The Soviet Union: Party and Society (Third World Council for Soviet and East European Studies)

THE SOVIET UNION PARTY AND SOCIETY

This collection is derived from the Third World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies, and provides an up-to-date and comprehensive survey of contemporary Soviet political and economic problems. It concentrates upon three major themes; the Soviet party apparat, socialization and political discourse, and social policy, all which have been the subject of considerable and at times confusing fluctuations during the past decade. The first section focuses on party organization within the Soviet ministries, and examines the changes within the elite during the last years of Brezhnev's rule. In Part 2 the emphasis is upon processes of political socialization, and the nature of political language in the Soviet Union, whilst in the concluding part the contributors examine the mechanism and impact of social policy, and its ethnic and nationalist implications. Peter J. Potichnyj is Professor of Political Science, McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario.

Selected papers from the Third World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies Washington, DC 30 October-4 November 1985 Sponsored by the INTERNATIONAL COMMITTEE FOR SOVIET AND EAST EUROPEAN STUDIES

and the AMERICAN ASSOCIATION FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF SLAVIC STUDIES

General Editor R. C. Elwood Carleton University Editorial Committee Members

Oskar Anweiler, Ruhr-Universitat Bochum Christopher Barnes, St Andrews University Thomas J. Blakeley, Boston College Deming Brown, University of Michigan Marianna Tax Choldin, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign J. Douglas Clayton, University of Ottawa Z. F. Dreisziger, Royal Military College of Canada Dennis J. Dunn, Southwest Texas State University N. J. Dunstan, University of Birmingham F. J. M. Feldbrugge, Rijksuniversiteit te Leiden John P. Hardt, Library of Congress Roger E. Kanet, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Mark N. Katz, Kennan Institute Stanislav J. Kirschbaum, York University David Lane, University of Birmingham Carl H. McMillan, Carleton University Arnold McMillan, University of London Richard Peace, Bristol University Peter J. Potichnyj, McMaster University Tom M. S. Priestly, University of Alberta Don Karl Rowney, Bowling Green State University Fred Singleton, University of Bradford Benjamin A. Stolz, University of Michigan John W. Strong, Carleton University Beatrice Beach Szekely, White Plains, NY William Mills Todd HI, Stanford University John Westwood, University of Birmingham

THE SOVIET UNION PARTY AND SOCIETY EDITED BY

PETER J. POTICHNYJ McMaster University

The right of the University of Cambridge to print and sell alt manner of books was granted by Henry VIII in 1534. The University has printed and published continuously since 1584.

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS Cambridge New York New Rochelle Melbourne Sydney

Published by the Press Syndicate of the University of Cambridge The Pitt Building, Trumpington Street, Cambridge CB2 IRP 32 East 57th Street, New York, NY 10022, USA 10 Stamford Road, Oakleigh, Melbourne 3166, Australia Cambridge University Press 1988 First published 1988 Printed in Great Britain by Redwood Burn Ltd, Trowbridge, Wiltshire British Library cataloguing in publication data

World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies, {yd : 19S5 : Washington D.C.) The Soviet Union : party and society 1. Soviet Union-Social conditions—1970— I. Title II. Potichnyj, Peter J. III. International Committee for Soviet and East European Studies IV. American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies 947 -o85'4 HN523.5 Library of Congress cataloguing in publication data

World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies (3rd : 1985 : Washington, DC) The Soviet Union : party and society/editor, Peter J. Potichnyj. p cm. "Selected papers from the Third World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies, Washington, DC, 30 October-4 November 1985, sponsored by International Committee for Soviet and East European Studies and American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies"—P. Includes index. ISBN o 521 34460 3

1. Soviet Union—Politics and government—1982—Congresses. 2. Kommunisticheskaia partiia Sovetskogo Soiuza-Party workCongresses. 3. Soviet Union—Social policy-Congresses. I. Potichnyj, Peter J. II. International Committee for Soviet and East European Studies. III. American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies. IV. Title. DK288.W67 1985 947.085'4-dc 19 87-16733 CIP ISBN 0 S2I 34460 3

Contents

List of List of tables List of contributors Foreword by R. C. Elwood Preface by P. J. Potichnyj

Part i

figures

page vii viii ix xi xiii

Party apparat

i

1

The apparatchiki and Soviet political development Ronald J. Hill

2

The primary party organizations of branch ministries Stephen Fortescue

26

3

Soviet local party organs and the RAPOs Barbara Ann Chotiner

48

Part 2

Socialization and political discourse

3

65

4

Political socialization in the USSR: April 1979 and after Stephen White

67

5

Political language and political change in the USSR: notes on the Gorbachev leadership Michael E. Urban

87

6

Soviet political discourse, narrative program and the Skaz theory Alexandre Bourmeyster

107

vi 7

8

Contents The nationality policy of the CPSU and its reflection in Soviet socio-political terminology Michael Bruchis

121

The evolution of the local Soviets

142

Jeffrey W. Hahn

Part 3 9

Social policy

Social deprivation under Soviet full employment J. L. Porket

10 The Soviet social security system: its legal structure and fair hearings process Bernice Madison 11

12

13

159 161

179

Abortion in the Soviet Union: why it is so widely practiced Shalvia Ben-Barak

201

Ethnic group divided: social stratification and nationality policy in the Soviet Union Victor Zaslausky

218

The party and Russian nationalism in the USSR: from Brezhnev to Gorbachev Peter J. S. Duncan

229

Index

245

Publications from the Third World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies

252

Figures

5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5

Manifest oppositions and mediators in AN page 93 Greimas' actantial model 96 The structure of AN 96 The structure of the Leninist tale in Gorbachev's discourse 100 The structure of political discourse in Gorbachev's narrative 100

Vll

Tables

9.1 9.2 9.3 11.1

Earnings differentials in industry page 167 Structure of skill grades in 1979 170 Estimates of average monthly old-age pension 172 The number of induced abortions undergone in the USSR by 206 women 204 11.2 The actual number of induced abortions undergone in the USSR by 128 women 204 11.3 The number of induced abortions undergone in the USSR by 206 women: distribution by republic 205 11.4 The number of induced abortions undergone in the USSR by 206 women: distribution by education 206 11.5 The number of induced abortions undergone in the USSR by 206 women: distribution by age 207 11.6 Methods of determining family size: distribution by republic 210 11.7 Methods of determining family size: distribution by education 211 11.8 Reasons for not using contraceptive devices in the USSR: distribution in numbers and percentages 212

vin

Contributors

SHALVIA BEN-BARAK

works at the University of Tel-Aviv, Israel.

ALEXANDRE BOURMEYSTER is Professor in Section de Russe et d'Etudes Slaves, of Universite de Grenoble III. Among his more recent publications are "Utopie, ideologic et skaz," Essais sur le discourse Sovietique (1983) and "Novlangue, langue-de-bois et programmes

narratifs," Essais sur le discourse Sovietique (1984).

works at the Russian and East European Research Center of the University of Tel-Aviv and is the author of

MICHAEL BRUCHIS

Nations—Nationalities—People: A Study of the Nationalities Policy of the Communist Party in Soviet Moldavia (1982). BARBARA A. CHOTINER is an Associate Professor of Political Science at the University of Alabama and the author of Khrushchev's Party Reform:

Coalition-Building and Institutional Innovation (1984).

j . s. DUNCAN teaches politics at the University College of Wales and is the author of "Ideology and the National Question" in S. White and A. Pravda, eds., Ideology and Soviet Politics (forthcoming).

PETER

STEPHEN FORTESCUE is associated with the Centre for Russian and East European Studies, The University of Birmingham. He is the author of "Project Planning in Soviet R and D," Research Policy (1985), and "Party Secrets: Secretaries in Soviet Research Institutes," Politics (1983).

w. HAHN teaches Political Science at the Vilanova University in Pennsylvania.

JEFFREY

RONALD j . HILL is an Associate Professor of Political Science at Trinity College, University of Dublin. He is the author of Soviet Politics, Political

Science and Reform (1980), and Soviet Political Elites: The Case of Tiraspol (1977)-

ix

x BERNICE

Contributors

Q.

MADISON

is a sociologist and the author among others of

The Soviet Social Welfare System as Experienced and Evaluated by Consumers and Personnel (1981). JOSEPH L. PORKETis the author among others of "Income Maintenance for the Soviet Aged," Ageing and Society (1983), "The Shortage, Use and Reserves of Labour in the Soviet Union," Osteuropa Wirtschaft (1984), and "Unemployment in the Midst of Labour Waste," Survey (1985). PETER j . POTICHNYJ teaches Soviet Politics at McMaster University in

Canada, and is author, co-author and editor of numerous publications in the Soviet field, among them Jewish-Ukrainian Relations: Two Solitudes (1983), Politics and Participation Under Communist Rule (1983), and Political Thought of the Ukrainian Underground, lg^j-ig^i (1986). MICHAEL E. U R B A N teaches politics at Auburn University. Some of his publications include: "The Folklore of State Socialism: Semiotics and the Study of the Soviet State," Soviet Studies (1983), and "Conceptualizing Political Power in the USSR: Patterns of Binding and Bonding," Studies in Comparative Communism (1985). STEPHEN

w HITE is Reader in Politics at the University of Glasgow and

the author of Political Culture and Soviet Politics (1979). His more recent publications are: "The Effectiveness of Political Propaganda in the U S S R , " Soviet Studies (1980), and "Soviet Politics since Brezhnev," Journal of Communist Studies (1985). VICTOR ZASLAVSKY is an Associate Professor of Sociology at the Memorial University of Newfoundland. He is the author of The NeoStalinist State: Class, Ethnicity, and Consensus in Soviet Society (1982) and co-author of SovietJewish Emigration and Soviet Nationality Policy (1983).

Foreword

The articles selected for publication in this volume were chosen from among those presented at the Third World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies held in Washington, DC, from 30 October to 4 November 1985. The Congress, which was sponsored by the International Committee for Soviet and East European Studies and the American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies, attracted over 3,000 scholars from forty-one countries. This figure represents a two-fold increase over the number of delegates who attended either the First Congress in Banff, Canada, in 1974 or the Second Congress in Garmisch-Partenkirchen in 1980 and reflects the revival of Slavic studies throughout the world. More than 600 papers were formally presented or distributed at the Washington Congress. From among the substantial number submitted for possible publication in this series, the Editorial Committee has selected one hundred and sixty to appear in fifteen volumes. Five volumes are being published in the social sciences: three by Cambridge University Press and two by Lynne Rienner Publishers. Five volumes devoted to history and literature are being published by Slavica Publishers while the remaining five in education, law, library science, linguistics and Slovene studies are appearing as part of established series or as special issues of scholarly journals. The titles of all these publications will be found at the end of this volume. As general editor for the Third Congress I should like to express my sincere appreciation to Donald W. Treadgold, the program chairman, and Dorothy Atkinson, executive director of the AAASS, who were responsible for the efficient organization of the Washington Congress; to Oskar Anweiler and Alexander Dallin, the past and current presidents of the International Committee, for encouraging the publication of these proceedings; and to Roger Kanet, the general editor for the first two Congresses, whose advice has been invaluable to his successor. XI

xii

Foreword

Thanks also are owing to the Congress participants who submitted their papers for consideration, to the Editorial Committee that selected those to be published, and to the editors of the various volumes. R. C. Elwood General Editor

Preface

The essays presented here were originally prepared for delivery at the Third World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies in Washington, DC, in the fall of 1985. They touch on various aspects of Soviet domestic politics. One of the most significant developments in the USSR in the early 1980s has been the extent to which the Soviet political and economic system had to adjust to the requirements and demands of the present-day world. In Western literature the period after the death of Brezhnev is quite often referred to as the transition period or simply as the period of modernization, in which an attempt is made to adapt traditional principles, such as integrated economic and social planning and centralized political control, to drastically changing scientific—technical and socioeconomic conditions. This process of change is particularly marked in the political sphere, characterized by rejuvenation among the Soviet elite and political cadres. But by no means is it limited to the political elite. Special interests are well entrenched in many party and state organizations in the center, as well as in the localities. These bureaucratic interests are engaged in competition and debate over the structure, operation and performance of the Soviet economy and society. Some of the ongoing adjustments in the system are therefore preceded by an extensive discussion in various Soviet publications and involve not only the party and government officials but also, depending on circumstances, a varying and continuously growing number of specialists. This strongly felt need for a thorough review of, for example, the legal basis that regulates various areas of social and economic life is clearly documented by a number of essays in this book. In order to highlight these concerns, the volume has been organized into three sections: the party apparat; socialization and political xin

xiv

Preface

discourse; and the social policy. The essays, with some exceptions, tend to fall naturally into the above categories. Ronald J. Hill in his article explores the role of the apparatchiki in the development of the Soviet system. He argues that the officials who were chosen to perform certain tasks at a particular stage of socio-economic development and trained in the use of a range of techniques deemed appropriate at the time, "became an obstacle to the development of the political system in the direction to which successive leaders have declared their commitment." Stephen Fortescue is also concerned with the party. He is, however, primarily interested in the controls that the party exercises over the "sectional interests." The main focus of his study is on the role of the primary party organizations (PPOs) of branch ministries. It is the author's view that sectional interests continue to play an important role in the Soviet system and therefore, the local organs of the party have now, and will continue to play, a very important role. Barbara A. Chotiner examines the new institutional arrangements that came into being as a result of the Food Program which was enacted by the CPSU Central Committee Plenum of May 1982. These new institutions, known as the Raion agro-industrial associations (Raionnye agro-promyshlennye organizatii - RAPOs) were given the task of

harmonizing the activities of collective and state farms and of other enterprises involved in farm operations. Her conclusion is that despite the avowed intentions the RAPOs did not develop, at least by 1984, into independent, effective organs of local administration, primarily as a result of over-zealous party supervision. She is, therefore, less than optimistic about the nature and efficacy of the economic reform in the USSR. The next section of the book which deals with socialization and political discourse contains five essays. Stephen White analyzes the shortcomings in ideological work, the attempts that have been made to modify them and the limited success that accompanied these measures in recent years. The persistence of such shortcomings in his view suggests that there are "limits to reform" in this as in other spheres of party activity. He concludes that "only when there have been significant changes for the better in Soviet daily life . . . will it be possible for significant changes to occur in the patterns of political belief and behavior." Michael E. Urban and Alexandre Bourmeyster are primarily concerned with the political language and its relationship to political change. Employing the method of semiotics, both authors, in their own special way, focus on the analysis of the language itself and not on the policy statements contained therein. From this perspective the change

Preface

xv

would be understood as a change in the structure and, therefore, in the meaning of political language. As Urban puts it rather succinctly "if changes in Soviet political language reflect the result of a political struggle over language, they can also react back on the world of politics, influencing through language the results of other struggles about social life and the rules by which it is to be governed." Michael Bruchis also deals with language but from a different perspective. He examines the Soviet socio-political terminology from the point of view of the nationality policy of the CPSU. He concludes that while the Kremlin rulers do all they can to accelerate the denationalization of the country's non-Russian population, "they have decided to maintain that the non-Russian peoples and their national statehood are flourishing." Those specialists whose task it is to reconcile the Marxist-Leninist theory with the aims of contemporary Soviet leadership face a difficult problem because of the programmatic statements which are in clear contradiction with real life. There are those Soviet scholars, however, who are guided by the letter and not the spirit of party documents and continue to expound the views which are not acceptable to the party. The result is a terminological incongruity which is quite confusing to those Western scholars who are interested in the nationality question in the USSR. The last author in this section, Jeffrey W. Hahn, surveys the evolution of local Soviets by discussing the elaborate theoretical and legal foundation and not unlike Michael Bruchis comes to the conclusion that there continues to exist a gap "between what the law permits and the party publicly encourages and what people do." According to the author, this is not at all surprising because as the history of Russia teaches us "the legislative expressions of democratic principles have largely remained the registration of aspirations rather than an accomplished fact." Moreover, this situation is apt to continue because "it takes a long time to change a culture." The last part of the volume contains five contributions, three of which deal with various aspects of social policy and the other two of which are devoted to Russian nationalism and the various approaches to the study of the Soviet nationality question. J. L. Porket contends that since in the Soviet Union full employment is economically irrational, it has therefore a "pronounced social dimension which arises from the nature of command socialism, the regime's policies, and the vested interests of individual role players," as well as "adverse, economic, behavioral and attitudinal consequences." This in turn raises the question of social deprivation and of official and unofficial response to it. The author argues that social deprivation (a perceived gap between expectations and reality) is a result in large

xvi

Preface

measure of "the official ideology, legal norms and the Party leadership promises" which emphasize the image of the state "as a universal provider," and fix "the image of an entitlement society"as an important trait of popular culture. But the regime is unable to meet popular expectations and therefore must tolerate "non-political deviant behavior and the second economy," the activities which "contribute significantly to the running and maintenance of the established political and economic system and alleviate social deprivation." Any attempt by the regime to reduce popular expectations noticeably would have adverse consequences. Bernice Madison analyzes the Soviet social security system in all its legal and administrative complexity. One of her more interesting findings is that there exist differing interpretations of the definition and scope of social security, some of which stem from the ideological or sectional interests that exist in society. Thus, for example, a "narrow" concept limits social security to pensions for the aged and unable-towork, while the "broad" approach defines it as the regulation of a wide range of social relations of an obligatory, material character that include in addition to pensions also grants for mothers and children and free medical care for all. Thus, a broad definition is a more inclusive concept and not limited merely to social insurance. Madison feels that the provisions of the 1977 Constitution, although based on the narrow concept of social security, nevertheless have "the potential for transferring the administration of social security into a more 'democratic' management environment by providing access to a court system which promises a more objective and legally correct review of appeals and disputes, and by holding officials at all levels responsible for breaking the law or overstepping their authority, thereby improving the rights of their clients". But while potential for improvements seems to be at hand, its implementation will probably face many obstacles and delays. Shalvia Ben-Barak in her essay advances various reasons for the high number of multiple abortions in the USSR and comes to the conclusion that "abortion is in fact regarded by many people . . . not as a result of failed contraception but as a major means of contraception." She feels, therefore, that "sooner or later, the linear connection between the high rate of infant mortality and miscarriage . . . must oblige the Soviet authorities to invest seriously in producing or importing enough effective and safe modern contraceptive devices as an integral part of their pronatalist policy." The high rate of abortion, in her view, is not only an indicator of policy or lack of it, but also of the status of Soviet women within the family and society at large.

Preface

xvii

The last two papers in this section deal with some aspects of the nationality problem in the USSR. Victor Zaslavsky is of the opinion that ethnic relations in Soviet society are quite stable and therefore he asks the question, what will perpetuate this condition of stability and what might actually disrupt it? Although he avoids answering this query he feels that the existing models for the analysis of Soviet multicultural society are inadequate because they do not recognize two basic characteristics of the system: "the decisive role of the state in the creation of the system of social stratification and the impact of the long program of de-ethnicization of the population through a process of'sovietization'." Peter J. S. Duncan, on the other hand, emphasizes the potential for instability of Soviet ethnic relations because of the increase in nationalist feeling and activity not only among the non-Russians but especially among the Russian half of the population of the USSR. Having surveyed the various legal manifestations of Russian nationalist feeling the author concludes that "Russian nationalism continues to be an important force in the USSR," but that "it is not, however, a united force." There are those who are proponents of a strong state and look back with nostalgia to the Stalin era, while others deplore the destruction of that period. "Some are sympathetic to Orthodoxy, others indifferent or hostile." The author feels that Russian nationalism, although tolerated and even supported by party leaders, cannot be fully embraced by them. As the author points out, "even if the link between Russian nationalism and Orthodoxy could be severed, the link between Russian nationalism and non-Russian nationalism could not." On the other hand, since politicians do not always act in their own best interests, the intensity of support for Russian nationalism that already exists (as indicated by Michael Bruchis) and the lengthy process of "sovietization" (as emphasized by Zaslavsky) may allow "the Russian core of the political elite at some point in the future [to] succumb to Russian nationalist ideas." Altogether, these essays offer some important insights into the basic issues of political change and development which confront the Soviet leadership today and will continue to do so in the years to come. I would like to express my thanks to Liz Denesiuk, Mara Minini and Gail Jackson for help with often illegible texts, to McMaster University for its support, and to Carmen Mongillo and Sheila McEnery of Cambridge University Press. Peter J. Potichnyj McMaster University

PART I

Party apparat

The apparatchiki and Soviet political development R O N A L D J. HILL

This paper explores a particular dimension of the role of the apparatchiki in the development of the Soviet system, particularly in relation to political development. To some degree, it extends work presented elsewhere,1 and relates to an important dimension of Soviet (and other) political development: the role of those selected to occupy a "leading and guiding" position in society, and the limitations they impose on the prospects for political development; these stem indirectly from past recruitment and training practices, further influenced by their more recent experience in office. It is argued that the apparatchiki chosen to perform certain tasks at a particular stage of socioeconomic development, and trained to use a range of techniques deemed appropriate at the time, became an obstacle to the development of the political system in the direction to which successive leaders have declared their commitment. More specifically, leaders appointed under Stalin to enforce rapid economic growth, at the expense of developing the society's political dimension, were recruited for their possession of certain skills and attitudes that were reflected in their administrative behavior and that became the norm in Soviet administrative practice. The "consideration" with which the Brezhnev administration treated its cadres further confirmed inappropriate values in the culture of the administrators. This feature of the role of the apparatchiki has been recognized in the Soviet Union, but little of concrete effect has been done to counteract it. Leaders from Khrushchev on have decried such an administrative style, as part of a rhetorical campaign to create a more responsive and responsible cadre of party and state administrators, but to no avail, as the revelations of the Gorbachev period have revealed. Old habits and attitudes of mind have persisted, to the detriment of the system's further development. Moreover, theories of culture formation and socialization suggest that the problem will be difficult to eradicate over the short term.

4

RONALD J. HILL THE FORMATION OF THE APPARAT

The significance of the apparatchiki in "building a communist society" was recognized from the very beginning of the enterprise, and is implicit in Lenin's notion of a party of "professional revolutionaries." The double metaphor, popular in Stalin's day, of the military machine, in which an officer corps of administrators imbued with partiinost' directed the ground troops in industry, using various institutions as "driving belts," reflects this view of the importance of leaders. Such a view can certainly be rationalized, even justified, given the vastness of the goal the communists set for themselves, and bearing in mind the unpromising point from which they were starting out. The class that led the industrial and political modernization of Western Europe and North America, the merchants and industrial entrepreneurs (the "bourgeoisie"), was exceedingly weak in pre-revolutionary Russia, and in any case the Bolsheviks were ideologically hostile to the small Russian bourgeoisie and the aristocracy. In the early 1920s, obliged to employ the expertise of former Tsarist administrative officials, Lenin expressed his mistrust by complaining that the cadres of the former apparatus "behave wilfully, and in such a way that they very often work against our measures." He continued: At the top we have, I don't know how many, but I think that, at any rate, only a few thousand, or a maximum of several tens of thousands of our own people. But at the bottom, hundreds of thousands of old bureaucrats [chinovniki], acquired from the tsar or from bourgeois society, working partly consciously, partly unconsciously, against us.2 When industrial reconstruction was embarked upon, followed by the drive to create a modern industrial economy, the Bolsheviks' profound suspicion of the "bourgeois specialists" demanded the creation of a reliable group or stratum to direct the whole undertaking: the replacement of one way of life or culture by another, derived from the ideology.3 Moreover, this applied particularly in the non-Russian ethnic areas of the country, where in the early years "the party, taking into account the paucity - and in a number of cases the total absence - of national cadres, widely adopted the practice of sending communists from the centre and other industrial areas of the country into the localities on party, state and economic work." 4 And when the party "boldly promoted to responsible party, state and economic posts workers from the assemblyline and peasants from the plough,"5 the chances are that these recruits took with them expectations of their new role that were not fully in

Apparatchiki and political development

5

accord with, say, notions of civic responsibility and public service: they were drawn into such positions by the party in order to serve the party's needs. As Moshe Lewin argues, when the party drew into its middle and even upper ranks semi-educated recruits from among industrial workers andjunior government employees, "this important new pool of officials could not fail to make an imprint on the outlook of the party and to penetrate the higher echelons."6 Since the development of the administrative system in the 1930s, the apparatchiki have possessed enormous power, which accrued as part of what Alex Simirenko identified as the "professionalization" of Soviet society.7 In that process, those who claimed an ideologically inspired special insight into society's needs placed themselves in an unchallengeable position vis-a-vis the masses. Protected by assertions of superior understanding, they have been able to claim that whatever they did was required for "building communism." This was reinforced by expectations of the central power that they would use that authority to force the attainment of goals set by the center. Certain kinds of behavior, certain attitudes and expectations, backed up by specific organizational principles - notably "democratic centralism" and the banning of factions8 - permitted the perpetuation of relationships among individuals and institutions that have proved extraordinarily resilient. One manifestation is the problem ofpodmena (supplanting), whereby party officials interfere in the work of state and other non-party institutions, whose administrative officers shirk their responsibilities for fear of offending the party officials (and thereby risking party disciplinary action), secure in the knowledge that the party will step in and take operative decisions anyway. The secretary of the Kishinev gorkom as recently as February 1985 recounted the case of a citizen who, after days of trying to have a burst water pipe repaired by the appropriate state body, wrote in desperation to the party, which swiftly intervened. "Why," asks the secretary, "was such a trivial emergency sorted out only after half a month and only after the intervention of the party gorkom?"9 The effect of this, as Pravda averred in 1981, is that it "leads these [administrative] workers to stop thinking independently, to be afraid of taking decisions, and to transfer their burden to the shoulders of the branch departments of the party raikom, gorkom or obkom."10 Podmena is so well entrenched that the attitudes that support it are effectively part of the Soviet system's political culture. A UNIFIED APPARAT? The role of the apparatchiki is closely associated with the party's view of its own role in the Soviet system. This self-image, while containing a

6

RONALD J. HILL

constant core expressed as a very general long-term goal (directing the building of communism), has changed in details, related in part to developments in society that have presented somewhat different immediate tasks over time. This affects the way we identify the apparatchiki: who is included? Is there one apparatus, or several? Are the apparatchiki "specialists" on one apparatus, or "generalists" who turn their hand to administration in whichever apparatus the party places them? This question also has implications for the practical management of Soviet society. The evidence is somewhat conflicting, and Western scholars argued that a trend towards specialization in one particular apparatus was becoming the norm in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Thus, Michael Gehlen wrote of a tendency that became established in the post-Stalin years "to allow individuals to work their way up within a single hierarchy rather than to transfer them back and forth between various hierarchies";11 Michael Frolic likewise argued in 1972 that "crossover between party and non-party posts has decreased, and officials are becoming now more committed to long-term careers which require extra specialization and early career orientations."12 Moreover, the CPSU itself from at least the early Brezhnev years has identified workers in the party apparatus as a "profession" and their work as "not an auxiliary speciality."13 However, John Armstrong, Roy Laird and the present author, among others, have identified and documented a tendency to shift personnel from one apparatus to another, from party to state to industrial management and back.14 Within the present leadership, indeed, more than one career pattern is in evidence. Gorbachev, after Komsomol experience, became established early in his career as a party worker, rising to Stavropolgorkom first secretary by the age of thirty-five, and obkomfirstsecretary less than four years later. He was brought to Moscow in 1978 to a Central Committee secretaryship, leading to Politburo candidate and full membership.15 Nikolai Ryzhkov, by contrast, appointed prime minister in September 1985, was praised in Gorbachev's nomination speech for his "wealth of experience in production, economic and party work," including the general directorship of the enormous "Uralmash" machine-building works, the posts of first deputy minister of heavy and transport engineering, and later first deputy chairman of Gosplan, followed latterly by a Central Committee secretaryship with broad responsibilities for the economy.16 This contradictory evidence complicates any assessment of the apparatchiki as possessing unitary interests, but it also confirms a sense that the apparatchiki belong to what T. H. Rigby characterized as a "common leadership pool." 17 Some Soviet writers likewise have taken

Apparatchiki and political development

7

a broad view, and identified as specific groups within the "managerial apparatus" (apparat upravleniya) "cadres of the apparat of the organs of party, state and mass public management," while noting nevertheless that "organization work in a party, trade union and other public organization is not fully identical to the organizational experience of work in the state administrative apparatus."18 The same authors present the results of a study of the Moskovskii raion in Leningrad in the early 1960s, showing that the state regularly recruits officers from the party apparatus: or, expressing it more accurately, "The party sends into the leading group of the ispolkom [Executive Committee of People's Councils] apparatus its own best cadres, the leading cadres of the party apparatus."19 If there exists such a tendency to put "leaders" through a common basic selection and training procedure, followed by a range of experience in different kinds of managerial or administrative post, they are likely to acquire similar outlooks and expectations, regardless of their concrete experience working in a specific apparatus. They will gain, in Robert C. Tucker's words, "the ingrained habits of mind, ways of defining and responding to situations, styles of action, common memories, mystique, etc., that collectively constitute the culture of a political movement insofar as a given age cohort of its membership (and leadership) is concerned."20 Gorbachev, in his main report to the Twenty-seventh Congress of the CPSU, explicitly stated that his strictures against party officials who evaded criticism applied equally to officials of the state and other organizations.21 Again, without drawing institutional distinctions, some authors use the indirect device of quoting Lenin, who asked rhetorically at the Eleventh Party Congress, wherein lay the Bolsheviks' strength and what was lacking among them. He answered that it was not political authority or economic power that they lacked: "It is a clear matter what is missing: what is missing is culture on the part of the stratum of Bolsheviks that manages."22 Here lies the central issue. The notion of "building communism" (preceded by "building socialism," and more recently by creating and "further perfecting" the "developed socialist society") involved not simply economic development. Indeed, the ultimate goal was (and is) to change the political relations between members of society, so that "exploitation" will be replaced by "social homogeneity" and harmony. In the Marxist-Leninist approach, economic development was not seen as an end in itself; and if the bourgeoisie and its former employees might be interested in promoting socio-economic development, they could certainly not be relied on to advance the establishment of "communism." However, to some extent this argument has proved to be beside the

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point. The Bolsheviks took power in a society that was technically "unripe" for embarking on such an ambitious goal - hence the arguments among Lenin's colleagues, and between the Bolsheviks and Mensheviks (and others), about the appropriateness of seizing power, and the subsequent promulgation of the concept of the "premature" revolution. The failure of the proletariat in the advanced capitalist countries to come to the aid of the Bolsheviks, leading to the decision in the mid-i92os to "build socialism in one country," threw the country back on its own meager resources; these included the inadequate level of skill and experience, not to mention the absence of general appreciation of and support for the goal, among the general public as well as in the ranks of what remained of the bourgeoisie. Furthermore, "building socialism" was not simply a technical exercise. It was a feat that had never been attempted and for which the writings of the founding fathers of the ideology provided no blueprint. In addition, and crucially, it was thoroughly intertwined with the power struggles among individual leaders and their followers. These took place in an atmosphere promoted among generations of revolutionaries by a political rhetoric in which the military metaphor impelled politicians to "defeat" their "foes" and eliminate them, not only politically but physically. It is no accident that the Seventeenth Party Congress (1934) was called the "Congress of Victors" (although the term supposedly referred to the victors in the "battle" to establish socialism).

THE LEADER AND THE APPARATCHIKI Stalin's political needs caused him to recruit his own supporters into the apparatus of both party and state, by carefully manipulating election and appointment procedures in the "circular flow of power" identified by Robert V. Daniels.23 In the atmosphere that developed in the 1930s, sycophantic support for Stalin and his cult was a sine qua non of holding any position in the apparatus, establishing a tradition that has endured to our own times: Gorbachev may choose to project a business-like image of modesty and affability, yet his immediate predecessors, at death's door though they may have been, were showered with gushing adulation. Brezhnev, six days before his death, was hailed as "a great continuer of the cause of Lenin," and as a man whose activity was characterized by "the Leninist style in his work - a scientific, creative style, combining a high degree of 'exactingness' with a respectful attitude and trust towards people."24 Two days later, Defence Minister Dmitri F. Ustinov declared that Brezhnev had profoundly revealed current problems of war and peace, and had precisely defined the

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decisive links in the activities of the armed forces and the defense sector of industry for furthering the country's defense capacity.25 Brezhnev's array of awards, including the Lenin Prize for literature for his pedestrian memoirs, and his marshal's uniform which he wore for formal portraits, added to the unreal image. Even the ostensible "modesty" of E. A. Shevardnadze's praise at the Twenty-fifth Party Congress in 1976 is an effective form of flattery, no matter how genuine the kernel of truth within it: One of Leonid Il'ich's best qualities is that he does not cloak himself in the mantle of a superman, that he does not think and work on everyone's behalf, but, bringing his own great personal contribution to the common cause, creates conditions in which all are able to think creatively; that he possesses the greatest art, that of uniting and directing a collective of highly erudite people, made wiser by experience of life.26 Brezhnev's successor, Andropov, although ostensibly urbane and modest, was quickly surrounded with the appropriate "traditional" rhetoric. Early examples were the speeches at the meeting held on 21 December 1982 to celebrate the sixtieth anniversary of the USSR, and particularly that of the Bulgarian leader, Todor Zhivkov.27 Even Chernenko, one of the least impressive figures ever to attain high party office, was praised as a "talented organizer of the masses, an ardent propagandist of Marxist-Leninist ideas, an indefatigable fighter for implementing our great party's policy," distinguished by his ability "to fire people with his energy and his innovative approach to any matter, and to rally comrades for amicable collective work." 28 All of this indicates a particular mind-set on the part of higher-echelon apparatchiki, as well as perhaps revealing something of relationships among them. The cult of the individual, accompanied by affirmations of the collective principle, therefore remains a significant element in the system's culture. Furthermore, it is clearly established that leading figures still recruit persons of their own stamp, with ripples of purges reaching far down the hierarchy of party offices.29 In addition to his many other activities, Gorbachev must have been considerably preoccupied during 1985 with arranging for like-minded individuals with the appropriate talents to be elected to party committees and offices across the country, in the campaign that preceded the Twenty-seventh Congress in February 1986. This was most visible at the level of the central organs, where he moved with astonishing agility to effect swift changes in the composition of the Politburo, the central Secretariat, and the Council of Ministers, bringing in new members, promoting and sacking longstanding colleagues, and re-allocating portfolios among them.30

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There is nothing particularly alarming about the fact of this manipulation of recruitment processes. It is certainly no recent discovery that nomenklatura, or party control over appointments, is applied as a matter of course in elections to party, state and other offices. It is also quite understandable that a political leader should seek to surround himself with individuals with whom he feels in sympathy, and that they in their turn will seek out and arrange for the appointment of loyal subordinates: it may even be functional to the system's effective operation. Cabinet-building in parliamentary systems follows similar principles, and in the political system of the United States much of the state service changes following the election of a new head of state.31 The "problem" occurs in the Soviet Union when it is pointed out that this apparently conflicts with the principle of electivity to party office, one of the elements in "democratic centralism." However, the willingness to support a particular leader is, and was, only one of the qualities required of the apparatchik, albeit at times a critical one. The party official's designated role is not confined to voting in support of the leader and his policies on demand. As the operating arm of party authority in the political system — the individuals on whom the party depends in carrying out its self-appointed functions - the apparatchiki are involved, often minutely, in supervising the country's day-to-day administration. THE ADMINISTRATIVE ROLE OF THE APPARATCHIKI The Bolsheviks' task in "building communism" was multi-faceted, embracing economic development, social change, cultural development, and changes in political relations. It is difficult to prescribe an approach that would guarantee advance on all fronts, and the modest results so far may indicate that the chosen strategy has proved not effective in at least the political dimension. The patent contrast between Soviet reality and the supposed ideological aspirations is too obvious to require elaboration, and the difficulty of reconciling these is manifest in the linguistic and conceptual contortions required of those charged with "explaining" the nature of freedom and democracy, Soviet-style. Indeed, one leading Soviet scholar (who also functions as an apparatchik in the central party apparatus) directly challenged the "inverted" official view that the restriction of self-expression for "subversives" in Soviet society represents an enhancement in the level of freedom for others, arguing that "the restriction of freedom remains a fact [that] cannot be screened by arguments about the good of society, etc."32 In the Bolsheviks' approach to building communism, economic

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development was given the highest priority once the regime was firmly entrenched, and the establishment of a system of rule from the late 1920s was built on the assumption of primacy for economic advancement. The planning and ministerial empires that ran the economy came to constitute the core of the political structures. The supposed democratic institutions - the Soviets of Toilers' Deputies - played a subordinate, ceremonial role, while also serving to socialize those drawn into their work: as representative bodies, they displayed no significant development during the period of Stalin's rule.33 Even the party lost many of its political functions, becoming by the time of the Second World War a means of imposing discipline: on the newly emerged class of managers whose power had somehow to be brought under political control, on the military officers whose loyalty also had to be secured, and on rankand-file members of the armed forces, for whom party membership became something of a reward for brave conduct.34 Inducing rapid economic growth, winning a war: all else was subordinated to these priority goals. Discipline was imposed with notorious rigor and hardship. The key function of the apparatchiki, supported by or in support of the secret police, was to guarantee political peace in the localities, and to ensure that the demands of the plan were implemented. The tempo was such that there was no room for sentimentality or complacency: leaders were selected for their loyalty to Stalin and his system, and for their ability to "produce the goods," using whatever methods they found effective. The picture of "little Stalins," ruling their own fiefdom with crude bullying, is a well established image of how the Stalin system of government operated.35 Plans and instructions were handed down for implementation, and reports were sent back to the center, purportedly indicating satisfactory economic performance and political quiet. The quantitative statistic replaced the assessment of quality, in political life as well as in economic production. For example, the Soviets and their deputies werejudged by sociological criteria of representation, reflecting more on local administrators' ability to juggle statistics than on the capacity of those honored in this way to perform genuine representative functions.36 The performance of party propagandists was judged less by their success in developing a degree of popular conviction that would enhance the regime's legitimacy than by the sheer quantity of talks and lectures delivered or articles written. Hence, the effectiveness of local party officials engaged in "guiding" these processes also came to be assessed according to quantitative indicators, rather than by more sensitive measures of their role performance.37 They were given virtually no training to carry out their complex and

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demanding task. Thus, in 1942 six-month courses were established for training and retraining party workers; in 1944 year-long courses were introduced. In all, 43,000 persons graduated from such courses in the war years,38 and the tasks that faced them during and after the war were so enormous that simply "coping" was the maximum most could hope to achieve. Considering also the precariousness into which the political climate placed them, it is hardly surprising that many apparatchiki failed to display a sophisticated approach. They were not sophisticated individuals, and they were not expected to perform in a sophisticated manner. What mattered, again, was to ensure that centrally prescribed policies were implemented in the localities - or at least to convey to superiors at the center and at the intermediate levels the impression that this was happening. Meanwhile, the inadequately developed means of communication ensured - despite the assumptions of perfect or nearperfect central control in the "totalitarian" model of the Soviet system that local apparatchiki were free to carry on in their own fashion for much of the time. The use of short-wave radio to dictate the contents of Pravda editorials did not overcome the fact that the writ of the center did not run effectively through the whole country, and "excessively large territories" were in practice not administered.39 Moscow simply could not control or supervise the detailed implementation of policy, so a great deal of latitude had to be left to those closer to the scene. The crudeness of what became the style or culture of leadership is hardly to be wondered at. The concentration on economic rather than political development, and at the fastest possible pace, therefore, required the recruitment of party and state administrators who lacked sentimentality, and were prepared to use the crudest methods necessary to enable them to convey to the center indications of successful management. Drawn from among the least sophisticated segments of society, they also lacked the intellectual skills and training to function differently. The atmosphere of haste, of pressure to get things done immediately, while demanding the utmost loyalty to the leader, reinforced the discipline imposed by the Bolshevik interpretation of "democratic centralism." These factors resulted in the well-attested lack of development of political institutions, leaving the population still without experience of a political participatory process. The "system," in short, recruited individuals who were disposed to accept a certain pattern of attitudes, rules of behavior, expectations, and so forth, which combine to promote an administrative culture - an apparatchik culture, perhaps - lacking in sophistication and sensitivity.

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CHALLENGES TO THE PATTERN The origins of such a developmental pattern are subject to legitimate debate. There is scope for argument about the phases through which the Soviet political system evolved, and for different opinions regarding the various nodal points - occasions on which the leaders faced crucial choices that radically affected the course of the system's development.40 Also a matter of argument and judgment are the relationship between Leninism and Stalinism and the degree to which both are logical consequences of Marxism.41 But a basic continuity can scarcely be denied: Leninism is founded upon Marxism; Stalinism was built upon of Leninism; and Stalin's successors have ruled with his inheritance, including institutions, practices and attitudes to government which, it will be argued below, have severely limited the system's further evolution. The system devised under Stalin, which came to be seen as an (even the) authentic model of "socialism," used principles and practices established by Lenin and introduced during his lifetime. In Tucker's assessment, they are the principles of the period of War Communism, revived to replace the different principles that governed the functioning of the system under NEP (New Economic Policy).42 A vital point here is that they are authentically "of the Soviet period," they are part of Soviet experience, endorsed by Lenin himself, no matter how temporary they may have been intended in their original form, nor how much they owe to pre-revolutionary practice and experience.43 Whatever their origins, these are well-known features of the Stalinist form of government, and they have been associated with "bureaucratism" in the interpretation of critics such as Trotsky. They were also acknowledged by Stalin's successors, including Khrushchev, to be weaknesses in the system, and attempts have been and continue to be made to eradicate them, and thereby to induce the system's further evolution. The record shows, however, Khrushchev's failure to identify the problem, and his immediate successors' unwillingness to tackle it effectively. Khrushchev aimed to solve the problem by undermining the bureaucracy's power and subjecting its officers to control by "the people": in this approach he could point to Marx's and Lenin's disdain for bureaucracy.44 His passion for structural reorganization certainly undermined the morale of the apparatchiki, particularly by abolishing the central ministries in 1957, disbanding the Machine and Tractor Stations in the following year, and splitting the party apparatus into industrial and agricultural sectors in November 1962. The swiftness

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with which the more significant of these changes were reversed — barely a month after Khrushchev's removal from power - and the ensuing reassurances given to cadres indirectly indicate the resentment caused. However, such changes did nothing to alter the manner in which the apparatchiki performed their functions: they failed to alter the culture. Although re-deployed into different structures, the personnel remained, transferring to their new positions the same unsophisticated view of their role, now exacerbated by resentments. Their success in ultimately defending their position, by grouping to remove Khrushchev from office and re-establishing1 institutional arrangements beneficial to themselves, meant that the Soviet system's evolution away from Stalinism was at least postponed. Brezhnev's approach was somewhat different. Rather than attempting to undermine the institutional position of the apparatchiki, and destroy the esprit de corps engendered by operating in a familiar and comfortable framework, he tried to change the qualifications of those who manned the apparatus: in short, to professionalize the apparatchiki. One way was by raising the formal education of those in the apparatus, a process that had perceptible success, as Soviet and Western research has revealed.45 Modern managerial methods, strongly influenced by cybernetics, were adopted in order to improve the technical aspects of societal management leadership.46 Brezhnev also began to replace the generation of apparatchiki recruited under Stalin, easing them out gently ("treating them with consideration," as he expressed it in 1971),47 and advancing "energetic, creatively thinking comrades with initiative."48 In fact, Brezhnev reacted sharply to Khrushchev's undermining of the apparatchiki. His first years in office were characterized by reassuring treatment for those in the very apparatus of which he was himself a prime beneficiary, and they enjoyed a degree of security of tenure never previously attained.49 One effect was to lend the Soviet political system a measure of much welcome stability.50 By the late 1970s, however, stability had turned to drift and complacency, and in the last several years of his life, Brezhnev's political rhetoric repeatedly attacked the "style" of the apparatchiki. In a particularly hard-hitting speech at the Central Committee plenum of November 1979, he referred to negligence, irresponsibility and bungling, and identified a quite unacceptable type of cadre, of whom he said: "No matter how much you talk to them, no matter how much you appeal to their conscience, their sense of duty and responsibility, nothing helps."51 Returning to the theme in February 1981 at the Twenty-sixth Congress, he declared: What we are talking about is elaborating a style of work in which industriousness and discipline would be organically combined with bold

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initiative and enterprise. Practicality and drive with aspiring towards great goals. A critical attitude to deficiencies with a firm conviction in the historic advantages of the road we have chosen.52 Later, referring to apparatchiki drawn into party work from service in industry, he noted that these frequently lacked political experience; and for these, rubbing shoulders with ordinary people was as important as giving them training in a party school.53 But, apart from naming individuals, this was not new. Identical points had been made in a 1967 Central Committee statement concerning cadre appointments in Estonia, which acknowledged the poor quality of recruits, ascribed to "haste and unscrupulousness" on the part of party and state organs, leading to a high level of turnover among cadres. In the Komsomol apparatus in particular, "incapable and even chance persons" were appointed.54 The statement paid particular attention to ideological and technical (principally economic) training, and if such basic qualifications were lacking so too, no doubt, was the sense of service and responsibility that has subsequently been advanced in discussions of this question. Indeed, while noting the requirement of "sensitivity and attentiveness" towards people, the directives appended to the statement concerned mainly the success of the apparatchiki in implementing party and state edicts.55 THE APPARATCHIKI TODAY Irregularities in the methods of appointment evidently continued, as indicated by recent public speeches by senior leaders, particularly before and during the Twenty-seventh Party Congress. When Mikhail Gorbachev says that "the Leninist principles of selection, distribution and bringing up cadres" are violated, and "the promotion of workers is allowed on the basis of personal loyalty, servility and protectionism,"56 we must conclude that this problem is significantly widespread to cause serious concern. Similarly, when Geidar Aliev states bluntly that "people are sick and tired of idle talk; they expect business-like decisions and practicalactions"; and when he also refers to "such ugly phenomena as bribe-taking, black-marketeering, infringement of public property, and relapses to petty-bourgeois, man-of-property psychology" and suggests that the party must resolutely get rid of an enterprise head or an office manager "whose words differ from his deeds, who utters lofty speeches from a rostrum but behaves as a philistine or red-tape-ist, or even abuses his position," then we must conclude that this remains a common enough feature of the Soviet Union's managerial and administrative style.57

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The corruption in Georgia that came to light in the early 1970s has been more than overshadowed by similar unseemly activity in Uzbekistan under the former first secretary, Sharaf Rashidov. That republic's party congress in January 1986 roundly condemned "crude violations of party norms and morals and Soviet laws, [and] serious shortcomings in the leadership of the economy," plus widespread "over-reporting, theft and bribery, leading to demoralization and degeneration on the part of a certain section of cadres."58 This began to be unveiled during Yuri Andropov's period in office, and the Moscow grapevine holds that Rashidov's death on 31 October 1983 (officially described as "sudden")59 was by suicide. In his report to the Twenty-seventh Congress, Gorbachev likewise referred critically to several party organizations, including Moscow city, where discipline had been especially lax, but he singled put Uzbekistan for particularly harsh criticism. The republic's former top leadership made it a rule to speak only of successes, ignored shortcomings, and responded with irritation to criticism. Discipline slackened, while local politicians looked to their own careers; toadyism towards superiors became widespread. The economy and the tone of public life deteriorated markedly, various kinds of machinations, embezzlement and bribery thrived, and socialist legality was grossly infringed. In a revealing passage that indicates how widespread toleration of such ills had become in the Brezhnev period, Gorbachev said: The shortcomings in the republic did not suddenly appear; they piled up over the years, growing from small to large. On many occasions officials from allUnion bodies, including the Central Committee, went to Uzbekistan, and they could not have failed to notice what was happening. Working people of the republic wrote indignant letters to the central bodies about the bad practices, but these signals were not duly investigated.60 This concern for the caliber of leadership shows the ineffectiveness of past efforts to raise the quality of public administration. Under both Khrushchev and Brezhnev, attempts were made to improve the work of the Soviets - the institutions of state that most directly involve citizen participation, supposedly in supervising the administration. Deputies were selected with greater care; the legal position of both the institutions and the representatives was strengthened; their position vis-a-vis the ministerial administration was enhanced.61 Moreover, the language used to discuss these questions stressed professional competence, in addition to the political reliability that had dominated recruitment in the past. In a contrast between the 1920s and the 1960s, for example, one Soviet study notes that whereas previously "workers and peasants were

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selected into the administrative apparatus above all according to the principle of their devotion to Soviet power," by the 1960s the class approach had been "supplemented by the rigorous demands of organizational, managerial competence appropriate to the demands of executive and managerial work."62 Furthermore, cadres of the apparatus were said to be faced with a "leap" in raising their level of managerial training, "a leap of a different quality from that of the 1920s." 63

A concept used by Brezhnev and repeated by his successors is leadership "style," referring especially to the need for more open government and administration. Glasnost' (publicity, openness) was a theme that repeatedly cropped up in speeches and articles, usually in connection with the notion of democratization. Androppv made the point at the June 1983 Central Committee plenum: "And, really, will not bringing the activity of party and state organs closer to the needs and interests of the people be helped by more openness in their work, and regular accountability of leading workers before the population?", and "Without widespread openness the development of socialist democracy is unthinkable."64 The scholarly literature surrounding this topic has expressly used the concept of culture, referring to developing and raising the political culture of the masses — a sense in which it has been taken up by politicians65 — and developing the culture of the administration. The concept is now widely used in Soviet social science literature. A recent monograph indicates a number of established uses of the word culture, including "management culture" and "culture of the administrator,"66 while earlier writers had presented the notion of a "state service ethic."67 Moreover, as Archie Brown has shown, F. M. Burlatskii has elaborated the concept of political regime in such a way as to draw distinctions in the way ostensibly identical institutional frameworks function. This is presumably because of developments in the skills, attitudes, expectations, etc., of those who perform political and administrative roles: changes in their culture, in other words.68 Since the 1970s, other aspects of the question have attracted the attention of Soviet commentators, particularly the issue of selecting individuals with the appropriate personal qualities. The record contains much rhetoric indicating the kind of virtues required of apparatchiki, again beginning in the utterances of Leonid Brezhnev, but found equally in the social science and party literature. This goes way beyond both the traditional demand for partiinost' and the technical training identified in the early 1970s, and includes the possession of certain characteristics that supposedly contribute to a particular "style": a willingness to use

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initiative and accept personal responsibility, to show sensitivity and respect citizens' rights; honesty, conscientiousness, modesty, attentiveness; and "tact" — seen as implying much more than common courtesy — as "a necessary element in the professional ethic of a party worker."69 There can be little doubt that Brezhnev, Gorbachev and others are quite correct in identifying these qualities as vital if the Soviet Union is to succeed in advancing beyond the crude administrative style that has characterized the system's functioning until now. However, can this be achieved without a fundamental shake-up on many fronts? Khrushchev modified the institutions without changing the mentality of those who made the institutions work: it was quite natural, therefore, for them to continue traditional working methods and attitudes in whatever new institutions might be devised. Brezhnev's promotion of stability at all costs permitted the further entrenchment of a generation of apparatchiki and an apparatus ethic that proved too powerful to be overcome by technical qualifications alone. The rapid turnover among officials following Brezhnev's death - begun under Andropov, reversed briefly under Chernenko, and pursued again with vigor under Gorbachev - has the same stated goal of inducing major change in the style or culture of those who staff the apparatus, as well as being part of the newly incumbent General Secretary's building of a loyal administration. But this may not be sufficient to achieve that goal. For one thing, unless the carefully selected, newly trained recruits are placed in senior positions immediately, they may well be acculturated to the norms of the apparat by those who worked up to supervisory positions under Brezhnev's generation, who in turn were trained by those of the Stalin era. In short, the system is geared to functioning in a particular fashion, and it has the immediate task of keeping the country running, in one of the most difficult economic and international situations faced for several decades.70 In these circumstances, being open and responsive to a public that may in any case be pretty indifferent may ultimately be given a back seat. RHETORIC AND ACTION There is certainly plenty of rhetoric and analysis, from the political leaders who berate their erstwhile colleagues and subordinates, to scholars who ponderously analyze "the features of the Leninist style of work," and make sound — if perhaps a trifle banal — points: "no one is insured against mistakes, including specialists"; "democracy is unthinkable without openness"; "a lack of information spawns hearsay and

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false rumors"; a leader must "present to everyone the same opportunity to set out their position and 'know how to listen' without yielding to partiality."71 And the nature of the problem has been clearly and correctly identified as one of "the psychological reconstruction of cadres," among whom "there are people who are in no hurry to learn to think and work in a new way," and who are not averse to letting things take their turn as five, ten or fifteen years ago.72 However, until very recently in practice little additional action was taken to back up the rhetoric, apart from the replacement of established cadres by younger apparatchiki. Declarations, of course, change nothing, as Chernenko observed in a speech about ideological work, in which he accused party committees (i.e., the apparatchiki) of not taking central policy statements seriously and acting upon them.73 Referring specifically to ideological and propaganda workers - but no doubt with the intention that his remarks should be applied more widely - he spoke of lack of consistency and efficiency, with much time and effort devoted to devising plans that then lay on the desks of those who drew them up, and party secretaries snowed under with paperwork, leaving them little time for other work. "We must make a break with such a clerical style," he said, "and the sooner the better."74 The fact that Soviet leaders feel the need to make these points almost a generation after successful efforts were made to raise the standards of technical competence of the apparatchiki reveals the inadequacy of mere technical training. It points to a further serious difficulty facing "progressive" leaders: those who might genuinely wish to see at least a more competent, open, responsive process of political management in Soviet society. These may be joined by some observers in the West notably Jerry Hough, but including the present writer among their number.75 Mary McAuley has quite properly warned against relying too heavily on political culture to "explain" communist politics,76 and obviously the cultural dimension is not the only aspect of Stalinism that inhibits the further evolution of the Soviet system (and others like it). Factors such as the interests of those involved — including an interest in preserving their own somewhat privileged lifestyle — also play a significant part in sustaining the status quo.77 The question of legitimacy in the light of changes in administrative style is also potentially significant, a problem hinted at in an astonishing article that appeared in Pravda less than two weeks before the opening of the Twenty-seventh Congress. Under the title, "Clean-up: A Frank Conversation," this review of readers' letters revealed that at the very least the party has a problem over its public image. In the words of a worker from Tula oblast,

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I've reached the conclusion that between the Central Committee and the working class there is still a heaving, a slow-moving, inert and viscous "partyadministrative layer," which doesn't particularly want radical change. Some just carry their party card but have long since ceased to be communists. From the party they expect only privileges, but are themselves in no hurry to give to the people either their efforts or their knowledge. Another correspondent, a party member since 1940, pointed out that party, state, economic and Komsomol leaders "objectively make social inequality more profound," with their special dining rooms, shops, hospitals and so forth.78 It tells much about the new regime that the party newspaper should be prepared to carry such utterances; the fact that Gorbachev and other leaders followed it up with blistering attacks on specific segments of the party, state and economic administration suggests that they feel they are reflecting both the mood of the times and objective necessity. There is more than just political style or political culture at stake; nevertheless, when posed in such terms the argument raises profound questions of both theory and practice that are perhaps worth exploring briefly. If there is validity to this argument, the student of Soviet politics has at least part of an answer to the problem raised by the "totalitarian" model: namely, why can the highly centralized and extremely powerful leadership not change the behavior of its subordinate officers? One simple explanation, derived from bureaucratic theory, would maintain that the institutional esprit de corps, coupled with inability to move beyond certain rigidly prescribed rules of organizational behavior, perhaps supplemented with the self-protection instinct, inhibit the apparat in approaching new problems and new situations creatively. It should be remembered, however, that the Soviet apparat is not the neutral, functional bureaucracy depicted by Weber, since the principle oipartiinost' links its members to the organs of party rule, to which some of them may aspire to belong. The cultural explanation adds a further dimension, by suggesting that the system "works" according to a pattern of assumptions, expectations, relationships and attitudes that have developed through past experience, and that continue partly under a momentum stemming from the need to keep the country running one way or another — and there is a tendency to use familiar methods - and from the socializing of newly recruited apparatchiki into the established poryadok, or way of doing things. This is reinforced by the interests of those same apparatchiki, for whom significant change.would upset a lifestyle from which they manifestly benefit, and over whom the center seems powerless to exert a change in style, since it relies on their co-operation in keeping the show on the

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road. The center, too, benefits from indifferent administration when the practical alternative is chaos. However, the student still has to explain the apparent ineffectiveness of rising sophistication on the part of apparatchiki and population alike: if attitudes and culture are so crucial in determining how the administration functions, do increasing levels of education and appropriate training have no significant impact? An answer may be that their impact is not negligible, but it is not immediate or automatic. For those Soviet leaders who would like to establish a more sophisticated administration to serve the needs and interests of a more complex and demanding society, a serious difficulty arises from the weight of inertia of a set of values that cannot simply be abandoned without provoking the resistance of those who hold those values, and who are needed in day-to-day administration. If the center really does wish to modernize the administration by inducing the apparatchiki to behave differently, is it possible to do so over the short term? Does it require in effect the establishment of a new system, using both institutional and personnel changes? Or is the only way to get the apparatchiki to function differently to bully them by using the Stalinist methods that have ostensibly outlived their usefulness? The emphasis on discipline in the post-Brezhnev era suggests that this is a part of the approach, coupled with indications of a lead from the top in presenting a quite different style for emulation. Gorbachev has clearly set out to promote a quite different image from all his predecessors: business-like, energetic, ideologically unblemished, confident. His ability to make effective use of such Western communication techniques as the press conference, and his willingness to exploit the photogenic charms of his wife Raisa in the Western mass media (and even, although to a lesser extent, in the Soviet media), indicate that he is not cast from the same mold as Khrushchev and Brezhnev. In his personnel policies, he appears to be combining the Brezhnevian reliance on (new) cadres with Khrushchev's institutional innovativeness (witness the creation in November 1985 of a so-called "super-ministry" to replace six previously existing bodies concerned with the management of agriculture),79 and to be approaching the task of re-shaping the country's administration with a vigor and single-mindedness of purpose perhaps reminiscent of Stalin. However, the task of re-fashioning the Soviet Union's administration is, in terms of its sheer scale, gargantuan. Nor should it be overlooked that there are several purposes to the exercise — cutting out dead wood, raising economic performance, widening opportunities for popular participation, and creating a greater sense of justice in society, for

22

RONALD J. HILL

example - some of which may be perceived as threatening by personnel whose co-operation is vital to success. In more than one sense, therefore, the apparatchiki still hold the key to Soviet political development.

NOTES 1 Ronald J. Hill, "The Cultural Dimension of Communist Political Evolution," The Journal of Communist Studies, vol. i, no. i (1985) pp. 34—53; also, an earlier article, Hill, "Party-State Relations and Soviet Political Development," British Journal ofPolitical Science, vol. x (1980), pp. 149-65. A different version of the present paper appeared in Studies in Comparative Communism, vol. xix, no. 1 (Spring 1986), pp. 25-39. 2 Lenin's speech to the Fourth Congress of the Comintern (1922), quoted in B. D. Lebin and M. N. Perfil'ev, Kadry apparata upravleniia v SSSR: Sotsiologicheskie problemy podbora i rasstanovki (Leningrad: Nauka, 1970), p. 207. Moshe Lewin has argued that these "bourgeois specialists" had succeeded in amassing a substantial pool of professional talent, which Tsarist Russia had failed to put to full use: see Moshe Lewin, The Making of the Soviet System: Essays in the Social History oflnterwar Russia (London: Methuen, 1985), p. 214. 3 Robert C. Tucker, "Culture, Political Culture, and Communist Society," Political Science Quarterly, vol. LXXXVIII (1973), pp. 173-90. According to T. H. Rigby, "Establishing the system . . . involved changing, in myriad ways and various degrees, the attitude and behavior patterns of a whole population," see T. H. Rigby, "Stalinism and the Mono-Organizational Society," in Robert C. Tucker, ed., Stalinism: Essays in Historical Interpretation (New York: Norton, 1977), p. 75. 4 I. N. Iudin et a/., Internatsional'nyiprintsip v stroitelstve i deiatel'nosti KPSS (Moscow: Politizdat, 1975), p. 129. 5 Ibid., p. 142. 6 Lewin, The Making of the Soviet System, p. 213. 7 Alex Simirenko in C. A. Kern-Simirenko (ed.), Professionalization of Soviet Society (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, 1982), ch. 1. 8 See Ronald Tiersky, Ordinary Stalinism: Democratic Centralism and the Question of Communist Political Development (London: Allen and Unwin, 1985) for an elaboration of this argument. 9 V. Pshenichnikov, "Ne podmeniaia, ne dubliruia," Sovety narodnykh deputatov, 1985, no. 2, p. [5. 10 Pravda, 27 January 1981. 11 Michael P. Gehlen, "The Soviet Apparatchiki," in R. Barry Farrell (ed.), Political Leadership in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. (London: Butterworth, 1970), pp. 155-56. 12 B. Michael Frolic, "Decision-Making in Soviet Cities," American Political Science Review, vol. LXVI, no. 1 (1972), p. 51. 13 Myron Rush, Political Succession in the USSR, 2nd.edn (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968), p. 225, quotes the speech of V. P. Mzhavanadze to this effect at the Twenty-third. Congress of 1966. 14 John A. Armstrong, The Soviet Bureaucratic Elite: A Case Study of the Ukrainian Apparatus (New York: Praeger, 1959), pp. 144-45; Roy A. Laird, The Soviet

Apparatchiki and political development

23

Paradigm: An Experiment in Creating a Monohierarchical Polity (New York: The Free Press, 1970), pp. 95, 122; Ronald J. Hill, Soviet Political Elites: The Case of Tiraspol (London: Martin Robertson, 1977), p. 167. 15 Information from the official biography published in, for example, Sovety narodnykh deputatov, no. 5 (1985), p. 6, following his election to the post of General Secretary. 16 Speech to the Fourth Session, USSR Supreme Soviet, eleventh convocation, November 1985, in Kommunist, no. 17 (November 1985), p. 31. 17 T. H. Rigby, "The Selection of Leading Personnel in the Soviet State and Communist Party," unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of London, 1954. Other authors have pointed to a tendency towards specialization in one apparatus or another: see, for example, Frederic J. Fleron, Jr, "Career Types in the Soviet Political Leadership," in Farrell, ed., Political Leadership, pp. 123-24; Gehlen, "The Soviet Apparatchiki," in ibid., pp. 140-56; Frolic, "Decision-Making in Soviet Cities," p. 51. 18 Lebin and Perfil'ev, Kadry apparata upravleniia, pp. 7, 10, 201. 19 Ibid., p. 223; see pp. I96ff for details of party penetration of the ispolkom and its apparatus. 20 Tucker, "Stalinism as Revolution from Above," in Stalinism, p. 91. 21 Pravda, 26 February 1986, p. 9. 22 Lebin and Perfil'ev, Kadry apparata upravleniia, p. 7. 23 Robert V. Daniels, "Soviet Politics Since Khrushchev," in John W. Strong (ed.), The Soviet Union under Brezhnev and Kosygin (New York: Van Nostrand-Reinhold, 1971), p. 20. 24 Pravda, 6 November 1982; the speaker was Viktor V. Grishin, who cited the utterances of Brezhnev repeatedly in the course of his speech. 25 Pravda, 8 November 1982. 26 XXV s'ezd Kommunisticheskoi partii Sovetskogo Soiuza: Stenograficheskii otchet, vol. 1, p. 186. In a similar vein, in a session at the International Political Science Association (IPSA) Congress in Moscow in August 1979, the Polish sociologist Jerzy Wiatr criticized Western scholars' emphasis on Brezhnev's personal role, adding that it was one of the signs of the man's greatness that he did not function in that fashion. 27 Pravda, 22 December 1982. 28 Pravda, 14 February 1984. Admittedly this was a nomination speech, and it was made by an even less inspiring comrade - Nikolai A. Tikhonov. 29 Hill, Soviet Political Elites, p. 55. 30 As a result of these changes, the Politburo now resembles a cabinet more than at any time over the past decade or so: see Ronald J. Hill and Peter Frank, "Gorbachev's Cabinet-Building," Journal of Communist Studies, vol. 11, no. 2 (June 1986), pp. 168-81. 31 Hence it is appropriate to refer to the Reagan administration but to the Thatcher government. 32 Georgii Shakhnazarov, Sotsialisticheskaia demokratiia: nekotorye voprosy teorii (Moscow: Politizdat, 1972), pp. 182-83, cited in Ronald J. Hill, Soviet Politics, Political Science and Reform (Oxford: Martin Robertson, 1980), p. n o . 33 T. H. Friedgut, "Citizens and Soviets: Can Ivan Ivanovich Fight City Hall?," Comparative Politics, vol. X, no. 4 (1978), p. 464. 34 See T. H. Rigby, Communist Party Membership in the USSR, 1917—1967 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968), pp. 236—38. 35 See, for example, Lewin, The Making of the Soviet System, pp. 237, 253. 36 See the critical literature discussed in Hill, Soviet Politics, ch. 3 ("The Deputy and his

24

37

38 39 40

41 42 43

44

45

46

47 48 49 50

51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

RONALD J . HILL Role"). On the "sociological" character of representation, see Philip D. Stewart, Political Power in the Soviet Union: A Study of Decision-Making in Stalingrad (Indianapolis and New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1968), pp. 38-40 and 47-49. Stephen White argues that it was only in the mid-1960s that the party began to examine seriously the effectiveness, rather than simply the volume, of "ideological work." See his article, "Propagating Communist Values in the USSR," Problems of Communism, vol. xxxiv, no. 6 (November-December 1985), p. 3. Iudin et al., Internatsional'nyi printsip, p. 160. V. A. Nemtsev, "Raionnyi organ vlasti i ego territoriya," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, 1969, no. 8, p. 69. A good account, bringing out these points, appears in Mary McAulcy, Politics and the Soviet Union (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976), parts 1 and 11; see also Robert V. Osborn, The Evolution of Soviet Politics (Homewood, 111.: Dorsey, 1974); and for a recent assessment, Lewin, The Making of the Soviet System. See, for example, the contributions of Leszek Kolakowski and Mihailo Markovic to Tucker, Stalinism, pp. 283-98, 299-319. Tucker, "Stalinism as Revolution from Above," in ibid., p. 102. This is a contentious matter, examined in some detail by, among other authors, Stephen White; see in particular his "The USSR: Patterns of Autocracy and Industrialism," in Archie Brown and Jack Gray, eds, Political Culture and Political Change in Communist States (London: Macmillan, 1977; 2nd edn, 1979), pp. 25-65; Political Culture and Soviet Politics (London: Macmillan, 1979); and his more recent evaluation, "Soviet Political Culture Reassessed," in Archie Brown, ed., Political Culture and Communist Studies (London: Macmillan, 1984), pp. 62-99. In this section I draw on my chapter, "The 'All-People's State' and 'Developed Socialism,' " in Neil Harding, cd., The State in Socialist Society (London: Macmillan, 1984), pp. 104-28. Lebin and Perfil'ev, Kadry apparata upravleniia, passim; Bohdan Harasymiw, "The Qualifications of Local Party and Government Leaders in the Soviet Union and the Development of Pluralism," Canadian Slavonic Papers, vol. xm (1971), pp. 314-42; V. A. Kadeikin, Problem nauchnogopodkhoda vpartiinoi rabote (Moscow: Mysl', 1974), pp. 76-77Erik P. Hoffmann, "Information Processing in the Party: Recent Theory and Experience," in Karl W. Ryavec, ed., Soviet Society and the Communist Party (Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 1978), pp. 63-87. XXIV s'ezd: Stenograficheskii otchet, vol. 1, p. 125. Pravda, 28 November 1979. Robert E. Blackwell, Jr, "Cadres Policy in the Brezhnev Era," Problems of Communism, vol. xxvm, no. 2 (March-April 1979), pp. 29-42. The stability of the Brezhnev era is stressed by Seweryn Bialer, Stalin's Successors: Leadership, Stability, and Change in the Soviet Union (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), esp. part m. Pravda, 28 November 1979. Materialy XXVI s'ezda KPSS (Moscow: Politizdat, 1981), p. 51. Ibid., p. 72. See KPSS v rezolutsiakh, vol. ix (Moscow: Politizdat, 1972), p. 216. Ibid., p. 220. Report to Central Committee plenum, Pravda, 24 April 1985. Speech in Pravda, 23 April 1985. N. Gladkov and V. Kozhemiako, "Neobkhodimost' peremen," Pravda, 2 February

Apparatchiki and political development

25

iy86, p. 2; this is a report of the Twenty-first Congress of the party in Uzbekistan. 59 Pravda, 1 November 1983. On the following day, Pravda carried a report of the funeral of this "true son of the Soviet people, whose life was devoted without ceasing to the great cause of building communism"; wreaths were laid in the names of Fidel Castro and Babrak Karmal. 60 Pravda, 26 February 1986, p. 9. 61 See Ronald J. Hill, "The Development of Soviet Local Government since Stalin's Death," in Everett M. Jacobs, ed., Soviet Local Politics and Government (London: Allen and Unwin, 1983), pp. 21-25. 62 Lebin and Perfil'ev, Kadry apparata upravleniia, p. 213. 63 Ibid., p. 219. 64 Pravda, 16 June 1983. 65 For example, Leonid Brezhnev, as quoted in A. K. Belykh, cd., Kommunizm 1 upravlenie obshchestvennymi protsessami, vol. iv (Leningrad: Izd. Leningradskogo Universiteta, 1982), p. 99; incidentally, the chapter is called "The Role of Political Culture in Drawing the Toilers into Management." 66 N. M. Keizerov, Politicheskaia i pravovaia kul'tura: metodologicheskie problemy (Moscow: Iuridicheskaia litcratura, 1983), p. 3. 67 Apparat upravleniia sotsialisticheskogo gosudarstva (Moscow: Iuridicheskaya literatura, 1977), vol. 11, pp. 235-38. 68 Archie Brown, "Political Science in the Soviet Union: A New Stage of Development?," Soviet Studies, vol. xxxvi, no. 3 (1984), p. 328. 69 See the sources cited in Hill, Soviet Politics, pp. 132—33. The concept of "tact," along with a range of further desirable qualities, is elaborated in Iu. V. Derbinov et al. (eds.), Razvitie vnutripartiinykli otnoshenii na sovremennom etape (Moscow: Mysl', 1984), p. 226ff. 70 See Bialer, Stalin's Successors, ch. 15. 71 M. Piskotin, "Cherty leninskogo stilia rabot," Sovety narodnykh deputatov', 1985, no. 4, pp. 21-22. 72 K. Vaino, "Smelost', chestnost', otvetstvennost," Kommunist, no. 2 (1986), p. 27. Vaino is first secretary of the party in Estonia; he gives the opinion that "This reconstruction in the consciousness of people should be, I think, just as profound as the structural reconstruction in the economy." 73 Pravda, 15 June 1983. 74 Ibid. 75 See in particular Jerry F. Hough, Soviet Leadership in Transition. (Washington, DC: Brookings, 1981); Hill, Soviet Politics, ch. 9. 76 Mary McAuley, "Political Culture and Communist Politics: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back," in Brown, ed., Political Culture and Communist Studies, pp. 13-39. 77 John Miller draws attention to interests in his contribution to the debate on cultural factors in communist studies, see his "Political Culture: Some Perennial Questions Reopened," in Brown, ed., Political Culture and Communist Studies, pp. 40-61. 78 T. Samolis, "Ochishchenie: otkrovennyi razgovor," Pravda, 13 February 1986. 79 Reported in Pravda, 23 November 1985. In Western commentary, this was seen as the first stage in the abandonment of the highly specialized ministries favored by Brezhnev, in an effort to facilitate horizontal links at the production level. Parallels were drawn with Khrushchev's 1957 abolition of the central ministries and their replacement by regionally based Councils of the National Economy (sovnarklwzy). See Dominique Dhombres, Le Monde, 27 November 1985, p. 6.

