Dear all! There isn't another way of learning the history of a country like learning it through the country's holidays. With that in mind, I should draw your attention to and start my story with the biggest official holiday referred to until recently as the "October Festivities". These used to be the holiday tide eagerly looked forward to by the bulk of the population as a pretext to take a few days off work, get drunk and be sociable. Contrary to what its name suggests, the October merry-making always took place on November 7th. That was the day when back in 1917 bolsheviks (other names are communists, reds, the left etc.) seized power so thoughtlessly discarded by the czar in a state of groggy. The anointed sovereign was shot dead in Siberia in a cellar along with his better half, a swarm of children (why the children, for Lord's sake?), and a suite of loyal servants, cooks and
bed tenders to boot. All was grist to the bloody mill of the Great October Socialist Revolution with its numbing horrors and torrents of blood to follow. That violent social upheaval became the country's number 1 holiday. Ah, the proverbial Russian history, in which human blood is thinner than water. It is not cakes and ale for you, ladies and gentlemen.
Before that revolution Russia was a normal state among other states. It was developing steadily. The Russian ruble was convertible and willingly accepted as a means of payment all over the world. Russia produced more agricultural products than it could consume. Russian grain, butter, food stuffs overflowed Europe. It may seem wildly untrue now, but this is the fact which is not denied by economy researchers. If the small country of Denmark can flood Europe now with bacon and eggs, why couldn't Russia, the world's largest country (one sixth of the globe's land), do any such thing when and if its economy were managed adequately? The First World War that broke out in Yugoslavia and in which Russia was most actively involved proved to be disastrous to Russia. Not only were millions of human lives lost, Russia was derailed from the normal course of its historic development. Incidentally, the Russian culture that stands so high in the world's civilization comes mostly from those times. Such names as Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Chekhov, Chaikovsky, Levitan and a host of others are the gem of the world culture. The half-Ukrainian, half-Russian author Gogol wrote a play "Inspector General" in which the rulers of the contemporary Russia were presented in such a satirical light that only a very liberal political system would tolerate it. Writing satire on superiors in the Soviet Union was almost a crime. I don't mean to say that old Russia was a cozy nook in the Garden of Eden. No place on Earth is perfect. And every political system defends itself against those who strive to ruin it. But not all political systems display tolerance of reasonable criticism and suffer critics gladly with their attempts at social improvements.
By that time, Karl Marx (a Jew from Germany) had already developed his theory of communism. According to that theory every working man would be living happily provided he overthrew his exploiter. The theory took root in Russia wrecked by the war. The idea and its forcible imposition did not appeal to all Russians. Some remained true to the previous order and life style. The civil war broke out. The czar went under. Bolsheviks (otherwise communists) took over. The civil war against rulers and exploiters was headed by the brilliant guy Leo Trotsky (a Jew from Siberia), nicknamed "the demon of the revolution". Theoretically, the workers and the oppressed were fighting against their oppressors. But it was not all that simple. To this day it is not clear whose cause was just and right. The long and short of it was that bolsheviks / communists turned out victorious. They started building communism. The building was headed by Lenin, a theoretician and practician of communism, incidentally, a guy of Jewish extraction. Undoubtedly, he was a great man. He dedicated ALL his life to political struggle. This I find abnormal. Man must be man. I generally apprehend professional fighters for human happiness. In passing, I should note that Jews figured prominently in those political developments. On his deathbed, Lenin wrote the famous letter known as "The message to the Congress". In it, he gave brief but very accurate character sketches to his nearest comrades' in-arms and the likely successors. Thus he predicted the arch enmity between Stalin and Trotky. The latter was an indefatigable translator of revolutionary theories into reality full of numbing horrors. In the end the former hired a man who wormed his way into the latter's confidence and then one fine day landed a mountaineering pick on the top of Trotzky's head. For this deed he was awarded the highest decoration - the Hero of the USSR. As Stalin came to power he declared himself the true pupil of Lenin. According to Stalin's theory, the political struggle must become tougher as the society moves towards socialism and communism. Purges began.
