Every year, the University of Eastern Finland launches the
academic year officially with a day of opening ceremonies. These are both religious
and secular, and as far as I can tell, they are poorly attended. I saw none of
my colleagues at the church event (as one of them told me, “I don’t believe in
God, so I’m not going”), and only one of my colleagues in English attended the
secular one. I’ve been considering my motivation for spending that precious
time at the beginning of the year on something so ‘non-productive’. I suppose I’m
finding ways to tie myself to this still pretty alien institution.
To be clear: there are other ‘ceremonies’, or perhaps ‘rituals’
would be a better word, focused on students. Groups of ‘fuksit’ [FOOK-seet], or
‘freshmen’, are wandering the campus behind older students dressed in large
pants. These pants are covered with patches commemorating various milestones or
memberships. (I have one with a beer mug on it which apparently was a souvenir
from a pub crawl in Savonlinna. No, I didn’t attend; I bought the patch.) These
mentors arrange activities and parties for the new students. I went to one last
night, the only teacher there. At first I thought I had misunderstood the
invitation. As it turns out, no, it’s just that the other teachers were busy
elsewhere. Maybe my priorities are in the wrong place; I think it’s more that
my mindset is still in the US university system, where making your program
attractive to students (for example, by getting to know them in informal
settings) is part of your job. In any case, it seemed to be a fun event, though
the ‘fuksit’ were given a rather daunting task: introduce yourself to older
students/teachers and then ask them if they are hiding one of the special objects on
their scavenger hunt list. I had the screwdriver, and had made up a story about
being the only one strong enough to pull it out of a frozen turkey, but only
one student benefited from my genius. I guess I am just that intimidating.
To go back to the official ‘avajaiset’. A Lutheran coming
from Oregon, where I am used to people not really knowing what a Lutheran is, or
people who have an active antipathy towards organized Christianity, I felt – what,
excitement? a- or be-musement? -- at the prospect of entering my church for a
university event. It felt like a clash of worlds. And yet, there were
university officials offering prayers for the new students, for colleagues, for
stamina and purpose and joy and all those other things you need to get through
an academic year. The sermon had to do with gratitude (though, admittedly, I
didn’t catch all of it); the hymns were hauntingly beautiful, and the choral
offerings were by Sibelius. I admired the paintings when I was distracted from
the words – amazing renderings of sprigs from local trees and bushes.
After a break for lunch, the opening ceremonies continued
with a formal processional by the PhDs into the auditorium, where we were
seated in the second and third rows. Here I have to digress for a moment. I got
my PhD from Yale, but when I did, I was already working in Oregon at my first 'real' job and was too poor to go back to the East Coast
for my graduation ceremony. How I would have loved to have my dissertation
advisor, George Schoolfield, hood me and shake my hand in the presence of loving family
members. (As it was, my mother said, “You mean Robert Redford was your
commencement speaker and you didn’t go?? I missed my chance to meet him!” I
think she was more upset about that than about not seeing me get my doctoral
hood.) In addition, Yale did not subscribe to the practice of a dissertation
defense. Here in the Nordic countries, the doctoral defense is a huge deal. It’s
almost as elaborate as a wedding. After the academic portion, you can have a
sit-down meal or a ball or who knows what. I had no defense, and, when I got the
letter saying I had passed and was now Doctor Saranpa, I was stirring a pot of
spaghetti sauce. I still remember wiping my hands off to open the envelope.
All that digression as a way to explain why I now, at every
opportunity, participate willingly in academic rituals. It’s a way to take back a little
piece of the acknowledgement of this accomplishment in my life that I didn’t
allow myself back then.
So then, all of the faculty PhDs (or rather, all who show up) walk in solemnly, dressed in
black, with their doctoral hats held in their left hand. I find the doctoral
hat tradition rather amusing. You have a tailor come to measure you for your
hat and you spend a lot of money on it. But you NEVER WEAR IT. Seriously! I
think maybe there are one or two rare occasions when you might be called upon
to put this expensive garment on your head. But not at this one. Apparently
there is also a doctoral sword, and a ceremony in which you sharpen this
doctoral sword. But it’s a blunt sword and it never cuts anything, at least not
intentionally. I love ritual – don’t you?
The rector gives a speech which is partially delivered in
English as well, then there is a student speech, and finally the awarding of
the Teacher of the Year award. This year, it was a very well-deserving teacher
of Finnish language, and she gave a smart and amusing acceptance speech. That’s
pretty much it. There are also musical numbers, and of course I have to say
something about them. The first group was a vocal/string/percussion ensemble
(including electric guitar and bass) that performed three songs in English
which seemed to have little to do with the theme of ‘avajaiset’. (One of them
had to do with not being able to sleep at night, so maybe I’m wrong there.) The
second group was the university’s choir. Their songs were lovely if the
delivery was a little rough. (My son would shudder if he could have heard how
many separate ‘t’s you could hear at the ends of words.) The whole ceremony was
topped off with a rousing rendition of the Karelian fight song, or at least
that’s what it sounded like. I will have to learn this song. My colleague in
English says you could tell which of the chorus members were not from Karelia,
because they were pretending to sing it – they don’t know the words yet.
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