The primary party organizations of branch ministries* STEPHEN F O R T E S C U E

The Soviet political and administrative system is a sectional (vedomstvennyi) one, meaning that sectional institutions and interests, to a large extent based on branches of the economy, are catered for and recognized. This is evident in Soviet "interest theory," in which it is made quite clear that sectional interests have a legitimate place in the system.1 It is of course also obvious in the structure of Soviet administration. With the qualified exception of the sovnarkhoz (Councils of National Economy) period (even then there was ever-growing pressure to set up branch-based State Committees), branch-based organizations have always been the basic administrative unit. Administrative procedures have always recognized and catered for the narrow interests of these organizations, in particular the requirement that all documents going to executive bodies for decision be examined first by all interested parties (vizirovanie). This has been a feature of Soviet administrative practice since the very first days of Lenin's Sovnarkom (Council of People's Commissars).2 Ellen Jones has described the way the process works in more recent times.3 It is the role of the party to oversee and put to good use the sectional units of the political and administrative system. While the concept of the "vanguard" party with its "leading role" was not devised by Lenin as an administrative principle for use in government, it has proved to be very applicable to such a situation. Thus, it is not the task of the party to administer the economy itself, but in the words of one "interest group" theorist: "The state [read 'the party'], struggling with narrow sectionalism, often uses sectional interests to the benefit of the social interest, 'guiding' one sectional interest against another which is adversely affecting the resolution of some social problem."4 This concern of the party with its "leading role" rather than an operational role can be seen in the constant, if fluctuating, concern with stamping out the "supplanting" (podmena) of administrative bodies by party organs, and the *This paper is based on research funded by the Economic and Social Research Council (UK), reference number FOO 232070. 26

Primary party organizations

27

concern with the political as much as economic or administrative qualities of party workers. Even at times when the party apparatus is expected to involve itself in economic management in a close and detailed way, it is not supposed to run the economy operationally. That is the job of the sectional institutions. Something, however, is clearly wrong with the system. Despite the recognition of sectional interests as fundamental and legitimate, sectionalism (vedomstvennost') has acquired highly pejorative connotations, with the narrow pursuit of their interests at the expense of all else by branch ministries in particular being seen by many, in the West and the Soviet Union, as one of the greatest barriers to change and progress. While the merits of such accusations will not be discussed in detail here, the evidence to support them is strong. The purpose of this chapter is to examine one of the means at the disposal of the party to exercise control over sectional interests and ideally to channel them in the direction of the "social interest" - the primary party organizations (PPOs) of branch ministries. This discussion will deal with the period since the reestablishment of the ministries in September 1965. Some bias towards the PPOs' role in scientific and technical progress, will be shown, but the findings can be applied to all aspects of PPOs' activity.

SEPTEMBER 1965 TO JANUARY 1971 The branch ministries were reestablished in September 1965, with the abolition of Khrushchev's sovnarkhoz system. As a reaction against the administrative chaos of the sovnarkhoz period, the ministries were given a major and relatively uncontrolled role in economic management. While the reestablishment of the ministries was accompanied by a reform ostensibly designed to increase the independence of enterprises from administrative control, it is generally recognized that achievements in that direction were very limited. The ministries were expected to exercise close supervision and direction of all work in their branches. A major campaign against "supplanting" by party officials, who had assumed a major operational role during the Khrushchev era, had already begun, meaning that they were now expected to leave the ministries to run things operationally.5 Further, as Bruce Parrott has described in detail, the ministries were relatively free, particularly in research and development, of the control of over-arching functional {nadvedomstvennye) state bodies. Both the State Committee for Science and Technology (GKNT) and Gosplan found themselves with restricted powers over branch ministries.6

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STEPHEN FORTESCUE

There are signs that ministry PPOs were expected to fill the gaps left by the party apparatus and Gosplan and GKNT, since immediately after September 1965 there was a very considerable stress on them. At the Plenum which decreed the reestablishment of the ministries, Brezhnev called on ministry PPOs to play a major role and to report regularly to the Central Committee on the work of the ministries.7 A large wellpublicized seminar was held by the Central Committee in December 1966 to ram home to party secretaries the scope of their responsibilities.8 Senior party officials made it clear that experienced party workers were to be used as party secretaries. Brezhnev at the September 1965 Plenum called for "highly qualified, experienced party workers" to head ministry PPOs, a call supported by Egorychev, the first secretary of the Moscow city party committee, in October 1965.9 In the published report of the December 1966 seminar it was stated: In the party committees of many ministries and agencies personnel working as secretaries of party committees and their deputies have been strengthened. Comrades who are well acquainted with party work but who are at the same time specialists in the relevant branch have been moved into these posts.10 Two examples of the sort of person being spoken of are A. I. Fateev and A. A. Solonitsyn. Fateev became secretary of the party committee of the Ministry of Automobile Industry at the time it was set up. He had previous experience in the industry, having been secretary of the party committee of the Likhachev Automobile Factory (ZIL) in 1954. He had then moved into the party apparatus, as first secretary of the Proletarskyii Raion party committee in Moscow (the raion in which the ZIL factory is situated), then as an inspector in the Trans-Caucasian Bureau of the All-Union Central Committee in 1963, and a chief inspector of the All-Russian Committee of Party—State Control in 1964. While he was hardly a senior party official, he was certainly not just a member of the ministerial apparatus coopted to the job. His previous two posts suggest some trouble-shooting capacity. We know less of A. A. Solonitsyn, the secretary of the party committee of the Ministry of Energy and Electrification. But we do know that he was first secretary of the Kashira city party committee (gorkom) in 1961. Again there is an indication of expertise in the ministry's particular field of concern, since Kashira contains a major hydroelectric installation. However, the party rank held again suggests more than a coopted state apparatus bureaucrat. It was presumably hoped that these people would be less beholden to narrow sectional interests than ministry officials, and would have the party experience and clout to at least hold their own with the minister and his senior officials. They were certainly not devoid of strategic

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29

powers and position. It is true that ministry PPOs did not have at this stage the right of control, but this was claimed by authoritative commentators not to render the PPOs powerless. As was noted at the 1966 seminar: "The Party Rules give the party organizations of ministries and agencies those rights which allow them to influence in a decisive way the administrative apparatus and to exercise their influence on every official."11 Certainly the ministry PPOs seemed able to use the powers usually listed in the right of control, as is shown below. They could hear reports from managers, use commissions to investigate the situation on the spot, and they could make recommendations to management.12 Importantly, these powers could be used in the control of personnel. Ministry PPOs were expected to hear reports from executives on the general state of personnel work,13 and to take active steps when they found serious shortcomings, which a 1967 Central Committee decree on personnel work in the ministries suggested they usually would.14 It was even said on occasion that ministry PPOs were entitled to examine all appointments, transfers and dismissals in the apparatus.15 To these powers should be added the powers of party discipline. The PPO has the right to take party disciplinary action against any of its members. It is noteworthy in this regard that, according to the report of the December 1966 seminar, in October 1965 the Central Committee issued a decree "which significantly broadened the rights and potential of the party committees of union ministries in implementing party leadership." The party committees of 46 ministries and state committees with over 500 communists were given "as an exception" the powers of a raion party committee (raikom) on admittance to the party, party records and examination of the personal affairs of party members.16 The latter gave them the right to apply party discipline to members without having to confirm the penalty with the raikom. It would be wrong to exaggerate the importance of such a provision; to take action against anyone of senior rank would still require, in practice, the support of higher party authorities.17 However, there probably was some practical significance in the change, and certainly as presented in the press, considerable symbolic importance. The powers of party discipline are particularly relevant to ministry PPOs, since party membership in ministries is high. We know that in 1966 there were 46 ministries and agencies with over 500 party members, with many all-union ministries having 1,000 or more.18 The percentage of apparatus staff who are party members seems usually to be in the 50-70 per cent range.19 We can be confident that anyone in a sensitive or managerial post is a party member.

30

STEPHEN FORTESCUE

In connection with appeals to higher authorities it is worth mentioning that the PPOs of central ministries could have an advantage over other categories of PPO and indeed over the regional party apparatus. They are concentrated in a few central districts (raiony) of Moscow, and have direct and close access to the political clout of the Moscow gorkom and Central Committee apparatus. Particular stress was put, during this period, on the requirement in the Party Rules that ministry PPOs inform the Central Committee directly of problems in the ministry.20 The backgrounds of ministry party secretaries at this time suggest that they could have moved in these circles reasonably easily. To what purpose, then, were all these impressive powers put? The tasks of the PPOs were described in extensive terms. The main stress was on working to ensure implementation of the 1965 economic reform, specifically against the sectional interests of the central ministry apparatuses. This required ensuring that ministry officials had a good understanding of the intentions of the reform and sufficient knowledge of economics to see it implemented.21 It also entailed working closely with the minister and his senior officials to ensure that the new apparatus was well organized and running smoothly.22 But the major stress was on overseeing the relationships between the central apparatus and subordinate enterprises. As will be seen later, this is a rather controversial aspect of a ministry PPO's activities, with the formal position being that a ministerial PPO is not allowed to control the activity of subordinate enterprises. But at the time this was loosely interpreted. Many statements from this period were in terms of the PPO ensuring that the form relations between the central apparatus and enterprises took was in keeping with the spirit of the economic reform; that ministries did not delay in transferring enterprises to the new system and that the apparatus refrained from excessive bureaucratic interference in enterprise operations.23 But as already mentioned, this latter aspect of the reform was apparently never taken particularly seriously, and certainly the tone of accounts of ministry PPO involvement in the transfer of enterprises to the new system supports this conclusion. Thus the secretary of the PPO of the Ministry of" Instrument Making, in the same article in which he criticizes ministry officials for tardiness in transferring enterprises to the new system, also speaks approvingly of the daily reports received by the ministry from enterprises on plan fulfillment and of the party committee's directives to apparatus communists to examine the operations of factories under the new system.24 A 1966 account of the work of the party committee of the Ministry of Construction Materials puts the matter in true Soviet perspective. A

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Ukrainian factory had run out of some essential materials and one shop had lain idle for three months. It therefore sent representatives to the ministry party committee, which quickly got in touch with the relevant organization. The materials were soon dispatched. Kommunist found it necessary to criticize the style of the PPO's response, but was forced to admit that in the circumstances something had to be done.25 Thus when it comes to the crunch - and a crunch is always just around the corner - the ministry, and its PPO, will be expected to interfere to whatever degree is necessary. It is an expectation which quickly produces a permanent habit. However, it is noteworthy that in this period, immediately after the reestablishment of the ministries and at the time of a strong anti-supplanting campaign, ministry PPOs seemingly engaged in the habit with relative impunity. Another area in which the role of PPOs was stressed, although it should be said at a significantly lower level than apparatus-enterprise relations, was in scientific and technical progress. The December 1966 seminar devoted attention to this matter,26 one which was taken up again over the next few years in Pravda editorials.27 Important changes in research management came in 1967-68. Research institutes were given the same formal rights of independent action that enterprises had had since 1965, while a September 1968 Central Committee and Council of Ministers decree further elaborated on new planning and economic stimulation measures.28 Ministries and their PPOs were expected to work for the implementation of these changes.29 What success did the ministry PPOs have in fulfilling their tasks? In terms of formal fulfilment of the 1965 reform, it could be said that the PPOs eventually did what they had to do - all enterprises were transferred to the system. It is more difficult to evaluate the success in informal terms, in terms of the spirit in which the reform was implemented. Complaints continued of excessive bureaucratic interference in the affairs of enterprises and tendentious interpretations by ministries of the provisions of the reform.30 And as has already been suggested, at a time when they appeared to have a relatively close relationship with subordinate enterprises, the PPOs probably contributed to a continuation of excessive bureaucratic interference as much as they prevented it. However, since there is considerable doubt as to whether there was ever a serious intention on the part of the top authorities to change the nature of apparatus-enterprise relations, we perhaps cannot condemn the PPOs. In the field of scientific—technical progress, it is a little easier to pin down the PPOs' failures. As a series of Pravda editorials made clear in 1969 and 1970, a number of ministries were very tardy in implementing

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the measures of the 1968 reorganization of branch science, and ministry PPOs were allocated a considerable proportion of the blame.31 Further, and more strikingly, Bruce Parrott has shown how quick the ministries were to use their freedom from the control of overseeing agencies to display strong anti-innovation tendencies, with research and development investment plans being underfulfilled and new technology funds being diverted to other purposes.32 The consequences were considerable reductions in output of new products and innovations.33 It would be foolish to lay all the blame for this on the ministry PPOs. There was some degree of top-level neglect of domestic innovation, reflected in a reduction in the rate of growth of expenditure on research and development and considerable reliance on imported technology,34 while Soviet research and development suffered from deep structural problems far beyond the capabilities or responsibilities of ministry PPOs to solve. Nevertheless, it must have been disturbing to the leadership that these organizations, on which they seemed to be relying to a considerable extent at the time, were unable even to guarantee the fulfillment of such relatively straightforward tasks as transferring institutes to new management systems and ensuring that funds were spent on the purposes to which they were allocated. JANUARY 1971 TO 1980 By the end of the 1960s it was decided that something had to be done about the ministries and their PPOs, and about science and technology. Impatience with the ministries became particularly evident at the December 1969 Central Committee Plenum, at which Brezhnev made scathing attacks on the ministries in general and individual ministers in particular. A new political commitment was made to science and technology, most clearly seen in Brezhnev's adoption of the "scientific—technical revolution" as the driving force of economic and social change at the Twenty-fourth Party Congress in January 1971. To handle the ministries, increased central control was established in the setting of prices and standards for new products,35 while changes to the planning system were undertaken, particularly the planning of technological development, to increase the influence of Gosplan, GKNT and even the Academy of Sciences. Thus at the Twenty-fourth Congress, Kosygin called for the development of a long-term plan for economic development, worked out by these three agencies and supposedly providing the basis for the ministries' five-year and annual plans. In August 1972 an appropriate Central Committee and Council of Ministers decree was issued.36

Primary party organizations

33

The dissatisfaction of the authorities with the work of ministry PPOs was evident in the extremely critical review by the Central Committee of the work of the party committee of the Ministry of Meat and Milk Industry in February 1970. It included attacks on the PPO's weak efforts to foster technological development in the ministry, as well as many other sins, and was specifically recommended for examination by other ministries and agencies.37 At the Twenty-fourth Party Congress the Party Rules were changed in order to give the PPOs of ministries the right of control "of the apparatus in carrying out the directives of the party and government and the observance of Soviet laws."38 The change brought to an end a rather ludicrous situation in which since 1939, when the right of control first made an appearance as a party administrative weapon, ministry PPOs had been denied the right of control on the grounds that for them to exercise it would entail unacceptable interference on their part in the affairs of the subordinate enterprises of the ministry and usurpation of the rights of party organizations in regions where enterprises were situated. The 1939 Party Rules limited their role to improving the work of the apparatuses in which they were situated and their power to signal the existence of shortcomings in the working of the apparatuses to higher authorities.39 In fact, the right of control in itself implies no powers over a ministry's subordinate enterprises. This was to some extent recognized in 1971, when ministry PPOs were simply given the right of control. However, the argument was also retained in that a qualification appeared limiting the right of control to the work of the ministry apparatus. T. H. Rigby sees this as probably a concession to nervous government leaders (and perhaps also to regional party leaders worried that ministry PPOs might interpret the lack of such a qualification as permission to meddle in regional affairs). But as Rigby also points out, authoritative statements have stressed ever since that there is no difference between the right of control exercised by a ministry PPO and that exercised by any other sort of PPO. 40 The irrelevance of the argument about subordinate enterprises and the right of control becomes even clearer when we realize that before 1971 official policy on ministry PPO relations with subordinate enterprises fluctuated enormously. There were times when it was strongly emphasized that ministry PPOs should not involve themselves in the affairs of subordinate enterprises and that they were therefore limited purely to the style, not the content of the work of the apparatus.41 At other times - essentially during the period of the Councils of National Economy and after 1965 — sovnarkhov and ministry PPOs were able to claim that in order to control the work of the apparatus they had to know what was going on in the enterprises that

34

STEPHEN FORTESCUE

the apparatus was administering, and indeed to respond to shortcomings they found there, as well as responding to complaints from the enterprises about the work of the apparatus.42 Clearly it is not the right of control which determines whether involvement in subordinate enterprises is permissible or not, but the general state of party-state relations at the time, and current leadership policy on ministry PPOs. What was the effect of the right of control on ministry PPOs, remembering that to a large extent they were using its powers before 1971? There seems little doubt that the right of control has had a significant effect on at least the form of PPO activities and the confidence with which they are pursued. Since 1971 there have been consistent reports of senior executives (deputy ministers and department and glavk heads) giving reports (including otchety, which tend to have stronger connotations of accountability than doklady or soobshcheniia) to party meetings or meetings of the party committee;43 ministry PPOs now operate a whole range of standing party control commissions, as well as more ad hoc investigative commissions;44 and they make formal recommendations to ministry management which they expect will be given serious consideration.45 Although dot directly connected with the right of control, one method of PPO operation that received considerable attention after 1971 was holdingjoint meetings of the bureau or committees of two or more ministries. Such meetings, if used seriously, could be an important way of getting around the notoriousjealousies of individual ministries. In particular, it seems possible that superior party organs could put pressure on PPOs to work together that they might not be able to put directly on the ministries themselves.46 In the period after 1971 the areas of activity of ministerial PPOs were similar to those that were evident previously. There was still the traditional concern with the smooth, cost-efficient running of the apparatus,47 and with ensuring the implementation of the various economic reforms that were introduced after 1971. Involvement in production questions was still quite close. For example, the party committee of the Ministry of Communications gave recommendations to the Technical Administration, which then sped up production of an important relay. In the same ministry, following an investigation into design documentation, a people's control group formally listed shortcomings in the work of a number of production departments and design organizations.48 But two areas of concern seem to have attracted particular attention. They are personnel and scientific—technical progress. We have already seen that even before 1971 PPOs had extensive personnel powers. But

Primary party organizations

35

these were described more insistently and in more detail after 1971. We find numerous reports that PPOs consider all personnel movement in the apparatus either formally in party meetings or less formally v rabochemporiadke (in a routine fashion).49 PPOs also began recommending particular individuals for promotion - the party bureau of the Latvian Ministry of Industrial Construction Materials explained the turnaround in the ministry's fulfillment of its new technology plan as due to its recommendation of a particular engineer as the new head of the Technical Department.50 There was also a case of the party bureau of the Lithuanian Ministry of Local Industry rejecting a particular candidate for appointment as department head.51 It is interesting in this regard to note the number of ministry PPO secretaries who have a personnel background. Thus, one Novikov was head of the Personnel Department of the Kazakh Ministry of Construction in 1964 at the same time as he was secretary of the ministry's party bureau. In 1966, V. N. Shepetovsky was secretary of the party committee of the Ministry of Railways, but head of its Personnel Department in 1977, while V. V. Pavlovsky, who was his deputy secretary in 1966, was identified as the deputy head of the Personnel Department in both 1971 and 1974. A. A. Pomortsev was secretary of the party committee of the Ministry of Agriculture in 1973, and appointed deputy minister for personnel in 1974. (In 1970 he was identified as head of the Seedgrowing Administration and deputy head of the Grain Cultures and General Land XJseglavk.) V. I. Loginov was secretary of the party committee of the RSFSR Ministry of Rural Construction in 1973 and 1975, and deputy head of the Administration of Leading Personnel and Educational Institutions in 1980. L. D. Barashenkov, secretary of the PPO of the Ministry of Communications in 1966, was appointed deputy minister for personnel in 1985. Clearly, if the PPO is seriously to play the role of protecting the "social interest" against the narrow sectional interests of the branch, particularly in terms of ensuring the implementation of unpopular reforms, it is essential to have control of appointments, to get reliable people into key positions. To have an "insider" in the Personnel Department, with presumably a close knowledge of all potential candidates, including people working in the enterprises of the ministry, could be an enormous advantage. Another area of PPO activity after 1971 which deserves special attention is the encouragement of technological progress. This was something they were expected to involve themselves in previously, but after 1971 the demands seem to have become more insistent. This is probably more a consequence of a greater emphasis on technological

36

STEPHEN FORTESCUE

development in the Soviet Union as a whole than of anything uniquely connected with ministry PPOs, although the experience of the leadership with the anti-innovation tendencies of the ministries in the second half of the 1960s must have made them very keen to have the PPOs do something about it. Thus in 1972 the secretary of the party committee of the Ministry of Oil Industry declared that since getting the right of control "we significantly more often consider questions connected with technical progress in the branch, with the long-term development of specific trends."52 In 1973 the party bureau of the Latvian Ministry of Industrial Construction Materials, in a case already mentioned, considered that it could not remain indifferent to the nonfulfillment of the branches' new technology plan and so it recommended the replacement of the head of the Technical Department.53 Ministry PPOs started hearing reports from senior officials on scientific-technical progress and the fulfillment of new technology plans,54 while more and more PPOs had party control commissions for controlling the application of research in production (vnedrenie),55 Mention has already been made of the work of the party commission for vnedrenie of the Ministry of Communications, which investigated the reasons for delay in the production of an important relay for radio communications.56 The evidence is strong that there was a significant increase in the powers and activities of ministry PPOs after 1971. However, there are some reasons to reconsider such a conclusion. W. J. Conyngham states that sometime during the 1970s "the policy of tightening party controls over the ministries and other economic institutions after 1971 aroused open hostility and evasion and seems to have been informally dropped."57 There indeed seems to have been a lack of interest, as reflected in published accounts, in the work of ministry PPOs following a few articles soon after the granting of the right of control. The relative silence about these PPOs in the mid-1970s was broken by the 1974 Central Committee decree on the party committee of the Ministry of Communications. But even in its title this decree put the stress on the party committee's control of the work of the apparatus, and in one part criticizes it for directing its attentions primarily against subordinate organizations.58 Another decree a few days before, on the Ministry of Petrochemical Industry, made no mention of the PPO, while a 1976 decree on the Ministry of Heavy Machine Enterprise Construction had only a token mention.59 None of the decrees referred to the right of control. All this could be taken as an effort to narrow the responsibilities of ministry PPOs. An interesting change appears to have taken place about this time in

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37

the type of person becoming party secretary in ministries. Thus Fateev and Solonitsyn, the two given above as examples of party secretaries with a reasonably substantial party'background, were both working as raion party committee first secretaries by 1971. (Solonitsyn then went on to head the heavy industry department of the Moscow gorkom.) They were apparently replaced by people with a more exclusively technical background, usually from within the ministry itself. G. N. Zakharenkov, party secretary of the Ministry of Construction, Road and Communal Machine Building in 1972, is described as having years of experience in party and Komsomol work, but also as an engineeringtechnologist. Others, such as A. A. Pomortsev (party secretary in the Ministry of Agriculture, 1973, previously head of the Seedgrowing Administration) and F. I. Mazniak (party secretary in the RSFSR Ministry of Food Industry, 1973, previously an engineer in various food industry factories) appear to have even more purely technical or administrative backgrounds. The change might have been because the authorities decided they needed technically competent "insiders" to handle a more operational role for the PPOs; it might simply have been a recognition that even the most experienced party "outsiders" had had little success controlling the ministries. Whatever the reason, it probably had the effect of reducing the perceived status of the PPO. What might the reason be for this possible decline in the attention paid to ministry PPOs in the mid-1970s? I do not have any convincing answers, but there appear to be some not altogether consistent explanations. First, we have to ask ourselves why the right of control was granted in 1971, if attention was soon to be taken away from the PPOs. It seems particularly odd that they were not given the right of control at the Party Congress in 1966, when there was no doubting the great attention being paid to them. In 1966 perhaps the ministries had sufficiently senior supporters, particularly Kosygin, to prevent such a move; perhaps it seemed inappropriate at a time when for political reasons it had been decided not to give the right of control to research and educational PPOs (the reason being the takeover of many of these PPOs by "liberal" party members).60 By 1971 it was possible to give the right of control to these other PPOs, and there was little reason not to extend it to the ministry PPOs at the same time. I am inclined to see, however, the 1971 granting of the right of control to ministry PPOs as being more than just an afterthought. It was intended by those at the head of the party apparatus as an important extension of party power, but enthusiasm waned as the PPOs still failed

38

STEPHEN FORTESCUE

to make headway, particularly when the emphasis shifted to controlling the ministries through central agencies. This might have been particularly so if Kosygin was in a position to affect matters. With the failure of the 1965 economic reform, he was by now far more likely to see matters in terms of Brezhnev's party apparatus versus his state apparatus. Increasing the powers of central agencies such as Gosplan would not be inimical to his interests; increasing the powers of ministry PPOs would. So, although not able to resist the granting of the right of control to ministry PPOs, he was able to resist, successfully, the new powers being fully used in practice. The late Christian Duevel saw matters in these terms. He focused on the failure of the Brezhnev faction, which wanted to get a greater party presence in ministries, to reduce the one-man management (edinonaachalie) powers of the minister by increasing the powers of the collegium and widening its membership to include the party secretary.61 This failure paralleled the failure to sustain a greater role for ministry PPOs. SINCE

1980

If it is true that there was a decline in the activity of ministry PPOs during the 1970s, toward the end of the decade a revival seems to have set in. This could well have been connected with the retirement of Kosygin and a decline in the performance of the industrial economy in the late 1970s. Brezhnev singled out ministry PPOs for special attention at the Twenty-sixth Party Congress,62 while a number of Central Committee decrees on ministries and their PPOs were issued at this time. The 1980 decree on the "state of control and verification of fulfillment" in the Ministry of Petrochemical Industry is very different from the 1974 decree on the same ministry. Although not featuring in the title of the decree, the party committee is given considerable critical attention for, among other things, its failure to use the right of control, while it is directed to take more interest in the apparatus' involvement in production work. 63 The party committee also attracted considerable attention in the rather "production-oriented" decrees on the Ministry of Oil and Gas Enterprise Construction and the Ministry of Electrotechnical Industry.64 Finally, the 1983 decree on the party committee of the Ministry of Railways also seemed to demand a more active "operational" role from the PPO. 65 Two other decrees appear to have been issued with ministry PPOs particularly in mind. A special section of the 1981 decree "On long-term improvement in control and verification of fulfillment in the light of the decisions of the Twenty-sixth Party Congress" was devoted to

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39

ministries and their PPOs. 66 The decree contained a demand that the regulations governing the operations of party control commissions be overhauled. This led to a decree specifically on the commissions, which was said to have increased the attention paid to ministry PPOs by local party organs and to have strengthened the role of their party control commissions.67 All these decrees produced a noticeable increase in press coverage of ministry PPOs. One particularly interesting article on the Ministry of Oil Industry followed the Central Committee decree on its sister ministry. It was reported that the PPO was conscientious in hearing reports from executives and had a well-thought-out and efficient "verification of fulfillment" system. But this led unfortunately only to a flood of paperwork, overloaded party committee meetings, and general "formalism."68 This could be interpreted as meaning that just going through the motions, no matter how conscientiously, would no longer be acceptable, and that genuine involvement in the work of the ministry would now be required. Certainly the signs were there that the PPO was now expected to play a very close and detailed role in the operations of the ministry, including involvement with production enterprises. Following criticisms of the PPO of the Ministry of Industrial Construction in Partiinaia zhizn' in 1979, a reply came that measures had been taken to strengthen the PPO's production role.69 The amount of technical detail the PPOs were prepared to go into is evident from a 1982 report on the work of a party commission of the Estonian Ministry of Light Industry, which concerned itself with the reasons for the breakdown in supplies of elastic tape by one factory. After the PPO of the ministry involved itself in the issue the factory was given the necessary assistance.70 The party committee of the Ministry of Electrotechnical Industry even heard reports (soobshcheniia) from the directors of enterprises on the readiness of their enterprises for transfer to the new economic mechanism, and investigated the amount of poor quality output being produced.71 As a possible indicator of a continuing or increasing operational role of the PPOs, two new PPO secretaries identified at this time appear to have technical backgrounds. The secretary of the PPO of the Belorussian Ministry of Local Industry had previously been head of the ministry's Technical Department, while G. Efimov, party secretary of the Ministry of Railways in 1980, is a candidate of technical sciences who had previously worked in the ministry's central research institute. In this period by far the greatest emphasis was on the role of the PPOs in ensuring the rapid implementation of the economic "reforms" that are so much a feature of the contemporary Soviet economy. There are

40

STEPHEN FORTESCUE

signs that many of these reforms had not been vigorously implemented by the ministries, either through simple bureaucratic inertia or because they seemed to threaten their control of their branch, whether by decentralizing administrative power or centralizing it at levels above the ministry. It was the task of the PPO to overcome these obstructions.72 What has been the success of the PPOs in these major areas of concern in recent years? In terms of the formal introduction of new economic measures, it is apparently difficult for ministries simply to put off forever the implementing of Central Committee and/or Council of Ministers decrees. Eventually ministries introduce the new structures, use the new indicators, set up the new funds and programs. Usually the process is drawn out, probably as a result of deliberate obstruction rather than innocent bureaucratic delays. The more difficult question is the role of the PPO in ensuring that the implementation of the reforms is according to the spirit intended. There is plenty of evidence that ministries, even if formally introducing the measures, demanded the PPOs do so in a way that ensured their lack of success. A good example is the program approach to scientific and technical planning. Ministries have little choice but to allow themselves to be included in the programs drawn up by GKNT and Gosplan. However, there are persistent complaints that the parts of the program for which they are responsible do not appear in their five-year and particularly yearly plans, or that if they do they are given decidedly second-class status. Leading ministries, in particular, are reluctant to put their resources into programs if they consider that most of the benefits will go to other branches.73 To the extent that control of the fulfillment of programs is one of the specific tasks of ministry PPOs, for which purpose many of them have special party control commissions, some of the blame for these difficulties must rest with them. Why is it that the PPOs have had so little success? Very often the problem is the inconsistency and halfheartedness of the measures they are supposed to implement. The PPOs cannot be held responsible for this. Nevertheless, when they are unable to prevent ministries deliberately obstructing or perverting specific measures, the PPOs must be held responsible to some degree. The reasons are not difficult to find and they are largely common to all classes of PPO. Firstly, they do not have the power to do the job required of them. In both formal and informal terms PPOs have always been inferior to the management of their institutions. This is a result of the system's long historical commitment to edinonachalie (one-man management) and the simple fact that for most of the time, when things are going smoothly, the PPOs' main task is to help, not hinder management. Even at times of

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41

emphasis on the operational role of PPOs, and in the case of ministry PPOs that can be said of most of the period since 1965, they are still clearly subordinate. It is hard to imagine that a ministry party secretary, even one of the late 1960s, could even come close to being the equal of the minister — that would be a truly revolutionary change, not just for the ministries but for the system as a whole. Their lack of power can affect both their ability to get the access needed to investigate the work of the ministry, and to do something about it if they do find that something is wrong. One of the major weapons of PPOs is supposed to be their right, indeed duty, to refer problems to higher party authorities. The tendencies of superior party organs, including the Central Committee apparatus, towards Sectionalism (vedomstvennost1) and "familyness" can mean that the ministry PPOs do not always get this support.74 All this assumes that the party secretary wants to take action. In fact, the pressures on the party secretary to "collude" with the minister are considerable. Since the end of the 1960s party secretaries have come, as far as we can tell, from within the central ministerial apparatus or from subordinate enterprises and gone on to posts in that apparatus after completing their terms. They are making their careers in the apparatus and so rely on the minister for that career. Is it any wonder therefore that many party secretaries operate always "with one eye on the minister,"75 or that we find such classic signs of "collusion" and "familyness" as the party committee of the Ministry of Industrial Construction being reluctant to give a glavk head a severe reprimand despite instructions from the Committee of Party Control to do so, or, in the same ministry, managers using party meetings to give operational orders?76 One can also read complaints of party meetings being prepared and dominated by the same group of party secretaries and top managers.77 A recent report admits ruefully that there is still a "psychological barrier" preventing ministry PPOs hearing reports from top-level managers,78 while one can only feel sorry for the hapless party secretary of the Ministry of Ferrous Metallurgy following the savaging of his minister by Gorbachev. He could answer no more than, "That isn't as easy as it sounds" to the journalist grilling him on why the necessary "organizational measures" were not taken against recalcitrant bureaucrats.79 The attempt to overcome these problems in the second half of the 1960s by having party secretaries from outside the apparatus apparently failed; since then the problem of collusion can only have become more serious. As with other categories of PPOs, ministry PPOs often seem to be in fact controlling themselves. The secretary, while perhaps working fulltime as a party secretary, nevertheless comes from the ministry bureaucracy, while those working with him on the party committee are

42

STEPHEN FORTESCUE

senior bureaucrats. Thus in 1984 the head of the party control commission of the Ukrainian Ministry of Food Industry for the implementation of the new economic mechanism was the deputy head of the Planning—Finance Administration of the ministry, that is, one of the key figures responsible for the implementation of the new procedures.80 In the Lithuanian Ministry of Local Industry, it is the head of the Technical Administration who heads the same commission.81 While this might be a case of giving someone with a genuine commitment to technological progress the opportunity to control the work of his less innovatory colleagues, it seems more likely that he is in fact investigating his own work and that of like-minded colleagues. One could summarize by saying that there seems to be no reason to regard the PPOs as in any way independent of their ministries or those ministries' sectional interests. Certainly the future of the PPOs depends very heavily on the fate of their ministries. CONCLUSION What is the immediate future of the ministries? Radical proposals to break the power of the ministries through "market"-style decentralization or sovnarkhoz-type regionalization of economic and technological management have not been accepted by any recent leader. Gorbachev, no less than his predecessors, sees the ministries as one of the main obstacles to further Soviet economic development, and he even seems prepared to do something about it. But his proposals for decentralization of power to enterprises on the one hand, and centralization to Gosplan, "super-ministries" and other central agencies on the other, all at the expense of the ministries and their industrial associations in the middle, are neither convincing nor a real attack on sectionalism. Indeed, they are yet another commitment to a centralized branch system. One suspects that perhaps more significant than these proposals is the ending of Chernenko's minor anti-supplanting campaign and the obvious relish with which some of Gorbachev's regional party secretaries talk of their dealings with ministries in a situation where all pretence has been abandoned ("ministries have and always will have their own interests which they try to foist on us, and our job is to make sure that they don't get away with it"). 82 Despite the apparent confidence of the party men, history suggests that the ministries are more likely to be the victors. If no fundamental attack is going to be made on the sectional branch system, the ministry PPOs will clearly still have a role to play. Certainly, all the indications are that Gorbachev attaches considerable importance to them. He declared at the June 1985 Central Committee conference on

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scientific-technical progress that "party committees of ministries have to some extent weakened their political sharpness in their understanding and resolution of the most important socio-economic problems, and have distanced themselves from the exercise of control, the right to which they are granted in the Party Rules." 83 This was followed in December 1985 by a Central Committee decree on the work of the party committee of the Ministry of Machine Tool Industry in the technology field.84 The decree was highly critical, and like other reports on ministry PPOs appearing in the press in recent months,85 suggests a major operational role is expected of the party organizations. Gorbachev reiterated at the Twenty-seventh Party Congress the importance attached to a reactivation of ministry PPOs, but indicated that as yet no significant improvement was evident.86 There are also signs of dissatisfaction with the "passive specialists of low competence" who in recent years have been elected ministry party secretaries, suggesting there could be a movement back to secretaries with a greater party background.87 The final conclusion can only be that Gorbachev should expect further disappointment. There are problems with the whole concept of PPO, particularly in ministries, that make them a poor solution to sectionalism. Finding the right balance between a PPO, and specifically a party secretary, with a sufficient degree of expertise to know what is going on and one who is not under the thumb of management, and at the same time keeping the institution manageable, is simply too difficult. Nevertheless, we can expect that as long as the authorities accept that sectionalism unavoidably accompanies sectional interests, and sectional interests are recognized as an unavoidable part of any complex system, the PPOs will continue to be given a role to play.

NOTES 1 The main discussion of interest theory took place in the early 1970s, principally in the journal Ekonomicheskie nauki, but the categories analyzed in the discussion and their practical implications are considered to be still valid. See my unpublished paper "A Soviet interest system," Department of Political Science, RSSS, Australian National University, Canberra, April 1974; R. J. Hill, Soviet Politics, Political Science and Reform

(Oxford: Martin Robertson, 1980), pp. 85-94. 2 T. H. Rigby, Lenin's Government: Sovnarkom, 11)17-11)22 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), p. 35. 3 E. Jones, "Committee Decisionmaking in the Soviet Union," World Politics, vol. xxxvi, no. 2 (January 1984), pp. 165-88. See also T. Gustafson, Reform in Soviet

44

4 5

6

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

16

17 18

19

20 21 22 23

24 25 26 27

STEPHEN FORTESCUE Politics: Lessons of Recent Policies on Land and Water (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 47. B. M. Lazarev, "Sotsial'nyc interesy i kompetentsiia organov upravleniia," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo 1 pravo, no. 10 (October 1971), p. 91. T. H. Rigby and R . F. Miller, Political and Administrative Aspects of the Scientific and Technical Revolution in the USSR. Occasional paper no. 11, Canberra: Department of Political Sciences, RSSS, Australian National University, 1976, pp. 17-18. B. Parrott, "Technology and the Soviet Polity: the problem of industrial innovation, 1928 to 1973," unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Columbia University, New York, 1976, pp. 496-510. "Rech' tovarishcha L. I. Brezhneva," Pravda, 30 September 1965, p. 2. "Partiinyc organizatsii ministerstva v novykh usloviiakh," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 24 (December 1966), pp. 25-36. "Rech' tovarishcha Brezhneva," Pravda, 30 September 1965, p. 2; N. Egorychev, "Razvivat' kommunisticheskoe tvorchestvo mass," Pravda, 4 October 1965, p. 2. "Partiinye organizatsii ministerstva . . .," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 24 (December 1966), p. 30. Ibid., p. 29. Partiinaia zhizn' Kazakhstana, no. 8 (August 1969), pp. 17-21; Kommunist Moldavii, no. 8 (August 1967), p. 58. "Ministerstvo i kadry," Pravda, 16 June 1967, p. 1. Ibid.; Kommunist Moldavii, no. 8 (August 1967), pp. 60-61. V. Shepetovskii and V. Pavlovskii, "Vospitanie rabotnikov apparata ministerstva," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 4 (February 1966), p. 44; N. Shikhanov, "Kommunisty apparata ministerstva," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 9 (May 1969), p. 52. "Partiinye organizatsii ministerstva . . .," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 24 (December 1966), pp. 29—30. The situation was exceptional in that normally a PPO has to have 1,000 members before it is eligible for raikom powers. See, for example, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1969), p. 46. V. Kozhemiako and N. Liaporov, "Komandirovka v ministerstvo," Pravda, 10 March 1969, p. 2; V. Legostaev, "Kogda kontrol' nedostatochno effektiven," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 22 (November 1978), p. 44; V. Legostaev, "Chetko videt' svoi zadachi," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 17 (September 1980), p. 49. "Partiinye organizatsii ministerstva . . .," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 24 (December 1966), p. 26; "Uluchshat' partiinyi kontrol' deiatel'nosti apparata," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 12 (June 1973). P- 18. See the 1970 decree on the party committee of the Ministry of Meat and Milk Industry. Spravochnik patiinogo rabotnika, vol. x (Moscow: Politizdat, 1970), p. 286. "Partiinye organizatsii ministerstva . . .," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 24 (December 1966), pp. 26-27. Ibid., p. 31. Partiinaia zhizn' Kazakhstana, no. 8 (August 1969), pp. 17-18; "Partiinye organizatsii ministerstva," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 24 (December 1966), p. 30; A. Ozherel'ev, "Partkom ministerstva v usloviiakh novoi sistemy khoziaistvovaniia," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 11 (June 1968), p. 19. Ozherel'ev, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 11 (June 1968), pp. 17-19. "Partiinyi komitet ministerstva," Kommunist, no. 16 (November 1966), pp. 57-58. "Partiinye organizatsii ministerstva . . .," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 24 (December 1966), p. 28. "Plody nauki - proizvodstvu," Pravda, 5 June 1967, p. 1; "Nauka i rost proizvodstva," Pravda, 7 September 1967, p. 1.

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28 Resheniia partii 1 pravitel'stva po khoziaistvennym voprasam, 1917-1967^, vol. vi, 1966-June 1968 (Moscow: Politizdat, 1968), pp. 363-65; Pravda, 23 October 1968, pp. 1-2. 29 V. Kozhemiako and N. Liaporov, Pravda, 10 March 1969, p. 2; "Institut na predpriiatii," Pravda, 9 January 1970, p. 1; "Nauchnye uchrezhdeniia otrasli," Pravda, 27 February 1970, p. 1. 30 A. Katz, The Politics of Economic Reform in the Soviet Union (New York: Praeger, 1972), p. 161; A. E. Lunev, ed., Organizatsiia raboty ministerstv v usloviiakh ekonomicheskoi reformy (Moscow: Nauka, 1972), p. 80. 31 "Effektivnost' nauki," Pravda, 3 November 1969, p. 1; "Institut na predpriiatii," Pravda, 9 January 1970, p. 1; "Nauchnye uchrezhdeniia otrasli," Pravda, 27 February 1970, p. 1. 32 Parrott, "Technology and the Soviet Polity," pp. 503-5. 33 B. Parrott, Politics and Technology in the Soviet Union (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1983), pp. 225-26. 34 Ibid., pp. 206-7. 35 Parrott, "Technology and the Soviet Polity," p. 516. 36 S. Fortescue, "Project Planning in Soviet R & D," Research Policy, vol. xiv (1985), p. 270. 37 Spravochnik partiinogo rabotnika, vol. x, pp. 283-88. 38 The right of control allows a PPO to do the following: (1) to hear reports from management when necessary; (2) to establish permanent and temporary commissions; (3) to study affairs on the spot and to be acquainted with relevant information; (4) to offer suggestions and recommendations, which must be taken into consideration by management, and to strive for their implementation. "XXIII s'ezd KPSS o povyshenii boesposobnosti pervychnykh partorganizatsii," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 19 (October 1966), p. 21; "Sovershenstvovat' partiinyi kontrol' deiatel'nosti administratsii," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 7 (April 1973), p. 5; V. Iagodkin, "Partiinaia zhizn' v nauchnykh kollektivakh," Kommunist, no. 11 (July 1972), p. 57. 39 KPSS v rezoliutsiiakh i resheniiakh s'ezdov, konferentsii iplenumov TsK, vol. 11: 1925—53 (Moscow: Politizdat), 1953, p. 917. 40 Rigby and Miller, Political and Administrative Aspects, p. 57; T. H. Rigby, "Politics in the Mono-organizational Society" in A. C. Janos, ed., Authoritarian Politics in Communist Europe. Uniformity and Diversity in One-party States (Berkeley: Institute of International Studies, University of California, 1976), pp. 53-54. 41 Partiinaia zhizn', no. 5 (March 1954), p. 6. 42 "Partorganizatsii sovetskikh uchrezhdenii," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 15 (August 1958), p. 18. 43 Z. Minaeva, "Kontrol' za rabotoi apparata ministerstva," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1978), p. 49; "Partiinaia organizatsiia sovctskogo uchrezhdeniia," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 10 (May 1978), p. 53; Iu. Ragaishis, "Kommunist v apparate ministerstva," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 17 (September 1979), p. 50; V. Il'iushenko, "Partiinyi kontrol' v ministerstve," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1981), p. 47; A. Gorbunov, "Osushchestvliaia kontrol' za rabotoi apparata," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 11 (June 1982), p. 59; G. Izrael'ian, "Kontrol' deiatel'nosti apparata uchrezhdenii," Kommunist Estonii, no. 7 (July 1982), p. 38; "Slovo k chitateliu," Sotsialisticheskaia industriia, 20 February 1973, p. 1; F. Kh. Moiseishin, Deistvennost'partiinogo kontrolia. Iz opyta raboty Kompartii Belorussii (Minsk: Belarus, 1982), pp. 114-115; Partiinyi kontrol' deiatel'nosti administratsii, 2nd edn (Moscow: Politizdat, 1983), pp. 288-89. 44 Z. Minaeva, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1978), p. 49; Legostacv, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 22 (November 1978), p. 46; Gorbunov, "Osushchestvliaia kontrol',"

46

45

46

47

48 49

50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

58 59 60

STEPHEN FORTESCUE Partiinaia zhizn', no. n (June 1982), p. 60; Moiseishin, Deistvennost' partiinogo kontrolia, pp. 293-94. Minaeva, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1978), p. 49; Il'iushenko, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1981), p. 48; Izrael'ian, Kommunist Estonii, no. 7 (July 1982), p. 40. See in particular Gorbunov, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 11 (June 1982), p. 58. Also N. Savost'anov, "Utverzhdenie novogo," Sotsialisticheskaia industriia, 27 October 1972, p. 2. PPOs had been particularly reminded of their responsibilities in the area of cost control in the 1969 decree on administrative costs. Resheniia partii i pravitel'stva po khoziaistvennym voprosam, vol. VII: 1968-69 (Moscow: Politizdat, 1970), pp. 546-49. Minaeva, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1978), pp. 49-50. Ibid., p. 51; Ragaishis, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 17 (September 1979), p. 51; Il'iushenko, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1981), p. 49; Gorbunov, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 11 (June 1982), p. 61; Partiinyi kontrol', p. 287. Kommunist Sovetskoi Latvii, no. 11 (November 1973), pp. 61-62. V. Kardamavichius, "Kontrol' partorganizatsii ministerstv za rabotoi apparata," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 4 (February 1983), pp. 34-35. Savost'ianov, Sotsialisticheskaia industriia, 27 October 1972, p. 2. Kommunist Sovetskoi Latvii, no. 11 (November 1973), p. 61. "Slovo k chitateliu," Sotsialisticheskaia industriia, 20 February 1973, p. r, Izrael'ian, Kommunist Estonii, no. 7 (July 1982), pp. 37-38. Minaeva, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1978), p. 49; Gorbunov, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 11 (June 1982), p. 60; Partiinyi kontrol', p. 293. Minaeva, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1978), p. 49. W. J. Conyngham, The Modernization of Soviet Industrial Management, Socio-economic development and the search for viability (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), p. 268. Resheniia partii i pravitel'stva po khoziaistvennym voprosam, vol. x, 1973-75 (Moscow: Politizdat, 1976), pp. 287-90. Ibid., pp. 286-87, 357-60. S. Fortescue, "Party Secretaries in Soviet Research Institutes," Politics (Australia), vol. XVIII, no. 1 (May 1983), p. 74.

61 62 63 64 65 66 67

68 69 70

C. Duevel, "Better 'Red' than Competent?," Radio Liberty, 24 February 1974. Material)' XXVI s'ezda KPSS (Moscow, 1981), p. 71. Partiinaia zhizn', no. 12 (June 1980), pp. 3-5. Resheniia partii i pravitel'stva po khoziaistvennym voprosam, vol. xiv (Moscow: Politizdat, 1983), pp. 365-69; Pravda, 2 June 1982, pp. 1-2. Partiinaia zhizn', no. 21 (November 1983), pp. 5-7. Partiinaia zhizn', no. 17 (September 1981), p. 9. Gorbunov, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 11 (June 1982), pp. 60-61;.T. Kiselev, "Povyshat' trebovatel'nost' k kadram, uchit' ikh luchshe ispol'zovat' proizvodstvennyi nauchno-tekhnicheskii potentsial," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 14 (July 1982), p. 23; Kardamavichius, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 4 (February 1983), p. 38. For the decree on control commissions, see Spravochnik partiinogo rabotnika, vol. xxm (Moscow: Politizdat, 1983), pp. 487-92. Legostaev, "Chetko videt'," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 17 (September 1980), pp. 49-52. Legostaev, "Kogda kontrol'," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 22 (November 1978), pp. 44-50, and no. 5 (March 1979), p. 71. Izrael'ian, Kommunist Estonii, no. 7 (July 1982), p. 40.

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71 A. Maiorets, "Distsiplina na vsekh urovniakh khoziaistvennaia - zalog uspeshnoi raboty otrasli," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1984), p. 28. 72 Il'iushenko, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (February 1981), pp. 46-48; Gorbunov, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 11 (June 1982), pp. 60-61. 73 Fortescue, Research Policy, p. 274. 74 For example, I. Gal'tsov, "Ne lcritikuite pri podchinennykh,"Parrimaidz/ii>M', no. 11 (June 1975), p. 71. 75 Gorbunov, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 11 (June 1982), p. 62. 76 Legostaev, "Kogda kontrol'," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 22 (November 1978), pp. 48-49. For a similar case, see A. Frolov, "Ot dolzhnosti otstranit'," Izvestiia, 20 June 1985, p. 2. 77 V. Legostaev, "Ne otstupat'ot namechennogo,"Parft'm
3 Soviet local party organs and the RAPOs* BARBARA ANN CHOTINER

The Food Program enacted by the May 1982 Plenum of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CC CPSU) provided for new state agencies in the countryside. Ranging hierarchically from the autonomous republic to the district level, they were mandated to harmonize the activities of kolkhozes (collective farms) and sovkhozes (state farms), processing and storage plants, as well as enterprises contributing to farm operations. With powers granted by the Plenum, the associations had the potential to assume many day-today tasks for coordinating rural producers' activities. The new administrative entities also had the tools to address problems and opportunities of a real agricultural development. Since the availability of food and related commodities has long been a significant public policy problem in the USSR, the 1982 structural reform is of interest as a strategy for increasing production efficacy. However, creation of the agro-industrial associations was also a departure for the Brezhnev regime, because it did not undertake any other large-scale organizational alterations of the direction of rural production. Implementation of the reorganization was continued by Brezhnev's successors, so that the structural change has enjoyed at least some measure of continuing support under several leaderships. Probably the most significant of the novel agencies approved in the Food Program was the raion agro-industrial association or RAPO. Traditionally, in Soviet agriculture, the district sub-division has been particularly significant from a management standpoint since raion authorities are closest to the actual execution of farming processes. Moreover, since at least the time of collectivization, the raikom has played the central role among bottom-echelon local political agencies in •The author would like to thank Timothy Colton, Blair Ruble and Ann B. Chotiner for helpful comments on an earlier draft of this essay.

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administering agriculture and enterprises contributing to it. The advent of yet another non-party organization charged with improving farm performance therefore might change the role of local CPSU committees and the nexus of political direction of the countryside. Assessment of structural dispositions outlined in the Food Program thus must focus upon relationships between RAPOs and raikoms. To understand the connections, this chapter will consider not only party supervision of district agro-industrial associations but also the composition and powers of the recently founded organs and the degree to which they successfully fulfilled their functions. Also to be examined are the substantive content of party efforts to intervene, in collaboration with the RAPOs, in agricultural production and the procedures by which local CPSU organs took a hand in farming problems. Evidence has been gathered from a non-exhaustive perusal of Soviet national journals and newspapers as well as books published in 1983 and 1984. Little attention is focused upon the last months of Brezhnev's term, when the first steps to implement the Food Program may have been complicated by awareness of an impending leadership transition. CHARACTERISTICS OF RAPOS AND DETERMINANTS OF THEIR RELATIONSHIPS WITH PARTY AGENCIES Those who drew up the Food Program and participants in the May Plenum could base their mandate to establish agro-industrial associations upon the performance, over several years, of prototypes in the RSFSR, Latvia, Ukraine, and Georgia.1 Following the May Plenum, establishment of RAPOs in individual districts became a concern of the local party committees. According to First Secretary I. Todua, the Zugdidskii raikom in Georgia "took under control the formation of the apparat of the RAPO, was concerned about making up its staff with qualified cadres."2 Another raikom secretary from Novosibirsk oblast wrote that at first his agency was "preoccupied in order to help guard" the Kochenevskii district agro-industrial association "from mistakes, to help [it] firmly to stand on its feet."3 Since new agro-industrial associations were still being brought into existence in 1984,4 some local party committees continued to have responsibility for organizational start-up and institution-building. Each RAPO comprises a group of kolkhozes and/or sovkhozes as well as other entities contributing to farm operations or processing agricultural commodities. For example, the Russko-Polianskii RAPO in Omsk oblast included ten state farms, local branches of Sel'khozkhimiia and Sel'khoztekhnika, a meat plant, a grain elevator, and additional

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organizations. The Zugdidskii agro-industrial association embraced "twenty-six kolkhozes, eleven sovkhozes, five interfarm formations, thirty-eight other enterprises of agriculture," and service and processing entities.6 Besides collective and state farms, other district agro-industrial associations included "poultry factories," a selection-experimental station, and peat-exploitation and preserving operations.7 Components of the RAPO each maintained much of their former degree of economic autonomy, legal rights, and existing subordination to a ministry or state committee.8 Each RAPO council, nevertheless, possesses coordinative, redistributive, and restructuring power. RAPO councils set planning indicators for farms and must be consulted about targets for other member organizations. The councils create specialized divisions within agro-industrial associations and eliminate duplication of functions. These governing organs of the RAPOs may also distribute and reapportion capital investment, financing, equipment, fertilizers and materials. The council can also use financial levers to regulate relations among the RAPO's constituents and to promote its overall development.9 Local CPSU agencies have organizational levers to help direct activities of agro-industrial associations, because the May 1982 Plenum required all raikoms and gorkoms with farming oversight to include an agricultural department. Such a sub-division in the Urenskii raikom in Gorki oblast employed three persons.10 In the Kochenevskii district, the chief of the raikom's farming sub-division belongs to the RAPO council; district party committee functionaries participate in council deliberations not only there but also in the Kherson oblast.11 Personnel interpenetration between RAPO councils and local party committees is exemplified by the membership of council chairmen in raikom and gorkom bureaus.12 These very bodies seem to have some input into the selection of council heads, but their positions may be in the nomenklaturas of obkoms and kraikoms.13

The presence of RAPO officials on party committees gives state personnel a forum for raising issues and expressing demands as well as a means of exerting some political influence. However, multiplication of formal contexts in which CPSU functionaries can scrutinize the work of RAPOs and talk with their leaders also increases party leverage: availability of information is augmented, and there are more sanctioned platforms from which to prescribe council actions. Also raised is the likelihood that CPSU and council officials may come to share some community of interests and goals for developing agriculture in their regions. In such cases, district agro-industrial associations might operate with little independence; and technical criteria might become secondary in decision-making.

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PARTY COMMITTEES AND RAPO PERFORMANCE Despite the involvement of party functionaries in activating the new agricultural agencies and CPSU officials' structural sources for affecting policy, complaints about the RAPOs have abounded. These criticisms focus upon the associations' ineffectiveness and were especially prevalent before the March 1984 All-Union Economic Meeting on the Problems of the Agro-Industrial Complex. About one year after the Food Program had been approved, CPSU General Secretary Iuri Andropov expressed concern that "the new organs in the countryside more rapidly gather strength."14 Ten months later, Konstantin Chernenko called for "decisive improvement of the activity of the agro-industrial associations."15 Party conferences in the Moscow, Kiev, and Kustanai oblasts, as well as in Tashkent, echoed similar themes.16 One Central Committee decree required the Glazunovskii raikom "to raise the role of the council of the RAPO, to create necessary conditions for broad and full utilization of the [council's] rights." 17 The Moldavian Communist Party also was required by the CC CPSU to upgrade the undertakings and authority of agro-industrial associations.18 Editorials in Kommunist and Sel'skaia zhizn' further indicated that the new agencies were not fully effective.19 Some commentary about the inadequate performance was more specific. This discussion suggested that RAPOs had at times been unsuccessful in promoting economic modernization and concentration as required by the CC CPSU and the USSR Council of Ministers in May 1982. A Pravda correspondent observed that not only RAPOs but even territorial agro-industrial organs seemed to be having difficulty in assuring the creation of common financial resources.20 The Moscow oblast council chairman asserted that the RAPOs paid insufficient attention to "the formation and use of funds"21 managed by the units. In the Chuvash ASSR, the Iadrinskii RAPO could not even disburse its common construction monies as its council saw fit. The council wanted to build a kindergarten, so that fifty mothers could assist with the livestock. However, the construction organization that was to carry out this project had "boiler structures" in the title list and invoked the priorities of the builders' ministry. To get its way, the RAPO council had to enlist the assistance of the republican agro-industrial association and the district party agency.22 Effective utilization of pooled funds by RAPO officers has the potential to correct deficiencies and resource disparities that exist because of the departmental structure of much Soviet economic administration and the preferred position of some institutional complexes vis-a-vis others. Difficulty in coordinating agencies with diverse bureaucratic subordi-

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nations was not only financial. The Kiev obkom bureau concluded in 1984 that "outside the field of view of the [Vasil'kovskii agro-industrial] association remain . . . the improvement of interbranch ties and the elimination of departmental disconnections."23 A Pravda editorial complained that within RAPOs [different enterprises of Sel'khozkhimiia hold back the tempos of liming the fields, of the application of fertilizers; Sel'khoztekhnikas do not ensure a high quality of services of equipment. Partners simply are trying to improve their economic indicators at the expense of kolkhozes, sovkhozes.24 Mikhail Gorbachev could only argue that a "majority" of agroindustrial associations were successful at harmonizing activities of component organizations.25 The execution of other developmental tasks was also problematic. A Central Committee decree expressed concern about the adequacy of the Glazunovskii RAPO's work in upgrading technology and/or organizational techniques.26 The Shchigrovskii raion party conference chided the RAPO for the slow pace of transferring workers to collective contracts.27 Creation of collective interests for groups of agricultural workers held the potential for engendering more flexibility in task performance and greater productivity. The Kiev obkom bureau noted that the Vasil'kovskii RAPO placed a low priority upon ameliorating backward farms.28 More than one speaker at the Kurgan obkom plenum mentioned the provincial association's planning deficiencies.29 These might have resulted from inadequate information from the district level or have given rise to inadequate guidance for coal-setting by RAPOs. Strictures about faulty policy implementation are a feature of Soviet politics. However, the broad spectrum of failures mentioned by commentators from scattered geographical locations and with different organizational affiliations does raise some questions about the efficacy of agro-industrial associations. This carping may have been sparked by opposition to the establishment of the structures. On the other hand, the exposure of raion and superior agro-industrial associations' inadequacies may also have been part of a campaign to gain support for increased organizational functions and authority. Some similar proposal may have been discussed at the March 1984 Kremlin conference on agro-industrial affairs. One report on the meeting stated that in a number oioblasts and raions, party and soviet workers, leaders and specialists of agro-industrial associations still have insufficiently deeply assimilated the recently accepted normative documents. The[se individuals] inaccurately conceive their rights and duties, that is why they act timidly, indecisively, wait

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by habit for "commands from above," complaining of an insufficiency of rights of the new organs of administration.30 Yet Gorbachev is reported as saying that the RAPOs possessed adequate powers.31 Perhaps as a result of national leadership decisions about the role of the agro-industrial associations, perhaps as a reflection of fact, criticisms about the RAPOs' passivity appeared in other accounts. The Nazranovskii RAPO in the Chechen-Ingush ASSR was portrayed as being uninvolved with practical details and/or procedures in the farms and enterprises.32 RAPOs in the Moscow, Irkutsk, and Kurgan oblasts were depicted as fabricating reports.33 Some commentaries suggested inappropriate party work as one reason for the new agricultural organizations' ineffectiveness. Raikoms in the Alma-Ata and Oshk oblasts were criticized for infringing upon the RAPOs' prerogatives.34 Instances of "substitution" by party organs in discharging functions of the agro-industrial associations were also discussed at the March 1984 Kremlin session.35 There, Gorbachev argued that "it is abnormal, when some raikoms . . . in evasion of [the RAPOs] decide current economic questions, interfere in business... in the direct competence of specialists and leaders of the farms."36 In contrast, some CPSU committees were adjudged complacent. Three raikoms in Poltana oblast were singled out for failure to enforce sufficiently high standards of performance by RAPO personnel.37 A compendium on party work under the Food Program seemed to warn that issuing even relatively detailed directives without engaging in follow-up activities constituted poor supervision.38 The potentially contradictory effect of complaints about supplanting (podmena) and lax supervision is reinforced by published examples of good administration. While making substantive decisions without involving state officials and/or technocrats was illegitimate for apparatchiks, other strategies for economic guidance were acceptable. These methods included rather detailed involvement with the constituent units whose activities the RAPO and its council are supposed to coordinate, supplementing the authority of RAPO officials' directives, and trying to alter the internal organizational dynamics of the associations. Such undertakings by party committees, of course, might very well undercut the development of any significant degree of autonomy by the area agro-industrial associations, and their institutionalization, to the degree that such a process means the growth of organizational cohesiveness.39 Moreover, the imprecise indications voiced in political fora and presented in press accounts provide CPSU

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functionaries with latitude in fashioning supervision relationships. This imprecision, too, increases the risk that some official actions may be judged outside the sphere of appropriate administrative behavior. Local party penetration below the RAPO level of administration into the associations' constituent units took a number of forms. Discussing the relationship between the Sokol'skii district party committee and RAPO, a Pravda correspondent concluded that officials of the former "know of just everything in the raion." She attributed their good information to the "raikom['s\ . . . close ties with sub-divisions of the RAPO." 40 Members of the Russko-Polianskii raikom staff seem to have been involved with sessions at which leaders of cost-accounting brigades in the RAPO assessed their work.41 A raikom in Kalinin oblast apparently dealt through the primary party organization with a state grain farm that had not been fulfilling its plan.42 In Kursk oblast, the Nemskii district party committee assembled a special task force of functionaries, government officials, trade unionists, economists, and other "specialists" to help ameliorate conditions on a sub-standard farm.43 First Secretary N. Iusnikov of the Russko-Polianskii raikom recommended joint control over the fulfillment of decisions by the party committee and the RAPO. This method had been used in his jurisdiction to assure sufficient production of "albuminous fodder." Iusnikov claimed the supervising practice did not constitute "substitution" but allowed qualified association personnel to supervise technical details, while the party committee's interest gave specialists' directives more clout.44 To improve management procedures of raion agro-industrial organs, party bodies took different steps. First Secretary Antonov wrote that his Pavlovskii raikom in Altai krai was "occupied daily with the improvement of the style of administration] . . . of the RAPO." 4 5 The Glazunovskii raikom tried to upgrade economic administrative practices in the agro-industrial association under its jurisdiction.46 More specifically, the Karlovskii raikom directed RAPO officials to place a higher priority on supervision of projects on-site; the Valimiersk party committee indicated that the district agro-industrial association council should hear more reports.47 THE SUBSTANCE OF LOCAL PARTY SUPERVISION Within the network of organizational interrelationships between CPSU organizations and RAPOs, of methods used for assuring party "leadership," and of expectations of officials from both agencies, what was the substantive content of the party committees' economic activity? In

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dealing with the RAPOs themselves - and not simply or exclusively with their component entities — what issues and problems did the party committees address? What kind of solutions did they offer? Answers to such queries help to clarify aspects of the CPSU agencies' role in the countryside. The information also begins to suggest some ways in which the new coordinating state organs might facilitate or set parameters for party agricultural supervision, interstitial policy making,48 and policy implementation. Apparatchiks argued that they were less involved with decisions about discrete, production-related questions. A district party secretary in the Kalmyk ASSR noted that prior to the establishment of a RAPO, his raikom had apportioned supplies but seemed to indicate that it no longer did so.49 I. Todua stated that "introduction of the new system of management has delivered the raikom . . . from the necessity continually to be occupied with coordination of the work of a great number of enterprises and organizations, the reconciliation of mutual claims."50 He declared, too, that operation of the district agro-industrial association freed his raikom from determining what commodities and equipment kolkhozes and sovkhozes were to receive. Nor was his party committee responsible for assuring completion of various farming operations.51 V. Korotaev from Novosibirsk explained that his CPSU agency no longer regularly settled conflicting claims by agricultural enterprises.52 Since the conflicts had been frequent, they may well have concerned task performance and resources. Despite such claims, the CPSU committees still intervened in some day-to-day matters: the Russko-Polianskii RAPO was ordered to find ways to obviate the disadvantages of harvesting in rainy weather. The Nemskii raikom and RAPO worked together to increase available amounts of fodder. The Zagorsk gorkom directed both the RAPO under its supervision and the local branch of Sel'khozkhimiia to investigate the application and storage of fertilizer.53 Functioning of the new coordinative organs therefore did not eliminate party direction of specific production operations or attention to the procurement of supplies, despite the decreasing relative importance of such types of intervention in the Khrushchev and Brezhnev eras.54 Local party organs also undertook responsibility for various current personnel questions. Raion committees helped to fill a number of positions in district agro-industrial associations and their subordinate entities. The Karlovskii raikom in Poltava oblast nominated a collective farm chairman to preside over the RAPO council, and he was appointed.55 The First Secretary of the Kochenevskii raikom mentions his agency's efforts to improve the qualifications of "cadres" of the

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RAPO council and then immediately, describing background, names the new council executive.56 This juxtaposition as well as the Karlovskii party committee's suggestion seem to indicate that district CPSU bodies do have some role in selecting agro-industrial association chairmen. The job of kolkhoz chairman also seems to be in the nomenklatura of raion party organs: two articles about CPSU bodies' relations with RAPOs stated that raikoms "recommended" individuals to head the farms and that these persons were chosen.57 Party organs also became involved with the placement of lower-level cadres. A "working group" of the Nemskii raikom, led by the second secretary and including other staff members, proposed more effective assignments for collective farm employees.58 Functionaries from the Stavropol raikom in Kuibyshev oblast tried to ascertain those best suited for positions within the new structures sanctioned by the CPSU May Plenum. To this end, CPSU functionaries interviewed "chairmen of kolkhozes, directors of sovkhozes, and chief specialists, cadres of the middle link" about their qualifications, understanding of job requirements under the Food Program, and willingness to continue in existing positions.59 Local party committees also certified agricultural-sector employee qualifications and recruited personnel. A Latvian raikom gave impetus to the biennial "recertification of leaders and specialists of the middle link" working in the sovkhozes, kolkhozes, and other RAPO agencies. After the employees' qualifications were determined, their salaries were reset.60 A program of re-checking qualifications of individuals working within the RAPO was undertaken by the Novoselovskii raikom in Krasnoiarskferai'.61Under the direction of the Pskov obkom, a task force attempted to interest more technically trained young people to take agricultural jobs. 62 In addition to tackling relatively immediate problems and opportunities, local CPSU agencies also undertook developmental projects. These focused on the improvement of production organization on farms and in enterprises contributing to agricultural output; upgrading of techniques and equipment used as well as of commodities sold; and area planning.63 Such efforts to improve the capacity of the rural sector for more efficient operations that could meet growing expectations about the quantity, quality, and assortment of agricultural goods had been a feature of party work under Khrushchev and Brezhnev.64 Thus, apparatchiks' involvement with RAPOs continued long-term priorities. Party work with the RAPOs for altering relationships among rural workers and/or officials as well as "regular patterns of farming" and of support or processing activities65 reflected several concerns. One was

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up-grading employees' qualifications. With more jobs performed by qualified persons, supervision would have to be less detailed and workers could take more initiative. The Nemskii raikom and RAPO council tried to ensure the staffing of middle-level positions with technically trained individuals. More than 70 per cent of the time, the two agencies succeeded.66 The Klimovsk raikom in Briansk oblast initiated an effort to send workers who had already proved themselves in field operations and/or livestock-raising for advanced technical education.67 A number of CPSU organs became interested in utilizing collective contracts on kolkhozes and sovkhozes. District party committees in Kazakhstan and the Altai krai indicated to agro-industrial associations that joint labor obligations should be assumed by brigades.68 Raion committees in Kirghizia and in the Kalinin and Gorki oblasts were described as providing political reinforcement for or supervision (through the verification process) over the transfer to new "costaccounting" brigades, in which workers were more dependent upon one another than in the past.69 The Russko-Polianskii CPSU committee examined with the RAPO council the size of a production team which should assume shared responsibilities in return for payment. Consideration yielded the alternative of "tractor-field-crop-cost-accounting brigades" with assigned acreage, commodities to be grown, and equipment.70 The agricultural department of the Volosovskii raikom in Leningrad examined the results after three years of treating an entire farm staff as a single work group and popularized the experience.71 Local bodies were also involved in changing the division of labor between component organizations of the agro-industrial associations. This activity had been specifically mandated by the joint Central Committee-Council of Ministers decree put into effect by the May 1982 Plenum.72 The Pavlovskii raikom was consulted about and the RusskoPolianskii raikom gave its approval to the centralization of machinery maintenance, and the former agency may have helped to amalgamate a broader range of equipment-related services.73 The Glazunovskii district party Plenum directed that "the economic leaders of the kolkhozes and sovkhozes, the council of the RAPO . . . bring order into the utilization of the machine-tractor park." 74 Because of new ways of using cultivating equipment, the structure of interactions among the collective and state farms might change. National emphasis on increasing the availability of livestock products seems to have impelled party committees to take a hand in reorganizing fodder-raising and preparation within district agro-industrial associations. In one case, a "commission" of party functionaries and RAPO technical personnel looked into operations of a state farm with a separate

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forage production section. A similar form of organization was then indicated by the district party committee as appropriate for other farms of the association.75 In Latvia, CPSU bureaucrats, party committee members, academic experts, and RAPO technicians studied strategies for meeting an increased demand for livestock feed. The task force submitted a series of recommendations, which the Valimierskii raikom seems to have discussed. Among the suggestions were not only the creation of relatively autonomous forage-making sub-divisions on the kolkhozes and sovkhozes but also the establishment of a hydrolizate plant "on cooperative principles" in the Valimierskii RAPO. 76 The Lenin raikom in Vilna tried to order relationships between enterprises under itsjurisdiction and that of the RAPOs by establishing a patronage council composed of party functionaries, economic administrators, and "specialists." Using the agricultural departments of rural district CPSU committees as intermediaries, the patronage council began to cooperate with RAPO councils. After the patrons' group met with the chairman of the Shal'chininkskii RAPO in 1983, five and oneyear assistance contracts were concluded.77 The advance specification of aid to be rendered allowed kolkhozes and sovkhozes in the association and urban enterprises to plan ahead. Encouraging technical progress in agriculture, local CPSU agencies undertook numerous projects. Many popularized novel methods of production. Other official actions compelled utilization of new techniques and tools, or the output of new products. Although a party secretary from Novosibirsk oblast claimed that the RAPO in his area freed the party committee from involvement in technical details,78 other CPSU organs continued to be immersed in specifics of upgrading rural production. Seminars on and visits to farms using more advanced cultivation practices helped to diffuse new skills and knowledge. The Azramasskii gorkom and RAPO in Gorkii oblast sponsored such trips for kolkhoz and sovkhoz heads, "specialists, brigadiers, [and] link-leaders."79 In Leningrad oblast, the Lomonosov raikom and Rapo coordinated a series of sessions at which scientists from the Northern Scientific Research Institute of Hydrotechnology and Melioration and other experts acquainted technicians and middle-level producers with the best ways to cultivate improved land.80 Disturbed that the "spindleless" method of ploughing had not been widely adopted in their area, functionaries of the Iashaltinskii raikom and government officials journeyed to other provinces to observe the method in use. Party and state personnel later instigated spindleless soil preparation in one collective farm. When the new technique was successfully used there, the district CPSU committee

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participated in holding a meeting, apparently to disseminate the results. Finally, the raikom prompted the Iashaltinskii RAPO to found a "school of advanced experience" for machine operators to learn the preferred way of ploughing.81 Party agencies seem to have made workers' suggestions for upgrading practices incumbent upon collective and state farms. In the Nazranovskii district, three agricultural machine operators proposed planting corn seeds that would provide greater harvests and acquiring equipment to gather potatoes and to remove moisture from grain. The raikom and RAPO considered these requests, and afterwards "concrete measures and dates were outlined."82 Collective farmers in the Slobodzeiskii raion in Moldavia investigated techniques for increasing corn yields and prescribed steps to ensure the use of up-to-date cultivating practices. The raikom and the district agro-industrial association approved this course of action.83 The assimilation of technical advances by production units was a party concern, too. Agorkom in Moscow oblast held a plenum to consider necessary measures for utilizing novel methods in kolkhozes, sovkhozes and auxiliary enterprises. In preparation, party committee members with farming-related jobs and officials of the committee's agriculture department traveled through all farms and analyzed their operations. Scientists and experts from the RAPO which was under gorkom jurisdiction also helped to frame the group's report.84 The RusskoPolianskii district party agency was involved in the elaboration and implementation of long-term plans for incorporating innovations into the operations of sovkhozes and other production organizations of the RAPO. Association council members as well as "scholars, specialists, and the party and trade-union activists" drew up an individual program for each RAPO component. The district party committee ratified the plans and verified their fulfillment on a day-to-day basis!85 Local party bodies were also involved in planning for regional development. Concern over increasing the capacity for more effective production had various substantive as well as procedural objects. Thus, the Pavlovskii raikom was described as placing more emphasis upon improving the "planning—economic services" of the RAPO and its constituent organizations.86 In Penza oblast, the Shemysheiskii raikom was faced with finding a use for increased vegetable crops. The raikom bureau instructed the RAPO council to deal with the over-supply and accepted some of its proposals.87 In contrast, two party committees strove to find or create new production "reserves." To increase the amount of land under irrigation, the Lomonosov raikom looked into exploiting new water sources. Meanwhile, the district agro-industrial

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association discussed how to reallocate capital so that irrigation could be expanded.88 The Valimierskii raikom, district executive committee, and RAPO council developed a scheme for concentrating upon livestock and vegetables. Discussed at a meeting of the CPSU committee, the plan also dealt with apiculture, ensuring seed-stocks, and making "vegetable preserves."89 Party organs' involvement in a broad range of functions aimed at promoting more effective production and greater economic development does not suggest that the existence of agro-industrial associations has fundamentally curtailed the CPSU's role in the agricultural sector. Moreover, the ways in which party committees worked with the RAPOs to achieve these ends casts doubt upon the autonomy of the recently established state agencies: local party committees both indicated problems and solutions as well as ensured that decisions were realized practically. Additionally, CPSU organs participated in developing policies and reinforced the authority of RAPO councils and officials. This presence of party bodies in every step of the decision process - as well as the broad range of issue areas in which CPSU committees intervened — certainly suggests that the RAPOs had not developed by 1984 into independent, effective organs of administration. There do seem to be grounds for the complaints about the agro-industrial organizations - and perhaps also about over-zealous party supervision. Yet the intrusiveness of CPSU agencies throughout the RAPO policy-making cycle and the broad range of party concerns point to the continuing centrality of local party organs, especially the raikoms, in the agricultural sphere. Moreover, the nature of local party interference as well as the organizational interpenetration of CPSU agencies and the RAPOs raises other issues: does the functioning of agro-industrial associations simply facilitate and enhance CPSU administration of farming and related activities? If the associations continue to exist, might their operations thrust local party organs into deeper economic involvement in the countryside? Finally, since Gorbachev was the Central Committee Secretary in charge of agriculture until Iuri Andropov's death, might the record of the RAPOs caution against excessive optimism about the nature and efficacy of economic reform in the USSR? NOTES 1 K. M. Shchegolcv, L. A. Bidinskaia, V. I. Mantscv, V. L. Poletskii, N. V. Ruban, P. M. Snurnikov, eds, Leninskie printsipy i melody partiinogo rukovodstva, 2nd edn

(Moscow: 1983), p. 210.

