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29-05-2015, 07:52

THE RISE AND FALL OF REVISIONISM

Stalin’s death in March 1953 brought a succession crisis and a transient regime of collective leadership. Rigid dogmatism sustained by terror was no longer tenable, and the Soviet leaders launched a “new course” in economics, and eliminated Lavrentii Beria, the dreaded head of the secret police. The repercussions were quickly felt in East Central Europe because of the ties between the security apparatus there and in Moscow. In 1954 a Polish police colonel, J. Swiatlo, escaped to the West and his revelations publicized the inner workings of the system of terror. Dismissals and arrests of high-ranking “accomplices of Beria” followed. Gomulka was quietly released; Imre Nagy became premier and for three years tried to de-Stalinize Hungary. His name became associated with a flexible policy in agriculture, revision of legal abuses, and respect of national rights. Eventually he was pushed out by Rakosi, who regained an upper hand. In Czechoslovakia, following Gottwald’s death in 1953 Antonin Novotny became first secretary and A. Zapotocky president. Both were mediocrities who did their best to prevent change and to go slow on de-Stalinization.

In the Soviet Union Nikita Khrushchev made a denunciation of Stalinism in the secret speech of January 1956 at the Twentieth Party Congress, which was leaked out to the outside world. In an atmosphere which the Soviet writer I. Ehrenburg compared to a “thaw,” intellectuals and artists long stifled by Stalinist dogma engaged in massive criticism. In Poland Adam Wazyk’s “Poem for Adults” blasted socialist realism; the international youth festival in Warsaw heralded the end of complete isolation from the West. In Hungary the writers found themselves in the forefront of an anti-Stalinist campaign.

In June 1956 the workers in Poznan demonstrated and the riot turned into an uprising which had to be suppressed by tanks. The event was a shock for Poland and communists everywhere. After initial confusion, the Polish leadership, deprived of Bierut who had just died, refused to stigmatize the rising as counterrevolutionary, and blamed past Party practices which had made it possible. The Kremlin decided then to intervene in the power contest within the Polish politbureau and prevent Gomulka’s elevation to the position of first secretary. A high-ranking Soviet delegation led by Khrushchev himself suddenly descended on Warsaw; Soviet army units stationed in Poland began to move on the capital. In a dramatic confrontation Gomulka called the Soviet bluff and won. Amidst great popular enthusiasm—for the first time since the war a popular movement converged with developments within the Party—Gomulka was hailed as the new leader of Poland. He proceeded to denounce the past period of “errors and distortions” and stated that the communists had no monopoly of building a socialist Poland. He allowed the collectivized farms to disband and stopped the Stalinist terror. Poland’s blatant subordination to Moscow came to an end; contacts with the West began. Realizing the importance of the church and desirous of its support Gomulka ordered the release of Cardinal Wyszynski. These were indeed revolutionary changes, and the term “Polish October” became current in contrast to the Russian October of 1917. Many Poles hoped that they were witnessing the first step in an evolutionary process of regaining independence.

The events in Poland acted as a catalyst on developments in Budapest. The Soviets made the hated Rakosi step down, but his successor Gero was no improvement. The differences between him and the recalled premier Nagy amounted to dualism, which was fatal for Hungary. Gero was already blamed for a major clash in the capital between the demonstrators, who manifested solidarity with Poland, and the secret police and Soviet troops. Many people had been killed and wounded. Gero had to resign in favor of Kadar, an inmate of a Stalinist prison. The government-Party dualism receded into the background, as all Party and state institutions, including security units (AVO), the army, and the police disintegrated. The Soviet troops were defeated. Nagy may not have initiated it, but he came to preside over a process that involved a restructuring of administration, raising a new army, permitting a multi-party system, releasing Cardinal Mindszenty, and finally declaring Hungary neutral under the United Nations’ protection and leaving the Warsaw Pact. Did this last move trigger the second Soviet intervention and the armed suppression, with the use of eleven divisions, of Hungary’s freedom? This is a common, but not necessarily the only explanation of Moscow’s move.

It seems likely that the Soviet decision, and it was not an easy one, was taken earlier. It was affected by such favorable circumstances as an explicit denial of any American aid to Hungary, and the Anglo-French action in Suez which threw the United Nations and the NATO allies into disarray. Noticing Soviet preparations for an invasion Nagy felt betrayed, for he genuinely worked for a political solution acceptable to Moscow. His repudiation of the Warsaw Pact and his dramatic message on the radio that the Hungarians were resisting the Soviet troops came after the die had been cast. Nagy never used the term war, for he was frightened of the very idea of an armed struggle between two socialist states. Yet according to official figures, which may well have been lowered, the hostilities claimed the lives of 3,000 Hungarians and left some 13,000 wounded.

