I experienced this arbitrariness myself. During the winter, evidently, when there aren’t many foreign tourists in Irkutsk, there weren’t too many people whom the local KGB could spy on. I noticed that I was being tailed in October of 1973 during an exhibition in Irkutsk titled “Tourism and Relaxation in the USA.”
There was a young American woman of Jewish heritage at the exhibition— A.W. While in Moscow, she met with activists of the Jewish movement and knew our family. She wore a large six-pointed star which drew the attention of local Jews, but especially the KGB. When I first arrived in Irkutsk with a Star of David around my neck, my relatives and acquaintances begged me to remove it. To wear such an item in Siberia was considered very dangerous. My mother was visiting me that October and together we went to see the
312
Chapter Thirty-Two
American exhibition and talked to her. She visited one of our friends several times. At each meeting, we sensed that we were being watched. Several days after attending the exhibition, a man came to our relatives’ residence, where we were then living, and presented the credentials of a KGB officer. He asked if we lived there. He then asked for our last names and addresses in Moscow and where I was studying. My frightened relatives did not know what to think. The agent came several times but could not catch us at home. Once he waited for a long time, telling us he wanted to talk. Unable to wait that long, he left and returned no more. Half a year later, I found out that there was a move to accuse me of forming, allegedly at my father’s instigation, a Zionist organization and of meeting with an American spy. In the city there was talk that one of the guides was a spy, but at the institute this subject was not discussed with me.
However, provocations were attempted. A young man named Tatarinov, who introduced himself as a student, came to our apartment in Moscow during vacation. He asked if he could leave some ancient icons for two days. Then in Irkutsk, he asked me to sell a watch, jeans, a record player, and other items. He offered me incredible sums of money. I immediately understood the approach used by the luckless KGB employee—the attempt was to build a case of black marketeering against me. Toward the end, three KGB agents followed me. They tailed me constantly by car and waited near my home. I thought they might provoke me into a fight. One never left the apartment building. The people “guarding me” rang the doorbell, and would burst into the apartment.
On the next to last day I went to the institute to declare that I was leaving it and going to Moscow. I could not even imagine what a surprise awaited me. At the institute, I approached the assistant dean. Seeing me, he heaved a sigh of relief and said that everyone had been looking for me since morning. I understood that, presumably, all was known. I was asked to go to the Komsomol committee. There were already about twenty-five people there. Present at the meeting were the institute’s Komsomol committee, the dean, the union organizer, the rector, and several individuals who, as it later turned out, were KGB officials. I was asked to stand at the end of the table and then it was triumphantly announced that competent agencies had that day made the institute’s administration aware of the fact that this student intended to depart for the state of Israel. So it began! The meeting lasted for more than four hours. Prior to obtaining the visa, similar meetings often took place in other Soviet cities. But this was the first for Irkutsk. And a first in the USSR after a visa had already been obtained. The “court” was headed by the rector, Rybalko. The first to speak were the Komsomol members. They would speak and then question me in turn. It was noticeable that it was difficult for them to speak
Vladimir Azbel, Siberian Adversity
313
without notes. Some forgot what they were supposed to say and became confused. I replied calmly and confidently. There was nothing special in my answers. When I spoke, there was deathly silence and there was fear and bewilderment in the faces of those assembled.
The rector sat in silence, focusing his gaze on a single spot. He was the last to find out and this drove him crazy. Finally, he took his turn to speak and, as usual, overdid it. When he discovered that my father was a professor, he began to scream that the Soviet government had given him everything and that he could never repay it. I protested, saying that my father had worked for sixteen years without pay. This surprised the rector very much and he demanded an explanation as to where it was in the USSR that people work without pay. When I replied that father spent sixteen years in Stalin’s concentration camps and prisons, he was curious as to which ones. I replied that father had traveled the whole “Archipelago.” Rybalko then asked me if I had read Solzhen-itsyn. I answered in the affirmative and then asked him the same question. An explosion of indignation! However, the culminating point came a bit later when I said that we had exit visas in hand. The rector left for some fifteen minutes. When he returned he announced that I would not be going anywhere except to Kolyma and that he would try to have our visas classified as expired. The rector then asked me to go home with the KGB officials and get my student documents. Until they were placed on his desk, I would not be allowed to go home.
When my mother walked into the judgement room, having waited in the hallway for four hours, the rector fell upon her and demanded that she leave. If not, he would call the police and she would be taken out. When I tried to go out into the hallway, my path was blocked by two KGB agents. At that juncture the Komsomol secretary declared that I would not be held by force, but I stated that it was already being done. The rector promised that he would provide no certificate regarding my two years of study at the institute, and he kept his word! He also ordered that my school diploma not be returned to me.