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2 I. Todua, "Razvivat' i pooshchriat' initsiativu i predpriimchivost'," Partiinaia rabota na sele: Sel'skie partiinye organizatsii v bor'be za osushchestvlenie prodovol'stvennoi programmy SSSR, comp. M.I. Khaldeev and G. I. Krivoskcin (Moscow: 1984), p. 54. 3 G. Korotaev, "Vsemi zven'iami," Sel'skaia zhizn, 22 March 1984, p. 2. 4 "Dobivat'sia bol'shego," Sel'skaia zhizn', 31 January 1984, p. 1; "V Politburo TsK KPSS," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 16 (1984), p. 3. 5 N. Iusnikov, "Raikom partii i R A P O , " Partiinaia zhizn', no. 4 (1984), p. 43; N. Iusnikov, "S pozitsii intcnsifikatsii proizvodstva," Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 58. 6 Todua, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 53. 7 A. Antonov, "Vzaimodcistvic partncrov po RAPO povyshaet, rezul'tativnost' khoziaistvovaniia," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 6 (1984), p. 59; K. Rutenberg, "Myslit' i rabotat' po-novomy," Kommunist, no. 4 (1983), p. 19; A. I. Il'in, "Agropromyshlennyi komplcks: natsclennost' na vysokii rczul'tat," Sovershenstvovat' praktiku partiinogo nikovodstva: Iz opyta Leningradskoi partiinoi organizatsii, comp. V. V. Mikhailov and A. N. Sushkov (Leningrad: 1984), p. 154. 8 Ibid., pp. 153-54; TsK KPSS i Soviet Ministrov SSSR, "Ob uluchshenii upravleniia sel'skim khoziaistvom i drugimi otrasliami agropromyshlennogo kompleksa," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 12 (1982), pp. 71-72. 9 Ibid. 10 Khaldeev and Krivoshein, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 12; V. Filippov, "Sovershenstvovanie metoda khoziaistvovaniia - glavnaia nasha zabota, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 14. 11 G. Korotaev, Sel'skaia zhizn, p. 2; A. N. Girenko, "Agropromyshlennym ob'edincniiam-zaboty i vnimanic," Ekonomicheskaiagazeta, no. 20 (May 1984), p. 6. 12 N. Kopancv, Iu. Savin, N. Skorolupov, "Ekonomicheskomu potentsialu - vysokuiu otdachu: Vsesoiuznoe ekonomicheskoe soveshchanie po problemam agropromyshlennogo kompleksa," Sel'skaia zhizn', 28 March 1984, p. 2. 13 Girenko, Ekonomicheskaia gazeta, no. 20 (May 1984), p. 6. 14 "Rcch' tovarishcha Iu. V. Andropova na soveshchanii pcrvykh sckretarei TsK kompartii soiuznykh respubiik, kraikomov i obkomov partii 18 aprclia 1983 goda," Kommunist, no. 7 (May 1983), p. 5. 15 "Vystuplenie tovarishcha K. U. Chernenko," Sel'skaia zhizn', 27 March 1984, p. 1. 16 V. Somov, "Potentsial sela i ego otdacha: S plenuma Moskovskogo obkoma KPSS," Pravda, 9 September 1984, p. 2; V. Rodionov, "Vpered bol'shie zadachi," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 4 (1984), p. 30; I. Puzyrev and A. Fedorov, "Povyshat' otdachu zemli," Sel'skaia zhizn', 18 January 1984, p. 2; N. Gladkov and Iu. Mukimov, "Proverka opytom," Pravda, 30 January 1984, p. 2. 17 "Tsentral'nyi Komitct KPSS prinial postanovlcnic 'O rabotc Glazunovskogo raikoma partii Orlovskoi oblasti po vypolncniiu reshenii maiskogo (1982 g.) Plenuma TsK KPSS'," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 4 (1984), p. 15. 18 " O rabote TsK Kompartii Moldavii po sovershenstvovaniiu stilia i metodov dciatcl'nosti partiinykh organizatsii v svete reshenii noiabr'skogo (1982) goda Plenuma TsK KPSS," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 1 (1984), pp. 22, 24. 19 "Na vazhneishikh uchastkakh nashci raboty," Kommunist, no. 11 (July 1963), p. 11; "Kursom intcnsifikatsii," Sel'skaia zhizn', 29 March 1984, p. 1. 20 K. Akscnov, "Bogata li 'Kopilka'?," Pravda, 13 August 1984, p. 2. 21 Somov, Pravda, 9 September 1984, p. 1. 22 G. Savrilov, " R A P O i stroika: Sotsial'noc razvitic sela," Sel'skaia zhizn', 27 January 1984, p. 2.

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23 Rodionov, Partiinaia zhizn', p. 30. 24 "Osennii kompleks v pole," Pravda, 11 September 1984, p. 1. 25 "Reservy agrarnoi ekonomiki: Vsesoiuznoe ekonomicheskoe soveshchanie po problemam agropromyshlennogo kompleksa," Sel'skaia zhizn', 27 March 1984, p. 2.

26 The decree mentioned "questions of the improvement of economic work, of the assimilation of forms and methods of the conduct of production in conditions of economic accountability." "Tsentral'nyi komitet KPSS," Partiinaia zhizn', p. 15. 27 V. Burchik, "Stil' raboty raikoma - na uroven' novykh zadach," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (1984), p. 47. 28 Rodionov, Partiinaia zhizn', no. 4 (1984), p. 30. 29 V. Stakheev, "Nadezhnym putem intensifikatsii: Plenum Kurganskogo obkoma KPSS," Sel'skaia zhizn', 26 February 1984, p. 3. 30 Kopancv, Savin and Skorolupov, Sel'skaia zhizn', p. 2. 31 "Reservy agrarnoi ekonomiki," Selskaia zhizn', p. 2. 32 V. Artemcnko, "Posle konferentsii," Pravda, 26 December 1983, p. 2. 33 Somov, Pravda, 9 September 1984, p. 1; N. Babintsev, "Ne podmeniat' po melocham," Sel'skaia zhizn', 3 August 1984, p. 2; Stakheev, Sel'skaia zhizn', 26 February 1984, p. 3. 34 "Sovcrshenstvovat' dciatel'nost' raikoma partii," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 21 (1984), p. 70; I. Molokanov, "Idti dal'she, dobivat'sia bol'shego," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 3 (1984), p. 61; Stakheev, Sel'skaia zhizn', p. 3. 35 "Reservy agrarnoi ekonomiki," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 8 (1984), p. 26. 36 "Reservy agrarnoi ekonomiki: Vsesoiuznoe ekonomicheskoe soveshchanie," Sel'skaia zhizn', 25 January 1984, p. 2. 37 I. Gorlandov and N. Demikhovskii, "Bez skidok na trudnosti," Sel'skaia zhizn', 25 January 1984, p. 2. 38 Khaldeev and Krivoshein, Partiinaia rabota na sele, pp. 7-8. 39 Samuel Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968), pp. 20-22. 40 A. Bystrova, "Sokol'skoe pole," Pravda, 6 October 1982, p. 3. 41 Iusnikov, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 62. 42 V. Denisov, "Vnimanie otstaiushchim khoziaistram," Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 121. 43 D. Maksimov, "Povyshat' kompetentnost' kadrov," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 22 (1984), P- 3444 Iusnikov, Partiinaia zhizn', p. 44. See also his contribution in Partiinaia rabota na sele, P- 5945 Antonov, Partiinaia zhizn', p. 62. 46 Khaldeev and Krivoshein, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 6. 47 N. Slipchenko, "Kompetentnost' rabotnikov scl'skokhoziaistvennogo proizvodstva," Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 138; R. Matisa, "Raikom partii i R A P O , " Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 28. 48 The classic discussion of this function was presented by Jerry F. Hough, The Soviet Prefects: The Local Party Organs in Industrial Decision-making (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1969). 49 V. Panchenko, "Stil' raboty - tvorcheskii," Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 69. 50 Todua, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 54. 51 Ibid. 52 Korotaev, Sel'skaia zhizn', p. 2.

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53 Iusnikov, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 64; Maksimov, Partiinaia zhizn', p. 35; V. Mironov, "Shtoby tuki ne propali," Sel'skaia zhizn', 14 August 1984, p. 2. 54 See Barbara Ann Chotiner, Khrushchev's Party Reform: Coalition-Building and Institutional Innovation (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1984); also, "The Role of the Apparatchiks in Agriculture Since Stalin," paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies, 10-13 October 1979. 55 Slipchenko, Partiinaia rabota na sele, pp. 135-36. 56 Korotaev, Sel'skaia zhizn', p. 2. 57 V. Filippov, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 14; Matisa, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 22. 58 Maksimov, Partiinaia zhizn', pp. 34-35. 59 A. Morozov, "Proveriaem rukovoditelei na prakticheskikh delakh," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 7 (1984), pp. 45-46. 60 Matisa, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 22. 61 K. Dranishnikov, "Ne podmeniaia khoziaistvennikov," Sel'skaia zhizn', 29 March 1984, p. 2. 62 A. Riabakov, "Apparat partiinogo komiteta: Stil' i metody raboty," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 19 (1984), p. 39. 63 The author has previously suggested these categories of CPSU economic involvement - along with supplies procurement and the specification of particular production activities - in Chotiner, Khrushchev's Party Reform, p. 20. 64 Ibid., pp. 29-32, 62-64, 221-36; also Chotiner, "The Role of the Apparatchiks." 65 Chotiner, Khrushchev's Party Reform, p. 20. 66 Maksimov, Partiinaia zhizn', pp. 33—34. 67 Ie. Sizenko, "Rukovodit' - znachit' i vospityvat', Kommunist, no. 3 (1983), p. 42. 68 T. Musraliev, "Sel'skokhoziaistvennyi otdel raikoma parch," Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 100; A. Antonov, "Pravil'noe vzaimodeistvie partnerov - put'," Partiinaia rabota na sele, pp. 32-33. 69 I. Masaulov, "Bez dublirovaniia," Sel'skaia zhizn', 28 August 1984, p. 2; Denisov, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 120; M. Bakalin, "Za krutoi povorot k intensivnomu vedeniiu sel'skogo khoziaiastva," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 11 (1984), p. 52. 70 Iusnikov, Partiinaia zhizn', p. 45. 71 I. I. Nikulin, "Realizatsiia agrarnoi politiki KPSS na sovremennom etape," Sovershenstvovat' praktiku partiinogo rukovodstva, p. 153. 72 TsK KPSS i Sovet ministrov SSSR, "Ob uluchshenii upravleniia sel'skim khoziaistvom i drugimi otrasliami agropromyshlennogo komplcksa," Partiinaia zhizn', pp. 71-72. 73 Antonov, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 30; Iusnikov, Partiinaia zhizn', p. 46. 74 S. Korobkov, "Nasushchnye voprosy deiatel'nosti sel'skogo raikoma partii," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 7 (1984), p. 33. 75 Iusnikov, Partiinaia zhizn', p. 44. 76 Matisa, Partiinaia rabota na sele, pp. 24-25. 77 G. Shal'tenene, "Shefskim sviaziam," Partiinaia rabota na sele, pp. 152-53. 78 Korotaev, Sel'skaia zhizn', p. 2. 79 Bakalin, Partiinaia zhizn', pp. 50-51. 80 N. Moskovkin, "V tesnom sodruzhestve s naukoi," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 23 (1984), P- 3481 Panchenko, Partiinaia rabota na sele, p. 71-72.

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82 Artcmcnko, Pravda, 26 December 1983, p. 2. 83 N . Marfin, "Plantatsii - industrial'nye," Sel'skaia zhizn', 25 March 1984, p. 1. 84 V. Pokhvoshchev, " O soveshchaniiakh i zasedaniiakh," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 10 (1984), p. 4485 Iusnikov, Partiinaia rabota na sele, pp. 58-59; Iusnikov, Partiinaia zhizn', p . 44. 86 Antonov, Partiinaia zhizn', p. 62. 87 A. Nikolashin, "Dcrzhat' sovet s liud'mi truda," Partiinaia zhizn', no. 10 (1984), p. 3488 Moskovkin, Partiinaia zhizn', p. 35. 89 Matisa, Partiinaia rabota na sele, pp. 23-24.

PART 2

Socialization and political discourse

4 Political socialization in the USSR: April 1979 and after STEPHEN W H I T E

Since at least the revolution the Soviet system has been distinctive in the attention it has devoted to the ideological upbringing of its citizens. As presently constituted, the party's ideological work embraces a variety of forms which are intended, taken together, to reach all members of the society from childhood to late adult years and to inculcate in them the basis of a "communist world outlook." Among the most important of such forms, are first of all, mass agitation and propaganda work, which is conducted by agitators, political informants and lecturers in workplaces and residential areas throughout the USSR. A further contribution is made by the 3.1 million members of the "Znanie" (Knowledge) Society, who delivered 25.1 million lectures on party-political as well as scientific and other themes in 1983 to a total audience in excess of 1.1 billion.1 Secondly, there is an elaborate system of political and economic study, intended particularly for party members, in which over 60 million adults were enrolled in 1984-85.2 In the educational system itself both the curriculum and the youth organizations based around the school are intended to play a role in developing a communist consciousness, with the Komsomol, in particular, sponsoring a system of formal political instruction for its 42 million members headed by a Higher Komsomol School based in Moscow.3 The mass media have an additional part to play in extending the party's interpretation of current domestic and international developments to Soviet citizens of all ages. "Visual propaganda" such as posters, slogans and heroic art forms a further part of the system, together with the creative arts, such as film, literature and painting, which are expected to dwell in an accessible and constructive manner upon the achievements and current tasks of socialist construction. Taken together, this is a system of political socialization which is probably without a precedent anywhere in the world. The present organization and recent development of these forms of party ideological work are reasonably easy to establish. Much more 67

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complicated is the question of the degree of success that such measures have enjoyed over the whole post-revolutionary period. It has been argued by some Western scholars, for instance, that "Soviet citizenship training has succeeded and [that] the main tenets of the ideology have been internalized"; or similarly, that the Soviet Union is probably the most "dramatically successful case of planned political cultural change" that has yet occurred.4 Others, however, have been much more skeptical; and certainly the Soviet authorities themselves seem to have been seriously concerned in recent years about both the performance and the rationale of the elaborate system of socialization they have established. A series of resolutions on ideological work in the late 1970s identified a variety of shortcomings in the party's work in this area, and, particularly in a resolution of April 1979 on the "further improvement of ideological, political-upbringing work," put forward a series of measures designed to bring about a radical improvement. In this chapter, first of all, some of the shortcomings in ideological work that Soviet scholars have themselves identified will be considered; secondly, the attempts that have been made to respond to them in recent resolutions; and thirdly, the limited degree of success that such measures appear to have had. The persistence of such shortcomings, despite an energetic attempt to eliminate them, in turn suggests some conclusions about the "limits to reform" that appear to attend the party's work in ideology as in other spheres of its activity. IDEOLOGICAL WORK IN THE USSR: ACHIEVEMENTS AND SHORTCOMINGS Serious examination of the effectiveness of Soviet ideological work began in the mid-1960s, at about the same time that sociology was reestablishing itself as a legitimate academic discipline. Since that time fairly active sociological groups or commissions, normally on an unpaid basis, have come into existence under the auspices of the Moscow, Leningrad, Cheliabinsk, Tomsk, Sverdlovsk, Estonian, Latvian and other party organizations. The party organization in the Georgian republic is perhaps the most notable for the range and variety of sociological research it has commissioned.5 Sociological research into various aspects of party work has also been conducted at a number of other institutions, among them the Academy of Social Sciences attached to the Central Committee of the CPSU, whose Department of Ideological Work has been sponsoring investigations into the system of political and economic education and into mass-agitational work since about the mid-1970s. Important work has also been carried out by the

Political socialization

69

Section for Sociological Work of the Institute of Sociology of the USSR Academy of Sciences, and by other bodies.6 Taken individually, much of this work may be open to grave and obvious objections. The samples may be unduly small, the formulation of the questions may leave a lot to be desired, the representative nature of the locality chosen for research may be unclear, and even elementary arithmetical errors and inconsistencies are not known. When different investigations point to more or less the same conclusion, however, it seems not unreasonable to grant such findings at least a reasonable measure of validity. Studies of this kind, for the most part, have had a sobering tale to tell. One of the findings that has recurred most frequently, for instance, has been that there is less than universal interest in attending mass-agitational lectures or political education classes (the two forms of ideological work to which I shall devote particular attention in this paper). One investigation of this kind was conducted among a group of 1,700 who attended "Znanie" Society lectures in Tbilisi. Some 80 per cent reported that they attended such lectures voluntarily; 6 per cent, however, attended "on the orders of the administration," and a further 14 per cent attended for other reasons. In some workplaces the proportion of those who wished to attend such lectures was no more than 40 per cent, as compared with 47 per cent who did not wish to do so.7 Political education classes appear to be attended more willingly, in part because they are directed towards a smaller and largely self-selected group of activists. An investigation in the Gorky region, for instance, found that 25.2 per cent of those who attended such classes found them interesting, and 26.8 per cent found them useful. Some 33.9 per cent, however, reported they attended because they were compelled to do so, and 13.8 per cent declined to comment.8 A rather earlier study found that as many as 50.8 per cent of those who attended political education classes in Moscow, Chita and Polotsk reported that they did so "reluctantly" (bez zhelaniia); and in perhaps the most remarkable finding of all, some 75 per cent of those polled at a Leningrad factory reported that they attended their political education classes because of party or administrative pressure (a further 5 per cent attended because they simply "did not wish to offend the lecturer").9 A related series of investigations has been conducted into the preferences that those who attend lectures and political education classes have for the different subjects with which they deal. One of the most consistent findings is that contemporary topics are more popular than theoretical ones, that foreign topics are more popular than domestic ones, and that socio-cultural topics are more popular than philosophical or economic ones. A study carried out in Taganrog, for instance, found

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that 61 per cent of those who were polled expressed most interest in current affairs, and that 36 per cent were attracted equally by current affairs and theory, but that only 1 per cent preferred more lectures of a purely theoretical character. The subjects in which most interest was expressed were international affairs, current national and local affairs (96, 95 and 94 per cent respectively of all respondents); the history of the CPSU attracted just 50 per cent of respondents, and Marxist-Leninist philosophy, political economy and scientific communism attracted no more than 37-40 per cent of all respondents (or just 17-22 per cent of those who did not normally attend such lectures).10 In an analogous survey in Cheliabinsk about 42 per cent of those polled expressed a preference for more lectures on international affairs, as compared with only 1.3 per cent who wanted more lectures on Marxist—Leninist philosophy and 1.8 per cent who wanted more lectures on scientific communism.11 Many other surveys have reported similar findings, and there appears to be little variation by education, occupation, sex, nationality or age group. Perhaps not surprisingly, the content of political lectures and education classes has also been giving rise to concern. Investigations at a number of industrial enterprises in Moscow, for instance, found that many respondents identified a "whole series of shortcomings" in the political information sessions they attended. About 20 per cent of those polled complained about the lack of attention that was given to the affairs of their local enterprise and area, about 17 per cent criticized the superficial level of discussion, 14 per cent found such sessions boring, and almost 10 per cent complained that they were not given convincing answers to the questions they raised.12 A poll in the Cheliabinsk region found that only 31.3 per cent of the 2,000 who were asked were prepared to describe the political information sessions they attended as "good." 13 An investigation into "Znanie" Society lectures in Lithuania found that as many as 80 per cent of those polled complained of "insufficiently convincing argumentation" in the lectures they attended, and more than 13 per cent complained of the lecturer's boring or inexpressive delivery.14 In the political education system there are repeated complaints of "academicism" and of a "divorce from life, from current questions," and of propagandists who "for hours repeat propositions which are already well known, not connecting them with the particular interests and preoccupations of their audience."15 Many propagandists, it appears, conduct classes which are frequently cancelled and badly attended, and in which the lectures are simply a "dry recapitulation of various chapters of the textbook."16 For their part, only a small proportion of students (36.6 per cent in one investigation) appear regularly to prepare for the classes they attend.17

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Investigations suggest thai those who attend political lectures and education classes are better informed than those who do not so do. It is by no means clear, however, that political lectures and education classes are in themselves of particular importance as a source of information on the matters with which they deal. Rather, it appears, those who attend lectures or classes are more likely in the first place to be well informed and do not find their knowledge significantly advanced by their participation in such exercises. A study in Taganrog, for instance, found that 80.3 per cent of those polled received their information on current developments from newspapers, radio and television; 19.9 per cent received it from relatives and neighbors; 18.5 per cent received it from colleagues at their place of work; and only 3.9 per cent received it from lectures.18 A study at an industrial enterprise in the Moscow region found that television (81.7 per cent) was the single most important source of information available to the workforce; then came newspapers (78.9 per cent), radio (49 per cent), political information sessions (a long way behind at 24 per cent), propagandists and lecturers (21.5 per cent), and least important of all, agitators (just 3.6 per cent of those polled).19 Fewer than a quarter of those polled, in other investigations, were able to remember the subject of the last political information session they had attended and the name of the lecturer, and more than a third were unable to name the agitator attached to their local workgroup and supposedly in constant touch with their affairs.20 Still more important for the party authorities is the link between political lectures and education classes and the subsequent behavior of those who attend them. An investigation in the Moscow region found that 80.3 per cent of the "Znanie" Society lecturers who were polled believed that they had indeed connected their last lecture with everyday life and the concerns of the local workgroup and district. Only 58.6 per cent of those who attended the lectures, however, took the same view,21 and still less impressive results have been reported elsewhere. In a poll in Saransk, for instance, no more than 23 per cent of those who attended political lectures thought they would be able to make use of the information they had received;22 and in a poll at an aluminium factory in the Irkutsk region, no more than 8.6 per cent of respondents reported that they took a more active part in socio-political life as a result of their involvement in mass-political work (16.6 per cent reported that their involvement had had no influence at all upon their subsequent behavior, and 30 per cent declined to answer the question).23 Investigations of the extent to which the knowledge obtained at political education classes can be put to practical use have reached similar conclusions. "There is nothing I can apply it to," as a student of Marxist theory in Kazakhastan is reported to have put it. "Philosophy is up in the clouds, but we have to

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apply it on earth," remarked another.24 Even when substantial proportions of students are prepared to report that their Marxist studies have had a significant impact on their interest in political questions, much smaller proportions appear actually to have taken a more active part in political or propaganda work or to have read a greater quantity of political literature as a result.25 These, moreover, are the results achieved with those who do in fact attend political lectures and education classes; and despite every effort, there is presently a real concern that substantial numbers of the population have remained effectively outside their influence. Investigations in Vitebsk and Taganrog, for instance, found that 22 and 35 per cent respectively of those who were polled did not in practice attend lectures.26 A study in Stavropol' territory found that as many as 44 per cent of those polled "very rarely" attended political information sessions, and 37 per cent did not normally attend agitational besedy (conversations).27 In a survey in Tomsk, 40 per cent of those polled had attended no political information sessions, and 65 per cent no agitational besedy, over the previous three months. 28 Particular problems have been found to exist in reaching young workers living in dormitories, rural residents, night shift workers, enterprises with a low level of party membership, and older children and pensioners. Residents of a regional center, it appears, hear more than twice as many political lectures as do their counterparts in the countryside, and industrial workers are four or five times more likely to be reached than collective or state farm workers.29 The problem of differential saturation has received a good deal of attention in the party press, and as the (former) deputy head of the Propaganda Department of the CPSU Central Committee has warned, there is a danger that the party in present circumstances may be simply "informing the informed and agitating the agitated."3" So far, however, no satisfactory resolution of these difficulties has been found. APRIL 1979 AND AFTER It was presumably at least partly in response to such studies that successive Soviet leaderships, from the late 1970s onwards, adopted a series of resolutions designed to identify the major faults in the system of ideological work and to bring about their speedy elimination.31 The most elaborate of these, "On the further improvement of ideological, political-upbringing work," was adopted in April 1979. It followed the establishment of a special Politburo commission in November 1978 to consider the party's work in this area.32 The resolution began by noting that the successes of the USSR both domestically and internationally

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had created the broadest opportunities for the formation of a communist consciousness among the population at large. A numerous and wellqualified corps of ideological workers had been trained, and considerable experience of propagandist, agitational and mass communication work had been accumulated. The Twenty-fifth Party Congress in 1976 had indicated the means by which the ideological level and effectiveness of this work was to be developed, particularly through the adoption of a "complex approach" which brought political, labor and moral upbringing into association with each other and related them more closely to the particular needs of different groups of citizens. A series of resolutions had been adopted since the congress which were intended to carry these objectives forward, and considerable improvements had already taken place. The party, Komsomol and economic education systems had been stimulated and brought more closely into touch with real-life problems, and the press, radio and television were more satisfactory in their content and more accessible to the widest sections of the population. At the same time there were still quite a few weaknesses and shortcomings in the party's informational and upbringing work, "some of them extremely significant." The main one was that the quality of such work frequently failed to reflect the higher cultural levels and requirements of contemporary Soviet citizens, and did not sufficiently take into account the dynamic character of socio-economic and spiritual changes that were taking place in Soviet society and the sharply deteriorating atmosphere in the international area. In these circumstances the Soviet mass media and agitation and propaganda systems must be prepared to make a still greater contribution in helping Soviet citizens to orient themselves correctly in relation to domestic and international developments. Matters such as the acceleration of scientific—technical progress, the raising of labor productivity and strictest economy in the use of raw materials, energy and finance were given insufficient attention in the press and in mass-agitational work. The experience of leading production workers and labor collectives was also neglected; controversial and unresolved questions were often avoided, and shortcomings and difficulties were ignored. Such an approach — a "tendency towards window-dressing" - did not assist but only made more difficult the resolution of such problems. There must be a more determined attempt to eliminate money-grubbing, corruption, disorder and waste, drunkenness and hooliganism, bureaucratism and an uncaring attitude to people, the resolution went on. Leading personnel should more often be judged by the level of discipline and the "moral-political climate" in their enterprise; and ideological work in residential areas,

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dormitories, smaller enterprises, remote areas and among young people must be stepped up and made more lively and convincing. The resolution drew particular attention to the efforts being made by imperialist circles, assisted by "Peking chauvinists," to conduct a "ferocious offensive on the minds of Soviet people," slandering Soviet reality, denigrating socialism and disguising the anti-human nature of their own activities. One of the most important tasks of Soviet ideological and informational work must be to help Soviet people to appreciate the falseness of this slanderous propaganda. It was essential to give prompt and considered responses to current problems and to leave no question unanswered, lest advantage be taken of this by the class enemy. There must be an end to "formalism," "blethering," "propagandist cliche," "mechanical repetition of general truths" and "pompous language," all of which were unfortunately still quite prevalent in informational and propaganda work. The emphasis must rather be upon "serious, thoughtful analysis," convincing argumentation and a lively and accessible style. The economic, political and cultural progress of the country, and the full realization of the potential of developed socialism, would in turn depend to a significant degree upon the success that was achieved in effecting such a transformation. Towards this end, agitation and propaganda must be raised to a higher scientific level, linked more closely with current tasks and made more militant in character. The political education system must ensure the "deep study" of Marxist theory and party documents, and propagandists must be more carefully selected and guided in their work. Mass-political work in residential areas and workplaces must be developed further, with improvements in the composition of the personnel who were involved in such work and in the technical resources available to them. The "ideological content and effectiveness" of the mass media were to be raised in a corresponding manner. Party committees were instructed to prepare both long-term and annual plans covering such matters, and to report back in December 1979 and December 1980 on their fulfillment of the resolution.33 The lessons of the April 1979 resolution were drawn out more fully in an all-Union conference of ideological workers which was held in Moscow in October of the same year. The meeting was opened by Mikhail Suslov, at this time party secretary responsible for ideology. Suslov hailed the April resolution as a "major event in the ideological—political life of the party, of the whole people." He noted that the resolution, which was of a "long-term character," contained a "comprehensive program of action in the field of ideologicalupbringing work." Once again Suslov stressed the need for political education and lectures to be linked with real-life tasks and for press,

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radio and television to respond promptly, substantively and in a principled manner to domestic and international developments. Literature and the creative arts also had a part to play, dealing with the builders of communism and current problems rather than (as some had done) with petty themes, naturalistic studies of daily life or worse still, with distorted treatments of the past and "historical adventurers." Summing up, Suslov noted that the April 1979 resolution had been thoroughly discussed by the party and by the population at large. It would become a real force, however, only when it was put into effect in organizations and workplaces throughout the USSR, and not allowed to become just the "latest campaign." In some public organizations, such as the State Construction Committee, discussion of the resolution had regrettably taken a purely abstract form and had not been accompanied by practical measures to deal with the problems it had identified. Such a formal, "ticking-off" response must at all costs be avoided. Suslov's address was followed by less extended speeches by Central Committee Secretary Boris Ponomarev, Minister of Culture Petr Demichev, and other party and state officials with particular responsibility for this area of work.34 Further attention was devoted to the party's work in the ideological sphere in the aftermath of the Twenty-sixth Party Congress in 1981. A further all-Union conference of ideological workers was convened in Moscow immediately after the congress, from 20 to 25 April; it was again addressed by Suslov, and at greater length by Central Committee Secretary Mikhail Zimianin, who dwelt particularly upon the need to publicize the decision of the congress and more generally to secure an allround improvement in the party's ideological work. Definite improvements had taken place in ideological work since the April 1979 resolution, Zimianin went on, but so far only the "first steps" had been taken. There was still evidence of a divorce from real-life problems, of delayed responses to developments, of formalism, superficiality, window-dressing and propagandist cliche. The elimination of such faults, as Suslov had earlier observed, was proceeding much too slowly.35 Following the congress, both the content and the form of ideological, labor and moral upbringing must be raised to a new and higher level, as well as the manner in which processes of this kind were regulated by the party. Zimianin was followed by Vladimir Dolgikh, Mikhail Gorbachev and other Central Committee secretaries, and by a wide variety of party, state, journalistic, academic and other speakers.36 A Central Committee resolution on the "further perfection of party study" appeared some months later, in May 1981,37 and a resolution on the improvement of ideological-upbringing and organizational work was published the following October. While life had shown the

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timeliness of the April 1979 resolution, it noted, there were still "significant weaknesses" in the party's ideological work, such as a lack of association with real-life tasks, formalism and verbosity, which were being eliminated too slowly. A series of "supplementary measures" was announced to deal with them, and more particularly with the need for more effective counter-propaganda against the "ideological diversions of imperialism."38 A resolution of June 1982 sought to bring about a corresponding series of improvements in the system of economic education.39 A year later, in June 1983, a whole Central Committee plenum was devoted to the party's ideological work, the first such session for twenty years. The opening address, on "Current problems of ideological, masspolitical work," was delivered by Konstanin Chernenko. The April 1979 and subsequent resolutions, Chernenko explained, had set out the "main directions" for the improvement of the party's work in these areas. The main need was now to ally this work with the party's "strategic task," the perfection of developed socialism; and in this connection, to associate ideological work more closely with the struggle to carry out the main economic and socio-political tasks that arose at this stage of development. Since the April 1979 resolution party committees had begun to devote more attention to the content and effectiveness of ideological work. Changes of this kind, however, had not occurred everywhere. In Irkutsk, Tula and elsewhere, for instance, party committees had under-estimated the importance of ideological work, and in some other cases the number of resolutions on the subject had increased but the real state of affairs had remained unchanged. The Leninabad (Tadzhikistan) regional party committee, for instance, had discussed the question of legal propaganda forty times over the previous three years, but the number of violations of the law in their area had in fact increased over the same period. The plenum duly adopted a resolution on current tasks in the sphere of ideological work broadly approving the work of party committees in carrying out the resolution of April 1979 and those of the Twenty-sixth Congress, but warning that "serious shortcomings" had "not been completely eliminated" and that not all party committees were devoting sufficient attention to such matters.40 A further conference on ideological work took place in Moscow in December 1984. Its proceedings were signed for the press two months later. Gorbachev, at this time still a Central Committee Secretary, opened the gathering with a speech reviewing developments since the June 1983 plenum (he made no reference at all to the April 1979 resolution). The plenum, Gorbachev began, had "opened a new page in

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the ideological life of the party." Since then the party's ideological work had become more substantive, and linked more closely with the carrying out of social and economic tasks. There had been changes for the better in the training of ideological workers, and in the forms and methods of their work. But there was "still a lot to be done" to raise the theoretical level of such work and to make it more comprehensible and effective. So far as the central question of the economy was concerned, for instance, much more was to be expected from academic social scientists, from production propaganda, and from socialist emulation. The 1983 law on labor collectives, which extended significant rights of selfmanagement to the workforce, should also be implemented more widely. A more contemporary style of party leadership was required in ideological matters, with a greater emphasis upon real results rather than formalistic campaigns, and a more attentive attitude to popular needs instead of the vanity, nepotism and bureaucratism that were sometimes encountered in leading party circles (for instance in the Kalinin region). Zimianin, who followed him, devoted particular attention to the improvements in party education, oral propaganda and the work of the mass media that would be required in this connection; and he was followed in turn by no less than ninety party and state officials, journalists, academics, Komsomol and trade union officials and others.41 THE "LIMITS TO REFORM" IN IDEOLOGICAL WORK Students of other aspects of the Soviet system have noted its propensity to launch energetic programs of reform which in the end make little difference to the situation they were originally supposed to modify.42 It would be difficult to argue more than this in the case of the resolutions of the late 1970s and early 1980s on the party's ideological work; indeed, the point has in a sense been made by the extent to which each successive resolution and meeting we have considered has had to recapitulate the failings listed in its predecessor. The first stage is for a set of "serious shortcomings" to be identified, preferably with the support of a series of apparently independent research findings. The second stage is for a resolution on the matter to be adopted which promises to eliminate the shortcomings in question; it will often be accompanied by articles in the press and speeches at scientific conferences which will describe it as "deep" and "scientific," and as containing a series of "precise, wellworked-out directives" which party committees must now proceed to implement. The third stage, perhaps six months or a year later, begins with a more critical speech by a member of the leadership in which it is

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pointed out that the resolution is unfortunately "not everywhere" being carried out, at least "in deeds" rather than "in words." Such "formalism" must immediately be ended; several party committees whose leading members have failed to appreciate this may even be named. Gradually thereafter the resolution disappears from view (it may be referred to, if at all, as "of a long-term character"), and the cycle is finally completed in the fourth stage when a new resolution is adopted, listing almost exactly the same faults as its predecessor and promising, once again, to ensure their speedy elimination. Party officials who have repeatedly experienced this ritual soon learn to regard each successive campaign with scarcely-concealed indifference. This is not to suggest that the recent ideological resolutions have been entirely without effect. Several practical proposals have in fact been made, and changes of various kinds have indeed occurred. Particularly under Andropov, for instance, there were important changes of personnel, with the replacement of the heads of the CPSU Propaganda and Science and Education Departments, the rector of the Academy of Social Sciences, the First Secretary of the Komsomol and the head of the State Publishing Committee.43 An All-Union House of Political Enlightenment was established in 1983 under the auspices of the Central Committee to take overall charge of propagandist services.44 The Academy of Social Sciences attached to the CPSU Central Committee was reformed in 1978 and now incorporates the Higher Party School and the External Party Higher School.45 The composition of the "Znanie" Society has been reviewed, with 200,000 members excluded in the process.46 Rather greater use has been made of devices such as the "unitary political day" (edinyi politden'), in which a number of lectures and other measures are combined together, and of other more active forms of study and mass-political work.47 Party resolutions have themselves suggested a number of other measures, such as competitions for the best political textbooks,48 awards of the title of "honored cultural worker of the republic" to the best and most experienced political lecturers,49 and of Lenin diplomas and medals to the best propaganda workers.50 Party officials have suggested a number of further changes, such as ending the primary level of study (where almost all the party members presently engaged are pensioners) and reducing the number of courses (over 130 are presently available at all levels of study).51 Other suggestions have included the establishment of specialized higher educational institutions to train students for all aspects of journalistic work,52 and improved, more standardized success indicators (for instance, "propagandists per 1,000 auditors" rather than the total number of either).53

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For all the measures that have been adopted, however, and those that might conceivably be adopted in the future, it has proved remarkably difficult for Soviet ideological work to eliminate the faults that have so often been identified (many of them, indeed, since almost the establishment of the regime). At least four main factors seem to be of particular importance in this connection. The first is the tendency for responsibility for improvement to be passed from one institution or level of the system to another (a phenomenon which is not unknown elsewhere). The party, for instance, has repeatedly called on academics to produce a more adequate theory of political socialization to underpin the party's work in this area and to give "precise, well-grounded recommendations" to ideology officials at all levels rather than indulging in "scholasticism." The Academy of Sciences, the Academy of Pedagogical Sciences and the Academy of Social Sciences have been asked to devote particular attention to such matters.54 Responding to these criticisms at the June 1983 plenum, P. N. Fedoseev, Vice-President of the Academy of Sciences, promised whatever assistance was necessary in order to train specialist sociologists for such purposes. In turn, however, he pointed out that sociological research and the study of public opinion were preeminently political matters which could not be resolved without the guidance of party committees, which were themselves able to rely upon the hundreds of thousands of primary party organizations at the local level which were in the closest possible touch with public sentiment. He himself suggested that a new "critical-bibliographical journal" be established to provide a topical and serious analysis of recent literature and to publicize scientific findings more widely.55 Local party organizations have similarly been criticized in party resolutions for their failure to respond promptly and effectively to the most recent directives on the manner in which they conduct ideological work. The party has also asked for more satisfactory work from propagandists, from the "Znanie" Society, from trade unions, from the mass media and other quarters.56 Local party organizations, however, have themselves asked for better information from the central apparatus, such as through the provision of a new bulletin for ideological workers, and have been told that they may quite reasonably seek more active assistance from the Propaganda Department of the Central Committee than they have been able to secure in the past.57 Officials responsible for the mass media have similarly pointed out that, much as they would like to help, their ability to do so is limited by (for instance) their lack of mobile television studios, gaps in the transmission area, and the poor quality of the radios and televisions that are produced.58 Cinema officials have pointed out that their ability to make the contribution to

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ideological work that they would wish is limited by the failure in recent years to construct enough new film theaters.59 The trade unions in turn have pointed out that, unfortunately, fewer clubs and palaces of culture have been built in recent years in which their ideological work can be conducted.60 Officials from the State Publishing Committee have agreed that more and better quality books must be produced, but have added that their attempts to do so have been frustrated by their lack of paper and of modern printing machinery.61 Some local party officials have simply asked for more money with which to reward lecturers and supply them with whatever technical aids they might require.62 In every case, a satisfactory resolution of the matter seems to depend upon someone else. A second besetting problem is the tendency, particularly in recent years, to conceive of ideological work in a very broad manner which makes it all but impossible to isolate a distinctively ideological sphere of activity and to demonstrate the particular contribution of political lectures, education classes or even the mass media to the party's ideological purposes. The closer association between specifically political and other elements of ideological work was mapped out at the Twenty-fifth Party Congress of 1976, particularly in its decision to adopt a "complex approach" to such activity. A "complex approach," as Brezhnev explained it, involved the "closest possible unity of ideological—political, labor and moral upbringing taking into account the particuliarities of different groups of toilers." This in turn involved improving the performance of the political education system, and of oral propaganda; it also involved the commemoration of anniversaries, military-patriotic upbringing, socialist emulation, education reform, moral education, the work of the mass media and literature and art.63 As Zimianin told the April 1981 conference, particular importance in this connection attached to forms of mass-political work which were related to the economy, and which encouraged people to work better, to strengthen labor discipline and to take greater care of scarce resources in their workplaces. Indeed very little was excluded; atheistic propaganda formed part of the party's ideological work, and even the work of cultural organizations, sports clubs and libraries.64 Gorbachev's address to the December 1984 ideology conference in fact had little to say about the work of party propagandists or lecturers as such; far more attention was devoted to social and economic questions such as socialist selfmanagement, science and production, the educational system, socialist emulation and the social sciences. "The economy and ideology are indivisible," claimed Gorbachev; "the closer their interconnection, the better the results both from economic management, and from upbring-

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ing." 65 A recent and authoritative text on party ideological work gives separate attention to the economic, moral, legal, aesthetic, physical and ecological as well as political aspects of such work.66 Some scholars have even interpreted ideological work so broadly as to include, for instance, inter-personal relations, the work of the Red Cross, and the scientific and technical inventions of young people.67 Clearly, the more broadly ideological work is interpreted, the more difficult it becomes to distinguish it from other aspects of the party's work and to identify the particular contribution that party lecturers and propagandists may be expected to make to it. A broadly conceived approach also makes it difficult to determine the "success" or otherwise of the party's ideological work. Some of the difficulties that arise in this connection were identified with rare frankness in a recent book by Nikolai Bokarev, head of the sector on the work of social organizations of the Institute of Sociology of the USSR Academy of Sciences. Bokarev directly acknowledged that the question of the criteria and indicators of effectiveness of (in this case) oral propaganda was "one of the most complicated in the study of the state of ideological work." How, for instance, could the impact of political lectures, or of independent political study, be distinguished from that of the party education system, or of newspapers, radio and television? How could an increase in levels of political knowledge be related directly to political lectures or education classes when there are so many other sources of such knowledge? How could levels of "ideological commitment" and "consciousness" be defined and measured in empirical terms? And how could a connection between political values and political behavior satisfactorily be demonstrated? The results of ideological work, Bokarev pointed out, were longterm in their effect, and depended upon a great many factors — for instance, upon the education and age of those concerned, upon their prior political beliefs, and upon their "real-life" experiences in the workplace and outside it. He conceded that it was in fact impossible in present circumstances to measure the direct influence on people's consciousness and behavior of any particular form of ideological work, that is, to measure its effectiveness.68 A Dnepropetrovsk ideology secretary reported recently to Pravda that his party committee had, in fact, devised such a measure: it took the form of a single figure which incorporated separate measures of changes in levels of productivity, participation in socialist emulation and in socio-political life, sporting activity, violations of labor discipline and so forth. It has however been pointed out that exercises of this kind are meaningless unless some measure of equivalent can be established between each of these separate

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activities.69 Others have more frankly acknowledged that no satisfactory success indicators have as yet been devised, while pointing out that existing purely quantitative measures are of little value.70 At least two further problems may be identified, each of which has a serious effect upon the party's ideological work. The first is the "gap between words and deeds," or in other words the example set by leading party members on the kinds of matters with which the resolutions on ideology have typically been concerned. This problem was perhaps at its most acute in the later Brezhnev era. The October 1979 conference on ideology, for instance, was addressed by Nikolai Shchelokov, at this time Minister for Internal Affairs. His speech dwelt at length upon the importance of a "conscientious attitude to social duty" and upon the "strengthening of the moral health" of the society. The ministry's staff members, he promised, by their "own honest labor," would ensure the implementation of these and other ideological tasks that had been set forward by the party.71 In December 1982, however, Shchelokov was dismissed from his position; as head of law enforcement he had enjoyed considerable opportunities for personal enrichment, of which his son and wife had also taken advantage. In June 1983 he was dismissed from the Central Committee for "mistakes in his work," in November 1984 he lost his military rank of general for "abuse of position for personal gain," and in early 1985 he is reported to have committed suicide.72 Less spectacular examples of the gap between words and deeds occur when propagandists, lecturers or political informers accept or are themselves responsible for inefficiency and waste, or when communists in leading posts "confuse their own pocket with the state's" and abuse the authority with which they have been entrusted.73 It is their own integrity, as Kommunist has recently pointed out, which alone gives party members the right to direct others and to criticize wrong-doing. For party members in executive positions the requirements are still more stringent. Regrettably, the journal went on, some party members, including some in leading posts, had been guilty of theft, bribe-taking, money grubbing and nepotism. However insignificant the number of those involved, every violation of party norms of this kind inflicted "serious moral-political damage" upon the party. The communist, as Gorbachev has put it, "is judged by his actions and deeds."74 In ideological work particularly, the moral authority of those who conduct it cannot fail to be undermined when their personal behavior is at odds with the lofty standards that they seek to impose upon others. One final problem is the extent to which control of the agencies of political socialization has nowadays escaped from the party's hands. This applies particularly to the flow of information across Soviet borders

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from the East and South as well as from the West. Party leaders in the Baltic republics have particular reason to be concerned by such developments. Officials in Lithuania, for instance, have pointed to the "heightened activity" in this connection of the "Vatican and reactionary clerical centers of the Lithuanian emigration" and to their efforts to encourage "anti-social actions" and "religious extremism" in the republic. Party officials in Latvia have encountered similar problems in resisting "bourgeois-emigre fabrications about the establishment and development of Soviet Latvia," not to mention "pornographic video films" and other products of Western mass culture. According to the party's (then) first secretary, A. E. Voss, subversive activities directed against Latvia and the other Baltic republics had significantly increased under the Reagan administration; hostile radio broadcasts had been stepped up, and every use had been made of trading, scientific, cultural and family connections as well as the international telephone and postal system.75 A party secretary from Ukraine complained similarly to the December 1984 conference about the development of "clerical nationalism" among that republic's "reactionary emigre community." 76 A relatively novel source of dissatisfaction is the "Islamic factor," which is employed particularly in the Soviet Muslim republics.77 Even along the Pacific coast, as the first secretary of the Maritime territorial party committee told the December 1984 conference, the movement of large numbers of ships and their personnel into and out of Soviet territory allowed a "multi-faceted" bourgeois ideological complex to come into play, including research institutes, missionary and religious clubs, radio stations and so forth.78 Greater interaction between the USSR and the outside world is certainly among the factors which have most seriously complicated the work of ideological officials at all levels, and it has led the Soviet leadership in recent years to place much greater emphasis upon counter-propaganda of their own in response to what they describe as the "information-propaganda intervention" of other states.79 Party ideological work, accordingly, is faced with perhaps more serious problems in the 1980s than at any previous time in Soviet history. A whole variety of faults and shortcomings in present arrangements have been identified and documented in the academic literature. At the same time, a series of resolutions has sought to analyze the reasons for these shortcomings and to devise appropriate measures to bring about their speedy elimination. As we have seen, these measures appear to have had a very limited effect. Indeed, given the obstacles that attend the party's work in the ideological sphere, it is difficult to conceive of any

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measures that might bring about what the authorities would regard as a significant improvement. Perhaps the greatest problem of all is the wide and manifest gulf between the pretensions of the party's ideology and the unprepossessing realities of Soviet daily life. Party leaders are fond of repeating Marx's well-known dictum that it is not men's consciousness that determines their being, but rather their social being that determines their consciousness. Only when there have been significant changes for the better in Soviet daily life, it would appear, will it be possible for significant changes to occur in the patterns of political belief and behavior that party ideologists have been trying for so long and with so little success to alter.

NOTES 1 Ezhegodnik Bol'shoi Sovetskoi Entsiklopedii, it)&4g (Moscow: Sovetskaia entsiklopediia, 1984), p. 21. 2 Partiinaia zhizn', 1985, no. 16, p. 27. 3 Ezhegodnik, p. 18. 4 Alfred Meyer, "The USSR Incorporated" in Donald W. Treadgold, ed., The Development of the USSR (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1964), p. 24; Samuel Huntington and Jorge 1. Dominguez, "Political Development," in Fred I. Greenstein and Nelson W. Polsby, eds., Handbook of Political Science, vol. in. (Reading, Pcnn.: Addison-Weslcy, 1975), p. 31. 5 Sec especially Darrell Slider, "Party-sponsored Public Opinion Research in the Soviet Union," Journal of Politics, vol. XLVII, no. 1 (February 1985), pp. 209-27. 6 G. T. Zhuravlcv, ed., Ideologicheskaia rabota iformirovanie obshchestvennogo mneniia v trudovom kollektive (Moscow: AON, 1977), p. 93. 7 N. N. Bokarev, Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia effektivnosti lekksionnoi propaganda (Moscow: Znanic, 1980), p. 100. 8 M. F. Nenashcv, Ideino-vospitatel'naia rabota KPSS (Moscow: Izdatcl'stvo politicheskoi litcratury, 1980), p. 78. 9 A. G. Efimov and P. V. Pozdniakov, Nauchnye osnovy partiinoi propagandy. (Moscow: Mysl', 1966), p. 101; N . S. Afonin, Sotsial'no-politicheskie aspekty povysheniia effektivnostipartiinoipropagandy (avtorefcrat kand. diss.) (Moscow: 1973), p. 20. Some of the findings that follow were first presented in Stephen White, Political Culture and Soviet Politics (London: Macmillan, 1979), ch. 6, and "The Effectiveness of Political Propaganda in the USSR," Soviet Studies, vol. xxxn, no. 3 (July 1980), pp. 323-48. 10 V. S. Korobeinikov, ed., Sotsiologicheskie problemy obshchestvennogo mneniia i sredstv massovoi informatsii (Moscow: IS1 ANSSSR, 1975), p. 103. 11 N. 1. Mekhontscv et al., Lektor i slushatel' (Moscow: Znanic, 1975), p. 65. 12 P. V. Pozdniakov, cd., Politicheskaia informatsiia. Nekotorye voprosy teorii i praktiki (Moscow: Mysl', 1974), p. 87. 13 Nenashcv, Ideino-vospitatel'naia rabota, p. 136. 14 Bokarev, Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, 1975, no. 4, p. 115.

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15 Ncnashcv, Ideino-vospitatel'naia rabota, p. 85. 16 L. Ya. Zilc, cd., Formy 1 melody ideologiclieskoi raboty partii. (Riga: Liesma, 1974), p. 169; Partiinaia zliiztt', no. 20 (1975), p. 42; V. G. Baikova et al., Politicheskoe obrazovanie: sistema, metodika, metodologiia (Moscow: Mysl', 1976), p. 82. 17 Ncnashcv, Ideino-vospitatel'naia rabota, p. 83. 18 G. T. Zhuravlcv, Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia effektivnosti ideologiclieskoi raboty (Moscow: Mysl', 1980), p. 154. 19 Ncnashcv, Ideino-vospitatel'naia rabota, p. 83. 20 N . S. Afonin, comp., Politicheskaia agitatsiia v trudovom kollektive (Saransk: Mordovskoc Kn. izd-vo, 1976), p. 28; N . S. Afonin, Lektor i auditoriia (Saransk: Mordovskoc Kn. izd-vo, 1973), pp. 73, 91; V. G. Baikova, Ideologicheskaia rabota KPSS v usloviiakh razvitogo sotsializma. (Moscow: Mysl', 1977), p. 138. 21 Bokarcv, Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, p. 51. 22 Afonin, Lektor i auditoriia, p. 73. 23 G. I. Mcl'nikov, cd., Kollektiv i /ic/mo^'(Irkutsh: Izd. Irkutskogo univcrsitcta, 1973), PP- 133-3424 A. I. Khukova, "Effcktivnost' idcino-vospitatcl'nogo vospitaniia," Izvestiia Akademii Nank Kazakhskoi SSR, no. 2 (1977), p. 63. 25 See White, "Effectiveness of political propaganda," p. 337. 26 Nenashev, Ideino-vospitatel'naiia rabota, p. 112. 27 Pravda, 6 September 1978, p. 2. 28 Problemy povysheniia effektivnosti kommunisticheskoipropaganda, vol. in (Tomsk, 1975), P- 7529 Nenashev, Ideino-vospitatel'naiia rabota, p. 98. 30 M.F. Ncnashcv, in Kotnmunist, 1977, no. 4, p. 33. 31 These resolutions are conveniently collected in Ob ideologiclieskoi rabote KPSS. Sbornik dokumentov, 2nd edn (Moscow: Izdatcl'stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1983) which also contains a number of earlier resolutions on the same subject. 32 Pravda, 28 November 1978, p. 2. 33 Ob ideologiclieskoi rabote, pp. 316-27. 34 E. M. Tiazhel'nikov, cd., Delo vsei partii (Moscow: Politizdat, 1980), pp. 20-51. 35 M. A. Suslov in Partiinaia zhizn', no. 8 (1981), p. 23. 36 E. M. Tiazhel'nikov, ed., Za vysokoe kachestvo i deistvennost' ideologicheskoi raboty (Moscow: Politizdat, 1981), pp. 33-838". 37 Ob ideologicheskoi rabote, pp. 346-51. 38 Ibid., pp. 352-56. 39 Ibid., pp. 375-79. 40 Plenum Tsentral'nogo Komiteta KPSS 14—15 iiunia 1983 goda. Stenograficheskii otchet (Moscow: Politizdat, 1983), pp. 6—43, 188—200. 41 B. I. Stukalin et al., eds., Sovershenstvovanie razvitogo sotsializma i ideologicheskaia rabota partii v svete reshenii iiun'skogo (1983 g.) Plenuma TsK KPSS (Moscow: Politizdat, 1985), pp. 7, 11, 13, 25-26, 29-30, 41-43, 50-592". 42 Sec, for instance, Gertrude E. Schrocdcr, "The Soviet Economy on a Treadmill of 'Reforms'," in US Congress Joint Economic Committee, Soviet Economy in a Time of Change, vol. 1 (Washington D C : US Government Printing Office, 1979), pp. 312-40. 43 The present incumbents arc respectively A. N . Iakovlev (since July 1985), V. A. Mcdvcdev (since 1983), R . G. Ianovskii and V. M. Mishin (both since 1982) and M. F. Ncnashcv (since 1986).

86 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79

STEPHEN WHITE Plenum, p. 192. Partiinaia zhizn', 1978, no. 7, p. 3. Za vysokoe kachestvo, p. 77. Ibid., p. 569; but see Plenum, p. 41, for a more pessimistic view. Ob ideologicheskoi rabote, p. 350. Ibid., p. 308; Za vysokoe kachestvo, p. 553. Ob ideologicheskoi rabote, p. 349. Za vysokoe kachestvo, p. 451; Sovershenstvovanie, p. 53. Plenum, p. 60 (proposed by Shevardnadze). Stukalin, Sovershenstvovanie, pp. 193-94. See, for instance, Za vysokoe kachestvo, pp. 9, 82, 570; Plenum, pp. 11-13, 40, 107. Plenum, pp. 150, 147. Ob ideologicheskoi rabote, p. 553; Plenum, p. 40. Za vysokoe kachestovo, p. 553; Plenum, p. 40. Plenum, pp. 159, 161, 162. /fcirf., p. 174. Ibid., p. 177. Delo vsei partii, pp. 223-24; Plenum, pp. 217-18. See, for instance, Delo vsei partii, pp. 257-58; Stukalin, Sovershenstvovanie, p. 232. Materialy XXV s'ezda KPSS (Moscow: Politizdat, 1976), pp. 74-80. Za vysokoe kachestvo, pp. 78-79. Stukalin, Sovershenstvovanie, pp. 7-45; the quotation is on p. 27. Zh. T. Toshchcnko, ed., Teoriia i praktika ideologicheskoi raboty. Kurs lektsii (Moscow: Mysl', 1984), part 2. A. I. Iakovlev, Ejfektivnost' ideologicheskoi raboty (Moscow: Politizdat, 1984), p. 10. Bokarcv, Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, pp. 13, 14, 18, 19, 39, 43, 82. Pravda, 25 March 1983, p. 2; Iakovlev, Effektivnost', p. 107. Nenashev, Ideino-vospitatel'haia rabota, p. 58; Toshchenko, Teoriia i praktika, p. 417. Delo vsei partii, pp. 190, 197; Stukalin, Sovershenstvovanie, p. 466. See Stephen White, "Soviet Politics since Brezhnev, "Journal of Communist Studies, vol. 1, no. 2 (June 1985), pp. 115—31, at pp. 121-22. Za vysokoe kachestvo, p. 459; Delo vsei partii, p. 219. Kommunist, 1985, no. 13, pp. 5, 6, 7. Delo vsei partii, p. 233; Plenum, pp. 106-7. Stukalin, Sovershenstvovanie, p. 105. Plenum, p. 205. Stukalin, Sovershenstvovanie, p. 213; see also Pravda, 4 September 1983, p. 2. See Ellen Mickicwicz, "Policy Issues in the Soviet Media System," in Erik P. Hoffman, cd., The Soviet Union in the tgSos (New York: Academy of Political Science, 1984), p. 115.

