“The Crocodile” by Kornei Chukovsky: how a children's fairy tale became a victim of ideological war

It is hard to imagine a children's library without Kornei Chukovsky's “The Crocodile”. This lively, rhythmic poem, written for his sick son on a train, is memorized by millions. But the path of this tale to the reader was paved with bans, censorship edits, and real ideological persecution. “The Crocodile” was banned not once, and behind each ban stood not only bureaucratic whims but also a whole system that saw children's literature as a tool of class struggle. Why did an innocent crocodile walking through Petrograd become more dangerous to Soviet ideologues than any political opponent?

The birth of the tale and the first suspicions

“The Crocodile” was born in 1916–1917, when Chukovsky was writing the first part for his sick son Kolya. The tale was first published in 1917 under the title “Vanya and the Crocodile” in the supplement to the magazine “Niva”, and in 1919 it was published as a separate book “The Adventures of Crocodile Crocodileovich” by the Petrosoviet publishing house. The tale achieved enormous success and was reprinted several times. But even then, something suspicious was noticed in it. Censors disliked “Petrograd”, “city guard”, and the bourgeois girl Lalya. What could be more innocent? However, in the new Soviet reality, even geographical names and pre-revolutionary realities became a reason for bans.

In the mid-1920s, the pressure intensified. In August 1926, the publication of “The Crocodile” was banned. Chukovsky tried to save the book: he made edits, changed “city guard” to “militia officer”, but it did not help. In his diary, he described this bureaucratic chaos in detail: “Detained in Moscow by Gublit and transferred to GUS — the State Scientific Council at the People's Commissariat of Education — in August 1926. Allowed to be printed by the Leningrad Gublit on October 30, 1927, after four months of delay. But the permit did not take effect, and the book was under consideration by GUS until December 15, 1927”. Chukovsky even had an audience with Klupskaya, who said he was “acting shamelessly”. In the end, the permit was granted, but the print run was limited to five thousand copies, and then Glavlit again banned the book.

Klupskaya's article: a strike from the Kremlin

The climax of the persecution was the article by Nadezhda Konstantinovna Klupskaya “On Chukovsky's ‘The Crocodile’”, published in the newspaper “Pravda” on February 1, 1928. Klupskaya's wife's article was not just criticism — it was a political verdict that effectively meant a ban on the writer's profession. Klupskaya wrote that “to accustom a child to talk nonsense, to read any nonsense, may be accepted in bourgeois families. But this has nothing to do with the education that should be given to the growing generation in the country of the victorious proletariat”. She called the tale “bourgeois muck” and declared: “I think we should not give our children ‘The Crocodile’”.

But what exactly did “The Crocodile” provoke Klupskaya? Firstly, she saw in the tale a parody on the work of Nekrasov, whom Chukovsky deeply admired and whose collected works he was preparing for publication. Secondly, it seemed to her that in the poem the people were depicted as cowardly, unable to cope with danger on their own, and only the brave Vanya Vasilevich finds the courage to fight the monster. From the point of view of Soviet ideology, such an image of the people was unacceptable: the people should be a heroic collective, not a passive crowd.

“Chukovskism”: a word that became a verdict

After Klupskaya's article, a real campaign against Chukovsky began. Even a special term — “chukovskism” — appeared, which became a swear word. In 1929, the parents' assembly of the Kremlin kindergarten adopted a resolution “We call for a fight against ‘Chukovskism’”. Not only “The Crocodile” but also “The Aybolit”, “Barmaley”, “Moidodyr”, and other works were banned. Critics accused Chukovsky of his tales “divorcing speech activity from thinking”, “disorienting the preschooler in the surrounding environment”, and introducing “bourgeois ideology”.

The writer himself experienced these years as the most tragic page of his life. “My name has become a swear word,” he lamented. In 1929, Chukovsky even published a repentant letter, renouncing his tales and promising to write on “new themes”. However, as he confessed many years later, this repentance was “a terrible mistake in his life, which he regrets to this day and will regret until the end of his days”.

A new wave of bans: 1934 and the death of Kirov

It seemed that after all the trials the tale could finally find peace, but in 1934 it was banned again. This time the reason was even more sinister. After the assassination of Sergey Mironovich Kirov, the secretary of the Leningrad obkom of the VKP(b), the lines “Very glad Petrograd” from “The Crocodile” were considered as blasphemy. In the city in mourning, any mention of joy seemed inappropriate, and the death of the crocodile in the book could be interpreted as a sinister reference to the assassination of the party leader. Censors wrote: “Leningrad is a historical city, and any fantasy about it will be taken as a political hint”. The tale was again removed from the press until the mid-1950s.

Why “The Crocodile” was so feared

Today, when reading “The Crocodile”, we see only a joyful, absurd, musical fairy tale that has delighted children for over a hundred years. But for Soviet censorship, this was not a children's text, but a political statement. In it, they looked for hints of class struggle, parodies on classics, ideologically harmful images. The State Scientific Council banned “The Crocodile” from publication, and pedagogical criticism saw it as a “danger” and “introduction of bourgeois ideology”.

The paradox is that Chukovsky, more than anyone else, updated Russian children's poetry. He created a language that children heard and understood, rhythms that were remembered for life. But it was this linguistic freedom that seemed suspicious to the system accustomed to controlling every word. Chukovsky did not write about collective farms and pioneers, he wrote about crocodiles and flies — and that was enough to declare him an enemy.

Return and eternal life

Only after Stalin's death, during the Khrushchev thaw, “The Crocodile” returned to the readers. Chukovsky lived to see this moment and saw his books on the shelves again. Today his tales are classics that everyone knows. And the history of their ban has become one of the most vivid examples of how ideology can blind and make one see danger where there is only childlike joy and fantasy. In the 1950s, Chukovsky, recalling the years of persecution, wrote in his diary: “Oh, if only they published my ‘The Crocodile’ and ‘Bibigon’!” Now his “The Crocodile” is published in million copies — and this is the best victory literature can achieve over censorship.

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