When Soviet Russia and Finland agreed to properly define their border in 1920, so the story goes, an old man whose remote cabin sat squarely on the proposed line of demarcation was asked which country he’d rather be a part of. After some deliberation, the man opted for Finland, but it was his reasoning that struck a chord of irony: “At my age, I don’t think I can survive another Russian winter.”

There is a kernel of truth to even the most cynical of apocryphal anecdotes in which life imitates art. The post-modern incarnation of a comical borderland in our current times is Ukraine, whose dilemmatic stumbling in recent history has tempted some of its people with utopian European winters of comfort, while others opt for the Little Russian ones that they’re naturally suited for. Chasing Western carrots and greener pastures is the sort of Pyrrhic end-goal typified by most migrants, who in reality are escaping themselves. In this case, the wanderlust of Ukrainian exceptionalism and entitlement is the Faustian bargain that has only migrated war to their doorstep.

Ukraine’s self-appointed destiny as a fully sovereign entity with no obligation to its complex past, its precarious present, or to a large subset of its population is an idea rooted in separateness from Russia and the chauvinistic ploy to monopolize the Kievan Rus legacy. Ask a Ukrainian about the origins of the Russian state and you’ll often get a lecture in semantics about how Muscovy stole the Rus name, or how Russia is more a successor state to the Golden Horde. Recent developments suggest that the custodians of Ukraine’s heritage want to embellish the contribution of the non-Slavic elements — the Southern nomads — to the formation of Ukrainian identity, bestowing certifiably non-Russian lineages to their pedigree.

In my previous piece on the ethnogenesis of the early Slavs, it was shown that while the Slavs remained homogeneous in their marshy homeland until at least the 10th century, the Pontic-Caspian region was a multi-ethnic (albeit monoracial) abode of roving Indo-European nations. The arrival of the Huns would buck this trend, while other horse-faring Altaic nations would follow in their hoofsteps, hastening the cycle of imperial rise, fall, and replacement or reconstitution. But among the somewhat transient presence of the Avars, Bolgars, Magyars and Pechenegs, one nation stands out for the size and longevity of their empire: the Khazars.

Having conquered such a vast expanse of territory and bringing many Indo-European peoples under their dominion, the contours of identity became distorted like never before. This multi-racial empire would hold together for several centuries, merging all inhabitants to a common name — that of the ruling Turkic Khazars. The 10th century traveling scholar Estakhri (a Persian) described the contrast in rather stark terms: “They are of two kinds, one called the Black Khazars, who are swarthy verging to deep black, as if they were a kind of Indians, and a white kind, who are strikingly handsome.”[1] Other sources from the Muslim world typically focused on just one type of Khazar, usually the more numerous type, whose “complexions are white, their eyes blue, their hair flowing and predominantly reddish.”[2] Thus, even after hundreds of years and nearing the expiration of the Khazar state, the population was diverse but not yet miscegenated.

One of the ways in which the Khazar epoch left its mark, quite literally, on modern Ukraine’s cultural heritage is through a symbol that now has global recognition. The enigmatic coat-of-arms of Ukraine, which represents either a trident or a gyrfalcon, was taken from the seals of early Kievan-Rus rulers but has a deeper origin that is unmistakably tied to the tamga designs of Turkic provenance.[3] This alone would make a modest contribution to the Khazar epoch as a whole, but alas there was another seemingly spurious event of significant consequence: the conversion of the Khazar court to Judaism.

Without delving into the controversial works of Arthur Koestler, Shlomo Sand and Eran Elhaik, suffice it to say that the medieval sources of the time — be they in Sephardic Iberia, the Abbasid Caliphate or the Regnum Teutonicorum — are sufficiently numerous and credible to believe that part of the Khazar population, the upper echelon, indeed adopted Judaism. This is not such an arcane hypothesis considering that much of the region at this time still held pagan beliefs, which had little respectability for post-nomadic peoples on the fringes of civilization now aspiring for political clout.