5 Political language and political change in the USSR: on the Gorbachev leadership

notes

MICHAEL E. URBAN

This study is concerned with political language. Specifically, it offers a structural comparison between conventional Soviet political rhetoric, exemplified by the discourse of K. U. Chernenko, and the novel form of political speech associated with his successor, M. S. Gorbachev. Inasmuch as the conclusions drawn from the analysis have important implications for the question of change in the Soviet system, it is perhaps a good idea at the outset to mark off the limits of what this analysis entails, how it approaches the question of change itself, and what aspects of the phenomenon it can address with some confidence. The method employed here is that of semiotics. For the moment, it will suffice to distinguish its particular focus from that of other Western specialists who have analyzed the Gorbachev leadership and the prospects for change in the USSR. In so doing, it is possible to show how in either case the method frames the object of inquiry in such a way as to place in foreground or background one or another feature of the social world, and shapes thereby our perceptions and the conclusions which we draw from them. It might be said in this respect that whereas conventional studies of the Gorbachev leadership analyze its language from the perspective of the policy statements that it might contain, the approach adopted here amounts to an analysis of the language itself. The former begins and ends with an implicit model of politics, what could be called a "managerial model," wherein a political directorate establishes goals and assigns tasks to various segments of the "organization" (society) which they superintend. To be sure, the model is more complex than this; it contains elements of competition for leadership positions, resistance on the part of subalterns in the "organization," and so forth. However, its salient relationship runs between the leadership, which seeks to bring about some result or condition (even if only a conservation of the present order), and "the system" which it is directing, managing, changing, etc.1 87

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Semiotics, on the other hand, would conceive of the political world as a hierarchically ordered speech community wherein messages about social life and its meaning are relayed among the participants. It postulates that the immediate content of these messages cannot in principle be known without reference to the structure of the discourse(s) in which they are embedded. Political change, from this perspective, would be understood as a change in the structure (and, hence, the meaning) of political language. An example might point up these differences. By examining the manifest content of recent Soviet political speeches, most Western analysts have reached the conclusion that there is very little evidence which points toward significant change in the Soviet Union. At most, Gorbachev seems to be talking about the need for more "discipline" in the economy, the desideratum of accelerated technical progress, and some devolution of decision-making power to productive units.2 His use of frank and open language, as well as statements portending a more radical transformation of social relations in the USSR, have also been noted, but most analysts appear to attach less significance to these phenomena than they do to his specific reform proposals or, more accurately, the lack of them.3 In Jerry Hough's words, "Gorbachev . . . has not been talking about agricultural reform or about lines in the shops, but about technology, technology, technology."4 Hough and others5 deduce from this a "technocratic" orientation on the part of the new leadership and reckon that this leadership's main constituency is composed of technocrats. Similarly, Seweryn Bialer and Joan Afferica, among others, make a persuasive argument that the evidence points to a technocratic political posture on Gorbachev's part, one oriented toward improving rather than changing the present system.6 But as circumspect and informed as these judgments are, they seem to admit of a certain problem. The problem is one of language and a focus on language itself can contribute to clearing it up. In short, what does it mean to improve the existing system in the USSR? Do we have in mind the formal system, the Constitution and laws of the Soviet Union? Likely not, for realizing this system in practice would amount to a tremendous change in itself. Instead, "the system" seems to refer here to the more or less regularized informal modes of behavior which have come to be rather universally regarded as the reason for declining performance in the Soviet economy, waste, corruption and other assorted ills of Soviet life.7 Does "improving the system," then, mean altering these informal behavioral patterns such that they resemble more the behavior prescribed in the formal system? If so, what would this require? The position taken here is that among the many things which

Political language and political change might contribute to such an endeavor, first and foremost would be a change in the structure of political communication such that practical problems in the social order can be addressed and acted upon by people. In this respect, the present study shares much in common with Archie Brown's assessment of the Gorbachev leadership.8 Neither significant reform in the economy nor political pluralism is, in his view, on the Soviet agenda at the moment. But something of a democratic character is, namely, the explicit and growing understanding that the leadership should curtail the use of constraint and open up "space" in which people can act. In large part, this "space" involves a freer movement of information such that action can proceed on an enlarged base of practical knowledge. To anticipate the results of this study, Gorbachev's political discourse can be distinguished from that of his predecessor by its demonstrable opening toward the world of social practice and its relative receptivity to reports about the social world. What does this change in language count for in political terms? First, to the degree that a closed system of communication which measures the truth of statements by their proximity to the officially established (and quite preposterous) "truths" is giving way to a more open one in which truth claims are in principle redeemable on the basis of practical knowledge about the social world,9 "improving the existing system" becomes possible. And such improvements would themselves represent a profound change which would press the issue of enforcing, altering or discarding the formal structure of the Soviet system. To the extent that communication is open, social actors forfeit their ability to pretend about the social world. Second, change in the structure of political communication is a change which is both deep and slow. In both respects, it is a form of change which conventional methods of political analysis would find difficult to detect for it may not involve perceptible alterations in the manifest content of language. Consequently, semiotics, which directs attention to the matter of how signification is produced,10 is a method suited to the purpose of disclosing what might be transpiring below the level of manifest content and in accounting for what this content might mean for those in the speech community. Yet the nature of this inquiry perforce involves an important question which semiotics cannot address. What is the meaning of a more open or "democratic" form of discourse introduced from above? What are its chances of taking root in the larger society? In what respect could such a process be regarded as a "democratization of social relations?" Alternatively, is the new Soviet leadership only the apparent initiator of a new form of political discourse, "representing," as it were, other social groups or forces which

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seek to extend some practical interest into the domain of the official political language? It is likely that a struggle over language is underway between proponents and opponents of the new discourse who act at various levels throughout the social structure. Although a semiotic analysis cannot answer these questions, its utility consists in helping to delimit just what these questions involve. POLITICAL LANGUAGE AND THE SOVIET VARIANT The concept of political language employed here contains two dimensions which could be called "practical" and "mythic."11 The practical dimension refers to that side of communication which addresses itself to problems in the social world and aims at framing responses or solutions to these problems which take the form of collective action. The mythic dimension is more concerned with signification. It contributes the element of meaning and its many offspring — importance, force, urgency, etc. - to political rhetoric. Although we might analytically distinguish between these two sides of political language and speak about a practical dimension which formulates a project and a mythic one which articulates a purpose, we would do well to remember that a given political discoursejoins these dimensions and thereby produces meaningful (political) statements, articulates collective projects, and summons up conceptions which define the world of politics. Although this understanding of political discourse posits an already existing (political) language which precedes any individual utterance or text (for if the utterance or text is to be meaningful to those in the political community, it must employ the language of that community), this does not imply a universe of already existing meanings from which speakers simply select. Rather, the social or political imagination, operating at the intersection of the mythic and the practical, can intertwine these dimensions in novel ways, yielding new couplings and formulating fresh projects. Ostensibly, political speech in the Soviet union has been regarded by a number of observers12 as an eclipse of the practical dimension of political language by the mythic one. Indeed, inasmuch as the resulting "immobilism of the social imagination"13 means that the absence of perceived alternatives makes tolerable any number of conditions which otherwise would not be, the system of domination extant in the USSR is in large part predicated upon sealing off the language of public discourse from practical concerns. The official language of public discussion allows no room for asking, much less answering, the fundamental questions: What is going wrong here? What are the reasons for our

Political language and political change problems? What can we do about them? But the price paid for this is a high one. To the extent that a society lacks the capacity to articulate, discuss, learn and act upon common problems in a practical manner, it wastes its energies and resources, it reduces the chances that socially rational modes of action will prevail, and it increases the likelihood that actors will opt for private solutions regardless of their social costs. As we know, such problems as waste and irrationality did not enter official Soviet political language with the accession of Gorbachev to the position of General Secretary of the party. Indeed, they have been the targets of innumerable policies adopted by the Soviet leadership in the post-Stalin period. The fact that these policies have achieved such small success is attributable in part to the system of social communications in which they are embedded. It remains here to illustrate, using Chernenko's discourse as an example, how the official political language has systematically screened out practical considerations and how changes in the structure of this discourse initiated by Gorbachev reintroduce practical matters. In so doing, we shall follow the lead of a number of recent studies, employing the method of semiotics, which have isolated a basic (or "deep") structure in Soviet political discourse.14 It is from this structure that individual narratives (speeches of the leadership, newspaper articles, legislative programs, etc.) are generated. Each narrative is capable of signification, of communicating meanings, on the basis of this structure which informs it. Of importance for our discussion is the analogous relation which obtains between the structure of Soviet political discourse and that found in traditional Russian folk tales. That is, political language in the USSR appears in many respects absurd. It is excessively formulaic and stilted. When measured against the obvious facts of everyday life, its solemn and grandiose pronouncements more often resemble exercises in a rather cruel irony than statements oriented toward a credible account of the facts. These studies have argued, however, that it would be wrong to dismiss this language as mere nonsense, just as it would be mistaken to see in folk tales no more than fantastic accounts of a make-believe world in which no one really "believes." In either case, communication occurs below the surface level of narrative. Like the folk tale, Soviet political discourse produces a positive effect by laying out and resolving in a mythic way oppositions or tensions rooted in the social order.15 And like the folk tale, it performs this function in such a way as to exclude discussion of these tensions; discussion, that is, which aims at resolving them at the level of social practice.16 The attention to structure, however, should not imply that the subject

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has disappeared behind the categories, that the discourse has somehow a life of its own and that those actually engaged in communication are incapable of anything but forever re-enacting pre-assigned parts.17 Rather, structure marks off the limits of language, it defines the finite number of possibilities for what can be communicated. In order, then, to communicate something new, something else, changes in structure are required. In analyzing Chernenko's discourse, we can observe a faithful adherence to a structure of communication which operates on the model of the traditional folk tale. It screens out practical considerations and mythically resolves social tensions. For Gorbachev, on the other hand, a number of mythic elements are pressed into the service of signification, but within the ambit of his language there is a noticeable opening towards the world of practice which might be taken as the precondition for actually achieving in Soviet society the programmatic reforms which he has reiterated. Since our concern is with the structure of certain texts, we begin our examination of each by mapping out the surface oppositions which it contains.18 Thereafter, our attention falls on how the oppositions are resolved in the text; specifically, we are interested in locating those mediators which appear in order to bridge the oppositions. Having outlined this much, our interest turns to the matter of how the ensemble of mediated oppositions is structured as a signifying system; how, that is, it produces meaning out of its internal structure.19 CHERNENKO'S DISCOURSE AS A CLOSED STRUCTURE While General Secretary of the party, Chernenko delivered two major addresses to plenary meetings of the Central Committee of the CPSU. One of these, his address of 10 April 1984 on the role of Soviets in socioeconomic development, has been analyzed in a previous study and so will not be included here.20 It bears mention, however, that the structure of Chernenko's discourse in his speech on Soviets is altogether congruent with the speech which we are taking up, his 23 October 1984 address on improving agricultural performance. In both cases, the surface narrative is heavily larded with references to social problems and solutions to them. An examination of the structure of the discourse which binds together the elements of the narrative into a meaningful whole, however, reveals something else entirely. A first reading of Chernenko's address on improving agricultural performance so as to meet better the needs of the Soviet population (hereafter, AN for "agriculture-needs") would likely conclude that the speech is "about" land reclamation, the use of chemical fertilizers, more

Political language and political change

Future (positive)

Mediators

A Man

AB Conquer/Nurture Lenin/Marx

93

Past (negative) B Nature

C City

CD Urbanization

D Country

E Industry

EF Industrial methods Agro-industrial complexes

F Agriculture

Figure 3.1 Manifest oppositions and mediators in AN

machinery, etc., in order to boost agricultural output. In approaching this same address again with an analytic purpose in mind, we can begin to deconstruct it by outlining the main oppositions which it contains and by locating the mediators which join these oppositions in the narrative. Figure 5.1 presents this in schematic fashion. It will be noticed that the left-hand column of Figure 5.1 lists the positive terms, all of which are projected into a future wherein material abundance and human happiness reach their apogee; the right-hand column contains the initially negative terms associated with "lack" and human suffering. The thrust of the narrative is to transform these initially negative terms into positive ones through the use of mediations which break their association with the past and enlist them into the ranks of those agents signifying a future brimming with material abundance and human happiness. The identification of some "lack" initiates the discourse in either traditional Russian folk tales21 or official Soviet political texts.22 In AN, this lack appears as an insufficient supply of food to the population. The narrative makes clear that this condition is caused by nature, and nature's hostile face — especially in the form of a harsh and capricious climate — is much to the fore in particular sections of the text. These discussions, in turn, set up the main opposition in the text, that which pits nature against man and man against nature (Figure 5.1, A-B). In certain respects, this opposition subsumes the other two listed in Figure 5.1 and it takes some complex forms as the narrative develops. We shall therefore devote most of our attention to the man—nature opposition. The narrative concerning this opposition assumes a bimodal form in AN, a form comparable to the classic man-nature opposition in high Stalinist literature as described by Katerina Clark.23 On one hand, the man-nature relationship is characterized by struggle. Nature on whom man depends is stingy with her bounty. She is given to caprice, ruining

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his best laid plans for obtaining his needed sustenance with "withering droughts." Consequently, man is locked in combat with nature, he requires "victory over the elements." Quoting Lenin, AN refers to man's struggle as having "the significance of a battle" the successful outcome of which spells a victory for socialism. On the other hand, however, AN contains a mode of discourse on the man-nature opposition whose theme is altogether different from struggle and combat. This second mode twice interrupts the discussion of subduing nature and injects a note of caution. Nature, AN instructs, must not be abused but nurtured, not subdued but embraced. It is when one "invests one's entire soul that the land gives a bountiful return." In the same way that AN relies on the figure of Lenin to signify the struggle against nature, it summons the figure of Marx to represent man's harmony with it, "cultivating the land as good fathers of families to improve it for the next generation." Although initiated by man's lack of food, this second orientation toward nature developed in AN amounts to a sub-text addressed to another problem, the mediation of tensions surrounding the man—nature relationship in Soviet society. This question has long (albeit intermittantly) enjoyed considerable attention in the USSR and its history provides some important clues to disciphering the discourse in AN. Prior to the Stalin era, during which time the discussion of ecological issues was forcibly suppressed, conservationists and ecologists in the Soviet Union had developed a far-reaching research and experiment program guided by the principles of equilibrium and the interdependence of species in the complex web of natural relations. The implications of ecological thinking were for the emerging socialist society quite radical, in that forms of social organization were understood as deriving their merits on the basis of their harmony with the larger eco-system, nature. Unsurprisingly, ecologists were numbered among the first casualties of Stalin's "great transformation," which ridiculed notions of balance and species interdependence and aimed instead to change both man and nature.24 In the post-Stalin period an official environmental movement reemerged in the USSR, but in a constrained form.25 The particular mode of discourse associated with it has been referred to by Joan DeBardeleben as "anthropocentric functionalist."26 Within it, man and nature appear in a specific way. Nature represents a value for man, a value predicated on meeting the particular imperatives of man's life in the particular society in which he finds himself. Man must then transform nature to realize its value, but at the same time he must take

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care to manage his relations with nature in such a way as to avoid injury to himself by depleting his natural environment. Absent in this mode of discourse is the thought that social relations are the root of the ecological problem. The attention focused on the man-nature relationship in the official discourse simultaneously diverts attention from the relationship, man—man. Here we notice a certain struggle over language in Soviet society, a struggle whose outcome would determine the range of responses which men might make to the issue of ecology. Outside of this "anthropocentric, functionalist" discourse other voices have been raised in the USSR which ask what kind of society would induce this rape of nature? In so asking, many are led to a critical understanding and rejection of that form of life (urban, industrial) which not only rides roughshod over nature but in the process destroys man himself by severing his connections with the natural world, extinguishing his spirit and depriving him of a recognizably human existence.27 In Chernenko's speech, we can observe the official discourse at work. It claims a sensitivity to the problem of ecology, it re-assures the audience that the regime is actively dealing with this problem. But it does so in a particular way. First, it closes itself off to the possibility that the opposition, man-nature, is a reflection of a deeper opposition, man—man. Social relations are not thematized in the discourse; they are suppressed. Second, as it oscillates nature's image as friend and foe, the narrative supplies mediators which transform nature's negative aspects into positive ones. These mediators, it will be noticed (Figure 5.1), are shorthand for the extant set of officially prescribed social relations in the USSR. We might take up the secondary oppositions in AN (C-CD-D, E-EF-F) by discussing them in terms of the structure underlying Chernenko's text. The model used for representing this structure was developed by A. J. Greimas for depicting the generation of meaning folk tales and certain other forms of narrative. The model (Figure 5.2) sets out the relationships among six "actants" (characters, split characters, groups of characters, etc., depending on the text) which are basic to narrative. Narrative is initiated by some need on the part of the Receiver which is identified by the Sender who commissions a Hero/Subject to engage in a quest for that Object which will fulfill the need. In so doing, the Sender marks the Subject as hero and, in the course of his quest, the Subject is equipped with the capacity to secure the Object through the assistance afforded him by the Helper. The assistance (and his own desire) enables him to overcome the negative force of the Opponent (or villain). In this schema, Chernenko's is the voice of the Sender commissioning

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Sender -

•*• Object •

Helper •

- * Hero/Subject-

• • Receiver

• Opponent

Figure 5.2 Greimas' actantial model

Party-State •

Nature (bounty) Urbanization, Industrial methods for agriculture, Lenin (struggle)/Marx (nurture)

•Sufficient food • (abundance)

-*• Soviet people

Party, Soviet and agriculture organs cadres, agricultural workers

Nature (hostility) Habits of the past

Figure 5.3 The structure of AN

a Subject (identified in Figure 5.3) to undertake a quest on behalf of the Receiver (Soviet people). The quest is for an Object identified as food. The Subject is equipped with certain powers which will enable him to overcome the negative force of the Opponent, the hostility of nature and outmoded habits of work. Within this structure we find the Sender puffing himself up at the expense of the Subject. Chernenko claims full knowledge of the problems at hand and instructs the Subject as to what he must do to secure the well-being to which he says the Soviet people are entitled. Their happiness can be realized within the present order as long as his instructions are followed. But the Subject in this discourse has not the power to refuse the Sender's injunctions. His situation is that of being unable to refuse and, consequently, unable'to accept the task commissioned to him by the Sender.28 There is no possibility for the Subject, then, to display the desire to act as Subject. To the contrary, activity is a quality lodged on the Sender's side of the structure; the Subject and Receiver remain passive. The discourse not only makes no attempt at dialogue, it forecloses through its definition of the situation any possibility for such. The speaker will not entertain any uncertainty, nor within the ambit of his discourse is his audience allowed the

Political language and political change opportunity to decide whether they too share the certainty which he claims for himself. He will not admit to any need on his part to consult with those whose happiness he claims to seek. He will not permit the agents whom he selects any thought as to whether they are resolved to undertake the tasks which he has set for them. The discourse is closed to all of these practical concerns - the consensual resolution of uncertainty, consultation and the desire to act. It is incapable, then, of generating a practice which might overcome the lack which sets it in motion. By ruling out practical concerns, the narrative confines itself to the mythic resolution of social problems and so works its legerdemain on the ecology question, the subtext o£AN. Nature in the text is regarded as a "gift," not as a home. It is something to be used, used judiciously, carefully, but used all the same. And the form of prescribed use is clear: "the social transformation of the countryside" (urbanization) and the industrialization of agriculture (machinery, chemicalization, and land reclamation). Within this structure, then, tensions arising out of ecological concerns are resolved by associating the category, urban-industrial, with those forces said to usher in the (positive) future. This resolves the tension by inverting the terms which gave rise to the concerns in the first place. Urban industrial society is not identified as the cause of ecological problems; it appears within the discourse in close association with that which represents the answer to both the initial lack (food) and the sub-textual lack (environmental protection).

PRACTICAL ASPECTS OF GORBACHEV'S DISCOURSE Gorbachev's language, at first sight, would seem to have much in common with Chernenko's. Since assuming office, the new General Secretary has often reiterated the classic themes of Soviet political discourse: the sacred figure of Lenin and adherence to his infallible guidance, the role of the party as society's fighting vanguard, the superiority of socialism in meeting people's needs, and so forth. But a number of emphases in Gorbachev's speeches differentiate his use of language from the common Soviet pattern. These emphases are on practice. Here, I would like to consider six of Gorbachev's speeches as fragments or reiterations of a single text. This text comprises the following: 1 Address to the March Plenum of the Central Committee on 11 March 198529 (hereafter, MP) 2 Address to Soviet administrators, managers and economic specialists on 11 April 198530 (hereafter, AM)

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3 Address to the April Plenum of the Central Committee, 13 April 198531 (hereafter, AP) 4 Report to the meeting in the Kremlin's Palace of Congresses commemorating the Fortieth Anniversary of the victory over fascism, 8 May 198532 (hereafter, VF) 5 Report to a meeting in the Central Committee on quickening scientific-technical progress, 11 June 198533 (hereafter, SP) 6 Address to the October Plenum of the Central Committee, 15 October 1985,34 (hereafter, OP) I hope to show that this "text" has in fact two structures. The first resembles the classic Leninist tale, but is told in such a way and with the addition of such qualifying elements that it transforms itself into a second structure. This second structure, in my view, cannot be properly understood as a "tale" at all. Rather, its dynamics are those of a practical discourse and its meaning is to be found at the intersection of discourse and practical activity. Two elements in Gorbachev's language, visible on the surface level, set his discourse apart from Chernenko's and establish an opening toward practice. The first involves references tothe speaker's uncertainty. In AP, he notes the worsening performance of the economy and asks, "What is the reason for our difficulties?" He answers his own question, but not in the manner which is usual for Soviet politicians, namely, by supplying the authoritative, "scientific," diagnosis and prescription. Instead, he speaks of "changes in the objective conditions of the development of production" and insists that "we must become thoroughly aware of the existing situation and draw the most serious conclusions." Gorbachev admits, in effect, his lack of knowledge, his inability to offer firm and assured instructions. He speaks instead of the need for a "deep analysis" (OP). Hence, in AM he asks economic administrators how to correct the present situation and what are the reasons why current remedies are not showing results. On the basis of his visits to Soviet enterprises, he portrays himself as becoming acquainted with the problems and as the recipient of advice from those directly involved with production (AP). However, his knowledge is confined to a general question, one which his consultations with ordinary citizens and various specialists have brought home to him. Something, he says, is very wrong with the way in which we Soviets are doing things; our form of organization must be radically changed and we must make these changes immediately (AM, AP, VF, SP).35 A close examination of Gorbachev's prescriptions — upgrade productive technology, install progressive forms of labor organization, etc. would show little which is new in itself. The novel element is the rather

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frank admission that these long-standing solutions are not being implemented for reasons larger than the culpability of certain individuals or the effects of the "habits of the past," although he does assign some importance to these (AM, AP, SP). It is in effect the "relations of production," one might say, which are the root cause of the problems he identifies36 and these cannot be favorably altered by more appeals, economic experiments or mere talk (AM, AP); rather, a change in individual incentive structures and an alteration in social relations are required (AM, AP, SP). In short, his own uncertainty and the advice he has received from "society" have led him toward framing a solution which leans in the direction of altering social relations and attendant social practices. Related to this admission of uncertainty and the room which it makes for the adoption of a practical attitude is a second element distinguishing Gorbachev's discourse from Chernenko's, the element of desire and the speaker's apparent uncertainty about it. While it would certainly be going too far to suggest that Gorbachev is prepared to offer society some real choice to accept or refuse the tasks which he sets for it and thereby to demonstrate its desire to perform by accepting his charge, he does open a certain space between the directives of the regime and the behavior of society's members wherein desire might manifest itself. In AP, he refers to this, citing among the main requirements of the times "the desire to learn to work." In VF, he draws heavily on the Leninist tale to show that the USSR has always been able to overcome any obstacle as long as the desire to do so was present. His message in this context is unmistakable: the situation we face is extraordinarily difficult, but we've succeeded in the past against impossible odds, take confidence in that and meet this challenge too. In some respects, Gorbachev assumes the role of Helper in this passage and attempts to stimulate in the Subject the courage and desire needed for the quest. Figures 5.4 and 5.5 outline the transformation from the mythical to the practical in the structure of Gorbachev's discourse. The relations outlined in Figure 5.4 might be described as follows. History or "life itself" has summoned the Communist Party to a new task, the securing of a new Object. This Object includes economic development and the material wellbeing of the Soviet people but is not limited to these. Rather, these aspects of the object are conditional upon changes in social relations which the party is called on to introduce in all of society's institutions. The changes include "social justice" (MP, AP, VF), a sense of fairness in the rewards for work, which stimulates popular initiative (VF), and direct democracy in the "self-management" of economic and social organizations (OP). The confidence of people in their social

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History "Life itself"

Knowledge Desire Experience

*• Economic wellbeing Social justice Initiative of the people Openness Self-management

• Party •»

*• Soviet people

Outmoded forms of organization

Figure 5.4 The structure of the Leninist tale in Gorbachev's discourse

Soviet people

»-Dialectic of development

Openness, Social justice Initiative Self-management

•• Soviet people ••

»• Soviet people

Outmoded forms of organization

Figure 3.5 The structure of practical discourse in Gorbachev's narrative

institutions, a confidence required to sustain a common effort, is enhanced by "openness." As Lenin instructed, the "better informed people are, the more consciously they act and the more actively they support the party, its plan and programmatic goals" (MP). Equally, people are disposed to communicate more of their ideas to the political authorities {AP), contributing thereby another source of initiative to the common enterprise. In this quest, the party draws on those qualities which, mythically, define its existence: its superior knowledge of social reality, its "fighting spirit" (desire), and its experience in surmounting all manner of difficulties. It can succeed in overcoming the Opponent if it regains its ability "to speak to people in the language of truth" {AP) and "to warrant the trust of people to show that we take care of business seriously and that the word has not parted company with the deed. And that in politics, in life, is the main thing" {SP).

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How is the structure in Figure 5.4 transformed into that found in Figure 5.5? The constitution of the Object in Figure 5.4 provides the key to this. We might notice in this respect that the Object has been "denaturalized" in comparison with Chernenko's discourse. What is sought is not simply improved levels of popular consumption but a change in social relations to which the speaker sees such improvements inexorably bound. Rather than man—nature oppositions, we meet in Gorbachev's discourse oppositions on the order of man-man. 37 In attaining the Object in the first structure, the positive elements in these oppositions (openness, social justice, popular initiative and self-management) are appropriated as Helper for the people who are identified in the second structure as Subject (VF, AP). This Subject, too, ventures out on a quest, but the quest never terminates. Here the concept "dialectic of development" (VF) is of pivotal importance. The speaker informs us that no one will live happily ever after. All advances in surmounting problems simultaneously mean "that crossing over frontiers enlarge historical horizons and put before the people more complicated and demanding tasks." This is what is "naturalized" in the discourse; the human condition is problematic in that each advance, each solution, brings with it new and more complicated problems which society must learn to face and to act on. This in turn requires a change in social relations, for "without an all around broadening and deeping of socialist democracy, that is, without the creation of conditions for the ongoing, active and effective participation of all working people, their collectives and organizations in the solution of the questions of state and social life," he says, "we will not be able to move forward successfully" (OP).3S At this point, the utility of the actantial model for our purposes has been spent. It has enabled us to frame the respective discourses of Chernenko and Gorbachev, to see in the former case a closed language oriented toward the mythic and, in the latter, the use of the Leninist tale to introduce a second structure oriented toward practical concerns. But having identified the relationships in the second structure it becomes obvious that the narrator, Gorbachev, has assumed the role of mediator. "I have listened to you," he tells society, "and this is what you have told me that you want. I want you to attain it. We can attain it." We need make no assumptions, here, about Gorbachev's sincerity, his intention, that is, to act as a faithful medium for conveying social demands back to society itself in the form of a political program. He may well have his own agenda and is pretending to speak on behalf of society in order to disguise it. Even if Gorbachev's is a strategic use of language39, one designed to accomplish furtively some ulterior purpose, he is carrying out this project through a usage of language which implicity admits to a

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practical validation of his claims. In other words, the inclusion of society into the structure of his discourse as Sender, Subject and Receiver (Figure 5.5) means that practical activity alone can prevent this discourse from collapsing into nonsense. Its truth can only be redeemed in practice. In contrasting Gorbachev's rhetoric with that of Chernenko, we would do well to remember the links between the two structures in Gorbachev's text. Although Gorbachev has punctured some of the selfassuring elements in the official mythology, he has by no means set himself the task of debunking the mythology in toto. To the contrary, his development of a practical discourse grows out of his particular version of the Leninist myth and, one might assume, the perpetuation of this version of the myth is essential to the continuation of this practical discourse. Although it is possible to see in his narrative a diachronic progression from the first to the second structures (especially true in the case of VF), from a synchronic perspective it is equally clear that the ability of the second structure to signify is sustained by its relation to the first one. In this respect, our contrasts between the Chernenko and Gorbachev texts are relativized. Each discourse has a practical dimension (albeit in Chernenko's case this seems confined to the conservative purpose of continuing present practices) and a mythic one. The relative weights, however, of these dimensions differ in each case.40 For Gorbachev, the practical side of things is much to the fore.41 In conclusion, we might ask an unconventional but, for our purposes, appropriate question: In what respect is Chernenko's or Gorbachev's discourse "his own"? Inasmuch as we have been examining something located at the intersection of two thoroughly social institutions, politics and language, perhaps this question is moot. But to raise the question is also to bring out something important about the discourses which we have analyzed; namely, that they signify something outside of themselves, they represent the results of a struggle over language, a struggle over how the political world can be perceived, assessed and expressed in the larger society.42 In this respect what is notable is the de-naturalizing tendencies in the new General Secretary's discourse, its relative insistence that political problems are made by, and can be unmade by, people acting within definite social relations. As far as the question of political change is concerned, the absence of some specific agenda, some new set of reforms, may be of less import than the structural changes in official Soviet political language discussed here. When we recall the fact that what may be legitimately expressed in Soviet society is severely constricted by the regimes' official definition of the social world, what seems impressive in Gorbachev's language is the degree to which it loosens these constraints and thereby provides others a space in which to

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communicate. If changes in Soviet political language reflect the results of a political struggle over language, they can also react back on the world of politics, influencing through language the results of other struggles about social life and the rules by which it is to be governed.

NOTES 1 A good discussion of such submerged models and their implications for the conduct of inquiry can be found in Alvin W. Gouldner, Against Fragmentation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), pp. 281-83. 2 See, for instance, Marshall I. Goldman, "Gorbachev and Economic Reform," Foreign Affairs, vol. LXIV (Fall, 1985), pp. 56-73; and, in the same number, Jerry Hough, "Gorbachev's Strategy"; Iain Elliot, "And Now Gorbachev, the Great Reformer," Survey, vol. xxix (Spring 1985), pp. 1-11; and, in the same number, Michel Heller, "Gorbachev for Beginners," pp. 12-18; Stephen White, "Soviet Politics since Brezhnev, "Journal of Communist Studies, vol. 1 (June 1985), pp. 115-31; Alfred Evans, Jr, "The Decline of Developed Socialism? Some Trends in Recent Soviet Ideology," Soviet Studies, vol. xxxvm (January, 1986), pp. 1-23. 3 This seems true in the case of Seweryn Bialer and Joan Afferica. See their "The Genesis of Gorbachev's World," Foreign Affairs, vol. LXIV, no. 3 (1986), pp. 605-44; esp. pp. 608. Stephen Cohen, on the other hand, has expressed a rather different view in his "Sovieticus" column which appears regularly in The Nation. In Cohen's view, Gorbachev is a thoroughgoing reformer who is proceeding with the caution required to be effective in his efforts at reform. But a measure of the changes he is likely to introduce is already apparent in the broad scope of policy discussion and social debate in the USSR which has accompanied his accession. See The Nation for 5 May 1985, 14 September 1985, 9 November 1985, 18 January 1986, 15 February 1986, 29 March 1987. 4 Hough, "Gorbachev's Strategy," p. 40. 5 Bialer and Afferica, "The Genesis," pp. 605—44. 6 Ibid.; Goldmann, "Gorbachev," pp. 56-73; Elliot, "And Now Gorbachev," pp. 7-11-

7 Michael E. Urban, "Conceptualizing Political Power in the USSR: Patterns of Binding and Bonding," Studies in Comparative Communism, vol. xvm (Winter 1985), pp. 207-26. 8 Archie Brown, "Gorbachev: New Man in the Kremlin," Problems of Communism, vol xxxiv (May-June 1985), pp. 1-23. 9 See Jurgen Habermas, Toward a Rational Society (London: Heinemann, 1971), pp. 50-122; Jurgen Habermas, Theory and Practice (London: Heinemann, 1974), pp. 1-4, 253-82; Jurgen Habermas, Legitimation Crisis (Boston: Beacon, 1975), pp. 97-110. 10 Umberto Eco, A Theory of Semiotics (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1976). For a discussion of semiotics which outlines its ability to extend social science research into the question of symbol production, see M. Gottdciner, "Hegemony and Mass Culture: A Semiotic Approach," American journal ofSociology, vol. xc (March 1985), PP- 975-1001. 11 These terms arc taken from A. J. Grcimas who regards them as the fundamental

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dimensions of discourse. See his Structural Semantics (Lincoln, Neb.: University of Nebraska Press, 1983). His ideas in this respect seem quite consonant with those of such students of political language as Murray Edelman, Political Language (New York: Academic Press, 1977); Jurgen Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action, vol. 1 (Boston: Beacon, 1984); Alvin Gouldner, The Dialectic of Ideology and Technology (New York: Scabury, 1976). Leszek Kolakowski, Towards a Marxist Humanism (New York: Grove Press, 1968); Herbert Marcuse, Soviet Marxism (New York: Vintage Books, 1961); Maria Markus, "Overt and Covert Modes of Legitimation in East European Societies," in T. H. Rigby and F. Feher, eds., Political Legitimation in Communist States (New York: St Martin's Press, 1982), pp. 82-93; Rainer Paris, "Class Structure and Legitimatory Public Sphere," New German Critique, vol. vi (1975), pp. 89-105. Ferenc Feher, Agnes Heller and Gyorgy Markus, Dictatorship over Needs (New York: St Martin's Press, 1983), p. 41. Alexandre Bourmeyster, "Iouri Andropov, dialogue avec des ouvrirers sovietiques," Essais sur le dialogue, vol. 11 (1984), pp. 301-19; A. Bourmeyster, "L'Enonciateur, l'enonciataire et l'autre," Essais sur le discours Sovietique, vol 11 (1982), pp. 301-19; A. Bourmeyster, "Utopie, ideologic et skaz," Essais sur le discours sovietique, vol. m (1983), pp. 1-53; Michael E. Urban and John McClure, "The Folklore of State Socialism: Semiotics and the Study of the Soviet State," Soviet Studies, vol. xxxv (October 1983), pp. 471-86; Michael E. Urban, "The Structure of Signification in the General Secretary's Address: A .Semiotic Approach to Soviet Political Discourse," Coexistence (forthcoming). With reference to the folk tale and similar forms of narrative, see Greimas, Structural Semantics; Frederic Jameson, The Prison-House of Language (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972); F. Jameson, The Political Unconscious (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1981). Claude Levi-Strauss, The Naked Man (New York: Harper and Row, 1981), esp., p. 655Mary F. Rogers, "Everyday Life as Text," Randall Collins, ed., Sociological Theory IQ84 (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1984), pp. 165-86. Here I am following the general method employed by such analysts as: Claude LeviStrauss, Structural Anthropology, vols. 1 and 11. (New York: Basic Books, 1963, 1976); Roland Barthes, Elements of Semiology (New York: Hill and Wang, 1968); R. Barthes, Mythologies (New York: Hill and Wang, 1972); E. Kogas and Pierre Miranda, Structural Models in Folklore and Transformational Essays (The Hague: Mouton, 1971); A. J. Greimas and F. Rastier, "The Interaction of Semiotic Constraints," Yale French Studies, vol. XLI (1968), pp. 86-105. Eco, A Theory; Greimas, Structural Semantics, esp. pp. 150—51. Urban, Coexistence. Vladimir Propp, The Morphology of the Folktale 2nd edn (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1968), pp. 34-35In addition to the sources cited in note 14, see Michael E. Urban, "Local Soviets and Popular Needs: Where the Official Ideology Meets Everyday Life," in S. White and A. Pravda eds., Ideology and Soviet Politics (London: Macmillan, forthcoming). Katcrina Clark describes this standardized opposition endemic to the Stalinist novel and traces its roots to pre-Soviet debates in the Russian (particularly Marxist) intelligentsia in her The Soviet Novel: History as Ritual (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), pp. 15-24, 164.

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24 Douglas R. Weiner, "Community Ecology in Stalin's Russia: 'Socialist' and 'Bourgeois' Science," his, vol. LXXV (December 1984), pp. 684-96. 25 Charles E. Ziegler, "Issue Creation and Interest Groups in Soviet Environmental Policy," Comparative Politics, vol. xvm (January 1986), pp. 171-92. 26 Joan DeBardeleben, "Political Legitimation in the USSR and GDR: Environmental Deteriorization as a Case Study," Soviet Union, vol. XI, part 2, (1984), pp. 212-42; Joan DeBardeleben, "Optimists and Pessimists: The Ecology Debate in the USSR," Canadian Slavonic Papers, vol. xxvi (June—September, 1984), pp. 127-41. 27 Clark, The Soviet Novel, pp. 242-46; N. N. Shneidman, "Man, Nature and the Roots in Recent Soviet Russian Prose," in S. D. Cioran et ah, eds., Studies in Honour of Louis Shein (Hamilton, Ontario: McMaster University Press, 1983), pp. 125-33; DeBardeleben, "Political Legitimation", pp. 235-36. 28 Bourmeyster, "Iouri Andropov", p. 318. 29 Izvestiia, 12 March 1985. 30 Ibid., 12 April 1985. 31 Ibid., 24 April 1985. 32 Ibid., 9 May 1985. 33 Ibid., 12 June 1985. 34 Ibid., 16 October 1985. 35 It is interesting in this respect that Gorbachev raises as a standard of performance neither the past (showing the inexorable march of the USSR as output figures grow from one five-year plan to the next) nor spurious comparisons with capitalist countries on the order of who produced the most steel last year. In SP, he candidly admits that "we are still behind today's demands" and goes on to debunk the icons of gross output, saying that "we produce more steel than anyone else but we have a chronic shortage of metal. The main reasons for this are insufficient quality, limited assortment, and wasteful usage." He then asserts that the USSR is behind world levels in producing what modern economies are based on and that the USSR is therefore not competitive by world standards in essentially all important areas of the economy. 36 One should not overlook the possibility that documents such as the 1983 report by the Siberian Division of the Academy of Sciences on the state of the Soviet economy serve as a background text for Gorbachev's audience. This report argued that "the actual system of productive relations had fallen behind the level of the development of productive forces . . . and has turned into a brake on their progressive movement." This problem, says the report, is the result of various powerful social groups who act out of an interest in maintaining their own privileged positions by resisting all efforts to reform the outmoded relations of production. See Tatiana Zaslavskaia, Doklad 0 neobkhodimosti bolee uglublennogo izucheniia v SSSR sotsial'nogo mekhanizma razvitiia ekotwmiki, Arkhiv samizdata, no. 5042 (26 August 1983). 37 As in the above note, there may be some point in speculating about certain cues in Gorbachev's speeches which are amplified through other media. In AP and SP he launches into verbal assaults on Soviet officialdom and complains, essentially, that those in positions of authority arc often betraying the trust placed in them through irresponsible, self-interested behavior. Zaslavskaia's report, cited above, and a recent interview with her in Izvestiia (1 June 1985) extend the scope of this attack on officialdom. L. Abalkin, writing in the editorial column of Izvestiia (12 July 1985) takes the attack further, likening the present authorities to Lenin's "petty bourgeois intelligentsia" who see wrongdoing all around but are helpless to correct it. Abalkin urges workers to take direct action themselves.

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38 For a recent amplification of the themes, socialist democracy and self-management, which seems consonant with Gorbachev's discourse, sec G. Barabashev, "Glavnoe zveno samoupravleniia," Sovety narodnykh deputatov (January 1986), pp. 9-17. Equally, sec Izvestiia(iS February 1986) for an interview conducted by Iu. Fcofanov, one otlzvestiia'% editors, with Soviet Professor V. Perttski. The discussion, organized around the topic of failed legislation in the area of Soviet work, evinces a very sharp contrast in language, with Feofanov speaking directly and frankly about the undemocratic and illegal practices which plague Soviet activity while Perttski's responses duck his interviewer's questions and retreat into the make-believe of the official "tale" regarding Soviets as analyzed by Urban and McClurc, in "The Folklore," pp. 471-86. 39 Jurgen Habermas, "Hannah Arendt's Communications Concept of Power," Social Research, vol. XLIV (Spring 1977), pp. 2-15; Jurgen Habermas, Communication and the Evolution of Society (Beacon Press, 1979) passim. 40 Greimas, Structural Semantics, pp. 134-45. 41 Alternatively, we might say that his discourse lays great stress on the "pragmatic" level of communication. For a discussion of this level of language, see Alessandro Ferrara, "Pragmatics," in Teun A. van Dijk, ed., Handbook ofDiscourse Analysis, vol. 11 (London: Academic Press, 1985), pp. 137-57; Habermas, Communication and the Evolution of Society, pp. 1-68. 42 Inasmuch as political struggles transpire through the medium of language, each entails a struggle over language itself. This struggle over language would involve, commonly, questions such as: How are certain frames of reference employed which imbue the events in question with certain meanings? How are alternative interpretations of these same events ruled out within a given discourse? What symbols does the language employ in order to invest the events with a particular significance? For a discussion of these and related questions regarding the politics of language see (infer alia): Colin Sumner, Reading Ideologies (London: Academic Press, 1979); Gunthcr Kress, "Ideological Structures in Discourse," in Teun A. van Dijk, ed., Handbook of Discourse Analysis, vol. iv (London: Academic Press, 1985), pp. 27-42; and, in the same volume, the essay by Gill Seidel, "Political Discourse Analysis" (pp. 43-60) and that by Roger Fowler, "Power" (pp. 61-82).

Soviet political discourse, narrative program and the "Skaz" theory* ALEXANDRE BOURMEYSTER

Research done at the University of Grenoble aspires, as do other approaches (political, historic, economic), to a better understanding of the USSR. The object of the research is Soviet political discourse (hereafter abbreviated as SPD); the method employed is linguistic and semio-linguistic analysis. The corpus of the research is the collection of official political texts ranging from Pravda editorials to the reports of the General Secretary of the Communist Party, including Intourist brochures as well as numerous ideological pamphlets. The significance of this material, which can be extremely boring to the average reader, consists in actually entering into the fiction set forth, instead of contesting it a priori; in reading the lines instead of reading between the lines; in concentrating on the reading of the text itself, independent of all personal interpretation. Rather than trying to decipher the message or to interpret a statement by means of "hidden signs," the analyst, distrustful of his own biases and his implicit expectations, must first of all avoid fabricating an artificial signification which might confirm his own convictions such as, for example, "the USSR is more threatening than ever" or, "the Soviet regime will soon fall" or perhaps, "the system is blocked and political power is in the hands of the military-industrial complex," etc. The danger of this artificial signification is even greater due to the difficulty the analyst has in choosing his place of observation. The SPD is the exclusive monopoly of the powers-that-be (the party and the state). It occupies all the space and time that Soviet citizens officially have. The SPD not only serves as an interference which rules out all other discourse but, through this interference, shows that, if there is only one audible voice, there is consequently only one possible way: that advocated by those in power. Through this usage a conviction is produced (this does *Translated by Dr Linda J. Paul. 107

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not mean indoctrination) which engenders afictioncomparable to what may be experienced while watching a film. This fiction is not at all an illusion or a lie. It is a constituent part of Soviet reality, just as is the KGB, Aeroflot, or vodka. It is first and foremost the fiction of unanimity, a total similarity of viewpoint between those in power and the population (officially, the party and the people). As an arm of power, this fiction produces unexpected consequences for the Power itself, as will be seen later.1 Rather than study the behavior of Soviet Power from an uncertain point of observation - the society as opposed to the state, the voice of truth as opposed to the official lie, the objectivity of a Westerner visiting the USSR - should we not study it from the Power itself, from where the SPD is produced? When the Power speaks of its action, it is in a situation which is favorable to analysis whether this involves speaking to the workers or drawing up a balance sheet, in short, when it is establishing its narrative programs. Thus its world-view can be drawn, its behavior toward "that which is not the Power" (the Other) can be studied, and the limits of what is said and done can be measured.2 The obsessive worry of Soviet Power is its self-legitimization. From this comes both the punctilious juridism which it always shows toward others — its subjects, Soviet citizens, or foreigners — and its inflexible intransigence as soon as any question concerning its legitimacy arises: an attack on national sovereignty! Anti-sovietism! Treason! Revisionism! The imprudent Westerner who ventures into this type of discussion with a Soviet official most often draws back with an uneasy feeling, sometimes of fear when faced with such noble indignation. Feeling guilty, he easily imagines that he has wounded the person with whom he was speaking by attacking his sacred values. And what if it were all done for show as a comedy that fits in very naturally with the fiction described above? A fiction in which the Westerner becomes a prisoner in spite of himself as soon as he steps back and says nothing more. Pressed to find a topic which will get the dialogue underway, he accepts the fact that he must recognize the existence of an implicit ensemble of actualized values which cannot be called into question, which forbid any reopening of legal proceedings under the pretext that History has already judged it, and that one cannot change the past. This implicit ensemble of values, actualized and accepted in a noncritical manner, appears in the form of historic narration. It describes the irresistible progression of the communist movement in the world. The details and stages of this process will be passed over in order to retain only the essentials.3 This narration of the founding myth, the Soviet legend, is the

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generating model of the SPD and it constitutes the obligatory referent. I have named it skaz, borrowing this term from Russian linguistics. Skaz is defined as a story told by a narrator in his own particular style (e.g. peasant, merchant). It is an account which the author integrates into his own exposition without the use of quotation marks or other distinguishing marks. Skaz is characterized by both stylistic and lexical singularities, and by the constant presence of a narrative scheme. Nikolai Leskov was the master of this form of literary expression in the nineteenth century. The Serapion Brothers chiseled it to perfection in the 1920s. But the political skaz has been imposed since the 1920s, notably in epic form: "skaz o Lenine" through which Vladimir Maiakovskii became famous. In its present version, the Soviet skaz arose after the Twentieth Party Congress. It served to legitimize the Communist Party and the Soviet state shaken apart by the process of de-Stalinization triggered by Khrushchev's revelations. Until that time, political history had served to justify the criminal policies of Stalin not only toward the peoples of the Soviet Union and its traditional representatives, but also toward Stalin's rivals in the heart of the Bolshevik Party (this can be seen most notably in the History of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union [Bolsheviks], 1938). It was necessary,

through surgery, to extract Stalin from the history of the USSR, to declare that the patient was doing well and that the Stalinist "cancer" had not affected its vital functions, namely its irresistible progression toward the Radiant Future. Let us make no mistake about the significance of these affirmations. They do not concern the USSR as such, nor even Stalin, but the history of the USSR and the figure of Stalin in the narrative program, produced by the carefully designed fiction, the Stalinist skaz. Taking John Langshaw Austin's celebrated title, How to Do Things with Words, I propose to characterize Stalin's political activity, as How to do words with things.

As the author of his history, the General Secretary of the All-Union Communist Party (Bolsheviks) wanted to raise a monument to his glory which would surpass the most extravagant ventures of his illustrious predecessors - oriental despots, pharaohs, and other conquerors. He wanted to engrave his skaz in the flesh of a people already under Bolshevik power. The History became reality as it was written, in martyred flesh, reduced to purely linguistic functions. Both act and word became perfectly harmonious. The post-Stalinist skaz did not only come to the salvation of a discredited regime; it also met the need for a consensus of opinion

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between those who thought Khrushchev had said too much and those who thought he had not said enough. It was the result of a compromise, which was neither de-Stalinization nor re-Stalinization, but the institution of the State-of-the-Whole-People - a formula which sent the dictatorship of the proletariat, recalled with horror, back into an indeterminate past. This new skaz announced a certain "humanization" in the relations between the Power and the population. It found its explicit form in a pure state in the Preamble of the Constitution of 1977.4 Some might be indignant at the lies and flagrant omissions revealed upon reading this epic narrative and qualify it as a pure propaganda text. That is without a doubt true, but the context in which it was formulated is not always recognized. The unanimity extolled in the Preamble also signifies that the Power was proposing a kind of treaty of alliance with the people, in which they were urged to participate, and particularly one in which there were no longer any specifically designated enemies (either individuals or class enemies) to be denounced from the interior as hostile to the communist program. This was naturally on condition that the people agreed to erase from its memory a "recent past" which was disagreeable to everyone and which commemorated only those events worthy of being incorporated into the skaz. In this way the political relationship between the Power and its subjects passed from a mobilizing ideology which was both restrictive and terrorist, to a sort of reassuring non-written constitution which indicates the limits of what can and what cannot be said and leaves a certain margin of initiative for those who know how to use it skillfully. The conformity of this act of forgetting - the driving back into the subconscious of any subversive questions, those "damning questions" — is the price that must be paid in order to earn the innocence and the guarantee of loyalty which is demanded. The skaz thus becomes a collective identification sheet for the USSR. This fact is unique in the history of mankind. It gives the date of birth, family ties, biography, curriculum vitae, and the future plans of a fantastic being, the "New Soviet People," produced by the "Advanced Socialist Society," itself a legitimate step in the path to communism. Like a vessel guided by a totally competent captain (since it is he himself who affirms it), the people advance toward the realization of the neverending dreams of humanity. Thanks to the regular commemoration of glorious anniversaries, thanks to the periodic advent of new rhetorical figures of speech - the Scientific-Technical Revolution, the Advanced Socialist Society, the True Socialism, etc., - it is always possible to place

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this collective heroic odyssey precisely in time and space. The only thing remaining is to celebrate its exploits by honoring (and decorating) its best representatives and by continuing to educate others in order to make them worthy of the society created for them with all thanks going to the selfless, untiring activity of the party. This overflow of good intentions and this demonstration of recognition and fidelity characterized the Brezhnev epoch, even though a few discordant voices came to disturb the harmony that was decreed between the Power and the population. We know that these dissidents, who were not at all representative, were quickly reduced to silence by "humanitarian" measures — psychiatric confinement, re-education, expulsion, etc. To become persuaded, it is sufficient to pay attention to the tone used by television and radio announcers, or by those citizens who are given the right to speak: it is a tone of declamation. It reminds one of the emphatic diction used even quite recently by the Comedie-Francaise in performing classical tragedies. These changes had important consequences: (i) The accentuation of formalism in relations between leaders and followers, in the minutiae of the setting, in the immutable ritual: these ceremonies were destined to reinforce the idea of alliance between the Power and the population (e.g., elections, parades, meetings). This formalism is a response to an acute sense of respectability in the leadership — fear of losing face, of giving ammunition to the enemy, of having to show balance sheets, in short, the fear of scandal. This is the weak point of power. It sometimes pushes its representatives to the most unexpected (secret) compromises. (2) Banalization of the SPD. The language of despotic power becomes a language of social communication, accessible to all Soviet citizens. This phenomenon is generally interpreted by foreign observers as a process of enslaving the Soviet population. This process is "normalized" by the introduction of a new language (newspeak) artificially fabricated by a totalitarian power, just as was conceived by George Orwell in his jp&j.5 It is not necessary, however, to see from this fact a re-routing of the SPD from its initial political role (communication between the Power and the population) toward a social function. Is it necessary that it serves as a referent in the exchanges between the diverse authorities in the Soviet system, or as a code which gives access to unpublished information, or as a justification for shirking one's responsibilities or defending acquired rights? This outburst of the SPD visibly embarrasses those in charge. The General Secretary, whether it be Brezhnev, Andropov, Chernenko, or Gorbachev, regularly denounces the use of "cliches" and "high-flown"

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sentences, to which, it is said, Soviet citizens have become indifferent and for which they want action instead of words. Sadly enough, these appeals have been in vain up to the present. The SPD cannot regain its political role because its generating model, the skaz, still maintains a Stalinist image of the USSR both in its presentation of production relations (a centralized military model) and in its conception of productive forces (an extensive pattern of development based on quantitative criteria). This image is the result of the "historic compromise" described above. In spite of the introduction of new figures (the Scientific-Technical Revolution, Advanced Socialist Society, True Socialism), and in spite of the immoderate use of emphatic terms (development, growth, increase, elevation) designed to actualize the fiction of an irresistible advance toward communism, it becomes clear that the implicit model of society as presented in the post-Stalinist skaz no longer corresponds to the requirements formulated during the past two decades by a banalized and formalized SPD - efficiency, productivity, quality, economizing on resources and labor, initiative, responsibility. There is a contradiction between the two narrative programs. Each one arises from a different type of industrial society: the Stalinist narrative program and the pattern of extensive development on the one hand, and on the other, the post-Stalin narrative program and the pattern of intensive development, as in Western industrial societies. In France, there are warning signs to imprudent passengers in the railroad stations: "Attention! One train may be concealing another!" One might also say, "Attention! One skaz may be concealing another!" The present skaz — the non-written constitution under the authority of which the citizens of the real USSR support each other as well as can be expected (this real USSR is not the same as "true socialism" because this rhetorical figure of speech belongs to the fiction), this skaz has become an obstacle to the development of the productive forces. The Marxist terminology is being voluntarily used here because it rightfully sustains the SPD. From this perspective, the skaz would rise from the superstructure which contradicts the base. This is an antagonistic contradiction, that is, an event which is unacceptable to the doctrinal plan of the present Advanced Socialist Society. However, this hypothesis is openly disputed in the USSR. Tangible proof of this is the famous report by T. Zaslavskaia on "The Need for a More In-depth Study in the USSR on the Mechanics of Economic Development," dated April 1983. The reporter contrasts two types of management. The first type is administrative, centralized and planned; the other is economic, decentralized and open to the laws of the market.

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The first reduces human behavior to an economic activity and considers the individual as an object to be managed, and asserts that production relations always precede productive forces, thanks most notably to the ideological (pedagogic) activity of the party. This pattern is inherited from the Stalinist era. The second type of management proposes to study human behavior as such and to consider the individual as a subject whose real motivations remain unknown. It notes the effect of a delay in production relations on the development of productive forces and emphasizes the fact that the Soviet system of education, instead of producing harmoniously developed personalities adapted to the Advanced Soviet State, engenders, on the contrary, "anti-social" individuals who have all the vices regularly denounced in official reports (without anyone being specifically named, as the skaz obliges): parasitism, alcoholism, irresponsibility, incompetency, delinquency, negligence, theft, etc. The reporter does not hide the fact that the necessary reforms confront an inertia by meeting with opposition from diverse sectors of the population, from laborers to business executives and government ministers. The reporter also suggests it is advisable to find new solutions to remedy the situation. Must one understand this to mean that the historic compromise is beginning to be called into question and that the revision of a skaz based on unanimity and continuity is inevitable? It is possible, given the brief time in which Andropov was at the head of the Soviet state, a period that coincides with the writing of T. Zaslavskaia's report. We find a comparable approach in the affirmations of Andropov, notably in the Plenum of June 1983. We do not know enough about the society in which we live nor do we entirely control economic principles. That is why we must sometimes act empirically, irrationally and by trial and error. Does this surprising avowal not lead us to predict a questioning of the relations between the Power and the population? We might hope for this avowal and yet fear it at the same time, because the dissatisfactions engendered by the Brezhnev compromise could prevail over the fear of returning to the police practices of yesteryear. Because of this fear, a revision of the skaz could oppose rather than conciliate, in a harmonious continuity, a non-advanced socialist society, the primitive socialism which is inherited from the Stalinist era with the Advanced Socialist Society (the true socialism) at once the product of the Scientific-Technical Revolution and a pressing necessity for the future of the USSR. Michael Urban has demonstrated in his analyses how, after the death

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of Andropov, Chernenko wanted to "reassure" his fellow citizens about the maintenance of the status quo by giving them a "de-politicized" SPD, torn between contradictory injunctions - to do or not to do. Must one conclude that the war of the skazes will not take place? That the Soviet leaders will be content with moderate discussions? That they will patiently invite the population while waiting for things to take care of themselves, in conformity with the promises of history? That they will limit themselves to performing an ideological (pedagogic) function - the production of harmoniously developed personalities - which is a pretext for legitimizing their power through a teacher-student relationship? The deterioration of political discourse into a langue-de-bois (a wooden language) manifests the inability of the skaz, its generating model, to adapt to the conditions of production and reception of the SPD. The very term langue-de-bois appeared in Europe after the death of Stalin. No one would have thought of using this term regarding Stalin's locutions during his lifetime! It is precisely this historic compromise concluded in the 1960s which deprived the SPD of its credibility. To manipulate vague general ideas which no longer deal with reality - to speak of warmongers and the forces of peace, to denounce the vices of Soviet society and to extol its virtues — without being able to (or wanting to) engage in concrete analysis, that is, without calling into question basic premises, is that not a sign of weakness? To put forward inapplicable slogans, to publish balance sheets distorted by bargaining and endless compromises, is that not a sign of impotence? For any other regime, such symptoms would signify the proximity of a fatal crisis. That is what commentators who take wishes for reality periodically conclude. Yet the Soviet system has adapted itself specifically so as to function under the precarious conditions of a generalized dysfunction. The SPD, diverted from its role, and the reciprocal disinformation between leaders and subjects which results from that, creates a very unfavorable situation for the diffusion of reliable information. It is not evident that Soviet citizens, deprived of information, are eager to know "the truth." If it is difficult, and perhaps impossible, for a Soviet leader to tell the truth about the economic and technological impasse facing the USSR at the present time, without recognizing the fiasco of the politics of the Communist Party and without calling into question his own authority, then it is just as disagreeable for a citizen to have to hear hard truths and to infer implicitly their consequences: — increased effort, intensified discipline, new sacrifices. Complicity in silence and ignorance is far more to be preferred! But, it

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is exactly this laxity that the new General Secretary, Gorbachev, is denouncing today. There is no question of our beginning to study the politics of reform that he envisages, but we must examine how he projects it taking into account all the points described above. The general impression which emerges from the speeches given by Mikhail Gorbachev since the beginning of 1985 is a mixed one. He sometimes speaks in a straightforward manner, using forthright expressions that do not belong to the SPD we were accustomed to hearing from his predecessors. This language seems to have sprung from another discourse that might have taken place at the closed meetings which were inaccessible to the greater public and reserved for the distinguished leaders of the regime. Does that signify that the higher authorities are preparing to change the skaz'? It is still too early to be sure. What can be noted is the insistence with which the new General Secretary dramatizes the situation — "it is urgent," "we can't lose any time," "we have to act without delay," "we cannot drag our feet." "Let's go, full speed ahead!" "In a very short time, we have to be in the lead." "The present conditions demand such urgency." We can almost hear the incantations of Lenin after the October Revolution: "We either die, or we catch up with and get ahead of the most advanced capitalist countries." And those of Stalin at the epoch of the Great Turning Point: "We are 50 to 100 years behind the advanced countries. We have to make up that distance in ten years. We will either do so or we will be crushed." In his discourse, Gorbachev does not mention the "advanced countries." He does not permit himself, as did Khrushchev, to take the capitalist regimes as a point of reference. Times have changed. The USSR has become a superpower that no longer has to envy anyone anything, now that it has reached parity . . . at least militarily. It is content to affirm that it is necessary to make up for its inadequacies on a "world-wide" scale. It immediately affirms (and patriotism obliges it) that the USSR is capable of meeting any challenge that history may offer. From this comes a euphemism. Instead of saying: "We have to catch up with the West as quickly as possible," Gorbachev declares: "We must accelerate our development." Why is the USSR behind the West? For twenty years the SPD has been talking about the Scientific—Technical Revolution, demonstrating that it is a revolution of productive forces which can reach its fullest development without raising any obstacle for the socialist system. It does, however, aggravate the contradictions within the capitalist system and accelerate its decomposition. How then do we explain that, in 1985, 50 million people are still

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compelled to do manual labor — one-third of the workers in industry, more than one-half in construction, three-quarters in agriculture? Let us examine more closely the report of 11 June 1985 on the acceleration of scientific and technical progress. Gorbachev finds himself in the uncomfortable position of being the leader called upon to justify the fact that he has not realized the plan. Strong in his authority, he gets out of it very well by placing the blame on others. First he gives subjective reasons. Since the beginning of the 1970s, insistence on a change from extensive development to intensive development has been too weak. In short, it is Brezhnev's fault; he talked a lot about it but did not do enough. In the second place, there are objective reasons. In this case, it is not the weather or difficulties in supply, but the aggressive policies of imperialism which compel the USSR to devote more of its resources to defense. What, then, is the proposed solution? The General Secretary begins by affirming the total agreement of opinion between the party and the people. He initiates, along the way, a clever amalgam: The masses approve opening an authentic discussion about current problems. The masses approve measures of increasing discipline and of putting things in order. He then indulges in boasting and blustering: - better than any other country, we can mobilize our enormous reserves, we can concentrate our means in the direction of scientific and technical progress. It is the usual military language, conforming to the Stalinist model of extensive development, with the same old formulas: Increased centralization to counteract departmental division and the liberation of incentives in business to counteract the excessive supervision by governmental ministers. Planning of the economy and creative activity of the masses. This is the classic technique of taking the "irresponsible" organs of the state apparatus and "catching them in pincers" between the party and the "indignant" masses.6 The basic semiotic contradiction between economic intervention and private initiative, between dictatorship and democracy, motivates and nourishes the SPD. It is placed in the skaz under the guise of such untouchable rhetorical figures of speech as "Democratic Centralism," a formula which is logically impossible but which must be accepted by followers of the SPD. Rewarding those who succeed rather than subsidizing those who just

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let themselves be taken care of, and in this instance boasting of Stakhanovite traditions and denouncing the creeping tendency toward egalitarianism, all this, we must say, resembles more a Stalinist-type discourse than a well-founded exposition, with amply supplied facts about the true situation of the country. We even find the time-worn opposition between the old and the new, but this time the old no longer represents the relics of the old regime, capital biases or middle-class behavior; it is altogether Brezhnevism. Thus a system has been condemned without a public trial. It is as though Stalinism had already been condemned without a public indictment in the "secret speech" at the Twentieth Party Congress and in the decisions of the Twenty-second Congress. It was, it must be remembered, the natural tendency of the ruling class of the time. It would undoubtedly have triumphed without the personal intervention of Khrushchev. In this hypothesis, the SPD of Gorbachev shows a new step in the life of the skaz. It is no longer a question of a war of the skazes, but a question of pragmatic behavior with regard to the post-Stalin skaz. The historic compromise thus concluded was that neither de-Stalinization nor reStalinization will be a part of the new compromise. There will be no scandal, we will change what can be changed, while recognizing among ourselves (i.e., the "young") that the "old" leaders were incapable and that the industrial and technological performances of the West still remain beyond our reach. This incapacity constitutes a permanent danger to our security. Andropov attributed this chronic incapacity of the USSR to catch up with the West to a lack of knowledge of the realities of his country and he insisted that the scientists and economists provide him with the solutions. Gorbachev seems to have found them when he states that one must "boldly set aside all that is outmoded so that the anti-spending economic mechanism can function to the fullest extent." What exactly is this mysterious war machine launched against the resistance of those who are behind the times? A financial system of rewards and penalties? A favorable work atmosphere in the heart of a collective animated by the party spirit? A revolution in production relations (everybody would know about that!)? Or a new rhetorical figure born out of the fertile imagination of the young colleagues of the General Secretary, just as the new ideological concept of the acceleration of social and economic development? It is interesting to note that each politico-economic concept has its Utopia that accompanies it like a shadow for the duration of its historic existence. The Soviet system of extensive development aspires to that

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which is inaccessible to it (efficiency, high productivity, initiative) because of the very structure of its production relations. This Utopia constitutes precisely the essence of the antithetical rival concept (capitalism and its intensive development) in the heart of which proliferate such Utopian ideas as full employment, the welfare state, and meritocracy. Because of not being able to (or not wanting to) recognize the objective limits of its societal model and consequently those of the skaz, the present spokesman for SPD (the General Secretary) must "occupy the terrain" with mobilizing statements and spectacular measures (dismissals, forced retirements, reprimands). Such measures are easier for him during the "state of grace" accorded to each new ruler upon coming to power. A change in generations without a change in relations, is what is most spectacular. The Western news media attentively note and smugly comment on the respective ages of the octogenarians who are dismissed and the quinquagenarians who have been promoted to replace them. Gorbachev, the new man, is young, and is welcomed as such in the West. He is available for interviews and press conferences for the West but, what is new is that he authorizes the almost complete diffusion of these to his fellow citizens! By this, he seems to want to tell them: — Look, I'm not afraid of them, I am capable of answering them to defend the honor of our socialist fatherland. Be confident again and imitate me! Is Gorbachev engaging in a face-to-face encounter with the Western mass media in order to show the world that the Soviet ideology (his skaz) is capable of refuting anti-Soviet arguments nourished by dissidents? This is a dangerous wager that up to the present time has scarcely succeeded for representatives of the communist movement. Nikita Khrushchev tried it in his show-business politics. His popularity in the West was inversely proportional to the disapproval he received in his own country! In France, Georges Marchais, the Secretary General of the French Communist Party, was for a long while a television personality, but his popularity with TV viewers rose as the communist electorate diminished! Western journalists (American or French) have committed the same error by asking the General Secretary whether there is a new Gorbachev style. They all have received the same answer: "The only style I know is that of Lenin!" Modest but firm, devoted to his party and his fatherland, responsible for the future of humanity, that is the image of himself that Gorbachev wants to give. It is an image of total conformity but corresponds exactly to the production norms of the skaz. It would be more interesting to study the comportment of Gorbachev, this

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champion of the national honor of the USSR. The image of the fatherland of socialism has become greatly tarnished in the past decade. One must first of all think of ameliorating that image. Gorbachev has on several occasions risen up against the anti-Soviet campaigns in the West. He threatened that people are waiting for the same considerations in return. Behind these cliches, his sincere irritation was visible, that of the ruler of a superpower which had been dragged through the mud, ridiculed, and treated like a third-rate power by the foreign media. Gorbachev never misses a chance to remind everyone, loudly and clearly, of the eminent position of the USSR in every domain. But is this sufficient to renew its image? He tried this in an interview he granted to French television on 1 October 1985, opening the program with a long preamble in which he boasted of Franco-Soviet friendship, putting humanity on guard against a nuclear apocalypse, and describing the situation in his country. There is nothing earthshaking in this declaration which hums smoothly along, from the old Brezhnevist skaz. Fortunately, it then gave way to questions and answers, which revealed an astonishing reciprocal lack of comprehension. Gorbachev thought he could disconcert his Western interviewers by affirming that there were neither workers nor peasants in their parliaments (with the insinuation that there were only representatives of the upper-middle-class and lackeys of capitalists). Mourousi, the French journalist, thought he could embarrass Gorbachev by asking if there were really 4 million political prisoners in the USSR. It was a providential question, just like those that are regularly answered in the Magazine of the France-USSR Association, which illustrates the degree of ignorance that reigns in the West with regard to the USSR. Is it true that Soviet children are still dying of hunger? Are all foreign tourists followed by a KGB agent during their trips? Are there still bears in Moscow? etc. . . . Since he cannot win over the West with a new image of his country, the General Secretary can always try to discredit the "Other," on condition that he does it in moderation so as not to jeopardize the chances for future dialogue. This "Other" is not necessarily President Reagan, elected by the American people. They are the poorly defined imperialists, those who wish to aggravate the tension between East and West, the agitators. But there is also the West as seen by the Russians, a frivolous creature, influenced by what is in vogue and by the mass media, and which is content with an agreement to exchange ballet troupes. In contrast, the

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USSR is a serious partner who has already formulated more than a hundred serious disarmament proposals, who seriously prepared for the meeting in Geneva, and who was not content only to exchange handshakes and to admire Lac Leman. Semiological analysis of the SPD aims at a better understanding of the USSR. It tries to place the observer inside the brain of the spokesmen, into the fictional world that they create and maintain, by virtue of their discourse, and of a skaz of which they are at the same time both master and prisoner. What are the conclusions of this approach? It is not at all a matter of our deciding whether this skaz is true or false. It is a fiction and every act of language is a creator of fiction. A society develops, lives, and dies with its discourse. Is Soviet society going to die because of its skaz} A Polish friend recently confided to me about the Gorbachev era: "We have already been through that with Gierek; it was the little (malaia) stabilization. The people forced many things back into their subconscious and the awakening was brutal." We cannot pass sentence on the above, but we can better define the rules of the game, the conditions of dialogue between East and West. To accept the skaz of the Soviet Union does not mean to adopt it oneself, like a mask, under the pretext of creating a favorable atmosphere for the spokesmen. That, on the contrary, would uselessly complicate matters. But to take it into account during negotiations and to be aware of the high value that the Soviet Union attaches to it would greatly facilitate the opening of a true dialogue.7 NOTES 1 See Alcxandre Bourmcystcr, "Iouri Andropov, dialogue avec ouvriers sovietiques," Essais sur le dialogue, vol. u (1984), pp. 301-19. 2 See Alexandrc Bourmeyster, "L'Enonciateur, l'Enonciataire et l'Autre," Essais sur le discours Sovietique, vol. 11 (1982), pp. 61-97. 3 See Alexandrc Bourmeyster, "Utopie, Ideologic et Skaz," Essais sur le discours Sovietique, vol. m (1983), pp. 1-53. 4 Sec Alexandre Bourmeyster, "Essai d'analyse scmiologique de la Constitution Sovietique," Essais sur le discours Sovietique, vol. 1 (1981), pp. 65-102. 5 See Alcxandre Bourmcystcr, "Novlanguc, langue-dc-bois et programmes narratifs," Essais sur le discours Sovietique, vol. iv (1984), pp. 1-24. 6 Sec Alcxandre Bourmcystcr, "L'Elargissement de la Democratic Socialistc (xxv Congrcs-Promulgation dc la nouvelle Constitution)," Annuaire de I'USSR, 1976-77, pp. 29-36. 7 Sec Alcxandre Bourmcystcr, "Lc dialogue Est-Oucst a la conference de Potsdam vue par Alcxandre Tshakovski, autcur dc la Victoire," Essais sur le dialogue, vol. 11 (1984), pp. 321-48.

7 The nationality policy of the CPSU and its reflection in Soviet socio-political terminology MICHAEL B R U C H I S

In Soviet legal, historical, sociopolitical and other literature, the term state is used both in a wider sense as a synonym for the country as a whole, and in a narrower sense as a synonym for an administrative-territorial formation having the status of a union national republic. Aside from instances when thejuridical status of union republics is considered, it can be said that in Soviet scholarly, sociopolitical works, in periodicals, and in other publications the term state is used exclusively in the wider sense. For example, in the constitution of the RSFSR, the largest union republic of the USSR in territory, population and economic potential, the term state occurs in the narrower sense three times only: in Article i, which states that it is "a socialist state of the whole people"; in Article 68, which states that it is "a sovereign Soviet socialist state"; and in Article 78, which stipulates that each of the autonomous republics of the RSFSR "is a Soviet socialist state." On the other hand, the RSFSR constitution uses the term in its wider sense forty times. For example, "the state helps enhance the social homogeneity . . . and the all-round developing and drawing together of all the nations and nationalities of the USSR" (Article 19); "When abroad, citizens of the RSFSR enjoy the protection and assistance of the Soviet state" (Article 31), etc.1 The third occurrence of the term state in its narrow sense in the constitution of the RSFSR clarifies the assertion that in this sense it serves in Soviet vocabulary merely to designate property. The Russian Federate Republic encompasses sixteen of the autonomous republics now existing in the USSR among which is the Bashkir Autonomous SSR and the Tatar Autonomous SSR. The territory of the Bashkir ASSR (143,600 km2), for example, is more than quadruple that of the Moldavian SSR (33,800 km2), and the territory of the Tatar ASSR (68,000 km2) is more than twice that of Moldavia. Also, both the Bashkir and the Tatar autonomous republics have populations nearly 121

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equal to that of Moldavia. To preserve the appearance that the RSFSR, as follows from its name, is a "federated state formation," the article in its constitution pertaining to autonomous republics states that each such republic "is a Soviet socialist state" (Article 78). However, Article 82 of the constitution of the USSR, which legalizes the status of autonomous republics, states that: "An autonomous republic is a constituent part of a union republic." Because "the jurisdiction of the Soviet Union, as represented by its highest bodies of state authority and administration," covers "control over observance of the constitution of the USSR," and ensures "conformity of the constitutions of union republics with the constitution of the USSR," and "in the event of a discrepancy between a union republic law and an all-union law, the law of the USSR shall prevail," the autonomous republics cannot be viewed as states. Neither is the union republic properly a state, notwithstanding the fact that the constitution of the USSR solemnly proclaims that "a union republic is a sovereign Soviet socialist state" (Article 76), and that "each union republic shall retain the right freely to secede from the USSR" (Article 72). This is because Article 81, which states that "the sovereign rights of union republics shall be safeguarded by the USSR," emasculates the provisions of Article 72.2 Not having in its possession such an indispensable attribute of a "sovereign state" as national armed forces, each union republic is, naturally, unable to defend its "sovereign rights." Furthermore, because the leadership of the armed forces of the USSR and the right to decide on issues of war and peace are reserved for the Kremlin rulers, the union republics do not possess in fact the possibility "freely to secede from the USSR." Any attempt of a union republic to secede can always be nipped in the bud for the ostensibly "legitimate reason" that it would be contrary to the interests of the USSR. That the union republics (like the autonomous republics) are not properly states can also be seen from their own constitutions. An analysis of the constitution of the RSFSR confirms this point. Thus, for example, Article 68 states that "The RSFSR concedes to the USSR, as represented by its highest bodies of state authority and administration, the right defined by Article 73 of the constitution of the USSR." However, the rights enumerated in all twelve points of Article 73 of the constitution of the USSR, which "the RSFSR concedes to the USSR" (i.e., transfers them to the exclusive jurisdiction of the USSR), are attributes not only of sovereignty in general, but also of statehood in particular. Thus, thejurisdiction of the USSR, represented by its highest bodies of state authority and administration, covers, for example, the

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determination of the state boundaries of the USSR and approval of changes in the boundaries between union republics, issues of war and peace, direction of the armed forces, establishment of the general procedure for, and coordination of, the relations of union republics with other states and with international organizations, foreign trade, ensurance of conformity of the constitutions of union republics to the constitution of the USSR and settlement of other matters of all-union importance. All points of Article 73 of the constitution of the USSR, without exception, prove that union republics are not states, especially not sovereign states. Its second and twelfth points reveal, furthermore, that the preceding Article 72, which states that "each union republic shall retain the right freely to secede from the USSR," is merely a front to create an appearance that union republics are sovereign states. First, the issue of secession of any union republic has an "all-union importance"; second, the change in the state boundaries of the USSR resulting from any such secession is subject to the decision not of any of the union republics but of the "highest bodies of state authority" of the USSR. Therefore, the efforts of pliant Soviet authors to create the impression that the right of a union republic to secede from the USSR "can be effected on one condition only: that the people of the republic freely express their will to do so," that "for the realization of this right no assent of highest bodies of authority of the USSR or of other republics is required," and that this right "cannot be abolished, modified or limited,"3 are entirely unfounded. It is thus evident that the spirit of the constitution of the RSFSR constitutes a proof that union republics are not properly states. But the RSFSR constitution also demonstrates that the RSFSR is the dominant republic in the USSR both economically and politically, and that the Russian people are dominant not only among the peoples and nationalities of the RSFSR, but in the USSR as a whole. The constitutions of all the union republics literally repeat the sixth article of the constitution of the USSR, which states: "The leading and guiding force of Soviet society and the nucleus of its political system, of all state organizations and public organizations, is the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. . . . " Since this is the only article in Soviet constitutions which legalizes the status of the Communist Party in Soviet society and state, its importance with regard to non-Russian union republics is that the Central Committees of the Communist Parties of non-Russian national republics possess equal rights (established in March 1919 by the Eighth Congress of the Russian Communist Party)4 with the regional committees of the party; and

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therefore are fully subordinated to the Central Committee of the CPSU. Opposing the use of the term "national detachments of the party" 5 in historical party literature, a Soviet author points out, on the one hand, that "unlike the . . . union state as a federation of national states," the CPSU is "international in its essence and composition, as well in the organization principles of its structure," and that it "is built up not on a national—territorial basis, but on a territorial—production basis." On the other hand, he emphasizes that "the republican organizations of the CPSU . . . as component detachments of a multinational CPSU . . . are not national, but international organizations. . . of the Leninist party," and that within the republic "they organize . . . the implementation of directives of the Central Committee of the CPSU." 6 Those statements, which are based on the CPSU statutes, show that the party organizations of union republics and other central committees whose role, according to the statutes, is "to organize within the republic the implementation of the directives of the Central Committee of CPSU," are first and foremost the executors of the will of the Kremlin rulers and not of the populations of the respective republics. When Kremlin rulers conclude that their henchman at the head of a republican party organization fails to implement the directives of the Central Committee of the CPSU, condones manifestations of "localism," or, even worse, encourages such tendencies, they replace him without even convening the congress of the republican party organization. They send a new henchman to the republic or they appoint one from the local party activists, who, in their opinion, will implement their directives with greater zeal. Thus, although each non-Russian union republic has its own Central Committee, the republican party organization and its Central Committee do not possess the prerogatives of the institutions of a sovereign state. The use of the term country in the constitutions of all the union republics and in Soviet socio-political and other literature, is an exclusive synonym for the USSR as a whole, and also confirms all that has been said above concerning the use of the term state. The term country in Soviet terminology, is not synonymous with either the term union or the term autonomous republic. Therefore, a small republic such as Soviet Moldavia or a large republic such as Soviet Ukraine, is always referred to as a republic or a province (krai) but never as a state or a country.

