How can we live in a perfect world?

When “Western” and “white” scholars and researchers continue reproducing colonialist attitudes in their relationships with individuals and peoples they invite to participate in their projects – what kind of knowledge do they ultimately produce? In this essay, Neseyne reflects on her experience of interacting with representatives of the Western academic tradition and the place this tradition allocates to indigenous peoples. Based on her experiences, the artist contemplates on different forms of knowledge, tokenism and representation, frustration and fatigue.

Neseyne is a researcher and an indigenous person engaged in an interdependent relationship with the world. She practices decolonial queerdom and produces texts as well as other artistic works. Born from the spirit of the time, she creates art of various complexity, searches for meaning, and advocates goodness and justice. She loves Sailor Moon and other cartoons.

The essay was published by Beda.media in collaboration with Feminist Translocalities and was selected through an open call in September 2023.

Within me, the opening of this text sounds like an acknowledgement of the fact that I am an impostor because I am not one of the scientists who regularly produce articles. I would describe my texts as anti-scientific, subjective, and emotional – defying easy categorization. For a while, I tried to conform to a certain framework, yet with time, I realized that I could create something that did not exist. It was important for me to engage in decolonization of speech and text. It’s interesting how far this can go: every statement is a small step towards freedom, a small deviation from the rules, introducing diversity. Nonetheless, I do not deny the value of scientific texts; my message is that I do not want to pretend to be someone else to speak and write.

I value literary texts and I want to show you a poem by Nenets activist Yuri Vella. These verses are from a cycle of poems in which he corresponded with a nun of an Orthodox monastery.

To me, this poem speaks of an invasion of one world by another, whereas the invading world does not pose a question on how to navigate such a foreign land whatsoever. Moreover, both worlds appear perfect and self-sufficient to the author, who is content to let them co-exist on equal terms without imposing their worldview. The question, “How do you live here, in my world?” conveys empathy and curiosity, yet also serves as a reminder: “I am here as well, and I have my own world.” While it is not self-evident that the author intended this exact meaning, as I reflect on the way I read the poem, I can’t help but think that it is difficult to imagine a reindeer herder arriving at an age-old monastery and attempting to teach the monks how to deal with reindeer. Conversely, examples to the contrary readily come to mind.

A perfect world is indeed rare. However, the way I understand this poem resonates with what I am eager to talk about: how do such different worlds interact? For example, the worlds of indigenous researchers and artists versus those of conventionally “white”

Going forward, I'll be using the word "white" without quotation marks to refer to people of non-indigenous origins.

scholars.

Clearly, those who study us have put a lot of effort into this. Usually, they have more than one academic qualification, know several languages, and can travel to faraway places to conduct scientific research. All of this requires effort, time, and some privileges, such as access to good education and research opportunities. The mere fact that they can reach our region evokes universal respect. Locals welcome foreigners who pay attention to their culture and seek to profoundly understand it. Often, this interest seems innocuous, something that cannot be directed against the people being studied themselves. Scholars’ colleagues are glad that someone managed to get so far, and once the research is done and many books have been read, these scholars can be seen as experts on a particular place or people.

(I frankly do not understand anymore — how someone without intrinsic experience of living as an Indigenous person can judge us? Even as a Nenets person, I cannot know everything about my own culture, despite having authentic experience of it. Even the “truest” Nenets individual fully immersed in her culture cannot be unequivocally called an “expert”. If this is true for us, how can we attribute such expertise to outsiders? How can we claim that people have profound knowledge about us if they have never felt what it means to be one of us?)

Indigenous people live far from what is considered the centers of knowledge production, which means we often do not have a very good education. There is often little motivation or understanding of how school information can be useful in future life. There is no understanding that English is necessary and can be used in everyday life. It is also strange that we must learn English for our knowledge of ourselves to be taken seriously. Our origins alone can be a reason for stigmatization. We lack opportunities to provide even the type of research that would allow us to advocate for ourselves and be heard. In the field, we are perceived completely differently from foreign scholars. Sometimes it is assumed that we should already know our culture and meet some of its expectations. There is also an unspoken belief that as a native, you are inherently incomplete, imperfect, and most likely your research will be inferior in quality, regardless of its merit.

1.

In March 2022

I'm publishing this story with the consent of the person who it is about. Our scientific advisor from the institute, which granted both of us scholarships, has helped us to come to an agreement. All three of us have discussed this situation and I decided that talking about it can lead to something constructive. Writing this text has also helped me to overcome some difficult feelings.

