The Real Caucasian

No, I’m not from the Caucasus Mountains, but sometimes I’ve had to check the box labeled “Caucasian” on a form. Only if it’s a required field, only where there must be an answer supplied or you can’t finish. (The last time I saw this was on a form for a medical insurance plan. It seems they want to collect information about race or ethnicity to be able to track diseases by like groups of people.)

So we still use a category for racial self-identification that is outdated and was never correct. Many would say it’s just a euphemism for ‘white,’ which some are uncomfortable using. We have stopped using the label ‘negroid’ so why not this one. Perhaps any attempt to categorize all people in this way is doomed to failure. And perhaps a universal database of DNA profiles for all will give us real data about our risks for certain health issues, and put an end to any need to pigeon hole us.

Back to the mountains. The Caucasus is a fascinating place. I haven’t been there yet, but I’ve begun a journey of discovery nonetheless. At a suggestion from someone who lives there I read John Le Carre’s “Our Game.” First time I’ve used a spy novel as primary source material, but why not, if the novel was well researched.

Negley Farson was the American author of “Caucasian Journey” about his experiences there in 1929. He said "Strange as it may seem for they are among the wildest mountains on earth, the one thing you feel about the lonely places of the Caucasus is a deep personal tenderness, a brotherhood: and the aching wish, vain as you know it to be, that you could guard their rare beauty. They possess you. Once you have felt the spell of the Caucasus you will never get over it."

Yes, there is a real Caucasian. He’s a teenager living in Ingushetia, a republic within the Russian Federation. He’s learning English, and he sincerely wants to communicate in that language. He wants to tell people about his homeland, his life there, and his hopes for the future. He’s very real.