I.IS NEW ART GOOD FOR A NEW SOCIETY?

The history of visual propaganda in Russia is as rich and comprehensive an example of social engineering as there is in the history of man. Although many graphic designers today are familiar with both Soviet propaganda and Constructivist designers like Rodchencko and Lissitsky, a common miscon-ception is that these avant-garde artists were the driving force behind Soviet propaganda. They were not. It is certainly true these artists believed art existed to serve the proletariat (work-ing class). They were convinced they could help bring about a more just society by creating art that spoke for the masses. Yet, they believed the Bolshevik’s bold attempt at creating a

new human order deserved nothing less than revolutionary art, and so their designs often forsook tradition in favor of ex-perimentation. Although they believed a new visual language was on the verge of reshaping all societies, their creative influ-ences were modern movements like Cubism and Futurism rather than traditional Russian art. Likewise, many of their most innovative creations were developed not for the Russian masses but for their fellow artists in Paris and Berlin. The Contructivists encouraged an intellectual dialogue regarding the artistic potentials of the new Soviet philosophy. They engaged in publication design, stage design, architec-tural design and advertising design as vehicles for commercial and social agitation. As designers of dynamic Soviet exhibi-tion stands for foreign conferences, they were also successful emissaries for Bolshevism. But after Lenin’s death in 1924, a

more strident and oppressive form of Communism emerged and the new leadership, with Stalin at the helm, considered modern art anathema to the goals of Soviet Russia. Even Russian artists like Kandinsky and Chagall, who had contrib-uted their talents to the cause in the early years, were derided by the new government for the level of abstraction in their work. Suprematist Kasimir Malevich was perhaps the least influenced by the new socialist paradigm in his art. In fact, he believed art needed to maintain a distance from all things po-litical. He believed that basic form and color were to be used to express true feeling, “seeking no practical values, no ideas, no promised land.” The above artists were members of an international move-ment that continues to influence artists today. But it is exactly because they smashed the accepted norms of traditional Russian visual communication that their appeal to the masses was limited. Intellectual elitism can rarely co-exist with a worker’s rebellion, and the Bolshevik revolution required art-ists who were willing to speak in the vernacular of the masses. Bolshevik, after all, means majority. Therefore, the major contributors to the most ubiquitous Soviet propaganda—the propaganda used to such startling effect in shaping public dialogue—were individuals who had been involved in Rus-sian political art and iconic religious painting long before the revolution. These artists were trained in the more conservative modes of Russian art and design. They understood the meth-ods of traditional Russian storytelling in its visual manifesta-tions. Soviet propaganda was so successful simply because it

“The principal issue facing the Bolsheviks in 1917was not merely the seizure of power but the seizure of meaning.”

—Victoria E. Bonnell

CASE STUDY ONE

VISUAL PROPAGANDA IN SOVIET RUSSIAby Scott Boylston

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co-opted the color schemes, illustrative styles, formats, and iconography familiar to the general public. They began with a visual language everyone trusted as their starting point, and they simply plugged entirely new meanings into that old, widely accepted set of symbols.

II.TSARIST RUSSIA

A wide range of social ills accompanied the technological advancements of the Industrial Revolution. Large segments of the working class migrated to cities where factory jobs were abundant, but in the absence of governmental regula-tions they were exploited and subjected to the squalor of urban slums. The ninteenth century was plagued with mas-sive strikes and street protests that threatened to unstabilize the quickly modernizing nations. While monarchies slowly acquiesed to more democratic forms of governmental rule, however, the notion of socialism was still consider danger-ously radical. Like Europe’s ruling dynasties, Nicholas II’s Tsarist regime was domestically resented for its exploitation of the working class. Along with the capitalists who controlled the industrial complex, the Russian Orthodox Church was implicated in this exploitation. The Church and the Tsarist re-gime indulged in extravagant lifestyles and flamboyant public processions even as the working class grew more destitute, and as the divide between rich and poor grew public unrest intensified. Through the turn of the century workers’ demon-strations and strikes were viciously suppressed by government forces which only served to agitate the masses further. One result of this turmoil was an increase in the cir-culation of satirical magazines that published unflinching critiques of the faltering regime. With a literacy rate hovering around 30% in the rural regions and 50% within the cities, it was the direct impact of the graphic illustrations featured in

