The Fall of the Russian Empire 1917-1920

Все счастливые семьи похожи друг на друга, каждая несчастливая семья несчастлива по-своему.
Лев Никола́евич Толсто́й : Анна Каренина

(Happy families are all alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way – Leo Tolstoy : Anna Karenina)

22 February 1917

The Russian Empire was not a happy country at the moment. In fact, it hadn’t been for several years now. Ivan Braginski took another slip of vodka and sighed. The alcohol helped reduce the hunger a bit. And god knows he was hungry. He hadn’t had a decent meal in years now.
Ivan put the bottle down beside him on the bench and looked silently as the snow fell over the Summer Garden. The trees and statues, so beautiful in summer when the flowers bloomed, were reduced to unrecognizable shapes by the snow. A fitting symbol of what had become of Ivan and his people.

Things had been going steadily downhill for over twelve years now. The failed war with Japan, the completely unnecessary Bloody Sunday and the riots that followed, the tsars incompetence and his unwillingness to share his power with the Duma, the scandals with Rasputin, the problems with the peasants… Ivan took another slip of vodka. The list goes on.

And during the last couple of years there had been the war to think about. Ivan usually enjoyed wars, they made him happy in a strange, bubbly sort of way. Kind of like alcohol. But apart from the first rouse in the beginning in 1914 this one had brought no enjoyment whatsoever. He lacked money and his soldiers were dying in millions, but he usually wouldn’t mind that much. War is all about killing people after all.

What he lacked this time was motivation. He didn’t really feel the need to enlarge his territories or defend them, not when it felt like they were falling apart under his feet. And he didn’t really want to follow the tsars orders anymore either. He knew his people felt the same way.

On his walk to the Summer Garden he noticed the workers of the industrial plant Putilov had joined the strike. Ivan had the feeling there would not be a single working factory in Petrograd soon. No one wanted to work when hungry and cold.

The only ones with a full belly and warm feet seemed to be the tsar and his supporters. And the tsar didn’t even seem to know about his peoples suffering. Ivan smiled to himself. He would know soon enough.

Ivan rose from the bench and started to make his way out of the garden, emptying the bottle as he walked. He knew he would wake up with a headache tomorrow.

___________________________________________________________

Ok, people, let’s start the revolution!

Helsinki, late February 1917

The snow was falling outside. Tino was sitting at his table and watching the snowflakes slowly make their way to the ground. There was an empty cup of coffee surrogate in front of him. Yet again he had forced it down and swallowed it trying not to make a face.
The war that raged through the world had made importing food and other similar products hard. The cold earth this far up north did not always supply his people with everything they needed. Sometimes he wondered what made them live here. But the love he felt for his lands, and the proof of the love from his people that had been shown over the last 50 years was so strong he knew this was where they belonged. With or without Russia.

A little over a century ago he had left Sweden behind. Russia had offered him something akin to freedom. The right to decide for himself, to become a nation. There hadn’t been too many changes, he’d been allowed to keep his laws from the Swedish time. The only real difference was bowing down to Alexander I instead of a Gustav or Karl or whoever.

Things had been wonderful. Far beyond expectations, actually. Until it started going downwards again. As if it was completely inevitable. When years pass by things change. And to Russia it was no longer okay with a nationally awakened Finland.
Russian stamps, conscription for the Imperial army, teaching Russian in schools… Slowly but surely Ivan and his leaders had started to make sure Tino would become Russian. But Tino and his people had resisted for all they had. He would never become Russian. He was his own nation. Finland. Finnish.

February 1899 had made things clear. Ivan had taken away all autonomic rights from Tino. He had become legally just a part of Russia. Nothing special. Nothing of his own. But again he hadn’t given up. Schauman shot Bobrikov. Russia lost against Japan. General Strike.
Suddenly the Russification had been stopped. Pulled back. Righteousness was regained. For a few years everything had been just fine again. Tino had almost had time to regain his hopes. Maybe he could stay as himself. Maybe things would be fine with Russia. Ivan wouldn’t make him speak Russian and be… Russian.

