modern Maps and Reports Maike Sach As cultural artifacts, pictures and images play an eminent role in ethnography in different European and non-European communities and societies using different concepts of images and codes of communication. Pictures (and also immaterial mental images) are thus objects of ethnological research. But they are not only that: the immediacy of images seems to provide depicted objects and scenes with visual evidence of real existence. Pictures are able to support and to complete the meaning of a text, but they do not necessarily need a written explanation to be understood. It was since the formation of ethnology as a modern science, referring primarily to European patterns of thought and paradigms, that various techniques and strategies of visual representation were used as important media of 1 documentation, description, and depiction. This dual function of pictures in ethnology has influenced workaday practices and the forming of epistemic ideals since ethnology started to develop gradually as an empiric discipline from the eighteenth century on. The first ethnographic knowledge was gathered in early modern times. It was disseminated in texts but likewise found its way into cartographic representations that included depictions of foreign peoples. Those pictures 1 Iris Därmann, “Ethnologie” [Ethnology], in Bildwissenschaft. Disziplinen, Themen, Methoden, ed. Klaus Sachs-Hombach (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 2005), 174–184; Helge Gerndt, “Bildüberlieferung und Bildpraxis. Vorüberlegungen zu einer volkskundlichen Bildwissenschaft” [Tradition of images and pictorial practice. Preliminary considerations on ethnological iconography], in Der Bilderalltag. Perspektiven einer volkskundlichen Bildwissenschaft, eds. Helge Gerndt and Michaela Haibl (Münster: Waxmann, 2005), 13–34. 172 Maike Sach were often borrowed from a traditional pictorial repertoire forming a very special inventory of condensed and sometimes highly coded knowledge. This pool of summarized knowledge translated into a pictorial language underwent an adaption and transformation due to the development of ethnology as a science: initially, ethnology was closely linked with the history of nature and regarded as a natural science before it was considered a discipline within the humanities. Great expeditions, organized by academies and learned societies, and financed by governments for the exploration and subsequent occupation of hitherto terrae incognitae, were also occasions for early ethnologists trained to follow the model of universal scholarship to collect artifacts of various kinds (cult objects, weapons, 2 articles of daily use, costumes, etc.) for documentary purposes. Sometimes they bought those artifacts; sometimes they took them without permission for collections in their home countries as future sources for inventories of ethnographic museums to be found in the following decades. The consequences were all the same: pieces arousing the curiosity and interest of European ethnographers were removed from their original environment. Often they were presented in isolation from their original context of use, without a clear hint of their special meaning or provenance of the 3 objects. To avoid such a lack or omission of data, precise description and documentation were needed: measurement, classification, and careful documentation in logs and diaries in various forms, supplemented with drawings, were fundamental to producing and preserving knowledge al4 during the journey. Initially, especially in the early eighteenth cen2 Philippe Despoix, Die Welt vermessen. Dispositive der Entdeckungsreise im Zeitalter der Aufklärung [Measuring the world. Dispositions of expeditions in the Age of Enlightenment] (Göttingen: Wallstein, 2009), 32–37. 3 Därmann, “Ethnologie,” 175; Gudrun Bucher, “Die Insel Kodiak im Spiegel der Sammlung des Barons von Asch” [Kodiak Island in the context of the collection of Baron von Asch], in Ding—Bild—Wissen. Ergebnisse und Perspektiven nordamerikanistischer Forschung in Frankfurt a. M., ed. Cora Bender et al. (Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe Verlag, 2005), 39–52. 4 Despoix, Die Welt vermessen, 81–94; Gerhard Rudolph, “Operationen der Aufklärung: Beobachten—Messen—Experimentieren” [Operations of the Enlightenment: Observing–measuring–experimenting], in Innovation und Transfer. Naturwissenschaften, Anthropologie und Literatur im 18. Jahrhundert, eds. Walter Schmitz and Carsten Zelle (Dresden: Thelem bei w.e.b., 2004), 3–9; Justin Stagl, Eine Geschichte der Neugier. Die Kunst des Reisens 1550–1800 [A history of curiosity. The art of traveling] (Vienna: Böhlau, 2002), 74–76; Jan Altmann, “Pazifische Impulse. Entdeckungsreisen und visuelle Techniken der naturhistorischen Wissensrepräsentation” [Pacific stimuli. Expe- Empire Complex: Arrangements in the Russian Ethnographic Museum, 1910 Roland Cvetkovski Perhaps that is what museums are good for. Like philosophy, they are an avenue that conducts us outside ourselves. Hilde S. Hein If self-reflection marks the first step toward wisdom, then self-knowledge could certainly pass for the achievement of wisdom. Nikolai M. Mogilianskii, ethnographer and head of the Russian Ethnographic Museum in St. Petersburg from 1910 to 1918, must have had something similar in mind when he wrote about the purpose of museums for Russia. All their exhibits, he wrote, taught man to address