Фото: Сергей Булкин / ТАСС.

«Class struggle in the field of literature and art has been taking on new and new forms recently. In particular, on the front of visual arts, Glavlit has discovered skillfully camouflaged infiltrations of the class enemy. By means of various combinations of colors, light and shadows, strokes, contours, masked using the method of “mysterious drawings”, clearly counter-revolutionary content is sneaked in. To all censors involved in posters, paintings, labels, photomontages, etc. — establish the most thorough inspection of this production, not limited to attention to the external political content and the general artistic level, but to look especially carefully at the overall design from different sides (contours, ornaments, shadows, etc.), often resorting to the use of a magnifying glass». From Order No. 39 of Glavlit dated February 14, 1935.

And they say time machines do not exist. In Russia, everything exists! For our powers are limitless. But only in moving backwards. Moving forward is something we do not know how to do nor do we particularly want to. But moving backward — please, as much as you want. When I read the fervent speech by the Deputy Minister of Culture Zhanna Alexeeva about the revival of special storage (struck out) special storage, I thought I had overslept more than 30 years, and the years without censorship simply felt like a dream. But I opened my eyes, read the news, and calmed down — everything is in place, familiar, musty, and moldy. The document I quoted in the first paragraph can easily be imagined in circulation even now.

Perhaps I dreamt of the order by the Glavlit of 1990 on the “Elimination of the Special Storage,” which transferred all books to the general fund without control and accountability. However, the logic of the incredibly fascinating process of eradicating “hostile” literature and stifling the book industry always inevitably leads to special storages. The general director of Leninki Vadim Duda, where special storage is now being recreated, complains that the work is very complex and labor-intensive. The process of forming such a necessary structure for any self-respecting state is still in its infancy. However, we have a rich history of Soviet special storages at our disposal, which vividly illustrates the kind of monster that the reborn censorship can develop into.

Access to unwanted books was restricted “from ancient times deeply.” There were closed funds even in tsarist Russia, but what interests us is the phenomenon of Soviet special storages, which the current system inherits. They are unique — first and foremost in their scale. It is difficult to imagine their volume. Soviet censorship lists (and there were many of them) included up to 10,000 titles. Historian of censorship Arlen Bloom wrote that in the catalogs of special storages, Glavlit lists, circulars, and orders, the number of only Russian publications that passed official Soviet censorship and were subsequently banned exceeds 100,000 titles. As for the total number of destroyed copies, there were over a billion (!) (and this is excluding the millions of books simply destroyed in the outcome of mass clean-ups of libraries at various levels). The latest data is from 1987: the Special Collections Department of the Russian National Library at that time held up to 800,000 units: about 27,000 Russian books, 250,000 foreign publications, 572,000 issues of foreign journals, and around 8,500 annual sets of foreign newspapers.

Of course, the volumes and lists of special storages were constantly changing. Some things became accessible, while others were concealed. But the latter was invariably an order of magnitude greater than the former. The director-general of the Russian State Library Vadim Duda. Photo: RBC / TASS. Soviet special storages — the embodiment of secrecy. Everything and anything was classified. In 1928, the censor of the newspaper “Pskovskiy Nabat” was reprimanded; poor thing, he let slip into print… the regional plan for exporting mushrooms. In the early years of the revolution, there were no special storages as organizations, but archivists and librarians themselves sealed off the funds precisely because of the paranoid regime of secrecy brought on by the Civil War. In fact, the official establishment of the first special storage in 1920 was a result of this regime of secrecy and institutionalization of the longstanding local policy. The first sublegal acts on special storage were issued by the Soviet government in 1920. These were “General Provisions on the Rules for Using Archival Materials for State, Scientific, and Private Needs.” Already in this document, restrictions were established: “files deemed by the State Archive Administration not for disclosure can’t be released.” Moreover, there was an important instruction: “without clarification,” meaning that no one was supposed to explain why a particular publication fell under a ban. And they don’t really rush to do so even now.

The first special storage was formed in the Book Chamber. The initial task of the Book Chamber, founded in 1917, was to register printed materials and preserve a mandatory copy of all publications. The situation changed again in 1920 when, by the decree of the SNK, the Chamber was obliged to receive three copies of secret literature (publications of the Red Army, the Revolutionary Military Council of the Republic, and the All-Russian Extraordinary Commission). It’s amusing: special storage was originally intended not for guarding against “enemy” materials but for storing “our” secrets. However, in 1921, the special storage of the Book Chamber started receiving émigré newspapers and magazines, and in 1922, even confiscated books published without censorship permission. Special storages in libraries were established based on the decree of the SNK of the RSFSR dated December 12, 1921. By 1923, three more or less similar special storages were formed — in the Book Chamber (in 1924, all its functions were transferred to the special storage of the Lenin Public Library), the Moscow Library of the Rumyantsev Museum, and the Public Library in Petrograd.

Thus, special storages always had several tasks. Along with direct censorship, the authorities also ensured secrecy. By the way, most of the documentation on special storages carried the designation “secret.” In 1923, the special storages were transferred under the new institution, a name familiar to everyone who lived through the USSR: the Main Administration for Literature and Publishing Affairs, or Glavlit. The process of centralizing management of archival and library affairs was more or less completed at that point, and the system was established.

