Eastern approaches | Crimea in the Russian imagination

In search of lost time

The real reason Russians long for Crimea

By A.M. | LONDON

ABKHAZIA in 2008; Crimea in 2014: both are territories rudely seized by Russia, Abkhazia from Georgia and Crimea from Ukraine. Vladimir Putin has formally annexed Crimea, while leaving Abkhazia in a netherworld of quasi-independence. But the two places have something else in common: they were both elite holiday resorts during the existence of the Soviet Union. This, I submit, may be more than a trivial coincidence.

In his speech of March 18th Mr Putin explained Russian sentiment towards Crimea in terms of religion and war. The peninsula, he said, was where, in 988 AD, Prince Vladimir was baptised. He talked of the military heroics of the Crimean war of 1854-6, and the terrible siege of Sebastopol by the Nazis during what Russians call the Great Patriotic War, listing those conflicts’ legendary battlefields.

I don’t entirely buy it. Sebastapol was designated one of the Soviet Union’s “Hero Cities”, and certainly its endurance of the Nazi bombardment is revered in Russia. But there is another aspect of Crimea, not mentioned by Mr Putin, which springs more quickly to the minds of most Russians than Prince Vladimir when the place is mentioned: its Black Sea beaches and sanatoria, which, for many Soviet citizens, represented something close to nirvana.

For many Russians of that period, holidays meant a spell in a Soviet sanatorium in the vicinity of their home cities (you can still visit many of these facilities outside Moscow and elsewhere, and imagine what those vacations were like). A fortnight in sunny Crimea—or in balmy Abkhazia, across the Black Sea—was a privilege reserved mostly for high-ranking officials or productive, well-behaved workers deemed to have earned it. There were special children’s camps where the offspring of such people were indoctrinated in dialectical materialism, but also in the giddy delights of youthful flirtation and liberation from parental oversight. For everyone, both places meant exoticism, warmth and freedom. Even those who never made it to Crimea or Abkhazia knew of these charms and longed for them.

It is striking that this affection has endured in the post-Soviet era, when well-heeled Russians holiday on the Côte D'Azur and lots of others in Turkey and Italy, where the facilities tend to be rather nicer. Even the worldliest can still bring tears to their own eyes describing how they swiped tomatoes from the compounds of the nomenklatura in the Crimea of the 1970s. Their feelings for the peninsula are shaped not by today’s circumstances but by the paucity of alternatives in the Soviet era. Like other objects of Soviet nostalgia—cherished recipes, old songs, even the victory over the Nazis which is Russia’s most sacred achievement—this yearning for Crimea is a measure of how little there is to remember fondly from the Russian 20th century. In other words, it is less a reflexion of Russia’s distant, imperial past, with its princes and conquests, than of the bleakness of its more recent one.

And perhaps there is another, more universal aspect to this nostalgia for both Crimea and Abkhazia, something intimate and vulnerable behind Mr Putin’s bellicose rhetoric and the menacing men in balaclavas: a longing for lost childhood, and a desire to salvage lost people and times—even by wrenching their setting roughly into the Russian present.

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