Russia After the War: Hopes, Illusions and Disappointments, 1945-1957 0765602288, 9780765602282

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RUSSIA

AFTER THE WAR

The New Russian History SeriesEditor: Donald]. Raleigh, University of North Carolina,ChapelHill This series makes examplesof the finest work of the most eminent historians in Russia today available to English-languagereaders.Each prepared volume has been ~pecially preparedwith an internationalaudiencein mind, and each is introducedby an outstandingWesternscholarin the samefield. THE REFORMS OF PETER THE GREAT ProgressThrough Coercionin Russia Evgenii V. Anisimov Translatedwith an introduction l7y John T. Alexander IN STALIN'S SHADOW The Careerof "Sergo" Ordzhonikidze Oleg V. Khlevniuk Translatedl7y David Nordlander Edited with an introduction l7y DonaldJ Raleigh, with the assistanceofKathy S. Transchel THE EMPERORS AND EMPRESSESOF RUSSIA Rediscoveringthe Romanovs Edited l7y DonaldJ Raleigh Compiledl7y AkhmedA. Iskenderov WOMEN IN RUSSIAN mSTORY From the Tenth to the Twentieth Century Natalia Pushkareva Translatedand editedl7y EveLevin THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY Searchingfor a Placein the World AleksandrB. Kamenskii Translatedand Edited l7y David Griffiths RUSSIA AFTER THE WAR Hopes,Illusions, and Disappointments,1945-1957 Elena Zubkova Translatedand Edited l7y Hugh Ragsdale

RUSSIA AFTER THE WAR HOPES, ILLUSIONS, AND DISAPPOINTMENTS,

1945-1957

Elena Zubkova Translatedand editedby

Hugh Ragsdale

ROUTLEDGE

Routledge Taylor & Francis Group

LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published1998 by M.E. Sharpe Published2015 by Routledge 2 Park Square,Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017,USA Routledgeis an imprint ofthe Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

Copyright © 1998 Taylor & Francis.All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprintedor reproducedor utilised in any form or by any electronic,mechanical,or other means,now known or hereafterinvented,including photocopyingand recording,or in any information storageor retrieval system,without permissionin writing from the publishers. Notices No responsibilityis assumedby the publisherfor any injury and/ordamageto personsor property as a matterof productsliability, negligenceor otherwise, or from any use of operationof any methods,products,instructionsor ideas containedin the materialherein. Practitionersand researchersmust always rely on their own experienceand knowledgein evaluatingand using any information, methods,compounds,or experimentsdescribedherein. In using such information or methodsthey should be mindful of their own safety and the safety of others,including partiesfor whom they have a professionalresponsibility. Productor corporatenamesmay be trademarksor registeredtrademarks,and are usedonly for identification and explanationwithout intent to infringe.

Library of CongressCataloging-in-PublicationData Zubkova,E. IU. (ElenaIUr'evna) Russiaafter the war: hopes,illusions, and disappointments,1945--1957I by Elena Zubkova; translatedand editedby Hugh Ragsdale. p. cm. - (New Russianhistory) Includesbibliographicalreferencesand index. ISBN 0-7656--0227-X(cloth: alk. paper) ISBN 0-7656--0228-8(pbk : alk. paper) l. Soviet Union--Socialconditions--1945--l99l. 2. Soviet Union-Economic conditions--1945--1955.3. Reconstruction(1939-195 l)--Soviet Union. I. Title. II. Series. HN523.5.Z8 1998 306'.0947---ilc21 98-17042 CIP ISBN 13: 9780765602282(pbk) ISBN 13: 9780765602275(hbk)

Contents

Translator'sIntroduction Introduction

3 Part I. Strategiesof Survival

Chapterl. Chapter2. Chapter3. Chapter4. Chapter5.

The Social Psychologyof the War The Victory and the Victors "How to Live After the War?": The Conflict of Expectationand Reality The Hungry Years: The Famineofl946--1947 The CurrencyReform of 1947: The Views from Above and Below Part II. The Illusion of Liberalization

Chapter6. Chapter7. Chapter8. Chapter9.

VB

The Stateand the Peasant:Village Antagonism to the Collective Farm Religion and Politics: The Revival of ReligiousBelief The Political Temperof the Masses,1945-1948 "SomethingMust Be Done": The Intelligentsia and the Intellectual Mavericks Part III. Repression

Chapter10. "The SituationDoesn'tChange": The Crisis of PostwarExpectations

9

11 20 31 40 51

57 59 68 74 88

99

101

Chapter11. Chapter12. Chapter13. Chapter14.

The Birth of the Anti-Stalinist Youth Movement The Strugglewith Dissent The Wave of Repression,1949-1953 The Evolution of Public Opinion: "WhoseFault Is It?" Part IV. The Thaw

109 117 130 139 149

Chapter15. Without Stalin: The New Public Atmosphere Chapter16. The Repudiationof the GULAG Chapter17. Turning to the Individual: The Paths from Above and Below Chapter18. The Decision on the Cult of Personality and Its Social Impact Chapter19. Public Opinion and the "HungarianSyndrome"

178 191

Conclusion Notes Index

203 205 231

Photographsfollow page 98

151 164 171

Translator's Introduction

In contrastto the enormousliterature on that most controversialof all subjects of the early postwar period, the Cold War, Soviet internal affairs have received relatively meager attention. What we know of them is little more than a litany of severalchiefly ominousevents:the forced repatriation of reluctant Soviet military and civilian personnel from Central Europe at the end of the SecondWorld War, the infamous Leningrad Affair (purge) of 1949, the Nineteenth Party Congressof November1952, and the even more infamousDoctors' Plot of early 1953.1 As AlexanderWerth (who was there) observed,it is "the most unexploredperiod in the whole history of the Soviet Union."2 In one of the few respectable,if dated, textbooks of the period, Roger Pethybridgeagrees: "The last stage of Stalin's rule is as difficult to interpret as any period in the Middle Ages."3 Thesetwo authorswere long amongthe leadingauthoritieson the subject,yet both were compelled to devote the bulk of their accountsto foreign affairs, as there was simply insufficient information on Soviet internal affairs. If any part of this opaquepicture has been more obscurethan the whole, it is public opinion. When I told colleaguesand Russian emigresthat I was translatinga book on Soviet public opinion, their nearly invariable responsewas incredulous:Was there such a thing? they asked. Fortunately,we now have a substantialremedyfor this sad state of affairs. The work of Elena Zubkova is, in the literal senseof an oftabusedword, unique. She is bold enoughto attack thesetwo difficult facets-publicopinion and the high tide of Stalinism-ofthis doubly obscuresubjectat once. If someof her discoveriesconfirm our expectations, most of them are new and informative. The merestsampler of her subjectmatterillustratesthe point: vii

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TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION

Given the brutal male mortality rate during the SecondWorld War, what did young Russianwomen do for a family life in the postwargeneration? If the government perceived the moral solidarity of veterans (shalmannaiademokratiia) as a threat to its stability, what kind of policy did it deliberatelyutilize to divide them againsteachother? Why did the nearly half million amputeesamong the veterans have to be re-certified as disabledby a new medical examination everyyear? What promptedchildren to ask parentswhy Stalin did not order God to sendbetterweather,and what promptedgood membersof the CommunistParty to attendchurchservicesto pray for rain? Why did the governmentship grain abroadwhile tensof millions of Russianssufferedmalnutrition at home (and 2 million died of it)? What led the Russianpeasantsto expectPresidentHarry Truman and Prime Minister Winston Churchill to declarewar on the Soviet Union for the sakeof abolishingthe collective farm? In the face of the dauntingdifficulties of their life at home, why did the Russiansof this generationtake such a lively interest in foreign affairs-more perhaps than we did-especiallyin such hot spotsas Greeceand China? What promptedsomeRussiansto anticipatereal democracyand a free-marketeconomyafter the war? How do we accountfor the juxtaposition after the war of both pious adulationand visceral hatredof Stalin? What kind of literary discussionevoked such vital interest as to have people climbing the pipes outside the Writers' Union in order to listen througha second-storywindow? When the doors of the GUlAG Archipelagowere thrown open in 1953, what impact did the massive release of many brutalized prisonershave on conventionalsociety? How are we to appreciatethe pathos of those prisoners,falsely accusedand convicted, later releasedin the great post-Stalinist amnestypresumablyconferring legal rehabilitation, only to find that the stigmaof Stalinistsuspicionwould neverleave them?

One of them found bittersweetrelief in what might reducea Western citizen to abjectdespair. When will we former convicts, not guilty of anything, ever be fully rehabilitated?I have resolved the question for myself: Never. My fate?

TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION

ix

My future? It has already been determined. In words: trust. In fact: suspicion. In the hearts of the powers that be: eternal suspicion. But that no longer bothersme. The more important problem is settled: my children can respondwithout fear on that line in the questionnaires: "Who is your father?" They can write boldly and honestly: "reserveofficer, soldier in the GreatPatriotic War, communistsince 1931."

In the aftermath of the Cold War, the fortunes of history in the former Soviet Union are ambivalent,to say the least.4 In the immediate wake of glasnost,therewere dramaticrevelationsaddressedto the so-calledblank spots (belye piatna) of Soviet history. It was an exciting time. As distinguished Soviet historian Natan Eidelman (now deceased)told me, for a while it was more interesting to read than to live. As time passed,however, the profession of scholarshiphad to adjust to the new conditionsof the marketplace,and the problemsof material life sometimestook precedenceover the taste for the academic and aestheticway of life. At that point, somethingof a dissolution of the old historical establishmenttook place. It was in part becauseold dogs did not easily learn new tricks, in part because historians (humanistsin general) did not producethe material items most in demandin the new conditions of uncivil capitalism and lost their livelihood as a consequence.I know of one academicdepartment of the premier Institute of History (Academy of Sciences)in which the staff is less than half its former size, a departmentwhose prominentresearchand writing waits for years to be published-ifit is publishedat all. In spite of such problems, some of the old guard has refashioned itself in a glasnostspirit. Yet most of this style of history is being done by a new generationof historians,and Elena Zubkova'sbook is a striking exampleof it. Much of the work in this genre,however,hasappearedin the short and relatively transientform of journalism, what the Russians call jmblitsistika, lessin the form of sustainedandsystematicresearchand writing at book length-thisis part of Zubkova'sachievementand distinction-andlessyet in English translation. Zubkova'swork is seminal.There is undoubtedlymore to be done in the provincial archives, in Politburo records, and perhaps-who knows?-inthe still rarely accessiblePresidentialArchive; but the first step has been taken. The way has beenshown. It is not to be expected, of course,that in the last years of Stalin's life opinion polling by scientific samplingwas practicedin the Soviet Union. Zubkova is able to demonstrate,however, a considerableinteraction of government

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policy and public mood. It may surprise the readerhow sensitivethe Soviet governmentwas to public opinion-in fact, how responsiveit was-especially,for example,in the questionof price reductionsor in reaction to the most innocent and harmlessadolescentdiscussion groups. With enviable skill Zubkova has usedher factual findings to recreate the psychologicalatmosphereof the time. Here is a by no means unemotionalstudy of the dramaand tragedyof the end of the Stalinist epic, and the author's depiction of it exemplifies the best traditions of the humanismof the Russianintelligentsia. This is distinguishedwork, and the publisher, the editor of the series, and I are pleased and proud to be able to offer it to the American public. . I am grateful to the author, Elena Zubkova, for offering us the second(first English) edition of this study for translationand for her promptresponsesto multiple queries;to PatriciaKolb of M.E. Sharpe for commissioningthe translation; to Donald J. Raleigh for inviting me to do the translationand for editorial advice in the courseof it; to Elizabeth Grandaand Ana ErIic of M.E. Sharpefor professionalhandling of the production process; to Galina Levina of the Kennan Moscow Project in Moscow for facilitating my communicationswith the author; to Kate Ragsdale,Jonathan Wallace,and Martha Ragsdale for critical readings;and to Andrei Korobkov and AlexanderFrenkel for respondingto my queriesaboutdifficult Russianexpressions.We all know whoseresponsibilitythe final result is. Hugh Ragsdale

RUSSIA

AFTER THE WAR

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Introduction

For some people Russiahas been a mysterioussphinx, for others an improbablemonster.Their interesthas always been characterizedby a certain pragmatic consideration,whether promptedby the novels of Dostoevskii or nourishedby fears of the Evil Empire. Few eras in the history of Russia,however,have beenas obscureand enigmaticas the high-water mark of Stalinism, the period betweenthe victory of 1945 and Khrushchev'sfamous denunciationof the tyrant in 1956. Fortunately,thanks to the blessingsof glasnost,we are now in a position to assessthis grim and dramaticsubjecton the basisof authentic historical records. We must not imagine that Soviet history can be confined to the chronological boundaries1917-1991.In fact, we Russiansstill labor psychologicallyunder the legacy of the Soviet past. The majority of living Russianswere born and acquired their social consciousness in the Soviet period. The older peopleamongus lived through the war and the erasof Stalin and Khrushchevand have their own conception of those times. Their personalimpressionsand experiencerepresent an enormousfund of social memory crucial to an understandingof both our pastand present,and the serioushistorian is hardly entitled to sacrifice this living, contemporaryhistory to subjectsmore abstract and farther afield. Mter the great expansionof interest in social history during the past few years, the importanceof mind-setsand public opinion is no longer an unfamiliar idea. Still, researchin the social psychologyand cultural anthropologyof the Soviet period is only now beginning to take shape.Until recently our entrenchedhistoriographic tradition was dominatedby political research.Soviet history was represented chiefly as the record of isolated decisionsmade on high, while the 3

4

INTRODUCTION

attitudes and the perceptionsof ordinary citizens were confined to diaries, travelogues,and memoirs. Of course, we have seen attemptsto fathom the phenomenonof Soviet man and the nature of his interaction with authority. Alexander Zinoviev developedthe idea of "homo sovieticus,"1 and Mikhail Geller reflected on the evolution of ideas that contributed to the formation of Soviet man;2 but there has been no concreteresearch devotedto public opinion of the period, patternsof thinking, and the behavior of Soviet people. The massmovementsand the public outlook of the era of the Revolution and of the 1920shave beenstudied, but those of the period after the SecondWorld War have been completely neglected.One of the principal reasonsfor this stateof affairs was the limited access to sources of information on attitudes and opinions. From the late 1920s to the late 1950s there were no institutesof sociologyand public opinion in the USSR.Thosewho wanted to study Soviet society of that period had no data from sociological surveysor opinion polls. Data of this kind were held in secretby state security organsand were entirely inaccessibleuntil the beginning of the 1990s. This circumstance,however, did not deter Vera Dunham, who researchedthe subjectusing a sourcethat was neversecret,Soviet fiction. 3 The target of Dunham'swork was the socio-political outlook-andthe systemof values-ofthe Soviet middle class, the chief social buttressof the Stalinist regime, and the interactionof this classwith the supreme authority. In spite of divergent opinion on the comprehensivelyrepressivesystemof fear and terror in the USSR, Dunham defined the broad functional spectrum of values and dynamics of behavior on which the Soviet regime rested. She called this relationshipbetween the middle class and the government,the sourceof the system'sstability, the "Big Deal." The problem of achieving a working relationship between state and society was presentat every level of the social pyramid, and it is this approachof Vera Dunham to the study of postwarSoviet society that we must not only continue but amplify. Such work, however, demandsthe exploitation of a new and larger scale of sourcematerials to reflect the public attitudes of different social constituencies, those that togetherform that elusive abstraction,the people. That is preciselythe goal of this study. The postwar period, especiallyits first two to three years, represents one of the key phasesin the developmentof Soviet governmentand society. While the political and economicstructuresof the USSR re-

INTRODUCTION

5

mained practically unchanged,a complex of hopesand expectations promptedby the sacrificesof the greatvictory led to major changesin Soviet society.Theseexpectationsformed the specialcharacterof the postwaryears, the unique temperof the time. Many of theseexpectations, above all the hope for liberalization of the Stalinist regime, turned out to be purely illusory; but these very illusions were an essentialfeature of the postwarspirit, one of the componentsof the public's strategy of survival. For the majority of Soviet people, the question of survival in the new peacetimewas no less complicated than it had beenduring the war itself. The postwarsituation brought adjustmentsin the valuesand expectationsleft over from the war and prewaryears,rearrangedpriorities of different categoriesof societyin pursuitof their interests,and influencedthe relationshipbetweenthe peopleand the state. The relationshipof the public to the governmentand its policies, as well as to the political figures carrying them out, is one of the central themesof this book. It concentratesespeciallyon those questions that either agitated Soviet society as a whole or affected the interestsof large segmentsof society (the peasantry,the urban population, the intelligentsia).The structureof the book reflects what the people in the postwar years regardedas their most essentialproblems. It is basedchiefly on the Russianexperienceand does not deal with developmentsin the non-Russianrepublics, a diverse and complex subjectworthy of its own independenttreatmentrather than a superficialsurvey. The chronologicalscope of the book is boundedby the developmentsof two critical years, 1945 and 1957. Thesedatesare significant not only from the viewpoint of internal political developments,the end of the war, and the crisis which deliveredpreponderantpower to Khrushchev.The years1945 and 1957 are crucial especiallyas turning points in the evolution of the public mood, of the people'shopes. This is how they are representedin this book, the greater part of which is devoted to the period 1945-1953, the period that social historiansarejust beginningto explore. The post-Stalinistperiod, the Thaw, is much better representedin scholarly researchand documentarypublications. The bulk of these works continue to exhibit a predominantlypolitical focus, but they analyze political developmentsin a broad social context.4 Similarly, historiansof the period 1945-1953are interestedchiefly in the activity of the power structureas a whole or in individual Soviet leaders.5 A special chapter of N.V. Romanovskii's1995 book, Liki stalinizma,

6

INTRODUCTION

1945-1953(The Facesof Stalinism, 1945-1953)6is devotedto analyzing the dynamics of Soviet society after the war. Other researchers have examinedthe influence of the war on different aspectsof Soviet life'? These works are dedicated, however, principally to those changesthat took place in the demographicand social composition of the Soviet population after the war, and they deal only indirectly with the subjectof public opinion. Researchdealing specifically with this questionin the post-Stalinistperiod is still rare.8 Admittedly, scholarshave done studiesof different social groupsof postwar Soviet society. They have given us monographson the workers,9 and they have studied the peasantryand the developmentof agrarianpolicy especiallyintensively.1o They have seriouslyexamined the intelligentsiafrom severalperspectives,including differencesand changesin its outlook, its role in the dissident movement,and the way in which it fits into Soviet cultural policy as a whole.ll Yet even those scholarsgatheringthe large quantity of factual material necessary for this kind of researchwere as a rule not explicitly interestedin the attitudesand the behavioralnormsof the population. The study of public opinion in this book has required a special complex of sourcematerials.First are thoseof a private nature,diaries and memoirs, the greaterpart of which are published,and correspondence.12 The correspondence consistschiefly of archival documentsof three kinds: letters to the Central Committeeof the CommunistParty, 1945-1957;letters addressedto the editorial office of thejournal Novyi mir (New World), 1953-1957; and correspondenceinterceptedand examinedby the military censorshipdivision of the statesecurityapparatus, 1945-1946.This last category may not be consideredfully priforwarded by the vate, as it consistsof excerptsfrom correspondence organsof state security to the Central Committeein order to portray public opinion. The memoirs, diaries, and letters are supplementedby another large group of sourcesthat are still more informative. Theseare studies of public opinion conductedby the organsof government.The most important set of thesematerialsis from the Central Committee archive and consistsof the following varieties of documents:resumes of the political outlook of the population;reportsof Central Committee inspectorson local conditions and opinion at the local level; lists of questions asked by audiencesduring lectures and meetings; resumesof citizens' observationsand proposalsduring discussionsof governmentprojects or decrees;accountsof discussionsof party or governmentdecisionsin party organizationsand productionunits.

INTRODUCTION

7

This secondcategoryof sourceshasall the peculiaritiesinherent in its bureaucraticorigins, a factor that must be consideredin interpreting its contents.First, the evidencehas usually alreadybeenselected and edited. Sometimesthe compilers of such documentsrecorded the most typical featuresof the public mood (commonlyencountered expressionsor questions),but sometimesthey emphasizedabove all examplesthat deviated from consensualopinion. In these circumstances,it is impossible to determine the principles of selection of evidence,as the original data have not beenpreserved.Second,these documentsare organized either by subject matter-for example, a particular political campaign-orby regions (usually oblasts, provinces). For this reason,with the exceptionof the broadestcategories of the public-for example,the urban or rural population-itis practically impossible to identify the different social groups represented in the collection of opinion. Finally, thesematerialsbearan ideological imprimatur and consequentlyreflect correspondingjudgments and evaluations.Criticism of the regime is almost universally characterizedas "unwholesome,""hostile," or even "anti-Soviet." In order to get a reliable perspectiveon the public outlook, to describe the priorities of social expectations,and to determinethe range of problemson which postwarsociety focused,we must employ a comparativeanalysisof the datain eachcategoryof official sourcesas well as in private sources.It is not possibleto deal confidentlywith any kind of quantitativevariables.There is not the remotestapproximationhere of scientific samplingby sociologicalopinion polls. What we may speakof with a greatdegreeof assurance,however,are trendsin the evolution of postwar opinion, the social distribution of the people'smix of expectations, and the more salientmind-setsat a given time. Among the multiple sourcematerials,literary fiction must also be mentioned. Its presenceon the pagesof this book is by no means incidental: fiction reflects (as doesjournalism) the nuancesof social life that may escapeother categoriesof sources.In the peculiar historical circumstancesof Russian-evenmore of Soviet-political life, the role of literature was never confined to aestheticcreativity alone. It expressedthe public mood and served as a medium of rapport among people-afunction of literature especiallyconspicuousafter the death of Stalin. Of course, from the viewpoint of historical inquiry, the use of literary works of a particular epoch can only be selective,but the interest of contemporariesin theseworks was also selective. In this instance,we are interestedin those literary monumentseliciting the greatestpublic resonance,thoseservingpeculiarly

8

INTRODUCTION

as trademarksof their time. For the postwar period these works include Ilia Ehrenburg'sOttepel (The Thaw), Vladimir Dudintsev's Ne khlebom edinym (Not by Bread Alone), and Valentin Ovechkin's Raionnyebudni (District Routine, everydaylife in the provinces).These books, in the opinion both of contemporariesand of their descendants, take their place in the ranks of significant social landmarksnot so much by virtue of their artistic merit, which is debatable,as by their influence on the formation of public opinion in the country. One other kind of sourcematerial especiallydear to me is a series of interviews with people who lived through the postwar period and who now offer their testimonyon the eventsof that time. Among my interview subjectswere journalist lurii Apenchenko,historian Pavel Volobuev, journalist and literary critic Igor Dedkov, journalist and economist Otto Latsis, writer Viacheslav Kondratiev, historian lurii Sharapov,and dozensof people who wished to remain anonymous but whoseassessments, opinions,judgments,or life storieshelpedme to understand,and, especially,to feel that dramatic and far from simple time. These living witnesseshave enriched and enlivened the material of this book substantially. The subject and the contentsof this book require one essential caveat. Much of the story told here deals with the experienceof people still living. It is possible that the personal experienceand observationsof the readerwill partly or wholly differ from the assessment and conclusionspresentedby the author. This is unavoidable; everyone'sexperienceis unique. Neverthelessthere is in the fates of individuals something common that describesthe fate of the era. That is what I wish to present. The publication of this book has been facilitated by the assistance of many people whose professionalism,personal experience,and practical advice helpedme to realize my conception.The project has benefited from the financial support of the Moscow Social Science Fund. I would like to expressmy gratitude to my colleaguesat the Institute of RussianHistory of the RussianAcademy of Sciences,the RussianCenterfor the Preservationand Study of Documentsof Recent History (RTsKhIDNI), and the Center for the Preservationof ContemporaryDocumentation(TsKhSD) for their assistance.

PART I

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

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Chapter 1

The Social Psychologyof the War

The literature on the Great Patriotic War, as the Armageddonof the easternfront during World War II is known in Russia,is so large that it has generateda historiographyof historiography.Hundreds,even thousandsof books are devoted to military operations,to command staff proceedings,to the reasonsfor the early defeatsand the subsequentvictories, and to the study of defenseindustry and the organization of supportin the rear. The history of the war, basedon precise reports of the production of tanks and planes, comparative body counts, inventoriesof cities taken and lost, and assessments of strategic trumps and mistakes-allof this is, of course,a necessarypart of history. It is, however, military history of a limited perspective.War has an additional face, the social dimension,which epic deedsat the front and labor heroism in the rear do not describe.The social history of the GreatPatriotic War is often overlooked,it seems,because war is perceived as an interruption of normal life, or at least as a deviation from an imaginary norm. But conflict, tragedy,and disaster are part of Russianlife, if not of life itself. More important, the wartime experiencewas the foundation for the outlook of many in the postwargeneration,and the sourceof their expectations. The social history of the war is still weakly representedin scholarship although it is abundantly recorded in letters from the front, diaries, soldiers' memoirs, in the documentarypublications of Ales Adamovich, Daniil Granin, and SvetlanaAleksievich;l in the letters, interviews, and documentaryfilms collected by Konstantin Simonov; and in the wartime prose of soldier-authorsViktor Nekrasov,Viktor 11

12

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

Astafiev, Vasil Bykov, Boris Vasiliev, Grigorii Baklanov, and Viacheslav Kondratiev.2 Thesesources,although well known, have not yet been exploitedsystematicallyfor researchin social history. The war itself is not the subject of this book. It is the reference point, the first chronologicallandmark. But not chronologicalonly: the social psychologyof the war yearsshapedall of postwarlife. Without an understandingof the phenomenonof the war as it entered the flesh and blood of that generation,postwar history and social behavior are incomprehensible.We must therefore considerseveral social featuresof the war that subsequentlyinfluenced the formation of the postwaratmosphere. Stalin preparedhis people for the impending war, but it was a peculiar preparation.Peculiarnot only in that on the very eve of the war he destroyedthe leadersof the officers' corps and bled the army white. The greaterpeculiarity was the particular conceptof war that was stubbornlydrilled into the minds of the people.In the first place, the war was representedas a counter-stroke,that is, as a defensive war, an act of retribution against the aggressor.Second,the people were persuadedthat if war were unavoidable,it would be of short duration and would take place on enemy territory. No one thought that the war would spill over into the Soviet border districts. "With little loss of blood and a powerful blow, we will rout and destroy the enemy." Thesewords of a popular song were the leitmotiv of all the propagandaof the prewar period. Official propagandainspired faith in the invincibility of Soviet arms. The war was portrayednot only as victorious and short but as inevitable. "If there is war, if there is a campaigntomorrow, let's get ready today." Such songscorresponded to the outlook of the people. Konstantin Simonov, reflecting on the characteristicsof peacetimethat formed the people'sexpectationsof war, describedthe popularattitude. Above all, the psychological,ideological preparedness for sacrifices,the highest form of which was the sacrifice of life in battle, was learned from the Five-Year Plans.... The tempo of constructionin the condiwe becomean industrial power tions of capitalist encirclement-either or they will not respect us-was a tempo demandingsacrifice under great pressure,preparationfor a sharp decline in living standards,for the interruption of ordinary life, for family separations,for so much of what war in various circumstancesbrings to people.3

People continued to live as usual, but in the back of their minds they were ready at a moment's notice to unite with and to fight

THE SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY OF THE WAR

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unreservedlywith the army. The prewar atmospherewas saturated with a martial spirit reinforced by the militarization of all ranks of society: everyone belonged to at least one organizationwith a prescribed agendaof duties, be it a youth organization or a collective farm. Soviet society of the 1930s is commonly describedas a grand barracks.If the descriptionis in some respectsapt, it is not so in all. From the viewpoint of its mentality, prewar society does not fully correspondto the barracksmodel, as many contemporariesdid not feel themselvesto be in a barracksatmosphere.SergeiAlekseev, now a correspondingmember of the RussianAcademy of Sciences,captured the differencein his own words. In the face of all of the tragic featuresof life in thosedays, in the hearts and souls of us boys and girls a romantic spirit, a sense of joy and brotherhood,lived on ... , and expresseditself, moreover, in moral matters.... PerhapsI am idealizing.... But it is dreadful for me to think of life now-or then either-withoutthe clean, clear, civic romanticism of my youth that somehowserved as a saving grace at the very height of the terrorist madnessof Stalin'sdictatorship.4

We cannot,of course,attribute feelings characteristicespeciallyof the youngergenerationto the societyas a whole, but they give us an example of a social consciousnessin prewar society close to that of the army. Notwithstandingthe likenessof their outward appearance and the particulars of their internal organization (strict discipline, strong hierarchy,subordinationto command,etc.), the army and the barracksare not one and the same.Intrinsic to the social psychology of the army is a spirit of militant morale not necessarilyat home in the barracks.Practicallyall psychologistshave observedthis characteristic of the army. They disagreeonly in their various approaches:if Lev Voitolovskii identified such conceptsas army and crowd, calling the former an "inspired crowd,"5 Gabriel Tard ranked the army in psychologicalorganizationhigher than the crowd, emphasizingthe principle of psychicunity characteristicof the army.6 Both army and barracks,as modelsof public organizationsubordinatedto strongdiscipline, are ideally manageableunits of administration. Moreover, the greater leveling of factors of personality in the barracksmakesit even more submissive.Why, then, did the Stalinist regime deliberately cultivate the spirit of the army, never allowing society to retire completelyinto itself and standapartas one gigantic barracks?

14

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

In fact, the explanationis clear: the psychologyof the regime was to design a model administrative unit endowedwith a clearly stipulated elementof initiative, easily defined and easily revised-notfor the sake of generositybut in order to establish a kind of collateral dedicationto duty. The limited freedom of the unit of administration allowed it to executethe decision made on high in an optimal fashion, which it could not do if it were supervisedheavy-handedlyfrom above. The Stalinist personality in power was, on the one hand, "a mere executant," as historian Mikhail Gefter wrote. On the other hand, "was not this samepersonall-powerful within the boundsof the authority grantedhim? This strangeblend of plenary power and accountability conferreda kind of shock-brigadementality."7 Side by side with this shock-brigadementality, however, was an entirely commonplacepsychology of the barracks, and it was this contradictorystate of affairs that explains the well-known paradoxof the early period of the war. Society, so long and so fully prepared psychologicallyand ideologically for the impendingattack,was simply shocked, was for a time paralyzed and incapable of the necessary response.How could this happen? The shock of the first days and months of the war was produced not so much by the surpriseattack as by the news of the Red Army's retreat.No one was preparedfor this news-notthe army, the society as a whole, or Stalin himself. A difficult period ofreadjustmentbegan as the disparateelementsof society formulated somethinglike the conceptof "a peopleat war." It was not an instantaneous process.The idea that everyone rose up as one man is, according to historian Gennadii Bordiugov, just anothermyth: "Some fought for socialism. Othersthoughtnot of socialismbut of the Fatherland.Yet others,the bureaucratictime-servers,were paralyzed.Still othersin the first days, weeks,and monthssimplyjoined the commoncauseof the people."8 The first reaction of the leadershipwas to use the principles of barracks life to establish maximum administrative control of the army. This effort failed.9 It is not hard to understandwhy: the barracks had not even had time to mobilize. To undertakean attack on tanks with a .30-caliberrifle, a political commissaraheadand a machine gun behind, was hopeless.Somethingaltogetherdifferent was needed,somethingcoming purely from the human spirit, the spirit of self-sacrifice. The initiative of the people compensatedfor the paralysis of authority and the incapacity of the military command, though it cost, of course,millions of lives. Such was the price of the incompetenceof the Stalinist system.

THE SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY OF THE WAR

15

But this is a retrospectiveassessment. It does not reflect what took place in the heartsand minds of the peoplewho voluntarily or otherwise departedfor the front, fought, suffered defeat, and eventually triumphed. Understandably,many veterans reject the charge that their whole war effort was directed to the defenseand supportof the regime, which, without their stubborncommitment,would have simply disintegrated.Such chargesare not only morally offensive; they are incompatible with the facts, as they overlook the chief consideration, the outlook of the front-line soldiers themselves.This outlook was not, of course,perfectly uniform and stable. The war was viewed differently from different vantage points-the trenches, the staff headquarters,the penal battalions,and the guards' corps. But there were in the various perceptionsof the war commonfactors sharedby all. The soldiers' letters and diaries often representthe experienceof the front not in the usual halo of heroism but simply as an ordinary, stressful kind of life, the most terrible part of which was death. As peoplegradually grew accustomedto this new life, it was not the new but the old prewarlife that seemedstrangeand unimaginable. Thus the wishes of the soldier, as one of them, Mansur Abdulin, relates,"were most often the simplest: to have agood sleep,to bathe, to spendperhapsa week under a roof, to receive a letter from home. The grandestdream was to remain alive and to see what would become of life. "10 Thesewere the thoughtsof the soldiersat war. As the dreamrecededinto the past, the very perceptionof the war yearswas transformed.As veteran Viacheslav Kondratiev put it, the war "was rememberedfondly by those fighting it, becauseall that was physically terrible and dreadful was forgotten, and what remainedwas the inspiring side of it, that is, the bright and pure elements,the features of justice and liberation." In sum, "the war was the most important experienceof our generation."llViktor Astafiev voiced similar reflections: "In the courseof time you suddenlydiscoverwhat your life has consistedof, what you are proud of, what you are sadabout-andthat is the war."12 This acknowledgmentreflects not only the experience of the war but the backgroundof postwarlife againstwhich the war standsout as incomparablymore vivid, and especially,more inspiring. The emotional temperof the war yearswas in many respectsunique, not only by virtue of its extreme stress but above all becauseit required a reordering of previous priorities both in political and in humanrelations. As paradoxicalas it seems,the value of the individual rosejust as whole armieswere being lost, as the life of the soldier seemedto grow

16

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

cheap.The psychologicalturning point, unrelatedto the military turning point, grew out of the triumph over this paradox. For the war brought a rare opportunity for the spontaneousdevelopmentamong the peopleof a civic spirit, which for decadeshad beencultivatedonly out by the regime. as duties-oftenimpractical and abstract-handed And suddenly this spirit acquired the flesh and blood of a concrete purpose,the defenseof the Fatherland,in tandemwith the historical traditions of the past. A personbeganto feel the sentimentof citizenship. "In the war I was indispensablynecessary,"recalled the hero of Viacheslav Kondratiev's story, "Znamenatelnaiadata" (A Red-Letter Day). "Not just anyonecould replaceme. Let's supposethat insteadof me on this left flank was anothersoldier with the sameweapon.And without the confidence that he could hold off the Germans,with a different gaze,different wits, and a weakernature.... At the front you had the feeling that the fate of Russialay in your handsalone."13 The characterof civic spirit is conveyed here surprisingly accurately: an inner overestimationof one's self that acquires the imprimatur of society's sanction ("I was indispensablynecessary").In this circumstance,the quality of personalspontaneitygrows accordingly. It was no accidentthat many veteransrememberedthat in the war they felt freer than during peacetime.But free from what? The well-known veterans'saying that "the war cancelsthe past" is especiallytrue of freedom. Thus in conditions in which the function and jurisdiction of formal controls over social behavior were restricted, the boundariesbetweensuch conceptsas liberty and license were easily crossed.The place of formal control, which was earlier preemptive,was taken by self-control or informal control exercisedby the informal social units that took shape in dugouts or common trenches.As a rule this informal outward and inward control was considerablymore effective than the state system of comprehensive surveillance. In any event, as Konstantin Simonov wrote, the saying "the war cancels the past" did not acquire general currency at that time. "For all of its seductiveness,it was rarely spokenwith a senseof justification, frankly and proudly. It did not becomean elementof belief; more often in the conditions at the front it was subjectedto heavycriticism. As a result it was not typical of our life, it was simply a superfluousfroth of opinion."14 The "spirit of freedom" that veteransof the war still recall is entirely different from a wartime "freedom as a way of life" and incomparably more important for the evaluation of the postwar situation. "As an eyewitnessand as a historian I can attest," wrote Mikhail Gef-

THE SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY OF THE WAR

17

ter, "that many of the developmentsof 1941 and 1942 constitutedan elemental de-Stalinization."15 He elaboratedthis thought elsewhere: "The tough trials of the war gave birth-alongwith a feeling of personal responsibilityfor the fate of the Fatherland-toa personalview, or rather to the embryo of a personalview, of what the nation should becomenow and in the future."16 The formation of a new view of oneself, of the world, and of the fate of the country was stimulatednot only by the growing feeling of personalresponsibilitybut by reflection on new information that war brought in its wake. The war createdits own special mode of association of people whose paths during peacetimerarely crossed. The village and the city came together, as did university studentsand recently releasedconvicts. By decreesof the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of 12 July and 24 November 1941 more than 600,000 people were liberated from the GULAG, and 175,000 of them were inductedat once into the army.17 In comparisonwith the size of the army, this was not many people; but as a source of new information previously hidden from the majority, they had a great impact. Some people, especially intellectuals, for example, discoveredthings that they had not imagined: the reality of the camps,the villages that lived on the verge of hunger, the collective farmers who were forced to surrendertheir own vital necessitiesin order to feed the cities. To carry on candid conversations,especiallyon political subjects, was dangerouseven during the war. As the poet David Samoilov recalled: "The Stalinist bacillus of suspicion and surveillancewas widespreadat the front. It spoiled the quality of personalrelations and perhapsdiminished the alertnessof the nation."18 Nevertheless,according to the veterans,conversationsat the front were remarkably candid in spite of the presenceof agents of SMERSH19 and other "observers."It is true that political subjectsas a rule remainedbeyond the boundsof theseconversations.So what did they talk about? "We cursedthe leadership,as always. Why were there no planes,why were there not enoughartillery rounds,and what was the sourceof all the chaos?But we were patientand understanding;what we lackedwould probablysoon be supplied."20 What did the soldiers think of Stalin, of the leadership of the country? 'They thought little about it. Were they afraid? No, soldiers in the face of death were as if at confession,they were not afraid of anything. We believed Stalin and the high commandmore than we believed our own officers."21 The process of the "elemental deStalinization"initiated by the war is not relatedin the memory of the

18

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

soldiersto the nameof Stalin. The upperlimit of criticism rarely rose higher than the divisional level and only exceptionally turned from personal assessmentsto political generalizations.Therefore, to suggest that the war openedthe eyes of the people to the reality of the regime is unwarranted.The war alone did not on the whole change people'srelationship to the regime. Those who believed in it earlier just cameto believe in it even more, especiallyafter the victory. Those who had no illusions remainedunconverted.The psychological impact of the war took a different form. The war awoke in people the capacity to think in unaccustomedways, to evaluatea situation critically, and never again to acceptuncritically any exclusive version of the truth. It was precisely this capacity that representeda potential threatto the regime,which was designedfor a subjectthinking within the limited bounds of what was permitted. Another kind of person emergedfrom the war, however-onewho looked upon many things through different eyes, saw what formerly was overlooked, and doubted what not so long ago was consideredquite reasonable.A processof psychologicalreorientationwas catalyzedby the last stage of the war when the Soviet soldier crossedthe frontier and encountered another society, politically, culturally, and economically. As a result soldiers returnedfrom the war in possessionof a comparative experienceand knowledgeof considerablesignificance. "The contrastbetweenthe standardof living in Europeand among us, a contrastwhich millions of military people encountered,was an emotional and psychologicalshock," recalled Konstantin Simonov.22 In his play, Pod kashtanamiPragi (Under the Chestnutsof Prague), written in the heatof the new impressionsin 1945, there is a scenein which a Czech woman is speakingto a Russiancolonel: "You cannot love Europe. Theseestates,thesevillas, these houseswith iron roofs will only irritate you. Do you deny it?" To which he replies, "Ideas may be denied, but an iron roof cannot be denied. Iron is iron."23 The acceptanceof this metallic truth, notwithstandingits obviousness,was a kind of Herculeanlabor. The psychic shockshouldhave beengradually supplantedby a new view of life basednot on ideological blinders but on reality and facts. In such a world outlook any situation representsan opportunityfor a variety of views and dependsto some degreeon individual choice. Along with the awarenessof the multiplicity of ways of life and the value of personalchoice, the war brought to peacetimelife another principle intrinsic to army life: the custom of commandand submission, strong discipline, the unquestionedauthority of a command.

THE SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY OF THE WAR

19

"And yet anothervice camefrom the front," as the war correspondent Valentin Ovechkin writes. "A commandhad to be obeyed,to hell with what subordinatesthink of the commander."24The state structures and the political institutions reinforced this tradition, and the postwar atmosphereof victory itself favored it. The spirit of freedom fosteredby the war could not, however,simply dissolve and disappear without a trace, and that fact formed a distinct counterweightto the attempt of the authorities to return to an unqualified form of the prewarpolitical order. How seriousan obstaclewas it? In fact, the public attitude toward humanconfrontationwas influencedby the war. Of course,in the war the confrontationwas one of pure mutual enmity, of "us" versus"them." The imperative of killing was the basic principle of the scienceof hate. Theywere perceivednot simply as anothersociety but a society hostile without qualification. Each member of this hostile camp was depersonalized,that is, was perceivednot as an individual personbut only as a part of them, and natural human relationssimply were not possiblein this reciprocally lethal confrontation. They had nothing in common with us. We proceededfrom the assumptionof this absoluteantagonismand consequently included within our ranks absolutely all membersof our society, enlisted personnelor officers, both front and rear. The border betweenus and them did not passwithin the societiesbut around their exteriors. The assumptionof the psychological unity and harmony of society (in which there were no internal enemies) among many of our countrymen gave birth to the distinct hope that this feature of the military world would transferto the civilian world. In reality the psychologicalsituation after the war took on a somewhat different form: Theywere beatenand ceasedto exist as an object of confrontation. But the habit of thinking in terms of us-thempersisted. In place of themwas a vacuum.The concealedagendaof postwar developmentsmay only be perceived to the extent that this vacuum was filled. This processwas played out in a sufficiently complex fashion as postwarattitudestook shapeand formed the demands and pretensionsof different social groups. The habit of thinking in terms of us-them,however, madea public confrontationwith the governmentmore plausiblethan seemedlikely at the time.

Chapter 2

The Victory and the Victors

The war naturally left a dreadful legacy across the country. An extraordinary state commission,chargedwith calculating the material losses resulting from combat operationsand defense expenditures more generally, assessedthe cost at 2,569 billion rubles.l This figure took into accountthe destructionof cities and towns, industrial enterprises, and railroad bridges; the loss of output of pig iron and steel; the contraction of the motor vehicle fleet and the livestock population; and so on. Nowhere,however,was there mention of the number of lives lost (if we ignore the figure of 7 million announcedby Stalin in 1946). The magnitude of human losses in the Soviet Union during the SecondWorld War is still disputedamonghistorians.One reasonfor the disagreementis the lack of a completestatisticalbaseand authoritative figures on birth and death rates, the natural rate of growth of the population, and other demographicindicators.2 Researchbased on the methodologyof demographicbalance3 indicatestotal human lossesin the USSR during the war of 26.6 million people.4 Approximately 76 percent, that is, about 20 million, were men, the greater part of whom had been born between 1901 and 1931-the most capablecontingentof the male population.5 This circumstancealone suggeststhe seriousnessof the demographicproblems of postwar society. In 1940 the Soviet population numbered 100.3 million females and 92.3 million males. The primary source of the imbalance was the superiorlife expectancyof women, especiallyafter age 60. In 1946 the Soviet population numbered96.2 million females and 74.4 million males; and in comparisonwith the prewar situation, the substantially greaternumber of women was already conspicuousin the age cohort of 20- to 44-year-olds.In 1940, there were 37.6 million 20

THE VICTORY AND THE VICTORS

21

women and 34.8 million men betweenthe agesof 20 and 44, whereas in 1946 there were an equal numberof women and 10 million fewer men of the same age cohort.6 In the countryside the situation was even worse. Whereasin 1940 the ratio of women to men on collective farms was approximately1.1:1, in 1945 it was 2.7:1!7 Women thus constituted the great majority of the postwar Soviet population. This situation brought on serious problems, not only demographicbut psychologicalas well, eventuatingin social pathology and the lonely solitude of women. The postwar fatherlessnessof so many children engendereda striking vogue of adolescentvagabondageand crime. Nevertheless,all the lossesand deprivationsnotwithstanding, it was precisely the initiative of women that made postwarsociety so prolific. Bereft of husbands,left without the hope of having a conventionalfamily, and in the most difficult of material conditions, many women continued to bear children. In 1946, for example,752,000children were born to unmarriedmothers;in 1947, 747,000;in 1948,665,000;in 1949,985,000;in 1950,944,000;in 1951, 8 930,000;in 1952,849,000. The children of wartime were a special problem, the least secure part of the population. During the war, children sufferedside by side with adults and sometimesmore than adults. They died in bombing raids, of hungerand disease,or they were forcibly deportedabroad. The war years depressedthe birth rate of the population palpably. In 1946 there were 53 million children below age 14-14 million fewer than in 1940.9 Many teenagershad to go into industrial production during the war, both in order to take the place of adult workers leaving for the front and in order to securethe meansof subsistence for themselvesand their families. Teenagersworked as if they were adults, sometimesten to twelve hours a day. Stressfulwork and constant undernourishmentunavoidably damaged the health of the youngergeneration. In June 1945 the party Central Committeeorderedan official inspectionof the industrial enterprisesof Gorkii Oblast (province) for the purposeof evaluatingteenagers'working conditionsand the state of their health. The commission'sconclusionswere disturbing: "In the majority of the industriesexamined,normal living conditionsfor teenagerswere not available, and these circumstanceslead to sicklinessand retardationof their physical development."10In the Molotov Factory a medical examinationof 1,070 teenagerswas carried out. It found 379 (35 percent) of them clinically ill: sixty-four sufferedfrom diseasesof the digestive tract; fifty-one, skin rashesand other derma-

22 STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

tological disorders; six, tuberculosis; and four, muscular dystrophy. Of 670 youths betweenages 15 and 17, 340 (50.6 percent) suffered from a retardationof growth (height) of one to two years, and 413 (61.6 percent)were underweight.The majority were anemic.ll Psychologistsobserved that the children of wartime matured early-thatis, they developedan outlook on life more sophisticated than that of their peers growing up in peaceful conditions. Such precocity exactedan inevitable psychologicalprice. The child's psyche suffered aggravatedtraumafrom the loss of loved ones, the fear of death, and the dread of being orphaned.A whole generationof children grew up without fathers in Russia,children without a home in the full senseof the word. They grew up in a truncatedfamily or without any family, in schools, kindergartens,or urban sheltersdesigned to amelioratethis deprivation. And the postwar shelterwas a special world with its own norms of behavior and forms of social control. It was an institution that in many respectsformed the psyche of a whole generation.Its children learned to live by the unwritten rules of shelter society, and it was no accident that in their subsequent adult life the social relations formed in the shelter played no less a role than those of blood relations. These people were team players, disdaining individualism; and yet, ironically, it was especially in their midst that striking forms of individualism took root. The society emerging from the war differed from conventional society not only in its demographicstructure but also in its social composition.It was no longer madeup of the traditional categoriesthe urban and rural, industrial workers and civil servants,youth and pensioners-butrather of a mentality born of the war. In this sense the most prominent face of postwar society was that of the man in uniform, the veteran. Toward the end of the war, the Soviet army numbered11 million people.l2 According to the law of 23 June 1945 on demobilization,the first to be dischargedfrom the army were the thirteen most seniorage-groups,and by 1948 the processof demobilization was fundamentallycomplete.A total of 8.5 million men were demobilized.l3 In various ways, everybody faced the problem of transition from war to peace,economically,socially, and psychologically. Of course, the processaffected most the interestsof those now completelyalienated from civilian society, those who had lived four years in a different environment,the soldiers. The gravity of the losses,the material deprivations experiencedwith minor exceptionsby everyone,were aggravatedfor the veteransby the additional psychologicalproblems

THE VICTORY AND THE VICTORS

23

inherent in the transitiOn to civilian life. For many, therefore, the mobilization that had been so much anticipated at the front turned into a serious problem in itself-especially for the youngest soldiers, those born in the years 1923-1927, who had gone to the front straight from the schoolroom without the chance to acquire any occupational experience at all. War was their only profession, their only competence the capacity to wield weapons and fight. Moreover, this generation had suffered losses greater than any other, especially in the first year of combat. The war to a remarkable degree washed away the boundaries between age-groups. The various generations, their human losses mounting, virtually merged into one-the generation of victors-forming thereby a new mentality that united them in a shared community of problems, attitudes, wishes, and aspirations. Of course, this community of concerns was relative-even in the war there was no perfect unity among soldiers--but the spirit of front-line brotherhood continued for a long time to influence the postwar atmosphere. The majority of demobilized veterans sought work almost at once. Thus, according to the figures of some forty regional party committees, of 2. 7 million recently demobilized persons in January 1946, 2.1 million (71.1 percent) were employed. Of the number of veterans employed at that time, more than half (55 percent) worked on collective farms or state farms. 14 The figures on veterans' employment varied significantly by different regions. In Irkutsk Province, for example, in January 1946 more than half of the able-bodied returning veterans had not found work; in the city of Tiumen, 59 percent were unemployed; in Astrakhan Province, 64 percent. 15 The reasons for this situation varied. Sometimes there was no work for the particular specialty in which the demobilized were qualified; sometimes they were offered unskilled work and pay not commensurate with their qualifications. Thus of forty-seven demobilized veterans returning to the factory Red Chemist in Vladimir Province, only sixteen received work in their field of qualification, while the remainder were directed to wood-cutting. 16 This state of affairs was similar in other regions. In addition to the problem of finding work was the problem of finding living space, a matter especially acute in areas that had suffered heavy combat damage. In such places many families of the demobilized had to live in dugouts or in other poor substitutes for homes. It was not only the demobilized who lived in such conditions, however, and the mastery of primitive circumstances was only one of the strategies of survival in postwar society. The war, it seemed, had exhausted the last reserves of human

24 STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

strength.The Soviet army, alone amongthoseengagedin the war, did not follow the practice of granting rest-and-recreation furloughs (with the exceptionof short-termleavesfor the wounded).Czech historian Boguslav Shnaider [Czech Bohuslav Snajder-H.R.] observed that human losses in the Soviet army could have been fewer had it not suffered unremitting psychological overload. "Soldiers of the Red Army were underconstantpsychologicalpressure,which was unprecedentedin the history of warfare. Fatigue and psychic exhaustionexceededall imaginablelimits."17 This fatigue made itself felt after the war as well. The veteransnoticed with surprise that during the war, constantlyshuttling betweenlife and death,peopledid not suffer from conventional"peacetime"illnesses.When the war ended,on the other hand,such illnessesquickly reappeared:their reservesof physicalresistance had run out. By no meanseveryonereturnedfrom the front in good health. While we have statistics, however imprecise,on the wartime losses,until this day we lack figures on thosewho died of wounds and illnessesafter the war. Toward the end, amongthosedemobilized on groundsof health, there were 2 million invalids; and amongthem, around450,000with one amputatedlimb and around350,000with a diagnosisof osteomyelitis (inflammation of bone marrow).18 The invalids, more even than the other veterans,were in need not only of surgeryor medicationbut of psychologicaltreatmentas well. Toward the end of the war, however,only a third of the infirmaries for invalids had a physicianattached,not to speakof full medical services.19 Much more complicatedfor the invalids than for the other veteranswas the searchfor work, and the situation of thosewho had lost their sight was practically hopeless.Without supplementaryincome, it was very difficult, almost impossible,to live on a single invalid's pension.The begging of cripples around bazaarsand railroad stations became a characteristicfeature of the time. Invalids were required to undergo an annualmedical examination-toconfirm the continuationof their disability-a procedureexactedeven of those who had lost a limb at the front ("as if it would grow back," in the grim joke of the veterans). The majority of invalids left thus on the sidelines of life were young people; and their consciousnessof not being needed,their superfluousnessin the new postwar life, for the sake of which they had sacrificed themselves,was especiallypainful. Other veteranswere able to get good work or prestigiousduties and to enter institutes of higher educationor continuestudiesinterrupted by the war. Their acquisitionof a higher social status,however much it was deserved,neverthelessintroduceda notoriousdifference

THE VICTORY AND THE VICTORS

25

of interests into this social community formerly so closely knit. It prompteda processthat Mikhail Gefter denominated"the fracturing of the generationofvictors,"20 and it was not in the leastspontaneous but was deliberatelyorchestratedfrom above.21 The veteransreturning from the war were sometimesconsidered potential neo-Decembrists,suggestingan analogy with the developments in Russia after the War of 1812, in particular the uprising of severalregimentsin St. Petersburgin December1825.22 This potential was not, of course, realized, in any event not directly, in the early postwaryears,as it was suppressedby the regime. Thus the questionis almost never raised: were the veteranscapableof forming an active force for political (obshchestvennyi)changeimmediatelyafter the war? I pose this question quite seriously, not merely to assessthe potential strengthof the forces committed to freedom but in order to identifY a moment when progressive reforms might have found sufficiently broadsocial support.If we continue the analogywith the Decembrists, then the factor of timing appears to be a key consideration: the Decembristuprising occurredmore than twelve years after the end of the war of 1812-again,not accidentally. The war alone did not engenderpolitical positions, not to speak of forming organizationsfor the pursuit of political activity, becausewar assignsother duties. But war also modifies the basesof cultural life, stimulatesa reexamination of conventionalassumptions,and forms a moral-psychologicalfoundation for the future. What comes of it all dependson the particular conditions of the postwaryears. It must be obvious, however, that the first yearsafter the end of a successfulwar are not the most favorable time to engagein a strugglewith the victorious government.The poor prospectsof such an open confrontationin the Soviet Union in 1945 may be explainedby the influenceof severalfactors. First, the very characterof the war-patriotic, liberating, justpresupposesthe unity of the society-peopleand government-in the commitment to a national cause, the expulsion of the enemy. Victory in such a war was envisionedas a triumph of the entire nation. Linked by a common interest, the common challenge of survival, the communityof governmentand peoplewas gradually forged as they jointly laid aside the assumptionsof civilian life and brought togetherthe deceivedhopesbelow and the crisis of commandabove. Second,we must considerthe psychologicalfactor of the overload of stresson the people, of four years spent in the trenchesand the consequentneed for emotional release,for liberation from the endurancetest. The people, having long borne the burdensof demoli-

26

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

tion, naturally graspedthe opportunity for peacefulconstruction.At this juncture, the enjoyment of peace was of premium value and excluded any considerationof violence. "The massive homelessness of millions of people, which is to say, the war, is sickening," Emmanuil Kazakevich wrote from the front; "more than the danger and the risk, it is really the homelessness ...."23 Speakingin May 1945 to a group of writers, her colleagues,Vera Ketlinskaia summoned them to envision in all of its complexity "not only the pride of the victors but the enormousgrief of the long-sufferingpeople."24 A period of convalescence,both physical and emotional,was inevitable after the war, a complex and painful period of restoration of civilian life in which conventionalproblems,such as housing, might have to remain unresolvedfor a time. The problemof housingwas not only one of living space:one of the most serious problemsafter the war was the establishmentof a family life. The leading challengefor the veteransof the time was to readjustto such a life, to enroll themselvesin it, to learn to live in such an unaccustomedway. "Everybody wanted to organize some kind of life," ViacheslavKondratiev recalls. "We had to live. Some married. Othersenteredthe party.... We had to adjust to a new life. There was no alternative."25 Perhapssome people had alternatives,but for the majority of veteransthe problem of reintegratinginto civilian life was depressinglysimple. They had to take life as they found it. Third, loyal to the Soviet order though they were, not all veterans looked upon it as ideal, or even asjust. The facts of the prewaryears, the experienceof the war, and observationsduring the campaignin Europe forced them to reflect, to wonder about the justice of elements of the regime, if not of the regime as a whole. There was not necessarilya direct link, however, between dissatisfactionwith the structureof life at home and action aimed at changingit. The establishment of such a link dependedupon the evolution of a concrete programof future action, a conceptionof goals and a mechanismfor their realization;but no such instrumentexisted. ''Therewas much in the systemthat we did not accept,but we could not imagineany other kind," Viacheslav Kondratiev admitted.26 This statementmay seem surprising, but it reflects a contradiction characteristicof people's thinking in the postwaryears.The regime was perceivedas an inflexible given, irremediableand independen t of humanwill, of one'sown aspirationsand wishes. All of these factors allow us to affirm the impossibility during the first days after the victory of open popular opposition to authority.

THE VICTORY AND THE VICTORS

27

Such was the peculiarity of the moment. Yet the potential for the developmentof a mature and dynamic political opposition was present. That is, there was a fully possible prospect that the veterans themselves-theliberal fraction of them-couldbecomea potential supportand one of the principal moving forces of a future processof reform. Reform is usually precededby an emotionally critical stage characterizedby a mental ferment and the consolidation of active political forces. The war initiated this stage, which continued long after the war had ended. Although its developmentproceededby increments,obscuredby the many mundaneproblems, the process produceddistinct forms of expression. It was sustainedparticularly by the channelsof communications amongthe veterans,who after the war remainedin contactwith each other, destinedto be a part of an invisible network, a combatcommunity with its attendantlegacy of common postwar problems. Life in the communal huts and apartmentsso typical of the time was an awkward mediumfor this kind of intercourse.Thereforeit took place as a rule away from home, either in the studentdormitories to which many veteransreturned, or, more typically, in newly openedcafes, snack bars, and beer halls-"blue Danubes," as they were called. These latter places becamethe refuges of veterans' social life and gave rise to an altogetherpeculiarphenomenonof the time, "tavern" ( shalmannaia)democracy. How many of these holes-in-the-wall,snack bars, pavilions, and taverns (shalmany),theseblue Danubes,were openedby the wrecked and halfdestitute country in order to comfort and warm the returning soldiers, in order to provide them the glow of an evening's uninhibited company, to help them speakout, to soften their hardenedsouls, to enable them to look one anotherin the eye unhurriedly and to realize that a seeminglyunimaginablepeaceand quiet had really come?In the inconceivably close spacesbetween shell-scarredhouses,in the open fields, among huts and fences, in rustic groves these evening retreatssprang up, and here popular parlance, ignoring the street address,fixed to each establishmenta distinct and indelible name, which is not to be found in the guidebooks.27

This modest portrait from Viktor Smirnov's story "Zaulki" (Back Streets) tells us what the blue Danubeswere in the life of people returning from the war. They were merely everydaylife, yet they were so much more. Led by their own problems in separateways, the veteranscame

28 STRATEGIES OF SURVNAL

together again where the nostalgia of the front reigned. And the more commonplaceor desperatepostwar life became, the more sharply and distinctly were the values of the warrior imprinted in their consciousness,especiallythose making him "indispensablynecessary."The peacefullife was alreadystructuredon other prinCiples: the soldier who experiencedduring wartime the feeling that "he alone held the fate of the country in his hands"was driven after the war to the sad admissionthat "with me, without me, everythinggoes on anyway."28 The former valuespersistedonly amonga narrow circle of friends, really only in the little retreatsof blue Danubes."9 May, 1950," Emmanuil Kazakevich noted in his diary, "the Day of Victory ... I went to a beer bar. Two invalids and a plumber ... were drinking beerand reminiscingabout the war. One of them wept and said: If therewere anotherwar, I would go...."29 Nostalgia for the front inspired the tone of camaraderiein the blue Danubes,where candor in conversationand sentimentwas habitual, notwithstandingthe presenceof spies. There society was constituted as formerly by the laws of war, and the opennesswith which peoplesharedtheir experiencecontrastedwith the completelydifferent spirit saturatingthe atmosphereoutside. Whateverwe may think of theseblue Danubes,they cameto embodyby force of circumstance the last refuge of the spirit of freedom broughtfrom the front. All the other channelswere simply closed; and it was not the fault of the veteransthat, in place of genuinefreedom, all that was left them was the freedom to talk over a glassof beer, or that this freedom, too, was soon taken away, putting the finishing toucheson a deliberatecampaign to wipe out the potentialbenefitsinherentin the victory. This campaignbeganin fact on the day after the victory, the credit for which was immediately divided and apportioned. On the day when the war ended,Pravda distributed the credit for the victory in the following fashion: "The victory did not come of itself. It was won by the self-sacrifice, the heroism, the military mastery of the Red Army and of the whole Soviet people. It was organizedby our invincible Bolshevik Party, the party of Lenin and Stalin, it was led by our great Stalin.... Long live aur great Stalinist victory!"30 [Author's emphasis-E.Z.] And so the victory was called "ours" and "Stalin's" simultaneously, but the subtext was obvious: "our" victory occurred only becauseit was primordially "Stalin's." In the same issue of Pravda, in the column entitled "News from Abroad," the victory was characterizedas "a day forecastby ComradeStalin."31 In his "Address to the People" Stalin himself distributed the em-

THE VICTORY AND THE VICTORS

29

phasissomewhatdifferently. The vozhd' (leader) addressedhimself to "compatriots, fellow countrymen and countrywomen," giving the obligatory credit to the victorious people: "The great sacrifices that we have borne in the nameof the freedomand independenceof our Fatherland,the innumerabledeprivationsand lossessuffered by our peoplein the courseof the war, the intensivelabor in the rear and at the front, offered on the altar of the country, have not beenmade in vain and eventuatedin the completevictory over the enemy."32 The addresscontainednot a word of the party and its role in the organization of victory. Stalin simply excludedthis intermediarylink between himselfand the people. On 24 May Stalin pronouncedhis famous toast "to the health of the Russianpeople,"naming the Russianpeople"the leadingforce of the Soviet Union amongall the peopleof our country." Speakingof it as the "leading people," he again remained silent on the "leading party."33 A month later, on 25 June,at a receptionin the Kremlin in honor of the participantsin the victory parade,a fresh nuanceappeared in Stalin's interpretation, the so-called "proposition of the screws." In spite of the frequency of the citation of this toast, taken out of context it offers only a limited opportunityfor analysis.In any event, the context of the occasionis no less important than the content of the toast. Stalin spoke toward the end of the reception,after the tributes in honor of the military commanders,the scientific and technicaladvisers,and the industrial leadershad alreadybeen made. The keynote of his speechwas clear. He proposeda toast "to the health of the people of modest rank and obscure station. To the people who may be consideredthe screws in the great machine of state, without whom we, the marshalsand commandersof the front armies, to put it crudely, are not worth a farthing. These are the people who sustain us, as a foundation supportsa summit."34 Stalin thus revised his former thesis on the union of leader and people, sketchingtheir relationshipas one of summit and base,therebynecessarilydiminishing the statusof the latter from that of "great people" to people as screws-cogs-inthe machine.The toast containedan additional thought: Stalin not only establishedthe hierarchicalprinciple in the community of leader and people; he also set the simple peopleagainsttheir superiors,their bosses-beneath his own level, of course-preserving for himself the function of supremearbiter at the nexus where the lines of the managementof the massesand the management of the bossescametogether. Even before the importation from the war of the grim dichotomy

30 STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

of us and them began to change the nature of personal relations, Stalin tried consciouslyor unconsciouslyto direct the processinto the channelthat he needed.He removedhimself from the society of we, moved into a kind of solitude, preservingfor himself the right of orchestratingthe process of marking sociopolitical boundaries, among which was the definition of "ours," "not ours," "theirs," and "the enemies'."This was in reality a return to the prewar system of power relations, reestablishingthe absolutepower of the leaderand ignoring those who genuinely deservedthe credit for the victory. It was not surprising that many veteransfelt offended and bitter to be assignedto the ranks of mere "screws." And although propaganda affirmed that the words of the leaderaboutthe screwswere affectionate and fatherly and that they "exalt all our people," these illusions did not prevail. Life itself left few hopesand illusions. The veterans, by their own admissions,felt less and less needed,and some of them, the invalids, felt entirely superfluous.

