Springtime in Moscow
National Review, April 6, 1993
She could not have been more explicit. The twentysomething celebrity's "favorite politician" was Ronald Reagan, and she was pleased to see that fact published in a local magazine. Clearly I was in Moscow, not New York. It was the second week of March, Ruslan Khasbulatov was in full cry, and Boris Yeltsin seemed to have gone to earth. The former Soviet capital has more to offer, however, than fractious parliamentarians and politically incorrect reading material.
Lenin Mausoleum, March 1993 © Andrew Stuttaford
For example, Moscow now has shopping. As recently as in the Gorbachev era, shopping was a matter of endless lines in run-down state stores. Higher prices have, in their brutal fashion, greatly reduced the lines. In addition, the ranks of the retailers have greatly expanded. There are private shops and food markets. Hard-currency Finnish and Irish supermarkets flourish. Impromptu flea markets are everywhere as Muscovites line streets trying to sell a single pair of shoes, a bottle of vodka, or, as poverty bites deeper, an heirloom.
Moscow, Lenin Mausoleum, March 1993 © Andrew Stuttaford
Above all, there are the kiosks that have sprung up all over the city selling an astonishing range of goods. If you want to buy banana liqueur or Pierre Cardin cigarettes try the kiosks. Products that could find no buyer anywhere else in the world end up here. More importantly, the kiosks offer Muscovites a first opportunity to make those small everyday purchases we take for granted in the West. The prices may be higher and the ambience often criminal, but at least there is something to buy.
The kiosks are also interesting in that, to the tourist at least, they represent rare, visible evidence of Russia's move to capitalism. In many respects Moscow remains Stalin's city. Heroic, if crumbling, workers continue to adorn the buildings. Some streets have lost their Bolshevik names, but the mummified Lenin sleeps on in his mausoleum. Statues of Marx and Lenin still stand, although those of Dzerzhinsky, Kalinin, and Sverdlov have been moved to a lonely salon des refusés near Gorky Park.
These visible remnants of the Ancien Regime add to the confusion today. Berliners in 1945 could be under no illusion that the old order had passed. The city was in ruins, every swastika had been removed, and the possibility of a Hitler Mausoleum was, to put it mildly, remote. In Moscow, it is still possible to cling to the illusion of a glorious Soviet past.
In the new pluralist Russia, however, the past is no longer the monopoly of a totalitarian state. Alternative and at times very strange versions of history abound. This can lead to some odd juxtapositions. At the annex to the Museum of the Revolution, the curators upstairs proudly display pictures of revolutionary heroes. Downstairs, however, can be found an extensive exhibit sympathetically portraying the resistance to the 1991 coup and the USSR's subsequent collapse.
Tverskaya, March 1993 © Andrew Stuttaford
The most entertaining historical exhibit, however, is a wax museum that has just opened on Tverskaya, almost next door to Pizza Hut. Its presence is advertised by a poster showing some of Russia's leaders. Someone has thrown black paint over Yeltsin's picture. To reach the exhibit, climb the inevitably depressing stairs and walk into a history lesson that owes more to Stephen King than to Karl Marx.
In the darkened room, clocks run backward and giant hourglasses empty. For musical backing, there are snatches of Shostakovich and Lara's Theme, punctuated by waves of electronic sound and disjointed voices. The tableaux themselves do not portray a happy story. Stalin is to be found next to a skeleton in a mantrap, while Brezhnev slumps in a wheelchair. In another corner Nicholas II, bullet hole in head, stares glumly out, while the surgeon Yeltsin emerges from the bleeding body of his patient, Russia.
Lurid perhaps, but Russia's past does not naturally lend itself to gentle academic discussions. History is a principal battlefield of today's politics. The fall of the Communist Party discredited the notion of a single "authorized" version, while years of distortion and secrecy have made even the simplest fact difficult to establish. As a result, the past is up for grabs. It is perhaps significant that one proto-fascist group goes under the name of Pamyat ("Memory"), while some of the first democrats gathered together as "Memorial"—a grouping determined to keep alive the memory of Stalin's crimes.
The consequences of successful manipulation of the past are visible at any anti-Yeltsin rally. Pensioners with Stalin badges and Communist banners find no contradiction in standing side by side with those carrying the flags of the Russian empire (the "Brown" part of the Red/Brown coalition ). Indeed the two can be combined—one demonstrator waved a red flag on which he had sewn an icon-like portrait of Jesus. Alienated and disappointed, these demonstrators were a natural audience for a chauvinist view of Russia's history and destiny, particularly if current problems could be blamed on the usual suspects—the Jews, the Masons, the West.
Such demonstrations may be depressing but they should be seen in perspective. The turnout was small and largely elderly. Keener on shopping than on Stalin, the majority of passers-by carried on with their business, giving the would-be revolutionaries barely a glance. Russians have had enough of politics. The three young men tragically killed defending the Russian Parliament during the 1991 coup lie buried in the Vagankovskoye Cemetery. A few handful of flowers were scattered over their memorials. The next grave was that of a rock star. There were elaborate bouquets, flickering candles, and a number of mourning fans. Some Russians clearly want a life where music is more of a focus than politics. Many others want a life that is simply "normal" and in Russia, normality is defined as the Western way. Such people may be "apolitical" but they know who is most likely to offer them the normal life they crave.
The visitor can, of course, insulate himself from much of this. Crime may have risen sharply, but for the tourist Moscow has never been easier. There is now a network of modern hotels, so it is no longer necessary to stay in one of Intourist's forbidding bunkers. Equally, for those with dollars it is easy to find a reasonable meal. The Kremlin remains one of the world's great sights, and the city abounds with magnificent monasteries and churches. Politics can be confined to a quick trip down the Arbat to buy a Yeltsin doll.
This approach would be a mistake. It is worth trying to understand what is going on, even if there is a limit to what the West can do to help. My last night in Moscow I went for a walk. At the approach to Red Square an old woman sat playing the accordion. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the first banknote—a 25-ruble bill—I could find and gave it to her. She was embarrassingly grateful. I left the scene, proud of my generosity until I did a quick calculation. This Westerner had given a citizen of the new Russia the equivalent of four cents.