If there's one thing that the old Soviet Union had no shortage of, it was memorials.  Every city, town, and village had their own little piece of Soviet glory-from humble rock gardens in memory of area Bolsheviks; constructed by the local Pioneers, to the towering statues of the heroes of the Great Patriotic War-and most had more than one.  It may be possible in five or ten years to judge the pace and amount of reform by determining which monuments have been removed, and which have not.  Many of the statues of Lenin (and there must be millions of them) are on their way to the fields, and certainly there are few Dzerzhinsky statues left.  One of the first post-coup events in Moscow was the felling of the NKVD founder's likeness in Dzerzhinsky Square (now once again Lubyanka Square).  Everywhere the giant granite, cement, and metal monoliths are falling.  Take Berlin, for example: after the assimilation of East Germany into the Federal Republic, the poor Germans were stuck with an excess of Communist artifacts, including our friend V. I. Lenin, all sixty red granite feet of him, who stared down on-what else?-Lenin square.  It took DM40,000 raised easily in less than an hour by a local radio station, as well as a court battle with nostalgic ex-GDRers to help him to the door, but it was done, and another memorial was gone.  I wonder if the present abundance of the Lenins is in any way similar to the abundance of great pine trees in Michigan in the last century--are we going to take them all down until the last one stands and tearfully ask what we've done?  No, probably not.  It seems unlikely that we'll bemoan the loss of the Lenin statues, although I do admit that I plan to hunt out and photograph all the remaining ones I can find.  It seems that Vladimir's days are numbered even in his resting place on Red Square, as any day now I expect to hear of his final final journey, perhaps to Lening-excuse me, St. Petersburg.  If the reader should miss the opportunity to see the real item, there is a splendid photograph of the body in the November 11 1991 issue of Time magazine.  Where the photo came from I do not know, as there are no cameras allowed in the mausoleum.

 Another delightful piece of Soviet creation is the ever popular "Memorial to Soldiers-Liberators of the Great Patriotic War", which graces most inhabited places of the USSR from Vladivostok to Vilnius.  The typical configuration goes something like this: a large area is paved with granite, and behind is a wall of the same material, in which are sculpted various characters in Socialist Realism style gallantly and bravely walking with their guns held high in the air, their muscles well defined on their arms.  Often there are women in the scene.  In the center of the memorial is the eternal flame [only lit when people are likely to see it] usually coming out of a star, and on either side stand cadets on their fifteen minute watches.  Some memorials substitute an obelisk for the wall.  Most cities have both.  Every city and town I visited in 1991 had at least one.  Minsk had many, from the suggestively titled "Mound of Glory" to the oddity found in an under-tunnel affectionately dubbed "The Glowing Doughnut" by a fellow CMUSEP group member.

 Perhaps the most depressing place I've ever been is Khatin, north of Minsk.  This is a Thanatocoenose (geological term for death assemblage) in the strictest sense of the word.  It consists of a complex of memorials to each village destroyed by the Hitlerites in Belorussia during the Great Patriotic War.  The complex is subdivided into those who were rebuilt, and those which were not (like the village of Khatin), and is as full of data as is possible for a memorial.  It is a thorough experience, let me tell you.  As we were walking back to the bus to go back to Minsk, however, the unexpected happened.  A Belorussian pointed out the souvenir stand, and the mood turned from gloom to shopping craze.  All sorts of things could be found there, from Khatin pins and post cards, to highway maps and, of course, Lenin memorabilia.  I freely admit I found a couple of good books, some maps, and I wouldn't have dreamed of leaving without the pins and post cards.

 There is also the nationalistic statues and monuments, including the signs erected on building tops proclaiming the truths for all to see. One, however, stands out as the greatest of all: the 230 foot tall Mamayev Hill monument at Volgograd.  In a photograph in a recent National Geographic book, workers standing on the arms and head applying a coat of waterproofing to the statue seem as Lilliputians did to Gulliver.  The statue represents Mother Russia's strength and courage, especially as related to the battle of Stalingrad.

 However deserving the soldiers of WWII may have been, the Soviet monuments had more than just the function of honoring the fallen and the great.  As with most other things the Soviets liked, they went for the memorials in a big way, because in finding a common enemy-the "Hitlerites"-they were united.  The message was that the Soviet People together defeated the enemy, and it was proof of the need and validity, as well as the immortality of the Soviet state.  I do not think that the war memorials will come down, nor do I think they should.  The time has perhaps come when the memorials can be just that, and nothing more.

 Of course the others will fall: the Dzerzhinskys, the Lenins, the GLORY CPSUs, and all the other political glorifications.   And I have to admit, there is a certain romanticism that is also going with them.  But good riddance.
 

some sources:

Bessmertie Podviga 1943-1973. brochure showing war memorials of the Oryol area. Oryol:Trud, 1973.

Disturbing his peace. Time, November, 11, 1991, v138, n19, p.67.

Pamyat' Ognennikh Let. postcard set featuring Soviet monuments of the Oryol Oblast.   Moscow: Turist, 1983.

Khatin. postcard set. Minsk: Belarus, 1989.

Margaret Seager, editor, The Soviet Union Today. Washington: The National Geographic Society, 1990.

John Tagliabue, "In Unified metropolis, Lenin icon is still divisive". The New York Times,   November 2, 1991, p.2L.