Mid 1980s. Image courtesy of Life magazine.

Whenever there is a heated argument whether things were better during the USSR times, this statement invariably pops up as a mighty ace: At least they had free medical care in the Soviet Union! This is supposed to bring the opponent to the knees and make them beg mercy and forgiveness for betraying the Great October achievements.

Well well well. Let’s have a close look at what really was free then.

After the events of October 1917, the Bolsheviks chose to nationalise all hospitals and medical practices previously founded by various state and charitable organisations. This would have been a feasible plan, had they not chosen to class all doctors as “rotten bourgeois” which meant that they had to emigrate from the “Red Terror” or face death.

Even Vladimir Lenin in a letter dated of Nov 1918 wrote to an acquaintance: Please go abroad to see a doctor – they have wonderful specialists in Switzerland and Vienna… Our so-called doctors are fools.

In early 1920s various medical experiments became popular and acquired great support of the state: without much of a theoretical base or substantial research, a lot of time and money was poured into genetical experiments to breed a new type of person – of a Socialist kind.

Al in all, the years in which the Bolsheviks were starting off were very tough: the country was in a run-down state after the WWI; there was a severe famine; pandemics of cholera, typhoid, malaria; as well rising numbers of people dying of various infections and malnutrition. From a health perspective, the state of many medical practices and hospitals was borderline catastrophic. The buildings were getting old without any hopes for repair; central heating often failed; medical supplies were insufficient and irregular. The food supplies were often short, and the burial of the dead was an issue as well.

The state spending on medicine was low to start with, and it was gradually declining: it was 3.9% of the total budget in 1927; 3.6% in 1928; 3.5% in 1929 and 3% only in 1930. The severe skill shortages in the health industry were imminent, and there was a strong urban focus in health providers’ locations – given that the supply was already short, the villages were even worse off.

In the late 1920s industrialisation, as per Stalin’s orders, aimed at developing the heavier industrial machinery production – so the times which what was already bad was turning even more foul. Bureaucracy was starting to settle in, while the budget cuts continued (2.5% of the total budget in 1932, 2.7% in 1933). On paper, as often in the USSR, things looked if not rosy but at least decent: the attention was drawn to preventative measures and the importance of the population’s health; whereas in reality it was very ugly.In our old post about the life in the 1920s, the images of those time were indeed scary, if you remember.

During the Second World War, the main beneficiary of medical help was, understandably, the army – the rest of the population, fair to say, was abandoned. Various types of typhoid, TB, dysentery, malaria, cholera and even plague were not uncommon– the diseases were spreading very rapidly due to the poor supply of drugs and increasing numbers of migrants.

When the war was over, the main efforts (as well as financial means) were generated towards rebuilding the towns and getting the economy back up – and as always, there was no room for medicine research and development. The health industry salary bands were among the lowest in the country. In 1940 the doctors were earning 255 roubles per month, as compared with 399 roubles average. In 1955 it was 521 roubles against 711 average. In August 1945 a group of doctors sent an open letter to Stalin describing the abhorrent situation in the health industry. It mentioned the factory workers with high-school qualifications were earning 1300–1400 roubles per month, whereas the hospital manager, a doctor with 8 years of education and years of experience would be fortunate enough to earn 800 roubles.

A paramedic on call.

The change was brought upon by Nikita Khrushchev, who was slowly setting new goals and getting his government to redevelop many facets of Soviet life. But the late fifties were also the times when the famous free Soviet medical care system stopped being free. The doctors became less covert in taking cash from patients in exchange for medical services, for medical supplies, for drugs. The less-qualified medical staff (nurses and caregivers) were making some extra cash by providing extra-nice services to patients – for 10 roubles per night you could have a nurse by your bed taking care of you – obviously, all other patients would have been neglected. Midwives in birthcare institutions were bribing the fathers – one would pay a one off 25 roubles for the girl and twice as much for the boy as to “take them home”.

