Secondhand Time: The Last of the Soviets (10 page)

Gorbachev came to power…He started talking about the return of Leninist principles. Excitement filled the air. The people had been waiting for change for a long time. Back in the day, they’d believed in Andropov
^*5
…Yes, he was KGB, but…how can I explain it? People no longer feared the Communist Party. At the beer stand, the men might curse the Party, but no one would dare to say anything about the KGB…No way! It was ingrained in them…They knew the iron fist, the red-hot iron, the iron rod…Those boys would get everyone in line. I don’t mean to repeat clichés, but Genghis Khan ruined our gene pool…and serfdom played its part as well…We’re used to the idea that everyone needs a good whipping, that you won’t get anything done without flogging people. That was Andropov’s point of departure—tightening the screws. Everyone had let their hair down: They started skipping work to go to the movies, the bathhouse, the store. Drinking tea instead of working. So the police started doing raids and roundups. They would check documents and grab the slackers right off the street, at the cafés, in the shops, notify their places of work, fine them and get them fired. But Andropov was very ill. He died soon into his term. We kept burying them, one after the other. Brezhnev, Andropov, Chernenko…A very popular joke before Gorbachev came to power: “Transmitting a message from TASS news agency. You’re going to laugh, but another general secretary of the CPSU has passed away…” Ha, ha, ha…People laughed away in their kitchens, while we laughed in ours. In that little patch of freedom. Kitchen talk…[
Laughs.
] I remember how, during these conversations, we’d turn up the TV or the radio. There was a whole art to it. We’d teach one another the tricks, so that the KGB agents who tapped our phones wouldn’t be able to make anything out. You turn the dial to the end—old telephones had little holes for numbers that you could turn—and then you stick a pencil in it so that it locks…You can hold it down with your finger, too, but your finger gets tired…You probably know that one? Do you remember it? If you needed to say something “secret,” you had to get two or three meters away from the phone, from the receiver. Bugging and snitching were everywhere—from the bottom to the very top. At the district committee, we would try to guess who the informant was. As it later turned out, I had suspected a totally innocent person, and there wasn’t just one informant, there had been several. None of them were people I would have ever suspected…One was a cleaning lady. A kind, friendly, and unfortunate woman. Her husband was an alcoholic. My God! Even Gorbachev himself…the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the CPSU…I read an interview with him where he described how during confidential discussions in his office, he’d do the same thing, he’d also turn the TV or radio up to full volume. The oldest trick in the book. For serious conversations, he’d have people come out to his dacha. And when they were there…they would go to the woods, strolling and talking. The birds wouldn’t inform on them…Everyone was afraid, even the people that everyone was afraid of. I was afraid, too.

The last years of the Soviet Union…What do I remember? The ever-present shame. I was ashamed of Brezhnev plastering himself in medals and stars, ashamed that people had taken to calling the Kremlin a comfortable retirement home. I was ashamed of the empty store shelves. We were meeting and even surpassing production quotas, but somehow the stores were completely empty. Where was our milk? Our meat? I still don’t understand where it all went. Stores would run out of milk within an hour of opening. After noon, the sales clerks just stood there behind clean, empty display cases. The only things on the shelves were three-liter jars of birch juice and packages of salt, which were always wet for some reason. Canned sprats. And that was it! If they put out salami, it’d be sold out in seconds. Hot dogs and
pelmeni
were delicacies. At the district committee, they were always divvying up some lot—this factory gets ten refrigerators and five fur coats, that collective farm gets two Yugoslav furniture sets and ten Polish purses. They would ration out pots and lingerie…pantyhose…The only thing that could hold a society like this together was fear. Extreme conditions—execute and imprison as many people as possible. But the socialism of Solovki and the White Sea Canal
^*6
project was over. We needed a new kind of socialism.