as well as to cherish the everyday objects that surrounded him and that he usually paid no attention to. But museums did not simply restore the dignity of the object; they achieved much more. To Mogilianskii they even articulated an overall human idea, because they “inspire a broader public to societal selfknowledge, to conscious love for their environs, for their little provincial home, for their fatherland and finally [stretching] to a worldwide feeling 1 of humanity.” Such a deep impact on mankind might be surprising on this scale, but one is certainly amazed to hear what actually caused it: Dmitrii A. Klements, renowned ethnographer, colleague, and predecessor of Mogilianskii as head of the Russian Ethnographic Museum, had already proclaimed that what humanity needed most and what defined a 1 N.M. Mogilianskii, “Oblastnoi ili mestnyi muzei, kak tip kul’turnago uchrezhdeniia” [Regional or local museums as a kind of cultural institution], Zhivaia Starina 25, no. 4 (1916): 303–326, quotation from 307. 212 Roland Cvetkovski museum was “factual knowledge.” Arranged and composed in a “systematic collection,” this knowledge materialized in the objects, which, conversely, as endowed with the capacity to tell about this knowledge, were 2 not dead but actually “vital things.” Mogilianskii absolutely agreed with this argument; he himself had insisted that the museum had to be regarded 3 as a “vibrant laboratory.” True, the universal as well as moral context in which both men placed the museum was largely due to the high pedagogical standards they deemed an important part of their professional mission. It was only in the last years of the nineteenth century that Russia experienced major momentum in institutionalizing permanent ethnographic displays, and by establishing the Russian Ethnographic Museum’s collection, Mogilianskii— and even more so, Klements—played a significant role in the process. Apart from a few provincial establishments such as in Kharkov’, Ark4 Tbilisi, or Irkutsk, the two most important ethnographic museums could be found in the capital. First was the museum of the Academy of Sciences Muzei po Antropologii i Etnografii, founded in 1879, which was Peter I’s former curiosity cabinet, the Kunstkamera. Even though this institution collected objects from all over the world, the addition “predominantly of Russia” was not deleted from its official name until 1903. Second was the ethnographic section of the Russian Museum, which here will be referred to as the Russian Ethnographic Museum. It was founded in 1895, officially came into being in 1902, and focused on the presenta5 of primarily Slavic tribes of the Russian Empire. 2 D.A. Klements, Mestnye muzei i ikh znachenie v provintsial’noi zhizni [Local museums and their meaning for provincial life] (Irkutsk: Tip. K.I. Vitkovskoi, 1893), 2 and 9. 3 Mogilianskii, “Oblastnoi ili mestnyi muzei,” 318. 4 In the field of natural history, the Russian province experienced its first boom in the founding of museums as early as the 1870s. The first was established in Iaroslavl’ in 1865. See N.N. Pozdniakov, “Politekhnicheskii muzei i ego nauchno-prosvetitel’nye deiatel’nosti 1872–1917 gg.” [The polytechnical museum and its scientific-educational activities, 1872–1917], in Istoriia muzeinogo dela v SSSR. Sbornik statei [History of museum affairs in the USSR. An anthology], no. 1 (Moscow: Goskul’tprosvetizdat, 1957), 129–158; D.A. Ravikovich, “Iz istorii organizatsii sibirskikh muzeev v XIX v.” [From the history of the organization of the Siberian museums in the nineteenth century], in Istoriia muzeinogo dela, no. 1, 159–191, here 165. 5 For a brief introduction, see A.M. Razgon, “Etnograficheskie muzei v Rossii (1861– 1917)” [Ethnographic museums in Russia, 1861–1917], in Ocherki istorii muzeinogo dela v Rossi [Outline of the history of museum affairs in Russia], no. 3 (Moscow: Goskul’tprosvetizdat, 1961), 231–268; Isabella I. Changuina, “Les musées ethnographiques en Russie,” Ethnologie française 26, no. 4 (1996): 599–610; T.V. Staniukovich, Learning about the Nation: Ethnographic Representations of Children, Representations 1 of Ethnography for Children Catriona Kelly Russian anthropology (or, as it was known until recently, etnografiia) has historically fixed its gaze on Russian culture itself. Throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (and into the twenty-first), the discipline was a forum for the discussion and representation of ideas about national identity. It focused above all on the life of the so-called narod, or Volk, who were understood in much the same terms as the exotic Others dwelling in faraway places portrayed in classical British anthropology. This tie 2 between anthropology and “internal colonization” in turn had a significant impact on the representation of children, who, throughout the history of Russian anthropology, were both highly visible and not visible at all. In 1 The research for this chapter was carried out with support from the Leverhulme Trust (“Childhood in Russia, 1890–1991: A Social and Cultural History,” 2003–2006, www.mod-langs.ox.ac.uk/russian/childhood) and the Arts and Humanities Research Council (“Russian National Identity since 1961: Traditions and Deterritorialisation,” 2007–2011, www.mod-langs.ox.ac.uk/russian/nationalism). I would like to thank my collaborators on these projects, particularly Dmitry Baranov, Vitaly Bezrogov, and Al’bert Baiburin, for helpful discussions and advice, and the staff of the libraries and archives mentioned, as well as Alla Sal’nikova and the audience of a round table on children in academic, pedagogical, and literary texts, Kazan, November 11–12, 2010. Some of the material in this chapter (on the State Museum of Ethnography) is an adapted version of a Russian text first published in the volume of papers from that conference (Detstvo v nauchnykh, obrazovatel’nykh i khudozhesetvennykh tekstakh [Childhood in scholarly, pedagogical, and artistic texts], ed. Alla Sal’nikova (Kazan: Izd. Kazanskogo federal’nogo universiteta, 2011). 