Encounters Under Polar Lights

A journalist is a strange creature: his or her senses are heightened by the prospect of encountering unusual, uncanny, better—odd expressions of human actions, which may or may not testify to the better side of human nature. He, and at this point, we shall simply agree that the gender inclusive ‘he or she’ should be implied in the use of the old-fashioned ‘he’ in order to make this narrative less cumbersome for the reader, is honed to seek out those oddities that have recently become the most precious currency for the media in the age of commodified sameness. For such a hyper curious journalist, Russia, and especially its outskirts (aptly called the Province – note the singular, as if, for a Russian, ‘province’ is not just a place, a part, or a region, but a country of its own), is a bottomless source of odd and, as this journalist believes, often touchingly human moments. Below I would like to present some of these odd moments taken from my travels to the Russian Far North.

The place I have chosen to write about is a mining hub for nonferrous metals called Monchegorsk. The town of Monchegorsk belongs to the Murmansk administrative region, and Murmansk, as we should remind our inquisitive reader, is the largest port of the Russian Far North and the largest city in a vast area bordering upon Finland. All this is to say that tens of thousands of guests from the neighbouring countries of Finland, Norway and Sweden visit the area every year, some head there for business—Nornikel, one of top ten Russian mining conglomerates, is the key player in the region—others venture out on their own or are invited via a large number of state and privately sponsored programs. In Monchegorsk, the curious ones are often herded around a few mostly Soviet era monuments, all bunched up rather conveniently—for the local guides and tourists alike—around the central square of Monchegorsk, just like this one, the monument dedicated to the heroic explorers of the Tundra.

Today, the monument is surrounded by a dozen of deadly bored Scandinavian tourists, who only pretend to be listening to the guide’s dry recitals of encyclopedic entries. Curiously, and that is where the journalist perks up his ears, another monument nearby shows a different picture and provokes a different situation: at the sculpture that depicts the Soviet WWII defenders of the Far North, a group of Norwegian tourists is buzzing around the monument, constantly touching the soldier and the sailor, their weathered bronze plated guns, munitions, and faces. One should not be seeking the difference between the two mise en scenès in the preponderance of war heroism over the exploratory spirit. The matter of fact is the matter of touch: the soldiers are set in on the pavement level, while the explorers sit up five meters high. They are majorly out of touch.

Touching the Hard Place

After having received a grant from Nornikel, Monchegorsk Society for the Visually Impaired is getting ready to welcome their counterparts from Norway. The questions that besiege the hosts are typical: “How shall we show the guests good time?” “Where shall we take them?” “How shall we make them feel welcome in this, frankly speaking, less than colourful city?” Not that the Monchegorians are ashamed of their place of residence, not at all, but the pickings are slim indeed; it is either history of mineralogy. Given the nature of the visiting contingent, the preference clearly lies with the latter. The Museum of Stone (yes, this IS the actual name) is comfortably tactile. One can pick up a stone, any stone, hold it, rub it, throw it up in the air, ignoring (actually, in this case, simply not seeing) disapproving looks of the ever watchful attendants. By touching a stone, one can learn to tell the difference between the surface of apatite, red cobalt and a chunk of nickel ore. Certainly, when the guide suggests that the visitors imagine how some minerals run in long veins for many miles under the ground while others are dispersed along unevenly shaped areas in the manner of spilt oats, both the seeing and the non-seeing are on the same sensory plane, as it were.

“This is a ‘Bat’ torch,” says the guide, pointing to one of the indispensable tools of the miners, trying so very hard to make up for the ‘lost in translation’ meaning of being deep under the ground seeing what is not to be seen, orientating oneself by smell and touch rather than vision and light, but also the meaning of living in overcrowded makeshift shacks, which were still better than the original tents, those ice coffins for so many thousands of those very heroic explorers like the untouchable one up there on the concrete pedestal in the middle of the city. In the meantime, the visually impaired guests were groping the model of the first settlement at the site of Monchegorsk. The guide seemed to take special pleasure in describing the hardships and the toils of the settlers. The guests were attentive enough although more so out of politeness rather than out of any real interest. History too is shaped by borders.

More attractive for the visitors was the domain of the everyday living. Thus, the guests got happily drawn to the samples of the Saami garments. Of course, one does not have to be an ethnographer to be able to find something similar only a few hundred kilometres away. One visitor said that there was a particular place in Norway where the natives embroidered their pelts in just the same way as the ones on the display in the museum. Once established, a common foundation, no matter how ordinary, brought about a sense of unity and, with it, a relief. After all, we are not that different, at least culturally speaking. Overall, the visually impaired from both countries managed to find more in common than they had expected before their get-together. Although differently treated and differently integrated in their respective societies, when brought together, both the Russians and the Norwegians raised up to similar understanding of the world, even if this world presented itself only in detail.

Moving in ‘Tandem’

A journalist is often apprehensive when he is given a ‘sensitive’ project. First, there is a danger of sliding into clichéd statements about the importance of cultural contacts and the long-term value of population-specific exchanges, like the one described above. A medical condition, such as a disability, adds a tinge of sentimentality, another potential harbinger of banality. There are certain ‘tricks of the trade,’ however, which help avoid these pitfalls. For example, one such trick is the following question: “What are going to bring back from the trip?” This time, in answering this question, the Norwegian group was unanimously praiseworthy of the volunteer movement carried out by their Russian counterparts. Thus, Tromse Asgejer Larsen, Chairman of the Norwegian Society for the Visually Impaired, commented that the Russian volunteers did a much better job than his similarly disabled compatriots. “We have heard that our Russian colleagues do volunteer work on weekends and also when they have free time. We are much less involved in that regard,” he admitted with visible regret. His response provoked an appreciative chuckle from the department head of Monchegorsk City Hall, Natalya Panshina: “It looks like they are really short of dedicated volunteers.” Among other things, Natalya is responsible for community services, including volunteer club ‘Tandem.’

