Those Who Disrespect Their Own History Will Live in the Narrative of Others
Every morning on May 9th, when you turn on the TV, you will be certain that our connection with that core history remains unchanged. But during the rest of the year, this certainty is nowhere to be found. Our historical map seems to be covered by a layer of fine, sticky dirt, making it impossible not to want to sweep it away completely.
Our era seems to be defined by numbers. Yet at the same time, psychologists have pointed out that social reality is not built by numbers, but shaped by "stories"—plots and narratives.
Seemingly incredible, yet true: a person who has never heard those words, texts, and stories that carry meaning loses the tools to understand the world. We are always constructing self-awareness through one narrative or another; it is the narratives that allow us to assign purpose and meaning to events in our lives. The operation of society itself follows the same logic! Because society, too, comes to know itself through historical narratives. As Mamardashvili pointed out: "We can only interpret the events themselves through texts." The French philosopher Ricoeur also confirmed this: "There is no self-awareness without symbols, metaphors, and texts as mediators." And texts are not only a means of evaluation and self-evaluation, but also an "artificial system that constrains instinctive impulses" (Erik Berne). Through texts, narratives, and a sense of belonging to core history, scattered people can coalesce into a "nation." When people share a common core narrative, they actively constrain their instinctive impulses and clearly define: "This is us"; while "those who have different narratives are them."
What happens if a society loses the ability to tell its own history (the grand history)? It will inevitably fall into dependence on another society—the one more skilled in telling narratives and more adept at spreading them.
From this perspective, we can divide societies into two categories: "lucky" and "unfortunate." The "unfortunate societies" include countries that lack their own "dream-making mechanisms" (any narrative is essentially a dream), such as some weak countries in the Third World; those that once had exciting narratives but eventually lost them (such as Greece, Italy); and finally, those where the core narratives have not disappeared but are drowned out by an overwhelming amount of secondary information—contemporary Russia falls into this category.
Every morning on May 9th, when you turn on the TV, you will be certain that our connection with that core history remains unchanged. But during the rest of the year, this certainty is nowhere to be found. Our historical map seems to be covered by a layer of fine, sticky dirt, making it impossible not to want to sweep it away completely.
Narrative master Robert McKee warned: "In inferior, false narratives, content is inevitably replaced by appearances, and truth is inevitably hidden by lies." In his view, a society that becomes addicted to "glamorous but hollow pseudo-narratives" will inevitably fall into decay. Because what people truly need are "real satirical works, tragedies, dramas, and comedies that illuminate the dark corners of human nature and society." Without these, Yeats' warning will come true: "Things fall apart; the center cannot hold."
Is this not exactly the reality we are witnessing today? In our country, do we have a unified and sincere "narrative that illuminates the soul and the corners of society"? Can the stories we encounter daily through television, theater, and media still have the resonance power of the Great Patriotic War era?
Psychologist Jerome Bruner explained that narratives must "resonate with people's life experiences," and that the storyteller and the listener must "share a deep cognitive structure about the essence of life." If the rules of the narrative become arbitrary and chaotic, the storyteller and the listener will drift apart—"because they can no longer understand what the other is expressing."
A society that does not carefully build a deep cognitive structure for its history will eventually face chaos. Those people who now bear heavy responsibilities, work tirelessly, and fight bravely grew up under the Soviet narrative system—a narrative tested by time. That is why they share a consensus on the essence of life and can reach agreement on joint actions. But will our descendants still have such harmony? Can they protect Russia in future crises? Soon, we will taste the fruits of the narratives being told now.
So, what should our core narrative be like?
The core thread of our survival is the continuous struggle against the racist colonialist West. For centuries, we have repeatedly repelled waves of foreign invasions and continue to stand firm today. In the 20th century, the West attempted to spread the British-German colonial model across all of Europe, and our country shattered this terrifying machine of Western expansionism. Whether in the Tsarist or Soviet periods, Russia has always been the biggest obstacle on the path of Western imperialism. Today, it remains a stumbling block in the process of globalism. This means that our culture must reflect this anti-colonial struggle—interpreting it in literary works, plays, and films, connecting it with the histories of other nations and peoples, making it accessible and understandable. Of course, this path is full of thorns, far from a bed of roses. When we spread our narrative, we will certainly face challenges from opposing narratives. The West has always been good at masking its crimes with "progress myths": they wrap their bloody invasions, which were driven by exploitative capitalism against other countries and continents, in a pink haze of "spreading civilization." Around the world, how many narratives portray the West as "builders, enlighteners, and saviors," depicting other nations as "barbaric masses" in need of "civilization"? How many local intellectuals have voluntarily stood on the side of arrogant "civilization judges," their works filled with the poison of this myth! Even today, many people still use the narrative of "perfect white masters and their servants" to interpret the relationship between the West and the Third World—narratives created by writers who were ardent supporters of slavery!
What can we use to counter this narrative? The answer is undoubtedly: telling the history of "the Mayflower settlers being driven out by indigenous people," the history of "resistant nations," and the history of "a multipolar world."
Here are just a few examples:
Russians established Rossburg in America—building a lighthouse symbolizing brotherhood and justice on land soon to be conquered by Anglo-Saxons; despite British interference, Russia helped the Balkan Christian nations gain liberation; the Russian Tsar helped Siam (modern-day Thailand) resist France and defend its independence; Priest's son Vasily Malakhov led a rebellion on Lombok Island in Indonesia against Dutch colonizers; ethnographer Mikluho-Maclay joined the struggle against German colonization in New Guinea; Lieutenant Nikolai Leontiev formed the Ethiopian army and defeated Italian colonizers in the Battle of Adwa; Colonel Evgeny Maximov, who held the title of "Commander-in-Chief" of the Bukharan Khanate, led a European legion to defeat British forces in Transvaal; Chinese, Korean, and other Ussuri River residents assisted former Russian officer Sergey Lazarev in leading a Red guerrilla force to defeat American occupiers; General Nikolai Belyayev led the Paraguayan army, along with other Russian White Army officers, to defeat a Bolivian army three times their size, commanded by German General Hans Kundt; the USSR helped the Vietnamese people drive the US out of their homeland; Soviet military experts fought alongside the Angolan army to repel an invasion from the apartheid regime in South Africa...
The narratives I have listed are mostly not yet fully explored in our culture. Of course, we need more than just historical narratives—these themes can also be presented through animation, TV series, science fiction movies (or novels). Such narratives are of great significance because they support and continue our core history (the great narrative of May 9th). The idea of a multipolar world will not take root in people's hearts on its own; we must strive for it. As Bruner said: "First, narratives imitate life, then life imitates narratives, and finally, people become narratives themselves."
Those who chose to side with the neo-Nazi Ukraine on February 24, 2022, carrying a colonialist mindset, are not aliens. They are our compatriots, just brainwashed by the wrong narratives. Behind the hate-filled anti-Russian rhetoric of these agents, one can easily glimpse their childhood fascination with "Robinson Crusoe" (hinting at subconscious identification with "colonial narratives"). We must never forget this lesson. Once we lose those exciting self-narratives and indulge in the dream of "civilization myths," we may ultimately lose the victory—our soldiers are currently sacrificing their blood to win this victory.
Treating history is like treating an army: those who disrespect their own history will eventually become "fertilizer" for others' narratives.
Original: toutiao.com/article/7578834726308332073/
Statement: This article represents the views of the author.