these magazines that the embattled government feared most. In fact, one of the more critical magazines was allowed to con-tinue publishing thier written attacks as long as they agreed to stop publishing illustrations. In response to the 1905 rebel-lion, the Tsar’s October manifesto severely curtailed freedom of the press, censoring all critical magazines for several years, but they inevitably reemerged with more ferocity than before. The regime maintained power throughout a tumultu-ous decade of fomenting rebellion and the first World War, but by the end of that war life in Russia had irrevocably changed. The Bolshevik’s claim that World War I had been an imperialist-driven massacre that needlessly sacrificed the lives of the working class found an audience, and their slogan “Peace, Land, Bread” garnered wide support. In October 1917, the Bolsheviks succeeded in a long planned revolution (the Bolshevik Party was formed in 1903). A vicious civil war ensued that pitted the newly established Red Army against the

counter-revolutionaries of the old regime, who were referred to as “whites” for their loyalty to the Tsar. Nineteenth-century Russian society was a highly visual culture, with the stern dogma of the Russian Orthodox Church playing a heavy hand in the control of visual repre-sentation. With literacy at such a low rate, the church relied heavily on paintings to “educate” the masses. Religious iconic painting was especially ubiquitous, and the manipulation of visual cues was an effective means of simplifing communica-tion while elucidating narrative threads. Color was a particu-larly powerful communicator. It could signify specific human traits or denote biblical personalities. Red, for example, represented the blood of martyrs and the fire of faith; the Rus-sian word for ‘red’ (krasnyi) itself incorporates a characteristic duality, meaning both ‘red’ and ‘beautiful.’ (Stephen White, The Bolshevik Poster, page 5). The illustrated broadsheet, or lubok, was another traditional method of communicating to the Russian public. These poster-sized announcements were bold and dramatically colored to attract attention. Like religious iconic painting, the lubki made use of symbols and colors to convey the essence of their message. Their structure was similar to that of comic strips, presenting a sequence of images accompanied by small passages of text to clarify their content. Along with vibrant images, humor was often used to broaden their appeal.

III.SOVIET VISUAL PROPAGANDA

Long before the Bolsheviks seized power in Russia they had developed a keen sense of what would be required to effective-ly lead their new society. They understood the need to create a cohesive and stirring message to unify the masses behind them. Many architects, actors, sculptors, artists and writers were inspired to create art that served the proletariat. But two

artists in particular were integral in the development of the propaganda that would extol the virtues of the new Russian paradigm. Alexander Apsit (1880-1944), the most prominent poster designer in the early Soviet years, was trained as an icon painter. Although the son of a blacksmith, he travelled widely as a youth in pursuit of his art. After traveling to Greece and illustrating for an orthodox monastery, he returned to his native St. Petersburg, then moved to Moscow where he began working for the newly formed Bolshevik government. Dimitrii (D.S.) Moor (1883-1946) was trained as a satirical artist. Like many Russians, he was fascinated with religious iconographic painting. Yet, as an atheist he was inspired in a different manner than most. While others were transfixed with religious fervor, Moor was drawn to the artwork itself; its color, its powerful use of archetypal forms and figures, and its composition. Moor was also influenced by Olaf Gulbransson, a prolific political cartoonist who frequently contributed to