Thus, for instance, an article on Ukrainian—Moldavian relations states that: "It is notorious that between the Moldavian and Ukrainian provinces narrow ties existed . . ." or that there existed an "exchange of goods between the provinces. . . ." 7 At first sight it seems paradoxical that the largest union republic, the RSFSR, does not possess its own republican party organization, or a

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Central Committee. Several reasons exist for such "discrimination," of which the primary is by no means an attempt to avoid duplicating the functions of the CPSU and its Central Committee. There is quite a lot of duplication between the Supreme Soviet and the Council of Ministers, and the ministries of the USSR with a Supreme Soviet, a Council of Ministers, and ministries of the RSFSR. The principal reason, in all probability, lies in the fact that the Kremlin rulers consider it quite dangerous for themselves to allow the existence of such parallel party institutions. If there existed in the RSFSR (as is the case in all other union republics) a republican party organization with its own Central Committee, such a communist organization could present a serious potential threat to the leaders of the CPSU. Persons installed by the CPSU at the head of such an organization could refuse obedience for various reasons and adopt their own republican Central Committee resolutions contrary to the will of their Kremlin bosses. Such an eventuality could prove dangerous to the Kremlin rulers. Since the leaders of higher ruling bodies of the USSR which are functioning on the territory of the RSFSR would belong, according to party statutes, to the republican organization, the resolutions of the Central Committee of the RSFSR might be represented as expressing the will of those individuals. The dominant position of Russians in the USSR is manifested, for example, by their growth in some non-Russian republics to such an extent that in some of them their numbers begin to exceed those nationalities in whose name the republics were established. According to the 1979 census, the Russians comprised 40.8 per cent of the population of Kazakh SSR (Kazakhs 36.0 per cent), 21.1 per cent of the Ukrainian SSR (Ukrainians 73.6 per cent), 32.8 per cent of the Latvian SSR (Latvians 53.0 per cent), 27.9 per cent of the Estonian SSR (Estonians 64.7 per cent), 25.9 per cent of the Kirghiz SSR (Khirghiz 47.9 per cent).8 But even in those Soviet republics in which the Russians do not as yet constitute a large proportion of the population (although in most of them the trend is towards an increase both in percentages as well as in absolute numbers), they occupy key positions and exert a decisive influence on the ongoing conversion of those republics from nationalpolitical formations into merely territorial-administrative units.9 The final goal of the nationality policies of the CPSU, as is shown by party documents, is the merging of the peoples of the USSR into one Soviet nation. In his address on the sixtieth anniversary of the USSR, Iu. Andropov stated that: "Our final goal is obvious. It is, in Lenin's words, not only a convergence of nations but also their merging."10 Every effort, therefore, is now being directed to achieve this goal in the

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foreseeable future, and therefore, these efforts find their reflection in certain changes and in Soviet socio-political terminology. However, the continuing use of certain "vestigial" terms quite clearly demonstrates that the real aim of the Kremlin rulers is not simply the merging of peoples and nationalities of the country, but rather their absorption by the Russians who are the dominant people of the USSR. Thus, while doing all they can to strengthen a unified Soviet state, the Kremlin rulers and their sycophants attack not only manifestations of departmental narrowness and localism (mestinchestvo) but also, with flagrant intolerance, even any mention by the representatives of nonRussian peoples of merits that these nations might possess, or what they have achieved, unless it is also accompanied by a statement which stresses the assistance that they received from other peoples of the USSR. The only exception is the Russian people. The Kremlin leaders insist that all other peoples should express "special words of gratitude to the Russian people" without whose "unselfish brotherly assistance no lasting achievements by any of the republics would be possible."11 It should be recognized that "the Russian people, being a more advanced nation, consciously accepted material sacrifices and privations, in order to help their brothers,"12 and that all peoples of the USSR nourish "love and brotherly feelings towards the great Russian people."13 The preamble to the constitution of the RSFSR says on the one hand that "the formation of the RSFSR ensured favorable conditions for the Russian people and for all nations and nationalities of the Russian Federation . . .," and on the other hand that "the people of the Russian Soviet Federated Socialist Republic . . . proclaim this constitution." The terminological collocation, "the people of the RSFSR," is consistent with the proposition of the Kremlin leaders and the views of obedient Soviet scholars concerning the "new historical community of people, the Soviet people" which allegedly has emerged in the USSR. According to compilers of the constitution of the RSFSR, "the people of the RSFSR" is an inseparable, integral part of that "new community." In the same sense, the collocation "the people of the Moldavian SSR," in the preamble of the constitution of the Moldavian SSR which states that "the people of the Moldavian SSR proclaim this constitution,"14 is fully consistent with that proposition. The use in the constitution of the RSFSR of another terminological collocation: "the Russian people, the nations and nationalities of the Russian Federation," is not consistent with the above proposition, however. The collocation "the Russian people, the nations and nationalities. . ." should be considered as "vestigial" in relation to the terminology being worked out in connection with the notion of a

Nationality policy and socio-political terminology Soviet people. The "vestigial" term "the Russian people" occurs also in the constitution of the Moldavian SSR ("The great Russian people extended tremendous help to the working masses of Moldavia"), but this document lacks any mention of a "Moldavian people."15 Although the RSFSR has been designated a "federated" republic, except for the Russians its constitution does not mention any of the other peoples in this "federation." The discord in the use of the terms "Russian people" and "people of the RSFSR" (or Moldavian SSR, etc.) stems from the lack of harmony between the theory of convergence and merging of all peoples and nationalities of the USSR into one Soviet people, and the politically promoted trend towards the actual domination of others by the Russians and the absorption of other nationalities into the Russian people. To make this trend irreversible, the Kremlin rulers, in addition to all other means, are systematically turning the non-Russian republics into multinational societies and at the same time proclaiming the necessity of taking into account the requirements of those inhabitants who do not belong to the indigenous population,16 and the need for them to ensure "that all nationalities existing in a given republic be duly represented in various links of Soviet state and party organs."17 Iu. Andropov, in his speech on the sixtieth anniversary of the USSR, confirmed the decisions of the twenty-sixth Congress in this area with an emphasis that "an arithmetical approach to the solution of such problems is pointless."18 This means, as the example of Soviet Moldavia clearly shows, that all key posts in the republic are occupied by persons of Russian nationality, and that the proportion of their numbers in the leadership of the higher party and state bodies is incomparably greater than their proportion in the total population of the republic.19 It can clearly be seen from Soviet sources that an intensive process of linguistic assimilation and ethnic transformation of non-Russian populations is being pursued. According to Soviet authors, linguistic assimilation in the USSR is a voluntary process, and is, "as a rule, a necessary condition and important stage of ethnic assimilation."20 But in reality this process is generated primarily by the policies of the ruling party, and is far from voluntary. Thus, the Program of the CPSU not only condemns manifestations of localism, but also insists that "any manifestations of national isolation are inadmissible in . . . the use of personnel of different nationalities in Soviet republics."21 According to past and present theoreticians of the CPSU, class interests prevail over national interests, and the interests of the USSR

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prevail over the national interests of the individual union republics, in spite of the fact that their constitutions and the constitution of the USSR pronounce them sovereign states. Significant in this respect are the conclusions of economists from non-Russian Soviet republics, and the criticism to which these conclusions have been subjected by a Moscow specialist on the theory of nations and national relations. S. Chirca, in his study of the rates and proportions of economic development of Soviet Moldavia, raised the issue of inter-republican migration of manpower resources. He concluded that a substantial inflow of workers from other republics into Moldavian industry is causing a significant deficiency in the republic's balance of manpower.22 In connection with the same phenomenon in the Kirghiz SSR, T. Koichuev stressed that "it is expedient to limit the inflow of population from elsewhere."23 M. Kulichenko attacked such conclusions by asserting that this approach furthers the isolation of peoples and is inimical to their unity. As well, he pointed out that one cannot be concerned only with the advancement of the economy, that "life requires being concerned . . . with improving socialist national relations." Kulichenko added that "one of the most important means for such improvement is a multifaceted encouragement of contacts between nations and nationalities."24 Kulichenko quotes from Izvestiia that "economic support of one people by another has become something even greater: a social experiment of voluntary migration of specialists from regions possessing more manpower, to regions lacking such specialists, and the creation, in place of different national cultures, of a common culture - a Soviet culture."25 In addition, he noted that the exchange of cadres led to the situation, in the second half of the seventies, when in all the republics the proportion of the cadres of non-indigenous nationality was fairly substantial. In the Ukraine and in Belorussia the proportion of nonindigenous cadres was about 40 per cent, in the republics in Central Asia from 45 to 60 per cent, in the Baltic republics 20 to 50 per cent. He added that this process "not only confers on the working communities an international character, but brings into their lives a spirit of internationalism, furthers the creation of international values in material and spiritual life, and thus brings about the convergence of nations."26 When the issue is formulated in this manner (and it is so formulated by proponents of the CPSU's national policy), the patriotically inclined scholars or merely objective Soviet researchers, whose views do not conform to the aims of this policy, find themselves in a difficult situation. Their subsequent work is placed under severe control by the various scholarly councils and by the censors ofGlaulit, and their future may be

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difficult indeed, while periodically they may be reminded of their "past sins." Soviet scholars write that "when characterizing the economic links of union republics it is absolutely inadmissible to disregard national relations."27 However, some Soviet authors, whether patriotically inclined or those who may be more objective, make assertions that "one cannot refer to a lack of stable habits and traditions for industrial work" in the indigenous population as a reason for transferring manpower from one republic to another. In any case, they clearly underline the fact that such transfers are not voluntary. In addition to ensuring the necessary manpower resources for republics which lack them, the primary aim of the Soviet policy of population migration is to create multinational communities in all republics and thus a solid basis for the process of russification. In the 1970 census Russian was named as the native language by 13 million nonRussians or 11.5 per cent of the total number. By the 1979 census that number had grown to 16.3 million or 13.1 percent. If we assume that the "groups of people who change their language usually also change their ethnic affiliation,"28 we can then understand the apprehensions of the non-Russian patriotically-minded intelligentsia about the fate of their peoples. The widespread bilinguality in the USSR, mostly with Russian as the second language, must be seen as one of the chief prerequisites for changing one's language. "In the seventies the progress of national (nonRussian)-Russian bilingualism" has accelerated, and "the total number of persons who named Russian as their second language, fluently mastered by them, increased in the nine years from one census to the next [1970 to 1979] by 46.3 per cent, whereas the number of persons with second languages other than Russian decreased by 18.0 per cent."29 These facts reveal that Soviet authorities are pursuing a deliberate policy of accelerating the country's russification, accompanied by "plausible" assurances of voluntary linguistic assimilation by members of numerically small peoples and national groups. The trend of transition to the Russian language has become in the USSR "one of the characteristic particularities of the national-linguistic processes,"30 and it occurs both in small nationalities (e.g., Mordvinians) and in large ones such as Ukrainians or Belorussians.31 According to the calculations of Moscow demographer V. Kozlov, the Mordvinians should have numbered in 1979 "more than 1,600,000 and not 1,192,000 as shown by the census,"32 which was the result of assimilation with subsequent ethnic transformation. The overall mean population increase in the USSR in the years 1970 to 1979 was 8.4 per cent, whereas the

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growth of Ukrainians was only 3.9 per cent and of Belorussians only 4.5 per cent. These facts reveal that large groups of Ukrainians and Belorussians are being assimilated by other peoples and especially by the Russians. The acceleration of assimilation is also significantly stimulated by the increases in nationally mixed marriages, which are encouraged by the authorities. They, like the migration processes, play an important role in the russification of the country. Pliant Soviet scholars, especially those close to the Central Committee of the CPSU, are primarily guided in their research not by the theory of Marxism-Leninism nor by the reality of nationality relations within the USSR, but rather by the need to elaborate theses and propositions which correspond to the latest directives of the CPSU, as expressed by the Secretary General of the Central Committee. Thus, after the draft of the present constitution of the USSR was published, the Constitution Committee received a suggestion to include in the text "the concept of a united Soviet nation" as well as "the proposal either to liquidate the union and autonomous republics, or to limit severely the sovereignty of union republics by depriving them of the right to secede from the USSR and the right to maintain foreign relations."33 One explanation for such suggestions is the far-advanced process of russification, which is also reflected in the works of Soviet nationality specialists who claim that "prognoses of a merger of nations in the foreseeable future" are quite evident and that "a united Soviet nation" is in fact taking shape.34 However, an overt acknowledgment by Kremlin rulers that "a united Soviet nation" is even now rapidly occurring might bring, from their viewpoint, extremely harmful consequences both within the country as well as beyond its borders. Such an acknowledgment and the practical actions that stem from it (in the spirit of the suggestions received by the Constitutional Committee) would lead to a sharp growth of the already existing resistance to the process of denationalization on the part of the non-Russian population of the country. Furthermore, such acknowledgment and the actions resulting from it would cause significant harm to the external political position of the USSR, by depriving its ideologists of the ability to flaunt the hackneyed propaganda of the flourishing of non-Russian peoples and nationalities in the USSR, and by opening the eyes of the world to the true aim of Moscow's nationality policies. Explaining the reason the Constitution Committee rejected the aforementioned suggestions, Brezhnev declared that Soviet authorities "would be embarking on a dangerous path if they began to speed up the

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natural process of the convergence of nations artificially."35 Affirming at the same time that the constitution "ensures an all-round flourishing and steadfast convergence of all nations and nationalities of the country," he stressed that this convergence "suggests the necessity of strengthening the USSR as a united federal multinational state."36 Andropov also referred to the constitutional basis "for further flourishing and convergence of all nations and nationalities of the country," however, he added that in this particular question one "cannot forestall eventsjust as it is inadmissible to restrain already maturing processes."37 Thus, while the Kremlin rulers do all they can to accelerate the denationalization of the country's non-Russian population, they have decided to maintain the appearance that the non-Russian peoples and their national statehood are flourishing. Soviet specialists in the Marxist—Leninist theory of nations and nationality relations have to adapt that theory to the aims of the contemporary leadership of the CPSU. Thus, proceeding from the real aims of Moscow's national policy, M. Kulichenko interpreted the dichotomy of the "flourishing and convergence of nations and nationalities of the USSR" in the following manner: "In the correlation of the tendencies of socialism towards the convergence of nations and the flourishing of each nation, the dominant role belongs to the tendency of convergence. . . ." 38 The same Moscow author, who is one of the specialists in the theory of nations and who is very close to the Central Committee of the CPSU, altered beyond recognition Stalin's well-known definition of the concept of nation. He stated that "the formulation of the concept of a 'nation' by I. V. Stalin played an important role in the Marxists-Leninists' understanding of its essence."39 Stalin's definition states that "a nation is a historically constituted, stable community of people, formed on the basis of a common language, territory, economic life, and psychological make-up manifested in a common culture."40 But the definition proposed by Kulichenko is not only much more cumbersome, it is fundamentally different from Stalin's. According to Kulichenko: a nation is a stable socio-historical community of people [liudei] of the era of capitalism and maturing communism, being a natural product and an inevitable form of social progress, created and developing on the basis of the unity (under capitalism a very limited basis and therefore primarily conditional) of the people's [naroda] economic and socio-political life, its language, territory, national culture, national consciousness and national psychology; and also developing on the basis of the results of mutual influence and mutual enrichment of values created by the peoples [narodami].41

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The author's effort to adapt the theory of Marxism to the present national policy of the ruling party of the USSR is revealed by the stress laid at the very beginning of the definition on the nation as a sociohistorical community, and it being a community "of the era of capitalism and maturing communism." Kulichenko specifically avoids the characterization of a nation as a socio-ethnic community.42 In an earlier work, he states that the use of the concept of socio-ethnic community leads "to a wrong evaluation of the correlation between social and ethnic factors in the concept of a 'nation,' and to the under-estimation of the first and the over-estimation of the second concept."43 Because Kulichenko's definition of the concept of a nation intentionally ignores the "ethnic" component whereas its "social" component is emphasized, it is proof that he developed his definition in accordance with the CPSU's policies of accelerated denationalization of the nonRussian population of the country. Kulichenko's emphasis that a nation is a historical community not only during the era of capitalism but also during the formative period of full communism, shows that he tailored his definition to a policy of calming down the non-Russian population of the USSR, and not frightening the foreigners, especially the intellectuals of the young countries in Asia and Africa who might still want to choose socialism over capitalism. This definition is a direct opposite of Stalin's, especially since according to Kulichenko, the first criterion of a nation is "not the common language, but the unity of economic and socio-political life." This priority in turn is related to the definition of the "USSR as an integral, federal multinational state," and also to the policies of strengthening the centralization of the Soviet state44 while at the same time trying systematically to emasculate the artificially preserved forms of national statehood of the non-Russian peoples and nationalities of the USSR. There are two occurrences of the term people in his definition. Kulichenko, like other Soviet authors, repeatedly uses in his works the term people as an absolute synonym of the term nation. He asserts that, "all this immeasurably enriches the material and spiritual values of a nation and furthers its genuinely brotherly relations with all peoples."45 But in his definition these are not synonymous terms. Kulichenko's 1983 publication, in which the above definition of the concept of the nation appears, reveals the reason for such a usage. In that work he sub-divides social communities into three groups. The group that is most pertinent to this issue comprises, according to Kulichenko, three kinds of communities: (1) classes; (2) nations and nationalities; (3) new communities which "are both social and international." He adds that the first of the new communities "has been formed in the Soviet country," and

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that "presently, initial birth processes of the new communities are taking place in certain socialist countries and within their world-wide community."46 Kulichenko finds it necessary to complete his statement by saying that "certain specialists sometimes attribute new historical communities to the second kind of communities, and it eventuates that the Soviet people completes such a cycle of communities as tribe-nationality-nation. This, however, cannot be accepted."47 If we add that in his table of the national structure of Soviet society, Kulichenko lists only nations, nationalities, national groups and ethnic group,48 then it

becomes clear that the term people in his definition of the concept of a nation means also the Soviet people as a whole, as well as the individual Soviet nations of union republics. Thus in this respect, too, the theories elaborated by Kulichenko and reflected in his definition of the concept of a nation, are adapted to the policies of the Kremlin rulers, especially to their assurances that the consolidation, not of a united Soviet nation, but of a united multinational Soviet people is progressing in the USSR. In connection with the proposition, elaborated by the ideologists of the CPSU, that the development of real socialism created in the USSR a new historical community, the Soviet people, the usual homogeneous terminological pair natsional'nosti-natsii, narodnosti-narody became dis-

connected in Soviet historical works. In recent decades they invariably began to use the contaminated, hybrid terminological pair natsii-narodnosti. A direct connection exists between the absence of the term people in all three kinds of the first group of social communities and in the other two groups of Kulichenko's classification of communities and the aforementioned terminological shift. Kulichenko seeks to obscure the progressive russification of the non-Russian population of the USSR by his assertions that the Soviet people, as a new historical community, does not complete "such a series of community forms as tribe-nationality I narodnost'/-nation." In reality, the CPSU is preparing the

ground for the future transition from the formula describing the consolidation of "a united multinational soviet people," to a formula asserting that the consolidation of "a united Soviet nation is progressing in the Soviet state." According to the leaders and ideologists of the CPSU, the working class "is the decisive force in the struggle for the creation of socialist national relations."49 Its proportion in the social class-structure of the population of the USSR grows steadily. By the early eighties the Soviet working class had already reached "62 per cent of the employed population of the country"50 and "constitutes the largest social group in all union republics."51

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It was customary in former decades to describe the working class in non-Russian Soviet republics as "national detachments of the working class" of the USSR. But Soviet historians had discontinued using this term by the late sixties. At the scholarly conference in Kishinev in November 1971 on "issues of the history of the Moldavian Communist Party," the local historian V. Barbulat presented an address on the growth of the national detachment of the working class of Soviet Moldavia.52 However, M. Iskrov, scientific secretary of the Institute of Marxism-Leninism of the CPSU, criticized Barbulat's thesis in his concluding speech. Iskrov pointed out that the working class in all Soviet republics is international in its composition, and it is therefore improper to talk of its "national detachments." This criticism led to the exclusion of Barbulat's address from the published materials of the conference.53 In the past as well as at present, the titles of works on the working class of the Soviet republics normally include the name of the particular republic as, for example, "the working class" of the Moldavian SSR/Moldavia or of the Azerbaidzhan SSR/Azerbaidzhan.54 However, no works exist whose titles include such terms as the "Moldavian working class," the "Uzbek working class," or the "Ukrainian working class."55 Such terminological collocations as "the working class of the Moldavian SSR," etc., are devoid of ethnic-national coloring. They have a purely territorial-administrative tint, such as Tula or Voronezh or Krasnoiarsk or Krasnodar working class. This usage continues even though the new constitution of 1977 states that the USSR "is a socialist state of the whole people, expressing the will and interests of the workers, peasants, and intelligentsia, the working people of all the nations and nationalities of the country" (Article 1), and that the USSR "is an integral, federal, multinational state . . . " (Article 70). When the 1977 constitution confirmed the status of the USSR as a multinational state, the use of the terminological collocation "national detachments of the working class" reappeared, but the real situation did not change. For example, Andropov stated in his address on the sixtieth anniversary of the USSR, that the CPSU "always paid maximal attention to the growth of the national detachments of the Soviet working class, the leading force . . . of the society."56 Although the collocation "national detachments of the working class" was again accepted for use by ideologists of the CPSU and specialists on the theory of nations and national relations,57 its use is not consistent either with the reality it is intended to reflect, or with the spirit of the respective utterances. Thus the above quotation from Andropov, in which the

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collocation "national detachments of the Soviet working class" occurs, continues with the statement that, although the workers constitute "the largest social group" in all union republics, in some of them "the indigenous nationality should be more fully represented in the working class."58 Referring in this connection to the resolution of the Twentysixth Congress of the CPSU on the necessity to enlarge and improve the training of qualified workers "from all nations and nationalities inhabiting the republics," Andropov stressed the political importance of the issue, because, in his words, "multi-national working people and especially workers' collectives, are merely the milieu in which the internationalist spirit is best fostered."59 Thus the so-called "national detachments of the Soviet working class" in union republics are actually not national, but multinational detachments, and what is meant is not the "national character," but the "national composition" of the working class in those republics. Examining the economic development of autonomous republics in the RSFSR, a Soviet researcher emphasized that in these republics "a specific feature . . . is that the working class grew up as a multinational class," and that "it grew, in the first place, on account of the local population and of Russian workers who arrived from elsewhere."60 A similar growth process of the working class occurred not only in the autonomous republics in the RSFSR, but also in the union republics. This process is directly connected with the conclusion of Soviet researchers, which Kulichenko has questioned, that "the Soviet people, as a new historical community, could not be created without a gradual erosion of national differences, without the natural historic process of merging of nations."61 As a result of a decades-long systematic policy of flooding the nonRussian administrative-territorial formations of the USSR with people from other republics, Moscow has transformed these regions into multinational territories. The multinational character of each of them has become the deciding factor in their entire socio-political life, and there are now, as already mentioned, union republics such as Kirghizia and Kazakhstan, in which the indigenous population long ago lost its numerical superiority. But even where Russians do not yet comprise a high percentage of the population, they nevertheless play a decisive role in the denationalization of the indigenous populations of the nonRussian republics. In recent decades the efforts of Moscow to achieve the russifi cation of all levels of party and state bodies in these republics can be seen, for example, in Andropov's statement on the sixtieth anniversary of the USSR, that one must constantly strive that all nationalities in a republic be duly represented on various levels of party and Soviet

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bodies.62 The aim of such policies is not merely the denationalization of non-Russian Soviet republics, but their general russification. Numerous facts confirm this: 1 The constitution of a union republic opens with an article stating that it was proclaimed "by the people of the republic (the people of the Ukrainian SSR, of the Moldavian SSR, etc.) and not by the people by whose name it is called (the Ukrainian people, the Moldavian people and so on)." 2 Moscow rulers and their sycophants condemn all manifestations of pride in the achievements by any Soviet people, small or large, if at the same time it is not stressed that this would not have been possible without help from other peoples of the USSR, and especially from the great Russian people. The rulers and their subordinates are also making every effort to promote in the USSR a cult of Russian culture, literature, language, etc. In works of proponents of the policies of the CPSU, the glorification of the Russian people because they "as a more developed nation, deliberately accepted material privations in order to help its brothers,"63 is accompanied by complaints that "the achievements in developing the economy and culture of individual republics are sometimes described . . . without revealing the main source of each republic's achievementsthe unity, brotherhood and collaboration of all nations and nationalities of the USSR." 64 3 Soviet writings invariably stress, especially in recent years, that the working collectives in all Soviet republics are multinational in composition and internationalist in spirit. Thus the terminology of research works on the working class does not include such collocations as the "Ukrainian" or "Belorussian" or "Kazakh working class." However, in the terminology used in works on the theory of nations and national relations, the collocation "Russian working class" has been preserved, and every effort is made to stress that it lent to the formerly oppressed peoples of Russia "colossal help in establishing Soviet power and in building a new life."65 4 There can often be found in works by Soviet scholars statements and slogans about the continuing flourishing of languages of nonRussian peoples and nationalities in USSR, accompanied by admissions that, in actual fact, a systematic displacement of non-Russian languages from their most important social functions is occurring under the pressure of the multi-sided development of the Russian language and its dissemination throughout the country. Thus Iu. Desheriev, an active proponent of the language policy of the CPSU, writes that in mature socialism, whose criterion is "intermingling of all social classes, groups,

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nations and nationalities. . ., the need of every republic for bilingualism grew, as did also the use of the Russian language not only at work but also in leisure and everyday life."66 5 In identifying the "Soviet people" as a new historical community, Soviet specialists on the theory of nations and national relations point out that the Soviet people is not a nation, but a multinational community. This definition conforms to the assurances of the Kremlin rulers that the constitution of the USSR designates "durable, stable politico-juridical foundations for the further flourishing and convergence of all nations and nationalities of the country." 67 This explains the occurrence in the constitution of the USSR and in the works of Soviet researchers of national relations, of the terminological collocation "friendship of nations and nationalities of the USSR": "It is the duty of every citizen of the USSR . . . to strengthen friendship of nations and nationalities of the multinational Soviet state" (Article 64), or that "among the great achievements . . . are the strengthened cohesion and friendship of all nations and nationalities."68 Although this collocation agrees with the constitution and with the definition of the "Soviet people" as a multinational community, the use by Soviet specialists of the collocation "friendship of the peoples of the USSR," which is not consistent with the text of the constitution or with the aforementioned definition, continues in almost every instance. But an opposing use of terms can also be found. Soviet specialists usually use the hybrid terminological pair natsii-narodnosti, consistent with the documents of the CPSU, the constitutions of the USSR, and the definition of the Soviet people as a multinational community, whereas in some of their writings the homogeneous terminological pairs natsii-natsional'nosti, narodynarodnosti also occur.69 This terminological incongruity can be explained by the fact that basic terminological categories of the theory of nations and nationality relations, as elaborated by specialists closely associated with the Central Committee of the CPSU, penetrate into party documents and thus become established in the historical and socio-political literature, but are not always unreservedly accepted by other specialists in the field or by scholars of similar specialities. Moreover, the authors of these terminological categories often meet difficult obstacles when the need arises to replace terms firmly established in the Soviet socio-political vocabulary; it is not simple to modify such expressions according to their terminological categories. Thus Kulichenko continues to employ everywhere the collocation "friendship among peoples." It should also be noted that certain Soviet scholars, especially from non-Russian republics, who are guided by the letter but not by the spirit

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of party documents, put forward propositions in their writings which are absolutely unacceptable from the standpoint of the true aim of the nationality policy of the CPSU. Resolutions of the Central Committee of the CPSU and Congresses of the CPSU frequently use political slogans about the flourishing of Soviet nations and nationalities, or about expanding the rights of union republics. U. Kudaiberghenov concluded from these slogans that the statehood of Soviet nations shows two tendencies: the first is a natural process of expansion of the rights of union republics, and the second is a strengthening ofjuridical guarantees of their sovereignty. Rejecting these conclusions, Kulichenko affirms that both these tendencies "not only do not occur in Soviet reality, but have no place at all in socialism, especially in its mature stage."70 He is correct because, as has been shown above, in the USSR totally different tendencies are in evidence. But Kulichenko is absolutely wrong when he rejects the conclusion of another Soviet scholar, K. Khabibullin, who, on the basis not of the letter of documents of the CPSU and the writings of its obedient specialists but in their spirit, wrote that "the build-up of a national consciousness is not an aim of the socialist state."71 Even in Kulichenko's writings many statements occur which confirm that Khabibullin's conclusion fits Soviet realities. For example, Kulichenko asserted that in the USSR "in the correlation of national and international factors, the leading role belongs to the international," and "if we compare the increase in significance of social and national factors, it becomes evident that the role of the former grows more significantly."72 There exist in the USSR, as Kulichenko admits, "adversaries of merging the nations, advocates of perpetuating the nations," who "even now often oppose many steps leading to a convergence of nations." He also writes that there are researchers who maintain that "the merging of nations in the USSR reveals even now, in the process of convergence, that convergence and merging . . . are simultaneous processes." Kulichenko resolutely rejects such conclusions for the reason that they "fit neither the reality nor the policies of the CPSU." 73 However, his admission that in the USSR there are adversaries of "many steps leading to a convergence of nations," proves the contrary: that these adversaries combat both the policies of the CPSU ("many steps leading to a convergence of nations") and the denationalization and russification of the non-Russian population of the USSR ("simultaneous processes of convergence and merging").

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NOTES 1 Konstitutsiia (Osnovnoi zakon) Soiuza Sovetskikh Sotsialisticheskikh Respublik (Moscow: 1977), p. 30. 2 Ibid., p. 28. 3 A. Lisetskii, Osnovy natsional'noi politiki KPSS v usloviakh razvitogo sotsializma (po materialam Moldavskoi SSR) (Kishinev: 1977), p. 78. 4 KPSS v rezoliutsiiakh i resheniiakh s'ezdov, konferentsii i plenumov TsK. (Moscow: 1970), vol. 11, pp. 73-74. 5 P. Pospelov, "Lenin i istoriko-partiinaia nauka," in V. I. Lenin i istoricheskaia nauka (Moscow: 1968), p. 16. 6 Lisetskii, Osnovy, pp. 142-43. 7 A. Donos, "Moldovenii la Kiev," Literatura si arta, no. 7 (February 1984), p. 8. 8 Naselenie SSSR. Po dannym Vsesoiuznoi perepisi naselenia ig7Qgoda (Moscow: 1980), pp. 28-30. 9 M. Bruchis, Nations-Nationalities-People: A Study of the Nationalities Policy of the Communist Party in Soviet Moldavia (Boulder, New York: East European Monographs, 1982), pp. 80-101. 10 lu. Andropov, Shest'desiat let SSSR (Moscow: 1982), p. 10. 11 Ibid., p. 9. 12 Iu. Bromley, E. Bagramov, M. Guboglo, M. Kulichenko (eds.) Razvitie natsional'nykh otnoshenii v SSSR v svete reshenii XXII s'ezda KPSS (Moscow: 1982), pp. 339-40. 13 Ibid., p. 347. 14 Moldavia Socialista, 16 April 1978. 15 Ibid. 16 Materialy XXIV s'ezda KPSS (Moscow, 1981), p. 57. 17 Andropov. Shest'desiat let, p. 15. 18 Ibid. 19 M. Bruchis, Nations-Nationalities—People, pp. 55-59, 73, 75-76, 78, 89. 20 V. Kozlov, Natsional'nosti SSSR. Etnodemograficheskii obzor, 2nd edn (Moscow, 1982), p. 239. 21 Programma Kommunisticheskoi Partii Sovetskogo Soiuza (Moscow, 1973), pp. 114, 116. 22 S. Chirca, Tempy i proportsii ekonomicheskogo razvitiia soiuznoi respubliki (Kishinev: 1973). PP- 83-9323 T. Koichuev, Ekonomicheskoe razvitie Kirgizii ifactory ego uskoreniia (Frunze: 1973), p. 10. 24 M. Kulichenko, Rastsvet i sblizhenie natsii v SSSR. Problemy teorii 1 metodologii. (Moscow: 1981), pp. 324-25. 25 Ibid., p. 336. 26 Ibid., pp. 345-46. 27 Ibid., p. 325. 28 Kozlov, Natsional'nosti SSSR, p. 234. 29 Bromley, et al., Razvitie natsional'nykh otnoshenii, p. 169. 30 Kozlov, Natsional'nosti SSSR, pp. 252-53. 31 Ibid. 32 Ibid., p. 283. 33 L. Brezhnev, O konstitutsii SSSR (Moscow, 1977), p. 39. 34 Lisetskii, Osnovy, p. 123.

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55 56 57 58 59 60

61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

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Brezhnev, O konstitutsii, p. 40. Ibid., p. 19. Andropov, Shest'desiat let, pp. 9-10. M. Kulichenko, "Politika KPSS v oblasti natsional'nykh otnoshenii v usloviiakh razvitogo sotsializma," Nauchnyi kommunizm, no. 2 (February 1976), p. 56. M. Kulichenko, Natsiia i sotsial'nyi progress (Moscow: 1983), p. 65. I. V. Stalin, Sochineniia, vol. 11. (Moscow: 1953), p. 296. Kulichenko, Natsiia, p. 66. M. Dzhunusov, "Natsia kak sotsial'no-etnicheskaia obshchnost'," Vopwsy istorii, no. 4 (April 1966). M. Kulichenko, Natsional'nye otnosheniia v SSSR 1 tendentsii ikh razvitiia (Moscow: 1972), P- 30. Brezhnev, O konstitutsii, p. 19. Kulichenko, Natsional'nye otnoscheniia, pp. 46, 48ff. Ibid., p. 34. Ibid. Ibid., p. 170. Bromley, et al., Razvitie natsional'nykh otnoshenii, p. 148. Ibid. Andropov, Shest'desiat let, p. 14. A. Lutchenko, "Nauchnye konferentsii v Kishineve i Minske," Voprosy istorii KPSS, no. 3 (March 1972), p. 146. S. Aftenius, A. Lisetskii, A. Lutchenko, P. Luchinskii, I. Sabadyrev, D. Shemiakov (eds.), Voprosy istorii kommunisticheskoi partii Moldavii (Kishinev: 1973). B. Vizer, A. Mokhova, L. Repida, P. Rybalko, Razvitie rabochego klassa MSSR, ig4O-ig65 (Kishinev, 1970); B. Abdulaev, Rabochii klass Azerbaidzhanskoi SSR v poslevoennye gody, 1946-1050. (Baku: 1965); B. Gurbanov, Rabochii klass Azerbaidzhana na puti k razvitomu sotsializmu, 1945—ip_5* (Baku: 1982). D. Shelest, Kolichestvennye 1 kachestvennye izmenenia v sostave rabochego klassa Ukrainskoi SSR. 1959-1970 (Dnepropetrovsk, 1971). Andropov, Shest'desiat let, p. 14. Bromley, et al., Razvitie natsional'nykh otnoshenii, pp. 157, i8off. Andropov, Shest'desiat let, p. 14. Ibid. V. Alekseev, "Reshaiushchii etap likvidatsii ekonomicheskogo neravenstva narodov (na primere avtonomykh respublik RSFSR)," Iz istorii natsional'nogo stroitel'stva v SSSR (Moscow, 1967), p. 25. Kulichenko, Rastsvet i sblizhenie, p. 233. Andropov, Shest'desiat let, p. 15. Bromley, et al., Razvitie natsional'nykh otonoshenii, p. 340. Ibid., p. 378. Kulichenko, Natsiia, pp. 152, 157, 160. Iu. Desheriev, "Iazykovye problemy ukrepleniia dukhovnoi obshchnosti sovetskogo naroda," in Bromley, et al., Razvitie natsional'nykh otnoshenii, p. 297. Andropov, Shest'desiat let, p. 15. Kulichenko, Natsiia, p. 167. Voprosy istorii KPSS, no. 12 (December 1983), p. 145. Kulichenko, Rastsvet i sblizhenie, p. 282. K. Habibullin, Samosoznanie 1 internatsional'naia otvetsvennost'sotsialisticheskikh natsii. Avtoreferat doktorskoi dissertatsii (Leningrad: 1976), p. 16. See Kulichenko, Rastsvet i sblizhenie, p. 95.

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72 M. Kulichenko, "Aktual'nye problemy marksistsko-leninskogo ucheniia o natsiiakh i natsional'nykh otnosheniiakh v usloviiakh sotsializma," in Sotsializm i natsiia (Moscow: 1975), pp. 71-73. 73 Ibid., pp. 80-81.

8 The evolution of the local Soviets JEFFREY W. HAHN

The word "soviet" in Russian means advice, or counsel. Only in the twentieth century has it taken on the second meaning of a council referring to institutions of government comprised of elected representatives. The absence of such usage prior to 1905 indicates that these institutions lack roots in the political traditions of either the village or the autocracy but are sui generis in Russian history.1 In what follows, the evolution of local government in the Soviet period will be reviewed to determine whether a sufficient theoretical and legal basis has emerged to allow for the expansion of political participation at this level in the contemporary period. In fact, the use of the word "soviet," in its second meaning of a council, referred not to institutions of government but to committees of factory workers, chosen by their peers to negotiate with their employers and with the state during the strikes which emerged around the end of the nineteenth century during Russia's period of nascent industrialization. Such committees would arise on an ad hoc basis, often at the request of management, perform their function of communicating workers' grievances, and then be disbanded, not infrequently with the dismissal from work of those workers who took part.2 The emergence of the idea of the soviet as a quasi-permanent body with a political character occurred at the time of the Revolution of 1905. The first of these is generally considered to have appeared in May 1905, in the textile center of Ivanovo-Voznesensk in Vladimir province, about 200 miles northeast of Moscow.3 Particularly bad living and working conditions prevailed in these factories, and on 25 May a strike began which quickly spread to include 40,000 workers. More than 100 deputies (often called starosty or elders) were elected at individual factories and on 28 May constituted the Ivanovo-Voznesensk Authorized Council (Souet upolnomochennykh). They elected a presidium to negotiate not only for improved economic conditions but political rights as well. During the course of the strike the conduct of local affairs often required the 142

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participation, or at least the acquiescence, of the soviet. While perhaps one-fourth of the deputies were Social Democrats, the soviet was not affiliated with any political party. Although the soviet was disbanded on 31 July (on its own authority), and achieved little in practical results, the former deputies continued to speak for the workers, and the idea of the soviet attracted attention in other parts of the country. The idea of electing worker representatives was hardly unknown elsewhere in Russia. The general strike, which came to a head in St Petersburg, served as a catalyst for the creation of the Council of Workers Deputies (Sovet rabochikh deputatov), which first met on 26 October 1905. Originally consisting of 30 to 40 deputies elected on a ratio of 1 deputy per 500 workers, the St Petersburg soviet grew in a few days to 226 representatives from 96 factories and 5 unions. An executive committee was elected in which the chairman and vice-chairman were Mensheviks, and another vice-chairman was a Socialist Revolutionary.4 What distinguished the St Petersburg soviet and made it a model for 50 or so similar organizations that grew up elsewhere in Russia was not only its broad representativeness across different industries but the revolutionary political intentions of its leadership. As Leon Trotsky wrote in 1922, the St Petersburg soviet was different "because this purely class-founded, proletarian organization was the organization of the revolution as such. The soviet was the axis of all events, every thread ran towards it, every call to action emanated from it." 5 The St Petersburg soviet was to become considerably more than just another strike committee: it was a prototype for the Petrograd Soviet of Workers' and Soldiers' Deputies which was established 12 March 1917 and on the basis of which Lenin would constitute the future government of communist Russia. A detailed description of the development of the Petrograd soviet from its inception to the October Revolution is beyond the scope of the present work and is, in any case, thoroughly covered elsewhere.6 What is pertinent in a study exploring the Soviets as representative institutions is the degree to which the deputies to the Petrograd soviet participated in the momentous decisions that led to establishment of political power in their name. Given the uncertainties generated by the overthrow of the Tsar, the first days of the Petrograd soviet were necessarily characterized by a sort of chaotic direct democracy, one which was dominated, however, by a small number of socialist intellectuals acting on their perceptions of the workers' interests. The critical decision not to join the Provisional Government, for example, appears to have been made by a self-appointed Executive Government largely on its own authority: the vote was 13—8. The development of the Petrograd soviet as a popular body in whose

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name a smaller group of leaders made effective decisions facilitated its takeover by the Bolsheviks in September. At first, however, Bolshevik representation was weak. In March 1917, the total number of deputies reached an unwieldy 3,000, of which two-thirds were soldiers. The Bolsheviks accounted for only 40 of these. The 42-member Executive Committee of the Petrograd soviet, which was technically accountable to its working-class membership, but included only 7 workers, made decisions which were ratified at sessions of the whole. Only two of its members, J. V. Stalin and L. B. Kamenev, were Bolsheviks. While Lenin's party fared somewhat better in the borough Soviets in Petrograd and in the local zemstua (provisional administrations) which had been given control of the municipal dumas (legislative councils) by the Provisional Government, the Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries clearly dominated the soviet movement in Russia.7 Thus, at the First All-Russian Congress of Soviets which met on 16 June, out of 822 voting delegates, 285 were Socialist Revolutionaries, 248 were Mensheviks, and 105 were Bolsheviks. Lenin's commitment in the "April Theses" to the Soviets as "the only possible form of revolutionary government" and his slogan "all power to the Soviets" seem paradoxical in the light of Bolshevik weakness in these organs.8 In fact, his commitment was ambivalent and pragmatic. From the outset of the revolution, governing had been the responsibility of the Duma, but real power lay with the Petrograd soviet which controlled the activities of the workers and soldiers and whose effective veto over the decisions of the Provisional Government was established by the famous "Order No. 1." Yet, as Lenin also recognized in his speech to the Bolsheviks on his return to Russia on 17 April, the Soviets were controlled by the Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries. Lenin's strategy as outlined in the "April Theses" was to attack the leadership of the Petrograd soviet for its support of the Provisional Government, but his objective was to gain Bolshevik control of that body and to use it as an instrument of revolution. This goal seemed distant when the Petrograd soviet repudiated Lenin and the Bolsheviks for their participation in the abortive uprising of 16—18 July, an uprising conducted under the slogan "all power to the Soviets." Indeed, Lenin abandoned this slogan until 13 September when the Bolsheviks, riding a crest of popularity based on their key role in the defeat of Kornilov, finally gained a majority in the Petrograd soviet. At this time, a new Executive Committee was elected comprised of 22 Bolsheviks, 16 Socialist Revolutionaries, and 6 Mensheviks. An apostate Trotsky was elected chairman. Now that the power of the Soviets belonged to the Bolsheviks, the revolution to take over the government could proceed.

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Lenin's approach to the Soviets in 1917 was primarily tactical; they were means to an end rather than the end itself. Yet when that revolutionary end was secured and the question of how to govern came to the fore, the Soviets were projected by Lenin as the incarnations of Marxist democracy. In doing so, Lenin drew heavily on Marx's description of the Paris Commune of 1871. It was perhaps the clearest expression of Marx's views on governing a communist society, a society in which the state was to become extinct. According to Marx, communal government would consist of elected representatives of the working class, subject to recall. There would be no separation of executive and legislative functions apparently to ensure that those who passed laws would also be responsible for carrying them out. Public service would be remunerated at "workmen's wages" to avoid the development of a class of professional politicians. All of the municipal functions formerly undertaken by the state would now be run by the citizens themselves through their councillors. The Paris commune was to have been prototypical for all of France, with local affairs being decided by local communes, while those "few but important functions which would still remain for a central government" would be conducted by instructed delegates sent from district assemblies. The standing army and police were to be abolished; order would be preserved by local militia and the natural comradeship of the working class.9 The evolution of Lenin's thinking on the Soviets has significance for understanding the conception of the state in contemporary socialist societies. Neil Harding has made a persuasive argument that two mutually exclusive conceptions of government contended in Marxist thought on the state: the ideal of the commune, with its emphasis on proletarian self-rule and direct democracy, and the dictatorship of the proletariat, with its reliance on coercion to repress class opposition. In Harding's view, at least until April 1918, Lenin continued to favor the evolution of the Soviets into proletarian instruments of self-government, in which locally accountable worker—citizens would run their own affairs: a government by amateurs, if you will. But as a result of the crises faced by the Bolsheviks during the period of the civil war, Lenin was forced to rely on the other Marxian theoretical construct of the state as a dictatorship, albeit one acting in the interests of the working class.10 A contrary view holds that Lenin was never interested in the Soviets as instruments of self-government but always viewed them simply as a means to make revolution and supported them only when they acted according to the directions of the party.11 There is evidence to support this view in the absence of references to the Soviets in State and Revolution

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and in the contemptuous repudiation of democratic "forms of government" in The Proletarian Revolution and the Renegade Kautsky written in

October 1918.12 Whatever the merits of the latter view, the fact remains, that for any Soviet scholars seeking doctrinal legitimization of their efforts to resurrect the Soviets as institutions for popular participation in government, there is ample ammunition in the writings of both Marx and Lenin. The communal model as a political archetype of the kind of government which would emerge in communist society after the coercive apparatus of the state was no longer needed persists in the theoretical formulations articulated by Lenin after the October Revolution and is even incorporated into the 1919 Program of the All-Russian Communist Party (Bolsheviks). In the draft of this Program, Lenin reaffirmed the ultimate goal of abolishing the state and proposed worker self-administration as the form of governance to replace it.13 Emphasis on direct worker participation in the running of their own affairs is echoed in contemporary Soviet writing on the Soviets,14 and much of the language and spirit of this communal model has also found its way into the legislation adopted on the Soviets since 1967.1S In some of this writing, the dictatorship of the proletariat is presented as a necessary but temporary form of the state justified by the exigencies of civil war and the abnormal circumstances of rapid industrialization. In normal times, it is implied, a return to some version of direct worker participation found in early Bolshevik theory would become possible.16 Whatever visions the Bolsheviks may have entertained about the future evolution of the Soviets, practice diverged from theory rather sharply in the period following the October Revolution. Rather than direct democracy, the state moved quickly in the direction of ever greater centralization. Whatever local autonomy existed was by default, not design, and even that disappeared with the onset of industrialization. It was one thing to declare at the Second All-Russian Congress of the Soviets on 7 November 1917 that "all power henceforth belongs to the Soviets" and quite another to erect a government. The structure of government which did emerge was minimal and readily adaptable; real power rested with the party from the outset. Nationally, decisions were made by the Council of Peoples Commissars, chaired by Lenin and nominally responsible to the Congress of Soviets and its Central Committee. Local government was handed over to the Soviets of Workers', Soldiers', Peasants', and Farm Laborers' Deputies by a circular from the Commissariat of Internal Affairs issued on 4 January 1918 which simultaneously terminated the authority of the zemstvo organs which preceded them. The Commissariat's instructions

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were less than a page in length; local organs decided local matters; they carried out the decrees and decisions of the central power; and they elected an executive committee from among their members to do this.17 That was about it. Not until the Constitution of 10 July 1918 did the principles of soviet government find institutional expression. Here, however, the legal requirements were quite specific. In towns, local Soviets of between 50 and 1,000 deputies were elected at a ratio of 1 per 1,000 inhabitants; village Soviets numbered between 3 and 50 deputies with 1 deputy for every 100 citizens. The town Soviets were to meet once a week, the villages, twice. An executive committee (ispolkom) of up to 5 villagers, or 3 to 15 townspeople, would be elected from the membership to conduct current business. Elections to Soviets at higher administrative levels (volosf, uezd,guberniia, andoblast') were indirect, the deputies being chosen by the executive committee of the subordinate unit. At the summit was the All-Russian Congress of Soviets. While the Constitution specified local control over local questions (Article 61.c), central control was ensured both by the Constitution (Article 61.a.) and by the principle of democratic centralism.18 Like the theories on which it was based, the Constitution was the expression of an ideal; it described what government should be like, not what it was. In fact, two realities determined the character of the Soviets in their formative years: the extension of party control over the organs of government and the weakness of the Soviets outside the major cities. With respect to the first, it should be remembered that in their origins the Soviets were independent of any single party control. Their membership was comprised of individuals with varying party affiliations or, frequently, none at all. Following the dismissal of the Constituent Assembly on 19 January 1918, all pretensions that the Soviets could act independently of the will of the Bolshevik Party were eliminated. If the party was the "vanguard of the proletariat," then in Lenin's words "the Soviets are the Russian form of the dictatorship of the proletariat."19 Party control over the Soviets was ensured, not only by the steady abolition of opposition parties, but by the erection in the summer of 1918 of an organizational structure which paralleled that of the Soviets at every level from the center to the periphery. By the time of the Eighth Party Congress of March 1919, the highly partisan nature of the relationship between the party and the Soviets had been established and codified.20 The second reality to be recognized about the early development of the Soviets is that the organization of the political life of the villages, where most Russians lived, bore little resemblance to that prescribed by

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the Constitution. In the words of one district deputy "I must note, to my regret, that in some places there are actually no Soviets at all; they exist on paper. And even where they do exist, they have no life, there are no meetings, no resolutions or decisions are arrived at." In the words of another, "It is fortunate for the village that none of the authorities tries to find out if its orders have been followed. The village becomes completely independent . . . hardly anything is known in the countryside of the Soviet system, actions, or aims."21 Nor was the weakness of the Soviets confined to the villages. Soviet scholars concede that the economic, cultural and organizational work of the Soviets outside of the major urban centers was generally of a low level.22 The harnessing of the Soviets to the tasks of industrialization and collectivization in the late nineteen-twenties and early nineteen-thirties did not so much change their character as subordinate them to control from the center. This was the result not only of economic necessity; political reasons also played a role. Whatever vestigial traces of the Soviets' independent origins may have remained, they disappeared by the time the Constitution of 1936 was adopted. Together with the trade unions, the peasants, the scientific community, writers and artists, and ultimately even the party itself, the Soviets became fully yoked to the construction of "socialism in one country."23 With respect to the local Soviets, the 1936 Constitution contained changes in both nomenclature and structure; it also made explicit the principle of "dual subordination" by which the executive organs of the local Soviets were accountable not only to the council that elected them but also to their corresponding administrative departments at higher levels (Article 101). The pre-revolutionary terminology for the local organs of government (guberniia, uezd, uolost', etc.) were replaced. Republics were now subdivided into area (krai), region (oblast'), district (raion), city [gorod) and village (selo) Soviets. Elections to the Soviets were made direct and were held every two years. Voters now elected deputies to the Soviets at each level of the hierarchy from the village to the USSR Supreme Soviet (Articles 95, 134). Equality of suffrage represented a change from earlier days when the industrial workers were heavily over-represented. Originally scheduled to meet once or twice weekly, soviet sessions were now to be held four to six times annually, more nearly reflecting local practice (RSFSR Constitution, Articles 85, 86).24 The activities of the Soviets under this constitution and for the rest of the period of Stalin's leadership were not insignificant. Especially during the war years and the period of reconstruction which followed, much of the administration of local affairs, of necessity, was left to local administrators. Despite the loss during the war of two out of three

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deputies and over half of the ispolkom chairmen, the Soviets continued to function. 25 Yet the suggestion that "citizen influence on local decisions" may have been a by-product of these circumstances should be carefully qualified.26 The realities of political life at the local level diverged substantially from what was prescribed by the Constitution. Descriptions provided by the Soviets themselves, starting with Khrushchev's inventory of shortcomings to the Twentieth Party Congress, make it clear that by 1956 the Soviets functioned more effectively on paper than in life. More often than not, local decisions appear to have been made by local administrators acting on instructions from above, and then imposed on an indifferent citizenry. It would be difficult to exceed in frankness the description set forth in the resolution adopted by the CPSU on 22 January 1957, " O n Improving the Work of the Soviets of Workers Deputies and Strengthening Their Ties with the Masses." According to this document: The most important questions in the practical work of the Soviets are rarely brought before sessions for consideration. Many executive committees, heads of administrative departments, and directors of economic organizations are not being held accountable to the Soviets, which results in an absence of supervision, and a weakening of the directing role of the Soviets as the organ of state power at the local level. In many instances, sessions of the Soviets limit themselves to discussions of minor questions, are conducted in a formalistic fashion, at times simply to parade forth approval of the draft decisions prepared by the executive committees. As a result, the sessions are conducted in a passive fashion; shortcomings and mistakes in the work of the soviet organs and of their executives are not criticized; proposals of the deputies often receive no attention, while those decisions which are adopted lack concreteness and are full of generalities.27 The resolution catalogued other failings of the system: sessions were irregularly called; there was a lack of public debate among deputies or of criticism of officials by deputies; both deputies and members of executive committees were reprimanded for a lack of responsiveness to citizen input and for their failure to account for their activities before their constituents. Klement Voroshilov, in his speech to the Twentieth Congress on the inadequacies of the work of local officials, warned that draft legislation improving recall procedures had been introduced; those not performing their functions properly were put on notice. 28 There was even an acknowledgment in this remarkable document of the party's responsibility for the poor quality of the Soviets' work. Communists were ordered to put "an end to needless tutelage over and petty interference in the work of the Soviets." The criticism of the work of the local Soviets was long overdue. The

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resolution of 22 January 1957 is rightly considered a turning point in the revival of interest in promoting citizen participation in local government. But while the deputies were called upon to play a larger role in governmental affairs, the resolution expected them to do it within the existing legislative framework which, as A. I. Luk'ianov has observed, was an insufficient basis for the real expansion of their authority.29 The adoption of such legislation would fall to Khrushchev's successors. The Program of the Communist Party adopted at the Twenty-second Congress of the CPSU in October 1961 proclaimed the achievement of socialism in the USSR. It further announced that the building of a communist society was underway and, "in the main," would be accomplished by 1980. As to what this meant for the state, Khrushchev in his "Report on the Program" informed the congress that "communist construction no longer requires the dictatorship of the proletariat" and that this form had been transformed into a "state of all the people" (obshchenarodnoe gosudarstvo). The prospective "withering away" of the state in a fully communist society was reaffirmed, although the "process will be a very long one." 30 Specifically invoking Leninist traditions, Khrushchev publicly committed the party to the transfer of the administration of state affairs to the Soviets. He was quite explicit in his promise that "Many of the matters which are today allotted to the competence of the executive bodies of power and government will be handled directly by the Soviets and their committees." Khrushchev's speech was nothing less than an official endorsement of future "public self-government" for the Soviet system.31 The CPSU Program itself specified the ways in which the role of the Soviets would be expanded.32 Ronald Hill has pointed out that Soviet observers, especially P. P. Ukrainets, mark real changes in the development of the Soviets only from the Brezhnev period.33 In a legislative sense this argument has merit, as will be shown. The structural framework for the expansion of the Soviets' role emerged only after Khrushchev was retired in 1964, starting with a Central Committee resolution on the Soviets of Poltava oblast' of 16 November 1965.34 Moreover, many of the efforts in regard to local government were diluted by the economic reorganizations then taking place, later to be abandoned. There was even some discussion of abolishing the rural Soviets.35 However, it would be an oversight to dismiss what was achieved in the Khrushchev period. For one thing, the revitalization of the Soviets was well underway by 1961. Data published in 1983 by A. S. Pavlov show a significant increase in the activities of the Soviets in 1961 when compared with the nineteen-forties. Thus, in 1946, only 25 per cent of the Soviets held regular sessions; by 1961, it was up to 95 per cent. In

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1949, only 25.3 per cent of the deputies reported to their constituents; by 1961, this had risen to 80.8 per cent. The figures for reports by executive committees to the Soviets grew from 45 per cent in 1948 to 92 per cent in 1961. Pavlov also reports an increased use of the electors' mandate (nakaz izbiratelei), the right of inquiry (zapros), and a decline in "formalism."36 Moreover, a sharp increase in the number of those participating in local government is evident. Between 1950 and 1957, the number of elected deputies increased by about 60,000 persons to 1,549,777; but from 1957 to 1963 the increase is over 400,000.37 Whilejudgment about the quality of such activity can be reserved, the quantitative changes are evidence of renewed official interest during the Khrushchev years. The second reason why 1957 rather than 1966 should perhaps be seen as the pivotal year for the resurgence of interest in the Soviets, is that insofar as the commitment to their revitalization is concerned, the place of the Soviets in the theory of "developed socialism" conforms in most respects to the role outlined for them by the 1961 Program; on the whole, continuity rather than change is characteristic of the policies adopted regarding the Soviets after 1964, though in rather less ebullient language. True, references to the "withering away" of the state do not appear in Brezhnev's formulations about political life under developed socialism, and the arrival of a fully communist society in the Soviet Union is safely put off to an unspecified future date.38 Nevertheless, in theory, the advent of developed socialism is accompanied by a significant expansion of the rights of the Soviets and by the more active participation of citizens in the political process. Indeed, the projected transfer of political authority to the people through their elected deputies is intended to be a distinguishing feature of the "state of all the people." This point was emphasized by Brezhnev in his speech to the Central Committee in May 1977, in which he discussed the draft of the Constitution. In general, it can be said that the main guideline of the new elements contained in the draft is the broadening and deepening of socialist democracy. Above all, the

democratic principles of the formation and activity of the Soviets have received further development. Provision has been made for increasing their role in the resolution of the most important questions in the life of society.39 The theory of developed socialism received its ultimate legislative expression in the 1977 Constitution. The place of importance accorded to the Soviets in the political life of this transitional period between socialism and full communism is visible throughout the document.40 In constitutional form at least, the implications of the theory of developed

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socialism for an increase in citizen participation in local affairs appear substantial. The establishment of a legal basis for the development of citizen participation in local government had already begun prior to the adoption of the 1977 Constitution. After Brezhnev became General Secretary of the party in 1964, a number of important laws were promulgated to define more precisely and to expand what is now referred to as the "competence" (kompetentsiia) of the Soviets and their officials.41 The first all-union act regarding the activities of the Soviets taken since the few general provisions of the 1936 Constitution, was the Edict (ukaz) of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of 8 April 1968 entitled "On the Basic Rights and Duties of the Village and Settlement Soviets."42 Another edict, this one defining and expanding the competence of city and district Soviets, was passed on 19 March 1971 following a CPSU Resolution of 12 March 1971 "On Measures for Further Improving the Work of Raion and City Soviet of Working People's Deputies."43 Both pieces of legislation substantially expanded the formal authority of the Soviets with respect to locally based enterprises, especially those involved in servicing the community. In order to carry out their expanded functions, the financial resources of both the rural and city soviet executive committees were strengthened by decrees (postanovleniia) the Council of Ministers passed in 1968 and 1971.44 The most important legislation directly related to the role of the deputy as the representative of citizen interests is the law (zakon) adopted on 20 September 1972, "On the Status of the People's Deputy in the USSR," 45 which defines and broadens the rights and duties of elected officials with respect to both those who execute their decisions and those who elect them. Many of the key provisions of the 1972 law found their way into the 1977 Constitution. A good deal of legislation regarding the activities of the Soviets has also appeared subsequent to the adoption of the Constitution. The competence of the Soviets at the regional level was more precisely defined by the law (zakon) of 25 June 1980, "On Basic Authority of Area and Regional Soviets and the Soviets of Autonomous Provinces and Okrugs," and their rights were expanded, especially in the realm of economic development.46 Economic development was also the primary objective of a joint resolution of the CPSU, the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet, and the Council of Ministers of 27 March 1981, "On Further Increasing the Role of the Soviets in Economic Construction." 47 In it, the relations of the Soviets with enterprises subordinated to higher ministries are spelled out, and the role of the Soviets in complex economic planning for their territories strengthened. The resolution also

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grants greater discretion in use of funds for local economic growth. Concerning the function of the deputies as political representatives, a number of measures have been taken, basically clarifying or implementing what appears in more general language in the Constitution. Of particular importance to the present study are: The Edict of the Presidium of the USSR Supreme Soviet on "The Organization of Work with Electors Mandates" (1 September 1980), and another edict from the same source, "On the Procedure for Considering Citizens' Proposals, Applications and Complaints" (as revised 4 March 1980).48 It is worth observing that the legislation discussed here does not include regulations passed by the union—republics, many of which are also important to the development of the Soviets in the period of developed socialism. The Supreme Soviet of the RSFSR, for instance, has passed legislation concerning elections, recall, the formation of deputies groups, and the jurisdiction of standing committees.49 Such legislative acts, along with laws, edicts, and regulations developed by other republics number in the hundreds and advance the legal basis for citizen participation in local government. It is still too early to say how far the new Soviet leadership under Mikhail Gorbachev will go in making good on the promises of his predecessors to increase the importance of the Soviets. Most of the initial signs are encouraging, but not all. Conspicuously absent from the 1985 CPSU Draft Program, for example, is the commitment found in the 1961 Program to transfer the administration of local affairs more directly to the deputies through their standing committees. Nevertheless, the 1985 draft does call for a "continued increase" in the role of the Soviets in local affairs, and Gorbachev's remarks to the Twenty-seventh CPSU Congress on 28 February 1986 strongly hinted that important new legislative initiatives were under consideration. This is why we resolutely support the course of strengthening the independence and activeness of the local organs of power. In the Central Committee, in the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet and in the Council of Ministers proposals are being worked out to do this. The essence of them is that each soviet be made fully and responsibly the master in everything that pertains to the satisfaction of the daily demands and needs of the people . . .50 CONCLUSIONS It seems clear from the preceding that the evolution of the Soviets since the beginning of this century has resulted in the establishment of a rather elaborate theoretical and legislative framework for the expansion of citizen participation in local government in the USSR. The theoretical

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basis originates in the writings of Marx and Lenin on the nature of the state in a communist society, and receives contemporary expression in the 1961 Program of the CPSU and in the theory of "developed socialism." Most of the legal foundations have appeared only in the past two decades, yet the body of law is substantial. If implemented, the role of locally elected officials and citizens generally in the political life of the country would be greatly enhanced. But it is equally clear from Russian history, both before and after the Revolution, that legislative expressions of democratic principles have largely remained the registration of aspirations rather than an accomplishment of fact. The degree to which current practice regarding the deputy's activities conforms to legal and theoretical expectations is another question. However, recent Soviet statements indicate that once again a gap exists between what the law permits and the party publicly encourages and what people do. The authority for such a conclusion is no less than the late General Secretary of the CPSU, Konstantin Chernenko, who made these shortcomings the major theme of his remarks to the 19 April 1984 Plenum of the Central Committee. Summing up his list of criticisms, he concluded that, "In general, there exists a definite contradiction, a gap between the rich possibilities of the Soviets and how these possibilities are used in fact."51 Soviet specialists on local government are fully aware that the legislative powers granted to the Soviets are often under-utilized. O. E. Kutafin and K. F. Sheremet refer to this as a problem of raising the effectiveness (effektivnost') of the Soviets and offer a number of criteria for doing so.52 Others argue that effectiveness depends on the more precise legal regulation of the Soviets' activities.53 In general, Soviet specialists treat the question of the future transformation of the Soviets into functioning representative organs of state power as an inevitability; the question is only one of improving the mechanisms already in place. Western specialists, as one might expect, are far less sanguine and talk in terms of uncertain future potentialities. Nonetheless, specialists on both sides would probably agree with Ronald J. Hill's conclusion that "the problem of'developing' local government seems likely to be severe for the next generation at least; it takes a long time to change a culture."54

NOTES 1 The author does not mean to suggest that there were no institutions prior to the Soviets in which local political participation took place. On the contrary, there is evidence to suggest that a good deal of participation took place in community politics, especially in the village. Some of these are described in chapter 3 of a

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3 4 5 6

7

8 9 10

11 12 13 14 15

16

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forthcoming book by the author entitled Soviet Grassroots: Citizen Participation in Local Soviet Government. Oskar Anweiler, The Soviets: The Russian Workers, Peasants, and Soldiers Councils, 1905-1921, translated from the German edition of 1958 (New York: Pantheon Books, 1974), PP- 21-24. Sidney Harcave, First Blood: The Russian Revolution of 1905 (New York: Macmillan, 1964), pp. 152-55. Ibid., p. 188. Leon Trotsky, 1905, translated by Anya Bostock (New York: Random House, 1971), p. 104. The most detailed Western account of the evolution of the Soviets between the two revolutions is Oskar Anweiler, The Soviets, pp. 97-207. Much of the factual material which follows is based on this source, which makes extensive use of primary source material not readily available. The infiltration of municipal government by the Bolsheviks to further their revolutionary aims is described in L. A. Komissarenko, V borbe 39 massy: munitsipal'naia deiatel'nost' petrogradskikh bol'shevikov v period podgotovki oktiabr'skoi revoliutsii (Leningrad: Lenizdat, 1983). The Bolsheviks were not universally successful in this effort, however. While they received 34 per cent of the local vote in Petrograd in August 1917, they received only 7.5 per cent in the provincial cities and 2.2 per cent in the small towns. Jerry Hough and Merle Fainsod, How the Soviet Union is Governed (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979), p. 51. All dates in the text are "new style" dates. V. I. Lenin, Collected Works (London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1970-77), vol. xxiv, p. 23 (Lenin's emphasis). Karl Marx, "The Civil War in France" as translated by Progress Publishers, in Marx and Engels, On the Paris Commune (Moscow, 1971), pp. 70-72. Neil Harding, "Socialism, Society, and The Organic Labour State" in Neil Harding, ed., The State in Socialist Society (Albany, New York: State University Press, 1984), pp. 3-30. See, for instance, Anweiler, The Soviets, pp. 161—65. Lenin, Collected Works, vol. xxvm, pp. 231-42. Ibid., vol. xxix, p. 109. See for example G. V. Barabashev, K. F. Sheremet, Sovetskoe stroitel'stvo, 2nd edn (Moscow: Iuridicheskaya Literatura, 1981), pp. 92-98. "O statuse narodnykh deputatov v SSSR" (20 September 1972), Vedomosti Verkhovnogo Soveta SSSR, 1979, no. 17, item 277. The first ten articles of this law are resonant with the formulations about the activities of the Soviets as "working" bodies found in the section of State and Revolution entitled "Abolition of Parliamentarianism.'' Soviet specialists often explain any lack of democratic participation as the result of turbulent events in Soviet history — the civil war, industrialization, World War 11, and reconstruction — and claim that only now can the Soviet Union begin to afford popular political participation. Expressions of this relevant to the development of the Soviets can be found in A. I. Luk'ianov, Razvitie zakonodatel'stva 0 sovetskikh predstavitel'nykh organakh vlasti (Moscow: Iuridicheskaya Literatura, 1978), pp. 38—42. See also A. V. Gogolevskii, Petrogradskii sovet v gody grazhdanskoi voiny (Leningrad: Nauka, 1982). On the limiting effects of World War 11 and the cult of personality, see A. I. Lepeshkin, Sovety-vlast' naroda igj6-ig6y (Moscow, 1967), p. 122.