Among the key problems were:

• Alcoholism and drug use – extremely widespread.
• Bad ecology – due to heavily exploited plants and factories, many towns were below par – the Southern republics, Moldavia, some parts of Ukraine, industrial central Russia and Siberia.
• Food shortages – especially in the rural areas and small towns with the population of less than 100,000 people; as well as the appalling quality of food.
• Extremely high rates of abortions (100 for every 1000 women in the age of 15–49; or 200 abortions for every 100 of births). Also, the actual procedure was a very primitive one which lead to the death of a woman in almost 25–30% of cases.
• Health and Safety in employment – extremely high industrial accident rates
• Road death tolls

Also, in early 1980s the widespread of sexually transmitted diseases started to take its toll. In 1970 more than 12% of women of reproductive age were diagnosed and treated from STD, many of whom suffered from syphilis. In 1987 the first case of HIV was registered, after which the disease had escalated to the point of people panicking.

The Soviet doctors had all the pressure to catch up with their Western counterparts, and they did their best, given the circumstances. The first successful heart transplant attempt did not happen until March 1987, which was almost 20 years after the American debut. Such a significant delay was not just due to the budget cuts and low financing – the appropriate legislative framework was missing, and so was the concept of organ donors.

This is how the free Soviet medicine had met the death of the Soviet state. It almost seems like the 70 years of the 20^th century did not provide any move forward – despite the antibiotics, vaccination and hundreds of thousands of graduate doctors, the overall state of the health industry was just ever so slightly better than at the end of the Tsar times. And then, of course, the typically Soviet traits of doing things: bureaucracy, corruption, the notoriously abhorrent levels of customer service and the low priority that the state would give the health industry.

This does not deny the Soviet doctors their achievements – over the course of 70 years, there would have been plenty – but nothing was easy and nothing was certainly free.

Share / Email / Bookmark

Related posts:

1. Behind the Myth Veil
2. The case of The Kremlin Doctors and its Consequences: the State of Anti-Semitism
3. Best of Winter 2009–2010

Late 1950s was an interesting epoch for the Soviet Union. The death of Stalin was like a beginning to a new era, “the Thaw” of Khrushchev, the very first signs of the Cold War and the famous Fulton speech of Churchill — all of those were the signs of uneasy times coming up. But just before the Iron Curtain fell heavily, Russia was the place to visit — and we are very grateful to the Life magazine photographers who took plentiful photos for us.

So we are going to make a 50 year leap into the past to the mid-Russia region of the Volga river — here, the sparkly brand new ships were making their first cruises. So — full throttle!

Captain Palkin on a Maiden Voyage of Krylov Ship. 1958.

From a small dingy…

Steamship Vladimir Lenin. Built in 1913, retired in 1965.

The valley of the Volga river.

Ernst Thälmann docked in Yaroslavl

Ernest Telman

Lounging on the upper deck

Sunbathing.

At a cafe

Fine Soviet dining

Sunset on the dance floor

Of course not all ships were that glamorous.

Voroshilov timber trawler

A sign of its times: such beauties disappeared in 1980s

This was the way to move timber in smaller volumes.

A firefighter

On a ferry

M189 Steamship

Uglich-town ferry terminal

Samara (then Kuibyshev) ferry terminal

Samara (then Kuibyshev) embankment. A recital before the departure.

Bon voyage!

Share / Email / Bookmark

Related posts:

1. Signboards of Soviet Stores
2. A Trip Around the USSR: Leningrad 1972
3. Good Soviet Kids Go to Heaven? Nope, They Go to Artek!

Free postcards as a marketing ploy.

In 1959, a Soviet watchmaker MashPriborInTorg had what’s now called a solid market share of all watches and clocks made in the USSR. This ugly acronym stood for Machinery and Gadget Overseas Trade, and the factory made all the famous Soviet brands of watches which could be found in every household: Polet (Flight), Slava (Glory), Raketa (Rocket), Chaika (Seagull) and more pompous names, which in reality were good sturdy reliable watches: my Granddad had his Slava for more than 20 years, and never there was a complaint! For some reason, these goofy dolls were picked to advertise the watches, and today we have found a collection of postcards picturing a good set of such dolls wearing the Soviet tributes to fine watchmaking. Enjoy!