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the German magazine Simpliccissimus. Along with his posters promoting the Bolshevik cause, Moor contributed to satirical magazines that spoke out against the hypocrisy of the Russian Orthodox Church. Early Soviet propaganda relied on what Eric Hobsbawm defines as invented tradition. The objective behind this pe-culiar phrase is to disseminate a set of ethical and behavioral norms—supposedly passed down from a previously under appreciated segment of society—which is declared as the epitome of social equinamity. These invented traditions were forced upon the Russian populace in such ubiquitous doses that they were soon acknowledged as the cultural standard. The acceptance of these traditions legitimized the new leaders who had initially professed the dignity of these norms. Such blatant attempts at indoctrination were at the core of Soviet philosophy. The invented traditions of the Soviet worker-hero were easy to extol in metropolitan areas where monuments were constructed and labor marches were common, but the Bol-sheviks needed a spectacle to impress and indoctrinate the peasants living beyond the major urban areas. For this they engaged in agitation propaganda (agit-prop), and as one out-let for this method of indoctrination they implemented trains and flat bottom riverboats decorated with huge paintings that featured energetic slogans. These trains and boats often accommodated a printing press for the publication of news-papers and pamphlets, small theater rooms for propaganda movies, live radio broadcasts, and gifts to soldiers wounded in the revolution and the ensuing civil war. From 1918 to 1920, these “mobile posters” reached an estimated 28 million Rus-sians, bringing the news of the revolution’s successes to the more isolated country villages. Borrowing from the methods of the Russian Orthodox Church, Bolshevik posters relied on allegorical and symbolic

imagery. The exalted personalities were no longer those of saints, however, but common laborers. The objective was to create a set of icons that could speak as powerfully and as universally as past religious icons. Ironically, much of the Bolsheviks’ success in indoctrinating the populace can be attributed to this appropriation of one of their enemies’ visual lexicons. So many people trusted in the revolution because it was advertised in a language they felt comfortable with—the language the Church had itself used to mollify the people. The massive onslaught of Bolshevik posters—hung and past-ed on every conceivable surface—resulted in one of the most successful branding campaigns in history. The Bolsheviks understood what it would take to “sell” their cultural product. Unlike contemporary corporations, however, they were selling exactly what they advertised; a new way of life; a new culture. Apsit’s poster “Year of the Proletarian Dictatorship, Octo-ber 1917 - October 1918” celebrated the first year anniversary

of the Bolshevik Revolution, and this poster is considered by many as the first major statement of soviet iconography. The poster led to the predominance of art that depicted blacksmiths as the quintessential worker-hero in much of the propaganda that followed. Blacksmiths, of course, were found everywhere and they were needed for almost everything. They worked in cities and in the country, as fine craftsmen and as brawny industrial workers. And to further their appeal, their mythic abilities were professed in both Slavic folklore and ancient Greek and Roman mythology. In response to an open invitation to artists, the hammer and sickle icon was implemented as early as 1918. Other symbols included the rising sun, the locomotive, the strong forearm, and assorted mythological personalities of classi-cal origins. Prometheus, for example, came to represent the proletariat—bound to the rock of capitalism while being attacked by the eagle of imperialism. A male figure heroically breaking free of his chains was also a common theme, much in line with Karl Marx’s proclamation that “workers had nothing to lose but their chains.” Other notable propaganda designers of the early Soviet era included Viktor Deni, Nikolai Kochergin, Vladimir Mayakovsky, and Mikhail Cheremnykh. Deni excelled in the art of caricature, and the detail in his work lent itself to smaller formats like magazines, although his posters were also quite powerful. His work was more satirical in nature, and his biting sense of humor drove much of his most popular work. While capitalists were often portrayed as snake-like monsters in the pre-revolution era, it was Deni’s use of fat, cigar-chomping, tuxedo-wearing slobs that helped solidify this twentieth century icon. Kochergin was a poster designer in the same manner as D. S. Moor, in that he applied color in bold and dynamic swaths, reaching for a level of abstraction within his forms

that would energize the compositional spaces. During the civil war, Kochergin performed as a key member of a travel-ing agitational team. Posters were designed and printed aboard the train in response to current events. These posters were often military in focus, urging the populace to join the cause. Mayakovsky and Cheremnykh both specialized in “Rosta Windows” which were modeled after the traditional lubok (illustrated broadsheet). A hybrid of newspaper and poster, these posters made use of a sequential set of illustrations cap-tioned by short sections of text. Occasionally they included only two frames (a before/after commentary), but they more often presented a series of frames that told specific stories of corruption, greed, or revenge carried out by the common people against their former oppressors. Rosta stood for the organization that produced these public posters, the Russian Telegraph Agency, and most of these posters were designed

