I witnessed Bishkek’s main Lenin statue being torn down 

Quite by chance I got to see the removal of Bishkek’s main Lenin statue. Walking down Chui Prospect to Beta Stores one Saturday afternoon, I found lots of people loitering on Ala-Too Square. They had an air of expectancy; they were not simply sitting or standing under the shady cloisters to gain a respite from the sun, they knew something is about to happen. Then I saw a small yellow crane being manoeuvred into place by the Lenin statue, letting out belches of thick black exhaust as it crossed the square. 

Three men were running around the crane, tugging at ropes and revving the motor, which appeared to be malfunctioning. Under the cloisters, the men sat in the shade smoking and spitting husks from sunflower seeds, while the women paused for a moment, allowing their heavy shopping bags to sink to the ground, before picking them up and hurrying about their business. I’d already heard my female colleagues saying that men do nothing about the house. 

I waited for a bit, then decided that nothing was going to happen immediately and went off to Beta Stores. On my way back with my bag of groceries, I saw that the men had finally managed to position the crane so its yellow shaft extended a metre or so above Lenin’s head, which had been roped to it. 

The crane driver revved the motor, and the crane jerked back, but the Lenin statue didn’t move. The crane was switched off; a rope had become untied and must be replaced. Five minutes later, by which time the number of people waiting under the cloisters and squatting on the ground had grown considerably, the driver tried again. Nothing. He revved again, louder, and suddenly there was a gasp, a sort of muted roar, from the crowd. The base of the statue had been wrenched off its plinth on one side, and Lenin was now hanging at a 30 degree angle, wired to the crane and still attached to the plinth on one side. 

The motor revved again, and the Lenin statue toppled further, yet one foot remained firmly stuck to the plinth. One of the men let out a warning yell, and I leant forward to see what’s going on. The three mechanics were running round the crane, tugging at ropes. Lenin’s head had become stuck in the crane. 

There was an odd noise from the crowd that was neither a roar nor a cheer nor a boo. It wasn’t even, I sensed, to do with their feelings about Lenin and communism; it was the noise of men watching other men who have encountered a mechanical problem. 

The only people here who appeared moved by the event were the three standing right in front of the statue. Two men, one with the Soviet flag fluttering sadly in the light breeze, flanked a woman in a black suit, who stood entirely still watching the Lenin statue being removed. I assumed this was Klara Ajibekova, the head of Kyrgyzstan’s Communist Party. 

It took another 20 minutes to untangle the ropes and remove Lenin’s head from the crane, then the tugging began again, and the men smoked, and spat, and waited.