Kadar had switched to the Soviet side, and in the years that followed became Khrushchev’s protege. Nagy was singled out as the principal object of vengeance, and was executed with his closest associates. He did not cease to believe that history would vindicate him and condemn his murderers. This was also the view of many to whom Kadar was the arch-villain.

The “Polish October” succeeded while the Hungarian revolution failed for a number of reasons. Gomulka, coming on the wave of a reformist crest, had no rival who could, like Gero or Kadar, effectively undermine his position. The Polish Party never lost control and the eruption of popular sentiments never spilled over. After the dramatic confrontation between Gomulka and Khrushchev both sides played a very cautious game. The Russians presumably became convinced that Gomulka was needed to save communism in Poland. Cardinal Wyszynski, acting as an arbiter between the Party and the nation counseled restraint; Cardinal Mindszenty appeared as the standard bearer of the right and he resumed his previous defiant posture. After the Hungarian revolution collapsed, Mindszenty was to spend many years as a refugee in the American embassy in Budapest until finally allowed to leave the country.

In a sense the Hungarian revolution greatly helped the Poles, but not vice versa. It is likely that the Soviet leadership, having made concessions in Warsaw, was less willing to make them in Budapest. The lesson of 1956 was manifold. It showed that a communist regime could be overthrown from within, but it also showed that the Soviets would intervene to prevent it. Were they mainly concerned with the loss of a satellite in East Central Europe or with ideological implications? The two aspects may well have been inseparable. As far as the “Polish October” was concerned it seemed to indicate the possibility of evolution of communism and a gradual self-liberation process. While the events in Budapest exposed the illusory nature of the American doctrine of Liberation, Gomulkism seemed to offer a chance for assisting domestic change toward greater freedom. American economic aid began to flow into Poland.

The twelve years between 1956 and 1968 were dominated by Kadar, Gomulka, and Novotny. In the USSR the Khrushchev era, characterized by somewhat erratic attempts at reform, lasted until 1964. The last four years were those of his successor, Leonid Brezhnev, who stood for orthodoxy and a freezing of the system.

The Kadar rule in Hungary began with harsh reprisals. Some 2,000 Hungarians were executed, ten times as many imprisoned, and 200,000 chose the road of exile. The Party underwent a drastic transformation with only 37,000 members remaining out of the original 900,000. Yet once the opposition was crushed the regime loudly proclaimed “never again” and did not seek to turn the clock back completely. A policy based on the notion that he who is not against us is with us differed considerably from the Stalinist paradigm. The power and authority belonged to the Party, which made it clear what it supported, tolerated, or prohibited, but everyday life was gradually depoliticized and rendered more tolerable. Educational and cultural activities became much freer than before; rather than jail the opponents the government encouraged them to leave the country. Just as the pre-1956 regime based its legitimacy on ideological correctness, and that of 1956 on popular consensus, Kadar placed the emphasis on economic progress. This was a “goulash” communism directed toward the consumer, in fact bribing him to acquiesce in the regime.

Kadar himself was a folksy populist rather than a dogmatic theoretician, a man of ideas as far as the ultimate goal was concerned, but also a pragmatist. He had few illusions about the Soviet leaders. A historian compared his attitude toward the Kremlin with Horthy’s attitude vis-a-vis Hitler. Perhaps. Hungary’s economic progress, assisted by the post-Second World War discoveries of bauxite and uranium deposits, was becoming visible. The 1957 treaty with the USSR improved the nature of economic relationship and brought in some Soviet loans. Agriculture was forcibly recollectivized between 1959 and 1968, but this was accompanied by a certain market-oriented flexibility. In 1968 the New Economic Mechanism, which abolished compulsory plan directives and gave the managers more freedom, was introduced. We shall return to the lights and shadows of Kadarism in the subsequent section dealing with the seventies.

Gomulka’s Poland presented a rather different picture. It witnessed the rise of hopes for a revised form of communism, and indeed the leading philosopher Leszek Kolakowski envisaged the possibility of a political democracy developing under socialism. In the general elections held in 1957 there were more candidates than seats, and one could speak of a consent election rather than the Stalinist formal exercise. Cardinal Wyszynski agreed with Gomulka that to cross out communist candidates might endanger Poland’s very existence, and thus lent a powerful support to Gomulka’s policies. A small Catholic representation entered the parliament. In an atmosphere of de-Stalinization that saw a rejection of stifling dogmas in art and literature, the release of political prisoners, and the toleration of religious instruction (at first even in school buildings), the gains of October were real enough. The theater of Mrozek exposed and ridiculed the absurdities of totalitarianism.