Chapter 3

"How to Live After the War?": The Conflict of Expectationand Reality

The war changed the face of world politics. The common threat broughtnationstogether,postponedtheir usual quarrels,and turned national pride and ethnic antagonismsinto unwantedhandicaps.The worldwide cataclysm diverted the nations from the usual posturing about the superiority of one political systemor anotherand encouragedthem to embracethe priority of commonhumanvaluesand the idea of global unity. At the end of the war this idea seemedabout to materialize,conciliating the conflicts amongrecentallies and damping the ardor of the diehardrevanchists.Even the genesisof the Cold War, followed by the atomic psychosis,could not entirely scotch the idea of a CommonEuropeanHome. Of course,merely beginning to turn this idea into political reality required the passageof several decadesand the changeof severalpolitical generations.The postwar leaderscontinuedto think in terms of the old categoriesof confrontation: one side feared the spreadof communistcontagion,and the other guarded itself against bourgeois influence. The iron curtain descendedbetweenEast and West Europe. ThereafterSoviet citizens could only guessat what was going on in the world, until they realized with bitter surprisethat the defeatedenemyhad quickly regainedhis feet and laid the foundationsof a new and vigorous life, while they themselveswere subsistingon meagerrations and blaming their misof the war. ery on the consequences But it did not have to be so. The victory offered Russiathe opportu31

32

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

nity to choosewhetherto developitself togetherwith the civilized world or to go its own way as formerly in the traditi0n of socialist messianism. Therewaswithout doubtan alternativeto the policy of isolation. The victory raised to an unprecedentedheight not only the international prestigeof the SovietUnion but the authorityof the regimeinside the country as well. "Drunk with the conceit of victory," wrote the veteran FedorAbramov, "we decidedthat our systemwas ideal, ... and we not only neglectedto improve it, but, on the contrary, we grew ever more dogmatic about it."l The Russian philosopherGeorgii Fedotov, reflecting on the influence of Stalin's soaringauthority on the development of internal political processes,also came to a disturbing conclusion: "Our forebears,in the companyof foreigners, felt compelled to blush for Russian autocracyand serfdom. If they had observedsuch worldwide servility before the tsar as Europe and America exhibited before Stalin, it would not have occurred to them to feel embarrassed aboutthe behaviorof their countrymen."2 The saying "victors are not to be judged" is not an acquittal but a causefor reflection, as illustrated by Viktor Nekrasov'scomments: Alas! We excusedStalin for everything! Collectivization, the purges,the execution of his colleagues,the defeats of 1941. And he, of course, then understoodall the power of the people believing in his genius, understoodthat there could no longer be any mistake about that, that only throwing the harsh truth [he was indispensable!-H.R.]in their face would unite them, that there could be no return to the rivers of blood, not of the war, but of the prewar period. And we, callow intelligentsia, having becomesoldiers, believed in this myth with our whole heartand enteredthe party of Lenin and Stalin.3

May 1945 was the high point of the authority of Stalin. His name was linked in the mind of the masseswith the victory, and he was perceivedas being virtually the bearerof divine providence.The war correspondentAlexander Avdeenko recalls going to the victory paradewith his young son. I take my son in my arms, raise him up. The Lenin Mausoleumis ten metersor a little more away. The reviewing standand everybodyon it is as if in the palm of our hands. "Do you seehim?" "Aha. Standingin the rain. The old man. Is he getting wet?" "Temperedsteel doesnot fear rain." "Is he a man of steel?Is that why he is called Stalin?" "An ordinary man, but a will of steel."

"HOW TO LIVE AFTER THE WAR?"

33

"Papa,why is he not happy, is he mad at somebody?" "At God, probably,who didn't sendus good weather." "So why didn't Stalin order God to sendus good weather... ?,,4

Stalin the man had by this time beenso transformedinto the idol of the vozhd' that he virtually acquired the image of a living icon. The mass consciousness,attributing mystical power to the icon, as it was supposedto do, canonizedall that was identified with it, be it the authority of the system or the authority of the ideas on which the systemwas based.Suchwas the contradictoryrole of the victory, which broughtboth the spirit of freedom and the psychologicalinstruments thwarting the further developmentof that spirit, the instrumentsthat perpetuatedthe supremacyof the alleged architect of victory. The euphoriaof victory was not the most receptiveatmospherefor discussing social problems,and this fact constitutesan obstacleto our analysis of the situation, though it doesnot entirely spoil it. Otherwise, Georgii Fedotov, imagining all the obstaclesto a progressivetransformationof the Soviet regime, could scarcelyhave written in 1945 that "there is now no more agonizingissue in Russiathan that of freedom. Not in the sense,of course,of the questionwhether it exists in the USSR, somethingthat only foreigners, the most ignorant of them, can contemplate.But ratherwhetherits rebirth is possible after a victorious war. That is what we are all thinking now, we genuinedemocratsand semifascistfellow travelersalike."" As for the question whether it was possible, neither Fedotov nor other soberly thinking people inside or outside the country gave a single uniform answer.Certainly they did not imagine a suddenmetamorphosisinto democracyin the USSR. They simply evaluatedthe postwarsituation as a chancefor the developmentof freedom, although they did not considerit to be promising. The democratictraditions in the internal life of the country were very weak. The structuresof political and cultural life gravitated distinctly toward authoritarianforms and were not receptive to innovations of an alien kind. But the war, in opening a window onto the world at large, permitted a view of the democratic experienceof Europeand America. Not by chance,Mikhail Gefter, consideringthe evolution of attitudesof peopleduring the war, wrote that "we are, of course, Russianand Soviet, but we have seen the world, too."6 The war expandedthe scope of the Russianoutlook and the perspective in which the individual could imagine his own potential. In spring 1945 "people not without groundsconsideredthemselvesgiants," as

34

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

EmmanuilKazakevichexpressedit. 7 The veteransenteredan atmosphereof peacetimelife without forgetting the most terrible and dreadful war. The reality of peacetime was more complex, however, than they had imagined, not at all what it had appearedfrom the vantagepoint of the trenches."In the army we often spoke of what life would be like after the war," recalled the journalist Boris Galin, "how we would live on the day after the victory; and the nearerthe end of the war came, the more we thought of it, and we pictured things in rainbow colors. We never imagined the scale of destructionor the scope of reconstructionrequired to heal the wounds inflicted by the Germans."8Konstantin Simonov largely agreed:"We imaginedlife after the war as a holiday that would begin when the last shot was fired. "9 It was difficult for people to entertain other expectationsafter four years of the extraordinarystressof combat. It was altogetherunderstandablethat a normal life, a simple life in which one was not subjectedto constantdanger, seemedduring wartime to be a providential promise. The war led people, those at the front and those in the rear, to romanticizethe prewar period and to a certain extent to idealize it. Enduring the deprivationsof the war years, people often subconsciouslyrevised their recollections of peacetime,rememberingthe good and forgetting the bad. The wish to restore time past prompted the simplest answer to the question, "How to live after the war?" "As before the war," of course. Life as holiday, life as fairy tale: with the help of this image in the massmind a special conceptionof postwar life was formed-without contradictions,without pressure-atendencystimulatedin reality by one factor, hope. Such a life existed, however, only in books and the theater.It is a fascinatingfact that during the war the libraries experiencedan increaseddemandfor the literature of adventureand fairy tales.1°On the one hand, this interest is explained in part by the changein the age of the people working in the libraries and using them. During the war 50 to 70 percentof teenagerswent into industrial production. After the war the reading rooms of libraries were filled by young veteranswhose intellectual growth had been interrupted by the war and who consequentlyreturnedfrom the front to the reading tastes of their youth. But there is another side of the question: the growth of interest in this genre of literature and films was a choice to reject the cruel reality of the war. It was a demandfor compensationfor psychic overload. Thus it was possible to observe during the war, as for example Mansur Abdulin tells us, "the enormous appetite for all that was not related to the war, for films with

"HOW TO LIVE AFTER THE WAR?"

35

dancing and merrymaking,for performing artists and comedians."ll The faith that life after the war would quickly improve continuedfor severalyearsafter it ended. Kubanskie kazaki (Kuban Cossacks) was the most popular of all postwar films. It depicted the life of a village in the north Caucasus after the war as contented,abundant,and joyful. Reality was utterly different, of course,and the film was consequentlysubjectedto severe and appropriatecriticism. But the critics did not consider one circumstance:there was an elementof truth in this film-fable that conveyed the spirit of the time. The journalist Tatiana Arkhangelskaia remembersan interview with one of the participantsin the making of the film, who told how hungry the well-dressedboys and girls were, while in the film they happily gazed on a surfeit of fruits made of plaster and papier-m:khe. "But we believed," she added, "that it would be that way and there would be plenty of everything... all one could wish. And we neededto think so in order to sing songs and make everythingseemall right."12 Hope for the betterand the optimism that it nourishedimparteda kind of shock tempo to the first stagesof postwar life, generatinga special,victorious public atmosphere."My whole generation,with the exceptionof just a few, experiencedthe difficulties," remembersthe builder V.P. Serikov. "But our spirits didn't fall. The chief thing was that the war was behind us. There was the joy of work, of victory, a spirit of competition."13 The emotionalelan of the people,the aspiration actually to realize through work a peaceful life, enabled them quickly enoughto resolve the basic tasks of reconstruction.This outlook, however, notwithstandingits great creative force, bore within itself a tendencyof another kind: the need for a relatively painless transition to peace ("the worst is behind us") and the perceptionof this processas generally untroubled. The farther it proceeded,the greaterwas the intrusion of reality, which was in no hurry to turn into life as fairy tale. The difficulties of life, unavoidableafter such a destructive war, were acceptedas normal by the majority of the population,with resignation. Far from all problems inherited from the war, however, belonged to the normal category.The plenipotentiariesof the Central Committeewere forced to admit as much after examiningthe conditions of life in different regions of the country. In December1945 a delegation from the Agitation and PropagandaDepartmentof the Central Committee undertook an inspection of the coal-mining industry in ShchekinskDistrict of Tula Province in central Russia. The

36

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

resultswere alarming. The living conditions of the workers were recognizedas "very difficult," and the repatriatedand demobilizedworkers lived especiallypoorly. Many of them lacked underwear,and the little that was availablewas worn out and dirty. They went for months without soap, the dormitories were very crowded, the inhabitants slept on wooden platforms or similar double-tieredbunks (for which they paid 10 percent of their monthly income). They received enoughbread, 1200 gramsa day, but its quality was poor. There was not enoughbutter, and petroleumproductswere used as butter substitutes.14 Therewere many signs of poor food supply in the localities. Groups of workers from Penzaand Kuznetskwrote letters to Politburo membersY.M. Molotov, M.1. Kalinin, and AI. Mikoyan, complainingof the difficult material conditionsof life and the absenceof the majority of necessarygoodsfrom the market.1S In responseto theseletters a commission of the People'sCommissiariatof Trade investigatedand determined that the workers' complaintswere well-founded.16 In Nizhnyi Lomov of PenzaProvince the workers of factory No. 255 spoke out againstthe delay in the issuanceof breadcards,and the workers of the plywood and match factories complainedof long delays in receiving their payPThe difficult working conditionsat the war's end persisted in restoredenterprises.Many people continuedto work without shelter, in the open air, and during the winter, knee-deepin snow. Workplaces were often not lighted or heated, and people were poorly clothed for winter conditions. For this reasonthe secretariesof many local party committeesin Siberia turned to the Central Committee with an unprecedentedrequest: to allow them to skip the annual revolutionaryanniversarycelebrationof 7 November1946 on account of the "inadequateclothing of the population."18 Poor living conditionswere one of the chief sourcesof dissatisfaction and agitation among the workers of the Urals and Siberia, most of whom were evacueesfrom the combatzonesfarther west. At war's end thesepeople naturally wanted to return home. A commissionof the Central Committee reviewed the situation of a seriesof defense plants in Septemberand October 1945. It found distressingconditions, particularly in a tank factory in Omsk. The insistent demandsof the workers to return to their former places of residenceare prompted by the difficult living conditions [and by] dissatisfactionwith the supply of clothesand shoesail well as food products.... Housesand dormitories are poorly constructedand not suit-

"HOW TO LIVE AFTER THE WAR?"

37

able for Siberianwintertime conditions.... The workers and their families endure extremely acute shortagesof clothing, shoes, and linens. Annual productionof textile goodsis about .38 items per worker and of shoes.7pairs per worker. Someworkers are so poorly clothed that they cannotshow up at their place ofwork. 19

The workers protestedagainstsuch living conditions.They refused to work more than eight hours a day, expressedopen displeasureat the administrationof enterprises,demandedtheir immediatereturn to former places of residence(the majority of the workers in Omsk had beenevacuatedfrom Leningrad,Voroshilovgrad,and other such cities). The situation was similar in the factories of the Urals and Siberia.20 In order to forestall the further development of such attitudesamongevacuatedworkers, specialorderswere issuedforbidding them to leave their place of work under threat of legal liability. Not even threateningmeasures,however,sufficed to stop the elemental movementto return home. In August 1945 the People'sCommissariat of Military Censorshipregistered 135 letters from Omsk workers addressedto relatives and friends, complainingof bad living conditions. "Conditions of life in the factory are terrible," according to one of theseletters. "Peopleare putting togethera pack of supplies and fleeing, especially Leningraders.About four hundred have left recently. The order of the CommissarMalyshev is to return all those fleeing to Omsk and to prosecutethem. We'll see what develops."21 The writers of some letters expressedthemselvesmore decisively: "The workers have given all their strength to defeat the enemy, and they want to return home, to their own people,their own homes.And now it turns out we have been deceived.They've shippedus out of Leningrad, and they want to leave us in Siberia. In this casewe workers should say that our governmenthas betrayedus and our work. They might imaginewhat kind of humor this leavesus in."22 Workers' demonstrationstook place in several defense plants of the Urals and Siberia from July to September1945. The situation grew so acute that on 4 August 1945 the Secretariatof the Central Committeegave special attention to the question.It orderedthe administration in three factories where working conditions were most distressingto take urgent measuresfor the satisfaction of the legal demandsof their employees(that is, with the exceptionof their demandto return home).23 The situation was scarcely better in the villages, many of which, especiallyin the regionssubjectedduring the war to Germanoccupa-

38

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

tion, were virtually depopulated.The population of the collective farms (including personsdemobilized) toward the end of 1945 comprised only 85 percentof that of 1940; and the able-bodiedproportion, only 67.5 percent of the prewar level.24 The number of able-bodiedmen was reducedfrom 16.9 million in 1940 to 6.5 million at the beginning of 1946.25 In several regions, for example in northern Russia, there were villages to which no live adult male returned.26 Sown acreagewas naturally reducedduring the war, which of course depressedthe harvestyield. The productivity of the collective farm landsfell as a result of the deteriorationof work in the fields and the decline of the level of scientific agronomy. Women constituted the basic elementof the able-bodiedpopulation of the village. They had to do all of the heavywork, and the administrativeresponsibilities were handled after the war by men. Collective farm production at the end of the war was in a critical condition, the peasants living essentiallyfrom their own private plots. Besidesdestructionand ruin the war left anothersingular legacy, the growth of crime. This problem was felt especiallyacutely by the inhabitantsof cities and industrial centers.If we judge by the letters that people wrote to governmentorgansand to the newspapers,the struggle against crime in many cities after the war turned into a struggle for survival. The workers of Saratovwrote to Pravda in fall 1945 that "since the beginningof fall Saratovhas been terrorized by thievesand murderers.To be forced to undresson the street,to have watches snatchedfrom the wrist has become an everyday occurrence.... The life of the city simply ceasesas darknessapproaches. The inhabitants have grown accustomedto walking in the streets rather than on the sidewalks, and they watch suspiciouslyeveryone who approachesthem."27 "A day doesn't pass without someonein Saratov being murderedor robbed, often in the very center of the city in broaddaylight. ... It's gone so far that the only peoplewho go to the theater or the movies are those who live next door [to the theater]. The Karl Marx Theater,located in the suburbs,is empty in the evenings."28 The workers of the Moscow suburb Podolsk shared the sameproblems. Maraudingbandits and thieves detain peacefulcitizens ... not only in the evening, but kill, undress,and rob them in broad daylight, and not only in the obscurealleyways but on the main streetsas well ... even around the local party headquartersand the city soviet. After work, people gather in groups in order to protect themselveson their way

"HOW TO LIVE AFTER THE WAR?"

39

home. Thus meetingsafter work are poorly attended,becauseworkers are afraid to remain,afraid of being attackedon the way home.And it is no longer safe at home, either, becauserobberiestake place there day and night.29

If it was unsafe to walk on the streets,it was equally unsafeto ride commutertrains, where special bandsof criminals operated.People not only were afraid to remain for meetingsafter work but beganto leave work before dark.30 Such behavior reflected both the reality of crime and the spreadof various kinds of rumors both in conversation as well as in spontaneouslycirculated leaflets describing alleged assaultsand murders.31 Someof thesefears stemmedfrom elementary lack of information about the real state of affairs, and the authorities madeno effort to sharesuchinformation. Statisticalaccountsof crime in the postwaryearswere incompleteand contradictoryand, as a rule, includedall categoriesof crime classifiedby Soviet legislation as liable to prosecution. Thus people committing minor offenses,those late to work or absentfrom work, were counted along with the real criminals. The figures of the Ministry of Internal Mfairs are more accurateon the numberof crimes investigatedby the police. In 1946 there were 430,071 such cases;in 1947,404,167;and in 1948, 191,720.32 The figures preparedin 1948 by the Ministry of Internal Mfairs on all crimes differ somewhatfrom those given above: 546,275in 1946 and 453,165in 1947.33 By comparison,in 1940 a total of 1,253,947crimeswere recorded.34 Thus even if we take into accountthe incompletenatureof the data, the postwarcrime rate was on the whole significantly lower than the prewar rate. The popular perception,however, indicates that the criminal activity was considerablymore serious than is suggestedby the statistics.As we observedabove, the people's fear of the criminal elementstemmednot so much from reliable information as from the lack of it and the dependenceon rumor instead. Robbery was in the circumstancesmore than conventionallythreatening, as it often cost people their last meagerpossessions.It was poverty that explainedthe scaleoffear,just as it explainedthe crime wave itself. This does not mean,of course,that the problem of crime after the war existed only in people'simaginations.The authoritiesalso perceivedit as one of their most serious problems, at least during the first two postwaryears.35 As the population confrontedthe problem, however,it beganat once to recede.Hunger took its place. The hungry years, the worst of which were 1946 and 1947, scarcelysparedanyone.Even those who did not literally go hungry recall theseyearsas the worst.

Chapter 4

The Hungry Years: The Famine of 1946-1947

The food supply crisis reflected a problem that to one degree or anotherconfrontednearly all the combatantcountries.In the Soviet Union-in Russia, Moldavia, and Ukraine-peopleexperiencednot merely food shortagesbut genuinedisaster,famine. The first signs of the problem appearedin summer1946. Drought afflicted a number of regions of central Russia, the middle and lower Volga, Ukraine, and Moldavia and threatenedto ruin the harvest in those areas. In Siberia, .on the other hand, a good harvest of the grain crop was expected,which might have compensatedto a certain extent for the lossesto drought in EuropeanRussia. As the harvestin Siberia and Kazakhstanbegan,however, drenchingrains occurredin the central and northern regions. Climatic conditions and the generalwear and tear on the aging farm machineryforced the harvestingof the crop in many of these regions by hand. As a result, the 1946 grain crop of 39.6 million tons was 7.7 million tons smaller than that of 1945 and 2.4 times smaller than that of 1940.1 The harvest losses, however, were not the principal causeof the problem. "Relatively speaking,the 1945 shortfall," according to V.F. Zima, "fell within acceptable boundsand gave no groundsfor extrememeasuresin the conductof the government'sgrain procurementcampaign."2 The authorities themselvescontributedto the crisis. They strove to avoid any reduction in the state grain reserve and thus proceededby traditional methodsof the late 1920s; that is, they required supplementaryprocurements.They assignedsurchargesto collective and state farms over and above the conventionalgrain taxesin kind. The majority of 40

THE FAMINE OF 1946-1947 41

collective and state farms were consequentlyforced to surrender grain usually designatedfor division among the peasantsas personal income.The state thus left the village on the verge of famine. The cities sufferedsimilar problemsof food supply. Peoplewho lived in cities, and somein rural areas(not including collective farmers),were provisioned by a system of ration cards. In 1945, the rationing system incorporated80.6 million people.3 There were workers' ration cardsof the first and secondclass as well as special cardsfor civil servants,children, and other dependents.The norms of distribution on ration cards and the prices of rationedproductswere strictly regulated.For example, a daily norm of breadon a worker'scard of the first classwas 800 grams, and of the secondclass, 600; other norms were lower. The prices of rationed productswere substantiallylower than market prices. Thus the ration price of rye bread,a staplefor most of the populationat the time, varied in the different regions of Russiafrom seventy-fivekopecks to a ruble fifteen kopecks per kilogram, while its commercial market price wasfrom eight to ten rublesa kilogram.4 In September1946 the Council of Ministers and the Central Committee beganthe "campaignto economizeon bread,"the first step of which was to raise the ration prices. The Politburo issued the order on 6 September1946, and severaldays later it was dispatchedunder the stamp "not for publication" to 'the various party organizations. According to this document,"The Council of Ministers of the USSR and the Central Committee of the CommunistParty are taking into accountthe problemsof raising ration prices and understandthat it will require sacrificeson the part of workers, civil servants,and peasants for the sake of the common good. We must keep in mind that without serioussacrificesit is impossibleto liquidate the grave legacy of the war."5 In order to compensatethe public for higher ration prices, commercial prices of food productswere simultaneouslylowered. While ration prices were raised by 2.5 to 3 times (on various products),however,commercialprices were not lowered proportionally-that is, they were only reducedby between10 and 20 percent.6 Neither was it possibleto find sufficient compensationin the decision to supplementthe pay scaleof workers in the lower and middle levels of pay: thoseearningup to 300 rubles a month receivedan extra 110 rubles; those earning up to 500 rubles, 100 rubles; those earning up to 900 rubles, 80 rubles. Pensionersreceived an extra 60 rubles a month, and students,an extra 80.7 The new priceswere scheduledto be introducedon 16 September, and the information was received by party and governmentorgans

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STRATEGIES OF SURVNAL

between10 and 14 September.The authoritieshad always considered the personnelof theseorgansthe most politically consciousand loyal sector of the public, and therefore their reaction would serve as a kind of indicator, a prognosisof the reaction of the rest of the population. As the materials reaching the Central Committee from the party organizationsdemonstrate,the discussionof the order to raise ration prices proceededrelatively calmly, although not without expressionsof bewilderment.Most of the questionsconcernedthat part of the documenton the necessityof new sacrificesin order to overcome postwar difficulties. "Define the word 'sacrifices,'" demanded one memberof the Moscow party organization."What doesit mean? Death, filth, pauperage,and the like, or perhapssomethingnot so hellish as we imagine?""How much longer can the working peopleof our country bear such sacrificesand deprivations?"anotherasked,as if in responseto the first question. "How can we continue like this?" wondereda third. "Sacrificesand sacrifices.Understandme, if a family of three now needs 600 to 700 rubles [to buy food on ration cards], that is not all that has to be bought. The governmentis not giving away soap, there is no butter or lard, only substitutes,there is no kerosene.We are at the last extremity. Wageshardly suffice to buy rations, and there is no moneyfor rent, clothes,or soap."8 In sum, thesepeople doubtedboth the justification and the advisability of resolving the provisions crisis at the expenseof the people. "Our factory has thrown away millions of rubles on engines,"said one party member, "and there are many such factories. The government has acceptedthese millions in expenses,yet it can't accept a little incrementof price supports.So for somereasonit lays the cost on the shouldersof the workers."9 They proposedtheir own solutions to the provisions crisis-for example, a repetition of the New Economic Policy (NEP) of the 1920s.1O A more common policy recommendation from the arsenal of the 1920s was to extract goods from the farms by force. A characteristicsuggestionmaintainedthat "the war enableda large portion of the population (workers in commercial organizations,peasantsin many regions) to accumulatebig profits. Why not appropriate these funds for the needs of the country?"ll This opinion about the workers in commercial organizationsmight have had somebasisin fact (the rationing systemand the absenceof legal free trade in conditions of extreme dearth did generategreat abusesin the market); but similar judgmentsabout the peasantry were the productof traditional stereotypesand elementaryignorance of the real situation in the villages. Such opinion was actually the

THE FAMINE OF 1946--1947 43 exceptionrather than the rule, and a different opinion was regularly heard: "What kind of measurescan be taken to improve the work of the collective farms? Becauseof poor organizationand the absenceof experiencedpersonnel,many collective farms operate at a loss and produceno grain year after year. Many of them are destitute."12 Information on the reaction of party personnelto the forthcoming rise in ration prices was gatheredand studiedin the Central Committee. On the basis of provincial committee reports, a list of sixty-one commonly posedquestionswas compiled. A special list of thirty-three of the more typical questionswas presentedto Stalin. The majority of the questionsincludedin the summarylist were of a specific character and had to do with clarifying elementsof the ordersof the Council of Ministers and the Central Committee.The participantsin the discussion in the party organswere interestedin the duration of the new price structure,whetherprices would be raised on goods not covered by the new orders,whether prices in cafeteriasand lunch bars would be raised, and so on.13 The local party cadres were naturally concernedabout the problem of explaining to the massesthe necessityof suchan unpopula,measure.According to the official explanation,the chief causesof the deterioratingsituation were the drought and the harvest failure. That was understandable.But another circumstance they found to be mysterious:while shortagesprevailed at home, the Soviet governmentfelt able to extendfood aid to other countries,thus aggravatingthe hardship of its own citizens. In the course of 19461947 alone, 2.5 million tons of Soviet grain were shipped to France, Bulgaria, Romania, Poland, Czechoslovakia,Yugoslavia, and other countries.14 This policy required an explanation."How are we to understandthat we sell grain abroad and raise prices on it at home?" "How are we to answer workers if they ask, Why do we aid France, Poland, and Finland with grain and raise prices on it here?"I5 Such questionsdemandedanswerssoonerthan the governmentsupposed. A resolution on the raising of ration prices was preparedin secret, but rumors of it circulated among the people on the eve of the publication of the official decree. Such information came from responsibleparty personnel,who could scarcelyrefrain from discussing in the family circle this most alarming of all questions.It also was leaked by the pressesthat were preparingthe new price lists. In any event, by 12 and 13 September,especiallyin large cities like Moscow and Leningrad, these rumors becamethe chief subject of conversation. Women working in industrial enterprisesreacted especially emotionally. "If they raise prices and do not raise our pay, then we

44

STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

will die of hunger," said a woman in a garmentfactory. Many may have shared her feeling. "Life is already unbearable.If they raise prices, I'll croak." "Large families will suffer most from price increases.I am terrified, wondering how we'11 make it. There is not enoughbreadas it is. If it becomesthree times as expensive,we'll lie down and die."16 Somepeopledid not believe that the rumorsof a price increase,in a situation so difficult for most of the people, could be true. 'There cannot be a price increaseon staple products, as it wouldn't be in keepingwith the policy of the Soviet government,"one of the doubters argued. "A price increasewould be a public scandal.It would be an unexpectedblow to the people."17Otherswere less optimistic and tried to explain in their own way why the governmenthad nevertheless decided upon such a step. They spoke of harvestfailure, of the difficult situation in the country, of the consequences of the recent war. The chief causeof the new sacrificeswas seen,however, in something else: "If our governmentdecides to raise the price of food products,then it most likely meansthat the Soviet state is in danger. It must be threatenedby a new war."18 Such an explanation was encounterednot only among workers. It was widespreadamong all sectorsof the population, for exampleamong the residentsof Moscow: "I am convincedthat the price increaseis related not only to the shortageof grain in the country but to the necessityof forming a reserve on accountof the tense international climate. England and America are threateningus with war." "The problem is not only that everything will be more expensive and inaccessibleto the workers. The worst is that it is a sure sign of an impending war."19 As the provisionscrisis developed,rumors of a new war becamewidespread. The people'signoranceof the authorities'real intentionsnot only generatedvarious kinds of rumors and conjecturesbut provoked behavior that the authoritiesfound difficult to control. On 14 September Central Committee SecretaryN.S. Patolichev informed A.A. Zhdanov that "in many cities, especially in Moscow and Leningrad, the people know of the imminent ration price increases,and consequently lines have formed in the storesto buy food. The communists are not adequatelypreparedto explain matters to the people, and therefore it would be advisable to publish the decree on the price increasenot later than 15 September,that is, tomorrow."20 The decree was in fact published on 16 Septemberin the form of a short communiquefrom the Council of Ministers. It made no referenceto "sacrifices" or to difficulties arising from the drought and harvest

THE FAMINE OF

1946--1947 45

failure. Ratherthe price increasewas representedas a measureintroducedto prepareconditionsfor the abolition of the rationing system in 1947.21 According to official reports, the bulk of the population acceptedthe news "with understanding."If we judge by characteristic expressionsof opinion, the people'spatiencewas basednot so much on comprehensionof the real reasonsfor the reform as on the conviction that "the party and ComradeStalin wish the people no ill. "22 "Once ComradeStalin has signed the decree," as one Leningrader put it, "we believe that it is the correct, the only way. There is no alternative."23 It is difficult to judge the degreeof consensuson this question, becauseopinion of this kind was usually expressedin official circles, at meetingsprobably well preparedin advance.There is evidence, however, that similar opinions were common in private conversations."It will be hard for many people," as the workers of a chemical complex in Voskresenskexpressedit, "but certainly it couldn't have been done without the knowledge of ComradeStalin. So it's necessary,thereis no otherway."24 The conviction that there was no alternative was not, however, universal. On the contrary, people said in public that "the government has taken a wrong turn."25 Of course, the conversationsin the street,and especiallyin breadlines, were more candid. In the store at factory No. 620 in Moscow on 16 Septemberfifteen to twenty consumersgathered.One woman complained,"What will I live on? My husbandaloneworks, and I have nine children. We will have to steal." "But [you] will go to prison," another responded.According to yet another,"In prison they'll be fed free of charge."26 In many stores,there was not enoughbread to meet demandeven at the new prices. In response,severalworkers at a freight-car factory in Omsk refusedto go to work.27 There were seriousinterruptionsof breadsupply in retail stores.The principal problemsof provisioning, however,were still ahead. Part of the workers hopedto resolve the problemsarising from the price increasesby raising their production norms and pay scales. Workers' meetingsaddressedmany such suggestionsto the administration of enterprises:eliminate shutdowns,secure the necessaryraw materials,and so on. Thus in place of the screws/cogsin the machine of the economy,the little guys usually held responsiblefor everything, the local authoritiesbeganto asserttheir role, which was natural if we recall the conviction that "the party and Comrade Stalin wish the peopleno ill." The workerswere of coursenot informed that all ministries, administrativeoffices, and directorsof enterpriseshad beencate-

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STRATEGIES OF SURVIVAL

gorically forbidden by a specialorder of the Council of Ministers and the Central Committeeto raise salaryscalesor ratesof pay.28 Ten days after the price increases,on 27 September1946, the governmentand the Central Committeeissuedanotherjoint decree, "On Economizingin the Consumptionof Grain," which provoked a greatdeal more public expressionof dissatisfactionthan the previous one. This new decree,effective 1 October, reducedconsiderablythe numberof people entitled to provisioning by ration cards.The rural population suffered most of all: the workers and administrativepersonnel of the state farms, the Machine-TractorStations, and local industrial enterprises.A total of 23 million people in rural areaslost their ration cards,as did 3.5 million in the cities, chiefly unemployed adult dependents.On 30 October, the state planning agency (Gosplan) was ordered to presenta proposal to reduce further the numberof those on ration cards. In addition, the decisionwas made in October to reduce retail trade in bread by 70,000 tons.29 In fact, the sale of breadin the storeswas reducedby 35,000 tons in October and by another 25,000 tons in November.30 At the same time the quality of bread declined: from 1 November1946, the proportion of oats, barley, and corn (combined) in breadwas raised to 40 percent, and for the cities of Moscow and Leningrad, to 25 percent.31 All of thesechangeswere soonevident inthe mood of the population. Unlike the 16 Septemberprice increasefor rationed bread, this new governmentinitiative weighed heavily on the living standardsof many families and was nowhereregardedas reasonableandjustified. It was even suggestedthat "Comrade Stalin does not know of the many outragesthat are taking place in the country."32Someopinions were more categorical: "This is being done by wreckers. The Boss [Stalin] is vacationingin Sochi, and the wreckershave taken over."33 Once again everything focused on the figure of the vozhd'. Reports circulated in Leningrad, for example,that "a group of workers went to Comrade Stalin in Moscow and told him how difficult life had becomefor the people, and ComradeStalin had written: lower the price of bread to one ruble seventy-five kopecksa kilogram."34 The name of Stalin in workers' circles was as usual sparedall criticism; in any event, informers for the Central Committee omitted any reference to it. Critical comments,if they bypassedlocal authorities,were not addressedto anyonein particular or referred to vague third parties, though parties with undoubtedauthority. "They cannot tell us the truth." "Why do they not take us into their confidence?""During the elections to the SupremeSoviet, they promised to lower prices

THE FAMINE OF

1946--1947 47

and to abolish the rationing system. Now the electionsare over ... , and they have not abolishedthe rationing system, they have cut the breadquotas,and they have raisedprices."35 Mter their dependents'ration cards were invalidated, workers beganto move to enterprisesin cities where they continuedto receive cards. The industrial enterprisesof Leningrad, for example, hired twice as many employeesin October as in September.The situation was similar in the other Russian industrial centers.36 Several enterprises had to turn down those looking for work on the groundsthat they lacked sufficient ration cards.The factories of Kazan fired workers for the same reason,but some of those terminatedcontinuedto come to work. As they said, "We have nowhereelse to turn."37 In the villages, among the workers of the state farms, the Machine-Tractor Stations, and local industries-thatis, in the categoriesdeprived of ration cards-theopposite processtook place: they left their former placesof work and migrated to the cities. The local authoritieswere thrown into disarray. From 1 October they were occupiedwith one single question: to distribute bread cards and examine the multiple complaintsof the peoplewho had lost them.38 All of thesepoliciesthe beginning of forced procurements,leaving the villages without grain, then the curtailment of rationing cards, the reduction of the bread supply, and the authorities' stubborn refusal to releasegrain from the state reserves in the face of the growing supply crisisbroughtabout the hungrywinter of 1946-1947. There are no precise data on the loss of life from the postwar famine. The very fact of it was assiduouslyhidden by the Soviet authorities, and medical statistics are both incomplete and partly falsified (for example,in the caseof diagnosesof dystrophyas one of the causesof the high rate of illness and deathin 1946-1947).The historian V.F. Zima, who did the first and most substantialresearchinto the origins and consequences of the famine of 1946-1947,has estimatedthat in the USSR as a whole about 100 million peoplesuffered malnutrition after the war and that from 1946 through 1948 it caused about 2 million deaths.39 At least half a million people starved to deathin the RussianRepublic.40 Especially afflicted were the rural regions, the collective farms, where the farmers did not receive the grain that they themselveshad raised. The first alarming signs began to appearin December1946 and January 1947. In official documents,they were referred to as "provisioning problems" (the word "famine" was not used), and they took the following form: the Kaluga provincial party committee in-

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formed the Central Committeethat "part of the families of collective farmers ... in various regionsof the province lack grain and potatoes and are forced to feed themselvesby surrogatesand begging."41Specific examplesfollowed. The collective farmer Evdokiia Tsareva,whosehusbanddied at the front, has three children and earnedthree hundred units42 of grain but did not receive any. She has no farm animals, and she has consumedall her grain and potatoes.She and her children are ill of malnutrition.... On the Red Star farm the families of EkaterinaKulkovaia, Evdokiia Ledovaia, Mariia Govorovaia, and EkaterinaSergeevaia... have no food and live only by begging.... The tractor operatorMinaev earned493 kilograms of grain but received only 31 and is ill from malnutrition.... Several farmers, having no food, are selling their livestock and using the money to buy potatoes.43

Not only villages starved.The inspectorsof the Central Committee, venturing out to examinethe state of affairs in industrial enterprises of various cities, came to disturbing conclusionsin a seriesof cases,as illustrated by one of their reportsto the Central Committee. In the municipal industriesof Mariupol in Stalin Province the number of workers ill of dystrophyhas recently increasedsignificantly. The physicians of the city concluded on 1 March [1947] that there are 3,789 casesof dystrophy in five factories of Mariupol. ... Their examination has establishedthat the increase of illness is related to a significant degree to the fact that the Ministry of Trade has in the course of the past five months systematicallyreduced the supply of grain and food productsto the factories.44

The atmosphereof thesehungry monthsis conveyedbestof all by the letters of people condemnedto the misery of the experience. Several thousandsuch letters were recordedby the confidential surveillance of the Ministry of StateSecurityin two provincesof Russiain November and December 1946 (4,616 from Voronezh and 3,275 from Stalingrad). "The approachingfamine is terrifying," wrote M.S. Efremovafrom Voronezh."Our children are living like animals-constantly angry and hungry. From undernourishment Zheniahas begun to swell up, especially her face, and she is very weak. The children bear hunger patiently. If there is nothing to eat, which often happens, they are silent, they don't torment me with futile demands."45 Another letter was sent from the city of Kalach, Voronezh district: "We live in frightful conditions. We have absolutelynothing, we eat

THE FAMINE OF

1945-1947 49

only acorns, and we can scarcely drag our feet. We will die from hunger this year."46 Letters from Stalingradand the surroundingvillagesare little different: 'There is no bread,and we do not know how we shall survive. No one is receiving bread. Peopleare beginning to swell up. In our collective farm and the one next door no one has beengiven bread.Things are bad." "I have sold everything to save us. There is nothing more to sell. Only one thing remains:either to die or to do somethingdecisive. Prison doesn'tfrighten me if I can get a pieceof breadthere."47 The thought that "we must steal in order to survive" slipped into letters, was heard in bread lines, hovered in the atmosphere.It was voiced most often in people's hearts, and what lay behind it was usually a feeling of resentmentand lack of alternativesrather than real intentions. The famine did neverthelessgoad people to crime. According to incomplete figures, in fall 1946 in the USSR 53,369 peoplewere prosecutedfor stealingbread, and 36,670 of them (74.3 percent) were sentencedto deprivation of freedom.48 Among the total number of those sentencedfor various categoriesof crime in 1946-1947,about 50 percentwere women with young children who were obliged to follow their mothersinto Siberian exile.49 The wave of so-called"women'scrime" of theseyearswas a direct consequence of the famine, as was the growth of crimes committedby children and teenagers.Often the sentence-fromfive to eight years in a corrective labor camp-in no way correspondedto the seriousnessof the crime. A person could draw such a sentence,for example, for the theft of a kilogram of flour or for digging several potatoesfrom a collective farm field. The minister of justice of the Russian Federation, Ivan Basavin, admitted that the judicial practice of those years was characterizedby "frequentimposition of sentenceson the basisof unfoundedaccusations. "50 The situation in the consumers'marketslowly improved. The people, as usual lacking information on the plans of the authorities, madenew conjecturesand circulatednew rumors. In summer1947 in Moscow it was widely rumored that there would soon be, around 15 July, anotherincreaseof ration prices. Onceagain, greatlines formed in the stores, and people began withdrawing their money from savings accounts.51 In the course of 1947, 1948, and even at the beginning of 1950 there were many casesof interrupted supply of bread and other vital food products. In spring 1948, for example, there were serious problemsof bread supply in Novosibirsk. A number of stores in the city had no bread for several days, and lines of up to

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sevenor eight hundredpeople formed. In such circumstancesthere were naturally outbreaksof public disorder. Observersreportedthat several people climbed onto the roofs of stores,jumped down onto consumersgatheredin the crowd, and thus forced their way to the salescounter.52 In other cities the militia had to be called in order to enforceorder in the lines before stores.Thus the provisionscrisis was not completelyresolvedby the end of 1947, when rationing was abolishedand monetaryreform was introduced.

Chapter 5

The Currency Reform of 1947: The VieuJsfrom Aboveand Below

One of the early consequences of the war was the disruption of the financial system.Inflationary pressures,aggravatedby the critical situation in the consumers'market and the growth of an economy of natural exchange,were manifestedin the de facto devaluationof the ruble and threatenedthe programof economicreconstruction.Additional pressurewas brought against the state budget by the gradual reductionof sourcesof revenue:the emergencywartime tax was abolished, voluntary contributions to the Red Army fund ceased,and employers'contributions to employees'savings accountsfor unused vacation time were diminished. The first effort to restore the financial position of the country was the state reconstructionand developmentbond issuedin May 1946. The size of the issue was 20 billion rubles.1 According to a letter of People'sCommissarof FinanceA.G. Zverev to the commissarsof the union republics and their subdivisions, ''Though it is desirable to float the loan quickly, superfluoushaste is not advisable. . . . The tempo of the loan must be accompaniedby a correspondingmeasure of organizationalwork and explanation."2Notwithstandingthe warnings, however, as often happenedat the grass roots when the state initiated major undertakings,the local authorities treated it as a forced loan. The psychology of administrative excess provoked its natural results.It usually beganwith the calling of a meetingof workers for "discussions"with party and governmentorgans, after which "voluntary" subscriptionswere encouragedin the form of a week's, a month's,and sometimestwo months'wages.Of course,such methods 51

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elicited little respectfor the authorities employing them or for the loan as a whole. More important, the loan was not adequateby itself to deal with the long-term challengeof restoringthe financial system, though it allowed the state to acquire a part of the meansto address the problem. The logical next step to repair the state'sfinances was monetary reform, which was fated to have complex consequences.Typically, such economic measureswere accompaniedby a serious political agenda,and propagandisticaims sometimesmaskedeconomicexpediency. From the beginning the monetary reform was dependent upon anotherreform-the end of rationing. The abolition of ration cards, which had become the very symbol of wartime, was to have been, in the opinion of Soviet leaders, a demonstrationof the strengthand enduranceof the Soviet economy.And thus it was necessary to end rationing earlier than in the other countries that had resorted to it during the war (England, France, Italy, Austria). This action was initially plannedfor 1946, but the provisions crisis in autumn of that year forced its postponement.It would not be fair, however, to explain the haste with which the cards were canceled entirely by considerationsof propaganda. The forced pace of this measureis explainednot only by the position of the leadershipbut by pressurefrom below to proceedwith it. In the workaday mentality, the war and the ration cards were so intimately identified that the rationing system was popularly perceived as virtually the cause of the wartime supply problems. Instancesof various kinds of abuse, inevitable in a rationing system, only magnified this outlook. The idea of the abolition of the cards became even more popular after the increase in ration prices of 1946. Typical were a seriesof opinions expressedin the summerand fall of 1947: "The most painful question is that of provisions. Everywhere peopleare saying: when will the rationing systembe abolished, or at least when will a commercial market for bread and buckwheat groatsbe opened?""All workers and office personnelare waiting for the end of breadrationing. This is a generalexpectation.And when there is enough bread, then prices on other food productswill be lowered."3 Many workers were expressinghope for the cancellation of rationing by the end of 1947.4 The view of rationing abolition as a complete panaceafor provisioning problems was not, however, universal. As conversationsin workers' circles indicated, many of them did not imagine that conventional commercialorganizationswould be able to resist the evils

THE CURRENCY REFORM OF 1947

53

of speculation.Such people stood for the preservationof rationing for the foreseeablefuture along with an increasein the government supply of bread. "It's tough in the bread market now, not enough," said a coal miner from CheliabinskProvince. "And if they abolish the cards, then it may get worse. The speculatorswill take over, and we may be left without bread."5 Thus there were advocatesof the rationing system,just as there were enemiesof it (though thelatter did not condemnthe practice but rather its duration). The abolition of rationing at the end of 1947 did not catch anyoneby surprise.Rather the factor that caught the majority of people off guard was the simultaneousdecreeof the monetaryreform. A.G. Zverev, the minister of finance, recalls that this reform was prepared in circumstancesof strict secrecyunder the personalsupervision of Stalin.6 Conceivedas an anti-inflationary measure,it in fact simply appropriatedfrom the people their so-calledsuperfluouscash reserves. The result, presumably,would be to punish the speculators,and the honestworking peoplewould be the winners.What in fact happened? In reality the secretof the imminent reform was soon breached. "In places," recalled Zverev, "upon receiving the special order stamped'Open only on receiptof specialinstructions,'curiosity overwhelmeddevotion to duty amonglocal authorities,and so the orderwas opened ahead of time."7 Some governmentand party officials thus found out about the reform in advance,which allowed them to take preliminary measuresof financial securitywith the cash that they had on hand. Even earlier the shady characters,the speculators,exchangedthe bulk of their cash for gold, real estate, or other valuables. Rumorsof the reform, which was decreedin the night of 14 to 15 December1947, spreadamong the people and set up a veritable prereformfever. ViacheslavKondratievdescribedthe scene. For the past several days, people have appearedon the streets before daylight. All the stores, especiallyshopsfor used goods and industrial products, are thronged by crowds. The day before yesterday, in the 'Optika' store on ... Nikolsk Street, all the binocularswere seIling like hotcakes.The excellent Zeiss binoculars-thedream of officers at the front-were now being boughtby old men and women, and not one or two at a time, but by the dozen,at a hundredrubles apiece.A week ago, crowds appearedin the savings banks, anonymouspeople depositing, withdrawing, anticipating the reform, trying to figure out what was best to do. . . . In the evening, the restaurantswere jammed with people

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brawling, shouting,cursing; there were fights at the door. ... Of course, not only those trying to spendtheir money roamedthe streetsof Moscow. Others ... were seizedby a mixture of holiday spirit and panic. It was interestingto watch. A few people decidedto save their last couple of hundredold rubles as souvenirs,as a new life was starting with new money and without ration cards8

The paradoxicaljuxtapositionof a holiday spirit and the feeling of nervousinsecuritywere fed by two ingredientsof the situation: on the one hand, the abolition of rationing was associatedin people'sminds with the return of peacetime;and on the other hand, nobody knew what this new peacetimewould be like, whetherbetter or worse. This situation was clarified somewhaton the day after the reform: the shelves of the stores (especially in Moscow) were covered with an almostprewarabundance.Pricesof goodsof massconsumption,however, were many times higher than the old ration-card prices, especially on clothes, shoes,and knitwear.9 The prices of food products were on the whole higher than prewar prices, and, with the exception of the necessaryminimum, out of reachof the majority of the people, who thus boughtonly on specialoccasions. In spite of the officially declaredgoals, the reform, in the opinion of a number of specialists,hit several categoriesof the population hard: the betterqualified elementof the workforce, personsengaged in heavy and dangerouswork or in agriculture, and those who kept their capital and resourcesat home rather than in savingsaccounts.lO [Becauseonly moneyin savingsaccountscould be exchangedagainst the new currency.-H.R.]According to the calculationsof the economist Aleksei Uliukaev, the accumulation of capital savings in the country at that time was fourteen to fifteen times greater than the annualsalariesof workersand office personnel.!l Notwithstanding the fact that the reform reduced the volume of the people'sdisposablemoney, it did not eliminate the gap between supply and demand.If the necessarylevel of consumergoods could be provided in the big cities-thoughit required a special order of the Council of Ministers on 29 November1947 to do so-thestatusof the consumers'market elsewhereremainedcritical. And among the numberof items in deficit the most importantwas bread.As a result, in the hinterland there was an elementaland spontaneousreturn to rationing in the form of ration cards, booklets,and other documents (propuskz) conferringprivileged accessto the market. Such a state of affairs could only alarm the people. A study pre-

THE CURRENCY REFORM OF 1947

55

paredby Iurii Aksenovand Aleksei Uliukaev introducesdocumentary evidence-theletters of workers and office clerks to the Central Committee and to the newspaperPravda--that gives an idea of the real conditions in much of the country after the abolition of rationing. "The lines at bread shops presenta frightful picture, with officials and bouncersat the door to keep order. A worker receivestwo kilograms of bread for three to four days. Every day there are fist fights [mordobitiia]! The workers are in a terrible condition" (Semipalatinsk). "In Spasskthe supply of breadis bad without exception.In order to get bread, it is necessaryto stand in line from one morning to the next. I am an invalid of the war, my health doesn'tallow me to fight through the crowd, and so my family and I, five people,have not seen any bread for ten days" (Riazan Province). "The lowering of prices didn't help us, and we are workers [i.e., the privileged people in a proletariansociety-H.R.].We don't buy caviar, and motorcycles and cars are of no concernto us. It would be betterto lower priceson lard, shoes,and clothes" (Moscow).12 The end of rationing did not justifY the hopes that prompted it. Life did not changeinstantaneously.In all of the early postwaryears, this was the first occasionwhen stark reality collided directly with the hope for relatively painlessimprovementsin life. Many people then believedseriouslythat it sufficed to take one correct decision, simple and wise, to leave behind all the fevered problems of wartime. The abolition of rationing wasjust such a form of that uniquely right and simple decision. The real and the ideal conflicted, and this fact formed a complex of deceived hopes. Insofar as these hopes arose precisely on the basis of one particular reform, then the common reaction was to hold that reform responsiblefor the disillusionment. And so the popular mind generalizedfrom one reform to reforms more broadly conceived.Basedon their negative experienceof the monetary reform of fall 1947, the people developed a distrust of reform in general.For the time being, this was neithera stablenor an all-embracingfund of distrust-because the faith of the peoplein the justice of their leadershipwas not yet exhausted-butrather an impulse that changedtheir attitude toward the very processof change. Having previously looked forward to reform as if it would necessarily bring improvement, they now reactedwith caution and apprehension. Might it not make things worse?At the sametime, the illusion of prospectivechangesfor the better persistedfor at least the first of three postwar years, until it finally becameclear that the authorities had no intention of reverting to the prewarorder of things.

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PART

II

THE ILLUSION OF LIBERALIZATION

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Chapter 6

The Stateand the Peasant: Village Antagonism to the CollectiveFarm

Everybody expectedchangesafter the war. These expectationssuffused the whole society, enablingpeople to survive and to hope that a new and betterlife would soon begin. Not everyonecould imagine this new life in detail, a life without war, and the generalpicture of hopes and only partially formulatedwishesclearly distinguishedthe different expectationsand pretensionsof one social group from another. Among the peasantry,hopesfor the future centeredon a single great question:what would happenafter the war to the collective farm? Formally organizedon the basisof voluntary principles, during the war the collective farm systemwas finally transformedinto an institution of forced, heavy, and virtually unpaid labor. In 1942, the government issued a special order increasing the obligatory minimum of individual workdays.l Collective farmerswho failed to fulfill the minimal norm without sufficient reasonwere subjectto legal action and to punitive corrective-laborobligationsin their own collective farm for a period of six months, while 25 percentof their usual earningswere diverted to the farm. First introducedduring the war, these policies continuedafter the end of hostilities. In addition, by an order of 31 May 1947, the governmentprolonged the wartime practice of the increasedminimum of workdays and the legal responsibility for fulfilling the obligation.2 The most serious problem of collective farm labor, however, was not its intensivenessbut the fact that it was progressivelydevaluedsuch that the level of farmers' income fell to the 59

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purely nominal. In 1946, after the harvestand the forced appropriation of grain during the procurementcampaigns,the peasantsin many collective farms received no income at all. In the USSR as a whole in 1946, 75.8 percentof the collective farms issued less than one kilogram of grain per workday, and 7.7 percentissuedno grainthat is, income-whateverto the peasants.In the RussianFederation, 13.2 percentof collective farms were left without grain in 1946, and in several provinces of Russia-for example, Orlov, Kursk, and Tambov-theproportion of farms not issuing grain to the peasants ranged from 50 to 70 percent.3 The settling of accountswith the peasantsin grain in this first postwaryear was worse than during the wartime year of 1943, the most difficult year of the war for the agricultural economy.The peasantsthus lost whateverinterestthey had ever had in work on the farms, and their attitude soon showed in the indices of their labor productivity. In 1946, 18.5 percentof the ablebodied peasantsin the USSR as a whole did not perform the obligatory minimum of workdays, and in those provinces where the pay scale (in grain) was worse, the proportion who fell below the minimum was higher yet; for example, in Orlov, it was 31.1 percent; in Kursk, 29.2 percent;and in Tambov, 45.8 percent.4 The mind-set of the peasantswas manifest in their letters, which candidly expressedhopelessness(bezyskhodnost'),a feeling of doom, or sometimessimply anger. Characteristicare excerpts from Stavropolin June1946. "We work on the collective farm as we usedto work for the landlordsin the days of serfdom.They drive us to work, and they neither feed us nor pay us. For bait they give us a teaspoon of gruel once a day, and sometimes-twoor three times a week-fifty gramsof bread... to keep us breathing,so we don't kick the bucket." "We are in a panic. The harvesthas started,and everything is breaking down. This is all due to Kozlov [chairmanof the collective farmE.Z.], who spent the winter hunting rabbits and did not service the equipment.Now many of the men, instead of organizing the work, are doing nothing. The women are cutting hay by hand, while the men simply lie about." "I am crying every day. There is no bread,and they drive us to work. The chairmanof the farm simply makesfun of me. He screams,Go to work or you'll be expelledfrom the farm and won't get any bread. How can you work when you can scarcelydrag your feet?"5 The collective farm systemwas in a deep crisis, and many people, enthralledto it by their tax obligation, would have preferreda radical solution to the crisis: the dissolution of the whole agrariansystem.An

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analysisof the mood of the villages in the last year of the war and the first postwaryears shows that opinion in favor of the abolition of the collective farms or their radical restructuring not only roused the hopesof its enemiesbut promptedillusions of possiblechangeseven amongthe loyal and enthusiasticadvocatesof the government. "Rumors of the liquidation of the collective farms . . . are widespread among the peasants,"reported a Central Committee agent returning from an inspection tour of Kursk Province in June 1946.6 Similar signals reachedparty and governmentorgans from other regions of the country. The membersof the Spark Collective Farm of Pskov District askedan itinerant governmentofficial: "Will the collective farms soon be dissolved? If there were no collective farms, we could live better and be of more use to the state."7 Conversations reportedfrom PenzaProvinceallegedthat "everyoneis waiting for the return of the soldiersto abolish the collective farms."8 The peasantsof a numberof farms of Pskov Province refused to sign the traditionally obligatory annual letter to Stalin promising to fulfill their assigned grain-quotadeliveries to the state aheadof schedule.9 They explained their refusal curiously. "This letter has a hidden motive, becauseComrade Stalin asked the people to remain in the collective farms for sevenmore years [there is no evidenceto this effect-H.R.]. The local authoritiesare trying to preservethe farms, and now they collect the signaturesof the peasants[to supportthe preservationof the farmsH.R.]. If the letter is signed, then the collective farms will not be dissolved."IOSome of thesepeasantsactually believed rumors that the initiative in the liquidation of the collective farm systemwould come from the supremeauthority himself, directly from Stalin. Someone said that a special commissionhad beenformed in Moscow to do the job, while otherswere sure that the decreeon liquidation had already beensignedthough not yet published.1 1 According to reports from the villages, however, the majority of peasantsreactedto the supremeauthority more skeptically. They did not believe that Stalin on his own initiative would repudiatethe collective farms. Such a thing would be possibleonly upon outsideintervention, as the peasantsassuredeachother, somethingin the role of a "third force," which would oblige Stalin to dissolve the collective farms. This somethingwas usually identified with the recentallies of the USSR in the coalition againstHitler-that is, the United States and Great Britain. Opinion of this kind was surprisingly uniform whetherrecordedin Pskov, Kursk, Voronezh, or Rostov, in the peasant homes of the western provinces or the remote Siberian villages.

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The rumors proliferated quickly and grew ever more fantastic. According to the peasantsin VoronezhProvince, "In America, it is said, they have already decided to dissolve all the collective farms in the USSR, and that is why Molotov [foreign minister] walked out of the San Francisco [United Nations] conference [April-June 1945]."12 The peasantsof Stavropol thought that "the collective farms will be abolished in accordancewith the demandsof Churchill and Truman."13 In Pskov, there were other fantasies: "At the San Francisco conferencethey askedMolotov to repudiateboth the Bolsheviksand the collective farms. He refused to repudiate the Bolsheviks, and therefore America declared war on Russia."14 An informer from Kursk Province reported to the authorities the content of peasant conversations:"England and America presentedan ultimatum to our government: either dissolve the collective farms, or we will declare war. In San Francisco,Molotov at first refusedto liquidate the collective farms but later returnedand agreed.The Americanswill verifY by airplane reconnaissance whether or not the collective farms have in fact beendissolved."15 Such rumors and conversationswere characterizedin official documents exclusively as the work of provocateursand hostile elements. Besidesthe rumors current among the people, informers recorded so-called "unhealthy" opinions among some of the collective farm administrators.Thus chairmanPetrovof the True Way Farm in Pskov Province said in a conversationwith one of the local government officials, "Now, when we have finally won the war, the collective farms will apparentlybe dissolved,as they have servedtheir purpose."16 It is true that far from all chairmen entertainedsuch radical opinions. Someof them spokemore cautiously. "We must reform the collective farms, as they have become entirely impoverished," according to ChairmanI.P. Ivanov of the Victor Farm in the Buriat Mongol AutonomousRepublic. "We must allow the collective farm to operateindependentlywithout centralgovernmentinterferencein its local affairs, set aside the Five-Year Plans,and define the farm's rent and tax obligations to the state,which we would certainly render. But how to do so would be our business.We would work the land better, if not as much, and we would have breadfor ourselvesand fill the cities with food products."17 In theseperceptions,it was necessaryto liberate the peasantsfrom the tyranny of the stateand thus protectthem from the arbitrarinessof the authorities. This thought was common to those who believed in any kind of positive prospectsfor the collective farm systemaswell thosewho hopedfor its transformation.

