The Free Time of Workers
Hukov’s article in Soviet Donetchyna on 29 March 1974 is extremely relevant, raising an issue of great importance that requires the efforts of all sectors of public life and the participation of all citizens, from professors to unskilled workers.
I am convinced it will elicit a response from those whose conscience and duty it is to provide and organise cultural leisure activities, to raise the cultural level, qualifications, and education of citizens — especially young people; from those who strive but cannot satisfy their cultural and spiritual needs; and from those who encounter, every day in sobering-up stations, people who spend all their free time outside of work with a bottle, playing dominoes, in front of the blue screen, fishing, or chasing strong emotions in parks, on the streets, in thoughtless, aimless wandering.
I am a labourer. I often live in dormitories and work on various construction sites in different regions of Ukraine. I live and work alongside young people and those of middle age, and it is their free time that I would like to reflect on in this text.
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1. Television. Almost all working people own one. Workers, schoolchildren, preschoolers, and intellectuals spend many hours a day in front of its blue screen. But can we really say that this technological marvel has significantly improved the moral character of society? Has it raised people’s cultural and educational level? Has it enriched their spiritual world? Has it revealed history, contemporary problems, prospects, and paths to the future to its viewers? In my opinion, this has not happened. On the contrary, the further we go, the more often you hear that people do not switch on their television sets for weeks because “there is nothing to watch.” During smoking breaks, all the talk is about football, occasionally about certain episodes from films, or about “spies.” I have never heard anyone discuss a lecture or the news they had seen on television or heard on the radio.
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2.Cinema. Unfortunately — and shamefully — even today people often go to the cinema simply to kill time, without knowing what they will be watching, what pleasure or enjoyment the film might bring them, or what new, useful, and valuable insights they might gain from it. But where can they learn about the themes a film addresses? Can young people watch films from earlier years on the recommendations of their parents, teachers, or older friends? Teachers would gladly advise their pupils to see films based on classic works of literature from the school curriculum. Parents would recommend to their children the films that moved them in their own youth and, through this art form, would find a way into their children’s hearts, sharing their preferences, their mistakes, their worldview. And this is so necessary. Yet where can one now see such films as Taras Shevchenko, The Hired Hand, Zakhar Berkut, Clear Sky, The White Bird with a Black Mark, Vincenzo Bellini, and others? We may have to wait as long as ten years until someone decides to show one of these older films — and even then, only for financial reasons.
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3.Fiction. Fiction is the most effective means of shaping consciousness and fostering the spiritual and cultural development of both individuals and society as a whole. But is the demand of workers for useful, valuable books being met? The honest answer is no! Will a 17- or 18-year-old book lover today be able to find works by H. Tiutiunnyk, V. Symonenko, I. Drach, Y. Opilskyi, or even recently published books such as The Beginning by K. Basenko, Maria by S. Ishchenko, And There Will Be People by A. Dimarov, and others? These books have already sold out (often bundled “as a bonus” with some other book tied with a red ribbon), and no one knows when there will be a second, third, or tenth edition. Even T. Shevchenko’s Kobzar cannot be bought anywhere. Why?
Meeting this demand would mean satisfying the needs of working people, generating revenue, raising the cultural level, and improving the moral qualities of society. But when people — especially young people — are offered only stale goods, the value of all books inevitably declines, and contempt for literature in general begins to take root.
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4. Lectures. There are very few lecture halls, and lectures are rarely held — especially in large auditoriums. The topics themselves are also limited to a narrow range. Large halls are used mainly for international issues or for scientific and technical subjects aimed at specialists. It is rare to see announcements of lecture series on themes such as morality, art, or literature. Yet this should fall within the scope of the “Znannia” society.
My fellow workers either do not attend lectures at all or do so very rarely. Sociologists could say more about this. As for Palaces of Culture, clubs, red corners, and museums — they serve only a negligible percentage of workers. Amateur artistic activity is no longer a mass phenomenon, but survives mostly with semi-professionals. Why?
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You could start by gathering people and asking: ‘What do you want? What is missing in your life? What are you willing to do to make your life better? What do you think needs to be changed and how?’ I am convinced that people would say many useful and important things and without orders from above would find their own way to cultural life, would be drawn to culture, science, and self-improvement. Many, especially young people, would gladly trade a bottle for a musical instrument, a book, a lecture, a paintbrush, a hiking trip, or something else that enriches rather than impoverishes the human spirit — unlike today’s preferences (vodka, domino, hooliganism, and the like). But what we do not need are rigid work plans, supervisors, or government organizers.
