Life Histories of Etnos Theory
in Russia and Beyond
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8. “The Sea is Our Field”:
Pomor Identity in
Russian Ethnography
Masha Shaw and Natalie Wahnsiedler1
“The sea is our field” is a popular old saying among a group of northern
Russians who became known as Pomors. “If God gives us fish, he will
give us bread, too”, the saying continues (Maksimov 1857: 247). This
saying captures one of the key axes around which identity is expressed
in this far northern extreme of Russian settlement. Russian identity is
traditionally linked to cereal agriculture and to steppe landscapes. The
term Pomors, by contrast, derives from the Russian words po mori͡u,
meaning “by sea”. It indirectly indexes the fact that the people living
along the White and Barents Seas have traditionally thrived on fishing
and hunting of sea mammals — a subsistence strategy which would
grow to have great importance for Pomor identity movements in the
late twenthieth and early twenty-first centuries.
In this chapter we explore how material, linguistic and ecological
factors underscore the way identity is expressed along the northern
1 We are grateful to the chairmen of several fishing collective farms who provided
a great administrative support and shared their knowledge wherever possible.
The people of Arkhangelsk oblast’ were very generous and hospitable and shared
with us their time and many cups of tea. Scholars of the Northern (Arctic) Federal
University gave us valuable advice especially upon our arrival to the field and
facilitated our further research in Arkhangelsk oblast’.
© 2019 Shaw and Wahnsiedler, CC BY 4.0
https://doi.org/10.11647/OBP.0150.08
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Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
boundary of European Russian settlement. These narratives, both
historical and contemporary, illustrate the way that an etnos can be
seen to derive its identity from an evocative landscape. As we shall
see, the ecological conditions of Pomor identity provide a strong pull
which contemporary activists use to defend Pomor resilience. This
ethnographic example, from the far north of Russia, illustrates the
“biosocial” component to etnos thinking as outlined in chapters 1 and
2. Although relatively small in population, Pomors have played a
significant role in thinking about identity and Russian ethnography, in
particular its unique etnos theory. Pomors have been described as the
“most authentic Russians”, as an ambiguous sub-group or subetnos of
Great Russians, and as a “less-numerous indigenous minority”.
It is interesting, and perhaps not insignificant, that examples of the
distinctive quality of Pomor lifeways go back to the very foundation
of Russian ethnography in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries — a
curious case where ethnographic examples have played a role in forming
the discipline that documents them. Further, it is remarkable that the
status of identity at this very northern extreme of Russian settlements
tends to mirror similar arguments made about the status of southern
Slav settlements in the region now known as Ukraine. In this chapter,
we identify some general themes in the description of Pomor life which
reflect back upon the way that Great Russians are identified as a nation.
The Pomor example has a further ironic twist to it, which has been
part and parcel of recent political movements. The intimate familiarity
that Pomor seafarers had with sea-going technology gave them a special
role in facilitating the expansion of the Novgorod state first along the
White Sea coast, then to the Arctic islands of the Barents Sea, and finally
across Siberia. The sea-going quality of Russian expansion across
Eurasia gives Pomors a unique status as a people hosting a special type
of indigenous political and ecological adaptation, while at the same
time playing a key role in colonization across Eurasia. This double-bind
in the definition of Pomor identity, as we will show, plays an important
role in how Pomors today are perceived as being part of the Great
Russian identity project and simultaneously different from it.
The chapter is based upon fieldwork in Pomor villages and
interviews with representatives of the Pomor intelligentsia in 2014–2016
in the city of Arkhangelsk and several villages in Mezenskiĭ, Primorskiĭ
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
351
and Onezhskiĭ raions of Arkhangelsk oblast’. Fieldwork included taking
part in informal activities, such as fishing and berry picking, as well as
participating in various festive events in the city and official celebrations
of fishing collective farms in several villages.
Pomor Landscapes and the History of
Slavic Ethnography
Pomors have inspired the curiosity of travellers and ethnographers since
the late eighteenth century. Early ethnographic accounts of Pomors
belong to scholars who worked in a holistic tradition with no clear
boundaries between disciplines. The earliest ethnographic accounts of
the Russian north were written by natural scientists or scholars who
worked across several subject areas. Their descriptions of Pomor’e
and its inhabitants were interspersed with descriptions of animals and
plants, and geology (Chelishchev 1886; Fomin 1797; Lepekhin 1805).
Imperial ethnography tended to distinguish northern Russians in terms
of their distinct livelihood, dialect, material culture, and relationship
to the state. Soviet ethnographers continued to treat Pomors either
heroically, as pioneers of Russia’s northern frontier, or as exceptions
embedded into a hierarchical classification of identities. Perhaps unique
to the Pomor case is that through the process of thinking and writing
about Pomor society, Russian ethnography came to define itself.
Pomor landscapes, or rather seascapes, appeared quite early as
a marker of identity. Afanasiĭ Shchapov — himself a famous liberal
Siberian regionalist who argued for the autonomy and self-government
of regional groups — cited Pomor lifeways in an influential essay on the
affordances of oceans and mountains to shape peoples:
In Northern Pomor’e, in severe polar climate, on dull barren polar
soil, nature has designed its great economy in such a way, so that to
harmonize the polar cold, the polar accelerated and heavy inhaling of
oxygen with the demand for, and quantity and quality of polar food;
it harmonized the demand for and intensity of polar movement with
the intensity and movement of life. […] What was available there for
a stable and reliable provision for Pomor colonization and life? What
could support the dominant population, dominant physiological and
ethnographic development and a dominant people? The sea, only the
ocean-sea, with its inexhaustible vital content. […] The sea became a vital
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Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
element for them, the sea is everything for them. Ancient biographies of
Pomor saints tell almost exclusively about maritime life and activities,
sea fishing and hunting, Novgorodian Pomor settlers and sea storms.
These tales are full of legends about sea wonders performed by Pomor
saints, who are portrayed as some sort of sea heroes and half-gods.
The sea was the most poetic and spiritual subject for Pomor writers
(Shchapov 1864: 112–14).2
It is a curiosity of Pomor ethnography that this group is further subdivided
according to the qualities of the coasts (berega) on which they live. Thus,
for example, there are seven named “coasts” on the White Sea coastline:
Zimniĭ, Letniĭ, Onezhskiĭ, Pomorskiĭ, Karel’skiĭ, Kandalakshskiĭ, and
Terskiĭ berega. Some names reflect local climatic conditions — such as
Zimniĭ (Winter) and Letniĭ (Summer) berega — while others are named
after local geographical objects such as rivers or settlements. The names
are still largely in use. Bernshtam (1978) differentiated the White Sea
coasts according to the degree of Pomor self-identification among local
population. She argued that by the beginning of the twenthieth century,
people on Pomorskiĭ coast had the strongest Pomor identity, as they
connected Pomor identity to Murmansk sea fisheries (which gave rise to
the very name Pomor) and considered only themselves as true Pomors.
By contrast, the weakest Pomor identity was to be found among the
population of Karel’skiĭ, Terskiĭ, Kandalakshskiĭ, and Onezhskiĭ coasts,
as they were only called Pomors by people from neighbouring regions
located far away from the sea. Such differences between the coasts are less
pronounced today. However, it is still possible to come across an opinion
that populations of some coasts are more Pomor than of the others.
This geographically-grounded curiosity in northern Russians in
the early nineteenth century would continue to reverberate through
the Imperial period and into the Soviet period itself. Thus, in the sixth
volume of the authoritative Soviet-era ethnographic encyclopaedia
Peoples of the World, Pomors were represented as a “historical-cultural
group of the Russian people” differing from other northern Russians
mainly in their subsistence as “brave seafarers, sea hunters and fishers”
(Tolstov 1964: 145). The key theoretical term in this volume — the
“historical-cultural group” — was further described as being “more
geographical than ethnographical” and was applied exclusively to the
2 All translations from Russian to English are by Masha Shaw.
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
353
dwellers of the northern seashore. Similarly, in Tokarev’s textbook The
Ethnography of the Peoples of the USSR, Pomors were represented as a
“cultural-geographic type” of the Russian population who displayed a
unique “cultural and economic (khozi͡aĭstvennyĭ) type” based on fishing
and sea hunting (Tokarev 1958: 31).