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At the same time, not content to wait upon hopes,some peasants were ready to act more decisively. These peasantscalled on their fellow villagers not to wait for gifts from abovebut rather to leave the collective farms on their own initiative, as if to prompt the authorities to take the properaction. As FedorIastrebov,a foreman of the Lenin Farm in the region of Lake Baikal, argued, "There is no point in working on the collective farm becausethey won't pay you anything for it. It's better to work on your private plot, to plant your own private crops, and others,seeingyour example,will do the same.And the communistswill not be able to do anything with us and will dissolve the collective farm."18 The peasantAkim Fedorov from the Shock-WorkerFarm in Buriat Mongolia reasonedas follows: "Life in the collective farm has reacheda dead end. We are on the verge of starvation.... We must leave the collective. To hell with work, let's get out of here."19 Conversationsand challengesto the authoritiesof this kind were regarded as anti-Soviet agitation, and the people openly behind them were hauledin for legal proceedings. Confrontedwith manifestationsof the anti-collective-farmdisposition after the war, the authorities tried to analyze the reasonsfor it. Insofar as this kind of opinion was evaluatedas indisputably hostile, the reasonsfor its disseminationwere attributed above all to "the machinationsof [class] enemies";that is, the opinionswere regarded as the product of an alien influence, and so the authoritiesbeganto suspectthe soldiersreturning to the village as the potential sourceof the problem. One of the reportscharacterizedthe influence of these demobilized veteranson the outlook in the villages: "A lot of comradeshave been in Romania,Hungary, Austria, and the Baltic countries, and they have seenthe systemof private farming and individual tenure, but not all of them have the political literacy to understand the real distinction betweenour system and capitalism. As a consequence,they sometimeslead our peasantsastray."20 Another channel of the penetrationof sentimentagainst the collective farm was believed to be repatriatedSoviet citizens, who, like the veterans,had spentenoughtime abroador in occupiedterritory to experienceother forms of agricultural organization. One such person,returning homefrom Lithuania, relatedto his neighborsthat "all the peasantsin Lithuania live well, the very pooresthave three to four headof cattle and a couple of horses.Therearen'tany collective farms there. The Germanswere well disposedand didn't touch us."21 One woman reportedthat "in Lithuania thereare no collective farms, the peasantsare their own masters.Now as soon as we return home,

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they begin to tormentus and reorganizethe collective farms."22 Two repatriatesreturning from East Prussia to a village near Smolensk sharedtheir impressionswith their neighbors:"In Germanywe lived severaltimes better than here.The peasantsin Germanylive well, are as well dressedas the people in town, there is no difference between village and town."23 Similar thoughts were sometimesexpressedby residents of the occupied territories during the war, chiefly those from the western provinces. The stories of a prosperouslife among the Germanoccupierswere not always believed,however,the more so as many peoplewho had experiencedthe occupationhad completely different memoriesof it. The Russianvillage ravagedby the war was far from fertile ground for the spreadof any kind of favorable recollection of the German occupation. An absurd but characteristic rumor current among the peasantsof Penza Province maintained that "the collective farm systemitself was introducedon the ordersof the Germansin order to ruin the economyand weakenRussiafor the purposeof conqueringit."24 Identifying displaced persons, returning veterans, and people from occupied territory as the source of anti-collective-farmsentiment, local informers deliberately avoided the chief reasonsfor peasantdissatisfactionwith collective-farm life: the circumstances of the farms and the conditions of life on them. It is not true that they were silent about thesefactors. On the contrary, the informers describedin detail the critical situation of farm income, the dilapidated condition of farm machinery, and the decline of work discipline. But in sum they reportedthese mattersas if there were no connectionbetweenthe facts and the growth of sentimentagainst the system; and the refusal of the peasantsto work free of charge for the state was explainedby their lack of political consciousness and the influence of hostile ideology. Unlike the peasants,who for some time after the war entertainedillusions about the prospectof changesin their fate, the Central Committee'sinformers evidently imagined that the leadershipof the country had no plans to retreat from its former principles in agricultural policy. The peasantswere soon to see that the informerswere right. In the agriculturally inauspiciousconditions of 1946, even before the grain procurementcampaign, the governmentdecided to raise taxeson the peasants'private plots.25 As the peasantsput it, so much for the "better life" of Soviet propaganda."The peasantsare writhing like fish pulled from water. Taxesthis year are twice as high as in the past."26 "We thought that when the war was over life would be better,

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and it turns out that it's worse, taxes twice as high." "With taxes like these,life is impossible,"peasantswere writing to their relatives.27 This was, however, not the last tax increaseof the postwar years. The tax liability of the peasantswas reviewedeveryyear, and twice, in 1948 and 1952, the agricultural tax was increased.While in 1940 the peasants paid thesetaxesin the amountof 2.4 million rubles, in 1952 they paid 8.7 million. The householdeconomyof the averagepeasant,possessing one cow, two sheep,one pig, about one-thirdacre of potatoesand a bit more than one-tenthacre of other vegetables,paid 100 rubles of agricultural tax in 1940and more than 1,100rubles in 1952.28 Lacking the capacityotherwiseto meet their obligationsto the state, the peasantscut down their orchardsand killed their livestock. The refrain "there is no living in the collective farm" was repeated in the peasants'letters and in conversationsamong themselves,and of course it reachedthe eyes and ears of the informers. The state of affairs in the village did not remain a secretfrom the authorities.The peasantsthemselvesregularly informed the governmentorgansof it in their letters of complaint. The Council of Collective-FarmAffairs (under the Council of Ministers) of the USSR received 92,795 such complaintsin the years 1947-1950alone. During the sametime, officials received3,305 petitionsin personalinterviews.29 The complaints were directed chiefly at the problem of the tax burden and other obligatory deliveries.No more than half of thesewere examined,and only a handful receivedsatisfaction.30 The policy of the statein the villages during the early postwaryears persuadedthe peasantsthat hopesfor the abolition of the collective farms or even for relief of the tax burdenwere purely illusory. Once this fact was comprehended,the mood of the villagers changedaccordingly. No longer hoping for any satisfactorychangesin rural life, many peasantssaw only one exit from the situation: they fled from the farms. A part of the peasantswho fled becameedinolichniki-that is, they somehow set themselvesup on their own. In Cheliabinsk Province the number of such individual peasanthouseholdsincreasedfrom 1,078 to 1,907 in the course of the year 1947-1948 alone, that is, by 70 percent.31 The generaltrend is evidencedin the unauthorizeddeparturesof peasantsfrom the collective farms of Novosibirsk Province.32 One of the women at a farm meeting declared without hesitation, "Do what you want, I am getting out."33 ''You work or you don't work in the collective farm, it's all the same,a prosperouslife is out of reach."The peasantscameto this conclusion and left for the cities, for constructionwork, where it was possibleto

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feed a family. 34 The famine of 1946-194 7 was a powerful catalyst of the process. The migration of the rural population continued, however, through the succeeding years. Thus from 1949-1953 alone, the number of able-bodied peasants in collective farms (within the prewar borders of the USSR) decreased by 3.3 million people. 35 The m~ority of those who remained in the collective farm could hardly make ends meet. The peasants tried to perform the required minimum of workdays in order not to fall afoul of the Jaw, but beyond this necessary minimum they did not trouble themselves about work in the collective fields. Many did not bother about the obligatory minimum of workdays. Not even the threat of punishment could force the peasants to work without compensation. Therefore, when the circamstances of passive sabotage on the farms became clear to the authorities, they immediately took more brutal measures to coerce conformity. On 2 June 1948 the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet issued a decree "On the Resettlement in Remote Regions of Persons Maliciously Refusing to Work in the Agricultural Economy and Leading a Parasitical Form of Life Hostile to the Public Weal." The decree granted to local government the right to exile principally to Siberia practically any person, whether collective farm peasant or edinolichnik. Such decisions were to be made at collective farm and village meetings and might be preceded by a kind of prophylactic warning. The peasants remembered this decree as a "second dekulakization." "Now they will begin to transport us in droves, as they did in the 1930s. Whoever does not fulfill the plan goes into exile," said a peasant woman from the Better Path Farm in Novosibirsk Province. 36 "The decree is too cruel," said another from the Ninth of January 1905 Farm of the same province. "This is like the persecution of the 1930s, when they shipped off the kulaks. "37 The reinforcement of the punitive sanctions on the part of the state provoked bewilderment and protest among some peasants: "All of this is not right, to forbid individual farming and to exile anyone who does not work on the collective farm. Why force us to live in the collective if we don't want to?" asked the peasant Lukinov from the Better Path Farm, as he proceeded with persuasive arguments. ''You can't get far by the use of force, and in the collective farm people are dying of hunger, how can they not flee the farm?" 38 This was not the unanimous response to the decree on resettlement. It was not accidental that in many collective farm meetings, the discussion of the decree did not meet the expectations of the local or the higher administration. The peasants either did not vote or voted against exiling

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their fellows, substituting the issuanceof warnings only. There were some occasionsof a different kind when the peasantsvoted for exile as a settling of personalaccountsor the making of scapegoats. The decreeput in to the handsof the collective-farmadministrationa new stick with which to chase the peasantsback into the collective. According to the foreman of one farm in the Moscow region, "The governmentdid well to issue this decree.Going to work the next day, I was surprisedhow many of my people-whomI always had to nag, who were always getting out of hand-werealso at work."39 A similar situation was observedin other farms. Learning that a meetingwas taking place in the farm next door on the exile of peasantswho did not work conscientiously,people began to fear landing on the black list and at once went. to work in the fields. The secretaryof a laroslav Province party committeereported that "a meeting took place in the GreatWilderness(Bolshiepustoshki)Fann, and on the neighboringfarm when the foreman cameat 3:30 A.M. to issuedaily orders to the peasants,no one was at home. All were at work in the hay fields."4o Trying to avoid what was in fact prosecutionand persecutionat once, even adolescentsand invalids went to work in the fields. In a number of farms the local administrationwas simply not preparedfor such a comprehensiveturnout of the peasants,and as a consequencemany of them did not have the capacityto accommodatefull participationin fieldwork.41 Overlooking the real causesand ascribing the new attitude of the peasantsto their alleged native enthusiasm,the local authorities reported to their superiors"the unprecedented growth oflabor activity." Preparingto call village meetings,the chairmenof the farms sometimesobviously brandished the big stick. Not feeling confident of their own strength, they invited to the meetings local authorities and even the police of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. This tactic provoked among the peasants rumors and reports of different kinds. 'There will be some kind of special meeting today. They say that fifteen peoplewill be arrestedand twenty will be expelled from the village."42 Virtually a sign of the times was the popular observation that "if a lot of officials arrive in cars, it meansthat somethingbig is afoot."43 Suchsignswere not lacking. In the courseof three monthsafter the introductionof the new decree,23,000 Soviet peasantswere sentoff into exile, 12,000of them from the Russian Federation.44 The authoritiessucceededin extracting obediencefrom the peasants,or at least the appearanceof obedienceand loyalty. Far from all of them, however, surrenderedthe conviction that "sooner or later, the collective farms will be dissolved; no stick is big enough to keep the peoplein them."45

Chapter 7

Religion and Politics: The Revival of ReligiousBelief

The war yearswitnessedretreatsfrom official ideology that seemstrange at first sight yet are fully understandablein the circumstances.The propagandamachine,which had until recentlyexpendedenormousenergy unmaskingthe evil pastof prerevolutionaryRussia,beganto work in an apparentlydiametrically opposite direction. The Soviet regime, whose ideology was constructedin the main on the principle of opposition to the old world, to whateverexistedbefore 1917, suddenlybeganto place bets on Tradition. This turnaboutwas manifestedin the restorationof officers' epaulets,the celebration of old Russian military leaders, the establishmentof new decorationsevoking the glory of Russianarms,and a new presentationof historical figures, especially conspicuousin the case of Ivan the Terrible and Peter I. The appealsto patriotic feelings beganto crowd out the former calls for proletarianinternationalism.In his speechon the Day of Victory, 9 May 1945, Stalin addressedhimself not merely to "Soviet citizens" and "comrades"but to "fellow countrymen and countrywomen." Among these conspicuouschangesof political style, one of the most remarkablewas the policy of the state toward the RussianOrthodox Church.l During the war, the clergy used its sermons to give moral support to believers and to lift the spirits of the army. The church offered stateand society greatmaterial assistance,organizing, for example,fund-raisingcampaignsfor the Red Army and extending alms to orphansand to the families of soldierskilled in action. These activities were one reasonfor the liberalization of the state'spolicy in religious questions.The church was viewed in thesecircumstancesas 68

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an assetin the mobilization of societyagainstthe enemy. In 1943 the government organized the Council for Russian Orthodox Affairs, which took the religious policy of the state under its advisement.In 1945-1946 the Council sanctionedthe opening of 290 houses of prayer,2 and a special order recognizedthe legitimacy of a hundred Orthodox monasteriesliquidated in the 1930sand returnedthem to their previous occupants.3 In the beginningof 1945 the Moscow Orthodox Council was organized,and its activity was widely publicized in the pagesof the Soviet press,including Pravda. The changeof policy toward religion was promptednot only by the wish to use it as an instrumentin national mobilization during the war. Another reason motivating the alleviation of policy toward the church was simply the revival of religious sentiment and activity among the people. This development,fully comprehensiblein the circumstances,soon acquired massive proportions. People often found in religious faith the necessarysourceof moral supportin the face of the loss of family, friends, and home.Faith recoveredor newly discovered provided comfort if not hope. The growth of religious impulsescontinuedinto the postwaryears,when a numberof regions actually recordedmore religious activity than during wartime. Thus 139 religious weddings took place in the Pokrov Cathedral of Kuibyshevin 1940,403in 1944,867in 1945, and 1,258 in 1946.4 The size of congregationsin church increased,and they consisted not only of women but of men as well, especially of those between the agesof 20 and 40-thatis, thosewho had passedthrough the experience of combat.5 Some documentspetitioning for the reopeningof 6 churchesbore up to three thousandsignatures. The spark of religiosity during the war manifestednot only the revival of life in the church but a conspicuousrebirth of mysticism and superstition, of faith in contemporaryprophetsand the traditional old Russian"holy fools." Among the people,especiallyin rural areas,so-called "holyletters," various forms of prophecy,the appearanceof "satans,"rumorsof the imminent end of the world, and other such things were widespread.At times such phenomenafell upon well preparedsoil. In one village of Stavropol the rumor spreadthat "in the next few days the Earth would collide with a comet, which occurrencewould announcethe end of the world." This report provoked a genuinepanic. Young and old alike began to preparefeverishly to die. They bathedand dressedin clean clothes.Somelit votary candlesbefore icons, lay down inside the front door of their homes, and crossedtheir arms over their chests.7

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The significance of the church and of the great increasein the numbersof people turning to it was especiallyclear in thesedifficult years. In 1946, for example,when the drought began,the priestsin a number of regions held services,at the requestof the peasants,to pray for rain. In PenzaProvince,where a part of the crop was ruined as early as May andJune,such serviceswere held in twenty locations.s Moreover, on some occasionsthe local authorities, for example the chairmen of the district executive committees,gave official permission for the services,sometimeseven speakingas one of the organizers and participants. On 16 June 1946 a priest came to the BessonovkaDistrict committee of PenzaProvince to requestpermission to hold a service to pray for rain. On the sameday a group of six hundredpeople marchedon a kind of pilgrimage to the Sura River and then into the fields of the Gorky Collective Farm.9 After a church servicein the village of Lopatino of ChaadaevDistrict on 12July, four hundred people participatedin a pilgrimage to the local collective farm. lO News of prayer servicesfor rain came in from other areasas well. The local authoritiesdid not always take a sympatheticattitude to such things, and incidents sometimestook place. In Voronezh Province, for example,during a church ceremonythe local authorities and representativesof the Ministry of Internal Affairs tried to arrest the officiating priest, which provoked resistancefrom the believers.II The party characterizedthis kind of action on the part of the authorities as "inappropriate,"just as it did other kinds of local intervention-forexample,the dispersalof religious servicesor other arbitrary acts in regardto religion.I2 At the same time the Central Committee reactedwith alarm to occasionsof the opposite kind, when local party and government leadersenteredinto close cooperationwith church leaders.Information reachedMoscow that local governmentorganswere using priests for the propagationof economicand political campaigns,the organization of grain deliveries, the subscription of state loans, and even SupremeSoviet election campaigns.The administrationof the Proletarian Collective Farm in Stavropol, for example, asked the local priest to use his sermonsto influence the attitude of the peasants toward farm work.I3 In one of the village soviets of Kursk Province the subscriptionof the stateloan was going badly, and the authorities askedthe priestfor assistance.He intervenedbriefly, and 100 percent of the villagers subscribed.14 As the chairmanof anothervillage soviet of DnepropetrovskProvince confessed,"I worked with the priest. I asked him to encouragethe believers to improve their labor disci-

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pline, their participation in fieldwork, and to respectthe collective property. He spoke of these things in his sermon, and matters improved significantly."15 In a number of districts the local leaders turned to the priestsand religious communeswith requestsfor assistance to the families of soldiers, invalids, and orphans.16 The central authoritiesdid not approveof proceedingsof this kind. The transformation of the state's religious policy was so unexpectedfor many local leadersand provincial communiststhat not all of them had time to reorientthemselvesproperly. "Some communists are confusedabout the relationshipof the party and religion," as the local party secretaryfor propagandain Stavropol put it.17 "How are we supposedto act?" the communistsof the Machine Construction Factory in Moscow asked themselvesafter receiving the news of the establishmentof the local congregation."Earlier we were taught that religion is the opiate of the people,and now the governmentitself is accommodatingthe priests."18 Sometimesthe opinion of the communists was more extreme:"Communistsmay now without hindrancego to church, pray to God, baptize their children and marry in church."19 The secretary of the Kursk Province party committee, Doronin, expressedhimself more decisively, recognizing the real state of affairs: "In our country the church is separatefrom the state. Thereforeour strategicgoals are inviolable, though our tactics have changed.We are working with the church now for the mobilization of the peoplein order to deal with our principal task, the destructionof Hitler. Otherwisenothing has changed."20 A variety of rumors circulated among the people about the new religious policy. "You see, even ComradeStalin admits that without the church we cannot overcome the enemy," according to one war invalid.21 Othersexpressedthemselveson this question more unambiguously: "As soon as we beganto speakof God, things improved at the front." ''The Red Army began to win from the time when the Bolsheviks turned to the church."22 As a digest of public opinion demonstrates,the attentionof the stateto the problem of the church was greetedwith understandingand approval. Peoplebeganto speak openly of what they had previously preferred to leave unspoken.It was possible, for example, to hear judgmentsof a surprising kind: "Religion brings to the people a feeling of blessedness,ameliorates ugly tempers,relieves cruel tormentsand suffering. For this reason we must respectit and its guardians,who bring light and relief to life."23 Letters addressedto the governmentor directly to Stalin contained distinctly reverent sentiments:"At prayer on the day of the

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sanctificationof the church that openedwith your blessing,we assure you, our adored Iosif Vissarionovich [Stalin], of our deep, sincere, and heartfeltgratitudeand devotion to you."24 Forcedby the circumstancesof wartime to appealfor the supportof the church, the government was able to use this opportunity to strengthen its own influence and authority among the people, which had been shaken by the defeatsof the early period of the war. Many of the people, however, reactedto the changesin religious policy with a large dose of skepticism. "What a transformation!"said one worker in a Moscow factory. "Mter the struggle with rank and privilege, now we introduce officers' and generals'insignia.... We chasedthe priesthoodunderground,and when our allies speakup, we beat a retreat."25The general opinion that Stalin had struck an agreementwith the church not of his own volition but under the pressureof his allies was widespreadamong the people. "Our policy toward the priesthood is dictated by the demandsof England and America." "We did not speak of priests for twenty-eight years, and now we begin to speakof them when we've becomeallies of England. It's some kind of concession.""England and America have turned us back onto our old path. How else to understandthe questionwhen even the newspapersare writing of priests?"26 The change of religious policy provoked many questionsfrom both communistsand non-party people. Peopleaskedif it were permissible to ring church bells and when the restorationof churches and monasterieswould begin. The communists were chiefly concernedabout other questions.Would the new policy entail changes in the Soviet constitution and in the party programs?Did the former assessments of religion as a reactionaryforce, the opiate of the people, remainvalid, and would the anti-religious works of Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin be published again?27As there were no official explanationsof these matters, the people contentedthemselvesas formerly with rumors and drew their own conclusions. There was some opinion, for example, to the effect that scriptural readings would be introducedin all the schools,28and the studentsof Moscow University discussedseriously the question of organizing a divinity school there.29 The skepticscontinuedto insist that the accommodating policy toward religion was a forced and transitory measurethat would yield after the war to the former policy. They were right. The return to the old attitude in religion did not take place all at once. For some time after the war the force of inertia prolongedthe rapprochementbetweenchurch and state. Mter a year or two it be-

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came obvious that the governmenthad no intention of retreating either from basic principles of ideology in which there was no place for any kind of dissentor from its monopoly of public thought control. The authorities first proceededto limit the sphere of clerical influence. In 1945-1946the Council of Orthodox Affairs permitted the openingof 290 housesof prayer; in 1947-1948it allowed only 49 new ones.30 From 1948 through 1950,31 Orthodox monasterieswere closed.31 At the same time anti-religious propagandawas reinforced. In 1949 the Central Committeecondemnedthe work of the Council of Orthodox Affairs for allegedly supporting the revival of religious sentiment.32 "It has become known to the Central Committee," according to the decree,"that during the religious holidays of Christmas and Epiphany ... the priests have organizedmasspilgrimages,christenings, and baptismsin ice-holeson the rivers, which causeserious illnessesamong the believers. The rebirth of these and similar religious barbaritiesmanifest the power of the clerics to spreadreligious influencesamongunsophisticatedelementsof the population."33The Council of OrthodoxAffairs was accusedof mismanaginglocal affairs, creating"conditionsfavorable for the growth of church organizations, the religious movement,and the unrestrictedencouragement of barbarous religious services," and "crudely violating the instructions of the Communist Party."34 In fact, the Council did not violate instructions. It was simply assignedthe role of scapegoat.It had not adjusted quickly or fully enoughto the new, postwarideological directions.The ideological screws were rapidly tightening, and the attack on the church was only one manifestationof the massive new struggle with dissentin Sovietsociety.

Chapter 8

The Political Temperof the Masses,1945-1948

The first significant political event in the life of the country after the war was the election of the SupremeSoviet in February 1946. The electoral campaign was widely covered in the Soviet press, and the newspapersexhibited the "moral and political unity" of Soviet society, the "indissoluble bond of communistsand non-party people." The discussionof candidatestook place in all electoral districts, a formal and rather ritualistic discussioninasmuchas the election, like the prewar ones, left the people no alternative to the party's candidatesthere was only one candidate per electoral district. In official meetings,people did what was expectedof them: they spoke approvingly of the party's policies and supportedthe party'scandidates.Such meetings proceededby a previously programmedagenda, and the opinions andjudgmentsexpressedcan scarcelybe consideredan adequate reflection of the real political outlook of the people.This does not mean that the personsspeakingat the electoral meetingswere utterly insincere. The atmosphereof the election, somethinglike a national holiday, demonstratedthat the people'sfaith in the authorities was real, not imaginary. Spontaneousgreetingsto the Communist Party, to Stalin, and to other Soviet leaderswere scrawledon the back side of the election ballots. If we admit that someof theseinscriptions were prompted,still the style and the spelling of otherstestify to their genuineness.Whetherthe positive nature of theseexpressionsreflects a characteristicspectrumof opinion is anotherquestion.There were critical comments,too, and they were followed up by observersfrom party organizationsand informersof the organsof statesecurity. 74

THE POLITICAL TEMPER OF THE MASSES, 1945-1948

75

In January1946 the chief of the People'sCommissariatof Internal Affairs, Sergei Kruglov, reported to the Central Committee on the so-called "anti-Soviet activities and hooliganism during the Supreme Soviet election campaign."1 In the list of such activities he included the distribution of leaflets of anti-Soviet contents (though he did not specity their nature), the destruction of campaign posters and portraits of Soviet leaders,and disturbancesin electoral districts during campaign meetings; and he gave examples: "On 20 December1945 twenty-two anti-Sovietleafletswere strewn aroundthe sidewalkin front of No. 18 Krivoi Lane in Moscow. The author of the leaflets, C.M. Ivannikov, an unemployed,demobilizedveteranof the Red Army, was arrested.... An investigation is in progress."On 9 Januarytwo mutilated SupremeSoviet campaignposterswere discoveredat the Volga train station in NekouzskDistrict of IaroslavProvince,electoraldistrict No. 134. The guilty parties, Maksimova and Volchenkova, were arrested. In the village of Bezmintsevoof Rostov District, Iaroslav Province, a war invalid, I.F. Tulenkov, declaredthat "they are offering us candidatesthat we don't know, and we won't elect enemiesof the people of the ilk of Zimin [former secretaryof the Iaroslav Province party committee,arrestedin 1938-E.Z.J.Ifwe are not careful, we will elect anothergovernmentthat gets us into a new war." Tulenkov was arrested.2 Party informers observed among the population "unhealthy attitudes,manifestin harmful rumorsand in the discontentof various people with the policy of the party and the Soviet government."3In spite of the official propagandaemphasizingthe democraticnature of the elections, people correctly saw behind this mask a routine fraud and discussedit amongthemselves."The governmentis wasting money on the election; it will elect whomever it wants."4 "What we think is a matterof indifference; they will decide how we vote."5 "The upcoming electionsare nothing to us. If they took place as in other countries, that would be a different matter."6 "The campaignballot includes only one candidacy,and that is a violation of democracy,as the winner will be in any event the one they put in the ballot."7 A variety of rumors and conjecturesabout the electionscirculated amongthe people.According to regular election procedure,government agentswere supposedto verity the participationof the votersby lists drawn up in the organs of local government.It was a conventional formality, but this exercise generatedfantastic stories. In Voronezh, for example, it was said that the purpose of the lists of voters was to identity unemployedpeople in order to send them to

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THE ILLUSION OF LIBERALIZATION

work on collective farms. Peoplewere known to close their apartments and leave home in order to avoid this fate.s Such behavior was regardedby the authoritiesas illegal and was subject to prosecution.In popular parlancethis kind of prosecutionwas known as "democracy by the stick": 'The electionsare being carriedon improperly; only one candidateis nominated,and the electoralbulletin guaranteeshis election. If we don't want to vote for the nominee, we can't strike the name out, as the police will investigateand send us into exile.'>9 "We have no freedomof speech.If I say somethingtoday aboutflaws in the Sovietgovernment,they will put me in prison tomorrow."10 In the course of these discussions,some very specific questions were raised. What would happen to voters if they did not like the person nominated?What measureswould be taken against people who did not take part in the election?ll Questionsof this kind were also raisedduring the electionsto the supremesovietsof the different national republics in 1947. As resumesof questionscompiled by several republics and provincesshow, there were several particular subjects that most interested the people. For example, what kind of electoral rights would belong to personsof tainted legal status; persons repatriated,exiled, or imprisoned; former soldiers in General Andrei Vlasov's anti-Soviet army? Why not remove from their positions of responsibilityrepresentatives who did not justify the people's confidence?When would the deputiesappearbefore the voters in order to give an accountof themselves?12 People often expresseddoubt about the usefulnessand timeliness of electionson which so much effort was being expendedwhen thousandsof citizenswere on the verge of starvation."Why not worry about taking in a good harvestand forget about the election campaign?It is of no use to anyone." "Why all of this nonsense?Better feed the people than sponsorthe elections.""It's all very well to have elections,but having breadfor the collective farms would be better."13 The subjectiveprocessof imagining the authoritiesas somekind of abstractforce revealedan elementof alienation that took the form of progressively apolitical attitudes. "If you need to vote, then vote ... but we're fed up with all of it, let them vote without us." "I don't plan to vote and will not. I have not seenanything good from this government.The communists have nominated themselves;let them elect themselves."14Such attitudes were not always spoken in public, but they were presentin the spectrumof public opinion, and they influenced at least the views of families and friends, if not their behavior.

THE POLITICAL TEMPEROFTHEMASSES, 1945-1948 77

In spite of the notoriously abstractnature of the perceptionof the governmentby the masses,they neverthelessmadea clear distinction between its national and its local branches.The local branch consistedof the directorsof enterprises,the chairmenof collective farms, the leadersof local soviets and party organs,and it was these people who were the objects of most of the public criticism. The people blamed most of their misfortunes on the proximate powers ( nachalstvo).The local power structurewas similarly exposedto constant criticism by the central authorities. So the focus of criticism by the people and by the supremepower in this case coincided, which sometimesgave rise to the illusion of a coincidenceof interests.This illusion nourishedthe viability of the whole systemand belief in the infallibility of the supremepower personified by Stalin. It was no accidentthat unpopulardecisionsof the government-forexample, the increasein ration prices or the postponementof the abolition of rationing-wereeither attributed by the public to Stalin's ignorance of the matter ("Stalin knows nothing about it") or justified as an unavoidable evil ("if Comrade Stalin made the decision, it means there was no alternative"). According to one characteristicexample, "Life is tough at present.Everybodyis stuffing himself, filling his own belly, sitting aroundand deceivingStalin."15 Conceptionsof some kind of vague "dark forces" that "deceived Stalin" not only pointed to the persistenceof the image of an enemy in the public mind but demonstratedthe subjectiveperceptionof the unity of peopleand vozhd'-the leader.The exclusionof the nameof Stalin from the permitted parametersof criticism securednot only him but the very regime that his name inspired. For millions Stalin was the last hope, the most reliable foundation. Without Stalin, life would fall apart. And the more complicatedthe internal situation of the country became,the greaterwas the popular faith in the role of the vozhd'. Alarm about the health of the leader, who in 1949 was seventyyears old, was a constanttopic of questionsat lectures,interviews, meetings. A respectful attitude toward Stalin was not only a matter of personal conviction and personalchoice. It was cultivated by the entire Soviet ideological machine and carefully controlled by the responsible organs of state. Punishmentwas imposed not only for opinions and actions directed one way or anotheragainst the vozhd' but for deedsentirely unrelated.Many peoplesufferedfrom mere oversights of his cult. An editor making an ordinary typographicalerror, or a schoolchild using Stalin's portrait for a prank, could be accusedof

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counterrevolutionaryactivity. During a party meeting at a textile factory in Ivanovo (Moscow Province) a speaker made a slip of the tongue. He said that "Comrade Stalin was the organizerof German fascism andJapanesemilitarism," omitting the word "defeat" (of the GermansandJapanese).The result was hardly catastrophic.For the "anti-party expressionaddressedto the leaderof our party, Comrade LV. Stalin," the unfortunatespeakerreceivedonly a reprimandfrom the party.16 The occasionitself was indicative, however, of the atmosphereof the time, when not only real criticism but an uncharacteristic gaffe was perceived by the governmentas a factor threateningits stability. To expressan honestopinion openly, if it contradictedthe official line, was risky-in a numberof cases,not only for one'scareer but for one'slife itself. Nevertheless,such opinions, few though they were, existed, and both official and voluntary informers reported them to the responsibleauthorities. In the event of critical opinions, the dilemma of us versus them was resolvedin a typical fashion. 'What good can we expectwhen the governmentand the party are robbing eachother?That is why our life is so difficult. "17 "Life will be good when we no longer have these officials who have ravagedall of Russia."18"The only people who live well are thosewho work in the storesand the bossesin the government."19 Some thought the Soviet governmentguilty of all the misfortunesof Russia: 'Therewill be no good times so long as the Soviet governmentlasts."20 The problem was perceivedsomewhatdifferently in the villages: 'Without thesedamnedcollective farms, our life would havebeena lot better. Only the communists live well under the Soviet government."21 "It seemsto me that where there are no Soviets and no collective farms, people live in abundance.There is more of everything, and it is all cheaper.Where there are Soviets and collective farms, everything is ruined, everythingis expensive."22In these people'sopinions, the governmentis no longer impersonal;it consistsof tangible people,who in this caseare not confined to local administration.The subjectsof criticism here are the government,the officials, Soviet power as a system,all levels of it, and communistsin general. The attitude of the population toward the communistsas responsible officials was an importantfactor in the developmentof the political opinion of the massesafter the war. Although in the villages during the war and immediatelyafterward the most commonrumors had to do with the dissolution of the collective farms, they were usually accompaniedby similar reports of the abolition of the Communist Party, and not only among the rural population.23 The masses

THE POLITICAL TEMPER OFTHE MASSES, 1945-1948 79

often conceivedof the liquidation of the collective farm system and the liquidation of the party as related measures,which should logically take place at the same time. In order to understandsuch an attitude toward the party, we must consider the party's situation in the early postwaryears. Before the war the party counteda membershipof somewhatmore than 4 million; toward the end of the war, more than 6 million. 24 These statistics suggest that the party had passed through the war without seriouslossesand significantly increasedits numbers.In fact the figures obscurequite a different picture. From the beginning of the war the reception of new party membersacquired an unprecedentedtempo, as nearly 9 million new membersenteredit before the end of 1945.25 While the party beganthe war with a membershipof 4 million, it lost during the courseof the war 7 million members.Combat lossesamountedto more than the total party membershipof 1945. The forced pace of growth in the CommunistParty during the war was driven above all by Stalin's plan of national mobilization, which called for the concentrationof all efforts on the problem of Soviet survival. The slogan "Communists,forward!" was not mere wartime propagandabut everyday practice. The principles of dedication to the party assistedmilitary commandersand facilitated the solution to military problems.Unlike the purely military or disciplinary codesof conduct, the party's principles were voluntary and spontaneous,and casesof entry into the party from egotisticalor careeristmotiveswere unusual at the front. In the rear, or after the war, of course, it was anothermatter. One caveatmust be enteredhere: even after the war, therewere peoplewho enteredthe party with the most selflessconvictions, not seekingadvantageor privilege. At the sametime, belonging to the party clearly openedaccessto privilege. It was considerably easierfor a party memberto climb the ladder of careerpromotion. Positions of leadershipwere reservedlargely for communists.Party leadersbenefited from special systemsof food supply and of social security-medicalcare, vacation facilities, accessto apartmentsand dachas,and so on. All of theseadvantageswere beyond the reach of the majority of ordinary communists,and in this respecttheir circumstancesdiffered little from those of their ordinary fellow citizens. For those who could wrap themselvesin the mantle of the power structure, however, membershipin the party not only conferred social privileges but a variety of opportunitiesto exploit and abusethe system as well. Thus casesof entering the party out of self-servingmotives either before the war or after it were by no meansrare. The

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presencein the party of an element of corruption diminished its authority and the authority of the governmentthat it served. In the eyes of the public the corruption of one tarnishedthe image of the other as well. The upperlevels of governmenttried to combatcorruption in the party. Before the war this effort took the form of periodic violent purges,and after 1939, when such purgeswere discontinued, of exclusionfrom the party. As the statistical tabulation of reasonsfor exclusionfrom the party from 1945 to 1953 shows, the bulk of communistswere deprived of party cardsfor dereliction of duty, corruption, embezzlement,moral dissipation,drunkenness,and disorderly conduct. During the period from July 1945 toJuly 1947, expulsionfrom the party for thesecauses accountedfor 37.8 percentof the numberof party cards canceled.26 The next most common reasonwas the presenceof communistsin occupiedterritory during the war-29.2percentof expulsions.About 9.3 percentwere expelled for breaking party or labor discipline; 4.7 percentfor failing in economicor political campaigns,breaking the law, deception,or "conductunworthy of a communist."It seemsnoteworthy that only a minority of those expelledwere accusedof political shortcomings.Only 0.5 percentwere accusedof treason;and 1.6 percentwere accusedof anti-Soviet agitation, relations with foreigners, or hiding their social origins. In May 1946 the Central Committee decreedan examination of party decisionsand proceedingsat the various republican,provincial, and local levels with special reference to casesof malfeasanceand abusesof public trust. According to incompletedata,from 1July 1945 through 1 May 1946 a total of 4,080 party workers at ninety different regional levels of responsibilitywere summonedto accountfor their unsatisfactorydischargeof duties. Among these were 1,256 persons suspectedof infractions of party responsibilities;1,156 employeesof district Soviet executivecommittees;728 officials of law-enforcement agencies (Ministry of State Security, Ministry of Internal Mfairs, courts, and procurators'offices); and 940 officials of economic administrative offices.27 Of the 4,080 regional officials reprimandedfor infractions of party discipline, 1,158 were relieved of their duties and 978 were expelled from the party. The most common reasonsfor expulsionwere: (1) violation of Soviet law and distortion of party and governmentinstructions, 71.2 percent; (2) drunkennessand dissipation, 14.5 percent; (3) stealing from the supply system and illegally harvestingon the collective farms, 9.2 percent; (4) deceptionof the government,5.1 percent.

THE POLITICAL TEMPEROFTHEMASSES, 1945-1948 81

It is interestingto follow the relationshipbetweenthe administrative position of these people and the nature of the infractions or abusesfor which they were punished, Party officials and officials of the central Soviet governmentwere punishedmore frequently than local leadersfor "violation of Soviet laws and distortion of the instructions of the party and the government": such casescomprised 31.1 percentand 29.8 percentrespectivelyof the total numberof punishments handedout. According to a report preparedfor the Central Committee, "Many local officials behavearbitrarily in regard to the peasants,follow crude administrativepractice in carrying on agricultural campaigns,intimidate collective farmers,fine them, searchtheir homes,etc. In various collective farms ... local leadershave permitted beatingsof peasants,and such outragesin a numberof instances have not beenstoppedby party organsor the local procuracy."28 Most of those summonedfor stealing from the supply system or illegal harvestingon the collective farms were officials of local soviet executivecommittees(35.4 percentof those punished)or officials of economicadministrativeunits (29 percent)-thatis, personswhose positionsgave them greateropportunitiesfor such abuses.The same circumstancesexplain the high proportion of economic administrators and local soviet executivecommitteeofficials who were punished for deception of the state (36.8 percent and 29.2 percent respectively). Those accusedof drunkennessand moral dissipation, if we judge by the statistics,were most commonlyofficials of the Ministry of State Security, the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the courts, and the procuracies.These officials constituted 36.7 percent of those punishedfor infractionsof party discipline. Obviously such figures are approximate.The real facts were not always passedalong unvarnishedfrom local officials to higher ones. Sometimes the local authorities sought scapegoatsof a type demandedby a particular party campaign.Thus instructionsfrom the Central Committee to the effect that crude administrativeabusesof the peasantswere inadmissiblewere often treatedby the local authorities as idle moralizing in view of the fact that other instructions of the Central Committee obliged them to fulfill the excessivequotas for grain procurements,for the agricultural tax, and for the delivery of other collective farm obligations. In the event of the nonfulfillment of obligations to the state, the secretaryof the local party committee was subjected to punishmentalmost as a matter of course, whereasreportsof his administrativeabusesfor the sakeof fulfillmen t of instructionsdid not always reach the responsibleauthorities.Even

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if such reportsreachedthem, the authoritiesdid not always hastento mete out punishment.Thus the arbitrarinessof local officials became a commonoccurrence. The facts aboutofficials' abuseof their positions, their crude manner of addressto the people, their aspirationto live on a grand scale while otherscould scarcelymake endsmeet-allof this provokedthe discontentof those living around them. In order to preventpopular dissatisfactionwith the behavior of various local officials from growing into dissatisfactionwith the governmentin general, the higher organsof power from time to time fined their local counterpartsfor behavior that offended the people. This was one meansof relieving social tension and neutralizing social discontentthat the regime utilized actively in order to preemptsocial disturbances. Besidesdiscontentwith various representatives of the government, there was in addition considerablecriticism of certain decisions of the supremepower. Social discontentin this period centeredon basic decisionsof the governmentas well as on abusesof its officials. If we judge by the questionsmost often raisedat lecturesand interviews at industrial enterprises,on collective farms, and in governmentinstitutions, there were a lot of doubtsaboutthe wisdom of supplyingother countrieswith food, somethingreally difficult to understandin view of the food supply crisis at home. This particular concern reached massive proportions in 1946-1947,the period of the greatestproblems in the domesticfood market. In words recordedin the cities of Sverdlovsk Province: "What on earth is our governmentdoing? It sendsgrain abroad,and it keepsus on a starvation diet. It is feeding all other stateswith our grain, and we ourselvesstarve." "Theseagreements of the Soviet governmentto supply Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, and other countrieswith grain are not right. We must first feed ourselves before we supply foreign countries." "We are angry about thesesupply agreements.We feed the bourgeoiswhile we ourselvesstarve."29 Such opinions were recordedalso in other cities.30 For similar reasons questionswere raised about the Soviet refusal to participate in the Marshall Plan.31 Information, however scanty, on life in the West only fed such reflections. People could not understandwhy a country suffering more than othersfrom the war should extendaid to countriesadmittedly also damagedby the war but not so seriously. The contrast betweenthe standardof living in Russiaand in the West, especially the contrastwith defeatedGermany, simply deepenedpublic pessimism. These musings, in the absenceof any credible explanation,

THE POLITICAL TEMPER OF THE MASSES, 1945-1948

83

often grew emotional and sometimesprovoked a feeling of flagrant injustice. Here was the origin of the unsatisfactoryresults of the war and resentmentagainstEnglish and American allies who, not without the assistanceof Soviet propaganda,becamethe chief malefactorsin poisoning the internationalclimate and therebyhelped to aggravate difficulties in the Soviet domestic market. At times doubts arose whether the war was carried to a victorious conclusion, and sometimes one could hear fanciful suggestions:"We did not do well, having taken Berlin, not to destroy our allies, too. We should have pushedthem into the English Channel.America would not now be rattling its weapons."32Such a simple solution to complex problems was fully in the spirit of the times, as was the attribution of Russian problems to the intrigues of "hostile encirclement."The regime's persistentapplication of propagandaeventually yielded results, directing populardiscontentinto the channelsthat it needed. The old myth of hostile encirclementwas reinforced by rumors of the inevitability of a new war. The people interpretedthe most various decisionsas preparationfor war, whether the increaseof ration prices ("before a war they always raise prices") or the abolition of the rationing system ("so the people will fight better"). This same point of view also explainedthe foreign policy initiatives of the Soviet government. Central Committee SecretaryA.A. Kuznetsov reported to Stalin that the convocationof communistparties in Poland in September1947was reportedto be occasionedby the imminent threatof a new world war.33 "The governmentsof England and America have always spokenagainstthe spreadof communism.Will the alliance of the communistparties then not lead to a new war?" "The Americans and the English understandvery well that this meeting of parties is caIIed on the initiative of the Soviet Central Committee.Can this not complicate relations between the USSR and America and hasten a third world war?"34 It was the experienceof the recentwar that promptedthe people's sensitivity to a new one. The threatof war would long be perceivedin the people'sview as the explanationof their economicproblems,and the saying 'Just don't let there be war" would serve as the ultimate justification of the deprivationsof the postwarperiod, for which there would otherwise have been no explanation.Once the world entered the Cold War, the explanationof all problemswas facilitated by reference to military factors. In 1946, for example, the Novosibirsk Province party committee reported to the Central Committee that "in a number of collective farms after Churchill's speechin Fulton [Mis-

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souri] people long expectedEnglish and American military moves against the USSR at any time."35 When prices were raised on food productssold on ration cards,peopleinterpretedit as evidenceof the preparationof a new war, though they sometimesconjecturedthat the war might have already begun. Such rumors were current not only in remoteregionsbut in Moscow as well. "I heard,"said a worker of one of the Moscow factories in 1946, "that the war is alreadygoing on in China and Greece, where America and England have intervened. Any day now they will attack the Soviet Union."36 During the Korean War panic attacks were recorded among the people of the Soviet Far East. Peopleimagined that the proximity of the war would certainly bring it acrossthe Soviet frontier. As a result the storeswere emptied of such goodsas matches,salt, soap, kerosene,and the like. The peoplewere putting in long-term "war reserves."37 Rumors of the prospectof a new war were not confined to the unsophisticatedmasses.A part of the intelligentsiawas also inclined to explain the domestic political eventsof 1946-1948by military factors. In particular the ideological change of direction proceeding under the rubric of the struggleagainstWesterninfluence was understood as the regrouping of forces prior to the beginning of a new confrontationof the world powers.38 War introducedits own system of values in Soviet society. Zdenek Mlynai', one of the leadersof the "PragueSpring," studiedat Moscow University in the 1940sand early 1950sand recalls one characteristic partiLular of Russian thinking about war. "The most fundamental conviction was that the Soviet Union had at the price of enormous sacrificesdecidedthe fate of mankind during the war, and it was thus entitled to the special respectof all nations. These people regarded any criticism as an insult to the memory of the dead. In this respect they were at one with the government,howevercritical they were of it in other questions."39 The aura of heroism surrounding the war did not immediately appear,as the euphoriaof victory in the war's aftermathquickly gave way to recognition of the magnitudeof the losses.The war remained in the minds of the people as the greatestof disasters.Under the influence of experiencethe people soon ceasedto believe in the fantasy of a better life after the war. People'smaterial ambitions necessarily grew ever less demanding,and the dreamsof wartime, that there would be abundanceand a happylife afterward,floated back to earth and deflated. The collection of blessingscomprising for most people the upperlimit of their dreamsbeganto diminish such that a

THE POLITICAL TEMPEROF THE MASSES, 1945-1948 85

stableincome allowing them to feed themselvesand their families, or assuredliving space, even a room in a communal apartment,soon seemeda gift of genuinegood fortune, The unconscioustransformation of such an outlook on happinesshad been describedby Sigmund Freud, Under the pressureof, , . suffering, men are accustomedto moderate their claims to happiness-justas the pleasureprinciple itself, indeed, under the influence of the externalworld, changedinto the more modest reality principle-, if a man thinks himself happy merely to have escapedunhappinessor to have survived his suffering, and if in general the task of avoiding suffering pushedthat of obtainingpleasureinto the background.4o

The perceptionof happinessas the absenceof unhappinesstook form amongpeople experiencingthe disastersof wartime, especially the attitude toward life and its problems. Here is the origin of the incantation "but for the war," and the willingness to forgive the government for all of its unpopular policies if only it fulfilled the people'swish to avoid a new war. This attitude of the peoplewas consciouslyutilized by the government and its propaganda.The recent allies were transformedinto enemieswhose aggressiveintentions obstructedsocial programsand thus weighed heavily on a people still suffering from the recentwar. At the sametime this explanationof the governmentcannotbe consideredexclusivelyas a propagandisttrick or an exampleof the clever manipulation of public opinion. The psychologyof hostile encirclement was part of the Soviet mentality, a characteristicfeature of the thinking not only of the people,but of the leaderas well. The circumstancesof the Cold War, which changedthe international climate and ruined people'shopesfor peacefulcooperationamong the wartime allies, worked actively to reinforce this psychology. The arms race was not fiction but reality. It had to be taken into account by modifying plans for postwar reconstruction.We must not forget the consequences of the psychicshockthat Stalin experiencedat the time of the Germanattack on the USSR. He could not afford to be unprepared again in the event of a new military conflict, even if we admit that the possibility of such a conflict existed only in his imagination. This factor explains why the Soviet leadershipgave such priority to defenseindustry in its postwar plans. The Soviet economywas to a significant degree militarized even after the war. According to the

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data of Nikolai Simonov, who studied the military-industrial complex of the USSR, in 1950 the expenditures of the Soviet military (including all police forces) accounted for 14.2 percent of the national income. If we add the budget for the ministries of aviation, defense, shipbuilding, and development of atomic weapons, then military expenditures absorbed up to a quarter of the national income. 41 After the war many military industries were shifted to peaceful civilian production. In the course of 1946-1950 the tempo of development of military-industrial production fell not only relative to the period of the war but by comparison with the prewar year 1940 as well.42 This turn toward consumer production was insufficient, however, to satisfY even the modest needs of the population. The increase of the budget for the development of a new defense complex in 1953-1955 only made matters worse. 43 The myth of hostile encirclement was supplemented by the myth of a fifth column inside the country, and suspicion turned on internal enemies. The illusion of simultaneous resistance to internal and external enemies served to unifY people and government, and this illusion, in spite of the accumulation of attitudes critical of the government, preempted the growth and focus of criticism such as to avoid bringing it into open conflict with the government. The prerequisite of survival in conditions of such rigid social control was an apolitical attitude or a ritualistic political activity. The government sought the participation of the population in different poli~ical campaigns, elections, discussion of party and government decisions (after they had been made), and the persecution of dissenters. All of these measures had to have the stamp of popular approval. In fact, political questions seriously interested only a small part of the population, while the remainder was concerned with simpler and more essential problems: where to get bread, how to clothe the children, where to find the money to pay taxes, and so on. The list of questions asked by audiences during discussions of routine party and government policies shows that many had nothing to do with the announced subject but turned again and again to the ordinary economic needs of life. A good example is from the summary reports of the questions most often asked during the elections to the supreme soviets of the national republics in January 194 7. Fourteen questions were related to the elections; thirty-four questions dealt with the problem of difficulties in the food supply and the situation in the consumers' market in general; and eighteen questions concerned the work of community services and the urban economy. 44

THE POLITICAL TEMPEROF THE MASSES, 1945-1948 87

Another peculiarity of the openly expressedpolitical interestsof the masseswas their increasedattentionto questionsof foreign policy by comparisonwith internal problems.Usually two-thirds of the questions in the resumespreparedfor the central authoritiesconcerned matters of international affairs, the situation in different countries, and foreign-policy initiatives of the Soviet leadership;and only onethird of the questionsdealt with the internal situation of the country. This might give the impressionthat Soviet citizens had little to worry aboutother than developmentsin Greeceor China or discussingthe aggressiveplans of the capitalist world and sympathizing with the national liberation movements. In fact, matters were a good deal more complicated.People'sinterestin problemsof internationallife was largely explainedby their need to be reassuredthat there would be no new war. Here was the reason for the special thrust of the questions:they were aimed at establishingthe reality of the aggressive intentions of other countries, the capacity of Soviet diplomacy to preserve the interestsof peace, and the stability of the Soviet bloc (which was viewed as a guarantorof peace). Another reasonfor the heightenedinterestin questionsof foreign policy was the impossibility of openly discussinginternal problems. Therewas always a circle of forbidden subjectsthat were dangerousto bring up. The famine in the country, for example,could not be mentioned, though the euphemism "provisioning problems" could be. The supreme authority could not be criticized (such criticism was regardedas anti-Sovietagitation). Even the questionof a "living wage" in the USSR was considereda provocation.The sameprohibition applied to questionsof a comparativenature: where, for example,was the standardofliving higher, in Russiaor in the United States? So what could people ask about? About matters of local significance: for example, when the deficit of bread supply in the cities would be eliminated, when public transport and the public bath would be restored, and when the rationing system would be abolished. Questionsof internal politics were admitted,but they had to be neutralin nature. It was as if relations between people and governmentwere regulated by a secret treaty, though it was from time to time broken, as evidencedby the appearanceof questionsconsideredhostile or maliciously provocative.

Chapter 9

"Something Must Be Done": The Intelligentsia and the Intellectual Mavericks

The political outlook of the public in the early postwaryearsreflected a broad spectrumof feelings, emotions,and expectations.Some people acceptedthe situation as it was. Others could not and criticized everythingfrom particular personalitiesto the systemas a whole. The former and the latter were alike in one respect:they lacked constructive ideas to turn their hopes and expectationsinto a program of concretedeeds.The function of generatingideasin this society traditionally devolved upon the supremepower, which, as it seemedto many, should proposea program to reform and reorganizethe country. Not everyone, however, shared the outlook of the modest little man whose role was to await orders from above. There were people ready to take the initiative to sharewith the governmenttheir ideas, reflections, and plans. Immediately after the war, the intelligentsia lived with the illusion of liberalization, occasionallyfinding hopeful signs of its coming. Only in the course of severalyears did it become apparentthat Stalin had no intention of changinghis political course. In 1946 a commission charged with preparing a draft of a new Soviet constitution finished its work. The draft in general fell well within the boundsof prewar political doctrine, yet it containedat the same time a numberof progressivefeatures, especiallyin respectto personalrights and liberties, and democraticprinciplesin public life. Though recognizingstatepropertyas the predominantform of property in the USSR, the constitutional project neverthelessadmitted a 88

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modestexpanseof private economy, peasantcommerceand handicrafts "limited to the individual's own labor and excluding hired labor."1 When the draft was distributed to the national republicsand the governmentcommissariatsfor comment, many responsessuggestedthe necessityof decentralizingthe economyand grantingsubstantial economicautonomyto the economiccommissariatsand the provinces. Some suggestedthe "liquidation of the special military courts and tribunals.2 Although the editorial commission rejected such proposalsas undesirable-ongrounds of superfluousdetailthe meresuggestionof them was symptomaticof public opinion. Similar ideas surfacedin the discussionof the new draft Program of the CommunistParty in 1947. These proposalsconcentratedon broadeninginternal party democracy,relieving the party of the functions of economicadministration,and rotating personnelin positions of responsibility. In view of the fact that neither the constitutional project nor the project for the new party programwas publishedand that the discussionof them was conductedin a rather carefully restricted circle of officials, the mere appearancein such select circles of ideas rather liberal for the time suggeststhe new outlook of elementsof the Soviet managerialclass. Admittedly, the officials advancing these views were new people who had risen to their postsbefore the war, during the war, or in the first year or two after it. The conditions of wartime demandeda special type of personnel,people of high professionalqualities capable of bold initiatives. Their knowledge, experience,and willingness to take risks made them capableof independentthought. Although the official documentsof the time do not exemplifY such characteristics, private correspondence and conversationsdo. What were the thoughts of these people positioned closer to the governmentthan their fellow countrymen,what did they shareamong themselves?What worried them especiallyin the first year after the war? On 28 December 1946, the technology of the Ministry of State Security recorded a conversation between two generals,Vasilii Gordov and Filipp Rybakhenko,in the apartmentof one of them. This was no ordinary dialogue; it was occasionfor a death sentence. Suchwas the price of candorin confidence. Rybalchenko:What a life, might as well lie down and die! Pray there'sno more harvestfailure. Gordov: What kind of harvest failure? The harvest can't fail if it's not planted.

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Rybalchenko:The winter crop failed, of course. Stalin travels by train, doesn'the look out the window? Peopleare dissatisfiedwith their life, they say so openly, in the trains, everywhere. Gordov: Ah! Everythingdependson bribery and bootlicking.... Rybalchenko:Yes, on bribery. You seewhat'sgoing on, incredible hunger, everybody is discontent.And as everybodyis saying, the newspapers are pure eyewash.The most essentialgoods are lacking. We've literally becomebeggars.I'm surprised,doesn'tStalin see how the people are living? Gordov: He seesit, he knows it all. Rybalchenko:Or is he so confused that he doesn'tknow how to get his headstraight. Gordov: What are you saying,Filipp? What'sto be done... ? Rybalchenko:... We must begin by writing him, bombarding the boss [khoziain] . Gordov: Write what? It's not allowed.... Rybalchenko:... It seemsto me that this situation cannot continue for long, there must be some kind of order. ... This policy will lead to somekind of .... On the collective farms they are consumingthe last drop of grain, leaving nothing for the next sowing. Gordov: How hasRussiagotten itself into this predicament? Rybalchenko:Becausewe have adopteda policy that makesnobody want to work. We have to admit straight out that all the collective farmers hate Stalin andwish for his death. Gordov: Is it true? Rybalchenko:They think that when Stalin is gone, the collective farms will go, too. Gordov: But the peoplesay nothing, they are afraid. Rybalchenko:They have no hope.They are completelyisolated. Gordov: There's no way we can realize the slogan "Proletariansof all countries,unite!" ... It has all cometo nothing. Rybalchenko:Right, nothing has turned out right. Gordov: But it would have if things had beendoneat the properpace.We should have had a real democracy. Rybalchenko:Exactly, a real, pure democracyin order to pursueour goals gradually. Now everything is ruined, all mixed up, land, livestock, people....3

The trial was not held until August 1950. Accusedof treasonto the Fatherlandand anti-Sovietactivity, GeneralsVasilii Gordov and Filipp Rybalchenkowere sentencedto be shot. They did not pleadguilty. Recognition of the critical situation into which the country had fallen, the demandfor action to changethe situation, doubts about the competenceof the government,including Stalin himself, to take the necessarymeasures-allof these factors led to a mentality of

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alarm that testedthe enduranceof former convictions, faith in their reliability. This is how the historian A.la. Gurevich recalls his perceptions of thoseyears. After the victory, we began to sober up. Fascism was overthrown, but our minds would not accommodatethe things going on in the country. The colossalgap betweenwords and deeds,betweenthe real nature of the system and its official packaging,gradually began to occur to me. Thereforewhen I hear from peoplewho were adults in thoseyears that only the revelationsof Stalin's crimes at the Twentieth Party Congress [February 1956] openedtheir eyes, I shrug my shoulders.Either these people are lying to themselvesand to others or they had chosen the position of the ostrich. It is understandablein the circumstancesbut does not flatter their memory, their intelligence, or the quality of their judgment. Some elements of society might have preserved their illusions, but thosewho did not want to be blind could not have avoided seeing long before 1956 that our society was not progressing.In those yearsit seemedobvious that we had taken a wrong turn.4

As for the opinion of the authoritieson possible reforms, there is no reasonto suppose,on the basis of documentscurrently available, that there were in Stalin's immediateentourageany seriousdisagreements on the principal issues of political strategy. At that time a tough struggle for power was proceedingin the upper echelonsof government,but the substanceof it was personalrivalry rather than political opinion. Thereforeany radical or even liberal ideasnot only met with no understandingbut were actively opposed.And such ideas existed. The most constructivenew ideas appearingin the first postwar yearshad to do with questionsof reformulatingeconomicpolicy. The Central Committeereceivedmore than one letter of interesting, sometimesinnovative thoughtson economicreform. Among theseis one documentof 1946, a manuscriptby S.D. Aleksander entitled "PostwarEconomicPolicy." The authorwas a bookkeeperin one of the factoriesof Moscow Provinceand did not belongto the party. In essence,he proposed(1) to transformthe stateenterprisesinto jointstock companiesowned by employeesand managedby a board elected by them; (2) to decentralizethe supply of raw materials; (3) to abolish the systemof mandatoryprocurementsof agricultural productsand to grant state and collective farms the right to sell their producefreely in the market; (4) to institute a systemof currencybackedby gold; and (5) to liquidate state control of internal trade and transfer its functions to 5 trade cooperativesandjoin t-stock companies.

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There were others who sharedAleksander'sthoughts. As one of the reports presentedin the Institute of Marxism-Leninism put it in February1946, "Our journals and researchinstitutes continue to receive manuscriptson the postwar developmentof the Soviet economy. They proposeto introducecompetitionamongour enterprises, to found joint-stock companies,to abolish the systemof stateprocurements immediately, to develop private trade governedby free prices, etc."6 These ideas may be viewed as the foundation of a new economic model constructedon the principlesof the marketand limited dissolution of the governmenteconomy,suggestionsextremely bold and progressivefor that time. Of course,they were not destinedto be implemented.They were either stamped "harmful" or simply consignedto the archives. The same fate was in store for all new ideas and proposals,whatever sphereof life they concerned,if theseideas infringed upon the chief postulatesof Stalinist doctrine, state property, centralizedcontrol, and intoleranceof private interests.In October 1948 the chairman of the Council of Collective Farms, A.A. Andreev, received an anonymousletter from a "group of leaders of collective farms of Kirov Province." The letter analyzed the miserable situation of the Russian village and concluded with a proposal of six measuresto bring the rural economyout of the crisis. (1) To diminish grain procurements,the milling tax, and the payment in kind for the work of the Machine-TractorStations in the northern regions of the country; (2) to raise the standardof living of collective farmers, leaving them enough grain to avoid famine; (3) to sell less grain abroad, to feed the Russian people sufficiently, to show more concernfor the patient and long-suffering people; (4) to diminish the tax burden on the people by cutting back the costly administrative apparatusof the country, which will also add billions to the resourcesof the state,and strengthenthe lower levels of governmentand collective farm organs by the addition of qualified personnel,at the same time removing the superfluous plenipotentiariesof oversight and surveillance; (5) to summon more workers to the village in order to strengthen the collective farms; (6) to strengthendemocracyin the country in deedsrather than in words alone, and periodically to take accountof the people'scondition in order to know their needs.7

Thesesuggestionsdo not look so radical as the ideasaboutreforming the economicmodel itself, and they representa soberaccounting of past practice,especiallyif we consider,for example,the episodeat

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the end of the 1920s when 25,000 workers were sent out to do the ugly job of collectivization. Still the postwar proposalswere representedas sufficiently seditious. It was no accident that policy in the villages was founded on precisely opposite principles, as subsequent experiencewas to show. The possibility of introducing progressive ideasdependedupon the degreeof their conflict with the prevailing economic and ideological doctrines. There was perhaps a slight chance for those that proceededby small, incremental steps. The freedom of maneuverhere was very limited, but that does not mean that it was entirely absent. The war openedthe door to the rules of commonsense,which was stimulatedby the need for practical decisions.Its impact in the biological sciencesis a good example.As is well known, after the defeat of the advocatesof Academician N.L Vavilov and the affirmation of the opinions of AcademicianT.D. Lysenko, the developmentof genetic researchin the country was broughtvirtually to a standstill. The situation began to change only toward the end of the war. As the archival researchof historian V.D. EsakovSshows, it was precisely at that time that the position of Lysenko grew somewhatless secure."It was not only a matter of his brother going over to the occupiersand remaining after the war in the West," writes Esakov, "nor that S.L Vavilov, the brother of N.I. Vavilov, rose to the leadershipof the SovietAcademyof Sciences.More significantwas the consolidationof internationalcooperationas a regular part of the military and political collaboration of the great powers in the ranks of the coalition againstHitler."9 Exploiting these conditions, one of the followers of Vavilov, AcademicianA.R. Zhebrak,tried immediatelyafter the war to restorethe discreditedtheses-and lost positions-ofsoundgenetics. It seemslikely that his efforts were met with understandingby the leadersof the party, becauseZhebrakwas appointedDirector of the Scientific Division of the Propaganda Administration. As for Lysenko, his mere visit to the Presidium of the Academy of Sciencesas new electionsapproachedwas consideredquestionable.An influential opposition to him was forming inside the Academy. For this reasonthe Director of the entire PropagandaAdministration, G.F. Aleksandrov, was forced to ask V.M. Molotov and G.M. Malenkov to instruct the membersof the Presidiumof the Academyto give Lysenko the majority of votesnecessaryto elect him.1° Lysenkowas reelected,but his power in the biological scienceshad lost its plenary scope.The Presidium of the Academy askedthe governmentin 1946 to organizea new Institute of Geneticsand Cytology

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alongside the Lysenko Institute, and N.P. Dubinin, a partisan of Vavilov, was elected as a correspondingmemberof the Academy.ll The general attitude of the geneticistsbegan to shift, and opinions critical of the work of Lysenko beganto surfacein the Central Committee and in the specializedjournals. The chief of the sciencedivision of the Central Committee,S.G. Suvorov,reportingon opinion in the scientific community,describedwhat many biologists thought. They are in fact deprived of the chanceto discussimportant questions of biology and to defend theoretical positions in scienceagainstwhich Lysenko writes. A monopoly of one opinion has been establishedin biology. The academicsobservethat this state of affairs has effectively establishedthe appearanceof official approval of the theoreticalviews of ComradeLysenko in biology. . . . I supposethat the discussionof disputed biological questionsin the specializedpress would be useful for the developmentof science.12

The mobilization of intellectual forces in the postwar period was observednot only in scientific circles. The idea of a dialogue, of a broaddiscussionof essentialproblems,broadly public as well as scientifically specialized,took hold in many good minds. That sector of intellectualsnot yet losing faith in the capacityof the governmentto realize long-awaitedreforms, and at the same time not belonging to the numberof those indebtedto the regime, was ready to be mobilized, but only on its own agenda.The relationsbetweenthis element of the intelligentsia and the governmentwere not based on Vera Dunham'sprinciple of the "Big Deal."13 The essentialfeature of this relationship consistedin somethingelse describedby the poet and veteranDavid Samoilov. We consideredpoetry a civic affair. Civic duty in our conviction consisted in serving political missions in whose usefulnesswe believed.... But we consideredthat in taking a civic mission on ourselves we were entitled to the honestyof the government.... We neededan explanationof its ideas and the wisdom of its decisions.We decidedly did not want to be witless executorsof whateverit was pleasedto do. We were ready to becomemediatorsbetweengovernmentand people: the eternaldreamof Russianidealists.14

David Samoilovand his like-thinking colleaguesdefined their position as open-mindedMarxism, and they saw their relations with the governmentas open-mindeddialogue. "I want to write for clever

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secretariesof provincial party committees,"as the poet Boris Slutskii said in a circle of friends.I5 Readinessto serve,but not to cringe, was a characteristicfeature of the postwar generationof intellectuals and one of the reasonsfor their subsequentdisappointmentand disillusionment. "The generation as a whole did not correctly assessthe prospectof the strugglefor the rights of man within the boundsof the Stalinist state,"as David Samoilovwrote. "Raisedin an environmentof a willful government,we overestimatedthe power of the individual, of the intellectual level and the good will of the people in power. We imagined able provincial party secretariesand honestleadersof government agenciesready to listen to the voice of social criticism."16 They recognizedtheir mistake, however, somewhatlater. Immediately after the war, many of them were the prisonersof their illusions. "As I recall, at the end of the war and immediately after it, in 1946," wrote Konstantin Simonov, "to a rather large circle of intelligentsiait seemed... that somethingshould move us to the side of liberalization ... of indulgence,of greatersimplicity and easeof socializing with the intelligentsia even of those countriestogetherwith which we fought against the common enemy.... There was in general an atmosphereof ideologicaloptimism."17 Many thoughtso at the time, even the most cautious.In November 1945 the senior editor of the journal Oktiabr' (October), F.1. Panferov,sent to the Central Committeea note outlining his views on the future principlesof editorial work and literary policy in general. ComradeStalin more than once said to us in interviews, "Literature is a delicate affair," "writers are not to be administered,""deal with writers cautiously," "understandthat the writer sometimesseesfarther than we politicians." Here is the working style of the journal Oktiabr'. ... In fact, we make mistakes, of course, but they do not come from malicious conceptions .... Who wanted the fascists to attack our country and advance to Stalingrad? The explanation of some people that it was planned, that it was simply to wear out the enemy, is naive. And if a writer were to write of the FatherlandWar and dismiss the retreatof the Red Army, beginningonly with the victorious counterattack,he cannot exhibit all of the heroism of our country. We do not net;d a saccharine, comforting literature. We are a nation of greatand beautiful truths and are accustomedto looking everything straight in the eye.... We must plan in the journal Oktiabr' a forum on "The Writer and Criticism" in order to discussall the acute questionsof literature, giving writers and critics the chanceto expressthemselvesin full voice, not to whip writers and critics might and main if they make a mistake. We must assistthe

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creativework of the writer and poet and not thrust our judgmentsupon them. We must grant the writer and poet great independenceand let them answerbefore the party and the peoplefor their work."18

The writers reflected on their problems,trying to resolve the eternal question of the truth of life and the truth of art, thoughts that would find an outlet in the literary discussionof 1948. At the same time the film directors sought new trends in cultural life after the war. The well-known Soviet director I.P. Pyriev describedtheir outlook at a meetingof the Central Committeein April 1946. In the 1920s and 1930s we shot many scenesof Soviet people. We understoodthe substanceof thesepeople, their internal world ... and now, shooting scenesor looking at scenesof these comrades,it seems that our people of the years 1945-1946are mentally older in many respectsthan the people of the 1930s. It turns out ... that we somewhere lost the spirit of the new Soviet man, and we all find ourselvesin the 1930s.19

The thought on the mental maturity of the man who had been through the experienceof the war deservesspecial attention, as it containsthe key to the puzzle of many postwar problems.The appetite for reform that seized the country after the war nourished an entirely natural impulse: the society, outgrowing its old traditions, demandednew forms of the organization of its life. Here was the aspirationto emancipationof thought, spirit, and deed.Though ever so timid at this point, who knows how it might have developedif thesefirst impulseshad not beenextinguished? There were some genuine breakthroughs-forexample, in the theory of socialism, the holy of holies of the world of ideology. In 1947, E.N. Burdzhalov gave a course of lecturesat the Higher Party School devoted to the problemsof easternEuropeancountries, the so-calledpeople'sdemocracies. Marxism is not a dogma but a guide to action. It is easy to study the texts, much more difficult to take accountof contemporarylife .... The general lawfulness of historical developmentdiscoveredby Lenin and Stalin is fully confirmed by life itself. But the specific situation during and after the SecondWorld War was much more complex and peculiar than could have been foreseen.... In severalcountriesthe questionof

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socialismwas alreadyposedas the order of the day, but posedhow? Not exactly as it was posed in our country.... The paths of transition to socialism were for several countries quite different from our path: the dictatorshipof the proletariatis not unavoidable.20

A trifle later this last thesis would be evaluatedas "subversion of Leninism,"21 not to speak of Burdzhalov'spositive referencesto the experiencesof Tito and Kardelj in Yugoslavia,which were denounced by vigilant auditors of the class. The ideological sphereremainedas formerly quite conservative,reactingmorbidly to even the most timid attackson its principal postulates. The dialogue of the intelligentsiawith the governmentnever materialized. The governmentdid not come forth immediately after the war with a program that might have served to confirm the expectations of the people after their victory. In spite of that, peoplecontinued to hope for the best. Expectant anticipation became the dominantelementin the atmosphereof the postwaryears. The prospect for reform at this stage consistedmore of anticipation and an accumulationof relatively uninsistentdemandsthan of ideas ready for implementation.These ideas circulated in postwar society, but they lackedmassivesupport.As for the critical opinionsof the masses, they usually reflected discontentwith particular practical featuresof life and did not amountto a systematicprogram. What the massesand the intellectual maverickssharedwas dependence on the policy of the authorities. They looked to the supreme power, and above all to Stalin himself, to initiate the expectedreforms. Stalin had no plans to retreat,however-atleast on the principal issues-fromhis prewar political doctrine. If any changesin the previouspolitical coursewere permittedby the government,they had to fall well within the parametersof the traditional political, ideological, and economicsystem.Relying on the trust of the people and the priority of restoringcivilian authority, the governmentpostponeddecisions that would have laid the foundationsfor the future modernization of the country. Insteadof a policy of renovationof society, the governmentoffered the people the idea of temporaryhardshipsand an assessment of the situationjustified now by the complexity of the reconstructionof the country after colossal destruction,now by the intrigues of hostile encirclement.This course of policy succeeded. The people, notwithstandingthe expressionof sharp criticism, were

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compelledto consent,to wait patiently, to acceptthe real difficulties of the postwar situation. Thus a coincidenceof interestsdeveloped: the government'sunwillingness to engagein bold reforms and the people's willingness to temporize. And so a social consensuswas reached.But it could not be long-lasting,becausethe very conception of temporarydifficulties presupposedtheir eventual end. Sooneror later a critical momentwould arrive when the idea of the temporary no longer seemedplausible. In fact, this moment occurred in the winter of 1947-1948.