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between 1919 and 1921. Much like contemporary cartoons, they were colorful, and illustrated in a playful manner. Hang-ing from shop windows, they also brought much needed color into the otherwise drab streets of post-revolution Moscow. Along with his design work, Mayakovsky was an accom-plished poet, and he frequently collaborated with Con-structivists Alexander Rodchenko and Lazar El Lissitsky. He teamed with Rodchencko as a partner of Reklam-Konstruktor (Ad-Constructor), which could be considered the very first modern advertising team, in that Mayakovsky wrote the ad-vertising copy while Rodchenko designed the advertisements. Such a venture may at first seem an unlikely endeavor for a newly declared anti-capitalist country, but most of the work was done for state-run businesses, especially Mosselprom, or Moscow Food Stores, under the aegis of the New Economic Plan (NEP). His most acclaimed collaboration with Lissitsky was “For the Voice” an indexed book of poems. Mayakovsky committed suicide in 1930. As mentioned earlier, the Constructivists were not the driving force behind Soviet propaganda due to their avant-garde leanings. However, they contributed greatly to state-sponsored international exhibitions, which were designed to enlighten the world to Communism’s success. While the Constructivists were very influential within the foreign design community, their political beliefs also found fertile soil. Since one of Bolshevism’s primary goals was to spread Communism across the globe, the avant-garde artists were greatly appreci-ated emissaries for a number of years after the Civil War. As one example, the dynamic international magazine USSR in Construction, with design guidance from Lissitsky and Rod-chenko, was published in German, French, Spanish, English and Russian in an attempt to glorify the Soviet Union’s bold initiatives in the eyes of the rest of the world. Like many of their exhibition designs, this magazine made dramatic use of photomontage. The Stenberg Brothers in the mean time spent their efforts designing stage sets and movie posters. Cinema was seen by the Soviets as an ideal propaganda tool. The Stenberg Broth-ers, along with designing posters for standard cinema fare, de-signed posters for some of these propaganda films which were poorly done and thus unpopular. Despite the drab subject matter and techniques of these films, the posters themselves were astonishing in their dynamic and playful designs. Rather than use photomontage, the Stenberg Brothers painstakingly illustrated their posters, using images from the films only as a starting point.

V.SOVIET ICONS

Victoria Bonnell, in her book “Iconography of Power: Soviet Political Posters under Lenin and Stalin” describes four icons used by the Soviet regime in their propaganda: worker-hero, women, leaders, and enemies. A fifth could easily be added, especially in times of war: that of the Red Army soldier. While illustration and painting were often used by the popular Soviet propaganda artists, the avant-garde design-ers opposed such traditional methods and instead believed photomontage—as a modern mechanical tool—was more appropriate in communicating modern ideas. By the 1930s photomontage had become ubiquitous, most often used to portray icons of socialist ideals rather than those of its enemies. The enemies of socialism were often depicted in gro-tesque caricatures that were best acheived by means of more traditional mediums. Propaganda in the Soviet Union took another turn imme-diately after World War II. Just as the Bolsheviks appropriated the visual language of their enemies by using religious iconog-raphy, post-war propaganda appropriated the highly refined stylizations of Nazi Germany, their most reviled enemy. The physical ideals flaunted in the hyper-stylized National Social-ist (Nazi) realism became the model for much of the Soviet propaganda thereafter.

THE WORKER HEROThe worker-hero was the earliest widely utilized symbol of Soviet propaganda. Although peasants were often depicted in many forms, between 1919 and 1929 blacksmiths reigned as the quintesential worker-hero. The Bolsheviks encouraged literacy as a method of self-empowerment, and so a standing blacksmith—one that was actively thinking—was as heroic as any in physical action. By 1929, Joseph Stalin was succeeding in his quest for a more strident form of Communism, one that forced industrialization and collectivization upon the people of Russia. As Stalin’s influence coalesced, the notion of idleness (even if the idleness was the result of contempla-tion) was no longer acceptable. At this point the blacksmith virtually disappeared from Soviet propaganda. Within the framework of a more mechanized culture, it had suddenly be-come more than unacceptable, it became a bourgeois cliche, and at a time of mass deportations, murders and arrests, and the bourgeois label was one that often lead to serious trouble. When the blacksmith finally did return to the Soviet panthe-on several years later, he was always portrayed in motion in an effort to exhort the public to be more productive. Through-out the 1930’s the new focus was on the strength of the masses rather than the strength of the individual. Rather than the heroic worker, the ordinary worker was now glorified in his day-to-day toil, and often shown as a member of a group.

