Secondhand Time

Secondhand Time Plot Summary

Introduction

The Soviet Union's collapse in 1991 remains one of history's most consequential geopolitical events, yet few saw it coming. In the span of just a few years, a nuclear superpower that had dominated half the globe for seven decades disintegrated, leaving fifteen newly independent states and millions of disoriented citizens in its wake. The transition that followed was not the triumphant march to democracy and prosperity that many Western observers predicted, but rather a complex, often traumatic transformation that continues to shape our world today. This historical account takes readers on a journey from the seemingly stable late Soviet period through the tumultuous years of collapse and into the emergence of post-Soviet Russia. Through personal stories and historical analysis, it illuminates how ordinary people experienced this extraordinary transition - from the relative security of Soviet life to the chaos of early capitalism, and finally to the authoritarian stability of Putin's Russia. By understanding this transformation, readers gain insight into not just Russia's trajectory but also the broader challenges of political and economic transitions, the psychological impact of imperial collapse, and the enduring power of historical memory in shaping national identity.

Chapter 1: The Illusion of Stability: Late Soviet Society (1970s-1985)

By the mid-1970s, the Soviet Union projected an image of unshakable permanence. Under Leonid Brezhnev's leadership, the USSR had achieved nuclear parity with the United States, expanded its global influence, and provided its citizens with unprecedented material security. The revolutionary fervor of earlier decades had given way to a more pragmatic social contract: citizens accepted limited political freedoms in exchange for stability, guaranteed employment, free education, healthcare, and housing. For many Soviet citizens, particularly those who remembered the hardships of World War II, this bargain seemed reasonable. As one factory worker recalled: "We didn't have much, but everyone had enough. Nobody worried about losing their job or being unable to afford a doctor." Beneath this apparent stability, however, the system was stagnating. Economic growth had slowed dramatically, technological innovation lagged behind the West, and agricultural production remained chronically inefficient. The command economy excelled at producing tanks and rockets but struggled with consumer goods. Soviet citizens spent hours queuing for basic necessities, from meat to toilet paper. A parallel economy of connections, favors, and semi-legal transactions developed to compensate for these shortages. As one Muscovite explained: "We lived by blat [connections]. If you needed good shoes, you had to know someone who worked in a shoe store. If you needed medicine, you needed a friend at the pharmacy. Everything depended on who you knew." The gap between official propaganda and everyday reality created a peculiar psychological condition that many called "double thinking." In public spaces, at work, or in official meetings, Soviet citizens dutifully participated in communist rituals - voting unanimously in elections, attending May Day parades, and applauding Party speeches. Yet in private kitchens, among trusted friends, these same people would share forbidden books, tell political jokes, and speak honestly about the system's failures. As one engineer described it: "Someone stands at the podium. He lies, everyone applauds, but everyone knows that he's lying, and he knows that they know that he's lying. Still, he says all that stuff and enjoys the applause." The Soviet leadership itself embodied this contradiction between appearance and reality. The aging Politburo members continued to speak of building communism while enjoying exclusive privileges - special stores, country houses, and access to Western goods. When Brezhnev died in 1982, he was succeeded by two elderly leaders - Yuri Andropov and Konstantin Chernenko - who each died after brief tenures. This "gerontocracy" became symbolic of a system unable to renew itself. Meanwhile, the invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 drained resources and morale, as young men returned in zinc coffins from a conflict few understood or supported. Despite these growing contradictions, few predicted the system's imminent collapse. Soviet citizens had adapted to its peculiarities and found meaning within its constraints. The intelligentsia retreated into what they called "internal emigration," finding refuge in literature, art, and close friendships rather than political engagement. Workers focused on private life - family, friends, and small pleasures like fishing trips or gatherings in cramped apartments. The very skills that helped people navigate Soviet shortages - resourcefulness, patience, personal connections - created a resilience that paradoxically helped sustain the system despite its inefficiencies. By 1985, however, the need for change had become undeniable. The Soviet economy could no longer support its global military commitments while also improving living standards. The technological gap with the West widened as the computer revolution took hold. When Mikhail Gorbachev came to power in March 1985, he inherited a system that appeared stable on the surface but was increasingly hollow underneath. His attempts to reform and revitalize Soviet socialism would instead unleash forces that had been building beneath the surface for decades - forces that would ultimately tear apart the world's last great empire.

