دانلود کتاب آینده لنین – قدرت، سیاست و انقلاب در قرن بیست و یکم

In October 2017, I attended a conference titled “the future of revolution,” organized by the European University at St. Petersburg. This conference, which drew scholars from around the globe, took place not too far from the famous Winter Palace, which, in 1917, had been stormed by soldiers and workers—the same palace where the cabinet ministers of the Provisional Government bunkered, awaiting their fate. The lack of official commemoration of the October Revolution’s centennial in Russia was palpable in St. Petersburg that week: while there were numerous events (conferences, museum exhibitions, readings) in celebration of the centennial, they all were happening indoors, while the outside—the public space—remained unmarked. I was aware of the official explanation of that fact: the October Revolution, it was said, was still too “controversial” an event in Russian public consciousness and memory. But the effect was still eerie. I could not help but remember cities awash with red flags on Revolution’s Day every year in my childhood. The mood at the conference was energizing—rooms overflowing with attendees, presenters brimming with excitement. None of the presentations were nostalgic in their orientation or tone—it was future‑oriented. And yet, there was also a yearning for the past: in the evenings, the crowd dispersed and most of us walked around the city looking for the memory of the revolution to come alive. And it did: on the evening of October 25, the Winter Palace suddenly glowed red. This change in lighting was subtle but powerful. I don’t recall it being announced in the press, and perhaps it was, but it caught me off guard. The Revolution, I remember thinking that moment, will never leave this place. The Winter Palace will always remain a testament to the fact that things can change radically, the new replacing centuries‑old, in a matter of months.