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THE SOVIET WOMANAllegorical images of Mother Russia were frequently used in Tsarist Russia, especially during World War I, and so they represented the old, banished system to the Bolsheviks. After the revolution and during the civil war, women were rarely seen in propaganda. Their first appearances were often al-legorical, but no longer as a personification of imperial unity. For example, some early posters depicted women holding metal to the anvil in preparation for the blacksmith’s mighty blow. Since it was understood that women simply did not do this type of work, these images reflected a symbolic union of the sexes in their shared effort for the greater good. Woman gradually played a more prominent role, and during the 1930’s they were finally given the full attention of many posters. The Baba, or old peasant lady, a figure that was often derided by the more urban-centric Bolsheviks, was replaced by the young, vibrant agricultural woman. Women personi-fied all that was pure in collective farming in these images. Only when Stalin was well established in his dictatorship did the notion of reviving a symbolic female with the stature of Mother Rusia seem acceptable again. In particular, during the buildup to World War II, images of a unifying and benevo-lent “mother” became popular after such a long absence. The early 1930’s were a difficult period in rural Russia. Forced collectivization of farms and livestock was a major component of the First Five Year Plan. This was also a time of attacks on the church and clergy as a part of a sweeping government campaign against organized religion. There were riots, and stiff resistance against these measures which Stalin’s regime violently suppressed. Woman were often the more vocal dissenters. Part of the reason for this was the woman’s traditional role as livestock guardians, and they could not see “surrendering” their own animals to the collective. They were also the more ardently religious, and more apt to fall prey to

rumors of permissive sex within these new collectives. The government response to this female inspired rebellion was remarkable in its effectiveness. Rather than resort to bru-tality against woman—a major tool against male dissent—the government approached the problem in a dualistic fashion. While propagating a derisive dialog regarding the women’s reaction as some sort of feminine hysteria, the visual compo-nent of the propaganda glorified the young, vibrant woman as a willing participant in the forced collectivization. The term Bab’i Bunty (female rebellion) was disparingingly used, much in the manner a man today might nudge a friend and jokingly refer to “a girl thing.” De-fanging the women’s seri-ous concerns further, the posters of the day showed women beseeching comrades to join in the collectivization, which had the effect of alienating those who resisted as if they were not normal. These two methods of discrediting concern about the massive reconstruction of the social structure of Russia were

backed by the government’s willingness to terrorize those who would not respond. The use of such idealized and collectively minded woman in the visual propaganda was part of what was called tipazh, or espousing positive stereotyping for specific segments of the population. Each demographic, defined by age and occupa-tion, was portrayed in an idealistic fashion as a way to coerce those groups of individuals into behaving in a predetermined fashion. As a significant break from the invented traditions of years earlier, this was an attempt to define behavior, not as seen through any historical perspective as much as through a future ideal—an ideal, of course, that would serve the needs of the state. The idea was to create a new culture, a new set of human beings; the homo sovieticus, homogenized in cloth-ing, emotions, behavior and hairstyle. Like bees in a hive; ants in a colony. This mythologizing was a part of a more scientifically oriented propaganda, where intensive research was done as to how best reach different parts of the population. After studies of peasant “focus groups” for example, revealed a prefer-ence for muted colors (and the color blue) as opposed to the starker blacks and reds of earlier times, many subsequent posters reflected that color preference. Poster production also became more centralized, and more tightly controlled. Government officials would often criticize posters that didn’t fit the accepted norms as counterrevolutionary or bourgeois. This intimidation ironically reflected the oppressive nature of the Tsarist regime the Soviets had rebelled so ardently against for its refusal to allow public postings that were not clearly pro-tsar or pro-church.

