‘Oisya, You, Oisya,’ or What Taras Shevchenko Warned About
Today, many people know the Cossack dance song set to the melody of the Caucasian lezginka ‘Oisya, ty, oisya’ (Oisya, You, Oisya). It is also called ‘the Cossack prayer.’ The song was probably written during the Caucasian War of the 19th century.
It should be noted that the Caucasian War was a colonial war waged by the Russian Empire in 1817–1864 against the indigenous peoples of the North Caucasus, caused by the imperial policy of the Russian Empire. As a result of the war, most of the indigenous population of the North Caucasus was exterminated. Entire nations and most of the Adyghe (Circassians), Avars and Chechens were completely wiped out. There was a mass resettlement (voluntary and forced) of most of the Adyghe (Circassians) and some other peoples to Muslim countries, mainly to Turkey.
Demographic data document the catastrophic consequences of Russian colonial expansion and the Caucasian War for the indigenous population of the North Caucasus. The most dramatic evidence of genocide is the fate of the Adyghe (Circassians), whose share fell from 39.6% in 1795 to a shocking 2.2% in 1867 – the result of mass deportations, ethnic cleansing and physical destruction during the Russian conquest.
Other indigenous peoples – Chechens, Avars, Dargins – also suffered significant demographic decline due to war losses, forced resettlement and the destruction of their traditional way of life. At the same time, the Russian population grew by almost 3.5 times (from 8.8% to 30.5%), reflecting a deliberate colonial policy of replacing the indigenous population with settlers from the metropolis. This demographic transformation is a classic example of settler colonialism, where military conquest was accompanied by systematic ethnocide and the creation of a new colonial demographic reality on the ruins of indigenous societies.
In return, the Russian army lost about 500,000 soldiers in this war. Ultimately, despite the resistance of the peoples of the Caucasus (which was particularly fierce in Chechnya and Dagestan), led by the commander and politician Imam Shamil, the territories of the North Caucasus states were still captured by Russia.
Taras Shevchenko wrote about the spirit of freedom of the peoples of the Caucasus, who had to experience ‘Russian civilisation’ first-hand: ‘Churek and saklya — everything is yours. It is not begged for, it is not given. No one will take it for themselves, no one will lead you away in chains.’
For Taras Shevchenko, this Russian imperial spirit is paramount. It is a spirit that does not tolerate freedom: ‘We are Christians: churches, schools. All that is good, God himself is with us! Only saklya hurts our eyes: why does it belong to you, it was not given to us.’
Taras Shevchenko addresses the Caucasian highlanders with these words: ‘Glory to you, blue mountains, covered with ice. And to you, great knights, not forgotten by God. Fight – you will prevail, God is with you! Truth is with you, glory is with you, and holy freedom!’
Returning to the Russian song, at first glance, everything looks very peaceful, harmonious and romantic. Indeed, a freedom-loving Cossack stands on a mountain and prays to God, praying for freedom and for the ‘people’ who need ‘truth’, ‘freedom’, ‘bread and salt in peaceful villages’.
However, the main thing in this song is the chorus, which made the song very recognisable and beloved – ‘Oisya, You, Oisya, don’t be afraid of me, I won’t touch you, don’t worry’. Accordingly, the question arises, who, why and whom should the person addressed by the Cossack on the mountain not be afraid of?
The fact is that the Russian Cossacks used the word ‘oyse’ (from ‘khors’ or ‘assa’) to refer to the Vainakhs: Chechens and Ingush, and the essence of the chorus is that the local population should not be afraid of the Russian occupiers who have seized the Caucasus.
The refrain is a call to the Vainakhs this time ‘not to fear’ the Russian occupiers who have already destroyed most of the indigenous population of the Caucasus.
The song as a cynical instrument of ‘reconciliation’ after the colonial war
The particular cynicism of this song lies in the fact that it appeared just when the genocide of the Vainakh peoples had already taken place. When three-quarters of the Chechens and Avars had been destroyed, when the Adyghe had almost completely disappeared from the ethnic map of the Caucasus, when hundreds of thousands of people had been deported to the Ottoman Empire — it was then that the Russian Cossacks began to sing: ‘Don’t be afraid of me, I won’t touch you.’ This is a classic example of colonial hypocrisy: first destroy a people, then offer those who survived ‘not to be afraid.’ Reconciliation here means not acknowledging crimes, not restoring justice, but the victim’s capitulation to the aggressor. The victor dictates the terms of ‘peace,’ the main one being to forget about the mass killings, burned villages, destroyed cultural monuments, and forced resettlement. The song becomes a kind of psychological mechanism for legitimising the occupation: ‘We are already here, we are not going anywhere, accept it and do not be afraid.’
Song as an instrument of colonial policy
Colonial power always requires not only military conquest, but also cultural subjugation. ‘Oisya, ty, oisya’ serves the function of cultural assimilation by creating the illusion of the coloniser’s benevolence.