Turks traditionally practiced shamanistic or animistic beliefs like Tengrism, which survives to this day in Siberia. One of the oldest sources on the Khazars, the 8th century Cosmography, leaves little doubt as to the identity of the true Khazars in their early days on the Pontic Steppe, being described as “the very worst… sooty, foul, with acutely pointed [?] teeth.”[4] This last description likely refers to the filing of teeth that was done to honor the wolf that animist Turks so widely revered and tied to their own bestial creation story. As late as the 10th century, some of the more primitive Turks of the region were engaged in the worship of phallic idols, according to the travelogue of Arab diplomat Ibn Fadlan. Such bizarre cults are not totally surprising given the emphasis that animist cults placed on fertility semiotics, and this may partially explain the phenomenon of Hungary being Europe’s capital of pornography, the outsized role of Ashenazis in pioneering the industry, as well as the vulgar theories of perverted psychiatrist and self-described “fanatical Jew” Sigmund Freud.[5]

Based on quantitative judgment alone it is patently obvious that the large numbers of Jews in Eastern Europe could not all have descended from the Semitic-derived Diaspora that migrated through Italy and Germany over centuries to eventually head eastward. Moreover, the phenotypes of the Ashkenazis, who are a heterogeneous group, contain expressions which are visibly neither Semitic nor particularly European. Consider the archetype of a Mikhail Tal, the Klitschko brothers, Glenn Greenwald or Konstantin Kisin — which I can only describe as a frog-like physiognomy.

Understandably, organized Jewry has wanted no part of Khazar history to overlap with their own — if not for cultural reasons then for political reasons. But in spite of the heavy-handed reflex, some remarkable evidence remains jarringly coincidental, even in the often-mentioned domain of linguistic evidence. Yiddish may be an overwhelmingly Germanic language, but in the Khazar Khaganate it so happens that the name for a silver coin was sheleg, which indeed has ancient Semitic roots and which returned in the form of shekel to be Israel’s new currency in 1980. Another discrepancy surrounds the etymology of yarmulke, the Yiddish name for the Jewish skullcap, to which most dictionaries ascribe a Turkic etymology.

A fascinating German source from the 13th century, long after the disintegration of Khazaria, illustrates what fervently Christian Germans at that time thought of the now seemingly mixed population of the Pontic Steppe. Der Göttweiger Trojanerkriegreferences war-like, red-haired Jews who “looked hideous” and “taxed travelers very heavily” when traveling through the land of “Plotzen” (the empire of the Cumans, who succeeded the Khazars and whose Slavic exonym was Polovtsians).[6]

It’s not exactly clear what part of the Khazar epoch’s affairs and legacy mentioned above could appeal to modern Ukrainian chauvinists. However, one possibility is the identification of Khazaria as one of the first cosmopolitan, multi-racial and multi-creedal states — something that the current Kyiv regime appears to want a lot more of.

The two entities to succeed Khazaria, the Pecheneg Khanate and Cumanian Khanate, were likewise Turkic and pagan but transitioning to post-nomadic life on the Pontic Steppe, which still meant perennial warfare with their neighbors. Kievan Rus at this early time was led by a highly decorated leader, Sviatoslav I, who would be ambushed by the Pechenegs and have his skull fashioned into a drinking goblet by his nemesis Khan Kurya, in accordance with the custom of the Steppe people.[7] Both the Pechenegs and the Cumans would convert to Christianity in the next few generations and enjoy some respite from chronic warfare. However, the general theme of relations between countries of the period was one of opportunistic arrangements based on evolving circumstances and the capricious motives of rulers. Thus, the degree of ethnolingual affinity between nations was totally arbitrary to political alignment, as alien loyalties were arranged as readily as fratricidal bloodshed.