POLITICAL LEADERS (VOZH’D)One of Lenin’s first objectives after the 1917 revolution was the construction of monumental propaganda, but he

was insistent in not honoring any living Bolshevik leaders. Instead, he memorialized deceased individuals—political or otherwise—who had stood up for the ideals of socialism. This often led to monuments of individuals unknown to the popu-lace. Although Lenin was especially resistant to likenesses of himself, it did not take long for magazine and Rosta Window illustrators to generate cartoons that showed him performing heroic acts. There were busts made of him, and for his 50th birthday, a group of artists was invited to create work that featured his likeness. In yet another example of co-opting the iconography of the old regime, the first poster images of Lenin—which set the standard for many images to come—depicted him stand-ing with one arm extended. Although his raised hand was sometimes clearly pointing forward, it was most often open in a fashion reminiscent of religious images of benediction. Lenin, who had suffered a series of strokes in 1922, died in

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January 1924. Almost immediately a cult of Lenin was estab-lished, with his embalmed body the centerpiece for this wor-ship. Lenin was claimed to be “more alive” even after his death than many of the living. His likeness was seen everywhere, and posters that depicted him either alone or as a dominant figure beside singular representatives of different tipazh, or stereotypical figures, were replaced by posters that portrayed him communicating to large masses of people. While Lenin, the man, pased away, his political body which was refered to as “Lenin’s other body” was considered immortal. While the cult of Lenin matured only after his death, the cult of Stalin was propagated by Stalin himself. In a letter de-fending Lenin’s leadership abilities, Stalin upheld the notion of the absolute infallibility of the vozh’d, which conveniently absolved Stalin from any past or future misdeeds. Along with implementation of photomontage, and the increasing reliance on the extreme diagonal compositions favored by the Constructivists, the imagery changed in focus from including Stalin as a subservient element to Lenin’s visage to including an implied blessing from Lenin to a much more prominent Stalin. Stalin, portrayed as the heir apparent to Marx, Engels and Lenin, the forefathers of communism, became more and more central in the propaganda as the decade unfolded. Gustav Klutsis was the best known poster artist during the 1930’s, perfecting the Stalinist photomontage. Like others, he sought to generate utopian imagery and believed photomon-tage was the best medium to symbolize the new revolutionary structures and the technological and industrial advancements of the day. Klutsis, although one of the few avant-garde Russian artists willing to embrace the socialist realism style demanded of Stalin’s propaganda machine, was arrested dur-ing a 1938 purge and executed in 1944.

THE SOVIET ENEMY

The final category of propaganda subject matter as defined by Bonnell was that of the enemy. Russian culture had never been tolerant of moderation, in religion and politics espe-cially. There were no gray areas in a typical Russian’s outlook; for or against, yes or no, good or bad. Tolerance for anything other than a rigid stance on all matters was simply unaccept-able. This insistence on extremes was embraced in the new Soviet culture as well. All capitalists were evil. All clergy were hypocritical and in bed with the Tsars. The entire Tsarist re-gime was corrupt. The bourgeoisie were greedy, and the kulaks (literally meaning fist, and a derogatory term for the higher end of the peasantry entrusted to carry out the demands of the capitalists, the bourgeoises, the church and the tsar) were as despicable as any of their masters. Consistent with Soviet propaganda’s heavy reliance on iconic representations, villains were endowed with a certain set of readily identifiable characteristics, and once again,

images were appropriated from Christian faith and common folklore. Snakes, hydras and other serpentine beasts most often represented capitalists. While the eagle represented imperialism, the two-headed eagle represented the Tsarist re-gime (the chosen symbol of the regime itself ), the color black represented the bourgeoises (burzhuaziia, or the derogatory burzhui), and the color green represented the Polish. Because the Russo-Polish war coincided with the counter-revolution, the Polish were as reviled by the Bolsheviks as the loyalists. These enemies of the people were joined by the lunatic, the counter-revolutionary, the unproductive worker, and any citizen of a country that was not socialist. Ravens, crows and dogs were all popular motifs for enemies of the people during the revolution and the result-ing civil war. Increasingly, broad categories of enemies were took on human form and were defined by physical attributes as seen through caricatures. Fat, cigar chomping individuals with top hats and tuxedos represented capitalists, due in large part to the original caricatures of Western European satirical illustrations such as Simplicissimus. Such representations were extended to treatments of the bourgeoises, which were viewed as the domestic equivalent of foreign capitalists. While Moor’s capitalists were repugnant, Deni’s were often portrayed with a degree of humor.