2 On “internal colonization” in the Russian context, see, e.g., Alexander Etkind, Internal Colonization: Russia’s Imperial Experience (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2011); Alexander Etkind and Il’ja Kalinin, eds., Tam vnutri: praktiki vnutrennei kolonizatsii v kul’turnoi istorii Rossii [There within. Practices of internal colonization in the cultural history of Russia] (Moscow: Novoe literaturnoe obozrenie, 2012). 254 Catriona Kelly some respects children could be considered the subject matter of the discipline, the quintessential representatives of the narod (Russian people) in its supposed immediacy and sincerity. Yet the very identification between children and the narod meant that, both before 1917 and in the Soviet period, analysis of children’s experience and mental world as phenomena in their own right was very limited. Whether as the objects of ethnographic research, as the audience for ethnography, or as practitioners of ethnography, children were often not differentiated from the rest of the narod, and consideration of the specific experience of childhood was vestigial (indeed, commentators rarely even inquired whether experience 3 specific to children existed in the first place). At the same time, both the practice of ethnography as a scholarly discipline and the popularization of its findings could scarcely avoid the influence of wider social trends. There was pressure to reflect the ideologies of Russian (and later Soviet) nationalism and to communicate discoveries to a mass audience (a pressure that became acute in the Soviet period). There was a rising sense that children were a uniquely important sector of society, whose situation should be analyzed in detail, and that they represented an audience with a particular character, to be addressed using spe4 techniques. There was also a growing determination to use eth3 One case in point is children’s language. Typically, commentators simply assigned rustic or dialect features to children, rather than suggesting that there was a child-specific way of speaking. Take, for example, the rendering of dialogue in A.M. Pomeryantseva, “Derevenskie kartinki” [Village pictures] (offprint of an article from Trudovaya pomoshch’ journal [December 1903]: 1–2). (Library of the Peter the Great Museum of Anthropology and Ethnography (Kunstkamera), Russian Academy of Sciences, St. Petersburg (henceforth MAE), shelfmark IE B261). 4 If anything, interest in childhood was more intense in Russian ethnography of the early twentieth century than in Western ethnography of the period. Nancy Scheper-Hughes and Carolyn Sargent, editors of Small Wars: The Cultural Politics of Childhood (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), assert: “Most ethnographic writing represents childhood as a transitional life stage devoid of any intrinsic meaning or value […] By and large, children appear in ethnographic texts the way cattle make their appearance in EvansPritchard’s classic, The Nuer—as forming the essential backdrop to everyday life, but mute and unable to teach us anything about society and culture” (13–14). Scheper-Hughes and Sargent go on to compare the “hermeneutics of suspicion” towards children in anthropological discourse with the governing attitudes towards women up to the mid-1970s: “This hermeneutics of suspicion is accompanied by a failure to view children as sui generis and apart from the child’s relationship to adult society and norms. What independent moral systems guide children’s lives? How do children think about power, fairness, and justice? About work and play? Sex and love? […] How do older children create, establish, and maintain bodily autonomy and how do they project extensions of the body both in the Siberian Ruptures: Dilemmas of Ethnography in an Imperial Situation Sergey Glebov The very word “Siberia” is contentious. Originating in the post-Mongol Tatar khanates, “Siberia” never had clear political or geographical boundaries. While it began beyond the Urals and was delimited in the north by the Arctic Ocean, it was never clear whether the steppes of present-day Kazakhstan, the lands along the Amur River, the enormous Yakut oblast or the Maritime Province were part of “Siberia.” Culturally, the mix of nomadic, semi-nomadic, and settled populations—native Kazakhs, Kyrgyz, Tatars, Khanty and Mansi, Yakuts, Buryats, and others—spoke widely different languages (Turkic, Uralo-Altaic, Paleoasiatic, etc.) and professed different beliefs (Islam, Christianity, Lamaist Buddhism, animistic shamanism and syncretic cults like “Burkhanism”). Even today, while from the perspective of Moscow everything to the east of the Urals is in Siberia, the inhabitants of Vladivostok or Khabarovsk are likely to 1 disagree. Despite this lack of clarity about the specific geographic content of the