1.

3.

3.

1-3. On 9 May 1945 Soviet radio broadcast news of the capitulation of Germany. Thereafter 9 May, known as Victory Day, would be a major national holiday. At that time it seemed that the worst was over. The photos are of Red Square and the streets of Moscow as the news of the end of the war was announced.

4. The first demobilized veterans began to reiurn home in June 1945. They were to be known as the Generation of Victors.

5. As the roar of the victory salutes died away, the scope of the destruction and the magnitude of the losses became clear.

6. People returned to places of residence from which they had been driven by the war.

7.

8. 7-8. Rationing was abolished in the Soviet Union in 1947. More goods appeared in the stores. The majority of people could not, however, afford many of the products. Only the fortunate could buy meat, sweets, and sausages. The photos show the chief food stores in Moscow after the abolition of rationing.

9. The most essential products were much in demand, for example, valenki (felt boots) for children.

10. There were annual price cuts on retail items between 1947 and 1954a policy that enjoyed great popularity among the people. The photo shows GUM, the largest department store in the country, on the day of such a price cut. The banner reads: "The price of bath soap will be lowered on 1 April 1954."

11. The life of people gradually returned to normal. In the photo: An urban family at dinner (early 1950s).

12. The first TVs appeared in Russian homes in 1949. Thereafter an evening of TV became a favorite form of relaxation , attracting not only members of the family but neighbors as well. The majority of families in those years lived in communal apartments, several families sharing a common kitchen.

13. The problem of housing remained acute throughout the postwar years. Moving into a new apartment was a festive occasion.

14. If TV long remained an inaccessible luxury, no one was denied the old favorite treat of ice cream. It was always popular, even in winter.

15.

16.

17. 15-17. In Soviet times all citizens without exception were expected to participate in political life. After work, people attended so-called Marxist-Leninist study groups, where they studied the latest decisions of the party as well as the works of Marx, Lenin, and Stalin (no. 15). Prior to elections propagandists advised the electorate how to vote, although there was only one candidate to vote for (no. 16). Dl,.;ring the war and in the postwar years state loans were commonly floated among the people. Such loans were subscribed at the workplace (no. 17).

18. The popularity of Stalin reached its height in the postwar years. He was known as the "father of the country," the "leader and teacher," the "best friend of children," etc. In the photo: Participants in a physical culture parade in Moscow (1946). The banner reads: "To the best friend of the sportsman, the Great Leader of the people, Comrade Stalin, a hearty greeting!"

19.

20. 19-20. Stalin died on 5 March 1953. Millions of citizens felt his death as a personal loss. In order to pay their last respects to him, people stood for hours in line in the Hall of Columns of the House of Soviets, where his body lay in state. In the photo: People at the entrance and inside the Hall of Columns.

21 . The death of Stalin opened a new chapter in the life of the country. It initiated the period known to contemporaries as the thaw. One of the first signs of change was the opening of the Kremlin for public visits in 1954. In the photo: One of the first excursions through the Kremlin .

22. It was not only life inside the country that became more open. The Soviet Union opened up to the world outside as well. A real international holiday was the World Festival of Youth and Students in Moscow in July 1957. The authorities were still afraid of the influence of the West on Soviet youth. In order to keep contacts to a minimum, it was decided to transport the foreign guests on tall trucks. But these barriers did not work. In the photo: Muscovites greet the foreign guests.

23. The experience of the war reawakened in the people a religious sensitivity. After the war, notwithstanding a new persecution of the church, religious practice persisted. In the photo: Believers before an icon of one of the Moscow cathedrals (1957).

24.

24-25. By 1957 the war was simply history for children who had grown up afterward.

25.

26. The generation of 1957. In thirty years they would live in a new Russia.

PART

III

REPRESSION

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Chapter 10

"The Situation Doesn'tChange": The Crisis ofPostwarExpectations

The war was in no hurry to retreatinto the past.Although the victory saluteswere long since silent and the Soviet Information Bureau no longer brought news of the course of combat, remindersof the war were everywhere.There were belated burials, ration cards, villages without men, cities in ruin, military garmentsin place of civilian dress-allthis a year and more after the end of the war. The majority of peoplewho lived through this period clearly think of the war and the postwaryearswithout any distinction. And the basisof this lack of distinction was emotional, the extraordinarystressof life, the initial wish to win the victory at all costs and then to return to normal peacetimelife. The great aim uniting millions of people and the principle of victory at any price as the meansof achieving that aim createda special spirit in postwar society, formed a kind of spiritual bond amongcontemporaries. At the sametime the very principle of sacrifice becamesomething like a psychologicalinstrumentof motivation, strong enoughon the one hand to bring millions to the commitmentto victory but limited by the fact that it could not be exploited indefinitely. In order to activate this principle, it was necessaryto have, at a minimum, an extreme situation and a limited period of time for its application. Otherwise, as fatigue accumulated,the sensationof extreme stress and extraordinarycommitmentreceded. The extremeconditionsof the first postwaryearswere occasioned principally by the task of rapid restorationof the country. The aspiration of people to enteras quickly as possibleinto a normal life in this 101

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casecoincidedwith the programof the government,which proposed a very urgent tempo of reconstruction.Thus even at the level of the everyday outlook there was no open expressionof protest, notwithstandingmany critical remarks.In spite of their complaints,the people regarded the material deprivations of the time as temporarily unavoidable("temporaryproblems"),as the legacyof the war. The situation began to changein 1947 or 1948. Public consciousnessbegangradually to focus on the boundarybetweenwartime and peacetime,a focus that by itself constituteda demandfor reforms, an alterationof the previousoutlook. The principle of sacrifice gradually lost its role of justification. And a new attitude-"we can no longer tolerate this situation"-beganto form around one simple fact: "the war is over, we have shoulderedthe burdensof the war, and now we know without a doubt: it is time for peacefulconstruction."} The confidenceof people that the period of peacefulconstruction had already begun testified to their exhaustionwith the idea of stress and sacrifice. This attitude marked the psychologicalfrontier of the end of the war, promptedby both real and symbolic factors. By 1948 the industrial production of the prewar period was fundamentally restored.About the same time the demobilization of the army was completed. A short time earlier, in December1947, the rationing system,that quintessentialsymbol of wartime, was abolished.Against the backgroundof these quite promising developments,which contemporariesperceivedas evidenceof the end of the period of transition, the life of the majority of the people, having remained essentiallylike the life of wartime, formed a striking contrast. The memory of the great famine of 1946-1947was still vivid in 1948. The famine conditions had not been overcome,as the bread supply problemsof various regionsof the country demonstrated.The problem of housingremainedacute,especiallyin the areasoccupied during the war and thus subjectedto more war damage.Two years after the war, for example, more than 800 families in Velikie Luki lived in dugouts,and in Novgorod 9,000 of the population of 29,000 were shelteredin temporary barracks,basements,or dugouts.2 The problem of living space was addressedextremely slowly. By way of illustration we may considerthe figures of 1956, elevenyearsafter the war. A specialsurveyundertakenin 85 cities, 13 workers' settlements, and 144 rural areassubjectedto occupation or combat during the war (Briansk, Velikie Luki, Kalinin, Kaluga, Novgorod, Orlov, Pskov, etc.) establishedthat 1,844 families continued to live in dugouts or makeshift structures,1,440 of them in rural areas, 1,512 lived in the

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ruins of buildings, 3,130 families in crude and dark basements,and 32,555 families in other places unfit for human habitation (barns, bathhouses,kitchens,attics, railroad cars, etc.).3 In 1947 the Central Committee undertook a review of the coal mines of Kemerovo, Stalino, Karaganda,Tula, Rostov, and Cheliabinsk provinces.It found that working conditionsin the Kuzbassand the Donbass [Kuznetsk and Don River Basins] remainedmuch like those of wartime. The signs of the war were evident in the composition of mining personnelas well. The experiencedminers composed between 20 and 25 percent of the whole number. The others had gone to work during or after the war.4 In spite of special decreesof 1940 and 1941 punishingworkers for absenteeismand tardiness,the number of infractions increased. In 1947, 29,000 miners left the minesin KemerovoProvince.5 The housingsituation was extremelydifficult for the miners of the Kuzbass. In the Stalin Mine, for example, more than 350 workers continued to live in dugouts two years after the war. In the Kirov Mine ten to twelve families lived in dugoutsof 40 squaremeters (that is, therewas 1 squaremeterper occupant).6 The iron industries struggled with similar conditions. In eleven monthsof 1947, while they hired 163,000new workers, 155,000workers quit, 30 percentof them without authorization.7 Labor turnover, abandonmentof work, grew from isolated examplesinto a massive tendency.Not all of the so-calleddesertersleft the workplacebecause of bad labor and living conditions.Among them were many evacuees from wartime combatzoneswho now wanted to return home. Laws attemptingto limit this natural right could only provoke discontent. "During the war they kept us on a leash, we had no right to leave a job," as one of them said. "Now it's time to give us freedom to work whereverwe want."8 Abandonmentof the workplace turned into a singular form of protest on the part of people who refused to accept the material normsof wartime as they enteredthe promiseof peacetime.To make mattersworse, administrativepersonneloften continuedto resort to the forceful and summarypracticesof wartime. As the minister of the coal industry for the western regions of the country, AF. Zasadko, informed Central Committee SecretaryAA Kuznetsov, "A close acquaintancewith the problem of living conditions of workers and engineers shows perfectly clearly that it is not consideredby the economic,party, and trade-unionorganizationsa high-priority question."g He further explained that "during the war years the leaders

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[of these organizations] grew accustomedto dealing with such contingenciesas prisonersof war, repatriates,internees,victims of enemy encirclement,convicts, and recruits, and notwithstandingthe great changesin the composition of the work force now that such special contingenciesare past, they continue to deal with the workers as they dealtwith peopleundermilitary escort."lO A seriousirritant to workers was the wartime law forbidding them to changejobs without authorization.A law of 26 July 1940 beganto limit this freedom in certain industries, stipulating prison sentences of two to four monthsfor violations, and a law of 26 December1941 extendedthis provision to a whole seriesof industries, including all enterprisesin Moscow and Leningrad,and increasedpunishmentsto five to eight years.By an order of the Council of Ministers of 7 March 1947, the applicationof the law of 26 December1941 was suspended. Nevertheless,in 1948, 24,600 persons were sentencedfor leaving work without permissionunder the law of 1941, and the numberof personssentencedunder the law of 1940 grew from 215,700in 1947 to 250,000 in 1948.11 Martial law was prolonged until May 1948 in railroad and water transport,where special legal organshadjurisdiction. The maintenanceof these featuresof the wartime regime was not always justified in conditions of the transition to peace, and it becameone of the chief grievancesof the people. Bya decreeof 31 May 1948 the Presidiumof the SupremeSoviet abrogatedthe law of 26 December1941, but legislation stipulatinglegal liability for leaving a job without authorization,for absenteeism,and for tardinesscontinued in force until 1956.12 In the villages conventionalSoviet measureswere maintained,both 13 economic and noneconomic.The peasantslived without passports. In 1948, the agricultural tax was raised.At the same time the government begana campaignto expel from the collective farms thosewho, in the opinion of the authorities, did not participate sufficiently in collective labor. The price that the governmentpaid for the procurements that the farms were compelledto surrenderdid not even equal the cost of their production. In order to diminish the burdenof taxation, the peasantscut down their orchards,gave up their own livestock, and curtailed the size of their private garden plots. These measures,of course, further underminedthe already miserablestandard of living of rural families. The income of the collective farms often did not suffice to pay the individuals' workdays. In 1950, 22.4 percent of the collective farms distributed no income for peasant workdays,and more than 20 percentgaveout lessthan half a kilogram

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of grain per workday.14 The peasantshad more groundsfor discontent with the governmentthan any other group of the population. The villages, unlike the cities, had little respectfor the higher authorities, including Stalin. The memoryof collectivization, the exile of the kulaks, and postwargrievanceswere alive and well in the villages. Also uncertain at that time was the political loyalty of the veterans, who, in spite of the prevalenceof pro-Stalinsentiment,had good reason to be dissatisfiedwith their circumstances.At the end of the period of reconstructionthe former soldiers had the right to demandfrom the governmenta certain compensationfor the victory in the satisfactionof their hopesand wishesfor a life worthy of victors. Eight million demobilized soldiers were an influential social force whose potential politicization might representan eventualthreatto the regime. A special problem was the prisoners of war, many of whom returned home without finding the reception on which they rightly counted.Suspicion becamethe lot of all who had found themselves in occupiedterritory, were deportedto Germany,or were taken prisoner. Communistswho had been in occupiedterritory for whatever reason,for example,had practically no chanceafter the war to hold on to their membershipin the party. In the first two years after the war 60,000 communists were expelled from the party on this ground.I5 Thus their social statuswas incomparablylower than that of their fellow citizenswho escapedthis sadfate. The suspiciousattitude of the authorities to anyone who crossed the bordersof the USSRwas aggravatedin the caseof peoplewho for any period of time whatever were beyond the reach of the Soviet ideological machine.This misfortune applied not only to Soviet citizens falling into captivity or coming under occupation but those shippedout of the country as Ostarbeiter,forced laborersin Germany. The majority of them were repatriatedafter the war. At the beginning of 1946, 5.2 million Soviet citizens had returnedfrom Germanyand other countries, 1.8 million prisoners of war and 3.4 million civilians.16 In spite of the assuranceof the authorities that "most Soviet people finding themselvesin German slavery remainedloyal to the SovietFatherland,"17 the attitude toward repatriates,especiallyon the part of the local authorities,was distinctly negative and consistently suspicious.As one local official describedhis method of receiving repatriates,'We are not allowing them to conductcounterrevolution, we are going to mobilize them and send them off to float timber down the rivers [i.e., in Siberia]."18 Despite the government'sassuranceof a benign attitude toward

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repatriates,a drive to isolate them undoubtedlytook place. The chief reasonfor distrustingpeoplereturningfrom abroadwas evidently the fear of the governmentthat Soviet citizens who had experiencedthe West might becomea source of uncensored,uncontrolled information on life beyond Soviet borders.And yet it was impossible to deprive Soviet people entirely of accessto that kind of information. It would have been necessaryto isolate not only the repatriatesbut the whole of the demobilizedarmy. Casesof collaborationduring the war took place, of course,but in accusing all prisoners of war or residents of occupied territory of potential collaboration,the authoritiesclearly over-reacted.Mter the war all of thesepeoplebore the invisible stigmaof inferior citizens.In questionnairesobligatoryfor taking ajob or enteringan institution of higher education,a special questionwas posedabout POW statusor residencein occupiedterritory. A personansweringthe question affirmatively had practically no chanceto study in higher educationor develop a decent professional career. There were exceptions, of course,but they were few enoughto prove the rule. Among the variousgroupsof citizenssubstantiallydisadvantagedpartly or wholly disfranchised-werethose peoplesdeportedduring the war from the North Caucasus,the Volga, Crimea, Ukraine, and other regions of the USSR. More than a million Volga Germans, 575,000 people from the North Caucasus(Chechens,Ingush, Karachais,Balkars), 91,000 Kalmyks, 183,000Crimean Tatars, 94,000 Meskhetian Turks, Kurds, and Khemshils had been deported to exile.19 Suspected,like other people regardedby the governmentas "ill-disposed," of collaborating with the enemy, these people were forced to begin a new life in a completely different, unfamiliar climatic and cultural environment.The difficulties of economicreorganization were aggravatedby psychologicalproblems, the absenceof any hope. As a result of the high death rate and accompanyinglow birth rate among the resettledpeoples,severalof them were threatenedwith extinction. Thus, accordingto the figures of 1946, among the Kalmyks living at the time in Novosibirsk Province,the deathrate exceededthe birth rate by three times (for purposesof comparison, the contemporaryfigures for Russiansin the sameareawere exactly reversed,the birth rate exceedingthe deathrate by three times).20 Hopesof possiblerehabilitationand restorationof political autonomy rose amongthe deportedpeoplesafter the war. The authorities, without intending to, sometimesinadvertentlyactivated these hopes of returning home. For example, the decision to abolish the

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Chechen-IngushAutonomous Republic and to reorganize the Crimean AutonomousRepublic was interpretedby the exiled peoples not included in these plans-theKarachais,Kalmyks, and others-as oblique evidenceof the government'sintention to reestablishtheir autonomy.21They soon had to part with this illusion, however,as the governmenttook no such steps either immediately after the war or later. This situation soon contributed to the accumulationof great bitterness:"The evil that the Soviet governmenthas done to us, that we bearthe notoriousnameof 'speciallyresettledpeople,'we will not forget in the seventhgeneration."22 Thus postwar policy set off conflicts that would requireyearsand even decadesto resolve. On the lowest rungs of the social ladder stood those in the camps and coloniesof the GULAG. Estimatesof this population rangefrom one or two million to tens of millions of people; but even the most modesttotal, calculatedon the basisof documentsof the Ministry of Internal Affairs, finds 1.7 million prisoners in 1947, 54 percent of whom were condemnedfor so-calledcounter-revolutionaryactivity.23 The repatriates,the exiled, the prisoners (above all, political prisoners), independentlyof particular motives, could all easily be groupedin the categoryof peopleaggrievedby the regime, unhappy with their situation and driven by dissatisfactionto changetheir fate. Given the instability and the humiliation of their social status,a favorable opportunity-anysufficiently serious crisis-could provide this force the necessaryvolatility and capacityfor active opposition. Thus, at all levels of social life in 1947-1948it is possibleto uncover variousstrataand social categorieshaving claims of one kind or another on the developingorder of the authorities.Conceptionsof the monolithic unity of the societyand its absolutededicationto the leader, true in generalat the momentof victory in 1945, turned ever more surely as time passedinto an illusion. The chasmbetweengovernmentand people was too great to hopefor the harmonyof their interestswhile maintaining the statusquo. In the galloping alienationof the higher and the lower orders the single link uniting them, combining this political conglomerateinto an apparentwhole, was Stalin himself. But he evidently overestimatedthe strength of his position and his capacity to focus in himself the will and the aspirationsof this society. Not all of his fellow citizens hastenedto demonstratetheir loyalty. Stalin knew it, but he did not know how many of them there were and how dangerous,even to himself personally, this incipient opposition was becoming. It did not come to openprotest,but the fermentof mindswas real, as the resumes of the attitudesof different social groupsconfirmed.

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Events beyond the border challenged the preservation of social calm as well. As the Cold War began, Stalin lost the position of first statesmanof the world, a position that he felt he e~oyed e~oyedat the time of victory. He retained primacy only in EasternEurope, where the peoples, or rather the governments,had alreadybegun to structure their life after the pattern and image of the Soviet elder brother. These countries were concernedessentially to unifY their internal regimes accordingto the Soviet exampleas defined by the first meetingof the CommunistInformation Bureauin 1947. Not all of the EasternEuropeanleaders,however,conformedto such a subordinateposition and such strongpressurefrom the Soviet Union. Milovan Djilas recalls: No one anywhere wrote about it, but I rememberfrom confidential conversationsthat in the countriesof EasternEurope-in Poland, Romania, Hungary-therewas a tendencytoward independentdevelopment. I will give an example. In 1946 I was at the Czechoslovakparty congressin Prague. [Kliment] Gottwald [leader of the Czechoslovak party] said that the cultural levels of Czechoslovakiaand the Soviet Union were different. He emphasizedthat Czechoslovakiawas an industrially developedcountry and that socialism there would develop otherwise than in the Soviet Union. . . . Gottwald spoke against collectivization in Czechoslovakia.His views did not in essencediffer from ours [Yugoslav]. But Gottwald did not have sufficient characterfor a strugglewith Stalin. Tito, on the other hand,was strongenough.24

The culmination of the disagreementsbetweenthe USSR and the countriesof EasternEurope occurredat the Soviet-Yugoslavmeeting in Moscow in February 1948, after which the break between Stalin and Tito ensued.This was a greatdefeatfor Stalin. Such a confluenceof events could not fail to be reflected in the internal life of the country. Admitting oppositionin the international arena, Stalin could not now admit even the embryo of it around himselfat home.

Chapter 11

The Birth of the Anti-Stalinist Youth Movement

The year 1948 is often comparedwith the purgeyears of the 1930stwo wavesof repressionthat rolled over society, leaving in their wake painful memories. The comparison is prompted not only by the tragic similarity of these events. It is also simpler and deeper.The latter year is both the continuation and an admission of the inadequacy of the former. The elementsof continuity are plain enough: the same methods,the same grand dragnet, the same hopelessness for thosefalling into the net, the uncertaintyand fear of thosenot yet sharingthe fate of the enemiesof the people. Yet in spite of the massive nature of the purgesof the 1930s and the relentlesswork of the machine of intimidation thereafter, 1937 did not avert 1948. It is sometimessuggestedthat the terror of 19481952 was an artificial phenomenon,that there were in the Soviet Union after the war no forces of opposition sufficiently serious to threaten the government. In fact there were not. Did Stalin then strike out at phantoms?Hardly. The campaignof 1948 was intended chiefly to intimidate, but the very fact that the authoritiesused such severe preventive measuressuggeststhat the struggle was directed againsta real rather than a phantomphenomenon. The first shootsof political dissentsproutedwhere the regime least expectedit, amongthe youth, whom, it would seem,the dark secrets of life scarcelytouched.As AlexanderSolzhenitsynobserved,"Along those very strips of asphalt over which the Black Marias scurried at night this tribe of youth marchedin the daytime with bannersand flowers, singing their irrepressiblesongs."l 109

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In kindergarten,they had sung "Thanks to ComradeStalin for our happy childhood." Later in school, in the factory, and in higher education all of their training and experienceworked to reinforce the feeling of gratitude to Stalin and the party that they had masteredin earliestchildhood. The fact that some few of them rather than singing irrepressiblesongs suddenlyturned up in the Black Marias may seem nonsense,a misunderstanding,an absolute exception to the generalrule. The absence,however, of a massivescale of opposition doesnot mean that protestitself was not present.In any event, in the persecutionsof 1948-1952 the so-called youth groups were by no meansinsignificant. The behavior of the younger generationbegan to alarm the authorities almost as soon as the war ended.By today's standardsthere was nothing criminal in the thoughtsor conductof the youth of the time. Nevertheless,somethingaboutthem put the governmentelders on guard. In 1946, 163 graduatesof the schoolsof Cheliabinskwere given a questionnaireto determinetheir interests,their future plans, their sentimentswhile in schooPThe results were remarkably conventional. Half the respondentsspent their leisure time reading, a third were active in sports, and only a small numberwere interested in music or painting. Their favorite authorswere Gorkii and Tolstoi, then, in order of preference,Pushkin, Lermontov, Sholokhov, Maiakovskii, Fadeev, Ostrovskii. No one named Zoshchenko, Akhmatova, Esenin, or other authorsdisgracedby the Soviet government, not to speak of foreign authors. Neither was there anything unexpectedabout their favorite fictional heroes: Pavel Korchagin, Andrei Bolkonskii, TatianaLarina, PavelVlasov, NatashaRostova [for identification, see note below-H.R.]. Severalstudents,it is true, preferred heroeswho, from the viewpoint of Soviet pedagogy,were not exemplary choices-PlatonKarataev, Ostap Bender, Nekhliudov, Pechorin.3 What bothered the teacherswas something else: the untutored interests of the students. Chief among these were what was then termed"personalinterests,"the most conspicuousof which were love and friendship (the samefindings occurredamonga group ofuniversity students).It was feared that such interestsmight divert the youth from the ideals of socialism into a world "of philistine illusions."4 Yet the more this world was forbidden, the more predictablyattractive it grew, unlike the dull routine of school life where everyonewas above all a memberof the collective. No more than their peerselsewhere did this young generationacceptpersonalvalues by paper-doll pat-

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teming, not to speak of paradigmsimposed on them. They made their own self-images. In the girls' secondaryschool in Cheliabinsk the studentsof the upperclassesformed an unofficial circle called the "Italian Republic." Here they talked about what was not conventionally discussedin school-thebasic personal problems that invariably bother fifteenand sixteen-year-oldgirls. Asked what attractedher to the circle, one student responded:"It was the fact that we didn't discuss politics, which didn't appeal to us. We rarely read the newspapers . . . . We enjoy playing at being a republic. This was so much fun that we didn't want to leave school."5 This was a mere game,but in the languageof adultsit was "an attemptto found an organization." Not unexpectedly,the Komsomol (Communist Youth League) looked upon the rise of this kind of organizationwith great disfavor. Mter the war there was a decline in the growth of the Komsomol in educationalinstitutions. In Cheliabinskin 1940, for example,65 percent of studentsin higher educationbelongedto the Komsomol; in 1946,42percent.On the one hand, the contractionof the Komsomol was explained by limited enrollmentsduring the war and older student bodies afterward. But there was anothercause:in a numberof educationalinstitutions the older studentsrefused to enroll in the Komsomol on the groundsthat it was "boring and uninteresting."6 The cohort of youth in the army, the most highly disciplined element of the age group, displayed a similar retreat from good Komsomol standards.Mter demobilization, two-thirds of army personnel (statisticsof 1946) were of Komsomol age (typically, ages1427). As a letter of the Chief Political Directorate (security police) informed Central CommitteeSecretaryA.A. Zhdanov,the numberof violations of discipline admitted by Komsomol members had increased,as had the number of Komsomol memberscondemnedby military tribunals.7 All of thesefacts suggestthat the youngergeneration,to whom the role of support of the regime was entrusted-thefirst generation educatedfrom beginning to end under the aegis of the Stalinist system-was becoming ever more difficult to manage.This does not mean that they were oppositional. Questionnairesshow that one of the major goals in life for the majority of the youth was still to serve the Fatherland,to work honestlyfor the well-being of the country.8 In the system of values imbibed by the younger generationsince childhood, Stalin, Party, and Country still composeda single indivisible triad. The experienceof the war had intervened,however, and not-

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withstanding all the subsequentideological efforts, it had assigned top priority to the sentimentof patriotism. When the virus of doubt was born in the minds of the young, it was this feeling of patriotism as the highestvalue that, if it did not nudge them into the ranks of the opposition,preemptedin any casethe developmentof pure cynicism. The end of the war marked symbolically a changeof generations. In the seventeen-year-olds of 1945, we confront a unique generation, unique in the potential to pursueits plans, a generationdistinct from its predecessors, not knowing the fear of 1937, and in this respectfree of the collective responsibilityfor the past. Yet neitherwould it share the disappointingshortfall of the hopesof the next generation.This generationtook its pedigreefrom the high moral purity of the war years. Though it had not gone to the front, it was related to the veteransas the next link in the chain of generations.Only four years separatedthe seventeen-year-olds from the veteransof 1945; but between them lay the war, and the war aged the prewar generation overnight. Having gone to the front, theseboys returnedhomewiser, having seenand learneda lot. The critical capacityof the generation of victors remainedfor a whole seriesof reasonsentirely unrealized, but it fed the thoughtsand the deedsof the postwargeneration.By comparison with its predecessors,the new generation had experiencedfewer disappointmentsand harboredmore illusions and more hopes.And in the eyesof theseyouths, those who could and wanted to think, the Stalinist system did not have a halo of sanctity or the unchallengedpresumptionof exclusive reasonableness. The generation whose childhoodwas spentin the tough yearsof the war had, by comparisonwith its contemporariesgrowing up in peacetime,some kind of specialreserveof inner independence. It also had the needto expressthis independence outwardly. Theseyouths beganmodestlyenoughwith a kind of extracurricular study in secondaryschool and in higher education.The conventional textbooks did not satisfy them, and so they read the appropriatemonographson their own. The recommendedliterature did not suit them, and so they turned to other writers and poets, not forbidden ones but those belongingin official Soviet literary studies to the second rank. Such were the innocent origins of the youth movement. Political motives were utterly absent at this stage. The youth simply gatheredin circles of friends for independentstudy of literature, philosophy, and history. The effort to avoid the cliches of school and university and the concomitantapprovedvaluesandjudgments grew out of the appetite to think for oneself. The natural

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processof learning advancedfrom questionsof literature and philosophy to problems of contemporarypolitics. In the beginning it all developedin legal fashion. Only after the first prohibitions were imposeddid a systemof conspiracybegin to form. In Cheliabinsk PedagogicalInstitute the studentsorganizedtheir own literary almanac, Student.The idea alarmed the school administration, and the almanac was forbidden. Several students (O.L. Plebeiskii, F.L. Sorokin, A.I. Levitskii, B.la. Bruk) then founded an undergroundalmanaccalled Snow Wine.9 The aestheticprinciples of the almanacwere the traditions of RussianSymbolism. The students issued two collections of poetry, which were passedfrom hand to hand at the institute, and prepareda third before the security organs took an interest in their work. An investigation followed, and their poetic efforts were evaluatedby characteristiccriteria. Snow Wine was classifiedas "an illegal, anti-Sovietsociety" which carried on "counterrevolutionary activity" maskedby Symbolist devices.lOThe Supreme Court of the RussianFederationsentencedthe studentsto different periods of imprisonmentunder the notorious article 58 of the Civil Code of the RussianFederation,which coveredcasesof counterrevolutionary crimes, anti-Sovietagitation, the founding of anti-Soviet organizations,terrorism, and treason.I I Two different trends gradually developedin the youth movement. The first continued the tradition of self-educationin the spirit of catacomb culture. One participantin the self-educationalcircles who later becamea famoussculptor,ErnstNeizvestnyi,describedthe experience. We did not pose any political questions,we did not in any event have political conceptions.I was not even in the Komsomol, althoughone of my friends was a member of the party. We all intended, however, to educateourselveswell, and the readingof, say, Trotsky, or Saint Augustine, or Orwell, or Berdiaev was punishable.Therefore we neededa conspiracy.... Before samizdat ["self-published" undergroundopposition materialsof the DemocraticMovement of the 1960sff.-H.R.J we procuredand copied privately the whole circle of the Vekhovtsi [liberal political writers of the Landmarksschool, 1909-H.R.J.... Besidesthis, we heard reports on theosophy,on genetics,on subjectsforbidden in the USSR. If the authorities had asked us whetherwe studied politics, we would have had to answerhonestly,No. 12

Other circles, especiallyduring 1948 and 1949, acquireda political direction and beganto accentuatea political outlook. Thanks to Anatolii Zhigulin' s autobiographical story, "Chernye kamni" (Black

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Stones), we know the history of the Communist Party of Youth, a group foundedin Voronezhin 1947. Similar circles of older students were active in Moscow at the end of the 19405 and the beginningof the 1950s: the Army of the Revolution and the Union of Struggle for the Causeof the Revolution. Such circles also formed in Leningrad, Cheliabinsk,Sverdlovsk,and other cities. What did these groups, classified in the briefs preparedagainst them as anti-Soviet and even as terrorist, really represent?Let us begin with the "terrorists."As a rule thesewere older studentsin high schoolsor technicalschools-thatis, studentsbetweenthe agesof 16 and 20. Sometimes,it is true, they were younger. In Cheliabinsk,for example,the police arresteda group of studentsin the seventhclass (14 years old) who duplicated materialsby handwriting (block capitals-printing was merely a conspiratorialfantasy here) and posted on residential doors sheetssummoningthe people to overthrow the government. I3 The circles usually numberedfrom three to seven people, rarely more. An exception was the Voronezh Communist Party of Youth, which counted more than fifty members.14 The very names of the groupsindicate clearly that they were basedon a Marxist, communist platform. The independentstudy of the works of Marx, Engels, Lenin, the theory of socialism on the one hand and the observations of real life on the other becamethe chief stimulant of doubt, the operativemotive of their activity. Anatolii Zhigulin describesthe characteristicoutlook. Yes, we were kids of seventeen,eighteenyears of age, and those were terrible years, 1946 and 1947. Peopleswelled up from hungerand died not only in the hamlets and the villages but in cities, like Voronezh, destroyedby the war. They moved in throngs,mothersand infants both swollen from hunger. They begged for mercy, as they used to in old Russia, for Christ's sake. But we had nothing to give them. We were ourselveshungry. The deadwere pretty quickly hauledoff, and so tolerwere maintained.... Yes, we experiencedthat ably decentappearances terrible hunger.The disgustingthing was to read in the newspapersof the happy life of Soviet people.That is what made us heartsick.That is why we wantedto seeeveryonefed, clothed,wantedto seeno more lies, wantedthe accountsin the newspapersto coincidewith life itself. 15

Propagandaand reality were incompatible,and the youth beganto searchfor the reasonwhy. Then arose the idea, We have been deceived! The Stalinist regime was not at all what it claimed to be. The

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developmentof this idea took various forms; but one particular aim, the struggle against the regime, the "monster," was everywhere the same,justas were the generalpositive principles-loyaltyto socialism, democracy,and communistideals. In the platform of the Moscow Union of Strugglefor the Causeof the Revolution, the situation in the country was describedas having nothing in common with the ideas of communism.Stalin's dictatorship was identified with Bonapartism, his internal policy was described as tyranny and his foreign policy as another form of imperialism. "Socialist property of the people does not exist in the USSR. Rather there is state capitalism in which the governmentpursuesa policy of collective exploitation."16 The program of the Voronezh CommunistParty of Youth had a distinctly anti-Stalinist tendency.It condemnedthe practice of deifying the leader17 (the conceptionof the "cult of personality"appeared much later). The Cheliabinsk group adopted a document called "Manifesto of Ideasof CommunistYouth," which spokeof the degeneration of the Soviet CommunistParty into a bourgeoiskind of party and of the degenerationof the Soviet governmentinto a bureaucratic, undemocraticsystemincapableof leading the country.IS The ultimate aims of the youth groups were posed in various forms. The aim of the Communist Party of Youth was to "build a communistsociety throughoutthe world."19 The Cheliabinskgroup was dedicatedto the "struggle againstthe existing Soviet order." They did not, however, envisageresorting to force or terror as a meansof reaching their goals. On the contrary, as a rule, the participantsin the movementcondemnedthe use of terror in principle as immoral as well as ineffective. Their chief instrumentof influence was to be explanationand persuasion.They dreamedof a time when by virtue of the developmentof the movementand the growth of insight on the part of the public, a majority of the people would be behind them. "We did not set ourselvesthe goal of the violent overthrow of the Stalinist system,"said a memberof the Union for the Strugglefor the Causeof the Revolution, SvetlanaPechuro,"but consideredit our primary task to persuadeas many people as possible that they were cruelly deceivedby a well-organizedcounterrevolution."20 A charge of treasonwas at that time the most terrible of accusations. Therefore the idea of Stalin's "betrayal of the interestsof the revolution" and the related idea of "reestablishingjustice" were not only constructiveprinciples encouragingthe rise of thesemotley and scanty groups; they illustrate as well what is all too characteristicof

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them, that is, their primary motivation by sentimentrather than by reason.Could it have been otherwise among seventeen-year-olds? In these first breakthroughsto justice and liberation from an environment oflies there is so much of youthful romanticism.Conspiratorial meetings,pseudonyms,secrettestsof newly recruitedmembersof the organizationscould all very well be seenas an extensionof the school playground-butfor the fact that the punishmentsmeted out were all too real, were monstrouslydisproportionateto the deeds. The fates of the membersof the Moscow Union of Strugglefor the Cause of the Revolution were illustrative: three were sentencedto execution;ten, to twenty-five yearsin the camps;three, to ten yearsin the camps. Of the membersof the Marxist Workers' Party of Leningrad, three were executed;seven were given twenty-five years in the camps;two, ten years;and three people,one year for failure to report the organization.Similar sentenceswere handedout to participants in other groups. The youth groups were a short-lived phenomenon,lasting, as a rule, about one year. Then followed arrests, interrogations, trials, executions,the camps.Thus the prototypeof a social force that in the future might have spearheaded the processof democraticrenewalof the country was destroyed. It had no chance to survive, but it has everyright not to be forgotten.

Chapter 12

The Struggle with Dissent

The general mood changedin 1947-1948. A shift of opinion could be seen in the outlook of the authorities as well. As early as the beginning of 1947 motifs reminiscent of the Great Terror of the 1 They quoted 1930s could be discerned in their public speeches. Central Committee documentsof 1935 and 1936 having to do with the murder of Sergei Kirov, and they summonedthe people to vigilance against the "intrigues of enemies."2They referred to Stalin's speech at the February-March 1937 Central Committee plenum, which was the real precipitantof the Great Terror. "ComradeStalin said that the bourgeoisstates... constantlysend among each other massesof spies. There are thus no groundsfor supposingthat they send fewer among us. On the contrary, the bourgeoisstatessend us two to three times more than to any bourgeoisstate." This was the spirit in which Central CommitteeSecretaryA.A. Kuznetsovspokein September1947.3 It seemedthat a wave of witch hunts for spies and wreckerswas about to roll over the country again. The mechanismof the Ministry of State Security was always ready. And still the experience of the 1940s did not duplicate that of the 1930s. The political repressionof the postwar years did not resort, for example, to show trials. Mter all, the circumstancesof the two periodswere different. In the trials of the late 1920s and the 1930s Stalin struggledwith real opposition to his bid for absolute power-from partisans of Trotsky and of Bukharin, from various kinds of "deviationists"-and he won. His strongestrivals were physically destroyed,and their supporters either endedtheir lives in the campsor returnedhopelessly old and ill. Mter the war there were no oppositionistsof this kind. Moreover, the Stalinist regime had reachedits mature form by the end of the 1930s,and thus it possessed a vastly more powerful arsenal 117

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of resourcesfor dealingwith enemiesthan it had during its evolution. This power had not lost its punitive function, but the forms, nature, and scale of terror had changed.In the postwar period the terror itself had grown more adequateto its social role. The RussianpsychologistL.N. Voitolovskii describedthe influence of terror in the traditional Russianpolitical system. To gain a victory over an opponent, the tsarist governmentsought above all to paralyzeeffectivecollective action in social groups hostile to it. The main role of terror and repressionwas to stifle opposition. For the aim of any terror againsta social class is by no meansvengeanceor the destructionof the individual. The goal of terror is rather to spoil the collective perception of the enemy, to sow in his ranks the numbing of social consciousness,to remove from his political arsenalthe capacity to respond well to factors of public life. 4

To "deadencollective perception"is nothing more than to paralyze the capacity to think freely and to analyzea social situation critically-or to engage in dissent in general. A dictatorial regime is capableof dealing with opposition not only in its active form but at the level of thinking, attitudes, and feelings as well, that is, at the formative stage of opposition, when it is scarcelyaware of being an opposition. The method of open political terror is used as formerly, though partly out of inertia, and basically to form a necessaryatmosphereof intimidation, to chargeit with fear and suspicion. Meantime ideological campaignsassumea fundamentalrole, and the attack on dissentacquiresat that point a simultaneouslyprophylactic function. Although they borrowed from the show trials, these campaignswere markedby a different choice of methods.Thesefeatures of the processbeganto be worked out as early as the 1930s,but the basicstageof their evolution took place after the war. However strangeit may seem,it was not only the developmentof progressivereforms that proceededby trial and error; the processof political repressionrelied to a great degreeon the samesort of intuitive probing. The two processesdiffered chiefly in that the developmental stageof the repressiveprocesswas much shorter, a fact easily explained by the persistenceof the tradition· of surveillance in the political history of Russia. The tradition notwithstanding,however, the processwas approachedthrough experimentsthat enabledthe authoritiesto assessthe society'sreadinessand the mechanism'sideological effectiveness-fromthe selection of the objective to the projection of the resultsonto groupsinitially beyondit'> reach.

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At the end of the 1940sand the beginningof the 1950sexperimentation in the struggle with dissent assumedtwo forms. One was the so-called "court of honor," and the other was the no less odious "creative discussion."Both of these campaignscenteredon one pivotal idea. They beganat the time when the Soviet governmentidentified its enemy No.!. This enemywas "kowtowing before the West." This was the government'sreaction to the attitude of that part of the intelligentsiaseekingmore accessto internationalcontactsand a liberalizationof the internal regime. The first mention of kowtowing before the West appearedin August 1946 in the Central Committee order "On the journals Zvezda and Leningrad," which signaledthe incipient ideological campaignto suppressthe liberal leaningsof the intelligentsia. The large-scaleattack on the influence of the West, however, began only in the summer of 1947 after the appearanceof the confidential Central Committeeletter "On the Mfair of ProfessorsKliueva and Roskin."5 The letter affirmed "the presenceamonga certain part of the Soviet intelligentsia of obeisancesand servility before foreign and reactionary bourgeoisWesternculture unworthy of our people."6 Scientific work in Russia has always suffered from this cringing before foreign culture. Lack of faith in the vitality of Russiansciencehas led to lack of respectfor Russian scientific discoveries,as a consequenceof which the most important discoveries of Russian science have been ascribedto foreign scientistsor have been dishonestlyappropriatedby them. The great discoveriesof Lomonosovin chemistrywere attributed to Lavoisier, the invention of radio by the great RussianscientistPopov was attributed to the Italian Marconi, and the invention of the electric lamp by the RussianscientistIablochkovwas assignedto foreigners.7

In order to avoid sucherrorsin future, the CentralCommitteemoved to reinforce educationalmeasuresof the Soviet intelligentsia.The result was the order to organizethe courtsof honor (28 March 1947).8 These novel institutions had been endowedwith broad and plenary powers "to examineacts of an antipatriotic, antistate,and antiSoviet nature committed by leaders, executives, and scientific personnelof the ministries and central organs of administrationof the USSR when these acts do not fall within the jurisdiction of the civil code."9 From April to October 1947, courts of honor were summoned to eighty-two ministerial and other central administrative branchesof government.IO The first one sat in the Ministry of Public Health on the case of

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ProfessorsNina Kliueva and Georgii Roskin. It lasted three days, 5 to 7 June 1947, and pronounceda sentenceof public reprimand (obshchestvennyivygovor) on the accused.1 1This kind of procedurewas to be repeatedin all the ministries and administrativeunits of the state and the party, including those of the Central Committee.According to the scenario handeddown from above, all scientistsand all the personnel of the ministries and administrative units should hold meetingsto discussthe confidential letter of the Central Committee on the Kliueva-Roskin affair, after which they were to search their own institutions and bring before courts of honor those guilty of "worshipingforeign culture." Meetingsfor the discussionof the Central Committee'sletter were duly held in all the appropriateoffices, and the required numberof examplesof kowtowing before the West were uncovered.Judgingby the accounts of the meetings in the scientific establishment,especially in the institutes and divisions of the Academyof Sciences,the facts identified as criminal consistedchiefly of the use by Soviet scientists of foreign sourcesof information and the publication of their own works in foreign languages.One example from the Technical Division of the Academyof Sciencesmay serveas typical. In 1946 ... V.V. Sokolovskii published a book, The Theory of Plasticity, which contains twenty-two pagesof English text. The author's preface appearsin both Russianand English. There is a summaryof eachchapter in English. It is symptomatic that the author Sokolovskii sent his book to the English scientist Folke Odqvist, and the latter, responding to this courtesy,sent to Sokolovskii his brochurein English. The text of this brochure and the accompanyingletter contain, of course, not a word of Russian.12

Such accusationsmight well appearmerely amusingif the officials in charge of the campaign had not taken their duties more than seriously. They scrutinizedclosely scientific journalsand countedthe numberof pagespublishedin foreign languagesas well as the number of referencesto native and foreign authors.The Central Committee, and especiallySecretaryAA Kuznetsov,was offendedby a group of physiologists,headedby AcademicianL.A Orbeli, who gave their presentationsin English at the World Congressof Physiologyin London.I3 Among the evidenceof worshipingforeign culture was the use by Soviet scientistsof the researchof foreign colleaguesand the exchangeof raw materialsand laboratoryinstrumentsfor experiments. Not all Soviet scientists,however, agreedwith this policy position.

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As several of them said at a meeting of the All-Russian Union of the

CooperativeSociety of Invalids, 'We may not consider utilization of the scientific and technical achievementsof other states as servility before foreign culture."14 PhysicistY.L. Ginzburg explainedat a party meeting at the P.N. LebedevInstitute of Physics that Soviet scientists often simply did not have at their disposal the instrumentsnecessary for experimentsand hence were dependenton foreign technology. "The stronger, more developed,and more powerful our sciencebecomes,the lesswe will needimportedtechnology,"said Ginzburg. 'We must at presenttake account of the science of other countries and considerit with respect.When you are strong, then you may look first of all to yourself, think of your own work and not that of others."15 Many scientistssupportedthe needto devotemore attentionto the achievementsand inventionsof Russianscience,but at the sametime it was necessary,in the opinion of AcademicianS.l. Vavilov, to reach an understandingamongscientists,productionexperts,and the leaders of industry, in order to relate theoreticalwork to application. "We all know," he said, "that in the majority of casesSoviet work is implementedonly after it becomeswell known or after we recognize that similar work is done somewhereabroad.Only then do we begin to introduceit and make the transition to new technologyon a crash basis."16 Obviously the scientists tried insofar as possible to avoid searchingfor antipatriotic and antistateelementsin their own ranks. They tried insteadto direct the attentionof the authoritiesto the real problems and needsof Soviet science. In some scientific institutes, however, they did not dare to resist the governmentcampaign,and it was not unusualfor discussionsof the Central Committee'sletter to turn in to a settling of personalaccounts. The participantsin party meetingsreactedin different ways to the court of honor judging Kliueva and Roskin and expresseddifferent opinions about the sentence.The discussion in the scientific institutes took the basic form of unemotionaland ritualized approval. In severalministries the natureof the discussionwas reminiscentof the reaction of people in the streets. When the party meeting in the Ministry of Trade heard the decision of the court of honor, there were demandsfor heavierpunishment:"What an outrage! They must get twenty years. Let them work it off. How could they have deceived Stalin?"17 The opinion that Kliueva and Roskin got off lightly was heardat otherparty meetingsas well. 18 Immediatelyafter the discussionof the Central Committee'sletter, severalministries and scientific institutesproceededto elect courtsof

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honor. But by no means all. None was elected in the Ministry of Aviation Industry becausethe minister, V.M. Khrunichev, thoughtthat none of its businessfell within the jurisdiction of such an institution.19 The leadershipof other ministries took a similar position: Geology, Armaments,Communications,Electrical Industry, and Northern Sea Transport. Others adopted a wait-and-seeattitude. The Ministry of Fishing Industryfor EasternRegionsorganizeda court of honor, but it did not undertakeany work, as its chairman, Deputy Minister B.A. Starikov, explained,"We are awaiting the accumulationof the experience of other ministries."20 This kind of conduct on the part of the central organs of state could not fail to alert the authorities, who initiated a campaign of indoctrination of the intelligentsia. Central CommitteeSecretaryKuznetsovrecognizedthe situation plainly. It seems to me that we are running into resistanceto the instructions [confidentialletterl of the Central Committee.Whetherwe want to recognize it or not, it is a fact. We are encounteringresistancefrom the local party leadersaswell as from the economicadministrators.The fact that the comradesdo not want to elect courts of honor indicates that they are resistingthis new form of propagandaamongthe intelligentsia.21

The ministers of aviation and of the electrical industry were summoned to the Central Committeefor explanations.In the courseof October-November1947 the Central Committeeinstituteda seriesof investigationsinto the implementationof its confidential letter and the work of the courts of honor. It was only after this boosterthat the businessbeganto move forward. "The ministries overcametheir passive attitude . . . and proceededfrom discussionsto practical impIementation," accordingto one investigator'sreport. "The courts of honor have abandonedtheir passivity."22 By this time the affair was four monthsold. The initial failure of the measure,however,did not passwithout consequences. This was the first time since the war that the authoritieshad confronteddisobedience,and what made it especially significant was that it occurredin the very social categorythat was regardedas unstintingly reliable. The campaignagainstdissentin the intelligentsiaand the civil service,relying on the intrinsic support of the latter, did not elicit the desiredresponse.The courts of honor were clearly unpopular.To a large extent this fact decidedtheir subsequentfate. On 7July 1948, an order of the Council of Ministers and the Central Committeeprolongedtheir mandateby a year; however, upon the expiration of this period they were not reconstituted.Stalin

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had evidently lost interest in this form of indoctrination, but it was the courts of honor togetherwith the other ideological campaignsof the 1940s that preparedthe transition from preventive measuresof strugglewith dissentto political repression. Another contribution to the atmosphereof ideological rigor was the campaignof so-called"creative discussions."The first was devoted to philosophy.Its targetwas the textbook of G.F. Aleksandrov,History of WestEuropeanPhilosophy.The author was chief of the Soviet PropagandaAdministration.Though the book had receivedthe Stalin Prize early in 1946, Stalin later made seriouslycritical commentson it. It is hard to say whether the book fell into his hands by accident or by design,but in the coming ideological campaignsStalin's observations were a necessaryelement of discussion. It was on the basis of his remarks that the discussionsof Aleksandrov's book took place in January1947. Soviet philosophers,however, innocent of experience of such campaigns,evidently failed to discern the political role that the authorities assignedthem. The Central Committee was dissatisfied with their proceedingsand orderedfurther discussions.It then placedno less a figure than A.A. Zhdanovin chargeof the campaign and distributeda mandatoryagendaof discussion. At this point Aleksandrovwas accusedof "objectivism," that is, he had derived the evolution of Marxism from its philosophicalpredecessors, including-andthis was the criminal elementin his work-the work of bourgeoisphilosophers.Of course,whatevertribute he paid to WesternEuropeanphilosophywas assessedin the spirit of the time as kowtowing before the West. There is no needto review the content of the discussions,23as it was hardly significant. The essenceof the proceedingrevealed a premeditatedmodel of attack on dissent in pursuit of ideological monism. Garbedin the trappingsof democratic criticism and self-criticism, the discussionin fact conformedentirely to the promptings of the Central Committee. In the words of Yurii Furmanov,"the force of argumentyielded to the argumentof force."24 In place of the acceptedauthoritiesof classicalphilosophystood a new authority. Philosophicalthoughtitself was defined by the Central Committee,which presumedhereafterto serve as the high court of social science.The role of scholarsdegeneratedinto that of commentators and popularizersof decisionstaken by the Central Committee in its role of ultimate academicarbiter. Whoever erred was expected to make public recantation.The letter that ProfessorAleksandrov himself wrote to Stalin and Zhdanov in July 1947 may serve as a generalexample.

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I am fully aware that without the Central Committee'scorrection of my work in theoreticalquestionsI would be of little use to the party as a professional philosopher. The [recent] philosophical discussion, and especiallythe profound and powerful speechof ComradeZhdanov, has charged the philosophical workers with enormousBolshevik inspiration, has called forth in all of us a sincerelyardentambition to put an end to the traditionally acceptedmethodologyin scientific work. 25

At this professional level the design of Zhdanov and Stalin was completelysuccessful.The philosophersdrew the appropriateconclusions. It remainedthen to devise a meansof transmitting the newly adopted outlook down the steps of the professional hierarchy, to indicate the proper political lessons.This assignmentproved quite complicated not only becauseit was difficult to apply soaring abstractions to the mundanefeaturesof Sovietsociety-theproblemof production, for example-butalso becauseof the absenceof professional personnelto do the job. The campaignagainstdissentwas weak at its most critical link: the lack of competentand informed ideologiststo carry the messageto the people. This fact soon confrontedthe Central Committee'sagentssent to assessthe impact of political propagandaat the grassroots. As their notesindicate,a large part of the party'spropagandists,both the rank and file and the leadersof party committees,had not the most elementaryidea of the decisionstaken at the center,did not know what was going on either in the country or in the world at large. Their interviewswith local party personnelreveal the problem. First interview: Q: What political literature do you read? A: ComradeStalin'sfirst volume.

Q: What in particularhave you readin it? A: I forget, I can'tremember,I can't say. Q: What else do you read? A: I read ComradeAleksandrovon bourgeoistheories. Q: What kind of fiction do you read? A: I read Ivan the Terrible, a book by one of our writers. I don't like the book. It speakswell of the people,but amongthe bourgeoisieand the capitalists thereisn't one good person.That is all that I havereadthis year.26

Secondinterview: Q: Have you read the report of Comrade Zhdanov on the journals Zvezdaand Leningrad?

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A: No, I haven'treadit. Q: Which of the recent decisionsof the Central Committeeguide you in your work? A: I cannotnow nameany. Q: What English political partiesdo you know? A: I don't remember. Q: Who is the headof the governmentin Yugoslavia? A: I don't remember.Tito is in the governmenteither in Yugoslavia or in Bulgaria.27

At the rank-and-filelevel, matterswere worseyet. Q: Name the highestorgan of governmentin the USSR. A: The working class, the Central Committee?The RKK [sic?-H.R.l? The All-Union CommunistParty? Q: What is ComradeStalin'sposition in government? A: He has many offices, I can'tsay. Q: Who is the headof the Soviet government? A: I don't know. Q: What is ComradeMolotov's position in government? A: He travels abroad. Q: What is currentlygoing on in Greece? A: A gangis making war on the working c1ass.28

These notes hardly need any comment.They were likely analyzed with somecare by the Central Committee,as it was taking measuresto correct the situation. First it undertook to strengthenparty schools and courses.In 1947 therewere around60,000Soviet political schools enrolling 800,000people.During the year the numberof such schools grew to 122,000and the numberof studentsin them to more than 1.5 million. During the same time the number of circles studying party history doubled from 45,500 to 88,000, while the numberof persons attendingthesecircles increasedfrom 846,000to 1.2 million. 29 Along with the measuresdevotedto strengtheningthe ideological front through the preparationof cadres, the policy of surveillance was extendedto different spheresof scienceand culture. In August 1948 the meeting of the All-Union Lenin Academy of Agricultural Sciencescompleteda long-term discussionamong biologists; in the summerof 1950 there was a discussionof the problemsof linguistics; at the end of 1951, a discussion of the problems of the political economyof socialism.All of thesediscussions,like the one in philosophy, proceededby a prearrangedagendadelivered from above. To attribute all initiative in these colloquies to the authorities,however,

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is unwarranted.The reality was more complicated. The authorities were able to utilize genuineimpulsesin the cultural life of the nation. In fact, the intelligentsiafelt the needfor a broad discussionof questions born of wartime and of material life in the postwar period. Public opinion soughta forum for the discussionof the most painful problems of life, and the professional colloquies convoked by the governmentwere a suitablemeansof satisfying the demand.It was no accident that talk of professionalproblemsusually led to talk of far broaderissues than those originally envisaged.Konstantin Simonov observed one of these strange professional gatherings. When he summedup a discussionof problemsof literary criticism in 1948, he found that the conversationsoon turned to the literary processmore generallyand to public life in general.30 The changeof emphasisin thesemeetingswas often unwelcometo the organizers. In order to avoid the introduction of undesirablesubjects, it was necessaryto turn for cover to a powerful arbiter of discussion.This was a tried and true device. In the 1930sStalin routed his opponentsby wielding the authority of the Leninist course, the authenticity of which was beyondappeal.Lysenkoand his colleaguesuseda similar ploy, citing the authority of the famous Russianbiologist LV. Michurin. The reference to Michurin, however, as suitable as it was to demonstratepatriotism in the face of the threat of kowtowing before the West, could not silence the argumentsof critics. Rather what was necessarywas an authority whoseopinion was not subjectto discussion,an infallible authority. Such a position belongedto only one man,Stalin. The logic of the function of absolute power preordainedthe subsequentcourse of developments. Stalin had no alternative to becomingthe great philosopher,the sovereign economist, the grand linguist, and so on. Insofar as the struggle with dissentpresupposeda highest authority, that authority must pronouncethe decisiveword, and the pronouncementof that word served to resolvethe discussion.The interventionof Stalin ordainedthe victory of Lysenko over the geneticistsand sketchedthe boundariesof discussion aboutissuesin economicsand linguistics. This is not to say that until this time Stalin stood aside from discussions.Rather he was presentas an observerand followed the course of events closely. In the linguistics debate, the article of the Georgian philologist A.S. Chikobava, attacking the theoriesof N.Ia. Marr,31 was written directly on Stalin's orders, and it initiated the discussion.The disposition of scholarlyopinion at the time is clearly conveyedin the letter of the philologist L.F. Denisovato the editors of Pravda, the paperthat publishedChikobava'sarticle.

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There is an unprecedentedferment in the minds of linguists. Some, chiefly old enemiesof Marr, say, "Well, thank God, Marr has finally found a genuinecritic." Others declaredirectly that they now "make a ISO-degree turn," although recently these comradeswere ardent Marrists.... Others yet refrain from expressingan opinion, afraid of putting their foot in their mouth" fearing that Chikobavais supported by comradesof superiorauthority.... If the editors of Pravda would in some fashion dispel these fears and persuadethe comradesthat the discussionmay proceedin an openfashion and that there are no potentially unpleasantconsequences behind it, then this article would serve 32 to stimulatea genuinediscussion.

As attention turned to the controversy over linguistics in 1950, many scholarstook a more cautiousapproachin expressingan opinion. The years of ideological terror had left their impression.In any event the threat of "unpleasantnesses" could not be regarded as groundless.The whole courseof the linguistic controversyillustrates that people had alreadylearnedto await the opinion from above and to adjust their own opinion accordingly. This opinion from above appearedin summer 1950 when Stalin published three articles in Pravda. In their wake came a chain reaction of people dissociating themselvesfrom the views of Marr. Pravda beganto receive not letters but expresstelegrams."Pleaseinsert in my article immediatelycorrections of the following content: in any class society, languagereflects not the classstructurebut the national culture. The remainderof the article may be left as it is." "I beg you not to publish my article on the linguistic question and to return it." "Mter the articles of Comrade Stalin I reject the fundamentalpropositionsof my article and beg you not to publish it." "I begyou to withhold my article 'For the Complete Defeat of the Idealists and the Metaphysiciansin Linguistics.'. . . I considerthis article erroneousand harmful." "Mter the brilliant article of ComradeStalin it is no longer necessaryto publish my article." "Do not publish my article on the linguistic question. I will send anotherin a few days."33 In the case of the linguistic debateswe can gauge how effectively the dynamismof social demagogyworked, especiallyif Stalin stood at the head of it. Faith in the word of the leader transformedpeople into prisoners of phrases.A student of the philological faculty of Moscow StateUniversity addressedhimself to Stalin in this style. Iosif Vissarionovich! Your pronouncementon questionsof Soviet linguistics has beenfor me the most significant event of the pastfive years

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in academiclife .... It forces us to think creativelyand not to live by the dogmatic hair-splitting of classical Marxist citations.... Whateveryou undertakein the affairs of our country is an inspiration.... I wish you good health and good health and good health. May your achievements always be with us.34

This letter is reminiscentof another written by a student of the philological faculty of Leningrad State University: "Dear losif Vissarionovich! You have taught us to lo,\e the truth more than life. We have grown up in a societyconstructedand developedunderyour leadership.We have beenraisedaccordingto your booksand articles. We have learnedto believe you, losif Vissarionovich, more than ourselves.Every word of yours we honor as sacred."35 But thesewords were a mere preface.This Leningradstudentobviously found several points in Stalin's article on linguistics difficult to understand.Her confusion can be sensedbetween the lines of the letter. Nevertheless,as she wrote, "I want not simply to believe you, I want to be convinced... of the truth of your everyword."36 The word itself of the vozhd' did not admit of doubt, but blind faith in its truthfulness,as evidencedby this letter, was at some level of subconsciousnessnot sufficient. In addition to faith, she neededconviction basedon knowledge, and this was to turn from emotion to reason. This student'sletter is a solitary exampleof such a shift, and we have no evidencethat it took place on anythinglike a massivescale. The story of these discussion campaignsillustrates not only the power of the ruling regime to control the minds of the citizens, not only the power of social demagogybut its weaknessesas well, one of which was the capacity to reduce any decision to absurdity. Thus miners were obliged to participatein the discussionof genetics,and collective farmershad to study Stalin'sarticles on linguistics. In Fedor Abramov's novel Puti-pereputia (The Pathsof Confusion), there is an episodein which the hero, collective farm chairmanLukashin, happensupon sucha discussion. Everyone was busy studying [Stalin's] works [on linguistics]. They appearedin Pravda exactly at harvesttime.... And so the harvesterswere summonedto a meeting.... The room was full to the brim, nowhereto sit. . . . Fokin was reading from a paper, but he was growing excited. . . . The last words Lukashin caught with difficulty. They were drowned in a wave of applause. . . . He wanted to rush to the party office, to read it with his own eyes. And so he read. He looked out the window. It was raining. He looked at the portrait of Stalin in his

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generalissimo'suniform and began to read again. Here was the program of the party and the people for the next few years, and he must somehowgraspit.

Lukashin was somewhatcomforted when he spoke with his colleague Podrezov. Podrezov did not mince words. Lukashin asked what practical conclusionswere to be drawn by collective farm chairmen from ComradeStalin's works on linguistics. Podrezovanswered directly, "To work hard."37 Beyond the organizationof comprehensivepublic discussions,the campaignsof the 1940sand 1950sran into other substantialdifficulties. Like any administrativedecisionsbasedon control and pressure from above, they demandedgreat expenditures.The burden on the central apparatusincreased.The Central Committee determined what books Soviet peoplemight read, what films they might see,what recordingsthey might hear. The massive network of libraries and bookstoreswas purged of books that lacked, by the standardsof censorship, "academic and literary value" and were "littered with namesand citations of enemies of the people."38Special lists of such forbidden literature were confirmed by the Central Committee along with black lists of theatrical productions that were to be removed from the repertoire. On 28 August 1951, the Council of Ministers vested control over all artistic production in the organsof censorship.A bit later lists of forbidden soundrecordingswere published.39 In July 1952 the Presidiumof the Council of Ministers prepareda draft to extend the authority of local organs of censorshipand to increasetheir staffing.40Suggestionswere heardto transferthe duties of censorshipto the Ministry of State Security.41 Though this proposal was not accepted,it indicates clearly enough the direction in which the internal policy of the leadershipwas evolving in the last yearsof Stalin'slife. In addition to introducingideological campaigns and reinforcing control over public opinion, the regime ever more frequentlyresortedto nakedlyrepressivepractices.

