Someone online is telling Andrew that he’s wrong about Mennonites being in Poland, like, ever. And as I write this, that guy continues to argue desperately against this. Like… he can’t handle learning something new, I guess.
And I want to be empathetic. Because I too have hung onto little random tidbits I’ve heard and then adopted as my own story. I do it all the time. It’s a very human thing to do. Sometimes I jump to conclusions which are patently false.
(I’ve even written blog posts based on information I’ve learned, or that I think I have learned, about my family history – which later turn out to be not exactly correct.)
And it can be difficult in those moments when I’m presented with new and different information that expands my understanding, or worse, shows me that I’ve made a mistake in assuming and adopting a random tidbit that actually was not my own.
It’s especially difficult if I’ve fully adopted that tidbit into my own personal narrative. If it’s become core to my identity.
A little bit opposite of this guy who can’t handle the idea that Mennonites ever lived in Poland (over 400 years, my dude!), I’ve also come across people who discover their ancestors had lived in Poland but since they don’t really know much about Mennonite history, they think that makes them unique. Like, they think they’re the only ones around here with ancestral history in Poland. And… that is not the case.
More than that, there’s a chance that we share ancestral history in Poland. While not actually being Polish. Because our Mennonite ancestors kept to themselves and didn’t often marry outside the group. (In other words, we’re cousins!)
This is my understanding today. I might learn something different tomorrow and have to readjust my assumptions, the way I’ve interpreted the little bit I know of my own history and Mennonite history and how it dovetails… and that readjustment is difficult. It genuinely is. I get it. Because I am so close to wanting to tell people I’m pretty much Polish. Or Ukrainian. Like, I just want to pick a lane, you know? Find a nice little cultural hook to hang my identity on.
And let’s just say that I stopped at the Poland thing – that after learning that every single branch of family tree rested in Poland (Grandma Online says Prussia), I began telling everyone that I am of Polish descent. I started doing things like attending the Polish pavilion at Folklorama and telling the people there that I too am Polish. I’d see them take my word for it, and welcome me “home.” They’d probably tell me that I “look” Polish. With every moment like that, it would become more and more ingrained in my identity. I’d see this story as a key part of who I am today.
And the more that would happen, the less likely I would be to ever release it.
And when confronted with new information? I would not want to accept it. Don’t steal my identity! Don’t take away my story!
If you’ve been reading Mennotoba for a while, you’ll know that that’s not exactly how I go about things. I’m wrong ALL THE TIME. But I’m the one telling you that. It’s because I have a penchant for listening to experts in Mennonite history. Because for all the times that I’ve learned I’ve been harbouring wrong assumptions about my own cultural identity and family history, I learn even more, with greater accuracy, from people who study these things.
Take the Mennonite Heritage Archives, for instance. I just received the Mennonite Historian in the mail. (That’s their publication.) Their radio program Still Speaking has just won an award for showing the “connection between historical subjects and the archival records that authenticate that history.” (Emphasis mine.)
For me, it’s the authenticate part. There is real evidence, real records out there that tell the truth… if you can handle it. (Because it might not be what you thought.)