term, few scholars failed to note the crucial importance of Siberia in Russian imperial history. One of the earliest and territorially largest acquisitions, the land and peoples beyond the Ural Mountains served the tsars of 1 For a discussion of recent studies of spatial dimensions of Siberian history, see Jan Kusber, “Mastering the Imperial Space: The Case of Siberia; Approaches and Recent Directions of Research,” Ab Imperio, no. 4 (2008): 52–74. See also Anatoliy Remnev, ed., Sibir’ v sostave Rossiiskoi imperii [Siberia in the Russian Empire] (Moscow: NLO, 2009); Anatoliy Remnev, “Siberia and the Far East in the Imperial Geography of Power,” in Russian Empire: Space, People, Power, 1700–1930, eds. J. Burbank, M. von Hagen, and A. Remnev (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2007), 425–453. See also Mark Bassin, “Inventing Siberia: Visions of the Russian East in the Early Nineteenth Century,” American Historical Review 96, no. 3 (June 1991): 763–794. 282 Sergey Glebov Moscow and Russian emperors as sources of precious furs, for a long time Russia’s only native currency. It may not be coincidental that Russia’s rapid expansion in the west, first in Left Bank Ukraine and later in the Baltics and Poland-Lithuania, followed the acquisition of fur-rich Siberia. As the supply of fur declined in the eighteenth century, the Nerchinsk mines of Transbaikalia began providing silver and gold to the imperial treasury. In the late nineteenth century, Siberia began to loom large on the minds of imperial bureaucrats, who saw in it an inexhaustible source of land for impoverished peasants of European Russia. Siberia was to be reclaimed from wilderness with the help of modern technology and railroads, colonized and transformed from a cold and unwelcoming wasteland roamed by backward savages into a populous and prosperous part of Rus2 itself. Siberia’s immense size gave the Russians a sense that their empire, which bordered on China, Mongolia, and Islamic Central Asia, had a global reach. In the twentieth century, Siberia’s territorial breadth also gave the USSR an immense military advantage over the Nazis, as the Soviets evacuated their industries and people into the depths of the continent’s interior. Stalin’s industrialization witnessed the rise of giant industrial centers such as Magnitogorsk, and the stress on science in the postStalin period helped Novosibirsk develop into one of the intellectual centers of the Soviet Union. Siberia’s immense natural resources even played a central role in the history of the Cold War. Prior to the 1950s, over half of Soviet exports consisted mainly of things that grew on land. Beginning in the 1960s, the USSR mostly exported things taken from under the ground, and most of these things were mined in Siberia. Siberian oil, natural gas, gold, diamonds—in short, as Soviet Siberian patriots liked to stress, “Mendeleev’s entire periodic table” contained in Siberia’s ground—enabled post-Soviet Russia to weather its economic crises. The same resources continue to be Russia’s main export and underwrite its geopolitical interests and influ3 its domestic policies. As Dominic Lieven argued, Siberia gave postSoviet Russia a chance to “experience the loss of empire and yet remain a 2 See, for example, Kolonizatsiia Sibiri v sviazi s obshchim pereselencheskim voprosom [Colonization of Siberia in connection with the general question of resettlement] (St. Petersburg: Chancellery of the Committee of Ministers, 1900). For a recent discussion of colonization in Russian imperial history, see N. Breyfogle, A. Schrader, and W. Sunderland, eds., Peopling the Russian Periphery: Borderland Colonization in Eurasian History (New York: Routledge, 2007). 3 For instance, Marshall Goldman, Petrostate: Putin, Power, and the New Russia (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008). Concepts of Ukrainian Folklore and the Transition from Imperial Russia to Stalin’s Soviet Empire Angela Rustemeyer Defined as “the people’s activity”, often with a focus on non-material 1 culture, Ukrainian folklore has been the major object of Ukrainian ethnography as a branch of scientific research. It has also been in the focus of national identity-building in the Russian Empire, in Soviet Ukraine, and with Ukrainian communities abroad. This is not necessarily a contradiction. Folklore studies were not ideologically neutral. They could promote the uses of folklore for the purpose of identity-building. From this point of view, I would like to discuss Ukrainian folklore studies as the core of Ukrainian ethnography in the transition from late imperial Russia to the Soviet Union in the 1920s and then to Stalinism. As to ethnographic knowledge on the peoples of the Russian empire and the early Soviet Union in general, this transition has been convincingly described by Francine 2 Hirsch. However, the specific topic of Ukrainian folklore studies have 1 The Ukrainian expression for folklore is narodna tvornist’. In Ukrainian research, folklore is often understood as oral literature: Bohdan Medwidsky, “Folklore,” in Encyclopedia of Ukraine, eds. V. Kubiyovych and D. Husar Struk, vol. 1 (Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press, 1984): 909 (available at http://www.encyclopediaofukraine.com/display.asp?linkpath=pages\F\O\Folklore.htm [April 1, 2013]). The song texts and stories studied in this article fit this definition. However, Oleksandr Andrievs’kyi’s bibliography of Ukrainian folklore, which I rely on heavily, also includes works on food and dwelling, while concentrating on immaterial culture: Oleksandr Andrievs’kyi, Bibliohrafiia literatury z ukraïns’koho folkl’oru. 1. Materialy do istoriï ukraïns’koi ethnohrafiï [Bibliography of Ukrainain folklore. 