Hopes placed by revisionists in Gomulka proved, however, unfounded. The man was an idealist, nay a puritan in public life, but he was also a tough fighter, a self-educated man with a distrust of the intelligentsia. Steering a middle course between the revisionists and the dogmatists who wanted a return to sterner methods, Gomulka cracked down on both groups. He also restricted the educational role of the church. Was this departure from the October ideals really surprising? If we assume that Gomulka’s object had been to bridge the gap between the Party and the nation, and thus legitimize the Party, he had no interest in a further evolution that could weaken communism. Virtually the entire Party apparatus opposed change. Furthermore, the early rapprochement between Gomulka and the West, and his proposals for a nuclear-free zone in Germany and East Central Europe, began to weaken as the USSR and the United States entered a collision course over Cuba and Berlin.

Gomulka’s “little stabilization” came to an end in the mid-1960s. A Party-church confrontation over the celebration of Poland’s millennium centered on the role of Christianity in Polish history. The episcopate took the initiative in matters affecting the nation, for instance the earlier-mentioned address to the German bishops. This infuriated the Party, which accused the church of being unpatriotic. Nationalism was a handy weapon in a frustrated society, and the so-called partisans’ wing in the Party led by M. Moczar quickly seized it. The Six Day War in June 1967 had created pro-Israeli feelings in many Polish (and Polish-Jewish) circles, and Gomulka allowed himself to be maneuvered by the partisans into a major “anti-Zionist” campaign. It led to a purge of people of Jewish origin in the leadership of the party, the army, and the administration. Gomulka, who was not an anti-Semite himself, tried to apply brakes, but found his authority challenged by political rivals. An incident—possibly a provocation—over the banning of a classical play by Mickiewicz because of its anti-Russian lines resulted in a showdown between the hardliners in the Party and students and intellectuals. At this point many Poles eagerly watched the reformist trend in Czechoslovakia; their slogan “all Poland waits for its Dubcek” appeared most dangerous to Gomulka; he was also anxious lest Germany, then embarking on its Ostpolitik, come closer to Czechoslovakia and isolate Poland. The crackdown on the students, courageously defended by Catholic deputies, and the mass exodus of Jews, almost hounded out of the country, belonged to darker pages of Polish history. They were further blackened by Poland’s participation in the Soviet-led intervention in Czechoslovakia.

There was no counterpart to Nagy or Gomulka, or indeed any leader of stature in post-1956 Czechoslovakia. Its stand toward the Polish and Hungarian developments of the year had been negative. With economic stability the prevailing de-Stalinization was confined to such minor gestures as the removal in 1961 of Stalin’s monument in Prague. Seeking to weaken the church, the authorities made use of Archbishop Beran’s journey to Rome, where he received the cardinal’s hat, to prevent his return. His successor Frantisek Tomasek proved, however, a worthy successor. The leading role of the Party was inscribed in the 1960 constitution; it proclaimed that the country had progressed to the socialist state, hence the new name, Czechoslovak Socialist Republic (CSSR). The constitution virtually emasculated all provisions for autonomy in Slovakia, deepening Slovak resentment over the slower development of their country’s economy and the dominance of Czechs in the Party. Novotny’s insensitivity to Slovak national feelings indicated that there was no change of heart in Prague.

In the years 1963-6, however, the Slovak Party went through a revolt against Novotny’s men, gained the rehabilitation of some of the Slovak victims of purges, and obtained, at least in principle, a restitution of local bodies affected by the new constitution. A new leader emerged, Alexander Dubcek, a young, shy man with a long apprenticeship in the Soviet Union and the Party apparatus, yet open to ideas of reform and aware of Slovak interests.