The Glavlit Instruction (naturally classified) was developed by the propaganda department of the Central Committee. The first points in it stated: “a) Glavlit in the field of literary fiction, art issues, theater, and music, eliminates literature aimed against Soviet construction; b) literature on philosophical and sociological issues with a bright idealistic direction is not allowed; c) literature on natural sciences with an explicitly non-materialist direction is not allowed; g) only literature that contributes to communist upbringing is allowed from children’s and youth literature; d) only liturgical literature is allowed for printing from religious literature.” Libraries were to be guided by the regulatory acts of Glavlit and its bulletins — of course, classified as well. Arlen Bloom gives examples of such a document: “Bunin I.A. Cry. Collection of short stories. Berlin, ‘Slovo’ publishing house, 1921. A pretentious collection of naturalistic stories trying to find justification for revolutionary catastrophe in the natural cruelty of the Russian people.” One of the first instructions required confiscating books from libraries published by all parties except the RSDLP-RCP(b), as well as those published under the Tsarist government “textbooks and books praising monarchism, monarchs, ministers, church, wars, capitalism”… Book depository of the V.I. Lenin All-Union State Library. Photo: Valery Gende-Rote / TASS. In 1925, the press department of the Central Committee designated a “list of hostile émigré publishers, the books of which, regardless of their content, are not allowed into the USSR,” as historian Mikhail Zelenov writes.

The special storage funds steadily expanded: political publications were supplemented with popular, artistic, and historical literature. For example, in the special storages, there were foreign editions of Alexander Pushkin’s “The Queen of Spades” and even Friedrich Engels’ “The Development of Socialism.” During the years of rejection of the New Economic Policy (NEP), industrialization, and collectivization, special storages played another, quite despicable role. The thing is, Stalin’s battle against the opposition began, and not only repressive methods were required then. After all, they needed to be justified, to find a pretext for persecution. And here special storages showed their true colors, as it was in them that documents about the past of the party members were kept. Oh, it was very convenient! Already in 1926, Stalin used Zinoviev’s and Kamenev’s archival documents from 1917 for their political defamation. Thus, special storages became a tool of political struggle and conduits of Soviet ideology. Of course, special storages and Glavlit always worked closely with the Cheka-OGPU-NKVD-KGB. Where there is secrecy, there are also organs. On January 28, 1918, by a decree of the SNK, the “Revolutionary Tribunal of the Press” was established, which dealt with “crimes and offenses against the people committed through the use of the press.” As punishment, “deprivation of freedom, removal from the capital, certain localities, and the boundaries of the Russian Republic” were provided. This new judicial body operated hand in hand with the Cheka. Archivists, librarians, and Chekists worked together to identify “enemies of the people” (and found themselves among them). The content of secret department funds, access to special storage materials — all of this required coordination with the authorities. In 1937, the leadership of the Central Archival Management addressed the question of how to dispose of the archives of the people’s enemies Rykov, Bukharin, Radek, Yenukidze, and others, not to civil leaders or even the party, but to the People’s Commissar of Internal Affairs Nikolai Yezhov. During the Great Terror, special storage materials played a significant role in obtaining evidence against those who were repressed. At some point, the archives were only busy issuing certificates and materials upon the request of the NKVD; there was hardly any talk of scientific work. In libraries from the 1920s, closed funds started to multiply. There was even a fund with a telling name “not to be made available to the masses.” It contained confiscated research and memoirs from abroad; all literature on the political situation in the USSR and party struggle, books on the social democratic and communist movement in Europe… Books on history were under particularly close scrutiny. For example, books by academician E.V. Tarle were withdrawn from circulation.

In the following years, the lists of seized and stored in special storages books only increased — literally with every process. After the murder of S.M. Kirov in December 1934, the Politburo of the Central Committee of the CPSU decided to confiscate all books and articles by Zinoviev, Kamenev, and Trotsky from libraries, then — books by all authors implicated in numerous “Trotskyist-Zinovievist” cases, then — all books mentioning such authors and, of course, the trio themselves. For example, the once-famous book by John Reed “Ten Days That Shook the World” ended up in a special storage until 1957. John Reed, an American journalist who fervently sympathized with the Bolsheviks and was an eyewitness to the events of 1917, died of typhus in Russia in 1920 and was buried near the Kremlin wall. Lenin personally wrote the preface to the book, but at some point, Stalin considered that Reed focused too much on depicting Trotsky’s personality and role in the revolution. And the book was placed in special storage until 1957. By the end of the 1930s, there was no trace left of any internal party opposition, not even mythical, and the role of special storages changed once again. Essentially, they became a party organ: from January 1938, confiscation of each book and journal was only carried out with the permission of the apparatus of the Central Committee of the CPSU. In those years, special storages also appeared in museums… And the archives were transferred to the NKVD. And Glavlit was subordinated to the MVD, albeit briefly, only for a few months in 1953.

We can summarize: special storages primarily served censorious, ideological, and political functions, with the preservation of cultural and historical heritage and scientific work coming last.