1: Materials relating to the history of Ukrainian ethnography], ed. Andriy Loboda (Kyïv: Vseukraïns’ka Akademiia Nauk, 1930). 2 Francine Hirsch, Empire of Nations. Ethnographic Knowledge and the Making of the Soviet Union (Ithaca, London: Cornell University Press, 2005). Concerning Ukraine, Hirsch concentrates on the impact of ethnographic knowledge on the official listing of 312 Angela Rustemeyer not yet generated much interest among historians. Nor have historians much dealt with Ukrainian folklore as such. One of the rare examples of Ukrainian folklore analyzed from a point of view familiar to historians hints at an aspect that will also be a key point in this article on folklore studies. Dealing with the various approaches to religious fiction in the “letters from heaven” that circulated in late nineteenth-century Ukraine, Andriy Zayarnyuk has demonstrated that be they nationalists, liberals, or socialists, any modernizers’ time concepts tended to collide with the tradi3 time concepts they found among “the people.” Late-nineteenth and early-twentieth-century ethnographers were intellectually affected by modernization, even if they opposed its aims and means. How did ethnographers dealing with Ukrainian folklore consider (or construct) archaic popular concepts of time reflected in the texts and customs they studied? Interest in ethnographers’ ideas about time concepts in Ukrainian folklore is naturally accompanied by interest in ethnographers’ approach to space. How did ethnographers studying folklore consider Ukraine’s complex spatial situation and its influence on folklore? Ukraine was a vast territory, and Ukrainians had been a major part of the Russian Empire’s population since the mid-seventeenth century. But there were also smaller territorial units defined as Ukrainian, which ethnography described as places where custom was dense, or otherwise as examples of a quick transition from backwardness to modernity, like the Carpathian Ukraine. When dealing with subjects within the frame of the Russian Empire, as often as not ethnographers referred not to “Ukraine” but to historical landscapes like the territory of the historical Hetmanate (hetmanshchyna) or 4 Sloboda Ukraine (slobozhanshchyna), territorial references that could stand for both Ukrainian national territorial claims and the Russian EmUkraine’s nationalities (136), on the representation of Ukrainians in censuses and on the discussion about the borders of Ukraine within the Soviet state (155-160) and on the political interpretation of the differences between the Western and the Eastern Parts of Ukraine (76), She also discusses the 1931 Ukraine exhibit in Leningrad and popular reactions to it (209-213). 3 Andriy Zayarnyuk, “Letters from Heaven: An Encounter between the ‘National Movement’ and ‘Popular Culture,” in Letters from Heaven: Popular Religion in Russia and Ukraine, eds. John-Paul Himka and Andriy Zayarnyuk (Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press, 2006), 165–200, especially 190. 4 Petro Odarchenko, “Naukova diial’nist’ Mykhaila Drahomanova” [The scholarly activity of Mykhailo Drahomanov], Suchasnist’, no. 7–8 (1978): 84–99, especially 88 on Drahomanov’s “Political Songs of the Ukrainian People in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries,” vol. 1: Zaporizhzhia [Zaporizhian Sich], vol. 2: Getmanshchyna i Slobozhanshchyna [Hetmanate and Sloboda Ukraine]. No Love Affair: Ingush and Chechen Imperial Ethnographies Christian Dettmering Introduction The history of the Caucasus and its conquest is also a history of the mutual impact of ethnographic knowledge and politics in the Russian Empire. With the Caucasus an ethnically and linguistically highly complex region became part of the Russian Empire. And because of its ethnic and linguistic diversity, the Russian government felt compelled to analyze the region’s ethnic complexity from the very beginning. So when Russia was on the verge of conquering the region in the second half of the eighteenth century, the Academy of Sciences in St. Petersburg launched a number of expeditions into the Caucasus. These missions had the task of collecting data on topography, geological conditions, flora and fauna, and last but not least, the ethnicities and their cultures. With the escalating conflict and war, the North Caucasus was the most conflict-prone zone in the empire. The Russian leadership ascribed the conflict to religious hatred against Russians. As an obstacle to religious unity, the support of contemporary or presumably older segmented traditional social patterns became popular among the Russian leadership anywhere that Russia’s statehood met Muslim resistance. Once more, ethnography became a tool to foster supposedly pre-Islamic traditions contradicting Islam. Such a strategy was employed throughout the empire until, beginning in the 1880s, national 1 movements posed a new threat. The same happened in the northeast Caucasus in the 1840s, after the most prominent resistance leader, Shamil 1 Daniel Brower, “Islam and Ethnicity: Russian Colonial Policy in Turkestan,” in Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–1917, eds. D.R. Brower and E.J. Lazzerini (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1997), 123. 