Today I was at a ceremony in an Orthodox rite, in a Transylvanian village. As you can see, these events are somewhat different from Catholic funerals. Standing in the chapel and listening to songs sung for 3 voices by 2 pops and a church cantor, seeing the community saying goodbye to the deceased, I thought of the strength of the community. The way funerals are held, he talks a lot about the community. Among another things, this is in the way you talk of the deceased person. Here he told her a résumé – where she was born, how many siblings, how many children, what most crucial happened in her life, and above all what kind of individual she was. However, the most moving and eloquent ritual takes place at the end of the mass, before the coffin is closed. due to the fact that you request to know that the coffin is all open and you can see the body.
As shortly as the pop brought a large oval bread (colaci) and placed it next to the deceased, everyone in the chapel performed a very fast reconfigure. any of the closest household approached the coffin and surrounded it. Those closest to him put their hands on the dead. People behind them placed their upright hand on their shoulders, and others joined them. People sitting in benches formed legs connected to people from the main passage. Within seconds, the full chapel was connected to the deceased. Popi sang prayer, and everyone in the chapel and outside waved at that time. It was a moving and eloquent farewell of the full community to the deceased. The strength of the community is manifested not only in exceptional situations, but above all in everyday life, or in rituals of farewell to its members.
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Since the end of planet War II, Romania has undergone a stormy way that not only defined its social identity but besides ruined the foundations of common trust.
Communism, which lasted from 1947 to 1989, not only changed the political landscape, but besides profoundly pierced human relations. Surveillance and tips became everyday, shaping the way people perceived each other.
The secret police, Securitate, conducted a continuous surveillance, building a network of informants so dense that there were about 43 citizens per whistleblower. A neighbour in a stairway, a colleague at work, and even a cousin – anyone could turn out to be a snitch. Think – in a village of about 400 people there could have been as many as 10 informers statistically. The consequences of their reports were virtually tragic for fellow citizens.
Such a strategy paralyzed everyday life. Fear was so strong that even families were afraid to gag about politics at the common table. No wonder social trust is almost gone. Certainty and support could only be found in the nearest ellipse – the closest household or respective proven friends.
Let us add to this the specificity of Transylvania where I live – a region where Romanians, Hungarians, Germany and Roma co-existed alongside each other, confessing various religions: Orthodoxy, Catholicism or Protestantism. This cultural wealth, alternatively of bringing society together, has frequently been utilized to strengthen divisions.
The mistrust between national groups has persisted for generations, and to this day it is an obstacle to building a wider community. And yet, despite all the adversities, local communities survived – although in a truncated form. Families and close groups of friends formed support networks, sharing what they had. In times of shortages, it was these microsocialities that gave people hope and strength to survive.
Although more than 30 years have passed since the collapse of communism, Romania is inactive struggling with deep-rooted distrust.
Research shows that Romanians have 1 of the lowest levels of social assurance in Europe.
They do not believe in institutions or in each another – it is the sad legacy of a strategy that taught suspicion as forms of self-defense.
Still in agrarian areas in Romania, the conversation frequently begins with: “a cui esti?” – means – whose are you? If you say that you are a cousin, a grandson, or even a great-grandson of this or that and give a fewer details, you immediately become your associate of the community. They'll invitation you home and share what they have. You're yours, you're not a threat. If you're not from around here, they might be coming at you with a small backup. A tourist from abroad will experience interest and hospitality, but a temporary one. You can only enter a community through blood bonds, or a well-deserved presence for many years, preferably for respective generations.
The communities are inactive alive, though they have changed their character. In the countryside, it is family, cultural minorities, or common spiritual rituals that inactive bring people together. Initiatives based on common educational or cultural objectives are being created in cities.
But restoring assurance on a larger scale requires time and, above all, conscious effort.
The past of Romania teaches 1 thing: the community, though damaged, has an extraordinary ability to regenerate.
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How did it look in Poland?
When we look at Polish history, we see a country struck by wars, partitions, occupation, communism, systemic transformation. Each of these experiences extorted its mark on social relations. And although it is frequently said of us that only the common enemy can unite this nation, in hard times we were able to make communities that carried us through the darkness of history.
The household was always the basic place in Poland where support could be hoped for.
The neighbours besides played a key function in the creation of microsocials. In the 1980s, in a card age, the exchange of goods resembled scenes from barter trade. "Do you have any sugar? I'll give you coffee for that." vicinity favors went beyond material needs. There were times erstwhile a neighbour watched the kids while the parent stood half a day in line for meat, or individual borrowed their tools due to the fact that the stores couldn't get them.
I remember a neighbour who built a snowmobile, which we utilized to call UFOs, and took it to a full nursery on a slab. You'd run into your friends' homes for cake or sandwiches. We had neighbors coming over erstwhile they had to call. We'll borrow the salt for them. Each household fighting the reality of communist years has quite a few specified stories.
There was nothing in the shops, but there was a sense of community.
The function of the Church in building a community cannot be overlooked. During communism, it is not only a place of prayer, but a real centre of social life. There were youth meetings, spiritual lessons in private dwellings, and opposition activities.
When power restricted access to information, the pulpit became an informal medium.
In agrarian rectory, protests were planned, and priests organized food packages for those who did not have adequate for bread.
It is hard to compose about the community in Poland without the memory of “Solidarity”. This social movement was proof that we can unite erstwhile the situation requires heroism. People from different backgrounds, with different views, supported each other. This was the strength of “Solidarity” – not only in strikes, but in regular help. During interns, activists of their families could number on the support of neighbors, friends, and even completely alien people.
Has this Polish power of the community survived to this day? quite a few people will say that she's gone, that we've become more selfish and driven. It may be actual in a way, but the spirit of the community is inactive within us. This is evident during natural disasters erstwhile people unite to aid victims. We could have seen it during the war in Ukraine. Many people acted individually, but many communities besides joined forces.
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