In the post-Soviet era, as May Day neared, questions about what people were actually celebrating cropped up frequently. Lately, May 1 has been dominated in practice by leftist movements, some fringe, who staged demonstrations reminiscent of Soviet-era rituals on that day. Yet those gatherings have largely vanished, seemingly for national security reasons, making the question even more timely.
Many, especially older readers, still picture the Soviet pattern of a nationwide celebration and the sea of slogans and banners marching toward Red Square. The marchers, smiling and unforced, passed the leaders on the mausoleum with their eyes fixed forward. That whole atmosphere seems irretrievably in the past. So what should replace it? Is there a need to revive the USSR’s ritual on this holiday as a kind of reenactment?
May 1 began as a class-based holiday with a long history dating to 1886, when the push for an eight-hour workday first gained traction. In that context, the workers’ slogans of the early May Day demonstrations had already achieved their broader goals across many developed nations. In today’s labor markets and welfare states, the central questions about workers’ rights have shifted rather than disappeared.
That same year, clashes with police led to mass arrests and even executions for some. In 1889, the first Congress of the Second International, held in Paris, decided to organize annual May Day demonstrations, turning the day into International Workers Solidarity Day. Western socialist ideas began to travel to Russia, and by 1891 the first May 1 celebration took place in St. Petersburg. In pre-revolutionary times, May 1 was a blend of political meetings, picnics, chants, drinking, and folk festivities.
The Soviet holiday gained its strongest legitimacy after 1918, when its format was formalized. From 1918 to 1968, with a break during 1942–1944, Red Square hosted a May 1 military parade, paralleling the November celebration of the October Revolution.
Time passes, yet one can still sense the gesture’s tension between ceremony and restraint. During the Brezhnev era, a yearly parade was deemed excessive, and the leadership reduced the military display. Brezhnev himself had firsthand experience of war and understood its costs.
When the CPSU drafted May Day directives, slogans and calls were circulated in the nation’s newspapers in advance of the holiday. The aim was to align every banner and chant with party policy. For many Russians today, much of that style and language reads like an official code that hides its real intent from ordinary readers. Yet the party cadres scrutinized the approved slogans for any signs of new directions in leadership, since the USSR employed a highly doctrinal approach to control. In short, the country’s political language was strict and precise, even if its meaning could feel distant to outsiders.
For example, by May 1986, shortly after a new leadership had emerged, forty appeals from the Central Committee were published. They did not overtly signal perestroika, yet subtle hints suggested broader changes were underway. Phrases like accelerated social and economic development and all-around socialism hinted that adjustments were already under way behind the scenes.
At the 27th Congress of the CPSU, a spirit of innovation was noted. The document urged scientists and educators to push forward the nation’s scientific and technological progress and to rethink how the economy was organized. Calls to various professions carried different weights, sometimes elevating engineers and researchers over more traditional crafts. The party also urged departmental reform to reduce bureaucracy and oppose narrow thinking. The soldier’s call to defend peaceful creative work appeared lower in the list, while international solidarity with socialist and developing nations occupied important space. The overarching message spoke to a broader, cooperative security framework, even as a new political vocabulary was still taking shape.
Could something similar happen today? It may seem possible from the outside: government staff could gather with pre-made banners, though such events now tend to be local and modest, often without parades or mass gatherings. The Immortal Regiment stands apart in purpose and spirit, a different kind of remembrance altogether.
Ultimately, the driving aim behind May Day has long been a strong centralized organization. People could participate voluntarily, but the state’s oversight kept the process orderly. There was always a sense that attending China alike or not, most participants were part of a larger, planned event. Security and discipline were real, symbolized by red armbands and organized columns, even if some detainees felt mixed emotions about the experience.
Many readers today may struggle to grasp how those parades felt in person. Yet there was a genuine sense of joy in walking toward the central square and catching a glimpse of the Mausoleum. It was a holiday that invited reflection on collective identity and the pride of simply being part of a shared moment. The May Day atmosphere was not merely about obedience; it carried a certain communal warmth, a rare moment when the country paused to acknowledge a common life.
After the USSR dissolved, May Day shed its political weight and adopted a more neutral, spring-and-labor identity. Its enduring slogan, a triptych of Peace, Work, and May, hinted at a continued double life: celebration and labor. Yet many people now associate it with gardening and outdoor life, appreciating a kinder, more leisurely side of spring.
In the older view, the working class earned allegiance as the most dynamic segment of society, though the contours of modern economies have shifted toward different forms of work. Today, much GDP comes from sectors once labeled as creative work. The idea of a May Day parade appealing to software developers or IT professionals seems awkward, if not ill-fitting, because the spirit of the holiday has moved beyond rigid, collective displays.
Still, attempts to rename May Day would meet semantic and practical hurdles. It would require serious government involvement or a high-profile branding effort, but public sentiment would likely resist a top-down redefinition. National ideas tend to emerge from the people themselves, even as elites weigh in with slogans and policy.
So for now, May 1 is better left as it is, with the strongest ties to gardening and shared community rather than a state-centric spectacle. Except for Victory Day, the connection to May holidays remains a touchstone of domestic life. If the country learns new meanings for this day, those meanings will probably grow from within the society rather than being imposed from above. May 1 could mark the start of a broader, seasonally hopeful life for many people instead of a reenactment of past grand narratives.
May 1 remains a living, evolving idea, a story in progress that may someday reveal a fresh meaning born from the people themselves.