My first encounter with Russia was in the second grade. It must have been early in 1992 because, in an attempt to show us where the country was located, our teacher pulled down a map that still showed the USSR and said “Oh, actually, that doesn’t exist any more. It’s just Russia now. Here’s Russia.” My seven year old brain struggled with this. What did she mean? How could somewhere cease to exist? It was the first time it had been suggested to me that countries weren’t static, weren’t inherently themselves. In retrospect, I suppose it was my first encounter with politics.

Something I find repeatedly thought-provoking while working through the Hanson History collection is a fairly unassuming bit of information that appears each in item – its place of publication. Sometimes it’s the places themselves that are of interest. The collection is focused on the history of Siberia (roughly, Russia’s vast Eastern expanse between the Ural Mountains and Japan), and publications from far-flung cities like Magadan or Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskii have prompted more than a few furtive Google photo tours as I work through the material. But what I find most interesting about the cities from which these books originate is not their variety or novelty, but the history that can often be read in the name of a single place.

Here’s a little demonstration. Take a look at the following places of publication:

You don’t need to speak Russian to see that there are some different names here. But each indicate the same place: St. Petersburg.

From the city’s founding in 1703 until 1914, the city was, as it is today, Sankt-Peterburg (Saint Petersburg). It was so named by its founder Peter the Great, who eschewed a Russian name in favour of a Germanic one, to match his aspiration of building a grand European capital. At the outset of the First World War, the German sounding “Petersburg” was no longer politic; the “Saint” prefix was removed, Peter became Petro, and the suffix burg was replaced with its Slavic counterpart grad (both “city”, loosely). Petrograd survived the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution and described the city from 1914 to 1924, when Vladimir Lenin died and the city adopted the moniker it would claim for most of the 20th century – Leningrad. In the final year of the Soviet Union, another name change was put to a referendum, and the city officially reinstated Sankt Peterburg (Saint Petersburg) a few months before the USSR dissolved in December of 1991. Looking back at the photos above, you’ll find this progression.

Name changes that reflect upheavals in Russia’s past can be found throughout the Hanson collection. This flyleaf from the book The Russian Geographical Society: 150 years (1995) puts them front and center:

• 1845-1850, Russian Geographical Society
• 1850-1917, Imperial Russian Geographical Society
• 1917-1938, State Geographical Society
• 1938-1945, All-Union Geographical Society
• 1946-1992, Geographical Society of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
• 1993-…, Russian Geographical Society

These dates coincide with some significant events in Russian and Soviet history – the 1917 Revolution, the end of the Second World War, the formation of today’s Russian Federation. Like St. Petersburg, the Geographical Society also eventually opted for the earliest iteration of its name.

As I mentioned in my last post on the Hanson GIK, I find this collection exciting not just for its subject matter, but for the history evident in all its aspects. A hefty sample of material culture spanning more than a century, the books themselves speak to a volume of experience in that corner of the world, both in living memory and just out of reach. While it’s not a particularly novel realization that name changes reflect – and at times perhaps even influence – history, somewhere deep down my seven year old self is still pretty fascinated by it all.

For a quick further read, I encourage checking out this New York Times article from June 13th, 1991, covering the referendum on the re-naming of Leningrad.

39 Portraits with Biographies

My first few days with the Hanson gift-in-kind have been a true pleasure. As someone with a background in Russian and Soviet history I find each item interesting in its own way, whether for its contents or for the artefact – the book – itself. The Hanson gift includes publications ranging from the late 1800s to present day, but in this post I’d like to focus on a unique item from the early Soviet era. The USSR was a country rich with peculiarity around its published materials and, as we will see, a given item can carry with it meaning far beyond what is conveyed by the words on the page.

Published in 1927, ten years after the October Revolution of 1917 and just five after the consolidation of the Soviet Union, Figures of the Revolutionary Movement in Russia: 40 Portraits with Biographies is a prime example of the excitement to be had in the Gifts room at the moment. During preliminary work with the collection, Anna Gersher spotted Figures and noted several interesting things. The volume is compelling at first glance, with a striking stylized cover of red, black, and white, and 40 unbound portraits included inside. The publisher is also noteworthy, and most certainly a sign of the times; the Revolution saw the rehabilitation of political convicts of the ousted Imperial regime, and Figures was published by the Society of Former Political Prisoners and Exiles.

Publisher’s logo, Society of Former Political Prisoners and Exiles

The most intriguing thing about the item, however, is what is missing. An entry in the table of contents has been diligently scribbled out with blue pen. The corresponding pages have been removed, and the pen appears a second time to obscure some biographical notes in the appendix. Of the 40 portraits mentioned in the title, only 39 remain.

In the aftermath of 1917, many key figures lost ground to emerging leaders like Lenin and, later, Stalin. Political power was consolidated around the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and the trial, imprisonment, and even execution of once-revered revolutionary leaders increased in frequency as official ideology developed and crystallized. These changes brought not only the persecution of “traitors”, but also heavy-handed guidance on “correct” thinking for the general public and heavy censorship of printed materials (among other things). With this in mind, the scribbles and missing pages in our copy of Figures of the Revolutionary Movement in Russia struck Anna as very likely more than petty vandalism.

Taking to the internet, Anna scoured for clues and sent a few emails off into the ether, targeting relevant Russian institutions. To her surprise, by next morning she received a reply from Mikhail Afanasev, Director of the State Public Historical Library of Russia. Mr. Afanasev confirmed her suspicions: the amateur redactions in Figures eliminate all mention of famed revolutionary and theorist Lev Trotsky.

Trotsky was an integral player in the early years of Soviet communism, second only to Lenin in renown and power. After Lenin’s death Trotsky was overtaken by Stalin and his allies, who expelled him from the Communist Party in 1927 (and exiled him in 1929, and had him assassinated in 1940). “Trotskyism” became synonymous with treason, and would become grounds for mass repression in the decade that followed. Figures has a small role in this story: shortly after Trotsky’s expulsion from the Party, libraries throughout the Soviet Union were required to remove his portrait from the 40 included with the book, and to erase his presence from the text. It was recommended that private owners do the same.

To whom did our copy of Figures once belong? Under what pressures and in the name of what beliefs did they pick up a pen and strike Trotsky from the record? Questions like these are a special element of the Hanson gift. A bonus of sorts, to the vast amounts of information printed on its pages. The collection is undoubtedly specialized, but the human history it represents can be of interest to us all.