memory, and sometimes initiated them. There were occasions when party leaders at various levels had no option but to respond to spontaneous crowd action, when monuments of the old regime were destroyed or there were demands to change names reflecting the tsarist era. Streets, institutions and villages had to be renamed, new monuments created, and thought given to the old burial sites of revolutionaries. Proper tribute had to be paid to fallen champions of freedom and proper recognition given to living veterans of the revolutionary struggle.212
The clash of rival cultural memory projects was not at the forefront of political battles, but aspects of the struggle for power were evident in numerous conflicts regarding memorable sites and sites of remembrance. Having the right to initiate such projects could be important in confirming authority and was sought by politicians and administrators, military commanders and members of all sorts of committees. In elaborating the politics of memory there was great reliance on the already advanced political culture of the revolutionary underground, with its long tradition of sanctifying its heroes and martyrs. During the revolution, earlier propaganda texts were republished. Later there were new biographies.213 The Socialist Revolutionaries were particularly busy in this respect, glorifying their party comrades and famous terrorists.214 The status of champion of freedom was retrospectively bestowed on figures from Russian history: Alexander Radishchev had already been named as the first Russian champion of freedom,215 although others awarded that accolade to the Decembrists.216
The promotion of the cult of champions of freedom was in line with the public mood, and this had an impact on how mass culture developed. Impressive numbers of new cinematographic films were made: The Grandmother of the Russian Revolution (Martyr for Freedom) about Yekaterina Breshko-Breshkovskaya; Champions of Freedom; The Sun of Freedom (Hail to the Champions of Freedom); The Death of Lieutenant Schmidt, and others.217 There was demand from cinema-goers, readers and consumers for the memorialization of champions of freedom, and that was fertile ground for implementing projects of the politics of memory.
The need for funerals of participants in the revolution brought forth new symbols and rituals based on the revolutionary tradition. As a result of burials and reburials of opponents of the old regime, as well as of other symbolic acts, the cultural and political topography of towns and villages changed, and that reflected back on the ritual of revolutionary celebrations and the scenarios of political rallies. Urban political spaces were recodified and new politically sanctified locations appeared. The emergence of local cults of champions of freedom was exploited by diverse political forces, and the revolutionary past became an important asset in the struggle for power. A number of local rallies assumed national significance. The revolutionary authorities in Sevastopol sent an expedition to recover the remains of Lieutenant Pyotr Schmidt and other participants in the 1905 uprising. These champions of freedom were reburied with due ceremony in Sevastopol, with Admiral Alexander Kolchak, the commander of the Black Sea Fleet, playing a prominent role. He headed those following the revolutionary hero’s coffin. The event was an impressive demonstration by those in favour of continuing the war against Germany. It seems unlikely that Schmidt’s actions in 1905 were consonant with the admiral’s understanding of the naval code of honour, but he recognized the political necessity of a solemn reburial of the revolutionaries. In the aftermath of February 1917, Kolchak succeeded in maintaining discipline in the fleet for some time, helped by his authority as a respected naval commander, his ability to find common ground with the local committees, and his pragmatic ability to employ rhetoric, symbolism and revolutionary ritual to achieve his goals.
It seemed that, under his leadership, the relatively ‘healthy’ Black Sea Fleet could become a focus for patriotic mobilization, and the politics of memory had a contribution to make to this. The admiral and his officers reminded the country of the outstanding role played by the Black Sea Fleet in Russia’s history. The defence of the city of Sevastopol during the Crimean War and the mutinies at the time of the First Russian Revolution bolstered the view that the officers and committees of the navy had a right to act as a nationwide focus of patriotic mobilization. Some of Admiral Kolchak’s supporters went even further, representing him as the heir of Lieutenant Schmidt.218
Modern biographers of the Black Sea Fleet commander tend to omit mention of his role in advancing the cult of champions of freedom, and Kolchak himself can hardly have been at ease glorifying the mutineers. However, both he and his supporters understood the practical necessity of behaving as if they did, and they lent their authority to the movement.
The cult of fighters fallen in the cause of freedom was exploited pragmatically by others who supported continuing the war. On 25 March, at the opening of the Seventh Congress of the Constitutional Democratic Party, the deputies honoured the memory of those fighters who had ‘laid down their lives for the freedom of our people and opened up the way for developing our work.’ Prince P. D. Dolgorukov, a prominent representative of the party, included members of the armed forces among the champions of freedom, declaring: ‘I suggest you unite the sacred memory of the champions of freedom from the foreign threat, from the external foe, with the sacred memory of the champions of Russia’s freedom from the enemy within, and honour their sacred memory by rising and standing in solemn silence.’ The deputies, naturally, responded to his call.219 If the socialists, when glorifying their champions of freedom, had in mind principally their participation in the struggle for social liberation (‘champions of freedom for working people’), the liberals sought to combine the rhetoric of the liberation movement with the language of patriotic wartime propaganda. The simultaneous existence of projects of diverse, and sometimes rival, cults of champions of freedom is evidence both of just how prevalent the tendency was and of its potential for political application. The fact that representatives of literally every political movement, from the supporters of Lenin to those who venerated Kolchak, were busily promoting this cult testifies to a short-lived consensus on the memorialization project of sanctifying fallen revolutionaries.
Kerensky’s involvement in promoting the cult of champions of freedom did not, of itself, stand out as anything exceptional, but his biography, his political position and authority, and the resources he controlled imbued his actions with a special significance and importance. Compared with Kolchak and others active in the political process, the ‘revolutionary minister’ venerated the champions of freedom more enthusiastically and more sincerely. From early youth he had been a bearer of the radical intelligentsia’s political culture; the cult of champions of freedom was extremely important for him personally, for his friends and family, and he kept in his apartment a relic of the mutiny led by Lieutenant Schmidt.220 The rhetoric and rituals of sanctification of the champions of freedom were well familiar to Kerensky and emotionally important to him.
The version of history the revolutionary minister proposed to the new Russia did also have a place in it for certain tsars. On 5 March 1917 he ceremonially presented to the First Department of the Senate the acts of abdication of the throne of Nicholas II and Grand Duke Mikhail Alexandrovich. In the process, Kerensky had words of appreciation for this ‘institution created by the genius of Peter the Great to protect the laws and the rule of law.’ That is unlikely to have gone down well with all who were opposed to the monarchy, but it is significant that Tan, a veteran of the revolutionary movement, quoted him, remarking only: ‘It is instructive to note this tribute from a man of culture to the genius of Peter the Great, who had been such a fierce and mighty revolutionary on the throne. Unlike others, Kerensky could see clearly the difference between Peter the Great and Nikolai Romanov, his pathetic successor.’221
Kerensky’s respect for Peter the Great was manifested in other ways. A number of warships which bore the names of monarchs began to be renamed. The Central Committee of the Baltic Fleet suggested changing the name of the Peter the Great, a training vessel, to The Republic. Kerensky thought, however, that it should retain its historical name. Many sailors evidently also thought it appropriate to let the ‘crowned revolutionary’ keep his place in the pantheon of great predecessors of the new Russia. There were three ships in the navy named in honour of Peter I, and they all kept their original names despite the revolution.222
It was, however, the cult of heroes of the revolutionary movement which had a special role in the version of