.We began to feel the effects of the Communist Party's so-called "historical" decisions. The celebrated black earth of our cattle-breeding republic, with its rich grassy pastures where farmers had been grazing sheep as well as cattle for centuries, was plowed to make room for cereals. Our old people warned us that to do such a thing would be disastrous, but the big brass did not listen.
In the regional Party Committee meetings they brutally berated the elders, shouting: "Who do you think you are? Do you consider yourselves cleverer than the authorities in Moscow, huh? ls that why you come out against the decisions of the Party? Tell us your names'?"
In these circumstances anybody would sun-ender. Nobody relished the prospect of returning to Siberia. So the elders stopped fighting the Party officials.
The thin layer of black earth was pierced by the plow, exposing the sand which lay below; sand began to encroach on more and more land.
First rare grasses and herbs were destroyed, and then the indigenous population of wild animals followed. Adverse winds buffeted the steppe, causing great damage to the fragile balance of the ecosystem.
St John's Revelation reads: "One woe is past and, behold, two woes followed." Another historical decision was implemented like a bolt from the blue: the creation of the Volga-Chograi canal interrupted the age-old migration route of the saigas. Countless numbers of these ancient beasts perished in a grave hundreds of kilometres-long. The steppe suffocated with the stench of rotting carcasses. And again they sang in the regional Party Committee meetings: "C'est la lutte finale"... "This is our final battle ... And we will fight to the last man in our struggle".
They sang this revolutionary song beautifully with one voice. But then how could it be otherwise? A word of dissent and you were a goner, crawling back to your lair to die from that final and decisive heart attack.
When I hear today the outraged voices of the older generation berating the vandalism of the young who destroy historical monuments and sculptures, and set churches alight, I think to myself what did you expect? Was it not your generation who blew up the Cathedral of Christ Our Saviour in Moscow, which had been built with contributions from the entire nation as ordinary people donated their last penny? Was it not you who turned churches into warehouses and cow-sheds? Did not your generation dynamite and flatten the unique Zhiguli Hills? How do you account for the pollution of Lake Baikal with industrial waste? Was there a corner of the Soviet Union that was not trampled underfoot by the heavy boot of Socialism? No such place exists.
I have heard that in ancient China the emperor would test all his ministers by sending them away from Beijing to spend several years in the provinces. If, when the time came to recall the man, the people of that province did not howl in protest, then he was publicly flogged. Had such a law been in force in Russia then I believe that there would have been many vacancies in the upper echelons of power.
Like all of my generation, I went through several stages of ideological indoctrination aided by extensive state censorship. First I was an Oktyabryonok (a pre-pioneer), then I became a pioneer, progressing to the Young Communist League, and finally becoming a member of the Communist Party. I also served on the pioneer squad council, the Young Communist League Committee, and I was chief of the "Vega" Young Communist League city squad. For many years I lived as though I were drugged; it was only gradually, layer by layer, that I began to peel away at the truth.
I wanted to do something worthy and important for my country. I wanted to feel needed by my homeland. And maybe a representative of a small nation should feel even a greater want to feel needed...
Kirsan Ilyumzhinov
The President's Crown of Thorns
1995