17 Until the Constitution of 10 July 1918, the local government was defined by two

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18 19 20

21 22 23

24

25 26 27

28

29 30

31 32 33

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very short documents, " O b organizatsii mestnogo samoupravleniia," and " O pravakh i obiazannostiakh sovetov" both promulgated by the Commissariat of Internal Affairs on u January 1918. These documents can be found on pp. 22,23, of a collection of legislation pertaining to the state called Sbornik normativnykh aktov po sovetskomu gosudarstuennomu pravu (Moscow: Iuridicheskaia Literatura, 1984). "Osnovnoi zakon RSFSR" (10 July 1918), Sbornik normativnykh aktov, pp. 31-43. Articles 53-70 deal with local government. Lenin, "The Proletarian Revolution and the Renegade Kautsky," Collected Works, vol. xxviii, p. 257. The relationship between the party and the Soviets was defined in the Resolution of 22 March 1919 "On the Organizational Question," KPSS v rezoliutsiiakh (Moscow, 1970), vol. 11, p. 77. The process by which the party organized its control of the Soviets is described in B. M. Morozov, et al., eds., Partita i Sovety (Moscow: Politizdat, 1982), pp. 21-31. Quoted in Anweiler, The Soviets, pp. 236-37, from Sovety v epokhu voennogo kommunizma, vol. 1 (Moscow, 1928), pp. 189, 313. Luk'ianov, Razvitie zakonodatel'stva, p. 94; also Sovety narodnykh deputatov: spravochnik (Moscow: Politizdat, 1984), pp. 25-26. Quite a number of regulations pertaining to the city and village Soviets were passed during transition to the five-year plans and the collectivization of agriculture which began in 1928. Clearly, however, the objective of this legislation was to improve the ability of the local units of government to implement the momentous economic decisions being made in Moscow. These developments, and references to specific legislation, are thoroughly reviewed by Luk'ianov, Razvitie zakonodatel'stva, pp. 97-109. "The Basic Law of the USSR" (5 December 1936), Sbornik normativnikh aktov, pp. 72ff. See also article 80 of the RSFSR Constitution translated by Harold Berman and John Quigley, Jr, Basic Laws on the Structure of the Soviet States (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1969), esp. pp. 44-49. All three Soviet Constitutions are translated, with extensive commentary, in Aryeh Unger, Constitutional Development in the USSR (New York: Pica Press, 1981). Luk'ianov, Razvitie zakonodatel'stva, p. 135. Hough and Fainsod, How the Soviet Union is Governed, p. 190. KPSS v rezoliutsiiakh, vol. VII, p. 238. The resolution as a whole is translated in Robert McNeal, ed., Resolutions and Decisions of the CPSU (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1974), vol. iv, pp. 75-81. Speech by K. Y. Voroshilov to the Twentieth Congress of the CPSU, 21 February 1956. Translated from Pravda in Current Soviet Policies, vol. 11 (New York: Praeger, 1957), p. 115Luk'ianov, Razvitie zakonodatel'stva, pp. 136, 139, 158-60. N. S. Khrushchev, "Report on the Program of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union," 17 October 1961. (Translated by Crosscurrents Press, New York, 1961), p. 107. Ibid., p. n o . "The Program of the CPSU," 31 October 1961, translated in McNeal, ed., Resolutions and Decisions, vol. iv, p. 236. See pp. 234-37 regarding the Soviets. Ronald J. Hill, "The development of Local Soviet Government Since Stalin's Death" in Everett M. Jacobs, ed., Soviet Local Politics and Government (London: Allen and Unwin, 1983), pp. 22, 24. Noted in ibid., p. 24, and Luk'ianov, Razvitie zakonodatel'stva, p. 309.

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35 Luk'ianov, Razvitie zakonodatel'stva, pp. 154-55. See also Hill's discussion of administrative reorganization in Jacobs, Soviet Local Politics, p. 23. 36 A. S. Pavlov, Partiinoe rukvodstvo mestnymi sovetami v posleuoennye gody (Moscow: Vysshaia shkola, 1983), pp. 47-65, 76-77. 37 Itoqi vyborov i sostav deputatov mestnykh sovetou narodnykh deputatov, 1982 (Moscow: Izvestiia, 1982), pp. 226-27. 38 For a description of the development of the theory of developed socialism, see Alfred B. Evans, Jr, "Developed Socialism in Soviet Ideology" Soviet Studies, vol. xxix, no. 3 (July 1977), esp. pp. 421-24. See also, Jim Seroka and Maurice Simon, eds., Developed Socialism in the Soviet Bloc (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 1982). A Soviet scholar's attempt to deal with these anomalies can be found in E. M. Chckharin, Sovetskaia politicheskaia sistema v usloviiakh razvitogo sotsializma (Moscow: Mysl, 1975), translated by Progress Publishers as The Soviet Political System Under Developed Socialism (Moscow, 1977), p. 229. On the continuity between Khrushchev and Brezhnev in their treatment of the Soviets, see L. G. Churchward, "Public Participation in the USSR," in Jacobs, Soviet Local Politics, pp. 36-3939 L. I. Brezhnev, "On the Draft Constitution of the USSR," Pravda, 5 June 1977. Translated in the Current Digest of the Soviet, vol. xxix, no. 23, p. 7 (emphasis in the original). 40 The significance of the 1977 Constitution in expanding the role of Soviets as instruments of political participation is widely emphasized by soviet scholars, see, in particular, K. F. Sheremet, "Konstitutsiia SSSR i razvitie sotsialisticheskoi demokratii" in Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo. No. 10 (1982); and Sovety narodnykh deputatov (Konstitutsionnye osnovy organizatsii i deiatel'nosti) (Moscow: Nauka, 1981), esp. pp. 7-53. However, the two leading Western studies of the 1977 Constitution also acknowledge that the provisions for broader participation represent an important change in emphasis from previous versions. See Robert Sharlet, The New Soviet Constitution of 1977 (Burmswick, Ohio: Kings Court, 1978), pp. 50-55; and Unger, Constitutional Development, pp. 204-5, 2 I 3 41 O. E. Kutafin, K. F. Sheremet, Kompetentsiia mestnykh sovetov (Moscow: luridicheskayo Literatura, 1982), p. 36. See also, pp. 26-38. 42 Vedomosti Verkhovnogo Soveta SSSR, 1978, no. 49, item 797. 43 Ibid., item 796. 44 "On Measures for Strengthening the Material and Financial Basis of the Village and Settlement Soviets" (Decree of the USSR Council of Ministers, 1968) and "On Measures for Strengthening the Material-Financial Basis of the Executive Committee of the District and City Soviets" (Decree of the USSR Council of Ministers, 1971) in Sobranie Postanovlenii SSSR, 1968, no. 6, article 30, and 1971, no. 5, article 3745 " O statuse narodnykh deputatov v SSSR," 20 September 1972, as amended on 19 April 1979. Vedomosti Verkhovnogo Soveta SSSR, 1979, no. 17, item 277. 46 Ibid., 1980, no. 27, p. 526. 47 Izvestiia, 28 March 1981, p. 1. 48 Respectively in: Vedomosti Verkhovnogo Soveta SSSR, 1980, no. 36, item 736; Ibid., amended 1980, no. 11, item 192. 49 RSFSR Legislation on local elections (3 August 1979), and on recall (12 December 1979) can be found in Sbornik normativnykh aktov, items no. 86, no. 87. The RSFSR Edict on standing committees of 3 March 1983 is in Vedomosti Verkhovnogo Soveta RSFSR, 1983, no. 10, item 318. The RSFSR resolution {polozhenie) on deputy

I58

50 51 52

53

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JEFFREY W . H A H N

groups and posts is dated 2 August 1984. Legislation on the standing committees and on the deputy groups had appeared several years earlier in Kazakhstan and Georgia, respectively, and is only slightly different, reflecting particular national circumstances. M. S. Gorbachev, "Doklad Tsentral'nogo Komiteta KPSS XXVII S'ezdu," in Materialy XXVII s'ezda KPSS (Moscow: Politizdat, 1986), p. 56. Materialy plenuma TsK KPSS, 10 April 1984 (Moscow: Politizdat, 1984), p. 7. Kutafin and Sheremet, Kompetentsia mestnykh sovetov, pp. 66-86. The criteria include the size of the districts, the number and composition of deputies, the financial basis, the relations between the Soviets and the enterprises under higher jurisdiction and greater democratization. S. A. Avak'ian, Pravovoe regulirouanie deiatel'nosti sovetov, (Moscow: M G U , 1980), pp. 157ft", provides a valuable reference to the considerable specialist literature on this topic. Hill, in Jacobs, Soviet Local Politics, p. 32. See also Theodore Friedgut, "The Soviet Citizens Perception of Local Soviet Government," and L. G. Churchward, "Public Participation in the USSR," in ibid. Hill does not see any real change as long as the party retains its monopoly of political leadership. Friedgut, and especially Churchward, are somewhat more hopeful.

PART 3

Social policy

9 Social deprivation under Soviet full employment J. L. PORKET

The official Soviet ideology contends that there is no unemployment in the Soviet Union; that every Soviet citizen has the right to work, guaranteed constitutionally; and that full employment of the ablebodied population has been ensured in the country. However, these claims must be taken with caution. The first means in effect merely that registered unemployment is absent, because unemployment benefits are not available. In connection with the second it should be remembered that work is not only a right but also a duty and a matter of honor, and that in practice the former neither eliminates open but unregistered unemployment nor assures employment at skill level and in the desired locality. And the third conceals the fact that full employment is economically irrational, i.e., characterized by considerable under-utilization and waste of working time and qualifications. Since in the Soviet Union full employment is economically irrational in the sense mentioned, it has on the one hand a pronounced social dimension which arises from the nature of command socialism, the regime's policies, and the vested interests of individual role-players; on the other hand, it has adverse economic, behavioral, and attitudinal consequences. And this also raises the question of social deprivation and of official and unofficial response to it. FULL EMPLOYMENT Although Soviet sources repeatedly emphasize that full employment is an endemic feature of socialism,l Soviet scholars are far from unanimous as to its definition. Consequently, the term tends to receive a flexible and expedient interpretation and to be used mainly for ideological purposes.2 In empirical analyses, the term is usually avoided and the concept of 161

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economic activity rates preferred instead. These rates had been increasing over the years, until in 1979 the share of the population of working age taking part in social production or full-time study reached 94 per cent.3 And if the overwhelming majority of able-bodied persons of working age either had a job or studied full time or served in the armed forces, a minority of retired persons also had a paid position of employment.4 While in quantitative terms the population's participation in social production is impressive, it conceals several important phenomena. To begin with, not every able-bodied person of working age is interested in playing the role of worker or collective farmer. The reluctance to participate in social production is noticeable mainly on the part of some women and, especially, on the part of young people. The latter, in order to postpone their entry into the labor force, try to continue their fulltime study for as long as possible. And when they finish it, they do not always hurry to take up a job. Secondly, although open unemployment of the registered kind does not exist because unemployment benefits are not available, open but unregistered unemployment has not disappeared. It stems from labor turnover and from a lack of vacancies for those who want to enter the labor force for the first time, those who wish to re-enter it after a period of non-employment, and those who follow their spouses to another locality. Thirdly, employment outside the home on a full-time basis has not ceased to be a norm for men and women alike. Despite repeated official promises, part-time employment is practically non-existent.5 Yet, as social surveys reveal, quite a few employed women would prefer to be employed part time instead of full time, and at least some retired workers would be willing to take up a job if there existed opportunities for part-time employment. Fourthly, many employed persons tend to interrupt their employment voluntarily, even if temporary withdrawal from the labor force means interrupting their employment record. This applies particularly to women, whose prevailing (albeit not the only) reason for interruptions in employment is care for children. It should be recalled, too, that since the late 1970s Soviet scholars have predicted that with the rising standard of living interruptions in employment on the part of employed mothers with small children may both expand and lengthen.6 The prediction is far from implausible. On the one hand, only a relatively small proportion of children aged one to two attend creches.7 On the other hand, interruptions in employment do away with the double burden lying on employed mothers' shoulders and, on top of that, make

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sense in conditions of repressed inflation, which leaves effective demand unsatisfied. Lastly, high economic activity'rates conceal the fact that in social production both working time and qualifications of the incumbents of non-elective formal positions are under-utilized and wasted. That is to say, the labor resources mobilized by the regime to play the roles of workers and collective farmers are used in an economically irrational way. SOCIAL POLICY The high economic activity rates existing in the Soviet Union and denoting the share of the able-bodied population of working age taking part in social production may be regarded as amounting to full employment. However, being economically irrational due to underutilization and waste in social production of working time and qualifications,8 this full employment has a pronounced social dimension. Thus, the question of social policy comes to the fore. Besides, two further reasons make it necessary to examine Soviet social policy. One is the assertion that in the Soviet Union social and economic policies are inextricably intertwined.9 The other is the repeated official contention that under socialism social policy reflects the state's concern for man and evinces the humanity of the socialist system.10 In the narrow sense, the Soviet regime's social policy consists of decisions concerning the character, composition, size, allocation and financing of social consumption funds (SCF). These funds are devoted to education, medical care, social security, and maintenance of the housing stock, and provide both employed and non-employed persons with transfer payments and free or subsidized services. Although SCF are not distributed according to labor input, i.e., according to the quantity and quality of work, transfer payments and free or subsidized services usually are not provided indiscriminately. That is to say, with the exception of those cases when they are imposed on the population (e.g., compulsory education) and those cases when they are determined by need (e.g., medical care) or individual's choice (e.g., the use of libraries and museums), they depend on a specified condition, such as employment status and record (e.g., sickness benefits and invalidity and old-age pensions), admission (e.g., higher education), and so on. Simultaneously, the transfer payments actually made are often socially inadequate (e.g., pensions),11 and the free and subsidized

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services effectively supplied are frequently either unsatisfactory (e.g., housing)12 or unavailable to all applicants (e.g., facilities for children of pre-school age, higher education, homes for the disabled, old people's homes). From the point of view of the regime, SCF are to fulfil at least six major functions, namely, demographic investment; development and maintenance of physical and mental capabilities, with emphasis on preparation for full-time continuous participation in social production; manipulation of the labor force; income maintenance in case of involuntary loss of an important part of earnings; satisfaction of specific individual and group needs and interests in the sense of a provision of facilities for cultural, recreational, sport, and other leisure activities; and political socialization.13 However, in practice the regime's social policy is not confined exclusively to the decisions concerning the character, composition, size, allocation and financing of SCF. In its wider sense it includes certain other measures, such as creation and preservation of meaningless jobs, the narrowing of earnings differentials, and subsidies on meat and dairy products. All in all, Soviet social policy constitutes an important instrument of the regime for the manipulation of and control over the masses and for strengthening the established system. Its primary purpose is partly to encourage that which is wanted and to deter that which is unwanted, partly to reward proper behavior and to punish misbehavior. Thus, it cannot be accounted for on purely humanitarian grounds, the regime "cares" (to use a word currently fashionable in Britain) mostly only if "caring" serves its own ends. Besides the regime, enterprises (and similarly collective farms and social organizations) also pursue social policy, having at their disposal decentralized SCF, the formation and use of which are regulated by the regime. But, at this level, social policy assumes in addition to its formal dimension an informal dimension as well, tolerated by the regime in fact, albeit not always in words. To give a few examples, an enterprise may offer comfortable housing, create appealing working conditions, provide personal services during working hours, supply scarce consumer goods, maintain soft output norms, condone slack work discipline, bloat the reference wage of those who are on the verge of retiring, etc. It goes without saying that by resorting to such social policy measures, an enterprise tries to defend both its own interests and the interests of its individual employees. At the same time, though, the social policy measures taken by it on the one hand do not eliminate completely either

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dissatisfaction or social conflicts, and on the other hand frequently lead to a violation of centrally promulgated formal norms.

SOCIAL DEPRIVATION While in theory these employment and social policies may seem attractive, in practice they have a number of shortcomings and limitations. First, vacancies are not always immediately available for every job seeker and, when available, are not always of the right kind and in the right place. On the job, employed persons are not utilized fully and rationally. Yet, without an officially acceptable reason, ablebodied individuals of working age find it difficult either to remain outside the labor force or to withdraw from it. Secondly, the specific benefits provided from centralized SCF are not always within the reach of all interested citizens and, when actually received by the population, are not always of the quantity, quality and timing desired or needed. Nevertheless, the population is not legally allowed to make contractual arrangements for the acquisition of these benefits, for example, in the form of private pension or medical insurance. Finally, official wages and social security benefits in cash provide a standard of living that is modest by Western standards. Although rising, these nominal incomes continue to be low and, on top of that, their recipients face inflation (particularly repressed) and shortages of consumer goods and services. Expressed differently, when people are unable to buy with the money in their pockets what they desire or need, their effective demand is unsatisfied. Thus, in playing their various non-political roles, Soviet men and women perceive a gap between their expectations and reality, i.e., they experience social deprivation, and feelings of dissatisfaction or frustration. To this relative deprivation, the regime has contributed significantly: while it has encouraged popular expectations, it has not created conditions for their fulfillment and, at the same time, has conferred on a tiny minority privileges that are resented by the population.14 As the available evidence suggests, in at least some respects, social deprivation is mounting. For example, in 1982 it was admitted that the population's purchasing power was growing faster than the supply of consumer goods and services.15 In 1984 it was stated that, whereas during the Ninth Five-Year Plan for every ruble increase in the population's money income, savings had gone up by 0.30 ruble, during the Tenth Five-Year Plan they had gone up by about 0.85 ruble.16

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Since this chapter is not able to deal with all causes of social deprivation in the Soviet Union, it will confine itself to those connected with the utilization of qualifications, earnings differentials, the utilization of working time, and retirement. EMPLOYMENT BELOW SKILL LEVEL In connection with formal education, which is a constitutional right, social deprivation may arise for three reasons in particular. Young people of post-school age fail to gain admission to the educational level desired. If they do succeed, they are prevented from studying or training in the field of their preference. And when they qualify, they get employment below their skill level. Concerning the last mentioned point, employment below skill level means that the incumbent of a non-elective formal position has educational qualifications exceeding those prescribed for it. Consequently, employment below skill level can be experienced exclusively by qualified individuals, i.e., those with a higher, secondary specialized or secondary general education, or vocational-technical training. Although Soviet scholars admit its existence, accurate quantitative data for the country at large seem to be absent. Nevertheless, in 1982 it was stated that one-third of specialists with secondary specialized education were employed as blue-collar workers.17 According to another source, while in 1959 a mere 1.5 per cent of persons engaged in primarily physical work had higher, incomplete higher, or secondary specialized education, in 1979 the share was already 7.7 per cent.18 At the same time, these figures do not tell the whole story, inasmuch as they do not disclose, inter alia, to what extent the incumbents of white-collar positions (and similarly the incumbents of blue-collar positions) were employed below skill level. Not surprisingly, employment below skill level has a number of causes,19 such as a lack of suitable vacancies, dissatisfaction with pay,20 dissatisfaction with the acquired speciality, family responsibilities, and poor health. Besides, some are prevented from using their speciality because they are regarded as unsuitable on professional or moral grounds. And others do not use their speciality because they have become paid party or trade union functionaries. Thus, employment below skill level is partly voluntary and partly involuntary. If involuntary due to a lack of suitable vacancies, it constitutes one dimension of hidden unemployment, albeit on condition that the qualifications under-utilized or wasted by employed persons against their wish are not outdated by social standards.

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Table 9.1 Earnings differentials in industry

Blue-collar workers Engineering-technical workers Clerical workers

1940

1970

1980

1983

100.0 214.8 in.1

100.0 136.3 85.5

100.0 114.6 78.6

100.0 110.0 75.8

Source: Calculated from Narodnoe khoziaistvo SSSR (Moscow: Glavnoe statisticheskoe upravlenie, 1983), p. 393.

Moreover, although employment below skill level need not always result in lower earnings (actually, as noted above, in at least some instances the opposite is the case), as a rule it adversely affects the occupational and social status of those so employed. Employment below skill level may be expected to continue rising in the foreseeable future, unless checked by the regime. That could be achieved by various measures, depending on its perceived cause. For example, since one of its causes is dissatisfaction with pay, the regime could make certain non-elective formal positions requiring specific educational qualifications financially more attractive. EARNINGS DIFFERENTIALS Over the years, the regime has been deliberately and systematically changing earnings differentials21 between engineering-technical workers, clerical workers, and blue-collar workers in industry, construction, and the state sector of agriculture. As follows from Table 9.1, confined to Soviet industry, the gap between average earnings of engineering-technical workers and those of blue-collar workers has been decreasing steadily; also the gap between average earnings of engineering-technical workers and those of clerical workers has been decreasing steadily, albeit less sharply; in contrast, the gap between average earnings of clerical workers and those of blue-collar workers has been reversed and has been widening to the disadvantage of the former. It is unlikely that these trends have resulted in a corresponding contraction of the life-style of the three occupational categories discussed, because life-style depends not only on earnings but, in addition, on upbringing, education, occupation, residence, value orientation, and so on.22 In a word, increased social homogeneity is highly problematic.23 On the other hand, these trends have implied in the case of

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engineering-technical workers a reduction in, and in the case of clerical workers a loss of, their traditional earnings superiority over blue-collar workers. Expressed differently, the link between earnings and educational attainment is weak, and this is further attested by average earnings of the medical and the teaching professions, which are below the state-economy average. Moreover, these trends have weakened the link between earnings and performance. They imply a violation of the official principle of payment in accordance with the quantity and quality of work, 24 and have an adverse impact on work effort and performance. No wonder, then, that there are complaints of excessive wage levelling, egalitarian tendencies, and the like, and that a widening of earnings differentials is advocated. Concerning specifically the narrowing of earnings differentials between engineering-technical workers and blue-collar workers,25 it is not only one of the reasons why individuals with a higher or secondary specialized education take up employment below their skill level. It is also one of the reasons why higher education graduates are reluctant to assume line management positions, including those of foremen,26 and why engineering-technical workers take it easy on thejob. A finding of Soviet sample surveys conducted in 1979—83 is of interest here. Nearly 30 per cent of the enterprise economists interviewed admitted that they could increase their work-load, if their pay were increased correspondingly.27 Thus, besides conceding under-utilization, they seemed to believe in what in the West is known as equity theory. The theory suggests that, depending on the method of payment, workers will adjust either the quantity or the quality of their output where they feel underpaid or overpaid, in order to achieve an "equitable" reward for their endeavors. OVERMANNING Irrespective of whether the incumbents of non-elective formal positions are employed below, at, or above their skill level,28 and irrespective of how much they earn compared with others, they play their occupational roles under conditions characterized by chronic and general overmanning.29 Three sets of factors help to bring it about, namely, political and ideological (i.e., the regime's commitment to full employment), systemic (i.e., the nature of command socialism), and cultural (i.e., the vested interests of managers, the non-managerial personnel, and party and trade union functionaries at the enterprise level). Enterprise directors tend to create a labor reserve in the enterprise in order to be able to cope with the vagaries of the material-technical supply system, the fulfillment of the plan at the end of a plan period,

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upward revisions of output targets, tasks unconnected with the goals of the enterprise, and labor turnover. Moreover, they have no incentive to shed surplus workers and, on top of that, their powers to shed surplus workers are severely curtailed by both legal norms and political considerations. While overmanning on the one hand keeps open but unregistered unemployment down, on the other hand it has a number of serious consequences. Inter alia, it contributes to slow and undemanding work rhythms, slack work discipline, low productivity, high production costs, inefficiency, and divorce of rewards from performance. It has an adverse impact on work habits and attitudes towards work under a contract of employment, and enables relaxation or moonlighting during working hours. And it negatively affects the standard of living of the population, being one of the causes of low average wages, hidden and repressed inflation, and shortages of consumer goods and services. Since as a result of overmanning earnings are insufficiently linked to perfomance, they contain a concealed social element which is not identical with any of the legally recognized social security benefits and which violates the official principle of payment in accordance with the quantity and quality of work. Thus, in the sphere of remuneration, enterprise managements (in cooperation or collusion with enterprise trade union and party committees) pursue a kind of informal social policy. The policy is condoned (and in some cases encouraged) by the regime, partly because it stems from systemic factors, partly because the regime prefers under-utilization on the job to open unemployment. Most employed persons do not seem to mind being paid for work not done.30 They do not seem to mind using working time insufficiently and improperly either.31 But they do seem to mind uneven spreading of the work-load, i.e., idling at the beginning of a month and "storming" later on, in the last decade of a month. In a sample survey conducted in eight enterprises, 46.5 per cent of the respondents said so.32 As seen by Soviet sources, spasmodic production (a "chronic disease" according to Mikhail Gorbachev at the Twenty-seventh Congress of the CPSU in February-March 1986) is caused by defects in the supply system and by the poor organization of work in enterprises. Two findings are of interest here. Of the 64 directors of industrial enterprises and associations interviewed in the Altai region in 1982, 27.6 per cent stated that defects in the supply system resulted in downward revisions of plan targets.33 In contrast, nearly 90 per cent of the blue-collar workers interviewed in one metallurgical plant admitted that they could increase labor productivity, in a minority of cases even by 50 per cent, if the organization of work were better.34 However, Soviet sources also discuss some consequences of spasmodic

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Table 9.2. Structure of skill grades in 1979

Skill grade i and 2 3 and 4 5 and 6

The distribution of the manual positions surveyed by the skill grade required (per cent)' 34-8 49-4 15.8

The distribution of the manual workers surveyed by the skill grade assigned (per cent) 20.0

52.0 28.0

Notes: a Based on a survey of 1,500 manual positions in the town of Gor'ky. b Grades 1 and 2 denote unskilled jobs, grades 3 and 4 semi-skilled jobs, and grades 5 and 6 highly skilled jobs, c As assessed by experts. Source: V. F. Sbytov, Upravlenie sotsial'nymi i ideologicheskimiprotsessami vperiod razuitogo

sotsializma (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo Nauka, 1983), p. 87.

production. It is regarded as putting a brake on socialist emulation, contributing to labor turnover,35 encouraging drinking and leading to violations of work discipline,36 etc. Concerning drinking specifically, it may be assumed that while fits of idling (just as overmanning per se) induce drinking during working hours, the stress produced by "storming" induces drinking after working hours.37 On the other hand, Soviet sources tend to ignore the question of the impact of rising repressed inflation on drinking. Yet, the question is far from unimportant, inasmuch as it is possible that with the widening gap between the population's purchasing power and the supply of consumer goods and services the population imbibes more not only because it has more money in its pockets, but in addition in order to drown its consumer frustration. RETIREMENT As postulated above, one consequence of overmanning is earnings insufficiently linked to performance and, thus, containing a concealed social element. However, in the Soviet Union divorce of rewards from performance does not arise exclusively from overmanning. It also arises from enterprise managements' attempts to fulfil the plan, to attract new workers, to reduce separations, and to make the personnel's lot easier. The available evidence suggests that the practice is quite widespread. This follows, inter alia, from the data contained in Table 2 and from those referring to industry as a whole: in 1982, 23.2 per cent of the industrial workers employed in industrial branches with a six-grade

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wage scale were assigned the lowest grades 1 and 2,38 although by that time over 36 per cent of all industrial workers performed work by hand.39 While these figures indicate that some blue-collar workers are overgraded, other sources reveal that blue-collar workers' earnings are affected by their marital status and the number of persons dependent on them. For example, a survey conducted in 1972 ascertained that young blue-collar workers with children tended to earn more than young bluecollar workers without children.40 Besides, earnings are being manipulated when white-collar and bluecollar workers are approaching the moment of their retirement and, thus, the calculation of their old-age pension award, and the manipulation is assisted by the legal norms in force and tolerated by the regime. Under the Soviet old-age pension scheme, an old-age pension award is calculated from the reference wage, defined as actual average monthly earnings received in the last twelve months of employment, or, at the worker's request, in any five consecutive years out of the last ten before retirement. It seems that the large majority of workers choose the first alternative: 92 per cent according to a sample survey of 1969, and 98.1 per cent according to another of 1976.41 The prevalence of the first alternative stems from the workers' interest in being awarded as high an old-age pension as possible. Provided that nominal wages rise, a recent reference wage is likely to be more advantageous than a less recent one. On top of that, a period of twelve months gives workers a better opportunity to bloat their reference wage than a period of several years. As Soviet sources admit, the bloating of the reference wage often occurs through various irregularities in which both workers and enterprise managements are actively involved,42 without doubt with at least tacit approval on the part of enterprise trade union and party functionaries. One of the motives underlying the workers' interest in being awarded as high an old-age pension as possible is their not unjustified assumption that in all probability their old-age pension awards will remain frozen throughout their retirement (or, as from 1 November 1985, for at least ten years), because old-age pensions previously awarded are not automatically adjusted to the rising wage level. As the estimates given in Table 9.3 show, old-age pensions of both workers and collective farmers are modest and frequently socially inadequate. As a social category, the recipients are worse off than employed persons of working age. Within this social category, then, retired collective farmers are worse off than retired workers. And within each of these two sub-categories, recipients of old-age pensions awarded earlier are worse off than recipients of old-age pensions awarded later.

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Table 9.3. Estimates of average monthly old-age pension

Average monthly old-age pension of retired white-collar and blue-collar workers rubles as a percentage of workers' average monthly earnings Average monthly old-age pension of retired collective farmers rubles as a percentage of collective farmers' average monthly earnings

i960

1970

1974

1980

45

54

59

70

56

44

42

41

24

33

43

32

36

36

Sources: J. L. Porket, "Retired Workers under Soviet-type Socialism," Social Policy and Administration, vol. xvi, no. 3 (Autumn 1982), p. 261; and J. L. Porket, "Income Maintenance for the Soviet Aged," Ageing and Society, vol. m, no. 3 (November 1983), pp. 307-8 and 316.

Not surprisingly, the social inadequacy of old-age pensions is noticeable especially in the case of the minimum old-age pension. For retired white-collar and blue-collar workers, it was set at 50 rubles per month in 1981; for retired collective farmers, at 28 rubles per month in 1978 and at 40 rubles per month as from 1 November 1985. CONCLUSION Although full employment in the sense of high economic activity rates of the able-bodied population of working age is to be found in the Soviet Union and although the Soviet regime pursues a social policy of a cradle-to-grave type, social deprivation is far from absent. Actually, the regime's economic (including employment) and social policies have contributed to it not insignificantly. The available evidence suggests that social deprivation is experienced by individuals in their multiple non-political roles of education-seekers, students, job-seekers, employed persons, consumers, parents, patients, pensioners, and so on. On top of that, absolute deprivation seems to exist as well, and not only among recipients of state pensions.43 Since social deprivation arises from a perceived gap between expectations and reality, the regime could try to alleviate it either by changing popular expectations, or by changing the objective reality, or

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by simultaneously changing both popular expectations and the objective reality. While to an extent popular expectations have been influenced by the perceived standard of living abroad, i.e., in the West and in some East European countries, in the main they are a result of the official ideology, legal norms and the party leadership's promises, as transmitted through various channels, including the educational system, the mass media, and agitation. The state is seen as a universal provider, a social welfare mentality is deeply entrenched, the image of an entitlement society is an important trait of the popular culture. Most probably, any attempt made by the regime to reduce popular expectations noticeably would have adverse consequences both internally and in the international arena, because it would call in question the alleged superiority of socialism, the validity of ideological tenets and the correctness of the party line, as well as undermining the credibility of the party. If hitherto the regime has been unable to meet the population's expectations, it is doubtful whether it will be able to do so in the near future, for at least a couple of reasons. First, although it continues to be committed to the goal of economic growth, economic growth has been slowing down, 44 so that it will be increasingly more difficult to balance the shares of defense, investment, consumption, and foreign aid and subsidies in national income. Secondly, although one cause of poor economic performance is the nature of command socialism, the regime is reluctant to introduce changes of the established economic system, allowing merely changes within it. Under these circumstances, the regime's principal response to social deprivation has been to tolerate non-political deviant behavior and the second economy. Not surprisingly, in practice the two frequently (albeit not always) overlap. Non-political deviant behavior, which is quite widespread and persistent, denotes overt behavior evading and violating centrally promulgated formal norms. It is displayed by employed as well as nonemployed persons, in the former case irrespective of their occupation (manual or non-manual), position (managerial or non-managerial), and trade union and party membership and function. Although the regime frowns upon the various manifestations of nonpolitical deviant behavior, it tolerates them as long as they do not endanger the established political and economic system, are unorganized, and have low visibility. At the same time, it has to tolerate them because they stem not only from attitudinal factors but also from systemic ones.

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The same applies to the second economy. It too is (and has to be) tolerated by the regime, inasmuch as it originates in the first place from chronic shortages affecting consumers and enterprises alike. Thus, its main function is to supply those consumer goods and services desired or needed by consumers and those materials, components and equipment needed by enterprises which the official economy fails to supply. Just as non-political deviant behavior, so also the second economy is quite widespread and persistent. Western estimates of its size vary considerably, but according to one of them it may now account for as much as 15 per cent of the GNP. 45 In sum, non-political deviant behavior and the second economy are spontaneous activities, not activities centrally prescribed, planned and controlled. From the point of view of the regime, they have both functional and dysfunctional consequences. However, the former far outweigh the latter because these activities contribute significantly to the running and maintenance of the established political and economic system and alleviate social deprivation. Yet, although by tolerating non-political deviant behavior and the second economy the regime has succeeded in keeping social deprivation within manageable limits, there are signs that in recent years social deprivation has been mounting, at least in some respects. Inter alia, inflation (open, hidden and repressed) has been rising; shortages have been worsening; employment below skill level has been spreading; and opportunities for upward mobility have been decreasing. Besides, the available evidence suggests that the population perceives a gap between words and deeds,46 that the interests of individuals and families tend to clash with and take precedence over those of enterprises and the economy as a whole,47 and that the interests of enterprises (which operate under central planning and management in conditions of a sellers' market) tend to clash with and take precedence over those of civilian consumers and the economy as a whole. Undoubtedly, mounting social deprivation could have an adverse impact on the regime's legitimacy, inasmuch as the latter seems to be based less on normative principles than on utilitarianism (material gratification). Since utilitarian legitimacy is bought through job opportunities, employment security, growing wages, stable prices, deliveries of desired consumer goods, transfer payments, free or subsidized services, and the like, it could decline if the regime's ability to gratify materially declined. Thus, popular unrest and socio-political instability might ensue.48 Faced with the possibility of popular unrest and socio-political destabilization resulting from its inability to meet the population's

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expectations yet unwilling to introduce the requisite structural changes and/or to cut defense spending, the regime would have to increase the role of coercion in society. But that in itself would intensify rather than solve the problem of thwarted expectations. However, the regime might also attempt to defuse potential popular unrest and socio-political destabilization by inventing a credible scapegoat, most probably in the form of foreign threat. A domestic atmosphere of a "war scare" would enable it to develop a siege mentality, to justify a tightening of the belt, to divert attention from unsatisfactory economic performance, and to avoid increasing coercion. Actually, it appears to have been using this particular scapegoat again since the turn of the present decade, emphasizing the dangers of nuclear war and the possibility of the Soviet Union's involvement in such a destructive conflict.49 It should be added that the analysis offered above has not been invalidated by the Draft Program of the CPSU, published in the Soviet press on 26 October 1985. The draft contains promises of a better deal for consumers and the recipients of transfer payments and free or subsidized services, thus recognizing the population's frustration in these roles. Yet, even if these promises were fulfilled, which is doubtful, it is not certain that the population's expectations would be met, especially since it cannot be assumed that these expectations will remain static. Nor would the analysis be invalidated by reduced international tension. It is true that such a development might enable the regime to cut defense spending, to obtain Western credits and access to Western technology, and to divert more resources to civilian use. But this would not have an immediate impact on consumers and the recipients of transfer payments and free or subsidized services. On top of that, the population's perception of reduced international tension might boost its expectations considerably, putting further pressure on the official economic system. As a result, social deprivation could actually be deepened rather than alleviated.

NOTES See, for example, K. I. Mikul'skii, ed., Sotsiaiizm i narodnoe blagosostoianie (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo Mysl', 1976), p. 141; and Z. Babkina, "Zaniatost' pri sotsializme i ee burzhuaznye traktovki," Voprosy ekonomiki, no. 8 (1983), p. 127. For example, in the preamble to the Fundamentals of Labour Legislation of the USSR and the Union Republics of 15 July 1970 it was stated that "In the USSR, scientific and technological progress is accompanied by full employment."

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3 A. Kotliar, "Polnaia zaniatost' i sbalansirovannost' faktorov sotsialisticheskogo proizvodstva," Voprosy ekpnomiki, no. 7 (1983), p. 112. 4 J. L. Porket, "Income Maintenance for the Soviet Aged," Ageing and Society, vol. in, no. 3 (November 1983), p. 310. 5 J. L. Porket, "The Shortage, Use and Reserves of Labour in the Soviet Union," Osteuropa-lVirtschafi, vol. xxix, no. 1 (March 1984), pp. 10 and 20, and Narodnoe khoziaistvo SSSR (1983), pp. 395-96. 6 See, for example, A. K. Zakumbaev, Regional'nye aspekty ispol'zovaniia truda (AlmaAta: Izdatel'stvo Nauka Kazakhskoi SSR, 1983), p. 88, n. 10, who mentions the thesis that with the rising standard of living the share of women engaged in the domestic economy will go up. 7 F. R. Filippov, "Deti v strane razvitogo sotsializma," Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, no. 4 (1979), p. 51. 8 When discussing the concept of full employment, Soviet scholars too make a clear distinction between economically irrational and economically rational full employment. The former is seen by them as the present reality, the latter as a desirable future goal. They seem to be more in agreement in this respect than as to the definition of full employment. 9 The unity of social and economic policies was emphasized by Iu. E. Volkov and V. Z. Rogovin, Voprosy sotsial'noi politiki KPSS (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1981), p. 29. 10 According to one publication, the motto of a socialist society is "Everything in the name of man, everything for the good of man." Ts. A. Stepanyan et al., Sovetskaia intelligentsiia i ee rol' v stroitel'stve kotnmunizma (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo Nauka, 1983), p. 285. 11 On social adequacy of old-age pensions see Porket, "Income Maintenance," pp. 308-09. 12 Gregory D. Andrusz, Housing and Urban Development in the USSR (London: Macmillan, 1984), pp. 177-81. 13 In more detail, see J. L. Porket, "Employment and Social Policy in the Soviet Union," in Social Policy and Administration (forthcoming). 14 See, for example, Mervyn Matthews, Privilege in the Soviet Union (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1978). 15 V. Kirichenko, "O nekotorykh voprosakh dal'neishego sovershenstvovaniia planirovaniia i upravleniia khoziiaistvom," Planovoe khoziaistvo, no. 9 (1982), p. 59. 16 E. Aleksandrova and E. Fedorovskaia, "Mekhanizm formirovaniia i vozvysheniia potrebnostei," Voprosy ekonomiki, no. 1 (1984), p. 19. 17 Kirichenko, "O nekotorykh voprosakh dal'neishego sovershenstvovaniia planirovaniia i upravleniia," p. 61. 18 A. G. Volkov et al., Naselenie SSSR (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1983), p. 165, Table 61. 19 N. A. Aitov and R. T. Nasibullin, "Professional'naia mobil'nost' intelligentsii," Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, no. 2 (1980), pp. 106-11; and N. A. Aitov, Sovetskii rabochii (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1981), p. 33. 20 As repeatedly emphasized, specialists employed as engineering-technical workers frequently earn less than skilled workers. See, for example, G. Gorbei, "Trud spetsialistov: rezervy ego vozmozhnoi ekonomii," Sotsialisticheskii trud, no. 12 (1984), P- 60. 21 The term "earnings" denotes exclusively monetary payments from officially recognized employment, i.e., monetary remuneration for playing either the role of

Social deprivation

22

23

24 25

26 27 28

29

30 31

32

33 34 35 36

177

white-collar worker, or that of blue-collar worker, or that of collective farmer. It covers neither social security benefits in cash, money receipts from private economic activity, and the like, nor income in kind. For the same reasons it is unlikely, too, that the narrowing of earnings differentials between collective farmers on the one hand and white-collar and blue-collar workers on the other hand has resulted in a corresponding contraction between the life-style of the two. Social homogeneity is officially understood to mean the elimination of class differences and of the essential distinctions between town and country and between mental and physical labor, and the all-round development and drawing together of all the nations and nationalities of the Soviet Union (Article 19 of the 1977 Constitution). It is not surprising, then, that some Soviet scholars define social policy as a policy aiming at the creation of a classless, socially homogeneous society. See, for example, V. Z. Drobizhev et al., Sotsial'naiapolitika sovetskogogosudarstva, (Moscow: Mysl', 1985), pp. 5-6. Obviously, both the legal minimum wage and elaborate limitations on high earnings contribute to this violation. A further turning-point was reached in 1982 when in construction average earnings of engineering-technical workers dropped to 98.5 per cent of those of blue-collar workers. Narodnoe khoziaistvo SSSR (1983), p. 394. L. la. Rubina, Sovetskoe studenchestvo (Moscow: Mysl', 1981), p. 122. A. Antip'ev and Yu. Kolchanov, "Sovershenstvovat' ispol'zovanie kadrov ekonomistov na proizvodstve," Ekonomicheskie Nauki, no. 10 (1983), p. 79. Not only employment below skill level, but also that above skill level and that at skill level can lead to social deprivation. This is true, for instance, in the case of qualified persons employed at their skill level when, in addition to the tasks demanded by the positions held and requiring their educational qualifications, they must perform auxiliary tasks requiring lower or no educational qualifications as well. Porket, "Shortage, Use and Reserves," pp. 12-13 and 17, and J. L. Porket, "Unemployment in the Midst of Labour Waste," Survey, vol. xxix, no. 1 (Spring 1985), p. 23. However, resentment can arise on the part of those who believe themselves to be fully utilized, yet underpaid. Soviet sources complain that both managers and common workers are insufficiently interested in exposing and eliminating the losses of working time (V. Malinin, "Distsiplina truda kak proizvoditel'naia sila," Voprosy ekonomiki, no. I (1984), p. 101), and that most workers tolerate violations of work discipline (B. N. Kolodizh, "Kak vliiaet ritmichnost' proizvodstva na distsiplinu truda?" Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, no. 2 (1984), p. 49). P. T. Bugaenko and L. M. Kusakova, "Vliianie uslovii truda na formirovanie obshchestvennogo mneniia rabotnikov promyshlennykh predpriiatii Zaporozh'ia," Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, no. 1 (1984), pp. 82-84. N. V. Chernina, "Direktora - o sotsial'nykh faktorakh effektivnosti proizvodstva," EKO, no. 2 (1985), pp. 89-90. V. G. Smol'kov, Sotsialisticheskoe soreunovanie v usloviiakh razvitogo sotsializma (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo Mysl', 1974), pp. 166-67. A. I. Rybakov and A. I. Sinyuk, "Vozrastnye razlichiia v tekuchesti rabochikh kadrov," Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, no. 4 (1983), pp. 106-8. Volkov and Rogovin, Voprosy sotsial'noipolitiki KPSS, p. 155; and Kolodizh, "Kak vliiaet ritmichnost' proizvodstva na distsiplinu truda?," pp. 44-45.

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37 Repeated Soviet complaints of the adverse impact of drinking on labor productivity should be seen from this perspective. 38 Vestnik statistiki, no. 6 (1983), p. 60. 39 R. Ivanova, "Sokrashchenie ruchnogo truda - vazhneishaia sotsial'noekonomicheskaia zadacha," Voprosy ekonomiki, no. 9 (1984), p. 31. 40 V. E. Poletaev et al., Sotsial'nyi oblik rabochei molodezhi (Moskva: Mysl', 1980), pp. 266-68. 41 V. P. Slobozhanin, "Pensiia - po trudovomu vkladu," Sovetskoegosudarstvo i pravo, no. 9 (1981), p. 47. 42 V. G. Blufard, "K voprosu ob effektivnosti truda pensionerov," Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, no. 2 (1982), p. 168. 43 According to sample surveys conducted among Moscow families with children of pre-school and school age, for instance, 15 per cent had a per capita income of under 60 rubles per month in 1977 and 11.9 per cent in 1979. I. Yu. Rodzinskaia, "Material'noe blagosostoianie i stabil'nost' sem'i," Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, no. 3 (1981), p. 107, n. 4. See also T. Z. Protasenko, "Osnovnye kharakteristiki material'nogo blagosostoianiia," Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, no. 3 (1985), pp. 101-10.

44 In addition to Western sources, see M. I. Piskotin, Sotsializtn i gosudarstvennoe upravlenie (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo Nauka, 1984), pp. 7-8. 45 R. V. Burks, "The Coming Crisis in the Soviet Union," East European Quarterly, vol. xviii, no. 1 (March 1984), p. 63. 46 Concerning teenagers, see Oskar Anweiler, "Bildungssystem und Erziehung: Stabilitat- oder Krisenpotential?" in Wohin entwickelt sich die Sowjetunion?, HansJoachim Veen, ed., (Melle: Verlag Ernst Knoth, 1984), pp. 254-55. 47 This follows, for instance, from the reasons underlyingjob changing and temporary withdrawals from the labor force, as well as from the main life-values as ascertained by some sample surveys. As to the latter see, for example, Iu. P. Siks, "Sistema tsennostei zhitel'nits gorodov Latviiskoi SSR," in Nashi zhenshchiny, eds., E. K. Vasil'eva et al. (Moscow: Finansy i statistika, 1984), p. 62, Table 1. 48 In this connection it should be noted that since 1956 spontaneous strikes (usually of short duration) have occurred occasionally, and that several of them spilled over into riots. At the same time, there is no guarantee that those reported in the West cover all of them. 49 Vladimir E. Shlapentokh, "Moscow's War Propaganda and Soviet Public Opinion," Problems of Communism, vol. xxxm, no. 5 (September-October 1984), pp. 88-94-

10 The Soviet social security system: its legal structure and fair hearings process BERNICE MADISON

Introduced by the Soviet government five days after assumption of power, on November 1917, the social security system has undergone many changes, and by now is a huge, complex and expensive undertaking.1 Throughout its existence, the system has been subject to a flood of normative acts, model acts (for collective farms), decrees, and regulations. Their "fluidity" has not abated, producing ever proliferating statutes — to say nothing of "instructional letters" emanating from the functioning of the system now in effect - all of which adds up to a very complicated and disjointed scenario.2 Writing in 1984, a Soviet authority complained that "the accumulation of layers of acts during decades, constant additions to and changes in them have led to a situation in which even specialists find it difficult at times to implement social security legislation in practice."3 Concern with administrative "errors" generated by legal complexities and ambiguities, which are either costly for the system or "pinch" the rights of its clientele, has been gaining momentum since 1967 when the question of an independent status for social security law within the Soviet system of jurisprudence was first raised. Discussion has ranged over the "imperative" need for a complete codification of social security laws which has yet to be achieved; for a clear-cut, unified concept of social security which has never been produced, either in law or in scholarship; for a clear demarcation of relations between social security and social insurance; for a definition of pensions as distinct from grants (posobiia); and for an up-dated concept of "old age." Involved in the discussion are legal scholars, the Social Security Division of the Union-Republic State Committee on Labor and Social Questions attached to the USSR Council of Ministers, the fifteen republic Ministries of Social Security, and the Ail-Union Central Council of Trade Unions.4 It is highly probable that this discussion will continue: issues of "correct" implementation - both by social security personnel 179

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and by personnel of trade unions, industrial enterprises, and collective farms involved in the system's administration - are likely to receive as much or more attention than substantive issues in the coming years. The strong impact of Andropov's speech at the Plenum of the Central Committee of the party (November 1982), in which he devoted considerable attention to social security in the RSFSR, has not subsided. On the contrary, his statement that "At the present time, economizing, a zealous attitude toward national wealth — this is the subject of the reality of our plans," is being transformed into active and diligent control commissions.5 In contrast is the hesitation to act concerning a major substantive issue - retirement age - which could measurably diminish the number of aged pensions and thus reduce expenditures and lighten the social security load. Few writers conceptualize old age as an immovable point in time, but most believe that there exists a "typical" age at which it is "presumed" that work ability will be lost. Opponents of the "presumption" theory conceptualize "old age" for pension purposes as a point in life, fixed by law (60 for men, 55 for women) for individuals who are still able to work. Given that average longevity increased from 44 to 70 years between 1923 and 1974, M. L. Zakharov believes that adherence to previously established retirement ages can only be explained by tradition and by the "concern of socialist government for elderly people." Others do not want the early pension, "rightly regarded as one of the major gains and advantages of the socialist system," to be compromised by a comparison with the trend in capitalist countries toward earlier retirement. Still others are against any change, even though practice has shown that for the majority, loss of work ability resulting from age-related changes in the organism comes at least five years later than currently fixed. This opposition is in despite of the fact that in 1963 the all-Union conference of Soviet gerontologists adopted the World Health Organization's classification: 60-74, t n e elderly; 75-90, the old; 91 and older, the long-lived. Simply to legislate higher ages is, it is said, unacceptable, not only for "traditional" and humanitarian reasons, but because of political repercussions, especially as they might change the image of the Soviet state outside the country, to say nothing of the dissatisfaction they would generate among the elderly and their families within the country.6 In regard to a clear-cut concept of social security, disagreements revolve around a "broad" and a "narrow" approach, neither one of which characterizes the current scope of social security. The latter limits social security to pensions for the aged and unable-to-work; the former defines it as the regulation of a wide range of social relations of an obligatory, material (alimentamogo) character that include not only

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pensions but many programs at present administered by social insurance and the public health system. Thus, V. S. Andreev, the major advocate of the "broad" approach, urges the broadening of social security to include not only pensions but grants for mothers and children and free medical care as well.7 For his supporters, "social security" is a more inclusive concept than "social insurance," the latter being only a part of the former. A weighty objection to the "broad" definition is in relation to its advocacy of including medical care as an integral part of social security. Opponents argue that the objectives of the two systems are altogether different and that these differences determine their functions and forms: the basic functions of social security are to provide material support, to make money payments to compensate for loss of earnings to all citizens who have lost their ability to work because of age or disability. For the Ministry of Health, the basic functions include the protection and improvement of health for the entire population, prevention and treatment of disease, the satisfaction of the population's demands for all forms of highly qualified medical services. Combining them, they believe, would result in misunderstanding and confusion.8 And, indeed, these positions seem to be strongly supported by Articles 42 and 43 of the 1977 Constitution which deal with medical care and social security separately. K. S. Batygin, representing the views of the trade union bureaucracy, reads Article 42 to mean that medical care is an independent and quite different form of social security in its future functioning and development.91. V. Gushchin counters such arguments by reminding his opponents of the book, Pravo na Sotsial'noe Obespechenie [The Right to Social Security] by N. A. Semashko, the highly respected first Soviet Commissar of Health of the Russian Republic, in which he included medical care in the kinds of material benefits and services a socialist society makes available free of charge.10 M. S. Lantsev, an official of the State Committee on Labor and Social Questions, argues that the medical component is inextricably involved in serving all pensioners; it is crucial in disability determinations. Reasons which now exclude health care from social security, he maintains, are largely administrative: lodged in an all-Union Ministry, health care is seen as an autonomous branch of human services; its economic indicators are isolated from social security indicators in planning and statistical accountability. The fact that health care is offered "free" (i.e., without visible payments for services, except for certain drugs) to the entire population, thereby coming closest to the communist method of distribution, "according to need," which is not the case in social security, is also involved in the separation.11 An equally serious objection, voiced by trade unions, is to including

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all grant programs in social security - programs which, although they differ from pensions in several respects, do generate money payment relationships that are in close affinity to pension relationships. Limiting his classification to those financed by social consumption funds, Andreev distinguishes three groups of grants which encompass ten programs.12 Of these, three - sickness benefits, pregnancy and maternity benefits, and round-trip tickets to sanatoriums, the first two being very important since they apply to the entire population — are administered by trade unions; another two - grants for the new-born and for burial are dispensed by unions and social security; and allowances for children in poor families are awarded by trade unions, enterprises and social security. Only the remaining four programs — retraining of the disabled; grants to mothers of many children and to unmarried mothers; grants to the congenitally disabled; and assistance for the aged and disabled who are ineligible for pensions and have no means of subsistence — are under the aegis of social security and these are probably relatively modest in scope. The decree of 23 February 1984, promulgated in connection with bringing into force the codification of laws of the USSR for the purpose of "further perfecting" the system of grants did not divest the trade unions of any of their functions and did not transfer to social security any of the functions administered jointly by social security (when pensioners are involved) and trade unions (when persons in the labor force are the beneficiaries).13 In short, it appears that for the foreseeable future social insurance grants that serve the largest number of recipients and expend the largest amounts of money will remain the preserve of trade unions, not to be absorbed by the "broad" approach. To include medical care in social security will also be very difficult. Not only is the Ministry of Health more powerful institutionally and politically, but the fact that social security is not administered by a recognized profession (as are Ministries of Health and Education) also militates against achieving the "broad" approach. This approach, if transformed into reality, would result in a huge bureaucracy; the numerical scope and diversity of its operations would demand a modern technological support system, to say nothing of highly expert personnel in appreciable numbers. Such a system is not now in place; the social security technology that is now in operation is still incomplete and is still experiencing problems even though it has been in a developmental stage since the 1960s. Who would direct a centralized agency is also an open question. Would it be the All-Union Central Council of Trade Unions, or the Ministry of Social Security, or the Committee on Labor and Social Questions? Because the stakes are high, internecine struggles are likely. Their resolution will undoubtedly respond not only to economic

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but also to political considerations, such perhaps as the significance of the Polish experience with Solidarity, for diminishing the status and powers of Soviet trade unions vis-a-vis other bureaucracies that deal with the health and welfare of Soviet citizens. A seemingly more realistic model for legal restructuring in a nearer future centers on the growing need of the social security system for unified principles governing entitlement to and scope of its benefits. Andreev's analysis of legislation operative in 1971 led him to conclude that social security possessed the required features to make it the subject of a distinct branch of law: its own content, its own method, demonstrated desire on the part of society to develop it further, and the presence of specific and unitary norms that emanate from its legal principles. In 1973, three high-level functionaries in the RSFSR Ministry of Social Security proposed to call a unified ail-Union normative act "The USSR and Union-Republic Principles of Legislation on Social Security."14 In 1974, at the first "coordinated scientific" conference on labor law and social security, all participants supported the separation of social security legislation into an independent branch of law.15 And in 1982, E. D. Azarova advocated this because it would help to put an end to differences in social security between workers and employees, on the one hand, and collective farmers, on the other; would make correct implementation easier; would make social security law more understandable to the population, and would assist in strengthening legality in the social security domain.16 There is general agreement that the single act should enunciate fundamental principles of social security that would unify its material and procedural sides, take into account the actions of both the applicant and the social security organ when decisions are made regarding the award and payment of pensions, and specify procedures for establishing facts and reviewing disputes. The first step in the process of creating this distinct and separate branch, argue its adherents, should be the separation of pensions from the four branches of law that regulate them now - for workers and employees as part of labor law, for state employees and members of the armed forces as part of administrative law, for collective farmers as part of kolkhoz law, and for special groups (such as long-service pensioners) as persons covered by special statutes. The general trend of pension legislation toward uniformity no longer justifies this kind of fragmentation, they say. A single system of pensions for all categories of working people which allows for a certain degree of differentiation would be more appropriate at the current stage.17 But support for this first step is by no means universal or unequivocal. K. S. Batygin maintains that now that collective farmers are also covered by social insurance, there are good

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reasons to talk about a single social insurance law, and that it is essential to separate "clearly" social insurance from all forms of social security financed by social consumption funds. Others believe that the creation of a distinct branch of law for social security would hinder the further development of labor law, an undesirable outcome, and that the first order of business should be a. "simplification" of the existing pension law.18 Still others, while favoring separation and unification, see such an undertaking as ahead of its time because social security for collective farmers has not yet achieved the level of protection available for workers and employees, either in risks covered or in the level of benefits paid. In V. I. Maksimovskii's view, however, the need for a separate, single law has been amply demonstrated and no longer raises any significant objections. But in regard to its character there is still no consensus. A major difficulty is the fact that while ail-Union normative acts regulate the executive and managerial activities in all state administrative organs, including those in social security, a large number of republic acts deal with specific questions of management because this is within their jurisdiction. In pension security, the norm-creating activity of republic Councils of Ministers is negligible, the norms in this area being regulated in detail by the USSR Council of Ministers. But in other areas the prevalence of republic acts is unquestionable; and usually they include not only the elaboration of the right to this or that kind of social security, but also the manner for realizing this right, and the responsibilities of pertinent organs and enterprises for implementing "concrete" measures. At the same time, the USSR Council of Ministers often regulates the creation of separate social security organs, for example, kolkhoz social security councils and commissions for awarding pensions - despite the fact that the majority of acts regarding the organization of these organs are republican in origin. The USSR Council can also oblige republic councils to do certain things, for example, to accept the "acutely" needy into institutions for the aged and disabled. All this underscores the need for a more clear-cut delimitation of authority in their respective spheres. In this connection, the principle of "democratic centralism" requires that account be taken both of local peculiarities and of the need for unity in the organisation of social security and in the functioning of its organs. This explains the need for an all-Union act. Such an act would assign the general leadership of the social security system to the government of the USSR. The republics, assigned authority in the sphere of operational leadership, would then be in a better position to carry out their responsibilities, always taking into account local peculiarities and needs.19 To what extent this delineation of character is acceptable to all is not clear.

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The need for an all-Union act to incorporate "fully" constitutional demands has stirred up an additional area of disagreement. The right to social security was enunciated in the 1936 Constitution (Article 120). Disagreements concerning the legal nature of this right developed as time went on and became pronounced in the 1970s. Some scholars, especially la. M. Fogel', maintain that the constitution "guaranteed" this right as a basic, clear-cut constitutional right of all Soviet citizens which has an independent legal significance. It is this constitutional right, he affirmed, that will become the prime mover in the establishment of a single, unified system of social security.20 But for other scholars the guaranteed interpretation was unaccepable, given the current eligibility conditions: to realize this right, a person must "earn," must "deserve" a pension because, as a rule, a pension is awarded for work and for carrying out other constitutional duties. Consequently, it is not a completely non-reciprocal (bezekvivalentnyi) payment, although in a direct sense it is not a reward for work. The fact that an ever greater proportion of the able-bodied work and thus "earn" this right has created a tendency for social security to become universal - a development that facilitates the achievement of a unified system.21 Fogel' rejected these objections insisting that it is incorrect to base the right to a pension on the duty to work. The 1977 Constitution has not as yet resolved the differences surrounding the "guaranteed" issue, although it appears that the discussion is moving toward a fusion of the two positions that have been argued so far. Thus, P. Lopata finds that the new Constitution bestowed on pensions a reliable legal guarantee by ratifying the legal status of social consumption funds as the material base which assures that citizens' rights to social security are implemented.22 Azarova argues that a single normative act - supplemented by a system of regulations governing the separate types of social security — would confirm constitutional rights to social security benefits and thus would become a connecting link between the social security system and the USSR constitution.23 Others stress that these regulations should recognize that the pension system, the largest and costliest component of social security, has and is undergoing many changes: some because of demographic changes; others, because of legislative changes as they related to the overall performance of the economy. Even if incremental, these changes may coalesce into quite a different view of the "broad" approach.24 What may speed up movement toward a distinct branch of law for social security is a spurt of activity toward clearing the legaljungle of the "multitude" of decrees and regulations that are no longer operative. Stimulated by a speech by Brezhnev in 1974 in which he complained

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about the lack of attention on the part of administrators to legal questions - a failure that results in antiquated instructions that contain unjustified limitations, and petty regulations that stifle initiative and go against new demands — the RSFSR Ministry of Social Security embarked on a three-year project (1975-77) which reviewed the 20,000 decrees and "instructional letters" issued by the Ministry since 1940. In 1977 a list of still operative decrees and letters was compiled and measures were instituted to prevent the accumulation of those no longer operative in the future.25 To what extent this gargantuan effort is achieving its objective of creating an ongoing order in the legal domain is unclear. Nor is there anything to indicate the extent, if any, to which the other fourteen Union Republic Ministries are using what the RSFSR has produced. But in 1984, Iu. M. Kozlov found that despite repeated proposals about the necessity of working out the "bases" (osnovy) for a distinct social security law, there are still scholars and "practical workers" who believe that the adoption of such "bases" would be untimely in view of the insufficient specificity of social security relationships as they are detailed in the statutes of each Union Republic. In short, while the "broad" approach is put off until "a certain future stage of communist development, when social insurance will fuse into social security," the separate social security law is put off until opponents recognize that republic statutes already possess sufficient specificity for such a move and that, in any case, adoption of the necessary "bases" will not be determined by specificity, but rather by the federal type of organization for the nation.26 It is, therefore, probable that a full-scale restructuring of the legal framework will not come into being soon or all at onee since such a major undertaking would require the resolution of several long-festering differences between those taking part in the discussion — a resolution that would involve the highest levels of power. In the meantime, the discussion described above and the promulgation of the 1977 Constitution stimulated "close attention" to "constitutional legality" in social security. It is in the area of what an individual can do to redress decisions made by bureaucrats which he or she finds incorrect or unjust that the 1977 Constitution has introduced a potentially significant improvement. John Hazard reports that "in 1980 the Supreme Soviet enacted a set of federal 'fundamentals' on administrative offences and procedures for their rectification." He evaluated them as "cautious on an issue involving review of administrative acts," yet undoubtedly making "an inroad into what had been the almost impregnable castle of the administrative official."27 In the 1936 Constitution there was a statement of the citizen's duty to obey the law;

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in the 1977 Constitution, both the citizen and the state bureaucracy must obey the law. Viewed in a historical perspective, it becomes clear that efforts to enforce "socialist legality" have been consistently beset by difficulties.28 The first decree on "serious deficiencies in the examination of citizens' letters, complaints and depositions," issued in 1958, remained largely inoperative. Later acts culminated in the decree of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR on 12 April 1968 entitled, "About the Order of Examining Citizens' Proposals, Depositions and Complaints." This is still the basic governing law, despite the repeated opinions of some scholars that a new law which would take into account the social changes that have transpired since 1968 is an "urgent necessity." In current practice, a complaint signifies a verbal or written request, to the appropriate state or social organ, by an individual or a group of citizens who believe that their subjective rights or legal interests - as well as socialist justice, and moral or ethical standards of behavior in socialist society — have been violated (military personnel are forbidden to present group complaints). Examining complaints in a number of different administrative settings, V. T. Remnev finds that many are caused by the low quality of available information which underestimates the value of analyzing the reasons that bring about law-breaking and of circumstances that contribute to law-breaking. The questions "why?" and "who?" are not answered. He also claims that little attention is now being given to level statistics from administrative hierarchies, an area in which there has been practically no progress. He recommends that the collection and analysis of such statistics be centralized in the USSR Central Statistical Administration.29 Other scholars find that the kind of behavior most often responsible for generating complaints includes inattentive personnel, a "heartless" attitude toward people and their needs, impertinence, conceit and sloth, formalism, officialism and red tape. Specifically, in social security, reasons for law-breaking include the absence of clear-cut, coherent legal regulations, on the one hand, and "formalism" and insufficient qualifications of personnel, on the other.30 The citizens' complaints in regard to social security that disclose a crying lack of attention, negligence and, at times, outright irresponsibility, were confirmed by Andropov in 1982.31 Of the wide-ranging and multitudinous galaxy of guarantors of the right of citizens to lodge complaints and to have them considered "correctly," promptly, and objectively — the party and state organs; organs of people's control, the court system, and the prosecuting magistracy; the responsible officials — there is nothing to indicate that the party or the judiciary play a meaningful role vis-a-vis social security

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complainants. What is left are the functionaries in the social security system and, indeed, they are the ones who examine the "overwhelming majority" of complaints regarding pensions.32 Two types of appeals are possible for social security clientele: the first is in regard to facts essential for establishing eligibility; the second, in regard to decisions made on the basis of these facts. In relation to facts, the individual's first recourse is to agencies in charge of pertinent documents. If he disagrees with the facts as contained in them, he has the right to take some of them to court. The court becomes involved only if the plaintiff cannot produce appropriate documents verifying the needed facts, or if it is impossible to find lost documents which would verify them. 33 Appeals from decisions of the district people's court may be taken to a court of appeals. But even certain/arts which have juridical significance in establishing eligibility are within the purview of special administrative organs rather than courts. Thus, it is the commission for awarding pensions appointed by the Executive Committee of the district or city soviet of people's deputies - that either establishes the applicant's work record by recourse to witnesses, or refuses to do so unless he presents new circumstances or new witnesses. It also affirms the loss of means of subsistence when this is a requirement for a benefit. Whatever the outcome, the commission's decisions are final. As for decisions made on the basis of facts, a dissatisfied individual cannot challenge any of them in court, a "peculiarity" of the social security system. These include all decisions made by commissions for awarding pensions which are also the final arbiters in cases of conflict between the pensioner and the director of the social security department (the latter is the chairman of the commission). For these decisions, the appellate process provides an administrative review. For workers and employees this means an appeal to the executive committee of the district or city soviet of people's deputies. But, wrote Azarova in 1979, the legal norm concerning the right to appeal commission decisions to the executive committee . . . in fact "does not work," inasmuch as both the workers in the social security organs and the citizens themselves recognize the sheer formality of such appeals.34 The executive committee usually sends these appeals to higher social security organs, although the only thing the latter can do is to request the department of social security in the locality where the appeal originated to re-submit it to the commission, appending its recommendations. Whether the commission accepts or rejects this request for a review, its decisions are final. The pensioner also has the right to appeal directly to a

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higher, that is, the regional social security organ, and almost all resort to this route. But this is not exactly a panacea for their problems. Being geographically far removed from complainants' residences, regional departments depend on information forwarded to them by the local departments whose decisions are being appealed. Often, they are also forced to make repeated inquiries in order to define the actual circumstances more accurately. All this causes delays and does not always result in "correct" decisions either. The route for appeals that charge "erroneous activities" on the part of personnel is again to higher social security organs, ending up in the Ministries. But many of these, if they concern staff at echelons below the local department's director, are returned to the director for disposition; if the complaint is about the director, it is not sent back. In 1983, in RSFSR, most complaints were against directors and other personnel, not against commissions.35 For collective farmers, appeals against commissions for awarding pensions are to their district council of social security, which appoints the commission, whose decisions are final. The council is not in session continuously, while the law calls for an uninterrupted access to organs responsible for review of complaints - an illegality that causes hardships for complainants. In regard to mutual aid grants made in line with guidelines of the 1969 Model Charter for Collective Farmers, it is the collective farm itself that decides by whom appeals should be reviewed: either by members at general meetings, or by the board of directors, or by the brigade councils. Decisions of the last two may be appealed to the general meeting or to the kolkhoz control commission which oversees the mutual aid program. Appeals concerning refusal to grant a supplement to a pension may also be taken directly to the district collective farm social security council which, if it finds the refusal erroneous, re-submits it to the collective farm, thereby obliging the latter to have it reviewed at a general meeting whose decision is final. This is justified by the claim that mutual aid "is based on the moral principle of the builder of communism: one for all, all for one, humane attitude and mutual respect"; but, adds A. S. Tarashchanskii, "it seems incorrect to deprive of assistance those elderly, solitary farmers for whom assistance is the only means of subsistence."36 In addition, the district department of social security has the power to oblige the commission for awarding pensions to review its erroneous decisions; and it can also investigate complaints in regard to a variety of matters, including pensions and grants. If the collective farmer is a trade union member - and this applies to workers and employees as well - and his complaint concerns a grant, the appeal is to the district, then to the regional, and finally to the republic trade union council. The decision of the latter is final and cannot be challenged in court.37

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Civil and criminal law also have roles to play. Under civil law deductions from pensions may be made on the basis of decisions by commissions for awarding pensions. They may resort to court action if the pensioner fails to continue or refuses to make restitution for overpayments that resulted from wrongdoing on his part such as presenting false documents, hiding actual earnings, failing to report changes in family composition. In regard to persons of pensionable age who have been found guilty in criminal proceedings, the November 1978 decision of the Supreme Court made probation inapplicable to persons of pensionable age, because they are not able to work. A person who reaches pensionable age during probation is not subject to being freed ahead of time from the imposed punishment. Men and women who do not reach pensionable age even by one day may be put on probation and required to work, and then continue to work several years during pension age until they serve out their sentences. Group 1 and 11 disabled (totally and severely disabled) from work-connected causes who are on probation are freed before completing their sentences; if disability is non-work-connected, the court can either free them or incarcerate them to serve out their entire sentences. Group m disabled (the partially disabled) who are on probation are expected to serve out their full sentences and to continue to work until they are freed. Does a probationer have a right to a pension? Those who are incarcerated, that is, deprived of liberty, do not. But probationers who work and are, therefore, covered by social insurance, are eligible for pensions. This means that it is possible for Group HI and for those of pensionable age who are on probation to receive both pensions and wages - of course, within limits set by law, and provided they carry out probation requirements. Some writers believe that this serves as a measure to prevent them from again engaging in criminal activities.38 Criminal law is used to punish officials who forge documents, who make false entries or erase entries in documents — this motivated by mercenary, selfish interests. If found guilty, they may be sentenced to deprivation of freedom for two years, or to correctional labor for one year, or they may be fired and deprived of the right to return to their jobs for three years. Also subject to criminal prosecution are functionaries in the social security system who are charged with the duty of providing help for persons who find themselves in life-threatening situations and unable to do anything for self-preservation because they are old, sick, unable to work, or are children. Such crimes are also punished by loss of freedom for up to two years or correctional labor for one year. If a disabled individual wishes to appeal a decision of the local

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Medico-Labor Expert Commission (VTEK) concerning group of disability, or the reason for disability and the time of its onset, he must do so in writing within a month of the handing down of the decision, and present it either to the district department of social security or to the VTEK where the initial examination took place. Within five days of the receipt of the appeal, the directors of these two organs must forward it, together with all medical materials, to the district, regional, republic, or central city VTEK which then requests the disabled person to present himself for reexamination. Decisions of the highest VTEKs are final. For workers and employees the VTEK's determination that disability is work-connected requires management to draw up an "act" that certifies this fact. If management refuses or if the injured person disagrees with its depiction of the circumstances under which the accident took place, he or she can take these matters up with the local trade union committee which must review them and issue a decision within seven days. This decision is obligatory for management, unless it finds that the committee failed to adhere to the law, in which case, it can ask for a review, via the local committee, to a higher union organ whose decision is final. No court review is possible. Equally, the refusal of a social security organ to accept a document concerning an accident (claiming that it happened at home rather than at work) cannot be appealed in court, but can be taken through the administrative hierarchy. These procedures may be assumed to apply also to collective farm members, although they are not discussed in the literature. Complaints concerning the work record and the type of work the complainant performed — which in the case of workers and employees must be furnished by management at former work places - are to the higher "organization" of the system in which the complainant worked.39 It is not clear how far up a complainant has to go in order to reach a final decision. In addition, complainants are probably permitted to take their grievances to their trade unions and to the district social security departments. For collective farmers it is the farm management that must prepare the work record document. In this instance, the appeal route is even less clear. Perhaps they may also seek help from their trade unions (for agricultural workers and those in provisioning)^ Probably, they may in addition appeal to the district social security council for collective farmers, or to the district social security department since the latter is responsible for reviewing the work record in applications for pensions and other benefits sent to them by farm managements. We see from the above descriptions that the law establishes two sets of organs empowered to deal with conflicts in social security: first, within the system itself; the second, outside the system. Apparently, the

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complaint problem in the procedural arena, most often attributed to inept or "bureaucratic" performance on the part of staff, continues despite detailed directives concerning the "correct" way to handle complaints. In order to find out what the complaints are about, the reasons that prompt them, and whether the decisions made in regard to them are legally sound, a quarterly or biannual analysis is supposed to be carried out with the objective of providing a basis for measures designed to do away with these inefficiencies. This analysis, we are told, permits the realization of measures "aimed at further strengthening citizens' rights."40 Given these requirements, it is indeed strange that no meaningful statistics about complaints are published. Is this because directives are not implemented in "real life," or because the facts are not sufficiently "perfect" to see the light of day? The few statements that appear in the literature are, however, suggestive. For example: in 1982 the RSFSR Ministry alone received 68,000 letters and saw 31,000 persons (this is not counting letters and personal appearances in lower social security organs throughout the republic).41 Writing in 1979, Azarova noted that in the RSFSR 65 per cent of the "significant stream" of letters that come into social security organs were not complaints. Presumably, 35 per cent were complaints. If so, the RSFSR Ministry itself is likely to receive about 23,000 complaints annually.42 Other writers refer to the number of complaints as "significant" and "continuing to increase." There is no doubt, it should be added, that when problems about which social security clients complain are not handled "correctly," promptly and compassionately, this causes for many people serious injustices and deprivations which can last for long periods of time.43 For V. A. Tarasova this is of exceptionally important significance because a pension is, "as a rule, the sole source of means of subsistence."44 Furthermore, this is particularly reprehensible, writes an authoritative Soviet administrator, because a large majority of social security's clients are elderly, sick, or unable-to-work individuals who, besides, are not well informed of their rights. It is difficult for them through their own efforts to defend these rights and their legal interests.45 Despite the many entities involved in the appellate process, inside and outside the social security system, this process is quite restricted and there are doubts about its objectivity. In many instances reviews of grievances are made by persons who handed down the original decision, and most of the final decisions are made by them as well. There is no question that many people do have grievances. Indeed, it could hardly be otherwise, given the scope of social security programs, the frequent reliance on subjective judgments, and the many places where errors and violations

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of legal regulations can occur when such judgments are made by incompetent staff who may lack compassion as well. When interviewed, social security officials do not present a specific and clear-cut picture about the appellate process. What seems certain, however, is that although an individual may discuss his case with the local social security office, he rarely if ever is invited to do so. As to judicial appeals (to establish certain facts), it was stated that usually such appeals do not materialize because at some point the situation becomes "fully understood" by the client. The overall view that emerges is that as far as fair hearings are concerned, the social security clientele is a group of secondclass citizens. Dissatisfaction with this state of affairs mounted in the 1970s. Remnev's careful study led him to conclude that court jurisdiction is more "democratic" than administrative jurisdiction; that while the administrative route is in principle more "operative" than court review, this is true only when the questions raised are relatively uncomplicated, when an infraction can be righted by an oral directive or by correcting a mistake on the spot. But when decisions are contrary to law, it may take several months or even years to rectify them - even in cases of justified complaints. In some organs, mechanisms for "a deep and many-faceted analysis are lacking." This is exacerbated by heavy caseloads, producing a "negative effect on the quality of staff decisions." Because procedural order is "imperfect," people send their complaints helter-skelter to anyone at any time. All this, it seems, takes place in social security. The court issue was brought to the fore by Article 58 of the 1977 Constitution which for the first time in Soviet constitutional practice "fixed" the right to complain. As finally passed, this article reads as follows: Citizens of the USSR have the right to address complaints against actions of officials, state bodies and public bodies. Complaints shall be considered in the manner and within the time-limits established by law. Actions by officials that contravene the law or exceed their authority, and infringe the rights of citizens, may be appealed against in a court in the . . . Citizens of the USSR have the right to compensation for damages inflicted by unlawful actions of state institutions and public organizations, as well as of officials in the course of the performance of their official duties. The well-known reform jurist, Academician M. S. Strogovich, suggested that an addition to this article be made in order to assure that the rights it confers would not be undermined, stipulating that "all state and social organizations shall be categorically prohibited from referring complaints for rectification to those individuals whose actions are the object of the complaint."46 This suggestion was not accepted.

