RUSSIAREDUX

by

GWENDOLYN  STEWART


PROLOGUE:

Imagine wandering over the largest country on earth,

not in the train of a railroad, but in the train of

one of the most powerful and contradictory men on earth.  

Or all by yourself.

 

Photograph
of RED SQUARE by GWENDOLYN STEWART c. 2008; All Rights 
Reserved


A  Clyde's T-shirt. In Red Square! I could not believe it. I had hauled myself all the way from Washington, D.C., to New York, New York to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to Moscow, and who should be practically the first person I saw on the rainy cobblestones outside the Kremlin but a young man wearing a familiar green-and-white T-shirt marked "Clyde's" -- an eating-and-drinking establishment less than four short blocks from my apartment in Georgetown. Thrilled to be finally in Red Square, stretched out by the red-eye flight, barely making it to the center of Moscow before the last light fled, I was unable to contain myself. I gushed my excitement to the young man and his buddy, and then walked on.

When the two of them crossed my path in the Square a second time, not long thereafter, and seemed to want to continue, I was not sure what should come next. I found myself repeating and elaborating on my earlier amazement at seeing something from home. "A foreign friend gave it to me," said the young man.   Since he was not asking me for anything, nor saying all that much himself -- but not leaving either -- it seemed to fall to me to do the talking.   Clyde's, I told him and his friend, was very famous.

Suddenly, a militia officer came up and led the two of them away.

It was 1984.

George Orwell had made 1984 famous.   Or rather, notorious.   Andrei Amalrik had capitalized on that notoriety by writing a book asking, Will The Soviet Union Last Until 1984?   It was halfway through 1984, and I was making my first journey to the Soviet Union.   The first people I had talked to casually in the USSR had been hauled away, and I had seven weeks to go.

I had studied Russian language and history, and Soviet politics and economics, in college and graduate school, and I had already traveled to China and Poland, in 1981. Now I wanted to see the motherland of communism for myself. I was working as a photojournalist in Washington; I had carved out seven weeks between my assignments photographing the Democratic Convention in San Francisco in July and the IMF-World Bank Annual Meeting in Washington in September. Seven weeks to sample all the major regions of that one-sixth of the landmass of the planet:   fifteen locations -- the Baltic, the Black Sea, the Caucasus, Kiev and Moscow and Leningrad, the Volga-Don region and Siberia   -- with temperatures ranging from a high of 113 degrees Fahrenheit to a low of 40 degrees.   Officially, it was summer.

In seven weeks of wandering around on my own I was to be taken over and over again to be part of the scenery, assumed to be a local photographer working the central city tourist spots, or just someone useful to ask directions of. When I was heard to be not a native Russian speaker, the guesses as to my origin ranged widely. One of my favorites was being taken to be a "sportsmen" from the GDR -- an athlete from East Germany -- a tribute, I assumed, to my being almost six feet tall and strong.   What seemed not to be credible was that I could possibly be an American -- an American woman traveling alone over the face of the Soviet Union.   In 1984.

For 1984 was the last year of Ronald Reagan's first term, a time of a Cold War newly heated up, before Nancy Reagan helped convince him that peace made a more useful historical legacy. It was the summer of the Los Angeles Olympics and the Soviet tit-for-tat retaliatory boycott of those Olympics (we had devastated the Soviets by boycotting their 1980 Moscow Olympics after the invasion of Afghanistan). It was the summer of Ronald Reagan's "joke" in the warm-up to a Saturday radio address, a "joke" declaring "Russia" an outlaw nation and announcing that the bombs would fly in five minutes.

The very next year Mikhail Gorbachev had arrived to head the Kremlin; five years after that, in the summer of 1990, there was a sense that the Soviet Union was very much up for grabs, if not down for the count. Four thousand, six hundred eighty-three delegates to the Twenty-Eighth Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union were summoned to Moscow, to the Palace of Congresses in the Kremlin, to help decide its fate. Boris Yeltsin made his move.

THE STORY CONTINUES IN:

Chapter One:   PIVOT

Chapter Two:   THE PEOPLE'S CHOICE

MOSCOW & the GULF WAR:   Excerpt from Chapter Three

*   *   *   *

An exhibition of a quarter-century of the photography of Gwendolyn Stewart entitled "HERE BE GIANTS" was held last year at Harvard.

Photographs from the show, including the one above, are available for purchase.   Please contact:  GWENDOLYN STEWART

*   *   *   *

GWENDOLYN STEWART is both a photojournalist and a political scientist specializing in political leadership in Russia, China, and the U.S.   A former Bunting/Radcliffe Fellow, she is an Associate (and former Post-Doctoral Fellow) of the Davis Center for Russian Studies and Central Eurasian Studies at Harvard, as well as an Associate in Research of the Harvard Fairbank Center for Chinese Studies.   For the Fairbank Center she co-founded and co-chairs the China Current Events Workshop, a forum for examining pressing issues in Greater China.   Her Harvard Ph.D. dissertation (Sic Transit) dealt with the role of the leaders of the republics, especially Boris Yeltsin, in the breakup of the Soviet Union.   She is currently writing RUSSIA REDUX, the story of Russia under Yeltsin and Putin: part political analysis, part travel-memoir.

COMMENTS & INQUIRIES WELCOMED:  RussiaRedux@gwendolynstewart.com

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© Copyright 2008 Gwendolyn Stewart.   All rights reserved.