As we shall see, important elements of this geographically-defined
identity structure would flow into the concept of Pomor indigeneity at
the end of the Soviet period. These geographical examples also illustrate
what Nathaniel Knight noticed as a strong geographical turn to thinking
about identity within the Russian academy in general (Knight 2017).
It is perhaps not insignificant that Karl von Baer, the founder of the
ethnographic section of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society,
came to respect geographical influences on identity after his travels
with Pomors (Ibid).
Between these two sets of descriptions in the mid-nineteenth century
and the mid-twenthieth century, many generations of ethnographers
added specific observations on the uniqueness of Pomor culture and
its link to their northern homeland. That uniqueness usually was
transformed into the interpretative schemes of ethnographers involved
in “etnos thinking” which underlay the etnos theory (see chapter 2).
Thus, material culture and language as categories were not only
especially important for theoretical thinking but also conjoined with
field ethnographic data.
Material Culture
Generally, Pomors are hospitable, sturdy, healthy people. Their faces
are broad and always red since they spend most of the year outside,
at sea. Men wear caps [kartuzy], jackets [pidzhaki] and leather boots in
the summer; boot covers [bakhily] and Norwegian jersey-jackets [kutrkifufaĭki] for fishing and hunting, and in winter they wear felt boots and
sheepskin coats [tulupy]. Women wear bright colorful sarafans. Their
houses are mostly spacious and rather clean. Every house has a samovar,
and tea- and tableware. The main fishery that feeds Pomors is Murmansk
fisheries (Ėngel’gardt 2009 [1897]: 52–3).
By the late nineteenth century, the study of material culture was a
significant research focus in Russian ethnography through which it
was thought that peoples (narody) could be distinguished. These early
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Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
studies focussed on rural populations and in particular on Russian
peasant communities. It was thought that rural peasants preserved in
their lifeways ancient customs and beliefs (Leskinen 2012: 250).
The analysis of clothing and traditional dress was a classic method
for distinguishing local populations. There was a particular emphasis on
women’s clothing as a marker of identity similar in style to other Slavic
regions. Sluchevskiĭ (2009) described Pomor women as well dressed
regardless of their social and economic status, wearing long colourful
sarafany, and beautifully decorated headwear called kokoshnik and
povoĭnik, as well as extensive neck decorations. Sluchevskiĭ noted the
absence of an otherwise typical kokoshnik in women’s clothing in Mezen’
region, which neighboured the reindeer-herding Nenets population.
Instead, Mezen’ women wore kerchiefs “with two ends tied above the
forehead like two little horns which dangled in the most peculiar way”
(Sluchevskiĭ 2009: 156). A distinctive feature of women’s clothing in
some parts of Pomor’e was an extensive use of pearls extracted from
local rivers. Sluchevskiĭ was particularly impressed by the light and
skilful movements of Pomor women in their long and richly decorated
dresses as they steered their boats in rough and roaring waters. In
the authoritative Soviet-era volume Peoples of the European Part of the
USSR, the Pomor women’s sarafan of the late nineteenth century was
distinguished from those in all other regions for being made of silk
(Aleksandrov et al. 1964: 372) (Fig. 8.1).
However, in line with the emphasis on landscape, Pomor winter
outerwear also created a special arena to explore difference. Scholars
often noted peculiar types of clothing among the White Sea coast
population. They also stressed that this clothing was conditioned by the
harsh environment and the wearers’ ways of life. Many studies have
emphasised the Norwegian and Nenets influences on Pomor clothing;
Maslova, for instance, writes that the so called zi͡uĭdvestka was a typical
hat of Pomor fishermen (Maslova 1956: 557). This Norwegian style of
hat was made of leather or textile and had flaps to protect the ears.
Other characteristic types of clothing for Pomors were the malit͡sa and
sovik made of reindeer skin (Maslova 1956: 712). This clothing came
from Nenets culture where it is known as mal’cha/mal’tsa and săvăk
respectively (Fig. 8.2).
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
355
Fig. 8.1 Pomor women’s clothing illustrating three types of headwear (from left
to right): povoĭnik (under the scarf), kokoshnik, and kerchief with “dangling horns”.
Photo by Nikolaĭ A. Shabunin (MAĖ 974-54). © Peter the Great Museum of
Anthropology and Ethnography, Russian Academy of Sciences, St Petersburg
Again, in the same Soviet-era encyclopaedia that summarized
classifications of the peoples of the European part of the USSR, the
traditional Pomor peasant dress was contrasted with those of the
central regions of Russia because of its incorporation of designs from
neighbouring reindeer-herding peoples (Aleksandrov et al. 1964:
377) (Fig. 8.3). These two types of parkas are generally characteristic
of the reindeer-herding Nenets people. These examples of creole
forms of clothing — outerwear which blends Slavic and indigenous
styles — foreshadow the late twentieth century debate on the status of
Pomors as perhaps an indigenous people.
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Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
Fig. 8.2 A group of peasants in Arkhangelsk province at the turn of the twentieth
century. Nearly all men and two younger boys wear a type of parka made of
reindeer skin: either malitsa (fur facing inwards) or sovik (fur facing outwards).
One man (far left) and a younger boy at the back wear other types of coats made of
cloth. Photo by Nikolaĭ A. Shabunin (MAĖ 974-41). © Peter the Great Museum of
Anthropology and Ethnography, Russian Academy of Sciences, St Petersburg
Although Pomors from the very beginning were associated with
the ocean, it was only late in the Imperial period that scholars cast
a glance to the way that they set out to sea. Sluchevskiĭ conducted a
detailed description of the shni͡aka — a shallow and narrow sailboat
with wide sails designed for ocean fishing in the season just after the
ice on the White Sea breaks up (Sluchevskiĭ 1886: 51). In comparison
to later accounts, Sluchevskiĭ’s observations on the shni͡aka read ironic
if not paternalistic where the word “brave” is used as a synonym for
“foolhardy” to describe sailors using such a dangerous and unstable
boat.
Nikolaĭ Zagoskin gave the first comparative description of northern
sea-faring knowledge in his encyclopaedia of Russian river and sea
routes. Zagoskin’s description of Pomor sea-faring is summarised
within a section on the expansion of Novgorod colonizers across
the White Sea (Zagoskin 1910: 153ff). His idea of sea-knowledge as
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
357
Fig. 8.3
Comparative illustration of peasant costumes distinguishing
Pomor costumes (far right) from that of other central Russian peasants
(Aleksandrov 1964: 377)
colonization-knowledge would be evocatively encapsulated in the
Soviet period in Mikhail Belov’s ethno-archaeological reconstruction of
a Pomor koch — reconstructed on the basis of archaeological remains
in the former fur-trade fort of Mangazei in north-central Siberia (Belov
1951). This peculiar round, keel-less sailboat was especially designed to
be dragged overland to allow fishermen or explorers to move from one
watershed to another overland.
Belov, in contrast to others, is one of the first to associate Pomor
sea knowledge with a heroic set of qualities that give credit both to
the ingenuity of the people and their place in the history of Russian
imperialism. The koch in his account was an ingenious sort of vessel
358
Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
that allowed the Russian nation to expand overland across Eurasia. His
nationalist reconstruction is spectacular with its detailed drawings of
the vessels and quotations from diaries of those who sailed upon them
(Fig. 8.4). It is striking that this technological and geographic interest
in the koch does not seem to have captured the imagination of imperial
ethnographers.
