In 2024, Vladimir K. Arseniev Museum of Far East History was awarded the title of Museum of the Year, marking yet further recognition as one of the country’s top museums. Today, the Arseniev Museum serves as a flagship cultural institution east of the Urals, boasting four venues in Vladivostok, a large open-air museum, Vladivostok Fortress, and five branches throughout Primorye Territory. The Museum is a driving force behind regional development, acting as the spirit of the place, preserving the essence of Primorye, infusing it with new meaning and collaborating with other cultural institutions to help residents connect with the larger country of Russia, which does not end but only begin in the Far East.

The new federal status of the Museum and its enhanced role in the Far East have been achieved under the leadership of Victor Shalai, who was appointed director in 2011, in conjunction with his exceptional team.

Your Museum is officially classed as a local history museum but, over the past fifteen years, under your direction, it has evolved into a much broader institution with a conceptual mission and more ambitious projects. How do you define the mission of local history museums today?

All museums are unique, akin to human fingerprints. Much depends on their location, how they were set up, and how their collections developed. Local history museums reflect regions through preserved names, dates, biographies, and events. These artifacts, when they fall into knowledgeable hands, begin to resonate, playing a variety of melodies. Cities change as we do, evolving with shifts in public consciousness and socio-political systems. Everything is constantly in motion. Museums participate actively in this process. Their lens captures changes, reflecting them in their collections and thereby influencing the city’s atmosphere.

Your Museum doesn’t merely capture reality; it triggers transformations.

It moderates them. Few serious processes related to the city’s history and heritage proceed without the Museum’s involvement or moderation.

You assumed leadership of the Museum in 2011 when it was in dire straits. How challenging was it to alter the region’s perceptions of the Museum?

Throughout the 1990s and early 2000s, the Museum isolated itself considerably. This led to a disconnect between what happened in the city, region, country, and throughout the world, and what occurred within the Museum. Yet, a museum, especially a local history museum, cannot function separately, secluded within itself. In the 2010s, Vladivostok underwent massive transformations marked by large-scale construction and investment. The city received attention for the first time since the collapse of the Soviet Union. We seized this opportunity, endeavouring to maximize its potential.

Concurrently, society began seeking national experience models and examples to identify with, fostering unity as a single nation with a rich history and achievements. Many museums realized they were active participants in healing the nation’s collective amnesia. Vladivostok navigated this transformation in its own particular way, given how severely it suffered in the 1990s, losing its identity and distancing itself from the rest of the country. Recognizing these dynamics, the museum pivoted toward its visitors, offering therapeutic experiences: “Our doors are open; please come. We believe the Museum is essential for you, indispensable. Just trust us.” The response was heartening: “Indeed, let’s visit museums, they must be interesting.”

Today, you’re constantly expanding not only through collaborative projects, festivals, and initiatives but also territorially: in 2022, Vladivostok Fortress, a significant property complex, became part of the Museum. Does expansion hamper internal growth?

The Arseniev Museum isn’t simply moving forward, it is transforming daily into a newer version of itself. Our Museum resembles a 13–14 year old teenager. It’s still developing physically, but its mood, character, and potential speed are already discernible. Because our museum continues to transform. This process has been ongoing for five years, driven by the addition of new monuments such as the Vladivostok Fortress mentioned by you, and by the emergence of new objectives.

We’re like short-haul aircraft: initially meant to fly 500 kilometres but, midway, we’re told “You’re doing great; let’s make you a long-haul plane flying up to 3,000 kilometres.” There’s no option to land, retreat to maintenance hangars, and emerge refreshed. Instead, we adapt to new challenges mid-flight.

With the addition of Vladivostok Fortress, you’ve acquired federal museum status. Has this altered your relationship with visitors?

Our primary objective is to elevate conversations about the Far East to appropriate heights, emphasizing its significance globally and nationally, highlighting its distinct skills, characteristics, and mentality. Another aim is consistently to remind the Far East that it’s an integral part of the greater country beyond its borders. This mutual discovery involves understanding both sides: the country discovering the Far East and the Far East cultivating a sense of belonging to a larger entity.

What kind of Far East image emerges from your Museum?

Everyone has their own personal image of the Far East, whether or not they’ve visited it. The region’s identity is scattered worldwide through countless stories, histories, and representations. Of course, the Far East is characterized by unique nature and climate, which we explore in the Museum, including the long journey needed to reach us. Additionally, there’s an individual connection: someone might recall dreaming of visiting Vladivostok when watching a film set there; others might remember living on Khabarovsk or Vladivostok Streets, going to the Kamchatka Cinema, knowing neighbours who served in the Far East and returned with a jar of red caviar, leaving lasting impressions because they’d never seen so much caviar. Our mission is to immerse individuals in these personalized metaphysics, exploring their sensations of the Far East. We’re reflections of one another, refracting ourselves in every way. Even hearing words like “St. Petersburg” or “Kazan” for the first time shapes connections. Ultimately, museums reveal insights into our inner worlds.

As one of Russia’s most visited and award-winning museums, what lessons could your Museum teach leading institutions in Moscow and St. Petersburg?

Unlike many museums in western Russia, ours embraces postcolonial thinking. The former institutions often adopt an imperial perspective, interpreting the world from their own viewpoint outward: here we are, everything else orbits around us. This outlook reflects aspects of our historical reality but feels about fifty years out of date. Balancing perspectives with colonial and postcolonial mindsets creates a fuller picture of the country, relevant to everyone, even if metropolitan minds perceive us as charming peripheries resulting from heroic conquests returning victorious to enrich royal courts.

Even St. Petersburg struggles with the imperial outlook. Despite being called the “cultural capital of Russia”, it seems oddly paradoxical. What does it mean: cultural capital of an uncultured country? Museum capital of a non-museum nation? Should this dynamic operate antagonistically or complementarily? St. Petersburg has remarkable museums that make an immense contribution. Yet they’re often constrained by the possibility of falling from their fragile pedestal, suspecting others will inevitably trip over it. Such fears impede constructive dialogues.

Born into a fifth-generation family far from St. Petersburg, I respectfully acknowledge accumulated legacies but seek alternative interpretations. I’m convinced the country and world have changed: we’re no longer exotic remote lands. The issue isn’t demanding a different narrative from St. Petersburg. Rather, it’s engaging parallel discussions and debates with them about the country’s image. That’s truly fascinating.

More than just a wish is required for engaging in equal dialogue with capital-based museums; corresponding capabilities are essential.

First and foremost, competence is critical, we need to achieve parity with metropolitan professionals, exhibiting boldness and enterprise in idea generation. Small museums in places like Chagdomyn on Baikal Amur Mainline, Tynda, Ossora Village on Kamchatka Peninsula, or Birobidzhan are of equal value for the national memory and culture, contributing to the future image of our country alongside major repositories. Big collections, celebrated artists, and prominent collectors aren’t definitive. Collective piecing together of finer details is far more intriguing. While capital institutions enjoy financial resources and advanced facilities, though that’s fixable. Each museum should think, as writer Andrey Platonov did, that the world would be incomplete without them. Discovering oneself in new contexts, geographies, and national landscapes defines the true excitement of museum work.