, something happened to me that made me rethink my role in collaborations: what I am willing to agree to and what I am not ready to put up with. With the support of a friend, a foreign scholar who has long studied the North, I left Russia. Previously, we worked on a project that I considered joint. Leaving my homeland in a state of panic, unsure of what to do next, I looked for any opportunities and submitted many applications. The friend sent me a link to the institute where he had received a scholarship along with an example of the application he had submitted. It was our project, but presented as if we were working on it separately: first, I had invited him to collaborate, then he had invited me. Well, technically it could be interpreted and described like this. And it doesn’t bother me if a friend receives money for a project we started together. What confused me was that he had not informed me he was submitting it, particularly since he mentioned me there as a future participant. In the application itself, he explains that he did not inform his native collaborators because he did not want them to have unreasonable expectations. To me, this sounded paternalistic and disregarded my plans.

I want to emphasize that my focus is critiquing the processes behind individual actions, not individuals themselves. The very fact that my friend sent me this application as an example proves that he did not intend to exploit me consciously. Such practices have been normalized and do not even appear unethical to some. However, the fact that trusted people engage in these practices shows the need to discuss our relationships and our roles in collaborative interactions.

We discussed this problem, and he misunderstood my comments, interpreting them as a critique of his personal qualities as if I had said: “You are a bad person.” But for me, there is more to this situation: it includes all my experiences, the experiences of others like me, and systemic issues I thought he would also like to fight against. My vulnerable position was not conducive to conflict, my friend insisted that he had not done anything terrible, so I dropped the subject. However, I eventually realized that I no longer trusted any of the European scholars who approached me on any issue. At some point, it became so overwhelming that I stopped attending the institute that granted me a scholarship to work, even though we discussed a seminar on the relationship between researchers and Indigenous people.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it: how can you talk about ethical interactions without putting them into practice? Often this “collaboration” does not involve equal participation of indigenous people. In these cases, the inertia of thinking, adherence to generally accepted patterns, and insensitivity harm all parties involved, literally making them hostage to certain roles and reinforcing hierarchies. But what role does cooperation play? Who are we and what do we bring through this to our joint work? These are questions that I would like to leave open. I believe each time we start joint practices, we need to ask ourselves these questions. I think we're still learning how to do this kind of work, and it would be great if institutions were also open to change and reevaluation of these issues.

2.

It is also essential to consider how we treat the results of our work. When we were about to present our joint project, my friend was worried about the fact that people we worked with in Siberia could come and see it. In his opinion, the subjects of investigation shouldn't know what anthropologists write and think about them, because they may “misunderstand” it. I was confused by this position back then, and over the years it seems even more perplexing to me. As an artist, it is normal for me to have the results of my work accessible to everyone, especially those who participated in my projects. I don't understand why scholarly discipline demands such a personality schism. That is, scholars, assuming the role of detached observers, analyze the subjects and make judgments that may be unpleasant or unclear to them — yet they should not bear the responsibility that this position entails? Why does this happen and for whom are these results then? For the same white researchers who build their own worldview about certain others? Why do they do this? I don’t find answers, and it seems strange to me that all this still exists in a kind of vacuum, detached from people, unwilling to discover their subjectivity, feelings, and opinions.

3.

I have also always had questions about the representation of my ethnicity. It might seem harmless if someone singles me out on some basis and says: “It’s great that you have this feature of nationality

Within the post-Soviet and current Russian contexts the term “nationality” is used to mean “ethnicity.”

,” but such statements do offend me. These comments usually come from people who have not had similar experiences = those who are unable to understand it. It’s unpleasant to be treated as an exotic thing in the wrong hands, and this approach is fraught with such features.

It's also quite stressful when you see yourself being treated as a resource: when you are an Indigenous person, you become interesting only in the context of solving white people's problems. Moreover, this is often framed as being for your own well-being. And everything might be fine if it actually led to equality and fair resource distribution, but something tells me: if the interaction is not built from equal positions from the start, such a dynamic will never be achievable.

One day, a curator contacted me and said that she was looking for an artist from the indigenous people of the North of Russia. I fit this definition, but I was uncomfortable that they wanted to invite me to the exhibition not for my projects, but for my origin. And although everything went well, I thought about why I felt that way. My feelings stemmed from past experiences: most often, indigenous people are used to launder money, obtain resources, win grants, and create the illusion of prosperity through cooperation. So, it is not surprising that whenever people with privileges ask my nationality and place me in a certain cell, I feel a twinge of discomfort.

