The Future Is History: How Totalitarianism Reclaimed Russia

This book is a monumental view into how Russia went from the Soviet Union, from ideals into politics, from politics into corruption, from communism to distorted socialism, and how distorted socialism turned into totalitarianism. It deals with this by mainly feeding into the reader's mind by invoking chronological storytelling from several lead characters, while letting one know what happens on a historical level.

This book reminded me of reading [a:Victor Klemperer|90845|Victor Klemperer|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1344607543p2/90845.jpg]'s diaries from before, during, and after WWII; the nazis did not sneak up and just take over everything in one breath; as with Stalin, Putin, and all politicians inbetween, change came slowly.

The book involves how Russia saw homosexuality as a kind of benchmark of totalitarianism, even though this is loftily used by myself in this review; where Boris Yeltsin's government lifted laws against "homosexual acts", they were soon reinstated when a more desperate and cynical government took power.

It's interesting to see how the Soviet Union decided to take care of its inglorious past of sorts:

In 1989, Gorbachev made Alexander Nikolaevich chair of a newly created Rehabilitation Commission, in charge of reviewing archival documents and clearing the names of those who had been unjustly punished in the Stalin era. Alexander Nikolaevich was better prepared than Gorbachev to start learning about the terror, both because he was old enough to have heard Khrushchev deliver his secret speech to the Party Congress and because he had seen the cattle cars carrying Soviet prisoners of war to the Gulag after the Great Patriotic War.

But what he saw when he studied the archives during perestroika made his stomach turn. He saw that Stalin personally had signed execution orders for forty-four thousand people, people he did not know and whose cases he had not read, if the cases even existed—he had simply signed off on long lists of names, apparently because he enjoyed the process.4 He saw evidence of secret-police competitions, formal ones—like when different departments within the NKVD (the precursor agency to the KGB) raced one another to highest number of political probes launched—and informal ones, like when three of the NKVD brass took three thousand cases with them on a train journey, got drunk, and engaged in a speed challenge: Who could go through a stack of cases fastest, marking each with the letter P. They were not reading the cases.

The letter P—pronounced r in Russian—stood for rasstrel, “execution.” He saw evidence of specific days on which the fate of thousands was decided. On November 22, 1937, Stalin and two of his closest advisers, Vyacheslav Molotov and Andrei Zhdanov, approved twelve lists submitted by the NKVD, containing 1,352 people who would be executed. On December 7, they signed off on thirteen lists for a total of 2,397 people, 2,124 of whom were to be executed. On January 3, 1938, they were joined by two other top Bolsheviks, Kliment Voroshilov and Lazar Kaganovich, and together they signed off on twenty-two lists with 2,547 names, 2,270 to be executed. June 10, 1938: twenty-nine lists, 2,750 people, 2,371 to be executed. September 12, 1938: thirty-eight lists, 6,013 people, 4,825 to be executed.

There were too many such dates and figures to make them commemorative or otherwise meaningful. Some lists had a specific makeup. On August 20, 1938, Stalin and Molotov together signed off on a list of fifteen women who were classified as “wives of enemies of the people.” Ten of them were housewives and two were students. All were executed. Their husbands, who had been arrested earlier, were executed later. Other lists looked altogether random, though the mind scrambled each time to make sense of them.

Hannah Arendt is quoted throughout the book, understandably so because of her enormous studies and publications on totalitarianism:

Hannah Arendt had written about the way totalitarianism robs people of the ability to form opinions, to define themselves as distinct from other members of society or from the regime itself.

One of the main persons in the book, Lyosha, has some ferocious things to say in the face of vicious adversity:

The university, too, developed a vision of itself as a European institution. Lyosha knew that he fit in it well. His own vision was that he would soon be running Russia’s only LGBT Studies program. For now, he and Darya, the friend who had been teaching the one gender studies course, launched a gender studies center. It helped that Darya’s father was the dean of another department at the university. Darya and Lyosha got some funding for hosting conferences and publishing the proceedings. Their publications had no official status in the university, but this meant that they did not have to face an academic-review board.

Lyosha was lucky. He had heard that a legal scholar in Novosibirsk had not been allowed to defend her dissertation on LGBT rights.11 In 2010, Lyosha presented at a conference at Moscow State University. His paper was titled “Gender Gaps in Political Science.” Only one person—a professor from St. Petersburg—had a question for him. “Are you aware,” she asked, “that there are no lesbians in Russia?” “I’ve also heard,” said Lyosha, “that there was no sex in the Soviet Union. Yet you are here.” When the conference collection was published in book form, his paper was omitted.

It's interesting to see how oligarchies speed up law making when it leads to simpler control of people:

On May 10, while Putin was at UralVagonZavod, the parliament was asked to pass a set of amendments to the Law on Public Gatherings. They raised the fines for violating rules on public gatherings to as much as the equivalent of $1,500—backbreaking for most Russians—and they changed the definition of “public gathering” to allow the police to classify any group of people as engaging in one. The bill sped through parliament like probably no piece of legislation ever had. It became law on June 9, three days before a protest march planned to commemorate Russia’s 1990 declaration of sovereignty.

Overall, this book is like a vice and wrench to understanding Russia in the modern age, allowing the reader to quickly understand get how things turned out the way they did. It's also near poetic at times, with a proseaic touch. It's very well written and the author is talented with a keen analytical mind. This is firmly recommended to all.