Fig. 8.4 Schematic drawing of a Pomor koch (Belov 1951: 75)
Traditional Pomor vessels, such as the koch, continue to exercise a
hold on the imaginations of contemporary intellectuals living in
Arkhangelsk. For example, in our interviews, an Arkhangelsk museum
worker and historian asserted that Pomor traditional boats should be
restored in order for Pomor identity to be truly preserved. In the late
1980s, in Petrozavodsk, a city in the Republic of Karelia, a group of
enthusiasts recreated the historical koch, which they called “Pomor”.
This vessel was used for several navigation trips from Arkhangelsk to
the Solovki Islands and up to the Kanin Peninsula. Another navigation
expedition that intended to repeat the ancient route of Russian explorers
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
359
using historically reconstructed vessels took place in 2011 and 2012.
Its members aimed to follow the routes of Russian pioneers along the
Arctic Ocean and down the Lena River.
A final area of intensive research was on the architecture of dwellings,
which gave ethnographers an overview of large-scale differences between
northern and southern regions. For instance, scholars argued that smaller
villages were common in the north, while larger villages prevailed in the
south (Tolstov 1964: 144). The way that space was structured and enclosed
was another significant topic, with many ethnographers noting that
southern communities tended to fence off private land while Russians in
the central region tended to use land communally. From this angle, Pomor
Russians were unique again. For example, in 1970, ethnographers of the
Moscow Academy of Sciences published the volume Russians (Kushner
1970) which presented individual sections on the architecture of peasant
dwellings and their internal design. Chizhikova (1970) argued that the
dwellings in the north of the European part of Russia distinguished
themselves by large building structures that included in one complex
rooms for humans but also containing under one roof spaces for animals
and for storage (Fig. 8.5).
Fig. 8.5 Example of a peasant’s house. Photo by Nikolaĭ A. Shabunin (MAĖ
974–88). © Peter the Great Museum of Anthropology and Ethnography, Russian
Academy of Sciences, St Petersburg
360
Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
These large, multi-functional constructions differed sharply from
peasant yards in central and southern regions where separate outhouses
would be built for animals and storage. As discussed in chapter 3, a
major theme in the pan-Slavic typologies of Nikolaĭ Mogili͡anskiĭ was
the built structure of the village. Mogili͡anskiĭ distinguished between
the southern Slavic village of neatly constructed courtyards (dvor) and
fences dividing extended families from one another, and the open and
somewhat messy structure of a Great Russian village, which lacked
fences and courtyards.
Tat’iana Bernshtam — one of the most well-known ethnographers
of Pomors — was one of the first to draw attention to the distinctive
outbuildings of Pomor fishing spots. For instance, she outlined that
some Pomor dwelling structures distinguished themselves from other
houses of northern Russians by having extra facilities for fishing and
seal hunting equipment (Bernshtam 2009: 47–8). In addition, wealthier
families had their own icehouses (ledniki, i.e. places for storing fish and
the fat of animals, mostly built as pits) and fish-drying racks nearby
the house. These observations have come together as a description of a
unique architectural ensemble known as the toni͡a — again, a geographictechnical object which, while mentioned by imperial observers, would
gain a special importance in the post-Soviet period. According to a
recent account, toni͡as:
were specially outfitted for fishing and the initial processing of fish (and
sea mammals). A toni͡a would be built of a hut (in which fishers and sea
mammal hunters would live during the fishing and hunting seasons),
a steam-bath, storage shelters for provisions, fishing equipment and
salt, ice houses for the preservation of fresh fish, hanging structures
to untangle and dry nets, a special windvane (fli͡uger) to determine the
direction of the wind, and special equipment (lebedki, vorota) for hauling
boats and nets onto the beach. Many toni͡as would have large wooden
crosses. Larger toni͡as might even have their own chapels (Laĭus and
Laĭus 2010: 24–5).
An important aspect of the toni͡a, aside from its economic significance,
was its role in consolidating cultural transmission during the intense
periods of fishing of the high season.
Material culture, ranging from clothing to architectural ensembles,
have been markers of Pomor identity for over 150 years and continue
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
361
to structure the way that Pomors see themselves. This is an important
illustration of the way that material artefacts have been used to define
etnos starting from the first work of Fëdor Volkov at the end of the
nineteenth century (see chapter 3).
Northern Russian folklore and Pomor’ska govori͡a
I could barely understand my companion’s speech, due to its many
provincialisms. Yet, it was not as obscure and confusing for me as was,
for example, the speech of distant Pomors. The lasher’s dialect must have
been influenced by the proximity of the province’s capital and by the
communication with travellers. In a distant part of Pomor’e, especially
in places far away from towns, I often found myself at a dead end while
trying to understand a Russian person speaking in my native tongue.
Listening later to the language of Pomors, I came across words —
alongside Karelian and old Slavic words — that were astonishing in their
striking accuracy of expression. Take for example, the word “undead”
(nezhit’), which is a collective noun for all spirits of folk superstition:
water, house and forest spirits, mermaids and everything that does not
live a human life (Maksimov 1871: 43–4).
The Russian north also attracted the attention of ethnographers,
folklorists and linguists keen to discover ancient epic songs called byliny
and to document the special dialect spoken in the region. Ethnographic
expeditions to the Russian north in the second half of the nineteenth
century discovered a rich repertoire of byliny.
Byliny were at first regarded as part of a wider range of texts, not
necessarily related to heroic epics, called stariny (“old songs” or “songs
about ancient times”) (Panchenko 2012: 430). This folklore genre was
thought to represent a form which started to become extinct in the
middle and southern parts of Russia already in the twelfth century
(Kozhinov 1999). In line with its severe landscape, the north has since
been viewed as a “natural preserve” of the epic. The Russian north was
therefore the place where most byliny have been recorded. Scholars
assumed that byliny and stariny have preserved the “voice of medieval
Russian people” (Panchenko 2012: 430). This discovery defined the
nature of ethnographic interest in the area for many decades to come.
Until now, the White Sea coast attracts numerous folklore expeditions.
Villagers see almost any ethnographer who comes to their place as first
362
Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
and foremost a folklorist and immediately direct them to village elders
who can still remember old tales.
One of the folklorists to travel to the north with the aim of
recording byliny was Alekseĭ Markov. In 1898, he spent several weeks
in the village Zimni͡ai͡a Zolotitsa where he especially worked with
storytellers (skaziteli) Kriukovy (Markov 1901: 1). Markov believed that
the remarkable survival of byliny on Zimniĭ Bereg (Winter Coast) was
directly linked to the particular byt (lifestyle) of the locals (Ibid: 8–9).
The scholar concluded that peasants in Zolotitsa learned the old songs
as they spent extended periods far away from their homes in distant
fishing huts while fishing for salmon in summer, and during their
hunting trips for sea mammals or shorter hunting trips in the forests
(Ibid). Geography and isolation played a big role in framing these
traditional skills. As Markov wrote:
Even now, with the improvement of communication ways in the
introduction of mail services and telegraphs to a large degree […] Even
now, it takes a long time for the Russian news to arrive on the White Sea
coast, and these news do not impress the peasants (Ibid: 11).
The assumption that the Russian north was isolated would come to
be challenged late in the Soviet period by the ethnographer Svetlana
Dmitrieva who pointed out that the area had intensive trade and
cultural connections with Scandinavia (Dmitrieva 1972: 70–2). She
further argued that a look at biographies of skaziteli (tellers) of byliny
reveals that many of them were literate and had lived and worked in
cities like St Petersburg and Novgorod. Narrators from the White Sea
coast, Mezen’ and Pechora travelled as far as Scandinavia.
