Andrus Gorvat’s Alphabet: How Belarusians Embrace Historical Events with Zen-like Calm
Andrus Gorvat: A Man of Many Facets
Andrus Gorvat is a fascinating character, a man who has worn many hats—literally and figuratively. Once an editor and a janitor at the Kupala Theatre, he later journeyed to his ancestral homeland, renovated his grandfather’s house, and penned the book “Radziva Prudok.” Today, he is breathing new life into the Naroulia Palace, affectionately dubbing it “Gorvats.” Our paths crossed with Andrus when his book was freshly published, and the Kupala Theatre was preparing for the premiere of a play based on it. During our meeting, Andrus shared the associations that various letters of the alphabet evoke in him.
A – Shoes
Shoes are the first thing I choose when I know the road ahead. When I change and choose a new direction, new priorities, I change my shoes.
Last autumn, I embarked on a grand journey across Western Europe in red sneakers. I planned to ceremoniously bury these sneakers at the final stop of my route—Kyiv—to return home as a new man. But I returned in the same red sneakers. Now, I’ve even bought new laces for them because I feel I haven’t walked all my paths, haven’t experienced all the roads.
B – Berlin
I was told that Berlin is a city of fascists defeated by Soviet soldiers, a city where grandfathers fought, and where there is freedom that one wants to absorb. Berlin is a city that rose from a great defeat and conquered the conquerors themselves.
It conquered them (us?) not with weapons, but with reflections. Berlin, for me, is an example of how to rise from one’s knees correctly.
D – Zen
This is the most Belarusian word. It is more Belarusian than “moderation.” If I need to quickly explain Belarusians to foreigners, I talk about our inner peace.
Revolutions and wars happen around us. Amidst historical events, we Belarusians behave as if we have sold flour. It seems we should do something. At least panic.
But we calmly look into the distance and wisely smile into our mustaches. As if we know something that others don’t. While everyone around is shouting, we calmly do our thing and move somewhere.
This Zen comes from our depths, from the potential hidden in the dark primeval forest. If I were the chief minister on the continent, I would allocate half of the European budget to unravel the mystery of Belarusian Zen. And I would unravel nothing.
E – E
My favorite word. It’s a Polesian abbreviation for “yes.” If you meet a tractor driver in Polesia, you should ask, “E what?” The tractor driver will answer, “No. And you?” You also have nothing, but it will still be good for both of you. Because the main thing is not to drink, but to talk.
When I was traveling by bus from Amsterdam to Belgium, I heard the word “e” in a foreign conversation. It immediately felt so warm, so cozy. I even wanted to join, to become the third. But no, they just shortened the English “yes.” And I wanted to go home, where “e” is used correctly.
S – Lard
This is the only thing that can make me get up from the bed after midnight. You know, sometimes you lie quietly and think about important socio-political topics, and then—suddenly—only lard is on your mind. Then there’s nothing left but to search for the stash with a flashlight.
I came to live in the village as a vegetarian. But all my principles were broken by a piece of lard. I bought lard in an Italian village near Pisa, but it was tasteless there. Ukrainians have nationalized it, leaving potatoes to Belarusians. But that’s absurd. I don’t like potatoes at all, and Belarusian lard is a drug.
Ch – Chupacabra
This is what lives in the forest when you look out the window in the evening. One driver who gave me a ride to Prudok said that a chupacabra crossed his path. It was like a kangaroo and had a flat human face. We silently peered into the darkness hidden behind the trees but saw no one. This doesn’t mean there is no chupacabra. Otherwise, who peeks into my windows at night?
Emotion
This is something without which there can be no art. I have long argued with the poet and publicist Stas Karpov (unfortunately for him, and my good friend) about what is primary in an artistic text: information or emotion. Stas claims it’s information, but he is wrong. (Smiles.)
I – I
This is not a letter, but a whole word. It’s the most important word for every person. In school, I was taught that being selfish is bad. Lenin was not selfish, he was a little man. In reality, it turns out that everything starts with “I.” A healthy “we” can only be formed by a sum of healthy “I’s.”
Once, I visited a psychotherapist. He taught me to start sentences with “I.” Instead of “she doesn’t love me,” say: “I feel that she doesn’t love me.” You see, this formula gives her the freedom to experience her feelings, and leaves me only the right to personal perception. Therefore, “I” is not only about egocentrism but also about accepting other “I’s.”
For this reason, I cannot lead communities on the internet, speak on behalf of a group of people. I always sign only with my name. And if I make a mistake, it’s enough to say, “Well, that’s how I feel.” And everything is sewn up.