While the Slovak issue was among the principal causes of the approaching Prague Spring, one must also stress the economy, badly in need of substantial change, a deepening conflict between the Party apparatus and the intelligentsia, and the “metaphysical” issue of rule of law versus rule of fear. It was necessary to dissociate the political system from the past terror. The shadow cast by the cruel and arbitrary trials of the 1950s had to disappear and the victims amnestied or posthumously rehabilitated. Lawyers, writers, and journalists took an increasingly large part in a campaign that aimed to achieve this goal. Novotny, a living symbol of Stalinism, maladroitly tried to maintain himself in power, even by resorting to a coup, but he became isolated and was slighted by Moscow. Dubcek, in whom both the hardliners and the reformers placed great hopes, was chosen first secretary. He was a communist who believed in the leading role of the Party and in Moscow, but who also felt that the system could be revitalized through Czech humanist traditions and a new model created. The general “Action Program” of April 5, 1968 indicated the direction in which he wanted to proceed; it was summed up by the slogan “Socialism with a human face.”

Could Dubcek’s program of economic and political reform, involving a real federalization of Czechoslovakia, be kept within bounds now that public support for it was being enlisted and certain institutions were to be emancipated from Party control? The Prague Spring became a great public debate, based on freedom of speech, in which public opinion played an increasingly large role. A civil society was reborn with the emergence of youth organizations, political debating clubs, and church-sponsored activities. The role of radio and especially television in disseminating ideas and acquainting the people with emerging leaders could not be overstressed. The atmosphere was, in the words of the British ambassador, “intoxicating” and he added that “for the first time in 350 years the Czechs found themselves in a heroic role.”58 An illusion of unity obscured conflicting tendencies. Party-led reformism was not identical with the intelligentsia’s goal of a socialist democracy. The radical youth advocated far-reaching changes. The “Two Thousand Words” statement, published in June by the intellectuals, was meant to strengthen the reformist trend in the Party, but it was also seen as a call to action from below, hence a threat to Party leadership. Was this a reform movement or a revolution? The object was not a destruction of socialism, but its transformation was to be so drastic that it appeared revolutionary. That is how the leaders of East Germany, Poland, and the Soviet Union perceived it.

Dubcek was caught between Soviet demands to contain the popular movement and restore full Party control, and the demands of Czechs and Slovaks for freedom and democracy. He seemingly believed that he could reconcile the objectives of the Kremlin and of the people, and to rule through the Party with a genuine consent of the population. Why and when did Moscow decide to intervene, justifying its military action by the Brezhnev doctrine of “aid” to a socialist country threatened by counter-revolution? As Brezhnev told the Czechs later he could not tolerate policies that had no prior consent from Moscow. Czechoslovak borders were also Soviet western borders and nothing must be allowed to affect the postwar settlement in Europe. Probably the scheduling of an extraordinary meeting of the Czechoslovak Communist Party to formalize a new statute departing from Leninist principles was the last straw as far as the Soviets were concerned. In a series of complex moves and counter-moves in July and

August, the Czechoslovak leadership was pressed to reverse the process and it was threatened with military intervention. The last round of negotiations at Cierna seemed to provide some modicum of understanding and it created a false sense of a lull. The actual invasion on August 20-1, in which Polish, Hungarian, Bulgarian, and East German (but not Romanian) forces joined the Red Army, caught Czechoslovakia unprepared and stunned Dubcek.

As on similar occasions in the past the dilemma of resistance versus surrender came to the fore. No military preparations had been taken, although as a Czech philosopher, Ivan Svitak, argued, two thousand tanks would have been more effective than two thousand words. The chances were that the Soviets could be reasonably sure that they would not meet with any armed resistance. But, was it necessary to countersign the death warrant—again earlier analogies come to one’s mind— as Dubcek and his colleagues did, admittedly under duress, in Moscow? The accord they signed meant tearing up the reform program with their own hands, and this, to cite Svitak again, “broke the back of the nation” for at least twenty years to come.59

There were similarities and profound differences between the Hungarian and Czechoslovak revolutions of 1956 and 1968. The former was bloody while the latter was relatively peaceful and complicated by a national (Slovak) angle. Initially, political, social, and economic objectives were similar. The political evolution went much further in Hungary, with its multi-party government and attempts at neutrality. The Party as well as the army and security had disintegrated in Hungary; in Czechoslovakia they survived and presided, to some extent, over the process of change. While intellectuals and students were in the forefront of both revolutions, in Czechoslovakia the role of the workers and the input of the economists was more noticeable. The year 1968 marked the demise of revisionism, which fell victim to Soviet tanks rumbling through Czechoslovakia and to rubber truncheons and anti-Zionist slogans in Poland. Was communism reformable at all? This question preoccupied many people in East Central Europe. In Czechoslovakia an additional issue claimed attention: the perennial “Czech question,” which acquired a new meaning and a new urgency. How was a small nation to survive in the late twentieth century? How essential was state independence for this survival?



 

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