My research, both in college and during my Fulbright, has always centered on the peasantry. This intellectual preoccupation dates back to my first university history course in the winter of my freshman year. The course was “The History of Imperial Russia,” and the final exam question I chose to answer was as follows: “Was the Russian Revolution logical in the sense that A+B=C? In other words, was it, by 1917, inevitable?” For me, the key to the answer, without question, lay with the country’s largest social group: the peasantry.
The following fall, I took one of Northwestern’s most popular courses: “An Introduction to Russian Literature. That quarter we read Anna Karenina and the Brothers Karamazov”, diving into the world of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. As I read the story of Levin cultivating his land and working alongside his peasants, I had the sense that what Tolstoy described was, in large part, at odds with the historical reality. As I had learned from my history class less than a year ago, pasant life was far from idyllic, nor was it free of rebellions or protests—and I am not referring just to the protests in 1905 or Pugachev’s rebellion. It was during this class, and later in my conversations with my history professor, John Bushnell, that a larger research question began to take shape, ultimately culiminating in my senior thesis: “Why Tolstoy was Wrong: Peasant Rebellion in Post-Emancipation Russia”. I was fortunate enough to be able to continue my research on the same topic in Nizhny Novgorod following graduation as the recipient of a Fulbright fellowship.
Why was I so fascinated by the Russian peasantry? My Russian and American acquaintances alike were constantly asking, “Why did I care?” Because peasants accounted for roughly 86% of the entire Russian population. Because the longevity of serfdom in Russia profoundly impacted the country’s trajectory, socially and economically. Because these Russian peasants didn’t “disappear” with the rise of the working class. Yes, many moved to the cities to work in factories, but many millions remained integral for realizing the rapid industrialization of the country under Stalin. Even those that did move to the cities still had peasant roots. Because, just as history is essential for grasping the current Russian reality, knowledge of the peasantry and their behavior is essential for understanding that history. (In fact, as I recently learned, those who work in agriculture in the Russian Far East are still called “krect’yan”, literally translated as peasant, by some academics). The “peasant” identity has not disappeared.
I moved to Nizhny in late 2015. That same year in November, the Russian government instituted a new toll system called Platon, which was, in essence, a third tax on truck drivers added to the existing transport tax and fuel excise tax. Protests erupted across the country with thousands of truck drivers from 43 regions participating. They blocked the highways to Moscow and left their trucks on the side of the roads, actions eerily similar to protests dating back to the late 1800s in Vladimir. The initial dispute began in 1878 when a factory owner refused to rent particular meadows to the local peasants, and, in protest, the peasants constructed log rafts along the river and sat on them, preventing the factory owner’s barges from passing. As I read about the truck driver protests, an image of Russian peasants weighing down logs in the middle of the Kolp river rose in my mind. In fact, nearly all the peasant protests I examined in the post-Emancipation period were of a non-political, primarily economic nature, as were the modern-day protests I began to encounter in the news.
A study conducted by the Center for Economic and Political Reform in 2017 found that the number of protests between the beginning and latter half of the year had increased by 60%. And what issues were at the center of most protests? Unpaid wages, land and labor disputes, and issues related to home ownership. For example, protests by truck drivers against the Platon system experienced a resurgence in 2017. In recent months, the protests generating the most media attention are those related to the large amounts of garbage being hauled in daily by dozens of trucks from Moscow to a landfill located not far from the city of Volokolamsk. The smell has forced residents to leave their homes and wear gas masks. In March of this year, the district was placed in a state of emergency and more than 60 children fell ill.
What does this have to do with Russians view of America? People never tire of asking me what Russians think of America, what their views are on Trump or the accusations of election interference. Sure, these topics are widely discussed on local and state-owned media channels. I would not be surprised if the majority of Russians had some sort of an opinion. Actually, one day at boxing, a fellow boxer approached me and eagerly asked, “What do you think of Trump? Do you like him? He’s such a great businessman!” (I guess he didn’t know Trump largely inherited his money and his hotel and casino businesses declared bankruptcy six times between 1991 and 2000). But, for the average Russian, particularly those outside Moscow, the primary concern is neither Trump nor America.
Russia is a country still in the throes of an economic recession, a country where pension funds are scarce and the retirement age has just increased by five years to 63 and 65 for women and men respectively; the average life expectancy is only 67. Russia is a country with vast inequality, with 22% living in poverty and 70% with just barely enough to make ends meet, meaning that, for the average citizen, similar to the peasantry of 1800s, survival and economic security are the primary concerns. Yes, exceptions do exist, but the majority of protestors are not fighting for higher, loftier goals of an intangible nature, such as free speech, democracy, or gender equality. They’re fight for their pensions, lower taxes or their local businesses. I am sure that in the Far East most Russians do not wake up, eagerly searching for information on Trump’s latest White House escapades, but worry about the threat posed by Chinese migrant workers to the region’s land and their jobs. I’m sure that the parents from Volokolamsk are not debating the merits of America’s foreign policy in North Korea, but are just hoping they can drop their children off at school without them falling ill. It is worth mentioning that NOT ONCE during my time in Russia have I ever encountered negative comments as a result of my American citizenship.
The second time I studied abroad in Russia was in the summer of 2014, the same time as the MH17 flight crash and the escalation of the conflict in Crimea and Ukraine. My study abroad group had just taken a Volga River cruise up to St. Petersburg, and on our way back to Moscow, we stopped at the tiniest little village. I don’t even remember the name. The barren roads were made entirely of dirt. There were no apartments, just small, worn little houses. The only other noticeable edifice was a rundown outdoor market selling various trinkets and foodstuffs. My resident advisor had arranged for us to sit down and talk with a couple of the local residents. As my fellow study abroad participants and I entered one of the houses, we were greeted by a long table with a vast assortment of cookies, crackers, and cheese, as well as a giant samovar filled with tea placed in the center of the table. The woman we met was old. She was dressed in a long, bright blue kaftan, her white hair pulled up into a bun on the top of her hed. She had several moles, and when she smiled, it became evident that she had no front teeth. She lived in the small, one-floor house with her sister, both of whom had retired from work in the local postal service. She was thrilled to have the American students visiting her and eagerly offered us treats, while thanking us for our visit. Mentions of Ukraine or Crimea or the American government in general never entered the conversation. Instead, we chatted pleasantly about our lives back home and our impressions of Russia, and she shared tales of her own life in Russia with her sister.
When I think of Russians, average, everyday Russians, I think back to this woman. Friendly, welcoming, and quite frankly, wanting to be happy. Life in Russia is undoubtedly hard, and many are simply trying to survive. Should Americans wish to get involved in Russian affairs, should they truly want to help in some way, their efforts would be far better spent on solving tangible, local problems or improving the standards of living, rather than concerning themselves with idealistic political goals. After all, regardless of our country or nationality or philosophical beliefs, couldn’t we all just use a little pleasant conversation and an extra set of hands from time to time?