CELEBRATING SHEVCHENKO: Rethinking Saturday mornings, "Ridna Shkola" and Shevchenko (03/08/98)

CELEBRATING SHEVCHENKO

Rethinking Saturday mornings, "Ridna Shkola" and Shevchenko

by Paulette MacQuarrie

I'm a born-again Ukrainian, and Taras Shevchenko came into my life when I was already an adult, studying Ukrainian history and language in university.

It would be an extreme understatement to simply say that I was amazed and inspired reading about this remarkable man who loved his native Ukraine and her people so much that he was willing to risk his own life and liberty, his health and his personal happiness.

The first words of his that came across intrigued me with their wisdom and insight, stated so simply, yet so eloquently:

"Uchitesia, braty moyi, dumaite, chytaite ..."

Educate yourselves, he said, think about what you've studied, and read some more - what better advice to an impoverished and enslaved people?

Dumaite. Let's think for a minute about the man who wrote those words. This gentle soul with the insight of the divine was born into captivity as a serf, and managed to get his freedom, to study, to write and to paint. Yet he lived his life in a manner designed to lose that hard-won freedom. And why? Because he had a message for an enslaved people whose spirit had been almost completely crushed by centuries of foreign oppression. I say almost crushed. Shevchenko saw that glimmer of life, that innate intelligence that could not be entirely repressed. And so he did what he had to do, wrote what he had to write, even though there were times he had to hide it in his prison-issue boots.

"I chuzhoho nauchaites', svoho ne tsuraites' ..."

Study and read, yes, and study other cultures, too. Learn the ways of the world, but never, ever forget your roots.

I think he would be particularly delighted to see the youngsters here, reciting his words, and their parents silently reciting along with them.

I think he would be very gratified to see our wonderful "Ridna Shkola" [School of Ukrainian Studies] here in Vancouver, where adults and children alike can study and enjoy their Ukrainian heritage, half a world away - "mizh chuzhymy."

But human nature is a funny thing. I've heard grumblings from some who have envied their friends who spent Saturdays playing hockey or watching TV, while they were at Ridna Shkola, memorizing Shevchenko's poetry.

If that's you, then I have a message for you. And I hope the young people in the audience will take note. Because I was once as young as you, and some day you will be as old as I, with children of your own. And I hope my message will save you - and them - a future of regret.

You see, I was one of those much-envied kids. I didn't have to go to Ridna Shkola - didn't even know such a thing existed. Because in those days, things were different. Growing up in on a farm in Saskatchewan, both my parents saw friends and family go to the city looking for a better life and being denied a job because they had a Ukrainian accent or a Ukrainian name. And they didn't want that for themselves, or their kids. They took care of the basics - they took us kids to a Ukrainian church and stuffed pyrohy and holubtsi down us. But they didn't want us to be easily identified as Ukrainian, so we didn't get the culture, or the language. They did not send us to Ridna Shkola, and after my Baba left our house when I was 5, I stopped speaking Ukrainian and began speaking English.

So, having no idea at all that someone else might be envying me, I spent my childhood Saturdays playing ball or ice skating or watching cartoons. I honestly can't remember.

And that's my point. I have no meaningful memories of my childhood Saturdays, except that they were more or less carefree.

But those of you who went to Ridna Shkola - how I envy you! You have memories of your childhood Saturdays to share with your children - even if it's only to justify why they have to go!

Those of you who graduated from Ridna Shkola are well-versed in the Ukrainian culture, in all respects. How I envy you that. You grew up with it, living it, whereas I learned about it from university textbooks. Needless to say, it wan't Kozak cartoons I watched on Saturdays, and I didn't learn how to make pysanky until I was grown up.

Your beautiful command of the Ukrainian language, which I am still struggling with, and probably always will, is a part of you as natural as breathing. I envy you that.

"Bo khto matir zabuvaie toho Boh karaie."

Perhaps that feeling of envy and of personal loss is my punishment - and my parents' punishment - for when I discovered the Ukrainian community and began to realize all that I had missed out on, I certainly expressed my resentment to them for depriving me. Oh, I was bitter, and I sure let them know. Because it began to dawn on me why as a child there had been times I felt uncertain, unsure of myself, when some bully would call me a "bohunk" or laugh at the food we ate or the way we did certain things. You see, I didn't have Shevchenko's words to fall back on. I didn't know that I came from a culture every bit as good. Of course, my parents made the best choice they knew at the time. I knew that. They just wanted the best for me, just like all parents want for their children. And today, my whole family is born-again Ukrainian, even the non-Ukrainian in-laws are making pyrohy and pysanky, and sending their kids to Ukrainian school and dance classes.

So yes, I've reclaimed my heritage, and I'm so grateful I had the opportunity to do that. But there will always be a part missing, that part of my childhood when I didn't quite know who I was, or where I belonged.

Don't do that to your kids. Please. For your sake, and for theirs. Don't let them envy the kids who get to goof off on Saturdays, and for heaven's sake don't envy them yourself. Vague memories of childhood Saturdays are not nearly compensation enough for missing out on Ridna Shkola. Believe me, you'll be an adult living with regret much longer than you'll be a child living without hockey or football or cartoons.

So to the young people, I say - treasure your Saturdays at Ridna Shkola, not just so that you will have fond memories the rest of your life, but to save yourself or your children an agonizing journey of self-discovery later in life. And make no mistake, even if it doesn't matter to you, chances are very good it will matter to your children. Roots like ours can never die, but they must be nourished and nurtured to reach their fullest potential.

Shevchenko knew what he was talking about.

So let's remember Shevchenko's words, and do his bidding. Not just the rest of the day today, but tomorrow, and next week, and next month. Until next March.

When we come together once again to reflect on his message - and the words that remind us that today we have the freedom he sacrificed his life for, advantages he could have hardly imagined, and that irrepressible spirit that allows us to follow him down the path of greatness that he saw for his land and his people.

"Uchitesia, braty moyi, dumayte, chytayte ... i chuzhoho nauchaytes', svoho ne tsuraytes' ... Bo khto matir zabuvaye toho Boh karaye."

The text above is an edited version of a speech given at the Shevchenko anniversary celebration in Vancouver last year on March 9.