Fears have often been expressed outside the Soviet Union that the influx of Russian words into the non-Russian languages is part of an attempt to russianize them with a view to make them ultimately superfluous. These fears now seem to be greatly exaggerated, as there is little evidence to show that these languages are losing their vitality or are doomed to extinction. While the total lexicon of any given language, in this case Uzbek, the third language numerically (after Russian and Ukrainian) and the largest non-Slavic language, may have a significant number of Russian loanwords, it does not necessarily follow that all these words are in fact an essential segment of the language. The life and viability of a language depend not upon the percentage of so-called foreign words in its vocabulary, but upon its daily use in ordinary situations and in creative writing. The major problem in this area has been the apparently large number of Russian borrowings seen in the non-Russian languages, especially those in non-Slavic ones using Cyrillic. Words are often taken in their Russian orthographic shape without regard for the internal rules of the various languages. Even a cursory glance at any newspaper is enough to show the casual observer that these languages have been russianized to a certain extent. Soviet sources have always emphasized that there has been a “sovietization” of non-Russian languages, while admitting that Russian is the main source for new vocabulary. However it is pointed out that most of these borrowings are “international” words taken into the several languages via Russian. Counter arguments have emphasized that the “common-spelling” principle, by which all words from Russian, be they “international” or not, are borrowed in their exact Russian spelling, proves that russianization, not sovietization, is taking place.

“The Cathedral” is O. Honchar's sixth Important novel dealing with the contemporary Ukraine. It is more artistic than Honchar's previous works, although it still has some significant weaknesses. Following initial approval “The Cathedral” later stirred up rage because of its sharp criticism of party officials. This resulted in the removal of the book from bookstores in Kiev and even in burning it. By the act of rumored burning, “The Cathedral” was made a sensation in the Ukraine and abroad. Unlike Pasternak's Dr. Zhivago, it acquired extra-literary meaning. With this in mind, the following character analysis is undertaken.

If those interested in Soviet affairs were to confine their reading to the official Soviet press, they would perhaps conclude that all is quiet behind the Soviet front. However since a large body of underground literature has reached the West in recent years, observers have learned of numerous protest activities against the Soviet regime by various groups in the USSR. We know, for example, that liberal intellectuals are criticizing the Soviet leadership for its rigid control over the literary and scientific life of the country. Various religious groups are protesting against the closure of churches, imprisonment of believers, and restrictions on baptisms, proselyting, and religious instruction of the young. Similarly, certain members of national minorities are demanding more linguistic, educational, and cultural autonomy for their nations. Some of these minority nationalities, such as the Jews, Volga Germans, and Meskhi, have formed repatriation movements in order to obtain permission to settle in those areas which they regard as their homelands.

Beginnings of the Slovenian ethnic research in America go back to the first known Slovenian settler in the New World, Mark Anton Kapus (1657–1717), a Jesuit of Kamna Gorica, Slovenia, who was active as a missionary and explorer in what is now Mexico and Arizona, in the years between 1687 and 1717. Although writings by Kapus and his co-authors Kono and Mangus deal primarily with their early explorations of relatively unknown territories and Indian peoples, they supplement other preserved records and correspondence in providing a description of the life and work of this first known Slovenian settler in America.

In the original plan (and original drafts) of this paper the attention was focused quite narrowly on colonial policies and the years 1878–1917. However, in the course of research and writing I became convinced that the period I chose to cover was not quite as felicitous, or convenient, as I believed it would, for unless I had access to archival material and put the primary emphasis on the bureaucratic (and mostly local) decision-making level I would not be able to carve for myself a field of research that could be presented in a comprehensible fashion. At the same time, while delving deeper and deeper into the subject, I confess that my interest shifted away from bureaucracy and its colonial policies to colonialism in the broader sense as an expression of certain cultural and demographic trends. My interest shifted because, first, I found it repeatedly difficult to distinguish between what could legitimately be labeled as policy and what was or may have been (who knows really?) merely an arbitrary decision, a momentary whim, of some guberniia or uezd potentate, or perhaps not even his but of his secretary who prepared the document and just pocketed a bribe of a few rubles in exchange for twisting the legal meaning of the decision one way or another. Second, even if I raised my focus above the local bureaucratic level, there would still not be much to chew intellectually. Poland, the Balkans, Central Asia, the Far East–yes, these were areas which attracted the attention of the more powerful minds in and outside of government and policies toward them were formulated in the context of interesting debates. But Bessarabia? Except for a few individuals who, especially at the time of its annexation, had high hopes for the role it might play in the future expansion of Russia, hardly anyone bothered with it. Why, until the turn of the century the St. Petersburg bureaucrats had a hard time even placing it on a map; they thought it was somewhere north.

Among the numerous relations between the rulers of the Imperial Russia and the USSR on the one hand, and Georgia on the other, the question of national self-determination deserves a position of a paramount importance. An adequate treatment of this perplexing topic requires a broader theoretical framework dealing with nationalism in general and its historical significance in particular.

Jean-Paul Sartre once observed that “contrary to a wide spread opinion, it is not the Jewish character that provokes anti-Semitism but, rather, that it is the anti-Semite who creates the New.” This statement seems to have particular validity in regard to communist Poland, where in the years 1967–1968 the authorities carried out a large-scale campaign against the small Jewish minority, numbering less than 30,000, most of whom had long been assimilated.

The heart and soul of a society is often much more fully revealed in its imaginative literature than in such self-conscious statements as political manifestos or constitutions. It is this soul-baring quality of imaginative literature which explains, even if it does not justify, the primacy in Soviet literary criticism of political and ideological concerns over such factors as psychological honesty and aesthetic efficacy. The neglect of the transpolitical, transideological subtleties of literary art makes Soviet literary criticism seem very mechanical and heavy-handed to most non-Marxists. Of course this kind of critical analysis is not inappropriate to some of the hack work generated under the rubric of “socialist realism.” However, Western critics are often equally ideological in their own way, even towards Soviet literature of intrinsic artistic merit. Indeed, this essay itself runs the risk of abusing art by subjecting a charming little Soviet story, “Instructress Asta,” to political analysis.