Another characteristic of the region was its special dialect. The
different Russian dialects became a focus of ethnographic and linguistic
research with a general interest in Russian culture in the nineteenth
century. Nadezhdin, for instance, criticised linguists for having so far
focused on the official Russian rossiĭskiĭ (language), while local spoken
languages remained unstudied. He drew attention to different types
of the Russian language: the Great-Russians’ language, the SmallRussian, and Belorussian (Anuchin 1889: 14–5). Mid-twentieth century
ethnographers usually differentiated between southern and northern
dialects, with the distinctive feature being the phonetic peculiarity
of vowels [o] and [a]. They argued that in the northern regions the
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
363
Fig. 8.6 Front cover of the dictionary Pomor’ska govori͡a (Moseev 2005)
okai͡ushchiĭ dialect prevailed, while in the south the akai͡ushchiĭ dialect
was more common (Aleksandrov et al. 1964: 153, 155). Moreover, in
the 1964 Soviet-era encyclopaedia ethnographers published very few
scattered examples of Pomor distinctiveness, but the sections on the
Pomor dialect were uncharacteristically prosaic in distinguishing not
only vowels but also sets of lexica that were unique to the region. In
terms of ethno-national representation, the group was sketched out on
a map of northern Europe according to the extent of its dialect (Ibid).
The northern dialect, with its unique pronunciation, as well as
peculiar vocabulary related to environmental knowledge also attracted
the attention of scholars. Already in the second half of the nineteenth
century, the ethnographer and historian Aleksandr Podvysot͡skiĭ
composed a dictionary of Arkhangelsk province’s local dialect
(Podvysot͡skiĭ 1885). This work was continued by Ksenii͡a Gemp (2004)
364
Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
and I. M. Durov (2011) among others. In the 2000s, these descriptions
gave ground for Arkhangelsk activists to outline the northern dialect as a
separate language. Together with other activists, Ivan Moseev published
a dictionary called Pomor’ska govori͡a (Moseev 2005) (Fig. 8.6). Words and
phrases presented in the dictionary were collected in Arkhangelsk region
mostly by non-linguists. In an interview with Anna Pyzhova, Moseev
emphasised the role of Pomor language: “Today, I am among the few
northerners who are relatively fluent in their language — Pomorskai͡a
govori͡a. This is my first language, the language of my childhood, the
language of my parents, relatives, neighbours, and therefore my native
language” (qtd. in Pyzhova 2011). While Arkhangelsk scholars criticised
Moseev’s dictionary as non-scientific and a work of an amateur, it
turned out to be quite popular among Arkhangelsk townspeople and
even inspired similar projects in other parts of Arkhangelsk oblast.
Pomor Distinctiveness in a Pan-Slavic Frame
Russian ethnography in the Imperial period, and throughout the Soviet
period, placed differing emphases on the distinctness of Pomors from
other Slavic groups. This discourse of difference reflects a certain
awkwardness within which Pomors fit into standard genealogies and
typologies of Slavic people. As we have seen in chapter 3, the way that
Great Russians were defined to a large extent was calibrated on how the
northern and southern frontiers of Slavic settlements were described.
The reports of travellers and ethnographers tend to alternately fit
Pomors sometimes close to Great Russians, sometimes with the
traditions of northern indigenous peoples, and sometimes as part of a
distinct northern European or Fennoscandian culture. This ambiguity is
also reflected in some minority opinions.
For example, Dmitriĭ Zelenin, in his East Slavic Ethnography (published
in German in 1927 and translated into Russian for the first time in 1991)
classified the “Pomor dialect” as a sub-group within north Russian
dialects (Zelenin 1991). He also put forward a controversial theory of
there being “two peoples” (narodnost’) within the Great Russians. He
distinguished north and south Great Russians on the basis of their
dialects, and demoted the central Russian groups to a sort of interstitial
group. Further, following the acclaimed linguist A. Shakhmatov,
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Zelenin considered northern Russian dialect groups to be descendants
of the ancient Slavic tribes of Slovene and Krivichi — giving northern
Russians (and Pomors in particular) a genealogy of being the purest
type of Great Russians. This linguistically-driven theory sits in contrast
to another widely held view that the Pomors were descendants of the
Novgorod Slavs mixed with Finnish Karelians (Leskinen 2016: 528–29).
This powerful ambiguity as to whether or not northern Russians
represented one pole of Slavic cultural difference as compared to
southern Russians, or if they were “pure” or “mixtures”, would prepare
the ground for Pomors to become a controversial example in Soviet
ethnography. Since Pomors distinguished themselves from other
Russians by their way of speaking, material culture, and way of life,
ethnographers had to find a special place for them in ethnographic
theory. However, they struggled to represent the unique quality
of Pomors as being somehow the most pure, original or distinctive
representatives of the Great Russians. This clumsiness is similar to
that faced by the Shirokogoroffs during their Zabaĭkal’ fieldwork in
1912–1913 (see chapter 5). The Shirokogoroffs were puzzled by creole
categories they recorded instead of pure ethnic categories their mentors
had told them to expect. This general discomfort with hybridity came to
haunt Soviet etnnographers generation after generation. Their unease
led to the evolution of the discrete category of the “subetnos” with its
marked continuities with earlier imperial studies of material culture.
Pomors as Subetnos
As several chapters in this volume attest, etnos theory became an
important arena for weighing identity claims in the late Imperial
period and the height of the Soviet period. Etnos theory differs from
its cognates in American and European anthropology for its distinct
interest in ethnic origins (etnogenez) — a quality often linked to its
purported primordialism (Banks 1996: 17). The unique way that Pomor
lifestyles have been documented produced odd anomalies within Soviet
etnos theory. If other nations were pure etnoses, Pomors in some sources
became a primary example of a subetnos.
A key feature of etnos theory was the idea of a hierarchical classification
of ethnic communities. The head of the ethnographic department
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of the Russian Academy of Sciences and Director of the Institute of
Ethnography, I͡Ulian Bromleĭ was one of the scholars who excelled
in sketching out hierarchical distinctions. His somewhat baroque
classification system laid-out a set of “meta-ethnic communities” at the
top of this taxonomy (Bromleĭ 1983). At the bottom, he sketched out a
smaller unit, which he described as a subetnos. Within the hierarchical
taxonomy of etnos theory, Bromleĭ placed Pomors as a classic example
of the subetnos of Russians.
Bromleĭ’s classification was intended to replace what we noted
above as Tolstov’s “historical-cultural group” (Tolstov 1964: 145) and
Tokarev’s “cultural-geographic type” (Tokarev 1958: 31). Bromleĭ
argued that one person could simultaneously belong to several ethnic
groups of different orders. For example, one person could consider
themselves to be Russian (main ethnic unit), a Pomor (subetnos), and
a Slav (meta-ethnic community) (Bromleĭ 1983: 84). The idea of larger
groups comprising smaller groups gained increasing popularity in
Soviet ethnography, especially from the 1980s. This model reminds one
of the Russian matreshka dolls, a set of wooden nesting dolls of different
sizes that can be placed one inside another.
Alongside Bromleĭ, charismatic geographer and historian Lev
Gumilëv developed an independent theory of etnos and subetnos, where
Pomors also served as a prime example. His work, although initially
very controversial, later gained popularity in Russian post-Soviet
scholarship as well as in the wider community. Gumilëv’s writings
have become especially popular among local Pomor historians in the
late Soviet period, and arguably Pomor activists borrowed more widely
from Gumilëv’s vibrant prose than from Bromleĭ. Gumilëv regarded
etnos as a living organism that like any other organism is born, matures,
grows old, and dies (Shnirel’man 2006). This basic assumption allows
one to calculate different stages and their characteristics of an etnos. In
Gumilëv’s theory, an etnos is closely connected to the environment where
it develops — which again is a strong theme in Pomor scholarship.
Moreover, Gumilëv believed in a hierarchy of etnoses. Like Bromleĭ,
he developed a hierarchical taxonomy where he distinguished between
a “superetnos”, “etnos”, and “sub-etnos”. Gumilëv argued that an etnos
possesses a mechanism of self-regulation. For instance, an etnos is able
to increase its own complexity to defend itself from external impacts.
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
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Therefore, according to Gumilëv, the Great Russian etnos itself started
to produce subethnic divisions in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries
that sometimes took the form of estates (Gumilëv 1989). This resulted in
the segregations of Cossacks in the south and Pomors in the north.
