The Future Is History: How Totalitarianism Reclaimed Russia

The Future Is History: How Totalitarianism Reclaimed Russia

by Masha Gessen

Narrated by Masha Gessen

Unabridged — 16 hours, 45 minutes

The Future Is History: How Totalitarianism Reclaimed Russia

The Future Is History: How Totalitarianism Reclaimed Russia

by Masha Gessen

Narrated by Masha Gessen

Unabridged — 16 hours, 45 minutes

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Overview

Longlisted for the 2017 National Book Award in Nonfiction

Putin's bestselling biographer reveals how, in the space of a generation, Russia surrendered to a more virulent and invincible new strain of autocracy. 

Hailed for her "fearless indictment of the most powerful man in Russia" (The Wall Street Journal), award-winning journalist Masha Gessen is unparalleled in her understanding of the events and forces that have wracked her native country in recent times. In The Future Is History, she follows the lives of four people born at what promised to be the dawn of democracy. Each of them came of age with unprecedented expectations, some as the children and grandchildren of the very architects of the new Russia, each with newfound aspirations of their own—as entrepreneurs, activists, thinkers, and writers, sexual and social beings.

Gessen charts their paths against the machinations of the regime that would crush them all, and against the war it waged on understanding itself, which ensured the unobstructed reemergence of the old Soviet order in the form of today's terrifying and seemingly unstoppable mafia state. Powerful and urgent, The Future Is History is a cautionary tale for our time and for all time.

Editorial Reviews

NOVEMBER 2017 - AudioFile

Gessen narrates her own work in this production, which focuses on four individuals who were born when Communism fell in the Soviet Union. Gessen sees their lives as being illustrative of how the “oligarchic corruptocracy” of the Soviet Union was replaced by an “oligarchic corruptocracy” of post-Soviet Russia. Plus ça change, plus la mème chose . . . Gessen, a native speaker of Russian, has spent many decades in the West, and her Russian-accented English is not as heavy as some might expect. Her delivery is clear and easy to understand, though somewhat staccato. Her enunciation is quite good. Although Gessen’s reading is not all that expressive, it’s not monotonous. This is a somewhat long production, but those who are interested in Russia will want to listen. M.T.F. © AudioFile 2017, Portland, Maine

The Barnes & Noble Review

Any American who has watched the news, absorbing — first skeptically and, latterly, with outraged acceptance — the agglomerating hulk of evidence of Kremlin interference in the 2016 U.S. presidential election can see that reports of the death of the Cold War were grossly exaggerated. And so, argues a magisterial, panoramic overview of Russia under Putin, The Future Is History: How Totalitarianism Reclaimed Russia, by the Russian-American journalist Masha Gessen (she holds both nationalities) were reports of the death of what might be called the Soviet mind-set. That way of thinking, the author suggests, has endured for a quarter century, as the country formerly known as the USSR sought to regain its footing and its superpower status, with the support of a majority of its citizens.

After the Soviet Union officially expired on Christmas Day, 1991, when the hammer-and-sickle flag was lowered from the Kremlin and replaced by the Russian tricolor, Russia retreated significantly from international headlines. When Boris Yeltsin, the first post- Soviet president, retired from politics on New Year's Eve, 1999, he said in his departing address, "Russia will never go back to the past. From now on, Russia will be moving forward." Many Kremlinologists — and businessmen excited by the prospect of a new frontier for investment — were tempted to agree with him. But three months later, in March 2000, a former KGB man, Vladimir Putin, became Russia's president. Swiftly, Gessen writes, "He moved to reassert executive-branch control not only over the media but also over the judiciary and, broadly, the economy."

Rising oil prices brought the country new wealth, and some of the richest and most influential men in the New Russia — "oligarchs"— soon found themselves exiled or imprisoned, their assets seized, while Putin consolidated power. As Putin's years in office extended, the reforms that Yeltsin and his democratizing predecessor, Mikhail Gorbachev, had tried to implement began melting away. But it wasn't until February 2014, when the then three-term President Putin swaggeringly presided over the Olympic Games in Sochi, broadcasting his nation's reclamation of imperial pretensions (which he would soon assert in Crimea and Ukraine) that the world woke up to the fact that Russia had other plans than Yeltsin had anticipated, and that they were well underway.