Large scale extermination of citizens in the course of Russia's historic development had been such a common sport, that many took it for granted, as a matter of course, and thought nothing of it,offering no resistance of any sort, until they became personally involved. There are still senior citizens over here who remember the "good old days" of the iron discipline and model order when people were wrested out of their beds in the middle of the night, thrown into Black Marias and disappeared for good. Good old days, excellent ways! No one can say for sure when socialism had been finally built. Ideally, socialism presupposes a happy life for all. I didn't live in that period (thank God) and cannot judge about life back then. What I know about that recent history comes mostly from books, memoirs, publications, stories told to me by old people, my own observations and conclusions. The present, however (which is a continuation of the past) is unfolding itself before my own eyes. Here I am an eye witness and can draw certain conclusions. The statistics, being a pretty stubborn thing, shows that Russia's population had decreased by millions of human lives in the Stalinist Russia.
All this notwithstanding, every year, on the 7th day of November, millions of people poured out into streets singing, dancing, chanting frantically about how happy they were. A certain amount of vodka in the stomachs added to the popular enthusiasm. Among the many songs they sang there was one particularly remarkable in its pretensions. Its lyrics ran as follows: "In no other country of the world can a man breathe as freely as here. No one in the world can laugh and love better than us". In the meantime, other millions were slaving away in labor camps. What on Earth for, one might rightly ask. For being different from others, for being cleverer, for being prominent, oft-times for no reason whatsoever. "Troikas" (three judge kangaroo courts) were making short work with short shrifts and long sentences. People were sent to prisons, labor camps and execution sites in droves. It goes without saying that the writer of these lines, should it fall to his lot to live in those times, would have been among the first to be subjected to labor therapy. The vast expanses of Siberia with its permafrost were destined to become his pleasure retreat since even now, when things are rather different (though not yet completely so) he manages to be at loggerheads with the system and be victimized with no charge of any sort leveled against him. This, however, is a personal deviation. I should stick to the subject proper.
So, people lived happily. Among other holidays they celebrated were the May Day (the day of international solidarity of all workers, a holiday also heavily permeated with politics), Constitution Day (the fifth of December, the quintessence of politics), the New Year (very intimate, very domestic, absolutely unpolitical, loved by all, children especially). On the eve of November the 7th, a special sitting of the Central Committee of the Communist Party used to take place. At it, announcements were made that the nation was moving steadily towards communism which is the ultimate stage of socialism. So many more schools and hospitals and child care institutions had been built and opened for the people, so much more meat had been produced for the good of the nation, miners had mined so much more coal, hens had laid so many more eggs. Meantime, other nations of the world, heavily dominated by America, were vegetating in poverty and destitution. But, it was said, some day the working people across the world would realize how very wrongly they had been living. They would do away with the oppression of capitalism (the seat of it was said to be in the US, the arch-enemy of all working people), free themselves (resorting to strength if need be, since the cause of the freedom is a just and legally justified cause) and join the happy family of nations in which the Soviet Union bossed around as a stern but loving Daddy. The country was run by the all knowing, all understanding, the wisest of men alive, the great comrade Stalin, the loving and caring father of the nations. He was so wise he'd said his say not only in politics and social sciences (which was natural), but also in genetics, linguistics (I saw his quotations in my older dictionaries), in military technology. I wonder sometimes if he hadn't left uncommented pig breeding. Many believed (and continue to believe to this day) this bullshit, among them such crystal honest people as my father and father-in-law. So did I until some time in the past. Time went by. I grew up. Opened my eyes. Unplugged my ears. Knocked about the world. Saw something. Started using my own brain. Started having difficulties with the powers that be.