‘Tandem’ deserves a special mention. It was born as a community service and received immediate support from the City Hall and Nornikel, which is the key donor for most socially significant projects in Monchegorsk and the environs. In this case, the project in question seemed impossible, even absurd. Its goal was to teach the visually impaired how to ride a bicycle. Just think for a moment about how to achieve that goal. Shall it be a special bicycle, or shall there be built an isolated and well-padded lot, or maybe a monorail track? The answer turned out to be simpler than one could fancy. A seeing person sits in the front of the bicycle, while his non-seeing partner occupies the back seat, helping the helmsman by pedalling the machine, enjoying the movement and feeling safe at the same time. The bicycles were obtained with the help of the grant from charity fund “The World of New Possibilities” financed by Nornikel (it is worth mentioning here that the company includes the Kolskaya GMK, the main employer for the city).

‘Tandem’ turned out to be just the beginning of a totally new way of exploring the area and its natural beauty. The second project dealt with organizing rafting tours down Siberian Rivers. The third project, still under completion, presupposes an indoor mountain climbing facility.

Anne Dalhaug, who works in the regional centre for the blind and visually impaired at the University Hospital in Tromse, said that kayaking, bicycle tours and walking trips were as common to her clients, but the experience of meeting the friends from Monchegorsk was already important because it demonstrated that some jobs could be done by volunteers as effectively as by trained professionals. Go figure.

No ‘Viking Fest’ in Vikingland?

“What is it so special about Norway?” I keep on asking myself. Well, for one, a small Nordic country features one of the highest per capita income in the world and the second highest standard of living in Europe after Holland. One cannot but envy Norwegian benefits for disability and, to be absolutely honest, all other benefits, be it unemployment, maternity, education, military service, you name it. A Russian person is used to state protectionism; yet, the generosity of the Norwegian Government appears excessive even to a Soviet born citizen, who has the notion of ‘entitlement’ firmly implanted in his psyche.

The first day of the visit lead the Norwegians to the Department of Gerontology at the Centre for Social Development. “Is it really a well-chosen location for the visually impaired?” my sceptic little bird was chirping in my ear. As it turned out—damn straight, it was! Ramil Khalimov, the psychologist we came to visit at the hospital was visually impaired. His winning personality aside, this man can be named a living example of successful social adaptation to the world of the ‘norms,’ as sometimes people with disabilities call their ‘more,’ so to speak, fortunate cohabitants. Doctor Khalimov is partly blind from birth but despite his disability he did not only accomplish secondary and higher education, but became a fully integrated member of the society. Moreover, he is an excellent professional with a large following of grateful patients, who neither notice his impairment nor consider it as a hindrance. Granted, Doctor Khalimov did receive help. It came from a specially designed program, ‘Employment for the Disabled.’

In comparison, Norway does not have this precedent. The disabled there prefer not to work; otherwise they would have to waive their benefits. “No wonder,” says Ramil, visibly surprised, “that their disabled sit at home without a profession, prospects, an occupation to grow into, to enjoy.” His opinion is not based on hearsay: four years before he visited Norway as a participant in a similar exchange program. He knows very well what he is talking about. But, let us return to our Norwegian guests: the end of the official part of the visit brought about a much desired respite. On Saturday, the Norwegians were granted a day off, with the only optional activity being a trip to ‘Imandra Viking Fest.’ The ‘Fest,’ similar to many other celebrations sponsored by Monchegorsk, dates back to the beginning of the city’s 80-year-old history. Perhaps a short story is in order.

As it happens, prior to the anniversary, the local administration turned to Nornikel with a request for financial assistance. The mining giant agreed to help, but being a business, forwarded a condition: the funds will be given but only if the ideas are provided not by the bureaucrats but by the ordinary people. In this way the donor can be sure that the money is going to serve the actual needs of the Monchegorians themselves. The idea that won the public approval turned into ‘The School of Urban Activities.’ Many an interesting project has been developed using the school’s platform. Not all the projects conceived by the participants made it in time for the festivities (the reasons were many). With time, the school moved to the background. Yet, the ideas lived on. Since the visit of the Norwegian guests came at the time of the ‘Fest,’ it was only appropriate to invite them to attend the planned and, I would like to put a special emphasis, spontaneous activities. After all, the Nordic culture has a shared legacy and is meaningful for both communities. The activities included robot combat games, master classes for archery, clay sculpting, and blacksmithery, to name a few.

The guests were visibly impressed. The hosts, who did not spare an effort to please their visitors were as impressed, although in a different way; as it turned out, the Vikings are not as popular there in Norway as one could have expected.

Asger Larsen:“We are not really hooked up on the Viking theme. It is not that we are in the dark about our history. On the contrary. We, in Norway, treasure our history and know it quite well. At the same time, I have never heard about Viking festivals. And that means that I learnt something new and important, something that I want to take with me back to my country, something that is as if not more important than these wonderful hand-made souvenirs I bought so many for my family and my friends.”