International Women's Day hasn't technically commenced (but it will very soon, on March 8th), yet I've been celebrating it nearly since the moment I touched Simferopol soil yesterday morning after my whirlwind but wonderful jaunt to L'viv and Kyiv. The festivities, by all accounts, had begun in my absence, and I'm booked through Monday.
(Let me just say that I would write a sonnet for L'viv if only iambic pentameter felt less contrived, and Kyiv is all the better when you have an old friend with a cozy apartment to visit. Returning to Crimea emphasized how diverse this country is - I felt more as though I had arrived in another country entirely - especially once the questions about whether I'm Polish began to arise every five minutes again. In L'viv, people usually assume I'm German or Canadian.)
On to International Women's Day. My presence with banjo was requested at the Turkic Lang & Lit celebration at the University yesterday afternoon, so I hopped on the marshrutka and arrived in time for about 5 toasts before I gave my (first) one. Milara-odzha wrote out what I should say in Crimean Tatar and I botched it, but then I think I redeemed myself by playing "Ay yaruk' gedzhesinde" and "Angel Band" accompanying myself on the banjo. "Mashallah" was used generously. I felt glad about that.
Then the dancing began. I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if 1) Columbia Music Department parties featured professors dancing and 2) if Columbia Music Department parties were called to celebrate the beauty, mystery, and (ahem) biological utility of the females in our department - in addition to their brains.
International Women's Day, much like the Soviet tradition of awarding females who bear 10+ children with "Mother Hero" medals - was a revolutionary gesture in nature, meant to extoll and encourage the achievements of females who, especially at the time, were seen as second-class citizens. The principle of awarding a medal to women who bore so many children was rooted in the premise that socialism needed more workers, especially after a decade of Stalinist exterminations and the massive losses of the Red Army in World War II. Big families were encouraged, mothers who could produce them were advancing the socialist cause, and were therefore heroes. "Hero"is a word traditionally saturated with masculine virtue, so this was, undeniably, a revolutionary move. (Veniamin Makarov was the only male - out of 430,000 Soviet awardees - to get the prize. He adopted 12 boys. Thanks, Wikipedia!) Yet the obvious irony is that a woman raising ten or more children is not going to get very far from the kitchen, as the rhetoric goes. She is probably not going to finish that dissertation. Or even start it, more importantly. So while it's called "heroism" to mother an enormous family, the mother's ability to be emancipated from the shackles of the homestead is destroyed.
International Women's Day contains some of these same ironies. While the gesture is certainly benign - I can't complain about being gifted chocolates and jewelry boxes for being female - its manifestation gets more complicated (especially if you like to overthink things and risk sucking all the joy out of them, teehee). Here in Crimea, the holiday seems in many ways to double as a second Valentine's Day. Instead of emphasizing the achievements or advancement of women in male-dominated or traditional spheres, such as politics, business, and speech-giving, feminine beauty gets privileged. Many women are serious about looking their best for International Women's Day. (You could argue that this is for their own self-esteem, but I think it also has something to do with appealing to the other sex.) My host mother, who runs a small salon, just told me that the two weeks leading up to March 8th are two of the worst weeks of the year for her, with 13-hour days booked months in advance in which she provides manicures and depilatsiya in preparation for the holiday. The only other time it gets this bad, she said, is leading up to the New Year.
Today, I attended the International Women's Day tribute concert at the Crimean Tatar theater in Simferopol, which featured many, many acts and speeches. Some of the acts were terrific, some were confusing to both my eyes and ears. Nine female violinists in what appeared to be wedding dresses played twice, both times accompanied by a synth-y backing track. Pop divas gave dramatic (lipsynched) interpretations of love songs. Many dance troupes featuring children of all ages offered a variety of traditional dances to music ranging from scratchy folk music recordings to Crimean Tatar hip-hop. (My favorite dance was Tum-tum, which is connected to a legend about the Khan's daughter that I plan to get the details on soon. The music, also, was incredible.) The display of feminine beauty was indeed staggering. And beautiful. On the flip side, women who have done good deeds or productive work in the community were also honored on the stage. Most of what was said about them went over my head, though the woman sitting next to me was kind enough to translate when I asked, so I got the gist.
After three hours of variety show with Milara-odzha's younger daughter on my lap and snapping photos with my digital camera, I joined a group of women going out for coffee. The night before, I had attended a dinner with eight women from the lit department. Tonight as yesterday, I noted that I was in a group of women who had left their men at home, treating themselves to a night out. Going out with girlfriends and paying for myself is such a normal part of my life in the States that I would never stop to think about it, but for women with husbands and children in a more traditional society, I began to understand how such acts carry the fragrant whiff of revolution.
"The beer is the beer.
The people is the beer.
The world says the trees." (Thanks, Pasha!)
Happy International Women's Day!
2 comments:
But how were the monkey shows in L'viv compared to the ones in Kyiv?
Picture of your new place!
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