In my life, I have often heard: “it is all in your head, you are pushing it”. But no. Beliefs about inequality and feelings of inferiority come from somewhere real. It’s annoying to have to justify them and prove these problems exist. I know I'm not alone in this. I want to be heard, to show dissatisfaction, to show what needs to change.

I was once loyal and thought it was possible to achieve something without letting out my anger, but the further I go, the more I understand people with radical views. Usually, they are condemned for this, labelled as traumatized, and advised to start with therapy. So what can help us, the wounded, to overcome the traumas of betrayal, exploitation, exoticization and dismissal of our problems, so that we can continue to engage without becoming angry and resentful? Maybe we need a type of psychotherapy that doesn’t yet exist? Or something else, something that has no name, complex, desirable, healing scars — changes in reality itself, so that it does not reopen wounds that could have healed long ago.

Continuation created one year later

A year after those events, I attended a seminar on the interaction between Indigenous people and scholars, with that-same-friend being one of the organizers. After the conversation at the institute, we met a couple of times: in the following conversations I discovered gaps between us I had not imagined before, but we never returned to the previous conflict. While at the seminar, looking around, I realized something. I presume it’s no secret that some indigenous peoples have long been fighting for their rights and respectful treatment. For example, I am very encouraged by the solidarity and mutual support among the Sami people. I also saw a completely different attitude towards them. Seeing how that-same-friend was talking with them, I realized that it was unlikely that he would treat any of them the same way he treated me.

I also once watched an interview with the Sami President from the Finnish side, in which he talked about cooperation between indigenous people and scholars. He said that it often looks like we are used only as an alibi for European projects. However, to avoid this, he suggested that Indigenous people should be invited to participate from the very beginning, at the planning stages of the project. I think this is a fair addition to the principle of “nothing about us without us.” An anthropologist friend of mine once argued that such a rule could violate the freedom of thought of scholars. Like, there would be too much control, and it would not take into account the unpredictability of research development. Back then, several years ago, I agreed because I had no idea where such statements came from. But now, I question this. How such an approach would interfere with freedom of thought and why wouldn’t it take into account unpredictability? Are indigenous people some kind of immobile idols, unable to understand these things? I also recall how another friend of mine wanted to study the gender aspects of northern cultures and was very surprised when one person requested payment for an interview about the sexual life of Nenets people. Firstly, now I understand that other person very well, and secondly, what would be the purpose for a European anthropologist to investigate the sexual life of Nenets people and their gender features? To tell the world = to make a “discovery”, to then receive a grant or other benefits of the white world? Wouldn’t it be more appropriate if Nenets people decided for themselves what they want to tell the world about their people? So, where are the Nenets and other Indigenous scholars? Are they non-existent, or are they simply not being noticed? My Indigenous colleagues told me how some researchers told them bluntly that there are no proper scholars among the indigenous people. Well, I don’t know, maybe it’s time to invent special looking glasses for white researchers and curators to help them see better?!

The first part of this text was written in early 2023. Now, as then, I do not want to devalue the efforts of the researchers who travel to the North. But the question is: why do they do this? It's also frustrating that if I put as much effort or more, I'm much less likely to have the same resources and will still be looked down upon. Is this a remark towards researchers or towards the systems that generate them? Also, I really don’t understand: what is behind the desire of white anthropologists to study the cultures of other people? How do they explain and justify these pursuits to themselves? Colonial attitudes do not slip in at all, they think?

It’s good that so much time has passed, and now, while editing the text, I noticed my uncertainty, confusion, vulnerability, and fear. It's scary to offend those who seem more powerful. It is unknown what consequences you will face if the publication takes place, and how those who recognize themselves will react to it. What does this mean for you if you are a migrant in Germany? The locals don’t even know about the challenges you face daily in a foreign land. Yes, those thoughts might have never crossed your mind while you lived in your home country, but now you know, and it makes you stronger and more compassionate. My situation has not changed much, but I have grown calmer, developed a knack for adaptation, and the unfamiliarity has faded. I sympathize with Neseyne-of-back-then, because too much has happened to her, and it is a miracle that she manages to preserve herself and continue to move somewhere. Someday she will succeed. She will wake up early in the morning at home, do exercises, make coffee, read, open her laptop, or read tarot. And inside it will be peaceful, as it is now, because everything has already happened to her: heat and cold, sun and rain, beauty and ugliness, spirit and ignorance, inhumanity and empathy. Indeed, a perfect world is a rare find.