Chapter 2: Gorbachev's Gamble: Reform and Unintended Consequences (1985-1989)

When Mikhail Gorbachev became General Secretary in March 1985, few anticipated the seismic changes his leadership would unleash. At 54, he represented a new generation of Soviet leadership, one that recognized the need for reform if the system was to survive. His twin policies of glasnost (openness) and perestroika (restructuring) were initially conceived as moderate adjustments to revitalize socialism, not to dismantle it. As Gorbachev himself explained: "We need more socialism, not less." Yet within four years, these reforms would fundamentally transform the Soviet system and set in motion forces that would lead to its collapse. Glasnost initially aimed to reduce corruption by exposing inefficiencies and allowing limited criticism of government officials. However, it quickly evolved into something far more transformative. Censorship relaxed, allowing newspapers and magazines to publish previously forbidden topics. Circulation of publications like Ogonyok magazine skyrocketed as they began exposing Stalin's crimes, the failures of the Afghan war, and environmental disasters like Chernobyl. As one citizen recalled: "We had twenty subscriptions between us. After work, I would rush home to get into my house clothes and start reading." The cultural thaw was equally dramatic. Banned books by authors like Solzhenitsyn, Pasternak, and Bulgakov became available. Films that had been "shelved" for decades were finally screened. Television programs like "Vzglyad" (View) became national sensations by discussing previously taboo subjects. Perestroika, meanwhile, attempted to revitalize the Soviet economy through limited market reforms while maintaining socialist principles. Gorbachev permitted small-scale private enterprises called cooperatives, reduced central planning, and granted more autonomy to state factories. However, these half-measures often created confusion rather than improvement. The economy deteriorated further as the old system broke down before new structures could take its place. Shortages worsened, and by 1989, rationing had been introduced for basic goods. As one Muscovite remembered: "Freedom and coupons. Ration cards for everything: from bread to grain to socks. We'd stand in line for five or six hours at a time." Internationally, Gorbachev pursued a policy of détente with the West, withdrawing Soviet troops from Afghanistan and engaging in arms reduction talks with the United States. His "New Thinking" in foreign policy included abandoning the Brezhnev Doctrine, which had justified Soviet military intervention in socialist countries. This dramatic shift allowed Eastern European countries to chart their own courses, leading to a wave of peaceful revolutions in 1989. The fall of the Berlin Wall in November 1989 symbolized the end of the Cold War and accelerated the pace of change within the Soviet Union itself. Perhaps the most explosive consequence of Gorbachev's reforms was the awakening of nationalist movements throughout the multinational Soviet state. As censorship eased, long-suppressed ethnic tensions surfaced. The Baltic republics led the way in demanding sovereignty, followed by increasingly assertive nationalist movements in Ukraine, Georgia, Armenia, and elsewhere. Bloody ethnic conflicts erupted in Nagorno-Karabakh, Fergana Valley, and other regions. A woman from Baku remembered: "We were all living together like one big family - Azerbaijanis, Russians, Armenians, Ukrainians, Tatars. Then suddenly they were all killing each other." The Soviet "Friendship of Peoples" that had been celebrated in propaganda for decades revealed itself as far more fragile than anyone had imagined. By 1989, Gorbachev's reforms had fundamentally transformed the Soviet Union. The Communist Party's monopoly on power had eroded, censorship had largely disappeared, and the Cold War was effectively over. Yet these achievements came at the cost of mounting economic problems and growing nationalist movements that threatened the very existence of the Soviet state. Gorbachev had gambled that the system could be reformed while preserving its essential character - a gamble that would be decisively tested in the dramatic events of 1991. As one former Party worker observed: "The people were not prepared. No one had even dreamed of capitalism. I liked socialism. The Brezhnev years... Vegetarian times." The stage was set for the final act of the Soviet drama.

