When Everyone Thinks I’m Russian
As I wrote recently, I struggled with my identity as an American during my first years living abroad in Russia. If you read the article to the end, you’d know that I eventually chose to accept my identity as an American and have since become quite proud of it (now I’ve given away the ending, but still read it please!) Ironically, the population of Armenia and Georgia, where I’ve lived since leaving Russia, hasn’t caught on to this yet. As it happens, people in these countries assume that I’m Russian or at least Russian-speaking and always address me in that language.
Their assumptions are entirely understandable. There are thousands of Russian citizens and Russian speakers in these countries now, I look more like a Russian than the locals, and when I’m with my wife, I’m typically speaking Russian. I still have mixed feelings about their assumptions, though there is a very practical side of speaking Russian in these countries, especially in Armenia. The many years of Russian influence in these places explains why this is so, along with their proximity to Russia and tourism. Russian is especially more widely spoken in Armenia, where I in turn found it more difficult to use English. Compared to Georgia, Armenia is much more closely connected to Russia, with many Armenians having relatives in Russia or having lived there themselves at some point. Georgia on the other hand has been building it’s future with an eye to Europe, moving away from Russian influence. The Russian-Georgian war in 2008 fueled these desires, and Russian is now spoken mostly among those aged 40 and older, while it’s easier to speak English with younger Georgians. These are by no means firm boundaries and there are quite a few who speak both Russian and English fluently, adding to my admiration for the people who live here. What I’m getting at is that it’s just easier sometimes to speak Russian in order to be understood. There’s been moments in both countries where I’ve started speaking English and have found it causes more miscommunication than Russian.
That’s the practical side of the situation. There’s also an emotional element. The first part of it is that I’m not Russian, and I don’t like it when people assume my identity for me. At times, it annoys me. When I’m alone and shopkeepers or waiters address me in Russian, I usually answer in English and it throws them off a bit. I’ve also let slip the phrase “I’m not Russian” sometimes, which has been especially useful when people on the street start asking for something or offering goods that I don’t want. These situations also leave me with a sour aftertaste, because I do know Russian and I feel like I’m denying a small part of me. My 20-year-old self would definitely be reveling in these moments, since his aim was to become “Russian.” As I think about it more however, the main issue here is most likely not connected with the assumption of my identity, but rather with the identity given to me. Were people assuming me to be Estonian or German (which has happened in Russia), I don’t think I would put up much of a fuss, but with the war in Ukraine, it makes it difficult to be associated with being Russian.
The locals’ attitude doesn’t change towards me depending on which language I speak, but being Russian right now carries with it a lot of baggage. I’m not Russian, so I don’t have to carry it and don’t want to. There is also the fact that I don’t have a right to pretend to be someone I’m not. Since leaving Russia, these situations have enlightened me to the fact that I am located between these two places: the US and Russia. I am American, but there is so much within me now that is connected to Russia. As I wrote about my long-term relationship with Russia, I have no plans of “getting over” that part of my life, so I will continue navigating this “in-between,” while gently reminding locals that I’m American.
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