Toward the end of the meeting, I was questioned as to who my friends were. I did not answer, so they provided names themselves. They tried to elicit whether I told them of my plans. A girl in my class whom I knew well was particularly besmirched. The filthiest rumors were circulated about her, the type that could only be heard at a Komsomol members meeting. She was then brought in for a demeaning confrontation and told to choose her friends more carefully. Our whole class of twenty-five came to see me on the day of departure. They had begged off from their philosophy seminar. They told their instructor that they were seeing off a friend who was leaving for Israel. He was stupefied and advised them not to go. Still, the students came and we parted in friendship.
314
Chapter Thirty-Two
The same two KGB agents tailed us at the airport and there was another one from the institute. Evidently, this was to confirm that my student identification was invalid. When we submitted our tickets for verification, they demanded my student identification. Determining that I did not have it, they demanded that I surrender my plane ticket. Without a passport, a new ticket could not be purchased (my passport had already been turned in by my father in exchange for the visa). We were already prepared to go by train when luck helped us. In the confusion at the ticket counter, we were able to buy a ticket for another flight. We did not present our passports. Instead, we left the change for the ticket seller. When we were walking to the plane, we were noticed, for upon our arrival in Moscow, we discovered that our suitcases were forced open, the locks wrenched out, and the belongings searched.
Two weeks later we were already in Vienna, and Siberia was only a nightmare in our memory. Thank God!
Rome 8/VI/74
Chapter Thirty-Three
Leonid Shebarshin, Three Days in August
Leonid Shebarshin had a long and successful career in the KGB. He was the station chief at the Soviet Embassy in Teheran during the collapse of the Shah’s regime and endured a siege by Iranian militants. He later served as head of the First Directorate, the chief of intelligence. During the three-day coup attempt against the government of Mikhail Gorbachev (August 19–21, 1991) he was the de facto head at KGB headquarters. The selection which follows describes the days of the attempted coup. Taken from Leonid She-barshin, “Avgust” [August] in Druzhba narodov, Moscow, Nos. 5–6, 1992.
In th
e organizational structure of the KGB [Committee for State Security] the head of the intelligence branch is one of the vice-chairmen and thus a member of the highest leadership circle of the Committee.
The First Directorate is somewhat physically as well as organizationally and psychologically removed from the Committee [KGB headquarters]. Nevertheless, intelligence gathering is an integral part of State Security and whatever took place at the highest levels of the Committee concerned us. The rank and file heard echoes of internal conflicts and was the object of the chairman’s orders and of the Collegium of the KGB. As a rule all this was of little concern to us. The highest levels limited themselves to general instructions on the surveillance of foreign agents, on anti-Soviet organizations abroad, and on centers of ideological subversion. The First Chief Directorate [the intelligence service] was procedurally occupied with problems and directives from above and kept sharp surveillance over any particular situation.
It was not customary to hold meetings with all the vice-chairmen present. Kriuchkov [the KGB chairman] would meet with each separately. Meetings of the committee leadership were frequently called. These would include the
315
316
Chapter Thirty-Three
heads of the major independent subdivisions. The Collegium of the Committee convened regularly and invited representatives of all the principal directorates and, on occasion, the KGB heads of the various Soviet republics, regions and districts.
Once or twice a week I would go from the First Chief Directorate to KGB headquarters on Lubianka Square in order to meet with my colleagues in an informal atmosphere and find out the latest news. At precisely 1330 hours [1:30 PM] the chairman and his vice-chairs would gather in the dining room on the fourth floor near the chairman’s office and seat themselves at a huge table. The meals were ordinary; the portions modest, with no lavish dishes. The service was quick and attentive.
During the meals conversation would flow freely. Hardly a day would go by without complaints at the mass media. Its attacks on the KGB were unrelenting. The magazine Ogonek was a particular irritant but other publications were also criticized for their lack of objectivity. The mood of the conversation was generally pessimistic, although Kriuchkov was by nature an optimist. One of his favorite sayings was: “We can lose anytime, what we ought to do is win.” It was significant, however, that upon listening to some joyless piece of news he would limit his response to a prolonged “ye-s-s” without expressing his opinion or giving orders.
The elections to the parliament of the Russian Federation went by. [Nikolai] Ryzhkov [chairman of the USSR Council of Ministers] who was supported by the KGB suffered defeat. We discussed the results. Here was a conversation among the leaders of the best informed and politically savvy agency of the nation—the KGB. What were the inferences? First inference: The mass media have duped the public. But then the logical question “Why wasn’t the party with its huge propaganda apparatus not been able to dupe the public?” hung suspended in an uneasy silence. The second inference: The elections were rigged and the ballot count falsified. But then where were the election officials and the party functionaries? And precisely at which point did the rigging take place? And a final argument based on the numbers voting and the percent supporting the victors. It turned out that less than half of the population voted for the victors. How many then voted for the losers? I suspect that such “informal analysis” was all the committee was capable of. To look with a dispassionate eye at the mood of the people was frightening. The Committee tried to hide behind the particulars in order not to see the whole.
