Scholars from different disciplines are seeking to construct the new field of post-communism, which has been created by the implosion of the communist regime. They explore the most important dimensions of the differences between various types of space and geographical territories: the spaces of identity and the social, political and geopolitical spaces in certain countries of Central Europe (Poland, Hungary, the Czech Republic, Slovakia), the Balkans (Albania, Bosnia, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Romania, Serbia) and the Russian world and its Eurasian borders (Russia, Mongolia, Buriatia, Kazakhstan, Moldavia and the Baltic states) not to mention the borders of the Middle or Far Eastern communist world (descriptions of China and the Middle East).

In this article I propose to explore the meanings, mechanisms and issues at stake in the reconstitution of identities which can now be seen taking place in the countries of the post-communist space. We shall consider this space not as a thing in itself, but in terms of its old and new interactions with the countries of western Europe, in order to understand the phenomena of reconstructed identities in general, in the context of their relationship to the period of globalisation in which we now find ourselves.

For many peoples the fall of the Soviet regime saw the disappearance of a structure that had ensured their membership of entities with which they had in fact been only partially able to identify. This is true of the Buryats and Russians living in Buryatia, a former autonomous republic on the shores of Lake Baikal in southern central Siberia.

The rich text by Roberte Hamayon can be viewed from several angles. I will limit myself to one by noting that this particular case offers a very interesting illustration of the treatment of ethnic questions in Russia following the collapse of the USSR.

This paper analyses certain contemporary narratives among Buryats of Russia and China. At issue is the nature of responsibility for the campaigns of terror, in particular the devastation of the Buddhist church in the 1930s. In these accounts political leaders appear as reincarnations, destined to unleash terrible events. Stalin, for example, is said by Buryat Mongol villagers to have been the reincarnation of a Blue Elephant which lived in ancient times in India. I examine local discussions around these stories to suggest that the narrators, themselves having been caught up in the seemingly objective and transparent, yet deeply irrational, accounts of the Party-State, do not (at any rate at present) confront actions in which they were both perpetrators and victims ‘matter-of-factly’. Having been a particular target of the Stalinist all-pervasive organisation of suspicion and punishment, Buryat Buddhists today are creating ‘paranoid narratives’ of their own to explain the repressions - a narrative of displacement, in which the actions attributed to an other (in this case Stalin) are in some way ‘about’ oneself. The reincarnation stories point up the crucial moral issue erased by socialist metahistory, the ethical problem of individual accountability. They are about complicity, for they reveal an uneasy, and probably unconscious, identification with Stalin.

Feminist groups in Russia are rather recent initiatives. Most of them were organized in the very end of the cycle of mass protest mobilization in the end of 1989 - beginning of 1990s. 1990 is a starting point for Russian feminism. Moscow is an unquestionable center of Russian feminism. There are also feminist groups in St. Petersburg, Tver, Naberezhnye Chelny, Myrny, Petroskoi and other cities of Russia - industrial and educational centres. Some of these groups constitute the network of consortium, which is coordinated by the American feminist foundations. Several groups are supported by Frauenanstiftung of Germany. In 1990 first Forum of Women initiatives was held in Dubna; in 1992 - second Forum took place. Women initiatives publish their newsletters and magazines, circulating on the Federal level of the network.

Relationships to time through memory or projection form a particular axis along which the post-communist space reshapes, constructs and understands its identity. Caught between a public rejection of the communist past and a need for roots in the recent past, if only for narrative reasons, and cornered by the near future in the name of transition, the postcommunist societies face a dilemma in their search for identity. The weight of this dilemma can be directly measured by the level of consensus around the passing of certain ‘reparation’ laws, such as the restitution of nationalised property or ‘lustration’, however it can also be seen in other public debates. This sheds light on the difficulties that a society may experience in adopting a collectively-accepted narrative, which then forms the basis on which it constructs its identity.

It is understandable that, since the fall of the Berlin wall, researchers interested in the social and political upheavals brought about by this phase of history should have concentrated their attentions on what had been the immediate sphere of influence of the Soviet centre of power. However we are within our rights today to ask why our understanding of the structural (economic and social) transformations in what is conveniently called the ‘post-communist’ period and space, and of post-bipolarisation regional relationships, should be confined to that region of the world corresponding to the ex-USSR and the Eastern countries.

The fall of the Communist regimes in the countries of Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, and their commitment to social, political and economic reform, represent two aspects of a deep process of social transformation. As in all socio-political transformation which overturns the previous political and economic order, this process needed to develop an ideology and a concrete image of the future in order to mobilize their populations, to invent that certain political rationality which is indispensable for bringing reform to a successful conclusion, and to produce a certain coherence in the changes which occurred in the various fields of life in society. Unlike the preceding revolutions which had gradually nourished hopes for a better life and had expanded the horizons of human possibility with difficulty, movements towards democracy in the former Communist countries found an almost ready-made model.

Among the most important problems related to Russia's development, which are considered in depth in various kinds of forum and the media, both here and in the west, there is, however, an almost total absence of such a crucial strategic topic as working out an urban policy. In the meantime the crises that Russia is continually facing as it undergoes reforms are caused by the disparity between the tasks that have to be completed and the stage of civilization we are at. In order to fast forward to another level we have only the strategic role of the cities, in particular the largest of them, to guide us. Without real cities with a developed urban culture no effective solution can be found to the problems we are up against, whether they are economic, cultural, social or human rights issues.

On paper, the Russians left Communism behind at a single stroke of the pen. But within their walls and inside their heads the great majority of them remain material and mental prisoners of the Soviet period, whose tattered remnants still ensure - albeit with increasing difficulty - everyday life and survival. As for the Chinese, they continue to celebrate the glory of Mao in the most official fashion. But within their walls and deep within themselves, they are now decidedly elsewhere.