Perestroika
…
There was a moment when people wanted to turn to us again. They were joining the party. Everyone had great expectations. Back then, everyone was naïve, on the left and on the right—the communists and the anti-Soviets alike. Everyone was a romantic. Today, we’re ashamed of our former naïveté. People worship Solzhenitsyn. The great Elder of Vermont! It wasn’t just Solzhenitsyn, there were many other people who understood that we couldn’t go on the way we were. Caught in a web of lies. And the communists—I don’t know whether or not you believe me—we weren’t blind to it, either. There were a number of good and decent people among the communists. Sincere. I personally knew people like this, especially outside of the cities. People like my father…My father wasn’t accepted into the Party, he’d suffered at its hands, but he kept on believing in it. He believed in the Party and in our country. Every morning, he’d start his day by reading
Pravda
from cover to cover. There were more communists without Party membership cards than those who had them; many people were convinced communists in their souls. [
Silence.
] At all the parades, they carried banners reading, “The People and the Party Are One!” Those words weren’t make-believe, they were the truth. I’m not agitating for anything, I’m just trying to describe the way things really were. Everyone has already forgotten…Many people had joined the Party as an act of conscience, and not out of careerism or some other pragmatic consideration like, “If I’m not a Party member and I steal, they’ll put me in jail, but if I join the Party and steal, they’ll just kick me out of the Party.” I get indignant whenever people start talking about Marxism with disdain and a knowing smirk. Hurry up and toss it on the trash heap! It’s a great teaching, and it will outlive all persecution. And our Soviet misfortune, too. Because…there are a lot of reasons…Socialism isn’t just labor camps, informants, and the Iron Curtain, it’s also a bright, just world: Everything is shared, the weak are pitied, and compassion rules. Instead of grabbing everything you can, you feel for others. They say to me that you couldn’t buy a car—so then no one had a car. No one wore Versace suits or bought houses in Miami. My God! The leaders of the USSR lived like mid-level businessmen, they were nothing like today’s oligarchs. Not one bit! They weren’t building themselves yachts with champagne showers. Can you imagine! Right now, there’s a commercial on TV for copper bathtubs that cost as much as a two-bedroom apartment. Could you explain to me exactly who they’re for? Gilded doorknobs…Is this freedom? The little man, the nobody, is a zero—you’ll find him at the very bottom of the barrel. He used to be able to write a letter to the editor, go and complain at the district Party headquarters about his boss or poor building maintenance…About an unfaithful husband…A lot of things about the system were stupid, I don’t deny it, but who will even listen to the man in the street today? Who needs him? Remember the Soviet place names—Metallurgists Avenue, Enthusiasts Avenue, Factory Street, Proletariat Street…The little man was the most important one around…You say it was all just talk and a cover-up—today, no one even attempts to disguise their disdain for him. You’re broke? Go to hell! Back to your cage! They’re renaming the streets: Merchant, Middle Class, Nobleman Street…I’ve even seen “Prince’s salami” and “General’s wine.” A cult of money and success. The strong, with their iron biceps, are the ones who survive. But not everyone is capable of stopping at nothing to tear a piece of the pie out of somebody else’s mouth. For some, it’s simply not in their nature. Others even find it disgusting.

With her…[
She nods in the direction of her friend.
] We argue, of course…She wants to prove to me that true socialism demands perfect people who simply do not exist. That it’s nothing but a crazy ideal…a fantasy…There’s no way our people are going to trade in their faded foreign currency and passports with Schengen visas for Soviet socialism. But that’s not what I believe in, anyway. I think humanity is headed toward socialism. Toward justice. There is no other way. Look at Germany, France…There’s the Swedish model. What values does Russian capitalism espouse? Hating the underdogs, the people who haven’t made millions and don’t drive Mercedes. Instead of the red flag, it’s Christ is risen! And the cult of consumerism…People don’t fall asleep thinking of anything lofty, instead they mull over how they didn’t buy this or get that. Do you really think that this country fell apart because people learned the truth about the gulag? That’s what people who write books think. People…Regular people don’t care about history, they’re concerned with simpler things: falling in love, getting married, having kids. Building a house. Our country fell apart from the deficit of women’s boots and toilet paper, because of the fact that there were no oranges. It was those goddamn blue jeans! Today, the shops resemble museums. Theaters. And people want me to believe that rags from Versace and Armani are all that a person needs. That they’re enough. That life is nothing but pyramid schemes and promissory notes. That freedom is money and money is freedom. While our lives aren’t worth a kopeck. Well, and…well, and…you know…I can’t even find the words…I feel sorry for my little granddaughters. I pity them. That’s what gets beaten into their heads every day on TV. I don’t agree with it. I was and remain a communist.

—

We take a short break. The eternal tea, this time with the hostess’s homemade cherry jam.

