Though I haven't seen the sun in almost two weeks, my vision of Russian life grows increasingly clear. My classes have inched away from Russia’s dissociated imperial history and are now discussing events much closer to the twentieth century. I've also had the chance to visit other cities such as Moscow and Murmansk. It is not surprising that many customs, as well as Russians’ contemporary way of life, stem from the Soviet Union, but it may be of interest to learn how distinct ethnic cultures were incorporated into what is the largest country on earth. I've been learning about the process at school and in the Hermitage museum, where I am helping design interactive exhibits for the one-hundredth anniversary of the 1917 revolution.
Shortly after the fall of the Russian empire, Lenin published a first draft of the Soviet Constitution. I got the chance to see handwritten drafts when I visited his apartment. In this constitution, former subordinate polities of the Russian empire are granted the right of self-determination. They are allowed to maintain their own sovereignty, but Lenin made it clear that they would be better off if they joined the Soviet Union. Under Lenin, if countries did join the Soviet Union, they would initially be given more investment than Russian regions would (as a way to develop backward infrastructure) and encouraged to retain cultural identity, a process called Korenization. The constitution encourages politicians from titular nations to partake at all levels of government, and ethnic Russians, serving in local governments, are prompted to learn the local culture. This would later change under Stalinization.
A constructivist framework underlies early Soviet nationalist policy. Bolshevists realized that a primordial and inflexible appeal to ethnic identity would only be temporarily effective and would not fulfill the changing rhythms and waning historical prevalence of oppressor-oppressed dynamics. The USSR experiment grounded itself in cultural nationalism and remolded itself throughout the various stages of the revolution. This is illustrated in the fact that while it was beneficial to learn Russian for someone living in Turkmenistan, people’s culture there was not pushed out by the Soviet government.
Of course there were dissidents, but many inhabitants in the Caucasus and Central Asia were grateful for Soviet support. Countries that were incredibly backwards under the empire were thrust into the present, as job and factory networks were built from scratch. Furthermore local identities were retained, which is showcased by the different Soviet coats of arms that bear various geological landmarks or cultural references depending on their provenance.
The view of Russia as a benefactor and contributor to central Asian territories persists today. Over 55 percent of people living in countries like Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan want to migrate to Russia. I have had the opportunity to hear from both ethnic and non-ethnic Russian veterans of World War II and the Afghan War, and I have found that people in Central Asia and the Caucuses often feel more nostalgia for the USSR than the average Russian.
There are of course many Russians who feel they are worse off since the collapse of the USSR. It is easy to understand where they are coming from when you consider the majestic Soviet buildings in Moscow such as the Сталинские высотки (Seven Sisters), the ВДНХ (VDNKh), or Lenin's Mausoleum (inspired by the Egyptian pyramids and Pergamon altar). Moscow is often referred to as the "heart of Moscow;" in fact its buildings seem to take on a role of representation for the whole country and its collective ideals. However, the lifestyle of Muscovites differs widely from that of the rest of the country. It is much more fast-paced, since Moscow is often regarded by Russians as the place to go for business. Moscow is an organic city, which means the streets have expanded naturally, whereas St. Petersburg was built from blueprints in a European style. I would have liked to spend about a month in Moscow but would much rather live in St. Petersburg. In Moscow the streets run thick with rushing throngs of people, while St. Petersburg is conducive to calm reflection, with its many rivers and gardens.
During our allotted travel time I took a 26-hour train up to Murmansk, the biggest city in the Arctic Circle. The train rides themselves were part of the experience. On our way back down we shared a cabin with an 80-year-old Red Army veteran and a group of off-duty police officers. The army veteran told us stories about the USSR and his children in Germany and Finland. The police officers wanted to do a chess tournament despite being belligerently drunk after the first 30 minutes of the train ride. These 20 hours may have been some of the most fun we had in Russia.
The city of Murmansk is a flashback to Russia's golden age as well as a scar of forgotten prosperity, with almost half of its buildings having been abandoned. It is the last city founded under the Russian empire and was established to fulfill Russia’s railway needs during the international efforts of World War I. Murmansk is home to one of Russia's main ports, which remains the city's main resource today. The conditions in the city that Russia tries to incentivize residents to stay through reduced housing costs and many government subsidies. I cannot describe the city as pretty in the typical sense of the word, but it is imposing and strong. Murmansk is one of Russia's Hero Cities for its contribution during World War II. It was Russia's lifeline to the Western world and, because of that, it suffered destruction equaled only by that experienced in Leningrad and Stalingrad. In the north of the city there towers a 116 foot statue of Alyosha in honor of the men who died protecting this land during the Great Patriotic War. When you stand in the blistering winds and look around, you feel dwarfed by the imposing gray apartment complexes and lifeless, but constantly moving, shipping cranes. However, this feeling is paired with a sense of awe when you look past the urban limits and see vast expanses of frozen plains and mountains. Slipping and falling down the streets, swarming with wild dogs, we imagined how it would be to live in this place: stuck in a strange limbo of eternal Arctic seclusion, modern trade, and forlorn patriotism.
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