In 2003, I had the opportunity to study abroad in Russia through the School for International Training. The focus of the program was anthropological, and we had a mix of lectures and experiential education.

One of the meetings which was arranged for our student group was with a local leader of the Chechen diaspora in St. Petersburg. I’m not going to pretend I have a complete understanding of the political situation of the Chechens today, or that I had much of a clue in 2003, either, other than knowing that Chechnya was an area of predominantly Muslim peoples who wished to be independent from the Russians.

The promised personage had been called away and instead we talked with his wife and another female relative. Like everyone we visited in Russia, they plied us with food and tea, and answered our questions. My language level was higher than the other students, and I went back to meet with the women a second time, without a teacher or translator. They were curious about me, too, and particularly interested to know what my “отношение” to the Russians was. It was a new word, meaning relationship or attitude, and I had to look it up.

The other part of the conversation that I remember was about one of their children, a boy about 12 years old. His parents had recently managed to have him switch schools, because his teacher called the boy out in the hall for some minor infraction and beat him. The teacher’s brother had been killed in the fighting in Chechnya. The boy was Chechen. His name was Tamerlan.

Because of that interaction, and that conversation, I considered the Chechen diaspora as a topic for my undergraduate thesis. I chose a different topic, but I remember that story about 12 year old Tamerlan. I did write a paper on the history of the Chechen conflict. It’s not a pretty one. The Russians have been trying to take over the Caucauses for a few hundred years, and in the 1940s Stalin figured the way to solve the “problem” was to remove the pesky mountain people who kept resisting assimilation into the glorious Soviet future. So they deported 500,000 Chechens and Ingush, on the excuse that they were colluding with the Nazis during the Great Patriotic War. After Stalin died, they were allowed to return, but oh, hey, look at all these ethnic Russians who were resettled into the Chechen lands and homes. Is the history since then any surprise?

All the people I know in Boston are okay, but my heart hurts for those who weren’t safe. We have our clock radio set to NPR, so I woke up crying on Tuesday morning to a story of a woman looking for her husband at the finish line. Did I mention I’m going to watch my husband run a half-marathon this weekend? I expect there will be extra cops around.

I never had more than that fleeting contact with the Chechen diaspora. Chechnya isn’t on the news in the US; I hear more about Israel/Palestine. I didn’t know Tamerlan Tsarnaev, and he’s not the Tamerlan I heard about a decade ago. But I wonder how he grew up, and what deaths he was held responsible for before he caused death.

I have always loved the sound of the name Tamerlan, the way it rolls off the tongue. The historical Timur hoped to reestablish Genghis Khan’s empire in the late 14th century, and to make it a Muslim kingdom, and he certainly conquered a large territory. He started his adult life early, when Timur was a teenager, his father Taragai, retired to a monastery (which Taragai had built to lend glory to God and his own family name). Before he left, according to Timur’s autobiography, he told his son, “I am tired of this world, and consider it no better than a golden vase filled with serpents and scorpions.” This week, Taragai’s words seem uncomfortably apt.*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*To counteract, I have been looking at different translations of the Tao Te Ching, Chapters 30 & 31.