Scholarly discussions and definitions of etnos and subetnos have been
incorporated into public narratives on Pomors, often with a degree
of terminological confusion. The following quote and a subsequent
paragraph show how a discussion about Pomors’ status can go full
circle from Pomors being seen as a separate etnos within the Russian
people to them actually being Russian:
What do you mean [Pomors] are not recognised. How shall I put it — not
recognised. So, the Pomor etnos, i.e. a special people among the Russians,
the Pomor etnos, the etnos is recognised. […] [Pomors are] called etnos
everywhere now. […] Etnos is such a special characteristic. […] Cultural,
economic, all sorts. Let’s have a look [in an encyclopaedia] what etnos is
(Male, 75 years old, Arkhangelsk, Russia, 2014).
Another example of the same circular thinking was provided by a
discussion surrounding an encyclopaedia entry for the term etnos. This
entry referred the reader to another term — ėtnicheskai͡a obshchnost’
(ethnic community) instead. The definition described ėtnicheskai͡a
obshchnost’ as a “historically developed type of a stable social group of
people, represented by a tribe, narodnost’ (nationality/people), nation”
(Bol’shoi ėntsiklopedicheskiĭ slovar’ 2000). It continued to say that the
term ėtnicheskai͡a obshchnost’ is ethnographically close to the notion narod
(people). The subsequent discussion about how this applies to Pomors
made the interviewee say that “a separate people does not sound very
nice. They [Pomors] are Russian, that’s the thing” (Male, 75 years old,
Arkhangelsk, Russia, 2014).
Local Ideas
Among the classic Pomor ethnographers, it is arguably Tat’i͡ana
Bernstham who most closely engaged with the hierarchical themes
outlined by Bromleĭ and Gumilëv, even though she did not use the
term subetnos. She promoted the idea of “local groups” as an alternative
approach to the study of etnos in her later work. In the introduction
to a collective volume on the Russian north (Bernshtam 1995), she
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suggested developing new approaches to the theory of etnos. According
to Bernstham, ethnographers have so far engaged in the development
of theories regarding ethnogenesis and scales of hierarchies of ethnic
groups. However, she notes that ethnographers have also realised that
the reality of ethnic borders, languages, and other elements of culture
do not necessarily correspond with these theories. Bernshtam suggested
that studying “local groups” could contribute to finding new approaches
for the theory of etnos (Bernshtam 1995: 5). While her “local groups”
approach does not contradict etnos theory, it seems to encourage a new
methodology. Instead of trying to match theory and empirical findings,
Bernshtam argued for inductive methodologies, whereby scholars
should document people’s local ideas (narodnye lokal’nye predstavleniia)
and gradually assemble them to identify groupings. These local ideas,
according to her, would reflect the entire array of a group’s sacred and
mundane connections to the surrounding universe (Bernshtam 1995:
208). This methodological shift brought Bernshtam to highlight the
importance of studying people’s religious beliefs and practices, and the
perception of space and place.
Bernshtam studied local ideas among the rural population of
Arkhangelsk and Vologda oblasts in the Russian north (Bernshtam
1995). She structured her analysis of the ethnographic data using
categories that she saw as key for the study of local groups: endonyms
and exonyms of people and places; intra- and inter-group differences;
culture and economy; wedding rituals; folk legends about first
settlers and sacred places. Bernshtam paid particular attention to
topoethnonyms — groups’ names derived from a geographical
object — because a topoethnonym “unites a group and locus into a
secular-sacred nature-culture unit — one’s own world” (Bernshtam
1995: 308–9). She then attempted to trace ethnogenetic and cosmological
origins of main local ideas, which she saw grounded in the social and
Orthodox history of the region. She argued that the stability of local
forms of Orthodox beliefs played an important role in preserving sociocultural and spiritual specificity of local groups.
Bernshtam’s cosmological approach to studying local groups led her
to explore people’s ideas about space, “us-them”, the ancestral home,
and destiny. Without such reconstruction of people’s worldview, she
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
369
argued, the very ethnographic project of studying local groups is futile
(Bernshtam 1995: 208).
Within this range of writing on the hierarchical way that Pomor
lifeways fit with those of other Slavic peoples, the topic of Pomor
ethnogenesis deserves a special focus.
Theories of Pomor Origin
Pomors are commonly believed to have originated from the territory of
Novgorod Republic — a separate unit within the Russian state during
the twelfth to fifteenth centuries. Novgorod city was located at the
crossroads of major trading routes as trade played an important role in
Novgorod Republic’s prosperity. The nineteenth-century travel accounts
often trace Pomors’ origin back to Novgorod by highlighting their
distinct disposition: “Descendants of freedom-loving Novgorodians,
Pomors have still preserved the spirit of enterprise, unrestraint and
courage of their ancestors” (Ėngel’gardt 2009: 48). As mentioned above,
a lineage of descent to the Novogorod state also linked Pomors to the
role of sea-faring colonizers who extended Russian influence eastwards
across Eurasia.
Bernshtam and other scholars have advocated for a more complex
picture of Pomor origin and argued that there were two colonization
waves, from Novgorod and the Upper Volga region. Descendants from
Novgorod colonized mainly the western part of the Russian north,
whereas settlers from the Volga region colonized primarily the eastern
part (Bernshtam 1978: 31). Contemporary popular representations of
Pomors, however, continue to portray them as courageous, enterprising
and independent people, thus contributing towards creating a timeless
image of a people with a unified Novgorodian origin.
Referring to the settlement of Slavic people in the north, Russian
scholars often use the term “colonization” (osvoenie). It is commonly
assumed that when moving north, the Slavs encountered other nations;
but scholars dispute the extent to which the groups have mixed with
the local Finno-Ugric groups. There has therefore been difficulty in
specifying the role of the Finno-Ugric groups in the formation of
northern Russians. Bernshtam argued that the population settling
the territories of the Russian north from Novgorod and Upper Volga
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areas was already ethnically heterogeneous, and that the new settlers
did mix with the local Finno-Ugric groups (Bernshtam 2009: 220). In
Soviet ethnography, scholars usually argued that the colonisation of
the Russian north took place without conflicts and was characterised
by a peaceful relationship between Slavs and Finno-Ugric groups
“contributing to mutual influence and mutual enrichment of cultures”
(Vlasova 2015: 16). However, scholars also assumed that Slavs became
the dominant ethnic group and often assimilated the local population.
By the seventeenth century, migration and the colonization of the north
decreased and the composition of the population became more constant.
By this time, according to Vlasova, the northern Russian population had
developed into an ethnic-territorial community with particular culturaleconomic features (Ibid: 36–7).
The question of miscegenation (metisatsii͡a) was often discussed
when it came to explanations of how different branches of Russians
emerged. In the case of Great Russians, scholars were concerned with
the influence of Finno-Ugric heritage on their physical appearance
(Leskinen 2012: 249).
In the Russian north, beliefs about mythical ancestors called “Chud’”
have been widespread. For example, Pëtr Efimenko noted that the
village Zolotit͡sa on the Winter Coast was originally founded by a tribe
called Chud’. According to Efimenko, locals used to talk about a place
nearby the village called “Chudskai͡a pit” where this tribe had settled
originally, and it was believed that the Chud’ merged with the Slavic
people who arrived from the south (Efimenko 1877: 10–1). Today,
scholars assume that the term Chud was a collective term for native
groups such as Meri͡a, Ves’ and others that Slavic people encountered
while moving north (Vlasova 2015: 30–1).
The Russian natural scientist Nikolaĭ Zograf wrote an account of
people inhabiting European Russia. He noted that, across the north,
Russian settlements are located in forests, tundra, and along the shores.