For outside observers in the 1990s, and long after, it had been convenient to think that, under the reins of perestroika, with the carrot of a market economy, the wayward troika of Russia at last would take a new direction. But in The Future Is History, Gessen shows that the Russian troika did in fact take a new direction: backward. To explain how this happened, Gessen relays the stories of inside observers — actual Russians, of three intertwined generations, who have struggled to chart a course through a landscape of endlessly shifting signposts. While the people she singles out are often vociferous opponents of the rearward direction of the New Russia, she gives at least equal time to the group the perestroika historian Yuri Afanasyev dubbed "the aggressively obedient majority" and to the tens of millions of ordinary Russians who would be happy to go back to the USSR, more or less. Why would such a large proportion of the populace support this turnabout? Do they miss the gulag? Not exactly, Gessen explains. Rather, they have been overtaken by "epidemic nostalgia" for the paternalist "stability" of the iron-fist Soviet past — the sort of totalitarian stability that, Gessen writes, uses "periodic purges or crackdowns" to create what Hannah Arendt described as "a state of permanent instability" that keeps the populace pliant. But Russians weren't thinking of such constraints when they went to the polls, she contends. To borrow a contemporary American rallying cry, they yearned for a leader who could Make Russia Great Again. In Putin, they found that leader. Gessen reports that in a public opinion poll released in June 2017, conducted by Moscow's Levada Center (a creditable institution that has been harassed by the Kremlin and labeled a "foreign agent"), Russians named Putin the second "most outstanding person of all time in the entire world." More telling is who came in first: Stalin.

The deep-set Russian passion for dictators — vozhdizm, the "leader principle," it's called — bewilders the West and, Gessen shows, also bedevils progressive-minded Russians who hoped for a more democratic outcome of the upheavals of the 1990s. "We are afraid of freedom. We don't know what to do with it," the late Alexander Yakovlev, once a senior advisor to Gorbachev, told a journalist in 2005. Five years earlier, on New Year's Eve, 1999, watching Yeltsin's farewell speech with his grandson, Seryozha, Yakovlev had told the boy that Putin had some good ideas; his main worry was that Putin might fall prey to "the nomenklatura monster" — the grey cadres who controlled Soviet life and who remained, under new titles, in the post-Soviet hierarchy. By 2005, Yakovlev saw that his fears had been misplaced. Putin had been the head of the monster all along. For twenty years, progressive-minded Russians hoped that the first generation born, like Yakovlev's grandson, with no memory of Stalin's terror would fight the resurgence of a Soviet-style nomenklatura and overcome Russia's totalitarian legacy. But by 2017, as members of that generation either emigrated or found a way to get by in Putin's notional "illiberal democracy," diehards began putting their hopes in activist Russian teenagers from "the generation of kids born under Putin." Seryozha, no rabble-rouser, had ceased communicating with the author.

Seryozha Yakovlev is one of the young characters in Gessen's tri- generational recapitulation of the last thirty years. Understanding that the transformations of this epoch are dizzyingly complex and difficult to interpret — even for reporters who worked in Yeltsin's Russia in the 1990s and returned to Putin's Russia in the 2000s (I am one such reporter) — Gessen has endeavored to put a human face on the tick-tock, attempting to make felt emotionally what cannot be easily reconciled intellectually. Her cast is divided into three contingents. The first is the youngest: four children, Zhanna, Masha, Seryozha, and Lyosha, who were born amid the reformist tumult of the mid-'80s but came of age as the nation was slipping back into authoritarianism. Call them Generation P: young people shaped by the collision of perestroika and Putin.