Chapter 13

The Wave of Repression, 1949-1953

The psychologicalimpact of terror, designedas it was to paralyzethe collective capacity of resistance,was neverthelessused selectively, howeverlarge its scale.The selectiveapproachwas employedto instill in the massesan attitude of righteousindignation againstdissenters and faith in the justice of the measurestaken against them. The formula "we don't imprison the innocent," an omnipresentelement of the atmosphereof the time, showsthat the motifs of the campaign fell on well-preparedground. The impatienceof the citizenry, raised to an emotionalpitch by the deficits of postwarlife, requiredrelease. The force of aggressiveemotionswas not hard to raise in theseconditions, and an explanation of the causesof the disordersof life was essentiallydiverted onto the question, Who is guilty? This kind of reactionis endemicto the behaviorof crowds, which are easily drawn to search for simple reasonsfor the extremity of their condition. Stalin exploited this familiar stereotypeof mass behavior when he beganto divide societyinto friends and enemies. The repressionsof the postwar years touched in one degree or anotherall strataof the population.If we judge by the numbersconvicted on political grounds,the peak period was 1945 and 1946. The Commissariatof Internal Mfairs convicted 123,200 personsin 1946 and 123,300in 1947.1 The victims of this wave were chiefly returning POWs, repatriates,former soldiers of the Vlasov army, Ukrainian national separatists(mostly Banderists),and other elementsof the population classified by the authorities as "socially dangerouspersons."2 These were all people with a military background of one kind or 130

THE WAVE OF REPRESSION,1949-1953 131

another, and they were not directly involved in the processesthat began to develop in Soviet society after the war. In the succeeding years the figures on personsconvicted by the Ministry of Internal Mfairs and the Ministry of StateSecuritydiminishedprogressively:3 1947 1948 1949 1950 1951 1952 1953

78,800 73,300 75,100 60,600 54,800 28,800 8,400

Thesefigures reflect only those convicted of counterrevolutionary activity, treason,and other crimesagainstthe state.Statisticson other forms of crime-murder,burglary, armedrobbery, larceny, absenteeism and tardinessat work, leaving a job without permission,and so on-weretabulatedunder the conventionalcivil code. The rubric of larceny and theft included not only real crimes but stealing of food during the famine years,when peopleout of desperation-and often through the fault of the state, which did not always pay them for working-took grain or potatoes,which they had themselvesraised, from the collective farm fields. The sourcesdo not allow a reliable calculation of the numbersfalling victim to prosecutionunder the civil code. The general numbers of the convicts must take into account not only those sentencedto deprivation of freedom but peasants sent in to exile, deported peoples, and other categoriesof resettledpersons. If we comparethe scale of political repressionsof the prewar and postwar years, it is obvious that the postwar phenomenondid not reach the magnitudeof the Great Terror of 1937-1938. In the year 1937 alone 790,700personswere sentencedfor political crimes,while the comparablenumber for the whole period from 1945-1953 is 626,300.4 The distinguishingfeatureof the postwarrepressionsis that they were confined to the level of the elite, both central and local. Repressionof this social stratum sought to discipline the party and state apparatus,making examplesof individuals as a lessonfor their peers. It also unleashedthe rival ambitions of political clans and thereby servedas an instrumentfor revolving and renewing personnel. The majority of peoplewere not touchedby theseprocesses,but the atmospherethat they createdinfluenced the relationshipof governmentand peopleeverywhere.

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The "Leningrad affair" of 1949-1952occupiesa special place in the postwarpolitical processes.It afflicted an elite circle in one of the most significant party organizationsin the country. At the upper level, the Leningrad affair was a product of clan rivalries, the outcome of a struggle for power betweentwo blocs in the leadershipof the country-thoseof Zhdanovand Kuznetsovon the one hand and of Malenkov and Beria on the other. Zhdanovand Kuznetsovhad at different times servedas first secretariesof the Leningradparty. Until approximatelythe middle of 1948, the leading positionsin the Soviet governmentwere occupiedby personsfrom the Leningrad organization, including Zhdanov, Kuznetsov, and N.A. Voznesenskii, the chairmanof Gosplan (State PlanningAgency) and a memberof the Politburo. In August 1948 Zhdanov died, and his death provided an opportunityfor the Malenkov-Beriabloc. The formal reasonsfor instituting the Leningradcase,whosevictims were comparativelyfew, were two violations of the law. First was the organizationinJanuary1949 of a nationwidewholesalemarketwithout the required permission of the Council of Ministers. Secondwas the falsification of the resultsof electionsto the city party organization.The chairman of the electoral commission reported the voting as unani5 mous,althoughin fact therewere votesagainstseveralcandidates. For thesereasonsthe Politburo on 15 February1949 lodged charges not only againstthe first secretaryof the city and provincial party committees, P.S. Popkov, but against Central Committee SecretaryAA Kuznetsov, who had long ago ceasedto work in Leningrad, and the chairman of the Council of Ministers of the Russian Federation (RSFSR),M.1. Rodionov,who also had a history in the Leningradparty. The essenceof the accusationwas that theseleadershad manifestedan "unhealthy,un-Bolshevikdeviation, apparentin demagogicintrigues in the Leningradorganization... and in the effort to build a barrier between the Central Committee and the Leningrad party."6 As it developed, the Leningradaffair proceededat two levels, the central and the regional. The link between the two was an alleged clique formed between the Leningradleadersand their protectorsin Moscow. P.S. Popkov and la.F. Kapustin, the first and secondsecretariesof the Leningradcity and provincial party committees,were relieved of their postsin February1949. At the end of March and the beginning of April a massive purge of the Leningrad party apparatusbegan. From 1949 through 1952 over 2,000 Leningrad officials were removed from office, including 1,500 party, soviet, trade-union, and Komsomol (CommunistYouth League) personnel.7 Both the leader-

THE WAVE OF REPRESSION,1949-1953 133

ship and almost the whole administrativestructure of the city were decimated. G.M. Malenkov was in chargeof collecting compromisingmaterial againstthe accused:Kuznetsov,Voznesenskii,Rodionov, and others. As the whole affair was conductedsecretly,a special prison known as the "party prison," administeredby the Central Committee rather than by the Ministry of State Security, was established.The investigation was conductedsimultaneouslyby the party and by the Ministry of StateSecurity.The big trial was held on 29 and 30 September1950 in Leningrad.It was allegedlyan open affair, but the audienceconsisted almostexclusivelyof the officials of the securityorgans,and therewas no mention of an open trial in the press.The accusedwere charged with "constituting a hostile group, which since 1938 carried on sabotage and wrecking" with the aim of "turning the Leningradorganization into a supportbasefor carrying on a strugglewith the party and its Central Committee."8All of the accused,nine persons,confessed their guilt. Six of them (Voznesenskii,Kuznetsov, Popkov, Kapustin, Rodionov, and Lazutin) were sentencedto be shot, and the remainder were sentencedto different periods in the GULAG. The executions took place on 1 October1950. In the wake of the big trial, there were severalsecretmini-trials in which more leadersof the Leningrad party were executed.Others yet, including family membersof the condemned,were sentencedto various terms in prison or the camps. The victims included hundredsof communists in Moscow, Gorkii, Murmansk, Riazan, Simferopol, Sevastopol,Novgorod, Pskov, Tallin, and othercities. The Leningradaffair was the most conspicuousand, by reference to its consequences, tragic in the chain of postwar political persecutions. Still, it was only a part of the purgesafflicting the party elite of the time. Not all of the casesagainstparty leadersdevelopedaccording to this scenario.By way of contrast,we may considerthe "Moscow affair" in which the first secretary,G.M. Popov, was removed from office. According to the Politburo decision of 12 December1949, "On Shortcomingsin the Work of Comrade G.M. Popov," he was simply relieved of his duties and transferredto other work. Several Moscow provincial party secretariesunderwent this same merciful fate, and the Moscow party apparatusas a whole was sparedthe devastating purge that Leningradexperienced. Lighter purgesof the local, chiefly republican,elite accompanied that of the central apparatus.Among the more conspicuouswere those that took place in Estonia and Georgia. The first secretaryof

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the Estonian party, N.G. Karotamm, and the chairman of the Estonian Council of Ministers, A.T. Veimer, were relieved of their posts. Other Estonian officials were subsequently arrested and convicted: the deputy chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet, Nigol Andresen; the president of the Academy of Sciences and minister of foreign affairs, Hans Kruus; the chairman of the Union of Soviet Writers, Johanes Semper, and others. The principal charge against the Estonian leaders was "local nationalism": they did not carry on the requisite struggle against "bourgeois nationalism," and they manifested "political negligence" in the promotion of personnel and allowed the development of anti-Russian attitudes in the republic.9 On 7 March 1950 the Politburo issued an order "On the Shortcomings and Mistakes in Party Work in Estonia,"lO which set in motion a purge of the state and party structures there. Karotamm and Veimer were twice summoned to the Central Committee in Moscow, in February 1950 and in December 1951, where a special commission investigated their cases. Both of them, while admitting a series of mistakes, nevertheless rejected the accusation of bourgeois nationalism. Karotamm confessed only to acts of "deviation toward local nationalism. "11 The commission concluded that the former leaders of Estonia "have not disclosed all of their mistakes." It considered, however, that Karotamm and Veimer deserved nothing more than "a severe reprimand for anti-party conduct." 12 Unlike the Leningrad party organization, the Estonian apparatus was not subjected to a thorough purge. Rath~:r, the purge was directed chiefly against the state apparatus. The party personnel were to a significant degree imported from other regions of the USSR, and they represented in fact the sole social support for the policy of Sovietization. Therefore, the Estonian affair left the local republican party largely untouched. The Mingrelian affair of 1951-1952 in the Georgian party developed by the same principle-hit the headquarters first. This case was precipitated by the receipt of multifaceted evidence of corruption and abuses implicating several prominent persons. The affair took its name from the fact that the majority of the accused had Mingrelian names (Mingrelia was a historic province of Georgia). Having arisen as a case under the civil code-the facts of corruption in the Georgian leadership were undeniable-it quickly acquired political overtones. All persons tainted by corruption, at the head of whom was the former second secretary of the Georgian Central Committee, M.l. Baramiia, were accused of forming a nationalist group that aspired "to seize the most important party and state posts in Georgia." 13 Sev-

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eral monthslater the Baramiia group was convicted of attemptingto liquidate Soviet power in Georgia and to divide the republic into "separateparty principalities."14 A total of thirty-sevenparty and governmentofficials were arrestedin the Mingrelian affair, and several thousandwere exiled from the republic.15 The purges instituted at the beginning of the 1950s among the leadersof Estonia and Georgiaillustrate the difference betweenpersonnelpolicies applied at the centerand in the regions.The essential feature of this policy was the struggle against manifestationsof soof the birth of called bourgeoisnationalism,one of the consequences imperial ideology persistentlycultivated by Stalin after the war. The nationalists were useful to the regime in conditions of permanent struggle with run-of-the-mill enemiesof the people, They were assigned the role formerly taken by the Trotskyites, the representatives of the non-Bolshevikparties, and various kinds of party deviationists and wreckers, At the same time, the purges of the Estonian or Mingrelian type were consistentlyconfined to the regional and republican leveL For the fabrication of a nationalist threat on an allUnion scale, a developmentcomparableto the drama of the show trials of the 1930s, a conspiracyof a wide-rangingethnic perspective had to be found, For this purposeStalin's selectionfell by no meansaccidentallyon SovietJewry, TheJewswere not only distributed throughoutthe territory of the Soviet Union, but many of them belongedto the elite of Soviet scienceand culture or occupied responsiblepositions in the government.In addition, SovietJews had their own public organization, theJewishAntifascist Committee,16to which in caseof needthe role of nationalist center could be attributed. The organizersof the campaigntook into accountthe anti-Semitismwidespreadin various strata of Russian society. The story of the anti-Semitic campaign of the end of the 1940sand the beginningof the 1950shas beenrelated in detail in the academicliterature,17and so we can contentourselves with an accountof its salientfeatures,those crucial to understanding the public atmosphereof the time. The first displays of anti-Semitismas a matter of state policy were observedimmediatelyafter the war. Its targetswere the Soviet Information Bureau and its director, the Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs, S.A. Lozovskii. In September1945 andJuly1946 the Propaganda Administration instituted two investigationsof the work of his office, which was subjectedto seriouscriticism for "negligencein personnel work." This negligenceconsistedof an "inadmissibleconcentrationof

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Jews."18 Lozovskii and a number of his colleagueswere relieved of their duties for "manifestationsof nationalism."Thesewere the first steps in a campaign that gatheredfull force in the course of 19481949, when the attack on so-called "cosmopolitanism"was inaugurated throughoutthe country. The new campaigncameto the assistanceof the campaignof fawning before the West, which in fact had failed to meet expectations. The old campaignwas evasively abstract; the new one was convincingly concrete. Cosmopolitanismemerged as the highest form of kowtowing, as a cultural betrayal of the interests of the society. In addition, unlike the campaign against kowtowing, which lacked a clearly identifiable target-anyonecould be accusedof servility to foreign culture-the circle of rootless cosmopolitans,as they were then called, was clearly enoughdelineated.No one had to declaim it officially, as everyoneunderstoodinstinctively who thesepeoplewere. The turning point in the campaignwas the year 1948, the time of the foundation of the state of Israel. It was then that the murder of S.M. Mikhoels, chairman of the Jewish Antifascist Committee, took place. At the same time arrestsbegan among membersof the Committee. In order to render plausible the chargeof a Zionist conspiracy, the Ministry of State Security simultaneouslyfabricated several modest conspiracies,which were supposedto demonstratea whole network of Zionist organizationsin state institutions, industry, the sciences,and so forth. In 1949 a purge of personnelbeganin all state insti;'utions,scientific organizations,and editorial staffs: theJewswere expelled.Even the Ministry of StateSecuritywas purgedofJews. In the spring of 1952 an investigation of the Jewish Antifascist Committeewas completed,and the trial of membersof the Committee proceededfrom May through July. All of the accused,with a single exception, were sentencedto be shot. This affair led to the purgefrom 1948-1952ofll0 persons.l9 This seriesof anti-Semitic purgesdid not, however, bring the persecution of Jews to an end. Its final stage was the "doctors' plot" designedby its instigatorsto uncovera conspiracyof Kremlin doctors againstthe leadersof the party and the country. The doctors'plot was the only one of the seriesof postwarpurgesto be given wide publicity. The communiqueon the arrest of a group of doctors-called "murderersin surgeons'gowns," "medical wreckers"-waspublished in Pravda on 13 January1953. Not all of the arresteddoctors were Jews, but the communiqueemphasizedthat "the majority of participants in the terrorist group ... belongedto an internationalJewish

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organizationcalled Joint.' "20 The "medical wreckers" were accused of the murdersof the first secretaryof the Moscow party committee, A.S. Shcherbakov,in 1945, and of Central Committee Secretary Zhdanov in 1948, and it was alleged that they had plotted other terrorist actsagainstprominentpeopleof the government. The seedsof falsehoodfell on favorableground,and the campaign againstrootlesscosmopolitansbore its grim fruit. Of course, not everyonebelieved the nonsenseaboutmedical murders,but the public reaction to the doctors' plot was quite positive. A citizen Nazarov wrote to Pravdafrom Novocherkassk:"Hearing the news on the radio, I curse the vile murderersof ComradesZhdanov and Shcherbakov. The vermin must be hanged."21 Soldiers,housewives,schoolchildren, and pensionersdemandedthe deathpenaltyfor the doctors.Many of thesepeopledid not considerthemselvesanti-Semitic.As a worker in the Dynamo Factoryin Moscow wrote, "I am a simple worker and not an anti-Semite,but I say straight out, it has long been necessaryto chase the Jews out of the medical institutes, pharmacies,hospitals, rest homes, sanatoria.These places are controlled by Jews, they are Jewishbusinesses .... In a word, it's time to clean thesepeopleout."22 The newspapersreceived indignant anonymousletters. "All of us residentsof the apartmenthousewere terribly irate when we read the report of TASS in Pravda. ... Is it not time to settle the national question, in particular the Jewish question, from the perspectiveof building communism?Do they obstructthe building of communism? Yes! From this perspectiveit is necessaryto settle theJewishquestion. Exile them from the big cities, where there are so many of the swine."23 Some of those condemningthe doctors wereJews who addressedthe "honestJewsof the world" with the appealto "disown the shamefulmurderers,""American hirelings."24 The public reaction to the doctors' plot is recalled by one of its victims, the well-known Soviet pathologist,la.L. Rapoport. The unlikeliest rumors spreadamong the public, including "reliable" reportsthat in many maternitywards newborninfants were being killed or that some sick person died immediately after the visit of a doctor, who was then, naturally, arrested and shot. Visits to clinics declined sharply, and the pharmacieswere suddenlyforsaken. At the institute where I worked, a young woman came and demandedan analysisof an empty vial of penicillin. Her child had pneumonia,and immediately after he was given the penicillin, according to the mother, he grew worse. Allergic reactions to antibiotics are common enough, but she attributedthis reaction to the work of poison allegedly containedin the

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penicillin, declaring that she would not give him any more medicine. When I told her that she would thus condemn him to death, she replied, "Let him die from illness but not from poison that I give him with my own hands.,,25

In an atmospherechargedwith such massivehysteria, a society is easily managed.It is capableof overcoming or destroyingwhatever standsin its way, barriersreal or imaginary.It is not capable,however, of constructive activity. Thus it is no longer a genuinely coherent society. It is a crowd or a mob. More subtle methodsare necessaryto activate public reason.In this case,an atmosphereof masspsychosis turned into massaggressiveness. As a result there was a great confusion of ideological fiat and spontaneoussocial terror. The threat of public reprisals was in the air. Manipulating the general mood, the authorities managedtheir campaignwith the blessing of public approval. The public, psychologicallypreparedfor a campaignof intimidation, was surprisingly easily persuadedof the intrigues of rootless cosmopolitansand medical wreckers. Unconcernedwith the substance of the issues, it was ready to condemnthose identified as wreckersin philosophy,biology, economics,or in whateverwas asked of it. But could sucha situationlong continue? The responsibility for total social control inevitably strengthened the influence of the Ministry of State Security and the Ministry of Internal Mfairs. The leadershipof the country thus found itself in a complex situation. It was approachinga critical limit of the abuseof power beyondwhich it darednot go. If recentpolitical trendscontinued, the security organswould be in a position to threatenthe Central Committeeand the Council of Ministers themselves.At this point the instinct of self-preservationand the law of diminishing returns beganto assertthemselves.

Chapter 14

The Evolution of Public Opinion: "Whose Fault Is It?"

Political intimidation in a highly chargedatmospherealways has a psychological limit. "A society seized by panic," according to L.N. Voitolovskii, "loses its sensitivity to the discord of public life [as the Stalin regime intendedit to do-E.Z.], while the society itself begins to generateoppressiveand alarmingemotionsthat lead to a numbing feebleness,apathy, and defeatism."1 This kind of outcome was directly contrary to the principles of a functioning socialist society, which dependedon the support of a highly developedpublic discourse. If this society required an organic mechanismof terror to safeguardits security, then it neededother instrumentsto stimulate its cultural and economiclife. The terror diverted people'sattention from the real reasonsfor their misfortune, sendingthem on a false search for enemies. This search, however, only led from negative results to endless pretexts and excusesfor them, while what was neededwas a policy to engenderpositive, forward-looking, and inspiring attitudes that would elicit supportfor the government.The crucial feature of such policies is that their results are not calculated exclusively by material output but by the popularity of the government legislating them. Such policies, whatever their particular content, are alwaysessentiallypopulist. Lowering prices naturally comesat the headof the list of populist policies. ThereforeStalin in 1947 did precisely that, a politically unimpeachablesuccess.From 1947 through 1954, retail prices were reduced seven times. This tactic broughtenormousstrategicgain. The advocatesof the regime invariably argued on such occasionsthat it 139

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demonstratedStalin's constantconcernfor the well-being of the people. The calculationsof economistsshowing that these price reductions were insubstantial2 were simply ignored. The most important elementof this question was not economic, ideological, or rational; rather it was emotional, and it is defended today on emotional groundsalone. So how did the peoplereactto the price reductions? The majority reactedpositively, which was natural, but therewere a few expressionsof criticism. As one Leningraderput it after the price decreaseof 1949, "Why such a lot of fuss over a modestreduction of prices?This price reductionamountsmerely to propaganda."3 The priority of political aims notwithstanding,decisionson prices, like any other such measure,had economic consequences.Lower prices naturally led to increaseddemand,especiallyin the particular productsmost affectedby the reduction-inthis case,foodstuffs and manufacturedgoods. In the forty largest cities of the country after the price reduction of March 1949, the averagedaily sale of meat increasedby 13 percent,and of butter and salt, by nearly 30 percent, while in various categoriesof industrial goods the increaseof sales was more dramatic.From Februaryto March the sale of gramophones grew by 4.5 times, and bicycle salesdoubled.4 The growth of demand gave rise to doubts: would the supply of productsat the new prices be sufficient?5Inasmuchas the price reductions scarcelytouchedthe items of primary consumption,questionsnaturally arose. "Why is the reduction on bread,flour, and cooking oil so small?" 'Why is there no reduction on sugar, soap, and kerosene?"6 Apart from the issue whether such questionswere well founded, their mere expressionis interestingfor anotherreason.They illustrate how a policy calculatedto maintain the image of a regime devotedto popular well-being beganto work to the government'sdisadvantage.The people graduallygrew accustomedto such blessings,even cameto expectthem, and their demandsfor more soon outpacedthe supply of largesse.As the price reductionswere handeddown from on high and were unrelated to labor productivity, the peoplewere indifferent to the sourceof good fortune. In fact, the source, the governmenttreasury, reactedto this policy painfully, becauseit did not at all resemblea hom of plenty. Acceptingthe voluntary practiceof regularprice reductions,the governmentfound itself in a trap: the threat of growing inflation. The logic of things required that this costly price policy be rejected, but to do so would damage the prestige of the government.And so the practice continuedthroughinertia; and the sameinertia fed the people'sannual expectationsof further reductions.

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The price reductionsdid not provide labor incentives, and stimulants of labor productivity were extremely limited in the economic policies of the postwar period. Of course, the legacy of the war took its toll: severefinancial limitations and scanty resourceslimited the prospectsof progress, including raising the pay scale. Thus labor productivity and the general pathosof reconstructiondependedfor inspiration on non-material sources, in fact on psychological and ideological factors. The functional principle of these factors derived from the influence of "the grand goal." During the war, that goal was victory. When the goal was achieved,it left a greatvacuum to fill, and the authorities evidently found nothing better to fill it than "the building of communism." In the words of the projected party program of 1947, "The Communist Party sets the goal of building a communistsociety in the USSR in the course of the next twenty to thirty years."7 The advantageof the grand goal of victory consistednot only in its enormousappealbut in its concretelycredible nature. Every city liberated,every village recoveredbrought the nation closer to the goal, turned the ideal into the real. In contrast, it was hard to confer a credible concretenesson the idea of the building of communism. The governmenttried to inculcate into the public consciousnessa singular symbol of the future, the "grand construction projects of communism," the hydroelectric dams on the Don, the Volga, the Dnepr, the Volga-Don and Turkmen canals.For their sake, steel was poured, new devices and machineswere employed. The start-up of each new grand project, the schedulingof the "great plan for the transformationof nature" [the diversion of the great Siberian rivers from the north, where they spill uselesslyinto the Arctic, to the south, where they would water the desertsof Central Asia-H.R.], and even the skyscrapersof Moscow were supposedto be perceived as landmarks, as one more practical step along the path to communism.The fact that these communiststructureswere built in large part by the hands of convicts hardly bothered the ideologues of the country. Many contemporariesdid not know it, and those who knew were obliged to look upon the constructionsites as placesof reeducation in the spirit of communism. The appearanceof the grand communistprojectscaughtthe theoreticiansunaware.They had suddenlyto revise academiccoursesand curricula and to plan new subjectsof research.The Institute of Economics of the Academy of Sciencessponsoreda theoretical conference in June 1950 on "The Gradual Transition from Socialism to

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Communism."It was agreedto concentrateon the elementsof communism already presentrather than to project the characteristicsof the future communist society. The conferenceconcluded that the Soviet Union possessedall the necessaryand sufficient conditionsfor the building of communismin the nearestfuture.8 There was much discussionof the forms of transition and of the mode of distribution of goods-forexample,when and in what order the gratuitousdistribution of food productsand serviceswould take place.9 Neither this conferencenor other gatheringslike it even approximately realized a tangible conception of the construction of communism or a conception of the promising developmentof a Soviet economicand political system.There was a lot of talk to the effect that Soviet society should strengthenits economicbase,its system of social relations, its cultural life, etc., but the question how precisely this strengtheningand developmentmight be realizedremainedopen.After the appearanceof Stalin's brochure "Economic Problemsof Socialism in the USSR" (1951), all commenton the subject began to mimic his contribution,andgenuinediscussionof the problemceased. Much more interesting things were going on at this time among the practitioners of socialism than among its theorists. A dramatic shift took place in the mood of the workers, a changeof focus from material demandsto pretensionsconcerning production and even politics. These pretensionsgenerally took the form of dissatisfaction with the organizationof production.The workers felt that they were reducedto a strictly subordinaterole of carrying out orders. There was a lot of criticism of the conduct of workers' meetings. "At the meetingsit is impossible to discussmattersin a businesslikefashion. Administrative pressureoften preemptsa genuinediscussion."10 Resolutions at such meetingswere usually passedin a perfunctoryfashion, more or less as follows: "not contentwith what we have achieved, we must raise the productivity of labor and labor discipline," "our results are good, but we are not contentwith our success,"etc.!l The workers were dissatisfied with the meetings,which they considered practically useless,becauseno one listened to their opinions. "The whole problem is that they don't listen to us. A lot of chatterand little business.1 go to the meetings,but the wasteof time makesme angry." "I have at times been active ... , but 1 now feel that my efforts to improve work have beenwasted,and willy-nilly 1 have given it all up, 1 have stoppedgoing to the meetings.They don't listen to us."12 Workers speaking critically of the factory administration were sometimessubjectedto harassment.They said that it was uselessto

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bring up the shortcomingsof factories in city or regional organizations, that the economicadministratorswould always find defenders. According to a widespreadopinion, "There is only one hope, to write to the Central Committeeor to ComradeShkiriatov [chairmanof the PartyControl Commission].They will help."13 This passive reaction was neverthelessnot universal. The early 1950switnessedthe developmentof a new kind of initiative in which workerssoughtto establishthe independence of their position on the productionline and to asserttheir role in the collective management of the factory. A movementto safeguardthe maintenanceof plant and equipmentaroseamongthem, and they beganto imitate the old Russianhandicraft masterswho affixed their personalmark to their products.Thesenew initiatives did not last long, however.They were condemnedas inexpedient,as if they impinged on the responsibility 14 of the factory management. A proposal to develop new forms of factory administration and communicationsnetworks encounteredmore resistanceyet. In January 1950 G.M. Malenkov'ssecretariatreceiveda letter from the head of the financial planning departmentof one of the divisions of the Ministry of Communicationsin Latvia, I.M. Stulnikov. The author developedin detail his ideas on electing a collective leadershipin industrial management. Experienceshows that in our time, when the political consciousness and the professionalqualities of the greaterpart of the Soviet people have reachedan unprecedented level of maturity, the principle of oneman managementestablishedin economic administrations,organizations, and enterpriseshas ceased to justify itself. In a number of instancesit has even brought undeniableharm to the interestsof the state. It is well known that there are not a few economicadministrators whoselove of their duties has seriouslyturned their heads.Otherswrap themselvesin their exclusive authority and do not take account of anyone'sopinion or advice. It is time to engagein a fundamentalreconstruction of the economicadministration,to base it on completelydifferent, more democraticprinciples.IS

The author envisageda system administeredby elected committees, a hierarchyof economicsovietsfrom bottom to top, from individual enterprisesto the ministerial level.16 In fact, he proposedto retain but modifY the principle of one-manmanagement by requiring that the decisionsof the headof an administrativeunit be approved by an electedcommitteealso attachedto the office.17

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Stulnikov's ideas did not meet with approval in the Central Committee, and not only on accountof the debatablenatureof his particular proposals.The question was one of principle. The logic of the economic administration,founded on the principle of rigidly fixed responsibilityand an elaboratelystructuredhierarchy,was fundamentally incompatiblewith the idea of decentralizationin any form whatever. Stulnikov's proposals are interesting not only from the view point of their possible application to actual administrative practice but above all as evidenceof the developmentof practical economic thought, seeking, within the bounds of the permissible, ways and meansof reforming the economic mechanism,the conservatismof which impeded the optimal functioning of the economy. Only a handful of peopleat the time madesuggestionsof this kind. The bulk of the public remainedas indifferent as usual to suchquestions. It is interesting in this respectto analyze people'sreactionswhen askedabout their attitudesto the difficulties and shortcomingsof the time. At the beginning of the 1950s, the journalist Anatolii Zlobin describedthem. "Talking with variouspeople,I repeateda single question: 'What interfereswith your work, the work of your factory?' To my surprise, a lot of people answeredmore or less, 'Why, nothing, what might interfere?'"18 This responsewas no mere coincidence.It was the reaction to an unexpectedquestion. It reflected the distinctive outlook of the society, which habitually sought to explain its difficulties by referenceto personalfactors. Not the usual "Who is guilty?" But rather, "What interferes?"When the conventionalquestion-"Whois guilty?"-wasposed,a tangible personcould be envisaged.The answer to the question who was guilty was simple and simple-minded,and hence it was a customaryquestion. But behind the surprising question-"What interferes?"-wasan abstractsocial phenomenon.To answer this questionrequiredan analysisof the contentof public life in general,a searchfor its sore spots,the nexusof problemsof development and prospectsof their solution. It inevitably raised the question "what to do?" It was a questionthat requiredthought, a problem that could not be resolved merely by replacing personnel,bad leadersby good ones.Here was an idea out of the usual contextof discourse,and this fact explainsthe inadequatereaction of the everydaymentality to the enigmaticnatureof the question. A distinguishingfeature of the Soviet systemfrom the 1930sto the 1950s is that it was allegedly always open to criticism. The phrase "criticism and self-criticism" was amongthe most hackneyedelements of propaganda.And it was not merely a propagandistictrick. The

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constantsearchfor particularflaws, alternatingwith more transientcampaignsagainstenemiesof the people,not only directedpublic emotions into preparedchannelsbut increasedboth the dynamismand the stability of the system itself.The regime usedthe manipulationof the public mood as a mechanismfor overcomingcrisis situations.The system did not allow highly chargedmassemotions to form a schemeof specific claims that might damagethe foundationsof the governing body. It is not surprising, therefore,that a lack of constructiveideasis one of the characteristicfeaturesof the group grievancesof this period. The ability of the regime to maintain control of the emotional disposition of the society securedthe government, protectedit from unpredictableimpulsesfrom below. In this respectthe statemanagedthe public mentality quite successfully. It did not, however, always provide a positive programthat elicited good practical performance. This point is easily seen, for example, in the developmentof intraparty politics. The NineteenthParty Congressof 1952 introduceda series of changesin the party rules, the documentthat governed the conductof every communist.The chief purposeof thesechangeswas to strengthencontrol of party organs over rank-and-file members.If formerly the communist "had the right," now he "had the obligation" to communicateall shortcomingsin the work of anyone,and failure to do so constituteda "crime before the party."19 A regular crusadeagainst shortcomingsbegan in the party. Organizedin such strict conditions, however, it turned in fact into a processof the displacementof guilt onto the shouldersof the humble and the defenseless.The local party workers,afraid of being found guilty of insufficient vigilanceor of criminal inactivity, tried to reinsure themselves,and the regional parties whipped up a veritable orgy of investigationsof personnel.Even Pravda expressedalarm at massiveproceedingsof excessivezeal.20 But that was the limit. At that point the mechanismof control threatenedto turn from an instrumentof political stabilization into an instrumentof destabilization.If there was anything that inhibited the further escalation of the situation, it was the resistancefrom below, where in addition to the laws of the system,the laws of humanity, in spite of everything,continuedto work as well. The historian Iu.P. Sharapovrecalls how in the fall of 1949, when he was a graduatestudentat Moscow StateUniversity, his father was repeatedlyarrested. They called me to the party committee and then to the faculty party meeting. They threatenedto expel me from the party. But when they

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said so aloud, myoid prewar schoolmate,also a graduatestudentand a veteran of the war, stood up in one of the back rows, went to the speaker'spodium, and said a word in my defense. And when the Krasnopresnensk party met on my case,two more peopledefendedme, the secretaryof the faculty party bureau,PavelVolobuev, and a member of the provincial party committee, the director of the provincial railroads,GeneralKarpov. And so they left me in the party.21

The occasion described by Iu.P. Sharapovoccurred in the party bureauof the history faculty at Moscow StateUniversity when the party secretarythere was P.V. Volobuev (now a memberof the Academyof Sciences).This event was not unique, although Volubuev was not always supportedby a majority of the faculty. Nevertheless,the special significanceof party membershipin personneldecisionseven in those circumstancesof acute vigilance could help people, capableand worthy people whose biography was tainted by associationwith persons under suspicionor in the camps.As Volubuev recalls, "I simply spoke out againstgoing to extremes.For example,the extremesin the campaign againstcosmopolitanism.Now, where the hullabaloo over cosmopolitanism was concerned,it continued, including in my own reports to the party. But not a single personin the faculty was fired, although blacklists of a sort existed."22 When I askedPavelVasilievich why he took a position that might have brought him very unpleasant consequences,he said, "You must understand,I was no hero. I was sufficiently severeand demanding.And I actedin accordwith the laws of common sense.It is simply that we must leave a place in life for personalmoral choice,howeverdifficult the situation."23 The featuresof this atmospherewere not all uniform. One person, risking his career or his head, spoke out for a close friend or for someoneutterly unknown to him; another person publicly repudiated relatives, teachers,and mentors. The range of choice was not great, but the capacity for moral resistancepersisted-andall the more becauseof the war, which left a legacy of the brotherhoodof the front and of reciprocal rescue.It helped people to live-and to survive. The former soldierswere the first to emergefrom thesenew trenches,as did, in their own way, for example, Valentin Ovechkin and Alexander Tvardovskii. It was through the ~fforts of these two that the novel Raionnyebudni (District Routine-everydaylife in the provinces) appeared.It was the first harbingerof spring in that new genreof postwarliterature destinedto becomethe disturberof public peace.

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The publication of Raionnyebudni beganin Novyi mir in the fall of 1952. It was then republishedin Pravda. The public responsewas enormous. "Readers had not seen such writing," recalls Nikolai Atarov. "It was aboutthe restorationof Leninist norms of democracy, the style of leadership,a proper relationship between peasantand plowland, between the collective farm and the state. The issues of Pravdawere passedfrom hand to hand."24 Using the story of a single region, Ovechkin in fact dealt with the problemsof the rural economynationwide, raising questionsof national significance.The work was receivedas a commenton the conduct of the party, and the honestdialogue in it was perceived"not as literature but as a letter to the Central Committee."25The questions that Ovechkin raised-onadministrativepractice, on material incentives, on the conflicts of duty and conscience-wereobviously not new. What was new was his unequivocaltreatmentof them. Ovechkin opened a vent for more candid public expression.As one of his colleaguesrecognized,"Reading Ovechkin, writers realized that they could no longerwrite in the old way."26 Ovechkin cited thoseproblemsthat lay on the surfaceand directed public attention to them. While writers broke lances over his novel, and several party workers summonedthe author to accountfor his "libeling" of party leaders, another kind of literature, a good deal bolder, was quietly conceivedin the background.Vladimir Dudintsev beganearly in the 1950s to plot his novel Ne edinymkhlebom (Not by BreadAlone). "Stalin was still alive," he recalledlater. "I wrote, and 1 worried aboutthe GULAG. 1 was afraid, but 1 worked out a cipher for secretnotes.1 was qualitativelyfree."27 Thus the grimmestof all the postwaryearsended,if not with hope, then with the anticipation of some new ray of light. Nothing in everyday life spokeof the looming changes,but they were in a sensealready pre-programmed.Stalin was alive but ill and increasinglydecrepit.He was not so able as formerly to control the conductof his entourage, and rival cliques had already begun to scramblefor the legacy of his authority. The economicdecisionsmade after the war had driven the country into a blind alley of superprograms.The grand construction projects were a heavy burden on the state budget. Economic policy followed its same old course of heavy industrialization and in fact slowed the processof scientific and technicaldevelopment.The social programsso important to assista people emergingfrom a war were kept to a minimum. The practiceof price reductionshad evokedgreat public approval,but the standardof living had scarcelyimproved.

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The village was on the verge of ruin. "If we look for the most tragic time for the Soviet village-in terms of hopelessnessand outrage of every human sentiment," as Ales Adamovich wrote, "it falls, in my opinion, somewherein the years from 1946 through 1953."28 The constantlyexpandingzoneof forced labor, divided betweenthe collective farm on the one hand and the GULAG on the other, was a potential sourceof social tension. The situation of the authoritiesbeganto resemblethat of peoplesitting on a volcanoinside of which the energy of an enormouslydestructiveforce gatheredand accumulated. The political repressionof 1948-1952did not destroythe potential forces of destabilization.It simply renderedthem more massive,although the negativereactionremainedfor the time being latent. The repressionssaved the regime for a while from the pressuresof criticism from below, but they could not prevent the slide of the country down the slope of crisis. Worse yet, the repressionscomplicatedthe processof overcoming the elementsof crisis, as they destroyedor deformed the constructivesocial forces born of the war, those that might have taken chargeof social renewal. The mood of the masses was dominatedby the syndromeof expectancy.The only way of overcoming the crisis that was nearly certain to occur in these circumstanceswas the path of reform from above. And the only barrier standingin the way was the figure of the vozhd'/leader.In this sense, Stalin was doomed,althoughin fact the situation resolveditself in the most naturalfashion. Stalin died on 5 March 1953.

PART IV THE THAW

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Chapter 15

Without Stalin: The New Public Atmosphere

Two hundred people gatheredaround the Mausoleum. It was cold. Everyone thought that the sarcophaguswith Stalin's body would be carried out through the main entrance.Nobody noticed the wooden screensto the left of the Mausoleum,electric lights burning over them. Late in the eveninga coveredmilitary truck approachedthe Mausoleum from the right. Someoneshouted: 'They are moving him!" The soldiers carried a glass coffin through a side door of the Mausoleum and loaded it onto the truck. And then we saw behind the screens soldiers digging a grave. There were no camerasor TV reporters aroundthe Mausoleumat that time. l

These are the journalist Viktor Strelkov's memories of the second burial of Stalin [when he was expelledfrom the Mausoleum,1961H.R.], not at all like the one that took place in 1953. Pravda announced Stalin's death on 6 March. Ilia Ehrenburg recalls his feelings that day: "I began to wonder: what will becomeof us now? But 1 could not think. 1 felt what many of my compatriotslikely felt at the time: 1 was numb."2 And then there was TrubnaiaSquarein Moscow [where a procession gatheredto walk to the Hall of Columns in order to view the body-H.R.]. PoetYevgenii Yevtushenkowas there. The breathingof tens of thousandsof peoplehuddledtogetherformed such a thick white cloud above the crowd that the naked limbs of the swaying trees were reflected in it. It was an eerie, fantastic spectacle. Peoplegatheringin the rear of this crowd put ever more pressureon it. The crowd turned into a terrible maelstrom.SuddenlyI felt that I was 151

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slowly, involuntarily moving. The crowd was a veritable organism. lifted my feet, and the crowd carried me along. I was for a long time afraid to put my feet down. The crush of peoplegrew ever tighter and tighter. I was saved only by my height. Short people suffocated and died. We were confinedon one side by the walls of buildings and on the other side by a row of military trucks.3

Ilia Ehrenburgdescribesthe sceneat the Hall of Columns. I stood with the writers in a circle of honorary pallbearers.Stalin lay embalmedin solemn attire without any signs of what the doctors had described [stroke-H.R.], covered with flowers and stars. People filed past, many of them cried, women lifted their children, mournful music mixed with sobbing. Peoplewere weeping on the streetas well. Shouts rang out, and people burst into the Hall of Columns.They told of the tragedy on Trubnaia Square. Additional detachmentsof police were broughtfrom Leningrad.I don't think there ever was such a funeral. I was not sorry for the god who had died from cerebralhemorrhage at seventy-threeyears of age as if he were not a god but a conventional mortal, but I was afraid. What would happennow? I fearedthe worst.4

Many peoplefelt such sentimentswhen Stalin died. "It was a shattering event," recalled A.D. Sakharov. "Everyone understood that somethingmust soon change,but no one knew in what direction. We feared the worst (althoughwhat could be worse?).But a lot of people who had no illusions about Stalin feared a general breakdown,civil conflict, a new wave of massivepolitical repression,even civil war."5 The principal element of the atmosphereof those days was not hope of changesfor the betterbut fears of the worst. It took peoplea long time to emergefrom the shock of Stalin's death. This situation was more favorable for the leadershipthan the demandfor urgent reforms that is usual during crisesof power. In this case,the crisis of power on the surfacewas the function of Stalin's death,and both the impossibility of remedyingit and the unimaginableconsequences of it gave birth to an altogethernatural thought: leave everythingas it is. The peoplewould approveany initiatives of the post-Stalinleadership so long as they did not make mattersworse, but on the condition that the new leadersmust act in the spirit of Stalin's successors.That is, they would continue at least the outward appearanceof his political course.In reality, this coursemeantthat they would consciouslyproceed along the same hopelesslyunpromising paths. It was not accidental, then, that the leading positions came to be occupied by a group of people (Malenkov, Beria, Khrushchev) committed in the

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long run to reforms but in the short term to reassuranceand inertia-to not rocking the ship of state.Both becauseof a certain confusion in their ranks and becauseof the sentimentsof the bulk of the population,they proceededcautiously. During the several months following Stalin's death, the Central Committee,the editorial boardsof newspapers,and the local organs of power received thousandsof letters and telegramsexpressingthe sincerestcondolencesand the indispensabledemandto perpetuate the memory of the departedleader. One of the more frequent variants of this demandwas the building of a pantheon,for the sake of which the grieving citizens proposedto expand Red Square at the expenseof the Kremlin walls, the GUM departmentstore, and several 6 Among other popular ideas were other architectural monuments. the proposalto establishan Order of Stalin, to open Stalin museums in various Soviet cities, and to write books and make films about him.7 There were some altogether original ideas: to construct a "fountain of tears," to establish and confer on Stalin a decoration entitled "Hero of Political Labor," or to move InternationalWomen's Day, traditionally 8 March, to some date further removed from the day of Stalin's death.8 It is obvious that in these circumstancesany talk of Stalin'scrimeswas not merely untimely but dangerous,at least for the supremeauthorities. Stalin's death alone introducedsubstantialadjustmentsin the relationship of people and government.As the chief link between them had disappeared,so did the harmonyof their interests,and thus there was a progressivealienation of the two (which reachedits apogeein the time of L.1. Brezhnev).The simplestway out of the situationwould have been the acquisitionof a new leader.The return to such a superhuman authoritarian system seemed,however, hardly possible. The earthly god had ceasedto exist as an ordinary mortal, but this fact did not for a long time sink into the minds of many people. The journalist Iu.S. Apenchenko,then a studentat Moscow University, recalls that after the tragedyon TrubnaiaSquare,he went to the university infirmary. "It was obligatory to have one'stemperature taken before seeingthe doctor. An elderly nurse approachedwith a thermometerand asked,'Why are you so disheveled?'I said that I was at the Hall of Columns, that there was a great crush of people. 'And why did you go there?Have you not seendeadpeople?'This was the first personfor whom Stalin was simply a deadperson."9 It was as if Stalin's death had conferred on him human dimensions.It was an irony of fate: Stalin as humanseemedsuperfluous.On

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the day after the funeral, New York Times correspondentHarrison Salisbury was walking around central Moscow. "Half a dozen workmen were busy at the Hall of Columns,some on the little balcony at the secondfloor, someon the sidewalkbelow. They were taking down Stalin's great portrait. One workman said, 'Careful there.' Another replied, 'Never mind. We'll not be needingthis one again.'''l0 The masses'perceptionof Stalin as a human being changedtheir attitude to his successors,who also becamemere mortals.The authorities were deprivedof their divine aura, but not completely: although they beganto bejudgedas fallible humans,they were still expectedto dole out gifts as formerly. This new outlook was not at first appreciated there on high, where they relied more on the accumulated credit of trust and failed to considerthat such credit must actually be earned.The authorities' sober analysis of the situation was also impededby disagreementsamong themselves.The struggle for power took precedenceover immediateeconomicand political decisions. In the first period after Stalin's death (March to June 1953), the most active of the new leaderswas L.P. Beria. Appointed chief of the combined administrationsof internal affairs and state security, he proposeda series of measuresdesignedto reform these offices: to transfer the campsand labor colonies from the Ministry of Internal Affairs to the Ministry of Justice (with the exception of camps for political prisoners);to limit the use of forced labor in the economy; to terminatethe expensiveand unprofitablegrand constructionprojects of communism (hydroelectric dams, etc.); to reexamine the fraudulentpolitical affairs (purges) of recentyears;and to abolish the use of torture in criminal investigations.1 1 His colleaguesalso tended to agreewith his proposalto reconsiderthe basesof Soviet nationalities policy in the non-Russianregions,where the practiceof Russification had encounteredincreasingly strong resistance (in the Baltic republics and the western regions of Ukraine and Belorussia).After Beria's removal from the political arena, these proposals,extremely promising in their fundamentals,remainedunrealized.The reason for his fall, however,must be soughtnot in his reformist ideas (in this respecthe had no seriousopponents).Rather it was somethingelse that put his rivals on guard: his very activeness,his bold and independent initiatives, which were understoodas his aspiration to seize exclusive power. That is what decided the fate of the marshal of the Lubianka [securitypolicy headquarters-H.R.]inJuneof 1953. After the arrest of Beria, initiative passedinto the handsof C.M. Malenkov, and the leadershipon the whole beganto undertakesome

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significant practical stepsto formulate a new political and economic course.At a sessionof the SupremeSoviet in August 1953 Malenkov presentedthe fundamentalsof his economicprogram.The heartof it was the idea of reorienting the economyfrom the priority of heavy industry to the priority of consumergoods. He proposeda sharp changeof investmentpolicy, turning specialattention to the development of the rural economyand converting even heavy industrial enterprisesto at least partial production of goods in popular demand. Thus the courseof social spendingwas chosen,and it soon bore fruit in termsof goods,money,and living space. Another key feature of the new economicprogram was the different approachto the production problem, a great part of which was aimed at bringing the agricultural economyout of protractedcrisis. Severalmeasuresdesignedto raise the level of village life were given high priority: decreasingthe agricultural tax, writing off tax arrears, increasingthe size of the farmers' private garden plots, raising the price of compulsoryprocurementdeliveries,and expandingthe scale of the collective farm market.12 The introduction of this complex of measureshad an impact both political and economic.According to a letter of the village teacher M. Nikolaeva to N.S. Khrushchev, the newspaperreporting these new policies "was read until it fell apart, and the simple poor peasantssaid 'hereis somethingfor us.' "13 The measuresundertakenin the so-called "struggle with bureaucratism," which had by the end of 1953 developed into a serious campaign, met with an entirely different reception. In one of the early post-Stalin gatheringsof party workers and economicadministrators, a meeting organizedas usual for the traditional purposeof handing out demandingassignments,Malenkov made an unusual presentation.FedorBurlatskii was presentand recallshis impressions. The fundamentalthrust of his speechwas the struggle againstbureaucratism "until its total destruction." Over and over he used such scathing phrasesas "the degenerationof the organsof the state apparatus,""the escapeof severalorgansof statefrom party control," "the completeneglect of the needsof the people," "bribery and dissipationof the moral temper of a communist,"etc. And the personspresentto hear this diatribe represented precisely the target of the thunderousattack. Bewildermentwas mixed with dismay, dismaywith fear, and fear with indignation.The end of the speechwas followed by a deathlysilence,which was interruptedby the lively, and I thought,jolly voice of Khrushchev,'That is, of course,exactly right, Georgii Maksimilianovich, but the apparatusis our own suppon." And only then did long and lively applausebreakout.14

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The fear of those presentin the hall is fully understandable.Such expressionsas those that Malenkov used could be perfectly plausibly understoodas the signal to begin a new great purge. No one knew the real political position of the new leadershipand its immediate intentions. This situation was characteristicof the years 1953-1955, when the ambivalenceof the political line prompted a variety of prognoses,both entirely optimistic and far from reassuring.The leadership, lacking the confidenceto define its position, accentuatedthis ambivalence.In the first months after Stalin's death not only were there no guarantees,above all of a political and legal nature,against a return to the past, but on a numberof occasionstherewere distinct hints of a Stalinist revival. InJune1954, for example,N.S. Khrushchevsaid at a Central Committee meeting that "the hope of severalpeople for a changeof the party's orientation, for a rejection of the policy of Stalin, is unjustified."15 The likely reasonfor such a declarationmight have beenthe authorities' fear of losing control over the situation, as the public reaction to the early post-Stalinist decisions gave grounds for such fears. The hopesfor warming up the political climate were stimulated by the suppressionof the purgesfabricated during Stalin's last years and by rumors of the beginningof political rehabilitations.The politically sensitive part of the society could not resist hoping that there was real substancebehind the changeof both the tone and the content of the press,where the formerly militant attackson such persons as cosmopolitans,enemiesof the people,foreign spies,etc., had gradually disappeared.In fact, the terms themselvessoon ceasedto be used. This adjustmentwas perceivedas a modestreassurancethat an elementof cautiousself-expressionwas now safe. The same process had a more conspicuousimpact in literature, and publicationsbegan to appearthat were utterly unlike thoseso familiar just a year earlier. The last issuesof Novyi mirf~r 1953 publishedVera Panova'snovel, Vremena goda (Seasonsof the Year) and the article of Vladimir Pomerantsev"On Truthfulnessin Literature." In 1954, the journal openedits pagesto the critical articles of Fedor Abramov, Mikhail Lifshits, Mark Shcheglov,and others.16 This was the beginningof that Novyi mir tradition that defined so much of the cultural life of the 1950s and 1960s. Its inspiration was the great ethical tradition of Russian literature, and especially the moral quests of the Russian intelligentsia, the searchfor truth and the meaningof life. The conscious or subconscioussenseof the falsehood in which more than one generation of Soviet people had lived prompted the primary

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demand,the demandfor the truth. This demandhad not yet turned onto the past, as that prospectwas still closed, but aspired to understandthe present,not waiting for explanationsfrom abovebut seeking on its own a new vision, one without preconceptions.Naturally, this process, initiated by post-Stalinist literature, could not be confined within literary bounds.The insistenceon the discussionof truthfulness was preparedby the whole recentdevelopmentof public opinion. But for that very reason,the writers and critics who had first taken up the problemimmediatelybecamethe focus of public attention. A greatnumberof readersenteredthe discussionof truthfulnessin literature initiated by Vladimir Pomerantsev.Many expressedtheir thanks to the author. As N. Shchennikovof Kuibyshevwrote, "Here is in our Soviet literature, a bold, truthful,just comment,unprecedented of a simple honestman who long ago observedthe outrageousnature [of our life], grew indignant, felt the passionatewish to expresshimself, but could not. Perhapshe knew too little, perhapshe did not find the words. And here, finally, it has poured out! Many, many thanks! Everyonewho thinks and loves the truth will appreciateit."17 Vladimir DudintsevspokeofPomerantsev's article at a writers' conference."In my opinion the greatestserviceof ComradePomerantsev consistsin the fact that he for the first time has shoutedout the need for truthfulness, has appealedto our conscience."18The inertia of untruthfulnesswas, according to Dudintsev, not only a problem of literature but a sicknessof society as a whole.19 The problematical natureof the issueraisedby Pomerantsev was contagious,and it soon stimulated an oblique approachto the question of overcoming the legacyof the past, to the problem of public guilt and public responsibility. The chief considerationhere was the consciousaspiration to set out on the difficult path of self-examinationin both a public and a private dimension.Typical of readers'reactionsto Pomerantsev's article was this comment in one letter: "Having read the article 'On Truthfulnessin Literature,' I intend to take a new attitude to work, a bolder and more dedicatedattitude."20 But here was no mere question of personalopinion, of personal choice alone. One reader,G. Shchukin,sharedhis doubtsin a letter to Pomerantsev. The truthfulne3s of the writer does not depend on the question whetherhe has understoodits necessityor not. I am somehowsure that neither your article nor many others like it will change the nature of our literature. So long as our literature is afflicted by a premeditated

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position assigningit the task of educatingpublic opinion and turning the role of the writer into the attainmentof fame and fortune, so long as any premeditatedposition prevails here, then there will be no literature of which we can be proud. The whole question,however,has more to do with politics than with literature.21

The controversythat Pomerantsev'sarticle had initiated soon developedinto a discussionof public problems,acquireda clearly political nuance,and revealedissuesthat had beenmaturing in the minds of thinking peoplefor sometime.Judgingby readers'letters, many of them were especiallyconcernednot to allow the discussionto degenerate to the level of the material issuesof everydaylife. In the words of a Moscow student, "The behavior of a schoolchild who gives his mother the right changeafter his trip to the store cannotbe considered truthfulness.Truthfulnesswe must understandnot only as the proper reflection of life today, but we must considerthose problems that are perhapsnot evidentto everyone."22 Our contemporaryreaderof Pomerantsev's article, accustomedto the battle of the newspaperssince the dawn of glasnost,might well not understandthe heat of the passionsengulfing the author, the journal, and its editor, AlexanderTvardovskii. In fact, at first glance Pomerantsev'sarticle, and those like it in otherjournals, contained nothing that contradictedthe officially pronouncedideological and political principles. The governmentitself at that time voiced the summonsto struggle againstthe "embellishmentof life," againstthe whitewashingof problems.Tvardovskii emphasizedin his own letter to the Central Committee Uuly 1954) that "Novyi mir follows no special editorial policy apart from the desire to work in the spirit of the well-known directivesof the party in questionsof literature. The editors are obliged to abide by the party's guidelineson the necessityof boldly criticizing our [Soviet] shortcomings,including those in literature, in proportion to their ability and understanding,honestly and in good conscience. "23 The order of the Central Committee, however, originating as a resolution of the presidium of the Union of Soviet Writers-"On the Errors of Novyi miT' (August 1954)-madeit clear that Tvardovskii and his journal had mistaken their mandateand worked in too critical a fashion.24 This was the first warning-andnot only to Novyi mirbut to all who were willing to sharethe new ethical principlesof thejournal. A similar fate overtookwriters addressinganothersubject,bureaucracy. Unlike official criticism of bureaucratism,confined in general

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to subsidiaryissues-redtape, deception,etc.-theliterary treatment advancedat once to a qualitatively different level, to the problem of the nomenklaturaitself-that is, the party's control of appointments and nominations.One of the first exampleswas Leonid Zorin's play Gosti (Guests)in the journal Theater(1954, No.2). One of the leading charactersof the play was utterly unlike the boring but generally inoffensive and perfunctory bureaucrat.The chief antagonistof the hero saysto him: "I know that you and your friends are notjust paper pushers.1 know that you are very capable,and, of course,it threatens me."25 And he preparesto struggleagainsthis fate: "I know that I am no genius but an ordinary middle-agedman already somewhatdefeatedby life. Still, I have not forgotten how to think, to feel, to hope. There is in this life one speciallaw: guestscome and go, but the host, the boss,remains."26 But who is here the guestand who the host?The author leaves this question open. Zorin's play neverthelessput the party ideologueson guard.A whole seriesof devastatingcommentaries appeared,the common tone of which clearly indicated a well organizedcampaign.They hastenedto declarethe play "slanderous," "ideologically vic;')us," "false," "suffering from an absenceof real-life conflicts," a "deceptiveexpose,"etc.27 Zorin's play servedneverthelessas one of the seminal literary productionsgiving rise to a new form of public initiative-campaignsof lettersaddressedto the leadership.One of theseletterswas written by Andrei Sakharov,who later recalled: I don't rememberexactly what it was about, but the play, written in the midst of the "thaw," offended the new Soviet party bureaucracy .... It was not worth my getting started in my epistolary habit [his letter to Khrushchev in defenseof Zorin-E.Z.J, it was not appropriate,but I yielded to impulse. On the other hand, I had to begin somewhere.And to speakout againstthe "new class," to use Djilas's terminology, was not so bad. This was my first letter to Khrushchevand my first letter outside my own field of work. I hardly rememberhow it ended.It seemsthat I got somekind of formal reply from the Central Committee.28

These were the first glimmerings of a new social consciousness formed independentlyof the old, prepackagedstyle of thinking, when it seemedthat everythinghandeddown from above or done at the instanceof the authoritieswas irreproachablycorrect and infallible. It was a tough struggle,however, to reject all that had for so long been thus preordained,even to entertain doubts about it, and the new consciousness was full of paradoxes.There were divergencesof

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attitudes,feelings of inner protest,lack of agreementbetweenprivate opinion and official opinion. It may be that it was in the 1950s that private opinion emergedas a social phenomenon,an independent public opinion. It was in great part a responseto a literature that, in spite of all the concertedattacksof official criticism, remainedin the best senseof the term literature. It was a literature capablenot only of affirming previously masteredvaluesbut of changingthem as well, of subjectingthem to doubt, of raising again the questionwhat is true and what is false in this world. An engineer,I. Efimov from Minsk, wrote to AlexanderTvardovskii: In February of this year I read the [critical] article of Bubennov on [Vasilii] Grossman'snovel Za pravoe delo (For Justice). Not having enoughtime to read all of the new fiction, I have followed the rule not to waste time on thoseworks given a negativeevaluationin Pravda, and for thirty years I have not had occasion to put Pravda's reviews to the test. ... Pravda along with the classicsof Marxism has formed not only our consciousness but our taste in the arts. So having read recently the devastatingreview of the novel For justice not in some run-of-the-mill paper but in Pravda, and not by some anonymity but by a memberof the editorial board of Novyi mir, which published it, was it worth my time to read an "ideologically vicious" novel of "gray" heroes?But wait. Vacationingrecently in a sanatoriumwith a poor library, I picked up an issue of Novyi mir and began leafing through For Justice. Instead of merely leafing through it, I was soon unable to tear myself away from it except for meals and the obligatory sanatorium treatment. How is it that I, a middle-agedengineer,long a readerof fiction sanctionedby the authority of Pravda, was gripped by this insipid and brittle work and read it with satisfaction not once but twice? I can only explain it to myself by the fact that for the first time in many years I stumbledonto a book in which people are representedas they really are in life and not by somepreconceivedschemeof positive peopleand negativepeople.29

This was one characteristicposition. As readers' letters demonstrate,however,far from everyoneseemedready to welcome the candid discussion initiated by literature and journalism in the 1950s. FedorAbramov commentedwith his characteristicirony on this situation. "To write the truth is easier than to write untruth, but it is harder to publish it. But publishingit is not the most difficult thing. Harder yet is when your fellow writers and readershave grown up amid discreet silences and literary embellishmentsand, having become unaccustomedto the full truth, considerit inappropriatefor art, considerit too stark, too crudeand unvarnished,too damagingof the desirableimpression."30

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Somepeoplewere troubled, not being able to fit the new fictional charactersinto the categoriesof positive and negative. Some grew indignant, not finding in their reading the leading role of the party. For example, if the party played the leading role, then all obstacles should be surmountable.The party was viewed as the single force securing the necessarystability in society. One reader, exemplifYing this attitude, wrote of Anatolii Zlobin's essay, "Mesiats v piatom raione" (A Month in District Five): "The author selects an isolated fact in the construction of a grand edifice and does not show the many other sides of the problem. Was there really at such a great construction site not one honest, principled communist?The essay altogetheroverlooks the party organization as an organ of supervision of the administration.And so it is not clear how in the end the poor stateof affairs [describedin the essay-H.R.]was remedied."31 The authorof this and similar letters could imagine a remedyof such a situation only as a result of the intervention of the party organs.The leading role of the party was conceived as the presenceof the party worker in the necessaryplace at the necessarytime. As the party, in the conception of such people, was always on guard, any shortcomings, blunders,or mistakeslooked like an annoying oversightof the vigilant party eye, an offensivebut easilymanagedmisunderstanding. After 1953 the mass media began to show increasedinterest in readers'feedback.Somepapersandjournalsbeganto reservespecial columns for the publication of readers'letters. The volume of this correspondencebegan to be considereda matter of prestige. This new phenomenonreachedmassiveproportionsand was the subject of much imitation. When the editor of the Voroshilovgrad Province [present name, Lugansk-H.R.] paper discovered that the editorial board had received fewer letters in 1953 than in 1952, he decided at once to correctmatters.He assignedthe correspondents to stir up twenty-five letterseach.A witnessdescribeswhat developedthereafter. The reportersgot excited.They beganto telephonethe editorial offices one after the other. "Explain, please, the idea behind this new campaign." "On what subjectsdoes the paper especiallywant letters?"And the editors answered:"On any subjectwhatever.It's not for publication, it's for keeping score." For three days, it was bedlam! The volume of letters grew rapidly. Figuring out the real idea behind this bureaucratic impulse,someof the reportersresortedto imaginativemethods.One of them in the BelovodskDistrict procuredtwenty-six letters in a day. They were all written in the same hand and on the same subject. "We are

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repairing the tractors aheadof schedule.""The quota was overfulfilled by cooperativeefforts...32

The public began to imitate these methods, and it often took strangeforms. In February1955 the electionsto the supremesovietsof the union republics and the localities took place. As usual, these elections offered a single candidateper position. If the form of the electionsthus continuedwithout any changeof procedure,a considerablechange took place in the behaviorof the electorate.Observersfrom the Central Committeereportedthat several candidatesto the SupremeSoviet of the Russian Federation "received a substantial number of negative votes," and "several candidatesof rural and village soviets were rejected" by the voters.33 Commentshad sometimesbeen scrawledon the ballots besidea candidate'sname,for example"aristocrat," "bureaucrat," or "undeserving."34The Central Committee compiled accountsof the longer comments.There were positive remarks among them. "I gladly vote for the might of our beloved Fatherland." "Long live peace throughout the world. "35 The upper echelonsof the party were interested,however, chiefly in comments of the other kind. Not long before the elections, in February1955, G.M. Malenkov was replacedas premier of the governmentby N.A. Bulganin. The peoplereactedat once to this news, using the anonymity of their ballot. "They gobbled up Malenkov, who is next?" "I vote againstthe reorganizationof the government.If Malenkov couldn't copewith it, then Bulganin can'thandleit either."36 As the commentson the electoralballots make clear, however, the peoplewere lessinterestedin intriguesin the corridorsof power than in their own material problems. "What kind of faith can the voters have in the governmentwhen as long ago as 1930 the newspapers promised that people in the Soviet Union would soon ceaseto have to live in basements?This is deception.Until the presentday people continueto take shelterin undergroundlodging in dreadful poverty. At the same time we have a new bourgeoisclass worse than the former landowners.""Everywhereit is said and written that we are prosperousand have everything,while in fact we have nothing. It is empty chatter.... What has becomeof consumergoods?We have to stand in line all day. Are we under blockade?The truth is that abroadthey have everything,and here at homewe have only rubbish."37 In Leningrad, Chkalov, Vladimir, Cheliabinsk, and other cities there were casesof voters refusing to vote "on the groundsof poor living condi-

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tions and the indifferenceoflocal Soviet organsto the problem."38 The dissatisfactionsprangfrom the obvious gap betweenthe standard of living of the simple people and that of those called the servants of the people, that is, the party workers, deputies, and other privileged strataof the population.This reactionreflects the senseof social injustice and the universal aspiration of the common Russian massesto implementthe "black repartition" (chernyi peredel'), that is, to take from the rich and give to the poor. At the same time this antagonismof the simple people to the elite illustrates in everyday form the conflict that Leonid Zorin describedin the play Gosti. If the line betweenguestsand hostsor bossesremainedunclearin the play, for the people there was no doubt whateverabout it. The real hosts or bosseswere the so-calledservantsof the people. There is an opinion that the yearsbetweenthe deathof Stalin and the Twentieth Party Congress(1956) were a kind of interlude, when the society was more or less stationary.Judging by developmentson the surfaceof Soviet life, it seemsso. A more perceptiveview finds the beginningsof greatchangesas, recalling his own feelings, Ilia Ehrenburg describedthem. The years 1954-1955seem a tense prologue in a book of stormy escapades,unexpectedturning points, dramaticevents.However, it was not that way. In my personal life that time was not at all dull. My heart thawed out, and it was as if I began to live anew. These were not colorless years in the life of the country. The beginning of the just evaluation of the injustices of the past was not accidental. It did not dependeither on good intentions or on the temperamentof one or anotherof the political figures. Critical thoughtsimply spilled out, stimulating the wish to find out about one thing, to examineanother.The 1940swere gradually liberatedfrom preconceivedcharacterizationsfastened on them from adolescence,and adolescentslearned to judge cautiously.39

The journalist Anatolii Zlobin, considering some years ago the questionwhy people prefer to avoid the painful problemsof reality, confirmed the beginningof a new public consciousness during these years."We beganto speakof our shortcomingsat full voice."40

