In ‘The Autocracy is Wavering’, written in 1903, Lenin observed that ‘there is no more precarious moment for a government in a revolutionary period than the beginning of concessions, the beginning of vacillation.’footnote1 The Soviet hierarchy is, of course, perfectly well aware of the dangers of ‘vacillation’. Yet, since the death of Stalin, and especially since the 20th Congress—now two decades in the past—it has been granting innumerable concessions to its critics and opponents. Not that the concessions go far enough: on the contrary, they are disappointingly meagre, and the method of granting them has been desperately inconsistent and whimsical, testifying not to a coherent policy or well thought out programme of gradual change, but precisely to vacillation and uncertainty. This is not the place to survey at length the enormous transformation that the Soviet Union has undergone during the last two decades: the power of the political police has been broken, the univers concentrationnaire—the Gulag Archipelago—has been largely dismantled. The old days when any Soviet citizen, any member of the Politbureau or Central Committee (except Stalin), could be
Samizdat began to appear around 1964, and initially took the form of a protest against conformism in Soviet letters. After Krushchev’s dismissal, however, these underground writings acquired a more political tone. Half-hearted and halting though Krushchev’s de-Stalinization was, his fall provoked fears that the hard-liners, the Stalinists, would regain the upper hand. Samizdat’s writers attempted to analyse the course of events which led from the 20th Congress, with its denunciation of Stalin, to the efforts (sometimes quite successful) to rehabilitate the dead dictator. This led them further back into history to an analysis of the years of Stalin’s ascendancy, of his victory over all oppositions and the establishment of his undisputed autocracy. In the course of this exploration, many facts of history were revealed, either in the writings of historians who in one way or another gained access to historical documentation or, quite often, in the reminiscences of the few witnesses of 1917 and the early post-revolutionary years, who had survived, as if by a miracle, all the horrors of concentration camps. The politicization of Samizdat was further stimulated in 1968 by the invasion of Czechoslovakia. This does not mean that literary topics have been abandoned. These still take up a considerable amount of space in underground publications, because no novel or poem betraying any sign of originality or ‘modernism’ can find its way to approved journals, and also because, as has always been the case in Russia, literary writings are more often than not marked by political undertones.
The scale of Samizdat is truly staggering. Heavy volumes like The Gulag Archipelago or Medvedev’s Let History Judge are not alone in having large ‘editions’ and circulating in thousands of copies; the regular bulletins are also quite impressive in size. Two volumes of Roy Medvedev’s Political Diary have now appeared in the West. Excerpts from only nineteen of the bulletins which he issued monthly during the years 1964–71 fill nearly 2,000 printed pages.footnote2
The Diary contains comment on current affairs, scathing denunciation of the lies and falsifications of the official press, verbatim reports from conferences at which journalists and writers are briefed by their official ideological tutor Demichev, reports of sessions at which oppositionists are judged by their colleagues at work for their ‘subversive’
For the Soviet reader the most revealing writings must be those of eye-witnesses of the revolution who after twenty or twenty-five years in camps have still preserved the memory of the past. Old Menshevik M. P. Yakubovich was a Soldier Deputy in 1917. Later he left the Mensheviks and worked in a Soviet trade agency. Arrested as a ‘wrecker’, he spent twenty-five years in camps. At the age of seventy-five he wrote admiringly about Zinoviev, Kamenev, and other ‘unpersons’. In 1967 he engaged in an acrimonious exchange of letters with Solzhenitsyn. No less curious is the exchange of letters between an old revolutionary, Professor Dashkovsky, and a radio commentator, Stepanov. Dashkovsky just ‘could not believe his ears’ when he heard on the radio remarks about Trotskyism as an ‘anti-Leninist tendency’ and about Trotsky himself as an opponent of Lenin during the July Days. Dashkovsky’s protest against this distortion of truth was made directly to the appropriate governmental authority. Stepanov answered and tried to prove his point. But Dashkovsky replied bluntly: you have not done your homework. You have not even read Lenin. And all your adjectives and epithets about Trotskyism ‘are taken from the arsenal of the era of the personality cult’. No wonder that your mind is such a hotchpotch of erroneous ideas. Another old Bolshevik, V. Gromov, also writes about Trotsky and presents him as a complicated character, full of contradictions, but a great revolutionary. ‘Do not believe what Stalin wrote about Trotsky’, who was ‘perhaps the only opponent who did not try to evade the struggle which Stalin imposed on him . . . ’.footnote4