Zograf called the Russians the “rulers” of these lands (Zograf 1894: 8),
and argued that there are two types of Russian people inhabiting the
north. The first group, which is the minority, settled along the rivers of
Sukhon, northern Dvina, Onega and near the mouth of Mezen’, as well
as along the seashore. He described them as tall, strong, and beautiful,
with dark blond to brown hair, and blond bushy beards. These Russians
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
371
were mostly sailors, fishermen and traders, or navigators. Many of
them considered themselves descendants of the first inhabitants of
the region — the first settlers from Novgorod (Ibid: 9). The other
group, according to Zograf, were the peasants living in Arkhangelsk
and Vologda province in the places along smaller rivers, or far away
from the large waterways. These Russians were of lower stature; their
eyes narrower compared to the other group, their facial features less
proportional, and their hair colour darker. According to Zograf, all this
suggests that these peasants were not the pure descendants of Novgorod
Russians, but a mixed-blood people with a tribe called Chud’. This tribe
is believed to have disappeared; however, it is mentioned in chronicles,
epics and legends (Ibid: 9).
Academic works on Pomors’ ethnogenesis found a strong resonance
in recent claims about Pomor indigeneity. Drawing on the concepts of
etnos and subetnos and arguments about Pomors’ descent from mixed
populations of Russian and Finno-Ugric groups, activists from the city
of Arkhangelsk promoted the idea of Pomors as a separate indigenous
group that deserves a protected status and special rights to natural
resources. To further support their claims, they quoted the results of
a research on a gene pool of Russians, which was carried out by the
Institute of Molecular Genetics and the Russian Academy of Medical
Sciences in cooperation with British and Estonian scholars (Balanovsky
et al. 2008). The activists referred to results of this investigation as proof
that Pomors are not incomers from southern parts of Russia, but an
indigenous population of the north. In particular, they referred to the
fact that the gene pool of Pomors is more related to Finno-Ugric than to
the Russian people.
Other supporters of Pomor indigeneity declared to us during
informal conversations that Pomors have a number of physiological
features that distinguish them from the Russian people: for example,
that the Pomor skull is of a different shape and their arms are longer.
Although it would be difficult to find academic literature to support
these generalizations today, this discourse of physical difference builds
on a set of old stereotypes of the distinct physical form of the Pomor
population. Leskinen in her monograph on the “construction” of the
idea of the Great Russians writes that several decades of description
of Pomors can be summarized as a play of contrasts between an ideal
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of what an ancient Slavic type should be (tall, strong, light-haired)
intermixed with the cardinal opposite of the stereotype of a Finnish type
(short, gnarled, dark haired) (Leskinen 2016: 533). She links this play of
opposites to a not-so-subtle construction of regional ethnic hierarchies.
A leader of a Pomor organization in Arkhangelsk appealed to the
concept of Chud’ as a proof of Pomors’ distinctiveness and mixed origin:
Since Chud’ tribes used to live here, where would pure blood Slavs come
from? […] It is not surprising that people here are different according
to some anthropological [antropologicheskim] parameters too. There
are darker people here, and with narrower eyes. […] Chud’ tribes are
indigenous proto-Pomor tribes. The ones that gave birth to the Pomors,
[…] Saami, Karels, Vepses […] and other Finno-Ugric peoples. Later,
Slavic people came here, and assimilation, inter-marriages and mixture
of cultures occurred. The Pomors probably emerged at the interface of
all this. They are a mixed people. Therefore, to bang one’s chest and
shout that we are pure Russians, is not quite correct (Male, 40 years old,
Arkhangelsk, Russia, 2014).
Pomor indigeneity claims caused a lot of controversy among the
scholarly community and wider Russian society, as they seemed to
challenge the established concept of ethnogenesis and the very integrity
of the Great Russian identity project.
Recent Pomor Identity Movements
Over 150 years of debate on the identity of Pomors, and the northern
Slavic zone, has had a powerful effect on local communities. With the
reforms of perestroika, and the fall of the Soviet Union, ethnic identity
movements came to be one of the major vectors by which local people
expressed their sense of belonging and rights. These movements have
taken a number of forms, ranging from very localized initiatives — often
led by a single individual — to document and preserve artefacts and
items of clothing in local museums, to the vociferous and sometimes
surprising attempts to have Pomors recognized as an indigenous people.
A Museified Approach to Culture
Pomor material culture is still appreciated in villages, which is often
manifested in local museums run by a group of people or a single
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
373
person. Such museums exist in many villages on the White and
Barents Sea coasts. Some of them are curated with the help of official
institutions such as the Houses of Culture or larger museums; others
are run by local people who usually have no professional background.
These museum collections are aimed at preserving the Pomor heritage.
Collectors consider the conservation of material culture as significant
for preserving the memory of those Pomors who used to go on extensive
fishing and sea mammal hunting trips at the sea.
This preservation of material culture is all the more important as
local people often feel that Pomor culture has undergone significant
changes that mean Pomors of today are not the same as their ancestors:
We used to have Pomors — those who used to go to the Kanin [Peninsula]
to fish. To Morzhovet͡s [Island, for seal hunting], to Novai͡a Zemli͡a. Those
used to be Pomors. Previous old men. I almost do not remember true
Pomors. Although I do remember some old men. They always […] went
to hunt seals (Female, 75 years old, Arkhangelsk oblast, Russia, 2014).
The professionalisation of fishing and sea mammal hunting, which
began with the collectivisation of work in the countryside in the
1920s–1930s, might explain a wide spread opinion among villagers
today that there are “no Pomors left”, since locally-run collective farms
(kolkhozy) do not run seal hunting anymore, and their coastal fisheries
are only a fraction of what they used to be. Some kolkhozes still run
salmon fisheries at toni͡as — often at a loss, because fishing quotas are
very low and income from the catch does not cover the costs (Figs. 8.7
and 8.8). Kolkhozes maintain these fisheries mainly for social reasons, as
they provide local people with access to employment and traditional
food (as they sell part of the catch in village shops). When people in the
village say that there are few fishermen left, they often refer to those
who work at toni͡as. Toni͡as, therefore, remain a key material expression
of fishing as a livelihood and source of identity.
Through the creation of museums and the collection of historical
material artefacts, some locals establish a connection to Pomor heritage.
For instance, there is a rather extensive collection of various Pomor
objects and clothing in a village on the Winter Coast, gathered by a
woman who is originally from the village but has now lived in the city
for many years. The woman keeps the collection in her village house
which she visits once a year for a couple of months in the summer.
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Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
Fig. 8.7 Toni͡a Kedy. Photo by Natalie Wahnsiedler
Fig. 8.8 Salmon fisheries at toni͡a Kedy. Photo by Natalie Wahnsiedler
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
375
She has been collecting the items for many years and arranged them
in groups in the uninhabited part of her old wooden house (povet’).3
According to the general museum practice, she labelled the items
with short texts. Her large collection comprises clothing, fishing nets,
various kinds of old dishes, spinning wheels, and other artefacts. Other
local museum collections have a more specific focus according to the
collector’s interests, such as, for example, a collection of Pomor seafaring
instruments in a barn.
The “museified” approach to Pomor identity stands in contrast with
a more hands-on view of Pomorness widely held in villages. Village
dwellers connect Pomor identity to fishing as an active practice — often
as part of an official profession — as the following quote from fieldwork
interviews suggests:
I used to be [Pomor], until I got married. I then became a housewife and
stopped fishing (Female, 60 years old, Arkhangelsk oblast, Russia, 2014).
The “museified” approach is often held among people who have come to
the village from elsewhere, or among former permanent residents who
now live in the city and visit their home village occasionally. Permanent
dwellers, on the other hand, often have a practice-based approach
to Pomorness. Masha Shaw looks at a similar distinction between
permanent residents, seasonal in-migrants and casual incomers in a
different part of the White Sea coast. She argues that for incomers, the
activity of collecting and formalizing historical data about the village
serves as a compensation for their separation from their home place.