According to tradition, the relations among the vice-chairmen were once marked by a spirit of competition. This was no longer true in my time, and, at the least, I could count on the understanding of my colleagues in all practical matters.
Leonid Shebarshin, Three Days in August
317
The vice-chairmen did not make up an unofficial collective ruling body. Kriuchkov’s authority was too great for that and it kept his immediate subordinates in check. In the KGB as well as in other state agencies the power of the chief and the extent of his influence were determined by his relations with the government leaders. His competence, expertise and the respect of his staff were factors of secondary importance. A huge role in professional advancement was played by personal loyalty to one’s superior. The Committee imitated the laws and customs which ruled Party behavior. It could not have been otherwise. These laws were universal throughout the whole system. I think that they were instrumental in my career as well. In any case as is expected of an officer, and all cadre of the KGB, I always strove to execute all orders conscientiously, even if they did not appeal to me, and avoided conflicts with my superiors. It was uncharacteristic of me to bull my way through situations and promote my point of view at any cost in debates with those above me. In such circumstances it frequently seemed to me that I could be in the wrong. Doubts about the fullness of my knowledge, validity of my deductions and suggested solutions have always haunted me. I have long suspected that today’s absolute convictions may tomorrow become grave errors; science becomes superstition and heroic acts become mistakes or crimes. But doubts were not a primary factor. Over many years we were trained in the spirit of severe discipline, submission to superiors, and faith in their professional and ruling wisdom.
We had to believe our leaders in all respects. Our doubts would be discussed in a tight circle of trusted people. Public apostasy from the general line was persecuted. In more severe times an apostate would be anathematized by the party and dismissed. For lesser sins he would be moved to some secondary position and denied the possibility of independent work and professional growth. Thus the limits of disagreement and conflict with the leadership were evident to every associate. I was not among that small number who broke the unwritten rules of the KGB.
In contemplating the vicissitudes of professional life and the necessity to dissemble (this occurred with some frequency), to scheme, to repeat the lies of others, I came to a sad formulation: A person who receives a salary cannot lay claim to intellectual freedom.
However, differences with Kriuchkov did arise. They were precipitated by constant tension, anxiety about the internal condition of the country, and simple fatigue. Brief firefights over the telephone with the chairman became increasingly frequent. He rarely visited the First Directorate and even more rarely called me in for a personal report. In early August of 1991 Kriuchkov rebuked me over a trifle, accused me of vainglory and promised to come out and give me a serious talking to. I accepted the vainglory accusation with
318
Chapter Thirty-Three
some modification. I sensed that he had wanted to knock me down a peg for some time. But that “talking to” never did take place.
In the first half of June of 1991, the penultimate plenary session of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union was held. I had previously categorically declined Kriuchkov’s suggestion that I become a candidate at the 28th Party congress for Central Committee membership. However, I was still invited to the plenary sessions. At the June plenary the General Secretary of the Central Committee, Mikhail Gorbachev, was subjected to very severe criticism. He defended himself and went on the attack in what was, in my opinion, a very improper style. The plenary came to nothing; the status quo was maintained. The whole event had an inexpressibly burdensome effect on me. It was not just that the nation’s and the party’s grave situation had been revealed. This was not a secret anymore. One was struck by the atmosphere of hopelessness, the absence of any concept of the future, and the falsifying of thought by phrase-mongering.
According to tradition the chief of intelligence informed the secretaries of the party organs within the First Directorate of what transpired at the plenary. I did so in a neutral tone without leaving out the particulars of each speech and ended with a summary of my gloomy conclusions. I insisted that we must do everything to preserve the intelligence team
, to carry out our duties honorably, and to maintain discipline. I remarked that the First Chief Directorate [FCD] should not distance itself from the KGB for our ranks should be very tightly drawn during these perilous times. My remarks were received calmly. But the questions came afterwards: “What will become of the Party? Of the nation? What should we do and what do the leaders intend to do?” I had to break with all tradition which presupposed the omniscience of the leadership and simply say: “ I don’t know.”
I reported to Kriuchkov about my meeting with the various secretaries. But he offered no comments. Naturally the same day the KGB party secretary (“the big secretary”) found out about my report, but no comments came from him as well. This was a very alarming sign. Our leadership also did not know what to do.
Events cannot be dispassionately assessed at the moment they occur. Observers, and, even more so, participants are overwhelmed by emotion. They can rarely distinguish the actual from the apparent. They are confused by the rush of contradictory information and by their hyper-excited state. In time the picture of what transpired takes on more definite contours but telling details recede from memory and the general comprehension of all that took place is molded by personal bias, fear and hope.
The Russian Century Page 45