Chapter 3: The Collapse: From Coup to Dissolution (1991)

The morning of August 19, 1991, began with an extraordinary announcement on Soviet television: Mikhail Gorbachev, vacationing in Crimea, had been removed from power due to "illness," and an emergency committee had taken control of the country. As classical music and Swan Lake ballet filled television screens, tanks rolled into Moscow. The State Committee on the State of Emergency, composed of eight high-ranking officials including Vice President Gennady Yanayev, Defense Minister Dmitry Yazov, and KGB Chairman Vladimir Kryuchkov, declared a state of emergency to "overcome the profound crisis, political, ethnic, and civil strife, chaos, and anarchy that threaten the lives and security of the citizens of the Soviet Union." For many citizens, the coup triggered immediate fear of a return to repression. As one woman recalled: "I opened the window: They'd come into Moscow! The capital was filled with tanks and armored vehicles full of troops! The radio! Quick—turn on the radio!" Others had different reactions—some welcomed the prospect of restored order, while many remained indifferent, focused on daily survival in the deteriorating economy. A construction worker remembered: "In the village, no one was particularly worried about any of it. They didn't fret. Everyone was much more concerned with potato beetles and cabbage moths." The coup plotters had failed to anticipate the response of Russian Federation President Boris Yeltsin, who had been elected in June 1991 in Russia's first democratic presidential election. Yeltsin immediately denounced the coup as illegal and called for civil resistance. He made his way to the Russian parliament building (the White House) and issued a defiant statement from atop a tank, an image that would become iconic. Thousands of Muscovites responded to his call, surrounding the White House with a human shield and building barricades from whatever materials they could find. The three days that followed were filled with tension and uncertainty. The coup leaders appeared hesitant and disorganized—Yanayev's trembling hands during a press conference betrayed his nervousness. Meanwhile, the resistance grew stronger. Crucially, the military proved unwilling to use force against civilians. Many soldiers sympathized with the protesters, and commanders were reluctant to order violence. By August 21, cracks in the coup were evident. Units of the elite Alpha special forces refused to storm the White House. That evening, people began removing the barricades as tanks withdrew from Moscow. The coup had collapsed. Gorbachev returned from Crimea, but to a dramatically altered political landscape where Yeltsin had emerged as the dominant figure. The aftermath was swift and far-reaching. Gorbachev resigned as General Secretary of the Communist Party, which was subsequently banned from government institutions. The coup leaders were arrested (though some, like Interior Minister Boris Pugo, committed suicide). Most significantly, the failed coup accelerated the dissolution of the Soviet Union itself. The Baltic states immediately declared independence, and other republics quickly followed. On December 8, 1991, the leaders of Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus signed the Belavezha Accords, declaring that "the USSR as a subject of international law and a geopolitical reality ceases its existence." On December 25, the Soviet flag was lowered from the Kremlin for the last time, replaced by the Russian tricolor. For many who participated in the resistance, the August events represented a moment of genuine democratic triumph. As one woman recalled: "We won! We'd defended our freedom. Together, we'd done it. We could do anything! Dirty, wet from the rain, we lingered, not wanting to go home." Yet others would later question what they had actually achieved. A construction worker who had defended the White House later lamented: "I consider myself a person who's been deceived. I don't need this capitalism we've been led to... We shouted 'Russia!' instead of 'USSR!' I'm sorry that they didn't disperse us with water cannons." The Soviet collapse represented both an ending and a beginning—the final collapse of the Soviet system and the birth of post-Soviet Russia. In just a few months, centuries of Russian imperial history culminating in the 74-year Soviet experiment had given way to an uncertain future. The coup's failure demonstrated the bankruptcy of the old system but provided little guidance for what would follow. As Russians soon discovered, the path to democracy and prosperity would prove far more difficult than those three exhilarating days had suggested.