It allows them to reengage and reconnect with their home village. In
contrast, people who live in the village permanently “do not have a need
to reify the village’s history and culture, because they are in the place,
and this constantly keeps them busy with various everyday concerns”
(Nakhshina 2013: 219). Fishing is still a vital everyday activity for many
villagers on the White Sea coast, although some practices have been
long gone. This is reflected in the wide array of opinions on Pomorness
held among villagers, from “there are no true Pomors left anymore” to
“everyone here is a Pomor”.
3 A povet‘ is the non-residential part of a typical northern peasant house which was
used for the storage of household items, fishing equipment, carts, etc.
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Pomor crosses
While few attempts are made to reconstruct the fishing toni͡as, more
recently a new movement of reconstructing old and constructing new
Pomor wooden crosses emerged. The wooden crosses are a widespread
phenomenon along the White Sea coast in northwest Russia. Although
often referred to as “votive”, these wooden crosses had multiple
functions. Russian scholars emphasize that the tradition of wooden
crosses must be conceptualized within the maritime culture of the
region. Along the seashores, the crosses functioned as navigation marks
(Okorokov 2005). Often, they were placed at important places along the
roads — at the crossroads or river crossings — and were constructed on
visible spots, on hills, and high riverbanks and seashores (Fig. 8.9). The
votive crosses were built following a promise to God, a sign of gratitude
for something good, or for deliverance from something evil. The vows
were given on some special occasion, usually associated with hardships
such as illness, death, or disappearance of a family member, famine or
crop failure (Shchepanskai͡a 2003). Although, the wooden crosses can
be found throughout the territory of the Russian north, they are more
frequent and visible along the Mezen’ River and northeast coast of the
White Sea.
Locals build new crosses nearby their outdoor cabins in a way
that echoes the former tradition of erecting crosses near a toni͡a. They
consider it to be a way to show respect to their ancestors. Old crosses
are carefully maintained. One such cross is located between the villages
of Koĭda and Dolgoshchel’e. According to a local story, this cross was
erected by a group of fishermen who were returning home from fishing
and got lost on the way. However, when they reached this location on
the hill, they were able to find the direction to their village. Therefore,
they made a promise to build a cross. Travellers who pass this way
usually stop by the cross and leave some coins or other little things like
empty bullet casings.
A group of Pomor artists and intellectuals, supported by kolkhoz
chairmen, committed themselves to build a cross in the Norwegian
municipality of Vardø. The cooperation between Arkhangelsk and
Vardø had begun already in the late 1980s and early 1990s with cultural
exchanges that resulted in the opening of a Pomor museum in Vardø.
The cross was constructed by a local artist in Arkhangelsk and then
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
377
Fig. 8.9 Old Pomor cross at toni͡a Kedy. Photo by Masha Shaw
brought to Norway by car. It was erected nearby the place of an old
Pomor cemetery.
The movement of (re)constructing Pomor wooden crosses points
towards the wider identity claims on behalf of Pomor activists. Although
the crosses point literally to the importance of Russian Orthodox
Christianity to Pomor traditions — and in particular to those parts of
their traditions that link them to the wider Russian nation — the crosses
symbolically point to their reverence for the places and seascapes
where Pomors traditionally reside. Thus while serving as a religious
and to some extent nationalist monument, the crosses perform a double
function of pointing to Pomor rootedness. This quality would come to
play an important role in recent years.
Indigeneity Claims
In the 2000s, a group of activists from the city of Arkhangelsk claimed
that Pomors should be recognised as a less-numerous minority
(korennoĭ malochislennyĭ narod). The term korennye malochislennye narody
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(KMN), usually translated as “less-numerous indigenous peoples”,
was introduced into the Federal Law in 1999. Within Russia today, 47
peoples are officially recognised as KMNs of the Russian Federation
(Pravitel’stvo 2015) who “qualify for the rights, privileges, and state
support earmarked for indigenous peoples” (Donahoe et al. 2008: 993).
The concept of KMN goes back to imperial understandings of
ethnic diversity and is related to the expansion of the Russian state
and the acquisition (osvoenie) of new territories (Sokolovskiĭ 2001: 76).
In the Imperial period, the term inorodt͡sy was frequently used in the
administrative practices of the Russian Empire (Ibid: 86). In the Russian
language, the term semantically means to “be born of another kind”.
Therefore, it implements the notion of a division between “the own
people” and “the others” (Ibid: 89). In the early Soviet period, the
imperial legacy merged with “the paternalistic idea of there being ‘small
peoples’ [malye narody], diminutive in both world-historical importance
and population” (Anderson 2000: 79). This fracture between being
part of a majority group, and being a peculiar or special population
deserving of paternalistic support, seems to be a constant theme in
how northern Slavic populations have been described. However, this
particular term has an additional twist in that it has been historically
applied to (Siberian) hunter-gatherer societies — a group of people
who in the minds of many urban intellectuals might be thought to be
the antithesis of urban Russians. Hence it is with great irony that this
term was employed by a group of activists for a population that has
been considered as Russian, and sometimes even as “the most authentic
Russians”.
While the idea to officially recognise Pomors as an indigenous group
was rather new, an increasing interest in Pomor culture and heritage
emerged already in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Perestroika and the
dissolution of the Soviet Union opened up new possibilities for civil
engagement. A new interest in ethnicity and indigeneity developed,
sometimes leading to the formation of ethno-political organizations
(Shabaev and Sharapov 2011: 107). In Arkhangelsk oblast, one such
organization, called “Pomor Revival” (Pomorskoe vozrozhdenie), was
founded in 1987. In the early 2000s, the national-cultural organization
“Pomor Autonomy” was formed at about the same time with the
“Pomor Obshchina”. The interest in Pomor culture developed along
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
379
with the interest in international projects and cooperation, especially
with Norway. The awareness of historical connections between Russia
and Norway in the sphere of fishing and trade played an important role.
As Russia transited from the planned state economy to market
economy and liberalism, most kolkhozes in Arkhangelsk oblast collapsed.
The remaining fishing kolkhozes on the White Sea Coast are not able to
provide the same employment opportunities and social support as
before. Therefore, many villagers have to rely on subsistence economies
of which fishing is the most important. However, strict restrictions
apply, especially to fishing salmon, which is the most valuable species.
Since Atlantic salmon spawns in several rivers of Arkhangelsk oblast,
fishing with nets is entirely forbidden both in rivers and the White Sea
to avoid salmon bycatch. Some restrictions are lifted for recreational
fishing on a few officially organized fishing grounds. However, in rural
areas, obtaining licenses is considered too costly. In addition, coastal
residents often have their traditional inherited fishing grounds and they
do not wish to fish in other places.
Locals do not consider fishing as a leisure activity, but as a source
of livelihood. Activists argue that the situation is different in the
neighbouring Nenets Autonomous District where Nenets people are
recognized as an indigenous less-numerous minority and are therefore
entitled to traditional fishing rights. Activists highlight the unfairness
of the situation when Pomors and Nenetses live in similar climatic
and socio-economic conditions, and yet do not have the same access
to resources. They argue that the recognition of Pomors as a smallnumbered indigenous people would allow Pomor fishermen to conduct
their traditional economies and improve their living conditions.
Activists’ persistent appeals for Pomors’ recognition resulted in a
response at a state level when the federal government held a meeting in
2007 that looked into the social and economic support of Pomors. The
government also requested an expert opinion on Pomor identity from
several prominent Russian anthropologists. Scholars responded by not
advising the government to support activists’ claims for Pomors to be
recognised as a separate ethnic group. They argued that Pomors are a
regional subgroup of Russian people, since they do not speak a separate
language and their material and spiritual culture has always been very
close to that of the majority of the Russian people (Nakhshina 2016: 313).