As to the Cumans (also called Kipchaks or Polovtsians) who dominated the Steppe until the time of the Mongols, there is as much uncertainty over their name as their racial identity. For while the different exonyms that referred to this people are calques of the same meaning — pale yellow, it is not known whether this referred to the color of their hair, the coat of their horses or the soil of their region. What is known is that they spoke Turkic, which at the very least was the lingua franca of a multi-ethnic confederation. An invaluable dictionary written in the 13th century, the Codex Cumanicus, has preserved many words from the Cuman language — and among them are words like shabat and shabat kun for Saturday, meaning that some Khazar Jewish linguistic culture had diffused into the Cumans.[8]

Beginning in the 11th century, the unpopular Kievan-Rus prince Sviatopolk II started a trend of marrying the daughter of a Cuman Khan — a trend followed by Volodymyr Monomakh, Rurik Rostislavich, Mstislav the Magnificent and Yaroslav Vsevolodovich. What is interesting about the conjugal habits of European royalty of old is that they seem to have engaged either in extreme inbreeding or extreme outbreeding. If there is a redeeming quality to the royals of the past, it is that they at least fought and sometimes died in the wars that they waged.

Accounts of the physical appearance of the Cumans vary, but it’s likely that a large portion were descendant of the pallid Scythians who previously dominated the Steppe, especially since some sources mention Cuman cultural practices like chivalry and female participation in warfare, which hearken back to descriptions of Black Sea Indo-Europeans like the Amazons.[9] Perhaps the most well-known figure to be of Cuman ancestry was Vlad the Impaler, better known as Dracula. His near-contemporary portrait indicates mixed Eurasian ancestry. Many Cumans who fled the Mongol invasions settled Hungary in the 13th century, with one group being granted self-governance in a county that survived to the 19th century. Genetic analyses from Cuman gravesites in Hungary indicate a high degree of Eurasian admixture.[10]

Ukrainian nationalist folklore group Brothers Kapranov assert that the Cuman legacy was more impactful than is given credit for, to the extent that the country’s national colors derive from the Cumans. This would mean that Ukraine’s flag is related to Kazakhstan’s flag and not Sweden’s as is often assumed. The brothers also promote the idea that Ukraine’s second largest city, Kharkiv, gets its name from the Cuman khan Sharukan.

The Cumans initially fought the Mongols with valiant dedication, but since the bulk of the Golden Horde’s vassals were Turkic peoples, flipping sides was not such an unnatural eventuality. At any rate, most of the Ukrainian lands during this period were nestled inside the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. By the end of the 15th century, the band of serfs, adventurers and mercenaries known as Cossacks began to form in the borderlands of this state, but also in the southern parts of Russia.

The Cossack name is almost certainly cognate with the Khazar of old and the Kazakh of the present, but since names can diversify over time, along with their meanings, linguists choose their own adventure. All of the forms of this name ultimately go back to the Turkic verb qas, which means to terrorize or oppress.[11] At some point, Cossacks graduated from a social class into an ethnic one, in spite of being quite heterogeneous. One need only look at the profile of belligerently pro-Russian advocate Simeon Boikov, a social-media cowboy better known as Aussie Cossack.

Since the Cossack legacy is part of Russia’s history too, Ukraine isn’t quite able to merchandise this tradition with the same verve, while both sides have issues with native pretendians accused of false affiliation for performative gratification. In any case, there is still no bigger actor than the politician in camouflage green, Volodymyr Zelensky.

Commentors on my last piece rightly pointed out that Zelensky’s identity should not be considered Slavic, not even by modern and inclusive standards. Besides being of the Hebraic faith, Zelensky’s stocky physique, black hair and brachycephaly indicate greater than average Turkic admixture, be it of Khazar, Pecheneg or Cuman provenance.

Whether by chance or design, Zelensky’s inner circle and high-level cabinet appointments also seem to disproportionately draw from the Eurasian population rather than the Slavic. These include Foreign Affairs Minister Andrii Sybiha, Technology Minister Mykhailo Fedorov, Defence Minister Rustem Umerov (a Crimean Tatar) and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces Oleksandr Syrsky (the Sirs or Shars is an older name for the Cumans).[12] The Head of the President’s Office, Andriy Yermak, also has a peculiar surname that is almost certainly related to the yarmaq — the currency of ancient Khazaria. Yermak happens to be Jewish, along with Prime Minister Denys Shmyhal, President Zelensky and his godfather Ihor Kolomoysky.