Nowadays, we are seeing something similar, although there are some differences, of course. Attempts to restrict access to books in modern Russia began to be implemented in the 2010s, but censorship had a selective character for a long time, relying on the registry of extremist materials. The first lists restricting access to books by “foreign agents” appeared at the end of 2022. Only in 2024 did the first draft law restricting access to books appear. At that time, a group of deputies led by Elena Yampolskaya (now an advisor to the president, then head of the Duma’s culture committee) was actively pushing the initiative to restrict access to Ukrainian propaganda literature in libraries in the so-called “new territories” and the specifics of storing books written by “foreign agents and extremists.” The law passed the first reading and came to a standstill. It still has not been adopted.

It’s interesting how initially initiatives of this kind were not coming from the authorities but from “below,” from the librarians themselves, just as in the early years of the revolution. But the scale, of course, is incomparable: under the Bolsheviks, it took on a total character, which cannot be said of today’s situation. We are currently maintaining a modest profile.

And what about legality? Well, nothing much. The general director of the Russian State Library Vadim Duda reported that the work on forming a “special storage” began precisely in 2024 at the instruction of the Ministry of Culture. And what the RSL is doing now, in essence, echoes the provisions of Yampolskaya’s initiative: restricting access to Ukrainian literature and, apparently, “foreign agent” literature. Only, this is presented as an internal departmental directive, which, incidentally, is not publicly available (or very difficult to find — I couldn’t find it). Is this bypassing the law?

What do we actually know about the new special storage? Not much. Back in late 2025, in an interview with “Vedomosti,” Duda announced (and confirmed in June 2026) that the RSL had launched a “special storage of Russophobic books” from the new regions. According to him, this includes “overtly nationalistic” and historically distorting publications that “were printed long ago in the territory of Ukraine and are still in the library collections of Donbass and Novorossiya.” Duda emphasized that “the special storage” also contains books that “deny or ignore Russia’s role in the Great Patriotic War” or “baselessly attribute unflattering qualities to Russian people, such as savagery and cruelty.” “There are works that grossly manipulate history, for example, the book ‘Wars of Russia against Ukraine from the 11th to the 21st century,’ which sounds absurd,” said the director-general of Leninki. He also detailed the book selection process for the special storage. Primary selection was carried out by the librarians of the cities of the so-called “new territories,” primarily Donetsk and Luhansk. The editions they picked are examined by an expert council at the RSL. If this council determines that the books have a “Russophobic content,” one or two copies end up in the special storage at Leninki.

Deputy Minister of Culture Zhanna Alexeeva mentioned at the sidelines of the Petersburg International Legal Forum (PILF) that Russian libraries have stopped adding books by “foreign agent” authors to their collections. She stated, “We consider the use of information products produced by foreign agents inappropriate for book exhibitions and cultural and educational events” (in reality, this is “our response to Chamberlain,” that is, complaints from the book industry about how censorship legislation threatens libraries with significant losses).

So, what kind of publications are at risk of being placed in special storage? Literature published in Ukraine. Historical literature, especially military history. A wide interpretation can be applied to “attributing unflattering qualities to Russian people”: there’s a plethora of possibilities. Probably books by “foreign agents.” The choice is broad.

It’s worth noting that all these publications are not officially banned. There are no court decisions regarding them. They are not listed in registries, including the list of extremist materials. Even the general director of Leninki admitted that formally books from special storages are not subject to restriction. Duda simply believes it is necessary to minimize their presence in public collections.

The question arises: is this even legal, even by our current standards? And in general — what is the current volume of the special storage? Duda kindly provided this information. In November 2025, he stated that the new special storage currently houses 10–12 thousand copies of “Russophobic” editions. In June, he provided different data: around 18 thousand publications. So, we are observing a confident growth rate of 6–8 thousand editions in six months. Not millions, of course, but a swift start.

One more point. In the Soviet years, the special storages kept (or completely destroyed) all books that in any way mentioned the repressed individuals. For example, two poems by the Polish poet Bruno Jasieński were included in an anthology of Polish poetry released in 1932. He was executed in 1937, and the anthology was placed in a special storage. Books by one of the most quoted authors in Russia today, George Orwell, were strictly prohibited for decades. His name couldn’t even appear in open print even in a negative light (the adventures of Orwell’s books in the USSR could serve as material for a separate extensive book. For example, the novel “1984” was distributed not only there but also by samizdat, yet officially translated into Russian in 1959 — exclusively for the highest party elite, who were not proficient in English. This special edition didn’t even end up in the special storages but was sent specifically). “Frequently the reason for banning books was, speaking in literary jargon, the so-called convoy (a mockery joke from those years of stagnation comes to mind: ‘Art goes ahead, the convoy goes behind’) — meaning prefaces, epilogues, introductory articles, or notes of people who later faced political repression,” wrote Arlen Bloom.

And what do we see now? Duda promised to publish lists of literature placed in special storages on the website of the National Book Chamber, but they are currently absent there (again, secrecy?). However, there is a “destructive” list of “foreign agent” publications, where not only books by foreign agent authors are indicated, but also everything related to