I am no idealist; I do not imagine that everything can be transformed in three days or even three years. But those who have not yet succumbed to alcoholism, who still strive for a real and dignified life, must be given the opportunity to live such a life now. That requires giving them the chance to work in a team where everyone shares the same attitude toward labor; to live among those whose interests and preferences align; and to organize themselves into associations, communities, societies, clubs, groups, and more.
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Only a small proportion of workers are able to perform their tasks without interruption — but that is not the real issue. Most are prevented from working because of machine repairs, power cuts, lack of raw materials, safety measures, or a host of other causes. These stoppages may last minutes, hours, or even days. Often no one is to blame. Yet the worker must remain at their place, even if there is nothing to do. Officially, downtime does not exist. And so, to maintain the appearance of activity, the worker may busy themselves with making something utterly useless. Opening a book, however, is forbidden — a breach of labor discipline. Why? Reading, after all, cultivates intelligence and raises cultural as well as professional standards. There are days, weeks, even months when, for legitimate reasons, there is no work to be done — leaving dozens of workers to spend eight hours together in dirty clothes, idle. No downtime, no unemployment, yet countless unproductive hours. And this enforced idleness is often more exhausting than regular, habitual work — not only physically, but above all, psychologically.
Finally, there are a number of professions or jobs that, if the best technological processes are in place, allow workers to read a book, lie down, or even sleep. Yet some bosses consider the very act of opening a book a crime. Workers may engage in any kind of chatter, tell jokes, or do almost anything else — but reading is forbidden. Even taking unpaid leave when there is no work is prohibited. Why? It would benefit both the workers themselves and production.
Oleksa Tykhyi (1927–1984) was a rural teacher who worked near the Donbas town of Druzhkivka. In 1956, he was sentenced to seven years in a Mordovian labour camp for criticising the Soviet invasion of Hungary. There, he took part in a rebellion against the prison administration and spent a year in solitary confinement. While in the camp, he met many dissidents, including Levko Lukiyanenko, with whom he became friends. After returning to Ukraine in 1964, Tykhyi was banned from intellectual work and forced to leave teaching, taking up manual labour instead — a common path for Soviet dissidents. Most of his journalistic articles were written during this period: “Reflections on the Ukrainian Language and Culture in the Donetsk Oblast” (1972), “Thoughts on My Native Donetsk Region” (1972), “The Free Time of Workers” (1974), and others, none of which were accepted for publication due to censorship and his status as a former political prisoner. His journalism was published only abroad. His first and only collection released during his lifetime, Reflections: A Collection of Articles, Documents, and Memories, appeared in Canada in 1982. An excerpt from this publication, “The Free Time of Workers” (1974), is presented in this text.
The article “The Free Time of Workers” reflects the attitude of Soviet dissidents: it was not primarily about the desire to destroy the Soviet system or its ideology but, on the contrary, about improving reality in line with the Soviet constitution, declared laws, and ideological principles. A central element of this ideology was the image of the Soviet person as a conscious, active individual engaged not only in building socialism but also in self-creation. Alongside loyalty to the state and obedience to its “leaders,” self-activation, participation, and initiative were officially encouraged — practices that compensated for the state’s deficits, shortages of resources, and managerial shortcomings. The Soviet social order relied on the participation, mutual control, and “caring” of its citizens. Oleksa Tykhyi sought to put these principles into practice, criticizing formalism and excessive control “from above” while calling for genuine grassroots self-organization: “You could start by gathering people and asking: ‘What do you want? What is missing in your life? What are you willing to do to make your life better? What do you think needs to be changed and how?’ I am convinced that people would say many useful and important things and would find their own way to cultural life, would be drawn to culture and science…” (p. 131). In this sense, Tykhyi understood free time literally — as time belonging to the workers themselves, not appropriated by the Communist Party. He also revived, in a utopian and optimistic way, the ideal of the Soviet person rooted in the revolutionary period of the 1920s: a creative individual, an activist, a fully harmonious personality able to combine physical labor with high culture (‘spirituality’ [духовність] — a specifically secular understanding of the sublime), such as reading books, attending lectures, visiting museums, making music, painting, and hiking. For Tykhyi, leisure was a positive change of activity, not mere idleness.