THE RED ARMY SOLDIERA fifth icon could be added to Bonnell’s four categories: that of the Red Army soldier. The Red Army’s origins date back to the beginning of the Bolshevik Regime in 1918, and the newly formed force took the red star for its icon. There are various opinions as to the origins of this symbol, but many believe it had something to do with Alexander Bogdanov’s novel of the same name. As with so many subjects discussed so far, the Red Army soldier possessed a distinctive element

that could easily be used as an iconic identifier. The wool cap worn by soldiers, with its conical center peak, its angular ear flaps, and its large, front-and-center red star, provided a unique symbol. Although the equally identifiable fur cap of generals was used in later years, the soldier’s cap personified the bravery and integrity of the Soviet army in most imagery, and the cap itself was worn as a reminder of the Bolshevik cause until the last days of the Soviet empire. Another com-mon method of generating an imposing appearance for Soviet heros was the application of dramatic scale, with heros and soldiers looming over miniscule and snivviling enemies.

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VI.CONCLUSION

A primary reason why 20th century Russian propaganda represents an ideal case study of social engineering is the relative insularity of its existence, from its inception to its eventual demise. Other historical attempts at such a feat (the National Socialist movement in Germany for example) have clearly defined origins—origins we can study with a degree of accuracy—yet end abruptly in that movement’s sudden collapse. We cannot study the long term evolution of Nazi propaganda simply because its decline was instantaneous, decisive and determined by outside forces. Soviet propaganda can be studied through the entire lifespan of the new social order it was designed to transfuse. One fascinating aspect of the Bolshevik image-making was that it relied so heavily on accepted modes of expression to deliver its revolutionary messages. As we have seen, the most influential propaganda artist were trained in the traditional modes of expression that had been applied by the Russian Orthodox Church and the Tsarist regime before them. By doing so they were successful in building the trust of the masses. They procured iconography and color, giving them new meaning. Much like today’s corporations in their attempt to commodify lifestyles, Soviet propaganda procured a set of familiar symbols, and with those symbols they created a code of conduct and sold it to the masses as the new (invented) tra-dition. While Starbucks has “created” the idea of community coffee house and Nike has appropriated the notion of living a complete and rebellious life, the Soviet propaganda machine convinced the populace of its inherent right to dictate the social order of an entire country. The story of Soviet propaganda, and Soviet culture in general, is contradictory in many fundamental ways, begin-ning with the major political shift that occurred soon after the consolidation of Soviet power (which happened to coincide with Stalin’s rise to power) from an idealistic movement purporting to raise the living standards of the working poor by creating a broad ranging philosophy of class equality to a

repressive dictatorship that suppressed the voice of the com-mon folk as an enemy of the common folk. By the time of the forced collectivizations that took place during the 1930’s, Communism had been restructured to benefit those within the privileged sector at the expense of those that constituted the working class. The origins of the revolution also contained a paradox in that the Bolshevik leadership—a primarily educated and ur-ban group—condescended to the mostly rural populace they aimed to inspire and lead. It is no surprise then, that the Bol-shevik propaganda machine appropriated the visual lexicon of the masses, which relied heavily on religious iconography, eventually led to the official banishment of the church itself. Biblical passages like “He who shall not work, neither shall eat” were commonly use to exhort the masses to contribute to the new Communist state, but in a fashion that eventu-ally replaced one religion (Russian Orthodox) with the new religion (Soviet Collectivism). The inspiring design work that included the heroic working class in all its everyday splendor eventually acquiesced to images of the infallible hero leader, with idealized images of the working class (proletariat) playing a coercive role in keeping the “good” worker in line. It has been said that the effective imagery of the Bolshevik posters played a key role in the success in the civil war against the loyalists that followed the revolution. The posters for the loyalists were neither as remarkable or as ubiquitous as those of the Bolsheviks. From the outset of the new Soviet state posters were everywhere—vibrant colors, dynamic illustra-tions and compositions added flair to the otherwise drab settings. These posters served the social engineering goals of the leadership more effectively than other single governmental tool—aside, of course, from the brutality that followed if the messages these posters exhorted were ignored.

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