The lyrics construct a narrative of the Russian Cossack as the bearer of ‘truth’, ‘freedom’, and ‘God’, who came to the Caucasus not with a sword, but with good intentions. This is typical colonial rhetoric: occupiers always position themselves as civilisers, liberators, and bearers of higher values. The Russian Empire was not original in this regard — the British in India, the French in Algeria, and the Belgians in the Congo used the same narrative. However, the peculiarity of Russian colonialism lies in the fact that it still does not recognise itself as colonialism. The song becomes part of a broad cultural campaign to justify imperial expansion, in which a genocidal war is transformed into a romantic story about a Cossack praying on a mountain top.
Song as a tool for destroying historical memory
The soft and flexible nature of this tool lies in its ability to replace traumatic memories of genocide with a pseudo-romantic image of peaceful coexistence. When the song begins to be danced to the lezginka and sung in different corners of the former empire, it gradually displaces the real history of the Caucasian War from the collective memory. For most people who sing or listen to this song, it is associated with something positive – Cossack culture, freedom, dancing. Few people think about the fact that behind the words ‘don’t be afraid of me’ lies a history of mass murder. This is the most effective way to destroy historical memory – not by prohibiting talk of crimes (which provokes resistance), but by creating an alternative, attractive narrative that gradually replaces the real history. The song becomes part of the ‘Soviet heritage’, ‘common culture’, and ‘tradition’, behind which the blood, ashes of burned villages, and cries of deported peoples are no longer visible.
The use of the lezginka motif as colonial appropriation
The superimposition of Russian Cossack lyrics on the melody of the Caucasian lezginka is a particularly telling example of cultural colonisation. The lezginka is not just a dance, it is a symbol of the identity of the Caucasian peoples, the embodiment of their spirit of freedom, about which Shevchenko wrote. The use of this melody for a song about Russian occupation is a symbolic subjugation, an appropriation of the culture of conquered peoples. The empire always tries to integrate the cultural elements of subjugated peoples into its ‘great culture’, turning them into exotic additions to the dominant Russian tradition. Thus, the Caucasian peoples become ‘younger brothers’, their culture ‘part of the rich Russian heritage’, and their history of resistance a romantic legend that can be exploited to create a ‘multinational’ image of the empire.
This mechanism is still at work today: Russia continues to position itself as a ‘multinational federation’ where all peoples are equal and free, although in reality they are objects of colonial exploitation. The song ‘Oisya, ty, oisya’ becomes a kind of musical manifesto of this policy: we conquered you, destroyed you, but now you cannot be afraid if you come to terms with your subordinate position and accept our version of history.
Taras Shevchenko warned about this Russian imperial spirit, which ‘does not tolerate freedom.’ He saw how the empire destroys free peoples under the slogans of ‘civilisation’ and ‘Christianity’. The song ‘Oisya, ty, oisya’ is a vivid example of how culture becomes a weapon of colonial policy, how a romantic melody and seemingly peaceful words hide a cynical narrative of destroying the memory of genocide and legitimising imperial rule.
Colonialism without embellishment: Moscow Cossack Choir
If the song ‘Oisya, ty, oisya’ represents a veiled colonial narrative, where violence is hidden behind the romantic rhetoric of ‘reconciliation,’ then the song of the Moscow Cossack Choir demonstrates the moment when ‘the masks come off.’ Here, colonial aggression is revealed without embellishment.
- The bazaar is big, there are many Chechens
- A Russian girl is walking, give way
- Give me a big dagger, give me a knife-finka
- I’m going to the Caucasus to dance the lezginka
- Are we not Cossacks? Are we not warriors?
- We have sharp swords and horses with hot hearts
The text begins with a distinctly threatening scene: ‘The market is big, there are many Chechens / A Russian girl is walking, give way.’ The image of a Russian girl demanding that people give way to her in a bazaar filled with Chechens, on their own territory, embodies the classic colonial psychology of superiority. This is not just a girl in the market – she is the personification of an empire that demands submission from the indigenous population on their own land.
Particularly telling is the call, ‘Give me a big dagger, give me a knife-finka / I’m going to the Caucasus to dance the lezginka.’ Here, the same cultural appropriation described in the document on the lezginka in the song ‘Oysya, ty, oysya’ occurs, but with the additional element of overt violence. Weapons (dagger, finka) become a necessary condition for ‘dancing the lezginka’ — that is, the appropriation of Caucasian culture is possible only through the force of arms. This is a symbolic expression of the fact that cultural colonisation is inseparable from military aggression.
The chorus ‘Are we not Cossacks? Are we not warriors? / We have sharp swords and horses with fiery hearts’ transforms Cossack identity into an exclusively military and aggressive one. Unlike the song ‘Oisya, ty, oisya’, where the Cossack positions himself as the bearer of “truth” and ‘freedom’, here the Cossacks are defined by their weapons (sabres) and readiness for violence. This is a more honest but also more cynical recognition of the essence of Russian colonial presence in the Caucasus.
If we apply the categories of analysis from the document, this song represents another stage of the colonial process. ‘Oisya, ty, oisya’ appears after the genocide as an instrument of ‘reconciliation’ and oblivion, when the empire has already won and can afford pseudo-humanistic rhetoric. In contrast, the song of the Moscow Cossack Choir reflects a moment of active conquest, when violence does not yet need to be disguised. This is ‘colonialism without apologies’, which openly declares its aggressive nature.
