Bloodlands (68 page)

Stalin was not the master of his country in the 1950s as he was in the 1930s, and it was no longer the same country. He had become more a cult than a personality. He visited no factories, farms, or government offices after the Second World War, and made only three public speeches between 1946 and 1953. By 1950 Stalin no longer led the Soviet Union as a lone tyrant, as he had for most of the previous fifteen years. In the 1950s the key members of the politburo met regularly during his long absences from Moscow, and had their own networks of clients in the Soviet bureaucracies. Like the Great Terror of 1937-1938, a mass death purge of Jews would have created possibilities for upward mobility in Soviet society generally. But it was not at all clear that Soviet citizens, antiSemitic though many of them certainly were, would have wanted such an opportunity at such a price.
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What was most striking was the fussiness of it all. During the Great Terror, Stalin’s suggestions were transformed into orders, the orders into quotas, the quotas into corpses, the corpses into numbers. Nothing of the kind happened
in the Jewish case. Though Stalin spent much of the last five years of his life preoccupied with Soviet Jews, he was unable to find the security chief who could make the right kind of case. In the old days, Stalin rid himself of security chiefs after they had completed some sort of mass action, and then blamed them for its excesses. Now officers of the MGB, perhaps understandably, seemed hesitant to commit the excesses in the first place. First Stalin had Abakumov work the case, although Lavrenty Beria was in overall charge of state security. Then he let Abakumov be denounced by Riumin, who in his turn fell in November 1952. Riumin’s successor had a heart attack on his first day on the job. Finally the investigation was taken up by S. A. Goglidze, a client of Beria.
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Stalin had lost his once total power to draw people into his fictitious world. He found himself threatening security chiefs, rather than instructing them. His subordinates understood that Stalin wanted confessions and coincidences that could be presented as proof. But they were constantly hindered by a certain attention to bureaucratic propriety and even, in some measure, to law. The judge who sentenced the members of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee advised the defendants of their right to appeal. In the persecutions of Soviet Jews, security chiefs sometimes had trouble making their subordinates—and, perhaps most important, the defendants—understand what was expected of them. Interrogations, though brutal, did not always produce the kind of evidence that was needed. Torture, though it took place, was a last resort, and one upon which Stalin had personally to insist.
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Stalin was right to be concerned about the influence of the war and of the West, and about the continuation of the Soviet system as he had formed it. In the years after the Second World War, far from all Soviet citizens were eager to accept that the 1940s had justified the 1930s, that the victory over Germany had retrospectively justified the repressions of Soviet citizens. That, of course, had been the logic of the Great Terror at the time: that a war was coming, and so dangerous elements had to be removed. In Stalin’s mind, a coming war with the Americans likely justified another round of preemptive repressions in the 1950s. It is not at all clear that Soviet citizens were willing to take that step. Although many went along with the anti-Semitic hysteria of the early 1950s, refusing for example to see Jewish doctors or to take medicine from Jewish pharmacists, this was not an endorsement of a return to mass terror.

The Soviet Union lasted almost four decades after Stalin’s death, but its security organs never again organized a famine or a mass shooting. Stalin’s successors, brutal though they were, abandoned the practice of mass terror in the Stalinist sense. Nikita Khrushchev, who eventually triumphed in the struggle for Stalin’s succession, released most of the Ukrainian prisoners he had sent to the Gulag a decade before. It was not that Khrushchev was personally incapable of mass killing: he had been bloodthirsty during the Terror of 1937-1938 and the reconquest of western Ukraine after the Second World War. It was rather that he believed that the Soviet Union could no longer be run in the same fashion. He even revealed some of Stalin’s crimes in a speech to a party congress in February 1956, although he emphasized the suffering of communist party elites rather than the groups who had suffered in far larger numbers: peasants, workers, and the members of the national minorities.

East European states remained satellites of the Soviet Union, but none of them moved beyond show trials (the prelude to the Great Terror of the late 1930s) to mass killing. Most of them (Poland was an exception) collectivized agriculture, but never denied peasants the right to private plots. There was no starvation in the satellite states, as there had been in the Soviet Union. Under Khrushchev, the Soviet Union would invade its communist satellite Hungary in 1956. Although the civil war that followed killed thousands of people and the intervention forced a change of leadership, no mass blood purges followed. Relatively few people were purposefully killed in communist eastern Europe after 1953. The numbers were orders of magnitude less than during the eras of mass killing (1933-1945) and ethnic cleansing (1945-1947).

Stalinist anti-Semitism haunted eastern Europe long after the death of Stalin. It was rarely a major tool of governance, but it was always available in moments of political stress. Anti-Semitism allowed leaders to revise the history of wartime suffering (recalled as the suffering only of Slavs) and also the history of Stalinism itself (which was portrayed as the deformed, Jewish version of communism).