That didn’t last long. In 1908 it all started again. The reforms after the revolution in Russia had again stripped Tino of political rights. His bond personally with the Tsar was faltering. He’d never sent anyone to the Duma, though. Why would he? His people didn’t belong there. They wouldn’t get to say anything. They would just be fooled, their rights pulled away like a mat from underneath their feet. There was nothing that could be called a good relationship between Tino and Ivan anymore.

Then the war had started. Ivan was fighting with Germany. But Tino was sure Ivan had no idea of the small infatuation with Germany Tino felt. How he idolized him. How his people had even sent men there in secret, for military education. In case he’d get a chance to separate from Russia. Those jägers were now fighting against Ivans troops somewhere in the south. Far away from home.

But even here at home there was something scaring Tino. He moved his eyes away from the falling snow with a sigh. He could feel it on the inside. Everything was not okay. Russia wasn’t doing very well in the war. Not this time either. All the trouble it caused was again raising strong opinions among the people. Even in Finland. Some had even whispered the word Independency, something most of Tinos head didn’t even dare think about. He hated to say it… but he was well aware the situation was far from stable. And he had no idea what to feel himself. Maybe since his people weren’t all sharing the same beliefs anymore.

Looking back the times of the more active oppression, it almost felt like things were easier then. People had different views on how to fight it, but everyone agreed on fighting. Isto painted the Attack, they hid it and postcards were sent. They even started singing anthems about Finland, about Tino. Now things were more grey. Though, one thing still united them all. The refusal to become Russian and the belief in the rights they rightfully had. Tino wasn’t going to give in.

Maybe he’d try to down one more cup of that surrogate.

Petrograd, 26. March 1917

These days a lot of countries are at war. Until now there have not been many signs of war on Eduard's own soil. But. But he doubts it will stay like that. Especially with the German forces getting close soon.

At the beginning of this month he also felt the aftermath of the revolution, which had been in Russia just recently. It was quite horrible to say the least. Tallinn as whole was rioting, people walking around with red flags while singing boisterous songs. To Paks Margareeta, a prison, they went. Guards there were killed and prisoners freed. Afterward the building itself was set on fire. Others prisons in the town had the same fate that day. The whole night was without peace accompanied by occasional drunken shouts. Fortunately, the recent disorders were resolved quickly by newly reformed militia.

Eduard sighed while he looked at the masses of people around him. Many of the people were wearing military uniforms with some groups in between which were the choirs that had come with everyone. They all wanted the same hence they had come all the way to demonstrate here.

Before I didn't think that seeing such an amount of blue-black-white coloured flags could be this touching. It feels just amazing. To think, we have been under the control of other countries for so long now already.

People in the Estonian and Livonian Provinces had recently grown self-conscious of themselves. One version of the written Estonian had widely spread there. All that and even more made the Estonian population long for autonomic rights. Sure, there had been meetings regarding that before but never were they concluded. Just a year ago had a young outstanding lad, Vilms is his name, demanded that Estonia ought to get a nationalistic autonomy.

Eduard noted the bride and happiness on everyone's face. The choirs are singing. A Estonian version of the Internationale can be heard. At least ten thousand solider had to be marching here.

"Eh?" Eduard suddenly realizes that his vision is getting blurry. "I am still wearing my glasses... though?" Slightly confused, he moves both his hands up to his cheeks, feeling wetness on them. "Tears...," whispers the boy. Eduard is not the only one. There are many more crying because this is almost like a dream come true.

The flag of Estonia made of silk was carried full of pride in mid of bare swords while the solider were all clutching their weapons. Everyone's gaze just screamed that they'll protect their flag until the end as their freedom.

At that moment Eduard wondered, looking at all the people, if he could get ever independent or if such a thing would just be a big miracle. But he was sure now, there would be no way he would give up without a fight.