Historical
Perspective

Stalin’s death in March 1953 saved my grandmother’s brother. He was working as an engineer in a timber processing plant in Russia and aspired to transfer to a nearby enterprise in a border town that promised better opportunities. However, the factory director warned him that such a decision was not his to make; it required the approval of the security service that supervised the industry. “You want to work in that town so you can escape abroad,” the major of security services accused him, abruptly opening a drawer where a weapon was stored.

In a flash of desperation, the young engineer reacted faster and shot the major  twice, killing him instantly. Earlier that morning, he had purchased a trophy  “Parabellum” from a front-line major. Running short of time, the engineer could not return home in a timely manner and went directly to the meeting with the security service. When a lieutenant burst into the office upon hearing the gunfire, he shot and injured him as well, making no attempt to flee; the engineer knew that escape would be futile. Security services would find him quickly, and his family and relatives would face dire consequences due to his actions.

Upon his arrest, he fell into a deep sleep, lingering for 22 hours in a damp cell. Neither punches nor kicks could rouse him, nor could they awaken him with  a burning cigarette on his skin or by pouring freezing water over him. The realization of his impending death sentence had rendered his mind unable to accept the harsh reality, disconnecting him from the world for those long hours. His case took on a political dimension, and the death penalty was pronounced. Yet Stalin’s death intervened, and the sentence was commuted to a 25-year prison term. He ended up spending 16 years in Potma, in the northern Urals. His lawyer fought diligently for his release, saying that he should have been sentenced for 10 years, not more. When he finally returned home, he was grey-haired, forever whitened by Russian snow.

The reactions to the leader’s death were mixed; while some celebrated, others mourned deeply. My grandmother’s sister wept openly, despite the tragic fate of her brother, Khusein, who had been taken from a lecture and executed in 1937. Why, then, this mourning?

Yet their grief was palpable—perhaps a case study of mass psychosis, as old Jung might suggest. One man recalled his student days in the autumn of 1952, walking down the Plekhanov street in Tbilisi, where a red banner proclaimed, “Glory to Stalin!” In that moment, he could not help but think, “Fuck you…” He was immediately drenched in cold sweat, furtively scanning his surroundings to see if anyone had detected his rebellious thoughts. Many in Georgia cherish Stalin: “He was a towering figure, fond of Khvanchkara wine and walnut candies and the beloved folk song “Fly Away, Black Swallow. He is Georgian and crucially, he was one of our own.” One can love someone simply for their Georgian identity. He had truly a monumental presence, not only in the 20th century. Yet he devastated Georgia as well as other nations, led to the deaths of countless innocents, and ushered many towards concentration camps. And what does it mean to love a historical figure? Is he/she our brother or sister?

Ironically, he was not even positioning himself as a Georgian. In her memoirs, Twenty Letters to a Friend, Stalin’s daughter, Svetlana Alliluyeva, recalls her brother Vasily saying, “You know, our father used to be a Georgian.” Said by childish innocence,  truth is rendered absurd by the notion that one could simply choose to abandon their ethnicity, as though it were merely a badge for a sports team, switching loyalties from Manchester United to Real Madrid in a heartbeat.

Stalin’s legacy looms large. For 33 years, no government in independent Georgia has dared to exhume Ekaterine Geladze, his mother, from the Pantheon of Georgian Writers and Public Figures at Mtatsminda. Still no one dares to move her; otherwise, what is she doing there, resting next to Akaki[1][2] and Vazha? Even Stalin himself ironically mused, “I didn’t know my mother was a writer.” But, of course, not burying her in the Pantheon would have been extremely risky back then. Yet Stalin did not even attend the funeral.

I spent four years working at the Georgian Embassy in Belgium. One day, while visiting a Russian Orthodox Church in Brussels, I was taken aback to find the walls adorned with plaques. I had never encountered so many memorials in an Orthodox church before. Each plaque commemorated a priest or deacon who had been murdered by the godless authorities on a specific date. It was unsettling; although I thought I understood the nature of Soviet power, the reality of it hit me hard within the beauty of that church. Surrounded by those silent tributes, I felt as if a chill from the gates of hell had brushed past me.

This church was situated close to the Russian Embassy, the former Soviet Union’s stronghold—a deliberate choice to challenge Soviet authority. One could imagine a Soviet diplomat exiting the embassy, pausing for a moment, but for what reflection? They were working abroad in a “capitalistic country,” jeopardizing their careers by stepping into a church? It was amusing in a way; while the USSR extolled the virtues of its regime, many longed to work abroad for a better quality of life.