The copious manifestations of corruption throughout various government organs continue to be reported in the local European media, where fantastic trade in assets is turning over in short amounts of time. In addition to this, there has been bustling trade on the weapons black market, as has been rightly publicized by Steve Bannon and Tucker Carlson. This is a template that tessellates to the very top of the power hierarchy in Ukraine, such that you could see it from the Carpathian Mountains. A recent mega-project announced through official channels and without much sense of appropriateness was the commencement of construction on a ski resort in Western Ukraine with 25 hotels and a price-tag of $1.45 billion.

Transparency of the brazen kind is back in vogue, ever since the Oval Office meetingthat stopped the world and put to rest any doubts that Zelensky wasn’t a melodramatic narcissist larping well above his pay-grade. For comparison, back in 1995 Boris Yeltsin was found drunk in his underwear at 5am trying to find a pizza place near the White House, and yet that was still less of a PR disaster than the debacle of Zelensky back-chatting the President and Vice-President in front of the international press corps. Even the Ukrainian ambassador was left face-palming, but overall it was good to see these leaders finally break the fourth wall. If only America’s fifth column was to fall next.

Trump, it’s fair to say, is a transactional president, but while he barters with territory and resources, Zelensky barters with the lives of his countrymen. But he has also shown a willingness to stake Ukraine’s riches and future generations rather than aim for peace. This is not to absolve America’s nefarious role and motives in this conflict, or Trump’s material brand of pacifism. A millennium and half ago, Emperor Marcian allegedly deployed a very obtuse style of diplomacy with Attila the Hun, telling him: “I have gold for my friends, and iron for my foes.”[13] Thus, the haughty demands of indignant strongmen for rare earth minerals is not so different in our modern times after all.

The Ukraine War has clearly become a personal vanity project for President Zelensky, much like his incumbency that dares not be interrupted by elections. If his feckless Western supporters were not so enraptured by his laughable media sanctification or Putin’s demonization, they might have noticed that they’ve been Zelenskiing uphill for three years now, to a peace summit that will never come. Zelensky is the sort of unsavory character, a Merchant of Vinnytsia, who wants his pound of flesh in perpetuity — and also be recognized as a hero for it.

The purpose of giving Mr Zelensky a pedigree assessment as well as a character one is legitimate insofar that leaders with lower ethnic affinity to the populations that they rule over is a conflict of interest, for reasons not limited to lower empathy. There are also simply tendencies of low-trust and low-conscientiousness specific to certain ethnic groups.[14] A Russian-speaking Jew with a Polish surname and Turkic admixture certainly seems like an odd choice for Ukrainian nationalists. What makes Zelensky an ideal case study to contrast Ukrainian and Russian identity is that he presents a familial history of fluidity on the matter. In the Second World War, Zelensky’s grandfather fought on the side of the Red Army against Ukrainian nationalism, in a conflict that was about more than just ideology. While we don’t know much about Zelensky’s true sentiments prior to entering politics (he did not pen a single article or engage in activism of any kind), what we do know is that before being elected he publicly supported the Russian language. He completely changed course shortly after becoming president, mandating Ukrainian in all official spheres including education — at whose behest we can only speculate.

My final piece in this series will make a deeper foray into the onomastics and HBD of the contemporary Ukrainian population, including prominent members of its large diaspora.

https://www.unz.com/article/slava-khazaria/

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YOURDEMOCRACY.NET RECORDS HISTORY AS IT SHOULD BE — NOT AS THE WESTERN MEDIA WRONGLY REPORTS IT.

         Gus Leonisky

         POLITICAL CARTOONIST SINCE 1951.