The set of cards

:)

Every household I can think of now had a clock like that.

:)

Unexpectedly, a black Pinoccio.

A sailor.

Forget me not in this lifetime.

Late for a date, no less.

Share / Email / Bookmark

Related posts:

1. Funtime with Soviet Playthings
2. The Fashions of the War Times
3. Good-Natured Humour Postcards from the 1950s

In about six weeks this remarkable man will celebrate his 80th Birthday. Who is he? The most popular clown of the Soviet Union, also known as the Sunshine Clown, Oleg Popov is true icon of its own. Born in 1930, he had on of the toughest upbringings ever — yet he managed to become one of most recognisable people of the 20th century: he also was in Guinness Records Book for “being popular in the West and in the East”.

On top of his game. Oleg Popov in 1976.

He was training to be a plumber when, at the age of 17, his friends took him along to the local circus — overwhelmed, he later said there was no way back. He started learning acrobatics, gymnastics, tricks; he spent all of his time and money on learning about the famous clowns and their techniques. It did not take him long to become famous: his natural talent and an open smile made wonders.

In his interview for the Russian newspaper Arguments and Facts, Oleg Popov is reminiscing about the happiest day of his life:after Stalin’s death in 1953, all entertainment was banned as a deep mourning was announced. So the circus he was working at was shut, and those weeks of not doing what he loved was torturous. It took over two months for the ban to be lifted, and even then he was briefed not to joke “too much”. So coming out on stage and receiving a huge round of applaud made Oleg realised that it wasn’t only him who missed performing — it was also the spectators who needed laughter.

Share / Email / Bookmark

Related posts:

1. Soviet Brands: The Scent Of Communism. Part 1 of 2
2. The Patriotic Education in USSR. Part 2 — Pioneers, Soviet Boy Scouts
3. Best of Fall 2009

Parade of 1984, city of Ufa. Photo by N. Marochkin.

Day of International Solidarity of the Working Class, or Labour Day — was celebrated in Russia on May, 1st  from 1919 to 1990. A public holiday for each every city, every township or village had a parade organised: flags were carried, posters and banners were up, kids had red ballons and portraits of the governing men were on display. The attendance usually was compulsory, but judging by the photographs now, I don’t think anybody minded: it looks like people had fum there. By May the weather was usually sunny and crisp, and this holiday was a little more that a propagandist activity: it was a unifying event. Please read on to see some faces behind the crowd.

Novosibirsk 1938. Photo from a private collection.

Novosibirsk 1953. Photo from a private collection.

Moscow 1958. Photo from a private archive by S. Buldakov.

Top Army guys. Moscow 1958. Photo from a private archive by S. Buldakov.

Novosibirsk 1958. Photo from a private collection.

Sports Club Marching. Novosibirsk 1972. Photo from a private collection.

Moscow 1978. Photo from a private archive.

City of Ufa 1984. Photo by N. Marochkin.

Toast to solidarity! Moscow 1978, photo from a private collection.

Moscow, late 1970s. Brezhnev is in the middle. Photo from a private collection.

Share / Email / Bookmark

Related posts:

1. Best of Winter 2009–2010
2. Picturing the Soviet Republics: Moldavia
3. City of UFA: Then and Now

Remember our post about  Slava Kurilov, the guy who jumped off the cruise ship near the Philip­pines islands — and swam to freedom for three consecutive days, completely alone at sea? Our today’s post tells a story just as remarkable — a young Russian surgeon Leonid Rogozov, stranded in  Antarctica with the Sixth Soviet Antarctic Expedition, in 1961 performs a self-operation: under local anesthesia, surrounded by a bunch of guys whose only experience with medicine was sitting in a dentist’s chair, the 27th years old doctor removes his own appendix.

rogozovappendectomy2

Dr Rogozov had a very promising start, but had left for the expedition shortly before having to present his thesis on new methods of operating cancer. He was the only medical person in the expedition, and in the downtime he also performed driver’s and meteorologist’s duties. Six weeks after the arrival to the base, he started feeling ill: weakness came, then nausea, then abdominal pain along with body  temperature rising. The diagnosis was easy: it was clearly a case of acute appendicitis — but the closest medical help was about 800 km away. Dr Rogozov wrote in his diary:

I did not sleep at all last night.  It hurts like the devil!  A snowstorm whipping through my soul, wailing like a hundred jackals.  Still no obvious symptoms that perforation is imminent, but an oppressive feeling of foreboding hangs over me… This is it… I have to think through the only possible way out:  to operate on myself… It’s almost impossible… but I can’t just fold my arms and give up.