Chapter 16

The Repudiationof the GUlAG

The movementtoward an open society, somesigns of which could be seen in the 1950s, was a responseboth to elemental urges and to consciouspolitical decisionsmade at the time. Among the latter the most importantwas undoubtedlythe decision to liberate and rehabilitate political prisoners. Even years later, this was the development rememberedby contemporaries(above all by the intelligentsia) not only as the chief political step of the post-Stalinistleadershipbut one that in some fashion expiatedits past and future sins. At the time it seemedthat the doors of the prisons and the camps were opened exclusively by the goodwill of the authorities. This fact seemedso dramaticallyobvious that few people consideredthe real reasonsbehind sucha decisivestep. The question of the number of Stalin's victims is still disputed among scholars and journalists, and the figures vary from several million to tens of millions. 1 Ifwe consideronly the political prisoners, then our bestapproachto a realistic figure is the work ofY.P. Popov, whose estimatesare basedon the recordsof the Ministry of Internal Mfairs. Popov calculatesthat a total of 4.1 million political prisoners were detainedbetween1921 and 1953.~ The gross population of the camps,colonies, and prisons (that is, the GULAG as a whole) at the time of Stalin's death in March 1953 was 2,526,000 people serving time for various kinds of crimes. This was the figure reportedby L.P. Beria to the Presidiumof the Central Committeeon 26 March 1953.3 Here was a whole society living as if in anotherstate, one to which Alexander Solzhenitsynassignedthe special name GULAG Archipelago, the name of an amazingcountry, "geographicallydistributed as an archipelago,though psychologicallyfrozen into a continent-an almost invisible, almost intangible country inhabitedby convicts. The 164

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archipelagowas sculptedinto a strip of dots on the map surrounded by another country into whose cities it penetratedand over whose streetsit hovered, and still few people guessedits existence,though many had heardof it vaguely. Only its inhabitantsknew all aboutit. "4 This state within a state operatedat an ever increasingfinancial loss. The GULAG did not pay for itself. The low cost of convict labor was obvious, but the productivity of labor working undersuch conditions was far from high. The average cost of maintaining convict labor on a constructionsite, for example,was higher than the average wage of free laborers.5 In view of the fact that the maintenanceof the campsand colonies did not pay the costs of the exploitation of convict labor, the GULAG received subsidiesevery year from the state budget. In 1952 this subsidyamountedto 16.4 percentof the cost of operation;in the first half of 1953, to 10.8 percentof cost.6 Moreover, the GULAG representednot only economic losses. In the courseof time it becamea sourceof social tension.The Ministry of Internal Affairs reported "massivedisobedience"as well as revolts and uprisings in the camps and colonies in 1953-1954.7The most significant of thesein the summerof 1953 occurredin special camp No.2 in Norilsk and in special camp No.6 in Vorkuta. In May and June 1954, the greatestuprising in the GULAG system occurred in special camp No.4 in KaragandaProvince (the Kengir uprising in Kazakhstan).The situation acquiredan explosive character,and the authoritiescould not fail to take it into account. In addition, the new leadershipof the country had to considerthe factor of internationalprestige.The image of a democraticcountry, as the whole Soviet press representedthe Soviet state, was hardly compatiblewith the enormousarmy of political prisoners,which not even openly despotic countries maintained on such a scale. Moreover, rehabilitationof political prisonersmight bring a greatpolitical gain by enhancingfaith in the authorities both inside the country and in the international arena. It must be admitted that in spite of the urgent necessityof the amnestyand rehabilitations, they represented a principled departurefrom the policy of the past few decades.The fact of initiative from on high promptedby considerations of commonsenseobscuredfor a time disagreements and antagonism within the ruling circles. The first reforms of the GULAG system did not affect political prisoners. Beria took the initiative on 27 March 1953 to declare a broad amnesty that liberated 1,181,264 people from prisons and camps.8It included those sentencedfor five years or less-thatis, for

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nonpolitical crimes, typically for theft-and encompassedmany former collective farmers and women with children. Of course,among so enormousa number of people there was naturally a substantial group of common criminals, and local authorities soon began to complain of disturbancesand crimes associatedwith their sudden appearancein conventional society. Thus according to the Amur Province party committee,long lines of former convicts on their way home pillaged several snack bars (bufety) at railroad stations along their route. At one of these they chasedaway the police detachment and held the whole station in their handsfor over two hours, forcing the authorities to resort to firearms to restore order.9 "A mood of panic provoked by the sharp increasein instancesof violence committed by the criminal elementpromptedamonga substantialpart of the populationa good deal of dissatisfactionwi th the policy of amnestying clearly dissoluteand criminal types."l0 There was a completelydifferent reaction, especiallyin intelligentsia circles, to the decision to stop the purgesand start the rehabilitations of those condemnedin the fabricated affairs of the postwar years. In April 1953 the rehabilitation of those implicated in the doctors'plot took place, and the Central Committeedecisionof 1952 to proceedagainstthe Mingrelian nationalistorganizationin Georgia was canceled.In September1953, an order of the Presidiumof the Supreme Soviet abolished the special tribunals of the Ministry of Internal Mfairs and other extrajudicial purge organs (the infamous troikas), which had in the recentpasthandedout punishmentswithout anyjudicial investigationor procedure. In 1954 the processof rehabilitationof thoseinvolved in the political trials of the late 1940s and early 1950s began. On 30 April the SupremeCourt rehabilitated people implicated in the "Leningrad affair."ll From 1954 to 1 January1956 the Party Control Committee restoredto party membershipmore than 170 personswho had been expelled during the Leningradaffair. 12 A review of the criminal culpability of the membersof theJewishAntifascist Committeewas instituted in 1955, after which the military collegium of the Supreme Court rescindedthe sentenceimposedon thoseconvicted. On the other hand, not one of the political trials of the 1930swas subjectedto similar investigation, and only a few of the accusedin thesetrials were rehabilitatedin the 1950sand 1960s,while the chief amongthem (G.E. Zinoviev, L.V. Kamenev,N.I. Bukharin,A.I. Rykov, and others) were rehabilitated only in 1988 and 1989. The distinguishing feature of the rehabilitationsof the 1950swas the refusal to

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review any of the party purgesfrom the 1930s.The party spokeof the violation of socialist legality, of Leninist norms of party life and of particular abuses,but the principal responsibility for the illegal acts and palpable crimes was ascribedby tradition either to the security organsor to individual personsin the leadership.Betweenthe death of Stalin and the Twentieth Party Congress(February1956), the Party Control Committee rehabilitated 5,456 previously expelled party members"on the grounds of unfoundedpolitical accusations"and reinstatedthem as members.13 Mter the Twentieth Party Congress,when the processof rehabilitations acquireda massivecharacter,Anna Akhmatova observedsomewhat grimly, "Now that the convicts are returning, there are two Russias,and they are glaring at eachother-theoneswho went to the camps and the ones who sent them to the camps."14The historian Iu.P. Sharapovagreedand disagreedwith Akhmatova. "The greatpoet was right and wrong. Akhamatovawas wrong in that she did not mention a third Russia,that which neitherwent nor sent. This Russiaalso existed.Tensof millions of Soviet peoplebetweenthe 1930sand 1950s lived and worked on one side of the barbedwire and tens of millions on the other. Soviet society did not consistonly of the convicts on the one side and the executionersand informerson the other."15 In fact the situationwas often a thoroughlyconfusedconglomerate of ironic dramasand broken fates. Among the victims were former informers and executioners,and among the loyal camp guardswere genuine executionersand potentially honest people deluded by a perverse conception of dutiful service. Behind all this tangle of humandestinieswas a tragedyof whole generations.It was the inspiration of the moral questsof the 1960s,and it was one of the sources of the schism of generationsaggravatingthe eternal antagonismof fathers and sons.The GULAG becamea painful questionjoining the moral issues of guilt and responsibility. The GULAG was that one reality to which the young could not reconcile themselves;and the older generationdid not find the moral absolutismof youth to be a satisfactoryjudgmenton its relationshipto the GULAG. The well-known scholarB.V. Raushenbakh, who spentseveralyears in the camps,wrote about the sharply different perceptionsof camp life on the part of those viewing it from within and those viewing it from without. Theseviews were hardly congruent,becausethe person falling into the net of the GULAG underwenta psychologicaldislocation, an adjustment to a new reality, as the frightful began to be perceivedas natural,l6 Similar processesof adjustmentwere charac-

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tenstlc of society as a whole. If a part of this society acceptedthe GULAG as its normal lot, it also underwenta psychologicaldislocation-thatis, it too embracedan alien dimensionof reality. Rehabilitation obscuredthis distinction. Although the psychological alienation of the refugeesfrom the GULAG was overcomeonly with difficulty, the difficulty was a natural part of rehabilitationitself. The conventional part of the population found the unfortunates from the GULAG to be shy and embarrassed.Rehabilitationwas in fact more like an expiation of sins, a product of an exalted mercifulness.It was, however,liberation, and those benefitingfrom it did not at first feel its incompleteness. The former convict A.P. Borisov describeshow peoplefelt as they left the "zone." When the convict walks out the gates, he suddenlydiscovers that he is not followed by an escort of guards, and he doesn't hear the usual orders, "Don't turn around!" Freedom!After long years in the zone we had completely forgotten the sense of orientation to freedom, and we likely behavedin a strangeway. The liberatedconvict held himself apart from people and took refuge in nature. I eagerly hugged and kissed every birch and every poplar. The rustle of falling leaveswas to me the sweetestmusic and brought tears to my eyes. The thought of breadwas nothing to me. The immediatethoughtwas that I could read books and newspapersand spendhourslistening to the quiet.17

At the moment of liberation, freedom was perceivedas the most treasuredvalue, obscuring the serious problemsof readjustment.In the course of time, however, such apparentlysecondaryproblemsbecame primary. It was not so much a matter of subsistenceas one of social status. The newcomerswere not always hired at their former place of work. In fact, it was rather the exception than the rule. Entrance into higher educationalinstitutions was practically out of the question, and in almost any departmentof life or work a convict's recordwasviewedwith suspicion. V.L. Zhevtun describedthis problem from his own experience.He was arrestedas a sixteen-year-oldadolescentand spenteight years in captivity. Mter liberation he was able to have his case reviewed, and he was completely rehabilitated. It altered his fate very little, however. In spite of all his efforts, he was not admittedto higher education on account of his past, and he worked as a coal stoker on a locomotive.

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I am not bitter. All is well that ends well. But the real tragedy is that until the presenttime there are people who went through all of that hell and have not found their place in life. Some, rejected by society, have soughtsolacein religion, trying to found new faiths to allow them to forget reality for a time and to satisfy their spiritual needs: The multiplicity of different sects active at the presenttime is no accident. They arose in responseto the wasted and crippled life of people who have lost their faith in society. Others sought oblivion in vodka. For a person living in normal conditions it is hard to imagine what vodka meansfor someoneutterly rejected. It is everything. It inducesforgetfulness of the past. It stops one from thinking about the unknown that lies ahead.There is freedom in it, a little cornerof happinessto surrender oneselfto. My own saviors were always books. They helped me to survive the worst and to preservemy faith in people.IS

This letter is from the beginning of the 1960s, when a massive rehabilitation had already taken place and a monumenthad been planned to the victims of the purges. The problems of the former convicts, however,were greaterthan the hopesof ever resolving them. D.1. Markelov of Kerch raisedand answeredthe questionfor himself. When will we former convicts, not guilty of anything, ever be fully rehabilitated?I have resolved the question for myself: Never. My fate? My future? It has already been determined. In words: trust. In fact: suspicion. In the hearts of the powers that be: eternal suspicion. But that no longer bothersme. The more important problem is settled: my children can respondwithout fear on that line in the questionnaires: "Who is your father?" They can write boldly and honestly: "reserveofficer, soldier in the GreatPatriotic War, communistsince 1931.,,19

Thus the problem of outcastsin Soviet society servedto refreshand to plague-thememory of the people.A confessionof the complete innocence of the victims would not mean simply lifting the burden of guilt but transferringit onto those who createdthe illegal systemand those who in one degreeor anotheracceptedthe illegal order of things. The burden of responsibility in this casewould fall on everyoneoutside the camps, even if obliquely. Not everyonewas ready to acceptsuch a burden,especiallythosewho were accustomed to identifying public enemies.Such peoplewere capableof changing the definition of enemiesbut not of rejecting the conceptaltogether, which would have requiredgreatermoral sophistication.The masses' perceptionof the sore spots of Soviet reality, always oriented toward

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the searchfor malefactors,was not preparedfor a suddenchangeof orientation.Not yet acceptingthe innocenceof the victims, they were capable only of moving from the confidence that the entire purge wasjustified to consideringwhethermistakesmight have been made. Public opinion was shockedby the accountsof the perversionof the trials that had taken place in the country, when Stalin's crimes were treatedas acts of just retribution. In fact, the comprehensionof these matterswas for a long time deliberatelydiscouraged.The subjectof the campswas taboo. The first breachin this wall of silence was cut only in 1963, when Novyi mir published Alexander Solzhenitsyn'sOne Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich.This was the first generallyaccessibleinformation on camp life to see the light-nearly ten years after the decisions on rehabilitation were made. Ten years of silence could not but leave their mark, especiallyon the developmentof public opinion, which by this time had divided into two camps.One groundedits outlook in the sentimentsof the thaw and supportednorms of socialist legality. The other continued to subscribe to the mythical justice of the GULAG system.If their pathsdid not diverge entirely, they did not in any event converge.Somesaw the key to progressivechangein working inside the system,or they at leastavertedtheir attentionfrom the newly evolving facts of the past. Others, placedby the systemitself in the role of unacceptableoutcasts,increasinglyrejectedit altogether. The sourcesof Soviet dissent lie in this reflex of rejection of the system, a movement seeking sustenanceoutside the public order, trying to influence the transformationof the system.This is its distinction, its special conception,but also the sourceof its tragic quality: it was condemnedto an extraneousstatusin society. Rehabilitationresolvedsomesociopoliticalproblemsof the period, but at the same time it brought new ones, prompting the thinking elementof the populationto look with different eyeson the country's past and future. There were now undoubtedgrounds to reevaluate the Soviet legacy honestlyand without preconceptions.In spite of all the difficulties and the conflict of views, this was undeniablya step from permanentcivil war toward civil peace.

Chapter 17

Turning to the Individual: The Pathsfrom Aboveand Below

When we speakof de-Stalinization,we usually have in mind the conspicuouschangesin the political life of the society in the 1950s and 1960s. This idea is in part appropriate,but it diverts attention from the deeperpolitical processesthat formed the nature of the thaw. The thaw was not born suddenlyand without antecedents.It developed quietly on its own, naturally although unexpectedly.The very term thaw expresseswhat people anticipated, their feelings rather than their rational prognoses.It was a very personalconception;and the public, accustomedto thinking exclusively in terms of social issues,suddenlybeganto discovera new value, the individual. In order to focus on this factor, we need go no further than the referencepoint of March 1953, when the nearly mystical fear of the idol confrontedthe common knowledgeof his inevitably humanfate. Here was a turning point, or ratherthe anticipationof a turning point, the developmentof which had yet to take shape.It first materializedin cultural life, in a new literature, theater, music, and painting. It was precisely in the arts that the new motif of individualism cried out at full voice, fighting for its own status in the face of the customary priority grantedthe social over the personaland the private. Personal life had been perceived as a kind of accessoryto the production process.Although the era of revolutionary romanticism, when people suspendedthe indulgence of their feelings until the victory of the world revolution was won, had long since passed,its legacy persisted in a whole system of informal norms of personal behavior. Private life was consideredpublic. Party committeesand 171

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trade unions followed the moral temper of their memberswith an eagleeye, interveningin family conflicts, love affairs in the workplace, and even common gossip. Yet in spite of everything, people lived their own lives, following their own rationale, and the lives that they were supposedto lead, proceedingfrom the officially approvedset of values,were largely confinedto booksand movie screens. This was the custom. Therefore,when reality begangradually and timidly to appearin literature and film, when peoplebeganto appear as they were rather than as they were supposedto be, it provoked a complex reaction. Formerly when the hero began to turn aside from productionproblemsand concernhimselfwith private life, the reader naturally excluded him from the number of positive personalities. Thus, a readerin Novosibirsk, G. Mareichev, noted that in Aleksandr Bek's story, "Novyi profil" (A Different Kind), while the hero Vasia turns all his attention to a problem in the technologyof metallurgy, his girlfriend Nadia "devotesinsufficient attention to production" and nourishesfeelings "of anotherkind" for the hero. 'This meansthat Nadia is not at all concernedabout [metallurgy]," as the vigilant readerwrote, "that sheloves neitherVasia nor production.If she loved him, shewould sharehis enthusiasm."l This reader'sresponsemight be regardedas a mere curiosity but for one circumstance:it reflects in extremeform the straight-and-narrow logic of the stereotypesof contemporarythinking. It exhibits in pure form the primitive consciencetypical of the massesin those years. Views of this kind were already provoking protests.The thinking readerdid not respondto heroeswho "loved [the forge] more than their wives" and openly approvedbooks in which real life was not maskedby schematiccliches.2 "We are sick of the sameold novels, stories, and plays, always alike, virtually identical, with artificial themes,without live conflicts except those concernedwith production," wrote V. Oskotskii of Leningrad."And cinematographyis worse yet. Instead of films about our daily life they give us an excessof foreign pulp, 'Tarzan,'for example.... Of course,it's easierto produce historical biographyin films or to make grand spectacles.Easier here meanssafer. But we don't have on the screenthe contemporary person,the individual."3 Readersfound the characterthat they were seekingin the works of Vasilii Grossman,Vera Panova, Ilia Ehrenburg, and Emmanuil Kazakevich.Kazakevich'slittle story, "Serdtsedruga" (The Heart of a Friend), publishedin Novyi miT, unexpectedlypromptedstormy indignation from the vigilantes of morality. The ground for sharp criti-

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cism-theauthorwas reproachedfor nothing less than carnality, the debasingof Soviet womanhood,and other such sins-wasa single episode, the rendezvousof the hero, Captain Akimov, and the teacher,Natasha,treated by Kazakevich in a fashion perhapsmore natural than was usual in the canonsof Soviet literature.Whole pedagogical institutes protested.As the director of one school in Moscow wrote, "You, ComradeKazakevich,have treatedwith unceremonious disrespectthe Soviet teacher,who has always given her best, under the leadership of the party, for the education of Soviet patriots. Against an otherwisepositive backgroundthe teacherNatashais such a patheticand lonely personthat she is accessibleonly for the satisfaction of the purely masculinepassionsof occasionallyperverseSoviet officers."4 The author was given practical advice-for example, the suggestionto "complete" the story by rewriting the disputedscenein a positive fashion or eliminating it. 5 But there was an entirely opposite reaction as well. "They are accusing you of carnality," the readerV. Boitsov wrote to Kazakevich, "and I, for example,sincerely rejoiced at your courage,for intimate relationsare usually representedin books by an ellipsis, whereasit is the duty of the writer to instruct the youth seriouslyand to treat the intimate relations of people with respect."6 The issue grew larger. Does the individual generally have the right to a private life, always and in all circumstances?Notwithstandingthe apparentlyrhetorical natureof the question,it elicited extremelysharpdisagreements. "In the days of the Great Patriotic War, the patriotic Soviet writer did not think of dumplingsand parties nor of love stories," wrote A. Ostapenkofrom Vinnitsa. "His whole thought was devoted to our beloved country, the beloved Soviet Army, to the great and wise LV. Stalin."7 But many of thosewho had beenat the front thoughtotherwise. The man at the front remainedquite human,although the war brought its inhuman adjustmentsinto normal human life. Life continued, nevertheless,according to the former soldier Iu. Golovtsov from Tallin, as he expressedhimself to his invisible opponent."Yes, love during the war was often painful, disturbing, a sourceof jealousy, and you will find, if you speakof it honestlywith former Soviet soldiers, that it was often necessaryto strugglewith the feeling oflove."8 The perceptionof the right to a private life soon elicited a lively reaction, especially among young people. A movementfor internal liberation soon began,as there could be no open society without it. Too many disputedquestionslay acrossthis path-questionsof ethical philosophyand of personalintimacy, of the stereotypesof the past

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and establishednorms of behavior-to admit of quick and stable solutions inspired by the new outlook. But the process gained strength and becameso conspicuousthat indignant public opinion alone could not stop it. An official reaction soon began, chiefly in responseto the summonsof public opinion. At the SecondCongressof Soviet Writers (1954), the "problem of the individual" resoundedin a seriesof literary themes.The official literary leadership,having pronouncedin its time on the issues of "the positive and the negative,"on "the typical and the atypical," on "the disputed and the undisputed," decided to speak its piece on "production and the individual." "In the center of the literary portrayal of our contemporarylife," said Konstantin Simonovat the congress,"we must place thosepeoplewho standat the centerof our life today, people of creativity, ordinary people who neverthelessexemplifY a heroic spirit. To portray thesepeople only at work . .. would be to representthem in a one-sidedfashion. Ifwork is the centerof their life, it is not their whole life .... How many party secretariesin our novels, stories, novellas are deprived of sleep, of meals, of medical care, not to speakof love and happiness,and all in the name of this unimaginableseverity of the primacy of public interestsover private interests?'.gSimonov did not attack the primacy of public interests, "the reality of life,"l0 but tried to formulate a more flexible junction of public and private principles. "Public activity, work as creativity, becomesin great part the private affair of the individual, and his private life reflects the role of public interests."11 Alexei Surkov, one of the leadersof the Writers' Union, gave particular examples.He namedVsevolod Kochetov, author of the novel Zhurbiny (The Zhurbins), as a writer who combinedthe correctblend of the private and the public, and Ilia Ehrenburg (Ottepel' [The Thaw]) and Vera Panova (Vremena goda [Seasonsof the Year]) as authors who failed to do so. Of what were these authors guilty in Surkov'sopinion? "The flaw lies in the fact that in spite of the objective laws of literary method [socialist realism-E.Z.], they stood on the shifting sands of solipsism and opposedto the lawful development of the public personalitythe arbitrarinessof the author'ssubjective conceptionsof Soviet peopleas individuals whoseprivate life is strictly distinguishedfrom their social and economiclife. "12 This was the kind of evaluation given to those authorsand books that in the opinion of the majority of readersapproachedliterature in a fashion characterizedby officialdom as abstractsolipsism. This taboo extendedto the treatmentof that sensitivejuncture

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where the individual cameinto contactwith the statesystem.This relationship was alwayscharacterizedby the subjectionof the individual to a dual mechanismof control, by the statefrom aboveand by the collective from below. The restrictedrangeof choice in personalbehavioremphasizedgroup interestsand narrowedthe scopeof individual development to a seriesof public services.Servicewas the obligation of everyone,and it assumedthe absorptionof the individual into the life of the nation. Here was the sourceof speaking"in the name of' somegroup, thereby identifying oneselfwith one or anothercollective. The readers'letters to newspapersandjournalsof the 1950sreveal one characteristicfeature. Those letters standingon conservativepositions were usually written in the name of a collective or begin with such words as "I, like the whole Soviet people," "we, Soviet youth," Soviet teachers,"etc. On the other hand, letters taking issuewith the official position were as a rule submittedby individuals. They contain in embryo that same disputed personaloutlook that was in the processof breakingwith the traditional corporatestyle of thinking. Thus it was less regulated,administered,less subject to ideological or any other kind of review. The public service principle did not disappear. Rather it came to be consciouslyinspired by individual choice. In a broaderperspectiveit becameone of the constituentelementsof the whole system of intrastaterelations in the processof rejecting traditional paternalismand making the transition to the basesof a democratic power structure. This perspectivedepartedentirely from the courseof modernization plannedby the government.The leadersof the country after Stalin's deathembracedthe policy of enhancedsocial programs,trying to transfer the economiccenterof gravity from forced industrializationto those spheresof production that served the demandsof popular well-being (light industry, agriculture,residentialconstruction).They worked out a broad systemof social security, introducedpassportsin the peasantvillages,shortenedthe work day, increasedvacation time, and built more vacationfacilities and sanatoriafor factory workers. Popularprogramsof this magnitude were hitherto unknown in the country. Government policy, it seemed,did in fact turn its face to the people, to the attainment of that very better life that resoundedso often from speakers' platforms, and to the ordinary family. Why then do we continueto this day not merely to ignore but to scorn what was done for the peoplein the 1950s?What is this, elementaryhumaningratitude,or did revenues not support the solution of social problems by the more demanding standardsof our own time?

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The answersto this and similar questionslay beyond the range of the individual's conceptionsand of his social functions at that time. Since the individual was consideredmerely an appendageof state policy, then his place in the system of social relations could not change,howeversubstantialthe contentof social policy. Substituting initiative for dolesbut preservingthe passiverole of the peoplein the processesof public administration,it was impossible to achieve the desired levels of output and material investmentsin the consumer economy. Some time later, when the economic policy of the 1970s led predictably into a blind alley, the chairman of a collective farm explained the problem. "If we didn't work before becausewe knew that they would not in any eventgive us anything, we don't work now becausewe know that they will give it in any event."13 The position of the leaderswas defined by the principle of state socialism, the blind adherenceto which lowered the idea of the turn to the individual to the level of cheap charity. "Now we have built many homeswith bathroomsand refrigerators,we have declaredwar on insufficient living spaceand every kind of consumerdeficit, and we are concerneda hundred times more about the human being. Homes in the vicinity of the factory must be constructedalong with the factory, and all kinds of goods must be available in every little town. Yes, it is necessary,"wrote Vladimir Pomerantsev,and he added, "Yes, we will live well. And nevertheless,while working for a prosperous materiallife, we must remain abovemateriallife."14 Vladimir Dudintsevsharedtheseconcernsof Vladimir Pomerantsev entirely. As he explained in a teachers' conferencein Leningrad, "Across from my home is a balcony. It always had a Spartanappearance, there was no sign of consumergoods.It was not clear what the inhabitantslived on. But suddenlyafter the order of the party and the governmentto emphasizethe construction of balconies, there are pretty curtains, fat cats, and foxtrots from morning till evening! ... There are people who misunderstoodthe turn to material prosperity, who threw out the baby [of good cultural values-H.R.] with the bathwater [of Stalinist dross-H.R.] and the most precious feature of the man who doesn'thurry off to the dancebut dreamsof overturning the world and, like Archimedes, seeks a support. Suddenly, all of that idealism is devalued."15 The fear of materialism, of philistinism, more characteristicof the revolutionaryromanticismof the 1920s,revived in the 1950s,and, in spite of its shrill character, neverthelesshad a rational basis. The protest, be it ever so extreme, against the slide into materialism, not

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merely againstsuch modestphenomenaas foxtrots and houseplants, the characteristicsymbolsof philistine psychology,signified a serious problem. The chief point of it was that the turn to the individual and the turn to materialwell-being were not perfectly identical. The social policy of the 1950s, never mind its failure, in fact bypassedthoseprocessesof the cultural maturationof society that gradually developedbelow. The recognition of the unique value of the human personality, the quests and passions that occupy social thought, on the one hand, and the attachmentof the authoritiesto the old, objective approachto mankind, on the other hand, led in time not only to the divergence of these two paths to the further evolution of society but to different perceptionsof the chief political and moral problem of the 1950s-theproblem of overcoming the Stalinist legacy.

Chapter 18

The Decision on the Cult of Personality and Its Social Impact

It remainsmysteriousto whom belongs the dubious idea of reckoning the political accountsof whole decadesunder the rubric of the "cult of personality."What we know for certain is that this new term in the authorities'lexicon in no sensesignified the propagationof a new theory. Its use was clearly tentative, an effort to put into words the refusal of the new leaders to engagein ritual reverenceof the deceasedleader. The questionwas raised at the first meeting of the Central Committee Presidium (10 March 1953) after Stalin's funeral, when C.M. Malenkov spokecritically of the national press."We considerit necessary to put an end to the politics of the cult of personality."1Secretary P.N. Pospelovwas chargedwith overseeingthis issue in the media, and N .S. Khrushchevwas given the more specific responsibility for dealingwith commentsdevotedto the memoryof Stalin.2 Thus in the beginningthe whole questionof overcomingthe tradition of apotheosis consistedmerely of revising propaganda. There was evidently a strong inclination in the Central Committee to limit the Stalinist cult, as Malenkov elaboratedon the issueseveral months later in the July 1953 plenum. "It is not only a question of propaganda.The questionof the cult of personalityis directly related to the question of collective leadership."3Thus one more step was taken in the direction of changingthe basesof party life. "You should know, comrades,"Malenkov said at the plenum, "that Comrade Stalin's cult of personality acquired pathological forms and dimensions in the everydaypractice of leadership.The methodsof collec178

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tive work were discarded,criticism and self-criticism were absentfrom our highestlevel of leadership.We do not have the right to hide from you that such a monstrouscult of personalityled to his categorical and individual decisions and in the last years began to do serious damageto the businessof leadingthe party and the country."4 The plenum heard the factual particulars,how Stalin alone made notoriously mistaken decisionswith the silent consentof his lieutenants. His initiative in raising taxes on the village and the idea of constructing the Turkmen Canal without taking economic factors into accountwere recalled. The scientific substanceof severalof his theorieswas subjectedto doubt. Malenkov, for example,said that the idea of the exchangeof productsbetween city and village was proposed in Stalin's work The EconomicProblems oj Socialism in the USSR "without sufficient analysisand economicfoundation" and that as a consequence"for yearsit preventedthe solution of the most important problemsof the exchangeof goods."5 The most important of Stalin's mistakes, if we follow the logic of discussionat the plenum,was the Beria phenomenon(the plenum had assembledaboveall in order to deal with the issueof Beria, whohadjust beenarrested).Beria's intrigues were, accordingto Malenkov, "the result of the inadequatevigilance of the Central Committee, including that of Comrade Stalin. Beria discovered the human weaknessesof Stalin, and who doesn'thave such weaknesses? He [Beria] exploited them cunningly and successfullyfor a considerablelength of time."6 Kaganovich added: "He cunningly worked his way into Comrade Stalin's confidence."7And Khrushchev: "He clawed his way with his dirty paws into ComradeStalin's mind and imposed his opinion on ComradeStalin."8 Thus the Beria phenomenonwas explained as the consequenceof Stalin'shumanweaknesses. The participantsin the plenumwere of one mind on this question.The party leaderswere not so unanimousabout Beria himself. In this question,the evolution of their opinion required some time. The developmentof their logic is obvious if we follow the characteristicsthat their speechesat the plenum attributed to Beria. Malenkov: "[he] violated and subvertedthe unity of our Central Committee, [he was] an enemy of the party and the people, a degenerate and criminally dissipatedperson.'>9Khrushchev: "a cunning person,a clevercareerist,not a communist,a provocateur,an adventurer,a scoundrel and intriguer."l0 Molotov: "an agentof an alien camp, an agentof the classenemy, a provocateur."nKaganovich: "a counterrevolutionary fascistconspirator,a spy of internationalproportions."12

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It is easy to observehow, step by step, from speechto speech,the denunciationof Beria grew ever harsher.At the sametime the leaders' general conception of the Beria phenomenondevelopedgradually, defining the relationship of the party to the problem ever more distinctly. It was construedfundamentally by the motif of alienation. Beria was declaredin the beginningto be an internal enemy,later to be an agent of international imperialism. Denouncedas an alien, a personof the other camp, Beria was excludedfrom the categoryof us and relegated to the ranks of them. Here is the source of the evaluation of Beria's personalityas exclusively negative (degenerate,intriguer, morally dissoluteperson,etc.). The coherenceof the characterizationwas broken by a single circumstance:until recently the alien had been consideredtheir own man and even as one of the first among them. The contradictionwas resolvedwith the help of the idea of "our fault," which consistedchiefly of the confessionof insufficient vigilance. This explanationwas soon accompanied,however,by a mitigating factorthat is, the special talents of the alien, who maskedhimself cleverly and wormed his way into the confidenceof the others. Their mistake was thus the product of the malevolentschemesof the alien, and the generalresponsibilityfor the whole affair was thus thrust onto him as the uniquely guilty party. The motif of alienation played anotherimportant role. It exoneratedfrom criticism not only his former colleaguesbut the system as a whole. The activity of the alien bore an extrasystemiccharacter,one hostile to the systemitself. The guilt of Stalin, displacednow onto the intrigues of Beria, was also treated as extrasystemic-thatis, as independentof the laws of politics. It was declareda matterof humanflaws. Stalin was thus distinguishedfrom Stalinism, the leaderfrom the system.The entire subsequent attack on the cult of Stalin would be founded on this distinction. It would be an attack on the name, on the icon, but it would not engagethe factors that gave birth to the phenomenon,the political etiology. Strictly speaking,the criticism of Stalin had to avoid the model of the attack on Beria. Stalin could not be considered,for example, a foreign spy. He could not be thrust out of the parametersof the system. He remained inseparablefrom it. Stalin was intrinsic to the system bearing his name, and this factor defined the limits beyond which the measurestaken againstthe cult of personalitycould not go. The criticism always stoppedat the thresholdof intrasystemicanalysis. Therein lies the key to the enigmatic instability, to the fits and starts, of the whole history of the struggleagainstthe cult of personality.

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An adequateassessment of the Stalin phenomenonrequireda different kind of logic, anothermental perspective,one simply beyond the reach of the people belonging to the system.A new view of the matter might appearonly from without or gradually develop on the basis of the internal evolution of politics, but its advocateshad to be peoplerelatively free of the whole complex of sins of the past. In the formative stage questionsrelating in any way to the name of Stalin were not discussedbeyond the bounds of a narrow circle of party faithful. Everything said at theJuly 1953 Central Committeeplenum, all the argumentsand disagreements, remainedfor the commonpeople a secretundersevenseals. When the term cult of personality first appearedin the press, most people did not perceive it as the portent of a major shift of policy. Only the acutelysensitivecaughtthe new accentson the motive forces of history, on the role of personalityamong the popular masses,on the party and its leaders.On 10June1953, Pravda publishedan article addressedto party propagandistsunderthe headline"The Communist Party Is the Leading Force of the Soviet People."The article was devoted to the task of overcomingsubjectiveapproachesin the conception of the role of the party and of individual personalitiesin the history of society. It mentionedthe harmful influence of the cult of personality and made the point that Marx, Engels, and Lenin had spokenagainstit. Even the name of Stalin was mentionedamongthe early ranks of those struggling againstthe cult, but his namewas surrounded by a protective taboo, and criticism of the cult was treated positively as a stageof transition to collective leadership. There was a clear and deliberatereasonbehind this positive reference.Public opinion after the deathof Stalin anticipatedchangesfor the better (as it had just after the war) but also sought stability, continuity of the general course of the new leadershipin Stalinist policies. Taking accountof this outlook, the leadersof the party were obliged to act in generalas the heirs of Stalin. Nevertheless,the questionarosewhat part of the legacyto reject. It first resoundedon high, though a particular conceptionof it formed slowly, step by step, losing its way in the contradictionsof public well-being and personal responsibility. A distinct stimulant of constructive reflection was the Beria affair. His was the first name to which the idea of the cult of personalitywas attached.The question was soon posed more broadly. What conditions make possible the emergenceof people who concentratein their hands unlimited power? It was suggestedthat "the monopoly position of the Commu-

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nist Party" might have its "shadyfeatures."These"shadyfeatures"were representedas the penetrationof the party by enemiesand adventurists, "cunningly maskedas communists"and using "the authority and position of the ruling party for their own corruptinterests."13 What was the point of all this verbal probing and searching?It seemedthat an alternativeto strict centralizationand party monopoly might be provided only by movementalong a path to democracy. Logic, however, is not always compatible with political reality. The answer to this question had more to do with the spirit of the times than with political logic. "Revolutionary vigilance is our weapon against all enemies.We will always keep this weapon sharp, always ready for battle. And thus we will hope to bring to naught the intriguesof our enemies."14 Calls to increaserevolutionary vigilance in the past were usually followed by extraordinarymeasures,the strengtheningof party and governmentcontrols. In 1953, the situation took a different turn. There were no new waves of persecution.Moreover, after the condemnation of Beria, the motif of vigilance generally disappeared from the press.At the sametime, the cult of personalityceasedto be mentioned.The processof examiningthe pastwas halted. The public was thus given the dose of truth that the leaders deemedappropriate.At the heightsof power they presumedthat the ministration of truth and justice was part of the competenceof the leadership.At that level they knew what was betterfor the peopleand what was worse, what to allow and what to forbid. There was a firm certainty that many things accessibleto the understandingof the leaderswould undoubtedlybe misunderstoodby the people. Worse yet, if the peoplebeganto take an active role in public life, the results would, of course,be unfortunate.In order to cross the line dividing societyinto the omniscientleadersand the ignorantmasses,the studied caution of a Malenkov would not suffice. What was neededwas a breakthrough,a leap into the unknown, something of which Khrushchevalone provedcapable.But that camelater. For a while the prohibition on mentioning Stalin's name in relation to the cult of personalitypreservedrelative unanimity amongthe leadership.The phenomenonof the cult was viewed as a kind of sicknessthat struck the party apparatus."What it was acceptedto call the 'cult of personality,'" Malenkov wrote much later, "consisted above all of the assertion and self-assertionof a leader flawless in word and deedwithout regard to the questionwhetherhe is right or wrong-or malevolent."15 If that were true, how could the intolerable

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natureof the situation be representedas the confidentialaffair of the leadership?Nevertheless,the leadershipsharedthe illusion that the subjectof Stalin could be relegatedto silence,and this illusion led to a developmentthat they did not foresee. On the eve of InternationalWomen'sDay, 8 March, in one of the student dormitories it was a tradition to show the film "ChIen pravitelstva" (Member of the Government).In the final sceneof the film, Stalin entersa large hall to the thunderousapplauseof a crowd. In 1954, as soon as Stalin appearedon the screenthe audiencein this dormitory stood and beganto applaud.Thesestudentswere not Stalin fanatics. This behavior in any event was promptedby other feelings. The contrast between the publicity formerly surrounding Stalin'snameand the suddenregime of silencewas so artificial that it seemedimmoral. "When the name of Stalin disappearedfrom the pressand then the formula 'cult of personality' quickly appeared,it wounded people's moral sense,the senseof justice," explainedI.A. Dedkov, then a student at Moscow StateUniversity, later a well-knownjournalist, critic, and publicist. "How could it be? He filled all the newspapers,everyoneprayed for him. And who were the first to pray? All of these authorities, the leadersof the country. Why did they earlier shout'hurrah'and now they are quiet?This was doneimmorally. It was not natural."16 On 5 March 1954 Dedkov approachedthe professorin his first class before the lecture beganand proposedthat the class standfor a m~ ment in honor of Stalin'smemory.And the classstood up. "This was a rather bold move," said Dedkov, "becauseit ran counter to the current. Although at the sametime a critical outlook on Stalin was steadily developing.Very quickly, evenamongmy own companions."17 They had not even thought at the time of such conceptionsas Stalin and Stalinism, but, moved by moral intuition, they stood for overcomingthe legacy of Stalin, and the resultwas more constructive and more profound than the measurestaken by the government againstthe cult. The task seemedat first glance simple, but different social forces approachedit with different moral criteria and a different degree of receptivenessto future political changes.Some were preparedto surrenderthe memory of Stalin to public opinion, leaving the political regime essentiallyuntouchedthoughsomewhatmodernized. Others proceededfrom doubts about the man and did not considercriticism of Stalin an adequatereform. Ratherthey set out at once on anotherand higher level of perceptionof public problems and the possibility of resolving them. As the culmination of these

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trends loomed in the Twentieth Party Congress,the leadershipof the country and that part of the public that succeededin working out a reserveof revisedideasapproachedthe projectedreforms with a different degreeof preparednessand the changesin store with a different perspective. The last day of the Twentieth Party Congress,25 February 1956, was a historical milestone. It was then that Khrushchevshockedthe majority of the delegateswith his speech"On the Cult of Personality and Its Consequences"[the famous/notorious"secret speech"H.R.]. Although the meeting was closed and the delegateswere warnedabout the confidentiality of the proceedings,the secretslong surroundingthe name of Stalin were soon known everywhere.The documentsof the Twentieth Congresshave specialsignificance.They embodiedin fact the first seriousattemptto examinethe essenceof the Stalinist era, to draw lessonsfrom it, to assessits history, and to identify thoseresponsiblefor it. The personalfactor acquireda special significance,and the negative manifestationsof socialist construction in practice were attributed to the decisive influence of Stalin's characterflaws. His policies were divided into two periods, the positive one (the strugglewith the opposition, the period of industrialization and collectivization, and the GreatPatriotic War) and the negativeone, when, to put it simply, Stalin's characterwas corrupted.Thus a distinct era appearedin Soviet history, the era of the cult ofpersonality. Its chronologicallimits were not defined sufficiently clearly, but the beginningdate was sometime in the late 1930s.The period as a whole was viewed as somethinglike an appendix to a healthy historical organism, a kind of zigzag, a fortuitous misunderstanding. So the shadowof Stalin once more disturbedthe minds and souls of his contemporaries.The first word of truth on Stalin was for them shattering,notwithstandingthe fact that most of the particularshad long been anticipated by the restoration of conventional legality. Most striking were the facts and figures and the namesof those slandered, persecuted,and consigned to oblivion. Among them were well-known political personalities,outstandingscientists, military leaders, and artists. They were the flower of society, its intellectual elite, thousandsof simple, honest people, people dedicatedto the party. And beside this national tragedy was the name that for years had embodiedall the successand the triumphs, all that had been attainedat the price of enormouspressureon the whole people. "At the closed sessionof 25 Februaryduring the report by Khrushchev

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several delegatesfell into a faint," Ilia Ehrenburglater recalled. "I won't hide it. When I read the speech,I was shaken,as it was not spokenin a circle of friends of one of Stalin'svictims but by the first secretaryof the party. February25, 1956 was for me and for all of my contemporariesa big day."18 The content of the Twentieth Party Congressgradually became known to the party at large and subsequentlyto the public as a whole. It was no accidentthat 1956 is fixed in the memoryof Russiansociety as a turning point, a milestone. The reactions to it, however, were quite varied. Confusionstimulatedin someminds the developmentof thought. Othersit simply left disoriented.In one of the opinion polls of the 1960s, the public was queried about its attitudes toward the different eventsof the time, and one particularanswerwas characteristic: 'The worst was the series of events surroundingthe criticism of Stalin and the work of the party in that period. No other event in my life hit me so hard, not even the disastersof the first years of the war with fascistGermany."19 Another testimony,ofa party member'sinitial reactionto Khrushchev'sspeech,evincedsimilar feelings. A week has already passedsince the time when our party organization was acquaintedin detail with the materialsof the Twentieth Party Congresson the cult of personality,and I have spentthe whole time under the impressionthat they made.... In the first days I was irritated that we are passingjudgment on a deceasedperson, and I wanted losif Vissarionovich Stalin to remain in our memory as a just and honest man, as he was portrayedfor us for more than three decades .... And now that we have found out about his most seriousfaults, it is difficult, very difficult to extinguish in the heart that great love that was so strongly rootedin our whole organism.20

On 5 March 1956 studentsin Tbilisi went out into the streetsto lay flowers at the monumentto Stalin on the third anniversaryof his death. Their gesturein honor of Stalin turned into a protestagainst the decisionsof the Twentieth Party Congress.The demonstrations and meetingscontinuedfor five days, and on the eveningof 9 March tankswere broughtinto the city to restoreorder. The events in Tbilisi are in their wayan index of the incompetence, the lack of sufficient deliberation,with which the whole antiStalinist campaignwas conducted.By any seriousreckoningit was the result of the utter neglect of social psychology.The time chosenfor the decisive exposeof Stalin virtually coincidedwith the anniversary of his death.A coincidenceof this kind, even if not deliberate,if only

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accidental,can provoke a psychological reaction of rejection of the best intentions. That was just the kind of reaction that Khrushchev confrontedin March 1956. The party apparatusreactedquite unexpectedlyto the new line. It demonstratedthe unambiguousdesire to put the brakeson the new campaign,observingthe party line in a purely ritual fashion.Judging by the numberof questionsfrom lower to higher party organizations, the party memberswere more concernedabout outward forms of expressionthan about the analysis of what had taken place. What should be done with the portraits of Stalin? Could Stalin's works be usedin propagandaand in teaching?Were his works still considered among the classics of Marxism-Leninism? Party committees respondedto many such questions,but as no special instructionshad been preparedfor the eventuality of a confusedreaction to an unplannedspeech,confusionwas inevitable. The portraitswere taken down in official buildings but not without a good deal of resistance.The director of one factory shopwould not consentto remove his own portrait of Stalin. When he went home and told his wife, she advised him at once: "Go and take it down yourself, or they will arrest you and put you in prison for cult of personality."21 Such fears may be perceivednow as naive, but their appearanceat that time was quite conspicuous.Peopleoften did not distinguish the new campaignfrom the past practice of struggle with enemiesof the peoplein spite of the fact that there was not a hint of the methodscommon to such campaignsin the past. Fear was alive and well, nourishingand supportingthe psychologyof the bystander: "We are little people." But this was only one slice of opinion. Therewas anotherreaction, a very lively one, to the exposeof Stalin's crimes. Many people did not accept, for example, the conceptof Stalin's personalguilt as a perfectly satisfactoryexplanation.The generalattitude of the doubters was expressed,it seems,by a letter addressedat the time to the journal Communist: 'They say that the policy of the party was right, and yet Stalin was wrong. But who was in charge of this policy for decades?Stalin. Who formulated the basic political positions?Stalin. The two propositionsare incompatible."22The logic of this kind of reasoningled to other questions: "Why could the membersof the Politburo of the Central Committee, old communistsand loyal students of Lenin, not correct Stalin in good time?"23 "If all the members of the Politburo, the Central Committee, and the government saw that Stalin was making incorrect decisions,why did they not re-

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move him from the post?" "Were the membersof the Politburo such cowardsand the party too impotentto take the placeof Stalin?"24 To a certain extent the answerto thesequestionswas given in the reflectionsof one of the participantsin the discussionof the Twentieth Congressat the Gorky Institute of World Literature. It seemsto me that as a result of historical causesthere was in the party and the governmenta stratumof peoplefor whom the cult of personality was beneficial, who got along well with it. Now they are pronouncing big words and they considerhow they can maintain themselvesin their positions.... There were people who led thousandsof honestcitizens to their destructionand there were people who saw it all. ... If all of thesepeople remain at their posts, and if they are entrustedwith carrying out the decisions of the Twentieth Congress,it would be pure self-deceptionon our part.25

Otherscarried their personalinquiries further and even took specific stepsbringing them into direct confrontationwith the authorities. A worker at an electric power station in Arkhangelsk Province who was found in possessionof a letter that he planned to send to Khrushchevwas arrestedby the organsof state security. The content of the letter was characterizedas anti-Soviet. Nikita Sergeevich!We ... thank you for finding in yourselfthe courage to tell the truth to the whole people and to reveal facts that give us groundsfor trusting you and the government.We hold Lenin and his teachingsin holy esteemand considerthat in the presentcircumstances we are obliged to act as Lenin taught: all power to the Soviets,that is, to the local sovietsof workers' deputies.Only in this fashion can we come to communism.If your speechand respectfor Lenin are not hypocritical, then sendus the government'sguaranteethat the police and security agentswill not bother us delegatesand agitators. In the contrary caseincidentsmay arise and, it may be, even bloodletting,for which you will be held responsible.We think that we are entitled to an answer without superfluousdelay and red tape.26

The letter naturally did not reachthe addressee.This is an isolated example, and the public reaction to Khrushchev'sreport was more often expressedin doubts, reflections, and questionsrather than in willingness to proceedwith any practicalaction. In a variety of party meetingsafter the discussionof Khrushchev's reportspecialresolutionswere passedas if to developthe decisionsof the congress.Thus the communistsat the Stalin Metallurgical Factory

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in Leningrad resolved to ask the Central Committee to transfer Stalin's body out of the mausoleumand to remove his name from their factory.27 A party meeting in Chkalovsk region issueda similar resolution: "In view of the fact that during the last period of his work Stalin made a series of serious mistakes bordering on crimes, the party meeting, expressingthe will of communists,asks the Central Committeeto transfer the body of Stalin out of the mausoleumand to order the removal of his portraits."28 Other party organizations madesimilar proposals.29 One party meetingin Leningradheard the suggestion"to subjectStalin posthumouslyto a party court."30 (Only four of 750 people, however, voted for the resolution.) The casualness with which some party workers were preparedto judge their recentidol did not always garnerthe supportof their colleaguesand gives us ground to doubt the genuinenessof such impulses, all the more sinceafter Khrushchev'sspeech,it was not only safe but actually obligatory to criticize Stalin. To criticize the new leadershipwith Khrushchevat its head was anothermatter.At a party meetingof the Latvian Committeeof State Security one of the communistssuggestedthat the reasonsgiven by Khrushchevfor the rise of the cult of personality"could not be recognized as persuasive,"and he proposedhis own conception of the problem: "the cult of personalitybecamepossible as a result of the irresponsibility of membersof the Central Committeeand the Politburo."31 The party committeeexpelledhim for this suggestion,but its decision was not supportedby a higher instanceof party authority, 32 and he was simply reprimanded. Therewas also a grassrootsreactionof disagreementwith the criticism of Stalin. Mter a meeting at the university in Vologda a handwritten note was found: "Idle chatter. Stalin is with us. Komsomol (CommunistYouth League)."33The soldierssaid to each other, "Stalin is alive in the memoryof the people,we went into battle and died in his name."One of them elaborated. I was reading the confidential letter of the Central Committee [on the cult of personality-E.Z.] and got angry at its contents. . . . I cannot easily believe all the facts that are laid out in the letter. Stalin did much for the Soviet state, and we must not belittle his services. He transformed our country from backwardnessinto an advancedindustrial power.Thanksto Stalin we won the war. ... Stalin raisedme from childhood in his ideas, and I will not reject these ideas now. I had and will have the best opinion of Stalin.... I am angry about what the letter revealed. . . . If he was guilty of anything, it was only that he trusted

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Beria and shot many honestSoviet people.... But for Stalin, we might not have a Soviet statebut a republic of the bourgeoistype.34

The logic of the argumentsproposedby this soldier was ratherwidespreadamong those who did not accept the decisionson the cult of personality.As information reaching the Central Committee indicates, the former soldiersremainedthe most conservativein their perceptions of Stalin. The bulk of the favorable reactionsto Khrushchev'sspeech camefrom the artistic intelligentsiaand the students. The journalist D.P. Latsis recalls the impression that Khrushchev's reportmadeon him and his fellow studentsat MoscowStateUniversity. His speech,all of our lack of preparationfor it and our inexperience notwithstanding,was striking for its simplicity and absenceof cunning. He said that the great geniuswas a great malefactor,and that was that. We believed that he was a greatmalefactor,as the facts were irresistible. But it provoked more objections and doubts. How could it be in our country, in our party, in our revolution? How was it compatible with socialism?The reductionof all thesequestionsto an issueof personality was deliberately misleading. This was not some kind of renegadepersonality but the leaderwhom we had followed. Two questionsarose at once: how could it happen, and where were the guaranteesthat it would not be repeated?Therewas no answereither to the one or to the other. We demandedthe formation of such guarantees,and nobody responded.It was all reduced to the replacementof one person by 35 another,but we understoodthat this was no guarantee.

Doubts gave rise to reflection and reflection to more questions. Meetingstook place,informal discussions,and arguments.Ilia Ehrenburg recalls it. They spoke of Stalin everywhere,in every apartment,at work, in the cafeterias,in the metro. One Muscovite would say to another, "Well, what do you think?" He didn't expectan answer,there was no explanation of the past. Mter dinner the head of the family would repeatwhat he had heard at a meeting. Kids listened. They knew that Stalin was a wise genius . . . and suddenly they heard that Stalin killed his close friends ... that he believedfirmly in the word of Hitler, approving the nonaggressionpact. A son or daughterwould ask: "Papa,how could you have known nothing?"36

One discussionled to another, the wave of public concern grew wider and deeper.The leadershipof the country was not prepared for such a sweep of events. "After the Twentieth Congress,when

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people began to raise all kinds of issues,we were not preparedto respond," as the secretaryof the Moscow party committee, E.A. Furtseva,confessedat a local meetingPThe decision was made to suspendtemporarily the public reading of Khrushchev'sreport. When questionswere raised about the reasons,it was usually explained,first, that it was to avoid the intriguesof Westernpropaganda and, second,that it was for the conductof more conscientiouspreparatory work among communists,who had on severaloccasionstaken "incorrect positionson unhealthyopinions."38 Someresponsesto the widespreadcriticism of the cult of personality were consideredexcessive.They led, on the one hand, to an elementary mania for meetingsand, on the other, to efforts to subvert authority. Some of the excessesoccurred for logical reasons.If the party, for example,spoke out againstthe deification of leaders,then why do we still have monumentsto living people in the leadership? Why are cities, collective farms, and enterprisesnamedfor them? A special situation began to take shape in society. In removing Stalin from his pedestal,Khrushchevhad dispelled the aura of inviolability around the leading political personalityand his entouragein general. The system of fear was broken (here was an undoubted service of the new leadership),and the former perfect impunity of the supremepower was no longer intact. Khrushchevthus brought himself willy-nilly under the fixed gaze-examination-of his fellow citizens. While all of the institutional power structure remainedthe same, this new outlook undoubtedlyaltered the internal balanceof power. Peoplewere now in possessionof the right not only to expect changesfor the betterbut to demandthem. The new situation at the grassroots formed an atmosphereof impatience,which, on the one hand, stimulatedthe authoritiesto undertakedecisive measures,but, on the other, increasedthe risk of turning the courseof reform into the pulp of populism. As subsequentdevelopmentsillustrated, the governmentdid not succeedin avoiding this danger.

Chapter 19

Public Opinion and the "Hungarian Syndrome"

Noticeable changeswere taking place in the country. Above all, the public atmospherewas changing; a modestliberation of society was proceeding.The Soviet Union openedup to the world. International contactsand exchangesdeveloped,trips of Soviet delegationsabroad and of foreignersto the Soviet Union becamean ordinary phenomenon. One such occasionwas the World Youth and StudentFestival in Moscow. But the most substantivechange was that the life of the peopleinside the country was palpably different: it no longer resembled so much a one-waystreet,and it actively embracednew forms of open social intercourse.On the wave of public elan new forms of literature, painting, and the theater were born. The experimental theaterSovremennik(Contemporary)evoked open discussion,a reborn avant-gardedefendedits right to interpret the world, and literature and journalism-nearlyindistinguishable-became an active part of everydaylife, forcing everyone to choosethis or that side of the barricades.The processesof emotional and cultural liberation and rebirth, which had been gestatingfor decades,suddenly burst forth with a mighty impulseand a new face. A critical glancebackwardat the year 1956 is almost like stumbling into the present.Peoplebeganto react more sharply to the problems of their own time. The volume of readers'mail to the newspapersand journalsincreased.A major themeof this correspondence was the cult of personality.Somedemandedthat the pastshould not be stirred up; otherswished to pursue the issue to its end. But the most important questionshad to do with the pastand with expectationsof the future. 191

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The past demandeda substantiveanalysis. In 1955 and 1956 the journal Voprosy istorii (Problems of History, chief editor: A.M. Pankratova)publisheda seriesof articles and documentsdesignedto broaden the rigidly circumscribedperspectiveof the Short History of the Bolshevik Party [the infamously Stalinist account published in 1938-H.R.] and to formulate historical questionsin the spirit of the new era. These materials, as well as the journal as a whole, were subjectedto such severecriticism that Pankratovafelt compelled to send the Central Committeein August 1956 a special note challenging the accusationsagainstthe journal. "The incorrectattitude to our journal is a significant problem," she wrote. "The discipline of history and the other social scienceshave accumulateda great many serious mistakesand shortcomingsintolerablein the light of the decisionsof the Twentieth Party Congress.Yet our efforts to speak out against thesemistakesand shortcomingshave run into resistance."l The resistance,both direct and oblique, was encounterednot only by the editors of the journal and its contributors.Unanimity was formerly the official norm, and any deviation from the norm was perceived as hostile intrigues and subversionof the foundations,whether it had to do with scholarlydiscussionor the fashionsof youth. The big blow of the vigilantes of morality amongyouth was delivered to the so-calledstiliagi, that is, the young peoplesmitten by the new Western styles of fashion. They were easily identified by their appearance,their dress (narrow pants and wide neckties) and hair styles in particular, and especiallyby their musical tastes.They were inordinately fond of jazz, which Soviet ideologuesconsideredunwholesome. "Today they play jazz, and tomorrow they will betray their country," as the captions under cartoons maintained. Their addiction to fashion was ridiculed and deridedin cartoonsand newspaper columns. It could also exclude them from the Communist Youth League or ruin their careers,and such fates were not rare. According to the more categoricaljudgments, "From the stiliag to crime the distanceis microscopic."2 At the same time there were efforts to see beyond mere appearance and to overcome crude views of the outward signs of sound judgmentor the lack of it. One of the researchersat the Institute of Public Opinion commentedon the questionin Komsomol'skaiapravda (CommunistYouth LeaguePravda). I don't considerthe stiliagi to be those who dress fashionably (narrow pants do not make a stiliag) but those who along with narrow pants

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narrow their honor and their conscience.These people parade their scorn for work, for life, for all that is holy. By themselvesthey are not frightening. There are few of them, and they can be swept into the garbageat any moment. But they set a bad examplein idleness,dandyism, and dissipation and have a bad influence on youth. Like a caseof the flu, the frightening thing is the risk of complications.The complications of the stiliagi I considerparasitism,hooliganism,and banditism.3

In disputesof this kind somethingnew appearedin Soviet life: a public opinion that was earlier confined chiefly to private and confidential conversationsbecameopen and genuinelypublic. It was as if the society had suddenly discoveredthe right of free speech,and, true to Russiantradition, literature andjournalismagain assumedthe role of social commentary. Novyi mir began to publish in 1956 V.D. Dudintsev's novel, Ne khlebom edinym (Not by Bread Alone). It related the conflicts of a young engineerand inventor, Lopatkin, and his confrontationswith the bureaucraticapparatusin the person of the factory director Drozdov: the complex and sometimesdramaticfate of an unconventional personality in a world of truculent traditions. Of course, Dudintsevunderstoodperfectly well that his book was a challengeto the spirit of the time, and the editorial staff of the journal took full accountof the fact that it was publishing a far from inoffensive work. Still, scarcelyany of them imaginedthe explosivepublic reactionthat the novel provoked. They received more than six hundred letters aboutit. No other literary production prior to that time had such an impact. Lines formed in libraries to read it, and copiesof the journal were passedfrom handto hand. "The first discussionof the novel [at the Writers' Union in October 1956--E.Z.]," recalls Dudintsev, "drew so many people that the horseback police were called. People climbed up the water pipes on the outsideof the building in order to listen to the proceedingsthrough a second-storywindow."4 And there was plenty to hear. It began on a neutral note in the spirit of supportof the Twentieth Party Congress. Then it turned gradually, in great part thanks to the fervor of the student gallery, into ever more severe criticism of the bureaucratic s Everyone presentrecalled especially the intervention of apparatus. Konstantin Paustovskii."I don't intend to speakof the literary merits or flaws of Dudintsev'snovel. That is not the point now. The novel is a major public event, and that is its significance.This is the first battle with the Drozdovs."6This speechwas reproducedover and over again,

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distributedby the early purveyorsof samizdat,and later confiscatedin police searchesas an anti-Soviet document. 7 The social significanceof the novel, its antibureaucraticthrust, was at once appreciatedby readers,who were not intimidated by the negative reviews that appearedat first in the newspapersIzvestiaand Literary Gazette.8 The engineerA. Shcherbakovaddressedhimself to Izvestia. I disagree entirely with your assessment,and I consider the appearance ... of the novel in our pressto be an importantdevelopment.... It summonsus to strugglewith the bureaucratsand careeristsat all levels, including the ministries and the tyrants in academicand scientific life, and allows us to feel (it is strangethat you didn't notice it), along with all the bureaucracyand the red tape, a province of life where they don't belong.9

Taking issue with thosewho were ready to explain conflicts in the novel as survivals of the past, one readerreasonedotherwise."Please, the old and senile types of the past forty years of Soviet power have died off. And here is a new speciesthat is not even consideringdying out but, on the contrary, is forcing many othersto worry about their own modest position in society."10 Another reader continued the same thought: "Leadersof this kind have taken their place in their lounge chairs, and they are afraid that criticism will bouncethem out of their accustomedsinecures."11 The conclusion drawn in many of the letters to Novyi mir was that the bureaucratswould never surrender their positionswillingly. So a strugglewas foreseen,a confrontation with those who personified bureaucraticpower, one of Dudintsev'sprincipal ideas. "It's necessary!Say it louder!" wrote P. Kuznetsovfrom TagH [Urals]. "We hear you, and we will do something. We are speakingout againstour monopolistsof power. They multiplied a good deal during the cult of personality.But our meetings are growing interesting,and we do not fear the struggle."12 The public opinion forming around Dudintsev's novel reflected not only readinessfor a fight but formulateddemandsas if it were an informal social institute. In the main these demandsconcerned changesin the establishedorder, which it was traditionally considered possible to criticize by referenceto the principle "from the top down," that is, when initiated by the higher authorities.The speeches, proposals,and demandsnow being heard naturally provoked nervousnessamong employeesof the apparatus,especially those in its lower and middle ranks.A variety of local authoritiesforbadelibraries

PUBLIC OPINION AND THE "HUNGARIAN SYNDROME"

195

to give Dudintsev'snovel to readers,and in several cities scheduled discussionsof it were suddenlycanceled.But the dynamismof public reactionhad alreadybeenset in motion. Peoplefelt that in the atmospheresurroundingthe novel "some kind of intangible mechanism was at work. Peoplewould come up and say, 'Do you know about it? Have you readit?' And peoplewho had neverread Novyi mirran their legs offlooking for [the issuescontaining] the novel."13 At Leningrad University, the tone of the discussionwas clear. "We won't speakof the literary power of this work; let us speakof how we are going to struggle with the Drozdovs."14The studentsof Leningrad University then sent a letter to Moscow University with an appeal: "Let us unite in commoncauseagainstthe Drozdovs."15 Official criticism of the novel reproachedthe author for slander, for the atypical nature of the characterthat he chose to portray, for political immaturity, etc., and some readerssharedthesesentiments. Such accusations,however, were basedon a broader concern than the work of a single author. It was a question of admissiblelimits, of the boundsin which public opinion should be confined in order to avoid excessiveconflict with the authorities.As an employeeof the Central Committee observed, evidently speaking only for himself, "Let them generalizeas Azhaev did.16 Or as Malyshkin17 has an old man say of a teapot, 'That is what Soviet power is like, it can't even make a decentteapot.' That we will allow. But we cannotallow individual people to have influence over youth. We must be united. That is the presentsituation."18 So the bar on the high jump of criticism was supposedto be lowered to the level of the teapot. But that was obviously not the presentsituation. Lev Kopelevdescribedthe developmentof eventsafter this point. "At the very time ... when the most important item for us was to discuss Dudintsev's [serialized] novel, in particular the question whether it would subsequentlybe publishedas a book, during thosevery hours in Budapestthey overthrew a cast-iron statueof Stalin and marchedin a demonstrationto the monumentof the Polish GeneralBern, who had fought for the freedom of Hungary [in the revolution of 1848-1849H.R.]. A real people'srevolution was underway there."19 Thus the internal life of the country was inscribedinto an international context.The Hungarianquestionbecamefor the Soviet leadership a kind of index of the volatility of the political crisis at home. It was thus perceivedas the prospectivemodel of developmentof the public movementin the Soviet Union, threateningto repeatthe lessonsof Budapestin a Soviet variant. A mood of panic spreadamong