Chapter 4: Shock Therapy: Economic Trauma and Social Dislocation (1992-1998)

In January 1992, Russia embarked on what economists called "shock therapy" - a radical and rapid transition from a centrally planned economy to capitalism. Led by young economist Yegor Gaidar, the Yeltsin government liberalized prices, privatized state enterprises, and slashed subsidies virtually overnight. The theory was that quick, decisive action would prevent a gradual, painful decline and instead create the foundations for prosperity. As Gaidar himself put it: "You cannot cross a chasm in two jumps." The reality proved far more traumatic than anticipated. The immediate effects were devastating for ordinary Russians. When price controls were lifted, inflation skyrocketed to over 2,000 percent in 1992 alone. Life savings were wiped out in weeks. Food became scarce in stores, and many elderly people resorted to selling personal possessions on the street just to survive. A middle-aged woman in Moscow described her experience: "I was an engineer with a good position. Suddenly I found myself selling cigarettes in the Metro to feed my children." The social safety net that had guaranteed employment, housing, healthcare, and education under communism disintegrated, leaving millions vulnerable. By 1994, an estimated 40 percent of Russians lived below the poverty line. Privatization, intended to create a class of property owners with a stake in the new system, instead led to the rise of the oligarchs. The government distributed vouchers to citizens, supposedly giving everyone an equal share in formerly state-owned enterprises. But most people, desperate for cash, sold their vouchers for a fraction of their worth to well-connected insiders. Through a series of rigged auctions known as "loans-for-shares," a small group of businessmen acquired vast industrial assets at bargain prices. As one oligarch later admitted: "We hired the smartest lawyers, who found loopholes in the laws. Yes, we bent the rules, but we did not break them." The result was a massive transfer of wealth from the state to a tiny elite. The social impact of these economic changes was profound. Crime rates soared as organized criminal groups filled the vacuum left by retreating state authority. Contract killings became commonplace in major cities, while protection rackets targeted any business showing signs of success. Public spaces grew dangerous, especially after dark. The sudden availability of previously forbidden items - from pornography to drugs - contributed to a sense of moral disorientation. Traditional values seemed to dissolve overnight, replaced by the naked pursuit of money and pleasure. As one Moscow resident observed: "The only things on sale at the store were three-liter jars of birch juice and sauerkraut. But you could get killed in the vodka line!" For many, especially the elderly, this period brought unprecedented hardship. Pensioners who had worked their entire lives for modest but secure retirements now found themselves begging in subway stations or selling their possessions on the street. A military veteran who had survived the siege of Leningrad committed suicide, leaving a note that read: "I'd rather die standing up than on my knees, begging for my pauper's pittance." Public health collapsed, with life expectancy for Russian men falling by seven years between 1990 and 1994. Alcoholism, drug abuse, and suicide rates climbed dramatically as people sought escape from a reality they couldn't control. By 1998, the contradictions of Russia's wild capitalism reached a breaking point. The government defaulted on its debt, the ruble collapsed, and banks froze accounts. Many middle-class Russians who had just begun to achieve stability saw their savings wiped out overnight. Yet remarkably, this financial crisis also marked a turning point. It cleared away some of the speculative excesses of the early transition period and created conditions for more sustainable economic development. Domestic production became competitive again after the ruble devaluation, laying the groundwork for the economic recovery that would follow under Vladimir Putin. The economic trauma of the 1990s left deep psychological scars on Russian society. For millions who had been raised with Soviet values of collective welfare and security, the brutal individualism of early capitalism represented not progress but barbarism. The period discredited Western economic models and liberal democracy in the eyes of many Russians, creating fertile ground for the authoritarian stability that Putin would later offer. As one woman reflected years later: "We were so naive! We believed that democracy would automatically bring prosperity. Instead it brought freedom to steal and freedom to starve." The lessons of this period would shape Russia's development for decades to come.

