Going to Gori: Scenes from the Stalin Museum

'Some good, some bad,' our driver Giorgi uttered with a slight frown and arched lips as he described the opinions Georgians today hold of Joseph Dzhugashvili, the Soviet dictator more commonly known as 'Joseph Stalin'. A poll conducted a couple of years ago in Georgia found that about 45% of Georgians viewed Stalin favourably. Giorgi continued, 'But he is a big man in world history. He won Hitler. If it wasn't for him, history could have been very different.' I'm not the keenest person on counterfactuals, but few would deny that Stalin stands as one of the colossal figures of the twentieth century. As a History teacher - the kids here in Singapore who elect to take History study Stalin's USSR at Upper Secondary level - and as someone who's held a life-long interest in the Soviet leader (this goes back to my Red-Alert-playing days), a trip to Gori, Stalin's birthplace and the location of the Stalin Museum, was too enticing to resist. A tremendous amount of scholarly work has been done on Stalin and I don't claim to have new insights on the man. This entry is merely a humble attempt at sharing our experience in Gori.

With Giorgi

We made our way from Tbilisi to Gori, driving along the expressway past snow-covered fields and hilltops obscured by the morning mist. 'Miserable weather,' Giorgi remarked as our Subaru made its way under grey skies, enduring light but incessant precipitation. Thousands of visitors are attracted to Gori every year for the very same reason as we were and it's not unsurprising that many locals in Gori hold Stalin in high esteem. After all, a son of a cobbler and a dressmaker, born in a humble and little-known Georgian town, ended up becoming the undisputed leader of the Soviet Union. When his statue which dominated (no prizes for guessing this correctly) Stalin Street in Gori was taken down in 2010 by the pro-western government, the authorities had to do so at night. The statue's removal was met with outrage, a reflection of the attitudes the Gori locals have towards Stalin. We entered the quiet town and after a making a right-turn, were greeted by a huge poster of Stalin hanging from a three-storey building, as if the Soviet leader was displaying the famous Georgian hospitality by welcoming us to his hometown. As we got closer to the poster, the caption below Stalin's face became intelligible to our eyes. Alas, it read 'Souvenirs Here'.

A two-metre tall Stalin statue greets you as you make you way up to the exhibitions

Before visiting the museum, we gathered some information about the museum from our guidebook and from reviews written by those who have visited the place. We read that the Stalin Museum, opened in 1957, four years after the aspiring-priest-turned-atheistic-dictator's death, was not really a museum but a massive shrine for the Soviet leader. The exhibits were said to present a flagrantly one-sided view of the 'Man of Steel'. We also read that guides who took visitors around were often individuals who appeared to be completely convinced and converted by Stalinist propaganda. We didn't mind such warnings as we felt that having such a guide would only add colour to the experience of visiting the museum.

Our guide was a tall, grave-looking man of about thirty named Goga (I might have misspelled his name) who proudly claimed to be from Gori. He spoke in a low monotone and maintained a singular, solemn facial expression for most of the tour. He spoke without a tinge of enthusiasm but yet, did not sound bored. Facts and figures lay at the tip of his fingers, suggesting that he was a seasoned guide. Contrary to what we'd read though, Goga provided a more balanced view of Stalin's leadership. In addition to mentioning important dates, the figures of those who lost their lives while living in Stalin's USSR, the deliberately-starved Ukrainians, gulag prisoners, uncooperative peasants, victims of World War Two (known in parts of the former USSR as 'The Great Patriotic War'), rolled off his tongue as if it had been greased by olive oil. It would have been easier to digest a large khachapuri than the copious amount of information he was feeding us.

High-profile Georgian victims

At a corner of the second room, he referred us to a showcase of portraits, highlighting that they were of notable Georgians who perished under the communist regime. One of them was the influential Georgian writer Mikheil Javakhishvili, a victim of the purges. Goga then turned our attention to a photograph of Stalin presiding over the signing of the Nazi-Soviet Pact, a momentous event apparently not given enough attention in Georgian history textbooks. These books seem to amplify Stalin's role in defeating Hitler without sufficiently considering how his earlier actions had encouraged the Nazis to start the war in the first place.

Stalin's work desk from the Kremlin

We were also introduced to items Stalin used in his everyday life. Goga pointed to a photograph depicting Stalin in the modest act of cleaning his own car. Continuing to impress us with his numerical memory, our guide informed us in his typical deadpan manner, 'The metal, 3mm thick. The glass, 6mm thick. Bulletproof. Not bad.' With a subtle raising of his eyebrows, he led us into the next room.

