Perceptions of Soviet Times

Disclaimer 1: I was one of the generation of American school children who hid under their desks as a safety drill due to the clear & present danger that the Soviet Union was about to bomb or nuke us. What do I remember of that? Pervasive, incomprehensible fear, dirty knees, & an astounding amount of chewing gum adhered to the bottom of the desk. There was an archeology of time under there...ancient gray calcified chewing gum with a thumbprint in the center...jaunty daubs of recent pink gum, black tar blobs from the adventurous few who chewed black jack licorice gum. 

Disclaimer 2: My knowledge of Soviet Times (as it seems to be called here in Russia) is extremely limited. Therefore I offer no political, sociocultural, military, or historical commentary. Only a story I heard.

My lovely Moscow guide Olga was born in a middle-sized town outside Moscow. She is of an age where she remembers very clearly being a child raised in Soviet Times, before the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991. She is a student of history & culture & a very thoughtful person as well, so her observations go beyond the personal. 

                             These are some of Olga's keepsakes that mean so much to her

Olga says that, from a Russian point of view, Soviet Times were extremely peaceful & happy times. Everyone was equal & provided for equally. A Party leader's child went to same schools, wore the same clothes, vacationed in the same places, ate the same food, received the same free medical care, lived in the same free State-provided apartments, & believed in the same Good of the People. To work was the highest social order. Chemists & cowhands, firefighters & farmers, schoolteachers & seamstresses -- all lived on the same plane, which was one of safety, security, freedom from fear, & most of all, a strong & joyful belief that all they did was in service of a New World, a better world. There was a lot of laughing & dancing & eating. These beliefs were glorified in the artwork of the Moscow Metro system underground hallways.

Her description of those times has a wistful quality. She does not use the word "communism." I'm sure she has her reasons. She speaks of the five terrible years after 1991...of mass starvation, economic confusion & chaos, complete loss being taken care of. I guess it would be as if you had an all-powerful, much-loved daddy who always took care of everything suddenly say "You're on your own kid. Good luck with that." 

She also speaks of a long period of shame after that about being Russian, shame because the eyes of a world could now see the Oz behind the curtain.

I sit at Olga's table for a beautiful, traditional Russian meal she & her husband have prepared for me. Because it is Thanksgiving in America, she bakes a pumpkin pie. This is not regular fare for Russians. There are shadows everywhere -- the girl under the schooldesk...the girl in her state-sponsored life.

                                           Olga's living room

                                                        And kitchen

                                 Red caviar & rich country bread are a treat

I wish Putin & Obama & Recep Tayyip Erdogan of Turkey & Bashar al-Assad of Syria could sit at Olga's table to eat red caviar & pickle soup & country black bread & pelmeni dumplings &  pickled cabbage & mushroom & onion salad & a pumpkin pie made of sheer cross-national love. Call me a sap, but I believe in the power of Olga's pumpkin pie.