The great Russian writers-Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Chekhov-subverted government censors to define a new Russian society.
Russian writers, the great storytellers of the “Golden Age” of literature (18th & 19th century), were masters of observation. Their world was changing; rapidly and permanently. Western influence introduced to them during times of war provided them freedom of thought for the first time in their long history as a monarchy. In a matter of a few years the Russian intelligentsia absorbed the knowledge of over three hundred years of Enlightenment thought, innovations, and art. They became the catalyst for conversations on the rights of man and the role of church and state in the lives of their citizens. Suddenly, a feudal society’s eyes popped open from a deep sleep and they realized their dreams of freedom were real and within reach. It was a dynamic time, and a confusing one.
Members of the Moscow literary group Sreda: Top row from left: Stepan Skitalets, Fyodor Chaliapin, Yevgeny Chirikov; bottom row from left: Maxim Gorky, Leonid Andreyev, Ivan Bunin, Nikolay Teleshov.
Because of their late arrival the Russian people were in a position to expand their knowledge base exponentially and soon conversations heard in the salons and receiving rooms of St. Petersburg, the cultural capital of Russia at the time, had become passionate with talk of the “rights of man”. Influence the church and state had over the middle class decreased and, as it did, their power went with it. The common man gained the ability to ask his own questions and decide his own beliefs for the first time in Russian history, and as they sipped their vodka they began to speak of revolution. They began to seek their freedom.
And a few wrote.
Government censors, focused solely on traditional news sources, weren’t quick enough to pick up the messages behind the storylines and this gave writers of fiction a way to move the conversations they were having privately forward into the mainstream. As a result, Russian literature stands to this day as some of the most important to our society, regardless of where your origins lie. By examining the human condition with compelling narratives these great Russian writers succeeded in questioning the way we live our lives. Questions that are still with us today.
The great Russian writers of the “Golden Age”. Top row (from left): Leo Tolstoy, Dmitry Grigorovich, Bottom row (from left): Ivan Goncharov, Ivan Turgenev, Alexander Druzhinin, and Alexander Ostrovsky
In this Age of Information we’re facing another sweeping change to our culture, and this time its on a world-wide scale. The struggle governments are facing around the world are proof the status quo is changing once again. Think Arab Spring or the recent struggles in India and Turkey. It’s the same story but now a new element has been added; Globalization.
As a way to improve my own writing I’m reading and learning about these great Russian writers. The characters, plots, rhythms, styles and themes of Tolstoy, Checkov, Doestoevsky, Pushkin, and others. A side effect of this is a sideways glance into my own world through their eyes.
I recently wrote an article about Banned Books Week for my job at Chanticleer Book Reviews. You can check it out here.
I visited Russia during the 1993 Constitutional Crisis. This is what I experienced.
This is a blog post I wrote years ago on another website. It is a partial account of what I experienced during my stay in Russia in 1993 during a tumultuous time of change-one of many.
Last Stop: Russia
It’d been three hours since we crossed Russia’s northwestern border–hours spent deep inside the West Siberian taiga forest. The constant chug, chug, chugging of the engine had lulled me into a semi-hypnotic state, leaving me numb to the sensations of the train’s forward movement.
Down the tracks, a small town emerged from the shadows of the trees. It was the first village we’d come to since crossing the border, so we’d be disembarking and registering at the customs office. Our passports would be checked and stamped, maybe our picture would be taken, maybe a few questions would be asked. “Just a formality,” our guide assured us.
With a bump and a jerk, our car came to a complete stop beside the station’s platform. Deathly cold outside, snowflakes hung suspended in the thin air, insulating and isolating people from one another. Solemn faces obscured by frosty clouds of breath stared out from under layers of heavy clothing. On the ground, remnants of footprints were carved into the snow, ghostly evidence of travelers who’d passed through this lonely depot before me. A line formed in front of the customs office and I dutifully found my place at its end. As I shuffled along I noticed an English language newspaper lying on a bench. Its headline read:
September 28, 1993: Bloody Clashes Ignite Between Special Police and Anti-Yeltsin Demonstrators. Interior Ministry Seals Off Parliament Building, Erecting Barricades.*
Once again, Russia had found itself swept up in drastic social and political change, and tensions were at a breaking point. During the past week, control of the government had shifted several times between the old Soviet guard and the new Russian Federation, with each side pushing the boundaries of their offices in an attempt to take control.
On September 21, one week prior to my arrival, President Boris Yeltsin had declared the governing body, the Supreme Soviet, dissolved, and announced a constitutional referendum and plans for new legislative elections. The next day, deputies from the Congress of People convened to impeach Yeltsin and two days later Yeltsin countered with a June 1994 date for Russia’s second presidential elections. Following this move Congress announced a March 1994 date for simultaneous parliamentary and presidential elections, preceding Yeltsin’s date by three months.
That’s when the fight turned deadly.
Members of Congress barricaded themselves inside the Parliament Building, prompting Yeltsin to cut off their electricity, hot water and telephone service, and send in the military. Demonstrators on both sides fought in the streets and four days later, September 28, the day I read the headline, marked the first day of casualties. Three days after that, on the first of October, the Interior Ministry estimated that six hundred armed men had joined in with the opposition and reports claimed dozens of people had been killed and hundreds wounded. This development initiated an attempt at negotiations that went on for two days without any outcome.
During this time, top opposition leaders approached the military brass to ask for their support. They realized that without the backing of the armed forces, their cause would be lost. A solid plan, one would think, but, as has often been the case in Russian history, they overlooked the lower rank and file and soon found themselves without the support of the masses. The generals, deciding they couldn’t afford to take a chance on the shaky leadership of the pro-Soviet groups, sided with Yeltsin. He quickly implemented his military offensive, lining up ten tanks in front of the building and firing at the top floors in an effort to force the rebels into a smaller space on the lower levels.
This show of force intensified the situation, and on October 3, Moscow police failed to control a demonstration near the House of the Government of the Russian Federation, commonly referred to as “the White House.” It soon developed into armed conflict. Opponents of Yeltsin successfully stormed the police cordon around the White House, and by noon the next day, elite forces entered the building, occupying it floor-by-floor. Within hours, the popular resistance in the streets had been completely suppressed, except for occasional sniper fire. It was the deadliest street fighting in Moscow since the October Revolution in 1917, when the Russian Empire fell to the Bolsheviks, and the country officially became the Soviet Union. Reports put the “Second October Revolution’s” death toll at only 437 wounded, but some sources claim up to 2,000 had died.
We were in Moscow for five days, and on one particularly cold night, my friends and I took the subway over to the White House. We walked up and down the sidewalk behind those tanks as they sat poised and ready to fire at the occupied state building. It was quiet that night, and in the distance, closer to the building, we could hear Russian voices rising in protest, this time calling for the death of communism.
I had many wonderful experiences during my stay in Russia: visiting ancient cathedrals and beautiful palaces, attending world-renowned ballet performances, but the most fascinating aspect of my trip was being witness to Russian history repeating itself. As I stood in the lonely depot and read the newspaper’s headline I wondered if the stamp I’d receive on my passport would represent the same country two weeks later when I left Russia.
*The headline I use here represents actual headlines of the day.