342 Christian Dettmering 2 (1797–1871), recovered from his first major defeat and the Russian army saw an urgent need for a thorough examination of the mountaineers’ legal traditions. Customary law would serve as a barrier against Islamic legal 3 ideas and institutions. Moreover, the segmented clan society would prohibit a united front of Muslim mountaineers against Russia. Therefore the mountaineers’ administration (Gorskoe upravlenie) within the army was set up and started collecting data on these peoples. Later on the clans, one of the defining elements of traditional societies in the eyes of Russian observers, were themselves regarded as a danger to Russian statehood and were attacked and in turn ethnographically researched. Thus shari’a (Islamic law) and Muslim leaders, as well as clans and clan leaders, were 4 considered a threat. Initial research on the ethnography of the peoples in Dagestan showed the impact of political considerations and ethnographic research topics and results. Thus Michael Kemper points out in his article “‘Adat against 5 Shari’a” that the research on ‘adat [local customary law] was driven by the interest in which social groups could be conveniently incorporated into 6 Russian structures and which (customary) laws would be helpful to repel 7 shari’a in the local courts and thus reduce the influence of Muslim leaders. Using the Dagestan example, Bobrovnikov also showed how clans became viewed as a threat that needed to be fought, and how that was 8 stressed by ethnographic analyses. The reverse impact, of how much the ethnographic studies had influenced political decisions, has been analyzed less, since most studies expect and find a self-enforcing system of political expectations. Although the policy makers see a need for ethnographic research, eventually this research rather rationalizes than questions politi2 Imam Shamil was Russia’s best-known enemy in the Northeast Caucasus. He led a war against the Russian advance from 1834 until 1859, and during the conflict he united the peoples who fought with him against Russia in a short-lived state. 3 V.O. Bobrovnikov, Musul’mane Severnogo Kavkaza: Obychai, Pravo, Nasilie. Ocherki po Istorii i Ėtnografii Prava Nagornogo Dagestana [The Muslims of the North Caucasus. Custom, law, violence. Sketches of the history and ethnography of the law of Upper Dagestan] (Moscow: Vostochnaia literatura, 2002), 148. 4 Bobrovnikov (2002), 148; Christian Dettmering, “Reassassing Chechen and Ingush (Vainakh) Clan Structures in the 19th Century,” Central Asian Survey no. 4 (2005): 477– 482. 5 Michael Kemper, “‘Adat against’ Šarī’a: Russian Approaches towards Daghestani ‘Customary Law’ in the 19th Century,” Ab Imperio (2005), 147–174. 6 Ibid., 152. 7 Ibid., 155–156. 8 Bobrovnikov (2002), 284. National Inventions: The Imperial Emancipation of the Karaites from Jewishness Mikhail Kizilov The Crimea and its Ethnic History: An Introduction Situated at the junction of the trade routes leading from Italy and Byzantium (and later the Ottoman Empire) to Poland, Russia, and the countries of the East, the Crimea had always been an attractive place for carrying out international trade. After the Ottoman conquest of 1475, the peninsula was divided into two parts: Ottoman and Tatar. Those regions, ports, and towns that were most useful from a mercantile and administrative perspective came under Ottoman jurisdiction, while the rest of the Crimea, together with the southern part of contemporary Ukraine and the North Caucasus, was ruled by the Crimean khan. Caffa, which contemporary sources often called “Küçük Istanbul” (“Small Istanbul” in 1 Turkish), the largest Crimean maritime town in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, became the center of Caffa eyalet (Ottoman province) after 1475. After the peace treaty of Küçük Kaynarca in 1774, the Crimean Khanate received full independence for the first time in its history. The country was able to enjoy independence for only a few years, until 1783, the time of the final Russian annexation. During these few years of independence, the Khanate was constantly disturbed by revolts of the bey clans, the rivalry of a few members of the Giray dynasty, general turmoil, and emigration of the local population. One of the ruling khans, Şahin Giray (he was a favorite of Russian empress Catherine II and ruled with interruptions from 1777–1783), attempted to undertake a few radical administrative 1 Also known as Kaffa/Capha; Turk. Kefe; Russ. Theodosiia. I am using a slightly simplified system of transliteration of Turkic and Arabic names and terms. 