“Olga: Love and Faith Have Not Disappeared”

The article profiled in this artifact appears on the left-hand side of this spread.
Olga: "Love and Faith Did Not Disappear..."
From a Conversation with Olga Ganeeva in June 1991
From a Conversation with Olga Ganeeva in June 1991
...My name is Olga Ganeeva. Four years ago, when I was 17, I met a girl in Leningrad who was two years older than me. At first, we were just friends, but gradually our friendship turned into love. At that time, I knew nothing about homosexuality.
One day, a dorm supervisor caught us undressed in the same bed. I had to explain myself to the vice principal, the Party organizer, and the director. They suggested I see a psychiatrist, saying that I had a serious mental illness, and that treatment was necessary so I could once again interact with normal people, that I couldn't continue living in society this way.
I was sent to the Stepanov-Skvortsov Psychiatric Hospital outside Leningrad.
They placed me in an observation ward with severely mentally ill patients. From this ward, I was only allowed to leave to use the toilet and to eat. The injections—sulfazine and aminazine—gave me terrible headaches. After the injections, the chief doctor would come to me and ask many questions. Now I can't remember either the questions or my answers. I remained in this condition in the hospital for 14 days. The doctor tried to convince me that living with a woman was a mental illness. But I couldn't renounce what was most precious to me.
My girlfriend wasn't allowed to visit me. I could only see her from the window and couldn't speak to her.
After two weeks of "treatment," I was discharged home, but I remained under observation. I wasn't supposed to meet with my girlfriend, wasn't supposed to be late returning to the dormitory where I lived, or late for meetings with the supervisor.
At my district clinic, they created a special file for me: daily they asked questions about my friends, my plans for each day, about my girlfriend...
Now I live in Moscow and I'm involved with music. I live very privately, experience constant fear, and often remember the hospital. It's very difficult for me to build relationships with people. I hide my life from all the heterosexuals I interact with.
We are considered mentally ill, rejected and humiliated by Soviet society. Many lesbians get married because they can't endure this situation. Society condemns us, thinking we are perverts and crazy, and this proves the falsehood of all the "reforms" of our time...
After the psychiatric hospital, I felt inadequate, thinking I was truly insane. I was afraid of everyone and everything. I couldn't communicate with people, couldn't even look at them. I was depressed, even afraid of my own girlfriend—it was terrifying just to approach her.
Why was it so frightening?
I don't know. I was burned, I guess. After all, I was under surveillance. All my acquaintances and teachers, everyone called and asked, "Well, how is it?" How is what? Lena, my girlfriend, waited. She waited for me to recover myself. She brought me things in the hospital, and when I was discharged, after that we hardly saw each other. For her too, it was like a nightmare. And a lesson: one must be careful, hide one's feelings from society, one can't love "with eyes closed to everything"... Now we don't meet, as I've moved from Petersburg to Moscow.
Do you have a girlfriend now?
No. It's a complex question. Love for a woman is something greater for me than physiological relations. This love sustains me.
What do you value in women and what in men?
In women—the soul. And men? I befriend them intellectually. I don't see an ideal, but if there is love, then perhaps that is the ideal.
Has your life in Moscow changed?
Yes, of course. The year was turbulent! Losses... But I know: I want to be who I want to be. Music is the main thing in my life... I'm superstitious, and don't want to talk much about it. As for society... I have a pessimistic attitude. Society is degrading. One must strive to improve oneself. If there is an intellectual revolution, then, I think, society will begin to accept and respect us. I belong to that category of people who analyze themselves. And so, after the hospital, love and faith did not disappear. Strength emerged and an even greater need to live and help—to fight.
We must unite—the West and Russia must strengthen contacts, cooperation. We must be together.
To my female friends, I would wish for love. Real, beautiful love. We must value each other, take care of each other, because we, women, should be poets...
Mila Glenovskaya.
The journal Risk appeared on the cusp of the Soviet and post-Soviet eras. It belonged to a category of LGBTQ+ publications that saw Russia as part of a Western culture from which it had been violently severed by the Soviet experiment. These periodicals envisioned a post-Soviet Russia that would rejoin the West, resuming an interrupted cultural evolution toward Western norms—including the West’s then-recent turn towards sexual- and gender-identity pluralism.
In this 1991 article, the subject, Olga Ganeeva, tells the story of being subjected, against her will, to inpatient psychiatric treatment, including being confined to a ward with grievously mentally ill patients and injected with substances that provoked adverse reactions. These events were set in motion when it was discovered that Olga—a student living in a dormitory—was involved in a romantic relationship with another woman. She describes the deep psychological wounds this experience left and the damage it did not only to the deeply valued relationship that precipitated her incarceration, but to her relationships to people more generally, and to her ability to trust people and form attachments.
In documenting Soviet persecution of women who pursued sexual relationships with other women, this piece simultaneously testifies to the gender divide in the system’s response to homosexuality. Male homosexuality was criminalized and punished via the criminal justice system, if somewhat selectively. There was a hierarchical dimension to sexual relations between men, and in the penal system and military, homosexual activity was a means of subjugation. Whereas “passive” homosexual behavior (meaning, being the receptive partner of penetrative sex) consigned men to persecution and ostracism, “active” homosexuality could enhance an inmate or soldier’s masculine status. By contrast, because it did not interfere with the masculine prestige on which patriarchy is predicated, lesbianism was not criminalized but instead pathologized. Understanding lesbianism as an illness rather than a crime or vice, the Soviet system treated sexual relations between women as a single, undifferentiated category. Absent was the preoccupation with distinguishing between “masculinizing” and “feminizing” behaviors, the view of specific female homosexual acts as mechanisms of social elevation or humiliation, or the notion that sexual behaviors could compromise a woman’s “feminine identity.”
Although lesbians’ sexual behavior was not criminalized and their social status not necessarily jeopardized to the same extent as those of gay men, women whose same-sex attraction and relations came to light suffered the traumas associated with forced, often residential “treatments” or “care,” invasive surveillance, and the destruction of crucial relationships. The article’s author expresses the hope that a post-Soviet rapprochement with the West could produce an intellectual evolution and better understanding, and treatment, of LGBTQ people in Russia.