Monday 18 March 2024
The Thursday after the 16 February 2024 Russian announcement declaring Alexei Navalny, Russian dissident, had died after he walked around the prison grounds of the IK-3 “special regime” colony, known as “Polar Wolf”, I, on a whim, ventured to Union Square Park. I finished teaching my morning class. Not only to make my daily quota of steps, but I also walked toward the park to clear my mind. Teaching my war class can be more psychologically exhausting than intellectually; therefore, walking is also my therapy.
Walking toward Union Square Park isn’t normally my route; I usually head toward SoHo, the neighborhood South of Houston Street. During these walks, I search for new coffee shops, or stop in used bookstores—if there’re still in business. On that particular Thursday, I decided to head north. Trekking along University Place and crossing over E 14th Street, I noticed the Mahatma Gandhi statue. Having not seen the monument for a while, I veered closer to it, thinking that I should promote this memorial in my classes when my students are working on their Field Trip Reports, and are look for New York City memorials and monuments dedicated to either war or peace. Instead of first being drawn to the Gandhi statue’s face, I saw flowers before the Gandhi memorial and two photographs of Navalny.
Navalny? What was he doing here? Or to be precise what were his pictures doing here? The presence of this memorial convinced me that other New Yorker apparently admired him, feeling devastated by his death (or should I say murder). Their high regard for Navalny clearly was strong, and they felt motivated by their respect for him to put together this memorial. An unlit—or did the wind blow it out? —white candle stood guard before the pictures. Both a modest, ad hoc remembrance of Alexei Navalny and a simple, effective remonstration against Vladimir Putin, this 22 February morning surprise indeed made my day.
I photographed this scene of complex memory. I needed to capture this moment. I needed to record this history. I needed to reflect and learn from this memento. During that week I struggled writing the piece which would become my first blog on Navalny. Now seeing this place of memory for him, I felt even strongly that I must resolve the anxiety I felt about Navalny’s importance in global affairs. Being at that spot in the park did bolster my sense of obligation to complete the blog on Navalny; however, while standing there, I realized I needed to be even more thoughtful and diligent while writing that blog.
Yes, that mood I felt deepened my writer’s block. Those emotions demonstrated how important Navalny had become for me. Writing about the Katyn Massacres and teaching about war prepared me for this new task of writing about Navalny. However, each writing project reveals its own difficulties. And no matter how well experienced I felt, I wasn’t ready as a writer to engage with Navalny as a writing subject.
“Do something!” I told myself. Still stunned by this vision of the Navalny tribute, I continued taking photographs. I felt like a historian documenting history. This scene of remembrance would not last. I needed proof such a scene existed, even for a moment. My photographs, too, will become souvenirs, not in the sense of something I can purchase in a tourist shop, but a reminder of this day, of this place—the true meaning of the word: an inducement to remember; however, what exactly am I to hearken back to? What is it I must remember?
The Gandhi statue was a permanent fixture of Union Square Park, but the purposeful and recent “pop-up” Navalny tribute wouldn’t last long. The weather eventually would discolor the two photographs of Navalny. Either an admirer or an opponent of Navalny could remove the photographs; moreover, the park’s sanitation crew might tidy up the spot, tossing the images into the garbage bin. The flowers would languish and rot; another park crew would throw the dead flowers into the compost heap. Perhaps the mourners who originally left the flowers might bring fresh bouquets, but for how long? Will they… will I… remember to do so?
Standing before this Navalny memorial—which now supplanted, albeit temporarily, the Gandhi statue’s purpose, becoming now the sole reason for being there in Union Square Park—I admired the unknown person or group who erected that day’s Navalny homage. How long ago did the person or group walk away from their public display of lament? Did I just miss them? I needed to thank someone for thinking to make this gesture, an emotional, moral, and political one. I questioned myself: “Why didn’t you think of it yourself?” Thrilled that someone indeed did think of it, I thought what I could do to pay my respect to Navalny. My conscience called out even louder now, immediately ordering me to complete my Navalny blog.
Two days later, I returned to Union Square Park, expecting to see a larger memorial for Navalny. More flowers. Even a pot of miniature roses was there. The old flowers began to wilt. The two Navalny photographs weren’t there. Why would someone remove them? This current scene demoralized me.
The funeral for Navalny was to take place on Friday 1 March 2024; however, Navalny’s presence in New York seemed already to have disappeared. Did the purloined pictures of Navalny prove his irrelevancy to New York? To test this theory, I returned to the Gandhi/Navalny memorial on Thursday before Navalny’s funeral. I was heartbroken by the absence of the candle and flowers. Why was all it removed?
Seeking an answer to the question of the vanishing of the Union Square Park Navalny memorial mementos became an obsession. There was no answer. Their absence just was.
Motivated by the images of worldwide Navalny memorials—especially in front of Russian Embassies and Consulates—I had seen on social media, I visited the New York Russian Consulate. Out of all the places in New York which a Navalny memorial must be found, must be placed, must be maintained… more so than Union Square Park… the Russian Consulate should be that place. On social media, I had seen pictures of people laying countless flowers in front of the New York Russian Consulate; moreover, these courageous people even secured photographs of Navalny and placed written messages onto the iron gates that protected the consulate’s doors. Numerous candles burned; their light wasn’t extinguished. Those images of the memorials were from days ago; what would I expect now?
Walking on E 91st Street and crossing Madison Avenue, I immediately saw a color print of Alexei Navalny’s picture taped around the traffic light post. “Yes!” I told myself. Smiling, I looked up the street, and noticed an Ukrainian flag on the fire escape of a building. I nodded approvingly.
I walked toward the Russian Consulate, but saw no flowers, no candles, no photographs, no messages. I stood there; of course, there wouldn’t be any mementos during the daylight hours. Russian security would immediately remove them, whatever the protesters could leave behind on Russian Consulate property.
I looked across the street from the Russian Consulate and saw two orange and white construction/traffic safety drums placed in the street; nearby the drums, several traffic barricades blocked part of the sidewalk. Dozens of plastic wrapped flower bouquets covered a dormant flower bed; the dormant tree in that same flower bed stood defiantly. Protesters perhaps thought the Russians couldn’t remove their flowers on non-Russian Consulate property and began to build their memorial across the street. The flowers appeared fresh. So many colors. So many flowers! There were no Navalny photographs to be found embedded among the flowers. Nonetheless, my intuition told me these flowers were for Navalny.
I continued west on E 91st Street and found another color photograph of Navalny that someone had taped on the traffic light post. Anytime, the Navalny photographs found on the traffic light posts on E 91st Street could be vandalized; however, I sense that someone immediately will replace them, unlike what had happened at Union Square Park. The memorials I discovered on E 91st Street are where Navalny’s presence should be most felt, not downtown in Union Square Park. These Navalny memorials must serve multiple purposes, even stinging reminders for those who walk up and down E 91st Street.
This visit to E 91st Street helped to alleviate my writer’s block. Walking there taught me another strategy for dealing with writer’s block. Of course, this newly found solution to writing again was dependent upon the subject matter; nonetheless, sometimes, when applicable and appropriate, visiting a relevant site to your writing subject matter can (and does) re-inspire you. Before writing my Herman Melville dissertation, I did visit Arrowhead, his home in Massachusetts where he drafted Moby-Dick. I needed to feel Melville’s energy still vibrating in that room where he wrote so that I could write about Melville’s masterpiece. Having completed the first phase of my Navalny pilgrimage, I found the words. I will return to E 91st Street.