The next group Gessen weaves in is members of their parents' generation — like Boris Nemtsov (Zhanna's father), the reformist politician and activist who was murdered in sight of the Kremlin on February 27, 2016; wary oligarchs like Boris Berezovsky, Mikhail Prokhorov, and Mikhail Fridman; and sociologists like the psychoanalyst Marina Arutunyan, whose clients began suffering from "anxiety" and "panic attacks" in Putin's last two terms, as limits on their freedoms multiplied; the sociologist Lev Gudkov (who now works for Moscow's Levada Center); and the idiosyncratic nationalist fulminator Alexander Dugin, who opposes Western values, publicizes revanchist visions of effective ideologies for the New Russia, and is known as a "Putin whisperer."

The third contingent is mostly represented by Yakovlev, the Soviet- and Gorbachev-era official whom Gessen identifies, in formal Russian style, by his first name and patronymic: Alexander Nikolaevich. As the book unfolds, the characters' experiences thicken, melding with the signal acts that favored Putin's rise and assured his hold: the thwarted 1991 attempt by hard-liners to overthrow Gorbachev; the siege of the Russian White House and Moscow's central television station by hard-liners in 1993 (Yeltsin quelled it, with help from the army); the wars in Chechnya; the 2002 Chechen terrorist takeover of a Moscow theater; the 2004 Beslan school massacre; assassinations of anti-government journalists and activists; mass arrests of protestors; the demonization of LGBT community by the Russian parliament; the annexation of Crimea and the war in Ukraine. The characters' personal histories add life and nuance to Gessen's narrative. But it takes a while to get a handle on all of the players, who are as numerous as the cast of a Tolstoy novel, if less romantically clad.

But portraying the politics of totalitarianism does not call for a romantic filter. Gessen's reconstruction of the ongoing saga of Russia's reversion to vozhdizm makes for thrilling and necessary reading for those who seek to understand the path to suppression of individual freedoms, and who recognize that this path can be imposed on any nation that lacks the vigilance to avert it. In the Soviet era, Gessen writes, "Not only did the country shield all essential and most nonessential information behind a wall of secrets and lies," it also "waged a concerted war on knowledge itself." This book, in laying out the essential knowledge that is so hard to synthesize, represents a victory for knowledge, a tank shell fired at the wall that hides truth. Liesl Schillinger is a New York–based writer and translator. Her Penguin Classics translation of The Lady of the Camellias, by Alexandre Dumas Fils, appeared in the summer of 2013. In the fall, her illustrated book of neologisms, Wordbirds, was published by Simon & Schuster.

Reviewer: Liesl Schillinger

The New York Times Book Review - Francis Fukuyama

…[a] fascinating and deeply felt new book…Gessen returns repeatedly to the question of what sort of regime exists in Russia today. As the subtitle of her book suggests, she believes that totalitarianism has reclaimed the country. Western political science associated totalitarianism with several features, including state terror, total absence of civil society outside the state, a centrally planned economy and domination by a single party. Gessen successfully shows how Putin's Russia has gradually acquired these characteristics, though in muted and less extreme forms.

Publishers Weekly

08/28/2017
Gessen (The Brothers), the esteemed Russian-American journalist, takes an intimate look at Russia in the post-Soviet period, when the public’s hopes for democracy devolved within a restricted society characterized by “a constant state of low-level dread.” She structures the book around the experiences of four principal individuals who came of age in the aftermath of the U.S.S.R.’s collapse: Masha, whose activism led her to become a “de facto political prisoner”; Seryozha, the grandson of Alexander Nikolaevich Yakovlev, the politician who spearheaded the reforms of the Gorbachev era; Lyosha, a homosexual academic in a homophobic society; and Zhanna, the daughter of murdered opposition leader Boris Nemtsov. Three other figures also make regular appearances: psychoanalyst Marina Arutyunyan, sociologist Led Gudkov, and far-right ideologue Alexander Dugin. Readers gain a deeply personal view into “what it has felt like to live in Russia”—Lyosha, for instance, has had to grapple with media that “equated pedophilia and sexual violence with homosexuality”—and are presented with unique perspectives on the country during “the privations of the 1980s, the fears of the 1990s, and... the sense of shutting down that pervaded the 2000s.” Throughout, Gessen expounds on Russia’s development into a “mafia state” with elements of totalitarianism—a state fueled by a revanchist nationalism wherein each member of society must become “an enforcer of the existing order.” She presents the somber peculiarities of modern Russia in a well-crafted, inventive narrative. Agent: Elyse Cheney, Elyse Cheney Literary. (Oct.)