In February 1956, at a secret session at the 20th Congress of the Communist Party, Khrushchev[3] addressed the cult of personality and the repressions of the Stalin era, absolving himself, Kaganovich, Mikoyan, Zhdanov, Malenkov, and other senior leaders of any responsibility. Following this, on March 9, 1956, a peaceful demonstration to honor Stalin’s memory was violently suppressed on Rustaveli Avenue in Tbilisi. People cried out for Zhu De[4], who was visiting Tbilisi at this time, calling his name in hopes of support, even shouting up to the balcony of the Hotel “Tbilisi”: “Zhu De, Zhu De!” He emerged and waved, but what could such a gesture accomplish in the face of machine-gun fire?

From March 1956 onward, mass nihilism took hold in Georgia, which eventually morphed into cynicism by the 1970s. Faith in everything faded—no one believed in the “truth” propagated by the Communist Party or the promised bright future of communism. Khrushchev’s absurd ideas—like  planting American corn in northern Russia and irrigating Central Asia with Siberian rivers—seemed mega comically misguided. Strangely, yet not so surprisingly, many remained psychologically tethered to the Soviet era, either consciously or unconsciously. I know a few like that; for them, life ceased in 1991 with the Soviet Union’s collapse. They failed to adapt to the recent times, rarely even attempting to do so. After all these years, they still recount tales from the Soviet past, as a protective mechanism for their psyche.

The state should have served as a conduit for the interests of ordinary people, yet it showed little concern for their plight. We had a neighbor named Zina, who lived in the basement of Aunt Kato’s yard. Zina often visited us; my grandmother would invite her over for coffee. For many years, she sought housing from the government, but her pleas were ignored. In response, Zina opted out of participating in Soviet elections. Yet  the police would arrive on a three-wheeled motorcycle, a “Ural,” to forcibly take her to the polls. Because she was Russian, Zina enjoyed the parades, never missing the 1st of May or the 7th of November, donning her best clothes to participate. I recall her vaguely. Ultimately, the government never provided her a home. She passed away small, hunched, and alone in that basement.

 In the meantime, Khrushchev was ousted in a discreet internal coup within the Kremlin, and in 1964, Leonid Brezhnev ascended to power, serving as the first secretary of the Communist Party of the USSR until his death in 1982. This era, along with the following four years, was officially labelled as Developed Socialism but is often referred to by historians as ‘Zastoy’ (Stagnation). For tens of millions, it became the golden age that underpins much of today’s Soviet nostalgia.

‘Zastoy’ was characterized by a burgeoning underground economy, the emergence of clandestine millionaires, and a veneer of material well-being, with access to healthcare and education. While peace reigned within the USSR itself, the Soviet Union instigated armed conflicts around the globe. This period promised a guaranteed future but was also marred by rampant corruption, sycophancy, hypocrisy, and nihilism. It was as if we were living under anaesthesia, becoming numb to the injustices and violence surrounding us, spiralling into self-indulgence and self-deception—perhaps another form of self-preservation.

Despite the brutality of the regime, one enduring human desire remained untouched: the urge to possess and own. This fundamental need is akin to hunger, thirst, or the instinct to reproduce. The pursuit of wealth became exceptionally noticeable during Khrushchev’s rule and surged to unprecedented levels during the ‘Zastoy’ era. The underground profiteers, known as ‘Dzeletsi’[5] or ‘Tsekhaviki,’[6] were not quite businessmen; they engaged in the appropriation and plundering of state resources, adhering to the adage, “What belongs to everyone belongs to no one.”

In Georgia, it is believed that the extravagant festive and mourning tables laden with excessive food and drink became a hallmark of the Zastoy era, extending even to small, modest gatherings. The origins of this absurdity are baffling, though thankfully, it seems to be fading. The custom of not toasting with beer raises questions—why does this practice persist? The only people I know of who refrain from toasting with beer are Hungarians, who abstained from toasting with beer in protest after the Habsburgs celebrated the suppression of the 1848 Hungarian Revolution with beer. So why don’t we toast with beer? Did the Russians toast with beer the events of 1921,[7] 1924,[8] or 1956?[9] I doubt it. This appears to be yet another baseless tradition, invented and evolved just like the multilayered supra (festivity). Gladly, these two “traditions” are gradually disappearing.

Equally perplexing is the practice of drinking wine from various vessels—one-liter jugs, ceramic tiles, lamp glasses, and even fruit vases—vessels that were known as ganskhvavebuli (different). The object of toasts was seemingly the most loved individual – the hostess or the secretary of the regional party (but toasts and wishes  were fake). It was more of an insult to oneself or the wine itself than anything “different” in this practice. There exists a film titled City of Anara, which explores the culture of toasting and breaking the horns.