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party functionariesin the fall and winter of 1956, and rumors were afloat that a secretlist of communistshad been composedfor a future settling of accounts.20 The rumors supplementedthe newspaper reports,whose photosmust have beenselectedfor their shockeffect. The Soviet press presenteda picture of bloody counterrevolution againstwhich backgroundthe introduction of Soviet forces into Budapestappearednot an illegal act trampling on the normsof internationallaw but virtually an act of salvation. Such images, however, fell far short of persuadingeveryone.The party informers recorded "unhealthy facts and hostile pronouncements" on the developmentsin Hungary.21 One worker from Stalingradwas quotedas sympatheticto the Hungarians. I considerthat they are doing the right thing to go on strike. They don't want our kind of regime, they don't like collective farms and socialism. Evidently they want to live on a granderscale,and they are doing right, [they want] freedom for their people. Not like among us, where everyone is intimidated. We can only dawdle, we can't do anything. You can see that they have a leaderwho knows how to organizethe whole people, and they have begun to act, but we are too afraid to get organized.If anyonespeaksout, he is instantly taken away. They don't want to live as we do, and you see that our leaders take our produce and send it to them, knowing that our peoplewill put up with anything.22

In the laconic terms of a worker from Omsk, "In Hungarythey are sick of socialism, they are turning to capitalism."23 In several Soviet cities leaflets appearedcalling for supportof the Hungarian people and condemningthe Soviet armed intervention. In Barnaul (southwest Siberia), for example, during the night of 6-7 November ten suchleafletswere found. Citizens! Friends! It is time to act! Down with the CentralCommitteeof the CommunistParty, which for thirty-nine yearshas led the peopleof Russia to unmitigatedpoverty! Join the ranks of the Union of liberation of the Peoplesof Russia! Death to the oppressors,to the baseextortioners! For the happinessof the peopleof Russiaagainstthe savageCentral Committee of the CommunistParty! ... Readit and passit on.24

During a demonstrationon the anniversaryof the OctoberRevolution, a studentin Yaroslavl unfurled a handwritten bannerreading "We demandthe withdrawal of Soviet troops from Hungary!" After his detention by the security organs, he explained that he wrote it

PUBLIC OPINION AND THE "HUNGARIAN SYNDROME" 197

himself without anyone'sprompting "in order to determinewhether there is democracyin the USSR or not."25 But on the whole the manifestationsof open protest against the Soviet intervention in Hungary were few and isolated. Peopleof course discussedthe matter, but the discussiondid not reachbeyondcircles of closefriends. The Hungariancrisis was at the sametime a crisis of Khrushchev's "new course." The Budapestautumn put him to the test, disclosing the most vulnerable points of the incipient political reform and threateningits successfulcontinuation.A major questionstoodacross the path of progressivepolitical reforms, the questionof the attitude of the Soviet leadershipand the political opposition to each other. The open existenceof opposition could serve as a guarantorof the irreversible nature of progressivereforms. Intervention in Hungary, however,and the eventsfollowing it in the USSRshowedthat, under the presentpower structure,the legalizationof oppositionwas out of the question.The leaderswho had attained their posts in a struggle with various kinds of oppositionand deviation in the 1920sand 1930s perceivedthe very idea of opposition as unconditionally hostile and thus liable to destruction-ifpossible, at the moment of its conception. Among thosewho managedthe fate of the country in the 1940s, not one would haveadvocatedany otherprinciple. The uprising in Budapestwas a turning point in the development of domestic reform, demonstratingto the whole world the limits of Khrushchev'sliberalization. The leadershipof the country hastened to take measuresof intimidation designedto block the development of a Sovietversion of the Hungarianevents. In December1956 the Central Committeeaddressedto all members of the party a confidential letter, the title of which speaksfor itself: "On the strengtheningof the political work of party organizations among the massesand preemptingthe attacks of hostile, antiSoviet elements."The letter included a detailed list of "risk groups," especially those subject to the influence of alien ideology, among which first place was occupied by the artistic intelligentsia and student bodies.The spirit and the phraseologyof the letter were familiar and might easily have come from the most fervent witch-huntsof the 1930s and 1940s. Especially expressivewas the conclusion in which the Central Committee consideredit appropriateto emphasizethat "there cannotbe two opinions about our mannerof combatingthe enemyrabble. The dictatorshipof the proletariatmust deal with antiSoviet elementsmercilessly."26There was a degreeof reservein the

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letter. It spokeof "parts of the Soviet people"who "sometimesdo not exhibit sufficient political maturity," but "such people may not be lumped togetherin a single categorywith enemy elements."27It remainedonly to distinguishbetweenthe two kinds. The first victim in the campaignagainstthe Hungariansyndrome was the national intelligentsia, above all, the writers: Dudintsev, the author of the novel Not l7y Bread Alone; the authors of the almanac Literary Moscow [Margarita Aliger and others-H.R.];Boris Pasternak, the author of Doctor Zhivago. Ehrenburgcharacterizedthe campaign as follows. The attacks on the writers had nothing to do with criticism of their literary works but with the changein the political situation. Peopletried not to recall the TwentiethParty Congress,and of coursethey could not foresee the Twenty-Second.The youth were intimidated, and students had ceasedto speaktheir thoughtsat meetings.They spokeonly among themselves.The fear that forced people to be silent under Stalin had disappeared.It was replaced by more ordinary fears. If you speakout too much, you will be sentto work far from Moscow.28

Unpleasantmemoriesreturned:of the campaignsagainstcosmopolitanism, against kowtowing before the West, and againstvarious phenomenaconsideredbourgeois.In May 1957 there was a meeting of party leadersand writers-directorsof the Union of Writers-the first in a seriesof traditional "historical meetings,"as the propaganda termed them, betweenthe leadershipof the country and the intelligentsia.The writer Veniamin Kaverin, presentat the first such meeting, later recalled that the artistic intelligentsia still hoped that Khrushchevwould use his authority to support the liberal trend of literature.29 But it turned out quite otherwise. Khrushchevbeganto speakof Stalin, reproachingthe writers for understandingonly one side of the criticism of the cult of personality. "Stalin occupiesan appropriateplace in Soviet history," Khrushchevexplained. "He had great shortcomings,but Stalin was loyal to Marxism-Leninism, a devoted and staunchrevolutionary. Our party and people will remember Stalin and give him his due."30Signalingin such an unambiguous fashion the principal ideological criteria, Khrushchevturned to their particular implications. "However incoherentKhrushchev'sspeech was," wrote Veniamin Kaverin, "his thoughtwas perfectly clear.... It smelled of arrests, especially as he said that the 'revolt in Hungary would not have happenedif two or three windbagshad been thrown in prison in time.' "31

PUBLIC OPINION AND THE "HUNGARIAN SYNDROME" 199

Alexander Tvardovskii characterizedthe situation in 1957 as "the dissipationof the last illusions."32 This was a turning point, a retreat, alarming not only by virtue of that fact but becauseit threatened fundamentally all the important achievementsof recent years, the freedomof the press,relative and limited but betterthan before.The watchword of 1957 was the restorationof unanimity of thought. Of freedom of speech,of glasnost, there was not a word. And without glasnost,of course,therewas no healthypublic opinion. In the absenceof free speech,public opinion inevitably returned to the catacomblevel, and thus the Soviet dissidentmovementarose, fundamentallyoppositionistin its attitude to the governmentand its policy. Driven underground,the dissident movementconcentrated the energy of its thoughts and deeds in the political and juridical sphere,gradually turning into a movementto support legal rights. The open opposition of the dissidentmovementand its uncompromising charactercut it off from mainstreampolitical life, condemning it to the path of solitary opposition.Such a fate was characteristic not only of dissent.The public atmosphereitself and the conductof the authorities prompted people to choose the path of individual resistance,some forms of which did not necessarilyexhibit the qualities of dissent. Igor Dedkovrecallshis feelings of the time. It wasjust at that time that I came to the conclusionthat every attempt at organizedoppositionwas doomedto failure. Becauseeverythingwas controlled, every step, even in the provinceswhere I lived. I remember that my colleaguesfrom Moscow came to me in a ferment of ideasand plans. And I said no! The only way that I consideredthen possiblewas the way of individual, spiritual, moral resistance.Only on an individual basis. Becauseevery other way was blocked. I felt it literally physically. If an ordinary provincial student,who simply writes and receivesletters, is so surrounded[by security agents-H.R.],it meansone of two things. Either [the agents] have nothing to do, or their numberssuffice for any taskwhatever.33

Mter 1957 the contactsof Soviet citizens with the outside world were again more restricted.While trying to block the developmentof public opinion that they did not approve,however, the Soviet authorities could not foreseeeverything, and 1957 is rememberedby contemporariesnot only as a time of disappointmentbut as a time of new discovery. The vehicle of this discovery was the Moscow Festival of Youth and Students.The decision to hold it in Moscow was made,

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naturally, before the tighteningof the screwsof cultural policy. By the time of the cultural crackdown,it was too late to cancelthe occasion. As a result the residentsof Moscow witnessedduring the festival a greatdeal that was new and unexpected. Most unexpectedwas the holiday appearanceof the city. The streetsof Moscow were for the first time deckedout in multicolored flags rather than the customaryred one, and Pablo Picasso'sdovesof peacereplacedthe customaryhammerand sickle as the symbol of the festival. The program of the festival included three artistic exhibits, each of which featured pictures by the "abstractionists,"artists who were not recognizedby Soviet artistic canons.For many people, this was the first opportunityto view abstractpainting. "Perhapsfrom our contemporaryviewpoint, this was not a first-class exhibit," recalled one of the viewers, "but the mere spirit of free communication,simply of unfettering,that prevailedthere, the fact of an exhibit of paintings that we were previously forbidden in principle to see-thatwas the importantthing."34 In addition, the Moscow festival to a significant degree rehabilitatedjazz,previouslycondemnedto the underground.Jazz musicians came to Moscow from the United States,Italy, and Poland.A modest jazz festival was organized.All of theseevents,literally stunningto the young people of Moscow, formed an especiallyfestive spirit. It was a real holiday, a holiday of discovery and of socializing. The jazz musician Alexei Kozlov remembersthesedays. The city was abuzz night and day. Crowds of foreigners strolled about Moscow, manyAmericansamongthem. We were so surprised.They had nothing in commonwith the caricaturesof them in Krokodil [the Soviet satirical magazine-E.Z.] and in the drawings of [Herluf] Bidstrup. Those were either fat cats with cigars in their teeth or filthy tramps in pants full of holes and a baggy hat. And thesewere entirely different: simple, friendly, robust, full of smiles, all with short haircuts, and in blue pantsthat we later learnedto calljeans.35

Many participantsin thoseeventslater assessedthe Moscow festival as a kind of turning point in the developmentof their own view of the world. The contactwith anotherculture, the very idea of a multiplicity of models of the world reflected in a variety of artistic styles, contrasted sharply with the customary monocultural thought and the oppressivemonotonyof official Soviet art. And if the political significance of the festival soon becamethe property of propaganda,the spirit of the occasionwas long remembered,at leastin Moscow.

PUBLIC OPINION AND THE "HUNGARIAN SYNDROME" 201

The year 1957 did not put an end to the history of the thaw, but it clearly suggestedthat public opinion and the intentions of the authorities were far from compatible.As after the war, the government proved unpreparedfor an open dialogue with the public. Public opinion was as formerly assigneda role summedup in two words: approveand support. But the spirit of society already exhibited changesthat were irreversible. Peoplecould not yet say openly all that they thought about the government,aboutthe presentand the future of the country, but they ceasedto be afraid of each other, and so they acquiredfor the first time the opportunity to socializefreely, though only, it is true, in a narrow circle of friends. "Under Stalin, when informing was the norm, social life outside the workplace was reducedto a minimum," related Liudmila Alekseeva, author of The History of Dissent in the USSR. "In Moscow there was scarcelya housewhere unfamiliar people were welcome.... When the terror of unwarrantedarrestspassed, people began to visit each other, taking pleasurein the mere fact of being together."36 New forms of social life arose among neighborsand friends, who began to spend time in conversationin the kitchen. As the soldiers after the war found releasein the "blue Danubes,"the intelligentsia of the 1950sand 1960ssoughtout their intellectual friends and enemies in the kitchen. A great many anecdoteswere spawnedin the kitchen,37a characteristicsign of the times. They were told and retold by people who no longer feared imprisonmenton accountof them. There were favorite songs accompaniedby guitar. Society began to warm up and thaw out. It is true that mattersdid not develop much farther at that time. But no rigorous return to the past was possible. Russia pausedagain halfWay through the course, as it had already donemore than once,on the route to reform.

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Conclusion

Historical analogiescan be deceptive, but they are often useful. In any event, an attentive and impartial examinationof the past sometimes sparesthe statesmenof the presentthe repetition of the most futile paradigmsof discardedpolicy. Notwithstandingthe capricesof historical fate, the experienceof the past sometimessuggestshow to avoid dangerousconfrontationswith unexpectedobstacles,including those that have stood as an insurmountablebarrier acrossthe path of Russianreform. Let us considerthe factor of timing, the choice of the most favorable momentfor the introduction of reform. Obviously, such a moment must involve the common consentof the governmentand the public. In the postwarperiod,therewas no such moment.The Stalinist regime was determined to restore the essentialsof the prewar order, and the public, dreadingabove all reforms that would make mattersworse, consentedto "temporary difficulties" as the lesser of two evils. Thus the government,counting on the people'spatience, let slip the two opportunitiesmost favorablefor reform, one in 19451946 and anotherin 1956. The authorities were concerned,of course, to maintain themselves and their power, and the different leaderswere concernedto pursue policies enhancingtheir own positionsin the government.As both their conservativenature and their rivalry with each other militated against systemic reform, the demand for progressivechange devolved upon other elementsof society. In the absenceof a parliamentarytradition, the most conspicuoussupportof reform camefrom the literary intelligentsia.The activism of the literary movement,however,frightened the authorities,who then stiffenedtheir oppositionto reform. Malenkov'sefforts perhapsheld out the promiseof somethingbet203

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CONCLUSION

ter. Had he beenallowed to develophis programmore fully, he might well have inaugurateda variant of what Mikhail Gefter called the "prosperouspolice state."And once the genie was out of the bottle, it would have been necessaryto adjust politics to new conditionsof life. A road to pluralism might have been opened,one taking public opinion into accountand inauguratinga new distribution of power. We must not make the mistake,however,of thinking that the strangulation of reform in the 1950sand 1960swas the work of the partystate apparatusalone. Behind the reform efforts social interests always stood, and the successof the reforms dependedon the social milieu that stood to benefit by them. Societywas divided both against itself and against the nomenklaturaas well. Both the one and the other were intimidated by "mental arresting devices," those unimpeachableinvocationsof the liturgy of Stalinist socialism.As a consequence, neither the party elite nor the general public was rich in reformist ideas. New ideas, more humanisticvalues, were presentand persistent-inembryo, and they were destinedto grow, but they faced enormousodds. Few people had the courageto raise the question of the fundamentalrectitude of socialism. No one attackedin public the basic values of state property, collective farms, and industrial giants. The most progressiveideas of the time did not overstep the boundsof socialistideology, and the developmentof public opinion proceededfundamentallyfrom the slogan "back to Lenin." Finally, these lost opportunities did not pass, alas, without other losses,the saddestof which were the lossesof humanlife and of humane values.The thaw proceededfrom admirablemoral impulses,from faith in ideals,manyof them laudableand later lost. If we are to build a better future, our societymust cure itself of the diseaseof hate. In order to do so, it must return to its past,where therewere not only missedopportunities but real evocationsof the humanspirit on which inspired people might be able to found a political and cultural renaissance.

Notes

List of Abbreviations

GARF-Gosudarstvennyi arkhiv Rossiiskoifederatsii RGALI-Rossiiskiigosudarstvennyiarkhiv literatury i iskusstva RTsKhIDNI-Rossiiskiitsentr khraneniia i izucheniia dokumentov novoi istorii TsKhSD--Tsentrkhraneniiasovremennoidokumentatsii d. = delo: volume f = fond: recordgroup t. = list: page ll. = listy: pages op. = opis': inventory Translator's Introduction 1. The one developmentof the period that scholarshave probed more deeply is the seriesof policy debatesthat eventuatedin the allegeddefeatof A.A. Zhdanov. Perhapsthe best exampleis Werner C. Hahn, PostwarSovietPolitics: TheFall of Zhdanovand the Defeat of Moderation, 1946-1953(Ithaca,NY, 1982). 2. AlexanderWerth, Russia:ThePost-WarYeaT.5 (New York, 1971), ix. 3. RogerW. Pethybridge,A History ofPostwarRussia(New York, 1966), 15. 4. The new Russian historiographyis admirably coveredin two volumes by Robert W. Davies, SovietHistory in the GorbachevRevolution(Bloomington,IN, 1989) and SovietHistory in the YeltsinEra (Basingstoke,UK, 1997).

Introduction l. AleksandrZinoviev, Homosovieticus,trans.CharlesJanson(London, 1985). 2. Mikhail Geller, Cogs in the SovietWheel: TheFormation of SovietMan, trans.David Floyd (London, 1988). 205

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NOTES TO AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION AND CHAPTER 1

3. Vera S. Dunham, In Stalin's Time: Middleclass Values in Soviet Fiction (New York, 1976). 4. Seweryn Bialer, Stalin s Successors:Leadership, Stability and Changein the Soviet Union (Cambridge,UK, 1980); Dietrich Beyrau and Ivo Bock, eds., Das Tauwetterund die Folgen (Bremen, 1988); Donald A. Filtzer, The KhrushchevEra: De-Stalinisation and the Limits of Reform in the USSR, 1953-1964 (Basingstoke,UK, 1993); O.L. Leibovich, Reforma i modernizatsiia v 1953-1964gg. (Perm, 1993);JamesG. Richter, KhrushchevsDouble Bind: International PressuresandDomesticCoalition Politics (Baltimore, 1994). 5. Timothy Dunmore, Soviet Politics, 1945-1953 (London, 1984); Werner G. Hahn, Postwar Soviet Politics: The Fall of Zhdanovand the Defeat of Moderation, 1946-1953(London, 1982);AlexanderWerth, Russia:The PostwarYears (New York, 1971). 6. N.V. Romanovskii,Liki stalinizma, 1945-1953gg. (Moscow, 1995). 7. Susan].Linz, ed., The Impact of World War II on the SovietUnion (Totowa, r-rr, 1985);John Garrard and Carol Garrard, eds., World War II and the Soviet People (New York, 1993); M.M. Narinskii et aI., eds.,Klwlodnaia voina: Novyepodkhody,novyedokumenty(Moscow, 1995). 8. Vladimir Shlapentokh,Public and Private Life of the Soviet People: Changing Values in Post-StalinRussia(New York, 1989). 9. Karl Schlagel,Der renitente Held: Arbeiterprotestin der Sowjetunion, 1953-1983(Hamburg, 1984); Donald A. Filtzer, Soviet Workers and De-Stalinization: The Consolidation of the Modern SystemofSovietProductionRelations,1953-1964(New York, 1992). gody: KolkhozySSSRv 10. l.M. Volkov, Trudovoi podvigsovetskogokrest'ianstvav poslevoennye 1946-1950gg. (Moscow, 1972); V.P. Popov, Rossiiskaiaderevnia posle voiny (iiun' 1945-mart 1953 gg.) (Moscow, 1991); O.M. Verbitskaia, Rossiiskoekrest'ianstvo:Ot Stalina k Khrushchevu (Moscow, 1992). 11. Vladimir Shlapentokh,Soviet Intellectuals and Political Power: The Post-Stalin Era (Princeton,1990); HansGunter,ed., The Culture of the Stalin Period (Basingstoke,UK, 1990); Edith R. Frankel, Novyi Mir: CaseStudyin the Politics of Literature, 1952-1958(Cambridge,UK, 1981); Dietrich Beyrau, Intelligenz und Dissens:Die russischenBildungsschichtenin der Sowjetunion, 1917-1985(Gattingen,1993); Liudmila Alekseeva,SovietDissent: ContemporaryMovements for National, Religious, and Human Rights, trans. Carol PearceandJohn Glad (Middletown, CT, 1985); D.L. Babichenko, Pisateli i tsenzory: Sovetskaia literatura 1940-kh godov pod politicheskimkontrolemTsK (Moscow, 1994). 12. The bulk of the diaries and memoirsof the period are by peoplein the academicor artistic professions-writers,poets,and scholars-e.g.,G.A. Arbatov, The System:An Insider's Life in SovietPolitics (New York, 1992); Fedor M. Burlatskii, Vozhdi i sovetniki: 0 Khrushcheve, Andropovei ne tol'ko 0 nikh (Moscow, 1990); Emmanuil Kazakevich,Slushaiavremia: Dnevniki, zapisnyeknizhki, pis'ma (Moscow, 1990); Lev Kopelev, To Be PreservedForever, trans. and ed. Anthony Austin (Philadelphia, 1977); idem, Utoli moia pechali: Memuary (Moscow, 1991); Vladimir Lakshin, "Novy mir" vo vremenaKhrushcheva:Dnevnik i poputnoe, 1953-1964(Moscow, 1991); Zdenek Mlynarzh [Zdenek Mlynal'), Moroz udaril iz Kremlia (Moscow, 1992); Valentin V. Ovechkin, Stat'i, dnevniki, pis'ma (Moscow, 1972); David Samoilov, Pamiatnye zapiski (Moscow, 1995); Andrei Sakharov,Memoirs, trans. Richard Lourie (London, 1990); Konstantin M. Simonov, Glazami chelavekamoegopokoleniia: Razmyshleniia0 1. V. Staline (Moscow, 1988); Aleksandr T. Tvardovskii, "Iz zapisnykh knizhek, 1953-1960," Znamia, 1989, Nos. 7-9; Kornei l. Chukovskii, Dnevnik, 1930-1969gg. (Moscow, 1995); Ilia G. Erenburg, Sobraniesochinenii,9 vols. (Moscow, 1962-1967).

Chapter 1: The Social Psychologyof the War 1. Ales' Adamovich, lanka Bryl', and Vladimir Kolesnik, Out of the Fire, trans. Angelia GrafandNina Belenkaia(Moscow, 1980); Ales' Adamovich and Daniil Granin, A Book of the

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 1 AND 2

207

Blockade, trans. Hilda Perham (Moscow, 1983); SvetlanaAleksievich, War's UnwomanlyFace

(Moscow, 1988). 2. Grigorii la. Baklanov, Piad'zernli: Povest' (Moscow, 1960); VasiJ'Bykau (Bykov), Dozhit' do rassveta;Obelisk; Povesti (Moscow, 1973); idem, Poiti i ne vernut'sia(Moscow, 1979); Viktor Nekrasov, Front-Line Stalingrad, trans. David Floyd (London, 1962); Viacheslav Kondrat'ev, Sashka:Povestii rasskazy(Moscow, 1981). 3. KonstantinM. Simonov,Pis'ma 0 voine, 1943-1979(Moscow, 1990). 4. Sergei Alekseev, "Ne poteriat' by ... : Razmyshleniia0 nastoiashchem,k kotorym primeshanygrust' ob utratakh proshlogo i trevoga za nashe budushchee,"Sovetskaia kul'tura, 13 December1990. 5. Lev Voitolovskii, Ocherki koUektivnoipsikhologii, PartI (Petrograd,1924),49. 6. Gabriel' Tard, Obshchestvennoe mneniei tolpa (Moscow, 1902), 160. 7. Mikhail Gefter, "V predchuvstviiproshlogo,"Vek XX i mir, 1990, No.9: 34. 8. "Ukradennaiapobeda,"Komsomol'skaiapravda, 5 May 1990. 9. Ibid. 10. "Shel soldat.... ," ibid., 27 April 1990. 11. "Paradoksyfrontovoi nostaJ'gii," Literaturnaia gazeta,5 May 1990, 9. 12. "Vysotavoiny," ibid., 19June1992, 1. 13. "Paradoksyfrontovoi nostai'gii," 9. 14. Simonov,Pis'ma 0 voine: 1943-1979gg.,80-81. 15. "Stalin umer vchera.... ," AA. Protashchik,ed., Inogo ne dana (Moscow, 1988),305 [Author's emphasis-E.Z.J. 16. "Ot anti-Stalina k ne-Stalinu: Neproidennyi put'," Osmyslit' kul't Stalina (Moscow, 1989),501. 17. "Ukradennaiapobeda,"Komsomol'skaiapravda, 5 May 1990. 18. Pamiatnyezapiski (Moscow, 1995), 210. 19. SMERSH' = SMERt' (death) + SHpionam (to spies), the organ of counter-intelligenceat the front. 20. Interviewwith Boris Kondrat'ev; personalarchive of the author. 21. "Voina, kotoruiu ne znali: Iz dnevnika,prokommentirovannogosamym avtorom 45 let spustia,"Sovetskaiakut'tura, 5 May 1990. 22. "Glazami chelovekamoegopokoleniia: Razmyshleniia0 LV. Staline," Znamia, 1988, No.3: 48. 23. Ibid. 24. Stat'i, dnevniki, pis'ma (Moscow, 1972),203.

Chapter 2: The Victory and The Victors 1. B.N. Ponomarev,Istoriia SSSRs drevneishikhvremendo nashikhdnei, 11 vols. (Moscow, 1966-1980),11: 47. [As the ruble of the time was a controlledcurrencynot tradedin world financial markets,its real value is impossibleto determine,and henceit hardly makessense to try to give an equivalentdollar value for the sum cited here.-H.R.J 2. Not even the formerly secretinformation recently put at the disposalof historians on the demographiccompositionof the population during and after the war has clarified the situation fully. The indices of the birth and death rates of the population held in different offices of the government(for example,the Central StatisticalAdministration of the USSR and the Ministry of Health) often not only fail to coincide but contradicteach other. The most detailed examination of the problem is in V.P. Popov, "Prichiny sokrashcheniiachislennosti naseleniia RSFSR posle Velikoi otechestvennoivoiny," Sotsiologicheskieissledovaniia, 1994,No. 10,76-79.

20B

NOTES TO CHAPTER 2

3. The human lossesevaluatedhere to determinethe demographicbalanceinclude: (a) those dying as a consequenceof the military or other action of the enemy; (b) those dying as a result of the higher level of mortality during the war in the rear, in the regions abutting the front, and in the occupiedterritory; (c) those peoplefrom the population of the USSRon 22June1941 who left the territory of the country during the war and did not return beforeits conclusion (not including POWsand displacedpersons). 4. E.M. Andreevet aI., NaselenieSovetskogoSoiuza,1922-1991gg. (Moscow, 1993), 73. 5. Ibid., 77. 6. Ibid., 121-34. 7. Iu.V. Argutiunian, Sovetskoekrest'ianstvov gody Velikoi otechestvrmnoivoiny (Moscow, 1963),31B.

B. Popov, "Prichiny sokrashcheniiachislennosti naseleniia RSFSR posle Velikoi otechestvennoivoiny," 91. 9. Andreevet aI., NaselenieSovetskogoSoiuza,1922-1991,53, 70. 10. Dokladnaia zapiska upolnomochenogoKomissii partiinogo kontrolia pri TsK VKP(h) po Gor'kovskoi oblasti "0 neudovletvoritel'nomkul'turno-bytovomobsluzhivanii i proizvodstvennykhusloviakh rabochikh-podrostkovna riade predpriitii Gor'kovskoi oblasti, 11 June1945; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 103,1.77. 11. Ibid. 12. Istoriia SSSRs drevneishikhvremrm, 11: 53. 13. Ibid., 56. otdela TsK VKP(b) 0 vypolnenii 14. Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo postanovleniiaTsK VKP(b) ot 25 avgusta 1945 g. "0 rabote mestnykh partiinykh organizatsii i sovetskikh organov po ustroistvu demobilizovannykhiz deistvuiushcheiarmii," 11 March 1946;RTsKhIDNI,f. 17,op. 122,d. 145,1.193. 15. Ibid., I. 194. 16. Ibid. 17. BoguslavShnaider,"Neizvestnaiavoina," Vcif1rosy istorii, 1995, No.1: 110. lB. Dokladnaia zapiska zaveduiushchegootdelom Upravleniia Kadrov TsK VKP(b) Petrova "0 neobkhodimostiperestroiki dela lechebnoi pomoshchi invalidam Otechestvennoivoiny," 25 April 1945; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 117, d. 511,1. 107. 19. Ibid., 108. 20. Mikhail Gefter, "Stalin umer vchera.... ," in A.A. Protashchik,ed., Inogo ne dana (Moscow, 19B8), 305. 21. One of the first problemsof the deliberatedivision of Soviet ,society into different interestgroupsafter the war was describedby Vera S. Dunham,In Stalin's Time: Middleclass valuesin SovietFiction (Cambridge,MA, 1976), 12. 22. For all of the differencesin the historical conditionsof the two wars, that of IB12 and that of 1941-1945,they had similar sociopsychologicalconsequences: the awakeningof the spirit of freedom, the aspirationsof the peoplefor a betterlife as a rewardfor the victory, the birth of progressivepolitical ideas among the intelligentsiaand others.There was also some parallel in the moodsof the peasantryin favor of the abolition of serfdomin the earlier case and of the abolition of the collective farm in the second.Both wars also providedan impetus for reevaluationof political values in the minds of social groups participating in the power structure,some representativesof which graduallyformed conservativeand reformist wings. [That is, they were opposedto the radical storm and stressapproachto economicplanning and expansion,in favor of emphasizingconsumerindustry rather than the capital goods industries-inSoviet parlance,Group B and Group A respectively-andcommitted to economic concessionsfor the peasantry.-H.RlThis wing of the administrationwas characterized by a wish to turn from the idea of autocraticpower-thevozhd',leader,Stalin-to power limited to somedegreeby the influenceof democraticinstitutions.

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 2 AND 3

209

23. Emmanuil Kazakevich, Slushaia vremia: Dneuniki, zapisnyeknizhki, pis'ma (Moscow, 1990),259. 24. RGALI, f. 631, op. 15, d. 737, I. 86. 25. Interview with V.L. Kondrat'ev; author'spersonalarchive. 26. ViacheslavKondrat'ev, "Ne tol'ko 0 svoempokolenii," Kommunist,1990,No.7: 115. 27. Viktor Smirnov, "Zaulki: Povest',"Rnman-gazeta,1989, No. 3-4: 8. 28. ViacheslavKondrat'ev, "Paradoksyfrontovoi nostal'gii," Literatumaia gazeta, 9 May 1990,9. 29. Kazakevich,Slushaiavremia, 28. 30. Pravda, 9 May 1945. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid., 10 May 1945. 33. Ibid., 25 May 1945. 34. Ibid., 27June1945.

Chapter 3: "How To Live after the War"? 1. Fedor Abramov, "A liudi zhdut, zhdut peremen: Iz dnevnikovykh rabochikh zapisei,"Izvestia,3 February1990. 2. Georgii Fedotov,"Rossiiai svoboda,"Znamia, 1989,No. 12: 214. 3. Viktor Nekrasov, "Tragediia moego pokoleniia. F okopakh Stalingrada: Do i posle," Literatumaiagazeta,12 September1990,15. 4. Cited in "Dnevniki vesti ne razreshalos',"Sovetskaiakui'tura, 25 April 1990. 5. Fedotov,"Rossiiai svoboda,"198. 6. Mikhail Gefter, "Stalin umer vchera. . . . ," in A.A. Protashchik, ed., Inogo ne dano (Moscow, 1988),305. 7. Emmanuil Kazakevich, Slushaia vremia: Dneuniki, zapisnyeknizhki, pis'ma (Moscow, 1990),316. 8. Boris Galin, "V odnom naselennompunkte: Rasskazpropagandista,"Novyi miT, 1947, No. II: 162-63. 9. K.M. Simonov, Soaraniesochinenii,6 vols. (Moscow, 1966-1970),3:124. 10. RGALI, f. 631, op. 15, d. 737, II. 86-87. II. Cited in "Shel soldat. ... ," Komsomol'skaiapravda, 28 April 1990. 12. Cited in Elizar Mal'tsev, "Ne izmeniaiasebe,"Literatumaiagazeta,18 February1987,8. 13. Vladislav Serikov, "Dogovor po sovesti,"Rnman-gazeta,1986,No.7: 9. 14. Informatsiia Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 material'no-bytovom polozhenii rabochikh ugol'noi promyshlennostiTul'skoi oblasti," January 1946; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 125, d. 421, II. 2-3. 15. Informatsiia Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) 0 polozhenii del v Penzenskoi oblasti v sviazi s podgotovkoi k vyboram v Verkhovnyi Sovet SSSR,January1946; ibid., d. 420, I. 40. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 18. Informatsiia Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) 0 podgotovke k prazdnovaniiu290i godovshchinyOktiabr'skoi revoliutsii, November 1946; ibid., d. 421, I. 102. 19. Dokladnaia zapiska zaveduiushchegootdelom Upravleniia kadrov TsK VKP(b) Borodina0 polozhenii del na tankovomzavodev gorode Omske, 18 September1945; ibid., op. 117, d. 530, II. 37-38. 20. Iurii Aksiutin, "PochemuStalin dal'neishemusotrudnichestvus soiuznikami posle

210

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 3AND 4

pobedy predpochelkonfrontatsiiu s nimi: Nekotorye sotsial'no-psikhologicheskie aspekty vozniknoveniia kholodnoi voiny," in M.M. Narinskii et aI., eds., Kholodnaia voina: Novye podkhody,novyedokumenty(Moscow, 1995), 52-53. 21. Vyderzhki iz pisem rabochikhzavodovg. Omska,zaderzhannykhVoennoi tsenzuroi NKGB SSSR,19 September1945; RTsKhlDNI, f. 17, op. 117, d. 530, I. 54. 22. Ibid., I. 57. 23. PostanovlenieSekretariataTsK VKP(b) "0 meropriiatiiakh po uluchsheniiu massovo-politicheskoiraboty i material'no-bytovogoobsluzhivaniiarabochikh zavodovNo. 22, 174 i 179," 4 August 1945; ibid., 11. 11-12. 24. I.M. Volkov, Trndovoi podvigsovetskogokrest'ianstvav poslevoennye gody: Kolllhozy SSSRv 1946-1950godakh(Moscow, 1972), 21. 25. Ibid. 26. V.F. Zima, Golod v SSSR 1946-1947godov: Proiskhozhdeniei posledstviia (Moscow, 1996),159. 27. Svodka pisem, postupivshikh v gazetu "Pravda" 0 banditizme, vorovstve i khuliganstve,17 November1945 g.; RTsKhlDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 118, I. 92. 28. Ibid., 11. 92-93. 29. Ibid., I. 93. 30. Dokladnaia zapiska upolnomochennogoKomissii partiinogo kontrolia pri TsK VKP(b) po Vladimirskoi oblasti Shkol'nikova "0 neudovletvoritel'noi rabote organov militsii, suda i prokuratury Vladimirskoi oblas.ti v bor'be s khuliganstvom, krazhami, grabezhamii drugimi prestupleniiami,"12 December1945g.; ibid., d. 103, I. 217. 31. Ibid. 32. Dokladnaia zapiska ministra vnutrennikh del SSSR S. Kruglova 0 sostoianii ugolovnoi prestupnostiv SSSRv 1948 g., 18January1949; GARF, f. 9401, op. 2, d. 234, I. 20. 33. Dokladnaia zapiska ministra vnutrennikh del SSSR S. Kruglova 0 sostoianii ugolovnoi prestupnostiv SSSRza 1947g., 4 February1948; ibid., d. 199, I. 184. 34. Ibid. 35. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "0 faktakh uvelicheniia prestupnostii khuliganstva,"10 February1947; RTsKhlDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 289,11.1-6.

Chapter 4: The Famine of 1946-1947 1. Sel'skoekhoziaistvoSSSR:Statisticheskiisbamik(Moscow, 1971), 152. 2. V.F. Zima, Golod v SSSR1946-1947godov: Proiskhozhdeniei posledstviia (Moscow, 1996),20. 3. Istoriia Velikoi Otechestvennoivoiny SovetskogoSoiuza, 1941-1945, 6 vols. (Moscow, 1960-1965),6:411-12. 4. SoobshchenieSoveta Ministrov SSSR i Tsentral'nogoKomiteta VKP(b). Protokol No. 54 zasedaniiaPolitbiuro TsK VKP(b) , 6 September1946; RTsKhlDNI, f. 17, op. 3, d. 1061,11.12-13. 5. Ibid., I. 16. 6. Ibid., 11. 12-13. 7. "V SoveteMinistrov SSSR,"Pravda, 16 September1946. 8. Politicheskaiainformatsiia 0 provedennykh meropriiatiiakh i politicheskikh nastroeniiakhsredi trudiashchikhsiag. Moskvy i oblasti v sviazi s postanovleniemSoveta Ministrov SSSRi TsK VKP(b) , 6 September1946; RTsKhlDNI, f. 17, op. 121, d. 524, 11. 8-11. 9. Ibid., I. 9. 10. Ibid., I. 11.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 4

211

11. Ibid., I. 10. 12. Ibid., I. 9. 13. Svodkavoprosov,zadavaemykhpo sobraniiakhgorodskikhpartiinykh aktivovv sviazi s SoobshcheniemSoveta Ministrov SSSRi TsK VKP(b) ob uvelichenii paikovykh tsen na produkty pitaniiai snizhenii kommercheskikhtsen na produkty i promyshlennyetovary, 16 September1946; and II. 28-31. 14. Zima, Golod v SSSR1946-1947gvdov, 149. 15. Svodkavoprosov,zadavaemykhna sobraniiakhgorodskikh partiinykh aktivov.... , RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 121, d. 524, I. 31. 16. Dokladnaia zapiska Moskovskogo gorodskogo komiteta VKP(b) "Politicheskie nastroeniiasredi trudiashchikhsiagorodaMoskvy," September1946;ibid., I. 12. 17. Ibid., I. 11. 18. Ibid., II. 12-13. 19. Ibid., 11.13--14. 20. Dokladnaia zapiska N.S. PatolichevaAA Zhdanovu "0 gorodskikh sobraniiakh partiinykh aktivov po raz"iasneniiuSoobshcheniiaSovetaMinistrov SSSRi TsK VKP(b) 0 povysheniipaikovykh tsen," 14 September1946;ibid., I. 26. 21. "V SoveteMinistrov SSSR,"Pravda, 14 September1946. 22. Dokladnaia zapiska N.S. PatolichevaI.V. Stalinu "0 sobraniiakh rabochikh i sluzhashchikhna predpriiatiiakh i v uchrezhdeniiakhpo raz"iasneniiu soobshcheniia SovetaMinistrov SSSRob izmenenii tsen na produkty pitaniia i promyshlennyetovary," 21 September1946; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 121, d. 524, I. 56. 23. Ibid., I. 57. 24. Informatsiia VTsSPS "Vyskazyvaniia rabochikh i sluzhashchikhpo povodu izmeneniiatsen," 20 September1946;ibid., I. 62. 25. Dokladnaia zapiska N.S. Patolicheva I.V. Staliny "0 sobraniiakh rabochikh i ... ," ibid., I. 57. sluzhashchikh 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid., I. 52. 28. PostanovlenieSoveta Ministrov SSSRi TsK VKP(b) "0 zapreshcheniipovysheniia zarabotnoiplaty i norm prodovol'stvennogoi promtovarnogosnabzheniia,"16 September 1946; ibid., f. 17, op. 3, d. 1062,I. 11. 29. PostanovlenieSoveta Ministrov SSSRi TsK VKP(b) "Ob ekonomii v raskhodovanii khleba,"27 September1946; ibid., II. 21-23. 30. PostanovlenieSovetaMinistrov SSSRi TsK VKP(b) "0 dopolnitel'nykh merakh po ekonomii v raskhodovaniikhleba i usilenii kontrolia za rabotoi Ministerstva torgovli i ego organov,18 October1946;ibid., I. 41. 31. Ibid. 32. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "0 nastroeniiakhi vyskazyvaniiakhnaseleniiav sviazi s postanovleniemSovetaMinistrov SSSRi TsK VKP(b) 'Ob ekonomii v raskhodovaniiakhleba,'''2 October1946; ibid., f. 17, op. 122, d. 188, I. 9. 33. Ibid., I. 11. 34. Ibid., I. 20. 35. Ibid., II. 9-12. 36. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "0 nekotorykh voprosakh v rabote promyshlennykhpredpriiatii, sovkhozov i MTS v sviazi s provedeniemv zhizn' postanovleniiaSovetaMinistrov SSSRi TsK VKP(b) 'Ob ekonomii v raskhodovaniikhleba,' "29 October1946;ibid., II. 22-23. 37. Ibid., I. 24. 38. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "0

212

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 4 AND 5

nastroeniiakhi vyskazyvaniiakh naseleniiav sviazi s provedeniemv zhizn' postanovleniia Soveta Ministrov SSSRi TsK VKP(b) 'Ob ekonomii v raskhodovaniikhleba,' " 4 October 1946; ibid., I. 17. 39. Zima, Golod v SSSR1946-1947gvdov, 11. 40. Ibid., 168. 41. Dokladnaiazapiska "0 prodovoJ'stvennykhzatrudneniiakhv nekotorykh raionakh Kaluzhskoioblasti," 31 January1947; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 220, I. 58. 42. [The term unit/units in this quotation is my translation of the Soviet Russian term trudoden'/trudodni. In Soviet parlance, the technical term "workday/workdays" (trudoden'/trudodnz)is significant in two inherently related senses.On the one hand it designateswhat the nameobviously implies, a day spentworking in the collective fields, that is, in the fields belonging to the collective farm as a whole, as opposedto the private gardenplots allowed each peasanthousehold.It also designatesa unit of income distributed to peasant householdsat the end of the harvestafter all collective obligations have been met. That is, when all collective expenseshave been paid-for seedgrain, farm machineryrental, fees for community construction projects, and the like-the remainder of the harvest is divided among the peasanthouseholdsin proportion to the number of workdays accumulatedby eachof them in working in the collective fields (as opposedto private gardenplots).-H.R.] 43. Ibid., II. 58-59. 44. Informatsiia0 polozhenii del na predpriiatiiakhg. Mariupolia, 1947; ibid., I. 119. 45. Vyderzhki iz pisem, iskhodiashchikh ot naseleniiaVoronezhskoi i Stalingradskoi oblastei (prilozhenie k dokladnoi zapiske L.P. Beria), 31 December1946; TsKhSD, f. 89, perechen'57, dokument20, I. 9. 46. Ibid., I. 10. 47. Ibid., I. 12. 48. Zima, Golod v SSSR1946-1947gvdav, 99. 49. Ibid., 116. 50. V.P. Popov, "Gosudarstvennyiterror v sovetskoiRossii, 1923-1953gg.," Otechestvennye arkhivy, 1992, No.2: 27. 51. Informatsiia Upravleniiapo proverkepartiinykh organovTsK VKP(b) , 12June1947; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 289, I. 17. 52. Informatsiia Novosibirskogo obkoma VKP(b) 0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakh naseleniiaNovosibirskoioblasti, 16 March 1948; ibid., d. 306, I. 19.

Chapter 5: The Currency Refonn of 1947 1. Pis'mo narkoma finansov SSSR A.G. Zvereva narkomam finansov soiuznykh i avtonomnykhrespublik "0 vypuske Gosudarstvennogo zaima vostanovleniiai razvitiia narodnogokhoziaistvaSSSR,"March 1946; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 125, d. 424, I. 10. 2. Ibid. 3. Informatsiia Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakhtrudiashchikhsiaCheliabinskoioblasti,"September1947; ibid., d. 518, I. 7. 4. Ibid.; and ibid., d. 425, I. 3. 5. Ibid., d. 517, I. 7. 6. A.G. Zverev, Zapiski ministra (Moscow, 1973),273. 7. Ibid., 235. 8. ViacheslavKondrat'ev, KrasnyeV(ff{)ta: Pavest',roman (Moscow, 1988), 146. 9. Iurii Aksenovand Aleksei U1iukaev, "0 prostykh resheniiakhneprostykhproblem," Kommunist,1990, No.6: 83. 10. Ibid., 80.

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 5 AND 6

213

11. Ibid. 12. Aleksei Uliukaev and Iurii Aksenov, "Legendyob odnoi reforme," Nedelia, 1990, No. 19: 16.

Chapter 6: The State and the Peasant 1. The order was issuedby the Council of People'sCommissarsand the Central Committee of the Communist Party 13 April 1942: "0 povyshenii dlia kolkhoznikov obiazatel'nogominimuma trudodnei."According to this order the obligatory minimum of workdayswas raised to 150 in the cotton-raisingregions [chiefly in Central Asia-H.R.J. to 100 in the regionsnorth of the black-soil belt, and to 120 in the remainderof the country. It had previously been 100, 60, and SO in these areas respectively. At the same time an obligatory minimum of 50 workdayswas establishedfor adolescentsbetweenthe agesof 12 and 16. [On the term trudodni/workdays,seechapter4, n. 42.-H.R.J 2. For details, see V.P. Popov, Rossiiskaiaderevnia posle voiny (iiun' 1945-mart 1953): Sbarnik dokumentov(Moscow, 1993), 153,159-66. 3. O.M. Verbitskaia, Rossiiskoekrest'ianstvo:Ot Stalina k Khrushchevu(Moscow, 1992), 137; V.F. Zima, Golod v SSSR1946-1947godov: Proiskhozhdeniei posledstviia(Moscow, 1996), 44. 4. Popov,Rossiiskaiaderevniaposlevoiny, 160-61. 5. Vyderzhki iz pisem kolkhoznikov Stavropol'skogokraia, zaderzhannykhVoennoi tsenzuroii punktami politicheskogokontrolia MGB SSSR,10 July 1946; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 121, d. 547,11. 14-15. 6. Dokladnaia zapiska instruktora SeI'skokhoziaistvennogootdela TsK VKP(b) "Ob obstanovkev kolkhozakhi neobkhodimostiozhivleniia partiino-massovoii kul' turnoi raboty v derevne,"IS July 1945; ibid., op. 117, d. 527, I. 90. 7. Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo otdela TsK VKP(b) "0 nekotorykh politicheskikh nastroeniiakhderevni," 3July 1945; ibid., op. 122, d. 122,1.2S. S. Ibid. 9. In similarly obligatory letters industrial enterpriseswere required to endorsetheir assignedproductionquotas.Theserituals were a form of propaganda,labor discipline, and consciousness enhancement. 10. Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo otdela TsK VKP(b) "0 nekotorykh politicheskikh nastroeniiakhderevni,"3 July 1945,1.27. 11. Ibid., II. 27, 29. 12. Ibid., I. 29. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid., I. 2S. 15. Dokladnaia zapiska instruktora Sel'skokhoziaistvennogootdela TsK VKP(b) "Ob obstanovkev kolkhozakhi neobkhodimostiozhivleniia partiino-massovoii kul' turnoi raboty v derevne,"lSJuly 1945,1.92. 16. Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo otdela TsK VKP(b) "0 nekotorykh politicheskikhnastroeniiakhderevni,"3July 1945,1.2S. 17. Dokladnaia zapiska NarkomatagosudarstvennoibezopastnostiBuriat-Mongol'skoi ASSR "0 finansovo-khoziaistvennomsostoianii kolkhozov Buriat-Mongol'skoi ASSR," 10 July 1945; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 117, d. 52S, I. 120. IS. Ibid., I. 121. 19. Ibid. 20. Dokladnaia zapiska instruktora SeI'skokhoziaistvennogootdela TsK VKP(b) "Ob obstanovkev kolkhozakhi neobkhodimostiozhivleniia partiino-massovoii kul' turnoi raboty vderevne,"lSJuly1945,1.94.

214

NOTES TO CHAPTER 6

21. Informatsiia Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 khode repatriatsii, ob ustroistve na rabotu repatriirovannykh sovetskikh grazhdan i ob organizatsii politicheskoi raboty s nimi," 27July 1945; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 117, d. 533, I. 20. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid., I. 19. otdela TsK VKP(b) "0 nekotorykh 24. Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo politicheskikh nastroeniiakhvderevne,"3July 1945,I. 28. 25. The burden of taxation on the peasanteconomywas determinedon the basis of so-called income norms, varying according to each head of livestock and every hundred hectares[1 hectare= 2.47 acres-H.R.]of cultivated land. The income norms were in fact defined arbitrarily and by no meanscorrespondedto the real incomeof the peasantfamily. The peasantspaid taxes in kind (with agricultural products) as well as in money. In the summerof 1946 the Council of Ministers of the USSR publishedan order raising average income norms in the agriculture economy (for details, see Zima, Golod v SSSR1946-1947 godov: Proiskhozhdeniei posledstviia,45-46). 26. Vyderzhki iz pisem kolkhoznikov Penzenskoii Riazanskoioblastei, zaderzhannykh Voennoi tsenzuroiMGB SSSR,25July 1946; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 121, d. 547, I. 6. 27. Ibid., I. 5. 28. Doklad Ministerstva seI'skogo khoziaistva i zagotovok SSSR "0 nedostatkakhv seI'skomkhoziaistvei merakh po uluchsheniiudel v kolkhozakh i sovkhozakh,"July 1953; TsKhSD, f. 5, op. 30, d. 20, I. 12. 29. Popov,Rossiiskaiaderevniaposlevoiny (iiun' 1945-mart1953): Sbomikdokumentov,64. 30. The historian V.F. Zima analyzed the letters and complaints that peasantssent to the Presidiumof the SupremeSoviet of the USSR. He found that a few dozen requestsfor revisionsof tax burdensand obligatory deliverieswere granted,while the bulk of them were stamped"examinedand refused."Zima, Golod v SSSR1946-1947godov, 199. 31. Ibid., 180. 32. Informatsiia Novosibirskogo obkoma VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakh naseleniiaNovosibirskoi oblasti," 16 March 1948; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 306, I. 17. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Doklad MinisterstvaseJ'skogokhoziaistvai zagotovokSSSR"0 nedostatkakhv sel'skom khoziaistvei merakhpo uluchsheniiudel v kolkhozakhi sovkhozakh,"July1953,I. 9. 36. Informatsiia Novosibirskogo obkoma VKP(b) 0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakh kolkhoznikov v sviazi s provedeniemv zhizn' Ukaza PrezidiumaVerkhovnogoSovetaSSSR ot 2 iiunia 1948 g., 21June1948; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 306, I. 35. 37. Ibid., I. 36. 38. Ibid. 39. Informatsiia Moskovskogo Komiteta VKP(b) ob obshchikh sobraniiakh kolkhoznikov, posviashchennykhprovedeniiu v zhizn' Ukaza Prezidiuma Verkhovnogo SovetaSSSRot 2 iiunia 1948 g.,July 1948; ibid., d. 315, I. 4. 40. Informatsiia Iaroslavskogoobkoma VKP(b) 0 khode realizatsii Ukaza Prezidiuma VerkhovnogoSovetaSSSRot iiunia 1948 g.; ibid., I. 97. 41. Information of a similar kind came in from Novosibirsk, Cheliabinsk, Moscow, Kostroma,and other provinces;RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, dd. 306, 315. 42. Informatsiia Novosibirskogoobkoma VKP(b) 0 sobraniiakh kolkhoznikov po provedeniiu v zhizn' Ukaza PrezidiumaVerkhovnogoSovetaSSSRot 2 iiunia 1948 g., 18 June 1948; ibid., d. 314, I. 138. 43. Ibid. 44. Zima, Golod v SSSR1946-1947grxiov, 188. 45. Informatsiia Novosibirskogo obkoma VKP(b) 0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakh

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 6 AND 7

215

kolkhoznikov v sviazi s provedeniemv zhizn' Ukaza PrezidiumaVerkhovnogoSovetaSSSR ot 2 iiunia 1948 g., 18June1948,I. 36.

Chapter 7: Religion and Politics 1. The problemsof other confessionsare not examinedin this chapter,as the policy of the state in referenceto non-Orthodoxsects remainedpractically unchangedduring and after the war. 2. Dokladnaia zapiska 0 rabote Soveta po delam religioznykh kul'tov pri Sovete Ministrov SSSRza 1948 g. i pervyi kvartal1949g.; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 132, d. Ill, I. 46. 3. Spravka Soveta po delam Russkoi pravoslavnoi tserkvi ·0 pravoslavnykh monastyriakhv SSSR,"January1951; ibid., d. 497, I. 19. 4. Informatsiia Sovetapo delamRusskoi pravoslavnoitserkvi pri SoveteMinistrov SSSR "0 sostoianiirusskoi pravoslavnoitserkvi," August 1946; ibid., d. 407, I. 66. 5. Ibid., I. 67. 6. Doklad Soveta po delam Russkoi pravoslavnoitserkvi pri Sovete Ministrov SSSR0 svoei deiatel'nostiza 1946god, 1947; ibid., d. 407, I. 3. 7. Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo otdela TsK VKP(b) ·Ob otnoshenii nekotorykh chlenov partii k predstaviteliamreligioznykh kul'tov," 14 February1945; ibid., op. 122, d. 122, I. 13. 8. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organovTsK VKP(b) ·Ob usilenii deiatel'nostipredstaviteleireligioznykh kul'tov," 2 August 1946; ibid., d. 188, I. 4. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid., I. 5. 12. Doklad Soveta po delam Russkoi pravoslavnoitserkvi pri Sovete Ministrov SSSR0 svoei deiatel'nostiza 1946god, 1947, II. 12-13. otdela TsK VKP(b) ·Ob otnoshenii 13. Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo nekotorykhchlenovpartii k predstaviteliamreligioznykh kul'tov," I. 13. 14. Ibid., I. 12. 15. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organovTsK VKP(B) "Ob usilenii deiatel'nosti predstaviteleireligioznykh kul' tov," I. 5. 16. Ibid., I. 6. otdela TsK VKP(b) ·Ob otnoshenii 17. Informatsiia Organizationno-instruktorskogo nekotorykhchlenovpartii k predstaviteliamreligioznykh kul' tov," I. 13. 18. Informatsiia 0 vyskazyvaniiakh naseleniiav sviazi s opublikovaniem materialov 0 PomestnomsoboreRusskoi pravoslavnoitserkvi, 10 February 1945; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 122, I. 9. 19. Ibid., I. 10. 20. Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo otdela TsK VKP(b) "Ob otnoshenii nekotorykhchlenovpartii k predstaviteliamreligioznykh kul' tov," I. 12. 21. Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo otdela TsK VKP(B) ·0 nekotorykh otklikakh po povodu Pomestnogosobora Russkoi pravoslavnoi tserkvi," 9 March 1945; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 122, I. 17. 22. Ibid. 23. Informatsiia 0 vyskazyvaniiakh naseleniiav sviazi s opublikovaniem materialov 0 PomestnomsoboreRusskoipravoslavnoitserkvi, I. 9. 24. Doklad Sovetapo delam russkoi pravoslavnoitserkvi 0 svoei deiatel'nostiza 1946 god, I. 10. 25. Informatsiia 0 vyskazyvaniiakh naseleniiav sviazi s 0publikovaniem materialov 0

216

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 7 AND 8

PomestnomsoboreRusskoipravoslavnoitserkvi, I. 9. otdela TsK VKP(b) "0 26. Ibid. Seealso: Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo nekotorykhotklikakh po povoduPomestnogosoboraRusskoipravoslavnoitserkvi," I. 17. 27. Informatsiia 0 vyskazyvaniiakh naseleniiav sviazi s opublikovaniem materialov 0 PomestnomsoboreRusskoipravoslavnoitserkvi, II. 10-11. 28. Informatsiia Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo otdela TsK VKP(b) "0 nekotorykh otklikakh po povodu PomestnogosoboraRusskoipravoslavnoitserkvi," I. 17. 29. Informatsiia 0 vyskazyvaniiakh naseleniiav sviazi s opublikovaniem materialov 0 PomestnomsoboreRusskoipravoslavnoitserkvi," I. 10. 30. Dokladnaia zapiska 0 rabote Soveta po delam religioznykh kuJ'tov pri Sovete Ministrov SSSRza 1948 g. i pervyi kvartal 1949 g.; RTsKhlDNI, f. 17, op. 132, d. Ill, I. 46. 31. SpravkaSovetapo delam Russkoi pravoslavnoitserkvi pri SoveteMinistrov SSSR"0 pravoslavnykhmonastyriakhv SSSR,"January1950; ibid., d. 497, I. 19. 32. PostanovlenieTsK VKP(b) "0 nepraviJ'noilinii v rabote Soveta po delam Russkoi pravoslavnoitserkvi pri SoveteMinistrov SSSR,"Protokol zasedaniiaOrgbiuro TsK VKP(b) ot 28 fevralia 1949 g.; ibid., op. 118, d. 323, I. 224. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid., I. 225.

Chapter 8: The Political Temper of the Masses,1945-1948 1. "Svodka doneseniimestnykhorganovNKVD ob antisovetskikhi khuliganskikh proiavleniiakh v period podgotovki k vyboram v Verkhovnyi SovetSoiuzaSSRza dekabr' 1945ianvar' 1946,27ianvar' 1946"; V.A. Kozlov, ed., NeizvestnaiaRossiia: XX vek, 4 vols. (Moscow, 1992-1993),4:468-75. 2. Ibid., 468-71. 3. Informatsiia 0 podgotovke k vyboram v Verkhovnyi Sovet SSSR po Novgorodskoi oblasti, January 1946; RTsKhlDNI, f. 17, op. 125, d. 420, I. 32. The digests of public attitudesin other provincescontainsimilar data. 4. Informatsiia 0 podgotovke k vyboram v Verkhovnyi Sovet SSSRpo Voronezhskoi oblasti,January1946; ibid., I. 18. 5. Ibid. 6. Informatsiia 0 podgotovkek vyboram v Verkhovnyi Sovet SSSRpo Penzenskoioblasti,January1946; ibid., I. 41. 7. Ibid. 8. Informatsiia 0 podgotovke k vyboram v Verkhovnyi Sovet SSSR po Voronezhskoi oblasti,January1946; ibid., I. 18. 9. Informatsiia 0 podgotovke k vyboram v Verkhovnyi Sovet SSSR po Krymskoi avtonomnoioblasti,January1946; ibid., I. 29. 10. Informatsiia 0 podgotovke k vyboram v Verkhovnyi Sovet SSSRpo Penzenskoioblasti,January1946; ibid., I. 41. 11. Informatsiia 0 podgotovke k vyboram v Verkhovnyi Sovet SSSR po Novgorodskoi oblasti,January1946; ibid., I. 33. 12. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "0 voprosakh,zadannykhtrudiashchimisiana sobraniiakh,lektsiiakh i besedakh,"9 January 1947; ibid., op. 122, d. 289, I. 9. 13. Informatsiia 0 podgotovkek vyboram v Verkhovnyi Sovet SSSRpo Penzenskoioblasti,January1946; ibid., op. 125, d. 420, I. 41. 14. Ibid. 15. Dokladnaia zapiska Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakhtrudiashchikhsiav gorodakhCheliabinskoioblasti," September

NOTES TO CHAPTER 8

217

1947; ibid., d. 518, I. 7. 16. Resheniepartiinogo komiteta Ivanovskogomelanzhevogokombinata,January1946; ibid., op. 122, d. 131, I. 14. 17. Dokladnaia zapiska Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakhtrudiashchikhsiav gorodakhCheliabinskoioblasti," ll. 9-10. 18. InformatsionnoesoobshchenieSverdlovskogoobkoma VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakhtrudiashchikhsiagorodov Sverdlovskoioblasti," 13 September1947; ibid., d. 289, I. 37. 19. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakhgorodov i promyshlennykhtsentrov," 19 August 1947; ibid., I. 60. 20. Dokladnaia zapiska Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 politicheskikhnastroeniiakhtrudiashchikhsiaCheliabinskoioblasti," I. 9. 21. InformatsionnoesoobshcheniePskovskogoobkoma VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakhnaseleniiaPskovskoioblasti," 15July 1948; ibid, d. 306, I. 41. 22. Informatsiia Upravleniia 0 proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakhnaseleniiagorodovi promyshlennykhtsentrov,"I. 60. 23. Information on similar incidents is found in the proceedingsof different divisions of the Central Committee,for example,ibid., d. 122, I. 28 and op. 125, d. 420, I. 32. 24. SpravochnikKPSS(Moscow, 1978),243. 25. Informatsionnye materialy otdela partiinykh, profsoiuznykh i komsomol'skikh or, ganovTsK VKP(b) , podgotovlennyek XIX s"ezdupartii, 17 September1951; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 131, d. 284, I. 90. 26. Here and following, the sourceof the information is Spravkapo proverkepartiinykh organovTsK VKP(b) "K voprosu 0 rabote partii v poslevoennoevremia," 1947; ibid., op. 122, d. 291, I. 131. otdela TsK VKP(b) "0 nekotorykh 27. Zapiska Organizatsionno-instruktorskogo otritsatel'nykhiavleniiakh sredi raionnykh rabotnikov,"30 May 1946; ibid., d. 130, I. 21. 28. Ibid., I. 22. 29. InformatsionnoesoobshchenieSverdlovskogoobkoma VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakhtrudiashchikhsiagorodov Sverdlovskoioblasti," 13 September1947; ibid., d. 289, ll. 26--27. 30. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakhnaseleniia gorodov i promyshlennykhtsentrov," 19 August 1947; ibid., I. 62. 31. The question of the wisdom of rejecting the Marshall Plan arose in various audiences.See,for example,ibid., op. 125, d. 517, ll. 33-34 and op. 122, d. 289, I. 34. 32. Informatsiia "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakh trudiashchikhsiav gorodakh Cheliabinskoioblasti," September1947; ibid., op. 125, d. 518, I. 12. 33. DokladnaiazapiskasekretariaTsK VKP(b) A.A. KuznetsovaLV. Stalinu, 10 October 1947; ibid., op. 121, d. 639, I. 106. 34. Ibid., I. 107. 35. Cited in N.Y. Romanovskii,Liki stalinizma, 1945-1953gg. (Moscow, 1995),43. 36. Dokladnaiazapiskanachal'nikaUpravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) G.F. AleksandrovasekretariuTsK VKP(b) A.A. Zhdanovu,September1946; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 125, d. 425, I. 4. 37. Informatsiia Otdela propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 sostoianii agitatsionnopropagandistskoiraboty v Primorskoi kraevoi partorganizatsii,"November 1950; ibid., op. 132, d. 289, I. 91. 38. David Samoilov,Pamiatnyewpiski (Moscow, 1995), 160. 39. Zdenek Mlynai', Moroz udaril iz Kremlia (Moscow, 1992), 21. [The author'sname is

218

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 8, 9, AND 10

spelledhere,unlike in phoneticRussiantransliteration,as in the original Czech.-H.R.J 40. Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents, trans. JamesStrachey (New York, 1962),24. 41. Nikolai Simonov, Voenn{}-promyshlennyikompleks SSSRv 1920-1950--egody: tempy ekonomicheskogo rasta, stnthtura, organizatsiiaproizvodstvai upravlenie(Moscow, 1996),329. 42. Ibid., 209. 43. Ibid., 210. 44. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "0 voprosakh,zadannykhtrudiashchimisiana sobraniiakh,lektsiiakh i besedakh,"9 January 1947; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 289,11.9-12.

Chapter 9: The Intelligentsia and the Intellectual Mavericks 1. KonstitutsiiaSSSR:Proekt; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 125, d. 379, I. 56. 2. Predlozheniiaob izmenenii k dopolnenii teksta Konstitutsii SSSR, postupivshiev Redaktsionnuiukomissiiu i ne priniatye, 1946; ibid., II. 41-49. 3. Cited in Izvestia, 16June1992. 4. A.la. Gurevich, "'Put' priamoi, kak Nevskii prospekt,' iii ispoved' istorika," Odissei, 1992,10[an annual-E.Z.J. 5. Informatsionnye materialy Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b), 1946; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 125, d. 454, 11. 1-2. 6. Cited in N.V. Romanovskii,Liki stalinizma, 1945-1953gg. (Moscow, 1995),94. 7. Cited in V.P. Popov, Rossiiskaiaderevniaposle voiny, iiun' 1945-mart 1953gg.: Sbomik dokumentov(Moscow, 1993), 105. 8. "Iz istorii bor'by s Iysenkovshchinoi,"Izvestia TsK KPSS,1991, Nos. 4-5. 9. Ibid., No.4: 125. 10. Ibid., 131. 11. Ibid., 133. 12. Ibid., 134. 13. Vera S. Dunham,In Stalin's Time: MiddleclassValues in SovietFiction (New York, 1976) [seeZubkova'sintroduction-H.R.J. 14. David Samoilov,Pamiatnyezapiski(Moscow, 1995), 142-43. 15. Ibid., 154. 16. Ibid., 344. 17. KonstantinSimonov, "Glazami chelovekamoegopokoleniia," Znamia, 1988,No.3: 49. 18. Polozhenie0 zhumale"Oktiabr'," 28 November1945; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 117, d. 571,11.193-97. 19. Stenogrammasoveshchaniiav TsK VKP(b) po voprosamkino, 26 April 1946; ibid., op. 125, d. 378,1. 44. 20. Pis'mo slushatelei 2-go kursa Vysshei partiinoi shkoly pri TsK VKP(b) G.M. Malenkovui M.A. Suslovu,July1950; ibid., op. 132, d. 278,11.129-30. 21. Ibid., I. 130.

