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10 WWW.UNWLA.ORG “НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, БЕРЕЗЕНЬ 2018 Твоя, Моя, Ваша, Наша: Мова Тут і Там Yours, Mine, and Ours: Language Here and There This month’s issue of Our Life includes several Ukrainian-language articles/commentaries related to the Ukrainian language, specifically to the differences in the spoken and written language used by members from the various immigrations of Ukrainians who live in America. The discussion crosses borders (at least peripherally) by touching on the debates on the Ukrainian language used in today’s Ukraine. First-hand experiences with such discrepancies (here and in Ukraine) as well as recent impromptu conversations on the subject with various people, prompt me to add my two cents to this discussion. I begin by revealing that my first language was Ukrainian. As someone who arrived in the USA at the ripe old age of six months, I was part of the huge wave of Ukrainians who came to this country after WWII. We settled in Philadelphia, part of a close-knit community that comprised men and women and children who had survived the war and related horrors, a community that was enthusiastically involved in religious, academic, and social activities and institutions that were part and parcel of hromada life. Some of these activities and institutions already existed, created and engaged in by Ukrainian immigrants who had come to America before us; some were new and reflected different interests and social needs and de- sires. Growing up in this milieu meant speaking Ukrainian at home and at places and events where other Ukrainians were present. Even then, the Ukrainian of the hromada was neither identical nor uniform in word choice or pronunciation. Nominally “Ukrainian,” it was a complex conglomeration of words and ac- cents and expressions, a multifaceted lingua (almost but not quite) franca that reflected differences in geographical origins, education, religious affiliations, and other factors. Those of us raised in this environ- ment knew instinctively whether someone’s people came from Eastern or Western Ukraine, whether they worshipped at the Ukrainian Catholic Church or the Ukrainian Orthodox Church, even whether they were members of Plast or CYM and what area of Philadelphia they lived in. Fast forward to the 1980s and my first trip to Ukraine. This was a trip with my mother, a wonderful traveler who chose an itinerary that took us from Lviv to Poltava to Odesa and several places in between, a fascinating journey that including some interesting linguistic adventures and discoveries. My first strange encounter with language issues came in Lviv where I met a member of the Ne Zhurys ensemble (several years before they came to perform in the USA). The encounter was causal; I believe I stopped him to ask for directions to someplace, and the first thing he said was, “Чи пані з Польщі?” (Is Madame from Poland?). I answered, “Ні, пані з Америки” (No, Madame is from America), a response that elicited interest but not shock and awe (Ukrainian American tourists had been visiting Western Ukraine regularly for sev- eral decades by this time). My new friend introduced me to several other people, and we spent some time walking through Lviv and chatting. At some point, I moved off the sidewalk onto the street to let an elderly couple pass. One of my new friends made a comment about the trottoir being too narrow. I said, “Huh? What do you mean trottoir? That’s a French word.” He explained that everyone in Lviv used this word and then asked what Ukrainians in America call a sidewalk. When I responded “хідник,” he and my other new-found friends were delighted; they actually stopped passersby in the street to inform them of this new and interesting Ukrainian word imported from America. Our tour group moved on, eventually arriving in Kharkiv. After settling into our hotel, my mother and I took a stroll down the main street, a stroll that took us to Kharkiv’s city hall where we were surprised to find a demonstration, a protest by students and young professionals on the issue of language. One of several young men involved was shouting through a bullhorn, “Віддайти мову!” (give us back our lan- guage). We stopped walking and stood transfixed, awed and exhilarated by what we were hearing and sim- ultaneously frightened for the speaker and his companions because they were surrounded by a large num- ber of well-armed and uniformed soldiers or policemen. We asked one of the protestors standing nearby about what we were witnessing, and he was pleased to explain and answer our questions. He was just as curious about us and asked, “Чи пані зі Львова?” (are you ladies from Lviv?) Once again, I explained “Ні, ми з Америки,” a response that amazed him and turned us into instant celebrities because very few Ukrainian Americans visited Kharkiv in those days. We were soon surrounded by young protestors who
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