In the midst of the nihilism and cynicism that permeated Georgia, a small group of dissidents emerged, bearing witness to the shame of a nation stifled by pervasive debauchery and corruption. Many sought to advance their careers within the party and the arts, aspiring to own villas in Bichvinta, Tskneti, and Likani while purchasing Finnish ham from special stores in Krtsanisi. (If asked today, they would likely identify themselves as always being anti-Soviet.) A select few, who had endured the horrific  realities of the Ural and Siberian camps, would ultimately secure their place in history.”

During the era of “Zastoy,” the Soviet Union ranked among the five countries globally capable of producing significant industrial raw materials and goods in vast quantities: oil, gas, coal, iron, steel, cast iron, machine tools, thermal and electrical equipment, tractors, reinforced concrete structures, refrigeration technology, mineral fertilizers, polymer materials, and reactor-grade uranium. Yet this output did not translate into proportional improvements in the well-being of the population. While living conditions were more comfortable compared to the hardships of the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s, the “Zastoy” period was nevertheless marked by stagnant economic growth. The Soviet economy relied heavily on the export of minerals, and there was little concern for economic diversification. The USSR lagged in the high-tech sector, the quality of products was poor, and consumer goods were consistently in short supply. Agricultural challenges persisted, with the country increasingly dependent on imported food. Industrial and agricultural labor productivity was low. The prevailing sentiment was captured in expressions like, “Wherever you work, as long as you don’t have to work,” and “Take a shovel and dig from the fence until lunch.”

Compounding these issues was the aging leadership within the Soviet Union, characterized by gerontocracy in the early 1980s, which led to a distorted perception of reality. Yuri Andropov, the head of the KGB who succeeded Brezhnev as the First Secretary of the Communist Party’s Central Committee, initiated a campaign against corruption and tightened administrative control—though sometimes with comical results. During the day, police would enter movie theaters, interrupt screenings, turn on the lights, and interrogate audiences about their absence from work. But these superficial measures could not alter the fundamental problems facing the country. Andropov’s tenure lasted only one year and three months before his death. It is whispered that he remarked about Georgia, “The time will come, and I’ll close this shashlik place.” Fortunately, he never had the opportunity. This reflects how Russians have historically viewed Georgia—as a semi-exotic locale for grilling and drinking.

After Andropov, Chernenko took the helm and died about a year later. In a span of just two and a half years, the country buried three leaders. I recall that period faintly, with mournful music emanating from the radio, no entertainment programs broadcast on television, and funeral ceremonies shown live: “The coffin with the body of the deceased…” It was an elaborate spectacle—black limousines, cannon carriages, military honours, standing at attention, and artillery salutes punctuating the air.

Russian physicist and human rights defender Andrei Sakharov explained the essence of Soviet Union, “The most refined, developed form of a totalitarian-socialist society has formed in the USSR. Our country’s 60-year history is filled with horrendous violence, domestic and international crimes, the killing of millions of people, suffering, humiliation, and degradation. However, there were also great hopes, labor and moral efforts, enthusiasm, and self-sacrifice. Now all of this—deformed and brutal, tragic and heroic—has been overshadowed by material well-being and mass indifference. A caste-like, deeply cynical, and dangerously sick society has developed, governed by two principles: “blat” (a jargon term meaning “you scratch my back, I scratch yours”) and pseudo-wisdom: “You can’t break a wall with your forehead.” Beneath this inert surface lies a world of mass cruelty, illegality, and the powerlessness of ordinary citizens against the authorities, who remain entirely detached from the people and the interconnected reality of the world. As long as this persists, no one should find solace in our country or the world.” […] The Soviet Union was able to create a powerful, although unevenly developed, economy built on the backs of millions of Gulag inmates and through the ruthless exploitation of both human and vast natural resources.”[10]

[1] Akaki Tsereteli was a Georgian poet and public figure in the late 19th and early 20th centuries

[2] Vazha Pshavela was a Georgian poet, writer and public figure in the late 19th and early 20th centuries

[3] Nikita Khrushchev, First Secretary of the Communist Party of the USSR (1953-1964)

[4] General and high-ranking politician in communist China

[5] Slang. The word stems from the Russian “Delo”—Business

[6] Slang. The word stems from the Russian “Tsekh”—factory floor

[7] Soviet Occupation of Georgia

[8] Crush of anti-Soviet rebellion

[9] Violent crush of peaceful manifestation in Tbilisi

[10] https://www.sakharov-archive.ru/sakharov/works/trevoga-i-nadezhda/