From the Publisher

"Fascinating and deeply felt." -The New York Times Book Review

“Forceful and eloquent on the history of her native country, Gessen is alarming and pessimistic about its future as it doubles down on totalitarianism.” -Los Angeles Times

“A remarkable portrait of an ever-shifting era…Gessen weaves her characters’ stories into a seamless, poignant whole. Her analysis of Putin’s malevolent administration is just as effective…a harrowing, compassionate and important book.” -San Francisco Chronicle

“Ambitious, timely, insightful and unsparing … By far Gessen’s best book, a sweeping intellectual history of Russia over the past four decades, told through a Tolstoyan gallery of characters. … What makes the book so worthwhile … are its keen observations about Russia from the point of view of those experiencing its return to a heavy-handed state. It helps that Gessen is a participant, and not just an observer, able to translate that world adeptly for Western readers. … You feel right there on the streets.” -Washington Post

“It’s great and written in a direct, blunt style appropriate for the subject.” Bill Clinton, New York Times "By the Book"

“Gessen’s masterful chronicle of how post-Soviet optimism turned to disappointment amid the return of repression and corruption is a book as fascinating as it is urgently relevant today.” Boston Globe

“[R]eads almost like a Tolstoy novel...Gessen outlines the failure of Russia's reform with precision and humanity, thoroughly explaining the strength of an authoritarian government's hold on its citizens' psyche. It's not just history; it is an urgent awakening.” –Buzzfeed

“[Gessen’s] essential reportage traces her homeland’s political devolution through the dramatic real stories of four citizens who now face ‘a new set of impossible choices.’” –O Magazine

“Current events, ongoing, recognizable, and important to realize.”Tom Hanks

“Remarkable…Gessen’s deft blending of…stories gives us a fresh view of recent Russian history with from within, as it was experienced at the time by its people. It is a welcome perspective.” –New York Review of Books

“An essential resource in helping us understand just what kind of threat we are dealing with.Interview Magazine

“Excellent…Gessen’s cast of characters tell a powerful story of their own, giving us an intimate look into the minds of a group crucial to understanding the country’s brief experience of democracy and of the authoritarian regime that follows.” –New Republic
 

“One of Putin’s most fearless and dogged critics tracks the devastating descent of post-Soviet Russia into authoritarianism and kleptocracy through the lives of four disillusioned citizens.”  –Esquire

“Given the current political atmosphere involving the U.S. and Russia, there’s no more relevant journalist than Masha Gessen . . . her reporting should continue to inform any discussion of Russia throughout her lifetime and beyond.” –Kirkus

“One of our most urgent and iconoclastic journalists...few...are better placed to understand the parallels between the two egomaniacs who now dominate world affairs.” –Out Magazine

“Starting with the decline, if not the disintegration, of the Soviet regime, Masha Gessen’s The Future is History tracks totalitarianism through the lens of generation raised in post-Communist Russia.” -Vanity Fair, "Hot Type"

“Gessen, the sterling Russian-American journalist and activist, has been outspoken in recent press articles about the threat of totalitarianism in America. But in her latest book, Future Is History, she never mentions America’s problems. Here, instead, she examines what is wrong in her native country and lets readers, wide-eyed, draw the parallels." -Christian Science Monitor

“Brilliant and sobering…writing in fluent English, with formidable powers of synthesis and a mordant wit, Gessen follows the misfortunes of four Russians who have lived most of their lives under Putin…Gessen vividly chronicles the story of a mortal struggle.” -Newsday

