The Soviet Passport. Albert Baiburin

Читать онлайн.
Название The Soviet Passport
Автор произведения Albert Baiburin
Жанр Историческая литература
Серия
Издательство Историческая литература
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781509543205



Скачать книгу

       ‘Remove the document – and you remove the man’

      In the English-speaking world, the word ‘passport’ signifies a document that permits free passage beyond the boundaries of the state where the holder resides. The concept is distinct from that of an identity document (ID), which demonstrates to the satisfaction of officials within a person’s home country that they actually are who they claim to be. A passport may sometimes be used in the latter capacity, but does not have to be – in the US in particular, a driving licence is the regular form of ID.1 In Britain, perhaps partly because the right to roam is seen as an essential freedom (the history runs from protests against enclosure in the eighteenth century through the foundation of the Ramblers’ Association in 1935 to campaigns for access to private landholdings and community buyouts in the 2020s), and because of ingrained notions of personal privacy as sacrosanct, the imposition of a unified state ID system has met fierce resistance. In 2004, the then Home Secretary David Blunkett’s plan to introduce compulsory identity cards provoked uproar, and by 2010, the plan had been scrapped.2 It has not been revived.

      The resistance to generalized ID means, in turn, that English-speaking observers are by and large peculiarly ill-equipped to understand political and social cultures such as Russia and the USSR, in which the use of identity documents is elaborately institutionalized, and forms an embedded element of everyday practices.3 In a travelogue about a visit to the former USSR, Colin Thubron recorded a meeting with Stepan, an elderly man from the Evenk people (a former hunter-gatherer community in Eastern Siberia). Stepan was Thubron’s neighbour in the local cottage hospital while recovering from being burned during a fire at his house. He described how suddenly the fire had happened:

      ‘I had time to run in once, before it was too late. Only once.’

      What had he carried out, I wondered, in those few seconds? Had he salvaged a few hoarded roubles, a precious garment, a sentimental photograph? ‘What did you save?’

      He pulled it from his jacket as if to be sure it remained. […] It was a sensible choice to retrieve, I knew; but I felt his degradation. His hand was trembling, until I held it in mine. And I realised I was angry: angry that even into this remote life Moscow had intruded its ossifying order, grounding and claiming him. Without his passport he could not move, did not live. He had risked fire for it.4

      To the outsider’s gaze, the situation was simply ‘degradation’, the symptoms of an ‘ossifying order’. Yet, as even Thubron noticed, the man’s voice was ‘self-satisfied’. For Stepan, the ownership of his pasport (the Russian spelling) was not a source of humiliation, but an object of pride.

      It is the central ambiguity of a document that was at once a weapon of state control and an instrument for the creation of identities, and even for self-assertion, that lies at the centre of Albert Baiburin’s history of the Soviet ‘internal passport’, or state identity card. As the intricate and sophisticated discussion in the book shows, the Soviet document, especially in the Stalin era, acted as a very real obstacle to freedom of movement. Large categories of the population, particularly in the Soviet countryside, were migrationally disenfranchised, to all intents and purposes tied to