However, according to Tykhyi, workers should not be left entirely on their own in this freedom of self-determination during their free time. As a former teacher, he believed it was the responsibility of educated people — the intelligentsia — to “cultivate” the working class. The role of the educator, a sense of mission, a certain paternalism, and a critical (at times condescending) attitude toward “ordinary people” are typical features of the Eastern European intelligentsia. Oleksa Tykhyi criticizes workers for their backwardness and their tendency toward “base” physical pleasures such as drinking, fighting, and loitering in the streets. Here we encounter both the classic 19th-century theme of the divide between the educated classes and workers, and the concern of the educated class about the spread of mass culture — “low,” “primitive,” overly physical, and lightweight, accessible to everyone without the mediation of the intelligentsia. This perspective also explains Tykhyi’s critical remarks about “sitting in front of the screen.” Television was perceived by the intelligentsia as passive consumption, a vehicle of propaganda, and a more primitive form of entertainment, but also as a threat to national culture — the most modern medium of the time was also the most Russified.
Instead, according to Tykhyi, the most desirable form of leisure is reading fiction: “It is the most effective means of influencing the consciousness, spiritual and cultural development of individuals and society as a whole …”, while “useful” literature (here Tykhyi lists his dissident and “semi-dissident” friends: Hryhorii Tiutiunyk, Vasyl Symonenko, Ivan Drach, Yurii Opilskyi) contributes to “the elevation of cultural standards and the elevation of people’s moral qualities.” Tykhyi here criticizes the book trade system itself. Instead of offering a free choice of books, it was common practice to give books “as a bonus” — in addition to the book the buyer actually wanted, a certain number of less popular works were included for free. This was a typical problem of the Soviet planned economy, where production did not reflect real demand for particular products, leading to the mass production of unwanted items alongside shortages of those genuinely desired. Tykhyi claims that the works of his dissident friends were forcibly distributed in this way — ending up in the hands of people who were not truly interested in high literature and perhaps indifferent to the Ukrainian national culture these authors represented. He also subtly hints that, in the eyes of booksellers, these authors were not popular or in demand, either in Ukraine generally or in the Russified Donbas in particular, which explains why they were distributed ‘as a bonus.’ Tykhyi’s following statement highlights problems in the national book printing policy: “Even Shevchenko’s Kobzar cannot be bought anywhere.” If the key text of Ukraine’s main national poet is unavailable, this may indicate an unfavourable state policy toward Ukrainian culture, or at least insufficient provision for something genuinely desirable and beloved by all.
Another specific feature of workers’ free time discussed by Tykhyi is the “lunch break” — a clearly fixed period for everyone to restore their physical strength within the factory system, which was marked by strict time accounting and control over bodies. Tykhyi reflects on how lunch breaks could become yet another opportunity for cultural leisure, once again combining the material and the spiritual.
In addition to lunch breaks and time between shifts at the enterprise, as well as days off and holidays, workers also had free time during working hours — another feature of the planned system, with frequent downtime caused by shortages of raw materials, equipment, or tools, and failures in management and logistics, which could leave workers idle for long periods. Moreover, the policy of comprehensive employment and zero unemployment meant that many workers spent their working hours on personal activities such as crafts, chatting, and so on. However, reading was forbidden: “Opening a book is a crime, a violation of labour discipline.” This clearly refers to reading as full immersion in a text, which deprived the worker of constant readiness to engage in work — a state of mobilisation emphasized in Soviet rhetoric. Alongside the pride in being “the most reading nation” — the ideologeme of the Soviet people as particularly cultured, with each individual reading the most number of books — there existed a widespread negative attitude toward reading as “immersion,” entertainment, or excessive engagement that removed a person from the immediate demands of work. Oleksa Tykhyi writes: “Finally, there are a number of professions or jobs that, if the best technological processes are in place, allow workers to read a book, lie down, or even sleep. Yet some bosses consider the very act of opening a book a crime. Workers may engage in any kind of chatter, tell jokes, or do almost anything else — but reading is forbidden” (pp. 133–134). Here, the author again highlights social divisions in Soviet society — not only between the intelligentsia and workers, but also between different occupations: those whose time was strictly regulated by the rhythm of the machine or conveyor belt, and those who could afford a more “bohemian” lifestyle, with freer disposal and self-organisation of their working and leisure time.