“Gessen is an exemplary journalist who knows when to sit back and let facts speak for themselves…[and] The Future Is History just might be the culmination of [her] life’s work... If you’ve been confused by all the talk about “Russia stuff,” this might be the most important book you’ll read all year.” –Seattle Times
 
“Impressive...The Future Is History warns us of what will become of the United States if we don’t push against our burgeoning authoritarian government and fight for democracy…A chilling read, but a necessary one.” –Bitch Media 

“A lively and intimate narrative of the USSR’s collapse and its aftershocks, through the eyes of seven individuals… A gifted writer, Gessen is at her best when she’s recounting her characters’ experiences.” -Bookforum

“A thoroughly-reported history of a dismal sequence of events with a strong, engaging narrative and central set of characters.” –Forward

“A brave and eloquent critic of the Putin regime … For anyone wondering how Russia ended up in the hands of Putin and his friends, and what it means for the rest of us, Gessen’s book give an alarming and convincing picture.” The Times
 
“Gessen makes a powerful case, arguing that Putin reconstituted the political and terror apparatus of the Soviet state and that ideology was the last block to fall into place.”  –Financial Times

“Russia is more at the forefront of our minds now than it’s been in all the time since the Cold War, and who better to enlighten us on the evolution of this complicated nation than journalist and Putin biographer Masha Gessen? Through her profiles of various Russians including four born in the 1980s, Gessen crafts a narrative that deciphers the Soviet Union’s move toward – and retreat from – democracy.” -Signature Reads

"A devastating, timely, and necessary reminder of the fragility and preciousness of all institutions of freedom." -Booklist (starred)

"Brilliant...A worthwhile read that describes how Putin’s powerful grip on Russia developed, offering a dire warning of how other nations could fall under a similar spell of state control." -Library Journal

"An intimate look at Russia in the post-Soviet period, when the public’s hopes for democracy devolved within a restricted society characterized by “a constant state of low-level dread"...a well-crafted, inventive narrative." -Publisher's Weekly

“Masha Gessen is humbly erudite, deftly unconventional, and courageously honest.  At this particular historical moment, when we must understand Russia to understand ourselves, we are all very lucky to have her."
- Timothy Snyder, author of On Tyranny

”A fine example of journalism approximating art. Necessary reading for anyone trying to understand the earthshaking events of our time: how in one country after another individual aspirations for wealth and power mutated into collective cravings for strongmen.”
- Pankaj Mishra, author of An End to Suffering and Age of Anger
 
The Future is History is a beautifully-written, sensitively-argued and cleverly-structured journey through Russia's failure to build democracy. The difficulty for any book about Russia is how to make the world’s biggest country human-sized, and she succeeds by building her story around the lives of a half-dozen people, whose fortunes wax and wane as the country opens up, then closes down once more. It is a story about hope and despair, trauma and treatment, ideals and betrayal, and above all about love and cynicism. If you want to truly understand why Vladimir Putin has been able to so dominate his country, this book will help you.’
- Oliver Bullough, author of Let Our Fame Be Great and The Last Man in Russia

Library Journal

★ 09/01/2017
In this latest work, journalist and author Gessen (Where the Jews Aren't) unmasks how Russia, often port rayed as an enigmatic country, reverted back to its totalitarian roots. The author brilliantly details how the Soviets undertook the political movement Perestroika in the 1980s to the entrenchment of the current President Vladimir Putin. The narrative focuses on both the large-scale political processes and the people who were impacted by the new government policies. What is understood is that Russian citizens were ill-prepared for the emergence of democracy. The volatile 1990s created a Russian state yearning for a simpler time when the state controlled daily life. This nostalgia fed the rise of a hard-line political narrative that Putin has used to curtail liberal opposition. Gessen portrays a stark picture of why Russia is bellicose toward the West and the United States, which complements her earlier work The Man Without a Face, and Ben Judah's Fragile Empire. VERDICT A worthwhile read that descries how Putin's powerful grip on Russia developed, offering a dire warning of how other nations could fall under a similar spell of state control.—Jacob Sherman, John Peace Lib., Univ. of Texas at San Antonio