Chapter 10: The Crisis of Postwar Expectations 1. GARF, f. 7676, op. 9, d. 888, I. 237; op. II, d. 189,1.97. 2. Dokladnaia zapiska "0 khode vosstanovleniiazhilishchno-kommunaJ'nogo khoziaistva v gorodakh, razrushennykhnemetskimi zakhvatchikami," 12 June 1947; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 220, I. 170. 3. Dokladnaia zapiska ministra gosudarstvennogokontrolia RSFSR A. Dedova 0 polozheniis zhil' em v riade oblasteirespubliki, 27 October1956; TsKhSD,f. 5, op. 32, d. 39, I. 127.

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 10 AND 11

219

4. Informatsiia Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 nedostatkakh massovo-politicheskoiraboty sredi shakhterov,"February1948; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 125, d. 596, I. 42. 5. Ibid., I. 45. 6. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organovTsK VKP(b) 0 polozhenii na shakhtakhKuzbassa,11 November1947; ibid., op. 122, d. 220, II. 215-16. 7. Informatsiia Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 sostoianii massovopoliticheskoi i kul'turno-prosvetitel'skoiraboty sredi rabochikh i sluzhashchikhchernoi metallurgii," February1948; ibid., op. 125, d. 596, I. 56. 8. Informatsiia Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 politicheskikh nastroeniiakhtrudiashchikhsiav gorodakhCheliabinskoioblasti," September1947; ibid., d. 518, I. 10. 9. Dokladnaiazapiska ministra ugol'noi promyshlennostizapadnykhraionov SSSRA. Zasiad'kosekretariuTsK VKP(b) A. Kuznetsovu,8 December1947; ibid., op. 122, d. 220, I. 211. 10. Ibid. 11. V.N. Zemskov,"Chernyedyry istorii," Raduga,1990, No.6: 47. 12. Ibid. 13. [In the Soviet Union, the term passportdescribedwhat was effectively a personal identity paper like the French carte d'identiti or the German Personalausweis.There is no equivalentdocumentin the Anglo-Saxonworld. It was necessaryto have such a passportin order to get ajob, get a room in a hotel, etc., but peasantswere not issuedpassports.Hence what might be regardedin the English-speakingworld as an offensive intrusion into privacy was for the Russian peasantsa considerabledisadvantage.For travel abroad, the Soviet governmentissuedanotherdocument,the externalpassport.-H.R.) 14. B.N. Ponomarevet aI., eds., Istoriia SSSRs dreuneishikhvremendo nashikhdnei, 11 vols. (Moscow, 1966-1980),11: 208. 15. Spravka Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "K voprosu 0 rabotepartii v poslevoennoevremia," 1947; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 291, II. 130-31. 16. A.A. Sheviakov, "Repatriatsiia sovetskogo mirnogo naseleniia i voennoplennykh, okazavshikhsiav okkupatsionnykh zonakh gosudarstvantigitlerovskoi koalitsii," in lu.A. Poliakovet aI., eds.,NaselenieRossiiv 1920-195O-egody: Chislennost',poteri, migratsii (Moscow, 1994),210-11. 17. Informatsiia Upravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 khode repatriatsii, ob ustroistve na rabotu repatriirovannykh sovetskikh grazhdan i ob organizatsii politicheskoiraboty s nimi," 17July 1945; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 117, d. 533, I. 17. 18. Ibid., I. 22. 19. V.N. Zemskov, "Spetsposelentsy,1930-1959gg.," in Poliakov et aI., eds., Naselenie Rossiiv 1920-195O-egody,158. 20. Dokladnaia zapiska ministra vnutrennikh del SSSR S. Kruglova 0 polozhenii spetsposelentsev,July 1946; GARF, f. 9401, op. 2, d. 138, I. 317. 21. Ibid., II. 320, 382. 22. Dokladnaia zapiska ministra vnutrennikh del SSSR S. Kruglova 0 polozhenii spetspereselentsev s SevernogoKavkaza,31 January1946; ibid., d. 134, I. 237. 23. A.N. Dugin, "Stalinizm: Legendyi fakty," Slovo, 1990, No.7: 23. 24. "Vse my vyshli iz stalinskoi shineli: Diskussiia 0 sobytiiakh 1948 goda i ikh posledstviiakh."Literaturnaiagazeta,21 March 1990, 14.

Chapter 11: The Birth of the Anti-Stalinist Youth Movement 1. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn,"Arkhipelag GUlAG, 1918-1936: Opyt khudozhestvennogo issledovaniia,"Nauyi miT, 1989,No.8: 12.

220

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 11 AND 12

2. Dokladnaia zapiska Cheliabinskogooblastnogokomiteta VKP(b) "0 krupnykh nedostatkakhv politiko-vospitatel'noirabote sredi molodezhi vysshikh i srednikh uchebnykh zavedeniiCheliabinskoioblasti," September1946; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 125, d. 424, II. 60-62. 3. Pavel Korchagin is a characterin the novel of N.A Ostrovskii, Knk zakalialas' stal' (How the Steel Was Tempered);Andrei Bolkonskii, NatashaRostova, and Platon Karataev are charactersin Leo Tolstoy's novel, War and Peace; Tat'iana Larina is from Alexander Pushkin'sEugeneOnegin; Pavel Vlasov is from AM. Gorkii's Mat' (Mother); Ostap Benderis from lI'ia IIf and Evgenii Petrov,Dvenadtsat'stul'ev (The Twelve Chairs); Nekhliudov is from Leo Tolstoy's Resurreetian;and Pechorin is from M.lu. Lermontov's Geroi nashegovremeni (A Hero for Our Time). 4. Dokladnaia zapiska Cheliabinskogooblastnogo komiteta VKP(b) "0 krupnykh nedostatkakhv politiko-vospitatel'noi rabotesredi molodezhi,"I. 69. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid., I. 68. 7. Informatsionnoepis'mo Glavnogo Politicheskogo Upravleniia Sovetskoi armii i Voenno-morskogoflota SSSRsekretariuTsK VKP(b) A.A. Zhdanovu,September1946; ibid., 11.54-55. 8. Dokladnaia zapiska Cheliabinskogooblastnogo komiteta VKP(b) "0 krupnykh nedostatkakhv politiko-vospitatel'noirabotesredi molodezhi,I. 62. 9. Ibid., II. 64-65. 10. Pis'mo iz Verkhovnogo Suda RSFSRsekretariuTsK VKP(b) AA Kuznetsovu,September1946; ibid., I. 50. 11. Ibid. 12. Ernst Neizvestnyi, "Katakombnaia kuI'tura i ofitsial'noe iskusstvo," Literaturnaia gazeta,lO October1990,8. 13. Pis'mo iz Verkhovnogo Suda RSFSRsekretariuTsK VKP(b) AA Kuznetsovu,September1946; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 125, d. 424, I. 51. 14. Anatolii Zhigulin, "Chemye kamni: Avtobiograficheskaiapovest'," Znamia, 1988, No.7: 21. 15. Ibid., 21-22. 16. Cited in Anton Antonov-Ovseenko,"Ne govorite roditeliam pro arest," Moskovskii komsomolets,28 March 1990. 17. Zhigulin, "Chernyekamni," 21. 18. Pis'mo iz Verkhovnogo Suda RSFSRsekretariuTsK VKP(b) AA Kuznetsovu,September1946; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 125, d. 424, I. 49. 19. Zhigulin, "Chemyekamni," 21. 20. Cited in Antonov-Ovseenko,"Ne govorite roditeliam pro arest."

Chapter 12: The Struggle with Dissent 1. See,for example,StenogrammaplenumaVladimirskogo obkomaVKP(b) 31 January 1947; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 121, d. 572, I. 14; and N.V. Romanovskii, Liki stalinizma, 1945-1953 gg. (Moscow, 1995),27. 2. In particular the confidential letters of the Central Committeeof 18 January1935, "Uroki sobytii, sviazannykhso zlodeiskim ubiistvom tovarishchaKirova," and of 29July 1936, "0 terroristicheskoideiatel'nosti trotskistsko-zinov'evskogokontrrevoliutsionnogobloka." 3. "Doklad sekretariaTsK VKP(b) A.A Kuznetsovana sobranii rabotnikov apparata TsK VKP(b) po vyboramsudachesti,29 sentiabria1947g.," Istoehnik,1994, No.6: 74. 4. L.N. Voitolovskii, Oeherki kollektivnoi psikhologii, 2 vols. (Petrograd, 1925), 2: 75. [Author's emphasis-E.Z.J

NOTES TO CHAPTER 12

221

5. N.G. Kliueva and G.l. Roskin were Soviet researchscientistsin oncology. They developeda medicine that they called krutsin to treat cancer.They had preparedthe manuscript of a book scheduledto be publishedsimultaneouslyin the USSR and the United States. The proposal to cooperatewith American colleagueshad initially been supportedby the Central Committee, by A.A. Zhdanov in particular. The fact that the Central Committee had issuedno specific decision to this effect, however, subsequentlyservedas a pretextfor the accusationof "antipatriotic and antistate conduct." The gist of the charge was that Kliueva and Roskin would have "deprived Soviet scienceof priority in this discovery [the cancer-fightingmedicine] and have inflicted seriousdamageon the interestsof the Soviet Union." Kentavr, 1994, No.2: 66. 6. Zakrytoe pis'mo TsK VKP(b) "0 dele professorovKliuevoi i Roskina," 16July 1947; ibid., 68. 7. Ibid. 8. The courts of honor instituted in 1947 were modeled on the officers' courts of honorin the Imperial Russianarmy. Theselatter were devotedto reinforcing discipline and raising the combatefficiency of the army. The new courtsof honor were deputedto combat dissentin societyand to discipline both the stateand the party apparatus-that is, they were utilized to control public opinion and the conductof the intelligentsia and the officials of governmentand party. The courtsof honor were electedorgans,and their competencewas limited to issuing public reprimandsand social censure,or alternatively, to remanding businessto the investigative organs.The courts of honor were elected by the vote of the employeesof the institute where the court sat, usuallyfor a year. 9. PostanovlenieSoveta Ministrov SSSR i TsK VKP(b) "0 sudakh chesti v ministerstvakhSSSRi tsentraI'nykhvedomstvakh,"28 March 1947; Istochnik, 1994, No.6: 69. 10. Ibid., 68. 11. Resheniesuda chesti ministerstva zdravookhraneniiaSoiuza SSSR, 7 July 1947; Kentavr, 1994, No.3: 114. 12. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) "0 dopolnitel'nykh faktakh, kharakterizuiushchikhugodnichestvopered inostranshchinoiv kollektive rabotnikov Otdeleniia tekhnicheskikh nauk Akademii Nauk SSSR," 29 August 1947; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 122, d. 262, 1. 205. [The nameof the scientistidentified here is given in the Russiantext as Fol 'k Odvist. He seemsto be, in fact, Folke Karl GustafOdqvist (l899-?), a Swedishmechanicalengineer(studiedand taught at University of Stockholm) specializingin plasticsand strengthof materialsmore generally. Of course,the accuracyof the facts was in this caseirrelevant to Stalin's purpose.World Who's Who in Science(Chicago, 1968),1275.-H.R.] 13. Stenogrammavystupleniia sekretariaTsK VKP(b) AA. Kuznetsovana soveshchanii rabotnikovUpravleniiakadrovTsK VKP(b) , 14July 1947; ibid., op. 121, d. 572, 1. 141. 14. Spravkaotdela Upravleniia kadrov TsK VKP(b) 0 provedeniipartiinogosobraniiavo Vserossiiskomsoiuzekooperatsiiinvalidov v sviazi s zakrytym pis'mom TsK VKP(b) "0 dele professorovKliuevoi i Roskina," 11 August 1947; ibid., op. 122, d. 270, 1. 8. 15. Stenogrammapartiinogo sobraniia v Fizicheskom institute im. P.N. Lebedevapo obsuzhdeniiuzakrytogo pis'ma TsK VKP(b) "0 dele professorovKliuevoi i Roskina," 25 September1947; ibid., d. 262, 1. 33. 16. Ibid., 1. 45. 17. Spravka otdela Upravleniia kadrov TsK VKP(b) 0 rezuI'tatakh obsuzhdeniia zakrytogopis'maTsK VKP(b) "0 dele professorovKliuevoi i Roskina"na partiinom sobranii v ministerstvetorgovli SSSR,7 August 1947; ibid., d. 271, 1. 21. 18. Informatsiia Upravleniia po proverke partiinykh organovTsK VKP(b) 0 khode 00. suzhdeniiav partorganizatsiiakhzakrytogopis'maTsK VKP(b) "0 dele professorovKliuevoi i Roskina,"26 August 1947; ibid., d. 272, I. 21.

222

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 12 AND 13

19. Informatsiia "0 meropriiatiiakh, provedennykh rukovodstvom i partorganizatslel ministerstvaaviatsionnoipromyshlennostiSSSRv sviazi s zakrytym pis'momTsK VKP(b) '0 dele professorovKliuevoi i Roskina,'"8 October1947; ibid., d. 269, I. 51. 20. informatsiia Upravleniia 0 proverke partiinykh organov TsK VKP(b) 0 khode obsuzhdeniiav partorganizatsiiakhzakrytogopis'maTsK, I. 29. 21. Vystuplenie sekretariaTsK VKP(b) A.A. Kuznetsova na zasedanii Orgbiuro TsK VKP(b) 15 oktiabria 1947 g.; ibid., op. 121, d. 640, I. 40. 22. Informatsiia otdela Upravleniia kadrov TsK VKP(b) 0 khode realizatsii zakrytogo pis'maTsK VKP(b) "0 dele professorovKliuevoi i Roskina," 12 December1947; ibid., op. 122. d. 269, 11.187-88. 23. See Voprosyfilosofii, 1947, No.1. 24. Yurii Furmanov,"Uroki odnoi diskussii," Savetskaiakul'tura, 12 March 1988. 25. Pis'mo G.F. A1eksandrovaLV. Stalinu i AA Zhdanovu,11 July 1947; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17,op. 125, d. 492, I. 2. 26. Zapis' besedy upolnomochennykhTsK VKP(b) s zaveduiushchimiotdelami propagandyi agitatsii raionnykh komitetovVKP(b) Gor'kovskoioblasti, 1947; ibid., I. 27. 27. Ibid., I. 28. 28. DokladnaiazapiskaUpravleniia propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 nedostatkakh v rabote po podboru i vospitaniiu agitatorov v Stalingradskoi oblastnoi partiinoi organizatsii," November 1947; ibid., I. 172. [We may surmise that the initials RKK were a inspektsiia/Workers'and Peasants'inmistakenreferenceto RKI (Raboche-krest'ianskaia spectorate)or to RKKA (Raboche-krest'ianskaia krasnaiaarmiia/Workers' and Peasants' Red Army)-H.R.) 29. Informatsiia 0 nachaleuchebnogogodav sistemepartiinogo prosveshcheniia,1948; ibid .. op. 132, d. 103, I. 2. 30. "Za bol'shevistskuiupartiinost' literaturnoi kritiki," Novyi miT, 1948, No. 12: 193. 31. N.la. Marr (1865-1934)was a Soviet Russianlinguist and specialistin the languages of the Caucasus.He advancedthe so-called "new theory" of language.One of the fundamental ideasof this theory was the affirmation of the classcharacterof language.The views of Marr long held sway in Soviet linguistics (and survived him), during which time all who did not shareMarr's theorywere subjectedto persecution.The last attackon the opponents of Marr's ideas took place in 1948. [Marr's antagonistsemphasizedethnic and cultural in the evolution of language. factors rather than Marxist principles of class consciousness Stalin eventuallycamedown on their side.-H.R.) 32. Pis'mo L.F. Denisovoi v redaktsiiugazetyPravda, 1950; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 132, d. 337, I. 287. 33. Otkliki na stat'i LV. Stalinapo voprosamiazykoznaniia,1950; ibid., II. 32, 33, 47. 34. Ibid., I. 16. 35. Ibid., I. 10. 36. Ibid., I. 15. 37. FA Abramov, Priasliny: Trilogiia (Leningrad,1978),491-92. 38. RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 132, d. 550, I. 113. 39. Ibid., I. 162. 40. Ibid., I. 115. 41. Ibid., I. 169.

Chapter 13: The Wave of Repression,1949-1953 1. V.P. Popov, "Gosudarstvennyiterror v sovetskoi Rossii, 1923-1953gg. (Istochniki i arkhivy, 1992, No.2: 28. ikh interpretatsiia),"Otechestvennye

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 13 AND 14

223

2. Ibid., 29. 3. Ibid., 28. 4. Ibid. 5. "0 tak nazyvaemom'Ieningradskomdele,' " Izvestia TsK KPSS,1989, No.2: 128. 6. ResheniePolitbiuro TsK VKP(b) "Ob antipartiinykh deistviiakh chlena Politbiuro TsK VKP(b) t. KuznetsovaAA i kandidatovv chleny PolitbiuroTsK VKP(b) tt. Rodionova M.N. i PopkovaP.S.," 15 February1949; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 3, d. 1074, I. 35. 7. "0 tak nazyvaemom'Ieningradskomdele,' " 131. 8. V.I. DemidovandVA Kutuzov, eds.,Leningradskoedelo (Leningrad,1990), 158. 9. PostanovleniePolitbiuro TsK VKP(b) "0 nedostatkakhi oshibkakhTsK KP(b) Estonii," 7 March 1950; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 118, d. 745,11.3--5. 10. Ibid. 11. Ob"iasniteI'naiazapiska N. Karotamma predsedateliukomissii TsK VKP(b) po rassmotreniiupolozheniiav kompartii Estonii P. Ponomarenko,21 December1951; ibid., op. 131, d. 81,1. 327. 12. Dokladnaiazapiskachlenov komissii TsK VKP(b) P. Ponomarenko,M. Shkiriatova, E. Gromova po povodu polozheniiadel v kompartii Estonii, 20 December1951; ibid., II. 403,410. 13. PostanovleniePolitbiuro TsK VKP(b) "0 vziatochnichestvev Gruzii i ob antipartiinoi gruppet. Baramiia,"9 November1951; ibid., op. 3, d. 1091,1.73. 14. PostanovleniePolitbiuro TsK VKP(b) "Polozheniev kompartii Gruzii," 27 March 1952; ibid., d. 1093,1.37. 15. Istochnik, 1994, No.4: 11. 16. The JewishAntifascist Committeewas founded in 1942 for the purposeof mobilizing Soviet and world opinion againstthe crimes of fascism.It was chairedby the director of theJewishTheaterin Moscow, S.M. Mikhoels. 17. V.P. Naumov et aI., eds., Nepravednyi sud: Poslednii stalinskii rasstrel: Stenogramma sudebnogoprotsessanad chlenami Evreiskogo antijashistskogokomiteta (Moscow, 1994); G.V. Kostyrchenko, V plenu u krasnogofaraona: Politicheskiepresledovaniiaevreevv SSSRv poslednee stalinskoedesiatiletie:Dokumental'noeissledovanie(Moscow, 1994); ShimonRedlich, Propaganda and Nationalism in Wanime Russia: The Jewish Antifascist Committeein the USSR, 1941-1948 (Boulder, CO, 1982);Jehoshua A. Gilboa, The Black Years of SovietJewry, 1939-1953(Boston, 1971); BenjaminPinkus.]ewsof the SovietUnion (New York, 1988). 18. Kostyrchenko,V plenu u krasnogofaraona, 60-61. 19. "0 tak nazyvaemom'dele Evreiskogoantifashistskogokomiteta,' " Izvestia TsK KPSS, 1989, No. 12: 40. 20. Pravda, 13January1953. 21. Svodkapisem-otklikov na soobshchenieTASS ob areste"gruppy vrachei-vreditelei," 1953; TsKhSD, f. 5, op. 16, d. 602, I. 14. 22. Ibid., I. 17. 23. Ibid., II. 32-34. 24. Ibid., I. 30. 25. Ia.L. Rapoport,"Vospominaniia0 'delevrachei,' .. Druzhbanarodov, 1988, No.4: 224.

Chapter 14: The Evolution of Public Opinion 1. L.N. Voitolovskii, Ocherki kollektivnoipsikhologii, 2 vols. (Petrograd,1925),2:75. 2. See,for example,Otto Latsis, "Skazki nashegovremeni," Izvestia, 15 April 1988. 3. Informatsiia Otdela propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) ob otklikakh trudiashchikhsia na snizhenieroznichnykhtsen,March 1949; RTsKhIDNI, f. 17, op. 132, d. 114, I. 27.

224

NOTES TO CHAYTERS 14 AND 15 4. 5. 6. 7.

Ibid., I. 28. Ibid .• I. 27. Ibid. ProgrammaVKP(b): Proekt; ibid .• op. 125. d. 476.1. 190. 8. Voprosyekonomiki,1950, No. 10: 101. 9. Ibid .. 106-D8. 10. Informatsiia Otdela propagandyi agitatsii TsK VKP(b) "0 nedostatkakhv provedenii sobranii rabochikh i sluzhashchikhna promyshlennykhpredpriiatiiakh Tul'skoi oblasti." August 1950; RTsKhIDNI. f. 17. op. 132. d. 291. I. 84. 11. Ibid., I. 85. 12. Ibid .• I. 86. 13. Ibid .. I. 87. 14. Pravda. 11 October1952. 15. Zapiska I.M. Stul'nikova C.M. Malenkovu. 12 January1950; RTsKhIDNI. f. 17. op. 132, d. 278, I. 6. 16. Ibid .• I. 7. 17. Ibid .• I. 10. 18. Anatolii Zlobin. "Ural'skie vstrechi," Novyi mir. 1953, No. 12: 194. 19. Pravda, 13 October1952. 20. Ibid., 2 December1952. 21. Iurii Sharapov,"Bez gnevai pristrastiia: Politicheskiezametki." Moskovskienovosti. 3 September1989. 22. 22. Interview with P.v. Volobuev; author'spersonalarchive. 23. Ibid. 24. N.S. Atarov. Dal'niaia doroga: Literatumyiportret V. Ovechkina(Moscow. 1977), 101. 25. Ibid .• 114. 26. Ibid. 27. Vladimir Dudintsev."Obraz svobody,"Literatumaiagazeta.8 May 1991.9. 28. Ales' Adamovich. 'Tikhoe imia," ibid .• 18 October1991. 4.

Chapter 15: The New Public Atmosphere 1. "Svidetel'stvuiu."Argumentyifakty, 1988, No. 50: 3. 2. I.C. Erenburg.SobranieJochinenii. 9 vols. (Moscow. 1962-1967).9:730. 3. Cited in Nedelia. 1989, No. 19. 4. Erenburg,Sobraniesochinenii.9: 731. 5. A.D. Sakharov."Vospominaniia."Znamia, 1990. No. 12: 34. 6. Pis'ma s predlozheniiamiob uvekovechivaniipamiati LV. Stalina, March:July 1953; TsKhSD. f. 5. op. 16. d. 593(a).11.6--16. 7. Ibid. 8. Ibid. 9. Interview with Iu.S. Apenchenko;author'spersonalarchive. 10. Harrison Salisbury,MoscowJoumal:The End of Stalin (Chicago.1961),349. 11. For details on the activity of L.P. Beriia and an assessment,see N.F. Nekrasov,ed., Beriia: Konets kar'ery (Moscow, 1991); Amy Knight, Beria: Stalin's First Lieutenant(Princeton. 1993); B.A. Starkov, "Sto dnei lubianskogomarshala,"Istochnik, 1993, No.4; O.V. Khlevniuk, "L.P. Beriia: Predely istoricheskoi reabilitatsii," Istoricheskie issledovaniia v Rossii: Tendentsii poslednikhlet (Moscow, 1996); A.1. Kokurin and A.I. Pozharov." 'Novyi kurs' L.P. Beriia 1953 g.... 1!toricheskiiarkhiv, 1996, No.4. 12. Pravda, 6 and 9 August 1953.

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 15 AND 16

225

13. Izvestia 1'sK KPSS,1989, No.6: 149. 14. FedorBurlatskii, Vozhdi i sovetniki(Moscow, 1990), 27. 15. Cited in T.A. Lukovtseva,"Poisk putei obnovleniiaobshchestvai sovetskaialiteratura v 50-60khgodakh," Voprosyistarii KPSS,1989, No.1: 39. 16. FA Abramov, "Liudi kolkhoznoi derevni v poslevoennoiproze," Novyi mir, 1954, No.4; MA Lifshits, "Dnevnik Marietty Shaginiana,"ibid., No.2; MA Shcheglov," 'Russkii les' LeonidaLeonova," ibid., No.5. 17. Pis'moN. ShchennikovaV. Pomerantsevu,1954; RGALI, f. 1702, op. 6, d. 72, 1. 69. 18. Stenogrammachitatel'skoi konferentsii po obshuzhdeniiustat'i V. Pomerantseva "Ob iskrennostiv literature," 12 February1954; ibid., d. 77,1. 52. 19. Ibid. 20. Pis'mo v redaktsiiu zhumala"Novyi mir" 1. Ivannikova, Decemt.~rDecemt.~r 1953; ibid., d. 72, 1. 3. 21. Pis'moG. ShchukinaV. Pomerantsevu, December1953; ibid.,!. 21. 22. Stenogrammachitatel'skoikonferentsiipo obsuzhdeniiustat'i V. Pomerantseva "Ob iskrennostiv literature"; ibid., d. 77,1. 21. 23. Aleksandr Tvardovskii, "Iz rabochikh tetradei (1953-1960)," Znamia, 1989, No.7: 139. 24. SeeNovyi mir, 1954, No.8: 307. 25. Leonid Zorin, "Costi; Ottepel', 1953-1957,"Stranitsy russkoi sovetskoiliteratury (Moscow, 1989), 119. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid., 434-36. 28. Sakharov,"Vospominaniia,"59. [The referencehere is to Milovan Djilas, The New Class: An Analysisof the CommunistSystem(New York, 1957)-H.R.J 29. Pis'mo1. Efimova v redaktsiiuzhumala"Novyi mir"; RGALI, f. 1702, op. 4, d. 317, 1. 19. 30. Cited in "Ego sotvorennoepole: Valentin Rasputin 0 FedoreAbramove," Sovetskaia kul'tura, 10 March 1987. 31. Iz chitatel'skoipochty zhumala"Novyi mir"; RGALI, f. 1702, op. 4, d. 391, 1. 3. 32. Pravda, 11 January1954. 33. Informatsiia otdela partiinykh organov po RSFSRTsK KPSS "Ob itogakh vyborov v Verkhovnyi Sovet RSFSR i mestnye sovety deputatov trudiashchikhsia,"4 March 1955; TsKhSD, f. 5, op. 32, d. 34, 1. 7. 34. Ibid. 35. Informatsiia Moskovskogo komiteta KPSS 0 nadpisiakh na izbiratel'nykh biulleteniakh,sdelannykhizbirateliami v den' vyborov 27 fevralia 1955 g.; ibid.,!. 15. 36. Ibid.,!' 20. 37. Ibid., ll. 20, 23. 38. Informatsiia otdelapartiinykh organovpo RSFSRTsK KPSS "Ob itogakh ~yborov~yborov ... ," 1. 9. 39. Ilia Erenburg,"Liudi, gody, zhizn'," Ogonek,1987, No. 22: 23. 40. Anatolii Zlobin, "Poslesoveshchaniia,"Novyi mir, 1955, No.7: 38.

Chapter 16: The Repudiation of the GUIAG 1. Anton Antonov-Ovseenko,"Protivostoianie," Literatumaia gazeta, 3 April 1991, 2; "Desiat' 'zheleznykhnarkomov,' " Komsomol'skaiapravda, 19 September1989; A.N. Dugin, "Stalinizm: Legendy i fakty," Slovo, 1990, No.7; V.N. Zemskov, "GULAG: Istorikosotsiologicheskiiaspekt,"SOTSIS,Nos. 6, 7, and passim. 2. "Gosudarstvennyiterror v sovetskoi Rossii, 1923-1953: Istochniki i ikh inter-

226

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 16 AND 17

pretatsiia,"Otechestvennyearkhivy, 1992, No.2: 27. 3. "Zapiska ministra vnutrennikh del SSSR L.P. Beriia v Prezidium TsK KPSS 0 neobkhodimostiprovedeniiaamnistii, 26 March 1953," Istaricheskiiarkhiv, 1996, No.4: 143. 4. AleksandrSolzhenitsyn,"Arkhipelag GULAG," Novyi miT, 1989, No.8: 8. 5. O.V. Khlevniuk, "L.P. Beriia: PredeJyistoricheskoi reabilitatsii," in G.A. Bordiugov, ed., Istaricheskieissledovaniiav Rossii: Tendentsiiposlednikhlet (Moscow, 1996), 151. For detail on the economic crisis in the GULAG, see Marta Kraveri (Marta Craveri) and O.V. Khlevniuk, "Krizis ekonomiki MVD (konets 1940kh-1950egody)," Cahiers du monderusseet sovilitique, 36 (1995): 179-90; G.M. Ivanova, "GULAG v ekonomicheskoii politicheskoi zhizhi strany," in V.S. LeI' chuk and E.1. Pivovar, eds., SSSRi kholodnaia voina (Moscow, 1995), 203-48. 6. Ivanova, "GULAG v ekonomicheskoii politicheskoi zhizni strany,"247. 7. Otechestvennyearkhivy, 1994, No.4: 33. [The colonies were a mild regime of the camps,where the inhabitantswere often simply confined to the immediatevicinity. They often consistedof speciallyqualified professionalpersonnelassignedto work on projectsof high priority, usuallyof military significance.-H.R.] 8. Ivanova, "GULAG v ekonomicheskoii politicheskoizhizni strany,"246. 9. Informatsiia Otdela partiinykh, profsoiuznykhi komsomoI'skikhorganovTsK KPSS "0 khode vypolneniia postanovleniiaSoveta Ministrov SSSR ot 30 maia 1953 g. 'Ob ustraneniinedostatkovv trudoustroistveosvobozhdennykhpo amnistii grazhdan,'" 25June 1953; TsKhSD, f. 5, I. 15, d. 402, I. 88. 10. Ibid., I. 89. 11. "0 tak nazyvaemom'Ieningradskomdele,' " IzvestiaTsK KPSS, 1989, No.2: 133. 12. Ibid., No. 11: 48. 13. Ibid., 41. 14. Cited in Ogonek,1989, No. 11: 9. 15. Iu.P. Sharapov,"Bez gneva i pristrastiia: Politicheskiezametki," Moskovskienovosti, 3 September1989, 22. 16. "Vse ne tak, rebiata," Sovetskaiakul'tura, 7 April 1990. 17. Pis'moA.P. Borisovav redaktsiiuzhumala"Novyi mir"; RGALI, f. 1702, op. 10, d. 2, I. 167. 18. Pis'moV.L. Zhevtunav redaktsiiuzhumala"Novyi mir"; ibid., II. 32, 32(ob). 19. Pis'moD.I. Markelovav redaktsiiuzhurnala"Novyi mir"; ibid., II. 155-56.

Chapter 17: Turning to the Individual 1. Pis'mo G. Mareichevav redaktsiiu zhurnala"Novyi mir," 1951; RGALI, f. 1702, op. 6., d. 35, I. 82. 2. Pis'mo 1. Efimova v redaktsiiu zhurnala "Novyi mir," 1953; ibid, op. 4, d. 317, II. 19-20. 3. Pis'mo V. Oskotskogov redaktsiiuzhumala"Novyi mir," 1953; ibid., op. 6, d. 72, II. 15-16. 4. Pis'moE. Beliaevoi v redaktsiiuzhumala"Novyi mir," 1953; ibid., op. 4, d. 318, I. 40. 5. Ibid. 6. Pis'moV. Boitsovav redaktsiiuzhurnala"Novyi mir," 1953; ibid., I. 60. 7. Pis'moA. Ostapenkov redaktsiiuzhumala"Novyi mir," 1953; ibid., d. 317, I. 33. 8. Pis'moIu. Golovtsovav redaktsiiuzhurnala"Novyi mir," 1953; ibid. d. 318, I. 104. 9. Vtoroi Vsesoiuznyis"ezdsovetskikhpisatelei, 15-26dekalnia 1954g.: Stenograficheskiiotchet (Moscow, 1956), 102. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid., 102-03.

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 17 AND 18

227

12. Ibid., 27-28. 13. Cited in Pravda, 4 February1987. 14. Vladimir Pomerantsev,"Ob iskrennostiv literature," in S.l. Chuprinin, ed., Ottepel', 1953-1956:Stranitsyrusskoisovetskoiliteratury (Moscow, 1989),52. "Ob 15. Stenogrammachitatel'skoikonferentsiipo obsuzhdeniiustat'i V. Pomerantseva iskrennostiv literature," 12 February1954; RCALI, f. 1702, op. 6, d. 77,11.56-57.

Chapter 18: The Cult of Personality and Its Social Impact 1. Cited in N.A. Barsukov,"Mart 1953-go,"Pravda, 27 October1989. 2. Ibid. 3. "Plenum TsK KPSS, 2-7 iiulia 1953 g.: Stenograficheskiiotchet," Izvestia TsK KPSS, 1991, No.2: 195. 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid., 196. 6. Ibid., No.1: 166. 7. Ibid., 188. 8. Ibid., 149. 9. Ibid., 146. 10. Ibid., 149. 11. Ibid., 165. 12. Ibid., 187. 13. Pravda, 15July 1953. 14. Ibid. 15. Personalarchive of C.M. Malenkov in possessionof his heirs. 16. Interview with I.A. Dedkov; author'spersonalarchive. 17. Ibid. 18. Ilia Erenburg,"Liudi, gody, zhizn'," Ogonek,1987, No. 23: 22. 19. Cited in EKO, 1987, No. 10: 67. 20. Iz redaktsionnoipochty zhurnalaKommunist,March 1956; RTsKhIDNI, f. 599, op. 1, d. 82, 1. 117. 21. Ibid., d. 82, 1. 119. 22. Ibid., d. 88. 23. Voprosy, zadannyedokladchiku na sobranii aktiva Sverdlovskoigorodskoi partiinoi organizatsii,16 March 1956; TsKhSD, f. 5, op. 32, d. 45,1. 45. 24. Voprosy, zadannyena sobraniiakhraionnykh aktivov gorodaMolotova, 1956; ibid., II. 70,72. 25. Informatsiia otdela partiinykh organov TsK KPSS "0 khode obsuzhdeniia materialovXX s"ezdav partiinykh organizatsiiakhRSFSR,"16 April 1956; ibid., I. 2. 26. Ibid., I. 4. 27. Ibid., I. 1. 28. Ibid. 29. See, for example, Informatsiia Udmurtskogooblastnogokomiteta KPSS "0 khode obsuzhdeniiaitogov XX s"ezda KPSS na sobraniiakh gorodskikh, raionnykh partiinykh aktivov i pervichnykhpartiinykh organizatsii,"7 April 1956; ibid., d. 46, 1. 10. 30. Informatsiia otdela partiinykh organov TsK KPSS "0 provedenii sobranii partiinogo aktiva po itogam XX s"ezda KPSS v raionakh Leningrada," 16 April 1956; ibid., d. 45, 1. 26. 31. Spravka otdela partiinykh organov TsK KPSS po soiuznym respublikam "0 faktakh nepravil'nykh, demogogicheskikhi antipartiinykh vystuplenii, imevshikh mestona partiinykh

228

NOTES TO CHAPTERS 18 AND 19

sobraniiakhv soiuznykh respublikakhpo itogam XX s" ezdaKPSS," 17June 1956; ibid., op. 31, d. 54, I. 14. 32. Ibid., I. 15. 33. Informatsiiaotdela partiinykh organovTsK KPSS po RSFSR"0 khode obsuzhdeniia materialovXX s" ezdaKPSSv partiinykh organizatsiiakhRSFSR,"I. 5. 34. Informatsiia otdela partiinykh organov TsK KPSS po RSFSR 0 reagirovanii voennosluzhashchikh na doklad N.S. Khrushcheva"0 kul'te lichnosti i ego posledstviiakh," 1956; ibid., op. 32, d. 46, II. 20~5.20~5. 35. Interview with O.P. Latsis; author'spersonalarchive. 36. Erenburg,"Liudi, gody, zhizn'," 22. 37. Stenogrammaplenuma Moskovskogo gorodskogo komiteta KPSS, 26 November 1956; RTsKhIDNI, f. 556, op. 1, d. 693, I. 244. 38. Stenogrammasobraniia partiinogo aktiva goroda Moskvy, 9 March 1956; ibid., d. 705, II. 146-47.

Chapter 19: Public Opinion and the "Hungarian Syndrome" 1. Zapiska redaktsii zhumala Vaprosy istorii chlenam Prezidiuma i sekretariamTsK KPSS,v redaktsiiuzhumalaKommunist,August 1956; RTsKhIDNI, f. 599, op. 1, d. 81, I. 4. 2. Iz redaktsionnoipochty zhumalaKommunist;ibid., op. 3, d. 653, I. 199. 3. B.A. Grushin andV.V. Chikin, Ispoved'pokoleniia (Moscow, 1962), 204. 4. Vladimir Dudintsev,"Nachinat' nuzhnos khleba," Argumentyifakty, 1988, No.2. 5. Argumentyifakty, 1989, No.1. 6. Cited in S.1. Chuprinin, ed., attepet', 1953-1956:Stranitsy russkoi sovetskoiliteratury (Moscow, 1989),475. 7. Ibid.,476. [Samizdatwasthe "self-published"literatureof undergrounddissentproducedin multiple copieslargely with carbonpaperon typewritersand circulatedfrom hand to handby membersof the movement.-H.R.] 8. lzvestiia,2 November1956; Literatumaiagazeta,24 November,15 December1956. 9. Pis'mo A. Shcherbakovav redaktsiiu Literatumoi gazety, 1956; RGALI, f. 1702, op. 6, d. 245, I. 4. 10. Ibid. 11. Pis'mobez podpisi V. Dudintsevu,1956; ibid., I. 12. 12. Pis'moIu. BerezinaV. Dudintsevu,1956; idid., I. 33. 13. Stenogrammazasedaniiaplenuma Leningradskogogorkoma KPSS, 13 December 1956; RTsKhIDNI, f. 556, op. 1, d. 603, I. 307. 14. Ibid., I. 306. 15. Ibid. 16. V.N. Azhaev: Soviet writer, author of the novel Daleko ot Moskuy (Far from Moscow, receivedStalin prize, 1949). 17. A.G. Malyshkin: Soviet Russianwriter, authorof the novel Liudi iz zakholust'ia(People from the Boondocks,aboutvillage life). 18. Iz redaktsionnoipochty zhumalaNouyi mir, 1956; RGALI, f. 1702, op. 6, d. 243, I. 39. 19. Cited in Chuprinin, attepet', 1953-1956,476. 20. Stenogrammasobraniiapartiinogo aktiva Leningrada,January1957; RTsKhIDNI, f. 556, op. 2, d. 671, I. 30. 21. Informatsiia otdela partiinykh organov TsK KPSS po RSFSR "Ob otklikakh trudiashchikhsiana sobytiiavVengrii," 10 November1956;TsKhSD,f. 5, op. 32, d. 39, I. 131. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 19

229

24. Ibid., I. 132. 25. Ibid. 26. Zakrytoe pis'mo TsK KPSS "Ob usilenii politicheskoi raboty partiinykh organizatsiiv massakhi presecheniivylazok antisovetskikh,vrazhdebnykhelementov,"19 December1956; ibid., f. 89, perechen'6, dokument2. 27. Ibid. 28. Ilia Erenburg, "Liudi, gody, zhizn'," Ogonek, 1987, No. 24: 28. [At the Twenty-Second Party Congressin October1961 the party passeda resolution to denounceStalin more thoroughlyandcomprehensivelyand to expel his body from the mausoleum.-H.R.] 29. Voprosy literatury, 1989, No.5: 210. 30. N.S. Khrushchev, Za tesnuiu sviaz' literatury i iskusstva s zhizn'iu naroda (Moscow, 1957), 16. 31. Voprosy literatury, 1989, No.5: 211. 32. A.T. Tvardovskii, "Iz rabochikhtetradei,"Znamia, 1989, No.8: 127. 33. Interview with LA. Dedkov; author'spersonalarchive. 34. Cited in L.P. Talochkin and LG. Alpatova, eds.,Drugoe iskusstvo:Moskva 1956-1976, 2vols. (Moscow, 1994), 1: 38. 35. Ibid., 292. HerIuf Bidstrup was a Danish communist cartoonist whose work was often republishedin the Soviet press. 36. L.M. Alekseeva,Istoriia inakomysliiav SSSR(Moscow/Vilnius, 1992), 199. 37. [In characteristicallycrampedSovietapartments,the kitchen was the natural gathering place-with tea and zakuski(snacks)-offriendsin conversation.-H.R.]

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Index A

Abdulin, Mansur,15, 34-35 Abramov,Fedor,32,128-129,156, 160 Academyof Sciences,93, 94, 120, 141 Adamovich,Ales, 11, 148 Adolescents. SeeYou th Agriculture and depopulation,38 drought/harvestfailure in, 40, 43 and grain procurementcampaign, 40-41 Malenkov'sprogramfor, 155 Seealso Collective farms; Peasants Akhmatova,Anna, 167 Aksenov,Iurii, 55 Aleksander,S.D., 91 Aleksandrov,G.F., 93,123-124 Alekseev,Sergei,13 Alekseeva,Liudmila, 201 Aleksievich, Svetlana,11 All-Union Lenin Academyof Agricultural Sciences,125 Andreev,A.A., 92 Andresen,Nigol, 134 An ti-Semitism, 135-136 Anti-Stalinist campaign,178-190 Apenchenko,Iu.S., 8, 153 Arkhangelskaia,Tatiana,35 Army demobilizationof, 22-23 ex-GULAG prisonersin, 17 psychologicalpressureson, 24 soldiers'view of Stalin, 17-18 youth discipline in, III SeealsoVeterans Army of the Revolution, 114 Astafiev, Viktor, 12, 15 Atarov, Nikolai, 147 Avdeenko,Alexander,32

B

Baklanov,Grigorii, 12 Balkars, 106 Baramiia,M.I., 134-135 Basavin,Ivan, 49 Bek, Aleksandr,172 Beria, L.P., 132, 154, 164,165 denunciationof, 179-180,181-182 Birth rate, 21 Borisov,A.P.,168 Bread end of rationing, 54-55 lines, 49-50, 55 ration price increase,41-45, 46 shortagesof, 45, 46-50, 54-55, 102 stealingof, 49 Brezhnev,L.I., 153 Bukharin, N.I., 166 Bulganin, N.A., 162 Burdzhalov,E.N., 96-97 Bureaucracy ideologicalcampaignin, 121-122 literary criticism of, 158-159, 193-195 official criticism of, 155 Burlatskii, Fedor, 155 Bykov, Vasil, 12

c CentralCommittee archivesof, 6-7 and breadration price, 41, 42 and cult of personality,178-179,181 famine reportof, 48 GreatTerror documentsof, 117 in Hungariancrisis, 197-198 ideologicalcampaignsof, 119, 120, 121, 122, 125, 129 231

232

INDEX

Central Committee(continued) living conditionsreportof, 35-37, 103 and party expulsions,80-81 and political rehabilintion,166 and religious policy, 73 Chechens,106, 107 Chikobava,A.S., 126 Children, of wartime, 21-22 Churchill, Winston, 83-84 Church. SeeReligion Cities crime in, 38-39 food supply in, 41, 43-44, 48-50 housingshortagein, 102-103,162 living conditionsin, 36-37, 162-163 rural migration to, 65-66 Civil service.SeeBureaucracy Collective farms anti-collective-farmsentiment,61-64, 65 depopulationof, 38 expulsionsfrom, 104 and food prices, 42-43 food supply in, 47-48 and grain procurementcampaign, 40-41 obligatoryminimum workdaysin, 59, 60,66 punitive sanctionsin, 66-67 reform proposalsfor, 92 rumorsaboutdissolutionof, 60-62, 78-79 suspensionof pay in, 59-60, 63, 104-105 CommunistParty antagonismtoward elite, 163 and anti-Stalinistcampaign,186, 187-188 control over rank-and-file,145-146 corruption in, 80-82 expulsionsfrom, 80 motivesfor membership,79-80 power strugglesin, 132, 154 progressiveproposalsin, 89-91 schools,125 wartime growth of, 79 Seealso CentralCommittee;Purges CommunistParty of Youth, ll4, ll5 Congressof SovietWriters, 174 Constitutionalcommission,progressive proposalsof, 88-89 Consumergoods and end of rationing, 54-55 fear of materialism,176-177 industry, 155

Consumergoods (continued) and monetaryreform, 53-54 price reduction,140 Seealso Rationing Council of Collective Farm Affairs, 65 Council for RussianOrthodoxAffairs, 69, 73 Courtsof honor campaign, ll9-123 Creativediscussionscampaign,123-129 Crime adolescent,21 famine-related,49,131 growth of, 38-39 by releasedconvicts, 166 Cult of personality,178-182,184, 186, 187,188,190 Currency devaluationof, 51 reform, 52, 53-54 Czechoslovakia,108 D

Decembristuprising, 25 Dedkov, LA., 8,183,199 Defenseindustry, 85-86 Demobilization,22-23 Denisova,L.F., 126 Different Kind, A (Bek), 172 Dissent and dissidentmovement,199 ideologicalcampaignsagainst, 118-129 andyouth movement,114-116 District Routine(Ovechkin),8,146-147 Doctors' plot, 136-138,166 Doctor Zhivago (Pasternak),198 Zhivago Dubinin, N.P., 94 Dudintsev,Vladimir, 8, 147, 157, 176, 193-194,198 Dunham,Vera, 4, 94 E

EasternEurope Hungarianrevolution, 195-198,201 Tito-Stalin break, 108 EconomicProblemsofSocialismin the USSR (Stalin), 179 Economicrefonn, proposalsfor, 91-93 Education ideologicalcampaigns,119-125 party schools,125 Stalinistpropagandain, 110 andyouth movement,112-113

INDEX Ehrenburg,Ilia, 8, 152, 163,172, 174, 185, 189, 198 Elections,SupremeSoviet, 74-76, 162-163 Elite, antagonismto, 163 Employment.SeeWorkers Esakov,V.D., 93 Estonia,purgesin, 133-134 Evacuatedworkers,36, 37,103 Expectations of deportedpeoples,106--107 moderationof, 84-85 of open-mindeddialogue,94-97 of peasants, 104-105 of repatriates,105-106 and sacrificeprinciple, 101-102 of veterans,34 of workers,103-104 F FacesofStalinism, The (Romanovskii),5-6

Family income,42 andwartime losses,21, 22 Famine,39,40,47-49,66, 102, 131 Fatherlessness, 21,22 Fedotov,Georgii, 32, 33 Fifth-column myth, 86 Films, 34-35 Food consumerdemandfor, 140 andfamine, 39, 40, 47-49, 66, 102, 131 foreign aid shipmentsof, 82 Seealso Bread; Grain; Rationing Forcedlaborers,suspicionof, 105 Foreignaid, 82 Foreignpolicy in EasternEurope,108 and hostile-encirclement myth, 83-84, 85-86 reasonfor interestin, 87 resentmentagainstformer allies, 82-83

ForJustice(Grossman),160

Freud,Sigmund,85 Furtseva,E.A., 190

G Galin, Boris, 34 Gefter, Mikhail, 14, 16--17,25,33,204 Geller, Mikhail, 4 Geneticresearch,93-94 Georgia,purgesin, 134-135,166

233

Ginzburg,V.L., 121 Gordov,Vasilii, 89-90 Gorky Institute of World Literature, 187 Gosplan (StatePlanningAgency), 132 Gottwald, Kliment, 108 Grain peasantpay in, 60 procurementcampaign,40-41 salesabroad,43, 82 Seealso Bread Granin, Daniil, 11 GreatTerror, 117, 131 Grossman,Vasilii, 160, 172 Guests(Zorin), 159, 163 GULAG financial lossesfrom, 165 andguilt and responsibilityissues, 167-168,169-170 and information access,170 liberation from, 168-169 populationof, 107, 164 reformsof, 165-166 Solzhenitsyn'scharacterizationof, 164-165 uprisingsin, 165 wartime liberation from, 17 Gurevich,A. la., 91 H

Health of demobilizedveterans,24 of deportedpeoples,106 and famine, 48 andwartimeworking conditions, 21-22 Heart ofa Friend, The (Kazakevich), 172-173 Historiography political researchtradition of, 3-4, 5-6 of social groups,6 of World War II, 11-12 History ofDissentin the USSR,The

(Alekseeva),201

History of WestEuropeanPhilosophy

(Aleksandrov),123 Hostile-encirclementmyth, 83-84, 85-86 Housing for demobilizedveterans,23 shortageof, 102-103,162 Hungarianrevolution, 195--198,201

Industry consumergoods,155

234

INDEX

Industry (continued) defense,85-86 grandprojectsof, 141-142,147 managemen t of, 142-144 production,102 wartime, 21-22 working conditionsin, 21, 36, 103 SeealsoWorkers Ingush, 106, 107 Institute of Marxism-Leninism,92 Institute of Public Opinion, 192 Intelligentsia in biological sciences,93-94 dependence on authorities,97-98 expectationsof open-minded dialogue,94-97 and hostile-encirclementmyth, 84 Hungariancrisis crackdownon, 198-199 ideological campaignsamong, 118-129 "kowtowing before the West," 119 postwardisillusion of, 88, 89-91, 95 progressiveproposalsof, 88-89, 91-94 Seealso Literature Iron curtain, 31 Izvestia,194

J Jazzmusic, 192,200 JewishAntifascist Committee,136, 166 Jews and anti-Semiticpolicy, 135-136 in doctors'plot, 136-138 K

Kaganovich,L.M., 179 Kalinin, M.I., 36 Kalmyks, 106, 107 Kamenev,L.V., 166 Kapustin, Ia.F., 132, 133 Karachais,106, 107 Karotamm,N.C., 134 Kaverin, Veniamin, 198 Kazakevich,Emmanuil,26, 28, 34, 172-173 Kengir uprising, 165 Ketlinskaia,Vera, 26 Khemshils,106 Khrunichev,V.M., 122 Khrushchev,N.S., 155, 156, 178,179 criticism ofleadership,188, 190 and Hungarianrevolution, 197, 198 secretspeechof, 184-185,187, 189

Kirov, Sergei,117 Kliueva, Nina, 120, 121 Kochetov,Vsevolod,174 Komsomol, 111, 132 Komsol'skaiaPravda,192-193 Kondratiev,Viacheslav,8,12, 15,26, 53-54 Kopelev, Lev, 195 "Kowtowing before the West," 119, 126 Kozlov, Alexei, 200 Kruglov, Sergei,75 Kruus, Hans, 134 Kuban Cossacks,35 Kurds, 106 Kuznetsov,AA., 83,103,117, 120, 122 purgeof, 132, 133 L

Labor. SeeWorkers Latsis, O.P., 8, 189 Lazutin, 133 Leningradaffair, 132-133,166 Lifshits, Mikhail, 156 Linguistics, ideologicalcampaignin, 126-128 Literary Moscow, 198 Literature bureaucraticcriticism in, 158-159, 193-195 ethical tradition of, 156 ideologicalcampaignsagainst,129 and intellectualmobilization,93-97 new genreof, 146-147 and private vs public life, 171-175 public discussionof, 159-160,193-195 public opinion datafrom, 4, 7-8 truthfulnessin, 156-158,160 andyouth movement,110, 112 Living conditions,23, 35-37, 102-103, 162-163 Lozovskii, SA., 135-136 Lysenko,T.D., 93-94,126 LysenkoInstitute, 94 M

Malenkov, C.M., 93,143,162,203-204 and cult of personality,178-179,182 economicprogramof, 154-156 and purges,132, 133 Markelov, D.I., 169 Marr, N. la., 126, 127 Marshall Plan, 82 Martial law, 104 Marxist Workers' Party, 116

INDEX Materialism,fear of, 176-177 Memberof the Government,183 MeskhetianTurks, 106 Michurin, LV., 126 Middle class,4 Mikhoels, S.M., 136 Mikoyan, A.L, 36 Militarization, prewar,13 Military. SeeArmy Military-industrial complex,85-86 Mingrelian affair, 134-135,166 Minorities expectationsof autonomy,106-107 and Russificationpolicy, 154 wartime deportationof, 106 Mlynar, Zdenek,84 Molotov, V.M., 36, 62, 93, 179 Monetaryreform, 52, 53-54 Moscowaffair, 133 MoscowFestivalof Youth and Students, 199-200 MoscowOrthodoxCouncil, 69 N

Neizvestnyi,Ernst, 113 Nekrasov,Viktor, 11, 32 New EconomicPolicy (NEP), 42 Newspapers Hungarianrevolution coveragein, 196 readers'lettersto, 161-162 Seealso specificnames NineteenthPartyCongress,145 Not by BreadAlone(Dudintsev),8,147, 193-194,198 Novyimir, 147, 156-158,160, 172, 193, 195

o Objectivism,123 Oktiabr', 95 OneDay in the Life ofIvan Denisovich (Solzhenitsyn), 170 Optimism, postwar,35 Orbeli, L.A., 120 Ovechkin,Valentin, 8,19,146,147

p Panferov,F.I., 95-96 Pankratova,A.M., 192 Panova, Vera, 156, 172, 174 Pasternak,Boris, 198 PathsofConfusion(Abramov), 128-129 Patolichev,N.S., 44

235

Patriotism,68 Paustovskii,Konstantin,193 Peasants anti-collective-farmsentimentof, 61-64,65 in individual households,65 and resettlementdecree,66-67 taxationof private plots, 64-65,104 urbanmigration of, 65-66 Seealso Collective farms Philosophy,ideologicalcampaignin, 123-125 Politburo and purges,132, 134 and ration prices,41 Political dissent.SeeDissent Political opinion apolitical attitudesin, 76, 86 and CommunistParty, 78-82 during SupremeSovietelection campaign,74-76 and expectationsof betterlife, 84-85 and fifth-column myth, 86 andforbidden subjects,87 on foreign aid, 82 foreign policy, 82-84,85-87 and Hungarianrevolution, 195-198 manipulationof, 144-145 on national vs local government,77 of repatriates'loyalty, 105-106 on Stalin, 77-78, 181-190 on Stalin'ssuccessors,154-156 and us-themthinking, 78 Political rehabilitation,164, 166-170 Political repression.SeePurges Pomerantsev, Vladimir, 156, 157-158, 176 Popkov,P.S., 132, 133 Popov,G.M., 133 Popov,V.P., 164 Population female majority in, 20-21, 38 GULAG, 107, 164 rural depopulation,37-38 andwar casualties,20 Pospelov,P.N., 178 lTavda, 28, 38,55,69, 127, 136, 137, 147, 160, 181 Presidium endingof purges,166 resettlementdecreeof, 66-67 Prices breadration, 41-45, 46 consumer,54 reductionof, 139-141,147 Prisoners.SeeGULAG

236

INDEX

Prisonersof war, suspicionof, 105 Privatelife, right to, 171-175 ProblemsofHistory, 192 Public opinion research comparativeanalysisof datain, 7 in govermentarchives,6-7 inaccessibilityof datafor, 4 interview subjectsfor, 8 in literary works, 4, 7-8,146-147 in memoirs,diaries,and letters,6 vs political historiographicaltradition, 3-4,5-6 Purges aim of, 109 anti-Semiticpolicy in, 135-136 asdiversionary,139 doctors'plot, 136-138,166 endingof, 166 in Estonia,133-134 in Georgia,134-135,166 im pactof, 148 Leningradaffair, 132-133,166 and massaggressiveness, 130, 138 and moral resistance,145-146 Moscowaffair, 133 numbersof victims, 164 and political rehabilitation,164, 166-167 post-warvs pre-war, 117-118,131 selectiveapproachin, 130-131 Pyriev, I.P., 96 R

Rapoport,Ia.L., 137-138 Rationing abolition of, 50, 52-53, 54-55,102 advocatesof, 53 and breadprice increase,41-45 reductionin entitlements,46-47 Raushenbakh, B.V., 167 Religion return to old policy, 72-73 revival of sentiment,69-70, 71-72 wartime rapprochement with, 68-69, 70-71 Repatriates,suspicionof, 105-106 Repression.SeePurges Resettlementdecree,66-67 Rodionov,M.I., 132, 133 Romanovskii,N.V., 5-6 Roskin, Georgii, 120, 121 Rural regions.SeeAgriculture; Collective farms; Peasants;Villages RussianOrthodoxChurch. SeeReligion

Russificationpolicy, 154 Rybalchenko,Filipp, 89-90 Rykov, A.I., 166 S Sakharov,Andrei, 152, 159 Salisbury,Harrison, 154 Samoilov,David, 17,94,95 Science and foreign information sources, 120-122 progressiveideasin, 93-94 Seasonsofthe Year (Panova),156, 174 Secretspeech,184-185,187, 189 Self-criticism,144-145 Self-education,113 Semper,johanes, 134 Serikov,V.P., 35 Sharapov,Iurii, 8,145-146,167 Shcheglov,Mark, 156 Shcherbakov,A.S., 137 Shnaider,Boguslav,24 ShortHistory ofthe BolshevikParty, 192 Show trials, 117 Simonov,Konstantin,ll, 12, 16, 18,34, 95,126,174 Simonov,Nikolai, 86 Slutskii, Boris, 95 Smirnov,Viktor, 27 Social policy, 175-177 Sokolovskii,V.V., 120 Soliheni~,Aleksandr, Soliheni~,Aleksandr, 109,164,170 Stalin anti-Stalinistcampaign,178-190 authorityof, 32-33,126,147 and breadprices,46 and collective farms, 61 and credit for victory, 28-30 deathof, 148, 151-154 and ideologicalcampaigns,123, 124, 126,127-128 Khrushchev'ssecretspeechon, 184-185,187,189 and monetaryreform, 53 oppositionto, 107 patriotic appealsof, 68 and price reductions,140 prohibition on mentioning,182-183 and religious policy, 72 respectfulattitudetoward, 77-78 successors to, 152-156 -Tito break,108 wartime attitudestoward, 17-18 Seealso Purges Starikov, B.A., 122

INDEX Statereconstructionanddevelopment bond, 51, 70 Strelkov,Viktor, 151 Stulnikov, I.M., 143-144 SupremeSoviets,electionsto, 74-76, 162-163 Surkov,AJexei,174 Suvorov,S.G., 94

T Tard, Gabriel, 13 Tatars,106 Taxation,agricultural,64-65,104 Teenagers.SeeYouth Thaw, The (Ehrenburg),8, 174 Theater, 159 Theater,experimental,191 Tito-Stalin break,108 Tvardovskii,AJexander,146, 158, 160, 199 TwentiethPartyCongress,167, 184-185,187 U

Uliukaev, AJeksei,54, 55

Under the ChestnutsofPrague(Simonov),

18 Unemployment,and demobilization,23 Union of SovietWriters, 158, 193,198 Union of Strugglefor the Causeof the Revolution, ll4, ll5, ll6 Us-themthinking, 19,78

v Vasiliev, Boris, 12 Vasilievich, Pavel, 146 Vavilov, N.!., 93 Vavilov, S.I., 93, 121 Veimer, A.T., 134 Veterans andanti-collective-farmsentiment, 63-64 communityamong,27-28 differing interestsamong,24-25 employmentof, 22-23 expectationsoflife after war, 34 healthof, 24 in tellectual/cultural interestsof, 34-35 living conditionsof, 23, 35-36 political loyalty of, 25-27,105 Villages depopulationof, 37-38 food supply in, 47-48

237

Villages (continued) prewargrievancesin, 105 Seealso Peasants Voitolovskii, L.N., 13, 118, 139 Volga Germans,106 Volobuev, P.Y., 8,146 Voznesenskii,N.A., 132, 133 W

Wages,42 War, threatof, 83-84 Women in famine-relatedcrime, 49 and food prices,43-44, 45 populationmajority of, 20-21, 38 unmarriedmothers,21 Workers abandonment of workplaces, 103-104 and demobilization,23 demonstrationsby, 37 dissatisfactionwith administration, 142-143 evacuees,36, 37, 103 forced labor, 165 living conditionsof, 35-37 productivity, 141, 142 and ration breadprice, 43-46 and ration card loss, 47 sacrificedemandedof, 42 social programsfor, 175-176 in wartime production,21-22, 34 World War II and authorityof regime,32-33 andbarracksmodel, 13-14 children andyouth during, 21-22 civic spirit during, 16 credit for victory, 28-30 exposureto alternateviews/lifestyles, 17,18,33-34 heroic imageof, 84 historiographyof, 11-12 humanlossesfrom, 20-21 and idealizationof prewarperiod, 34 industrial productionduring, 21-22, 34 materiallossesfrom, 20 party growth during, 79 patriotic appealsduring, 68 personalresponsibilityduring, 16-:17 and prewarmilitarization, 12-13 psychologicallegacyof, 18-19 religious policy during, 68-69 shock-brigadementalityin, 14 soldiers'perceptionof war, 15

238

INDEX

World War II (continued) soldiers'view of Stalin, 17-18 Seealso Veterans World Youth and StudentFestival, 191 Y

Yevtushenko,Yevgenii, 151-152 Youth and crime, 21 and generationalchange,112 in Komsomol, 111 literary preferencesof, 110, 112-113 at Moscow Festival, 199-200 personalvaluesof, 110-111 political groupsof, 114-116 and religious revival, 72 in self-educationalcircles, 113 in wartime production,21-22, 34 Westerninfluenceson, 192-193

Youth movement,anti-Stalinist, 109-116 Yugoslavia,Tito-Stalin break, 108

z Zasadko,AF., 103-104 Zhadanov,A.A., 44,111,123,124,132, 137 Zhebrak,A.R., 93 Zhevtum,V.L., 168-169 Zhigulin, Anatolii, 113, 114 Zhurbins, The (Kochetov), 174 Zima, V.F., 40, 47 Zinoviev, Alexander,4 Zinoviev, G.E., 166 Zionist conspiracycharges,136 Zlobin, Anatolii, 144, 163 Zorin, Leonid, 159, 163 Zverev,A.G., 51, 53

Elena Zubkova is a senior researchfellow at the Institute of Russian History, RussianAcademyof Sciences.She receivedher degreesfrom the Moscow StateHistorical Archival Institute (B.A.) and the Institute of Russian History (Ph.D.) and has worked at the Moscow State Archive of the OctoberRevolution (now GARF). Dr. Zubkova has published many essaysand articles on postwar history, and the book Societyand Reforms,1945-1964(in Russian;Rossiiamolodaia,1993). Hugh Ragsdalestudiedat the University of North Carolina (A.B.) and the University of Virginia (M.A., Ph.D.). He has done postgraduate study at Moscow State University and the Soviet/RussianAcademyof Sciencesand has worked in the foreign affairs archives of London, Paris, Vienna, Copenhagen,and Stockholm, as well as Moscow. His most recent book is The RussianTragedy: The Burden of History (M.E. Sharpe,1996).