370 Mikhail Kizilov reforms, which would allow him to become a real ruler of the Crimean land. However, his policy met with strong opposition from the local aris2 Nogay Tatars, and other members of the Giray dynasty. The final blow to the existence of the Crimean Khanate came in April 1783, 3 when it was annexed by Russia. For the Russian Empire the last quarter of the eighteenth century was the era of the acquisition of large territories, not only in the west of the country, but also in the south. In 1777, a few years before the final annexation of the Crimea by Russia, the Russian government decided to resettle the local Christian population into the Sea of Azov area. Combined with the hasty emigration of the local Muslims (the Turks and the Tatars) to the Ottoman Empire, this resettlement left the Crimea largely depopulated. As a consequence, after 1783 the Russian government encouraged the mass emigration of its citizens to the Crimea. Soon the population void was filled by Russian, Ukrainian, German, Swiss, Ashkenazi 4 Jewish, Mennonite, Bulgarian, Polish, and other colonists. The territory of the former Crimean khanate was first reorganized as 5 the Tavricheskaia oblast (i.e., the Taurida region; 1784) and divided into 6 seven uezds. At the time of Tsar Paul (Pavel I) the Crimea was included 7 in the Novorossiiskaia guberniia, while in 1802, at the time of Alexander I, it was reorganized again as the Tavricheskaia guberniia. The period after 1783 and approximately until the Crimean War (1853–1856) might be called a period of transition, whose specific feature was re-adjustment of 2 See more in F.F. Lashkov, Shagin-Girey, poslednii krymskii khan [Shahin-Girey, the last khan of the Crimea] (Simferopol’: Oblpoligrafizdat, 1991). 3 On the years of the independence of the Crimean Khanate and final Russian annexation of the Crimea, see Alan Fisher, The Russian Annexation of the Crimea 1772–1783 (Cambridge: CUP, 1970). 4 The Crimea was included in the Pale of Settlement. As a consequence, Jews were allowed to settle in the Crimea (apart from the port of Sevastopol). 5 Taurida / Taurica (in Russian Tavrida / Tavrika) is an ancient Greek term to designate the Crimea; it has also been often used by medieval geographers. Qırım / Krym / Crimea is a medieval Turkic term. At the end of the eighteenth century, in the framework of the process of the return of Greek toponymy to the Crimea, Russian officials often named the Crimea “Tavrida.” Later, both terms, “Krym” and “Tavrida,” were used interchangeably. 6 Krym: proshloe i nastoiashchee [The Crimea. Past and present], eds. S.G. Agadzhanov and A.N. Sakharov (Moscow: Mysl’, 1988), 34. 7 Paul I, who hated his mother Catherine II, tried to liquidate all the empress’s reforms and returned the old Tatar names to the Crimean towns instead of the new, Greek ones. However, his rule did not last long, and his successor, Alexander I, continued Catherine’s policy in the Crimea. List of Contributors Sergey Abashin earned his habilitation (doctorate degree) in anthropology/ethnography in 2009. He is a Professor at the European University in St. Petersburg (BP professorate). He has more than sixty publications on Central Asia, ethnicity, and Islam. He is the author of Natsionalizmy v Sredney Azii: V poiskakh identichnosti [Nationalisms in Central Asia. Looking for identity] (St. Petersburg: Aleteiia, 2007). Currently he is working on a book on the micro-history and anthropology of one Uzbek village under Russian rule. Sergei Alymov (born 1977) is a researcher at the Institute of Ethnology and Anthropology at the Russian Academy of Sciences in Moscow. He received his education at the Department of History of Moscow State University. He is the author of the monograph P.I. Kushner i razvitie sovetskoi etnografii 1920–50-e gody [P.I. Kushner and the development of Soviet ethnography in the 1920s–1950s] (Moscow: IEA, 2006) and several articles on the history of ethnography and social sciences in Russia, including “The Concept of the ‘Survival’ and Soviet Social Sciences in the 1950 and 1960s” (Forum for Anthropology and Culture 9, 2013). His publications also include an oral history of the Russian provinces: “On the Soviet Ethnography of the Soviet Life: the Case of the Village of Viriatino.” Histories of Anthropology Annual. Ed. by Regna Darnell and Frederic W. Gleach. 2011. Vol. 7; “‘Perestroika’ in the Russian Provinces” (Forum for Anthropology and Culture 8, 2012). Roland Cvetkovski is research assistant at the Department of Eastern European History at the University of Cologne, where he completed his doctoral degree in 2005. He is the author of Modernisierung durch 396 List of Contributors Beschleunigung. Raum und Mobilität im Zarenreich [Modernization through acceleration. Space and mobility in the Tsarist Empire] (Frankfurt am Main: Campus, 2006) and has worked on several topics of Russian, Ottoman, and French cultural history in the eighteenth and nineteenth century. Currently he is writing a book on the revolutionary museum culture in early Soviet Russia. Christian Dettmering (1974, Aachen) studied East European history, Slavic philology, and economics at the universities Freie Universität Berlin, Moscow State University, and Stanford University. He completed his doctoral degree at the Freie Universität Berlin in 2008. His thesis was published under the title Russlands Kampf gegen die Sufis. Die Integration der Tschetschenen und Inguschen in das Russische Reich 1810–1880 [Russias War against the Sufis. The Integration of the Chechen and Ingush into the Russian Empire 1810–1880] (Oldenburg: Dryas-Verlag, 2011). He is a specialist in the history of the Northern Caucasus and particularly of the role of Islam and the ethnic patterns of the Chechen and Ingush population in the 19th century. Christian Dettmering is affiliated with the Institute for East European Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin and a regular contributor to its research colloquia. Alexei Elfimov received his PhD in anthropology from Rice University (Houston, Texas) in 1999. He is currently a full staff researcher at the Institute of Ethnology and Anthropology of the Russian