NOVEMBER 2017 - AudioFile

Gessen narrates her own work in this production, which focuses on four individuals who were born when Communism fell in the Soviet Union. Gessen sees their lives as being illustrative of how the “oligarchic corruptocracy” of the Soviet Union was replaced by an “oligarchic corruptocracy” of post-Soviet Russia. Plus ça change, plus la mème chose . . . Gessen, a native speaker of Russian, has spent many decades in the West, and her Russian-accented English is not as heavy as some might expect. Her delivery is clear and easy to understand, though somewhat staccato. Her enunciation is quite good. Although Gessen’s reading is not all that expressive, it’s not monotonous. This is a somewhat long production, but those who are interested in Russia will want to listen. M.T.F. © AudioFile 2017, Portland, Maine

Kirkus Reviews

★ 2017-08-06
A brilliant if somber look at modern Russia, a failed democracy, by prizewinning journalist Gessen (The Brothers: The Road to an American Tragedy, 2015, etc.). First there were the serfs, and then "Homo Sovieticus," the gloomily obedient men, women, and children who waited in bread lines and slaved in mines and factories. Are they the avatars of the good old days? With Vladimir Putin's rise and increasingly absolutist rule, there may be something to the old saw that the Russian soul craves authoritarianism. Yet, as Gessen, who has written extensively on Putin, writes, that may flat out not be so. As she notes in this urgent chronicle, examining the Russian character through sociological instruments was frowned on, even banned, until the late 1960s, when Yuri Levada, who turns up at several points in this long narrative, began to look at how ordinary Russians thought about their society. For one thing, later surveys showed that although some wanted "rockers," "hippies," and "pederasts" (read: homosexuals) to be "liquidated," a far larger number advocated tolerance, especially younger Russians. Those younger Russians are the focus of the author's character-driven approach, a kind of nonfiction novel that compares favorably to the work of Svetlana Alexievich. One of Gessen's cases in point, a still-youngish woman named Masha, has learned to work every angle thanks to a resourceful mother who, among other things, figured out ways to "teach Soviet Jews to beat the anti-Semitic machine." By all rights, Masha, entrepreneurial and smart, ought to be in the forefront of Russian development, but having run afoul of Putin's regime, she is effectively a nonperson, "a de facto political prisoner." So it is with Zhanna, whose father, opposition leader Boris Nemtsov, was gunned down on a Moscow bridge in 2015, "with the Kremlin as the backdrop for the murder." All Gessen's players harbor the low-level dread on which totalitarian regimes thrive—and all, a refrain has it, believe that their country is dead. A superb, alarming portrait of a government that exercises outsize influence in the modern world, at great human cost.

Product Details

BN ID: 2940172195556
Publisher: Penguin Random House
Publication date: 10/03/2017
Edition description: Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

On the seventieth anniversary of the Great October Socialist Revolution, Masha’s grandmother, a rocket scientist, took Masha to the Church of St. John the Warrior in Central Moscow to be baptized. Masha was three and a half years old, which made her roughly three years older than all the other children in the church that day. Her grandmother Galina Vasi lyevna was fifty-five, which made her roughly the age of most of the grown-ups. They were old—fifty-five was the retirement age for Soviet women, and you could hardly have found a fifty-five-year-old who was not yet a grandmother—but not so old that they remembered a time when religion was practiced openly and proudly in Russia. Until recently, Galina Vasi lyevna had not given religion much thought. Her own mother had gone to church, and had had her baptized. Galina Vasilyevna had studied physics at the university and, though she graduated a few years before a course on the “foundations of scientific atheism” became a graduation requirement at all colleges, she had been taught that religion was the opium of the people.