In Poland in 1968, fifteen years after Stalin’s death, the Holocaust was revisited for the purposes of communist nationalism. By this time Władysław Gomulka had returned to power. In February 1956, when Khrushchev criticized some aspects of Stalin’s rule; he undermined the position of east European communist leaders associated with Stalinism, and strengthened the hand of those
who could call themselves reformers. This was the end for the triumvirate of Berman, Bierut, and Minc. Gomułka was released from prison, rehabilitated, and allowed to take power that October. He represented the hope of some Poles for a reform communism, of others for a more national communism. Poland had already gained what it could from postwar reconstruction and rapid industrialization; attempts to improve the economic system proved either counterproductive or politically risky. After all attempts to improve the economic system failed, nationalism remained.
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In Poland in 1968, Gomułka’s regime enacted an anti-Zionist purge that recalled the rhetoric of Stalin’s last years. Twenty years after his own fall from grace in 1948, Gomułka took revenge on Polish-Jewish communists, or rather upon some of their children. As in the Soviet Union in 1952 and 1953, so in Poland in 1967 and 1968 the question of succession loomed. Gomułka had been in power for a long time. Like Stalin, he was willing to discredit rivals by way of their association with the Jewish question, and in particular by their softness on the supposed Zionist threat.

“Zionism” returned to the communist Polish press with the Israeli victory in the Six-Day War of June 1967. In the Soviet Union, the war confirmed the status of Israel as an American satellite, a line that was to be followed in the east European communist states. Yet Poles sometimes supported Israel (“our little Jews,” as people said) against the Arabs, who were backed by the Soviet Union. Some Poles saw Israel at that point much as they saw themselves: as the persecuted underdog, opposed by the Soviet Union, representing Western civilization. For such people, Israel’s victory over Arab states was a fantasy of Poland defeating the Soviet Union.
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The official Polish communist position was rather different. The Polish communist leadership identified Israel with Nazi Germany, and Zionism with National Socialism. These claims were often made by people who had lived through, and indeed sometimes fought in, the Second World War. Yet these grotesque comparisons followed from a certain political logic, now common to communist leaders in Poland and the Soviet Union. In the communist worldview, it was not the Jews but the Slavs (Russians in the USSR, Poles in Poland) who were the central figures (as victors and victims) of the Second World War. The Jews, always an immense problem for this story of suffering, had been assimilated to it in the postwar years, counted when necessary as “Soviet citizens”
in the USSR and as “Poles” in Poland. In Poland, Jewish communists had done the most to eliminate Jews from the history of the German occupation in Poland. Having performed this task by 1956, the Jewish communists lost power. It was the non-Jewish communist Gomułka who exploited the legend of ethnic Polish innocence.

This recitation of the Second World War was also a propaganda stance in the Cold War. Poles and Russians, Slavic victims of the last German war, were accordingly still threatened by Germany, which now meant West Germany and its patron the United States. In the world of the Cold War, this was not entirely unconvincing. The chancellor of West Germany at the time was a former Nazi. Maps of Germany in German schoolbooks included the lands lost to Poland in 1945 (marked as “under Polish administration”). West Germany had never extended diplomatic recognition to postwar Poland. In the western democracies, as in West Germany, there was then little public discussion of German war crimes. In admitting West Germany to NATO in 1955, the United States in effect overlooked the atrocities of its recent German enemy.

As in the 1950s, Stalinist anti-Semitism assigned Israel a perfidious place in the Cold War. Picking up a theme from the Soviet press of January 1953, the Polish press in 1967 explained that West Germany had conveyed Nazi ideology to Israel. Political cartoons portrayed the Israeli army as the Wehrmacht. Thus Israel’s claim that its existence was morally sanctioned by the Second World War and the Holocaust was supposed to be reversed: on the Polish communist account, capitalism had led to imperialism, of which National Socialism was an example. At the moment, the leader of the imperialist camp was the United States, of which Israel and West Germany alike were the cat’s paws. Israel was just one more instance of imperialism, sustaining a world order that generated crimes against humanity, rather than a small state with a special historical claim to victimhood. The communists wished to monopolize claims of victimhood for themselves.
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These Nazi-Zionist comparisons began in communist Poland with the Six-Day War in June 1967, but came home when the Polish regime repressed opponents the following spring. Polish university students, protesting the ban on the performance of a play, called a peaceful rally against the regime for 8 March 1968. The regime then castigated their leaders as “Zionists.” The previous year Jews in Poland had been called a “fifth column,” supporting Poland’s enemies
abroad. Now the problems of Poland as a whole were blamed upon the Jews, categorized once again, as in the USSR fifteen years before, as both “Zionists” and “cosmopolitans.” As in the Soviet Union, this was only an apparent contradiction: the “Zionists” supposedly favored Israel, and the “cosmopolitans” were supposedly drawn to the United States, but both were allies of imperialism and thus enemies of the Polish state. They were outsiders and traitors, indifferent to Poland and Polishness.
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In an agile maneuver, Polish communists were now claiming an old European anti-Semitic argument for their own. The Nazi stereotype of “Judeobolshevism,” Hitler’s own idea that communism was a Jewish plot, had been quite widespread in prewar Poland. The prominence of Polish Jews in the early communist regime, though a product of very special historical circumstances, had done little to dispel the popular association between Jews and communists. Now, in spring 1968, Polish communists played to this stereotype by claiming that the problem with Stalinism was its Jewishness. If anything had gone wrong in communist Poland in the 1940s and 1950s, it was the fault of the Jews who exerted too much control over the party and thereby deformed the whole system. Some communists might have done harm to Poles, was the implication, but these communists had been Jews. But Polish communism, it followed, could be cleansed of such people, or at least of their sons and daughters. Gomułka’s regime, in this way, tried to make communism ethnically Polish.