Chapter 5: Putin's Russia: Restoration of Order and Authoritarian Turn (1999-2008)

Vladimir Putin's ascent to power at the dawn of the new millennium represented a profound shift in Russia's post-Soviet trajectory. Appointed prime minister by an ailing Yeltsin in August 1999, the former KGB officer was virtually unknown to the public. Yet within months, his handling of the Second Chechen War and tough-talking style won widespread approval. When Yeltsin unexpectedly resigned on December 31, 1999, naming Putin acting president, the stage was set for a new era. Putin's promise was simple but powerful: to restore order, dignity, and Russia's place in the world after a decade of chaos and humiliation. The early Putin years coincided with economic recovery that dramatically improved living standards. Rising oil prices filled state coffers, while reforms to tax collection and property rights created a more predictable business environment. Real incomes rose by over 10% annually, creating a genuine middle class in major cities. Stores filled with consumer goods, restaurants opened on every corner, and foreign cars replaced the Ladas and Volgas on city streets. For many Russians, this newfound prosperity justified the political bargain Putin offered: surrender some freedoms in exchange for stability and improved living conditions. As one businessman explained: "I can tell you with certainty that it's possible to live well in Russia as long as you stay out of politics." Putin systematically consolidated power by bringing key institutions under Kremlin control. The oligarchs who had wielded enormous influence under Yeltsin were given a choice: stay out of politics or face consequences. Mikhail Khodorkovsky, who challenged this arrangement, was arrested in 2003 and his Yukos oil company dismantled. Regional governors, previously elected, became presidential appointees. Independent television networks were brought under state control, while electoral laws were rewritten to marginalize opposition parties. These changes occurred gradually, often cloaked in legal formalities, but their cumulative effect transformed Russia from a chaotic democracy into what political scientists termed a "managed" or "sovereign" democracy. The state's relationship with society evolved in parallel ways. Soviet-era symbols returned - the melody of the Soviet anthem was restored, military parades resumed on Red Square, and positive portrayals of Stalin reappeared in textbooks and media. The Russian Orthodox Church, once persecuted, became a key ally of the state, promoting traditional values and national identity. Youth organizations like Nashi mobilized young people in support of the government. These developments reflected a broader ideological shift: from the Western-oriented liberalism of the early 1990s to a distinctly Russian path emphasizing sovereignty, traditional values, and great power status. For ordinary citizens, this period brought a welcome return to predictability after years of chaos. The extreme poverty and uncertainty of the 1990s receded, replaced by modest but real improvements in daily life. Salaries and pensions were paid on time. Consumer credit became available, allowing purchases of apartments, cars, and household appliances. Foreign travel, once a rare privilege, became accessible to the middle class. A woman from St. Petersburg recalled: "We started living according to plan again: school, college, family. My husband and I will save up for an apartment in a cooperative, and after the apartment, we'll save up for a car." By 2008, as Putin prepared to step aside for his chosen successor Dmitry Medvedev (while becoming prime minister himself), Russia had transformed from the failed state of the late 1990s into a confident, if authoritarian, power. Oil at $140 per barrel fueled ambitious plans for modernization and international influence. Yet beneath this apparent success lay unresolved contradictions: an economy still dependent on natural resources, institutions hollowed out by corruption, and a social contract based on material benefits rather than political rights. The global financial crisis that struck later that year would expose these vulnerabilities and test the system Putin had built. More fundamentally, the authoritarian turn under Putin revealed how the trauma of the 1990s had made many Russians willing to trade democratic freedoms for stability and national pride - a trade-off with profound implications for Russia's future.