Galina Vasilyevna had spent most of her adult life working on things that were the very opposite of religion: they were material, not at all mystical, and they flew into space. Most recently, she had been working at Scientific Production Unit Molniya (“Lightning”), which was designing the Soviet space shuttle Buran(“Blizzard”). Her task was to create the mechanism that would allow the crew to open the shuttle’s door after landing. Work on the shuttle was nearly finished. In another year, Buran would take flight. Its first test flight would be unmanned, and it would be successful, but Buran would never fly again. Funding for the project would dry up, and the mechanism for opening the space-shuttle door from the inside after landing would never be used.1

Galina Vasilyevna had always been extraordinarily sensitive to the subtle changes in the moods and expectations of the world around her—a most useful quality in a country like the Soviet Union, where knowing which way the wind was blowing could mean the difference between life and death. Now, even though all things appeared to be on track in her professional life—it was still a year until Buran took flight—she could feel that something was cracking, something in the very foundation of the only world she knew—the world built on the primacy of material things. The crack was demanding that other ideas, or better yet, another foundation, appear to fill the emptiness. It was as though she could anticipate that the solid and unmystical thing she had spent her life building would fall into disuse, leaving a metaphysical void.

Galina Vasilyevna may have learned that religion was the opium of the people and she may have been told, along with the rest of the country and the world, that the Bolsheviks had vanquished organized religion, but, having lived in the Soviet Union for more than half a century, she knew that this was not entirely true. Back in the 1930s, when she was a child, most Soviet adults still said openly that they believed in God.2 The new generation was supposed to grow up entirely free of the superstitions of which ­religion was merely a subset and of the heartache that made religion necessary. But then, when Galina Vasilyevna was nine, the Second World War began. The Germans were advancing so fast, and the Soviet leadership appeared so helpless, that there was nothing left to believe in but God.3 Soon enough, the Soviet government seemed to embrace the Russian Orthodox Church, and from that point on, the Communists and the clergy fought the Nazis together.4 After the war, the church went back to being an institution for the older generation, but the knowledge remained that in times of catastrophic uncertainty it could be a refuge.

Grandmother told Masha that they were going to church because of Father Alexander Men. Men was a Russian Orthodox priest for people like Galina Vasilyevna. His parents had been natural scientists, and he had a way of talking to people who did not grow up in the church. He had been ordained by the Russian Orthodox Church, which ever since the war had served at the pleasure of the Kremlin, but he had his own ways of learning and teaching, and these had brought him to the brink of being arrested.5 Now that things were opening up slightly, Men was on the verge of becoming spectacularly popular, gathering a following of thousands and then of hundreds of thousands, though it would still be a few years before his writing could be published in the Soviet Union. Masha did not understand much of what her grandmother told her about Father Alexander or the light in the teachings of Jesus Christ, but she did not object to going to church. November 7 was always her favorite holiday, because on that day, the anniversary of the Great October Socialist Revolution, her grandmother, who for 364 days a year was a reluctant and subcompetent cook, baked pies that Masha liked to eat.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Masha’s mother asked when she came to pick up her daughter and discovered her wearing a tiny cross around her neck. That, however, was the extent of the discussion. Tatiana did not have much use for conversation: she was a woman of action. When she had discovered that she was pregnant, she went to the Party Committee at her graduate school in the hope that the authorities would compel the future baby’s father, who had at least one other girlfriend, to marry Tatiana. This was not an unusual request and would not have been an unusual intervention for the Party Committee to stage, but in Tatiana’s case it backfired. Masha’s father lost his spot in graduate school and, consequently, his right to live in Moscow, and had to return home to the Soviet Far East, thousands of kilometers from his girlfriends.

