'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.
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With Giorgi
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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'.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Stalin's car |
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'The Gallery of Gifts'
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| Cigars from Cuba and a 'cheap' English ashtray |
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| 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.