Over the festive table, people would drink vodka, and consume the food that had been found, thanks to some stratagems and personal connections (food was chronically in short supply, and hard to avail) get drunk and reflect upon the state of things in the state of Russia, both which states seemed to them not so bad after all. Those who were displeased were looked at with scorn and contempt, sometimes with unconcealed animosity. What are those intellectuals unhappy about? What liberties do they lack? What do those eggheads want, actually? Why do they foul their own nest, the dear Motherland? None of them is straining his guts out on the muddy farm field. None is rubbing his navel against the fitter's bench, or on the assembly line. And yet, so many disgruntled individuals! Sakharov, Solzhenitsyn and the like. The ungrateful swine! Where is the KGB looking? They were looking the right way. Any word of discontent, any rumour of displeasure, any hiccup of disagreement were registered and recorded in the right place. A joke retold by word of mouth was a crime. Putting it to paper was a high treason. Listening to foreign radio stations was suspicious and should be concealed. Telling colleagues the news learned over the wireless was spreading the hostile ideology. Hobnobbing with foreigners was a sure way to get oneself registered in secret police archives. Society was permeated with sneaks, informers, decoy ducks. The country was moving towards its ultimate stage. They called it communism, the final stage of socialism. Something had to be done. Gorbie came along. It was like an inrush of fresh air. Many believed him, intellectuals especially. I did, too. Until some point. Support given to him by the masses was massive and universal. People had gotten sick and tired of lies, of fears, of poverty. Alas, Gorbie talked more than he did practically. He talked a lot, actually. Talked beautifully. And did nothing practically. He was flesh and blood of his predecessors, communist party functionaries. Here, I must make a pause and explain to an unenlightened mind that there is nothing bad in communism, as in many other "ism"s. It's a beautiful tale about how to make all people happy. It is based largely on the general Christian principles, although formal died-in-the-wool communists repudiate all religions except the communist ideology. Theoretically, communism is very close to the common human values. I know it since at one time I studied it all and took exams. Among the principles a man living in a socialist / communist society was supposed to abide by were such as respect for all people regardless of their race, respect for labor and diligence at work, he who does not work shall not eat (almost the Bible). There were many other principles, too, just as fine and useful. Even personal modesty in every day life was not forgotten. Thank God, the frequency of sexual intercourse was not subject to regulation!
Gorbie attempted to change the situation without changing the fundamentals. Yes, he was afraid. Among other things (and rightly so) he was afraid of bloodshed. He did his best to please all and sundry, smiling left and right like a rope walker in a circus until finally he (logically!) fell off. He was planning a social surgery but hoped to perform it without blood. Possible? Hardly so. The social ulcer was huge. It suppurated. Gorbie cut it open. Blood with pus flushed forth. Gosh! Blood ran like water in Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaidjan, Moldaviya, Tadjikistan, Dagestan, Abkhziya, Chechnia. Even the traditionally calm and orderly northern regions like Lithuania and Latvia contributed their drops of blood to the common blood bath. Thousands upon thousands of corpses! Is it the price for the lies, hypocrisy and total disregard for basic human rights in which we had been living for the last decades ever since the bolsheviks took over in a flagrantly illegal fashion? Such is the history of number one holiday in Russia. Now it is renamed. The new official name is "The Day of Reconciliation". But people are not in a hurry to make peace. So it goes.
I am Russian to the backbone. And I am proud of what I am, and of the nation I belong to whose tiny particle I am. I am not a cut above those described in most generic terms above. I am just as sinful. We are not all that bad. The finest writers, musicians, painters, architects, scientists are Russian. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, many Russians left their homeland and were willingly embraced by other lands.
I can conclude this with a rathe expansive essay by the words of the great Russian poet Pushkin, a guy of partly Ethiopian blood (incidentally, the other classic of Russia poetry, Lermontov, is partially Scottish). "I swear by honor that for nothing in the world would I change my homeland and wouldn't wish for myself any other history than that of my forefathers."
That's that. So it goes in Russia, the land where wonders never cease.
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