The Ever-complaining Khokhol Ukrainian Stereotype

Often discussing the Ukrainian national character, we mention folk humor and quite a few noted authors, among them Kotliarevsky, Gogol, Kvitka-Osnovianenko, Ostap Vyshnia... Regrettably, we increasingly often come across a latter-day Ukrainian stereotype in certain cultural spheres traditionally referred to as “mass,” especially newspaper cartoons, standup comedians’ numbers, and mediocre humoresques. It is an ever- complaining khokhol (as described by Stepan Vasylchenko back in the blessed year 1913) who sees the sense of his life in emptying a bottle of vodka, eating a huge chunk of fatback, and sleeping on a warm stove. It is as though this stereotype were borrowed from a 200-year-old vaudeville and it travels from one cultural “masterpiece” to the next, grinning insolently, saying that’s what we Ukrainians are actually like. Those trying to object are told yes, we know, but what can we do, that’s traditional folk humor. Worst of all, they have a point and there is ample supporting historical evidence, ranging from Aeneid to A Cossack beyond the Danube to Konotop Witch to Sorochyntsi Fair. Indeed, Ukrainian classics developed precisely that ever-complaining character.

All right then, let us refer ourselves to sources. What are that stereotype’s invariable requisites? Long mustache, the traditional forelock of hair, embroidered shirt, billowing trousers, and a lambskin hat? So what do we have? A Zaporozhzhian Cossack. Great, suppose we look up Dmytro Yavornytsky’s History of Zaporozhzhian Cossacks, written in 1892-97. Here is a chapter with the eloquent title “Characteristics of a Zaporozhzhian Cossack.” An eyewitness account by a 100-year-old Cossack from the Sich: “A Zaporozhzhian Cossack would know neither tsob, nor tsabe [both meaning commands for oxen to turn left or right], so he would live strong and healthy, knowing no ills and dying moistly in time of war than at home. Nowadays the people are weak and do not live long; at 90 one can’t even see where one walks, but in the good old times a man aged a hundred years would be just reaching his peak.” Jakub Sobieski, a Polish aristocrat, wrote in the early 17th century, “Obtaining meager food by hunting and fishing, living away from cities... strangers to luxuries, they knew nothing except weapons, so they were a rare example of moderation and prudence in every respect.”

There are archival Cossack court records. What was considered a criminal offense and “mortal sin” in the Cossack community? Yavornytsky’s History reads: homicide and assault on one’s friend/mate (even under the influence), theft and adoption of stolen goods, adultery, looting, brigandage (e.g., Haidamaky), desertion, and intemperance (sic). Heavy drinking was considered a crime at the Sich, despite that very stereotype of Cossacks prepared to sell even the pectoral cross for a bottle and indulging in drunken brawls. So maybe the anonymous painter, doing his Cossack Mamai, added the Cossack motto, “Merry-making in the Steppe, I’ll Have Only Kulish as a Refresher,” with reason.

How can this be, someone versed in the carousing stereotype will object. How about the Cossacks’ traditional love of vodka, called okovyta and even “sanctified water,” and of hearty meals with salo fatback and a bowlful of varenyki dumplings? True, all this had its place in daily folk practices. But not at the Sich, not when taking the field. In winter quarters or at their villages, Cossacks loved company, inviting over friends or relatives, and staged banquets. But woe unto a Cossack that would dare have one too many when aboard a chaika sailboat, during a military campaign — the koshovy otaman’s punishment would be immediate and severe (sometimes a drunk Cossack would be thrown overboard). There are quite a few archival orders issued by otamans and expressly prohibiting “intoxication by that cursed smoking pipe and drinking.”

As for those “banquets,” were they really carousals ending with some of the guests sleeping it off in a puddle or near one’s home? Yavornytsky stresses that “there was a special valiant spirit, an epicurean world outlook entertained by a man who ... did not understand the true sense of life: living for the sake of joy and merry-making.” Somber military routine, longing for one’s native land, close and dear ones, being worried about one’s comrades in arms, pondering the coming “helpless old age” — all this required from the Cossack soul to let hair down and forget all worries, even if for a moment.

Here is another interesting document, an excerpt from the Inventory of the Territory of the Governor-General of Kharkiv drawn up by a tsarist clerk in 1785-87. It includes a description of Cossack ways at sloboda regiments [adm. units, mostly consisting of small villages] — incidentally, neighboring on the Zaporozhzhian Sich: “One could seldom see not only drunk women but also men lying in the street... not because they could hold their liquor, being accustomed to drinking since childhood, but because they drank from small cups, and after drinking in this manner at almost every tavern, would join in a Polish or Little Russian dance.”

What about Zaporozhzhian food? “Zaporozhzhian Cossacks are like small children; you give them a lot of food and they will eat everything; you give them little and they will be content,” an old Ukrainian saying has it. Willingly consuming varenyki, halushky, and borsch while in winter quarters or at their home villages, the Cossacks made do with the simplest of rations during military campaigns (e.g., solonyna corned beef, tolokno hard-boiled oat meal, solomakha thin buckwheat dough), and they often ate salo fatback which, using modern commercials’ vocabulary, “sustained” them throughout the campaign (being a remarkably durable product). “What makes a Cossack so famous? He eats fish and solomakha and washes all this down with water,” kobzar minstrels sang in their duma ballads. Doesn’t look like one sporting a beer belly, a traditional character of all those Little Russian anecdotes.

Fistfight was a favorite Cossack sport, but it was practiced only on red-letter days, on a special square, witnessed by the entire community. A real feast would be held only after a successful military campaign. At which time, according to the Cossack chronicler Samiylo Velychko, they “entertained themselves with endless artillery and musket salvoes, sang, danced, and drank.” But even on such occasion no one could forget about discipline, because the koshovy otaman could instantly retire and otherwise punish a Cossack caught “intoxicated by that cursed smoking pipe and drinking” (as was the case, for example, with Colonel Ivan Vodolaha in 1756, who, after a merry banquet, “ignored the military regulations and committed an act of theft”).

Thus lived Zaporozhzhian Cossacks, in the word of Dmytro Yavornytsky, “amidst the Cossacks of the Sich, not amidst banquets and merry-making, but mostly amidst pitched battles with enemies professing different religions and representing various ethnic groups.” Without doubt, this constant awareness and closeness of the enemy begot that true Cossack character glorified by minstrels: a fearless Ukrainian knight of the steppe, faithful comrade in arms, witty and cheerful friend.