Michael Dobbs - Down with Big Brother

The Andropov era had begun on a hopeful note. After the drift and stagnation of the Brezhnev years, most Soviet citizens welcomed any sign of change, however modest. They were impressed by the new leader’s attempts to shake the bureaucracy out of its torpor. An anticorruption drive targeted at former Brezhnev cronies helped bolster the image of the former KGB chief as a stern but just ruler who would get the country moving again. At last Russia had a real khozyayin , master, who would punish idlers and restore a sense of order and discipline. Desperate for vigorous leadership, many Russians reacted positively to such token gestures as a series of police raids on Moscow bathhouses in the middle of the day to crack down on absenteeism.

Among the Communist Party elite, the wizened man in the dentist’s chair was regarded as the best of his generation. Fifteen years at the head of the world’s largest spy agency had given Andropov a unique insight into the true condition of the Soviet Union and the extent to which it lagged behind its capitalist rivals. Compared with Brezhnev, he was decisive and energetic. He understood the need for change and seemed open to new ideas. But there was a hard side to the dying Soviet leader that went back to his days as a rising apparatchik under Stalin. Unlike younger members of the Politburo, who had never experienced war or revolution, Andropov knew that Soviet power rested on the ability of a ruthless minority to impose its will on the majority. Reform was necessary, but it had to be tightly controlled.

In Andropov’s view, the secret of ruling a country as vast as Russia was never to show weakness. This applied to both domestic policy and foreign affairs. The enemies of socialism were lying in wait, ready to pounce the moment the dictatorship of the proletariat displayed signs of indecision or disunity. Events should not be allowed to reach the point where the only solution was overwhelming military force. That meant keeping a watchful eye on dissent and nipping protests in the bud, before they grew into a major challenge to the regime. In Politburo discussions before he became general secretary, Andropov was always calling for firm measures against would-be dissenters and wayward intellectuals. He liked to quote the Leninist dictum that “A revolution is worth something only if it knows how to defend itself.” 16

“It is very easy to destroy a social order, particularly one in which there are many hidden reasons for dissatisfaction, where nationalism is just under the surface,” Andropov told his associates. “Dissidents are enemies of our social system, although they conceal their aims beneath demagogic slogans.” 17

For all his sophistication and willingness to experiment, Andropov remained a prisoner of the system. A revolutionary mind-set prevented him from challenging its basic features: the overwhelming weight of the military-industrial complex; central planning; the dominance of politics over economics. Like many Soviet leaders, he had become a victim of his own absolute power.

Andropov was a great admirer of Eisenstein’s epic film Ivan the Terrible , a thinly disguised apologia for autocratic rule that had been made to order for Stalin. He was particularly impressed by a scene early on in the movie, when the new tsar is attempting to impose his will on the rebellious boyars. The boyars grumble that neither Europe nor Rome will recognize the young ruler, to which a Jesuit priest retorts, “He who is strong will be recognized by everybody.” Andropov would cite these words approvingly when arguing the need for a tough stance vis-à-vis the American “imperialists.” “Both we and the Americans live according to this principle,” he told his associates. “Neither of us wants to appear weak.” 18

Like Stalin and Ivan the Terrible before him, Andropov lived in a world dominated by scheming domestic enemies and hostile foreign powers. The only way to survive in such a world, and ensure the well-being of his people, was through ruthlessness, cunning, and a large dose of paranoia.

Military strength was the foundation stone of the Russian state. The obsession with security frequently undermined the Kremlin’s other foreign policy goals, which required a “peacemaker” image. Even as general secretary Andropov was reluctant to go against the wishes of the military-industrial complex. When the Korean airliner affair erupted, the Foreign Ministry urged him to assume responsibility for the shootdown, while accusing the United States of organizing a deliberate intrusion into Soviet airspace. But the defense minister, Ustinov, was categorically opposed to admitting that the Soviet Union had destroyed a civilian airliner.

“Don’t worry,” he told Andropov in a conference call to his hospital room. “Everything will be all right. Nobody will be able to prove anything.” 19

EVER SINCE THE DAYS OF STALIN, Politburo meetings had followed a well-established ritual. They were less a forum for open debate than a weekly loyalty ceremony for members of the party’s inner elite. The course of the proceedings was usually predetermined by the general secretary and a handful of powerful vassals, each of whom enjoyed a great deal of autonomy in running his particular fiefdom. There was always a strict pecking order around the Politburo table. Junior members were expected to give the floor to their elders and then chime in respectfully in support of the established party line. By voicing ritualistic support for a particular decision, they automatically assumed responsibility for it. The process was then repeated over and over again, all the way down the party hierarchy, until it became binding on all eighteen million Soviet Communists. Under the rules of “democratic centralism,” once the Politburo had taken a formal decision, no dissent was permitted.

In its language and rituals the Politburo resembled a group of Mafia dons who have clawed their way to the top of a gigantic protection racket. The Communist Party was at root a conspiracy. The original purpose of the conspiracy—the building of an earthly utopia—had long since been forgotten. Ideology had given way to cynicism, but the gang mentality had remained. In order to preserve their power and privileges, the party bosses understood that they had to stick together.

Contrary to the cherished notion of some Kremlinologists, the Politburo was not divided into hawks and doves. Under both Brezhnev and Andropov, all Politburo members were hawks by definition. (The only way for a dove to survive when surrounded by hawks is to become a hawk itself.) It was part of the ritual that everyone prove his credentials by sounding at least as hawkish as the previous speaker. Disagreements were expressed in nuances and subtle differences of emphasis, rather than open argument. The biological law of Kremlin politics was survival of the blandest. That meant having an intuitive feel for the emerging consensus—as spelled out by the gensek or one of his top vassals—and climbing on board. All Soviet politicians, with the partial exception of the gensek , were required to wear a mask.

In Andropov’s absence, the Politburo debate on the Korean airliner affair was opened by Konstantin Chernenko, the wheezing asthmatic who used to light Brezhnev’s cigarettes. Thanks to his late patron, he was now the party’s chief ideologist. He reacted to the destruction of a civilian airliner—and the deaths of 269 people—as a bureaucrat whose orderly world has been disturbed by an unwelcome intrusion.

“One thing is clear,” he sputtered, “we cannot allow foreign planes to overfly our territory freely. No self-respecting state can allow that.” 20

Next to speak was Defense Minister Ustinov, who was determined to defend the honor of the military establishment. His report to the Politburo included several blatant lies, designed to relieve his subordinates of all responsibility. His assertion that the Boeing 747 was flying “without warning lights” flatly contradicted the testimony of the interceptor pilot. He insisted that “repeated instructions” had been given to the intruder to land at a Soviet airfield and that warning shots had been fired “with tracer shells, as stipulated in international rules.”