Academy of Sciences; a research associate at Rice University’s Department of Anthropology; and the executive editor of Etnograficheskoe Obozrenie [Ethnographic Review], the journal of the Russian Academy of Sciences. He won the Award of the RGNF (Russian National Science Foundation), a fellowship for the development of journal editing in anthropology in Russia (collaborative grant) from 2007 to the present; he also won the Award of the EU Scholar Fellowship (2004). He is the author of the book Russian Intellectual Culture in Transition: The Future in the Past (Berlin: LIT Verlag, 2003). He is the editor of Anthropological Traditions (Moscow: NLO, 2012; in Russian) and the special issue of Anthropological Yearbook of European Cultures, vol. 16, on the state of anthropological traditions (Oxford: Berghahn, 2007). He is the translator (into Russian) of Clifford Geertz’s The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic Books, 1973) and Edward E. Evans-Pritchard’s A History of Anthropological Thought (New York: Basic Books, 1981). His current research fields and projects are the social history of ethnography and anthropology in Russia and the Index Aborigines Protection Society, 32 Abramzon, Saul, 134, 140, 142 Academy of the History of Material Culture (GAIMK), 123, 127, 129, 139, 150– 151, 158 Academy of Sciences French, 200 Soviet, 75, 115, 118 fn129, 121, 145, 149–152, 156, 268, 301, 304, 319– 320, 372 fn10 Tajik, 150–151 Ukrainian, 319 Uzbek, 145, 149, 156 See also Russian Imperial Academy of Sciences ‘adat (local customary law), 342, 345, 350, 361–363 Adler, Bruno F., 114 Adrianov, Aleksandr V., 296 fn44, 297 Afanas’ev-Chuzhbins’kyi, Oleksandr, 316 Agnese, Battista, 178–179 Alaska, 40, 190 alcoholism, 135, 141–142, 294 Alektorov, Aleksandr E., 83 Allworth, Edward, 158 Anthropological Society of London (ASL), 34–35, 42 anthropometry, 86, 90, 94, 103–104, 106– 107, 111, 113, 257, 263 fn28, 298, 392 Anuchin, Dmitrii N., 58, 65, 72, 83, 85–86, 88, 90–93, 105, 115–118, 231, 235 Aptekar’, Valerian B., 125–27, 139 Aquinas, Thomas, 29 Armenians, 229, 371, 372 fn10, 392 fn56 Arsen’ev, Konstantin I., 17 Aryans, 108, 149, 152, 156, 159, 163, 318 Asch, Georg Thomas von, 188 Babovich, Simcha, 379 Bactrians, 163 Baer, Karl Ernst von, 40, 58–62, 67–69, 219, 235 Bakhrushin, Sergei V., 145 Bariatinskii, Aleksandr I., 359 Bartholomäi, Ivan von, 357–359 Bartol’d, Vasilii V., 149–150, 158–159 Bastian, Adolf, 97, 224 Batal-Hajji, 364, 366 Belarusians, 107, 233, 237–238, 243, 246, 261, 262, 285 fn8, 321, 327 fn40 Berckhan, Johann Christian, 194 Bergé, Adolphe, 356–357 Bering, Vitus Jonassen, 187–188 Bergmann, Benjamin, 40 Beybulat, 351 Blaeu, Johan, 183–184 Blinov, Nikolai N., 77 Boas, Franz, 58, 62–63, 222 fn22, 224–225 fn 27, 240 fn65 Bogdanov, Anatolii P., 85, 89–90, 235 Bogdanov, Vladimir V., 245–248 Bogoraz, Vladimir G. (Waldemar Bogoras), 63, 73, 117–118, 128, 134, 222, 300– 302, 305 402 Index Brand, Adam, 184 Bregel, Yuri, 158 British Association for the Advancement of Science, Section for Anthropology (BAAS), 32–33 Broca, Paul, 87, 90, 102 Bromley, Yulian, 56, 75–76, 143 Bronevskii, Vladimir B., 346 Buddhism (Lamaism), 281 Buffon, Georges-Louis Leclerc, comte de, 58 Bulgarians, 83, 113, 318, 370–371, 372 fn10 Buryats, 53, 113, 281, 286, 303 Bykovskii, Sergei, 129, 139 Byzantium, 369, 375 Castrén, Matthias Alexander, 41 Catherine II. (Catherine the Great), 188, 201, 289, 369, 378 Caucasus, 18, 40, 69, 83, 118 fn129, 124, 132 fn25, 137, 237, 318, 341–367, 369, 382 census of 1897, 3 of 1920, 311 fn2, 321–322 Central Asia, 12, 40, 132 fn25, 141, 145– 168, 175, 219 fn18, 241, 282 Champollion, Jacques-Joseph, 58 Chantré, Ernest, 365 Chaplin, Petr A., 188–190 Chappe d’Auteroche, Jean, 15, 200–202, 204, 208, 210 Chavannes, Alexandre César, 29 Cheboksarov, Nikolai N., 62 Chechens, 19, 341–367 Cheremis, 111, 244 Chernyshevskii, Nikolai G., 67, 221, 316 China, Chinese, 26, 68, 113, 139, 184, 241, 243, 284 Christianity, 32, 281, 325, 358, 385, 394 Chukotka, Chukchi, 113, 184, 222, 283, 302 citizenship (grazhdanstvennost’), 352–353, 355 clan society, 13, 123, 131–133, 135–137, 139–140, 142, 222–223, 290, 302, 307– 308, 342–343, 345, 352–355, 369 colonialism, 1–2, 4, 15, 20, 23–47, 94–95, 97–100, 103, 127, 129, 134, 138, 147, 150, 156, 174, 221, 229, 243, 249–250, 272, 276, 283, 292–293, 306, 308–310, 317, 338 Committee for Investigating Natural Productive Forces (KEPS), 115–116 Committee for Investigating the Tribal Composition of the Russian Population (KIPS), 116–117 Comte, Auguste, 73, 86 Crimea, 19, 237, 369–394 Croyères, Louis de l’Isle de la, 190 cultural types, 62, 100 fn64 Darwin, Charles, 32, 34–35, 55, 60, 73, 84, 86, 110 demons, demonology, 184, 326–330, 335 fn59 Dmytruk, Nikanor, 323 fn30, 332–335 Dolgikh, Boris O., 134–136, 139, 141 Drahomanov, Mykhailo, 312, 317–318 Elez, Andrei J., 76 Engels, Friedrich, 13, 86, 129, 137, 139, 142, 290 Erman, Adolph, 290 Ermolov, Aleksei P., 346–347 Estonians, 371 ethnogenesis, 11–12, 74, 127, 140, 145– 168 Ethnological Society of London (ESL), 33– 35 Etnohrafichnyi visnyk, 319, 324, 329–333, 335 evolutionism, 13, 84–87, 92, 98, 110–113, 117, 127–128, 142, 220–222, 224, 229– 230, 302, 308–309, 315 exhibitions in the Academy of Sciences about ethnography of childhood, 1929, 268 in the ethnographic section of the Russian Museum, 113, 211–251 in the ethnographic exposition in Moscow, 1867, 215–216 in general, 14–15, 270–273, 275