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In 1978 Sovetskoe Gosudarstvo i Pravo, a leading legal journal, devoted a sizable discussion to Article 58. Its editorial board believed that the legislation proposed to spell out this article must include the right to take to court illegal activities not only of officials, but also of state organs and social organizations; and not only activities, but also inactivities: that is, failure to arrive at decisions, red tape, etc. They recommended, however, that a complaint be taken to court only after it had been examined by an organ higher in the administrative hierarchy - or by some other organ specified in the law — and the complaint had not been satisfied. In contrast, A. A. Mel'nikov believes that deletions from the general principle about court jurisdiction are necessary because in regard to some administrative activities state organs have the right either to perform or not to perform them; hence, appeals concerning such activities are outside the competence of courts. Among the eleven "objects" for appeals, he names the first one as "decisions of social security organs concerning refusal to award pensions or to calculate the size of pensions, refusal to award grants or to calculate their size." And among complaints that should be taken to court only after they have been turned down by higher administrative organs, he includes complaints against social security organs. In regard to cases that get to court, the court can either settle them or return them to state organs for a re-examination which should not be longer than one month. E. M. Murad'inn, on the other hand, is more to the left in his views. He points out that civil matters are instituted not only by individuals, but by public prosecutors, trade unions, enterprises, collective farms, cooperative and social organizations and establishments. Civil action in the interests of society, in the interests of legality, must receive recognition. Further, he believes that both the person who gave the illegal directive and the person who carried it out are responsible. The law must also foresee the possibility of bringing to trial both the offical and the organ. For Murad'inn, the perimeter of acts that are subject to being appealed in court is one of the basic questions of the future law. It can be answered in two ways: (1) via the general principle giving the right to appeal any incorrect act by the administration; and (2) via the principle of cases whereby it is permitted to appeal in court only cases favorably indicated in law. For him, the second method is less perfect because there is no indication of the general principle of court jurisdiction; the principle of cases in a procedural order of exceptions. The position of Part 2 of Article 58 includes, without doubt, the general principle, and it must be reproduced in the future law.47 The court issue also stirred up a lively discussion among those concerned specifically with social security. Some see no need for court

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review of complaints regarding decisions; others favor it, but caution that problems may arise; and still others favor it without reservations.48 Maksimovskii urges that when access to court review is considered, what should be kept in mind is the significance of pensions as a vital source of means of subsistence and, therefore, the need for the most reliable guarantees for realizing the constitutional right to material security in old age and where loss of work ability occurs. From a theoretical and practical point of view, broadening court jurisdiction to include social security would not only be an added guarantee of citizens' rights, but would also have a constructive influence on the quality of work in social security organs. At the same time, he cautions, it must be kept in mind that the scope of pension security, its complexity and specificity, and the significant number of conflicts that arise might demand an expansion in court apparatus. Taking this caution into account, Azarova shows that if all complaints about pensions that now come to the RSFSR Ministry were sent to courts, their average number per region and autonomous republic in the RSFSR would not be higher than ten per month. Furthermore, she notes, the personnel of people's courts are much better educated than social security personnel: almost 95 per cent of people's judges elected in 1976 have higher legal education; but in the district social security organs in RSFSR, more than two-thirds of senior and lower echelon inspectors have neither higher nor secondary special education. This holds for many directors as well. Of course, she grants, further development of a more democratic approach to the complaint problem may require higher expenditures. But, she reminds her readers, in 1977 Brezhnev emphasized that "in conditions of mature socialism, the economic base for socialist democracy has become wider." Tarasova argues that the absence of juridical regulations for the realization of citizens' rights in social security weakens their guarantees. Such regulations, incorporated in a single general statute for the entire country, and centered on both the procedural aspects and the legal means for realizing rights, would strengthen the legal status of citizens and would provide them with more effective means for realizing their rights, as well as for carrying out their duties. Gushchin supports access to courts as "totally reasonable" because court decisions would include opinions about the legality of, or the justification for, decisions by commissions for awarding state and collective farm pensions, and their annulment in cases of nonconformity to the law. What did 232 old-age pensioners and 15 administrators have to say about this matter?49 Nearly 93 per cent of them reported that although they did not know how to complain or appeal if they were dissatisfied,

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either with substantive decisions or with the administrative process, 75 per cent were not given an explanation about what they could do. Of the 232, 72 (31 per cent) were dissatisfied, but only 15 (6.5 per cent) complained. Of the rest, 80 per cent did not complain because they felt that it would do no good ("complaints and appeals do not receive competent, objective reviews"); one-fifth were either afraid of antagonizing the administrators, or did not want to get involved in a longdrawn-out process. Of the 15 complaints, 9 were lodged within the social security system, 6 outside it - with newspapers, executive committees of local Soviets and trade unions. Of 9 whose cases involved substantive decisions, only 3 won (all 3 involved simple mathematical errors); of 6 dissatisfied with the administrative process, some received formal letters, while others heard nothing further. When asked whether a pensioner dissatisfied for substantive reasons should have the right to take his case to court, 93 per cent said "yes!" Yet, even this resounding "yes" was clouded by doubts: "may be useless," "it won't help," "court also won't help the pensioner," "am not sure it will help." While 92 per cent of pensioners assigned major importance to the need for administrators to be trained to appreciate the right of clients for an objective review of grievances, only 67 per cent of administrators agreed. And 90 per cent of the latter want clients to have the right to take their cases to court, after they had exhausted all avenues within the system itself, and via the executive committee of the local soviet.50 Despite skepticism and reservations among social security beneficiaries, discussions among scholars, jurists and social security administrators indicate that Article 58 of the 1977 Constitution has the potential for transforming the administration of social security into a more "democratic" management environment by providing access to a court system which promises a more objective and legally correct review of appeals and disputes, and by holding officials at all levels responsible for breaking the law or over-stepping their authority, thereby infringing the rights of their clients. But it is likely that such a transformation will be slow, jerky, and at times inconsistent - given that social security clients are old, often in poor health or disabled, unaware of their rights, for the most part used to accepting what is granted by persons in authority without protest, and unorganized.51 Moreover, at least some officials will undoubtedly oppose the curtailment of their power to hand down final decisions and will certainly resist making restitution for damages. The pace of this transformation will be uneven: perhaps quite rapid and widespread in republics that are more "advanced" in social security matters (RSFSR, Ukraine, Estonia, etc.), probably quite slow and halting in the Central Asiatic and other less "advanced" republics.

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In short, while the potential seems to be at hand, its implementation will probably face many obstacles and delays. As of 1985, the federal "fundamentals" on administrative offenses and procedures for their rectification have not been "concretized" for social security. But many feel that eventually they will be. This, as well as the content and the nature of such concretization, remains to be seen.

NOTES 1 In 1979, more than 18 per cent of the population were pensioners. In 1983, 52,400,000 persons received pensions: 36,000,000 aged; 16,400,000 disabled and survivors. In the 1980s, between 900,000 and 1.5 million new pensioners have been added annually to the pension rolls. In 1981 expenditures on pensions amounted to 35.4 billion rubles or 73.6 per cent of all monetary social security and social insurance payments. In that year, pensions used up 29 per cent of the social consumption budget, a rise of 3 per cent since i960; in 1980, they used up 5.6 per cent of the Gross National Product, a rise of 0.5 per cent since 1976. 2 The two major normative acts have remained: The ig$6 State Pensions Actfor Workers and Employees which broadened coverage, eliminated the gross inequalities and raised the meager size of pensions of the Stalin era; and The Collective Farm Members' Pensions and Allowances Act, passed in 1964, which replaced the meager and sporadic mutual aid with pensions, and initiated the process of equating them with pensions for workers and employees. Numerous subsequent decrees broadened coverage and raised pension levels, for the most part by increasing minimum pensions. 3 A. E. Kozlov, senior scientific collaborator at the Institute of State and Law in the USSR Academy of Sciences, Candidate of Jurisprudence, "Sovershenstvovanie material'nogo obespecheniia netrudosposobnykh, sotsial'nye faktory," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 1 (January 1984), p. 58. 4 Administratively, social security is characterized by the absence of a central directing organ, this function being partially performed by the Committee on Labor and Social Questions attached to the USSR Council of Ministers. In contrast to Health and Education, there is no all-Union Ministry of Social Security; instead, each of the fifteen republic Ministries, within certain limits, defines the aims, nature and scope of social security somewhat differently from the others. How to deal with these differences appears to be still an unsettled problem. 5 Iu. Andropov's speech, "Vstupaia v tretii god piatiletki," was excerpted for publication in Sotsial'noe obespechenie, no. 1 (January 1983), pp. 3-7. 6 M. L. Zakharov, ed., Sovetskoe pensionnoe pravo (Moscow: 1974), p. 152; N. M. Pavlova, N. E. Rabkina, N. M. Rimashevskaia, "O sovershenstvovanii metodov planovogo regulirovaniia pensionnogo obespecheniia starosti," Ekonomika i matematicheskie melody, vol. xv, no. 4 (July-August 1979), pp. 684-92; A. Solov'ev, "Sotsial'noe obespechenie na sovremennom etape," Sotsialisticheskii trud, no. 9 (September 1977), p. 44. 7 V. S. Andreev, "Pravovye problemy sotsial'nogo obespecheniia v SSSR," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo 1 pravo, no. 2 (February 1967), pp. 31-36. 8 V. A. Acharkan, "Problemy sotsial'nogo obespecheniia (Obzor novoi literatury)," Sotsialisticheskii trud, no. 4 (April 1973), p. 144.

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9 I. la. Kiselev, "Na zasedaniiakh Biuro po probleman trudovoego prava i sotsial'nogo obespecheniia," Souetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 4 (April 1973), p. 143. 10 I. V. Gushchin, Pravootnosheniia po sotsial'nomo obespecheniiu chlenov kolkhezov (Leningrad: 1975), pp. 6-7, 17. 11 M. S. Lantsev, Sotsial'noe obospechenie v SSSR. Ekonomicheskii aspekt (Moscow: 1976), pp. 22-23. 12 V. S. Andreev, Sotsial'noe obespechenie v SSSR. Pravovye voprosy (Moscow: 1971), p. 128. 13 "Postanovlenic Soveta Ministrov SSSR i Vsesoiuznogo Tsentral'nogo Soveta Professional'nykh Soiuzov, O posobiiakh po gosudarstvennomu sotsial'nomu strakhovaniiu," Moscow, 23 February 1984; no. 191, St 46, pp. 123-40; V. A. Acharkan, "Sotsial'no-pravovaia priroda posobii na detei maloobespechennym sem'iam," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 10 (October 1975), p. 40. 14 M. L. Zakharov, V. I. Maksimovskii, and la. M. Fogel', "Social Security Trends in the Development of Organization and Management," Current Digest of the Soviet Press, vol. xxv, no. 22 (February 1973), p. 16, excerpted from Sovetskoe Gosudarstvo i Pravo, no. 2 (February 1973), pp. 26-33. 15 A. I. Tsepin, "Nauchno-koordinatsionnoe soveshchanie po problemam trudovogo prava i sotsial'nogo obespecheniia," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 4 (April 1975), pp. 156-5916 E. G. Azarova, "Sotsial'noe obespechenie: Rasshirenie prav grazhdan v svete reshenii XXVI s'ezda KPSS," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 12 (December 1982), PP- 74-7517 A. D. Zaikin, "Pensionnoe pravootnoshenie: poniatie, osnovnye cherty," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 3 (March 1972), p. 33; Acharkan, "Problemy," p. 146; I. M. Fogel', "Regulirovanie pensionnogo obespecheniia," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 2 (February 1976), pp. 42-43 Gushchin, Pravootnosheniia po sotsial'nomu obespecheniiu, pp. 19-20; V. Sh. Shaikhatdinov, "Sootnoshenie prava sotsial'nogo obespecheniia i trudovogo prava," Sovetskoe Gosudarstvo i Pravo, no. 7 (July 1979), pp. 114, 116-17. Men and women who held active duty ranks of private, sergeant and master sergeant were equated to workers and employees for pension purposes by the 1956 act. 18 Tsepin, "Nauchno-koordinatsionnoe soveschanie," p. 158; K. S. Batygin, "Vozniknovenie i razvitic sotsial'nogo strakhovaniia v SSSR,' Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 9 (September 1977), p. 43. 19 V. I. Maksimovskii, Upravlenie sotsial'nym obespecheniem (Moscow: 1974), pp. 63-64, 66-67. 20 la. M. Fogel', Pravo na pensiiu i ego garantii (Moscow: 1972), pp. 27-29. 21 M. L. Zakharov, "Razvitie edinoi sistemy pensionnogo obespecheniia v SSSR," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 11 (November 1975), p. 27. 22 P. Lopata, "Desiataia piatiletka — Vazhnyi rubezh v razvitii sistemy pensionnogo obespecheniia," Sotsial'noe Obespechenie, no. 10 (October 1980), p. 12. 23 Azarova, "Sotsial'noe obespechenie," pp. 74-75. 24 Acharkan, "Problemy," p. 143. 25 Iu. Tsederbaum, "Ob uperiadochenii vedomstvennykh normativnykh aktov," Sotsial'noe Obespechenie, no. 3 (March 1978), pp. 28—29. 26 Kozlov, Sovershenstvovanie, p. 58. 27 John N. Hazard, "Legal Trends," in Archie Brown and Michael Kaser, eds., Soviet Policy for the 1980s (London: Macmillan, 1982), p. n o . 28 For a historical view of the right to complain in the Soviet Union and of the

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29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

44 45 46

47

48

49

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problems connected with it, see M. D. Zagriatskov, Administratiunaia iustitsiia ipravo zhaloby(Vteorii i zakonodatel'stve) (Moscow: 1924); I. M. Kozlov, Prietn i rassmotrenie zhalob i zaiavlenii trudiashchikhsiia (Moscow: 1959); V. I. Romnev, Pravo zhaloby v SSSR (Moscow: 1964); V. V. Mal'kov, Sovetskoe zakonodatel'stvo 0 zhalobakh i zaiavleniiakh (Moscow: 1967); N. Kazakevich, E. Kuzmin, Poriadok rassmotrenii predlozhenii, zaiavlenii i zhalob grazhdan (Moscow: 1975). V. I. Remnev, Sotsialistichekaia zakonnost' v gosudarstvennom upravlenii (Moscow: 1979). PP- 100-4. V. A. Tarasova, Iuridicheskiefakty v oblastipensionnogo obespecheniia (Moscow: 1974), p. 88. Andropov, "Vstupaia v tretii god piatiletki," p. 5. Remnev, Sotsialisticheskaia zakonnost', pp. 220-29. V. A. Babkin, G. B. Smirnova, Kommentarii k polozheniiu 0 poriadke naznacheniia 1 vyplaty gosudarstvennykh pensii (Moscow: 1975), p. 498. E. G. Azarova, " O zashchite pensionnykh prav grazhdan," Sovetskoegosudarstvo i Pravo, no. 2 (February 1979), p. 46. D. P. Komarova, "Vazhnyi kanal sviazi s massami," Sotsial'noe obespechenie, no. 4, (April 1983), p. 5. A. S. Tarashchanskii, Pravo sotsial'nogo obespecheniia chlenov kolkhozov (Kishinev, 1972), p. 207. "Postanovlenie Soveta Ministrov SSSR i Vsesoiuznogo Tsentral'nogo Soveta Professional'nykh Soiuzov," p. 134. S. la. Ulitskii, "Uslovnoe osvobozhdenie osuzhdennykh pensionnogo vozrasta," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 11 (November 1981), pp. 136-38. Tarasova, Iuridicheskiefakty, pp. 86-88. Fogel', Pravo na pensiiu, pp. 175-76. Komarova, "Vazhnyi kanal sviazi s massami," p. 4. Azarova, " O zashchite pensionnykh prav grazhdan," pp. 46-47. In a section entitled "In a Critical Vein" (Pod ostrym uglom), Sotsial'noe Obespechenie routinely publishes accounts of administrative failures to observe legal procedures and compassionate handling of complaints. See, for example, A. Matveichev, "Pishite zhalobu," no. 11 (November 1981), pp. 58-59. V. A. Tarasova, "Okhrana ,sub'ektivnykh prav grazhdan v oblasti pensionnogo obespecheniia," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 8 (August 1976), pp. 135-37. Maksimovskii, Upravlenie, p. 35. Robert Sharlet, The New Constitution 0/1977: Analysis and Text (Brunswick, Ohio: King's Court Communications, Inc., 1978), p. 41; and Georg Brunner, "Human Rights and the Soviet Constitution," in F. J. M. Feldbrugge and William H. Simons, eds., Perspectives on Soviet Law for the 1980s (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1982), p. 45"Obzhalovanie v sud deistvii dolzhnostnykh lits," Sovetskoegosudarsto ipravo, no. 11 (November 1978), pp. 63-80. Editorial Board, "Konstitutsiia SSSR i rasshirenie sudebnoi zasshchity prav grazhdan," ibid., pp. 63-66; A. A. Mel'nikov, "Pravo grazhdan obzhalovat' v sud deistviia dolzhnostnykh lits," ibid., pp. 68-74; E. M. Murad'ian, "Sudebnyi kontrol' za administrativnymi aktami," ibid., 75-80. In that order, Fogel', Pravo na pensiiu, pp. 174-75; Maksimovskii, Upravlenie, pp. 124-25; Azarova, " O zashchite pensionnykh prav grazhdan," pp. 46-47; Gushchin, Pravootnosheniia, pp. 70-71. There were 232 respondents in our sample (two who had been refused partial pensions and several others with memory problems were excluded): 13 3 women and

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IOI men. In 1980 (the year of the interview), 37 per cent were between 55 and 65 years of age, the rest (63 per cent), between 65 and 85. They came from 32 cities in 10 republics, the largest number (87) arriving from 11 cities in the Ukraine, the next largest (83) from 4 cities in the RSFSR. Another 40 were evenly divided between Belorussia, Armenia and Latvia; and the remaining 22 between Azerbaidzhan, Georgia, Uzbekistan, Moldavia, and Lithuania. A large majority (88 per cent) came to the United States during 1977-80, the rest two or three years earlier. In the Soviet Union, they had worked in 63 different occupations ranging, among women, from cleaning women to ballet dancers; among men, from coal miners to orchestra conductors. They were a reasonably well-educated group: 38 per cent were university graduates with diplomas of specialization; 20 per cent were college graduates (without specialized degrees); and the rest (42 per cent) were high and junior high school graduates, a third of whom had specialized vocational training. Only one respondent, a woman, was illiterate. Differences in proportions of men and women at various educational levels were negligible (2-3 per cent). See, Bernice Madison, The Soviet Social Welfare System as Experienced and Evaluated by Consumers and Personnel, presented to the National Council For Soviet and East European Research - which provided the financial support for this project - in September 1981. 50 Ibid., pp. 47-48. 51 Ibid., p. 47.

II Abortion in the Soviet Union: why it is so widely practiced* SHALVIA B E N - B A R A K

Knowledge of how to prevent conception and birth is not a discovery of the twentieth century. Historical demographers have hypothesized that family planning was widely practiced in pre-industrial European communities.1 However, organized efforts to promote the practice of birth control do not seem to have emerged until the second half of the nineteenth century in England and some time later in the United States. It is important to emphasize that the birth control movement developed as a feminist or social reform movement rather than as a specific effort to control population growth. Thus, the movement founded by Mrs Sanger in the United States in 1913 maintained that women have the right to freedom from unwanted pregnancies.2 In the Soviet Union this liberal notion that a woman has the right of control over her own body did not lie behind the early law which legalized abortion in that country. Abortion was first legalized, on 18 November 1920, only as a necessary but temporary health measure, quite independent of family legislation. Although at that time the legalization of abortion was a pioneering step, it should be noted that its main purpose was not so much to enhance the woman's freedom of choice as to reduce the high mortality rate associated with illegal abortions. The main rationale of the decree of 18 *This paper presents initial findings of research on the number of induced abortions performed in the Soviet Union on 206 married women who emigrated to Israel in the years 1978-80. The data presented are part of the findings of a comprehensive research project conducted among emigrants in order to assess the impact of the employment of women in the Soviet Union on changes in attitudes, concepts and traditional patterns of family behavior. The 206 married couples interviewed came from the RSFSR, Ukraine, Belorussia, Moldavia, the Baltic republics, Central Asia, Georgia and the Caucasus (a small group of 14 interviewees from among the Mountain Jews). Their level of education ranged from primary to higher and they included all relevant age groups, from the generation of the revolution to those born in the 1960s. Our sample covers urban areas only. The research was carried out in Tel-Aviv University in 1982 and covered only emigrants who had arrived in Israel between 1978 and 1980. The questionnaire comprised 300 questions, mostly closed. Husbands and wives were interviewed separately. 201

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November 1920 was to protect the life of Soviet women, not their freedom to plan the size of their family.3 What the authorities did not do was to place abortion within the wider context of birth control. This omission was not accidental: according to the ideology of Marx and Engels, women in a socialist society would not fear conception because the burden of housework and childcare would shift from the individual household to the social collective, relieving women of the petty and stultifying chores to which they had traditionally been confined and'freeing them for more active participation in public and productive life. Socialism would create ideal conditions for mothers and children so that families would naturally want to have children.4 The revolutionaries believed that in accordance with Marxist theory, in the future socialist society there would be no contradiction between the two roles assigned to women: that of production and that of reproduction.5 In this respect, the Stalin era was an extreme practical expression of the revolutionary concept that proclaimed that the two roles of women in the new Soviet society were interwoven. In this period an intensive policy was launched to draw women into the Soviet work force, along with a policy of increasing the birthrate by granting financial incentives to mothers of large families.6 In this context, the repealing of legalized abortion in 1936, on the grounds that improved social conditions made abortion unnecessary, was in accordance with the spirit of the 1920 law and the revolutionary concept of the new society. It is significant to mention that, whereas the 1920 law legalizing abortion was enacted in the framework of the public health laws, the 1936 law which banned abortion was passed as an integral part of the laws on marriage and the family.7 However, contrary to the vision of the Marxist-Leninist theorists, this policy was not accompanied by the development of adequate communal childcare facilities: resources continued to be overwhelmingly directed towards heavy industry, while women were obliged to continue bearing the burden both of housework and childcare and of "productive" work. Stalin's policy of increasing the education and employment of women was indeed successful, but the impact of this policy on the Soviet family was soon demonstrated: a sharp rise in the Soviet birthrate from 33.6 per 1,000 population in 1936 to 39.6 in 1937, turned out to be only temporary, and within three years the birthrate declined to 31.2 per 1,000.8 Soviet women were registering their protest against the "double burden" imposed on them by resorting to illegal abortion, and in 1955 the Soviet authorities once again legalized abortion, in order to reduce the risk of damage to health by abortions performed outside hospitals. What concerns us here is

Abortion in the Soviet Union

203

whether, along with the legalization of abortion, resources were invested in producing or importing modern contraceptives, such as the contraceptive pill and the IUD whose development in the West gathered momentum in the 1960s, as part of a birth control policy, or whether this was merely a reversion to the rationale of the 1920 law. No national rates of abortion are published, or perhaps even available in the Soviet Union, although it can be clearly deduced from Soviet research which has been published that the rate of abortion there is staggering. The round figure of 10 million legal abortions in 1970, corresponding to a rate of about 180 per 1,000 women aged 15-44, is an estimate published by the International Planned Parenthood Federation.9 This rate is high even in comparison with other communist countries which do publish national abortion rates and which are known to have a high rate of abortion. In Czechoslovakia, for example, the rate of abortion in 1970 was of about 32.3 per 1,000 women aged 15-44, m Bulgaria - 64.0 per 1,000, and in Hungary - 83.5 per 1,000.10 Legal abortion rates are probably highest in the Soviet Union.11 A survey of 4,000 women in Minsk, published in May 1981, found that among women who had had at least one abortion, more than 50 per cent had undergone three or more and some 15 per cent five or more. These figures cover only recorded legal abortions.12 It seems that many Soviet women undergo five, ten or even more abortions during their childbearing years. The data collected in this study indeed confirm the assumption held by many Western researchers regarding the high rate of abortion in the USSR. When the 206 married women were asked directly "how many abortions did you have in the Soviet Union?" we found that over 60 per cent had had at least one abortion (see Table 11.1). This figure is probably even higher since the code zero includes not only women who had had no abortions in the Soviet Union, but also those who refused to respond to the question. (Given the extremely intimate nature of the question, the possibility that some of the women would refuse to answer was taken into account, particularly since abortion is banned in Israel (except for medical reasons) on religious grounds.) Of the 206 women, 19.4 per cent had had one abortion, 16 per cent —two abortions, 13.1 per cent - three abortions, 9.7 per cent - 4-8 abortions, and 4 per cent 10—16 abortions. If we take into account the 128 women who had had at least one abortion, as in the Minsk research, the abortion rates are even higher. Our findings show that among women who had undergone at least one abortion, 43.1 per cent had had three or more and 17.3 per cent five or more (see Table 11.2). The mean number of children of these 206 women was 2.28, while the mean number of abortions was 1.92.

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Table i I . I . The number of induced abortions undergone in the USSR by 206 women Number of abortions

Absolute frequency

Percentage

"0

78

37-9

1

40

2

33

19.4 16.0

3 4 5 6 7 8

27

131

6 8 4

2.y 3-9

10

2

1.0

12

1

o-5

13 15 16

1

3

0-5 1-5 0-5

1

1.9 0.5

1

0-5

1

Total

206

100

Notes: mean = i.92; std. dev. = (2.83). "Either zero or non-response.

Table 11.2. The actual number of induced abortions undergone in the USSR by 128 women Number of abortions

Absolute frequency

Percentage

1

40

2

33

31-3 25.8

3 4 5 6

27

21.1

7

1

6 8

4-7 6.3

4

3-i 0.8 0.8 1.6 0.8 0.8

8

1

10

2

12

1

13 15 16

3

Total Note: mean = 3.O9; std. dev. = (3.O5).

I

1

128

2-3 0.8 100

Abortion in the Soviet Union

205

Table 11.3. The number of induced abortions undergone in the USSR by 206 women: distribution by republic Number of Ukraine Moldavia" abortions RSFSR Belorussia W. Ukraine Baltics 0 1 2

3

30.3 18.2 15.2 18.2

29.0

19.4 35-5

9-7

30.6 22.2 19.4 19.4

40.0 30.0 10.0 20.0

Georgia 45-5

45-7

6.1 6.1

21.7

130

0

15.2

4-3

0

3-0 6.1

6.5

4 5 6

6.1 6.1

0

2.8 2.8

0

0

3-2

0

0

7

0

0

0

0

9-1 3-0

8

3-0 3-0

0

0

0

10

3-2

0

0

12

0

0

0

13 15 16

0

0

0

0

0

Total N Mean Std. dev.

0

0

Central Mountain Asia Jews

2.2

57-1 28.6

14-3 0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

3-0

0

0

2.8

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

6.5

0

0

0

0

3-0

0

0

100%

100%

100%

100%

100%

100%

33

31

36

20

33

46

2.12 (2-35)

1.70 (2.02)

1.80 (2.34)

1.10 (1.16)

2.66 (3-72)

(3-75)

100% 7 0.85 (1.46)

2.00

Note: Analysis of variance between groups: F=o.89; P>o.O5. *Those areas of Ukraine annexed to the Soviet Union in World War II.

When we examined the distribution of the number of abortions by republic (Table 11.3), it was found that 70 per cent of the women from the RSFSR (most of whom came from Moscow and Leningrad), the Ukraine and Moldavia, reported having had at least one abortion in the Soviet Union, as compared with only 54.5 per cent of those from Georgia and Central Asia. However, in both groups both among women from the European republics of the Soviet Union and among those from the Muslim republics, were women who reported having had more than 10 abortions. Moreover, the analysis of variance did not reveal a significant difference between the mean number of abortions performed in the different republics. An analysis of the distribution of the number of abortions according to level of education (Table 11.4) revealed that, despite the differences among the various groups, there were women among both those with little or no education (0-8 years' schooling) and among those with

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Table 11.4. The number of induced abortions undergone in the USSR by 206 women: distribution by education Years of schooling

Number of abortions

0-8

9-12

13-16

16 +

0

44-4 13-3 8.9 15.6 4.4

38.9 18.1 19.4

42.9 14.3

11.1

32.0 25-3 18.7 13-3

1-4 4.2

2.7 4.0

1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8

4.4

7-i

H-3 7-1 0

2.2

1.4

2-7

0

2.2

0

0

0 0

0

0

0

10

0

0

i-3

7-i

12

2.2

0

0

0

13 15 16

0

1-4 4.2

0

0

0

0

0

2.2

0

0

0

Total

100%

100%

100%

100%

N

45 2.08 (3-21)

72

2.05 (3-37)

75 1.62 (1.82)

2.28 (317)

Mean Std. dev.

14

Note: Analysis of variance between groups: F = o.44; P>o.O5.

higher education who had undergone ten abortions or more in the Soviet Union. Of 14 women with over 16 years' schooling, 14 per cent had had 8—10 abortions. An analysis of the distribution of abortions according to age group (Table 11.5) revealed that only among the youngest age group (22—32 years) was the percentage of those having had at least one abortion (44.4 per cent) lower than in the other age groups. This could be expected. However, we were astounded by the fact that even in this youngest age group there were women who had undergone 5, 6 or even 12 abortions. These data indicate that many Soviet women have had 10 or more abortions by the age of 35. These women are to be found in Moscow, Leningrad, Georgia and Central Asia and among them, as we have mentioned, are women with little education as well as those who are extremely well educated. Analysis of variance did not reveal any significant difference between the mean number of abortions among women from different republics, different

Abortion in the Soviet Union

207

Table 11.5. The number of induced abortions undergone in the USSR by 206 women: distribution by age Age

Number of abortions

22-32

33-44

45-55

56 +

0

55.6 13.0 16.7 5.6 3-7

26.6 20.3 14.1 20.3 4-7 6-3

31-4 21.6 15-7 15-7

40.5 24-3 18.9 8.1

2.0

0

3-9

2.7

3-1

2.0

0

0

0

2.0

0

0

0

2.0

0

10

0

0

2.0

2-7

12

1-9

0

0

0

13 15 16

0

0

2.0

0

0

4-7

0

0

0

0

0

100%

100%

100%

54

64

51

37

1.20

2.48 (3.26)

2.13 (2.70)

1.70 (3.06)

1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8

Total N Mean Std. dev.

1-9 1.9

(2.07)

2.7 100%

Note: Analysis of variance between groups: F = 2.2; P >o.O5.

age groups or with different levels of education.* Of the husbands, 97.7 per cent knew about the induced abortions of their wives, and 87.0 per cent approved of them. When seeking reasons for the high rate of induced abortion in the USSR, we have to examine two questions. One concerns the declining birthrate in the Soviet Union, i.e., the reasons for multiple terminations of pregnancy among Soviet women, and the other is why abortion is used as almost the only method of family planning in the Soviet Union, in preference to other more sophisticated and less drastic methods such as the IUD and the pill. Is this situation merely a result of the population's superstition and ignorance, or does the cause lie in the policy of the authorities? *It should be noted, however, that the vast majority of the people interviewed for this research project, although belonging to different age and education groups, come from the urban areas of the Soviet Union.

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On a list of nineteen reasons, women were asked to mark two reasons for having had their abortions, one primary and one secondary. Their responses were then graded on a scale of 0—2, on which a reason not marked scored 0, a second reason 1, and the main reason 2. The reason which received the highest average mark (0.51), and which 126 of the women interviewed gave as the main reason for having abortions, was the burden of work in the home and at work. The two main additional reasons given were poor living conditions (average mark 0.34) and the women's state of health (0.32). Other reasons which received high marks were: fear ofjeopardizing the woman's studies (0.238), lack of childcare facilities (0.230) and the family's difficult financial situation (0.17). When we asked all the interviewees, both men and women, what they thought was the reason why women had abortions in the Soviet Union, the 352 people who answered gave the following reasons: 40.1 per cent — the burden of work placed on the woman both in the home and at work, 19 per cent - financial difficulties, 15.3 per cent-the difficulty of raising children in the Soviet Union, 11.9 per cent — difficult living conditions, 8.5 per cent-poor family life, 1.7 per cent-fear of losing one's job, and 3.4 per cent — another reason. These findings, which emerged at an early stage of processing the data, clearly indicate the demographic impact of the "dual role" with which Soviet women have been burdened since the Stalin era. Women in the Soviet Union make up 51 per cent of the urban and state farm work force. About 90 per cent of able-bodied women work or study.13 However, contrary to the belief that in a socialist society the burden of housework and childcare would shift from the individual household to the social collective, relieving women of these tasks, to this day women in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union still do most of the child-rearing and housekeeping. The work load of many Soviet working women is even greater than that of their counterparts in the West because of the chronic shortage of adequate shopping facilities, childcare and other communal facilities as well as labor-saving devices for the home, all of which is the direct result of government planning. u Soviet women protest against this double burden by limiting the size of their families. But this does not explain why they resort to abortion — many even ten or more times, with obvious danger to their health - in order to achieve this aim. K. H. Mehlan insists that the widespread use of abortion arises from the population's refusal to use contraceptives, despite the recommendations of the authorities. According to this view, prejudice about contraceptives on the one hand and the ease with which abortions can be obtained on the other are the main reasons why

Abortion in the Soviet Union

209

abortion is the most widely used means of family planning in the Soviet Union.15 The results of this research indicate a very different picture to the one presented by Mehlan. We used three questions to examine to what extent the population itself is responsible for the large number of abortions in the Soviet Union. One question was designed to determine the degree to which the population was aware of the individual's ability to plan the number of children in the family. A second question was designed to examine to what extent the population was willing to plan the number of children in the family, and a third question asked directly why contraceptive devices were not widely used in the Soviet Union. The fact that our research sample included emigrants from Georgia and Central Asia, i.e., areas with a traditional family culture, enabled us to examine in greater detail the "myth" surrounding the widespread use of abortion in the Soviet Union. Of the sample of interviewees, 77.8 per cent stated that it is possible to determine family size, and 77.6 per cent stated that it is desirable to plan family size. Only 22.2 per cent answered that it is not possible or desirable to determine family size. Of this latter group, 51 per cent came from Central Asia. More than 80 per cent of the interviewees from the European republics stated that it is both possible and desirable to plan family size, but even 49.4 per cent of the group from Central Asia said that it is possible, and 47.8 per cent said that it is desirable to plan family size. Of those from Georgia 93.2 per cent, answered that it is possible, and 93.8 per cent that it is desirable to plan family size. We found a positive linear relation between awareness of family planning and education (tau =0.12, P
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Table 11.6. Methods of determining family size: distribution by republic

Method "Being careful" + abortion Understanding and agreement between spouses Medical advice + medical devices Safe contraceptive devices Male contraceptives + "It's the man's job to take care

Central Mountain Ukraine Moldavia RSFSR Belorussia W.Ukraine Baltics Georgia Asia Jews 4.2

14-3

6.9

18.2

6-3

11.9

12.1

6.1

14.6

28.6

17.2

31-3

35-7

41.4

2.1

2.4

0

0

0

4.8

0

2.4

0

3.0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

26.2

0

80.0

i-7

7-1

33-3

0

0

0

27-3

50.0

21.4

20.0

of"

Various means 6-3 which are hard to obtain Female 0 contraceptives 0 Abortion Contraceptive 35-4 devices + abortion Total 100% N = 286

48

14-3

0

2.4 2.4

3-4 19.0

8.6 39-7

y-5 16.7

0

12.1

100%

100%

100%

100%

100%

100%

42

58

33

58

42

0

0

5

Note: X 2 = i86.36; d.f. = 54; P
Some 75 per cent of the interviewees referred to contraceptive devices as the main method of determining family size. Of these, 50 per cent clearly referred to "medical devices" or "safe contraceptive devices." Of the group with the highest level of education, 60 per cent referred to medical or safe contraceptive devices as compared with only 33.3 per cent of the group with 0-8 years' schooling. Of this latter group, 17.8 per cent gave abortion as the only means of family planning as compared with only 0.8 per cent of the group with 13-16 years' schooling, and none of the group with over 16 years' schooling (Table 11.7). These data indicate that most of the interviewees were well aware of the existence of contraceptive devices and refer to them as the main means of planning family size. This awareness, however, is in sharp contrast to the high

Abortion in the Soviet Union

211

Table 11.7. Methods of determining family size:, distribution by education Method

0-8

9-12

13-16

16 +

"Being careful" + abortion Understanding and agreement between spouses Medical advice + medical devices Safe contraceptive devices Male contraceptives + "It's the man's job to take care of" Various means which arc hard to obtain Female contraceptives Abortion Contraceptive devices + abortion Total N = 286

11.1 4-4

14.6 6.8

5-9 11.0

10.0 15.0

11.1 22.2

9-7 39.8

16.1

38.1

30.0 30.0

2.9

0.8

0

0

1.9

39 2.9

2-5 i-7 0.8

0

0

17-5

22.9

0

17.8 33-3 100%

100%

45

103

100%

118

0 0

15.0 100% 20

Note: X 2 = 52.yo; d.f. = 27; P
rates of abortion that we found among all 206 of the married women we interviewed, including the highly educated ones. As we saw in Table 11.4, 14 per cent of the group of women with 16 or more years' schooling had had 8-10 abortions. Moreover, the conditions in which most abortions are performed in the Soviet Union - in rather primitive out-patient clinics and without general anaesthetics — make it extremely unlikely that the large abortion rate is merely the result of the population's preference and free choice. These conditions have been vividly described by V. Golubeva: Abortions are carried out on two, even on six women simultaneously in the same theatre. The tables are placed so that a woman can see everything that goes on opposite her: the face distorted in pain, the bloody mass extracted from the womb. In the theatre there are two doctors and one sister. The doctor irritably tells her how she must lie on the table. Finally she is ready and the doctor operates. Sometimes he gives her an injection but it has no effect because so little novocaine is used and he doesn't wait for it to work anyway. As she isn't anaesthetised, the woman suffers terrible pain. Some lose consciousness.16 When Carola Hansson and Karin Liden asked a 23-year-old Moscow woman whether it had been difficult for her to obtain an abortion, she described a similar picture. "No, I had contacts. I knew a female gynecologist. I was given anaesthesia and didn't feel a thing. But if one goes to a regular clinic - the official way - it's a very painful procedure. They don't give any painkillers. It's awful." 17 Women call this out-

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Table 11.8. Reasons for not using contraceptive devices: (distribution in numbers and percentages)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Reasons

No.

%

Not enough are available There are no good contraceptives Their use is not accepted They are not safe They are harmful to the women's health Abortion is the best contraceptive device Hard to obtain They arc used

17 123

33-7

23

3-3 6-3

Total

365

100

4-7

34

9-3

91

24-9 15-3 2-5

56 9 12

patient clinic the "slaughterhouse."18 Given these conditions, it was hard to accept the argument that Soviet women are willing to undergo so many abortions out of free choice. When I myself asked the women I interviewed who had had more than six abortions why they had done so, I was told quite simply: "there's no other choice. You get used to it." This reply is confirmed by the responses to our direct question, "why do you think contraceptives are not widely used in the Soviet Union? (give only one reason)" (Table n.8): 33.7 per cent stated that good contraceptive devices are not available; 24.9 per cent stated that contraceptives are not safe; and 8 per cent stated that contraceptive devices are very hard to obtain. As can be seen in Table 11.8, fully 66.6 per cent of the interviewees stated that the Soviet population does not widely use contraceptive devices because these are not good, not safe, not available in sufficient quantities and very hard to obtain. A further 15.3 per cent of the interviewees explained that "they are harmful to the women's health." Of the 56 people in this group, 23.2 per cent were men and 76.8 per cent were women. Of this group, 21.4 per cent had little schooling (0-8 years), 39.3 per cent had 9-12 years of schooling, and 39.3 per cent had 13-16 or more years of schooling. Moreover, only 37.5 per cent of the group which gave the reason "harmful to the woman's health" (15.3 per cent of the total sample) came from the more traditional areas (Georgia and Central Asia) while 62.5 per cent of this group came from the European republics, among these 14.3 per cent from the RSFSR, most of them highly educated women from Moscow and Leningrad. This reason, when it was given by women with high education indicates, at best, a serious failure on the part of the authorities to educate the public

Abortion in the Soviet Union

213

in the use of modern safe contraceptive devices, such as the IUD and oral contraceptives. At worst, it indicates that these women have reached this conclusion as a result of personal experience with faulty IUDs, which can cause excessive bleeding and infection. This hypothesis is confirmed by William Mandel who has reported hearing "horror stories" about "negative experiences with IUDs" which he attributes to the inexperience of the doctors who insert these devices.19 The belief that the pill is harmful to the woman's health was expressed to Karin Liden and Carola Hansson by one of the 13 women they interviewed in Moscow. "You didn't want to use the pill?" "No, I never wanted to use the pill. It contains hormones and I think it must be harmful."20 It is known that even in countries where family planning is widely practiced and contraceptives are easily obtainable, there are some couples who will refuse to use them and prefer to resort to abortion if needed. The question is, however, whether enough good quality contraceptive devices are available on the market so that couples can choose whether to use them or not. This leads us to the question, to what extent the Soviet authorities are waging an active campaign to replace abortion by contraception as they claim to be doing.21 If we compare the situation in the Soviet Union with China, for example, which conducted an extensive educational campaign to reduce the abortion rate, at the same time providing regular supplies of contraceptives, we find two radically different pictures. While V. Golubeva reports in the late 1970s "a daily turn-over of two hundred to three hundred women" in the Lermontov Prospekt abortion clinic in Moscow,22 in China, according to Ruth Sidel, "in one section of Peking, doctors at a health station serving a population of 49,500 performed only 4 abortions in 1970, and none were reported in the first nine months of 1971."23 This, along with the fact that we found that in our sample of 206 married women from the Soviet Union, 2 per cent of the age group 22-32 had had 12 abortions, and along with the fact that the great majority of our sample (66.6 per cent) point to inadequate supplies of good and safe contraceptive devices as the main reason why Soviet women continue to use abortion as the primary method of family planning, leads us to doubt how serious and eager the Soviet authorities really are in their effort to replace abortion by contraception. Soviet demographer L. E. Darskii has noted that "when the need to control undesired pregnancies is recognized, people's behavior will be different and abortion will become an 'historical concept'."24 Our findings, however, strongly suggest that despite the assertions of the Soviet authorities,25 the high abortion rate is caused not by the population's ignorance or opposition to family planning, but by a lack of regular supplies of good quality

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contraceptives (which demand constant medical supervision and mass sex education), all of which require a considerable investment of resources which the authorities are apparently reluctant to make. From the outset, Soviet authorities opposed the use of oral contraception. Thus, at the Conference of the International Parenthood Federation in Poland, in 1962, the Soviet delegation declared that the Soviet government disapproved the use of the pill in its clinics, in accordance with the recommendation of the Soviet health authorities who opposed any interference in the woman's hormonal activity or modification of her menstrual cycle. At that time the Soviet Ministry of Health announced that work on a non-steroid pill was in the experimental stage.26 This pill, however, was never produced. In 1973, the pill still had an equivalent status to drugs on the list of what the United States government calls "New and Unofficial Drugs," although its use was legal.27 Today pills are imported from Hungary and Bulgaria, but they are very hard to obtain and are distrusted for their side effects. The authorities' suspicion of the pill and adverse newspaper reports about it have had their effect on Soviet women, some of whom even confused birth control pills with the drug thalidomide.28 Having rejected the pill, the Soviet Union announced in 1968 that it would concentrate on mass production of the intrauterine device.29 However, our findings show that Soviet women have not adopted the IUD on a mass scale. Soviet manufactured IUDs, when available, are of poor quality, and in any case the IUD is not suitable for use by women who have not yet given birth, or at least had an abortion. Moreover, it is known that it is not enough to produce IUDs as their effective use requires the assistance of trained medical personnel. Thus, the transition to modern contraceptives like the pill or the IUD, requires large-scale investment not only in producing or importing good quality devices, but also in the entire complex of health services. However, the declining birthrate in the Soviet Union, especially in the European republics, had led to a determined pro-natalist policy,30 which requires great investment in measures to promote fertility, such as providing more opportunities for mothers to work part-time, increasing the leisure time of working mothers, providing more and better day-care facilities for pre-school children, improved housing conditions and other communal facilities, and increasing the production of laborsaving devices for the home, which has been neglected for years. Therefore, to invest more than the minimum in contraceptive devices is, in the eyes of many Soviet leaders, outright extravagance, especially as the notions of individual freedom and welfare as such have always had a low priority in Soviet policies. Under these circumstances, the family

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planning alternatives available to most of the Soviet population remain, even in the 1980s, conventional contraceptive devices - but even these are of poor quality and exist in insufficient quantities - and abortion. Even as recently as the summer of 1981, Professor A. P. Kiriushchenkov, writing in Zdorov'e, while acknowledging the reliability of "mechanical contraceptives" when used under proper medical supervision, still recommended Soviet women to use the rhythm method of birth control most of the time.31 This could explain the high percentage of our interviewees who, when asked about methods of planning family size, referred in the same breath to contraception and abortion (see Table 11.6). It seems that abortion is in fact regarded by many people in the Soviet Union not as a result of failed contraception but as a major means of contraception. We agree with Henry P. David that the problem of erratic supplies is similar to those which plague other areas of the consumer goods sector in the Soviet Union, and, as he suggests, may be even greater in the case of contraceptive devices because they are in contradiction to pro-natalist policy.32 But it seems that, sooner or later, the linear connection between the high rate of abortion and the high rate of infant mortality and miscarriage, as Christopher Davis and Murray Feshbach show,33 must oblige the Soviet authorities to invest seriously in producing or importing enough effective and safe modern contraceptive devices as an integral part of their pro-natalist policy. Indeed, recently the first signs have appeared that Soviet researchers are beginning to make this link and therefore to urge publicly the need to supply up-to-date contraceptives as a means to lower the abortion rate, and maybe even to increase the birthrate.34 The high rate of abortions in the Soviet Union is not only an indicator of the government's birth control perception and policy, as our findings show, but it is also an indicator of the status of Soviet women within the family. The fact that 97.7 per cent of the husbands whom we interviewed knew of the 5, 6 or 12 abortions that their wives had undergone, and yet apparently did almost nothing to prevent them, certainly requires further investigation. The problem of multiple abortion, therefore, also raises the question of the entire concept of sex roles and division of responsibility between spouses in the Soviet family. This, however, is a topic for further investigation.

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NOTES I should like to take this opportunity to thank the Israel Foundation's Trustees for their generous financial assistance throughout this research. 1 E. A. Wrigley, "Family Limitation in Pre-Industrial England," Economic History Review, 2nd series, vol. xix no. i (1966), pp. 82-109. 2 Judah Matras, Introduction to Population (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1977), pp. 288-89. 3 Quoted in R. Schlesinger, Changing Attitudes in Soviet Russia: The Family in the USSR (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1949), p. 44. 4 F. Engels, Origins of the Family, Private Property and the State (New York: 1972). 5 V. I. Lenin, The Emancipation of Women (New York: International Publishers, 1966). 6 Gail Warshofsky Lapidus, Women in Soviet Society (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), pp. 95-122. 7 Schlesinger, Changing Attitudes, pp. 269-72. 8 Henry P. David, "Eastern Europe: Pronatalist Policies and Private Behavior," Population Bulletin, vol. xxxvi, no. 6 (February 1982), p. 20. 9 Christopher Tietze, Induced Abortion, 3rd edn (New York: The Population Council, 1979), p- 3610 Ibid., pp. 25-29. 11 David, "Eastern Europe," p. 26. 12 I. M. Starovoitov et al., "Female Reproductive Function and Reasons for Abortions," Zdravookhraneniie Belorussii, no. 5 (May 1981), pp. 25-27. Translated in Joint Publications Research Service, USSR Report: Life, Sciences, Biomedical and Behavioral Sciences, no. 8,JPRS no. 78966 (14 September 1984), p. 46. 13 Zhenshchiny v SSSR, statisticheskie materiaiy (Moscow, 1982), pp. 7-8. 14 Barbara Wolfe Jancar, Women Under Communism (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1978), pp. 41-51. 15 K. H. Mehlan, "The Socialist Countries of Europe," in B. Berelson (ed.), Family Planning and Population Programs (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966), p. 213-

16 V. Golubeva, "The Other Side of the Medal," Women and Russia (First Feminist Samizdat) (London: Sheba Feminist Publishers, 1980), p. 56. 17 Carola Hansson and Karin Liden, Moscow Women (New York: Pantheon Books, 1983), pp. 63-64. 18 Golubeva, "The Other Side of the Medal," p. 55. 19 William M. Mandel, Soviet Women (New York: Anchor Press, 1975), p. 238. 20 Hansson and Liden, Moscow Women, pp. 62-63. 21 I. V. Poliakov and A. P. Kovaleva, "K sotsial'no gigienicheskoi kharakteristike abortov v Leningrade," Sovestskoe zdravookhranenie, no. 12 (1976), pp. 43—46; "Women Who Average Six Abortions," The Times (London), 11 May 1981; and Hedrick Smith, The Russians (London: Sphere Books, 1976), pp. 179-80. 22 Golubeva, "The Other Side of the Medal," p. 55. 23 Ruth Sidel, Women and Child Care in China (New York: Hill and Wang, 1972), pp. 53-5524 L. E. Darskii, "Motivy i mekhanizmy demograficheskogo povedeniia," Voprosy filosofii, no. 11 (1974), pp. 94-96. 25 Jerzy Berent, "Fertility Decline in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union," Population Studies (24 July 1970), pp. 279.

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26 Hilda Scott, Does Socialism Liberate Women? (Boston: Beacon Press, 1974), pp. 150-51.

27 28 29 30

31 32 33

34

Mandel, Soviet Women, p. 238. Hansson and Liden, Moscow Women, p. 21. Scott, Does Socialism Liberate, p. 151. M. Kravchenko, "Dlia materi, dlia sem'i," Agitator, no. 18 (1981), pp. 31-35; V. I. Perevedentsev, "Vosproizvodstvo naseleniia i sem'ia," Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, no. 2 (1982), pp. 80-88; Murray Feshbach, "The Soviet Union: Population Trends and Dilemmas," Population Bulletin, vol. xxxvn, no. 3 (August 1982), pp. 1-44. A. P. Kiriushchenkov, Zdorov'e, no. 8 (August 1981), pp. 26-27. David, "Eastern Europe," p. 30. Christopher Davis and Murray Feshbach, "Rising Infant Mortality in the USSR in the 1970s," International Population Reports, Series p-95, N. 74 (Washington: Bureau of the Census, Foreign Demographic Analysis Division, 1980). A. A. Popov, "The Control of the Family's Reproductive Function and its Determining Factors," Sovetskoe zdravookhranenie, no. 7 (July 1985), pp. 36-39, reported in Current Digest of the Soviet Press, vol. xxxvn, no. 39 (October 1985), pp.

12 Ethnic group divided: social stratification and nationality policy in the Soviet Union V I C T O R ZASLAVSKY

Any analysis of ethnic relations in the Soviet Union requires combining two grand theories: a theory of ethnicity and ethno-nationalism in industrial society and a theory of Soviet society as one of two types of existing industrial societies. Such synthesis is beyond the scope of this chapter, but I will at least outline several premises which presuppose my understanding of these two phenomena and which underlie the argument developed here. There is solid empirical evidence to support the claim that the rise of nationalism, the process of modernization and social mobilization are correlated.1 As Ernest Gellner has put it, any modern state requires "a mobile, literate, culturally standardized, interchangeable population."2 Correspondingly, the process of modernization imposes a standardized, homogeneous, centrally sustained culture on all minority groups in a multi-ethnic state. Some of them might resist for various reasons; and under certain conditions this objective need for homogeneity might provoke in these minorities a nationalistic response. This argument, as Arthur Waldron points out, reverses the commonly accepted causality and contradicts the widely held "belief that nationalism comes first, and then nationalist struggle."3 The argument emphasizes the role of nationalism in conflict, where nationalism serves as a weapon in the struggle for self-determination or internal competition. "Ethnic groups are born and rise because of the perception of oppression," writes Dov Ronen; "if there were no perception of oppression, real or imagined, there would be no ethnic self-determination."4 But ethnicity is always a matter of degree. Under what conditions does this feeling of oppression spread among members of an ethnic group? When does ethnicity become salient? What factors determine the degree of ethnic group solidarity? These questions are crucial for analyzing the general preconditions of ethnic movements. The problem is that usually an ethnic group is not a socially 218

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homogeneous community but one which is divided into social classes, into occupational and territorial groups, etc. Any person in an industrial society is simultaneously a member of various groups and functional aggregates. But ethnic and class memberships are of special importance because they largely determine an individual's life changes. The relative importance of class divisions in societies, as compared to those of ethnic groups, has provoked a heated ideological debate. Marxists emphasize the absolute priority of class divisions, treating ethnicity as a mere epiphenomenon; their opponents assert that "contrary to Marxist predictions, ethnic or national solidarity emerges more strongly than the class one."5 Sociology treats it as an empirical problem: "If an individual perceives his class origin to be more important for the determination of his life chances than his ethnicity, he is more likely to be class than ethnically conscious. Correlatively, if his ethnicity appears to be more important than his class origins in this respect, his ethnic identity will be more salient."6 Which social division emerges as politically most salient is determined by "historical, moral, political, structural—economic, and psychological contingencies."7 Moreover, nationalist movements do not emerge spontaneously but have to be organized and mobilized by certain sub-groups within a larger ethnic grouping, usually by the new middle class, or by politicians seeking to oppose other politicians. A study of ethnic relations in Soviet society should take cognizance of the historical uniqueness of this socio-economic formation. All existing industrial societies now belong either to a Western or a Soviet type. Structural principles of Soviet-type societies (elimination of private property in the means of production, centralized planning, one-party political system) and those of Western industrial societies (private property, market relations, political pluralism) are in many regards mutually exclusive and incompatible. They obviously cannot coexist within one society (nation-state), and they generate conflicting social systems. But they also represent alternative sets of principles, insofar as industrial societies organized according to each prove to be stable and viable. Stability and viability in themselves are not values. After decades of historical experience, it is beyond any doubt that Soviet-type industrial societies systematically and inevitably lose out to Western societies in the competition for greater labor productivity, higher rates of innovation, and greater satisfaction of demand. But it is also important to recognize that today's Soviet society is a stable form of social organization. This premise prompts analysts to ask the right questions, which for ethnic studies might be formulated as follows. The stability of nationality relations in the postwar Soviet Union is an empirical fact.8 But how is this stability achieved? What conditions and

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politics will perpetuate it? And what factors may contribute to its disruption? Nationality relations in the multi-ethnic Soviet state are determined by a complex interplay of Soviet ethnic policy, class and territorial stratification supervised by the state, and market activities and relations over which the state has only partial control. The extreme complexity and specificity of the Soviet case explains why major models of ethnic stratification and many of the generalizations about ethnicity developed in the context of Western industrial societies only apply in part to socioethnic processes in the Soviet Union, if at all. Nevertheless, since these models provide important insights into the Soviet ethnic situation, a brief discussion of their respective analytical power and deficiencies will be useful. As Joseph Rothschild points out, "societies may stratify their ethnic groups according to models of vertical hierarchy, of parallel segmentation, or of cross-patterned reticulation."9 None of these models exists in a pure form in reality, although actual societies can approximate one of them. Moreover, each of these models can be useful for the analysis of specific aspects of ethnic relations in developed multi-ethnic societies. The vertical-hierarchical model of ethnic stratification is known in its two basic variants: "internal colonialism" and cultural division of labor. The internal colonialism approach is based on core—periphery or dominance-dependence relationships between different parts of a multiethnic society. It postulates an inevitable upsurge of defensive nationalism in the exploited periphery, while in the dominant core area there emerge nationalisms of the dominant group and minorities seeking to protect their privileges and prevent in-migration of cheap labor from the periphery to the core.10 This model, quite legitimate for analyzing ethnic relations and nationalism in many parts of the world, seems to be hopelessly inadequate for Soviet conditions. A typical account of the Central Asian situation from this internal colonialism perspective may be summarized as follows. The Soviet state, having incorporated Central Asian territories, continues to manage the area through an elite largely drawn from the dominant nationality. The state introduces policies of suppression of the local language, religion and folk customs, while modernization leads to the development of a particular division of labor where specialist positions are largely occupied by members of non-indigenous nationalities. Finally, the feeling of oppression becomes widespread among members of the indigenous nationality and manifests itself in growing cultural nationalism coupled with a demand for political autonomy.

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This scheme is too remote from empirical reality to find wide acceptance among students of Soviet ethnic relations.11 Recently Michael Rywkin has tried to modify the internal colonialism approach by labelling it "welfare colonialism." "Ideologically inspired, [welfare colonialism] is willing to strive for economic, social and educational equalization between the ruling and the ruled ethnic groups. It seeks no personal advantages for the individual members of the former group and it is genuinely surprised to see the ungrateful 'privileged' natives," who remain "spiritually alienated."12 Rywkin recognizes the specificity of Soviet ethnic policy, but neither "welfare" nor "colonialism" seems to be appropriate terms to grasp this specificity. The first term implies that both the dominant and the subordinate group in an industrial society systematically forsake their own material interests and act out of purely ideological considerations; while "colonialism" is misleading because it implies that the cultural and political activities of the dominant ethnic group proceed unperturbed and that it benefits as a group from a policy of centralization detrimental to the subordinate ethnic group. Unlike the internal colonialism model, the model which emphasizes the cultural division of labor can be usefully applied for analyzing certain aspects of the Soviet case. This model is based on the fact that the labor market in industrial societies is divided into distinct high-paying and low-paying sectors, and that this hierarchical division often coincides with ethnic stratification. This coincidence strengthens group solidarity, especially among ethnic groups clustered in the lowest reaches of the stratification system: "The lower the position of any ethnic group in the stratification system, the higher its resulting solidarity will be." 13 This model preserves its analytic and heuristic utility for examining the situation of less industrialized Soviet republics, for example in Central Asia, where the indigenous nationalities "predominate among the population not working in the national economy and among the population employed in the lower-paid jobs and sectors."14 But in this case, conclusions that this situation leads to a growing discontent in the Soviet periphery with dangerous political consequences for the unity of the multi-ethnic state do not follow. The cultural division of labor model should then be modified to grasp the specificity and essential novelty of the Soviet system. First of all, the cultural division of labor in Western societies results in the emergence of disadvantaged ethnic groups and is anything but voluntary; whereas in Soviet peripheral republics it arises, to a significant extent, from local preferences. Correspondingly, the effects of this division on ethnic mobilization should be different. Second, far from being mainly culture bound, this

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division of labor has a very prosaic explanation: the indigenous nationalities tend to concentrate in jobs with greater possibilities for private gain. As Nancy Lubin justly concludes, "what appears to the Western analyst to be the 'subordinate status' of the local populations may. . . represent one of the highest rungs of a different social ladder."15 In fact, two processes - the administrative allocation of benefits and rewards and market relations - are responsible for unequal distribution of valued resources in Soviet society.16 Indigenous and non-indigenous populations in Soviet republics rely in various degrees on these different sources of income. This fact calls for a further modification of the cultural division of labor model. Finally, the fact that different ethnic groups are disproportionately represented in the sphere of market relations obviously exacerbates inter-ethnic tensions and reinforces separate ethnic identities. At the same time, incomes stemming from market activities are distributed very unequally within an ethnic group. The market participation, therefore, generates tendencies toward both ethnic integration and internal stratification. The relative importance of each of these tendencies depends on the group social structure, and on a particular state attitude towards the market in a given period. As a result, it can be established only empirically. The parallel segmentation model represents another analytical tool whose utility for investigating Soviet policy towards ethnic middle classes is indisputable. This model focuses on federal arrangements and on the role of ethno-territorial autonomy aimed at preserving certain cultural traditions as well as protecting the interests of the local middle class.17 Under conditions of horizontal ethnic segmentation, important occupational niches are created for local intellectuals who opt, therefore, for coexistence rather than conflict in ethnic relations. This model, however, has two major shortcomings. First, it tends to emphasize the role of social ties between the indigenous middle class and the rest of the ethnic group, while in the Soviet case purposeful segmentation of the population along class lines and the class-specific integrational measures of Sovietization lie at the core of the Soviet policy aimed at "amalgamating diverse ethnic groups into a new community of Soviet people."18 Second, this model presumes that federalism has its own power basis. Thus, it needs major modification to account for the Soviet case where federalism may be no more than a temporary policy to be dismantled when its utility for the highly centralized state is exhausted. The cross-patterned reticulation model is based on the premise that in multi-ethnic industrial societies boundaries of ethnic, class and territorial

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groups cross-cut each other. "Each ethnic group pursues a wide range of economic functions and occupations, and each economic class and sector organically incorporates members of several ethnic categories."19 In addition, many role requirements in complex societies tend to become functionally de-ethnicized - a fact that can contribute to a relative neutralization of ethnicity. But a potential for ethnic politicization always remains, insofar as ethnic groups may be strongly over and under-represented in the lower and higher rungs of socio-economic and political structures. The reticulate differentiation model which can account for both an intense politicization and a possible depoliticization of ethnicity as well as for intermediate cases is promising and needs further elaboration. In order to make various models of ethnic stratification operational in the Soviet case, two basic characteristics of the Soviet system should be recognized and investigated: the decisive role of the state in the creation of the system of social stratification, and the impact of the long-term program of de-ethnicization of the population through a process of "Sovietization," meticulously planned and directed by the unitary, highly centralized party-state. The range of functions of the Soviet state is incomparably broader than that of the Western state. One of the most important, and least studied, functions of the Soviet state is the engineering of social stratification. Analyzing social stratification, sociologists examine how the processes of unequal distribution of valued resources, group differentiation, and the ranking of these groups operate in a given society. As already mentioned, the process of unequal distribution is determined by social, ethnic and territorial stratifications controlled by the state, and by market relations and activities over which the state has only partial control. The Soviet state controls hierarchical distinctions in the division of labor by establishing levels of remuneration, by enacting rules and conditions for changing positions within the existing division of labor (sometimes even forging administrative ties between individuals and the positions they occupy in the division of labor), and by introducing new criteria for the rank-ordering of individuals, such as activism and party loyalty.20 The state creates boundaries and administrative barriers between various groups or categories and introduces regulations and procedures governing transfers from one group to another. Moreover, the state treats certain groups as strategically important by redistributing the social surplus which it appropriates in favor of these groups. Analyzing the origins of Soviet stratification policies, a distinction should be made between consciously designed and openly pursued

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policies which, by and large, correspond to the dominant egalitarian ideology, and those initiated as an administrative response to certain pressing issues of a specific period, possibly in open violation of the proclaimed ideology. The best example of the former is the Soviet ethnic policy discussed below. Examples of the latter include policies seeking to create privileged enterprises (closed factories) and privileged geographical locations (closed cities). These originated as strictly temporary, emergency measures and arrangements to be abolished under more favorable conditions. Once created, however, they took on a life of their own and became institutionalized. Closed enterprises and closed cities now represent persistent features of Soviet internal structure. They exemplify state-engineered stratification. Here the party-state apparatus erects barriers between social categories (security clearance in the case of closed enterprises, permanent residence permits, the so-called propiska, in the case of closed cities); controls transfers from one category to another by establishing quotas and transfer rules and supervising their implementation; and rank-orders these subpopulations, conferring privileges on some, while relegating others to the lower rungs of the socio-economic structure (stratifying cities into an hierarchical system of the supply of food and consumer goods, manipulating housing construction investments). Not everything in the Soviet system of stratification, however, is shaped by state activities. Finding themselves in a given structure of opportunities and constraints and seeking economic rewards, individuals may severally resort to identical strategies. The result of these independent responses can amount to the emergence of quasi-social movements (exodus from collective farms, massive labor turnover) which can, to a certain extent, thwart the state-created system of resource distribution. Also a Soviet-type economy, where social surplus is centrally appropriated and redistributed through a budgetary process, is not fully protected from abuse by certain sectorial interests.21 Finally, the Soviet state is unable to suppress, and thus must tolerate, a certain amount of market activity which in turn noticeably affects the process of unequal distribution of resources and social stratification in general. Recognizing these facts, however, does not preclude our understanding of Soviet social stratification as being increasingly a product of the Soviet state with its enormous apparatus of coercion and control. The unquestionable stability of Soviet ethnic relations depends significantly on this state-engineered stratification and segmentation along class, ethnic, and territorial lines, coupled with more spontaneous tendencies towards stratification stemming from market relations. Ethnic groups are divided. Social and territorial distances between

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various segments of an ethnic community erode its solidarity and undermine its capacity to act as a unified entity. Moreover, local political elites and new middle classes - the elements which are most prone to be influenced by nationalism, structurally receptive to nationalist ideas and capable of mobilizing ethnic groups — are integrated into the political regime, or are at least effectively neutralized by Soviet nationality policy. Characteristically, the only ethnic groups which succeeded in organizing ethnic movements and sustaining them over a period of time — namely Jewish and German emigration movements and the Crimean Tartars' movement for the return to their homeland - were the most homogeneous in terms of class division, territorial distribution and degree of intra-group interaction. These groups, or at least considerable segments within them, share a clearly defined ethnic goal, a deeply felt sense of oppression and discrimination, and a relatively homogeneous class structure - the predominance of the middle class in the Jewish case and the majority of agricultural workers in the German and Crimean Tartar cases. As regards Soviet nationality policy, a brief discussion of its more unique characteristics is sufficient.22 This policy is based on the bureaucratic registration of one's ethnic origin, on the preferential treatment of ethnic groups that reside in the territory assigned to them, and on the proportional representation of territorially based groups in professional and administrative ranks. The registering of ethnic origin on passports is an absolutely unique procedure, unknown in other industrial societies. The internal passport system establishes practically impassable barriers between ethnic groups and at the same time is instrumental in segmenting each group by class and territory. In truly dialectical fashion, then, this bureaucratic arrangement simultaneously strengthens and lessens the salience of ethnicity. By treating ethnic belonging as a natural given, as an ascribed characteristic transmitted by right of birth and independent from mother tongue, culture, religion or subjective identification, the passport registration provides a common denominator for ethnic identity. Coupled with the policy of preferential treatment of indigenous populations, it often deprives certain important ethnic sub-populations of incentives to study and develop local languages and cultures. In particular, it facilitates the process of linguistic Russification and deepens the split between ethnic technical and humanistic intelligentsias. More importantly, the registration of nationality and the preferential treatment policy erode structural bases for super-ethnic groupings and identities, such as pan-Turkic, or Muslim, or Central Asian, or Baltic. The situation of individuals who happen to reside on the territory of a neighboring republic rather than their own,

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such as Azeris in Armenia, or Armenians in Georgia, or Kazakhs in Uzbekistan, and so on, demonstrates that strong alliances such as "Asians versus Europeans" or "Caucasians versus Slavs" could hardly exist.23 Another unique feature of Soviet nationality policy is its consistent pursuit of proportional ethnic representation at various levels of education, administration and government. It is a true "equality of results" policy. As Dennis Wrong has noted, this term was introduced in American social science "in the 1960s to affirm that groups denoted by attributes irrelevant to individual performance such as race or sex should not be disproportionately clustered toward the bottom of the unequal distribution of rewards." 24 The Soviet nationality policy is the first historical example of this principle's practical realization. It becomes yet another key element in the explanation of the stability of ethnic relations. This policy aims at, and to a significant extent achieves, nationality equalization. Moreover, this policy successfully integrates indigenous specialists into the Soviet socio-political system. Specialists' occupational interests are protected by a set of socio-economic measures, while their upward social mobility is generated through preferential treatment or numerus clausus policies. The overall success of the equality of results can be illustrated by the rapid homogenization of the social structures of various ethnic groups. Thus, the proportion of specialists in different nationalities increasingly approaches that of the Russian population.21 This fact, however, reveals contradictory aspects of the equality of results policy. In this case proportional representation means that the proportion of specialists should increase in the less modernized ethnic groups and decline in the more advanced ones. Even if in theory there is no necessary contradiction between equality of results and equality of opportunity (meritocracy), in Soviet practice the meritocratic principle is permanently violated. Correspondingly, the ethnic groups and sub-groups exposed to this "reverse discrimination" feel considerable dissatisfaction and frustration.22 There emerges a noticeable resistance to the equality of results policy. Opponents suggest the removal of the nationality's passport registration,21 the abolition of federalism or, more straightforwardly, the cessation of preferential treatment of indigenous nationalities.22 However, the Soviet nationality policy has not yet undergone any substantial change. Resistance and dissatisfaction to the equality of results policy simply prove that there is no such thing as a noncontradictory ethnic policy, and that there is no ethnic policy which is good for all, or good at all times in all places. What changes may be expected, then, in Soviet nationality policy in the years to come? Soviet society is now seeking to reform its economic

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system. Under the new conditions the territorial mobility of the labor force and the individual worker's productivity as criteria for socioeconomic and political advancement will undoubtedly gain more importance. Political authorities will in all likelihood attempt to arrange a better fit between the equality of results and meritocratic principles. The policy of preferential treatment of territorially based ethnic groups, which violates meritocracy and impedes migration, seems to have outlived its usefulness as a means of economic and social integration. As regards the problem of Central Asian labor resources, it might be addressed by combining new incentives for the out-migration of the more energetic and enterprising members of Central Asian republics with specific job-creating policies. The present emphasis on improved productivity and efficiency in Soviet society suggests that Soviet nationality policy will also undergo considerable modifications to facilitate these reforms. In the foreseeable future, however, any major disruption of the overall stability of nationality relations in the USSR is unlikely.