The study of the post-Communist towns of East Europe and Russia does not only present the social sciences with the opening of a new field and the attraction of exoticism close at hand. They are a remarkable observatory of the complex relations which unite the material facets of urban life (extension of the built-up area, architectural forms, types of distribution of infrastructures and services) and the social structures (mode of government, nature of the economic initiative, expressions of sociability). In three-quarters of a century for Russia, in fifty years for the countries of East Europe, cities many ages old were to have two changes of system: from liberal industrial capitalism to the controlled Communist economy, from interventionist autarchy to the globalized market. To give the lie to the poet (Baudelaire), towns change no faster than the hearts of mortals but beat to the rhythm of their continuities, their aspirations and their dreams.

The slow construction of the urban civilization: the socio-historic distances in the reading of an urban form.

The post-Soviet city is generally envisioned as a city in transition, on a more or less direct course towards the market city. This observation recalls the reconstitution of the residential property stock through privatizations, the redefinition of the individual in countries shaped by collectivist references, the post-national reconstitution of the economy and the political structures (Dressier, Gatti, and Perez-Agote, 1999). L. Kogan's approach suggests that we need a deeper analysis in the shaping of ‘urban civilization’ and the construction of urban policies, to change the way we look at the construction of urban permanence.

This attempt to interpret Communist society through the total social fact of the gift takes up Mauss's strategy, which attempted to explain social reproduction without written laws or state institutions. It was a culture of chronic revolution (‘revolution’ in the etymological sense), where the rules of the game changed with each party congress, institutions were in a state of permanent reform, science discovered new truths every five years, and yesterday's heroes became the traitors of today. The very concept of living in a transitory society renders every social form temporary and unreal - starting with the proclaimed disappearance of the State, the family, and private property.

The Russian financial crisis of August 1998, which occurred between the Asian recession and the devaluation of the Brazilian real in January 1999, put a question-mark over many certainties. It demonstrated that the most destructive speculative activities of financial players can only have free rein when there is a collapse of the state. The crisis proved that the markets need a state and cannot replace it. It was also the moment when people became aware of the dynamics of a globalized financial economy (Stiglitz, 1999a; 1999b), leading to a critical rereading of the policies recommended in the 1990s and a direct questioning of the IMF and its actions. In Russia it caused a paradigm shift that could turn out to be salutary. In this regard the August 1998 crisis looks like the endpoint on the route followed since 1992 by the transition in Russia (Sapir, 1999a). We can see in the crisis both elements directly linked to the financial liberalization of 1985-95 and structural elements peculiar to the consequences of the transition and the policies adopted. This is why it suggests a reinterpretation of the entire development of the transition in Russia starting from 1992.

The financial crisis that began on 17 August 1998 confirmed any fears that we might have had as to the robustness of the Russian banking system and more generally its financial system. It also pointed up the organic link between the confidence essential to the working of the banking system and the State's ability to guarantee the legality of it. Although improvements have been seen since then, the fundamental issue remains.

Although, in one respect, the role of popular movements in the collapse of the Soviet system was clear and fundamental, nevertheless that played by the former Communist elites was equally important.

An oasis of authorized criticism in the 1960s and the 1970s, and a privileged public arena for ‘extreme non-conformist’ intellectuals in the same period, ecology was also the matrix for the national movements which precipitated the end of the decaying party-state at the end of the 1980s and which had been in gestation since the late 1960s. Ideal metaphor for the fall of a system emblematized by the catastrophe at Chernobyl (April 1986), the ecological crisis - the crisis in the relationship between nature and urban space - made it possible to understand the full extent of the post-war upheavals that had taken place at the heart of Soviet society. The rapid, huge-scale industrialization and urbanization of the country had produced a new educated middle class of ‘specialists’ (technicians, engineers, applied research managers, economists and administrators, and so on), which in the early 1960s constituted the hard core of the first generation of Soviets to be a majority of urban-dwellers. If it was not embodied, as in Western countries, in political movements or parties, the ecological cause was no less institutionalized. The horticultural societies (tovariscestva) on the edge of towns (ogorodniki), the ‘nature protection brigades’ which organized reafforestation campaigns (DOP), the Society for the Protection of Nature (VOOP), or local historical and ethnographical societies (kraevedenie) had a considerable number of supporters. It allowed the expression of a very extensive range of individual and collective sentiments, and of reactions both rejecting and adapting to a radically new natural, social and cultural environment - that of the town and a larger community. For a disorientated society, it was a question of re-appropriating its immediate, daily environment, of attempting to impose, individually or collectively, meaning on its existence and its social trajectory. Ecological sentiment was thus intimately bound up with the emergence of an ‘urban civilization’ in the Soviet Union under Brezhnev.

On 12 June 2000, the tenth anniversary of Boris Yeltsin's election as head of the reconstituted Russian state, 180 people who had formed an ‘initiative group for a pan-Russian referendum’ launched a campaign to collect the two million signatures required by Russian law to organize a popular initiative referendum which included these three questions:

1. - Are you opposed to the importing of radioactive material from other states to be stored, buried or reprocessed on Russian territory?

2. - Are you in favour of the existence of a federal environmental protection agency which would be independent of those bodies concerned with exploiting and managing natural resources?

3. - Are you in favour of the existence of a legally independent state service for forests in Russia?

I should like to consider both the relationship between the authorities and society in the theme of ecology, and its chronology.

As far as chronology is concerned, it seems to me that concern for the environment started to emerge in the USSR, at least on a large scale, mainly during the Brezhnev years (1964-1982).