Chapter 6: Between Memory and Reality: Soviet Legacy in Post-Soviet Identity

Thirty years after the Soviet collapse, the USSR refuses to remain in the past. Its memory continues to shape Russian society, politics, and identity in profound ways. This persistence reflects not just historical inertia but active processes of remembering, forgetting, and reimagining that serve contemporary needs. The question of how to evaluate the Soviet experience - as a criminal totalitarian regime, a flawed but noble experiment, or something in between - remains deeply contested and politically charged. Official memory policy under Putin has evolved toward selective rehabilitation of the Soviet era, particularly its moments of triumph. The Victory in World War II stands at the center of this narrative, celebrated with increasing pageantry each May 9th. Stalin, once denounced as a tyrant, is increasingly portrayed as an effective manager who transformed Russia into a superpower despite his "mistakes." Soviet achievements in space, sports, and culture are emphasized, while repression, shortages, and stagnation fade into the background. This selective memory serves current political needs by linking today's Russia to a powerful past and justifying strong centralized leadership as the Russian way. For ordinary citizens, Soviet nostalgia operates on more personal levels. Many older Russians miss not the political system but the social guarantees and sense of community it provided. They recall free education and healthcare, affordable housing, guaranteed employment, and public spaces accessible to all. A retired teacher explained: "I don't need Soviet salami, I need a country where people are treated like human beings. We used to say 'simple people' and now they say 'the simplefolk.' Can you feel the difference?" For those who lost status and security in the transition to capitalism, such nostalgia is understandable, if selective in what it chooses to remember. The generational divide in Soviet memory grows increasingly pronounced. Those born after 1991 have no personal experience of Soviet life, encountering it only through family stories, education, popular culture, and increasingly, the internet. Some young Russians embrace Soviet aesthetics and symbols without the ideological content, wearing t-shirts with Soviet emblems or attending Soviet-themed parties. Others, particularly urban professionals, reject the Soviet past entirely, seeing it as a dead end that Russia must move beyond. Most navigate between these extremes, acknowledging both the achievements and failures of the Soviet experiment. Material traces of Soviet life persist in the physical landscape, from massive housing blocks to monuments, factories, and infrastructure. These remnants create a palimpsest where different historical layers coexist, sometimes jarringly. A medieval church might stand beside a constructivist factory, with a glass-and-steel shopping mall across the street. This physical environment constantly reminds Russians of the Soviet past, even as new construction transforms urban spaces. Similarly, Soviet habits, vocabulary, and cultural references persist in everyday life, creating continuities despite systemic change. The contested memory of the Soviet experience ultimately reflects larger questions about Russian identity and future direction. Is Russia fundamentally part of European civilization, or does it represent a distinct civilization with its own values and path? Should it embrace liberal democracy and market capitalism, or develop alternative models based on its unique historical experience? The Soviet past provides ammunition for all sides in these debates. As Russia continues to work through the trauma of imperial collapse and the challenges of post-Soviet transformation, the meaning of its Soviet inheritance remains an open question - one that each generation must answer anew.

Summary

The trajectory of post-Soviet Russia reveals a profound historical irony: the collapse of communism, celebrated as a triumph of freedom, ultimately led to the emergence of a new authoritarian system. This evolution was not inevitable but resulted from specific choices at critical junctures. The radical shock therapy of the early 1990s, while economically necessary in some respects, created such social trauma that it discredited liberal democracy in the eyes of many Russians. The chaos and humiliation of the Yeltsin years made stability and national pride more attractive than political freedom. Putin's system succeeded by addressing these psychological needs while systematically dismantling democratic institutions. The Russian experience offers sobering lessons about political transitions. First, economic reforms must be balanced with social protections to maintain public support for democracy. Second, institutions matter more than personalities - Russia never developed the independent courts, free media, and civil society necessary to check executive power. Finally, historical memory shapes present politics in powerful ways. The Soviet collapse left an imperial hangover that Putin expertly exploited, channeling nostalgia for great power status into support for his authoritarian project. As Russia continues to grapple with its Soviet legacy and imperial ambitions, these lessons remain relevant not only for Russians but for all societies navigating the complex terrain between authoritarianism and democracy.

About Author

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Svetlana Alexievich

Svetlana Alexievich was born in Ivano Frankivsk, Ukraine. Her father was Belarusian and her mother Ukrainian. Alexievich grew up in Belarus, where both her parents were teachers. She studied to be a journalist at the University of Minsk and worked a teacher, journalist and editor. In Minsk she has worked at the newspaper Sel'skaja Gazeta, Alexievich's criticism of the political regimes in the Soviet Union and thereafter Belarus has periodically forced her to live abroad, for example in Italy, France, Germany and Sweden.Svetlana Alexievich depicts life during and after the Soviet Union through the experience of individuals. In her books she uses interviews to create a collage of a wide range of voices. With her "documentary novels", Svetlana Alexievich, who is a journalist, moves in the boundary between reporting and fiction. Her major works are her grand cycle Voices of Utopia, which consists of five parts. Svetlana Alexievich's books criticize political regimes in both the Soviet Union and later Belarus. In 2015 Ms Alexievich was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.

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