Stalin's car

'The Gallery of Gifts'

Being such a prominent world leader during his time, Stalin was not unexpectedly showered with gifts from many other countries. This was especially the case when he reached the age of 70. Elegant pipes from Italy, skillfully-woven carpets carrying his image from Central Asia, a grain of rice with words of adulation and blessing precisely inscribed on it from India and an intricately-embroidered portrait of the leader made in Mao's China were just a few of the numerous gifts on display. 'Unfortunately, nothing from Singapore,' Goga remarked in a matter-of-fact manner. Stalin passed away in 1953 when Singapore was still a British colony. We reckoned our colonial masters would have presented Stalin with a gift on our behalf. I asked if Stalin had received anything from Britain. Goga's eyes squinted as he turned to look at the gallery, carefully scanning the place and his impeccable memory of things Stalin for an answer. 'Oh yes. The British gave Stalin something. An ashtray,' he successfully recalled. 'A cheap gift,' he said disapprovingly as he expressed emotions for the first time during the tour.

Cigars from Cuba and a 'cheap' English ashtray

Stalin's death mask

The last room on the first floor of the museum contained Stalin's death mask, according to Goga, the sixth of the nine which were made after his passing. It was displayed at the centre of the red-carpeted room accompanied in the room by a few exhibits documenting mournful responses to his demise. A family, not Georgian, which had entered the museum after us decided that Stalin's death mask was worth taking photos with. An older lady, probably the grandmother, prepared to take a picture of the others who stood in between the slender pillars which surrounded the main display, arranged in a manner which resembled prison bars, feigning anguish while stretching their hands towards the death mask as if desperately reaching out for a final blessing. All of a sudden, the lights went out. The museum was hit with a blackout and the family's hopes of getting their carefully-choreographed tableau photographed were dashed. To one familiar with Stalin the man, it seemed entirely appropriate. Even in death, the Soviet dictator would not tolerate being subject to such cringe-worthy exploits.

Our last stop was Stalin's bulletproof train car which stood just outside the museum building. The train car, built for Tsar Nicholas II, Russia's last monarch, in a somewhat symbolic act, was given to Stalin who hated flying. It would be the armoured train car which would take Stalin to the Yalta Conference in 1945. We were given a brief tour of the interior; we caught glimpses of his workroom, bedroom, bathroom, and conference room. I found the train car's bedroom surprisingly small for someone of Stalin's (or for that matter, Tsar Nicholas II's) stature, too cramp for comfort. That was before we had to take an overnight train from Tbilisi to Baku, aborted an hour into the journey due to visa issues. 

Although the museum has apparently remained largely unchanged since the 1970s, and a vast majority of the exhibits serve to glorify the Soviet leader's strong leadership and achievements, it's perhaps encouraging to note that a more balanced presentation of his regime is emerging. The ability to more readily accept and present the adverse impact of the dictator's actions would help make the Stalin Museum in Gori, more than just a tourist attraction, an actual place of education. The historical pedestal Stalin is raised on is not merely composed of his considerable achievements as the leader of the Soviet Union for about a quarter-century; beneath these lie the remains of the millions who perished in the name of 'progress'. Remembering the successes of a historical figure like Stalin is certainly important but it's equally, if not more, crucial to not forget the tragic costs incurred during his regime.

Venice: Impressions

Imitation is the best form of flattery and it's arguable that the greatest testimonies to Venice's awe-inspiring and unique beauty are the flattering sobriquets given to places like Malacca and Suzhou (just two among many described as 'the Venice of the East'), as well as northern counterparts St. Petersburg and Stockholm. Many writers from other parts of the world like Hemingway, James and Goethe lived in Venice and have written in glowing terms about her appeal.

A not-too-uncommon feedback I've received from friends who have visited the lagoon-city run along the lines that Venice is criminally expensive and grossly overrated. However, having studied the former medieval republic's past when I took university modules on the early Renaissance and the Crusades, I was eager to gain a firsthand experience of the place. Sadly, we were not afforded the luxury of time and visiting Italy as autumn was giving way to winter meant that daylight hours were relatively scarce, every minute more precious with each passing day.

The famous Grand Canal has sidekicks in about 150 other lesser ones which form the arteries of the city on the lagoon. In the past, horses were prohibited and people had to rely on boats to carry their wares and themselves from one point to another. Today, cars, like horses in the past, are not allowed and it was a pleasant change not hearing as frequently the familiar rumbling of motor engines for two whole days. In Venice, the canals are the streets and the Grand Canal, according to French writer Philip Commines, 'the finest street in the world, with the finest houses'. The object most frequently associated with Venice is the gondola, the ubiquitous boat, slender for ease of maneuver along the narrow canals. A gondola ride costs a hefty 80 euros, and we could not afford to answer the calls of gondoliers eager for passengers during the off-peak season. The best we could do was to take a vaporetto, Venice's public bus, down the Grand Canal. At a relatively steep 7.50 euros for a one-way ticket, we had to consciously savour every second as we travelled east from Canareggio to San Marco.

St Mark's Square, where one can find St Mark's Basilica and the Ducal Palace, is probably Venice's most famous area of interest and was swarming with tourists when we arrived in the morning. So much for visiting during an off-peak season! One shudders at the thought of being in the area when tourism reaches its height during the warm summer months.