NOTES 1 Karl Deutsch, Nationalism and Social Communication, 2nd edn (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1966); Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1983). 2 Gellner, Nations, p. 46 3 Arthur Waldron, "Theories of Nationalism and Historical Explanation," World Politics, vol. xxxvii, no. 3 (April 1985), p. 433. 4 Dov Ronen, The Quest for Self-Determination (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979), P- 955 Michael Rywkin, "National Symbiosis: Vitality, Religion, Identity, Allegiance," in Yaakov R o ' i , ed., The USSR and the Muslim World: Issues in Domestic and Foreign Policy (London: Allen and Unwin, 1984), p. 12. 6 Michael Hechter, "Group Formation and the Cultural Division of Labor," American Journal of Sociology, vol. xxxiv, no. 2 (September 1978), p. 308. 7 Joseph Rothschild, Ethnopolitics: A Conceptual Framework (New York: Columbia University Press, 1981), p. 41. 8 Seweryn Bialer, Stalin's Successors: Leadership, Stability, and Change in the Soviet Union (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), p. 216. 9 Rothschild, Ethnopolitics, pp. 79-80. 10 See, for example, Immanuel Wallerstein, "The Two Modes of Ethnic Consciousness: Soviet Central Asia in Transition," in his collection The Capitalist WorldEconomy: Essays (New York: Columbia University Press, 1979), pp. 185-92. 11 For exceptions, see ibid.; Rocky Rockett, Ethnic Nationalities in the Soviet Union (New York: Praeger, 1981). 12 Rywkin in Ro'i, USSR and the Muslim World, pp. 13-14.

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13 Hechter, "Group Formation," pp. 301. 14 Nancy Lubin, Labor and Nationality in Soviet Central Asia (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1984), p. 166. 15 Ibid., pp. 170, 190-97. 16 Zygmunt Bauvman, "Officialdom and Class: Bases of Inequality in Socialist Society," in Frank Parkin, ed., The Social Analysis of Class Structure (London: Tavistock, 1974), pp. 140-42; Victor Zaslavsky, The Neo-Stalinist State: Class, Ethnicity, and Consensus in Soviet Society (Armonk, New York: Sharpe, 1982), pp. 68-70. 17 Cynthia Enloe, Ethnic Conflict and Political Development (Boston: Little, Brown), 197318 Victor Zaslavsky and Robert Brym, Soviet-Jewish Emigration and Soviet Nationality Policy (New York: St Martin's Press, 1983), p. 102. 19 Rothschild, Ethnopolitics, p. 81. 20 Reinhard Bendix, Force, Fate and Freedom. On Historical Sociology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), p. 87. 21 Ivan Szelenyi, Urban Inequalities under State Socialism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1983). 22 See also Zaslavsky and Brym, Soviet-Jewish, pp. 78-105. 23 For a good discussion of Islam and nationalism in Central Asia, see Alastair McAuley, "Nation and Nationalism in Central Asia," in Curtis Keeble, ed., The Soviet State: The Domestic Roots of Soviet Foreign Policy (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1985), PP- 45-5624 Dennis Wrong, "Marxism: The Disunity of Theory and Practice," Contemporary Sociology, vol. x (1981), no. 1, p. 39. 25 Ellen Jones and Fred Grupp, "Modernization and Ethnic Equalization in the USSR," Soviet Studies, vol. xxxvi (1984), no. 2, pp. 159-84. 26 V. Zaslavsky and Brym, Soviet-Jewish, pp. 103-5; Lubin, Labor and Nationality, pp. 229-30; Rasma Karklins, "Insights from Interviews with Recent Emigrants from the USSR: The Instrumental Value of Ethnicity," paper delivered at the Third World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies, Washington, November 1985. 27 Igor Birman, "Jewish Emigration from the USSR: Some Observations," Soviet Jewish Affairs, vol. ix (1979), no. 1, pp. 46-63. 28 G. Litvinova and B. Urlanis, "Demograficheskaia politika v SSSR," Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 3 (1982).

13 The party and Russian nationalism in the USSR: from Brezhnev to Gorbachev PETER J. S. DUNCAN

In the 1960s, the USSR experienced an increase in nationalist feeling and activity. This was not confined to the non-Russian nationalities but occurred among the majority ethnic Russian population as well. In the 1970s, analysts in the West began to take note of this Russian nationalism.11 shall attempt in this chapter to outline the main features of the Russian nationalist movement as it developed in the Brezhnev era (1964-82). After discussing briefly some of the Western studies of Russian nationalism, I shall then investigate how Russian nationalism has developed since 1982, under Iurii V. Andropov, Konstantin U. Chernenko and Mikhail S. Gorbachev, and try to assess its future prospects. A particular concern throughout will be the attitude of individual political leaders to Russian nationalism. For reasons of space, I shall concentrate on those manifestations of Russian nationalism permitted in the official political and cultural media, and not on unofficial activity and samizdat. In Stalin's last years, the Russian people were presented with chauvinist official claims about their historical achievements, while the non-Russians were treated as second-class citizens. Under Stalin, this Russian nationalism was tightly controlled. Nikita Khrushchev's denunciation of Stalin in 1956 laid the basis for the development of Russian nationalism in a partly or wholly autonomous direction. The liberalization of controls over culture allowed a certain pluralism to appear in the official literary journals, and later for the expression of uncensored nationalist views in samizdat. The destruction of faith in Stalin, until then the incarnation of Marxism-Leninism, led to a significant decline in belief in the official ideology, promoting a search for alternative values. Khrushchev opposed any sort of nationalism, but his belief that communism was around the corner and consequent desire to hasten the fusion of nationalities provoked a nationalist backlash, among Russians and others. Concessions to the non-Russian political 229

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and cultural elites led to greater self-assertion by these nationalities, making the Russians sometimes feel threatened. Under Brezhnev, the 1970 census showing the rapid growth of the traditionally Islamic nationalities and the stagnation of the Russians raised fears about the capacity of the latter to continue to dominate the Soviet Union. This was linked with fears about the moral degeneration of the Russian people, expressed in growing alcoholism, leading to declining male life expectancies, and the proliferation of corruption in everyday life and consequently the spread of cynicism. A deep popular fear of China, fuelled by the Cultural Revolution and the 1969 border clashes, was encouraged by official attacks on Peking. This led people to question whether Russian youth was spiritually prepared for a possible war. The main impulse behind the growth of Russian nationalism under Khrushchev and Brezhnev, then, seems to have been the desire to defend Russian interests, and the Russian people itself, against whatever was threatening it. By no means was it mainly an aggressive nationalism, a "great-power chauvinism," although such elements did appear and were particularly linked with anti-Semitism. CULTURAL RUSSIAN NATIONALISM AND THE BREZHNEV LEADERSHIP The most important literary trend under Brezhnev (although it originated in the 1950s) was "village prose" (derevenskaia proza). Its authors were known as derevenshchiki, although some preferred the label pochvenniki, (meaning "people bound to the soil"), a term used by Fedor M. Dostoevskii and his co-thinkers in the 1860s. Village prose evolved from a concern to protect the peasants from the exploitation they were suffering in the collective farms to a desire to protect the villages themselves, nature, the churches and peasant customs and beliefs. Sergei Zalygin's Na Irtyshe (Novyi mir, February 1964) depicted the hardships of collectivization in Siberia, while his Komisiia (Nash sovremennik, September to November 1975) positively portrayed the peasants' religion. Vasilii Belov progressed from a defense of the peasants' immediate interests to the position in his novel Kanuny (1972-76) of arguing, in effect, that the New Economic Policy should have been continued at the end of the 1920s as an alternative to collectivization.2 Zalygin took a similar position in his novel Posle buri, the first part of which appeared in Druzhba narodov in May 1982. Mikhail Alekseev, the author of a series of novels of peasant life, wrote in Nash sovremennik, the journal of the RSFSR Writers' Union, in September 1972 about the 1933 famine in the Volga region which

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resulted from collectivization.1 Oleg Volkov, a literary critic, wrote in the same journal in November 1978 of peasant resistance to collectivization.2 Perhaps the most popular of the derevenshchiki is Valentin Rasputin. As well as depicting the hardships of the Russian peasants in different periods of Soviet history, he came to challenge the whole notion of progress. His novel Proshchanie s materoi (Nash sovremennik, October to November 1976) depicts the preparations for the death of a village which is to be flooded for a hydroelectric power scheme. His positive character, the old peasant woman Dar'ia, believes that people have forgotten their God-given place and have no right to interfere with the environment. The end of the village is presented in apocalyptic terms.1 Vladimir Soloukhin's writings of the 1960s conveyed strong hints not only of Russian nationalism but also of Orthodox Christianity. His "Pis'ma iz russkogo muzeia" in Molodaia gvardiia in 1966 complained at the neglect and destruction of Russian treasures and monuments, in particular, churches and monasteries. He emphasized their aesthetic, cultural and historical value, and their importance in developing a national consciousness needed for a new society.2 The critic Anatolii Lanshchikov argued at a closed meeting of critics in April 1969 for the need for Orthodoxy. 1 In the late 1970s, religious themes became almost a regular feature in literary journals such as Molodaia gvardiia, Nash sovremennik, Volga and Sever. Petr Proskurin's hero, an obkom secretary, comes to see Orthodoxy as the spiritual foundation of Russia.2 Many writers, including the poet Valentin Sorokin, emphasize the role of the Orthodox Church in the Russian defeat of the Mongols at Kulikovo Field in 1380.1 Organizations were officially established in the 1960s under pressure from the Russian nationalists. In 1964, the Komsomol organized the "Rodina" (Motherland) clubs for young people. The artist Il'ia Glazunov was reputed to be the leader. Its members were known as msity (Russites), and later the term "Russkaia partiia" (Russian Party) was used for this tendency. In 1965 the government allowed the formation of the All-Russian Society for the Protection of Historical and Cultural Monuments (VOOPIK), under the auspices of the RSFSR Ministry of Culture. The driving force behind the formation of this body were Glazunov and Soloukhin. The restoration of churches has been a major part of its activity. By 1982 VOOPIK had 14.7 million individual members.12 According to the emigre Aleksandr Ianov, it was a forum where Russian nationalist dissidents and official cultural figures could mingle. A further indication of widespread interest was the attendance at Glazunov's art exhibition, featuring national and religious

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themes. In Moscow in 1978 500,000 people came, and there were perhaps a million in Leningrad in 1979. n An important source of support for village prose, for the movement to preserve historical monuments and for Russian nationalism in general was provided by the literary journal and publishing house of the AllUnion Komsomol, Molodaia gvardiia. Soloukhin himself was on the editorial board of the journal. In June 1967, Molodaia gvardiia set forth what was in effect its political program. This did not talk of proletarian internationalism, the construction of communism or socialist morality. Instead, it spoke of the journal's concern with educating youth with "respect for the people's history, for the native land, for the cultural legacy and for national (natsional'nye) values."12 Around Molodaia gvardiia were gathered not only nationalists who defended the peasant past and sympathized with religion (best termed the Vozrozhdentsy, or revivalists) but also nationalists who believed in a strong Russian state (thegosudarstvenniki), and in some cases looked back to the good old days of Stalin. These two groups were sharply divided on questions ranging from philosophy to collectivization. In 1968, during and after the Prague Spring, articles appeared by the critics Mikhail Lobanov, an editorial board member, and Viktor Chalmaev, appealing to the "Russian spirit" against cosmopolitanism and Americanization. The October Revolution was presented as a manifestation of this Russian spirit rather than a stage in the international class struggle. Chalmaev favorably cited the arch-conservative K. N. Leont'ev.11 In August 1970 an article by the historian Sergei N. Semanov, attempting to rehabilitate Stalin, purges and all, appeared.12 Other articles supported Russian nineteenth-century anti-socialist thinkers such as N. N. Strakhov.11 Vadim V. Kozhinov described how the Russian people had saved the world three times - against Genghis Khan, Napoleon and Hitler - and spoke of Russia's national and universal mission.12 The liberal journals of the USSR Writers' Union, Iunost' and Novyi mir, attacked Molodaia gvardiia for ignoring proletarian internationalism and encouraging Russian chauvinism.11 Novyi mir was purged in 1970 because of its anti-Stalinism. The ideological complexity of this period is shown by the position of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, who had achieved publication only thanks to Novyi mir. Solzhenitsyn found himself philosophically closer to the semi-Stalinist Chalmaev, who had earlier attacked Solzhenitsyn's work, than to Novyi mir, for Chalmaev was defending religious inspiration as a historical source of Russian patriotism.12 Semanov's article appears to have been the catalyst for the Politburo

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member and Central Committee Secretary responsible for ideology, Mikhail A. Suslov, to initiate a meeting of either the Secretariat19 or the Politburo20 to discuss the nationalist challenge. Brezhnev reportedly spoke at this meeting, in November 1970, against the religious themes which were creeping into the Soviet media. It was decided to sack Anatolii Nikonov from the chief editorship of Molodaia gvardiia. The "purge" had little effect, however; Lobanov, Soloukhin and Proskurin were allowed to remain on the editorial board, and in April 1972, A. S. Ivanov, who had been deputy editor since April 1969, was made chief editor. Meanwhile, Sergei Vikulov, deputy editor of Molodaia gvardiia until August 1968, became chief editor of Nash sovremennik, reinforcing that journal's position as a principal center of Russian nationalism. Who was backing Molodaia gvardiia'? It seems likely that the senior patron was the Politburo member and First Deputy Prime Minister, Dmitrii S. Polianskii, who although apparently Ukrainian, has been identified as an extreme Russian nationalist. The Cultural Department of the Central Committee, headed by Vladimir F. Shauro, a Belorussian, was strongly supporting the nationalists.21 According to Georgii Vladimov, Mikhail S. Solomentsev (in 1970 a Central Committee Secretary) was also a nationalist supporter. Michael Rywkin records rumors that Solomentsev and Ivan V. Kapitonov, a Central Committee Secretary, were behind the nationalists. These two were the only representatives of the top leadership to attend a Kremlin celebration of the Kulikovo anniversary in 1980. Vladimov suggests that Suslov and Pavel N. Demichev (in 1970 a Central Committee Secretary and candidate Politburo member) were prepared to use the nationalists against the liberal writers and dissidents, but the nationalists went too far.22 Senior party ideologists still expressed some open opposition to the nationalists after 1970. In 1972 Aleksandr N. Iakovlev, acting head of the Propaganda Department of the Central Committee, published in Literatumaia gazeta a long and detailed attack on both official and dissident nationalism. From a traditional Leninist viewpoint, he attacked the derevenshchiki for seeking an eternal, classless morality; Molodaia gvardiia for its positive portrayal of nineteenth-century conservatives; and Solzhenitsyn for anti-communism.23 The article is believed to be the reason for his removal from the Propaganda Department and demotion to be ambassador to Canada.24 Russian nationalist literature flourished in the 1970s after this. Semanov produced a Stalinist collection, Serdtse rodiny (The Heart of the Motherland), in 1977, calling himself a supporter of a strong state (gosudarstvennik) and denouncing "rootless cosmopolitanism."25 A leading article in Kommunist in October 1979

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attacked manifestations of nationalism and patriarchalism in Soviet literature. It singled out a book in the series "Lives of Outstanding People," of which Semanov was series editor, and a story by Viktor Astaf 'ev of the Nash sovremennik editorial board.26 RUSSIAN NATIONALISM AND BREZHNEV'S NATIONALITY POLICY The first Brezhnev decade was a time when in most union republics the native languages were able to improve their position, at least in relation to the period when Khrushchev was promoting the fusion of nationalities. In the mid-1970s the political leadership began to re-emphasize the need to increase knowledge of Russian. Influential language theorists appeared to believe that bilingualism, in Russian and the native language, was desirable, not only because it would improve the movement of labor around the country and the efficiency of the military, but also because in the unfavorable demographic situation it would encourage the non-Russians to come psychologically closer to the Russians. The result was a large-scale campaign, continuing to the present, to promote the teaching and use of Russian, in effect at the expense of the other languages. This campaign provoked discontent among the non-Russians.27 Under Brezhnev, the leading positions in the republics were usually handed over to representatives of the eponymous nationalities, while Russians came to dominate the central political bodies more than ever before.28 The maintenance of the federal structure of the USSR in the 1977 Constitution did not allay the fears of the nationalities that they might lose their republican institutions in a unitary state, since Brezhnev did not rule out this step for the future. Nevertheless, Politburo members in the 1970s did not refer to the fusion of nationalities. Instead, it became normal to refer to the Russians as the "great Russian people" (not in the ethnic sense of "Great Russian" [velikorusskii] but as a socio-political characteristic [velikii russkii narod]).29 The fact that the Central Committee Propaganda Department was headed from 1977 by E. M. Tiazhel'nikov, formerly First Secretary of the Komsomol and member of the Molodaia gvardiia editorial board, may have removed some of the barriers to the spread of Russian nationalist ideas. Lavish praise for the Russians coincided with the wave of Russian national feeling linked with the Kulikovo anniversary. The memory of the Russian victory over the Mongols would psychologically strengthen the image of Russian domination over the Muslim peoples in the Soviet Union and the Russian ability to crush unwelcome religious or physical incursions

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from Afghanistan. In 1981 Kommunist linked Soviet patriotism with the Kulikovo spirit.30 The lone voice of Evgenii Evtushenko, in an Englishlanguage collection of his photographs, attacked those for whom patriotism was still a "last refuge."31 THE ANALYSIS OF RUSSIAN NATIONALISM How did specialists in the West evaluate the phenomenon of Russian nationalism, as it existed in the Brezhnev era? John B. Dunlop's book of 1976 portrayed Russian nationalism as a real threat to the regime. "Soviet leaders probably fear few things more than an opposition based on Russian nationalism and seeking to resurrect the influence of the Russian Orthodox Church."32 In his 1983 book, he wrote that Russian nationalism "could become the ruling ideology of state once the various stages of the Brezhnev succession have come to an end." 33 Dunlop suggests that if the nationalist gosudarstvenniki (whom he loosely terms "National Bolsheviks") gained control, they might listen to the vozrozhdentsy and then allow them into power.34 This scenario seems to me implausible; if the "National Bolsheviks" attain control, they are likely to tighten censorship and prevent publication of other views, be they of democratic—liberal or national—religious tendencies. Dunlop and Dmitry V. Pospielovsky both see the strength of the nationalists in the tens of millions of Orthodox believers in the USSR. Pospielovsky argues that ideas which are rooted in the Russian past are more likely to be a successful alternative to the ruling ideology than Western liberal ideas which are not. For him, the question is not whether Russian nationalism will come to power, but which sort of nationalism it will be.35 Ianov agrees with both on the potential of nationalism, but unlike them is appalled by it. The major theme of his work is that unofficial Russian nationalism will tend over time to merge with official Russian nationalism and create a new, powerful anti-Semitic chauvinism. I think that there is little evidence for this. Unofficial Russian nationalism tended over the 1970s to move towards Orthodoxy and towards the human rights movement, and away from the regime. The evolution of Vladimir N. Osipov, who edited nine issues of the Russian nationalist samizdatjournal Veche between 1971 and 1973, seems typical in this respect. In retrospect, it would seem that Dunlop, Pospielovsky and Ianov exaggerated the importance of Russian nationalism, both as a force for dissent and as a potential direction for the regime to move in. Sheila Fitzpatrick pointed out that there were other competing tendencies in the Russian intelligentsia, such as de-Stalinizing Marxism-Leninism and technocratism. Russian nationalism was not a

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serious problem for the leadership since it was not linked with major popular grievances. The largest problem for Russian nationalism was that it was offensive to the non-Russians.36 ANDROPOV, CHERNENKO AND RUSSIAN NATIONALISM

It is difficult to deduce the political positions of different members of the top leadership, since statements by Politburo members are as likely to reflect the Politburo majority position (or consensus, where this exists) as the individual position of the politician. From May 1982, when Andropov became Central Committee Secretary with responsibilities in the ideological field, it seems that it was his policies which became the official line, rather than those of the ailing Brezhnev. In the period of Andropov's General Secretaryship, from November 1982 to February 1984, Chernenko was the ideology Secretary, but the public position of the two leaders in relation to Russian nationalism was the same. Chernenko as General Secretary appears to have himself also held the ideology "portfolio" until late 1984, when Gorbachev took it over. The latter seems to have avoided committing himself on Russian nationalism before becoming General Secretary in March 1985. Observers as different in their views as Georgii Vladimov and Zhores Medvedev agree that Andropov, at the end of his life at least, was hostile to Russian nationalism. The fact that Andropov was committed to stamping out Russian nationalism, and that he was not merely allowing Chernenko to pursue his own ideological interests, is suggested by his use of the KGB, still under his control, against it. Vitalii Fedorchuk, Andropov's successor at the KGB, is said to have described Russian nationalism as the main (glavnyi) enemy.37 In 1981-83 the KGB moved to mop up most of the dissident Russian nationalists. Particularly significant was the arrest of the former Veche contributor known as Ivanov-Skuratov in August 1981. In connection with this case the establishment figures Glazunov and Semanov were questioned, and it was revealed at the trial that Ivanov—Skuratov's work had been produced on the typewriters of the General Staff.38 Opposition to Russian nationalism was evident from statements by the leadership. In July 1982 the Central Committee adopted a decree: "On the creative links of the literary and belletristic journals with the practice of communist construction." The decree made some concessions to the derevenshchiki by inviting writers to encourage "love for the land, nature and agricultural labor." But "somejournals" were scolded for portraying "events in the history of the fatherland, the socialist revolution and collectivization" in a distorted way, and for failing to

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evaluate social phenomena "from clear class positions."39 This was an attack on Nash souremennik and other journals for idealizing the tsarist past and expressing doubts about the new order in peasant life. In December 1982, the pro-nationalist Tiazhel'nikov was demoted and replaced as head of the Propaganda Department by Boris Stukalin.40 This was immediately after a strongly nationalist article by Proskurin on the uniqueness of Russia appeared in Pravda.41 Andropov's speech on the sixtieth anniversary of the USSR, in the same month, attacked national arrogance. His praise for the Russian people was low-key, and he called for tact and attention to be paid to the needs of all nationalities in relation to language, cadre policy, the preservation of monuments and historiography. He broke with Brezhnev's practice by referring to the fusion of nationalities, but emphasized that this would only come in the long term.42 Chernenko also referred to fusion about this time, but neither he nor Andropov used the term thereafter.43 In June 1983, the Central Committee held a Plenum specifically devoted to ideology. Chernenko made the major speech as ideology Secretary. The only political trend in literature that he attacked was Russian nationalism. "It is disturbing that in certain works deviations from historical truth are allowed - in the evaluation of collectivization, for example - and that 'god-seeking' motifs and idealization of the patriarchal order creep into them." 44 Later that year, Iakovlev, who a decade earlier had paid with his job for making similar criticisms, was brought back from Canada to head the prestigious Institute of the World Economy and International Relations. During his General Secretaryship, Chernenko made no innovations or major statements in relation to Russian nationalism, but emphasized ideological orthodoxy. In his address to the Union of Writers in September 1984, he insisted that literature serve the needs of the party and follow "socialist realism." He called for more attention to the "military-patriotic theme." 45 Throughout this period, argument raged among writers and critics. Suslov was barely buried before Pravda carried an attack by V. I. Kuleshov, head of Russian Literature at Moscow University, on a number of critics for their uncritical attitude to Dostoevskii. His principal target was Kozhinov, for an article in Nash sovremennik occasioned by the 160th anniversary of the writer's birth. Kozhinov had claimed the existence of a "Russian idea," which he traced from Metropolitan Ilarion in the eleventh century through to Dostoevskii's "Pushkin speech." Kuleshov complained that Kozhinov had presented a string of writers, both supporters and opponents of tsarism, as if they were all co-thinkers of Dostoevskii. He was particularly upset by

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Kozhinov's view of Kulikovo. Kozhinov depicted this not as a battle of Russia against the Mongol conquerors, but as "the multinational Russian State" against the "aggressive cosmopolitan armada." It is also noteworthy that Kozhinov emphasized Russia's role in Asia, which Dostoevskii had foreseen.46 In 1981 and 1982 a number of attacks were made on Soloukhin. In particular, Kommunist in January 1982 criticized an article of his in Nash sovremennik for "god-building."47 In April (after Suslov's death) the latter journal suffered changes in its editorial board, including the removal of the deputy editor, the nationalist Iurii Seleznev. Kommunist in May carried a letter from Nash sovremennik, recognizing the justice of the criticism of Soloukhin's article. It also carried a letter from the party secretary of the Moscow Writers' Organization, reporting that Soloukhin had assured the party bureau that he "was and remains a convinced atheist."48 The October issue of Nash sovremennik reprinted the first letter but not the second.49 The case of Soloukhin, together with Pravda's attack on Kozhinov, suggest that Suslov's death may have cleared the way for attempts to re-assert the "class approach" in literature and history. It might be more accurate, on the other hand, to link these attacks with the growing influence of Andropov, and thus only indirectly with Suslov's death. Nash sovremennik sought to adapt to the Andropov style by introducing into its pages a section called "Discipline, Order, Consciousness." After Andropov's rise the press continued to express considerable concern about the "non-class" approach to Orthodox thinkers. The Secretariat of the Board of the USSR Writers' Union put under the microscope the journal Sever, which had published important examples of village prose, and discovered errors in the analysis of Dostoevskii.50 An article in Kommunist attacked a novel published by the Molodaia gvardiia publishing house for presenting an uncritical view of the ethics of Tolstoi and Dostoevskii. It made the interesting claim that existentialist, structuralist and neo-Marxist fads which had made an impact on the West had not affected the Soviet Union, where the danger was greater from the ideas of the Slavophils and Nikolai Fedorov.51 Literaturnaia gazeta complained of the influence of Fedorov and two other religious thinkers Vladimir Solov'ev and Pavel Florenskii.52 It appears that in early 1984 a neo-Stalinist alliance developed between the journals Ogonek and Molodaia gvardiia, directed against the pochvenniki and other writers of a more liberal orientation. Under Chernenko, Novyi wi'rand Iunost', which were seen as pro-Andropov, suffered public criticism. In a system where the print run of a journal is determined by the state and not by the readership, these two monthlies had been allowed to increase their print run during the period of Andropov's

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influence, while the nationalist Nash souremennik and Druzhba narodov and the conservative Oktiabr' all suffered significant cutbacks.53 According to Sergei Yurenen, by early 1985 a polarization of literary forces had appeared. On the one hand were the neo-Stalinists (now less "neo" and more openly Stalinist), the National Bolsheviks and other proponents of a strong state (gosudarstvenniki). On the other were the pochuenniki, vozrozhdentsy and the liberals, united first by the desire for more tolerance in literature, but also by a desire for friendlier relations with the West and probably for some economic decentralization.54 RUSSIAN NATIONALISM UNDER GORBACHEV Sensible people will consider it too early to comment on the situation of Russian nationalism under Gorbachev. I shall, however, make some incautious remarks. In his stern measures against alcohol, Gorbachev has taken up one of the particular concerns of the Russian nationalists.55 Alcohol has been portrayed as a non-Russian vice introduced by foreigners.56 Further, ideology Secretary Egor K. Ligachev is known for his preservation of the old city of Tomsk.57 Kommunist in July 1985 included a "patriotic" discussion of the 800-year-old text, "The Tale of Igor's Campaign." In this, Academician D. S. Likhachev emphasized that the three Eastern Slav peoples - Russians, Ukrainians and Belorussians - had a "common mother" in ancient Rus'. 58 It was a considerable victory for the Russian nationalists not to proceed, at least for the time being, with the plan to reverse part of the flow of the Ob and Irtysh rivers so that they might bring much-needed irrigation water to Central Asia. Opposition to this has been a major issue among Russian nationalists, including Vasilii Belov, the journal Sever and Academicians Likhachev and B. A. Rybakov. 59 It has been claimed that the project is essential for the burgeoning, traditionally Islamic, Central Asian population. On the other hand, Russian ecologists worry about the effect on the climate of the northern hemisphere. Valentin Rasputin has expressed the fear that the withdrawal of water would adversely affect soil fertility in Russia and destroy the Russian North. 60 In January 1986, Kommunist published an article co-authored by Academician Likhachev on the need to preserve the Russian North. 61 If it appeared that vital Russian interests were being sacrificed for the Central Asians, there could be a strong nationalist backlash. But the guidelines for the development of the Soviet economy up to the year 2000, adopted at the Twenty-seventh Party Congress in February-March 1986, made no mention of the diversion project. Instead there appeared the injunction, "Use water resources more rationally."62 In questions of cadre policy, Gorbachev has followed Brezhnev and

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Andropov in promoting a disproportionately high share of Russians to the top leadership. Two major exceptions to this were Andropov's appointment of Heydar Aliev (Azeri) to be First Deputy Prime Minister in 1982, and Gorbachev's selection of Edvard A. Shevardnadze (Georgian) as Foreign Minister in 1985. Both were promoted from candidate to full Politburo membership. It is difficult to interpret these promotions; they could be seen as maintaining the present Russian hold on power, or the exceptions of Aliev and Shevardnadze could be seen as bold attempts to bring non-Slavs into key positions, at the risk of upsetting Russian opinion. The Politburo elected at the Twentyseventh Congress included eight Russians out of twelve full members and six Russians out of seven candidate members, continuing the overrepresentation of Russians. The celebration of the victory over fascism in the summer of 1985 was presented in class and anti-imperialist rather than nationalist terms, and Stalin's role, while impossible to ignore, was generally under-played. Other developments suggested the possibility of further attacks on the nationalists, particularly on the vozrozhdentsy. The appointment of Aleksandr Iakovlev as head of the Propaganda Department, and then, at the Twenty-seventh Congress, to the Central Committee Secretariat, is probably bad news for the nationalists in view of his earlier opposition to them. The new edition of the Party Program, adopted at the Congress, avoids any nationalist references to the "great Russian people."63 In his report to the Congress, Gorbachev spoke against attempts being undertaken "in certain works of literature and art and scholarly works . . . to present in idyllic tones reactionary-nationalist and religious survivals, contradicting our ideology, the socialist way of life and the scientific world-view (Applause)."64 This is clearly aimed at both Russian and non-Russian nationalism. It will not be possible for the state to avoid becoming involved in the Russian Orthodox Church's celebration of the millennium of Baptism of Kievan Rus' in 1988. The forthcoming move of the Moscow Patriarchate from Zagorsk back to Moscow will add symbolism to the event. It would be surprising if the millennium did not produce an increase in Russian national feeling, nationalism and support for Orthodoxy. CONCLUSION Russian nationalism continues to be an important force in the USSR. It is particularly strong in the Komsomol, the army and a number of literary journals. It is not, however, a united force. Both nationalists who

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have access to the official media and those who write in samizdat are divided. Some desire a strong state and look back to the Stalin era with nostalgia; others deplore the destruction of churches and of traditional village life in the 1930s. Some are sympathetic to Orthodoxy, others indifferent or hostile. The analyses of Russian nationalism that appeared in the late 1970s and early 1980s tended to over-estimate the attraction that it held for party leaders. Even if the link between Russian nationalism and Orthodoxy could be severed, the link between Russian nationalism and non-Russian nationalism could not. Andropov, as leader of the KGB, which puts many more non-Russians than Russians in labor camps for dissent, must have been aware of the potential non-Russian opposition that an increase in official Russian nationalism would provoke. For this reason, I tend to agree with Geoffrey Hosking that Russian nationalism is unlikely to become dominant in the party. Hosking rightly points to the republic party leaders as opponents of Russian nationalism.65 It is important to realize, however, that these represent only a small proportion of the Central Committee and are currently only a tiny group in the Politburo; both are dominated by Russians. It may seem to a Western observer that ideas about decentralization and democratization are much more relevant to the material and moral needs of the Russian people than peasant nostalgia. But politicians do not always act in their own best interests. It cannot be ruled out that the Russian core of the political elite will at some point in the future succumb to Russian nationalist ideas.

NOTES 1 In particular, see D. V. Pospielovsky, "A Comparative Enquiry into NeoSlavophilism and its Antecedents in the Russian History of Ideas," Soviet Studies, vol. xxxi, no. 3 (July 1979), pp. 319-42; articles by J. V. Haney, T. E. Bird and G. L. Kline in Slavic Review, vol. XXXII, no. I (March 1973), pp. 1-44; J. B. Dunlop, The New Russian Revolutionaries (Belmont, Mass.: Nordland, 1976); and The Faces of Contemporary Russian Nationalism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983); A. L. Ianov (Yanov), Detente after Brezhnev: The Domestic Roots of Soviet Foreign Policy, trans. R. Kessler (Berkeley: Institute of International Studies, University of California, 1977), and The Russian New Right: Right-lVing Ideologies in the Contemporary USSR, trans. S. P. Dunn (Berkeley: Institute of International Studies, University of California, 1978); Ethnic Russia in the USSR, ed., E. Allworth (New York: Pergamon, 1980). 2 V. I. Belov, Kanuny (Moscow: 1976). Pt. 1 first appeared in Sever, 1972, nos. 4-5. 3 M. Alekseev, "Seiatel' i khranitel'," Nash sovremennik, no. 9 (1972), p. 96. 4 O. Volkov, "Bez prikras no i bez mery," Nash sovremennik, no. 11 (1978), p. 186.

242

PETER J . S . DUNCAN

5 V. G. Rasputin, "Proshchanie s materoi," Chetyre-povesti (Leningrad: 1982), pp.

6 7

8

9 10 11

12 13

14 15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22

23

3-184My discussion of Soviet literature under Brezhnev draws from G. Hosking, Beyond Socialist Realism: Soviet Fiction since Ivan Denisovich (London: Granada, 1980), chs. 3, 5, 8; N . N . Shneidman, Soviet Literature in the lgyos: Artistic Diversity and Ideological Conformity (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1979), chs. 4, 5; D. Brown, Soviet Russian Literature since Stalin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), chs. 8,9, 10; M. S. Agurskii, "The New Russian Literature". Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Soviet and East European Research Centre; Research Paper no. 40, July 1980; and "Contemporary Russian Nationalism History Revised." Ibid., Research Paper no. 45, January 1982. V. A. Soloukhin, "Pis'ma iz russkogo muzeia," Molodaia gvardiia, no. 9 (1966), pp. 236-78; no. 10, pp. 245-87. Politicheskii dnevnik, no. 55 (April 1969), in An End to Silence: Uncensored Opinion in the Soviet Union. From Roy Medvedev's Underground Magazine "Political Diary," ed., S. F. Cohen (New York: Norton, 1982), p. 222. P. Proskurin, "Imia tvoe," Roman-gazeta, no. 14 (1978), p. 34, cited in M. S. Agurskii, "The Attitude to Religion in the New Russian Literature," Religion in Communist Lands, vol. x, no. 2 (Autumn 1982), p. 148. Agurskii, Religion in Communist Lands, pp. 145-55; V. Sorokin, "Dmitrii Donskoi," Nash sovremennik, no. 12 (1977), pp. 119-34. V. Kostin, "Passy vokrug kassy," Izvestiia, 11 December 1982. Dunlop, Faces, pp. 59-92, 121-29; Ianov, Russian, p. 13; L. I. Pliushch, History's Carnival: A Dissident's Autobiography, ed. and trans., M. Carynnyk (London: Collins, 1979), PP- 184-86. "Pered ser'eznym razgovorom," Molodaia gvardiia, no. 6 (1967), p. 318. V. Chalmaev, "Velikie iskaniia," Molodaia gvardiia, no. 3 (1968), pp. 270-95; and "Neizbezhnost'," Molodaia gvardiia, no. 9, pp. 259-89; M. P. Lobanov, "Prosveshchennoe meshchanstvo," Molodaia gvardiia, no. 4, pp. 294-306. S. N. Semanov, " O tsennostiakh otnositel'nykh i vechnykh," Molodaia gvardiia, no. 8 (1970), pp. 308-20. V. Drobyshev, "Bessmerten, kak vremia," Molodaia gvardiia, no. 10 (1969), pp. 289-96. V. V. Kozhinov, "Trizhdy velikaia," Molodaia gvardiia, no. 12, pp. 279-83. V. Voronov, "Zaklinaniia dukhov," Iunost', no. 2 (1968), pp. 96-99; A. G. Dement'ev, " O traditsiiakh i narodnosti (Literaturnye zametki)," Novyi mir, no. 4 (1969), pp. 215-35. A. I. Solzhenitsyn, The Oak and the Calf: Sketches of Literary Life in the Soviet Union, trans. H. Willets ([Glasgow:] Collins, 1980), pp. 244-52. Veche, no. 1 (January 1971), Radio Liberty Atkhiv samizdata, AS ioi3,p. 140; Ianov, Russian, p. 53. R. A. Medvedev, All Stalin's Men, trans. H. Shukman (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983), p. 80. M. S. Agurskii, "Politburo Axe Falls on Po\ysmsky," Jerusalem Post, 14 March 1976; Ianov, Russian, pp. 55-60; Dunlop, Faces, pp. 43-44. G. N. Vladimov, "Pisatel' i vlast'," talk given in London, 2 December 1983; M. Rywkin, Moscow's Muslim Challenge: Soviet Central Asia (London: Hurst, 1982), p. 103; O. Krasovskii, "Pole Kulikovo," Veche (Munich), no. 1 (1981), p. 64. A. N. Iakovlev, "Protiv antiistorizma," Literaturnaiagazeta, 15 November 1972; also

The party and Russian nationalism

24 25 26 27

28

29 30 31

32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

243

M. Iovchuk, "Sovremennye problemy ideologicheskoi bor'by," Kommunist, no. 15 (1971), pp. 100, 105-7, i n Ianov, Russian, pp. 57-59; Dunlop, Paces, pp. 227-29. S. N. Semanov, Serdtse rodiny (Moscow: 1977). "Revoliutsiia, narod, istoriia," Kommunist, no. 15 (1979), pp. 17-18. R. Szporluk, "Recent Trends in Soviet Policy towards Printed Media in the NonRussian Languages," Radio Liberty Research Bulletin, Supplement 2/84 (7 November 1984); R. Solchanyk, "Russian Language and Soviet Politics," Soviet Studies, vol. xxxiv, no. 1 (January 1982), pp. 23-42; I. Kreindler, "The Changing Status of Russian in the Soviet Union," InternationalJournal of the Sociology ofLanguage, no. 33 (1982), pp. 7-39. For further discussion of nationality policy, see my "Ideology and the National Question," in Ideology and Soviet Politics, eds., S. White and A. Pravda (London: Macmillan, forthcoming). V. I. Lenin, KPSS 0 sovetskom mnogonatsional'nom gosudarstve (Moscow: 1981), pp. 447-522. "Vsegda aktual'naia tema," Kommunist, no. 8 (1981), pp. 38-48. " . . . patriotism misdirected to serve the interests of nations as a whole is a scourge. In its place, there can only be a patriotism of people, of the whole human race." E. Evtushenko, Invisible Threads, trans., P. Falla and N. Ward (London: Seeker and Warburg, 1981), p. 12. Dunlop, New Russian Revolutionaries, pp. 13-14. Dunlop, Faces, p. ix. Ibid., p. 265. Ibid.; Pospielovsky, Soviet Studies, p. 338; and "Ethnocentrism, Ethnic Tensions and Marxism-Leninism," in Ethnic Russia, p. 134. S. Fitzpatrick, "Comment- Russophilism: No Reflection of Popular Grievances," in Ethnic Russia, pp. 67-68. G. N. Vladimov, "Chto proiskhodit v strane," Posev, no. 7 (1983), pp. 26-27; Zh. A. Medvedev, Andropov (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983), p. 118. Vladimov, Posev, p. 28; M. Corti, "Repressive Measures against Two Russian Nationalists," Radio Liberty Research RL 265/82 (30 June 1982). "V Tsentral'nom Komitete KPSS," Pravda, 30 July 1982. The Guardian (London), 8 December 1982. P. Proskurin, "Rossiia. Slovo zavetnoe," Pravda, 5 December 1982. Iu. V. Andropov, "Shest'desiat let SSSR," Partiinaia zhizn', no. I (1983), pp. 5-9. K. U. Chernenko, "60 let bratskoi druzhby narodov," Problemy mira 1 sotsializma, no. 12 ( 1 9 8 2 ) , p .

II.

44 K. U. Chernenko, "Aktual'nye voprosy ideologicheskoi, massovopoliticheskoi raboty partii," Pravda, 15 June 1983. 45 K. U. Chernenko, "Utverzhdat' pravu zhizni, vysokie idealy sotsializma," Literaturnaia gazeta, 26 September 1984. 46 V. I. Kuleshov, "Tochnost' kriteriev," Pravda, 1 February 1982; V. V. Kozhinov, " ' . . . i nazovet menia vsiak sushchii v nei iazyk'," Nash sovremennik, no. 11 (1981), pp. 155-76 (quoted phrases on pp. 160, 173). 47 "Pochta zhurnala: iiul'-dekabr' 1981 goda," Kommunist, no. 2 (1982), pp. 127-28. 48 Kommunist, no. 8 (1982), p. 128. 49 Nash sovremennik, no. 10 (1982), p. 176. 50 "Vremia trebuet," Literaturnaia gazeta, 26 January 1983.

244

PETER J . S . DUNCAN

51 R. Petropavlovskii, "Po povodu odnoi knigi," Kommunist, no. 8 (1983), pp. 103-4. The book was Iu. N. Davydov, Etika liubvi i metafizika svoevoliia (Moscow: 1982). 52 Iu. A. Lukin, "V bor'be za budushchee chelovechestva," Literaturnaia gazeta, 2 November 1983. 53 T. Kocaoglu, "The Print Runs of Republican Literary Journals: A Case of Discrimination?" Radio Liberty Research RL 224/84 (5 June 1984). 54 This draws on Sergei Yurenen's reports: Radio Liberty Research RL 190/84 (14 May 1984), 299/84 (7 August 1984), 7/85 (9 December 1984), 59/85 (22 February 1985), 84/85 (18 March 1985), 106/85 (4 April 1985), Radio Svoboda RS 188/84 (4 September 1984). 55 See the contributions of the derevenshchiki Rasputin and E. Nosov in Trezvost' norma zhizni (Moscow: 1984). 56 "Lozh' o 'p'ianoi' Rusi," Sovetskaia Rossiia, 14 July 1985. 57 M. Walker, "Tomsk Cat," The Guardian, 22 May 1985. 58 "Spustia vosem' vekov," Kommunist, no. 10 (1985), pp. 45-59, esp. p. 46. 59 "Eshche o 'proekte veka'," Grani, no. 133 (1984), pp. 190-268. 60 B. Brown, "USSR is Going Ahead with 'Sibaral'," Radio Liberty Research RL 194/85 (7 June 1985). 61 D. S. Likhachev and V. Ianin, members of the Presidium of the Central Council of VOOPIK, "Russkii Sever kak pamiatnik otechestvennoi i mirovoi kul'tury," Kommunist, no. 1 (1986), pp. 115-19. 62 Pravda, 9 March 1986. 63 Ibid., 7 March 1986. 64 Ibid., 26 February 1986. 65 G. Hosking, A History of the Soviet Union (London: Fontana, 1985), p. 423.

Index

abortion, as family planning 210-11; laws and policy 213-15; statistics 203, 211; married women 203—7; reasons for 207—15 administrative style 3, 8-9, 11—2, 14-15,

Armstrong, J. A. 6 Asia 132 Astafev, V. P. 234 Atkinson, D . x Austin, I. V. 109 Azarova, E. D. 183, 185, 195 Azerbaidzhan 134 Azeris 226

17-20

advanced socialist society n o , 112-13 advanced Soviet state 113 Afferica, Joan 88 Afghanistan 235 Africa 132 agricultural administration, reform of 48 agro-industrial association 48-9, 52—5, 57, 59-60; efficacy of 52-4, 60; party role in 54-5 Agro-Industrial Association, increased rights 52 alcoholism 175 Alekseev, M. N. 230 Aliev, H. A. 15, 240 All-Russian Congress of Soviets 142, 144, 146 All-Union Central Council of Trade Unions 179, 182 AU-Union Conference of Ideological Workers 74 AU-Union Economic Meeting on AgroIndustry 51-3 All-Union House of Political Enlightenment 78 Alma-Ata 53 Altai 54, 57. 169 Andreev, V.S. 101 Andropov, I.V. 9-18, 51, 60, 78, i n , 113-4,117, 127, 131, 134-5, 180-1, 187, 236-8, 241 Antonov, 54 Anweiler, O. xi apparatchiks 3-22, 51, 53, 55-60 armed forces 8-9, 240 Armenia 226 Armenians 226

backwardness, economic 115-16 Baltic Republics 83, 128, 201, 205, 210, 225 Barbulat, V. 134 Bashkiria 121 Batygin, K. S. 181, 183 Belorussia 128, 201, 205, 210 Belorussians 129-30, 235 Belov, V. I. 230, 239 Ben-Barak, S. vi, ix, xvi, 201 Bialer, S. 88 bilingualism 128 birth control 201-3 birth rate 207 birth rate, Stalin's policy 202-3 Bokarev, N. 81 Bolsheviks 4, 8, 10, 144-5 bourgeoisie 4, 8 Bourmeyster, A. v, ix, xiv, 107 Brezhnev era, 55, 82, i n , 150, 152, 229-38 Brezhnev, L. I. xiii, 8-9, 14, 16-18, 21, 28, 32, 38, 56, III, 113, 117, 119, 150-2, 185, 195, 229-30, 233-4 Briansk 57 Brown, A. 17, 89 Bruchis, M. vi, ix, xv, xvii, 121 Bulgaria 203, 214 bureaucracy 4, 13, 20 Burlatskii, F. M. 17 cadres turnover 18 Caucasians 226 Caucasus 201

245

246

Index

Central Asia 196, 201, 205-6, 209—10, 212, 220, 225

Central Asians 227 Chalmaev, V. A. 232 Chechen-Ingushia 53 Cheliabinsk 68, 70 Chernenko's discourse 91—2, 95-102 Chernenko, K. 9, 18-19, 42, 51, 76, 87, 95-9. 101-2, i n , 114, 154, 236-9; on agricultural policy 93—7; discourse 91—2, 95-102 child care 202, 208-9, 214—15 child care, Marxist ideology 202 China 213, 230 Chirca, S. 128 Chita 69 Chof'ner, B. A. v, ix, xiv, 48 Chuvashia 51 circular flow of power 8-9 citizen participation 150 Clark, Katerina 93 collectivization 230-1, 237 Colton, T. 48 communication 21 communism 5, 7-8, 10-11 Constituent Assembly 147 constitutional legality 187—8 contraceptives 203, 207—15 convergence of nations 137-8 Council of Peoples Commissars 26, 146 Councils of National Economy 26, 33, 42 CPSU 4-5, 9, n , 114, 146; and constitution 123; 1957 resolution 149; apparat 4—8, 10, 13-14, 20-1, 41; cadre policy 234, 238—40; city organizations 51, 55, 58-9; discipline 29-30; Draft Program 1985 153, 175; functions of 125; General Secretary 109; history of 70; Krai organizations 50; leading role 26-7; local organizations 26-47, 49-50. 53-60; local secretaries 28-9, 35-8, 40—3; membership 29-30; national detachments 124; nationality policy of 125-6; oblast organizations 50-2, 56; organizational priciples 124; party work 49. 53. 56—7, 59-60; personnel policy 29, 35-6; politburo 6, 9, 233, 236, 240; Politburo, commision on party work 72; program 124, 146; raion organizations 49-51, 53—60; republic organizations 51, 124; statutes of 125 CPSU, CC 16, 20, 48, 50-1, 57, 82, 124-5, 236-7, 241; April 1979 Resolution 68; April 1985 Plenum 98; Culture Department 233; Education Department 78; June 1983 Plenum 76, 113; March 1985 Plenum 97; May 1982 Plenum 50,

57-8; November 1982 Plenum 180; October 1985 Plenum 98; 1984 Plenum 154; Propaganda Dept. 72, 78-9, 233-4, 237, 240; Secretariat 6, 9, 233, 240; Academy of Social Sciences 78-9 CPSU Congresses: VIII Congress 123, 147; XVII Congress 8; XX Congress 109, 149; XXII Congress 150; XXIV Congress 32-3; XXV Congress 9, 73, 80; XXVI Congress 14, 38, 75-6, 127; XXVII Congress 7, 9, 16, 19, 43, 153, 169, 240 Crimean Tatars 225 Czechoslovakia 203 Dallin, A. xi Daniels, R. V. 8 Darskii, L. E. 213 David, H. P. 215 Davis, C. 215 Debardeleben, Joan 94 Demichev, P. N. 75, 233 democracy 17-9 democratic centralism 5, 10, 12, 116 denationalization 129-30, 138 Denesiuk, L. xvii Desheriev, Iu. 136 Destalinization 109 developed socialism 7 discipline 5, 77 Dnepropetrovsk 81 Dostoevskii, F. M. 230, 237-8 Druzhba Narodov 230, 239

Duncan, J. S. vi, ix, xvi, 229 Dunlop, J. B. 235 earnings differentials 167—8 Eastern Europe 208 economic development 8, 10-11, 13 economic reform 30-1, 38 education 20-21 Elwood, R. C. v. xii emigrants, on abortion 203 employment, below skill level 166-7 Engels, F., on birth control 202 enterprise independence 27—8, 31, 33—4, 39-40 Estonia 15, 68, 125, 196 ethnic assimilation 127—31 ethnic migrations 127-30, 134-5 Evtushenko, E. A. 235 family planning 201, 207, 209, 210, 211, 213, 215

Fedorchuk, V. 236 Fedorov, N. F. 238

Index Fedoseev, P. N. 79 Feschbach, M. 215 Fitzpatrick, S. 235 Florenskii, P. 238 Fogel, la. M. 185 food program 48, 51-3, $$-6 formalism m - 1 2 Fortescue, S. v, ix, xiv, 26 fractions 5 France 112, 118, 145 freedom 10 French Communist Party 118 Frolic, M. B. 6 full employment 161-2. Five-Year-Plan: ninth, tenth 165 Gehlen, M. 6 Gellner, E. 218 Genghis Khan 232 Georgia 16, 49, 68, 201, 205-6, 209-10, 212, 226

Germans 225 GKNT (state committee for science and technology) 27-8, 32, 40 glasnost' 17-19 Glazunov, I. S. 231, 236 Golubeva, V. 211, 213 Gorbachev's Discourse 92, 97-103 Gorbachev, M. S. 6, 9, 15—16, 18, 20-21, 42-3, 52-3, 60, 75-6, 80, 82, 87-9, 91, 98-9, 101-2, i n , 115-20, 153, 169, 236, 239-40 Gorkii 50, 57-8 Gosplan (State Planning Commission) 6, 38, 41 Greimas' Actantial Model 95 Gushchin, I. V. 181, 195 Hahn, J. W. vi, ix, xv, 142 Hansson, K. 211—13 Harding, Neil 145 Hazard, J. N. 186 Hill, R. J. vi, ix, xiv, 3, 150, 154 historic narration, as myth and legend 108-9

Hitler, A. 232 Hoskins, G. 241 Hough, J. F. 19, 88 housework 202, 208 housework, Marxist view 202 Hungary 203, 214 Iakovlev, A. N. 233, 237, 240 lanov A. L. 231, 235 ideological work 68-77 ideology 4, 8

247

Ilarion, Metropolitan of Kiev 237 industrial workers 5, 16 industrialization 4 interest theory 26—7 interests 19-20 International Planned Parenthood Federation 203, 214 Irkutsk 53, 76 Iskrov, M. 134 Islamic factor 83 Israel 203 IUD 203, 207, 213-14 Iunost' 232, 238 Iusnikov, N. 54 Ivano-Voznesensk, strike 12 May 1905 142 Ivanov, A. S. 233 Ivanov-Skuratov (A. M. Ivanov) 236 Jackson, G. xvii Jews 225 Kalinin 54, 57 Kalmykia 55 Kamenev, L. B. 144 Kanet, R. x Kapitonov, I. V. 233 Kazakhs 226 Kazakhstan 57, 71, 125, 128, 136 KGB 108, 119, 236, 241 Khabibullin, K. 138 Khrushchev era 55 Khrushchev, N. S. 14, 16, 18, 21, 27, 56, 109-10, 115, 118, 149-51, 229-30, 234 Kiev 52 Kirghizia 57 Kiriushchenkov, A. P. 215 Koichuev, T. 128 Kolkhoz Model Charter 1969 189 Kolkhoz Social Security Councils 184 Kolkhozes 48-50, 52, 55-9 (Communist 233, 235, 237-9 Komsomol 6, 15, 20, 67, 73, 77-8, 231-2, 234, 240 Komsomol, higher school 67 Kornilov, 144 Korotaev, V. 55 Kosygin, A. N. 32, 38 Kozhinov, V. V. 232, 237 Kozlov, IU. M. 186 Kozlov, V. 129 Krasnodar 134 Krasnoiarsk 56, 134 Kudaiberghenov, U. 138 Kuleshov, V. I. 237 Kulichenko, M. 128, 131—3, 138

248

Index

Kurgan 52-3 Kursk 54 Lac Leman 120 Laird, R. A. 6 Lange-De-Bois 114 language displacement 136 language policy 234, 237 Lanshchikov, A. P. 231 Lantsev, M. S. 181 Latvia 58, 68, 83, 125 leadership pool 7 legislation on Soviets 152—3 legitimacy 11, 19 Lenin diplomas 78 Lenin's words 99-100 Lenin, V. I. 5, 7-9, 13, 94, 97, 100, :o9, 115, 118, 143-7 Leninabad 76 Leningrad 7, 57-8, 69, 205-6, 212 Leninism 13 Leninist Tale 99-100 Leont'ev, K. N. 232 Leskov, N. 109 Lewin, M. 5 Liden, K. 211-13 Ligachev, E. K. 239 Likhachev, D. S. 239 Literaturnaia Gazeta 233, 238

Lithuania 70, 83 Lobanov, M. P. 232—3 Lopata, P. 185 Lubin, N. 222 Luk'ianov, A. I. 150 Madison, B. vi, x, xvi, 179 Maiakovskii, V. 109 Maksimovskii, V. I. 184 Mandel, W. M. 213 Marchais, G. n 8 Marx, K. 13, 84, 94, 145, 202 Marxism 13 Marxism-Leninism 9, 70 Mass media 21, 73 McAuley, Mary 19 mechanics of economic development 112-13 Medio-Labor Expert Commission (VTEK) 191 Medvedev, Z. A. 236 Mehlan, K. H. 208-9 Mel'nikov, A. A. 194 Mensheviks 8, 143-4 merging of nations 125, 130, 135-6, 138 Minini, Mara xvii Minsk 203 mixed marriages 130

modernization 20—1 Moldavia 59, 121, 124, 126-8, 134, 136, 201, 205, 210 Moldavian CP 51, 134 Moldavians 126-8 Molodaia Cvardiia 231-4, 238

Mordvinians 129 Morousi, 119 Moscow 16, 51, 53, 59, 67-71, 74, 76, 142, 205-6, 211-13 Mountain Jews 201, 205, 210 MTS (machine tractor stations) 13 Muslim republics 83, 205 Muslims 230, 239 Mzhavanadze, V. P. Napoleon 232 Narration Program, contradictions of 112 Nash Sovremennik 230-1, 233-4, 237-9 nation, concept of 130-3 national detachments, CPSU 124 nationalities 5 nationality policy 137-8, 229-30, 234-7, 239-40 NEP (new economic policy) 13 New Soviet People 1 :o newspeak 111 Nikonov, A. 233 nomenklatura 10 nomenklatura 10

non-political deviance 173—4 Northern Scientific Research Institute of Hydrotechnology and Melioration 58 Novyi Mir 232, 238 Numerus clausus 226 Ogonek 238 Oktiabr' 239 old age 180; old-age pension 17 Orwell, G. 111 Oshk 53 Osipov, V. N. 235 overmanning 168-70 Paris Commune 145 Partiinost' 4, 17, 20

party discipline 16-7? Paul, L. J. 107 Pavlov, A. S. 150-1 peasants 16 Peking chauvinists 74 Penza 59 performance and rewards 168-71 personality cult 8-9 Petersburg Soviet 143 Petrograd Soviet 143, 144 planning 11

Index Polianskii, D. S. 233 political careers 6 political communication see political discourse political culture 3-5, 7, 12-14, 17-21 political development 3-22 political discourse: and ecology 93—7; and political change 88-9, 102-3; dimensions of 90-2, 102; structure of 88, 91—2; struggle over 102—3 political education 68 political language see political discourse political police 11 political recruitment 5, 7, 10, 15—18, 20 political regime 17 political socialization 67-86 Polotsk 69 Poltava 53, 55, ISO Ponomarev, B. 75 Porket, J. L. vi, x, xv, 161, 172, Pospielovsky, D. V. 235 post-Stalin period 74 Potichnyj, P. J. v, x, xvii, 245 Pravda 12, 19, 237-8 propagandists 11-12 Proskurin, P. L. 231, 233, 237 Provisional Government 144 RAPO 51-60: council 49-51, 54-5, 57, 60; efficacy of 49, 51-3, 60; organization of 48-52, 55-6; party role in 49-50, 53-60; powers of 49, 52—4 Rashidov, S. R. 16 Rasputin, V. G. 231, 239 Reagan, R. 83, 119 Red Cross 81 Religion 231-3, 235, 238, 240-1 Remnev, V. T. 187 residence permits 224 retirement 170-2 revolution 8 Rigby, T. H. 6 Rothschild, J. 220 RSFSR 49, 121, 124-6, 135, 180, 196, 201, 205, 209-10, 212 RSFSR and ASSR 121-2, 124 RSFSR Constitution 122, 125, 127: 1978 Constitution 121-2; 1918 Constitution 147; population 126-8; writers union 230; Commissariat of Internal Affairs 146; Council of Ministers 125; Ministry of Culture 231; Ministry of Social Security 183, 186; Supreme Soviet 125 Ruble, B. 48 Russia 4 Russian language 129

249

Russian literature 230-4, 236-9, 241 Russian nationalism 229-41 Russian orthodoxy 231, 235, 238, 240-1 Russians 226: outside RSFSR 125—36 Russification 127, 134-5, 138, 225 Rybakov, B. A. 239 Rywkin, M. 221, 233 Ryzhkov, N. 6 Sanger, Mrs 207 Saransk 71 Sbytov, V. F. 170 SCF (Social Consumption Funds) 163-5 scientific technical progress 31—2, 36—7, 42—3 scientific technical revolution 112, 113, 115 second economy 172—4 Second World War 11 sectionalism (vedomstvennost') 26—7, 41-3 Sel'khozkhimiia 49, 52, 55 Sel'khoztekhnika 49, 52 self government 150 Semanov, S. N. 232, 234, 236 Semashko, N. A. 181 semiotics 87-8 semiotics: as method 89, 92; model of folktale 95-6 Serapion Brothers 109 Sever 231, 238, 239 Shauro, V. F. 233 Shchelokov, N. 82 Shevardnadze, E. A. 9, 240 Siberian river project 239 Sidel, R. 213 Simirenko, Alex 5 skaz 107: and East—West dialogue 120; as collective identification sheet 110-11; as Soviet ideology 118; definition of 109 post-Stalinist 109—10, 112; Stalinist 109 skill grades 170 Slavophils 238 Slavs 226 social deprivation: and legitimacy 174-5; definition of 165-6; prevention of 172-3 social ills 113 social policy 163—4 social security 179-200: complaints 187-8, 192-4; laws 179-87; Art, 58, 1977 Constitution 193—7; constitutional legality 193-6; grants 181-3; hearings 188—93 Socialism 8, 13 Socialist Revolutionaries 143—4 socialization 3, 18, 20-1 Solomentsev, M. S. 233 Soloukhin, V. A. 231, 233, 238 Solov ev, V. S. 238 Solzhenitsyn, A. I. 232-3

250

Index

Sorokin, V. 231 Soviet political discourse see SPD Soviet political language sec SPD Soviet power, self legitimacy 108 Soviet state 5 Soviet Utopia 117—18 Soviets and self government 145 Soviets of Workers, Soldiers and Peasant Deputies 146 Soviets, deputies 11, 16-17 Soviets, Menshevik control 144 Sovkhozes 48-52, 55—9 Sovnarkhoz see Councils of National Economy sovnarkom see Council of Peoples Commissars spasmodic production 169-70 SPD 87-8, 94, 107-20 SPD: and Gorbachev 117; and Russian folk tales 91; and Marxist terminology 112; banalization of m—12; depoliticization of 114; deterioration of 114; political role of 111-12; semiological analysis 120; skaz as generating model 112; social function of i n ; sources of 107-8; usage of 107-8 St Petersburg 143 stability 17—18 Stakhanovizm 116 Stalin, 1. V. 8, 11, 13-14, 21, 109, H4-15, 117, 131, 144, 148, 202-3, 229, 232, 240 Stalinism 13—14, 19, 21 Stalinist era 94, 113 Stalinist literature 93 State of the Whole People n o State Planning Commission 27—8, 32, 42 State Publishing Committee 78, 80 Stavropol 6, 72 storming 170 Strakhov, N. N. 232 Strogovich, M. S. 193 Stukalin, B. 237 supplanting {podmena) 5, 27, 31, 42, 53 Suslov, M. A. 74-5, 232-3, 237-8 Sverdlovsk 68 Taganrog 69, 71—2 Tarashchanskii, A. S. 189 Tarasova, V. A. 192, 195 Tataria 121 Tbilisi 69 Tel-Aviv 201 Tiazhel nikov, E. M. 234, 237 Todua, 1. 49, 55 Tolstoi, L. N. 238 Tomsk 68, 72 totalitarianism 12, 20 Treadgold, D. W. xi

Trotsky, L. 13, 143-4 true socialism 112 Tucker, R. C. 7, 13 Tula 76, 134 Ukraine 49, 83, 124-5, 136, 196, 201, 205, 209-10 Ukrainets, P. P. 150 Ukrainians 130, 136, 239 unemployment 161-2, 165, 168-9 Uralmash 6 Urban, M. v, x, xiv, xv, 87, 113 USA 10, 201 USSR Constitution 122—3; ar>d ASSR 122; and union republics 122—3 USSR writers union 23a, 237—8; Moscow organisation 238 USSR: 1936 constitution 148, 187; 1957 constitution 151—2; 1977 constitution n o , 153 USSR, Academy of Pedagogical Sciences 79 USSR, Academy of Sciences 32, 69, 79, 81 USSR, Central Statistical Administration 187 USSR, Council of Ministers 9, 51, 57, 125, 184 USSR, Ministries io, 13-14, 16-17, 26-47: Ministry of Health 182; Ministry of Internal Affairs 82; Ministry of Social Security 182 USSR, Social Security Division 179 USSR, State Committee on Labor and Social Questions 179, 181-2 USSR, State Construction Committee 75 USSR, Supreme Soviet 125 Ustinov, D. F. 8 Uzbekistan 16, 226 Vatican 83 veche 235-6 Vikulov, S. V. 233 village prose 230-34, 236 Vilna 58 Vitebsk 72 Vizirovanie 26 Vladimir 142 » Vladimov, G. N. 233, 236 Volga 231 Volkov, O. 231 voopik 231 Voronezh 134 Voroshilov, K. 149 Voss, A. E. 83 Waldron, A. 213 War Communism 13 Weber, Max 20

Index White, S. v, x, xiv, 67 women, emancipation of 202; roles of 202, 208-9; Soviet views of 202 working class, national character of 135; national composition of 135; national detachments of 134-5; Russian 136 World Health Organization 180 Wrong, D. 226

Zakharov, M. L. 180 Zalygin, S. P. 230 Zaslavskaia, T. 112-13 Zaslavsky, V. vi, x, xvii, 218 Zemstvo 146 Zhivkov, Todor 9 Zimianin, M. 75, 77 Znanie Society 67, 69-71, 78-9

251

Publications of the Third World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies

I Social Sciences: Published by Cambridge University Press Planned Economies: Confronting the Challenges of the ig8os, edited by John P. Hardt (Library of Congress) and Carl H. McMillan (Carleton University) The Soviet Union, Eastern Europe and the Third World, edited by Roger E. Kanet (University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign) The Soviet Union: party and society, edited by Peter J. Potichnyj (McMaster University) II Social Sciences: Published by Lynne Rienner Publishers, 948 North Street, No. 8, Boulder, Colorado, 80302 Environmental Problems in the USSR and Eastern Europe: Do the Greens threaten the Reds?, edited by Fred Singleton (University of Bradford) Religion and Nationalism in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, edited by Dennis J. Dunn (Southwest Texas State University) III Literature and History: Published by Slavica Publishers, P.O. Box 14388, Columbus, Ohio, 43214 Issues in Russian Literature before 1917. Selected Papers from the III World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies, edited by J. Douglas Clayton (University of Ottawa) Aspects of Modern Russian and Czech Literature, edited by Arnold McMillin (University of London) Imperial Power and Development. Papers on Pre-Revolutionary Russian History, edited by Don Karl Rowney (Bowling Green State University) Essays on Revolutionary Culture and Stalinism, edited by John W. Strong (Carleton University) East European History, edited by Stanislav J. Kirschbaum (York University) 252

253 IV Special Volumes Books, Libraries and Information in Slavic and East European Studies. Proceedings

of the Second International Conference of Slavic Librarians and Information Specialists, edited by Marianna Tax Choldin (University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign). Available from Russica Publishers, 799 Broadway, New York, NY 10003 Soviet Education under Scrutiny, edited by N. J. Dunstan (University of Birmingham). Available from Jordanhill College Publications, Southbrae Drive, Glasgow, Scotland, G13 iPP. The Distinctiveness of Socialist Law, vol. 34 in the series Law in Eastern Europe,

edited by F. J. M. Feldbrugge (Rijksuniversiteit te Leiden). Available from Martinus Nijhoff Publishers, P.O. Box 163, 3300 Dordrecht, The Netherlands Problems of European Minorities: The Slovene Case, special issue of Slovene

Studies, vol VIII, no. 1 (1986) edited by Tom M. S. Priestly (University of Alberta). Available from W. W. Derbyshire, Slavic Department, 324 Scott Hall, Rutgers University, New Brunswick, New Jersey, 08903 Special issue on Linguistics in Folia Slavica, vol. VIII, edited by Benjamin A. Stolz (University of Michigan). Available from Slavica Publishers, P.O. Box 14388, Columbus, Ohio, 43214