Soviet Antarctic Expedition site four years prior to Dr Rogozov’s events

All the available conservative treatment was applied (antibiotics, local cooling), but the general condition was getting worse.And so the preparations for the surgery began. In his diary  he describes these events in  plain, almost emotionless language: how the guys found out, how he told them what was about to happen, what they were to do. Following Dr Rogozov’z instructions, the team members assembled an improvised operating theatre. They moved everything out of the room, leaving only the bed, two tables, and a table lamp. The aerologists Fedor Kabot and Robert Pyzhov flooded the room thoroughly with ultraviolet lighting and sterilised the bed linen and instruments.

In the event that Rogozov lost consciousness, he instructed his team how to inject him with drugs using the syringes he had prepared. Then he gave the main helpers a surgical wash himself, disinfected their hands, and put on their rubber gloves for them. And so it began: with the team’s meteorologist holding the retractors, a driver to hold the mirror and other scientists passing surgical implements, he sat in a reclined position and cut out his own appendix under local anesthetic.

The operation went on for two hours.

One of his assistants, the station director Vladislav Gerbovich, later recalled in his diary:

When Leonid had made the incision and was manipulating his own innards as he removed the appendix, his intestine gurgled, which was highly unpleasant for us; it made one want to turn away, flee, not look—but I kept my head and stayed. He himself was calm and focused on his work, but sweat was running down his face and he frequently asked us to wipe his forehead … By the end of the surgery he was very pale and obviously tired, but he finished everything off.

Half way through the operation Dr Rogozov passed out, but was able to continue.

halfway through the surgery the assistants asked for a photo camera to be brought in

Once  operation was complete, he took sleeping tablets and lay down for a rest. The next day his temperature was 38.1°C; he described his condition as “moderately poor” but overall he felt better.  He continued taking antibiotics. After five days his temperature was normal; after a week he removed the stitches. Within two weeks he was able to return to his normal duties and to his diary.

Those very instruments — on a museum display nowadays

A remarkable extract from Doctor’s diary:

I worked without gloves. It was hard to see. The mirror helps, but it also hinders—after all, it’s showing things backwards. I work mainly by touch. The bleeding is quite heavy, but I take my time—I try to work surely. Opening the peritoneum, I injured the blind gut and had to sew it up. Suddenly it flashed through my mind: there are more injuries here and I didn’t notice them … I grow weaker and weaker, my head starts to spin. Every 4–5 minutes I rest for 20–25 seconds. Finally, here it is, the cursed appendage! With horror I notice the dark stain at its base. That means just a day longer and it would have burst and …

At the worst moment of removing the appendix I flagged: my heart seized up and noticeably slowed; my hands felt like rubber. Well, I thought, it’s going to end badly. And all that was left was removing the appendix …

And then I realised that, basically, I was already saved.

Dr Leonid Rogozov

About a year later he left Antarctica for home: 29 May 1962 the ship docked at Leningrad harbour. The next day Dr Rogozov returned to his work at the clinic — and shortly after he successfully defended his dissertation. He worked and taught in the Department of General Surgery of the First Leningrad Medical Institute. He never returned to the Antarctic and died in St Petersburg, as Leningrad had by then become, on 21 September 2000.

“A job like any other, a life like any other”

This self operation was probably the first such successful act undertaken out of hospital settings, with no possibility of outside help, and without any other medical professional around. It remains an example of determination and the human will for life. In later years Rogozov himself rejected glorification of his deed. When thoughts like these were put to him, he usually answered with a smile and the words: “A job like any other, a life like any other”.