—

It was 1989…By then, I was the third secretary of the district Party committee. I was recruited to work in the Party from the school where I’d taught Russian language and literature. My favorite writers, Tolstoy, Chekhov…When they first offered me the job, I was intimidated. What a huge responsibility! But I didn’t hesitate for a moment, I had a real burst of desire to serve the Party. That summer, I went home for the holiday…I don’t usually wear jewelry, but I had bought myself this cheap necklace. When she saw me, my mother exclaimed, “You look like a Tsaritsa.” She was so impressed—and it wasn’t the necklace that impressed her! My father said, “None of us will ever come asking you for favors. You need to have a clean conscience before the people.” My parents were so proud! So happy! And I…I…What did I feel? Did I believe in the Party? To tell you the truth, I did. And I still do. Come what may, I will never throw out my Party membership card. Did I believe in communism? I’ll be honest with you, I’m not going to lie: I believed in the possibility of life being governed fairly. And today…as I’ve already told you…I still believe in that. I’m sick of hearing about how bad life was under socialism. I’m proud of the Soviet era! It wasn’t “the good life,” but it was regular life. We had love and friendship…dresses and shoes…People hungrily listened to writers and actors, which they don’t do anymore. The stadium poets have been replaced by psychics and magicians. People believe in sorcerers, just like in Africa. Our Soviet life…you could say that it was an attempt at creating an alternative civilization. If you want to put it in dramatic terms…The power of the people! I can’t calm down about it! Where are you going to see a Metro station devoted to dairymaids, lathe operators, or engine drivers today? They’re nowhere to be seen—they’re not in the newspaper, they’re not on TV, and they’re nowhere near the Kremlin when they’re handing out medals and awards. They’re not anywhere anymore. Everywhere you look, you see our new heroes: bankers and businessmen, models and prostitutes…managers…The young can adapt, while the old die in silence behind closed doors. They die in poverty, all but forgotten. My pension is fifty dollars a month…[
She laughs.
] I’ve read that Gorbachev’s is also fifty dollars a month…They say that the Communists “lived in mansions and ate black caviar by the spoonful. They built communism for themselves.” My God! I’ve shown you around my “mansion”—a regular two-bedroom apartment, fifty-seven square meters. I haven’t hidden anything from you: my Soviet crystal, my Soviet gold…

—But what about the special clinics and food rations, “internal queues” for apartments and government-issued dachas? The Party sanatoriums?

—Honestly? All of that existed…it did…But mostly up there…[
Points up.
] I was always at the bottom, on the lowest rung. On the bottom with the people. Always in full view. The fact that this was the case in some places…I don’t argue with that…I couldn’t deny it! Just like you, that’s what I read about in newspapers during perestroika…About how the children of the secretaries of the Central Committee would fly out to Africa to go big-game hunting. How they’d buy up diamonds…But still, it’s nothing compared to how “new Russians” live today. With their yachts and their castles. Take a look at the houses they’ve built for themselves all around Moscow. Palaces! Two-meter-thick stone fences, electric fences, security cameras. Armed guards. They’re like penal colonies or top-secret military bases. What, is computer genius Bill Gates living there? Or world chess champion Garry Kasparov? That’s how the victors live. There was no official civil war, but there are victors. They’re behind those stone fences. Who are they hiding from? The people? The people thought that they’d overthrow the Communists and usher in a new golden age. Life in paradise. Instead of free people, we now have all these…with their millions and billions…Gangsters! They shoot each other in broad daylight…Even out here, a businessmen’s balcony was shot to pieces. They’re not afraid of anyone. Flying around in their private jets with their gilded toilets and bragging about it to boot. I saw it with my own eyes, on TV…One of them was showing off his watch that cost as much as a bomber jet. Another one, his diamond-studded mobile phone. And no one—no one!—will shout from the rooftops that this is all shameful. Revolting. We used to have Uspensky and Korolenko. Sholokhov
^*7
wrote Stalin a letter in defense of the peasants. Today I want to…You’re the one asking the questions, but now I want to ask you: Where is our true elite? Why is it that every day I’m reading Berezovsky and Potanin’s opinions on any and every topic instead of Okudzhava…or Iskander
^*8
…What happened that made you guys give up your seats for them? Your university departments…You were the first ones to chase after the crumbs from the oligarchs’ table. To run to their service. The Russian intelligentsia never used to pander to the rich. Now there’s no one left—no one will speak for the soul except for the priests. Where are the former supporters of perestroika?