New motherhood brought further unpleasant surprises. It made Tatiana dependent on her parents. Virtually everyone in her generation used parents as a source of free childcare:6 the only alternatives were state-run neighborhood-based nursery schools, which were a cross between baby prisons and warehouses, or prohibitively expensive and questionably legal private nanny services. Tatiana had won unusual independence from her parents—unlike most other people her age, she lived separately from them, in a communal apartment she shared with just one family—but the baby tethered her anew to her parents’ apartment a few blocks away. With two rooms and a kitchen, Galina Vasilyevna and Boris Mikhailovich had the space to care for little Masha, and with both of them working as senior scientists in the space industry, they had more time than their graduate-student daughter. Tatiana figured that to escape her parental home for good, she needed to make money and pull strings. None of what she had to do was exactly legal under Soviet law, which restricted all activities and banned most entrepreneurship, but much of what she did was quietly tolerated by the authorities in a majority of the cases.

At age three, Masha was admitted to a prestigious, highly selective, virtually inaccessible residential preschool for the children of Central Committee members. (In fact, by the time Masha was born, the average age of a Central Committee member was approaching seventy-five,7 so the school served their grandchildren and great-grandchildren as well as the children of a few extraordinarily enterprising Soviet citizens like Tatiana.) Here is how a writer from a previous generation of students described the preschool:

Inside, everything reeked of prosperity and just-baked pirozhki. The Lenin’s Corner was particularly resplendent, with its white gladioli arrangements beneath Ulyanov family photos arranged like icons on a crimson velvet bulletin board. On a panoramic veranda facing the haunted woods, nomenklatura offspring snoozed al fresco, bundled like piglets in goose-feather sleeping bags. I had arrived during Dead Hour, Soviet for afternoon nap.

“Wake up, Future Communists!” the teacher cried, clapping her hands. She grinned slyly. “It’s fish-fat time!” . . . A towering nanny named, I still recall, Zoya Petrovna approached me with a vast spoon of black caviar in her hand.8

By the time Masha enrolled in school, the Lenin Corner had lost some of its luster and the teachers had toned down some of their rhetoric, rarely roaring the word “Communists” at their charges. But the daily rations of caviar remained, in even starker contrast to the world outside, where food shortages were the determining factor of everyday life. Still there, too, was the ubiquitous Soviet-preschool-issue single-lump farina, which could be stood vertically upon a plate. The school maintained a five-day-a-week boarding schedule, an unsurpassed Soviet luxury. On weekends, Masha, like many Soviet children, generally stayed with her grandparents. Trying to make enough to sustain this life kept Tatiana busy seven days a week.

When Masha was four, her mother taught her to tell counterfeit dollars from genuine currency. Being caught with either real or fake foreign money would have been dangerous, punishable under Soviet law by up to fifteen years behind bars,9 but Tatiana seemed incapable of fear. At any rate, this was her livelihood. She also ran a tutoring business: she had started out as a tutor herself, but soon figured out that she needed volume to make real money. She began matching clients—mostly high school students readying to face the grueling oral exams for university admission—with her fellow graduate students, who could prepare them. In her own tutoring, she now stuck to a highly profitable and rare specialty she had developed: she prepared young people to face the “coffins.”

“Coffins” were questions specially designed for the Jewish applicants. Soviet institutions of higher learning generally fell into two categories: those that admitted no Jews at all and those that admitted a strictly limited number of Jews. The rules of non-admission were not, of course, publicly posted; rejection was administered in a peculiarly sadistic way. Jewish applicants usually took entrance exams along with all the other aspiring students. They pulled examination tickets from the same pool as everyone else. But if they succeeded in answering correctly the two or three questions on the ticket, then, alone in the room with the examiners, they would be casually issued an extra question, as though to follow up on the answers given. This would be the “coffin.” In mathematics, this was usually a problem not merely complex but unsolvable. The applicant would falter and founder. The examiners would then nail the cover of the coffin shut: the Jewish applicant had failed the exam. Unless, that is, the applicant had had Tatiana for a tutor. She perfected the art of teaching her clients not merely specific “coffins,” which she had somehow managed to procure, but the general algorithm for recognizing them and proving them to be unsolvable. This bucktoothed blonde in aviator glasses could teach Soviet Jews to beat the anti-Semitic machine, and this kept Masha in caviar and disgusting Central Committee farina.

(Continues…)



Excerpted from "The Future Is History"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Masha Gessen.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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