St Mark's Square

Personally, the greatest attraction of Venice lies not in her famed piazza but in the fact that her many canals and narrow cobbled lanes, lined by old conjoined buildings, a significant number dating back to the early modern period, make Venice one of the most picturesque cities I've visited. There seems to be a photo opportunity at every turn and navigating the medieval labyrinth is like finding one's way in a Renaissance masterpiece.

I've always wanted to make Venice, as predictable as this may be, my honeymoon destination but I found myself visiting her quite prematurely. After all, the water level has been consistently rising about four to five inches every century and who knows how long it would take to find one's true love? It was simply a risk I couldn't take. Unfortunately, it was a crying shame to have to leave this alluring beauty so soon, without being able to be truly free from the suffocating inhibitions of time and be entranced by the Venetian spell. 

It's the Small Things

Dear student,

When you stand up and greet me with a smile before lessons start,

You show that you’re pleased to see me; it brightens my day a fine bit.

When you write your name on a worksheet I’ve prepared for you,

You demonstrate firm ownership; you really appreciate it.

When you update your contents page and file a document,

You show that you treasure it, that you understand its importance.

When you answer ev’ry question, giving each one your best,

You make known you possess matchless grit; you’re a person of substance.

When you maintain silence and open your ears when I speak,

You show that you acknowledge my role, one as an educator.

When during discourse you speak words that bear the sweetest fruit,

You serve your duty as a student, teachers’ noble dreams you spur.

When you note the day’s assigned tasks in your student handbook,

You show that you’re responsible, self-reliant for all to see.

When you’re accountable for your work, and don’t make me chase,

You display true care for this teacher, you respect and cherish me.

You see, it’s the small things that make me want to do great things for you.

By Mr Reuben Ong, Your Teacher

My First Graduating Batch

In an ideal world where energy and time are infinite resources, I'd elect to write a blog post on a monthly basis, reflecting on the path I've taken as a History teacher. Having read Frank McCourt's Teacher Man about six years ago, I've always wanted to write a novella recounting my experiences in the classroom.

Fatigued after a long and eventful day, I decided that before I go to sleep tonight, I'd write a little about today.

4EH 2015

Today marked the end of my long journey with my first graduating batch of History students. I first took them when I did my practicum and must say that I endured a relatively indifferent start with them. Our History class comprised students from three different classes and the class dynamics weren't quite suited to group work. In fact, a good number of students gave feedback, after I'd made them do a few group assignments when I was doing my practicum, telling me of their preference for individual work. Group work was so dreaded that I used the prospect of it to threaten them once in a while! 'Not all of you are paying attention to my lecture. Perhaps it'll be a better idea for you guys to work in groups?' Needless to say, I elicited a positive reaction on their part. I also knew that a student or two preferred a more experienced teacher to take the class (they were going to sit for their 'O' Levels after all), and I guess I couldn't blame them for desiring that. I won't deny that I was hurt to hear such sentiments voiced directly to me and I knew that all I could do was to compensate for my lack of teaching experience with blood and sweat.

It wasn't always easy engaging every one of them but I'm thankful, as I look back, that over time, I managed to see an improvement in most students' attitudes towards History, often deemed a half-subject. What I really began to appreciate was the fact that I could be myself in the classroom and I found myself looking forward to being there in the classroom with them. Teachers are meant to inspire their students but, sometimes, it also works the other way and I must say that I often felt inspired by this class. History may have been a half-subject but I'm glad that the amount of effort most of the kids put in did not accurately reflect the subject's status as such. Most actually came down on a Saturday for a revision lesson in May when we found ourselves short of curriculum time, having lost a lesson or two due to public holidays, and many willingly came back for extra lessons during the school holidays. A few students found the subject difficult to grasp but I was encouraged to see them persevere and I was most delighted to see a student who never really managed more than a C in previous examinations attain an A2 today.

It's very important for a young Beginning Teacher to have his or her first batch of students do well as, whether always fair or not, our efforts and successes are inevitably reflected in our students' academic performances, especially those students who took our hands and faithfully answered our call to walk the arduous mile with them. Our students' positive results do not only buttress our cherished beliefs about a student's ability to learn but also serve to affirm the time and energy invested by us teachers in our students. We love telling our kids how hard work is more important than genius and that hard work will almost always reap rewards but I think that we, as teachers, often need to be shown evidence of this ourselves. I must say that my world threatened to collapse when looking through the byzantine spreadsheet reflecting the percentage passes for each subject, I saw an ominous figure for Combined Humanities. I was glad that my colleague, Matthew, diverted my attention to the correct figure. Although the figure did not meet a lofty target I'd quite confidently set at the beginning of the year, I was pleased to note that those who worked hard saw their efforts pay dividends. The rest are just statistics. I'm also truly grateful for the amount of support I've received from my colleagues since I first joined teaching. Without my fellow History teachers in Broadrick, who have been nothing short of wonderful, I would have been a guillotined chicken attempting to lead my first graduating batch to battle. I'm thankful for the privilege of having taught this batch of kids and, being my first graduating batch, they'll always hold a special significance to me. History with me may have been half a subject to them but, to me, History with them was much much more.