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Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
The main resolution of the 2007 meeting was the federal government’s
recommendation to regional governments of those administrative
units where Pomors live to take measures to improve Pomors’ social
and economic conditions. It also proposed changes to the federal law
on fisheries that would allow Pomors to conduct their traditional way
of life. Since the resolution was merely a recommendation, regional
governments did not act on it. Pomor activists made further appeals to
the government but did not manage to achieve any formal recognition
of Pomors as a separate indigenous group of the Russian Federation
(Nakhshina 2016).
Fieldwork research in Arkhangelsk oblast in 2014–2016 revealed a
coexistence of highly contested views on Pomor identity. One position
was represented by Pomor activists who claimed that Pomors are
an indigenous group and thus a separate etnos within the Russian
Federation. Activists pointed out the distinctiveness of the Pomor
group, basing their arguments on the scholarly understanding of what
characterises an etnos, i.e. a distinctive language, culture and identity.
The identity factor allowed for some of them to have a very broad and
inclusive approach to Pomorness, as in the following view held by a
Pomor organisation’s leader:
[Pomors] are those who care for this culture, this way of life. […]
However, we should not confuse Pomors with fishermen. The same way
that we should not confuse Nenetses with reindeer herders. Nenetses
now work in prosecution, and in other sections of governance. They do
not have to be herders. Everyone here for some reason sees a Pomor
with a fishing net over the shoulder. […] But historically this is not the
dominant way of subsistence anymore. […] Those who know ornament
patterns, singing culture, Pomor fairy tales and other stuff. All this
comes together if you care about it. […] People tell me, I myself come
from Ukraine, came here twenty years ago. But I don’t feel myself as a
Ukrainian. I feel myself as a Pomor. May I? Why not? I always give this
example: Pushkin, the dearest writer for the Russian reader. But he is so
Ethiopian. But if you have done more for the Russian people, then you
are probably a Russian. If you feel yourself good in Pomor’e, it probably
means you are a Pomor. At least we do not measure skulls here and do
not take blood tests (Male, 40 years old, Arkhangelsk, Russia, 2014).
The approach to Pomors as a separate indigenous group was on
the rise until one of the most prominent Pomor activists, Ivan
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
381
Moseev, underwent a court trial where he was charged with “the
incitment of national hatred”. The accusation was based on an online
comment — allegedly made by Moseev — which singled out Pomors
as an ethnic group and implied their superiority over the Russians.
Moseev denied the accusations and subsequently withdrew from
public activities. His case was widely covered in local newspapers
and even in the international Barents Observer and left behind a degree
of uncertainty among urban intellectuals and artists who supported
the claim that Pomors are a separate etnos and not just a sub-group of
Russians. Many started to classify Pomors in less “separatist” terms and
switched to more academically sanctioned and officially recognised
concepts such as subetnos or ethnic community (ėtnicheskai͡a obshchnost’).
Some Arkhangelsk intellectuals who sympathised with the idea of
Pomor indigeneity simultaneously insisted on the uniqueness of Pomors
in their Russianness. According to one local thinker and a dedicated
Orthodox believer, Pomors and the Russian north more widely have
preserved certain spiritual qualities, and therefore could serve as a
gene pool for true Russian values. This apparent incongruity whereby
Pomors are indigenous and Russian at the same time, often emerged
during conversations with people in Arkhangelsk, perhaps pointing
towards some inherent contradictions within the etnos concept itself.
Claims about Pomor indigeneity were confronted by other
Arkhangelsk scholars and intellectuals, who argued that Pomors are a
historically developed identity of the White Sea coastal dwellers. They
saw Pomors’ specificity in their economy and some even found the
factor of ethnicity altogether insignificant:
It seems that Pomors have an economic rather than ethnic foundation.
In other words, it is not important whether it were Finno-Ugric or Slavic
people who settled here, but their traditional way of life based on […]
sea fishing and hunting, salt making and subsidiary crop farming and
animal husbandry — in other words, agriculture — because just fishing
and hunting was not enough. It was a natural phenomenon, this Pomor
complex economy. […] These Pomors, their status had never been
marked as that of a separate ethnic group, neither before the revolution,
nor during the Soviet period. […] All this national underpinning of the
current Pomor question is mainly connected to contemporary events
(Male, 45 years old, Arkhangelsk, Russia, 2014).
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Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
In villages along the White Sea coast, many people have never heard
of Pomor organisations in Arkhangelsk fighting for their rights to
resources. Most interviewees considered Pomors to be Russian people;
yet, many of them supported the idea of granting Pomors a status of a
less-numerous minority, in order for them to obtain official access to
their traditional fishing grounds.
The turmoil caused by Pomor activists in Arkhangelsk was hardly
noticed in the village for two main reasons: firstly because Pomor
activists failed to establish connections with rural residents; and
secondly because villagers have a profoundly different understanding
from the activists of what it means to be a Pomor. For the majority
of people in the coastal villages of Arkhangelsk oblast, being Pomor
means to be actively engaged in activities connected to the sea. Many
people take pride in being descendants of the historical seafarers and
promyshlenniki (fishers and hunters) that have been so vividly described
in ethnographic and fictional literature.
Conclusion
Pomor identity has proven to be a challenge for both imperial and Soviet
scholars. Pomors have been cited as the “most authentic Russians”, as an
ambiguous sub-group (subetnos) of Great Russians and an indigenous
minority. This ambiguity and uncertainty regarding Pomor identity
seems to have its origins in Pomors’ unique settlement at the borders
of the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union as well as their historical
portrayal as explorers and pioneers and their unique ways of livelihood.
While folklorists considered the territory of Pomor’e as an isolated
region, its history shows its importance in both geopolitical and
ethnographic discussions. In political and historical narratives, Pomor’e
was regarded as the “window to Europe” due to the importance of
Pomor seafaring and trading relations. At the same time, Pomors’
historical connections to the Novgorod Republic facilitated the idea
of Pomors as “authentic Russian people”. Pomors’ ability to travel
the sea and rivers gave them a special role in the expansion of the
Slavic population not only along the White Sea coast but also across
Siberia. Pomors’ movement to the east was the first wave of Russian
colonisation and resulted in the formation of mixed settler communities
8. “The Sea is Our Field”
383
along the Arctic sea cost such as tundra peasant settlements in Taymyr
(zatundrennye krest’i͡ane), a creole community in Yakutia (russkoust’int͡sy)
and others. Along with this west-east dichotomy, the Pomors were also
looked at from the perspective of an academic construction of the northsouth dichotomy, an attempt to categorise the Slavic population by
ethnographers (see chapter 3). Both views shaped a central-peripheral
flexibility of Pomors in public discourses.
Soviet historians and ethnographers enthusiastically employed these
historical and geopolitical ambiguities to develop a comprehensive
ethnic theory. In these academic discussions, Pomors appeared as an
important example of ethnic hierarchies. As the editors of this volume
show in their introduction, the core of those debates was the theory
of etnos which flourished as part of Soviet identity politics during the
Cold War. Trying to make the theory practical for ideologically biased
reconstructions of history and ethnographic classifications, Soviet
ethnographers coined a number of alternative terms related to etnos.
One of them was the term subetnos, which was applied to Pomors. In
ethnographic volumes, Pomors were introduced along borderland
groups such as Cossack and, ironically, Siberian communities, whose
descent has been drawn from Pomors. Such subentry in official identity
classifications facilitated indigeneity claims of Pomor activists in the
beginning of the twenty-first century.
Russian scholars and policy makers based their classifications on
a set of identity characteristics such as material culture, language,
and physical appearance which varied in different periods and
knowledge ecologies. In recent debates about Pomor indigeneity, these
identity characteristics have been incorporated and “naturalised”
in making claims about Pomors’ distinctiveness from Russians. This
shift from academic descriptions and constructions to the knowledge
appropriated by local intelligentsii͡a allows us to see the fluidity
of historical anthropological ideas and their social life within local
communities. The Pomor case — taken from the margins of the former
empire — introduces us to a field of northern studies where one can
account for no border between academic constructions and local
knowledge.
384
Life Histories of Etnos Theory in Russia and Beyond
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