Share / Email / Bookmark

Related posts:

1. A Swissman in Moscow: Leonard Gianadda, 1957.
2. Happy New Years!
3. In The Grocery

Warm kitty, Sleepy Kitty, Purr Purr Purr.

For those of you who found the previous post a tad too serious (and we always welcome you feedback!), here’s a set of illustrations for a childrens’ book Look At These Kittens! by Georgy Karlov. Please retweet and stay tuned! Cheers

Cowardy

Look At These Kittens! The cover

1

Greedy

Bully

Thiefy

Scruffy

Crybaby

Lazybones

Grumpy

Kids, surely you are not like some of these kittens, are you?

The end

Share / Email / Bookmark

Related posts:

1. Summer in Gorky Park, Moscow of late 1960s
2. Check? Mate! A Chess Computer
3. Funtime with Soviet Playthings

It is always interesting to see how foreigners perceive Russia. This time there’s no exception — in 1957, during the 6th Worldwide Festival of Youth And Students, a Swiss reporter Léonard Gianadda spent a few hot summer days in Moscow, capturing not only the Festival programme, but random faces of Moscovites in the streets. 50 something years later, when we look at these shots, we forget for a moment about the politics, and repressions, and all the misfortunes the country has been through — we can only enjoy the life captured in these split seconds.

The summer of 1957

1

2

3

4

My personal favourite shot, we used it for our Why Did The USSR Collapse? article heading.

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

Share / Email / Bookmark

Related posts:

1. Photos of Moscow and Surroundings by Marc Riboud, 1960s
2. More pictures of Soviet Moscow 1960s by Mark Riboud
3. Christian Dior in Moscow: a Fleeting Sense of Happiness

All images are by Lisa Larsen, for LIFE magazine.

In 1956 an array of British designers were trying to expand their market share into the Soviet Union. So a fashion week of some sort took place — in Moscow, Gorky Park, twice daily the shows took place. What a huge success it was! Every day it was a full house, and the public were in love with the British models and the fashion. Jeans, for instance, were very trendy and could cost as much as a month’s salary — yet one still had to queue up to get a pair.

However, after so much ado, not a single British clothing company ever received any Soviet  offers of cooperation. Sad,  really — just like Christian Dior in Moscow, it could have been a beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Catwalk

Jeans made a sensation. Nothing was more wanted — and unavailable.

A model Joy Slape, in Gorky Park

Do want! A girl eyeing up a bracelet in a shop

Model Ann Smith talking to a soldier

Share / Email / Bookmark

Related posts:

1. Fashion in the USSR. DIY.
2. Christian Dior in Moscow: a Fleeting Sense of Happiness
3. More pictures of Soviet Moscow 1960s by Mark Riboud

…and we are back on air after our short break! Sorry it was unannounced, but very much needed — and we are delighted to reconnect with you again. We’ve got lots of great stuff coming — from kids summer camps through to some amazing amateur photography as well as we shall look at each decade in detail — what 1940s, 1950s, 1960s and so on meant to the Soviet Union, and how it lived differently to the rest of the world. So — thanks for your feedback and stay tuned!

Just a very light post for today, before we dig any deeper — a very neat collection of humorous postcards — great to see some good natured jokes all the way from 1950s and 1960s.

Future Champions. By G. Valk.

Is the lion really 6 years old?! By G Valk

A portrait. By G Valk

“Taxi Stand” — “No room!” By G Valk

Stop! Can’t you see the light is red! By G Valk

Going hunting. Credits unknown.

I caught it! No, I did!

Would you like to become my widow?

No luck at fishing.

An evening gathering.

Hunting hogs.

“As short as possible, please” // “Can you make it wavy?”

Share / Email / Bookmark

Related posts:

1. Enthusiastic Photography from Soviet Russia, 1950s — 1960s.
2. Summer in Gorky Park, Moscow of late 1960s
3. A Glance at the Soviet Lifestyle, Captured by Marc Riboud.